#if you stop that and give space - as one does when growled at

[revelboo]

AAAH!! I wasn't expecting you to actually do a story for Rumble 😭 I squealed when I saw it on my timeline 💙 thank you so much and every blessing upon ye, I hope your crops are flourishing, skin is clear etc. etc.

🤣 18+ content 🌶️

Alcohol Eyes Pt 2

IDW Rumble x Reader

• Almost groaning when the little human leans back to put some space between them, his servos flex against soft skin, wanting to pull you back to him. Wanting more as he drops his head against the crook of your neck, mouth finding and chasing the quick beat of your pulse. Hearing that husky laugh of yours that runs electric through him to wind him tight as his palms slide over your soft body. Why had he been so against coming here? He loves it here, loves the noise and press of bodies. Especially yours as he does drag you back to him. “Maybe we can make this a private party?” You ask and he’s not entirely sure what you mean by that, but he’s hoping his guess is right.

• Your stranger’s mouth is on your neck, his lips branding heat over your skin, feeling the barest slip of teeth threatening to nip sending need shivering through you. Forget taking him home as your blood heats. You want this. Pulling away makes him make a low noise that’s almost a growl of protest as you grip his hand and tug him along with you. Half your attention on keeping an eye out for your ex to avoid a fight as you lead your new friend toward the back storage room. You’d worked in the club right out of high school and knew no one ever bothered to lock that door, and you thank every deity you can think of when you find it still unlocked now. It’s darker in here the one bulb hanging from a bare socket doing little to chase away the shadows as you turn to lock the door behind you both.

• Reaching as soon as the lock clicks, Rumble pulls you back into him, servos sliding over you. Venting roughly against your throat, as you reach back to loop an arm around his neck. “Slow down, I’m not going anywhere,” you say, reaching back your other hand to run warm fingers over his thigh. “You want to take off the costume?”

• “No,” he growls, his own hand sliding down your belly, exploring with hesitant touches along the waist band of your jeans. “No.” The word is more insistent, almost desperate when you catch his wrist, like he thinks you’re about to stop him. Shuddering against your back when you guide his hand down the front of your clothes, showing him where you need him.

• Venting raggedly, he cups slick, warm flesh and finds your core to slip a servo inside, feeling the way your heat grips him. “That’s good,” you whisper, leaning your upper body across a container, thighs spreading to give him more access to stroke deeper, his spike aching to be freed. Pulling his hand free to try and figure out how to undo your coverings has you laughing again, the sound stroking over him. “No chill at all, huh?” Shifting to undo that little button and push your pants down. No, he doesn’t have any chill or restraint, wanting this. Needing it as he nudges you back down on your front over the container, freeing his spike to grip himself and slide his length against your slickness. “Wait, my purse. I think I have some-“ you’re saying as he finds you and buries himself inside that wet, welcoming heat that fists his spike, hearing you moan. “Never mind.”

• So much for condoms, but as he rocks his hips, that thick length stroking slowly inside you, there’s no worrying about anything beyond him moving. “Frag, you’re tight,” he snarls, that rough accent you can’t quite place right in your ear as his big hands tighten on your hips to the point you know there’ll be bruising, but he’s still not moving, so you do, rocking as much as you can with your hips up.

• You move against him, pushing yourself back and then he’s thrusting into that wet heat despite wanting to savor the feel of you wrapped around him, that sense of connection he’d been sure he’d never have because of his size, because of his modifications. You’re so small under him as he ruts against you, using his grip on your hips to pull you back to meet the urgent drive of his hips. Hearing the wet sounds of your body taking him and your low, needy sounds that are only for him, because this? It’s his. You’re his.

• He’s not holding back, hips slapping against you, moving hard and deliciously fast. And he is growling, hands flexing on your hips as his frantic thrusts drive you to that peak, then over as he drapes himself against your back with a deep drive of his hips, his mouth against the back of your shoulder, his hips moving in sharp, shallow thrusts as he releases and you tighten on the thick length of him inside you, milking him. “Rumble,” he groans against your skin, hips still moving in shallow, lazy thrusts and you can feel his excess on your inner thigh.

• You lay your cheek on your outstretched arm, head turning to look back at him from the corner of your eye. Smiling when he hesitantly reaches to slide sweat slick hair back from your temple, the intimate gesture stealing your breath for a moment. “Hi, Rumble,” you murmur, laughing softly when he presses himself tighter against you, sheathing himself deep and savoring it as his spark twists with a hunger that’s new and consuming. He’d never really paid much attention to organics before aside from Starscream’s and they were more like a particularly helpless sibling needing protecting. Nothing like this.

• He hasn’t taken off any of his costume except what he’d needed to free himself to fuck you. It’s weird, but not a deal breaker. Not with the lazy way your thighs are trembling or how he’d felt, still feels, inside you. “Can we go again?” He asks so earnestly, so hopefully, and you rock yourself against him in answer. Because while you’d only wanted a quickie to thank him, you’re wondering, praying, he’s single. Because the almost reverent way his big hands slide against your skin, the press of his mouth against your spine in a hungry kiss? This guy’s going to ruin you.

Previous

[fjordfolk]

melis has been throwing us for a bit of a loop because growling is so at the top of her communication repertoire, and we've had very standard dogs when it comes to growling ('back the fuck off')

so when this piranha-marshmallow crossbreed makes the devil's noise her spontaneous go-to reaction to any type of poke or prod but seemingly without seriousness or malice or intent to actually create distance, you eventually end up with the whole family council gathered around her in a circle analyzing her every move scratching our heads going "idfk, maybe she just does that"

[ceilidho]

prompt: blue collar worker ghost knocking reader up in a gas station bathroom on a whim. (nsfw, 2k)

-

Just to look over at him on the driver’s side drives you crazy.  

His buzz cut uncovered by a hood or balaclava is the new normal. It makes your blood rush to think of dragging your fingers across it, never long enough to really grip; heats you up faster than sitting by a fire or plunging into warm water. It’s the same new normal as the bristly, naked skin of his jaw, which flexes under scrutiny. He hadn’t gotten around to shaving earlier—rarely does these days as long as he can keep to a five o’clock shadow—and it makes you shiver when you think of the raw tenderness on your inner thighs, a consequence of that decision. 

These are the consequences of trust and loyalty. Not long ago, you wouldn’t have expected more than a glimpse of dark eyes behind a mask. 

The window is cracked open just enough to let the smoke from his cigarette out. Black fingerless gloves, nails bare and trimmed, dirt and ink trapped always in the grooves of his fingers. Eyes heavy lidded as always from poor sleep, shot nerves the takeaway from an old life of brittle thin sleep. His cortisol levels, to this day, must ride high in the bloodstream. You’d give anything to ease it at a touch, but that’s not how things work. 

“Keep lookin’ at me like that and we’re gonna have a problem,” Simon says when you glance over at him for the fifth time in as many minutes. 

“A problem?” you repeat. You’re not trying to be coy—you’re really not—but it comes out that way regardless. A bit breathlessly too, you realize with a small degree of embarrassment. You’ve got no shame these days. 

He grunts instead of answering. Your fists close over your thighs as you dry to concentrate on the road ahead of you instead of the persistent ache between your thighs. It’s not his fault that your pussy picked now of all times to get desperate. 

You peer over at him again out of the corner of your eye. 

“Bird,” he growls. Doesn’t even have to look over at you to know that you’re staring. Just another weird six sense from another life. It’s a warning though, one you hear loud and clear. 

“I didn’t say anything,” you say in a huff, turning your head fully away from him now to stare out the window. 

Only a handful of minutes tick by with you watching the brown patches of grass and the trees lining the motorway before you shift in your seat. Acutely aware of the wet spot between your legs, the way Simon’s fingers curl over the steering wheel loosely when he drives one handed, the smell of smoke on the upholstery, the grimy spots on the windshield where the wipers don’t reach, the moment he shifts and the weight of him makes the leather squeak. 

You peek over at him again.

He doesn’t bother signalling before veering into the rightmost lane, ignoring the furious honking from the car right behind you. You yelp when he takes the exit at a breakneck speed, fingers gripping the underside of your seat before whipping your head around to glare at him. 

“What’s the matter with you?” you scream, spine stiff from the sudden lane change. 

Simon doesn’t answer you, but you notice that the exit leads to a rest stop just off the motorway. It’s one of the less frequented ones—just a cluster of fast food restaurants and a gas station. He pulls into a parking space and practically slams on the brakes, making you jerk forward in your seat. Simon’s never been the most cautious driver, but this is a whole new level for him.

“Simon—Simon, what are you doing—” you hiss through clenched teeth, but he’s already up and out of the car, circling around to your side. 

Your heart goes hummingbird quick in your chest, stomach in knots. When you pant out a breath, it comes out shaky with nerves and excitement. You toy with the idea of pressing down on the child lock when he comes around but think the better of it. There’s already a twitch in his eye. 

You look up at him through your lashes when he opens the door and leans in to release your seatbelt. 

“Get out,” he orders, and yanks you out before you can reply. 

The walk to the gas station is tense and you struggle to keep up with him. He walks too fast and expects you to keep up, growling down at you to move it, but you drag your feet a little. It’s shameful how even that gets you worked up. 

“Are we gonna—?” you ask breathlessly, irritation seeping out of you. Simon doesn’t answer, just tightens his hand around your wrist. 

A chime above the door jingles when the two of you walk in, heading straight for the back. You catch the attendant staring at the two of you with open contempt and give a tight, embarrassed smile back. Simon doesn’t so much as glance over. You think he’d let the man call the cops if it came down to it. 

The gas station bathroom is one of the crummier bathrooms you’ve ever been in, but you hardly register that with how Simon hauls you up against the door he just slammed shut and kisses you within an inch of your life. His kisses are ever slick and wet, dangerous for you—drugging when he drags his tongue over yours and a hand cups your head to angle it just right. You want to give as good as you get, but it’s easy to let yourself get swept away and open your mouth to let him in because you feel his hunger. 

“That cunt never gets tired of me, does she?” Simon mumbles into your mouth. He steals your words from you when he slots his lips over yours again. Only gives you enough space to drag in a sharp breath. 

It’s in your best interest. The only words available to you are pathetic little pleas, desperate fingers digging into his jacket and trying to pull it off so you can feel the muscle underneath. Trying to get as close as possible to him, to wrap yourself around him. A needy, pitiful thing. 

“Poor thing,” he sighs, pulling away from your mouth and laughing when your lips chase after him. Standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him again and kiss, hands tugging him down by the back of his neck. “So horny that you nearly made me crash the fuckin’ car.”

“Couldn’t wait,” you whine, peppering his neck with kisses when he draws up to his full height, nearly dizzy now. “Sorrysorrysorry, please—please fuck me, Simon—please—”

“Not here, bird—want you to see how desperate you look.”

He drags you over to the other side of the bathroom and makes you stand on his boots and face the mirror covered in lipstick and sharpie and god knows what else—“c’mon, up you get”—while he rucks up your dress. The stark contrast between the two of you in the mirror makes you baulk. Like you haven’t slept with him before and lived to tell the tale. He’s all dark clothing and mountains for shoulders, mouth always set in a flat line of impatience that would make anyone else turn the other way. 

You, however, press yourself back into him. 

Rough fingers tug your panties to the side, not bothering to check if you’re wet. Assuming that you are—that you always are with him, eager to cant your hips and offer yourself up to him.

You try not to think about how your pelvis is already tilted towards him.

Simon holds your head up with a single hand under your chin, squishing your cheeks a little. “Fuckin’ hell…look at that,” he rasps, eyes almost black with lust. 

“You’re being mean,” you whine, pushing back against him and wiggling your hips. 

“Doesn’t matter how many times I give it to you—always whining for it. Cock hungry bird.”

It would hurt if you didn’t already know how much he wants you too, the deep rasp in his voice betraying an aching, insatiable hunger. An arm locks like a bar across your chest to hold you in place, his hand fitting over a breast just to have something to hold. He can tell you again and again that it’s just you, but you know that he wants it just as badly as you do. 

He reaches around to undo his pants and then you feel a familiar cock bully its way into you, a tight fit only eased by the wetness almost glistening on your inner thighs. He grunts when his cock pushes into you, the same hand reaching around to rest low on your stomach, pinkie brushing the top of your mound. 

The first thrust jostles you, forces your palms to slam down on the mirror even though the arm across your chest keeps you tight to his chest. It’s sticky under your fingers. You wince when you think of how much Purell you’ll need after this, but the thought melts away when he pulls his cock almost all the way out of you before slamming back in. 

“Yes, yes—fuck—” you gasp, staring at your reflection in the mirror. After a couple hours on the road, you’re not exactly in tiptop shape—sweaty and in need of a shower and coffee—but any timidity evaporates under Simon’s hot gaze. It eats you up. 

His jaw flexes with each thrust, eyes flitting between your tits bouncing under your dress and your face until it stays there, devouring you in a single heated look. Every time your shoes almost slip off his boots, he pulls you tighter into his chest; you couldn’t get out of his hold even if you wanted to. The thought makes the blood rush through your ears. 

“Almost need someone else jus’ to take care of you when I’m not around,” Simon growls. He gives your breast a rough squeeze, an admonishment. 

“No—no one else—” 

“Jus’ me then, pet? No one else can take care of this little cunt?”

You shake your head, maybe nod, maybe sob a bit. It’s hard to tell. The hand on your low belly grips into the flesh, holding you in place while he rails you over the sink. Impossible to look away from the man towering over you, a man you’ve let willingly bend you over and get between your thighs. You wouldn’t even if you could. He’s the summation of everything you’ve ever hoped for, packaged in the too big body of a gun for hire, riddled with nerve damage and a nasty temper. You wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world.

Your eyes slip shut.

“Tell you what,” he breathes into your ear, the burr of his stubble rubbing your neck raw. “I’ll give you somethin’ else to keep you busy.” 

Your eyes spring wide open.

He shifts his stance and drives into you with renewed vigour, muffling your sounds with a hand over your mouth. The mirror fogs up through the gaps between his fingers, the room damper and stickier now than when you entered it. Tears build in the corners of your eyes. 

When he goes quiet, you know what’s about to happen. Your toes curl in your shoes when he exhales a ragged breath, gritting his teeth when he meets your eyes again in the mirror. Something about his gaze alone makes you come, like a deep press into your soul. The fat cock stretching you out is just a bonus. 

The come down is harsh, laboured breaths panting out of you until your chest finally settles, until it feels safe enough to move. You lower one foot from on top of his boot just for Simon’s arms to constrict even more, holding you fast to his chest. He can probably feel your heartbeat against his wrist. 

“Quit squirming,” he scolds, giving you a little warning squeeze.

“‘M sweaty,” you complain.

“We’ll towel off at home,” Simon says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t bitch.”

“I’m not bitching, I’m hot—” 

He lets you carp and moan about your inner thighs being covered in beard burn and come while straightening out your dress, pulling your panties back into place. He’s quicker with himself, doesn’t even bother grabbing a paper towel to wipe himself off before shoving his cock back into his pants and zipping up. When you ask him to hand you one, the look he gives you scorches you right to the bone. 

“Wait ‘till we get home,” he says, hand on your back when he unlocks the bathroom door.

“Like you aren’t gonna do it all over again the second we get there,” you mutter.

His smirk isn’t smug, but it’s a near thing.

[writingoddess1125]

Relationship Weirdness

Kurt Wagner x GN Reader Headcanon

Funny and Silly established relationship

Masterlist

This Link leads to Kurt Wagner- Or does it???

THE NICKNAME DILEMMA

• Kurt has a Love, Hate relationship with the seemingly endless stream of nicknames you seemed to have for him and how you constantly

• Sure he had ones for you, but all classic in affection!

• Like Schatz aka his treasure, or Engel! He loves calling you Engel, Liebling also, Sweetie too in English

• However from you he does get the 'Love' Or 'Babe' but also he gets-

• 'Fuzzy Butt!', 'Blueberry', 'Sugar Booger-'

• Some he was fairly sure one was a drug inudendos as well!

"Schatz- What is will the constant changing nicknames?" He ask you one day after you kiss his cheek and weirdly called him 'Sugar Booger'

"Do you not like them?" You ask, he shakes his head.

"Nein, I like them. It's just- Isn't that a slang? For a bad thing?" He questioned, watching a weird smile goes across your face as you suddently snort up his arm like you'd done a line off him.

"Yes- You my Blue Cocaine"

He stared at you with a deadpan stare, trying to hold back his laughs as he covers his face with his hands.

You're so fucking weird-

PHYSICAL AFFECTION FUCKERY

• Kurt's tail has a mind of its own especially with you, so more often then not it will be wrapped around you, sliding up and down your back, sliding across your thighs or trying to find its way into your hands.

• He never notices until you reciprocate the affection, often leaving to him being a blushing mess when you run your fingers up the velvet like tail-

• He is naturally very physically affectionate so will cuddle you or lean against you most times.

• Sitting on the couch? Kurt will slide in right next to you. Making dinner? He will lean his weight on your back and look to see what you're making- Personal Space doesn't exist

• While Kurt is Cuddly, You are grabby-

• His tail? His fluffy little ears? His sides? All fair game!

• Seeing two fuzzy asscheeks in the shower, you see how the hair sort of swirls like a cowlick-

• You can't help but touch them-

• Earning a loud surprised noise from Kurt as he turns to look at you quite literally messing with the hair on his ass

"Really?-"

THE BEARD ERA!

• Kurt is very feline like in nature and the facial hair adds to this as well it seems.

• He will like to rub his neck and cheek against you, sometimes giving a growl/rumble as he does so.

• You can protest all you want but he will just give you an evil smile and rub his cheek against yours harder before teleporting away to avoid the consequences for giving you mild rug burn on your cheek!

• When Kurt's beard starts growing thicker he gets some ingrowns on the part were his neck meets his head so you have to open pin him to get at them-

"Stop being a big baby! It's deep!" You yell as you pin your boyfriend, watching him squirm under you in protest as you get the tweezers closer to the series of bumps.

"NEIN! LASS EN IN RUHE!" He screamed as you get the tweezers to get a big ingrown that protruded from his skin.

"AHHHHHH!!!"

THE FOOD FIASCO

• Has very weird eating habits- You often forget he was raised in a circus in Germany so he eats like it too.

• AKA Hawaii Toast-

• Your mortal enemy and the thing that you are willing the kick box over in terms of the kitchen area. The first time you saw Kurt make it, you almost sobbed at this atrocity towards both Hawaii, Italy, Bread and maybe Humanity

• "What the fuck is that!?" You almost cry out as you see the monstrosity on the counter.

"Hawaii Toast-" Kurt says calmly as he butters bread, adds ham, a ring of pineapple and some kraft cheese on top before chucking it into the toaster oven while grabbing some ketchup-

You stare at him in horror as he makes direct eye contact with you and takes a bite of this- monstrosity

• He does know how to cook luckily even if he makes Hawaii Toast for himself- Him learning recipes from your culture and you learning from his. As well as taking turns with kitchen duty!

• For Drinks- Kurt is the Master! He can open any bottle, he can make the perfect pours! He knows the exact drink you'd like off the top of his head

"You're a fucking Wizard Blue-"

You say in awe as you watch Kurt make you a drink calmly, raising a brow as he opens the beer bottle with his tail like nothing.

"I know~"

[littlelamy]

awww reader giving rafe and the boys a what’s in my bag 😭 makes me think about influencer!reader and rafe being her number one fan, always the first to like her posts and watch her videos, and being her plus one to brand trips 🥲

a/n: thank you so much for sending a request! 💗😘

you’re lounging on the balcony of your suite, the ocean breeze brushing against your skin as you scroll through your phone. the brand trip has been flawless so far—luxury dinners, sun-soaked beach days, and glamorous events. but the highlight of every trip is having rafe by your side. he’s always there, always watching, always… hovering. it’s comforting in a way that shouldn’t be, knowing that he’s never far.

you post another photo—a candid shot of you in a bikini, sipping on a coconut drink while the sun sets behind you. within seconds, the likes start pouring in, but there’s only one notification you care about. rafe cameron liked your post.

first. always first.

a satisfied smirk tugs at your lips as you refresh the page, his name pinned at the top of the likes. it’s been like this since the beginning. rafe's obsession with you was never subtle, but lately, it's become... intense. he doesn’t just support you—he monitors everything. every post, every story, every brand collaboration. he knows about your analytics before you even check them. sometimes, you wonder if he’s more invested in your success than you are.

he walks out onto the balcony, shirtless, his eyes immediately drawn to your phone. “let me guess, another bikini pic?” he says, his voice dripping with playful jealousy, though his hand finds its place on the back of your neck, fingers tightening possessively.

you laugh, but there’s a tension in the air. “you know it’s what the followers love, rafe.”

“yeah, but i’m the only one who actually gets to see it up close,” he mutters, pulling you into his lap without waiting for you to respond. his arms wrap around your waist, and you feel the heat of his body against yours. “doesn’t stop them from commenting though, does it? all those guys thinking they’ve got a shot with you.”

you roll your eyes. “you know none of that means anything. it’s just part of the job.”

“part of the job,” he echoes, his lips brushing against your ear. “i get it, babe. but sometimes i think about how lucky they are, just to get a glimpse of you, and it drives me fucking insane. they don’t deserve it.”

his grip on your waist tightens, not painfully, but enough to remind you just how possessive he can be. rafe’s obsession has never been the unhealthy kind, but it borders on something dangerous—something thrilling. he lives for you, breathes for you, like your entire world is his, and everyone else is just background noise. and god, do you love it.

“rafe,” you murmur, turning your head to look at him. “you’re the only one who matters. you know that.”

his blue eyes darken, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he leans in, his mouth brushing against yours. “good. because i’m not letting anyone else have you.”

he kisses you like he needs to remind you who you belong to. it’s intense, like everything with rafe—his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as if he can’t stand even an inch of space between you. when he pulls back, his thumb traces your jawline, his gaze never leaving yours.

“when’s the next shoot?” he asks, his voice low, almost a growl. “i’m coming with you.”

“it’s tomorrow, but it’s fine if you don’t want to—”

“no,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. “i want to. i need to make sure everything’s perfect for you. that the crew treats you right. that no one steps out of line.”

there it is again—that obsessive protectiveness that borders on something darker. he’s always been territorial, but lately, it’s like he’s afraid someone will swoop in and take you away, even though you’ve never given him a reason to doubt your loyalty.

you don’t mind though. rafe’s obsession with you is as intoxicating as it is overwhelming. you’ve always liked the way he watches you—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him. and honestly? you like the power that comes with it. you know rafe would burn the world down if it meant keeping you by his side.

later that night, you’re getting ready for a dinner event hosted by one of the brands you’re working with. as you apply the finishing touches to your makeup, you can feel rafe’s eyes on you from across the room. he’s lounging on the bed, scrolling through his phone, but his attention is on you. it always is.

“are you wearing that?” he asks, his tone casual, but there’s an edge to it.

you glance down at the tight dress you’ve chosen—elegant, but definitely on the sexier side. “yeah, why? don’t you like it?”

“oh, i like it,” he says, standing up and walking over to you. he’s behind you in an instant, his hands sliding over your waist, pulling you back against him. “but so will every other guy in that room.”

you laugh softly, leaning into him. “you love when i get attention, don’t lie.”

“only if they know they can’t have you.” his hands tighten on your hips, his lips brushing against your neck. “but i’m coming with you. making sure everyone knows who you belong to.”

“you don’t trust me?” you tease, but there’s something in his intensity that excites you.

“it’s not you i don’t trust,” he mutters. “it’s them. everyone’s always trying to get close to you. but i won’t let them. they don’t deserve you. none of them.”

there’s that possessiveness again, the way he wraps himself around you like he’s trying to shield you from the rest of the world. rafe’s obsession with you is suffocating in the best way, and you thrive off it, knowing how much power you hold over him.

when you arrive at the dinner, rafe is glued to your side, his hand resting on the small of your back, eyes scanning the room for anyone who might look at you for a second too long. every time someone tries to strike up a conversation with you, he’s right there, subtly inserting himself, reminding them that you’re taken. that you’re his.

you don’t mind. in fact, you love it.

later that night, after the event, you’re back in the suite, the moonlight casting shadows across the room. rafe’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you as you undress. his eyes are dark, filled with that same obsessive hunger you’ve come to crave.

“you looked amazing tonight,” he says, his voice low. “had to stop myself from punching that guy who wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

you laugh, tossing your dress aside as you walk over to him. “you’re crazy, you know that?”

“only about you,” he murmurs, pulling you onto his lap. his hands roam your body possessively, and there’s something about the way he holds you that makes your heart race.

you know rafe’s obsession with you isn’t healthy in the conventional sense, but it’s everything you want. he’s your number one fan, your protector, your everything. and as long as he’s by your side, you know you’ll always be the center of his world.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0

[servicpop]

✶ ﹑ "please don't be mad" ﹏

NOW STARRING : deliquent (almost bf) Adrien x good student m!reader

「ㅤN(?)SFW / SUGGESTIVEㅤ」ㅤreader avoids Adrien n Adrien does not like that

✙ warnings — making out, grinding, knee thing, no actual smut, stops before it escalates, unconsentual kissing, Adrien has yandere/obsessive tendencies, semi-public

notes ,, originally requested for Vallen but I decided that Adrien would fit better since Vallen hasn't really been characterised yet (I have plans dw!) See pt.1 and pt.2 ♡

You were avoiding Adrien for a good reason you swore!

After he baited you underneath the staircase you couldn't help but avoid him. The way he praised you, held you, and left that pesky little bite mark on your neck. You had to hide it especially during gym class, playing it off as your pet biting you and some people played into your bluff luckily! You would never admit to liking such a deliquent like Adrien, you were such a good student, averaging straight As, your behaviour was perfect and you were even the student president. But... your heart fluttered everytime he kissed your ears with his hauntingly soothing voice and everytime he flashed his sharp canines at you in a toothy grin whenever he saw you... Snap out of it! You were mad at him for luring you in like that.

Adrien seemed to have caught on too.

He loved— adored you but he'd do anything to respect you so he did what he thought you wanted, space. He hung out more with his gang, no longer giving silly excuses to go see you and your pretty face. Sure it hurt him and he had to rely on the memory of you two fucking underneath the staircase but he could tough it out right? Wrong. It had been weeks, did you even care about him anymore? Everytime a girl or a guy walked up to you he swore he'd kill them on the spot for breathing the same air as you. You were so buddy-buddy with everyone else but why not him? It was reaching the point where his fingers would twitch, aching for your skin against his, and his eyes would narrow seeing others steal your smile. His smile.

So, as any good boyfriend would do, he decided to corner you.

It only really took one try to lure you in, on the way to your English class every Tuesday you would walk through a more secluded part of the school behind one of the buildings, no one went there because no one really knew about it. There, he caught you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulled you to the wall, pinning you to it as he panted.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Adrien's voice was firm, scolding, and assertive. He held your shoulder against the wall, his face right up to yours. You didn't want to answer that question so you looked to the side, refusing to speak. You couldn't tell him it was because of your conflicting emotions and how you always felt this weird warm feeling in your stomach when he was around.

"You're such fucking bratty boy you know that?" His growl met your ears as the grip on your shoulders shifted to your wrists as he forced his fingers through yours, holding them as he pressed his lips on yours, shoving his tongue past your lips. His knee made it's way between your legs, grinding on your crotch like it was nothing. It was natural that you moaned and it was natural that Adrien took advantage of that, thrusting his tongue deeper in your mouth in a sloppy kiss.

You caught your breath when he pulled away just for it to be snatched away from you when he went in for seconds. You tried to call out his name but your words were blocked by Adrien's warm tongue. His knee pressed a little harder on your now hard cock, this kiss was really turning you on and he knew that. He knew everything about your body.

"Fuck— Adrien I can't tell you why I've been avoiding you," You growled, voice raspy from the kissing. "Yeah you can, you're just stubborn," Adrien clicked his tongue in a faux disappointment as he finally pulled away, wiping away the string of saliva collecting his lips with yours. His dark eyes met yours, almost as if he was trying to read your thoughts but failing to reach your head, "I don't want you to hate me," He grumbled, trying to get you to speak but you sealed your lips. You couldn't tell him, not now.

He took a moment to admire your flushed features, the way your head was slightly tilted down and how your wrists were binded to the wall by his larger hands. Oh and he couldn't forget the obvious tent in your pants. "Just for that..." He leaned forward, whispering in your ear as his knee rubbed against your bulge, "I won't give it to you."

What.

Adrien fully just pulled away. Would cockblocking be the word to describe this situation? He brushed through his dark hair before turning to you, "Until you can stop being mad at me, I won't fuck you like you want it." And he left, just like that. The sound of the bell snapped you out of your shock, shit. You were late for class. Adrien was so gonna get it after this.

notes ,, I don't think I wrote this well but I'm too tired to fix it T_T Also Adrien and reader are probably not going to actually get together anytime soon sorry! I like the slow burn chase of their dynamic

[pure-smut]

mine.

featuring: Kaji Ren x f!reader

contains: possessive!Ren, established relationship, doggy, creampie, marking, spanking, dirty talk

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

word count: 1.2k

masterlist

You didn’t think Kaji Ren would be a jealous boyfriend. After all, you two had been friends for years before you got together and he’d never shown any indication that he was jealous of your previous boyfriends - despite admitting he had liked you basically the whole time you’ve known each other.

So you don’t think anything of it when a guy from your college class approaches you one day. You’re in a coffee shop on campus, studying for an assignment while Kaji sits opposite you, headphones on as he plays with his phone. He likes to take you out on proper dates but most of the time you spend together is like this – companionable silence, doing separate activities together.

You don’t look up until a shadow appears over you, breaking you out of your studious fervour.

“Hey, y/n.”

You vaguely recognise him – Ken or Kai maybe? – but you’re not sure why he’s approaching you. Kaji doesn’t look like he’s paying attention, his ankle resting on his knee as he sits slumped back in his chair, lollipop in mouth.

“Hi,” you say without mentioning his name which you’re still wracking your brain to remember. “What’s up?”

“Sorry to interrupt.” His smile is friendly but you can see the nerves behind it. “Mind if I buy you a coffee?”

Ooooh.

Understanding dawns on you. Your eyes flick over to Kaji but he’s still looking at his phone as his thumb scrolls. You don’t know if he even heard over his music.

“I’m flattered, thank you, but I have a boyfriend.” You give him an apologetic smile.

“Ah.” Your classmate’s cheeks are tinted red but he holds his hands up. “Fair. Sorry, I didn’t realise.”

As he walks away, you glance at Kaji again. When he doesn’t look back, you shrug to yourself and go back to studying. It’s only when you go back to your shared living space later that Kaji says something. Or rather, does something.

You walk into the kitchen, about to check the fridge for snacks when you feel his hand on your hip, stopping you still. Kaji brushes the hair from your neck before planting a soft kiss there. You sigh and lean back against him, feeling his solid chest.

“Mmm, that feels nice, Ren,” you close your eyes, reaching behind your to card your fingers through his hair.

Kaji doesn’t say anything but his grip gets tighter on your hip, pulling your ass flush to him and his kisses get rougher. You feel his teeth nip at your neck before soothing it with his lips. His free hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head to the side to expose your neck further to him.

You’re already putty in his hands, sighing softly as he sucks bruising kisses against your skin.

“Marks have faded,” Kaji eventually mumbles, his lips never leaving your neck. “Need to give you more.”

Your eyes flutter open.

“Is this about that guy earlier?”

Kaji doesn’t say anything but makes an irritated noise so you can guess that's a yes.

The hand he had on your hip moves to the front of you, sliding under your dress to palm your clothed pussy. His rough kisses on your neck has got you wet already. The feel of you sopping for him makes Kaji’s cock strain against his jeans.

“Mine,” he says, his fingers snaking under your panties to play with your needy pussy.

You gasp, back curving as he strokes your clit, using your arousal to trace slippery circles around your bud. Kaji wraps his other hand around your throat, holding you to him as his fingers continue to nudge you closer to the edge.

“You understand me?” Kaji growls in your ear.

“Yours, Ren,” you whimper, your legs starting to feel weak.

To your dismay, he pulls his fingers away. The hand he has around your throat moves to the back of your neck as he pushes you down, bending you over the kitchen counter. You’re pinned in place by his strong grip but you hear him unbutton his jeans behind you.

Kaji hooks his fingers under your panties, pulling them to the side as he grabs the flesh of your ass. The sight of your bent over before him, your puffy lips glistening with your arousal makes all the blood rush to his cock. Kaji strokes himself a few times, eyes glued to your cunt, before nudging his fat mushroom tip past your lips. He presses up against your hole, feeling the tight ring of resistance.

“Who’s pussy is this?” Kaji’s voice is thick with need but he wants to hear you say it first.

“Yours, Ren.” You splay your hands on the counter, preparing yourself for what’s coming. “All of me is yours.”

A smirk plays on Kaji’s lips as he thinks of the guy from the coffee shop, how badly he’d want to be in Kaji’s position right now. But he can’t have you. You’re his.

“Mine,” he growls before slamming himself inside you.

You cry out at the sudden violation, your pussy stretched to accommodate him. Kaji keeps one hand on the back of your neck, holding you in place as he draws back. He loves the way your pussy grips his cock, pulling him back every time he withdraws, your needy cunt desperate to be full of him.

You whine as he continues to pound away at you, the thick veins of his cock dragging against your nerves, his fat tip reaching deep inside you. Not content with only marking your neck, Kaji takes his hand from your neck so he can land a hard slap against your ass cheek. You yelp at the sudden sting, your skin on fire, but your pussy responds, clenching around him.

“Fuck, don’t squeeze me so tight,” Kaji grunts. “Can’t fucking think straight.”

He slaps your ass again, leaving a bright red handprint that’s sure to bruise. Pleased, Kaji returns his hand to your neck, squeezing the sides of your throat as he fucks your harder.

His cock rubs against the sensitive spot inside you at a relentless pace, making your mouth fall open. You’re sprinting headfirst into an orgasm and Kaji can feel it, the way your plush walls hold him like a vice grip.

“Ren-!” you squeal, legs buckling as pleasure consumes you, rippling from your pussy through to the tips of your toes.

The feel of you creaming on his cock always encourages Kaji’s own orgasm. His eyes are glued on where his girth slides in and out of you, shiny with your combined juices. He watches the way your ass jiggles with each thrust, your lips tight around his cock.

“Fuck…” He pistons himself in and out of you as his own high overtakes him, knowing he gets to mark you on the inside as well. “Fuck!”

Kaji shoots thick ropes of cum deep inside you, coating your walls with his sticky seed. His cock twitches as he releases everything he has, not wanting to waste a drop even as it spills from your pussy.

Kaji pulls his softening cock free and tugs your panties back into place, enjoying the way his cum soaks through the fabric. You straighten to standing, Kaji letting you lean on him with your shaky legs. You catch him smirking at the purple bruises on your neck and touch them tenderly.

“Are they obvious?” you ask, the flesh still sore.

“Yeah,” Kaji says with satisfaction. “Definitely.”

masterlist

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[moondirti]

soapgaz but kyle gets a girl and johnny doesn’t see how that should stop them.

dubcon. cum eating. cunnilingus. voyeurism. unedited

shows up at their flat on weekends, greasy takeout in hand to weasel his way between the two during their movie night. legs spread, crotch prominently on display — where kyle would’ve once taken advantage of that, he now stares at him with an incredulous expression, ushering to his clearly uncomfortable bird when johnny asks what’s the matter.

opts to stay the night, despite lacking invitation. he can’t be expected to drive back home in this state, can he? (this state being the unaddressed boner). camps out in their one bathroom before they can get ready for bed, chugging one so loudly they’re bound to hear him from the next room. cums all over the underside of the toilet cover and does a poor job of wiping it clean.

watches porn through the night on the telly they have situated in the guest room. him and kyle always had the most fun finding flicks together, their hands down each other’s pants, rating each star to spread themself on screen. johnny’s had his, albeit unsatisfactory, fun today, so the ploy isn’t so much for his pleasure but to lure the other man out of his room.

wakes up so early the sun is barely strung over the horizon, padding out into the kitchen to rummage through their groceries. eats about everything he can get his hands on — cheese, milk, bread, jam — and when she comes out to fix herself breakfast, he’s hovering over her shoulder, telling her to make him one, too.

“gotta learn how tae share, bonnie.” he whines, standing too close to a girl he’s never met before yesterday. you feel his chest mere inches away from your back, the furry lengths of his legs tickling yours. that’s your mistake for wearing shorts when you knew there was a freak in your home.

“alright, alright. bleedin’ christ, dude. just back the fuck off me. i’ll make you an omelette.”

soap shakes his head. at least you think he does, based on the way his uneven breaths fan across your nape. “wasnae what ah was talking aboot.”

your hands hesitate over the oven dial. his smooth down your waist, tugging at the waistband of your pants. “w-what—”

but he shucks them and your panties down before you can force the protest from your throat, sinking to his knees so his nose is level with your cunt. when his rough palms spread over either cheek, you learn to anticipate the way he spreads you apart, exposing your vulnerable holes to his eye. he stuffs his face into your taint, shoulders broadening as he takes a deep whiff.

“can fuckin' reek him in ye, this greedy snatch. cannae save some for th’ rest of us, ay?” he growls, digging an index finger in your still-sore hole. sure enough, it comes back coated in kyle’s spend, pearlescent and a little watered down by your own fluids. you can’t help the whimper that stutters from your chest. the evidence of the morning’s debauchery, inspired by the obscenely loud porn that fixed itself into your dreams last night, is enough to send you reeling beyond reason.

soap growls. you feel its vibrations shoot through you when he fixes his mouth on your pussy, warm tongue poking until you have to clench around it. its dextrous, thick, and reaches a place you did not think could be touched by anything but kyle’s expert fingers. involuntarily, your legs widen, feet rooting a metre apart to give him space.

he cleans you out like your sloppy seconds are manna, the aftertaste of his best mate and favourite fuck buddy the only heaven he’ll know. when he can no longer reach the cum sticking deep to your insides, he starts syphoning it from you like a straw, lips vacuum sealed to your vulva, thumbs pressed painfully into the swell of your ass.

kyle’s bound to wake with how loud you moan. you can only hope he comes out in time to pull soap back by the mohawk — before you find yourself unravelling by his impassioned effort.

(little do you know, he’s been out of bed for a good minute now, pasted discreetly to the wall as he watches soap eat you out from behind, his over-hard cock leaking liquid desire into his hands.)

[thegnomelord]

just read about demon hunter reader and demon ghost cuddling, and the first thing i thought was how ghost would react if, one of these times, reader ends up having a wet dream and dry humping his ass 😋

about time that our demon thinks of getting laid, he's disgusted and turned on at the same time

Sorry this took a while lads :Dd, I'm getting back into writing after all that shit with my school but I got a summer job as an assistant medical worker with 12h shifts every other day so It might take a bit for me to write stuff.

Hush, Hunter

CW:NSFW, MDNI, demon Simon Ghost Riley x male hunter reader, grinding, wet dreams, handjob, blowjob, size difference (demon ghost is like 11 feet tall.)

Your ‘husband’ is strange, even by demon standards.

He grumbles about the inconvenience brought on by your mortal failings and fragility, growling whenever you have to stop at a gas station to buy food or at some dingy motel to sleep. He grumbles even more about being confined in the stolen human skin suit he's forced to wear to blend in.

You can ignore the stranger with the stolen face and hellfire eyes throwing dark glares at you for the most part, except for when the demon decides to make the binding ring around your finger heat up when you spend too long talking to the pretty cashier. And it only takes a few more seconds of not paying heed to the incessant burn before Ghost Simon looms behind you, glaring at the flustered cashier like she’s a fey trying to trick you into the Fey Lord’s court.

And the big bastard never gives you any explanation on why he’s acting like that, just drags you back to your car, slamming the doors closed with enough strength to shake the entire vehicle. He’s like a cat honestly; hisses at you, but doesn’t want to let you out of his sight or claws.

But when your nightmares get so bad your only chance of sleeping is on the floor, well hidden behind the bed with your back flush with the dingy motel wall, Ghost surprises you by laying down with you. Sure he grumbles about the demeaning position - laying like some mongrel dog - but he still does it.

Ghost is on his side, his broad muscular back to you, rough inky scales swallowing all the moonlight that filters through the blinds and turning him into a pitch black wall of muscle. He’s so still you might even think he’s sleeping – you know he’s not; demons aren’t tied to mortal laws, nor are they subject to time’s iron grip, that’s what makes hunting demons so dangerous. The only indication you have that he’s awake is the occasional twitch of his tail and the slight shuffle of his wings when you accidentally get closer to him in your attempt to get a comfortable position.

You flinch when his one wing spreads out and back, but the blanket of black and blood dyed feathers soon eases the tension in your body. Probably too quickly, definitely too quickly, but Ghost doesn’t draw attention to it and neither do you and the night is cold and he is blissfully warm and he stays stock still when you shuffle a bit closer. You're glad he pays no attention to you when you get comfortable against him, barely an inch of space between you two.

His feathers tickle your face, they’re softer than you’d expect a wrath demon to have, fluffy like the down of chicks. His scent invades your nose, rough leather and steel oil and something distinctly demonic you can’t name. . . but it’s strangely comforting.

Laying only an inch or two away from a demon goes against everything you’ve ever been taught. Your nerves should be on a razor’s edge, but instead you’re calm. You don’t know why your fucked up mind finds comfort in the fact a possible threat would need to go through half a ton of murderous wrath demon to get to you. And you don’t want to think about it either, you’ve had far too many sleepless nights for your brain to care how you manage to sleep so long as you do. And the moment you close your eyes, you’re out like a light.

Ghost has gotten used to your nightmares.

Just like his father’s absent love, your nightmares are consistent. He’s almost impressed how such a frail thing like you could hunt the likes of hydras and Hell Dukes when you barely sleep a wink most nights. The longest you’ve gone is a couple of hours of restful sleep before you woke up trying to claw your eyes out. You never talk about it, nor does he, Ghost may be a demon but he knows far too well how the mind can haunt someone.

And Ghost has gotten good at telling apart the individual nightmares by how you squirm in your sleep.

It takes a little longer for the nightmare to start than usual, but he knows you’re neck deep in it when you heart starts it’s frantic drumming in your chest. He ruffles his feathers as your hands grip his sides, your breath fanning over his skin. He thinks it might be the basilisk haunting you this time by the way you press yourself flush with his back, burying your face into the space between his shoulder blades until your nose is flush with his spine, back hunching to further shield your eyes.

Ghost doesn’t, nor will he ever, mention the low happy rumble that escapes him when you snuggle up to him. His feathers fluff up, the scratchy hair of his tail flattening down - about as silk soft as he can make them. It’s little better than throwing pearls before swine, you won’t remember any of this after all, but doing this strangely doesn’t feel as much of a burden as it should.

Usually the low deep purring growling will chase away your nightmares and lull you into a dreamless sleep for a little while, but not this time. You squirm against his back like an eel, muscles tensing to grip his sides until dregs of pain dance along his spine. Your breath fans across his scales, your heart pounding in his ears like that of a rabbit’s caught in a snare. He’s just about ready to turn around and wake you before he feels it—

Your arousal pokes his back, hard like iron.

Only now does he pick up the slight sweetness of arousal in your adrenaline rich scent. “Hm- fuck.” You mumble as you roll your hips to grind your cock against him. “Slow- fuck fuck- slow down.” You breathe out, and Ghost swears this must be another part of his father’s eternal punishment. The sudden thought that your dream is of a sexual nature smites him with all the intensity of his father’s rage.

Who do you think you are, taking his little mercies for granted? Who do you think you are, grinding against him like some mongrel mutt? Who do you think you are holding him as if you are more than the eventual reward for the maggots fervent prayers? Who do you think you are—

“Ghost- Simon. . .” His name, his original name, leaves your lips; it’s the softest he’s ever heard you speak.

“Human.” He seethes and rolls around, pushing the warm feeling –warm like a campfire compared to the blistering pits down below that usually dwell in his chest– out of his mind. “Disgusting.” You’re so small compared to him, your head could easily fit in his rough hand, a momentary lapse in the binding’s protection all that it would take for his flesh rending claws to cleave through your skull. He’s thought about it often, of the look in your eyes as your life fades, of how good your blood would taste, of how nice your shoulder would look with his teeth marks on it. . .

His hand is gentle as he reaches to brush your cheek, like he’s handling glass, rumbling when you lean into the touch. “Wretched thing.” He growls, hand sliding from your cheek to your back and pulling you close. He feels you nuzzle into his wide chest, carefully bullying his thigh between yours, steel hard muscle tensing to give you a good surface to grind on. “Nothing more but a mongrel waste of flesh.” He doesn’t notice how quickly his voice has lost heat, barely above a murmur as he listens to your breathless gasp and watches your back arch.

For someone usually so guarded, you are painfully naked in flesh and soul, responding so wantonly to his touches; from low moans to soft little murmurs of ‘Simon’ and ‘more’ that has him mindlessly rubbing his thigh against your crotch in hopes of getting more of those so painfully human sounds. You moan and nuzzle into his chest, your body like soft clay in his hands now that you’re no longer shackled by the chains of pride and prejudice that your mind conjures around him

You’re like a strange bug to him; a part of him wants to pin you down, to tear you apart with vicious claws and see if there’s anything different in the way your heart beats, in the way your lungs move, in the way you exist — something substantial to show why holding you in his arms doesn’t feel as degrading as it should.

He wonders, briefly, if this is what God saw that made him love Adam so much. Why God did not have the heart to kill Adam for his disobedience.

Greed moves his hands like they’re puppets on strings, flesh rending claws carefully tracing the bumps of old and fresh scars that dot your abdomen — perhaps you aren’t so pathetic, it takes strength to survive this long. Your skin prickles from his touch, your breath fanning over the rough belly scales protecting his front as his hand slowly moves down. He hooks a claw under the band of your underwear and pulls down until your cock springs out right into Ghost’s hand.

Ghost hasn’t seen many cocks before, why would he?, but a low sound comes from his chest at how neatly your cock fits in his hand, how neatly all of you fit against him. And only now does it dawn on him that he doesn’t know how to do this— he’s a wrath demon for fuck’s sake, he understands war and bloodshed like it’s the back of his hand, but this? This is new territory.

Well, he’s never been one to back down when he’s gotten this far.

His hand slowly closes into a fist, just a little loose around you. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t be anything but gentle in the way he strokes you. Your hips move on their own, gentle little rocks to fuck your cock into his fist and he follows along with the motion. It’s a little rough at first, he feels how the dry slide of his hand makes you shiver, but he soon finds a nice pace as your precum eases the glide of flesh on flesh.

He wants to see your face when you moan, but he can’t bring himself to pull you away from his chest when you cling to him so sweetly, your lips mindlessly ghosting over his scales. So he contends himself with coiling his tail around your leg, draping a wing over you so there’s a barrier between you and the rest of the world, so no creature from heaven high or deep below may entertain the thought of taking what’s his.

No good thing lasts for long.

He feels you wake like the first thaw in spring, slow and gradual, eyes fluttering open, mind still clouded with pleasure to really understand the position you’re in. He takes advantage of that, gripping your hip to keep you close, swirling his tumb in the precum beading at your head and squeezing his hand just right to coerce a breathless moan from your chest.

Then your eyes snap open, realisation hitting you with the same intensity as the punch you throw at his skull. But the ‘marriage’ turns that show of force into a gentle caress of the skull cheek of his ‘face’. “Ghost what the fuck are you-” You begin, cut off as another clench of his hand has you gripping his forearm and biting your lip to silence yourself. 

“Oh hush hunter.” Ghost rumbles low in his throat, his wing tensing behind your back to bring you in closer, soft blood dyed feathers encasing you in a cocoon of warmth against his cool belly scales. “No need to wake the other worms.” Disdain and mockery drip from his voice like molasses, yet strangely it doesn’t feel aimed at you. . . it must just be the pleasure making you believe that.

“You- bastard!” You snarl, trying to summon the hunter savagery that had been meticulously beaten into you, but it slumbers like a fat cat. “Fuck off- get away from me.” You aim to slam your fist against his scaled abdomen, just a little lower and to the side where the floating ribs should be, but all you manage is a slow caress of his side and back up his chest where you can feel his eternal soul burning beneath the flesh.

He laughs and slides his hand down, rolling your balls in his wide hand and squeezing just enough to be at the edge of pain– shit, that should not feel so good. You hiss and throw your head back despite the inherent danger of exposing your throat. He tilts his head down, ghostly breath washing over your ear, “We both know if you wanted this to stop you would have done so.” Oh, now you can just feel the mockery in his voice, sweet like honey that it is.

Some petulant part of you thinks of arguing, anything to retain what remains of your damn pride, but then he slides his hand back up, pressing your cock against your stomach and grinding the palm of his hand against your shaft and all the thoughts of arguing are pushed to the side by the tide of pleasure. Fuck, it’s been far too long since you ‘took care’ of things, it’s not like you have much time to wank off, let alone with Ghost hanging over your shoulder like some grim reaper. And hell, if any other hunter heard you let a damn demon jack you off, yours would be the next head put on the stake but. . . but Ghost is surprisingly gentle with you, not a single hint of pain coming from his touches, not even from his claws gently running down your side.

“Fine-” You suck in a sharp breath, head fixed to stare directly at his chest. “Make it quick.”

You feel him smirk against your ear, “As you wish, hunter.” He laughs lowly, like you’re nothing but a cute puppy chewing on his shoelaces, “Though, you should thank me for debasing myself like this.” He growls, and with a sharp move of his wing he rolls you on your back. 

You gasp as your back hits the sleeping mat, and before you can even struggle Ghost looms over you, a wall of muscle and dark scaled flesh. “Fuck no.” You growl, some scraps of pride still clinging to your mind, though even those are threatened when his broad hand returns to stroking your cock, faster this time, the drag of his palm making pleasure sizzle up your spine. Your head rolls back to rest on the mat and you don’t even notice when you close your eyes. You’re not sure how Ghost is so good at this, something sharp like jealousy curling in your stomach at the thought of him doing this to someone else. But it’s hard to think when you can feel and hear him purring, his claws gently tracing your stomach and leaving lingering heat everywhere they touch.

You jump as something slick brushes over your balls, “Look, good hunter.” He growls and you listen without thought, eyes wide when you see his tongue— it extends from the darkness of his head just beneath the rotten upper teeth of his skull, long, black, thick strings of oil coloured spit dripping off his tongue. “That’s better,” He purrs; you’re not sure how he can talk, and you’re unable to ask because he leans in closer until your cock rests against his skull, his hellfire eyes burning in the darkness and giving just enough light for you to see his long black tongue curl around your base like a snake. 

Shit– he wants to kill you.

“Holy fuck Ghost-” You breathe out, lungs burning before you remember how to breathe. His tongue moves, squeezing your base and sliding lower to lap at your balls. You’re forced to bite your finger to stop the painfully pathetic sound burning on your tongue.

He stops moving and you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the whine that slips past your lips. “Simon.” He demands, oily spit clinging to your skin and making it tingle with heat.

“Simon.” You nod along dumbly, “Fuck- Simon.”

“Good.” You imagine he’s smiling when he says that, his hand returning to stroke your cock in reward. “Call me that again.” He says, a purr rumbling in his chest and you can’t help but moan at how the vibrations travel through his tongue, making it act like a vibrating toy.

Your hands fly to grip his horns, the pleasure making you throw your head back yet you try to keep your eyes on him, hiccuping his name between harsh breaths. He doesn’t mind the touch on his horns, leaning into the touch before flicking his tongue at your taint. He rewards you for each time you say his old name, tongue and hand working in tandem to slowly and steadily march you towards release. 

You try to tug on his horns to warn him, or maybe to pull him away, but he pays no heed; he doubles his efforts, wetly slurping at your balls and base while his hand toys with your crown, his free hand holding your hips down so all you can do is weather the pleasure until you’re finally pulled under the waves. “Simon-” You gasp, cum spurting all over his hand and your stomach. 

You watch through lidded eyes as he retracts his hand, keeping his gaze on you as he lazily licks up your cum from his hand. “Better than I expected.” He rumbles, more to himself than you, leaning up to drag his long slimy tongue across your stomach to gather up all your cum.

 Shit, that sight got you hard again before you could even soften.

You’re not sure if the greed you see spark in his eyes makes you scared or even harder, but you’re not left any room to think further about it before his tongue wraps around your cock again.

Unfortunately for you, demons have no concept of time as mortals know it, so his ‘quick’ ends up being the entire rest of the night. At one point you get to the point you’re sure Ghost is trying to kill you with all the pleasure, spit polishing your cock until he’s satisfied and by that point the sun is rising and your voice is hoarse.

You can’t meet the gaze of the motel receptionist in the morning, but Ghost Simon, looks smug like the cat who ate the canary.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Flavoured condoms — headcanons

a/n: I’ve had this in my drafts for a couple of months but I kind of forgot about it 🤦 (and maybe was a little embarrassed to post it)

warnings: oral, obviously (m! recieving), Rhys is a little mean, reader’s a bit of a menace with Cass, Eris, and Lu

Rhysand: Strawberry

“What’s that look for?” You ask suspiciously as he enters the living room, finishing rolling up his sleeves over his elbows, showing off his forearms.

He comes to a stop beside you, leaning against the wall, gazing down at where you’re sat.

“Look?” He muses, a sinister glint in his sharp, violet eyes. “You want to talk about my look?”

You raise a brow, keeping your book open, lips curving at the edges, “what else?”

A muscle twitches in his jaw, and you allow your gaze to travel over him, deliciously muscled arms folded over his broad chest, long legs crossed at the ankles, raven hair just a little ruffled.

“You’re a smart girl,” he muses, “I’m sure you know what you’ve been doing.”

Heat unspools in your lower abdomen, crossing your legs as you lean back into the plush cushion of the armchair. “I’m sure I have no idea,” you reply, smirking.

His smile tightens, then he’s pushing off from the wall, tension uncoiling as he moves to be before you, broad palms settling with a rough edge around your waist, touching your hips as he effortlessly raises you from your seat.

“Rhys!” You yelp, book falling onto the side table as you squirm, using your hands to grip onto him as he turns you both around, tucking you into his lap as he takes your place.

“I was reading,” you snap, thighs spread over him, back arched a little out of instinct, hands pressed to his chest. He watches you keenly, an intensity simmering beneath his carefully crafted features.

“Are you going to fix that attitude, or should I?” He murmurs, hot lips brushing your own, dark power practically rolling off him in waves. Maybe you actually pissed him off.

But you smile, shifting closer, thighs parting more so your centre is right on top of him. “I thought you liked my attitude, Rhys,” you muse sweetly, subtly grinding down in his lap.

The stars wink out in his gaze, and anticipation bubbles away in your tummy, already beginning to ache for him, able to feel him pressing flush between your legs.

“Get on your knees,” he orders quietly, lips curved in a tight smile, jaw tense as he releases your hips.

“Yes sir,” you reply playfully, grinning as you pull away from him, sliding down his body to kneel between his long legs, giving you enough space to settle.

“You want to tell me why you were letting her put her hands all over you?” He asks lowly, watching as you hungrily take initiative, hands deftly undoing the buckle of his belt, mouth watering.

“Jealous, Rhys?” You smirk, glancing up at him, using your hand to palm against the prominent shape of him. “You know she was just teasing. She does it with everyone.”

“You’re taken,” he replies lowly, eyes darkening as his hand releases its tight grip on the arm of the chair, fingers sliding through your hair to forcefully pull you closer between his thighs. Wetness pools in your underwear at the dominance. How possessive he can become.

“By who?” You ask, still smiling as your back curves, gripping him as you pull him out, tongue flicking out over your lips. “You’ve never mentioned exclusivity. We aren’t even officially together.”

“You’re still mine.”

“Hmm?” You tilt your head teasingly, pushing against his grip, lessening your hold on him. “This is the first I’m hearing of it?”

“Don’t fucking lie,” he growls, roughly pulling your hair back with both hands so he can hold it all in one fist. “You’re with me. I’m the only one you see when you want pleasure. The only one who can give you pleasure.”

“You are?” You ask, still smiling, “because it felt pretty good to have her hands on me.”

“Because you knew what it would do to me,” he replies roughly. “What I’d do to make sure you learned your lesson.”

“And what lesson is that, High Lord?”

His eyes practically glow with power, feeling as it unspools around you, crackling in the air as tension threads through his shoulders, patience waring thin.

He jerks on your hair roughly, pulling you upward onto your knees, your hands steadying yourself on his hip and thigh, jaw tiled upward as he peers down at you.

“You only need me,” he growls lowly. “I’m everything you could ever want.”

You tilt your chin higher, staring him down, “I’m sure I could find good cock elsewhere,” you say, eyes twinkling, “you aren’t the first, Rhys.”

His smile stretches into a grin, nails scraping across your scalp. “I’ll make you beg before the hour’s done.” Then he’s releasing you, settling calmly back in his chair with malevolent grace—undoubtedly the High Lord.

You watch as he pulls something from his pocket, and your brow furrows as he rolls the condom over himself, irritation perking up before calming again.

“Rhys?” You ask, brows still narrowed, wanting to taste him.

His violet eyes gleam, relaxing into the plush cushion of the chair, thighs parting a little wider, goading your movements. “Yes?”

It’s your turn to grit your jaw, easing in a breath. And he has the audacity to complain about your attitude?

“I’m not sucking you off with a condom on,” you snap, “there’s no fun.”

“This isn’t meant to be fun,” he counters, male arrogance lacing his tone. “This is a lesson, remember?”

“Lessons can be fun,” you snipe, brow twitching with irritation.

“Maybe once they’re learned,” he returns with one raised brow, a cocky smirk on his damned mouth. “Now set to work.”

You scowl, rolling your eyes as you grip him, leaning forward to take him in. Your lips press together, kissing at his tip before laying your tongue over your teeth and lower lip, licking from root to tip.

You halt, swallowing. Blinking.

Above you, Rhys is chuckling lowly, at last tangling his hand in your hair, roughly guiding you back between his legs.

A noise is released from your throat as he fills your mouth, something like a whimper as wild heat flutters in your lower belly as the distinct strawberry flavour bursts across your tongue, mouth watering hungrily, desperate for more.

Rhys watches from above, breathing deeply, tan skin flushed with warmth as he watches you grip him eagerly, licking up the underside of him then reopening your mouth over his head, tongue swirling as you lick, suckle, and swallow him down.

You can’t get enough, greed making you desperate, taking as much of him down your throat as possible, hungry for his pleasure and your own, flicking over his tip as you go up and down.

You whimper when he forcefully pulls you away, a loose thread of saliva curving from your lower lip to his cock. A hot flush is warming your cheeks, breathless from arousal as you meet his hungry eyes dizzily, mouth watering as you move the flavour around.

“Pay attention, darling,” he muses, watching hotly as you mentally fumble. Loving how out of it you look, caught off guard by the play. You seem to like it.

You pull against his hand, anxious to return, to have his cock between your lips, to have that taste on your tongue coupled with the scent of his arousal and weight of him on your tongue.

His grip tightens, and you peer up at him, panic and hunger in your eyes so stark he feels himself twitch at the look alone.

“Want it more now?” He muses, slightly breathless, neither of you entirely in control of yourselves. He’s probably the more aware of the two of you.

“Rhys…” you pant, nails digging into the muscle of his thighs, pulling against his iron grip. Merciless and unforgiving even in the heat of the moment.

“You know the rule,” he breathes, smirking faintly, that arrogant twinkle in his eyes that has you tightening around nothing. “You know how to beg.”

A moan spills from your lips, hips winding independent of will, searching for some kind of friction. “Rhys, please…” you mumble, hardly managing coherency through your haze.

He cocks a brow, waiting for you to continue, knowing he’s got you under his control.

Teeth pull over your lip, eyes flicking over him as you scent his arousal, thick and musky, mixing with that lovely strawberry flavour. “Rhys, please,” you beg breathlessly, “I want you in my mouth. On my tongue. Please.”

He laughs lowly, eyes twinkling with male satisfaction. “That’s better,” he drawls, your lids fluttering at the sonorous timbre. “Have you learned your lesson?”

You nod dumbly, the intensity of his arousal too much to bear, singing to your own.

The corners of Rhys’s mouth quirk in a feline grin, butterflies erupting in the pit of your stomach, surprised you aren’t dripping onto the floor. “Good girl.”

Cassian: Cookie Dough

“Cassie!” You call, a note of mischief in your voice, grinning as you find him in your bedroom, trying to shove some weapons into a very full chest of drawers.

His wings twitch, then he’s standing straight, eyes narrowed as he glances over you. “Sweetheart?” He asks cautiously, “what are you after?”

You pad over to him, his large shirt hanging off your shoulders, its hem brushing your thighs as you push him toward the bed. “Do you have a moment?” You ask hotly, arousal warming your skin as you settle your palms over his broad shoulders.

Cassian’s pupils dilate fully as he watches you pull your hair back from your face in a way he recognises, thighs parting wider as he sits back on the bed. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I can make time for it,” he breathes roughly, his arousal making its way up to you.

Your teeth tug on your lower lip with excitement, kneeling between his long, well-muscled legs, hands already fumbling with the ties of his leathers.

“Want to tell me what you’re going to do to me?” He manages, accustomed to the interests he’s frequently subjected to, the various experiments you enjoy using him for. He can’t deny he finds them enjoyable, when your eyes spark with a new idea, and he gets to sit back and enjoy whatever new plan has taken shape in your mind.

“I found a shop recently, that I think I’ll be frequenting,” you smile up at him, mischievous and hungry, eyes flicking away from his as you pull him out, hands gripping him as he likes—an edge of tightness to your touch.

He watches with interest as you pull out the thin foil square, ripping it delicately with your teeth as you pull the condom from its packaging.

You roll it down, and Cassian’s palm cups the nape of your neck, thumb brushing your cheek as you peer up at him. “Please tell me what’s happening?” He requests, tan skin flushed as your hand moves around him, stroking gently—nowhere near enough pressure for him.

“Apparently,” you muse lowly, looking up from between his thighs, “they’re flavoured.”

He raises a thick brow, and you smile sweetly, before leaning forward, examining him, seeing if you notice anything different about it—nothing seems to be changed.

Opening your mouth, you deliver a slow lick to his head, dragging the flat of your tongue over him before pulling away to test the flavour.

Your mouth waters, that pleasant taste of cookie dough making you desperate for another lick.

“Oh, fuck, Cass…” you breathe, stroking him harder.

“You like it?” He pants, gripping your hair in the way you like, free hand fisted in the bedsheets so you can savour the experience.

“Mhmm,” you hum in response, opening your mouth over him again, lips sliding down over his tip, tongue swirling gently, lapping and suctioning as you get more of the flavour, taking him deeper so you can taste more…

“Sweetheart,” he growls, tugging on your hair, pulling you roughly from his cock, a string of saliva connecting from his tip to your lower lip.

It takes a moment for you to focus, but then a hazy smile is playing on your lips, clambering up his body to push your mouth against his, sharing the delicious taste, his tongue stroking against your own.

He groans hotly, and you release a pleasured noise from your chest, fingers tangling in his hair as you push closer to him, breasts pushing against his chest deliciously.

But then you’re pulling away, hungrily moving back down his body, kneeling down and swallowing him eagerly, tongue licking and lapping as you swirl over his tip, taking him as far as possible.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans from above you, not even having to apply force to get you to move in the right way, content to brace himself on the mattress, legs spread to let you work your magic. “So fucking good.”

You moan onto him, pulling off to lick from root to tip, sucking the flavour from the condom, winding your hips needfully.

“Fuck, you can go deeper, can’t you,” he groans, pushing so your nose brushes the dark swirls of hair at his base. “Trying to hold out on me. You should know better by now.”

You try to whimper, but the sound gets caught in your throat, unable to get it past his cock as you shift your tongue that’s pressed flat to the floor of your mouth, arousal dripping between your thighs.

“That’s better,” he groans roughly, “that’s how you fucking take it.”

Your spine curves as his hand grips your hair, slowly dragging you up and down, only occasionally letting you up to breathe, arousal intensifying.

“So fucking good at taking me down that throat of yours, isn’t that right sweetheart?” He groans, pulling you to his tip, allowing you to pause, knowing your jaw will be aching by now.

You whine, pulling against his grip so you can taste him again, but the warrior holds fast, not allowing so much as an inch of leeway.

“Want me back in that filthy mouth of yours, huh?” He manages hotly, cock twitching when you nod, humming eagerly, happy to play along if it gets you what you want. If he wants you to act needy and desperate, you’ll do it.

“Cassie,” you pant, peering up at him with fake innocence, brows curved as you grip him in supplication. “You taste so good.”

The General groans, loud and unabashed, hips bucking as his hold tightens on you. “Fuck, I didn’t even have to tell you to beg, did I? Just did that all on your own.”

You push your tongue out over your lower lip, silently ushering him back, and you tighten around nothing as he groans roughly.

“So well behaved aren’t you?” He moans, bringing you back to his cock, eager to feel that wet heat of your tongue, the tension of your throat around him.

“Well,” he drawls, “when you want to be.”

Azriel: Vanilla

“Az,” you murmur into your glass, concealing others from reading your lips.

Everyone knows his shadows are on you at all times—it’s far from unusual for the darkness to be wrapping carefully around your shoulders, like a black cat draping itself over you in a lazy sprawl.

The shadows flicker to attention and you take a small sip of your drink. “I want you in my mouth.”

The darkness writhes on a miniature level, simply looking like a vibrating mass before pressing tight to your skin, acting more like leather than silk.

Your lips quirk, smiling at whatever everyone else is in your group.

It’s not even minutes later that a presence is settling at your side, a broad palm sliding seamlessly around your waist with a possession that has your insides tingling pleasantly.

You glance up at him, hazel eyes locking with your own, features politely neutral before the large group, despite neither of you being even near the centre of the gathering. It seems Cassian and Feyre are more than happy entertaining the crowd, choosing the direction of conversation for tonight, and it’s fairly effortless to slip away.

Especially given the Spymaster’s area of expertise.

The darkness envelops you as soon as you’re out of the hall, swept up in his shadows as you pass through the night seamlessly, blending into puddles of shadow until you’re transported to the familiar chamber of his bedroom.

“So needful, aren’t you?” He murmurs, a hint of pleasure in his hazel eyes. Knuckles brush against the high of your cheek, and you tilt into his touch. “Food wasn’t good enough for that mouth of yours, huh.”

Teeth prod at your lower lip, pressing against him as you lay your palms over his chest, fingers brushing over the neckline of his shirt. An appetising dip at its hem, able to get a peek at the tan skin beneath, swirls of ink barely visible from where you’re stood.

“Mhmm,” you hum, peering up at him as you apply a light amount of force to his chest, slowly walking him back, as if in a waltz. “Do you have something else I can try?”

“I might have something in mind,” he returns, slightly breathless.

“Uh-huh, like what?” You ask quietly, feeling as he reaches the bed, pushing on his shoulders to get him to sit—he doesn’t need much persuading.

His lips curve with familiar hunger, shadows coming forward and your brows narrow as they push something into your now-opened palm.

“Give that a try for me,” he encourages lowly, and you eye the foil wrapping curiously.

“Vanilla?” You ask, reading the small inscription. A smile curves your lips, peering up at him with a feline glint in your eye. “For me, Az?”

“I know how those celebrations bore you, pretty thing,” he replies, hazel eyes softening as he cups your jaw with both his hands, tilting your upward. “I thought you might enjoy a reward for making it past midnight,” he breathes, “all without complaining once. So good.”

“Say more,” you murmur, between his legs as you slide to your knees, peering up at him with superficial patience—knowing how he likes the control.

He raises a single brow, hands slowly pulling the ties free, deft fingers loosening the tension of his leathers—teasingly; tauntingly slow. “Greedy thing,” he drawls, “do you deserve more? I think I’ve been rather generous.”

Arousal intensifies as he watches your pupils dilate, landing on his cock as he pulls himself free, and you shift on your knees as you make to roll the condom over him, your touch light and gentle—equally provocative.

“I think I’d like to hear more, regardless of whether I’m deserving of it or not,” you reply, hand wrapping around him, slowly pumping, delivering thorough strokes to him as you tilt your chin to meet his hungry gaze.

“Is that right?” He drawls roughly, fingers digging into the sheets to keep from gripping you and using you how he’d like. “What would you like me to tell you, exactly? That you have a filthy mouth? That it’s obscene how fuckable those lips of yours are? How good you feel?”

Your spine curves, kissing up the underside of him before flicking your tongue over his head, gripping his base. Arousal liquefies between your thighs at the deep-throated noise of pleasure he releases as you take him into your mouth.

“That’s it,” he encourages lowly, “so good. Like the taste?”

As he asks, you drag your tongue from root to tip, the flavour light as it fills your senses, heat flushing your skin. You don’t reply, but the way your attention intensifies tells him everything he needs to, even parting his long legs a little wider so you can press closer, swallowing him down, eager to taste and lick and suck.

His hand tangles in your hair, keeping it pulled back from your face as you keep your mouth sealed against his skin, nose skimming his abdomen, tongue rubbing against his underside in a way you know he finds pleasurable.

“Fuck,” he breathes lowly, the curse dragging from deep in his chest, rough and gravelly. “So good with that mouth of yours, aren’t you?”

You whimper onto him, and his hips buck, unable to help himself, a heat flushing your cheeks as a small noise is forced from your throat.

You gaze up at him as you lap up the flavour, suckling at his tip to taste the vanilla, tongue swirling appealingly, colour flushing his cheeks.

“Gods, you’re fucking sinful,” he groans, discipline slipping as he bucks his hips, his movements becoming slightly rougher, control waning as his lust takes over.

You moan onto him in encouragement, split between enjoying being able to have some control over him, being the one to ply it from him, and half wanting him to handle you onto the bed, head just at the edge so he can grip your throat as he fucks your mouth.

Your tongue licks along the underside of him, and his grip tightens on your hair.

Maybe you won’t have to be the one to make that particular decision.

Maybe he can make that choice for you.

Eris: Gingerbread

Eris gives you a look of slight exhaustion, and you grin, padding over to where he’s sat in the grand living room of your shared estate.

“You look tired,” you ask, smiling as you come to a pause between his legs, before setting over one of his thighs, both your legs between his. “Want a reprieve?”

He sighs, hand covering his face as his thumb and fingers rub either side his eyes, as if trying to push back his fatigue.

“You’re far too energised,” he mutters, arm falling away as they settle on the chair, meeting your bright eyes, gleaming in the firelight.

“Come on,” you whine playfully, fingers tracing over his chest, Eris’s amber eyes glancing down as his breathing shallows with the teasing trace. “For me?”

He sighs heavily, and you blink up at him, leaning a little closer.

“It’ll make me happy,” you murmur, smiling mischievously, “and you’ll definitely enjoy it…so why not, right? I just want to try it.”

“Fine.” Eris groans, tension at last vacating his body as he leans back in the plush armchair. “Fine. But this will not happen again, so enjoy it,” he mutters, unable to hide the slightly embarrassed pink on his pale cheeks.

You grin, kissing him on the lips before shifting between his long legs, deft fingers seamlessly working him free in a matter of moments, rolling the condom over him. Eris notes your enthusiasm but says nothing about it, putting his slight embarrassment aside in favour of your pleasure. Ultimately his, too, but you’ve been pestering him about trying this for a while.

Your eyes gleam with mischief as you glance up at him hungrily, and his brows narrow in warning—you shouldn’t get used to this, is what he’s wordlessly telling you. You give him a grin that tells him how easily you can see through his lie.

Eris sighs, resigned to your will as he leans back in his chair. Just his luck that his mate’s persistence would be enough to top even his own will.

“Ready?” You ask, lips curved with feminine delight as satisfaction gleams in your eyes. Arousal is already liquefying between your thighs, excitement pooling in your lower belly.

You don’t wait for a reply, happily leaning forward as you grip him, dragging your tongue from base to tip as you take in the flavour, examining how you feel about it. Arousal intensifies with pleasure, and you eagerly return, mouth and tongue wrapping around him as you take him into your throat hungrily.

Eris grits his teeth, colour flushing his skin as he exhales heavily, relaxing into his chair as you apply yourself to him, hot lips wrapped wetly around his cock as you lick firmly up the underside of him, pausing to suckle at that sensitive part just below his head before dragging the tip of your tongue over his slit.

Your mate groans, arousal swiftly filtrating through his blood, heating his skin with a burning flame as his fingers tangle in your hair, all previous reservations annihilated as he basks in the wet pleasure of your mouth.

Satisfaction has you widening the stance of your thighs, hand slipping between you legs as you sense his enjoyment, fingers running over the dampened fabric of your underwear, swiping over your clit before dipping down to your entrance.

His grip tightens slightly in your hair, liking the feeling of having control while both of you knowing you’re leading. He has no need to guide you when you know the movements that will bring him to release with such familiarity.

“Where did you even find something like this?” He managed to get out, voice deep and slightly raspy.

“Interested in more?” You ask breathlessly, pulling off him to ask but already eager to return, to feel the thick weight of him on your tongue, the flavour in your mouth…

You don’t weight for a reply, instead taking him back into your mouth, moaning onto him as you grip his base, Eris’ fingers tightening soothingly in your hair. Stroking encouragingly as he allows his legs to part a little further in silent offer.

You’d never decline an opportunity with him, and you take him as far as you can manage, throat willingly constricting around him pleasantly, goading his pleasure to the surface as your fingers slip inside yourself.

There’s little better than when he decides to let you enjoy him.

Lucien: Raspberry

“I should have known it would get some ideas into your head,” Lucien remarks as you anxiously push at his back, hurrying both of you to his bedroom.

“It’s only fair,” you reply, pushing him inside and swiftly locking the doors. “Give it.”

Lucien raises a brow, stood in the centre of your shared bedroom, arms folded casually across his chest, the edge of his mouth quirking. “That’s no way to ask your loving husband. Say ‘please, Lucien.’”

Your lower lip pushes out as a slight scowl narrows your brows, frustrated with his antics. “You’re being a pain. Let me try it already,” you whine, walking over to him and settling your hands over his folded arms. “Come on, Lu, you want to try it too, don’t you?”

His russet eye gleams mischievously, lips quirking at their corners as he remains silent, enjoying how your frustration is becoming more palpable. He has to admit it’s a little fun winding you up—you’re adorable. It makes him eager to have you on your knees.

Your scowl deepens but the flush of arousal that’s heating your skin betrays your emotions to him, able to hear the quickened beat of your pulse as your fingertips press into him lightly.

You look up at him begrudgingly. “Please, Lucien.”

Almost instantly you notice how his arousal intensifies, and you yelp when his arms unfold, hands gripping your hips to tug you against him as he pulls you to your bed. “Alright, since you asked so sweetly,” he muses, liking the slight spark of satisfaction in your eye now he’s giving you what you want, handing the thin object over to you.

You take it hastily, glancing at the packaging. “It’s the same flavour as the thing you used on me, right?” You ask, peering at the small type written on the material.

Lucien rolls his eye, though you’re too focused to notice. “Same one. Like you asked me to get about fifty times.”

You nod to yourself then, a small smile playing on your mouth as your gaze softens, and his pulse flutters at the look. It’s endearing how you’re so insistent you do things together in the same way. Every time he does something for you, you’re always so eager to pay him back, to bring him the same feelings he gives to you.

You make quick work of his trousers, swiftly rolling the condom onto him, before glancing up at him with an almost shy heat in your eyes. “You can lie back, if you’d like,” you say softly, “I want you to be comfortable.”

Lucien’s unable to help the smile the curves his lips, pushing some hair behind your ear as he guides you to meet his gaze. “I want to watch,” he admits breathlessly, thumb stroking across the crest of your cheek adoringly. “You look so pretty with your mouth around me.”

Your thighs press together as you lean into his touch briefly, before wrapping your hand around his base, guiding him to your mouth. Almost immediately you can pick out the raspberry flavour and you hum with pleasure, licking over him hungrily, suckling at his tip before taking him all the way down, gently stroking what you can’t yet reach.

Above you, Lucien groans softly, hand gently gripping your hair though it’s more for reassurance than to have control. You know what to do and how to please him, there’s no need for him to guide you.

You enjoy your freedom anyway, swirling the tip of your tongue around him as you lap up the flavour contentedly, his arousal becoming more and more prominent by the second.

“Gods, you should be able to see yourself,” Lucien breathes, almost to himself. “So pretty, aren’t you? So good to me.”

You glance up shyly from between his legs, both of you knowing what words like that do to you, your hand remaining gently stimulating him while your mouth is away.

“You still enjoy it?” You ask quietly, and the question is sincere enough he can’t help but smile.

“I’ll enjoy you for the rest of my life,” he murmurs tenderly, again stroking him thumb across your cheek. “No matter what.”

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes

[lives-between-lines]

With her sweetened breath and her tongue so mean - poly!marauders x slytherin!reader

─

Summary: Preparing for the dreaded OWLs proves to be a difficult task for one tightly-wound Slytherin. How do Remus, James, and Sirius each offer assistance, and how does she handle it?

Notes: No Voldemort, but pureblood elitism is still very much a thing. Story starts at the end of the Marauders and Reader’s fifth year. I don’t know the most about all the Marauders Era headcanons so I kind of did what I wanted, sorry if you don’t like it. 

Tags: Angst, fluff, traumatized Slytherins, pureblood elitism, slightly mean!reader

Words: ~7.8k

p.1

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I huffed as I reached for another heavy book on the shelf from one of the dark back corners of the library. I wasn’t in the restricted section just yet, but getting close to it. Between the weight of the other five books stacked in my arm and the height of the shelf I was trying to reach I nearly dropped them all. 

“Careful, there, Princess. Might break something lugging around all those books,” someone said next to me. I nearly jumped as I hadn’t noticed anyone come down this same aisle. 

I shot a glare at him for startling me. It was none other than Remus Lupin, one of those pesky Gryffindors who was constantly fighting me for my space at the top of the class. My glare intensified when I realized who it was.

“Yes, and it would sure be a shame if I managed to drop these on your foot and break something there,” I snarked. 

He looked amused at me. “Whoa, Princess, no need to get feisty with me. I was just going to offer my assistance.”

“And what kind of assistance should I accept from you when you’re just as likely to try and trick me?” Lupin gave me a weary look. Typical of Gryffindors to think everyone is as blindly trusting as them.

“No tricks, Princess, just offering a bit of help,” he said with a shrug.

“Would you stop that? Stop calling me that,” I snapped at him before turning back to the book I needed. Before I could make a second attempt to reach for it, Remus stepped up next to me and I froze. But then he grabbed the book for me and set it on top of my stack then took a step back. 

“Not a fan of your nickname?” He was of course referring to me being known as Slytherin’s Princess. Sometimes I like to pretend the nickname came about because I’m always top of the class, making my house proud, but I know the real reason is because I come from a wealthy, pureblood, Slytherin family and everyone thought me rather spoiled. 

“I am not some simpering girl in need of a man to save her and it’ll do good for the people in this school to remember that.” Despite his significant height, I lifted my chin to Remus Lupin and dared him to say otherwise. 

“Of course, of course,” he agrees, nodding his head and holding up his hands. “But you are Slytherin’s Princess, aren’t you?” His eyes light up in amusement at my frustration. 

My nostrils flare as I hold back my anger. It doesn’t do me any good to blow up at some stupid Gryffindor, not when that is exactly what he wants and I am not in the business of giving Gryffindors what they want.

Instead, I turn to walk away. Take the high-ground as they say. 

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry!” Remus calls after me, quickly catching up to and following me. “Seriously, dove, I’m sorry. I was only joking. Please, let me help you with whatever on earth you could possibly need all these books for.”

I stop abruptly and turn toward him. “And why should I accept help from someone like you?” I nearly growl at him, barely holding back my frustrations.

Remus looks taken aback by my words. “Someone like me? You mean a half-blood?”

It’s my turn to be startled by him. “I mean a Gryffindor,” I bite out. This was exactly why I couldn’t stand this brutish group, they were always so quick to jump to outrageous assumptions, thinking the worst of someone like me just because I’m in Slytherin.

He looks relieved and confused at the same time, but I don’t really care to help him unpack his complex emotions about the exact reasoning behind why I don’t trust him. 

I dump my books down onto the table I had claimed earlier and began to scour the table of contents in the first one. Uninvited, Remus took the chair next to me and began looking over my shoulder at the book. 

“Can I help you, Lupin? Or are you just interested in being a nuisance?” 

“I’m glad to be a nuisance any day, but as I’ve said before I was actually hoping to help you.”

“And as I’ve said before I’m not looking for any help.” 

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Is that this close to our OWLs you’re scouring books for something that you think you’ve missed, but you’ve been at the top of our classes all year, so I highly doubt you’ve managed to miss anything of real importance.” I give him a confused look, trying to discern how he’s figured me out so easily. Except he’s wrong, of course, I did somehow manage to lose the year a specific herb was realized to have certain medicinal properties. “So now I’m trying to answer the question of what does little miss Slytherin Princess think that she desperately needs to know, and will that really be the determining factor in her score on her OWLs?”

I glance around to make sure no one else is listening to me admitting defeat in front of a Gryffindor. “I don’t have the year we began to use hyssop to treat earaches,” I murmur. 

Remus’s face seems to fall at my admission. “That’s what you’re so concerned about? A minor herb’s medicinal use? Not even that, you already know that, but what year that was discovered? That is such a niche detail, there is absolutely no way Sprout asks us that.”

I roll my eyes. “Obviously Sprout’s not going to ask us about that, it’s Binns that I’m worried about,” I explain. Although I really shouldn’t be giving my enemy any help in preparing for our upcoming tests. I was just as desperate to best him on these tests as I’m sure he was me. 

“Binns?” He asks, outraged. “Binns would never ask about that in a million years.”

“You don’t know that, no one knows that. We had a lecture on the history of medicinal herbs, hyssop was one of them.”

“And so you really think that from that one lecture he’s going to ask us when hyssop was discovered to help with earaches?”

“I was reviewing my notes and I had written down the year but it got smudged.”

“You’re actually a raving lunatic,” Remus tells me. He looks around the library like he might get up and leave, but then he turns back to me. “I realize these are the most important tests of the year, but I think you have way overestimated the difficulty of the questions that will be on them.”

“And I think you can never be too safe.”

We hold each other’s gaze for several moments. Remus finally blinks and then sighs. “Confound it all, fine. Hand me one.” He holds his hand out expectantly. 

I stare at him, confused. 

“Well? Are we going to look for this blasted year or not?” I blink out of my stupor and hand him one of the books I had grabbed. 

We sit in silence for a long while, pouring over the texts. The only sound in this part of the library is us turning pages. The first book I look through doesn’t contain my answer, and neither must the book Remus has. Although I am tempted to go back later and double check he didn’t find it and not tell me in an effort to trick me. 

After I get through two more books and Remus goes through three, I can’t stop myself from asking the question that had been nagging in the back of my head the entire time. 

“Why exactly are you helping me? Surely you’d much rather be focused on your own studying.”

Remus slowly pulls his attention away from the book in front of him. He blinks at me and then furrows his brows. “Sorry, I know you said something, I just didn’t quite catch what,” he admits. 

I can’t help the small laugh at his honesty. “Why are you helping me? I thought you’d want to be studying for your OWLs.”

“I am studying for my OWLs,” he replies, tauntingly. I roll my eyes at him. 

“Come on, you know what I meant,” I push. 

He shrugs and I think that’s going to be all the answer I get, then after a pause he says, “you’ve intrigued me. I’m curious now to find out when we started using hyssop for earaches.” There’s something about his tone that’s off, but I mark it down to him just teasing me. “Besides, I’m already plenty prepared to get a perfect score and take my spot at the top of the class.”

I laugh at his taunting. “Clearly not prepared enough if you’re not well versed in the history of hyssop,” I tease back. 

He gives me a winning smile and something in my chest stutters at it. I must just be unsettled by his obviously false flattery. 

“Can I ask you something in return?” He asks after a moment. 

I consider him, then reply, “I don’t promise to answer, but you’re welcome to ask.” 

He smiles again and this time it feels like my heart has been squeezed just a bit. “Well I suppose that’s fair. But are you always so…” he trails off and I get nervous at where he’s going with this. “Well, are you always so intense about knowing every little detail?” He finally finishes. 

It must be relief that floods my veins when he doesn’t ask anything backhanded or rude. I actually give him a smile before glancing down at my lap. 

“I have to be, don’t I? There’s one way to stay where I am and it’s by rigorous study,” I admit. 

“Is it really so important to stay at the top that you have to obsess like this, though?” 

I think back to what happened when I would slack off with my studies at home before coming to Hogwarts. I can’t help the way my face falls at the memories. 

“I suppose it might not be so important to a Gryffindor, but success is a high priority in Slytherin,” I finally respond. It seems when I don’t know how to react I lash out, although Remus is lucky to have caught me in a good mood as I let him off rather easily. 

Nonetheless he still looks a bit dejected by my response. I feel a bit bad for shutting him down when we had been starting to get along rather well. 

“We should probably focus on the matter at hand, though, if we ever want to find our answer before curfew,” I say, returning to the book in front of me. 

“Right…” Remus murmurs. Part of me expects him to leave at that point, after all that’s when everyone else does. He surprises me when he stays and doubles down his efforts. 

I open my mouth, to say what I’m not entirely sure. I close my mouth again when I realize that I want to apologize. There’s no way that Remus wants some half baked apology from me. 

Time passes in silence, the both of us occupied with our search, but my mind keeps wandering to the way I had snapped at Remus. I didn’t understand why he had sat down to help me, but I shouldn’t have antagonized him for asking a simple question. It wasn’t his fault that the answer wasn’t so simple. 

I can’t help stealing glances of him every few minutes, which significantly hinders my speed in reading my book, but Remus doesn't seem to notice and I can’t get myself to stop. This means that I notice almost immediately when Remus freezes suddenly. I try not to react, not wanting to have been caught looking.

“Holy shit!” He nearly shouts, someone nearby shushes him loudly, but he’s too busy jumping out of his seat to mind. “Oh, Merlin’s beard I actually found it!” He whispers loudly this time and pumps his fist. Standing at his height above me while I sit next to him I have to strain my neck to look up at his face, but it’s such a beautiful sight with how excited he is.

“You mean you actually found the year?” I ask, matching his excitement.

He nods enthusiastically at me then points to the line of text that contains the answer we’d spent hours searching for. “Yes, yes, look! It’s right there.”

We celebrate as quietly as we can and I quickly jot down the information into my notes. 

“Oh, thank you, Remus! You’ve just saved me probably three hours.” I stand to join him. It’s then that I finally check the time and realize just how close it is to curfew. “Ah, shit,” I murmur. “We should turn in for the night. I don’t fancy having a run-in with Filch tonight.”

“Let me walk you to your dorm?” Remus offers.

“What? It’s nearly curfew, you’ll risk getting in trouble with Filch. No, I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself to my dorms for the night,” I reply firmly. 

“Don’t worry about me, dove, I can handle myself. Let me walk you to your dorm.” This time Remus sounds more like he’s telling me than asking me. Nevertheless I nod in agreement and we make our way to the Slytherin common room in the dungeons. 

On the way down, Remus teases me lightly about how obsessed I must be to dedicate so much effort into finding such a small detail. I tease him back about him being a nerd for helping me look for the answer. It’s lighthearted and easy and part of me thinks I could get used to having Remus as a friend. Another part of me questions what it would look like for me to be friends with a Gryffindor and whether my parents would approve or not. Then the first part kicks the second part for being such a self-obsessed ass. 

Just outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room I wave goodbye to Remus and wish him a good night. I try not to blush when he calls me “dove,” and dart into the safety of the common room. 

─

The next few weeks Remus seems to make it a habit of running into me in the library when I would otherwise be alone. In the past I had tried studying with Narcissa or Andromeda but the pair of them had bad habits of wanting to chat while I wanted to actually study, so my time in the library had previously been spent alone. 

Remus was different, though. He understood my desire to focus on the material in front of me and not whether or not his hair was looking frizzier than normal. 

Before I knew it I had come to rather enjoy his company. It felt almost reassuring that there was someone else who was similarly interested in studying, but wanted to do it with me. Somehow it was like studying at the same table as him made studying that much better, even if nothing of substance had changed. 

─

On a Saturday morning, a couple weeks before we were to begin taking our OWLs, I went out to the Black Lake just before the sun rose. I had slept fitfully, getting more and more nervous for the tests ahead of me. There was so much pressure to do good on these, I didn’t know what I would do if I were anything less than perfect. 

I don’t know why exactly I came out here, I just knew that I needed fresh air. Without much else of a plan, I sat down at the trunk of a tree and pulled out my wand. I practiced a couple small charms and transfigurations on the branches and rocks around me. 

“I’d say that rock doesn’t stand a chance against you, but I’d like to know what it did to deserve such treatment in the first place.”

I dropped the spell I had been using to propel the rock in the air and it fell swiftly. There likely wasn’t anyone in the school who I would not have been shocked to see, but I was especially shocked it was none other than James Potter. He’s a fairly popular boy my age in Gryffindor, mostly known for his outspokenness and disruptive behavior. If my memory serves me right, which it always does, he’s actually friends with Remus Lupin.

“What are you doing out here so early?” I can’t help but ask.

“I could ask the same of you,” he points out. I finally take him in at that moment. He’s wearing loose shorts and an old Gryffindor quidditch t-shirt that he’s cut the bottom half off to show off his athletic build. His curly hair is a mess atop his head, but I get the notion it’s always like that. When I meet his eyes I’m struck by how blue they are that I can notice even with him standing several feet in front of me. I can’t help but think to myself how pretty he is. He gives me a dorky smile, as if used to the attention but still not sure how to respond.

“Couldn’t sleep so well. Thought some fresh air would do me some good,” I finally answer, not acknowledging how I’d just been looking at him.

“Some fresh air and tormenting rocks?” He teases.

“Is that all you think we Slytherins do? Torment everything?” I huff. 

His face twists at my response. “No, no that’s not what I meant at all. It was just a joke, most people laugh at them.”

I sigh and lean back against the trunk of the tree. “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit on edge,” I admit, though I’m not sure why I feel the urge to open up to this next to perfect stranger.

James takes a few steps closer and I tense up, but he just takes a seat next to me under the tree. “What’s got you so on edge?” 

“Is that another one of your jokes? The OWLs obviously.”

“Oh, right. I suppose those are coming up soon.” He pauses and tears some grass in front of him. “What’re you stressed over those for?” 

My brows pinch together and I stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “They’re only the most important tests of the entire school year, of our entire schooling career thus far! These will determine our entire futures.”

It’s James’s turn to look at me like I’m crazy. “They’re just another test, though. And I really don’t see how they’ll determine our entire futures,” he says plainly. 

I scoff and roll my eyes. Leave it to a Gryffindor to blow off something so important. 

“Look, I know you’ve got this whole thing about being perfect in every subject and staying ahead of everyone else, so I’ll make you a deal.” I turn to him, my interest piqued. “If you do any less than perfect on each of your OWLs, I’ll turn all the professor’s hair purple,” he offers.

My jaw drops at his suggestion. “What on earth would that accomplish?”

“Well I figure people won’t be talking about what grade you got on your OWLs if they’re too busy talking about Dumbledore with a lilac beard,” he’s laughing even as he says it. I laugh, too, at that image. 

“Make it bright pink and I’ll help you,” I reply through giggles. 

James gives me his award-winning dorky smile and I can’t tear my eyes away. 

“Seriously, though, I’ll bet you’ve already gotten perfect scores on every other test this year, there can’t be anyone else more prepared than you.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, not used to outright compliments that weren’t also an insult. My gaze falls to where James is still fiddling with the grass. “A bit antsy, are you?”

“Sorry,” he sighs, “I’ve been trying to work on that. I actually came out here to go for a run, it helps me burn some of my extra energy before the day so I can focus a bit better.”

I can’t imagine wanting to start the day by burning through energy, I often woke up with barely enough to make it through the day. 

“Oh, I’m sorry to be keeping you. I can go back inside if you want to run by yourself,” I offer and even before I finish talking, I’m pushing to stand up. 

“No, no you’re fine!” He’s quick to reassure me. “Please, stay. Actually if you want you could join me, it might help you clear your mind.”

I consider for a moment before deciding to agree. There couldn’t be much harm in it, it was still at least another hour before most people would get up for the day and I didn’t have anything better to do. 

While we run I can’t help glancing over to James, who’s clearly in his own world.

The sun began to peak over the horizon, slowly illuminating our path. At one point the sun is behind James when I steal another glance at him, and the way the light catches on his features makes him look like a real life angel.

James proves to be right, the run did help me to clear my mind. When we stop back where we had started I’m feeling significantly lighter than before, even if I am breathing significantly heavier. 

“That was… fun,” I am slow to admit. “Thank you, Potter.”

“Anytime, darling.” He gives me another goofy smile. “Feel free to join me whenever you like, I come out at the same time everyday.”

“I just might take you up on that.”

─

I don’t know what makes me do it, but I take James Potter up on his offer every day for a week straight. I quickly come to enjoy the ritual of it, waking up before dawn, sneaking out of my dorm, getting the fresh air and clearing my mind before the day. 

James’s presence was a reassuring one, even if we didn’t always talk much. I had the sense that he would listen to anything I needed to say and offer encouragement. 

As our OWLs loom ever closer I come to rely on our runs to center me in the mornings more and more, but I also question how long James will continue to let me join him. He never says anything to indicate he doesn’t want me to join, though, so I take him at face value and keep meeting him under our tree every morning. 

─

The night before we’re to start our OWLs I find myself unable to sleep for even a minute. Of course this wasn’t a problem for my dorm mates who had fallen asleep at least two hours ago. 

I toss and turn, thinking that maybe if I could just get comfortable I could get to sleep. Of course I have no such luck. Eventually I decide that drastic times call for drastic measures. 

I don’t have to worry about being too quiet as I climb out of my bed, pull on a jumper, and slip on my sneakers. I’ve mastered this routine from sneaking out for my morning runs. 

Two years prior Narcissa was sniffling and sneezing her brains out, but didn’t want to wake Madam Pomfrey for medicine. Andromeda insisted we could take care of her ourselves, she just needed a good, hot cup of tea to clear her system. I never knew where she learned it, but she showed me a way to slip into the kitchens undetected. She then showed me which cabinet to find the herbs in, and also which herbs were the right ones. And then she showed me how to use the kettle. 

It was amazing how much better Narcissa was able to sleep after she finished her cup of tea, and the next day she was right as rain. I quickly became obsessed with the simple magic behind a “good cup of tea” and asked Andromeda to tell me everything she knew about the different recipes and ingredients. When her knowledge proved to be rather limited I went on a rampage in the library until I was satisfied─ a good two weeks later. 

My plan was a simple blend to help me sleep and settle my nerves. Chamomile and cinnamon was sounding particularly tasty, although I was considering whether I might like lavender with rosemary more. Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice at first there was already someone else in the kitchens. Thankfully when I did I only jumped a little. 

Confused, I stared at Sirius Black as he took a kettle off one of the stoves. He gave me an amused look in return. 

“Couldn’t sleep either?” He guessed.

“No, I’m quite afraid not.”

He gave me a sad smile in understanding. “Have a seat, I’ll make you a cup,” he offered. I can’t say why I listened, but I did. Maybe in a moment of weakness before a highly stressful event I didn’t care that I didn’t know him much, I just wanted to let someone take care of me. 

“Any preference on what kind?” He asks.

“Hmm, I was debating between chamomile with cinnamon or lavender with rosemary,” I say. Then, because I can’t help myself, I proceed to list off my many thoughts on the benefits of each ingredient and what might best suit my current situation. 

Lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice that Sirius has made a decision for me and already started steeping the herbs in the water. I’ve somehow veered off onto what might make a good combination if Sirius was having a headache, or if his headache was caused by a cold and he had other symptoms what could help with that. 

To his credit, he never once interrupts or even looks bored. In fact the entire time he seems to regard me with mild amusement, and I begin to get the impression that everything he encounters in life amuses him. 

I don’t even stop rambling about tea when he sets my cup in front of me. After taking a sip, I start to tell him how very fond I am of lemon balm, then pause when I finally realize the cup of tea is already made. 

For the first time since Sirius asked what kind of tea I wanted, he is finally given a chance to say something. “Are you sure you weren’t meant to be in Ravenclaw?”

I scoff at his suggestion. “Don’t be absurd, Slytherins can be just as studious as Ravenclaws, we just typically hold our cards a little closer to our chest.”

“Right.” He nods. “This was you holding your cards close to your chest?” He then questions.

“Well it’s not like there’s any great secret behind tea. And besides, even if I haven’t been able to sleep I am quite tired.” A yawn escapes me just then to prove my point. “Narcissa always complains about my tendency to ramble when I’m tired.”

“Why would she complain? I found it rather entertaining,” he says, lightheartedly. Even though his tone has a hint of joking to it, I feel like he’s being honest. 

I give him a small smile before taking another sip from my cup. It’s still quite hot, but the flavors are still strong. “Mmm, this is quite delicious,” I compliment. “Is it chamomile with… rosemary?” 

Sirius gives me a proud grin. “Ten points to Slytherin,” he jokes. A smile falls on my face. 

“What have you made for yourself?” I ask, glancing at his cup. 

“Vanilla and rose.” 

“That sounds lovely. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that before.”

“James’s mum makes it for us all the time. Do you want to try a sip?” He offers. I nod quickly and he passes over his cup. Sure enough it’s a delightful mixture. I tell him such and he tells me the measurements so that I can make it for myself. 

“So what’s keeping you up on this otherwise peaceful night?” Sirius asks.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I groan. He looks at me dumbly, confused as to what the obvious answer might be. “We start our OWLs tomorrow,” I scoff. 

“Merlin, you can’t really be this stressed about it.” He sounds disbelieving, though I’m not sure why. 

“I can and I am,” I say, matter-of-factly. He rolls his eyes and turns to begin putting away the tea kettle. “Why are you up, if not because of the OWLs?” I then ask.

“Not for any good reason. Have always had trouble sleeping,” he says, but the tightness in his voice, and the way he tugs at a lock of hair behind his ear tells me there’s something else he doesn’t want to share. I can’t fault him for that, though. “Which of your OWLs do you feel most prepared for?” He asks after a moment of tense silence. 

It throws me off for just a second. Most people want to know which test I’m most nervous for, want to know what area I’m weakest in, where the chip in my armor is so that they might strike there. I consider for a moment, not wanting to say something that I end up bombing. Eventually, I decide on my favorite subject. Sirius seems to accept that answer without pushing any further, so I turn it on him. 

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he answers almost immediately. “I want to be an auror,” he brags. 

I roll my eyes at the proud smirk on his face. “Of course you do.”

“Well? What do you want to be?” Sirius asks as if expecting a lame answer such as archivist. 

“My parents want me to be an alchemist,” I reply in what I would guess is a lame answer.

“That’s great for them, what do you want to be, though?” Looking into his eyes at that moment feels as if he’s staring into my soul. 

“I… I don’t know,” I mumble slowly and my brows furrow. I can’t help but look at my cup of tea, half empty at this point. No one had ever asked me what I wanted before, not when it came to something so major. It was always assumed I would follow the path my parents laid for me. 

When I find the courage to look back up to Sirius he has a sympathetic look on his face. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap.

In return, Sirius’s face pinches in anger. “I wasn’t looking at you any type of way,” he defends.

“Yes, you were, you had this look on your face like you were sad for me,” I accuse. “Don’t be sad for me.”

“I’m not sad for you─”

“Good, because you have no reason to be. My life is great and everything is perfectly fine.” The way I say it even Sirius can tell that I’m trying to convince myself more than him at this point. I let out a frustrated sigh. I want to say something about how I’m a great witch and I’m meant to be an alchemist, but another voice in my head whispers to explain how I really feel.

“Look,” I start, then trail off. 

“It’s complicated,” he finishes for me. “I get it. I’m sure you know about my family, you know I get it.” His voice is so soft as he talks to me, as if I’m a frightened animal. But despite my flaws I am still a Slytherin, and I do not appreciate being treated like a frightened animal. 

“Leave it to a Gryffindor to be so self-absorbed they assume everyone knows their tragic tale of woe. Maybe instead of staying up late to make tea and trying to relate to girls you hardly know you should work on your form for your smokescreen spell.” The words spill out of me before I even consider them. I don’t even take the time to be shocked at my outburst. Instead I storm off. 

“Yeah, you’re one to talk about self-absorbed, Princess!” He shouts at my back. I nearly flinch at the nickname, but keep going out of the kitchens and straight back up to my dorm.

─ 

The morning before the first day of our OWLs testing I follow my same routine. I wake up early to run with James, and he tries to ask if I’m feeling alright, but I brush him off and neither of us acknowledges the way I push myself harder on this run than I ever had before. 

After our run, I go back up to my dorm to shower and get ready for the day. My dorm mates still haven’t caught on yet that I’ve started getting up hours earlier. They do ask if I’m feeling flush and press their hands to my forehead, though. I shove them off with a grumbled, “I’m fine,” and shove my things for the day into my bag. 

In the Great Hall I can hardly stomach a plain slice of toast, but I just manage to get it down with some orange juice. I feel a bit queasy, but today is too important to pay that feeling any mind. 

On my way to the first test of the day, I think back to Remus’s reassuring words from our study session the night before. 

“Look, I know trying to reassure you that you’ll do great won’t get through to you, even if I have never been more sure of anything in my life,” Remus says softly, almost hesitantly. “Instead I hope you know that it will be okay if you aren’t perfect.” My heart hits my stomach and I drop my quill. I start to shut down, prepare to lash out. Why would he say that? He thinks I won’t be perfect? 

“Maybe other people will have different opinions, but I will still be your friend and I know that everything will turn out okay for you.”

Oh. My heart flutters back to life. We’re friends? 

For once in my life, I do not lash out at someone for trying to get closer to me, for saying something honest that I wasn’t ready to hear. 

I give him a sad smile. “Thanks, Remus.” I pause for a long moment. “I’m glad you’re my friend,” I whisper. Then, because I’m not sure how to proceed after that, I stiffly turn back to my notes. Remus, ever the gentleman, goes back to his book and doesn’t push me any further. 

I don’t think anyone had ever told me before that it was okay to be anything less than perfect, but his words become my mantra for the day. 

“It will be okay if I’m not perfect,” I think to myself as I walk into the classroom. 

I take a seat next to Narcissa. It will be okay if I’m not perfect. 

The professor instructs us to start. It will be okay if I’m not perfect. 

I read over every question three times. It will be okay if I’m not perfect. 

I double check each of my answers. It will be okay if I’m not perfect. 

I finish the last question. It will be okay if I’m not perfect. 

I walk up to the front of the class and turn in my test. It will be okay if I’m not perfect. 

As I leave the classroom I’ve almost convinced myself that it will be okay if I’m not perfect. 

My stomach begins to churn and I walk straight to the nearest bathroom, into one of the stalls, and promptly begin to lose my breakfast. I hear the door open behind me when I’ve stopped heaving. 

“Think you’ve found yourself in the wrong bathroom, Princess,” someone says mockingly. Footsteps come closer to me. “Oh shit, are you okay?”

I hadn’t bothered to lock the stall door behind me, so I’m able to turn and see Sirius Black. Again. I give him a horrified look. 

“What the bloody hell are you doing in the girls’ room?” I nearly shout at him.

“Actually you’re the one who’s walked into the boys’ room,” he informs me. I give him a disbelieving look until he shifts and my gaze falls on a line of urinals behind him. My face blushes profusely and I stare at Sirius, mortified. He gives me a pitying look. “It’s okay, pretty girl, you’re clearly not feeling well. Stay there for a moment.”

Still in shock, I stay put. I hear the sink running for a moment, then Sirius comes back with a damp towel. He hands it to me to wipe my face. 

“Thanks,” I murmur. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he replies. With a tender hand, he helps me to my feet when I’m ready. “Let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey, then.”

“Oh, no, that’s really not necessary. It must’ve just been something I had at breakfast,” I lie. 

Sirius gives me a disbelieving look. “You’ve clearly worried yourself sick and we both know it.”

I don’t reply as I follow him out of the bathroom. My plan was to start going in the direction of the hospital wing, then double back to the library to keep studying. Sirius’s plan was to follow me.

“I’m more than capable of walking myself to the hospital wing,” I say tersely. 

“And I’m more than capable of walking with you. I’m glad we’ve determined our abilities for this excursion.” 

I shoot him a glare that would scare off most other people. Sirius doesn’t even blink at me. My new plan: ignore Sirius as he insists on walking me to see Pomfrey. 

“How did you feel about it?” He asked after a moment. 

I don’t respond. 

“I personally thought some of the questions were a bit repetitive, like I had to explain myself multiple times.” 

I stay strong. 

“But maybe that’s a bad sign that I didn’t do as good as I thought.” 

Just keep staring straight ahead, he has to shut up eventually, I think to myself. 

“On the second question─”

“Would you just shut up already?” I snapped. I was stressed enough over how I did without reliving it with someone I didn’t even like. 

Sirius holds his hands up defensively. “Someone’s cranky,” he says with a laugh.

“I am not cranky, I just don’t particularly care to discuss the test with you.” My eyes roll of their own volition. 

“What should you care to discuss then?” He asks. 

“With you? Not much.” Maybe if I can discourage him enough he’ll grow bored and wander off. 

“It’s a bit of a trek to the hospital wing from here, though, and I’ve found conversation to be a great way to pass time.” Of course, I should know that Gryffindors are not so easily discouraged.

“I’ve found that there’s no reason for you to walk all the way to the hospital wing with me.” 

“Wow, are you like this all the time?” He finally snaps back.

“Like what?” I pretend to be ignorant. 

He scoffs at me. “Rude, Princess. Are you always so rude?”

I flare up at the nickname. The way he says it, it feels like he knows I don’t like it. 

“Nobody asked you to pester me,” I say. 

“Most people would consider this an act of kindness, not pestering.”

“How unfortunate for you that I am not like most people.” 

“It would do you a bit of good to learn something from them, maybe you could start with some manners.”

“I’m perfectly well mannered, thank you very much. You’re the one who didn’t listen when I told you I was fine to walk by myself, and you’re the one working yourself up by staying with me when you could bug off to literally anywhere else.” With that I begin to speed up to leave him behind.

Sirius actually stops for just a moment, as if really considering my words. Then he rushes to catch up to me. “No, I want to know what’s so bloody great about you,” he says. 

I give him a strange look. “I never claimed for anything to be so great about me.”

“Maybe not but you sure act like it, so tell me: what is so bloody great about you? What makes you so special that you think yourself better than everyone else here?”

It’s my turn to stop in my tracks. “Who the hell said I think I’m better than everyone?”

“No one has to say it, Princess.” The way he says Princess feels like venom on his tongue. 

I want to hit him. Punch him in the face and give him a great bloody nose. I want to hex him. Maybe knock him off his feet. I want to scream at him. Scream that I don’t think myself better than everyone, that I’m just an imposter pretending to be perfect all the time. 

It will be okay if I’m not perfect.

Tears start to well in my eyes. I haven’t cried since I was eleven and my family was getting ready to drop me off at Hogwarts for the first time. 

“Do not cry, darling, it’s unbecoming,” my mother says to me. “Soon you will be sorted into Slytherin and prepare to continue your family’s legacy. You must show strength at all times, even if you do not feel it. We can not be perceived as weak.”

A single tear snakes out of the corner of my eye and down the apple of my cheek. I look down and it falls to the ground by my feet. Another tear falls, and before I know it I am fully crying. I start to struggle to breathe. 

When I look back up to Sirius he looks terrified. He must think he’s what’s made me cry. The truth is it’s the last five years that have built up to weigh on me continually. It’s the way my life was gilded and no one had ever cared to look below the surface until a few weeks ago when Remus Lupin offered to help me study. Until James Potter offered to go for a run. Until Sirius Black offered me a cup of tea. 

My quiet tears begin to turn into choked sobbing as I realize how sad my life really was, that these three Gryffindors had shown me a kind of genuine caring that I hadn’t known could exist. 

Hesitantly, Sirius takes my hand to lead me over to a nearby bench so I can sit down and try to collect myself. It takes several minutes for me to control my breathing, and several more for my tears to subside. I finally look down to notice that I’m still holding Sirius’s hand, that I’d actually been holding it quite firmly. 

“Oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice hoarse, as I release his hand from my grasp. “You were right. Everything is so very complicated.”

Sirius gives me that same look he did last night, and I realize. He wasn’t sad for me, he understood me. But how was it fair that he would get to leave, when his brother and I were left behind with our authoritarian families? Selfishly, I think maybe he could show me the way.

I sit there, lost in my thoughts, for a long while. Sirius stays with me. Eventually the bells toll to indicate it was time for lunch. When I glance up at Sirius, he’s already looking at me. 

“Can I make you an offer?” He asks. 

I grow weary at his words. “I would suppose that depends on what the offer is.”

“Well, your eyes are red and swollen and you’ve got mascara tracked down your cheeks,” he starts and I grow horrified as I realize what I must look like. There was no way I could go into the Great Hall looking like the mess I surely am. He lets out a small laugh at my expression. “Why don’t you go clean up, and I’ll grab us some lunch from the Great Hall. We can meet in the south courtyard.”

I was amazed that even after I’d been so mean to him, he would still be so kind to me. 

“That would be quite nice actually. Thank you,” I reply softly. 

Sirius gives me a swift nod, then helps me to stand up. We go our separate ways, me to my dorm to wash my face and apply some fresh mascara and concealer, and Sirius to the Great Hall. 

─

I’ve just sat down in a corner of the courtyard for a couple minutes when Sirius shows up. I try not to look too shocked when James and Remus appear with him. Of course, I knew they were all friends, they went galavanting around the entire school proclaiming themselves marauders, but I’d never interacted with all three of them together. 

It suddenly occurs to me that they likely share a dorm, and very well could have planned this all to be some grand prank on me. But they had all seemed so genuinely kind to me until this point, and I was so tired of constantly second guessing everyone’s intentions. I decided that if this were some prank I would let them have their fun at me, then show them the real wrath of Slytherin. 

The three of them quickly set up a small picnic and begin lighthearted conversation. James compliments the way my hair looks today. Sirius teases James for the way his hair looks everyday, although I would argue it flatters him I don’t say that aloud. Remus gives me a knowing look as the two begin bickering. 

Spending time with the three of them is easy, and feels right. Like it was always meant to be the four of us all together. None of them mentions my earlier breakdown, or even anything to do with our tests. I wonder what Sirius told them before they all came out here. Whatever it was, none of them shows me any judgment so I can guess he must have skipped over my rude behavior. 

I’m sad when the bells ring again to signify the end of lunch. We clean up our area of the courtyard, then head back inside. Over the course of my time with the boys I feel my spirits lifted significantly, feeling much better and ready to face the next two weeks of tests. 

It will be okay if I’m not perfect, I think to myself again, and this time I really do believe it. Because even if I’m only just getting to know Remus, James, and Sirius, I know that they are my friends and they’ll be there for me.

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: Your two best friends come by to help make you feel better… you hadn’t thought about your impending heat. Pairing: Alaskan Malamute!Mingi x Netherland Dwarf Rabbit (fem)!Reader x Bernese Mountain Dog!Yunho Tropes: hybrid au, friends to lovers au, abo au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, hybrids, pet names, small emotional breakdown, implied mxm Smut Warnings: heat/rut sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, biting kink, knotting, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, nipple play, clitoral stimulation, multiple orgasms, oral (m receive), implied cockwarming, somnophilia, predator-prey play Word Count: 3,280 Note: Happy Halloween enjoy some hybrid smut!! Thank you to @wooahaeproductions for beta reading this!! suffer with me tag  🐾 @kwanisms @pyeonghongrie @mejuii

You toss your phone back down on your bed and try to will your headache away. You’re not sure what caused it, but you know you want it gone. At some point, you start to drift off into a space between awake and asleep. Although it doesn’t help much, it does allow you a bit of relief. The only thing keeping you conscious right now is the rather sensitive state of your small tan ears.  Each time a bit of your hair brushes them the wrong way or your pillows rest against them oddly, you find yourself tossing again to try to remedy the uncomfortable feeling. Everything is loud too. Each sound resonates about ten times louder than it should. The cars driving outside your apartment complex are revving too loud, and the music’s base is too heavy. Your neighbor’s newborn seems to be screaming every other second. Why they’re so sensitive today, you have no idea. 

Yunho and Mingi are the best friends you could ever ask for. Not many friends would go out of their way to get you fresh food and prepare it for you just because of a headache. Even better, they don’t need you to come open the door for them. At first, your other prey hybrid friends thought you were insane for giving not one, but two predator hybrids the code to your home. If you didn’t trust them, they wouldn’t have the code. You do, though.

You smell and hear them before you can see them. The moment they’re outside your apartment door, you can smell Yunho’s comforting pine scent intertwining with Mingi’s soothing Spruce scent. Something about their scents together always makes you feel warm and safe. As soon as you smell them, you hear one of them typing in the code while Mingi laughs at something Yunho has said. You decide to go greet them despite your blaring headache. Pulling on one of the severely too-big hoodies you stole from Yunho, you trudge your way out to the living room.

“There’s our little fuzzy-” Mingi stops mid-sentence.

You don’t respond to them. You walk straight forward and wrap your arms around Yunho’s waist. Due to how much smaller you are than both of them, you also hide your face in his chest, completely enveloping yourself in his pine scent. There’s a hint of pure dark chocolate under the pine, but you’re so out of it at the moment that you don’t think too deeply about it. 

“Bun, are you okay?” Yunho adds, “You, um… your scent is a bit…”

“I feel like shit.” You whine.

You can’t see it, but Yunho nods toward your calendar, telling Mingi to go check it. Mingi’s eyes widen, and he looks back at the Bernese hybrid. You smell both Yunho and Mingi’s scents spike sharp. When you pull your face away from Yunho’s chest, you see him already looking down at you. His eyes are focused and unfocused at the same time. His pupils practically swallow his irises. The bunny in you makes your nose start twitching. You’re not afraid of him. You’re just a bit lost as to why he’s looking at you like that. When you try to turn to face where Mingi is standing, Yunho growls genuinely and pins his ears back.

“Yunho, let her go. We should leave the fruit and-” Mingi tries to reason, though his tone betrays him.

“You know damn well we aren’t letting this cute little bunny be all alone right now.” Yunho responds, eyes fixated on you still. “Bun, why did you let us come here when your heat is supposed to come any hour now.”

“I- um, I’ve been busy with work and-” You take a deep breath, hoping to calm yourself. “You know I’ve been busy with work… I forgot it was supposed to come today.”

You hear Mingi moving back over, practically pinning you between the two large dog hybrids. Even if you didn’t hear him move, you can feel Mingi’s body heat radiating onto you. It only serves to make you feel even hotter.

“Fuzzy, if you don’t want us to be here, tell us to leave.”

You don’t respond for a few moments. The words you so desperately need right now seem to be nowhere. The hood of Yunho’s hoodie falls off your head, exposing your small, tan rabbit ears that are pressed against the top of your head. Mingi places a hand on the top of your head, fingers slotting around your ears, making your head tip back further. You see his black and white Malamute ears peaking out from his messy fire orange and blonde hair. He seems a bit more relaxed than Yunho, who currently has a death grip on your waist. There’s the telltale sign of his sharpened spruce scent with a tinge of winter air to it. He’s far from calm right now.

“Don’t go.” You nearly whimper.

That’s all it takes for the Malamute hybrid to let out a low growl and practically attack you with a heated kiss. At first, you think about how uncomfortable it must be for him to bend so far forward to kiss you. Both dog hybrids’ scent completely surrounds you. It’s like a skin-tight cloak. You never want to escape it. Your lips are glossy with spit and puffy from how Mingi kissed you by the time he pulled away. You know you’re lost in your heat.  Your head feels foggy, and all you can think about is needing to get bred. Now. Yunho practically forces your head back toward his direction. Due to his height, he has to practically bend himself in half to kiss you, just like Mingi had to. 

“Should we take you to your room, little bunny?” Yunho growls into the kiss. 

“Alpha,” you whine, eyebrows furrowing together. 

Yunho lets out another low growl before you’re suddenly not in his arms. Mingi has taken it upon himself to take you into his instead and carry you away. You let your lips latch onto his throat, right against his primary scent gland. You catch a brief look at his fluffy black and white tail. It’s wagging in appreciation, but you know he’s far too influenced by your heat pheromones to notice it. As you nip at his skin lightly, you notice the heat radiating from Yunho, who’s hot on your trail. Before you even make it to your bedroom, Mingi pins you to the wall beside the door. Your feet are nowhere near the ground, so you opt to keep your legs wrapped around his waist. You go to speak, but the intensity of both their pheromones suddenly has your voice dying in your throat. All you can think to do is submit to them, ultimately baring your neck to them. 

“Such a good little bunny.” Mingi comments with a condescending tone, “You smell like fucking candied cherries. I can’t wait to get a bite.”

“Please.” You beg, “Bite me, fuck me, breed me full. I need you. Need both of you.” You ramble through the daze of your heat.

Neither of them responds. You’re so lost in your heat that you can only focus on their scents. They smell as if they’re just as in need of this as you are. Before you know it, you’re naked and spread out on your bed. Yunho is over you, grinding against your bare core. Mingi is beside you, giving attention to your chest. You’re dripping slick all over the bed and Yunho’s sweatpants. Mingi keeps whispering filthy nothings into your ear. You can’t make them out at the moment. 

Suddenly, Yunho’s body is off of yours, and you feel starkly cold compared to a few moments ago. You absolutely have a fever despite the sudden burst of cold, and you whine at the lack of contact. The Malamute hybrid happily takes his place. His lips litter small bites and kisses across your neck and chest. They wrap around your nipple, making you moan loudly. His teeth lightly tug at the sensitive peak, and you squirm at the feeling. Though, you don’t get far. Mingi has his hand pressed against your hip, keeping you in place.

“Mingi, you’re still half dressed. Move so I can fill our little cotton tail properly.” Yunho chuckles.

“Please, please, please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for exactly, but you need something.

Mingi moves a moment later. Just as you’re about to whine about the lack of contact again, you feel Yunho’s bare cock grinding against you’re soaked core.

“Do you need me to finger you open, Fuzzy?” he asks, rubbing his member between your pussy lips.

“No, just fuck me. Put a litter in me. Breed me, please, alpha. Need it, need it so bad.” 

You’re on the verge of tears, and despite Yunho’s rut haze, you find him wiping away a tear that did escape your eye. Seconds later, you feel him start to push his sizable member into you. Even with your heat, you find yourself struggling to take him. Inch by inch, he sinks into you. Slick gushes out of you, scenting the room with your sweet cherry scent mixed with Yunho’s pine and Mingi’s spruce. Your mouth falls open the moment he’s fully inside you.

“Fuzzy, do you think you can handle sucking me off while Yunho fucks you full?” Mingi asks, almost breathless.

You find yourself nodding and turning your head to the side. Mingi’s hard, leaking cock is already waiting for you. Leaning up slightly, you rest your head on his upper thigh, then take him in your mouth. His woodsy scent completely invades your nose, and it sends your eyes rolling back. Yunho presses his body weight against you and buries his face against the scent gland in your neck. You wrap one hand around the base of Mingi’s cock while the other threads through Yunho’s hair. You can feel his dark brown ears twitch at the contact.

“What if I claimed you right now, Bun?” He lets one of his canines graze against your scent gland, “You’d probably let me, wouldn’t you? Be my pretty little mate. Hang off my knot and give me a few pups?”

He only says it loud enough for you to hear it. Though, the way Mingi thrusts into your mouth, you aren’t sure Yunho had said it very quietly. You pull off of his cock a moment later to gasp for air.

“You’re so damn tiny compared to us. Do you really think you can handle getting knotted by both of us? You’re tiny little pussy can barely handle me as it is.” The Bernese hybrid teases.

“Yun,” You gasp when he gives a particularly hard thrust, “Please, fuck, please. Fuck me full, knot me!”

“Now, now, won’t you let me knot you too, Fuzzy?” Mingi practically growls.

You nod before taking him back in your mouth. His eyes darken when you give him wide lust-filled eyes. Yunho keeps spewing filthy words in your ear as he fucks you at a hard, rough pace. Each time Yunho thrusts into you, he forces you to take Mingi further into your mouth. There’s no physical way that you could take the entirety of Mingi in your mouth, so you take a break from sucking his cock and replace it with your hand to the best of your ability. You feel Yunho’s knot bump against your entrance with each thrust. All you can do is spread your legs further as if it’ll help you take his knot better.

“Fuck, Bun, I’m gonna cum. Do you want me to breed you? Fuck you full of a litter?” He questions through a groan. 

“Knot me, Yun,” you beg, tugging at his hair just behind his ears.

That’s all the permission he needs. A moment later, he cums deep inside you and pushes his knot into you. You have a momentary break in your heat only to immediately be sucked back into it when Mingi thrusts up into your hand. You can tell the Malamute hybrid isn’t far from cumming, so you take his tip back into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it. Mingi cums down your throat just as Yunho starts coming down from his high. 

“You didn’t cum yet, Bun,” he comments, reaching between your bodies to toy with your clit.

You grind against his knot. The feeling of him rubbing your clit mixed with grinding down on his cock sends you over the edge. You convulse under him and spout random unintelligible words. 

“Rest for a little, Fuzzy.” Mingi offers.

“But-”

“I’ll get to fuck you as soon as Yun’s knot goes down. Don’t worry about me,” he reminds you, “Take a little break while we have a break from our ruts.”

You rest for a few moments, Yunho’s knot still snug inside you. When you come back to, you’re no longer plugged up with Yunho’s knot. In fact, he’s not on you at all. Mingi is lapping at your pussy. You bury your hands in his long hair as if it’s second nature. His tail is lying up along his spine completely still. You know he’s either entranced in the moment or hyperfocused due to how still it is. 

“Min-” You interrupt yourself with a gasp.

“What did you just call me?” he growls.

“Alpha,” You whine, “Need your cock. Need your knot. Need-”

Mingi practically throws you to be face down ass up the moment the pleas leave your lips. Only then do you process Yunho beside you on the bed. He almost looks as if he’s unbothered. The tent in his new pair of clean sweats tells you otherwise. You’re about to reach for the elastic of the pants before you feel Mingi thrust into you in one fell swoop. A broken moan leaves your mouth at the intrusion. Any and all thoughts leave your mind as he immediately sets a bruising pace. Gripping onto Yunho’s thigh, you hope to keep any threads of sanity that remain.

“Pretty, tiny little bunny.” Mingi groans, “You gonna let me knot you too?”

“Alpha, please,” you whine, “Need your knot too.”

Yunho takes it upon himself to release his member again and slide closer to grant you what you want without asking. You’re more cockwarming him with your mouth than giving him a blow job, but either way, you see a smirk grow on his face. Had you been in any other setting, you’d want to smack that look off of his face. Now, though, it only makes you more desperate. 

Mingi’s grip on your hips is so tight you think there might be fingertip-sized bruises where he’s holding you. Reaching forward, he knots his fingers in your hair, being sure to be careful of your ears. Still, they’re sensitive. The moment he grazes them, you tip over the edge of another orgasm. Despite your muffled moans, he doesn’t stop or slow down. If anything, he speeds up more. Your thighs shake. If it hadn’t been for him holding you up, you would’ve absolutely collapsed. You try to look up at Yunho through your eyelashes, but Mingi is holding you down on the Bernese hybrid’s cock still. Tears spring from your eyes due to the lack of oxygen, but you absolutely love it. Mingi forces your head up and down on Yunho’s cock a few more times before the brunette cums down your throat. Only then does Mingi release your head.

“I’m gonna knot you now, pretty bunny,” he warns you.

Mingi thrusts a few more times before pushing his knot into you. A moment later, you feel his hot cum paint your walls. You whimper at the feeling and feel yet another orgasm roll over you. You can feel the cocky yet exhausted smirks on both dog hybrids’ faces.

“Let’s reposition, Fuzzy,” Mingi whispers gently, a stark contrast to how he was just speaking to you.

You nod and feel Mingi pull your body up against his before carefully maneuvering so that you’re sat in his lap rather than being face down on the mattress. Yunho leans over and gives you a soft kiss before leaning back a bit and placing a small kiss against Mingi’s bare shoulder.

“Do you have a new perfume?” Yunho asks, brushing a few knots out of your hair.

“Um, no?” You respond, “Did my scent change?” 

You start to panic a bit. You know, if they did manage to knock you up already, your scent wouldn’t change for at least a week. Nothing’s impossible, though.

“You smell more flowery than cherry.” Mingi comments, half asleep.

“Mingi,” Yunho says with a concerned tone, “You can smell that too?”

“Mmm,” Mingi responds, “Cherries and… tulips? I love it.” he adds, wrapping his arms tighter around your middle. His arms practically cover your entire middle section.

“Bun, can you smell me or Mingi?” panic starts to invade his voice.

Something overtakes you, and you tears well up in your eyes again. This time it’s due to pure panic. You knew if you smelled something other than a person’s characteristic scent, that meant that they were your mate. Nothing could’ve prepared you to smell a secondary scent on both of your dog hybrid friends. Your typically sweet cherry scent must’ve soured because, one moment, Mingi had his face buried in your neck. The next, he was sat up fully and fixated on you.

“Yunho…” you say, trying not to let the tear fall or your voice betray you.

“What can you smell?”

Your bedroom stays silent.

“Fuzzy,” Mingi sighs, “No matter what, the three of us will always be friends. Tell us what you smell.”

“Both of you.” You admit, “Yunho has a dark chocolate scent with his pine. You have that crisp winter air scent with your spruce. I don’t know what that means or what to do about it, but if you both-”

Mingi turns your face and kisses you softly.

“We’ve known for a while, Yunho and I, that we can smell each other’s secondary scent. But now we know all three of us can smell the others…” Mingi explains, “Now we know we have two mates.”

Mingi’s knot had gone down, so you slip off of him to sit on your knees in front of the two large dog hybrids. Your eyes flit back and forth between them, trying to determine if this is some twisted joke. It’s not.

“Two mates,” you reiterate.

“Two mates,” Yunho confirms with a slight nod, “Two mates who are still very much in rut with a cute, tiny bunny mate that needs to be bred.”

You let out a squeak before Yunho and Mingi practically pounce you. There are about a million worse ways to spend your heat. Spending it with your two loving, caring mates is the only way you wish to spend it for the rest of your life.

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[cherryredstars]

I keep thinking of the spider burger we saw a glimpse of in ATSV. What if reader was the one who started the whole Miguel Burger when she first started as a prank but cause everyone loved it so much she started a whole bakery of Miguel theme goodies. He of course hate everything about it… but does he?

I love your work and I love you 🥰

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gn!reader

Warnings: SFW, Fluff

A/N: Thank you, love🫶🏼

Unedited

You smile at the recognizable scowl that consumes your vision.

Miguel stands over the small area you’ve claimed in the cafeteria. It contains a display case the kitchen staff has graciously sacrificed for you and a barely used countertop. He towers over you effortlessly, but it doesn’t scare you or your baked goods.

“What is this?” He all but growls at you, eyeing the themed treats with disgust through the glass.

“My tiny little bakery.” You proudly say, chest puffed out. “Everything is made fresh daily.”

Miguel’s eyes roam over the treats. There are pastries that have his iconic blue and red pattern iced onto them, while others are dyed to sport his suit’s colors. They all look absolutely delicious, but he’s still butt hurt over the burger fiasco you caused a month ago.

“I didn’t authorize this.” He scoffs, his eyes locked on the sign sitting on top of the display. It advertises your pastry of the week: a cream bun that has Miguel’s mask printed on it, with four mystery cream options.

“The kitchen did.” You state. “If you’re looking for something light to snack on, I recommend any of the tarts or puff pastries.”

Miguel scoffs, scowl deepening at you. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not laughing.” You tilt your head, tapping your fingers against the counter. “If you’re not going to get anything, I would like to serve the next customer, if you don’t mind.”

Miguel looks over his shoulder, taking in the queue of people that began to form behind him. He sighs deeply, pinching the space between his brows.

“Give me a cream bun.”

You perk up, happily opening the display and packaging one of the circular buns to go. You close the bag with a round circle sticker of Miguel’s face, sliding it over to him. “Anything else?”

Miguel scowls as he takes it, scanning his watch to pay and tip you. He avoids the large smile you give him, turning away with a grumble.

“Please stop by again soon!”

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal

chapter 2

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: mentions of blood

series masterlist │my masterlist

you wake up slowly, blinking sluggishly at the ceiling. your memories of the previous day come rushing in, and you can’t help but wonder if it was all some kind of fever dream. but when you sit up in bed, that thought is immediately thrown away, because logan is curled up on the floor watching you, staring.

“how long have you been awake?” you ask, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. he just tilts his head, listening but giving you no indication of the answer to your question.

you’d set him up in the guest bedroom last night. he had laid down on top of the covers, the same way he was positioned on your floor now, and though you had wanted to pull the covers over his body, you decided to let him do what was most comfortable, most natural, to him. you had already thrown quite a bit of new his way, best to let him process it all.

you don’t know at what point he’d migrated from the guest room to your floor, but he’s here now. he had been watching you sleep. a wave of anxiety washes over you - what do you look like when you sleep? do you drool? is it unattractive?

(they’re certainly not the thoughts you should be having when a man you hardly know watches you sleep, but he’s hot and oddly endearing.)

he rises up to his feet only seconds after you, and you have to tell him not to follow you into the bathroom, to which he growls.

later, you’re sitting at the table with logan, eating the breakfast you’d cooked up. you had to teach him how to use a fork, which was terribly entertaining, and even now he looks dismayed at not being able to eat with his hands, having to pick up the food with a metal instrument instead. he stabs the fork loudly every time he brings it down, as if to communicate his disapproval, but he doesn’t look truly angry, just pouty.

“are you going to follow me around all day again?” you ask, “because i don’t mind, but i just wanted to let you know that i have quite a few things on my to-do list.”

he stops eating, stares at you for a few seconds, nods, and then continues as if you hadn’t spoken. 

one of your favourite parts of living outside of a city is the nature, the space, the green that surrounds you with your favourite thing: plants. your grandmother had taken care of a gorgeous garden of fruits and vegetables and herbs for as long as you could remember, teaching a starry-eyed child version of you everything she knew. you’re the one left with the responsibility now.

you clean the dishes, humming to yourself, logan behind you, and when you’re done, you lead him outside. you bask in the sunlight of the outdoors, each step in the dewy grass a thrill. there’s a morning chill in the air, the new-day sun having not quite warmed your surroundings yet.

you remind logan to be careful of where he steps, talking him through your long list of things for him not to do, so lost in the one-sided conversation that you don’t even notice when he stops before the garden starts. you look back at him, confused that he’s not trailing you anymore, but he doesn’t leave either, he just sits down on the grass.

a warmth blooms in your chest. you don’t know his thoughts or his intentions, but you want to think he stopped because he could tell how much you didn’t want him messing with the plants, your domain, the happy place of your childhood. 

the best part about assuming these things about logan is that he can’t correct you, so you can create a little version of him in your head that thinks about you and looks at you the way you look at him. it’s been two days - not even, it’s been a day and a half. could you be any more pathetically starved of love and affection?

well, no, you think to yourself.

it doesn’t take you long to finish up the watering and weeding, checking around for any more problems that you might not catch at first glance. you take your time harvesting what you can, placing it all in two cute woven baskets you brought out with you.

you’re already thinking of the food you could make for logan, giddy with excitement at finally getting to feed someone other than yourself. you love taking care of others, it’s one of your love languages, or maybe it’s just a way for you to feel needed in the hopes that people won’t leave you if you do enough for them. either way, you’ve always genuinely enjoyed cooking, but you can’t do it as much when there’s only one person in the house to feed.

and logan had eaten a lot, last night. he’s big, of course, it’s to be expected, but you suppose you haven’t been close enough with anyone to share food in a while, so it’s strange.

when you return to logan’s side, smiling brightly, he smiles back at you. it’s the first smile you’ve seen on his face, the first expression other than a snarl, a look of confusion, or the expressionless stare he directs towards you. and wow, it lights up his features, turns everything soft, like the world has blurred just slightly, the kind of unclear image that tells you you’re in a dream.

“you’re pretty when you smile,” you say without meaning to. but with the way he brightens even more at the praise, purring in contentment, you don’t regret it.

he doesn’t do much the entire day, just follows you as you go through your list of chores. he’s always careful not to get in your way.

by evening, you can feel the pent-up energy and tension inside him, but he’s so good at pretending it isn’t there that you’re sure you wouldn’t have noticed if not for having seen him when he was truly relaxed. you feel guilty, cooping him up inside when there’s clearly some part of him that’s feral, making him act more like an animal than human like you.

you don’t live the most exciting life, it’s not fast-paced and entertaining and it definitely doesn’t keep you on your toes guessing what might happen next. you prefer the quiet, the comfort of a familiar routine, doing domestic chores and reading by the fireplace. it’s monotonous, but it’s something you can rely on, something that won’t change on you.

logan longs for something your life can’t provide.

he’s gazing out the open windows, at the forest from which you’d first seen him emerge, something in his eyes that you can’t decipher. and you realise that maybe you can give him what he needs. you live out in the middle of nowhere, animals roaming free in those woods, far from other people. in between two worlds, just like logan.

“you know you don’t have to follow me all the time,” you say gently, meeting him by the window, “nothing will happen if you go outside for a while. you can go, run free, and i’ll be here when you come back.”

he contemplates for a while and you wait, patient, hoping you come across as reassuring, that he knows you’re being genuine. it’s funny to think that when you first saw him you’d wanted him to leave.

he does go, eventually, after going through the entire house and sniffing around like he was searching for some kind of threat. so you sit on your couch with a book and a cup of tea, reading about silly little characters falling in love.

when logan comes back he’s shirtless, smelling of sweat and musk, chest heaving. he looks the best you’ve ever seen him, and not just because the sweat is making his skin glisten and you can see his perfect abs. something about him has changed, though it's not something physical. he didn’t have to hold back, was able to release all the tension you know must have been clinging to him since yesterday, or even longer. (you still don’t know his backstory.)

he curls up on the other side of the couch to you, and you spend the rest of the night with a hand in his hair, scratching his head occasionally to listen to his pleased purrs.

a week goes by and you fall into somewhat of a routine. logan clings to you less, though he still prefers to be in the same room as you most of the time. he goes out into the forest to run and sometimes to hunt, coming back with blood staining his clothes.

although the first few tries failed miserably, you’ve gotten quite good at removing bloodstains from fabric, which is not a skill you ever imagined yourself perfecting. 

it’s been a while since your last visit to town, and you need to go pick up a few things, not just for yourself but for logan too.

“logan,” you call for him as you’re grabbing a few last things to throw in your bag. he bounds up to you as usual. sometimes he reminds you so much of a cute puppy that you get the urge to pet him and call him “good boy” but you don’t know how he would take that, so you refrain.

“i need to leave for a bit,” you say, “just like how you leave sometimes. i’ll be back soon, just need to get a few things.”

he grumbles and pouts as you leave but doesn’t stop you. he does stare longingly at you from through the window, you catch the sight as you’re driving out.

the closest town to your house is small, but it has all the necessities. you pick up some groceries, things you can’t make or grow yourself. and then you need to get clothes for logan. you had eyed his measurements, taking note of the size of his body, though you didn’t know them exactly. it’s still better than him continuing to wear clothes that don’t fit him. 

although most days he prefers not to wear a shirt. because he wants to torture you, clearly.

it’s a good kind of torture, the kind that produces butterflies in your stomach and brings heat to your face. you try not to ogle him, not wanting to objectify him or make him uncomfortable, but when he catches you staring he only ever comes closer, pressing up against you.

you could have brought him with you, but you weren’t sure it was a good idea. he’s a mutant, you guessed that pretty quickly on the first night, and people aren’t very kind to mutants. especially small-minded, small-town folks. and though logan’s appearance isn’t damning on its own, his behaviours clearly show the animal side of him.

he doesn’t need to deal with awful people and their awful comments. you want to protect him from that as much as you can.

you normally take your time meandering around the town, stopping at your favourite bookstore to pick up some new reads, grabbing a horribly overpriced coffee as a treat, maybe even sitting on a bench in the park, enjoying your drink and novel as you watch children run around and play, parents shouting after them, dogs barking in excitement. 

but today, you itch to return home. there’s a tight feeling in your chest, a loneliness you haven’t felt in a long time, and it calls out logan’s name, pleading for you to return to him. you still stop by the bookstore, and if you’re more attracted towards the romance novels with a supernatural, animalistic love interest this time around, that’s for you and the cashier who rings you up to know.

you’re beaming when you return home, parking the car and grabbing your bags to bring them inside. your smile falters when logan doesn’t greet you at the door. you peak into the living room to find it empty as well.

it saddens you, but you assume he went out into the forest for a while. it makes sense that he wouldn’t want to stay cooped up in the house with nothing to entertain him while you were gone. you had formed a scenario in your mind where logan would rush towards you when you returned, like a puppy who missed his owner.

when you finish putting away your groceries, you head towards your bedroom. pushing the door open, you freeze, mouth parted and eyes going soft at the sight that greets you.

logan is curled up in your bed, fast asleep in the spot where you always sleep, face buried in your pillow. he’s under the blankets for once, and they curl around his shape to wrap him up in soft warmth.

you tip-toe towards the bed, careful not to wake him. you don’t know how long he’s been sleeping, and you wish you had a way to play back the scene of him crawling into your bed, untucking the sheets to slip under them, sniffing the bed to find the spot where he knew you slept, the place that smelled the most like you.

oh, you adore him.

it’s fast, terribly so, but he’s wormed his way into your heart. it’s not love yet, but you think you could grow to love him someday.

you sit on the bed, moving over until you’re by logan’s side. he looks so peaceful like this, and you bring your hand to his head, intending to give him the scratches he loves so much, when he wakes suddenly.

the next thing you know, you’re on your back, logan on top of you, claws at your neck. you blink up at him, everything happening so quickly that your brain hasn’t had time to catch up and tell you to scream or struggle or anything else one would typically do when you have sharp blades pointed at your throat.

it doesn’t matter, because logan’s eyes meet yours, and his claws retract into his knuckles. you relax into the mattress, leftover fear dissipating because you know he won’t hurt you. he was surprised, that’s all, and really you should know better than to sneak up on someone with clear, obvious trauma.

his lips twitch up for barely a second, not quite reaching a smile, and then his expression darkens as he leans forward to sniff you. he growls, a deep rumble in his throat, shoving his face into your neck.

you can feel the vibrations through your body from the proximity between you and logan. it’s different from when he purrs in your ear and you feel as though the sound penetrates your skin, finding its way into your bloodstream, forcing your heartbeat faster.

something’s wrong, you can tell. you’ve never seen him react to you this way. so you bring your arms up to wrap around his midsection, hands on his back, slow movements not to startle him.

“what’s wrong?” you ask in a gentle whisper, “did something happen while i was away.”

there’s another growl as he sniffs you again. he pushes his body closer to yours, chest to chest, one of his legs between yours. 

“mine,” logan says, followed by him pressing his face in your neck and licking and sucking at the skin. you gasp and squirm under him, but you don’t want him to stop, not really.

your mind is reeling. he spoke. a real word, one you recognise, passing through his lips, floating in the air between you. his voice is smooth, nothing like you expected, and yet it suits him.

you laugh. you can’t help it, you’re giddy. he pulls back when you laugh, still frowning, but you don’t care. the word is repeating in your head. “mine”, he’d called you, staking his claim both verbally as well as physically marking you as his. it’s terrible, you’ve known him only a week, yet you feel all warm and fuzzy, the room around you like a mirage. the only things that exist are you and logan and that word.

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff

[ldysmfrst]

American Mate - (3)

Following Instincts

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 3 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 4,279

Work count for Story: 12,632

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter does have Injury, Anxiety, Panic attacks, comfort, and Cultural differences.

BTS HYBRID ANIMAL TYPES: Seokjin - Roan Ferret, Yoongi - Black Jaguar, Hoseok - Marten, Namjoon - Alaskan Timber Wolf, Jimin - Red Panda, Taehyung - White Southwest African Tiger, Jungkook - Flemish Giant Rabbit

AMERICAN MATE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

Outside the break room, Yoongi is in Alpha space, catching your scent of sweet peas as it changes into a moldy pea soup smell after the comment from the redheaded playmate. Turning with a low and threatening growl, Yoongi’s eyes have gone to his hybrid's bright golden-yellow cat eyes as he blocks you from their sight. Zeroing in on the playmates, tail raised and puffed out, tip twitching back and forth with a snap of irritation, making them all step back and quiet down.

Hearing you murmur something in his native tongue and then the frantic footsteps, Yoongi snaps his head to watch your fleeing form disappear into a room down the hall. Taking a quick look back at the playmates, office staff, and then his pack, Yoongi huffs and quickly follows you, unable to fight his Alpha instincts.

The rest of the BTS packmates follow their bonded one closely behind as they feel his need to protect you from the others in the office. Namjoon catches Yoongi by the shoulder, stopping him from attempting to enter the room where you sought refuge. The rest of the pack forms a barricade around their Prime Alpha and packmate, who has entered Alpha space. They all are standing on guard, facing the rest of the people in the office, watching closely for any danger, and keeping the rude humans away. 

“Yoongi-hyung, you need to give her space. Remember, she is human and might get scared of Alpha Yoon. What is happening? I need you to get enough control to explain what is happening?” Namjoon calmly speaks to his older packmate. Pushing out calming scents, trying to bring him out of his Alpha space with soothing strokes along his shoulder and back. “Can you come back and explain why you are protecting Miss Y/n?”

Barreling into the front of the group of observers with his tail bushed out and scent smelling slightly panicked and concerned, Derek comes up to the defensive line of BTS, “You have to let me get to her. You have to let me help calm down Y/n. Can’t you scent her distress? She is not doing okay by herself. You can even smell her over the scent-blockers!  I am the closest thing she has to a family. Please let me in to make sure she is okay. Please.”

One of Yoongi’s black jaguar ears twitch back, hearing the urgency in Derek’s voice. He looks at Namjoon, takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. After a few seconds, he turns to Derek with normal dark eyes, taking in his shifty behaviors and now partly distressed scent. 

Shaking his head slowly to Namjoon, Yoongi steps between his packmates and face-to-face Derek. “You are the closest thing to her family?”

“Yes, she and I were hired together when they decided to start this branch. We work together and spend time together at my den or her apartment. I do my best to protect her from situations like this because of her past,” Derek shares with a furrowed brow. Then he glares at the snobby-faced Playmates and says, “I normally try to keep her away from the Playmates in general so things like this do not happen.” 

“She is only here today because there was no convincing her otherwise. Since in the meeting yesterday with your manager and what was said on the phone, she thought it would be disrespectful if she were not in attendance,” explains the fidgety hybrid.

Looking Yoongi in the eye, he continues, “She was bullied a lot before, and while it is not something that is okay, unfortunately, it still happens to this day. I really tried but I couldn’t do anything to keep her away. She had to be here even with little to no sleep because of her nightmares.”

Bowing slightly but keeping an eye on the pack, Derek demandingly pleads, “Now, please, Mr. Min, please let me pass. Everyone can smell that something has happened. I think she is hurt in more ways than one.”  

The last comment got the attention of the whole pack on him, and everyone looked concerned. Several eyes flashed as their hybrid halves showed their displeasure with the news. Yoongi continued to fight his Alpha instincts with a deep growl and even breaths.

“How can you tell?” Namjoon asks from next to the door. He can smell the scent left in as you ran through the hall, but it tells him nothing for a few reasons: 1. He has never smelt Y/n and 2. Not all scents are pleasant to start with.

“That moldy smell, like veggies gone bad?” inquired Derek, watching the pack of hybrids start sniffing, searching for the smell, and scrunching their noses once it hits. “That is why I know something is not right. Y/n, her scent turns like that when she is hurt. I am not sure if it is just emotional. It could be physical, too. I can’t tell how bad it is because the scent-blocking measures she took for your arrival are still dulling it down.  Now again. Let me in to help my friend. I may be a Beta but she is a pack member and I will protect her.”

“Fine, but I am going in with you. I was the one who knocked into her and failed to keep her from falling. My Alpha instincts have gone haywire, and I need to protect her,” his eyes glaring back at the playmates, “from certain people here. Most of all, ensuring she is okay and make amends for my mistake,” Yoongi states without room for argument, moving to the side, nodding to his packmates to make room for them.

Once the two are through, the pack retakes their defensive stance, keeping everyone else out. They understand where their mate is coming from as they also want to keep the group of Playmates away from you, their disgusting words looping through their heads.

Namjoon shuts the door for privacy and protection while he stands guard just outside, with one ear listening to what is happening inside the room and one ear on the rest of the office. His mind racing from the powerful wave of rotten scent that has built up in the room.

The scent-blocking measures no longer mask your distress and pain causing your scent is much more robust in this room. This makes Derek and Yoongi to whine at the smell and quickly move to your side.

Derek pulled you into a tight embrace, pushing his scent out and over you and scenting the top of your head while murmuring soft, reassuring words. Yoongi comforts you with his own calming scents, pushing down the desire to pry you out of Derek’s hold to take you into his own. Much to their relief, your tears slow, and your breathing calms after what feels like hours.

“Derek, my nightmares, they came true. I ruined everything. I should have stayed away like you and Evie said. I should have been looking where I was going. Reina was right. The one with the black tail, did I hurt him? He... He tried catching me. Me! I weigh a ton,” you ramble as your panic is still racing in your mind.

At that last comment, a deep growl resounds throughout the room. It takes half a second to realize it is not from the hybrid holding you. Catching your breath and snapping your mouth shut, you cautiously peek through your hair to look behind you to see none other than Mr. Min Yoongi, who turns out to be the owner of said black tail, now snapping to and fro with irritation. 

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath, your mind racing to figure out a way to get out of this situation without causing any further damage and how best to word your resignation letter.

“Miss Y/n, let us address a few things. Firstly, you do NOT weigh a ton, nor will you ever refer to yourself in that manner again. Secondly, I am not injured, nor could you injure me, as I AM an Alpha in my own right and am stronger than I look, even if I am not the Prime Alpha of the Bangtan Pack,” declares the hybrid, his eyes flashing a different color.

You shrink down to try to make yourself smaller. Seeing your reaction and realizing that his Alpha is trying to be in control again, he takes another deep breath to calm himself, looking between you and Derek. He can almost hear his Alpha stomp around his head, demanding to get you out of the other hybrid’s arms and keep you as his.

After a few controlled breaths, Yoongi says, “Lastly, would you be so kind as to allow my Alpha to inspect you for injuries? I came out of the observation room door unannounced and ran into you. I tried to prevent you from falling, but we are close in height, and I could not do much other than take what I hoped was the brunt of the fall.”

Turning more towards him but still staying in the safety of Derek’s hold, you look at him with confusion. “Your Alpha? Like your hybrid-side is not yourself?” Looking over your shoulder at Derek, you see him with a smirk and a chuckle on his lips.

“Missy here,” Derek looks at Yoongi, “has never met an Alpha male before. I am a beta, and her best friend is an omega.” Turning his attention back to you, “Unlike Evie and I, an Alpha has an inner animal that they can change into fully at will and it allows them to go into Alpha space to assist in protecting, hunting, and mating.”

You look at Yoongi with wide eyes, “You turn into a black cat?” 

“I am not a black cat,” he huffs in annoyance, eyes flashing a different color briefly. “I am a Black Jaguar hybrid, and I am trying my best to keep him at bay because he can sense that your emotions have calmed down, but you are still in pain.” 

His eyes roam over your figure, stopping when he notices you are cradling your right wrist. Standing up and motioning to a nearby chair, he asks, “Please, can I inspect you for injuries? I can see you are being careful with your right hand.”

With a gentle push from behind you, you move to the chair Yoongi gestured to. Derek also stands up but keeps his distance, watching how the two of you interact.

Yoongi kneels before you, “I have to let my Alpha see for himself. I promise he will not harm you. Mr. Gulley can attest to that at this point, my Alpha would have much rather hurt himself than you.” 

Glancing at Derek, he nods with a knowing smile while taking a seat a few tables over, so as not to interfere. Taking a moment to collect yourself, running your good hand through your hair and fixing your shirt, you look down at the hybrid.

With a slight smirk, he looks at you with kind eyes, “Miss Y/n, please allow me to check for injuries. You have no reason to be nervous. You look perfect as you are.” 

Blushing slightly at his words, you nod and tuck your hair behind your ear again. You watch him closely as his dark brown eyes slowly change into a stunning golden-yellow color, with the pupil elongating into a pointed oval. His ears and tail moved this way and that, never quite settling in one position for very long. Your scent turns slightly back to sweet peas as the sight makes you smile softly. 

Cautiously, Yoongi kneels closer to you to become within reaching distance. Taking your left ankle gently in his hand, he rotates it, bends your leg at the knee, and sniffs at each joint. He repeats the process with the other side as well. Finding that nothing in your legs seems to be hurting, he looks at your face again with a short, pleased chirping sound. 

Scooting a little closer, he reaches out to your left hand, bends your elbow, feels along your fingers one by one, then rotates your wrist and again seems to sniff along the joints. 

You fidget in your seat, knowing what comes next will hurt, but you don't know how the hybrid in front of you will react. Noticing your movements and the slight change in your scent, Yoongi wraps his tail around your ankle to offer support. A slight sense of pride fills him when your scent calms down at his gesture of comfort, even if you do not realize it. 

Taking your right hand, he follows the same steps, pausing slightly before he rotates your wrist. You let out a yelp of pain and bite your bottom lip as you try to pull your hand out of his grip, which only causes him to hold it just a little bit tighter with one hand while the other quickly reaches to the nape of your neck to bring you into an awkward hug. Your head is now resting on his shoulder with your nose breathing against his neck, your good hand going to his side and gripping his shirt. 

Once the pain has dulled, you realize you smell the rain, not like fresh rain but like petrichor or the earth after a good downpour. It is comforting and relaxes you even more until you hear a soft chuffing noise and remember who you are smelling. 

Pulling away, you shyly look back at Yoongi, still observing you with golden-yellow eyes and holding your wrist firm but gently. “Umm... I think I just landed on it wrong. Just some ice and pain meds should be okay. I will be good as new tomorrow,” you say with a false smile, trying to play it off as no big deal.

However, Yoongi’s ears flatten, and his feline eyes narrow at you while nodding down to your wrist. Following his line of sight, you now see that your wrist is slightly swollen and is covered with a lovely purple color. “Okay, maybe I won’t be as good as new tomorrow.”

Derek stands up and approaches the two of you to see the damage done. Taking a sharp breath, he looked at Yoongi and froze, noting that the Alpha was sternly watching his every move. 

Outside the breakroom, Mr. Johnson, the director of PMS USA, was informed there was an incident and is now standing with Manager Sejin outside the BTS barrier. He had ordered Reina and the other playmates to be escorted back into the conference room by some other staff. 

To say the Playmates didn’t attempt to excuse away their behaviors or tell a specialized version of the story would be lying, and BTS’s reaction quickly caused them to shut up and hide in the room like they were told to in the beginning.

Mr. Johnson had hand-picked you to be the friendly first face of PMS because you light up any room you walk into and are always willing to put in the extra time to help make things perfect on or off the clock. 

“Hello, I am the director, I really should go in there and make sure my employee is okay, Manager Sejin,” Mr. Johnson states, glancing at the members of BTS as they continue to block the door and growl at anyone who walks near them. 

“Why are they not letting anyone near the door? I am sorry. I know about hybrids from the symposiums and conferences but rarely interact with many. I typically leave that up to my staff,” says the director, glancing over at the hamster hybrid.

“Namjoon-ssi, do you want me to answer that, or would you like to?” Manager Sejin asks while watching Mr. Johnson. Namjoon redirects his attention from the breakroom door to the seemingly incompetent human before him. 

Taking a few slow steps forward, Hoseok takes over guarding the entrance. Namjoon comes to stand with his pack, but nearer to Mr. Johnson and Manager Sejin, he says, “Mr. Johnson, we are a pack. More so, we are a pack of Alpha hybrids. Ranging from prey to predator types. We are a bonded pack on top of that, which means it’s all or none. We all are protective of something or someone if one of us feels the need. When one of us is hurt, we are all hurting with them.”

Looking at each of his packmates, Namjoon is filled with a sense of pride. Though they don’t know the extent of what has happened, they still support their mate to the best of their ability in a foreign country without question.

“Yoongi-hyung is feeling protective of Miss Y/n because of a few things. Miss Y/n is injured because of an accident caused by hyung. She is not in a good emotional state because of your Playmates’ behavior due to the same accident,” the Prime Alpha says as he looks back at the Director, trying to maintain a more neutral expression to hide his disdain for the women now in some office somewhere.

“As an Alpha, our animals require us to hold ourselves to a higher standard than other hybrids or humans. We like to try and ensure those around us are happy. With a very select few, we want to make sure they are also healthy and protected, among other things. In Yoongi’s Alpha space, he has failed to meet these standards when it comes to Miss Y/n. It is now beyond his control, so to speak, to do anything other than fix his mistakes and ensure Miss Y/n’s safety, recovery, and happiness. This means the Bangtan Pack is now responsible for the same.”

“Oh well. Um. I see. I can reassure you that Playmate Services has a good doctor who can tend to her if she needs one, and of course, she can have the rest of today and even tomorrow off. No need to make a fuss,” says the director, trying to dispel the sense of doom he is feeling due to the power emanating from the six remaining Alphas.

A deep growl rips from behind Namjoon, causing everyone to look and see that Taehyung's eyes are flickering crystal blue. His scent of burning ebony wood crashed over the pack.

Speaking through gritted teeth, he glares at the director, saying, “You seem to be in over your head, Mr. Johnson. Your company is built for hybrids, and you have hybrids working for you, yet you know nothing. Your incompetence is allowing bullying. From what one of your staff says, it has been happening for quite some time and yet you do nothing about it. Did you not hear our Prime Alpha tell you that she is ours now. We will take her to get treated by our medical professionals. We will take care of her to ensure she heals properly and regains a better state of mind. Not. You.”

“Hyung, it’s okay. Calm down, please. We don’t need two of you in Alpha space right now. It will not help Miss Y/n or Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook says as he steps up next to Taehyung, scenting his neck gently as his snickerdoodle scent pushes out, causing the blue to flicker to stop and remain his natural dark brown. 

With a last glare and a mumbled, “Pathetic, oblivious, 리더십이 부족한 사람, human.” He moves closer to Hoseok and, in turn, you. Jungkook quickly follows in an attempt to keep the high-tempered White Southwest African Tiger calm and get closer to you as well. 

“You may have misunderstood me, gentlemen. I have tried to deal with the playmates and their disrespectful actions towards Y/n and some of the other staff. Sadly, Reina is the top female pick and brings in a lot of money. Since we are the newest and smallest branch, the corporate office wants to refrain from taking any disciplinary actions for fear that she will quit. They think that any of the office staff are replaceable, whereas reliable Playmates are harder to find,” Mr. Johnson explains.

“Mr. Johnson, while that may be the case prior to today, their bullying has gone too far. Manager Sejin,” Namjoon says, “I believe it would be wise if the director took care of the bullying by the playmates and joined them for the time being. We need a few moments without interruptions to assess what is happening and how the Pack will move forward with this office, if at all.” 

Dismissing the director to be dealt with by Manager Sejin, Namjoon walks back to the door, which is now being guarded by Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook. The scent of snickerdoodle, ebony wood, and lilac mix together with the pack scent of vanilla underneath.

“... can’t tell?”

“Can’t tell what?” Namjoon asks the small group.

“Hobi-hyung can’t tell,” replies Jungkook while Taehyung nods in agreement. 

“The boys say that their Alphas are reacting to Miss Y/n but I can’t tell if mine does or not. You spoke to her, stood right in front of her. Namjoon, can you tell?” questions Hoseok with his arms crossed and hip cocked to the side.

“Oh? Hmm, I guess I haven’t really paid attention. After what happened with… you know who… I guess I have been pushing my Alpha to the back as much as I could. I have been focusing on taking care of you guys, my mates, first and I couldn’t do that with him pacing in my head so much. She really tore Yoongi-hyung, Jimin-ah, and well you, Hobi, apart inside with what she said,” reflects the Prime Alpha.

Namjoon started thinking back to hearing your voice, full of determination and strength, over the phone yesterday. Your care, intention, and respect for the pack that you have shown today. It would be simple to say that his Alpha was at least comfortable around you, and from how the pack’s scents have been, he wasn’t the only one who was.

“My Alpha is comfortable with Miss y/n, but I wouldn’t say that he is reacting in any particular way.”

A soft whine leaves Jungkook before he says, “Why do the older mates always walk with blinders on? Huh! You need to really let your Alpha look at her. My Alpha hasn’t wanted to look away from her since we walked into the office.”

“Joon-hyung, I am with Kookie on this one,” Taehyung nods, still in the bunny hybrid's hold. “While I wasn’t drawn in right away, I trust Yoongi's Alpha not to react this way with just anyone. So, when he ran after her, I was the closest one to the door, and before the pack’s scent took over, I could smell vanilla with something rotten. At first, I thought it was a candle or something, but I looked around. There are no candles.”

Taehyung’s comment on smelling vanilla caught Jimin and Seokjin's attention. Turning to join the conversation while trying to maintain the barrier, Jimin speaks up, “So it wasn’t just me. When Yoongi-hyung and that man went in, I smelled vanilla with almost a compost-like smell. After that, my Alpha wanted nothing but to keep everyone, human or hybrid, away from this door. He is really fighting to be at the front.”

“I figured that our muscle bunny was just leaning into his instincts of being a bunny when he was speaking about Miss Y/n in the conference room. Yet it didn’t explain to me why my Alpha felt awkward at her bowing to me when I spoke to her before going into the room,” adds Seokjin with a stern but thoughtful look. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” Hoseok moves away from the door slightly, his expression confused and frustrated. “Are you telling me that you have all had some kind of reaction from your Alphas for the human lady behind the door? Some of you smelled vanilla, too?”

Nodding, they all look at Hoseok and then at Namjoon, waiting for them to come to the same conclusion. After a few tense moments passed, it was like a lightbulb went off over Hoseok’s head as his lilac scent burst with more hints of rose and vanilla.

Everyone now focuses on Namjoon.

Namjoon’s head is racing over every moment that has happened since walking in the door. As Prime Alpha, his responsibilities for the pack are more significant than others, and with what the boys are hinting at, the next few moments will change so much. 

“Her reactions were top-notch with our pack, and her showing an exceeding amount of respect to the packmates could be just her professionalism,” he thinks aloud, trying to find a non-life-changing reason for the situation only to be met with more whines and a few soft growls.

Looking up, Namjoon makes eye contact with each of his mates before continuing, “However, only the vanilla scent can mean one thing which won’t be easy for the human woman.”

Taking a deep breath, the pack turned their attention to the door.

“We have an American Mate.”

Previous / Next

Taglist - CLOSED

@braveangel777 @bethanysnow @smileykiddie08 @kayways @danielle143 @nenefix-on @im-gemmy @fluffy-canada-pancakes @juju-227592 @levislifeline @carolinexkpop

[flowerfreya]

The Office AU

Pairing: poly!141 x reader

Part 18

New guy at work is ruining everything for the guys.

You let out an involuntary giggle, “that was a good one”.

The new guy looks away, embarrassed but showing a small smile, “it wasn’t meant to be funny”.

“Oh”, now you feel bad. Your humor is a bit dark but you didn’t think it was that dark.

He gives a small shrug, “it’s fine, I like to make you smile”.

Oh.

The new guy started two weeks as some kind of consultant. You’ve noticed that he’s shy and doesn’t talk unless he’s talked too.

It’s adorable.

This is a problem that you always face when being nice and friendly to men. They can never take anything platonically. Just because you are nice they think you want to fuck. Which is mostly never the case. You just wanted a friend.

You let out a little hum and try to figure out the escape route without making things weird.

But no need as Johnny walks in , but he doesn’t give you refuge seeing as he just heads straight to the fridge. Not paying attention to either of you.

“Well I’m goi-”

“Do you want to grab a coffee, sometimes after work” , the new guy is looking at the ground when he ask you the question.

You hate this. You hate this. You hate this.

“oh , ummm”, of course your brain is blanking on what to say in this instance. Then you hear the slam of the fridge closing. You jerk your head up.

Johnny is staring a hole into the new guys face, “don’t think that's appropriate for work, yeah”, he basically growls out the question to him.

It has him looking over and stuttering out, “it’s not like that”

Johnny tilts his head to the side, “It’s not? Seems like you asked out your coworker at work”.

You mean , he’s not wrong and it’s the worst because you were going to say no regardless and it’s going to make things so awkward at work because you have to say no.

The new guy has the decency to look ashamed.

You want out of here so bad , you can feel your hands start to get clammy, your armpit start to sweat, and your head starts to itch.

“I don’t date people from work” , you throw out.

That’s not true, you think everyone knows that but the new guy considering you were just kissing Simon not even a month ago. But you're just a glorified secretary. You don’t know how much power a consultant has but it's for damn sure more than yours.

“Well I’m going to head back”, you throw out a hopefully nice smile and head back to your desk.

Seeing a teams message from Simon

>> did you get lost in the break room?

Geez, how long were you in there. Time really gets away from you when get put in a shitty situation.

Before you have time to respond back , Johnny storms out of the break room with Gaz in toe, does the head nod to Simon, which has him on his feet within seconds.

“We gotta talk to Price”.

You take a quick glance at the calendar. There not meeting scheduled so it must been an emergency. You gather your laptop and start to stand but get stopped , “No need , lass”.

You freeze mid reach, “You don’t need me?”

“Not for this”

~

“Need to get rid of the consultant”.

Price sighs, “ You can’t get rid of someone just because”.

“I have cause, it’s cause I don’t like him” , Johnny says.

Price looks up , and sees all three of his boys staring at him, “what’s going on”.

“He asked her out” , that has him sitting up straighter , jaw clenching.

Simon is staring at Johnny like he just spoke another language and Gaz is staring into space but Price knows he is trying to figure out from an HR standpoint to get rid of him.

“Well, what did she say”, he’s scared that she said yes. They haven’t been exactly forthcoming about how much they like her, and now he wishes he could go back and change some things.

Simon is grasping the chair like it did something to him.

“Said something about not dating coworkers”

Simon lets out a “bullshit”. And Gaz flops into the chair in front of Price’s desk.

“We don’t have any rules on frat”, Gaz says.

Price already knew that but it’s nice to get in confirmed, he turns his attention to Gaz, “how hard will it be to get rid of him?”

Price will do just about anything to make sure that he doesn’t come back. Nothing good could come from this.

“It’s going to be tricky”