#spoiler: your muscles are sore the next day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

absurdthirst · 4 months ago

Text

His Happy Ending {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.3k

Warnings: Flirty Dieter, propositioning a masseuse, full body massage, erections, skirting professionalism, dirty talk, cumming untouched, drug usage, getting high, sex while high, consent is sexy, oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected sex, use of sex toys, switch Dieter, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, Dieter has issues, overreaction, accusations and irrational anger, angst, apologies, face riding

Comments: You are Dieter's on set masseuse, hired for the duration of the film to work the kinks out of the actor's sore body. Connecting and vibing with him, will Dieter get his happy ending?

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.

Signing an NDA was a routine part of your job, dealing with enough celebrities and studio executives that it has become a stand part of your contracts. This time though, you are excited. You’ve been hired to be Dieter Bravo’s personal masseuse on this film. The actor is apparently working through some back issues and because of your discreet reputation, the studio is paying you a lot of money to make sure the Oscar winner is always as relaxed as possible.

Dieter groans, his back aching as he comes off set and heads into his trailer. He knew this role would be physically demanding but he didn’t realize just how much his body would ache. The drugs and his middle age are taking a toll and he hates that he can’t spring back like he used to. He enters his trailer, his assistant behind him, and he is pleasantly surprised to find you waiting for him with your table set up. “Fuckkk yesss.” He groans in excitement. “I’m gonna shower and then I’ll be back out. Jesus, I hope you got a good kneed on you. My back is fucked.” He says and walks off into the small shower, his costume dropping on the floor on the way that his assistant picks up until he’s grimacing at the sweaty briefs he handles. “I will leave you to it. He won’t be long.” He tells you and leaves the trailer with the costume to take to the department to have it cleaned for the next shoot.

You hum to yourself, amused with his eagerness as you start to light the aromatherapy candles you have placed around the small trailer. It won’t take long to have it smelling in here, and you always believe that a relaxed atmosphere helps your clients relax and work out their knotted muscles better. When you are done, you set out the oils that he had chosen, or maybe his assistant had chosen, and wash your hands one last time so they aren’t cold when you start.

Dieter comes out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, and he groans at the soothing scent of the aromatherapy candles. "You know your shit." He compliments you and you turn around just as he drops the towel. "Where do you want me?" He flirts slightly, waggling his eyebrows.

You’ve been hit on a lot. Asked for ‘happy endings’ or what other services you provide. Most of the time it irritates you, but this is kind of the exception. You’ve been warned that Dieter will ask you to sleep with him. It’s just a part of his personality, but that he will and does take no for an answer. He’s not even hard and his flaccid cock is impressive enough that you know not many people would deny him. For a middle aged man, he looks incredibly in shape. “Um, on the table, face down.” You instruct. “Do you have any concentrated pain or just all over?” You ask, wanting to get a feel for what his needs are.

“My back and neck kill me. I used to do my own stunts back in the day, desperate to impress and make it big.” He scoffs at his younger self, “and now I’m paying for me.” He groans as he lays down on the table. He’s desperate to relax after a hectic filming schedule. Glad his agent thought to put this in his retainer.

“That’s where I will start.” You hum, picking up the warming oils and spreading some on your hands. “Let me know if I need to adjust how deep I’m going.” You tell him. “I’ll start with deep tissue and work you out. You’ll be ready to fall asleep when I’m done with you.”

Dieter smiles against the plush cushion as you tell him exactly what you are doing. He groans when your hands make contact with his skin. He’s been a little touch starved lately. He hisses when you start to kneed and you ask if he’s okay. “I’m good. Christ, your hands are magic.” He declares and you’ve barely even started on him.

You always enjoy when your clients enjoy themselves, it appeals to the people pleaser in you. Listening to his groans with a trained ear as you do a once over on his back, noting any particular spots that need concentrated attention.

“Oh shit. Right there.” Dieter says when you find a particularly tender spot that needs more attention. “Yes that’s iiiiiiittttt.” He hisses when you dig deep and his cock starts to stir at the way you work his body over.

You hum softly in acknowledgement, continuing to work that knot in his back, applying pressure until he hisses and then soothes it for a moment. You don’t want him to be too sore tomorrow, but he has a lot of tension in his back.

Dieter swears this is the best massage he’s ever had. “Fuck baby. You’re so good.” He compliments you breathlessly as he starts to relax under your touch. His cock hardening even more when you work the knots in his back like the expert you are.

You try not to talk to your clients unless they engage you, but Dieter’s commentary is not exactly talkative. You just hum softly, stopping to pour more of the warming oil into your hand to make sure you don’t pull at his skin. He has such a lovely back, you find yourself watching the muscles move as you work the knots out.

Dieter hisses when you find another knot until you work that out and start to move lower down his back. “So fucking good.” He slurs slightly as he practically melts into the table. Getting older sucks and he hates it, hates how he can’t jump around like he used to.

“That’s it.” You encourage softly. “Just relax.” You rub your thumbs along his spine and dip just below the sheet you had draped over his small and perfect ass to make sure he preserved some privacy.

Dieter groans, his fingers flexing by his side and you continue working his body until he’s relaxed and he’s hard. So fucking hard. You rub his legs and arms and ask him to turn over. “I, uh, I kinda - you offer happy endings?” He flirts as he shifts to turn over, the sheet around him tenting with his erection.

You’re actually tempted. And it surprises you as much as him asking that question dismays you. He had been on his best behavior but you remind yourself that he would ask to fuck anyone. “That’s impressive.” You admit. “But it would unprofessional.” You reach out to rub the muscles on his inner thigh, dangerously close to his erection.

Dieter bites his lip, never one to push, but you are gorgeous. He groans softly as you massage his thigh. “Unprofessional.” He murmurs, “I - you can say no. I understand no.” He promises, trying to suppress the moan when you kneed his sore muscles a little harder.

You like that he’s not pushing, it makes it even sexier as his cock twitches and tents the sheet over his hips. “Just relax.” You hum, aware that you could probably make him cum without even touching his cock if you massage the right areas as hard as he is.

He tries but his cock is throbbing with each motion of your hands. His cock twitching under the sheet and he knows you have noticed it. He groans when you massage his upper thighs, your hands so close to where he really needs you.

“Close your eyes.” You coo softly, watching his surprisingly long lashes flutter and you bite your lip. This is so beyond professional even if you haven’t broken any rules. Pressing your fingers to the v of his hips, you rub his pelvic muscles slowly.

Dieter closes his eyes, his fingers flexing and he clenches his fists as you rub his pelvis. Christ, he thinks you’re the best masseuse he’s ever had. He groans when you rub his skin a little deeper, his cock twitching again.

Your fingers continue to stroke, to press and massage as you move closer to the tented flesh. Dragging the sheet over the skin. “Almost done.” You murmur softly. “Are you going to be a good boy and cum?”

Your words send him over the edge. “Holy shitttt.” He hisses and his cock twitches as he cums, spurts of hot seed hitting his stomach and chest, flying in the air before they land while you hover over him.

You can’t believe that he just came. You don’t stop massaging him, just slowing your circles down and drifting away from his now overly sensitive cock to move down to his lower thighs. “Good boy.”

Dieter keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the way the orgasm takes over his body, helping him relax even more. Your cooed praise makes his stomach twist and you work on his legs as his cock softens against his belly. “Jesus H Christ and all twelve of his disciples.” Dieter murmurs in disbelief that he just came without you touching his cock. “They hired you, right? Like, full contract? Not one and done?”

You give a small chuckle as you pull your hands away, the massage complete. “I’m yours for the duration of filming.” You promise. “I’ll be here everyday, just in case you need me.”

“Thank fucking God.” Dieter says and he offers you a lazy smirk. “Gonna look forward to seeing you every day. What’s your name?” He asks and you tell him your name as you start to put your things away. “Beautiful.” He murmurs, his dark eyes taking in your face. “Thank you. That- I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

“Good.” You smile at him quickly before you look back down at your bag to make sure all your oils are put away before moving to snuff out the candles. “That’s what I want for you.”

He watches you blow out your candles and he smiles at you, enjoying the serenity of this moment. “Seriously, I think I’ll be calling you back every day.” He says and you nod, “that’s what I’m here for.”

****

“Fuckkkkk yessss.” Dieter groans as you kneed the knot in his back. Today was a particularly physical day and having this massage is making him forget about messing up his scene a few times. Your elbows work his stiffness and you’ve been coming to his trailer for the past two weeks. He hasn’t overstepped again and came but he’s gotten hard every time, lazily jerking off after you leave his trailer.

“You are extremely tense today.” You murmur. “Take a hot bath when you get back to your room. And smoke a little.” You know that Dieter smokes weed, and does a lot more, but he’s never been high around you since he doesn’t use when he’s filming. “It will do you some good.”

“I- shit - I don’t have any. Ran out and haven’t had a chance to get to a dispensary.” He confesses as you continue to work his back. “I have a pen you can use.” You offer, “it’s pretty strong.” Dieter groans, “you’re a fucking angel. Wanna come back to my place and get high with me? We can order food.”

You shouldn’t, you should drop the pen off and go home, but it’s a chance to hang out with Dieter Bravo and you selfishly want to take it. “That sounds good.” You nod. “I can bring my oils and give you a touch up while you relax?” You offer.

Dieter groans, “like I said…a fucking angel.” He hisses when your thumbs press into his spine and he lets you massage him with those magical hands of yours. “Keep going. I need - what kind of food do you like?” He asks you, eyes fluttering closed.

“Do you like Indian food?” You ask conversationally. “That or Chinese is my favorite.” You shrug. “Or really good Mexican.”

“Oooo, Indian food.” Dieter hums, “I love samosas and butter chicken. I’ll have my assistant order it. We can look at the menu when we get back to my place.” He declares, “we can get Chinese food next time.” He knows you’ll be hanging out with him again. He likes you. You vibe well with him, keep him calm and entertained.

You smirk to yourself at his bossy assumption but you don’t say anything. You like Dieter. He’s got an ego on him, but name one actor that doesn’t? He’s actually pretty polite one on one and he’s not asked you for anything else since that first massage. “Sounds good.” You hum, finishing the massage and patting his back like you’re prone to do when you’ve finished.

Dieter grunts as he gets off of the table, rolling his relaxed shoulders and ignoring his erection as he grabs his sweatpants to get dressed. "Get your stuff ready, you can follow me home." He winks at you and shoves his feet in his crocs.

You chuckle at his flirting and nod. “Let me just pack up the table, unless you just want to leave it here?” You ask him, knowing that he prefers his massages in his trailer because of his reaction to them.

“You can leave it here. You’re gonna be back tomorrow anyway.” He shrugs, grabbing his cardigan that has way too many holes in it but he doesn’t care. “You can always leave your stuff here. It’s locked after we leave.”

“Alright.” You agree, knowing that your table isn’t exactly easy to haul around, so it’s unlikely that it would be stolen. “I’ll follow you over? What car do you drive, I’m sure I’m in a different part of the parking lot.”

“I have an Audi.” He says, “it’s a space gray.” He recalls what the car salesman told him. He isn’t big into cars, he just wanted something comfortable. “Let’s go to my car and I’ll drive you to yours, make sure you’re safe.” He insists as he escorts you to the closest lot where the actors and producers and directors park.

It’s actually pretty sweet that Dieter is willing to drive you, being concerned with your safety. You sometimes get the feeling he doesn’t really think about others, although that could be because he’s so used to being catered to and having others worry about him. You admire the sleek and shiny car and bite your lip. “My car is over there.” You point across the large parking lot towards the back. “It’s a red Mazda.”

Dieter doesn’t open the door for you but you can in his car and he quietly drives you to yours across the parking lot. “You don’t have to come back to mine if you don’t want to. Now’s your chance to back out. I know - I know most people don’t actually want to hang out with me.” He confesses, biting his lip.

You frown slightly, confused and wondering if he’s changed his mind. “I- I was looking forward to hanging out - if you wanted to.” You admit. “I think you’re pretty funny and I-” You don’t want to admit that you have been a fan or enjoy his slightly zany interviews so you just shrug. “If you want, I can just give you my pen for tonight? If you don’t want me to come over?”

Dieter’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, “no. I- I want you to come over.” He tells you, “I want you to come back to my place.” He doesn’t confess it, but he’s lonely. He hasn’t been able to have parties since he’s filming and no one hangs around him unless it’s to get something from him so he’s been alone. And slightly depressed. He wants company and you seem to make him happy. “Come back to my place.” He begs slightly, his lower lip sticking out.

“Okay.” You nod and smile when you look over at him as he looks at you with a surprisingly open and longing look. “Just don’t drive too fast, okay?” You tease. “I can’t afford too many tickets and I can’t flirt with a cop like you can to get out of it.” You had heard about Dieter dating one of the famous CHiPs officers after being pulled over and it had made you snort in amusement. A cop and Dieter Bravo seemed like an unlikely pair.

Dieter chuckles, “I’ll drive slow, sweetheart.” He promises with a wink, “but I reckon you could flirt your way out of any ticket with that pretty smile of yours.” He promises, “and those tits.” With that, you shut the door and he chuckles at the way you playfully roll your eyes.

When you turn around to unlock your car, you can’t help but grin. Dieter likes your tits and for some reason, it feels like a compliment. You start the car and carefully pull out of the parking space, smiling when you see Dieter is waiting just down the row for you to follow him. Your pen is in the center console, not exactly the best spot for it, but you’re happy it’s there now, so you don’t have to go home to get it.

Dieter drives to his home in Sherman Oaks. It’s a distance from the studio but it’s worth it to be away from the craziness of Hollywood. His sanctuary and his club when he wants to have parties and his neighbors can’t complain because they are so far away from him. He clicks the remote to open his gate and you follow him in, parking behind him outside of his home.

Admiring his home, you can’t help but feel a little giddy. One weekend, you and a friend had done one of those ‘Home of the Stars’ tours on a whim and had been driven by Dieter’s house, but with the privacy fence and shrubbery, you had never actually seen it. “Wow.” You whistle as you climb out of your car, pen in hand. “Swanky, Bravo.” You compliment. “I bet you throw some cool parties here.”

“Oh I do.” He says, half boasting, half informing you. He knows his parties attract the wrong people to his life but he yearns for any kind of connection he can get. It’s lonely at the top. He punches in the code to open the front door, the alarm automatically disarming and he gestures for you to enter.

You walk in, taking in the space and while you can see that he obviously originally had a decorator, signs of Dieter’s personality are all over the large, open living room. You giggle slightly at the large oil painting of an orgy over the fireplace and smirk at him. “That’s an interesting conversation piece.”

“Painted it myself.” He reveals, smirking at the memory of that night that inspired the artwork. “You like it?” He asks and you giggle, “it’s…inspired.” You settle on that and he chuckles. “You want a drink?” He walks over to the bar, opening it to display the different bottles.

His bar selection is impressive and you lift a brow. “If you have good tequila, then I’m your girl.” You tease playfully. “Can I have it on the rocks with a bit of lime if you have it?”

“Coming right up, baby.” Dieter nods, “you wanna watch a movie?” He asks as he pours a heavy measure into a glass. “I wanna watch a movie. You pick. Then we can get high and order food.”

“Nothing that you’re in, of course.” You wait for him to nod his head and agree. “Okay, then.” You take his remote and turn the tv on, the thing massive on the other wall and it could be its own movie screen. Finding his streaming apps, your eyes widen. “Oh! I’ve been waiting for this one.” You turn to Dieter to see what he thinks.

“Fuck yes. It’s on my list too. Yes, baby. Good choice.” He compliments you and carries over your drinks after getting some ice and a lime slice. He groans as he kicks off his crocs and settles on the sofa beside you, handing you the drink after you hit play.

You notice that he’s not ordering food and you wonder if he normally has his assistant order. Opening your phone, you pick an Indian restaurant that will deliver and put in an online order with enough food for both of you and some other things to munch on if you get hungry when you're hitting the pen.

“You didn’t - shit. I was gonna order that but I don’t know how. My assistant usually does it. I’ll give you the money.” He grabs his phone and opens it, “what’s your number?” He asks and you tell him, knowing you can’t argue with him. He sends you the money and clinks his drink with yours. “You brought the pen?” He asks, wanting to get high after a stressful day.

“Absolutely.” You laugh as you pull the pen out of your pocket and waggle it at him “I’m glad I accidentally left it in my pocket the other day and stuck it in my console.” You flick the button on and let the coils warm up. “I like this mango berry aftertaste they put in the oil.”

“Oooo. I have pills too if that’s your thing. Acid as well. Just fresh out of weed.” He says, gesturing for you to take the first hit from the pen. The movie is starting but he’s so focused on watching you.

You take a hit, holding it in and passing the pen to Dieter as you exhale with a small sigh. “Your turn.” You hum, enjoying the almost instantaneous effects of the pen. “It’s good, probably my favorite.”

He takes the pen, clicking the button before he inhales deeply, loving how it immediately relaxes him. He exhales with a grin, handing you back the pen. “You know, I haven’t been this relaxed in forever. Your massages…they are the best.”

You grin and take another hit off the pen before you answer him. “I like giving you massages. You’re so vocal, always letting me know what you need and how good it feels.” You won’t even mention that you wonder if that’s how he acts in bed, vocal and needy. “Is it helping?” You ask, passing the pen back to him.

“Fuck yessss it is.” He groans when he takes another hit. “You’re like a damn angel. I fucking love your massages and your voice and - you have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about you.” He admits, biting his lip as his eyes flick back to the tv.

You hum, not wanting him to interpret your laugh of disbelief as you laughing at him. “Well, then I would have to say that I’m fucking honored.” You admit, smirking slightly as you reach over and take the pen out of his hands. “Being spank material is a high form of flattery.”

“Especially from me.” He says without humility. “I have models and actresses in my spank bank. But you…you’re all natural and fucking gorgeous and your hands - fucking heaven sent.” He groans at the memories. “Made me cum without even touching my cock. You’re a goddamn artist.” He declares, his dark eyes watching you.

“That was really sexy.” You admit, eyes flickering over to him and then back to the tv. “Erotic.” You pass him the pen back. “I absolutely went home and masturbated thinking about it. My NDA doesn’t say anything about having dirty thoughts about you.” You tease, winking at him and leaning back against the cushions. “You’re fucking hot and you know it.”

Dieter offers you a smirk, his head resting against the sofa cushion as he closes his eyes. “Hot but not long term material. Too fucked up. Too many mistakes. Too annoying.” He quotes just some of the things his exes had told him when they ended it. He opens his eyes and takes another hit off of the pen, handing it back to you. “So…you obviously don’t have a partner. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here…unless I’ve read you wrong.”

“No.” You scoff and shake your head. “You’d be so surprised how many people get pissed off when I tell them that I can’t tell them who I massaged or what kind of treatments they wanted.” You shrug. “My last boyfriend kept accusing me of cheating, so I dumped his ass and decided to just do my own thing for a while.” You look over at Dieter again seriously. “I don’t talk about my work, to anyone.” You promise.

“You’d make a hell of a lot off of TMZ.” He teases and nudges you, silently telling you he trusts you. “So you do offer happy endings?” He jokes, feeling the high creep over him, making him looser and more relaxed than he was after finishing his scenes for the day.

“I should slap you for that.” You scoff, rolling your head over to look at him before you grin. “But something tells me that would just make you even harder than you already get when I’m massaging you.” Biting your lip, you decide to go for it and roll over to straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. “What kind of happy ending are you wanting?”

“Holy shit.” He whispers, eyes wide and his hands want to grab your hips but he doesn’t, his fingers flexing while they hover over your skin. “Anything you’re willing to give me.” He answers honestly. “Just want you. To touch you. To have you touch me.”

“Yeah?” You roll your hips down, feeling the beginnings of him hardening underneath you. Your fingers slide into his hair and you hum. “I’ve imagined touching you. Being touched by you. Seeing if you’re as vocal when you fuck as you are on my table. If you’re submissive, or if you like to take what you want.”

“Jesus.” Dieter hisses as you grind down onto him. “Baby. I- can I touch you?” He pleads and you nod. He groans and his hands find your hips, squeezing them. “Fuck. I want you to make me moan. I want to make you moan. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

You lick your lips, smirking as you reach over and take the pen again. Drawing a deep puff off of it and holding it in your mouth before you lean in and press your lips to Dieter’s. Finding it so sexy when he moans as he opens his mouth for you to blow the air into his lungs. Sharing the hit with him.

His hands slide around to squeeze your ass while he blows the smoke back into your mouth. You both smile and his hand finds the back of your head, dragging you back to his face so he can press his lips to yours. His tongue slides into your mouth, his fingers digging into your flesh as he hardens beneath you.

This time, it’s you moaning, very pleased with the eager, demanding flicks of his tongue against yours. Making you cup his face in your hands as you grind down into his cock and your cunt clenches when you realize that he’s going to be inside you. That pretty cock of his will go for a ride.

Dieter’s hands slide under your shirt, pausing to give you a chance to push him away but when you don’t, he groans into your mouth and pulls back, dragging your shirt over your head. “Need you. Wanna see the tits I’ve been imagining for too damn long.”

You laugh at the slight pout in his voice, knowing that it’s been less than two weeks, but to Dieter that’s a lifetime. You let him toss the shirt away and let go of him long enough to unclip your bra and drag it down your arms.

“Oh my fucking Godddd.” Dieter groans when you toss your bra aside and he cups your tits, squeezing them to push them together. He surges forward to press his face into your tits, motorboating you.

You choke out a laugh, squealing at the silliness of the act and how much Dieter is enjoying himself. His hands are warm, larger and he squeezes your tits with just the right amount of harshness mixed with the obvious worship. “Dieter.” You moan when he starts to kiss along the tops of your tits and gasp when he draws a nipple into his mouth.

He feels like he’s on top of the world. The high hitting him and he is hungry for you. He bites down on your nipple, sucking on it to soothe it, and he closes his eyes. His hand finding your back, caressing your skin as his other hand squeezes your tit.

You moan again, enjoying the attention he is paying to your tits, always loving when a man spends the time to get you soaking wet. Your cunt clenches and you grind down on his hard length. “Your cock- I’ve imagined you fucking me after seeing it everyday.” You admit breathlessly.

Dieter pulls back to look at you, eyes blown wide from the drugs and the high he’s getting from touching you. “Yeah? You wanna sit on my cock, pretty girl? Wanna make yourself cum?” He coos, his hands resuming their squeezing of your tits, pinching your nipples between his fingers.

“Wanna suck your cock first.” You enjoy giving blowjobs. Never finding it to be a chore when you want to be with the man and enjoying what makes them moan. “Will you let me suck your cock?”

“If I ever turn that offer down, you gotta get me to a doctor.” Dieter teases and you shift off of him. His heart pounds in his chest as you kneel on the floor and your fingers hook in his sweatpants. He lifts his hips so you can pull them down, his cock flopping out against his stomach, hard and the head turning purple with arousal.

“Yep, you have a pretty cock.” You hum, settling between his spread thighs and sliding your hands up, enjoying the way his surprising light leg hair bristles against your hands. You are used to touching him like this and you smile when he moans, your fingers digging into the muscles you know are sore as you move higher. “I know sucking your cock is going to soak my panties.” You coo, wrapping your fingers around the thick base.

“Holy shit.” Dieter curses, watching you take his cock into your hand has him panting with need, twitching in your grip as you shuffle closer and your warm breath hits his aching skin. “I’m - I want to eat you out after you’re done with me.” He declares, his hands squeezing the cushions of the sofa beside you.

“If you want to.” You won’t demand it, it’s not any fun when someone begrudgingly returns the favor. “But right now, I want to blow your mind, and your cock.” You giggle at your pun and lean forward to take the dark head of his cock into your mouth eagerly.

Dieter groans, low and deep in his chest as you take the head of his cock into your mouth. “Fuck. Oh fuck me.” He hisses, his head dropping back until he lifts it, wanting to see you suck his cock. He will eat you out after, imagining what you taste like far too many times to not get what he wants tonight.

You don’t rush, taking your time to kick and suck as you stroke his cock, learning what he likes and what he loves from his sounds. It’s sloppy, your tongue dragging over every inch of him and you don’t skimp on making sure you make it wet and soft for him.

“Jesusssss.” Dieter hisses, watching you take his cock deeper and you are a goddamn goddess. Sucking and licking and you are dribbling down his cock to slick it up even more. He hasn’t had a blowjob this enthusiastic since he was in college. You’re doing this because you want to, not because of what he can get you. “So fucking pretty.” He coos, caressing your cheek.

You preen under the praise and lazily watch him under your lashes as you work his cock with your mother and hand. Your cunt is throbbing and your other hand slides down to unbutton your jeans and rub your clit.

“That’s it, baby. Take what you want. Use me for your pleasure. Rub that pretty little clit for me. Can’t wait to suck on it. Can’t wait to see you cum for me.” He rambles, lost in the feel of your hot mouth. “You’re goddamn perfect. Oh shit. Knew you’d be fucking talented.”

You love when a man is vocal and when he praises you, it makes you go even harder. You hum and swallow with him deep in your throat, feeling him pulse and throb. “Ohhhh fuck.” Dieter moans, making you grin when he stretches his head back so you can see his gorgeously vulnerable throat.

“Fuck me. Your mouth- better than any fucking drug. Better than - so damn good. I’m gonna - I don’t want to cum down your throat if you don’t want it.” He warns you, knowing he isn’t going to last when you’ve been massaging him daily and he hasn’t cum since that first session with you.

“You can cum.” You hate pulling off his cock for even a second and you take him back in just as quickly as you get the words out. Bobbing your head and reaching down to carefully cradle his soft and full balls in your hand.

He groans when you roll his balls, loving the feeling and your mouth hollows around his cock. “Yes. Yes. Oh shit. Oh shit. I’m gonna - fuckkkkkk.” He practically wails as he cums, hit spurts hitting the back of your throat as he moans your name.

Honestly, you’re surprised that he even remembers your name and he continues to pulse down your throat. You swallow as much as you can but Dieter Bravo apparently produces gallons of cum when he has an orgasm. Moaning at the saltiness of him, missing it after so long without having sex.

Cum escapes your lips and slides down your chin and Dieter reacts fast, dragging you off of his cock and he drags you into his lap. His tongue quickly slides along your chin to lap up his cum that escaped your lips.

You gasp in surprise, not thinking that he would want to kiss you, let alone lick up his own spend. But you don’t mind it, finding it extremely hot and you turn your lips to his to kiss him again.

His tongue slides into your mouth, not caring about the taste of his cum, and his hands find your tits, squeezing them. “Wanna make you cum too before the food arrives.” His hand trails down your stomach to unzip your jeans. “Want these off.” He declares, shifting you to lay you down on his sofa.

You lift your hips so he can peel your jeans and panties down and you start to giggle. “Sorry I didn’t trim.” You snort. “I didn’t think I would have a movie star staring at my twat tonight.”

Dieter chuckles, tossing your jeans across the room. “Honey, if I ever complain about a full bush, check my goddamn temperature. Just call me Dieter the Explorer.” He waggles his eyebrows and pushes your legs apart, groans groaning as he gets a look at your soaked folds. “Pretty little pussy.” He murmurs and shifts onto his belly, leaning forward to nudge his nose against your mound, inhaling your heady scent. “Fucking delicious.” He declares and surges forward to flatten his tongue through your folds.

You can now say you’ve had an Oscar winner eat your cunt. You groan and giggle at the same time, reaching down to tangle your fingers into his curls and your hips push up. His tongue is surprisingly soft and yet he flicks it like a fucking champ against your clit. “Oh fuck.” You whimper, eyes closing in pleasure. “You can do this anytime you want.” You pant out.

Dieter pushes your thighs back towards your stomach, wanting to access more of your flesh. His tongue flicks over your clit then he slides his tongue down to push into your dripping wet cunt. A low groan smothered into your flesh as you tug on his locks.

You love the way he is eagerly lapping at your cunt, his moans into your flesh intoxicating as you pull on his hair again. “So good baby, you’re such a good boy.” You coo. “You like eating my pussy? Feeling how wet I am for you?”

Dieter whines into your folds, nodding hard enough that his nose rubs your clit. He pulls back for a second, “fucking love it.” He confesses, his hands caressing your thighs. He loves the way you’re practically dripping down his chin, your moans hitting his ears loud enough to make his spent cock start to stir again as he presses it against the sofa.

He dives back into you and doesn’t stop. Licking and sucking like his only mission is to make you cum. You whimper starts to build when you feel yourself starting to get close. “Oh fuck baby, I’m gonna cum. That tongue of yours is going to make me cum.” You pant, grinding down onto his face. “Oh fuck! Dieter!” You cry out when your body starts to buck, cumming hard.”

He loves working you through it. His tongue lapping up every drop of cum from your weeping cunt, loving the way you cry out and he grips your hips. He tries to keep you still while he laps at your folds, working you through your orgasm.

Your body shakes and when you finally can’t take any more, you are squirming away. “Dieter - Dee- Deeeeee, please.” You beg, trying to close your legs to get away from the sweet torment. When he finally relents, you sag into the couch. “Holy fuck.”

He licks his lips and grins, cocky from the way you slump down in bliss and he caresses your thighs. “Beautiful.” He murmurs, shifting back from you and he reaches for your underwear. “Food will be here soon, babe.” He reminds you, sliding your underwear back up your legs before he tucks himself back into his pants.

“Godddd it’s gonna be so good.” You moan, reaching over for the pen again. “I feel amazing. Like completely relaxed.” You huff out a laugh. “But it’s the first time someone else has made me cum in a long time, so I’m due.”

Dieter is curious by nature. “How long has it been for you?” He asks, shifting to sit back against the sofa and taking the pen from you after you’ve taken a drag.

You look up at the ceiling, intrigued to find a very modern hexagonal pattern in the lattice between beams. It’s a nice design touch. Adding up the time, you snort. “Fuck- four years?” You guess. “Give or take a few months.”

Dieter’s eyes widen, “four - four years? Like 48 months without sex? Honey, I lose my mind if I go 48 hours without an orgasm.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “How - you’re goddamn gorgeous. You should be overwhelmed with people wanting to fuck you.”

You snort. “No, I've had an orgasm every day.” You promise him. “I just have to do it myself.” You shrug. “It’s been about two years since my last boyfriend and that fucker never made me cum.”

"Dumbass." Dieter scoffs, "taste so sweet when you cum." He blushes slightly just as the doorbell rings. "Food is here! Would you mind getting it? Saves on the 'oh my God you're Dieter Bravo’ bullshit."

You snicker and nod, reaching for his oversized t-shirt and slipping it on. “Of course, baby.” You coo before walking to the door and sashaying your hips provocatively so he can watch your ass.

He bites his lip as he watches you sway your hips. “So fucking gorgeous.” He mutters to himself as you thank the driver and take the food. He shuffles off of the sofa and walks into the kitchen, grabbing the plates he only ever uses for food he orders or gets given by other people.

You bring the food back over to the coffee table and grin when Dieter walks back in. “I ordered extra samosas.” You inform him. “I’m starving and they are soooooo good.”

"I like the way you think." Dieter winks and hands you the plate and silverware. "I'm starving." He groans at the smell and you begin to unwrap the food. "Filming really takes it out of me. All I want after is an orgasm, food, and sleep."

“Sounds like the perfect ending to any day.” You laugh and take the plates from him so you can dish up the dinner. “Although an orgasm is normally my last thing before I fall asleep.”

Dieter chuckles, “the best fucking sleep, right?” He says and you nod, dishing up your food. Dieter follows suit, dishing up his own food, piling the plate high but not as much as he used to do. He used to be able to eat way more but his metabolism has slowed down as he’s gotten older.

You sit down, folding your legs under you and pick up a samosa. “So what made you want to be an actor?” You ask, always curious and now you are getting to hang out with Dieter. “You’re obviously good at it, but what was the driving factor for you?” You take a bite of the food and moan, rolling your eyes at how good it is.

He sighs, “my mama brought me here from Chile when I was a kid. She was single. Had to work like three jobs just to pay the rent. She found an ad for a kid needed for a commercial. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to have me audition. So I went and got the gig and it went on from there. I have been acting since I was nine and it’s all I’ve ever known.”

“Oh.” You frown slightly, feeling bad for him because he didn’t have a choice. “You ever think about retiring? Doing something else?” You ask, feeling like you are prying now.

Dieter shrugs, “maybe one day. I like painting. Maybe try writing or directing. I know my days are numbered until I’m getting the ‘father of the bride’ roles.” He snorts, “every day I’m getting grayer.”

You scoff. “You’re still sexy. Haven’t you heard?” You ask, waggling your brows. “Older men are sexier longer now.”

Dieter snorts, “yeah. Until they see the back pain, the hairs growing out of my ears, and how I have to get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.”

You laugh and wave around a piece of butter chicken on your fork. “News flash, I have to get up in the middle of the night to pee.” You tell him. “And women get chin hair starting to grow, hell, I pluck a hair off my cheek every few days.” You snort. “And nipple hair.”

Dieter’s eyes widen, “nipple hair sounds kinda hot. I won’t lie.” He confesses, picking up the samosa to take a bite. “So why are you single? Got some skeletons in your closet?” He teases, “or is everyone a fucking blind dumbass?”

You chuckle at his theory that nipple hair is sexy and shrug. “Never really go out, too busy working.” You name off a few of the reasons. “And it seems like every time I go to a club, the men are just either looking for some bombshell ditz to hang off their arm or so full of themselves that I trip over their egos.”

Dieter rolls his eyes, “men are morons. Women are definitely smarter. I mean, I know how men operate. That’s why I like fucking men too. Less complicated, but women…when you find a delicious woman who is gorgeous and sweet. Can’t beat it. I consider myself lucky that I have you tonight.” He winks and rips off some naan, handing a large piece over to you.

You hum and take the bread from him. “I’m lucky.” You argue slightly. “You’re fucking amazing, doesn’t matter that you’re Dieter Bravo.” He looks surprised, but you continue on. “You’ve had an amazing life, yes, but you’re cool. You’re a lot chiller than people would expect and you’re a talented artist.” You point to the painting on his wall.

Dieter blushes, “thank you, sugar tits.” He says, unable to be too serious, and he winks at you. “Appreciate the praise. Genuine praise. I hate being sucked up to by fake fuckers.” He confesses, taking another bite of the naan with the sauce. “Anyway, I wanna talk about us. What do you want to do after this? I wanna fuck you but if you’re not cool with that, I have some gummies and popcorn and we can chill.”

“And miss out on experiencing that gorgeous dick of yours inside me?” You snort, rolling your eyes. “Baby, I’m high, not stupid.”

Dieter chuckles, “well then, eat up. You’ll need your energy for me to fuck you because I am not letting you out of my bed…unless you want to leave.” He adds. Dieter is all about consent and making sure everyone is enjoying themselves.

You laugh like what he’s said is hilarious and fork up another bite of the chicken and hold it out for him to have. “You need to eat too, old man.” You tease. “I’m going to fuck you until you pass out.”

“Promises, promises.” He teases and takes another bite of his butter chicken. “I am gonna hold you to that.” He nudges you as the movie you put on continues to play. He doesn’t care about that now. Too busy focusing on you.

“When was your last physical?” You ask. “I’m- I’ve not been with someone in a long time and if you’re clean….” You shrug. “I have an IUD but I understand if you want to use a condom. I would in your situation. Never know when some crazy bitch is gonna try to baby trap you.”

He nods, “oh trust me. It wasn’t reported but that’s happened a couple of times. I always use protection but you…I trust you. I am clean. I got tested last month and I haven’t been with anyone…too busy filming. I never get too crazy when I’m filming. I trust you. I want to cum inside of you.” He says, his dark eyes meeting yours.

You somehow doubt that Dieter doesn’t get crazy, although he seems like he’s changed since that Cliff Beasts 6 debacle. You shiver slightly at the raw want in his tone and imagine that he likes to play with his cum once he’s filled a partner. “Then I want to feel every raw inch of your cock driving into me.”

He groans, food forgotten. He was nearly finished anyway. He sets his plate down and reaches down to squeeze his hardening cock through his sweats. “Fuck me, you’re perfect.” He whispers, eyes wide as he looks at you in awe.

“And you’re a horn dog.” You tease, setting your own plate down and pulling his shirt over your head to toss it off and pick up the pen. “I’m going to find your room so I can get fucked in your bed.” You tease, swaying your hips as you stroll towards the stairs. “Come get me.”

Dieter grins, shoving his sweats down his legs after he stands up from the sofa. He looks back at the food, not caring if it’s left, he just wants you. He chases you up the stairs, a little slower than he used to use up them, especially after food. He finds you in his room, already spread out on the bed and the pen in your hand. “Wanna paint this. Paint you.” He admits as he wraps his fingers around his cock, slowly jerking his length as he hardens while eying your tits.

“Maybe I’ll pose for you.” You inhale another hit and smile lazily as you blow it out. “Do you want the painting to have my cunt cum filled or waiting to be fucked?” You ask, spreading your legs and showing him your wet folds.

“Definitely cum filled. Like a Twinkie.” He says seriously, making you giggle. He steps closer to the bed, kneeling on the edge and he reaches for the pen. “You ready for me, or you need me to finger that tight little hole?” He asks, wanting to make sure you’re comfortable.

“Fuck.” You groan, reaching up and squeezing your tit as you watch him take another hit. You will have to replace the cartridge but tonight is worth it. “You have such fucking big hands.” You bite your lip. “But I’m going to want you inside me right now.” You admit. “Might want to feel it tomorrow if you fuck me right.”

“Then it will be me giving you a massage.” He says as he waggles his eyebrows and tosses the pen onto his nightstand. He pushes your thighs apart a little more so he can kneel between them, gripping his cock. He slides the head between your folds, loving the way you moan for him when he nudges your clit, then he slides his cock lower and starts to push into you.

Your mouth drops open and it’s a struggle to keep your eyes from rolling back as he starts to slide inside of you. Feeling better than any toy you’ve used in the past couple of years and stretching you out deliciously. “Oh fuck, Dieter.” You moan, hand drifting up to his shoulder. “You- fuck, you feel so good. That dick is- fuck.” Your walls clench down around him and you giggle when he curses.

His hands trail along your waist as he pushes into you until he’s fully inside of your hot, wet cunt. “Jesus Christ.” He hisses, his hands squeezing your tits as he looks down at you. “Like a goddamn velvet glove.” He murmurs, exhaling shakily to try and control himself.

You whine at his filthy praise, loving how raspy he gets as he grinds into you even more and lets you adjust. You bring your leg up to drape over his hip and it sends him deeper inside you. “Fuck, your cock is huge.” You moan. “I can feel you in my stomach.”

He shifts to rest his weight on his elbows, rocking into you with a groan. “Cos you’re so tight.” He hisses as you rock your hips up to meet his. “So fucking good. Squeezing me already.” He pants, leaning down to kiss along your neck.

You had heard that Dieter was a good lover, maybe a bit selfish, but you are enjoying yourself. The relaxed pace is almost lethargic and yet you love every second of it. It’s almost like he’s making love to you but you don’t think of it that way. This is just a slow, sedate way to learn from each other and enjoy the sex.

He inhales the scent of your perfume mixed with the heady scent of the pen you’ve been smoking. The high curls around you both as he pushes into you. He grabs your other thigh, lifting it higher so he sinks impossibly deeper inside of you.

Moaning becomes like breathing, every time you feel him rock in and out of you, another one comes out. Your hands stroke up and down his back as he moves, sometimes pushing deep and massaging a particularly troublesome spot on his back.

“Goddamn.” He hisses when you massage his back. Your talented hands makes him feral. He wants to feel you cum around him. He lowers his hips, grinding into you, trying to find the spot that makes you cry out.

You squeal when he pushes deep and your entire body jerks in pleasure. “Oh fuck!” You moan, scratching his back accidentally. “That’s- fuck, that’s so good.”

He repeats the action, wanting you to cum for him. The pleased look on your face makes him twitch inside of you. “There?” He asks and you nod, your hands sliding down to his ass to push him deeper. “That’s it, baby. That’s it. Want you to cum for me.”

There is something about sex while you are high that is just amazing. You feel everything so much more vividly, or at least you think you do. Your entire body is relaxed and maybe that helps you not worry about cumming, you aren’t thinking about anything but the way he feels inside you. “So good, so deep.” You whine, kissing along his shoulder.

He hisses when you playfully nip at his skin. “That’s it. Jesus, so good. Want you to cum for me.” He repeats, desperate to feel you soak his cock. His hips adjust again, pressing his pelvis to your clit to add friction.

It doesn’t take much longer at that angle for him to make you cum. One more thrust after your body twitches sends you over the edge with a loud moan of his name. “Deeeeeiter.” You cry, cunt spasming around his cock in an intense orgasm that spirals pleasure through your core.

He grunts when you clench down around his length, making him hiss your name. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He pants, working you through it even with you squeezing him like a vice. He pulls out of you after you relax beneath him, wanting to make this last. “Hands and knees.” He orders, gently slapping your thigh.

You whine, reluctant to flip over but you do. Head down on the bed and you wiggle your ass at Dieter. “Are you going to cum?” You ask breathlessly.

“Going to but I want to watch your ass jiggle before I make you cum again. Then I’ll cum.” He promises, pumping his cock. He shuffles closer and notches his cock at your entrance, pushing into you with a groan.

You grunt in pleasure, eyes slipping closed and you could lay right like this for the rest of the night with his cock pumping into you. It actually sounds like heaven. “Fuck. You feel even bigger like this.”

He caresses your back as you stretch out and he slides his hand down to smack your ass. “Feel so fucking good.” He groans, pushing into you.

You cry out softly, enjoying the slight sting. “Again.” You gasp out. “Slap my ass again, baby, please.”

He repeats the action again, loving the way you cry out his name and your walls flutter around him. “Good girl.” He coos, “taking me so well.” He praises you and caresses your back.

Your fingers twist into his silk sheets and you push back against his thrusts, wanting to make sure he also enjoys himself after making you cum so hard.

“That’s it. Shit. Squeezing me like - fuck. So good.” He moans, his jaw dropping and his earring swings against his earlobe as he picks up the pace. “Jesus.” He hisses, “so wet.”

You moan softly, pushing back against him again and squeezing him tight when you clench. You love that he is so unabashed in his love of sex. Of the physicality of it. “Cum for me baby.” You gasp out. “Fill me up.”

“No. No. Want - need you to cum again.” He pleads, snaking his hand beneath you to find your clit. He desperately wants you to cum for him. He needs you to clench down on his cock then he will fill you up.

You moan, eyes rolling back as his thick fingers find your swollen clit and he begins to rub frantic circles around it. Almost too rough to feel good, your body responds to it anyway, keyed up from the previous orgasms and your entire body lurches in pleasure as you shout.

His eyes roll into the back of his head as he pushes deep into you while you clamp down around his cock. His fingers rubbing your clit for a little longer to extend your orgasm before it becomes too much for him. He groans, dropping his hand from your pussy to grab your hips, keeping you still and upright as he thrusts into you. His jaw is clenched, grunts escaping his lips as he seeks his own orgasm and after a half dozen thrusts, it happens. He pants, jaw open as the climax hits him and he paints your walls with his hot cum. “Fuckkkkk” escapes his lips in a low and long groan.

The heat of his spend fills you, making you moan as he pumps wave after wave of his cum into you. Painting your walls like he had painted the orgy downstairs. “Oh god.” You whimper, eyes rolling back. “That - you’re so good baby, so fucking good.”

He grunts, working himself through his orgasm until he slumps over you. Cock twitching still inside of you, he kisses along your skin and moans your name softly. “Fucking perfect.” He murmurs, “so fucking perfect.” He sighs as he fully relaxes for the first time in forever. Between your massage, the weed, and your pussy, he’s ready for bed.

“Yes, you are.” You tease, giggling slightly as you are sprawled under him. Pretty soon you will have to go home, although you’ve smoked more than you should and will have to call an Uber. “God, I feel so relaxed.” You hum. “I’m going to go right to bed when I get home.”

"Stay." Dieter murmurs, exhausted and he doesn't want you to go. "Stay with me and you can leave in the morning. I- I don't want to be alone." He confesses, "don't- I don't want to be alone."

Your heart melts and you sigh softly, wishing you could reach back and stroke his back or hair. “I’ll stay.” You promise. “I’ll stay with you. You don’t have to be alone.”

He kisses your back, knowing he shouldn't get too attached but this is what he does. He latches on until the person pushes him away and ultimately leaves him. You will do that too so he will take what he can get. He sighs and pulls out of you, shuffling off of the bed to grab the rags he has prepared in the nightstand. He hands it to you and you snort when you see the towel. "You had 'Dieter's Cum' engraved on your towels?" You ask and he chuckles, "I got too much money."

“Yes, you do.” You laugh as you clean up and look around for a basket to toss it in. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” You ask. “Need to pee after you destroyed my insides,” you tease.

Dieter chuckles and flops down on his bed, pushing his hair back from his face as he relaxes into his plush mattress. "Fuck me." He murmurs to himself, knowing he wants this to become a regular occurrence.

You laugh as you disappear into the doorway that you hope is his en-suite. “I just did.” You throw over your shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re ready for round two?”

He shakes his head, "too old for that. Maybe ten years ago, I'd be getting it up for you again." He calls out and closes his eyes, folding his arms behind his bed.

His bathroom is massive and stunning in a modern way. The bathtub makes you moan, imagining riding Dieter in it or just soaking. You go to the bathroom and smirk when you see that Dieter is already asleep. You pick up his t-shirt and slip it on before leaving the room. You had left the food in the living room and it needs to be put away.

Dieter is out when you come back into his room, and you slide under his expensive duvet, passing out not long after you get settled. You curl around him in your sleep and he sighs as he breathes you in, at peace.

****

“Holy fucking shit, that’s it right there, baby!” Dieter groans loud enough that the entire lot hears him. His groan is caused by your talented hands and he hisses when you dig the palms of your hands into his muscles.

You laugh quietly, amused by his reaction, but you target that spot. It’s tense and you want to tell Dieter that he needs to find a good chiropractor as well. Not that you don’t love massaging him everyday, but you can tell that his back is in need of a good adjustment. “That good, baby?” Your use of the affection is much quieter, aware that Dieter wouldn’t want it known that he was fucking his masseuse.

"Soooo fucking good." He groans, "so fucking good." He repeats as you work his sore back. You've been massaging him for a couple of months now, sleeping with him for nearly as long and he hasn't even thought about going with another person. You hang out with him in the evenings, coming to his home, and eating dinner with him. "You want - fuck - Chinese food tonight?" He asks you.

You hum, knowing that he has another scene he has to get in the can tonight. “You’re going to be later.” You remind him. “What if….how do you feel about your maid letting me in and I cook?” You have been dreaming of cooking in his kitchen, but haven’t wanted to overstep. “If you want me to wait for you, I understand.”

Dieter raises his eyebrows at the thought of a home cooked meal. "Sounds good to me, honeybuns. You cook what you want. Use my card to buy the shit." He orders and groans when you push on his lower back. He got you a card to use for the food delivery. He trusts you, knowing you wouldn't risk your job in this town.

“My treat.” You insist, knowing that Dieter is used to others using him and casually insisting on him paying, but since the first night, he’s not let you pay for a meal. You can fix him one meal and pay for the ingredients. “You can come home and relax.” You promise. “Dinner will be waiting.” Your grin, which he can’t see, is teasing. “Maybe another massage in your future.”

“With a happy ending?” He asks, eyes hopeful as he lifts his head to look at you. “With a guaranteed happy ending.” You promise and he grins, “that’s why I fucking love you.” He says offhandedly, groaning when you dig your fists into his back.

Your eyes widen slightly and you try not to read anything into it. Dieter is affectionate and cuddly, but you know he doesn’t mean it. You just stay quiet and continue to work his back over. “Do you want me to spend the night?” You’ve started carrying an overnight bag in your car everyday.

“Of course.” He snorts as he stares at the carpet of his trailer. “Wanna try that new toy on you. The one I ordered last week?” He smirks, cock twitching at the thought of seeing it inside of you

You have been so surprised by the sexual exploration. You had imagined that he’s seen it all and done it all, but there are always new ways for him to make sex fun. “That sounds good.” You hum. “I’ll go over after I get done with you here and pick up the groceries.”

“Sounds good, baby.” He sighs, closing his eyes. He’s honestly never been more relaxed in both body and mind. You’ve proven to be the secret weapon in him channeling the role to provide the director with the performance of a lifetime.

****

“Fuck….Deeeeee.” You squirm, wanting to close your thighs but it would just add to the sensation. “It’s- it’s not as good as your cock.” You whine, looking up at him for mercy as he smirks down at you.

“You can give me one more.” He tuts, looking down at where the toy is disappearing inside of you. “Come on baby. One more then I’ll give you what you want. I’ll fuck you hard if you beg for it.” He promises, working the toy into your pussy.

Whoever said Dieter only cared about himself in bed was a fucking liar. He’s greedy, he’s gluttonous but he loves making you cum for him. Getting high on the pride that your cries give him. “Baby, I can’t.” Shaking your head, you try to rock your hips up. “Need you. Need your cock.”

“You can. You can do it. Come on, cum again for me, sweet cheeks.” He pleads, “want to see it one more time on the toy.” He curls the toy inside of you, working it a little faster.

He is so demanding. Making you bite your lip and your eyes flutter closed as he pushes your body closer to the edge. “Dee- Dieter.” You pant quietly, fingers curling into the sheets.

“Fuck yes. Always so pretty when you cum.” He groans, leaning in to kiss along your neck as you clamp down on the toy. “Love seeing you like this. You relax me so much. Want to do the same for you.” He murmurs, biting down on your earlobe.

You whine, he has discovered your love of biting and he uses it every chance he could. Shuddering and shivering as you continue to cum around the toy. “Dee, baby, I need you. I need you to fuck me.” You beg. You are addicted to him, honestly falling for him and wanting this all the time.

He slowly pulls the toy out of you and he shifts to kneel between your legs. “How do you want me?” He asks, biting his lip as he grips his cock and slides the leaking head through your folds. He nudges your clit and loves the way you gasp with sensitivity.

“Filling me up.” You moan, lifting your leg and sliding it along his hip. “Want to feel you tomorrow when I’m rubbing your back.”

He can’t deny you, loving the way you moan as he rubs your clit. He takes pity on you a few moments later, sliding his cock down and pushing into you in one thrust. Groaning your name at the way you grip him already, so wet from your precious orgasms.

“Fuck!” You squeal, walls clenching down around him and your legs wrapping around his waist. “So big, you always beat the toys.”

Dieter grins cockily, shifting your body up so he can lift your legs onto his shoulders. You’re quite flexible and he loves twisting you around. “Good. Wanna - wanna be better than the toys. Keep you cumming on my cock over and over again.” He declares as he pushes into you with a groan.

“You just- you say that because I cooked you dinner.” You chuckle breathlessly. After you had left the set, you had stopped by the grocery store and Maria, his housekeeper, had let you in. It had been very domestic, cooking for the actor and you had loved how he had raved about the home cooked meal and even had seconds.

"Best way to a man's heart." He teases without thinking too much about his words. He leans in to press his lips to yours, sloppily sliding his tongue into your mouth as you cross your ankles behind his back.

You whine, loving how he is folding you over. The man had been practically giddy when he had learned how flexible you are and it had been a bit of a work in progress, but you had gotten him to stretch with you. He had said it was just your hands that make his back feel better, but the stretches you have him doing with you in the mornings you stay over also help. You kiss him back, wondering once again if it's a slip of the tongue, or if Dieter is trying to tell you something without saying the words. You caress his back and love how he throbs deep inside you, knowing that as soon as he starts to move, you are going to be screaming his name.

He rocks his hips, pushing into you, and you moan into his mouth. “That’s it baby. That’s it. Fuckkkk.” Dieter groans against your chin as he pulls back slightly. His hips rocking again until they press against your ass. It’s so fucking good. The way you take him, whatever he gives you. More intoxicating than any drink or drug he’s ever tried.

You’re going to miss this when he gets bored, when he finds another shiny thing or person to capture his attention. You think it’s because of proximity. You’ve seen it amongst crew and actors before. For now, you soak up the pleasure greedily. “More baby.” You beg, gasping out as he pushes deep. “Love it.”

He loves the way you beg for more, rocking into you a little faster, shifting you so you are bent over even more. His hips slapping against your ass as he fucks you hard, grunts escaping his lips as he rocks into you with one mission only: to make you orgasm.

Dieter fucks you like nothing else in the world exists. You love the blown out look of his eyes, focused on you. The grunts and pants as he works himself deep into your gasping cunt and feeling him twitch when you spasm around him. “Fuck!”

“Jesus.” He hisses, “fucking - shit - yes. Want you to cum for me. Wanna feel that pussy soak my cock. Wanna feel you cream.” He demands, rocking into you even faster, truly fucking you hard and fast.

You squeal and cry out every time his cock punches into you. Toes curling as you take every harsh thrust and love it. “D-D-Deeeeeeee!” You scream his nickname and soak his cock when you finally cum, slashing your cum up onto his stomach from how hard you break.

“Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.” He hisses, “that’s - shit. You’ve soaked me.” He groans in surprise and he works you through it. “Fuck baby.” He hisses, the sound of your sopping pussy echoes in the bedroom, his hips smacking your wet skin. “Oh shit. I’m gonna cum.” He admits, knowing he won’t last when you squirted all over him.

“Cum- fuck, fill me up.” You might have developed a cum kink with Dieter, loving having him drip out of you. If it weren’t for you keeping things professional on set, you would beg him to fill you up during his lunch.

“Yes. I’m gonna - I’m gonna - oh fuck.” He groans, pushing deep inside of you as he starts to spill against your fluttering walls. “Shitttt.” He hisses while he twitches inside of you, “so fuck- fucking good.”

You look up at Dieter, watching his face as he cums. He looks so good with his face relaxed in bliss. “That’s it baby.” You coo softly. “Fuck you feel so good.”

He rocks through it until he slumps above you, his face buried in your neck. “Thank fuck they hired you to massage me. Best damn decision ever.” Dieter mumbles into your skin, making you chuckle.

You hum quietly and run your fingers through his hair. “I think so.” You agree softly. “Are you tired now?” You ask. “You have an early call time, right?”

Dieter nods, grunting as he pulls out of you. “Gotta clean up first. You soaked me. You squirted like that before?” He inquires, a smirk on his face.

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “No, but no one has folded me over like a fucking box with a dick as big as yours.” You huff, knowing he will love that.

Dieter grins, waggling his eyebrows as he shuffles off the bed to get you another one of his embroidered towels. “Just want to treat you right, baby.” He winks.

“Best sex I’ve ever had.” You admit easily. “And it doesn’t hurt that you are sweet.” It’s honestly surprising how sweet he is, but he is sometimes thoughtless, like all people.

He cleans you up and wipes himself off since you came all over his torso, and he tosses the towel across the room, holding his arm out for you to curl around him. He doesn’t want you to go home, he thinks that maybe he doesn’t want you to go home at all.

Most nights you spend in Dieter’s bed. You haven’t slept at your place in nearly two weeks and even then, Dieter had come over and stayed with you. “This is my favorite place to sleep.” You hum as you fold yourself into that space.

Dieter claps to turn off the lights and wraps his arm around you, leaning in to kiss your hair and he closes his eyes. He feels like his house has finally become a home and that terrifies him.

****

“So are you seeing anyone?” You try not to seem annoyed at the up and coming actor. He's sweet and it’s not like you’ve advertised you are with Dieter. “Yeah, um, I practically live with my boyfriend.” You explain, shrugging almost apologetically as you hand him one of your business cards. You are only here for Dieter but drumming up more business was never bad.

Dieter is behind you as you declare he’s your boyfriend and his heart stops. “Can we talk?” He asks you, and you nod, following him to his trailer. He shuts the door and spins around, “what the actual fuck? You just called me your boyfriend to some random. Do we - the fucking NDA?” He balks, “I can’t believe- are you looking for a free ride or something? You’ve practically moved in with me.”

You frown, mouth dropping open and you feel like you’re being attacked. “Dieter, I didn’t- I didn’t name you.” You try to remember exactly what you said when he’s glaring at you like you just gave an interview to The Sun. “I-I-I didn’t-“ Dieter scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You didn’t what? Say that you practically live with me?” He challenges and you shake your head. “No- I mean, yes, I did but I didn’t mean it like that.” You defend pitifully.

“So how did you mean it? I didn’t - I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t want you to become - Oh my fucking God. I can’t - you told some rando. Who else are you telling? Are you - are you doing some kind of exposé or some shit?”

“What? No!” You’re deeply offended by the mere idea of betraying him like that. “I said I had a boyfriend because he was trying to ask me out.” You hiss. “I don’t fuck someone else when I’m banging you.”

“What the fuck? I can’t - Jesus. I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have trusted you. I shouldn’t have trusted anyone.” He hisses at himself and he shakes his head, wanting to get high to forget about this bullshit.

You don’t know what the hell is going on and you don’t like the way Dieter is looking at you. “I haven’t done anything, Dee.” You reach out for him, but he jerks back, pulling away from you like you will infect him with something. You stop, hand outreached and drop it down by your side. “I- what does that mean?”

“You’re gonna sell my stories to the paper. Like the last girl did. That’s why I don’t give my heart away. I don’t - fuck. I shouldn’t have gotten so involved with you.” He chokes, shaking his head.

You can’t even form a response, feeling your heart break that he would believe that after all this time. Every damn day spent together and he would believe that? You bite your lip and move over to the massage table that is still standing in the same spot that it had been left over a month ago and you start to break it down.

Dieter stumbles over to his dresser, pulling out a baggie and he shoves two pills in his mouth, swallowing them dry. He watches you break down the table and he feels so stupid for thinking you might want him for more than his money, his sex appeal.

It’s hard to not cry, but you don’t want Dieter to think that it’s crocodile tears to get back into his good graces. You can’t believe that he’s doing this, that he acts like he doesn’t know you at all. The table is packed away into the bag and your candles and oil tucked into your purse. “Anything else, Mr. Bravo?” You ask tightly, knowing that you’re obviously going to be released from your contract.

He doesn’t answer you, just stares as blankly as he can manage even though he feels like he’s gonna be sick. He’s overreacted and he doesn’t realize it now but he will later when he’s struggling to sleep because he sent away the best thing that’s happened to him in so many years.

Walking out of Dieter’s trailer is horrible, waiting to say something else, but you can’t. You had fallen in love with him and he didn’t trust you. Making it to your car and storing the table in the trunk before you drive home on autopilot, sobbing when you pull up to Dieter’s house and have to drive another thirty minutes to actually go to your little used apartment.

Dieter arrives home and immediately reaches for the stash of drugs he has accumulated since he’s been sleeping with you. He found that he didn’t need them as much. He’s been…happy. To hear you say he’s your boyfriend terrified him. He hasn’t belonged to anyone for so long. He hasn’t had to commit and any sign of long term scares him off. He’s not ready to lose you and he scoffs at that thought. He already has.

Your apartment is dusty. You wince when you see that everything looks neglected and you’re pretty sure that there’s spoiled food in the fridge. You still don’t know why Dieter was so upset when you didn’t mention him by name, you wouldn’t have done that. Even without the NDA. Sighing to yourself, you drag a trash can over to the fridge to start cleaning it out so you can order food. After that, you’ll clean your apartment and figure out if you left anything over at the actor’s house.

Dieter isn’t sure how many days it’s been since he saw you last. He’s spiraling. Showing up to the studio high was the last straw and the director threatened to fire him if he didn’t get his shit together. His manager and assistant sit him down in his trailer and ask what the fuck is going in. “I miss her.” He sobs, “I- I want her back.”

“Who?” The manager is completely confused, not sure what the hell is going on. Dieter hasn’t been dating anyone. “Anika? She’s gone back to London, Dee.” He reminds the actor. “You said she didn’t want the same things you did.”

“No. No. Not Anika. Herrrr.” He sobs and his manager frowns, looking to his assistant for any insight. “Ohhh.” His assistant turns to look at his manager and he says your name. “The masseuse?” His manager frowns and Dieter sobs harder, “I want her back.”

“She’s under contract.” There is a particular kind of attitude that comes with Hollywood managers. “She hasn’t been showing up? I’ll sue her. She is contracted to finish out this movie as your masseuse.” He snorts. “She fucked up. This will ruin her reputation. She’ll be massaging walk-ins in a strip mall.”

“I- I sent her away. I fired her because - because I think I’m in love with her and that terrified me. I can’t. I can’t - oh shit. She’s gone because of me. I want her back. I need to get her back.” He scrambles for his keys, needing to find you and tell you he needs you.

“Whoa, whoa.” Holding out his hand, Dieter’s manager looks over at his assistant. “Do you know what the fuck is going on?” He asks, not used to seeing Dieter like this before. He went through relationships and flings like most people went through socks. “He and the masseuse were having sex.” Not that you told him, he could just tell from the way his boss was acting. He would never even tell that he had dropped off some papers one night and witnessed you and Dieter in his pool. His boss’s business was his own. “I have to give it to her, no one on set had a clue.”

Dieter is sobbing as he finds his keys, wiping his eyes. "I need to find her." He chokes, "I need her." He admits to himself and his team while he's in a spiral thinking he's lost you forever. He turns to his manager, "she didn't - I begged her to have sex with me and now - now I've lost her because I was scared. I gotta find her." He shoves his feet into his crocs and makes his way out of his trailer without a glance back as he tries to find you.

The past two weeks have been miserable, making you miss the set, the people that you had become friends with. Mostly, you missed Dieter. You had so quickly fallen for him, even if you hadn’t realized it at the time. Winding him through your entire day until you were thrown away. You’ve been sulking, but you can’t stay inside your house another minute, booking yourself your own massage and slowly getting ready for your appointment.

Dieter drives to your place, having found it in his GPS history, and he pulls up outside. His stomach is twisting and he feels sick. "Fuck." He mutters to himself as he gets out of the car and makes his way to your front door, knocking on it and shifting awkwardly in his crocs.

Frowning, you pick up your bag and move to the door, wondering who is knocking. You had ordered groceries last night. “Dee?” You gasp in shock when you see the actor standing in your doorway. “What are you- what do you want?” You ask, holding the door and looking around your landing. You know that if he flipped out about mentioning a boyfriend, he wouldn’t want to be spotted here at your apartment again.

"Oh thank God you're here." He says and pushes into your place. "I - I fucked up." He admits, shaking his head. "Did you leave something here?" You ask with a frown. "Yeah. My heart. You took it with you. I don't want it back. I want you. I shouldn't have freaked out but I can't - everyone leaves me eventually and I pushed you away so I didn't have to be the one rejected. I love you. I - shit - I want to be your boyfriend."

You frown and shake your head. “Dieter, you told me to go. Accused me of betraying you by selling your story, of being some kind of gold digger.” You have worked your way round to upset now that he’s in front of you.

"I know. I - I'm fucked up. I can't - I don't want to lose you but I think - I already have, haven't I?" He murmurs, his eyes sad as he stares at you.

“Why?” You ask quietly. “Why didn’t you believe me? I- Dieter I never said anything to anyone about what we had. I never will.” You promise him. “I- loved spending time with you.” You admit, tears starting to build in your eyes. “And I honestly had just realized that I spent all my time at your house, like I had moved in.”

“I freaked out. I’ve been screwed over more times than you’d think by people who abused my status, wanting to use me and I- I panicked and thought maybe you were using me because there’s no way someone as incredible as you would actually want me.”

You snort and shake your head. “Me? You’re Dieter fucking Bravo. You’ve done things and won Oscars.” You huff. “But I don’t care if you are famous. I care that you’re cool. I love spending time with you.” You admit, biting your lip. “I love you.”

His eyes widen at your confession and he blinks several times as if he’s trying to process your admission. “Then it’s a good fucking thing I love you too.” He declared dramatically and surges forward to cup your cheek, his forehead pressed against yours. “I’m messed up, baby. I got more issues than Time magazine. You gonna want to put up with my shit?” He asks, his gaze dipping down to your lips.

You snort and shake your head. “I don’t mind your issues.” You hum and wrap your arms around him. “They aren’t bad. But talk to me. I’m on your side and I will always make sure that you are okay with something I do that could affect you. Personally or professionally.”

Dieter pulls you close with his other arm, his fingers caressing your cheek and he slowly leans in to press his lips to yours. The kiss is slow, unlike anything he’s ever done before honestly. He’s never felt like this and it’s intoxicating to know you want him. Even the ugly parts of him he tries to hide from the world.

Your fingers tangle into his hair and you let him take the lead. Giving his all as he kisses you and you respond in kind. Eyes slipping closed as you smile and feel your heart mending.

He groans, his hands sliding down to squeeze your waist. His tongue sliding against yours and he loves the way you lean into him. “I love you.” He murmurs when he pulls back, “come home with me.”

“Are you sure?” You ask softly. It’s not that you don’t want to believe that’s what he wants, but you don’t want him to feel like you’re taking advantage of him.

“Yes. I don’t want to sleep at night without you next to me.” He promises, his hands sliding lower to squeeze your ass. “And I want to fuck you. Want you to cum for me.”

You moan softly, cunt clenching and already starting to get wet just thinking about that. “I’ve missed you.” You promise. “The toys are never as good as you are.”

“No flesh tight could squeeze me like you do.” He promises as he waggles his eyebrows. “Missed you. Missed your sweet little pussy. I want - I need you right now.” He murmurs, kissing your jaw.

You giggle quietly and tilt your head to the side. “Did you come find me because you are horny?” You tease, knowing that it wouldn’t take much to find someone to fuck.

“Not just because of that.” He says defensively and you chuckle. “I want you. All of you. Your heart. Your mind. Your soul. Your pussy.” He smirks, reaching down to cup you through your leggings.

“Then why don’t you go get in my bed, Bravo?” You order with a grin, suppressing a moan when he presses against your clit. “I want to ride that stupidly handsome face of yours.”

He grins, wide and so fucking happy at the way you accept him and love him. He's so happy he didn't lose you to his stupidity. "Yes ma'am." He salutes after he pulls his hand away from your clit. He strips his threadbare shirt off and rushes into your bedroom, eager to touch more of you. He shoves his sweatpants down and his crocs go flying as he kicks them off and jumps on your bed.

You can’t help but laugh when you hear the mattress springs squeak. Undressing as you walk down the hall, you are treated to the sight of Dieter with his hand wrapped around his hard cock and you moan. “You look so good like that.”

Dieter smirks, watching you shove your panties down your legs as he squeezes his cock. "Come sit on my face so I can make you cum. Wanna taste you again." He demands, whining slightly.

“So impatient.” You chide. “I’m - oh shit, hang on.” You turn around and dart out of the room to call the masseur you had booked to let them know you weren’t going to be able to make it.

“Babyyyyy.” Dieter whines when you disappear, his cock aching and his mouth watering as he waits for you to come and sit on his face. “Come onnn.” He pleads pathetically, his feet hitting the bed as he lifts them impatiently.

“Hang on!” You call out, laughing at his petulance. “I need to cancel my appointment!” You fire off a text and know that he will charge your card for the cancellation fee, so it should be all good. Hurrying back to Dieter, you grin when you see him again. “Maybe I’ll tie you to my bed.” You tease.

Dieter nods, eyes wide. “Whatever you want to do to me, ma’am.” He promises, his cock twitching against his stomach as his gaze trails along your figure. “As long as you ride my face.” He pouts, pushing his lower lip out.

You had discovered that at times, Dieter enjoys being submissive. “Oh I’m going to, baby.” You coo. “I’ve been denied orgasms by your talented mouth, fingers and cock for two weeks.”

He is even more impatient for your pussy on his face so he sticks his tongue out as an open invitation to sit on his face. “Come on.” He mumbles with his mouth open.

You roll your eyes, even as you straddle his chest. “I love you.” You murmur, caressing his face and smirking as you shift forward to press your folds against his tongue, grabbing onto the headboard.

He groans when you settle on top of him, his tongue sliding through your folds eagerly. He wants to hear you moan for him again. His hands find your hips and he squeezes, encouraging you to take what you want.

You start to rock, moaning his name because you know how much of a praise whore Dieter is. He soaks it up like a drought parched river bed. “So good baby, missed that tongue.” You hum.

His cock dribbles pre-cum onto his belly but he doesn't give a fuck, he wants to show you how good he can be. He doesn't want to lose you. His fingers slide around to your ass, squeezing your cheeks and smacking them as you rock over his face.

“Oh fuck.” You whimper, closing your eyes and reaching down to palm your left breast. “I dreamed about you. Missed sleeping wrapped up with you. Missed touching you, massaging you.”

He loves hearing you declare that. His fingers slide into your ass crack, his index finger finding your puckered hole and he rubs it, loving the way you cry out at the new sensation.

Fucking Dieter is always filthy, your body lurching forward as his tongue slides deep into your cunt. Making you moan as his finger continues to massage your other entrance and you absolutely know he would tongue fuck you in either one depending on what you wanted. “Fuck, you’re so dirty, baby. You want my ass? I thought you missed my pussy.”

“Miss all of you.” He mumbles into your flesh, his lips caressing your clit while his finger works into your puckered hole. His tongue pushes back into your pussy, groaning at the tangy taste of your arousal and he desperately wants you to cum.

You whine and roll your hips, grinding down onto his tongue. “Dee, you are so fucking good baby.” You praise breathlessly, feeling so good as he pushes his finger works down to the knuckle.

He slides his tongue up to suck on your clit, loving the way you grind your cunt onto his face. Your thighs squeezing his head and his free hand comes up to cup your tit, pinching your nipple.

You gasp out, never surprised by Dieter but always overwhelmed by how desperately he wants you to cum. He’s groaning into your folds and you love it, gasping out his name again when he slides another finger into your ass

Dieter groans when you clench around his fingers, loving how unabashedly you seek your pleasure. One of the things he loves about you. His tongue is everywhere. Pushing into you, flicking against your clit. He wants you to fall apart above him.

It doesn’t take long for your thighs to burn, your core tightening in that warning of your impending orgasm. Your fingers curl around your head board tighter than before. “Dee!” You cry. “Gonna cum!”

He works harder, flicking his tongue over your clit like it’s the last thing he’s ever gonna do. He groans when you grind down onto him, thighs closing around his head and your fingers clamp down on his digits.

You close your eyes, riding the wave of pleasure as he apologizes through sex. Or maybe it’s make up sex, all you know is that it’s amazing. Making you moan and lean against the headboard when you are done, panting his name again and again.

He kisses the inside of your thighs as you relax above him. Slowly withdrawing his fingers from your ass, he sighs your name and lets you make the next move. He’s aching against his stomach but he doesn’t want to push for more when he’s the one that is apologizing.

You shuffle down, pressing your lips to his wet ones before you straddle his hips. “I haven’t slept with anyone.” You promise quietly, hoping he hadn’t either. You would need to use a condom if he had until he could be tested.

“No. I haven’t.” He promises, “I couldn’t - no one was you.” He declares and shakes his head, caressing your cheeks. “I love you. I couldn’t think about anyone else.”

“Good.” You smile down at him as you reach between you, lining yourself up to sink down on his cock slowly. Moaning when he starts to fill your aching pussy.

“Jesus fucking Christ. I’ve missed this.” He hisses as you sink down onto him and surround his cock with your slick, velvet walls. “That’s it baby. That’s - fuckkkk.” His hands find your hips, squeezing and caressing.

“Fuck, I love you.” You aren’t naive, knowing that a life with Dieter won’t be without problems and other issues in the future.

“I love you. I love you. I loveeee you.” He rambles as you start to move on top of him. His feet shuffle as you slowly work yourself on his cock. “God. Oh shit. You’re so good.” He chokes, “no one has made me feel like this before.”

You hum, smirking down at him and clenching so he whines again. He’s so responsive and you love it. Slowly rolling your hips as you feel him deep inside you. “You’re so deep, baby.” You moan.

“In your guts. Where I always wanna be.” He smirks, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he watches your tits bounce as you start to move a little faster. “Come on baby. Fuck. Ride me.” He demands, smacking your ass with his palm.

You love how Dieter stitches from needy to demanding at the drop of a hat, pressing your hands on his chest and starting to move faster. Moans pouring out of your mouth every time you slam back down on his thick cock.

“Yes yes yesss.” Dieter hisses when you rock back onto him and he reaches up to curl his fingers around your neck, dragging you down to bring your lips to his. His tongue immediately slides into your mouth.

You moan into his mouth, his tongue searching and insistent. You love kissing him and eagerly kiss him back. Grinding down on his length as you whine softly.

“That’s it baby.” He groans against your mouth, “use me. Want you to use me for your pleasure. Want you to cream all over my cock. Want you to - shit - never leave me.” He begs against your lips.

“I won’t.” You promise quietly, pulling back to stare into his eyes. “I’m yours, baby, I’m right here.” You know that he could leave, throw you out down the road, but you will promise this to him now.

“Never want you to go. Never want to lose you. I - shit - I love you, baby. So much. So fucking much. You get me. You know me. Even - even my bullshit.” He hisses as you clench around him, “love you.”

“Love you too, baby.” You smile as you kiss him again, knowing that he will cum soon.

****

“Dieter! Dieter! Who is your date!” You clutch his arm and try not to look too dazed by all the flashing cameras and people shouting. He makes this look easy and his charming laugh captures your attention so you look back at him, hair slicked back and his smirk proud as he puffs up in his tailored suit.

“My beautiful date is the love of my life. This movie was made because she kept my mind, my soul, my heart, and my body in perfect condition. She’s everything I have been looking for and I’m not letting her go.” He winks at you, “she massaged her way into my life and she’s here to stay.” He chuckles and the cameras go crazy when he leans in to kiss you. Putting the clause in his contract about having an on set masseuse was the best decision his team has ever made. Now though, that term is crossed out because he has you in his life to massage him whenever he needs. You are his personal masseuse and he is yours, whenever you want some reciprocation…although his massages always finish with a happy ending.

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo imagine #dieter bravo the bubble

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guywrestlingaddiction · 8 months ago

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Everything Great About a Match: Joshua Goodman v Randy Stanton (bgeast.com)

Everything Great About a Match: +8

Joshua Goodman v Randy Stanton (bgeast.com)

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.

So let's begin:

+1: For the fan fantasy match. It starts off as a wholesome outing with star-struck Randy being led to the wrestling mats by his idol and obsession, Mr.Joshua. Randy looks like he cannot contain his excitement at being offered a chance against the man, the myth, the legend himself. That's right, out of all the men on this planet, he picked you Randy - this is going to be an epic day for you.

Randy: *Gulp* This is hot, what you got in here?!

+1: Definitely worth a point to spotlight Mr.Joshua and Randy's chiseled, statuesque bodies. Mr.Joshua is a ripped, muscled mountain of perfection and while Randy's got muscles for days, standing next to Joshua is a exercise in futility - the guy puts everyone to shame.

Joshua: Hey. Six packs are for amateurs, this my friend is an 8 pack!

Randy: Hey I'm working on it...

+1: Joshua play wrestling with the fan. I love how Mr.Joshua gives his fans the full heel treatment by letting them think they have the upper hand only to crush them. In fact, Randy even rallies a come back or two. I mean, we are talking about Mr.Joshua here, the guy is a wrestling god and to see him lure an unsuspecting rookie, later to crush his dreams and discipline him like a misbehaving child is worth a point.

Mr.Joshua: Yeah feel that chest. You like that don't you?

Does Randy have the upper hand or is this a trap ready to spring into action?

Mr.Joshua: It hurts, it hurts. Randy: Now you know what I felt like.

Mr.Joshua: Damaging my pecs?! I'm going to kick your ass for that.

+1: Dirty talk. Mr.Joshua knows he's the man. He knows when a guy wants him and he knows that Randy is aching for this domination. We all want Mr.Joshua but Randy gets some 'special' treatment here. I can't recall him indulging his opponent with seductive talk as much as he does here.

Mr.Joshua: I know you like that. You like those balls in your face! Who's the man? Randy: ... You are...

Mr.Joshua: I bet that gets you going. Those big thighs.

Randy helplessly squirming under the domination. Mr.Joshua: I know you like that. You like that, it turns you on!

Mr.Joshua: Look at you. Look at that package in the mirror...

+1: Mr.Joshua forces him to worship the body that dominated him. Randy is hurt and curled up in the fetal position only to be dragged back to his senses and forced to worship the man.

Mr.Joshua: That's it. Good. Worship that body.

Randy is looking mighty small against the adonis Mr.Joshua!

+1: Some of us wait for a perfect sunset, others wait for that perfect moment during the match. It's that moment when Mr.Joshua graces us with his sexy signature move - the "Adjustment".

+1: Randy gets owned in all the best ways. There's a moment, around submission #50 when Randy simply goes with it all. This match is not going the way he wanted it to go and he clearly has no chance against the muscle adonis, Mr.Joshua. So instead of fighting back, he is overcome with defeat and simply offers himself up to his dominator. Mr.Joshua says pose for me and Randy eagerly complies.

[+1] Bonus point for Randy's reaction to it all. The guy is in unconscious ecstasy here and nearly begs to be put away by Mr.Joshua.

Randy: *Muffled* Fuck... I submit.

Mr.Joshua: Flex for me. Show me your best pec.

------- Everything Great About this Match: +8

So there you have it. This is an instant classic match with a brutal beat down. While Randy might be sore in the morning, all he'll remember is Mr.Joshua giving him the time of his life. Randy follows Mr.Joshua on to the mat hoping to put through the ringer and our heel does not leave him hanging. By the end, all those tips from Mr.Joshua about building muscle are thinly veiled distractions to pump up our jobber only to have his world crash around him like a huge set of biceps chocking him out.

And with that I leave you with our final 'Adjustment' for the night.

Mr.Joshua: If only you were awake to see this...

#gay wrestling #bgeast.com #Joshua Goodman #Randy Stanton

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livlaughloveluke · 1 year ago

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𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞- 𝐞.𝐥

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you fall in love with a murderer, and have to choose between living a life with out him, or dying

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: HEAVY angst, no happy ending (sorry), ghostface au, little cursing, scream 6 spoilers ig, death :(

𝐚/𝐧: my first writing!! lmk what y’all think 👀 theme heavily inspired by @auras-moonstone, which go check her blog out if you haven't already! also story very similar to author on wattpad, forgot their name though so if you know, make sure to comment!

your feet ached from running, and with every step you took, it felt like your muscles were snapping into itty-bitty pieces. however, you had to keep running, for yourself, and for your friends.

you were currently being chased by two ghostfaces, who had just brutally murdered chad. it was painful to watch, since you had been attached at the hip since kindergarten, and had grown up together.

he was always there for you, and was a great listener. he listened to you when you needed to vent about your shitty day, or when you were rambling on about how cute and thoughtful ethan was.

you met ethan at the beginning of the semester, and instantly clicked. you constantly hung out, and the group liked to joke about your crushes on one another. you just thought it was playful teasing, although you had definitely fallen for ethan, hard.

unbeknownst to you, he had felt the same. originally, you and him were never supposed to happen. the plan was for him to join the group through chad, and continue the family business from there. although, once he heard your angelic laugh and experienced your lovable personality, he knew the whole plan was fucked.

however, none of that matters now, as you stand in front of detective bailey. he had just revealed himself as one of the heartless killers, and the other murders still had their masks on, and stood next to him proudly.

then, he took off his disguise.

it was ethan. your ethan. the one who you baked cookies with only a few nights ago, was a serial killer, and wanted your blood.

you couldn’t focus on the others words, all you could do was stare at ethan. he however, was to much of a coward to even glance your direction. he couldn’t bear the thought of your eyes being stained with sadness and betrayal.

you were quickly brought back to reality as all hell broke loose. quinn chased after the sisters, bailey after kirby, and ethan after you.

you pushed your sore and aching legs down a dim hallway, only to find a dead end. it was over for you. no where to run, you turned around to look at ethan, and backed into the cold, concrete wall.

“so, this is it? you’re just going to kill me now, after everything we’ve been through?” you ask with an aggravated tone, your words still lingering in ethans ears, much after they were said.

“i- i dont want to do this to you, y/n. but i have to. its for richie, for the family.” he grips the knife, and slowly brings it up to your throat. you tense up, and squeeze your eyes shut.

this is how you were going to die, bleeding out at the hands of the boy you loved most. it felt unreal, although you were starting to except your fate. you internally jumped at the feeling of the tip of the knife to your throat, and now you were waiting for him to end your life with one stroke.

you kept waiting, for what felt like an eternity, but nothing ever came. you decided to open your eyes out of curiosity. he was standing still, looking down at the ground, deep in thought.

“do it. please, don’t drag my death on. the least you can do is make it quick. kill me, ethan.” you say, the tremble in your voice very prominent. the sound of your whispers catches him off guard, and he looks up from the floor to make eye contact with you.

ethan broke upon hearing your pleads. what was he doing? he loved you, more than he loved his father or sister. you made him feel special, in a way no other family member could.

“I can’t do it.” he says, dropping the knife and beginning to sob into his hands. you look at him, both confused and distraught, until your attention is brought elsewhere. sam was covered in blood behind him, a knife in hand. she brought a finger up to her lips, signaling you to be quiet so she could attack him.

you didn’t want him to die, but you knew he had to. you quickly embraced him, arms around his neck, standing on your tallest tiptoes, due to his abnormally large height.

you dig you head into his neck, between your arm, and began to cry with him.

“you dont know how bad i want this to be a dream.” you managed to choke out, in between sobs. “i wish i could wake up in your arms, and everything could go back to normal.” you say, still hugging him, for this would be the last time.

you pick your head up to look at sam, signaling to her that it was time. you bury your head back into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes, waiting. you then hear the knife plunge into his skin, and you feel the vibrations of his muffled shrieks along your skin.

you decide to continue talking, trying to help him through the pain, while sam retracts the weapon from his back and goes to stab him again.

“i wish i could wake up from this nightmare, and we could go back to studying econ on thursdays, and getting milkshakes at our favorite diner while we talk and laugh for hours.” you exclaim with a depressing and heartfelt tone.

“remember when you were walking me back to my apartment late one night, and we saw a stray cat? and you sat there for the next 10 minutes, feeding it scraps out of the palm of your hand?” you recite to him, and he nods slowly, while in pain.

“thats the ethan i fell in love with. he would never do anything like this, and he was the most selfless guy i knew. he would spend hours researching the perfect flower to get, and would make sure to text me every morning and night to check on me.” you share, and start to feel his body go limp, and all color he once had, slowly drained from his soul.

“i love you, so much y/n. i wish things were different.” he stutters out, before going unconscious.

“me too.” you say, laying his body down on the ground. tears spilling from your eyes, and onto his lifeless cheek.

that was it. there was no more ethan and y/n. you would have to live a life without him. no more sleeping in his bed while you ran your fingers through his hair, no more sweet messages, no more song recommendations. apart of you had died that day, and it killed knowing that he would never come back.

#jack champion #ethan landry smut #ethan landry angst #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #jack champion x y/n #jack champion x reader #liv’s writing !

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shveris · 7 months ago

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rant about 261, spoilers, gojo character analysis ft. my bestie who doesn’t even know a lot abt jjk

imagine growing up in a family that almost works like a cult. and you are born with two rare abilities at the same time — the last person to have those simultaneously has passed 500 years ago. and your whole ass family/cult/clan treats you like just a weapon to be used in the greater scheme of things. you grow up with no friends, you only know pain and torture and sore muscles after training. but you’re the strongest. and the most loneliest because no one will ever understand you.

then you get into a school that promises to teach you even more, make you even stronger. you meet this one guy who seems to be like you — not the same but similar. suddenly you’re not alone anymore.

the second year of highschool approached, you have the best two friends by your side and they understand you, they support you, they have your back. your principal sends you on a mission with your best friend because you’re the strongest together. together.

everything goes well until it doesn’t, you get killed. you revive yourself. you kill your killer.

you carry the corpse of a girl you called your friend and almost lose it.

septemper 28th, your best friend massacres a village and leaves you his button as a silent love confession. they want you to kill him but you can’t, he’s your other half — he made you feel complete because all you knew your whole life was bitter and cold loneliness.

a decade passes, you’re grown up and still the strongest, you’re teaching at the school you lost your happiness at. one of the students you saved from being killed — by yourself — and he looks up at you with so much respect, it makes you wonder how you can protect the children under your care forever. you’ll certainly try your best.

your other half suddenly turns up and declares war. you remain mostly silent.

the fight was pure chaos but you find your way to him anyway — because you belong together. you tell him you love him. he laughs. you kill him. you can’t even burn his body.

another year passes, you’ve taken in another boy who ate curses like your dead best friend. they told you to kill him (a mere child) and you said no because you were always selfish. you were certain you could protect this boy until it was time to execute him for good. you just wanted him to have a chance at teenagehood, something you never had the chance to experience properly.

the days get colder and you get trapped. those eyes stare at you, your other half, who should be dead, as the prison closes around you. it reeks of death. you wait.

the second you get released, you teleport to his body. you want to kill whatever is using the corpse of that man but the body of the boy you saw as your own son stopped you.

on 24th of december you fight who was once your son and he kills you — cut in half, with a cleave so powerful it could shred the universe itself. but it was okay because when you opened your eyes, you saw your other half.

the first boy you protected and guided took over your corpse, using as what you were always meant to be: just a weapon.

no one seemed to care about a proper burial after you fought for your life just to save theirs; to protect them from any more harm so they could just be kids.

none of that mattered to them because everyone has always seen you as a weapon, except for your other half, sitting next to you in that empty airport.

i kinda just dropped this in his dms a few hours after the initial leaks. it’s actually pathetic how attached i am to a fictional character, the last time that happened was with oikawa and i was a hormonal teenager. i’m a whole ass adult now but still the same level of mentally ill and neurodivergent so guess that’s the perfect mix to make this happen

some more thoughts from our convo (i love him for trying to distract me):

#shveris’ blue spring #i’m going insane #i’m losing my mind #i’m extremely unwell #what if i kms #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjkspoilers #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugu

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legolasbadass · 5 months ago

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Italian Holiday, Part II

Summary: A few weeks before Richard leaves for Boston, he and Lorelei go on holiday in Italy to make the most of the summer and the time they have left together.

This story takes between the penultimate and last chapter of Office Hours and contains major spoilers for that story, so make sure you read it first!

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 2.8K

Rating: T

A/N: Thank you for the lovely comments! Given the interest in this little story, here's another chapter:)

Read on AO3

The sun is already high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the room through the pale, billowing curtains when I wake the next morning. A contented sigh escapes my lips as I stretch, feeling the pleasant soreness in my muscles—a reminder of the passionate night we shared. Rolling over, I stretch out my hand towards Richard, but the space next to me is empty. I frown, but just as I sit up on the bed, I notice him making his way toward me from the kitchen, two mugs in his hands.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed and hands me one mug. “How did you sleep?”

I take a long sip of tea, which he has prepared exactly to my liking, then smile at him. “I slept very well. You?”

“Same here. Though it did get quite warm at one point…” he answers with a playful twinkle in his eyes, causing me to chuckle.

“It’s not my fault your chest is so comfortable,” I say sheepishly.

Richard grins before he leans in to kiss me, his beard gently scratching my skin.

“What time is it?” I ask, stifling a yawn.

“Just past ten.”

“Oh, you should have woken me up earlier!”

“Well, I only woke up myself around thirty minutes ago,” he explains, taking a sip of his coffee. “Plus, I figured we could both take it slow this morning. We had a long day yesterday… and a long night.”

Warmth floods my cheek as I gaze back into his deep blue eyes. “So, are we going to the beach this morning?”

He chuckles at the obvious change of subject. “Absolutely! I believe you were supposed to bring a very revealing bikini for the occasion?”

I playfully push his shoulder. “I brought a bikini. Well, two, actually. And they both offer nice coverage.” He pouts. “The girls need some support.”

“I’ll support them for you.”

I burst out laughing. “Get your head out of the gutter, Armitage.”

Smirking, Richard leans in and kisses me once more, his lips soft and slow against mine. Unable to resist him, I deepen the kiss, parting my lips as I caress the line of his bearded jaw with my fingertips, but then my stomach growls indiscreetly, and he pulls away with a chuckle.

“I should get some breakfast in you.” He raises a hand to tuck a tangled lock behind my ear. “We forgot to stop by the shop yesterday—can you make it to the nearest cafe?”

In response, I playfully bite his hand.

He laughs. “Alright, we better hurry, then.”

Smiling to myself, I watch him rise from the bed, grateful that he did not seem to think it necessary to wear anything more than his boxers. After getting dressed, we make our way to the nearest cafe, a charming spot on the corner of a narrow street a few minutes away from our flat. We enjoy delicious pastries and coffee in the shade of the colourful terraced houses, then walk toward the beach, which is already crowded with sunbathers and swimmers. My feet sink into the warm sand, and though it is not yet noon, my whole body already feels sticky from the heat. Luckily, we soon find two vacant sunbeds under a large beach umbrella.

I take off my dress after laying out my towel on one of the sunbeds, feeling Richard’s gaze on me, but before I can reach for the sunscreen, he takes it from our bag and gestures for me to turn around, causing me to chuckle. I could easily do this myself, of course, but why would I refuse him when he eagerly volunteers? In any case, I know his intentions are not entirely selfless, especially when one of his large hands lingers over my bum before playfully squeezing it as he presses a kiss onto my temple.

“Richard!” I exclaim, though I cannot help but giggle. “Anyone could see you!”

“Let them,” he replies, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind and pulling me flush against him. “Then they’ll know you’re my girlfriend and stop staring at you.”

I turn my head to look up at him and raise my eyebrows questioningly.

“That guy keeps ogling you,” he explains with a nod toward a man sitting a few feet away from us.

“Someone is feeling a little possessive today,” I say teasingly before reaching for the sunscreen. “Alright, my turn now.”

I take my time applying Richard’s sunscreen, lingering on all particularly tempting spots—his broad shoulders, his pectorals, lightly dusted with hair, and the dimple at the base of his spine—then sink onto my sunbed and reach for my book.

“What are you doing?” Richard asks, standing in front of the sun above me so that he appears to be glowing and the tips of his hair turn golden.

“Reading?” I answer with a chuckle.

“Don’t you want to swim?”

“Soon!” I reply, unable to hide my smile at the adorable frown marking his face. “I just want to read another chapter or two.”

“Am I going to be second to that book all week?”

“If you hadn’t kept me up so late last night I probably would have made it past the cliffhanger already.”

“Hm, I don’t remember hearing much complaining from you.”

I shake my head, then lean back in the chair and cover my blush with my book. “I’ll join you soon!”

“You better,” he says, pressing a fleeting kiss atop my head before running off toward the water, offering me a pleasant view of his muscled back, glowing in the sun.

I am still smiling when I start reading the next chapter, but to my dismay, I struggle to concentrate on the words, for though yesterday, the exhaustion from travel and the beauty of the city had easily distracted me, my mind now unwittingly turns back to work. I had hoped to receive news of a submission I made for an upcoming book before the beginning of our holiday, but I have yet to hear back from the editors, and the fear of rejection is slowly becoming overwhelming. I should probably be used to this by now, but the pressure has only worsened as I progress in my career, and though I feel like the worst girlfriend in the world for thinking it, Richard’s fast-approaching departure for Boston does not help matters. I am incredibly proud of him, but seeing all these incredible opportunities come his way only makes me more anxious about my prospects. But I know how stupid and unfair it is to think this way, so I try to shake it off.

Eventually, I manage to focus on the story, and the sounds of the crowded beach fade away, though it does not take long before a cold hand on my arm pulls me back from reality, causing me to jump.

Richard laughs at my reaction, then again when I playfully slap him. “Sorry, love,” he says, though he is still smiling widely.

When he sits down next to me, his wet thigh brushes against mine, causing me to shiver.

“You’re gonna get me all wet!” I say, giggling as I try to push him away.

In response, he leans in even closer. Water trickles down from his hair and beard onto my bare stomach, making me gasp before he leans in to attach his lips to mine in a sea-salted kiss. Within seconds, I forget all about my book and leave it aside on the chair to bury my hands in his wet hair, but it is impossible to forget about our surroundings, as the sound of crashing waves mingles with the hubbub of laughter and shouting across the beach, and Richard pulls away much too soon for my liking.

“You have to come in the water—it’s so nice!”

“Alright, alright,” I chuckle, rising from the sunbed and taking his outstretched hand, hoping his company will be able to distract me.

We make our way through the crowd of towels and sunbeds, and then, smirking, I let go of Richard’s hand and call out, “Last one in the water pays for dinner!”

Richard’s eyes widen for a split second before he grins and takes off after me. I dash through the sand, laughing as I hear him gaining on me. But just as I reach the water’s edge, he wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me off the ground, ignoring my protests as he runs and tumbles into the water, dragging me with him into the cold embrace of the sea.

“Richard!” I squeal when I resurface a few seconds later, laughing as I wipe the water off my face.

He flashes me a wide, boyish grin in response, his hair slicked back and the drops in his beard shining in the bright sun.

Shaking my head, I lean back into the water and close my eyes, my hair floating around me like seaweed in the gentle ripples. “Now how are we going to know who lost?”

“Hm, I think I’ll gladly keep paying for dinner if losing means getting this view.”

I open my eyes and look down from the cloudless sky to find Richard staring unabashedly at my cleavage, and I burst out laughing and splash him.

“Pervert!”

He splashes me in return, then takes advantage of the distraction to wrap his arms around me and pull me close. Laughter sparkles in his eyes, and I soon lose myself in his gaze and forget all about my plans for retaliation when he leans in to caress my mouth with salt-kissed lips, his wet nose brushing against mine. Tightening his hold on me, he urges me to wrap my legs around his waist as he cups my rear with his hands. Now holding me afloat, he allows me to forget about everything other than his lips, soft like the water caressing our bodies and warm like the sun above our heads. I kiss him back with equal tenderness and fervour, drowning in his passion until my lungs are starved for air. When we reluctantly break the kiss eons later, gasping, Richard nuzzles my neck, his breath warm against my damp skin.

“I could stay like this forever,” he speaks into the crook of my neck, his muffled voice against my wet skin sending a little shiver down my spine.

“I couldn’t—the water is a little cold,” I reply, giggling as I bury one hand in his wavy hair. Richard chuckles and then falls silent, so I tentatively broach a subject he has been avoiding for the past few days. “So… I hear it’s a special someone’s birthday in a few days. Any special requests?”

“Just more of this,” he says, kissing my neck. “But maybe you could take this off,” he adds, playing with the strap of my bikini. “It’s in my way a little.”

“Richard, I’m being serious!” I say though I cannot hold back my laughter.

He looks up to meet my gaze. “You know I don’t care for birthdays.”

“I know but… I want it to be special!”

“It will be. Just you and me, in this beautiful town. Great food, great sex.” I chuckle at the playful twinkle in his eyes. “And most of all, not having to worry or even think about work.”

Suddenly, the knot in my chest I have been trying so hard to ignore tightens its hold on me, and I bite my lip. It is probably a lot easier for him not to think about work, I think in spite of myself. He who knows his next step, who has been offered this incredible opportunity that will surely bring many more incredible opportunities his way, while I am anxiously waiting to hear back from editors regarding a submission I made months ago.

“What’s wrong?” Richard asks with a frown.

Damn my expressive features. “Nothing.”

“You had a look on your face—the one you get when you’re overthinking,” he adds with a teasing smile, though concern softens his eyes.

“I’m just… trying to think of something really special for your birthday. It’s the first time we’re celebrating it together—I have to do it right.”

He sighs, though a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Alright, but nothing too crazy, ok? And please don’t get restaurant staff to sing happy birthday to me.”

“Oh, no—that’s the worst!” I laugh, though I cannot quite shake off the tightness in my chest. “Do you want to head back and grab some lunch? I’m getting hungry,” I say after a moment, recalling the trattoria selling the most mouth-watering pizzas we passed by last night.

“So am I—how about pizza?” Richard suggests.

“You read my mind,” I reply with a chuckle.

***

Later that day, after enjoying one too many slices of pizza, we step back into our rented flat, exhausted from the heat but still laughing at the American couple sitting next to us at the restaurant who tried to order fettucini alfredo—a delicacy, they tried to convince us after the waiter walked way rolling his eyes, no doubt cursing them in Italian under his breath.

“God, you really shouldn’t have let me eat that last slice,” I groan as I sink into one of the armchairs.

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” Richard chuckles.

“Who else’s fault would it be?”

Richard shakes his head, though his eyes sparkle in amusement. “Alright, I really need a shower—care to join me?”

“Absolutely,” I respond, smiling when he leans in to press a lingering kiss in the crook of my neck. “Go ahead, I’ll join you in a minute.”

He smirks and presses another kiss to my neck before heading towards the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he goes. I watch him for a moment, admiring the way his muscles move under his skin, then sigh as I stand to retrieve my laptop from my bag. I do not expect to have received a response regarding my paper, but I need to see the proof of it. Otherwise, I will not be able to think about anything else.

But to my surprise, amidst the dozens of administrative emails from the university, I see that I have in fact received an email from the editors. My heart thumps wildly in my chest, and it takes me a few moments to gather the courage to open the email. Then I freeze.

Dear Dr. Browning, we regret to inform you that your paper has not been accepted for this edited collection. However, this is an exemplary work of scholarship, and we highly encourage you to submit it elsewhere.

“Sweetheart, are you coming?”

I hasten to close my laptop and turn around to see him standing outside the bathroom, naked but for a towel wrapped around his waist. “You watching porn or something?” he teases me, nodding at my laptop.

I manage to chuckle, but then he walks over to me and reaches for my laptop.

“Richard—”

“You’re looking at your work emails?” When I do not say anything, he leans in to press a lingering kiss on my shoulder. “I thought we agreed not to think about work during this holiday,” he says softly, a touch of admonishment behind his concern.

“I just had to check something,” I say, unable to keep the edge from my tone.

Richard frowns. “I just want to make sure you’re really taking the time to relax. You work too hard—”

“I just had to check something quickly, alright?” I snap, then, before I can stop myself, I add, “And, you know, not all of us can actually afford to take that much time off.”

“Of course, you can afford a break, sweetheart.”

“It’s not that easy! You can afford to take a break, but I’m still an early career researcher—I have to put myself out there and get my work published.”

He steps away from me with a sigh. “Where is this coming from? I thought we both wanted to go on holiday—to take a break and ignore work and just be together before I leave for Boston. Isn’t that what you wanted as well?”

“Of course, I want that!” I exclaim. “But—don’t you see? You have this great opportunity coming up to work with a leading scholar in your field, but I’m still only starting out. I don’t get offers like that handed to me—”

“That’s not fair, Lorelei,” he interjects, now clearly irritated. “You make it sound like I don’t have to work hard.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You can’t be mad at me because we’re at different points in our careers and I have more experience.”

“I’m not mad, I—” I groan, shaking my head. “You know what, never mind.”

Richard stares at me, his jaw clenched. “Fine,” he says after a moment before heading toward the bathroom.

I do not have time to say or do anything before the door slams shut, followed by the unfamiliar sound of the lock, leaving me alone in the room, feeling even more guilty and anxious than before.

Tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc @sazzlepopp @albionscastle @evenstaredits @mistresskayla-blog1

If you want to be added to or removed from my tag list, let me know! 💙

#richard armitage fanfic #richard armitage x oc #richard armitage x reader #richard armitage x you #professor au #office hours

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heyitsjaysblog · 10 months ago

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Lips and Hands That Soothe.

Words: 3926 | Rated: M | Female! Reader Insert x Astarion (Y/N, E/C, H/C, H/T)

Synopsis: You are absolutely exhausted after the battle between Myrkul’s Chosen, Ketheric Thorm. You and your companions finally begin the trek to Baldur’s Gate. While on your way to the city, many of your fellow travelers take note of your pained state. Astarion devises a plan to grant you some relief.

Warnings: Act 2 Spoilers! Swearing, mentions of blood, blood/bite kink, heavy petting, fingering?!

A/N: Grad school is kicking my ass!!!!! So, I apologize for not writing as much! I deadass started this like a few months ago and just finished it. I have, however, planned more to add to my fic series, along with a couple of ideas for more reader inserts! I am planning on doing a few for Halsin next, along with one intended for Gale, so I am also open to more ideas if anyone wishes to read more from me. I hope you all enjoy, it and that this isn’t terribly out of character! I was partially inspired by being super sore after the gym & work one day, and thought to myself: what would a massage from Astarion be like???

Gonna go repent after writing this too LMFAO.

***Also, a key just in case:

Y/N: Your name

E/C: eye color

H/C: hair color

H/T: hair texture

- - -

You are completely, and utterly exhausted.

By the Gods, if you had just a moment to rest your eyes or a place to drape your weary bones, you would be the happiest woman in all of Faerûn.

And yet, you are still walking. Or in your case, stumbling. Merely moments away before taking a severe tumble toward the ground, which may just grant you the respite you are so desperately aching for.

You and your misfit group of companions have come quite a long way from the Illithid wreckage off of the Sword Coast. It’s a mystery to you that you’ve all even managed to get this far, and you’re sure that the sentiment is shared. The whole reason you have been walking, or stumbling for this long, is due to the fact that you all recently bested the Chosen of the Lord of Bones, Myrkul. Fighting Ketheric Thorm was a feat that you truly did not think you would be able to succeed in overcoming. Your comrades were sure at one point that you were done for. However, with their support, as well as Dame Aylin’s, you were able to see another day.

Another long and tiring day.

You find yourself walking the rubbled path to Baldur’s Gate, now clear of the Absolute’s forces. While you all surely rested the night of the battle, your muscles still ached. Not even Shadowheart’s healing spells have managed to fully soothe the gnawing pain you suffered from being thrown around. Granted, you weren’t the only one winded and wounded, but your companions were slowly starting to realize that they may need to set up camp much sooner than they anticipated.

As you continued to trail rather behind them all, the pace of the group slowly began to halt.

“...Why are we slowing down?” you ask, as your eyes dart towards each of your companions.

“Solider…” Karlach begins to speak.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you’ve seen better days,” she adds, her brows arching into a concerned expression.

“What?- No, I’m fine…I could just use a small break, is all,” you explain, dismissing her claims. However, you are far from fine. Not far from your side, Astarion quickly scans your face, fairly aware that you’ve lied through your teeth. If anything, he’s gotten to know you rather well over the past couple of weeks with the amount of time you’ve both shared.

And he was certain that you were moments away from passing out.

“Darling, I think she’s right.” he adds, as a look of apprehension surfaces on his face.

“Perhaps it’s for the best that we find somewhere to set up camp…” he suggests, as some of your companions nod in agreement.

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Gale chimes in, now utilizing his quarterstaff to keep himself upright.

“In fact, I think we may have some Waterdhavian cheese, baguettes, and cured ham within our camp supply pack…perhaps I can quickly prepare something for us all.” he adds, with a reassuring smile.

With a heavy sigh, you agree with them all as you allow yourself to be navigated to a nearby clearing, immediately finding a fallen tree trunk to collapse upon.

- - -

After completing a rather savory meal prepared by Gale, you found yourself sitting on top of your bedroll, which was situated right before the campfire. Your (e/c) eyes indolently studied the dancing flames, as you rested your chin within the palms of your hands. Before you begin to doze off, your ears detect approaching footsteps before a figure takes its place beside you. A pallid hand swiftly runs through your (h/c) hair, slightly surprising you before you sit upright.

Astarion blinks before snickering a bit to himself at your reaction.

“Apologies, my dear- did I startle you?” he asks, as you begin to rub at your eyes.

“It’s alright…I think I was beginning to fall asleep.” you explain, taking his cold hand into yours. As you run your fingers over his pale knuckles, Astarion continues to look over your face, taking into account the deep dark circles under your eyes.

“...How are you feeling?” he asks, wondering if your state has improved even slightly from earlier.

You raise your shoulders to shrug, before offering a response.

“A little better. Just still feeling sore…it’s like my muscles are crying out for help.” you explain, as you look into his vermillion eyes. They appeared to burn even more red than usual, which typically tends to happen when Astarion has yet to feed. In fact, you can’t recall the last time he had even done so. Normally he would hunt, in addition to drinking from you, however, you can’t think back to the last time you spared some of your blood for your vampiric lover. While you have been so fixated on your aches and pains, it seems as though Astarion had his share as well, judging from the small, purplish-green bruise nestled underneath his eye.

“...What about you? When’s the last time you’ve fed?” you inquire, causing Astarion to wave off your insinuation.

“You don’t need to worry about that, my dear. I’m sure I can procure… something later from the woods.” he attempts to assure you.

“Besides, I don’t think I could bring myself to drink from you in your state. If anything, you need rest.” he adds, causing you to roll your eyes.

You were fine!

A long and good night’s rest should nurse you back to health in no time.

“I told you all, I’m okay!” you exclaim, attempting to raise yourself to your feet as proof, only to immediately make contact with the ground once more. You let out a groan in response, laying flat on your back from your failed attempt.

Astarion raises his hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter, as you playfully nudge him with your foot to get him to stop laughing.

“You poor, poor thing,” he says as he helps you sit back upright, causing you to grunt from the movement.

In doing so, Astarion’s eyes light up as an idea comes to him.

“In fact, I think I have something in mind that can potentially grant you some…relief,” he says.

As your mind cycles through a myriad of different things he could be alluding to, your brow quirks up in curiosity.

“And that is…?” you respond with a confused expression.

“A massage, of course. I’m known to give rather good ones…or so I’ve been told,” he says with a playful smirk.

“Perhaps I can come to your tent in a bit, and help rid you of some of the tension you have built up.” Astarion suggests, prompting warmth to begin to generate within your cheeks.

“Hm…I can’t say I’m in the state to turn down a massage…” you drum your fingers across your chin, playfully considering the offer, despite already having your mind made up.

“Come to my tent in 10 minutes.” you eventually state, causing Astarion’s toothy smile to surface. He swiftly stands, before dramatically offering out his hand to help you up. You roll your eyes in response as a small smile surfaces on your face. Taking his hands, he pulls you up from your seat, causing another groan to escape your lips.

“Go get comfortable, my sweet. I’ll come find you shortly.” he assures you as you part ways, seeming rather excited as he walks back to his tent.

You giggle a bit to yourself as you watch him stride off before walking towards your tent in the opposite direction, picking up a lone lantern as you continue to make your way there. As you reach your quarters, you open up the flap before immediately lowering yourself down to the ground inside, bringing the enclosed lantern in with you. Upon setting the lantern down on a nearby leather chest, you release a deep sigh before beginning to remove your armor. Your arms are unreasonably heavy, making this an even more difficult task. As you undo each layer, you become more and more aware of some of the bruises you suffered from the day before, attempting to carefully maneuver the rest of your clothing without accidentally disrupting one. Once you get fully unclothed, you sigh to yourself as you lift one of the cushions in your tent to retrieve a loose-fitting linen camisole with its matching pair of shorts. You once again lift your arms to pull your nightwear over your limbs and onto your body. Once you accomplish this task, you sprawl your body out onto the scattered cushions on the ground of your tent, finally bringing your eyelids to a close.

It isn’t too long before you detect the sound of what appears to be someone beginning to undo the flap of your tent. As your body shoots upright, you recognize the pale, slender fingers undoing the ties of your tent’s entrance. The flap falls, revealing Astarion, with a wooden crate that appears to contain a myriad of different glass bottles.

“May I come in?” he inquires, with his distinctive smirk.

“You may,” you respond, with a quirked brow as you watch him lower his head before stepping into the tent. He then proceeds to set down the crate and remove his leather boots, before sealing the flap once more.

“I thought with the tadpole you no longer needed to be invited in?” you teased, as you watched him situate himself on the cushions alongside you, prompting him to snicker a bit at your joke. Your eyes once again scan the crate that he brought inside. It appeared to be filled with glass bottles that seemed to store different creams, emulsions, and expensive-looking oils.

“What in the hells…is all of that?” you whisper to yourself as your eyes flit between each bottle, a smile growing on your face as you stare in disbelief.

Astarion blinks as he studies your face, wondering why his collection of products seems to be startling you.

“Well…you seemed interested in receiving a massage, and I found it only fair to give you a proper one,” he says with a grin.

“I see…” you respond, as you watch him crack his fingers, causing you to giggle a bit at how seriously he’s taking this process.

Astarion’s gaze meets yours before his brows pinch together in frustration.

“Well…?” he inquires, before continuing his thought.

“Don’t just sit there ogling me. Come here, and get comfortable!” he says, patting the cushion before him as he urges you to find a place in front of where he kneeled.

You roll your eyes with a small smile before crawling over to him and turning so that your back faces him. You sigh a bit as you let your shoulders fall, attempting to obey his command and “relax”. Attempting to further ease your comfort, you fold your legs as you situate yourself within the cushion.

Your gaze faces forward, yet you are tempted to turn around and watch what Astarion is concocting once you hear the movement of glass shifting behind you. Letting the biting curiosity take hold of you, you start to turn your body backward before Astarion realizes that you’re watching his every move. He tuts, before taking his cold hands and gently turning your head forward once more, causing you to laugh.

“No. Peeking.” he states firmly, before continuing with what he was doing originally.

“Just…close your eyes, or something-” he suggests as he unscrews a glass bottle of oil before letting the liquid fill his palms. As you hear him rub his hands together, you jump a bit as you feel cold, slender fingers make contact with your skin. Ever-so-slightly, Astarion takes his pointer fingers to move your (h/t) hair out of the way, before beginning to gently massage your neck. You sigh a bit, focusing on the flickering flame in your lantern, as you close your eyes. You then shift your posture to move further back into him. His hands glide across your skin before deeply digging into your shoulder blades, causing you to hum in contentment.

That…actually feels good, you thought to yourself. While you’ve come accustomed to how skilled Astarion is with his hands, you could have never imagined one of his massages feeling like this.

As he continues to work, he directs most of his motion into the center of your neck, right in between your shoulder blades. You stir a bit, as he hits a part of your body that houses a very distinct knot.

Lowering his mouth to your ear, his soft lips brush against it before he speaks in a low whisper.

“Do you feel tension here?” he inquires, causing an electric ripple to run through your core at the sound of his voice.

“M-mhm…” you swallow, somewhat startled by the sensation of his words practically reverberating through you.

As he pulls away, he slowly begins to work at the knot, carefully making sure to make firm, yet articulate motions to help alleviate the pressure. You let out a breathy sigh, further relaxing into his touch. You take notice of the oil that he applied to his hands, which seemed to be growing warmer and warmer as he used it to massage you. An odd feeling, as both his naturally cold touch, and the warming effect of the oil work together to coax the tenseness of your muscles. The aroma of the oil fills the tent, giving off the scent of spiced citrus. There were notes of sweet almond, cinnamon, and clove, but more specifically, something that you’ve come to grow very familiar with. A scent that smelled so comforting, and distinct. Your nostrils twitch as you attempt to determine the scent.

It could only be that of…

“This oil you're using…is that bergamot?” you ask, causing Astarion to halt his work.

If you knew that would be the case, you wouldn’t have spoken at all.

Astarion chuckles a bit to himself, somewhat shocked at the fact that you were able to recognize it so easily.

“You are correct, my sweet,” he affirms your suspicion, before resuming the massage, beginning to move further down your back.

“A rather impressive guess.” he commends you, causing you to smile to yourself.

“It wasn’t so difficult to assume…the smell reminds me of you,” you say with a soft smile, as a rosy tint settles into your cheeks. Once again, however, you jump a bit as you suddenly feel Astarion’s lips brush past your ear.

“May I go lower?” he asks, as he gently tugs at the straps of your linen camisole. Your eyes flutter open slightly, as they meet his finger lifting the string of fabric. You offer an eager, yet shy nod, prompting Astarion to smirk in response.

“Excellent.” he says in a low voice, pushing the strings of the camisole down past your shoulders, which causes the fabric to fall down your frame and gather at your waist. The cool air causes your nipples to erect, and once again, Astarion’s hands make contact with your body. As your eyes flutter closed, Astarion’s hands glide further down your back, while he cautiously moves around the bruised patches of skin that he comes across. His fingers lightly trace down your spine, before his hands settle on delicate, unbruised skin. He then carefully kneads into your back, causing your posture to shift. As he continues to carry on, a moan builds in within you, forcing itself out of your lips.

Somewhat embarrassed, you raise a hand to your mouth, which causes Astarion to chuckle a bit at your reaction.

“Careful, my love…you may wake our companions.” he jokingly warns, although, he truthfully did not care if others heard.

Suddenly, his hands glide upward across your skin, before slyly making contact with your breasts. With a firm, yet gentle touch, Astarion’s pale hands begin to cup your breasts, causing the tint in your cheeks to grow darker. He begins to massage them, softly brushing the pads of his thumbs over your erect nipples. Another moan spills out of your mouth as Astarion brings his body close to yours. Your arousal builds, causing a pleasurable burn to begin to develop in between your thighs. As he continues to tenderly massage your breasts, you throw your head back into his chest, shifting in your seated position, before Astarion lowers his lips down to the exposed flesh of your neck. He then gingerly peppers your neck with soft kisses, before moving to suck at the skin, intending to leave a hickey to match the other bruised patches of skin you possess.

Becoming rather amused with all of the squirming and moaning you seemed to be doing, Astarion couldn’t help but pull away, only to take you into his arms and gently pull you back into his lap. A light squeal erupts from your lips before you relax into his hold. You suddenly become very aware of a growing bulge in Astarion’s trousers as it rubs against your sex, causing another ripple of arousal to echo through your core.

Astarion continues to explore your body as his hands glide down your side, moving toward your stomach until he eventually meets the waistband of your shorts. At this point, your clit is practically thumping in concordance with your heartbeat.

Pressing his lips towards your ear, he whispers, “Shall I go lower…?”

Your breath hitches before your eyes flicker open.

“Astarion…you don’t have to-” you start to speak.

“You’re absolutely right. I don’t have to,” he interrupts your thought, using his free hand to guide your chin, as your gaze met his.

“I want to,” he assures you, as his scarlet pupils lock onto your (e/c) eyes.

A smirk tugs on his lips before he moves his face closer to yours to press a soft kiss onto your lips. You lift a hand to his cheek, desiring to deepen the kiss as long as you can. While doing so, your other free hand takes grasp of his hand, maneuvering it towards your shorts. Astarion smiles into your kiss, reacting to your forwardness. As he pulls his face away, his hands slowly creep into your shorts, and the pads of his fingertips finally make contact with your clit. A soft moan escapes your lips as you turn, positioning yourself so that your back once again relaxes into his chest. As he holds you, his one hand further rubs down the folds of your labia, while the other once again returns to cup and massage one of your breasts. Astarion traces one of his fingers around your entrance, sighing as his finger is coated with your slick arousal. In doing so, he rhythmically rubs two fingers against the inside of your folds, causing you to moan once again. As he continues to go back and forth, occasionally circling your clit with his fingertips, your body twitches as you begin to grind against the friction as well. The feeling was driving you mad, and if anything, you could think of only one more thing that would further send you over the edge.

As your body arches against his, you tilt your head slightly to the side, exposing your neck. With a free hand, you attempt to reach back, trying to guide his face towards your neck once more.

“Bite me.” you say, as his eyes widen a bit by the proposal.

His gaze quickly meets yours, looking for confirmation, only to be met with another eager nod. As you confirm your request, Astarion lowers his head towards your neck, planting a delicate kiss at the crook. He takes his other hand and cradles your head. As he teases your entrance, Astarion fangs graze against the sensitive flesh of your neck before piercing the skin, all the while dipping two of his fingers into your body. Your body arches once again, biting your lower lip as you stifle a deep moan. Blood starts to stream down your neck, past your collarbone, and drips down your chest. As your blood coats his tongue, he can’t help but moan into your neck as well, causing a flutter of arousal to echo through your core once more. Sweat beads on your forehead, as you clamp your eyes shut in pleasure. His fingers work in and out as he steadily fingerfucks you with little to no resistance. You shudder from the sensation, growing wetter and wetter from feeling filled by him, and him alone.

Astarion continues to suck at your neck, simultaneously thrusting his fingers with ease. He could practically feel your heartbeat thumping against him, and as the pace slows, he pulls his fangs out from your neck. He drags his tongue along the bitemark, attempting to quickly cleanse the wound. As he finishes drinking from you, his hands shift from cradling your head to directing attention back to your clit. With the combination of circular motions, thrusting, and rubbing against that one particular spot, you were only but moments away from cumming.

“A-Astarion…I-I’m-” you begin to stammer, before reaching climax, and practically gasping for air as you feel a complete release come over you.

“That’s it, my love…” he coaxes you with a low tone as you coat his fingers and hand as you orgasm. Your body practically goes limp as you recline further against him, and he can’t help but snicker at your ecstatic expression. Bringing his fingers to his blood-stained mouth, he sucks on the two that were just previously inside of you, wanting to taste your arousal. Astarion moans a bit as he shuts his eyes, taking in the flavors of you, before he licks away the remaining blood from his lips.

As you enter a state of blissful stupor from your orgasm, you slip out from his lap before falling back onto the cushions of your tent and wiping away the sweat from your forehead. A contented sigh escapes your lips.

Astarion’s brow quirks in curiosity, as he was very interested to know what you were thinking.

“Well…how do you feel now?” he inquires as he takes a nearby rag to pick up any of the blood that may have dripped down his chin. The purplish-green bruise that once sat on top of his cheek now seemed to have faded away upon him feeding from you.

With your eyes still shut as you lay on your back, still basking in the aftereffects of your orgasm, a rather goofy-looking smile surfaces on your face. Truth be told, a massage and an orgasm were almost exactly what you needed to temporarily forget about all of the bodily pain you were experiencing from your previous battle.

“That was…” you begin, before pressing a hand over your bare chest.

“I feel fucking amazing.” you finish your thought with a laugh, slightly opening your eyes to meet your lover’s once again.

Astarion chuckles a bit at your response. His eyes look you over and a pleased expression forms on his face.

“Well, my dear, I’m glad I could be of service,” he says with a smirk before an inquisitive expression takes over.

“Y’know, truth be told, perhaps I missed my calling as a masseur…” his voice trails off as he briefly ponders the thought.

You giggle a bit, before turning to face him.

“Well…now it’s your turn.” you announce, as Astarion’s eyes widen in anticipation, once again being caught off guard by your forward demeanor.

Abruptly, you take the frilled collar of his white shirt into your hands, pulling him down towards the cushions with you.

You desperately wanted to return the favor.

#bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion acunin #astarion x reader #fan fic #fan fiction #my writing #jay writes #reader insert #female reader

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ladyduellist · 11 months ago

Text

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

The companions deal with a hag and Tav makes a hard decision.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 13: End

Ao3

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Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 5.1k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Language, Blood & Violence, Trauma, Act 1 Spoilers

Hag song was HEAVILY influenced by 'Hey Girl' sung by Lady Gaga and Florence Welch

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They say that the heart is a heavy burden. Undead, an infernal engine, a mortal organ. They can all carry the same weight. And when you have had nothing to care for it for so long, It’s like a fucking chokehold the moment even a single jab of sweet honey infects it.

— Karlach, scrawled thoughts on a torn page from one of Gale’s books

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A devil’s servant was near: looming by her side, whispering a litany of canticles, bidding for her to wake.

The swordswoman awoke in a foreign room with paint peeling off the walls, like the droves of oppressed women by the men that promised to be their caretakers forevermore.

As Tav’s view unblurred, she noticed a priest passively swinging a thurible, releasing an unnatural pitch black colored smoke. The incense smelled of corrupted boils made to summon eldritch visitors.

And then pain. Her body felt like it had been tossed around in a rocky undertow. Each nerve ending aflame. Bruised. Defiled.

Her dried tongue attempted to coat itself in saliva as she tried to speak. “Wh—”

“Saer, she is awake,” the priest clad in a plain gold and black robe spoke aloud.

A figure was at the foot of the bed she laid in, clasping his hands together. “Fantastic!”

Algos.

She tried to move, pushing her weight on her elbows, but the soreness that shot through her was unbearable. Tav cried out roughly, falling back onto the pillow beneath her head.

“Careful my love, you’ve undergone a change—quite literally—overnight,” the rasp of his lilted tone seemed to slice through the curls of smoke filling the room. “Priest, grant me a moment with her.”

The pious stranger nodded, leaving the room as Algos approached her bedside, his boots clinking heavily across the wood floor.

Tav hysterically searched her surroundings for any indication of where they may be. She studied a singular dusty window with beams of sunlight straining to shine through. Then, the rotted floor, clearly missing a few boards. But, when she finally looked at the sheets and comforter thrown haphazardly onto her body—sullied in possible blood stains—she froze.

Placing a hand on her forehead while she was distracted, he smiled down at her. She flinched, breaking out into a cold sweat.

“Please…where…”

“Shush now. You’ll need all the rest you can get, that is, if you can even survive through the day.”

She peered up at him in horror, tears stinging in her widened ducts. Panic and the sensation to writhe under his touch set in. “What’s going—?”

His dark eyes bore into her, slowly narrowing into something cruel and unknown. “Isn’t love grand, Birdie?” The strength of his grip found her chin and he held it firmly, lowering himself to place a cold peck on her lips. “10 years I have loved you and finally you granted me the purest gift of your devotion to me.”

Tav gasped, pacifying any movements in her aching pulsating muscles. “Gift? I don’t…understand.”

Algos released her, taking a step backwards. He gestured dramatically towards her covers. “Now, unfortunately, I have already had to part with it; but know that it provided me with exactly what I needed. Anyways, I shan’t babble on about such negotiations, but maybe you should have a look for yourself?”

She grazed the stitched hem of the blankets covering her and steadily lifted them from her bare figure. Her tempest eyes traveled down the mounds of her breasts then to her torso and legs. She violently trembled in fear. “Algos, what have…have…you done…?”

He snapped his fingers in thought. “Ah, there is one more thing I must attend to.” He turned to leave, waving a quick goodbye. “If you’re still alive by the time I return, I believe that will have earned you a proper explanation, don’t you?”

Tav dropped her coverings and reached out towards him, screaming hoarsely over and over again in torment. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! ALGOS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

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Why did she kill for him?

Gale had warned her about Astarion. About the webs he would tangle her in. Spread out ornately on patterns of silken fibers as the tightrope artist approached her from each strand that represented his life. Even should the bough upholding his intricate designs begin to shake, she would remain: a votive offering for every shade of his light, his dark, his gray.

Guilt. The self-condemnation for her turning him away whilst the skeletons he housed took his hand to dance with them. His cross to bear: inscribed on their left over bones. The beasts within that fed on him as his soul still cowered in fear. An unyoked expression—the disconnect—on his face as he pushed his sex into her over and over again was a familiar reflection she had seen of herself before. That she still saw during the erosion of her body clashing against her past.

Had she made the right decision bidding him to leave?

Then, there was a moment between the aftermath of the confrontation with the hunter and these troubling thoughts, that both Tav and Astarion regarded one another in uncomfortable silence. Briefly, a bout of regret flickered behind those mesmeric garnets when his gaze traveled down to the area he bit the previous evening, hidden behind the stays of her corset.

”Why?” The spawn mouthed, anchoring his jaw tautly.

“Because you—”

Tav furrowed her brow concentrating on his question. He wasn’t asking why she had decided to run to his—their—aid, no, he wanted to know why she decided to come after what he did to her. How she could still bear to look upon this rabid self that stood before her after his teeth enacted a sacrilegious communion in the name of Cazador Szarr.

The answer vacillated through Tav while the crimson from Gandrel’s death wept from her gloved hands into a trinket of a puddle. She had run to her crew half-dressed, hearing their desperate crows during her midday training. And the moment she saw the vampire entangled in the vine spell, she knew her impulsive arrow would whistle through the breeze to pierce the hunter’s flesh to shield him.

Her stomach churned as she watched the waves of Astarion’s coif falling forward, while he bent over to search the man’s corpse. “Are you certain he was one of Cazador’s?”

“Well, he was, “ he smirked outturning the deceased’s pockets, discovering little more than a bag of gold and lint. “I have history with them; the Gur were responsible for nearly murdering me the night I was turned into a spawn. Only Cazador would know to send one now to capture me. I’m sure he found it quite humorous.”

“Whew-weeee! You sure know how to make an entrance!” Karlach flung the rest of the vines she cut in half off to the side, beaming at Tav. “Either way, the problem is taken care of, yea? Comrades have to take care of each other, but hopefully this won’t come back to bite us in the arse later on.” She pointed towards Astarion with a long fingernail. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He shrugged at her, tying the coin bag to his belt. The dagger in his hand slid across Gandrel’s shirt, wiping it clean of blood and debris as he continued squatting near his lifeless body.

Tav ignored Karlach, conflicted over her own earlier actions. “Astarion, are you absolutely sure?” She peered down at him, pondering which collusions were quietly branching off inside his mind for him to answer her with.

Her thoughts were suddenly addled with the urge to seek forgiveness from the gods for the unimaginable deadly sin she committed that staggered on the lines of her ward for Astarion and wrath itself. She wanted to believe him. Believe that the possibility was charitable enough that Gandrel worked for Cazador and would have trafficked him back to the city. She wanted to place her faith in him that somewhere inside his tortured existence that his intentions were, at the very least, mottled enough with the concept of “good.”

He stood upwards, readjusting his armor. “You don’t trust my word? He was a Gur. Why should it matter?”

Tav shook her head. “This isn’t only about trusting your word: it’s about trusting your decisions. This, “ she motioned around at the tiny ponds of blood and viscera decorating the ground. ”impacts more than just your impulses now. The volition of your path, Karlach, Wyll, our acquaintances, me—it impacts it all.”

Astarion murdered for her once; Priestess Gut at the goblin camp. The debt of her life owed was just repaid in kind. The Madonna with her slender rapier, piercing through the qualms of her own heart for a man who’s humanity was dangling from rafters above layers of stained glass.

Why did it matter? She wasn’t keeping score. Helping those in need came without questions. Tav had ended lives for others without another thought. To save. To defend. But the difference—the bloody difference—was that it never involved a personal attachment for someone like Astarion. If she cut down an innocent man for him on his false instinct, then she…

Astarion crossed his arms haughtily. Even with ichor splattered on his fair features, he was still lethally gorgeous. “My dear, mayhaps you need to be reminded that it was not I that asked for anyone’s help with tearful pleas. By your own resolve, you are here now.”

Hey,” Wyll spoke up softly, failing to grasp their attention.

“But, Astarion, you knew we wouldn’t let you face Gandrel alone,” the bard unwaveringly replied. She pulled at the lengths of her dark ashen brown locks, winding them up into a messy hair bun. “Look,” she started with a hairpin in her mouth. “I’m only trying try to point out that not every Gur you meet is a horrible person to blame for what happened to you before you were turned. And that if we’re to get involved, it’s something to consider in the future.”

“Oh, please! Why defend those vagrant cutthroats? I think it’s only understandable that I do, in fact, get to blame them.” He hesitantly inched towards her as if she would crumble the very second he was within reach of her.

Tav rested her hand on the hilt of her blade sheathed at her side. She concentrated on his shallow breathing, watching his features alter several times. He was patently unnerved.

The pallored elf’s hands landed onto his hips. He leaned in towards her with barbs on his tongue. “Sending that hunter was a blatant message to show the power Cazador still has over me. Have you any real clue as to how strong he really is, Tav? The abilities he possesses? He could turn into mist, sneak into our camp in the dead of night, and strangle us all before we even opened our eyes.”

With a sudden jerk in her voice, she ground her boots into the mud to tower her posture. “Astarion, please—”

Astarion stepped further in, halting only feet away. Vexation and anguish masking his vision. He roughly pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing his two jagged fang scars on the right side of his neck. Faded in color, but not in memory. “And if death isn’t enough—not to fret! You could be chosen to serve as his newest slave and live eternally as a meaningless vessel in the body you once knew,” he spat.

This was not the first time the womanly elf had laid her eyes on these scars—she saw them nearly everyday—but it was the first time watching him directly acknowledge them. Two petite bursts of whitish fireworks healed over. His master’s hallmark for legacy.

The intensity of his emotions viciously hid themselves in her heartstrings, like stubborn grit underneath fingernails. She placed a flat hand over her left breast. “Be-inway, Astarion. Be-inway, I hear you,” she quietly sing-songed.

He leaned back away from her, viewing her in one of his usual repertoire of reactions. “Would you reevaluate having that look broadcasted on your face when we disagree for once?! Those wretched huthammur. Gods below,” he blurted in frustration, glaring away from her eyes.

“Enough! Quell this before I kick both of you into the Chionthar river!” Wyll shouted abruptly. Fixing his stony eye on Tav, he moved in between them to act as a volunteer mediator. “You two quarrel more than bloody Shadowheart and Lae’zel.”

“What’s done is done,” he continued, the balm of his voice sweeping into the air. “If we are to believe Cazador hired this man, as Astarion said, then we need to believe that he knows our location. Our fanged friend is right: anything related to the vampire lord—short of himself—could strike at any moment. If the Gur’s death was indeed a mistake, then we’ll atone at the pyre during our final rites.”

“I always knew I could count on Wyll’s sensibility whilst you fiddle around with your own concerns,” the vampire fluffed out his hair, chiding Tav with a prissy titter.

Instead of her typical reactions caked in silence or offering challenges for him to consider, she simply spread out her arms to bow, catching his smug guise flipping into incredulity. “As you wish—your highness.”

“‘ey! Maybe we could save the melodrama for later?” Karlach horned in, breaking the subtle silence. She scratched the side of her cheek looking back and forth between all three of her companions suspended in pose. “Ethel’s teahouse isn’t far from here. She heard all the commotion and came to check it out. Said we are invited into her home as a reward for taking care of that monster hunter once you two were done bickering.”

Tav and Astarion sheepishly stared at each other past the warlock. Past the barbarian. Past their surroundings. Unmoving. Unblinking. Unorthodox beliefs in opposition gliding across paralleled strings.

He broke their quietude first. “I swear, if this demented crone only offers us tea and biscuits, I’m going to throw myself into the…urm, well, not the sun anymore. Anyways, shall we?” Astarion offered, extending his arm out in front of him, ushering Tav and Wyll along.

Tavelle, Tavelle, with her burnished battle symphonies surrounded by Astarion’s flags of scarlet, had taken another risk allowing herself to further interlock their lives together by having the stench of this stranger’s death on her hands. But, she knew it was for a reason she resonated with. A kindredness in once belonging to those that subjugated them with relational bonds affixing themselves as an addiction to the love and misery they provided.

So, why did she kill for Astarion?

Because she knew this would be the only chance he’d ever get to possibly escape for good.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“Tav, keep singing! It’s working,” Wyll yelled at her, preparing an ‘Arms of Hadar’ conjugation. “Almost ready!”

The group had fought off the hag’s illusions until they were able to single out her monstrous corporeal form. As Mayrina bawled from a cage suspended over a fathomless pit, Tav combined a hasty doggerel alongside her ‘Vicious Mockery’ cantrip—adequately causing serious damage to the witch's ears.

It was the first time Astarion heard Tav’s voice since they entered Ethel’s residence. Clipped and off-kilter to her usual songs, he could sense she had dipped her thoughts into a place she would not allow any to follow by the unusual strum of her pulse.

♫Hey hag, what will you do? After we scorch that litter in your hair. Hey hag, have you any clue? Your illusions do not scare.

Hey hag, the bargains made, Around that brew you stir. Curses, scry, changing weather, Your end is on the way.

Hey hag, hey hag. Where’s your coven to save you? Hey hag, hey hag. It’s time to perish away.

Hey hag, hey hag. Hey hag, hey hag. It’s your end today. But, know that we gut you. Please know that, Please know that, we gut you.♫

Near the end of the last verse, Tav faltered; disrupted by the locusts of her ruminations, swarming to devour the fields of her concentration. The perfect momentum for the hag to take.

Auntie Ethel managed to steel her resolve long enough through the misstep to cast a bladed gust of wind, slicing open Tav’s forearm. She wheezily wailed at the bard, “You..rude…little…cunt!”

Thrown off balance, she fell to one knee, clutching her lute tightly.

Astarion ran to the ledge of the pit. He watched as Ethel started dragging her wart covered body in Tav’s direction. “Get up, damn you! Wyll, we’re going to need that spell!”

Karlach roared, charging forward. “YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU’RE GOING TO BURN!”

“Karlach, no! You and Astarion need to save Mayrina and the baby,” Tav commanded, lifting her head at them to heavily take in gulps of breath.

Hells, not this drab self-sacrificing shit again, he reprimanded inside his mind.

“You idiot! Have you noticed that you have acquired a rather nasty gash? One more distraction and the hag will have sliced bard for breakfast! That woman made her choice,” Astarion grumbled loudly over the wide chasm, pointing towards the cage. “She was going to trade her own—“

Tav willed herself to stand. He could see her blood surfacing on the wound causing a desperate pang in his stomach he fought back.

“I KNOW,” she hollered back, seemingly conflicted by her next choice of words. “Trust me—I know.” Her tone became a diffused strain, showcasing that compassion she carried on her sleeve. “We don’t have time to argue, but life can be fucked up Astarion and sometimes we make ignorant choices when we are suffering. She may not deserve it, but let her have a second chance to choose to do right.”

A second chance.

Second chances were not allowed where he once resided. Second chances were unforgivable acts considered an intentional rebellion against Cazador’s commandments. Second chances meant having a spawn’s mouth gagged with foul-tasting fruit until their cries for mercy ceased. Second chances were for the weak and imperfect.

Second chances didn’t exist for Astarion because first chances lacked possibilities and dreams.

And those ideals were more dangerous to his master than allowing his children to ever turn into full-fledged vampires.

But, he was not at the Crimson Palace. He was not under Cazador’s command. And he very much did not want to deal with the repercussions that impossible elven bard would administer should he refuse.

He deeply exhaled, turning his head to view the barbarian over his shoulder. “Fire girl?”

“Yea, fangs?”

“How much weight do you think you can lift with your axe?”

She knowingly smirked, “Enough to give a boost to a handsome vampire.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere with me,” he grinned coquettishly. A red gaze briskly found its way back in Tav’s direction as he removed a dagger from his hip. “Songbird, if you slump over, please remember: I told you so.”

Astarion heard her chuckling echoing off the cave's walls as he walked towards the tiefling. She angled her axe towards the ground, allowing him to secure his footing on the weapon’s steel.

“Any ideas on how you’ll get back down?”

He unbuckled the side of his chest armor and fumbled around inside a concealed pocket. “Ah, there we are! I was going to make trade with it—seeing as it looked fairly rare—but I can always borrow another one from Gale when the time comes.”

Karlach eyed the ‘Scroll of Dimension Door’ dangling betwixt his fingertips like a horse’s carrot. “You stole that from Gale? He’s going to be quite unhappy when he finds out.”

Astarion pursed his lips, shoving the scroll back into its cubby space. “Well, the only way he’ll find out is if you decide to tell him.” Crouching down slightly in preparation to jump, he fisted the hilt of his dagger with both hands. “Besides, it’s not as if Gale was going to use it anytime soon. The man seems to have taken up the hobby of hoarding all means of magical properties since he joined us. I can assure you, it won’t be missed.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Whatever you say, fangs. Ready?”

He nodded. “Do it.”

And up he flew as Karlach hurled him towards the cage with her oversized weapon, forcing the airflow upwards. Astarion shot through the moving air and shoved his blade into a thick branch fastened around the gargantuan bones making up the small prison. With a strong grip, he pulled himself up enough for his foot to gain traction on a piece of wooden board that served as a floor base in the cage.

He swung his body into the cage, bowing quickly at his waist. “Darling, your hero has arrived! Forgive me, but let’s not tarry, eh?”

Mayrina backed away from him in a fright. “Ah! Who are you? Go away!”

Astarion tutted in disbelief, wagging a finger at her. “Oh, no no no! I did not sign up this. We have to go—now!”

The woman held out the length of her arms while he steadily paced himself further into the cage. “Get back! Or I’ll…I’ll…”

“Or you’ll scream? You’ve already been gracing us with your screeching vocal chords in that regard,” the vampire sneered. “Now if you’ll pardon my ungentlemanly conduct, I am going to have to use force in this annoying rescue or else that bard down there will have my pretty head on her rapier.”

Sidestepping her, he deftly situated himself to cuff her wrists in one hand and artfully plucked the teleporting scroll from behind his armor. He recited the script written in a mystical hand while imagining a safe location close by. A bright hazy mist enveloped both him and Mayrina, as the scroll disintegrated into sparkling particles.

The flash and crackles of energy following their reappearance behind Karlach, was enough to distract the hag from her continued pursuit of Tav.

The songstress cried out, rapier postured to thrust forward, “Wyll, now!”

Black tentacles slithered around the warlock’s body, writhing to satisfy a dark and ancient hunger. Arcane circles surfaced around him in shades of seafoam green, matching the bright glow of the castor’s eyes. “Morē!”

The arms shot out, capturing Ethel in their grasp. Limb after limb: disjointed, pulled apart, and infected with necrosis. Until, her putrid body had been thoroughly feasted upon and fell with a vibrating rumble to the ground.

Wyll staggered back, resting against his quarterstaff. “It worked. She’s dead.”

Mayrina scurried around the edge of the bottomless hole, holding the heaviness of her stomach in tears. She fisted her golden coils when she reached Ethel’s deceased form. “What have you done?! You’ve ruined everything!”

Tav approached her cautiously, an unreadable gaze transfixed on the woman’s rotund stomach. Her sleeve had been torn during her incurred injury, tattered shreds hanging loosely off her arm. “No more bargains,” she flatly imparted.

“All I wanted was my husband—my Connor—back! I can’t bear to live without him,” she sobbed loudly, wet droplets streaming down her dirty face. “Ethel promised to raise my baby properly, but you’ve gone and—“

Astarion quietly trailed after Mayrina upon stealthy heels. When Tav’s frame came into view, he noticed chunks of her hair had fallen out of place, cemented to the sweat soaked nape of her neck. The sight of the clean cut on her arm, now bathed in her own blood, caused his mouth to ache.

But, what caught him off guard was her heart. If not for the faint swell of her chest when she inhaled a breath, he would have thought she were as dead as him: it was virtually muted in its beats.

The bard shook her head. “This was not your final option. You simply choose to ignore all the others out of desperation before settling on this one.”

Mayrina fell into Tav’s arms, clamoring for hope through a squeaky raw throat. “Help me! You must know someone. I’ll do anything! Please bring him back. Bring Connor back! His coffin is outside. We could leave now; it isn’t too late—“

She remained stone-faced as she allowed the pitiful human to twist her shirt. “Listen to me carefully because I will not repeat myself: this is the last time you can play so frivolously with life and death. Another miracle will not mysteriously save you from your decisions. We can help bury your husband, but that’s all.”

Tav untied a satchel filled with coin and held it out to her. “Take this. It’ll help get you back on your feet for a while. There’s shelters in Baldur’s Gate that help young mothers out—it may be worth it to consider seeking them out.”

Mayrina shoved herself away from the bard. “Didn’t you listen to a single word I said?! I want my husband back! You don’t know anything about what I’m going through right now or how much it hurts. I don’t need your damned money! If you can’t help me, then I’ll find someone that can.”

Swiftly drifting forward like a waterfowl skirting above the water to land, Tav roughly hooked the crook of her inner elbow. “You cannot forsake yourself or this babe. You must protect what is yours at all costs. Do you understand?” She assertively snarled. “Do not squander this opportunity, for you will not get another. Take the money and leave Mayrina. I will NOT say it again.”

Astarion had never witnessed such unconstrained passion in her eyes before. A swirling hurricane that pushed and pushed and pushed, until it was created out of her warm and calm reservoir. There were numerous personality quirks he had prescribed to the bard, but this withdrawn frigidity in her actions were ones he did not foresee.

Mayrina was in shock. Wide-eyed. Petrified. She made eye contact with Astarion, pleading with him out of swollen sockets to convince his partner to remove her grip.

“Darling, you’re bleeding,” the vampire mentioned gently, endeavoring to gain her notice towards the dripping deluge of blood from her forearm.

She did not respond, continuing to stare at Mayrina and the growth filling out her womb.

Protected by the lady of her heart lochs, her secrets were thrown far into the depths of her wading marrow. “You shall not know them,” she exclaimed, “Because they are wrought with uncontested sorrow.”

Until, a rush of trembling drums flooded behind her ribs and Astarion could hear each rhythmic clench of her valves opening and closing. Emotions refusing to still.

He squeezed her shoulder, articulating her full name in a low pitch. “Tavelle?”

Tav released Mayrina from her hold, looking at the pale elf from the side of her peripherals, not giving him her full attention. “Hmm? Yes, sorry. Astarion do you want to—?”

He nodded at her, lifting her forearm to his mouth to greedily review her cut. Heavenly puffs of air exited onto her skin as he sweetly plunged his tongue in between the broken flesh, tasting every drop of lush fluid. He languidly swiped his tongue in long strides up to her wrist, pressing chaste cool pecks in gratitude along the way.

But, Tav was completely despondent to him: never once wincing or flitting her view back in his direction. Never once blushing or rousing his name from her rosy lips. Never once politely asking him to stop the mania of his hunger for her blood.

Still, Astarion persistently licked, and licked, and licked at the wound that never did seem to close.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

The day ended with burying Mayrina’s husband in a shallow grave.

Tav’s nails caught the inside of Astarion’s wrist, lightly scratching translucent skin, as their two companions strode ahead to the camp nearby. He could hear the resounding ravines inside the bard’s arteries filling with a festering apprehension.

He turned to face her, drooping curls attacked by the humidity, following suit.

Her expression had returned to its usual state of demurred humbleness. The whites of her eyes were more luminous than the surface of the moon. Shiny and waning beneath gibbous lids. “Speak with me?”

It was almost difficult to believe that this was the same woman from earlier that held an unholy union between her indignation and goodwill. With her tongue as her sword and her weathervane perception, she professed her creeds uncovering a sliver of her inner self.

Yet, he could not outpace the pictured sight of her inanimate body pressed into his side as he succumbed to the metallic taste on her arm.

Where had she gone at that moment?

What had she been thinking about?

Who had she been thinking of?

The spawn arched a refined eyebrow, clearing his throat with uncertainty. “Yes?”

She crossed her damaged arm against her chest, casually holding onto the bicep of her other one, inspecting him under softened brown lashes. “What you did for Mayrina and her unborn baby today…I realize it may not have been something you’d typically do, but please know, I appreciate the kindness you demonstrated.”

“Kindness? No, no, my sweet. What I did was purely to avoid having to deal with another tiff between us—as we are so prone to do,” he commented with slight rebuff. “You know we may have condemned that child to unhappiness in relation to his mother’s catastrophic life, don’t you?”

Tav hummed, avoiding the garnets of his blistering gaze. He noticed her fingers digging into the upper portion of her arm uncomfortably.

“You didn't ask to speak with me privately to thank me, did you?” Astarion questioned, feeling a dip in his stomach.

“A part of me did,” she murmured delicately through guarded partially opened lips.

The rest of the words would not escape her mouth. Trapped in the netting of her lyrical throat. She blinked up at him, heartbeat soaring away. Finger pads now skimming to touch the forbidden area he had bitten, as if to remind her of what she needed to do.

He shook his head firmly. “No, Tav. Say it.”

The door to her was closing. Her melodies that beckoned dormant blooms to bend towards the moonlight, the source of his aegis and crimson nourishment, would soon be gone. And he was still miles away from her doorway, slashing through the abstracts of their pasts.

He felt ill.

Tenderly, she laced the ends of her finger joints with his without accord. Her ardor blanketing his undead chill: a solace and a curse.

Astarion refused to suffer for her sympathies or careful considerations. For her fucking tears now veiling her eyes. For the pity she would shower him with, again and again and again.

“Say it.”

The sun setting from the west, wove together golds and purples to cast upon their silhouettes as a final goodbye. A dying day for their last sighs.

And then, her fingers slipped back out of his hand.

“Astarion, I don’t think we should be distracted anymore. Whatever this was between us—I want it to end.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Notes:

Elvish Words

Tav: Be-inway = wake

Astarion: Huthammur = storm clouds

38 notes · View notes

violettduchess · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! Congrats again on the big 1k! May I request #14 kissing to try it out + Gilbert in your Wild West AU, with a side of enemies to lovers? Or if you just wanna photoshop Gilbert's head onto a scantily-clad cowboy, that's cool too. Totes up to you! Thank you and happy writing! Yeehaw 🌵🤠🖤

A/N: Here you go @atelier-the-atelier 💜 I love that you love AUs as much as I do and I hope I did our boy proud in his first role as a cowboy 😉

A contribution to @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady's Different Universe Same Love CCC; an entry for my 1k First Kiss Celebration with the kiss prompt: "Let's try it out"

Warning: Spoiler for Gilbert's route ⚠️

Gilbert x female Reader

WC: 2.8 k

It’s a long way from town to get to the hot springs on the very edge of Rhodolite County, but every aching muscle in your body is telling you it’ll be worth it. You would ride as far as Benitoite if it meant you could have some peace and quiet and time to recover from today.

Sheriff Michel had been pleased with you. Single-handedly stopping a stagecoach robbery by a band of Obsidian ruffians is no small feat. Add to that the fact that you’re a woman and half a head shorter than these varmints? Hot damn. When you had shown up with the three men tied together, several with missing teeth and black eyes and one with a bullet hole in his shoulder, the sheriff’s lips had lifted in a cool smile before he nodded for them to be taken away to the county jail.

“This is why you’re Chief Deputy,” he said, offering you a satisfied nod. “Now go and take the rest of the day to recover.” It was an order, loud and clear.

And the best place to recover from an ordeal like tussling with bandits is the hot springs. You can see them now up ahead. Nestled into the narrow gap of a rocky ravine are several small pools of dark water, each one right next to the other. Above you the sky is a bright and brilliant blue, the sun shining high enough that you know you have plenty of time until nightfall.

You slide off your horse with a grunt, then turn to pat his neck affectionately. “Go on now, Luke. Find yourself some grub.” He snorts, shaking his mane of red hair, and then wanders towards the side of the ravine where taller, darker grass is growing freely. You never worry about him coming back. He’s one of the most loyal creatures you have ever known.

Soon your clothes are folded, resting on top of a smooth, flat stone, warmed by the sun. Your worn boots, with their scuff marks like battle scars, rest on the ground beside it. You consider moving your holster and gun to a patch of ground right behind you but decide to lay it across your boots so it won’t get wet. Your hat is the last thing you remove, tossing it with casual ease so that it lands on top of your clothing, perched there like it was on display.

You pause a second, stretching your arms up towards the endless blue of the sky, enjoying the feel of the wind as it ribbons itself around your bare body. If someone asked you what freedom feels like, it would be this. Just you and the world and nothing in between.

Carefully you step towards the edge of the dark blue water and then lower yourself in, inch by inch. The heat engulfs you and you sink down until only your head and shoulders are uncovered.

Good lord, if this ain’t heaven.

The warmth kneads its way across your sore muscles, untying knots and soothing aches. Your eyes fall closed and you allow your head to tip back, your throat exposed and vulnerable but you don’t care. You don’t need to worry about protecting yourself 'cause there isn’t anyone here but you and the water and a whole lot of nothing for miles.

“Now this is a sight.”

Like a bullet through muslin his voice tears through your peaceful relaxation.

Several thoughts, wild as runaway trains, collide in your mind at the same time: No! Why? Go away! Fuck!

Forcing yourself to remain calmer than you feel, you open your eyes.

In front of you stands The Trampling Beast himself, the outlaw Gilbert von Obsidian, leader of the Obsidian gang and a wanted man from here to the Acroite territories. The gold accents on his signature black leather boots and belt buckle gleam in the sunlight. His leather-gloved hands rest casually on narrow hips, but the deadly LeMat revolver at his side is just inches away. He tips his beautiful onyx Diamond cowboy hat in greeting, smiling at you with his perfect, white teeth. He reminds you of the drawings you’ve seen of tigers in those science periodicals the schoolhouse gets delivered.

Beautiful and dangerous as hell.

“Goddamn it, what are you doin’ here, Gilbert?”

Your voice is steady and you’re deeply grateful for the water’s opaqueness. You’re also deeply aware of how vulnerable you are, naked and trapped in the water while he’s standing there in all his black and gold glory.

He watches you with his brilliant eye, red as sundown. A black leather eyepatch covers the mystery of his left eye. All kinds of rumors live around that eyepatch: the outcome of a deadly knife fight, a childhood accident, a science experiment gone wrong in his country of birth. Part of you wonders if it isn't just a ruse, a scare tactic to intimidate his enemies. Maybe there's nothing at all under that eyepatch but a second, perfectly healthy crimson eye.

His smile never falters as he shrugs, the motion far too performative for your liking.

“The same thing you are, I imagine. Looking for a place to recover from an arduous afternoon.” He catches your gaze and holds it. His eye gleams. The tiger has you in his sights. “You see, three of my men were accosted today. And then brought to jail.” He shakes his head. “Freeing them was……strenuous.”

Anger snakes its way around your spine. “God DAMN IT!” You slap the surface of the pool in frustration, water splashing up harmlessly. When you finally meet his gaze, his smile is still in place and absolutely infuriating. “Did anyone get hurt?”

He raises a hand to his heart, pretending to look wounded. “What kind of man do you take me for, Deputy?”

Your voice quakes with fury, glows with an anger hot as a blacksmith's forge. “A varmint. A dirty, no-good, black-hearted-”

“I see.” Something crosses his face, a fleeting moment where his smile falters and it surprises you enough to quell some of your outrage. Have you made a dent in that armor of his?

“Let’s talk. I believe if I explain some of the situation, we may be able to come to an agreement. Save us both the burden of our rivalry.”

You raise your hand to your forehead, squinting at him. Even the sun seems to be in love, lovingly outlining his body in gleaming gold. But…..if he wants to negotiate, it needs to be on a level playing field and not one where you are vulnerable in the water and he’s fully dressed and armed.

“Fine.” You jerk your head towards the hot spring next to yours. “Get in and we’ll talk.”

You’ve surprised him. He glances from you to the pool and the expression on his face sends a thrill of satisfaction through you. It’s not often Gilbert von Obsidian is thrown for a loop like this. It takes him a moment before he comes to a decision.

“As you wish.”

He reaches up, removing his hat and places it carefully on the smooth, flat rock next to yours. His hair is dark, like the sky at early night and looks shockingly soft. Next he removes his black leather gloves, slowly, finger by finger. Have you ever seen him ungloved before? Somehow it feels almost indecent, the sight of his strong hands and bare fingers. Next comes his holster and gun which you note he places as far away from the spring as yours are. He’s playing fair. He bends down, moving his boots and socks and again, the sight of his bare feet shakes something loose inside of you, some part of you that you wish would stop reeling and be still again. Those naked fingers unbutton his black and gold shirt, revealing skin as pale as cream and when he removes it, your breath hitches. He’s long and lean, the lines of muscle cutting through him as if made by an artist’s brush stroke. You don’t realize you’re staring until he grins slowly.

“Like what you see?”

God damn it. This man is the enemy.

With an agitated exhale you turn in the water, facing away from him. What you don’t realize is that now he can look without restraint, his gaze running freely over the slope of your shoulders, the curve of your neck. Water beads and slides down your skin and some primitive part of him wants to catch them with his tongue, sink his teeth into the delectable place where neck and shoulder meet.

With a start, he realizes where his thoughts are going and why he very quickly better reign them in. He strips off the rest of his clothing and lowers himself into the neighboring pool of warm water, sending the same prayer of gratitude for its dark opaqueness as you did earlier.

“You may turn around, Deputy.”

You turn around slowly, one hand still close enough to cover your eyes. But he is in the water up to his chest, resting his forearms on the rocky shelf between your two pools.

Oh for fucks sake.

He looks so…..

So…….

Your heart is racing and the heat that rushes through you has nothing to do with the springs.

My God. He looks so…..

You build a dam to stop those thoughts from forming. A dam of anger, outrage, cold hard logic. This man is dangerous. He is your enemy.

“Well then spit it out, Gil. What did you wanna tell me?” Best to get this done as quickly as possible.

He leans forward, resting his chin on his forearms in a move that is endearingly child-like. He’s left his eyepatch on but his one eye is focused on you intently.

“Did you ever stop and notice who my people have been…..relieving of their goods?”

You arch a brow. “Innocent victims.”

He frowns slightly and you can see he is disappointed in your flippant answer. Even more surprising is how much that bothers you. You clear your throat and try again.

“Your gang stole from a merchant family from Jade County, a visiting Tanzanite noble and the mayor of Rhodolite, all within the last three months.”

He nods slowly. “Yes. And what do they all have in common?”

You scoff. “They’re all rich.”

He makes a gesture with his hand for you to continue.

“They’re…..very rich.”

“Go on.”

While considering you absently reach up to adjust the pins in your hair. His gaze darts to the curve of your arm, the water running in enviable rivulets down it, the way your shoulder hikes up and exposes the elegant line of your collarbone and a few tantalizing inches of skin below that. He licks his lips. The tiger lowers itself inthe tall grass, haunches tensed.

“So wealthy….,” you murmur, “that they can afford the loss.” Something clicks into place as you look him in the eye. Obsidian is a poor county, home to a lot of desert and rocky hills. Hot days and freezing nights. The people who live there have a reputation for being a hard folk. You hear someone from Obsidian is around, you tend to give them a wide berth. It’s a tough place to live, often populated by people who have nowhere else to go. It’s a wonder they manage at all, if it weren’t for……

He sees you have connected dots and realized that what he has been doing isn’t for him, but for the poor people of his county. The ones who took in an abandoned foreigner after his parents died and made him one of their own.

“You’re using the stolen goods to help the people,” you say out loud, searching his face for the confirmation you know will come.

“Good girl.”

Those words, almost a purr, nearly send you to the bottom of the springs but you manage to grip the rocky ledge between you and remain upright. You mirror his body language, resting your forearms on the same ledge. There are mere centimeters between his arms and yours. Your faces are closer than they have ever been but you need this, you need to look him in the eye and see if he is sincere. Has he really been playing Robin Hood this whole time? And if yes, does that make his actions any more excusable?

He sees the questions in your eyes, the way you are scrutinizing him. He’s told you the truth but he can see you need something more. A gesture of trust. It comes to him after a second. He reaches up and slowly removes his eyepatch, resting it on the ledge you’re both leaning on.

Your lips part but no sound comes out. What you see under the eyepatch isn’t scarred skin or a milky eye or even another crimson one. What you see under the eyepatch is an eye that echoes the sky in summer, the bluebonnets of the prairie, the bright feathers of the bluejay.

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until it starts to ache and you’re forced to inhale.

“Why….why do you hide it?” You tilt your head, slowly adjusting to the sight of his mismatched eyes, both arresting, both magnetic.

“A lot of locals feel if you look like me….it’s a sign of being cursed. And minds steeped in superstition walk more easily down paths of violence.”

You nod slowly. It wasn’t too big a stretch of the imagination to see someone who looks different being blamed for a drought. Or a wave of illness. You’ve heard stories of people run out of towns for it. Sometimes even worse.

You hold his gaze, letting this new idea of Gilbert von Obsidian settle over you. It coats your previous conception of him as a ne'er-do-well criminal, remolds him into something….if not exactly noble, something certainly more…understandable.

You take a moment before speaking.

“Alright. I’ll make a deal with you. When you…..liberate….the very wealthy of their goods and it happens to be around the border between Rhodolite and Obsidian, I’ll turn a blind eye. But if you attack anyone, wealthy or not, clearly within the boundaries of Rhodolite County, you’ll be pursued.”

He considers this. There is a major stagecoach hub in Rosewater, the Rhodolite town right on the border to Obsidian. It also happens to be a busy train station where the wealthy often switch to stagecoach when traveling to the capital city. What you are offering him is, in fact, quite a gift.

He smiles slowly, truthfully, devastatingly beautifully and you stifle the urge to gasp, stung by twin emotions of dismay and excitement.

“I’ll take that deal,” he says. You clear your throat, lifting a hand. A handshake to seal the deal and then you would have the entire ride back to the sheriff’s office to figure out how to explain this all to Chevalier.

Gilbert looks at your hand, then looks you in the eye and his smile sharpens. “Oh there are better ways to finalize a deal.” His gaze drops to your lips. “Let’s seal it with a kiss.”

What the hell did he just say?

“I……that’s…..what…..”

He tilts his head and it is so roguishly charming you could scream.

“Why not try it? Hmm? Or am I really so repulsive?”

Oh no, no you’re not and that is the problem, you think as you stare back into those eyes, those beautiful crimson and azure depths that seem to actually twinkle in the sunlight as they regard you.

But you can’t show weakness, right? It would reflect poorly on the sheriff’s department. At least that's what you're telling yourself.

“Fine,” you mutter, ignoring the wild fluttering of your pulse. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Now he laughs and good God almighty it is nothing like the harsh, sharp-edged laughter you’ve heard from him before. This is soft, almost breathy, dreamy with anticipation as he leans forward, forearms pressed against the slick rocky ledge and presses his lips to yours.

Gilbert von Obsidian tastes like the coolest mountain spring, right before winter hits. Cool and clean, crisp and exhilarating. Never would you have imagined his lips would mold so perfectly to yours, that they would be so soft, so sweet. He's the first drop of cold wine, the first splinter of chocolate, the first spoonful of iced cream.

The water sloshes as he reaches for you, leaning further across the rocky shelf that separates your bodies. His hand slides over your bare shoulder, up the curve of your neck and lingers there as his mouth learns everything there is to know about yours: shape, taste, texture.

And then, with his hand on your neck, your fingers gripping the rock for dear life, you part your lips in invitation.

He accepts without hesitation and my God did that sound come from your throat?

Your low, soft whimper sparks something in him and your whine is answered with a growl. The tiger is ready, springing from its hiding place, scaling the rocky shelf and plunging into the water beside you.

You welcome him with arms as wide as the western sky.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @tele86 @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @aria-chikage @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @joiedecombat @bubblexly

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #western au #different universe same love ccc #1k first kiss celebration #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #otome fanfiction #violettwrites

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justinewt · 1 year ago

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For the Greater Good - TMR REWRITE Chapter Ten

[TMR REWRITE-MASTERLIST]

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Summary: After Teresa called WICKED on them when the group had just reached the Right Arm that same day, Minho and Grace were both abducted by the organization while their friends barely made it out. Thomas had to watch his sister and one of his closest friend get dragged onboard of the helicarrier, unable to do anything to help them. For 6 months, they were locked up in a facility and experimented on until Thomas, Newt and a back-from-the-dead Gally came to their rescue.

Words: 7.3k

Warnings: TMR Death cure spoilers, angst, mental torture, medical experiments, needles, restraints, violence

Grace tilted her head back and she stared at the overhead lights with a heavy sigh. Her muscles felt so sore. She pulled at her wrists in frustration, but she was handcuffed to a chair, in a small room with a table and another chair facing each other like the one where Janson had briefly questioned Grace and Thomas back when they got to the facility, except this room was bright and white. Her heart ached as she remembered her brother struggling against Jorge, trying to get to her and Minho to save them, calling out their names, yelling at the top of his lungs. She feared what they were going to do to her and Minho here. It had only been a day since they were taken from the Right Arm camp, which went up in flames after WICKED came. All because of Teresa. Grace heard the handle move and the door open. A guard held out the door to no other than Teresa. She dared to greet Grace with a friendly smile. She was met by a death stare.

“How are you feeling?” She sat in front of Thomas’ sister as the door was closed behind her. Grace stared at her without saying anything. Teresa sighed softly, joining her hand on the table. She was trying so hard to come off as welcoming and agreeable, but Grace would never let her forget what she did to all of them by betraying them. “If your muscles are still hurting a little, it’s normal. It should be gone in a couple days.”

“Yeah, I doubt that.” Grace finally spoke, though her words were referring instead to the knife she had stuck in their backs. She was bitter and resented Teresa. Straightening up, she asked, “Where’s Minho?”

“He is being checked by a doctor. Just like you were, when you were still passed out.”

“I want to see him.”

“I’m sorry, Grace. I don’t think Janson and Chancellor Paige will allow that.”

“Do you like that? Huh? Being WICKED’s dog?” Grace asked. She didn’t have to raise her voice very much to let her anger show. Teresa looked at her like she was sad to see her react like this, as if it was surprising after what happened.

“Look, Grace, I came here to tell you something. I’m sorry it had to happen this way, really, but… we need you to help us.”

“You need my blood, not me. Why are you even here acting like you’re trying to bargain with me? Why do you act like you care?”

“This could all be so much easier if you agree to help us.” As she was talking, the door opened, and Janson walked in. He sized up Grace and stood by the table, hands behind his back.

“She’s right. This could all be so much easier if you just agree to help us. Because you know, that if you’re being too difficult… we will take what we want from you anyhow.” He threatened her with this annoyance in his eyes contradicting the smile on his face. “We have much to do right now. We’ll deal with her later, take her to her room.”

He waved nonchalantly at Grace, and she was grabbed by two soldiers who entered as he left. They grabbed her by the arms and not giving her time to get support on her feet, she was dragged out of the room and brought down the corridors. They passed many people in white coats and continued without stopping until they reached a door. At eye level along the wall was a window that looked out into the room within. It was a small room with a single bed with white sheets and blankets and a small light wooden table against the wall, with a chair. A guard slipped a card in a slot provided for this purpose, next to the door and a beep signalled the opening of the latter. She was pushed inside. They left her in handcuffs, and she turned back to the door, which beeped again as it locked. She also realized that the window was obscured from inside the room. They could see her, but she was cut off from what was going on in the halls. She sat on the bed and let her head fall on the pillow. She had no idea what Teresa wanted to tell her. Janson had cut their conversation short after probably being too annoyed by Grace’s behaviour. She was way too angry to comply and be obedient anyway.

As the days passed, Grace felt more and more on edge. She was locked in a room in which we could observe her without her knowledge and the lights were never turned off, which made her have a lot of trouble sleeping. She wasn't doing anything the whole day and the time seemed excruciatingly long. She thought that maybe they were trying to wear her out and push her to the edge so she would be too exhausted to fight back, or maybe they were just preparing the next tortures she would be subjected to. The only time she had some interactions was when she was brought food, and even then, the guards weren’t the most talkative, or when she was taken to get some blood drawn. It was really bugging her how they were just leaving her alone. She knew something was coming, and she also knew that she wouldn’t like it, whatever it would be. After a couple weeks, she was visited again by Teresa, directly in her room this time. The door buzzed loudly, and she sat up on her bed. The woman walked in, followed by an armed soldier.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, pulling the chair away from the table and sitting down.

“Are you going to ask me that every time you talk to me?”

“I’m just being mindful. You might believe me, but I care about your wellbeing, and Minho’s.” Her voice was soft, but it wasn’t fooling Grace. “I really need to have this talk with you, and I would prefer to do it myself. Janson won’t be as patient.”

“Oh, you’re so kind.” Grace rolled her eyes, pulling at the handcuffs, looking away from Teresa.

“We have been running tests on the blood samples we collected from you, Minho, and the others. You must have notified we weren’t taking you out of your room very often. We compared—”

“Get to the fucking point already.” Grace cut her off, sighing.

“We discovered something in your blood. The enzyme your brain produces is 110 percent more efficient against the flare.” She sounded excited and happy about what she was telling her, but it was all gibberish to her ears. “Not only do your body fights off the flare, but it also controls it. It’s as if it was assimilating to your system, rendering it harmless to you. You’re more immune than anyone else we’ve seen. Even more than Thomas.”

Grace instantly looked back at Teresa when she mentioned her brother. What she was saying was somehow not very surprising. This was a theory she had ever since she saw them draw so much blood from her at the facility in the desert. And now, she had the confirmation that there was something more about her and her blood, something that was very interesting and precious to WICKED. They probably already knew about it but needed a lot of her blood to run a few more tests and be sure. In any case, they took their time doing it.

“So? What now?” Grace enquired, holding her hands tightly to keep from fidgeting with her fingers.

“We are on the right track to synthesize a cure, thanks to you, Grace.” The latter glanced at Teresa. She would never get out of here if she was their golden ticket to a cure. They would never let her go and it made her grow anxious. So anxious about what they would do to her to get it that she was petrified. “We still need to conduct a few tests, and we need to find someone to try it on but we’re positive we can do it.”

“And why are you telling me this? They don’t need my permission to make me their lab rat.” Grace spat through her gritted teeth.

“I don’t want them to hurt you, that is why.” This made her let out a chuckle. She didn’t believe her anymore. She didn’t believe she actually cared, because she jeopardized the safety of everyone to get here and to get to this. Grace surprised herself when she spoke.

“I’ll agree to help you.” She turned her head to Teresa. “But I have a couple conditions.”

“Tell me.”

“I want them to conduct tests and shit, only on me. Not on Minho, or the others. I won’t fight back… if they leave him alone. Torture me not him.”

“You won’t be tortured, Grace—”

“Don’t bullshit me, please. Just go tell them and get on with it.” She looked away, gulping quietly. Teresa said she would go talk to Paige and see what she could do, promising her to do her best but she didn’t care about her worthless promises. She didn’t meet Teresa’s gaze again when she left and had a gloomy face, staring into space, as if she had signed her death certificate. To ensure Minho’s wouldn’t be tortured by WICKED, she had negotiated that everything be done to her, without having the slightest idea of how far their experiments would go and that thought alone made her feel sick to her stomach. She knew that if Minho was here, he would have never let her do this, but he wasn’t, and she didn’t want them to hurt him for the sake of science when they already had what they needed to make a cure with her. If she could ensure he would be safe, she was ready to do anything, even if it led to her death, though she prayed it wouldn’t come to that. She wanted to see her brother again. She wanted to Newt and all her friends again. She wanted to see Sonya again and get to know her, which she would never be able to do if she died at the hands of WICKED. It took until the next day for Teresa to come back. She talked to Chancellor Paige, and she had agreed to leave Minho out of this, the only condition was for Grace to never be difficult and agree to every test they would need to do. She agreed and knew it was going to be a long way to hell.

Her bare feet sinking into the snow, Grace walked on without really knowing where to go. Strangely, she didn't feel the cold, despite the fact that she wasn't wearing shoes or a jacket. Her clothes were thin, but she didn't seem to mind the temperature, which was probably in the negatives given the snow that was falling nonstop. She saw a forest straight ahead. There was nothing else on the horizon, so she headed there with a quiet step. As she approached the edge of the forest, she heard someone calling her, which caused her to go deeper into the woods, so that soon she found herself in the shade of the trees and of their tall, thick foliage. She walked blindly, following the voice that echoed around her. She only realized after getting too far into the forest that the snow had disappeared around her. She stepped on a branch that creaked under her foot. Suddenly, everything became silent, and the atmosphere changed drastically. The air became heavy and thick, and she found it harder and harder to breathe. Gasping for air, she held her hands to her throat and collapsed.

She was choking and there was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes for a second and as she tried to take deep breaths, she felt water seep through her nose and mouth and found herself banging furiously against a glass wall. This time, she felt the coldness in the water she was immersed in, right down to her bones. She wanted to hold her breath but the water she had already breathed made her cough and take deeper breaths. His vision was blurring. She no longer had the strength to hit the glass in front of her and her body shook with a brutal spasm, then another and she felt like falling into an abyssal void. Everything was dark around her. She let go and opened her eyes when she heard the heartbreaking cry of a Griever. Without thinking she took a deep breath and felt air fill her lungs, but the relief was short lived. She got up and quickly realized that she was in the labyrinth, in the middle of the night. She didn't even try to understand the meaning of everything that was happening, as if it seemed normal. There was a second screech that echoed through the corridors of the maze, and she began to run at full speed, not even knowing if she was getting closer to the monster or if she was moving away from it. She didn't care about being barefoot, she just ran breathlessly, terrified of coming face to face with one of her half-machines, half-organic creatures.

Taking a turn, she slipped and fell heavily to the ground. She felt her body go to the side and she slid into a wide gap between the platform and the wall. She screamed at the top of her lungs and fell silent when she realized that she was glued to the stone wall. She felt like her whole body was trembling from the inside. Her breath was shaky as well and she heard the metallic clinging of the Griever climbing up the wall. The creature covered her body and she found herself only inches from his head. He opened his mouth, letting out a squealing scream, bringing up a foul smell from the bowels of the earth. She closed her eyes as hard as she could and turned her head to the side, her face distorted with fear, and screamed. When she opened her eyes again, it took her a few seconds to stop and realize where she was. Her throat hurt like hell, but with a quick look around reminded her that she was not back in the maze. She heard the voice of a scientist rise in the room. She was barely catching her breath, her eyes wide from what she had been put through. After a minute, she was taken out of whatever machine she was in and carried to a bed. Her whole body felt drained of any ounce of energy that she ever had, as if she had turned into a ragdoll. She was strengthless. Her arms hanging loosely along the bed, she stared above her, breathing weakly.

The bed she was moved around on was pushed against a wall. Her vision was still blurry, but she could make out the shapes of several people, busy around her. She felt her arms being lifted and then rested on the sides of the bed. Her eyes moved slowly, and she tried to focus and follow some of the movements. She watched as plastic bags were hooked to IV poles on each side of her bed. One of the pouches contained a liquid that appeared to be translucent and the others a dark red liquid. She guessed the many tubes she could see linked the bags to her body, but she couldn't feel anything. The noises of machines and the words exchanged around her mixed in an incessant buzzing as if she was surrounded by a thousand bees. She saw someone lean over her and place a mask over her face. She took a breath, and her eyes grew heavier and heavier, until they closed completely, and she let herself sink in the dark again.

She did everything they asked of her, and she was still not allowed to see Minho, but Teresa assured he was being taken care of and not tested on. She didn’t trust her, but she had to take her word for it since she couldn’t check for herself. The only thing to do was hoping they were keeping their word. With Grace in their hands, it didn’t take the scientists as long as she thought to try and see if their vaccine actually cured people from the flare. What would take a little more time would be to see how long the cure they made was effective before they got sick again, if they got sick again at all, because there was a world where it did work out perfectly and in which Grace turned out to be the source of the cure for all of humanity. If it was the world they were in, Grace would be condemned to serve as their supply for the creation of this vaccine and would never see the light of the sun ever again. She would be sucked dry by these vampires, but they would act as if they were so grateful of her sacrifice. The sacrifice of a 17-year-old girl who happened to be more immune to the flare than others. To her great misfortune. But if they had gotten Thomas as well, he would be subjected to the exact same treatment and she didn’t want that, though she didn’t want to die for those greedy, selfish people either. While she was plunged into a vegetative state for months at a time, she only dreamed of one thing.

Getting out of there and seeing her brother and friends again.

She wanted to have another chance at life. She wanted to be more than what they saw in her. Maybe, if she could make it out of there alive, she could also see if anything could come out of that spark she felt when meeting Sonya.

Grace wasn’t really being told anything anymore and she couldn’t even get out of bed. She had been transferred to a bigger room where she was strapped to a sort of hospital bed, her arms stretched out to the sides. So many tubes were connected to the crooks of her elbows, the backs of her hands and really, wherever they could stick a needle, they had. She was bedridden and fed through a tube that had been inserted in her skin and into her stomach and an oxygen mask was sometimes slapped on her face to put her to sleep. When she was conscious and awake, she wasn't even fully aware of what was going on around her anyway. She just had this blurry, constant vision of masked people in white coats bustling around her. Usually, it was pretty quiet and when they did speak, she couldn't make out half the words, but she guessed they might be speaking way more when she was asleep, which she was most of the time.

“Can you hear me?” Teresa spoke to her softly, sitting across from her. Grace did hear her. She was physically unable to respond, her whole body feeling numb like she was still feeling the effects of the aesthetics and drugs that they used on her even though she had been brought here for some time already. She couldn’t tell how long it had been since they put her in this room, on this chair with Teresa. Grace looked terrible. She looked exhausted and sick, a dull grayish complexion on her face. It looked like she was asleep with her eyes open, her cuffed hands stretched out in front of her on the table. If there hadn't been a backrest on her chair, she would have collapsed to the floor without a doubt. Even though she couldn’t react very much, she listened to Teresa.

“There’s a little girl here. Her name is Shai Lun. She’d been infected for three weeks but, Grace… you saved her.”

Although her body remained still, her chest heaving at each weak breath she took, Grace looked up tiredly at Teresa. Hearing this, a glimmer of hope passed through her eyes. If what she was saying was true, maybe her sacrifice would have served some purpose, and saved this little girl. Teresa saw the way she looked at her and gave her a smile, nodding.

“We’ve had her here for observation for weeks now. You saved her. And you can save so many others. Everything we’re doing here, it’s working.” Her smile stretched at the joy that this statement brought her. “Do you understand? That’s why this is so important.”

Hoping that Grace would say something to her made Teresa greatly disappointed when the later just looked down at the table again. She sighed and stood up.

“I just wanted you to know.”

“Teresa.” When she turned her back to her, Grace called her name so softly it almost sounded like a whisper.

“Grace?” She asked as if she thought she had dreamed being called out to. She approached and leaned gently towards her. The girl lifted her head slightly, looking up at Teresa. Grace swallowed harshly, her throat feeling so sore and parted her lips.

“Minho… let me see him… please…” She had to speak directly into Teresa's ear, the sound of her voice being so low. Pronouncing these 6 words had already almost made her breathless. Teresa straightened up and nodded, unable to promise her that this meeting would actually happen. Two guards then came in and grabbed Grace by the arms, lifting her up from the chair and moving her out of the room. Her body hanged from their hand like she was just a rag, and she was brought to a single room which she recognized to be the one she was in before they started actively experimenting on her. The guards put her on the bed, lying on her right side and connected her handcuffs to chains tied to the feet of the bed. The chain was so short she couldn’t even think of rolling over, but she didn’t have the energy to do so anyway. She stared at the window across the wall. She couldn’t see what was going on in the hallways but anyone stopping by could watch her in the room. It was the least of her worries. Grace closed her eyes and she was so tired that despite the bright, white lights on the ceiling, she managed to fall asleep almost instantly.

When she woke up, Grace let out a yawn so big it felt like her jaw was dropping. She winced. Her mouth hurt. She straightened up with difficulty leaning on her forearm to bring her face closer to her hands and touched her mouth with her fingertips. She hissed when she touched actual wounds. Her lips were so dry and irritated that the corners of her mouth were cracked. Maybe that played in why Teresa looked at her with so much concern in her eyes when they met. Or maybe this was just an impression and Teresa didn't care about how awful Grace looked. Her eyes then went down her hands and arms. She knew they had been drawing blood from her for a while now, sticking needles wherever they could but she hadn’t realized how bad it was. There were large, dark blue-purple bruises all over her skin. A squeal escaped her lips, and she felt her body shake. Seeing those bruises covering nearly every square inch of her skin shocked her and she felt her stomach churn. She felt sick and a sudden wave of heat came over her upper body. It was as if she was burning up and she collapsed onto the floor with a grunt, staring at the ceiling, in pain. Her breaths fastened.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw a guard being hurried inside the room to detach the chain from the handcuffs. Seeing these two people come in gave her an idea. She felt something cold being pressed against her shoulder and she quickly felt her body and breathing relax.

“How long did I asleep?” She asked faintly.

“You’ve slept since your meeting with Teresa, this morning. You needed the rest.” The woman gave her a smile and helped her sit at the table against the wall. She showed no resistance and let herself be handled, swiftly stealing her access card from her pocket. Surprisingly, the doctor then told the guard to remove her handcuffs as the girl wasn’t going anywhere in her state. While she had her back turned, Grace let herself fall against the backrest of the chair and slipped the card at her waist, held in place by the elastic of her pants. If she tried to escape from this place, she might need this card to even get out of this room in the first place. The guard took her handcuffs off and remained in the room to watch her while the woman walked to the door. She reached for her card but didn’t find it and she patted her pockets, not understanding where it could have gone. She motioned for the guard to open for her and left. A couple minutes later, someone came in carrying a food tray. It was placed in front of Grace and after she ate, the doctor came back, this time sending the guard on his way so she could check on Grace’s bruises. A kidney plate on the table caught his eye. His arms were outstretched, one on the table the other in the doctor's hands. Grace pushed the tray over the edge of the table, exaggerating the exhaustion she was in to make it seem accidental. Cotton balls rolled on the floor.

“Sorry.” Grace breathed out.

“It’s all right. I’ll take care of it.” The woman turned her back to her and bent over to gather the cotton balls and the other stuff that fell from the tray. Grace had a sudden burst of energy, and she immediately grabbed a syringe from another tray and a small bottle of drugs. She didn't take the time to read the label and just filled the syringe with it before stabbing the needle in the woman lower back. She injected the liquid and watch her body drop to the floor. Grace had no idea if she was really unconscious, but she stood up. Her legs almost gave out beneath her, and she caught herself on the table before straightening up and dropping down beside the woman lying there. She took off her white blouse and shoes. The teenage girl then put all that on and got up, not without much difficulty, leaning on the back of the chair.

“This is useless, you know?” Grace glanced over her shoulders and shrugged, breathing heavily.

“I gotta try.” She said standing at her full height facing the door, trying to hide the colossal amount of effort that it took her not to fall right here and there. She slipped the card into the slot next to the door. It buzzed open and she stepped out in the hallway of the medical wing, where she had spent day after day for the past few months. She had never put so much focus on something as basic as walking but placing one foot in front of the other while standing without any support seemed so hard. She felt her legs shaking and the thought of collapsing in the hallway terrified her, so she forced herself to keep going when she heard the doctor's voice coming from her room. The latter was shouting at a guard to go after her and in the blink of an eye she was pinned down, the guard's knee pressing against her back while he held her bruised arms with a strong grip. Being on the floor was almost relaxing after trying so hard to walk, if it weren't for the pain she was being put through. The fatigue came back in a second and she didn’t even realize when she passed out. She opened and closed her eyes without being able to move a finger and that blurry vision was back. She heard voices around her but the words were confused and sounded deafened and all she could really tell was that she was lying on some sort of bed, in a room she didn't know. Her eyes half open she saw an orange light swirling in the corridors, not knowing what was going on. It was as if not only was her body asleep again, but her mind and senses were also functioning in slow motion. She felt a pressure somewhere on her body, but she was so numb she couldn’t tell where it came from though, she recognized the pressure of a syringe. She slowly realized she was coming out of whatever they had used to sedate her a moment prior when she heard glass breaking sharply on the floor and loud grunting as if there was fight going on. The sounds became clearer as the grunting turned into yelling and she almost fell off the bed when she tried to get up. She felt strong hands catching her in her fall and as she was helped up, she saw Thomas’ face and couldn’t believe it.

“Thomas.” She didn’t care about the pain that continuously shot through her bruised limbs and wrapped her arms around her brother with a sob. Newt and Minho were panting from the effort the fights required, standing there a few feet away from the siblings just reuniting. They joined in the hug after Grace gave them a look when she noticed them in the room. She also gave them each a hug and upon turning back to Thomas, she saw him staring at her arms in shock. Taking a step back, she hit the bed and looked at the three boys. Newt and Minho had also just seen the state in which WICKED had left her and she couldn't help but look away. Seeing what her arms looked like made her sick to her stomach but seeing the guilt in their eyes made her feel even worse. She thought of telling them she was fine, but she couldn’t even resort herself to saying such blatant lies. She felt dizzy and her body was weak, barely able to stand on her own.

“Grace—”

“It’s— I didn’t want them to experiment on you.” She said in one breath, wrapping her arm around her stomach, holding her side. She patted lightly when she felt a bandage under her T-shirt. For a split second she wondered what they had done to her, and she quickly remembered that she had spent most of her last months hooked up to machines, a tube in her stomach to feed her. Not one of them really said anything. All three of them were at an abyssal loss of words. Thomas looked around and grabbed one of the doctors lying dead and lifted the body, grabbing it by the collar to pull off its white coat and put it around Grace's shoulders. She couldn't hide the pain that shot through her arms as she tucked them into the sleeves and closed her eyes so as not to see the way the boys were staring at her.

“Let’s get them out of here.” Thomas glanced at Newt and nodded. He helped Grace to walk out of the room but as they came around the corner of the corridor, a bunch of soldiers spotted them and yelled in their direction. Grace barely had time to realize, she let out a gasp when she was suddenly lifted off the floor and found herself in Thomas's arms as the boys ran in the opposite direction. She clung to Thomas and watched the soldiers chasing them with dread on her tired face. As they fled, she met Janson's gaze and felt her heart skip a beat, holding her breath until he left her field of vision. They were desperately trying to shake off Janson and the soldiers but came to a halt when the latter came from in front of them. Grace ducked her head in Thomas’ neck when they fired in their direction. Minho urged them to get into the room to their right and slammed the door shut and locking it. Janson could be heard grunting as he banged on the door furiously. Thomas took a look around the room while Newt and Minho knocked over a piece of furniture across the door to block it. They backtracked against the large bay window overlooking the rest of the city. Grace stared at the door anxiously, trying to stay calm but with the fatigue and pain she was in, she was kind of all over the place.

“Oh, shit…” Thomas swore as they heard loud steps on the other side of the door. Janson really wanted that door open for the sole reason that he felt so entitled to what was in their blood and the cure that could come out of it. Though she was scared shitless, Grace knew that now that Thomas had her back, WICKED was going to have to keep their claws off her. Grace gulped as she heard a drill whirring. They were trying to saw through the lock on the door to open it.

“Any ideas?” Minho enquired while he and Newt stared at the door, sparks flying inside the room. Grace followed Thomas gaze as he turned to the window and looked down. He showed the pool beneath them and stepped aside, still carrying his sister in his arms while Newt and Minho threw a huge canister at the window, shattering the glass. He put Grace on her feet, holding her firmly by the waist and all four of them stood on the edge, watching the canister fall heavily into the water.

“It’s doable.” Thomas said, glancing at his sister and friend. In other circumstances, Grace would have laughed when she saw Minho’s doubtful face. “Just need a little running start.” Thomas was the first to walk towards the middle of the room, swiftly taking his sister back in his arms since she couldn't run, even for such a short distance. He told her to hold on tight and she clung to him, ignoring the pain that shot through her bruised hands, staring fearfully through the window, taking breaths to try to calm down.

“You sure about this?” Minho asked.

“Not really.” He saw the look on Grace’s face and added; “it’s gonna be okay.”

“Nice pep talk.”

“Yeah, we’re all bloody inspired.” Newt added sarcastically.

The sound of the saw stopped, and Grace turned her head towards the door. There was a silence for a couple of seconds before they started ramming the door. The door banged open, and Janson stepped over the furniture on the floor to get in the room. Thomas swore under his breath and the three boys ran for it and jumped out the window. He shouted, telling Grace to hold her breath but she didn't have time to process what he said and what was happening. She screamed her brother’s name as they fell. She opened her eyes underwater, blinded by this cloud of bubbles and this deaf sound that was her voice. In a matter of less than a second, the nightmares she had of herself drowning came back and she panicked. She was pulled out by Thomas and desperately gasped for air, coughing dryly, and wincing at the sensation of her nose and throat sore from breathing in water. He tightened his grip of her and pushed the hair sticking to her face, reassuring her. She calmed down but had no control over the cough she was seized with. Thomas gave the middle finger to Janson, who was watching them from the windowsill and the group swam to shore. Grace let Thomas pull her with him, out of breath. Only when he put her on the edge of the pool before he even got out of the water, did she realize she was sobbing, panting, coughing and shaking all at once. He pulled Minho and Newt out of the water and helped Grace get on her feet when soldiers ordered them to stay where they were, their machine guns aiming at them. There weren’t many options, so they obliged. While staring at the soldiers, Thomas whispered to Grace to help her calm down. He tried to reach for the handgun at his thigh, but they saw him, advising him not to do that.

“Get on your knees with your hands in the air.” Grace gasped loudly and widened her eyes when one of the soldiers started firing at his peers, stunning them with the electric shots. Once they were all down, he came towards them and took off his mask. Her jaw dropped when she saw Gally standing right in front of them.

“Minho. Grace.” He nodded at them before looking up the building. “You guys are nuts.”

“I’ll explain later.” Thomas then told Minho and his sister, who looked at each other in shock before walking away. Grace heavily relied on her brother’s support to walk along them. She could feel her legs almost giving way with every step. It took so much energy from her; she would have never been able to walk on her own. She barely managed to take deep breaths. Sneaking through the city was really not easy on her. They slid on the ground, hiding from the soldiers looking for them. Thomas sat her down against the grove's half wall, in between him and Gally. She held her arms with a low moan of pain through her teeth. She almost felt even more drained than back there.

“Well, they’re definitely pissed.” Gally declared.

“How far are the tunnels?” Thomas enquired as he took off his soaked gloves, looking at his sister with concern. She was way calmer now, but he could tell she was in a lot of pain, on top of being exhausted.

“Uh, maybe blocks from here.” They all looked ahead of them upon hearing Newt, who was a few feet away, sitting next to Minho, started coughing his lungs out. Grace stared at him, not understanding what was wrong with him at first but when it clicked, her face dropped, and she felt her heart and stomach sank to her feet. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be infected. They were supposed to be immune to this. Gally looked at the two siblings. “We can make it.”

Thomas didn’t say anything. Him and Gally crouched behind the wall, on the look out but she kept staring at Newt. She had just reunited with her friends, and she was faced with the realization that one of them was dying and that she could save him with all the fucking vaccines or whatever that they made using her, but they needed time to get said cure. She was so focused on the fact that Newt was dying that she completely overlooked the reappearance of Gally. Minho came towards them.

“Hey. How long has he been like this?”

“He’ll be okay. We just gotta get to Brenda.” Thomas said, taking off his jacket. “She’s got the serum. Come on, let’s go.”

Thomas tried to help his sister get up, but she pushed him away, telling him to take care of Newt. Minho and Gally, or either of them, could help her. They watched him catch Newt as he almost fell over and walked away. Until then, she hadn't really cared about the sticky feel of her soaked clothes on her skin, but she suddenly couldn't bare it anymore and leaned forward, moaning from the pain as she tried to pull the blouse off.

“Hey, hey, hey. Take it easy, Grace. Don’t hurt yourself.” Minho hastened to stop her and helped her take off the blouse. Gally's eyes slid down her arms as she fell back against the low wall. Like every single one of them when they saw all the bruises, he couldn’t help but stare in shock, though he tried to control his expression, she could tell in his eyes. He was taken out of his stupor by Minho’s voice. “Why you helping us, Gally? I put a spear through your chest.”

“Yeah. Nobody’s perfect, man.” He shrugged it off and was about to help Grace up but a quick look from Minho was enough to make Gally understand that he got this so the latter just stood up, patting him on the shoulder and walked off.

“Can you stand?” She nodded and he put her arm around his shoulder, holing her by the waist and they just started following Gally and Thomas when she spoke with a faint voice.

“Minho… did they do something to you?”

“They put me through a bunch of simulations, but they only did it a couple of time.”

“Okay. Good…” She nodded, resting her eyes as they walked. She was relieved to hear that Teresa did keep her word and stopped the experiments on him and the others.

“What did you do, Grace?” His question got her to look at him from the corner of her eyes and the silence that followed pushed her to say something. Her brother and Newt were far ahead but not Gally. She knew he would hear but it wasn't that much of a problem. She just didn't want Thomas to know about all this. For now, anyway. On the way, she proceeded to tell him about the day Teresa came to talk to her, trying to get her to cooperate, and she ended up agreeing to do all this and that her only condition to this was for them to leave Minho alone and not use him for any experiments of any kind. She could tell he was upset to hear all this, but the guilt outweighed it. He came out of this safe and sound because she took it all on her. She didn’t have to tell him about how they drew her blood almost every day, leaving her bedridden and in a medically induced coma for a while. She didn’t tell him about the anxiety-inducing nightmares of her drowning or about how sick she gets when she looks at her arms now.

“Anyway… I’ll recover from this.”

“They tortured you—”

“And I agreed to it. It was a shit decision, but it doesn’t matter…” She shook her head, letting out a sigh. “You should go help Thomas with Newt.”

“Grace, you can barely walk on your own.”

“I’ll help her.” Gally turned to them and pushed by Grace, Minho went ahead and put Newt’s arm around his shoulder. She took a step forward and it was enough for her to lose her balance and catch herself on the arm that Gally held out to her. They resumed their walk and stopped in their tracks again, watching an explosion occur further ahead of them. “We’re supposed to take down WICKED, not the whole damn city.”

“Gally, come on.” Thomas urged him to continue on their way and Grace had to wait for him to follow them and looked up at him observing the fire left by the explosion. He didn't seem so thrilled with how far this was going but she didn’t really care. She already had a hard time with Gally back in the Glade and she still wasn’t too fond of him, but he seemed nicer than he used to be. If someone had told her that she would stop hating Gally one day and that he would even go so far as helping her out, she wouldn’t have believed it. When you remember how he ran after her and she taunted him from the top of a tree after she tried out for the Builders during the first week, she would have never thought she would even accept help from him.

[To be continued…]

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Published (26/06/2023) by Andrea

Taglist: @cathrin2405 @kika64

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thesevro · 1 year ago

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[cassius bellona] sit, goodman

Cassius Bellona/Male Reader Smut Word count: 2.7K words Minor Light Bringer spoilers below the cut.

CW: Sex (i.e., oral sex, exchanged masturbation), vulgarity Reader constraints: Gold-born, an engineer of the Rising

Lyria, literally filming every horny interaction between you and Cassius with the audio: “If you don’t let me suck your dick, I’m going to kill myself. Take your pants off right now, or I’m going to pull the trigger!”

——

The days on the Archimedes have settled to take on a daily rhythm of hustle between every member of your crew. Cassius watches you weld a piece of scrap in making a miniature ship engine from scratch. He acts as an ostensibly ‘innocent’ supervisor of this engineering endeavor by his favorite engineer (he can’t even build a rubix cube via holo). Lyria knows he isn’t because you are half-naked and every bit of your skin is built with toned muscle that ripples with each movement. And you’re sweating like hell. Cassius hasn’t ever made you sweat like this in bed, not even when you’ve had him up against the wall. Lyria knows because he has told her all about his grand adventures withyou. In appropriate detail of course.

Lyria secretly films Cassius’s hungry eyes. If you don’t let me suck your dick is a line from the audio playing on her datapad. It fits perfectly with the way Cassius’s face changes as you move away from the miniature engine to heave a huge lump of scrap over your head to carry it towards the engine. Take your pants off right now, or I’m going to pull the trigger is the line that plays as Cassius swallows, desperation finally catching in his eyes as (Name) sets the scrap piece down with a hard grunt.

Cassius calls out encouragement in what might be defeatist attempt at pulling himself together. “(Name), you’re doing well! Be careful to let the crankshaft anneal properly, lover.”

He sounds like he still has two functioning and so not-horny brain cells, at least. You give a measured nod without even looking back at Cassius. The only things you’ve ever been so enamored by aside from Cassius are engineering machine parts and numbers. The level of the focus flow you have sunken into must be staggering.

When his professional Engr. Husband has finished, Cassius moves toward you and tosses you a towel. You mutter your thanks, barely audible to Lyria, and sigh. A soft groan leaves you as you stretch your neck and the muscles there pop. Soon as the sound leaves your mouth, Lyria leaves. She knows what comes next, especially after seeing Cassius’s hungry eyes on you.

“Tired?” Cassius asks in a low, quiet voice. Damn near sensual. He’s turning on the charm, but you don’t notice. Even when he gives you that cocky smile, all smug with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You only continue to stretch your sore muscles, using the grip you have on his shoulders to contort your body into long stretches.

You give another sound of relief as the tight joints in your shoulders pop. A sound that goes straight to Cassius’s loins. This, you know. This, you use against him. There are times when acting sexually stupid provides some of the most satisfying rewards. Today, you will be rewarded with Cassius lifting you up the wall by your ass to spread you open and show you what he really wants and what he really means by that hooded look he’s giving you with his pretty golden eyes. Oh. No, he’s giving you the ‘I’m getting on my knees for you’ look.

You wonder if you’ll taste a little better with the briny sweat beading all over your body, like he does after training with Darrow.

“A massage will do you a lot better than hanging onto me like a baboon,” he jokes. You laugh.

Then you go serious after three seconds of laughter. “Don’t call me a baboon.”

“Yes, sir. Now sit.” He pulls away from you to move a chair and push you into it. You fall with the intentional force of his hands. “You ought to relax. You keep working yourself to death like this and you’ll end up like Darrow with his twelve dozen knee surgeries.”

He sounds sincerely concerned. Knowing your schedule, you’ve barely done half the work Darrow has in three years. “Cassius. I’ve fought in forty-eight hour long corridor fights with thirty minutes of sleep in between. This is less than a walk in the park.”

“Hm.” For a moment, he looks discontent. You observe him. Your words are a reminder, you find, of all he chose not to be of help in. Again, he chooses to be unfair with himself and his heart. “Close your eyes. You won’t be fighting for even a minute with me around or while we’re here, lover.”

You do as he says. You hear the shift and rustle of fabric as he moves. You feel his hands slide over your bare torso. You heard no footsteps, so he must still be in front of you. Cassius’s rough palms caress the V-lines of your pelvis then under the bulge of your chest muscles. Beneath his touch, you shiver.

“Cassius,” you sigh. “Bit sore around the thighs. Been squatting, carrying—”

“240 pounds of metal. Nothing for you, or me, but do it enough times and anyone would get tight muscles.” He clucks his tongue, and oh gods do you love it when this man starts taunting you. Your eyes open and you peer down at the man on his knees before you. He shakes his head. No. You don’t want him to be disappointed in you. You’d do anything to please him. “You start listening to me when I tell you to rest.”

Your pants are suddenly very tight.

“Are we clear?” he says. You nod.

“Crystal, Cassius.” You smile. “Will you help me through it, husband?”

Cassius rests his head against your thigh. “In many of the ways I love to.”

At his mercy, you submit. He gives you a wolfish grin. “Should I help with the biggest muscle first or the others?”

“I need you, Cassius.” You know how good that gets him. And you’ve always been an easy catch when it comes to him. You pull Cassius’s hand into yours. With your grip over the top of his hand, your thumb splayed over his knuckles, you brush his palm over the hardness in your pants. You shudder at the fleeting touch, at the way his gaze morphs into something darkly predatory. “I need you to touch me here.”

Without hesitation, he slips your pants down your knees and off your feet, raising you up with a hand on your hip to get it all off. You sit naked on the chair, knees apart as he sighs with satisfaction at the glory of you.

He’s been waiting all morning, so he chooses to give into instinct and swallow your cock whole. You melt like butter in your chair, body softening up as you slide over to the edge to angle your cock deeper into his throat. Contrary to the universal belief of all who know Cassius, he is nothing short of a lascivious Pink who moans like the most erotic star in a holo-film.

You’ve always refused Pinks' advances and services before, but you are familiar with their sounds. Cassius has made you more so because he sounds so much like one any time you touch him. He takes your cock so deep in his throat, all with purpose, so that he gags and the muscles in his mouth seize. He moans each time saliva pours from his throat and onto your cock to coat you slick with his spit. He makes audible gagging noises that sound fit for some ero-film saved on his datapad.

“On the tip,” you gasp softly. “Please focus—please, on the tip!”

Cassius relents. Pulls back from your cock, sighing all the way as he slides your length from his mouth. His tongue slips out to catch at leftover precum that drools from your cockhead. When he closes his eyes, savoring the flavor—maybe the tang of your sweat or of your cum or both and kisses the tip of your cock affectionately, you feel the fullness in your balls culminate.

And much like a Pink, unfortunate given their forced circumstances of course but a blessing for you with Cassius as a living god of sex, your husband leans further forward once more to press open-mouthed kisses to your length. In salacious tandem with his lips, his tongue kisses your cock in suckling strokes. Cassius moans lewdly against the swath of your cock, heady with satisfaction as he looks up to measure if his ministrations are up to his standards based on how wrecked you look. You can see the gauging measure in his gaze. You can’t help but take your bottom lip between your teeth at the weight of his eyes. Naked on a chair in the repair room on his ship, with your friends walking around and at least one of them on the cameras, you—

“Cassius oh shit, someone’s on the cameras right now—”

He pulls back from you. “Already took care of it (Name). Commed Aurae in an hour ago, we’ve been dark since I started eating you up with my eyes. Which you probably noticed.” Reaching up, Cassius sets a hand on your stomach and pushes you back into the chair. He keeps it there, serving almost as a command for you to let him lead. And you know you are a man at his mercy.

Your head falls to rest on the back of the chair as he returns to giving you the best head a man with a history rife with sexual exploits can give. In truth, it’s the best kind of head. Cassius moves his tongue under your foreskin to tap it into your frenulum with all of the pink muscle, has you shuddering as the warmth of his mouth swallows your length whole once more.

Miraculously, you last five minutes under his relentless assault, moaning ‘Cassius, Cassius!’ with absolute abandon while favoring with choice approval the praises Cassius murmurs into the skin of your cock.

Taste like a dream, (Name).

Fuck you’re so thick. Need you inside me.

You feel the clench in your balls. You twitch in the seat. Breathing with a hard shudder as you collect yourself to offer fair warning to Cassius, all until he gives a disgruntled noise and pulls off your cock.

“...Cassius?”

“Slag this.” Cassius pushes the chair and you toward the wall and makes space for his knee on the seat, right next to your thigh. Then he slips his pants down, spits thickly into his hand, and presses his length to yours as it springs from his underwear. Something inside you gives, gorydamn near breaks and a hot, noisy moan tight with surprise leaves you.

“Ungh!” You only squirm as Cassius grips your cock and his in a powerful, rough hand. “Cassius! Oh gods, please please please I’m gonna—”

Already lubed with his spit, the slide of your cock against his is slick. Sticky. Your moans leave you as cries as the ache tingling right at the base of your cock thickens. You reach up, grasping for purchase with a hand around his hard bicep as you writhe against him, cornered in your chair between his body and the wall as he fucks your cocks together with his strong hand. Cassius bends down and nudges his lips to your ear, panting there as he whispers for you to cum.

“Come on, lover,” Cassius encourages. “Baby. Mm. Yes, just like that. You’re throbbing against my cock.”

You jolt in your seat at the description. Gasping for breath, you lay your hand on top of his and squeeze his hand, telling him to grip you at the tip. He follows. Deftly, his fingers maneuver around your cockhead. Cassius rubs his thumb into the slit spilling precum on your aggravated cockhead and fingers around the swath of your tip. Gods he knows where you’re most sensitive.

His hips move to thrust his frenulum, sitting at the underside of his cock, into yours in small movements. At this he moans softly in your ear. Your name falls from his mouth as a strained moan, “(Name).”

Your back arches off the chair. The muscles in your stomach convulse as your body follows, cock spurting cum all over Cassius’s stomach. With your Gold genetics, the force of your orgasm has your cum hitting Cassius’s toned abdomen with thick noises that, if you were in a humorous mood, you would rightly call akin to the sound of boots on metal. But all you can call it is the hottest sound of your life.

You lose the sensation of Cassius’s breaths in your ear and know he’s watching you. Your orgasm curls to a heightened inflection as you feel your cock pulsating against the skin on his own length, and when you open your eyes your gaze finds focus on a shot of your cum falling flat onto Cassius’s cockhead. Your cum slips down his cock to slicken up the way of your cock sandwiched against his. Cassius groans, deeper than you’ve ever heard him, panting at the sight of your cum sliding down his abs and trickling down his cock to leave his length coated in your seed.

It takes you two minutes to finish. You squirm against Cassius as he continues to pump your lengths together. Pant into his mouth as he reaches for you and presses your lips together with his.

“Not prepped for you,” he says, almost whining with disappointment. “Can’t take you inside.”

“Cassius, I don’t know if I can…”

“You can take me,” Cassius says as he tilts your head to level his gaze with yours, his fingers on your chin. “(Name). As I will take your cock inside me.”

He melds his mouth to yours as he pumps your cum over his cock and yours. You revel at the throb of him against you, a telltale sign that he’s close. But he pulls away as you weakly push at his tongue. Wracked by oversensitivity and a long orgasm even for your Gold genes, you watch him with a cock that has only begun to twitch up towards your stomach as he licks your cum off his fingers. Cassius watches you in the same starved way while the bitter flavor of your seed floods his palate. Thing is, your cum belongs anywhere except outside him. So he will take the taste and cherish it as it slips into his system.

“Think you can walk to our room with that in your pants?” you ask. Measuring, and teasing.

“Let’s not beat about the bush.” Cassius reaches out to you with a clean hand. You take it and stand, cock hanging as you stand in the machine shop naked as the day you were born. Your husband doesn’t mind at all and eats you right up with his eyes as he speaks, “I’ll dress you. Don’t leave me hanging, though?”

You glance downward, to his cock spilling out from between the open seam of his pants and pushing at his underwear. His balls are hanging out and every inch of his length is wet with your cum. If he weren’t hung like a Sunblood, you would laugh. “When have I ever done that, Cassius?”

He contemplates this seriously. “Hm. Yes, well, you never have. Not even when I was milking you dry throughout our honeymoon.”

“Wonder why you take it so good then?” you ask, pulling him towards you. Cassius is almost fully clothed, his tight shirt only riding up towards his chest, his pants clearly revealing why exactly he lets you fuck him. Naked against him, you feel the fever of his lust burgeon. Soon, he will be a man entirely at your mercy.

For a moment, he savors what it feels like to have you pressed up against his body. You without clothes. Your cock at half-mast, hanging just below his line of sight—he can only feel it nudging against his thigh. And when you pull him into a kiss, he releases his lust as a soft moan into your mouth.

“My pants are hanging by the engine,” you tell him. He rushes over. “Darrow and company have never minded me naked, but you think they’ll notice these baby-tracks?” Bits of cum are drying on your stomach. Most of it dries on Cassius’s stomach beneath his shirt.

“They won’t so hurry it up. Hah. Baby-tracks. You’ve left quite a path inside me throughout the years,” he says and leans back, overtaken by a loud laugh at his own joke. For a moment, he stands golden, this moment solidifying as amber in your memory as he shines with his laughter. Then he hands your pants to you and heads to the door. You dress yourself with a private smile and follow him, holding the door open for him. You lead him outside with a hand on the small of his back. Until you get to his bedroom, you’ll be a man of grace.

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wlwfav · 2 years ago

Note

HI IM ANON FROM EARLIER THAT ASKED AB THE FICS, yes id love to see your wips and older works!!! im practically scavenging for any platonic zack nd ray fics </3

hello again!!! i do have a WIP to offer :-) i wrote this back in july 2021, and it's something i might return to!!!

it's an AU..... can you guess what it is? 👀 (spoilers: the answer will make you cry)

When Zack comes to, he doesn’t remember anything.

He jolts awake, attempting to shoot up out of reflex. He doesn’t get far, however, as he’s being bound to… something.

Attempting to sit up causes him to become lightheaded, so Zack gives himself a moment to reground himself. His body feels heavy and sore, and he releases a small groan. He shifts around, feeling that he’s on a bed of some sort.

He tries to lift his arms and legs, but finds them restrained. Once his head clears and his vision becomes a little less blurry, he glances towards his wrists, and sees a big pair of handcuffs keeping him chained to his bed. He grimaces at the sight of his burnt skin, noting that he’s been stripped of his bandages.

Ah. They must have done this.

Zack blinks. Wait… who’s ‘they’?

His mind reels as he glances around at his surroundings, seeing nothing but plain white walls all around him. He gazes down at himself, seeing he’s wearing only a white hospital gown.

Zack’s eyes dart all around the plain, clean room. He attempts to give his restraints a hard tug, but it does nothing, as his muscles feel too weak.

He tries to recall how he got here, and why he’s in this state. He squeezes his eyes shut, attempting to search through the fog in his brain to remember what happened.

He was… Caught by the police, and they sedated him. How did he get caught again…? He was in... A building, and the building was burning. And-- That’s right, it was a building full of murderers that he was escaping...

And… He was escaping with someone, someone who was dying, someone he was trying to save, someone precious to him--

Someone…

…

Ray.

Zack’s eyes shoot open, the memories quickly coming back to him. That’s right, Ray was shot--

Rapidly becoming frantic, Zack thrashes about in his bed, trying to rip his restraints off. His body and mind protest, though he ignores the pain ripping through him, because he needs to know if Ray is okay. If she’s alive.

“Where’s Ray?! Where’s Ray?!” he repeatedly screams, panicked.

The door suddenly bursts open. Doctors and officers rush into the room. Some officers have guns aimed at Zack, while one doctor holds a needle.

Zack’s eyes widen. He fights his bounds even harder, though it is futile. A few officers swarm him, holding him down as the doctor with the needle hastily approaches him.

“No! No!” Zack yells, now in a completely frantic state, “Where’s Ray?! Where’s Ray?!”

“Quiet, Foster!” one of the officers shouts, harshly pushing Zack’s head down and covering his mouth.

Zack can only helplessly writhe in place as he feels the needle enter his arm. The liquid seeps into him, and he quickly becomes sleepy. He casts the officer a final death glare before going under.

------------------

The next time Zack awakens, he’s in a new location.

He’s able to sit up, this time, as he’s no longer restrained by anything. He stretches freely, his body feeling like it hasn’t moved in days. Despite the slight protest from his muscles, he does feel significantly better than before. His head hurts a tiny bit, but he remembers everything, and he’s able to think a little more clearly.

Once he’s done waking himself up, Zack stands, taking in his new surroundings. The plain white walls have been replaced with pure, gray concrete. Like the hospital, there’s no windows, instead only a single door to enter and exit the room. This door, however, is sealed from the outside, and has a small window with bars running through it. All that’s within the room itself is a small bed, a sink, and a toilet.

Zack glances down at himself, seeing the orange shirt and pants they dressed him in. He cringes at the sight of his skin. Still no bandages. They must not want him to have them, in case he tried to strangle himself or someone with them-- Something stupid like that.

His gaze falls to the floor, and he frowns. He knew he was going to prison, but it still sucked being in here. He could already feel himself going insane.

As a means to calm himself, Zack lifts his shirt, examining his abdomen. He sees the injury he got back on B3 received ‘proper’ treatment. The red thread is gone, and was seemingly replaced with stitches that are obviously no longer there. Aside from the scar stretching across his stomach, the wound has completely healed.

Despite this, the lack of Ray’s handiwork only upsets Zack further. That red thread had been the only piece of her that Zack had with him-- And now he had nothing left of her. He didn’t even know if he would ever see her again, much less if she made it out alive.

Zack absentmindedly runs his fingers across his stomach, ghosting over his scar. He wonders if Ray is okay-- He certainly hopes she is. Then, he can escape this place, and see her again…

The sound of a metal door scraping open causes Zack to jolt. His hand drops to his side, and his shirt falls back into place. He stands up straight and clenches his fists-- Tense, waiting.

A face appears through the barred window. The face of a man, who has small wrinkles beneath his playful eyes. The man’s mouth is twisted into a wicked smirk as he regards Zack.

“Oh, Foster, you’re finally awake. Good morning, sleeping beauty,” the man says mockingly.

Zack glares in reply. As a means to show he’s not intimidated, he walks right up to the door, staring at the officer on the other side. The man, however, does not flinch.

“You’ve been asleep for a few days now. Those sedatives are no joke,” the officer says instead, still using that damned mocking tone, “Anyways, if you somehow haven’t already figured it out, you’re in prison awaiting trial. It should come quickly, though, since the public is very interested in your case. How lucky for you!”

Zack gives the officer his own deranged smirk. “What’s lucky is that I haven’t reached through these damn bars to rip your fucking face off yet.”

In actuality, Zack knew the bars were too small to fit his hand through. But well-- It was the thought that counts.

The man only laughs in response. Damn him.

“Now, now Foster! Behave or we’ll have to confine you! You wouldn’t be able to move at all-- You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”

Zack only glares daggers in response. The officer chuckles.

“Well, your lawyer will be here tomorrow to speak with you. Though a lot of people don’t like it, you do have the right to an attorney and a fair trial and all that other bullshit,” the man drones on. He then shoots Zack a shit-eating grin, “Even so, you’re gonna have a hell of a time getting out of this one.”

Zack rolls his eyes. Yeah, no shit.

The officer steps back, dusting his hands with finality. “Good luck to you, I guess. I’ll be going now.”

He begins to walk off, and Zack’s eyes widen in realization. He quickly steps up closer to the window, calling out, “Wait.”

The officer pauses before slowly turning. He still has that stupid, shit-eating grin on his face. “What, Foster?”

With no hesitation, Zack simply asks, “Is Ray alive?”

The officer then becomes puzzled. He raises an eyebrow at the inmate as he questions, “Ray? Who’s Ray?”

Zack blinks. Oh, yeah-- He was the only one who called her Ray.

“I mean Rach--” Zack begins to clarify, but the officer quickly cuts him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Eh, talk to your lawyer about it tomorrow,” he grumbles before walking off, slamming the door behind him. The room falls quiet.

Zack glares at where the man once stood.

“Fucking bastard,” he irritably grumbles.

Zack sulks over to his bed, sitting on it with a sigh. He hated not knowing what happened to Ray. If she were dead… What was he going to do?

He shook his head. There was no need to think about that for now. Gray had told him she was still alive, and the paramedics arrived fairly quickly, so surely Ray was okay…?

Zack slumps down onto his bed, resting his hands on his stomach as he stares up at the ceiling.

It would be okay. He just needs confirmation that Ray’s alive, and then he can start planning. He would escape this place, and then he would find her, and they would run away together. If she still wanted to die, then Zack would kill both her and himself. If she wanted to give life another shot, then they would live together...

Really, it was up to what Ray wanted. Zack didn’t care, as long as he could be with her.

She really had become his everything. Ray was the only person in the whole world Zack gave a shit about, and in kind, she was the only person in the whole world who gave a shit about him.

Zack breathes in. He was going to see her again-- He would make sure of it.

With nothing left to think about, all Zack could do was sleep.

#neyehehehehehe #might continue this #this is just like. the first little part #the whole thing is currently sitting at 6k+ words #so uh LOL #✉️#anonymous #long post /#jic

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skampi835 · 2 years ago

Text

Serpent’s Lullaby - 04 - the many free periods of the sixth graders

Fandom: Hogwarts Legacy

Genre: Romantic Drama

Style within this chapter: mention of eating disorder (recovery)

Warnings: spoiler

Word Count within this chapter: 5.652

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Link to Ao3

Link to fanfiktion.de (original german version)

When Carol opened her eyes early in the morning, the first thing she noticed were the bright yellow curtains that hugged and framed her four-poster bed. Through one of the windows above the circular dormitory, the first rays of sun of the early autumn day stretched in, tempting with warm late-summer weather.

Carol could hear quiet, deep breaths and a soft snoring from the other beds, which she attributed to Lenora lying next to her. For a while, Carol lay sluggishly in her bed, listening to the sleeping sounds of her classmates and watching as the morning light of the sun lazily and slowly moved further from the ceiling towards the floor.

A completely normal life as a witch. She would lead the life of a completely normal witch.

Quietly, Carol peeled back the covers and placed her bare feet on the cold stone floor to get up. A glance at the clock on her nightstand revealed that she had over half an hour before breakfast would be served in the Great Hall. No wonder her Hufflepuff friends, with whom she shared the dormitory, were still sleeping soundly.

The muscle soreness Carol felt in her shoulders and arms, as she had pulled her travel trunk across London to King's Cross, was not as intense as expected. However, she felt sick because of the feast she had indulged in yesterday evening, partly out of frustration.

Carol grabbed her soap, towel, comb, fresh clothes, and the small flask that Sacharissa Tugwood had slipped her the night before and made her way to the bathroom.

The seventh-year had given her the flask with good intentions but also with the excessively charming words: »Darling, your skin looks so sunken, and those dark circles! You have to be careful not to become one of the scarecrows of the school soon!«

After washing and dressing in complete solitude, Carol turned her attention to the mirror on the side of the brightly tiled bathroom. How Natty had managed to find even a kind word about her tan last night was a true mystery to Carol, and she wondered, moreover, if she had even owned a mirror in the last six weeks.

It felt wrong, as if Carol was looking at a stranger in the mirror, who stared back at her with deep-set dark blue eyes. The shoulder-length, light blonde and curly hair framed the thinning face and looked dull and lifeless.

The neck appeared very sinewy, and the collarbone was prominent under the blouse that was not yet fully buttoned.

It was no wonder that everyone commented on her rapid weight loss. Most people, however, were much friendlier than Garreth and more discreet than Poppy. It would be a lie to say that Carol hadn't noticed it herself. Of course, she had noticed it in her clothes, especially in her school uniform that hung loosely on her body. But Carol didn't perceive it as being so extreme.

The intense, scrutinizing gaze that Carol gave herself in the mirror only made it all too clear that it hadn't been healthy to skip so many meals. As distracting as the summer holidays had been for her, to clear her head from the strains of the past year, they had only left further marks on Carol. She urgently needed to do something and work on her habits.

Taking Sacharissa's words to heart, Carol uncorked the flask to give the substance a chance. Almost cautiously, she sniffed at the small opening, expecting to smell the biting stench of Burbotubler pus. Instead, a subtle, floral, and surprisingly pleasant scent wafted into her nose. Carol carefully dripped a few drops of the tincture into her palm and spread it generously on her face.

She massaged the slightly viscous liquid evenly into her skin and in less than a minute, it was completely absorbed. Of course, Carol didn't expect a miracle from a tincture she had just smeared on her face, but she looked at herself in the mirror for a few minutes longer than necessary before closing the remaining buttons of her blouse. Then she tied the yellow and black tie in the Hufflepuff house colors and slipped into the loose, light gray sweater.

With her packed school bag, Carol finally made her way to the Great Hall. By the time she arrived, breakfast would surely have been served already.

During the summer, Carol had apparently not only become a scarecrow - if Sacharissa was to be believed - but also an early riser. The heavy, routine work on the Roswells' farm typically started with the first crow of the rooster in the morning and ended with the same in the evening. Afterwards, she had also worked at a seedy pub, serving beer and spirits. No wonder she had simply collapsed into bed instead of eating.

For Carol, it was fine to go to the Great Hall alone for breakfast. On the one hand, she didn't want to disturb Poppy and the others' sleep, since she herself had no objection to an hour's more sleep. On the other hand, Carol wanted to clear her head or at least sort out these new worries a bit. She could also fill her plate and eat it at her leisure until breakfast was completely over.

Feeling sad that she had taken something so normal as a resolution, she descended the stone stairs and turned into the hallway leading to the entrance hall.

In fact, when Carol arrived at the Great Hall, she could already see some students scattered across the house tables. Although it was quite early, Carol immediately noticed Ominis Gaunt, who was sitting at his long Slytherin table with a generous distance between him and two other Slytherins, sipping a cup of tea.

Carol's gloomy thoughts cleared up at once to match the morning's bright blue sky on the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. She strode along the house tables towards him, feeling uplifted.

Even before she reached Ominis, he turned his head slightly in her direction without really looking at her. His milky steel-blue eyes were focused on the table as he listened to something. »Good morning, Ominis,« Carol greeted him as she sat down at her own house table directly behind him.

Upon hearing her voice, his mouth twitched slightly. »I figured it was you. Good morning, Carol,« Ominis replied politely, turning on the bench as far towards the Hufflepuff table as he could. However, his blind, steel-blue gaze completely passed by Carol.

It didn't matter to her whether he tilted his head directly towards her or not. Ominis was very polite and attentive, which was why he followed sounds and turned towards them. It was essentially a cruel thank you, but Carol was currently glad that Ominis couldn't see her. He would certainly notice her change. »You figured it was me?« she asked curiously. »How so?«

»Your footsteps,« Ominis explained almost casually. Carol pondered his brief explanation and wondered how he could pick out her footsteps among all the different students. Was she walking strangely?

Before Carol could further analyze and unravel the question in her head, Ominis spoke again: »It's nice to see you here so early. Sebastian already told me yesterday that he saw you at the celebration.«

Carol, who was now sitting on the bench with her torso twisted towards Ominis so she could face him, licked her dry lips. »Where is Sebastian?«

»He's probably still in bed and will come just before breakfast ends,« Ominis replied calmly. »He needs to get used to school life again. Besides, he returned to the dormitory quite late last night, from what I heard.«

»And you left earlier,« Carol noted. Yesterday during the feast, which still weighed heavily on her stomach, Ominis had disappeared from the Slytherin table at some point. So Carol had willingly let herself be drawn away from the stream of Hufflepuffs to the common room. She had been too tired to engage in extensive conversations anyway.

Ominis's face twisted slightly with effort. »I apologize for not staying longer yesterday so we could talk. The noise and disorder at the opening ceremony gave me headaches like I rarely have.«

»You don't have to apologize or justify yourself, Ominis. I fully understand,« Carol said, smiling gently as she got up from the bench and moved to the one right next to Ominis. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and followed the rustling of her clothes, unsure if it was really Carol sitting beside him or someone else. She continued, »Now we can talk without having to shout at each other.«

It wasn't explicitly forbidden to sit at another house table, provided you didn't disturb anyone or it wasn't an official celebration. Ominis smiled softly, but expressed some concern, »We're getting our timetables today. If you're not at your house table, Professor Garlick may not find you.«

»What a stroke of luck that I'm not far from the Hufflepuff table,« Carol chuckled, amused by the thought of the head of house simply passing her by just because she was sitting at the wrong table. She leaned over the empty utensils in front of her and reached for the bowl, filling it with oatmeal and pouring milk generously over it. Although she still felt queasy from last night's feast, she opted for a light meal to counteract her faulty habits.

»Plus, we don't have to twist ourselves so much to talk,« Carol added as she dipped her spoon into the bowl.

»Indeed, it's more comfortable that way,« Ominis agreed, spreading strawberry jam on his toast with his wand in hand before lowering it back onto his lap under the table. »How are you, Carol? How was your summer?« he attempted to start a casual conversation.

»Fine,« Carol replied with the rehearsed response, immediately following up with the appropriate question: »And yours?«

»Good, too,« Ominis replied just as curtly as Carol. His previously successful tactic of diverting his conversation partner from a brief answer to instead motivate them to provide an elaborate response seemed not to be working for him. With a stoic expression, Ominis extended his open hand to Carol.

Carol furrowed her brow in confusion. Ominis had put down his wand to extend his hand to her. With a amused snort, Carol placed her hand in Ominis's without being asked. »Are you going to kiss my hand?« she teased, giggling softly.

»Not really,« his half-smile was gentler than expected as he turned Carol's hand in his and gently touched the palm and individual fingers with his thumb. »Sebastian took me back to Feldcroft for the summer. It's a shame you didn't come by.«

Carol was so distracted by his gentle touches that she barely noticed the spoon slipping through her fingers. But before it could clatter into her bowl of oatmeal, she managed to grab it firmly.

It wouldn't have been hard for Carol to pull her hand out of his, as Ominis held it very gently. But for some inexplicable reason, Carol didn't feel strong enough to do it at the moment. She studied his face carefully; the blind steel-blue eyes and the gentle smile on his lips almost masked the thoughtful expression on his face. Carol had to swallow quietly before she gave an answer: »I-I...« She cleared her throat and interrupted herself quickly, embarrassed by her stutter. »I had a lot to do.«

»Mhm...« Ominis responded softly and calmly. »You also sound exhausted, Carol. And judging by your rough hands, you've been doing heavy work until recently.«

At these ruthless words, Carol regained her strength and carefully withdrew her hand from Ominis' touch. She was a little shocked by how he could figure that out without seeing her. Ominis didn't hold Carol back, but he still remained facing her, listening for an answer. Carol moistened her dry lips and explained softly, »I'll tell you later, okay? More and more students are coming into the Great Hall.«

»Okay,« Ominis nodded his head and turned back to his toast, while Carol wanted to bury herself in her oatmeal. Suddenly she felt very warm. Embarrassed, she wondered how she could forget how perceptive and attentive Ominis actually was. Sometimes he noticed more in his surroundings than any sighted person.

»Maybe,« Ominis began again and leaned discreetly towards Carol to continue quietly, »we can meet with Sebastian in the crypt after class today and catch up?«

Carol didn't answer immediately, and it wasn't just because she had just stuffed a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. After swallowing the bite, she replied, »Yes, that would be nice.«

»I'm glad,« Ominis sounded relieved to have found a compromise and sipped his black tea in the finest table manner.

»Here you are! We were wondering where you were, Carol!« trilled Poppy from the entrance hall as she came with Arthur and Lenora in tow, until she recognized Ominis and stopped in her tracks. Carol looked a little worriedly at her friend as Ominis politely turned his head slightly in Poppy's direction. »Good morning, Poppy.«

»Morning,« she replied sullenly. Then Poppy strode over to Carol and almost pulled her from the Slytherin table by the shoulders. »Come over to our side. We're getting our timetables today.«

»Alright, I'll move over,« Carol said embarrassedly, watching as Poppy sat down at the correct house table. Ominis vaguely tilted his head in Carol's direction as she began to take her used dishes. »Is she still mad at me about that Diricawl, Frederick?« he asked incredulously.

»Hmm...« Carol drawled, which Ominis already interpreted as an answer, and he let out an exasperated sigh. He rubbed his nose. »It was an accident... I'll never try to pet a Diricawl again...« he muttered very softly.

Carol couldn't help but smile at the sweet thought of Ominis losing his wand just because he wanted to pet a magical creature. No one would have expected that from a Gaunt. »I know that, you know that, and I'm sure Poppy knows it too. She's just sad because the Dodo didn't come back,« Carol explained soothingly, giving Ominis a brief pat on the shoulder. »Don't worry about it. I'll be sitting right behind you.«

»Nice to hear that you've got my back,« replied the Slytherin with seemingly stoic composure.

»About time that the skinny bimbo disappeared from our table. Tsk... Who does Roswell think she is anyway?« whispered Violet McDowell into Carol's ears, as she walked along the Slytherin table with Imelda Reyes.

Carol tried to ignore the biting comment and not take it to heart as she sat down with her Hufflepuff classmates at the table. However, what she couldn't ignore was the ensuing crash as Violet fell to the stone floor along with several plates and cutlery.

Imelda looked puzzled as she saw Violet lying on the ground. »Did you seriously just fall?«

»No, the marble floor just looked so soft and cozy that I had to touch it!« she almost hysterically screamed. »Help me instead of making your comments, Imelda!«

»Good riddance to the airhead.« Lenora laughed maliciously as Imelda and another Slytherin helped Violet back to her feet. »Merlin punishes small sins immediately.«

»Pay no attention to her.« Poppy said encouragingly, turning to Carol. »Today we'll get our new schedules. We only have the subjects we passed our O.W.L.s in.«

»Yes,« agreed Arthur, pushing his glasses back up his nose after already loading his plate with scrambled eggs and bacon. »In sixth year, we have many free periods to focus on the subjects we're good at. As preparation for the N.E.W.T. exams next year.«

»N.E.W.T.?« Carol asked, looking across the table at Arthur.

»That's the next higher qualification after the O.W.L.s. The Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests, so to speak. Many professions require an N.E.W.T. as a qualification to be trained in it.« Arthur explained patiently.

»I'm going to be a healer,« Lenora announced solemnly, sticking her nose up in the air. »I'm glad I don't have to take all those boring subjects like History of Magic anymore. So much wasted time!«

Carol smiled understandingly and was about to turn back to her oatmeal, but her bowl was already empty. Just as she wondered when that had happened, Charlotte rushed over to them with her hair tousled. »By Merlin's beard! Why didn't you wake me up?« she exclaimed, grabbing a plate and throwing red toast, tomatoes, and sausages on it at random.

»You were sleeping so sweetly and kept mumbling the name of our Hufflepuff prefect in your dreams, so we didn't want to wake you up,« Lenora grinned broadly across the table, earning a venomous look from Charlotte, whose cheeks were currently stuffed with toast. »Half fem muff!«

»I'm sorry, what?« Lenora grinned maliciously and held her hand to her ear. Charlotte promptly threw a dry slice of toast in her direction.

Carol loved this lighthearted atmosphere among her classmates. The Great Hall was filling up with more and more students, but the noise level was nowhere near as loud as it was during yesterday's welcoming ceremony.

Suddenly, someone tapped Carol on the shoulder, causing her to flinch slightly. She immediately turned her head over her shoulder. »Sorry,« the trademark Sallow grin was thrown at her by the brown-haired Slytherin. »Just wanted to say hello.«

»Ah, yes. Hello,« Carol replied with a half-smile as Sebastian turned away from her and sat down next to Ominis on the bench, where he also helped himself to breakfast.

Carol turned back around and looked at her empty bowl. Her stomach suddenly felt strangely full. Angrily, she wondered why she was so easily startled.

The schedule distribution proved to be more complex this year than in previous ones. After the majority of students, namely the lower years, had left the Great Hall with their new schedules to head to their classrooms, the Heads of House personally distributed the remaining schedules. They had conversations with the students about their O.W.L. results from the previous year and the structure for the coming school years.

Professor Garlick wore her usual expansive, green sun hat with decorative flowers arranged on its brim. Her fiery red hair was braided into a long, messy ponytail that fell over her shoulder. With a warm, dreamy smile, she sat down with a stack of parchment and a bunch of flowers in front of Carol.

Carol barely knew a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry who carried as much sunshine and kindness in their heart as Professor Garlick. The young Herbology teacher plucked a small sunflower from the bouquet of cut flowers and presented it to Carol. »It's great to see you again, Miss Roswell. I give you this sunflower as a symbol of your growth and flourishing this year.«

»Oh, thank you so much, Professor Garlick,« Carol said, accepting the sunflower with a touched smile. She watched as the young teacher took a few clipped papers from her stack and studied them with a frugal expression. Carol didn't blame Professor Garlick for consulting her notes; the Heads of House had so many students to look after. Moreover, she was touched by the attention the Herbology teacher was giving her.

»You underwent a wonderful maturing process last year, Miss Roswell. Your O.W.L. results in Charms, Ancient Runes, Herbology, and History of Magic were sufficient for you to thrive in these subjects this year as well. Also, Professor Hecat was very pleased with your Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which you can continue to take, of course.«

Hearing the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's praise elicited a shy smile from Carol. It was the only subject in which she received an Outstanding. Considering where Carol had been wandering last year, it wasn't surprising.

»Unfortunately, I'm afraid you won't be able to continue Divination, Astronomy, or Care of Magical Creatures,« Professor Garlick continued with an almost sad smile on her friendly features.

Carol nodded. »I expected as much, Professor.« Her O.W.L. results in those subjects weren't sufficient for passing. However, that also applied to several other subjects that hadn't been mentioned yet. Her schedule sounded a bit weak.

The sensitive smile of the red-haired witch kept Carol listening attentively. »Regarding your O.W.L. in Transfiguration, I have spoken with Professor Weasley. Normally, a Pass is insufficient to continue your course. However, due to the special circumstances of last year, she has agreed to continue nurturing your intellectual blossoms in the Transfiguration garden.«

Carol raised her eyebrows in surprise. »Really?« she exclaimed, and Professor Garlick nodded with a sunny smile.

It wasn't the class with Professor Weasley or the subject that made Carol feel a bit uncertain. It was rather the special treatment she was receiving, although she was grateful for this opportunity.

However, the Hufflepuff Head of House seemed to have more to say. »The same goes for Professor Sharp. However, you will have to excel in the craft of potion-making in the first half of the year to continue in his course, Miss Roswell. He said that he wants to give you another chance for a career as an Auror.«

Carol swallowed softly at her words. She remembered the conversation from last year about possible career choices. »I don't actually want to become an Auror, Professor Garlick,« she said meekly.

The young professor looked at Carol with raised eyebrows, then consulted her notes as if she had made a mistake. »But didn't you mention this during the career counseling last year?«

The dismay on the otherwise cheerful face of the young professor awakened slight feelings of guilt in Carol. She bit her lip and nodded slowly. »Yes, that's true, Professor Garlick. Only last year... a lot happened. Professor Fig was still present during that conversation.«

With each additional word, Carol's mouth felt strangely dry, until she finally fell silent.

Professor Garlick gave Carol a sympathetic, compassionate look. »I remember, Miss Roswell,« she said softly and very quietly. »I miss Professor Fig too. He was a wonderful teacher with charming ambitions and ideas.«

She couldn't know how Carol's heart contracted at the words. Carol lowered her head.

»I wondered why you don't want to continue with History of Magic and Ancient Runes,« Professor Garlick explained gently. »That's why I thought you still wanted to pursue the goal of becoming an Auror. Why do you want to neglect these school subjects in which you have blossomed so beautifully?«

Ancient Runes was the subject that Carol's late mentor taught her in the extra hours. Besides, the subject had been very useful in following the traces of ancient magic. But with the lack of interest in ancient magic, Carol's desire to continue with the subject ended.

»I don't find the subjects very useful,« she lied.

ChatGPT

»But Miss Roswell,« chided Professor Garlick, almost startled. »Everything that grows has its purpose. Professor Binns praised you highly, saying he hadn't had such an attentive student in his class for a long time.«

Which meant that Carol didn't regularly fall asleep in his class.

»If you could exceed expectations in History of Magic, you could also take Ancient Studies as an elective. This would give you the perfect qualifications for becoming a curse breaker.«

Ancient Studies was an advanced course open to students who had excelled in History of Magic and Ancient Runes. It could be taken from sixth year, provided the student had achieved an O.W.L. in the subject, as well as excellent grades.

Carol had the O.W.L. Ancient Runes hadn't been the problem, as she had a knack for the sometimes very cryptic and complex runes. In History of Magic, however, she had struggled a lot, partly because she had to catch up on four years of missed classes in just one year. If it hadn't been for Ominis' patience and helpfulness, she wouldn't even have passed Acceptable.

With an O.W.L. in Ancient Studies, one could begin training to become a curse breaker. A profession that was in high demand and almost always needed at Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

But what Carol could imagine even less than a career as an Auror was spending her daily life in the dark and winding vaults of Gringotts. She licked her dry lips. »But I don't want to work at Gringotts.«

Professor Garlick's features softened. She smiled encouragingly and warmly at Carol. »Curse breakers have a wide range of job opportunities, Miss Roswell. The winds may have blown your future dreams wild over the summer.« The Herbology professor spoke very empathetically. »Do you know what you want to do later?«

When Carol remained silent, the young professor spoke lovingly. »I think a new season is beginning for you, Miss Roswell. Your special talent is like a precious gift that you should use with joy and dedication. Professor Fig would certainly also be pleased if you unleash the full potential of your gift and shape your professional future with confidence and determination.« She paused for a moment. »Let's talk about it again together.«

Carol looked into Professor Garlick's friendly features. Her heart grew heavy as she tried to imagine what Professor Fig would think of her not wanting to continue with Ancient Magic.

»Don't put yourself under pressure, Miss Roswell. I'll arrange a timely appointment for our conversation. Until then, I'd like you to take advantage of the many opportunities and continue attending classes in Ancient Runes and History of Magic. Professor Binns would really appreciate it, although he'd never admit it.«

Carol looked at Professor Garlick for a long and wistful moment. She couldn't help but appear a little disappointed. But in front of the sunny and friendly teacher who showed so much understanding and care, Carol couldn't help but nod. »Okay, Professor. When... I've sorted myself out a bit and we've had our conversation, can we talk about it again?«

»Of course, Miss Roswell.« Professor Garlick looked at Carol confidently. Then she tapped an empty parchment in front of her with her wand and handed Carol her schedule. »Until then, I ask you to enjoy your time and, as always, do your best.«

»Yes, Professor,« Carol forced a small smile. Professor Garlick winked at her and stood up to move to the next available seat beside Poppy. After settling down beside Poppy, the young house teacher handed her a flower and discussed her personal growth process. Meanwhile, Carol studied her timetable very carefully.

For a moment, Carol wondered if there might be a mistake in her schedule until she remembered the breakfast conversations regarding the many free periods for sixth-year students. Her timetable had several gaps, some of them double periods.

The handover of the timetable seemed to go a bit faster for Poppy than for Carol, as the red-haired house teacher was already moving on to Lenora. Meanwhile, Poppy turned to Carol with her timetable. »Hey, do you have Divination now?« she inquired, which Carol shook her head in denial. »No, I don't have the subject anymore.«

»Hmm...« Poppy hummed softly as she compared her timetable with Carol's. »Oh, what a pity. We don't have any common classes in the morning,« she sighed disappointedly.

»Well, we'll see each other at lunch then,« Carol said with an encouraging smile. »And look, we have Transfiguration and Charms together afterwards.«

»Yes, you're right,« Poppy said with a brightened expression, looking up at Carol again. »See you later. I have to go. The Divination Tower is quite a distance away.«

»Sure, see you later, Poppy,« Carol waved with a smirk as Poppy hurried out of the Great Hall with her bag under her arm, weaving through the rows of house tables.

A little unsure of what to do with her free time, Carol watched her friend leave when she suddenly heard a whisper behind her, »Psst, Carol!«

Carol turned around on the bench and looked over her shoulder to Sebastian, who was looking at her with a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. If anyone at school didn't need Sacharissa's potion, it was definitely Sebastian. Fresh as a daisy with tousled hair, he grinned at Carol. »What does your timetable look like?« he asked curiously.

She furrowed her brow, swinging her legs to the other side of the bench to face Sebastian completely. »What do you mean? Professor Garlick has neat handwriting.«

Sebastian blinked in surprise and then chuckled softly with mischief in his eyes. »No, that's not what I mean,« he chuckled. »I have a free period now. Do you happen to have one too?«

While Carol didn't need to check her timetable again, her eyes wandered back to the paper in her hand. »Yes,« she eventually replied, looking back at Sebastian, expecting that he had a particular intention with his question, knowing the Slytherin as well as she did, even though they hadn't had close contact since last Christmas.

»Awesome!« Sebastian exclaimed enthusiastically. »Do you want to meet at our spot? I think Ominis has a free period too.«

»Mr. Gaunt even has two,« the two whispering students told Professor Ronen in surprise. The Slytherin house teacher looked back and forth between Sebastian and Carol with raised eyebrows and an unusually stern expression, while Ominis put his schedule into his bag with lowered eyes. »And since the two of you were apparently waiting for Mr. Gaunt, I will now ask you to take out your schedules and discuss them 'at your place'. The other house teachers and I appreciate some peace and quiet during our work,« he said.

Shyly, Carol whispered, »Excuse us, Professor Ronen,« which the lively teacher of magical arts acknowledged with a grateful nod.

»Of course, Professor Ronen,« Sebastian said with a charismatic smile. However, this charm bounced off the older house teacher, who instead waved the three of them out of the Great Hall.

With her school bag under her arm, Carol made her way to the Astronomy wing with the Slytherins. Ominis held his wand in front of him, with a red, circular spark dancing above it. His wand helped Ominis move through the castle without running into obstacles or stumbling down one of the countless stairs.

Carol had since become accustomed to it - unlike before. When she first saw Ominis wandering the halls with his wand, she had just come out of a meeting that had nothing to do with class, from Professor Fig's office. Carol thought at the time that the Slytherin had been eavesdropping on her since he had looked pretty guilty to the ground, and therefore had avoided him as much as possible. Back then, Carol had no idea that Ominis was actually blind.

Sebastian and Carol looked around cautiously on the second floor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower, checking if any curious classmates were watching them. However, they were completely alone in the multi-story salon, which prompted Sebastian, Ominis, and Carol to hurry and slip into the narrow hallway behind the stone staircase. Above them, the Defense Against the Dark Arts class was probably in session.

They reached an elaborately carved and wide cabinet made of beech wood, which stood alone at the end of the narrow corridor under the stairs. Several beautifully crafted clock faces were painted on the doors. The partially gilded flourishes and hands, however, did not reveal the time or any other calendar entry on the surface.

The clock's Roman numerals had 15 hours. The gold-adorned runic plaques were unreadable even with good grades in Ancient Runes, and three hands, modeled after the optics of full and new moons and the sun, pointed randomly. The sun's path seemed to have stopped between night and day, although it was already clearly a sunny morning, and two hands were stuck in the moon phase between new and half-moon. In short, the clocks appeared to be completely useless.

»Is anyone following us?« Ominis asked with a serious expression.

»Relax, Ominis. The lower years are in class and the seventh years have probably gone back to their common rooms. They probably think they know the whole castle inside and out and don't need to explore anymore,« Sebastian said confidently, grinning as he pulled out his wand and approached the elaborately crafted cabinet.

Ominis tilted his head in Carol's direction, as if he wasn't sure he could really relax as Sebastian said. His skepticism was understandable since he was originally the one who found this place. When Ominis found out in the last year of school that Sebastian had also informed Carol about the secret so that she could practice her spells in peace without being gawked at by onlookers, he was very angry. Even so angry that compared to it, a Howler's message sounded nice.

With the background knowledge Carol now possessed, she could all too well understand his reaction from back then. »We're really alone, Ominis,« she tried to appease him.

Ominis stared stoically at the marble floor. He still didn't seem entirely convinced, but he complied with a curt »Fine.«

»Dissendium!« Sebastian said in the meantime, pointing his wand at the cabinet. The hands on almost all the clock faces moved, as if a completely different era should be in effect in which they should find themselves. When they stopped at the same time, a quiet, deep ringing of a bell was heard.

»Well then,« Sebastian said, satisfied, opening the cabinet doors to climb inside. After a moment, he stuck his head out again and looked impatiently at Carol and Ominis. »Are you coming?«

»After you, Carol,« Ominis nodded his head towards the cabinet as he continued to stare blankly at the marble floor. Carol walked past him to climb into the cabinet behind Sebastian. Sebastian had already disappeared into the dark secret passage revealed by his spell.

Carol drew her wand from her cloak as Ominis climbed into the cabinet behind her. Just as the cabinet doors closed behind them, and darkness fell over them, Carol whispered »Lumos.« and the passageway was illuminated by white light, emanating from the tip of her wand.

#hogwarts legacy #fanfiction #Ominis x OC #Serpent's Lullaby #carol roswell #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #poppy sweeting #lenora everleigh #Arthur Plummly #mirabel garlick #abraham ronen

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