#mb fics

Ferye stabbing Rhys in the hand, Chapter 1 of The Great War

“I’ll trade you, darling. I’ll answer any question you have if you give me the knife in your hand.”

Feyre hesitated. “Do you swear?”

Rhysand nodded, that lock of dark hair falling against his forehead again. Pressing a golden hand to his heart, he said, “I swear it.”

Quick as a viper, Feyre lunged. Rhysand shouted, unprepared to have the blade of her knife buried in the back of his hand. She’d stabbed with all her pent up fury, all but pinning him to the table by the point of the serrated blade. 

His face was altogether too close when she turned to look at him, those violet eyes blazing with some unreadable emotion. “You never said how I had to return it.”

2. Mr. Fox revealing himself at the altar, Chapter 2 of They Say I Did Something Bad

“Relax,” an all too familiar voice murmured, lips touching hers. She knew that mouth. Elain’s eyes flew open, horror curling through her stomach at the sight of amused russet eyes looking back. He pressed an utterly chaste kiss against her mouth, the sort that would be expected to cement a wedding. 

Elain could barely think as she looked upon his unmasked face. Had he known, she wondered. Panic thundered through her as she drank in his features. His red hair was tied off his face though all she could see in her mind was how it had tumbled over his broad shoulders, obscuring his face from view when he’d settled between her legs. A long scar cut over one of his eyes, hidden the night before in his orange, fox shaped mask. She’d been right to think him handsome—in the daylight and unobscured, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. 

Applause drew Elain back to reality. Lord Vanserra was smiling at her, his amusement practically feline. Brushing his knuckles over her cheek, he murmured, “I’ve been thinking about you, little rose.” She was going to be sick. “You–”

“Smile,” he interrupted, sliding a gloved hand into hers. “Everyone is watching.”

3. Henrietta. Take your pick, but her most recent appearance was in Chapter 1 of Wishing On Dandelions

Lucien could now join her outdoors if he wanted—and he often did, if only to annoy her. Henrietta didn’t like him. Perhaps she remembered how he’d dumped her out here to fend for herself. Maybe he just radiated something the chicken didn’t like. Whatever it was, Henrietta’s feathers would ruffle, flapping as she chased after him and nipping at his ankles until he was far from Elain. Only then would Henrietta waddle back, preening and waiting for Elain to stroke her feathers. 

“She’s a menace!” Lucien snarled one day, watching Elain from the patio, arms crossed over his chest. 

“She’s a gift,” Elain replied, throwing his own words right back into his face.

4. Helion telling the priest Lucien is celibate, Chapter 2 of Slow Daning In A Burning Room

“Nervous?” the bishop, in his arched white hat and flowing robes, cut the most absurd figure in the bright, unseasonably warm day. “It’s not unusual for grooms to be nervous on their wedding day.” “Anxious,” Helion replied in a dead pan while the bishop unlocked the church doors to allow them inside. “He has been waiting for marriage and his wedding night has left him with jitters.”

Lucien choked on the air he breathed. The bishop, too, glanced over at Lucien with a strange frown.

“Well…that is less common but the Lord commands it.”

“He is quite pious and we are very proud of him,” Helion continued, putting a hand on his sons shoulders. 

5. Nudist Rhys begging on his knees, I'll Bet You Think About Me

“Touch yourself,” he rasped. “Show me how you like to be touched.”

“Thinking about touching me?” she tried to tease, though her fingers brushed her swollen clit all the same.

Rhy’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “Open the door, Ferye. Let me show you.”

She was tempted. So tempted her arm jerked without her consent, her body desperate to know what it would feel like to have his big, broad hands on her. 

Feyre dipped two fingers into her body, her stomach flipping when Rhys practically whined at the sight. Coating herself in her slick arousal, she trailed upwards, leaving a glistening path over her stomach as she toyed with her breasts. 

Rhys looked like he was seconds from falling to his knees, to begging and pleading to be let in. 

6. No pants can contain Lucien, Chapter 1 of Wonderland

“Would you put on pants?”

He scoffed. “Pants?”

“Yes,” she murmured, as if he hadn’t seen her staring at his cock. Did she not like it? Lucien frowned.

“Why pants?”

“Um…it’s just…” more red on her pretty, tanned face. “You’re naked.”

“Yes,” he agreed again. 

“The men where I come from wear pants. And a shirt,” she amended hastily. 

“When I shift, my clothes will shred,” he explained with amusement. “There are not enough pants in the world to keep me clothed.”

7. Rhys wanting to get tacos after helping Feyre murder someone, from the very sexy Is There A Word For Bad Miracle?

Rhys. 

Her accomplice. 

“My name is Feyre.”

He nodded. “C’mon. Let’s get some soft tacos. We’ll need an alibi, right? On me.”

Feyre could only nod. “Right.”

Rhys opened her passenger door with a flourish, hand outstretched for her keys. Feyre handed them wordlessly while Rhys jogged around the back of her little coup, slamming the trunk shut. This was where he’d threaten her, she thought with dread. Blackmail—she’d be trapped with another psycho instead of being free.

“So,” he said, circling away from the docks easily. He had one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the center console. “Are you thinking soft tacos, or—”

8. Bodyguard Lucien calling Elain "Baby" from Chapter 1 of Treacherous

“You need to run,” Lucien told her, looking at the same thing. His hair had come loose from his pony tail, falling in a tangled mass around his face and shoulders.

“You’ll die if I leave you,” she replied, her panic threatening to overwhelm her. “Just stand up—”

“Baby,” he murmured, grabbing her face. “Look at me. You need to run.”

9. Dark Gods Lucien saying "this is hell" from Chapter 2 of I Am Not A Woman I'm A God

“I’m going to fuck every inch of you,” Lucien gasped, his hair creating a curtain between them. “Every inch of skin, every hole.”

She keened, hooking her leg against his ass, dragging him closer the heel of her foot.

“This is hell,” he swore, his clever fingers drawing her higher. She ignored what he said, ignored what he might mean until he reached for her hand. Elain clasped, gasping at the cool metal now pressed against her skin.

10. Feyre and Rhys late to their own wedding from Chapter 2 of Red Earth and Pouring Rain

“Now who is needy?” she whispered when a soft whimper escaped him. Rhys buried his face against the crook of her neck, stroking long and slow. Feyre couldn’t breathe. Pulling his shirt up just enough to dig her nails down his muscled back, Feyre breathed him in, trying to slow the building orgasm pooling in her gut. Feyre had forgotten they were supposed to be getting married right until Rhys, wild and undone in a way she’d never witnessed before, grunted, “We’re going tae be late.”

BOTH bonuses are from They Say I Did Something Bad

Rhys killing Tamlin as a form of proposal - (This was added because I won a bet):

 Lightning cracked over the sky, illuminating the pair as Rhysand’s voice floated towards Lucien, darker than night itself.

“Feyre, darling,” his voice broke, splintering like the lightning around them. Tamlin knelt between the pair, Rhys fistling his hair. “Tell me to kill him.”

Elain admiring her husband's flaccid penis becuase she so rarely sees it that way:

He was half hard, which seemed to be his constant state of being unless he was in deep, troubled sleep. Elain had pulled the blanket back once to look at him, pleased by how soft he’d been. He was so normal that way, as if he had thought that did not revolve around her or being inside her.

Not now. Lucien was watching her study him, halting so he had all his weight on one leg, his cock swinging absurdly between his thighs.

His lungs rattle in his chest with the strain of trying to take in thin, crisp, cold air. Up ahead of him, Bheem and Yudhishtir are but vague, fading specks. He treks on, one numb foot before the other. A strong gust puts him off-balances and the stitch in his side complains violently. Arjun stumbles, crashing into a large rockand tries to gasp out a plea for his brothers to stop -- to look back.

There used to be a time not so long ago when he could have made this climb effortlessly and in half the time it’s taking him now. He yearns for those days desperately, longing for an era that’s sure to be lost in time.  Somehow, the passage of time, of him leaving his youth behind and traversing into old age had not seemed real until now, until this very moment. Then again, until this very moment he had not so keenly felt the loss of Madhav either.

The memory of a drowned Dwarka is still etched into his eyelids. In a moment of madness he dived into the freezing waters, trying to find any signs of Madhav. Just then, even a sodden peacock feather would have been enough for Arjun, but there was nothing. Nothing but dark, murky water every which way he swam. He came to surface, gasping for breath. It was some time before he realized the tearing sensation in his chest was not due to lack of oxygen, but a lack of something else entirely.

“W--wa--” he rasps futilely, slowly sinking to his knees. He stubbornly keeps his eyes peeled open, struggling against the darkness, refusing to let it take hold of him. Not like this. He is Prince Arjun, son of Kunti, Prince of Hastinapur, and the greatest warrior of all time; he is not meant to die like this, leaning on this hard rock with snow for a blanket. Alone. So cold and so alone.

“My dear Parth, proud until the very end. Shiva will be most upset, you know.” The warm, familiar voice is all around him and nowhere. Arjun cranes his neck, ignoring the protesting muscles.

“Who?” he whispers, but even as the word escapes his lips, he knows who.

Who else?

Arjun licks his chapped lips. “Madhav?” Simply saying the same seems to bring strength back into his brittle bones.

A flurry of snow kicks up few feet away from him, and when it settles, there he is, smiling and resplendent as always. His eyes look kinder, gentler, more loving. Like a small star unto himself. Or the cold has finally driven Arjun senseless.

“Good. Yajnaseni took much longer. To say nothing of Nakul.”

Arjun cracks a smile, or tries to, but his lips don’t quite move in the same fashion anymore. In fact, Arjun cannot remember the last time he smiled. Perhaps when Parikshit was still a boy.

Madhav -- is he still Madhav, or someone else entirely? -- walks closer, the bangles on his arms chiming melodiously, and kneels before Arjun.

He cups a palm against Arjun’s frozen cheek. “Rest now, my dear Parth,” Madhav says, though his lips do not move. “You have earned this long sleep.”