#fic: blooming oleander

[wiccawrites]

Blooming Oleander - Chapter 18: Epilogue

Summary: One does not become the only omega among the heirs of the Thai underworld without knowing how to take what he wants.

Relationships: Porsche Pachara Kittisawat/Kinn Anakinn, Theerapanyakun, Porsché Pichaya Kittisawat & Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun, Porsche Pachara Kittisawat & Porsché Pichaya Kittisawat, Porsché Pichaya Kittisawat/Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakun

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Porsche, Omega Kinn, Trope Inversion, Organized Crime, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Blood and Violence, power struggles between factions, at least one (1) hostile takeover, Scent Marking, Scent Kink, Switching, References to Drugs, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Torture, Waterboarding, Murder, very brief mention of suicide, Sparring, Blow Jobs, Kinn and Porsche’s canonical horniness for each other, Fluff, no beta we die like Big and Ken, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Intersex Characters, mentions of mpreg, Knotting, Breeding Kink, Cunnilingus, Vibrators, Anal Sex, Vaginal Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Naked Cuddling, Consent is Sexy, Enthusiastic Consent, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, none of the sexy tags apply to kimchay pls chay is a bb, Hand Feeding, Barebacking, Semi-Public Sex, Anal Plug, Comeplay, light frottage, Courting Rituals, Hurt/Comfort, Dirty Talk, Phone Sex, Body Worship, Rimming, Come Sharing, Collars, Porsche in a collar and a diamond encrusted body chain bc he deserves nothing less

[carlos-in-glasses]

Screenshot/Photograph Friday

Thank you for the tag @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @chicgeekgirl89 @freneticfloetry @tommy-kinard-buckley 💛

The rules are simple: take a photo or screenshot any part of a current WIP (of finished/posted work if you prefer), and share it 💛 open to any kind of creative work!

This is: The yoke of the jumper I'm knitting, featuring art for When Soulmates Swim by @whatsintheboxmh (I love how the colours go together!) and a fuzzy view of chapter 13 of Poet Fic, featuring my favourite mug and White Oleander by Janet Fitch. I almost always read a few passages from a book I love before writing (it is in fact my top writing tip!) and for Poet Fic I've been turning to this one a lot.

Tags below (no pressure ever!):

@thisbuildinghasfeelings @lemonlyman-dotcom @herefortarlos

@thisbuildinghasfeelings @ladytessa74 @fitzherbertssmolder

@paperstorm @strandnreyes @reasonandfaithinharmony

@lutavero @liminalmemories21 @safeaswrites

@actual-sleeping-beauty @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@tellmegoodbye @goodways @reyesstrand @carlos-tk

@orchidscript @three-drink-amy @sugdenlovesdingle

@basilsunrise @alrightbuckaroo @heartstringsduet

@fifthrideroftheapocalypse @welcometololaland @rmd-writes

@kiwichaeng @never-blooms @bonheur-cafe ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

[thosewickedlovelies]

Messenger Bird  |  Oberyn Martell x afab!Reader x Ellaria Sand

Rating: E for Explicit

Summary: Your flight path finally brings you to the bedchamber of the Prince of Dorne

Tags: SMUT: oral (f recieving), unprotected PiV sex, mention of bondage; Ellaria is in bed with yous but I wouldn’t necessarily call this a threesome; reader vaguely describes themself as being less experienced than Oberyn but I don’t think that should exclude many people lol

Word count: 5,991

Note: This fic is inspired solely by a scene in @radiowallet‘s fabulous Oberyn fic, to which I responded "10/10 would be the person who ends up in bed with Oberyn because he answers the door with his dick out 🤷🏻‍♀️”

This is like, a roughly canon au where Oberyn and Ellaria are married and the regents of Dorne. It's also mostly PWP, so. enjoy lmao <3

Masterlist

“There are few good reasons to be disturbing a prince this early-”

The door opens-

“-but there is one reason I am generally inclined to forgive.”

-and the first thing you see is Prince Oberyn’s hand, wrapped around his cock.

You gape, stupefied. Though cast in bronze, not iron, the wholly naked body of the Prince of Dorne seizes your attention like a magnet. All of your good sense screams at you to avert your gaze, but how can you? 

His hand, and the length it grips, are both shiny, smudged with damp. Is it the same fluid beading at the tip of his cock? 

Or has it a different source? In the background you hear sheets rustling, and a familiar feminine voice drawling.

“Oberyn darling, you know what your advisors say about answering the door in your skin.”

The prince’s eyes had widened infinitesimally upon seeing you, surprise and delight flaring for a split second. That hand moved- up and down, ever so slightly. The faintest motion, just enough to convey that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Something secretive sparkled in Oberyn’s eyes, just barely curled the corners of his full mouth. “What my advisors say, and what our little raven’s face says are two very different things, my love.”

“Oh?”

You wrench your gaze back up to Oberyn’s face, eyes wide. Heat prickles and swarms over your skin. Your tongue has dried up in your mouth, leaving you quite unable to address Princess Ellaria even had you retained the wits to.

“What are you doing up so early, my little messenger bird? Surely there cannot be any urgent demands of me with the day barely dawned?” 

Emboldened, Oberyn leans more comfortably against the door frame, titling his head as he awaits your response. He continues to tug on his cock, an almost idle motion- except his pace is decidedly deliberate. His dark eyes gleam.

Oh, gods, what could you say? That you’d been driven mad by your own need? That there was an itch under your skin which nothing could satisfy, one that had only grown stronger since the bloom of summer and the carelessly revealing fashions Dorne and its prince preferred?

The truth was that you’d barely finished your tea this morn, anticipating that indeed, there should be no important messages for the prince this early, when the Maester’s bark had startled you to wakefulness. Now the small scroll he’d given you was all but crushed in your fist, and doubtless sweat-stained besides.

Mutely, you lift your hand. Small mercies- the tiny seal closing the parchment hadn’t cracked in your grip.

Oberyn measures you for another long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. Scoffing, he takes the scroll from you, releasing his cock with clear displeasure.

A faint breeze blows past you through the open door. It carries the distant murmur of waves crashing, and the ever-present scents of salt and oleander. Silk hangings above the bed sway, glimmering in the rich, fiery colors of the Martell family, tassels fluttering.

Oberyn’s fingers are still wet. They leave fingerprint smudges where he adjusts his grip on the paper. His cock bobs with the faint shifting of his body, his eyes narrowing as he reads. Taking advantage of his distraction, you risk a longer look at the utterly bare body of Oberyn Martell.

Stripped of his usual flowing robes, the prince somehow appears taller. Every part of him is long and lean, rangy muscles stretched along his shapely frame. Despite his frequent act as the long-suffering hedonist forced to rule, there is a sharp intelligence about him- a calculating mind turning beneath hair often mussed by sleep, sex, or spearwork.

His cock is as long and sturdy as he is. As bronze, too. A trim thatch of hair curls neatly around the base, climbing up and stopping teasingly short of his navel. You wonder if the prince sunbathes nude, to achieve such uniformly sun-dipped skin. The moisture coating the hair and skin of his groin shimmers and winks, scattering your thoughts, and you swallow thickly.

You look up again, but you’d lingered too long- Oberyn is watching you already, his mouth curved up the slightest bit. 

He drops the parchment carelessly to the floor. “Tell me true, now, messenger bird. It is only unfortunate happenstance that has kept us from meeting in my bedchamber before now, yes?”

If before there was mischief in his eyes, now it is tempered by a clear, hard demand for truth. Of all the whispers throughout the palace of the prince’s exploits, one unquestionable feature was always present: Oberyn didn’t take unwilling lovers. One entered his bed out of desire, not obligation.

You allow your professional façade to thaw, shaking yourself free of the shock and focusing on the other feelings that the prince always inspired. Delight. Desire. Hunger.

“Yes, my prince.” You dip your head coyly, lashes fluttering.

Oberyn’s smile is that of one who has just learned his long-laid plans have come to fruition- and he intends to savor the results.

“Would you like to come in now? I hope you will not mind my wife’s presence- it is the princess’s bed too, you understand.”

Oberyn steps back in invitation, opening the door wider for you. That hardness has not completely left his eyes- there is flint to it, an almost-challenge sparking.

But your attention is no longer on the prince.

His movement has revealed the princess, still abed behind him. Ellaria has turned on her side toward the door, supported by a cushion pulled to her chest. The fact that it covers the delicate parts of her otherwise bare torso is plainly more by accident than design- the outer curve of her right breast is clearly visible, tan skin an obvious contrast against the orchid-purple silk of the pillow. Her slim frame is barely a ripple in the sheets of the enormous bed, yet her presence commands- no eye could resist her allure. Your lips part.

Ellaria smiles lazily, hooded eyes shimmering with laughter at the knowledge between you.

“I can think of little I would mind less, my lord.” Ellaria’s reaction warms you, inspires a bit more confidence, and you manage to stand a little straighter as you enter the room.

Oberyn glances between you and his wife. “Have I missed something?” he inquires. 

The door closes, and then you’re aware of Oberyn behind you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from all of his bare flesh.

Your mouth goes dry again. If Ellaria was the encouraging warmth of an arm around the shoulders, Oberyn was heat- mercurial as a desert wind. A temperature vacillating on the cusp of dangerous.

Thankfully, Ellaria seems immune to Oberyn’s effect. “I’m afraid our sweet messenger bird made a rather…special delivery to me last week, while you were otherwise occupied, my prince.”

“My heart! You did not tell me?” You can feel Oberyn puffing up behind you, his tone full of indignance.

The princess presses her lips together, clearly stifling amusement. “It was entirely too brief an affair, in honesty. Everything was busy during that period- it must have simply slipped my mind. Truly, I’m sorry, my love.” Her dark eyes shine, but the apology is sincere. Sweet and simple as sugared almonds.

“Hmmm.” Oberyn’s considering hum rumbles through you, like the purr of a great cat. “This morn is my turn, then. After that we will be even.”

You jump at the brush of his hands on your waist. The prince was out of sight behind your back, and his touch was a surprise that sent gooseflesh rippling over you.

“How does that sound, sweet bird? Will you let me ravish you like such a one as lovely as you deserves to be ravished? Will you share a morning of pleasure with your prince?” Oberyn lowers his voice to a deep rasp in your ear; he toys with the raven-black sash of your messenger’s uniform, but does not loosen it. 

Your body tightens and warms from top to toe. Ellaria has not taken her eyes off you; her gaze scorches like a fresh coal in a warming pan.

“I would be honored, my prince.” 

It would be a lie to say you weren’t nervous. There were rumors, of course, of the prince’s inclinations in the bedchamber. If nothing else, his experience far surpassed your own; he liked things to go his way, but this, at least, would suit you fine.

Finally, Oberyn pulls free the tie of your sash. He draws it off your shoulders, but then, still holding it, comes to stand in front of you. The gather of fabric is just enough to block your view of his sex.

“You must promise me one thing, Bird. You will tell me, if we veer too close to anything you do not want. Any activity, any place on that lovely body. I do not force things on my companions.

“I am a man of many desires, but among them will never be thus. I am your prince, not your master.” Oberyn holds your gaze.

A fragment of uncertainty still holding tight in your chest dissipates. “I understand. I promise, my prince.”

Those obsidian eyes soften slightly. “You may use my name.”

You hesitate. Even your fantasies had not dared to dream of such familiarities. “I promise…Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn smiles then, a wide, pleased expression. He tosses your sash to the side, revealing his cock still proud and alert. He moves closer, and you’re reminded of the great cats that stalk the mountains in the north of Dorne- all sleek, bunching muscles and a singular focus on the object of their hunt. In this moment, you suppose that would make you the prey. It’s a dizzying, thrilling  thought: that the prince of Dorne, the Viper himself, seeks you.

As his hands seek your jaw now, sliding along your skin with the slowness of one who knows well the effect his touch has. Oberyn cradles your face in his hands, lifting your chin, your mouth- a cup from which he intends to drink deep. His breath brushes your lips, syrupy with the taste of wine. 

Oberyn’s dark eyes bore into your face. “Sweet bird,” he murmurs. His rasp is the last thing you hear before his mouth touches yours, and then your head fills with wind. Blood rushing and roaring in your ears, blotting out all other sensation but Oberyn’s mouth, full and soft and confident, urging you to follow his motions, guiding you into his world of sensual wonder.

And you follow willingly. You part your lips to the prince’s tongue, and relish the confidence with which he slips inside, weaving layers of sensation into the kiss.

Oberyn still holds your face to his. His hands span the entire length of your jaw, and they are not idle: his fingertips stroke and massage in small motions, sending tingles down your neck, pleasure rippling through you like wind through tall grass. You become aware, suddenly, of Oberyn’s body- it’s easing gradually closer to your own, the entire burning mass of it sending heat through your clothes, like leaning against the chimney of a great hearthfire. You inhale sharply. 

The prince withdraws from your kiss. He studies your wide, dreamstruck eyes, your lips, now appropriately kiss-swollen. Smirking, he looks to Ellaria for approval. His wife’s gaze travels down your body.

“I didn’t get to see her last time.” The princess pouts. “Undress her for me, darling?”

“Anything for you, my love.”

Oberyn returns his attention to you. “Yes?” His hands skate meaningfully down your back, to the laces of your dress.

“Yes,” you answer, and his hands are already working. “-to both.”

Oberyn laughs once, loud and bright with surprise. “Careful, sweet bird, or I will think you are here only to steal my wife from me.”

Ellaria’s eyes sparkle. “Sweet words from a sweet bird, indeed.” She shifts to lie more comfortably, relocating her long fall of curls with the sweep of a practiced hand. The cushion is carelessly adjusted, and then her right breast is fully visible, as pert and lovely as you only briefly glimpsed during your meeting. 

Ellaria faintly smirks at your expression, but a moment later you are both distracted. Your gown sags in the familiar shapelessness of undone laces, and Oberyn is quick to take advantage. He traces the exposed skin up your spine, and you arch at his touch, your lungs filling. You move to help him remove the gown, but he stops you.

“Slowly, now,” Oberyn whispers in your ear. “Give the princess something to long for.”

He draws your dress slowly down your shoulders, and you mark the speed. As slow and languorous as a drizzle of honey pools on a cake. Your heart beats fast. You have never made a performance of undressing for a lover- surely the lovemaking itself ought to be the show?

But as you grip the bodice of your dress, lowering it with exaggerated slowness, pulling the fabric tight to emphasize your breasts about to spill free- you think you understand. Ellaria’s gaze rivets to your chest, growing hungrier the longer you and Oberyn take to bare you. What is a main act, after all, without the opening scenes?

Your own hunger rises as you witness Ellaria’s. You finally lower the gown to bare your breasts entirely, but Oberyn’s hands immediately cover them. You gasp. His movement was unexpected…and very distracting. A small sound of pleasure breaks from you as the prince’s callused hands massage the tender flesh in a way that feels entirely deliberate. Knowledgeable. Like he knows exactly what this will do- this squeeze, this twist of your nipple, this-

“Keep going,” Oberyn purrs.

-this command, given in his sensual rasp.

Between the prince at your back and the princess to your front, you have nowhere to hide. No way to. Everywhere you are confronted with something that stokes the flame of desire steadily growing within you.

Oberyn had told you to keep going. One by one, you free your arms from their sleeves, letting the morning sun play on your skin, the sea breeze raise the fine hairs. The prince’s hands continue to massage your breasts, exploring every dip and curve of your torso as your gown drops further. Finally it’s at your hips, and without any extra encouragement you push it down to pool around your feet.

Wearing nothing but the morning light, you stand before the regents of Dorne. 

Or you try to- Oberyn has molded himself to your back, mouthing at your neck, and suddenly your knees struggle to hold you upright.

Any self-consciousness you thought you’d feel fades away as you turn in Oberyn’s arms to kiss him, and are welcomed eagerly. The prince rewards your initiative with an approving groan, hauling you to him, encouraging you to get as close as you wish. Every inch of him is firm with muscle, standing sturdy against your desperate grasping. You can’t decide what to reach for first- you want to touch all of him.

Especially the burning length trapped between your hips. You reach for it, and Oberyn lets out another low sound of pleasure, breaking your kiss as you tip your head down to watch yourself touch him.

Oberyn wraps his hand around yours, stilling your motions. “Patience, Bird.” His eyes dance, warm and amused. “We have plenty of time. I think the princess is getting lonely, yes?”

He herds you gently toward the bed, where Ellaria is indeed waiting, with something like envy on her face.

What could she possibly have to be envious of? The princess had no reason to suffer such an emotion. She could end this, remove you from her husband’s arms, with but a word.

What you don’t see, as Oberyn's handful of your rear interferes with your tentative climb into the bed, is that Ellaria’s gaze is not on the prince, but on you.

Your elbows buckle and you squeak. 

“Hurry up, or I will assume you wish to be kept in this position,” Oberyn growls from behind you- from over you. He has clambered over your back, draping himself over you and planting his hands on your wrists.

His tone is light with jest, but you have no doubt he means it. This is a common theme in many of the oft-whispered stories- if the prince and princess like someone enough, they might keep them a whole day, or night, or any length of time, really. For their use and pleasure alone. Even restrained, if the guest wishes- and from what you’ve heard, enough have wished it to make you wonder.

The thought makes you shiver. As does Oberyn’s grip, dragging your hands gently upward, forcing your face and chest flat against the silk sheets. Your breathing quickens. Oberyn’s hips press into your rear, his cock rubbing between your cheeks, and with your knees spread the way they are, you can feel the wetness of your own arousal smeared cool against your inner thighs. 

Heat flares in your cheeks. Is Oberyn going to fuck you already?

“Mmm,” he rumbles into your neck. “That is very tempting, but I shall take my own advice, I think. Patience.”

And Oberyn demonstrates a great store of patience, indeed. You lie, belly down in slippery silk, for an immeasurable length of time as the prince drags his mouth along every inch of your skin. You squirm and pant and moan under the delicious assault, fresh slick welling when he lingers where your thighs meet. His weight lifts off you as Oberyn finally descends, imprinting new damp patches down your left leg.

You take the opportunity to shift, half turning on your side toward Ellaria. She’s watching you, eyes slumberous and knowing. Her fingers trace light paths across your arms and chest- the first time she’s touched so much of your bare skin.

“Will you bring us songs as well as messages in the future, sweet bird? You sound so lovely when you sing.”

“If the prince and princess wish it,” you answer honestly.

You yelp as Oberyn switches legs, nipping your right ankle. Your flinch draws Ellaria’s attention to your chest. Her hand moves lower, boldly caressing the supple, sensitive flesh, all the while watching your face. She thumbs your nipple experimentally, and you bite your lip. She pinches it, and you gasp, the touch zinging straight to your core. 

This time your motion twitches your thigh away from Oberyn’s mouth. With a growl, he crawls back up the bed, shoving himself unceremoniously between you and Ellaria. 

“You have already had your fun, my love.” The prince falls atop his wife, his teeth at her neck. “Do not make me restrain you this morn.” 

He swallows the princess’s giggles with a shamelessly wanton, thorough kiss. 

“That would be a terrible torture, indeed.” Ellaria is finally able to agree, teasingly, breathlessly. “Very well, my love. I shall not interrupt your designs.”

Oberyn kisses her again, quick and soft. Resting his forehead against hers, he turns his head to you. “Perhaps after I am through with her, you can give me a reenactment of your meeting.”

His eyes gleam wickedly as he looks at you while addressing his wife.

They are both impossibly beautiful. Inky hair and rich coloring- the very sun yearns to embrace them, its golden arms reaching across the bed. They appear all the more unearthly when gilded with its light; untouchable as muses, models which sculptors might strive their whole lives to do justice.

But they are as physical as you. The illusion is broken when Oberyn again slides his body across yours, pleasure striking like sparks over your skin.

“Come, sweet one. I wish for my messenger bird to perch upon my face.”

Oberyn wants you to…sit on his face? Why? 

The prince stretches out on your other side. You sit up, wanting to oblige him but unsure of his intent. You don’t understand until Oberyn reaches for your sex, stroking lightly in a beckoning gesture. He growls in satisfaction at the slickness that readily coats his fingers.

Oberyn reads the hesitation in your face. “You have not done this before.”

“No, my prince. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize. It is an honor to teach new pleasures to the subjects in my care.”

The sheets rustle as Ellaria strokes your thigh comfortingly. “Oberyn had much to teach me, as well, when I first came to his bed. You will like this,” she assures you.

Oberyn makes no objection to his wife’s touch this time. “What is going to happen is you, lovely bird, are going to sit that shapely bottom here-” he pats his chest “-which will allow me to taste your sweetness directly from the source.” He dips the tips of those beckoning fingers into your cunt, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.

You are stunned all over again. Although this time some of your bemusement is surely due to the way the prince’s thumb joins his fingers, pressing at the bud of your sex even while his fingers continue to rub at something divine inside you.

You arch and whimper. “Prince Oberyn-!”

He chuckles, a pleased, approving sound. “That’s right, sweet bird. Come, take your perch and sing.”

The prince tugs and maneuvers you just so, arranging you above his mouth. His fingers are wet on your thigh.

His mouth is wetter. You moan, high and long and helpless, when Oberyn’s mouth engulfs your sex. Past lovers have done this for you (albeit in more traditional positions), but Oberyn has clearly received a prince’s education even in the carnal arts. Slippery heat and suction, concentrated pressure and indiscriminate lapping- somehow he knows precisely what to do and where, and when, and for how long-

“Ah~!” you cry out again as pleasure rushes up all too suddenly, pressure about to burst like a geyser. You squirm and try to lift away from Oberyn, but his arms are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you firmly in place. Surely it would be rude to climax before the prince?

Ellaria’s grip above your knee has tightened. In your parted lips, your heaving chest, she reads the signs.

“Take your pleasure, sweet bird.” Her eyes are now wide, rather than sleepy. “You needn’t wait to reach your peak.”

Her intent gaze is all the permission you need- as is Oberyn’s tongue, twisting relentlessly at your clit. Your uncertainty snaps at his wordless demand. Pleasure floods your system, climax shuddering through every muscle, everything pulling abruptly tight before releasing

The onslaught of bliss gradually recedes. Accompanying the very last of it is a long, deep sigh- a confirmation of relief if there ever was one. Your thighs tremble suddenly, after holding tense for so long. Your hands fall to Oberyn’s head to support yourself, fingers instinctively stroking through the short, bristly strands of his hair.

The prince tips his head back into your caress, revealing his mouth and chin shiny with your release. His eyes glint with satisfaction. 

“Was that as sweet for you as it was for me, Songbird?” 

“I daresay it was, my prince.” You are breathless and overcome with the sudden urge to giggle.

You begin to ease off of Oberyn, your limbs clumsy as if affected by the same buzzing that fills your head. It’s a giddy, bubbling sensation; it reminds you of a party the palace hosted, not long ago. You don’t remember the reason, now. Only that the prince had used it as an excuse to share a marvelous new kind of wine he’d discovered on his travels- a sweet, white vintage which fizzed, in which bubbles rose endlessly, seemingly without source or cause. It sparkled in mouths and in spirits all night long. He’d invited all the palace staff to the celebration, to try this magical wine, and had caught your eye that night. Your spirit lifted by the bubbles, you’d smiled at Oberyn.

Nothing came of it that night, of course. But now, with your body loose as if that wine were still fizzing in your veins…you cannot find it in you to feel disappointed. 

Oberyn takes a second to ensure that you are again lying snugly between him and Ellaria. Then he leans over you entirely, his mouth still shiny, and Ellaria sits up slightly to meet him. She moans at the taste of you in his kiss.

Oberyn’s manhood presses into your thigh. It is insistently hard, a ruddy flush to it now, and leaking freely. The fluid smears onto your skin. Eyes wide, you are entranced by the prince and princess all over again.

The ends of Ellaria’s raven curls brush your arm, soft and sweet-smelling. Following them upward, your eye catches on a necklace encircling her throat. A slender gold chain rests atop her collarbone. From it dangles small stones, their polished surfaces catching the light in shades suggesting a sunrise: pink, lavender, topaz. It seems to glimmer with a light all its own, the chain links shifting and tinkling as Ellaria moves.

“Perhaps you will have to try our topsy-turvy position with her as well, my love.” Oberyn murmurs against Ellaria’s lips, and you’d swear her cheeks colored the slightest tinge.

Turning his head, the prince notices what has caught your attention.

“Do you like her necklace, sweet bird?”

Oberyn shifts his body over yours as he speaks. Distracted by his words, you almost don’t notice the prince’s body sinking between your legs- until you feel a cool brush of air where there hadn’t been, and something rigid, long, and hot settle at the seam of your cunt. You draw a startled breath.

“I like how it sparkles and chimes when I fuck her, “ Oberyn croons in your ear. His tongue flickers at your neck, every inch the viper; the sensation crackles down your spine like a whip-strike of fresh pleasure. “Shall we find one for you?”

Your mouth hangs open, but no air or sound passes in either direction. Perhaps there are too many sounds you could make, and not enough air in the room; all you can do is stare.

Taking your shock as assent, Oberyn directs Ellaria to pick something for you. “We keep a jewelry box by the bed for this very purpose.” The prince smirks.

Ellaria stretches toward the nightstand at Oberyn’s bid, the sheets slithering down her back. She could be a sea-nymph, reaching out from a pool of gold, the silk glimmering like water around her. It is a mesmerizing sight: Ellaria’s long back, a slim braid of muscles flickering as she rummages in a drawer. Her arm arcs upward suddenly, triumphant, and when she turns back the silk slips lower still, and you glimpse what you had only felt between her legs that day…

Ellaria dangles her prize before your face. A short chain of gold like hers, but from which hang smaller stones like clusters of grapes, winking in the light. You can’t imagine wearing something so fine- but then, you couldn’t imagine being welcomed into the prince and princess’s bed before this morning, either. Being adored and adorned by two such breathtaking individuals at once.

“Perfect.” Oberyn’s declaration is hushed and reverent. “This will shine like stars against your skin.” 

“Put it on,” he orders. Then he nearly whispers, “Let us get you ready for me, songbird.”

In his tone is a wicked desire that you realize had been banked, before now. But now- as he pins your legs open with his own body, with his own hand- you sense there is no stopping it.

Oberyn slips two fingers into you, the first rush of the flood he had thus far contained. You gasp, thighs spasming. But Oberyn had drawn from you a flood of your own earlier, and there was no pain, only sudden recognition of an ache- a hunger for more than just the prince’s fingers.

Ellaria drags the end of the necklace over your chest. The metal scrapes gently over your nipples, a startling but not unpleasant sensation, and you squirm at the onslaught of stimulation- Oberyn’s fingers filling you, Ellaria’s fingers brushing your throat- and finally, the close-fitting chain clasping snugly around your neck.

You swallow, and feel the resistance of the unyielding metal against the bob of your throat. Oberyn watches you intently, hungrily. His fingers still move inside you, experimenting with one motion, then another, tracking your reaction to each one. You hitch your thighs open wider as sensations compete for your attention. You tip your head back, exposing your now-bejeweled throat to Oberyn.

“Do I sparkle enough for you, my prince?”

One corner of his mouth curls up, but it’s an almost mocking effect combined with the glitter in his eyes. “Let us find out, little raven.”

Without further warning, Oberyn’s fingers withdraw from your cunt. Every muscle in you tightens, your awareness narrowing in anticipation. Oberyn strokes his cock through your sex, readying you. Your hips lift toward the sensation. Your eyes lock.

The prince of Dorne plunges his cock into you in a single, breathtaking stroke. Your head drops back; your eyes roll heavenward. Oberyn’s loud, satisfied moan fills the room. He relishes this moment as fully as he enjoys everything else he does, his hips grinding forward into yours like he cannot get enough of himself inside you.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, your breathing short. Oberyn’s cock fills you like nothing you’ve ever felt, until there is no room for you to focus on anything but the thick, burning length of him.

“Look at me, Bird. Open your eyes.”

How can you do anything but obey? 

Oberyn’s gaze is fiercely alive, shining with joy and triumph at the pleasure connecting you.

You can hardly speak, but he sees it in your eyes; you have never been so thrilled to feel like a mouse in the cat’s claws. 

After that there is nothing more to be said. Oberyn ravishes you as he promised, raining praises like word of law, scandalous declarations that make you blush despite your position beneath him. Every stroke of his cock is a work of art. The prince draws out your pleasure from a seemingly endless spool, until you are unraveled, trembling, teetering on the knife’s edge of bliss.

The necklace around your throat did indeed glitter like a chain of stars. Oberyn thrusts into you hard, taking it as a challenge to make the stones chime louder than you sobbed each time. He thoroughly enjoys the way each thrust makes your curves ripple. He enjoys, too, the sight of his wife plastering herself to your shoulder, cooing encouragement even as she contributes to Oberyn’s treatment.

“You’re doing so well, sweet bird. My husband does have stamina, doesn’t he? And this after he had me earlier this morn…” Ellaria’s voice is lush and silky as flower petals- and as erotic dragging over your skin. “I had no idea you could sing so sweetly.”

Oberyn slows his pace. “I should not be the only one to have you today, my heart. I wish to hear what songs you make together.”

Oberyn grips your chin in his large hand and turns your face toward the princess. “What do you say, Songbird? Will you eat my wife’s cunt when I’m through with yours?”

You would have agreed to anything as long he brought you back to that dazzling edge, but this was a bargain you’d be happy to fulfill.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Gladly.”

A small smile tilts up Ellaria’s mouth. “I would be most intrigued to experience the talents of this lovely mouth,” she muses. “But perhaps I would rather eat yours, instead. You know how I like to taste you, my prince.”

She direct the last words to her husband, sultry mischief in her dark eyes. Her fingertips dance between your bodies, down, down, to where you are split around him. You jolt at the targeted pressure she places on your clit. 

Oberyn groans, his forehead lowering to your shoulder. “I fear you shall not have long to wait, my love. This cunt is truly divine- it may deserve further worship after all…”

His words trail away, praises only half-formed grunted into your neck. His thrusts speed up again. The two of them on either side of you, commanding your pleasure so sweetly, overwhelms your senses- as do Ellaria’s fingers, pressing precisely where you need.

Your mouth opens in a soundless cry as you tip over the precipice. Oberyn jerks his head up to see, and the gorgeous pleasure-pain contorting your features, your cunt fluttering in time with your body’s convulsions, yanks the prince after you. 

Ellaria watches raptly. Her husband’s long body, muscles rippling as he pistons into another, was a sight she never tired of. Neither was his near-snarl as he climaxed, his body seizing and shuddering in ecstasy.

The prince continues moving until your cries turn to whimpers, and your thighs clamp around his hips. A sinister thought briefly quirks his mouth- if he had not been additionally sated by Ellaria earlier, it would have taken much more effort indeed to slow him. Oberyn is rarely satisfied unless his lovers are all but unable to rise from his bed. 

A good thing then, that a familiar gleam has appeared in his wife’s eye.

As Oberyn lowers himself back down to your side, Ellaria takes his place, her body undulating atop yours like a serpent. The prince watches with lazy satisfaction. Despite both his recent releases, his blood maintains a low simmer at the sight of the two of you, the feminine swells of you squishing and spilling against one another. Like the overflow of cream from a bun, he thinks dreamily. Exactly how he likes his cream- overflowing. Perhaps he will be able to sleep now, and he can request some custard puffs from the kitchens later for a second reenactment…

You have barely caught your breath from Oberyn’s attention when Ellaria steals it again, her tongue slipping against yours in a familiar dance. Unencumbered by gowns this time, you are able to touch all of her, caressing down her spine and lower, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. She sits up slightly, and slickness that's not your own lets her rock easily against your sex.

“You sing too sweetly to release so soon, lovely bird. Have you any urgent appointments today?”

Your gaze falls to the black sash which Oberyn had so carelessly tossed aside. Before you can respond, another knock sounds at the door.

Oberyn lets out a half-hearted snarl. “By all the gods-”

Again fully nude, but appearing even more debauched than when you’d arrived, the prince stalks to the door and flings it open.

“Yes?”

It’s another messenger, although her reaction is very different from yours: she stares rigidly ahead, her voice quavering at the sight of Oberyn’s naked, recently exerted body. 

“My prince, the Maester sent me to look for…” she trails off when she spots you, her eyes flitting to you for a split second when Oberyn shifts impatiently. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, my lord.” She bows her head, her voice going squeaky.

“Tell him I have need of this raven for a special task today. I will answer his missive later.”

Oberyn is closing the door before he’s done speaking. When he turns back to the bed, he finds you with your head thrown back, writhing as Ellaria toys deliberately with your nipples. 

He chuckles. “And you tell me I am the incorrigible one, my love.”

Oberyn burrows languidly into the sheets again, stretching out comfortably by your side. You’re whimpering by now, a furrow in your brow rapidly taking the shape of disbelief. It’s a feeling he knows well. 

“Oh, sweet bird, my wife is a rare talent with her fingers, is she not? We have hardly begun all the things we would do to you…”

Thanks for reading 😘💗

Want more? Check out my Masterlist

[steviestits]

In The Family Way - Part 3.1

Written for an anon prompt, which can be read in its entirety on this fic's masterpost.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Background Argyle/Jonathan Rating: E Summary: The Munson family has never had the typical values that most modern Americans have as they find thrill in all that's mysterious and spooky. Steve Harrington, a black widow omega, hadn't known this when he mated with the family's eldest alpha, Eddie, and thought that he'd be another easy mark that he could kill to inherit the millions that Eddie owned. However, not only do all his murder attempts fail, but Eddie actually enjoys them! And to make matters worse, the alpha wants to try for a pup! Steve has to find a way to off Eddie for good, before he gets pregnant and maybe actually falls for the death-crazed alpha. (Addams Family Values au set in the Omegaverse after the events of the movie with Steve as Debbie and Eddie as Fester) Trigger Warning: Attempted Murder as a love language, Mpreg

THERE IS EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER THE CUT, ONLY CONTINUE IF YOU'RE 18+!

(Link to previous part)

When Jonathan and Argyle first became mates, Eddie had thought that he’d never have an omega of his own. He’d always been a little too creepy, a little too kooky. He wasn’t the right kind of mysterious or spooky like his adopted brother. In all honesty, he was all together ooky for someone from the Munson family, which made him the less desirable brother. A freak even among the freaks according to an unsuccessful blind date and her conjoined twin.

That’s why Eddie had been surprised when Steve expressed interest in him. Steve was such a beautiful omega, like a bloom of oleander or foxgloves. The very sight of him made Eddie’s heart race and pulse quicken in the same way one might experience when a pack of wolves was chasing them. To believe that the feeling was mutual was beyond Eddie’s wildest dreams, yet here they were, mated with Steve bent over the kitchen counter as they attempted to pup him.

They developed a routine over the past month and a half where Steve would seduce Eddie with attempted murder before Eddie bent him over the nearest surface to fuck the omega until the alpha’s knot popped. Today, for example, Steve had invited Eddie into the kitchen for some crème brûlée but used a flamethrower instead of a blow torch. The ends of Eddie’s hair had been singed, but that didn’t stop him from bending the omega over the counter to start fingering him until soft, delightful mewls were escaping from Steve’s mouth.

“Eddie!” Steve whined with ragged breaths. “Eddie, please!”

“Please what?” Eddie asked, as if he didn’t know what the needy omega wanted.

“Knot me! Alpha, need you to stretch my pussy with your huge knot! Please, want it so badly!”

Eddie removed his fingers, wiping the slick onto his jeans before he undid them to pull out his cock. His little minx of an omega had stopped wearing underwear after their second night together, so it was easy for him to hike Steve’s pastel blue skirt up and thrust into him with one fluid motion. When Eddie did, however, he couldn’t help but pause as he enjoyed the feeling of the wet heat that encased him.

“Move!” Steve growled. “Fuck me, damn it!”

“Patience, my pet,” Eddie cooed, moving a hand to rub small circles into the omega’s hip. “Let me enjoy you first.”

Huffing, he asked, “What’s there to enjoy? It’s the same pussy you fucked yesterday.”

“Maybe it is, but it’s also the pussy of my mate, so I’ll never get tired of it.”

“Whatever. Just make sure to fuck me some time this year or you won’t live to see the next one.”

Red colored the tips of Steve’s ears despite his harsh words, which Eddie found endearing. He found that he loved teasing the omega until venomous threats dripped from Steve’s tongue and every bit of the omega was flushed pink with wanton desire. Sweet sounds would keen from Steve’s throat, as well, making the temptation too great, so Eddie had to play with his mate each time simply to see this beautiful side of him.

Eddie wasn’t cruel, however, and soon began to thrust into the omega as he wished. With a small whine, Steve adjusted himself, spreading his legs wider, but he besides that, he didn’t move, allowing Eddie to do all the work. Not that Eddie minded, he relished in pleasuring his omega, nearly finishing early whenever he found just the right spot that made Steve deeply moan in such an unintentionally sensual way.

All of Steve’s little sounds drove Eddie right to the edge, only he refused to cum first. He’d done that on their honeymoon, as he’d been unable to last due to him never having sex before then. The disappointment on Steve’s face had been clear, which was why Eddie had developed his training routine of watching different porn movies and reading books about sexual positions. He practiced with toys, working up his endurance in order to give his omega what he needed.

Given that Steve seemed to be desire sex so often, Eddie felt he could safely conclude that his efforts had worked. He’d taken Steve on almost every surface in the house as the omega’s murderous intent had increased since they decided to start trying for a pup. It seemed that Argyle had been right when he had theorized that Steve was being so seductive because he wanted to get pregnant and to start a family of their own.

“Alpha!” Steve shouted with a groan. “So, close Alpha! Want your knot! Want to feel you cum inside me! Please, Alpha! I need it!”

Steve’s pussy then started to contract, roughly milking Eddie’s cock as he came. The attention proved to be too much for Eddie to take, which made him release his seed as his knot popped. He could feel Steve orgasming as the knot stretched his pussy, locking them in place while his belly bloated slightly from the cum trapped inside him. Seeing this, Eddie couldn’t help but reach around to stroke Steve’s protruding stomach while pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“So good for me, Omega,” Eddie muttered before nipping at Steve’s ear. “Do you think it caught this time? Do you think you have a pup in you?”

“Probably not,” Steve said, shifting awkwardly. “It hasn’t been that long since we started trying, and I haven’t gone through a heat yet either. Besides, there’s no need to rush. You’ll pup me, or die trying. I can guarantee it.”

Humming in agreement, the alpha wrapped his arms around his omega protectively. He knew that it was only a matter of time, but he could only imagine how anxious Steve was after going without a pup for so long. The almost desperate way Steve had increased the daily poison whiskeys he mixed for Eddie was a clear indication that he’d prefer that it’d happen sooner rather than later.

“When is your next heat?”

Steve stiffened in his hold. “What?”

“Your next heat, my pet. When is it?”

“Soon... Uh, well, you see, it’s sporadic. No real set date,” the omega explained. “It’s been like that since I first presented. Any day now, probably. I’ll let you know.”

Eddie nodded, not seeing any problem with Steve’s statement. He didn’t know much about omegas given that most of his family were alphas or betas. Plus, his uncle had said that every person’s body was different. What was true for one omega was different from another, so if Steve said that his heats were sporadic then he believed him.

Part 2.3 ~ Masterpost ~ Part 3.2

[evilfloralfoolery]

Love Bites - Part 2

Like the title says. ;)

**Also, make sure you realize that werewolves and vampires are creatures that feast on blood and flesh. If this type of thing bothers you, this fic is not for you. There's going to be blood. Curate your internet experience accordingly.

Please see the end of the fic for translations and such fuckery.

Enjoy!

____________________________

Like himself, Marrok is a creature of the night, so there is no surprise in Lucian when he awakens at dusk to find the werewolf still sleeping beside him.  Not that Lucian himself truly “slept.”  The slumber of a vampire was more of a deep, meditative void.  He had gone weeks without “sleeping.”  Now, it was a sort of indulgence to lie beside his lover, who did still require rest.  

At least it had been as such, until this vile misfortune had been foisted upon him. Now, resting was a necessity until the wretched foolishness of his body had healed itself.  Exactly when that might be, he did not know.

Marrok grumbles in his sleep and rolls onto his side, one arm flopping across Lucian’s body.  Whether it is the werewolf’s need for “pack behavior” or a true desire to be close does not matter.  Lucian takes the opportunity just the same.  

He curls against Marrok’s bare chest, lulled by the steady, pulsing rhythm of his heart.  That is, until his own body decides upon retribution.  Always at the most insufferable and inconvenient of times.

There is no time to grope for his handkerchief, no time to pull away. Instead, he must contend with the indecency of steepling his hands over his nose and mouth, muffling a poorly constrained “--nnkgSSCHuh!” into their confines. 

The slumbering cadence of Marrok’s breathing stops.

“Je suis désolée, mon cher,” Lucian says from behind the cover of his hands. “I am stihh–still—-hhhuuhIKGSSSCH-U! Ugh, mon dieu.”

Marrok chuckles. “Hmn, I’d ask if you’re dying, but–”

“Ferme ta gueule,” Lucian says, which only earns him a louder, much more pointed laugh.

“Make me.”  Marrok grabs Lucian’s wrists, tugging his hands away from his face.  “And quit it with the hands.” 

Lucian huffs. “Would you rather I show such indecency to your bare chest, then?”

“Yeah,” Marrok says.  “I would.” 

Rough, calloused palms cup his face and Marrok kisses him with such passionate vigor that Lucian moans against his mouth.  Purely involuntary, of course. 

“I’d like to fuck the starlight out of you right now.”  Marrok runs his tongue over Lucian’s bottom lip.  “But I’ve got wolf shit to do.”

“Do you?”  Lucian’s hand wanders between the werewolf’s legs, nails scraping his inner thigh.  “What sorrow for you.” 

“Goddamn it.” Chills march up Marrok’s arm and it is now Lucian’s turn to chuckle. 

“You began this.  The fault is yours.” 

In the distance, a chorus of howls too vocally eerie to be mere wolves escalates and Marrok grumbles.  “They’re doing stupid shit.  I gotta go.” 

Lucian withdraws his hand and sits up with a pointed sniffle. “I will try not to be too unwell in your absence.” 

Marrok rolls his eyes.  “Whatever. I’m going to go kill something.” 

One golden eyebrow arches. “Something or someone?”

“Does it matter?” Marrok crosses the distance back to the balcony and hops onto the ornate rail. 

“It does, if one has taste.” 

Marrok makes a show of extending both middle fingers. “Taste this.” 

He vaults over the side of the balcony and lands somewhere in the courtyard, disappearing into the underbrush before Lucian can track his movements.

_______________________________

By the time Marrok returns, darkness has fallen to the fullest extent, the air heavy with the scent of night blooming jasmine and fresh oleander.  

And the metallic sweetness of fresh blood. 

“I take it your hunt was successful.” Lucian files the edges of one nail into a fastidious point and sits back to admire the shape for a moment. 

“Yes.” 

One side of Marrok's face is coated in slick, glistening crimson, brutal to some, but alluring to the vampire.  How fortunate was he to have such a magnificent creature to indulge and woo. 

Upon noticing Lucian’s amorous stare, the werewolf tilts his head with a smirk. “You like what you see?” 

“Oui. J'adore votre folie.” Lucian sets the file down and rises to his feet. “Now, kiss me while the taste of life is still fresh upon your lips.”

“Mmn, that's hot,”  Marrok says. 

And he complies readily. Eagerly. While there are plenty of deer and other prey in the nearby woods, tonight's feast has been human. Lucian can taste it, can see the flicker of images within his lover's mind. 

A man with intent to do far more than follow a young woman home. Another with an abhorrent collection of photos from those who did not give consent. 

But of course. Beneath the simmering rage and bluster lurked a vigilante dressed in fur and fangs. Not that Marrok would ever admit to such a thing. 

Just as Lucian was loath to admit the stupidity that had caused his current condition.  While Marrok's accusations had been false for the most part, Lucian had placated him the falsehood of ignorance when questioned about how he had managed to become so suddenly ill.

Lucian was more than aware of how it had come to pass.  Despite popular folklore, sunlight would not destroy him. Too much exposure to it would, however, prove to be terrible for his well being. Hunting during the day was not his preference, but at times, nature proved to be stronger than common sense. 

And speaking of such things, his sinuses saw fit to remind him of his idiocy several times an hour. Obviously, he is now somehow overdue. 

He places a hand upon Marrok's bare chest to indicate his need for distance. “Ah, pardon. I am-hhhuuh!” He fights the urge for all of three seconds before managing to tug his handkerchief free of his sleeve, where he had tucked it away for easy access. “IHSSSCHu! Hhhhhiiiih-hhh-uuh. . . ! HhhISSSCCH–UUH!’  The hand switches to light upon his own chest, as if he must do so to catch his breath. “Mon dieu! My apologies.”

“Huh.” Marrok studies him with a furrowed brow. “You really are sick.” 

“Why such surprise? I told you as much myself.” Lucian muffles another wrenching sneeze into the folds of the cloth. “I have abused many handkerchiefs while you were away.”

“Oh yeah?” Darkness swallows the yellow of Marrok's eyes until only a slight ring remains. “How many?”

“More than you have fingers, mon cher.”

“Fuuuck,” Marrok says with such soft, vehement feeling that Lucian chuckles.  

He does not, however, return his lips to their previous plundering. Instead, he buries his face in Lucian's mess of golden waves and inhales the scent of him like he is somehow drawing sustenance from it. 

“You haven't fed.” Marrok’s voice is almost tender for a moment before it is replaced with his signature sass. “You want some of this?” He gestures to himself with a saucy grin. 

“You have spent much time hunting,” Lucian says. “No harm will come to me if I do not. . . “ His words trail into nothingness, for Marrok has dragged his nail over his wrist, slicing the sun-bronzed skin just enough for a thin rivulet of blood to drip from his fingers. 

“Come on.” Marrok runs his tongue up the side of his hand, his lips wet with a vermillion shine. “You know I taste good.” 

Lucian rakes a hand through hair with a huff. “Putain de merde.” 

That gets a raucous laugh from Marrok, who soon finds himself pinned to the wall, an arm across his throat and fingers twisted into that unruly mane that has the audacity to call itself “hair.” 

“You want my neck instead? Do you, Lucian?” He tilts his head to one side in invitation. “Do it.” 

Marrok's heartbeat calls to him, a slow and steady throb without fear or dread. 

All restraint is lost.

Lucian sinks his fangs into the flesh, the hot pulse of life rushing over his tongue, filling his senses and reviving him like no mortal blood can manage.  Marrok tastes of savage magic, of wildness and defiance, as rich as the finest indulgence and bolder than any wine could ever muster.

He takes only enough to bring warmth to his skin and quell the odd chill that seems to have settled deep within his bones somehow. 

But Marrok does not move away. 

“You didn't take much.”

“It was enough.” 

“It wasn’t enough.” 

Already, the small punctures on Marrok's throat have begun to heal, a true testament to his preternatural nature. 

Lucian doesn't bother to wipe the blood from his lips or address the fact that it has left a wet trail down his chest.  Instead, he slips the few remaining buttons away from their holes and allows the shirt to slide from his shoulders and onto the ground. The way Marrok’s gaze follows his every move is more than appreciative, it is predatory.  Hungry for a different manner of satiation. 

“Is there something that you desire to taste?” Lucian glances over his shoulder, strands of his flaxen hair adhered to his cheek by Marrok’s own essence.  “Something you wish to devour?”

Marrok snorts.  “Fuck you.”

But the words are a teasing retort and not the anger that had so fiercely gripped him earlier. 

Marrok stalks him like prey, his stare steady and penetrating, head lowered, breathing deep and controlled. Before he can pin Lucian to the bed, the vampire is suddenly behind him, an arm around his throat in a reverse strangle hold. 

“Since you have such concern for my well being, mon amour, I will satisfy your curiosities.”  He hefts the much larger, snarling werewolf into his arms, as if he is a mere wisp of a being and tosses him onto the bed where he lands with a most ungraceful thud. 

It is Lucian who does the holding now, pinning Marrok's shoulders to the bed sheets.

“Ah, je suis désolée.” Lucian chuckles with dark repose as he runs a finger down Marrok's nose, pausing to tap the tip. “Did you want to be on top?”

To his rather sadistic amusement, Marrok does not struggle, choosing instead to lace his fingers behind his head and stretch beneath Lucian's body. 

“Nah,” Marrok says with a smirk. “I'll just chill here and let you please me.”  

He does, however, fist a handful of Lucian's blood-and-flaxen waves, jerking his head to one side. “Don't bite my dick.” 

Lucian laughs with such improper lunacy that the birds perched on the balcony railing scatter into the night sky. 

_____________________

TBC . . . .

Mon dieu - My god Oui. J'adore votre folie - Yes. I adore your madness Mon cher - My dear/My darling Ferme ta gueule- Shut your mouth Putain de merde - Fucking hell (or what the fuck, in other contexts) Mon amour - My love Je suis désolée - I am sorry

[romanoffsbish]

A Blooming Love…

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader (AU)

Inspired by: (hilarious tiktok)

Happy Valentine’s Day Eve 🌸 🥰 (A bonus fic)

R’s love language is flowers, 🥹

Today is the busiest day of the year for you, all morning long you spend in a van, delivering intricate displays of love to strangers through your beautiful bouquets of flowers. Majority of which you leave on doorsteps, or on the front desks of offices, but on the rarest of occasions you get to deliver it directly to their hands. Those types of interactions have always been your favorite, getting to bare witness to the genuine happiness the simple gesture inspires warms your heart beyond measure.

————

You're a local, low end florist, so your order threshold is much smaller than that of say edible arrangements, or 24 hour flowers, but you still make quite a profit on Valentine's Day. The patrons make note of your displays as why, telling you that the others simply couldn't do it the way you did, and you took pride in that.

Knowing that people genuinely appreciated the way you strategically mapped out bouquet's, picking the best pairings based on not only look, but the deeper meaning behind each flower's petals, meant the actual world to you.

For instance, why buy a ring and propose to your lover when you can arrange a bouquet of lilacs and spider flowers to symbolize the desire to elope. It’s cost effective and beautiful.

Have an enemy? Ensure they heed your warning of an impending doom by giving them a lovely bouquet of oleanders and daffodils.

Apart, some flowers meanings are dull, but when paired with others they begin to offer a fuller message, and that is half the fun for you.

At the back of your van is the last of your vases meant to be delivered, you'd started at eight this morning, and now that it's noon you're glad to be done with the business end of things. Now, you're headed off to hand deliver some strategically thought of bouquets to friends, and possibly, the woman who owns your heart.

You knocked on the first door, patiently waiting for the woman to answer, and to your shock an adorable little boy answers it instead., "Auntie Y/N!," his tiny body collapses into yours, nearly sending the vase with the shades of pink and purple Alstroemeria to the ground., "Hello to you too Tommy, where's your mom?"

"You call, and I appear.," Wanda teases as she enters into your field of vision., "Ooh, they're gorgeous Y/N/N, you've outdone yourself."

Wanda swiftly took the vase, and walked it into the kitchen where it now sat in the middle of her dining room table. She came back to promptly pull you into her for a hug, then she slipped a brown paper bag into your hand, and chuckled when you looked to her warily.

"Can't have you fainting on the job Y/N, and we both know you haven't eaten, so enjoy.," she winked at you, but the look in her eyes was sort of reminiscent to that of a concerned mother., "Thanks Wands, you always take such good care of me.," you murmured over the bite of sandwich you'd already started devouring, then you waved at her before taking your leave.

"Don't forget to finally tell her!," the brunette teasingly muttered behind the partially shut door, her hand outstretched to you holding a simple, singular flower, and you couldn't help but to smile up at her as you gently took it., "Good luck today Y/N, call me later with all the details, I look forward to the good news.," and with that she left your awestruck form alone.

Celosia's are gorgeous, frilly flowers that come in many shades, like the red in your hand, and they symbolize boldness, and when handed out it's usually meant to inspire bouts of courage. Wanda was your best friend, and had yet to steer you in the wrong direction before, so you decided that along with her selected flowers, you'd also be exposing your heart to Natasha.

But first, you must deliver the rest of your friends their bouquets, and next on your list is none other than the woman of your affections little sister, Yelena, and her lovely wife—Kate. Yelena was the small town's sheriff, and her wife worked for Natasha's tech company. These two are some of your favorite people, Yelena never fails to cheer you up with a good joke, and Kate doubles down with the comfort.

For Yelena you opted out of a multitude of flowers, she's always been more of a less is more type of gal, so you wanted to respect that. Baptisia is the flower you settled on, it's meant to offer the receiver protection, and with it being a shade of purple you thought it was a cute nod to the woman that she adored most.

Kate's bouquet was meant to inspire fertility, as you knew she was in the process of becoming pregnant, but that there was a bit of struggle. Peonies are meant to inspire such things, so her bouquet was a mix of the many shades.

With a quick knock on their front door you're greeted by a yawning Kate., "Good afternoon Miss Bishop.," you teased, and as expected Yelena rounds the corner to correct., "Belova!"

You smirk., "Oh, my apologies Mrs. Belova.," the couple both look at you, Kate with a fondness, and Yelena with a playful glare., "How might we help you?," the blonde asks, her romantic breakfast now running cold.

"How rude.," you scoffed., "Can't a girl bring her besties their bouquets without judgment?," the blonde simply flipped you off, but then she gently took the vase and assessed the plant.

"Thank you, they're beautiful Y/N.," Yelena remarks, and you see the genuine appreciation flash through her eyes, and then you feel it when Kate tugs you into a tight embrace., "Thank you!," her thanks are muffled by your shirt, and you chuckle softly., "Of course."

"Where to next?," the blonde asks, teasing smirk at the ready., "My sisters perhaps?," she quirked a brow and you only rolled your eyes., "Nope, next is Darcy's, then Monica and Pietro, then.," Yelena waved her hand., "Ok, I get it!"

"Teaches you not to meddle.," you chuckled, then you waved goodbye to your friends.

"Kate Bishop, get your coat, we're going to my sisters.," she squealed with an excited clap of her hands., "Why?!," she deadpanned., "To watch the two idiots finally make their moves, it will be funny—I can almost promise it."

You knew of Natasha far before you ever met the woman, she was once Wanda's boss after your best friend graduated from her university. Now Wanda works remotely as she prefers the luxury of being a stay at home mom to the twins. She'd always tell you stories of her boss, how she was a stern one, but that she was also an understanding one, who led with kindness.

Now you know her, and you have the couple from your last delivery for that, because it was their wedding that brought her into your life. Beforehand she'd only been a passing face, like at Wanda's wedding, or on the shared street of your businesses, but now she's a regular. In your shop, your life, and more so your heart.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"Yelena, I told you we should've hired a more credible florist, where is she?," Natasha barked at her sister, her foot nervously tapping against the hardwood as if this was her wedding to fuss over., "Natasha, practice patience like Mama always said, your worry lines are deepening."

Natasha's petty response died on her tongue when you suddenly appeared before them, a smidge out of breath, but wearing a warm smile in spite of yourself., "I'm sorry I'm late Miss Belova, but there was an accident on the highway that sent me on a 30 minute detour."

"Yelena.," she annoyedly corrected you., "Don't worry about it Y/N, I expected you by noon, so seeing as how it's barely passed eleven you're well ahead of schedule.," she teasingly replied, then she looked to her watch., "I must rush off to get ready now, I'll leave you with my sister.," she then turned to her sternly., "Play nice."

Natasha watched intently, eyes trained on your every move, if asked she'd say it was for Yelena and Kate's sake, but it was her shameless way to drink you in—you were far more to marvel at, even though your displays were gorgeous.

"Hi...," Natasha sheepishly greets, internally slapping herself at her nervousness, she usually never feels nervous, if anything she's the one who inspire such things, it alludes her on as to how you're doing this to her., "I'm Natasha."

"Oh, I know who you are.," you bite back, but the smirk you hold shows there was no malice., "For starters, you're my best friends old boss, I saw you at her wedding, and to add onto that your building is across from mine, and I do have to say thanks for all of the business."

Natasha stares at you confused, she does remember the wedding, the one where she once again couldn't look away from you, but your other business comment was perplexing., "You're welcome?," she offered, but it came off as a question, and her face confirmed that.

"I end up selling a lot of 'I'm sorry I missed dinner tonight, had to work late' or 'Miss Romanoff needed me to stay, I swear I'm not cheating on you, please don't divorce me' bouquets to your many scared associates."

Natasha laughed, it was the kind of sound that you found yourself yearning to inspire further., "I can keep them even later if you wanted.," and now you were politely chuckling along with her, doing your best to remain professional, while still keeping her attention., "No thanks, I'd like to make it home before sundown."

Natasha continued to follow you around, her eyes watched the way your hands gently move the pieces about. It was clear to her that the job meant something to you, it wasn't an easy cash grab, or an exploitation of nervous spouses. You genuinely loved the art of crafting, and sharing that with anyone who would partake.

"Who picked out the arrangements?," she questioned, her curiosity getting the better of her., "Kate and Yelena were incredibly busy, so they actually asked me to give it my best go, and so I landed on this.," you stepped back, your hands now gesturing to the display., "What do you think? Is it up to snuff?"

Natasha smirked playfully as she observed the display in all of its glory. It was mesmerizing, there wasn't anything to be expected on the table, and she found herself intrigued on the why of it all., "It's beautiful, truly, but may I ask why?," your pensive look inspired her to elaborate., "What's the reason you didn't slap some roses down and call it a job well done?"

"Roses are lovely, they hold their place in the wedding line up for sure, but it's just lazy, and too par for the course for me.," you explained., "Holly, the flower you see wreathed around each base of the vase is for more than the Christmas season you know.," she saw the way your eyes lit up the further you divulged, and she found it rather endearing to say the least.

"They're meant to symbolize courage, defense, and oversight, which I felt perfectly fitted to your sister's dangerous job, and Kate's love and acceptance in spite of it all.," her heart softened as you explained., "Then at the center here we have a cluster of lavender, the purple color was important to Kate, so I did my best to give her that, while somehow finding a balance."

"It inspires a calming energy, and I felt that would be good at any wedding.," she nodded.

"Then directly surrounding the sprigs of purple is a circle of pink bluebells for everlasting love, and lastly we have gardenias for pure joy.," you looked to her expectantly, brow raised and all., "Well, it's already beautiful to look at, but when you elaborate, it gives it a different beauty."

"Thank you."

Natasha frowned as you finished the display of the last table., "Are you staying for the night?," you shook your head, smiling softly as you did.,

"I'm afraid not, I am not one to overstay my welcome, but do wish the couple well for me."

"No pressure, but I'll have you know my sister and her blushing bride would have no quarrels if you stayed, in fact I'm certain Kate would be sad if you didn't—she's fond of your work.," the redhead somewhat groveled, much to her own shock too, even using her sisters fiancé as a play in the game to get you to stay.

The twinkle in her eye isn't lost on you., "So, I should stay for Kate's sake then?," she heard the tease, it even excited her, but she did her best to remain unaffected., "Why of course."

"Happy wife, happy life—who am I to deny your sister such a thing?," you winked, then much to the redheads dismay you went to go., "Where are you going then?," she cursed herself for the desperation in her tone., "Thought I'd put my wagon away, doesn't seem to add the right ambiance for the wedding."

"Oh, yeah, makes sense...," you giggled softly., "Yeah, don't worry princess—I'll return."

Natasha watched you walk away in shock, her eyes never stopped staring ahead, not even when you'd disappeared around the corner. Never in her life had she been so awkward, nor so desperate to be around someone, but there was just something so special about you.

"Sestra! Where's Y/N? Did you scare her off?"

"No. She just went to her car for a moment."

"Good, she's running late.," Yelena groaned, and her sister looked to her for clarification., "She's Kate's maid of honor.," she offers, and the redheads jaw drops at the information.

"What? How? Why have I never heard of her?," she stammers, her words flying out nearly as fast as her thoughts are running., "You have, she's the third musketeer you always miss out on seeing at all of our events you're late to."

"Wait! Y/N is Wanda and Kate's third party?," the blonde nods with a fond smirk., "She's a very sweet girl, but with a bit of a wild side."

"She said she was leaving, I had to ask her to stay.," Natasha bargains with a furrowed brow, and she gets her sisters obnoxious laughter in response., "She's also a bit of a tease."

"Who's a tease?," you ask as you step back up to the sisters with a sly smirk, and in a new outfit that leaves Natasha at a loss for words.

"You.," Yelena pointedly remarks, she then grabs your arm before slapping her sister upside her head., "Go get ready Natalia."

"Here.," you reach out to the redhead, her breath hitches when you push her hair behind her ear as you settle a stem atop the lobe., "Beautiful.," you smile, admiring the pink carnation that now sits besides her blushing face., "It symbolizes admiration.," you wink.

"Come on.," Yelena groans, pulling your giggling form along with her, and leaving her speechless, flustered sister in the dust.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

Natasha and you had been flirting from the start, but for some reason neither of you knew how to take it further, so after two years of beating around the bush it appeared up to you to make the move. Natasha meant to ask you, she did, but it only ever turned into half baked dates, where she'd bring you lunch in the shop, and you'd send her off with a new flower, but the feelings you both harbored were only ever masked behind dull, casual conversations.

You both just came from such different worlds, she worked a nine to five, that really was only a recommendation seeing as how she worked well into the night on most occasions, and her weekends off never really rang true either. Natasha was a true prisoner to capitalism, and for some reason she didn't seem to mind it.

Whereas you built your own schedule based on a whim, Monday through Friday you opened the shop anywhere between 10am and 12pm, and were closed by 6pm. Then you would deliver flowers on Saturday's from 10am to 2pm, before taking the rest of the weekends off. You lived a life free of societal pressures, and Natasha was intrigued by your carefree nature, add on your ability to love hard, and your oh so beautiful face and she was a total goner.

She just never knew if you'd be able to handle her demanding lifestyle, you were just so sweet, and she wouldn't want to tamper that. However, as she gets older she becomes more aware that she's not where she should be. Success in business is only one part of the story, she desired love too, and she now knows the only way to complete her life is to have you. To make you hers and build a life with you that tailors to the both of your wants and needs.

Which is why she's nervously awaiting your arrival by the window, her heart full of hope, and her mind racing with what she'll actually say as you finally pull up her snowy driveway. You failed to catch her gaze, you were far too nervous for what's about to happen to look up.

Instead you opened the trunk, and began to collect what you needed. The flowers you reached for were gorgeous. Everyone else received their arrangements in clear vases, but Natasha's was in a red one. Simple, maybe even expected, but nonetheless it was a step above the rest, and to the right person even romantic. There was also a sweet Valentines Day bag beside it that carried a whole lot of goodies tailored specifically to the redhead.

Natasha bit her lip as she watched you slowly make your way up her stairs, you were holding the prettiest bouquet made to date, and her body warmed at the amount of care you show. There was a confidence in your step that had her wondering what your intentions were, she smiled at the thought of you loving her back.

Then all too quickly her smile fades when she watches you slip hard on the ice of her porch. The vase full of dark and light red carnations, white gardenias and a single pink rose goes flying into the wall and shatters, and at the sound you wince, soon wondering if your numbed tailbone maybe had met the same fate.

Natasha ran outside., “Y/N/N, oh my gosh, are you okay?,” you looked up at her with a pained smile., “I’m oka—.,” your lie was cut off with a groan as Natasha too slipped in an attempt to help you up, her pointed elbow making harsh contact with your soft abdomen., “I’m sorry.”

After a minute of silence on both of your ends you finally peered down to see the redhead already smirking up at you. Then all at once the both of you broke out into a fit of laughter. Sure it was embarrassing, but seeing as you both fell prey to the harsh winter conditions it wasn’t all that bad. Natasha was the first to shimmy into a seated position, her hands reaching behind her to pick up the flowers.

“They’re beautiful.,” she comments, bringing them up to her face one by one to appreciate the aromas as well., “Tell me about them?,” you could see the hopeful glint in her eyes, there was an unusual vulnerability in her tone too. So you sighed and sat up to face her as you finally had the courage to give her your heart.

“Well.,” you softly scooped the lighter of the two carnations out of her hand., “This shade is meant to symbolize someone’s admiration for the recipient.,” you watched as her cheeks tinted a similar shade., “I admire you wholly.”

“The white gardenias symbolize purity.,” your eyes burned bright with the message as you stared deeply into Natasha’s gorgeous green., “There’s nothing I trust more than us.,” she subtly scooted closer to you, heart completely enthralled by your slow love confession.

“The darker shade.,” you took a deep breath, this one was the one that gave no room for a friendly interpretation., “It’s a symbol of a deep, undying love that the giver harbors for the recipient.,” you ducked your head, afraid to see her reaction, but a firm hand on your shoulder brought your eyes back up, and your heart settled at the sight of her soft features.

Natasha’s lips gently twitched at the roundabout confession, the instinct to smile dreamily was there, but when you went to reach out for the rose she felt the urge to tease you was a smidge stronger than melting into the warmth of your reciprocated love.

“I thought you said roses were lazy.,” she hummed while looking the flower over., “Eh, sometimes the cliches work.,” you remarked playfully, and the redhead nodded, then she smiled warmly at you before reaching to hand you your own rose back., “Do you accept?”

Natasha watched the clarity slowly wash over you, her use of the flower nowhere close to lost on you., “That was meant to be my line.,” you teased, but your vulnerability was evident., “I’d say I’m sorry I beat you to it, but I’m not.,” she smirked triumphantly., “Now answer me Y/N.”

“I do.,” she instantly beamed, then she moved to straddle your lap, and the tension was thick as your eyes tracked her every movement. Soft fingers traced over your face before pushing the hair behind your ears. Her hands were gentle as she placed the rose over your ear., “Beautiful.,” she breathed out affectedly, and then as she looked into your doe eyes she softly whispered., “Fuck it.,” then her lips met yours.

Natasha was gentle, she was a romantic at heart, so there wasn’t any rush to devour you. However, as your hands settled possessively over her hips she felt the urge to deepen it.

“My eyes! Kate! Take the wheel!,” Yelena shrieked, her hand was swift as it threw the cop car into drive., “Serves you right for spying.”

The loud boom of sirens, and screeching tires pulled your attentions from one another., “Eto malen'koye der'mo.,” you chuckled affectedly., “I’m not sure what you said, but it was hot.”

(That little shit)

Natasha smirked., “Oh yeah?,” you nodded dumbly, and she leaned in, your body shivered as her hot breaths fanned across your face., “Tebya budet tak veselo unichtozhat', detka.”

(You’re going to be so fun to destroy, baby.)

“Fuck.,” you whimpered., “Kiss me, please.”

As her plump lips reclaim their place against yours, you sigh dreamily against her as your heart hammers wildly in your chest. Because the soft affection reaffirms your thoughts; to know Natasha Romanoff, is to know true love.

————

To offer a rose, is to essentially offer your ❤️.

3,844 Words

❤️ Kaitlyn 🌸

[daistea]

ooo, here’s another question! what helps you start out a piece of writing? like what makes you go ‘oh this is how i start’ cause i have that problem a lot, especially with writing fics! or just finding the right words to start with! 💚

Honestly, this is one of the hardest things. I think everybody struggles with it!

For me, I listen to music I associate with the character I’m writing about. Or I listen to songs that fit the vibes of what I wanna write.

I do something that gets my creativity flowing, like cooking or just pacing the house lol.

Another thing you can do is identify the themes of your fic! What’s going on beneath the words? What’s the vibe? Does your story center a certain emotion? You can start with an idea that describes/exemplifies your theme.

Good examples of this are:

A Tale of Two Cities. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

The Call of Cthulhu. "The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.“

Those openings give your reader a hint about what this story tackles! They set the over-arching theme.

Ooorrr you can state something shocking! I used to do this a lot. Some examples are

The Uglies. “The early summer sky was the color of cat vomit.” LOL it’s descriptive of the scene and instantly tells us what our narrator is like.

The Outsider. “Mother died today. Or maybe, yesterday; I can't be sure.” Instantly gives us insight into our narrators mental state.

- Another option is description! Whether that be description of a memory, or the present moment.

White Oleander. “The Santa Anas blew in hot from the desert, shriveling the last of the spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. Only the oleanders thrived, their delicate poisonous blooms, their dagger green leaves. We could not sleep in the hot dry nights, my mother and I.”

Night Watch. “Sam Vimes sighed when he heard the scream, but he finished shaving before he did anything about it.”

Anyyywaaay there are options! My advice would be to identify your theme, what you’re trying to say or describe. Identify your tone, and your character’s emotional state or thoughts. The end result should build suspense, anticipation. It catches the reader and makes them curious to know more.

Or just steal a line from a song you like, as I often do 🤷‍♀️

[dodgerkedavra]

[New Fic] Perennial Blooms

Pairing: Drarry

Rating: E

Words: 5,000

Summary: The flowers keep coming back.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53978287

“Malfoy? Malfoy, what’s—oh, God, Malfoy—let me—”  Half of Potter appears at Draco’s bedside in a dim pool of light. He can’t move without tearing open the rest of the wounds Potter left and he can’t stop coughing. The thing in his throat moves up and up in terrible increments. Draco leans over the mattress. How will he know if he—he can’t feel his tongue, his vision has got so blurry and he’s got no balance— Another violent cough, and something catches on his teeth. He’s not sure how he manages to feel it but he does. He’s not sure how he manages to spit, but he does. A crumpled yellow petal, glistening with saliva, lands in the curve between his thumb and forefinger. More wounds split with bright shocks of pain. Draco keeps coughing. A second petal comes up, then a third. The rest of Potter slithers into view like a curtain had slid off him. He holds a wavy, indistinct glass of water that bubbles in and out of Draco’s periphery. “—is that?” he’s asking, his voice low but frantic, which makes absolutely no sense. They fought, threw hexes at each other, Potter tried to kill him. “Malfoy, what is that? No, fuck, I’ll get Madam Pomfrey, I’ll—” Draco lurches forwards and grabs Potter by the wrist. It’s meant to stop him from going for help. He wants Potter to hide him. He wants to lie down behind the bower in his mother’s rose garden and close his eyes, that’s all. But there’s no bower. It’s just Potter here to watch him retch up another handful of yellow petals. “Tell me what it is!” Potter demands. His mouth doesn’t work. His face is numb. He can’t speak. Draco is shocked when he hears himself answer. “Oleander.” The word is surprisingly clear, given the state of him. “Means beware.”

Read Perennial Blooms on AO3!

[strangesmallbard]

👀

from a barely started agatha harkness/wanda maximoff fic where agatha breaks free of agnes and decides to pull wanda out of the rubble and try that whole thing again:

On the last day Agatha Harkness wakes up as Agnes No-Last-Name, the oleander bushes come into full bloom outside. The scent of apricots waft through an open window carrying the hot dust of summer, and Agnes wakes with a whisper curling into her ear canals like pretty vines. Wake up, it whispers. Wake up, hon, before–

Fists pound on the window; Agnes’ chest rises off the bed. The whisper turns shrill. Wake up, wake up, wakeupwakeupwakeup–you useless witch–wake–

“A witch,” murmurs Agnes. “Forgot to add the B again, didn’t you, Ralph.”

Something cool and fragrant tickles her nose. Agnes reaches up without opening her eyes and touches delicate petals, slippery underneath calloused fingertips. Someone in her mind gasps. This usually happens at night, when the lady in purple fights the lady in red on a beautiful grassy field. Recurring dreams are supposed to mean something, but all Agnes can assume is she needs a new outlet for her imagination. Plenty of women make a pretty penny writing stories, after all. If Ralph ever gets fired from Computational Services–

I’m sorry, says the someone. They repeat the phrase like a nursery rhyme until Agnes falls back asleep and the dream becomes a nightmare. It’s always a nightmare; the lady in red has blood streaking her face in ugly rivulets and the lady in purple screams as her bones crunch backward and the world cracks like an egg underfoot, and oh, somehow, somehow the dream flickers back to G for General Audiences when Agnes is ready to wake up. Funny how that is. Funny.

The lady in purple is standing over the lady in red now. She’s holding her jaw in clenched fingertips, heaving with victory. I’m sorry, says the lady in red. She turns to Agnes now and there are tears mixing with the blood and the dirt. Her head twists at a terrible angle. Agnes, think of breakfast. Orange juice, toast, eggs. Think of book club on Tuesday. Ralph’s mustache and how it tickles. Quickly, before–

That voice.

“Wanda?” Agnes says, a kaleidoscope of flowers obscuring her vision. She laughs and it echoes. “Why are you here, hon?”

The lady in purple scoffs. “Now that’s pathetic,” she drawls and snaps Wanda’s neck.

[kiribaku-fics-whatever]

Hanahaki

Roses are red and they taste like shit by Unbreakable_Red_Riot

Katsuki was really fucking sick of the smell of flowers.

red oleander by hupsoonheng

For his crimes of being selfish, mean, and with no love in his heart, Bakugou Katsuki is cursed by a mysterious old woman's hanahaki-like quirk. And because he is selfish, mean, and with more love in his heart than he knows what to do with, he lets it almost kill him.

-

my first bnha fic and the first writing i've done all year! (thanks, 2020.) it's also my first hanahaki fic, and i wanted to take more of a hans christian anderson take on the trope.

Thorns and Roses by Present-Mics-scream (write_your_way_out)

Hanahaki disease: Born from one-sided love, the victim coughs out petals and flowers. It ends when the love is returned, or when the victim suffocates on the petals and dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings also disappear.

To Bakugou, Hanahaki disease is just for stupid schoolgirls. Anyone who suffers from it should just get over their feelings. It's petals, not knives or bullets. How bad can it really be?

not yours by justafujoshi

Bakugou likes Kirishima, but Kirishima has a girlfriend.

Hanafunki by PurplePersnickety

Bakugou gets hit by a quirk that gives him hanahaki... Sort of.

Now he's got to deal with nosy friends, unhelpful feelings, and a distinct lack of sleep.

One thing's for sure - you'd never find these flowers growing in the wild.

By Dawn, Promise me by chezka

Kirishima looked soft, right then, and warm and beautiful and inviting, open in his clear acceptance of anything Katsuki might have been there to lay on him, and Katsuki was in love with him.

He loved him.

And it was killing him.

The universe could be especially cruel, Katsuki had come to realize.

or, with flowers blooming in his chest and threatening his future, Katsuki decides a last conversation is long overdue

Primula Vulgaris by 1thousandminus7

Sometimes bad things happen to good people. Sometimes those bad things are caused by people who care about them. Sometimes those people suffer without ever knowing why. Sometimes the one in question tries to hide it, as though that could make it better.

After all, no one expects to fall in love at fifteen.

How does your garden grow by seasaltedwolverine

Hanahaki - that disease where the river in Egypt grows flowers in your lungs and being a wilting violet gets you dead - the one that all of class A now has

It turns out hacking up entire sunflowers because you're in love with you're friend and you're too afraid to tell him can be unpleasant. Painful even.

love me as you did before by kyasuu

“Love was worth it for her,” his mom says. “Said she never wanted to forget her feelings for Uncle.” Katsuki thinks that’s stupid. Evidently, his mom agrees because she doesn’t reprimand him with a sharp word or backhand. “If you begin sprouting those flowers, you get them removed, got it?”

“Okay,” Katsuki says easily. It isn’t a hard decision to make, and he wonders what Aunt Michiko had been thinking while she choked on those pretty flowers. Wonders if she regretted it. But his mom tells him that Aunt Michiko died with a smile on her face.

Katsuki doesn’t get it.

[Alternatively: Bakugou gets the Hanahaki disease.]

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by bazzledazzlewriting

When Kirishima realises his crush on his best friend, he doesn’t wait another moment to declare his feelings. But when Bakugou rejects him, Kirishima does everything he can to get over the loud blond.

Fast forward to third year, and Kirishima’s feelings are stronger than ever. Strong enough where he begins to develop Hanahaki, a rare disease rooted in unrequited love. As Kirishima’s days tick by, Bakugou comes up with his own plan to save Kirishima, one that unknowingly makes everything worse.

In other words: Bakugou’s foolproof plan to get Kirishima Eijirou to fall in love with him (spoiler alert: it’s a little too effective)

[domsaysstuff]

DOM, MY FAVE!

43, 53 and 11 💖

AHDRI MY LOVE 💕

you are my fave too 🥺🥺

43. Do you take a sadistic joy in whumping your characters, or are you more the "If you hurt them I would kill everyone and then myself" kind of person?

Okay so I know I don't show this a lot in my work now, but I do occasionally need to put a character in a situation™, like I'm sorry bby but you need to suffer BUT I always kiss it better with the comfort

Right now I don't do that as much but when I was younger and used writing as sort of a ground to dump all my negative emotions on Dean Winchester got put in situations™

But like I've gotten less angstier so now I'm more mellow and I stick rather a lot to the feelings of bittersweet or just fluff in my stuff at least I did, i have some things planned for my fics tho so *shrugs*

53.How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily a fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both?

Ohhh, so I'm definitely more of a fanfic reader than writer

I love writing, I do, but I get demotivated really quickly if I don't have some force pushing me through and I rather just get like BIG URGE to write and then I do it, also I'm a slow writer (in a way that I don't write anything for a month and then suddenly I write 6k words in the span of 24 hours)

And reading fic is just easier, since I've always been an eager reader and I love fanfics and i'm going to be honest it's rare I don't read at least one fic a day (it can be a 2k one shot but still)

So I'm more of reader than I writer

11. Link your three favorite fics right now

Blooming Oleander by @wiccawrites

Gosh, this is so fucking good, like I love this fic so much. I love how they write omega!kinn, the subversion of the usual omega!porsche alpha!kinn is so well done here, because although Kinn is an omega his personality is still well matched with the show and I've been along for the updates this fic for like so long, particularly since idk the fourth chapter?? And every update is a blessing, I absolutely fucking love the way the main relationship is handled - it's the perfect blend of banter and tenderness and horny, fuck it all relationships are potrayed so well - like Kinn - Chay interactions give me life, and just everything abt this is so good, the political plot is so well done just *chief kiss* and the worldbuilding is so good, ahhh this fic makes me want to just squeal in joy

Fake love and Hennessey by @yeetlegay

I LOVE THIS FIC, gosh the way Yeetle writes Kinn just makes something right in this universe, like I don't know it's just right

Also so much smut and the way, the smut fleshes out the characters and ahh I'm enjoying the little plot tingles too and also it's so well written?? I adore the writing style, it makes me want to write more myself

I reread this fic atleast five times and every time was a fucking treasure, it's funny, it's horny, it's soft, it's just *bites the fic, bites the fic, bites the fic, bites the fic, bite-*

Blue Blood by @ahdriking

Ahdri you know you must be here, like if you wanted a compliment you could have just msg me on discord babe ;)

I adore Ahdri's way of writing, she writes smut and violence in such a interesting, unique and captivating way that just makes me want to scream

Like I know I come into her inbox a lot about blue blood to scream but honestly everytime I wish I could be one of those people who eloquently comments about tje parts of the chapter that they like in like a hinged way that sings praises of the text because Ahdri deserves long, coherent comments full of praises

But all I can do is incoherently scream in her inbox and hope it's enough

Like this fic is so good, it's fucked up, it's convoluted, it's smutty, it's witty, it takes the characters and says "hey what if i just... *fucks them up a little more*" while also still staying somehow true to their canon characters, just darker and ahh, ahhh,ahh

The smut is just so good but also the plot, it has the most detestable villain but hating him is kind of fun?? Also the fights are so well written, like it's almost like you get the adrenaline rush yourself

So safe to say it's very fucking good

Thank you so much for this ask babe, i hope you have a fantastic day/night 💞💓

Come ask me questions!!

[wiccawrites]

Blooming Oleander - Chapter 17: Set Me Free

Story Summary: One does not become the only omega among the heirs of the Thai underworld without knowing how to take what he wants.

Chapter Summary:

Freedom is never given; it is won.

– A. Philip Randolph

Relationships: Porsche Pachara Kittisawat/Kinn Anakinn, Theerapanyakun, Porsché Pichaya Kittisawat & Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun, Porsche Pachara Kittisawat & Porsché Pichaya Kittisawat, Porsché Pichaya Kittisawat/Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakun

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Porsche, Omega Kinn, Trope Inversion, Organized Crime, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Blood and Violence, power struggles between factions, at least one (1) hostile takeover, Scent Marking, Scent Kink, Switching, References to Drugs, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Torture, Waterboarding, Murder, very brief mention of suicide, Sparring, Blow Jobs, Kinn and Porsche’s canonical horniness for each other, Fluff, no beta we die like Big and Ken, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Intersex Characters, mentions of mpreg, Knotting, Breeding Kink, Cunnilingus, Vibrators, Anal Sex, Vaginal Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Naked Cuddling, Consent is Sexy, Enthusiastic Consent, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, none of the sexy tags apply to kimchay pls chay is a bb, Hand Feeding, Barebacking, Semi-Public Sex, Anal Plug, Comeplay, light frottage, Courting Rituals, Hurt/Comfort, Dirty Talk, Phone Sex, Body Worship, Rimming, Come Sharing, Collars, Porsche in a collar and a diamond encrusted body chain bc he deserves nothing less

[histypeisnice]

Hi hello, keep reading your user as histy penis, sorry

Also do you have any plot heavy kp fic recs? Any pairing works thank you!!

Haha I keep reading my @ as penis too 🤣

Uuuuh top of my head I'll say go read True North, Blooming oleander and between the sheets those are all wips and are holding me by the balls rn!

[asylumwise]

Blooming oleander by Wicca on Ao3 explores a confident omega Kinn and caring alpha Porsche.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38791866

OMG thank you best anon ever!! Gonna start it tonight even though it violates my ‘read only completed fics to save yourself heartbreak’-rule ❤️

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter masterlist

this is the main chapter list for the flagship fic, fever in fever out.

all my testament writings can be found on ao3 under the “testament (band)” tag, or you can merely search through the archive on here using the fic names after archive/tagged (like blood from a stone, blood & chocolate*, flowers for alexander, love is not enough, black moon**, xenon dreams***, or any of the one shots with “one shot”)

* - you can use the word “and” but it’s mainly stylized with the ampersand ** - same can be said for eclipse, which i’ll be putting on here for your viewing pleasure in january 2023; once it’s done, i’ll be giving the same treatment to dead man walking *** - coming off a lengthy hiatus new year’s day! 💙

volume one: deadly nightshade book one: altitudes and attitude

prologue

welcome to new york

coffee and paints

the new guy

a new record

soup and numbers

the million dollar question

crab society

crab society north

a quiet place

stuck in the middle with you

fresh as fallen snow

steam engenius 

the boys next door

in the light

art pop and pop art

book two: deadly nightshade

from rhode island with love

old markers

fire and lemons

a day with joey

the boy with the pearl in his hair

a man of many colors

off to the races

legacies and left behinds

yellow tulip

dave, frank, and cliff

speak spanish or get the hell out

finger lakes

the dog days of summer

venus as a boy

little doll

the three droogs 

spreading the disease

dog day sunrise

black heart drawings

all the world’s a stage

the sun king

sticks and stones

flight or fight

please don’t fade away

orion’s belt

rain on me

lars of the dead

“chuck, there’s a worm in your soup”

new kid

belladonna atropa

the man in the mirror

heart of gold

among us

one of us

guardian angel

pink orange red

december thirty-first

name changes

a hole in the wall

among the living

the hollow men

the first one is the deepest

book three: a skeleton in the closet

double deuces

nightshade in bloom

the first skeleton

fresh paper and fan clubs

a different kind of affair

dark veils

the wedding

nightshade in cultivation

the second skeleton

adrenaline rush

art whores

cherry bootleg

a special skeleton

dead witches and apocalyptic cities

the mysterious man

gimme fever

joe barleycorn

narcissus staring at his reflection

a lick and a promise

a small victory

joey’s new song

when in england

no bones about it

show time

house of mirrors

sweet mother love

three bad dreams

alex’s nineteenth birthday

somewhere upstate

heart of glass

sets of twins

last christmas in new york

glass caskets

the new order of things

volume two: souls of black book one: souls of black

welcome home

you’re all i’ve got tonight

take this longing

the prince

the black knight

the black night

crash and burn

the red eye

pleasures of the flesh

the dead of night

the end of the world

nathan

black and silver

snow on the beach

nightshade, hemlock, mistletoe, and oleanders

fluffy tufts

the city by the lake

joey’s letter

the house of skolnick

practice what you preach

misery loves company

organs

seduce and destroy

sextape

a good boy

wet dreams and frisbees

skin and valentines

date night with mr. skolnick

drink your poison

blood on the dance floor

ginger snaps

that man is on fire

book two: veritas

a forest

the art whore

time is coming

dark paradise

dancing nancies

in my world

sadie hawkins

off to the races again

hardwired

hell’s kitchen

soft ginger snaps

softer, softest

colors made of tears

the new apartment

boys don’t cry

fired!

my eyes have seen you

boys on the radio

“hello, mr. bush!”

persistence of time

the spine of california 

black sun morning

minstrel in the gallery

stanley 

the secret journal

far away boys

lucifer sam

learning to walk again

a handful of rain

book three: the ballad

queen of coney island

white lace and strange

poison lily

bonded in blood

a long row to hoe

the island and the bay

hallowed ground

jewish cowboy

cherries in springtime

there

they’re

their

young vegas

ten years gone

the halloween show

little marigold

hanu-mas

unfinished business

for a brother

six feet under

belinda’s adventure

the promise

trial by fire

return of ginger

six underground

the first day of school

volume three: fever in, fever out book one: the ritual

the front door

the shortcut

black suede

walk walk fashion baby

another notch on the belt

for a friend

return to the quiet place

the house of usher

en plein air

on the shoulders of giants

i’ve watched you change

alex’s thirtieth birthday

a wizard of winter

cheese and wine

sweet exists

the millennium party

new year’s day

a proper bluesman

heart and lungs

you and me versus the world

just like velvet

a hole in the earth

book two: power drunk majesty

zelda on solo

fool’s gold

into the pit

a new skeleton in the closet

too many secrets

out of the woods

st. anger around my neck

belinda’s secret

a dusty old gallery

the dragon’s lair

“everyone’s done, dave”

pop art and art pop

book three: return to serenity

family reunion

home is a strange place

a certain shade of green

the scar on the sky

sick like me

lost souls

the first show in years

do it on ya

legs and tails

a new beginning

let go of my world

epilogue

***UPDATE 7/18/21: these will be divided into a trilogy, with the first three being deadly nightshade, the second three being souls of black, and the final three being fever in, fever out 😘

[cielizzydefencesquad]

hi all! i’ve been absent from ao3 for more than two years now but i’ve recently begun compiling a series of one-shots and fic snippets from this interim period in a single fic i’ve titled A Year’s Worth of Love. it’s an exploration of different kuroshitsuji relationships and pairings. 

mainly fluffy or introspective tales. 

so far, chapter 1 consists of a what-could-have-been meeting between lizzy and gregory violet at sphere music hall and chapter 2 is a modern gossip girl au featuring ciel and alois :) 

please feel free to take a look - wishing everyone a very happy december!

ch. 1 snippet below: 

She presses her cheek against the glass. "When you leave, will you draw more of those oleanders?"

Violet doesn't think he'll ever make it out of Sphere Music Hall in one piece. He does not know how to articulate this to a girl who appears to be half-drowned by the light of day but he endeavors, trying to string together words that might somehow give comfort. "Perhaps," he begins cautiously, "but the oleander is not a happy flower. They are a warning. A reminder of life's fragility."

"Do you think life can ever be brought back?" She asks suddenly, without preamble, surprising them both. Elizabeth's cheeks flush, a slow, rose-bloom pink seeping into her ghostly pale skin.

Violet watches in fascination as the color takes hold, bringing blood to the surface of her flesh and when she next looks at him, eyes bright with embarrassment and lips half-parted to apologize—

Violet smiles. The corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly at the sight of Elizabeth Midford emerging from sunlight.

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't." He shifts his cloak once more. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"It was a silly question."

"Not in the least. But to answer your query, I will say this—life can be replenished, Lady Elizabeth. Even if it cannot be brought back."