Custom Symbiote Oc Novels & Stories

Andre Kim has a plan. To Finish his final year of university. Lead his team to a championship. Get drafted into the NHL. Only to fall catastrophically in love with his best friend's boyfriend. That last part was not in the plan. When a burst pipe floods his dorm and leaves him with one reassignment option sharing a room with Dylan, science genius, amateur boxer, and the single most beautiful person Andre has ever seen in his life he tells himself he can handle it. It's just proximity. It's just inconvenient timing. It's just the fact that Dylan doesn't even know who he is, despite wearing his name and number on the back of a custom glitter jacket.

After twenty years of knowing and loving my destined mate, Alpha Martin, we were finally about to get married. On the eve of the wedding, He skillfully picked out the lipstick shade I wanted from my makeup bag. That's when I knew: Alpha Martin had someone else. That girl was wearing the custom evening gown I'd prepared for the wedding banquet, clinking glasses with Alpha Martin in a mate's toast. Our friends surrounded her, respectfully calling her "Luna." I didn't cause a scene. Instead, I called the hospital. "Dr. Fabian, please dispose of the eggs I had frozen." Then I sent a message to that girl. "Yvonne Jimenez, would you like to marry Martin Daniels in my place?"

A Luna, Wasn't that supposed to be an honorable position? Only meant for the best of women? Opening my eyes to the sound of a clock in my dark room, I met myself tied to the bed but what was worst, I was already branded! Forcefully, I was betrothed to the King of all Alphas, Alpha Asher! The most cruel Alpha in the history of Werewolves and funnily, He was known to be a cold psychopath, who would kill his mate after two years of being together. Strangely, Alpha Asher is different from every other Alpha as he changes mate like papers! It was my turn to be used and killed. Will I survive this cold torture of life? This savage custom of Alpha Asher? What will be my fate when the Moon goddess decides to intervene? Married to the psycho Alpha!

Lennox never meant to lie. But when her college reunion turned into a smug parade of successful husbands and million-dollar engagement rings, the words tumbled out before she could stop them. She was engaged. And when they demanded a name, the only one that came to mind was her billionaire best friend of five years. Ashford Winslow. Cornered, tipsy, and spiraling, Lennox did the only thing she could think of, she called him for backup. An hour later, Ashford strolled into the reunion like he owned the room, a custom million-dollar ring in his pocket and a possessive glint in his eyes. He slid the ring onto her finger with a charming smile. “Baby, you forgot your engagement ring, so I thought I’d bring it to you, and let everyone know who you belong to.”

My marriage to Dante, the Moretti heir, was meant to be a union of power, an alliance of empires. But for me, it was also the real deal. Then his adopted sister, Clara, showed up at a party. She was wearing his custom leather jacket, straddling his prized Ducati, and she looked right at me with a smirk. "Dante says," she purred, "that I suit these precious things better than you do." My smile froze. Dante had her on a plane overseas so fast it was like she'd never existed. Five years later, the night before our wedding. I found him staring at the design for our wedding rings. He'd changed the engraving. The "Amor Aeternus"—Eternal Love—was gone. In its place: "Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa." My sin, my greatest sin. I took off my veil right then and there. "The wedding," I said, my voice like ice, "is off."

"Two hundred pieces of gold." I whipped my head in the direction of the voice. It was sexy and authoritative. "No. Make it three hundred pieces of gold. I want that woman." The crowd gasped. My eyes frantically looked for that person and came face to face with a man whose hair reminded me of the ashes after burning the wood. His gray eyes bore into mine. 'Mine,' my wolf uttered. "Going once. Twice. Thrice. Sold!" Master Henderson was all smiles. "The item goes to His Majesty King Elio. You will never regret it, Your Majesty." King Elio? I knew that name. The Lycan King was my mate? ------------------------------- Flora was desperate to look for Sabrina, her sister who was suddenly missing five years ago. She believed it had something to do with the Lycan King. 'Cause why not? Their cruel custom of selling or killing unmated she-wolves every five years started because of the Lycan King.

"Honey, the soles of my shoes are lambskin. They can't get wet. Come pick me up." I had just sent Preston Hale that message when a swarm of floating comments suddenly exploded through the rain. [I'm so sick of this drama-queen villainess. The male lead is a billionaire CEO, and she's treating him like a dog.] [Our darling heroine has already joined the company. Once the male lead sees how gentle and sensible she is, he'll dump this woman right away.] [Lol. After the divorce, she won't know how to do anything. She'll have to become some sleazy livestreamer.] Watching the screen fill with malice, I clenched my fingers in anger. Just then, Preston came running over with an umbrella, half of his custom suit soaked through. When he saw my pale knuckles, he froze, then carefully tugged at my sleeve. "I'm sorry, honey. Any faster and I'd have been speeding."

For three months, I’d been seeing a guy named “Rex.” A total stranger I’d only met online. We were in the thick of it, that honeymoon phase where every night my phone would blow up with messages that made my pulse jump. “Miss you, sweetheart.” “Dreamt of you again last night. You were all over me, begging for it.” I was about to suggest we finally meet. But then he sent me a picture, a casual shot of his desk, and I saw something familiar: the crest of the Falcone crime family. And I work for a company owned by the Falcones. For three months, I’d been sexting a dangerous man, a made man in the mafia, who could be right under my nose. And just when I was trying to figure out who he was, I saw them. The custom black onyx cufflinks I’d picked out for “Rex”… on my boss, Marco’s, wrists.

The day I married Vincent Sorrentino, Lena, the Sorrentino family’s adopted daughter, threatened to jump off the steeple of the family church. Vincent left me standing at the altar in my custom wedding gown, no hesitation, just bolted after her. With every New York crime boss, politician, and oligarch staring at me, I looked out at the crowd and said loud and clear: “Any man who walks up here right now and says ‘I do’? I’ll marry you.” Three years later, Vincent was back into the Sorrentino family’s Long Island estate, Lena on his arm. I was sitting on the leather couch in the main living room, watching my favorate TV show. Vincent’s eyes locked on my huge pregnant belly, his jaw tight, growling through his teeth: “Whose bastard is in there?” I took a sip of orange juice, curled my lip into a smile, and said: “It's a Sorrentino baby, of course.”

Just for brushing against the hem of Eva Lawson, the heiress’s custom couture gown, Lucy Quinn's mother had her limbs broken, then thrown into the sea to die. The day Lucy dragged the arrogant heiress to court she thought that justice might finally be served. Eva was declared not guilty. Why? Because the defense attorney representing her was none other than Wyatt Grant, founder of the most untouchable law firm in River City, and Lucy Quinn’s husband. When the trial ended, the elegant and aloof man stepped down from the defense table and placed an apology letter in front of Lucy. "Lulu, sign it. You don’t want to be sued for defamation and end up in prison, do you?" His tone was calm and coaxing, but behind the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze was cold as ice. Lucy, tears stubbornly clinging to her eyes, looked up at him and said with a trembling voice, "Why, Wyatt, Why?"