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reminiscingtonight · 6 months

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Eras Of Us

Alessia Russo x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Had to write something based on Fletcher's Eras of Us

Part Two

[WOSO Masterlist]

You never thought you’d see her again.

Standing in a crowded room, surrounded by your new teammates, there she is. Her hair seems a little blonder, crinkles by her eyes now when she smiles.

“How are you doing--”

“Where have you been--”

It’s quiet as the two of you stare at each other. Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest but all you can focus on is the slight twitch at the corner of Alessia’s mouth.

You and Alessia start laughing at the same time.

Alessia’s shaking her head, finding humor in your synchronized questions while you’re wiping at the tears at the corner of your eyes.

You can see Lotte watching the two of you from across the room, hell you can see most of the other girls watching you guys interact with intrigue, but all you can focus on is Alessia.

Alessia Russo, England’s stargirl and Arsenal’s new striker.

Once upon a time she was the girl of your dreams, but there’s no mistaking who she is now.

Alessia Russo, the one who got away.

---

It seems so long ago when you first met Alessia.

She was still brunette then, back when she first joined North Carolina. You remember strolling into the locker room that first day, instantly clocking the two shy brunettes nervously fidgeting near your locker.

They looked shocked when you politely asked if they could move, the slightly shorter one standing right in front of your locker.

The first thing you noticed was her English accent as a slew of apologies came flying out, the younger girl’s face steadily turning redder and redder with embarrassment as the seconds ticked by. It wasn’t until you placed a hand on her arm that her mouth snapped shut, eyes wide with fear.

“Don’t worry about it. Is this your guys’ first year here?” The question was rhetorical. You knew the roster of the team like the back of your hand.

Alessia Russo and Lotte Wubben-Moy, two of England’s most promising rising stars. You would be lying if you said the blue-eyed girl didn’t intrigue you more than the other. The truth was, ever since receiving the updated roster from your coach a couple weeks ago all you could think about was the English girl. You’ve seen the videos, watched her skills for hours on end. She’d be a good addition to the team, but there was definitely a more personal reason as to why you found her so captivating.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

The sparkle in her eyes as Alessia shook your hand told you everything you needed to know.

When a mistimed tackle in practice later that day led to the taller girl pressed tight on top of you, you’re unable to stop your brain from going there.

She’s had a wide doe-eyed look on her face all day but now the panic was back. Alessia scrambled to get off of you but you couldn’t stop the bubbly laugh from leaving your lips.

There was a toothy grin on your face when she risked another look back down at you.

“Well this is one way to say hello.”

Alessia flushed red when you winked and right there, right when she offered you a hand to get back onto your feet, you knew you were hooked.

And just like a movie, Alessia Russo became a drug you could never get enough of.

---

“Maybe the Courage will draft me.”

Alessia was tucked into your side, teary-eyed as you tried your best to reassure her. The two of you had been dating close to a year when your career after college started becoming more and more like a reality. Like something that could actually happen.

Playing in the NWSL was a no brainer. Soccer was your life, had been ever since you could remember being able to walk. Your goal was always to make it big. To play for a great club and to represent your country at an international level. But now you had other people to think about. You had Alessia to think about.

Just the thought of not being near her made your heart ache.

Call it young, dumb love, but it was what it was. You loved Alessia and didn’t want to be anywhere she wasn’t.

Alessia was there to hold your hand when it was announced that you were being drafted to Seattle. She hugged you before you went up to the stage, was there to take pictures with you after.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll make it work.”

She kissed you goodbye at the airport, the first of many trips you’d take between North Carolina and Washington.

Settling into life as a professional soccer player was hard. Your teammates could only do so much to help distract you from missing your girlfriend. You and Alessia facetimed as much as possible, taking turns flying to see one another between both of your busy schedules.

It was hard but the two of you made it work.

And then the pandemic struck.

Your season ended before it could really start and suddenly you found yourselves stuck on opposite sides of the country.

“I’m going back to England.”

You hadn’t been able to physically see or touch Alessia for almost half of a year when she dropped the news. There was no denying the way the blood all but drained from your face.

Alessia was nervous, you could tell by the way she was chewing on her lip through the screen, and right there, right in that moment, you wished for nothing more than to be able to be next to her. To hug her, to kiss her. To tell her everything would be alright.

You weren’t sure if everything would be alright.

But you told her it would be. With tears falling down both of your cheeks, with the uncertainty of your future hanging over both of your heads, you promised each other the same thing as before.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll make it work.”

---

You and Alessia broke up before the year ended.

---

The answer was clear when Arsenal approached you with an offer.

Your childhood bedroom was decorated wall-to-wall with gunner memorabilia, your love for the North London team clear as day to everyone who knew you.

You’ve been playing in Seattle for all of your career so far, but Laura understood your desire for something more.

Leaving the team was hard. Especially more so since it was still the middle of the season at that point. But you couldn’t deny that a part of you was excited for the change.

It was hard to ignore the notification that seemed to engrave itself into your brain the second you saw it.

[alessiarusso99 liked your post]

You thought you were seeing things when it first popped up. It seemed fitting to post about your move overseas with a picture of you dressed in your new jersey, but never would you have thought Alessia would react to it.

Especially since the two of you hadn’t talked once or interacted with each other since the break up three years ago.

But then you saw the news a couple days later.

Alessia Russo Signs With Arsenal.

Of course you heard the rumors. Of the clear rift between the Manchester United striker and her club.

You heard the rumors but you didn’t know if they were true.

Now you did.

Alessia was headed to the gunners and so were you, and for the first time in years you were going to see her again.

---

You look up when you feel the soft nudge at your knee.

Alessia’s looking down at you, fingers nervously playing with her top.

You can’t stop your eyes from roving over the younger girl. It’s like no time has passed since you last saw her in person.

You thought you were over Alessia, that the sting of your heartbreak had long faded.

But standing here, finally face to face with Alessia, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Suddenly it was like you were 23 again, throwing your phone across the room in a fit of anger after Alessia hung up the phone with you. The sting of countless missed facetimes haunted your dreams as you woke up to a dark room and even darker realization that the English girl was no longer yours. It was both of your faults that things bubbled over enough for Alessia to finally call things off, but a part of you, still deeply in love with her, wanted to paint Alessia out as the villain.

So yes, there was hurt. But you couldn’t deny the love that you still felt as well.

Because then you were back in college again, bringing flowers for Alessia as you nervously asked her out on your first date. The ghost of Alessia playing with the babyhairs near your neck as she cuddled you to sleep burned deep into your skin. Your heart sang when you stole quick kisses from her minutes before hopping back onto the plane that took you back to Seattle.

You’re starting over at a new team in a new country but it feels like nothing has changed.

Alessia Russo still had a firm grip on your heart.

And you’re not sure if you would have it any other way.

You smile at her.

Alessia smiles back.

“How are you doing?”

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #Ace writes

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princessbrunette · 2 months

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why do i think shitty soundcloud rapper jj would be COCKY especially to rafe after rafe says that to u… like u may be embarrassed but jj is NOT !!!

‎⋆ ˚｡⋆ʚ ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ ɞ⋆ ˚｡⋆

the two of them encounter eachother in the grocery store, both picking up beer.

they give eachother that once over, the one that you do when you see someone you don’t particularly like but you’re not trying to outright cause a scene.

“‘sup rafe.” the blonder of the two is the first to initiate conversation, browsing the cold cans infront of him.

rafe takes his tongue out his cheek to turn his body just a little, assert dominance. “jj… you know i really, really dig that new song of yours. ran into the star of the show the other day, told her how much i uh…” he steps a little closer with that shit eating smirk. “enjoy her work.”

“yeah? you just sit around jerkin’ off to that shit or what? kinda weird, dude.” jj responds without a beat, barely glancing his way as he digs his fingers into a 6 pack and slides it off the shelf, supporting the weight of it with the other when it drops. rafe’s eyes flutter in irritation as he follows him through to the queue where jj is on route to pay.

“so how’d you do it huh— how, how’d you get her to to agree to that?” rafe blinks, more irritated that he’s not getting a rise of out the boy.

“jheez, what is this? a job interview? i ate her pussy and i made her cum, dude. any other questions or can i buy my beer in peace?” he quips casually, puffing out a breath. rafe eyes him down before stepping back.

“just know i’mma be getting my share of that a’ight — and soon too.” he throws out as a last resort attempt to irritate jj, who simply huffs a laugh out his nose and nods, placing his 6 pack on the checkout desk.

“yup. do your worst, rafe. as you can see i am not worried.”

‎⋆ ˚｡⋆ʚ ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ ɞ⋆ ˚｡⋆

#anon #shittysoundcloudrapper!jj #jj maybank prompt

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apollosfavkiddo · 2 months

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you wanted headcanons? 🤭 i got you 😽

how about a jason grace x apollo!reader set of headcanons!!

:’)

⛧° jason grace x daughter of Apollo! hcs

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

content: Jason Grace x apollo!reader hcs

warnings: BAD BAD BAD, slightly possessive jason, reader is implied to be blonde

a/n: i hc that every child of apollo has the hair at least a little lighter than usual. like, it's not jet black nor a super brown, they have light brown or blonde hair. and i used this on this hcs! i'm so sorry if u don't like it, but i took this creative liberty... anyways, enjoy!

word count: 0,8k

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

now playing… midnight rain - taylor swift

blondie met blonder, they fell in love, and they had blondini

jk, jk, no kids... yet

you were aware of who was jason grace, like everyone around camp

one of the Heroes of Olympus, son of jupiter, always looking for his friends and family, creating sanctuaries for the minor gods, hot as hell, as you heard from your siblings

i mean, you obviously wouldn’t go around asking anyone

because in reality you haven’t even saw him yet, since he was always so busy going between camps

but one day the oh so awaited encounter came to reality

you spent most of your days at the infirmary, since your healing powers were quite... impressive, to say the least

you were one of the best healers around, if not the ultimate best

so, you obviously had to come running towards the hurt kid, who happened to be your friend, leo valdez

you were almost a hundred percent sure that he hurt himself at bunker nine, and only because he had a crush on one of your sisters – alyssa. and it wasn’t even an assumption he really did liked her, as he himself told you about it

but you were surprised to see a certain blonde boy carrying him through the infirmary doors with leo’s foot blackish purple and swollen

you quickly went to him and gestured towards an empty bed, which the blonde – that you figured it’d be Jason, leo’s best friend – put him on and sat beside him

you didn’t spare much time to look at jason, but he had a scowl on his face as if saying “I’m so disappointed on you” with only his eyes

“oh, for my father’s music, what in the hades happened to you, valdez?” you asked, your voice laced with concern and a little bit of reprehension

“where’s aly?” the shorter boy asked, earning a snort from jason

“you dropped a wrench to your foot to see the girl you got a crush on? my gods, valdez. thought you were over that.” the taller boy said, and his deep voice gained him a glance from you

and that’s when you fell in love for the first time

his blonde hair was even lighter than yours, his skin slightly tanned and his muscles... oh GODS. and that jawline that could easily cut a diamond

he was easily the most handsome man you ever saw on your entire life.

and trust me, he thought the exact same about you

the difference is that he had noticed you long ago

it was a rainy day on camp half-blood, right after capture the flag

jason had gotten himself hurt. It was something minor in his eyes, but piper insisted that he should go on the infirmary to check

well, thanks gods he did went to the infirmary that day, since he had a broken rib and a bruised face

you weren’t the one to treat him, but he did saw you taking care of the other injured people from the game, and from that moment on he was completely and utterly WHIPPED for you

like, he’d stalk you around, discover all your agenda for the day and just follow you around, without you even knowing who the hell he was

so, after the day that leo almost broke his foot trying to get alyssa’s attention, you and jason started to hang out

but in the beginning, it was only around leo, too, so you two could mock the latino boy about his stupidly obvious crush on alyssa

but soon that friendship went beyond hanging out just around leo, who was more than happy now so he wouldn’t be the third wheel

and every day you just fell more in love with jason

and he also fell completely and totally HEAD OVER HEELS for you

and when you guys finally made a move, the whole camp was happy

except for leo, who now was officially third wheeling

but have you heard that song midnight rain by taylor swift? That goes like “he was sunshine, i was midnight rain”?

yeah, that song is YOU

but this time the roles are a little reversed, seeming that it was “she was sunshine, he was midnight rain”

but you were quite literally the perfect couple

the golden girl of camp half-blood and the golden boy of camp jupiter

a match made in heaven

oh and your dad was more than happy when he discovered that you were dating jason

his #1 otp, fr

and look how perfect

you and will are siblings

jason and nico are basically brothers

so... double dates obvi???

also he’d be telling everyone like “oh you know the BEST HEALER AT CAMP? Yeah, she’s my girl”

walking with an arm around your waist ALL THE TIME

he's like ‘gotta show the world you’re mine, love’

being a daughter of apollo gains you lots of unwanted attention for being pretty as hell

so whenever he sees someone hitting on you he’d be like NUH UH, that girl is MINE. Bitch

oh, and you literally make his days lighter and brighter

with all your smileness and cuteness

oh, the it couple fr.

a/n pt2: this one's bad and i HATE it but idc

#all my love 🍀#postcards from leah #jason grace #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus x reader #jason grace x reader #pjo #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x you

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darkwolf989 · 3 months

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Outside the Office Part Six

Hi All!

A trigger warning before you begin. It's only fair to reader that she learns the dark side of Valentino- the side he's so far he's kept hidden from her. This was a difficult one to write, but I hope you enjoy the juxtaposition between who Valentino is with reader, and the V's, and who he is with the rest of the world.

Enjoy- and as always, let me know your thoughts!

I stood in front of the mirror, Velvette behind me as she fixed a button on the back of my outfit for the day. Wonderment washed over me as I saw myself, my real self, for the first time since I entered hell.

I didn’t recognize the reflection.

My features had grown clearer since my arrival. My hair, once broken and cut in a shaggy trim, was now blonder than blonde and my blue eyes seemed sharper. Velvette had stopped gluing fake nails on and instead opted to cover my natural nails in a hard polish. Gone was the exterior rough and tough soldier my father had raised, replaced by something ethereal, something beautiful.

“Totally different than when you first came here, right?” Velvette asked as she saw me stare at myself. “Hell looks good on you.”

I couldn’t argue with that. I had fully settled into my life with the V’s. Each morning I woke up alone in my bed, ate breakfast, hit the gym and the shower and went to see Velvette. She dressed me to her pleasing and either she or Vox had my assistance for the remainder of their work day.

“Alright. Vox said he needs you today, so off you go. Oh! And check out last night's posts. You looked lit, girl.”

My head buried in my phone as I reviewed the sinstergram photos, I hit the elevator button without looking and stepped out onto what I assumed was Vox’s floor.

It was the scent that hit me first, a mix of sweet strawberries and sweat.

I looked up from my phone, expecting to see the entryway to Vox’s studio. Instead, I came face to face with a bed surrounded by lights. In the center of it lay a demon, naked, bound and gagged. He struggled as two larger demons held her down.

His screams were muffled, but piercing. I watched as blood trickled out of him, its source unknown. I watched the demons fumble as they ungagged him and he looked straight ahead to the directors chair.

“Punish me, Daddy.”

The larger demon grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the bed. From where I stood, his eyes grew larger and he laid back as the demons mounted him again. From the side I watched Valentino backhand another demon before taking the glass on the tray. The demon flinched and skittered away.

What the fuck had I just walked into?

“Cut! That’s a wrap!” He demanded, his voice sharper than I had ever heard it. He stood up, glass in hand as he made his way down the hallway.

Against my better judgment, I followed him. Much like the hotel I had once stayed in with my father, numbered doors lined either side of the hallways, some open, some closed. I caught a glimpse of what was inside the open ones. Bedrooms, lounge areas and even a hospital bed. The walls between rooms were decked out with photos of naked actors, all with Valentino’s name at the bottom. I felt a sick feeling in my gut as I continued to trail behind him quietly. This wasn’t my Valentino.

He pushed open a door and I peered in from the doorway. I watched him study a group of demons, taking a drag of his cigarette and exhaling a cloud of red smoke into one of their faces. The demon inhaled deeply and gave him a dirty smile, reaching out and grabbing his jacket. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Her. She’s perfect. Bring her to studio two. Now. I want that cunt I signed on earlier today in studio one. Be rough. Our deal needs to be finalized, and she better get what she signed up for.” He growled to the demon behind him. He yanked her hands off of him, and turned as if to walk back out the door. I saw him turn towards me and I quickly stepped back, skittering across the hall, stepping inside the room and behind the open door.

Thankfully, Valentino hadn’t seen me. I held my breath as I waited for him to pass by. I stepped out from behind the door and he was gone. I looked around the room I was in, my instincts screaming that I was in danger. The inside was dimly lit. White powder was spread in neat lines all along one table. Another held vials and what looked like used syringes. I started to put Valentino’s narcotics comment from all those weeks ago together with the scene.

Fuck, Val wasn't joking.

“Hey! New girl! What are you doing out of your room?” I heard an angry voice behind me.

I turned to face them, preparing to defend myself. I landed a few blows before rough hands grabbed me, pinning me to the wall. Adrenaline rushed through me as my instincts kicked in. Face to face with two giant, hairy demons, I punched, kicked and fought as best I could.

Unfortunately, I was no match for them. One twisted my arm and I heard myself cry out in pain.

“Aw, did Daddy not give you your fix?” the demon taunted, leaning in closer. “Aww, poor little thing. You asked for this, sweetheart. Just remember that.”

“Valentino!” I screamed.

The sting of being backhanded knocked the wind out of me. I gritted my teeth and kicked as I continued to struggle. It was like being in my prisoner of war training camp all over again. Much like my father had taught me, I did my best to shut down and let my survival instincts take over. They would not get what they wanted from me.

“Stop being a fucking bitch.” He snarled, picking me up and slamming me into the wall. “Or I will bring you to Val. Let him deal with the worthless slut you are.”

“That’s what I want you fucking moron!” I snarled. “Bring me to Valentino!”

Both demons snorted in amusement.

“I’ve had enough of this shit. Just drug her. I’m not fighting dirty whores in front of Val.” The bigger demon snarled and shoved a cloth over my nose and mouth. I held my breath as I kicked, trying my hardest to get away from whatever it was they wanted to do to me.

“Fucking dumb bitch!” he snarled. I felt his fist make contact with my chest and I involuntarily gasped as I fell to the ground. My world went dizzy, and I felt my body hit the hard floor.

“Yeah, that’s it. You like your high don’t you, you little slut?” I felt cold chains wrap around me and my body, helpless under the influence of whatever they had given me, was dragged out of the room.

“Hehe, you can tell she’s fresh meat. Look how little it took to get her there.”

I felt my body being pushed down and the next time I came to I was sitting upright in a chair, my arms bound behind me and my legs tied together. I realized though my haze that I save for the chains around my neck and body, was totally and completely naked.

“Hehe. The little slut comes to..”

My throat felt parched and I could taste blood. I struggled against the bonds that held me in place. My entire body tingled, swollen and bruised. No amount of workout during my time in the military could have prepared me for this. I tried my best to look around, to figure out where I was. I could barely make out the bed next to me, bright lights and empty directors chair I had seen earlier in the day.

Another hot slap across the face.

“Wake up. Otherwise, you’ll piss off Mr. Valentino.” The demon yanked on the chain around my neck, choking me with each painful breath I took. He leaned in closer. “Remember, you’re the bitch who scratched her dumb name on the line.”

I wanted to struggle, but my body wouldn’t let me. I felt harsh hands on my thighs. No! Angel’s didn’t- I didn’t and I hadn’t. My back arched from the pain as he spread my legs wide open before walking away.

“Hehe, look at her. She’s already dripping. Val will be pleased."

“Alright, let’s take it from the top!” Valentino’s familiar voice echoed across the studio. “Fucking bitches, this the new girl? God, she better be worth more than the last three fuckwits you assholes brought in.” His smile flowed across the studio. “Alright sweetheart, give me a reason to sign you on.”

I could smell the familiar smoke and tried to fight against my restraints. Val promised he wouldn’t hurt me. Val wouldn’t do this to me. Val wouldn’t…

Realization struck. He didn’t know it was me.

“And action. Show me some struggle, babydoll.”

I couldn’t struggle if I wanted to. The bright light burned my eyes as I willed myself to move, even a little. A few seconds passed and Valentino cursed again.

“For fucks sake, how much did you give her? Christ this isn’t a corpse film. Though I’m sure there is a kink for that. You there! Write that down. Could be a fucking million dollar idea.”

The shrill shriek of Valentino’s phone cut through the air. I closed my eyes and somewhere in me I felt my body start to grow cold and my thoughts drift away. Fuck. That wasn't good.

“What do you mean, you can’t find her?” Valentinos voice roared across the studio. The familiar voice, except this time full of anger screamed and I watched a glass shatter against the wall. From the directors chair, Valentino stood, surrounded by a cloud of red smoke.

I could barely see Vox’s face popping up on the big screen to the left. Vox’s voice echoed across the room.

“Her vitals are linked to my watch, but something is jamming the location signal. Based on the past half hour of data, wherever she is Val, she’s hurt- bad. And there is only one teeny tiny place in this entire building that could jam that signal.”

I heard the crack of a gunshot and the TV went black. I heard Valentino stomp around the studio, his boots coming closer to the chair where I sat.

Valentino stood in front of me at full height. I felt the familiar claw grab my face, could feel the warmth of the red smoke burn against my skin and heard the slew of curse words rush out of his mouth. The chains that held me down vanished as sharp as the gunshots that went off next to me. In as much as I could move, I cowered and watched the expression on his face melt from anger to absolute horror.

“Fuck!”

Six gunshots went off as he lifted me up, tossing his red jacket over me as he held me against his body. I could feel the cold metal of his second gun press against my bare hip as he carried me across the studio into a smaller room. I gripped him, the raw feeling of security running through me as my skin touched his. I closed my eyes. It wasn’t him who hurt me. It wasn’t him who hurt me.

He slammed the door behind him, shaking the entire frame. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He cursed.

He set me on a desk and I pitched forward into his shoulder, closing my eyes. Please don’t let me go Val, the thought flitted through my mind.

“Fuck. No, stay awake.” he commanded frantically.

I heard banging, the sound of frantic rummaging through drawers and then his hands rubbing my thigh. A pinch.

“Come on babydoll. Stay awake for me.”

“What the fuck Val?” Vox’s voice echoed through the room, electricity cracking.

The rush and the buzzing in my brain slowed. The fog that had threatened darkness only moments ago began to drift away. I opened my eyes just enough to see Vox rush across the room. His usual suit jacket and red bow tie were gone, and instead his white shirt was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He must have come running out of his office to be seen in such a state.

“What the fuck have I told you about shooting up the studio? What was the reason this fucking time? And where the fuck did she go?” A pause and another angry yell.

“What the fuck happened?!”

Valentino pulled me against him, lifting me up off the desk. “I won’t know until she tells me. But if you can’t control your anger Vox, you need to leave. Go review the fucking cameras and try to figure out how the FUCK she ended up gagged and bound in my studio!”

Vox cursed and I heard the crackle of electricity as he stormed out of the room. Valentino looked pained as he cupped my chin, tilting my head towards him.

“You won’t be able to walk, mi a more. I’m sorry. I don’t know how long those drugs were in you, but I’m sure I didn’t stop them soon enough.” He cradled me against his chest, and each step he took sent a jolt of pain through my body. “I’m going to take you upstairs, princessa. Alright?”

I couldn’t have protested if I wanted to. I laid limp as I heard him open the door. He stopped moving, my line of sight blurring as I tried to make sense of the office we were about to leave.

“Don’t look.” He commanded, using a free hand to cover my eyes before he started walking again. “You don’t want to see.”

He was probably right. It wasn’t like I could open my eyes up very far anyway. I could feel the bruising start to set in, washing me in pain. I felt the motion of the elevator and I blacked out.

“This is going to burn, I’m sorry mi amor.” Was the next thing I heard Valentino say.

I yelped as the hot water touched my skin and tried to hold onto him as he lowered me into the bath.

“We have to get you cleaned up.” He said evenly, almost as if to himself. “I’m sorry- it won’t feel nice.”

I whimpered as he carefully titled my head back under the running water. Almost instantly, the water went from clear to red. Panic began to set in.

Vox’s voice behind him. “Lucifer knows.”

“And?” Val asked steadily. “ You’re safe now, love. I’ve got you. Keep your eyes closed for me.”

I felt his fingers move gently through my hair, moving my head out from under the water. “You’re alright princessa. You can open your eyes now if you want to. I’m here.”

I blinked a few times, trying to make out his features. They were still fuzzy.

“He wants to know who is responsible.” Vox’s voice continued.

“That person is dead.” Valentino replied flatly.

“He wants to see the video. He wants heads, Val.”

“Then he can have mine. After she’s taken care of. And for fucks sake, close the door behind you, Vox. Give her some shred of dignity.” Valentino lifted up my arm and ran the cloth over it. His thumb ran over the bruises that had bloomed, and anger boiled in his eyes, but he kept the gentle touch.

I tried to choke back the panic as he ran his hands over my body. Flashes of the studio, my mind fuzzy. No, it wasn’t Val who hurt me- but I needed him away from me. Just for a minute, while I tried desperately to make sense of it all.

“Never thought I’d hear the day you’d say someone is deserving of that.” Vox stated. “Shit, she’s really beat up.”

“Please, Val- please. Don’t touch me. I need a minute. I’m sorry.” I finally choked out, pushing myself as far away from him as I could.

The realization came across his face and I watched his expression turn even more upset. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. You’re all taken care of for now, I’m going to let Vox take my place- alright? Vox. Please.”

I watched him step back from the tub and Vox leaned over and gently ran his arm under mine, as if to help me stand up.

A rush of darkness swept over me. I felt his power before he entered the room. Valentino moved to stand in front of Vox and I.

“Where is she?” Lucifer’s voice echoed through the room, danger and power crackling as the air swirled around us, tinged in black and red.

The door slammed open and a burst of outside air hit my face. I winced against the sting, my mind clearing up even more. I reached for Valentino, my hand touching the back of his leg. He glanced down and took a step closer, shielding me from Lucifer.

“She’s right here. She’s suffered enough without having another person see her without coverage. Lucifer- I promise you she’s being taken care of. Please. Let me finish with her and get her covered up. Then you can have her.” Valentino answered calmly.

The voice that was Lucifer roared and a flash of red and black flames wrapped around Vox and Valentino. Something inside my mind cleared up and I willed myself to yell.

“No. Uncle Lucy, stop. Please.” I choked out as best I could, sinking beneath the water as I tried to hide myself. “Uncle Lucy! Stop!”

The flames vanished. Silence filled the room.

“Just…just stop. He didn’t do it to me. They didn’t hurt me, Uncle Lucy.” I felt my voice grow stronger. “Please, stop!”

“You weren't kept safe either.” He snarled. “They didn’t do the one FUCKING thing they needed to do!”

“Uncle Lucy, please.” I begged as loudly as I could. “It wasn’t their fault. Free will, remember? I- I hit the wrong button. I went into the studio. I followed Valentino- they told me not to! They told me to stay out of his work area and I disobeyed. It's my fault.”

I could feel Lucifer’s power recede.

“It was not your fault.” Valentino said softly, reaching down and offering his hand.

I took it and gave it a gentle squeeze. No, if anything it was the demons who pinned me down. I had questions, questions that needed to be answered. But now wasn’t the time.

“Angels see the best in everyone, don’t they?” Lucifer snarled, frustration evident in his voice.

With each passing second I remembered more and more of how I had ended up in this situation in the first place.

“Half angel. Not everyone.” I answered finally. “But it isn’t Valentio’s fault. Or Vox’s I made those decisions- despite being warned not to. And besides, this is nothing compared to what I’m used to. Being battered and bruised is nothing for a former exorcist angel.”

Lucifer sighed heavily and turned away. “When she’s cleaned and covered, bring her out to me.” The door slammed behind him and I jumped, wincing from the pain.

“Do not blame yourself.” Valentio said softly. “What they did to you…shouldn’t have happened.” His voice dropped an octave. “Let me help you up, princessa. Please. I need to see how badly you are hurt.”

I used what strength I had to lean into Valentino and slowly stood up, shaking as pain once again flooded through my system. I gripped his arm as I tried to steady myself, stepping out of the bathtub.

Both he and Vox cursed at the same time. I caught sight of myself in the full length mirror. My face sported bruises and two black eyes. My shoulders, chest, belly and thighs were a mix of bruises and cuts. Valentino gently turned me around and I saw him shake his head.

“Mi amor, this should not have happened to you.”

Vox quickly wrapped me in a towel and with another, Valentino gently dried my hair before sliding his tee shirt I slept in last night over my head. I leaned into him as he helped me step into a pair of loose pajama pants. I leaned into him for both balance and comfort.

“Tell Lucifer that she’s covered.” Valentino said to Vox. “And that he should come assess her injuries.”

I closed my eyes and leaned my full weight into him. The door opened a moment later and Lucifer walked in, radiating the black and red energy.

“It’s bad.” Valentino said to him simply. He turned his attention to me. “Princessa, will you let me lift up your shirt to show him?”

All three waited until I nodded. Carefully, Valentino lifted the hem of my shirt, exposing only the bruises on my belly.

“She needs to go to the hospital. Now.” Lucifer said sharply.

“No.” My voice wasn’t loud but it was audible. “I don’t. Angels heal quickly. I should know. This isn’t the worst I’ve ever been beaten. I promise.” I grimaced. “ My dad would have told me to throw some dirt on it and get back out there. I promise, I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

All three looked horrified at the idea.

Lucifer gritted his teeth. “Angels may be fucked up like that, but down here sweetheart, you’re my responsibility. And this isn’t a matter of your decision. Sorry to say.” Lucifer’s voice grew louder with each word, the anger pulsing in his voice.

I shrank back against Valentino. The idea of letting someone else see me naked today was mortifying at best. “I thought I had free will.” I said shakily.

That seemed to resonate. Lucifer gave me a hard, frustrated look. “Fine. Let’s make a deal then. I get a doctor over here right now- a real doctor. And a nurse. They can examine you here. And if he says you need to go to the hospital, you go without complaint. Do we have a deal?”

I looked at Valentino, then to Vox. Both nodded.

“Deal.” I whispered.

Bright red and black tinged chains appeared on both my wrist and Lucifers’ vanishing as soon as they appeared. I looked at Valentino, hoping he would elaborate. Neither he nor Vox seemed to even notice their brief existence.

“For fucks sake.” Lucifer said as he walked out of the room, dialing on his phone.

I could hear him barking orders from the other room.

“Let's get you to lay down.” Valentino suggested, gently guiding me out of the bathroom. He laid me on my side on my purple blanket and I did my best to bite back the pain that shook me. I gritted my teeth. Of all the questions I had, I needed to know exactly what they had done to me.

With Lucifer out of earshot, I looked to Vox. “What did they do to me? I need details. All of them.” I paused. “I deserve to know what happened to my body.”

Anger pulsated through Valentio’s eyes.

Vox put his hand on Valentino’s shoulder, and then turned his attention to me. “If you’re asking if you were raped- you wern’t. Just drugged and beaten. You’re lucky they mistook you for Valentino’s newest employee, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so fortunate.” He glanced at Valentino. “Despite appearances, every person in that studio is required to consent to what happens to them. His newest conquest hadn’t yet- not all the way. And that’s what saved you. Otherwise…” His voice trailed off. “That’s why I told you to stay the fuck out of his studio.”

“It isn’t her fault,” Valentino said sharply. “Her mistake did not earn her this violation. I should have made it clear at the start that she is one of us, and not part of my business.” Anger and frustration cracked through his voice. “You can be sure I will make it known going forward. This will never, ever happen again. I promise, princessa.”

Vox opened his mouth to say something but closed it as the door opened. Two demons walked into the room, escorted by Lucifer.

“One look at her belly and you’ll agree with me,” he mumbled to the doctor. He turned to me. “Sweetheart, let the doctor examine you. Please. I promise you, it's much more…technologically advanced than heaven’s version of medical care. And much less invasive.”

I nodded my consent and let the doctor examine me, mindful of the three sets of watchful eyes on him as he worked. I winced as he gently pressed on my stomach, trying my hardest to maintain composure. The doctor took a small screen out of his bag, along with a small white wand. He ran a wand over my belly, and then to my chest. He studied the small screen with a practiced eye. Finally, he pulled the wand away.

“Shockingly, the injuries I thought I would see are not there. Everything is intact, none of her major organs are swollen or ruptured. Not even a cracked rib.” He stated as he pulled his gloves off and tossed them to the side. “She’s very fortunate she’s only bruised.”

He nodded to his nurse. “I’m going to put an IV in, take some blood and push a round of painkillers and antibiotics, and hang a bag of fluids to rehydrate you. Just to be on the safe side, and make the next twenty four hours more comfortable. Otherwise, a week or two of rest and you should be fully healed.” The doctor caught Valentino’s eye. “I’m sure you can take it out when the bag is empty.”

Lucifer gave Valentino a hard look. Valentino nodded, an expression I couldn’t quite read flitting across his features.

“I told you guys, Angels are tough.” I said lightly as I held out my arm for the nurse. “We heal fast too, just fyi.”

Lucifer looked at me, clearly displeased. “That’s good to know dear. Thank you for sharing.”

The nurse slipped the IV in and pushed two vials of liquid before setting a bag above my head. The doctor stood up, and talked quietly to the three of them. After a few moments, he turned to me.

“If something doesn’t feel right, let Lucifer know and I’ll come back. Otherwise, I’ll be back in two weeks.”

Across the room, Lucifer opened the door to walk them out. I could hear the scrabble of frantic footsteps and Velvette burst into the room, shoving him aside.

“The fuck?” Lucifer demanded, watching as she darted across the room.

“With all due respect, go fuck yourself, your highness. How dare you keep me out of the room?” Velvette snarled, standing next to me. “Jesus fuck, are you alright reader?”

Lucifer’s expression turned from annoyed to amused. He, the doctor and nurse walked out of the room, the door closing behind them.

Vox grabbed her waist. “Hey hey, calm down Vel. She’s fine.”

“She doesn’t look it. Who did this? I’ll fucking kill them. Touching my reader.”

“I already took care of that Vel. Breathe.” Valentino said gently.

“Doc said I’m fine, so I’m fine Velvette. I’ll be okay. Trust me- I’ve been through worse.” I said lightly.

“Toughness has nothing to do with it,” Velvette added, arms crossed. “Though I’m glad you’ll be okay. Gotten used to having a fourth V.”

“My name is reader though, I can’t be a V.”

She snorted. “Being a V doesn’t mean your name has to start with V, you know. It’s about power, and toughness and you…ugh! I can’t believe this fucking happened.”

She turned to Valentino. If looks could kill, he would be dead on the floor.

“And you. You need to come up with a plan so this never, ever fucking happens again. Bestie or not I will kill you my fucking self!” She reached up as high as she could and jabbed him with two fingers.

Valentino gently took her hand and handed it to Vox. “I know Vel. Believe me, I know.”

“Alright, sweetheart, settle down. You’re right, she’s one of us.” Vox said softly, taking her hand and gently pulling her away. “We’ll come up with a plan, the four of us. Tomorrow morning. I promise.” He glanced to me.

“I have questions that need answers.” I said firmly. “So whatever plan you want to come up with is fine- but I want honest, full answers. From all of you.” I looked to Valentino meaningfully. “No ducking out or giving me half assed explanations. Is that fair?”

“Of course, princessa. Whatever you want.” Valentino answered immediately.

Vox raised an eyebrow at Valentino. “Right. Agreed. Come on Vel, you need to settle down and reader should rest.”

“Don’t you tell me to settle down!”

With that Vox lifted her up and hoisted her over his shoulder. She flopped against him and Vox sent me an apologetic look as he carried her out of the room, leaving me alone with Valentino.

“Can I get you anything?” He asked softly, sitting next to me.

I shook my head no. “I’m good, Val.”

A few seconds later, Lucifer walked back and stood next to my bed, arms crossed. He shot Valentino a look and Valentino stood up and stepped off to the side. Lucifer reached forward and put his hand on my forehead. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He hesitated. “Unless you want to come home with me? After this, I won’t force you to stay here.”

I shook my head. “No. Lucifer, I stand by what I said. This was my fault.”

“It. Was. Not.” Valentino hissed.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow to me and then looked at him. An expression crossed his face that I couldn’t quite read.

“If you’re sure honey. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

And with that, he vanished.

“Valentino.” I said softly.

“Reader.” He returned to his seat next to me on the bed.

I reached for him and he hesitated. “Princessa, you don’t…”

“Hold me. Please? Val…please.”

He laid down next to me and carefully laid my head against his chest. The feeling of security once again flooded through me. I pushed my head into his chest.

“Careful, mi amor. When the….” he hesitated, searching for the right word. “Medicine the doctor gave you wears off, you’re going to feel every bruise.”

“I’ll heal fast. Don’t worry. Again…not the worst beating I’ve ever taken.”

He tilted my chin up, studying my face. “You’re asking the impossible, mi amor. After tonight, I don’t think I’ll do anything but worry.” He guided my head back to my chest. “You said you had questions, my love. Your reaction to this….event, the things you have said…lead me to have questions for you. I promise to answer honestly if you promise to answer mine the same. In the morning. Tonight, I need you to sleep. Do we have an agreement?”

I noticed he didn’t say the word deal.

“We do.”

“Good. Then please, princessa. Sleep.” He tucked his head against mine.

I closed my eyes against his chest, listening to his heart beat steadily.

“You’re safe, as long as you’re in my arms. I promise.” I heard him whisper, feeling him kiss the top of my head. “I promise.”

#the vees #valentino x reader #valentino x wife #valentino x you #vox x reader #hazbin fluff #hazbin hotel #the vees x reader #valentino #x reader #fem reader #valentino x female reader

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legend-the-dumb-jock · 6 months

Note

I'd love a transformation.

I'd fucking love to turn into a huge young bodybuilder with a tendency to reek of sweat and belch uncontrollably.

There's only upsides to a transformation like this

You're wanting a change that so many others are wanting. The problem with your request is that your already doomed for this lifestyle anyway. You're just wanting to speed it up and i am more than happy to make that happen. You think its hard finding shoes o fit those clown-like feet now just wait till I am done. You'' wish for these days of the past.

A wave ripples through your apartment. Chairs becoming workout benches. College study bookings becoming a pile of weights. A sit up bar hanging on the wall and in the middle of the room is a bar for doing pull ups. Instantly the wave has transfers your apartment from being normal into an industrial style apartment that is more of a gym than anything. There are no chairs anymore. Only weight benches. Tv? Forget it. That’s turned into a punching bag. You’re kitchen. That’s going to be the smallest thing in your apartment. Now. You’re going to live off protein shakes and store bought grilled chicken and rice. Anything and everything g will be in the microwave for you. Anything to save space from the at home gym that is going. To be your home. Bed? Nah you’re going to sleep on gym mats now.

You may think it harsh but all these changes are necessary for you to become the muscle addicted muscle beast destiny is going to force on you now.

You’re not even aware that all this happened to your apartment. You’re in the middle of a college exam when your vision gets slightly blurry. Going slightly off and you chuckle slightly. Drool slips from your mouth and you don’t even notice that time is ticking by while your head only gets foggier and foggier. You aren’t even aware that your body begins to pack on muscle. You’re terms quickly splitting the sleeves on your shirt while you abs bulbs from your stomach. Your chest form a perfect shift while you are shifted pears as not only your spine lengthens but your butt plumps up. Your shoulders round out and your jaw begins to square while the your hair begins to get blonder. You can’t even help when you start to burp. Stumbling to the front of the glass to hand you test i while your shoes split open and you pants split. Your shirt rips off your body and you belch in the teachers horrified face. Yeah. You’re getting kicked out for good this time.

You have to walk back to your apartment in your underwear. But the whole time your body is still changing. You made a wish to be young. Muscled. Roided. And you’re going to have just that. Being 21 and having enough roids in your system to power a football team should do it. Your back spasms as it grows even wider than it was before. Every muscle all the way down to your butt pulsating as it growing larger. Making you an absolute freak of a muscle mass.

Your feet spasm as they finally break free of the remanned of the socks and shoes. Bursting past the size 15 enclosures they were stuck in before and only stopping when then reach a massive size 20. And boy do they itch. Sweat. And smell. Your dumb brain so overloaded with all the muscle and smell you’re not even sure what to do with your self as you continue to burp nonstop. And it’s disgusting protein burps. Protein bar wrappers litter the floor of your apartment and stick to your massive feet while you walk across the floor to the weight machines and begin to workout. You’re finishing your chest pump and you head to a machine when you feel some pressure building from your stomach. And without warning you belch the louder and hardest you ever have. When doing so you stomach bloats out into a roided muscle gut. You try to suck it in but you can’t.

Working your abs only proves to make the muscle gut harder and stick out more. You can barely bend down to reach you large clown like feet now just to pull the dirty food wrappers of them. Your gut churns. Demanding you feed your massive roided frame and in the makeshift kitchen you make a whole blender full of protein shakes. Moaning in ecstasy as the protein makes the pain disappear. In a mirror you’re flexing and looking at your massive 7ft tall roofed body. You continue drinking your shake until it’s done and you let out a loud nasty protein burp. You make it to the counter just in time though because then your body began to tense again. You could feel it. You look down and you muscles your bulking bigger! Wonder. Making your heavier than you can have ever imagined. At this point you can even see your feel anymore from your chest and gut being in the way. You’re breathing heavy from all the mass weight you down. All the mass making you struggle to walk. Making you struggle to do the simplest tasks. And what worse is that you’re already hungry again. And only the protein shakes that make you larger will be able to make the pain go away.

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separatist-apologist · 17 days

Text

Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Read on AO3

Feyre and Nesta come to Autumn the night before Elain’s wedding, tanned and a little blonder than normal. It was too late to intervene—Elain had already been fitted for the dress she’d wear tomorrow and was, essentially, under lock and key. No guards, but an endless parade of servants that seemed to pop up any time she tried to leave the room.

Elain knew that was Lucien’s doing. He’d been sleeping on the sofa she now sat on each night, keeping watch so she didn’t try to escape and vanishing before she woke up. They’d barely exchanged a sentences worth of words since she’d foolishly climbed over the balcony.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asked as Nesta paced back and forth. If she told her sisters the truth, they were likely to do something foolish. Something that got them all in trouble. Nesta was already trying to angle out of her marriage and didn’t need Elain mucking that up.

“Excited,” she lied, catching the way Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “And nervous, of course. We barely know each other.”

“Is he kind?” Nesta demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes,” Elain replied, not bothering to add that he was rude in equal measure.

“All mother talks about is how handsome the Vanserra’s are,” Nesta said with a dark scowl. “I see nothing special about them.”

Feyre shrugged. “They’re not ugly.”

“They’re hardly beautiful, either,” Nesta argued. If Feyre said the sky was blue, Nesta would argue it was gray and if Nesta thought the Vanserra’s were ugly, then Feyre found them to be impossibly beautiful. They had always been that way, leaving Elain to mediate.

“There is a charm to them, certainly,” she agreed, not taking any particular stance. “I am acclimating well. How are things at home?”

“Dull,” Feyre said as Nesta opened her mouth. “I paint and Nesta plays piano and we wither away, waiting for our turn to be good, dutiful wives.”

“They’ve banned arranged marriages in Summer,” Nesta said sharply, her tone rife with implications. Run to Summer, she seemed to say. As if Summer would risk a war with their neighbors simply to harbor her.

“Perhaps other courts will follow suit,” Elain said noncommittally. It was too late for her. Tomorrow she’d walk willing with Lucien through a priestesses temple, watched by her family and his as they pledged fidelity and honor to the other. It was a farce and one Elain was committed to seeing through, now. If her sisters managed to escape their own prescribed fates, she wished them well.

But there was no more escape for her.

“Have you seen anything?” Feyre questioned. Elain bit her bottom lip.

Yes, she wanted to say. How did she explain that what she’d seen was a particularly steamy affair with the man she had sworn she wouldn’t touch until she was forced to. Elain refused to think about it lest Lucien scent the accompanying arousal that always followed and got the wrong idea.

Visions were imprecise, a snapshot of what could happen and not necessarily what would. A wrong turn, a different word spoken and the entire world rearranged itself.

That did nothing to remove the image of Lucien without his clothes shifting over her, or the expression on his face—

“Elain?”

She blinked. “No, nothing. I haven’t looked, though, either.”

“Well, maybe you should tonight,” Feyre suggested. Elain only smiled, certain she did not want to know what the next day had in store for her. Let it remain a mystery, even from her. If she saw herself beneath him, she’d panic and never make it down the aisle.

There was something she wanted, though, and Elain found exactly how to get it later that afternoon. Cadmus poked his head in, expression guarded.

“Lady Elain?” The second eldest Vanserra looked the most like his father, his red hair browner, his russet eyes lacking some of the ringed gold the rest of his brothers had. Even his features were those of the sharp elegance of the High Lord rather than the softer edges the Lady bore. “How are you?”

“I…” A dagger glinted off Cadmus’s belt, silver hilt inlaid with vibrant rubies. “Can I borrow that?”

Cadmus looked down at his body, hands hovering over the weapon. “My dagger?”

Elain made her eyes big and round as she bit her bottom lip, and hoped Cadmus was no better than the males back home. “I don’t know how to use it, if you’re worried for your brothers safety”

“What’s to know? Stick the sharp end in anything soft,” he said with a wry smile before unstrapping the hilt. “If you do stab my brother, try not to kill him.”

Elain blinked. “Just…just like that?”

“It’s become almost a tradition to provide my new sisters with a weapon to use against my brothers. I’m starting to think Vanserra’s like to be threatened.”

She frowned. “It’s not like that.”

“For you, maybe,” he chuckled, watching as Elain quickly hid the dagger beneath an ornate pillow. “If you’re frightened, though, you could tell me.”

That was curious. “Why? What would you do?”

“What any good brother would do. Knock him around like he’s a youngling again, and hope his good sense returns to him.”

“That’s…unexpectedly kind,” she murmured.

“We’re nearly family, right?” he said gruffly, glancing back toward the hall. “Anyway ah…don’t kill him. And uh…if you need any help, ask Arina. You know, for plausible deniability.”

“Right,” she agreed, holding back the urge to laugh. The Vanserra’s could be so unintentionally funny when they wanted to be. Absently, Elain wondered what Nesta would make of Cadmus. Nothing positive, she decided.

Nesta was supposed to marry a High Lord, which was a tragedy given how she hated all of them. Maybe all men, truthfully—Elain had never once seen her sister betray any interest despite the numerous men who had been interested in her.

Elain hid the dagger beneath her pillow once Cadmus left, just in case Lucien decided to try anything. Elain knew she was likely going to have to let him touch her, but if he tried anything she didn’t like, she’d whip the dagger out just to remind him that he might be married to her, but he didn’t own her.

It made her feel a little better, though only marginally. As she made her way through the palace, Elain found servants hanging floral arrangements and cleaning every surface for the upcoming spectacle. Everything smelled like cinnamon somehow and if Elain was braver, she might have made her way to the kitchen to see what they were cooking.

If she was braver still, she might have asked to help.

Instead, Elain emerged into the gloomy afternoon with a heavy sigh. It felt like the world was mourning, too. She intended to meander through the apple orchard again, kicking the rotting fruit on the ground with the toe of her boot until she didn’t feel so angry anymore.

Instead, she found Connall and Tanwen standing off to the side, flanked by two smoke gray dogs, each holding a rather large axe. When they saw her, their eyes lit up.

“Baby sister!” They called in unison, making their way toward her. “Want to smash some pumpkins with us?” “Smash some what?” she repeated as one of the large dogs wound its way through her legs, sniffing at her clothes with curiosity.

“Pumpkins,” Connall said, russet eyes glinting with mischief.

“It’s an old tradition,” Tanwen added. Of the two, Tanwen was taller and built more like a warrior. Connall was slighter, with a prettier face and hands that didn’t look like they’d done a hard day's work in their life. Tanwen’s hair was longer and braided off his face while Connall sported a shaggier look that seemed like it was popular with whoever he was courting.

With a face like that, Elain guessed everyone.

“Smashing pumpkins is a tradition?”

They nodded solemnly. Connall added, “Whenever the Forest House is overrun, we come out here and destroy the heaviest looking pumpkins we can find. C’mon, join us. Beats sulking through the grounds.”

“I wasn’t sulking,” she replied, though she fell into step between them.

“Sure you weren’t,” Tanwen said, elbowing her gently. “I’m sure you are merely contemplating the marital bliss you’re soon to find with little brother.”

“I don’t know how to swing an axe,” Elain admitted. Connall’s smile sharpened.

“We’ll teach you.”

The pair, accompanied by a dog she later learned technically belonged to Arina—Apollo—and another that Tanwen was fond of—Artemis—made their way toward a sprawling pumpkin patch. Elain was fascinated as Tanwen and Connall picked out three large pumpkins, hauling them each one by one before dropping them at her feet.

“Ladies first,” Tanwen said, cheeks ruddy from exertion.

Elain considered them, before pointing at one that was still a little green and covered in warts. Connall picked it up for her and set it atop a tree stump before handing her the smooth, wooden handle of the axe.

“Hold it like this,” Tanwen began, positioning himself behind Elain so his arms were wrapped around her. Warm, callused hands covered her own as he positioned them on the handle.

“Pull it back like this—not too far or you’ll drop it and hurt yourself. Use the power from your thighs, okay? And then swing hard—”

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

The three turned and Elain realized Tanwen and Connall must have known Lucien was nearby. He looked furious, though it was hard to take him seriously with Arina skipping merrily at his side.

“I’m debauching your wife, what does it look like I’m doing?” Tanwen said, throwing a rather charming wink in her direction. “She doesn’t know how Autumn Court females treat a male on their wedding night—”

A snarl ripped from Luciens throat before he settled himself, running a hand through his windblown hair. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

“Am I not allowed to be here?” Elain demanded, pointing the axe at her soon-to-be husband.

“Lucien’s just grumpy—”

“I’m not grumpy,” Lucien interrupted as Arina laughed, hands clasped in front of her body.

“Your sisters gave him a good dressing down.”

“It was pretty funny,” Eris Vanserra chimed in, wrapping an arm around his wife's neck to kiss the top of her head. “Nesta Archeron has a barbed tongue and no sense of propriety.”

“That’s not true,” Elain protested, interested in what her sister said. “You’re thinking of Feyre.”

“It was both of them,” Lucien grumbled as he rubbed his jaw. “I thought the ladies of the Spring Court were sweet.”

Elain took that moment to swing, her sharpened blade slicing easily through the pumpkin. Tanwen whooped as Connall and Eris laughed and Lucien…Lucien merely watched, his expression unreadable.

“Who told you that?” Elain asked him, dress covered in pumpkin guts.

It felt good, though, in that moment, to wipe the look off his face. She was sweet.

Just not for him.

LUCIEN:

Lucien tugged at the golden cuffs on his maroon jacket. He was deeply uncomfortable and somehow sweating despite how early it was. He hadn’t slept at all the night before and given the noises coming from behind the door that they were about to share, Elain hadn’t either. It hadn't been crying, exactly…but something akin to mourning had been happening. It occurred to him that perhaps Elain had her own Jesminda that she missed.

Lucien couldn’t bring himself to care much. Instead, he perched himself in a tree outside the palace, closed his eyes, and prayed.

Bring her back to me. Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll give you anything.

Easy words for a male who knew the Mother would not indulge this request. Lucien would have traded anything to see Jesminda right then. To hear her tell him it was going to be okay and somehow, someway this was all going to work out in their favor. He wanted to feel her hands on his face, her mouth slanted against his. He wanted to bury himself inside her and sob into her shoulder as he told her about the nightmare he was living.

And to do so would be the ultimate betrayal of the love he felt for her. To see her was to condemn her to death. She was gone, and Lucien knew she wouldn’t come back, and if she did, he wouldn’t touch her. Wouldn’t acknowledge her.

Wouldn’t look at her.

It didn’t stop him from pretending anyway. What kind of male was he, he wondered? His wife was inside preparing herself to marry him and he was outside wishing she was someone else. Daydreaming about another female. Would he think of Jesminda as he betrayed her later that night?

Lucien half hoped Jesminda hated him. He certainly hated himself.

Lucien remained outside until Eris tracked him down, dressed in a deep brown jacket and cream colored pants. His brother swung himself easily into the tree, grunting softly as he sat on the opposite branch. “Brooding?”

It was almost comical. It was a scene they’d played before, only in opposite roles. Lucien had once gone looking for Eris the day of his wedding, finding him in the same tree likely with the same look of frustration on his face. Eris had wanted a way out, too, and he’d known what was waiting on the other end for him was his mate. There was something to work toward, at least.

Lucien didn’t care what Arina said—he didn’t believe he could love someone as deeply as he loved Jesminda and not be mates.

“Just thinking,” Lucien said, wishing Eris would mind his own business.

“You’ve got ten more minutes to find a last minute loophole,” Eris warned. “Though, I think you should marry her.”

“Of course you do.”

“She’s better than the females at court. Do you want father to pick one of them?”

“I want him to let me choose my own wife,” Lucien snarled, unable to keep his anger down.

“Love is for the lesser fae,” Eris said, ignoring the fact that he was in love with his wife. That was merely luck, Lucien supposed. “You are simply a cog in fathers political machinations. You know that.”

“Why not Tanwen? Or Cadmus?”

“Because Elain is a second daughter with no magical ability, unlike her sisters,” Eris reminded him, a cold edge creeping into his voice. He ought to have known better than to look for comfort from his brother. Eris had done his duty no matter how little he’d wanted to, giving Eris a mate and Beron a foot in the solar courts. “He needs sons he can marry off to all his most important nobles. Count yourself lucky that isn’t your fate”

“Is this luck?”

“Elain is nice,” Eris reminded him. “She’s not scheming and you’re unlikely to find her in Tanwen’s bed.”

“Are you sure about that?” Lucien asked, a surge of jealousy flooding through him. He didn’t want her, and yet didn’t want anyone else to want her, either. She was merely off limits. If he could have, he’d have ordered them all not to speak to her, either.

Swinging his legs out of the tree, Eris landed smoothly back on solid ground. The world was mocking him—after two weeks of rumbling thunder and moody fog, the sun had come out blazing, igniting the world in a golden glow.

“I’m certain. Now get down before father realizes you’re missing and takes the lash to your back on your wedding night.” Lucien considered it only briefly, but ultimately chose to join Eris on the ground, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

Eris didn’t look at him at all, adorned in a crown of burnished leaves similar to the one Lucien wore. As they stepped back into the Forest House, Lucien felt the full weight of it for the first time in his life. Never had he ever felt more like a High Lord's son, the weight of his responsibility and duty dragging behind him like chains wrapped around his ankles.

He was drowning, and it didn’t matter. Lucien followed Eris through the labyrinth of halls toward the adjoining temple that spiraled deep into the ground, housing their family jewels and a private library you need permission to enter. Lucien knew on any given day, Arina would be down in the dark reading by faelight.

Priestesses historically were not welcome in Autumn. Beron found them too scheming, but feared angering the mother by shutting them out entirely. His solution was using daughters of Autumn, deemed unlikely to marry by their families, and making them priestesses with fathers that had a vested interest in curbing their ambition. Housing them in the palace allowed the High Lord to keep a watchful eye on them via his wife, who was charged with overseeing the priestesses along with the ladies at court.

Now the head priestess stood at the end of the temple, adorned by multicolored light from the stained glass behind her. Rows of benches held their families, though Beron sat behind the priestess on a throne built specifically for him, lest anyone forget the true power of Autumn.

Elain was waiting in the atrium just outside, dressed, hilariously, in a fluffy gown of white lace and pale pink ribbon. Her hair was piled high atop her head, as if someone with a grudge had decided to try and make the beautiful Elain as unappealing as possible.

It was working, too. Lucien couldn’t help his barking laugh when he saw her, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceilings overhead. Elain turned, eyes wide with horror that melted into irritation.

“Be quiet,” she hissed, shoving the traditional red ribbon of Autumn against his chest. His brothers filed in behind them, not daring to make eye contact or otherwise react.

“Who did you piss off?”

“This was my mothers wedding dress,” Elain informed him, chin held high in the air. “And the traditional bridal clothes of Spring.”

Lucien only shook his head, thinking of how lovely Arina had looked draped in red. There was no point in starting his marriage by telling his wife she looked awful, but…well. Lucien wondered if Elain felt beautiful right then.

“Come on,” he murmured, offering her his arm. Elain took a breath, eyes glassy, but otherwise nodded her head. She had more conviction on her expression than Lucien felt, and it was sobering. This was happening, he realized. Under the watchful gaze of not just his father, but the High Lord of Spring, Lucien was marrying this stranger. Lucien could barely breathe, couldn’t think as he stood in that beam of light, eyes trained on Elain without actually seeing her. Elain seemed to be employing similar tactics, repeating the words when demanded but otherwise standing utterly still.

Something was building, some emotion Lucien thought must be radiating out of him. It wasn’t fear and it wasn’t hatred, though it felt somehow like both mixed together. Holding the ribbon in his hand, Lucien began winding it around their wrists until the long sleeves of her ugly dress pushed upward, pressing them skin to delicate skin.

The scene of Elain invaded his senses once again, making him dizzy. He needed fresh air, to get far, far away from her. Elain looked up at him through dark lashes, their eyes connecting just as the priestess pronounced them married. Something solid slammed into him.

No, not slammed.

Snapped.

Lucien stumbled backwards, forgetting for a moment they were still tied together. Elain came with him, falling into his chest and oh, he wished she wouldn’t touch him just as his traitorous body ignited with pleasure.

Touch her, smell her, taste her—

Lucien righted Elain, trying to apologize but unable to get the words out. If he spoke, he might just blurt the truth out.

You’re my mate.

If Elain knew, she was doing a far better job than he was hiding it. Her expression was one of confusion but not of recognition. If she didn’t know, good. There must be some way out, he reasoned, even as every other part of him rebelled at the thought. The Mother was mocking him. Elain Archeron was mocking him, with her beautiful face half lost under the weight of her gown and hair. Who had done this to her?

Lucien wanted to kill them.

“Are you okay?” Elain whispered, ignoring the crowd promptly descending upon them.

It wasn’t a lie when he said, “No. I’ve never been less okay in my life.”

And it was all her fault.

ELAIN:

Elain wanted to cry. The Lady of Autumn had done her best to try and make Elain look presentable, but it had been her mothers wishes to see her dressed like a traditional bride of Spring—the sort that had fallen out of fashion centuries before. She could still hear Lucien's barking laugh in her ear and the look of disgust on his face once he’d tied that ribbon around them.

It shouldn’t have mattered, truthfully, but Lucien had looked every inch an Autumn Court prince and she…she’d looked ridiculous. Embarrassing. Only her mother was happy, which seemed to be the only thing that ever mattered. Who cared if Elain was suffering internally so long as everyone else got what they wanted?

Stomping from the great hall, where a lavish feast in her honor had been prepared, Elain made her way outdoors into the sunshine. It was only there that she began pulling pins out of her hair like a petulant child, tossing them to the leaves with reckless abandon.

Why couldn’t she make peace with what was happening? Everyone else in her position had. Arina and Eris were in love, her parents were in love, the Lady of Autumn and the High Lord…tolerated each other. And Elain couldn’t even muster that.

She hated Lucien with a passion that clawed at her chest and threatened to strangle her. She didn’t want him to touch her, not like this. Not when the sight of him cringing away as he disentangled himself from her and promptly walked away without so much as a reassurance that things would be okay.

She’d left him downing a cup of wine and imagined he’d be so drunk he was incapacitated for the night. That was a good thing, right? So why did it make her feel so awful? So ugly, so…so unwanted. Cast aside by everyone, loved by no one. She wanted to curl up somewhere and wait to see how long it took them to notice she was missing.

Elain turned her attention to the forest, determined to march right in. She bet Lucien noticed when it was time to do his husbandly duty. Then he’d be missing her. That's all she was good for anyway, right?

Elain didn’t make it two steps before someone stopped her. It wasn’t Lucien or his brothers, nor was it her sisters or anyone from the Spring Court. The male standing before her oozed darkness, with shadows trailing after him like a cape and eyes so vividly blue they looked like twinkling, violet stars.

Elain took a step back on instinct. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, knowing exactly who stood before her. She’d never met him, nor his father, though she had heard the rumors about the High Lord of Night. They said he’d killed Tamlins father.

They said Tamlin killed his.

Rhysand didn’t need to wear a weapon to seem lethal. Tall and powerfully built, she was certain if he wanted to, he could end her right there. His lips curved upward into a smile and too late, she remembered the people in his court were rumored to read minds.

“I hear congratulations are in order. Married to little Lucien…how delighted you must be.”

“I…” Elain trailed off, heart hammering like a jack rabbit.

“I don’t think I’d leave my new bride to wander the grounds,” Rhysand continued, jamming his hands into his pockets absently. “But perhaps the males of Autumn are more…liberated…here.”

Elain’s mouth was dry. “Can I help you with something?”

Rhysand cocked his head, a lock of blue black hair trailing into one of his eyes. “Can you help me?” he asked, pondering this question with faux concentration. “I suppose you can. I’m looking for—”

“Rhysand!” Eris Vanserra barked, crunching onto leaves without ceremony. “Decided to show your ugly face for once? Or will I find your spy lurking in my woods again?”

“There’s no need for hostility,” Rhysand purred, eyes trailing behind Eris toward Feyre, who’d clearly been trailing Eris. “I’ve come to speak with your father.”

“Does Elain Archeron look like the High Lord of Autumn?” Eris demanded, his annoyance plain.

“She is far lovelier, I’ll admit, though your father has his charms—”

“Stop talking,” Eris muttered, nodding his head toward the doors so Rhysand would follow. Elain watched the High Lord of Night even when Eris’s fingers curled around her wrist, dragging her back inside with him. Rhysand was looking at Feyre in her spring green gown, hair half braided off her face. There was something curious about his expression—as if he’d never seen a female before and wanted to study her.

Feyre wrinkled her nose back, betraying her unguarded disgust before turning on her heel and flouncing back inside and to Elain’s surprise, Rhysand chuckled. He didn’t know how skilled Feyre was with a weapon, training in secret with a sentry she’d once been friends with before Tamlin found out and had him sent to the border. It was too late, then. Feyre was a menace with a bow and arrow and not horrible with a sword, either. No one could control her and in truth, not many tried.

Elain wondered what Tamlin would do with a wife that liked to stalk the woods for monsters. Monsters like Rhysand, Elain thought, wondering if Feyre hadn’t sensed his presence and come looking for the disturbance. She half wanted to see the showdown, if only to watch a High Lord get trounced by a noble's youngest daughter.

Feyre was nowhere to be found by the time they all landed in the Great Hall. The once lively feast fell silent—even the musicians stopped their playing to watch, wide-eyed, as Rhysand strolled into the room. His eyes slid over the long tables piled with food, the people stopped mid-dance, and those that sat at tables holding goblets, drinking until their fair skin was ruddy from wine.

He grinned when he saw Beron. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, not sounding very sorry at all. Beron looked murderous, though he stood quickly while eyeing Eris trailing just behind. Elain watched as Cadmus fell into step beside his elder brother, the two flanking their father when he came down the elevated platform that held the throne he’d been lounging on. Everyone tried to pretend this was merely business as usual.

The music restarted and chatter resumed as Beron and Rhysand made their way out of the room, but Elain knew every immortal ear was straining to hear what was whispered between them. Why now, she wondered? Tamlin was gripping his goblet so tightly Elain could see the whites of his knuckles and Nesta’s eyes danced with silver flames, arms crossed over her chest.

Elain started to make her way to Nesta to ask when Lucien caught her attention. He was drunk, she realized. Stumbling forward, he grinned broadly not at her, but at someone behind her. Elain didn’t turn to see the female he was making eyes at, unwilling to even acknowledge how humiliating his behavior was.

“You reek,” Elain hissed, catching Lucien by the arm and turning him around. “Go drink some water.”

“Telling me what to do already?” he asked, eyes strangely glassy as he looked down at her. There was an intensity to his expression she didn’t think she liked. It was as if he was undressing her with his gaze.

“Yes. Water. Now,” she hissed quietly enough that no one but Lucien could hear.

“And if I say no?” he challenged. Elain wanted to cry.

“You are not the only one experiencing misery, Lucien, and yet am I out here making a fool of you?” she demanded, hating the way her voice cracked beneath angry tears. “You could at least keep it behind closed doors.”

Lucien considered this. “You’re right. I…” he swallowed, sliding his hand over hers in the crook of her elbow so she had to join him as he went for water. “Sit down and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Do it, or I’ll feed you from my hand like a baby bird,” he threatened, pulling out a chair from a neglected, empty table. Lucien dropped beside her, gulping down icy water as Elain picked food from a platter in front of her and spread it over two plates.

“Here,” she said, pushing a plate toward a wide eyed, strangely ashen looking Lucien.

“I—I’ve eaten already,” he said, gingerly moving the plate further from view. “You’re kind to offer, though.”

He was so strange, she decided. If he didn’t want to eat, he could suffer, then. No one could say she hadn’t tried, though. Elain began chewing, lost in thoughts of Rhysand just outside the forest grounds and her family that would vanish before the night was over. Her stomach tumbled as she thought about what the night had in store for her. Perhaps if she closed her eyes tightly it would be over quickly without a lot of fuss.

“Was there another male?” Lucien asked abruptly, interrupting Elain’s considerations. Looking at him, she found that same burning intensity from a few moments before. She didn’t think she liked when he looked at her that way.

“What?”

“Back in Spring. Was there a male you…preferred?”

Elain shook her head, though she wanted to ask why it even mattered? She was here, wasn’t she, wishes be damned?

“None?”

“No, Lucien. I’ve been set aside for you my entire life.”

“Sure, but…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “That didn’t mean you had to…”

Elain wished a hole would open beneath her and swallow her up. Surely he wasn’t implying that he wished she’d been with someone else mere hours before he was about to be with her? If she’d been less of a lady, she might have launched herself across the table to throttle him.

“Please do not worry about it,” she implored, desperate for this conversation to end. “Let’s just…lets just get through this afternoon.” Lucien eyed her dress again, but kept whatever comments he had to himself. “Fine.”

His reluctant compliance was better than expected. And Elain would take what she could get.

LUCIEN:

“You’re acting strange,” Arina said, catching Lucien in the hall on the way to his new bed chamber. His old one had been cleared out without ceremony, and he’d bet if he went to Elain’s room, he’d find her folding his clothing like a good little wife

“I’m not,” he lied. Lucien was desperately trying to avoid his brother and Arina, if only because he was afraid that might see him and just know somehow. Or smell it, more likely—the way he could currently smell the mating bond Arina and his brother shared wrapped around her like a lingering perfume.

It smelled like sex. Lucien hated it. It was like a warning pushing up against him, reminding him that she belonged to someone—a male who might rip Lucien’s throat out, should he feel like it. Elain seemed oblivious to what was happening which was the only mercy Lucien could find in their miserable situation. How long could he keep her in the dark before she realized? Before she felt the pull, the urge to touch him, too? Before someone scented him on her and told her?

“What’s going on?”

“Besides being actually married to a stranger, nothing at all. I, for one, have never been better—”

“Don’t use that tone with me,” Arina snapped, clearly irritated. “There’s something else about you.”

“I’m just…” Lucien ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “It's my wedding night, Arina, and my wife hates me. Put the pieces together.”

“I doubt she’ll be upset if you put it off.”

“Or she’ll run and tell her father to get out of the marriage,” Lucien retorted, though truthfully, Elain simply didn’t seem like the vindictive sort. His mind drifted back to lunch, watching as she put together two plates as his mind warred. On the one hand, the part of him driven by instinct had been screaming and clawing for him to simply accept it from her, thus cementing the bond before she ever had a choice.

The other, more rational part of him, wanted to throw that plate across the room before cursing at the Mother for what she’d done. It was supposed to be Jesminda. It was Jesminda. Lucien’s heart beat erratically at the realization that all the times he’d laid with her and sworn she was his mate, when they’d laced their fingers and talked about when it might snap…all of it had been a farce.

Lucien couldn’t stop thinking about Jes’s own mate. He was out there somewhere. Maybe she’d find that male and she’d realize what they had paled in comparison. Would she laugh a little at their silliness? How young they’d been, how foolish to believe what they had transcended the gods.

Lucien would have left Elain if Jes appeared right then. If she’d asked him—he wouldn’t make her beg—he would have left. Damned Elain, his life, his mating bond, just to see her again. And he knew that if Jes learned he had a mate, she’d bow out entirely. When the bond snapped, there was a finality to it.

He was a mated male. He owed it to Elain to try and make things work, and maybe he owed it to himself, too. That didn’t mean Lucien wanted it, either. Gods, he didn’t know what he wanted other than to drink himself into oblivion and wait for some obvious answer to present itself.

“When Eris informed you that you were his mate, what did you do?” Lucien asked, interrupting Arina’s self-important lecture about being a good husband.

“I suffocated the air in the room until he got on his knees and apologized,” she said, eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s different, Lucien.” Elain probably couldn’t nearly kill him—he’d been told she had no magic to speak of—but he imagined her reaction would go nearly as well.

“Just…let me deal with my marriage my way, okay?” Lucien ordered, unwilling to be nice to Arina at that moment. Butt out, he wanted to add, though slipping into his bedroom and closing the door behind him was response enough.

Inside was something out of Lucien’s personal hell. Elain rose to her feet when she saw him, eyes bright from what seemed to be some amount of crying. Her hair was unbound and artfully arranged around a night dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Lucien blinked, frozen in place as his eyes moved of their own accord.

BETRAYER

“I—put on a robe, please,” Lucien managed, turning in a circle like some kind of animal. She was his. He had no claim to her at all. The competing desires threatened to unmake him. Lucien heard Elain sniff.

“Shouldn’t we…”

“Not like this,” he breathed, certain he would have felt that way even without the mating bond. “I—we could just…go to bed?”

“What about…you know?”

Lucien took a steadying breath and turned again, relieved to find Elain had wrapped a throw around her body. Her face had a little more color, her eyes a little less red.

“If I offered to just…pretend…would you tell someone?”

“No,” she breathed with the saddest look of hope on her face. “I would swear we did.”

Oh, thank the Mother. “Then we’ll turn the lights off, get into bed, and in the morning go about our business as if we did.”

Elain nodded, dropping the blanket gently to walk to their bedroom. Lucien nearly choked at the sight of her from behind. Mother spare him, she’d be the death of him. Lucien didn’t need to like a female in order to admit she was appealing and Elain…Elain was just as pretty from behind as she was from the front. His eyes slid down her spine, landing on the soft curve of her waist, the flare of her hip, the sway of her ass.

Cauldron damn him.

Elain turned as Lucien steadied himself on the frame, wondering if sleeping beside her was a good idea at all. Servants talked—and everyone was nosy. If he was caught sleeping on the sofa, his father would know and put Lucien in a deeply uncomfortable position. Lucien wouldn’t put it past his father to demand to watch. He’d like enjoy knowing that he ruined every other coupling they’d ever have.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned, holding up a trembling finger. Was he looking at her in some particular kind of way? Lucien was certain he wasn’t. Still, he merely crossed his arms over his chest as he eyed his new wife.

“I was lost in thought,” he said, forcing himself to look only at her face. As if that made things any better. She was so heartbreakingly beautiful it made his teeth ache. She’d always been beautiful, which had warranted the space—if he spent too much time in her presence, he might find he liked her, and liking the woman who’d been forced upon him felt like giving in to his fathers demands.

Or worse, admitting Beron might have been right about him.

Elain still eyed him warily as he crossed the room, grabbing a pair of linen pants neatly folded in a drawer that had her scent all over it. In the bathroom, Lucien splashed cold water on his face and ordered himself to get together. The mating bond was making him stupid. He didn’t want her…and yet he did. Physically, anyway. Lucien wondered if he could get away with escaping to one of the nearby cities for a few weeks just to clear his head long enough to stand in her presence.

He returned to find Elain dividing the bed in half using pillows. “That’s not necessary,” he mumbled, reaching over her to toss one to the floor. “And obvious.” “I don’t want you getting any ideas,” she replied in that prissy way of hers.

Lucien bared his teeth. “Trust me, lady. My only idea is sleep.”

“I thought all males wanted—”

“I’m not an animal,” he growled, fully aware he was a liar. “I don’t relish the thought of forcing myself on someone, wife or otherwise.”

“And if I never want you?” Elain asked, eyes narrowed to slits.

“I’ll tell all of Pyrthian you are terribly infertile and I’m a martyr—”

Elain launched a pillow at his face. “You’re not funny.”

Lucien flopped into bed, one hand thrown over his face. “You wound me.”

“I don’t believe anything could wound that over inflated ego of yours,” she responded. Lucien was learning that despite her meek appearance, his wife had a sharp tongue. He rather liked it, if only because it absolved him of any guilt he might feel for his own remarks.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Lucien said, settling against the pillow. “You could tell me, you know. If there was another male.”

“There wasn’t. There isn’t.” There was something bitter about her tone.

“Never?” he questioned, his curiosity making him stupid.

“Never.”

“You’re not…?” Shut up shut up shut up— “You’re not curious?”

“Stop talking, Lucien.”

“If it were me—”

“I know where you’re going with this, and I’m telling you to stop while you’re ahead,” Elain gritted out. “Find someone else, if you’re feeling frustrated, but don’t try and frame my lack of experience as an opportunity.”

“Cauldron, Elain, I wasn’t…” But he was. Lucien knew it was a bad idea. If he got himself in her with the mating bond pounding in his chest, he was likely to take things too far, to do something he regretted. He couldn’t help himself no matter how badly he wanted to, and her proximity was clouding his judgment. He tried to pull up an image of Jes, but his mind shifted to Elain in sheer white lace and the rosy pink of her nipples—

Lucien rolled over, frustrated more with himself than anything else. There was no way he was going to sleep, no way he trusted his dreams not to betray him.

Not for the first time, he wished he was dead.

But maybe it was the first time he’d wished for it the loudest.

And the gods did nothing.

#elucien #im planning to update 3 on tuesday #ill be out of town all weekend

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misseviehyde · 9 months

Text

INFLUENCED

Bryan sometimes wondered if he should have told his daughter Sarah about his plan to help her with her bullying problem - but by now it was far too late.

It wasn't like there was much of Bryan left anyway. Beckie had seen to that.

It had all started a few weeks ago when Sarah had come home in tears again. She told her Dad that she was being emotionally manipulated and abused by a brat in her class, Beckie.

Beckie wasn't like the other girls. She was... better. She had bigger tits, blonder hair, more expensive clothes and makeup. In short she was a total bully - and like all bullies she enjoyed having a victim to humiliate.

That victim was Sarah. Beckie had correctly identified that the pink haired goth girl would be an easy target. She undermined Sarah at every chance and mocked her for being different.

At first the other girls around them seemed uncomfortable, but none of them said or did anything. Some of them had been friends with Sarah for a long time - but their silence was deafening.

That didn't last long. Beckie had a strange influence on others. Gradually at first, but increasingly rapidly they began to change. They began to dress like Beckie, talk like Beckie - even starting to join in her bullying.

It was like some evil hive mind had taken control of the girls and made them think and act just like Beckie.

They began to get boob jobs and wear tight skirts and tiny tops. They dumped their boyfriends and began to fuck black guys only. High heels and boots replaced comfortable trainers and shoes. Attitudes became troublesome, arrogance grew and bit by bit they became empty souless brats who loved to tease and lead on all the boys

All except Sarah who was left isolated and tormented. Beckie and her goons were now everywhere and Sarah didn't even want to go to college anymore.

That's why Bryan decided to have it out with Beckie. This couldn't go on.

He didn't tell Sarah his plan - not that it was much of a plan. Just go and confront Beckie, get her to leave his daughter alone.

He drove over to the luxurious condo where Beckie and her rich divorced Mom (four husbands) lived. There was a pink Landrover parked on the drive and a giant swimming pool at the back.

Banging on the door Bryan was relieved when Beckie opened it. She was wearing a tiny LA Boutine bikini set and her long blonde hair fell wantonly over her shoulders. It was hard to read her expression thanks to the mirror shades she wore.

"What the fuck do you want?" she yawned boredly examining a long bejewelled manicured nail.

"I want you to leave my daughter Sarah alone!" grunted Bryan in what he hoped was an intimidated way.

Beckie's whole demeanour changed as she realised who he was. Her lips twitched into a naughty smile and her blue eyes twinkled excitedly as she tore off her shades. It wasn't the reaction he had expected.

"Nooooo fucking way! This is so cool. Get in here."

Giggling excitedly, Beckie yanked Bryan into the house. Sliding her small sexy hand into his she lead him inside and he dazedly followed.

A pink fog seemed to instantly descend around Bryan. Rational decisions and thoughts became sluggish and hard. A dreamlike quality now surrounded the day and Bryan found himself going along with his daughters bully.

"What did you say your name was? Bailey?"

"No, Bryan," he croaked weakly.

"I prefer Bailey. Beckie and Bailey sounds a lot hotter right Bailey?"

Bailey blinked. He didn't know why but it made a lot of sense. Yes, Bailey was a much better name.

"So Bailey, does Sarah know you're here?"

"No, I didn't tell anyone."

"Fuck yeah, this is perfect. None of those bitches have quite got what it takes to be my bestie. I was wondering which of them to fully transform, but now you just walked out of the blue and gave me the perfect answer. If no one knows you came here, they'll never find you once we're done."

Bailey blinked. He didn't know what the fuck Beckie was talking about.

"What the hell are you talking a..."

"First rule Bailey. You NEVER interrupt me when I'm talking and you never question me. Whatever I say you go along with, right? That's what besties like you are for! I'm the hot one and you're my sexy little shadow. You don't have any opinions of your own, you just copy mine."

Bailey blinked and his mouth clamped shut. Besties? What the fuck was this demented bitch talking about? Still he should probably do as she said. She probably knew best. In fact Beckie seemed really cool and hot. He bet her opinions were much better than his.

"Second rule is we always dress to impress. I need to get out of this bikini and we need to get you in some decent clothes. Come upstairs with me now."

Bailey followed Beckie up to her bedroom. The pink fog was stronger now. It was like the longer he was in her presence, the easier it was to go along with what she wanted.

"You're obviously not as strong minded as your daughter anyway. The influence doesn't seem to work very well on her. Not that I care so long as it affects everyone else. I'm the best right?"

Bailey just nodded stupidly and said, "Yes Beckie."

"Well you seem very susceptible which is pretty hot. Seeing as you're going to be my bestie I'll tell you about it. I don't know how or why but I was born with a power. I call it the influence. It let's me change reality and people around me. I always get the things that I want eventually. People just change to match my expectations. Those losers at college are all well on the way to being popular girls like me, but it can take time. When I really want something though the influence gets more powerful."

Bailey nodded along, "Wow, that sounds hot Beckie."

"It is hot. It's so fucking hot. It makes me feel like a God. Right now Bailey I've never wanted anything so much as to turn you from that losers nice kind Daddy into my evil, bitchy bestie. Just look at how fast the influence is working. Look down."

Bailey looked down. Whilst he had been talking to Beckie he hadn't noticed how tingly his body had been. He gasped. His male clothes now hung loose and baggy over his body which had shrunk to nearly half the size. He was an inch shorter than Beckie now and his arms and legs seemed stick thin. His tummy was as flat as a washboard and all his body hair was gone.

"Take off those stupid fucking clothes - you look dumb. We need to get you into a new outfit right now.

Bailey didn't object as Beckie helped him out of his clothes. He noticed his skin looked younger. His hands were now more delicate and his feet were tiny. His whole body felt like a dolls. He looked down and gawped at his crotch. His dick was... it was gone!

"What are you staring at Bailey? Haven't you ever seen a pussy before. Kind of weird seeing as you're a girl."

Bailey frowned and she shook her head - but it was hopeless to fight the influence. Of course she was a girl. She had always been a girl.

Grabbing Bailey's hand Beckie pulled her into her bathroom and shoved her in front of the mirror. Bailey gasped at the vision in front of her.

A beautiful girl with small but perfect tits, a perky ass and long dark hair was looking back at her.

"Look how pretty you are Bailey. You're worthy to be my bestie. Now let's get you into a bodystocking and fix that makeup."

Bailey loved feeling Beckie's skillful fingers fix her lipstick, mascara and foundation. "Of course you know how to do all this right?" smirked Beckie. "Show me... you try."

Bailey took the brush from her besties hands and skillfully continued to apply her makeup as if she had done it all her life.

It felt like she was replacing her old personality and thoughts as she applied more makeup. Being feminine felt so good.

"Good girl, you look so hot! Now the third rule is that being a bitch always feels good. From now on you are going to be a bully. Being my bestie means you have to be just as mean and as cruel as I am."

"Yes Beckie, that sounds hot," giggled Bailey as she felt her morals melt away.

"Then say it," gloated Beckie.

"Being a bitch always feels good. I'm cruel and mean and I like it."

As she said the words Bailey felt her nipples get hard and her pussy getting wet.

"And who's the biggest loser we know?" hissed Beckie with evil glee. "Who deserves to get bullied every day?"

"S... Sarah?" guessed Bailey, feeling a flash of guilt that then faded to never return.

"That's right. Doesn't it feel good to know you're better than her? What does she mean to you?"

"N...nothing... she means nothing. I fucking hate her. I want to bully and humiliate her for being such a skank."

Bailey giggled as the words oozed out of her mouth. Yessss this is what she wanted. Wasn't it?

Beckie lifted Bailey back off the bed and walked her to the mirror.

"Very good. Now tell me... who are you?"

"Me? I'm Bailey your bestie and I love being a fucking brat. I hate Sarah and I share all your opinions."

Part of Bailey suddenly rebelled... a bit of her that was shrinking fast. She groaned and gripped her head. "Noooo you can't stop me, this is my body now. I'm Bailey and I love it."

Giggling Beckie slid a long glass dildo into her besties hands. "Don't worry babe, it's just the last part of your old pysche trying to fight back. Make yourself cum and he'll give in forever. My influence is too strong!"

Lying on the bed, Bailey unpopped her lingerie and exposing her tight pussy slowly slid the dildo inside.

"I'm a... unnnnff bitch, I'm a bully I ooooohhh hate Sarah."

Pump. Pump. Pump.

Wet squelches filled the air and the sounds of panting moans as Bailey pleasured her new body and the final barriers to her mind began to break down to Beckie's obscene influence.

"That's it. You're just like me now Bailey. You're a rich, mean, popular slut. You will never escape my influence."

"Yesssss I'm a rich slut and I'm a oooooh fucking bitch. I'm a BIIIIITTTTTCHHHH!"

Bailey screamed and yanked the dildo out as her pussy throbbed and she began to squirt. Her brain went white hot as her new personality and thoughts locked forever.

She was such a bitch and she loved it.

Beckie stroked her hair and giggled. "Don't worry, my influence will give you a new identity. Everyone will falsely remember you've always been my bestie. Well everyone except Sarah. We're going to have so much fun together babe..."

**********

Sarah cried as her Mom tried to comfort her. Bryan had been missing for weeks now and the police couldn't provide any answers. She'd barely slept, barely eaten. No one could find even a trace of him.

Her Mom had taken her out for coffee and they were sat outside in the sunshine when she saw her bullies approaching.

Beckie and Bailey laughed and giggled to each other as they passed, saying something mean. Bailey dropped a note as she passed and despite herself Sarah picked it up.

It was a scrumpled missing note - one of the ones she'd put up everywhere. It showed Bryan and offered a reward for information about his disappearance.

Someone had written in lipstick on the note.

"Your Daddy hates you so he left home. You're a fucking loser."

Sarah felt more tears come as she saw the mean girls laughing at her reaction. In their centre a gloating Beckie smiled approvingly at her protegee Bailey.

She really was a great influence on the bitch...

The End

#evie hyde #bitchification #m2f transformation #corruption #m2f corruption #bully #brat #influenced #reality change #evil bitch

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jeewrites · 4 months

Text

Hold Fast | Ch. 1 Will Squat for Dinner

Series Master List

Inspo: In an IG reel @ tashabraziliano asks a guy at the gym to play a game where if she squats him he has to buy her dinner at Nando’s.

Rating: M for this one shot, but this blog is 18+ MDNI

A/N: Thank you to @bloviating-vy for being my beta and my write or die! Grateful to everyone who voted in my poll and @katareyoudrilling for encouraging me to post. In the Hold Fast AU all the guys make it back from S. America, additional details TBD if this ends up being a series

Word Count: ~4.0k

Tags: no y/n, gymbff!Benny, alcohol, swearing, reader is a powerlifting girlie described as short, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), alcohol, brief body insecurity and Frankie being down on himself, Tom owns a bar, Pope owns a gym, alternating POV with one brief Benny POV

next chapter >>

The first time you went to train at Pope's Gym, Benny wouldn’t stop talking your ear off during your workout. When you finally got a word in edgewise, you made a bet with him that if you could squat him, he would shut the fuck up and let you finish your workout in peace. To his amazement, not only did you squat him, you repped him 3 times before setting him down to raucous applause. You’d been gym besties ever since. It didn’t hurt that he was nice to look at with his dirty blonde hair and penchant to go sans shirt so he could flaunt his abs as frequently as possible. Plus, his big golden retriever energy never failed to brighten your day.

Benny liked to tease you about the gym you used to go to that had vanity lighting, a smoothie bar, and chilled eucalyptus-scented towels. While Pope's had the most lifting platforms of any gym in town, you were adjusting to the lack of central A/C and other amenities you were used to. Pope’s was housed in a large warehouse space, bare metallic bones, with multiple commercial rolling doors instead of a proper HVAC system. Besides the rows upon rows of platforms, a selection of assault bikes and ergs lined one wall of the gym, while a section of accessory machines collected dust in the corner.

You learned which platforms got the most airflow depending on which rolling door was open and which ones the massive fans covered best. You had made the switch because you had outgrown your old gym which catered to the general public. The bougie public, Benny liked to remind you. You had started lifting heavy and wanted to lift heavier, so you found yourself signing up at Pope's after Pope himself had given you the tour around the space. You learned that Pope had started the gym after coming back from Colombia wanting to promote health and strength in the community while getting into better shape himself. Looking at the peach shape of his ass you could bounce anything off of, you knew Pope had been putting the work in.

Benny worked the front desk at Pope's between training and fighting MMA. His older and blonder brother Will would come by to work out, but he was often leaving when you were arriving so you didn't know him well beyond a friendly wave. Plus, it seemed like Benny used the majority of the word quota between the Miller brothers. Pope's grew on you and you got to know the regulars who trained the same time you did; enough that you gave them cute identifying nicknames in your head (often without knowing their actual names) and worried about them when they missed more than a session or two.

Benny was surprised to see you walk into Pope's one night an hour before closing since you always trained in the mornings. You had given him a short head nod instead of your usual big smile before stalking to a platform and slamming your bag down.

"Yooooo, everything ok?" he asks as he walks over.

"Does it look like I'm okay," you huff, aggressively wrestling your knee sleeves on. Glancing at him, you immediately apologize when he hesitates and takes a step back.

"Sorry, Benny. I'll be a lot better after I pick up some heavy things and put them down."

"Might help if you want to talk about it?" he ventures leaning against the barbell.

You finish tying your squat shoes before looking at him again with dejected eyes and sighing.

"I just went on a crappy date with a guy from one of those dating apps," you sigh again. "He spent the whole time talking about himself and how much he works out. Then he had the fucking audacity to question me when he asked how much I could lift."

"Fucking asshole!" Benny feels himself getting steamed.

"He just stormed out of the restaurant and left me with the bill when I refused to change my answer," you shrug, but Benny sees your jaw tick. "Apparently, I squat and deadlift more than he does and he couldn't date someone who could do that." You roll your eyes and huff.

"WTF! What a total loser. You don't need a guy like that who doesn't appreciate you," Benny replies incensed. He sees your face fall for a moment, eyes downcast and tight.

"I just — I've been trying to put myself out there again and it sucks," you mumble, cheeks flush with embarrassment. "It's also been kinda lonely since I moved here, and I guess I could just use more friends, too."

"I'M YOUR FRIEND!"

"Yeah, my gym friend! We don't do anything outside of this hot, sweaty box Benny," you remind him with a small smile and playful shove to get him off your barbell.

Benny decides this is completely unacceptable and immediately remedies this by inviting you to the next hangout with him and his ex-Delta Force friends at Redfly's, a local bar nearby. "You know Pope and Will already," he reassures, "Tom's the owner of the bar and he's an asshole, but he's our asshole. And there's Catfish — we call him Fish for short. We've been trying to get him to come work out here, but he's been busy with his new pilot job for the hospital. And he shares custody of his 3-year-old daughter with his ex."

He could see your brain turning over all the information he was throwing at you. You don't seem to react either way to the news that Fish has an ex and a daughter. As you adjust the bar height you respond, "You sure? Don't want to crash a regular thing that you have with your guys."

"Nah, it'll be great! They'll love you!" Benny's determined to get you to come.

You hand him your phone. "Well... okay. Text me the details?"

With your phone in hand, Benny puts his number in to text himself and then convinces you to show him your dating profile. Between sets of squats you both take turns swiping on possible matches, Benny teasing you on your picks. Ever observant, Benny notices your preference for profiles with tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed candidates. As you work through your next set, Benny sneaks his phone out and immediately texts Fish.

Redfly's was what you expected for a bar run by an ex-delta force asshole. Dimly lit, buncha mismatched tables and chairs, lots of dark grain wood, and an air of neglect despite being quite clean. It was mostly empty except for a few grizzled guys who screamed regulars, nursing beers at the bar. Lots of beers on tap, but not so much for cocktail options. Not that you were a big drinker anyway. If anything, all the training made you an extremely cheap date. But damn, if you were going to drink, you wanted it to be a solid cocktail.

"THERE SHE IS!" Benny bounds over to you before grabbing your hand and dragging you over to the table in the corner. He introduces you to Tom who was standing by the table chatting with the guys. Tom gives a half-hearted greeting before stalking off back to the bar. Pope gives you a big smile and hug, "Good to see you hermosa, don't mind Tom. That was downright friendly for him." You snort as you settle into your seat next to Pope. Will also greets you with a small wave and an offer to pour you a beer from the pitcher.

"That's okay, I'm not much of a beer drinker." You wince, wrinkling your nose.

"I thought you said she was cool," Pope teases Benny who rolls his eyes and looks at you with faux betrayal.

"How about I buy shots for the table? Would that make me cool?" you smirk, getting up to go to the bar.

"Only if I get one too," says a warm, baritone voice from behind you. A tall, handsome man slides into the last vacant seat across from yours. Soft brown curls threaten to escape the Standard Oil cap nestled on his head. The warmest brown eyes smile at you as he holds your surprised gaze. "Hi, I'm Fish. Sorry, 'm late."

You want to trace the golden skin stretched deliciously along the column of his neck. Run your fingers through those curls that look so, so incredibly soft. And the strong curve of his nose... You snap out of your reverie before you respond with your name. "Better get those shots then," you say, trying not to trip over your unexpectedly shaky legs. Holy shit, why the fuck didn't Benny mention his friend Fish was gorgeous?

When Benny bugged him to come to the Friday night hangout at Redfly’s, Frankie hadn’t given it a second thought. The exuberant text from Benny, “You coming this week right? Got someone from Pope’s coming to meet you guys!!!” had two too many exclamation points for his taste. He figured Benny had a new lifting partner he wanted the guys to meet and his attendance had been pretty spotty between the new EMS pilot gig and balancing shared custody with Vanessa.

So when he walked into Redfly’s and overheard you say “… shots for the table?” He just assumed Tom had finally hired some help in the form of a very cute new waitress.

It wasn’t until he asked the guys when Tom hired you, eyes not leaving your form as you walked away, did he realize the absolute error in his assumption. “That’s my friend from the gym, Fish. SHE’s from Pope’s,” Benny rolled his eyes.

“C’mon hermano, you know Tom’s too cheap to hire help and too much of a pendejo for help to stick around,” Pope added.

Frankie pulled his cap low over his eyes and slid down his seat. He could feel himself flush. Fuck, he thought. Just made an ass out of myself demanding a shot from a total stranger.

You had frozen for a moment after he introduced himself before offering your name with a bit of a grimace. He thought you were gorgeous though and smelled incredible, fresh and citrusy with hints of something sweet and floral that lingered even after you had walked away.

“So, whaddya think, Fish?” Benny prods. "She’s smart, pretty, super strong, and a total sweetheart. Should ask her out."

Frankie flushes a deeper red. “S’outta my league Benny.”

“Aw, c’mon Fish, you gotta get back out there,” Benny persists. "Made it easy for you too. I happen to know you’re exactly her type."

“What, she into out of shape, 40-year-old, divorced, single dads with a toddler?” Fish grumbles. He hadn’t dressed particularly well tonight either, just his usual worn khakis and old faded navy t-shirt. Hadn’t suspected Benny was going to try to set him up tonight, although with Benny you never knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Might’ve mentioned summa that to her. She didn’t even blink, Fish. You got a shot and you should take it.”

Frankie finally tears his eyes away from you. You had just said something that made Tom smile ever so briefly and he wanted to know what you said. Frankie didn’t even realize Tom smiled anymore.

He sees Pope giving Benny that look that said Pope knew Frankie was indeed interested in you, but needed some extra encouragement and to get out of his head. How a single look conveyed all of that spoke to the years and shit they’d all been through together.

“Gonna help her bring over the drinks,” Benny says, popping out of his chair before Frankie could tell him to keep his big mouth shut.

He lifts his cap and runs his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t even tried to comb his fucking hair before coming out tonight. He slides the cap back on hoping it catches the more unruly curls.

“You’re a total catch, Fish,” Pope says, pouring him a beer. “Don’t count yourself out before even shooting your shot.”

“Could just be a coffee date. Don’t overthink it,” Will seconds.

Frankie takes a big pull of his beer. Easy for these two to say. Both Pope and Will worked out regularly at the gym and had the physiques to show for it. As much as Frankie had insisted everyone needed to get back on their game when they got back from Colombia, he was the only one out of the five of them who hadn't.

At least it didn’t feel like it with his achy back and bad knees. Sure, he had finally gotten his pilot’s license reinstated and now shared custody of his daughter. But he was self-conscious of his soft stomach, especially next to Benny whose abs were definitely the example given in the dictionary next to “rock-hard.” What did he have to offer you besides a mountain of baggage and PTSD? Maybe if he just kept his mouth shut everything would be fine and he’d survive tonight without embarrassing himself.

At this point, you are willing to brave Tom the asshole to collect yourself before sitting across from Frankie and his big brown eyes again. Tom raises an eyebrow when you order six shots ("One's for you asshole," you say to Tom with a teasing glare) and ask if he could make an Aviation. You swear he gives you the faintest smile before grumbling about ridiculous froufrou cocktails, but he wasn't born yesterday and yes he could make you one.

Benny sidles up to you at the bar as you wait for Tom to finish making your drink, offering to help you carry the drinks back to the table. "You doing ok? You seem nervous," Benny observes as you tap your fingers on the bar.

"Why didn't you warn me Fish is fucking hot?" you pointedly whisper back.

Benny grins at you as he leans back on his elbows against the bar, "Fucking knew it. Totally thought he'd be your type, girlie."

"You trying to set us up??" you glare at him.

Benny shrugs with exaggerated innocence. "Maaaaybe."

You huff, "Does he know that? Am I even his type?" You cringe inwardly at your insecurity.

"Well considering he hasn't taken his eyes off you since you left the table makes me think you are," Benny smirks. The smug look stays on his face.

For once you're glad you took more than five minutes to put yourself together before walking out the door. You picked a pair of jeans that hugged your curves and a fitted top with a very complementary neckline. Black-heeled booties gave you a few inches and made your legs look longer than they were. Worth the hassle of walking in at least for one night. The lightest dusting of make-up, mostly eyeliner and glossy lip balm, highlights your facial features.

"So maybe I should shoot my shot then, hmm?" you wink at Benny with a knowing smile.

"If you're thinking what I'm thinking…," Benny grins thinking back on the day you two met.

"That's very purple," Fish observes as you and Benny set down the drinks for the table.

"It's an Aviation. You might like it considering you're a pilot, mmh?" you respond with a smile. Okay, you've collected yourself. Sort of. Let's see if you remember how this flirting thing goes.

"What are we taking shots to celebrate?" Pope asks.

"How about to new, strong, friends?" you quip.

"I'll cheers to that!" Benny raises his glass.

Conversation is light and fun with the guys. You marvel at their connection and closeness as they teased and talked like people who have been through some shit together over the years. You convince Fish to try the Aviation to which he declares it a "very fancy purple" and keeps sneaking sips much to your amusement. They fold you into their conversation, asking about your training, and what competitions you might try this season. They praise Pope about how the gym has flourished and rib him about his ever-revolving door of beautiful women.

"What about you, Fish? You thinking about getting back out there and dating?" Benny asks before flicking his eyes over to you. You remind yourself to thank Benny profusely for being the best wingman ever.

"'Dunno. Not sure where to even start," Frankie mumbles into his beer, casting his eyes down.

"I have an idea," you give Frankie your best coy smile.

"Yeah?" he breathes looking up at you. Those damn brown eyes.

"I have a game for you," you offer before taking a breath. “If I squat you, you get to buy me dinner.” Your heart is thrumming in your chest and you feel your cheeks flush, but damnit, you were going to shoot your fucking shot. "But if I can rep you, I want the whole nine yards. Pick me up at my place, flowers, dinner and dessert."

"You — you think you can squat me?" Fish looks a bit surprised, "I— it's, it's not that I don't think you can. But 'm... A lot bigger than you... 'm out of shape." His ears pink at the last part as he cups one hand over the back of his neck.

"I know I can. Do we have a deal?" you smile at him with encouragement and extend your hand across the table. Fish hesitates, but you try not to assume why.

"Jesus, Fish, if you don't take her up on it, I will," Pope winks at you.

Fish glances between you and Pope for a brief moment.

He reaches out and shakes your hand. "Okay, deal." You try not to get distracted by the way his large hand engulfs yours.

"Let's go, brown eyes," you tell him as you stand up from your chair and whip your hair up into a high ponytail.

"You're going to do this in heels?" Fish asks as he gets up from his chair with a grunt. Christ, he's so tall. And broad. You shrug and look up at him through your lashes, “I mean, Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels.”

You move so you stand with your side towards his front.

“I'm going to put my hand here,” you gesture to his right inner thigh just above the knee. "Is that okay?"

"Yep."

"Alright, you ready?"

He nods.

You carefully slump him over your shoulders in a fireman's carry, gripping tightly to his upper arm and thigh. You can feel the warmth of his body pressed deliciously across your shoulders. He's so warm.

You brace.

Benny's out of his seat, whooping and hollering. Pope's leaning forward, elbows on his knees, clapping, "Let's go, let's go!" Will's grinning and shaking his head in amusement. The regulars at the bar sneak glances over in your direction.

Frankie catches himself remarking on the particular shade of purple out loud when you return to the table with Benny bearing shots and a suspiciously purple beverage. He realizes after you respond and the dazzling smile you give him that you’re flirting with him. He thinks?? He’s so out of practice. God, he’d do anything for you to smile at him like that again.

When you slide your drink over to him to try he surprises himself by taking a sip. He’s even more surprised that he likes it. Crisp juniper dances across his tongue followed by a delicate floral sweetness and a touch of citrus with a spiced cardamom and anise finish. This very purple drink tastes the way you smell. And the giggle you give him when he calls it a “very fancy purple” blooms warmth through him, settling low in his core. He can only think about how he can elicit that sound from you again.

Which is how he misses Benny asking him if he’s thinking about getting back out there and dating. Fucking Benny and his goddamn big mouth.

But then you’re smiling at him again, telling him, single-dad, divorcee Francisco Morales, you have an idea. He’s looking at you and he can barely breathe as your eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint and your plush, glossy lips propose a game.

For a moment he’s confused. Did you not want to go out to dinner with him? Because if he’s honest, he doesn’t think you could squat him. He’s so much bigger than you. And he’s pretty sure if he tried, he could put you in his pocket. But then you’re brimming with confidence and extending your hand out to strike a deal.

It’s when Pope — fucking Pope — threatens to play your game in his place that Frankie is engulfing your delicate hand in his large one. You surprise him with a firm handshake and it’s then that he can feel the callouses across your palm. Callouses from many, many reps with the barbell.

Frankie finds himself towering over you, realizing you’re about to try and squat him in heeled booties. He vaguely hears you ask for consent to touch his inner thigh just above his knee before he finds himself suspended horizontally in the air across a set of firm shoulders, anchored by two small hands. He can feel when you brace, feel your entire core expand. The muscles across your shoulders and back flex underneath your fitted top. And suddenly he’s moving up and down, steadily with control.

You end up squatting Fish five times before setting him back down gently with a breathless giggle. He's towering over you again and you just want to press yourself into his broad chest and envelope yourself in the smell of his body wash.

"Dinner?" you smirk up at him.

"Wow, yeah, dinner on me," Fish flushes, impressed and a little dazed.

"It's a date then," you quip, poking him in the rib before you sit back down at the table. You notice his brown eyes spark with realization at your comment.

Will, Benny, and Pope all high-five you. Cheeks still pink, Fish pulls his chair around to sit closer to you. Tom wanders back over to the table grumbling that Redfly's isn't that kind of establishment with theatrics like you just pulled. But he also sets down an Aviation along with another pitcher of beer before returning to the bar.

"He's just jealous you didn't try to squat him," Benny laughs. You giggle in response as the conversation around the table picks back up.

Feeling Fish's gaze on you, you slide your cocktail over to him. A frisson of electricity shoots up your entire arm when his fingers brush against yours as he takes your cocktail glass.

You tilt your head towards him, your eyes meeting his warm brown ones, and whisper, "By the way, my favorite flowers are dahlias."

Frankie lost count by the time you repped him the third time. Just awed by you having the strength to carry him like this. He decides to just enjoy the rest of the ride.

When you set him back upright he almost melts into a puddle at the breathless giggle you let out. He catalogs that sound in his mind. He wants to brush back the hairs that have escaped your ponytail and he already misses your touch, wants to close the space between your bodies somehow without being creepy.

He gets lost in your eyes when you gaze up at him, he’s definitely over a head taller than you, and ask, “Dinner?”

Frankie is pretty sure he responds in the affirmative, still a bit dazed and very impressed.

It’s when you confirm it’s a date that his brain fritzes, reboots, and takes a minute to come back online. He blinks several times at the realization. He has a date. With you.

next chapter>>

Notes: Dahlias symbolize elegance, creativity, positivity, and growth. It also represents inner strength, likely due to the plant's ability to tolerate harsh conditions.

"Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels.” — Ann Richards

🙏🏽 Thank you so much for reading my first fic! I'm bad at tumblr and new to tags/warnings/fan fics in general, so if I missed something please let me know.

I am open to constructive feedback but please be gentle with this baby powerlifting writer, yeah? I might be able to squat you, but I'm a big ol' softie.

Aaand I'm thinking about expanding on these characters and making Hold Fast into a series if anyone would want to read it. I may or may not already have a Frankie POV at Pope's Gym where he gets to see reader in her element. 👀

Taglist: @katareyoudrilling @christinamadsen @rebel-held

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x reader #frankie x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #pedro pascal cinematic universe #hold fast a frankie x powerlifting!reader fanfic #happy frankie friday #frankie friday

101 notes · View notes

hellowoolf · 4 months

Text

electra heart

pairing: din jarin x prostitute fem!reader

summary: with the softness of your body you have bought your piece of luxury, clawed your way to opulence, and wait now on the lustful whims of the rich and powerful. what havoc is wreaked when the only client you've ever loved, your mandalorian, finds you in the golden smoke of a gala on canto bight?

warnings: mention of alcohol, prostitution, reader is literally a prostitute, reader goes by alias "edie", din calls her “edee”, angst, quick mention of killing (bounty hunting), porn with plot, SMUT, soft!dom din, unprotected piv, beskar humping (sue me), tiiiny bit of degradation if you squint your eyes and pat your head and rub your tummy, little bit of begging, fucking in a literal suit of armor, creampie (if i left out any, let me know <3)

word count: 4.7k

authors note: first din fic alert !!! hand on heart i meant to keep this light hearted. and that’s what counts…right ??!!!!

woolfie’s masterlist

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you had been small, once. a young thing born into the streets of tatooine, conjured by them, slipping dirty like a curse through the city with a beggar's cup. in the day, the sand heated to glass and fire, and you trailed in the shadowed coattails of men the passers by could think your father, but with nightfall came the slow, syrupy suck of warmth from land, and even pressed up against building corners and doorways you shivered in the starlight. and what a cruel thing it was to know—to be, even then, so certain of your own poorness. you stuck little fingers through the holes of your clothes to cork the heat of your skin, and reconciled, in the meanwhile, with your birth as a nomad with no place to journey.

oh, but you loved the ships. with festivals held on the plains came warships and single-seat fighters, great discs of silver settling the baking sand, and you circled the throngs of people to let the gleam of sunlit metal blind you, if only for a moment. with scrap metal and a child’s palms you laid your plans there in the tatooine sand, to seek out whatever precious lavishness was left out there for you. beads of sweat jeweling down your wrists you thought yes, you were fit for that sort of life.

it became clear to you, when you came of age, that your body was your only currency for purchasing such plans. kicking stones while you wound through the cityscape, you supposed the home you could make in a brothel, and the money, too, made for an even exchange, and besides, you’d absorbed worse than man. you tap a manicured nail down your glass and hum with the bellish chime. where had all those girls gone? where were they now? you wonder if they’ve caught wind of you from here, if your perfume has traveled that far. you hope so.

“my edie, how are you honey?”

kel talbot is even blonder than you remember him. with his chest to your back in the sprawling porcelain of his bathtub he’d admitted, along the skin of your shoulder, that it wasn’t real, the color. he dyed it when he went home to naboo, he said. still damp and soapy he’d tipped you an extra 5,000 credits, for your discretion and your loveliness.

“i’m well, kelly. it’s always so wonderful to see you,” you lilt back to him. and because you can’t help yourself, so prone to indulgence now, you add, “have you been off home? i haven’t seen much of you here.”

he’s lovely, really, and delighted that you would ask. “as a matter of fact, i have. my mother’s been remarried a sixth time, if you can believe it. a great big ceremony and all, and i really couldn’t miss it.”

you smooth your free hand down the lapel of his jacket, black silk gleaming between the pillars of your fingers as you drag them. you wouldn’t mind him, for the night. “i really miss you so much when you’re gone.”

he steps closer, flattered little smile, and you look up at him through your lashes. “don’t stroke my ego, edie, it’s unbecoming,” he whispers, so thoroughly pleased with your attention on him, and you tug on the bunch of his coat in your palm.

“do you want me to stroke something else for you, kelly?”

he lets out a shuddered breath across your face. heir to an agricultural fortune on naboo, he is all tradition, brought up on pomp and circumstance and a set of shoulders shaped for the head of a long dining table. your innuendos fall heavy on him, always. he doubles over with them, sinks into you to realign himself upright. edie, edie, someone called you edee once, it means jaws, teeth, he’d told you. when it came time to shed your first name, your real name, it’d come naturally. edie, edie. kel is ripe for biting now.

“i–i have somewhere to be, honey, i can’t.” you pout at him a little. he tips generously. “don’t look at me like that.”

you set him back by your hold on his suit and he brushes himself with his palms, dusting the fabric from whatever coital indecency you’ve smeared on him.

“i’ll let you know when i’m in town again, okay?” and he offers it like a favor, and you suppose he hopes it to be one, so you nod with a gentle sigh.

“go enjoy your night, kelly. i’ll be here if you change your mind,” you promise, and with a tender smile his platinum hair filters back through the ballroom.

if you’re honest, you don’t really know the purpose of this event to begin with. canto bight shines bloated with galas and gamblers, and you dance, ephemeral, through the lot of them in search of clientele. scanning the dancing gold and satin of this crowd, collected on the bottom floor of the hotel you work from, you find mostly elderly men, married and elderly. you certainly aren’t above servicing either, though you went out tonight for the delights of it more than anything else. draping yourself in the inordinately expensive wrappings gifted by your previous clients, arms and collarbones dripping over with fine jewelry and precious gems, you enjoy the ritual of it, now. you enjoy the rest of it, too, with the right sort of client. you drag a red gemstone, set in gold, to and fro along its chain, your first little opulence left with the credits on the windowsill. edee, edee. a passing, devastating thought: like the girls from that first whore house you hope he smells you, hope through the filter of his helmet he’s struck with the scent like a sharp ache that sweetens in the middle. and—

you should’ve missed it, really. an inconsequential glimmer in the face of all the light you’ve gulped down these past years, but still you seem to find it, the little silver spotlight convexing through the curve of your glass. it points right on you, the beam, and you tilt the glass back and forth to watch the light twitch along your sternum. your body tenses with the stretch of a memory, of you in the sand on your back with the sterling starships jumping into hyperspace above you. but surely there’s no ship here, you reason, and when you look up, he’s right there. they all wear the same getup, creed driven and plated, but you are certain it’s him. with a cock of his hip and a shoulder leaned up against the wall you are certain, so certain, and he is right fucking there. it’s all coming back to you now, his beskar in the rotting wood of your doorway, little words in mando’a, your name, the first one, in his mouth. your mandalorian.

gliding through the dancing bodies of the ballroom—they part for you, now—you shiver with the breeze of your dress, a great sweeping curtain of red silk. you don’t remember, really, when he stopped coming to see you, only that you were wholly and inappropriately devastated. you missed the stick of him between your thighs, the way he loved you. you were so sure he did, back then, and you find that still, as this diamond sea of people carves a path for you to him, you are still sure. you can feel your own wetness collecting at your seam; you cannot unlearn this want for him.

he doesn’t notice you until you’re inches from his side, and still he won’t turn his head. from his peripheral you are unrecognizable, you suspect.

“which one?”

and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him move the way he does as your voice echoes behind his visor. it’s a startled jump, a straightening, a tip of his helmet to the side. you think he’s frightened, at first, a heavy terror that collects through the tendons of his hands, but the fear leaves easy, sugars into wonderment. he says your name, arced in question and through the rasp of his modulator.

you shake your head, look out at the ballroom. “i don’t use that name anymore.”

“i–you…” he shakes his head, knocks something loose, “...what are you doing here?”

you snort. “i could ask you the same thing.”

“i have someone i’m looking for.” and it should be ominous—i have someone to kill here—but his voice is still soft, airy with the sight of you. you turn back to him and nod to the crowd.

“yes, i ask again, which one?”

“you know i can’t tell you that.” and he says it like a memory, like the sweet juice of nostalgia on his lips, he says it like i remember you.

you shrug. “i hoped maybe the rules had changed.”

“mm,” he hums, “century old creeds don’t seem to, i’m afraid.”

you giggle with the youth he brings you back to. it’s so easy, falling back here with him. the tilt of his helmet leans to his other shoulder, dark visor tipping down your dress, and your skin fizzles.

“what’s brought you here, then?”

you mirror the angle of his neck. you know, you know. he grunts around something thick in his throat, your name, the first one, you think. he remembers what you said.

“what do i call you? now?”

the delight that twists through you is a sacred one. “edie.”

this does him in. his head tips back against the wall behind him, steadying breath filtering out. “edee?”

“not quite. e-d-i-e.” he lifts, with what seems a great effort, his head back up to look at you. you continue, softer, “but almost.”

and because you know your mandalorian, you see in the shift of his boots on the ground that he’s as ecstatic as his metal plating will allow. his hands twitch, and you want them to touch you, need him to touch you.

“come dance with me, mando.”

he does his best to hesitate, really, but then you’re out among the swaying people, one gloved hand at your back and the other clasped between your fingers, closer now than you’ve been since he last came inside you some years ago in whorish darkness. you squeeze him thinking of it, the stick and the smell, and he presses you further against the gleam of his chest, yes, i remember, i remember. it’s only here, molded around him, that you feel how much bigger he is, the broad width of his shoulders cemented out past the lines of him you used to tend to.

“you look…sort of different.”

“is that so?”

maker, you love the sound of him like this, so close in, so insistent on whispering, so incapable of doing so. “mhm.”

“doesn’t hold a candle to the changes you’ve made, cyar’ika.”

“mm,” you hum, “you know, it’s funny, i feel much of the same.”

he bunches his hand a moment in the silk of your dress. “the glamor hasn’t pulled you under?”

your laugh reverberates against his chestplate. “oh no, i’m sure it has. i just mean i’ve always liked shiny things.”

he groans, quiet and tight. “and why’s that? you like your reflection in them?”

he unlatches you from his chest to spin you around before fastening you back to him, and your scoff whips an arched path around you. “please, the vain one between us has always been you, mando.”

he lowers his head, great secret on his lips. “i haven’t shown my face in decades, edee.”

you can hear his tongue on the word, and you know he hasn’t said your new name, similar as it may sound. the lapping scoop of mando’a washes you over again with the memories of him. and laughing, again you are laughing. you love this bit. “yes, i do remember that part. though i find it awfully excessive that you prance about the galaxy in this welded jewel of a thing.” you knock against the beskar with a knuckle.

“welded jewel. you’ve gotten metaphorical while i’ve been gone.”

“this crowd enjoys it.”

he glances over and around your shoulder. “and you enjoy them?...this crowd?”

you suck on your front teeth to think on it. “you know, most of them don’t ask for it. not all of it, anyway. it’s mainly a lot of talking, now.” and it’s true. even above the lust, this powerful lot is lonely, irrevocably lonely. he nods, and as your heart hammers and wails you tilt your head up to his helmet to whisper against his visor, “you never wanted to talk, did you mando?”

the band of his arm around your back constricts again, a gruff admission, “no, i didn’t.”

he never did take anyone else in that little brothel, it was only ever you. the other girls liked to watch him pass by through the hallway, luster of his armor glinting in the low light, but he walked a tight line to your door, knocked twice, soft as anything. even in that wooden box, a bed and a window and an empty dresser, you remember the metal of him grating at the joins as he tried to make you feel something. you remember, too, that so green, so newly wrung out as you were, your limbs went limp before his credits ran dry, but he defected to your will, watched your body and worshiped at its altar. when your spine loosened and your hips unwound, still with time paid for, he stepped back into the sanded stench of tatooine, hand-cupped pile of credits on the windowsill. yes, the windowsill and the i’ll come back for you and the creak of the floorboards, you remember it so well.

“how much do you charge these days?”

you’re tightening your thighs together as you sway with him. “don’t patronize me.”

“i’m not.”

a ribbon of air releases from your nose, be steady. “20,000 credits.”

and he doesn’t flinch, only lets the hand around your back slip along the gloss of your dress, drawing a line above your ass with his thumb, the line he won’t cross without purchase. “i’d pay it.”

you can’t help this now. “will you?”

whatever mark he’s come to kill tonight is slipping through his fingers, but you fill that space just fine. his helmet tilts, and you feel a leather paw come up to retrieve that little red necklace from the hollow of your collarbone. the pad of his glove passes over the gem once, twice, body tightening and buzzing in metal. “this is mine,” he chokes.

yes, it is. you nod. and he’s decided, it seems. with a modulated groan and let’s go in your ear, he’s shepherding you from the ballroom, hand tight at your waist as you find your way to the elevator. and what with the ceremony of your mandalorian, the tediousness of his armor coming off, you fill the elevator shaft with the smell of your drooling pussy and the air thickens with the buzzing glow of you both together again, but you do not move. the tickle of his eyes through tempered glass rubs behind your ears, still a killer, always a killer, you think, just as you are forever what you have always been. the two of you, frozen in blood and sex, the only warmth you’ve ever known. this reality pulls behind your tongue and you gag on it.

ding. the doors slide open.

you press a thumb to the screen on your doorknob and your mandalorian crowds up behind you, lets you feel the cool touch of his body, the heat that peeks out at the corners. with thick fingers squeezing at your waist and the hard curve of his helmet at your hairline, your knees buckle with the thought that you might have loved him, too, perhaps fatally, but as the lock clicks open and he pulls you inside you suppose it doesn’t matter much now.

you’ve worked this room for nearly a year. a window expands from one wall to the other, beams the morning light and warms the bed sheets, and in the drab of afternoon, twinkle of the city just barely cresting over the sunshine, you watch the people below. drunkards and lovers and princes, you scratch their heads with the cliff of your nail, nose against the glass and breath fogging there, drawing up their mythology and smudging it with the skin of your palm. now, though, with the constructed starlight of clubs and casinos shouldering its way through the night’s darkness, the room bathes in polluted light and the faint sound of wealthy indulgence. there is no windowsill for your mandalorian to balance his payment.

“come here, edee.”

he’s sat himself on the edge of the bed, hand running up and down the metal expanse of his thigh. you stalk your way to him, ruck the hem of your dress up passed your knees to straddle his leg, and slowly, so slowly, through honey and slick and years of parted wanting, he brings his hands to your sides. you splay your fingers on his helmet.

“been a long time, mandalorian.”

he hums in agreement, tips of his thumbs just grazing the underside of your breasts over the silk of your dress before running down again, relearning the ends of you. “my cyar’ika,” he whispers.

your cunt clenches, sobs with his sounds and the pressure of his thigh. breath shuddered and indignant you drag your pussy along the plate of armor. throat tight with a whine you ask him, “how do you like it now, cyare?”

his body takes to the slice of mando’a in your mouth like water to sand, something dark and heavy, and his hips tilt up to you as you undulate your cunt along him again. the coil of you both is raveling taut and knotting at the edges, perhaps permanently now, twisting back into the shapes you used to make together. and it was always this way between you, this dancing walk to madness; with the head of his cock he fucked a shard of beskar into you, you think, that first time, and in every meeting since he’s rut his hips to claw the thing back out, but your body has absorbed the alloy of it.

“i want you to fuck me like you missed me.” a shuddered breath, a secret thought, and then: “did you miss me?”

and that question doesn’t come from the metal. no, with your palms warming his helmet you know he’s asking from the fleshy lines between the silver pieces. this is a bloody question. the drag of your cunt against his leg continues still, toes curling beneath you with the cold sting through the fabric of your panties, and perched here atop him you suppose your honesty costs you little in the face of all the rest you’ll give up.

“yes, i did.”

his hands collect your dress like water, silk spilling out between the fingers of his gloves, as he bares you to him, and his visor tips with the sight of you, a feat of topology he memorized so long ago. with a brush of red fabric against your ears you cling to him in only the little scrap of lace that licks along his leg with the wet kiss of your cunt.

“this pussy get wet for me like it used to?”

fuck.

“yes, yeah,” you breathe out, little bites of ecstasy weaving their way from your clit to the nape of your neck.

“oh, my edee, look at you,” and he grips a hand in your hair, pushing your eyeline down to watch the gleaming strip of want brushed and rewritten over on his armor. “you like drenching me like that? fuck cyar’ika i’ll leave this hotel like this and everyone will know i’ve fucked a fucking whore.” fuckfuckfuck. you remember the vein along the underside of his cock, want him to hurt you with it now.

“so fuck your whore, mando, you’ve paid for her,” you plead, but he drops his helmet to your forehead, the both of you still awe struck at the starlit gash of slick you’re dripping on him as your hips gyrate.

“you’re no more patient than you used to be,” he chuckles, but the wobbled rasp of his voice strips him all but naked to you. his hands grind you harder on his body and you wail, neck open as your head falls back. the pleasure sinks its teeth in you now, all hot bloodlust and bubbling open like seafoam.

“fuck, mando, i–i’m gonna come.”

“yeah, that’s it, right here, make that pussy gush for me and then i’ll fuck her open.”

ecstasy knocks through your arteries as your body pulls tight against him, and with desperate hands he grabs at you, around your asscheeks and between your shoulder blades, to feel you jerk with it. he’s groaning something deep and unforgivable watching you move, but already you’re looking for the weight of his cock.

“fuck me, fuck me,” you heave into his shoulder as you slump over, and he’s nodding silently with you, yes, i remember, i remember. the preamble of fingers and tongues is being leapt over, but neither of you seem to mind. he pulls the leather of his gloves off to maneuver you onto all fours on the bed, and after working his pants open with the bared warmth of his fingers the pads are back on you, running down your back and up your thighs. the heft of him pokes at you and you’re clenching with the feeling, the memory, again the memory. from between your open legs you drop your head to watch him pump his length, fingers tan and thick and a little tattoo between them.

his head catches at your opening and a whine spills from between your teeth.

“louder, cyare,” he grounds out. another inch in and you keen.

“fuck.”

his palms find purchase on your side and he anchors himself there, partway within you. you both whistle out whispered breaths listening to the sound of you joined together, him pulling out a centimeter before sinking it back in, fucking you with the head of his cock.

“oh, it’s just the fucking tip and i’m stretching you already, cyar’ika,” he moans.

“more,” you mewl, “i want more.” and really that’s always been your problem, you suppose.

his hips are speeding up now, wretched little humps into the tight clutch of your cunt, but he abstains from the whole of it. “fucking beg me for it, edee, i’ve waited this fucking long.”

into the sheets, bunched by your fingers and your jostling knees on the bed, you moan, “please, please, please, fuck me on your cock, cyare, i need it, please.”

the piece of himself, the metal and his creed’s tongue, that he rutted into you all those years ago comes roaring at him now, is cracked open in the air of your voice, and he stutters with it. he fucks you like retribution, hips slapping against your ass with a wet crackle, and you’re screaming, suddenly.

“that’s it, edee, that’s it.”

the walls of your cunt pulse velvet around him as he punches in and out of you, cock reaching up like he’s trying to touch your tongue with it, run through the length of you with his steel and grunting. your body blooms for him, petals open like it always did. when was the last time fucking him felt like your job? it’s all coming back to you now, crying at the foot of your bed, missing him dearly. you have always been a professional despite the intimacy of what you do, but you feel wholly unprofessional here.

“fuck, you’re so fucking tight, it’s like you’re sucking me back in,” and you can’t help your clenching now, “yes, edee, again for me, again.”

and you do, pulsing and clamping on his shaft, and he nearly wails with the feeling. the hum of his voice through the helmet protects him some, but maker you know him well, years worth of your mandalorian, and so you hear it all clearly, him melting behind the metal and fusing at the edges. you push away the thought that he’ll pay you for this.

“maker your pussy feels so fucking good, i’ve never stopped—ah—never stopped fucking thinking about it.”

the jut of his chestplate bites your skin as he pulls your hips up but you barely feel it. “no?”

“never, never,” he repeats, and his own babbling eggs him on, you think, as he thrusts impossibly faster. he fucks you like he needs it, has always needed it, and you’re reminded again that you loved him before, that you love him again, now, perhaps, but it’s all so hard to see clearly with the tight chain of pleasure running up your spine.

slick seeping from your hole around him you moan, “feel so f–fucking full of it, fuck.”

a frantic hand comes around to your front, pulls the red gem from your chest to lay along your back, and watching the glint of red and gold that he left you bounce on your skin makes him growl and choke. “fuck, fuck, i’m so close, cyar’ika.”

he bends to meet your back and drops the weight of his helmet on the wing of your shoulder and you might not survive the angle of his cock in you now. you’d clasp your hands in penitence if they didn’t hold the both of you up, because this luxury, him greeting your body like it’s his final gutted conquest, is the last you’ll ever beg for.

with both of you sputtering your souls out on the duvet he groans, “i miss your old name, edee, give it to me again.”

the begging makes you pulse, but you shake your head. your name is your first and only born inheritance, and when you grew old enough to realize it you’d had to shed the thing, or rather hide it, stashed away, untouched.

“please cyar’ika, just one more like this, just like this, your real name.”

your moans screech with the tragedy of him pleading with you this way, and bellow because you want to let him. yes, you love him now, and you wheeze, “i don’t know your real name, mandalorian.”

this knocks the wind from him and it blows out along the back of your neck but the piston of his cock in you continues, heightens further, and you’re both on the precipice of something devastating. he groans out breathless “din, din, it’s din,” and then, “maker please let me use it.”

as deep and jagged as the naming cuts you, you have never felt this hallowed a thing. him inside, and knowing what to call him, is unlike any bliss you’ve ever known. “din,” you wail.

he nods at your back. “yes, yes, din. let me use it.”

at last you’re nodding, crown of your head bobbing back on his body, and a torrential downpour of your name spits from his mouth, slides down his helmet and onto your spine. and the coming is unlike all the rest, a slow climb, a painful clawing that rips your flesh from the bone, but suddenly you’re both heaving with it, his warmth pumping through you and your gushing slick sliding out. for a moment you panic, worry for the windowsill, for the way it always ends. but your din. the panic catches on din and smokes away.

your limbs give out and you meet the mattress with your eyes closed, aching and a little empty, but mostly as satisfied as a desperate creature like yourself is capable. you’re reminded of the clank of his armor as he rights himself behind you. it’s so easy to forget it, what with how human he feels.

“din.”

the rattle of beskar stills. he returns your name, the real one again.

i love you, i loved you then, and you loved me. no. no, you think, it’s far too true to say. so instead: “will you come find me again?”

the bed dips as he sits on it and a gentle glove strokes through your hair. “always, cyar’ika. i’ll come back for you.”

and because you believe him, din, you do not lift your head to watch him place the credits and dissolve away. you’ll save the shine of him, you vow, for the next time he arrives for you. your mandalorian.

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#din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #the mandolorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #hello woolf

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