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ohbo-ohno · 7 months

Note

Please please bo sort a girl out with Ghoap x Reader in an abandoned farm 🤪🤪

1k game here - no more please!

@luminousbeings-crudematter my beloved!!! idk if tumblr gives you a notif when i post an ask you sent so im tagging you just in case lol. also you said "unhinged texas chainsaw massacre" and i tried my best but i've never seen that movie :')

3.8k of ghoap x reader ft. ghost and soap hunting down their newest pet in a corn maze (cw: rough noncon sex, kinda puppy play? super light) this is mostly soap x reader, sorry!!

The collar is heavy around your neck, making every breath difficult as you pant. Your lungs seize in your chest when you stumble through the corn maze, desperate for any light at the end of the tunnel.

It doesn't come, but you push on anyways.

The corn is rough against your arms and legs, your body vulnerable to the rough stalks with so many tears in your clothes. Everything hurts - your feet from the rough ground, your throat from all the screaming, your stomach from pure fear and adrenaline. You're too blinded from terror to focus on any of that, the only thought in your head to go go go go get away.

The roar of a chainsaw is loud somewhere to your right. You nearly fall to your knees at the sound, windmilling your eyes to keep yourself steady. A loud, manic laugh echoes from the same direction, and your legs nearly give out.

Fuck, he's right there.

You can't think about how close the sound is, can't focus on how you swear you can see the corn moving, you can only run.

The stalks split in front of you, and you stumble into a clearing. You freeze, feet stopped right on the border of the new area. You bounce onto your toes, like you'd been tugged to a stop before exposing yourself.

The clearing is empty accept for an old tractor, sitting in the center of the grass. It's just a large enough circle that you'd be exposed for several seconds if you tried to reach it, totally clear if anyone was in the stalks.

But... you could hide there, couldn't you? The machine looks massive from your vantage point, there's surely a place to hide there.

It feels cruel to leave your fellow victims to the killers hunting them down, but you know that you have to try and save yourself before trying to help someone else.

You take a deep breath as you sink back to your heels, crouching a little lower in the corn to see if you can spot any movement around the perimeter.

The chainsaw revs again, and someone screams.

Your decision is made for you. The sound of death sends you forward, instinct making you move.

The dirt is rough beneath your feet, small rocks sticking into the soft parts of your sole and offsetting your run. You try your best to keep your balance, eyes trained on the tractor and the small space you know you can squeeze in.

It's silent but for the sound of your own panting, blood rushing through your ears, nothing but that perceived safety in your mind.

Just as you start to ready your legs to launch yourself up to the seat, legs tensing, you're shoved away. Your breath is forced from your lungs as you hit the ground, dirt and rocks shoved into your arms as you roll.

"Ah!" You cry out, forced to your stomach as you roll. It takes a minute to recognize what's happened, for it to click in your mind that someone's there.

It's too late by the time you realize.

You still try to get away, some animal part of you knowing that it's dangerous to stay down.

You manage to get to your knees, eyes darting wildly to spot whoever's tackled you, to know what direction to run. But the field is empty, and you're already moving before you think to look behind you.

It costs you, because you hardly get a step away before you're shoved to the ground again, your attacker staying over your body.

"Where you goin'?" The man rumbles in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and lips against your ear. He nips the shell of your ear and your eyes fly open, face shoved into the dirt.

Hardly a foot away, a chainsaw rests in the dirt. Blood drenches the blade, slowly dripping into a puddle beneath the weapon. It makes you whimper, trying to squirm away from the killer above you.

"No, no, no," he purrs, nosing his way to your cheek and just leaning there, pressing his smile into your skin, his voice rumbling through your back. "Down, pup, c'mon, you're caught. No point in runnin'."

"Please-" you gasp, neck arching to try and get away. "Please, please, please-"

He makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. "Please, please, please?" His voice pitches up in a mocking tone, a horrible imitation of yours. "You a broken record, lass? Only wanna say the same thing? Come on, tha's no fun, gimme something new."

You shout, the sound caught somewhere between a cough and a sob, hands stretching forward and clawing at the earth. "Please!"

He truly laughs now, a sharp noise in your ear. He stretches himself up above you, chest lifting and hips pushing into yours so that your legs are pinned. All you can do it try to drag yourself forward, hot tears beginning to fall as you're held down in the same place.

"Guess it does sound good from your lips," he muses. He shifts behind you, knees squeezing to either side of your hips and hands reaching so he can grab your elbows.

"Look'it you," he tsks, bending forward to lace your hands together. You cry out at the feeling of being covered, his chest above your head. "Ruinin' your pretty nails, and for what?"

Your head drops to the ground, sobs tearing your throat to shreds as spit falls from your lips. You feel bile working in your stomach, that horrible tension beneath your tongue like you're about to throw up.

"I can't-" you gasp, panic clawing at your mind. You know this man is going to kill you, that he's going to make it hurt, and every part of you rebels at just the thoughts. You can't stop fighting, can't stop trying to get away from him even with the weight holding you down.

"Can't what?" He hums, shifting to kneel above you so that he's not nearly suffocating you. "Can't go anywhere? Naw, bonnie, you're not goin' anywhere now. Caught you fair and square, didn't I?"

There's a part of you that screams to try and argue, to take a deep breath and settle to see if you can make some sort of deal, but the bigger part of you can't calm down, can't do anything but try and shove yourself out from the maniac above you.

"Plus, if I let you go runnin' off you might get caught by Simon." His arms settle on your shoulders and you can't help but yelp, ducking your head low to try and protect your neck. "Then I'd lose. You want that? Thought we were closer than that, lass."

You sob, teeth clenched tight. You don't fucking know the man, you don't know whoever Simon is, you just want to go home.

"That's what I thought," he hums. "Now," he pushes up, and your arms and torso are free as he settles back to rest his weight on your thighs. "I think you and I have some time to play, hm? Before Simon catches us both."

You don't- you don't know what he means, and it's hard to breathe past the fear. It clicks when his hands move to your hips, gripping them tightly.

"Wait," you gasp, eyes flying wide when his fingers creep beneath the hem of your jeans. "Wait, stop-"

"Oh, look at that," he laughs, hands shoving further down until his palms wrap around your thighs. "Learned some new words, baby?"

Your eyes squeeze as your feet kick against the dirt, unable to find any traction without shoes. Scrabbling so frantically only to stay right where you're pinned only serves to work you up more, to make your heart race faster.

"You're warm," he hums, kneading at your thighs and using his wrists to force the pants down, slowly revealing more and more of your skin to the cold night air. "Gonna warm me up, lass?"

"No," you hiss, the realization of what he's going to do sinking in. Your pants are pulled down to mid thigh, keeping your thighs from spreading and leaving your backside on display. "Stop- I'll- don't you dare-"

He laughs again, landing a harsh smack to your vulnerable ass. You cut your begging off with a yelp, hips rocketing into the ground to try and escape the sting when he lands another slap.

"You tryin' to boss me around? Real cute, pup, but you don't have a leg to stand on. Stuck pinned in the dirt and still tryin' to be in charge?" He laughs again, blows shifting from slaps to taps, jiggling the fat of your ass. "Cute, bonnie. Real cute."

You fold an arm beneath your face, try to use the other to force yourself up. "Stop fucking- stop hitting me, you bastard!"

"Oh!" He cackles, his lap slap almost bruising in it's force. "She's got some spine, huh? Maybe you'll be more fun than I thought."

You snarl into the dirt, legs kicking up behind you to try and hit his back. He's too high up on your thighs o reach, and you end up kicking the air like a toddler throwing a tantrum. It only fuels your anger, makes you feel more stuck.

"Keep fightin', bonnie." He presses himself closer to your face, and you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth from your peripheral, his smile sharp. "Makes it more fun for me. Think you'll tighten up if you kick kickin' and screamin'?"

You scream, a primal sound straight from the gut as you throw your head back and to the side, trying to hit him. You somehow manage it, but you hurt yourself just as much. You cry out at the sudden pain in the back of your skull, crumbling back to the ground.

There's a loud moan over your shoulder, and his hips press into yours. He's hard to your horror, his length pressing against the softness of your ass. "Fuck, that felt good."

God, the man is disturbed.

Your attempted attack doesn't stop him from hooking his fingers in your underwear, tugging them down to rest in the crease where your thighs meet your ass.

"Pretty," he purrs, hands stroking from your rips to your jeans, hands pushing hard enough to make you whine. His treatment is all too rough, like he's trying to mold you into the shape he wants. "Can't wait to get my dick in you," he groans, groping you.

"Nooo," you whine, trying to push yourself into the dirt, like it might open you up and swallow you whole, help you escape the horror you can't do anything to stop. "You can't- you can't fuck me, please, don't-"

He moans again, and you hear the clinking of a belt being undone. "Fuck, say it again for me."

Your eyes squeeze shut. You want to be anywhere else, anywhere but here.

You feel the heat of his cock against your ass, and tears sting in your eyes. You taste dirt against your lips, feel your palms sluggishly bleed from the scrapes against the rough ground. You try to focus on everything but what the killer's doing to you, but's impossible

His palm cups your center, fingers wrapping around your vulva and holding firmly. You flinch when his middle finger works between your folds, coming to rest on your clit.

"Need to get you wet," he mumbles, starting to work at the nub to coax some pleasure out of your body. "Simon wouldn't like it if I made you bleed." He snorts, then corrects, "Well, bleeding down there. Won't be shocked if he wants to carve you up a bit."

You shiver, focused too much on staying stiff and keeping your mind as far away as possible to put off the inevitable. What he says doesn't even properly click in your mind, floating in one ear and out the other.

"There we go," he purrs, palm growing slick as your body warms to him unwillingly. He grunts as he shifts to use both hands, one focusing on your clit and the other coming back to tease at your hole.

Two fingers slip in without warning and you yelp at the sudden stretch, hips bucking back instinctively and forcing the fingers further. Your moan is pulled from your chest, part pleasure and part pain.

"You want more lass? Here, don't mind stretching you out."

The third finger comes too soon, too suddenly, and the sting edges too close to pain for you to feel good, even unwillingly.

He's got no patience at all, fingers spreading inside of you while his thumb works furiously at your clit. The mix of good and bad leaves your head clouded, tears slowing as your mind starts to float away a bit.

He moans against your back, face pressed into your shoulder. "Feel so tight, bonnie. Can't wait til you're wrapped around me, wet and tight... fuck, can't wait much longer..."

His teeth press into you throw the fabric of your shirt, the bite only slightly blunted. You breath stutters out of your chest, lips shaking. You want to fight, tell yourself that you should bite and claw and scream, but he's already proven to you that he'd only enjoy that. All you can do is lie in the dirt, lamp and shaking.

Despite all your fear and your hatred for the man over you, you wish he'd stretched you out more.

"Gotta get inside of ya," he grunts, tugging his fingers out with a terribly wet sound. You can hear him sucking your wetness off of them as he shifts further up, letting his hard length rest between your thighs. "Don't... God, you taste good, don't wanna stretch you out too much. You get it, yeah bonnie?"

You whine forlornly, turning your head to the side. You can see him over your shoulder - tall and broad, brown hair in a... mohawk?, bright teeth shown off in a smile. He ducks down while he fists his cock, dipping himself into your wetness.

Wet lips press a kiss to your cheek, a trail of that wetness left against your face. When he pulls back you see the blood dripping from his nose, sniffle at the realization that he's left his own blood over your face.

"Look pretty in red," he whispers, tone oddly soft. It tugs another tear out of you, dripping down the bridge of your nose. His free hand comes up to your face, running a finger through the tear track and sucking the drop off his fingertip. "Taste good everywhere, love."

Your eyes close when he notches himself at your hole, pressing in just enough for you to feel the stretch. He's massive, and the prospect of him shoving himself fully inside of you... you shudder, trying to loosen yourself as much as you can.

He's not kind when he pushes in. You're not sure why you hoped he would be, not with the blood-soaked chainsaw still in your line of sight. But the sudden fullness, the sting, the stretch, draws a high cry from your lips.

His groan nearly drowns out your sounds, your walls spasming around him to try and adjust. You hate that it feels so good for him when you feel like you can hardly breathe around him.

"Feels so good," he moans, words hardly enunciated, thick accent only thickened by his pleasure. You can hardly understand him, far too upset to bother translating him in your head.

"Can't-" he pants, hips jerking out just a few inches only to buck back into yours, pushing as far inside as he can. "Can't come, but can get you off, yeah?"

There's a part of you that's confused by that, that wonders what the fuck he's talking about, but a much larger part of you is focused on the slow drag inside of you.

It would feel better if you were a little wetter, a little more stretched out, but you can't change those things. You relax, try to force your body to cooperate just to make things easier. You try to lean into the parts that do feel good - the way his cock drags against all the most sensitive parts of you, the slap of his balls against your clit - and sink into that pleasant feeling instead of the adrenaline still lingering in your veins.

He doesn't speak when he fucks into you, forehead pressed into your shoulder blade as he starts to drive you truly insane. It starts feeling good quickly enough for you to forget the pain, the horror, and you gladly fall into the oblivion creeping over your mind.

It's good, as horrible as it is to think. The bastard knows what he's doing.

It's some indeterminate amount of time later when you hear the stalks shifting again, eyes flying open just in time to see a man step into the clearing.

The man over you moans when the stranger gets closer, turning his head to the side. His hips buck into you even more roughly, your thighs beginning to ache from the force.

"Simon," he calls out, and it clicks in your head.

The new man is masked and wearing all black, and you recognize him as the other killer hunting you through the maze. His mask is just as terrifying from close up as it was when you first glanced over your shoulder while running, the sight of him in the distance almost floating while surrounded by shadows.

"Bein' good, Johnny?" He rumbles, boots stopping next to the chainsaw and toeing it away.

"Yes, sir," the man over you - Johnny - grunts, thrusts erratic. "Left-left the ring on, haven't come, promise."

There's a hum from above you, the man crouching down. "Good boy. Woulda had to ruin your fun if you got yourself off."

He whines at that, and you can't help but furrow your eyebrows. The man above you going from cocky and terrifying asshole to whining and moaning above you doesn't fit with the image you'd had in your head.

"I ken. 'S why I didn't take it off, ye bawbag." Johnny's voice shakes a bit as he switches to grinding against you, hips pressed flush with yours. The sudden pressure against your clit and so deep inside of you leaves you moaning, eyes rolling back. The peak of an orgasm is right there, just out of reach, and you reach for it desperately.

"Watch it," Simon scolds, shifting forward to his knees and reaching far enough to slap Johnny, the sound echoing through the silent clearing. Your eyes fly open, instinctually flinching away.

Simon's head tilts down to you, ignoring Johnny's whine. His gloved hand comes down to rest on your face, gripping your chin and lifting enough to get a good look at your face.

"Pretty thing," he says, giving your face a little shake before letting you drop to the ground. You can't even begin to care so close to the edge, focus solely on getting off

"'S what I said."

"Hmm. Why don't you go ahead and get the poor pup off? Looks like she's cockdrunk enough as is, might as well get her the whole way there before we take her home."

"With pleasure, sir."

It's hard to focus after that point. Johnny's hand tunnels beneath your stomach and to your clit, working his hips in full thrusts and rubbing you so perfectly. It takes hardly any time at all to get you off, the perfect mix of sensations sending you flying over that edge.

You're not sure what happens between the time when you come and when Johnny pulls out. Your vision nearly whites out, moving away from the scrapes and bruises and into the pleasure gripping every muscle. It's so much easier to lean into the good than the bad, to pretend the warmth is just the pleasure instead of the man at your back.

You're brought back into the real world by the feeling of something being wrapped around your neck, left just tight enough for you to jerk, panicked you couldn't breathe.

"Hush, pup," Simon shushes when you jerk up, eyes flying wide. "Just givin' you your collar. Makin' sure anyone who spots you can take you right home, hm?"

Johnny tugs you up as Simon speaks, grip just a tad too rough on your shoulders when he pulls you up to your knees. You're still a bit out of it as he tucks your jeans and underwear up, dick hard and slick against the small of your back.

The fear comes back as you're brought to your feet by Simon, hands on your elbows tugging you up. You're unsteady on your feet, knees almost knocking together while you blearily blink up at the masked man.

The sound of metal clinking together, a small yank against your neck, is what brings you fully back into your skin. Simon clips a leash to your collar and then Johnny's, matching pink and blue leads that make your eyebrows furrow.

Johnny - shirtless, drenched in blood - smiles at you, teeth stained with his own blood.

"Come on," Simon rumbles, a sudden tug against your throat nearly sending you to your feet. "Need to get you home, pup."

Johnny catches you before you can fall, laughing as he helps you up. The sight of a black studded collar at his throat jars you, fingers lifting to feel at the fabric around your throat. It's not studded, just a soft leather with a thick ring at the front where the leash connects.

"Looks good on you," Johnny compliments, guiding you to stumble along behind Simon as the man leads you both away, into one of the entrances to the maze.

"What..." your throat is rough and you cough, heartbeat picking up. "What're you doing?"

Johnny's smile is a little condescending, almost herding you forward by staying half behind you. "Takin' you home, lass. You're the last one alive. You make a pretty final girl, bonnie."

There's a sharp yank at your collar, tugging your attention to Simon where he's glancing over his shoulder at you. "Think you'll make a good pup. Johnny's been needing a new little friend, might as well be you, hm?"

There's.... nothing really to say to that. You're too weak, too shaky to try and make a run for it. The blue leash is held loose in Simon's hand, but the pink is wrapped tight around his fist. There's no way you're strong enough to jerk it out of his hand, and even if you could you've got no way out of the maze - they already found you first.

Johnny's hand nudges you forward, almost making you fall. He moves to walk beside you, shoulders almost rubbing together. You think the expression he shoots you is supposed to be comforting, but it's anything but.

You breathe deeply, head beginning to throb again, and hope you have the strength to survive what they'll do to you.

#so sorry lumi i feel like this is repetitive and not that well written :( hope you enjoy regardless <3 #by the way... my attempt at johnny's accent.... it happened #luminousbeings-crudematter #< aka the loml #bo writes #1k celebration #ghoap x reader

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sacredjake · 9 months

Text

Heaven & Hell

pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

word count: 3.8k

warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!! basically p*rn, there is no plot. unprotected penetrative sex, cussing, impact play/spanking, edging, orgasm denial, sir kink, daddy kink, nicknames, hair pulling (f. receiving), oral (f. receiving), rough sex, cockwarming, squirting, dom!jake, eyeliner jake, sweaty jake, some fluff at the end. if i missed any pls let me know!

a/n: i intended to write this many moons ago and finally got around to it. this is inspired by end DIG jake and his smudged eyeliner. huge thank you to @gold-mines-melting for proof reading, coming up with the title, sending pic ideas and telling me to put in more sweaty jake and better descriptions of his beautiful tummy that we all love so much. love you so much, poppy, thank you<33333 also i wanna say that this is the first time @malany-gvf has not read one of my fics before it got posted so she will be going in blind hehe <3

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The show seemed to drag on for eternity, and you were grateful when the boys reappeared back on the stage for their encore. It's not that you weren’t enjoying the show. You were actually enjoying it a little too much. More specifically you were enjoying the way your hot rockstar of a boyfriend looked on the stage, his chest and neck glistening with sweat, his fingers moving furiously against the strings of his guitar, the way his hips were rocking into the instrument and his back arched, and the eyeliner that had smudged under his eyes.

Oh the eyeliner.

It was a shock to you just as much as it was to the fans that night when the curtain dropped. It was faint, just a little bit of black on his waterline, but my god was it driving you absolutely insane. And as the show went on, and the more Jake sweat, the more the eyeliner smudged making it almost unbearable. The throbbing between your legs wouldn't cease and only got worse, the thin material of your underwear sticking uncomfortably to your core with the arousal that pooled there.

When they started to play Highway Tune you decided it was time to make your way down to the floor so you could meet them as they walked back to their dressing rooms. You were able to catch the last half of the song after their jam session break, and you waited patiently for them to come off the stage. Just by the way Jake had been playing tonight you knew he would be looking for some relief, and that thought alone excited you.

They had finally finished their set and were coming off the stage, Jake was first, nearly sprinting down the steps. Instead of handing his guitar to his stagehand Jake kept walking, one hand on the neck of the guitar to keep it from swinging about. His eyes were glued to your frame the moment he saw you standing there, the eyeliner extenuating his piercing stare. When he caught up to you, his right arm grabbed your left bicep, pulling you with him down the hall.

You didn’t say a word, knowing all too well what was going on. His guitar was covering the erection that had gotten increasingly worse throughout the night which is why he didn’t hand it off. His fingers dug into the meat of your arm, threatening to leave bruises, and it only turned you on more. The thought of him needing release so badly, and what he was about to do to you in the arena dressing room.

Jake released your arm once at the door, his hand flying out to twist the knob. He guided you inside the room with a hand on your lower back, and quickly shut the door behind himself. You wandered over to the vanity in the dressing room, finding the eyeliner he used still laying on the counter.

“The eyeliner was a nice touch, baby. Made all the fans go crazy.” You picked the pencil up and rolled it between your fingers. You watched through the vanity as Jake carefully removed his beloved guitar from his body and placed it on the spare stand by the couch. With the guitar out of the way, you could see just how badly he was straining against his pants.

He was quiet as he came up behind you, his left hand gripping your hip, the right brushing against your neck lightly to move your hair, exposing your neck. You watched his reflection come closer to you, his mouth right by the shell of your ear. His lips skimmed across your skin leaving fiery heat in their wake trailing from your ear down to the junction of your shoulder and neck where he began to place wet, hot kisses against your skin.

“And what about you, sweetness? You seemed to be enjoying the show more than usual tonight. I bet those lacey panties of yours are just dripping.” The sensation of his breath fanning over your skin was making your head fuzzy, and your limbs weak. You barely registered the sound of the eyeliner pencil dropping onto the counter from your hand.

You reached behind your head, tangling your fingers into his hair as your head rested against his shoulder, your back arching to push your ass further into his erection. With both his hands on your hips, Jake gave you what you asked for, rutting his hips into the swell of your ass. A whimper flew from your lips unable to contain just how needy you were for him.

“Jake please, don’t tease me. I need it, need you, bad.” Your voice was breathy and cracked when it came out, sounding like nothing more than a sigh. His hands traveled to the front of your denim shorts, popping the button and pulling the zipper down slowly. Jake slid the material down your legs, letting them pool at your feet.

“Oh don’t worry,” He nipped at your neck before pulling away, “Daddy’s gonna take good care of you.”

Jake pulled your hands away from him and placed them on top of the vanity, closer to the mirror. With the new placement of your hands he had you bent over the desk of the vanity, giving him the perfect view of your ass and your face. Not completely satisfied with your position, Jake swiftly nudged your feet wider apart with his own, spreading your legs for him.

“She’s all wet and ready for me, isn’t she?” He drug his middle finger over your clothed slit slowly. The minor action alone made your heat clench and your clit throb. You needed more, and Jake obliged. His finger peeled your underwear away from your sopping cunt, dropping them to lay with your shorts.

Once removed, his middle and ring fingers swept between your folds, stopping at your clit to rub tight, fast circles. His other hand was busy with the button and fly of his pants, doing his best to free his cock from its confines. You watched his dick slap against his tan and toned stomach that was still glistening with sweat as he pulled his boxers down. He grasped himself with his free hand and ran his tip through your folds, gathering your slick. Your high was building steadily the entire time, the coil in your core getting tighter and tighter. But in an instant it was gone. Jake’s ministrations on the hard bundle had stopped completely when he switched the hand holding his dick to pump himself a few times, covering him tip to base in your arousal.

You were ready to beg, and plead for him to do something, anything, when he slammed himself into you fully. The force with which he rocked into you caused your elbows to give out, your weight leaning solely on your forearms against the cold wood of the desk, and forcing your back to arch more.

“Fuck Jake!” You gasped in pleasure at the way he stretched and filled you just right. It was borderline painful, but that's what made it so delectable. His hips hammered into you, punishing and unrelenting. Just the way you liked.

You pressed your hand against the cool mirror to protect your head from being rammed into it, never taking your eyes off of Jake. Sweat trailed down his face and chest, his hair sticking to his forehead and neck. The scene was like one you had seen almost a hundred times, but not restricted solely to the bedroom. He looked as he did on stage not too long ago, brows furrowed and pinched together, mouth hung open slightly, hips thrusting and eyes glued to the source of his pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” He nearly growled watching his cock piston in and out of you, “God you take me so fucking well. Like you’re made just for me, isn’t that right?” He tore his eyes from where the two of you connected and met yours through the reflection in the mirror. All of the air had been sucked out of your lungs. The sight of his dark, lustful eyes rimmed in the black eyeliner had depleted you of all thoughts and oxygen. You could only stare back at him and nod with your mouth open.

Air quickly filled your lungs again with a sharp breath as his hand came down on your ass. The sound cracked loudly throughout the space, the motions of his hips never ceasing. You knew there was likely to be a full handprint, red and angry etched onto your skin.

“I’ll try again in case you didn’t understand the question,” He planted his hand on the vanity next to your elbow, the sweat that spilled down his chest now began to seep into your shirt as he leaned into you. His other hand gripped your hip, using it to hold you firm. You didn’t dare look away from him, holding eye contact while he spoke next to your ear.

“Who does this dripping cunt belong to?” He asked, his voice low and gruff. You couldn’t stop the groan that tumbled passed your lips even if you had tried.

Jake was always sweet and gentle with you. He would constantly whisper ‘i love you’s into your hair with a kiss, bring you flowers any chance he had, open doors for you and hold you like you were the most fragile thing on the planet. You knew he would never hurt you intentionally and loved the way he worships you.

Every now and then, though, you would get this side of Jake. He was demanding and rough and obscene. And you loved every single bit of it. This was exactly what you had been hoping for when you saw him on stage earlier in the night, and you were ready to feed into this side of him.

“You, daddy, it’s all for you. Only for you.” You cooed watching for his reaction. His jaw clenched, and you could’ve sworn the chocolate of his irises turned solid black.

In a split second he stood back up, both hands latched onto your waist. The speed on his hips never waivered, but his hands guided your hips to meet his with every thrust.

“Don’t you dare take your eyes off me, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded quickly.

Your promise was quickly forgotten as his hips drilled into you faster and harder. The pace he set was absolutely grueling. With each thrust you were brought closer and closer to your end, you couldn’t hold your head up any longer. Your chin dropped down to your chest, your eyes squeezing shut.

“What did I just fucking say?” Jake’s hand wrapped around your throat and pulled you upwards as he continued to fuck you mercilessly. When your back was fully flush against his chest, his hand moved upwards to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him in the mirror. With the new angle you were teetering on the edge of bliss.

Jake knew instantly. He knew your body better than anyone. Knew all the signs of your impending orgasm.

“I’m gonna-“ You were swiftly cut off with a smack to your left outer thigh.

“No you aren’t, you’re gonna be a good girl and you’re not going to cum until I say so.” Jake grit out through his clenched teeth next to your ear, hot breath cascading over your sticky skin.

Using the hold on your jaw he roughly pushed you back towards the counter top of the vanity. Your left arm shot down, your right catching on the mirror to stabilize yourself. Every breath, moan, and whine escaping your mouth fell against the mirror making it fog slightly.

“Jake please, please. I can’t- I need to- fuck, I need to cum, please.” You whine, giving him your best fucked-out-doe-eyes.

Jake’s only response was a groan coming from deep within his chest. His hand that was previously on your jaw wound tightly in your hair, drawing your head back sharply. The new pleasure that coursed throughout your body was heavenly. You felt him everywhere, and it was sinful bliss.

With the grip on your hair, he used the leverage to pull your body backwards to meet each unforgiving thrust of his hips. The only sounds that came from you now were choked back sobs as you did your best to keep your orgasm at bay. You did as you were told and kept your eyes on his reflection, his lust blown orbs staring back at you.

“Oh fuck babygirl, just like that.” The words came out low and breathy, sending you headfirst into your long awaited climax. Through your squinted eyes you watched as Jake’s head snapped back, his mouth hung open.

Before he reached his own climax, he pulled out of you quickly. His fingers circled your clit making sure to carry you through the rest of your high. When you finally came down, he turned you around pressing your ass to sit on the counter. Without warning Jake dropped to his knees in front of you and pulled your thighs around his shoulders, eyes boring into you the entire time.

He dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, gathering your release and groaning deeply, his eyes rolling backwards. The sight alone was enough to bring you to the edge so quickly. The smudged eyeliner underneath his eyes made him look so soft, yet dangerous. Like he could flip on a dime at any moment and split you in half just as he was moments ago.

With each pass of his tongue over your sensitive bundle the coil deep in your core burned hotter. Jake was steadily working you towards another orgasm with his velvet smooth tongue alone. Your nails raked against his scalp, pulling groans from him and sending the vibrations straight to your dripping heat.

You could spend eternity like this. Jake’s head between your legs, worshiping you the way he loves most. He looked absolutely divine. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and neck. The ends of his hair clinging to the wet skin. The look in his eyes was probably the best part. He looked like he was in absolute heaven, enjoying the way his tongue glided against you, gathering every bit of your sweet nectar.

Just when you were about to fall off the edge, Jake pulled back with a wicked grin. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his tongue darting out to clean what he missed. You huffed a needy sigh in retaliation.

“What’s the matter babygirl?” He rose to his feet and placed his hands on the vanity, caging your hips between them. His eyes darted around your face in faux concern before his mouth broke into a smirk.

“Oh.”

Such a simple word, but it was mocking and condescending, “Did you think I was going to let you cum?” The arrogant smirk never left his face as he reached up to tuck the hair from your face behind your ear. His hand slid down your neck softly, landing on the juncture of your throat and shoulder.

“Only good girls get to cum more than once, baby. You haven’t been very good.”

“I’ve been good.” You whined with a pout, squirming under his gaze.

“But you haven’t. I told you not to cum until I said so and did you listen?”

“No.” You dropped your chin to your chest, your focus landing on his necklaces dangling from his chest. His hand snaked up your neck to the base of your skull, his thumb pushing under your jaw and forcing you to look up at him.

“No, you didn’t. Do you know what that means?”

“I need to be punished.” You whispered innocently and sweet, looking at him doe-eyed.

“That’s right, baby. Stand up.”

You did as he asked and stood from your seated position with a little help from Jake. He led you to the couch where he rid himself of his pants and boxers fully before taking a seat.

“You’re gonna ride me until I say you can cum. Is that clear?”

He looked glorious sprawled out across the mundane couch. His arms were outstretched on the back, legs wide open and cock pressed against his soft, yet firm stomach. Everything about him in this simple state exuded confidence and authority.

The cushions of the couch were plush, your knees sinking into them softly as you moved closer to straddle him. With your mouth practically watering you nodded frantically. You received nothing but a ‘tsk’ from Jake and a firm hand connecting to your backside earning a hiss from your lips as you sucked in a quick breath.

“I asked you a question.” He was stoic with an eyebrow cocked looking up at you, waiting for another slip up.

“Yes sir.”

“That’s my girl.” His hand soothed the sting it left behind and slid upwards to rest on your waist. You lowered yourself down onto his lap with your hand wrapped around his length, guiding him through your slick walls.

He wore the same authoritative expression as you lowered yourself all the way down. Cocksure and waiting. It was a sight that made you that much more aroused. Something about the way he emanated power while you were mechanically in control turned you on immensely.

With both hands on his shoulders for support you lifted yourself up while rolling your hips forward before taking all of him in again. The speed you moved was steady, enjoying the feeling of his cock pushing and pulling against your clenching walls. Each motion of your hips wound the coil tighter and hotter, your second orgasm within reach.

It was at this point that Jake grew impatient. His fingers dug roughly into the flesh at your waist and he took control of your hips, lifting you up quickly before slamming you back down on him fully. With each descent of your hips to his, you were met halfway as he began to thrust up into you. Moans, and gasps tumbled past your lips with an occasional curse word.

Your body eventually gave up, letting Jake have all the power. The only thing holding you upright were your arms looped around his neck and his left arm cradling the entirety of your back, your head supported with the same hand. In this position he was all around you. There was nothing else, only Jake.

You kept your eyes locked on his, your mouth hung open in ecstasy, his lips drawn up into something akin to a pinched sneer.

“Is the pretty girl too fucked out to beg?” He mocked between thrusts. You couldn’t answer him, not a coherent thought forming.

“That’s okay baby. She’s doing all the begging for you, gripping my cock so tight. I know she wants it.” Your eyes rolled back at the way he spoke about your pussy. He was going to be the death of you.

“Go on then, let her have it. Cum for me, princess, give it to me.” Jake grit between clenched teeth, holding back his own climax just long enough to demand yours. For the second time he threw you over the edge into the vast pit of searing pleasure. The feeling was euphoric and relieving, the intense pressure that had been building finally released.

Though your senses were dulled through the haze you could feel water coating your thighs, ass and belly, soaking portions of your shirt.

“Oh fuck!” Jake groaned from below you the sound emanating from deep within his chest. He fucked into you faster somehow prolonging your orgasm and increasing the amount of liquid you felt splattering your skin.

“That’s it babygirl, keep soaking my cock. Such a good girl squirting for daddy. Goddamn.” Praises flew past his clenched teeth as he reached his own high only to fall on deaf ears. You were far too gone to understand any of what he was saying.

Violent muscle spasms rolled through your body while Jake did his best to support you through his release. He pulled your body into his with your chests pressed together and your cheek resting against his shoulder. The spasms faded into twitches before dissipating while you laid against him. You could feel every breath he took, his chest heaving up and down.

“Goddamn you are perfect,” Jake whispered breathlessly and turned to place a kiss on your cheek, smoothing your hair with his hand, “I love you so much, baby.”

You peered up at him, not having the energy to move your head, and met his eyes. He was smiling softly at you and practically glowing. A smile etched its way onto your face, tired and completely fucked out.

“I love you too.”

The two of you stayed in that position for a little while longer until you were uncomfortable, your combined sweat beginning to dry. You sat up from his sticky chest and winced due to the soreness and him still being tucked inside you. Jake was about to help you off of him when you froze.

The entire couch was practically soaked. The cushions on either side of you were wet and you were positive the one below you had to be drenched. Your shirt was also wet, the lower half of it clinging to your skin, and Jake’s groin and belly showed remnants of liquid that had sprayed across him.

“Oh my god…”

“Made quite the mess baby, but it’s okay,” He pulled you closer with a hand to the nape of your neck, “It was insanely hot.” He flashed you a smirk and placed a quick kiss to your lips.

He helped you ease off of him and stand, holding your hands while you regained your balance on wobbly legs. When he was sure you could stand on your own he followed suit. Your guess was in fact correct. The cushion that had been below you was almost completely covered.

Jake followed your wide eyes staring at the couch. As if sensing your anxiety he pulled the cushion out of the couch, turning it 180° before flipping it over and placing it back on the couch. He did the same with the others before looking back to you.

“Good as new.” He pulled you into his side and kissed your hair. You wrapped your arms around his waist and gave him a thankful squeeze.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, baby. Now,” He squeezed you back before untangling himself from you to face you fully and hold both of your hands, “Let’s get you a new shirt and get back to the hotel so we can take a nice hot shower and clean you up. How does that sound?”

“Like heaven.” You sighed dreamily feeling your body relax at just the mention of hot water cascading over your aching muscles.

“Not quite,” Jake chuckled and shook his head, “You’re the only thing on this earth that’s like Heaven, baby.”

“If I’m like Heaven, then what’re you?”

He gave you a wicked grin and shot you a wink, holding his arms out as if presenting himself.

“Welcome to Hell, angel.”

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

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glittering-moonlillie · 1 year

Text

My Beloved (Damian Wayne x Reader)

Word Count: 2740

Warnings: None

Summary: Not knowing how to express his feelings any other way, Damian resorts to calling you pet names in his mother's tongue in order to air out his pent up affection.

“Habibti, can you hand me the yellow frosting?” Damian was in deep trouble - absolutely terrible, hideous trouble.

“Of course!” You reached over to your left and handed him the buttercream, the arabic pet name flying over your head.

In his language, Habibti was a sign of endearment given to your lover, usually meaning something along the lines of My Love or Darling - but to you, he was utterly convinced that you believed it was a form of belittlement similar to Idiot.

Of course, Damian was too afraid to correct you and he was not sure if you would believe him if he tried. He would rather keep it a sweet secret to himself, even if his fragile heart was practically leaping its way out of his rib cage to expose itself to you.

“You know, if you want to call me something mean at least make it so I can understand you.” You laughed, a noise that would certainly haunt him late at night when he was alone and longed for your presence.

“But it’s much more fun seeing you like this.” You scruched your nose, your forehead creasing with the movement. Your lips were parted but no words came out. It was an adorable look he had grown to love despite how dorky you appeared.

You retaliated with a poorly placed handful of orange frosting along his cheek, your lips twisting into a pout that only served to make the fantasies of kissing you worsen.

Orange was an obnoxiously disgusting color but he would bathe in a lazarus pit full of orange frosting if you wished it.

He ran his thumb along his cheek and licked away whatever frosting was there. Alfred’s special buttercream frosting really was to die for. Damian enjoyed the way your eyes slightly widened, relishing in the fact that it wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone else. He liked to think that the scarlet decorating your face was because of him being undoubtedly sexy, and not the fact that it was because it was a hot summer’s day.

“You’re staring, ya amar.” He smirked. “And I believe that cookie has way too much frosting, it looks like Picaso threw up all over it.”

Ya Amar had to be Damian’s second favorite pet name for you, translating to my moon. He often recalled the way his mother praised the moon for its beauty, treating it similar to a guiding life force. More than anything, Damian wanted to be the sun that illuminated your countenance - to be the man who kept you steady and loved you even if you just saw yourself as a clumpy rock. The name suited you perfectly. You were his beautiful, crated moon with star imbued eyes and a body that reflected the power of an inescapable black hole.

“Hey, are those cookies almost finished? B wants them set out within the hour-” Tim walked in, his under eye bags accentuated further with the distasteful dark blue sweater he threw on.

His brother paused, rolling his eyes at the state of the dining table. Damian hoped that the kitchen disaster was enough of a distraction for him not to notice the lovey-dovey eyes he assuredly was giving his best friend.

“We’ll clean it up, Tim. Sorry about that.” You replied quickly. “But most of the cookies are done, Damian still has a few to finish though.”

You nudged him with your elbow, grinning wildly like the Cheshire cat.

“Just don’t get distracted flirting with each other, I don’t want to deal with an irritated Bruce.”

“Shut up, Timothy. At least we aren’t aggressively making out like how you and Conner were at the last gala.” Damian shot back.

Tim frowned. “I’m too tired to deal with this. Try not to explode anything, okay?”

Damian waved off his brother and went back to decorating one of the cookies for the large event at Wayne Manor tonight. It was a charity event to raise awareness of the increase in homeless population on the streets of Gotham, and alongside the event, his family was hosting a soup kitchen for any struggling person on the streets. Along with a hearty, full course meal, they would be served one of the cookies being decorated by the two of you.

Although Damian’s father normally did not allow any friend’s to charity events, you were always an exception due to the fact that if you weren’t there, Damian would blow a gasket and murder someone if he was in a suit for too long. Your presence beside Damian was often looked over when you were both younger, but now that a few years had gone by plenty of journalists speculated the possibility of “a secret blooming relationship.”

The common theory circulating around Gotham was the idea that his father was disapproving of them being together since you were a “commoner,” therefore excusing the lack of concrete evidence of the relationship existing. Damian had found the notion completely ridiculous; even if his father disapproved of you in that context, that would not stop him from loving you the way he always dreamed, consequences be damned.

You treated the whole situation with carefree ease, giggling at the awful pictures and wack job theories concocted by 40 year old men looking to sell half-baked news. On one hand, Damian was pleased that the unwanted attention did not bother you, but deep down he also felt a pang of poison seep its way into his bloodstream. Was the idea of being his lover that much of a joke?

The clicking of a phone keyboard brought him back to reality. Damian peered over your shoulder and saw Safari pulled up.

“What ever are you doing, habibti?”

“I’m trying to decipher what you are calling me.” You said. “Can you repeat that last word for me, please?”

The youngest Wayne felt every single pour in his body drip in sweat, excess saliva pooling in his mouth. Perhaps if his blood was functioning properly, then he would have found a better response other than a simple no.

It was very rare for Damian to be properly caught off guard. He should have thought that you would have looked up the words he was repeating, should have come up with a game plan instead of looking like a strangled goose.

His first instinct was to snatch the phone away and cut it up with the plastic, buttercream decorated knife. Damian could pretend to be possessed by a ghost and buy you a better phone with specially installed programs that inhibited your ability to look up any Arabic term. Yes, that was a wonderful idea-

“How are there zero search results?!!” You exclaimed, turning to him. “Did you make up a language or something? Why are there absolutely zero results??”

Damian looked at your phone again. You certainly took some liberties with the spelling of the pet name, letting him relax into his seat. It was nowhere close to how the word was spelled. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Why are there two y’s in the word?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Well maybe if you told me the other 20 languages you spoke I’d get somewhere.”

For the next 15 minutes, you angrily punched in 17 different ways to spell Habibti, all massively incorrect and leading to nowhere. You eventually threw your phone on the ground with a huff while he cackled.

“This is so unfair. I demand restitution for the amount of time I have lost thanks to you.” Damian hummed.

“I can’t give you back those missing minutes, but I can pay you back with your favorite meal and my full attention tonight.”

You pretended to ponder over the offer, but Damian knew you could not say no to Alfred’s cooking. “Okay, fine. But only because I love Alfred’s food and nothing else.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon peered over the horizon, the stars twinkling like falling fairy dust on a navy blue canvas. Hundreds of Gotham’s richest filled Wayne Manor, most of which were dressed with gaudy colors and bedazzlements, with feathers and overpriced jewels.

Damian was dressed in a dark green suit, one that Alfred had picked a little while ago. He was fully aware of the lustful stares he was given by the woman (and some of the men) there but he could care less. There was only one person he cared about impressing and that said person was “discreetly” stuffing themselves with a plate full of food in the corner.

As an attendant of the Gala, you were in a stunning dress that fit every single curve of your body marvelously, all courtesy to Stephanie who helped you pick out the dress to begin with. Heat rose to his cheeks and he began fumbling with his tie.

Damian was not the only one there to notice your beauty either. As you were trying to polish off your plate of food, several men had made attempts to woo you onto the dancefloor. Thankfully you declined all of their advances - Damian was not sure what he would have felt if you did. If it weren’t for the hundreds of other people present, he would have unquestionably sliced off the suitors hands if they tried to touch you again.

“Ya Helo, you look…” His throat clogged as you stared up at him. “You look stunning…”

Damian was convinced that your smile was the brightest thing in the universe; he was also sure that it could cure any bout of irritation or sadness possible.

“About time you showed up! Are you done flirting with the 70 year old women yet or does your dad want you back in there?” You poked his chest, the touch feeling like an electrical transfer.

“You know that I would never flirt with those women back there, Habibti. My dad just wanted me to manipulate them into giving more of their money to charity.”

Before you could pull your hand away, he clasped it and brought it closer to his heartbeat. Your hands were a pebble compared to his own and yet they still managed to fit perfectly together like Incan architecture.

“I-I…” You looked away with a crooked smile. “I know that, obviously. I just wanted to tease you a bit!”

When you turned towards him once more, he noticed the way your eyes trailed down his visage, strawberry lips parting ever so slightly. Your laughter died in your throat. The scene felt like the ridiculous romcoms he analyzed from time to time while you were over. All he had to do was lean in a little bit closer and his dreams would be fulfilled-

The tight grip of someone’s hand seized his arm, effectively pulling him away from his darling. The movement caught Damian off guard (the second time that day). There was only a select handful of people who were able to sneak up on him like that…

“Mother.” Damian seethed, turning to gaze upon the woman with a cold glare. “What are you doing here?”

Fitted for the occasion in a sleek black dress, Talia crossed her arms and matched her son’s glare. “Is a mother not allowed to visit her son, especially when he has not messaged her in months?”

Damian stood in front of you, his hands slightly raised in case Talia decided to activate her mother bear mode. Talia’s eyes furrowed, her lip pursing.

“How about you and your little friend follow me upstairs. You can tell me all about how you two met.” She suggested but her voice made it sound more like a threat.

Damian hated how your smile disappeared and was replaced with an apprehensive grimace. He reached for your hand and squeezed.

“Dami…”

“It’ll be alright habib albi…” He whispered, squeezing your hand once again. As the three of them climbed up the stairs, the soft tune of the violin faded into nothing, not even background noise.

“Mother, I find this hardly necessary. Could you have interfered in my life some other day?” Damian groaned.

“Of course not, my son.” Talia shut the door of the room they entered. “If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to meet the girl who stole my beloved’s heart.”

Damian’s heart dropped. “I- what?”

“Y-you must be mistaken. Damian and I…Damian doesn’t like me like that!” You stuttered out with nervous laughter.

Talia raised a single eyebrow. “I find that extremely hard to believe considering what I heard him call you.”

Fuck. Damian mentally slapped himself. He should have known that his mother would have heard him call you that. The pet name was just so natural to him, slipping off his tongue like sweet honey, he forgot that his mother would have been able to understand.

You tilted your head towards Damian then back to Talia, reflexively playing with your hair. “I…maybe you misheard? He calls me these made up names, they really have no meaning.”

“Wait, so he has not told you what they meant?”

“No, he refused to tell me and when I looked it up, there were no search results.” You said.

“Mother, please-”

Talia raised her hand to silence him. “I can’t believe you have been lying to her, Damian! I have raised you better than that. She deserves to know that you are calling her Love of my heart and Darling in Arabic!”

You snapped your head towards Damian, who was internally screaming a colorful variety of cuss words towards his mother. He expected you to look horrified and slap him away, to run for the hills and never speak to him again.

Instead you had this beautiful awestruck look in your galaxy-filled eyes. Your face was a deep crimson.

“Dami…” You hesitated. “Is this true?”

The hopeful tone in your voice was as intoxicating as a few shots of bourbon.

Damian imagined that the day he confessed to you would be atop a starry hill with perfectly blooming jasmines and evening primroses. He would pull you into his arms and whisper his love for you when the moon was at its peak, ending it with a kiss if you let him. It would have been perfect, if fate allowed it to be.

However, there were no starry hilltops or sweetly smelling fragrances - no moon that would peer over them and give its blessing. But you were there with him, an arm's reach away. As long as you were there, wasn't that all that mattered?

Damian glared at his mother, who was in the background with a smug smile, pretending to not overhear the conversation. When she didn’t get the message, he cleared his throat as loud as he could.

“Fine. I suppose I’ll leave you to it - but I expect you to message me afterward since I did the hard work for you.” Talia sauntered her way out of the room, leaving you and Damian alone.

“You didn’t answer my question, Dami…” You glanced up at him with a shy smile. “Were you really secretly giving me pet names in Arabic?”

Reaching for your hands, Damian pulled you close to create a few inch gap. “Yeah…I wanted a way to show you how much I…how much I loved you without you figuring out.”

You giggled, the vibrations of it causing his heart to flutter. “You’re a dork, you know that? I would have reciprocated your feelings no matter what, but it would have been nice if you had told me sooner.”

Your finger trailed down his neck to his collarbone, leaving a trail of lightning in its wake. “I demand more restitution for the time lost.”

Damian hummed, pretending to think of the perfect solution despite him already having one. You edged closer to him.

“How about,” he began, “I kiss you until your lips are as blue as this night sky?”

But before you could respond, Damian already brought his lips to yours. The dreams and fantasies he had did not live up to the actual softness of your lips - the subtle taste of raspberries filling his senses.

Your hands tangled into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “Shouldn’t we go back to the Gala?”

Damian looked back at the door, contemplating how mad his father would be if he ditched the rest of the party. It was waning closer to midnight anyway and he could just say you were tired.

He turned back to you, his smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “He’ll be fine. Besides, I would rather be with you than flirt with 70 year old women.”

Your attempted giggle was covered with the rougher press of his lips against yours, causing you to fall backwards onto the guest bed. After years of calling you Habibti, now he could finally say it without you thinking it was an insult.

Damian is a simp with huge dimples. Fight me.

#Damian Wayne #Damian Wayne x Reader #Damian Al Ghul #Damian Al Ghul x Reader #Damian Wayne x Y/n #Romance #Damian has dimples!!#DC #Batfam #Fluff #Damian speaking Arabic #Arabic pet names #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Alfred Pennyworth #Tim Drake makes an appearance out of his tomb #Comics

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hyrulean-evalink · 11 months

Text

"The Guardian Dragon appeared soon after the defeat of the strange Demon Dragon. Soon after it appeared, the blood moon stopped appearing and monsters began to vanish anywhere it passes. Considered the Guardian of Hyrule, its sight often brings courage to the heart of those who observes it. It's often seeing flying alongside the Light Dragon."

BOOM my version of a Dragon Link!

An AU in which reversing Zelda would be impossible... But it was proven she does remember and that she is conscious. Guessing Link's aching heart to see his beloved like this, Mineru offers her stone to him to perform the draconification ritual and join Zelda. Becoming the Guardian of Hyrule, his mere presence alongside Zelda's banishes anything evil on the kingdom's ground, forcing the monsters and gloom to retreat in the Depths.

Now, some design explanations:

I've seen a lot of people making the "mistake" of making him TOO much like his hylian self, which is something I've tried to avoid here

His mane is longer than Zelda's and has two big tufts to remind his bangs

Teal colors because Link has both Courage and Wisdom

The horn is shaped like a blade to remind the Master Sword

If Zelda has golden eyelashes and back rocks/scales (?) I felt like Link would have silver to complement and also to remind the armor of a knight

Chose yellow/gold for his sclera because of the Golden Power and to be a contrast to Zelda's purple

Blue spikes and horn to, again, remind the blue blade of the Master Sword

If you're wondering, yes, I've traced over the Light Dragon's picture to use as a base. You really expected me to be able to draw a dragon?

ALSO ! You are more than free to use this design !! Please tell me if you do I would be more than honored

#loz #zelda #legend of zelda #dragon #art #tears of the kingdom #artists on tumblr #dragon link #light dragon #loz totk #zelink #tears of the kindom spoilers #totk link #zelda au #totk au #dragon link au #dragon zelda

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the-fiction-witch · 24 days

Text

Lessons

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Daemon Targaryen Couple - Daemon X Reader Reader - Y/n Targaryen (Daughter of Viserys) Rating - Smut Word Count - 1756

As soon as the carriage came to a halt, I eagerly jumped out and rushed over to the dragon pit. My heart leapt with excitement as I saw the dragon keepers bringing out my beloved black dragon, ēbrion. I could hardly contain my joy as I ran over to her and wrapped my arms around her , feeling the warmth of her body and the roughness of her scales against my skin.

I leaned in close, pressing my cheek against her head, and rubbed my hands across her scales, reveling in the sensation of her smooth black scales and the sharp ridges of her horns. I whispered words of affection to her, telling her how much I had missed her and how happy I was to see her again even if I only saw her two days ago,

I felt completely at ease in the presence of my dragon. she has been my faithful companion ever since he hatched.

"Hello sweet girl," I cooed, and after a little while of waiting I blushed a little watching as Caraxes came down from the sky and landed at the entrance to the dragon pit, I giggled and happily ran over watching as my uncle daemon climbed out.

He smirked as he saw me and opened his arms so I ran over and jumped into them for a hug, he wrapped his arms around me and gave my head a small kiss. "You ready for your lesson, byka mēre?" [Little one]

"I'm ready! I'm ready! Can we go now?!"

"Alright," He chuckled, he held my hand and let me back to ēbrion, he soothed my dragon sweetly and made sure she was calm enough before Daemon helped me to climb up onto the saddle, "Alright, make sure your feet are on properly," he says moving my ankles to make sure it was all as it should be, "make sure the chain is tight so you don't go flying off." he explained checking everything for me, "Alright, you ready byka mēre?"

"I'm ready!" I nodded excitedly,

He chuckled and kissed my forehead before he climbed down and moved over climbing back up onto Caraxes, "Go on byka mēre, stay in front of Caraxes and I. Any problems you know what to do?"

"I know!" I smiled, "Ivestragī's sōvegon ēbrion!" [Let's Fly ēbrion]

As Ebriōn slowly moved and began to take off, I felt a mix of excitement and fear. Even though I had ridden on Dragonback before, I still got scared sometimes when we took to the sky. But I trusted Ebriōn, and I knew that he would take care of me.

As we ascended higher and higher into the sky above King's Landing, I made sure to hold on tight to Ebriōn's sadle. I could feel her powerful muscles working beneath me as she flapped her wings, and I marvelled at the incredible sensation of flying through the air.

Daemon and Caraxes took off not far behind us, and we flew together, practising various moves and styles of flying. Sometimes we would soar high above the clouds, while other times we would skim low over the water of the Narrow Sea. I was amazed at how effortlessly Ebriōn could change direction and speed in mid-air, and I did my best to keep control of her the two of us working in tandem to fly.

As we flew, I felt a sense of freedom and exhilaration that I had never experienced before. Riding on dragonback was like nothing else in the world,

"byka mēre! Rest time Princess!" Daemon called out to me from Caraexs,

"Okay!" I yelled back even if I wasn't sure my voice carried that far, I spotted a small island nothing more than a jagged rock close to the coastline so I took Ebriōn down landing on the rocks, Caraxes landed close by, Daemon climbed down quickly but I of course took more time so he came over and helped me down pulling me into a sweet hug,

"You're getting much better byka mēre, You'll be flying solo across Westeros pretty soon."

"You think so!"

"I'm sure of it, you and Ebriōn make quite the team," he said, "But both dragon and riders need to rest for a little while," He told me as he kept his hand on my waist and led me to a small area that was fairly flat, where we sat watching the waves taking a moment to rest. "and... as we are away from prying eyes," he smirked moving closer and peppering slow kisses down my neck,

"Daemon we shouldn't-"

"No one knows where out here, it's just you and me," he growled, He then pressed one kiss to the crook of my neck, I blushed a little but didn't move, so he tightened his grip on me a little hugging me a little tighter and kissing my neck again only one little kiss but enough to make me feel so happy inside, "come here byka mēre, I need some payment for taking you on your riding lessons don't I?" He growled, bringing his face and lips into my neck again, he gently blew air across my skin before slowly pressing small kisses to my neck,

I couldn't control my playful giggles he merely continued his kisses so slowly and calculated waiting patiently between each one, his kisses slowly grew more intense until as he kissed my neck his teeth graced my skin, not enough to bite me but enough to make me feel his teeth, he repeated this just slow soft kisses occasionally tenderizing my skin by gracing his teeth on it, "Daemon!" I giggled,

He chuckled with a familiar sly grin, he continued his kisses now starting little nibbles on my skin pressing his teeth more meaningfully, "sylutī byka mēre" [Tasty little one] He smirked and continued his bites gently barely anything between his kisses and nibbles which were getting very intense,

"Daemon no more," I giggled even if I didn't want him to stop,

He licked the spot he bit before kissing it again he would do this over and over up and down my neck like a vampire to my jugular, He continued with a prideful smirk, getting harder with his nibbles, kisses and bites. He smirked getting even harder "Hmmm..." He groaned leaving a hickey on my neck "Ao desire bisa, nyke gīmigon gaomā byka mēre," [You desire this, I know you do little one]

"Daemon-" I gasped feeling him force a hickey into my skin he continued biting and nibbling my neck around my hickey to ensure my attention for it, "Uhhh! Daemon!" I moaned twisting my fingers in his hair, which he took as a sign to get even more intense "Uhhhhh!" I moaned as his hand that had been settled on my waist this whole time moved under my dress to my thigh he quickened his kisses stroking my thigh higher and higher "Hmm? such iā sylutī byka mēre" [Such a tasty little one] he licked my hickey as he smirked and he teased me further stroking my hip under my dress "Ummm..." he groans now all but attacking my neck with kisses, bites, nibbles and licks. I could feel he was hard against my leg I tugged on his hair almost pulling his hair,

"Uhhh Daemon" I gasped moving his hand to where I so desperately needed him

He smirked stroking my mound before rubbing on my throbbing clit, "so loud today, byka mēre. Maybe I should take you for lessons more often your getting so despite for me."

"Uuhh uhhhh uhhhhhhh" I whined as he continued with my neck at the same time by now my neck looked as if I had been in a fight covered in hickeys and bite marks all down one side of my neck, not caring the marks he made just wanting to make us excited I moaned as he made a hickey on my most sensitive spot while he slipped his fingers inside me still rubbing my clit with his thumb but I clamped my hand over my mouth to stop my moan even if my eyes rolled back a little

"Ohh..." He growled "Such a cute byka mēre," he cooed "Do you want me to stop?" he whispered and I shook my head "I knew it," he groaned kissing down to my collarbone and across my gasping chest giving him more space and more real estate to leave hickeys and bites,"Let me see them."

"What?" I blushed but with my quick breaths my chest was rising and falling so fast his eyes lingered there

"Let me see them," He whispered in my ear making his fingers move much faster

"Uhhh Daemon please I -" I gasped

"I wasn't asking" he smirked, he unlaced my dress making sure to be agonizingly slow before he tugged it off me leaving me naked on the rocks, he smirked and pulled me to sit naked on his lap my back against his chest as his hand moved hard and fast-moving his fingers rapidly inside me, his other hand cupped my breast squeezing and fondling my bare skin,

"Ahhhh! Daemon!" I screamed, "Please..."

"Please what byka mēre?"

"I need you... " I gasped unable to resist such overwhelming pleasure,

He didn't need another word before tugging his trousers down, he stroked his hard shaft a couple of times before he held the base and guided himself inside me he groaned as he found his way, "Humm a different kind of riding lesson now byka mēre," He growled as he held my hips to guide my riding to ensure the best pleasurable angle as he began his almost violent thrusts but this was normal for daemon, I didn't hold back my screams, he didn't hold back his grunts and groans either which I found sexier then I like to admit, Both Caraxes and Ebriōn scream out with us as if they know the pleasure we supply each other, I knew I was close clawing down his legs in desperation for the pleasure that was building and building and building until I hit it screaming and clamping my legs around him my eyes rolling back and my jaw hung open, pleasure rushing though my body but Daemon kept going for a while but he was slower sloppier unable to control himself much longer until he moaned loudly and quickly pulled out sending his seed across my back,

We both just sat for a moment, gasping. Listening to the waves and to our dragons until he broke the silence,

"I think that's enough lessons for today," he smirked,

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cosmicroadkill · 2 months

Text

So after obsessing over Arachnis Prime and reading @sonicasura's bat Optimus idea I just was really, really digging it and was inspired to make my own AU similar to it

So basically in this AU both Optimus and Elita fall back into the cavern; Elita's power times out like in canon but Optimus manages to catch her as she's falling. The issue is all that does is put too much sudden weight and tension on his grappling hook causing it to pull out of the rock and send them both tumbling down. The explosion separates the two of them, sending Optimus even deeper in. While Elita becomes Blackarachnia as she does in canon, during and after her change she's looking for Optimus to see if he survived, eventually finding him in a terrible state. He'd run into the cavern's other denizens, massive vampiric and carnivorous bats. He managed to fight off and kill a few but not without serious damage, bordering on death.

In a bid to save him, but also for the selfish reason of not wanting to be a freak alone, she makes him a techno-organic like herself. From there, Optimus lives up to his name for the first little while, practicing with his new alt and eventually managing to fly out of the cavern to watch for any Autobot ships, believing Sentinal will surely come back with or at least send help since he didn't come back for them originally, eventually realizing that Blackarachnia is right, no one is coming.

Well, no Autobots at least. The two get picked up by the Decepticons, Optimus being very much not about the idea but following Blackarachnia almost blindly as he still sees Elita-1 in her and basically owes her his life.

From there it's kind of all over. For a good bit he kinda just follows her around like a puppy and follows her commands; after all initially the idea is for them to return to how they once were, but eventually, Optimus will realize that Blackarachnia is no longer his beloved friend and something will happen to cause him to finally turn on her and split off into his own thing, of what I'm not sure; honestly, it'll more than likely be a build-up of things instead of one big thing.

There's also the debate of how Optimus deals with the Decepticons and basically being one for a while. On the one hand, I like sonicasura's idea of him just being a victim of circumstance. He's not a Decepticon, or in this case, he's only a Decepticon in name, he's just a man who's trying to deal with his current situation the best he can while sticking to his morals and general worldview.

On the other hand, I like the idea of Optimus realizing the flaws and downright failings of Autobot society and becoming a Decepticon for real. He doesn't agree with their morals and what they do a lot of the time, but the ideals Megatron puts forth? He can get behind those, especially since he and Elita were failed by the system they followed so doggedly while Sentinal abandoned them (as far as he's aware) and potentially still gets 'rewarded' (given the rank of Prime and his own team; Optimus would not know he's delegated to bridge repair until later if at all)

More than likely he might fall into a third option of neither, where he abandons the Decepticons like Blackarachnia does but refuses to rejoin the Autobots because of the whole debacle, likely hiding away with the Dinobots on their island.

Also as you've likely noticed I haven't quite come up with Optimus' new name? I'm partial to Chiropteras, as Chiroptera is the order bats are from. I considered going with Optimus Primal since Blackarachnia is also from Beast Wars and a lot of people used/use Tarantulas for spider Optimus before Arachnus Prime was revealed, but my biggest thing is in TFA Prime isn't technically anything special, it's just a rank, so why would he still be Prime or even make it Primal? Unless he's giving himself the rank because he feels he deserves it/is bastardizing it for his own use. I could also potentially use the name of another bat transformer in the way that Tarantulas is the name of a Predacon from Beast Wars but none of them really fit? Cause there's Nightscream, Sonar, and Nyx (and technically Noctorro but he's a bat and a bull). I could use Nocturne or Nocturnus, too.

Lemme know what y'all think?

#my art #transformers #transformers animated #tfa optimus prime #optimus prime #au #bat #decepticon

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foreverindreamlandd · 2 years

Note

LOL OKAY this is just the first thing i thought of so no pressure if you don't like it but. we all know steve is the babysitter. but what about steve x actual babysitter!reader. like she's hired across hawkins for her sweetness/good reputation/skills with kids and maybe steve judges her at first for being a goody two shoes but she's actually cool. IDK HAHA UP TO YOU 💕

Babysitters Club

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.6k

A/n: Shut the FRONT DOOR this was the perfect prompt!!! Okay okay let's see what y'all think but holy crap thank you so much for this Rodrik <3 This is my first time writing for Steve and I'm surprisingly nervous but I love this boy so much and hope you enjoy :) Story takes place during episode 6 of season 4.

Warnings: Canon level violence, monsters, cursing Steve being the confused but protective mother figure we all know and love.

~~~~~

Steve was pretty sure he was on the verge of a panic attack.

It seemed to always happen when the gang was all together.

Because when the gang was all together, it meant that there was a monster they had to take down.

He kept his hands placed firmly on his hips to prevent them from shaking as Dustin went on his tangent about his compass not working and the magnetic frequencies, saying something about there being yet another gate to the Upside Down.

Hadn’t they already closed all of them? How the hell could there be more?

Sometimes he really hated living in Hawkins. Though he was grateful for the friends he had made over the past few years who had helped him realize he could be more than some popular jock, he sometimes longed for a day when Skull Rock was just a hookup spot and not the rendezvous location to discuss how to take down a monster who was taking out teenagers left and right.

“I think…you’re asking me to go into Mordor,” Eddie said pensively, and Steve’s brows furrowed, anxiety replaced with confusion.

What the hell is a Mordor?

“Dustin!” a voice called out from behind and everyone whipped their heads around, Dustin letting out a small screech in fear. “Dustin? Where the hell are you!”

Wait, Steve knew that voice…

“Holy shit, Y/n?” Dustin exclaimed as you came into view.

You stood atop a fallen tree trunk, hands moving to your hips same as Steve’s, glaring at Dustin.

Steve stared at you, mouth open as if trying to form words. What the hell was the beloved Hawkins babysitter doing-

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dustin asked, taking the question from Steve’s mind.

“Yooo, Y/n!” Eddie shouted with a smile, running over to pull you into a tight bear hug. Wait, miss princess was friends with alleged cult leader Eddie Munson? What the hell was happening. Your hands moved from your hips to hug him back, and though you smiled back, Steve noticed that you were still a bit annoyed. “Man am I glad to see you.”

It was so strange seeing you with such a serious expression on your face. He had only ever seen you with this goodie two-shoes smile whenever you passed him in the hallway, one that made it seem like you couldn’t hurt a fly.

This look? The one you gave Dustin when Eddie pulled away? Steve had to fight the urge to take a step back from the threat that wasn’t even directed towards him.

“Do you have any idea how worried your mom is?” you went on, looking at Lucas, whose eyes went to the ground in shame. “Your mom, too, Sinclair! There’s been three attacks and you all just think it’s okay to be out and about without letting anyone know where you are?”

“How did you even find us?” Lucas asked.

You pulled out a walkie that matched theirs. “I’ve been on your frequency for hours. I finally heard correspondence between you and Eddie to meet you at Skull Rock and headed straight over.”

“Okay, wait a minute,” Steve cut in, hands in the air to dramatically stop all conversation. He looked at Dustin with a hurt expression. “How come she has a walkie and I don’t?”

Dustin just shrugged. “It was part of the agreement.”

You cut in, looking over at Steve. “Unsupervised trick-or-treating, trips to the mall, sneaking into R-rated movies through the back door of the ice cream shop-”

“You knew about that?” Steve asked, wide eyed.

You shrugged, giving him a knowing grin and he found himself totally captivated by the expression.

“I know everything, Steve Harrington. Anyways,” you turned your attention to the device. “They boys and I agreed that as long as they checked in, we could keep their solo trips a little secret. They get to have their fun, and I get paid to do nothing. But y’all broke the pact today and I had to snoop.”

Dustin sagged, shame painted across his features. “Sorry, Y/n.”

You walked over and rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, Henderson. Just let me take you, Sinclair, and Max home so that your parents can stop harassing me about where you are.”

He shook his head vehemently. “We can’t leave. We have to follow the compass!”

“We’re going to Mordor,” Eddie cut in, and you turned to him, confused.

Okay, good, Steve though. I’m not the only one who doesn’t understand that reference-

“I’m supposed to protect these kids, Ed, and you want me to take them into Mordor?”

…God dammit.

“Listen, Y/n/n,” Robin cut in. “This thing? Killing Hawkins students? It’s big. And it’s bad. The adults have no idea what the hell is going on.”

You smirked. “When do they ever?”

“You could come with us,” Lucas offered. “It's really dangerous, though.”

Your arms crossed in front of you, one brow raised as if you were intrigued.

“So you’re saying that whatever you’re doing might kill you?” The kids shrugged and you shook your head. “Is this something that I can talk you out of?” Their heads bobbed side to side and this time you nodded, uncrossing your arms and jumping off of the trunk onto the ground. “Alright, then. I’m in. Someone’s gotta keep you safe.”

Steve scoffed. “Hold on, hold on, hold on,” you looked over at him, expression slightly amused at his confusion. “You’re just going to let her join the gang? Like that?”

Dustin and Lucas exchanged glances. “She could actually be a huge help.”

You cocked your head to the side with a smug smile at Steve that caused a whole mess of emotions to weave together in his brain.

“Listen, Y/n,” he said, shaking his head, walking up to you. “We appreciate the sentiment and all, but I think this is a bit above babysitter pay grade. Besides, I’m the one around here that keeps the kids safe.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Is that a challenge, Harrington?”

“No,” he said, “It’s a get out of jail card. So that you can go home and not have to worry about this.”

You chuckled. “Listen, buddy, these are my kids, and my responsibility. You think I’m going to ruin my reputation and hourly rate by not making sure I get them home safe and sound? No way. I’m coming.”

“You should listen to her, Steve,” Dustin said as he approached the two of you, patting Steve on the back. “Y/n doesn’t take no for an answer. Besides, we’re wasting time arguing.” He lifted his compass and started moving. “Fill her in as we go!” he yelled to the group.

Steve watched Dustin walk away for a moment before returning his focus on your piercing stare, suddenly lost in the way they sparkled under a ray of sunlight peeking through the trees.

That moment was ruined as soon as your smug expression somehow turned even more smug.

“Let’s get going then, Harrington,” you said before turning on your heel and heading toward Nancy and Robin. Robin wrapped an arm around yours and leaned her head on your shoulder and he heard her sigh out a boy am I glad to see you.

Steve was stuck to his spot for a moment, still trying to understand what the fuck just happened. He turned when he noticed Eddie standing by his side, a look of admiration on his face.

“Who the hell is this girl? Isn’t she just a babysitter?” Steve asked.

Eddie giggled, shaking his head. “No way man. Y/n is the most badass chick to ever exist. You should see her when she plays DnD. Total savage.”

Steve had no concept of reality anymore.

~~~~~

It was nightfall by the time you all reached Lover’s Lake.

Eddie’s face had gone paler than the moon shining above when he explained that this was where Patrick was killed, pointing out to the water.

“We gotta go out there,” you said, moving toward the closest boat. “Right where it happened, I imagine.”

“Okay now hold on,” Steve chided, blocking your path to the water with crossed arms. “Why don’t you stay on shore and take care of the kids? Since you claim you’re so good at it and everything.”

You smirked. “Have you ever considered taking up babysitting, Harrington? You’ve definitely nailed the protective mom vibe.”

He glared at you, biting the inside of his cheek to fight back a smile from breaking through his annoyed facade.

“I may not have any idea what is happening with Vecna or the Upside Down or whatever,” you went on, way too casually considering the circumstances, “But I did work as a camp counselor for three summers in a row, meaning I know how to navigate a water vessel and am CPR-certified, have lifeguard experience, I’m also a karate instructor-”

“Okay, well I was a lifeguard and am CPR-certified, too! And I’ve fought shit like this before!” He was stuck on the karate instructor part, though.

“Great! So maybe having two people who know what they’re doing in the water while we find a gate to Hell is a good thing?”

He couldn’t argue with that. Just simply deflated as he moved to help you push the small boat into the lake. Robin and Nancy hopped on while Eddie stayed with the kids.

You turned and pointed at them once you stepped into the boat. “If things go south, you run, okay? I got my walkie so go find a home base and we’ll catch up with you.”

Four heads nodded and you took a seat, moving to grab the paddles but Steve quickly took them first and started rowing.

You rolled your eyes.

A few minutes later, Nancy told Steve to stop. You all stood as you flashed the light over the compass, which was now spinning in circles.

“We’ve reached our destination,” you murmured, and Steve swore he finally heard a hint of fear in your voice.

He looked over the edge, pulling off his shirt.

“I’ll go check it out and let you know if I find something,” he said, grabbing a light.

“I’ll come with you,” you offered, moving to take off your jacket.

Steve turned to start what felt like his hundredth argument today, but paused as soon as he saw your face. Gone was any trace of annoyance or smugness. All he saw was concern, eyes wide and pleading. Like you didn’t want him to do this alone.

His gaze softened, and he gently touched your arm. “I’ll be okay. Your job is to keep the kids safe, right? You can’t do that while also swimming to the bottom of the lake.”

You bit your bottom lip. “But who’s going to keep you safe?”

Something in his heart bloomed and he gave you a small smile. “Okay, we’ll make a deal like you did with the boys, alright? If I’m not back in sixty seconds, you can come save me.”

You breathed out a small laugh. “Promise?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

With that, you took a step back, holding up your wrist to show him your watch. “Sixty seconds, Harrington.”

His brows jumped up and down as his grin turned cocky. “Better get moving, then.”

~~~~

It was the longest sixty-three seconds of your life.

As soon as your watch hit :50, you started pulling off your jacket, not wanting to waste any time.

When it hit a minute, you stood at the edge of the boat where Steve had just stood, looking over to the shore quickly to check on the kids one last time before you prepared to jump.

At 1:03, he emerged with a gasp, and you quickly crouched down to check if he was okay.

His arms wrapped over the boat, a big smile on his face that immediately calmed all of your anxieties.

“I found it,” he said, looking at you with pride.

You beamed, palm moving to his muscular forearm. “Good work, Harrington. Now can you please get back in here before you get hypothermia?” Your hand moved to extend toward his to help him up.

He chuckled, hand locking into yours as if it fit perfectly. “And you say I’ve nailed the protective mom vib-”

That was all he could get out before his head was ripped below the surface.

Whatever had him was so strong you nearly lost your grip on his hand, but you held on tight as your body collided with the edge of the boat, arm feeling like it was going to be ripped out of its socket.

“STEVE!” you shouted, trying desperately to pull him back up, but it was no use. You turned to Robin and Nancy. “Help me!”

They were by your side in seconds.

“Grab his arm!” you commanded, and when you felt their hands securely around his arm and wrist, you slowly let go. Luckily, it seemed like Steve hadn’t been pulled down further….yet.

“I’m going after him,” you said, scanning the boat for your flashlight. One in your hand, the light flashed over a hatchet in the corner and you grabbed it. “Hold onto him tight.” You didn’t wait to see them nod before jumping into the cold water.

You pointed the light at Steve’s terrified expression, his body trashing. His eyes met yours briefly before he looked down at his leg.

At the thick, alien looking tentacle wrapped around it.

You didn’t stop to think as you swam forward, moving the flashlight between your legs and holding onto Steve’s calf for support.

Then, with every ounce of strength, you swung.

The water lessened the level of impact your hatchet made against the tentacle, but when you pulled the weapon back you saw that you had made a decent cut into whatever monster this was.

Said monster let out a screech that you knew would haunt your nightmares for years to come.

Still, you kept going, bubbles erupting out of your mouth as you screamed with your second swing, pushing with all of your might with the hatchet.

Like an elastic, the tentacle broke apart with a snap and recoiled down to the surface.

Without hesitating, you moved the flashlight and hatchet under your left arm, then used your remaining strength to push Steve up by the feet to the surface. Your head was growing fuzzy from the lack of air, but you kept pushing until he was out of the water.

Seconds later, you were falling into the boat, the two of you sputtering and gasping for air.

You sat up quickly, eyes locking onto his.

“Are you okay?” you asked, wiping the hair out of his eyes.

He coughed a few times before nodding. Robin and Nancy worked on unwrapping the remaining tentacle from his leg and he hissed with pain.

You grabbed his hand and squeezed. “You’re alright, Steve. You’re safe now.”

Your brows furrowed when he started shaking his head, still trying to catch his breath.

Then, he started giggling, and your brows nearly melded together in confusion.

“I cannot believe you just jumped into monster-infested waters and hacked at an alien tentacle as if you’ve done this a million times before.”

Your face relaxed, and suddenly you found yourself laughing along with him at the ridiculousness of it all, hand still in his.

“What can I say, Steve?” you said once your laughter subsided. “I’m a really good babysitter.”

~~~~

Part 2

Thank you for reading!

Main Masterlist

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things spoilers

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my-on-and-off-writingstuff · 2 years

Text

“Wed by Fire and Blood” | Daemon x reader

Request: Dear author, I loved "A Soft Smile", "A not so little obsession" and "Wed her to me" That said, I would like to know if I can have one where they are married in a Valyrian ceremony, please? (feel free to ignore and sorry for my english)

Summary: Based on the request: the reader marries Daemon in the Valyrian Tradition.

Warning: mentions of Blood.

Little authors note: Thank you so much for the request and the kind words! I hope you like it! I had to repost this because my tumblr is being weird

You were fidgeting nervous with the silk of your dress. A servant was braiding your hair while another was fasting the headpiece to your head. “Almost ready my lady.” One of your maids says while letting go of your hair. You were to be wed to Daemon Targaryen in the old traditions of his house and to say you were nervous would be a big understatement.

You have practiced your high Valyrian with Daemon almost every night, but you were scared that you were not going to do him any proud with your butchering of his beloved language. The other maid was now done with fasting the head piece. Your eyes notice the jug with wine, and you briskly walk towards it. “My lady” one of the maids ask questioning knowing that you should make your way down the beach where Daemon is waiting for you. You pour yourself a cup of wine, to your amusement it is one of the strong wines and you quickly down the cup of wine in one go. You set the cup down and turn around to your maids. “Let’s go I am ready.”

You met Daemon on the beach of Dragonstone. “Are you ready wife?” he took your hand pressing a kiss on it before holding it to the side of his cheek. “I am not your wife yet.” You jest at him. “Minor detail.” he kisses your forehead before leading you more inland. You marvel at the location hidden away by the fog. Creating a safe space hidden away from the world between the rocks and the fog. His brother king Viserys was standing to the side together with his daughter Rhaenyra Targaryen.

One of the maesters of Dragonstone was a witness to the wedding so that nobody could delegitimize the wedding afterwards as it was being held in the old traditions. A few fires were lit around the clearing try to hold the fog away A Targaryen septon was standing a little further away from the guests and Daemon let you to stand in front of the septon. “Ready love?” you inhale sharply. “As ready as ever to embarrass myself in front of your gods.” He softly laughs and tucks a fly away hair. “The gods would be stupid to not love you, as we are to be wed in their traditions.” You smile up at him comforted by his words.

The septon hands Daemon the dragon glass blade, you knew what was to come but tensed up. He slowly lifts the blade to your lips before making a soft cut in the middle of your lips. His thumb softly grazes over the cut on your lips, slightly stinging. His eyes never leaving yours while he smears the blood from your lips on your forehead with great care. Hs eyes look down at your hands and you do the same as he handles you the blade. Carefully you bring the blade to his lips. Almost wincing when you make the cut on his lips not wanting to hurt him. He is staring at you intensely while you concentrate on your movements. your thumb runs along the cut and gathers the blood coming out the cut. You bring you hand up to his forehead and draw a line with his blood on his forehead.

He takes over the blade again and while looking into your eyes he quickly and efficiently cuts into the palm of his hand drawing a line. He gently takes up you hand and looks into your eyes for permission. You gave him a short nod and he carefully cuts a shallower cut than his own in the palm of your had. He engulfs his hand in yours and the Septon is quick to ty a red ribbon around your hands. Flowed by two more. The first being of fine silk and the color of your house, the second heavily decorated with gold twine symbolling Daemons heritage. The septon braids the ends together symbolling their lives joining together. Letting the blood mix with each other, a symbolic meaning for how the two of you came together to form this bond. How the two of you are now one flesh, one heart and one soul.

The Septon started talking in high Valyrian, and while Daemon had translated the whole ceremony you could do little else than stare at the man that was going to be your husband. “Wed by fire and blood.” Daemon softly mouthed the words along with the Targaryen Septon. The septon hands you a cup filed with wine. Which you take a sip from. The bitter taste enters your mouth, and you quickly swallow the wine before handing the cup to Daemon.

He takes a quick sip before his gaze is back on yours. He steps closer to you. A hand circling is placed on your cheek, with his index finger resting behind your ear, and his thumb caressing your cheek. He leans in and his lips capture yours. You almost feel lightheaded at the thought that he is yours. Passionately kissing him back, your free hand finds the back of his neck keeping him close to your body. When breaking apart for air, Daemon cannot hold back before retaking your lips one more. “May their marriage be fruitful and blessed as they are wed by fire and blood.” With those words the Septon ends the ceremony, declaring the two of you as husband and wife. An applause of your guest is heard but no matter what nothing can distract you from your husband.

“Avy jorrāelan ñuha ābrazȳrys.” He whispers in your ears his lips ghosting along your neck. “se Avy jorrāelan.” You respond in a mere whisper. His lips leaving a trail of soft kisses alongside the side of your neck. In the distance you hear a high shrieking noise which could only be Caraxes seemingly content with the bond between his rider and his wife. In addition to that Caraxes knew that his responsibility was to fly the two of you to whatever Daemon had planned. Daemon had planned that as soon as the marriage was done, he would fly you away, to celebrate the marriage without any public, away from the scheming of Kings Landing and the war that was sure to follow. Just a husband and his wife.

#daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x y/n #Daemon Targaryen #daemon #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fancficton #hotd #game of thrones

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𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 6: My youth is a scab: under it is a wound that leaks blood

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Astarion and Ban make their first move in reconnecting with her past.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Astarion and Ban, by @dafna-winchester

Walking through the artisans’ shops beneath the palace was always an interesting thing, but Ban found herself rather distracted today. Arms linked with her husband’s, she allowed her mind to drift as he handled most of the conversation, chatting amiably and at great length with each artisan they encountered, moving from display to display, eventually pausing to consider commissioning yet another portrait of the two of them.

His voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“I’ll have to consult my wife about the pose,” Astarion told the artist. “It’ll be on the throne, of course, but I do feel like a slightly different atmosphere would serve to make this piece unique.” He tapped the sketch. “We’ll discuss it and I shall reconvene with you.”

He led her away, making a beeline for the cobbler’s guild’s shop, likely to ask for a fresh pair of wyrmhide shoes to be made.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get a couple pairs this time, in case you keep soaking them.” She quipped, watching his lip curl in feigned irritation.

“Tch.” He rolled his eyes. “One day you’ll wake up to find all your clothes in the fountain. We’ll see how you feel then.”

“I’d be perfectly fine walking around naked,” she teased, and he coughed, stifling a small laugh.

“If only your skill in transforming was as good as your mouth,” he retorted. There was a quick, failed attempt to smack him on the arm; he caught it quickly and kissed her hand instead, smirking.

“I just started a tenday ago!” she insisted, but she knew he was right. There needed to be more effort in it, though she found herself uninterested. If they were to live forever there would inevitably be more instances where it would be much needed.

Astarion merely huffed in amusement, letting go of her hand.

Ban was all too content to let Astarion continue mingling, her thoughts flitting back to their practice sessions. It hadn’t been easy at all - as someone who prided herself on her martial prowess, any sort of magic had always felt unnecessary, a challenge that she never put any effort into mastering. Why learn to cast spells, when cold steel got the job done?

It was unsurprising then, that so far every effort to successfully turn into mist had failed. She’d done a little better in turning into a bat - a tiny, gray-furred version of herself, she lamented - but flying without panicking had eluded her. She’d been lucky; Astarion had taken to catching her whenever she’d inevitably dropped out of the air like a rock, squealing as if her life was on the line.

He’d always chide her, reminding her that she could simply transform back mid-fall, but he always caught her anyway; every time, without fail. She smiled softly at a particular memory: when she’d flown further than she’d ever managed before. Overcome with excitement at her success, she’d turned to look at him, and realized just how far she’d flown. She could barely see him, his lithe form hardly more than a smudge in the distance. Seeing him so far away had deeply unnerved her. Panic had flooded her and the rhythm of her wingbeats had faltered. She’d screeched in terror, plummeting towards the ground.

He’d crossed the distance in an instant, her tiny furred belly landing in his delicate hands yet again. Ban wasn’t sure she’d ever felt more safe than in that moment.

The cobbler seemed happy to have received a work order for five pairs of shoes, all wyrmhide but dyed in various shades - his usual black, vermillion, a deep blue, an emerald green, and white. The last one amused Ban; for someone so concerned about the state of their clothing, white would be challenging.

The next stop was for jewelry, it seemed. Astarion chatted with the jeweler while eyeing the selection. Ban’s eyes roamed over the pieces on display, too preoccupied to register much of anything. Eventually, he dangled a large pair of earrings up towards the light, admiring the large rubies set into them. Ban looked on, watching them swing merrily from her husband’s fingers, the stones sparkling. Rubies, just like his eyes, just like-

Arlette’s favorite necklace. The ruby in it was nowhere near the size of these, but Ban remembered it all too well. Once, she’d tried it on and dropped it, the necklace quickly disappearing into the thick carpet of their home. She’d cried, knowing Arlette would be upset, and had Roderich been home, there would undoubtedly be yet another session of “corrections”. Adrien had come to her rescue, crawling on hands and knees with her to find the necklace before Arlette came into the room.

Adrien. Astarion had noted something off about the way Roderich had spoken about him.

The thought of seeing her parents, of the decision she’d made a month ago, still hangs heavy, but she felt like it must be done for him - for Adrien. They weren’t the closest of siblings, but still. He’d suffered under Roderich’s hand too, under Arlette’s blind eye. After everything that led to the fight with the Netherbrain, the idea of freeing her brother from their parents felt relatively easy. Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

Astarion seemed to finally notice her silence.

“Love?” He asked, handing the earrings back to the jeweler to place in a little box. “Is something the matter?”

She opened her mind in response, sending him images: of her and Adrien as children, playing amongst the mirrors, of the incident with their mother’s necklace. Memories, few but all the more precious for it, of moments of peace - where they were simply siblings and friends, a brief respite from the horrors of their daily lives. Then her thoughts, as nebulous and unformed as they were; no concrete plan, simply a need to know how her brother is doing and to pry him away from her parents’ clutches, if possible.

He fell silent, taking the now-wrapped box and pressing it into her hands before continuing their slow walk through the shops.

“I had surmised as much,” he said quietly. As she tucked the box into her pocket he thinks, a small crease formed on his brows. “You did say you thought you should see them. I wondered, when nothing further came of that, but I did not want to press. We could…” he paused to admire a pocketwatch from yet another artisan, holding it up by the chain, “invite them to dinner. I assume you’d rather have them here in the palace than have us at the shop, or your old home?”

Ban nodded. “Would give us an advantage.”

“Not that we need it,” Astarion reminded. He reached into his pocket to retrieve his pouch; the watch was evidently to his liking. “But if it does provide some semblance of comfort, we shall do so. Encounters like that, when held in locations that remind you of unpleasant memories,” his eyes scanned the massive room, the former dungeons, and sighed, “are rarely pleasant. I’d love nothing more than to spare you that.”

She couldn’t help but lean against him, pressing a small, grateful kiss to his cheek. “We need to go see my father in the shop, at the least, to invite them.”

Astarion sat in the carriage, Ban’s hand clasped in both of his; she was sitting opposite him, both of them leaning forward. He hated seeing her nervous, her hands feeling colder than usual - not a common occurrence now that she’s undead - and restless. Her fingers twitched and he held them tighter, rubbing his warmer palms against hers. “Let me remind you one last time, Ban. You don’t have to.”

“I know. I want to, if only to close that chapter of my life,” she said, eyes locked onto his, as if he was the font from which she drew strength. A rare occurrence - the reverse had been true most of the time, especially before - but a cherished one.

They had a plan, yes, but plans are always changeable, are they not? “The offer is always open, of course. Say the word, and we can just… end all this nonsense.” In an attempt to cheer her up Astarion grinned, playfully baring a hint of fang. She instead closed the gap, kissing him hard. She was all teeth and aggression, her fang nicking his lip on accident. The taste of his own blood stirred a little hunger in him but even more so in her; the way her tongue slipped in and licked the blood told him all he needed to know.

As she devoured his mouth he rubbed her arms, trying to soothe. She soon broke the kiss, eyes wide and a little unfocused. “I’m ready,” she said, pitch a little high. Nodding, Astarion opened the carriage door and stepped out, holding out his arm to help his wife down.

In front of them the store loomed, a little too ominous for such a humble structure, and Ban almost seemed to shrink before it.

Biting back the nearly overwhelming urge to charge in and destroy everything in sight, Astarion laced his fingers through hers. He offered her one last comforting smile, and led the way in.

“Lord Ancunín,” Roderich said, looking up as Astarion sauntered in, rising to provide a cursory bow. When he noticed the woman walking in behind the nobleman, he went pale, standing ramrod straight, frozen as if paralyzed.

Ban, too, had met her father’s gaze. Her hand tightened around Astarion’s, squeezing almost painfully. She briefly tugged on his arm, then schooled herself. What would her father think if she tucked tail right now?

Better yet, why did she care what Roderich thought?

“Ban?” Roderich gasped, the shock holding him in place seemingly subsiding. He took two aggressive steps toward them, and Ban flinched slightly. Astarion, noticing her discomfort, shifted, placing himself between the two.

“Master Glasscraft,” Astarion said icily, “I’d appreciate it if you gave my wife and I some space.”

The man blinked for a second. “W-wife? That’s… that’s my daughter!” For a moment it seemed like Roderich intended to proceed anyway, that he’d attempt to push past Astarion. Instead he took a moment to regard the cold crimson eyes watching him, the way those cruel-looking lips were curled - ready to strike with the slightest provocation - and thought the better of it. “My lord,” he said, tone suddenly conciliatory, “you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to see my daughter again.”

Ban, who until this moment had been perfectly content allowing Astarion to take the lead, placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder. She sent a small thought from her mind to his - thank you, my love, but I can handle it.

Immediately he backed off, giving her a small nod. A small wave of gratitude reached her; he’s thankful she’d allowed him into her mind as she confronts her past. With it, however, is a small hint of resentment, one that made her raise her eyebrow at Astarion, but she says nothing for the moment. She took a step forward, letting go of his hand, straightening up to face Roderich.

“Hello, father,” she gritted out. “It’s… nice, seeing you again. I presume you’ve met my husband, Lord Astarion Ancunín.” Behind her, Astarion gave him a small, sardonic bow.

Ban couldn’t help but feel a swell pride at those words, at her terrible, beautiful beloved; at how far they’d both risen above what they were made for.

Roderich swallowed audibly. “I- yes, my little beauty,” he began, seeing Ban’s expression close off at the nickname, “I have indeed met your… husband. The, um, the esteemed successor to Lord Szarr’s estate!” He clapped his hands together with false mirth. “I am sure you’ve seen the mirror he’s purchased from me? You no doubt know he has good taste. It’s-”

“Silver, full length, inlaid with gold, in typical rococo style,” Ban finished for him; Roderich gave a jaunty nod of approval.

“You remember.” He smiled despite the tension in the room, almost taking a step towards her again before Ban crossed her arms. “I will admit one of our mercury mirrors would have provided a far superior product as you very well know, but as it stands the one Lord Ancunín bought has the best reflection silver can provide. You’ve no doubt seen yourself in it and seen how our mirrors have improved over the past five years.”

She wanted to roll her eyes. Five years she’d been gone, and of course, the first thing he wanted to talk about were the godsdamned mirrors. Ban opened her mouth, whether to either insult her father or humor him she wasn’t sure, but he spoke before she got the chance.

“Little beauty, your mother would be so elated to know you’re back. That you’ve made something of your life, I suppose, despite… our earlier reservations,” Roderich continued. “When you left, we assumed you’d end up in a far worse situation than… this.”

Astarion bristled, but kept his peace for her. He began pacing through the store, walking back and forth in a closed path, hands buried in his pockets - almost like a predator stalking its next kill. There was an edge to his thoughts, one that Ban noticed, but mistakenly attributed to mere indignation at her father’s behavior.

In truth Astarion’s mind churned as he paced, Roderich’s voice ringing in his head. Little beauty. Little beauty… gods.

Countless times he’d called her something similar - his pet. His precious treasure. His little love. He recalled how she’d disliked it, but at the time she’d hated everything else he did - how was he to discern the truth?

This is why I needed to know, he told himself, irritation the first feeling he sank into, a little apprehensive about examining the ones that lurked beneath it. Revulsion, self-hatred, guilt. He’d known that he reminded Ban of her father at times, but this new revelation deeply unnerved him.

She must’ve loathed him, he realized; not that he hadn’t been aware of that, but the depth of it still eluded him. The sheer venom in their relationship had meant he hadn’t really been too concerned by her displeasure. A response was a response after all, and her love had been so absent that he’d craved any sign of emotion. And didn’t she want to be denigrated to some extent, he’d reasoned with himself, just as she’d enjoyed it in bed?

He knew she’d forgiven him, but this made the idea of making amends even more daunting. How could he even begin to atone when even now, more than six months later, he was still unearthing new and horrifying ways he’d inadvertently tortured her with his twisted idea of love?

Ban watched him from the corner of her eye, concerned. Are you alright?

His eyes snapped back to her, and for a moment he looked stricken. As they locked eyes, however, he seemed to relax, visibly taking a deep breath. Perfectly fine; there is no need to concern yourself. His eyes flicked towards Roderich, a silent reminder to focus on the issue at hand.

She turned back to her father. “I daresay I did well by your standards. You wanted me to marry someone rich - that I did. Someone powerful - I did that too. He has both in much greater measure than you could have in your wildest dreams.” She didn’t add in the most important things: that her husband is someone who loves her, who sees her as his equal, someone that she loves beyond reason; there’s no point debating that with Roderich.

There was also the odd omission of her brother; and she wasn’t the only one who noticed. Her eyes flicked over to Astarion again; he gave her an almost imperceptible nod of understanding as the mental link passed the message along.

Roderich appeared to realize the veiled insult he’d just leveled at Astarion. “Ah- I mean, of course! That isn’t what I meant, little beauty. I merely meant, well. The Szarr family owned the palace, and then Lord Ancunín inherited it and…” he paused for a moment then shook his head. “I was just confused. Forgive me, I did not mean any offense.”

Ban noted that her father was keeping something from them. The way his eyes darted to Astarion every few seconds, as if her husband was a threat, was curious, as was the way he paused mid-sentence, as if he meant to say something else and then changed his mind. She felt a wave of irritation pass from Astarion to her. Turning, she saw him slap on the biggest, falsest grin as he finally stopped pacing and rounded on Roderich.

“And none taken!” Astarion declared, coming to a stop right next to the older man. “After all, you’re family now, and I understand if you find the - change - in last names odd. The Ancuníns are - let’s say - a distant branch of the Szarr clan, and since Cazador died without any heirs - may the gods have mercy on his soul,” he placed a hand on his chest, playing the role of a young man mourning his dearest departed relative so well Ban almost had to stifle a laugh, “the estate and mansion have passed into my possession.”

The act sent a small pang of nostalgia through Ban, memories of him playing the fop back in the day making her more than a little wistful. This didn’t escape his notice, of course; the mental link and her face were more than enough indication. His eyes met hers, and for a moment his gaze was pained.

“What I mean to say, Roderich,” he continued, wrapping an arm over the older man’s shoulder and tugging him close, “is that the estate is mine and your daughter’s, now. In fact, we would be delighted to host a small soiree in your honor. My beloved hasn’t seen her family in years, and we would be honored to have you and your family as our guests.”

That had been the plan: come to the shop without warning, catching Roderich by surprise, then invite the Glasscrafts over for dinner at the Crimson Palace. It would give Ban a chance to see her family in a more comfortable setting, and then decide if she wanted more contact or not.

Roderich squirmed in Astarion’s grasp. “Of - of course. We would be more than happy to come, my lord.”

Satisfied, Astarion dropped the act, letting go of Roderich. “Good. We expect to see you and your whole family at sunset in a tenday. Don’t be late,” he drawled, the coldness settling back. His eyes raked over Ban for a second.

Do you want to go?

She considered it and then nodded. As she turned around, however, Roderich finally gathered enough courage to reach for her - she felt his calloused hand wrap around her wrist.

“My little beauty, dear,” Roderich started. “You left us, you gave up on your family-”

Ban faced her father, for a moment tempted to do exactly as Astarion wanted and sic him on her father, perhaps even bite Roderich herself. Her lip curled, and behind her Astarion tensed, the bond ensuring the thought did not go unnoticed.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, glaring down at her father. “Don’t-”

Ban furiously snatched her hand away from Roderich, rubbing at her eyes. Don’t. He can’t be allowed to see her cry, not when he’d caused it countless times in her life, when he considered her tears a victory.

Easier said than done, however, the prickling feeling of impending tears not abating. Her eyes found the only source of solace in this cursed place, Astarion locking gazes with her. He took a step even before she could communicate anything, arm wrapping around her waist.

“We’ll be off, Master Glasscraft,” Astarion said, the anger simmering under the obviously insincerely pleasant tone. “As previously mentioned, Ban and I will be expecting you and your family in a tenday.”

Roderich tried again, mouth opening to say something more, but Astarion gave him a withering look that invited him to try it and find out. Falling silent, the older man sighed and stayed put, watching Astarion lead Ban out of the store and back to the carriage.

He still had an arm wrapped around her, fingers gently ghosting over her back in what he hoped were comforting touches. To his surprise she came to lie down on his side of the carriage, resting her head on his lap and looking up at him quietly.

Displays of unbridled emotional openness were still uncommon for her; she’d always been that way, but he didn’t fool himself into thinking he hadn't exacerbated the lack of it.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, “I can sit up.” As she moved he placed an arm across her chest, clasping her shoulder.

“I never uttered a word of complaint, did I?” He thumbed away a tear. “I insist; I don’t like seeing my darling so upset. If this eases you somewhat then I’d be delighted to have you crease my trousers.” He offered her a quick, easy smile that he hoped would soothe her.

Especially when I still feel terrible about the nicknames; Roderich’s words today were a weight in the forefront of his mind. He was quick to sever the mental bond before that thought had a chance to get to her; when she raised an eyebrow in question he merely shrugged. His other hand ran through her hair, tracing the braids there absently.

Ban relaxed under his touch, the tears slowing somewhat. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Seeing him again wasn’t easy, especially given the circumstances of, well. Everything.”

He resisted the urge to tell her about the thoughts plaguing him; for now settling on lighter things. For her sake. “That was a rather impressive display of knowledge back there, with the mirror.” he stated carefully. “I admit I was rather surprised when he mentioned mercury mirrors; it’s a wonder he’s survived this long working with the material.”

She laughed, a loud, acerbic sound. “Astarion, you think he crafts the mirrors himself?” She shook her head and nuzzled against his thigh; he couldn’t help the sudden intake of breath or the shiver that ran through him.

“I suppose not,” he conceded. “So, hire some unfortunate soul, teach them how to make mirrors, and then once they’re ill, replace them?” A small scoff escaped his lips. “A waste of resources. You would do better keeping them in your employ and instead only produce silver mirrors.”

“I don’t disagree,” Ban looked up at him. “Silver would be better for the health of your mirror-makers, sure, but it wouldn’t be as expensive to sell.” Her hand rose, cupping his cheek. “I did tell you. The shop was his only love.”

Astarion felt her thumb brush over his cheekbones, wondering if the gesture soothed her; he mimicked the motion, tracing her own in turn. They weren’t as sharp nor as defined as his, but they were perfect, the shape of her face perfectly molded into the curve of his palm. The all-too-familiar swell of affection rose in him and he huffed.

“That is unfortunate, and dare I say his loss. The one thing he should have loved best is mine now,” he murmured, “and I am never letting go.”

Not again, not ever; and now that he was starting to believe that he was enough, he knew he could do anything and be everything she wished him to be. It aided in quieting that small seed of resentment he’d been harboring and keeping sealed tight in his breast.

It aided in softening the horror his new discovery had been plaguing him with, too.

The carriage began to move; he held her waist, keeping her secure. For a moment they were both silent, both lost in thought, contemplating what had just happened.

Ban broke the silence. “You’re thinking too loudly, Astarion.” He could tell she was amused, and more than a little worried.

“Am I that easy to read, love?” Of course she saw through it, through the feigned disinterest and the not-too-carefully worn guise of that’s not important, all I want is for you to be alright - not that it wasn’t true, of course it is - but he did need to talk about it.

“Not exactly hiding it, Astarion,” she mumbled, and he smiled slightly, chagrined. He gently nudged her to shift in his lap, facing away. His hands gathered up some of her loose hair, separating it out into sections. He’d helped her braid it before, and he wasn’t the best at it, but he had to admit that he found the repetitive motion soothing. The task was a good exercise for his nimble fingers, hands that hadn’t felt the heat of combat in what feels like forever.

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “Your father’s preferred term of endearment - little beauty - irks you, doesn’t it?” The braid he was working on slowly took form, and he paused to admire it. “I would hazard a guess and assume my own names for you… elicited the same response.”

Ban craned her neck to watch his work; he held the partially done braid up for her to see. “Not bad,” she commented. There was a small pause, where she gave him a look that seemed to be more fretful than anything else, and continued. “You’re right. It’s… he’s always reduced me, my mother - my brother, even - into things, to ensure his success. His little beauty to marry off. His broodmare, to give him successors. And of course his heir, to carry his name into the future.”

“You haven’t answered the other half of the question,” Astarion chided, eyes pointedly fixed on the half-done braid instead of her eyes.

“Your assumption,” Ban pointed out, “which isn’t wrong, of course, but neither is it some huge, unforgivable thing.”

“Ban…” he murmured, voice low. Dare he hope?

She sighed, hand curving around his chin to make him look at her; he saw nothing but earnestness there.

“You’re fine. We’re fine. That was the past, and you stopped the moment I asked you to. There is no issue here.”

He couldn’t help the relieved laugh he barked out, the tension leaving his body. “I - I suppose you’re right.” He searched for something else to say, and settled on a question. “When was the last time you saw Roderich, and what were the circumstances of your… departure?” He surmised she was likely to have run away, from what Roderich had said; he was curious, but this was also a test of sorts. Would she trust him enough to tell him more?

Ban frowned, thinking. “I ran away. It was after they wanted to have me wed.”

“Ah!” he exclaimed, all faux cheeriness; his hands resumed their work on the braid. “You escaped the clutches of some disgusting, lecherous lout. A good decision; it does not surprise me that you effortlessly repeated the feat when it came to leaving me.”

There wasn’t any bitterness there, merely a need to make light of things. She chuckled and nodded. “My to-be-husband was not hideous, however. He was tall, I daresay even taller than you,” she laughed as he let out a loud, offended scoff, then continued. “He was also rather handsome. I just didn’t want him, nor feel anything for him.”

“You could have, provided with enough time. Although…” he cocked his head at her, teasingly, “had you done so you wouldn’t have been with such a devastatingly handsome vampire, would you?”

“Devastatingly arrogant, yes,” she said, simpering up at him. “But, I met him, and he was rather insistent on being betrothed as soon as possible. He was prepared: dowry, a date for the marriage, the guest list, which apparently my parents had input in…”

Astarion yet again felt pique surge in him: for her, but also at the ease in which this all flowed now. He forced himself to refocus on the braid instead. “Let me continue the story, then. One night, when everyone was not paying mind, the poor maiden slipped out, likely through the window of the house, her meager possessions the only thing she carried with her.” He said it all with an amused, if slightly dismissive air.

“I… well, yes, mostly. Except that it was midday.” She looked at him with a slightly quizzical expression; for a moment it seemed like she wanted to say more, then thought better of it. “You’re getting good at this,” Ban pivots, nodding at the almost finished braid.

He shrugged. “It’s not so difficult to do; a twist here, a turn there…” he finished off his work and raised a hand, letting his fingers dance, as though rolling a coin between them. “What am I if not skilled with my hands, hm? You know that better than most.”

A smile broke over her features and she smirked. “So is that what all that braiding was for? To show off your dexterity?” She reached out to take his hand, running her rougher fingers over his soft knuckles.

“I could be persuaded to demonstrate it in a different manner,” he purred, eyes flicking up to watch their approach to the Crimson Palace. “And the braids may prove rather helpful in that regard.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. The braids stay on this time? She’d always liked having them in her hair. Before the rite he’d occasionally helped her braid her hair; in the days after it she’d done them herself - he’d found it beneath him to do so. He’d always helped her take them out, however, one of their nightly routines before inevitably ending up in each other’s arms. The thought of his hands tugging her braids while he took her was intriguing, warmth beginning to unfurl in her core. “I might be amenable. After all that, I definitely need a distraction.”

He gave her a careful once-over, to make sure this wasn’t merely her skirting her emotions, that it was something she desired. He figured that it was skirting somewhat, but it was also a request for help - she didn’t really want to think about the events of today. He smirked, then gave her hair a small, playful tug. “Then a distraction you shall get, darling. As always, you need only ask, and it will be yours.”

He’d had ideas on how to do this, to reintroduce a little rougher play. The idea of holding onto her head, threading his fingers through those locks as her mouth-

Astarion shook the mental image off. “Let’s get home and-”

The rest of his words were swallowed up by a moan as Ban turned her head to mouth at his clothed cock. She pulled away and he viciously fought the urge to hold her head there and fuck her mouth; he watched her sit up, his eyes locked onto those lips.

“Of course,” Ban said, mirth in her eyes. “Once we get home, I’ll let you distract me all you want.”

Getting home could not be any slower, he thought.

Getting to the bedroom was a challenge, especially since she couldn’t keep her hands off of her husband in between attempts to strip off her own clothes. Their lips were locked, hands roaming over each other’s bodies, each trying to strip without ending their kiss. Her shoes and trousers came off, abandoned somewhere in the main hallway. He seemed to be having just as much trouble as she was; a shoe went flying and he cursed, lips parting from hers with a groan of frustration as he lifted a leg to tug off the other.

“Godsdamned-” he cursed, tugging it off with one hard yank. “You see the issue when the wyrmhide gets soaked and then dries? It shrinks.”

“Oh, shut up.” The moment the shoe was off she grabbed his face, kissing him again. He smelled the way he always had, that lovely perfume a blend of notes that he always made for himself, even now. But underneath was his own scent, one that matches hers, that slight hint of earth and death. But there was more, so much more. That warm flesh under her hands, the ragged, hot breaths, the racing of his heart. Racing, because of her.

“Mh-” He tried to get a word in then gave up the attempt, instead pushing her against the wall of the hallway. A small whoosh of breath escaped her and she shot him a look of surprise, desire raging through her. She broke the kiss to speak; he growled disapprovingly at the loss of contact.

“Seems like you want something,” Ban said, coy. She knew perfectly well what. Astarion fixed her with a wry grin, eyes lidded, head tilted - the picture of seduction.

“My love, I only ever want one thing - you.” He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing the same air. “I crave you, long for you, want you.” His hand slipped under her shirt, tracing a path to her breast. “You did so well last time, showing me exactly what you wanted me to do. Perhaps you could be enticed to give me a little…” he found a nipple, playing with it absently, “…more?”

Ban felt her nipples harden at his touch, a low groan escaping her lips. “I could. What do-” her words hitched as he mouthed at the base of her neck; both hands now focused on the rather urgent task of unbuttoning her shirt. The cool air greeted her as her shirt opened, baring her torso.

“What do I want?” He said, blazing a path of searing kisses and nips from her collarbone down between her breasts, then further towards her belly. “I want you to trust me,” Astarion whispered against her skin, looking up at her, “enough to let me be rougher. More… aggressive.”

Those eyes pleaded, soft and gentle despite the intensity of his kisses. A hand slipped down to adjust his hardness, drawing Ban’s attention, and all of a sudden her throat was dry. “Yes, Astarion. I… I daresay I’d like that. Very much.”

She’d liked it before, Astarion’s roughness. It had been a discovery they’d made within the confines of their tent in the Shadow-Cursed lands and it had always been just right. He had ruined it bit by bit after he’d ascended, but she figured it was time to try again; she’d missed it and knew he had as well.

“Very good,” he replied, eyes steely and mischievous again, tucking away the softness without reservation. “Remind me, my darling: what do we say, when we want the play to end?”

“Sussur,” she breathed, and was rewarded with an approving purr and Astarion using his mouth to slowly tug her underwear down, his hot breath ghosting against her mound as he did.

He replaced his mouth with a hand, pulling the fabric the rest of the way off. She rested her hand on his shoulder as he slipped them off her legs, then tossed them over his shoulder. Astarion licked his lips; on his knees he was at eye level with her core. “Sussur, indeed,” he murmured, mouth ghosting over her, but not quite touching just yet. “You look delicious from here, darling. I almost can’t resist…” a small lap of his tongue, warm and pleasant and just perfect against her folds, just enough to hint at what more he could be doing, “...a taste.”

“Astarion.” Ban bit back the moan, barely managing it. “If you want to lead, just do it. Quit teasing.” She wasn’t irritated, and the idea of being teased to hell and back is something she so desperately wanted, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to give him a little cheek. His answering smirk was mischievous; he was all too aware that she was at his mercy.

Half-lidded eyes met hers as he rose, pressing his body against hers. “We’ve just started, my sweet. You must be patient while I decide exactly what I’m going to do to you.” The slow roll of his hips against hers was pleasant, his cock hard and rubbing against her in slow, increasingly insistent circles, the clothes separating them merely adding to the much-needed friction.

Ban met his gaze, then brazenly reached down to cup his erection. Astarion hissed, eyes glinting dangerously at having his authority challenged, but also with a hint of barely hidden delight. She couldn’t help the laugh that erupted out of her. “How about you make me suck your cock, my lord? You can do all the things your pretty little head was thinking of whilst braiding my hair.” She paused briefly, a rebellious smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “If you think you can make me, that is.”

Her own sudden boldness took her by surprise, but even more so her husband; she watched his eyes widen, cock twitching against her palm, the warm heat more than a little gratifying. After a moment, his eyes narrowed into a searing, sultry glare.

Astarion’s answer was breathy, more growled than spoken. “Bedroom.” he turned, already working on the buttons of his doublet, “Now.”

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decedentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon

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abiiors · 9 months

Text

midnight, car lights 🌃 // george daniel x reader

a/n: a second fic for the george bbf!au that's been plaguing me lately!! (a third one is coming soon). also happy 10 years of self titled <33 i'm scheduling this to come out at midnight uk time tihi

cw: none really, just fluff and flirting. maybe a very tiny age gap?? like 2 ish years

wc: 3.3k

“let’s go on a joyride.”

those words bounce around in your head like the dvd logo, said to you at 11:50 in the night—whisper-shouted would be more accurate. from under your balcony no less, like some fucked up iteration of romeo and juliet.

so far you have failed to come up with a coherent answer for george who stares up at you expenctantly.

you lean over the railing, your curiosity piqued. "a joyride…” his words repeated back to him in a disbelieving deadpan voice.

he nods eagerly. in his hands is a tiny heap of small stones—the source of the clinks on your bedroom window that had scared you half to death. when george follows your gaze, he drops the rocks hurriedly, dusting off his hands.

“it’s a thursday night…” you point out.

he clicks his tongue. “and you’re clearly not doing anything.”

your eyes narrow at his little jab. sure he’s right but come on now, he didn’t need to point it out like that.

“my brother—”

“is out on his ‘date’.” he makes a little face at that and you stifle the urge to laugh at how icked out he looks. clearly, some more questions that you need to pester matty with. but that’s for tomorrow. right now you raise an eyebrow at the way he cuts you off and finishes your sentences.

“my parents—”

“are asleep!!” his voice acquires a borderline whiny quality. “i checked!” he confirms proudly and before you have the chance to present him with further counterarguments, he throws his hands up in the air.

“come on, little healy,” george’s grins a feral little grin, “scared you’ll get caught?”

you bite your lip, determined not to let him see your smile. it’s midnight, you’re in your pjs—an old ramones t-shirt and tiny shorts that barely come up to the top of your thighs—your hair is half out of your ponytail. in short, you’re the ugliest you’ve ever looked in front of george.

meanwhile he looks like he’s just stepped out of an indie rock magazine—black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt that hangs loosely on him and yet somehow fits perfectly and his beloved vans. at this point, you’re sure george could wear just about anything and still look drop-dead gorgeous.

“only a little drive? i promise i’ll get you back home in one piece.”

truth be told, you had made up your mind the first time he asked. a slow tingle of thrill slithers down your spine. the goody two shoes who’s never even smoked a cigarette before he came into the picture. about to sneak out the window at 11:56 pm.

“okay,” you mumble to yourself. the small smile you’d tried to stifle escapes anyway. “okay, fine.”

george grins and whoops silently, fists the air in triumph. it does something funny to your stomach–his excitement.

“hold on a minute,” you tell him before making a mad dash to your wardrobe for an acceptable pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

the subtle nude lip gloss is inviting but you know it’s too much. he’s probably just bored on a thursday night and has nothing else to do. so begrudgingly you settle on a lip balm and brushing out your hair.

it’s fine. it’s normal. and anyway, he’s not going to see you as anything more than matty’s little sister, so what’s the point?

another little rock clinks on your window followed by a soft whisper-shout.

“hurry up!” the clear impatience in his voice makes you giggle but you look at the mirror a final time, smoothing out your unruly hair. this is as best as it gets.

after all, this is not a date.

“can’t exactly fly out the window, george,” you respond drily as soon as he comes back into view.

he looks around curiously, toeing the grass and pulling it loose with his shoes. you can practically see the wheels in his head turning, generating ideas that you don’t entirely trust… matty’s friends aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed—not according to you anyway—but once george gets an idea, it is downright impossible to deter him.

“that looks good enough,” he mumbles but you catch it anyway, catch the spot his eyes are trained on and your stomach plummets about half a foot.

“have you—have you lost your mind?!” you stifle your screech halfway through, looking at the boy in front of you like he’s grown two heads.

george shrugs, looking the least bit bothered and points to the pipe next to your window.

“it’s sturdy, look,” he gives it two firm raps with his knuckles. “and there’s the brick for you to grab onto. and i’ll catch you.”

the last part has your ears perking up. you look at him with a raised eyebrow. it’s only a floor. the ground below you is soft grass that’s regularly mowed and looked after. if you fall, the most that will happen is a bruised ass (and a bruised ego). besides, the alternative is to go your through the front door and risk waking up the whole house.

“trust me!” he bounces on the balls of his feet, eager and impatient.

george stuffs his hands in his pockets, veins on his forearms taut with tension. his colourful tattoos are a stark contrast to his all-black outfit. should you trust him?

“if i fall—”

“you won’t!” he answers confidently. “i’m not going to let you get hurt.”

your heart skips a beat at how soft he sounds, mumbling the sentence more to himself than to you. a shadow of tenderness crosses his features, or maybe you’re just projecting. just a silly little girl with a crush on her brother’s best friend. a cliché.

“can’t let my best mate’s little sister get hurt,” he clears his throat. and your heart drops in your chest. of course not. to him you are nothing but matty’s sister. ‘little healy’.

“’course not,” you mutter begrudgingly and grab onto the pipe.

george stands below you, hands raised, neck craning to guide your steps down the exposed brick wall. there’s taking risks and then there’s whatever the fuck this is. regardless, you have put a disturbing amout of faith is george and now there’s nowhere to go but down. literally.

the last few feet loom between you and the ground. your sweaty palms almost slip and involuntarily a whimper escapes you.

“almost there, sweetheart,” george murmurs. that word snags in your brain. all thoughts fly away, and before you know it, you’re missing a step, foot slipping on the rough wall. there’s a split second of panic, the beginning of a scream that dies in your throat as soon as you feel a pair of hands around your waist.

warm, rough hands on soft skin.

george, holding you up.

you’re practically pulled flush against his chest, wide-eyed and flushed from the almost fall. funnily enough, the vertigo intensifies the moment you look up into his eyes. they’re just as wide as yours, mouth parted as if he was about to say something.

for a fleeting instant, time seems to stand still. the world around you fades into a distant blur as you and george remain locked in this suspended moment, bodies pressed close together, his towering over yours. his warm breath tickles your skin, and you can feel the rapid thud of his heart against your chest.

"are you okay?" george's voice is a hushed murmur, his grip on you firm yet gentle.

you manage a shaky nod, finding your voice after a few seconds. "yeah, i... i think so."

george's grip on you doesn't waver as he slowly guides you back onto the solid ground, his hands lingering on your waist for an extra beat before finally releasing you. you take a step back, both to regain your composure and to put some distance between the two of you.

"thanks," you mumble, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "i don't know what happened there." you giggle nervously, unable to stare directly into his eyes.

"no need to thank me,” he smiles, “just glad i was here."

the two of you stand there for a second, the weight of the almost moment hanging in the air. then, as if on cue, george's playful grin returns, diffusing the tension like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds.

"good to know i can make your heart race like that, little healy," he begins with a teasing glint in his eyes.

despite the heat creeping up your neck, a small laugh escapes your lips, the tension finally breaking as you roll your eyes at his cheeky comment. "you're unbelievable, george."

“right then,” he toes a small pebble, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “shall we?”

his car is cleaner than you expected.

sure there are some receipts and empty plastic bottles on the floor, even a jacket in the back seat for some inexplicable reasons but it’s nowhere near the pigsty that is your brother’s car.

“in you go,” he motions, casually holding the door for you. internally you’re grateful that he can’t see your flustered expression.

it’s a tiny gesture, barely even a gesture really—just a boy opening a car door for you. but he’s not just a boy. he’s george—the boy who makes you mad beyond belief and annoys you with the smallest of efforts. the boy who makes you stumble over your words. the boy who is your brother’s best friend.

“my my, george,” you tease to cover up your flustered silence, “manners. when did that happen?”

george rolls his eyes as he closes the car door behind you, and you settle into the passenger seat. you notice the faint scent of air freshener, attempting to mask any lingering odors from the cigarettes he no doubt must have smoked earlier. you glance sideways at him when he gets settled in the driver’s seat, unable to hide the hint of a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

"believe it or not," george retorts, putting the car in reverse, "i do have manners sometimes. just don't expect it all the time."

another playful taunt crawls up your throat, about to make it’s way out of your mouth when george casually just does the hottest thing you’ve ever possibly seen. your heart is in your mouth as you try not to stare at his arm behind your headrest. george, oblivious to your freak out, focuses solely on reversing the car from its little hiding spot. his cologne—something warm and smoky—fills the tiny car. a space that is so overwhelmingly him that you have to swallow roughly every couple minutes lest you do something incredibly stupid.

like grabbing his face and kissing him senseless.

especially with how inviting his light stubble looks.

instead, you pointedly stare out the window at the dull grey road beneath you.

“scared?” he teases, misinterpreting your darting eyes.

all you can do is shake your head. there’s no way you trust your ability to speak right now, especially as half of your brain is focused on not ogling his arms and hands.

this was a mistake. this was a stupid, idiotic, avoidable mistake.

“come on! aren’t you excited to do something reckless for once?”

you are, you really really are. there’s no denying it as the car finally maneuvers out of the parking spot and away from your house.

you let out a silent sigh of relief. the tension in the air begins to dissipate, and you take the opportunity to relax your grip on the seat. you sneak another glance at george, this time allowing yourself to truly take in his features.

his bleached hair is tousled—just the right amout of effortlessly messy, and his full pink lips only intensify the butterflies in your stomach. george is beautiful—from the way his hands grip the steering wheel with confidence to his jaw that tenses as he focuses on the road. all of it makes your heart race again. you can't deny your silly little crush, can’t deny all the times you have wished george was anyone but matty’s best friend. that you actually had the courage to kiss him. more than that you can’t deny all the times you’ve wished he would kiss you first.

“where are we going?” you clear your throat, distinctly aware of how breathy you sound.

george shrugs. “maccies, i think. been really craving some milkshake.”

and then he has the audacity to snicker at your gaping face. “a milkshake…” you trail off, wondering if hitting him on the head would be taking it too far. “sure, good to know i risked my life for your milkshake cravings!”

“pfft,” he blows air, taking his eyes off the road and training them on to you. “admit it, sweetheart, you were ready to, oh what was it? ‘risk your life’ for the thrill of it. don’t lie to me now, i saw it in your eyes.”

there it is again, the little flutter in your ribcage at the s-word. george seems so casual about it too, throwing it around like it doesn’t bother him whatsoever. and maybe it doesn’t, maybe he uses that on every single girl he talks to. the thought curdles in your stomach.

“fine then,” you huff, turning back to the window.

the mcdonald’s is a flurry of people—drunk and high students looking to satisfy their munchies, homeless people looking for a cheap meal and shelter. exhausted employees handing out orders with a dead expression on their face. you almost feel sad, making them prepare two milkshakes at this ungodly hour.

you turn to george who is busy studying the menu with the utmost curiosity.

“strawberry,” he mumbles to himself then turns to you. “or no, wait. banana?”

you quirk an eyebrow. “strawberry is superior.”

“which means that’s what you’re getting,” he replies and goes back to perusing.

“if you think, for even a second, that i would let you steal—”

“so territorial, sweetheart,” he teases, eyes still on the artificially lit board. “fine. two strawberries then.”

george places the orders, giving the cashier his winning smile and handing over some cash. she perks up slightly, eyeing him through her lashes while george leans against the counter. a sudden heat burns through you, wild and unpleasant.

heartburn, you tell yourself. the milkshake will fix it.

or maybe not looking at george being flirty would fix it but oh well…

so you turn around, finding yourself an empty seat and leave him to bring over the drinks.

minutes later, you almost jump out of your skin when george places the cool take-out container against the nape of your neck without warning.

“real mature, george!” the shriek causes a few people to throw distasteful looks your way but he looks absolutely unbothered and oblivious.

“such a grump,” he snickers and motions for you to follow him.

armed with your milkshake, you settle in the car once again. the car park is almost dead at this hour of the night and you wait for him to start the car back up, for him to tell you what the next steps are but george only taps tirelessly on the steering wheel. a complete 180 from five minutes ago.

tap. pause. tap tap tap. pause. tap. pause. it’s restless and rhytmless; not like his usual tapping where he’s lost in own tune. his milkshake sits untouched, condensation dripping onto the dashboard.

you wrap your lips around the straw, sucking on it noisely, sipping on the sweet, cool liquid while you observe him closely. “something’s on your mind.”

your statement makes him blink. so you’re right then, something is on his mind. he’s more fidgety than usual. in the stillness of the night, his thick swallows and knee jerks are painfully obvious.

“what’s up…” you trail off, unsure if pushing him would be the right move.

“there’s this–well. i want to–”

“this is new.” the amount of glee in your voice should be disturbing to you but you can’t contain it. because it is new.

you’ve seen george be arrogant and annoying, laddish and even on occasion, sweet. but you’ve never seen him be shy before.

“shut up,” he mutters to himself, then sighs loudly. “okay fine, it’s better if i just show you.”

you follow his movements inquisitively, his imperceptibly shaky hands as he takes out his phone and opens up a non-descript recording titled track 11

his phone screen illuminates his face in the dimly lit car as he hovers over the audio file. the soft glow casts a warm, intimate ambiance, making you acutely aware of how close you are to him in the confined space. your curiosity and anticipation mount as you wonder what he's about to reveal.

"i've been thinking about this for a while now," he clears his throat, finger lowering to finally click on the file. "and i want to share something with you."

at first, nothing happens. all that comes out of the speakers is static and then some more static. but just as you're about to speak, the car is filled with the opening notes of a song—one that instantly tugs at your memory. It's a tune that you have heard before, at different points in time. it's the song that matty’s hummed to you on days you were ill in bed, a song you heard them play at band practice. it’s a song that george and matty laboured over for days. the one that brought you all closer together.

and now it sounds all put together. the final piece of the puzzle locked in.

matty’s voice is stronger than you’ve ever heard, adam’s guitar and ross’ bass sprinkling magic onto it. and then there are the drums—precise and clear and passionate. just like how george drums his fingers on his lap now, matching the beat of the song.

when the song ends, there's a brief silence in the car. the weight of the notes and the sincerity in his eyes hang in the air, leaving you breathless.

"george," you finally whisper, "that was..."

“we finished it,” he smiles, looking down at his lap. “so we recorded it…”

“it’s…”

there you are once again, at a loss for words. almost certain that there might be actual tears in your eyes.

“that was…”

“shit? derivative? lousy?” he tries to laugh it off, covering up a vulnerable moment with his jokes but you’d be damned if you let that happen.

“perfect.”

the words echoes around the car resoundingly. there’s no challenging your opinion. the song is perfect.

“and you listen to me once and for all george daniel, if you call that song names in front of me one more time, if i hear you call it shit and derivitive and lousy again—”

before you can finish your sentence, george leans forward, crashing his lips onto yours. there’s a crackle of electricity in the air around you, the slowing down of time as if you’re having an out-of-body experience. as if you are a fly on the wall watching two people giving into the magnetic pull between them. but george cups your cheek with his hand and you jolt back into your body.

his lips are cool from the milkshake but the kiss is searing hot, teeth clashing against teeth. your bodies trying to get as close to each other as possible despite the gearstick between your seats. george tugs on your bottom lip, smiling wide as if he can’t help it—grinning ear to ear.

by the time you pull away, you’re both breathing heavily—practically panting. he doesn’t pull back entirely, instead he keeps his eyes closed and his forehead rested against yours. the grin stays on his face. wide and gorgeous and making him look so boyish.

“um,” you start and break off into a quick laugh.

"i've wanted to do that for quite some time now," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

with some hesitation, george lets go of your face, opening his eyes to look at you a second later.

“damn, sweetheart,” he sighs again, chuckling a little. “this is turning out to be a great joyride, huh…”

lemme know what you think <33

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