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goldengirliez · 10 days

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STEALING MIKEY'S KEYS SO HE'S LATE FOR A MEETING>>>>>

09:32 pm

I believe that intimacy is the new kind of pure love. Getting to know someone on a deeper level is something that goes beyond simple attachment, it goes beyond the simple but necessary need of validation.

Being intimate means getting on the same frequency level as a person and communicating effectively with each word, each action, and each stare.

Intimacy isn't something you only find under the sheets until sweat, tears and arousal dampen the mattress. Its true nature lies in between the actions of your everyday life, moments that don't need any kind of particular reason to happen and yet feel special because you are there, you are connected.

You have realised such a thing only briefly as the air is getting in and out of your lungs hectically, your breath coming short and irregular and the adrenaline rushing through your veins full speed with each pump of your vital muscle.

Your legs almost shake and your feet ache slightly, your eyes darting to the person in front of you with an excited and rebellious glimmer, the glint of life.

You've been running away from Mikey for the last ten minutes because you had taken the keys to his motorbike.

He has been spending every evening with Toman recently, not passing by your home to even say goodnight because the meetings always finish late at night.

You know that he always tries his best to make it up to you for the lost time with his ways of bringing your favourite sweets to school, taking you home and around the city with his bike whenever you need to, sending you a sweet message randomly throughout the day to check up on you, never missing the opportunity to hug you, kiss you or keeping you close when you pass by, and yet… You can't help but miss him more than anything.

You tried to talk to him about it but he prefers for you to not get too involved in his gang business: he fears your safety, not wanting hundreds of testosterone-filled guys to get close to his beloved.

You fear nothing when he's by your side but he still turns you down when you ask to come along with him: he has lost too many people he cared about for his good and he has no intention of putting you in danger even the slightest.

This had to change.

That's why you're preventing him from heading to the meeting of Toman until he makes up his mind.

“Y/N! I'm gonna be late, please, give me those darn keys back, goddamnit!!”

His voice spurts out desperately, short puffs of air coming out of his mouth as he tries to catch his breath: you're fast for fuck’s sake!

He is a bit pissed at you for acting this stubborn, sure, but he can't help the wide smile that plasters on his face the more he hears you laugh every time he can't catch you, every time you hide behind his motorbike and fool him by running in the opposite direction, almost tripping on your own feet.

That smile of yours, that light in your eyes is worth every spare minute of his life and the meeting can wait if that means he has the chance to see you this full of energetic playfulness.

You're both in the flowers of your youth and sometimes you forget that due to how harsh life experiences can be. Moments like these make up for the lost time.

As you raise your hand high and shake his keys, making them jingle as you do so, you can't help but feel overpowered by pride: having your super athletic boyfriend, the invincible Mikey whining out to you so he can get what he wants isn't an everyday occurrence (I mean– unless he's begging for sweets or your attention, of course). Maybe you could break him and he would finally let you come along in one of his meetings.

“Begging ain't gonna do shit, you gotta work for it, Mikey!”

Sprinting to the other side of the garden of his house, you can feel him sigh exasperatedly and follow you along as he mutters “If I catch you–" in between a breathy laugh.

The wind feels magical against your skin, the cool breeze of the night after a heated summer day gives you goosebumps and yet you feel hot all over; your blood pressure rising with each stride of your run is what keeps you going, laughing nonstop as you stare up the full moon over your head briefly, savouring such a moment that will surely become a core memory of yours.

As you hide behind his motorbike once again, Mikey stops a few feet away from you, the vehicle is the only thing separating your bodies.

“You’re a menace, y/n!”

You shrug at his words, rotating his keys on the tip of your index finger with a proud expression.

“I guess that dating a delinquent made the trick– eek!”

You can't even finish your sentence as Mikey takes a run-up and easily jumps over his CB250T and lands not so graciously on top of you, making you fall on the grass with a thud. The impact doesn't hurt that much though, not when Mikey put a hand behind your head right on time so you couldn't injure the slightest.

He couldn't resist the urge to bring you down and wipe off your face that shit-eating grin and see that cute pout your peachy lips make every time he catches you by surprise. He's a weak man, bear with him.

Pinning you down on the floor he takes away his keys from your hand and smiles toothly: his rosy cheeks and messy hair shine under the moonlight, his obsidian gems staring into your soul easily make you melt and your initial annoyance turns into an amused laugh. He's your angel, no matter what.

“Sorry, what were you saying about dating a delinquent?”

Rolling your eyes at his statement, your smile slowly fades when he gets off you and brushes some grass away from your shirt with his hand, before kissing the top of your head with the soft petals of his lips.

He was going to leave again and that thought screeches inside your brain. It doesn't sit well with you the fact that he's keeping you detached from a big aspect of his life… There's a strong gut feeling that tells you you shouldn't let it slide, you should insist on being part of this area of his life because, if you don't, something extremely bad will happen in the future.

And Mikey sees right through you, he always does, because he loves you and he is connected to your being in every way for respect and admiration.

He feels the intimate bond you two share, he can almost touch that connection, he can feel the burn of the red string that connects the two of you.

He can feel his bones ache under the weight of letting you drown away from him so sad and helpless and whenever he sees your angelic face darken out of worry and fear for him, for the both of you.

He knew why you took the keys away from him that day and he couldn't help finding it amusing and cute... but believe me when I say he's not blind and recognises the desperate attempt to have yourself near him for longer.

Mikey stands up from the ground and offers you his hand to stand up, his calloused hand brushes against your tender palm and holds in a strong and warm hold that doesn't flatter even when you're finally standing.

Staring down at your feet, your voice comes out in a whisper, a loving but pained one.

“Please, be careful Mik–”

“Hop on.”

Your head snaps up, your eyes searching for his out of confusion and then hope.

The two of you are intimate, you understand each other's worries and can feel them within your organs, you can feel each emotion run through your being and resonate like a magnetic wave from you to him and vice versa.

You two are flames that burn for love, with love: your glint should never flatter, you deserve to feel it alive and vibrating.

Mikey smiles at you as he puts his helmet on top of your head and secures it attentively.

“I'll keep you safe, pinkey promise”.

That's your man to you.

I have had this idea bouncing inside my head for a while now! I've been inspired by this post of the sweet @xsleepinggoodx.

I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it.

English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes!

Sending y'all hugs. ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

©GOLDENGIRLIEZ do not repost or modify on any platform.

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burst-of-iridescent · 4 months

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What would change in the Zutara ship/dynamic and/or Zuko and Katara individually if Zuko didn't betray Katara in Ba Sing Se and immediately chose her?

i think most canon divergent zutara fanfictions get it right: they'd probably become close friends in no time, and develop a dynamic similar to what they have in the ember island players. but there's a reason this scenario is best left to fanon - as fun as it would be to see more zutara bonding in the first half of book three, there's always something lost for something gained, and in this case it would likely come at the cost of the depth and intimacy they developed in canon through the WAT and TSR arcs.

it is vitally important to their relationship development that katara gets to be deeply, righteously angry at zuko, and particularly that she goes on her field trip to find yon rha while they're still not on friendly terms. not only does her anger bar her from instinctually falling into a caretaking role with zuko as she does with most of the gaang at one point or another, allowing her to be cared for rather than being the carer, it also frees her from feeling like she needs to fit into any perceived image he might have of her. katara makes it clear to zuko that she owes him nothing - least of all her friendship, and everything that entails.

and it is this very lack of obligation that gives katara the freedom to be wholly and entirely herself. people always point to how katara behaves "uncharacteristically" in the southern raiders to prove that zuko is a bad influence, but the truth is that the way she acts in tsr is an inherent part of who she is. katara can be cold, furious and vengeful just as she can be warm, compassionate and friendly, and the fact that she can freely show both sides to zuko isn't because he's pushing her to be someone she's not, but because she has no need to live up to an idealised version of herself.

this would likely still apply to a degree in a no-betrayal au (tsr would happen in any version of book 3, just because it's so significant to katara's arc), but i find it probable that katara might be more hesitant about bringing zuko along, or less willing to bloodbend before him so readily. katara has to witness zuko's lowest point before she allows him to see hers. she has to take her dark-night-of-the-soul journey with someone she knows has neither the right nor the willingness to condemn her choices, in order to be able to focus entirely on herself and what she needs. very telling that she doesn't ask aang, her future husband, to go with her for support.

it's because zuko allows himself to be a whetstone for the blade of her fury, because he cares enough to find out why, because he tries to help when she's given him no reason to do so, because he stands shoulder-to-shoulder with her at her darkest, most conflicted hour without forcing her to bear the burden of caring what he thinks or feels about it, that katara is able to forgive and befriend him. it is because they see each other at their highest and lowest moments that they're able to have the deepest and most intimate relationship of anyone in the gaang. and none of that would've happened without the betrayal in ba sing se.

after all, love is brightest in the dark.

#zutara #zutara asks #zutara meta

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minarisplaything · 9 months

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Relaxation ft. TWICE Jihyo

pairing: TWICE jihyo x male reader rating: M summary: After a long day at work you help your girlfriend unwind. tags: oral sex, fingering author's note: technically not a new fic, just new to tumblr. cross-post of an older one-shot from AO3 in honor of Jihyo's solo!

There was nothing easy about being the leader of a group. Especially not when that group was considered a nation’s jewel and international sensation. But such was the life of Park Jihyo.

A faithful trainee of ten years to her company was finally paid off when she debuted as a member of TWICE. Of course her duties didn’t cease there. As a leader she was held to a higher expectation, to lead by example, even amidst the skyrocketing success the group experienced.

It wasn’t easy and needless to say stress relief had become a vital part of her routine these days. Which in turn meant that as her boyfriend, you had a vital role to play.

“Ahhh!”

The exasperated sound came from Jihyo as she dramatically threw herself on your bed. You couldn’t help but let the corners of your lips quirk in a smile of amusement.

“A busy day?”

“A long day” she muttered into the mattress before turning on her side, propping her head up one hand as she looked over at you. “The schedule was only meant to last until the evening and turned into an all-night affair.”

Your expression shifted, a slight frown forming as she explained. You knew what the general public would say to such complaints, they’d probably crucify her for daring to say such things. But they didn’t see her like you did; when the cameras were off and exhaustion and fatigue were allowed to show through.

You moved towards her, sitting on the edge of the bed and running a comforting hand through her hair, “Babe, I’m sorry. You should’ve stayed home and got some rest.”

“I know, but I wanted to see you” she responded as she leaned into your touch. “It’s been so long.”

She wasn’t wrong. If it wasn’t a shooting schedule then she was away on tour or promoting overseas or preparing for a comeback. Not to mention fan events and having to navigate your own nine-to-five work hours. In the end it was a mixture that left the two of you very little time to meet up in person. It made moments like this all the more significant.

“I know,” a sad smile crossed your features before you leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “I missed you.”

Before you could pull away Jihyo’s free hand wrapped around the back of your neck. She pulled you back down, this time her lips initiating a kiss against yours. In contrast to your own however, there was nothing quick about it, it was soft and intimate leaving your head spinning. You were more than happy to indulge the kiss, sliding back further onto the bed for a better angle. Jihyo took advantage of the situation, shifting her own position so that she was sat atop you, your lips never parting in the process. Your hands naturally went to her waist, the kiss between the two of your deepening with a hint of desperation. Truth be told if the two of you didn’t take this moment now you didn’t know when the next chance would come.

A low moan left you as Jihyo rolled her hips against yours. God, she knew just how to drive you crazy.

When she pulled back and sat up, her hips still rocking over your clothed hips, you couldn’t help but look at her with adoration. In turn, Jihyo reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head in one movement. She must have noted the way your eyes immediately drifted to her lace covered breast as she reached down and tilted your chin upwards.

“My eyes are up here you know” she teased, a knowing smirk on her features.

“I know” you shot back, unashamed to be caught, “I was just appreciating the other aspects of you.” Pushing yourself up with one arm you captured her lips in a quick kiss, “Every part of you is beautiful.”

In the light you could just barely make out a blushing hue coating your girlfriend’s cheeks. It was a sincere comment, momentarily interrupting the steamy build-up but you couldn’t help yourself. Any chance you could get to remind Jihyo that of how beautiful she was you took it.

“Flattery will get you nowhere” Jihyo finally responded, pushing you back down to the bed but unable to hide the smile on her features.

Wearing that same smile she reached behind her, unclasping her bra and shrugged off the straps, exposing her full breast to your adoring gaze. You had no words, however while you were speechless you were certain she could feel your appreciation growing beneath her.

In that moment it struck you that you truly might be the luckiest man in the world.

“Like what you see?”

You could practically hear the smirk in her voice but rather than answer her you leaned up again, this time your mouth aiming for her breast instead of her lips. Like a babe your lips encircled one, a moan escaping Jihyo as your tongue swirled around the hardened nipple. Her hands rose, combing through your hair as you continued your foreplay. You could still remember when she used to tease you that you only liked her for her bust. It was a claim you refuted time and time again. However in moments like this you were inclined to show your appreciation and remind her that her breasts were nothing to be ashamed of.

“Baby…” Jihyo's moan of encouragement echoed in your ears.

As you continued your ministrations the movement of her hips was steadily becoming more erratic. If you weren't careful she'd undo you before you even got your clothes off.

You pulled back and ceased your actions, earning a disappointing sound from your girlfriend. You couldn't help but chuckle however you didn't linger on it as you snaked an arm around her waist and flipped her over so she was the one on the bed.

"Just lay back and let me do all the work" you instructed her as you leaned down, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. "You've earned a break."

A small sigh left her as her eye-lids fluttered closed for a moment. You knew she had two weaknesses, one of them being her neck. Even if you couldn't mark her that didn't mean you couldn't tempt her. "Mm, I could get used to this kind of break."

"Should I start coming by backstage at the music shows?"

You teased her as your hands traveled lower, between her breasts and towards the waistband of her sweatpants.

"That would be nice...Much better than sitting around waiting."

"You'd have to come up with an explanation to your band members."

Her breath hitched as your fingers slipped beneath her waistband, wiggling eagerly against your touch. "T-they'd understand."

Truthfully all of TWICE could likely use a good break but Jihyo was your only concern. Surely none of them woulf complain about their cherished leader taking a break? With that in mind you finally ceased your teasing as you slipped one finger inside of her, stretching her for the first time tonight before sliding in another.

If you couldn't make it to the music shows then tonight would simply have to do.

Jihyo responded with enthusiasm, a moan falling past her lips as one hand gripped your shoulder. "Please" she breathed, dismayed at your lack of movement.

On another night you might have teased her further but tonight was about helping her unwind. Her plea was all it took for your wrist to begin moving in steady motions.

There were many beautiful sights in the world, some natural and others manmade, that would take your breath away. You, however, had yet to find a better sight to gaze upon than your girlfriend when she was being worked towards a blissful orgasm. Her head was tossed back, her short splayed against the mattress. Her chest rose and fell at an increasing rate, tempting you with each passing moment. She was an angel and you were going to do your damndest to make her see heaven.

“Ah!”

Your thumb teased her clit as your fingers continued to pump in and out of her earning a rather vocal response. You couldn’t stop yourself from chuckling as a certain memory was brought to mind.

"It's a good thing we don't have to worry about being quiet for your roommates, huh?"

"Don't -- ah -- don't make me laugh!"

Her attempt a response was interrupted by another moan. One thing you loved about Jihyo was that she was never shy about showing her appreciation. Of course when you had been sneaking around trying not to wake her fellow members in the dorm it became a bit of a challenge, needless to say.

"You're so beautiful" you told her, a kiss pressing to her neck, trailing your lips further down as you said, "And I think I can give you better than two fingers."

"Babe…?" it came out as a whine as you pulled your fingers out. She raised her head to see what you were doing only to see your head now settled between her legs. “Oh.”

You placed a series of lingering kisses along her inner thighs knowing full well what her weak spots were before turning your attention to where she wanted it most. In a matter of moments Jihyo had gone from confusion to resuming her moans, her hand quickly moving to the back of your head. A bit amusing seeing as you didn’t need the extra motivation to continue what you were doing.

“You’re spoiling me” Jihyo moaned as you went to work. Had your mouth been free you would have told her that it was your pleasure. After all, having the TWICE leader spread naked on your bed was as just as much a blessing for you.

As you continued your ministrations you felt all the telltale signs that your girlfriend was getting close to her sweet release. Her fingers pulled tightly on your hair, her thighs tightening around your head. It caused you to double your efforts, encouraging her to release all stress she had built up during the day.

“A-ah! I’m so close, baby” Jihyo muttered, almost incoherent as her orgasm came crashing down on her.

It was always a sight to behold and had it been possible you would’ve been even more turned on than you already were. A muffled scream left her lips as she tried to cover her mouth - though in truth it had little effect. As Jihyo shuddered you continued to work her through her orgasm with your fingers, riding it out for all it was worth.

“You’re beautiful when you cum, you know that?” did you look a bit smug? Perhaps. Though you’d say it was due to a sense of accomplishment.

Jihyo merely poked her foot at you, not having the strength to throw a pillow. “You’re embarrassing when you say those things.”

In response you merely laughed, unashamed of the words. “So are you feeling better now?”

Jihyo hummed, her head tilting to the side but it was her gaze that said it all as it drifted down to the rather noticeable bulge constricted by your pants. She bit her finger, eyeing you expectantly, “Mm, I think I have one or two kinks that need ironing out.”

With a grin you rose to your knees, undoing your buckle. “You know, I think I can help with that.”

Even if the two of you rarely got these moments together, you had to admit: life was good.

#kpop smut #male reader #twice x reader #twice smut #jihyo smut #twice imagines

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nyerus · 8 months

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The Narrative Importantance of Hualian's Sexual Intimacy

This is a repost and minor edit of a thread I made on Twitter yesterday. This is a topic I have always wanted to talk about because of how often it comes up in TGCF fandom, time and time again.

‼️CW: mentions of sexual assault, self-harm, bodily injury‼️

⚠️Major spoilers for the entire novel ahead⚠️

---

Saw a question the other day on what relevance Hualian being sexually intimate by the end of the novel had to either the narrative or Xie Lian's character arc.

In short: it bears significant relevance, especially in context of other themes the novel explores like bodily autonomy.

Throughout the novel, we see time and time again that Xie Lian is often dehumanized by pretty much everyone—including himself—with the sole exception of Hua Cheng. I've talked more in depth about it in an old twt thread, for those interested. @/stalliondany on twt has also made an excellent recent analysis that goes deeper into the specific ways Xie Lian was used as a physical shield, martyr, or scapegoat for others without thought to his humanity or suffering. I highly recommend reading it first!

But to sum it all up: it's important to Xie Lian's character arc to keep in mind that he is used to seeing his own body as a tool to solve problems. And in crucial narrative moments, he is robbed of his bodily autonomy, and either brutalized or violated in service of others.

One of the plot points that ties together all these concepts is actually... Xie Lian's chastity vows. That will be the main focus of this post.

When he was a young teen (or possibly as a child), Xie Lian took an oath of chastity because such was the norm for cultivators seeking ascension in Xian Le. To Xie Lian, even as he grew older, he never had an issue with this because he just never felt sexual attraction to another person, or any desire to be intimate in that way. Even if he yearned for the concept of being loved. And indeed, at first glance, his chastity vows may seem like nothing more than a side note. Or even a funny gag when it comes to Hua Cheng (later).

In reality Xie Lian's chastity vows are not only used against him, but paint a very disturbing picture with regards to his repeated violation.

The Land of the Tender scene is the most obvious example of this. Xie Lian's vows are directly tied to his spiritual powers, and because it affects how his followers see him. They place a high value on his chastity as being vital to his moral character.

For reference, an excerpt from TGCF vol. 3 of the English print translation, page 135:

Xie Lian's method of cultivation required a pure body. Those who worshipped the ascended cultivators who practiced this path were firmly convinced of the transcendence of gods untouched by earthly desires. If they couldn't protect their purity, their following would no doubt collapse and their powers would be devastated. It wouldn't be as serious as plunging from godhood to back to mortality, and there was still the possibility of recovery after many more years of cultivation—but with things as they were now, there was no time for him to sit behind closed doors and cultivate for years!

As a reminder: it is Bai Wuxiang who orchestrated this whole thing. Him trying to compromise Xie Lian in this way is horrific on many levels, yet that's not the main point I want to make here. It's that to preserve his "pure body," the solution Xie Lian realizes is to severely harm himself. To impale himself with his sword through the abdomen.

The juxtaposition of having to maintain bodily purity versus the gruesome violence inflicted on his body is extremely stark.

This grim contrast is no more evident than in the 100 swords scene. Where Xie Lian's body is literally brutalized and defiled to an unthinkable degree. To the point where he, quote: "no longer looked human." Yet he emerges from that temple physically "pure" all the same. His chastity vows were not broken, his body healed without scars. As though he was untouched.... And yet, he was completely destroyed mentally. It left permanent effects on him as a person. It's even worse when the scene is read analogous to sexual assault, as many have talked about before. I think that interpretation actually hits the nail on the head, especially keeping in mind the Land of the Tender scene and all the similarities between them.

Following the 100 swords scene, Xie Lian of course has a complete disconnect between himself and his body. I believe this is part of why he doesn't really feel pain, except when he is with Hua Cheng, who treats him and his body as one. As a person who is cherished, and loved. Hua Cheng is adamant in his adoring treatment of Xie Lian. Small injuries are also something he cannot tolerate because he knows what horrors befell Xie Lian in the past. (He was present at both the terrible moments mentioned above.) He will not let any of that continue, regardless of what Xie Lian says, because he sees it as injustice.

Xie Lian is willing to use himself as a tool to help others no matter the personal cost. He even thinks of it as something he must do, or that he deserves as penance. But Hua Cheng is the one person who asks "what about you?" He's the one that insists "your happiness matters." And it is Hua Cheng that takes issue with Xie Lian's chastity vows as being unfair, unlike everyone else. Regardless of Hua Cheng's reasons for this diegetically, symbolically it means a lot that he is the one opposed to this.

Just thinking about the chastity vows on their own for a moment: Xie Lian can indulge a little bit in stuff like alcohol, which isn't great to begin with for him. But he absolutely cannot engage in "pleasures of the flesh." He can totally have his flesh ripped from his bones, literally, but actually experiencing any kind of sexual gratification? Now that would make him unclean, and lesser.... Why? Because unlike everything else, that's something Xie Lian would do simply for himself to feel good. And what greater crime is there than to ever dare put himself first?

So Hua Cheng—being the one person who puts Xie Lian first above all else—thinking that such a restriction doesn't make sense is important. Hua Cheng being the person who Xie Lian breaks those vows for in the end is important! (Especially because it seems to have been an easy choice for him.)

And of course, the scene with Jun Wu and the Virginity Detector Sword™ has to be mentioned. Again, there's symbolism to be had! The perpetrator of two of the most physically violating moments of Xie Lian's life (both of which were sexual in nature; one literally and one allegorically) being the one to "check" Xie Lian's virginity... oof. Yikes. It's dramatic irony. It's deeply uncomfortable. Especially because Jun Wu probably wanted to know if Xie Lian slept with Hua Cheng, as he already knew Xie Lian wasn't the ghost fetus' father.

So it's once again a stark juxtaposition: of Ghost King Hua Cheng disagreeing with the purity vows, wanting Xie Lian to break them for himself and his own freedom. Versus Heavenly Emperor Jun Wu wanting to weaponize those vows against Xie Lian in whatever way he can, intact or not, to keep control over him.

Naturally, there's something to be said for the real-world problem with such purity vows being used against people, to judge their moral character, societal expectations, etc. Elephant in the room. It's very on the nose, so there isn't even much to say about it that hasn't been said already.

In the end, it comes down to how horrible it is that when Xie Lian tries to help others, it results in immense harm to his body every time. Yet he is expected to continue to bear it, for centuries, by others and also himself. Until he meets Hua Cheng, who helps him rediscover what it means to be happy, and to be loved. So yes, it's absolutely relevant that in the end, Xie Lian decides to break his purity vows to be intimate with Hua Cheng. That he's able to put himself in Hua Cheng's hands, and let himself be treated with affection and desire. It's Xie Lian finally forgiving himself, and beginning to heal.

#tgcf #tian guan ci fu #hob #heaven official's blessing #hualian #meta #nyerus.txt #crosspost

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asimp4bee · 14 days

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Merformers! Bumblebee design

I really tried my best to incorporate a techno-organic feel to Bee's design and so far im liking it!

For my version, helmets and chest plates are removable! Protecting their most vital parts and also giving them a plus with their looks. Seeing a merbot without their helmet on is a very intimate and personal moment.

Some of the merbots are uncomfortable without their armor on, thinking their more organic side is "ugly" or "plain" to look at compared to when they wear their armor pieces.

#merformers #mermay #maccadam #maccadams #transformers #bumblebee #tf bumblebee

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ghostiequill · 18 days

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Vampire Mihawk x Reader

Mihawk always knew he had a taste for the finer things in life. Expensive wines, dinners at five star restaurants, but nothing could ever compare to the sweetness of your blood. No, sweetness would be an insult to the delicacy in which you provided.

The feeling was utterly intoxicated, he could never seem to get enough. Not that he saw you as his blood bag, no you were far too precious for that. You were his rejuvenation on a bad day, his vitality to live on, his awe inspiring heart, his little love eagerly awaiting him.It was more than just drinking blood- it was revitalizing. He was combining your life essence into one, trying to get your hearts as close as possible.

As his fangs pierce the skin of his darling beloved, a cascade of sensations envelops you both. There's a warmth that spreads, like a cozy blanket wrapping around your souls, infusing them with energy and vitality. With each sip, he feels the life force coursing through his love's veins, intimately entwining their essences. It's a profound act of love, to want to merge so completely with another that their hearts beat as one, their very beings intertwined.

Consuming his partner's essence becomes a sacred gateway to something higher, a transcendent connection that defies mortal understanding. In this moment, he holds his beloved as close to his heart as physically possible, cherishing the literal blood that flows through their veins

Yet, there's also a desperate edge to this love, a longing so intense that it borders on consuming him entirely. It's the desperation of loving someone so profoundly that one can think of nothing but embracing them wholly, even at the risk of losing oneself in the process. Yes, he could never get enough of you- his own drug that he would gladly never get free from. As he holds you in his arms, he finally feels full again. In this moment, he knows he is complete

For @fanaticsnail !!!

(This isn’t for the fic swap because I know it isn’t that long lol)

#one piece #one piece x reader #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #op x reader #opla x reader #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n

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lunarlianna · 9 months

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Planets in retrograde in natal chart

Planets in retrograde in natal chart and what they mean. Now you need to take into consideration and in which house this planet reside and also what aspects are being made. One thing I may need to clarify in astrology the Moon and the Sun never go into retrograde motion. Some of us have more planets retrograde, others a few and some none of them. When planets are in retrograde in the natal chart, they shouldn't be stigmatized but more to understand where we may face difficulties in some shape or form also, I’ll be talking a bit about karma and the retrogrades in the natal chart. Retrograde planets turn energies inward, leading to a slower external manifestation. Those with retrograde planets tend to deeply contemplate these energies, a trait associated with geniuses and leaders. I may make a different post on the big asteroid in retrograde as well, comment if you want to see that.

Mercury retrograde turns inward, urging revisits and intuitive learning. Born during this, you're bright and adaptive, excelling in communication. Relationships embrace diverse views, but overthinking occurs; seek enriching connections, travel. Those with Mercury retrograde unconsciously access collective wisdom, sometimes facing communication struggles. Finding solace in non-verbal forms like music and art resonates with Mercury retrogrades—imagine musical geniuses. Past-life whispers sway relationships, seeing others as echoes of bygone connections.

Venus retrograde suggests challenges in freely sharing affection due to a sense of emotional scarcity. Life events can be filtered through a longing for love, often internalizing and magnifying hurts in relationships. This may stem from past-life pain, leading to a fear of vulnerability and difficulty fully embracing love. This retrograde can manifest as shyness and fear of intimacy, needing trust, or even as self-centeredness, requiring self-love and healthy affection expression. You possess a passion for pleasure, creativity, and visual arts. Adept in hosting, fashion, decor, and cooking, making everything delightful.

Mars retrograde guides your energy inward, sparking introspection into past moments and affecting how you perceive current connections. Prioritizing spiritual desires may unintentionally overshadow physical well-being; focusing on your holistic growth is important. While intimate experiences might differ due to internalized energy, nurturing, deep bonds can bring forth a more natural expression. Mars retrograde karma hints at efforts to reenact moments from the past, attempting unspoken wishes and sometimes reacting strongly to unmet hopes. Embracing self-assertion and risk-taking, despite challenges, forms a vital part of your journey towards self-discovery and empowerment.

Jupiter retrograde directs expansion inward, fostering profound inner growth, often through spiritual studies. There's a tendency to over-plan, leading to inaction at times. Embracing a spiritual path offers fulfilment, but mundane pursuits might leave you unsatisfied. Deja-vu experiences are common, and you're drawn to guiding others through counselling, teaching, or the law. While generous and hopeful, avoid over-giving or idealizing situations. Late-life marriage or parenthood is possible; be cautious of seeking to "fix" partners.

Saturn acts as a guide through challenges and life lessons, ultimately granting wisdom and compassion. Saturn retrograde signals a chance to revisit life, feeling the weight of two lifetimes simultaneously. Doubts about self-worth and capabilities arise, but you've grown through past struggles. Embracing Saturn's discipline leads to tapping into vast wisdom. Born during this phase, you're diligent, precise, and skilled, yet remember not to be overly critical. In relationships, avoid co-dependency and prioritize healthy boundaries, understanding you're not accountable for others' actions.

Uranus retrograde can make it challenging to fully embrace and express your unique self, sometimes leading to a reconnection with ideas from the past. Feeling a strong responsibility for personal growth, you're a visionary deeply attuned to life's complexities. Your authenticity is precious; it urges you to explore the uncharted and share your ideas, even if they're not easily understood. Karmic ties to family and society can bring struggles, reshaping your unconscious. In relationships, your inner conflicts might create turbulence; focusing on intuitive wisdom over emotional turmoil can guide you. It can lead to a fear of change or a longing for the familiar. Remember, you're not alone in this journey.

With Neptune retrograde in your chart, your imagination is vibrant, leading you to seek solace in dreams. Deep spirituality resides within, though expressing it can be a journey. At times, these struggles could lead you towards challenging paths, such as wrestling with addiction or assuming the role of a martyr. On a brighter note, this retrograde might bestow upon you finely tuned psychic sensitivities, allowing you to glimpse beyond the veil. However, your heightened emotional sensitivity can render you vulnerable to negativity, emphasizing your need for regular solitary moments to rejuvenate and shield your emotional sanctuary.

For those with Pluto retrograde, its transformative force delves deeply within, illuminating your inner world ahead of its outer expression. Past-life psychic abilities are present, meant for positive impact. You sense humanity's struggles within, embracing responsibility for collective awakening. Karmically, you owe humanity from a particular era, repaid through selfless service, offering the chance for profound spiritual growth and liberation from rebirth. Pluto's inner battle involves suppressed anger and control issues, concealing a powerful potential for profound transformation and insight. Handle with care, as betrayals can ignite their intensity.

#astro observations #astro community #astro placements #astrology #all signs #astro notes #for you #zodiac placements #astrologer #retrograde planets #natal chart

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ellephlox · 2 years

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Strawberry Rhubarb

Summary: You get kidnapped by Fisk.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Warnings (please read this entire list before proceeding!): Violence, blood, forced nudity, physical assault, torture, feelings of inadequacy, torture with knife, strong profanity, burning, stabbing, concussion.

A/N: This is set sometime in S2 when Fisk doesn't know for certain that Matt is Daredevil, but he is suspicious of him and definitely doesn't like him.

Also, it's a bit long, so I skimmed it for mistakes, but that's it. I'm at the airport because I have to fly home for a family emergency and I'm too tired to bother reading through critically lol

Everything was pitch black, except for a thin band of light, directly in front of your eyes.

You squinted, thinking at first that it was light coming underneath the bedroom door; had you left the kitchen lights on? But it was too high up to be the floor. Your phone, then. Your phone must have lit up with a notification and you could just see the light underneath it.

And then you realized there was a cloth around your head. For one wild moment, you thought Matt had put his black mask on you, and that this was something intimate that he was initiating, but something about it didn't feel right. The cloth was wrapped too tightly, for one, and the slit of light that you could see suggested that it was ripped in the center, and Matt's mask had no tears in it. Vaguely you remembered walking into the post office to mail out a letter, and something hitting you hard in the back of the head, but everything else was blank.

A gruff voice spoke. "Is she awake, Hanson?"

"Vitals suggest she's conscious," a cool voice responded. "Should I proceed?"

"Yes. You got into her phone?"

"I had Underwood hack it within five minutes. Passcode has been disabled."

"Good. We'll send a warning to to him. From what I anticipate, he'll be willing to come here of his own accord."

Fisk. Dazedly, you placed the voice as Fisk, and the cooler voice as some unnamed assistant. Your heart lurched, thrumming so hard that you thought it might burst out from your ribcage. All rational thoughts had abandoned you; never had you and Matt discussed what to do if someone ever kidnapped you. Sure, you'd had conversations about self-defense and fighting techniques; there had been the random nights that Matt tried in vain to teach you had to send a proper roundhouse kick at an assailant. And of course you'd nagged him about what the plan was if he was to ever get kidnapped by someone he was trying to take down.

But this scenario? It had never even crossed your mind, and the panic of having no idea what to do was gnawing at you.

The person on your left, with the cooler voice — Hanson — stepped forward and ripped off the black mask that was wrapped around your head. You blinked at the blinding light, unable to see for a moment until your eyes adjusted.

Hanson, a wiry man with a receding hairline, was appraising you. He held your phone, and a thrill of fear flashed through you at what texts or photos might be incriminating on there. "Should I send a video, sir? Or would a phone call be more effective?" he asked.

"Underwood's search of Mr. Murdock's files suggest that he has no light perception, though we're still uncertain as to whether forged notes and doctor intervention could have fabricated those documents," Fisk said, his face twitching. "Send an audio message instead. A picture may be a worth a thousand words, but hearing, on the other hand... that's exponentially more powerful, is it not? To be on the safe side; we want to ensure that Mr. Murdock receives our message."

"Understood, sir."

You closed your eyes as your brain tried to catch up with what was happening. If Fisk kidnapped you, did that mean he knew Matt was Daredevil? You tried futilely to think of a way that he could have found out, but came up with nothing. Matt had pissed Fisk off recently; he'd told you that things had gone sideways when they spoke together, and it ended with fists flying.

But he couldn't know Matt was Daredevil. You told yourself this over and over again in an attempt to calm yourself down. Besides, you didn't have hardly any texts with Matt that they could read, you realized — you had mercifully cleaned out your phone to get more storage just the other day. That also meant you'd saved your photos to a different drive and deleted them off your phone. Hope burgeoned in your chest.

Matt's identity isn't entirely doomed because I was stupid enough to get kidnapped.

"You may begin, Hanson," Fisk said, folding his hands together, and the same lightning strike of panic went to your core.

"Wait." Your mouth was dry from disuse. Playing dumb had to be the best course of action; at least, it was the only plan you could think of in your muddled state. "I can give you money, I swear, I have cash in my wallet — you can take my credit cards, I don't care, please just let me go." The end of your sentence finished with a sob, and you didn't need to act at all for that to come out naturally.

"If Murdock comes on your behalf, then we'll let you go," Hanson said flatly. "You'd better hope that your boyfriend truly cares about you."

"Boyfriend?" You drew in your eyebrows. "I swear, I know of Murdock — friend of a friend, invited a few of us over to his place once or twice — but I have nothing to do with him! If he's involved in something illegal — or, I don't know, something with you folks — I don't know about it, please believe me — just let me go—"

Fisk sat down on the chair in front of you, settling himself in slowly. His eyes bored a hole into your skull and you couldn't help but look down at his shoes. "You think I do things lightly, Miss L/N?"

"I don't know. I don't know who you are or what you do."

"I've always found that those who are methodical will always win. Funny, really, that Aesop could articulate such a fundamental principle with a puerile story. When I was a boy, I wanted the hare to win. I didn't think it was fair that the tortoise should enjoy victory when it was the hare who seemingly had the predisposition, the potential, the skillset to win. But I learned. I discovered, through my own folly and mistakes, that it is not the person with the most resources who gets to the top. It's the one who strategizes, the one who is thorough."

"I don't understand." You were shaking where you sat; you could feel the muscles in your hands jumping as tension stretched taut through you.

"Let me spell it out for you, Miss L/N. When I want to win, I take my time. And I took my time in getting to know you. I've seen your family, your yearbook photos, the first job you had. I've read your college recommendations and seen your SAT scores. I've spoken to your therapist and friends. I know the exact day that you began seeing Matthew Murdock and I have footage of all the dates you've ever been on with him. So, when I suggest that you do not try lying to me, I am recommending it for your own sake, lest you want to lose your tongue."

Never had you felt so cornered in your life. Fisk sat in front of you like the opposite of light at the end of the tunnel — he was a black hole, sucking every bit of hope from the room, and in that moment you were certain you would not leave this room alive, and a silent voice within you begged that at least it wouldn't be messy, for Matt's sake.

"Start recording," Fisk ordered, and Hanson picked up your phone. Dread coiled in your stomach as it rang. Based on where the sun was in the sky, you'd been gone for awhile and it was unlikely that Matt was already wondering where you were. He'd receive and listen to any audio file sent to his phone almost immediately.

The way Fisk's eyes settled, calm and snakelike, on you made your heart freeze. "Y/N, say hello to Mr. Murdock."

You said nothing. Obeying him, putting your voice onto that audio message, felt like a betrayal of sorts. Maybe it was just the headache speaking, from where you'd been knocked out, but it felt all kinds of wrong to open your mouth and follow through with Fisk's intentions.

"Hanson, encourage her to speak," he said.

Hanson did not hesitate. He took out a knife and pressed it to the tip of your thumb. "Speak, or your thumb will be a centimeter shorter."

"Hello, Mr. Murdock," you parroted back, despising yourself with every word and shivering at what Matt would say when he heard the audio file. At what he would think of you. You knew he wouldn't blame you for getting kidnapped, but still, you hated that now you were just another burden for him — another person to save.

"Give me the phone, Hanson," Fisk said. He took your phone (if you made it out of this mess, you would definitely be sanitizing it) and spoke slowly. "I hope that this is enough of an incentive for you to stand down. You see, this is what you brought upon yourself when you decided to bring Vanessa into this. It was a mistake to say her name." He ended the recording and handed the phone back to Hanson. "Send that to Murdock, please."

"Yes, sir."

Once Fisk waved Hanson off, you felt even more apprehensive. You wanted to meet his eyes — to show that you were unafraid, to prove that he was making a mistake in holding you captive — but that was so far from the truth that you didn't dare make eye contact.

"We'll release you in soon," Fisk said, standing up. "I understand that this isn't pleasant for you, and I regret that you must be the way for me to make a point to Murdock."

"You're going to let me go?" you said, stunned.

"This is a long-term game plan, Miss L/N. This isn't like a movie, where we take people and behead them. No, I consider our tactics more mature than that. I intend to keep you long enough to show Murdock what I'm capable of, and to demonstrate to him that he should never again utter Vanessa's name."

"He's a lawyer," you said, your voice shaking. "And a damn good one. You'll be deep in legal trouble, so—"

Fisk laughed. "Do you know where you are right now, Miss L/N?"

You glanced around the room for the first time. Barren, cement walls, no windows. "A... lair of some kind?"

"As I said before, we are not children, playing out some movie," Fisk said. "No, this is a prison. A prison that I am in control of, as Murdock discovered when he visited to inquire about one Mr. Castle. You can rest assured that the extent of my control goes far beyond the walls of this prison, and the courtrooms are not exempt." He took a step forward and placed his hand on your head. You closed your eyes, trembling, as his palm brushed your hair, as though curious to know what the texture was.

"I apologize, Miss L/N, that you have been caught in this war between your boyfriend and myself." And then, without any warning, he swung a fist so hard into your abdomen that you choked aloud, all of the breath gone from your chest. There was no reprieve before he swung again, and you tried to curl up but the restraints around you made it impossible; you could only heave for breath.

That was only the beginning.

Once Fisk left, you didn't see him for a long time. He had said that you would be released "soon", but you quickly learned that was a subjective term; at least a few days passed with no word of him. You tried to tell time from when you were given food — which was sparing and meagre. Though you were no longer tied to the chair you had woken up in, the room was small enough that you still felt suffocated, and you could do nothing but sit on the corner, back aching, and wait.

At first, it wasn't that bad, as far as kidnappings went (at least, in your imagination). You were hungry, and not nearly enough water was provided, but that was the worst of it, aside from the discomfort of sleeping on a wooden bench. Your bones felt as though they were bruised all over and you were sore from shivering; your shoulders especially were taut from pain of being clenched for so long in the cold. The hunger, while throbbing at first, subsided to a dull feeling that you could attempt to ignore, and the headache gave you something to think about, at least, during the empty hours in the room.

Every thump that you heard, every shout... you couldn't help but hope that it was Matt, there to rescue you. There was a small part of you that began to doubt that he'd be able to make his way to you, let alone find you, as another few hours passed without anything happening.

Or maybe he'd cut his losses and was going to leave you there.

No, don't be dumb. That was ridiculous. Matt loved you. You loved him.

Oh, but what if you're just temporary for him? He could always go back to Elektra. Besides, Elektra at least wouldn't be weak enough to get kidnapped, you thought derisively. It would frankly be justified if Matt went back to her. He deserved someone who could keep up with him.

Maybe it was the dehydration that made your thoughts spiral even more, or maybe it was the exhaustion, because you only convinced yourself further that he wasn't coming, and that he had elected to leave you there.

I'm annoying. I'm always waiting for him, I'm always clinging to him, I'm like a leech that won't go away. He's probably realized how nice it is to have a break from me.

Or maybe he's met another lawyer. Someone really smart, someone who got a 180 on her LSAT and gives him a run for his money.

Karen, maybe. He always liked Karen. She's courageous, and passionate, and literally a model, and so much better for him than I am.

You were so lost in your own self-loathing that you didn't hear Hanson enter and started so violently that you gasped aloud when he spoke.

"Y/N, we're beginning a new recording."

"What?"

"Mr. Fisk would like a new recording to be sent to Mr. Murdock. Say hello."

This time, you kept your jaw firmly shut. It wasn't even out of a refusal to obey Hanson, but more out of your own reluctance to say anything to Matt, because you detested the idea of being even more of a burden on him.

This time, Hanson didn't wait for you to cooperate. He took out his knife and expertly swiped it near your upper arm, so quickly that at first you thought he missed, until a fiery sting flared, followed by the trickle of something warm.

Yet you remained silent.

"I might suggest you speak, Y/N. The quicker you talk, the less pain there will be, and Mr. Murdock won't have to receive quite as lengthy of a recording."

Feeling inspired, you spat at his feet. Hanson was quick to react — he flipped the knife up so that the tip was pressing into the back of your ear. "Did you hear me? Say hello to him."

When you said nothing, he applied pressure to the knife, and it began to cut through your skin; you couldn't help but gasp out loud, panic beginning to set in as red drips started to flow down your neck.

He's going to take off my ear he's going to take off my ear he's going to take off my ear—

"Hello!" you cried out finally, wincing at the stinging residue left where the knife had been.

"Good." Hanson tucked the knife away. "It makes things easier, doesn't it?" His gaze lingered on you for a moment before switching back to the phone. "Mr. Murdock, I'm undressing your girlfriend now. Don't worry, we don't intend to violate her."

"What?" you demanded. "You're not undressing me!"

Hanson ignored you. He took his knife and ripped your shirt open, removing every bit of fabric from you — including undergarments — until you were shivering, goosebumps crawling up your flesh where you made contact with the cold wood of the chair. You tried to cover yourself to no avail; the cuffs made it nearly impossible to give yourself ample cover. With no other choice but to sit in the chair and wait for Hanson to leave, you closed your eyes as tears rose.

Do not cry in front of him. Distract yourself. Ask him a question, get him talking.

"Why undress me?" you asked finally. "What's your endgame here?"

"Mr. Fisk wants you to understand the power he holds," he said smoothly. "And he wants Mr. Murdock to stop interfering. A show of power, especially with humiliation, is apropos for that sort of message, isn't it?"

"Fuck you."

"That's not the kind of diplomacy we're looking for."

"I don't care. Fuck you and your stupid messages. You're torturing someone who's got nothing to do with any of your shit, and as far as I'm aware, Matt was only fulfilling a legal obligation to talk to Fisk. You're making a mistake."

"Was it his 'legal obligation' to mention Vanessa to Mr. Fisk? No? Then, I am sorry to say, we are justified in our actions." Hanson twirled the knife and drove it downwards, faster than the blink of an eye, into the top of your hand.

This time, you screamed. And it wasn't the only scream, either — when you glanced down, and saw the blade of the knife gouged straight through the top of your hand, staking your entire arm to the wooden chair, you screamed again, throat so raw that it felt as though it were tearing, because God, the pain, make it stop, there was no way that one little blade could make you feel as though you were being torn apart, atom-by-atom—

"Mr. Murdock, I hope you've made it to the end of this message, because Mr. Fisk has something he'd like to say to you," Hanson said, unconcernedly straightening his tie. "Never bring Vanessa into this again, ever. Good day."

He clicked the end button on your phone and typed a few buttons as he delivered the audio file.

And that was the last thing you saw. Your tunneling vision collapsed altogether and the wooziness of looking at the blood streaming down your fingers took your consciousness.

When you awoke next, everything was pitch black. The light that used to stream in from the hallway was gone. You couldn't see your hand, not that you particularly wanted to, but it felt hot and irritated, though the blood around it had clotted. That was the one good thing, you supposed, though you had a suspicious that the heat around it was not as good. But maybe heat was good. Like a fever — fevers meant that the cells were killing the bad cells, right? Perhaps the same principle applied to knives-in-hands.

Then again, you weren't sure how straight you were thinking at the moment.

Every so often Hanson would enter, leaving you squinting in the jarring yellow light that he brought with him. Best case scenario, he'd add a cut to your collection, taking the tip of a new knife he had to make you bleed. Worst case scenario he tried something new — choking you, grazing your foot with a lighter. Either way, you learned to be obedient, and whenever the recording started, you said hello to Matt, just as he wanted you to.

And then, as time blurred and warped into a funhouse kaleidoscope of nonsense, you were no longer in that room. You didn't even remember being taken out of it. One moment you were lying on the floor, trembling uncontrollably from the cold, and the next... you were being handled roughly, thrown down, and left alone. The roar of a vehicle beside you was loud enough that you opened your eyes.

Water. There was water near you. The Hudson? The wood beneath you was damp, like a dock.

And next to you, sitting silently, was your phone. Hands shaking, you reached out, wincing at the throb of pain and at the gaping dark wound where the knife had apparently been extracted from your hand.

It was your phone. You stared at it, unsure of what to do. Was this a test? Did Fisk leave you here as torture?

Or was this your chance to escape?

Which, at the moment, felt unlikely. Your legs weren't moving. You could hardly lift your head, for whatever reason, and you were so damn cold that it made you want to fall asleep where you were, no matter how damn uncomfortable the dock was.

Or... you could call Matt.

Matt. You wanted to cry at the thought of him. Why hadn't he come for you? He probably was tired of how needy you were, how incapable, how useless compared to Elektra. But you stared at the contacts in your phone, then at the various cuts on your body. There was no one else to call.

You clicked his name, unsure of whether he'd pick up, but on the very first ring his voice was there. It sounded like an ethereal tether, anchoring you back to a reality that you hadn't been to in days, not since before you had been kidnapped.

"Y/N?" Matt said, almost breathless.

God, you missed his voice. And being in his arms. Suddenly you wanted to sob, just at hearing him, because hearing him meant everything would be alright. Matt's voice was comfort, it was home.

"Y/N, are you there?" he said, this time more insistent.

Right. Answering him would be a good idea.

"Matt?" you said weakly, taken aback by the sound of your own voice. It sounded like someone had taken your voice box, air-fried it, left it in the desert, then thrown some shards of glass in for good measure.

"I'm here, I'm here, sweetie. Where are you? Are you okay? What can you see?"

"I..." Something was pulsing behind your eyes, and it was distracting. You closed them to alleviate the pressure. "I... what?"

"Sorry. One question at a time." Matt was speaking slower, now, and you were glad for it. "Are you hurt?"

"Mm. Probably. But I'll be okay." Worrying him seemed like the wrong thing to do. You'd be fine, of course you would be, because it would be embarrassing if you weren't fine. The thought of having to be rescued as well as being incapable of getting up and brushing off your knees was alarming.

"Y/N, I need you to look around and tell me what you see. I'm going to try to find you. Is that water I can hear in the back?"

"I'm... by the Hudson, I think." You tried lifting your head, but it sent electric bolts of pain down your neck. "Ow. I'm having a hard time looking."

"That's okay, sweetheart, you're doing great. What else can you see?"

"Streetlamps. Dock."

"Okay. Anything else?" There was rustling in the background of the call, then the telltale squeaking of Matt's apartment door. Was he headed to work? No, it was dark out, you reminded yourself. It was too late to go to work. He was headed for Josie's, maybe. Or to go see Elektra.

"Y/N, are you there? Don't fall asleep. Stay awake, listen to my voice."

You jolted upright, unaware that you'd been drifting. "Sorry. I'm here."

"The phone isn't picking up much of the audio, but I'm headed in your general direction. Keep talking to me, Y/N. I need you to stay awake."

"I'm not falling asleep," you protested.

Though sleep did sound really nice. You didn't even notice the cold anymore, and you were glad you were in the shadows of night, because if anyone found you, naked and laying there on the dock, you'd surely get arrested. Was it a felony to be naked in public? You couldn't remember.

And your hand, it hurt so much, it felt as though it were numb and on fire at the same time. You scratched at it, but it only made it throb more, and then you could feel the warm stickiness that suggested it was bleeding again, so you let it fall back down onto the wood and stared up at the few stars bright enough to penetrate the haze of New York City.

And then your eyes were shut, and you were reluctantly opening them as a sharp voice commanded something of you in the background.

"What?" you asked, trying to remember where you were. Right. The dock. Waiting for Matt, presumably. Was he coming? That didn't seem certain.

"Y/N, talk to me. You've got to stay awake. I think you've lost a lot of blood."

"Talk... 'bout what?"

"Tell me about the nearest building to you."

"Mm. Okay." You swung your gaze to the right. "Um, there's a bottle." And it was a big bottle. At first you weren't sure if you were hallucinating, but it was definitely there, and bottle-shaped. Art, you realized. A sculpture of some sort. "Big bottle. Big, big bottle."

"You're amazing, sweetheart. I know exactly where you are. I'll be there in five minutes, alright?" He didn't wait for your thoughts to drift. "Talk to me about your plans for Thanksgiving. You had plans for us, right?"

"Right." You struggled to think of Thanksgiving. It felt like eons ago that you'd been mapping out the holiday, like you were a different person entirely last you'd thought of it. "I want... homemade cranberry sauce. Not the jar stuff."

"Right. What's wrong with the jar stuff?"

You were exhausted; it was too tough of a question to answer coherently. You opted to ignore the question and moved on. "Mashed potatoes. With toppings."

"What kinds of toppings?"

"Um." Thinking was making your head hurt even more. "Butter? I don't know. Matt, it hurts." The admission slipped from your mouth before you could check it.

Stupid, you've got to keep him from worrying, he needs to think that you're alright, he can't know that it hurts.

"I know, I know it does, I'm going as fast as I can go," Matt said, and you assumed he must have been telling the truth — he sounded out of breath and his speech was punctuated with running footsteps.

It began to rain. It was a cold rain, the kind that felt as though it should be snow but the temperature wasn't quite low enough. It splattered across your skin and reminded you of the fact that you were naked. "Matt, I'm naked," you informed him, blinking as you looked down at your body. Blood was all over you; it was difficult to see where Hanson had targeted you. The burn on your foot was making itself known as it got wet in the rain, and you bit your tongue to keep from crying out.

But he didn't sound surprised. "I heard. In the audio file. I've got clothing for you."

Oh, yes. The audio files. How much of your kidnapping had Matt been privy to hear? You weren't sure if you wanted to know.

"What vegetable were you thinking?" he prompted.

Your eyes drifted open. "Well... that depends. What d'you want?"

"Whatever you want to have."

"Not fair," you objected, voice slurring slightly. It was annoying, trying to keep up with the conversation; you wanted nothing more than to sleep, even with the rain now pattering hard on your face. "I guess... peas are nice. Peas are Thanksgiving-y."

"I like peas. My dad used to make them all the time — he'd buy them frozen, heat the whole bag up at once, and melt butter in it. Then we'd keep it in the fridge for a week and it would be our sole source of a vegetable."

"Mm. Butter peas," you repeated. "I'll do that. What... what's your..." The word wouldn't come to your lips, and you paused for a few seconds. "Favorite pie?"

"Strawberry rhubarb," he said, but this time, the voice wasn't coming from the phone, but above you. Everything felt foggy, though, and for a moment all you could think was that there was a man above you, and that it had to be Hanson — Fisk must have wanted to take you back, and they were here to take you again, and please, you couldn't do this again—

"Hey, hey, it's me. It's me." The voice above you was Matt's, and his face came into focus as he kneeled next to you with a wavering smile. You drew in a breath, ignoring the stab of pain in your chest.

"Matt?"

"I've got you," he said, pulling you up into his arms. "I have you."

You couldn't help it; tears began to flow, because Matt's arms were so strong and safe, the exact thing you had longed for all that time in the cell. You could still feel your heart racing wildly and you tried to draw another breath to calm down.

Matt's head was tilted as he surveyed you. He must have left the apartment in a hurry, because he hadn't bothered to put on the red suit, or even the black outfit. He was still in his work pants, with an untucked collared button-down and a tie that was loose enough that it looked ready to fall off him. The only part of his ensemble that he'd put on was the black mask.

And, dammit, even lying in the rain naked and injured, you were still able to appreciate how good he looked.

"Okay." Matt's head was still tilted, and you realized he was appraising you. "Okay. We're going to be okay, sweetheart."

We. You felt a rush of affection for him, and reached outwards weakly with your uninjured hand. He took it, squeezing hard. "I'm here, Y/N." He took off a backpack that you hadn't noticed yet and helped you to sit up, slipping one of his larger tee shirts over your head as though you were a lifeless doll. You didn't mind the help; you wouldn't have had the energy to do it on your own.

He was exceedingly careful. His hands skated over the parts of your body that hurt the most, precisely aware of where he should and shouldn't touch in order to not aggravate the wounds. When it came time to putting on the pants, he practically lifted you up before putting your arm around his neck so that you wouldn't topple over as he pulled your pajama pants on you.

"Thanks," you murmured. "Sorry... sorry I'm useless."

He kissed your cheek gently, and then picked you up, carrying you away from the dock. "You're never useless. Never. I was..." He drew in a breath. "This past week has been hell. I tried to get into that prison dozens of times, but Fisk had it guarded so well that I couldn't — I'm sorry, sweetheart, I did everything I could — but it was a fortress. And the law couldn't help, the police couldn't help, because they've all been corrupted, and — well, I'll tell you when you're better."

You wiped roughly at your face with your good hand. "Can we go home? I'm... I'm scared he'll come back, that they'll try to take me again — I don't want to go back there. He knows I'm here, Matt, they dropped me off here, they know."

"We're going home," he promised, and then his face darkened. "If they ever even try to talk to you again, let alone touch you..." He broke off. "The point is, they won't. I will never let this happen again, do you hear me?" He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, a bit more roughly, as the anger broiling beneath the surface for Fisk crested slightly. "How are you feeling right now? Are you able to walk?"

"I'm fine." You shifted slightly. "I can walk." It was an ambitious offer, though. You were struggling to keep your head up and you weren't sure how long you could stay upright.

Matt exhaled. "I've already texted Claire. She's going to come to the apartment. You... you've been through a lot, sweetie. You've lost a lot of blood." He helped you to your feet, and you clutched at him, swaying uncertainly. It only took one step forward for you to yelp, as your burned foot seared in protest, and without another word Matt took you up in his arms.

"I'm fine," you insisted. "You don't have to carry me, really. I can walk."

Matt's face twisted. "No. You're... you're not in good shape, sweetheart. I can take it from here."

You didn't answer. His tone was more serious than you were anticipating, which suggested you'd underestimated your own injuries. The exhaustion that followed seemed to corroborate that. It was hard enough staying awake on the dock, but now, in the warmth of Matt's arms, and with the rhythmic jostling as he walked you away from the Hudson, it was enough to make the black start to descend on your vision again.

"Y/N, hey, stay awake. Don't fall asleep," Matt was saying, but as much as you wanted to listen to him, the heaviness won out, and you passed out, into a heavy blackness lined with the velvet curtains of dreamlessness.

Moments flickered in and out.

Claire's face. Determined, stoic, and at times, anxious. You wanted to say hello, or to say that you were fine, but your lips were lead and no sound emerged.

Then Foggy. Attempted smiles, cracked jokes that you couldn't hear or retain. Doughnuts, you noticed once, hazily drifting in and out.

Karen was there. Beautiful Karen, who you couldn't help but envy. Sitting beside you, reading beside you silently, glancing up at you.

And, of course, Matt's face. Constantly worried, constantly seeking out the sounds of your heart or wounds, fingers dancing over you to check for invisible damage. Sometimes he was sleeping in the chair next to you. Or he'd be pacing in the living room. Sometimes he had his work out with him, his fingers running over the braille keys as they popped up, but still his head was always slightly tilted towards you, keeping watch.

And then...

Hanson's voice.

You jolted upright, heart leaping into your chest as you glanced around wildly, certain that you'd see Hanson's polished shoes crossing the floor towards you.

"Shit, shit, sorry!" someone was saying, and you jarred your neck as you turned to face Foggy, who was guiltily setting down your phone. "I'm so sorry, Y/N!"

"Y/N?" Matt was next to you; how long had he been there? His face was anxious and he was holding your hand. "I'm sorry. Foggy and I were listening back through the audio files, trying to find clues as to where Hanson might be — if there's a chance we can go after him legally, Foggy thinks we should take it."

"He's... he's not here?" you said, uncertain, still feeling shaky from the adrenaline.

"No. No, he's not." Matt was looking at you sadly, his eyes almost locked onto your gaze but just a bit high on your forehead, and the near guise of eye contact made a rush of embarrassment flow through you.

"My bad," you said, struggling to sit up. "It just... took me by surprise, I guess, hearing his voice again."

"No one blames you," Foggy said automatically. "Jesus, slow down, Y/N — you nearly died of hypovolemia."

"Foggy's right." Matt settled onto the bed next to you. "Rest, stay laying down. You've been out for awhile."

"How long is awhile?"

"Awhile," was all he said.

"Did I... did I miss Thanksgiving?"

Matt's expression told you all that you needed to know. You groaned and flopped back onto your pillow, which was a mistake; your skull resounded with the impact and stars floated above you.

"You need to take it easy," Matt was saying, concern in his eyes. "You're not unbreakable, Y/N."

"Think I figured that out on my own," you muttered, shielding your eyes as the sun glinted off of the window. "Shit. I missed Thanksgiving."

"Not really," Foggy said. "We're postponing it. Homemade cranberry sauce and buttery peas will still be on."

His words tickled a faint memory in the back of your head, of lying in a dock and talking almost incoherently with Matt on the phone. "Aw. You two talked about... the plans? While I was out?"

"It was that or talk about the latest legal precedent issues that are making life hell for us at the office," Matt said, smiling. "But we would never do Thanksgiving without you." He rubbed his thumb gently against the top of your hand, avoiding the bandage where the skin was sensitive. You didn't even want to think about what that wound looked like.

"I'll have to run to the grocery store soon, then," you said. "And we have to buy a crock pot, Matt. And we need—"

"We need you to get better, first," he cut in. "Claire left some medication for you. You should take it now."

"I'm fine."

"Y/N."

"Matt, whenever I tell you to take your meds, you brush me off and say that you're fine." You tried to push yourself up onto your elbows. "I want to get ready, I want to get out of this bed — I feel like I've been out of commission for so long."

But Matt gently stopped you from getting up. "Sweetie, Foggy wasn't lying. You almost died. I need you to get better, okay? Rest, and heal. I'll be here."

"But—"

"Get some sleep," he whispered, and it wasn't really that unappealing an idea. You slowly lowered yourself back onto the pillow, this time avoiding the mistake of flopping backwards.

"Okay," you said finally, sleep already taking you. "But... I want to do two desserts, okay? One strawberry rhubarb."

"And the other?"

"Devil's food cake," you murmured, closing your eyes. "'Cause it'd be funny."

As you finally fell asleep, the last thing you heard was Matt's laugh.

#matt murdock x fem!reader #matt #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #x reader #reader #reader insert #mcu #marvel

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cenittxnadir · 10 months

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Master Chief Dating Headcanons

It is not news that John is not the most social of the group. Not even from the Blue Team. That position will probably be split between Kelly and Fred. So seeing John in a relationship is something completely new and unexpected, but it was nice to see, especially for the rest of the team who jumped at the opportunity to annoy him. It's not every day you get to outsmart Master Chief.

Leaving this clear, expect a lot of doubts and awkward moments with him, not in a negative way, this is all new to him but he is willing to learn your likes and dislikes while he discovers things that the UNSC has long been in charge of taking away from him.

John can be someone quite serious but behind closed doors and among his fellow Spartans he is one of the most relaxed, you won't see him laughing out loud or being flashy but with you he feels like he can be that child he couldn't be, not in a sense of immaturity but for the first time he feels that there is someone who can take care of him.

Dating Spartan is complicated, no matter what generation is. Everyone has trouble interacting outside of their fellow Spartans. So it is not something that despairs you, you will have to be very patient if you want to have a relationship with them.

In John's case, it's probably you who initiated the physical contact part, he doesn't mention it verbally but he really likes the attention you can give him and the day you told him how much you liked his hugs, he kept asking you if you wanted one He was happy, he felt that he was doing good in the relationship.

Consent for John is something vital, he is not used to being touched in a more intimate way, so all the time he will be asking you if he can hold your hand or hug you. He does not do it out of shyness but rather out of respect for your personal space. The last thing he wants is to bother you and it's the same thing he expects of you.

He's the epitome of a provider, something he didn't even know he was. Not only in the economic and material part. He is a protector by nature, so expect him to be aware of everything that happens with you even if you don't mention anything to him, so be careful trying to lie to him or hide something from him, he probably already knows but he won't tell you anything. Maybe you have your reasons for not telling him, but be very careful with this, he may feel insecure, so it is best to maintain good communication.

Speaking of economics, Spartans do have a salary, most of it goes into savings, since the UNSC provides them with all their needs. So taking this into account and John's military rank, he has a few zeros in his pocket. So when he discovered that many couples gave each other gifts as a sign of affection, he took this method to compensate you every time he had to go on a long mission. Soon after, he practically became your sugar daddy until the gifts were enough and you decided to put a stop to it. You explained him that a hug from him after so long without seeing him was worth more than any material gift.

John, being a protector, will be watching you at any time, not because he distrusts you but because you are important to him and he does not want anything bad to happen to you, he has had enough bad things in his life, you are one of the few good things that has. He can become jealous, but he would not do anything extreme or sick, as long as your life is not compromised, in case something like this happens, he will not hesitate for a second to use all possible means to protect you, even if it means abusing his of position.

In conclusion, you are the most precious thing he has, he will not let anything bad happen to you and that is a promise he made the day you agreed to be with him. Despite his appearance, John has learned to be more relaxed and enjoy the little things more, as long as you are by his side to show him how valuable his effort has been all these years and that now it is his turn to be taken care of by someone else.

#john 117 #master chief x reader #halo infinite #spartan 117 #jhon 117 x reader #john 117 x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #master chief #halo x reader

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minaturefics · 5 months

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Watching, Wanting

A/N: Hello! (its been awhile) I just wanted to indulge in my love for Boromir (ft some faramir bc i love my brothers). Very vague plot if you squint. It's a bit spicy, but nothing explicit!

Reader gets sent out in a storm by Faramir and turns up at Minas Tirith soaked.

Boromir x Reader

Gender-neutral reader

Rated: TEEN

2.3k words

---

The low hills of Emyn Arnen at your feet gave way to soft fields and in the distance the Anduin meandered through the landscape. There were dark clouds on the horizon, grey and heavy, and the faint earthy scent of coming rain was in the air. If you rode fast, you could make it to the city in a few hours, but judging by the clouds, you would be riding right into the storm anyway. You sighed and turned to Faramir. “Are you certain this is of such vital importance that I have to risk getting soaked to the bone?”

He nodded. “My brother requires these maps. I would have sent it with the trade carts this morning but it slipped my mind.”

“Rather uncharacteristic of you,” you muttered, raising your eyebrows at him.

He shrugged, an easy smile on his face. “My mind has been occupied of late. It is no easy feat, establishing a settlement.”

You softened at his words. Eowyn and Faramir had been working from dawn to dusk the past few weeks and the spring rains had been slowing construction and delaying the new workers and settlers journeying to Emyn Arnen.

“Very well.” You tucked the long, flat wooden box into your pack and buckled the waxed canvas securely. “I’ll be off now.”

“Safe travels, my friend,” he grinned and waved.

You swung onto your horse and, with a flick of the reins, started off down the road. As the grass and trees sped by, your thoughts drifted to Boromir.

You had become friends with Faramir first and, in the months Boromir had been away from Minas Tirith, you had helped coordinate the Ithilien Rangers from the city. Boromir had been civil to you when he returned, respectful of your battle and logistical strategies, but distant outside of the war rooms and planning councils. But something shifted one evening.

It was one of the many victory dinners, a smaller, more intimate one for The Fellowship and close companions. The hobbits had pulled you into their game of roughhousing and somehow you had ended up sprawled on top of Boromir. He had been large and solid underneath you, his hands heavy on your waist. You looked up into his grey eyes and your breath caught in your throat.

After that, it seemed as though his eyes were always on you. Across dinner tables, across courtyards, even, once, from across the throne room in full view of everyone.

You thought that with the end of the war, there would be no need for much contact between you and him, that all you would ever do is look, but Faramir had unofficially appointed you as a representative between the city and Emyn Arnen.

There had been so many afternoons spent with Boromir, shoulder to shoulder, pouring over maps and trade routes, so many nights spent eating across from each other in the low light of his private dining room. Yes, he was brave and proud and a fantastic tactician, but all that seemed to vanish when you saw him.

Really saw him.

Him with sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong forearms. His hair tied up, the pale column of his throat on full display. And those training breeches, somehow loose and tight at the same time…

What would he look like sprawled on your bed? Eyes glazed and chest heaving, hair mussed and lips parted. His breath hot in your ear, his voice low and raspy.

Thunder clapped overhead and rain started to fall on your overheated skin. The drops were cool and refreshing and you tipped your face to the sky.

How were you to spend another evening, another moment, in his presence? It was maddening, the way his eyes would blaze, the way he would draw close to you but never touch.

Why would he not act? It is true that you did not hold as high a standing as his family, but the brothers never seemed to care about such a thing. Even though that may be true, surely he understood that it was not as if you could do anything — it would be far more impertinent that you, of a lower standing, should be the first to move.

You shook your head and tightened your grip on the reins. You would ride back tonight to Emyn Arnen, even if you had to make the journey in the dark. It would be too much to spend another night near Boromir only separated by a few doors.

Boromir rushed down with the panicked servant who had burst into his study. What was his brother thinking? Sending you to Minas Tirith in the storm? He rounded the corner and found you shivering and dripping onto the polished marble. Someone had already taken your cloak and pack and you stood in your soaked clothes and saturated boots, clutching a wooden box. He swallowed at the sight of the fabric clinging to your form and strode towards you.

“Riding in such a storm is madness. What was so urgent it could not wait until morning?” You shoved the box into his hands and he stared at it for a moment before shaking his head. “Come, let us get you warm and dry first.”

He led you to his rooms and sat you down before the fire. “You cannot stay in those clothes,” he said, handing you some towels and a blanket along with some of his spare clothes. “You will catch your death.”

“But, Boromir, it is not proper —”

“I do not care. I would rather some impropriety if the alternative is illness or death.” He turned around and faced the wall. “I will not look until you are sufficiently… dressed.”

For a moment, he thought you were about to protest some more until he heard the slick swish of your clothes. He could imagine you, peeling off your layers, bare skin tinged orange by the fire. Heat crept up his neck to his ears. By the gods, he needed to control himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew a ragged breath in.

What sort of delightful torture was this? How many days had he spent beside you, close enough to breathe in your scent? How many nights had he spent staring at his bedroom door, willing you to walk through it?

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sound of your wet clothes hitting the floor. He had to be proper. A gentleman. A man of honour. He had to be mindful of his position and standing. Yes, his brother had appointed you various titles and responsibilities, but whatever they were, they were still ranked below his own title of Captain of Gondor.

He had heard too many stories of people being swayed and persuaded by the nobility — he would not allow you to feel obligated to reciprocate his own selfish desires simply because he was ranked higher than you were.

There was the rustle of cloth, the whisper of cotton on skin, and he fought the images of you donning his clothes. Oh, how will he ever wear that tunic ever again and not think of you?

You were wonderful and smart and were filled with endless ideas for new laws and trade. But in his quiet moments, he wondered what you would feel like under his touch, wondered what sort of sounds you would make.

How would you say his name? In a whisper? A gasp?

In a cry of pleasure?

He spied the wooden box you had brought with you on the side table and shook his head. Damn Faramir for putting him in such a position! What could possibly be so important?

“I, um — I’m just going to look at what my brother sent. Do not be alarmed by my movement,” he said and heard you hum in assent.

With slow, measured steps, he made his way to the box and opened it.

“Faramir said you needed maps,” you muttered behind him.

There were maps indeed, but they were just the regular sort that anyone could buy at the market cartographer. He frowned, rifling through the parchment, and pulled out the envelope tucked in between the papers.

Brother,

Forgive my deception, but I hope my interference will be forgiven. Aragorn has written to me saying he is on the verge of tearing his hair out at the sight of you two. Eowyn and I are not faring much better here in Emyn Arnen with the constant pacing and faraway looks my, our, friend has whenever they return from the city.

I pray you spare all of us any more heated longing stares.

Best of luck,

Faramir

The nerve of his brother! To send you out in the storm simply for the purposes of… of… matchmaking! The paper crinkled in his grip and his eyes wandered down to the scrawl at the bottom.

P.S. I am not so foolish as to send them out in anything threatening. Spring storms may be chilly, but hardly dangerous.

That mollified him little and he grumbled.

“Is anything the matter?” you asked. “Were they damaged in the rain?”

“No, not at all. It is nothing. Simply my brother being… my brother.”

He read the letter again. Pacing… faraway looks… heated stares… Was his brother implying…? No, that could not be, could it? But, then again, perhaps he did not imagine the way you would linger in the sitting room after dinner or how he would feel your eyes on him sometimes. Your expression was always unreadable, careful and controlled, that he could hardly be sure of what you felt for him. If you felt anything at all.

And yet, Faramir’s letter…

Your bare feet shuffled on the stone. “You may turn around if you wish.”

He folded the letter away and replaced it along with the maps into the box. He turned and his stomach clenched at the sight of you.

You were bathed in the warm light of the fire, your skin aglow, incandescent in the dim light. His tunic was loose on you and the front ties of the collar were undone, revealing the skin of your chest. His eyes wandered down to the pile of wet clothes on the floor and he spotted, what were unmistakably, underthings, heaped on top.

Heat flared low in his belly and he glanced away.

You. Naked under his clothes. Valar help him.

Boromir had that look in his eyes again, all aflame and intense, except he was directing it at one of the tapestries on the wall. You glanced down at the wet clothes at your feet. Well, he could not have reasonably expected you to keep your underthings on, could he?

He was still staring at the wall. His jaw was tense and his hands were clenched by his sides. You took a step forward and he stood straighter. His eyes cut to yours for a moment, smoldering with want, before they went back to the wall. He took a shuddering breath and you took another step.

Perhaps if you couldn’t act, you could make him act first instead.

You fought a smile and walked to stand before him. You could smell him fully then, his familiar musk mingling with cedar from the scent he favoured.

“Boromir,” you whispered.

His eyes snapped to you and he swallowed.

“Boromir.”

You tipped your head to the side and parted your lips.

“Boromir.”

He crashed his lips against yours, his hands coming up to cradle your face. He deepened the kiss, his chest rumbling in a low moan when your fingers curled into his shirt. He tasted like the bitter tea he favoured after dinner. His hand drifted down, skimming your waist before coming to rest on your hip. Your nails scraped at the nape of his neck and he groaned.

His body was warm, hot even. He pressed himself closer to you and you could feel him, hard, against you. Heat pooled in your stomach and you moaned his name. His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt and he pulled back for a moment. “Is this alright?”

You nodded and tipped your head back. “Don’t stop.”

“I’ve… wanted this… for weeks,” he said, kisses drifting towards your jaw. The delightful scratch of his beard was followed by soft, warm lips as he worked his way down your neck. “Wanted you.”

“You should have done something.”

He smiled against your skin. “I’m doing something now.”

His lips paused at the curve of your neck and shoulder, sucking for a moment, as his hand slid up your side, his touch gentle but demanding. Your fingers fumbled with the ties on his tunic and tugged on the fabric. He pulled it off and tossed it to the side and he stood flushed and grinning before you. You trailed your fingers down his solid chest, past his stomach, following the light dusting of hair down.

“Maddening man, you —”

There was a knock on the door and you yelped, startling away from him.

“Who is it?” he asked, voice low and rough. He cleared his throat. “What is the matter?”

“Should we prepare a hot bath for your friend in the spare room?” The servant’s voice was muffled through the door.

His eyes darted to yours before a smirk spread across his face. “There is no need for that, thank you.”

There was the sound of retreating footsteps and you exhaled. Boromir let out a relieved chuckle and pulled you towards him.

“Sending my warm bath away?” You threw a challenging look at him. “How ever will I get warm?”

“I can think of a great many ways.”

“Will I like any of them?”

“I think you will find that you’ll like all of them.”

He dipped his head, capturing your lips, and tugged you in the direction of his bedroom.

---

I never realised just how quick things can head into a mature rating until I wrote this lmao. Not sure if I will ever write smut but well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (maybe)

Tags: @sotwk @ass-deep-in-demons @thetempleofthemasaigoddess @hippodameia

#boromir x reader #boromir x y/n #boromir x you #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #boromir

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stanningjay · 4 months

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Vitally important Huskerdust head cannon:

So, both Angel and Husk have voiced complaints about the cheesy nature of porn scripts, especially Angel’s.

I really feel like even if they got into a romantic relationship, Angel would still love to perform and still have his same horny tendencies.

To whit, he would constantly be writing truly elaborate erotic/romantic role playing scenes for the two of them.

I just picture them acting out a kink/role play scenario with literally DAYS of buildup, pages of scripts, and other Hotel residents cast (unwillingly) as side characters. So instead of just one’s average “body guard fantasy” or something, Angel has produced a 100 page script and it’s a slow burn and very well produced but it’s still insanely horny and their fore play for any intimate moment takes like, a week and a half to get through.

So while Hotel shenanigans are just chugging along the two of them in the background performing their scenario in elaborate costumes and lighting changes n shit.

That’s all.

#hazbin hotel #writing #fiction #queer fiction #hazbin angel dust #angelhusk #huskerdust #huskerdust headcanons #hazbin headcanons #Hazbin huskerdust #hazbin husk

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happilyhertale · 1 year

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Heir to the throne - Daemon Targaryen x niece!reader

Summary: You and your uncle Daemon have a somewhat sullen relationship. Daemon thinks you are weak. And you think he is insufferable and manipulative. But how long can you resist your growing affection for him?

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Minors do not continue reading!

Author’s note: Hey you (:

A one-shot Daemon story requested by @dreamlandcreations 🖤 I hope you like it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 5.5 k

Other stories of mine

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As the day of your birth dawned, the enchanting chimes of Kings Landing echoed through the city, filling the air with a symphony of celebration. All the people of the realm witnessed your arrival on this earth. As the beloved first-born daughter of King Viserys and his beloved Queen Aemma, it was well known that your father longed for a son. But your father's deep love for you surpassed all pre-determined expectations.

When your mother's womb was filled with new life again, you were still a child yourself, and the anticipation of the arrival of a male heir to stride through the royal halls grew. But fate had other plans, and your sister Rhaenyra graced the world with her presence. From the moment she entered this realm, an unbreakable bond formed between the two of you. Despite Rhaenyra's temperamental nature, you found harmony in each other's company.

During your childhood together, mischievous pranks became part of your playful repertoire, often driving others to despair. While you found solace in the art of needlework and the treasures of old books in the library, Rhaenyra could always be found in the exercise yard, rolling in the earth and eagerly keeping pace with the boys of the court. But you, too, actually took part in such pursuits and proved that your wild spirit burns just as brightly. Countless times you stood by Rhaenyra's side, defending her against the taunts of those who mocked her only because she was a girl. Together, fearlessly and with combined strength, you unceremoniously threw those who dared to challenge you into the dirt.

Yet the longing for a male heir consumed your father Viserys' heart and overshadowed the vibrant love between your parents. Your mother, despite her best efforts, was tired and exhausted after mourning a dead child in the cradle, suffering two stillbirths and two heartbreaking miscarriages. But a glimmer of hope emerged when she became pregnant again, sparking the anticipation of a long-awaited male successor. Even you and Rhaenyra held on to that hope, for you were reluctant to take on the burden of ruling a kingdom. The duties and benefits of being a princess gave you both far more pleasure. But this pregnancy weighed heavily on your mother, sapping her vitality with each passing day. The signs were obvious to you, for she rarely ventured out of her bath anymore.

You and Rhaenyra started spending a few moments together in bed in the evenings at that time. You had numerous conversations ranging from trivia to the prevailing topic of your mother and her exhausting pregnancy. It was during these intimate exchanges that your fear of childbirth was really ignited.

This fear was only fuelled when your mother died in childbirth. Your mother's untimely passing at the birth of the long-awaited male heir shook you and Rhaenyra to the core. But in the midst of the pain, there was a surprising turn of events when your father called you to him. The seriousness that showed on his face set the tone as you and Rhaenyra stood before King Viserys, waiting for his words.

In a calm and serious tone, he unravelled the story of the Song of Ice and Fire and tied together the threads of the prophetic vision of Aegon the Conqueror. As his hopeful gaze fell upon you, a feeling of trepidation crept over you, for you did not know what he was up to. Your father was trying to divert the succession by preferring you to your uncle Daemon and longing for you to ascend the throne. There was silence in the air, broken only by Rhaenyra's radiant smile. But you shook your head resolutely and refused the iron throne that awaited you. And so the path took its course, granting Rhaenyra her rightful place as heir to the throne.

But what you and Rhaenyra also shared was the joyful anticipation that shot through your veins every time your uncle Daemon visited King's Landing. The moment Caraxes appeared in the sky, your heart beat faster and you quickly made your way to the dragon pit. Hastily you traversed the corridors, longing to catch even a glimpse of your beloved uncle. Gasping for breath, you reached the entrance of the dragon pit and waited patiently for his arrival. It wasn't long before Rhaenyra was at your side, waiting as well. And whenever Daemon finally appeared, a radiant smile lit up both your faces.

Without hesitation, you both sprinted towards him, and with effortless strength, he lifted you both up in his arms and carried you towards the keep. Enchanted, you listened to his every word and listened to tales of epic battles and distant lands he had travelled. But over time, things changed. You grew more mature, older and wiser.

Although you still hold your uncle in high esteem, a bittersweet ambivalence stirs within you. You still enjoyed listening to his stories, even if you feigned a certain disinterest. But his shadowy deeds, which always resonated in the depths of your consciousness, repelled you. The same was true of your uncle. He held you in high esteem, considered you his niece and vowed to protect you from the horrors of this world should he have the power to do so. However, he considered you weak, much like your father, King Viserys. It was Rhaenyra, spirited and rebellious, who attracted his affections more. But such things were of no consequence to you. Gaining his attention was not attractive, at least you kept whispering this to yourself.

One day, the whispers of the servants echoed ceaselessly through the air, like a delicate melody. The news was full of excitement - a vibrant festival was to fill the humble streets of Flea Bottom. Enchanting attractions and captivating performers would parade through the avenues, enthralling all who gathered with their enchanting talents. Naturally, your curiosity was piqued, for it had been far too long since you had joined Rhaenyra on a journey through the secret passages of the keep.

As evening fell and dinner drew to a close, you retired to your chambers. Secretly you dressed in the humble attire of the servants and carefully donned a cloak with a hood that concealed your shining silver locks. With great determination, you approached what appeared to be an ordinary wall in your chambers and exerted a gentle but purposeful push. The wall that obeyed your touch gives way, revealing a hidden passageway that lies beyond. A tingle of anticipation flows through you as you enter the hidden passageways and the familiar excitement within you flares up again.

As you arrive in front of the massive keep, you stare upwards, fascinated by the towering walls that seem almost frightening. Relief washes over you, for you knew that tonight you would escape the confines of this fortress and enjoy the freedom that awaited you. Your path leads you unwaveringly to Flea Bottom, a thriving tapestry of life and pleasure. The narrow streets were teeming with happy people, the air was filled with animated conversation and joyous laughter.

At every corner, artists adorned the bustling scene, showing off their talents and attracting the attention of passers-by. The fascination of it all takes hold of you as your gaze wanders upwards to witness a daredevil performer gracefully crossing a taut rope between two old walls. A melodious laugh escapes your lips, evidence of the sheer wonder and enchantment that has captivated you.

The lure of this uncomplicated existence is undeniably great. What is even more enticing is the anonymity it gives you. Here your hair remains unseen, the darkness hides you from prying eyes. Your purple eyes go unnoticed like a hidden gem. You are no princess, but just an ordinary soul among them.

A woman gracefully hands you a glass of wine and a smile graces your lips in response. As you sip the wine, she leads you into the crowd of dancing people. In the square, musicians serenade and enchant those who sway to their melodies. You find yourself in the midst of the cheering crowd, laughing and twirling in blissful abandon. You spill a little wine but pay no attention to the fleeting mishap. Your hood slips briefly, but you deftly straighten it again, preserving your disguise.

But as you turn around briskly, a sudden shock of surprise passes through you. Standing before you is your uncle, Daemon, wrapped in his own cloak.

"Uncle!" you say, startled. Your eyes are wide and you stop abruptly. You are breathing heavily from all your dancing.

But he only grins at you.

"Well, well... What is our little princess doing here?" he asks you.

You clear your throat slightly, "Well... I just wanted to enjoy the festivities," you say softly.

He smiles at you, "I could see that," he grins at you.

"So you're interested in the festivities? And you even sneak out of the keep to do it?" he asks you.

You look at him, "Does that surprise you?" you ask him in return.

He shrugs slightly, "Let's put it this way, I didn't expect it"

He looks at you with a look you can't quite place. Your cheeks flush slightly and you look to the side.

"Well... I have to go, take care princess," he says with a slight grin and continues walking.

You are left a little irritated.

The next day you learn that Rhaenyra was in a brothel with Daemon and you are shocked. You met Daemon on the streets of Flea Bottom, he must have gone straight to a brothel afterwards... When you hear this, you immediately go in search of Rhaenyra.

When you find her, she is standing talking to Ser Criston.

"Rhaenyra," you say, and she responds with a smile.

"Can we talk for a moment?" you ask her.

Ser Criston steps away from you.

When you are alone, you look at her.

"You were in a brothel with Uncle Daemon?" you ask her.

Her eyes grow wide.

"How do you know about that?" she asks you, horrified.

"Well... secrets don't stay secrets here for long... Especially when two silver-haired people visit a brothel," you say.

She swallows visibly.

"So it's true?" you ask her.

She grabs your arm, "He didn't take my maidenhead, I swear," she says to you.

"But how can you be so careless as to go to a brothel with him?" you ask her.

"Do you know what will happen if this gets out?" you ask her further, "Your reputation will be ruined!"

She bites her lip nervously.

"It won't come out... and if it does...I didn't lose my maidenhead to him," she says softly.

But after your father finds out about it, he is furious. He has Daemon brought to him.

"Give me Rhaenyra to take to wife and we will return the House of the Dragon to its proper glory"

There is a brief silence in the throne room as Daemon speaks the words and lies hungover on the floor.

Viserys kneels over him, "Of course... It's not my daughter you lust for, is it?"

He presses the blade a little more against Daemon's neck, "It's my throne"

Daemon grins just slightly.

"You can take her as your wife... But she will no longer be heir to the throne. I will make y/n heir to the throne. Rhaenyra is no longer pure, too wild to rule a kingdom... Hoping that you cannot corrupt y/n, " Viserys finally says.

Daemon gets angry, "You can't do that!"

Viserys stands up, "You'll see what I can do"

And in a moment that seemed to stand the test of time, your father, in a grand production, announced to the realm that you were the rightful heir to the throne. He justifies this monumental decision by acknowledging that he should have recognised your esteemed position as elder sister from the beginning. Deep down, however, both you and Rhaenyra understand the motivations behind this decision, but the revelation leaves you stunned and unprepared. The thought of assuming the role of queen does not suit your heart's desires, but your father, determined and weary of all stormy arguments, rejects all arguments.

The kingdom is in an uproar, and King Viserys hosts an extravagant ball to celebrate this turning point. With unwavering courage, you step into the limelight, knowing that all eyes will be on you all night and your every move will be closely watched. Countless lords vie for your attention, eager to capture your gaze. You, now the embodiment of attraction, become the most desired woman in the realm, igniting ardent desire from all corners. In the midst of this whirlwind, you find a moment of calm, enjoying a sip of wine in solitude, only to be startled by the sudden appearance of your uncle at your side.

"Niece," he says in greeting.

You look over at him slightly and then drink some more of your wine.

"Uncle," you say back.

After a while his voice resounds, "So you are now heir to the throne"

You nod slightly, "I guess that's right," you say.

He smiles slightly, "You don't seem very pleased about it"

You snort slightly, "Well... if you hadn't taken your other niece to a brothel and started rumours about her virtue... Then I wouldn't have to be here," you say.

"So you're not pleased?" he asks you.

You just look at him.

"Why... Why are you taking her to a brothel in the first place? It's irresponsible and immoral," you say.

"'Excuse me... My highly moral niece... but if we are honest, was I ever moral?" he asks you.

You snort again and he looks at you.

"You were out in Flea Bottom yourself...," he finally replies, but you interrupt him.

"... but I didn't go to a brothel!" you say.

He watches you for a moment.

"I had to take Rhaenyra there... I had to show her... To show her what it means to make political decisions… to fulfil duties and also to accept and live out personal preferences," he tells you.

You shake your head slightly, "You can't think of anything better than taking your niece to your brothel?"

You drink from your wine and look out into the crowd again.

He looks at you, a slight smile curling his lips.

"You wish I had gone to the brothel with you?" he asks suddenly.

You choke on your wine.

"Excuse me?" you ask him.

He grins now, "You wish I had chosen you. When I met you on the streets of Flea Bottom... You wish I had taken you by the hand and..."

But you interrupt him.

"What? No! Of course not!" you say to him, but your cheeks blush slightly.

He just grins even more, "Well... If I had known that your father would now install you as heir to the throne... Then I wouldn't have deprived you of this lesson," he says with the same grin on his face.

"Stop it!" you hiss.

"I have no interest in going to a filthy brothel with you," you say to him and you feel the anger rising inside you.

"Well... we don't have to go to a brothel either... I can teach you this lesson in a soft bed," his eyes sparkle as he says this to you.

You just look at him.

"Do you always have to be like this? So manipulative? Maybe you should stop trying to corrupt your brother's daughters... At some point there won't be any children left to succeed to the throne... Or is that what you want? So that you can be named heir to the throne again?" you say to him.

Daemon's gaze darkens, but you simply step away from him.

You leave the ball. You quickly try to put a great distance between you and Daemon. You don't know what it is, but the thought of being in a brothel with Daemon stirs something in you. But you quickly move on towards your chambers.

As the morning light wakes you and you step out of your chambers after your morning routine, a bittersweet realisation comes to you - Daemon has once again left King's Landing.

But in the midst of this recurring absence, a new responsibility now weighs on your shoulders and demands your attention. Your father, concerned for your future, keeps dropping hints about potential suitors who might be worthy of you. Some of these suggestions make you recoil in horror, as they are unfamiliar names of lords you have never heard of. Others, with some logic, sound like good partners. But one name keeps coming up - Laenor Velaryon. Laenor, a kind-hearted soul, would guarantee you a respectful marriage. But deep inside you long for a marriage that promises more than a husband who prefers to spend his free time in the company of other men.

While King Viserys wants to leave the final decision to you, he nevertheless tries in his own discreet way to win your heart for this union. Inwardly, you cannot help but envy Rhaenyra, who now enjoys the freedom of choice, unaffected by the burden of political affairs. Yet you are taken aback when she too suddenly expresses her desire for an engagement. Ser Harwin's proposal to marry her is announced by your father, and the glow on Rhaenyra's lips betrays her joy. After much deliberation, your father has given his consent to this betrothal, sealing the path Rhaenyra will take.

Preparations for Rhaenyra's wedding are in full swing, putting an enchanting aura in the air. Although Rhaenyra is no longer heir to the throne, no expense or effort is spared to ensure a magnificent wedding. While you are busy with your own new tasks, you are all the more surprised when your sister's wedding is suddenly only a few days away.

The capital city is welcoming an influx of distinguished guests, with unfamiliar faces packing the halls. Amidst this swirl, fate once again crosses your path with Laenor. Warm greetings are exchanged, and in the absence of your father's watchful presence, you are indeed able to engage in pleasant conversation. Unfortunately, your father never fails to highlight Laenor's presence whenever he can.

On the auspicious day of the wedding, there is a grand ball where wine flows copiously, instilling in you a sense of calm. This makes it a little easier to bear your father's insistent insistence that you dance with Laenor. Your gaze, however, inevitably wanders to Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin, who always wear beaming smiles on their lips. Genuine joy fills your heart for them.

Suddenly a murmur goes through the crowd, growing louder with each passing moment. As you look up from your seat at the head table, you catch sight of the entrance of your uncle, who has been absent throughout the ceremony. Surprised, but not completely taken aback, it seems only logical that he naturally needs to make a special appearance. He exudes an undeniable charm as he strides into the hall, his lips curved into a subtle smile. Your eyes meet briefly, and you detect a hint of mirth in his eyes. Hastily, you avert your gaze and seek refuge in the depths of your wine glass.

Daemon makes his way to Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin and offers them his congratulations before gracefully walking around the table. Finally, he settles across from you. As you avoid his gaze, your attention is abruptly taken by your father, who suddenly stands before you. A smile graces your face as you lift your gaze to meet him, only to lose it again when you see Laenor standing beside your father.

"Y/n. I thought you were going to show Laenor your new dancing skills?" your father asks you.

You smile, "Where do you keep getting these ideas from?," you mumble.

But gracefully you rise from your seat and put on a gentle smile, as if the weight of the world is light on your shoulders. Together with Laenor, you glide to the dance floor, a harmonious couple amidst the lively atmosphere. Laenor, a skilful dance partner, engages you in pleasant conversation. But his presence does not arouse any feelings beyond the warmth of a cousin.

After a few dances, a growing restlessness overcomes you and you long for solitude and a break from the boisterous mood. Seeking solace, you retreat to the edge of the dance floor, the rim of your wine cup finding comfort at your lips. A single, daring sip empties the vessel and quiets your inner turmoil for a moment. In the distance, your father approaches Laenor once more and engages him in conversation. The scene almost amuses you as you notice that Laenor is beginning to seem annoyed too.

You quickly take another cup of wine and leave the festivities before your father can address you again. Cup in hand, you stroll through the corridors and make your way to your chambers. Weary from the day's events, your only desire is to wrap yourself in solitude. As you enter your private chambers, you free yourself from the confines of your dress and let out a relieved sigh as the lacing at your back loosens.

The garment falls to the floor and surrenders to gravity. Wearing a flowing nightgown, you approach the mirror and carefully untangle the intricately braided pigtails that adorned your head. As you lift the brush and prepare to run it through your silken tresses, an unwelcome interruption sounds in the form of a sharp knock on the door. Irritation flickers across your face as you turn to face the unwelcome disturbance.

"Who is it?" you ask. But no one answers. You sigh and go to the door. You open it.

"What is it?" but you pause as you see your uncle.

"Uncle?" you ask.

He smiles slightly at you, "Niece," he says.

You look at each other for a while.

"Won't you invite me in?" he finally asks you.

"I'm not sure I want to," you reply.

He raises his eyebrows a little, but you take a step to the side.

His hands are behind his back and he smiles at you. Slowly he enters your chambers. You close the door and watch him. You see his broad back and notice that he seems to be looking around.

"Not much has changed in your chambers..." he says somewhat absently as he stands at your desk.

You look at him and smile a little, "Did you come here to inspect my chambers?" you ask him.

He turns to you and has to smile a little again, "No... of course not...", he says almost quietly.

He lets his fingers glide lightly over a book lying on your desk.

"You seemed annoyed," he says finally.

Now you are the one raising your eyebrows, "What?" you ask him.

"Well... At the ball... You seemed upset. Upset that Viserys kept trying to badger you with Laenor's presence," he says, smiling at you.

You roll your eyes a little as you think about it again. "Is it that noticeable?" you ask him.

You walk over to the table and drink from your wine again.

"I don't want to marry Laenor," you say finally.

"I like Laenor, he's nice. But I don't want a man who prefers the company of men," you say, turning to face Daemon.

Daemon grins slightly.

"That's understandable... You want a man who desires you," he says to you.

You have to chuckle a little, but shake your head slightly, "I don't think that's an argument that will meet with my father's understanding," you say.

"Well...", Daemon says, "You will be queen, you should decide who you marry... who will rule with you", he says to you.

You drink again of your wine and look at him. You see a sparkle in his purple eyes.

"I could take you to a brothel, if that would help you decide," he says suddenly.

This hits you unexpectedly and you suddenly have to laugh. Your laughter infects Daemon and you hear him chuckle slightly.

"Thank you very much for your offer, uncle. But I think I will decline," you say with a smile.

You look at each other and notice how close you are. You can literally feel his breath on your skin. Suddenly his lips are on yours. You gasp briefly, but then his hand is on your cheek and he holds you tight. The kiss is wild and passionate. You put your hands on his firm chest and pull him closer to you by his waistcoat. You whimper slightly as he gently bites your lower lip. Daemon breaks the kiss briefly. He is breathing heavily. His thumb wanders gently over your lower lip. His eyes seem to be watching your face closely, as if finding even the slightest sign that you don't want this.

"Do you really want me to corrupt another daughter of the king?" he asks you in his deep voice.

You are also breathing heavily and look at him.

"Shut up, uncle," you say simply.

He chuckles lightly and lets his hand slide down your neck. He pulls you close again and kisses you.

He pushes you backwards slightly and you notice the back of your thighs pressing against the desk. His hands are suddenly on your hips and with one quick movement you are sitting on the desk. Daemon is standing between your legs and he starts kissing your neck. Slowly he lets his lips and tongue glide over your soft skin. His fingers slowly slide along your thigh and you gasp.

"Is that okay?" Daemon whispers as he continues to caress your neck. You just nod and wrap your legs around him.

You feel a slight grin on his lips. You start to unbutton his shirt. More and more of his muscular chest is exposed. You notice slight scars on his skin as he lets go of your neck to pull his shirt over his head. You breathe heavily. You let your fingers wander gently over his chest and feel the scars. You bite your lip lightly.

"Shall we stop for a moment and admire each other's bodies?" he asks you with a teasing undertone.

You look up into his eyes. "Shut up, I said," you whisper. He chuckles softly and kisses you again. His hand continues to wander along your thigh. It slides under your nightgown and you let your hand slide down his neck. You gently grab his neck and pull him closer to you. You notice how your undergarments are getting more and more soaked. When his fingers suddenly slide over your folds, you moan into his mouth. He doesn't hesitate for long and pushes your undergarments aside. He feels your wetness immediately and his fingers are immediately soaked.

A deep groan forms in his chest. His fingers find your clit and start to leave firm but gentle movements on it. You moan again and gasp. You grip his neck tighter and he grins at you.

"You like that..." he whispers.

You just whimper as he moves his fingers faster. You kiss him again and try to undo his trousers at the same time. But you are distracted by his fingers. When he suddenly inserts two fingers into you, your efforts stop.

"Daemon...", you moan a little louder now.

"Yes...? I must prepare you for my cock...", he murmurs simply and lets his fingers slide into you.

You look into his eyes. Your cheeks are flushed and you are breathing heavily. He smiles at you. You moan as he lets his fingers disappear inside you again and again. You close your eyes and pull him towards you. Your lips find his lips and when he inserts a third finger, you just whimper. But you start to move your hips towards him.

Suddenly you hear him open his trousers and they slip to the floor. Your tongues continue to dance around each other as he suddenly stops inserting his fingers into you. Instead, he reaches for your undergarments and pulls them down your legs. You breathe heavily and watch his movements. You see him bite his lip as he just drops your undergarments on the floor. But then your gaze falls on his body. Daemon is standing in front of you without his shirt and trousers. And you see his entire size.

You now bite your lip as you look at his cock. It is big and thick and you can already see a few drops polling around at its tip.

His big hand pumps a few times his hot length and then he lets the tip of his cock slide through your wetness. You hear him grunt softly and can't hold back a moan of your own.

He kisses you again and lets his hand wander to your ass. Slowly he pulls you closer to him and you feel him slowly push his cock into you. You bite your lip. You gasp as his big member almost splits you. But it feels so good. He gives you time to adjust to his size. You start to move your hips towards him. And he takes that as a sign and his thrusts become stronger. With each thrust he is deeper inside you. His grunts get louder and you start moaning in unison with him. He fills you completely. Your arms are around his neck and you close your eyes. His hands are on your hips and he makes you slam down on his cock faster. You cry out in passion. The table beneath you starts to creak with each thrust, it is obviously not designed for such activities.

Suddenly one of his hands is on your shoulder and he pushes you down gently. You follow his instruction and lie down on the table. Immediately his hands are on your hips again, setting the pace. You wrap your legs around his waist to push him closer to you. The slapping of your naked skin and your lustful sounds fill your chambers. With each thrust, he grazes your sweet spot in your wet core. You moan out. Daemon notices how your walls clench around his cock.

Without hesitation, he begins to rub your pearl with his thumb. You reach for his biceps as a wave of excitement floods through you.

"Daemon..." you gasp.

"It's all right, I've got you. Show me how good it is for you... Come on my cock," you hear him say in his deep voice. His thumb moves faster and his thrusts become harder.

And then an incredible feeling floods you.

You moan, but his thrusts don't let up.

"Daemon," you moan and continue to grab his biceps.

"Yes... Yes!" he just grunts. You close your eyes and are a moaning mess. And then you hear him groan loudly. His moans become softer until they subside completely. You are both breathing heavily. You are still lying on your desk. Daemon is still standing between your legs. He lets his head hang down and you feel him slowly pull his cock out of you. You notice his cum leaking out of you and dripping onto the floor. But you can't move. Your eyes are closed and you try to catch your breath. You notice how he gently caresses your thigh.

"I wanted to take Rhaenyra's maidenhead that night... In the brothel...", you suddenly hear him say.

You open your eyes and look at him. He looks at you closely.

Neither of you says anything.

When suddenly he breaks the silence again, "But I couldn't"

You continue to look at him.

"Why?" you ask quietly.

He swallows briefly, "When I saw you that night. You, the perfect, good princess who did something forbidden... That somehow confused me..." he says quietly. His fingers continue to caress your thigh.

"I don't know, I just couldn't," he says a little louder.

You have to smile slightly and sit up.

"So my uncle does have a conscience," you say teasingly.

He has to smile slightly, "Then I guess I shouldn't have taken your maidenhead"

You smile, "Who said you did?"

He looks at you a little startled.

"I was joking," you say before he can say anything.

This time he has to laugh. He starts stroking your cheek.

"Maybe your father had better not find out about this," he says suddenly. But you have the feeling that there is a hint of sadness.

You look at him. Suddenly you have to smile slightly.

"Except... When I tell him I want to marry you," you say.

His eyes grow wide.

"What...?" he whispers.

"Well... He wants me to get married. And I get to have the last word," you say.

"But you are so often annoyed with me," he says with a smile.

"Well... at least that guarantees it won't be boring," you say quietly.

Daemon just shakes his head slightly and leans forward. He kisses you softly.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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novlr · 5 months

Note

Hello. Not sure if this was asked yet, but do you have any advice on how to write enemies to friends, then friends to lovers, considering there was romantic tension between them before when they were enemies? Thank you very much in advance!

The enemies to lovers trope is a beloved narrative device, especially in the romance genre. As a creative writer looking to explore this trope, there are key elements and techniques to consider in order to craft a believable and engaging story. Here’s how you can turn animosity into affection and keep your readers hooked.

Understanding the trope

Before diving into writing, it’s important to understand what makes the ‘enemies to lovers’ trope so interesting. It’s a classic plot device where two characters start with a contentious relationship and, through various plot developments, end up falling in love. This trope thrives on tension and the gradual breakdown of barriers, creating a rollercoaster of emotions for both the characters and the readers.

What are the key components?

Conflict: The bedrock of this trope is the initial conflict between the characters. It can be rooted in a misunderstanding, ideological differences, or a rivalry.

Chemistry: Despite the conflict, there needs to be an underlying chemistry that hints at the potential for romance.

Character development: The evolution of the characters’ relationship must be believable. Their growth, both individually and together, is crucial to the plot.

Pacing: The shift from enemies to lovers should be gradual and well-paced, avoiding any rush that could undermine the build-up of their relationship.

Build authentic tension

When writing ‘enemies to lovers,’ the tension must feel authentic. Readers can easily spot forced conflict or chemistry, so it’s vital to create situations and dialogues that naturally showcase the friction between your characters.

Create obstacles: Design situations that challenge the characters and force them to interact in high-stakes scenarios.

Dialogue: Use snappy, charged dialogue to convey their conflict while also revealing their begrudging respect or fascination for each other.

Inner conflict: Develop the characters’ inner conflicts to add depth to their external quarrels and eventual reconciliation.

Have a strong turning point

The transition from enemies to lovers should feel earned. It often involves a pivotal moment where the characters’ perspectives shift, allowing them to see each other in a new light, becoming friends

Shared experiences: Design scenarios where the characters have to rely on each other, creating a sense of camaraderie.

Vulnerability: Allow the characters to show vulnerability to each other, which can be a powerful catalyst for changing emotions.

Moments of understanding: highlight moments of empathy and insight into each other’s motivations and vulnerabilities.

Foster the romance

Once the groundwork for the characters’ relationship shift has been set, you can focus on fostering the romantic connection.

Mutual respect: As the characters overcome obstacles, their respect for one another should grow, forming the basis for their romantic feelings.

Intimacy: Create instances where the characters share intimate moments or thoughts, further deepening their bond.

New Conflicts: Introduce new conflicts that can only be solved together, cementing their status as a team.

The payoff

The ultimate goal in the ‘enemies to lovers’ trope is to deliver a satisfying payoff that feels both surprising and inevitable. Here are ways to ensure the romance culminates in a fulfilling resolution:

Growth and sacrifice: Show how the characters have grown since the beginning of the story and the sacrifices they are willing to make for each other.

Full circle: Bring their relationship full circle by referencing elements of their initial conflict, now resolved through love and understanding.

Public acknowledgment: Include a scene where the characters acknowledge their feelings for each other in a significant way, often in public or in front of previously opposing forces.

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nayziiz · 3 months

Text

No Way | LN4

Summary: Lando Norris, an F1 driver for McLaren Racing, faces persistent attention on his single status. In an attempt to appease fans and quell rumours, his management suggests a fake relationship with a popular Portuguese model. However, Lando's PR manager, Natalie, disagrees, believing fans would see through the ploy. As an alternative, Lando's management notices the genuine bond between him and Natalie and proposes they feign a relationship for authenticity. Initially hesitant, they agree, given their existing friendship and professional connection. The fake relationship takes an unexpected turn as Lando and Natalie grapple with burgeoning real feelings, attempting unsuccessfully to conceal their growing emotions.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Original Character (Natalie)

Warnings: Mentions of physical and emotional abuse; SA; fluff; crash

Masterlist

CHAPTER 8

The paddock buzzes with excitement, the air charged with the fervour of the qualifying day. Fans are scattered throughout, their enthusiasm palpable as they eagerly seek out their favourite drivers for a momentary connection. For Natalie, the team's PR representative, this bustling atmosphere is both a spectacle and a challenge.

As she navigates through the crowd, fans stop her and request photos and autographs from Lando, the team's charismatic driver. It's a routine part of the job that Natalie finds somewhat tedious. She understands the importance of fan interaction, recognizing that their unwavering support is crucial for the team and the sport as a whole. However, her professional instinct often urges Lando to hasten to his car, focusing on the impending race rather than engaging in prolonged fan interactions.

Despite her slight impatience, Natalie acknowledges the significance of these moments for the fans. It's a chance for them to connect with their racing idol, to capture a memory that will last a lifetime. Lando, ever the amiable and accommodating personality, graciously takes the time to fulfil their requests. The constant interruptions can be trying, but Natalie realises that this fan engagement is a vital aspect of maintaining the team's rapport with its supporters.

Earlier in the day, a barber paid a visit to the team's garage to tidy up Lando's unruly curls. Natalie observes this routine ritual with a mixture of amusement and affection. The sight of Lando in the barber's chair, his wildly curly hair being meticulously trimmed and shaved, is a spectacle she enjoys. It's not just about the physical transformation; it's the subtle nuances in Lando's demeanour that captivate her.

As the barber works, Lando tilts his head from side to side, a playful gesture that showcases his relaxed and carefree attitude. The act of getting his hair groomed becomes a performance in itself, with his jawline popping teasingly, creating a lighthearted banter between him and Natalie.

Her mind, however, is momentarily diverted from the racing ambience to the memory of Lando's freshly shaved sides. The image lingers in her thoughts, and a playful smile tugs at the corners of her lips. She contemplates the practicality of his new haircut, realising that there will be less hair to playfully tug onto when they share intimate moments. It's a fleeting and somewhat cheeky thought that adds a touch of personal delight to the professional whirlwind of the racing environment.

As they finally reach the haven of Lando's driver's room, Natalie takes a moment to catch her breath. The transition from the bustling paddock to the more private sanctuary of the driver's room provides a brief respite from the external chaos. The air in the room is filled with the scent of adrenaline and anticipation, creating an atmosphere that is both charged and focused.

“How do you have so much energy this morning?” She bluntly asks as she starts handing him caps to sign.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that my girlfriend kissed me awake this morning.” He teases as he scribbles his signature on the caps.

“You just love saying that, don’t you?” Natalie chuckles. Lando, not missing a beat, glances up at her with a sly grin.

“And, you love hearing it, don’t you, baby?” He teases further, enjoying the light-hearted exchange.

“Stop it, silly.” Natalie whispers, playfully nudging his shoulder with her hip.

As the banter subsides, they seamlessly transition back to their official duties, the caps now adorned with Lando's signature.

“How’re you feeling about quali today?” Natalie inquires, shifting the focus to the impending qualifying session.

The teasing banter momentarily takes a back seat to the more serious aspect of their roles in the racing world. Lando's demeanour shifts, becoming more contemplative as he considers the question.

“Confident.” He replies with a determined nod. “The car feels good, and I’ve got a good feeling about today. Oscar and I need to keep the momentum going.”

As if on cue, Oscar makes his entrance, tapping his knuckles against the open door with a playful "Knock knock." His presence injects a light-hearted energy into the room.

“Did I hear my name?” He asks, clearly intrigued.

“You did. Lando was just saying you better not start at the back of the grid tomorrow.” Natalie jokes.

“Oh, no way. You know we’ve got the third row locked down between the two of us.” Oscar retorts.

“I like your confidence.” Natalie laughs.

Natalie and Lando turn their attention as Lily appears behind Oscar, innocently waving at them.

“Good, you’re here! I was going to text you to find out if you’d like to go to dinner tonight if you’re not busy?” Natalie asks her.

“That sounds great.” Lily, pleased with the invitation, agrees with a sweet smile.

“And, the boys can join if they’re bored enough.” Natalie assures, noticing Lando's deadpan reaction to her spontaneous invitation to Lily.assures Lando when she sees his deadpan reaction to her invite to Lily.

“Ah, I see how it is. Inviting Lily to dinner and just assuming we'll tag along because we might be 'bored'?" He feigns a hurt expression, earning a playful roll of the eyes from Natalie.

“Oh, come on. What else could the two of us possibly be doing without our girlfriends anyway?” Oscar chimes in, adding to the banter.

The paddock erupts in cheers and jubilation as the qualifying session for McLaren unfolds brilliantly. Lando, displaying exceptional skill and determination, secures pole position for the upcoming race—his fourth pole position of the season. The accomplishment is a testament to both his talent and the team's dedication to pushing the limits of their performance.

Oscar, not to be overshadowed, puts up an impressive performance as well, securing the third position on the grid. The McLaren crew is elated, their hard work and meticulous preparation evident in the outstanding results. The garage is filled with the sounds of celebration, the team members sharing high-fives and exchanging smiles, their confidence soaring.

The crew, convinced of the team's potential, started discussing the strategies and fine-tuning details for the race day. The prospect of Lando securing his second F1 win is a source of great anticipation and excitement among the McLaren ranks. The garage, moments ago filled with the adrenaline of the qualifying triumph, now becomes a hive of activity as the team channels their energy into preparing for the race that lies ahead.

As the crew rushes out to join the jubilation and congratulate Lando and Oscar on their exceptional qualifying results, Natalie chooses to stay behind in the garage. While the sounds of celebration fill the air outside, she remains surrounded by the echoes of the team's achievements within the confines of the garage.

Her face adorned with the biggest smile, Natalie is a picture of pride and contentment. She watches the live telemetry and monitors the team communications, staying connected to the unfolding celebrations while savouring the intimate moment in the garage. This is a familiar scene – the culmination of countless hours of hard work, dedication, and the shared pursuit of excellence.

Natalie knows that for Lando, this pole position holds a special significance. It represents more than just a starting position on the grid; it symbolises the culmination of relentless effort, the thirst for victory, and the unwavering commitment to excellence. Lando has been fighting valiantly for that elusive race win, and Natalie senses that this could be the moment when the stars align.

Her pride is not just for the team but especially for Lando. She recognizes the determination in his eyes, the resilience at every turn, and the skill that has brought him to this point. Natalie knows it's his time, a moment that feels long overdue. The smile on her face reflects not just the thrill of the current achievement but the anticipation of what lies ahead on race day.

Lando is lost among the sea of people as his McLaren team swarms him and Oscar. Despite being overwhelmed by his performance and the people grabbing and pulling at him, there’s one set of hands and eyes he doesn’t see anywhere. Once the excitement dies down, Lando pulls off his helmet and balaclava before rushing into the garage to find Natalie eagerly awaiting his arrival.

Amidst the sea of people celebrating and the overwhelming swarm of the McLaren team, Lando finds himself lost in the midst of the jubilation. The cheers, high-fives, and congratulations from the team members and well-wishers engulf him, momentarily making it difficult for him to discern individual faces in the crowd. Despite the joy and chaos surrounding him, there's a subtle awareness that one set of hands and eyes is missing.

Once the initial excitement begins to subside, Lando takes a moment to catch his breath. As he pulls off his helmet and balaclava, a sense of curiosity and longing tugs at him. He looks around, scanning the crowd, but the one person he's been unconsciously seeking remains elusive.

Driven by an instinct that transcends the adrenaline of his success, Lando makes his way back into the garage. The familiar surroundings offer a temporary escape from the chaos outside, and there, eagerly awaiting his arrival, is Natalie. She stands in a quieter corner of the garage, a calm presence amid the residual excitement.

Their eyes meet, and a smile spreads across Lando's face as he rushes towards her. The noise of the celebration fades into the background as the two share a moment of connection. In that instant, the garage becomes a haven where the intensity of the race and the exuberance of victory meet the personal joy of shared accomplishment.

Lando's joy radiates as he pulls Natalie into his arms, a genuine and infectious smile lighting up his face. With an exuberant burst of energy, he swings her around, and her laughter echoes through the garage, a harmonious melody to the excitement of the moment.

“Pole position, baby!” Lando exclaims, his voice filled with elation. The exclamation catches the attention of the mechanics and engineers who are still basking in the afterglow of the team's success.

As Lando revels in the joy of the pole position and the celebratory moment with Natalie, there's a subtle shift in the dynamics of their relationship. Despite having maintained a low-key approach to their displays of affection during their months of pretending to be in love for the public eye, Lando senses the significance of this particular moment.

Feeling an overwhelming desire to make a statement and officially claim Natalie as his girlfriend, Lando decides to go big. In the midst of the cheers and applause from the team, he gently sets Natalie down and takes a step back, looking at her with a twinkle in his eye.

With a mischievous grin, Lando decides to break from their usual understated approach. He sweeps Natalie into a passionate kiss, the kind that speaks volumes about the genuine affection between them. The display of affection catches the attention of those around them, including the mechanics and engineers who momentarily pause in surprise before breaking into cheers and supportive applause.

At that moment, amidst the whirlwind of emotions and the celebratory atmosphere, Lando takes a bold step to publicly declare what has been brewing between them for months. It's not just a victory celebration; it's a proclamation of their connection, an acknowledgement that goes beyond the pretence for the public eye.

As they pull away from the kiss, Lando's gaze remains locked onto Natalie's, a silent affirmation of the depth of their bond.

“You’re incredible!” Natalie gushes, her eyes reflecting genuine admiration and pride.

“You’re my lucky charm, baby.” He declares, his words carrying a warmth that goes beyond the celebratory atmosphere.responds, his smile not faltering.

“I’m so proud of you.” Natalie continues, her voice filled with sincerity.

Natalie seamlessly transitions back into her professional role, whisking Lando away from the exuberant team and guiding him toward the media pen for interviews. The adrenaline of the qualifying success still lingers, but now it's time for Lando to articulate his thoughts and emotions for the eager audience.

The interviewer directs the first question to Lando, “Walk us through how you’re feeling right now.”

Lando takes a moment to gather his thoughts, a mix of excitement and gratitude evident in his expression.

“I’m overwhelmed, you know. This isn’t a track we’re normally great on, so having both teammates in the top three is insane. I’m ecstatic, though. This is truly a testament to the work the team has put in and the upgrades they’ve brought in. They deserve every ounce of success.” Lando explains.

“What does this mean for you tomorrow?” The interviewer continues, probing into Lando's expectations for the race day.

“A win, hopefully. It’s been a long time coming for me to get my next win, but they say good things take time. As always, I’m grateful to the fans who have supported me all these years and the team who keeps pushing, but I’m even more motivated to get this win because I’ll get to share it with someone special.” Lando's eyes light up with determination as he responds.

As Lando speaks to the interviewer, Natalie looks up at him with a mixture of surprise and flattery. It's a moment she hadn't anticipated – Lando openly acknowledging her in the context of a race or qualifying interview. While he's been vocal about their connection in more relaxed settings, such as podcasts or late-night shows, this public acknowledgment feels different.

The cameras, attuned to the dynamics unfolding in the media pen, catch Natalie in that unguarded moment. Her expression reveals a mix of genuine surprise and a subtle blush, a testament to the unexpected but appreciated recognition from Lando.

- THE NEXT DAY -

As the race unfolds, tension and excitement grip the audience, and the commentator's voice echoes the sentiments of everyone watching.

“This has been a nail-biting race!” Martin Brundle exclaims, capturing the drama and intensity of the on-track action.

The commentator's words resonate with the heart-pounding moments, close encounters, and strategic manoeuvres that have defined the race. Each lap adds a layer of suspense, keeping spectators on the edge of their seats as the drivers navigate the challenges of the circuit.

The unpredictable nature of motorsports, coupled with the high stakes of the race, intensifies the atmosphere. The commentator's exclamation becomes a shared sentiment, connecting viewers worldwide in their collective anticipation of the race's outcome.

Amid the nail-biting excitement, Lando, supported by the relentless efforts of the McLaren team, races with determination and focus. The pole position, achieved during the qualifying session, becomes a crucial advantage, but the unpredictable nature of Formula 1 ensures that every moment is fraught with possibilities. After a disastrous pitstop thanks to being slowed by a pitting Mercedes, Lando has dropped down several positions and is fighting to regain the race lead.

As the race intensifies, Natalie stands in front of the screens, her nerves palpable as she watches Lando fiercely fight for third and then second position. Max, Lando's father, Adam, and Natalie share the same anxious stance, their eyes fixed on the unfolding drama on the track.

The tension in the room is thick as the top five cars approach the hairpin turn. The atmosphere is charged with anticipation, and each passing moment feels like an eternity. The spectators hold their breath, knowing that any slight misstep could alter the course of the race.

In a cruel twist of fate, the cars around Lando collide, creating a domino effect of chaos. The impact is forceful, sending the McLaren in third position spinning into the air and ultimately crashing into a wall. The screens capture the dramatic scene, freezing the heart-stopping moment in time.

Natalie, Max, and Adam watch in disbelief as the race takes an unexpected turn. The collective gasp in the room is drowned out by the sounds of the collision on the screens. The elation that fills the air during the earlier stages of the race is replaced by a sombre atmosphere, and the gravity of the situation sinks in.

“Oh, dear, lots of contact around that hairpin corner. And, there’s a massive accident taking out the top field. Looks like there’s a car on its head against the wall there.” Brundle reports, the gravity of the situation evident in his tone.

“Oh, my God, no.” Natalie's gasp of horror echoes through the room as the cameras capture the papaya-coloured car smashed against the wall, its roof now the unintended point of contact with the track. “Oh, my God.”

Her eyes remain fixated on the devastating image on the screen, a vivid representation of the brutal reality of motorsports.

The room falls into a stunned silence as the gravity of the situation sinks in. The once-promising race has taken a tragic turn, leaving everyone in the room to grapple with the harsh reality of the risks inherent in the sport. Natalie's exclamation resonates with the collective concern and sorrow in the room.

The cameras, in a sombre shift, redirect their focus away from the scene of the accident. Instead, they capture the cars re-entering the pitlane as the race is red-flagged. The visual transition from the chaotic aftermath to the orderly return to the pits underscores the abrupt shift in the dynamics of the race.

In the heavy atmosphere of the room, Max, understanding the weight of the situation, gives Natalie a reassuring tug on the shoulder. The gesture is a silent acknowledgement of the shared concern for Lando's well-being and a comforting attempt to provide support in the uncertain moments that follow.

As they wait anxiously to hear about Lando's condition, the room remains in eery silence. The reassurance from Max offers a brief moment of solace amidst the worry and anticipation.

“Lando, are you OK?” The tension in the room reaches a peak as Lando's race engineer desperately calls over the radio

“Oh, my God. He’s not moving.” Natalie breathes, her worry palpable. “He’s not moving.”

“Lando, are you OK?” The engineer calls again as he turns back to stare at the speechless crew in the garage from the pit wall.

The seconds feel like an eternity until, finally, a response crackles over the radio.

“Yeah.” Lando groans, his voice strained and filled with pain. The relief in the room is palpable, but Natalie's concern doesn't fully dissipate as she hears him moan in pain.

The sudden silence descends upon the McLaren garage as the safety marshals rush out to the impacted cars, bringing the race to an abrupt and solemn halt. The atmosphere is tense, with an air of concern hanging over the team as they await updates on both drivers involved in the accident.

Oscar, having emerged from his car relatively unscathed, rushes over to Lando's car. The quiet in the garage is broken only by the distant sounds of the safety marshals and the hum of the halted race. Oscar kneels beside Lando's car, a palpable worry etched on his face.

A few seconds later, Oscar throws up a thumb, a gesture that now carries immense weight in the motorsport world. The collective breath held in the McLaren garage is released, but the air remains heavy with concern. Oscar's indication, while positive, also hints at the severity of Lando's condition.

The team now huddled in a silent show of solidarity, exchanges glances filled with a mix of relief and lingering apprehension. The familiar camaraderie that defines the McLaren family takes on a new depth as they rally around their teammates in a moment of shared concern.

As Natalie lets go of a breath she didn't realize she was holding, tears stream down her face. The gravity of the situation hits her, and the emotional release is palpable. The screens, which had been a source of exhilaration and excitement just moments ago, now convey a scene of sombre intensity as the safety team works to extract Lando from his car.

Adam, recognizing the emotional toll on Natalie, pulls her into a half-hug. The gesture is a silent reassurance and a shared acknowledgement of the concern for Lando's well-being. Together, they watch with bated breath as the safety team carefully carries out the extraction process and loads Lando into an ambulance.

The paramedic fires questions at a disoriented Lando, assessing his condition in the aftermath of the accident.

“Are you in any pain?” She inquires, her trained focus on gathering crucial information.

“My fingers are tingling, and my head hurts.” Lando quickly responds, providing insights into the sensations he's experiencing. The paramedic, now armed with valuable information, continues her evaluation. “Please, can I see my girlfriend? Please.”

As the medical team continues to evaluate Lando, a call comes through to his race engineer. The urgency in the voice is palpable as the engineer radios Natalie, delivering the crucial message.

“Nats, he's asking to see you. Please make your way down to the medical centre; they're on their way there now.” The engineer relays, the words carrying a mix of concern and the need for immediate action.

Natalie, her emotions already on edge, nods in acknowledgement. Without hesitation, she begins to make her way down to the medical centre. The atmosphere in the McLaren garage remains heavy with anticipation, the concern for Lando's well-being eclipsing any lingering thoughts about the race.

The call serves as a stark reminder of the intimate connection that exists within the racing community. In moments of vulnerability, the professional boundaries blur, making room for the personal relationships that underpin the dynamics of the team. Natalie, now carrying the weight of both her professional and personal roles, must navigate through the paddock with a sense of urgency, her thoughts consumed by the well-being of the McLaren driver who has asked for her presence in a moment of distress.

She arrives just in time to witness the medical team offloading Lando from the ambulance on a stretcher. The scene is a mix of controlled urgency as they wheel him into the medical bay. Natalie's heart pounds in her chest as she takes in the gravity of the situation, the racing world momentarily fading into the background as her primary concern shifts to Lando's well-being.

The medical centre, usually a hub of activity during race weekends, now becomes a temporary sanctuary where the focus is solely on the health of the drivers. Natalie, with a mix of professional composure and personal worry, follows the medical team into the bay, ready to offer whatever support Lando might need in this vulnerable moment.

“Nattie!” Lando's voice, pained but determined, calls out for Natalie.

Without hesitation, she rushes to his side as he lies on the stretcher. The urgency in his plea adds a layer of vulnerability to the high-stakes atmosphere of the medical centre.

“I'm here. I'm here. You're fine; you'll be fine.” Natalie reassures him, her voice a steady anchor in the uncertainty. As she walks alongside his stretcher, she holds his hand, offering a tangible connection that transcends the clinical setting.

As Lando is wheeled into the medical bay, Natalie remains by his side, her demeanour a mix of frantic worry and determination. She's out of breath, but her focus remains on Lando, her grip on his hand unwavering. In this moment of uncertainty, the connection between them serves as a source of reassurance.

Feeling Lando squeeze her hand, Natalie glances down to meet his bloodshot eyes. The shared gaze conveys a multitude of emotions – fear, relief, and a deep-seated trust in the bond they've formed amidst the challenges of the racing world.

“It's okay, Lan. You're okay.” Natalie reassures him once again, her words a soothing balm amid the chaotic scene.

The tears continue to stream down Natalie's face, an involuntary reaction to the overwhelming emotions coursing through her. The gravity of the situation, coupled with the fear and concern for Lando, manifests in the raw display of her emotions. However, as the medical team intensifies their efforts to tend to him, Natalie finds herself forced away, the urgency of the medical procedures taking precedence.

The medical team, focused on their critical tasks, guides Natalie away from the immediate vicinity as they hover over Lando. With precision and speed, they rip open his fire suit and attach pads onto his chest, their actions a testament to the urgency and meticulousness required in moments of crisis.

Natalie, though physically removed from the immediate medical procedures, remains a silent observer. Her heart pounds with every step away from Lando, the overwhelming desire to be close to him and offer comfort evident in her eyes.

“Hi, Lando. I'm Dr. Zimmerman. We need to take you to the nearest hospital for scans to rule out any internal injuries, is that fine?” The doctor informs him, presenting a straightforward plan for further assessment.

“Please let me see my girlfriend.” Lando, in his vulnerable state, pleads with the doctor.

The desire for the familiar presence of Natalie serves as a testament to the emotional anchor she represents in this critical moment.

“In a minute.” The doctor replies, his focus unwavering as they continue to run several checks and administer a relaxant to aid in the necessary medical procedures.

As the medical team continues their procedures on Lando, Natalie is left watching helplessly from the side of the medical bay, her panic palpable. The sounds of medical equipment and urgent conversations create a disorienting backdrop as she grapples with the weight of the situation.

Every instinct in Natalie screams to be closer, to offer comfort and support, yet the clinical efficiency of the medical procedures keeps her at a distance. The vulnerability of the moment intensifies, and she is left to navigate the emotional turmoil while restrained by the boundaries of the medical bay.

The contrast between the urgency of the medical scene and Natalie's powerless position on the sidelines underscores the challenges faced by those connected to the racing world. In this moment, the usual composure of the McLaren PR representative crumbles under the weight of personal concern and fear for the well-being of someone she cares deeply about.

“Miss Feldt?” A nurse asks, causing Natalie to snap her head to look at her. “They’re getting Mr Norris ready to be transported to the hospital. McLaren have arranged for a car to take you there as well. Please follow me.”

- LATER AT THE HOSPITAL -

“Natalie!” Adam's voice echoes through the hospital corridor, drawing Natalie's attention.

As she spins around, she is enveloped in a tight hug by Lando's father and best friend. The embrace carries a mix of relief and shared concern, acknowledging the emotional toll the recent events have taken.

“They won't let me see him.” She tells them, her voice hoarse, the tears still evident in her eyes. The weight of the situation, coupled with the frustration of being kept away from Lando, surfaces in her words.

As Adam disappears down the corridor, Max steps in to console Natalie, offering a supportive presence. They share a moment of shared concern, the weight of the situation evident in their expressions.

A few minutes later, Adam returns with a doctor in tow. The appearance of the medical professional adds a new layer of anticipation to the atmosphere. Natalie's eyes fixate on the doctor, hoping for information about Lando's condition. The doctor, with a composed demeanour, becomes the bearer of crucial updates.

“Hi, I’m Dr Schultz. You can go in and see Lando.” The doctor informs Natalie, providing a pathway to reunite with him. She nods in gratitude, her steps following the doctor as they make their way toward Lando's room. “Please follow me. He’s been sedated. He came in complaining about his head hurting and his fingers tingling. The MRI and CAT scan came back clear, but we are worried about bruising around his cervical spine. We’ll be keeping him overnight for observation and should be discharged tomorrow after a final evaluation.”

The doctor stops outside the door to the hospital room and opens it for Natalie to enter. As she steps in, her eyes find Lando lying in the hospital bed, connected to multiple machines that emit a rhythmic symphony of beeps and hums. The sight of the medical equipment emphasizes the gravity of the situation, and concern washes over Natalie once again.

Lando, sedated and resting, becomes the focal point of the room. Natalie takes a moment to absorb the scene before approaching the bedside. The quiet beeping of the machines serves as a backdrop to the fragile stillness in the room.

“It looks far scarier than it is.” The doctor reassures Natalie as she enters the room, acknowledging the intimidating array of medical equipment surrounding Lando.

The comforting words offer a perspective shift, reminding Natalie that the visual complexity of the machines doesn't necessarily correlate with the severity of Lando's condition.

“The sedation should wear off in the next half hour. If you have any questions, please let one of the nurses know to contact me; I'd be happy to assist.” The doctor adds before disappearing again, leaving Natalie with a sense of guidance and support.

With a deep breath, she pulls a chair close to the bed, a mix of relief and worry etched on her face. Natalie takes Lando's hand gently, offering a silent reassurance through the simple act of touch.

The contrast between the usual vitality of the McLaren driver and his current state is stark. Max and Adam, while remaining at a respectful distance, share a moment of shared concern, their eyes reflecting the weight of the situation.

“Fuck, that was a bad crash.” Max's comment about the severity of the crash hangs in the air, prompting Adam to nudge him as a subtle reminder of the sensitivity of the situation.

“Not now, Max.” Adam whispers, his focus on providing support in the present moment.

“He sounded like he was in so much pain.” Natalie speaks softly as she caresses Lando's hand. “I’ve never seen anything like that happen before.”

“It could have been so much worse.” Max adds, attempting to provide a perspective of gratitude. However, Adam, keenly aware of the delicate balance needed at this moment, scolds Max once again. “Alright, sorry. Let me get you guys some coffee.”

As Max disappears from the room, Adam takes a step further, sharing a moment of vulnerability and reflection with Natalie. The emotional weight of the situation permeates the quiet hospital room.

“He's lucky, this boy of mine.” Adam comments, his voice carrying a mix of paternal pride and concern. The connection between father and son becomes evident as Adam opens up about the past.

“I met his mom when I was a teenager and still very much in love with karting. Then one day, I rolled the kart, and her face was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.” Adam reminisces, his tone carrying a touch of nostalgia.

“I don't think I've ever seen someone look so scared. Until tonight when you were watching them extract him from the car.” Adam continues, drawing parallels between past experiences and the recent events. The admission of fear in both instances underscores the vulnerability inherent in their shared passion for racing.

“Please never stop worrying about him.” Adam implores, the sentiment reaching beyond the confines of the hospital room. In this moment, the barriers between personal and professional relationships fade.

As Natalie gazes at Lando, fast asleep in front of her, the events leading up to the race replay in her mind. She doesn’t even hear Adam leave the room and shut the door on his way out. The memory of Lando's laughter, echoing through the moments before the race, lingers in her thoughts. Though she can't recall the specific reason for his laughter, the vibration of it remains etched in her memory.

The weight of fear settles on Natalie's shoulders as she recalls the intensity of the emotions during the crash. The fear of something going terribly wrong, the dread of an event that could potentially alter Lando's career or, even more devastating, end his life, creates a profound sense of vulnerability.

The memory of the crash replays in her mind—the deafening silence that enveloped the scene, the collective hush that fell over everyone as they waited for some sign from Lando. In those agonizing moments, the racing world, with its roar of engines and tire screeches, fell silent, giving way to an eerie stillness that mirrored the collective breath-holding of those witnessing the unfolding events.

Natalie's recollection captures the essence of the racing world, where triumphs and setbacks coexist on the same razor's edge. The fear she experienced is a poignant reminder of the inherent risks and uncertainties that come with the pursuit of speed and victory.

“Are you crying?” Lando mumbles as his eyes flutter open, catching sight of Natalie sitting next to him.

“No.” She quickly responds with a reflex denial that she quickly corrects. Her honesty prevails as she wipes away the tears from her cheeks. “Yes.”

Lando lifts his hand, and without hesitation, Natalie takes hold of it, their connection a silent reassurance in the hospital room.

“I'm sorry I scared you.” He apologises, a genuine expression of regret in his voice.

“Please, no. Don't apologize.” She assures him, her voice still carrying the rawness from earlier moments of intense emotions. “How are you feeling?”

“Great.” He chuckles before groaning, the humor punctuated by a twinge of pain.

The small joke from Lando triggers another wave of emotions for Natalie, prompting her to start sobbing again just as Max returns with a coffee.

“I leave for ten minutes, and you're crying more now than earlier.” Max comments, his attempt at lightening the mood as he pulls Natalie in for another hug, offering his support.

“Baby, I'm fine.” Lando reassures her, his grip on her hand a tangible expression of comfort.

Max raises an eyebrow at Lando's use of the word 'baby,' an observation not lost on him. The unspoken understanding between the two friends is evident, and Max decides to leave the room, giving them a moment of privacy.

“Come here.” Lando instructs Natalie, pulling her down to him. In the shared vulnerability of the hospital room, he reassures her with his presence. The simplicity of the gesture speaks volumes, emphasising the connection that goes beyond the complexities of the racing world.

Natalie gently rests her head on Lando's chest, finding solace in the comfort he provides. Her uncontrollable sobs continue, and in response, Lando kisses her forehead multiple times. His gestures of affection and reassurance become a source of calm in the midst of her emotional storm.

“I'm fine.” He tells her once again, his hand running through her hair with a soothing touch. The repeated reassurance becomes a mantra, a reminder that they have weathered the storm together, and he is here, present and unharmed.

In the aftermath of the crash, Lando reflects on the vivid sounds of Natalie's distress—her screams, the panic in her voice when she couldn't see him, and the tears that followed when they denied her immediate access. The echoes of her emotions reverberate in his consciousness, painting a poignant picture of the depth of her concern.

He recognizes the unwavering support and determination in Natalie's actions. The realisation settles in—he knows where things stand with her. She would fight tooth and nail for him, an ally in the face of adversity, and he reciprocates that commitment without hesitation.

In the quiet of the hospital room, their unspoken bond becomes even more pronounced. The shared experiences and the vulnerabilities laid bare strengthen the connection between them.

“I thought you…” Natalie trails off, her words carrying the weight of the fear and uncertainty she experienced.

“Nattie, look at me.” Lando tells her, prompting her to lift her head off his chest. His eyes meet hers, an earnest expression in his gaze. “Accidents happen all the time, and look, here I am.”

“Yeah, but it's you.” She mumbles, her vulnerability laid bare. “I can't lose you.”

In this candid exchange, the depth of Natalie's emotions comes to the forefront. The fear of losing someone she cares about profoundly is a sentiment that transcends the complexities of their roles within the racing world. Lando, with a reassuring gaze, acknowledges the gravity of the moment and the impact of their shared experiences.

The weight of Natalie's words settles in, conveying the depth of her emotions and the genuine love she harbours for Lando, irrespective of the pretences of their fake relationship. The authenticity in her expression resonates with him, transcending the boundaries of their agreed-upon roles.

Her breath hitches, and in a poignant realisation of the significance of her words, Natalie leans in and plants a kiss on Lando's lips. The kiss becomes a tender exchange, her salty tears mingling with their shared moment. In this intimate gesture, the unspoken understanding between them takes on a new dimension, weaving a narrative that goes beyond the intricacies of their relationship.

“I can’t lose you, either.” Lando tells her once they break the kiss.

---------------------------

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