#I literally gasped when his tear landed on her face

[chokkokat-art]

[pucksandpower]

Meet Me at the Met

Lewis Hamilton x up-and-coming singer!Reader

Summary: in which you go head over heels (quite literally) during the most important event of the year and end up right at the feet of none other than Sir Lewis Hamilton himself

Warnings: minor injury

The roar of the crowd hits you like a tidal wave as you step onto the iconic themed carpet of the Met Gala. Flashing bulbs from countless cameras nearly blind you as you blink rapidly, trying to adjust. Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it thrumming in your throat.

“Over here, honey!” A photographer calls out, gesturing for you to turn towards him. You pivot gracefully, the layers of shimmering tulle from your Maison Margiela gown swirling around you.

“Work it! Look this way, sweetheart!” Another shouts, snapping shot after shot.

You take a steadying breath, channeling every ounce of confidence you can muster. This is your first Met Gala, the biggest night of your fledgling music career so far. One misstep could be disastrous.

Your publicist Samantha appears at your side, perfectly put together as always in a sleek sheath dress. “You’re doing great,” she murmurs with an encouraging smile. “Just keep smiling and be yourself.”

Nodding, you continue gliding down the iconic path, pausing at the designated spots to pose for the ravenous paparazzi. An elegant string of Bulgari emeralds adorns your neck, glittering mesmerizingly under the bright lights.

“Miss! To your left please!”

You turn obediently, the intricate beadwork on your deep blue-green gown catching the flashes. Despite the oppressive late spring humidity, you refuse to let a single drop of sweat show. This night is too important.

After what feels like an eternity, a security guard appears to usher you up the final flight of stairs and into the main event. With a brilliant smile plastered on your face, you make your way carefully up the steps, lifting the delicate train of your dress to keep from tripping.

Suddenly, one sparkly heel catches on the fabric and you’re thrown off balance. Unable to catch yourself, you tumble head over heels back down the stairs, gasping in shock and pain as you land hard on the ground.

There’s a collective intake of breath from the crowd as you blink up at the bright lights, thoroughly stunned. Your vision is blurred and there’s a sharp throbbing in your head. When you try to push yourself up, bolts of agony shoot through your right wrist.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” A deep, accented voice sounds from beside you.

You turn your head and your breath catches in your throat. Crouched beside you in an exquisitely tailored double breasted suit and wool coat is arguably the most handsome man on the planet. His beautiful coffee-colored eyes are filled with concern as he reaches out to gently brush a loose strand of hair from your face.

“I … I think so,” you manage to stammer out, though your pounding head begs to differ. “Just clumsy, I guess.”

Despite the sheepish grin you attempt, a wince of pain crosses your features as you shift positions. Lewis’ brow furrows and he places one large hand on your bare shoulder to keep you still.

“Easy there, love. Don’t try to move just yet,” he soothes in that rich baritone that has melted millions of hearts. “You took quite a nasty fall.”

You nod mutely, unable to tear your widened eyes away from his handsome face. This couldn’t be happening … could it? Did you really just faceplant in front of the entire world and, perhaps more importantly, your celebrity crush?

“S-Sorry,” you whisper, utterly mortified. “I’m usually much more graceful than this, I swear.”

Lewis chuckles warmly and you feel your cheeks flush. “No need to apologize, darling. These things happen to the best of us.”

Nearby, Samantha is frantically trying to wave over security and a medic, her expression pinched with worry. You groan quietly as another stab of pain lances through your skull. Definitely a concussion, if your swimming vision is any indication.

“Let’s get you looked at, yeah?” Lewis murmurs, rising fluidly to his feet.

Before you can protest, he slips one arm behind your back and the other under your knees, cradling you gently against his firm chest. You suck in a shocked breath at the sudden movement, instinctively reaching up to grab onto his shoulders for stability. His Burberry suit is buttery soft under your fingers.

“Whoa … y-you really don’t have to carry me,” you stammer out as he easily lifts your frame.

Those rich brown eyes meet yours with an amused glint. “I insist. Can’t have one of the brightest new voices in music getting any more hurt, can we?”

You bite your lip shyly, unable to hold back a small smile of wonderment. Is this really happening right now?

“I’ll be fine, honestly,” you try again as Lewis maneuvers around the gathered crowd, heading for a discreet exit with Samantha close behind. “Just a little banged up.”

“Your wrist is already swelling, love,” he points out with a frown. “Best to get it checked properly, yes?”

“I … yeah, okay,” you acquiesce quietly, not having the energy or brainpower to argue with him further.

The two of you disappear through a door and down a mercifully empty hallway, leaving the stunned crowd and flashing cameras behind. Samantha is rapidly conversing with security to locate the nearest medic station.

“Thank you,” you murmur, letting your head rest wearily against Lewis’ shoulder. Up close, he smells incredible — like crisp bergamot and just a hint of expensive cologne. “For helping me, I mean. I’m sure you had better things to do tonight than playing knight in shining armor.”

Lewis smiles down at you, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly. “What a coincidence, I just so happen to be a knight.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling shy under his warm gaze. “Lucky for me then, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” he agrees with a wink. “Though I can’t take all the credit. That dress is clearly too stunning for us mere mortals to handle.”

A watery giggle slips past your lips before you can stop it. Even slightly concussed and in quite a bit of pain, you can’t deny that foreign flutters are dancing in your stomach just from being in Lewis’ presence. He’s even more charming in person than you ever could have dreamed.

“You’re too kind, Sir Hamilton,” you tease lightly. “But I’ll be sure to leave the couture gowns at home next time.”

Lewis opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by Samantha hurrying over with a young medic in tow, his kit already open. The worried expression on her face deepens when she sees your obviously injured wrist cradled against your chest.

“Thank god you have her,” she exhales in relief, nodding towards Lewis. “What do we know so far?”

“Took a pretty hard fall down those stairs,” Lewis explains calmly as the medic kneels down to begin his assessment. “She was unconscious for a moment and seems to have injured her wrist as well.”

You wince as the medic gently prods along your forearm. “Definitely a sprain at the very least,” he confirms. “And with the way her pupils are reacting ...”

He shines a small light into both your eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. “I’d say mild concussion too. We should get her to the infirmary for further evaluation, just in case.”

Hearing his words, a small wave of panic crashes over you. Missing any part of tonight because of this would be devastating. You force yourself to sit up straighter, ignoring the way the room spins sickeningly.

“No, no I’ll be fi-”

“You’re not going anywhere but to get checked out properly,” Lewis cuts you off firmly, placing a staying hand on your shoulder. His expression brooks no argument. “Head injuries are nothing to mess around with, love.”

You open your mouth to protest again, but Samantha quickly interjects. “He’s absolutely right. We’re not taking any chances with your health.”

As much as you hate to admit it, they do have a point. If your condition really is as serious as the medic suggests, it could be dangerous to simply brush it off. You let out a resigned sigh, wilting back against Lewis’ sturdy chest.

“I suppose you’re ri-”

Before you can finish your sentence, a sudden dizzy spell washes over you. Bile rises in your throat as the room tilts crazily. Your voice trails off into an anguished groan as you squeeze your eyes shut, fighting off waves of nausea.

“Alright, that’s it. We’re getting you looked at immediately,” Lewis declares. He shifts you effortlessly in his arms and strides down the hallway, the medic and Samantha hurrying to keep up.

The rest of the journey to the infirmary is a blur. You’re vaguely aware of being transferred to a gurney and giving the doctor on staff your information. Lewis’ worried face keeps appearing in your line of vision, his voice a soothing balm against the incessant pounding in your skull.

Finally, the doctor confirms that while your concussion isn’t serious, you definitely need to be monitored overnight. A brace is fitted around your sprained wrist and you’re given strict instructions on managing the symptoms over the next few days. Throughout it all, Lewis remains stubbornly by your side, declining offer after offer to return to the main event.

Thoroughly drugged and exhausted by this point, you can barely keep your eyes open as a wheelchair is brought over to transport you out to the car waiting area. Lewis helps you into it carefully, crouching down in front of you with a tender expression.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble miserably, gesturing vaguely to your bandaged wrist and slightly dazed state. “I’ve completely ruined your whole night … your entrance, your photo ops … everything.”

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head adamantly. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. I’d take meeting someone as wonderful as you over all of that any day.”

You blink up at him in surprise, an embarrassed blush staining your cheeks. Did he really just say that? Lewis Hamilton, world famous athlete and heartthrob, thinks you’re wonderful?

“Still,” you protest weakly. “This is supposed to be your night to shine. And now you’re stuck playing nurse for a clumsy fool.”

Lewis arches an eyebrow sternly. “I think you’ve bumped your head around a bit too much, darling. That’s no way to speak about yourself.”

He reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, his calloused fingertips grazing your flushed cheek with unexpected tenderness. Your breath catches in your throat at the gentle gesture.

“Missing out on some silly party is more than worth it to me if I got to meet someone as lovely as you,” Lewis continues honestly. His eyes are filled with sincerity. “The only thing I’m upset about is that you were the one who got hurt.”

You’re rendered speechless for a long moment, completely disarmed by his words. Never in a million years could you have imagined this kind of scenario playing out tonight. Is this all really happening?

Finally, you manage a weak smile, blushing furiously under his warm regard. “You’re too kind, Sir Hamilton.”

“Please, call me Lewis,” he insists with a wink. “And let me know where you’re staying, yeah? I’ll come by tomorrow to check on how you’re doing myself.”

Your eyes widen in surprise and you quickly scramble to recall the name of your hotel. “U-Um, the Lotte New York Palace,” you stammer out shyly. “But you really don’t have to do that ...”

Lewis waves off your protest easily, rising to his feet with a soothing grin. “Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all. I’ll be by with some breakfast to make sure my favorite new artist is being properly taken care of.”

With a final wink and dazzling smile, he steps aside to allow an assistant to wheel you towards the exit. Your head is still swimming, though you can’t blame it entirely on the concussion this time.

Did Lewis Hamilton, actual living legend, really just say he was coming to check on you tomorrow?

You allow yourself a tiny, bewildered smile as the night breeze washes over your heated cheeks. Somehow, despite all the mishaps, this crazy night had turned into something straight out of the kind of romantic comedy you secretly loved.

Perhaps falling on your face in front of the entire world wasn’t so disastrous after all.

[talaok]

i loved the hickey fic🥵

can i request a role reversal fic?

reader marks up joel and is unashamed about it

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

a/n: thank you love, hope you'll like this although its been so long you probably forgot about this. and if you're interested, this is the fic they were referring to

It was just you and Ellie in the kitchen this morning. You were laughing about another funny dream she had last night, this one involving Joel trying to tame a gigantic sheep so he could ride it or something, she didn't quite remember the purpose, not that it mattered.

But as you both quite literally felt on the verge of tears from the image the dream was painting in your minds, the main character of said dream, appeared in the doorway, throwing you both a dirty look as if watching two of the three people he loved the most in this entire world didn't fill his old heart with pure joy.

"It's too early to be this chipper" he grumbled, walking to you to leave a quick kiss on your cheek as he reached for the coffee pot behind you.

A gasp sounded from the other sound of the counter

"oh my god what happened to your neck?!" 

And it was then, that Joel Miller, the unafraid, stone-cold killer of a man that he was, turned red from hairline to neck.

"O-Oh fuck I-" His eyes widened, his hand going to cover your work on his neck, but it was all useless, because the second Ellie's eyes landed on the smirk plastered on your face, she knew.

"oh my god ew" she groaned, rolling her eyes, her focus going back to the eggs on her plate.

"You remember Janine, that woman I told you about?" you explained, talking to her

She laughed at that, remembering your conversation about that woman who's always flirting with Joel.

"you filled Joel's neck with hickeys because of her?"

Joel wasn't even red anymore, he was turning purple, his eyes were wider than a deer's caught in the headlights, and you suspected he hadn't taken a breath since he first entered the kitchen.

"this..." you smiled, trailing your fingers on Joel's neck "is my own little way of telling her to keep her hands off my man"

Joel choked, he literally choked on his own saliva and just then, just when he was about to have a heart attack, Tommy entered the house, his eyes immediately going to the image before him with more than a little amusement.

"What have I walked into?" he grinned, walking over to the kitchen "And why does my brother look a breath away from exploding?" he laughed, his hands gesturing to Joel.

"y/n here was giving me way too much information that I certainly didn't want to know" Ellie explained, looking at you pointedly for the last part of her sentence, making you chuckle.

"About what?" Tommy asked

"About the work of art I left on your brother's neck"

"wha-Ohhh" he breathed, smiling like a smug bastard as he understood what you were talking about "Janine tried something again I presume?" 

"You presume right" you smiled, giving Joel a little kiss on the cheek and stifling a smile at how terrified he seemed "for the last time"

"You ok baby?" you asked, stroking his cheek

His gaze was on Ellie, his mouth parted in shock.

"You still with us man?" she asked, giggling softly, making him shake his head to try and get his mind to start working again.

And then, then the words came tumbling off his tongue, filled with what sounded like pure panic

"S-since when do you know what a hickey is!?"

Everyone in the room except him laughed, but when the shock on his features persisted, and Ellie regained her composure, she answered.

"I'm not a kid Joel, I know what sex is"

Another pang to his poor heart, 

he felt all the organs inside him twist into a knot

what the fuck was happening?

Did she just say-

"sex!?" he cried, looking a second away from having a mental breakdown "I-I never said sex- H-how do you even know- I- You- You're too young- I-I"

"ok ok ok" you tried your best not to chuckle, intervening before his heart really decided to stop "How 'bout we go outside for a moment huh? Take a few deep breaths? How about that?" you murmured, soothingly drawing circles on his back 

He looked at you then, looking every bit as disheveled as he sounded 

"y-yeah" he swallowed thickly, "I-I think that's a good idea"

He looked back at Ellie for a moment to make sure this wasn't a nightmare and he didn't just make that up, before you both left the room.

And as if on cue, the second you did, Tommy and Ellie started laughing like maniacs.

"I don't think I've ever seen him so scared" Ellie laughed, as Tommy sat next to her, patting her back

"Neither have I" he chuckled, none of them saying anything before an idea came to his mind.

a hell of a funny one

"ten bucks if you tell him you know what porn is"

[rafedaddy01]

Rafe knows its wrong but he wants to f his assistant

Hes Single but hes 35 and shes just 19 years old

But one day when they are all alone in the office he just cant take it any more and he takes her right on his table

At first she resists

He knows shes a virgin

But soon shes begging for more harder faster

I love a little non consensual sex ⭐️

He knows you’re a virgin. Which is why it would be so wrong for him to push everything off his desk and take you on it right now. Bunching up that little skirt and ripping your panties off before shoving his cock deep in that virgin cunt. He knows that would be wrong. But the way you’re talking, and the way you smell, and the way you look, and just overall you, makes him want to do those things to you. Even if they are wrong.

But he also knows you’d be begging for it once he was inside you. He sees the way you look at him. Eyeing him up and down when you think he’s not looking. Or the way you fix your blouse right before you walk into his office. Or the way you wear that cherry red lipstick just for him because he told you itd look good on you. He knows you want him as bad as he wants you, you’re just too shy to do anything. So rafe decides the right thing to do is be a man about it.

“Good evening, Mr. Cameron. Here are those documents you were wanting printed off this morning” you walk into his office, chirpy as usual as you place the stack of papers on his desk, and just as your about to turn away Rafes hand wraps around your wrist.

“Y/n” his voice is stern and more dominant that usual.

“Yes, sir?” You turn back to face him. Scanning his face for any sign of what you must have done wrong. But you can’t make anything out. All you see is hunger, a primal hunger, but you can’t figure out why he’s staring at you with such intensity.

“You look very pretty today” rafe let’s go of your wrist and stands up, walking in front of you and caging your body against the side of his desk.

“And you smell so good” he leans in and hold a strand of hair up to his nose as he sniffs.

“T-thank you, sir” you mutter. Having him this close makes your brain fuzzy. This man is a literal god. He’s loved, feared, and respected by everyone. Every woman tries to catch his attention, some succeed but most get shooed away like stray dogs. Rafe is a very powerful man and you know that with one wrong word or one wrong move he could make your life a living hell.

“You’re welcome” he drops the strand and watches it rest against your skin before meeting your eyes and smiling.

He leans closer, his hands falling to the desk and his body pushing yours against his desk until there’s no where for you to go but fall against the desk.

You don’t even have time to comprehend what is happening when Rafes lips land on yours. You don’t kiss back, his lips moving at a rapid pace, tongue darting out but you refuse to open your mouth and he grunts, wrapping a hand in your hair and tilting your head up by pulling on your hair, you gasp and he takes the opportunity to shove his tongue inside, moaning when you give him what he wants.

You try to push at his chest, push him back and off you so you can speak. Tell him no, this is wrong. First off he’s your boss. Second, he’s wayyy older than you.

But rafe grips your wrists once more, tightening them in his grip and pushing them away.

He finally pulls back, biting your lower lip as he pulls back.

“Rafe-“ your cut short when you hear the sound of clothes ripping.

You gasp, shocked as you look down and see he used a pair of scissors to cut down the center of your skirt.

“Rafe! What the f-“

“Shh, don’t worry. I’ll buy you another” he goes to kiss you again but this time you turn away, finally being able to push him back.

“I-I don’t want to do this, rafe. We shouldn’t- this is- please stop” you feel the tears start forming as you struggle to find your words, just wanting to get out of his office as soon as possible.

“I don’t really care what you want” Rafe says as he grabs you back, spreading your thighs and groaning when he finally sees what’s between your legs. You weren’t wearing any panties today due to it being laundry day. He laughs and shakes his head, “and you’re trying to tell me you don’t want this. Pft, little slut. Walking around my office, wearing nothing under this little skirt and expecting me not to fuck you?”

“Rafe please” you beg as you feel the warmth of his hand going up and down your thigh. Inching closer and closer to that spot you desperately want him at, but also don’t want him touching at all.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to discipline you. Show you what happens when you walk around practically naked in my office.”

You accept your defeat when you hear the belt buckle and the sound of his zipper being pulled down.

This is not how you wanted to lose your virginity. You wanted it to be with someone you loved, you wanted it to be romantic. Not against a desk with your 35 years old boss taking advantage of you. Even if he was hot and you had a little crush on him.

His tip tapped against your clit and it brought you back to reality, you didn’t even realize the pads of Rafes thumb was wiping at your teary eyes, “don’t cry baby, I’ll have you begging me to fuck you harder in just a second” he pushed all the way in, sucking the breath from your lungs as you felt the stretch his cock made inside you.

He stills a moment to let you adjust but it doesn’t last long before he pulls his hips back and thrusts in hard, groaning when he feels just how tight you really are.

His thrusts are slow but deep, it hurts but it starts to feel really good really soon. You can feel every outline and ridge and curve of his cock. Especially since he just pushed inside you without so much as a condom. You could feel everything, and it felt amazing.

“M-more, p-please” you whimpered as you relaxed your body, falling fully against the desk.

“I told you princess, all you had to do was shut up and let me in” he smirked down at your fucked out state. Poor little virgin pussy was now his. His to look at, his to fuck, his to lick and touch, and no other man ever has nor ever will lay their hands on you.

“You’re just so perfect, letting your boss fuck your virgin pussy raw. Your definitely getting a promotion after this”

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover @mema10

[opalici0us]

Could you do a Mahito smut? Him changing his dick size and all that kinky stuff

OMG! I like the way you think anon because I literally was thinking about this other day. I have no idea if anyone has ever written this before. ENJOY THE FILTH!

MNDI 18+

content: smut, oral(m!receiving), p in v sex, gagging, hair pulling, slight Dacryphilia, choking, squirting, degradation, slight cervix f*cking, breeding, Mahito ofc is changing his schlong size…

wc-1.1k

“You like suckin’ my cock? Hmm? Tell me, girl,” Mahito had fingers tangled in your hair, as you bobbed up and down on his length. You nodded your head to the best of your ability, while trying not to gag with the size he’s making you work with. “That’s not an answer,” Your eyes widen in shock feeling Mahito increase the size of his cock, making it hit the back of your throat. You gag and attempt to pull back but his keeps a firm grip, not allowing you to move.

“Haha! Look at you! Is it too much?” He laughs sadistically, seeing you struggle to accommodate to his new size. “Now, I’ll ask you again, you like suckin’ my dick?” He thrusts up into your mouth, causing you to gag. Mahito moans feeling your saliva drip past your chin onto his sack. You finally manage to whimper out a little ‘mhm’, it seemed to have satisfy him. 

He pulls you off his cock by your hair. You had tears spilling from your eyes from gagging, spit dripping down your chin. He couldn’t help but moan at the beautiful sight in front of him. “You’re so nasty,” Mahito smirked and reached out to wipe the tears and salvia from your face. “Does my nasty girl want me to fuck her?” 

“Yes, please, Mahito,” You whimpered, you had your thighs clenched together, trying to provide some relief due to how aroused you were. Mahito was so mean, but you loved it.

“Come up here then,” Mahito gave you an eyes smile and patted the spot next to him on the bed. “Hmmm what position to do today?” He giggled and eyed you down as you sat beside him, his hand snaked between your thighs, slipping his fingers between your folds. “So wet, all you did was suck my dick. What a whore.”

“Please…please don’t tease me,” You gasped feeling him start to rub your clit. “M-Mahito! Mmmhm p-please, need your cock.” You wrapped your hand around his wrist trying to stop him. 

“Aww, you’re no fun but since you’re so eager to get fuck, I’ll do it.” He gave you a little wink. “Get on all fours for me baby. Arch that back for me, yeahhh just like that. You want it big?” He placed his hands on your hips, rubbing soothing circles. 

“W-want it big, please.” You wiggled your ass, desperate to be filled up by him.

“Feeling brave today? I know you better than that, I’ll start small n’ then I’ll make it nice n’ big.” He landed a harsh smack to your ass. He morphed his dick to a medium size. He teased your entrance, before pushing himself inside you. 

“Shiiit,” you winced, there was no way that was medium. “So fucking big, Mahito.” You whimpered.

“Oh, I know, poor girl can’t handle my cock when it’s this small.” Mahito laughed and slowly started to thrust in and out, squelching sounds echoing throughout the room. “You’re so wet, such a slut f’me.” He leaned down, nipping your ear.

“Faster, please…n-need it faster.” You begged him, pressing your ass against his hips, trying to egg him on.

“Don’t be so whiney,” Mahito left a mean smack on your ass, leaving your skin stinging. “But, I got you, baby.” He increased the intensity of his thrusts.

He was hitting your g-spot just right, making you see star. You felt him snake his arm around your throat, choking you. Adding to the pleasure. Your mouth fell into a ‘o’ as your legs shook, your orgasm was so close but you just need a little more…

“M-Mahito, mmhm, n-need- fuck! More pleaseee.” You managed to choke out, with the combination of his thrust and his head lock around your throat.

“More what? Come on, don’t be so shy on me, I thought little whores can use their words, hmmm?” He licked your earlobe, his own soft grunts feeling your ears. The sounds adding to your own arousal. 

“B-bigger…please, ahh! P-please.” You whimpered, your hands wrapping around his forearm that was still holding you in a headlock.

“Bigger? Ahaha, you got it, baby.” He increased the size of his cock, stretching you out completely. Your whole body went limp in his arm, eyes rolling into the back of your eyes as incoherent mumbles of pleasure spilled from our mouth.

But he didn’t stop his thrusts nor the increasing size of cock. Hitting your cervix slightly, a loud yelp came from your mouth. “Too big! F-fuck! Mahitoooo~” Tears spilled from your eyes, you practically felt him in your guts. He was so deep and so big. You felt your orgasm approaching but there was something about it. “I’m cumming! I’m cum-ahh!” 

Your whole body shuddered as you felt a stream of liquid released from your body, dripping down the back of your thighs. “That’s what I’m fucking talking about! So fuckin’ nasty, such a nasty whore!” Mahito increased his grip around your throat, his thrust picking up the pace as well. “You fucking squirted! So pathetic!” He couldn’t stop teasing you.

You couldn’t even think straight, your mind was hazy from such an intense orgasm, also not to mention breathing was becoming so much harder. You dug your nails into his forearm.

“Is it too much? Hehe,” Mahito giggled in your ear and loosened up his grip around your throat, allowing some oxygen back into your lungs. He moved his other arm down to your tummy, pressing against it. Feeling how deep he was inside you. “So deep, right? Feel me in your guts? Hmm?” He moved his hand further down to rub circles on your clit. 

“Yes-fuck! Mhm, ‘s deep.” You said, sucking the air between your teeth as high pitched little “ah’s” and “mhm’s” left your mouth. You felt another orgasm approaching, rapidly. Your walls squeezed tightly around Mahito massive length.

“Shiiit, baby! L-loosen up, you’re gonna m-make-fuck! Make me cum,” He pinched your clit, only making your squeeze even tighter around him “you want that? Want me to cum inside you? Think I could ya pregnant?” He snickered, the idea only turning him on even more. 

“Yesyesyes, please, c-cum inside me!” You plead with him. 

“Oh? Want it that bad? You fuckin’ love this cursed dick!” He growled and pounded into you like no other. The sound of his skin slapping against yours filled the room. “I’m cumming inside you, slut.” Mahito said before a low whimper escaped his mouth. He pulled back and dug his nails into your hip, burying his cock deep inside you as ropes of his cums filled you up. 

“Y-yeahhh, take it, take it all.” Mahito groaned, fucking his cum into you with a few more thrusts before pulling out. 

“Mmm so full,” Your hole clenched around nothing. He gawked at the sight, your abused cunt, dripping with his cum. He was addicted.

“Think you could go again? Need this cute little cunt full of my cum.”

© opalici0us | All writings belong to me, do not copy, translate, or modify my works

[cressidagrey]

The Witching Hour - The Samhain Special: Bound by Blood

Summary:

Azriel's witch has some very smutty plans for Samhain.

Warning:

This is literally pure smut people, so NSFW applies. Otherwise: Ritual Magic, Witchcraft, Ritual Sex, Rough but consensual sex, Biting and blood Drinking, a deer is slaughtered, Blood is smeared everywhere...I think that's it? Azriel and Cate are as unhinged as always.

(Spooktastic dividers thanks to the lovely @tsunami-of-tears)

"Gods, you're going to be the death of me," Cate whispered, her voice wrecked.

Azriel couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound warm and amused. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his own voice hoarse from where he had collapsed on top of Cate. He lifted off her, just so managing to land next to her.

Granted, she wasn’t the only one. He was pretty sure msot of the muscles in his body where still trembling. 

"It was most definitely meant as one," his witch assured him, her eyes closed as she stretched out over her black silk sheets. Her pale skin glinted in the moonlights, her rose tipped breasts heaving with her breaths.

She was so beautiful.

Azriel's gaze dragged over her, tracing over every inch of the beautiful female spread out next to him on the bed, his heart thudding in his chest. They had spent the entire night together, the sounds of their lovemaking still echoing in his ears.

His gaze roved over her bare form, her lovely red hair spread out across the dark sheets, his eyes catching on the marks of his mouth across her pale skin. His gaze darkened as a low growl rumbled from his chest, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder, his fingers tracing lightly over her skin.

He was insatiable. 

Her eyes opened at his touch, their gazes meeting through the dimly lit room. He could see the exhaustion on her face, her skin flushed, her lips kiss-swollen. She looked beautiful, and her body trembled slightly under his touch.

"I swear, one of these days, you'll kill me with too much pleasure,” Cate mumured.

Her voice was rough, still recovering from all the moans and gasps that he had pulled out of her the entire night. He could see the faint purple-red marks that he had left on her skin, and the primal part of his mind purred at the sight of them. 

He hummed in agreement, unable to help himself, and attaching his lips to the marble column of Cate’s neck. "What a glorious death that would be," he murmured, his mouth gently nipping at the sensitive skin.

She gasped softly at his words, her body arching slightly as she tilted her head back to give him better access to her neck. His lips pressed against her skin, his teeth gently scraping over her pulse, sending shivers down her spine.

"You're insatiable," she accused, though there was no real irritation behind it. Only fond amusement.

"When it comes to you," Azriel agreed, his mouth curving into a smile against her skin. His fingers lightly traced over the marks he had already left, his lips following them. "When it comes to you, I can never seem to get enough," he admitted.

He pressed his mouth against a particularly dark bite mark, his tongue swirling over the abused skin, his fingers moving to gently press into the mark, relishing in the way that she trembled slightly in response. Her body was so sensitive, so open to his touches, and it made his blood run hot. Gods, he wanted her again. And again. And again .

"One would think that you would at least be tired after doing this all night," Cate said, her voice still breathless, her body arching as his mouth continued to work over her skin, his fingers continuing to trace over the sensitive flesh. "But apparently not."

"Never," he promised, his voice hoarse, his mouth moving to another mark on her collarbone. "Not when it comes to you."

His fingers continued their exploration of her body, gently dancing over her skin, tracing over the marks he had made, exploring every inch of her. His mouth continued its torturous path, moving down her collarbone, her chest.

The rain continued to fall, its sound a steady beat in the background of their room, the only other sounds than the soft gasps and moans that continued to fall from Cate's mouth. He could feel her shuddering under his touch, her body arching into his hands, her skin hot to the touch.

To say that the last few weeks had been… difficult…that was an understatement. Cate had biweekly lessons with Elain, who seemed to do much better with her Prophecies…but which had done nothing to endear Cate to most of his oldest friends.

Oh well.

There were a lot of things Azriel was willing to compromise on…but Cate was not one of them.

As long as she was willing to be his…he would protect that ferociously.

She was his, and nothing would get in the way of that. His body continued its path down hers, his fingers tracing over her flesh softly, his lips continuing to work over her skin.

“There is this…one thing that I wanted to talk to you about,” Cate said, nearly hesitantly. She had not been hesitant one day in her life. It made him pause. “You can say no and we’ll never talk about it again.”

That got his attention. Azriel lifted his head from her, his eyebrows raised slightly. “What is it?”

“Samhaim is soon,” Cate said softly. “I was wondering…I was wondering if you wanted to make some magic with me, love.”

He swallowed.

He knew what she was asking. Knew what she was offering.

A Witch’s Ritual Circle was the most private thing she had. And if Cate was offering to share it with him… “What kind of magic?” he asked her softly.

She smiled up at him, her eyes soft. "There is this ritual…" she explained softly. "On the night of Samhain, a couple can pledge themselves to each other in a bond as old as magic itself."

His eyes widened. "A marriage bond?" He questioned, his heart thundering in his chest, his stomach flipping nervously.

"Not necessarily a marriage bond," she explained, lifting her hands to gently run her fingers through his messy hair. "It's...complicated. It's an ancient ritual, older than history, older than the fae themselves. It involves a few...interesting steps," she admitted. "But at the end of it," she continued, her eyes soft, "we will be eternally linked to one another. It is a bond that no one can tear apart."

His heart was pounding in his chest at her words, his eyes wide. The idea of them being linked, truly linked, for eternity...Azriel wanted that. He wanted it more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life. But...

"What are the...interesting steps?" He questioned, his voice quiet, his mind already racing through every possible thing that he would be willing to do for her if it meant they would get that bond.

"The ceremony itself will take all night long," she explained. "There will be…a few fun things to do," Her voice was mischievous.

"Whatever you want," he agreed.

She chuckled at his quick response, her fingers running through his hair again. "You didn't even pause to think about it," she said, amused. "Not even a second thought?"

"Not even one," he promised, his voice rough with the intensity of his agreement. He would do anything to have that bond, that connection with her, that link that would tie them to each other, forever. "I'll do whatever you want," he promised.

***

She was pretty sure that if her mother would still be alive…She would kill Hecate just for even contemplating doing this. Granted, her mother had been dead for nearly a millenia, and Cate was all grown up, Thank you very much…but it was still…A risk.

A risk that she was more than willing to take.

There wasn’t a risk in her world that she wasn't willing to take when it was about Azriel.

The bond she was proposing was an ancient, powerful thing. It was unbreakable, eternal in its intensity.

And it was a risk. A risk that many witches kept to themselves, because it would make them vulnerable…but it was a risk that she was willing to take, regardless of every protest her heart screamed at her.

Because she wanted that bond, that connection, that link that would tie her to him, completely

Gods, she really was a hopeless romantic.

But with Azriel, it was impossible not to be.

With him, she was constantly falling deeper and deeper. Drowning more and more with every single look, every smile, every sound, every taste of him.

With Azriel, there was no other option.

With Azriel, she was giddy and in love, and behaved like a teenage witch.

Even after all these centuries, she still sometimes felt that dizzying rush of giddiness and attraction and infatuation every time she thought of him. It didn’t matter that they had slept together more times than she had ever thought possible, that every touch of their bodies was etched into her mind, that they had known intimately every inch of each other’s bodies, minds and powers.

Nothing could quell that rush of pure excitement and wonder at the very thought of him.

Nothing at all.

She knew she was being a complete idiot. She knew that the way her heart kept skipping at the sight of him was a little ridiculous.

But gods, all she could think of, when he was looking at her like she was the only female in the word, like there was no one else in his mind than her at that very moment, was…

She was in love with him. Completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with him.

So really...binding him towards her for eternity...it was a selfish thing to do. And she couldn't help herself.

Sshe couldn’t bring herself to feel even the slightest bit of guilt.

Azriel was hers, and the thought of tying him to her completely, of having that bond, that connection, that link that would tie them to each other forever... Gods.

She wanted it more than she had wanted anything in her life.

And if it was selfish? If it was a little possessive?

Well. Cate had never claimed to be a noble female.

All she knew was that she wanted this. She wanted him, she wanted that bond, and she was going to do whatever it took to make that happen. To hell with the consequences

And if the rest of the Night Court disapproved? Well, they could deal with it. Cate couldn’t find it in herself to care.

So if she started planning that ritual...well.

She had a time (Samhain, which practically fell on a full moon that year, making it absolutely perfect for a ritual that would bend fate to her will) and a place (an old ritual circle in The Middle...) which meant that planning the actual ritual...well that was easy.

It was a little bit frightening, how all of the pieces were just falling into place.

But at the same time…it felt like Fate was on her side. That every piece in this puzzle was meant to be exactly where it was at that moment.

The entire thing was both terrifyingly scary and absolutely exciting at the same time.

But then again, that was her relationship with Azriel in a nutshell: terrifying and exciting, with a lot of heat and passion thrown into it

So, a few days before Samhain...when she had it all figured out...she presented Azriel with her plans.

“You want me to do what?” he repeated, his eyebrows rising into his hairline.

“Kill a stag," Cate repeated easily. “I need the blood.”

“This is sounding more and more like some weird version of Calaimai in the Spring Court,” Azriel told her drily. "For what do you need the blood?"

"I'll need to cover both of us in runes." Cate explained.

A pause. “Runes that involve deer blood?” he questioned, his voice still dubious, raising an eyebrow at her.

She nodded. "Deer blood, along with a few other...ingredients."

“And you're drawing these…runes…on us?” he clarified.

She nodded again. He studied her for a moment.

"What will these ‘runes’ do, exactly?” he asked quietly.

"Well," she drew out the word..."It's going to help your performance."

His eyebrows rose at her words.

"My performance?" he echoed, a hint of huskiness in his tone. "In what areas, exactly, do I need to...perform...better?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes on her.

His gaze roved over her body, his expression heating

And for a moment, Cate was tempted to give up and ask him to just skip the ritual entirely and jump straight into the fun part, but...

No. She could wait. She could be patient. Just one more day, the she would have this gorgeous male completely to herself forever.

"You don't. Usually," she clarified. "These runs...they'll...they'll keep you erect even after you have spend yourself...multiple times," she answered. "That ritual is gonna take a few...hours."

Azriel's eyes widened at her words, his gaze flickering to hers, the heat in his eyes intensifying. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze darkening. "Hours, you said?" he rasped, his voice rough.

She nodded. "Hours," she confirmed. "With no need for...recuperation, in between."

His eyes widened.

A pause, and then: "Gods," he swore, his voice low. "You do know how to sweet-talk a male, don't you, witch?"

Cate chuckled at his words. "Why, am I tempting you, Shadowsinger?" she teased playfully, her voice sultry. He looked like he was going to pin her down on the nearest flat surface and worship her body right then and there.

He took a few slow, measured breaths, like he was forcing himself to regain control, and Cate could only raise an eyebrow at him, amused.

"You do realize you don't have to exercise this amazing level of self-control and iron will, right?" she said breezily. "I am yours."

He swallowed. Hard.

"You’re mine," he repeated quietly. His eyes glimmered possessively. "And I plan on enjoying that immensely."

****

Gods, the things his witch did to him…

He wanted to tie her up, lay her down on the nearest flat surface, and worship her and her body for hours, until both of them were too sated to do anything but sink into sleep in each other’s arms.

But he knew he had to control himself.

And Azriel didn't care if that meant that he was going to have to kill a fucking stag naked and with his bare hands. 

"And you are sure I need to do it with my bare hands?" he asked her with a sigh that day. 

She shot him a smirk. "Is the big, bad Shadowsinger afraid of getting his hands dirty?" she teased, raising an eyebrow. He shot her a glare, which only seemed to amuse his witch more.

Cate leaned closer to him, her voice lowering to a murmur. " “I can do the hunting too, if you would prefer to be the one being mounted on a stone altar…” He stared at her - her voice sending a visceral stab of lust through him.

"Gods." He murmured. "Are you trying to drive me insane?" he asked her, his voice rasping.

Cate shrugged her shoulders, her smirk sharpening. "Maybe," she said airily.

He stared at her for a moment before closing the distance between them, drawing her flush against him, one arm wrapping around her slender waist.

“Is that what I will do?“ he asked her.

“We’ll enjoy that part, I think,” Cate said with a laugh. "Now...Let me show you where we'll be."

He let her winnow them straight to The Middle, and for once in his life, Azriel was surprised by how welcoming it...seemed.

Probably helped by the warding net that Cate had thrown over a rather broad area.

"You've warded a whole lot of acre here," he noted, his voice quiet.

Cate nodded as she started to pull out a few tools from a bag she had winnowed with them. "It's...safer. We wouldn't want any interruptions."

Azriel's eyes widened at her words. "Interruptions?" he repeated slowly. "How long is this whole...ritual supposed to take exactly, witch?"

Cate gave him a wicked look from hooded eyes. "Longer than you've ever lasted before," she purred, her voice suggestive.

It felt like someone had just punched him.

"Longer, you say,” he repeated, his voice strangled.

"Till Sunrise...well, unless you have somewhere to be," Cate answered. Even if he had, he wouldn’t care. "We'll wait until Sundown to start...Let me show you the ritual space."

She led him over to an old, weathered stone altar, with a few tallow candles already burning around it.

"Right in here," she said, nodding towards the altar. "You will be placed exactly here...like so." She patted the top of the slab, her fingers stroking the stone. "The runes will mostly be drawn on your chest and face...and a few more...intimate areas," she smirked.

Azriel felt his heart rate quicken - and he wasn’t sure if it was due to nerves or excitement. He swallowed as he stared at the stone altar before him, imagining himself laid out on it.

He had agreed to this, and he had no intention of backing out now. Not when she was willing...eager.

He stared at the stone surface, his mind going blank as his imagination tried to provide images of what would happen to him here.

He took a deep, slow breath.

He was going to experience everything she was willing to give him - and he had a feeling he was going to be completely and utterly spent by the time this ritual was over.

Cate drew closer, as if sensing the direction of his mind, her hand coming up to rest against his hip.

"Nervous?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him, as if she knew what was running through his head.

He shot her a crooked smile. "A little," he admitted quietly, even if he was far more excited that he was nervous.

She looked at him with a smirk, her eyes glimmering and a playful expression tugging at her lips. She leaned closer until her body was flush against his, her hand sliding from his hip to caress the line of his jaw.

Her hand was cool as she traced the planes of his face, her touch almost reverent like she was mapping out every single line of him and committing it to memory.

He leant into her touch, like he was completely unable to resist her, drinking her in like a parched man would drink water.

Gods, he was so gone for his witch.

Her gaze darkened as she stared at him, her eyes trailing over his face, as if admiring and memorizing every inch of him.

She stepped closer, her body molding against his, as her hand continued to caress his skin, sending trails of fire wherever she touched. Her lips were only mere inches from his, their breath mingling together

“I love you.” She whispered.

His heart stuttered at her words.

Gods, he had never heard anything more beautiful.

"I love you too," he rasped. She was everything to him, and he'd be damned if he let anything or anyone take her away from him.

“Then go and kill that deer for us, love,” she told him, and he snorted.

“I just want you to know that the fact that I need to do this naked is fucking ridiculous,” he told her as he started to strip out of his clothing. She just smirked at him. 

"Love,” she shot back, her voice sweet, but edged with an undertone of steel “I did not make the rules.”

“I bet these are your rules,” he muttered under his breath, and she laughed at him. 

“Go on,” she told him, her voice still amused. “Prove to me what a big, bad, male warrior you are and go kill a deer - bare hands only - for your witch. Bring me blood to cover both of us in runes so I can bind myself to you for eternity. Then come back here to me and let me worship every inch of you.”

Azriel stared at her, her words sending a visceral, possessive stab of lust through him.

“You're a damn tease, you know that?” he swore, his voice low. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and take her right then and there.

But at the same time, he knew he didn’t have time. He had to go - hunt, kill the deer, and return to her - so that he could experience all that she offered.

He stepped forward, bending down to press his lips against her forehead. “I'll be back soon,” he growled, before stalking toward the forest surrounding them.

*** Cate watched him go, that possessive, feral need and lust welling up in her.

Gods, when he was bound to her for eternity, she was going to wreck him.

She took a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. She had a ritual to prepare for.

The first thing she did was throw more wards over the already existing net. The more protection, the better.

She also lit a few more candles around the stone altar, white wax dripping down onto dark stone. She pulled the athame, her ritual knife, from the pocket of her dress...Then and only then, she stripped out of the dress she wore, bare before her own magic.

The sun was slowly dissappearing behind the horizon

The night was slowly falling over the small clearing, the trees surrounding them casting shadows on the stones of the altar and the grass.

The candles around them cast a gentle glow, as if creating a spotlight for what was going to happen.

The moment the sun disappeared completely...she cast out her magic.

Power flared and crackled through the clearing, invisible to sight but tangibly present.

The air seemed to buzz with magic, the air so thick with energy it was almost tangible - as if it was clinging to every inch of her bare skin, almost like caressing her.

She had always trusted her own magic with her life. It had welcomed and cradled her like a favoured child from the start.

Over the years, her magic had become an almost living part of her, entwined with the very energy that ran through her veins.

Even now, she could feel it...almost purring in the air, like a satisfied companion.

"Bella?" she asked aloud, the jaguar appearing out of thin air, tail swishing through the air, prowling around her ritual circle.

The great cat, so black that even in the candlelight she was almost impossible to see, prowled around Cate like a restless, watchful guardian, her muscles taut and powerful, her green eyes fixed on the surrounding area.

"There you are," she breathed.

The jaguar huffed at Cate, a soft, almost purring sound as she padded closer to the witch, her tail still twitching in the air.

Cate reached out a hand and gently ran her fingers through the silky, smooth fur of her familiar.

Bella shoved her head into Cate’s touch, the act almost like an affectionate cat asking for attention. Cate smiled at her familiar, giving her a few more pets before returning to her ritual preparations.

And at that moment, she felt Azriel. Her magic held steady, even as she watched him stride towards the clearing, the deer slung over broad muscular shoulders.

"Just in time," she told him, a smile stretching over her face.

He stalked towards her, every single step powerful, his eyes on her. His eyes raked down her naked form, taking her in in a way that made her skin break into gooseflesh, lust coiling low in her belly.

He didn't hesitate as he stepped into her personal ritual circle.

It was an intimacy she had never allowed another person. But the moment he stepped over the boundary...it just felt right.

The moment he stepped past the wards...her magic seemed to surge and flare, almost like it was welcoming him. She felt it almost caressing his powerful, naked form, his dark shadows twining with her power, almost like a familiar seeking out its owner.

There was an energy in the air, palpable and electric. It was like the air was vibrating, filling them with a kind of energy that seemed to make the atmosphere heavier, thicker... like the air was full of promise and anticipation.

He brought the deer over to her, the neck broken.

"Just for the record, I could have used a knife," he told her drily.

She gave him a cheeky smile. “Oh come on, love, where’s your sense of drama?” she teased him, her voice low and sweet. “Bringing me the deer you killed with your bare hands is more romantic, isn’t it?”

“You just like the idea of me all feral and wild, don’t you?” he asked, his lips curving into a cocky smirk. “All dirty and naked and covered in blood and your pretty little runes.”

She just raised one eyebrow, lifting her ritual knife.

It was the work of nothing to cut the deer’s throat and catch the blood in a stone bowl.

"Onto the altar with you," Cate said quietly.

He moved forward, laying himself down on the smooth stone of the altar.

Even in this light, he was a vision, all rippling muscles and scars and ink that he had never bothered to hide away.

Cate approached the altar, the bowl of blood clutched in her hands. She placed the bowl on the surface of the altar, her eyes skimming over the planes and valleys of his skin, the smooth, muscular expanse of his stomach, that V at his hips….

"Now is the moment to tell me you don’t want this," she told him quietly. She could still change the ritual now. By the time the first rune would be drawn onto his body…well, that was going to be rather impossible. 

He chuckled, the sound hoarse and deep in the silence that surrounded them.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my whole life,” Azriel promised her fiercely. 

The night air crackled with the energy that filled it, like a silent thunder that promised power and passion and more ecstasy than he had ever known. He watched her, his gaze never leaving her as she settled on top of him and straddled his bare thighs with her own.

"I have waited a millennium for you," she said quietly as she dipped her hands into the warm blood.

He shivered lightly as her hands, covered with blood, dragged across his bare chest, the fluid and heat of the blood spreading over his skin, whispering the spells that would bind him to her. 

“And I’ve waited a lifetime for you,” he murmured back, his voice guttural and deep as he met her gaze with his own.

She drew the second rune, her fingers sliding over his skin, his wings twitching underneath him.

Her touch was precise, but reverent, as she traced the lines and symbols onto his chest and abdomen, her fingers gliding over his skin.

"Cate," he groaned, his voice strangled.

"Hush," she told him, her voice almost a little breathless. She didn't know how she was staying so calm...he was laid out in front of her and it was taking all of her self-control not to just take him then and there, to claim and mark and taste him until he belonged to her completely.

"I am nearly there." She promised him, even as she could see his cock harden. "This works better if you are aroused anyway."

He huffed out a laugh, his voice strained. “Of course it does,” he rasped, his eyes fixed on her as she worked. "I am pretty sure you just want to torture me.”

"I always pay my dues," she promised him, finished another rune at the V of his hips and then swallowed down his prick without any preamble, as one hand finished painting the rune on his thigh.

His reaction was instantaneous. He jerked against her, a noise that was something between a gasp and strangled moan slipping from his lips.

"Cate," he groaned, his voice guttural and raw, "Gods...Cate, I need-"

She didn’t give him time to finish. She wanted him gone, unravelled, ruined. She wanted him under her, undone, marked and claimed in the most intimate way. Every rune she made seared his skin, a claim that would be with him for days yet.

She finished the last rune. Cate could feel it herself...could feel the magic swell up inside her, like a hook anchoring right there in her chest.

It had started.

She could feel it

The air crackled and filled with power, her own magic swelling like a living thing, as the last of the runes settled onto his skin.

He jerked again, a noise of pure desire torn from his throat.

He was taut and strung-out underneath her, like a bow ready to snap. Every muscle was tensed and coiled, like a predator right before it took its prey. His eyes were fixed on her - wild, burning, desperate with need - as his hips jerked up against her.

She lifted her mouth of him, dunking her hand in the bowel of blood again, taking his hand and smearing it all over his own...using his hand to come up to her chest, writing the rune over her own heart.

He watched her, entranced, as she smeared her own chest with the blood, his fingers trailing over her skin, leaving bloody trails wherever they went.

He stared as the rune spread across her chest, marking her just like she had marked him, the sight making something possessive flare to life inside him.

One, two, three...seven...And then it was done.

Seven runes to bind them together for eternity.

Seven runes that made her blood sing and her skin feel like it was burning.

She pulled him up to sit up with her, his chest flush with her own, the blood that covered them both smearing between them.

"First part is done," she told him breathlessly. "Now comes the fun part."

*****

Gods, he wanted her.

He wanted her so badly his brain was almost mush, like his body was on fire, completely overwhelmed.

He’d never felt like this before, like he was so desperate and so wild with need that all he could do was grab her and pin her to the altar, pressing her down into the cold stone.

Cate turned around...presenting her back to him, her back arching...on her hands and knees before him.

He almost growled in the back of his throat. The sight of her like that sent a rush of possessive lust through him, like a savage animal claiming his mate.

Something inside him snapped. 

There was nothing carefuly, nothing but animalistic need in him as he covered his body with her own, as he plunged into her body. 

He couldn’t hold back a guttural, feral noise that escaped his throat.

She was tight and hot around him, her body taking him in like it fit perfectly - like she was made for him. One hand wrapped itself around her throat, squeezing, while the other wrapped around her waist. 

“Mine,” he hissed, his voice almost guttural. “My witch.” His other hand tightened on her hips pulling her back against him, like he was trying to press her into him, his movements almost desperate. “You feel like you were made for me,” he panted in her ear.

She mewled in response, her voice high and desperate, her body clenching around his. “Azriel,” she gasped. “Please-”

Somehow it was the sound of his name on her lips...somehow… he felt Cate's magic deep in his bones, seemingly trembling all around them..and also felt...felt that unfurling of a golden bond deep in his chest, crashing into him with no finesse at all, leaving him gasping as he spilled into her, before he even had the chance to…

The moment the bond snapped into existence, he felt like he was drowning in sensation.

He felt it in every nerve and muscle, in every vein and bone - a thrumming, golden magic that now ran through him like living, liquid metal. He gasped against her skin, shuddering with the overwhelming influx of sensation and power. It was like - like he was now part of her soul, like the magic that now thrummed in him was her very life’s force, her light and energy and passion.

He tightened his grip on her, his nose buried in her hair, his breaths laboured and harsh against her skin. He’d never felt such an overwhelming surge of emotions and sensations before, like he’d suddenly became hyperaware of everything around him, everything and everyone around him. He could feel Cate - her emotions, her sensations, her very magic and soul, could feel her body, clenching down around him, felt every muscle tremor that shot through her…

He had never, in his life, felt closer to anyone before.

It was an overwhelming feeling - the feeling of the bond between them now permanent and powerful, a thrumming, golden connection that tied them together at a deep level that even he couldn’t explain.

He pressed a shaking, desperate kiss to her shoulder, his teeth grazing against her skin. “Cate,” he breathed, his voice strangled.

Her body trembled underneath him, high whines leaving her throat.

"Mate..." she whispered.

He pulled her against him, rolling his hips into her, desperate for more skin-to-skin contact. “My mate,” he answered huskily.

He’d been with someone before - he’d had plenty of partners before - but nobody had ever made him feel like this before, like his very soul had found its missing piece.

He wanted to devour her - to mark her and claim her until she wore his scent and nobody else’s. He wanted to leave an indent of his teeth on her neck and everywhere else, so that the whole world could look at her and know she was his. His and his alone.

He growled, the sound guttural and feral. He wanted the whole world to look at her and know she was taken, was claimed, was owned by a male who wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who would dare to touch her.

He ran his tongue along the slope of her neck, his teeth grazing over her skin, the scent of her driving him almost wild. He was consumed by the need, primal and intense, to claim her in the most basic way possible on every level.

"Azriel.." she whispered. her body was trembling in his grasp, as she moved, pushing back against him, and he understood the unspoken question, moving back, pulling out of her, grounding his teeth at the lost of contact. It wasn't for long though.

Cate pounced at soon as she could, straddling him. She stared at him, green eyes wide and unguarded...so beautiful. "Azriel. Mate ."

He stared back at her, his chest heaving with his harsh breaths. He’d never seen her look so beautiful before - her face flushed, her hair messy and tangled, skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. He’d never seen her look so unguarded, so open and vulnerable.

He ran his hands up her thighs, his own eyes wide and hungry. “Mate,” he agreed, voice hoarse and low.

***

This wasn't supposed to happen.

This hadn't been what she had expected to happen. She had never thought that Azriel would turn out to be her mate. Not because she didn't want him to be...she would have given nearly everything to have this with him but...but because she didn't deserve him.

But now there they were

Together. Bound for eternity. Two halves of a whole, connected in a way that was deeper and stronger and more powerful than any other connection on earth.

He ran his hands over her skin, his eyes never leaving her face, drinking in the sight of her. She could feel the power of their connection thrumming between them, like a living thing that grew stronger with every beat of their hearts.

His eyes were wide and intense, almost like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening, like he was taking in every single part of her and committing her to memory. She had never felt so seen before, like his gaze was a physical thing that ran over her skin, like he was able to look into her very soul.

She couldn't help herself as she sank down onto him, taking him back into her body.

This wasn't how this ritual was supposed to work. Not when she could still feel the magic thruming in the very air, not when she could still feel her very core pulsing.

He groaned in response, his hands gripping her hips almost bruisingly hard. The feel of her around him was almost electric, like every nerve ending was on fire, every cell in his body aware of her - her skin on his, the heat of her body, the sound of her breath, the feel of her pulse.

He rolled his hips into hers, like he was trying to get impossibly closer, like he was trying to push himself inside her and never leave.

She could feel the power of their bond growing with every move they made, like a golden thread that bound them together with every breath, every beat of their hearts. Cate couldn't help but gasp as she felt it grow stronger and stronger, like it was a living thing that grew with every passing moment.

She didn't even know it was possible to feel such a connection with another person. 

He looked into her eyes as she rode him, her body moving with a primal, steady rhythm. He didn't speak, but he didn't need to. She could feel everything he was feeling - desire, love, possessiveness, passion, devotion...everything.

She could feel it in the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he breathed against her skin.

She could feel it in the way his breath hitched as she moved on top of him, in the way his fingers gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, in the way his eyes burned with heat and desire as he looked at her.

Their breaths were coming fast and hard now, almost matched. She could feel the bond growing and growing with every thrust of their hips, every gasp of their breaths. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge - knew Azriel could feel it too.

She came with a cry, her body shuddering with the force of her release, Azriel’s name on her lips as she felt him follow her over the edge, spilling into her with a broken groan.

She wasn't sure what possessed her...wasn't sure what made her lean forward and bury her teeth in the skin between his shoulder and neck...but the moment she bit down and tasted his blood in her mouth…he reciprocrated. And as her blood flooded his mouth he jerked underneath her...and the magic surrounding them turned into a cyclone.

If she had thought the previous sensation of their bond forming was intense, it had nothing on this one.

She could feel it coursing through her body like liquid fire, like the bond that now grew between them was burning a path through her veins. It was like she was a channel for his magic, like every part of her body was humming with the power of it.

She gripped Azriel’s shoulders like a lifeline, her nails digging into his skin and leaving marks. Mine. Mine. Mate.

The bond thrummed between them, a golden thread that bound them together so intrinsically that she didn’t know where she began and Azriel ended.

She felt the bond settle, thrumming between them like a living thing - connecting them body, mind, heart, and soul.

The magic surrounding them heaved. There was no other word for it. heaved and swirled and tightened...and then in one long, warm rush...it pulled together and rushed right inside her. She couldn't help and arch her back, her whole body trembling 

The rush of magic was almost overpowering - a wave of power and sensation coming over her like a tidal wave. She felt like she was drowning in it, like she was being consumed by the sheer force of it.

She could feel it coursing through her veins, filling every single part of her, like she was a conduit for it. She felt like every nerve ending in her body was alive and singing with the power of it, like she was a lightning storm in human skin.

Azriel was holding onto her as the magic swelled, his arms tight around her, his lips pressed to her shoulder. He was trying to ground her through the experience, to help her ride out the wave of magic and sensation that was flooding through her. She could feel his own magic, cool and calming, wrapping around her like a soothing balm, countering the almost overwhelming surge of power that was threatening to swallow her whole.

She could feel their new bond strengthening with every beat of their hearts, the golden thread that tied them together growing stronger and stronger. 

She collapsed onto him, boneless and exhausted. She could feel Azriel’s heart pounding in his chest, his heaving breaths against her skin.

They were mates. Completely, irreversibly mated.

Mates. Soul bonded for the rest of their lives. A male and a female tied together for eternity, through life and death, and beyond.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, clutching each other like they were each other's lifeline, their bodies still tangled together. But when she finally stirred, her voice was raw and hoarse.

"Azriel..."

“I am not done,” he whispered, rolling to bury her underneath her again. 

No. No, he wasn’t done. 

She wasn’t even sure what had triggered it. Later she would wonder if the taste of her blood had replaced the need of offering her food…or if it had been something else that triggered the mating frenzy. 

Later, she would worry about all of that. 

But right now…right now the only thing she could do was to hang onto him, while he wrecked her. 

Not that anybody would hear even a syllable of protest from her. 

***

“Was this how it was supposed to work?” Azriel asked her hoarsely. The sun had just come up. Leaving them to survey the damage. 

"I have absolutely no clue," Cate admitted weakly. His witch, his mate, was covered in bruises and lovebites where he had gotten his teeth into her. Her hair stood up in every which direction and she had never looked any more beautiful to him than now. 

"We did manage to reduce the forest to rubble though," he told her as he stared into what had once been a forest. Now…now it wasn’t. 

Actually everything looked like a complete and utter mess. White wax dripepd all over the ground…the trees were broken and fallen and upended every which way…they were both absolutely smeared in dried blood…

He didn’t even have a memory of half of what they had done onto that altart during the night. It had all gone…rather hazy after the 5th or 6th time of spending his seed all over her… drily. 

Cate’s head snapped up at his words. She swallowed nervously, and he could feel a flicker of uncertainty run through her. "Did I...did it hurt you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

He shook his head. "Not even a little bit," he told her, his grip tightening around her, reaching out to cup her cheek. "You would never hurt me."

She closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest.

She relaxed against him, laying her head against his chest. 

He could feel the bond that thrummed between them, in the way her very heart seemed to settle into a steady, comfortable rhythm when he was close.

He had never felt this way before, not with anyone. He felt like he was finally home - like he belonged, like he was finally where he was meant to be.

There was a newfound sense of peace that settled over him as he held her close.

He had never known comfort like this before - the easy, effortless way that he felt at home with her in his arms, like nothing else in the world mattered. It was a new and unfamiliar feeling - but one that he could definitely get used to for the rest of his life.

His witch. His mate. His everything. 

[fanficlibrary82]

Literal Hurt/Comfort

AN: I saw this post and had to write it or I'd go insane, so have my first attempt at writing the Merc with a Mouth; Soft Boyfriend Edition

Word Count: 912

CW: Mild language, night terror, hurt/comfort, this is a Worst!Wolverine x Deadpool, Rogue is the way she is in the movies

He was too late. Logan had finally managed to out drink his healing factor and stumbled back to the X-Mansion, only to find it littered with the bodies of his friends, his family. He walked the entire campus, trying, hoping to find a single living soul, but as the faces of Charles, Ororo, Hank, Scott, and Jean were found among the carnage, his flicker of hope began to fade. It wasn’t until he half heartedly pushed the door to Rogue’s room opened that his heart lept into his throat. He heard blood pumping, faintly, but it was there. Without a second thought he began to tear the room apart, looking for the girl, and he finally found her curled under the bed.

“Kid,” he slurred, tugging her out from under the bed and cradling her head in his lap. She was covered in blood, her body riddled with bullet wounds that oozed slowly, but she was alive. “K-kid, hey, ‘s gonna be alright, okay? You…you’re gonna be fine, we’ll get you to the city and-”

“You…left…us…” She rasped, eyes slowly finding his.

“I…I tried, kid, as soon as I heard the Professor, I-”

She took a gasping breath, the rattle in her voice an all too familiar sound to Logan. “You…you promised th-that you’d…take c-care of m…” 

Logan felt her body fall limp in his arms, but he didn’t let go, he couldn’t let her go. He pulled Rogue up against his chest, letting his forehead fall to hers. Her still-warm skin pulled a broken sob from his throat. He held her until her body grew stiff and cold. And that’s when the rage set in. He laid Rogue on top of the bed and made it a few steps into the hallway before his claws slid smoothly out of his knuckles. 

Logan let out an animalistic roar, foreign to even his own ears. He slashed everything in his path, from doors to portraits to tables, until he found himself in the Professor’s office. He stalked around the room, breath coming in short, heavy huffs that caused his chest to ache. He paused in front of a portrait of the first graduating class, their smiles wide, completely oblivious to the fate that awaits them. He snarls, slashing his claws through the canvas. If the humans think we’re just violent killers, then I’ll show them just how violent we can be.

Wade shot straight up as Logan screamed in his sleep and smacked him in the face. “Me H. Christ, Peanut, don’t scare me like that!” He gripped Logan’s arm and shook him roughly. Logan continued to cry out in his sleep, his arms beginning to flail wildly, as if fighting. Wade sat up on his knees, gently nudging Mary Puppins off of the bed. “Hey, big guy, watch that arm, you might hit-mother FUCKER!”

With a roar that was definitely more animal than man, Logan was sitting straight up, arms out, claws extended. He took a few heaving breaths as he whipped his head around the room in a panic. His eyes landed on his claws, knuckle deep into soft flesh and his expression fell. “N-no!”

Wade looks between the claws in his chest and the haunted expression on Logan's face before gently placing his hand over his unwilling attackers’. “You know, if you wanted to get inside me, all y'had to do was ask nice,” Wade teases.

Logan yanks his hand away from Wade's touch, retracting his claws and instantly covering the wounds with his hands. “No no no, fuck, no! Not again!” He exclaims.

Wade falls back against the bed and Logan follows, burying his face against the scarred skin. The older mutant’s shoulders shake and Wade tenses.

“Hey, hey, hey! Logan!” Wade pushes himself up onto his elbows and grabs at the other man’s shoulder. “Honey Badger, wake up, wake up, it's me!”

“I'm so fuckin’ sorry, I'm so sorry, god dammit,” Logan mutters, and Wade is hit with the awful realization that the Wolverine was lying across his chest and sobbing.

“Lo-James, look at me,” Wade manages to get his hands on either side of Logan's face and roughly yanks him up to meet his eye. “It's me, it's Wade, I'm okay, Peanut, look, look.” He slowly moves his hand over Logan's, gently guiding him to feel the skin that's already healed over. Logan's frantic gaze falls to Wade's chest and he smooths his hand across the surface, almost in a trance. “You're…you're not…?”

Wade shakes his head, gently rubbing his thumb across Logan's cheek. “Gonna take a lot more than that to kill me, Wolvie. You were in the Odyssey,” he replies with a soft chuckle.

Logan slowly comes out of his trance-like state, watery eyes finally meeting Wade's with clarity. “Wilson?”

Wade nods, relief flooding through his body when Logan looks at him rather than through him. “Hey, big guy, had me going for a minute there,” he nervously laughs.

“You're not…I didn't hurt you,” Logan breathes out shakily.

“Well…you didn't kill me,” Wade corrects, making Logan crack a smile. “Hurts like a bitch and a half, but at least I had you in me.”

Logan rolls his eyes and lets his head drop to Wade's chest. For a long while, the only sound is their combined breathing, so Wade dares to curl his fingers through Logan’s hair. When he hears no protest, Wade settles in, gently hugging him closer. “Don't worry, Lo. You're safe here.”

AN: Hey, I hope y'all liked it!!! Like I said, the idea came from the lovely @catgrandpa and the divider I used was made by @sweetmelodygraphics

[aerynwrites]

Thank you for writing these, they are fantastic! Could you do one where Tav is doubting her abilities and is overwhelmed with the responsibility of fighting the netherbrain? Halsin would be there to stand with her and remind her of her strength, bravery, and growth. And kiss her too, because of course.

Not Alone

Halsin x Reader

A/N: thank you for the request friend! I hope this is what you wanted - I had fun writing this Bc wouldn’t we ALL be overwhelmed with that??

Word count: 1k

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, feeling overwhelmed, emotional hurt comfort, kissing, fluff.

It seemed to come out of nowhere.

The desperate squeeze of your chest. The burning tears behind your eyes. Shaking hands, narrowed vision, the inability to breath or think straight.

The sadness and grief and anxiety and…fear.

It all comes crashing down one unsuspecting evening, as the moon hovers high in the sky, trying and failing to comfort you with her pale light as you rush from your tent.

Worry about waking your companions doesn’t even cross your mind as you stumble from camp and into the surrounding wilderness, tears blinding you.

Gods, it’s too much.

The tadpoles, your friends' personal quests, the absolute, the guardian in your dreams…they all haunt you. Drain you constantly through the day and even now - where sleep used to be a respite - even your dreams are no longer your own.

A stray rock catches the toe of your shoe and suddenly you're acutely aware of the world around you once more. The rushing of air past you as you crash to the ground and the pain in your knees as you land. The dirt and grass beneath your fingers as you dig desperately into the earth. The wetness on your cheeks, and finally the broken sob that bursts from your lips.

You want to scream, and you just about let it out when something falls against your shoulder. However, the only sound that comes out is a strangled gasp as you turn to find the intruder.

Halsin, your druid companion turned lover - crouches before you, concern drawing his brows together and thinning his lips.

“Are you alright?” He asks, voice gentle amidst the roaring turmoil of your mind. “I saw you rush from camp as I was returning and you seemed…troubled.”

Shaking your head you turn away from him, shame bubbling up in your chest. That forever cracking facade of a leader, pushing forward once more.

“I’m fine.”

You try to sound firm, but the words come out broken and choked around the lump lodged in your throat.

Halsin says nothing for a moment, instead moving to sit beside you in silence, staring out into the wilderness ahead.

You try to control your emotions, try to pull yourself together, but the tears just won’t. Stop.

“Even the strongest of leaders feel the weight of what they take on.” Halsin finally says. “No one can carry it alone forever.”

“I never asked to be a leader,” you respond, voice as empty as you feel.

More tears come forward ushering out all the thoughts you’ve been holding in your mind. The things you’ve been hiding, trying to keep everyone happy.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whisper, finally looking over to the druid from where you sit on your knees. “I just wanted to find a cure for these things in our heads and every solution has been a dead end o-or an avenue to something worse!” The words spill from your lips in shaky breaths.

“And on top of all that I have to stand by and watch as my companions, my friends struggle too. Astarion and his past with Cazador, never feeling free - yearning for escape. Gale and Shadowheart trapped by a goddess. Karlach being told she is literally damned to hell. And then you -“ you gesture vaguely to the man next to you. “Bearing the weight of the shadow curse and Thaniels well being…”

Slowly, with each word it seems the tears start to stop. Or dry up. You’re not sure which. But as you continue to speak it’s as if a tiny miniscule weight is lifted. You finally turn to face Halsin, who just gazes at you patiently, concern evident in his eyes.

“I don’t say this to make it seem like I don’t want to bear these things. They are my friends and you-“ you reach out to take his hand in yours, appreciating the comforting squeeze he gives you. “I love you. I want to help you and everyone back at camp but it’s just-“

“Too much to bear alone.”

Halsin completes your thoughts exactly, and before you can speak he’s gathering you up in his arms. You melt into his embrace, surrounded by the warmth and safety you’ve come to crave from the man holding you.

“I don’t know how you did it for so long.” You admit, arms moving to wrap around him. “And for centuries no less. How did you bear it? The responsibility.”

Halsin holds you tighter. “Admittedly, at first I did not bear it well,” he tells you. “I felt much like you do now, overwhelmed by others burdens and the decisions that were mine to make everyday. Constantly worried if the path I was leading the grove down was the right one.”

Gently, Halsin separates from you, just enough that he can see your face.

“So…what did you do? How did you keep it all from tearing you apart?”

Halsin smiles then, a tiny pained thing - as if seeing you go through what he has, hurts him as well.

A calloused hand comes to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing away residual sticky tears.

“I learned to share my burdens with those around me. With my family, my friends. And they were happy to assist me, just as I know those surrounding you will lend you their aid as well.”

You open your mouth to speak but Halsin cuts you off with a quick press of his lips against yours, retreating to press another one to each cheek.

“These are not your burdens to hold alone, my love,” he assures you, eyes searching your own. “You are strong and brave, but let us help you. Lean on me as I have you.”

His words bring on a whole new wave of tears, but instead of sadness all you feel is overwhelming relief and comfort. Halsins arms tighten around you as you press into him, head resting against his chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper, not having the words to express your gratitude.

Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, Halsin rubs a soothing hand up your back.

“Anything for you, my heart.” Reaching up, he runs gentle fingers through your hair. “Would you like to return to camp?”

Taking a deep breath, you shake your head, relishing in the peace and quiet nature provides in this moment. The night is cool, and the gentle breeze rustles the grass and trees as the moon above gazes down on you both.

“I’d like to stay here for a little longer if that’s alright.”

“We can stay as long as you’d like,” he smiles.

And with that promise, you feel the last tendrils of dread slip from your mind.

You’re not alone. And that’s what matters most.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Hey! I'm the one with the ' delulu' request. I mean like yn and AZ were mates and they found out before the amarantha thing happened. And while when Rhysand was attending the ball(?) That trapped the high lords, Yn was with him too as his second-women(kinda you know) and then they can't get out and lose connection to thier family and in those 50 years the red head bitch kills yn just to torment Rhys and he literally can't do anything about it. When everyone is free and with thier family, happy and all, az is happy too that Rhys came home but he just wont(can't) accept the fact that yn is dead and is never coming back. He's delusional (delulu).

Don't grieve.

Summary: Azriel's going mad, and he won't except it.

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: mental illness. this bitch's gonna hurt

A/n: hey anon! I beg for your forgiveness because it took me so long to write this. Please don't hate me, and please tell me you forgive me or else I'll go and cry in a corner, making no noise, pretending I don't exist 😭

(Also, i hope I didn't misunderstand what you wanted azzie to be delulu about)

•○🌑○•

Azriel paced back and forth, having just been informed by his shadows that his High Lord had returned.

It had been fifty years since Azriel had seen Rhysand.

And it had been fifty years since he had seen her.

And now they were back.

The Shadows hadn't mentioned anything about his mate though, but he let it slide, planning on interrogating them later. For now, he needed to see his brother and his mate.

•○🌑○•

Azriel barged in through the door to the sitting room, finding Mor, Cassian and Amren already there. All of them, except Amren, had tears in their eyes.

Azriel took in the whole place, noting that his mate wasn't in the room. Maybe she was freshening up?

His heart rate picked up, the urge to go find her overpowering any rational thought he had.

But then his eyes landed on his brother, and he grinned. In what felt like an eternity, Azriel grinned.

Rhysand looked like he'd been through hell and back, which he technically had. He had lost so much of his weight and muscles, his skin color also having become pale. In short, he looked sick.

Rhys gave Azriel a pained smile back, but Azriel didn't think much of it. Azriel briskly walked up to his brother and pulled him in for a hug, laughing.

When Azriel pulled back, his eyes again went around the room in search of his mate.

But again, she was not here.

"Where's Y/n? Is she freshening up?"

Everyone looked away from him, and Azriel's smile faltered. But then he grinned and muttered. "Are you trying to keep my mate away from me? You do know that that won't work though, don't you? I'll have my shadows bring me to her."

No one spoke, until the silence became unbearable and Cassian broke it. "Az..."

Azriel glanced at Cassian, his brows farrowing. "What's going on you people? Are you about to ask me for ransom to see my mate?"

Azriel was beeing more cheerful than he usually was, but maybe that's what a mating bond did to people. What meeting your mate after five decades did to people. Azriel blinked when nobody laughed. Mor gasped for breath as more tears ran down her face, sniffling.

"Azriel... Y/n, she... is gone." Rhys responded.

"Gone where?"

"To where the–"

"She's dead, boy." Amren put a stop to Rhys's pathetic explanation.

And she did nothing to gentle the blow.

Y/n wasn't dead. Azriel refused to believe that. And that only meant this was some elaborate joke they were playing on him.

He laughed. "What?"

Mor turned to him, pity and sympathy shining from her eyes. "She's gone Azriel. She will never come back. Amarantha... she..."

Rhysand toom a deep breath, nodding to himself before speaking, as if he was trying to convince himself. "Amarantha wanted to control me, and the only way she could do that was by torturing Y/n. The bitch one day decided she was bored and let her cronies as well as many other fae bastards, mostly from Autumn Court, tear into Y/n. She watched, wanting to see how long Y/n would be able to hold up. I don't think Amarantha thought they would kill her, as that would mean there was no one she could use to control me. But Y/n died by the hands of her cronies."

Azriel smiled lazily. "You really think I believe the bullshit you are spewing right now? Come now, Rhys, you should know better than that. Fifty years under that mountain has made you lose your head. Go take a nice long bath, fly around Velaris for some time. A little fresh air after fifty years of routing under there would do you good. Maybe– hopefully– clear the garbage up there."

Azriel turned away, walking towards the door when a shadow slithered up to his ear and whispered that Y/n was nowhere in Velaris.

"Hmm. Maybe she decided to take a vacation with a friend of hers?"

That was stupid, considering there was no way in hell that Y/n would rather be with a friend than come to meet Az. But that was the only reason he could think of, because he would not, not in a million years, accept that Y/n was dead.

He walked towards the door, his posture relaxed as he opened the door. He glanced back once, giving the bewildered looking inner circle a smile, and called, "See you later. Have some work to do."

•○🌑○•

Shadows pov.

Azriel was practically waltzing as he went around the kitchen, getting all the ingredients he needed as he mixed the batter for the cake, humming a tune she loved.

"She loved chocolate so much. Do you think she'll be surprised?"

He asked his shadows, who simply floated around him, not daring to correct his thoughts. The one time they had, Azriel had launched into a screaming fit, so loud that nearly the whole of Velaris would have heard him.

So they watched as their master continued mixing the batter, then pouring it into a mould. He was all alone in the house, having moved in with Y/n into their new home soon after accepting the bond.

"She will turn four hundred and fifty this year. Can you imagine? It will be so exciting! I just wish she returned home soon."

It had been one year since the High Lord of Night Court had returned, and their master still refused to believe that his mate was no longer alive.

A knock sounded on the door, and Azriel looked up. He walked towards the door, opening it to find Cassian standing on the front porch, smiling.

"Come on in." Azriel spoke, turning away and walking back into the kitchen.

The Shadows watched as the general took in the mess around the kitchen. He swallowed before speaking.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm baking a cake for Y/n. She loved it when I did. It's her birthday today."

Pity entered the General's eyes at the enthusiasm in the shadows' Master's voice.

"Az..." Cassian began gently, but he stopped when Azriel's head whipped up, fury shining in his hazel eyes. The general swallowed again. "That's amazing."

Azriel smiled. "You can have some too if you want. But you would have to save some for her. She will be pissed if you ate all of it."

"Are you for real? I can have some too? Thank you so much Az."

Azriel nodded, smiling happily.

"Did you come here for a reason? Was there something you needed to tell me about?"

The General cleared his throat. "Uh yes. I was sent by Rhys. He wanted to know if you wanted to go on a mission today."

"Why?"

"Oh its just... there has been unrest in one of the Illyrian camps, and Rhys wanted to send someone to check on it. He was hoping you would want to go, but if not, he'll have to send someone else."

The Shadows knew that wasn't the only reason. It was because today was Y/n's birthday, and the high lord wanted to make sure the spymaster had something to occupy his time with instead of wallowing in her memories.

"He'll have to send someone else. It's her birthday today. I can't go on missions today."

The General clenched his jaw, nodding. "See you later then, brother."

The Shadows watched their master nod, cleaning around the kitchen. The general turned away, heading for the door.

"Take care brother." Azriel called, and the general waved before he left.

•○🌑○•

She was smiling at him from the opposite end of the tent.

She looked beautiful in the simple flowy white gown, and he felt like he was falling in love all over again.

Everything was settled, Koschei and the human queens removed from the picture, and most of them were unscathed.

Most of them.

Azriel wasn't.

He had been caught by the human queens guards, held captive and tortured for information while war raged outside.

After the war had been won, his brothers had found him dying in the torture chamber, waiting for his death. They had brought him to the tent in which Madja was operating, the inner circle rushing in behind them.

As he lay bleeding and battered on a table in the healers tent, his family gathered around him, he thought it a fitting end for him. He tortured people his whole life, and he was going to meet his end in a similar way.

"Hold on Az, just a few more moments. Everything will be fine." Rhys mumbled.

Azriel shook his head, his eyes never leaving his mate's. "Let me die. Maybe then I will meet my love again."

"She–"

"Died. I know. I was probably hoping there'd be a miracle. Or maybe I was just delusional."

"Az, please, just hold on."

His mate smiled at him, and Azriel's chest felt lighter than ever. He watched her intently as she stood from the chair she was in, making her way over to him. He gave her a small smile.

"She is here now."

Everyone stiffened. "What are you talking about Az?" Cassian questioned.

Azriel vaguely motioned towards her, as he couldn't move much without his body seizing up. "She is here. Let me go, brothers. I'll finally able to be with her again."

"What do you mean she is here?" Cassian had gone pale, frantically looking around. "No one is here."

Y/n came to stand next to the table. She observed Cassian and the rest of the inner circle before turning back to Azriel. "They can't see me." She smiled gently, glowing slightly. And Azriel watched her the way he'd watched her the first time he'd seen her. His mouth gaping open at her beauty, his eyes slightly wide. "How are you my love?"

"Miserable." He whispered.

She nodded. "I can understand. It hurt when I was dying too." She then took a deep breath, as if steadying herself. "We do not have much time. You only have two options. You can either choose to let the healers help and live, or let it all go."

"If- if I let it all go... will I be with you?"

His beloved nodded. "But I wish you would let the healers help you. I want you to love a long and happy life."

Her voice was sad and strained, as if she didn't want to say them but had to.

"But I want to be with you. I can't live a happy life without you."

"Then let go Azriel. Let it all go. Say goodbye." Her eyes glittered. "I will be here when you rise."

He didn't know what she meant by rise, but he was too tired to care. His body was numb at this point, his eyes drooping, begging for some rest.

Azriel glanced at his family, who stared at him in confusion. He'd simply been whispering, and they apparently couldn't see her. Of course they would be confused.

Azriel have them a satisfied smile. "Tell them to leave me alone. The healers."

"Why?" Rhys's voice broke on the word.

"Because she's here, and we can be together again. So let me go brother."

"Azriel... please brother. Don't give up so quickly."

Azriel shook his head, his eyes starting to close.

"Don't miss me to much. Don't grieve. Be happy."

The healers had stopped working on him the moment he began speaking, and by now he had lost too much blood.

Thank the mother.

Just then, Azriel felt as if he was stepping out of a tight suit. Like he had become weightless, lighter than air.

He blinked his eyes open, which he could do without any resistance. He looked around, seeing everything clearly. Hear every sound clearly.

Then he sat up, but no one paid him any mind. He blinked in confusion, as his eyes searched the room. His eyes landed on the figure nearby, smiling softly at him.

Y/n.

She lifted her hand towards him, beckoning him closer, and he drifted to her. As soon as his hand met hers, he felt like he was home, finally.

Y/n's eyes went behing him, sadness painting her features. He followed her gaze to a heartbreaking sight.

There, around the table where his body was, where he had been, the inner circle wept.

Cassian was bent over the table, his head was on Azriel's chest as he screamed and sobbed at the top of his lungs, tears rolling down onto Azriel's armor. His fingers were curled into the metal of Az's armor, so tightly that blood had begun welling in some of the places.

Rhys was leaning on the table, staring at Azriel's face, tears running down his face and dripping onto the table. He did nothing, just stared, devastation on his face. He gave no reaction when Feyre placed a hand on his arm.

Feyre herself was crying, a hand over her mouth to contain her sobs. Mor buried her head in Feyre's neck, clutching her tightly as the blonde cried.

Then there was Nesta, who stared at Azriel too, her hand on her mate's back to comfort him as he continued screaming, the agonising roars echoing through the silent night.

Amren, who had been standing near the Azriel's foot, quietly walked up to his head. She dragged a hand through his blood caked hair, sucking in a sharp breath. She looked distraught, and that was big thing for Amren. She then leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on Azriel's head beside turning on her heel and waking out the tent.

Azriel turned to his mate, who gave him a shaky smile. He returned it, and after a final glance at his family, he let her lead him away.

It was only a matter of time before they had to go back to their normal lifestyle.

Azriel only hoped they didn't grieve him for long.

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @lizziesfirstwife

[eccentricallygothic]

Can you write a dark!alpha Steve Rogers where his men start to speak vulgarly about his omega!assistant. You know just being very sexual and gross and Steve is just like absolutely not she’s my wife and decides to put his men into place.

Instead of punishing them he brings his omega in and has her suck him off for a good while. By the end her eyes are all watery and her lips are swollen (and maybe she was wearing lipstick that’s all smudged now) driving the men mad. As a final warning that omega is his, Alpha Steve takes his cock and cums all over her face. He makes her leave it on as she goes back to serving his men coffee and refreshments during the meeting.

Man, I hate how I love Steve. So sorry that this is thousands of years late. Hope you see it and like it still. Feedback is much appreciated. Unedited 🩷

Warning(s): Exhibitionism, dacryphilia, abo verse, m!dom, f!sub, blow job, deep throating, lowkey dark!Steve.

The rims of Omega's mouth felt puffy and numb, the corners of her jaw in pain that was ever-growing; courtesy of her Alpha's inhuman girth. 

Another thick, hot tear trickled down the corner of her flushed face and hung clinging to her skin for a few moments before dropping against the fabric of her pencil skirt with a loud pat. 

Such a sound is rarely ever loud enough to be heard in such a manner. But the dead silence in Steve Rogers' office provided that and the sound of her gagging the perfect atmosphere the ability to almost bounce off the walls. 

Her eyes were bloodshot, nose red and flared as she tried her best to breathe through it and move her mouth along his frankly monstrous length from her spot on the ground between Steve's legs. 

Steve; her husband, her Alpha, her owner. 

Omega did her best to fight against her tight little gag reflex that even after all this time of being together got easily triggered by his fat knot. 

At least, in the beginning. 

Because his wife was all about adjusting to him and his tastes. 

That had been her designated spot in their dynamic from the beginning.

Submit to Steve's authority and obey him without question no matter how depraved his demand or order may be. 

It didn't matter if his potential business partners sat across the table with their breaths heavy and eyes wide at the sight of her fucking her throat on her boss and husband's cock, nimble fingers gently playing with his heavy ballsack.

Omega's task at this moment was to suck Steve's cock and nothing else.

It didn't matter if her mouth felt coarse, or if her throat was trying to force itself shut due to the shame she felt in this humiliating position, the boss didn't care if his precum and your drool was dripping down his assistant's chin and making a mess on the expensive blouse he had bought her.

What mattered to Steve was that he was making a point. 

This girl, looking so pretty with her dark lipstick smudged all over her face and his cock along with her own fingers, lowering her face on his cock obediently until its imprint appeared against the delicate skin of her throat, a bubble of his precum that she would occasionally inhale on accident popping out of her nose as her claim mark nearly glistened next to the fancy pearl neckpiece that she wore, was his.

Body, mind, soul.

And none of these rich pricks would be allowed to entertain any fantasies about her.

As Steve pulled her face off him by her hair and grunted while pumping himself faster and faster to aid his thick, hot release, he knew his territory was marked when the shiny white blobs shot out of his tip and landed against her pretty face.

Omega was gasping for air as her eyes fluttered close, pussy thumping and clenching around air for more. 

Him. 

Steve hummed when he was done emptying his load on his beloved's messy red face until his cum coated it like a literal cosmetic mask.

She rose to her feet without protest or question about her own need when ordered, having been trained to always put her husband and Alpha first.

For good things came when he was pleased.

The slick between her legs was noticeable as Steve tasked her with going about her part in the meeting, slapping her ass for good measure as she walked by.

The sound reverberated off the walls in a manner that was nothing less of a warning. 

A threat. 

The men felt embarrassed under Steve's eyes when Omega bent to fetch the refreshments and as though it wasn't already noticeable enough, unknowingly made show of the huge damp spot that had appeared on her ass, extending downwards in thick streaks.

It was honestly commendable how she was managing with carrying out her orders as well as she was irrespective of how hot her insides were as they bubbled over and created an actual puddle in her panties that grew heavier by the passing minute. 

All of that was for Steve.

And no one else. 

Certainly not these pathetic men who could only enjoy an Omega out of force or payment. 

And never how Steve had while simply lounging in his chair. 

No.

They could never even hope for something similar. 

Steve made sure that they didn't.

For after they had left and he praised his Omega before taking her home to reward her for being such a good girl for him in more ways than one, he had made a phonecall. 

And the men were never seen again. 

They were made to vanish into thin air.

As though they had never even existed to begin with. 

[thescarletnargacuga]

Showtime request! How about a fic where Caine and Pomni get into a huge fight but in the end they are able to literally kiss and make up?

A/N:...is it okay if I make this Harlequin?👉👈

SAY THAT AGAIN

A HARLEQUIN AU SHOWTIME ONESHOT

Harlequin AU credit: @tadc-harlequin-au @iamespecter

WARNING: violence, swearing, hurt/comfort

~~~

Caine leaned over his workshop table. Pomni laid below him, unconscious and quietly rebooting after he painstakingly put her back together piece by piece. "Twenty seven..." He muttered. "Twenty seven times..." He looked to the side. Small scrap pieces littered the floor, including pieces of Pomni's heart. He balled his fists and didn't flinch when Pomni jolted awake.

She gasped and sat up, clutching her chest. It only took her a second to recognize were she was. She sighed and swung her legs over the edge of the table. "Fucking charge attack." She coughed to clear a small amount of dust from her throat and hopped off the table.

Her legs hadn't quite caught up with her and her knees buckled. Caine caught her arm. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Uh, out? I still have a boss to kill."

Caine's voice was rigid, his grip tightened. "No. You can't go back to that boss."

Pomni glared and tried to pull her arm away. "Yes, the fuck, I can! And I will! Let go!" It surprised her how hard it was for her to get away from his grasp in that moment.

Caine gripped her by her upper arms hard and made her look at him. "Do you not realize what happened to you!? Your heart-... You are not ready to handle a boss of that caliber! Stay away, for your own sake!"

Pomni bristled. "What, are you saying that I'm WEAK!?" She shoved him away, getting him to let go this time. "You think I can't handle it just because it takes me a few tries?? Fuck you!" She grabbed her sword and turned to leave.

Caine blinked in front of her, cold anger in his eyes. He stood between her and the door. "You're so confident that you're ready?" His cane materialized in his hand and he stamped the ground. Jolts of electricity shot up Pomni's body, stunning her in place. Before she could speak, Caine's hand was around her throat. "Prove it."

Blink.

Pomni immediately swiped her sword at Caine, he dodged and backed off a great distance. Pomni did not have to look away from him to know where they were; the old circus arena. Far from the manor. Far from friends. Far from anyone. He blinked all the way there with her and didn't seem drained in the slightest. "What the fuck has gotten into you!?"

"You said it yourself...you wanted a rematch. Congratulations, you're getting exactly what you wished." Caine stood with both hands resting on top of his cane. A blue aura of electrified energy surrounded him.

Pomni steeled herself in a ready position. In that moment, she wasn't looking at Caine, but the Puppetmaster. Her sword edge came alive with bright gold energy, anger contorting her face. "Fine!! You want me to kick your ass!? I'll tear you a new one!!" She roared, bearing her sharp teeth.

Caine didn't move as Pomni rushed him. His aura alone made the air buzz with static, jolting out against Pomni's sword. She leapt into the air, bringing her heel down. Caine predictably blinked aside and she swept her other leg out when she landed. She kicked out his ankles and he did a back hand spring to recover.

Pomni kept on him, her sword going for his lower chest. He perried her attack with his cane, gold and blue light flashed on impact. Pomni relentlessly cut at him, not a single blow landed. Caine looked bored. "Is this all you're capable of?"

She growled and managed to corner him, her mechanical arm transforming into it's gun state and aiming at his chin. "No."

Caine blinked as the gun fired point blank, blasting apart the ancient circus audience bleachers behind him. He reappeared behind her and elbowed her spine before roundhouse kicking her several feet across the ground.

Pomni recovered and fired her gun twice to keep Caine moving as she charged him again. She needed to wear out that damned blink. Her sword blazed with energy as she struck at him. The razor light wave cut his collar as he dodged.

Caine reacted this time. His eyes went wide for a second before returning to a steely gaze. "Better." He quietly praised as he activated his puppet strings. They grabbed Pomni, freezing her in place. She strained against the strings of energy, glaring daggers at Caine. He spoke only slightly out of breath. "You've improved, but you're not ready. I can find a different boss for you to cut your teeth on."

"The only one I want to sink my teeth into right now is YOU!!" Pomni snarled.

"I'm flattered." Caine cleared his voice, trying to stay focused. "Nevertheless, we're done here."

"This fight is over WHEN I SAY IT'S OVER!!" Pomni's yellow eye glowed brightly. Her whole body ignited with gold energy, severing the strings, and she lunges at Caine with blinding speed.

Caine is caught off guard. He doesn't even have time to focus on a blink as he dodges attack after aggressive attack. She lands a blow from the side of her gun against his head, sending him flying into a support pole.

Caine sees double and barely blinks in time to avoid Pomni fly kicking at his face. The base of the large pole that had cracked when Caine hit it, shattered when Pomni impacted. The center mass of the tent shifted and swayed as the big top partially collapsed.

Pomni lost sight of her target. Her body still ablaze, she never felt so amped for a fight. "WHERE ARE YOU, COWARD!? AFRAID TO FACE ME NOW THAT YOUR PRECIOUS STRINGS CAN'T HOLD ME!?" She looked in all directions, ready to attack at the first glimpse.

Caine was ducking behind the partially fallen section of the tent, shaking the dizziness off. "Since when could she do that??" He whispered to himself. His cane crackled with energy as he calculated his next move.

Pomni spotted a Caine shaped silhouette behind the tent flap. "There you are." She rushed and slashed, cutting through the tent and hitting the target. It wasn't Caine. Her sword was lodged into the face of a dummy.

BOOM!!

A powerful shockwave threw her off her feet. Her sword was twisted out of her grasp, still stuck in the dummy, and she was tangled in the cables that had attached the tent to the fallen pole. Dust and debris clouded her vision, blinding her from targeting Caine as he rushed her.

Caine's energy clashed with hers as he twisted his cane into the cables around Pomni's gun arm and held it there, firmly tying it in place away from his body. He grabbed the wrist of her empty sword hand. He straddled her waist, pinning her fully to the ground.

Their energized auras angrily swirl around them. They panted, both partially exhausted. His eyes are a bit warmer now, if still pained. Pomni was still glaring pure spite.

"Cheater..." Pomni growled. She tried to kick, but the cables tied her legs together.

"I prefer the term: resourceful." Caine huffed.

"I don't care what you say. I'm going after that boss." She hissed between her teeth. "I'm stronger than EVER! So strong I can make you nervous! I'm GOING!!"

Caine sighed. "Pomni....please don't. Yes, you are very strong. You have some new tricks, and I am very proud of you, but-"

"BUT!?!? There's ALWAYS a but!! What is it Caine?? WHY ARE YOU HOLDING ME BACK!? WHAT ARE YOU SO AFRAID OF!?!?" She shouted, leaning up towards his face as much as she could.

Caine was too tired to lie. "Losing you..." His energy calmed and dissipated.

The harsh glow of Pomni's eye faded as she stared up at him in disbelief. "...say that again."

"I'm afraid...of losing you. This last time you died-...your heart was in pieces. I thought your soul piece was destroyed. I thought-" Caine's eyes watered. He looked away from her as he struggled to compose himself. "Without your soul piece...you can't come back from the void. I would never see you again."

Pomni laid her head back, watching him closely. This wasn't a trick. She could hear the sincerity in his voice. "Oh my god...you care."

He looked back at her. "Yes. I have come to care deeply for you. So much so that, every time you die, a part of me dies too. When you throw yourself to the wolves over and over and over....I experience a pain I didn't think possible, and I'm no stranger to pain, Pomni." The floodgates had opened. His heart was pouring out it's long repressed emotions and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Pomni laid stunned beneath him. "When...?"

"The moment you defied your directive. Do you know how difficult that is for so many puppets? You were becoming your own person. I knew you were special, but I never dared imagined... Just how special you would be."

Pomni tried lifting her arm, suddenly remembering she was restrained. "Let me up?"

With his hands on her, he blinked her out of the cables to a standing position away from the tent wreckage. Pomni changed her mechanical arm back to normal and slid her wrist free of his grasp. She took a deep breath. "Are you saying...what I think you're saying?" She kept her eyes on his, daring him not to look away.

"I'm in love with you." He said quietly with a twinge of fear in his eyes from the vulnerability.

Pomni's heart sang in her chest. She'd never given it much thought, she was always so busy with combat, but now that she really looks at him in this light. He's incredibly attractive. He's always been there for her; willing to drop everything to rush to her aid, no matter the danger. How many times has he spent the work and resources to bring her back? And when they'd get drunk...he felt like a real friend. Something she didn't think she could have in this life, let alone something more.

She stepped closer, the uncertainty of what to do now made her anxious. "You mean it?"

"You can crush my soul piece yourself if I'm lying."

She reached out, gently placing her hand against his lower jaw. Caine closed his eyes, held her hand to his face and leaned into her touch. Pomni rested her mechanical hand against his chest, next to his heart. Caine held her around her waist, pulling her into him.

"It's okay if you're unsure..." He said with a low tone in his voice. "...I'd wait a lifetime for you."

"I've never been one much for waiting." She pulled him to her lips as she stood on her toes to kiss him.

The souls within their hearts glowed bright in response to one another. The once violent and unyielding auras around them become welcoming, if with some trepidation.

Even in a world as broken as this, one could still find that missing piece.

[pucksandpower]

Ties That Bind

Charles Leclerc x royal!Reader + Max Verstappen x sister!Reader

Summary: life as Princess of the Netherlands is pretty perfect but when health issues become a (literal) royal pain, you discover a familial connection that will change your life forever

Warnings: struggles with infertility, child abandonment, serious health issues, medical procedures and treatments

This is what happens when I’m insane enough to try juggling writing an 8k+ word fic with studying in medical school

The night was a cascade of ethereal snowflakes, each one glistening under the pale moonlight, landing gracefully upon the earth. The silver car glided along the road, its headlights illuminating the path through the thick curtain of snow, like two piercing eyes navigating through sorrow.

Inside, Prince Frederik of the Netherlands drove in silent contemplation, the weight of the day’s news pressing heavily on his heart. Beside him, Princess Marianne stared out of the frosted window, her reflection capturing swollen eyes that glistened with fresh tears. Her fingers trembled slightly, crumpling yet another now irrelevant medical report indicating one more failed IVF attempt.

“I thought this time would be different,” Marianne whispered, her voice quivering. “I truly believed it.”

Frederik’s grip on the wheel tightened. He turned to his wife, pain evident in his eyes. “I know, my love. I know.”

As they drove, Frederik’s eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual by the side of the road. “What’s that?” He murmured, slowing the car.

Marianne followed his gaze. “It looks like a bundle ... stop the car!”

Frederik brought the vehicle to a halt. They both jumped out and hurried over to the mysterious object. As they approached, Marianne gasped. “Oh my God, Frederik ... it’s a baby!”

She quickly bent down to scoop the tiny, shivering form into her arms. The baby’s skin was cold, blue lips barely parting for shallow breaths as the thin pink blanket wrapped around it did little to fight the chill. “Who could do such a thing?” Marianne cried, holding the child close for warmth.

Frederik’s face hardened. “We need to get her to a hospital. Now.”

Back in the car, Marianne cradled the baby, trying to transfer her warmth. “Stay with us,” she murmured, tears spilling. “Please, stay with us.”

As they sped towards the hospital, Frederik reached over and held Marianne’s free hand. “It'’s a sign,” he whispered. “After everything we’ve been through today ... finding her like this ... it’s fate.”

Marianne looked down at the baby, her fingers gently brushing the soft wisps of hair on the child’s head. “Our little miracle in the snow,” she whispered back.

Frederik smiled faintly, squeezing Marianne's hand. “Yes, our snow angel. We’ll take care of her and she’ll take care of us.”

***

“You know, every time it snows, it feels like the world is celebrating the day we found you,” your father, now King Frederik, remarks, gazing out of the vast palace windows at the flurries descending from the sky.

You smile, reaching for a delicate pastry from the breakfast spread laid out before you. “And every snowflake reminds me of the warmth of this family that saved me from the cold.”

Your mother, Queen Marianne, hair now threaded with silver, gives you a loving glance. “Our snow angel, right when we needed you most.”

“Speaking of snow,” you muse, “I’m thinking of wearing the ice-blue gown for tonight’s gala. Thoughts?”

Your father raises an eyebrow, “For the Children’s Foundation event? Perfect choice. It complements the theme and matches the tiara your mother has picked for you to wear.”

You grin, “Who knew you had such a fashion sense?”

Your mother chuckles, “It’s a king thing. But he’s right. And with your sapphire necklace, you will be the talk of the gala.”

You take a sip of your tea, thinking of the evening ahead. “I want to ensure my speech captures the essence of our foundation’s work. It’s more than just another royal event, this is about making a real difference.”

Your father nods, “It always is for you. That genuine desire to impact lives, it’s how I know you will be a great Queen one day.”

You blush slightly, “I learned from the best.”

Your mother, with a hint of mischief, remarks, “And speaking of learning, have you decided on a dance partner for the first waltz? There’s quite a line-up available.”

You laugh, “Oh, Mom! Let’s not start matchmaking before breakfast is over.”

Your father joins in the mirth, “Give her a break, Marianne. Our snow angel must not melt.”

***

The regal hallways echo with the gentle patter of your heeled footsteps. Lately, the palace, your lifelong sanctuary, feels more like a maze. A sudden wave of dizziness makes you pause, leaning against a gilded wall for support.

“You okay there?” a soft voice calls. It’s your mother, her face etched with worry.

“Just a bit dizzy,” you mumble, attempting a reassuring smile.

She hurries over, her gown flowing. “You’ve been looking pale these past few days.”

Before you can reply, a sharp sensation pricks your nose. Touching it, you’re shocked to see blood on your fingertips. “Oh no,” you whisper, panic creeping into your voice.

Your mother’s eyes widen. “We need to see a doctor.”

“But the gala—”

“Forget the gala!” She interrupts. “Your health comes first.”

***

Inside the royal clinic, the room is a tense silence. Your father paces while your mother sits beside you, holding your hand tightly.

The family physician finally arrives, his expression somber. “Your Highness, Your Majesties,” he begins, “we’ve run several tests.”

“And?” Your father demands, halting his restless walk.

You take a deep, shaky breath, bracing yourself.

The doctor hesitates for a split second. “You have aplastic anemia.”

The room seems to close in. The words hang heavily, turning the opulent clinic cold.

Your mother’s voice trembles, “What does that mean?”

“It’s a condition where the bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells. This leads to fatigue, higher risk of infections, and uncontrolled bleeding,” the doctor explains.

Your mind races. The symptoms make sense now — the fatigue, dizziness, the nosebleed.

Your father’s face hardens, searching for hope. “What’s the treatment?”

The doctor looks grim, “The most effective treatment at this severity is a bone marrow transplant. We will need to find a matching donor.”

Your mother’s grip tightens on your hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We’ll find one. We have to.”

Your father nods. “We will move mountains if we have to.”

You muster a small smile, drawing strength from your parents. “One snowstorm at a time.”

***

“How long does it usually take to find a match?” Youu inquire, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Dr. Van der Meer, the lead hematologist on your case, sighs, “It varies, Your Highness. Some find a match within their family, others from the global database. It can take days or even months.”

Your mother breaks in desperately, “But surely, with our resources, we can expedite the process?”

Your father adds, “Every avenue, every connection we have at our disposal is yours to use, Doctor.”

Dr. Van der Meer nods, “I understand the urgency, Your Majesties. We’ve already started to search within the national database. Meanwhile, we advise immediate family to get tested first.”

You interject, a sense of realization dawning, “But I’m adopted. Our genetic makeup differs.”

Your father and mother exchange a heavy look, the weight of your situation pressing down on them.

“We still have a vast network, a whole nation even,” your father muses. “Surely someone out there is a match.”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates then says, “Actually, there has already been a hit from the database. A potential match.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Who?”

“We maintain confidentiality, Your Highness,” he replies. “But once we confirm the match and receive their consent, you will be informed.”

Your mother’s voice is tinged with hope. “So there’s a chance? A real chance?”

You lean forward eagerly. “When will we know more?”

Dr. Van der Meer offers a comforting smile. “Soon, Your Highness. For now, patience is our ally.”

***

“It’s been weeks, Doctor. Why haven’t we heard from the potential donor?” The frustration is clear in your mother’s voice.

Dr. Van der Meer looks up, choosing his words carefully. “The potential donor ... has some reservations.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “Reservations? Isn’t saving a life more important?”

The doctor clears his throat, “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Your Majesty. The potential donor is someone you’re familiar with.”

You lean forward, your curiosity piqued. “Who is it?”

There’s a momentary pause, the silence thickening. “Max Verstappen.”

Shock ripples through the room. The name isn’t just any name. It’s a name known to every Dutch citizen, celebrated in every corner of the nation.

Your mother blinks in disbelief. “The Formula 1 racer? We’ve met him multiple times at the Grand Prix. But why would he have reservations?”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates, “There’s more to it. We ran some further genetic tests, customary for close matches. The results were ... unexpected.”

Your father leans forward in anticipation. “Go on.”

The doctor takes a deep breath, “Max Verstappen is not just a match. He’s ... he’s your half-brother.”

The room goes still. The revelation hangs in the air, too staggering to fully comprehend.

You feel your world tilt. “That’s impossible.”

Your mother’s voice is a whisper, “How can that be?”

Dr. Van der Meer clears his throat. “The genetic markers were unmistakable. Given the rare degree of compatibility and the markers we found, there is no doubt.”

Your father runs a hand through his hair, trying to process the news. “So all these years, at every Grand Prix, we’ve been cheering for ... family?”

You chime in, a flurry of emotions whirling inside, “And he doesn’t know, does he?”

The doctor shakes his head, “No, not yet. That’s the reservation. Revealing this ... it changes everything for him too.”

Your mother is contemplative. “We’ve celebrated his victories, felt the pride of having him represent our country. And now, knowing he’s family ...”

You interject, “And now, we need him more than ever. Not as a driver, not as a national icon, but as family.”

Your father’s resolve strengthens. “We need to tell him. He deserves to know.”

***

“How do you even begin a conversation like this?” You wonder aloud, staring at the blank screen of your laptop.

Your father, deep in thought, answers, “Honestly, directly, and with sensitivity. It’s uncharted territory for all of us.”

Your mothers adds, “Perhaps start by expressing your genuine feelings, without the weight of our titles or his fame."

You nod slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Dear Max,” you repeat out loud as you begin typing, then pause. “Too formal?”

Your father shrugs, “It’s sincere. And that’s what matters.”

Taking a deep breath, you continue:

Dear Max,

This isn’t a typical letter and I struggle to find the right words. By now, you might have been informed by the medical team about our unexpected connection. I wanted to reach out personally, not as the Princess of Orange, but simply as ... family.

Your mother reads over your shoulder, “That’s a good start.”

I cannot imagine how jarring this news must be. It was for me too. All these years, our paths crossed, shared smiles exchanged, never knowing the deeper bond we shared.

“Maybe mention the Grand Prix, how it has been a tradition for us,” your father suggests.

Every year at the Dutch Grand Prix, my parents and I cheered for you, felt immense pride in your victories. The realization that those cheers were for family adds a layer of emotion I can’t quite put into words.

I understand if you need time to process this. But I want you to know that this revelation changes nothing about the respect and admiration I hold for you. However, it does add a depth of connection, a newfound kinship.

Your mother, her voice choked with emotion, suggests, “Maybe let him know why it’s important now, about your condition.”

The reason I am reaching out now is not just about our newfound connection but also because of a pressing health concern I am facing. I need a bone marrow transplant, and as it turns out, you are my best match.

“Reassure him,” your father adds. “It’s a big ask.”

I understand the weight of this request. There is no obligation, only hope. No matter your decision, I want you to know that discovering this bond, this link between us, is a gift in itself.

Please take all the time you need. Whatever you decide, I respect and cherish the connection we have discovered. Wishing you all the best on and off the track.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Your father, visibly moved, murmurs, “It’s perfect.”

Your mother nods in agreement, tears shimmering. “It’s from the heart. Now, we wait.”

***

The roaring engines on the racetrack outside fade as the door to the private lounge close behind you. Max Verstappen stands there, his usual confident demeanor replaced with apprehension. The weight of the recent revelations is thick in the air.

“You look different without the crown,” Max remarks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckle softly, “And you without the helmet.”

The initial ice broken, the two of you sit. A beat of silence passes. Then Max, eyes searching yours, asks, “Why now?”

You take a deep breath. “I’ve always known I was adopted. Every snowy day, my parents would recount the tale of how they found their snow angel. I grew up surrounded by love and privilege, never lacking anything.” Your voice trembles slightly, “But there were nights ... nights I’d wonder about the person who left me there, in the snow. Why didn’t they want me? Why did they abandon me to the whims of a storm?”

Max’s expression softens, his own memories surfacing. “I grew up with my father’s strict guidance. Racing wasn’t just a passion, it was life. There was little room for anything else. I always thought I understood my family but this ...” He sighs, looking away. “It makes me question everything.”

You nod, shared uncertainty bringing you closer. “But through all this confusion, one thing is clear: we’re family. Blood, it seems, has a way of revealing itself.”

Max smiles ruefully, “You know, I have a sister, a full sister. Growing up, we were close but our paths divided. Racing consumed me. Now, discovering I have another sister, you, it’s ... overwhelming.”

You chuckle, “Two sisters. Lucky you.”

He grins, “Twice the protective instincts.”

The humor fades, replaced by raw emotion. “You know,” you whisper, tears brimming, “Despite everything, I’m grateful for our paths crossing like this. Even if it took a lifetime.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand. “Me too.”

The weight of the moment presses on both of you. You look at each other, eyes brimming with tears, souls bared.

In a sudden rush of emotion, you step forward, collapsing into Max’s embrace. He holds you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the past hurts, regrets, and questions. The warmth of the hug contrasts sharply with the cold memory of that snowy night. In his embrace, the years of wondering, the pain of abandonment, seem to melt away.

Pulling back slightly, you look up into Max’s eyes. With a tearful smile, you whisper, “Brother.”

He grins back, “Sister. How would you feel about attending the next race, not as royalty but as my guest?”

You hesitate, the memories of previous races filled with formalities and protocols. “It will be different.”

Max wraps an arm around you shoulders, “Very. But I promise, you will see the world of racing like never before.”

***

The roar of the engines, the excitement of the crowd — it was all distantly familiar. Yet, standing beside Max, everything feels different.

As you walk through the paddock, Max’s pride is evident. “Guys,” he calls out to his mechanics, “Meet my sister.”

They look up, surprised, then smiles break out across their faces. “It’s an honor, Your Highness,” one of them greets.

Max nudges him, “Just call her by her name.”

You laugh in agreement, “It’s nice to meet you all without the formalities.”

Max continues his introductions, his enthusiasm infectious. When you reach Christian Horner, he looks pleasantly surprised. “It’s been a while,” he remarks, “Though our meetings were always, well, more formal.”

You nod, “It’s a different world from this side of the track.”

Max beams, “And she’s getting the full experience today.”

When the race starts, every moment feels magnified, more personal.

And then, the checkered flag waves for Max.

The Red Bull garage erupts in jubilation. During the celebration, Max, still in his car, locks eyes with you from across parc fermé. You can see the moisture, the emotion in his eyes. The moment he is out of his car, he races over, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“This win,” he whispers hoarsely, “it’s not just for me this time. It’s for us. For family.”

As the Dutch anthem plays during the podium ceremony, tears fill your eyes. The anthem, a proud symbol of your country and kingdom, now also symbolizes the new, ever-growing bond with your brother.

Max, standing tall on the podium, catches your eye and winks. And as the ceremony concludes, he suddenly turns, aiming his bottle of champagne right at you. The spray catches you off guard, laughter bubbling up as the cold liquid soaks you.

“You had to, didn’t you?” You laugh, wiping away the liquid before it can sting your eyes.

Max ruffles your hair, “It’s my new duty as your older brother!”

***

“Hey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Max says, pulling you towards the thrumming heart of the afterparty.

The vibrant lights and chatter fill the room but everything seems to slow as you’re introduced to a lean figure with tousled hair and hypnotizing eyes. “This is Charles Leclerc,” Max grins, “One of the toughest guys I’ve raced against.”

Charles offers a charming smile, “Pleasure to meet you. Max speaks highly of you.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast to your brother. “Glad to hear that my bribe has been paying off.”

Charles laughs, “Well, considering today’s win, you might just be his favorite person.”

The two of you share a laugh, an effortless ease settling between you as you barely notice Max walking off with a wink shot your way.

“You’ve been to several races, haven’t you?” Charles asks, sipping his drink.

“In a more official capacity, yes. But today was ... different.”

He nods, his gaze intense, “Being family changes the perspective.”

Charles leans in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now that you’ve seen me on the track maybe I should show you some of my other talents?”

You raise an eyebrow, the thrill of the night’s excitement mixing with his words. “Oh? What other hidden skills do you possess?”

His voice drops to a sultry murmur. “Well, I make a mean pasta carbonara. Maybe I’ll whip it up for you someday.”

You laugh, the warmth of the moment spreading through you. “I’ll definitely hold you to that.”

Max, watching from a distance, nudges Carlos, “Look at them. Told you they’d hit it off.”

“You know, I’ve always been curious about the life of a princess,” Charles muses, a playful glint in his eye. “Is it all tiaras and tea parties?”

You smirk. “It’s more boring than you would think. But for a driver like you, every day’s a thrill, right? Speeding cars, roaring crowds, adoring fans?”

He grins, leaning closer, the proximity making your heart race. “Most days. But some nights, the thrill is ... elsewhere,” his gaze deepening, locked onto yours.

The two of you are drawn into a world of your own, the party’s noise fading into the background.

He brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer. “Have you ever considered doing a hot lap? It’s quite the rush.”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of his touch. “I don’t know about getting in a race car but I can think of something else I’d love to ride right now.”

As the club’s pulsating music envelops you, Charles leans in, his voice husky over the beat, “Care for a dance?”

You accept, and as you both move to the rhythm, the world around seems to disappear. The close proximity, the electric energy on the dance floor, and the feeling of his body moving against yours is intoxicating.

“Right now,” Charles murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear to be heard above the music, “I feel like the winner tonight.”

You smile, your gaze locked onto his, “The night is still young. Let’s see where it takes us.”

***

“I’ve noticed you’re attending more races lately,” Max comments, a teasing glint in his eyes as you both walk through the paddock.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Well, I’ve developed quite an appreciation for the sport.”

Max chuckles, “Or for a certain Ferrari driver?”

Blushing, you retort, “Can’t it be both?”

Before Max can respond, Charles approaches, his smile brightening as he spots you. “Good to see you again,” he greets, though his eyes convey a warmth that words can’t.

“You too,” you reply in a voice softer than intended.

The three of you share some casual banter before Max excuses himself, leaving you alone with Charles.

“You know,” Charles starts, “it’s become the highlight of my race weekends, seeing you here.”

You smile, “I’ve come to realize that there’s more to F1 than just the thrill of the race. There are ... other attractions.”

Charles grins, “Is that so? Any attraction in particular?”

You playfully nudge him, “Don’t get too confident, Leclerc.”

Weekends spent at circuits become a regular fixture in your life. While you’re initially there for Max, the increasing time spent with Charles deepens your bond. The stolen glances during press conferences, the private moments away from the limelight, and the late-night conversations make the connection undeniable.

One evening, after a particularly intense race, Charles pulls you aside, his face flushed from the adrenaline. “Every time I cross the finish line and look towards the other garages, I hope to catch a glimpse of you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “And if you do?”

He smiles, “It either makes victory all the more sweet or the sting of defeat not quite as painful.”

***

“You’ve made the front page again,” Max remarks dryly, handing you a tabloid during breakfast.

You glance at the headline, The Princess and the Racer: F1’s Fairytale Romance accompanied by a candid shot of you and Charles out to dinner.

Charles groans, “They make it sound like a soap opera.”

You sigh, “It’s the price we pay, I guess.”

As weeks go by, the media scrutiny intensifies. Every public appearance and every minuscule gesture, is analyzed, often blown out of proportion. The weight of the world’s eyes strains the joy of your newfound relationship.

One evening, after a particularly invasive article speculating about a rushed engagement, Charles pulls you aside, his face drawn with concern. “I noticed you’ve been pale lately, more tired. Is it the stress from all this media attention?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. The truth is, it’s more than just the media. Your health has been deteriorating and you’ve been trying to hide it.

“It’s not just the media,” you admit.

His eyes are filled with worry. “What is it?”

Max, overhearing the conversation, interjects, “It’s her health. She didn't want to worry you.”

Charles looks at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You take a deep breath, “I didn’t want to add to the pressures of the season, to be another burden.”

He reaches out, holding you close, “You’re never a burden. We’re in this together.”

You take a shaky breath, drawing strength from his words. “I’ve been diagnosed with aplastic anemia. It’s a condition where my bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells.”

Charles pales, “That’s ... serious.”

You nod, “After this race, I’m starting chemotherapy to destroy the dysfunctional bone marrow in preparation for a transplant.”

Silence envelops the room. Charles processes the weight of the revelation, the enormity of the situation sinking in. “Why now?” He finally asks.

“Timing is crucial,” Max chimes in, “She’s been putting it off, not wanting to disrupt the season. But we can’t wait much longer.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wish you had told me sooner.”

You reach out, touching his arm, “I didn’t know how. Everything was happening so fast — our relationship, the media attention. I didn’t want to add more stress.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his voice choked with emotion. “Promise me, no more secrets.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face, “I promise.”

***

“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” You ask Charles as you both sit in the sterile hospital room, awaiting the doctor who would be overseeing your chemotherapy treatments.

Charles takes your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Every step of the way.”

The door opens and the doctor walks in, a gentle but serious look on her face. “Before we begin, there’s something important we need to discuss. The chemotherapy might affect your fertility. It’s not certain but there is a significant risk.”

You freeze. You had expected side effects, the potential hair loss, the fatigue. But this? This was unanticipated. This ripped your heart out of your chest.

Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his face pale. “Is there ... any way to mitigate that risk?”

The doctor nods, “We can retrieve and store your eggs. It’s a procedure done before chemotherapy in some cases. You will need hormone injections for about 10 to 12 days to stimulate the ovaries.”

You look at Charles, your eyes filled with tears, “It’s another delay.”

Charles brushes a tear from your cheek, “We face this together. I am here for you no matter what you decide.”

The days that follow are a whirlwind. Charles is by your side every step of the way, providing both emotional support and administering the daily injections.

Each evening, he carefully prepares the hormone shot. “Ready?” He asks, looking into your eyes.

You nod, trying to put on a brave face. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional toll. Still, with Charles by your side, each day becomes bearable.

One evening, as he administers the injection, he whispers, “I’m so proud of you. Your strength amazes me every day.”

Tears spring to your eyes. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you. “You’ll never have to.”

***

“Are you sure about this?” Charles asks, his fingers brushing yours as you lay on the hospital bed.

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I am. It’s a step towards preserving a potential future, one I hope to share with you.”

His eyes soften. “Every step, I’m here.”

The medical staff move around in the background, preparing for the procedure. The hum of machines and the sterile environment contrast starkly with the intimate bubble you and Charles share.

As the procedure begins, Charles holds your hand, his thumb drawing comforting circles on your skin. “Remember our trip to Monaco?” He murmurs, attempting to distract you. “The sea, the laughter, the little café by the pier?”

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you nod for the OBGYN to proceed. “The one with the overly sweet pastries?”

Charles chuckles, “That’s the one. Imagine us there, a decade from now, two kids in tow, arguing over whether chocolate or vanilla is better.”

The image he paints eases your tension, providing a temporary escape from the clinical room. The retrieval is swift but the emotional weight lingers.

“You did great,” Charles murmurs, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

You smile weakly, “One hurdle crossed.”

The next phase comes swiftly the following day: chemotherapy. The treatment center is full of artificial warmth — the walls painted a deep yellow and the heater working overtime to keep patients as comfortable as possible — but it does nothing to counteract the chill of fear that has taken over your body.

When the nurse enters with the IV bag for your chemotherapy, Charles stands up, his stance protective. “How does this work?”

She explains the process, her voice soft, “The medication will enter her bloodstream and target the rapidly growing cells. There might be some side effects but we will monitor her closely.”

You feel a pinch as the needle is inserted and soon the clear liquid starts making its way into your veins. You blink rapidly, willing the tears away before Charles can see them.

Attempting to lighten the mood, he starts recounting some of his funniest moments from racing. You chuckle at his anecdotes, grateful for the distraction.

Hours pass. The room is filled with a mix of medical beeps and Charles’ voice, offering a counterbalance of cold reality and warm comfort.

As the IV bag nears empty, you feel a wave of fatigue. Charles notices. “Rest,” he urges softly, his thumb caressing your hand.

You nod, closing your eyes, “Thank you for being my anchor.”

He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Always, for every challenge, every step. Always.”

***

“I still can’t believe you made him go,” your mother murmurs from the chair next to you. The hum of machines and the sterile scent of the hospital room are in stark contrast to the roaring engines and burning rubber of the track that you can almost sense through the television screen.

You manage a weak smile. “He belongs on the track, Mom. This race is crucial for the championship.”

“He wanted to stay,” your father adds. “He’s racing with a heavy heart.”

“I know,” you whisper, a tear trickling down. “But he’s strong. And I want him to win, for both of us.”

The room falls silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machines. You can feel the potent cocktail of drugs coursing through your veins, sapping your strength but a necessary step to fight the disease within.

The TV in the corner broadcasts the race. You hear the commentator’s voice, “... Charles Leclerc, giving it his all today. You have to wonder where he’s drawing this intensity from.”

You know the answer.

The laps go by. With each turn, each overtake Charles makes, you can sense his determination, his desire to win not just for the title but for something else … someone else.

“You should rest,” your father advises, noticing your drooping eyelids.

But you resist, wanting to witness Charles cross the finish line.

The final laps are intense. Charles battles fiercely, and as he takes the checkered flag, the room bursts into subdued cheers.

“He did it!” Your mother exclaims.

You feel a swell of pride. “For us,” you whisper, before fatigue takes over and you drift into a deep sleep.

As consciousness slowly returns not too long after, the first thing you notice is the gentle vibration of your phone on the bedside table. Groggily reaching for it, you see a new message notification from a group chat with Charles and Max.

It’s a photo of Charles and Max, still in their race suits, grinning ear to ear. Charles holds up his first-place trophy while Max proudly displays his second. They’re both covered in champagne, evidence of the post-race celebrations.

These are for you. For our champion.

With shaky fingers, you type back:

My heroes. Thank you for being my strength. So proud of you both. Can’t wait to see you again.

Your mother, noticing your reaction, peers over your shoulder. “Those boys,” she says with a fond smile, “they really adore you.”

You nod, wiping away a tear. “I’m so lucky.”

***

“Hey, sis,” Max’s voice is soft, tinged with a mix of worry and hope as he sits beside you in the pre-op room, “Ready to share a bit more than just DNA?”

You manage a small smile, despite the anxiety. “As long as you don’t start claiming we share driving skills.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Promise.”

The doctor enters, clipboard in hand. “Both of you understand the procedure, correct? Max, we will be extracting bone marrow from your pelvic bone. It’s a relatively straightforward process but you might feel some discomfort.”

Max nods resolutely. “Anything for her.”

You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “Thank you, Max. This ... it means everything.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with a brotherly love that’s grown exponentially over the past few months. “We’re family. We look out for each other.”

As Max is wheeled away for his extraction, he offers a brave smile. “See you on the other side.”

Hours later, as you sit by his bedside, watching him slowly come around post-procedure, you squeeze his hand. “You okay?”

He groans, “Feels like I’ve done a doubleheader race without any breaks. But it’s worth it.”

Then comes your turn. Max, despite his exhaustion, insists on being present. The stem cells he donated are infused into you through a central line. It’s a simple procedure but one filled with so much hope and emotion.

Max watches closely, gripping your hand. “You got this,” he murmurs as the life-saving cells flow into your body.

You try to show a convincing smile before closing your eyes and praying to whoever’s listening that this works.

***

The pale blue walls of the hospital room have become all too familiar, the rhythmic beep of machines a constant in the background. You’re reclined on the bed, an IV line dripping nutrients and much-needed blood transfusions into your system. As your body adjusts to the new bone marrow, these are crucial.

Max is seated beside you, a crossword puzzle in hand. The chairs aren’t particularly comfortable but he’s still rarely left your side.

Max taps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Alright, here’s one for you. Seven letters: someone who is always there, no matter what.”

You raise an eyebrow, pondering. “Is it brother?”

He grins, “You’re getting good at this.”

You chuckle, “Well, I can’t help it when the answer is so obvious …”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I snuck in some of those chocolates you like from that little shop in town.”

Your eyes widen in mock horror. “You rebel. We’ll be banished from the kingdom.”

He winks, producing a small box from his bag. “Worth it.”

As you both indulge in the illicit treat, you realize just how much these little moments, these shared smiles and inside jokes, make the ordeal bearable.

Max notices your contemplative expression. “Hey, what’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have a brother who sneaks chocolates into a hospital for me.”

He extends his pinky towards you, “Always. Until the end of the race.”

You intertwine your own pinky with his to immortalize the promise, “And beyond.”

Just as the two of you are finishing the last of the chocolates, the door swings open quietly. Charles steps in, his eyes immediately seeking you out. There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand, their vibrant colors standing out against the sterile environment.

“You two conspiring without me?” Charles teases, setting the flowers on the bedside table.

Max smirks, “Just ensuring she gets her daily dose of chocolate, doctor’s orders.”

Charles moves to your side and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better now that my two favorite racers are here,” you reply with a smile.

Charles laughs, “I see. Well, the doctor outside told me your blood counts are improving. Seems the new bone marrow is getting to work.”

You nod hopefully. “One day at a time.”

Charles moves closer, taking your free hand. “Every day is a step closer to getting you out of here.”

Max, sensing the intimate moment, stands up, stretching. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Need to grab a coffee and give that crossword another go.”

Charles smiles gratefully at him, and as Max exits the room, you’re left in a bubble of comfort and warmth with your boyfriend.

***

“Grant our daughter strength and good news,” your mother’s prayer weaves through the tense atmosphere of the room.

Charles’ grip on your hand tightens and he whispers, “Whatever the news, we face it together.”

“Guide the hands of the doctors, let their knowledge lead to healing.”

Max, on your other side, offers a comforting squeeze, his face betraying his own anxiety. “You’ve come so far already.”

“And bless our family with your grace and protection.”

The prayer lingers in the air just as the door opens.

“Grant her the strength, the health, the life she deserves ...”

The doctor steps in, a manila envelope in hand. Everyone’s gaze immediately fixes on him, the room heavy with bated breath.

He looks around the room, making eye contact with each one of you, then finally says, “The results are in.”

You feel Charles’ hand tremble slightly … Max’s grip tighten … your father barely breathing behind you … a silent prayer still on your mother’s lips.

“The bone marrow has taken exceptionally well. All indicators and markers are positive.” The doctor smiles. “You’re officially in remission. You’re cured.”

A tidal wave of emotion crashes over the room. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, happiness and relief mingling in each drop.

Your mother’s whispered prayer crescendos into a heartfelt “thank you,” choked with emotion.

Your father, the ever-composed king, has moisture in his eyes as he holds you close, “Our snow angel, our miracle.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace next, his voice a shaky whisper, “You did it.”

Max is grinning from ear to ear. “Told you, sis. Until the end of the race and beyond.”

***

“Look at them,” Max says, nudging you as the camera pans over the pit crews, each member prominently sporting a bright red ribbon. “All in solidarity.”

Charles beams, joining the conversation. “It was Max’s idea. The ribbons. Both teams were eager to join in.”

You’re touched, tears threatening to spill. “It’s incredible. Both of you, your teams ... I’m speechless.”

The commentator on the screen picks up on the theme. “For those just tuning in, both the Ferrari and Red Bull teams are wearing red ribbons today in support of aplastic anemia awareness, a personal cause for them given the recent battle of the Princess of Orange with the condition.”

Mid-race, Max’s voice crackles over the team radio, “This one’s for you, sis.”

Charles, not to be outdone, pushes his car to the limit, the red ribbon painted on his helmet clearly visible every time the camera focuses on him.

Later, as you walk back out through the paddock, fans approach, many sporting red ribbons of their own. One young girl looks at you with stars in her eyes, “I wear this for my mom. She’s fighting too, just like you did.”

You pull her into a gentle hug. “She’s got this. I know she does.”

***

As soon as the statement goes live on the official website of the Netherlands Royal Family, the internet erupts.

The Royal House of the Netherlands is pleased to announce that Her Royal Highness, Y/N the Princess of Orange, and Mr. Charles Leclerc are officially courting.

Your phone buzzes incessantly with notifications. Charles, seated beside you, chuckles, “Well, there’s no going back now.”

Your father enters the room, a smile playing on his lips. “The people seem to be taking the news ... enthusiastically.”

Your mother, scrolling through her own device, adds, “And overwhelmingly positively. Listen to this: We’ve seen them together. Their chemistry is undeniable. Wishing them all the best!”

You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “I was so nervous about the reaction.”

Charles brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “We’re in this together, remember?”

Max bursts into the room with his usual energy, “You two are trending. The fans are loving it!”

Screens across the nation flash images of you and Charles — at the racetrack, during hospital visits, candid moments captured by keen-eyed photographers. Talk shows and news channels dive deep into analyzing your relationship, piecing together any crumbs of insight they might have.

A popular racing pundit remarks on a live broadcast, “Their bond is evident, both on and off the track. Charles’ performance has been exceptional since they've been together. It’s clear that they draw strength from each other.”

The public’s fascination is insatiable. Magazines are splashed with titles like Love in the Fast Lane. But despite the media frenzy, what touches you most are the personal messages. Fans share artwork, write songs, and pen heartfelt letters, celebrating love and the winding path that brought you both to this moment.

One evening, as you and Charles sit on the palace balcony overlooking the city, he turns to you, “They’re acting like we’re some sort of fairytale.”

You lean into him, “Maybe we are. It’s our story and I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

***

“You know,” your father begins, a playful glint in his eye as he slices into his steak, “I had an amusing conversation with Prince Albert the other day.”

Charles, taking a sip of his wine, raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Your father chuckles, “He said Monaco might need to extend an invitation for our next state visit given that we seem to have shared interests now.”

The table erupts in laughter. Your mother adds, teasingly, “And here I thought we were simply bonding over diplomatic ties.”

“So,” Max leans forward eagerly. “Any embarrassing stories about Y/N? I have to make up for all of the childhood adventures I’ve missed.”

“Oh, there are plenty! Remember the time she tried to drive a lawnmower and ended up in the rose bushes?” Your father says, trying to look serious.

Marianne chuckles, “Don’t remind me! Those were my favorite roses.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I was eight! And I thought it was a car!”

Charles grins, squeezing your hand under the table. “I can only imagine a mini version of you so determined behind the wheel.”

“And at her sixth birthday party,” your father recounts with a smirk, “she declared that she’d be ruling the kingdom by sundown and tried to hold a mock council meeting with her stuffed toys.”

Charles nudges you playfully, “Planning coups at six? Should I be worried?”

You swat him lightly, “It was a phase.”

As dessert is served, your mother turns contemplative. “You know, I’ve always believed in destiny. And seeing all of you here, witnessing the bonds and the love, it reaffirms that belief.”

Charles nods his agreement, “Life has a way of bringing the right people together.”

Your father raises his glass, “To family, in all its forms. To the journeys we embark on and the memories we create.”

The clinking of glasses has never sounded sweeter.

***

Charles, his face flushed with the victory of the 2025 World Championship, stands on the podium, trophy in hand. The cheering of the crowd is deafening but as he signals for a microphone, a hush descends.

“I’ve never done this before,” he starts emotionally, “naming my car, I mean. I watched Seb do it year after year and I always wondered what that felt like, to have such a connection.” He takes a deep breath, his gaze scanning the audience until it lands on you. “This season, I finally understood. My car, the one that just secured this championship, I named it after the most important person in my life.”

The crowd waits with bated breath.

“I named it,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, “after you. After the woman who has been my anchor, my strength.”

You feel tears prickling your eyes as the sheer intensity of his words hits you.

Charles signals and you’re gently nudged forward, guided up to the podium. The world seems to blur, the noise, the people, everything fading until it’s just you and him.

“Every race, every lap, I had two goals: to win for the team and to make you proud,” he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours. “You are my world. And today, in front of everyone here, in front of the world, I want to ask you one thing.”

He gets down on one knee and your hands move of their own volition to cover your mouth. Producing a gorgeous ring, Charles looks up at you, his eyes shimmering. “Will you marry me?”

The world stops.

The deafening cheers of the crowd seem quiet compared to the beating of your heart.

Tears stream down your face as you nod. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth than Max and Lando, the other two podium finishers, gleefully seize the moment. With mischievous grins, they uncork their champagne bottles, dousing both you and Charles in a bubbly shower. The liquid gold sparkles in the sunlight, adding to the magic of the moment.

Charles pulls you close, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as you both get soaked.

***

The grand cathedral, bathed in the soft glow of a thousand candles, echoes with the hushed whispers of eagerly waiting guests. Roses, lilies, and orchids cascade down the pillars, their fragrance mingling with the scent of incense.

Behind the doors of the bridal suite, Max stands beside you, dressed impeccably in a classic tux. There’s a brotherly tenderness in his eyes as he reaches out, smoothing the delicate lace of your dress to ensure that every detail is perfect.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmurs, the emotion of the day making his voice waver.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Man of Honor,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

As the first strains of the bridal march begin, the doors open, revealing the grand aisle, lined with well-wishers from all corners of the globe. Your father steps up and offers you his arm, his eyes glassy with pride and a hint of melancholy. “Ready, my snow angel?”

You nod, tears of happiness already blurring your vision. The world narrows down to the altar, where Charles stands, back straight in his crisp full dress uniform. As you make your way down the aisle, your eyes lock with his and the universe contracts to that singular point of connection.

Charles’ normally composed features give way as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes, also glistening with tears, convey a depth of feeling that words could never capture. Love, gratitude, wonder — all interwoven in that magnetic gaze.

His voice breaks as he whispers just for you, “You are my dream, my reality, my forever.”

Your own voice is thick with emotion, “And you are my heart, my soul, my love.”

As vows are exchanged and promises made, the world bears witness to a love that defied odds, overcame challenges, and brought together not just two souls but two worlds.

And as you both seal your commitment with a kiss, there is not a single dry eye in the cathedral. Because love, true love, is a force to be reckoned with, and today, it reigns supreme.

***

The soft whimpers of a newborn fill the air of the private birthing suite. Nestled in your arms, wrapped in a royal blue blanket, the baby prince stirs, his tiny fingers curling around one of yours.

Charles, sitting beside you, gazes down at your son with sheer wonder. “He’s perfect,” he says in a teary whisper.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “Our little miracle.” The journey, the IVF treatments with your frozen eggs , the hope, the fear — everything culminated in this singular, beautiful moment.

The door opens gently, revealing Max, his eyes wide as they take in the sight before him, and your parents, their faces a canvas of joy and pride.

Max approaches tentatively, his usual confidence replaced by an awe-inspired reverence. “May I?” He asks softly.

You nod, handing over the precious bundle. As Max holds the baby, a bond forms instantly. “Hey there, little one,” he coos, “Your godfather is here.”

Your mother, tears in her eyes, leans in, planting a gentle kiss on your son’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, our precious grandchild.”

Your father, hoarse with emotion, simply murmurs, “An angel for our snow angel.”

And you know what? You decide that the fans were right. Your life really is a fairytale.

[oldwritingm]

Hi! I absolutely love your writing (It's very tasty /pos) and I was wondering if I could request one where Movie!Lloyd (pre-movie events) had a bad day and he calls up reader to come comfort him and they're best friends but they're pretty obviously crushing on each other but they're just too shy to admit it? Thank you!

Yes!!! Awkward unspoken mutual attraction>>>

Word count: 721

Ninjago - Cheering Up Lloyd After a Bad Day

You rapped your knuckles against the door. It was open in a matter of seconds, and you were greeted with the bright face of Lloyd’s mother.

“Y/n! Come in, come in!”

She stood aside, allowing you to enter the apartment. As you passed she leaned forward to whisper in your ear. “I’m glad you came.”

You nodded knowingly. Lloyd had texted you half an hour ago to come over, and, judging from his miserable look at school that day, you had a pretty good guess as to why.

You made your way to his room and knocked. The door flew open before you could even land your fist on the wood a second time.

Lloyd’s brows were furrowed slightly, creasing the skin between them. His jaw was tight, too.

You plopped down on his bed, putting the plastic bag you were holding next to you.

He closed the door, keeping his back turned to you for a moment longer.

“I woke up late,” he began. He did—you remembered that. “I slipped and fell on the way to math class, I forgot my lunch, so I went hungry,” he was walking towards you now, counting off the unlucky instances on his fingers, “and I just know I flunked that history test.”

He planted his face into his pillow as he jumped onto the bed with an audible whomp.

You couldn’t help but crack a smile at his dramatic gesture. Patting his back good-naturedly, you reached for your bag. “Well, I don’t know about that other stuff, but I can remedy a hungry tummy.”

Lloyd turned his head just enough to peek at you. You whipped out a bag of gummy bears. Lloyd immediately scrambled into a sitting position and snatched it, tearing it open so violently that a few spilled into his lap.

“You are the greatest person in the world.”

You blushed a little, waving your hand dismissively. “Just some sweets for a sweet boy.”

Why did I say that. You turned away to hide your burning face. Staring out the window, you didn’t notice the way Lloyd’s face turned just as red.

Changing the subject abruptly, you plunged your hand into your bag again. “I brought something else.”

“Is it—”

At the same time you both said “comics” with huge grins. You pulled out a small stack and splayed them across the bed.

Lloyd gasped. “These are all brand new!”

You nodded. “That’s why it took me a minute to get here; I stopped by the comic shop on my way. I thought we could read them together.”

Lloyd nodded, scooting closer after taking his pick. He opened it, letting one page rest on his knee and the other on yours.

You subconsciously leaned in gradually as you read, and by the end of the comic you were literally cheek-to-cheek. You both bolted up, blushing furiously.

“That one was pretty good,” Lloyd murmured, a little dazed.

“Uh, yeah. I liked that one girl’s outfit.”

“The one in the crazy chrome suit?”

You nodded vigorously, eyes shining as you began to gush. You flipped back through the comic, pointing out all your favorite parts, making sure to let Lloyd interject his own opinions as he pleased.

You spent hours going through the comics in this manner. You were only called out of your stupor when Koko walked in, two plates of food balanced on one arm. She brought her free hand to her lips as if she’d stumbled upon a secret meeting.

“Oop! Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you two. I’ll just leave these here.”

You looked at each other and giggled, turning at once back to your comics.

It was several more hours before you had to go home. It was getting dark, and you knew you’d get in trouble if you weren’t home soon.

“Hey, Y/n,” you heard Lloyd say just before you passed the threshold.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” He grinned, clearly having forgotten his bad day. “For being so awesome, I mean.”

You smiled. In the warm light of his lamp you couldn’t see the blush on his cheeks, nor could he see the blush on yours.

Your heart thudded as you walked home. He thinks I’m awesome, you recalled euphorically. I’m so glad we’re best friends. Your smile wavered a little bit. Best friends. Yeah.

Yay! Thanks for reading, and thank you for your request!! Take care honey bunches <33

(divider by saradika)

[iwanty0uu]

Hey guys change of plans. my mom just pissed me off and i wanna run away in my backyard and hide in my dad’s car trunk so imma take it out on yall rn.

Growing Pains

I loudly slammed the door, gasping as I came to my senses.. “shit..” I should know better than to slam a door in my Jamaican mother’s household.

Before she could even start cursing, you opened it wide and yelled, “MOMMY I APOLOGIZE I NEVER DID MEAN TO MAKE THE DOOR SLAM LIKE THAT”,

I mentally sanded my eardrums, preparing for the hurricane of curses and insults that would flood from her mouth, “OH SO YOU MOVE TO FOREIGN AND THINK YOU’RE ONE OF THEM AMERICANS HUH? I WILL SEND YOU BACK TO YOUR GRANNY, GIRL.”

Being the daughter of two immigrants was hard enough, and considering you were one yourself made it even more irritating. Your mom decided it would be a great idea to ship you off to the land of the free, alone at fifteen, and send you to live with your aunt in a literal plantation in the city..New York.

The amount of paper colored faces that crossed your path at the airport was enough to send you into a frenzy, so after begging for 3 years (mostly because you would go to the Columbia University this school year and she wanted to brag about you on whatsapp) mommy dearest decided to pack up, take your dad and little brother to New York until you finished college, and explore.

Your brother was only a year younger than you, and always complained about how you got to do more than him, even though the fact that his girlfriend could sleep over anytime he wanted (with the door closed) was enough to prove how subconsciously sexist your parents could be, but whatever, you’re eighteen, homesick, and doing your baby bro who you dearly missed a favor.

But times like these, when your words wouldn’t even go through one of your mom’s ears much less the both of them always made you regret begging. Your words probably deflated and fell to the floor like some cartoon animation the second they came out of your mouth.

But that was how useless they were, and you always felt angry about it.. but you were a big girl and you should be trusted more. You didn’t smoke in the house or barley at all, you hated alcohol, and was still a virgin..mostly! But she still argued, and as usual, it made the tears well in your eyes, and your father attempting to mediate the dispute, and your brother trying his hardest to comfort you, even though he knows that he will never fully understand.

But little did she know..those tears watered the seed of rebellion that grew roots in your stomach and around your torso, sucking and squeezing until there was nothing left but long, smooth dips. The roots twisted and wrapped around your pelvis, making them grow full and round like the mounds on your chest and the one behind you.

Your hair full and thick, sunlight hardly passing through the thick leaf-like coils, and the beauty on your face, as beautiful as a forbidden fruit, the forbidden fruit. The fruit that led to the destruction of mankind.

Her words played in my mind like a record on repeat, I could never hate her, but if she didn’t want to understand me, then why bother be everything she couldn’t be?….

᪥᪥᪥

I loved writing this maybe ill make a pt 2! tell me if ya want it fr this was not planned negl I was on the bus making this but I’ll see yall again tmr!! (yes this is gonna be an aot fic🙄)

~𝓁ℯ𝓁ℯ！

[tikus-library]

"The Look"

Avengers AU - Quick Fic

Characters: Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Reader

Posted: Jan 20th

WARNINGS: none, idiots being idiots

A/N: I was at the laundromat yesterday when I saw the gif and needed to write something- so gave this.

Like, Comments, & Reblogs are always appreciated and loved.

**Please Do Not Repost or 'Fix' My Work**

Leave kudos on Ao3

“Here comes Y/N! Do the thing- do the thing!” Sam elbowed him, shit eating grin in place.

Bucky sighed with his entire soul, “Sam, it doesn't do anything, it's just a look, that's all, it doesn't matter”

“If it doesn't matter then do it.”

“Why would I?” He shot back as Sam stopped, shifted his hip out and crossed his arms.

Sam rolled his eyes to Steve, “he won't do the thing!”

“Steve get your friend”

“He's more your friend than mine these days pal,” Steve chuckled.

“Here she comes… you should see how she reacts to it, you'd understand me Steve, this one here is just an idiot.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes as Steve shrugged, shook his head and raised his hands in classic ‘I don't know’ fashion. “fine-” he bit out, stepping out between them and tipping his head down and looking up at you.

Today couldn't get worse. Today everything was wrong. Today every file that was sent to you was backwards or upside down, some were even corrupted and Tony thought it was the funniest shit, as if you could be any later now you had to do a quick debriefing of the three stooges that were currently coming back in from a mission and really as if you didn't get enough shoved on your plate– wonderful, you perked up realizing the three were right there, together, you could get it done in five minutes as long as you heckled them.

You could just stare at Steve or Sam. They were good, wholesome, wonderful guys that were not the sergeant. Not that Bucky wasn't wholesome or handsome– actually he was very handsome, distractingly so, especially when he smiled, or put his hand through his hair, or just breathed in your general vicinity.

Speaking of the Sergeant you saw him step forwards and meet your gaze, head dropping, hair shifting forwards to frame his face, lips pressed down and bright blue eyes focused on you.

Your brain flat lined.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, her determined steps halting, Bucky cocked his head to the side and was surprised when she did an abrupt about face and practically RAN back in the direction she had come from. He shoved a hand into his face.

Great, now you were scared of him, as if he didn't have enough trouble figuring out what to say to you. Now you wouldn't show your face around him.

Steve guffawed, bringing Bucky back out of his depressed thoughts. “Good gawd Buck, I forgot the effect you had on a woman.”

“What?!” He demanded, “she ran out of here in fear for her life!” Sam cracked, a howl of laughter spilling forth, Bucky clenched his fists, “you think that's funny?”

Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder, “that wasn't fear man! That girl wants you, she wants you real bad.”

Bucky jerked back, blinking hard. “No.”

Steve nodded as he looked over at him. “That wasn't fear pal, that was panic, I can tell you this much – Y/N is quiet because when she does speak she can't keep her mouth in check, which usually tends to land her in hot water.”

Bucky turned to Sam, who was wiping away a few tears, “she has literally called us both hot, but said there was no way she would date us.”

“But when I asked her for her opinion on you–” Steve laughed, but sobered and leveled a look at him, “buddy, ya need to talk to her.”

“It was pretty colorful,” Sam murmured

“What did she say?” Bucky asked.

Sam shook his head, looking over at Steve, “did you see the way she shivered at the look?”

Steve nodded laughing as he moved around Bucky, “makes you realize what she said had to be true.”

Sam gasped as the two continued to walk, “Y/N! She really is full of surprises! Scandalous!!!”

“WHAT DID SHE SAY?!” Bucky cried following the two.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Barbarian Bat: Part Three

A/N: Let's all just pretend that I'm not super behind on writing and updating.... aha? But I hope everyone enjoys this next part! We're getting angsty up in here.

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part

Nesta’s heart pounds between her ribs, the thrumming beat in time with every hurried step through the snow. She’s half aware of the cold biting across the skin of her cheeks, of the numbness beginning to creep into her fingers, but it’s hard to focus on anything other than forcing air into her lungs, forcing it around the lump pressing painfully in her throat. Her whole chest feels hollowed out, feels bruised and empty, and she can feel the familiar prickle of tears burning just behind her eyes.

The snow and the trees pass by in a watery blur, but Nesta keeps pushing forward. She refuses to give in to the dread that weighs heavy in her gut, refuses to give in to the darkness swirling in tighter and tighter and threatening to pull her under. Perhaps, if she keeps walking far enough, she’ll finally wake up back in her bed in her tiny apartment back on earth.

“Nes!”

Nesta takes a moment to close her eyes, a near hysterical laugh bubbling up and out of her. Of course. Of course, he followed her. Of course, she’s never truly allowed a second of peace.

“Nesta!”

“You are quite literally the last person I want to see right now,” Nesta calls over her shoulder, rolling her eyes.

“Nes, please. Stop.”

“I’m serious. Leave me alone.”

Nesta hears Cassian let out an annoyed huff, hears him jog through the snow to catch up to her. “If you are going to storm off, at least do it in a different direction.”

“Just because we’ve resonated that doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do, you insufferable alien,” Nesta seethes, trying to pick up her pace.

“And your stubbornness is walking you straight into Metlak territory.”

Nesta whirls back around to face him, her hands clenched into fists at her side. “Didn’t you know? I’m the stubborn one. The scary one. So why don’t you take a hint from the rest of the tribe and finally just steer clear?”

Cassian frowns, and even across the distance still between them, Nesta can see the pained look that mars his expression as he presses a hand to his chest. “You are my mate. The one my khui has chosen as mine.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be.”

“Yes, you have made that perfectly clear. I am sorry. I am sorry that your khui did not choose someone better for you. I am sorry that it is me you are stuck with.”

The words hit Nesta hard enough that her breath stutters for a moment, cracks ricocheting through her chest. The defensive quip dies on her tongue, any other words tangling into a tight knot.

How could he not know? How could he not know that she had been drawn into his gravity from the moment she laid eyes on him? How could he not know that every teasing remark, every smile, every laugh he directed her way left something warm and dangerous blooming within her that Nesta refuses to name? How could he not know that he is all that is good and brave and kind, and it is her that does not deserve him?

“Cassian…”

But Nesta trails off as Cassian’s eyes widen, his attention drifting firmly over her shoulder. He looks nothing short of alarmed, and it has every hair on the back of Nesta’s neck rising, anxiety beginning to spark in her veins. Tentatively, she turns back around and comes face to face with a pair of large, round eyes. The white fur of the creature is dirty and splotted with brown spots, and when Nesta takes in a gasping breath, she’s hit with what smells a lot like a wet dog. The creature tilts its head, peering up at her almost curiously, before opening its beak-like mouth and giving Nesta a perfect view of its fangs.

Nesta tries to slowly back away, but her feet have sunk too deeply, her snowshoes catching and dragging in the snow until she’s toppling backwards and landing with a quiet cry of surprise. The metlak lets out some sort of call, a sound that reminds Nesta of an owl hooting, and then two more creatures are stepping out from the tree line and approaching her.

“Nesta!”

Nesta's heart stutters and pounds in her chest, and she tries to scramble back away from the creatures, away from their large unblinking eyes that are pinned on her, away from their mouths full of fangs. Another hooting sound and that first metlak dares to take a step closer to her, Nesta's whole body locking up with a full body flinch in anticipation of an attack.

A roar sounds from behind her, and Nesta can do nothing but gape as Cassian goes rushing forward and barrels into the group of metlaks. The creatures are quick to fight back, arms swinging and dragging their claws against his skin. Cassian reaches to pull his knife free from his belt, but one of the metlaks sinks its fangs into his arm, and he lets out a pained shout of surprise as his knife falls into the snow.

With a growl, Cassian throws his arm out and shakes the metlak free, sending the creature sailing through the air until it goes crumbling into the snow. The other metlaks are briefly distracted by their fallen comrade, so Cassian whirls around, his hands sifting through the snow to find his missing knife. But the distraction is short lived, and soon, the two remaining metlaks have their attention solely back on Cassian, letting out more of those ominous hooting sounds.

“Cassian!” Nesta screams out in warning. “Cassian!”

Cassian looks up in alarm just as one of the metlaks pounces, claws and fangs burying into his back. He turns around before the remaining metlak can join the attack, kicking out his leg and sending it back toward the tree line. His hands reach back to try and grasp at the metlak still attached to him, but the creature rears its head back and takes another bite out of Cassian’s shoulder.

Cassian stumbles, dropping down to one knee and clearly in pain. Nesta can’t take anymore, can’t just sit by and watch. She pushes back to her feet and rushes forward. She spies Cassian’s abandoned knife, scooping it up out of the snow as she goes. She curls her fingers tight around the hilt, drawing her hand back and swinging forward until the carved bone is embedded deep in the metlak's fur. The metlak lets out an anguished sound, squirming until warm red spills across Nesta’s hands and between her fingers, but it releases its hold on Cassian and collapses at their feet.

Nesta’s chest is heaving, and the knife slips from her grip as she staggers back a step. She swallows hard around the bile threatening to rise up in her throat, blinking down at the metlak blood staining her skin. A finger beneath her chin has her gaze raising and meeting a pair of eyes glowing with concern.

“Are you well, Nes?”

A hysterical laugh threatens to bubble up out of her at the question. “You’re the one who was just attacked, and you’re asking me if I’m well?”

Nesta reaches her hand up in the space between them, trying to put pressure on the wound left behind from the metlak’s claws on Cassian’s chest. Between the way her fingers have started to tremble and the slickness of the blood, her hand slips against his skin, but Cassian’s own fingers curl gently around her wrist, halting her movements. With everything that’s happened, the touch shouldn’t be as warm and grounding as it is, but there’s no denying the calming feeling that washes over her.

“Do not worry about me,” Cassian tells her as he reaches down and grabs his knife, standing up with a grimace. “We must get you somewhere safe, away from metlak territory.” Cassian looks up and around them, taking in their surroundings. “I know this area. There is a hunter cave not far.”

Somehow, numbly, Nesta nods her head. She stumbles back to where their packs are laying in the snow, shouldering the weight of both of them. Cassian tries to take them from her, but she holds firm, especially as blood continues to slide along his skin in streaks of red. He seems less than impressed, but he leads the way through the snow, keeping his knife raised and ready in case of another attack.

Thankfully, they really don’t need to walk too far before reaching the hunter cave, but Nesta still lets out an exhausted sigh as she drops their packs to the floor. She goes to move the privacy screen into place at the cave entrance, but a pained grunt draws her attention back to Cassian. He’s dropped to his knees, whatever adrenaline that was keeping him going now gone.

He winces as he pulls his vest off and tosses it aside, and Nesta gets her first look at just how bad the wounds to his back are. The gashes are deep and still bleeding, the one at his shoulder where that metlak bit him especially gruesome. When Cassian falls forward, just barely catching himself with his hand, Nesta rushes to his side. She drops to her own knees beside him, stretching an arm across his waist to try and hold him up.

“You need to see Madja,” Nesta tells him, eyes raking over the concerningly high number of scratches and gashes. “We need to get you back to the main cave.”

Cassian shifts enough that he can slide his palm along Nesta’s cheek, thumb skating across her skin. The way his eyes droop and are unfocused has fear spearing icy cold through Nesta’s chest, twisting tighter and tighter until it hurts to squeeze air into her lungs. She curls her fingers around his wrist, squeezing hard and holding him there. Holding him here with her.

“Cassian…”

“My mate,” Cassian whispers, his words slightly slurred. “Safe.”

Cassian’s eyes flutter closed, and then he’s slumping forward, Nesta just barely able to brace him and the dead weight before his face makes contact with the stone floor of the cave.

“Shit,” Nesta whispers to herself, giving Cassian’s shoulder a shake but he doesn’t move or make a sound. “Shit shit shit… Okay… Okay.”

Nesta closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, steadying herself and willing her thundering heart to calm. She can do this. She has to do this. With a determined nod, Nesta pushes back up to her feet. She goes over to where she dropped their packs, rooting around in Cassian’s until she finds his flint. She finds fuel in one of the baskets tucked along the far wall of the cave, stacking them in the makeshift fire pit the way she’s seen the other members of the tribe do before.

It takes a few strikes of the flint, but finally, Nesta is able to get sparks. She holds her breath until the sparks grow into proper flames, the orangey glow quickly filling the cave. She grabs their waterskins next, stepping just outside of the cave and filling them both with snow before setting them above the now crackling fire to melt. It takes some tugging on Nesta’s part, but she’s able to drag the heavy privacy screen in place over the cave entrance, trapping the warmth from the fire in with them.

Nesta uses the first waterskin to pour the now melted water over her hands and clean them, and then she turns back to Cassian and his wounds. She frowns and tilts her head, trying to determine the best next steps. She doesn’t exactly have a first aid kit handy on this planet. She decides to reach for her furs, untying them from her pack.

She takes Cassian’s knife and slices the furs into strips, cutting the final strip into squares. She crushes some soap berries into the waterskin and dips the first square of fur into the sudsy water. She keeps her touch careful and gentle as she cleans each of Cassian’s wounds. Amazingly, some of the more shallow scratches have already begun to heal, his khui clearly working hard and quickly.

She covers the worst of his wounds with the strips of fur, finding some twine in Cassian’s pack to tie the ones on his shoulder in place, then sits back on her haunches with a soft sigh. She only allows herself a moment before pushing back to her feet. She discards the now pile of bloody furs and dumps the dirty water. It takes some awkward maneuvering with Cassian’s large body, but Nesta is able to roll out his furs and get him into them.

He hasn’t moved or made a sound since he lost consciousness, but his chest continues to move up and down with each breath, and when Nesta presses the palm of her hand there, she can feel the beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. With nothing to keep her hands or her mind busy anymore, it’s hard to stop the dark thoughts that swirl and roll in like storm clouds. A lump presses in against her throat, her stomach churning as she grips at the leathers of her clothing until her knuckles turn white. She has no idea if she’s done enough, no idea if Cassian will be able to heal, if he’ll even wake up. And she has no idea where they are. No idea how to contact anyone from the main cave to get help.

“Please don’t die on me,” Nesta whispers, brushing the dark strands of Cassian’s hair out of his face. “You can’t die on me, you stupid alien, you hear me?”

Nesta holds vigil until exhaustion sinks into her limbs and threatens to tug her under. Until her eyelids start to droop and she has to shake herself to keep them open. She curls up beside Cassian, keeping her hand firmly on his chest, on his still beating heart. She allows the assurance that, for now, he’s okay to wash over her, allows the steady thrum under her hand to finally lull her to sleep.

It’s the cold beneath her hands that she feels first. Cold and hard, and when she curls her fingers, it’s the distinct feel of metal beneath her touch. In a second, her eyes snap open, taking in the white, clinical walls, the various metal panels, the flashing lights. Fear grips her tight enough that Nesta swears she’s being burned from the inside out by its icy grip. She opens her mouth, tries to scream, but all there is is a lump pressing into her throat.

Nesta tries to sit up, tries to clamber off the table, but she can’t seem to get her limbs to work. It’s like she’s pinned down, like she’s paralyzed, and that fear turns into a full blown panic, clawing at her chest and leaving it heaving. She thrashes her head, trying to escape, but as she turns to the right, she realizes she’s not alone in this room.

Cassian is sprawled across the floor, and it takes Nesta a moment too long to realize that his eyes are staring unblinking up at the ceiling, that his chest isn’t moving. In fact, the longer she stares, the more gashes that seem to appear across his skin, blood gurgling and pooling beneath him. Nesta thrashes harder against her invisible restraints, tries desperately to reach for him as the familiar sting at the back of his eyes blurs her vision.

Nesta wakes with a jolt, Cassian’s name weighing heavy on the tip of her tongue. Her heart pounds between her ribs, squeezing and twisting in a way that leaves a steady ache. Her stomach roils, and she’s confident that if she had anything in her gut, she’d have lost it. Her breath still heaves out of her as she turns her attention to Cassian, but he hasn’t moved, his condition still the same as before she fell asleep.

She lets out a quiet breath and lays back down beside him, tries to lull herself back under, but sleep does not come easily, and it’s fitful for the rest of the night. By the time pale morning light starts to creep into the cave around the privacy screen, she feels more exhausted than any sort of rested. Her chest still aches like a festering wound, her limbs heavy as she shifts and stretches.

But Nesta still pulls herself up. She slides the back of her hand along Cassian’s temple and cheek, and she frowns at the way his skin feels warm, like he’s practically radiating heat. Does that mean he has a fever? That his wounds are infected? How is she supposed to know what the normal temperature of an alien is? She peels back each of the strips of fur to check, but almost all of his wounds have closed up, even the worst of them scabbed over.

“Cassian,” Nesta tries, gently shaking his shoulder.

Cassian lets out a quiet groan, a soft murmur that Nesta can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but she decides any sound is a good sign. She quickly adds more fuel and stokes the fire back to life, tugging the privacy screen back enough that she can reach a hand out and pack more snow into a waterskin, melting it down. She adds soap berries and takes the time to reclean all of Cassian’s wounds, carefully laying the strips of fur back in place and tucking him back in.

By the time Nesta has finished, her stomach seems set on being louder than even her khui, and she knows she’ll need to venture out of the safety of the cave. She grabs Cassian’s knife and keeps it poised in her hand as she slowly pulls back the privacy screen the rest of the way and peeks her head outside. When she’s sure the coast is clear, she steps out properly into the snow and the two suns already sitting high in the sky.

Nesta knows that the hunters have caches near each of the caves. She knows that she just needs to find the tree that has the markings in the bark to indicate where this cave’s cache is. She heads for the tree line, making sure she keeps the cave in her line of sight at all times as she wanders through the snow. Her eyes scan the different trunks until she finally spots the one with knife markings on it. She drops to her knees and digs through the snow until she finds a quillbeast buried there, tugging it free and piling the snow back on top of the cache.

It’s messy and imperfect, skinning the quillbeast when she makes it back to the hunter cave, and it takes much longer than Nesta thought it would but she makes it work. She cooks the meat over the fire and nibbles on the pieces, occasionally glancing toward Cassian to check on him. She’s going to need a proper plan soon. A long term plan soon.

But for right now, all Nesta can think about is how gross she feels. The trek to the Elder cave and everything that’s happened since then hasn’t exactly lent itself to the opportunity to bathe and she’s certainly feeling it. Her braid is practically crusted over with grease, and there’s a layer of grime and sweat clinging to her skin that has her nose scrunching in distaste.

She clambers up to her feet, grabbing one of the waterskins and making for the cave entrance. Darkness has started to creep in outside, and Nesta swears she can feel eyes staring at her from behind the tree line. It has her shuttering, memories of the metlaks still fresh in her mind. She makes quick work of packing the waterskin with snow and securing the privacy screen firmly back in place, some of the tension finally loosening from her shoulders when she’s sat safely back at the fire.

She sets the waterskin above the fire to melt the snow and gets started on her hair while she waits, tugging the leather strap free and carefully unwinding the strands. She digs a bone comb out of her pack and uses it to work through the tangles. By the time she finishes, the snow has melted and the water has warmed, so she crushes up some soap berries, lathering up her hair and carefully rinsing the strands.

Just that one thing already has her feeling infinitely better, but she peels off her shirt and sets it aside. She uses the spare squares of fur to scrub and rinse down her arms, along her shoulders, across her collarbones. Her khui begins to sing loudly in her chest, sending vibrations skittering through her veins, heat creeping up her spine, and her hands pause their movements. A shudder takes over her body, her breath catching in her throat, as if it knows what’s happening before her mind catches up.

She didn’t even hear him get up. Didn’t hear him move across the cave and closer to her. But now she can hear the way his own khui answers the song of her own, can feel the warmth radiating off him as much as the fire in front of her.

Despite his overly large hands, Cassian’s touch is surprisingly gentle. The tips of his fingers whisper across her exposed shoulder, tracing shapes and patterns along the skin. Nesta can feel her heart starting to trip over itself between her ribs, can hear her damn khui practically screaming away, but she can’t find it within herself to move away from him, can scarcely breathe. Goosebumps bloom down her arm at his touch, and she hates it.

She hates his tenderness and his kindness and the fact she doesn’t deserve it. She hates the way their khuis sing and twine together, filling the space of the cave around them. She hates the way she wants to lean back into him, to give in until she’s consumed. But, instead, she stares resolutely at the shadows cast across the cave walls from the fires, focusing on anything other than this big, blue alien and his intense stares and his easy smiles and his charming words and his boisterous laughter and his stupid gentle touches to her shoulder.

She tries to focus on being back on that spaceship with her sisters, back to what she left behind on earth. Tries to focus on every barely sutured wound, every chink in her armor weighing her down and promising to pull her under. Tries to focus on the sorry bruised and battered state of her heart, not even close to worthy of being offered over.

Cassian switches his attention to her other shoulder, fingers still tracing those soft, aimless patterns. The shuddering breath that tumbles past Nesta’s lips sounds too loud even to her own ears, but his touches don’t falter, and she swallows hard, forcing herself to find her voice again.

“Freckles,” she breathes, turning her head enough that she can meet his gaze. It’s a mistake, their faces now close together, but she pushes on anyway. “They’re places where the skin goes darker. Often from the sun.”

“Free-kels,” Cassian repeats, his brows dipping as he focuses on speaking the word.

Nesta snorts amusedly at the pronunciation attempt. “Close enough.”

Cassian drops his gaze back to her shoulder, his fingers resuming their movements. “Your sisters have them too.”

“Yes. Feyre on her nose, and Elain on her cheeks. I have mine on my shoulders.”

“I like them.”

He says the words so genuinely, almost reverently, and Nesta’s heart gives a traitorous squeeze in her chest. That tightness only seems to grow when Cassian shifts his head, his mouth brushing along the same path his fingers had traced moments before. Nesta closes her eyes, letting the feeling wash over her, but her eyes snap back open again when Cassian’s hand skates across her cheek. She blinks in surprise at the tear he caught, not even realizing it had slipped free.

“I’m sorry,” Cassian murmurs, shifting away from her.

The loss of his presence and his warmth is jarring, the cold seeping in around her and sinking its claws into her. She wraps her arms tightly around herself, her bottom lip finding home between her teeth.

“I had this boyfriend back on earth,” Nesta begins, her voice quiet. She’s not sure where the need to tell him comes from, but once she starts, the words continue to flow out of her. “Sort of like a pleasure mate, I guess. But he was… cruel. He was awful. He made me feel weak. And when I finally left him, I swore to myself that I would never feel weak again. But I did. On that spaceship. Waking up there and seeing Elain and Feyre and knowing there was nothing I could do to save them. That I couldn’t save them. I felt just as powerless again. I want to stop feeling weak and powerless.”

Cassian reaches across the space between them, settling his hand overs and stopping her from twisting her fingers into knots. “I could train you, if you want. Teach you how to use our hunting weapons, so you can always protect yourself. So you will always feel strong.”

For a moment, Nesta can do nothing but stare at him, her heart lodged firmly in her throat and tangling with the words there. This is a ledge, one that she can’t come back from if she steps off it, and the ground is shaky beneath her feet. If Cassian picks up on her trepidation, he doesn’t let on. He merely watches her quietly, patiently, his thumb sliding almost soothingly along the back of her hand.

“And what if I decide to use those skills to fight you?” Nesta teases lightly, hoping to steer the conversation back to familiarity, to steady footing.

“Then I would know that I trained you well,” Cassian tells her sincerely. “I would be proud of you.”

Nesta pulls her hands free from Cassian’s touch, turning her attention fully back to the fire. “You should be resting. You shouldn’t be up. You’re still healing.”

Cassian lets out a soft sigh, but Nesta can’t bear to turn and look at him, to see the expression she’s sure is on his face. She hears him move away, the shuffles as he moves back toward the furs. She bites her lip to keep it from trembling, grabbing her shirt and yanking it back on.

“What is your plan then?” Cassian asks from behind her. “We will have to go back to the main cave.”

“I know,” Nesta murmurs, curling her knees up against her chest.

“Rhys is a good leader. He will not force… it will be your choice, but we will not be able to keep it a secret any longer. Everyone will know that we have resonated.”

“Maybe just you should go back to the cave then. Then, no one will know your mate is the scary one.”

“You think that is what I wish?”

Nesta lets out a dry, mocking laugh, whirling around to face him. “It’s what you should want. There’s something wrong with me.”

Cassian frowns, tilting his head curiously. “Are you well, Nes? We will have Madja speak with your khui. We will fix it.”

“You don’t get it,” Nesta huffs frustrated, barely stopping her eye roll. “You can’t fix it. They can’t even fix it back on earth. It’s… it’s inside my head. In my mind.”

Cassian’s expression is pained as he watches her, like his own heart is breaking at the admission. He hesitates for a second before closing the distance between them again, his hands reaching up to frame her face. He presses his forehead against hers, each touch so gentle, so caring, and Nesta’s vision starts to blur.

“Then tell me how I can help. Tell me how to ease this pain in your head.”

Nesta shakes her head, swallowing down a choked sob before it can escape. “I’m telling you. You can’t. I’m broken.”

“I refuse to believe that,” Cassian tells her fiercely, his thumbs catching every tear that slips free and slides down her cheeks. “Because there is nothing broken to fix.”

“You just don’t understand,” Nesta scoffs.

“And you do not see what I see. I know that you are hurting. That these males in your past have hurt you. But I see how you still walk with your head held high. You are still so strong. I see how fiercely you care for your sisters, that you would do anything for them. I see everything that you do at the cave and everything that you are doing now, and I am honored that my khui has chosen you as my mate.”

Nesta pulls her face free from Cassian’s grip, scrubbing the back of her hand against her cheeks. “I thought I told you to rest.”

“You need to rest too.”

“I will.”

Cassian scrutinizes her for a moment, but when he finally seems satisfied with what he sees, he nods his head. He moves back over to the furs, but rather than slip beneath them, he begins to rearrange them, fluffing them up, preparing them.

“What are you doing?” Nesta demands even though she already knows the answer. “Cassian.”

“I will not have my mate be cold,” Cassian explains, as if it’s that simple, shifting the furs closer to the fire.

“I’m not the one who’s injured. You’re still healing.”

“I do not care.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at that, crossing her arms across her chest. “Gods, you can be so stubborn, did you know that?”

“Then we are evenly matched,” Cassian tells her, meeting her gaze head on.

Nesta sighs, already knowing she’s going to regret this. “Fine. We can share. Then everyone wins. Just… just don’t make it weird.”

Cassian’s expression betrays nothing, but he gestures toward the furs for her to go first. With another roll of her eyes, Nesta moves and slips beneath the furs. She shifts as far to the edge as she can, keeping her back to Cassian as he clambers beneath the furs beside her. She relaxes once he’s settled, but it’s short lived when his arms reach out and curl around her, tugging her back into his chest.

“Cassian,” Nesta warns between clenched teeth.

“I am not making it weird. I am merely helping to keep you warm.”

It's a lie and they both know it. Especially with the way his hand flexes against her waist, his arms tightening. As though he's afraid she'll disappear on him, as though he's desperate to keep her here in his embrace just a little bit longer. And maybe Nesta should call him out on it, maybe it makes her selfish, but she allows herself to sink back into him, allows her eyes to flutter closed, allows his warmth and the security of his arms around her and the steady beat of his heart at her back lull her into blissful sleep.

—

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