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marlenesluv · 8 months

Text

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny. (OP)

summary: being the mclaren admin, you’re quite close with the papaya boys, one more than the other…

note: never had a redhead/strawberry blonde fc, but i love red hair, so this is for all my redhead/strawberry blonde babes 😗 also this seems short :( i’m sorry, ill try to post again in a few!

based on this idea i had a while back -> post link

fc: bella anderson (bellaanderrson on insta)

pairing: oscar piastri x mclaren admin!fem reader

type: smau

warnings: very slight suggestive comment, not bad tho

masterlist here -> masterlist link

^ check my list for all posts! ^

liked by: oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 89,193 others

y/n.user: media day vibes + a photo kika insisted i include 😐

view comments…

francisca.cgomes: you look so pretty❤️🤗

↳ y/n.user: you looking in a mirror? bc yes you are

f1updates: favorite posts from the best admin in f1 🙏

oscarpiastri: look at me on that scooter

↳ y/n.user: scootah 🦘🇦🇺

↳ oscarpiastri: if you and lando could stop making fun of me now

↳ landonorris: you know we never will mate

papayaedits81: brooo, i love this trio sm :’)

user3: she’s too pretty to be stuck with these men ugh

↳ user6: you mean the hottest men on earth??

↳ user3: they aren’t that hot

↳ user6: *GASP* GET. OUT.😖

mclaren: slay queen

↳ danielricciardo: y/n we know it’s you

↳ mclaren: no…..

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 372,924 others

mclaren: 🧡💙double podium weekend💙🧡

view comments…

user5: somehow, y/n eats every time with her photos and posts

y/n.user: 🧡🧡🧡🧡

f1edits: y/n commenting on posts she makes is too good

4ln81op: PODIUMMMMMMM LFGGG

user9: WOOOOOHOOOOOOOO

oscarpiastri: cool photos!😎

↳ mclaren: thank you, mr. piastri 🫡

f2postsss: boom, double podium

opfanpage3: oscar looks so good in theseee

papayaboys: love these pics sm!! y/n, once again, you slayed this up

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

your instagram story:

seen by: oscarpiastri, lilymhe, and 82,193 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: oscarpiastri, logansargeant, and 92,203 others

y/n.user: preoccupied🌹

view comments…

f1updatepg: WOAH????

user7: hold up now, pump the breaks. WHO is that man???

paddockposts: y/nnnnn spill who this is????

landonorris: i know something everyone else doesn’ttttttt

↳ y/n.user: lando😳 zip it

↳ carlossainz55: he told me already….

↳ charles_leclerc: lol………..

↳ y/n.user: STOPPPPP

op81: oscar linking but not commenting?? fishy

francisca.cgomes: mwahahahaha i am matchmaker

y/nfanpage7: anyone else thinking it might be a driver??

↳ f1edit0: yea but who? i don’t wanna assume lando/oscar but she is closest to them, yknow?

↳ user4: i was thinking maybe logan idk

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

texts with oscar:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: logansargeant, y/n.user, and 368,130 others

tagged: y/n.user

oscarpiastri: i would say she’s judy hoops because zootopia is one of her favorite movies, but she’s more nick wilde 🧡

view comments…

y/n.user: does that make you judy hoops?

↳ oscarpiastri: i’ll be judy if you’re nick, babe

↳ y/n.user: so i’m sly and you’re dumb?

↳ oscarpiastri: sure, but only you can call me dumb bunny🤷‍♂️

↳ pierregasly: y’know hes down bad when he’s into this shit

↳ francisca.cgomes: you’re talking? really

↳ y/n.user: LMAO

f1wags: HOLD UP. WAIT A MINUTE😳😳😳 I LOVE THIS

user5: this is calling me lonely in every language

formulawags7: WOAH keep it in your pants there oscar, talking bout “only you can call me dumb bunny” OK

op81edits: oscar having a gf just makes him more bold and i’m loving it

papayaedit9: they actually are so cute together stopppp

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

oscar on a podcast, clip of him talking about you:

(interviews name: matt)

matt: “well, mate. i know we are running low on time now, but we are going to end it off with some fan questions.”

oscar: “awesome.”

matt: “alright, i’m not going to lie, a lot of people are very curious on how you and y/n started dating. who initiated it? how long?”

oscar: “um…yeah. kind of a long story, i’ll make it shot though.” *laughs* “when i came to mclaren last year, i actually had a crush on her and lando found out fairly quick. he started telling me her favorite foods, shows, hobbies, stuff like that. like, for example, one of her favorite shows is pretty little liars, so i binged that whole show just to try to talk to her about it.” *laughs and takes a sip of his water*

matt: “wow, man. thats a lot of seasons. did you at least enjoy it?” *laughs*

oscar: “honestly? yeah…it was quite entertaining. and i got a few conversations in with her about it.”

matt: “that’s really nice, i don’t think i’d have the attention span. now, how long have you guys been together?”

oscar: “well, i announced it last friday, and it’s thursday…probably around two months, i’d say.”

matt: “why did you guys decide to wait a bit?”

oscar: “we were a little worried about what my pr manager would say and we didn’t want either of us to get in trouble. but y/n was mainly worried about the fans. she didn’t want to upset them, but, i don’t really care. i mean, if a fan can’t understand and respect your relationship….”

matt: “then they really aren’t fans, are they? well, you two are absolutely adorable. tell y/n i say ‘hi’ and i send her good wishes for this upcoming year. you guys are the cutest, and i’m sure fans will agree.”

oscar: “thank you, mate.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

your instagram story:

seen by: oscarpiastri, pierregasly, and 93,199 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

1K notes · View notes

koqabear · 4 months

Note

hiii this is for the 2k event, i wanted to ask if u write hybrid!au cause yeonjun dressing up as nick wilde has got me feeling a little delusional. if u don’t completely ignore this but if u do, can i request fox yj and maybe bunny reader?

[2K Masterlist]

"Yeonjun is adamant that you’re a pretty, porcelain doll. You’re more than ready to shatter that idea and show him that you’re stronger than he thinks."

fox hybrid! yeonjun x bunny hybrid! reader // wc: 1.9K // genre: hybrid au, pwp. this is just straight filth im sorry. MDNI.

warnings dom!yeonjun, sub!mc, somnophilia (consensual), oral (f rec.) pet names (bunny, good girl), degrading, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, degrading, kitchen sex, manhandling, dacryphilia, begging, scratching, possessiveness, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampies, aftercare kinda, girl idk i literally just dissociated when i wrote this i forget how exhausting this all is!!

Notes: the healthcare system is fucked even in fanfiction, you can’t escape.

Every decision you’ve made throughout your relationship with Yeonjun has led to where you are now:

Face down, ass up, tears in your eyes and words muddled through the drool that spills through your lips.

You’ve told him countless times that you’re not fragile; that the sweet, docile image he has of bunny hybrids is nothing but a sham, and that you can take anything he offers with a confident stride— and though he simply laughed in endearment and shook his head at your claims, you insisted. You insisted throughout all the sugary sweet times he made love to you, during all the moments where you felt his hands hesitate to hold you, as though he was afraid that putting pressure on your body would be enough to make you shatter.

The words were tiring to both his and your ears at some point: the petulant whines asking for more, your pathetic attempts to try and take control and change the pace entirely— Yeonjun’s sharp, narrowed eyes that flickered at you in warning was the harshest thing you received from him— but judging by the shivers that flowed down your spine like water, your fluffy tail twitching in attention, you knew that your body only craved for more and your brain wouldn’t settle down until you got your way.

You could say that he warned you. He really did, technically, sitting you down for a serious talk about something you two never really discussed in detail. You watched with wide, slightly confused eyes as he explained to you that his heat was approaching, and that you definitely shouldn’t be around for it— when you perked up to interrupt, he merely shook his head to shut you down and continue his explanation.

“I usually take medication, but my insurance no longer covers my usual prescription.” he told you, his ginger ears twitching in annoyance from the mere memory, “I’m taking a leave from work for it, and… I want to spend this time alone.”

“It gets intense… I don’t want to hurt you.”

A bruised ego and terribly confrontational personality was truly a god awful combination. Though you suppose it helped you for the better, considering that after a good argument with your ever-so loving and doting boyfriend, he finally gave up.

You can remember the sight so vividly; his ruffled hair, the fluffy tail that whipped from side to side as he finally slumped back against the couch, out of breath and exhausted— his ears pinned against his head in defeat the moment he took a good look at you, in all your still fired up and energetic glory.

He knew it was a losing battle the moment you cocked a challenging brow at him, as though begging for him to continue.

The word okay has never sounded better from your boyfriend's mouth.

••••

That all leads you back to today. It’s been— oh, you really can’t remember. A day? Maybe two? You don’t think it matters at this point, since the only thing that fills your mind now is the feeling of being full, stuffed, and warm.

Yeonjun gave you a chance to back out the second he opened the door for you. He spoke to you calmly, softly, nervously, watching you hop around his living room and throw your overnight bag on his couch, overjoyed to be taking such a monumental step forward in your relationship. You dismissed every slow, anxious sway of his tail as you ate dinner together, listening intently as he told you about how he’s gotten with his previous partners.

It was too much for many of them. He gets aggressive. He gets insanely needy, it goes on for hours, even throughout the night.

You prayed that he didn’t notice the pathetic clench of your thighs and slight arousal as he told you about his details, nodding sweetly when he asked if you were okay with doing the things he mentioned.

You established a safeword, coddled him the moment you noticed his temperature beginning to rise, and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead as you murmured your goodnights.

About six hours passed when you first felt it; you’ve always been a light sleeper, so you were doomed the second your sensitive ears picked up on the sound of restless rustling behind you. You tried your best to ignore it, your drowsy mind eager to go back to sleep, but the white noise of sheets moving around was quickly accompanied by something else— breathy, desperate gasps.

“Bunny…” Yeonjun’s raspy whine was enough to have your ear twitching slightly; more rustling, and suddenly, a scorching heat hovers behind you. “Bunny, need… need you s’bad…”

His hands are heavy on your skin, almost scorching with the way he restlessly makes his way up your shirt, groping at your tits before they slide down your stomach, feeling you up all the way down before they stop at your thighs— without warning, he presses flat against you, a hand snaking beneath your body to wrap around your stomach and pull you flush into him. He was so hard, so needy that the very feeling of your soft ass pressing against him was enough to rip out a broken sob from him.

“Let me fuck you,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, words that slurred together showing that he was also half-awake, probably not too aware of his actions and the way he rutted into you helplessly, “C’mon bunny, lemme use you.”

Your ass that pressed back into him and the sleepy whine that left you was enough for him.

You can only remember drifting in and out of consciousness that night; the sloppy, wet sounds of skin against skin and desperate grunts was nothing but white noise to you at that point— Yeonjun was glued to you for hours on end, fat cock thrusting harshly into your poor, abused cunt, filled with so much cum that it could only smear onto your inner thighs and his balls, leaving a mess you wouldn’t be able to clean anytime soon.

When you woke up, you were on your back— your pussy was sore and a whine bubbled up uncontrollably from your throat, hips canting up and against Yeonjun’s face— your hands were shaky as you fisted the sheets, tears pricking your eyes as you listened to Yeonjun’s sweet nothings against your skin, leaving bites and kisses against your thighs as he promised you that he’d be quick, that he just needed to eat your sweet cunt— you’d get cleaned up nicely after.

Yeonjun was a liar, of course— because none of his sweet promises included his burning desire to fuck you after you came, cleaning you up only to push his cock back in and fuck you right into the mattress; legs pressed against your stomach, wails leaving you as he plunged into you with abandon, frantic hands scratching down his back as you cried from the overstimulation— it only ended with him pressing deeply into you and emptying yet another load into your tired cunt.

The semblance of normalcy that followed after didn’t last very long, either— yeah, getting carried to the shower and having him clean you up and scrub you down was nice, and sitting at the counter as you watched him make a quick breakfast was nice too, a heartwarming glimpse into a domestic future with him— but you were only able to get halfway through your meal before Yeonjun decided that he’d much rather bend you over the kitchen counter and have you there instead— moaning wantonly as he watched your trembling legs fail to keep up, buckling under his pace and forcing him to hold you up with his insane strength— and just when you thought he was getting tired, he simply flipped you on your back and laid you on the counter instead; he always did think you looked really pretty when you were totally fucked out, anyway.

Maybe that’s when hours started blending together— he was sweet and caring when he needed to be, cleaning you up with a feather-like touch and kisses that warmed your heart— only to give you the whiplash of the century when his pupils dilated and the only thing he honed in on was you.

You. You you you.

His ears would press against his head and his tail would flicker dangerously, narrowed, focused eyes meeting your bleary ones with ease; you could only sit there and let him maneuver you however he liked, shivering and falling limp with each time he’d slide his cock into you, as though you finally felt complete.

You looked so breathtaking to him— under him, over him, whatever position he suddenly found himself needing you in— teary eyes and swollen lips calling his name like a mantra, a prayer, a plea for him to use your body until he got his fill.

There was something so addicting about the way you trembled from the overstimulation, sobbing and writhing yet never saying your safe word. It had Yeonjun fascinated, the guilty part of his mind berating him for trying to see how far he could take things— yet, no matter what he did or what he said, you only seemed to beg for more, like you’d been waiting for this moment for ages.

“Take it, T-take it like a good toy,” Yeonjun hissed, fingers digging into your hips as his cock battered into you ruthlessly. You merely cried and moaned, cotton tail wiggling with every drag against your walls, the soft fur coated with dried cum, “said you could handle it, right? Stupid fucking bunny— nothing but a cumdump for me, hmm?”

Your squeals and chants of yes! Yes yes yes! only spur Yeonjun on even more— his body feels as though it’s on fire, bright hair sticking to his sweaty skin as he merely pushes himself further— you can practically feel his back hover over your own, able to tell that he’s close from his faltering pace and shaky breaths that fan across your skin.

“Want me to breed you?” he asks, though there’s no need to ask anymore if the previous loads he’s dumped into you are any indication of your answer. Yet he still does, almost like instinct; it’s much more satisfying to hear you beg for it, anyway.

And you do— your begging is so cute, how could he ever resist? Yeonjun’s nails might break your skin with how tightly he’s holding you, teeth digging into his pouty lip as he pumps himself into you, once, twice, then empties out everything he has to offer— your back arches and your hips move back to try and glue yourself to him, crying out his name in satisfaction as he fills you for the nth time of the night.

The way you keen out, the sight of your ears that are pinned to your head along with your tail that shivers with satisfaction is like drugs to him; he’s hopelessly addicted to you, to all of you, from your stuffed cunt that continues to suck him in to your soft voice that whimpers out at every sensation you offer him.

Such a good girl, Yeonjun thinks to himself, butterfly kisses spanning along your sweaty skin, your barely conscious form curling into him for more, how did he get so lucky?

Even after he’s given you a moment to rest, laying down with you on top of him, you still cling onto him, sighing in content as you allow him to cockwarm you, already bracing yourself for the moment he feels himself needing you again. And as you both drift into a much needed nap, Yeonjun can only find himself thinking one thing.

Thank god for you and your argumentative nature.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #yeonjun smut #yeonjun ff #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun oneshot #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun fanfiction #[2k event!]#[nsfw]#[the mic is yours]

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baby-yongbok · 2 months

Text

His

Boyfriend!Seungmin x Afab!Reader x Best Friend!I.N

♡ Genre - Explicit Sexual Content [MDNI] - Non-idol ♡ Word Count - 1.9k ♡ Summary - No matter where you are or who’s around you are his. His and only his.

♡ Warnings - Dom!Vocal Racha & Sub!Reader, light BDSM themes, Creampie, Orgasm denial and control? ♡ A/N - I rarely write for I.N and I wanna change that. I have some other works about him but I never finish them (I have so much that I've never finished) anyway, I thought I'd give it a shot with a little Vocal Racha smut! Hope you enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ MDNI

✧ Masterlist ✧ Banner Credit to @rookthornesartistry

You asked for this. You begged for it actually, you got on your hands and knees and blinked up at Seungmin with pretty brown eyes and blushed cheeks for this. And he said yes.

“Shaking already?” Your boyfriend circles you as you sit on display. There’s a spreader bar between your legs and a magic wand vibrator tied to your inner thigh in intricate shibari detail. The head of the vibrator rests against your clit, it’s set at a tantalizingly high setting that effortlessly milks moans from you. “Why haven’t you cum yet?”

He leans into your face and you pry your eyes open to meet his teasing smirk. There’s a sparkle of enjoyment in his eyes that sends a shock down your spine. “Trying.” You whimper.

“Not hard enough.” He clicks his tongue, standing straight and turning his attention to the magic wand. He jostles it a bit, rubbing it against your swollen bud and making a heavy tear fall from the corner of each eye. “Ya better hurry, I didn’t charge this thing.”

You whine, a new wave of desperation sweeps over at you with the anxiety of the vibrator dying hanging over your head. “Cock, please fill me, please.”

“Who are you asking, baby?” Seungmin coos, you can hear the smile in his voice. “Me or him?”

You turn your head to the other side of the bed and your gaze meets Jeongin’s instantly. He’s made himself comfortable. His jeans and boxers are pushed down just enough to free his dick. The length is throbbing in his hand that lazily strokes his shaft.

“Him.” You use your sweet tone. The one that you use on Seungmin to get you out of situations that you know won’t work in your favor. Your boyfriend has become immune to the tone but his best friend isn’t.

“You want me?” Jeongin cocks an eyebrow as he stands, letting his heavy length hang free as he makes his way to you. “You want me to dick you down?” You’re shaking your head fast and hard, just how you want him.

“Did you earn it?” He’s in your face, his fox eyes stare into yours and your heart skips a beat.

“I’ve been good.” Jeongin and Seungmin both tsk, they share a glance before Jeongin brings his long fingers to your pubic mound. “Please, Innie.” You use your sweet tone again.

“You haven’t cum for us yet.” Jeongin trails his hand over to the shaking head of the vibrator and presses it down against your clit. You scream, trying your best to close your legs against the bar holding you open but it’s no use.

“Can't, c-can’t. Oh fuck fuck.” Your orgasm rushes up your legs before you can even blink. It sends chills up your spine and makes your cunt clench in dripping need. It’s gonna hit you, you’re gonna cum. It’s coming, coming, gone.

“Ah, looks like it died, princess.” You cry into the hot air. Tears stream down your cheeks as your throbbing clit nearly burns with the desperate need that’s built up behind the nerves.

“I warned you.” Seungmin laughs as he undoes the knots of string keeping the vibrator attached to you. He strokes the inside of your thigh softly as he watches you, checking to make sure that you’re still okay. “I’ll be nice today.”

Seungmin’s fingertips brush up and down your leg as he scans you. His eyes gloss over your heaving chest and the sweat beading at the curls of your hairline. “I’ll let it slide since you’ve been so good, but if you don’t cum on his cock you won’t be cumming on mine.”

You nod your head as Jeongin wipes away the stray tears trailing down the side of your face. “Thank you, sir. I’ll cum on his cock I promise.” Your boyfriend smiles down at you before looking over at his best friend.

“Tell him that.” Seungmin orders and you waste no time following.

“I’m gonna cum on your cock, Innie.” You look over to the copper haired man leaning over you with one hand resting gently on the side of your face and the other lazily stroking his cock.

“Yeah? Let’s see.” His fingers wrap around the bar between your legs and he pulls you over to him to position you correctly. Your ass is at the edge of the bed, the bar is in one of his hands while he lines himself up at the hole of your cunt with the other. “Look at your boyfriend for me.”

Seungmin’s finger is tilting your chin up and to the side before you can even comply. He has his dick out now. It’s heavy in his hand and you watch for a second while his fingers polish over the blushed head. “Look me in the eye, pup.”

You obey, shifting your gaze quickly and blinking up at him with that fucked out glaze that he loves.

Jeongin is pushing into you before you can even take a deep breath to prepare for him. He splits you open so deliciously. His cock sinks in with a lewd squelch that earns a groan from Seungmin, It was either that or the way that your eyes crossed and fluttered shut once Jeongin bottomed out.

This is what you wanted. This is what you begged for.

“She’s fucking tight.” Jeongin nearly whines as you clench around him. “Fuck, this cunt is gonna make me nut fast.”

“I told you.” Jeongin pulls his hips back, thrusting into you slowly a couple of times to get used to the way that he fits inside of you. “She’s got a perfect little pussy. Gotta fight not to finish quickly with her.”

You grip the comforter beneath you as Jeongin sets into a steady pace. He’s a tad thicker than Seungmin so the drag of him along your walls sets a new fire up your spine and against the arched soles of your feet. You’re moaning, whining, crying. Any and everything that you can think of to show them how you feel, to show them how good this feels.

You force your eyes open to watch as Seungmin leans back on his elbow and fist his dick at the sight of his best friend fucking you. His brows are knit together and his mouth is just slightly agape as he bites the tip of his tongue.

“C’mon, gotta cum before I do, baby.” You turn your attention to Jeongin as he growls above you, he presses the spreader bar back more towards the mattress, opening you up further for him to abuse new parts of your cunt. He sinks deeper, thrusting faster into that sweet soft spot that makes you see stars.

“Innie, fuck fuck, too deep. So deep so so - shit, Jeon- fuck.” Words dissolve on your tongue as he sets into a brutal pace. His balls smack against your ass and sweat drips down the valley of your breasts as he pants above you. He’s watching you with a keen gaze, studying and savoring you.

“You said - you said that you’d cum on my cock, baby.” He pounds into you, pushing himself to the hilt and swirling his hips against you. The tip of his dick kisses your cervix and you scream. You’re crying again, tears flow down your cheeks as the hot prick of your orgasm tumbles towards you.

As good as it feels, it’s all too much. Too intense, too good. You put your arms out in front of you and push against his toned torso. Your fingers splay over his strong stomach as you beg for him to slow down. He doesn’t. Not because he doesn’t want to but because you don’t want him to. You have a safe word and if you really wanted him to stop you’d use it just like Seungmin taught you to.

“Don’t be like that.” Jeongin grunts above you as he gathers both of your wrists with his free hand. He pins your hands above your head with what used to be his only free hand. “Take it, Seungminnie said you’d be a good girl.”

You look over at Seungmin mid moan. “Don’t embarrass him.” Your boyfriend stares back at you, angry red tip of his cock in his hands. Its swollen and ready to fucking burst. Just one more swipe over the tip and he’s cumming.

“Holy shit, pup. That’s it, that’s it. Fuck.” He blows his load all over his hand, it leaks down to his thighs and covers the expanse of his pubic mound. He watches his leaking tip with pinched brows as he huffs heavy breaths through flared nostrils. It’s hot, so fucking hot.

“Shit, baby I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking nut if you squeeze me like that.” You squirm under Jeongin’s tight grip. Your orgasm is right there. It’s right there, it’s coming. He feels so good, he fills you so perfectly but you just can’t. You just can’t fucking cum. “Oh fuck, baby, please cum.”

Jeongin is begging you and you’re starting to feel desperate. You blink up at him with fraught and hazy eyes. You can feel it. The pleasure is pricking behind your clit so deliciously but it just won’t spill over. It just won't -

Seungmin’s fingers wrapping around your throat snap you out of your desperate haze. His glazed eyes stare back at yours with a domineering gaze. You stare back at him and you feel yourself slipping into a trance. One that only your boyfriend can control.

“Four, three, two, one. Cum.” You’re screaming. Writhing underneath Jeongin so violently that he has to let your wrists go to hold your hips in place so that he doesn’t slip out of your cunt. Jeongin fucks you through your climax as his own washes over him.

“Fucking hell.” Seungmin’s groans and grunts mix in with Jeongin’s as the maknae fills you with ropes of his overflowing seed. It seeps out of you even with his cock plugging your clenching hole.

“Ah, fuck you’re so full.” Jeongin hisses as his orgasm subsides.

He pulls out once he starts getting soft, leaving a sticky trail of cum behind before plopping back against the empty side of the mattress. “Color?” Seungmin asks in between heavy panting

“Green.” You murmur, your head is still spinning and after shocks are still jolting through you as you try to catch your breath.

“Get that leg, Innie.” Seungmin unbuckles the ankle on his side from the spreader bar and Jeongin does the one on his side. Your legs slump against the mattress once they’re free. You keep just enough space between them to not overstimulate yourself.

“Did you cum again, hyung?” Innie asks as he holds your hand and soothes you through your floating headspace.

“I did, yeah.”

“Just from watching, noona cum?” Seungmin shakes his head, a small smile on his lips as he watches you. His sweet fucked out, baby. He doesn’t answer, instead he just hums as he grabs the aftercare kit.

He wants to say that Jeongin would cum untouched too if his girlfriend needed him in order to climax. If his pretty baby wouldn’t cum for any other man but him he’d find himself leaking at the mere thought of it.

They clean you up as you drift in and out of your sleepy haze, still fucked out and submissive. You do as Jeongin tells you while they clean you up. Lifting your arms and legs as he asks and Seungmin smiles as he watches because even through everything that just happened you proved something to him.

You proved that no matter who you invite into your bedroom. No matter where you are or who’s around, you are his. His and only his.

Thank You For Reading! Please Reblog or Comment to let me know how you liked it! It makes my day! 💕

ALSO, please follow my back-up acct. @minniee-verse 💕

Perm. Tag List:

@kayleefriedchicken

@compersian @kibs-and-bits @lixiluvs @armystay89 @lghtdarling

@teddy-stay , @baconcupcakes123, @moonchild9350 ,

@krayzieestay, @soulsbbg , @stay-bi , @yzsqu , @gho-ster , @lghtdarling

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goxjo · 3 months

Text

⟢ ﹒ an a/b/o + hybrid-centric collab ! ❝ welcome to aki’s first milestone + bday collab <3 lemme take you to the world of heats, knots, and everything in between !! ❞

⟢ ﹒ status. ongoing

╭ this collab contains nsfw, dark, and ┆ potentially triggering content below the cut ╰ ➤ minors do not interact, 18+ only ♡

꒰ RULES ꒱

⟢ ﹒ fyi, this is a dark content friendly collab <3

⟢ ﹒ comment / send an ask to join ; make sure to include your fandom + character/s + trope (e.g., jjk + alpha! gojo x omega! reader, wind breaker + bull! togame, haikyuu + iwa x bunny! reader) ; characters should be 18+ or aged up !

⟢ ﹒ create as many pieces as you want but characters can only repeat up to 2x

⟢ ﹒ you must be 18+ to join and you must have your age in your bio or your pinned (e.g., actual age, adult, 20s, etc.)

⟢ ﹒ sfw, nsfw, dc written works and artworks are welcome ; everything should be tagged properly ; written works must contain warnings if necessary

⟢ ﹒ no minimum word count ; thirsts, headcanons, drabbles, and full fics are allowed

⟢ ﹒ “soft” deadline is on 07/19 (6:00 PM PST) but early and late submissions are okay !

⟢ ﹒ please include a link back to the masterlist and tag me on your piece so I get notified when you post !

⟢ ﹒ boosts are appreciated !! when you join, please reblog this masterlist once to boost and again when it goes live <3

꒰ FREE ꒱

♥︎ 01. fox! natsuya x reader (@/dabiscarpet)

꒰ GENSHIN ꒱

♥︎ 01. yan! alpha! diluc x omega! reader (@/pavosnoctua)

♥︎ 02. alpha! kaeya x omega! reader (@/ordowrites)

꒰ HAIKYUU ꒱

♥︎ 01. alpha! iwaizumi x omega! reader (@/yubishi)

♥︎ 02. alpha! atsumu x omega! reader (@/tenrichouku)

꒰ HAZBIN HOTEL ꒱

♥︎ 01. alpha! alastor x omega! reader (@/helluvagyal)

꒰ JJK ꒱

♥︎ 01. alpha! toji x omega! f! reader (@/txjis)

♥︎ 02. alpha! naoya x omega! reader (@/uzurimisery)

♥︎ 03. alpha! nanami x omega! reader (@/fyodior)

♥︎ 04. alpha! werewolf! toji x alpha! werewolf! shiu x bunny-hybrid f! reader (@/081231)

♥︎ 05. alpha! gojo x omega! reader (@/goxjo)

꒰ KAIJU NO. 8 ꒱

♥︎ 01. alpha! gen narumi x beta! f! reader (@/goteique)

꒰ TOKYOREV ꒱

♥︎ 01. cat-hybrid! koko x reader x dog-hybrid! inui (@/bad-thxxnks)

♥︎ 02. dragon-hybrid! draken x human! reader (@/godtomura)

꒰ WIND BREAKER ꒱

♥︎ 01. alpha! togame x misdiagnosed omega! reader (@/arahdow)

♥︎ 02. alpha! umemiya x bunny-hybrid / omega! f! reader (@/stunie)

♥︎ 03. guard dog! hiragi x human! reader (@/gimme-hiragi)

♥︎ 04. alpha! umemiya x omega! reader x alpha! kaji (@/iwaasfairy)

♥︎ 05. human hunter! tsugeura x deer! reader (@/togamest)

#genshin collab #genshin x reader #jjk x reader #haikyuu x reader #wind breaker x reader #bnha x reader #tokyo rev x reader #!collabs #!holic #!love letters #tw a/b/o #tw omegaverse #tw hybrids #[ ! ] into the omegaverse

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charnelhouse · 2 years

Text

no promises

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader (Red Fox) Wordcount: 2.6k Warnings: rough smut. size difference. infected wounds. hangovers. sex on a cot. Summary: The first time. A/N: for all you babes, who been asking for their first sexi time Simon 'Ghost' Riley Masterlist

Ghost is wounded.

It’s not grave. It’s not critical, but it’s a bitch. The kind of pain where, even for him, tears prick his eyes and pressure grows fat behind his nose.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck….”

He sits up and the shifting of his weight irritates the poorly stitched slit along his ribs. It’s swollen with infection, the skin puffy and screaming red last he checked. It reminds him of a howling infant. He thinks of howling himself, but the desire to cry out sits firmly at the center of his esophagus. He swallows it before gingerly lifting his shirt. He can’t see it at this angle, but it feels wet.

He lightly touches his side and the pain is excruciating. He chokes.

“Ghost?”

Red steps through the doorway, the shadows collecting at her edges. The rest of the safehouse is silent and asleep aside from Gaz on watch.

“It’s nothin’,” he assures her before accidentally touching the stitches and jerking again, hissing in agony. Wordlessly, she makes her way toward him on bare feet. They’re pretty, but everything about her is pretty. In fact, the thought of her looking at his purple, pus-filled injury makes him nervous. “Red, it’s not-

“Hush,” she chastises, knocking his hand away and turning on the light. She’s clinical about it. Shirt up. She leans in and the stench wafting from his bandages is enough to curl wallpaper. It smells like a corpse and Simon knows the exact perfume of rot. He thinks of Roba - it screeches through his mind before he banishes it to the lockbox in the furthest corner of his head.

“Smells like it’s infected,” he says to fill the unbearable silence.

“Ya think?” The corner of her plush mouth twitches as she tugs his shirt higher.

Her fingers are cold against his burning hot skin and he shudders.

“Did that hurt?”

“Yes,” he lies.

“I’m sorry,” Her gaze flickers up to meet his. “It’s more than infected, Simon. We need to get you to a medic like yesterday.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Not if it infects your blood, baby.”

He goes rigid as does she. Her eyes are round and expression aghast and he realizes that she had just said what he'd thought she said. He didn’t mishear her. Christ - he gets fucking hard at the pet name and he has to wrestle the blankets over his lap.

She bites her lip. “Um,” she slowly draws his shirt back down. “I meant to say that.”

“Did you?”

“100%.”

“I believe you.”

She shakes her head, her lashes fluttering against her cheek. She looks embarrassed and it surprises him. She isn’t one to trip up or make mistakes that cost her that unflinching coolness. It’s something Soap chases, perhaps something that he already thinks he’s mastered. Soap thinks he's a helluva lot smarter than he is.

Ghost finds Red disarming, an enigma. She can go from perfectly composed to a siren-fury in the space of a second. She can be cold - an ice queen as many others have called her. But with 141, she's anything but. Despite the violence in her eyes, she has a sweetness that she reserves for them.

Her hand on his skin, her quiet voice tinged with concern as she hovered in the doorway: Ghost?

Baby.

“I didn’t mind it,” he says suddenly.

“Mind what?”

“What you called me.”

She smiles with all of her teeth before huffing softly. She leans closer and he knows he will deny her nothing. She slips her fingers against his neck, trails them down to the hard muscle of his chest. “There are a lot of things I’d like to call you,” she confesses before kissing his clothed cheek and calling Gaz for EVAC.

***

A month later and he’s next to her on a small, yellowing cot. He takes the floor, his back glued to the wall and legs spread out. She’s crumpled on the thin mattress, deathly hungover, completely ill. She twists onto her side to stare at him.

“I fucked up.”

“I warned yah about that homemade shit.”

“Alejandro said-

“He didn’t know what he was talking about. He’s been hugging a toilet since last night. Soap hasn’t even left the couch, claiming he’s gone blind.”

She sniffles.

“Are you crying?” Granted, he’s a little hungover too, but still…the girl had been shot before.

“It hurts, Simon,” she whines. “I honestly feel like I’ve been stabbed between the eyes.”

He hates when she calls him by his name. It sounds too lovely. It sounds like something good.

He wordlessly hands her another cold glass of water, which she takes gratefully. She drinks too fast and most of it lands on her shirt, turning the white fabric transparent. Bleedin’ Christ. He can see her nipples. He doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t know why he feels like he has to hover over her like a mother hen. She got so drunk, he was worried she’d hurt herself or wander and -

Well - he fuckin’ likes her. He wants her to be safe.

She readjusts onto the mattress, legs kicking out at the threadbare sheet. She’s wearing flannel shorts and her legs are smooth and shiny underneath the wane light. After a moment, she asks, “Would you - shit - uh would you lie on here with me?”

At first, he doesn’t think he’s heard her right. He scrapes his hand over his face before turning to regard her fully. “Come again?”

“It would help,” she explains. “It would really help.”

She doesn’t ask the same question. She doesn’t repeat the desire to have him get in her bed and he realizes she’s left the ball in his court. He can pretend like he didn’t hear her initial question and they can continue on like before or -

To his own surprise, he stands and awkwardly fits his enormous mass into the bed. He can’t not touch her due to the narrowness of the space, but she seems to love it. She throws her arms around him, kicks one leg out, tangling it with his thigh. He grunts and he can feel her cheek against his heart. He can smell her hair.

“You’re like an octopus,” he accuses.

“Yes,” she replies simply before snuggling her head into his chest. She’s burrowing, pressing herself into him. More. More. Go deep.

“Is it better?”

“So much.”

He aches for her. That was it. Plain and direct. He ached.

He throbbed.

He pulses with the same repetitive thump of his organs, the circulating system of his veins. The continuous reminder that he wanted Red in a way that consumed him.

I want her to consume me.

He’s far too big for her and still he imagines her being able to swallow him whole even if he throws her down and claims her.

He’s hard between his legs and he prays she’s asleep. She’s rising and falling with his chest, slipping into the gentle pace like lapping water.

But then he feels it, she shifts slightly and skates her hand down his belly before she brushes it over his crotch.

It could be a mistake.

She does it again and he twitches. He rumbles.

Silently, he draws his arm back and begins to stroke the nape of her neck, the bare skin of her shoulders. She’s silky and feverish and he can imagine just how hot she is between her legs.

Wet.

“It would help,” she whispers and it’s all the consent he needs.

***

It’s terribly awkward at first. They’re both clumsy, both not feeling their best due to last night’s party. He moves on top of her, arm braced above her head, hand clutching the metal frame of the cot. He wedges himself between her spread thighs.

“You’re heavy.”

“I know.”

He rocks against her, hips grinding down so that the bulge of his cock drags against her clothed cunt. She sighs, arching into him. Her nipples tight and pinched against the fabric of her shirt.

“What if I want to kiss you?” she asks in such a timid voice that it stops him. He studies her for a moment before quickly standing up, locking the door and flicking out the light. He yanks the mask off, breathes deep. It’s freeing. The cool air brushing his skin, the slope of his nose and sensitive mouth and he’s already back on the cot. He’s on top of her and she immediately fists his sweat-damp hair. It’s mussed and unshowered and she grins against his lips.

“I can feel you,” she says, dazed and awed as he rucks her shorts and underwear off her legs. In the gloom, he can make out the shadow of her pussy. He touches it, allows his finger to linger against the warm, soaked slit. He pets at her and she moans. She tries to curl into herself, but he restrains her, pinning her hip and thigh to the sheets.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” he admits and this is just sex. It’s just about feeling better.

“You can’t see me,” she argues.

“I can see you.” He lowers his face to her cunt and tastes her. She gasps. “Got eyes like a bat, you know?” He licks her again, savoring the salt of her flesh, the secret part of her. He eats her until she shakes, until the walls of her womb clamp down on his fingers and her clit throbs against his tongue. He does it again until she has to kick him away with her heels. He sits back on his haunches, his hand lifting to circle her dainty ankle. He glances down to study her pretty little foot against his broad chest. “You’re like a doll.” His Duchess.

“C’mere,” she begs, arms out and as he sinks into them, she wraps them snugly around his shoulders. He turns his head until his lips match up with hers and then they kiss for real. The first true kiss they’ve had aside from the one on his mask last December. He sucks her lower lip between his teeth, nibbles until she inhales sharply. He takes advantage of her parted mouth to thrust his tongue against her own, the slick, warm muscle lazily strokes and strokes until he’s rutting between her spread thighs because it’s driving him into a red-haze.

“Want me to taste you?” she whispers as she holds his face between her hands. Her thumb draws a circle over his cheekbone, digs into the scar that runs underneath it, taking advantage of his nakedness.

“‘Nother time, pet,” he replies as he undoes the button of his jeans. She helps him kick them off and when he finally stands, her eyes widen comically. Her hand falls against her chest, flutters like a bird.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh - um - Oh.”

He glances down to where his cock has curved up against his belly. He’s rock-hard, nearly ready to blow. Red and twitching. He knows she’s soaked. He’s made sure of that. He’s used three of his fingers on her to get her ready, but she still looks nervous.

“We don’t have to,” he assures her quickly. “We can just not-”

“No!” she protests, almost hissing. “I want to - I do. There are condoms.” She gestures vaguely to a desk in the corner. “In there…maybe.��

He gets them and returns to her, her fave still twisted into something weary. “Do - do you think those will fit you?”

He laughs. “Yeah, kid. They’ll fit.”

She lies back down, her legs splayed open and, even in the dark, she is obscenely beautiful. To him. Objectively. To anyone. He’s heard the men say it. He’s felt it. He’s memorized her face and those half-parted lips and used the image to jack off in the shower like a school boy and -

“Simon,” she says, an edge of impatience scraping her teeth. “Get inside me.”

He rips the wrapper with his teeth and slips it on. He climbs on top of her and he intends to be careful, treat her like something fragile. He’s so big that her legs have trouble wrapping around his waist. His shoulders so wide that she has to throw her arms out to encircle them.

He grips himself as he slides the tip of his cock against her slick heat. She breathes deeply, wiggles her hips and then he begins to press into her. “Hold onto me,” he instructs and she does, nails digging into the muscles of his shoulders as he sinks to the hilt inch by inch. He can feel himself battering against her womb. Her cunt sucks him in with a near-violence. She grunts, but doesn’t cry or whimper. He can make out her eyes in the dark and they’re trained on his. Determined - as if she’s fired up to handle a drill.

“Good girl,” he praises when his hips make contact with hers. His groin is nestled against her mound, her tits crushed against his chest. He noses at her cheek before brushing his lips over hers. “Can I move?”

“If you don’t,” she sighs. “I’ll fuck you up.”

He laughs before drawing his hips back and driving forward. That particular move earns a yelp from her and then he takes control of the dance. He fucks her in deep, powerful strokes, circling and angling down to hit that fleshy, soft patch buried too far for his fingers to reach. She burrows her face into his chest as she clings to him. The room echoes with the slap of flesh, the wet, dirt noises of his cock repeatedly sliding to the hilt.

“Jesus,” she whimpers as he grips her under the knees and forces them against her breasts. He bends her in half as he continues to thrust, snapping into her with a relentless, determined hunger. The bed creaks, the coils screeching and he’s certain it might break beneath them. It wouldn’t stop him. Not at all.

“Feel so good,” he marvels as he clasps her cheek in his palm, bends his head and plunges his tongue into her mouth. He kisses her like he’s fucking her and when that’s too much, he flips her onto her stomach.

Her fingers fist the sheets and he grabs the pillow on the floor and shoves it under her hips. From behind, he spreads her open, spits against her bruised, puffy cunt before sinking to the base. He braces his arm above her head, leverages his weight so that he doesn’t put all of it onto her shuddering form.

“You got this, kid,” he murmurs as he sucks a mark into her neck. He delivers a sharp thrust that sends the tip of his cock hammering against her womb. It knocks her with the force of a punch and she clamps down around him, rocking back against him as she wheezes: please please please -

“Touch that pretty cunt for me, yeah?” he orders, his own voice broken on a husk. His length drags through her, sears hot and molten, stretching her in two pieces. She’s so tight, but he can feel himself open her up, mark her for himself. She slips her hand beneath her and her lower muscles bear down, constrict like a knot around the base of his dick. “Fuck - fuck - just like that, duchess. Get yourself all wet for me.”

She lifts herself, snatches his forearm and bites down as he continues to fuck her. He groans, hips stuttering against her ass, but the pain is welcome. It centers him, focuses his pleasure as it expands through his limbs. She’s covered in a thin film of sweat, her hair sticking to her back, caught in his hand. Every rut of his cock makes her ass jiggle and he thinks he’s buried so deep that he’ll never be the same. There will be no one else after this and he, to his horror, admits it:

“Fuckin’ hell, Red,” he growls into her ear as she climaxes a third time that night. “You’re so good. No one else like you.”

She’s half-mad. She’s gone and he doesn’t think she’s heard him and maybe it’s better that way. This is about feeling good. This is about comfort and relief and as he reaches his own end, his orgasm ripples through him. It unfurls through his torso, the muscles of his thighs and groin and everything pulls tight and that white scar tissue over his ribs from his infected wound begins to throb, but in a damn fine way and oh - he feels it. He really feels it.

Her fingers tangle through his, winding like creeping myrtle. He crushes her hand against the metal railing, he holds it down and flat until the bones creak.

"Ghost," she whimpers, and he realizes he's embedded inside her, taken root, left his seed.

He thinks of all the promises he's given her the last few years:

We're getting out of this.

Focus on me, Red. We're good. We've already won.

It's just a scratch. You're fine. I've got yah.

He wants to make another, it scratches his tongue, stings like a burr. He chokes on that unspoken promise until it tumbles down his throat and allows him to pull away.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #cod mwii #cod #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon 'ghost' riley #simon ' ghost' riley x reader #cod mw22 #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfiction

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enwoso · 18 days

Note

Emily fox teaching Lovie to read

BOOKWORM - alessia russo x child!reader

just a lil cute blurb as a treat after that wonderful start to arsenal’s uwcl campaign❤️🤍

grumpy masterlist

“so can you tell me what that word says?” emily asked as she had arranged the colourful letters into a words. she was sat with you helping to teach you to read.

alessia had tried so many ways to try and help you learn to read, she had used ways from google, tiktok, mum groups but non of it seemed to work. you would instead just get bored and rush off to do something else.

many of the other arsenal girls had also tried but you never seemed interested in doing it, instead finding something to avert your attention to.

but you’d been sat with emily now on the coach, a table in front of you for at least thirty minutes doing a letter game, where she would make a spell the letter for you but you had to read what it said. it so far seeming to work.

you sat with a concentrated look on your face as you tongue slightly poked out between your lips as you tried to work out the word emily had spelt for you.

“that’s a t- and a r” you said pointing at the colourful letters on the table as emily nodded on encouragingly with a smile on her face as you were close, “tr-tee no, tree!”

“yes! woo” emily cheered on as you sat with a proud smile on your face as emily moved the coloured letters once again, “should we try something a little trickier now?” emily turned to you as you paused for a second to think before nodding your head.

your mummy was watching on from the seats across the aisle, a small smile as she watched you thrive. you were learning and even though it had taken a few attempts with different people including herself she was glad you were finally getting it and having fun while doing it.

emily moved the letters to make a sentence, it going along the table, making sure you could make the words out. “right, you ready?” she asked as you hummed looking at the four words splayed across the table.

“um, t-h-e, the” you sounded the letters out as looked to the side slightly to see emily’s reaction knowing you were doing something right as she had an encouraging smile on her face. “the, d-o-g-, dog!”

“yes! your doing so well, keep sounded the letters out” emily encouraged as she pointed to the next letter of the new word.

“w-a-s.. um. was!” you got out after a few attempts of sounding the letters out as emily nodded pointing to the last letter of the last word.

“uh. u-p… s-e-t?” you sounded each letter out as you looked to emily a little confused as she gave you a few hints. “so try and say them together, up and set”

“upset?” you said a little hesitantly as emily encouraged you to carry on.

“get in tiny! now can you put all those words together to make the sentence” emily asked as you nodded, emily pointing back to the first word.

“the,, dog, was,, upset. the dog was upset!” emily cheered as you finished the sentence, a little face of surprise and shock came across you before a big smile overcame as emily high fived you.

an immense amount of pride filled you as you carried on talking and reading sentence out that emily placed on the table with the colourful letters.

you finishing up the last word of the sentence emily had splayed along the table, “your a superstar! that was excellent!” emily high fived you with two hands as you bounced up and down in your seat in excitement of your new skill.

“mummy!” you called out to your mum who was sat across from you and emily, busying herself with finishing some uni work in the spare time she had where her full attention didn’t need to be on you.

“yes baby?” alessia cooed as she looked up from her laptop with a small smile.

“i can read! emily teached me!” you said with such excitement as alessia corrected you on the word you butched slightly.

“that’s fantastic lovie, i’m so proud of you!” your mummy smiled proudly at you as your small heart felt all warm and fuzzy with a sense of accomplishment. “now you can start and read me a bedtime story” your mummy joked, it being a nightly routine that you wouldn’t fall asleep at home without a story but usually after the first few words you fell straight asleep.

you nodded, before making you way down the bus to tell everyone your new skill that you had mastered on the journey. the entire team being so excited for you.

“how on earth have you managed that foxy?” alessia asked, genuinely curious as the blonde had tried every way possible to teach you to read. emily just shrugging she hadn’t had a technique, nor had she ever taught a four year old to read before so she didn’t really know what she had done differently.

“you must of been a teacher in your past life!”

#woso community #woso x reader #woso #woso imagine #woso blurbs #awfc #arsenal women #alessia russo #arsenal wfc #alessia russo x y/n #alessia russo x reader #arsenal #awfc x reader #awfc imagine #emily fox #emily fox x y/n

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slowd1ving · 2 months

Text

KILLER ・゜゜MOZE NSFW

"All you are to me is a bleak obsession I am the mark intent on burning the street How many times can I ask you? How many days can I go without you?" Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs, even if the pair in question is a homicidal crow and a brokenhearted cryptologist. art by @ ma_mori74 on x!!! moze can we honestly e date? you’re so beautiful. You always make me laugh, you always make me smile. You literally make me want to become a better person I really enjoy every moment we spend together. My time has no value unless its spent with you. I tell everyone of my irls how awesome you are. Thank you for being you. (joke) (not really) this was kinda rushed so :3 errr consider this like part 3 of tales of a disgruntled corvid pairing: moze + male reader warnings: nsfw, male reader, mentions of blood/death/violence, alcohol consumption, jealousy wc: 4.5k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs.

Fortune. It is a humorous concept for Moze: tasting of a fleeting childhood dream and the dregs of hope. Fortune, as some know it, comes in all forms. From gilt wealth and corruption, to finding a strale dropped on the street and getting to bed on time—everyone, it seems, tastes good fortune somewhere along their paltry lives.

Moze’s good luck surmounts to meagre things: not getting blood beneath his nails after a mission; evading the prying eyes of the Yaoqing as he slinks into the shadows; working by himself; and most of all, not running into you. Good luck equals a tidy house and leftovers in his fridge. Good luck equals not needing to stock up on the tools of his trade and knives that don’t need sharpening. Good luck equals a fresh steamed bun and a slow day perched on the roof of a building.

The point must be made. Moze does not experience auspicious encounters often.

Conversely, those afflicted by confirmation bias might say misfortune comes in threes. Misfortune, for Moze, is significantly easier to quantify—but to stratify it into threes grossly underestimates the cesspit of chance he’s been allotted.

One: being outside currently at Jiaoqiu’s food stall while rain drizzles down on him. It could be argued it’s only by his own volition that he’s slurping on steaming chilli-infused noodles as petrichor stains the air, yet that stupid fox decided this was the way to go in terms of conveying intelligence from Feixiao. This was the hell crafted by Jiaoqiu’s hands seeped green with pungent herbs.

Two: getting his apartment lease renewal rejected a week ago over a development project at his block. Though he had been planning on starting afresh—never one to stay in the same area for too long, just like the rest of the Shadow Guards—he quite liked the nondescript studio. It’s a tidy place: plain and unassuming. What a pity. He’s read the message from his landlord over and over: growing a tad bit more incensed each time.

Three: the sudden absence of suitable apartments in the districts that he sticks to. None of the flats he browsed were innocuous enough, and the ones that were perfect for his schedule and profession were in dismal condition.

Four: you purchasing a flat a month ago which perfectly fulfilled his conditions. Two-bedroom, in the lower districts of the Yaoqing, with reclusive neighbours and a walking distance of the Seat of Divine Foresight. Had he gotten the notice for his lease rejection earlier, it might’ve been him there.

Five: upon asking about his dilemma, Feixiao’s eyes gleaming bright. This was the indicator for certain disaster—an omen as ill as he ever saw. And unfortunately, her gaze next fell on the scripts you were working on, before flickering back up to you. Shit. That was the only thought running through his mind, before she pitched her idea to have him simply move in with you. Say no, he pleaded mentally, but alas—

“Sure,” you mutter, red ink spilling from your pen onto the parchment. Bold characters sign the form off and the letter is folded neatly onto a cycrane absent-mindedly; before you finally look up at the assassin who flinches as your eyes land on his. “S’long as he pays rent.”

Six: you agreeing to this stupid deal. Why? Why? It can’t possibly be the deep veneration for the Arbiter General. Surely your adoration of her cannot be deep enough to let this guy room in your house—an assassin, at that. You aren’t a follower of Qlipoth, but where the hell is your sense of preservation?

Seven: him not actually finding any fault in the building. Not in the surroundings, nor the modest room across from yours, nor the lazy grin on your face as you showed him around the apartment—still expecting him to vehemently shake his head.

He signed the damned contract, and that was that.

“What’s got you sighing?” Jiaoqiu eyes him from where he’s pulling noodles: sleeves rolled back to avoid dusting the salmon hues with flour. Fragrant red wafts from the pot on the stove, and he’s suddenly reminded of the crimson shirt you wore just this morning—rippling around the taut lines of sinew and muscle as you worked diligently on decrypting ancient alchemical texts. “I thought you found yourself a place to stay, so why the long face?”

Moze keeps his silence. Well, tries to—but it’s not like a singular word will make him any less laconic. Tapping his chopsticks against the rim of the blue-toned porcelain, he evades the question and focuses right on the middle of Jiaoqiu’s sentence. “Somehow.”

“Right! Your dearest partner—” Jiaoqiu drags the word out, characters stretched tight until they wind right against Moze’s eardrums. He glares: visibly annoyed, yet this only makes the man in his peripherals close his own eyes in satisfaction. “—took pity on you, didn’t he?”

“Maybe.” The assassin slams down the rest of the piquant broth: lips dripping with sanguine. His response is a question in itself—because why the hell did you agree to Feixiao’s request?

“Curious?” Of course he’s curious.

“It’s not much of a surprise, really,” the foxian sighs, twisting the strands into a neat circle and letting it drop into the boiling water. “Poor thing’s probably still in shock from his breakup. I think he would’ve agreed to pretty much anything coming out of Feixiao’s mouth at that point.”

The man can only stare incredulously. Every part of that sentence is laden with a bombshell.

“Wow, I thought you would’ve known. Guess what’s said at Qiu’er’s stays there too.” Jiaoqiu’s golden eyes gleam slightly at the mention of the downtown bar. No, Moze didn’t know. No, Moze isn’t currently outright staring at the man no longer in his peripherals. No, Moze cannot hear his chopsticks creaking beneath his grasp. “Woah, don’t break those.”

The fox eyes the crow warily. “Seriously. Cool it.”

Eight: you’re still not over your boyfriend cheating on you. In the drizzle beneath the canopy, this is how your new roommate diligently listens to how his work partner and resident cryptologist really can’t catch a break from bad men.

“That includes you, you know,” Jiaoqiu squints at an unusually contemplative Moze. Flickering amber lights and the buzz of cicadas makes the assassin seem even more shady than usual. “You don��t have a chance, so don’t even try.”

“The hell are you talking about?” For someone like Moze, his piece of good fortune is that his voice remains steady in almost any sort of situation. This means that anyone hearing this man speak right now would naturally presume he’s affronted at Jiaoqiu’s response out of its complete implausibility. But on the flip side, those who’ve known Moze longer have learnt to watch for other irritated tells of his rather than a wavering voice. The subconscious flex of long fingers. Minute shifts in the elbows propped up on the bar. Biting the inside of his lip, just enough that it’s unnoticeable. But these aren’t things the assassin really takes stock of.

For a brief moment, Jiaoqiu’s friendly smile drops and he peers at the man askance. Is he brain dead? “...Okay.”

And that is how the tall man—hunched over in the downpour to not let his noodles get too cold—first learns of matters of a more personal note of yours. In the rare grey skies that cast over the Yaoqing, it’s a chance to digest this information he’s learnt.

But he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t.

・゜゜

A painful month passes for Moze.

There’s nothing else to describe it—psychological torment is the only fitting description of your behaviour. Outwardly, nothing changes. He still hates you, and you still hate him—two arguing peas in a pod with a mutual dislike being the only thing in common between the two of you. Outwardly, behaviour-wise, nothing changes. Outwardly, appearance-wise, something does.

He first notices it about three weeks after that waterlogged conversation with Jiaoqiu. There’s a faint aroma of sweet-smelling smoke on you—a long cigarette holder between your fingers as you read a thick book on the couch. He’s never seen the thing before in all your months together. Sure, the Yaoqing tobacco scent fades quickly away to not linger in the case of a borisin’s especially sharp senses—but he’s never seen that sort of heavy-lidded expression on you before. When you glance at him, it’s usually irritatedly—not like this, where your glance is hazy and your lips are parted to blow plumes from your mouth.

Shit. He doesn’t quite know why his heart speeds up.

The second thing he notices is that every week or so, there’s a clinging perfume to your body: never your usual clean scent, one that clearly belongs to a different person. This is the same time he starts noticing you slipping on shirts with longer necks on missions—a darker imprint just about peeking above the material.

He’s not an idiot. He can put two and two together.

The third instance of misfortune is your habit of wandering around after a shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around your waist conservatively. Sure, the area from your hips to your knees is covered—but what about the rest? He finds himself growing more irritable during work hours. Marks not caused by injuries still bruise your skin; as you turn your back in the kitchen to make yourself a mug of tea, his eyes rove the dips and valleys of your back. Categorising each wound. Systematically detailing each little infringement on your skin.

He doesn’t particularly know why. Maybe his obsession with tidiness crosses over to people too.

・゜゜

It happens like this. Occasionally, a man as ill-fortuned as Moze receives gets a break.

There’s a tumbler of whiskey on the low coffee table in the living room. Polished chestnut—if you had to describe it—with the light shining through the amber liquid just so, until it reflects onto the varnished surface. A cube of ice sits dainty in the middle, clinking as you tip the glass this way and that.

“Don’t spill it,” the assassin murmurs. From behind the couch, breath ghosting just past your ear. You don’t shriek (perhaps he hoped you would)—you don’t even glance his way.

“I feel like that was a redundant warning,” you remark brusquely, taking a swill of the liquor. It’s sweeter than it would’ve been normally: courtesy of the saccharine pipe nestled betwixt your fingers and the smoke still lingering in your mouth. “Were you hoping I’d jump?”

“Yes.” Short. To the point. Laconic. That’s how those outside this home would describe the man currently leaning down, hands splayed on the backrest of the couch. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, and you still haven’t done the dishes.”

“It’s your turn,” he adds, because he likes seeing how this man’s expression wrinkles in exasperation, likes that stupid cant of your head—for it means Moze has won this little encounter. It’s all because he strongly dislikes his roommate, no other reason.

“You suck.” Syrupy plumes ghost his face as you exhale into his face above—he doesn’t move back, even as the traces of burnt caramel become far more prominent, even as it feels like you’re blowing him a kiss more than anything.

“And you need to clean and go to sleep before you’re late,” he grits out, more annoyed than he was a moment ago. He’d say it was due to your lack of responsibility, but this angle allows the loose robe to expose your bitten collarbone—like some stupid fucking trophy. “Like you always are.”

“I’m never late, A-ze,” you enunciate each word in such a way that makes it clear you’re not drunk—so clearly the nickname is just to piss him off. A last-ditch middle finger; a threat that hasn’t worked for some time, one that makes his stomach churn uncomfortably but not enough to admit defeat. “You’re just up stupid early.”

He goes silent, in the way he does when you’re right. Instead of saying anything, he instead plucks the glass from your hand: downing the smooth alcohol from where you drank it, enjoying how for once your mouth closes just like his. The pipe in your hand tilts this way and that as you take a drag thoughtfully—recovering far too quickly for his liking.

“A-ze.” Like this, with wisps exiting your mouth and silk draped over you, you look good enough to eat. He freezes at the implication of his thoughts, freezes at the sound of the name blanketed in some gruesome replica of affection. He hates it; hates how his heart squeezes and a faint flush of red dusts his cheekbones. Aeons.

It is common knowledge to not toss a starving dog a bone before it hungers for more.

“What, you don’t hate it anymore? Here I was, hoping you’d turn tail and leave,” you sigh, theatrically despondent—much like you normally are. Too damn dramatic for your own good.

So desperate, drinking your sorrows away as if that’ll possibly work. He scoffs, striding the short distance over so he can tower over from the front.

“Maybe you just like calling me that,” he breathes. There’s a smile playing on his lips: the rare one he gets when he knows he’s got a point, knows when he’s right. It’s unconscious—he’s far too oblivious to notice it only occurs around you.

“I do,” you murmur. “Bet it warms your heart though. No one likes you enough to call you that.”

“So you like me?” There’s an odd buzz in his veins tonight. As the orange lights from the street blink into existence, and the room is no longer illuminated by ‘day’, he’s glad for the darkness that conceals the heat in his face. Your clothing rustles as you stand—practically nose to nose with the man in front of you.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze,” you mutter, and the heated breath from your lips fans over his sensitive skin—mingling with the tobacco wisps and alcohol vapour. He swallows. “It’s pity.”

“Pity?” he sneers. “Like how you sleep around to get over your boyfriend? That’s not pitiful?”

“Like I said—” your tone becomes frigid as you shift closer: until his chest brushes up against yours, until he can count every lash that glows amber in the incandescent street lamps, until he can practically taste the rolling fury off your tongue. Warm. Scalding heat ebbs from your body and flows right into his own. “—don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze.”

His breath comes in ragged waves. So close. When he stands so near to a human, it typically means he’s feeling life flow from them. Not like this; but he cannot bring himself to get away.

He’s never been more thankful for his unwavering voice.

“Don’t give bones to starving dogs,” he murmurs, mellifluous rather than jarringly annoying. “They’ll bite.”

Smoke wafts into his face as you survey his expression: flushed, brows knitted taut, lips still slick with liquor.

“So you’re a dog, now?” Your fingers graze his chin, canting his head this way and that as he makes no moves to evade your grasp: heart beating miserably in his chest. There’s a strange sort of hunger in your gaze.

He’s never seen it before.

“No, it was proverbial—” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “—you know?”

“Just as desperate as one,” you mutter. Trailing your finger down until they graze his collarbones, it’s no wonder he flinches—and you stare at him, unimpressed. “If I tell people about this, your reputation would immediately disintegrate. How many years have you cultivated that stupid mysterious image?”

“Hah—who would believe you?” It’s true, not many people would—but alas, the important ones have already witnessed this man looking at you.

“Jiaoqiu, but I guess he already knows what a loser you are.” And you miss how when he lowers his head, he looks like a completely different person—flushed visage mired in shadow, like the assassin he truly is. He’s staring right at you, unblinking as he watches the cruel movement of your lips.

“Don’t talk about him right now.”

And so, you don’t.

・゜゜

This is the prelude leading up to this particularly humiliating scene.

Humiliating, because propping himself up on his elbows on your bed isn’t a position he thought he’d ever find himself in. Humiliating, because he never gets drunk, so why the hell is his head spinning? Humiliating, because for once the mellow deep of his voice is pitched a note higher—larynx taut with suppressed groans. Unsteady, in a way his voice has never been.

You taste like the pipe still tipping in your fingers: candy-sweet and saccharic. But there’s also the heavy aroma of liquor on your breath, mingling bittersweet with the plumes of smoke wafting from your fingers. Beneath that, blood from a scrape on your lip—acrid and metallic. That is what he knows, so your lips moving gently against his feels so utterly foreign: and not just in the way they taste.

When you pull back for air, his eyes are blown wide in surprise; his mouth has only ever been used to bite, after all. You seem to instinctively know this as you take a long drag from the stick, blowing the curls of vapour into his mouth when you pull back in: to induce a slight tingle into him presumably (but Lan knows he doesn’t need aid to feel that buzz).

Languorous. That’s how he’d describe it—for it seems you only ever work lazily. There’s no hurry as you lick past the seam of his lips. There’s no hurry as both your scalding mouth and your arid fingertips trail downwards, past the vales of his tense abdomen. There’s no hurry—but Aeons he wishes there was, for your hand slipping under his shirt and against his stiffened nipples are much too damn slow.

“Do you—do you even know what you’re doing?” he mocks, like he isn’t currently jolting as you roll the pink flesh between searing fingers. You raise a brow: lucid against the otherwise irritated thoughts.

“Do I?” you copy his broken whine, gripping the fat of his tits coarsely while the rise and fall of his chest becomes ever so slightly more shallow. If only he could see himself right now: jarred at every turn, pupils blown out, and the residual sheen on his lips. Every damn hue of purple littering his neck and collarbone. And if only you could see better in this darkness—spot that obsessive fervour in his gaze, one neither of you are quite aware of.

“Do you have any experiences to compare it to?” you counter, twisting your hand while he glares at you heatedly. Nothing. Quiet as a corpse when you make an irrefutable point.

No, that’s right, you grin sardonically as you slip the long cigarette back into its place on your nightstand. Syrup drips from your mouth as you twine your free hand in his hair, tugging until he groans into your lips with his own in that mellifluous cadence.

You’re harsh as winter.

No, cruel.

Cruel, as you trail your hand from his chest to his waistband—palming him roughly through his pants. Cruel, as you pinion his hips against your bed to prevent them from bucking into your hand—fingers digging desperately against your sheets as you grind against him. Cruel, as you swallow each whine with your warm mouth: so sweet, so gentle even as you wrench your hand into sinew, flesh and everything beyond. He can taste the arid heartbeat through your mouth, and he’s sure you can feel his own—pulsing hotly as he yields his worries to you, just for a moment.

Or two.

He’s inexperienced, but even he knows what the tension in his abdomen signifies. The distinct tremors in his legs, the pain as he digs his nails into your thigh, the tightness coiling his body into rigidity. Puppet-like beneath your machinations: manipulated this way and that way with strings unseen.

Fucking his hand has never felt like this.

As he writhes, he greedily swallows you whole. Taking everything, including your bloodied lips, including the faint caramel tracing your tongue, including the strangled gasp as he grasps your nape with burning urgency. Aeons. He’s breathless; judged human lust far too soon. Against your brutal palm, the fabric of his trousers is slick with his release—wet patch a testament to his sin.

Yet still you rock against him as he rides out the mind-numbing pleasure: limbs infinitely heavier from the tension suddenly all releasing.

But he forgets how cruel you are.

One final sweet kiss later—nails raking past his scalp and the other hand warmly pressed against his cheek—and you pull away with a lazy smile.

“Go to sleep.” The directive jolts him awake, like a bucket of ice-cold water breaking apart a dream. Dissolved like candy, like the damn fluid in Penacony connecting the conscious and unconscious. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, remember?”

Like the cat that got the cream, you smile Cheshire-bright. A fucking riddle on your lips. “And I still have to do the dishes, remember?”

He’s left stupefied: numb lips, a reeling head, and an impercipient body. Once more, the shower he douses himself in is frigid—but nothing could be as cold as what just occurred.

What the hell?

He presses his palm to the lower half of his face in shock.

What the hell?

Seriously, there’s something wrong with you. And as he glances down, he realises with utmost horror that his problem has not yet died down yet.

What the hell?

Important things must be said thrice. Duplicitous in nature, Moze’s fate both turns for the worse and better simultaneously.

The bone has been tossed. What will the starving dog do?

・゜゜

All actions have consequences.

That is a proverb universally recognised by all walks of life: trodden on by kings, revered by alchemists, and vowed by the weak. You reap what you sow. What goes around comes around. Equivalent exchange.

The natural outcome from that night is mutual silence. You don’t speak of that evening, and neither does he—face flush with implication, yet unwilling to actually divulge his thoughts on the matter. Sure, he finds himself with his hand attempting to recreate your rough friction (teeth clenched around his shirt as he paws at his lean chest)—but it never quite works, and all of his colleagues are privy to his especially curt mood.

Joint missions with you are now a thing painful. Tense.

The strings that bind him to you are taut with the feeling. Constricting, tightening, until he can sense their imminent breakage.

This leads this unusual pair to this scenario. You, fresh out a shower and post the nth mission of this month. It’s only been three weeks since that night, and watching you meander about the kitchen with only a towel slung low on your hips is giving him heart palpitations. Steam curls from your body; each time you shift, he’s excruciatingly aware of how it appears just like that smoke from that night.

“A-ze. What do you want?”

That’s the golden question—what snaps him out of the trance—and makes him realise he’s practically pressed up against you from the back. No, scratch practically. His arms are on either side of the counter, pinning you in position as you continue stirring the fragrant drink. Feeling that damned sear of your skin is driving him into the throes of madness.

He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and not heeding the rivulets that seep into his clothes. So warm, he wants to murmur—but talking is for those who want to speak, and he does not want to. Not in this moment, where he’s appreciating the soap you used, the lotion spread onto damp skin, the inherent smell of you.

His teeth graze the vulnerable juncture. You turn, and he can see your eyes waver, feel the rapid thrum of your pulse as you become aware of just how desperate he is. “A-ze.” And your hands roam his waist, tracing the taut muscles betraying his anticipation.

His lips are heated as he leans into you: a snarling mess. Trembling fingers trace the expanse of your soft body, like you’ll ghost away just like the wisps you smoke.

“Need you.” It’s not a plea—the rough deep of his voice makes him sound demanding, as arrogant as ever. “Haven’t I behaved?”

He’s so damn desperate as he grasps your body: bruising and fatal. He’s desperate as he kisses you heatedly, desperate while your hands brush past the feverish skin of his stomach, desperate as you push him against the couch—too hasty for the bedroom. Now, he chokes out. Now, now, now. Please.

Pliant beneath your hands, it’s not exactly the longest time until he’s gasping beneath you. So tight, you may have commented: drunk on the sensation of him fluttering around your probing fingers. Aeons.

He’s so malleable: arching into you as soon as you line yourself up. It almost makes you feel bad for him: feeling him flinch whenever you brushed past him, watching his face bloom scarlet as he saw the marks on his neck in the hallway mirror. Almost.

It’s because he’s so cute like this: drooling amidst all the broken noises as you slam into him. You’ve never quite seen him this dishevelled, not even during that night. Hungrily, he’s sucking you right in—paying no heed to suppressing the almost-pained moans dribbling past his open lips.

What a mess.

Physically, it can only be described as such. White globs decorate his flushed skin messily: pearlescent in the dim lights of the living room. He can’t even begin to count how many times his weeping tip has stiffened, not when you’re so damn insistent that he forgets how to speak properly. It’s not like you’re any better; each time you look down there’s that frothy ring that strings you two together.

Emotionally, it’s also quite the mayhem. You don’t particularly know where to look when his eyes have that gleam in them—a sort of fervour that one rarely ever sees. Even now—pupils hazed with lust and eyelids lowered heavily—he’s staring right up at you, content as can be whilst you drill mercilessly into him.

Fuck.

“Come on, you—ah—can do better than that,” he taunts. As though he doesn’t look completely fucked-out, as though there aren’t tears leaking from his foggy eyes. You’re not sure where he gets his audaciousness from.

He’s beautiful.

“This is why no one likes you,” you hiss, sharply tugging his hair back to hear his surprised whines. Supplicantly, he does exactly what you expect. Loser. Aeons, he sucks.

“Yeah?” he grins. “What does that say about you?”

“That I’m a no one from the Intelligenstia Guild,” you answer against his neck, feeling his throat constrict as he swallows. Though it’s only minutely, his nails dig somewhat deeper into the flesh of your back—marking you up just as much as you’ve marked him. An acknowledgement of your words.

Well.

You suppose you’ve always been drawn to the pathetic ones.

・゜゜

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daydreaming-nerd · 4 months

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The Prophecy (Lucien Vanserra x Rhys! Sister)/(Azriel x Rhys! Sister) Part 3 (Lucien's Version)

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3 ( Azriel's Version)

AN: I'm not really sure if I like how this turned out, so if you're new here I promise my writing it typically so much better. ALSO there are so many new faces on here! I wanted to say hello and thank you for the love once again! If you liked this fic and you love drama, forbidden love, protective acotar boys, a bit of a slow burn, and political intrigue you would LOVE and I mean LOVE my fic Young Love and Old Money. I’m still writing it but it’s almost completed! Go check it out you won’t be disappointed!

and of course check out my masterlist

Summary: The only thing worse than having Azriel not know about the bond is watching him and Elain carry on like she doesn’t have a mate as well. Lucien and you have been long time friends but things change after one fateful starfall celebration. It’s not wrong if both of your mates don’t want you right?

Warnings: smut, so much lucien fluff, happy ending for lucien (for once) :)

Word count: 5057

We arrived in the house in silence, the only thing to fill the void was the crackling of the enchanted fire that always sprang to life whenever I walked through the door. My eyes were fixed on the floorboards, studying every grain of wood as I put together what had just happened.

I had told Azriel about the bond, and I did it in anger. I had imagined telling him a million different ways over the past 400 years but never did imagine doing it out of spite. I was just so angry with Elain and her insufferable entitlement that had me seeing red. If anyone should act in such a manner, it should be me, I was a princess after all.

I was furious with Elain there was no doubt about that, but the voice that kept echoing in my mind was Azriel’s. How he yelled at me. I had known him my whole life and I had never once been afraid of him, until today.

As if he was tired of the silence, Lucien brushed his hand under my chin bringing my gaze to his, it wasn’t until then that I realized I was crying. I didn’t even give him a chance to ask if I was alright before I started blubbering.

“Lu I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to. She just got under my skin and I-”

“Shhh” he cooed, pulling me into his chest. “It’s okay, I understand. I didn’t react much better when Azriel started talking.” he chuckled, no doubt remembering how he preemptively called me his wife, the words had rolled off his tongue so effortlessly it was admirable.

“He’s never raised his voice to me like that. Not ever,” I hiccup into his chest, his scent like apples, spiced berries and woodsmoke.

“I should’ve burned him to a crisp for doing so he has no right to treat you that way,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“It’s alright, now that he knows he’ll be entitled to act possessive of me,” I sigh, starting to feel my pulse slow in his arms.

“And I’m not granted that same right? To protect you?” Lucien said, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.

“Well, you aren’t my mate,” I laugh looking into his eyes.

“And what if that doesn’t matter to me? That we aren’t mates? What if I think that the Cauldron made a terrible, horrible mistake by not binding me to you in every way imaginable?” he confesses.

I search his face for a hint of that playful gleam I saw earlier. The trickster, the silver tongued fox who might be playing me for a fool. But I didn’t find it, for all those fiery eyes bore was sincerity.

“What do you mean Lu?” I ask earnestly.

“Exactly what I said, you aren’t my mate, but…” he stops as if to consider his words. “But I still feel like you are in a way, I feel protective of you. In a way I always have, remember when you scraped your knee climbing that cherry blossom tree in the spring court all those years ago?”

I smile remembering the event, I had wanted some cherry blossoms to braid into my hair. “Yes I do, I still have the scar.” I laughed.

“I know you do, I see it every time I make love to you,” he smiled back. “I remember carrying you to the healers at the spring court from half a mile out. Even then I couldn’t stand the thought of you bearing any sort of scar. What I’m trying to say is that you may not be my mate, but I love you like you’re mine. Because you are, you are mine.”

My breath gets caught in my throat and my eyes go wide at those three little words. The ones I thought I might’ve felt too these past few months.

I love you.

For a year now things between Lucien and I had been strictly situational, just a means to an end. Then I started noticing the little things, his toothbrush next to mine, his laundry in my hamper, him having his own side of the bed. Things changed, but it wasn’t a bad change, which was a new idea for me, as I had always resented change. But not this, this was good.

I thought I had felt that emotion with Lucien before. The night that I came home and he had made us both dinner. The time he bought me the second book in a series just because he noticed I was almost done with the first. The week I was sick he nursed my back to health. I thought I felt love each and every one of those times, but I wasn’t sure. I always teetered on saying it but never caved. But as I stood here in his arms, watching his eyes light up as he said those words to me, I knew I felt the same.

“I-I love you too Lucien,” I said quietly so only he could hear, even though we were the only two people in the house.

He wastes no time bringing his mouth to mine, for so long our kisses had been fervent, needy. Both of us desiring pleasure and the codling that came after it. This kiss was different than all the rest, in it I felt real love. The kind I had only read about in my numerous romance novels. I dreamed of being kissed this way my entire life.

I felt strong hands grip my waist hoisting me up. My legs instantly wrapped around his waist as he started bounding up the stairs, his enthusiasm making me giggle.

“Believe me my love, there is nothing funny about the way I’m going to ravish you tonight,” he smirked before kicking open the bedroom door.

The next day I woke up slowly, not wanting to move from where Lucien had placed me on his chest last night. Both of us took our time to have a steady morning knowing that later in the day there would be chaos. Lucien got up first, always the more responsible of the two of us. When I murmured a sleepy protest he simply chuckled and placed me back in bed, where I snuggled into the warm sheets that smell faintly of him.

When I woke for the second time I smelled that delectable scent of pancakes wafting through the small townhouse. The aroma pulled me from the sheets in a sleepy haze as if my body was controlled by some other worldly force. Slipping on my blue nightgown and padding downstairs into the kitchen I found Lucien half clothed and cooking breakfast for the two of us.

“Blueberry pancakes, not chocolate chip,” he assured me, sprinkling fresh blueberries onto a pancake.

“You remembered,” I sighed leaning against the counter watching him intently. When Lucien had first made breakfast for me I was taken aback by his cooking skills, there was no way that this man was the complete package.

“How could I forget?” he laughed, flipping a pancake. “Last time I made chocolate you were on your cycle and you were so befuddled that you yanked the spatula out of my hand and spanked me with it.”

I slid between him and the stove, “Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” I say my voice low and sultry as my hand slowly reaches for the spatula he’s hidden behind his back.

“You little minx,” he teases when he feels my fingers searching for the torture weapon. The mischievous gleam flashes in his eyes and before I can run he swipes a blob of whipped cream from a nearby bowl onto my cheek.

“Lu!” I scoff going to wipe the cream off my cheek but he grasps my wrist to stop me.

“Fair is fair my dear,” he smirks before licking the sweetness off my cheek. I immediately feel my toes curl at the fiery sensation.

“You are insatiable,” I laughed, moving away from him to properly wipe my face.

I feel a quick slap to my arse with the spatula and I turn to see my fiancé standing with a self satisfied smirk. “Says you little miss ‘more Lucien more!’” he teases recalling how I begged him to touch me last night.

“I knew you would tease me about that!” I shouted, pushing his study form as hard as I could, he didn’t even teeter. “I’ll never beg for you again!”

He smiles, grabbing my left hand and pulling it to his mouth, placing a kiss on the ring adorning it. “There will never be a need,” he smirked. “Now go and set the table, babysitting Nyx duties can’t be put off for forever.”

I had told Rhys and Feyre that I would happily watch Nyx this afternoon. Of course that was before they knew about Lucien, who might’ve gotten away with a pleasant afternoon in my townhouse with a new book but now? He was shackled to me to watch the young one.

While the little High Lord in training was typically quite docile, he had just learned to crawl and had begun flapping his little wings, which meant trouble was becoming the new normal. Which is exactly what had happened today…

“Nyx no!” I shouted as he reached for a heavy book on one of the bookshelves, his tiny wings helping him to gain the extra inch or two of ground he needed.

I grabbed him from underneath his shoulders and brought him into my arms, bouncing him on my hip as his eyes caught the shiny necklace I was wearing. His little hands grabbed at it and I figured it was better than a vase or another heavy book.

“Just imagine till he can actually fly,” Lucien chuckled, coming up behind me.

“That won’t be for quite a while thankfully,” I laugh, bouncing the babe up and down.

“Are you so sure about that? Cassian seems to already be giving him lessons.” he points out.

“I don’t even want to think about a flying toddler,” I scoff and Lucien chuckles behind me.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and I could feel his lips curling into a smile.“Is it bad that I’m enjoying watching this?” he admitted.

“Watching what?” I laugh as Nyx puts the necklace in his mouth.

“You, with a baby in your arms,” he said.

“I’ve always wanted children,” I said and a beat of silence passed until I decided to be bold. “Lu, do you think we could ever have children?” I ask, afraid to turn around and possibly see a wary look on his face.

I felt Lucien’s chuckle reverberate behind me, “As many as you would like my darling.” he laughed.

I whipped around with Nyx to search his eyes for a hint of uncertainty, but he seemed happy about the idea, “Really?” I asked in disbelief.

“Of course,” he assured me.

“I want a million just like little Nyx here,” I smile looking at the babe in my arms.

“Minus the wings of course,” Lucien laughs behind me and I pause.

My entire life I had always pictured my children with wings. Small, delicate little things that I would ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ over. I remembered seeing the Illyrian children in Windhaven growing up, I was always so happy when mothers would let me hold their babies, their wings so adorably small. I looked forward to having winged children of my own, but now things had changed.

“What is it my dear?” Lucien asked, breaking me out of my trance.

“Oh it’s nothing, it’s just that when I pictured my children I always figured they would have wings,” I say, pressing a kiss to Nyx’s temple.

As if summoned, Azriel walked in, Rhys and Feyre in tow, signaling that their meeting was over. His eyes flitted to me, no doubt having heard what I had said. Lucien’s hand tightened on my hip.

“How was he? Was he good?” Feyre smiled crossing the room to take her son in her arms once more.

“He was, but those wings are going to give me grief one day,” I smile watching Nyx snuggle into his mothers arms.

“Don’t worry I’m terrified too,” Rhys laughed, approaching his mate and child.

A comfortable silence ensued as I watched the little family reunite, smiles and warmth surrounding them. Lucien’s hand came to my shoulder, as if promising that we too would have that same picture perfect family one day.

“Can we talk?” Azriel asked timidly, taking a step away from the doorway he leaned against. Feyre and Rhys take out of the room, no doubt feeling the change in the atmosphere.

I searched his eyes for a hint of aggression but all I found was remorse, “Yes we may,” I say quietly.

“If you lay one hand on her spymaster I will burn you to ash,” Lucien growled, his hand on my shoulder tightening possessively.

“You have my word that I will not touch her in anger,” Azriel said earnestly, not a hint of teasing or mockery. Instead, a new found respect for Lucien showed in his eyes.

I go to follow Azriel into the other room when I feel Lucien grab my hand pulling me into his broad chest.

“Wait,” he said before slamming his lips to mine. The gesture was so passionate I couldn’t help but let out the slightest of moans as I felt him cradle the back of my head. This wasn’t just a kiss goodbye, it was a display of power to Azriel, letting him know how serious the two of us were. I couldn’t help but feel my lips turn up at Lucien’s sudden daring.

I felt him back away to survey my face, as if looking for any hesitancy to enter into a conversation with Azriel. When he was certain I was comfortable he placed a kiss on my brow, “I’ll be right here if you need me.” he said as I dropped his hand and followed Azriel into Rhys’ study.

The doors to the office closed with a resolute click as Azriel turned to face me, his eyes somber.

“First and foremost I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I behaved the other night. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that or said the things I did” he said leaning against the desk a food meter away from me, as if Lucien had scared him from coming any closer.

“It’s alright I forgive you. I shouldn’t have blurted out such an important thing anyways. We were both at fault.” I say earnestly.

Azriel pulls his gaze from his boots to me, “I heard what you said in there, about your children having wings. Did you ever picture that those children would be?” he starts leaving me room to finish the sentence for him.

“Yours? Yes.” I say timidly.

Azriel sighs as if weighing what all this means, “How long have you known?” he prompts.

I think to lie, but it wouldn’t bear well on my soul. It was best to get it all out in the open.

“400 years.” I confess and he curses under his breath. “I knew it the night you danced with me at the solstice ball in the Hewn City.”

“Fuck y/n,” he curses again, turning to brace his hands on the desk behind him and I take a tentative step towards him.

“I’m sorry I never told you, that wasn’t fair to you.” I sigh, but he doesn’t reply so I continue on. “It’s just that every time I thought about it you were pining for Mor and then Elain. I never felt I stood a chance. But you would talk to me about them, and even though it broke my heart to hear how you loved them so, it was better than losing you. I told myself that if I couldn’t have your love I would cherish your friendship, and maybe that was selfish of me but I did it.”

Azriel finally turned from the desk to meet my gaze and I tried to offer him the most sympathetic glance I could.

“I understand why you never told me, but I still wish I had known. Thing’s might’ve been different.” he said, running a hand through his hair.

I pause to consider his words, “Would they be?” I ask.

He looked at me in confusion, like I was dispelling the idea that the sky was blue. I understood his disarray. For thousands of years things had always been the same, mates were mates and that was that. But maybe what Lucien said last night did have merit.

“Are you not happy with Elain?” I prompt him with a light heart, as I finally started to feel some solace in my own words.

“y/n I don’t want to-”

“You do not burden me Az.” I interrupt him, knowing what he was going to say. “Tell me truthfully.”

A blush tints his cheeks as he averts his gaze to his boots once more, “I am happy. I am very happy.” he smiles as if he can’t help it.

“I think it was meant to be this way,” I say honestly watching the shadowsinger reeling in front of me.

“What about you? Are you?”

“Happy?” I ask, glancing to the door where I know Lucien waits for me on the other side. “I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.” I smile answering him.

“How long have you and him been… you know?” he asks, seemling losing all tension in his body as he sees me at ease.

“Since starfall,” I answered, remembering the first time Lu kissed me.

“A year?!” Az balked, raising his voice in disbelief.

I laugh watching his face drop, “it’s interesting the things you don’t notice when you’re in love,” I wink at him, knowing he was too caught up with Elain to pay any mind to Lu and I.

Azriel shakes his head as if processing this new information before he turns to me again, “And do you love him?” he asks.

I smile remembering last night, “I do, I love him very much.” I answer.

“And does he love you?” Az presses further, as if he needs to tie up all loose ends before he can be at ease with the entire situation.

“I think he made that pretty clear a couple minutes ago,” I laughed, referring to the kiss he gave me.

“Yeah I suppose I got that message loud and clear,” Azriel chuckled as a pause of silence fell over us. “I think… I think in another lifetime we would’ve made each other really happy.”

“Maybe even this lifetime.” I say sadly thinking of what could’ve been. “But I love Lucien, he chose me when I thought no one else would, and maybe I’m making a mistake by marrying him. But somehow it feels like the first right thing I’ve done in the past 400 years.”

“He’s a very lucky man,” Azriel remarked with a certain sadness. “I hope that you will be happy with him,” he finished seemingly giving me his blessing.

“I think it was meant to be this way, don't you?” I ask, finally feeling my heart and my conscious lighten.

“I do,” he smiles before holding his hand out to me. “Friends?” he asks.

I nod clasping my hand in his, “Friends.”

“Let’s get you back to your fiancé before I find myself in a pile of ash on the floor,” Azriel chuckles, putting his hand on the door.

I laugh with him and when the door to the living room opens I find Lucien and Elain hugging.

My heart is caught in my throat as I realize that perhaps Lucien might’ve changed his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. She was his true mate after all and, she was astonishingly beautiful. Maybe I was misled when Azriel and I settled our differences.

Both their heads whipped our way, and Lucien’s smile shined brightly. I was unsure of who that smile was for until he ran over to me, grabbing me by the hips and spinning me around.

“It is done,” Lucien cheered and out of the corner of my eye I saw Azriel throw an arm around Elain’s shoulders.

“What is?” I laughed once my feet were back on the ground.

“I don’t want to wait any longer. I want to call you my wife by sundown.” Lucien said affectionately.

“And why shouldn’t you wait? She’s a princess after all, you should snatch her up while you can,” Elain called out affectionately from Azriel’s side. I couldn’t help but look at the two of them standing there.

A hand snaked its way under my chin taking my attention to him before he planted his lips on mine. “Be mine, forever.” he proposed.

I couldn’t stop the smile that graced my face, “Okay,” I said quietly.

A cheer from Elain erupted behind me and suddenly it felt like all the pieces were falling into place, like everything I had ever wanted for myself had now come true.

The ceremony was short, just like Lucien and I had wanted. However, instead of an elopement it was a small gathering, Cass and Ness, Amren, Mor, Az and Elain and of course Rhys and Feyre were present. I wore my mothers dress and at some point Lu had slipped out to buy me a proper ring, not that I minded the old one.

The rest of the night was filled with drinking and frivolity. The whole family laughing and telling stories, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I belonged with all of them, as I sat on my husband's lap. It wasn’t until many glasses of wine later that I found Lucien carrying me bridal style over the threshold of our home.

“This really isn’t necessary,” I laughed, holding a spare bottle of wine in my hand as he stepped through the doorway, the fireplace roaring to life.

“It’s traditional for a husband to carry his wife over the threshold of their home after the wedding.” he retorted, stepping inside the house and closing the door with his foot.

“For humans not for fae,” I corrected him as he finally set me down on slightly unsteady legs.

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to carry you,” he laughed, taking the wine from my hand and setting it on a side table by the door.

“You never need an excuse for that,” I laughed, throwing my arms around his neck.

“Well in that case,” he smirks before picking me up again and bounding up our stairs.

My feet don’t hit the floor until we’re in our room, his lips finding mine in an instant. With a wave of my hand I remove my dress, magically placing it back to wherever my dear brother found it. Lucien tossed his shirt over his head so that my hands might wander the plains of his toned chest. His hands find my hips pushing me away ever so slightly so that he can see me.

His eyes graze the expanse of my bare body and I’m suddenly frustrated by the fact that I’m the only one laid bare in the room.

“My wife,” he says, kissing my lips, pulling me closer. “My, beautiful, beautiful wife.” he kisses me again, smiling like he can’t help it.

I try to speak but he deepens the kiss once more, robbing me of words as he uses his body to overpower me with sheer force. His hands find my arse, giving it a squeeze before lifting my feet off the ground and tossing me onto our bed.

In a turn of events, my eyes wander the expanse of his body. Toned from years and years of training. His eyes sparkle with amusement and suddenly I feel like a sitting duck awaiting his mouth on me once more.

He falls onto the bed, hovering over me as he places yet another kiss on my lips. I use his imbalance to knee his hips towards the bed, my body weight pinning him beneath me as his eyes look up to me with pure lust. Large hands dance up my sides as if to encourage any next move I might make.

“My handsome, cunning, silver tongued husband,” I smirk, placing a kiss on his bare chest. My mouth trails over his chest, to his shoulders, and his collar bones. Needing every part of him on my lips. It isn’t until I get to his neck that he lets loose a groan and flips us back over.

“While I enjoy the sight of you pleasuring yourself on my cock wife, I shall be the one to take you tonight,” he smirks, biting my neck hard, no doubt trying to leave his mark there.

“Oh Lu,” I breathe, feeling my body come alive over his lips and wandering hands.

My eyes shoot open as I feel his breath hovering over my sex, the warmth causing my blood to burn.

“What a lucky male a I am to be able to taste this sweet cunt whenever I please,” he smiled mischievously before licking a stripe up my center.

I let out a breathy moan as he continues to lick and suck every inch of me. His hands parting my thighs warm and hard as he circles my clit with his tongue. My fingers thread through his hair pulling him impossibly close, earning a groan from him that reverberates through me.

“Like fucking honeysuckle,” he moans before trailing more kisses up my body.

I slink down moving towards where his cock peeks out of his untied breeches. Needing to feel the weight of him in my mouth, needing to hear the whimpers of pleasure on his tongue but he stops me.

“No not tonight,” he fusses pushing me back down into the mattress.

“But Lu-”

“No buts” he interrupts. “I want to pleasure my new wife tonight. Let me have that,” he moans silencing any protest I might have with a kiss as he slides home.

The all consuming feeling of being taken by him as me gasping for breath as my back arches off the bed. My tits rising towards his mouth and he easily grasps a hardened nipple between his lips, sucking eagerly.

“Lucien,” I breathe feeling him all around me.

“I love you,” he rasped, thrusting deeper. “My wife I love you.” he grunted watching where he slammed into me with intensity.

My hand came to cup his face bringing his eyes to mine. My fingers trace the scar over his golden eye as I see the emotion flood his russet colored eye. “I love you too, husband,” I whisper to him.

A gleam finds his eyes and he drives into me harder, the sound of skin slapping reverberating throughout the room. It was as if me uttering his new title spurred him on.

We’re a tangled mess of sweat slick limbs and ragged breaths as I feel him deeper and deeper inside of me. My nails scraping his back, trying to find purchase or something to anchor me as pleasure rips through my body. His pants become whimpers as I feel myself tightening around him.

“Always so perfectly tight,” he curses, driving through my tight heat.

His words are enough to have me falling apart under him, my legs shaking from pleasure as I cry his name.

“Lucien oh gods!” I cry, my hands no doubt leaving marks in his skin.

“That’s right my love, cum for me,” he groans before sputtering himself. “Fuck,” he mutters before I feel him burry his seed deep inside me.

His whimpers fill the space between my neck and shoulder as he finishes inside me. Once he’s spent he rolls over taking me with him so I’m cuddled into his side.

“I’m so unbelievably happy,” he whispers into the world, still coming down from his high.

“I’m told that’s often a side effect of an orgasm,” I laugh running a hand up and down his chest, soothing him.

“No,” he says breathlessly, turning so that he is hovering over me once more. “I’m unbelievably happy because of you. You have not only given me your love, but you’ve given me a house, and a family. I never thought I would have those things. You are… you are everything and I promise to be the most amazing husband I can be.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to my brow.

“You already are,” I smile, pulling him into another heated kiss.

It would undoubtedly be like this for many years to come. However long the Cauldron allowed me to live, I knew I would always have a place here, with Lucien. And maybe things didn’t go as I had always planned, but gods was I happy, and more importantly I was loved.

Lucien Vanserra chose me, not because I was his mate, or because the world told him to. No, he chose me because he loved me, even when it wasn’t convenient for him, and I chose him too. I would choose him until the end of my days.

Epilogue: Five Years Later

“Careful my darling,” Lucien fussed, helping to lower me down onto a sofa.

“Lu I’m pregnant not fatally injured,” I laugh waving him away as I rest my hands on my ever growing bump.

“Of course, pregnancy is a walk in the park, I’ll remember that next time you beat me for serving you chocolate pancakes instead of blueberry,” he chides, pulling a blanket over my lap. “I spend a year telling myself you like blueberries and this little one comes along and all of the sudden you want chocolate.”

“Pregnancy cravings are no joke my friend,” Rhysand laughs from the adjacent couch. “I find it best to satisfy your wife’s cravings as soon as possible before she asks for another ridiculous request.”

“Especially when one’s wife is a princess,” Lucien teases, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“You married me!” I protest.

“And I thank the Cauldron every day that I did,” Lucien smiles, pressing a kiss to my lips finally.

Part 3 ( Azriel's Version)

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