#but then scrapped in favor of doing it by himself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thegalleonsnest · 1 month ago

Text

OK since I haven't seen too many people talk about this since twitter news usually strikes pretty fast over here whenever e'usk does anything ever, let me give ya'll the run down on two things that will go live on NOVEMBER 15TH and why people are mass migrating to Blue Sky once more; and provide resources to help protect your art and make the transition to Blue Sky easier if you so choose:

The Block function no longer blocks people as intended. It now basically acts as a glorified Mute button. Even when you block someone, they can still see your posts, but they can't engage in them. If your account is a Public one and not a Private one, people you blocked will see your posts.

They say because people can easily "share and hide harmful or private information about those they've blocked," they changed it this way for "greater transparency." When in reality, this is an extremely dangerous change, as the whole point of blocking is to cease interaction with people entirely for a plethora of reasons, i.e. stalking, harassment, spam, endangerment, or just plainly annoying and not wanting to see said tweets/accounts. or you know, for 18+ accounts who do not want minors interacting with them or their material at all (There is speculation saying these changes are specifically for Elon himself so he can do his own kind of stalking, and honestly, with the private likes change, it lowkey checks out in my opinion)

Also, this straight up goes against and may violate Apple and Google's app store policies and also is straight up illegal in Canada and probably other countries as well.

If this ACTUALLY goes through, twitter will only be available in select countries, probably exclusively in the US, which would collapse the site with the lost of users and stock, and probably be the last push it needs to kill the site. And if not, will be a very sad and exclusive platform made for specific kinds of people who line up with musk's line of thinking.

2. New policies regarding Grok AI and basically removing the option to opt out of Grok's information gathering to improve their software.

And anything you upload/post on the site is considered "fair game" with "royalty-free licenses" and they can do whatever they please with it. Primarily using any and all posts on twitter to train their Grok AI. A few months ago, there was a setting you can opt out of so they couldn't take anything you post to "improve" Grok, but I guess because so many people were opting out, they decided to make it mandatory as part of the policy change (This is mainly speculation from what I hear).

So this is considered the final straw for a LOT of people, especially artists who have been gripping on to twitter for as long as they can, but the AI nonsense is too much for people now, including myself. Lot's of people are moving to Blue Sky for good reason, and from personal experience, it is literally 10x better than twitter ever was, even before elon took over. There is no algorithm on there, and you can save "feeds" to your timeline to have a catered timelines to hop between if your looking for something specific like furry art or game dev stuff. It's taken them a bit to get off the ground and add much needed features, but it's genuinely so much better now

RESOURCES

Project Glaze & Cara

If you're an artist who's still on twitter or trying to ride it out for as long as you can for whatever reason you have, do yourself a favor and Glaze and/or Nightshade your work. Project Glaze is a free program designed to protect your art work from getting scrapped by AI machines. Glazing basically makes it harder to adapt and copy artwork that AI programs try to scan, while Nightshade basically "poisons" works to make AI libraries much more unstable and generate images completely off the mark. (These are layman's terms I'm using here, but follow the link to get more information)

The only problem with these programs is that they can be resource intensive for computers, and not every pc can run glaze. It's basically like rendering a frame/animation, you gotta let your pc sit there to get it glazed/nightshade, and depending on the intensity and power of your pc, this may take minutes to hours depending on how much you wanna protect your work.

HOWEVER, there are two alternatives, WebGlaze and Cara

WebGlaze is an in browser version of the program, so your pc doesn't have to do the heavy lifting. You do need to have an account with Glaze and be invited to use the program (I have not done so personally so I don't know much about the process.)

Cara is an artist focused site that doubles as both a portfolio site and a general social media platform. They've partnered with Glaze and have their own browser glazing called "Cara Glaze," and highly encourage users to post their work Glazed and are extremely anti-ai. You do get limited uses per day to glaze your work, so if you plan on doing a huge backlog uploading of your art, it may take awhile if your using just Cara Glaze.

Some twitter users have suggested glazing your art, cropping it, and overlaying it with a frame telling people to follow them elsewhere like on Bluesky. Here's a template someone provided if you wanna use this one or make your own.

Blue Sky Resources and Tips

So if your a twitter user and your about to realize the hellish task of refollowing a massive chunk of people you follow, have no fear, there's an extension called Sky Follower Bridge (Firefox & Chrome links). This is a very basic extension that makes it really easy to find people on Bluesky

It sorts them out by trying to find matching usernames, usernames in descriptions, or by screen name. It's not 100% perfect, there's a couple people I already follow on Blue Sky but the extension could not find them on twitter correctly, but I still found a huge chunk of people. Also if your worried that this extension is "iffy," they do have a github open with the source publicly available and the Blue Sky Team themselves have promoted the extension in their recent posts while welcoming new users to the platform.

FEEDS and LABELS

OK SO THE COOLEST PART ABOUT BLUESKY IS THE FEEDS SYSTEM. Basically if you've made a twitter list before, it's like that, but way more customizable and caters to specific types of posts/topics. Consolidating them into a timeline/feed that exclusively filled about those particular topics, or just people in general. There's thousands to pick and choose from!

Here's a couple of mine that I have saved and ready (down below). Some feeds I have saved so I can jump to seeing what my friends and mutuals are up to, and see their posts specifically so it doesn't get lost in reposts or other accounts, and also specialized feeds for browsing artists within the furry community.

The Furry Community feeds I have here were created by people who've built an algorithm to place any #furry or #furryart or other special tags like #Furrystreamer or #furrydev. They even have one for commissions, and yes you can say commissions on a post and not have it destroyed or shadow banned. You are safe.

If you want, and I highly recommend it to get visibility and check out a neat community, follow furryli.st to get added to their list and feeds. Once your on the list, even without a hashtag, you'll still pop up in their specialized feeds as just a member of the community there. There are plenty of other feeds out there besides this one, but I feel like a lot of people could use one like this. They even got ones for OC specific too I remember seeing somewhere.

And in terms of labels, they can be either ways to help label yourself with specific things or have user created accessibility settings to help better control your experience on Blue Sky.

And my personal favorite: Ai Imagery Labeler. Removes any AI stuff or hides it to the best of it's abilities, and it does a pretty good job, I have not seen anything AI related since subscribing to it.

Finally, HASHTAGS WORK & No need to censor yourself!

This is NOT like twitter or any other big named social media site AT ALL, so you don't have to work around words to get your stuff out there and be seen. There are literally feeds built around having commissions getting and art seen! Some people worry about bots and that has been a recent issue since a lot of people are migrating to Blue Sky, but it comes with any social media territory.

ALSO COOL PART,

you can search a hashtag on someone's profile and search exclusively on that profile as well! You can even put the hashtag in bio for easy access if you have a specialize tag like here on tumblr. OR EVEN BUILD YOUR OWN ART FEED FOR YOUR STUFF SPECIFICALLY!

So yeah, there's your quick run down about twitter's current burning building, how to protect your art, and what to do when you move to Blue Sky! Have fun!

#Twitter #Blue Sky #BlueSky #Cara #Project Glaze #Glazed Art #NightShade #Twitter Update #cara artists #art resource #resource #Online resource

689 notes · View notes

catsteeth · 1 month ago

Text

She's My Collar

Sandor "The Hound" Clegane x Baratheon Princess

+:✿ Request ✿:+

Request: “This request is for sandor of course!! I am all for angsty, yearning sandor clegane!! My train of thought is all over the place but heres a list of something I hope you could include in the one shot: •hozier level yearning •unrequited love/want •perhaps stark!reader or baratheon!reader •fleeting interactions like something small but it sticks with sandor •“im not a religious man but ill follow her” kinda vibe if that makes any sense!!" CW: MDNI, ANGST, afab reader, alcohol consumption, unrequited love, yearning, misogyny, arranged marriage, violence, joffrey being joffrey, mention of death. A/N: He’s pathetic and I love it

Word Count: 5K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ �� ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The girl was born a Baratheon, born to Robert Baratheon during a previous marriage. Her mother, born to some wealthy house. But her memory would be lost in time after she died in childbirth. Robert did not speak of her. Cersei despised the mention of her name. So not much was known of her. Though she must’ve been pretty, as the girl born to Robert Baratheon was a girl of beauty. And soon after her mother’s death, Robert married Cersei Lannister.

Either due to jealousy or embarrassment Cersei would treat the girl with malice, and hostility. But unlike the King's eldest son, the girl was kind and good.

The boy was born to a man who wanted nothing more than for his sons to be knights of the Seven Kingdoms. His ambitions blinded him, allowing his eldest son Gregor to commit horrid acts. So long as the boy was a knight, none else mattered. The man's youngest son was kind. He was just a boy, no more than six years old.

The little boy dreamed of being a knight just as his father did. Dreamed on the good deeds he would do in the name of his king and the Seven Kingdoms. Though those dreams would be dashed and discarded once the boy's older brother showed him the cruelty the world is capable of. The cruelty he was capable of. The cruelty the world rewarded him for.

The boy grew into The Hound, Sandor Clegane the second most feared man in the Seven Kingdoms. The girl grew into a princess, one hated by her stepmother and eldest half brother. But loved by her father, her half siblings, the realm, and by a Hound.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

The Hound and the princess grew alongside one another most of his life. He could remember when he and she were much younger. The Lannisters and the Baratheons were traveling across the Stormlands. It was a hard journey, soon food became scarce. Naturally the scraps of whatever the royals did not eat were left to the guards and any other member of the traveling crew. But the princess would offer a young hound the meat from her plate every night. He always hesitated, but was too hungry to deny her charity. She never held her charitable act over him, never even mentioned it.

He was not one to appreciate beauty, nor was he one to indulge himself in fantasies of love. But the princess’s beauty was one that haunted Sandor. His whole life he looked at her as though she were the maiden herself. And the princess did not look upon the Hound with grotesque curiosity. Nor did she flaunt his presence to others in a manner of threatening them. No, the princess was kind towards him, kind when she did not have to be. He often found kindness a weakness in people, but in her kindness he found a comfort.

The girl was different from her father, different from her brother. She was kind, she was honest, and he would follow her as if she was a God.

He could also remember the first time she bestowed her favor onto him.

Sandor never feared the tourneys he fought in. He did not fear the joust, he did not fear the competitors. What he did not like was the tradition of asking a noble lady for her favor.

Sandor never liked this tradition. Never liked having to speak to noble ladies much less ask them to favor him. Not only was it ridiculous to him, the ladies often grimaced at his gesture. But at this tourney, and every tourney after it, he would pick the lady he wished to have picked each time before.

As he rode his intimidatingly large black ill tempered stallion around the tournament pit. He looked up at all the noble ladies above him, looking down at him. They all sneered at his gaze, wishing not to be picked. The noble men all snickered amongst one another. But there was one person who looked upon him with indifferent eyes. The Baratheon girl’s eyes were not filled with pity, disgust, nor anticipation for the violence he was about to insight for the high lord's entertainment. She simply watched him with her same kind eyes.

He did not think much of it, it came naturally to him as he stopped his horse in front of the royal family's seating. “I ask the favor of the Princess.” He said begrudgingly.

The princess rose from her seat with a smile. She grabbed a ring of florals and silk. The flowers were yellow and the silk ribbon was black, the colors of both her house and his. As she approached him, she smiled upon him and placed the favor upon his joust. “I wish you good fortune, Sandor Clegane.” Sandor, he did not know she knew his name. Her voice itself was gentle and hushed, only for him to hear. Her smile was gentle and warm, one that he would have killed to see each night. One that he won the tourney for.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Once, Joffrey had decided that a servant boy had shot him a momentary disrespectful glance. If he had, it would not have been unwarranted, though who is to say if he even did. Joffrey, sometimes bored, would pretend small disrespectful gestures were made against him. Allowing him to justify any horrid act he found amusement in subjecting any poor soul to.

“I am sorry, my prince! Please if you would give me another chance-” The servant boy pleaded on his hands and knees. His cheek red from the blow Ser Meryn had given him moments before.

Sandor never liked being Joffrey's sworn shield. Never liked that blonde cunt at all. Whenever he wanted to feel powerful, wanted to hurt someone weaker than him for no good reason, it bored and irritated him.

Though it hardly ever embarrassed him, until she stepped into that room.

“Brother stop this!” The Baratheon princess commanded with a look of disgust. Sandor, though he’d not laid a hand on the boy, swallowed hard and stood straighter at her sudden presence. He worried how she’d look at him now, would her kind eyes fade for him?

“Why should I?” Joffrey asked her back with a raised brow.

The girl, bravely scoffed and took a few steps closer to her younger ‘brother’, “Because I commanded you to.” She said with angry eyes, an expression Sandor rarely saw from her. She looked beautiful even when she was angry.

Joffrey narrowed his eyes at her, “Who are you to command anything of me?” he stifled a laugh which only enraged her more. And only enraged Sandor more.

She took another step closer to him. Her hand gently trailed along the extravagantly dressed wooden table. “Your elder sister, the Kings first born-”

“First born daughter.” Joffrey finished her words for her. “Daughter. You are not heir to anything. I’ll be king one day and you, a princess for a lifetime.” He said laughing as if he were amused by some great jest. “And as your king, I could have anything done to you that I like.” He walked closer to her, with a threatening gaze. “In fact, as heir to the throne, I could do anything I like. I could have Ser Meryn hold you down and-” And with that the girl's temper got the better of her. She grasped a glass goblet from the table she stood by, and threw it with great force at her brother’s feet. The goblet shattered into a hundred pieces. Bits of it flew and cut Joffrey’s right hand. And some other bits cut Sandor’s cheek, not deeply but enough to bleed. “You cannot do that!” His shrill voice cracked as he grasped hold of bleeding palm.

“Clearly I can.” The girl said with little emotion. It would have made Sandor laugh if he didn’t have to worry about the other royal guards. He worried that they would put their filthy hands on you, or would be foolish enough to draw their swords.

Though none would. The guards were shocked by the scene. This princess had never done so much as raised her voice, and now she was assaulting their future kind. They had to think of defending one of the King’s children from the other. They stood, unsure of how to act.

Furiously Joffrey shouted, “I’ll tell my mother!” Knowing his father would do nothing but ridicule him.

The princess raised her hand, and slapped the boy across the cheek, “Tell her I did that as well.” She added.

Her slap was enough to leave a red imprint across the boy's face.

In a fit of anger, the young prince grabbed hold of his sword. Prepared to draw its blade and point it at the princess. Just before Sandor could grab the prince, a different Kingsgaurd stepped between the two royals. “Stop this!” the man commanded. Joffrey let go of the sword's hilt and the girl began to walk away, ready to face whatever punishment her step mother desired.

With her back turned, and the guards' attentions divided. Joffrey ceased his moment, and drew the thin blade of his sword and readied himself to strike the princess.

“Boy!” The princess turned back as the Hound’s loud voice boomed out through the dining hall. She was stunned by the sight before her. The prince’s attack was stopped by the Hound ceasing the blade with his bare hand. Blood from his hand trickled down the blade of the sword.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Soon the two royal children were brought before their father the King.

“How the fuck did any of this happen? You are meant to protect my blood!” King Robert questioned the KingsGuard furiously.

“Never had to protect a princess from a prince.” Ser Meryn attempted to explain, “Or a prince from a princess.” He said in a lower tone that angered Joffrey.

“Shut up!” King Robert angrily shouted, sick of hearing whatever excuse they had. He sat back in his chair, and huffed loudly. He looked between his two children. “Well done, my girl.” He said in a gruff low tone.

Joffrey looked surprised his father would congratulate her on striking her brother. “But look what she-“ Joffrey began, holding up his cut palm.

Though Robert interrupted him, “How could you ever be a king if you cannot win a fight against a woman?”

“Father!” Joffrey’s shrill voice shouted,

“Leave!” Robert shouted back. With an infuriated huff, Joffrey left accompanied with two guards by his side. Though Sandor stayed in the room. “Girl, come ‘ere.” Robert commanded much softer to his daughter, waving his hand, beckoning her to come closer.

She did as her king commanded. Stepped closer to him with her head lowered. Robert stood before her, and held her chin up with his fingers. “You’re more of a man than your brother.” He said proudly. He meant it as a complement, it was a rare thing to receive as a child of Roberts. With a sigh he patted the girl on the back, “Go on then.” He said softly dismissing her.

She nodded and took her leave as her father requested.

As the girl left, Sandor turned to follow her out. Though the King’s voice beckoned out, stopping him in his steps. “Dog.” Sandor stopped, and turned towards the King, “If that yellow haired shit lays a hand on my girl you beat him.” The King commanded. Sandor needed no other instruction. He was quite content to do so. “Understood?” The King pressed.

Sandor nodded, “Aye.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As the Hound walked down the Halls of the keep, he saw the princess walking in the opposite direction. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, not looking at her at all.

Though his illusion of disinterest did not deter the girl, “I beg pardon, ser.” Her serene voice called out gently. It felt like a cool breeze on a hot day, a relief.

Sandor looked up at her, hoping she was not speaking to him. If she was, he knew whatever words she spoke to him would haunt his thoughts. As he looked at her, he knew she was speaking to him. He swallowed and then croaked out, “I’m no ser.”

The Baratheon princess shook her head, “No. You are more true than any knight.” He knew her words would haunt him, but now they would torture him. The girl stepped forward, making him almost flinch, “All the knights in that room were content to let my brother kill me. What you did today-“

The girl began but the Hound interrupted her, knowing if she thanked him, his stomach might turn. “It’s my duty to protect you.” He grumbled, attempting to not look the girl in the eyes. Her beautiful eyes.

“I’d call it brave.” She chimed, making him stop and turn to face her once again. He was about to tell her it was not brave but she continued, “But I know you’d not. You are a hard man with many scars. You needn’t courage, nor praise. But I thank you for what you've done.”

Fuck.

He was never thanked for doing his duty. Never thanked for anything. He was commanded and he did as he was told.

Her eyes wandered over the Hound’s face. It made him feel weak, for the first time in a very long time. “I am sorry-” She said, her voice sickeningly sweet. Sandor looked at her with confusion, “Are you hurt?” She asked as she reached her hand towards the cut on his cheek. Her sudden movement made him flinch.

“No.” He rasped quickly.

The girl however was scared of the Hound. She continued forward and placed a hand on the Hounds shoulder. Even though her hand was separated from his skin by his thick armor, he still felt a chill run over his body. “Oh but you are-” She began, concerned for him. A feeling that was new for him.

“It’s a scratch.” Sandor interrupted the girl.

She shook her head, “Still, I caused it.” The girl reached into the neckline of her gown, making Sandor almost blush. Such a strange thing, a man who had seen every part of a woman, and every sexual act no matter how deviant in almost every brothel in KingsLanding would blush at such a thing. She pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with her name, “Take this.” She said holding it out to him.

He could not take it. He could not, no matter how badly he wanted to. “Don’t need it-”

“I command you to take it, as your princess.” The girl said without hesitation. Reluctantly Sandor grabbed the cloth, “I am sorry.” She said once more before continuing on and walking past Sandor.

She did not know that he would worship that cloth. Keep it in his armor, and keep it in his rooms when he slept.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

When Robert mixed drinking and hunting too often, a boar attacked him. Leaving him so injured he was on a deathbed.

The princess visited her father each day, morning, noon, and night. And when he died, she stayed confined to her chambers. Her only company she’d allow was her Septa. Though the girl was grown enough to be without a Septa, hers was closer to a mother. Since the girl never had one, her septa was there for all her girlhood. So she insisted on keeping around.

Sandor often checked on the girl, though of course she was not wise to this.

He would open her door, just a crack. He would listen in just to be sure she was alright. One day when he decided to open her door he heard her and her Septa speaking plainly.

“Do you think the boar was the Gods doing?” The girl asked as she stared out her window with a stoic and dazed expression.

“Hm?” Her septa responded, looking up from the needlepoint she mindlessly toyed at.

The girl did not look at her septa. Simply continued to stare out her window into nothingness. She paused for a moment, not speaking, “I’d a dream the Stranger came to those woods. He changed into a boar and killed my father for his deviance.” She spoke of such morbid dreams with no emotion attached to it at all.

“How awful.” Her septa gasped, throwing her needle point down onto the table in front of her. “No dear girl I don’t think it was.” She said more gently, “You dream too much.”

The girl shrugged, still not looking at the old woman. “I suppose I’m trying to find the Gods in everything I do.”

“Prayer is best for that. Not such morbid dreams.” The old Septa said, picking her needle point back up.

The girl did not respond for a moment, still simply staring out into nothing. “Do you think they’re real?” She asked softly and without shame. “Do you truly believe it? Never did you doubt it?” She asked, finally looking at the Old Septa.

“They are real.” She asserted sternly, “You believe they aren’t?”

The girl sighed, not wanting for a lecture, “I know the Gods are a necessity for people. Like food, water. I know they must exist. But I also know they don’t.” She said calmly. Her words stuck with Sandor like a knife driven into his back.

“What a terrible thing to say.” Her septa said shocked.

“Is it?” The girl's eyes narrowed in confusion, “It’s just my thoughts.”

The septa shook her head looking back to her needle point. “You think too much, dear girl.”

The girl sighed and went back to looking out her window, “Seems I do too much and not enough.”

Without many words at all, this lonely girl would consume Sandor’s every thought. She was smart and kind. Two things Sandor did not think of himself.

He did not believe in the Gods, because if there were Gods, why did they punish this girl? Perhaps she was his punishment. Perhaps he was hers. Perhaps it was the world that was their punishment.

This girl should be queen. She’d be a good one, a better one then her cunt brother. She’d be loved by the small folk and no doubt able to keep some kind of peace, even with the war. She’d not let her pride keep the seventh kingdom. If they wanted independence they’d have it. Clearly they could fight well enough on their own. But she was not queen. But she was his.

How her hair laid against the delicate fabric of her pillow. She was all too precious for his affections. He couldn’t help it really, he felt drawn towards her. Felt a stronger pull towards her than he felt towards anything, even food or water. But he’d never subject her to his presence.

He simply needed to see her, needed to know she was safe.

She slept sweetly, her breathing though loud was the calmest noise he’d heard. It was like the sounds of waves meeting the sands.

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes he would fantasize about what it would feel like to sleep beside her. For her to invite him into her bed. To sleep in his arms. He’d feel her heartbeat against his own. He’d smell her scent, and feel her chest rise and fall with each breath. He never slept well, but he believed if she was in his arms, perhaps he could.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As time went by, the royal family debated what to do with the girl. She was not a Baratheon Lannister, she was the reminder of Robert's first marriage, a reminder that Joffrey was not the true king.

Sandor stood guard by the small council’s chamber door as he heard the girl’s step mother Cersei say, “She’s as wild as the boar that killed her father. No man would want her, she is too difficult. So give her to the Tyrell’s, a poisoned gift.”

Overcome with a myriad of emotions, anger, sadness, and grief, Sandor rushed to the girl's chambers.

Sandor stood behind her door. His hand firmly grasped the door handle, and his forehead rested against the wood of the door.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity.

He wanted to open the door, ask- no beg you to run away with him. He wanted to tell you all the things he felt for you. Wanted to protect you.

But he was a second son, a kingsguard, he had no land, and no money. He had nothing to offer you, he didn’t even have a handsome face to bargain with.

And so, he let the handle of the door go, and he walked down the hall. He considered it mercy.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Instead of subjecting that poor girl to his company he decided to subject tavern dwellers to him instead. That night, as her marriage was announced, Sandor sank into his cups.

Though even there he was not protected from talks of her betroval.

Beside Sandor at another table were four men,

“Say what you will, I think it’s a perfect match! Loras Tyrell loves a Baratheon!” Some oaf shouted as he slammed his cup onto the table laughing.

“Aye but she’s missin’ a cock now isn’t she!” A shorter guard shouted out.

Sandor wanted to break the fool's jaws for speaking of her situation with such amusement. “Too bad for Loras, and too bad for all the other men in the realm!” A bald guard added,

The shorter guard raised his cup, “Hear hear. I’ll miss seeing that girl… Miss seeing her bend over to pick flowers.”

The bald guard nodded in a facade of sadness, “Aye that ass will be missed-”

“No, her pair of tits will be missed!” The fatter guard spoke up.

“Nay her cunt! Ah and what a waste she’ll be giving it to a boy whore.” One of the men said, it was enough for Sandor to slam his cup onto the table in anger. He was trying with all his might to hold onto his restraint.

Though this did not go unnoticed by the men at the table. The oafish one spoke up again, “What of you Clegane?” He said getting closer to the Hound, “You guard that sweet stag so loyally. Surely you’ve thought of what her cunt tastes like-”

Without another thought, Sandor took the man by the back of his head and slammed it into the table. His nose broke and his teeth cracked. Sandor took his dagger out and stabbed it through the man's hand. His blade took one of the man’s fingers.

Sandor stood, taking his drink with him, “You speak to me like that again, I’ll take more than a finger.” He warned as he left the tavern in a huff.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Against his better judgment, that night Sandor checked in on that girl.

She was with her Septa again. He hoped that she were alone, if she were perhaps in his drunken state he’d have actually begged her to run off with him.

“My father would never have allowed this.” The girl said with a scared and sorrowful waiver of her voice, “Though I suppose it will be a relief to be gone from this place.” She sniffled, “I just don’t want to be forgotten.”

“You’ll not be forgotten, dear girl.” Her Septa said petting her hair.

“I suppose if I were to marry anyone in this city it would be him.” She shrugged, “But, I am unsure of how I could please him. You know of his nature. Know of his relationship with my uncle. I care not for any moral righteousness and I hold no judgment of it. But how could I ever make him happy?” She asked desperately, frightened by the prospects of her future.

Her Septa grasped the girl by her shoulders tightly, “You will make him happy by giving his children royal blood.”

“And how can I even do that?” The girl put her face into her hands,

“You are familiar with the act, I have explained it-”

The girl interrupted, “I won’t want it.”

Her Septa sighed, “A dreadful duty for some wives. Just lay there. Look at the ceiling and memorize the pattern of the trim. Count the seconds. Anything to let your mind wander away from your body.” She tried her best to comfort the girl, but clearly was doing nothing to help the girl’s fear.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As Sandor took leave of his duties. He threw off his armor without caution, and nearly ripped his clothing off himself. He was angry, no, he was enraged.

This girl did not deserve this. She deserved none of the shit those blonde shits put her through. And the words of ‘advice’ given to her by her septa only enraged him more. She should have told her to slip poison in his wine.

Sandor sat down on his bed in his small clothes with a huff. His weight made the bed creek and bow. He drank from a wineskin as he thought of it all. Soon his anger subsided, replaced with a defeated sorrow.

Naught could be done for her. This much he knew for certain.

So, after his wineskin ran dry he laid down. Finally allowing his body to rest even though his mind could not.

As he laid there, stripped of his armor and steel. As his sensitive skin laid against the rough material of his bedding he was reminded once more that he, and his body were punished. Punished by both too much, and not enough.

Too much combat, too much drinking, too many tourneys, too many cuts and bruises. So much he endured, and his body was punished for it. He ached and felt pains all over his body all the time. His scars were sensitive and hurt in warm bath water.

But as he laid there he was again reminded how he had not enough. Not enough gentle touches, enough love and care. Though of course he’d never admit it to anyone. His body felt truly alone in his bed. He wished he could have felt her around him. He’d fucked before, that would not shock anyone. But he’d never made love to anyone. And Gods did he need to.

He thought of it often, kissing her. He’d do it gently. He’d be gentle with her. She deserved gentleness. He’d kiss her while he held her face in his palms. Kiss her neck, press his lips against her skin and lick where she was most sensitive- wherever those spots were. Gods he wanted to know where they were.

He felt shameful for thinking this way, he really did. He was no better than those men in that tavern. But, he’d be good to her.

He’d make her his wife, in the eyes of The Seven. He’d build her a home. It wouldn’t be like the one she’d been brought up in. Not a castle, but a house made of stone and wood. He’d give her safety, love. And as his hand began to wonder his punished body he thought of how he’d give her children.

He wished to know how her body would feel in hands. How it would feel to have his hands caress her breasts, the curves of her body, the soft plumpness of her belly. He wondered how it would feel to be inside of her. How his cock would feel to slide in and out of her slick, warm, inviting cunt. He did not know, but he did know it would have felt oh so much better than his calassed hand that was wrapped around his length now.

Though his actions were vulgar and sexual, he did not think of it as that. He couldn’t think of her for long without feeling the need to have her. To be close to her. To please her. To hold her close and make her feel safe under his touch, to make her feel loved and desired with his body, his hands, and his mouth.

He thought of what her septa told her. That she’d have to lay down and take it. If she was with him she’d want it, she’d never be forced. Bedding would be a pleasure not a duty.

His groans loudened, and his breathing quickened as he thought of how she’d ask him for it. How gentle her touch would feel on his ruined skin.

Soon he was awoken from his day dream as the hot splash of his release jolted his mind back to reality.

He did not have her, and she for all he knew, did not want him.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

And so the Hound was left with nothing to do but sit and watch as the love of his life was preparing to leave his life forever.

He felt his heart breaking as he escorted the royals to the docks with the rest of the Kingsguard. He felt his eyes water as she began to step onto the dock, and approach the boat that would take her away from him.

Naught could be done for her.

So without a word the Hound offered the girl his hand. She took it, gently. He helped her into the boat. Her gaze fell onto him, and Gods it felt warm. He wanted to cut through them all. Wanted to take her off that boat and ride her away on Stranger. He’d do all the things he thought of the night before. Build her a home, keep her safe, and he’d love her. But they didn’t live in that world.

The princess would marry that Tyrell. She’d have his sons, whether she wanted it or not. And she would never know how much her dog loved her.

The Hound watched as the boat sailed away with the girl he had loved all his life.

It’s the world that’s awful.

Thank you so much for your request! It was so much fun to write!!

Requester: @rhinestonecowboysworld

294 notes · View notes

ssahotchnerr · 1 year ago

Note

So the mom friend!reader fic?? What if she’s sick and trying to hide it from the others, especially Aaron, while at work and also still trying being the mom friend 😭🖤

hidden efforts

AWW cw; fem!reader, being sick descriptions, established relationship (aaron and reader are married), fluff <333 continued from simultaneously

despite hand sanitizer and vitamin c, whatever cold spencer had managed to overtake your immune system next. brutally.

you woke up feeling unwell, but it was just a distant pang. nothing major, nothing worth staying home over. but as the day moved forward you began to regret your decision; you barely had the strength to lift a pen. and through the course of the morning, the trash bin hidden underneath your desk had grown dangerously full of tissues.

while you loved taking care of others, you didn't favor being the one being coddled. unless it was by someone with the first name aaron, last name hotchner. but even then, would you be reluctant to admit it.

"hey, do you know what-"

"2:30." you foolishly pushed your voice, attempting to hide the hoarseness within it - to sound as normal as you possibly could.

derek crossed his arms, amused sass in his voice, "i didn't even finish my question."

"but i answered it, didn't i?" you tried your hardest to return a teasing smile, but it was half your best. instead, you fought back a sneeze, prompting your eyes to water and nose to burn.

he nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly in suspicion. but he dropped it quickly, moving on.

and for the meantime, you turned back to the waiting work in front of you, forcing yourself to get something done.

"hey."

aaron's voice and sudden hands on the back of your chair caused you to jump in your seat. he quickly squeezed your shoulders, silently apologizing for startling you.

"you ready...?" his voice trailed off as his eyes scanned the contents of your desk, littered with cough drop wrappers and a few scrunched up tissues.

you did your best to block the scraps from his view - leaning forward, discreetly swiping them off side towards the container holding your pens - almost letting a cough escape as you opened your mouth. "y-yeah-"

"what are those?"

"the action reports for-"

"no, not that." aaron reached forward and plucked a wrapper off your desk, holding it up between his finger pads. his lips formed into a pout, "sweetheart, are you not feeling well?"

"i'm feeling perfectly fine."

due to the wheels on your chair, aaron was easily able to maneuver you back, exposing your tissue-filled bin. "then what's this?"

"allergies?" you offered, in a hopeful tone - maybe he'd buy that?

but naturally, your husband knew better, "why didn't you tell me you felt sick?"

"i'm not sick, jus' a cold." you swiveled your chair around, peering up at him.

the back of aaron's hand found your forehead, the scowl on his face deepening at his findings. "i don't think so. you're running a temperature, and now that i have a better look at you, you're rather flushed as well."

"flushed or not, we have a meeting-"

"no, we have a meeting." aaron responded, referring to himself and the others, "you're going right up to my office and laying down."

you gazed at him exasperatedly, playing up that look in your eyes, the one that was nearly impossible for him to say no to. "aaron-"

"nope, i’m not falling for it this time," he helped you to your feet, his hand supporting the far side of your hip as you wobbled vaguely. his eyes darted to the right, taking quick notice of someone walking by, "anderson, would you mind grabbing a water bottle and bringing it to my office?"

"so much for vitamin c, huh?" derek chimed in from his desk, his playful smile also on the sympathetic side.

you rolled your eyes, but allowed aaron to guide you up the few stairs into his office, gratefully.

he insisted you lay down on the couch (and not get up for the life of you), he insisted you keep the lights off, he insisted you use his suit jacket as a makeshift blanket.

"we'll head home once this concludes. if you need anything, give me a call, or send a text. i'll be here." aaron brushed your hair away from your forehead, placing a gentle kiss on it afterwards. "and, choice of soup is yours tonight."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you

2K notes · View notes

prdx-invdr · 8 months ago

Text

୨୧⸝⸝﹕it’s salty in the middle of those sweet moments.

SUMMARY! for reasons unknown to him, you seem to absolutely hate lee anton. on several occasions, he’s tried to hate you right back, but found that it can be difficult to dislike someone when you’re completely infatuated with them.

PAIRING! lee anton x fem!reader

GENRE! college!au, slice of life, swim team!au idk what to call it actually but anton and reader are both captains, fluff, angst (kinda), (one-sided) enemies to lovers WC 6.6k

WARNING! swearing, reader is mean to anton for a while, miscommunication, i have no knowledge of swimming as a sport and had to do a lot of research for this one so sorry if this contains some inaccuracies, not proofread

NOTE! when anon requested this i jumped out of my seat bc rivals to lovers with anton was my very first wip on this acc but i scrapped it and this gave me an excuse to write abt it again

anton thinks the world of you while you think nothing of him. he’s unsure of how someone he thinks of so highly could hate him so much, and he’s even more unsure of how he could still be so enamored by you despite knowing that you feel the exact opposite way about him.

he gave up on trying to understand the root of your hatred towards him long ago.

at first, he assumed that you were just jealous of the fact that the boy’s swim team had a bigger budget than the girl’s. this wasn’t anton’s fault by any means, but he thought that you might’ve been taking your anger out on him due to his position as team captain. the school administration seemed to simply favor the boy’s swim team over yours, and even anton knew that it wasn’t fair. the favoritism meant that anton’s team received better funding, which inevitably meant better… everything.

anton vividly remembers the glare that you’re always giving him only growing in intensity the day he and his team stepped into the pool area wearing their brand new goggles and swim trunks. he recalls the way the other girls on your team looked down at their own worn out swimsuits upon seeing anton’s team’s new attire, and he felt terrible. if it were up to him, he would’ve entered the room wearing the same faded blue swim jammers he and his teammates were forced to wear at the start of the semester if it meant you’d stop looking at him with such disdain in your eyes.

if this had been the reason behind your distaste for the boy, he would’ve understood. but the hatred you held for him extended beyond swimming, too.

“your hair looks stupid like that,” he hears you mutter from behind him. he turns around, an indifferent expression adorning his features to mask his nervousness.

the fact that you still manage to get the boy’s heart racing and his palms sweating despite your cruel words is baffling to him.

anton’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, wanting to retaliate but not having the slightest idea what to say. “my hair looks like this everyday,” is all he can pathetically exhale.

you’re still staring at him with a furrowed brow and he stares back at you, perplexed. he wonders if you have anything else to say to him or if you were insulting his hair for the pure fun of it. he thinks he’d be fine with either, because at least you’re talking to him.

he feels like slapping himself in the forehead at his own lovesickness.

after a few moments of silence, you scoff, signaling with your hand that you want him to move out of your way.

wordlessly, anton obliges, stepping aside and watching as you continue on your way to whatever class you have next. he notices merely seconds afterwards that the hallway he’s currently standing in isn’t narrow in the slightest, meaning you could’ve easily gone around him and still insisted on making him move. he wishes he could dislike you— he really does.

anton turns around to find sohee and seunghan now leaning against the wall, having observed the entire interaction between you and their love-struck friend. sohee looks at him pitifully while seunghan claps, slowly and sarcastically.

“don’t,” is all anton says to them, hanging his head. he knows that they’d like to drill another lesson into his mind about how he needs to stop letting you push him around like that, and he’s not in the mood for it.

“anton, my man,” seunghan sighs, putting an arm around his shoulders. “i get that you like her, i really do, and that she’s pretty and all,” he feels anton’s shoulders momentarily tense at his words, “but i don’t think she’s into you. like, at all.”

anton shrugs the older boy’s arm off, shaking his head. “i don’t like her,” he lies through gritted teeth. sohee and seunghan share an unamused look.

in actuality, the two of them were there to witness anton fall for you firsthand. when their younger friend first saw you and two of your friends walking through the quad area of campus, they watched the way his eyes widened and the way the oxygen left his lungs. they recall thinking that anton’s heart would burst out of his chest and fall right onto the grass below the three of them. his friends were in disbelief that anton was currently standing in front of them and denying his feelings for you when they quite literally saw him develop said feelings in real time.

when anton found out that you were captain of the girl’s swim team, it only solidified the way he felt about you. being captain of the boy’s swim team himself, he thought it was the perfect setup. he was too shy to nonchalantly walk up to you and initiate conversation, but he had the notion that swimming would make good enough of an excuse.

his hopes of becoming acquainted with you through your shared interest in the sport were crushed almost immediately. when he first tried to strike up a conversation with you, you sent him a scowl that intimidated him into walking the other way. on a separate occasion, he attempted to talk to you again, only for you to turn your head and pretend that you hadn’t heard him. he hasn’t tried to initiate anything ever since, the only time the two of you ever interact being whenever you glare at him or make a remark about him in passing.

he never found out what your problem was when it came to him, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

anton sees sohee and seunghan’s solemn faces and scoffs. “i’m serious, guys!” he complains, “you’ve seen the way she acts towards me. why would i like somebody like that? that’s like setting myself up for failure.” his chest tightens as the words leave his mouth. he only said that so his friends would drop the subject, but he knows that there’s truth behind his statement. the two boys only exhale disappointedly.

sohee purses his lips. “if she didn’t absolutely hate you for no reason, you guys would probably look good together,” he comments. seunghan nods, “too bad she’s got a stick up her ass.”

for whatever reason, anton wants to defend you and tell his friend that there is no stick up your ass— you’re only hostile when it comes to him. he realizes how pitiful that sentence would sound to sohee and seunghan and decides against saying it out loud.

“stop being hung up on that girl, anton,” sohee chimes, putting a hand on his friend’s arm, “there’s plenty of fish in the sea. you would know all about that, right? since you’re a swimmer and all.”

seunghan hits sohee in the arm jokingly. “he’s on the swim team, not a fucking merman.”

“he’s so cute, are you kidding me?” you hear rei practically squeal as you step into the locker room. she and jiwon are both already wearing their swimsuits, and the latter looks up upon hearing you enter the room.

“who are we talking about?” you smile, setting down your backpack. it’s late in the afternoon and you’re relieved to be done with your classes for the day, finally able to do what you love most.

“um,” jiwon begins, “no one in particular. right, rei?” your friend sounds a bit on edge as she turns to the girl sitting on the bench beside her, who shrugs. “we’re talking about anton,” she replies, earning a slap on the arm from jiwon. “ow! what the hell?”

jiwon watches as you halt your process of taking off your shirt, about to change into your swimsuit. she knew that your mood would turn sour at the mention of the boy; it’s a known fact amongst the members of your team that you hate lee anton.

“you think anton is cute?” you turn to rei, frowning. the girl lets out a huff of air, her bangs moving in the process. “i don’t see how you don’t,” she mutters, “and i don’t get why you hate his guts either. he’s super nice.”

you continue changing, the two girls looking away from you as you do so out of respect. “you wouldn’t understand,” is all you say in response. jiwon bites her lip, feeling bad for the boy. she’s seen it all— the fleeting, longing glances anton sends your way, and the scornful looks you send him in return. she doesn’t comment on it, not wanting to upset you, but a minuscule, intrusive part of her desperately wants to know what’s going on between you and the captain of the boy’s team.

rei, however, seems to know no boundaries. “would you be mad if i dated him, then?” she chortles, giddily kicking her legs. not facing you, she doesn’t see the way you grow tense at her question. you open your mouth to respond when a knock at the locker room door startles the three of you.

the door opens a fraction and you turn to see yujin pop her head inside. “are you guys almost ready?” she asks, scanning the room before her eyes land on you. “oh, hey, captain,” she smiles, eyes forming crescents. you wave, and the older girl continues. “coach wanted me to remind you guys that we have a joint training session today,” she clenches her teeth for a second, eyes moving to jiwon and rei who are wearing matching nervous expressions at the reminder. “you know, with the boys team,” yujin finishes, not daring to look you in the eye in fear of how you might react.

as captain of the team, you were curious as to why your coach would want to remind you of that, seeing as you were often the first person to obtain this information. upon deeper thought, you realize it was probably because even your coach knew about your hatred towards anton and wanted you to stay focused this time around rather than glaring at him every few minutes. you almost let out a laugh at the thought.

“you hear that, captain?” rei teases, “prepare yourself! don’t let anton distract you this time.”

you throw a towel in her direction, earning a grunt from her. “i should be telling you that,” you scold, “seeing as you’re obsessed with him all of a sudden.”

rei laughs, and you’re unsure of how to feel when you come to the realization that she didn’t disagree with your statement.

once you finally leave the locker room, you come face to face with your sworn enemy himself.

anton doesn’t look in your direction for as long as he normally does, memories of your interaction from earlier in the day flooding his mind. no matter how small of a gesture it is, your teammates take notice of it. “he’s not staring at you today,” gaeul whispers, shocked.

you only shake your head. “like i care,” you spit, crossing your arms, “i prefer it that way, actually. he should focus on his own team.”

wonyoung puts her hands on your shoulders from behind, lightly shaking you. “loosen up, okay?” she advises, her own eyes drifting over to anton’s team. as if on cue, anton looks over at you for a moment, watching as you joke around with your teammate. he wishes that you were even half as nice to him as you are to your team, wondering what it would be like to laugh with you the same way wonyoung is right now.

noticing anton’s preoccupied state, one of his teammates calls out to him. “captain!” anton turns his head away from you, looking his teammate in the eye. “yeah, taesan? you need something?” he inquires, getting back into his leader headspace. taesan looks over anton’s shoulder at your team, making the inference that he had been distracted by you. like always, taesan thinks to himself.

“do some stretches with me, yeah?” he says, wanting anton to fully dedicate himself to practicing instead of letting you pose as an obstacle.

anton is a good team captain— any of his teammates can attest. but it feels like anytime you’re in his presence, he’s only able to give 80% as opposed to his usual hundred, the other 20% being spent completely fixated on you.

he walks over to his dark haired teammate with a nod, agreeing to help him warm up. he thinks it serves as a more productive way to pass time than staring at you like a lovesick idiot.

“i was thinking,” taesan starts, copying the way anton does shoulder stretches to loosen his joints, “well, me and leehan were talking about it, actually. we should do a bonfire later, at the beach,” he tells the older boy.

anton licks his lips, nodding absentmindedly. “just you and leehan?” he asks, looking around the room for the boy in question. he sees leehan standing in the corner looking disinterested and waves him over. with an inaudible sigh, leehan reluctantly joins the two boys who are now doing tricep stretches. taesan shakes his head in response to the question anton had posed, “no, i meant, like, the whole team,” he corrects. “tell him, leehan,” taesan nudges his teammate.

“i hate stretching,” leehan murmurs, gaze aimed towards the white tiles beneath him. “about the bonfire, dumbass,” taesan deadpans. leehan perks up at the mention of something that he actually cares about. “oh, yeah! we’re gonna invite the whole team,” he grins, “it’ll be a blast, anton. you’ve gotta go.”

anton thinks it over, biting the inside of his cheek. “it’s already kind of late though, no?” he points out, causing the two boys on either side of him to groan. “bonfires are literally supposed to happen at night,” taesan comments at the same time leehan says, “don’t be such a buzzkill.”

“is the girls team invited?” anton can’t stop himself from asking, earning more groans from the two boys. “i don’t want to go through the trouble of inviting them,” leehan complains. “yeah,” his friend nods, “plus, he’s only asking because he wants their captain to be there.”

taesan’s comment makes anton come to a halt, and he’s now the only one out of the three of them no longer stretching. “that’s not true,” he defends himself, “i just feel kind of bad. i mean, we already have a bigger budget than them, and stuff.”

“keep telling yourself that, champ,” leehan grumbles. “we see right through you.” anton steps forward, looking at both of them simultaneously. “guys, seriously,” he says lowly, “i feel bad.”

taesan lets out a laugh, “right, you feel bad that you won’t be able to make heart eyes at y/n tonight.”

anton rubs his palm across his face, frustrated. “here’s an offer for you. you either invite the girls team, or…” he pauses, attempting to appear intimidating, “you’re not allowed to have the bonfire at all.”

the two boys scoff in unison. “you can’t just do that,” taesan snorts, “you’re our captain, not our mom.” anton scratches his head at that, disorientated. “look, i— okay,” he tries again, “i don’t know. i’ll buy you guys food, or something.”

it’s now taesan and leehan’s turn freeze in their places. “why didn’t you start with that?”

practice ends faster than you wish it had and you hoist your bag over your shoulder. you turn to jiwon and rei, about to ask if they’re ready to leave when you’re interrupted by two loud voices. “girls! hey!” you turn your head to see two members of the boys swim team— who’s names you never bothered to learn— running up to you and your friends.

“hey,” one of them pants, “don’t leave yet.” you look at your friends once more, studying their expressions that look just as confused as yours. “anton wanted— ouch!” the boy is interrupted by his friend slapping him on the arm harshly, as if he had said something wrong. “all of us, i mean, wanted to know if you girls would like to join us tonight,” the boy finishes, rubbing his arm while sending a subtle glare in his friend’s direction.

“join you.. in doing what, exactly?” you inquire, serious as ever. the two boys seemingly grow smaller under your intimidating gaze as if they hadn’t anticipated your somber attitude. “we’re doing a bonfire,” the other boy replies, pointing his thumb in the direction of the rest of his team. you look over the boy’s shoulder, your eyes landing upon anton, who is already looking at you. upon seeing your eyes scan over him, he looks away.

rei claps her hands together a few times, “we’ll be there! thank you for inviting us.” her words startle you and you open your mouth to protest. you had just been seconds away from telling the boys in front of you that you weren’t interested.

“yeah, count us in!” jiwon chimes, and you want the tiled floor below to swallow you whole. “you guys have fun, then,” you tell them, eyes swimming with boredom, “i’m going home.”

“no!” the boys in front of you shout in unison, startling you and your team. “you have to come. especially,” one of them pleads. “and why is that?” you put one hand on your hip, intimidating them further.

everyone already seems to know the answer to your question before the boys can even formulate the words to say it. “our captain wants you to.”

your teammates all but drag you to the beach against your will, uttering complaints about how you “need to learn how to have fun” and how they’ve “been waiting for something exciting like this to happen”.

within the first 5 minutes of your arrival, you’ve already tried to escape more times than your friends are able to count. wonyoung had to keep a tight grip on your wrist to ensure that you wouldn’t go anywhere, and you swear at the girl in your head for being stronger than she appears.

“i can’t believe anton himself told his friends to invite us just so he could see y/n,” rei mutters, astonished, “do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

“that’s definitely not the reason,” you deny, already wanting to drop the topic, “they probably just thought it would be funny because everybody on the planet knows that i hate him.”

and while taesan and leehan are most definitely aware of your hatred towards their captain, their reasoning for inviting you and your team really was because anton wanted to see you.

“invite the girls team!” leehan mocks, intentionally making his voice sound higher, “i feel sooo bad for them!” anton pays no mind to the way he’s being blatantly teased, his eyes trained on you. “feel bad for them my ass,” taesan comments under his breath, “he’s already making heart eyes at her, just like i said.”

“you’re a real masochist, you know that?” leehan adds, waving a hand in front of anton’s line of sight. the taller boy blinks in response as if he had broken out of whatever trance you had him under. “that girl doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she hates you, and you’re still, like, obsessed with her.”

anton sharply exhales through his nose, not needing another reminder of the fact that you dislike him and that he’s stupid for helplessly pining after you.

“i’ve heard that a million times,” he retorts, “and i’m not obsessed with her. in fact, i’m starting to hate her, too.”

he thinks that lying to his teammates is just as difficult as lying to sohee and seunghan, only receiving humorless looks in response to his statement. “right,” taesan scoffs, “you hate her so much that you forced me and leehan to invite the entire girls swim team just so you could see her.” anton lightly hits him with the back of his hand, muttering, “i told you that’s not the reason.”

all three boys turn to look at you, arms crossed and unamused. “oh, man,” leehan laughs, “she’s bored out of her fucking mind.” anton watches you carefully, your eyes burning a hole in the sand beneath your shoes. “why don’t you go talk to her, captain?” taesan teases, slapping his friend on the back boyishly. anton staggers forward about a centimeter due to the impact, looking back at the boy. “or anyone on the girls team, for that matter. since you made us invite every single one of them,” leehan quips.

but anton thinks that talking to you would only dampen your mood even further, and he doesn’t want the glare that you’re currently directing towards the sand to be aimed at him. “try talking to her, right there,” leehan points to someone in your general direction and anton follows his finger with his gaze, “naoi rei. she’s one of y/n’s closest friends, i think.”

taesan lets out another scoff, “yeah, but she’s not y/n. anton wants y/n, not the next best thing.”

jiwon and rei stand next to the bonfire, and you overhear one of them comment on how it isn’t as big as they were expecting it to be. you see wonyoung and yujin sitting on some large rocks a short distance away from the shore. you quickly scan the perimeter looking for gaeul, who you find sitting on the sand and looking up at the stars. your friends are all enjoying themselves— why aren’t you?

as per usual, you want to blame your discomfort on the fact that anton is in your vicinity. but how exactly could you do that when he hasn’t interacted with you all night?

come to think of it, your last interaction with the boy in question was earlier today when you told him that his hair looked stupid. you shake your head at the memory— you hadn’t even meant it. you actually liked his hair, but you’d rather drop dead than admit that to him. you hate lee anton with a burning passion, and you hate that you like his hair.

you hate that you’re currently sitting here wishing that he would come up to you and say something. after all, your friends dragged you here and his teammates made it seem as though your attendance was obligatory. the way you see it, the least anton could do after subjecting you to all of that is talk to you. you suppose that you can’t really blame him for not wanting to, though. you kick the sand beneath you at the realization.

you’re not sure how much time you spend thinking about the boy you swear to hate with every fiber of your being, but you conclude that a few long minutes must’ve gone by, because suddenly you look up and find that both your team and anton’s team are gathered around the fire. you watch them carefully, eyes wandering from individual to individual.

you see yujin laughing with some guy from the other team. you see the two boys that invited you and your friends to this very event. finally, your eyes land on anton, and you regret it almost immediately.

he’s nervously scratching the back of his neck the way you often catch him doing. he’s got a bashful smile on his lips as he looks down at whoever he’s currently talking to. you crane your neck to see who that may be, and find that it’s none other than your own teammate and friend— naoi rei.

you make a face of disgust that no one sees, and only then do you realize that you’re still standing a good distance away from the large group. “oh my god,” you scowl. you run a hand over your face, conflicted. you already hated being here, and seeing anton converse with one of your closest friends might’ve just made your attitude towards this whole situation a million times worse. you know that rei is probably over the moon right now, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye and a girlish smile.

you want to be happy for her— you think that any good friend would jump at the sight of their teammate getting along with the person they find attractive— and you swear that you would be if the person she was talking to was anyone but him. you tell yourself that it’s because rei deserves better than him, ignoring the way your heart plummets. he was only going to chase after you for so long.

you shake your head rapidly as if it would rid your mind of the thought, not knowing where it came from in the first place.

you need to get out of here— asap.

you hate lee anton and you hate that you like his hair and you hate that you spent a decent amount of time tonight wishing that he’d speak to you.

you hate that you even care in the slightest that he’s currently flirting with your best friend and you hate that almost everyone here managed to convince you that he and his teammates invited you simply because he wanted you here.

you discreetly make your way around the group, advancing towards the shore. you don’t think anyone sees you as you do so, hearing the sound of their laughter grow more distant with each step you take towards the sea. as you continue moving forward absentmindedly, you don’t realize that you’re already knees deep in the water until a salty wave crashes into you, reaching the area below your thigh.

“what are you doing?” your head quickly turns to find the source of the voice and you scowl once you realize who it is.

of course, anton chooses now to finally talk to you.

you turn back around, ignoring him, because that’s how you are— you think about him more than you’d ever like to admit and act indifferent towards him once he’s in your presence. anton watches as you turn your back to him, unsure of why he assumed that this interaction with you would be any different from your interactions in the past.

nonetheless, with bravery that he didn’t even know he had, anton continues talking. “you could get sick if you go any further,” he blurts out.

in truth, anton had been watching you through his peripheral vision as he was conversing with rei, and saw as you treaded through the sand and into the water. he excused himself— he had been looking for a way to escape the conversation anyway— and followed your silhouette that was now standing in the ocean, letting waves collide with your legs.

in retrospect, he should’ve thought of something to say to you beforehand, because if the mere act of him talking to you wasn’t enough to piss you off, anton was sure that lecturing you about how you could get sick from swimming at night would definitely cause you to flip your lid.

his suspicions appear to have been correct, because you whip your head back around and give him an angry look. “what are you doing here?” you spit, expecting him to flinch and avoid your gaze the same way that he always does.

“why can’t i be here?” he presses, furrowing his brow, and you’re the one that flinches. “do you own the ocean?”

you’re sure that steam would be coming out of your ears right now if you were living in an old cartoon. you clench your fist, taken aback.

“why do you hate me so much, y/n?” anton pleads, unable to prevent the million dollar question from leaving his lips. this is a position he never thought he’d find himself in; confronting you about your unadulterated hatred towards him while your entire bottom half is almost completely submerged in the ocean.

your lip quivers and you clench your teeth as you feel your resilient facade start to crack. neither you nor anton are sure where his daring attitude came from, but it seems to be catching both of you by surprise, because even the boy in question moves to wipe his palms against his jeans to rid them of their clamminess. “answer me,” he demands, his voice as soft as it normally is and yet it still intimidates you.

you turn around for the forth and final time, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of discovering the root of your distaste towards him. anton shakes his head, although you’re unable to see it, and sharply inhales in preparation for what he’s about to do.

he cautiously takes a step forward, letting the water dampen the cuffs of his jeans. he cringes, but proceeds nevertheless, mimicking the strides that you had taken minutes prior.

before you’re able to prevent it from happening, anton is standing directly beside you, jeans darkening as the water seeps into them, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

the tall boy leans forward, and you lean back. “answer me,” he repeats his previous words in a hushed voice.

you’re looking down at the water that the two of you are standing in and anton thinks it’s funny, for a moment, how the roles seem to be reversed— you’re tense and apprehensive while he’s bold and collected, trying to crane his neck to meet your downward pointed gaze.

“you should know the reason why,” he hears you speak under your breath. you finally look at him, eyes narrowed. “you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” you question, and he recoils.

“i’m not— what? why would— why do you think i’m making fun of you?” anton sputters, genuinely appalled at the accusation. he’s unable to wrap his head around what kind of thoughts might be running through your mind right now.

“because there’s no way in hell that you don’t know why i hate you, lee anton,” you say, words flying from your mouth hurriedly. “there’s no way you just let me push you around and stare at you like you’re the scum of the earth if you don’t know the reason why. you have to know,” you look into his eyes in search of an answer but you’re only met with confusion.

anton shakes his head. “i don’t know, y/n,” he begins, “i really don’t know, and i’m sorry if you think i’m playing a prank on you right now, but i’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

he looks down momentarily, his eyes landing on his wet jeans. when he looks back up, he’s zoned in on the way the moon makes your eyes look as though they’re sparkling, and he thinks it’s beautiful. “you may know this already,” he starts speaking again, “but i’m in love with you.”

he makes sure not to stutter or appear anxious in the slightest, afraid that if he made the slightest mistake, he’d try to prevent the words from leaving his mouth. and he needs you to know.

your lips part, his words shocking you more than anything else that has taken place tonight. “i’m always lying to my teammates and my friends, saying that i don’t like you because they think i’m insane for chasing after someone who wishes i didn’t even exist,” anton continues, his tone becoming sorrowful, “but i can’t lie anymore. especially not to you.”

by now, both of your hearts are pounding, and you’re sure that they would be audible if it weren’t for the sounds of the waves crashing. “so, no,” he says, “the reason i let you push me around isn’t because i know why you hate me. it’s because i’m in love with you, and no matter how hard i try, i can’t stop.”

he waits for you to respond, eyes trained on yours. you finally start speaking, lowly and carefully. “there was this guy,” you tell him, “you used to hang out with him last year. i would see you and him laughing together all the time, with two other friends of yours.”

taking in your words, anton ponders who you could be referring to before his eyes widen slightly. “wonbin?” he asks, although he has no doubt in his mind that you’re talking about his older friend. wonbin, seunghan, sohee and anton were practically attached at the hip during the latter’s freshman year of college, and when wonbin made the decision to drop out in order to pursue a career in music, the other three were left to fend for themselves.

you scoff, despite wanting to contain your hostility towards the boy after his confession. “i don’t know his name,” you mumble, “but yeah, that’s probably him.”

anton nods, urging you to continue. he’s finally going to find out why you’ve disliked him for as long as he can remember and he doesn’t want to waste a second. “he told me that you liked me,” you say, watching as the boy flinches in your peripheral at your words. “and i was so happy at the time because i liked you, too.”

it’s anton’s turn to be stunned by your confession, not believing the words that are coming out of your mouth. “i would always look at you, but you’d never look at me back. when your friend— wonbin, i guess— told me that you liked me, i thought that meant you would talk to me,” you shake your head at the memory, “but you never did. it was like i didn’t even exist to you.”

you keep talking, quietly, “every single person who knew me knew that i liked you. one day, i saw you guys laughing together like you always did, and then it clicked in my brain.” you’re silent for a moment before you continue. “i figured that you must’ve known that i liked you, too, and told your friend to say that to me as some sort of cruel joke.”

anton is yet again appalled at your words. “you only seemed to start caring about my existence at the beginning of last semester. you tried to come up to me a few times, and i always assumed it was because you were finally feeling bad about the whole wonbin thing and wanted to apologize, and i didn’t want to hear it. it was around that time that i started hating you.”

you scratch the back of your neck, not having thought that you’d ever admit any of this to the boy standing beside you. anton swallows before he thinks over his next words. “i didn’t know about any of that,” he assures you, and he can sense that you doubt his words momentarily because he starts talking faster. “i’m not sure what prompted wonbin to say that to you, but i can tell you this,” he whispers, “i’ve been in love with you from the very first time i saw you, and no amount of insults or glares from you is ever going to change that.” for a moment, even the waves of the ocean seem to still, leaving only the sound of anton’s voice ringing in your ears.

you’re not used to feeling this vulnerable, and the fact that you’re sharing a moment like this with lee anton— the man you (no longer) hate— sends a shiver down your spine. you find yourself searching for a sense of familiarity, even if it comes in the form of playful banter rather than the usual insult.

“say that again,” you tell him, and he’s unsure if you’re being serious at first. when silence lingers in the air, he finally begins speaking. “i’ve… been in love with you since the first time i saw you,” anton says, unsure. you shake your head, displeased.

“put it in the present tense,” you purse your lips, crossing your arms. anton lets out a curt laugh, now realizing that you’re actually joking with him. so this, he thinks, is what it feels like to laugh with you. “i’m in love with you, y/n,” by now, he’s adorning a smile that reaches his eyes, head slightly tilted towards the ground bashfully.

“wanna know something, lee anton? i think i might be, too.”

weeks later, you’re swinging open the doors to the pool area, the smell of chlorine crashing into you as you step inside.

the boys team is in the middle of practicing, leehan and taesan— who’s names you finally learned after enduring weeks of their relentless teasing, always having to hear a complaint from them about how their team captain is even less focused than before since the two of you started dating— spotting you almost immediately. they let out exaggerated groans, knowing they now have to witness you and anton grossly interact.

“captain!” taesan calls out with dread lacing his tone, “your girlfriend is here.” upon hearing that, anton, who is currently in the pool, whips his head around so quickly that you’re almost positive he could’ve gotten whiplash. you wave, and rather than exiting the water, he swims over to where you stand on the poolside. looking up at you, he smiles, slightly out of breath. “hey, lovely,” he says, removing the goggles from around his head so he can study you better.

he pays no mind to the sounds of his teammates gagging in the background, not looking anywhere but at you.

to say that both your team and anton’s team were surprised upon hearing about your blossoming relationship with the boy would be an understatement. not only did both teams have to grow accustomed to the fact that you no longer hated anton, but they also needed to get used to the mere concept of you two dating each other. it wasn’t as though you two no longer served as distractions to the other, however— if anything, you both stared at each other even more than you had previously, the difference being that now you looked at anton with adoration in your eyes rather than resentment.

“i don’t know if seeing you two together makes my heart want to explode with joy, or if it makes me wanna throw up,” you recall rei telling you during practice one day. anton has shared similar stories, stating that although both taesan and leehan are happy to see their captain in a relationship with the girl he’s been pining after, they hate the way anton apparently never shuts up about you during training.

you look down at the boy, flashing him a smile of your own. droplets of water threaten to fall into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “hey,” you hum, “i won’t bother you long. just checking in.” anton shakes his head, water spraying the floor beneath you in the process. “you never bother me,” he says.

“oh, hush,” you wave your hand dismissively. “i’m serious. hey, can you come down here for a sec?” anton asks, gesturing for you to crouch next to the pool. you give him a suspicious look, morphing your lips into a tight line. “anton, i’m not letting you pull me in there.”

he shakes his head again, letting out a laugh. “i’m not gonna pull you in,” he tells you, and you still aren’t convinced. “y/n!” he whines, stretching the final syllable. you look to the ceiling for a moment, letting out a scoff before kneeling down next to the pool.

in a swift motion, anton grabs your shoulders and lands a kiss on your lips. it’s wet from the water of the pool and you pull away, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. anton is laughing as you swat at his arm, muttering something about how he got your shirt wet.

anton sees an opportunity in the fact that you haven’t stood up yet, fully wrapping his arms around your shoulders, nearly causing you to fall into the chlorinated water. his laughter only increases in volume, and his teammates don’t think they’ve ever heard him laugh that hard. you let out a yelp, feeling the water continue to seep through the fabric of your shirt. you struggle against his embrace, and he shows no signs of releasing you. “lee anton! oh my god— i hate you!”

you both know that you’re lying.

AUTHOR’S NOTE! this is my 30th time trying to post this but we move

#riize x reader #lee anton #anton imagines #anton x reader #riize anton #riize #riize scenarios #req #riize angst #riize fluff

770 notes · View notes

starboyshoyo · 1 year ago

Text

Unspoken Words

Characters: All NRC students x reader (seperately)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Genre: hurt/comfort

Unspoken reasons why the NRC boys love you!

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle Rosehearts seems like perfection; like the very image of what one should strive for. Anyone who knows him can admire his hard work and diligence, because that is the extent to what they can see. But you see his delight at the simplest of things; things that he never got to experience in childhood. Riddle holds you dear to him because you encourage his rare moments of whimsy, and love them wholly- just as he loves you.

Trey Clover is always being told that he should aim higher, because the talent he holds would be squandered should he go down the path of the simple village baker. He smiles and politely tells them that he’ll consider it- but really, he’s tired of the input he never wanted in the first place. It’s all the more reason to appreciate the way you trust in his dreams. Trey knows what he wants, and you won’t push him for anything more.

Cater Diamond has two different sides, like the faces on a card. Sometimes he’s the party-loving Cay-kun, and other times he wants nothing more than to collapse in his bed and sleep the day away. Being Cay-kun is exhausting. It’s not entirely him but he can’t seem to bring himself to show the real Cater to anyone but you, because you understand that the mask is necessary sometimes. It’s okay if he’s not ready to show the world his face yet. You’ll be waiting for him when he is.

Bluntly honest is the best way to describe Ace Trappola. If someone asked, he’d call himself a realist. He’s not here to mess around or play the hero. And sometimes that can hurt people’s feelings and push them away. But being truthful and being mean are two different things, and he knows he can always trust you to tell him when he oversteps. Ace may fumble from time to time, so he’s glad you’re always there to help him back up.

Deuce Spade was reluctant to begin dating you at first. He wasn’t proud of who he was in middle school, nor is he proud of who he is at the moment. He thought that he was unworthy of you, that he needed more time to grow. When he first figured out that you weren’t the most perfect person either, it didn’t turn him away. In fact, it relieved him. Deuce loves that you can be imperfect together- and that you’re willing to grow alongside him even more.

SAVANACLAW

Leona Kingscholar is used to being the spare; the disposable one. Even though he’s the second prince of the Sunset Savannah, even though he was born into a life of privilege, he knows what it’s like to have to fight for yourself and your place in the world. When he met you, he could hardly believe that for once, a fight wasn’t necessary. It took a while for him to trust, but now Leona knows that he will always be your first choice, as you will be his.

From the outside, Ruggie Bucchi’s obsession over food is a bit excessive. Does one really need to defend every scrap with his life? He’s tired of others laughing at the way he packs snacks in his bag and sneaks crumbs off the tabletop. It’s telling that you hand him extras when you don’t have to, that you make sure he always has more than he needs. It shows that you value the things he values, so that he can do the same in return to you.

Jack Howl is a lone wolf, just like his name. He’s always relied on his own strength to get by. Owing a debt is like putting his life in someone else’s hands, so accepting favors is something that he’ll never do. When he first realizes he loves you, it’s hard to accept that another person now holds a part of his heart. But give him some time and he’ll begin to appreciate having someone to share the burden with. It’s refreshing to have company without debt or guilt.

OCTAVINELLE

They say those who have suffered the most have the most empathy. Azul Ashengrotto thinks there must be something wrong with him, then. After all the ridicule he’s endured, all he wants is to watch his tormentors cry as well. So why does his heart beat so fast then, when he sees how kind you are to others? There’s so little logic to it- but the heart wants what it wants.

Jade Leech gives only as much as he takes. In his mismatched eyes, it’s only reasonable that a transaction is balanced on both sides. So it’s a surprise to him when you don’t demand everything to be split, fifty-fifty. It’s with you that he learns the connection between trust and equals. Not having to count out every exchange leaves Jade more time to love you with all his heart.

Floyd Leech is notorious for his mercurial behavior. It’s a laughing matter for some students, and the target of frustration for many others when he fails to show the same enthusiasm he had before. If he’s already in a bad mood, then why are they making it worse by nagging him? You’re his retreat in times like that, because you take his emotions seriously, no matter how ridiculous they seem in the moment.

SCARABIA

Kalim Al-Asim knows he can be dense. As the heir to a merchant empire, he’s got some level of self-awareness in him, even if he doesn’t always know how to use it. He can tell when he’s said the wrong thing to you. The wringing of hands, the twisting of brows make him so nervous, but he can’t do anything but laugh it off lest he say something to make it worse. So he appreciates it when you patiently explain to him how you feel, even when you’re not in the mood to. Sometimes he just needs help to understand.

There’s no doubt that Jamil Viper has… questionable methods of obtaining his means to an end. With the precision and patience of a snake, he can use any means necessary to strike. But when you’re around he finds himself thinking more of what’s right than just what he wants. You are his conscience, in the best and worst of times; and he can’t help but love you for it.

POMEFIORE

Vil Schoenheit’s entire life has been publicized since the day he stepped into the spotlight. While he takes pride in his looks and envies anyone who can shine brighter than him, he finds that when he is with you, he can be whatever he wants to be with no eyes on him. No cameras, no rehearsals, no pressure, just two hearts beating side by side.

Rook Hunt has a lot to say, and so little time to say it. He is always on the move, always examining something else to find the beauty in it. And though it’s hard to be patient, he loves you for always listening when he talks, even when he rambles for hours about the smallest things. To sit still for that long is a feat in itself.

The frustrations of Epel Felmier are evident when others treat him as lesser simply because of the way he looks. He’s still learning how to use his charm in other ways, but it’s hard to unlearn so many old habits. Punishments from Vil don’t help either. So when the work gets too harsh, you make him forget about being weak or strong- and when you’re in front of him, all he wants to be is yours.

IGNIHYDE

Idia Shroud is used to watching the world go by without him. Sometimes he feels like an outside observer, or even a roadblock for others to climb over on their way to greatness. But with you, he never feels like an inconvenience. He feels wanted and needed- something he hasn’t felt for a long, long time.

DIASOMNIA

Malleus Draconia is lonely. It’s plain and simple as that. He wants the company of others, outside of those assigned to guard him and bow to his every whim. So Malleus covets the fact that you are simply here, by his side of your own volition. For the first time in his life, Malleus thinks that he might be content.

Lilia Vanrouge has lived through centuries. As a human, you cannot even begin to fathom bridging the gap in time. There is just so much that he has seen that he can’t share with you. So please, just let him hold you while he has the chance. Let him cherish the way you live in the moment. Together, you can forget the coming of the future.

Sebek Zigvolt is constantly under pressure. Not from others, but from himself- but either way, the stress gets to him. He would never admit it, but the stolen moments you spend together make him happier than he’s ever been. His shoulders ease, and his scowl disappears for a time. Just don’t point it out, or they’ll be back again full force- accompanied by a blush.

It’s not that Silver doesn’t care about what people are saying- he really, really does. But when he falls asleep so easily, some people come to think that he’s bored out of his mind. He was anxious that you’d think the same, but to his surprise, you understand his struggles. He’s trying his best to be more attentive to you, and you welcome his efforts with open arms.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

3K notes · View notes

stardewstardropthoughts · 2 years ago

Text

How the bachelors are when you go down on them for the first time, MDNI pls

Harvey

He’s nervous literally all the time but now especially

Does not know what to do with his hands

Worried you won’t think he’s adequate enough

I feel like he’s probably a modest 6 inches, decent girth, definitely trims but doesn’t fully shave

Very sensitive balls, will cum quickly if you play with them while sucking his cock

Kinda fists the sheets unless you tell him it’s okay to grab your hair

Will involuntary buck his hips, tries to apologize immediately when you gag around him but gets cut off by a deep groan

Let’s you know when he’s gonna cum so that you can pull away if you want, you don’t.

Is surprised when you swallow, he thinks it’s hot but he only wants you to swallow if you want to

Alex

Mans excited

He dreams about this probably like three times a week

Dudes just horny 24/7 honestly so he was agreeing immediately and ready to whip it out when you suggested it

I think he’s probably a little big at like 8.5 inches and decently thick, probably a bit curved up too

He doesn’t usually shave but I think he would for at-least the first time you go down on him out of curtousy

Does not hold back his grunts and praise, makes sure you know your doing good

“Just like that baby” “don’t stop, yoba don’t stop please” “doing so good for me, just a little more, there you go”

Literally can’t shut up, hands in your hair guiding you just how he likes it

Wants to cum down your throat, will be absolutely thrilled if you let him

Wants to return the favor immediately

Shane

Equally nervous, hasn’t had someone go down on him in a long time

Showers and trims up a bit first so he can be fresh and clean for you

I think he’s about 7 inches and a bit skinnier then Harvey, curves to the right just slightly

Definitely has experience from his college days but he may be a bit rusty

Will guide you gently until he’s sure he can fuck your throat the way he wants

Doesn’t talk to much but makes little grunting sounds and a few praises every now and then

Established some safety guidelines first, tap his thigh three times if you need to stop

Likes it rough, a very gentle scrap of teeth is fine with him

“You can take the whole thing, it’s not that hard” “that’s a good little slut, just like that”

Makes sure your alright after since he can be pretty rough, has water and lozenges on standby for you

Tons of cuddles after and he will of course return the favor if you’ll let him

Sam

Eager boy

Not the most experienced but not a virgin either

Definitely not shaved or trimmed

Probably around 5 inches, decent girth and no curve, also uncut

He probably accidentally shoved his whole cock in your mouth because he was to eager

Definitely apologizes and feels a bit bad about it

Also does not know what to do with his hands, settles for resting them on his thighs

Moans unabashedly, literally could not keep quiet if he tried

He has a napkin on standby for you if you don’t swallow

Will pull you in for a hot and heavy kiss immediately after so he can taste himself on your tounge

Does not know what he’s doing when he returns the favor but he’s a quick and eager learner

Sebastian

Total virgin I just know it

He’s so nervous he thinks he might actually explode

Shaved bare because he was nervous you wouldn’t like hair

Will not last long at all and he’s very embarrassed by that but you assure him you don’t mind

He’s about 6.5 inches and thick, curved to the left

Very sensitive balls as well

He probably only lasts around five minutes but who can blame him

He’s never felt something so warm and wet and nice before

You swallow and he’s already at half mast again he thinks it’s so hot

Teach him how to pleasure you, he’ll learn quick, that muscle memory from video game controllers comes in very handy 😌

Elliot

He’s probably only had one or two previous partners before you

He’s definitely well trimmed, basically has no hair down there, likes to keep it well maintained

Probably around 7 inches and skinny, uncut and slightly curved down

Uses his hair tie to put your hair in a ponytail if it’s long enough

Likes to hold onto that so he can gently guide you

Is a very slow sensual type of lover, doesn’t want to go to rough because he doesn’t want to ever hurt you

Literally the only time you can get him to stop talking is when he’s inside you in some form

Definitely wants you to swallow his cum but won’t make you

Also pulls you into a passionate kiss after before returning the favor

He’s very skilled with his tounge if you know what I mean 😌

3K notes · View notes

forlix · 10 months ago

Text

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・767 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・felix x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, established relationship, they're in love your honor, pt. 2 of me being very normal about paris lix

𝟬𝟮:𝟮𝟭 — The stars hang over your heads like rice wine dripping into a navy basin. Paris sprawls over your shoulders like a stretching sphinx. Yet the world, in all its rare, tranquil beauty, does not exist.

Nothing exists except for you. You, with your hood pulled over your head and the drawstrings tightened so the fabric scrunches around your wind-bitten cheeks. You, with a few strands of hair escaping from the cotton ring, catching on your eyelashes as they flutter, slipping between your lips as you speak. You, you, you.

Sometimes, Felix experiences something strange. It happened when you walked into the kitchen with puffy eyes and terrible posture, a spot of toothpaste on your chin. It happened at the sight of the warm smile you gave the barista as you ordered at your favorite cafe. It happened when he found you faceplanted into your keyboard at 3 A.M., the last fifteen pages of your research paper comprising nothing but the letter ‘g.’

And it happens now, as you recount the embarrassing situation you found yourself in that afternoon, sporting a smile that splits your face into two. Not down the middle, but slightly off to the side, the way it does when you’re really laughing.

Cue the telltale signs: an explosive blossoming in his chest, a mounting tightness in his throat, a feeling like he’s been ripped out of his body and, from a distance, finally recognizes himself for what he is.

A mortal man tasked to contain the galaxy that is his love, every sun and moon, every asteroid, every scrap of space debris belonging to you.

How he hasn’t yet burst at the seams is beyond him.

“I complimented the cab driver’s ass,” you say.

He blinks at you. “What?”

“I was trying to—”

You’re overcome by a breathless giggle, your interlocked hands swinging between your bodies.

“I was trying to thank him. Merci beaucoup, right? And then he looks at me like I’m crazy and drives away, and then it hits me.”

“Oh.” Felix says, and he, too, starts to smile, his mirth melting his face like a spreading flame. “Oh, no.”

“Merci beau cul,” you sigh. “I told him merci beau cul.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“A Freudian slip?”

“No wa—”

Your expression goes suddenly contemplative.

“Maybe, actually.”

His bark of laughter echoes around the empty grounds, accompanied with your insistence of you should’ve seen that thing, babe. He takes your word for it.

Your jetlagged adventure reaches climax some ten minutes later. You let go of Felix’s hand to run the rest of the distance, heels kicking up puffs of dust. The land silhouette sinks away, replaced by golden speckles that trickle into his field of vision until they’re all he can see.

At the hill’s pinnacle, you stand in silence. The strands of hair floating around you prior now thrash in the wintry winds, and you’ve swapped your wild grin for a stupefied gape. Your eyes glisten like mirror lakes, the city before you reflected in the pools of your pupils, cordoned within the shores of their lids.

There it is again. That familiar feeling of being torn away, of being crushed by the tonnage of his amour. He opens his mouth because he needs to, because he’ll burst at the seams if he doesn’t, just barely keeping the tremble in his voice at bay.

“Can I take a picture of you?”

You look at him, confused.

“Only me?” He nods, and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Just trust me.”

And you do, with everything in you.

You turn your back to the nightscape. He positions himself a few feet away and slots his eye against the viewfinder. The lighting does you no favors with how it plunges you into shadow; you do Paris no favors with the radiance of your smile. Click.

Soonafter, you drift back to his side, plant a soft kiss to his cheek. He gazes at the live preview without a word, clutching his camera as tightly as if it's a piece of a shooting star.

Gently, you dust a finger beneath his chin. He lifts his eyes to meet yours, discovers your face meager centimeters away.

You will never know what you do to Felix, not to the fullest extent. But there are times, he thinks, when you have your suspicions, and this is one of them.

“You okay?” You whisper, your hand lifting to the curve of his cheek, and he slides his own around your wrist, the plush of his thumb nestling over your pulse.

“Yes,” he whispers back, an understatement of prodigious proportions.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8

715 notes · View notes

twstowo · 10 months ago

Note

hihi i would love a ruggie centered fic with a hurt/comfort trope ^^

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: Ruggie is eating dandelions again so Reader tries to make him eat something else.

♡︎ For you anon. *Gives you flowers*

♡︎Warning: Ruggie starving himself

You watched Ruggie from afar as he leaned down on the school field, feeling extremely curious about what was going on. You should have been minding your own business, but the curiosity was killing you. Then you saw him pluck a dandelion out of the ground. Did he like dandelions that much? You didn’t think of Ruggie as a flower guy.

Your eyes widened as you watched him eat it, jaw dropping to the floor. He proceeded to do it again and again and again. You were starting to lose it. What if those had been sprinkled with weed killer? Unable to stand there any longer, you approached him, watching his fluffy ears twitch as you came closer.

"Ruggie Bucchi, by the Seven! What are you doing?" If only you had heard yourself; you sounded like a worried mother for their kid.

"You want one?" There was no way he had the audacity to answer you like that. You were losing it as he laughed at his own words. It wasn’t even funny. Did he not have anything else to eat? Then it occurred to you that Ruggie had some complications related to money. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw him eat at the cafeteria. You didn’t want to say anything about it earlier, thinking he might have gotten food before you. Now it all made sense – he had been skipping lunches because he couldn’t afford them and came here to eat dandelions. You sighed, looking around your school bag and bringing out a sandwich you had prepared.

"Take this." You practically pushed the sandwich against his face as he looked up at you with an inquisitory look.

"I’m not in the mood to do any favors." He had to make it about that. Just because everyone in Night Raven College was egotistic didn’t mean you had to also be.

"I don’t want anything from you. I’m just worried, that’s all." You leaned down in front of him with the sandwich still in your hand. It didn’t seem enough for him to trust you, so you lowered the plastic-wrapped food and sat down on the grass field. "I’m not joking when I say that, Ruggie." You watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he gulped with those words. He looked at you softly but still unsure if he should open up to you. He had been living likes this since he was a kid, eating scraps that he found around in the street, starving for days and days. Then he seemed puzzled when you started to unwrap the bread, breaking it in two pieces with your hands and handing one of them to him.

"What if we share it?" He had been so close to passing out from that look you gave him while sharing your food. He knew you were also facing a tough financial situation, and yet, you still came to help him out when you could have kept it to yourself. Ruggie would have never done that. You were being so selfless, and he was glad because he loved this kind side of yours. He only wished you’d keep it to yourself, as he feared others would take advantage of you.

"Fine." He gave you a silly laugh as he took the half of the sandwich and started eating it. Not surprisingly, he finished it extremely fast as he had been completely starving.

"Next time, meet me at Ramshackles. I could totally make some donuts for the two of us." Couldn’t you have said anything else? Ruggie almost turned into a puddle as he heard your words. You just made him feel so weirdly loved. Not that he disliked it, in fact, he wished every day was like this.

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst reader #twst ruggie #ruggie bucchi #ruggie x reader #twisted wonderland ruggie #ruggie x yuu #ruggie bucci x reader

592 notes · View notes

vaaaaaiolet · 4 months ago

Text

A broken backspace key, two rival magazines, and love letters sent through email. It’s the 2000's and Raccoon Mag’s prize photojournalist lands himself a secret admirer.

You.

gn / m, fluff, romance via email love letters, how to lose a guy in 10 days-esque, just a cutesy romcom, reader works a stereotypically female job but no pronouns mentioned!

word count: 2.4k // read on ao3

a/n: title inspired by the alicia keys song ofc. thank you to the lovely @kennedysbaby for the prompt inspo and endless support while writing this! this isn't my usual writing style so i'm kinda nervous AHGH but i thought it was cute LMAO. i <3 u!!

From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Subject: You Don’t Know My Name

Dear Mr. Kennedy,

I hope this email never finds you well.

No, no, that came out wrong, I swear! Gosh, I’m not sure how to work the backspace on these new computers. What I mean to say is that I hope this email never finds you.

I’m the new hire for the How To column at STARS Week magazine. They haven’t quite set up an email address with my name yet: I’m using the one readers mail their questions to. It’s a bit of a blessing to not have my name attached to this mortifying message now that I think about it.

You must be wondering, why does an Agony Aunt columnist from your media rival have your email in the first place? You, the top photojournalist at Raccoon Mag, the highlight of all newsstands. You must think I’m crazy.

But the thing is that I think you’re simply wonderful.

You visited our office last week. Surely you remember walking into the great big glass doors of the STARS building. Aren’t they glamorous? They make me feel like a hotshot movie journalist when really I just write back to teenage girls and help them pick out the right nail color, or tell middle-aged moms how to dress less like they rolled out of an outdated Sears catalog. I’m eternally grateful to get to work here – Ms. Hunnigan really did a favor taking me on – but I can’t help feeling like a bird with its wings clipped, stuck in a glass cage. I could be doing so much more with my talents. And don’t tell me that I already am; I know my advice articles don’t work because my own mom still wears stripes with polka dots.

Yeesh.

So when you came by last week with your great big camera filled with pictures of all your travels around the world, you caught my eye right away.

You weren’t wearing a suit like all the other big shots in the STARS office. Mr. Kennedy, you came to what Ms. Hunnigan would consider “the biggest business risk of your life” dressed in a polo and slacks, still looking sharper than our Man of the Month, with not a word extra to say because your photos spoke for themselves.

Mr. Kennedy, I was working my measly little column when I overheard Ms. Hunnigan’s surprise at your refusal to take a dime for the photojournalism you brought to our office. Your manila folder was filled with pictures from a recently hurricane-hit island, one I’m embarrassed to say I only learned of from your spirited tirade. You didn’t care that Raccoon Mag and STARS Week were sworn enemies. All you cared about was combining readers’ donations for disaster relief. I thought it was mighty noble of you.

You didn’t flinch once at Ms. Hunnigan’s unforgiving stare and I know how hard that can be because I got the same one when I asked to switch to a journalism department instead. Ms. Hunnigan isn’t too keen on putting effort where there isn’t turnover. But you came anyway, and you left victorious simply because you wanted to help people that badly.

I think you can assume why I scrapped my article this week about getting over crushes. There’s going to be a horribly empty space in my column if I don’t figure out how to type something other than your name soon. Hence this email.

(You left your business card on Ms. Hunnigan’s desk, if you’re still wondering how I’m sending this to the right email address. I’m not too shabby at snooping around, in a journalism kind of way, of course.)

I don’t think this counts as getting over a crush. I don’t suppose you have any ideas?

Yours sincerely, You Don’t Know My Name

> Saved as Draft (7/7/2003)

> Continue Saved Draft? YES

From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Dear Mr. Kennedy,

Did you see the smiles of the children who got their school rebuilt thanks to your disaster relief proposal? I’m sure you did: their pictures, along with all the other photos from the donation effort, got printed front and center on this week’s issue! I nearly sold out the newsstand from all the Raccoon Mag copies I bought the morning they came off the press. Had to hide them from Ms. Hunnigan too; she wasn’t too happy about my less-than-juicy column last week.

But that’s not for you to worry about, Mr. Kennedy. I’ll figure something else out. Like what color fabric makes your eyes pop, subtle ways to tell a coworker you’re interested in more than just drinks after work, what to eat to look and feel your best in less than two weeks.

On a completely unrelated note, I can’t help but look forward to when you come back to STARS Week in less than a month (according to Ms. Hunnigan’s desk calendar).

You’ve inspired me to get back into journalism; put my degree to use. I didn’t graduate top of my class just to tell people what hairstyle goes with what neckline! I’m clumsy with cameras and not too nifty with technology (I still can’t figure out where that backspace key is!) but I’m a sure hand with a pen. I go to the library after work now and spend hours researching global issues to write about when I get home. My collection of research articles is coming right along. Kind of like your manila folder. I flatter myself.

I wonder what you write, what you read. What makes Leon Kennedy laugh? What does he read before bed, what makes him think? I wonder if we laugh at the same bad jokes.

Email is a strange mode of communication. There’s an awful lot of dishonesty involved. You get to pick and choose what you leave out. I suppose I don’t get that luxury with my lack of backspace, but it’s the same in conversation when you don’t get to backtrack on what comes out of your mouth. Would it be silly of me to dream that I’m having a conversation with you like this? Through my keyboard?

I’d much rather hear you in conversation, I have to admit. You’ve got a lovely voice. The rest of us are just lucky you decided to use it for good and speak out about the problems of the world despite what may or may not sell (sorry, Ms. Hunnigan). I might even be lucky enough to hear my name fall from your lips one day. Are…oh gosh, this is making me shy. Damn you, backspace key. But I wonder what it feels like to kiss you, Mr. Kennedy.

I hear tying cherry stems with your tongue makes you a good kisser. I’ll be sure to learn. Maybe if we ever hit the town and we get drinks, I could show you? I’m not even sure what kind of drinks have cherries on top. That’s more a milkshake or ice cream thing. I’d be delighted to get either with you; I even know a trick to cure brain freeze in a second! I hope that’s incentive enough. I’m quite partial to cookie dough if you’d like to share. Not so much if you’re a fan of rum raisin.

And then over ice cream, we could talk about everything under the sun. Your pictures, my writing, bad jokes, good jokes, your favorite rom-coms, important questions like that.

(I’m kidding, promise. The rom-com one is important though. I hope you understand.)

There so much I’d love to talk to you about. But for now, I’m content with sitting in my cubicle in the corner, hiding behind my potted plant and hoping for a glimpse of your golden hair through Ms. Hunnigan’s office doors when you come by. But as all good things must come to an end, here comes the end of this email to my Raccoon Mag Romeo.

Looking forward to your nonexistent response, You Don’t Know My Name

> Saved as Draft (8/12/2003)

> Continue Saved Draft? YES

From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Dear Mr. Kennedy,

You used to be in the police academy before you worked for Raccoon Mag?

Gosh, I hope my snooping doesn’t come off untoward, truly, I don’t mean to – it’s just that you’ve been coming to STARS Week so frequently this month and you didn’t visit in the last few days and…well, I missed seeing you. So it seems I’m remedying that with novice-level stalker work. Er, journalism.

I’m marvelously impressed by you is all. Your sense of justice runs deeper than I thought. I wonder what made you choose this line of work instead of the force?

For what it’s worth, digging up your past work introduced me to several fascinating topics. If Ms. Hunnigan lets up on her workload, she might even have time to look at the piece I’ve been drafting all month! You’ve inspired me in more ways than one, Mr. Kennedy, so you understand why I’m eager to see you again in the hope of showing you what I’ve written. I could slip my article into your folder, leave it in an envelope next to the cup of coffee you always let cool on the receptionist’s desk before going into the copy room…

But there might not be a point avoiding you anymore. I’m afraid you’ll run into me sooner than later with the number of errands Ms. Hunnigan sends me on around the office.

Worse yet, I think someone’s caught on to me.

Claire from Sports is starting to ask about all these emails I type up while my How To assignment of the week sits by its lonesome next to my potted plant. I wish these keyboards weren’t so loud and cranky! They rattle up a storm when I type these emails to you, but turn quiet as mice when it comes time for me to work on my dreadful How Tos. Snitches get stitches, don’t you know?

But I’d never snitch on you, Mr. Kennedy. A tiny part of me hopes you’ve caught on to who hides an extra donut in the fridge for you from our office breakfasts. Rest assured that I can do much better than slightly stale office donuts, though.

So if that ice cream date doesn’t work out, we could head downtown to Marvin’s on a Thursday for the best chocolate donuts I swear you’ve ever tasted. Thursday is when they bake them up fresh and I know a table by the street where the sunset looks the prettiest. A treat for you and a treat for your camera, how’s that?

You don’t even know what you’re doing to me. I feel all crazy inside, giddy and smiling over my research like unpaid overtime I’m all too happy to take on. I really hope to show you my article soon. There’s nothing more romantic to a journalist than setting your facts straight next to somebody who smiles like the sun, like you, Mr. Kennedy. I might even dream of my article being printed next to your pictures one day.

But as short as today’s email to you might be, I hope our time together isn’t. The security team is redoing the How To department’s computers after Ms. Hunnigan’s keyboard started acting up – something about manufacturing issues. Remember that pesky backspace key of mine? They’re fixing it later today!

Actually, they’re fixing it right now. The team’s coming over to my desk, so I’m going to have to enDKJJL

> Send Email? SFHALFNO

> Input detected. Email sending… NJOS NON DON”T SEND

> Email sent successfully! (9/16/2003)

From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: You Don’t Know My Name

I’m submitting an answer for July’s How To: how do I get over a crush?

If I’m being honest, I’ve written and rewritten this email a fair number of times. I’m not good with my words. That’s why I take pictures: they say everything I leave unspoken. But it’s also why I’ve grown so fond of a certain How To columnist because they’re not afraid to put their feelings to pen, rather, keyboard.

It’s just a shame that their name isn’t on any of the sweet emails they sent me. And it’s not like I can just go up to my boss and ask. If I’m their Raccoon Mag Romeo (see what I mean when I say they’ve got a way with words?), they’re the Capulet I’m after.

So I took a page out of my admirer’s book and went snooping. It’s what a journalist does best, right?

Marvin’s an old friend of mine. I went to his shop last Thursday to find out who comes for donuts and stays for the sunset. His donuts taste better than the office ones for sure, but there’s something a little sweeter about the thought behind the latter. FYI: my lips are sealed.

All this donut and ice cream business makes me think my admirer’s got a sweet tooth. I’m willing to share any ice cream that isn’t rum raisin either. Cookie dough is a close second to my personal favorite – mint chocolate chip – but that brain freeze trick is enough to convince me to have both. What do you say we try out all the flavors? You might even come across a scoop to write about, you never know. (RE: your question about bad jokes, how was that?)

And last but not least, Claire from STARS Week Sports isn’t too tight-lipped. She was perfectly charming when I asked about any deskmates with clunky keyboards who’ve been quite busy recently, so it really wasn’t that hard to find out who this kind, endearing, and incredibly talented admirer of mine is.

You needn’t sneak your article into my folder because I found a copy of it on your desk with my name written on the bottom. You say you’ve only been working on this since I came for the disaster relief deal? That’s only two months!

Color me impressed. Ms. Hunnigan would be a fool to miss out on the untapped talent sitting in her How To department, so I think it would be a great idea to bring your article to her together. I’d be honored to straighten out any facts with you, though I doubt there’s much I can add to what you’ve compiled. My camera is at your disposal.

Let’s talk details over those donuts, then? It’s Thursday. I’ll wait by the bench outside the STARS building. I have a feeling it’ll be a nice change from sending emails.

Yours sincerely (and I do know your name), Leon

(P.S. Personally, I hope this isn’t a crush you need to get over.)

(9/18/2003)

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil #vaaaaaiolet #ao3 fanfic

316 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 5 months ago

Note

Okay, so I've been slowly working on 'The True Bride' retelling but lately I've been feeling run down and low. Babysitting 3 - THREE! - Duracell batteries (aka kids) leaves me very little brainpower or energy and the days I'm off... I just want to do nothing but rest and be a couch potato. I thought I'd send this little request this way, you know, legal channels and all that.

Could you do something fluffy and sweet (smut can also be added if you'd like!) with either Shanks or Sanji? I'd throw in Law but these two currently are taking all the brain space.

The way I cannot wait for your contribution to the Storyteller Au! It's gonna be so much fun! I feel you on the Duracell babies, my two have been off like a rocket from about 5am (as per the norm). Shanks was not cooperating, so Sanji gets some love this morning. May a little bit of suggestive, sweet domestic fluff ease the burden for you, love.

By Feel

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,300+

Synopsis: You challenge Sanji to demonstrate his impressive knife skills for you by chopping up vegetables while blindfolded. He becomes flustered by the amount of attention you give to him.

Themes: Sanji x gn!reader, established relationship, domestic fluff, flirting, knife skills, kissing, blindfolded Sanji, flustered Sanji, suggestive ending.

As soon as the shroud covered Sanji’s eyes, all other senses were heightened. His nose pricked up with the fragrance of sweetness and spices, his tongue tasted the steam in the air wafting from the pan, his ears heard the rough pops and crackles rising in the pan from the contents being of an elevated temperature.

Most of all, his hands were hypersensitive to every soft ridge and divot in the chopping board in front of him, and his connection to his blade felt more sturdy and intentional in each motion.

“Show me then, Chef,” you tease him, the playful tone in your voice propelling him to prove himself to you. He smirked and impressively twirled the blade in his hands before dropping it in the board. The knife stuck out and wobbled slightly beneath the light as Sanji sought out the carrots and his favored peeler with his fingers.

“Oh, I’ll show you alright,” he picked up one of the carrots in his hands and his peeler, “You watching closely?” Even without the blindfold, you could absolutely see the wink he shot your way beneath the material.

Leaning forward on the bench, but still lingering far enough out of his way to continue, you witnessed him take the peeler with his dominant hand and wave it backwards and forwards along the length of the carrot. Each moment the blade end of the peeler almost reached his palm, he instinctively knew when to draw it away. Rotating the carrot within his fingers, he continued to drag it back and forward until he felt the flesh of the carrot glisten its dewy juices in his hand.

“Still watching?” he teased at you, his fingers hastily collecting all of the lengthy offcuts of the bitter skin and sliding it into the scrap bin beside the sink. You rolled your eyes before giving him a soft, “Uh huh,” in response. He smiled, shaking his head and collected his blade from beside him: still in the place where he left it.

“Alright then,” he scoffed, his light chuckle found in his tone, “Doubting me?” You shook your head at him, more to scold than to doubt him.

“No doubts, Chef,” you slowly walk behind him, Sanji’s ears picking up and hearing the soft taps of your shoes on the wooden surface behind him. “Never doubted you to begin with.” As you slowly approach behind him, your hands reach out to collect his hips in your hands. He hissed a soft breath through his teeth and threw his head back as your hands caressed his skin.

“You gonna let me show you what I can do?” he gasped, his breathing heavy as your hands teased at the waistband of his pants, “Or are you going to distract me on purpose?” You hum a soft chuckle through your lips before placing a soft kiss on his spine. He moaned at the softest touch, the deep rasp in his throat coming out with his breath hitching.

“I won’t distract you. I just wanted to take a closer look,” you admit, looking down his arms from your position over his shoulder. He gulped his nerves, instinctively leaning his head away from your face in the hopes for more brushes of your lips on his skin. You laugh tight-lipped through your nose at him before tapping his hips to draw his attention back to the task.

“Okay,” he uttered snarkily, twirling the blade and seeking out the carrot once more. Lining it up with the tip, he exhaled a huff of breath before immediately rocking his arm back and forward, slicing the carrot first into a long, rectangular shape. The ‘shinkt,’ sound of the blade colliding with crisp flesh at a hastened pace had you arch your brow, still watching intently as he expertly placed hasty ridges into the carrot.

Turning the orange object, he began slicing the vegetable at a different angle. The diagonal cuts never tapped the board, holding it a whisker’s length away from the base of the carrot. As soon as he reached the tip once more, he turned in your arms with the rectangular carrot in his hands. Your hands never left his hips, holding him steady as he gave you a cocky smirk.

“Watching closely?” he whispered to you. You hum in confirmation at him as you look at the orange figure in your hands. Drawing apart his hands, the length of the carrot extended into a lace pattern. The carrot was still intact, but the knife skills demonstrated by the blonde created a webbed net from the vegetable as he held his arms out to the side.

His grin only broadened when he heard your gasp, your hands gripping his waist tighter in awe caused a rosy blush to rise in his cheeks. With the blindfold still fixed over his eyes, he lowered his hands with the vegetable reforming into a rectangle.

“Something you wanna say to me?” his brow arched up under the shroud of the mask. You lean up on the tips of your toes and brush your nose with his. He gasps at you, fluttering his eyelashes beneath the woven material.

“You are the best chef in the world, and can even craft mastery blindfolded,” you dull your tone, mocking his voice with a smile on your lips. He scoffs at you, moving his head away from yours and purses his lips up in a light pout. You giggle, reaching up to cup his cheek and turn his head back to face you.

“You don’t have to make petulant bets to prove anything to me. I already think you’re amazing, Sanji,” you press your lips to his unoccupied cheek, your sweetness igniting a swell of heat pooling in his face and almost burning your lips with the intensity. Giggling against his cheek, you pulled away to witness him freeze in place with his lips parted.

No matter how long the two of you had been together, it never ceased to make you smile with the amount of fluster you could bring to your partner. A simple touch, a soft caress, a gentle compliment all had that soft hue rise to his face, and you couldn't get enough of it.

“Th-Thank you,” he stuttered, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed back his nerves. You decide to press him further, enjoying his light fluster.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” you praise up at him, hovering your lips over his and tasting the warmth of his sweet air, “Show me what else you can do just by feel, hm?” He immediately whimpered, placing the carrot down behind him as he hastily reached for you and surged his lips forwards to engulf your own in them.

His kiss was raw, intense and desperate. Lips mouthing and swirling against your own, hungry to consume all you had to offer him in the kitchen space of the Going Merry. The shroud over his eyes had him feel everything: the taste of your lips, the scent of your perfume, the sound of your soft moan, and the feel of your eager reciprocation. He simply couldn't get enough.

Reaching up, he carded his fingers over the back of your scalp and cradled your neck to deepen the intensity. Each press of his lips, swirl of his tongue, and whimper you collected from his mouth within yours had you smile and balance his expression. The flicker of his tongue brushing against yours had the softest taste of metal lingering from his frenulum piercing. The balled circlet brushed against you as he performed his sensual isolation, consuming you entirely.

Pulling away and panting briefly, he finally removed the blindfold to take you in. His eyes were glazed and glassy, lips bruised and swollen, and cheeks dusted with the frosting of a bright pink. Gently caressing your cheek with his palm and fingertips,he leaned forward to press his forehead against yours.

“Satisfied?” he chirped breathily at you. You chuckled back up at him, nuzzling against his forehead before pulling away to gaze into his eyes.

“Hardly,” you smiled, “But there’s a remedy for that. Your quarters or mine?” He replaced his forehead with his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your skin while muttering his suggestion.

“Yours.”

“Perfect,” you quipped at him, reaching down and taking him by the hand, “Bring the blindfold, but finish what you're cooking in the pan first before it burns.”

"Yes, boss," he uttered snarkily, quickly turning to finish off searing the vegetables and placing it in a pot to simmer low and slow with a variety of meat. His anticipation only grew when he heard every slow and deliberate step taken towards the door.

Hastily completing his duty, he rushed to your side and eagerly followed you like a needy pup towards your quarters, where he showed you exactly what he could do by feel alone.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

#sanji x reader #one piece #x reader #gn!reader #one piece fluff #black leg sanji #sanji #sanji x you #ask snail #snail answers #one piece x reader #one piece sanji #op sanji

243 notes · View notes

arabellasleopardcoat · 4 months ago

Text

Ābrazyrys (Aemond x Reader x Daemon)

Summary: Daemon arrives at Riverrun. Pt 2 to this.

Warnings: Daemon’s usual disdain towards his wives. Smut with dubious consent. Angst. A lot of swords. One missing accent on the title because Tumblr.

A/N: So. I have always wanted to write a threesome, even since Lamb. And however fucked up you think this is about to be, I promise it’s worse.

YOU FEEL LIKE you are suffocating. As you try to sit up and scream, you find out you can’t. Nor can you breathe.

You scream, then. But the sound comes out muffled. What a terrible nightmare, you think, as your lungs burn. I have to wake. This is a dream. I have to wake. And you open your eyes, but instead of the peace and quiet of your bedroom, or even one of the demons that are said to frequent maiden’s dreams, you get something else.

“There you are.” You would recognize that voice anywhere. You think, sullenly, you would have preferred the demon. “I see your cunt missed me.” He gestures with his head to Aemond, sleeping soundly by your side.

You scream loudly, but no sound comes out. Daemon’s hand is clamped tight around your nose and mouth, allowing you to barely breathe. He is kneeling over your body, pinning you down with his weight.

“Shh. Don’t wake the babe, wife.” Daemon laughs, surely thinking himself the pinnacle of wit. You glare. You begin to trash wildly under him, kicking and pounding him with your fists. It’s useless. You may as well be punching stone with your bare fists.

The Seven favor you. One of your kicks lands not on Daemon, but on Aemond. He stirs, confused, and begins to sit up.

“What…?” Hope swells on your chest. Perhaps he can make good on his promise and rid the two of you of your bothersome husband. Aemond can get him off you, and protect you. He is as naked as you are, no weapon near, but there are two of you. You could try to overpower him.

But as always, Daemon kills everything he touches. Even hope. As Aemond’s eye widens, noticing exactly who has you pinned down in the bed, Daemon moves. He rolls the two of you to the side of the bed, and sends you tumbling over.

You grunt in pain, elbow slamming against the stone floor in a most unpleasant manner. Naked as you are, it scraps your back and makes you cry out.

Daemon is ruthless, and fights dirty. You have always known it. It is why it doesn’t surprise you that he grabs you by the hair and pulls you to your knees, cold steel kissing your throat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He says, to Aemond. Your lover is reaching for his sword, not having even bothered to pick up his breeches. Not that it would matter. The two of you had undressed in the stairs, and not even made it to the bed before rutting against each other like animals. Both of you had been ravenous for each other.

The memory makes you smile. If you are about to die, you will do so with a pleasant ache between your thighs.

Aemond freezes at the sight of the dagger against your throat.

“Let her go.” He barks. Daemon laughs.

“Youth these days…” He mocks him, whispering in your ear. “Impudent little brat. You do not give the orders here.”

“Let us all calm down.” You try to speak in your most even tone. It’s difficult to do when you know you are doomed, but you need to give Aemond at least a fighting chance. He is too important to the war effort to die here, naked in your chambers. And perhaps you care a bit too much for him. “We can talk, Daemon. Aemond will leave.”

Daemon laughs again. He sounds hysterical.

“I am curious.” The dagger digs just a tiny bit harder against your throat. Aemond stands there, seemingly frozen, but his eyes are calculating. He is inching closer to his sword. You just need to buy him time. “What did you think would happen? Huh?”

You do not answer. Daemon’s grip on your hair turns a bit more punishing, forcing you to arch your back.

“Did you think I would let you make a fool out of me?” When you do not answer, he presses the dagger against your throat harder still. Blood begins to bubble up to the surface, dripping down your neck. It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, but it does sting. Unwillingly, you let out a cry of pain.

It makes Aemond lose his head.

“Stop that!” He shouts, grabbing his sword in one swift move. His tone turns smug. “The lady is pregnant. My seed has taken when yours never could.”

Of course he taunts Daemon with that. Of course.

The words make you flinch minutely. To any other observer, it would be nothing. A shift on your breathing or a slight tension of your shoulders. But to Daemon? Daemon, who has made torturing you his favorite sport? Daemon, who delights in humiliating you? He knows it right away.

This time, when he cackles, it’s not hysterical but full of joy.

“By the Seven Hells!” You can feel his chest against your back, shaking with genuine amusement. “How naive. You Hightowers barely know where to stick your cocks, and you think you have left her with child.”

You feel an embarrassed heat begin to bloom on your cheeks. You avert your eyes from Aemond.

“No, you see. When you were learning your letters, I was already married to her. She is up to her usual tricks, aren’t you, ābrazȳrys?” And because Daemon is a prick, he gives your hair another tug, forcing your back to bow. It has the unwanted consequences of thrusting your chest and hips out. “Such a pretty picture.”

He lowers the dagger to one of your nipples. It makes you stiffen in his grasp, as he thumbs it idly and presses it to the blade’s edge.

Your breaths become more shallow. Daemon is fucking insane. All Targaryens are. You do not think him above cutting it off.

Aemond should really seize the chance, now that your throat is in no danger of being slit, and lunge at him. You wouldn’t even miss the nipple, truly.

But instead, he flounders around.

“You are not pregnant?” His voice is disappointed. While Aemond had voiced his desire for seeing you with child, you had always thought it was another way to best his uncle, and not out of an actual desire to be a father.

“I have been drinking moontea.” You confess, guiltily.

“And why in the..?” Aemond rubs his face. He looks cross. He looks like he could hit you. Without noticing, you shuffle back against Daemon.

“We are at war!” You plead, trying to talk him down. “I am married! To your uncle!”

“Cold.” Daemon snickers against your hair. His hand wraps around your waist, as if he owns you. Aemond’s face contorts into murderous rage.

You realize this is not a good position to be in. Nothing good can come out of two dragons playing tug of war, not when you are the thing caught in the middle. You will either burst from being stretched taut, or snap in half when one bites too hard.

“What do you want, Daemon? Beyond causing trouble?” You whine, tiredly. Overwhelmed tears are beginning to gather in your eyes. Daemon ruins everything, always. He delights on crushing you under his heel, on making you feel small and hopeless. It’s a talent of his.

“You see, I have been learning a great deal from Dalton Greyjoy.” Daemon’s voice is almost conversational. Were it not for the fact that he is dragging the dagger between your breasts, drawing circles with it above your heart, placing it again at your throat, you might believe him speaking of the weather. “About war prizes.”

“War prizes? You have won nothing.” Aemond scoffs, lowering his sword once more.

“Drop the sword, boy.” Daemon orders. “Or the whore loses a teat.”

Aemond looks at you. His face is conflicted. On one hand, he is furious with you and your lies by omission, but on the other, you have a common enemy. One currently threatening to slit your throat. Again.

You nod at Aemond. He understands without you needing to say a word.

“You are getting reiterative, Daemon.” You feign to yawn. “Uninspired even.”

Daemon grabs your hair.

“You little..!”

But before he finishes, you pinch his inner thigh, hard enough to make him let go of you. You fall to your stomach, crawling out of the way, just when Aemond lunges at him.

Steel meets steel. You curl into a small ball, covering your ears. You wonder where in the Seven Hells your guards are. They were supposed to patrol the outskirts of the castle, but somehow, Daemon slipped their notice.

The more you look, the more horrified you are. Because while Aemond fights with intent to kill, Daemon is simply toying with him. They are not as evenly matched as you had hoped. While they both fight dirty, Daemon’s experience gives him an edge Aemond doesn’t have. He waits for the younger man to tire, before using Dark Sister to disarm him and nearly behead him.

“No!” You shout. Aemond stumbles. Daemon pounces. He grabs him by the hair, and forces him up, the same dagger that he had used on you now at your lover’s throat.

“I see I have been going about things the wrong way.” Daemon smirks at you. “Come here.”

Aemond struggles against him, silver hair disheveled.

“Run! Run!” He orders you. “Get out.”

You do not dare obey him, but you do glance at the door.

“Or do that, and I behead pretty boy here.” Daemon agrees, evenly. “Saves you the moontea, even. Abstinence is the best way to avoid pregnancies, after all.”

You step closer to Daemon.

“Come on, ābrazȳrys. Don’t tell me you are shy. Closer.”

You obey, getting close enough to touch him.

“In my pocket.”

You reach inside his cloak, making a face. Your fingers meet something cold and unyielding. Metal. Circular. Manacles.

“Put them on him.” He orders you, before addressing Aemond, mockingly. “Hands behind your back, sweetling.”

It prompts another round of cursing and struggling from Aemond.

Daemon tuts. He digs Dark Sister in.

Your hands tremble, but you place the manacles on a struggling Aemond. It takes quite a bit of effort.

“I am sorry.” You keep repeating, as you do. “So sorry.”

Daemon smoothes Aemond’s hair down. Annoyed, the younger man jerks his head away.

“Look at you. Pretty as a maiden, were it not for that gnarly scar.” Then, because it’s not enough to make a dig at Aemond, he turns to you. Daemon has a pathological need to hurt you. “Even looks like Rhaenyra in the right light.”

You roll your eyes. Daemon does something and Aemond squeaks like a girl. You cannot see where his hand is, where you stand, but it looks like he spanked his arse.

Unlike Aemond, you are aware your husband uses sex as an intimidation method. The lecherous expression he wears is part of it, probably. Or so you hope. He can’t possibly want his nephew, right? You grimace. You are also aware Daemon beds both men and women when it suits him to do so, and has never been put off by familial ties.

Daemon reaches for your hip. He forces you to twirl, in a motion that would be enchanting were it not for the fact that it comes from him. You jerk back, annoyed.

“Stop that.”

“Why? I am curious.” He pulls you in, hugging you from behind. Aemond stares, sullenly. Daemon ignores him, hips nestled tightly against your rear. He sways you from side to side, soothingly.

You understand now why he is so popular with maidens. Were you a few years younger, and lacked your history with him, you would fall for his tricks too. Give him your maidenhead, and hope he would marry you.

Aemond seems to fear that exact same thing, bound hands tensing behind his back. He refuses to say a word, but you can tell. Aemond is like that. If his leg was trapped into a bear trap, he would rather chew it off himself instead of showing any vulnerability.

You wish you could tell him he has nothing to worry about. You are no maiden, and you know Daemon. Yet, you find yourself too preoccupied to reassure him. Daemon is kissing your naked shoulder, lips leaving a cold path of dread in their wake.

“Why him? Out of all men?” He grasps your chin, and forces your eyes to meet Aemond’s.

Perhaps Daemon thinks he will shame you, forcing you to endure his caresses and stare at the man you said to love but could never own you. Perhaps, he thinks he can break Aemond by showing him that you didn’t only betray him through a lie of omission, but that you will fall into his bed without a second thought.

He is mistaken.

“I don’t know.” You say, straightening up. You look at Aemond. Naked, sapphire eye bared, mouth twisted into a grim line.

You are not much better. All your flaws are exposed too. The man who holds you is your husband, the one that never wanted to share your bed. He forces you to look at your lover, his younger nephew, proof that you are no more than an adulteress.

Daemon licks down your spine. You don’t feel any pleasure, just the usual apprehension for when Daemon is near.

“I just love him.” You say, eyes still fixed on Aemond. You hope he believes you. If Daemon intends to kill you, Aemond needs to hear it one last time.

“Hm.” Aemond averts his eye. You try not to sag in Daemon’s arms. You can feel him smirking against your skin, and it fills you with rage.

“Enough to break your vows? After years of solitude?”

Rage is a curious thing. It should energize you, make you fight hard to defend yourself. Yet, you have been told that it is unladylike to scream, or throw things. You are a woman. You can’t punch those that hurt you. And so, instead of yelling, your eyes just fill with tears.

“I just…”

Your soft voice breaks Aemond. He snaps out of whatever haze he is in, and lunges at Daemon. Unfortunately, it has the consequences of trapping you in the middle. Handcuffed as he is, you need to steady him so the three of you don’t topple over.

“You never fucked her right.” Aemond snarls, over your head. You wince. You know Daemon. This is not going to end well.

Daemon laughs.

“Now, you.” Daemon grabs him by the shoulder, delighted. “You, I can understand. She looks like her, doesn’t she? Put her in a green dress, and then…. Tell me, do you call her Muña too? Beg to nurse from her breasts?”

It is scarily accurate. But then again, when it comes to perversion, Daemon always is.

“Do you need a demonstration, kepa?” Aemond mocks, trying to play off the blush in his cheeks. “Need me to teach you to please your wife, old man?”

Despite the situation you are in, you cannot fight your smile. Nor can Aemond. And if there is anything Daemon despises, it is being made fun of.

“Teach me? You? I was already fucking whores when you were nothing more than an idea on Alicunt’s head.”

Aemond laughs. It’s a cold sound, one that usually indicates he is about to pounce. It’s terrifying, but not to you. To you, it only alights a ferocious hope.

“Whores. Not ladies. I suspect none would admit you into her bed, with your uncouthness.”

Daemon stares at Aemond. His mouth opens and closes, as if he cannot quite believe that Aemond dares speak to him so.

“Uncouth? Me? Women like nothing more than to be taken hard and without mercy. Ravished, really.”

“There is a difference between being ravished and being brutalized.” You mutter, without thinking. “Not that you would know.”

“So that is how the boy does it?” Daemon arches an eyebrow. “He mutters sweet nothings in your ears, tells you how beautiful you look? Bah. Any fool can do that.”

“Why couldn’t you, then?” Aemond taunts. You fight off the embarrassment starting to warm your face and ears. If there is something you would rather not discuss with your lover, it is the lackluster intimacy you had with your husband.

“How confident, Taoba.” An expert on building suspense, Daemon waits before continuing his statement. “Fine, then. Prove it to me and the two of you will be allowed to leave.”

You cringe. Is he suggesting you leave your people behind? That you just abandon Riverrun and run away?

Aemond looks at you. Your lower lip trembles.

“Now?” You squirm. The implication is clear, but you still dare hope you misunderstood.

“Here. Now.” Daemon wears a curious look on his face, assessing both Aemond and you.

You are suddenly aware of your nakedness, the confidence the months with Aemond helped you build gone. Your hands go to cover your breasts. It surprises you that he wants to watch you. He has always been a deviant, but you are still his ugly, unwanted wife.

The thought of doing anything intimate with Daemon in the room makes your skin crawl. You turn to look at Aemond, feeling helpless. It is a good opportunity to buy time, to figure out a plan.

You curse yourself for sending out most of your household to join the Green army. If your guards were not situated on the outside of Riverrun, if you had enough men to station some in your door…

Aemond meets your eyes. Trust me, his face seems to say, I’ll get us out. Even in cuffs, he is formidable. His eye pleads with you, until you are nodding.

Daemon might go back on his word. Or he might not. He has always been a rogue, this husband of yours. But the fact that his beloved Queen grows more unstable by the day hints at the fact that this is a suicide mission. It doesn’t look well for you.

“Alright.” You agree. “Let’s do this.”

Daemon gives you a small shove, towards Aemond.

“Kiss.” He orders.

You are gentle with him. You press a kiss to his cheek, very tenderly.

“He will have to uncuff me.” Aemond whispers to you, making you tense. “At one point he will. And I’ll kill him for daring to look at you again.”

It makes your stomach swoop. But not in fear, or dread, or anything that Daemon provokes. No. In genuine happiness. Butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of happiness. Coming from Aemond, it might as well be a love confession.

You kiss him, passionate and slow. He opens up for you beautifully, but you make a frustrated little noise regardless. You miss his hands on your waist, on your hair. His body pressing against yours, so close you feel every ragged breath he takes.

“Now, lovebirds. Off with the cuffs.” Daemon presses against your back, and reaches forward, to hand Aemond the key to his cuffs. You fight a smile.

Daemon presses the dagger back to your neck, and forces you to walk backwards. Never let it be said that Daemon Targaryen is not a risk-taker. When Aemond has gotten rid of his cuffs, he is already sitting in a chair, with you in his lap, dagger still on the hollow of your neck.

“Māzigon, taoba.”

Aemond does. He kneels between your legs, gently spreading them apart. He kisses from your ankles towards your thighs, but what normally would have you pleased, is doing nothing for you. You are self-conscious of Daemon’s eyes on you, on your soft stomach, on the breasts that now spill over your chest. You are not as pink and white as Valyrians are, and you had never minded, until you had been faced with bedding one.

He looks up. You stare down at him, wide-eyed and fearful. This is the part where he gets angry. Daemon is like that, too. No one wants a lover who spends so much time in her head, that gets distracted and starts thinking of chores during sex.

“Muña.” Aemond says, taking your hands in his. “You are crying.”

You had not even felt the tears welling up in your eyes, There is a hot feeling behind them, a knot in your throat.

“I’m sorry.” You sob.

“I don’t have all night.” Daemon complains.

“I can’t. I am so sorry, Aemond.”

“Shhh.” He says, whispering against your thigh. “I’ll make it work. Just focus on me.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” You say, overwhelmed. “Why… I can’t.”

Daemon sighs.

“Fucking hell.”

“Shut up.” Aemond protests, starting to get up.

Daemon’s dagger turns towards him. He moves it down, sharply

“Kneel.”

There is a tenseness to his limbs, a tone to his voice, that speaks of imminent violence. He sounds ready to gut Aemond from navel to nose. You cannot allow it. The idea of him being hurt makes you ill.

“You are making me self-conscious!” You cry, bravely dragging Daemon’s attention from Aemond towards yourself. “I can’t! I am no whore, I don’t perform on command, it doesn’t work like that, and you know it.”

Daemon has the same issues, after all. You wonder if he remembers the times he failed to perform, failed to put his cock inside you and a babe in your belly. You never told Aemond, knowing he would take delight in it. Even after all these years, you have kept Daemon’s secret.

“Me? You are saying that I am the problem?” The dagger turns towards you back again, his gestures wild. You shut your eyes, trying to keep calm and think. “That I what, disgust you so much you…”

“Do you remember what you used to say to me?” Anger turns you bold, turns your quivering form into pure stone. You sit up in his lap, and turn to face Daemon. How dare he victimize himself?

Daemon stares at you, lips set into a thin line. He then tugs the dagger away from you, avoiding spilling your blood. You wonder if that would make him harden more. He seems to be enjoying the power play much more than he ever did bedding you.

Perhaps his precious Rhaenyra cured him.

“You are insane. Stop nagging, and let the boy lick your cunt.” Daemon says, after a while of staring at your defiant expression. He turns you back towards Aemond, roughly.

You look at Aemond. His hands grasp your thighs once more, but he seems unwilling to go back to pleasuring you.

Stubborn as you are, you turn towards Daemon once more. He grabs your jaw, trying to move you to your previous position, but you resist. The ensuing struggle makes him harden even more under you, much to your horror.

“You said I looked like a cow. You called me frigid. You said my teats were sagging, that my cunt probably had teeth, that no man…” You spit at him, scratching his arms, his face, anything you can reach. Something snaps inside you, something that you had kept under and hidden through years of neglect and verbal abuse. “That no man would want me. Not even if I was the cheapest fuck in a brothel.”

Daemon flinches, as if startled. He doesn’t quite know what to do, when the meek little trout in his arms turns into a feral cat. He gets his bearings before Aemond, though, and hugs you to him, trapping your arms against your body.

“You said all that to a Lady? Your lady wife?” Aemond whistles. He rubs your knee, and you give him a sullen look too. He could have used the distraction to free you from Daemon’s presence once for all.

Thoughts of being made a widow disgusted you when you first met Aemond. Now, you might end up killing him yourself.

“Shut up.” Daemon looks at Aemond, eyes unseeing. His mind is elsewhere. “What would you know?” It’s a half-hearted quip, not even truly insulting.

You decide to press to your advantage. Whatever is going through his head, it doesn’t compare to the horrors he has put you through.

“I am not crazy. I remember. Each time I look at myself in a mirror, each time I think of you. I remember. Each time you came to Riverrun I had this feeling like I was going to throw up from panic because I knew you were going to say horrible things to me. ”

You punctuate each word with a harsh jab at his cheats with your finger. Daemon grabs your hand between his, and interlocks your fingers, making a mockery of it.

“You cannot be that sensitive.” Daemon scoffs, but his voice sounds strange. As if he is trying to justify to himself what he has done.

“It stuck. It stuck, and it hurts. I can’t. I keep thinking of you, hearing your voice say cruel things. When I look in the mirror, it is your voice I hear, I see every flaw and imperfection and I can’t stop it. The only times I forgot about them were with Aemond, but even that you wish to taint.” You sneer.

Aemond just watches the two of you, in silent fascination. He doesn’t seem inclined to intervene.

“And I will taint it if I very damn please! I may have been a cunt, but you are still my wife.” Daemon shouts, losing his temper. He grabs you roughly by the shoulder and shakes you as he speaks.

You hate when he gets like this. When he screams and gets in your face, and threatens you bodily. It makes you feel small, cower before him. You hate it.

“You cheated on her with Rhaenyra, and now you say that?” Aemond interrupts, perhaps sensing you need support. His hands on your thighs squeeze a bit. He can sense you are wavering.

The only way to survive dragonfire is to be made of Valyrian Steel. And right now, you cannot even pass for bronze, with how easily you are crumbling.

Daemon shoves you off him, enraged, and grabs Aemond by the hair.

“You love this, don't you? You love feeling that you had the power to take everything from me.” And it’s not about you, really. Or at least not only. This is about Lucerys, and the war, the witch queen of Harrenhal that Aemond killed. He places the dagger against Aemond’s good eye, making you gasp. It sickens you, that out of all things, he would blind him instead of killing him. It’s cruel. “You know nothing. I will rip out your remaining eye in return for this treachery. I let you continue your fun, despite half the realm knowing of your whoring. But I’ll be damned if I let a Hightower filth take my bride from me.”

“Daemon!” You scream, trying to get him off Aemond. His attention goes back to you, but instead of murderous, he looks broken. His shoulders slump, his mouth shifts into a small little pout.

Daemon grabs you by the shoulders, surprisingly tender.

“I fucked up. I know. I know I fucked up, but I don’t know how to make it right. Tell me how to fix it. Please.”

You know what he is doing. His whole life has gone to shit, so Daemon is trying to salvage what he can. The war has been moot, so far. They have only slaughtered each other and are no closer to any victory at all.

Another pair of hands grans your shoulders. Aemond.

“You cannot be thinking of forgiving him.” His grip is rougher than Daemon’s, knuckles white from the force of it. He is holding on too tight. He fears you choosing Daemon over him. “He has been fighting for that whore’s claim. He is infatuated with her. He sired her bastards!”

You remember the times you confessed to Aemond, limbs intertwined in bed, how hard you had tried to make your marriage work. How his eye darkened when you spoke of Daemon.

This should be all you ever wanted and yet, it falls short. You want Aemond, not Daemon, you tell yourself. But the sixteen-year-old married off to broker an alliance still feels elated.

Daemon finally wants you. Your husband finally wants you.

“I did. And I assure you, I loved Rhaenyra when we were both younger. But the war…” His words jerk you out of the haze. Daemon loved Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra, not you. It's heartbreaking as always, but you barely feel it.

“And this has nothing to do with her calling for your head?” You ask, sharply. The rumors say the Queen has gone mad, naming her closest confidants traitors. It is what Daemon deserves. He has never been anything but.

“She is calling for everyone’s heads. If you think you can still love someone who ordered your death…”

“If you think you can love someone who crushed your spirit and killed you in life…” Aemond mocks, letting go of you to pick up his sword. Daemon is too slow to react, and he can only raise his hands in surrender when he is the one being held at sword point.

His eyes, pleading, look for yours. You find yourself unable to look away.

“It’s true. I never appreciated you, and will not claim to love you. But you are my greatest regret. You are a sight for these sore, old eyes. I wish… I wish I had not been such a cunt, and we had built something.” Daemon pleads to you. Aemond scowls at him. “Give you children, raise them here. Settled down. You are not ugly or look like a cow. You are a pretty woman. And even if you weren’t, in a world as ugly and twisted as ours, your heart continues pure and beautiful. I think that a person who is so kind could never be ugly. Not in my eyes.”

The confession makes you sob. You turn away from both of them, grabbing a nightshirt and putting it on. You do not want Aemond to see you cry, less he feels betrayed because you are grieving Daemon and what could have been.

Daemon has always been good at surviving. When he thinks he couldn’t move you, he goes after Aemond instead.

“You have been good to her, nephew. Neither of us are good men, but my wife is a good woman and I suppose….” There is a pause. You can’t see either of their faces. Daemon is probably sneering at him. Aemond hums. “She deserves her treat. If she wants you…”

“How noble of you, stepping out. But don’t bother. I shall remove you myself.” Aemond’s tone is flat. His most dangerous. “Permanently.”

“You forget yourself.” Daemon drops his pretense of civility. His voice raises. “I have the legal claim over her, not you.”

“That is easily fixed.” Aemond laughs. He turns towards you, busy pretending you do not exist. “Wed me. Vhagar, you and me, in the manner my ancestors did.”

Daemon inhales, sharply.

“You dare! You dare, you… Green spawn!”

“Wed me.” Aemond begs. It sounds more like a plea for you not to abandon him. “Wed me.”

“Where in the Seven Hells would you go? You have torched half the Riverlands, they would never accept you wedding their Lady.” Daemon crosses his arms over his chest. He then turns towards you, cocksure as always, and not at all like someone facing imminent death. “Nor will they accept you for long, either.”

He is right. The torching of the Riverlands has happened despite you declaring for the Greens. Mostly thanks to Daemon taking Harrenhal, and enabling the Blackwoods. Mostly, because some of your lords still oppose a woman ruling.

You have brought on destruction to your own people, and you do not know how to face them. Once, you had sworn to protect them from the war, but you failed in a manner so spectacular things have turned into a civil war. There are two Riverlands now. The Blacks and the Greens. And it’s all your fault.

Running might be for the best. You have been an awful ruler. Perhaps, this way, your nephew might get your seat and do better for your tenants.

Shame, once again, burns hotly along your spine. You try not to let it show.

“They will if Aegon backs us.” Aemond sounds unconvinced of his own words. Your smile drops.

“I am sure your brother looks upon you very kindly.” Daemon mocks. “When you decided to play at being a petty King here, and left him and your family in King’s Landing as we torched it all.”

Aemond looks like he is half a second from beheading him. He even swings the sword back, preparing to strike Daemon.

“I will marry you!” You scream, distracting him. “And we shall follow Daemon’s plan.”

Daemon laughs.

“Why do you think I have one?”

“You always have hare brained schemes.” You roll your eyes. “I know you.”

Daemon stares at you. He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly.

“I might have planned to take you to Pentos. I was always loved there.”

“Good. The three of us can go then.” You wrench the sword out of Aemond’s hand, who only stares at you, stunned. Then, you go to do the same to Daemon.

“If we must.” Daemon complains, letting you disarm him.

Aemond stares between the two of you. You stare back, until he is the one lowering his eyes.

“We will go.” He agrees, turning to Daemon. “But only because it will please me to see you grovel as a dog for her forgiveness. You and I have a score to settle.”

“Do not forget yourself, nephew. You are the one who owes me a debt.”

“Then we will settle it there.” Aemond answers, plainly. “I look forward to it.”

Daemon just smiles. A bloodthirsty, deadly smile. You already dread whatever he is thinking of.

362 notes · View notes

jewish-sideblog · 1 year ago

Text

During last year’s Chanukkah, I toured Yad Vashem. My tour guide ended with a story that will probably stick with me for the rest of my life.

A Jewish father and his son are held prisoner in Auschwitz— they are lucky, all things considered. Most Jews were gassed upon arrival. The Nazi guards instruct the prisoners that they have to dig mass graves for their fellow Jews every day. The father is appalled by this, of course, but he doesn’t have much choice. A week goes by, and the father and the son are subjected to horrors they could not have imagined before. The first Friday evening in Auschwitz, the father goes to his son and says, “I cannot work on Shabbat. I will not dig graves for Jews on Shabbat. For all my other reservations, I cannot do it, because the Talmud forbids it.” The son is barely fourteen, but he knows that if his father refuses to work, then his father will die. So he goes to meet another prisoner, a former Rabbi. The son pleads with the Rabbi to help his father see sense, and so the Rabbi and the son go together to meet with the father.

“The Talmud forbids us to work on Shabbat,” the Rabbi says, “but pikuach nefesh overrides Talmudic law when a life is in danger. Your life is in danger. Your son’s life is in danger. You are allowed to work on Shabbat.” The father begrudgingly agrees, and he saves his family’s life by digging mass graves on the day of rest.

A few months go by, and the Nazis are running low on food, so they start grinding pig hooves and guts into the slop that gets fed to the prisoners at Auschwitz. The father finds out about this and begins to starve himself. “G-d commands in the Torah us not to eat pork,” he says. The son, out of concern for his father, gets the Rabbi again. “Pikuach nefesh overrides the Torah as well as the Talmud. You must eat, for your life and for your son’s sake. Eat what is given to you. G-d will overlook violating kosher if it means surviving in a place like this.” So the father starts to eat what he is given.

Miraculously, the father and the son survive until winter. There’s never enough food for all the prisoners in Auschwitz to eat, and so there are frequent fights over scraps, but the most valuable thing in the slop is fat. Fat can keep you warmer in the winter, and it can be used to cover up and heal small injuries. If the Nazi guards noticed so much as a scratch on you, they would send you to the gas chambers that same day. Fat was gold in Auschwitz. At some point, the son noticed that the father had been ignoring food and collecting fat. He wasn’t trading it for scraps or favors, he was just keeping it. And he was starving to keep it. So once again, the son and the Rabbi approached the father.

“I’m turning it into a candle,” he said, “for Channukah.” The son and the Rabbi were appalled. The Rabbi said, “Channukah is a cultural holiday. It is not ordained by G-d. Neither the Torah nor the Talmud command you to celebrate it. Why in G-ds name would you sacrifice your food for that?” The father replied,

“You can live three days without water. You can live three weeks without food. But you cannot live three minutes without hope.”

The son and the Rabbi helped the father fashion wicks from rags and clothes, and helped steal small bits metal of metal off corpses and guards to make a spark. They lit Channukah candles in the middle of a Nazi concentration camp. The father and the son survived off of hope for the rest of that year, and they both lived to see the liberation of Auschwitz. The father died soon afterwards, but the son, Hugo Gryn, went on to become a Rabbi himself. In fact, the Rabbi of West London Synangoue, and the leader of the British Reform movement. He was described as the most beloved Rabbi in the country. He never lost sight of hope.

#Channukah #hanukkah #jumblr #shoah mention #Auschwitz mention #tw ed #I think I convered all the relevant triggers but please reach out if I’ve missed one

471 notes · View notes

death---dealer · 5 months ago

Text

( POTA NSFW THOUGHTS BELOW 18+)

Do not like, do not read, it is that SIMPLE.

*Barking uncontrollably*

it needs to be talked about IT NEEDS TO [ ricocheting gunshot, i am taken out once again. ]

Caesar likes to give oral - Really garners more pleasure giving what you want and knowing that he can get you a writhing mess below him than it does to receive, the King is all powerful with you in his hand. Will actually use his fingers ( unlike the others I imagine, at least for the time being. ) You have a bar of soap reserved for it, Caesar knowing that cleanliness is important for Humans and will wash his hands before he fingers you. Two fingers are your limit given how thick they are compared to human digits. Usually the pointer and the middle, he scissors as you had shown him once that that's a good way to get your back arching and toes curling. You're in for an absolute treat when Caesar drags his head down, panting against your pubic hair for a moment and giving you a fluttering glance in anticipation as he draws himself down and his protruding mouth is barely ghosting against your clit, his fingers stopping their action for only a moment before he scraps his appendage against your bundle of nerves and he's fast back at work, fingers slick with your juices as he sets a languid pace at first, curling his pointer finger but leaving his middle straight to hit the spot that you had urged him to hit multiple times before. If he plays you just right, you might grasp at his cock mid-stroke of his wrist and urge him closer so you could give him something in return. That doesn't last long, Caesar will snap and push you back and tell you that you need to wait.

Noa likes to receive oral - The absolute delectation he gets when you're so willing to put yourself in front of him in a bid to bring pleasure, the moans you give against him, the furling of his hands into your hair really tug towards that primal intent he has towards you that he keeps shoved down. This isn't to say that he is not all for giving once he's gotten enough control over things like his teeth ( He scraped you once and you almost had a heart attack at how hard it was. ) But, once Noa gets it down to an art with practice ( Hey, he's an obsessive creature by habit lol), he's deep between your legs, letting his blunted teeth run up and down against you teasingly slow, staring straight up at you and maintaining intense eye contact as the pad of his tongue rides against your clit causing you to buck. Hands are on your hips immediately, keeping you pinned and Noa pushes his entire muzzle forward to let his tongue slide into your pussy. He loves to pull away after the heat of the moment and drag his tongue along his canines and you can see your orgasm against his beard, chin and nose from how deeply engrained he had himself, a smug look radiating along him as he had gotten you to cum with only his mouth.

Blue Eyes Is equally into both and it really depends on the day - Likes to give and likes to receive. Probably shocked him the first time you ever gave him oral but slowly leaned into it as a favorite form of foreplay, or even just regular intimacy if you didn't feel like completely laying. He loves to return the favor ( a true gentleman ) and loves to get himself messy between your legs. First time you had gone down on him was an incredible shock and overdrew his senses to the point where you weren't actually able to get him fully into your mouth, and he was done with just a few pumps of your hand, your lips hot and heavy against the side, right along the vein that trickled on the underside. Blue Eyes is a panic below you, stiffening to the point where he feels like his scars are going to re-open and supply him with new wounds, his mind racing at the prospect that what you suggested, your mouth consuming him entirely, wasn't even played out and he's eager to try again once the Prince gives you the 'okay'. First time he had gone down on you he completely missed the mark, but it was still an incredible experience as you essentially rode his face, feeling the way that his tongue was wilding lapping at the scent and sweetness that had been teasing Blue Eyes for so long. He's more about nestle himself into it, which was more than okay with you at the moment as you grinded against his face, allowing your juices to coat almost his entire face with the knowledge that all the other female Apes in the Colony were going to sense it and know that you were who their Prince chose.

Anaya is a giver - ( being held at gunpoint ) LISTEN I HAVE REASONING. He loves mangoes. They're sweet and they're tasty and guess what else is? You. He finds it fun to undress you himself, it's like a little present waiting for him in the nest if he knows you're waiting for him. It's like peeling a mango. Absolutely a treat for him to go down on you and he's the one that will either take his time to get you to moan for him or go to absolute oblivion to get you to cum faster because he wants to have more of your juices against his tongue. That isn't to say that he's not into receiving either because ohhhhh boy is that fun. Anaya is probably a stiff Ape the entire time though, at least the first few rounds where it takes place. He's not sure where to put his hands, what to think about having your mouth wrapped around such a sensitive organ, but once he finally wills himself to look down at you and the way that your mouth spread against him it was all over and he was wild to lift his hips up and takes refuge in the gag that you give him. But, Anaya notices you don't pull away immediately and he does it again, garnering him another gag. He is a big praiser and will mutter to you how great you're doing while you've got him in his mouth. Tells you shakily that he was so afraid the first time that you were going to bite it off but now that you're bringing him nothing but pleasure, he's quick to compliment, knowing it an Echo way that it makes you feel good about yourself.

Koba is a receiver and there is nothing about giving that he'd really be willing to admit ( Other than getting to taste you, but c'mon... Your scent alone was enough for him at times, he couldn't imagine going so feral that he needed to taste it. ) Probably has tasted it once or twice before by accident and it caused him to go haywire. Koba has never been enthralled to do it though, and if he ever did, it would be incredibly teeth forward even if you tell him otherwise. He knows how sharp his canines are, even the blunted teeth in the front and he'd surely use them to torture you or get you to beg him to stop and just rail into you instead. He is heavy in receiving from you ever so often if the mood calls for it. Only when Koba is resting, hunched and crouched over and you're between his legs, struggling to get yourself situated as he slides himself into your mouth, hard and fast. He's quick to grab the back of your head and essentially mouth fuck you to the point where you feel his seed running down the back of your throat and coating inside of your stomach. This is one of those moments where Koba is intent on watching you. He likes the force your throat has as you swallow, as you pull away with a small cough, but you're still desperate for more as you grasp at his thighs to help leverage your body. Koba is then fast to pin you onto your back, hovering above you menacingly and he can smell his own scent on your breath as you're panting close to his face, his one good eye piercing down your body scrutinizing every crevice and bump. So ugly and unnatural human bodies appeared. Naked, no fur, so sensitive to temperature as he watched your nipples perk with the chill. Koba wanted to destroy it and that's his carnal intent the entire time.

#planet of the apes #pota #planet of the apes x reader #caesar #noa #blue eyes #anaya #koba #caesar x reader #noa x reader #blue eyes x reader #anaya x reader #koba x reader

221 notes · View notes