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yandere-daydreams · 3 months

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Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.2k.

TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.

Malleus met you at the base of his tower.

With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.

In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”

His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”

You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”

At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”

You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”

This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”

It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”

“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”

“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”

“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”

He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”

With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.

You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.

There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.

Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”

“I thought you were a thief?”

“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”

“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”

You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”

Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”

You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”

“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”

Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and…” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”

“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”

“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”

After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”

You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.

“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”

Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”

“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”

“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”

His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”

You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.

Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.

Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.

His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”

“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”

Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “…it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”

Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”

Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”

Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”

A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”

With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”

Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”

He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.

It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.

“This is what they banished me for, you know.”

“This?”

“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”

Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”

“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”

Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”

Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”

“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”

Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”

“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”

“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”

Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.

Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.

Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.

The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.

He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”

Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”

“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”

He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.

Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.

You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.

He was awake.

To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.

Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”

He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”

“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”

There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.

He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.

When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”

He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.

“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”

This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.

“I was always going to invite you inside.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #yandere twisted wonderland #twst x reader #yandere twst #twst imagines #malleus x reader #yandere malleus #yanderecore #yancore

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folkloresthings · 9 months

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BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY / CL16.

in which the world’s favourite pop princess becomes tangled in the life of a certain formula one driver, flipping her entire world upside down.

( charles leclerc x singer!au )

track one: lonesome. track two: fast times. track three: nonsense. track four: opposite. track five: how many things. track six: bad for business.

✩⡱ warnings: cursing

despite being the one to have sent the message, you could only stare at the screen of your phone as it rang, charles’ name lighting up, a picture you’d taken of him filling the screen. just before it could ring off, you pressed the green button and held it to your ear. neither of you spoke for a moment, just soft breathing against the speaker.

“hi,” you whispered, breath held in your chest, wondering if he was really there. you didn’t even know if you wanted to speak to him. hell, you didn’t know how you were feeling — only that you were falling madly in love one minute, and heartbroken the next.

“hello, ma cherie,” charles’ unmistakable accent filled your senses, allowing that breath you were holding to be let out. even now, he was using that silly pet name that made you smile. frankly, the love you felt for him hadn’t really gone away, despite what he’d done. you’d only wished it had never happened, and life could go on.

“lewis came to see me. he explained what happened, but i want to hear it from you.” trying your best to keep your voice steady, your knuckles grip at the bedsheets under you. you could hear him sigh on the other side, a long breath.

“i— didn’t mean for any of this to happen. fuck. i was drunk, too drunk to realise what she was trying to do. i probably should have shut her down sooner, but i wasn’t thinking,” he told you quietly. his voice caught, and you knew then he was crying. half of your heart yearned to comfort him, the other to shake him firmly. “i went looking for you after, but lily told me you’d left. so i tried to catch up, but she kept fucking following me. i had to get security to do something about it.”

you swallowed hard, a hundred daggers lining your throat. what were you supposed to say? if you listened to your heart, you would forgive him in an instant. you’d book a flight to wherever he was racing that weekend and let him bundle you up in his arms, take you to bed and make you forget it all. but you’d been throat a lot. you had to be smart, strong — more than just a lovesick girl.

“i’ve been let down so many times, charles. and i was so blind, i didn’t think you would do it too,” you were both crying, his soft sniffles filling your speaker. “i can’t just… pretend this never happened.”

“you shouldn’t have to. but — i can’t lose you, y/n. shit, you’re the first good thing i’ve had in a long time.”

you choked on a sob, praying he hadn’t heard it. he was sweet, so awfully and cruelly sweet, and it wasn’t at all fair. despite his recent mistakes, he scored five stars every time.

“maybe we rushed into this,” you pondered, and you could practically hear him shaking his head. “i shouldn’t have let you think my heart was ready for all of this. after austin i… i should have waited a little while.”

“y/n…”

“maybe we just need a little time. to figure ourselves out.”

he sighed, knowing he shouldn’t battle you on this. no matter how he wanted to beg you on his knees and make everything better again. “three months.”

“what?” you replied.

“it’s three months until the grand prix final, the last race, and until your finished touring. i’ll leave you alone until then, but i’ll set aside a paddock pass for you there. if you want to trust me then, come. please.” his offer feels terribly gallant, respectful of your feelings, that it brings a smile onto your face.

“alright. three months.”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by niallhoran, lewishamilton, and 900,231 others

yourusername if i’m just writing happy songs, will anybody sing along?

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joeyking who’s lady and who’s the tramp

⤷ yourusername i think we both know the answer to that

user tbh i preferred charles with charlotte than her

⤷ user no i’ve been waiting for someone to agree w me

landonorris setting the last picture as your contact pic rn

user team y/n or team charles take ur vote

⤷ user is this all you people have to talk about? shes her own person and was famous for years before she got involved with him

user tours almost over 🥲

⤷ yourusername 3 months 🥲🥲🥲

INSTAGRAM.

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ynnews the singular tour is almost over!!!! it’s been such a good few months, we’ve seen y/n go through so much but we’ve also watched her grow 🥺 so very proud of her. fingers crossed for new music & another tour soon!

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user i wasn’t able to go to any of the shows but i have LOVED watching all of the videos of her performing

user the fact taylor, madison, maisie, gracie and olivia all flew to europe just to perform with her when she was in a bad place 😭

yourusername BABY 🫶🤍 this is so so sweet. but it’s you guys that have made this tour, coming out every night and singing along to every word. i love you all more than anything in this world.

⤷ user MOM I LOVE YOU

TWITTER.

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yourusername guys 🥺 we won all four nominated categories i could cry. but seriously, thank you all so much for your continued support and love. there’s so many people i could thank, but i won’t get round to them all. you know who you are. thank you ❤️

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taylorswift there’s no one more deserving 🫶

adele 👑👑👑

user GRAMMY WINNER Y/N

harrystyles congrats love!!

user she made it 🥺🥺🥺

lewishamilton my girl !! roscoe says well done 🤍

honeymoon baby girl i’m so proud

user the universe giving her back what she deserves 🙌🙌🙌

IMESSAGE.

tagged: @leclercloml @vroomleclerc @gaviypedrisbride @ncentic @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ferrariloverr @baw-sixteen @rechtrecht @incoherenciass

#formula 1 imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #daniel riccardo x reader #max verstappen x reader #fernando alonso x reader #lance stroll x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #oscar piastri x reader #esteban ocon x reader

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joegeniusblog · 2 years

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CHANGE 2022: 10 Signs of Aging

1)Your age is 448 in dog years. 2) The toenail of the big toe on your left foot that broke a year ago will not grow back…ever. 3) You understand the Federal budget deficit and the national debt and the difference between the two. 5) You are about to become a ‘great uncle’, at least in the chronological sense. 4) Ibuprofen before a shift is a sound strategy. 6) Cash is your preferred medium…

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backtothefanfiction · 4 months

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Crown

Warnings: slight depress vibes with a fluffy pick me up, mentions of neglect/abandonment & family trauma

A/N: some more Daisy and Fix. I had a loose idea for this little imagine but just let it take me where it wanted to go. Feels a little under done and messy but isn’t that life anyway.

You love being at Saltburn, but it isn’t always easy. The hardest days always seem to be on those very rare sunny days when everyone, Elspeth and James included, lies out and enjoys the weather. On those days when it’s too hot to sit inside or work.

On those days, you can’t help but look at James and Elspeth, the way they dote not just on their own kids, but Farleigh, yourself - even Ollie. How parents should be. On those days it becomes particularly hard to ignore the circumstances of why you live at Saltburn.

You try to sit there and ignore that pit inside as it slowly grows, but every smile, every laugh, every kind attentive word from Elspeth to her own flesh and blood, it claws away at that hole until it’s too big to ignore. So big that just like Alice, you end up falling down the rabbit hole.

Felix sees when it happens. He knows exactly what the issue is, but he’d never make you talk about it in front of everyone. He also knows he can’t say anything to dim his mother’s light in able to fix things and make them better for you in those moments. You’ve talked it out together before. You’ll talk it out again and again in the quiet hours beneath the sheets before sleep. All he can do now is sit with you through it so you know you’re not alone. Let you know he’s there, your lifeline holding the rope to pull you back out again when you’re done free falling and that rope pulls tight.

He rests his head in your lap. He strokes loving circles on your thighs, but you’re falling so deep you barely notice.

You can barely hear the comment Ollie throw’s Elspeth’s way, but it’s her responding laugh that penetrates your senses and that rope finally pulls tight. It’s so sudden, so taught as it brings you back to the present you think it might just snap. The resounding thoughts make you finally leave, politely excusing yourself making up some excuse about why you need to pop into the house.

You smile to the staff as you make your way inside and head straight to your safe space, the one place you know no one will bother coming to find you. No one except Felix.

He doesn’t come straight away, leaving you enough time that it doesn’t alert everyone else that something is wrong. Another conversation the two of you had had in the past. Elspeth and James were so nice to take you in when your parents fled the country and left you behind, you didn’t want to feel like more of a burden than you already did. Didn’t want them to think their generosity all these years was in vain.

You logged into the computer in the corner of the library to check your email, to see if you had anything at all from your siblings or your parents. Nothing. It only cemented those feelings of abandonment even more and you couldn’t help the tears that silently began to roll down your cheeks as you realised you’d finally reached the bottom of that pit inside you.

It’s like he knew you were pulling on the lifeline to be brought back up. When he appeared in the doorway to the library you had sat yourself on a chair in front of one of the windows, looking out at the grounds. You remembered the summer days as kids in the days before, running around on the grass with Felix, Venetia and Farleigh while your parents were inside talking. You remember, each of you a water pistol in hand, a couple buckets of water balloons spread across the green. You had split into two teams. You had wanted to be partnered with Felix, but Venetia had called girls vs boys. Even then Felix still somehow played the role of a gallant knight as Farleigh tried to throw a water bomb grenade at you. He’d crossed in front of you and took the hit, much to his cousins chagrin.

You’d always played silly games out there before crashing, all your energy zapped as you lay out on the grass to dry out or recharge. You’d find yourself picking daisies and weaving them into crowns or bracelets for everyone. It’s like he knew that’s what you were thinking about now.

“Here, I think you dropped this.” He said as he stepped across the room to you, a chain of daisies held carefully in his fingertips. You gave him a small smile as you brushed away the tears on your cheeks and he placed the flower crown on your head. “Daisies for my Daisy.” He said.

He sat in the seat opposite you and you reached out a hand to his. “I love you, Fix.”

“I know.” He said with a smile before he leaned forward for a kiss. “You know it’s not your fault, okay? It was never your fault.” He reassures you.

“I know.” You reply with a half hearted smile.

“Come on, let’s go stick a movie on or something.” He says, hands rubbing carefully on the tops of your thighs before he holds his open arms up for you to take.

You spend the next hour on the sofa in the adjoining TV room cuddled up with him rewatching Mean Girls for the millionth time.

“I love you, Fix.” You murmer against his side as you snuggle in closer.

His arm grows tighter, protective, across your shoulders as he pulls you in tighter to him, “I love you too.” He says as he kissed the top of your head.

#felix catton imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton fluff #felix catton #saltburn imagines #saltburn imagine #saltburn x reader #summers at saltburn

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paladinbaby · 26 days

Text

returning home

no light no light, florence + the machine / gallant, v.e schwab / @arunima / where does the temple begin, where does it end? mary oliver / @doomed-bythe-narrative / caitlin conlan / @wolfythewitch / tired, langston hughes / hum hum, mary oliver / nine lives, ursula k le guin

[Image description: a collection of ten texts mostly on white backgrounds.

1: “Would you leave me / If I told you what I've done?

And would you leave me / If I told you what I'd become”

2: “Perhaps you are haunting me. / What a comforting thought. / Maybe it's you in the darkness. / I swear I've seen it move.” The first two lines are highlighted in pale green.

3: “in summer wounds fester and in winter they ache. another one of life's classic no win scenarios”

4: “I look; morning to night / I am never done with looking.”

5: “some people are taking “doomed” to mean “dead”. this is actually a misconception! you can be doomed even if you don't die! it's sometimes worse if you don't die!”

6: “It was never so romantic to become so obsessed with the past that I put my whole life on hold just to spend more time thinking about it.” Block capitals written in purple marker on pale blue paint chips.

7: “Constantly obsessed with the concept of a man forced to be a myth. What do you do when every step you take is embedded into the text. Every word you say prose to read. You're part of something bigger than yourself. The narrative tugs you along lime water currents. There is no time to rest, to be human. You must be great, you must be legend”

8: “I am so tired of waiting, / Aren't you / For the world to become good / And beautiful and kind?”

9: “Some wounds never vanish

Yet little by little / I learned to love my life.” The second two lines are highlighted leaf green.

10: “We're each of us alone, to be sure. What can you do but hold your hand our in the dark?” End ID. ]

#litstack #web weave #web weaving #mary oliver #personal #c: lost township #onion #they finally got back to town so clearing this from my drafts before it stops being relevant

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arcielee · 8 months

Text

Ours never knew peace.

Summary: On the morning of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark's granddam visits to give her an heirloom, a necklace with a sapphire stone... Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 7600 Warnings: Third POV and first POV, AFAB, mentions of infidelity, graphic violence, character deaths, and there is a hyperlink for the smut, so mind those warnings too. Author’s Note: I definitely played with the timeline of the Dance of the Dragons a lot to fit with the narrative. Also, the idea is the bloodline stems from Cregan Stark's sister, which is why Lyanna's granddam is still kicking. Also, this was not beta read, please feel free to DM me any mistakes you may find 💜 A huge thank you to my Tumblr kindred spirits: to @aegonx for this inspiring gifset, and to my darling @itbmojojoejo for these perfect dividers 🦝💜 Also, to Hozier. I started writing this in June and had not touched it until I started listening to Unreal Unearth. The title for this and the smutty one-shot are from the song Francesca.

“I have a gift for you, my dear.”

Lyanna was leaning against the ornate balustrade and watching how the sun rose above Gods Eye. She drank in the sight of how the rays danced against the blue-green gemstone surface, shimmering with the rippling waves that met with the shoreline and towards the center where the Isle of Faces jutted upwards; she saw the weirwoods shift lazily with the breeze, its red foliage breaking away and littering the laketop, like drops of blood.

She pulled her eyes away to see her granddam standing in her room, poised with her walking cane; a handmaiden was in tow, carrying a wooden box that had once been intricately carved into, though its detailing was now worn with age.

Her granddamn was the matriarch of House Stark and the only mother figure she had ever known as hers passed away when she was very young, leaving Lyanna with her father and three brothers: Brandon, Eddard, and Benjen. Though she originally had come from a noble house in Oldcastle, she had been proud to don the grays and whites of House Stark, dignified in such a way it seemed that she was born into and not just married.

Her reputation was notorious and though some would consider her shrewd, Lyanna knew her granddam had a sharp mind and wit, an undeniable ability to see beyond the façades of court with her storm colored eyes; she was gallant, devoted to her husband until his last breath and remained in Winterfell after, her devotion extending to the North.

“This is my home,” she had explained as if it was the simplest thing. “Always.”

Time now showed itself in silver streaks, a bold contrast with her dark hair that had been meticulously combed and knotted at the base of her neck, showing the severity that lined her features. This look alone had the other handmaidens–who before had been aimlessly flitting around her room, coaxing Lyanna to ready for the day’s events–quickly excuse themselves, allowing her a moment alone with her granddaughter.

“Set it there,” and the remaining handmaiden jumped to command, placing the wooden box on the vanity before following after the others.

There was the click of her cane with her sure steps, one hand resting on the gilded handles and the other coming to place on the edge of the wooden box, its brass hinges groaning in response to her opening it. Placed against the velvet inlay was a necklace of a peculiar silver that did not shine, but seemed to permeate a strength despite its delicate, celtic chains interwoven with one another; its pendant, a sapphire stone no larger than a silver pence, was nestled in the same style, curled around to hold it in place.

Only the stone gleamed, just like the water’s surface–alluring, calling, but she kept her hand at her side. “It is beautiful,” Lyanna acknowledged.

“It is reforged Valyrian steel,” her granddam continued, and she was pleased to see how her eyes widened with a reverence for the rare medium. “This is a heirloom that has been passed down, once belonging to your thrice over granddam. It is something for you to wear today.”

Lyanna remained rooted, only a wistful sigh in response. “This is my duty in life now, to be adorned in gems and silks and rare silvers, just to be shown off at this event.”

“It is our lot in life, yes,” her tone cut through the self-wallow. “Lord Whent wants nothing more than to parade the money he poured into this cursed castle, to show off his simple-minded daughter to the highest bid. The queen of love and beauty,” and her laugh was sharp, “only her brothers would defend that nepotist title!”

Lyanna felt her lips curl; she loved her granddam, dearly, especially when she was unabashed with her bold opinions. Her eyes fell back to the necklace. “Love and beauty,” Lyanna murmured. “No man has want for a clever wife.”

It was her turn to sigh. “This can be true, but some are fortunate with their matches.”

“Robert has no want for a clever wife,” Lyanna continued as if she had not spoken. “He wants something docile and pretty at his side while he wags his cock at every set of tits in Westeros.” She could see how the inside sagged with the weight of the necklace and a bundle of parchment that was tucked beneath, hidden in the folds of the fabric.

Her granddam plucked the paper bundled together with string and then moved back towards one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace. “My dear girl, love is always unexpected. Perhaps in time, despite the faults you each share,” she gave a knowing look as Lyanna moved back towards the bed, “you, hopefully, may have a gradual love and respect grow between.”

“He is already convinced it is love,” she sat back on the mattress, sinking against the goose feather pillows piled at the head. “But it is with this idea of me. He does not know me, who I am truly or what it is that drives me…” her eyes were drawn again to the box, opened still, and to the glint of the sapphire. “How did this come to our possession anyway?”

“It was a gift,” her granddam scoffed, untying the string and smoothing the letters on her lap.

Lyanna closed her eyes a moment, her own smile playing at her lips. “Yes,” her tone forced, “but who would have gifted this to her to begin with?”

Her granddam hummed, now her turn to smile. “How clever of you to ask, sweet girl,” but she did not answer Lyanna. “I saw how you are blossoming into a lovely young woman, especially after last night’s banquet,” and she saw that her granddaughter grinned, cheeky. “Ancestry has its weight with House Stark, and I thought now is the time to gift this necklace, just as your grandsire gifted it to me, and how it was given to your mother, who listened to me read this, years ago,” and she gestured to the letters.

Lyanna reached for the pillows, fluffing them and sinking back into them, her arms folding behind to hold her head upright. “I would never deny my granddam of my company,” she teased.

“Yes, how kind of you,” her tongue wet her lips, her eyes flitting over the first page. “Now shut up and let my old eyes read.”

And so she began.

It was the unmartyred act of my mother to bring me into the world. My father was a proud man, an honorable man who would never blame me, but I could see how he would wilt in my presence; perhaps it was that I reminded him of her as I grew, reminded him of the cost of her life so I may live instead. My brother, Cregan, kept his grief quiet, though it clouded his storm-gray eyes with this pain, this hurt that shadowed behind his irises.

With the unsaid, I know my existence haunted my father, Lord Rickon Stark, the Warden of the North, to his grave. It was only then that Cregan truly recognized me with our sorrow now shared, as well as the burden as our uncle Bennard was quick to come to Winterfell, bringing his shrewd wife and his sons, our wretched cousins.

I could only watch from the shadows with how Cregan fought to stay afloat with the smothering regency brought with them; our uncle was cunning, wishing to isolate my brother, which was why it was decided for me to be sent away to King’s Landing. It was under the promised lady-in-waiting for Princess Helaena Targaryen, though its true intention was for me to marry a Targaryen prince, for the opportunity to have a Stark within the royal inner circle and a direct line to the Iron Throne.

Cregan hugged me farewell, the whispered promise that he would write, and I was ushered into the carriage, cramped with my trunks, and my aunt Margaret, with her wardrobe and endless idylls of how I would lure King Aegon II.

I reminded her that King Viserys was not dead, and of the crowned Princess Rhaenyra. She bristled with her response: “No woman will ever rule the Seven Kingdoms.” She embellished this, and her inane plans to make me a princess; I had just turned ten and three with the soured taste of her words the further south we traveled.

We arrived at the capital almost two months later, coming as the last of the daylight disappeared in the horizon, with the full moon and stars already glowing in response. I wished to sleep, but was forced to bathe, to be soaked in a gilded tub with rose petals that floated on the surface while hands flitted over combing and scrubbing and cleaning every bit of me, all while my aunt hovered with her critiques.

The next day was our debut luncheon, allowing my formal introduction to the House of the Dragon. My aunt was peevish that the king did not join, we still met with the queen and Lord Hand, who introduced Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena.

It was said that Prince Daeron was away in Oldtown and Prince Aemond would not attend either, but did not speak more of it.

The prince and the princess held their old blood features, the shades of purple in their gazes and the gold-silver of their hair, a contrast to their mother’s auburn and her dark eyes that were watchful and worrisome.

Prince Aegon already had an exhaustion lining his face, with shadows that stretched beneath his lilac eyes, something heavy for someone only two years older than myself. In time I would learn that his shoulders sagged with the forced Hightower expectation placed, and its accompanying slow suffocation. The prince responded to it as well as any adolescent with unwanted responsibility: to rebel.

The princess–who we learned, to the woe of my aunt–was his betrothed, but that day she also became my savior, in a sense. Though she carried her own burdens, something deeply rooted within the ichor of Old Valyria that surged her veins, her company was enjoyable, nonetheless.

I enjoyed my time spent with the princess, learning of her fascination with entomology, with a favoritism that stemmed towards arachnids; though I found it unsettling, I still knew it was better company than my aunt. I was devoted to the task to fill mason jars with dirt, leaves, sticks to create little habitats for her ever growing collection, and it became our daily ritual to walk the gardens of the Red Keep, always in search of more to add or to release others who dutifully served their time in their glass confines.

One thing I noted was her utterances, her singsong riddles on repeat. “Be mindful,” she said with a hum one afternoon.

“Of what, princess?”

“A song of ice and fire,” her eyes were glassy, sorrowful. “It is a tragedy, again and again…”

My evenings were held captive by my aunt and her ever growing determination to force her way into the royal social circles; her daily mantra to remind me of the two remaining Targaryen princes, how I need my focus to be on snaring one of them.

I knew that Prince Daeron was a child and away in Oldtown, which left the second son of King Viserys, Prince Aemond, who I thought peculiar and quiet. He was isolated the first six months after we arrived, and I heard the whispered incident at Diftmark that had involved the crowned princess and her bastard sons; I also learned how it ended with the loss of his eye, but that was not learned until Princess Helaena brought me to visit with her brother.

“It would be good for him,” and her lilac eyes sparkled.

He was sullen, but rightfully so; he was still bandaged and refused the milk of the poppy, though I knew he was hurting, his anguish was vicariously heard with the roars of his dragon, Vhagar, whose bellows rattled the entire capital, leaving the inhabitants uneasy.

Eventually, Prince Aemond healed enough to leave his room, though the queen was still adamant he not venture outside of the Keep. I watched him, a dragon caged, stalking the corridors, a dark passing in search of confrontation, his unbridled want for vengeance and his inability to see it through; a tormented unrest, an unruly anger from the injustice of what happened that fateful night at Driftmark.

I had been present for over a year and would inevitably have the misfortune to cross his warpath, alone, without my shield of his sister. It was a foreboding presence that drained the air, a palpable anger that hung heavy, and I flinched, perched by the window, curled up with Ten Thousand Ships.

“What are you doing here?” He spat.

I remember how his anger darkened his features shown, but the rest was still hidden beneath bandages wrapped around his silver head. “Reading,” was all I dared reply, refusing to look away from the pages as if the very tale of Nymeria held me captive.

“They educate the women in the North?”

His words were mocking and this is when I pulled my eyes away to meet with his one uncovered. “The North does not only teach their women how to read, but how to fight as well, my prince,” my tongue had a life of its own I could not control, sneering his title in return.

Her granddam paused a moment, peering over the edge to see how Lyanna had shifted; she was now closer towards the foot of the bed, curled up with one of the pillows, her eyes glowing with admiration.

“My great-great-great granddam was fearless,” Lyanna concluded.

She chuckled in response. “It is a trait in Stark women, that is for certain,” she clucked her tongue. “Stark men also search for strong women to survive the winters. Maybe another day I will tell you about your great-great-great aunt Alysanne Blackwood.”

Her eyes shone. “I would like that very much.”

And then, her granddam continued.

I would learn that Prince Aemond was just lonely; allowed out of his quarters, his mar was forever isolating with how the castled treated him with kid gloves, like an open wound that never healed despite the jagged red of new flesh mended, cutting from his brow to his cheek and peeking beneath the eyepatch he took to wearing. Though he would never apologize for that day in the library, the next time I found him within the walls I saw he was lost in the pages of Winter’s Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell.

I could only assume it was all the apology that could be expected of a dragon prince.

Our friendship was something predetermined by the gods, or this was what Princess Helaena wholeheartedly believed; for a time, we were a trio of lonely souls akin and knitted together until the princess inevitably became pregnant with the twins. And then, there was the subtle change of our dynamic with the seasons passed, an initial wariness that settled in the edges of his features that only softened whenever I took his hand and pulled him forward.

Perhaps he believed that I would abandon him for his sister’s company, which would be expected of her lady-in-waiting. But I did not.

Instead I indulged the prince and his company, and we became inseparable; whether we visited with his sister, playing with the little prince and princess, while Helaena budding with a third, or going to the courtyards to train under Ser Criston’s watchful eye and my aunt’s apparent disdain. It was then that the evenings became our own and spent in the library of the Keep; it was here that Aemond dared remove his eyepatch, the sapphire stone that showed brilliant from his scarred socket.

The first time, I stepped closer so his nervous exhale fanned my cheeks; I could see the plumes of pinks to his features, my fingers ghosting his jawline as I attempted his ancient tongue. “Gevie.”

Beautiful.

Prince Aemond was respectful, always, but he was also fearless with me, allowing the same sense of freedom in return, to speak my mind as I always had. But I faltered with what I truly wished to say: that the years crafted him beautiful as any Targaryen prince, with sharp edges chiseled from marble stone, his lips that curled with a perpetual smirk as he voiced his peculiar insight which always led to a good natured battlement between us, leaving me flushed.

And then the day came that he took my hand, that his palm now enveloped my own.

It was the familiar touch now paired with a feeling, a fluttering in the pit of my stomach that I could not place, though writing these words allows a clearer perspective with the retrospect: that I was falling in love with him.

My aunt grew more insufferable with the passing days, though I expected as much with the letters I exchanged with Cregan. I knew his every action in Winterfell, what he was learning, of his sweetheart Lady Arra Norrey, my new nephew, but mostly of how our uncle continued to tighten his hold. My brother was a wolf, restless, and spoke that his hour was coming; and meanwhile, I continued to play my role, a simpleminded girl from the North.

My aunt tsked. “He will never see you as more than a plaything,” as if this was a cruel fate. In truth I was still so unaware of what was growing within the confines of my heart, but I knew that I only wished to remind at his side, devoted, present, always.

So when Aemond asked that I finally become acquainted with Vhagar, I went. I remembered how my hand fit within his as he pulled me to follow his steps, moving through the ingresses that weaved with the castle walls. We broke out to follow the coastline, a crisp salt air and the clouds covering the sun, heavy with the threat of rain, but Aemond promised we would rise above them.

I followed his long steps until we came to where Vhagar waited for her rider, diligent, alert.

Dragons are magnificent creatures, and I swear them sentient with the bond I saw between Aemond and the she-dragon. Fear trickled my spine, but Aemond held onto my hand and I tightened in response to the massive eyes that focused on us, her pupils constricting in query. Aemond held up his other hand, the honey spill of his soothing voice of his old tongue to coax her and allow me to climb aback.

I then felt the gaze of Aemond and refused to allow my fear to root me, moving to take the bottom rung of the rope ladder; he was pleased, a hum, the slight curl of his lips, and followed behind me with his promise that he would not let me fall. At the top, he pushed past to settle into the saddle, then reached to pull me behind and I settled against his backside.

“Just hold onto me,” he murmured, bringing my arms around his slender waist.

This moment I was adamantly aware that he was no longer that sullen child that sneered within his gilded cage, but against my hold that Aemond was solid, lithe, and so warm with a woodsy musk mixed with smoke against his skin.

Pressed against, I was able to feel his low baritone command Vhagar, followed by her jolted steps forward, the beating of her wings to take flight. To feel this power beneath you is indescribable; I could not help my scream, my laughter from the exhilaration that that spate my veins; I dared not close my eyes, tears streaming, and I peered to marvel at how small the capital seemed beneath, how large the shadow we cast overhead.

It was a newfound euphoria, and I felt my cheeks burn from the crisp air above the gray clouds, but I also knew it was from my close proximity to Aemond. I held onto him as we soared out over Blackwater Bay, and sighed from the touch of his gloved hand, from the heat that permeated through the leather when he placed it over my own.

And I knew then that I never wished to let him go.

He eventually brought Vhagar back to land onto the grassy knolls outside the city; the afternoon was growing late but there was still enough light to return. Aemond warned that my legs would be shaky and again he moved first, again with the promise he would not let me fall.

I still trembled when he set me on the ground, his large palms kept their hold on my waist and my hands rested on his broad shoulders. My eyes were wide admiring the beauty of his mussed, silver braid, his cheeks lined with his dimples with his pursed grin. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Enjoy myself?” I was incredulous, I was a mess; windswept and blooming red, a grinning fool with tear-streaked cheeks, “Aemond, you showed me the heavens.” And a boldness pressed me onto my toes, my lips against his.

It was my first kiss; it was a heartbeat’s length, it was everything, and when I pulled back, I fell solid to the earth, my soles grounded back on that gassy knoll. I looked up into his bicolored gaze, the lavender of one eye and the gleam of sapphire for the other that stared back.

Aemond was unreadable in that moment, and I felt my blood surge from my heart and pour into my face; the quiet that settled between us the same length of the years I had spent in King’s Landing, a choking regret that burned in my throat with the thought that I had ruined everything built between us.

Then he kissed me back.

And I felt alive once more with the touch of his arm that curled around my waist, how his other hand followed the curve of my spine, tangling into my hair and holding me to capture my mouth. His lips were warm and soft and his tongue clever in a way that drew the very breath from my lungs. I melted against him, my fingertips soft to follow the sharp contours of his jaw, trailing his neck and grasping his collar to bring him even closer.

We only parted for air; the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his riding leathers, the crimson on his cheeks with his quiet confession, something he held close to his heart.

“For how long?” I breathed

And he thought for a moment. “Always.”

To take his hand now was finding a piece that I did not know was missing from me; our fingers interlaced in a way that felt akin as if I held my own hand, though I knew it was him from the warmth of his skin, from the fire in his blood. By now the tendrils of dusk began to curl over the city, its amber hues bold against the blues and purples of the coming nightfall, but we continued our leisure pace back, Aemond and I.

We were greeted by the gold cloaks at the gates and they escorted us back, and though he did not let go, I saw that it was no longer Aemond who held my hand but the second son of King Viserys, a Targaryen prince. He was stoic, but this time I could tell the other emotions that flittered beneath, his uncertainty of what awaited, but above that was his determination.

We finally came to the barbican of the Keep where we were greeted by his queen mother, my aunt, and several White Cloaks.

Relief washed over the queen while my aunt raged, lifting her skirts to meet us in the courtyard, her nails biting with her grip on my arm and pulling me back; the rushed spill of her words, “I cannot believe this unseemly behavior of a lady, unchaperoned with a prince! We are leaving this moment–”

I tried to twist away but she held on still, a madwoman. Aemond moved after, quick, and his anger burning from him and his long legs moved to block her path. “She will not be leaving.”

The finality of his words, the barrier his form created halted her at once and I felt my heart between my teeth. “My prince,” she stammered in response. “We must leave this very moment! We have imposed on your hospitality far too long as it is, and when my lord husband hears of her behaviors–”

But she was unaware that Cregan and I wrote, dutifully; he shared his life within the walls of Winterfell, as well as his growing concern with the regency our uncle imposed still. She also did not know the newest letter I had received, how my brother was now the proper Warden of the North and our uncle imprisoned; my aunt paled with my words and it was commanded for her to be taken away. She did not leave quietly, her wails echoed and I watched impassively, knowing her every action was a self-serving and a selfish ploy for power for herself, her husband, for those wretched cousin kin in the North.

And I knew I would not miss any of them.

Ever the diplomat, the queen stepped forward with her congratulations for my brother, her condolences for the betrayal within our family, her practiced concern for my well being and its shift to confusion that knitted between her brows when she saw how I smiled at her son. She offered my escort back to Winterfell, but I was quick to decline as I knew I could not leave Aemond.

I saw the understanding began to roll over, and she then asked her son if he loved me. Aemond responded, “I believe I always have, mother,” and I knew I loved him in return.

It was decided that the ceremony would be held in the Royal Sept, and chaperoned until, though Aemond stole a moment to gift me this very necklace. I could feel the power of Old Valyria thrum from the metal, adoring how it was woven around the sapphire stone; he told me it was a piece kept from the same stone fitted for his eye.

I lifted my hair and turned my back towards him, my skin prickling from his touch to clasp the necklace around my throat.

He hummed. “Gevie.”

Only a week later, and the service seemed surreal. I felt his warmth that held to the robe he brought around my shoulders, the touch of my palm on top of his large hand kept me grounded while the Septon wrapped the ribbon around; shy glances shared, me to Aemond and seeing his gaze on the sapphire stone beneath my collarbone. The muted words called for a kiss and I burned when Aemond captured my mouth with his own.

The celebration after was an intimate meal with the king, who was a man withering away beneath a gilded mark, the queen, his siblings, and the Lord Hand, who seemed pleased with the idea of solidifying a truce with the North.

But I could not think of politics this night, not with the subtle touches from Aemond, a warmth that curled in my lower abdomen when he inevitably took my hand, his low voice that tickled against my ear. “Come with me, my sweet wife,” as we walked towards his quarters.

Her granddam stopped abruptly, flushed. “Well, you understand what is implied.”

“Understand what?” Lyanna quirked her brow.

It was a pregnant pause that allowed her eyes steel onto her granddaughter, and Lyanna returned her gaze with a cheeky, taunting grin.

“It would serve you well to not agitate your elders.”

“What a bore I would be if I was just another docile woman of nobility?” Lyanna countered, gleefully. “Granddam, Robert has bastards and I am no fool, I do not believe his immaculate conception claims…”

“Yes, you are very bright,” she huffed. “Now hush up and let me read.”

Our marital bliss that followed left me in a haze; Aemond was not one for public displays of affection and how I craved his subtle touches, his lingering hand that would have me blushing furiously in response. He would only hum, his perpetual smirk that played on his lips with my every visceral response to him.

I wrote to Cregan and informed him of our union; he was quick to respond with his congratulations, as well as his newfound concerns, asking if it was true that the crowned princess had sired bastards with the intention to make them her heirs without ownership of her actions.

“Our father was honorable until his last breath,” he wrote, “I would not besmirch his memory or our house, our legacy, for an oath made for bastard-born heirs to the Iron Throne.”

This was a topic I had already discussed in length with Aemond, even before we had even kissed. I was aware of his scar and its cause, and I knew of the old blood and the features lacking when it came to his nephews, something made apparent for the claimant hearings of Dirftmark, as well as the cruel response of Prince Daemon when a lord spoke out loud what the court was thinking.

I answered my brother truthfully, knowing full well that this would sway the North behind Prince Aegon II.

And then King Viserys met his inevitable demise; the small council moved quick to announce that his final words were that he wished his firstborn son to take the crown. Aegon panicked, but my husband and Ser Criston fetched him, washed him, fed him, but also comforted him.

It would be Ser Criston who coaxed him to the coronation, to be the one to place the crown of steel and rubies on top of his silver head, announcing: “King Viserys is dead, long live King Aegon!”

My husband would be sent to Storm’s End to negotiate a betrothal for his brother, Daeron, to one of the Four Storms. It resulted in tragedy, or vengeance on who spoke the narrative. The room stilled with Aemond’s words, the unspoken terror in the queen’s large, brown eyes, the shock that lined the severe features of the Lord Hand, but it was his brother, King Aegon wearing the Conqueror’s Crown who spoke that Aemond had shown the true blood of a dragon.

But in the quiet quarters we shared, Aemond lamented the loss of life, the war it started, a guilt that weighed heavily, and once more I saw the sorrowful prince when I first came to King’s Landing.

“There will be repercussions for my actions,” he rasped, unable to meet with my eyes. “I have ruined my namesake, and I have cursed our family…”

“War seemed inevitable,” I began slowly, my hands careful to hold his jaw, to bring his gaze to my own. “And with it comes rash decisions, with impossible choices to be made…I trust it was not intentional, but even if it was, cursed or not, I am still yours, husband.” A soft kiss to seal my words. “Always.”

War and its bloodshed was rampant in Westeros, and my brother wrote they would travel South when winter ended to help King Aegon with his rightful claim. I feared for the delay, for what would follow Storm’s End, and how it seemingly unleashed the Rogue Prince.

Hired men with the monikers Blood and Cheese came in the night, and I knew them to be sent for me, as one repeated, “An eye for an eye, a son for son,” but followed with his slow realization, “she is not a son,” before his sword was drawn and struck Prince Jaehaerys.

The screams of Helaena resounded against the cobblestone; Aemond found us covered in blood, his rage and his grief conflicting on his angular features. The king cried for vengeance for his firstborn son, to search for these men and place their heads on spikes; the kingdom was repulsed by the murder of the princeling, a martyr made with his blood spilled.

Aegon’s bloodlust made for rash decisions and the battle of Rook’s Rest; though one dragon and its rider slain, its cost was the king crippled in a way that he was not fit to rule. So Aemond stepped forward to take the title Prince Regent and the Protector of the Realm, a natural role that was suited for the second son.

The Rogue Prince struck against the Riverlands, torching until ash remained. In response, the now Prince Regent and Ser Criston left to claim Harrenhal.

I was told to wait, to remain at the side of our grieving queen, my sister by all accounts; I watched over sweet Helaena, coaxing her to eat, washing her, sitting alongside her in the haunting silence of the quarters that somehow still echoed her screams from that fateful night. We were often left alone, as the maesters and the dowager queen never left King Aegon’s side, and I remained with her until I received the latest letter from Aemond.

Harrenhal had been dispelled of every Strong traitor to the crown, and he spoke of a witch he wished me to meet, that I was to leave King’s Landing and be by his side, as the gods ordained.

A quick kiss to the silver head of Helaena and I left the castle, careful to retrace our steps that led to the coast and I continued until I was back on the grassy knolls from what felt like a lifetime ago. I waited the skies until I felt the rumbled call of Vhagar in the distance, gleeful when she finally landed and watched my prince descend to envelope me in his arms, his whispered adoration, “My love, my sweet wife.”

We returned to Harrenhal to meet with the witch he spared, a hushed reverence when he told me of her abilities. “She sees much and more.”

I could see she was hardened by life, but her expression was kind when she greeted us; her eyes roamed around, watchful, looking through to my bones and only then did I understand what my husband meant.

At supper, we sat around the table, along with Ser Criston, and her eyes watched the flicker of candlelight, the flames licking her irises, before she spoke: “Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Aemond finished chewing before he asked her. “And I am which?”

Alys’ eyes were black, her painted lips curled and framed around her pearl teeth. “To be the greatness, you must end the madness,” was all that she offered, and then, “the Rogue Prince is coming.”

Ser Criston looked uneasy, but it was a silent understanding in regards to her statement, something that pressed heavily on us both. King Aegon could only have a true chance to rule the realm if his sister lost the power she had with her husband, the Rogue Prince; it was known that he was unruly, untamed, but loyal to a fault, and willing to see it through to its brutal end.

That night, we fell back into an intimate embrace, cherishing the feeling of skin to skin–

Her granddam was crimson. “Oh, my, I believe I should skip this as well–”

She watched her granddam a moment, the intrusive thought to take the letters for her own readthrough, but it was muted by a growing sadness that began to settle in the edges of her sharp features. Lyanna knew well the history of the Dance of the Dragons, something scrawled on scrolls and tomes, its tragedy saved in ink and tucked away.

And still, she had to know this truth.

“Please,” and her voice was soft. “Please, continue.”

And granddam did.

It was the 22nd day of the 5th moon and we waited on the shores of Gods Eye, myself, Aemond, and the witch. Ser Criston rode North to meet with my brother, and we remained, waiting.

It had been a vision for Alys, something sinister; it was no surprise when the wyrm screeched its arrival, circling above, wary of Vhagar, before finally landing. Prince Daemon had an arrogance with his dismount, with his walk towards us.

There was a symmetry as they squared towards one another; the Rogue Prince was cloaked with the past and my Aemond embodied the future, the true hope for House Targaryen. My husband faced him, unflinching, his brow furrowed with his ever present determination, while Daemon rolled his eyes over the each of us, sucking his teeth.

Aemond broke the silence. “You were a fool to come alone.”

“Were I not alone, you would not have come,” Daemon was amused.

But it did not deter my dragon. “Yet you are, and here I am,” he sighed. “You have lived too long, nuncle.”

“On that much we agree.”

The prince retreated to his wyrm and Aemond looked to me, his eye pleading, the glassy lavender that bore through my skin, and the gleam of sapphire for the other. He then dipped forward to kiss me and the tears pearling in the corners of my eyes spilled onto my cheeks at the taste of him, the touch of him; I knew I could never imagine anyone else. Those words stilled on my tongue, how I wanted him to beg to stay with me, but I also knew that he must.

“Do not say it,” my voice broke, hushed against our kiss swollen lips. “Just come back to me.”

His two fingers pressed against the sapphire pendant I wore, before leaning forward to press his lips to my hairline, and then he climbed aback Vhagar, his lithe body quick to mount. I remained on the sand with the witch at my side, and we watched these winged beasts rise above us.

Dragons are truly magnificent, but they are also equally deadly. I trusted Vhagar was loyal to Aemond, but also knew it matched by the bond shared between Prince Daemon and his wyrm. It was said that Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, and I believed this as I watched them on dragonback, circling above the massive lake. Their roars vibrated through to our bones, the snapping of the jaws like cracks of lighting and their flames that singed the threads of my gown from my place on the shore.

My eyes did not leave, and I asked Alys. “Will he live?”

She was quiet for a moment. “The memory of him will live on,” and I felt her hand reach and touch my stomach.

And all I could do was hold onto my pendant with prayers to the old golds, to the new gods for mercy for my husband, whose child I carried.

They did not listen.

It was a clash of scale and bone, something that reverberated to Harrenhal and rattled the castle walls that still stood. The wyrm’s screams were cut short as the massive maw of Vhagar clamped onto its neck, and its talons flailed and cut deep into the old dragon’s underside. Blood rained onto the lake and I watched, struck with mortification at the dull glint of Valyrian armor, the flash raise of Dark Sister, and I knew it was over.

I remained on the shore as the waves created from the fall of dead dragons crashed against the sand, a blood foam that flooded and wet my skirts. I remained still as the sun tucked beneath the horizon, until I heard the call of the witch.

“My lady, the wolves have arrived.”

This would be the shift of power needed for King Aegon II; the Rogue Prince was dead and his men fell to the sword under the command of my brother and Ser Criston. Cregan was shocked to see me and I was stoic still, dumbstruck with my grief that did not feel real; we returned to King’s Landing with the Northern army, quick to dethrone Rhaenyra and place her in the cells with the company of all the lords who supported her.

King Aegon was scarred cruelly with a gimp to his steps, but he made his way to the Iron Throne, his crown of rubies and steel, and greeted his mother and the queen. This joyous moment died as I was tasked to share the news of the death of Aemond, of my husband and father of my unborn child; we cried our heartbreak, but I had no tears left.

This pivotal moment would be known as the Hour of the Wolf by our history. It will speak of the heroism of Prince Aemond and what he sacrificed to kill the Rogue Prince, of how my brother descended onto the capital with a vengeance and helped return the throne to its rightful heir. The casualties of war included the bastard princes, as well as both sons of the king.

When King Aegon learned that Prince Daeron the Daring met his fatal end, he decided mercy on the remaining Targaryen princelings, Aegon III and Viserys II, with his solemn vow to raise them as his own, as his heirs to the Iron Throne.

Cregan served as Lord Hand through my pregnancy, for the birth of my darling Lysara with a patch of silver that showed against her dark curls and her eyes the same as her father’s, lavender. My brother had also been widowed but met the Lady Alysanna Blackwood, a woman I admired fiercely, and Lysara was smitten with, and was thrilled when I learned I could call her sister.

It was then Cregan asked to be relieved so he could return to the North, to his son, and I asked to go with him. My time in King’s Landing was over, with every stone haunted with presence of Aemond; I already swore I would never marry again, would not dare have another set of hands touch and taint the memory of his hands against my body, his touch forever etched onto my skin and seeded into the marrow of my bones.

Aemond would return to me at night, a silver dream, my body thrumming with the warmth of his touch, his gentle kiss, the low murmur of his voice, but it always ended the same: my realization when my hands pressed to his chest and felt no heartbeat.

That I would never feel it again.

The pain of losing him has not dimmed nor diminished with time, but I do not mind it as it serves as my reminder that he was real, and that the love we shared was real.

As the witch predicted, Aemond also still lived within Lysara who was solemn, brilliant, and as determined and stubborn as he had been. I made sure to do an annual trip to King’s Landing, allowing her to meet her granddam, her royal family, and so that my daughter could learn that her blood not only held that of the Andals, the first men, but also of the fire that licks within her veins.

Which is also why I write this, along with the gift of the necklace. It holds legacy, but also the reminder of the words Queen Helaena spoke to me when we were girls, something said a lifetime ago and before I could comprehend the weight of them.

There is something in the blood of House Stark that calls out to these dragons, perhaps an ancient power of the old gods or a kindred spirit, the disparate bond of ice and fire, a clash that is brilliant, violent, and tragic, always.

As she once said: a song of ice and fire, it is a tragedy, again and again…

It ended with a finality that rested against her chest. This was a tragic history of the crown, something already written with facts and dates, but this was a personal storying stemming from the blood of Stark woman, and only now did Lyanna begin to understand how the stories remained so vivid, so detailed despite its years of retelling.

But also…

“What does this mean for me?” Her voice was soft, an almost childlike naivety to her tone. “I am already engaged to Robert Baratheon.”

Her granddam watched her, a tight lipped smile in response as her mind returned to the feast of last night, to the looks shyly exchanged between her granddaughter and the crowned prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, as he played his harp for her. It left her unsettled with a hunch, an inkling about this interaction.

Instead she agreed. “You are right,” and she sighed. “Let me help you get dressed for the tourney.”

The new Harranhal swelled with the life for the festivities, with the kingdoms’ best sent in response of Lord Whent’s invites; the new cobblestone seemed bright against the darkened foundation that still held, its ghosts trapped still and trampled underfoot by the crowds as the seats filled, the echoing chattered excitement that vibrated.

It dimmed with a hushed reverence to see Prince Rhaegar Targaryen entering the field on his steed; his lavender eyes scanned the masses, an intent to spot one soul in particular, and she unknowingly called to him with her sweet smile, by the glint of the sapphire that rested against her chest.

There's not one thing that I would change.

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1 @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9 @namelesslosers

arcie's masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #tragic romance #inspired by hozier #ours never knew peace #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #rhaegar x lyanna

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imhenritz · 7 months

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Breakfast in Sunny

Prompt: Sanji's wife makes breakfast for the crew to give him a break. Set after the time skip.

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff. Chopper being cute and the baby of the group.

Reader's Name: Mc (Stands for Main Character but made it look like a name)

Note: This moment takes place in the future from my "Giving Him the Love He Deserves" series. It can be a standalone, but it ties in with the story I've written before, especially the revelation of Mc's powers.

Note: I wrote this while thinking of pancakes for breakfast. Well, I'm off to cook now!

The Thousand Sunny basked under the golden morning sun, its vibrant deck alive with the cheerful banter of the Straw Hat Pirates. As the crew prepared for the day's adventures, Mc, their talented singer and Sanji's beloved wife, approached them with a warm smile gracing her lips.

"Hey, everyone," her voice, melodious and inviting, rang out across the ship. "How about I take over breakfast duty today? Ji deserves a break, and I'm in the mood for some pancakes and waffles. What do you all think?"

Luffy's eyes practically sparkled with enthusiasm. "Pancakes and waffles? Count me in! That sounds amazing!" he exclaimed, his excitement contagious.

Nami, the ship's navigator, nodded in agreement. "I'm in too. As long as there's coffee with those pancakes, I'm a happy woman."

Usopp grinned from ear to ear, his anticipation palpable. "I can already smell the deliciousness from here! I'm in for sure!"

Chopper, the ship's adorable doctor, couldn't contain his joy. "Yay! Mc's pancakes are the best! Can we have extra syrup?" he asked, his wide eyes pleading.

“Just for you,” Mc replied playfully, brandishing a whipped cream bottle. "But what do we do with this?" she added, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

Chopper giggled in response. "I’ll take both, please!"

Robin, the wise archaeologist, nodded appreciatively. "A delightful choice, Chopper. I'll gladly indulge in your cooking," she said, placing a calming hand on the young reindeer's back.

Zoro, the swordsman with a perpetual green headband, smirked confidently. "I'm not picky. Just make sure there's enough for seconds," he said, his eye on the prize.

Franky, the ship's flamboyant shipwright, struck his signature pose. "Super! I'm always up for some good grub! Everything goes well with cola!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm infectious.

“Of course!” Mc chimed in, her voice carrying the promise.

Brook, the charismatic musician with a skeletal grin, added his own flair to the conversation. "Ah, a feast for the eyes! I'm looking forward to it, my dear," He paused to laugh, "Even when I don't eyes!" he said theatrically, his bony fingers gesturing grandly. "What a wonderful way to start the day, Yohoho!"

Sanji, ever the gallant gentleman, couldn't help but interject, a playful smile gracing his lips. "Stop ordering my wife around, gentlemen. I'll take care of your drinks," he said, his tone light yet possessive. His heart swelled with pride and affection for the incredible woman he had married. The morning had begun with him cuddling her pillow, a comical realization that brought a smirk to his lips. His wife surely did it on purpose.

Seeing Mc in her apron, serving food with that serene smile, transported him back to the days in Baratie. He chuckled softly, reminiscing about the times when they had experimented with her singing every weekend. The sheer beauty of her voice had once lured men like a siren, causing a chaotic frenzy. Now, her controlled and soothing voice became a source of comfort for everyone on the ship. "You're not cooking breakfast. Just helping out with drinks!"

With a heart full of love and pride, Sanji nodded at Mc, his eyes softening with affection. "Sounds wonderful, my darling. I'll assist you in any way you need."

And so, in the heart of the Thousand Sunny, amidst the laughter and camaraderie of the crew, Mc set to work. Her voice intertwined with the sounds of sizzling pancakes and waffles, creating a gentle melody that added to the ship's lively atmosphere. The tantalizing scent of breakfast filled the air, promising a feast that would be a testament to the unbreakable bond shared by the crew, bound not just by friendship but by the profound love Mc and Sanji had for each other.

══════════════════ Thank you for reading! If you're interested in the series here they are: Giving him the love he deserves: part 1, Part 2.

#opla sanji #sanji x reader #sanji x reader fluff #one piece sanji #sanji #sanji fluff #sanji x you #black leg sanji #luffy #drabble #one piece live action #one pice #one piece fanfiction #one piece fluff #one piece netflix #op live action #straw hat pirates #tony tony chopper #Giving him the love he deserves (Sanji x Reader)

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haespoir · 11 months

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cave me in: mkl.

⨯ pairing: plug!mark x reader

⨯ word count: 1.3k

⨯ summary: haechan introduces you to his dealer friend, and mark lee makes it so hard to keep the relationship strictly business. not that you minded anyways.

⨯ warnings: mentions of drugs (weed), some suggestive content, i think thats it enjoy :3

⨯ playlist: cave me in, gallant / half moon, dean / wfm, realestk

⨯ extra content: part two

⨯ a/n: im completely normal about mark lee i swear ty @markonthemoon for furthering my completely normal feelings about mark lee... there might be a part two.

. . .

It had been at least 3 hours since you had picked up edibles from Mark. Three whole ass hours, and yet he was still laying on his bed feeling less than whole. Who did you buy them for? Were you getting high with someone else? Was it a guy?

The first time Haechan had introduced you to him he didn’t pay it any mind. You were a close friend of the younger male’s situation-ship… Whatever the fuck that was. But it was no more than that in his eyes. You were someone who occasionally bought from him, and you were always so polite about it too. And for some unknown reason, or at least unknown to him, that bothered him. A few weeks later, a not-so-sober conversation with Haechan revealed that Mark had a crush on you. One he denied vehemently. Though he guessed out of everyone he sold to, you were the most ideal to date.

Who the fuck said anything about dating?

Mark shakes his head as if to rid himself of such wild thoughts. “I’m just hungry,” he says to himself, thinking of ways he could fill that empty void in his stomach. If only he knew, there was no amount of food that would help him feel whole. He grabs his phone, shooting a quick text to someone who knew would also be high at this time.

mark [11:48 pm]: ramen? jungwoo [11:50 pm]: and netflix? jungwoo [11:50 pm]: mark… are you asking me to hook up? jungwoo [11:51 pm]: say less baby i’m otw! mark [11:53 pm]: dude what mark [11:53 pm]: no, just ramen jungwoo [11:55 pm]: mark lee you want me so bad mark [11:57 pm]: hurry before i change my mind

Jungwoo’s texts cause Mark to roll his eyes, but he grabs his keys. “Yo, Haechan,” he calls out, peeking into the male’s LED-lit room. On his monitor, he sees a discord call and what he believes is your profile picture. Why were you on call with him? “I’m going get ramen with Zeus, want anything?”

“Nah, I’m going over to my girl’s in a bit,” Haechan replies, smoothly muting the call as he gives his roommate his attention. “I’ll just see you in the morning?” Mark hums, and he’s out the door quickly. He doesn’t want to even think about the relationship between you and Haechan, not when there’s a green little monster creeping through his veins.

Once Haechan is sure Mark is gone, he’s unmuting the call. “Personally, I think he’s into you.”

Though he can’t see it, you’re rolling your eyes. “Haechan, you’re just saying that. You’re tired of me third wheeling?”

“Listen... Your words, not mine, sweetheart,” he says simply.

“Whatever dude,” you sigh, rolling onto your side on your bed. “Have fun with your shawty. I’m going to sleep.”

“Just ask him to smoke you out or something,” Haechan says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. “I’m leaving.”

You hear the noise of him leaving the call before you can even reply, and you’re once again rolling your eyes. You didn’t understand how your friend was into Haechan. What a fucking brat.

I mean, you can’t just ask someone to smoke you out, right? Isn’t that something that’s offered? You groan loudly at the thought, locking your phone and tossing it on the floor. “Fuck you, Haechan,” you think bitterly. Why the hell did he have to put that godforsaken idea in your mind?

Because the idea doesn’t leave your mind for weeks after that night. Every time you buy from Mark, you find it harder and harder to deny your attraction to the male. His actions don’t help much either. In fact, you’re convinced you’re delusional. There was no other reason.

You had mentioned you liked rice krispie treats, and suddenly Mark has rice krispie treat edibles. With extra marshmallows no less.

One time you heard your friends complaining that Mark had increased his prices. Which was odd because you were spending less on weed than you ever had before. Maybe they were just buying more?

Or sometimes there’s a small baggie of only the clear gummy bears with the things you buy from him. It’s not like you had told him that the only valid flavor of gummy bears was the clear ones.

These things weren’t just coincidences, right? Or were they? Haechan also liked marshmallow treats, so maybe they were for him. You had taken a liking to edibles, so you weren’t smoking as much as you used to. Meaning you were spending less money anyways. And Mark said that he liked the red gummy bears the most, so surely, you were just getting the ones he didn’t like.

You let out a loud groan, ignoring the call from Haechan on Discord. Instead, you opt to shove your face into your pillow before letting out a small scream. Mark Lee was driving you absolutely crazy.

Perhaps if you picked that call up, the text messages that flashed on your screen 30 minutes later would not have sent you into the panic that they did.

mark [12:20 am]: yo mark [12:20 am]: i got a new strain mark [12:20 am]: let me smoke you out?

Maybe Haechan wasn’t a brat, and maybe you would thank him for this at your wedding years later. But none of that matters when Mark Lee is asking to smoke you out.

you [12:29 am]: uh yea you [12:29 am]: my place? mark [12:32 am]: say less mark [12:32 am]: i’ll bring your favorite gummies

He does bring them, and he does smoke you out. Which is why you find yourself in the position that you do. You’re sitting on the floor in your living room, your cheek pressed against Mark’s knee as he sits on your couch. You swear he looks perfect from this angle; his hair is pushed back by a headband he had stolen from you a few days ago, claiming he thought it was like a personal head massage device. You can see the way his eyes are slightly red, and you’re sure yours look exactly like his. Most importantly, his neck is on display, and you want to do nothing more than mark it up. It takes everything in you to not climb into his lap and do exactly that.

“You look like a puppy,” Mark says, running his fingers through your hair, stopping when he reaches your ear. He’s rubbing small circles on your earlobe with this thumb, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. “My puppy.”

God, Mark Lee was dangerous. Absolutely lethal. You groan at his words, pressing your face into his thigh to hide away from him. Unfortunately for you, this has the opposite effect, and there is no such thing as hiding from him. The sight of you nearly burying your face into his lap like this does wonders for Mark’s confidence.

“Come here.” It’s a demand from him, and it’s one that you quickly listen to as he guides you to straddle his lap. In this new position, Mark’s hands quickly go to your thighs; the grip he has is almost bruising. But you don’t mind it, not when Mark’s got his head resting on the back of your couch and he’s staring at you in a way that makes you nervous.

“Sorry for making you wait,” he says, and you’re feeling a bit confused. “Haechan might have given me a hint or two.”

The confusion is gone quickly; you were going to strangle that kid.

Mark laughs at the look on your face, easily reading the emotions as if you were an open book to him. “Don’t think about it, we’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

And when Mark Lee presses a kiss against your jaw, his hands traveling under your shirt, you know you’re done for.

#posting this at 7am is wild for me #anyways im going back to working on my gamer haechan fic WEHEHEHEHEH #mark #mark lee #mark scenarios #mark scenario #mark fic #mark fluff #nct writing #nct scenario #nct scenarios #i never know what to tag idk we ball

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 4 months

Text

Permanent Surrender

This fic will cover my A Locket-A weapon-An Unexpected Kiss square on my 2nd @jacklesversebingo card.

Summary: Ben and Y/N hate each other...but what lies just over the edge of hate?

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Of course - it's Soldier Boy! Misogynistic language, Ben being an asshole. Rough, unprotected PinV sex, vaginal fingering, anal sex, spit and cum as lube, Oral (m receiving) slight face fucking, dub con (let's call it forceful seduction), lots of dirty talk.

Pairings: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader and Soldier Boy x Sarah (sort of)

Word Count: 3,633

A/N: So this is my next square for my second jacklesversebingo card. The request for this one came from @deans-spinster-witch who sent an ask saying simply:

A locket, a weapon, an unexpected kiss with Soldier Boy & the reader?

Rewatching 3x08, I came upon this classic line and it got my dirty mind rolling:

So, this is what I came up with, hon! Hope you (and everyone else too) enjoy it! ❤️ If you do, don't forget to like, comment and/or reblog. It means the world.

The dividers used here are created by @silkholland

The skyline of New York City stretched out in front of Sarah for miles, lights twinkling like fallen stars in the inky black sky. The night had taken its toll on her and she found herself with a bit of a headache. She rubbed a hand over her forehead as images of the night came back to her.

…the terrorists storming into their company's New Year's Eve party…

…the screams of fear from those around her as the Soviet terrorists forced them, at gunpoint, into the small, crowded conference room…

…the feeling of soaring relief and happiness as something smashed through the windows on the eightieth floor of Takao Corporation Headquarters…

…the way her heart beat triple time when she realized it was him - Soldier Boy! He'd come for her, just as she'd known he would…

He'd saved them all and sent those Soviet bastards packing!

And now she stood free and safe, in the chill of a New York December night, with only a light sweater over her shoulders. She shivered and considered going back inside, but then suddenly he was there - walking towards her in his emerald green suit, not even a single tear in it from his gallant rescue.

“Hey, sweetness.” He said as he reached her and ran his hands up and down her arms. “You're gonna catch pneumonia out here. I didn't come all this way to save you just to lose you to a cold.”

He smiled at her warmly and she felt her insides tremble.

“Oh, speaking of lost things…” He reached into a pocket in his sleeve and pulled out a delicate gold chain with a locket dangling from it.

Sarah gasped. “My grandmother's locket!” She exclaimed with wide eyes. “When those bastards ripped it from around my neck, I never thought I'd see it again.”

Soldier Boy shook his head. “I knew I had to get this back to you. I know how much it means to you, being the last thing your grandmother ever gave you. I couldn't let them take it.”

Sarah’s eyes welled up with tears as Soldier Boy held up the locket and nodded towards her.

“May I?” He asked.

She nodded and he stepped close to her, clasping the fine gold chain around her neck.

When he had it in place, he stepped back from her slightly, but remained close. He let his finger trail down the cold metal links resting on her warm skin and when he spoke his voice was deep and warm.

“So…” He seemed a little nervous and Sarah blushed. “I know it's well after midnight, but…do you think I could steal a New Year's Eve kiss?”

She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I thought you'd never ask.”

He smiled into their kiss…

…and the music swelled, the camera slowly panning away into a long crane shot until the screen faded to black and the credits finally began to roll.

The Heart of Rock and Roll by Huey Lewis and the News blasted from the speakers as the theater erupted in applause, everyone cheering the latest exploits of Soldier Boy. Once again he'd shot down all the bad guys (except for a few who's throats he slit), saved all the hostages and, of course, got the girl.

Ben and Y/N came out onto the small stage at the front of the theater and gave everyone a wave. Ben spoke into the microphone someone had placed in front of him.

“Thank you so much for coming to the premiere of ‘Falling Thunder’. We hope you enjoyed it; we sure enjoyed making it.”

Ben smiled down at Y/N and squeezed the hand he held very hard until a smile popped up on her face. She leaned into the microphone.

“Yes, what an adventure this has been. And thanks so much to the best partner I could ask for.” She gushed, latching onto Ben's bicep and then coyly burying her face in the same arm as the audience oohed and aahed and whistled at them.

Ben laughed and chucked her chin, throwing her a wink and making all the women in the audience melt into puddles. The two of them flashed a few more smiles and waved again as they walked offstage. The second they were past the curtain, they dropped their smiles and each other's hands.

Y/N breathed deeply and turned to face the man she loathed more than she ever thought possible.

“Well, I can't say this was fun, but it's done and we never have to see each other again, so there's that.”

Ben turned his head to sneer at her. “Well, I'm still seeing you now.”

Y/N clenched her jaw as she turned and stomped away from the absolute asshole the rest of the world knew as Soldier Boy.

From their first moment on set to their very last take, they'd hated each other. Everything Ben did pissed her off, every snide comment, every lude suggestion made her want to smack him till his ears rang.

She knew he felt the same. He'd told her numerous times, when she’d refused to sleep with him, that she was just a frigid bitch.

“Women like you need to be fucked long and hard so you remember your place.” He'd growled at her after the last time he'd cornered her and tried to fuck her in her trailer. He'd stormed out unsatisfied, slamming her trailer door off its hinges.

That's how it had been the entire six weeks of shooting.

Y/N couldn't deny that the asshole was incredibly hot and she had definitely been tempted by him quite a few times. His face was so goddamn perfect and his lips were so wide and full she just wanted to suck on them like candy.

And his body. Fuck!

Having been pressed up against him many times throughout filming she knew just how rock solid he was, how his muscles felt rippling beneath her hands, and it definitely left her wanting so much more. But she'd never give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right when he whispered dirty accusations in her ear.

“I know you're soaked for me, baby.” He told her one day on set. He leaned in towards her and inhaled deeply. “I can fucking smell it.”

He'd told her over and over that she was denying herself the best sex of her life. She'd scoffed at him and rolled her eyes which never failed to piss him off. But secretly, she thought he might actually be telling the truth.

But now she'd never know.

She sighed deeply as she continued to wait at the coat check for the girl to find her coat in the back and bring it out so she could leave the theater behind, along with the group of Hollywood phonies involved with the movie.

Mostly though, she admitted, she wanted away from temptation.

She was desperate to leave because now that it was becoming real in her mind that her time with Ben was well and truly over, she was beginning to feel a kind of panic setting in - as though overwhelming disappointment was washing over her.

She was coming to realize that actually, a part of her had hoped that he’d win their little war. A deep-down-dark part of her had wanted him to fuck her and emerge victorious. She hated admitting it, even to herself, but she'd never been so turned on by a man in her life. Her body flushed and her core muscles clenched just thinking of him.

She angrily rang the little bell on the desk a few times. She needed to get her coat and get the fuck out of here.

Suddenly the little blonde who worked behind the counter popped out from between two trench coats. Her face was all red and she seemed a bit loopy. She was grinning and giggling. “I can't…I can't find your coat. You should go back and look for yourself.”

She pressed a button under the desk and the door swung open. The girl ran out, leaving Y/N to stare after her in confusion.

“What the fuck?” Y/N mumbled. She scowled and shook her head, slipping through the door before it clicked shut and relocked behind her. She pushed her way through the racks and racks of coats, soon becoming lost in a sea of wool and tweed.

Suddenly she felt a hand grab her wrist and pull her behind the last row of coats. There was a wide spot there between the coats and the back wall. And in that spot Ben slammed her back against the wall, thrusting a knee between her legs and holding both wrists stretched above her head.

He easily held her wrists in one hand, so his other one was free to wrap around her throat as his face hovered above hers.

“Together again, baby.”

Out of habit Y/N pulled away from him, trying to free her wrists, but it was like trying to escape steel manacles.

“Why are you fighting what we both know you want?” He asked smugly. He dropped his hand from her throat and ran it down her body, reaching her stocking-covered thigh and squeezing hard.

“What will I find if I tear these fucking pantyhose off? If I try to make you come on my fingers, are you gonna be dripping for me?”

Y/N felt her panties flood even more at his words, giving an answer to his very rhetorical questions. But she tried to pull her leg out of his grip and struggled against his hold.

“Fuck off, you piece of shit!” She hissed at him. “I thought you were out of my goddamn life!”

Ben trailed his fingers further up her thigh and shook his head. “N’ah, gave that little blonde bimbo a hundred dollar bill and quick finger fuck to get her out of here. So I could have you all to myself at last.”

It occurred to Y/N that she should probably be a lot more afraid than annoyed. There was absolutely nothing stopping this Titan from holding her down and doing anything he wanted to her.

But just like all the times before, she was frustrated, not scared. She knew he didn't want to take her. He wanted to get her. He wanted her to admit how badly she lusted after him. He wanted her to give in.

He wanted to win.

To that end, he pressed his lips behind her ear and made her shiver. His fingers ran just under the hem of her little black dress.

“I know how much you want me.” His voice was low and smooth in her ear. “I know you've probably spent hours and hours fantasizing about me throwing you down and fucking you stupid. Have you imagined that? Hmm?” He asked as he pulled down the thick strap on her dress and trailed his sinful lips across her shoulder.

“How do I fuck you in your fantasies, Y/N? Do I make you come on my tongue first? Or do I just bend you over and ram my fat cock into that dripping mess of a cunt?”

Y/N was still shaking her head, but she was panting now too. She wanted to keep telling him no, but her whole body thrummed a resounding yes.

But it wasn't enough for him, he wanted her total surrender.

“Tell me, Y/N. How do you wanna be fucked? Slow and teasing or hard and pounding? Do you want me to fuck this gorgeous mouth of yours.” He paused to lick her lips open and a moan escaped her.

He smiled wickedly, but didn't relent. “In your dreams are you on your knees, baby? Are you taking my cock down your throat like such a good girl? Are you gagging on it?”

He raised his knee slightly, flexing the muscle and making it push against her core. She sucked in a ragged breath and then cried out harshly as he pulled back and then slammed it against her pussy, the ridge of muscle in his thigh pressing perfectly and making her roll her head back and forth on the wall, trying to deny how desperately she wanted him.

“Do you like that, my little slut? Do you like fucking yourself on my thigh? Yeah, you do, don't you? I know just how badly you want me to fuck you, how badly you wanna be reamed by a big fat cock. Need somebody to fuck you down good, don't you? Need to be fucked so hard you can't walk for a week.”

Y/N wasn't even trying to stop the sounds of pleasure sliding out of throat, she couldn't possibly manage it. But she still pulled uselessly against his grip, still wouldn't give in.

Ben's voice was deliciously dark and deep as he continued. “All you have to do is say the word, Y/N. Well, two words actually. Just say, ‘I surrender.’ and I'll fuck you so good, keep you coming and coming.”

Y/N bucked her hips forward, rubbing against his thigh once again. She opened her mouth to tell him to fuck off, but only pathetic, whimpering sounds came out now so she slammed it shut.

Ben sensed his victory in the air and he smiled darkly. “Just fucking say it, baby. We both know you want it, you're not fooling anyone anymore. So surrender and I'll take you where you stand, fuck you against this wall till your knees buckle. Fill every fucking hole and have you absolutely begging for more.”

It was the breaking point for Y/N. “Oh goddamn it. Yes. Okay. Do it.” She gasped, but it wasn't enough for Ben.

He pulled her away from the wall and spun her to face it. He let go of her wrists so he could collect them again behind her back. He tore the front of her dress down to her waist. She wore no bra and the cold cement wall felt rough against her bare tits when he pressed her against it.

He wrenched her tight dress up to bunch around her waist, shredded her pantyhose with his fingers before yanking her panties down and then freeing his cock from its confines.

He groaned as he slid it up and down through the wetness he’d known he’d find. He pressed the very tip to her entrance and stopped. He applied his weight and strength against her, so she couldn't move a muscle, couldn't push back on him, couldn't create any kind of friction for herself.

“This is it, little tease. You've been denying me for weeks and weeks now. Trying to make me believe you didn't want me. Well now my cock is just waiting to fuck you apart, ready to make you scream. So tell me bitch, do you surrender?”

Y/N felt her last thread of resistance fall away and she simply didn't care about pride anymore.

“Yes, goddammit, yes. I fucking yield, I surrender, whatever you wanna hear. Just fuck me, you asshole!”

With that auspicious capitulation, Ben didn't wait another second. He rammed himself deep, and then deeper into Y/N's cunt. He didn't wait for her first cry of pleasure to end before he pulled out and slammed back again, this time lifting her off the floor with the force of his thrust.

He smashed her up against the wall, holding her wrists tightly behind her and crushing her body against the cement as he fucked up into her over and over.

The tip of his huge cock dragged across her sweet spot with every punishing thrust. He was relentless and perfect and Y/N could only pant and beg him not to stop. Soon she was falling over the edge harder than she'd ever fallen. He buried his fingers in her slick and rubbed her clit hard as he kept ramming himself into her so deep that Y/N knew no one would ever fill her the same way again.

As he'd promised, he kept her coming and coming.

After one particularly powerful climax, Y/N felt as though her brain had liquefied, and was only vaguely aware of what was happening as Ben pulled out of her and shifted her away from the wall. He bent her double and dropped her wrists.

He spread her ass cheeks wide and spit on her before dragging slick up from her cunt on his fingers and coating the tight ring of muscle there. He pushed the tip of his middle finger in and groaned.

“Fuck this ass is tight. Have you ever been ass fucked, my little whore? My cock the first to breach it?”

Y/N gave a disjointed nod, gasping as he pushed his finger in further and spit on her again. “Yes. I've never.” The garbled words were all she could manage.

Ben hummed. “Fuckin’ love that I get to pop this cherry.”

He spread more slick and spit over her asshole as he continued to push in his thick middle finger, stretching her slowly.

“Okay, baby, this is gonna sting.” He warned as he positioned his cock at her back entrance. “I'm gonna go slow, but I'm gonna give you every inch. And I want you to take it all. Got it?”

Y/N bit her lip as her slick continued to leak down her thighs. “Yes, I wanna feel so full of you.” She panted, so far past the point of denial.

Ben grunted. “Fuck yes.” He pushed forward slightly and it definitely stung. Then he pushed further and it hurt. He stopped as he met resistance. “You need to relax baby. Don't fight me.” he guided her, stroking down her back. He put his hands back on her cheeks, spreading her ass wide again.

“Play with your tits, flick your clit, let yourself enjoy the stretch and burn.” He advised. She did what he suggested and soon she was lost in pleasure again, moaning harshly. He pushed further into her ass, restraining himself from slamming into her as hard and deep as he wanted to. He'd rip her open if he did. So he continued to go slow and listened for her sounds of pleasure as he proceeded.

Finally he was pushed into her completely, buried so deep she felt like she might burst.

“Good girl.” He praised, reaching around and swirling his finger around her clit while she squeezed her own tits hard.

“I'm gonna move now. I'll start as slow as I can, but I'm gonna wanna speed up soon. Think you can handle me?”

Y/N nodded. “Yes. I can take it.”

Ben slid three thick fingers into her cunt and she cried out. He grunted against her spine, and then bit her there, leaving marks.

“This is how I've wanted you for so long, completely stretched, stuffed so full of me you can barely breathe.”

Y/N let out a keening moan and Ben pulled out of her ass slowly. Inside her pussy his fingers found her sweet spot and pressed there gently, tormenting her. He slid slowly in and out of her tight hole for a while stretching her and easing the way.

Finally, when he couldn't hold back anymore, he pressed his fingers in circles against her g-spot making her explode and clench around his fingers.

As she rode her climax, Ben took the chance to slam in and out of her hard and fast, letting the scorching pleasure of her orgasm dull the pain of his huge cock slamming deep and rough into her ass.

Finally he pulled out completely and pushed Y/N down to the floor, leaving her on her knees. She looked up at him, fuck drunk and barely conscious as he pumped his cock.

“Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue.” Ben ordered her through gritted teeth. She obeyed immediately and he tapped his heavy cock against her tongue. “Suck it.” He growled.

Y/N closed her lips around him, sucking hard as she gagged on his thrusting cock.

Finally Ben's hips stuttered and he grabbed the back of her head so he could bury his cock deep down her throat.

He came with a roar and Y/N realized if there were any other people coming to get their coat, they could likely hear everything. But gone along with her pride, was her ability to feel embarrassment. All she wanted was for Ben to keep fucking her. Forever.

He pulled out of her mouth, letting cum and spit dribble onto her tits and her tattered dress. He took pride in the way she was completely broken in now. He knew after this he could fuck her whenever he wanted to; she'd never say no again.

Y/N tried to come back to reality, but her brain was buzzing and her body was throbbing, sore and stiff, but already aching for him again.

Ben tucked away his dick and zipped himself up, before he grabbed a coat. It wasn't hers, but she didn't protest as he wrapped her up in it, covering the torn dress and cum stains.

“Come on, my little cock tease. Let's get you back to my hotel. There are still so many ways I wanna fuck you.” He knew what the answer would be, but his ego asked the question anyway. “You gonna fight me on it? Or are you finally ready to admit this is what you've wanted all along?”

A long distant voice echoed in her head telling her she should be fighting this, but it was faint and easily ignored. She nodded and stopped to pull him down into a kiss.

“Fuck yes, asshole. I permanently surrender.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Other Jensen Characters:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@akshi8278

@evznackles

@jackles010378

@impala67rollingthroughtown

@krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731

@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

@sexyvixen7

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

@k-slla

@leigh70

@eevvvaa

@kickingitwithkirk

@foxyjwls007

@notinthislife50

@roseblue373

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

#jacklesversebingo23 #soldier boy (ben) x reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut #soldier boy fan fic #the boys fan fic #request fic

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 5 months

Note

How well do the sdv and sve bachelor/ette's flirt, and what styles of flirting do they have in your opinion? Hope you respond and enjoy writing your headcanon if you do :3

Hey hey, dear anon 👋 Thanks for your question! I enjoy writing headcanons and always glad to see you on my blog ☺️❤️

How well Stardew Valley/Stardew Valley Expanded bachelors/ettes flirt with the Farmer:

SDV bachelors:

Alex:

Flex. A lot of flex. Every time Farmer is around, Alex will lift heavy objects, thus showing off his muscles. Heavy? No, it's not hard for him to hold a huge crate at all! He repeatedly brags about his achievements in sports, but also doesn't forget to praise the Farmer for their hard work and looks. If Farmer gives the 'green light" for his flirting, Alex will move on to more classic things: small gifts, bouquets of flowers, walks on the beach, that sort of thing. Very nice of him, by the way. 6/10 - if he doesn’t praise himself often.

Sam:

In regards to flirting with someone, Sam gets a bit of a funny situation, which can be described by the phrase "Task failed successfully". Being inexperienced in love affairs, Sam often confuses words when he tries to flirt, or trips over an unfortunate rock in the road when he wants to approach Farmer. The young musician thinks to himself that his flirting is terrible and that he is clumsy. However, after much laughter, the Farmer thought Sammy was a very funny guy who would always make them laugh and they wanted to get to know him better. Task failed successfully! 5/10, although the flirting wasn't very good, it still worked!

Elliott:

If you think Elliott is going to seduce Farmer like in the book novels, you're absolutely right! But there is a little nuance. Yes, Elliott is a very well-mannered and sophisticated man, so his flirting, gifts and time spent will be the most romantic. However, a life of seclusion in a beach house has also made itself felt, and sometimes Elliott can forget that this is not a romance, but real life. So, let the Farmer get ready for small talk and nice walks in nature. Elliott will try to find an excuse to meet Farmer more often. 9/10, very good!

Sebastian:

Oh man, Sebastian's flirting.... is a bit of a mess. The young man was too shy and socially awkward to flirt with his object of affection in any way. He couldn't muster up the courage to show his past affection for Abigail, and it's more complicated than that. More often than not, and unknowingly, Sebby will smile and blush when talking to Farmer, avert his gaze, also more often invite them to his house to play board games or read comics. 3/10, sorry Seb, but that's not much of a flirt.

Harvey:

Yoba witnesses, Harvey tries his best, and, in principle, his flirting with Farmer turns out quite well. Not without flaws, of course, when he got a little nervous and confused, but quite acceptable and very romantic. The local doctor doesn't have much experience in love adventures, but he knows very well that the classics won't let him down if he wants to show his interest in the chaotic Farmer. 7/10, the key thing for Harvey is to keep his nerve (and not offer private medical check-up too often).

Shane:

Flirting is not Shane's thing. He has pretty low self-esteem and doesn't seem to care what most people think of him or what he looks like. Even if he gets the urge to try and start courting Farmer in some way, he stops himself most of the time. Unfortunately, Shane considers himself unworthy of their attention, like, who would want to socialise with someone like him. So the chicken lover will just throw dreamy glances at Farmer in the Saloon. Although, after a couple of beers, he does manage to flirt somehow (a bit vulgar, but still). 2/10, Farmer needs to make the first move themselves if they're interested in Shane.

SVE bachelors:

Lance:

No one knows whether it's a natural talent or whether Lance was taught a whole set of rules on how to flirt and behave in society, but this gallant man with a catty grin on his face is just a real master of flirting. Just like a noble knight in shining armour who came out of a chivalric novel. He knows perfectly well what levers to pull in order to gain the goodwill of the person he likes. Even if the Farmer doesn't mind flirting, but are an impregnable fortress, Lance is willing to spend a lot of time to conquer that fortress. 10/10, what a real romantic bastard.

Victor:

Behold - the smoothest man who can outdo even Elliott in his mastery of romance and very subtle flirting. Though a bit shy and introverted, Victor knows how to make the Farmer blush with a compliment (thanks to the many books on the subject in his personal library). Lots of walks, interesting and not too long conversations, dinner at the Saloon, or even sitting together at the game console. Victor chooses his complimentary words very carefully and watches the Farmer's reaction. If they don't feel uncomfortable, Victor continues. 8/10, this spaghetti man is full of surprises.

Magnus Rasmodius:

It had been a long time since Magnus had flirted with anyone, the last time he'd done so had been when he was younger... So it wasn't easy for him to remember everything he knew about love affairs, though even in his youth there had been only one affair, then marriage, then divorce, then.... Oh, well, that's just the way it is. Magnus is quite a romantic wizard, no doubt about it, but the hardest thing is to start flirting, especially if it's successful. It would help him to spend time together (a.k.a. magic lessons, thanks that Farmer has talent and is no stranger to Magnus). 4/10, c'mon Magnus, we believe in you.

SDV bachelorettes:

Leah:

Leah's main flirt is praise and shared pastime. Farmer very often becomes her muse for a future painting or sculpture, which, by the way, Leah then presents them. Collecting mushrooms and berries together, where the girl shares her experience in finding the best places with a lot of delicious gifts of the forest, she also repeatedly offers her help on the farm and praises their physical build. Leah is not shy about flirting, and if Farmer is single and doesn't feel uncomfortable during her flirting, the girl will continue until she achieves victory on the love front. 7/10, pretty good and confident flirting.

Penny:

Penny is a very sweet and kind girl, but she has zero ambition. She blushes too much and she almost always looks away or hides her face in a book if she sees Farmer, so it's an impossible task for a young teacher to approach her object of affection and start flirting. Her trouble is that Penny thinks she's a "grey mouse" who no one will pay much attention to, much less someone like Farmer. 0/10, I'm sorry Penny, but you have no flirting skills at all.

Maru:

Maru will look for any excuse to fix Farmer's broken appliances to get to know each other better. Broken recycling machine? Maru is already here, always ready to help them. In fact, she's always helped with repairs, but now her visits have become even more frequent. Mostly, the young inventor is a bit shy and rather timid when she tries to compliment the Farmer's appearance or clothes. She is sometimes afraid she might bore them with her chatter about her inventions. But if Farmer enjoys listening to a girl, she'll definitely talk all her ears off about science, and it will be much easier for her to flirt with them. 5/10, not too good but not too bad.

Haley:

Oh, Haley sure has a few tricks to get Farmer's attention on herself. After all, she was a star in high school and the centre of attention for many of her fans. Flirting is her thing. A subtle hint of wanting a relationship here, a successful praise there, a light conversation afterwards, a "chance" encounter here - it's a whole art for the blonde-haired girl. Also one of her best tactics is to be herself: to be nice, fun, and not to stay under the mask of a slightly spoilt and rude girl. Haley's tactics work, and Farmer has also started to take a liking to her. 8/10, there are a couple of flaws, but overall a quality flirt.

Abigail:

The amethyst lover's hints of flirting almost directly scream that she likes Farmer a lot. Recall at least her post 8 ❤️ event when she says that "Farmer must know what happened yesterday". But Abigail is going to start wooing them anyway, as she's not sure they've realized what happened yesterday after all. Constant compliments from Abby, also one of her main flirtations is her sketches of various fantasy characters, which she gives to Farmer. 6.5/10, not bad in principle but could be better.

Emily:

Honestly, I'm not sure Emily understands what flirting is at all. Well, she feels sympathy and a love interest for Farmer, but even when the two are officially a couple, Emily thanks them and refers to them as "good friend". "Friend", friendzone forever... Sure, she'll always compliment Farmer on their beautiful looks or their harmonious clothing choices, but it feels like she still refers to them as a friend. 1/10, I love you Emily, but you're not trying at all.

SVE bachelorettes:

Sophia:

Have pity on poor Sophia, she's having a hard enough time socialising as it is, and then there's the need to flirt! She has a very similar case as Penny, but unlike the red-haired girl, Sophia makes more attempts. Watching anime together, chatting about new manga, the latest from the video game world, etc... She also shares the most delicious snacks and sweets with Farmer, which is a big step considering how shy she is. This sort of thing comes across as just a friendly hangout, but Sophia tries to hint that she wants more than friendship. 4/10, she's really trying her best.

Olivia:

Need to say - Olivia is a bit of a contradiction in terms. This woman was a masterful flirt when she was younger if she really liked someone, and her skill hasn't faded over the years. The problem is simply that she's a widow, hasn't had a relationship since her husband's death, and feels that her flirting with someone (especially a younger person like Farmer) would constitute a betrayal to her late husband. If Olivia and Farmer work it out, the woman will quickly show the object of her affection what sophisticated and professional flirting is all about. 9/10, mommy- *ahem*, Olivia knows how to wow Farmer.

Claire:

Due to the fact that Claire is a rather quiet and shy girl (not as shy as Penny or Sophia) and her constant fatigue at work at JojaMart, flirting with Farmer is not easy for her. On the other hand, the young girl always feels a rush of energy when she sees her close friend (who has become her object of admiration). Claire doesn't have too many tricks in her flirting arsenal, but compliments and spending time together are assured. 5/10, not too bad, actually.

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kkongdakz · 9 months

Text

“ TOO PERFECT. ” ft. sung hanbin

hanbin x gn!reader, genre : fluff, warning : mostly fluff & comfort, warnings : a little angsty, reader is head over heels for hanbin, wc : 3k>

it was pitch-dark when hanbin walked through the door of your apartment, shedding his shoes with lightning speed before camouflaging himself in your arms. his face plunged into your neck, while your hand instantly found the nape of his neck, undertaking to caress his skin delicately. your second hand reached up to his back, moving up and down in a comforting gesture — and him seemed to relax somewhat under your fingertips. a long sigh left his lips and a shiver ran down your spine as his breath tickled the sensitive skin of your collarbones. hoping he hadn't noticed, you laid your cheek against his head, whispering not far from his ear, « let's make ourselves comfortable on the couch, okay? »

hanbin nodded and moved slightly away from you, but never letting you see his face. he looked so desperate — so you slipped your hand into his, your fingertips simply holding his while guiding him into your living room. settling yourself on the sofa, you guided your best friend to slide against you, between your legs, his chest pressed against yours. little do you know, he put his ear to your chest to be able to hear your heartbeat. his arms slipped around you, while one of your hands was lost in his brown locks. « so.. what happened? » you finally ask, a little curious to see him so dejected after a date that seemed very important to him in the first place.

let's get this story started : you've known hanbin for as long as you can remember, and you've never been apart since. only small downside : you fell deeply in love with him in high school, while he stayed in the friend side. you don't really know if he's ever seen you as a potential future love interest, but if he had, he'd always hidden it extremely well. deep down, a little piece of your heart was broken to see him trying dating someone other than you, but you felt lucky to have a boy like him always by your side. he was such a caring, well-mannered, helpful, adorable, gallant, attentive boy.. it was hard not to get butterflies in your stomach when you rubbed shoulders with such a living green flag. then yes, your feelings for him hadn't changed a bit, but you'd much rather keep him around as a friend than not have him at all.

so today, lying in your living room's sofa with him glued to you, you were ready to listen and learn why this date seemed to have gone so badly. « in the beginning, everything was fine, » he started, but you couldn't help drowning in his honeyed voice, « i took her to that restaurant i told you about, then we went for a walk in a pretty park where there was some good music, everything was going really well, i hold her hand and we talked about everything for a long time. »

how you wished you were in that girl's shoes — of course, you had already spent similar evenings with hanbin, but she had something you didn't : hanbin's love interest in her. nodding even though you knew he couldn't see you, your second hand reached up to the curve of his jaw, tracing it with the tip of your index finger. then hanbin resumed his story, « but suddenly, she wanted us to sit on a bench and have a serious conversation. »

« i was a little worried but kind of happy because i told myself she wanted us to put a word in about our relationship.. » his voice seemed to change completely, shifting from his naturally warm voice to a more defeatist tone — and you didn't like it. « what did she tell you? » you asked, frowning. your hand tenderly stroked his cheek, tilting your head to the side to try and catch a glimpse of hanbin's face. but the only thing you could see was the tip of his slightly reddened nose.

« she said she was sorry, » he declared with an umpteenth sigh, his words choking on his breath, « but that she didn't think we could go on together. »

you could feel his grip around you tighten, and his fingers mechanically grasp the sweatshirt you were wearing (which was his, by the way). and before you can retort, he continued his story with words you never thought you'd hear in your life, « because she thought i was too perfect. »

you felt like you'd just tumbled down the stairs of a 7-storey building. too perfect? that was the dumbest excuse you've ever heard. you thought you were dreaming, that it was just a bad joke on his part, but the silence that followed proved that this was the unvarnished truth. a nervous laugh left your lips, still stunned by such a senseless revelation — « you must be kidding me, right? » you finally say, your hand ceasing all movement in his hair and the tone of your voice slightly more annoyed than expected.

but hanbin nodded negatively, rising higher above you to hide his face in the hollow of your neck. his lips resting innocently on your skin sent another uncontrollable shiver through your body, and you prayed inwardly that he wouldn't feel the crescendo rhythm of your heartbeat. biting your lip to stop you swearing at that stupid girl, hanbin's voice again invaded your personal space, stoking the rage boiling in your blood.

« unfortunately, no. she was dead serious, » he whispered, his breath escaping over your shoulder, hovering over your left collarbone, « she explained that she was afraid she'd soon tire of me if i was always so helpful and attentive. »

you still couldn't believe your ears. hanbin had all the criteria of the perfect boyfriend, and that's what made him so attractive and irresistible. he was a gentleman, who took care of everything around him, always looking out for everyone but himself. he remembered the smallest details about each person he liked, he knew his friends and family's tastes and colors like the back of his hand, he had that reassuring voice that lulls you to sleep at night and comforts you during the day, he had this warm, protective hand capable of erasing every insecurity. but above all, he had that perfect bright smile that could make anyone happy at a glance.

obviously, you didn't think that way just because he shook your every feeling, every second of your life. but you were simply stating the facts after years of being friend with him. hanbin was everything that was pure, healthy and desired in a relationship. but this girl was too stupid to realize what a gem she'd just let slip through her fingers.

and it pissed you off.

« sung hanbin, look at me. » you say suddenly. when he barely had time to leave the warmth of your neck, your two hands cupped his face, holding his face in place in front of yours. he was so close you could feel his breath brush your lips, but you had to stay focused and find the right words to reassure his lost heart and question-ridden mind.

but how could you stay focused when the love of your life was this close to you, and looked so stunning despite his glassy eyes?

you couldn't speak for a long three minutes, your gaze wandering over every detail of his skin that you had already memorized. every curve, every mole, every feature of his face was flawless. your thumb unconsciously moved across his cheek, causing him to juggle his gaze from one eye to another — thanks to this, you could see the hazel glow of his pupils. « who could refuse anything to such a pretty face..? » you murmured in an inaudible sigh, only to yourself — unaware that your words had reached hanbin's ears innocently. deep down, you sincerely hoped that your words were just a figment of your imagination, without suspecting for a second the gentle warmth that was seeping into the heart of the boy in front of you right after. your heart stopped beating for a microsecond, when your eyes gazed innocently into his, and you lost all sense of time.

it was as if everything had frozen, and the only thing able to move was him and you, and your two beating hearts. you knew he was patiently awaiting your next words, but the latter were stuck in the back of your throat, as if an invisible force were trying to silence you forever. you finally open your mouth, attempting some sort of speech — but suddenly the butterflies in your body lodged themselves in your mind and made you forget all about the lexical field of comfort. all you could think about was him, the perfect curve of his lips and the hazel glint in his pretty doe eyes.

you fought your inner demons to keep the uncontrollable effect he had on you under wraps, not wanting to risk taking a single wrong step. biting your lower lip, you finally decided to try and regain your composure, because despite the mad desire to let your feelings invade space and time, your current role was to comfort your best friend who thought there was something wrong with the perfect person he was.

« don't dare think even a hint of negativity about you, » you began, softly, in a whisper so as not to let the tremor in your voice be heard, « you're the best person i've ever known in this world, and i don't say that because you're the most important person to me, but because it's the only true truth. »

« your parents made you the most perfect being in this universe, there's nothing wrong with your personality. » hanbin seemed immersed in your words, as if they were all that mattered right now, and you could feel his skin warming slightly under your fingers placed delicately on his cheeks. « that random girl don't want to be with you because you're too perfect? it's okay, someone else will love you fully instead. »

« you're still young, you have your whole life ahead of you, » your eyes gazed into his, as if you were trying to overcome and fight every bad thought stuck in hanbin's mind right now, « you'll end up finding the person who'll fall in love with you, and won't be afraid to love every green flag that makes up your personality. »

hanbin felt his heart explode in his chest, as he concentrated not only on your every word, but also your heart pounding next to his. he couldn't speak, he didn't know what to say — it was as if you'd invaded his thoughts and stolen his words. he'd forgotten about the crappy date he'd had a few hours earlier, and was trying to convince himself that telling you now that you were everything he wanted, was a bad idea.

but that bright gleam in your eyes made him realize that it was you who ran through his mind every day and night, over and over again. it may have been a cliché, but his heart felt fulfilled only in your presence. you soothed his every woe without realizing it, helping him to always look on the bright side of life, you were synonymous with stability, happiness and reassurance for him.

his grip around your waist tightened, unconsciously, without your noticing. you just let him do as he pleased, your hands still clinging tenderly to his face. you looked deep into his eyes, looking for the slightest sign of any negative thought still present — but he seemed lost in the sincerity of your eyes to think of anything else.

« you are such a perfect little arrangement of atoms. » — he could hear the smile on your lips as the words left your mouth, as his pupils juggled from one eye to the other once again. it was probably the nicest thing he'd heard in a long time, and the simple fact that it came from you filled him with joy. trying as you might to lean a little closer to him, you placed a light kiss on the top of his cheekbone. it was like an angel's kiss, soft and light, but as warm as a ray of sunshine, filled with a cloud of kindness and love beyond compare — hanbin could feel the tips of his ears heating up furiously at the same time his heart began to accelerate in his chest.

« you deserve someone who loves every little things about you. » while you simply tried to reassure him, remaining focused on his perfect face that almost made your head spin, hanbin again seemed lost in thought. you unhooked one of your hands from his cheeks to put the messy strands of his hair back in place, paying no attention to the deviation of his gaze from your attentive beloved eyes, to your rosy lips painted with a smile. hanbin thought he was going crazy, thinking about kissing you at a time like this — but he couldn't help thinking that in the end, disappointment after disappointment, the only person he still had left was you. and everything seemed so obvious suddenly : his feelings, the effect of your hands on his skin, the sound of your laughter that turned his heart upside down, your comforting voice that he wanted to hear every night before going to sleep. all this time, the only person he really loved and wanted was you.

but the constant fear of losing you and spoiling what was already there between you two, crackled unceasingly in his mind. what idiocy, he thought, knowing that despite everything, he couldn't live without you. you were his ride or die, you'd been with him every step of the way, and this was certainly not the end of your beautiful story. that the story continues as a passionate love story to make romance novels green with envy, or as an unconditional friendship that will never fade, you'll end up by his side until your last breath.

as he found your eyes again with his own, he observed them for a long time without saying anything. trying to remain calm despite the distressing perfection of his face close to yours, you let go of the lock of hair caught between your fingers to find his cheek again. but before you could put it back in place, it was captured by the boy's, who slowly interlaced your fingers with his own. you didn't know what to do, you panicked slightly inside : it wasn't the first time he'd held your hand, nor the first time he'd looked at you that way, but it was the first time his gesture had seemed so natural.

you could feel his heartbeat beating in unison with yours against your chest, and his thumb, which began to caress your skin, didn't help to calm your desilusory ideas. « i need someone like you. » he said suddenly, with a sigh, like a secret that only you had the right to hear. but it wasn't enough, it wasn't what you wanted to hear : you wanted him to want only you.

then you drew your face to his, slowly, and tenderly, you placed a kiss on the corner of his lips. an innocent kiss, as light as a cloud, so sweet he seemed to dream — but it was real, and now he knew. he knew that only you could love every part of him, every fiber of his body, every feature of his personality. you were the only one who could fulfill him, make him happy, make him in love, hopelessly in love.

so he decided to be bold, and look into your eyes — into the depths of your eyes, and say those words that ricocheted in your little head. « no, » he said more firmly, as if he was one hundred percent sure of what he was about to say, « i need you. just you. you're all i've ever needed. »

a storm erupted inside you, as you contained all the euphoria that had just exploded in your body, invading every muscle in it. everything you ever wanted was in your hands — and the indescribable love you had suddenly seemed reciprocal. but something wasn't right for you : your more mature thoughts whispered to you that it wasn't what you wanted. so you bit your lower lip, almost regretting having a brain at the very moment when everything you'd ever wanted was being handed to you on a silver platter. but you had to be sure of one thing.

« i don't want you to need me, » you replied, a kind, almost sad smile creeping across your lips, « i want you to love me. » — but that's all it took for hanbin react, and realize that he had to prove his words. and his love for you.

so even though his evening had begun with a monumental fiasco of a date he didn't even want in the first place, he decided to end his night by proving to you, in a princely kiss, that all the love crackling in his heart was destined to you.

you couldn't describe how you felt when his lips mingled with yours — it was far too powerful to explain in words. you'd been dreaming for years of being able to try out kissing the person you considered your soulmate, tasting the taste of their love, feel his heart resonate in yours, the warmth of his touch burn your skin with a delicate heat. it was just as you had imagined : as precious as a diamond, as pleasant as a gift, as melting as chocolate, as soft as cotton, accompanied by a powerful love that surpassed all your imagination. your heart could have stopped at any moment, its beat ready to explode in your chest — he had found that one heart that would beat at its side for many years to come. and you'd just found the perfect arrangement of atoms that could invade yours without restraint.

after a few passionate kisses, a few words of love and a few overwhelming proof, you once again found yourself lost in the warm sincerity of hanbin's eyes and the undeniable beauty of his tender smile. in the end, you had finally tasted the exquisite pleasure of winning the benevolent heart of the boy for whom you could give everything — and the reward for your legendary patience was considerable. hanbin was yours, completely yours now.

maybe hanbin was too perfect for her, but for you, he was just the right dose of perfect.

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minoment · 8 months

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ofc ofc ofc, sub!jack sparrow supremacy✨ So I didn't really plan this out, but something about jack getting the cockiness fucked outta him…it just does something to me. I don't mind presentation, so you can keep it gender neutral if you like!! Now i'll proceed to obsessively refresh the 'dom reader' tag until you publish it <3

Pairing: CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow x Dom GN!Reader

Type: Draft

A/N: Posting this because I promised to get it out <3

Minors DNI <3

You and Jack had gotten off on the wrong foot, to say the least. Well, in your opinion. He didn't seem quite so bothered by it, more.. excited? That definitely ticked you off. He was so.. so infuriating.. so carefree. He treated you like some alluringly gorgeous god of war and that he was some un-killable fool who dared question your presence. Like he was the special one who would never ever be shown your wrath. You hated it.

Jack Sparrow was known across the seas as the luckiest, unlucky but admirable alcoholic to ever stumble upon the slippery decks of a ship. You however, were known as a vicious, territorial, almost Nordic pirate who guarded their claimed land with iron and steel. No one dared to venture near your territory, the pure amount of fear had made you almost forgotten to this day. Not that you minded of course. Stories of your cruelty and maliciousness spread an elaboration of what you were truly like, the tales isolating you in an almost comforting sense of loneliness.

You almost wished you had back that loneliness. But no. Of course not. That fool had made sure to never give you a sense of tranquility ever again.

"HELLLOOOO??"

A shouting voice was heard over the waves, it was slightly slurred and incredibly obnoxious for this early hour. The golden sun peeked over the horizon, sending golden slivers dancing across the waters surface.

You grunted softly, opening an eye and slowly picking yourself off the deck of your ship where you had peacefully been napping. You were an intimidating figure, at least 6'4" and toned from years of taming rough oceans. Your skin was tanned and mottled with scars and tattoos. Your braided and decorated hair glowed a fiery auburn in the growing daylight, 'like molten copper' as your late mother used to say.

Silently, you moved over to the ships edge, raking your cold green gaze over the sandy expanse of the small island you were moored next to. And there he was..

That daft moron got himself stranded a few days ago, somehow separating himself from his crew AND the Black Pearl. You had moored here a few weeks prior, reading the stars and waiting for the perfect time to sail back to your hidden cove you called home. He had dragged himself drunkenly out of the sea not 16 hours ago and your tranquil peace had disappeared from that point forward.

You had no intention of helping him, his constant chatting and one-sided conversations making him insufferable. He was doing it on purpose and you knew that, but it got on your nerves either way.

"What tha fuck d'ya want?" You snapped crossly over the well-kept railing of your ship. Your gaze narrowed as a triumphant smirk played across his lips. He was admittedly handsome, you'd give him that.

"Mornin' lovely..." He singsonged flirtatiously, gazing up at you and shielding his eyes from the now fully-risen sun.

You scowled in disapproval, not appreciating this levelling sort of flirtatious friendliness.

"You know.." He continued thoughtfully, mockingly speaking as if you were some sort of Lord, "I'd really like some food and water.. if you'd be so gallant as to spare some?"

You scowled once more and moved away from the railing. As much as it was 'survival of the fittest' and a constant battle with your stubbornly cruel personality, you couldn't watch a man starve to death with your help right in front of him. Besides, apart from being an infuriating pest, he hadn't actually hurt you.

A neatly coiled rope lay near your mast and you picked it up, carrying it back over to the railing. You secured the end firmly to the rail and dropped it down so the other ratty end dipped into the salty water.

"Climb up before I change my fuckin' mind.." You snapped, tilting your head in a sort of aggressive invitation aboard.

Jack wasted no time in scrambling up the rope like a monkey, your powerful grasp steadying his shoulder and body as he helped himself aboard. He stood to the side as you untied the rope and started to reel it up. His hand absentmindedly rubbed where your fingers had gripped his collarbone, his gaze flicking to your veined, clearly weathered hand as it worked the now sodden rope.

You turned and looked down at him, your gaze becoming ever so less furious as he looked back up at you and thanked you for your generosity. For some reason, you felt a little guilty for not letting him on sooner. He looked like a curious little mutt, his beautiful brown eyes seeming to warm you up from the inside out. You bit the inside of your cheek and looked away, scolding yourself for getting in your head. You motioned Jack to follow and brought him below deck.

Your boat was large yet you were the only one on it. It was decorated beautifully, showing off what obvious peace you had by yourself. There were maps and tapestries in some rooms, others having shark skulls and ornately engraved longswords hung up with bent nails. Apparently you were incredibly creative as well as a ruthless killer.

Jack marvelled your boat before his gaze curiously roamed your broad form. His keen eye took note of your clean clothes, the neat Nordic pattern embroidery and the occasional stain of spattered blood. Your belt held pouches and sheathed knives, all made by you. He admired your physique too, the way your muscles flexed under your skin as your opened the heavy door to your main living area. You didn't smell like the usual pirate either. An alluring scent of spices, fabric, seawater and blood seemed to follow you wherever you walked.

Eventually you sat him down, taking note of his ripped clothes and dirty features. You motioned for him to hold out his hands, working in complete silence as you wiped off his hands with a wet rag. The salt water stung a few scratches but Jack patiently held still, letting you wipe off his neck and face area. You almost did this as a sign of respect before standing up and getting him some clean clothes. You held out the rag and the pail of sea water, wordlessly telling him to get dressed and clean the rest of his body. He did as he was hold and you turned, moving to the other side of the cabin to find some stale bread and dried fish for him to eat.

When you finally turned around, he had washed himself and was getting dressed. Only Jacks upper body remained unclothed and your green gaze wandered over his tan skin. He had many bullet and knife wounds, adding up to the lucky part of his reputation. Personally, you found them quite beautiful although you would rather die than admit it.

"Here.." You said gruffly, handing him the plate of foot and a pouch of rainwater off your person. "Rest for a while.."

"Ah.. thank you.." Jack replied, finishing dressing himself and taking the plate and pouch from you. "I knew ya soul would be as beautiful as your pretty face.."

You sighed silently, moving to pick up his discarded clothes. You walked back up to the sunny desk, laying out Jacks clothes so they would dry and be parched of their salty sea smell.

You moved back below deck, your gaze raking over Jacks now-clothed chest and opening your mouth to ask about his scars.

"You really are nothing like the stories say, are ya?" Jack said as he interrupted your train of thought before you could speak and looked from his food to your eyes.

You paused, momentarily re-arranging your thoughts before speaking.

"No I'm not..." You said eventually, motioning to your own chest in reference to his bullet wound scars. "But you're definitely as lucky as the tales tell.."

Jack looked down and smiled slightly to himself, unable to form a response to that. It felt odd to be complimented by such a stoic and feared persona like yourself.

"What are ya really like then?" Jack asked, drinking the last of his water and letting you take the plate from him.

"I- don't really know.." You replied, stowing the things away before turning back to him. "Well no.. I just can't remember.."

"Why not?" Jack asked with a tilt of his head. "You look like you'd have quite the personality.."

"Near death experience can blanch the personality from your soul I s'pose.." You shrug, leaning back against the ships wall and crossing your arms. You watched him closely. "You definitely have had your fair share of near death experiences, how come you're still an arrogant shit?" You say flatly, making Jack laugh.

"You've got quite the mouth huh?" He smirked, his gaze flicking to your scarred lips in a much more suggestive way than before.

You were a little taken aback by his suddenness but you regained control of yourself and narrowed your eyes. "Answer my question.."

"I guess I'm just better than you.." Jack shrugged with a cocky smirk, obviously trying to rile you up. The annoying thing was, it was working. You gritted your teeth, your jaw tensing.

Jack easily picked up on that and grinned, a soft chuckle escaping him. He knew this was a dangerous game; that only made him want to play it more. It certainly solidified his reputation of the stupidly brave captain.

"You aren't better than me.." You scowled, your hands moving behind you to grip the wooden counter as he began to approach you.

"Oh but I am.." Jack smirked. "You would have killed me by now if I were anyone else in front of you.. am I special?"

The audacity he had. It made your blood boil, but nonetheless you stayed against the wall, watching him like a hawk.

"It makes me wonder.." Jack continued, moving ever closer so his body was mere inches from yours and his calloused hand reached up to cup your face. He leant up and in a little closer, his lips only centimetres from yours. "A great pirate like you.. maybe you've gone soft.. maybe you could even be a whore and-"

That word set something ablaze inside of you, a boiling pit of rage and frustration overflowing within your guts. The only thing you could think about was teaching this cocky brat a lesson. Just before he could finish the rest of his insulting sentence, before he could kiss you; you snapped.

You pushed him back, slamming him against the opposite wall and knocking the breath out of him. Before Jack could get a single word or gasp out of his mouth, you crashed your lips against his and silenced him. His eyes widened in shock before he relaxed. He attempted to bring his hands up to cup your face but you gripped his wrists and slammed them against the wall with your iron grasp. This was a lesson.

You bit down on his lower lip and squeezed his wrists tighter, earning a low whine of protest from Jack as your larger body pushed him up against the wall. Soon your hands left his wrists and he got the message, holding onto the edge of the counter lining the ships wall. Jack gripped the polished wood so hard he thought his rings would splinter the expensive timber. His breath hitched as you wrapped your hand around his neck, only needing one to pleasurably restrict his blood flow.

Heat pooled between his legs when your hand tightened around his neck, a choked whine escaping his lips as lightheaded pleasure filled his senses. You took this opportunity to slide your tongue into his mouth, making his legs almost buckle. Your kisses became even more aggressive and vicious as you tasted him, pinning him roughly up against the wall. The fiery taste of rum and salt on his lips spurred you on as Jack mewled in your grasp. You were so good, it made him lose himself almost instantly. The way you squeezed his neck, how your rough fingers pressed against his arteries so he could breathe easily through his nose while you ravaged his now kiss-bitten lips.. he wanted more, oh so much more...

Jacks greed eventually got the better of him and he clawed at your free hand, trying to move it towards his hips. You growled low in your throat, warning him. He didn't listen, desperate for more pleasure as he dug his nails into your hand. You pulled away with a rough curse, gripping his dreaded locks and dragging him away from the wall and down into the next room; your quarters.

The man yelped in a pleasurable sort of pain, opening his mouth to protest. You didn't let him, throwing him down into the messy nest of furs, fabrics, and blankets that was your bed. You held Jack down on his stomach, one hand pressing down between his shoulder blades and your knee in the small of his back. Nothing could be heard except for Jacks laboured breathing, the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull, and the metallic noise of you unclasping your belt.

You dragged the thick, worn, leather strap from around your waist before wrapping his tightly around Jacks wrists. He watched as you wrapped the belt further around an iron ring connected to the wall, unable to move his hands. Now that he was restrained and laying on his stomach in your bed, you could begin his real lesson.

Jack buried his face in the fabrics, your scent making arousal rock through his body in steady waves; yet it was also weirdly comforting to him. He felt you over him, your knees on either side of his hips as you leant down to bite and kiss at his neck.

You moved his hair ever so gently to the side, your lips and teeth leaving dark hickeys all over his sweet, salty skin. Jacks breathing became heavy once more as he tried to hide this fact by muffling his face in the furs. Eventually it became too hot and Jack couldn't breathe, so he just lay his head to the side and took it; not even bothering to preserve his dignity or hide his rough pants and gasps anymore when you suckled marks onto his skin.

You were marking Jack as yours and the very thought made his hips stutter forward ever so slightly. A small whine escaped his lips and you scowled, one hand moving to pull his hips up away from the bed. Jack was now face down ass up, a humiliated blush spreading over his features as he panted. One of your hands was in his hair, tightly gripping his locks and keeping his neck exposed while you marked him. The other held his hips, keeping him pressed against your body but unable to grind down against the sheets where he needed it most.

A choked breath was pushed from Jacks lips as he realized exactly what situation he was in. You weren't going to give him any sort of pleasure. You were going to hold him up like this and mark him up until he was a pleading mess. Jack didn't want that, he was greedy for more, anything more; and you knew it.

Jacks heavy panting and gasps filled the room, occasionally breaking it up with low keening whines as you tugged his hair and marked his neck. Eventually he couldn't take this torture any longer.

"P-please.. Indulge me, I beg you.." Jack panted, swallowing and licking his lips. His own breaking, reedy voice surprised him. "Need more..."

Jack lay his head to the side as you pulled away from his neck, letting out a low groan as you squeezed his hips and silently warned him not to try and thrust back down against the bed.

You decided to treat him knowing that his stubborn greed and wants would get both of you nowhere. So instead of taking away what he wanted, you would give it to him. Oh yes you would, you would give him what he wanted until he was a squirming, moaning mess just pleading for you to stop.

Jack practically melted in your grasp once more as your hot mouth came in contact with the sensitive skin of his neck. Your sharp teeth grazed over the fresh bruises, your tongue gliding over their wake.

The sensation distracted his attention long enough for you to slip your large, rough hands into the soft cotton fabric of his pants. the low whine echoing in his throat turned into a strangled moan as your hand wrapped around his stiff, leaking shaft.

He buried his face in the furs once more, his hips trembling as your mouth continued to work at his neck and your hand tightened around his cock. Jack could feel himself dripping into your tight fist as he bit down on the thick wool of a blanket, his eyes rolling back in pure ecstasy. Nonetheless, he remained obedient and kept his hips as still as possible while your hand worked him into oblivion.

#dom reader #sub character #sub captain jack sparrow #sub jack sparrow #sub pirates of the carribean #pirates of the caribbean #potc #potc headcanons #sub potc #unfinished work #mino chats //

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