#bash x reader

[black-dhalias]

Hiii I really appreciate ur writing and I would like to make a request for a reader and bash from reign smut where u use the quote “ are u a virgin? But how?” And “ are u scared?”

Little Bird

Bash De Poitiers X F!Reader

Warning: SMUT, language, mentions of arranged marriages

History is not written by the forgotten because history is only written by the heroes, the survivors, the victors. In a world full of royals, kings and queens and countries-- only the strongest will be remembered. All others will fall.

You are far from the young girl who visited the French Court those years ago; now, you are a queen and while country thrives under your rule, you are known as ruthless. You move with purpose, your own guards not far behind you as you walk towards the throne room-- ignoring the whispers of the familiar walls. The memories that cling to every crevice of this palace. When you left, you left suddenly in the night, having received a letter from your mother-- dead. Your father was dead and so was your brother, and you were now queen and immediately required back in Genovia. 

You slip between the halls, your hand tugging Bash along with you, as you look back and smile. Perhaps too much of your time centers around your time with the bastard son of King Henry, but something about him is too interesting to ignore. While Mary Queen of Scots is constantly surrounded by her ladies, the princess of Genovia is often feels ignored by her French allies. Not even first in line to your throne, it seems as though King Henry views you as dead weight, but not Bash.

With him at your side, you felt as though you had a friend in this court of lies and deception, and villains. "Sebastian-- c'mon." You whisper shout, urging him to move faster and keep up with you as you slip into one of the secret passages. Once the door slips closed behind you, Bash holds your hand a little tighter as if to keep you from slipping away into the dark tunnels. Outside of Nostradamus, you are most familiar with the French palaces secret tunnels and Bash knew if you disappeared, you'd get away from him. But the his slight pull was a shock, one you were unprepared for and moved backwards into him.

You try not to show the fear that bubbles inside of your chest, being back here seems to bring back every thought. Every struggle. The pain and the happiness, and it makes it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. However, when the throne room doors open and you see him immediately. No amount of preempted focus could have brought you back because he is exactly how you remember. Only now, he is married and you are queen, which change everything, but looking at him... You feel as though nothing has changed, not him, not you, and not your feelings for him.

There is a shocking hmph as you bump into his chest, but you do not move and neither does he; instead, you feel his hand slip down to rest on your waist while the other rests on your neck. Through the darkness you see his eyes shut, the warmth of his hands and then there is his lips. Soft and sweet, and just as warm as you had imagined; although you know this is far from okay, so what? It feels right enough.

However, you bring yourself back to reality as quickly as you can manage and smile at the newly crowned King Francis. "Sorry I couldn't make it to the coronation-- long may you reign." He nods and gives a little smile, coming down from the throne and you see your guards tense up at the sudden movement. "Oh please, I don't think he wants one of his first acts as King to be starting a war." Neither of them relax despite your whisper to them, but you accept the embrace of Francis and pull away smiling.

"Well you made it now." You nod, giving a little shrug.

"I felt as though us both being relatively new to our thrones, we should talk about continuing the French and Genovian alliance." Scanning your eyes across the throne room, you see Mary—you see Catherine and others you recognize, but it's all a cover so you have an excuse to look at him again. He stands at the right hand side of the King's throne, the King's deputy, which makes sense. You make a note of the woman to his right though. Pretty little thing.

Where you were, Bash always seemed to find his way to your side—whether riding, walking through the grounds, or dancing as you are now. Being a princess means suitors, which pleases your mother, but displeases you: "So Princess, what do you think about French weather being from such a cold land?" You raise an eyebrow as he spins you, and with as much grace as you can muster, you come back to him and give a rather forced smile.

Perhaps petty, you begin to lead, which gives him a little shock-- his footing begins to slip up and he stumbles to keep up with you: "Well, for your information, Genovia is south of France, so I'd say your weather is quite cold, you..." Maybe for the best, Bash is tapping on the counts shoulder and he happily hands you off to Bash. You puff out a breath, irritation still bubbling in your stomach and begging to be released.

"Ignore them..." You bite the inside of your cheek as Bash twirls you around the floor, completely at ease and you follow his steps effortlessly. Familiar with how he moves, how he dances; you'd say you were pretty familiar with everything about him.

"How do they expect to court me, if they don't even know where my country is? Honestly, it's just disgraceful." He gives a little laugh, twirling you quickly before bringing you back in, but this time much closer.

"Well the longer I have you here, the better." His comment, rather than comfort, strikes a little nerve.

"You know, I've had a thought. Why don't you marry me?" You two haven't really spoken about the idea, having mutually decided it just would not work out, but now... now you think otherwise.

Francis nods approvingly, "I think that is a fitting thought." He holds out his arm to you, "Shall we?" You finally find clarity in the fact that Bash is now married and nod, taking Francis's arm. As he guides, you pass by Bash and you pause slightly, biting your lip before smiling at him.

"Congratulations on your marriage, Sebastian." Unlike everyone else, you called him by his name to irritate him and at some point, he began to find it endearing. You see the familiarity in those eyes, but it is only a second as he gives a tight smile and Francis continues to lead you towards one of the studies. You always thought that when you returned, he'd still be there waiting and maybe, just maybe—you could finally have that wedding.

Some part of you is angry at yourself for saying anything at all, and Francis must have noticed because he speaks up. "Don't be too hard on him, or yourself, I'll explain in more detail later, but he didn't have a choice in marrying Kenna." So that's her name, Kenna... That's one of Queen Mary's ladies, although she has grown quite a bit. So have you...

"Well when is a marriage ever a choice in French court." You try to make light of it, your own suffering, joking although there is a bitter truth to the comment. When you get inside of the small room, Francis and you spend quite a while discussing the politics of trade and possibility, but then conversation shifts to your marriage.

"A little bird told me you have a marriage alliance of your own blooming, with my distant Italian relatives.” Your smile tightens and Francis’ brow furrows, your reaction seeming to confuse the new King. “Not a marriage I assume.”

“A necessary one.” You pinch the top of the figures that represent a horse, and glance down at the map. Before placing the horse just east of Genovia, on the Italian border. “There’s an Italian stronghold near this border, there’s been attacks on farms from Italian peasants. If I marry an Italian, specifically a member of this family—then I stand a chance at protecting them.” You swallow, “Just another reason to bolster a French alliance, you’ll learn quickly that only displays of power can protect your country.”

Francis nods, smiling sadly at his old friend—someone he cared for deeply all those years ago. “Well, do not worry—France is not an enemy of Genovia, and under my rule, you have no need to question our honesty.” Gratefulness fills the pit of your stomach, the one that had only seemed to grow as you stayed in French Court. Every hour chipped away at your inner self.

Negotiations with Francis went quick, the grimey politics melted away as you simply spoke with your friend. It made it better, and much simpler meeting than these tended to be amongst royal agreements. He asked for very few things, but mainly that despite you being a protestant nation—you remain loyal to France and Scotland, rather than England.

It was easy to agree to such a simple request.

However, the walk to your rooms is not as long as it once was—Kings and Queens are housed exuberantly, but you used to live so far from it all. You miss those days sometimes. These walls hold so many stories. You were almost unaware of the steps following you, or how his hand felt on your waist as it pulled you in. Or how familiar his sterling eyes were as you looked up at him. While you think of pulling away completely, you are not able to bring yourself to do so.

"You are more beautiful than I remember." Only the walls do not speak, and neither do you. Not even as he runs his hand along your cheek. You are frozen, recalling every memory and knowing that the familiarity is built into his touch. "I did not believe God chose Kings and Queens until I saw you in the throne room." Even standing next to his wife, his next words are bittersweet. "Y/N, you are an angel amongst mortals." Something snaps back into place as you push him away, shaking your head.

"No. Absolutely not. Sebastian, you are married and I do not have time for petty affairs." You reconcile your dignity and stiffen your lip, you are Queen. By your own birthright, and loss.

"Admit it, you feel it too." He steps towards you, and you go back, never breaking eye contact. Knowing that the way he seemed to flinch, your movement to get away hurt him. It hurt you too. "You're more than a petty affair to me, Y/N. You've never been anything less."

You fold your arms over themselves, shaking your head. "I am a reigning Queen... Chosen by God, and revered by my people. You said so yourself." The last bit is more pointed. "I am not an affair, or a passing moment." You pause. "Not even for you."

With that, you leave him alone in the hall and retreat to your room. To wonder what would have been, what could still be, and how it's a terrible idea to linger on the past.

The next days are long, you can hardly wait to go home. You missed the grandeur of French Court a long time ago, but now it does not feel like home. It is too much.

You bid farewell to Francis and Mary, "I believe next year, we'll be travelling to see you." You smile, knowing all eyes are on the future. A wedding.

"Perhaps sooner." Just as you step into the carriage, you glance up at the balcony to see Sebastian. To see him watching you. Your soft smile sends his heart into a flurry of confusion and certainty. Even when the carriage leaves his view, he knows one thing: he would do anything to be your husband.

A warm summer breeze touches your cheeks, it dusts your nose and your smile grows. To be married, it seems so much more distant than it should. You should be giddy, but your future King Consort is nowhere near the one you imagine.

"One more night..." You wonder if you could run now, turn your back on the wedding and just leave. Find another way to protect your country against all odds.

You breathe out deeply, grasp the handles of the balcony doors and shut them tight. Ignoring the arrival of the French convoy, knowing that it would not just be the King and Queen of France in attendance.

Francis had tried to convince Bash to not come, to not torture himself further with the image of you marrying another. To not let him torture you. But the bastard was insistent, so much so that Francis knew it was going to come to something.

"I object..." He murmurs under his breath, it seemed to repeat over—"Wait!" He hardly remembers shouting, just that he did and all eyes turned to him. Yours wide as he moves closer. "Y/N..." He swallows. "You can't marry him." What was supposed to be your husband curses, eyes narrow and harsh. Only they do not scare Sebastian in the slightest. "You know as well as I do. We were as good as promised to each other before your brother died." There is much truth in those words, your parents had come around to the idea and so had your brother. It seemed simple, a way to keep France close and to give you this last thing.

"Silence!" The Italian is seething, chest rounding and cheeks turned a flustered and bright red.

You turn your eyes to him, "Do not command him, as that is as certain as commanding me. I am neither soldier, nor Italian. And neither is he." You pause. "This is my palace." You look at Bash, exhaling and he continues.

"I had not told you, but our fathers had contracts prepared and signed... Two kings... It took a while, but I found the original." His eyes turn to the Italian. Your eyes wide, as you hold out your hand for the parchment. "If this document is verified, then it means you can't marry him. Because you have to marry me."

.

.

.

It was enough to stop the ceremony, no one could condone a marriage without verifying if the will of two kings would be defied. Even dead kings have power.

You pace the hall outside of Sebastian’s chambers, every step echoes, but you do not care. An inner turmoil having found itself rooted in the pit of your stomach, to love Sebastian had been as easy as breathing. You knew him as well as you knew yourself.

“Y/N?” You jump, grasping your shaking palms together as you tuck them behind your back. Trying to seem unassuming, as if you hadn’t been at his door for some time. Only as he takes in your nerves, the way your eyes flit about—Sebastian is very aware, and smirks. The kind of smirk that used to tell you that he knew. “I was just about to go find you.”

Honestly, you believe that to be true, he seemed determined when he opened his chambers door. The way he closed the distance in two long strides, his arm snaked around your waist and pressing himself as close as possible.

So close you forgot how to breathe, wondering if you needed breath at all. Without air, your words were strained—the warmth of his hand trailing up your arm was distracting. “You could have warned me.”

“I planned to, only you never gave me a chance.” You recall sending your younger sister greeting the French carriage, shutting your door tight to keep all temptation locked away.

“I guess—” The words trail off your tongue as he begins pulling you into his chambers, and this time you do not resist. Temptation or not, Sebastian has always been just out of reach. Suddenly, he’s as close skin to skin can allow.

Breathless, you kiss him—not soft or tenderly, but desperate to know what it’s like to taste him again. To feel his lips on yours. Sharing kisses used to be frequent, but it had been so long and you had wondered if they’d taste the same.

They did. His lips were as familiar as his touch. The caress of his fingers against your body had all, but left you breathless—there was no space for air between you, nothing more than clothes.

Even those were falling away, you don’t remember his shirt disappearing or when your robe hit the floor. You don’t recall anything other than his lips, his determination to kiss every bit of skin that became visible.

“Perfection…” He hums the word as he braces you on the bed, admiring you—your bare chest and soft eyes, the way your gaze seemed to draw him in. “Absolute…” Sebastian comes closer, leaning over you, warmth surrounding. His face framed by the fire’s light. “Perfection.”

As his hands begin to run along your waist, your back arches and he lingers there—holding you close, his head bent over as he begins to kiss your neck. Letting his lips travel down as you bend into his grip, a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Don’t—” You pant, a shiver going down your body as he kisses the spot above your breast. “Don’t stop.” If your eyes were not shut, head tilted back, you wonder if you could see the ghost of his smile just as well as you feel it against you.

Sebastian pauses, “Are you—”, his lips seeming to stop as he spoke. “Are you still a virgin?” You sit up, his question taking you aback; however, comfortable you are with him. You didn’t expect him to ask so boldly.

You want this, you know that for certain—you’ve wanted him ever since you were young. Those eyes haunted your dreams, knew your own just as well as the sky knows the stars.

“Would you stop if I said yes?”

“Only if you asked… But how?” You bring yourself close, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his neck. Lips hovering above his own.

“Then it doesn’t matter if I am. Just don’t stop.” That was enough for Bash as he regained his vigor, kissing your earnestly and desperately.

You could hardly imagine anything more perfect than the way he held you. The way he embraced you. The way, you moan his name—leaning back as he lowers you onto him.

His movements slow, careful and steady, most of your weight being held in his arms as he begins to move.

“Just don’t stop.” You whisper, leaning against his body—your lips resting beside his ear, you felt his grasp tighten as he began to move more rhythmically.

AN: I definitely don’t do smut typically, don’t get me wrong. I do read it, but I am not skilled at writing it. So it’s more sensual than sexual, maybe I’ll get better in the future. But I hope you like this.

[bellarkeselection]

Can you do a bash short were he comes back to France with y/n as his wife and they explain why they got married in Secret

Princess’s Make Their Own Rules

Nobody expected the kings Bastard to ever marry anyone. The note that his mother was his mistress was enough for people to turn the other way from the thought. But when Mary arrived at court, so did the Princess from England, and she had some shocking news for everyone at the French court. Stepping down from the carriage my eyes didn't even notice the rest of the court simply because I already had my attention set on the only person I cared about which was Sebastian or as he preferred to be called Bash. He moved through the crowd offering me his arm with a head nod. "Princess Y/n."

"Sebastian." I greeted looping my arm through his when he offered it to me. Together we began walking through the crowd who all just stared confused at us.

Bash tilted his head to the side complimenting on the dress I had worn. It was gold with short sleeves covered with lace. "I would have thought you'd stole into court wearing trousers." His blue eyes scanned me over smirking when he saw my horse riding boots peaking out from underneath.

"My sister is having a hard enough time ruling without a husband. At the very least, I thought I'd make my first impression at court good.. but later, you won't be seeing this ridiculous gown." I whispered the last part in his ear before we saw his half-brother, the now turned King of France Francis, coming towards us.

The blonde curly haired king smiled bowing at the same time I gave him a curtsey. "Princess Y/n, it's pleased to see you back at court."

"I'm glad to be back, you're grace. I was wondering if I could speak with you both privately for a moment?" I glanced between the pair so Francis nodded walking down the closet hallway until we reached an empty chamber door. Bash locked the door so we wouldn't be interrupted.

Francis raised a brow at me. “So what did you want to talk about with me?”

“I needed to give this to you. And ask that you wed me and your brother officially in front of the court.” Reaching for the necklace around my neck I revealed the ring that was hanging from the chain that was Bash’s mother’s ring. Since my sister was Queen Elizabeth we couldn’t legally get married because he was a bastard and I was a princess by birth. I handed over a sealed scroll hidden inside one of my boots and gave it to Francis.

Bash blinked his eyes confused at my boldness. “Y/n, you know that we can’t. You’re royal and I am a bastard.”

“And yet my sister has declared that she shall never marry anyone and bear children. So what is stopping me from following my heart and marrying the man I love hmm.” I lightly snapped at him with my hands on my hips.

My secret husband shifted his attention to his brother who had opened the scroll I had given him still in shock at the idea I was proposing. “Is this even possible. I mean unless I got legitimized as Henry’s son it shouldn’t be possible.”

“You’re right it wouldn’t be until this…” Francis clear his throat reading the letter aloud. “I Queen Elizabeth of England hereby declare that my sister Y/n and Sebastian de Poitiers are allowed to be wed. Sebastian shall inherit the title of prince and will be the master of my armies. He shall no longer be a bastard after marrying my sister and that is final.”

Bash steps towards me gently grabbing a hold of my shoulders where I focused on his bright blue eyes. “How did you get her to agree to legitimize me?”

“I told just how you have treated me, made me happy and that I just wished that stupid titles weren’t in our way. And she didn’t see any problems with not following what everyone else has done in the past. So…will you marry me Bash?” Lowering myself down on one knee in front of him I take his hands in mine staring up into his eyes.

Francis made a confused face at his brothers response. “No.”

“Uh…” I slightly froze not sure what would happen next.

Yet Bash lowered himself down on one knee where we were both on our knees and eye level with each. He holds my hands in his, his blue orbs pouring into mine when he delivers his question to me. “That’s not how this is done. This is how is done, Princess. Y/n, will you marry me and make this bastard the happiest man on earth?”

“Yes, Sebastian.” I nodded moving forward kissing him. He cupped my face kissing me back with Francis smiling behind us.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ baby daddy!satoru who wants needs you back.

in fact, you should've known he was playing a game the instant that text blinked onto your screen: pick your daughter up from his place, not school. a casual oops, totally forgot it was your day! that sent a shiver of unease down your spine.

what choice did you really have? the entire drive to that too-familiar house, your nerves were a tangled mess. pulling into the driveway, parking crookedly in your haste, the only thing screaming in your head was this used to be ours.

this small, unassuming house, a world away from the sterile grandeur of his old penthouse. the first grand gesture of your marriage had been this new place.

"the bigger the house," satoru had murmured against your bare skin that first night, "the further i'd have to be from you." so, your mornings had begun with tangled limbs and hurried kisses, and your evenings had ended in the same breathless way.

it had been the kind of dizzying happiness you foolishly thought would last forever. but then the cracks had started to show – the endless work trips, the hollow promises of things changing. he had gotten better, ironically, after the papers were signed.

satoru stood in the doorway, that infuriatingly charming, utterly knowing smirk plastered across his face. your gaze darted around the living room, a quick, almost desperate search. "where's she?" you asked, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

his reply was a casual flick of his wrist. "oh, she's at a friend's."

a harsh scoff escaped you. arms crossed tight against your chest, you scoffed, "what? why? i drove all the way out here!"

"you were coming anyway," he purred, those soft puppy-dog eyes locking onto yours. "i can bring her back later. thought we could, you know… catch up."

"catch up?" you repeated, incredulous. "are you serious right now? we're not catching up, satoru. we're divorced."

but those eyes. they always had been your undoing. and somehow, against your better judgment, you found yourself agreeing to this ridiculous "catch-up." you'd pictured awkward small talk over lukewarm tea, maybe a stale cookie.

not this. not being bent in a cruel mating-press, his body a brutal, insistent press against yours, fucking you with a desperate hunger that stole your breath and any semblance of rational thought.

"god, it's been so fucking lo- long since i felt this," he grunted, his hips slamming into you with a possessive force that made you cry out. "this tight little cunt clenching - shit - around me like that."

"ah, 'toru," you gasped, your fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back, clinging on for dear life.

"been even longer si- since i heard you say my name like that." his sweaty bangs were plastered to his forehead, a flush creeping up his neck. his pace was relentless, each thrust deeper, harder, a raw, primal need driving him. he hadn't touched anyone since you, didn't want to.

tears streamed down your face, a messy mix of pain and something dangerously close to pleasure. and that bastard, your soon-to-be-not-ex-husband-anymore, thought you looked beautiful. his thick cock stretched you, filled you completely, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

"did you miss this, huh?" he muttered, his voice thick with lust. "because i fucking did. bet- bet no one else makes you feel like this."

a choked whine escaped you as his teeth sank into your shoulder, a stinging sensation hitting. you can't think of a response, literally. you can't even think of your own name - you can't remember.

all that mattered was the way he was making you feel, the dizzying spiral of sensation. and in the name of "catching up," he makes you come, at least half a dozen shattering orgasms ripping through you before he finally relented, burying his face in the space between your tits.

he looked up at you, panting, a triumphant smile playing on his lips. "so… about moving back in?"

fuck those puppy-dog eyes.

[shroomyv]

ᢉ𐭩-FERAL + DESPERATE MARK

Pairing: mark Grayson X f!reader

W.c: 1.8k (whoopsie)

Synopsis: mark gets back from a mission bruised and beaten. He couldn’t care about that one little bit. However he does care about you a bit more than usual today.

Warnings: dry humping, clothe ripping, mentions of bruises, cream pies (author got a lil to crazy/lost in their own mind)

A/n: ok so this is my second fanfic here. I’m gonna be real…I got VERY lost in my own mind while writing this one 😭 it may be a little bad so I’m honestly so fucking sorry if it is and it’s ok if you don’t even wanna read it. I’m also gonna start taking request so I can start writing more and getting better at writing so just request smtn if ya want. Anyway I’m done yapping. Hope you enjoy this shitty fic.

It was late afternoon—soon getting ready to become evening and Mark still wasn’t back yet from another mission. Today was your day off, it was supposed to be his too but Cecil called him in once again. You honestly wished Cecil would justcall you in instead. As you reach for your phone to call Mark you hear a knock on the window—knowing it's Mark, you dash to open it as he rolls into the house. He just face plants into the living room floor laying there as he looks beaten and bruised, the entire upper half of his suit isn’t even there and the lower half was ripped and hanging on by threads. You kneel down to the floor to try and see his face but he’s just curled into himself. 

“Mark…you ok baby?” You ask softly waiting for a response but he just stays there. You sigh knowing it would be a long night of patching him up so you go to grab the first aid kit. He never tended to himself, you knew you had to take care of him or he’d never heal. Eventually, you make your way back into the living room and Mark isn’t there. “Mark?” You called out just a bit worried now since he usually was never like this. Next thing you know his body was looming behind you, his head curled in-between your neck and arms wrapped around you like he was going to pop you. “Oh god…I missed you…so much..” Mark said in a famished tone as he began huffing the perfume on your neck like he needed it to breathe. You couldn’t figure out what was going on with him but whatever it was you liked it. “Mark, are you gonna let me patch you up? I don’t want you bruised up forever.” 

His hands moved all around you and your torso till he found your waist again wrapping his arms around it to hold you. He spoke muffled—keeping his face in your neck as if stopping would kill both of you. “Mmsure..”

Mark was latched onto you like Velcro and eventually let go. Sitting on the floor across from each other as you softly touched his chest pressing and applying bandages on each different bruise. Mark couldn’t stop leaning into the touch. The more you pressed the more he grunted and groaned. It was honestly starting to get to you, you’d never seen him like this but you liked it. You scoot closer in front of him holding up his chin while placing more bandages on his chest. This time…he whimpers.

“Oh fuck…” he whimpered out leaning into your hand more. His body was hot and warm as if he had a fever. Whatever happened on that mission changed his behavior and you didn’t mind it one bit. “Almost done Mark, don’t worry.” You said trying to keep your composure as you were honestly ready to fold for him. He was like a puppy and you were intrigued. You scooted closer to him—sitting on his lap as you placed the last bandage on his face. He was losing his mind, you were in just a tank top and panties—reeking of his favorite perfume. He was fighting for his life trying to hold back fucking the life out of you. Eventually, he just had to have you, grabbing your back to pull you as close as he could before he started sloppy kissing you. 

It felt amazing. Eventually, he let go—he needed you off his lap giving you a small push. You held yourself up on the floor with your elbows as you were laid out on your back. You just looked down and saw him latched onto your leg. He was absolutely feral, slobbing on your thigh as if he had been famished. You felt friction on your leg, moving back and forth up and down. “God, baby please, don’t move.” Mark cooed out as he began dry humping your leg and sucking on your stomach. You felt like your mind was twisting and turning, seeing him like this was an absolute turn-on. He was so desperate for you it was perfect. “Fu- mgnh..fuck baby.” He whimpered out struggling as he just kept crazy on your leg. It was like he couldn’t stop. He just kept going and going as you stared in complete fucking awe

feeling yourself grow wet because of his behavior. 

You reached your hand to his head rubbing his hair softly as this just made him go faster and faster. He was doing all of this whilst he was still in a ruined suit. You didn’t want to have him ruin the suit worse but you also didn’t want to stop him. “Mark…your suit is still-“ you were cut off quickly as Mark reached one of his arms down ripping off his suit and boxers along with it. So much for fixing the suit. 

He just kept going now, there was no fabric stopping him now. “Oh shit…I’m..ngh…mngonna…” he was struggling to even speak between moans as he softly bit into your stomach before cumming over your leg. Your eyes shot open as you were astonished at what just happened. Before you could even process he pulled you closer as he had both of you mashed together. 

Mark spoke in a breathy tone, “I need you to…take off..” 

“Take off what?” You were trying to figure out what he needed, it was honestly a struggle since he was barely speaking in complete sentences and you were trying to deal with not only his arousal but now yours as well. Before you could figure out what he needed, his hands grabbed at your panties ripping them off of you with ease. You felt like you were going tomelt into the floor before he eventually picked you up with ease throwing you over his shoulder. He practically flew into the bedroom putting you on the bed before getting on top of you. He began kissing you sloppily once more as if he was starved for your lips.

“Ngh..m..” you both moaned into each other's mouth muffled only letting go of each other's lips when you felt like you were gonna suffocate and needed air. “I need…more of you” Mark huffed out sucking on your neck now as you were absolutely turned on now.

He didn’t waste another second, tossing your legs over his shoulders as he leaned down closer. You know exactly what was coming next. He had dived his head down between your legs licking at your pussy like it was a 5-star meal. Your legs shot up before rising right back down as he kept going. He switched between plunging his tongue in your hole and sucking on your clit. You were melting in his mouth and that didn’t stop him at all. He moved his hand towards your entrance moving two fingers inside as he kept sucking at your clit. 

“MARK!” You shouted out in pure ecstasy as your hands leaped to his head grabbing onto his hair for dear life. He didn’tmind it one bit honestly—it showed him he was doing good. “I ngcan..eep…it up” he spoke with a mouthful of your pussy as he started sucking harder and going faster with his finger. You felt like you were about to pop just from this as your toes curled and legs shot up once again. You finally came feeling greedy for more. You hadn’t even realized you had his face pressed down in your cunt until you eventually let go of his hair watching his head rise. His face was covered in your cum before he licked it off as best as he could.

He didn’t waste a single drop.

“M…mark..” you said in an exasperated tone trying to get your breath back from what he just did. Before you could get a chance he pulled you up into his lap as he just began smashing his lips into yours again. You felt like your head was spinning, it didn’t even feel real for a second. 

“Baby…I need you to get on my cock.” Mark said tapping your ass softly to have you lift up. He just needed you to get on it and he’d do the rest. “Can’t you just do it for me?” You said in a sly tone trying to see how far he’d go for you in his moments of desperation. He didn’t waste a second grabbing you up and having you face him. He lifted you up as quickly as he could before having you slide down on his cock as slow as he could make it happen. You could feel him already twitching inside of you as your arms wrapped around his shoulder for support. He went from sitting up with you on top of him—to laying down with him over you in a meer seconds. He began ramming himself into you relentlessly.

He couldn’t hold back. He needed you so badly. He wanted to fill you up until you popped. You were starting to zone out already. The only thing you could pay attention to was his face—he still looked so fucking perfect to you even though he was fucking your brains out. “Oh mark…oh fuck..” you cooed out as he was balls deep in you now. Your legs wrapped around his back holding on for dear life as you felt your walls clench around him before you finally came. He eventually followed suit, cumming right after you but he just took a few seconds to breathe before he kept going. “Last one baby…last one.” He said in a pleased tone as he kept pumping into you. You felt like you had fireworks in your gut as you began to groan.

“Mark…I can’t….cum anymore. I can’t ngh-“

“Can’t do it” you whimper out as he kept going. 

“Aww don’t say that…I know you can…I’ve seen you do it before. Cmon baby…Ngh…last one…”

You couldn’t deny him the pleasure and it felt even better than the first round. In and out, in and out, over and over as he made sure he hit all the right spots. Your nails began digging into his upper back as he knew he was doing something right. He kept pumping into you faster and faster and your legs just grew tighter around him. 

“Fngh…fuck! Baby…almost..” Mark was struggling to hold on and eventually he popped. He came inside of you once again and you followed right after. He kept his cock in for a few seconds giving you a cream pie, he let his cock do one more twitch before pulling himself out of you. You were absolutely exhausted—watching as the cum leaked out of your pussy as if you were a faucet. Mark just smiled at you as if he didn’t just break a sweat.  

“M…mark.” You called out his name gently struggling to keep your eyes open as he had practically fucked you to sleep. He scooted closer to you holding you in his arms before speaking to you softly. “Relax, just sleep I’m here. Besides, I’ll be here tomorrow—it’s my turn to take care of you.”

You liked the sound of that.

[2neaky]

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘦𝘭 𝘙𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦 & 𝘐’𝘮 𝘥𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 (𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯��). 𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘭’ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 + 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 … 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘸.

Content Warning — toy use (bullet vibr*tor), *rgasm denial, dom Terry, descriptive language, profanity, p*rn w/ no plot, second pov

There’s a calculating look in those hazel eyes. You hate it. At least for right now.

You watch him with squinted eyes yourself, a slight frown on your lips as you watch him pretend to be oblivious.

It’s not working.

Regardless, he keeps his focus on the road ahead, one hand on the bottom of the steering wheel while the other rests along the car door’s ledge. His hand is hidden in the door’s pocket, toying with something.

No doubt, that fucking remote control.

The car jostles as he narrowly avoids a small pothole. 

“You just gon’ keep burning holes into the side’a my head or what?”

He hadn’t looked away from the road. You watch the corner of his lips twitch when he decides to press them into a thin line. The muscles in his jaw tense before ultimately relaxing.

He’s trying not to smile. You know it. That steel-cold stare of his isn’t enough to hide it. Terry can play a convincing stoic, but you know better.

And you hate it. You hate being the trembling mess, a dewy sheen over your beautiful face. But, it was the cross you had to bear—in exchange for him agreeing to pay for your nails.

Granted, you didn’t have to do this. Terry’s a gentleman, he likes making sure his woman is covered. And you love that about him.

But, his mischievous side seemed to have come out to play today, and you found yourself on the receiving end of it.

“You think this is funny?”

He blinks, still staring ahead. “Funny?” Finally, he breaks his gaze away to give a simple glance. Like the option of looking your way wasn’t even given a second thought. “Sumn supposed to be funny?”

An intake of air passes through you as you open your mouth to respond, yet you’re swiftly cut off by a sharp gasp of your own.

Mini quakes wrack throughout your being, stronger towards your core. A swooping feeling travels to your lower tummy. Weakly, your thighs squeeze together, shortly falling apart there after.

Your body’s been through this song and dance for too long—the last fifteen minutes to be exact. It’s wearing your patience and strength thin. 

Very thin.

A trickle of wetness slowly seeps into the seat of your panties, soaking them further. At this rate, you’re sure there’s a wet spot in your jeans. How does he expect you to leave the car like this?

Your pussy flutters around the foreign object buried within its slick walls. A violent shudder moves through you, uncontrolled.

“What’s the joke, baby?” He looks at you again. Those big, golden-brown eyes pierce you for a second longer than last time. “Hm? Tell me.”

Your lips quiver, a weakened whimper slipping past its cracks.

His voice lowers as he stares ahead at the road before you two, heavier than usual. “I wanna laugh.”

“A-auh … shit…”

Your voice is a tiny, broken mess. The muscles in your stomach contract as you lean forward, that vibrating toy putting pressure against your spot. Your mouth drops open, eyes threatening to close.

“T-Terry—“

“Hm?”

You don’t even see him do it, but you catch the subtle flex of his veiny forearm; Your eyes widen, the vibrations grow stronger, rougher.

“Stop, I—“ You try to remember how to swallow your spit. The hand you’ve got wrapped around the seat’s armrest tightens enough to make your knuckles pale. “I-I can’t—“

“Can’t what?”

You’re panting, chest rising and falling quickly. Heat is spreading throughout your body, you feel like you’re going to lose your mind if you don’t shed at least one layer of clothing.

Your pelvic floor is clenched tight, your body trying to prevent a serious flood coming its way.

“I’m gonna—fuuuck!” Your eyes roll back as the muscles of your core weaken for a full second, the threat of your orgasm growing more and more serious. “M’gonna … cum.”

You barely hear the scoff. It feels like the longest second of your life. You feel like you’re a balloon, ready to pop, but the gas tank is shut off right before you do; The vibration comes to a halt.

Echoes of it still travel throughout your body, as your pussy clenches down repeatedly on the toy—a nicely sized bullet vibe.

Your body wavers as you slowly look his way. There’s a worn look on your face. 

It’s hilarious, to him at least.

You can tell by the one-sided smirk he confidently sports. You feel small under his stare, subjected to his whims; Here you are, doubled over in your seat, trembling, while he’s sat back, relaxed. The car is driving as smoothly as ever.

“Did you?”

Meekly, you shake your head. All of your fire has been snuffed out by two little clicks to a remote control.

“Good.” The smirk slips from his face. “I just got this truck … try not to mess up the seats.”

[katsukikitten]

cum here

Warnings: spit, dub con

A Bakugou Birthday collab read the intro on the ML first!

A notification pulls your attention in your tipsy stupor as you collapse half dressed in your bed. Another successful night out with your girlfriends when your favorite pro hero posts a picture.

A thirst trap no less making you pop up in bed, the room spins delightfully as you stare down at the picture, screen shooting it without a care that he may get a notification for it but you were sure that you wouldn't be the only one.

Bakugou Katsuki, THE Dynamight with his shirt up exposing his abs, his Adonis belt and the vein that leads down to what has to be his fat cock.

You salivate over the thought of it and the several shots of tequila have you feeling bold, although your friends would argue you'd have been this bold sober simply because of how much you spoke about him even if most of the public thought he was an asshole you claimed that's what made him so fucking hot.

Pushing up your tits and angling your phone just right before you snap a photo and attach it to a very public reply before you slip into his dms to send a little something extra.

Bakugou's phone becomes nuclear to say the least, blown up from how many replies and notifications has gotten in such a short time. Each and every woman and the few male prospects are more than attractive and yet none make his cock jump to life, not fully anyway.

Until he sees you, tapping on the picture to make it full screen.

Soft fat tits pressed together, skin aglow in the ambient low light of warm string lights. Tongue lolling past pretty lips, wet muscle most likely fluttering before you took the picture. Obvious that you waited long enough for drool to drip from the tip in a silvery string as some droplets collected on those perfect tits. Pinching his screen to zoom in on your sexy mouth he imagines pressing his angry cock head against before he shoved his length until you gagged around him.

He groans at the thought, zooming out to take in all of you before he finally reads the caption..

Cum here.

“Fuck.” He growls, clicking on your profile, going to privately message you in hopes of more pictures. Palm moving to free his cock from his boxers when he sees you messaged him first.

Sharing your location with the pro hero like a fucking idiot. What if Bakugou had been hacked?

And here you were offering yourself up on a silver platter.

Cum here echoes in his head as he backs out to your selfie and before he can talk himself out of it he's jumping back into the tight black denim that never made it past his thighs.

You lock your phone falling back into your bed after you've seen that he's read your messages. Sighing as you hadn't expected much else, especially since it was his birthday and half of the feed were thirst traps of others tagging Dynamight in hopes of getting his attention. He ignored every single one of them, even from well known models and porn stars, so what chance did you really have?

Still, it was fun to be a little delusional every now and again.

Fireworks echo in the distance and you're surprised the spring festival was going this late into the night. Never one to miss a good show you rise from your bed, topless and half drunk to watch the last of the fireworks before you'd pass out, sleep well past noon before ordering a fat order or take out.

Leaving the sliding glass door open when the cool night air makes you shiver and regret foregoing a shirt. Eyes adjusting to the dark easily but your eyebrow furrows up in confusion. You hear the fireworks but you can't see them.

At least not well, a small orange burst that makes you wonder if maybe they aren't fireworks at all, that maybe it was just a villain making their grand escape.

Scoffing you turn, closing the sliding glass door only for it to be stopped in its tracks. Looking up for see a hulking shirtless man shrouded in darkness on your balcony. Smoke, caramel and whisky envelope your senses as the man breathes evenly behind you. You blink once, twice before you register his eye color.

Toxic, crystalline bromine.

"Dynamight?”

“In the flesh, Sweetheart.” He removes his hand from the frame of the door, takes a step towards you and you step back.

Stalking forward until you're both fully in the room and he delights in the mixture of emotions in your eyes. Fear, excitement, arousal.

“Haaah, what's wrong? Little kitty is acting more like a cornered bunny. Ya scared?” He leers over you, crowding your space, “Shouldn't be. Yer the one who invited the big bad wolf.”

Grabbing onto your chin to turn your pretty face this way and that, he doesn't even need to force his eyes away from your chest, your face captivates him that much. He runs his tongue across his teeth before he smirks.

“Now where am I supposed to cum again?” His large thumb swipes over your plush lips before he shoves it between them, forcing your mouth open.

He tries to recreate the picture you sent him, watches the wet muscle flutter and it makes him salivate. Makes him gather it in his mouth before he's pushing it the tip of his tongue letting his spit hit your tongue.

“Right here wasn't it?” He mixes his spit with yours with his thumb, pressing down on your tongue harshly. He watches your eyes widen before they narrow, into that hungry cat gaze that was in your photo.

Eyes that devour him whole as you hollow your cheeks to suck on his thumb. Swirling it around the digit before you pop off of him, the lewd sound echoing around the two of you.

You're fast, faster than Bakugou, especially drunk, expects. Jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his waist, bucking your hips to make him fall onto the bed with a grunt as your tongue slides into his mouth. He paws at you heavily, grabbing at all your delicious softness as he growls into your mouth, calloused hands still warm from his journey here. Launching himself into the air that did little to sober him after he stalked your profile enough to get your apartment floor and balcony right.

Your claws dig into the nape of his neck as you bring him into a sitting position parting the kiss slowly, letting the silvery string that connects the two of you snap on its own.

“Gonna let me take care of the birthday boy and his special request?” You practically purr, crawling down his body as your fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and jeans. All but ripping them from his body even when he lifts his hips to help you free his cock while he grunts out a “‘Course.”

It stands at attention, jumping as your eyes fixate on the one thing you've fucked yourself to the thought of hundreds of times. Drunk all over again, eyes falling to half mast as your hand grips him firmly, listening to him hiss over the contact before you give him a few languid pumps.

Hovering over him for a moment before you look up, watching his pupils blown wide, wider than what they were at the door. Soft almost unnoticeable red tint to his cheeks as he tries to control his breath.

“Try not to fall in love.” You giggle, lolling your tongue out to swipe over the leaking slit in a quick stripe.

“Ya wish, Sweetheart.” But already his head is falling back, hands reaching to grab at your hair before you swipe him away.

Slowly taking him into your mouth, hand gripping what you can't fit into your mouth, letting his fat cock head gag so that your throat contacts the same way your cunt would. Saliva pooling past your lips to coat his shaft, gagging again when you hear him groan before you start a steady pace.

Bobbing your head, alternating hollowing your cheeks and letting him ram into the back of your throat. Giggling when you push his head into the pocket of your cheek, holding eye contact and he reaches down to pull his balls harshly.

He's never been this close to cumming with such little effort.

You let your molars graze him lightly before straightening him in your mouth again. Sure to hit your gag reflex purposefully so that his pre and your spit soak his neatly trimmed pubic hair that's starting to slick to his skin.

If you're lucky he'll stay long enough for your pussy to do that to him too. Cunt neglected as it soaks your underwear as you adjust your weight on your knees for some sort of friction.

Moaning around him when he groans loudly, at his hisses and growls of sugared curses that do nothing but encourage your sinful movements.

Katsuki is panting, the man with all the endurance in the world is fighting the building coil in his lower abdomen and losing.

Bakugou Katsuki never loses but tonight he just might.

Letting his fingers card through your hair before he's pulling harshly, still you don't budge. Lost in your mission to make this last as long as possible by changing from a speed that's bound to make his cum flood your mouth to a slow bob that has you gagging around his sensitive head every time.

Letting your eyes flicker to look up at him and his debauched face, throughly fucked out as his chest heaves eyes fixated on you even as he struggles to hold his head up as if he couldn't bare to look away from.the things you do to him.

The sight is enough to make your eyes flutter, to make you moan around him and the vibrations make his sac tighten, moving your hand so you can shove all of him deep into your tight throat, tears in your eyes that stick in long lashes and fall in fat droplets as you bob on his entire length, once, twice.

And he can't take it, the sight, your eyes all but begging him to cum as you choke yourself on him, as if his pleasure was more important than air.

“Oh fuck princess, just like that.” He groans, cupping the back of your skull as he presses enough to make you gag one last time before he bucks his hips up into you. Starving you of air as your nose is pressed to his pelvic bone while he paints your pretty throat in sticky white cum, your claws digging into the thick meat of his thighs deliciously.

Finally he lets you up and you gasp desperately for air even if you found his aggression as he chased his high undeniably hot. You expect him to smirk, expect him to laugh or to leave pulling up his pants in a hurry but he doesn't.

Instead his large hand grips your chin, pulling you to him as his free hand comes to wrap around your sensitive ribs. Closing the space so that he can kiss you, swiping his tongue over yours shamefully groaning into your mouth as he tastes himself mixed with your spit.

“Fuck.” He pulls you onto the bed, flipping the two of you so he can pin you to the mattress chasing your lips desperately. His other hand has a mind of its own as it rips your panties from your hot core, fingers quick to press and spread your glistening folds. Cruelly avoiding your clit before he shoves two thick digits knuckle deep into your drooling cunt.

Forcing you to arch off the bed, pumping into you with a harsh pace, fingers perfectly positioned to bully that spongy spot that has you seeing stars before he times it perfectly.

Pulling away enough to look you in your eyes before he slowly, roughly, swipes his thumb over your clit and makes you cum in a matter of seconds, faster than any toy. You arch off the bed with a moan so loud you're sure the neighbors know his name now, little do you know what else he has in store.

Removing his middle and ring finger from your fluttering cunt reluctantly, quick to press the digits to his tongue harshly. Smoky caramel fills your senses as his palm heats against the fabric by your head. Leaning over you again to swipe his tongue against yours to taste the two of you melded together in your hot, hungry mouth. He pulls away, hand gently cupping your throat as he holds your gaze, cock heavy and hard again as he aligns it with your still convulsing entrance.

“Sorry Sweetheart, guess I fell in love.” He bullies himself into you in one harsh thrust and you're seeing stars again.

“Now I gotta return the favor.”

[woahjo]

cw: mentions of spit but mostly head and unexpected cumshot okay

giving pro hero deku head and he’s holding the base of his cock because he’s too big to fit all the way in your mouth. you can see through your lashes the way his arm muscles are tensed and he’s groaning and whining a little because your mouth feels so good. right before he cums, he gets just a little too carried away, gets just a little too into how sexy you are and pulls out. he runs his hand up and down his spit soaked cock and cums on your face with a low groan. he’s such a big guy and his fist is squeezing the head of his cock as he throws his head back and cums across your cheek and lips.

it takes him a moment to come back to himself, he’d been so into the way you treat him that he’d forgotten his manners and for a moment, just sort of stares at you with this bewildered look on his face as you swipe it from your cheek and reassure him that “it’s okay, i like the way you taste” before popping your cum soaked finger in your mouth.

okay goodnight at 3 pm everyone.

[accidentcache]

emergency stash

feat: keigo takami / hawks

warnings / cache notes: language, keigo’s stupid nesting habit would drive me fucking bonkers, lovesick keigo who gets hard when his gf yells at him

req📌: ❌ if you own more than 15 blankets dni wtf is wrong w you

m.list

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

[miryum]

You've Got Stars in Your Eyes so Let's Paint the Sky (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Azriel “mourns” his wife

Warnings: Az pretending to be angsty (but happy ending), recreational drug use (tho not from Az or reader), gambling, drinking/alcohol, mentions of hangovers, timeline is a bit loosey goosey, a bit of Elain-bashing, guilt. (title is from Hold On by Extreme Music. Fic is not based off of it, but I was listening to it while editing and thought it fit well)

Word Count: 2.9k

Azriel was hardly one to get intoxicated. Yet there he was, sitting around the expansive fireplace with the other members of the Inner Court, tossing back his fifth glass of alcohol. 

It was not an uncommon occurrence for the Court to get drunk every once in a while and indulge in pleasure after their missions. Azriel had just returned from a two-week long commission and was slouched in an armchair big enough for his wings to fold comfortably behind him. It hadn’t been very taxing, but the trip had required secrecy. He couldn’t speak to anyone, just having to let his shadows zip in and out of places, returning to whisper in his ear. Admittedly, he had missed his family and couldn’t say no when Cassian asked him to join in some indulgences.

A cloud of weed surrounded Cass as he took another drag. Even Rhys had an ornate pipe between his lips, though he had yet to light it. Feyre sat on his lap, dragging a slow hand through his hair. Mor had convinced Nesta to play a round of cards and the pair had money laid out for the winner. Elain was sitting next to them, awkwardly watching. Amren was in Summer Court, visiting Varian.

The Shadowsinger didn’t like to drink. It usually brought back painful memories at night, though he was able to forget about them during the fact. He liked the sting of alcohol and its taste, but not the effects. The pleasure of it burning down his throat was always welcome, but the headache in the morning was uncomfortable. As he would lay in bed that next morning, memories swirled in his mind, either one’s from the night before or from his childhood. It was a gamble he was very rarely willing to take. And yet, as he watched Rhys finally light his pipe, Azriel couldn’t help but take another down of his drink. He swallowed thickly and the alcohol was like fire. The moment he compared it, he glanced down at his hands. Flexing his fingers, Azriel turned his stare to his whiskey. It was a lovely amber that seemed to glow in the firelight.

Azriel’s eyes wandered to his brothers and their mates. His finger slid around the rim of his cup, sometimes catching on the glass and disrupting his rhythm. His lips pressed together and his gaze turned to the fire. Shadows slowly curled around him, resting in his lap like a cat. They shifted and creeped lazily up to settle on his forearms. One wisped around his ear before brushing against his cheek, like a kiss. A deep sadness settled within Azriel. His heart weighed down as if by an anchor. 

He reached up and brushed at the leathers right over his chest, like he was searching for something that wasn’t there. One shadow climbed up to nestle in his hair, before settling down with a wistful sigh only Azriel could hear.

“You alright, brother?” Rhys asked, noting the shift in mood. Feyre glanced towards Azriel, resting her head on Rhys’ shoulder. Elain quickly looked over her shoulder.

The Illyrian nodded, exhaling through his nose. “Simply thinking,” is what he only replied.

Cassian blew out a smoke ring before turning to the conversation. “And what is it that you’re thinking of?”

Azriel only shook his head when he noticed Nesta peering up at him suspiciously. She laid down a card and Mor’s brows furrowed just a touch. It was things like these that one noticed being the Spymaster of the Night Court. 

Rhys studied Az’s face carefully. It wasn’t unusual for Azriel to be quiet, but something about this was unsettling. Something was on his mind and there was only one person that made Azriel this melancholy. Unfortunately, the weed was lowering his inhibitions, and he forgot the promise he had made to Azriel when the Archeron sisters had first arrived. “Thinking of Y/n again?” he asked in a whisper, though his voice was powerful enough to sweep the room. 

Mor instantly tensed, a contemplative frown on her face. Cassian blew out a long column of smoke, using his full chest to exhale. Feyre stared at Azriel, confusion swirling on her features. She stayed in the crook of her mate’s side, ever perceptive. Nesta rubbed a card between her thumb and pointer, about to set it down. She was the first to speak. “Who’s Y/n?”

The night was silent and it took a long time for Azriel to answer. He pressed his finger into the rim of his glass and the shadow in his hair seemed to deflate slightly. Even the shadows in his lap stilled before curling tighter around their master, either asking for comfort or trying to give it.

“My wife.”

Elain’s eyes grew wide and a thick blush covered her cheeks. Her stare darted down to his fingers, as if looking for a ring. When she didn’t find one, she turned away, head ducking down. Feyre lifted her head off of Rhys’ shoulder and even Nesta looked shocked. The senior Inner Circle, however, didn’t react. They all knew who Y/n was and they loved her dearly.

“I miss her. I miss my wife,” Azriel muttered, staring down into his drink.

Azriel could barely see through his tears. He stood, in a new custom suit, in front of his brothers. He sniffed once and Rhys clapped him on the back so hard he let out a cough. 

“Where is she?” Cass muttered from his place behind Rhys. Rhys then turned around and gave him a sharp glare. Amren rolled her eyes at their display and Mor gave Azriel an encouraging nod. The females were standing opposite them.

It was then that the door to the garden opened and Azriel turned to see his mate, you, walk out. 

You were wearing the dress you had always gushed about and your hair was styled beautiful. A bouquet of flowers was grasped in your hands, though Azriel could hardly see any of that. All he could see was your eyes. They had quickly become his favourite colour and something he loved to stare into. 

The tears finally began to fall. He could hardly remember the words the High Priestess said, too lost in the feeling of your hands in his and how utterly beautiful you looked. You had insisted on a wedding after learning of the human custom. Your mating bond had snapped over seven years ago, but Azriel was more than happy to keep indulging in your wishes.

Morrigan and Amren were your ladies and Rhysand and Cassian were Azriel’s gentlemen, something you insisted was vital in a wedding. You had also insisted on exchanging rings, slipping the band onto his fingers before he repeated the gesture to you.

Finally, Azriel had the chance to kiss you. He had kissed you plenty of times before, even before you were mated, but this felt… more complete. With one hand on your hip, he pulled you close. You let out a giggle as his other hand cradled the back of your neck. His lips curved up into a devilish grin before dipping you low. You let out a lovely squeal, arms looping around his neck, before he silenced you with a fierce kiss.

And so you were wed. And he would never let you go.

Mor let out a sigh, rising from her place on the floor. She stood for a moment, as if unsure of what to do. Eventually, she decided to refill her own glass before offering the pitcher to Azriel. He took it thankfully. “I miss her as well,” she said. “But it does not help to dwell on her, Azriel. It only makes you sad, and you know this.”

“What- what happened?” Elain asked, clearing her throat. Feyre shot her a stern look but Nesta hummed in agreement. As much as Feyre wanted to be considerate, her curiosity also burned.

In response to Azriel’s silence, Rhys provided quietly, “I sent her on a mission. Years ago.” The muscles in his jaw jumped and Feyre made a sympathetic noise, running a hand through his hair again. “I don’t believe Azriel has ever forgiven me since.”

Azriel let out a derisive scoff. He pressed his lips together and gave Rhys an eye roll. However, after a moment, he said, “it comes and goes.”

Elain shifted her position so she was sitting a little closer to Azriel and facing him. “How many years ago?” she asked, her voice calm and consoling. “Do you still have your ring?”

Cassian was the one to answer, brows pulling together like a drawstring. “Only two years,” he said. It sounded like he was scolding Elain, but Azriel didn’t notice, instead focusing on a shadow that was weaving around his fingers. 

The shadow drifted up to rest on Az’s collarbone and it dipped down to touch his leathers. With a sad, nostalgic smile, he tugged out a chain that was hidden beneath his clothing. Hanging down from it was a gold ring. “Even before her mission, I thought it would be best to keep it out of sight,” he murmured. “In case I was ever caught. I wouldn’t want to risk her.”

Mor, who had been drifting around the room, gave Azriel’s shoulder a squeeze as she passed.

Meanwhile, Elain glanced towards Feyre, a pleading look in her eyes. Rhys turned towards his mate and let his hand glide up and down her side. Feyre finally asked, “did the bond ever snap for the two of you?”

Azriel’s entire expression softened and practically everyone could see his shoulders relax. He wasn’t sure if it was the memories or the fire that sent a warm feeling through his chest and throughout his body.

You stood on your balcony, doors wide open and arms crossed. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be at the Town House. You wanted to be at your shared apartment with Azriel, one that was located in the city center. But, seeing as Az was being a stubborn male, you had decided to spend the night away.

Of course, Azriel wasn’t going to let you. You saw his shadows before you saw him. They zipped to you, racing up your body. They twirled around you excitedly and you couldn’t help your smile. Even if you were mad at the Shadowsinger, you couldn't stay mad at his shadows. “You know I love you, yes?” came his smooth, quiet voice from behind you.

You let out a breath and nodded. Azriel came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder and in your peripheral vision, you could see his wings twitch next to you, as if wanting to embrace you too.

“That’s not an apology,” you noted.

It was Azriel’s turn to sigh and his breath tickled your skin. “I know,” he murmured. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Entering your relationship, you were aware that apologising was hard for Azriel. He wasn’t used to making mistakes and was usually so guarded and careful that he didn’t. But you were different. You made him feel things that no one else had and he didn’t know what to do with those feelings. He was bound to make some mistakes.

Finally, he turned his head into your neck and whispered out, “I am sorry, my love.”

That’s when the bond snapped.

Your soul was yanked towards Azriel’s and the centre of the universe seemed to change. Everything was now focused on him. Everything now made sense. And based on the hopeful, desperate expression on Azriel’s face, he felt it too.

“We didn’t see them until practically a month after their mating ceremony,” Mor snickered. Cass let out a loud laugh, the weed making everything seem much more funny than it actually was. Elain pressed her lips together. 

Azriel shook his head fondly. His shadows suddenly darted away from him, but he was too inebriated to care. “Shut your mouth, Morrigan,” he muttered, though he was smiling. “What can I say? I love Y/n. It was a nice month.” He took a sip of his whiskey, trying to hide his grin.

Yet, before he could start reminiscing, a knock sounded against the wood of the doorframe. “Az, what are you telling these lovely people?” a new voice spoke up, a teasing lilt in the tone.

Azriel instantly stood. “By the Cauldron,” he murmured reverently. He didn’t notice the Archeron sisters peering curiously at the newcomer as he launched himself into your arms. You were obstructed from view to the sisters as Azriel’s wings curled around you protectively as he held you close. His grip was desperate and loving as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck. “My love,” he whispered out so that only you could hear. “I didn’t know you were visiting.”

You held your mate close, a hand brushing calmly in his curls and your other on his back. “I’m not visiting,” you replied softly. “Rhys said I could be done. With the mission, I mean.”

Azriel had half a mind to turn and shoot an accusing look at Rhys, but he wouldn’t take his eyes away from your beautiful face. “My wife,” he muttered. He took your hand in his and kissed the ring you wore proudly. “Forgive me.”

“What for?” you asked.

He shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours. “That promise I made to you years ago – I didn’t keep it. I let my emotions get the best of me as I missed you. Rhys didn’t deserve my anger for sending you away.”

You let out a laugh that was beauty incarnate to Azriel’s ears and Feyre shared an bemused look with Nesta. Since when did Azriel apologise? And for being rude to his brothers, of all things. To add to it, he had been smiling more with you in his arms than the entire time they had known him. Was it simply that the Shadowsinger had missed his mate? Was there another layer underneath that lay dormant until you were there to peel it back? What was Azriel truly like when the love of his life was home?

Cassian called you over and you exchanged hugs with the rest of the Inner Circle. Mor was ecstatic to have you back – her best friend had returned. You were disappointed that Amren wasn’t there to greet you, but you understood the needed time with her mate. After all, you were sure Azriel wouldn’t let you out of his sight after being reunited. 

You were then introduced to the Archeron sisters. You gave Feyre a little teasing bow and greeted, “my High Lady.” Feyre scoffed and swept you into a welcoming hug. 

Nesta was next to greet you and you congratulated her on being able to put up with Cassian. Azriel laughed at your joke, arm around your waist. Throughout greetings and introductions, he had never left your side. Every so often, he would place a kiss on your temple or give your hip a small squeeze. He truly was a different man around you.

Eventually, you stood in front of Elain. “Azriel made it sound like you were dead,” she said in hello. Her voice made it sound like she was passing blame onto your mate, but you tried to brush it off.

With a laugh, you said, “well, he gets rather grumpy whenever I’m away for too long. I’m sure you understand.” Some of Azriel’s shadows brushed lovingly along your arms and face.

“He wasn’t wearing his ring, you know?” She laughed along with you, albeit a bit awkwardly. “You have a lovely mate. You’re very lucky to have him.”

You raised your brow and exchanged a look with Mor. “Yes,” you agreed slowly, thinking that was an odd thing to comment on. “But Azriel can choose to wear his ring or not. And he talked to me about it beforehand. We both thought it best to keep our marriage under wraps as we went on missions.” You held up your left hand and Azriel took that as his cue to nuzzle his nose into your hair. “I put mine on only a couple hours ago, when I knew I’d be coming back.”

Elain’s cheeks filled with heat and she nodded. Muttering some things about how she was glad to meet you, she stepped back and towards Nesta. 

Impatient as ever when it came to you, Azriel soon ushered you away with the complaint on his lips that your attention wasn’t only on him. He wanted to see you back in your home. After mating, he had chosen a wonderful house special just for the two of you. Over the months, it had gotten harder and harder to live there without your presence. Oh, how he had missed you.

When you were finally alone, you cradled his face in your hands, finally able to kiss your mate after two years. One hand slipped down to pull on the chain that hung around his neck. “I need you to wear this now,” you whispered. 

Azriel chuckled and raised a brow. “Jealous, my love?” He pressed close to you, unable to take the feeling of you not cradled in his arms any longer.

“I think I’m entitled to some jealousy,” you replied. “After almost twenty-eight months without hearing your voice, seeing your face, or touching your skin, I get some leeway.”

“Hmm, that you do,” he muttered, slipping his ring back on proudly. “Now, will my beautiful wife accompany me to our home?”

“With pleasure.”

[cece693]

You're Just Jealous of Me

pairing: the salvatore brothers x male reader tags: reader knows he's manipulative and a slut, you just don't care tbh, Elena has an aneurysm from not being the main character, the brothers know they're getting played, you're just that hot/beautiful/perfect for them to give you up, Elena bashing, no incest

"I can't believe you." Elena exclaimed, her eyes growing misty as you were getting ready to head out with Damon on a date. It hadn't even been a week since they broke up (something about her needing stability or some other bullshit) and you didn't care. All that mattered was getting through yet another 'poor me' moment without killing her and making it seem like an accident.

Seriously, what did your sister expect? That Damon was going to stay single for the rest of his days until she made a fucking choice between him and Stefan? Perhaps some of her betrayal stemmed from the fact that Stefan had also rejected her ass and had made it clear he didn't feel anything for her anymore. So now poor Elena had no one while you played with both brothers.

And it wasn't even 'playing' per se if they knew about the whole situation. You could fuck any of them, and they'll be fine with it—a thing you made clear to them when this whole thing started. You liked both brothers, but having to choose just one was unfair—they both had traits that attracted you, and if you couldn't have both, then you'll settle for nothing. Like eager children they agreed. The arrangement was abnormal to others, but for you it worked—you dated both brothers, they still hated each other (entertaining fights arising from their competitiveness on who you liked more, who was 'rocking' your world, etc.) Simple really.

"Save the tears for the pillow, sister. I’m really not in the mood—nor will I ever be—to entertain your pity parties." Pulling on one of Damon’s leather jackets, you smirked. You were a sight to behold—not only would Damon be eager to rip the clothes off you, but half the population would, too.

It was fun stirring the pot, watching Damon bare his teeth at anyone who thought they stood a chance. Jealousy was his kryptonite, and while a part of you hated targeting one of his insecurities, you always reassured him in bed of your devotion, loyalty, and love.

Yes, because at the end of the day, you loved both Salvatore brothers. This wasn't just some passing fantasy, nor was it some revenge scheme against your sister (though you did love tormenting her with the fact that you were dating the two). You were willing to throw away your human life to become a vampire—to spend eternity by their side.

"Why are you doing this to me? What have I ever done to cause this!" Now there was the Elena you knew all too well—the one who constantly placed themselves as the victim, putting blame unto you because who could ever hate a girl who lost her parents?

You let out a humorless laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. “You really want to go there?” you snap, not bothering to hide the derision in your voice. “Fine. For starters, you’ve always made Jeremy and me feel like shit, and the few times you did act like a decent human being were just so you didn’t look like a total bitch.”

“That’s not true!” she protests, anger tightening her features.

“It is, Elena,” you spit back. “When our parents died, you didn’t do a damn thing to help us cope. You were so wrapped up in your own grief, your own fucking melodrama, that you never once checked on Jeremy or me—unless, of course, it was to nag us about how we were coping. When Jeremy started doing drugs, you freaked the fuck out. Not because you cared, but because you were afraid of how it might make you look. God forbid anyone sees that the 'perfect' Elena Gilbert can’t keep her family together or help her brother kick his drug habit.”

She flinches, but you weren't done. Oh, no. You were just beginning to go down the list of why you hated her ass. "Then, when I began to hook up with Damon, you acted like I was the cause of our parents death—no, that's on you because Elena couldn't help herself and got drunk, needing a ride home at midnight. Sleeping with Damon was like I'd personally betray you."

Her cheeks flush crimson. “Well, you did! You—”

“I did what, Elena?” You take a step forward, towering over her. “I moved on? Found something that might actually make me happy? Meanwhile, you’ve been stringing both Damon and Stefan along for God knows how long. You made your choice—you dumped Damon, tried getting back with Stefan, when he told you to fuck off, you tried going back to Damon and he said the same thing. So now you’re standing here, arms crossed, lip trembling, trying to put the blame on me because you lost your backup plan.”

Her lips press into a thin line, eyes brimming with tears. But you’ve seen this act before—she’ll blink prettily, glance away like a wounded animal, and wait for you to console her. Only this time, you won't.

“You are an asshole,” she hisses, eyes narrowed into slits. “He was mine first.”

That makes you laugh, a harsh sound echoing off the hallway walls. “Right...possessive much? People aren’t property, Elena. He’s not a damn handbag you lend out when it suits you. If Damon wants to be with me, that’s his call. And if I want to keep him, that’s mine.”

She trembles, either from anger or heartbreak—you can’t tell, and frankly, you don’t care. “Why would you do this?” she asks again, her voice cracking. “What have I ever done—”

You rolled your eyes so hard you got a slight headache. "Did you even listen to me? I have every reason to hate you, so does Jeremy and the rest of Mystic Falls. Those who continue to stand by you are either stupid or hope they'll get some attention from your desperate ass. I'm done. I’m done letting you guilt-trip me. I’m done tiptoeing around your precious feelings. I’m fucking over it, Elena.”

Just then, Damon appears in the doorway, that trademark smirk on his face. “Ready?” he asks, taking in the tension between you two. His gaze flicks to the tears glistening in her eyes before returning to you. “I’m guessing we’re skipping the family therapy session?”

“Therapy? More like the mandatory guilt trip, which I’ve politely declined.”

Elena’s voice wavers, “Damon, how can you just—”

He cuts her off with a raised hand, posture casual but his eyes dangerously dark. “Stop, Elena. What we had is over. You made that choice before, remember? I’m done letting you waltz in and out of my life whenever it’s convenient for you.” You can practically feel the hatred radiating off her in waves. She’s not used to being shut down, especially not by Damon, the semi-reformed bad boy who once hung on her every word. It must sting. Oh, well. Her loss.

“As much as I loved talking to you, sister, I do believe we're running late. Don't wait up and please, if you're going to continue crying, leave my room. Keep wallowing if you want. Hell, cry yourself a fucking river. Just don’t stain my carpet.” Without another glance at Elena, you brush past Damon, and he steps aside for you to lead. He follows, closing the door behind you both, leaving your sister alone in her silence.

You descend the porch steps and greet the night air with a sigh of relief, reveling in the silence that isn’t tainted by Elena’s incessant whining. Damon slips an arm around your shoulders, guiding you toward his car parked beneath a streetlamp. His touch is warm, confident—like he’s proud of the chaos you’ve left behind.

“She’ll get over it,” he says, glancing at you with one of those trademark smirks that used to make Elena weak at the knees. Now, it just fuels your own sense of dark satisfaction.

“She’d better,” you mutter. “I’m not putting up with her drama anymore. If she wants to play the victim, she can do it alone. I’ve got better things to do.”

Damon’s grin widens. “That’s the spirit. So, where are we headed, anyway? We never actually nailed down the specifics.”

You shrug, placing an arm around his waist and snuggling closer to his side. “Anywhere but here. Got a craving for something stiff—drink or otherwise.” The innuendo doesn’t slip past him. His eyes flash with interest, and you can’t deny that thrill you get from watching Damon Salvatore light up over you instead of your sister.

“Sounds like the Grill for starters,” he suggests with a casual tilt of his head. “They might have a halfway decent bourbon I can drown myself in. As for the ‘otherwise,’ well…” He lets the sentence hang, the possibility of later events sparking arousal for the both of you.

You’re about to respond when you spot Stefan leaning against Damon's Camaro. Typical. Even without super-hearing, you know he’s probably caught every word you exchanged with Elena. Damned vampires. "What are you doing here?" Damon was the first who spoke, hand tightening over your body. As if he was a child preventing his favorite toy to be taken away from him.

"Nothing, really. I was just walking around the neighborhood and saw your car parked. But now that I see you're here with my boyfriend, I guess I have time to join you two at the grill."

"Our boyfriend."

You simply laugh at Stefan’s innocent tone, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. Just a few minutes ago, you were telling off Elena and storming out of the house. Now you’re pinned between two vampires—both of whom are technically yours, and you are theirs. Welcome to the wonderful, fucked-up world of Mystic Falls.

“‘Our’ boyfriend,” you echo, looking from Stefan to Damon. “Are you two seriously going to argue semantics right now? Pick a damn fight over who saw me first?” A scoff escapes you as you shrug off Damon’s possessive grip just enough to stand on your own. You’re not some chew toy they get to tug-of-war over.

Stefan cocks a brow, his expression cool but laced with a hint of smugness. “I’m not here to fight,” he says, his gaze flicking to Damon. “Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t excluded. Last time I checked, this was a joint arrangement.”

Damon’s jaw clenches. Clearly, he remembers crashing your date with Stefan last week—and how you’d had to smooth over the tension in ways that involved very little clothing and a lot of apologizing on his part. “We’re not excluding you, Saint Stefan. But we do have plans that don’t involve your pensive brooding.”

Stefan straightens, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, so your plan is to get drunk at the Grill and then…whatever else…” He waves a hand dismissively, “doesn’t appeal to me?” He tilts his head in mock curiosity. “You sure about that?”

You snort. “Children, please. If you both really wanted to rip each other’s heads off, you’d have done it ages ago. Let’s just go. All this talk is making my head hurt.”

Damon lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But if Stefan starts preaching about morality or—God forbid—Elena, I’m leaving him to pay the tab.”

Stefan’s smirk grows. “I’d pick a better conversation starter than Elena, trust me.”

You give an unimpressed half-smile. “Don’t even mention her name. As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t exist unless she’s blocking my path to a stiff drink.”

That shuts both of them up. They exchange a quick glance—some silent vampire communication or whatever—then Damon jerks his head toward the passenger door. “Shotgun’s yours,” he says to you, ever the gentleman when it comes to seating. To Stefan, he adds begrudgingly, “Guess you can squeeze into the back...or the trunk.”

Stefan’s lip twitches like he’s fighting off a retort, but he says nothing. Instead, he silently moves to the rear door. You can’t help but grin. It’s absurd that they both share you yet still bicker like five-year-olds over the smallest shit. But hey, maybe that’s part of the charm.

Once inside Damon’s Camaro, you sink into the leather seat, adjusting your legs as you feel Stefan’s presence behind you. The tension is thick—crackling with desire, frustration, and that constant competition. You kind of love it. Damon revs the engine, and the car peels away from the curb.

“Any chance we can make this a quick pit stop at the Grill?” you say, your gaze shifting between them. “I need something to eat, maybe a drink or two, but I’m not really in the mood to fraternize with the entire damn town.”

Damon flicks you a sidelong glance. “Someone’s impatient. Looking to skip straight to dessert, sweetheart?”

A grin tugs at your lips. “I’d just rather not get cornered by whichever idiot wants the latest gossip on Elena’s meltdown.”

Stefan leans forward, resting his forearms on the front seats. “We can be in and out in under thirty minutes. Grab some wings, maybe a bourbon—or three—and leave.” He lowers his voice suggestively. “After that, I wouldn’t mind some privacy.”

Damon makes a sound of reluctant agreement. “Deal. But don’t whine when you realize your tolerance is way lower than mine, Brother.”

Stefan just smirks. “Don’t worry about me, Damon. Worry about yourself.”

The quick banter settles into a charged silence as the lights of Mystic Falls blur by. The neon sign of the Grill soon comes into view, and Damon maneuvers into a parking spot with practiced ease.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mutter, pushing the car door open. “I’m not about to waste my entire night entertaining half-drunk townspeople.”

Stepping onto the sidewalk, you can already see a few familiar faces through the window—Caroline, Matt, maybe Tyler. You can’t be bothered to care. The only drama you want tonight is the kind that ends in moans, not tears. And if Elena hasn’t slithered over here yet, you might just get your way.

Damon slides an arm around your waist possessively again, and Stefan eyes the gesture with an annoyance that’s as old as time. You sigh inwardly. No matter how many times you remind them you belong to both, they still can’t help but try to stake their separate claims. Vampire pride, maybe.

As you head inside, the ambient chatter and smell of bar food envelop you. A few heads turn—this is Mystic Falls, after all, and you’re making a very public entrance with both Salvatores. Let them stare. Let them talk.

“Your usual table?” Damon asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you say. “Let’s just grab a seat and order. I’m fucking starving.”

The three of you slip into a booth. Damon slides in beside you, Stefan on the opposite side. A cute server looks mildly flustered as she hands out menus. You can see her eyes flick between Damon and Stefan, likely recalling the messy history each has with Elena. If she notices you’re with them in a more intimate sense, she doesn’t comment. Probably for the best.

“So,” Damon says, flipping open the menu, “bourbon and wings? Or do we want to start with something stronger?”

Stefan doesn’t bother with the menu. “I’ll have what you’re having,” he says with a forced casualness, drumming his fingers on the table. He’s clearly aware eyes are on you three. You can practically feel the tension rolling off him—like he’s waiting for the next potential disaster.

You roll your eyes at the both of them. “Bourbon’s fine. Then if someone pisses me off, we can move on to whiskey shots until I forget this entire night.”

Damon flashes that trademark smirk. “You, pissed off? Shocking.”

Stefan snorts, finally cracking a faint smile. “I’m sure we’ll manage to avoid any drama.”

A short, barking laugh leaves you. “In this town? With the three of us in the same damn booth? Doubtful.”

But you push aside the building dread. Because at least you’re here on your terms, Elena’s sob story is miles away, and you have both Salvatores at your side—bickering, sure, but ultimately yours. And that realization, twisted as it might be, makes a satisfied grin curl your lips. With a raised brow, you signal the server for your order. Let the vultures talk, let Elena sulk. You’ve got bigger, better things to do tonight—and two vampires to do them with.

“Bring on the bourbon,” you say, leaning back. “I’ve got all fucking night.”

[potatoplace]

I Hate It Here

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

The Afterthought: Chapter 2 | series masterlist

part one | part three | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: You are brought back to Velaris against your will, and forced to stay in the city by your supposed family. You slip into old memories and imaginings of the life you could be living whenever able, terrified of your new situation.

Warnings: suicidal ideation, slight disordered eating, toxic family, shitty Inner Circle, mentions of slut-shaming uhhh I don't think there's anything else

Words: 6.7k

Author's Note: it's heeere I'm so excited for this part! I hope you guys all like it, I know I made a few... choice decisions in certain places lol. Poor girly with the bathtub 😫 but the ending in this part is not near as sad as it was going to be. Hope you like iiiit 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

You weren't sure how long you had been walking, hardly registering where you were going when he appeared in front of you.

Azriel.

You shook your head at him. You wouldn't consent to going anywhere with him.

Feyre would be the next to accuse you of being a whore if you did...

"Come with me, Y/N. You're going to freeze to death out here," Azriel said quietly, extending a hand to you.

"No. I don't belong there."

He let out a long sigh. "You belong with your sisters. Just come with me. Feyre is worried."

"Feyre is..." You scoffed. "Feyre is worried? Was she worried when I didn't show up for dinner that everyone was at? Or only when I was no longer in that city? Because from where I'm standing, no one in that city has cared for me in months. So no, I don't belong with my sisters. I belong with humans. Now let. Me. Leave," you hissed at him, legs already moving to walk past him and continue your journey.

"You'll die tonight, if you don't come back," Azriel informed you, as though you hadn't already realized that.

"And the world would be just the same without me in it."

Another long, heavy sigh from behind you- then arms were wrapped around your middle, holding you tight as you fought against him with all of your pathetic, human strength. You managed to rip a nail through his wing, causing him to hiss in pain and drop you. Before you could make your way to your feet, he had you in his arms again, this time carrying you through the swirling void of night that accompanied him at all times.

A moment later you were back in that house, in the middle of the living room where the rest of the inner circle was sitting, all eyes on you.

Azriel's arms dropped from your waist in an instant, the warmth of his body leaving your side as he took his place, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

"What were you thinking?" Feyre asked angrily as she stood from her spot on a couch next to Rhys. "Do you have any idea of what could have happened to you tonight?"

"Do I-" you shook your head. "Of course I know what could have happened to me, I'm just a human. Any single person in Prythian could kill me if they wanted to."

"So why did you leave?" Rhys asked quietly, in a tone that you knew meant danger.

You turned your eyes back to Feyre, doing your best to ignore her mate who still terrified you. "Do you remember what day it is, High Lady?"

Feyre looked confused for a moment, before understanding filled her eyes. "Oh, Y/N... I... I forgot. We were celebrating finally getting the Illyrians to let females train whenever they want," she explained, but you weren't buying it.

"Oh, well that's fine. You forget the day that I spent over a week preparing for, the entire day cooking for, all to celebrate something that just happened. Did you once think to find me? To invite me to this celebration?" Feyre's silence was enough of an answer for you. "I don't belong here. You should have left me in the human lands, thinking you all died. I would have been happier that way. Nesta and Elain hate me, I cannot speak to Lucien or Cassian out of fear that their mates will kill me, the rest of you ignore me unless I've done something wrong. I do not belong here," you hissed, doing your best to throw all of your hurt and rage into your words.

"You do belong here, Y/N," Feyre said tearily. "You're our sister."

You stared down at her coldly. "Am I? From where I'm standing I am just a weakness for you that you keep close so you won't be hurt. I haven't felt like your sister since I arrived."

"That's not tr-" Feyre started, but you cut her off.

"Take me back."

"What?" Nesta asked sharply from behind you, and you could feel her anger rising, the hairs on your arms standing up.

"Take me back to the human lands. I would rather live alone in poverty than spend one more day living in this place."

"You will not," Nesta snarled, a hand clawing at your shoulder. "You would die within a week with the wall down."

"I managed just fine on my own for three months before Feyre came to get me."

"Nesta is right, Y/N," Rhys said, drawing your eyes back to him. "You will not leave Velaris. Anywhere else is too dangerous for you to be, with your connection to us."

Rage flooded your system like it never had before at the thought of being kept here until you die. "I will not be kept like some prisoner in this city. I refuse."

"You have no choice," Feyre said softly, the final nail in the coffin.

"Then kill me," you said, fully hoping that they would. "Kill me and put me out of my misery, if I am not able to leave this horrible place. I do not belong here, and I do not want to belong here anymore."

Tears were pouring down Feyre's face at your confession, the last sight you saw before you slipped into darkness.

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

When you woke, your body was warm, resting underneath blankets on a comfortable bed.

You could almost imagine that you were back in that hut, surrounded by your sisters as you huddled for warmth.

But it was wrong... your face was too warm, no longer chilled by the slight breeze that rattled through the house in winter, and there was no soft, quiet breathing from your sisters sleeping.

You opened your eyes, met with the familiar pale blue ceiling of your bedroom. You would guess it was the early morning, with how dark it was.

What happened...?

It was difficult, getting your brain to remember how you ended up in your bed... After all, you had hardly slept in it ever since Elain had snapped at you so many months ago, the idea of another door keeping you safe too comforting to not indulge in.

But once you remembered... ice cold terror flooded your body.

You had been in the middle of yelling at Feyre- at all of them. And suddenly now you were in your bed?

Rhysand had used his powers on you.

And you were helpless to stop it.

You turned onto your side and curled into yourself for a moment, hoping that making yourself smaller would be enough to loosen the fear gripping your heart. After a minute, you gave up, standing from your bed and pulling a thick blanket and soft pillow with you into the bathroom, making your safe little nest in the bathtub.

The blanket and pillow you had used last were still there, adding extra cushion and much needed warmth to the metal tub.

So you curled up, a pillow at your back and your knees pulled to your chest as you huddled under one blanket and pulled the edges of the bottom one up, cocooning yourself in soft cotton.

Sleep found you easily, your body and mind exhausted still from the disappointment and realizations of last night.

Your dreams were filled by half memories, half imaginings of being back in that little run down cottage, your sisters and father around you as you huddled in front of the fire, drinking hot water from chipped mugs.

"Y/N?" Feyre's voice asked, waking you from your sleep. You raised your head for a moment, considering answering her. But your recent interactions with her had you placing your head back on its pillow, tucking your knees further against your chest, ignoring the way your body had started to ache. She knocked on the bathroom door once, twice. "Just... come out when you're ready, Y/N. There's breakfast downstairs if you'd like." Feyre sighed, loud enough for even your ears to hear, but walked away, leaving you in blissful silence.

You let yourself drift off again, conjuring images of you curled up in front of the fire, your head in your father's lap just how he'd let you when you were a child.

The next time you woke, your bladder forced you awake, and by the time you had relieved yourself the muscles in your body were screaming for some kind of movement. You walked around your room for a few minutes and stretched your body, sighing as some of the tension left it.

All too soon, your stomach was growling at you, angry with you for having ignored it for... however long you had been asleep.

Sighing, you moved back to the bathroom and disassembled your makeshift bed, replacing the fabrics where they initially belonged so that you could bathe before going downstairs.

The last thing you wanted was for Nesta and Elain to make snide comments at you.

You tied your hair up in a bun- you didn't feel like going through the effort of washing it at the moment. After drawing the bath, tendrils of steam coming from the water, you stripped yourself of the pink dress you had worn for Bounty Day and slipped into the water. Your muscles eased quickly, the heat of the bath drawing out the stress they carried.

You nearly fell asleep again, and if not for the gnawing of your stomach you would have let yourself, as the tub had an enchantment to keep the water warm until emptied. But you forced yourself to wash, using a soft cloth and a lovely lavender and orange soap bar that you had picked out a few months ago while shopping for Nesta's birthday.

Once you deemed yourself clean enough, you stood from the bath, nearly slipping as you stepped out. A disappointed sigh left your lips and you shook your head at your foolish, human clumsiness.

You dried off quickly and padded back into your bedroom. You slipped on a simple white cotton dress, and a pale pink dressing robe over the top. After putting on your slippers, you stood in front of the door, steeling yourself for whatever you would face outside of your room. A deep breath in, then out, and you opened the door, stepping into the hallway.

The walk to the kitchen was quick, and it was blissfully empty when you entered. You set about making a pot of tea for yourself, bringing water to a boil in a kettle on the stove. While it was heating up, you grabbed one of the trays used for when someone wanted breakfast in bed and placed a teapot and cup on it, as well as a bowl.

You looked around the kitchen, scrunching your face at the options available. Your eyes caught on the windows looking out to the garden, noting the stars in the sky.

Just how long had you slept for...?

Shaking your head, you turned back to the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. Your hands reached for an apple almost big enough in size that you couldn't grasp it.

You grabbed a small cutting board from a cabinet and a knife out of the block, then washed the apple before setting it on the board. The kettle was just starting to whistle, and you removed it from the heat before it could wake anyone sleeping upstairs. After you measured out a small amount of tea leaves into the teapot's helpful strainer, you poured enough water in to make at least three cups of tea. You were making a soothing lavender and chamomile blend, one that never failed to send you to a dreamless sleep after having a few cups.

Leaving it to steep, you returned to the cutting board, carefully cutting the apple into small slices. Once it was cut, you placed the slices into the bowl on your tray, then washed the cutting board and knife, leaving them in the drying rack.

You removed the strainer from the teapot after deeming it to be strong enough, and emptied the leaves into the trash before washing it as well.

All that was left was to carry your bounty upstairs, without waking a soul.

Tray in your arms, you made your way back up the stairs and into your bedroom, letting out a small sigh of relief once you had closed the door behind you. The tray was placed on your desk, and you took your seat.

The first pour of tea was always your favorite, as it was always at the perfect temperature. You brought the steaming cup of tea to your lips, closing your eyes as you took the first soothing sip, letting the warmth of it wash over you.

The apple was delicious, crisp and sweet and tasting of autumn. You made sure to savor the taste- you weren't sure when you would next venture out of your room, seeing as you were still terrified to see any who would be in the River House.

Even your sisters... Though Feyre was the main change, you supposed, seeing as she had let her mate use his powers on you, when she had promised that neither she or Rhys would ever do so.

Your second cup of tea was still warm and soothing as you finished off the apple, but when you got to the third and final cup, it was only lukewarm.

A problem that any of your sisters would surely be able to solve...

By the time you finished your tea, you were tired enough to fall back sleep, but first you forced yourself to return to the kitchen, feet stepping carefully on your journey to stay undiscovered. You washed your dishes quickly and returned the tray to its rightful place, then made your way back upstairs.

Your door was shut behind you, another successful mission in avoiding those you once considered family.

The bathtub had dried, and you brought your blankets and pillows back in with you, reassembling your makeshift bed once again. Your crawled between the blankets, content to stay between them forever as warmth cocooned you. Your mind drifted, once again conjuring scenes of you living with father once more, tending to your little herb garden and cooking to your hearts content.

Two weeks- or perhaps more- passed in the same manner, with Feyre knocking on your bathroom door every morning or so and waking you from your slumber. In the nights you would crawl from your blankets and return to the kitchen for a pot of tea and whatever fruit or vegetables were available and easy enough to eat without cooking.

Your stomach had protested loudly for the first week before settling back into the cold, quiet hunger that your body had adapted to for most of its life.

One morning, your solitude was broken by Morrigan pounding on your bedroom door, jolting you from your sleep and driving fear into your heart.

"Come to the door, Y/N, or I won't leave!" She yelled from behind the wood, persistent knocks following her words.

You sighed and turned your head back into your pillow, determined to ignore her.

"I brought you tea! Please just come to the door, Y/N? You can tell me to leave and take the tea, even," the fae offered, and your stomach rumbled in response.

Tea... wouldn't be bad, you thought to yourself.

But you hadn't bathed...

Morrigan's knocking only grew louder as you debated with yourself, fear and hunger warring in your mind.

"Y/N!"

You grumbled to yourself as you rose from your spot, shouting "I'll be right there!" when her knocking somehow continued to increase in volume. You opened the bathroom door and headed to your wardrobe, tugging a dressing gown over your nightgown.

Turning the door's handle was difficult, fear of the unknown still lingering in your gut, but the blonde on the other side of the door was in fact holding a tray of tea when you finally managed to open the door.

"Good morning!" Morrigan chirped, a bright smile on her face as she met your eyes. Her warm chocolate eyes seemed genuine, allowing some of the tension in your body to leave as you looked at the tray.

A pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of diced fruit, cheeses, and smoked meats.

She obviously wanted to join you... And she had been kind enough to bring you not only tea but food as well. That made up your mind.

"Would you like to come in?" You asked quietly, stepping aside to let her into your bedroom.

"I would love to, thank you Y/N." Morrigan breezed in and placed the tray on top of your bed before taking a seat on one side, feet pulled up so she was sitting with her legs folded in front of her.

You shut the door and followed her, taking a seat on the opposite side while she poured tea into a cup. She handed one to you first, warmth instantly flowing into your fingers, before pouring her own.

You took a small sip, closing your eyes at the bright taste of mint and ginger. "I... Thank you, Morrigan."

"Oh, call me Mor, Y/N. And it was really no trouble, I've..." She paused. "I've wanted to talk to you, check in on you after everything that happened. I know that we haven't talked much, since you came to Velaris, but I would like to change that. I know what it is like to feel so out of place that you can barely fathom living... I know how difficult it can be, when you don't have the support you need," Mor confessed. "I do wish I had noticed how uncomfortable you felt, before you had to tell us so bluntly."

Tears pricked your eyes as she talked. You wished it had been the same, as well.

"It isn't your fault, Mor..." you sighed. "You don't have the same... Not responsibility to me, but the past connection. And it is not as though you were the one to bring me here."

Mor gave you a sad smile, her eyes understanding. "I know, but you are a part of this family, and you are supposed to feel like you are as well."

You nodded your head in agreement, though you didn't quite agree. You felt... You felt as though your family had been lost to you, long before you came to Velaris.

The two of you sipped on your tea in a comfortable silence for a while, your eyes darting down to the small spread of food frequently, until your stomach made its discomfort known. Loudly.

Instead of Mor reprimanding you for it, or telling you to eat, she simply began eating herself- something you were grateful for. You followed her lead, slowly eating a few pieces of what she had brought up. Between the food and the several cups of tea, your stomach felt pleasantly warm and full, more than it had been in a long while.

"I have an idea, if you're up for it," Mor offered once the two of you had finished both the tea and food, her brown eyes looking at you hopefully.

"What did you have in mind?" You asked, mind already wandering to what she might ask you. Maybe a favor for Feyre, to get you to talk with her?

"I have a little skincare routine that I do every morning, and even though your skin is absolutely gorgeous as is, I thought that maybe you would like to join me? It's one of the few things that helps me feel a bit better when I'm having a rough day."

You blinked at her for a moment, the idea of her wanting to spend more time with you not having crossed your mind.

"I... I'm not sure that I would be any good at it..."

"Oh, nonsense! It's pretty simple, and I'll help you out with it. And if you hate it, we can stop at any point. Please?" She asked with so much sincerity that you nodded in agreement. The smile on her face when you did made you feel nice, and like she wasn't being forced into spending time with you.

"Yay!" Mor cheered. "I'll be back with everything in a few minutes. Do you want me to bring another pot of tea as well?" Mor asked, a sparkle in her eyes.

"If it's not any trouble for you, please," you replied, eyes tracking her as she stood from your bed and brought the tray back into her arms.

"Of course it isn't, Y/N. I'll be back in a little bit, okay?"

You nodded, and stood from the bed to open the door for her, shutting it softly behind her.

So far... This morning was nice. Mor is nice.

She returned in a few minutes, a fresh pot of tea and her supplies on the tray.

Over the next hour, she helped you cleanse and moisturize your skin, doing the same herself. You felt silly at first wearing the clay mask that she had spread over your face, but seeing Mor in it as well made you feel giggly, the two of you laying on your bed and talking about clothes. She made you promise to let her take you shopping once you felt ready to leave the house again, and you had her promise to teach you to do your makeup- though in softer colors than the bold reds and black that she preferred.

You drank most of the second pot of tea, happily consuming it, and along with the pleasant company of Mor, you were feeling warmer and more alive than you had since Bounty Day.

"So... Do you feel a little better?" Mor asked after you had both rinsed your faces and applied one last layer of moisturizer, this one smelling of strawberries.

You thought about it for a moment- you felt lighter than you had in months. "I do. Thank you again, Mor. This was really nice," you said, a small smile on your lips as you looked at her.

"Good, I'm glad. If you want to do it again, say... Tomorrow, just let me know," Mor said with a bright grin on her face.

"I... I'd like that very much, Mor," you said sheepishly, still in slight disbelief that she wanted to spend time with you.

"I'll stop by at the same time tomorrow, then." Mor gathered her things and left your room, leaving you in silence once more.

As much as you had enjoyed her company, you felt... tired, now. You glanced out the window, noting that snow was falling on an already thick layer coating the ground and buildings below.

You hadn't known it had snown at all recently.

With a shake of your head, you brushed that thought off and returned to the bathroom, your blankets-

Oh gods, you thought to yourself. Did Mor notice?

You were slightly ashamed that you felt unsafe enough to sleep in the perfectly comfortable bed you had been given, but... You couldn't bring yourself to care enough to move back into the bedroom to sleep. Instead, you burrowed yourself into your blankets once again, telling yourself that someday you would sleep in the bed again.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

Your time with Mor the next morning became a daily occurrence for the next week, and a way for you to better tell the passing of time.

Feyre had stopped coming to your bathroom door every morning, replaced instead by the blonde that you were getting closer to considering a real friend.

One morning, you woke early enough to take a bath before Mor showed up at your door. You had just finished dressing when you heard arguing outside of your door.

"I will not ask her for you, Feyre. You can go in there and ask her yourself, but I am not going to use my friendship with her for your benefit. Once you work up the balls, come back. She might talk to you then," Mor said angrily to your sister.

That shocked you.

"I'm not trying to use-" Feyre paused. "Fine, I will come back later."

"Good. Now go away, I don't want you to scare her."

A few seconds later, Mor knocked on your door. You opened it, and found her carrying the usual- a pot of tea, plate of food, and plenty of her skincare products.

Besides her argument with Feyre, your morning together went as usual, and you had nearly forgotten about the incident until Mor was about to leave.

A knock on the door had both Mor's and your heads snapping to it.

Mor sighed. "I should be going, then, Y/N. Just... Hear her out, for a moment at least?"

Your scrunched your nose up but nodded. "Thank you, Mor. Will I see you tomorrow?"

Mor's head bobbed as she picked up her things. "Yes, but the next few days I'll be staying in the Hewn City, they tend to get a little more problematic the closer we come to Starfall," Mor explained.

Your heart sank a little bit, but you smiled at her anyways. "I hope it goes well. I know you don't enjoy being there much." You almost wished you could go with her, to be out of this city for a little while.

"Thank you, Y/N," Mor said with an appreciative smile. "Would you get the door?"

"Of course." You did so, opening it to see a nervous looking Feyre. Mor passed by her and headed down the hallway. "Would..." You hesitated. "Would you like to come in?"

Feyre smiled at you, one filled with tension. "I would, thank you." She followed you into your room, closing the door behind her and coming a few feet into the room, leaving at least your height's distance between you. "I wanted to speak with you about something- well, ask you something, more."

"Okay..."

"I- Would you be willing to come to dinner tomorrow night?"

You stared at her in confusion. "Why tomorrow?"

Feyre's brow furrowed at your question. "It's your birthday tomorrow."

Oh.

You had forgotten your own birthday. It didn't surprise you much, with how distant your mind had been recently. Only in the past week had you fully recognized the passage of time, thanks to Mor's visits each morning.

"Oh, uhm... I-" you paused. Dinner would mean... seeing Nesta and Elain and Rhys. "Uhm. Would... Who would be there...?"

"All of the Inner Circle, I think," Feyre replied, a frown on her face when she saw your own. "What's wrong?"

You were silent for a moment, trying to come up with something that wouldn't make you sound as weak as the truth. But nothing came to mind quickly enough, with Feyre still staring at you with her worried blue eyes.

"I'm... I'm afraid of Nesta and Elain... And Rhys," you admitted, looking at the floor.

Feyre sighed. "I'm sorry about what I had him do, Y/N. I really, truly am. You were just so panicked and talking-" Feyre paused to close her eyes, one tear making its way down her cheek. "Hearing you explain how you were feeling, I wanted you to have time to calm down some. I didn't... I didnt know how horribly you feel living here, Y/N."

It was your turn to sigh. "If... If you get Nesta and Elain to behave- or at least not say anything nasty to me- I will come to dinner."

"Really?" Feyre asked, her watery eyes looking into yours. "I was already able to convince Elain to bake a cake for you- your favorite, white chocolate raspberry. And Nuala and Cerridwen were more than happy to make your favorites."

Your heart lifted in your chest. "You really planned a dinner for me?" You asked hopefully, willing them to not be crushed.

"I did, Y/N. It's the least I could do, with everything I haven't been doing."

You nearly reached for her, to pull her into a hug. But-

You were still afraid, still upset at being kept in Velaris.

She would have to earn your trust back.

"Thank you, Feyre. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Feyre nodded at you, a small smile on her face. She turned to leave, but paused before she did, as though she wanted to say something else. Instead, she left your room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Dinner tomorrow...

You sighed. It will be fine. It has to be.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next morning, you woke with an awful cramping in your stomach, your body feeling slightly like you had the flu.

One use of the restroom proved that was not so.

Your cycle had come.

On your birthday. Just your luck.

Thankfully you had woken early enough that Mor was likely still sleeping, the sun's rays just barely peeking over the horizon.

You could take a bath. A nice, scalding bath to soothe the aches of your cycle. And you did just that, soaking in the water until the sun had risen.

Still, you felt dirty climbing out of the bath. Every cycle, you felt more and more disgusting with each vile look Nesta and Elain would throw at you.

Nesta and Elain... You would have to see them today.

Tears filled your eyes at the thought of dealing with them later.

At least you would still have your morning with Mor.

You finished dressing just before Mor arrived, tying your dressing gown as she knocked on your door.

"Good morning, Y/N," she said after you let her in, her arms filled with the usual fare. "Do you want a pain potion or anything, sweets?" Mor asked after she set the tray down on your bed.

"No, I'll manage fine," you said, still disappointed that everyone else can scent your cycle.

Mor nodded her head in understanding. "Well, if you change your mind, feel free to come to me for one. I know your cycles aren't quite like mine, but they're painful nonetheless. But for now, Y/N, I'd like to wish you a very happy birthday. Feyre says you're turning twenty?"

You bobbed your head in confirmation as the two of you took your seats on your bed. "Yes, we're just a few days under a year age difference." Mor poured out tea for the both of you, today it was your favorite lavender and chamomile blend. "Do you... Do you know what Feyre has planned for this evening?" You asked nervously.

If you knew what to expect, maybe it wouldn't be as bad.

"Well, there's the dinner, obviously, and I do believe that we all got you a gift- at least I did, and Elain made a delicious looking cake for you! I do think that's all, though, Feyre thought you wouldn't like a huge celebration right now."

"Feyre would be right... I'm nervous enough as it is..."

Mor smiled softly at you. "You know what will help with that?"

"What?"

"Doing our skincare! It'll get your mind off of tonight!"

You shook your head at her. "I should've guessed, Mor," you laughed, but followed her into the bathroom anyways.

And Mor was right, as she usually was.

The two of you dozed off on your bed while you had masks on, only waking up once Mor accidentally kicked you in her sleep.

The two of you were still giggly by the time she left your room, your spirits much higher thanks to the lovely blonde that had become your friend over the past week.

By the time dinner rolled around, you were cramping more than before, and feeling absolutely exhausted from keeping yourself awake all day.

You hadn't realized how tiring just being awake was, even with your mind traveling back to that little cottage for most of the day.

Still, you bathed once more, a quick one this time, and dressed in a modest, dark green dress.

Now the difficult part... Making it downstairs. In the daytime.

Your hand rested on the doorknob longer than you cared to admit, your body warring with your mind, knowing who was waiting downstairs.

You managed to get out of your room, very slowly making your way downstairs as dread filled your stomach.

Surely Feyre could get your sisters to behave for one night, right?

The dining room of the River House was packed when you finally entered, the entire Inner Circle being present along with Nuala and Cerridwen.

Good- two extra friendly faces could never hurt.

"Y/N!" Feyre exclaimed when she spotted you, and she quickly made her way over to you. Her hands clasped yours. "I'm so glad you came down, sissy," Feyre said, using the old nickname she had given you.

"Me too," you replied, only half meaning it.

"Well, dinner is just about ready if you want to take a seat. Mor and I saved a seat between us for you, if you'd like?" You nodded and let her lead you to your chair, which was next to an excitedly bouncing blonde.

"I can't wait to give you your presents, Y/N. I think that mine are the best!" She boasted.

Your nose crinkled as you smiled at her enthusiasm. "I'm sure everyone's presents are nice, Mor."

"Yes, but mine are the best. You'll see after dinner."

"I'm sure I will..." You said quietly, and it was then that you noticed the eyes on you.

All of the eyes on you.

Nesta was looking at you like she wanted to stab you, or perhaps burn you alive with her silver flames. Elain's look had less outright hatred, but hurt all the same.

Still, they said nothing.

Thankfully, Rhys's eyes looked more concerned than angry, as they had been the last time you had seen him.

You turned your eyes to your plate. White porcelain with delicate silver flowers painted onto the rim. Pretty.

"So, what all do you want?" Mor asked a few minutes later, drawing you back into the present.

You looked up and noticed that dinner had been served, all of your favorite dishes that Nuala and Cerridwen had made for you since you met them on the table.

"A little bit of everything...?" You said, unsure if that would be okay. No one stopped Mor from loading up your plate with a whole lot of everything, leaving you with a dauntingly full dish set in front of you.

There was no way you could eat all of that in one go, with the way you had been eating... Or rather, avoiding eating recently. The most consistent meals you had were your small breakfasts with Mor.

You resolved yourself to eat a small amount of each, and see how you feel then. After all, there was still Elain's best cake to have later.

The dinner was more pleasant than any you remembered, though you hardly spoke to anyone. Mor and Feyre seemed to have picked up on how anxious you were, both of them touching your arm or hand to draw you back to the moment when you stared at your plate too long.

But then it was time to retire to the living room, you seated on the couch across from the fireplace that you had avoided for so long now...

Gifts were given, more than you had anticipated.

Feyre, Elain, and Nesta had all gotten you cookbooks. Feyre's was of traditional Night Court recipes, your favorites marked with bookmarks. Elain had gotten you one on desserts of the Solar Courts. And Nesta had gotten you a book of soup recipes.

All of them would be thoughtful... If they had taught you to read.

Still, you smiled when you opened each one and said thank you, though your heart had sank lower at the reminder that they had forgotten your illiteracy, had forgotten that you barely knew your letters, if that.

Amren's present was next, a pretty set of pink opal jewelry. You smiled at the tiny fae, barely managing to meet her eyes. She was still... unsettling, though she had never done anything to you.

Then Rhys presented his, a book of human fables, explaining that Feyre had mentioned how much you had adored them as a child.

That much was true, but... It was the same problem as with the cookbooks. You thanked him but refused to meet his eyes.

Cassian was next, who had gotten you a box of sweets from the chocolate shop you had gone to a few times, all of them ones that you had ordered more than once. It was thoughtful enough, and you knew if he'd gotten a more personal gift, Nesta might have...

You didn't want to think about that.

Azriel was next after Mor told him that she would be presenting her presents last no matter what. He had gotten you a beautiful teapot and set of teacups, all enchanted to keep the tea at the perfect temperature for up to twelve hours. The bottom was a pale pink that faded into white at the top, with delicate irises painted on the sides. It was perfect.

Along with it, he presented you with a large box of different tea samples.

"Whichever ones you enjoy, let me know and I will buy you full sizes of them, alright?" Azriel asked after presenting you with it, and you nodded in agreement. "Thank you, Azriel."

There were at least ten teas you had never tried before, though these were all from a store that you had never been to.

To say you were excited for all of the new flavors would be an understatement.

Mor sighed after seeing his present. "Mine ties for first, I suppose... Here, Y/N," she said, handing over a large box to you.

You opened it, eyes widening at what was inside. It contained a beautiful pink bedding set, all of the fabric so soft to the touch you wanted to bury yourself in it the moment you felt it. There was a second blanket, one that was buttery soft and in a pale purple.

These would be a wonderful addition to your bedding.

"And... Here," Mor said as she gave you a large bag, this one filled to the brim with skincare and makeup products. "I wanted you to be able to keep up the routine, even while I'm gone. And I picked out some shades I thought would look pretty with your skin tone."

"Thank you, Mor." You leaned over to hug your friend who was seated next to you, so happy that she had thought of you so much.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N."

A few moments later, your presents were covered in shadows before disappearing, and you looked to Azriel.

"They're in your room, I thought it would be easier to have them taken up for you," was his answer. You nodded in acknowledgement.

"How about cake now?" Feyre said excitedly, clapping her hands together as she stood. "Elain, come help me?"

Elain started to follow Feyre, but as Feyre passed Cassian he held out a hand to stop her, nose tilted to the air.

"Feyre... Is...?" He took a few more deep sniffs. "Oh mother, are you pregnant?!" He asked, standing up and embracing her before she could confirm or deny.

"Oh, Feyre, congratulations!" Elain exclaimed, the next to hug her.

"Yes, yes, I'm pregnant," Feyre said shyly. "I wasn't planning to-"

"We have to celebrate!" Cassian announced, already pulling Feyre into the kitchen where everyone else followed.

You were excited for your sister, of course you were... But it stung, seeing the first time you had seen everyone in so long become a celebration of Feyre so quickly.

You said a quick congratulations to Feyre, though you weren't sure she heard you over the tenfold increased volume in the kitchen.

Then you made your way upstairs, back to your room, back to your bathtub.

At least you had a new blanket to keep you company, and new tea to have the next time you woke.

So you settled in, snuggling down into your now cozier makeshift bed. There was less fear in your heart, now that the obligation of seeing people was over. But the cramps were ripping through you, causing you to curl in tightly on yourself. Maybe you should have asked Mor for a potion after all...

Until you drifted off, you could hear them celebrating below, another reminder of how out of place you still feel.

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[sinofwriting]

Wet Dream - Max Verstappen

Words: 360

Note(s): NSFW

Secret A-Z Prompt Request: W (for Wet Dream)

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Max isn’t too sure what happened while he was asleep, but something had to have happened. 

He’s never seen his girlfriend this… mad, irritated, frustrated, whatever word you want to use and she’s been that way since before he woke up. 

The only thing he knows is that it’s not him she’s upset with. Despite her grumpy cute little frown and slightly louder footsteps, she’s still been her. 

She kissed him when he woke up and stumbled out to the kitchen. Ran her fingers through his hair as he grabbed a Red Bull. Rubbed at his shoulders as he sat down to think about what he wanted for breakfast. 

But it’s been nearly three hours since he woke up, closer to four probably since she woke up from how cold the bed felt. And he can’t help but want to help her. 

He catches her by the wrist as she starts to walk by him, hand easily sliding up to her forearm and he pulls, thighs spreading a little as she lands in his lap. 

“What’s going on?” Max is direct, one of his hands going to settle on her waist before moving just a bit lower, unable to help himself. 

She sighs, seemingly falling forward and pressing her face into his neck, and he cranes his neck to accommodate the movement. “I had a wet dream.” 

His eyebrows raise, fingers twitching. 

“But, I don’t remember it.” Her voice is a slight whine and her face is leaving the space of his neck. “And, I know it was good, like really good. But I woke up and it was just gone.” 

“I’m sorry, Schat. Not a single idea?” His fingers tap against her waist.

She shakes her head. “Not one.” 

“What if I list some ideas?” 

Her breath hitches at the low tone of his voice. 

As Max begins to speak, listing off idea after idea, each filthier than the last, her breathing continues to pick up, but it’s only after the sixth one that her hips move and Max’s eyes light up with success. 

“Well, I think we found the one.” 

And the dream comes flooding back to her.

[rianemorgan]

Title: Stealing HER Fate

Summary: In an alternate take on the Miraculous Ladybug universe, an outsider wakes up in Marinette's world and steals her fate as Ladybug, determined to claim the life and destiny that wasn’t hers. With manipulative cunning, the reader becomes Paris’ celebrated heroine, earning Adrien’s love and the world’s admiration while ensuring Marinette never steps into the role of Ladybug across all timelines.

⚠️ Warnings ⚠️

Gaslighting and manipulation, Villainous protagonist, Bittersweet outcomes,and Character alteration and reimagination.

Word Count: 3,718

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You never expected to wake up in Paris—not the Paris you knew, but a version straight out of a TV screen. The last thing you remembered was falling asleep after yet another late-night binge of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir, grumbling about how Marinette didn’t deserve the Miraculous of the Ladybug. She was clumsy, obsessive, and a borderline stalker when it came to Adrien.

“She doesn’t deserve it,” you’d mutter to yourself, turning off the screen. “I could do so much better.”

When you woke up, everything felt… different.

You weren’t in your bed, in your small, cozy apartment back in your real life. Instead, you were in a room you didn’t recognize, adorned with pictures of a family you’d never seen before. The soft morning light seeped through lacy curtains, and outside, the faint sound of Parisian streets hummed. Paris.

No. It couldn’t be.

You bolted upright, scanning the room. It was utterly surreal, yet painfully familiar. The pictures of the Eiffel Tower, the smell of croissants wafting through the house—this was Paris. But it wasn’t your Paris. It was the Paris of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

You stumbled to the mirror, half-expecting to see your usual face. But no, it was still you, albeit… younger. A moment of panic set in, but the surreal reality quickly overtook it. Somehow, impossibly, you were in the Miraculous universe. And if you were here, you knew exactly what was going to happen next.

Your initial excitement quickly morphed into envy. Marinette, in all her awkwardness, was destined to become the heroine, to wield the Ladybug Miraculous and save Paris. But why? You were smarter, more decisive, and less distracted. If anyone deserved that kind of power, it was you.

And then you realized—you could take it.

The memory of the Origins episode was fresh in your mind. Master Fu would soon be in trouble, and Marinette was supposed to save him. But if you acted first, you could claim the Miraculous and rewrite destiny itself.

The plan was simple: stay close to Marinette, wait for the right moment, and steal her fate.

That morning, your new parents—kind strangers who felt oddly warm—called you down to breakfast. They smiled as though you’d always been their child, and while it was disconcerting, you played along. Over croissants and jam, your mother handed you a small box of mooncake. “For your first day at your new school,” she said with a smile.

You nodded, murmuring your thanks. But your mind was already racing. You knew the plot. You knew what today would bring. You were determined to take the chance Marinette was supposed to have. After all, why not? If fate had given you this opportunity, then wasn’t it meant to be yours?

The streets of Paris were just as lively as you imagined, the sights both foreign and familiar. You approached the school with your cookies in hand, keeping an eye out for the key moment.

At the crosswalk, you saw him: Master Fu, the elderly guardian of the Miraculouses, hobbling across the street. You watched from a distance, your heart pounding as you spotted the scene unfolding. This was the moment. This was where Marinette was supposed to step in.  

But not today.

You ran forward, reaching him just in time. “Sir, watch out!” you shouted, grabbing his arm and pulling him to safety. The car whizzed by, the driver honking angrily.

Master Fu looked up at you with a warm, grateful smile. “Thank you, young lady. That was very brave of you.”

You smiled warmly, masking your inner glee. “It was nothing, sir. Are you okay?”

He nodded, adjusting his cane. He wobbled precariously, and you helped steady  him. “Here, let me help you,” you said, guiding him to the sidewalk.

“That’s very kind of you,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude.

You noticed Marinette standing a few steps away, her box of macarons clutched tightly. She had seen the whole thing, but she hadn’t had a chance to act. You shot her a quick glance, a small smirk playing on your lips.

Would you like one of these?” you asked, pulling a mooncake from the box and handing it to Master Fu.

“Thank you,” he said, taking it with a smile. “You’re a very thoughtful young lady.”

Marinette hesitated, her eyes darting between you and Master Fu. “Um… I was going to—”

“Oh, were you?” you interrupted, feigning surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Marinette frowned but didn’t respond. She tightened her grip on her macarons and walked away, her excitement from earlier dimmed.

As you made your way to school, a flicker of guilt passed through you. You now destroy Marinette’s chance to be Ladybug. No. You stole her chance to be Ladybug. But she didn’t need to be Ladybug. You were here now, and you would be better.

The classroom buzzed with energy as you entered. Marinette Dupain-Cheng sat near the front, she stares at you but quickly looks away. It's obvious she didn’t like you when a frown curved her mouth. You didn’t care, you're not here to be friends with her anyways. You took a seat a few rows away, watching as the class dynamics played out like clockwork: Chloé Bourgeois asserting her dominance, and Alya standing up for Marinette, But your focus was elsewhere. Your mind was on what would come later.

Later that day, the akuma attack on Stoneheart interrupted class. You feigned fear like everyone else, though inside, you were buzzing with anticipation. This was how the story began.

Because of what happened, school was suspended, sending every student back to the safety of their homes. You returned home to find a small ornate box on your desk. You opened it with trembling hands, revealing the Ladybug Miraculous. Tikki appeared, her tiny figure glowing with excitement.

You fake shout in surprise, asking what she is.

“Hello! I’m Tikki, your kwami. And Y/N, you’ve been chosen to wield the Ladybug Miraculous and protect Paris!”

You feigned shock, though inwardly you were thrilled. “Me? Are you sure? I’m just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

Tikki’s eyes sparkled. “You can. I believe in you. You have the courage and heart to protect Paris! Just wear the earring and say the phrase: Spots On!”

Meanwhile, Marinette couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Her first day had started with such promise, but it had ended with a strange, gnawing emptiness.

She vented to Alya the next day. “It’s just… that girl, she swooped in and saved that man. I wanted to help, but she just… took over.”

Alya raised an eyebrow. “You mean Y/N? I don’t know her that well, but she seemed nice enough. Maybe you’re just thinking too much about it, Marinette.”

Marinette frowned. “Maybe…”

But the doubt lingered.

The battle against Stoneheart played out just as you had anticipated, though with one key difference: you were in control and you already knew what to do. With the help of Chat Noir, you used your Lucky Charm to defeat the villain and purify the akuma, restoring Ivan to normal.

The people of Paris cheered as you stood victorious. You had done it. You were Ladybug.

Days turned into weeks, and you quickly became the perfect hero Paris needed. You saved the city countless times, each victory cementing your role as its protector. Fighting alongside Chat Noir was exhilarating. The people adored you, showering you with praise and gratitude.

But Marinette hated you. She didn’t hide it, either. She avoided you at school, her glares sharp enough to cut glass whenever you crossed paths.

You returned the sentiment. Marinette’s bitterness annoys you to no end. 

“I know you’re hiding something!! You’re not what they say you are!” Marinette snapped one day after school. “I know it!! You stole something from me!!

You smirked, leaning against a wall. “I don’t know what you're talking about Marinette, you can’t just convict me without evidence~ who knows I might slip and suddenly post this to the internet~” You said whilst holding a phone with evidence of Marinette stalking adrien.

Her face turned a lot more pale than it already was, her hands balled into fists, but she said nothing, storming off.

Despite your animosity, you excelled as Ladybug. Every akuma was defeated swiftly, every crisis averted. You were meticulous, calculating, and unyielding. Where Marinette would have hesitated, you acted decisively. 

Paris flourished under your protection, and even Chat Noir—still oblivious to your identity—admired your skill and determination. 

“You’re amazing, Ladybug,” Chat said one night after a battle. “I can’t imagine anyone else doing what you do.”

You smiled, leaning casually against a rooftop ledge. “Thanks, Chat. It’s nice to hear that.”

But deep down, you knew the truth. You hadn’t just stolen Marinette’s fate—you’d rewritten it entirely. And while guilt occasionally gnawed at you, the adoration of Paris drowned it out.

This was your destiny now, and you wouldn’t let anyone take it from you.

Marinette remained an ordinary girl, but something in her seemed to shift. She began to grow more suspicious of you, plagued by dreams where she was Ladybug.

The dreams started weeks later. Marinette woke up in a cold sweat, her heart pounding. In her dreams, she was Ladybug—fighting akumas, swinging through the city, standing beside Chat Noir.

“I am Ladybug..”

But when she woke up, reality hit her like a brick wall. That wasn’t her life. It was yours.

“No!! I am supposed to be Ladybug!!”

Confused and angry, she cornered you one day after class, eyes blazing with determination. “I know,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “I know I was supposed to be Ladybug.”

You tilted your head, a cold smile playing on your lips. “Oh? And what makes you think that?”

“It feels real,” she insisted. “Like it’s a memory, not just a dream. No. I know it's real!! I am Ladybug!! You stole it from me! You're a thief Y/N!!”

You stepped closer, your voice dropping to a low, mocking tone. “Maybe I did. and Maybe I am. But let’s face it, Marinette—you’re no hero. You’re obsessive, and distracted by your crush on Adrien. Your stalker behavior is not something a heroine should possess. Paris deserves better, and that’s me. I already have the Miraculous, and doing a REALLY GREAT job at it, what makes you think you deserve it anymore??”

Her face flushed with anger, but she had no response. You walked away, triumphant. The Miraculous was no longer hers to claim, and you will make sure it stayed that way.

Paris sparkled under the moonlight as you stood on the Eiffel Tower, gazing over the city you had come to love—and rule as its heroine. With the weight of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Guardianship on your shoulders, you felt untouchable.

That was until a glowing portal split the sky open.

Out stepped Bunnix, her expression hard and accusing. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk, Ladybug.”

You crossed your arms, feigning nonchalance. “Bunnix. To what do I owe the pleasure of a time traveler’s visit?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Cut the act. You know why I’m here.”

Chat Noir appeared at your side, his baton at the ready. “What’s going on, Bunnix? You seem… tense.”

Bunnix pointed at you. “She’s not supposed to be Ladybug.”

Chat Noir blinked, stepping protectively in front of you. “What are you talking about? She’s Ladybug. She’s saved Paris more times than we can count!”

“She’s not supposed to be here,” she said, her voice sharp as her glowing portal shimmered behind her. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng was supposed to be Ladybug. This version of reality shouldn’t exist! You’ve disrupted everything!”

You crossed your arms, unfazed. “Paris is safe, isn’t it? I’ve done my job. Heck I even did a good job saving this world”

Bunnix stepped closer, her tone accusatory. “You’ve changed it, I’ve seen it. Marinette was supposed to save Master Fu. She was supposed to receive the Miraculous. But you—you interfered. You stole her destiny!!”

Chat Noir stood protectively in front of you. “Hey, back off. Ladybug’s saved this city countless times. Who cares what was ‘supposed’ to happen and who can receive the Miraculous?!”

Bunnix glared at you both. “This isn’t just about this world. The timelines are unraveling because of her!”

You smirked, letting your mask of innocence drop. You gently push Chat noir aside, stepping closer to Bunnix.

“It doesn’t matter what was supposed to happen. I’m Ladybug now. I’m the Guardian, the center of this world. And if Chat Noir protecting me despite what I did isn’t proof enough that her fate as Ladybug now officially belongs to me… *smirk* Haven’t realized it yet? This world is now synchronizing with me, just like how a world favors the protagonist… Marinette wasn’t fit for this responsibility, and I made sure Paris got the hero it deserves. And unfortunately for her, this world agrees, whether you like it or not~” You whispered lowly to her

Bunnix clenched her fists. “You’ve broken the balance. Do you realize what you’ve done? The entire multiverse is at risk!”

You shrugged. “Then I’ll fix it. As the Guardian, I have authority over all the Miraculouses, including yours.”

Bunnix’s eyes widened in realization. “You wouldn’t—”

With a wave of your hand, you summoned the Bunny Miraculous. The portal behind Bunnix flickered and closed as her powers were stripped away. She staggered, powerless, and glared at you with fury.

“You can’t do this!” she shouted as she was returned to the timeline she came from.

“Oh, I can,” you said, your voice icy. “And I will.”

 You donned the Bunny Miraculous and rewrote reality, ensuring Marinette never became Ladybug in any timeline.

You stood tall, the portal you had summoned with Fluff's guidance shimmered with an ethereal glow, its swirling energies casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the rooftop. Beside you, Chat Noir’s green eyes were filled with uncertainty, a rare crack in his usually confident demeanor.

“Ladybug,” Chat Noir said softly, his voice almost pleading, “are you sure this is the right thing to do? I trust you, but... tampering with time feels... dangerous.”

You turned to him, a small, serene smile gracing your lips, the halo of your presence making him instinctively relax. The effect was subtle but undeniable—your words carried weight, as though the universe itself bent to support you. This power, this influence, wasn’t yours initially. You had stolen it, just like Marinette’s fate. But now, it was yours, and you wielded it masterfully.

“Chat Noir,” you began, your voice steady and filled with conviction, “this isn’t about what’s easy. It’s about what’s necessary.”

“But the timeline—changing things could destroy—”

“Destroy what, exactly?” you interrupted gently, your tone laced with practiced sincerity. “I’ve already disrupted it simply by being here. If I don’t act now, the balance will collapse entirely. I’ll vanish, Chat. We’ll vanish.”

He froze, his hands clenching tightly around his staff. “Vanish? What do you mean?”

Your expression softened, your red eyes glistening with what seemed like vulnerability. “I wasn’t meant to be here, remember? If the universe realizes I don’t belong, it’ll correct itself—and I’ll disappear, taking everything we’ve built with me. Paris will lose its Ladybug. You’ll lose me, Chat.”

The thought seemed to strike him deeply. His jaw tensed, his emerald gaze flickering with desperation. “I can’t let that happen. But why go to every timeline? Why stop... Marinette?”

You reached out, placing a gloved hand on his cheek. The gesture was intimate, calculated. “Because Marinette was never meant to have this power. She wasn’t strong enough. Look at what I’ve accomplished, Chat. Paris has never been safer. The people trust us, they trust me. Can you imagine what would’ve happened if someone weaker had been given this responsibility? She would’ve crumbled under the pressure, endangering everyone.”

Chat Noir looked away, guilt and hesitation written all over his face. “But... Marinette never seemed... bad.”

You tilted his chin back to face you, your voice a quiet murmur, dripping with affection and manipulation. “That’s because you don’t know what she would’ve done with this power. Trust me, Chat. I’m not doing this for myself—I’m doing it for Paris. For us.”

His resolve wavered, the pull of your halo overwhelming his doubts. The world revolved around you now, and it was only natural that he would follow your lead.

“I don’t want to lose you, Ladybug,” he finally admitted, his voice barely audible.

“You won’t,” you assured him, your fingers brushing against his. “But I need you to trust me. Together, we’ll ensure that this world—and every other—is safe and whole. I’ll fix everything. I promise.”

With a reluctant nod, Chat Noir stepped back, his staff lowering in submission. “I trust you, Milady. Always.”

The portal grew brighter, illuminating your face with a crimson glow as you stepped forward. Inwardly, you reveled in your triumph. This wasn’t just about fixing timelines or ensuring balance—it was about solidifying your place as the center of this world. The Ladybug. The hero. The one who mattered most.

Marinette would never again have the chance to be Ladybug, not in this timeline or any other. The universes would belong to you now. With one last glance at Chat Noir, you stepped through the portal, ready to rewrite reality itself.

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ADDITIONAL SCENARIO:

The sky above Paris was a canvas of pink and gold hues, a fitting backdrop for the triumphant end of an era. Hawkmoth had been defeated, his Miraculous reclaimed, and the balance of power restored. The Miracle Box was secured, its treasures now beyond the reach of those who would misuse them. For the first time in years, Paris was at peace, its people celebrating the heroes who had brought them here.

Standing atop the Eiffel Tower, you gazed over the city with Adrien by your side. The red and black of your Ladybug suit shimmered faintly in the setting sunlight, a symbol now synonymous with victory, hope, and resilience. Adrien, still in his Chat Noir guise but no longer bearing the same burdens, looked at you with admiration.

“You did it,” he said softly, a smile spreading across his face. “Ladybug, you saved everyone.”

The words should have brought unmitigated joy, and they did—partially. The world was safe, and Paris adored you. People cheered as your identity was revealed, their faith in their heroine unshaken. Even Adrien, your partner in battle and in life, stood unwaveringly by your side, his pride in you radiating like the sun.

Yet, beneath the surface, you couldn’t quite shake an unfamiliar tension. It wasn’t guilt, not exactly. It was a feeling you couldn’t name, a quiet unease that lingered despite the cheers and celebrations.

“Do you think it’s really over?” you asked, your voice barely louder than the wind.

Adrien’s hand found yours, squeezing gently. “It’s over, my Lady. You’ve done more than anyone could have ever asked for. Paris, no—the world owes you everything.” His green eyes met yours, filled with warmth and certainty. “I owe you everything.”

His words should have been enough, and in many ways, they were. You leaned against him, allowing the comfort of his presence to settle over you.

The streets below were alive with celebration. Parisians rejoiced, the weight of fear and uncertainty finally lifted. Even beyond Paris, the world had embraced you as their Ladybug, their symbol of hope. For the first time, everything felt aligned, as though the universe itself had recognized your place at its center.

And yet, in the quiet moments between Adrien’s reassurances and the city’s applause, that tension remained.

Elsewhere in Paris, Marinette sat on the balcony of her cozy apartment, a faint smile playing on her lips as she watched Luka strum his guitar. The melody was soft and soothing, wrapping around her like a warm embrace.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” she said, her voice wistful but not bitter.

Luka glanced up, his expression calm and understanding. “The city is safe now. That’s what matters.”

She nodded, her gaze drifting to the distant Eiffel Tower. She didn’t envy you—not entirely. She had carved out a life for herself, a happy one. The bakery was thriving, her designs were starting to gain recognition, and Luka’s steady presence brought her a sense of peace she hadn’t known she needed.

But deep down, there was an ache she couldn’t quite ignore. She had once dreamed of being Ladybug, of carrying the weight of the Miraculous and protecting Paris. That dream had been taken from her, rewritten in a way she couldn’t change. And while she didn’t begrudge your success—how could she? You had saved them all—there was a part of her that mourned what might have been.

“Do you think she’s happy?” Marinette asked suddenly, surprising even herself.

Luka’s fingers paused on the strings. “I think she did what she believed was right,” he said after a moment. “And I think she’s still figuring out what happiness looks like.”

Marinette nodded, her faint smile returning. It wasn’t the life she had imagined, but it was hers. And with Luka by her side, she could find contentment in that.

Back atop the Eiffel Tower, you stood with Adrien as the last rays of sunlight disappeared, casting the city in twilight. Paris was happy. The world was happy. And you were, too—or at least, you told yourself you were.

“Do you feel it?” Adrien asked, breaking the silence.

“Feel what?”

“The peace,” he said with a soft laugh. “It’s overwhelming. I’ve never seen Paris like this.”

You smiled, his words grounding you. “It’s everything I worked for.”

“And you deserve it,” he said firmly, pulling you into an embrace. “You deserve all of it.”

The weight of his belief in you was as comforting as it was daunting. For now, you let yourself believe it, let yourself bask in the happiness you had fought so hard to create.

Paris was safe, and you were its hero. The world had accepted you, embraced you, celebrated you. Yet, as you looked out over the city, the faint tension lingered—a quiet reminder that even in victory, some battles are never truly won.

THE END

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ ex-boyfriend's dad!nanami, half-asleep and groggy, can't wrestle the door open fast enough, the digital clock on the microwave stubbornly displaying a blurry 3:17 am. he can't fathom who'd be pounding on his door at this ungodly hour, but there you are, bathed in the faint glow of the porch light.

oh, he knows you. his son's girlfriend. he's seen you around, talked to you a handful of times. frankly, he can't wrap his head around what someone like you sees in his utterly unremarkable son.

you're undeniably beautiful. those short, playful skirts you favor do a remarkable job of accentuating the curve of your cute ass, a view he can't help but admire more than once, a secret indulgence that brings a flicker of shame.

your hair falls over your shoulders, a glossy curtain against the soft rise of your breasts. and unlike his son, you possess a genuine spark, an intelligence that shines in your eyes.

you're smart, too. he overhears snippets of conversations about your academic achievements, your post-college plans for the future. he knows you're destined for great things, he feels it.

tonight, however, a different set of emotions plays across your features. your eyebrows are drawn together in a tight line, your eyes wide and a little frantic, your cheeks flushed with an unexpected heat. you seem surprised to see him, as if you haven't fully registered he'd be here.

you’ve always liked nanami, though. what isn't to like? he possesses a quiet kindness, a gentle strength, and the fact that he's great to look at. clad often in a partially buttoned dress shirt, the sleeves pulled taut around his impressive biceps, sometimes paired with a tie (that you wouldn't mind having wrapped around your own neck…).

his gaze, a little guilty, slides down your body, taking in the tight, shimmering fabric of your party dress. the faint but distinct scent of alcohol that clings to you confirms his suspicions about your evening.

a soft “oh, shit,” and a mumbled apology escape your lips. beneath the surface of your distress, he detects an edge of anger. what fresh catastrophe has his son managed to work up this time?

nanami can't leave you standing there, a gorgeous, tipsy thing alone in the dark. it isn't the way he was raised, nor the values he’s desperately tried (and clearly failed) to instill in his disappointing offspring.

he gently guides you inside, his hand a warm pressure on the small of your back, firmly suggesting you won’t be driving anywhere tonight. your flushed cheeks deepen at his unspoken disapproval.

“what are you even doing here?” he asks, his voice a low, steady rumble as he places a tall glass of water on the coffee table, a silent directive to drink it all.

“forgot he… forgot he lives with you,” you murmur, a wave of belated embarrassment washing over you. how pathetic. you’ve actually thought… what? that your useless ex would be home? alone?

nanami settles beside you on the worn couch, his presence a quiet anchor as you haltingly recount the messy details of your boyfriend’s infidelity, the news delivered by the oblivious other woman.

“i thought he’d be at home, or something. you know, i hear from… from his fucking side-chick. she doesn’t didn't know about me, i can’t even be mad at her. he says he…”

your voice trails off, your thoughts momentarily lost as you become acutely aware of the casual brush of nanami’s fingers against your bare thigh. it starts innocently enough, a comforting touch, but then it lingers, a slow, deliberate path upwards.

you haven't registered how your dress has bunched around thighs in your agitated state, but he has. nanami's eyes flicker downwards, his tongue running over his lips.

“you can keep talking,” he murmurs, his voice a low, husky sound that sends a shiver across your skin.

“um, well…” your eyelids grow heavy, your head tilting back against the plush headrest. “he just… he isn’t that great, anyway,” you whisper, unsure of whether to be slandering his son, while he's actively feeling you up.

you get an idea that he doesn't care much, though.

it feels surreal, confessing your relationship woes to your ex-boyfriend’s father while his hand is venturing further north.

before you can fully process the shift, his fingers slip beneath the hem of your dress, the cool touch sending a jolt through you. he nudges aside the delicate lace of your panties, his fingertips pressing against the slick heat between your legs. a gasp hitches in your throat.

“yeah? then why don’t you leave him?” nanami presses, his voice thick with a low groan as a soft whimper escapes your lips. his fingers begin to move, a slow, deliberate thrust that makes you arch slightly.

your eyes flutter open, just enough to meet his intense gaze. “what excuse do i use to see you, if i do?” the confession hangs in the air, thick with an unspoken desire.

“shit, sweetheart,” he mutters, his words swallowed by the wet, squelching sounds that fill the quiet house. his fingers deepen their exploration, stroking and teasing the sensitive nub hidden within your folds.

you cry out softly, your hips lifting involuntarily as he finds a rhythm that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. he tastes the sweetness on his fingertips as he brings you to a shuddering climax, then another, and a third, each one pulling a desperate moan from your throat until you finally collapse against him, breathless and utterly spent.

you'd been planning to key that cheater's car, but now, in complete honesty, you might thank him. besides, fucking his dad is enough revenge.

[thimbleandakiss]

You Shouldn't Be Here

Hufflepuff!Reader x Fred Weasley

Summary: After a rough night, you sneak into Gryffindor Tower to bug your sleepy boyfriend.

Content: Fluff, mild angst, mild cursing, and Umbridge hate

Cross-posted on Ao3

"Bloody hell- what in Merlin's name-"

You quickly covered his mouth with your hand, grinning lopsidedly. 

"Shhh, Freddie," You hush with a small giggle, "You'll wake the others." 

You'd ensured the crimson curtains were drawn tight around Fred's fourposter, but there was only so much privacy fabric could provide. 

Fred grabbed hold of your wrist and effortlessly pulled it away from his mouth. He pressed a quick kiss to your knuckles before giving you an incredulous look. 

"What time is it, love?" He grumbled. 

"Oh, not long after one o'clock," You replied casually.

"And you're in Gryffindor Tower." 

You nodded, looking quite pleased with yourself, "Yes."

"...But you're Hufflepuff."

"And?"

"You shouldn't be here."

You raised a single eyebrow which probably couldn't be seen well in the gloom. "Are you, Fred Weasley, complaining about me breaking school rules?"

He huffed and shifted his weight, so he's sitting up just a little on the headboard while you straddled lap. His hands rested casually on your hips, thumbs mindlessly stroking the curve of the bone and your own arms slung across his shoulders. 

"No, not at all, love, it's just-" He sighed, "With that foul Umbridge woman running amok, consequences are a lot more... permanent."

Even in the low light of his dorm room, you could see the worry that shone in his eyes. Fred was always one for mischief, but he was hesitant to string you along in it. He had no issue whatsoever with throwing himself headfirst into danger, him and George, because they'd be the only ones to suffer the consequences. With you involved? ...He never wanted you hurt. He had this intense urge to keep you protected at all times. So, while he certainly enjoyed the fact that you were willing to bend the rules to be with him and get yourself in trouble just to cause mischief with him, he always found himself personally responsible whenever you got hurt. 

Your expression darkened slightly at the mention of the Professor. Your hands tightened behind his head, and the scars you'd kept hidden there burning like they had when they'd been freshly etched onto your skin. 

"Believe me, Freddie, I'm intimately acquainted with Umbridge's definition of consequences," You muttered, turning your face away slightly. 

Fred tensed beneath you, sitting up a little straighter. "What haven't you told me?" He demanded quietly but firmly. 

You shook your head. "It's nothing important-"

He cut you off and grabbed your chin to force you to look at him. "Bullshit," he said with careful calm. "Don't tell me what I do and don't find important."

The callouses of his hands scraped gently against the skin of your chin, and though his grip was firm, he's always made sure to be gentle. He'd never admit it to your face, but he treated you like the most precious, fragile thing. He'd probably die from the sheer guilt alone if he ever hurt you. 

You swallowed and, staring into his warm brown eyes which reflected the moonlight like stars across his pupils, found yourself unable to lie to him further.

"...I had detention with her today..." You admitted quietly, looking down. 

Fred let out a stream of colorful, and arguably creative, curses, dropping your chin and returning his hand to your hip. "When?" He asked stiffly, the muscles in his jaw working

"I got off and came straight here."

He cursed again. "She kept you there until one in the morning?!" 

You shrugged. "I suppose I have thicker skin than she anticipated," you mumbled with forced casualty. 

"I'm going to kill that woman." A shiver passed up your spine at the sheer conviction with which he spoke. "What was the reason for it?"

"She caught me consoling a second-year student about his own detention. I was trying to use magic to take away the pain. And, as you well know, all magic is now banned in the halls." 

Fred looked downright outraged. "She threw you in detention for comforting a child?" 

Another shrug. "You know Umbridge," You muttered, though it was of little comfort. "I wonder if she's somehow part dementor. She sucks the soul out of everything."

Fred scoffed lightly. Then, he lifted one of his large hands and set it gently on your arm. "Let me see," He asked softly. 

You knew exactly what he was referring to, and withdrew your hand from behind his neck, angling it so the fresh, angry scars caught in the moonlight. They read I must not set a bad example. 

Fred gently rubbed his thumb across the words, a few locks of his ginger hair falling in front of his eyes. Despite the situation, you smiled, loving the sight. With your spare hand, you gently brushed his hair off his forehead, and he glanced at you, his gaze briefly softening. 

"...This is some bloody bullshit," He muttered finally, intertwining your fingers. 

You chuckled softly. You knew he was upset and angry on your behalf, but you couldn't help but find his inability to adequately express it endearing. 

"It's alright, love," you murmured, running your fingers through his hair, "I'm alright."

He looked at you like he seriously doubted this but chose not to say anything. 

There're a few moments of comfortable silence, before you take a breath. "...Can I stay?" You asked hesitantly. 

He once again looked as if he was about to say something then decided against it. He sighed, "You want to?"

You nodded. 

"Alright. You can stay. But I'm not covering your ass if Professor Sprout gets mad at you for breaking curfew." Despite his words, you knew deep down that he would, in fact, try to cover your ass if it came to it.

You smiled gleefully and quickly shucked off your robe and pulled off your yellow and black tie, tossing them to the ground. You both knew George and Lee wouldn't say anything if they saw your clothes on the ground. They'd probably choose to actively avoid the topic. 

Fred reached over to his dresser and grabbed a spare jumper, handing it to you. It was so oversized that, if you stood, it'd reach to your knees. The extra room in the jumper allowed you to unbutton and slide off your school shirt without ever having to be actually shirtless. 

After the white fabric joined the pile on the floor, you leaned forward and settled against Fred's chest as he, too, laid back down, one arm behind his head, and the other wrapped securely around your waist. You lifted your face to smile at him and found him already grinning down at you. Propping yourself up slightly by your forearms, you planted a gentle kiss to his lips, one he happily returned. 

"Goodnight, Freddie," You whispered as you laid your head back down, closing your eyes and listening to his heartbeat. 

"Goodnight, love," He murmured back softly. 

He rubbed his thumb back and forth soothingly against the small of your back, just to let you know that he was still there, still with you. You knew the moment he started losing consciousness, because it was the same moment the reassuring motion ceased. 

It didn't matter much, however, because it wasn't long after that the sound of his soft breathing, and the quiet, comforting strength of his arm around you sent you into a blissful sleep. 

[2neaky]

Black orchid & patchouli has been in the air ever since the bathroom door opened. Sure, it’s died down some. Yet, still, the source of the smell is present.

Just a foot or two away from him.

She’s in her own world, listening only to her thoughts. 

He knows.

He remembers when she told him that getting dressed is her favorite part of the day. It’s during that time she usually turns her brain off, and allows her body to move on autopilot.

It’s the perfect chance to just simply exist for her.

It’s very calming, he understands.

She looks so at peace as she moves. So lost in her own head that she never really realizes that he’s staring.

He always does.

She doesn’t even know that his favorite part of the day is watching her get ready.

Her limbs move with grace; A true vision when she drops her fluffy, white towel to the bed, baring her body to the privacy of this room.

Their bedroom.

When it comes to moisturizing, her routine is always the same: arms first, abdomen, legs, then feet. Being that they’re just reaching the end of winter, gourmand and cozy scents have her preference as of late.

The scent of today is different, however; light, floral, and warm.

He can’t quite catch the notes—maybe there’s a hint of pepper. But, it isn’t offending. Actually, it works just perfectly on her; an added bit of spice to her sweetness.

So entranced by the smell, he doesn’t even realize how long he’s been pondering on it. He’ll have to ask her about that one, he thinks as he recenters his focus.

She’s moved to her stomach, rubbing the body butter into her skin. Off-white slowly melts into warm brown skin as she takes her time to massage it in.

Her palms, flat against her body, keep going in circles. Circling, circling, circling her lower tummy—right below her navel. So tender, gently pressing into the relaxed muscles of her stomach.

The first thought that pops into his head: a baby. 

He almost laughs out loud, it’s so stupid. So ridiculous how such a simple act—his woman taking care of herself—can get him to think of something so intense. So life changing.

It’s scary, the idea of having a family of his own. But … with her? 

That alone settles him. 

If anyone has the potential to be the perfect mother, it’s her. He believes in her. So much.

“Terry?”

Her voice is pure silk. He almost doesn’t hear it.

“Yeah, baby?”

Taking up the small tub of body butter, she outstretches her hand to him. Its sparkling scent fills the air, it’s all he smells.

“Help me, please?”

He looks up from the swirled butter in the tub to warm brown eyes, staring back at him over a shoulder. 

Her back is presented to him. The divot of her spine runs down its middle, tailed by twin dimples at the small of her back.

Below the left dimple, closer to her hip rather than directly under it, is his name in scripted black ink: 𝑹𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒅. 

It’s so tiny, that his thumb covers it every time he holds her there.

And below that is an ass that he feels blessed to see every day. It sits up, the brown skin smooth and unmarred. She’s got subtle hip dips that give way to wide thighs, granting the prettiest pear-shape. 

He can hardly resist the urge to take a bite every time he sees her this way.

“You never ask me for help,” he smirks, scooting towards the bed’s edge to get closer.

“I know, but … I decided to be a little lazy today,” she smiles. 

And he loves when she does. The way the corners of her eyes crinkle up, adding a comforting sense of familiarity and warmth to the expression.

He feels lucky that’s it’s the first thing he sees when he wakes up, and the last thing he sees when he goes to sleep. That’s a smile he’d love for his child to see, growing up.

He’s not letting this one go, huh?

Wordlessly, he sets the tub down in his lap and scoops a dollop up with a finger. Spreading it over his palm, he then rubs both hands together. The smooth butter warms quickly in his hands.

He starts at her shoulder blades, dragging his hands down her skin. He’s careful, trying to mimic her tenderness. It comes so natural to her, evident in the way her body languidly moves. 

He wonders if she can tell that it isn’t the same for him? The pressure he applies is uneven—unsure. His hands move with the weight of his past, one of a former Marine.

Hands trained to be a weapon, now being used to massage lotion into the tender skin of his love.

They’ve been together for so long. These hands have touched every part of her body, more times than he can even think to count. He knows her body so well, yet still feels as though it’s a privilege that she’s allowed him to be apart of her regimen. Her favorite part of her day.

He takes more crème into his hands; this time his hands run down the spout of her spine, fingers molding to the contours of her body. He makes sure to get her sides, too. Can’t leave those dry.

Then he finally gets to the bottom. His fingers start at the small of her back before they slow spread out. His fingers curl ‘round the bones of her hips, thumbs massaging whatever’s left of the crème into her skin.

His hands do one last pass down her back, then he has to pull them away. 

Standing between his legs, she slowly spins, now presenting her front to him. He swallows. 

First, his eyes fall between her legs to fat lips thinly veiled by a trimmed bed of dark curls. Then, they slowly lift to the basin of her stomach, up her torso, through the valley of her breasts, and finally, to her round face.

A grateful smile is on her full lips, the apples of her cheeks lifted, too.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

She smiles at him, still, yet in her eyes there’s contemplation. Her thoughts are rolling over in her head, he can tell. And that’s why he doesn’t pull away—only stays in place, waiting on her next few words.

“You can help me some more, if you want.”

This time, he’s the one smiling, though it’s nowhere near as innocent as hers. Without any objection, he dips a finger back in the tub of lotion and rubs some between his hands.

“Turn around,” he mumbles, matching her quiet volume. 

Each careful step she takes in turning her back to him makes her ass jiggle. And when it’s presented to him once again, he wastes no time making the wide surface shine.

Like a sculptor whose hands mold and shape the clay before them, he kneads the fat with a renewed sense of expertise. He makes sure to cover the fronts of her hips to the flanks of her ass. 

And when he gets those parts, his hands encase her hips and lays two, quick taps to the side of her left cheek. He lets himself smirk, watching the fat ripple.

“Turn around.”

She does it wordlessly, carefully raising her forearms to avoid hitting his head. When they face each other again, he pulls her in close by her waist. Letting temptation win, he presses a smooch right above her belly button.

“Terry,” she giggles.

Wordlessly, he smirks, more so to himself as he sets the tub of lotion to the side.

He gathers more crème onto his hands before they snake behind her, diving for the underside of her bottom. He’s taking his job serious, making sure to moisturize every crevice of skin hidden by a fold—he even lifts it if he has to.

So concentrated on the task, the gentle weight of hands on his shoulders slips by his notice. But, he does realize they’re there when her fingers press into his skin—just as he’s pulls her cheeks apart.

His head cranes up, finding those chocolate brown eyes lower than usual. Much less focused, too.

This time, when he does it again, he doesn’t look away. His fingers reach just a little further, the tips of them barely grazing between her cheeks. His grip gets a little tighter, too, and his hands pull them just a little bit further apart.

For a moment, he holds her open. As the warm air of the room hits her newly exposed parts, her hole clenches. Her pussy even flutters. The reactions her body makes are thoughtless.

And so is the movement of his hand when he swipes a middle finger up her crack, stopping it just over her puckered hole. 

He taps it once. Twice. 

The little thing winks beneath the pad of his finger. His gaze falls to the globes of fat he holds in his big hands. 

“When’s the last time we played back here?”

Shyness bleeds onto her face. She tries to hide it with a lifted shoulder, though the corners of her spreading lips can’t be concealed. 

“A while,” she mumbles.

The sweet sound of a hum made in agreement resounds. Circles of hazel flick upwards to meet her gaze again.

“Yeah … s’been a while, huh? You cleaned good?”

Her heart stammers behind her rib cage. It leaves her almost breathless. 

“Terry,” she warns.

His finger had never moved from that spot. It circles the taught skin. “What? You busy today?”

Her eyes flutter. One of her hands on his shoulders drops to his bicep, giving it a weak squeeze. “Y-yes.”

“Yes to both? And with what?”

As her mouth opens, her words get caught in her throat. That finger applies a soft pressure that sends her pussy into a frenzy.

“Yes, and g-groceries, Terry.” She had almost whined out.

“Aldis not going nowhere.” He smirks up at her.

She shivers, feeling that finger angling to press its tip right at her hole. “The—I don’t want t-to be there when it’s c-crowded.”

He half-shrugs with a clueless frown. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, which only makes him more determined. It seems he hasn’t fully convinced her to abandon her responsibilities, something he’s been too comfortable doing himself since he met her.

“Remember how wet you got last time?” He leans in closer, face just centimeters away from her pussy as he lowers his voice for her to only hear. “I didn’t even touch her.”

The corners of his mouth raise even higher as he looks into her eyes, seeing them glaze over in real-time as her brain replays the distant memory.

“All I did, was play with—“ His finger double-taps at her un-stretched hole again. “You made such a mess. You think you could do that again?”

She dismisses a whimper as she remembers how she felt like a leaking faucet that night. Beneath her, the sheet was a mess, soaked. Her thighs only trembled as her pussy dribbled, globs of slick rolling down its inner-sides.

Her breath hitches, feeling the rough pad of that finger slide back and forth over her. It’s like a splash of cold water, bringing her back to focus.

The gentle musk of her arousal hits his nose. It mixes deliciously with the scent of her crème.

“I’ll get the groceries this week.”

Her eyes almost cross as that finger presses harder against her hole.

“Just lemme do this.”

‘Yes’ and ‘no’ become a blur in her mind. She doesn’t even hear herself when she mumbles the one beginning with ‘y.’

She didn’t think twice about it when he told her to get on the bed, face down and ass to the sky. The position’s got her open and needy. While the water runs distantly in the background, her brain is fuzzy.

All it can do is conjure up thoughts of how far he’ll go this time. There’s only been one time she took his dick through the back, all other times it was his hand. 

She hopes they can turn that one time into two. The thought almost makes her drool into the pillow.

She doesn’t hear when the bathroom faucet squeaks as it’s closed. Or when Terry emerges from the bathroom, muttering about having to fix that later.

Just feet away from the bed, he admires the picture before him: a gift, all spread out and open for him.

“Now, ain’t you a sight?”

His voice brings her from her reverie. The only response she gives is to reach behind and pull those shiny, smooth cheeks apart to show him how her body yearns for his touch.

Both holes clench. Beads of slick glisten through the hair closest to the opening of her cunt.

He takes slow steps towards her. “Look at the mess I created.” He chuckles to himself, barely shaking his head. “Guess I gotta clean it up, huh?”

Dumbly, her face pressed to the sheets, she nods. 

When he’s finally behind her, his hands take their treasured spots over her hips—left thumb covering his name, as always.

“How should I clean it up, baby?”

Her eyes falls closed as she tries to focus on speaking her thoughts.

“Hm?”

“U-use your tongue, first.”

His face brightens with a toothy smile. “First? Oh, there’s more,” he laughs.

He can’t tell if it’s a hum or a moan she makes, maybe it’s both. But he does understand when she nods.

“Well how you want me to finish the job, when I’m done using my tongue?”

She can hear the amusement in his voice, the smirk on his lips. Quite frankly, she’s too horny to be timid about it.

“Your dick—“

He almost blanches at her boldness. But his shock gives way to a new wave of arousal.

“Want it, Terry,” she speaks breathlessly. “Wanna feel—“ she reaches back again to spread herself again. “—feel full.”

His fingers sink further into the fat of her hips as he gathers all the moisture he can in his mouth. There’s a quick shift of his jaw, then a bullet of spit shoots past his puckered lips and hits his target dead-center.

Her body twitches from the impact. “Oh…” she moans softly.

The translucent, bubbly glob of spit rolls over the tight ring, making it shine. It dribbles down further, slipping down the slide of her crack and finding its way into her shallow bed of curls.

He catches her pussy do a little flutter. The tiny reaction prompts him to lift a hand from a hip, only to slam it back down against her right cheek.

Her back bows inward, a quiet mewl coming from her.

“Yeaah, keep it just like that… Just like … that.”

She hadn’t even heard the shift of his body—only felt his soft, warm, velvety tongue lave against her hole.

A gasp—she almost inches forward before remembering not to run from such pleasure. Terry’s never liked that.

“Mmh…”

There’s a tenderness that spreads throughout her cunt as his hum provides a soft vibration for her. Every time her body bears down, there’s an ache in her core.

He laps against her one more time before pulling the taut skin into his mouth to suck on. There’s hardly any give, but he doesn’t stop. His hands keep her spread apart as he continues burying his face in her ass. 

Terry’s never been a man too scared to get messy, especially when it counts. And when it comes to his woman, trust that it counts.

Slobbing her down, his own spit coats the lower half of his face as he tongues her hole down without coming up for air. The wide, wet muscle is putting in overtime to work her open. 

Her moans goad him on, even if they are muffled by the sheets.

“Mh … mmh,” he groans, eyes closed as he devours her like a meal. 

One hand lifts, immediately falling back down against the plump skin of her asscheek. The spank is sharp, it echoes in her ears.

“Shit,” she hisses, face screwing up as his tongue breaks past her rim.

He pulls back, if only to admire his work so far. In between her cheeks glisten. And, what’s more, is that she’s dripping onto the bed.

Just like last time.

“You like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yess, baby, yes.”

Wordlessly, he dives back in. The same hand he used to smack her earlier, leaves its spot once again. 

She anticipates another slap, catches herself almost begging for it, actually. However, she gets a better surprise:

His hand, warm and soft, slides over her pussy with ease to cup it from underneath. She flinches when his fingers barely rub over her swollen clit.

That doesn’t last too long; Terry’s hand retreats, fingers poised just at the opening of her drooling cunt.

With too much ease, both middle and ring fingers slip in.

She whimpers.

They sink right in with wet suction, her pussy spurting around them. His heavy fingers settle comfortably in a familiar spot within her tight and slippery heat as her body seems to instantly mold around them.

Every time Terry’s in it, he almost swears she’s truly an endless portal into ecstasy. 

And while his mind finds itself caught on the wonders of her pussy, his mouth still wrecks her even tighter hole; His tongue digs into her, his fingers are pressing into her G-spot—it all stuns her. She can hardly breathe, feeling him push and prod. 

One particularly loud slurp of his makes her eyes roll back. Her pussy flutters, feeling a glob of his spit roll down her crack.

“Wanna fuck you. Fuck you with my tongue—“

She moans in agreement. The guttural sound transcends past the thick sheets.

“Hold it open.”

Although his voice is low, she still hears every word Terry mutters.

With an abundance of eagerness that her body can barely contain, she reaches back to hold herself open for him. 

As Terry remains knuckles deep within her, aiding in the escape of her sticky sap from her cunt, he pushes his tongue back into her ass.

She sloshes as he fucks his fingers up into her. Milky white and almost frothy cream runs down the palm of his hand to his wrist.

He doesn’t move his head, too desperate for her body to pull away. Instead, he tires himself with fucking into her by dragging his tongue in and out, his pace quickening. The ache of his jaw and the burn of the overworked muscle does nothing to dissuade him. 

One must work for their pleasure, he knows that.

“Oh … ohh … ah—aauhh!”

Her whines work alongside the tightening of her body. He doesn’t stop—doesn’t let up or slow down.

In fact, he receives her orgasm with an open palm, letting her pussy spill into it. Her squirt splashes against his forearm and the bed. And still, his hand never stops.

“Y’know … I was thinking about how much … how much I wanna make you a mom.”

His words come out airy and light, but that doesn’t diminish their effect. Her body responds, clamping tighter around his fingers.

A deep chuckle rises out of him. “You like that?”

Her only response is an incoherent moan as she pushes her hips back on his hand.

“Want me to make you a mommy?”

“Yes,” her voice waivers.

When he pulls his hand out of her, it’s like a great loss. Suddenly, her world is empty without him. She wants to cry.

“Yeah, me too.”

When Terry finally pulls his dick out, he’s got more than enough of her cum on-hand to lube himself up. The creamy mess of her cunt is more than enough material to get him rock hard—not that he wasn’t already.

Taking himself in hand, he slowly lifts his heavy cock and drops it right between her ass cheeks. 

About two inches wide starting at the tip, his dick only gets slightly wider towards the base. Its underside has got that one vein running along it. She always licks at it when presented with such an opportunity.

A heated tint of flushed pink blossoms over the bulbous tip, dying down to a darker shade of brown along his shaft. It curves just to the left, the perfect angle that always seemed to knock against her walls perfectly.

Pulling his hips backward, he watches his dick drag against her supple skin, falling closer towards her center. When it’s just his tip left touching her, he takes ahold of himself at the base and slowly pushes forward.

He slips against her underside, burrowing into her thin bed of curls. The head knocks against her clit, triggering a stronger quake in her thighs.

Terry puckers his lips to spit another thick loogey, watching it land on her puckered rim. It winks back at him.

She can’t tell what goes in first, his thumb or his dick. All she knows is that he’s about nine inches deep in her cunt, and that there’s a thumb sinking into her ass.

There’s a delay before a long-winded, singular moan falls out of her mouth. All of her breath is caught in her chest. Her body is tense.

“Breath, baby. Breathe,” he reminds her.

Her brain buzzes. His words really only get through to her once his hand washes over her back like a cool rag.

That’s all it takes for her body to relax—somewhat at least. Her shoulders relax and her back even sinks inward.

A softer, much shorter moan leaves her, and the arching of her back accentuates the ache caused by his dick pressing against her walls. If either of them would look, they’ll see the outline of him, poking through her lower tummy in a small bulge.

Her pussy, stretched to its capacity, flutters around him, almost like it’s trying to swallow more than it can handle.

“S-so heavy,” she mumbles, gripping the sheets.

“But you like it,” he smiles. “I could tell, hm?”

Terry pushes in the last inch, taking too much joy in the broken whimper that leaves her. She’s suffocating, squeezing him and bathing him in wetness all the same. In this deep, he feels a soft, spongy wall pressing against his tip. 

“What’s that?” He shifts inside, nudging at that wall.

It’s a good thing she doesn’t look back, face too screwed up to see the horrific smile on his face.

“Huh?”

She almost wails out. Her hands twitch, itching to reach for her stomach. To cradle it as the deep ache within her reaches new heights.

“C’mon, talk to me.” 

The rest of his fingers splay out over the small of her back as he pushes his thumb deeper into her ass. The thin stretch of muscle separating the two pleasure zones allows him to feel the curvature of himself, sitting deep in her walls.

“I’m in your stomach?”

Teeth gritted, she nods her head as fast as she can.

“You so quiet already.” Gentle and slow, he pulls out some inches, granting her relief. “I don’t like that.”

He slides his hips back in, pushing his dick right up against her cervix.

“GOD—“

“Yeah, like that.” He pulls out again, only to give her yet another deep stroke. “Keep doing that. Keep talking to me—”

“H-ooh—T-Terry!”

“Yes, baby,” he groans out over the sound of his hips meeting her ass. “Tell me, tell me how good it feels.”

“Ffuuuck!”

She writhes beneath him, shouting out ragged moans as he’s digging her out. 

Every time he pulls out, his dick is wetter and wetter. It goes from shining with her juices to caked in her crème in just a few strokes. 

Around her stretched hole is a mess, covered in her frothy release. It all builds up to the point that some of it sludges down between her legs and falls to the bed.

“Oh … shii—aaugh!”

Her resolve breaks, finally allowing her to press a hand to her stomach. Under her palm, she feels the repeating wave of his dick punching her guts beneath the wall of muscle.

She hisses, feeling his thumb fuck her ass as he pulls her back against his. With every plop of their body’s meeting, her cream splatters against his pelvis. Tiny beads of white fly, landing against his sweat-sheathed skin.

“Gonna need another shower after this, huh?” 

Even as Terry tries to remain cocky, his upper lip twitches as his body starts to react to this pleasure.

“Making a mess.” His stomach clenches. “Th-thought I was s’posed to be cleaning up.” 

He chokes out a bit of laughter, trying to conceal a moan of his own. His words start to blend as the pleasure overtakes him:

“You … creamin’ all over … mmh—“

His eyes threaten to roll back. But just as fast, Terry seems to regain a bit of composure. Enough to lock back in.

Rolling his lips into his mouth, his focus straightens and he gives repeated strokes. They’re dead-on, sharp, and heavy.

She screams out a profanity—he can’t even tell which one because she’s so out of it. But, her body is granted a moment of relief as he stops.

Carefully, he pulls his thumb out of her butt. It shines with her slick. When he looks at her barely stretched hole, clenching around nothing, it’s covered in her cream. 

The sight has him twitching inside of her, causing her body to give him a couple of extra squeezes in response.

“You look so good like this,” he mumbles. As his body starts to weaken, he sways a little. “M’sorry I had to mess you up like this, baby.”

Her only response is a mewl as she tries to fix herself.

Taking the hand he had used previously, he holds himself at the base to pull out of her. And when he’s finally out, it’s like there’s a dick-shaped hole in her stomach. She swears he left an impression inside of her.

Her pussy feels so tender and swollen, clit overly sensitive. And yet, the pain of it all is too good. She misses it. She misses him.

And he can tell, seeing her hole flutter around nothing, stretched out. But she doesn’t have to worry for too long, because he’ll fix that.

Peering down at himself, Terry is marveled at all of the mess between them. His dick, still hard, is a creamy, sticky mess—practically dripping in her release.

At the base is where there’s the most build-up. Loopy off of all the testosterone running through him, he gets an idea that has him swiping up some of the mess with his middle and ring finger. 

With no hesitation, Terry presses the two fingers to her ass. They slide in with ease, even causing a very loud squish.

“Ooouuhh,” she groans. 

Turning her head to the side, Terry’s finally able to see how pleasure contorts her face. Eyes low and unfocused, heavy bottom lip pulled between both rows of teeth, as she begins to slowly rock back and forth. So desperate, she fucks herself on his fingers.

“Just like that … take it, baby. Take it—”

“Oouuh shit, Terry.”

“C’mon.”

“Ooh, fuck—“

Pfffffft.

The sharp sound of air expelling from her cunt as Terry pushes back in, punctuates her sentence. Her mouth drops open, her neck craning against the sheets.

He’s speechless, too. Seeing the way her pussy blows a raspberry around his thick dick, spitting out dribblets of cream against his lower stomach. Some even dribbles out of her.

“Hnnnh,” she whines, pathetically.

Curling his fingers inside of her, he plays with her ass. Throughout this all, his other hand had never left her left hip, thumb still covering his name.

He pulls out halfway, only to push his dick back in.

“Fuck, I love it when she talks to me,” he laughs, breathlessly, throwing his head back. It’s music to his ears, hearing her pussy squirt and fart around him.

So lost in the sound, he doesn’t even notice the way her shoulders twitch as her orgasm crashes into her. It’s not until he feels water hit his pelvis that he looks down.

Around his dick, she squirts. It’s a heavy enough stream. He watches it trickles down both of their thighs, completely drenching the already soaked through sheets.

Without a word, he pulls his fingers out before placing the other hand on her hip. His grip tightens around her.

Leaning more of his weight forward, Terry pushes her arch deeper. “Really gonna … make you a mommy like this—“

She gets no prep as he fucks the arch out of her back and puts her into the mattress. The clap of her ass against his pelvis is almost deafening. 

Her hips are barely off of the bed. Behind them, her legs raise, toes curling tightly as she wails out.

“Keep squeezing me,” he pants, teeth gritted. “Keep fuckin’ … fu-uck—“

He buries his face into her neck, groaning. His ears ring as he shoots off a heavy load in her.

For minutes, they stay connected as Terry tries to regain his breath. His orgasm lasts much longer than he thought it would, filling her to the brim.

When he finally pulls out, mustering enough strength to stand, he watches tiredly as her body pushes out thick globs of their mixed release.

Her pussy is slathered in their mess, certain spots caked up in a frothy white.

He grabs a cheek, pulling it apart from its twin so that he can see it all much clearer.

“You look so good like this,” he mumbles. “Love when you let me use you.”

Mindlessly, he lets a hand fall to his dick. It’s tender, but his hold on himself is light. Still holding her open with the other hand, he gently strokes himself. His hand practically glides over himself, what with all the cum coating his dick.

The sensation, the mess, her—it doesn’t take too much for him to get a semi.

“Fuck, you always make me so horny.”

He gets a knee on the bed, positioning himself directly behind her again.

Sensing his growing closeness, she weakly picks her head up and looks back at him. She’s a vision of wild curls, watery eyes, and bitten-raw lips.

As he gets closer, stroking his hardening dick, he brushes his fat, swelling tip again her lips. Rubbing himself against her, he gathers more of cum, coating himself.

“Terry,” she whines, a soft pout on her lips.

“You too tired?”

He pulls her asscheek further, fully exposing her second hole.

Her plump lips part to speak, but nothing comes out.

“You want me to stop? You could tell me, baby,” he cooes.

Still, he begins rubbing his tip against the much smaller hole. She can feel it throb against her.

“Tell me. Y’know I’ll still get the groceries for you.”

He gives her time to object, to say ‘no,’ while he’s positioning himself at her opening. However, she only watches, her face scrunching even more as he slowly applies pressure.

“I’ll get you whatever you want. Especially when you have our son.”

With little effort, he pops the head in past her rim. A tired smile lifts his lips as she moans out lowly. Her head turns back forward as it falls to the bed.

Weak to the way he uses her body, she simply lies there, taking his dick through the back as he sings his delusions to her (because who said she was going to have a boy).

Even tired, her body tenses with the pressure of his dick sliding in her. He’s not as rough as when he was in her pussy.

This time, his strokes are gentle and shallow. It’s a moderate pace he maintains as he holds her open to see the way he stretches her out.

And it just does something to him; seeing her spent pussy just below, covered in their cum and still leaking while he uses her asshole just the same.

Because, she’s his woman, and he’s going to have every part of her body. Just in the same way that he’s her man, and if she wants him at any time she can have him.

His second orgasm doesn’t take long to come. When he feels it approaching, he carefully pulls out. Taking himself in hand, he gives a few short strokes before painting her ass. 

Streaks of white splatter against the warm brown canvas, making her ass look like toasted buns covered in vanilla drizzle. 

And if he had the energy to, he’d eat her ass again. But this was already a lot, and he can’t lie, he’s exhausted.

Terry can only hope that she won’t be mad that he waited a little longer to get the groceries.

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