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charles-leclerizz · 7 months

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🏎️ ๋࣭ ⭑Collecting shells

🏁 Pairings : Carlos Sainz X fem! Reader

🏁 Warnings : none! just fluffy times

🏁 Word Count : 4.4k words (4422 words)

🏁 Author's note : Ahaha, another one, this one is very self indulgent and I love it so much. Make sure to lilke and reblog (anything is appreciated, but comments and reblogs fuel this sad little writer). The word dividers this time are also from @plum98! Once again, all translations are available at the end, via our beloved radio comm! <3

🏁 Music player : Sofia by Alvaro Soler

“You look so pretty, hermosa!” Carlos exclaims, rushing up to the car from which you and a few of your friends were exiting, each of them parrying off to their respective boyfriends.

Kika to Pierre, who reached forward to grab her hand and kiss her knuckles, Alexandra to Charles, who wrapped his arms around her waist, lazily swaying the pair back and forth on their heels as they engaged in hushed, intimate conversation, Lily to Alex, who giggled like a small child as he saw her large sunhat almost fly off, courtesy of both the strong, yet pleasant ocean breeze and her own fast pace.

Finally, you and Carlos, who smiled fondly at your clumsy movements that caused your thin, cotton cover-up to slink up from your knees towards the tops of your thighs, before floating back down, “Carlito!” You bound up to him, jumping into his waiting arms and wrap your legs around his torso, tangling your limbs around his neck and underneath his unbuttoned shirt.

His laugh rumbles through his chest jovially, causing you to pick your head off his tanned shoulder to look him in his eyes, “Te ríes ahora, pero espera hasta que esto termine.” You tease him, bumping your noses together as his eyebrows raise at you albeit broken, yet improved Spanish, “Now, who said anything about you stopping your koala tendencies? I for one don’t mind,” He holds your waist tighter against his lower abdomen, keeping you fixed in pace with merely one arm as he bends down to collect the tweed beach bag that you had dropped in your pursuit of his embrace, before kissing you on the cheek and letting you down back onto the concrete parking space.

“Bro literally was about to drown me in the ocean,” Alex whispers to Lily, whilst pointing at the lovestruck Carlos who stood Infront of him. To prove his point, he removes his hat and shakes his salty hair, spraying the water all over his girlfriends’ bikini top as she shrieks airily, “Alex!”

“What, it’s true? I would’ve been the next finding Nemo if not for her arriving,” Alex jerks his head towards you as you intertwine your hand with Carlos’, who looks proud of his previous actions.

“I’m sure that you would have been a delicious fish,” Pierre walks over to Alex, who is tucking his wet, mop-like hair back underneath his hat. Kika snorts at the comments before she covers her mouth.

“Guys, can we please get a move on?” Charles complains, “the water looks great for some scuba diving right now,” Alexandra pats his shoulder supportively, albeit hesitant to join her companion on his sea adventures.

“Woah, hold on-“ You stop the bickering that had ensued between the men, arguing that they would not hurry up, for they did not want to plunge themselves into the bottomless pit that was the ocean.

“Nobody said shit, about scuba diving.” You clap your hands excitedly, much to Carlos’ disdain.

“Oh no, you are not doing it again- remember last time?” He reminds you, eyebrows furrowing as his full lips set into a thin, worry-stricken line.

“Last time was a freak accident!” You croon, moving your hand up from his wrist to his bicep as you jump in your spot.

Pierre snorts, “An accident? You didn’t surface for almost an hour and a half! We thought that the sharks had adopted you.”

“I would have made a great shark baby,” You huff, crossing your arms childishly and shutting your eyes tight in retaliation.

Though soon, you let up your act after hearing Alex badly whisper to the group, “The sharks would’ve been scared of her,”

“Fine, but nobody can stop me from taking home a turtle,” You stick your tongue out at the group, who look at you with amusement, for you had done this once. Taking home a live souvenir, that was not very happy to be in your innocent captivity.

“Si Hermosa, we will all let you bring back a turtle,” Carlos runs a placating hand through your hair, his fingers separating the smooth strands as you lean your head against his arm.

“Okay, less talking, more walking, please!” Kika dashes forward, stopping at the crooked wooden steps that lead to a quiet sector of the Amalfi coastline. She swoops her hands dramatically, ushering the group down towards the glistening sand and cycadellic water.

Carlos hums as the rest of your friends continue down in pairs, each of them engrossed in their own conversation, some more animated than the rest.

He leans down to press a kiss to your shoulder, allowing you to use his arm as an anchor as you attempt to hobble down the steps safely, not quite in the mood for concussion yet, you remind yourself.

“Isn’t it sweet that they planned this for our 4-year anniversary?” You sighed happily, grateful for your best friends’ actions.

It was a simple invite, since both you and Carlos grew tired of the same romantic candlelight dinners that could easily be procured at any moment, your friends had roped their significant others in an elaborate scheme to make this anniversary the best one yet.

“Sí, very sweet of them,” He squinted his eyes he kept his watchful gaze on the backs of his companion’s heads, snorting as all of them slowly begun to realise who steep the stairs really were, “Take my hand, Hermosa, I don’t want your falling,”

“Thank you Carlito,” You accepted his hand graciously, “But don’t you know that I’ve already fallen for you.” You deliver the cheesy pickup line with an equally grating wink and smirk, your cringe-worthy efforts are rewarded when Carlos blushes a ripe pink and clears his throat, “I would hope so, we’ve already been together for 4 years.”

“Ah shit!” Pierre shouts out horrendously just before a loud thud makes its way behind the group towards your ears.

“Pierre- fuck!” Soon Lily’s voice is also heard as another thump echoes from the wooden steps, and one by one, the entire group has tripped over each other’s missteps, leaving just you and Carlos, still hand in hand watching their demise.

“Are you guys alright?” Carlos leans forward to catch a glimpse of Kika, who’s head had made alarming contact with Alex’s shoulder. He confirms your position, making you promise not to move from your place before he travels further down towards the human dog pile of your friends.

“I hope nothing is broken,” You call out, cupping your hands over your mouth, you lean side to side, dodging your boyfriend’s bobbing body, trying to get a proper understanding of the position that they are in, “Guys, this is perfect orgy position. Honest to God,” You frame the mess with your hands, before cackling at each of their unimpressed faces.

“I just hope that my own dick is still attached,” Alex groans, instantly doubling over as he got to his feet, staring dirtily at Charles, who sheepishly apologised as he too bent down to help his girlfriend as she attempted to fix her hair and check her body for odd bruises.

“I thought we agreed no dick talk?” Kika reminded the man, reaching underneath her cover-up to throw away the sand that had collected in her swimsuit.

“I’ll be lucky if there is a dick to talk about,” Alex whines, standing straighter on the balls of his feet and stretching out his back.

“We’re almost their guys, just ignore the bruises,” Lily reminds them, beginning to continue the shorter descent down towards the promisingly bright, aquamarine sea.

Carlos hums in approval, checking everyone again before bouncing back up the staircase to your side once again, “Only a few more steps to go, Monada.” He assures you, keeping your elbow in a tight grip.

“I hope so, I just got my nails done,” You shakily exclaim, taking your boyfriends’ arm in your hand, “Why did you ask me to get them done anyway?”

“No reason, Monada,” He kisses your cheek, helping you climb down from the last step to sink your feet into the soft, inviting sand, “But they are pretty.” He examines your fingers closely, grinning happily at the navy blue, glossy coating that covers them. You shrug, content with his answer.

The afternoon sun has just peaked, gracing your group with its warm, yet harsh sun rays and many of you lay to bask in its luminescence. Well, some of you.

The boys had decided early on that they would spend most of the time in the water, whilst you and your girlfriends had opted to bask in the vitamin D overload, gushing about the easy tan that would appear. Though soon enough, one of the boys had escaped from the cool water, your Carlos.

He was the first to break away from his friends, paddling as much as he could to the coast, until the water could barely reach the middle of his chest and his feet hit the seabed, which is when he stood to his full height.

The sun beams reflected advantageously from the small, crystalline water droplets that fell from his skin and thanks to the force of gravity and weight of water, his swimming trunks had lowered enough that the defined V that started from his hips was exposed. He reached up, squinting against the blinding glow of the sand, to push his dripping, umber hair off his forehead.

Kika nudged in your ribs, causing you to gasp and slap you palm over the sharp pain that momentarily blossomed on your skin, “Kika!” You whine, annoyed at the interruption of your approaching nap. You maintain your tummy-down position merely twisting your face to look up at your friend from your spot on your striped cream and indigo beach towel.

You wait impatiently for her reasoning for how she could possibly justify waking you up from your sun-blessed haze, but instead, you watch as she pushes her ray-bans down her nose as she bites her lip and giggles whilst pointing at shore.

“What?” You enunciate while you push your upper body away from the ground, turning your neck uncomfortably to scan the sea, to understand why a rosy blush had graced Kika’s features, one that was not a painful sunburn.

“Stop lusting over my boyfriend,” You chuckle at her, weaponizing your book that lay peaking out of your crochet Prada Milano beach bag, hurling it at her arm.

“I’m not lusting,” She defends, laying back down on her own towel, flicking her sunglasses back onto her face, “I’m appreciating, I have my own European to lust over, thank you very much,” She pouts at the lack of companion at her side, slipping her headphones back over her ears.

“Yeah- tell the bit of drool on your face that”, you hesitantly dart your hand out from under the protective shade of your umbrella, retrieving your novel from her area, before sitting up facing the rising tide that playfully crawled up the sand, leaving its damp residue in the surface before retreating again. Your eyes rested on Carlos, who was smiling lopsidedly at your blushing face as he jogged the rest of the way up to you. Laying back, you support your upper body with your forearms as you slide on of your legs higher, bending your knee before oscillating it back and forth teasingly.

“Estás mirando, nena” Carlos grins cheekily whilst pulling up his swimming trunks, re-tying off the loosened drawstrings, he crouches down to plant a salty kiss on your lips before reaching behind you towards his own bag, extracting a towel to catch the rogue water droplets that fell from his body.

“¿Puedes culparme? Tú y tu cintura de cachonda.” Taking his hand in yours before pressing your lips against his skin before rubbing absent-mindedly on the back of his thumb with your own.

He laughed at your response, “Your Spanish is getting good bebe,” he complimented, grunting silently as he came lay down next to you and placea your head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” You hummed, circling into his cool embrace by looping your hands around his neck and tangling your legs with his. He hums distractedly, slipping his fingers beneath the straps of your bikini top, fiddling with the flimsy material between his fingertips, you gasp at his teasing touches, biting down gently on the muscle that lay innnocently in front of your mouth, ripe for the attack.

You pull away from the nook between his arm and face to look at him, “¿Qué estás haciendo? Hm?” You push the floppy strands off his hair back from his eyes, bumping your nose with his. His lips jutted out as he slipped his head back into the crook of your neck, hand still confined in the straps of your swimsuit as he ghosted his fingers along your spine, snickering at the shiver that runs along your back.

“Nada, ¿qué te hace pensar que estoy haciendo algo?” His tongue darts out to lick at the sensitive skin behind your ear, “I like this set, when did you get it?” His other hand encircles your waist, brushing against the underside of your thigh, causing small goosebumps to rise in his wake.

“It’s new, got it just for today.” You hummed happily, scratching your freshly manicured nails down his sun-kissed back.

Carlos squeezes you tighter, yawning quietly as he leaves barely any space between the two of you, “Sleepy?” You ask, still petting his hair as you too became overcome with tranquillity. He nods his head in your embrace, merely nuzzling further into you, “Okay,” you confirm, allowing yourself to go limp with exhaustion in his arms.

“Fuck me, they’re cute,” You hear someone hissing in the back of your mind as you blink your eyes rapidly.

“Shut up Alex- you might wake them,” The voices become louder as you come to, yawning and attempting to stretch, you notice how Carlos is still sound asleep in your arms as small puffs of air escape his mouth.

A camera shutter goes off in the background, causing someone else from above you to yelp in surprise.

“Guys?” You croak, rubbing your eyes sleepily, “What are you doing,” You whisper, rolling over slightly to look at the half of the group that appeared in your field of sight.

“Nothing, nothing,” Charles assured you, shooting a warning glare at Alex and Pierre, who were snickering to themselves as they looked down at the polaroid camera in their hands.

“Okay,” you succumb to blissful unawareness, turning your attention back to your boyfriend who also began to stir out of his rest, “mi amor,” You murmur in his ear. He groans, keeping one hand planted on your waist as he turned away from you, allowing you to take in the entire scene of you friends standing above you.

Alex and Charles were whispering to one another as he fiddled with her hand unknowingly rotating the ring on her finger . Whilst Pierre, Alex, Lily and Kika were giggling with each other, Kika hanging off Pierre’s arm and Lily leaning her waist against Alex.

“What’s the time?” Carlos grumbled, sleep still riddled in his voice as he sat up straight, reaching for his water bottle as you tapped your phone screen.

“It hasn’t been long-“ You assure him, “It’s only 4pm,” You look up to the group, who have since came to sit around you and Carlos, in a lop-sided circle.

“What do you guys want to do now?” Alexandra asks, adjusting the sleeve of her crochet cover-up. Charles helps her and kisses the crown of her head.

“I know a whole pier street full of restaurants on the more popular side of the beach, we could go there?” Carlos offers, already starting to pack up his items in his bag whilst removing a pair of white shorts and a linen, long sleeve shirt.

“Sound good,” Lily hums, resting her head on Alex’s shoulder.

“Carlos-“ Pierre calls out, handing your boyfriend a small stack of polaroid pictures, who flips through the pictures curiously as a slow smile stretches across his face. He leans closer to you, showing you the photos of both you and Carlos entangled together, sound asleep.

The pictures are almost identical, with small changes in position from either him or you, with one his hands slipped beneath the sleeve of your bikini and the other resting on the curve of your back, whilst you had your arms wrapped around his neck protectively as you head rested on his arm.

“This has to be illegal in some way?” You comment, looking up and Kika and Pierre, who merely shrug in response, “Thank you guys, it’s a nice way of remembering our fourth anniversary.”

“What?” Charles exclaims, his green eyes wide with surprise.

“Our anniversary Charles?” Carlos arches his eyebrow at his friend, “I was telling you just yesterday!”

“Did anyone know?” You ask the group, only to be met with their confused expressions, except for Lily who nodded her head.

“I did, that’s why I suggested coming to Italy, to Alex,” She offers, looking accusatory at her boyfriend, who scratched the back of his head.

“I thought you just wanted to go to the beach with everyone.” He defends himself, holding his palms up with innocence.

“I literally bought them a gift when we went on holiday?” She says, surprised at her boyfriend’s air-headed-ness.

“You did?” You cooed, smiling happily and scrunching your nose at her consideration.

“Yeah, it’s a jar of heart shells, the ones that are native to the indo-pacific region,” She explain, reaching into her own bag and retrieving the large jar in question. In which almost 3 dozen shells sat, all of them varying sizes and colours with intricate designs, yet one similarity, was their unique heart shape.

“Heart cockles?” Kika speaks up, her interest piqued at the stunning shells that you and Carlos were still ogling at, “That’s so thoughtful Lily,” She praises her friend who just smiles bashfully and brushes of the rest of compliments she received from the group, saying that it was no biggie and that when she saw the gift, she knew it was perfect for the pair of you.

“They represent the saying ‘Cockle of my heart’ that means ‘to warm and gratify one's deepest feelings.” Pierre read out the meaning from his phone, looking at the shells once more, “They are perfect for you guys.” He notes.

“Thank you, Lily,” You say, tears springing to your eyes as you lean forward to capture her in a hug, “They’re amazing,”

“Don’t cry!” She exclaims, laughing, “It was really nothing,”

You sniffled, capturing Carlos’ hand in yours as you plant a kiss to his cheek, “I have a gift as well,” He whispers in your ear, cupping your cheek with his large palm.

“What?” You ask, curious at his impromptu gift.

“Close your eyes,” He orders you, holding your hands in his whilst rubbing the tops of you knuckles with his thumbs.

Your breath hitches as your eyes flutter shut, he flips your palm upwards, and the warmth of his hands leaves yours.

It takes all too long for the warmth to return, and when it does, a velvet box is also dropped into your hands.

“Carlos?” You whisper, lungs stuttering as your brain registers the only possibility of what was in the box, “Carlos- you’re not serious.” Your voice wobbles as you hear a few gasps titter around you after the box had snapped open and you felt Carlos’ fingers on your face.

“Abre los ojos, mi amor” he says, still caressing your cheek.

A strangled gasp leaves your mouth as you look down at the ring that sat nestled in the velvet box currently cradled in Carlos’ left hand, which was wrapped by yours.

It was truly magnificent, a thin gold band with eight cut diamonds, four on one side and four on the other side, positioned in a way to mimic leaves on a vine. And in the centre, as if it were a freshly blossomed rose, a large sapphire sat, deep set in the golden furnishings, the large Jem shimmered and shone in the sunset with a navy-blue hue.

“You’re shitting me right now Carlos, If this you-“

“Al menos déjame decir el discurso.” He interrupts your babbling as he smiles at your teary eyes and red nose.

“My love, today marks the fourth year since we had started dating, I still remember in vividly, not that you would let me forget.” His throat goes dry in the middle of his sentence, and you rub his arm comfortingly, coaxing him to continue, “It was probably the best day of my life, except for the day when I first saw you,”

Your eyes widened, “What?”

“I saw you first when we were exiting a restaurant in Monaco, it was late, and I was slightly tipsy,” He chuckles to himself, “And you were walking by the car that Charles was trying to stuff me into, you looked at me and laughed when Charles accidently rammed my head into the door. Estúpido Bastardo. It was love at first sight. I told him as well,” Carlos looks to his best friend, who was laughing quietly at the memory, “after you had offered us a bandaid from your small clutch and walked away into the resturant, I told him that ‘Charles, I just saw my future wife!’, he thought I was probably drunk out of my mind.”

He looks at you hopefully, tears beading on his long eyelashes, “I have been happily drunk in love with you since then and for the past 4 years, I hope you’ll let me make it last for eternity?” He finishes, eyes glimmering hopefully.

You cup your hands over your mouth, muffling your ecstatic sobs, you nod, sniffling obnoxiously, “Sí, sí, estaré borracho enamorado de ti para siempre.” You throw your arms around him, holding him close. He laughs jovially, wrapping his hands around your waist as he stands up, twirling you in the air before bringing you down, staring into your eyes like you had just hung the moon and stars.

“Te amo mucho” He whispers, inching his lips closer to yours until he could feel your breath against his.

“te quiero más” You murmur back, staring at him from below your eyelashes as you press your lips against his, pouring your love and devotion into your actions as you looped your arms around his neck. Deepening the kiss, you squeal against his mouth when you feel him dip you down, as though you two were in a movie and this was finally your happy ending.

Pulling away, he rested his forehead against yours as he slipped the expensive piece on your finger, a permanent grin etched into his face. Youo cup his face, peppering kisses all across his cheeks, his nose and forehead. Pulling away, you exclaim joyously to your friends, “Today marks the first day of me being Mrs. Sainz!” They clap loudly, some of them whisting as Carlos lifted your conjoined hands up victoriously and kissed you again.

Epilogue :

You and the rest of your friends had stopped momentarily at the BnB that you were renting at Sorento, to change before dinner. Meaning that the boys had cleaned up in mere moments, quickly stepping into and out of the shower, whereas the girls and you and spent over 40 minutes carefully shampooing, blow-drying, moisutrising, painting and dressing yourselves. All while gossiping with one another about the “ultra-romantic speech” that Carlos had said, as Kika liked to describe.

“I had no idea he remembered that” You murmured, pulling at the maxi dress from your bust. The dress reached your ankles as the skirt puffed out mystically and the corset top hugged your torso sweetly, all of this being held up by two thick pieces of fabric hanging on your shoulders, tied in large bows as well as the creamy base with light blue hydrangea’s decorating the entire body and straps daintily. It matched you ring quite nicely, as Alexandra had pointed out.

“I just hope that any one of our boyfriends remember such small details,” Lily remarks, smoothing out the long, black dress that hung from her waist, “I’m not holding out hope though,” She sighs, tilting her head as she watched you attempting to tighten the corset laces on your back.

“You shouldn’t worry, Alex loves you enough to remember this kind of stuff,” You assure her, laying a hand on your tummy as new butterflies erupt in your stomach as the realisation of the ring that sat on your hand slowly sets in, you blame it on Lily, who was tightening the corset top.

She looks at you in the long mirror, confirming the pressure before tying it off in a neat bow with your confirmation.

“Thanks,” She looks at you, grinning at your blissful flush and shimmering cheek bones, “I am so happy for you,” She coos and takes your hands in hers, “Just remember that I was the only one who remembered a gift.” She winks at you, kissing your cheek, before stepping around to adjust her mascara in the mirror.

Soon enough, a hesitant rap of knuckles on the door pauses the final movements of the girls, who were almost ready to leave. You walk up to the dark oak door, opening it slightly to be met with your boyf- nay, fiancé, who was looking down at his phone, scrolling through emails until you cleared your throat.

He looked up suddenly, smiling at you warmly, “You guys almost ready, amado?”

You nod your head, biting your lip as you lay your head against the edge of the door, staring deeply into his hazelnut eyes that softened with each second that they remained enraptured with yours, “Yeah, yeah we’re almost done,”

“Okay,” He laughed quietly, taking your hand in his as he leant down to kiss your lips, though you remembered the glossy artwork that lay, perfectly on your skin and so, you pulled away in the last second. Carlos grunted, falling forward slightly at your rejection, he looked at you, betrayed.

“My lipstick,” You offered, pointing at your lips as an explanation.

He rolled his eyes playfully, quickly pecking your lips, “Be quick.” Carlos reminded you, squeezing your hand and rubbing the large sapphire on your ring before he turned away, walking to the living room in which Pierre, Alex and Charles waited.

You let out a breath as you watched him retreat, but was soon snapped out of the romantic stupor when you heard Pierre screech, “Wait, so you didn’t know that he would propose, and you didn’t remember their anniversary?”

“No, I’m serious. Did you guys know?” Alex exclaimed.

Charles guffawed at his fellow driver “Yes!”

Pierre squawked “Yes!”

“Well obviously,” Carlos chimed in.

“That’s why we didn’t give them a gift?” Charles explained, “And Lily literally told Carlos about her’s?”

“Well shit! So you guys were acting? At the beach?” Alex shouted.

"Could you not, tell? Literally Alexandra and Charles wouldn't shut up about it, I was worried that she would hear." You heard the almost metallic sound of Pierre smacking the underside of Alex's head.

“It’s okay Alex, just remember to be more aware when it comes to your relationship.” You could hear the teasing smile in Carlos’ voice.

“Shut up you Spanish simp.” Alex pouted.

“Hey! I’m an engaged simp, unlike you.”

📻 Kcccchh.... come in.... come in...translatiion available...over

📻 Kchh...Spnish..to engli..sh....over

Hermosa - Beautiful Te ríes ahora, pero espera hasta que esto termine - You laugh now, but wait until this is over Monada - cutie Estás mirando, nena - You're looking, baby ¿Puedes culparme? Tú y tu cintura de cachonda. - Can you blame me? You and your slutty waist. ¿Qué estás haciendo? - What are you doing? Nada, ¿qué te hace pensar que estoy haciendo algo? - Nothing, what makes you think I'm doing anything? mi amor - My love Abre los ojos, mi amor - Open your eyes, my love Al menos déjame decir el discurso - At least let me say the speech Estúpido Bastardo - Stupid bastard Sí, sí, estaré borracho enamorado de ti para siempre. - Yes, yes, I will be drunk in love with you forever. te quiero más - I love you more Te amo mucho - I love you a lot amado - Beloved

📻 Kchhhhh.loosing sign....al.....kcchh....over and out...

443 notes · View notes

boxofbonesfic · 1 year

Text

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [5]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why.

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 3,761

A/N: i cannot wait to see what you all think of this latest development! please drop by my ask with thoughts or comments, and as always, thanks everyone for your patience! ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics

To your absolute horror, Lloyd doesn’t stop. You’re dizzy, both from the realization and the even, steady grind of his hips. It’s terribly familiar, the way he touches you—like it’s not the first time. Your stomach rolls as an anguished wail tears from your lips at the thought, because it’s the same one you’ve been shoving down, burying underneath every single other thing you can think of, because it couldn’t be true. Ransom wouldn’t do that you, he wouldn’t—

But he has.

Lloyd clucks his tongue at you, and reaches forward to cup your face. “You can scream, Princess.” He grins. “I know you can’t keep quiet anyway.” His words turn your stomach. Your arms, previously paralyzed at your sides, come up to push frantically at his face and chest as you curse.

“Get the fuck off me, Lloyd!” You scream, but he doesn’t move—doesn’t even falter as he continues to rut into your shamefully wet cunt. He doesn’t budge, like your blows don’t even hurt. It makes you even more panicked, your eyes growing wide as you sob. Frantically, you scream for your husband, your voice swallowed by the crashing surf.

“Ransom—! Ran—” Lloyd silences you with a kiss, swallowing your fear as he presses his lips to yours. Your shock allows him entry, sweeping his tongue into your mouth as you squirm beneath him. Lloyd catches your arms easily, forcing them back against the rock behind you.

“What’s the worst part, Princess?” He asks mockingly, his amused chuckle puffing against your lips. “That it’s me? Or that you liked it? That you always liked it?” You don’t want it to be true, shaking your head as you stare at him with tear-filled eyes. He nods in response, as slow and deliberate as his thrusts. Your stomach churns with the combination of this forbidden knowledge and the unwanted pleasure that creeps up your spine.

He knows your body, that much is obvious. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before, a hundred thousand puzzle pieces falling perfectly into place as your life crumbles around them. Lloyd holds you like Ransom, kisses you like Ransom—

Or does Ransom kiss you like Lloyd?

He plays your body perfectly, like you’re an instrument he’s already mastered. Even as your head swims, the thick weight of his cock drawing pleasure from you even as you fight against it. You can hear it, how wet you are, how much your traitorous body is enjoying Lloyd. It’s maddening, the way you clench and quake beneath him, struggling ineffectually against pleasure you don’t want. He transfers both your wrists to one hand, using the other to cup your chin.

“It’s really not as bad as you think,” he coos, dragging his thumb through your tears. He kisses you again, painfully softly. “I know what you like.” Lloyd’s fingers taste like the sea as he draws them across your trembling lips. “I know what you hate.” He traces circles around your puffy nipples, before painting stripes of salt-water down your belly. He spreads your lips wider with two fingers and draws those same circles around your clit.

“I hate you!” You grit through clenched teeth, through your furious, shameful tears. Lloyd clucks his tongue, before leaning down to nose at the skin of your throat.

“No you don’t, Princess. You love Ransom—so you love me. We’re the same, baby-doll.” He leans up, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Don’t you get that yet?” You don’t want it to be true, it can’t be, they’re so different—but even as you think it, you know he’s not lying. You’re reeling, the stretch-burn, the raw pleasure of him inside you, the knowledge that he’s been there before—

You wail as you cum, staring unseeingly at the sky. Lloyd doesn’t even give you the courtesy of slowing down, instead fucking you steadily through it with his cock and fingers buried in your cunt. He carries you, unwilling, from one height to the next, twitching and pleading. When he finally pulls his fingers from your soaked folds, he sucks them clean.

“Love you so much, Princess,” he groans, rocking his hips steadily into yours as you mewl miserably. “I can wait for you to know you love me too.” His fingers press the skin of your hips like Ransom’s. Lloyd sucks your bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth with a growl. He holds you still while he empties into you. As he pants against your mouth, he grins.

“Feels good not to have to pretend.”

“Get off me.” You hiss at him, glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes. This time, he listens. He pulls out of you with an appreciative hum, stopping briefly to admire the slick, sticky mess he’s made. You pull your swimsuit down roughly, tugging your shirt tightly around yourself like a shield while you grab your now soaked shorts from the water, and begin to struggle into them.

“Let me—”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You shriek, jumping further backwards into the surf. You slip on the rocks, barely remaining upright as you scramble away. “Y-you don’t touch me!” You brandish a slick rock in your hand as threateningly as you can. “I—I’m going to tell Ransom, an-and—”

The look he gives you is almost pitying. “Oh Princess. Go on and tell him.” He nods at you with a sick smile. “Tell me what he says.” Lloyd holds his hands up as you retreat, giving him as wide a berth as you an as you circle back to shore. He doesn’t follow you, watching as you stumble across the sand. You head into the trees and underbrush ringing the beach, fleeing your brother-in-law’s gaze. You know the general direction of the hotel, and you head that way, opting not to go back to the party.

The party. Your stomach turns as you think of it now, Linda’s words holding fresh meaning now. Did she know? Did Ransom? The entire idea was so ludicrous you could scarcely believe it was really happening—but it was. It had. The evidence of Lloyd’s transgression was smeared between your salt-stained thighs. You want to vomit, and so you do, leaning against a tree as you heave into the sand.

“Sweetheart?”

You look up, your eyes wild. It’s Ransom—or Lloyd. You don’t know, now, torn between wanting to rush into his arms, or turn and run. You simply stare at him distrustfully, mirroring his step forward with one back, maintaining the distance between you with careful precision.

“Baby, what’s wrong? You just wandered off, and—”

“Are you Lloyd?” You ask sharply, swallowing the desire to respond to his concern. You can’t trust your own eyes now, not anymore, and you don’t want to get close enough to verify.

Ransom stares at you confusedly.

“No? Why would you ask me that? Did something happen?” He takes another step closer, his arms outstretched placatingly. There’s true worry on his face as he takes in your wretched state, your open shirt and wet shorts, dirty feet and missing shoes. “Baby, did something happen?” He asks again, slower and more deliberate. You want to believe him, this man wearing your husband’s wedding ring, staring at you with the same eyes as the man you’d run away from.

“Tell me something about the fountain.”

“The what?”

“The fountain!” You shrill hoarsely. “The fountain, from—”

“The one in the village,” Ransom finishes. “With the messed up tiles.”

This time, you can’t stop yourself from rushing into his arms, sobbing.

“I—Lloyd, he—” The words won’t come out between your hiccoughing sobs, and you settle for burying your face in his chest as Ransom wraps his arms around you. He holds you tightly, pressing you to his body as you wail. The truth sticks in your throat like taffy as you tangle your fingers in his shirt, tears soaking into the expensive fabric.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart.” His voice is soothing. “I’m here. I got you, okay? I got you.” He doesn’t rush you, waiting until the tears slow to press a kiss into your hair. “You don’t have to talk right now. Let’s get you back to the room, okay?”

Ransom practically carries you through the underbrush, emerging near the long stairwell up from the beach. Your family—and his—are still down at the party, but you barely spare them a glance as you stagger up the sandy concrete steps. Before long, the ringing in your ears blocks out the music anyway, and all you can think about is Lloyd’s response to your threat.

Go on and tell him. Tell me what he says.

Lloyd is nowhere to be seen as you enter the villa, and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You didn’t even realize you’d been watching for him, waiting for him to appear like he always did—but he doesn’t. You’re relieved as Ransom leads you back into the bedroom and closes the door behind you. For a moment, you’re not sure what to do with yourself, standing blankly by the door while Ransom watches you helplessly.

“Sweetheart… can you tell me?” He asks, resting his hands on your shoulders. You flinch at his touch instead of leaning into it, and pain flashes briefly across your face. Somehow, you are hesitant to name the shape of the monster that haunts you even now, like Lloyd had cursed your jaw to stick. With difficulty, your force it open.

“He—he pretended… he was you. And… we… I didn’t know, Ran, I didn’t know it wasn’t you,” you babble, tears forming in your red, glassy eyes. You’re expecting to see his face crease with disgust at the part you won’t say out loud, but it doesn’t. Ransom’s silent, his face scrunching first with disappointment and then anger. You can tell he’s looking for an outlet, and he settles on routine.

“Did you take your vitamins, Sweetheart?” He replies, a worried hand on your belly. “Does anything… hurt?” You shake your head.

“N-no.” Ransom turns to the dresser, grabbing the bottles and shaking out your pills one by one. You take them, shuffling into the suite’s bathroom. You a cup cool water from the faucet and bring it to your lips, swallowing them down with a grimace.

“Let’s get you a bath, Baby.”

You nod wordlessly.

Ransom helps you get undressed, and you watch his jaw tic at Lloyd’s drying cum on your thighs. He fills the whirlpool tub with hot water, and you shift uncomfortably from foot to foot as you watch him. When it’s full, he helps you into it before splashing into the water himself. He sits on the back side of the tub with you between his knees, reaching down to hold you as you sink into the water.

You lean back against your husband, fresh tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. I want to wake up now. There’s little you wouldn’t give to open your eyes and find yourself on the beach, this terrible nightmare broken. But when you do open your eyes, you’re still in the bathroom, your husband’s hands rubbing soothing circles into your skin as you wash away the evidence of his brother’s sin.

“Oh Sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I… I don’t know what to say.” He strokes your hair as he speaks to you softly, gently, like he’s soothing an animal. “Lloyd’s a lot of things. Impatient, being chiefest among them.” You freeze, the air seeming to flow right out of your lungs—out of the whole room. The dripping of the faucet is as loud as thunder.

“W-what?”

“I didn’t want you to find out like this, Sweetheart, believe me.” You wrench yourself away from him, water sloshing over the sides of the tub as you stare at your husband in disbelief. It feels like reality is crumbling to nothing as you watch, bleached into dust by the brightness of his sad smile. It’s all you can see.

“N-no, no no no no—” He reaches for you, and you slap his had away, tripping as you scramble out of the tub. “You knew.” You moan, bile rising in your throat as you wrap a towel around yourself. “You—you always knew.” Ransom rises from the lip of the tub and steps out onto the tile. You want to vomit, but there’s nothing left to bring up as you dry-heave into the sink.

“Sweetheart, I need you to calm down, this stress isn’t good for the baby.”

“The baby—” You let out a despairing little laugh. “How long, Ransom?” You ask him hoarsely. “How long have you been letting this happen?” Finally, your husband has the decency to look ashamed.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!” You scream, pounding a fist against the counter. “Yes it fucking matters!”

“I think before New Years, last year.”

“A—a year?” You choke out the words as you clutch your belly with a shaking hand. The baby—you don’t even know if it’s Ransom’s. You feel dirty, despite having bathed. Deeper than your skin, like something inside is tainted, rotten. You want to crawl out of it, leave it behind like a shell. Perhaps then you might be able to draw enough air into your tight lungs to be able to do more than sputter your husband’s words back at him in abject disbelief.

You don’t want to relive the last year and a half but you can’t help it, flipping through the moments like flash cards as you try to pinpoint every transgression, every lie. For every possible memory that feels wrong, there are dozens of blank spaces, empty places where recollection should be. Your husband had poked his finger through the thin saran wrap of your memories, and you hadn’t even realized it was happening.

Ransom reaches forward to rest a hand on your back and you shove him so hard he stumbles, your eyes wild.

“Don’t touch me. You—you will never touch me again.” You hiss, the words ragged. Ransom scowls at you as you storm out of the bathroom, the towel still clutched against your heaving chest. You can barely hear anything over the sound of your own ragged breathing and the thundering of your heart. They’d been switching off for over a year, and you hadn’t even noticed. Sickness and shame twine in your gut as you snatch the clothes in the closet off their hangers, throwing them into your open suitcase without bothering to fold them.

“Sweetheart, don’t be rash. The baby—”

“Will not even know your name.” You don’t look at Ransom—you can’t. You feel like you don’t even know him, and you can’t help but wonder if you ever did. He’d known—hell, maybe he’d even participated in Lloyd’s sick games. The man you’d thought you married would never have stood for that. You grit your teeth as Ransom scoffs amusedly behind you.

“You’re just going to pack your suitcase and go, is that it?” There’s a cruel edge to his voice you don’t recognize—it makes him sound like Lloyd. “Baby I’m just trying to give you what you want.” You glare at him over your shoulder before returning to packing, refusing to even entertain the discussion. You push past him to get to the dresser, pulling out the rest of your things.

“You’re not thinking clearly, and I think if you really stopped and gave it some thought, you’d realize you’re making a mistake.”

“Oh, I’m the one making the mistake?” You can’t help but turn to spit venom over your shoulder. “You and your brother took turns on me like a fucking carnival ride, but I’m making a mistake?”

“You wanted a big family, a stable family. One nobody could touch—”

“You’re sick.” You swallow against the bitter acid in your throat. “How can you try to make this okay? I—I never want to see you again. Ever. I—I really, truly mean that.” The needle inside you continues to swing between rage and abject horror as you dress yourself, practically shoving your limbs into the most convenient pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Your head buzzes with the turmoil of it all, practically full to bursting. Your passport is still in the bedside table, and you make sure you grab it, shoving it into your pocket before throwing open the bedroom door.

It’s hard to breathe around the ache in your chest as you drag your heavy suitcase down the hallway, trying to ignore the sound of your husband behind you. You’re bordering on hysteria, frantic tears and snot running down your face as you flee your husband’s placating words. That’s probably the most maddening part of it—how he continues to parse out the words slowly, patiently, like he’s waiting for you to realize how sensible he’s being. You’re about ten seconds away from clapping your hands over your ears like a child, so you don’t have to hear him anymore

“Sweetheart, let’s talk about this.” Ransom calls after you. You stagger against the wall as your knees tremble, but you force yourself through it. Your heart is beating wildly, your palms clammy as you look back at your husband. You don’t expect to see him smiling. “You’re not being rational, baby.”

You don’t even know how to respond. The only words that seem to come to mind are insults, curses; the violent ills you’re currently wishing on your husband and his family. You can’t listen to him—it’s only going to make you more enraged. You already feel like your heart is about to beat out of your chest, as you gulp down ragged breaths, your vision swimming. You rest a hand against the kitchen island, your whole body throbbing hotly with your pulse.

“Shut the fuck up, Ransom,” you pant. “You can’t spin this.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He ignores your acid glare, leaning forward to curl a lock of your hair around his finger. You push him away, but the movement is clumsy, your hand swinging bonelessly at the end of your arm. “You know how persuasive I can be.”

“You’re really just like him.” It slips out before you can stop it as you shake your head in astonishment.

“Oh what, you just figure that out?” Ransom’s voice is mockingly soft. “It took you long enough.”

You slap him.

The sound of it is loud and sharp, and Ransom’s head actually turns with the force of it, your husband stumbling back a few steps. It was his surprise that had allowed it—you and Ransom had never struck each other, not counting the playful smacks he delivered in the bedroom. For a moment he stays like that, frozen, before slowly turning to look at you. Your wedding ring had split his lip, and you watch as he draws his thumb across it smearing the bright line of crimson across his mouth.

“You’re starting to piss me off, Sweetheart.” His hand clamps so tightly around your wrist that it hurts, and you yelp, pushing uselessly at his chest. Ransom had never been violent with you, never even given you reason to suspect he would raise a hand to you, but as he bends you over the kitchen island, you feel fear. Your husband twists your arms behind your back, ignoring your pained whimper when he squeezes too tight.

This—this isn’t happening. It’s not. My family is here, my, my father—

You wail, the sound muffled by the marble countertop and your tears, salt and snot running onto the counter beneath your cheek.

“Just let me go, Ransom—”

“Oh Baby we are way past that.” The kiss he presses into your hair makes nausea churn in your belly, and you let out another sob. “I put a ring on that—where’s your finger, baby, let me see—ah! There it is.” Ransom holds your hand up, his fingers digging into the meat of your palm. “On that finger,” he continues, tapping the diamond with his fingernail. “Till death do us part, Sweetheart, that’s what we said. That’s what you promised me—and Lloyd.”

“You’re crazy—” The words stick in your throat as your vision tunnels. I feel sick. You do, your stomach churning as your heartbeat thunders in your ringing ears.

“Wha-you do’t me?” The words are like bubblegum in your mouth as your husband chuckles softly.

“You didn’t really think those were all vitamins, did you?” Your eyes widen with horror as you begin to struggle again, flailing your uncoordinated limbs as you try to force Ransom off of you. “Now don’t worry, it’s nothing that could hurt the baby,” he says reassuringly, as if that is your only cause for concern.

“Noo,” you moan, wriggling feebly beneath him as you feel yourself recede further and further into your body. “Don’ wannit.”

“I know, Sweetheart. But what you want isn’t good for the family,” he says, stroking a gentle finger over the curve of your cheek. “You want to run, too run from what we’re trying to build with you. For you,” Ransom releases you as the sound of nearby voices reach your buzzing ears. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

He steps away from you as Nathalie bursts through the door, holding a champagne bottle by the neck as she dances to music blaring from her phone speakers.

“There you are, chica, we were looking—mom! Dad! She’s in here! I thought you—are you okay?” She sets the bottle down on the small table to the right of the sliding door. She rushes over to you, looping one limp arm around your shoulders as concern sets into the lines of her face. “Jesus, I—Ransom! What’s wrong with her?!”

Your husband appears in your tunnel-vision, carding a worried hand through his hair.

“Thank fucking Christ, Nathalie—I was just going to text you. I think she’s having a reaction to something, I don’t know—”

“Nn-Nat don-bel—eev ‘m,” your warning slurs together into an unintelligible soup as your head lolls. Nathalie tries to stand you up against the counter, and dimly you are aware of her calling for your parents, her voice muffled like she’s talking underwater.

Lloyd—or is it Ransom?—lays you down on the countertop, his grinning face looming over you as your vision narrows down to a pinprick, the concern in his voice at complete odds with the grin on his face.

“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you.”

to be continued…

next chapter

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

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rottiens · 5 months

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⊹ ˚. WRIOTHESLEY ┊ sfw, pinning, praising (good girl), awkward tension, fem reader. divider creds: cafekitsune.

Wriothesley's venomous tongue over time has become steeped in the sarcasm with which he speaks to his employees and criminals. Sarcasm that he has used as a shield to guard himself and his emotions over time. The same sarcasm and repressive tone drips out of him with you, the nurse at the Fortress of Meropide even though the things you do are not necessarily bad or wrong, not enough for him to snarl at you with disdain at least.

You are rarely surprised by his “Good girl” when you do something right —you are rarely praised or acknowledged for it —or his “Bad girl” in that caramelized tone he uses whenever he considers that, indeed, you have not done something to his satisfaction which includes not turning in a report on time or not arriving early to meetings he proposes as Duke of the Fortress.

After a while of breaking your back and feet overtime, taking care of him and the other prisoners you stop expecting recognition from him. You give up and accept that your boss is a grumpy dog with a very strong shell that you are unable to reach no matter how hard you try so you stop doing it, stop trying to please someone who seems to hate everyone.

The door behind you groans with a gruff grunt, begging for someone to grease its gears. You look up from the notebook where you scribble today's important notes to look at the culprit for interrupting your moment alone when you realize it's the Duke himself; he's wearing his tie a little loose and his hair more disheveled than usual indicating the long day he's had so far.

“Boss?” You smile sideways at him glancing at his disheveled appearance.

“I thought no one was here,” he excuses avoiding looking at you.

Wriothesley walks straight to the railing and leans back with his forearms on it admiring the view of Fontaine in the distance, the waves swaying more bravely as the sun sets, making a swirl of his hair and yours.

“I can leave if you want to be alone.” You offer despite being here first, willing to pick up your notebook that you clench between your fingers. This was your safe place after all, where you could sneak off to scribble in your journal when the day gets too heavy to pretend you're not mentally and physically tired.

“Stay.” Is all he says taking you by surprise. Wriothesley isn't even looking at you, his eyes are busy watching the waves move back and forth, you don't judge him, you too come here to do the same.

With a sigh you return your gaze to the deep sea for just a moment before you refocus on your notebook and the notes you have written, you grip the pen a little tighter and begin to write once more swiftly.

The cool wind soon turns cold, biting through your arms covered by a thin cloth shirt that does little to cover you. The breeze chills your cheeks along with the tip of your nose and as much as you've enjoyed the silence shared alongside your boss that somehow feels comforting you decide it's time to leave.

“Are you cold?” his voice startles you, pulling your eyes away from the ink soiled sheet to meet his, his cheeks flushed from the weather and brows furrowed. Wriothesley looks directly at you, first into your eyes and then briefly at your lips, causing you to lick them involuntarily.

The cold seems to freeze your brain, or maybe it's the eye contact. You don't respond quickly enough, but you still notice how he sheds his coat and, with a step forward, places it around your shoulders. The action immediately comforts you making your body warm internally, as the blood flows stronger. His coat envelops you, chasing away the cold and providing you with a sense of security— His natural scent mingles with the soft fragrance of his cologne, making you feel enveloped by his presence. Between unsure blinks, you finally thank him.

Wriothesley hesitates, and if the dim light doesn't fool you, you sense how the blush on his cheeks seems to expand a little more toward his ears.

“Do you want to go to dinner? I could use to get out and distract myself for a while,” the duke offers, taking a quick glance at your notebook before turning to you again. “You can tell me a little bit about what you've written in that journal of yours.”

You wonder how he knows about the journal, and the first thing that comes to your mind is that perhaps he has been watching you, noticing your writing as you work. You think maybe he knows you're a good employee, even if he sometimes has difficulty expressing it.

You reach into your back pants pocket and pull out something, which you silently offer him. Wriothesley looks at the white band aid with red hearts and a smile escapes his lips.

“For your scratch,” you comment, pointing to your chin with a light touch. “Rough day?”

“It always is at the Fortress,” he replies, unwrapping the band-aid to offer it to you. “Do me the honors?”

You take the band-aid from his hand and, taking a short step forward, reach out to place it over the scratch. Wriothesley's body serves as a shield against the wind for a moment as you share a moment in silence.

“Thank you,” he says in a soothing voice. “For always taking care of me…and everyone else,” he adds the last quickly.

You give him a smile ignoring how that makes you feel.

“Now about that dinner.”

“Ah, yes. I'm craving barbecued ribs, I know a place.”

#wr #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x

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simdertalia · 1 year

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🐚 ACNH Mermaid Set 🧜‍♀️

50 items | Sims 4, Base game compatible.

Type “ACNH Mermaid” into the search query in build mode to find quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.

Always suggested: bb.objects ON, it makes placing items much easier. For further placement tweaking, check out the TOOL mod.

Use the scale up & down feature on your keyboard to make the items larger or smaller to your liking. If you have a non-US keyboard, it may be different keys depending on which alphabet it uses.

Remember that you can resize items in game with your keyboard! Note that if you have a non-USA keyboard, that it may be different keys, but it still works.

I hope you enjoy!

Build Mode: 1 swatch each -Floor Pastel -Floor Sand -Floor Underwater -Wall Pink -Wall Sea Horizon -Wall Underwater

I offer anyone who wants to, to add proper vertex paint to the lamp item. My vertex paintbrush in Blender doesn't work the way it is supposed to, no matter what I try. If anyone wants to add the vertex paint I will update the file with the fixed version & credit to the person who added it. Without this paint on the mesh, the whole item illuminates strangely when turned on, so turning the brightness down can remedy that issue until it is fixed. I am also working on figuring out why I'm having this issue in Blender.

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): https://simfileshare.net/folder/198833/

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): https://mega.nz/folder/RspmSYRS#sjQNNOMvBK3CdKgt3E3IeA

📁 DL on Patreon

Will be public on September 4th, 2023

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my sets will be early access from now on. If you like my work, please consider supporting me:

★ Patreon 🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi ☕️ ❤️

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @coffee-cc-finds @itsjessicaccfinds @gamommypeach @stargazer-sims-finds @khelga68 @suricringe @vaporwavesims @mystictrance15 @public-ccfinds

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pink-horizon · 1 year

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🐚 ' 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾

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bethanythebogwitch · 8 months

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Wet Beast Wednesday: remoras

Sometimes you just want to go with the flow and let someone else do the work. That's the mindset of a remora, this week's topic. Remoras are eight species of the family Echeneidae, divided into three genera. These fish are famous for suctioning onto a larger animal and going for a ride.

(Image id: a remora attached to the shell of a sea turtle. It is a long, slender fish with a black stripe going down its sides. Its lower jaw is pointed and facing upwards. End id)

Remoras differ in size depending on species, with the largest reaching 110 cm (43 in) in length. Their most famous feature is the disc on their backs. This disc is a heavily modified dorsal fin that consists of flexible membranes. When pressing the disc up against a surface, the membranes can be flexed to create a vacuum and provide suction in a similar manner to a suction cup. The Remora can then scoot backwards to increase suction or swim forward to release the suction and detach from its host. Remoras also lack a swim bladder, forcing them to actively swim to maintain their position on the water column. Fortunately, remoras don't really need swim bladders where they're going. While they can swim and survive on their own, remoras prefer to attach to a larger animal like a bigger fish, shark, ray, or cetacean. When there is a close interaction between two organisms it's called symbiosis. There are three types of symbiosis: mutualism (both benefit), commensalism (one benefits, the other is not positively or negatively affected), and parasitism (one benefits, the other suffers). The relationship between a remora and its host is likely either mutualistic or commensal as the host appears to suffer no downsides.

(Image id: a remora seen from above to emphasize its disc. The disc is oval and takes up about 30% of the upper body, starting just behind the mouth. The disc has many rows of darker stripes where the folds are visible)

A remora gets several benefits from being attached to a host. Being in close proximity to a larger animal protects it from predators closer to its own size and gets it a free ride. The ride also helps force air over its gills, keeping the remora well-oxygenated. There are two main methods fish use to keep water flowing over their gills. Ram ventilation occurs when a fish is swimming and their motion through the water forced the water over the gills. Active ventilation requires the fish to actively move water over its gills, often by repeatedly opening and closing its mouth. Both methods require the fish to expend energy, but tests on remoras determined that active ventilation is more energy intensive than ram ventilation. A remora on a fast-moving host can get the best option, using ram ventilation while letting someone else expend the energy of moving forward. Multiple remoras can live on a large enough host and it is speculated that sometimes mated pairs will share a host. It was previously believed that remoras would feed on scraps of food from the hosts meals, but it is now known that they derive most of their nutrition by eating the hosts feces. They also consume bits of dead skin and parasites from the host, which is a lot less gross. This cleaning of skin and parasites is why remora relationships with their hosts are considered mutualistic rather than commensal. There have been reports of hosts attempting to dislodge their remoras through methods such as breaching, so its possible there are situations where the relationship is unfavorable to the host, such as too many remoras attaching. While remoras are very streamlines, too many of them would produce drag, which would be a bad thing for the host.

(Image id: a manta ray or similar species seen from above , with two remoras attached to it just behind the cephalic fins. End id)

While remoras are most famous for attaching to a host, they are capable of living on their own. Juveniles are known to live in shallow coastal or reef areas, sometimes acting as cleaner fish. As adults, they move out into the deeper waters, in search of hosts. Most knowledge of remoras come from their behavior when attached to a host, so there isn't a lot we know about how they behave on their own. They are believed to have different diets, being more active hunters who feed on small crustaceans, squid, and fish. We don't know a lot about non-attached remoras, but we know even less about their reproduction. While remoras attached to the same host might become mated pairs, their mating season, mating habits, and what happens to their offspring is not known. All we know is that eventually juvenile remoras will turn up in coastal areas, but what happens between then and spawning is a mystery.

(Image id: a manta ray seen from below with many remoras attached to it. End id)

Remoras popped up in roman folklore as the echeneis, a small fish that could attach to boats and slow them down. Pliny the Elder blamed the echeneis for Mark Antony's loss in the battle of Actium, where poor maneuverability was one factor in his loss. A use for remoras has been in fishing, where a remora is caught, has a line tied to it, and then released. When the remora attaches to a host, the angler can pull in the line, pulling the larger animal in with the remora. The IUCN classifies all species of remora as least concern, except for one, which is data deficient. The largest threat to remoras seems to be threats to their hosts, so conservation of hosts like sharks, whales, and sea turtles will help conserve remoras by default.

(Image id: a remora that attached itself to a diver's leg. End id)

This was a shorter and less intensive WBW than most of my posts. What can I say, I felt lazy and decided to put in little effort, instead coasting on larger, more successful posts. If only there was an animal I could use as a metaphor for this situation. Can't think of anything, though.

#wet beast wednesday #i had to research roman naval battles for this post about fish #remora #suckerfish #shark sucker #fish #fishblr #fishposting #marine biology #biology #ecology #zoology #animal facts

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howyouloveyourdragon · 8 months

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𝕬𝖑𝖑'𝖘 𝕱𝖆𝖎𝖗 𝕴𝖓 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕰𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 (part i)

🇨🇭🇦🇵🇹🇪🇷 🇴🇳🇪⦂ 🇹🇭🇪 🇼🇦🇹🇪🇷🇸 🇴🇫 🇹🇭🇪 🇼🇪🇸🇹

summary: After Jacaerys is sent crashing into the icy ocean that he had thought to have escaped once before and slowly feels himself drift away from this realm...he awakens to a charming woman ensuring his health. A witch. Inviting her home is easy but it begins to sour when he discovers this witch is not unknown to his mother and neither is her heart. pairing: slowburn jacaerys velaryon x witch!reader x (later) rhaenyra targaryen pronouns: she/her part: 1/8 dividers by: hitobaby wordcount: 4,108

A powerful wave passes over his head and forces a rough gasp to rip from Prince Jacaerys Velaryon’s throat. At two and twenty, he had not imagined that he would be escaping death a second time beneath the sea’s ferocious call…but the ache of his arms are growing and his eyelids are slackening. Even his heart shivers as the cold water washes over him. Jacaerys can feel his useless hands claw at the relentless waves to no avail but still, hope latches on as tight as a stiff padlock. As tight as a man still believing of the Gods and all to which they had promised him. Whispers hiss through his ears from the wind, false promises of safety and comfort if he would just…let…go. And yet he does not. Not at first. Not at second…and then…He cannot ignore the tempting exhaustion any longer…He cannot…He cannot…He takes one last breath and then his fluttering lashes tire as his heart begins to feel more like a brush than a beat. All’s fair in love and war, they had said, whispering it into the shell of his ear until gooseflesh had stained his shivers. The exhaustion of war was long-lasting, turning thick skin fragile and in this cursed, wretched case–a prince into a man as weak as a drained newt.

Salt rubs roughly against his scalp as his body wraps around a broken plank of dark wood. Somehow, he cannot find the strength to stay afloat however as his body begins to slowly sink away from it. The weight of his soaked fabrics clings tightly to him, suffocating. Jacaerys feels his eyes flicker but no longer with desperation to escape but instead desperation to release himself from the thoughts of his mother, of his brothers…of gentle Lucerys awaiting him in the realm he cannot yet reach. To finally escape the nobles that haunt him about the keep. The question bellows in his mind; why are you still fighting? The war has passed and yet still death entangles its cold fingers around you. Your betrothed has already wedded another, your trueborn brothers support your mother’s legacy, your mother has been named Queen–why are you still fighting thine own destiny? Thine own fate? Truly if he were fated to die, Jacaerys would consider such thoughts but surely the Gods would not punish him for mere errors of his heritage and if not for that then why else? To what does he owe his life? It is torturous that he still cannot grasp onto the wood as he slowly slips. It is infuriating how the clutches of Gods do not reach for him. Perhaps being devout is not quite enough to save him this time…Perhaps it never was. His lids turn limp, furiously pushing upward despite the pressure like a dismantled current. As the sea turns, the prince imagines his mother’s face at the news. Who would tell her? If anyone. He had not told anybody that he had planned to visit the Westerlands, he had not told anybody to expect him home at all and after so many trips north unnoticed…

He contemplates in the haze of disconnected presence whether it be best that she be informed or not. To which rumour would Mushroom continue to concoct should he pass? A faint smile twitches at his mouth. Perhaps he would continue to spout tales of the fictitious Stark girl, that he had run away with her in the throes of passion and heart-ache. He should like that tale, he thinks to himself. Jacaerys imagines it, of bards not singing of victory and accomplishment but love instead as he rots below the water. Never to be seen by the court’s scrutinising stare again. Perhaps Mushroom would envision him in a little cottage surrounded by greenery and lush forest. Making his way with pots, pans and crops of his own. It had been a long time since Vermax passed and yet Jacaerys feels his mind drift to him. To the sight of him resting curled beside that little cottage. Of this supposed ‘Sara’ outstretching her soft hand toward him and feeling the nuzzle of his rough snout. Would she want himself? Would she caress him and entangle her fingers in his hair and brush each strand away as if they were precious. As if he might be? He fools himself of the faraway dream as wind sweeps it now. He can feel it, he swears he does…If Jacaerys Velaryon should die a fool, it would still content him, he decides. His lids droop themselves gently. Content…such a simple word and yet one he had been chasing for what felt like centuries. And so he thanks the Gods for this gift as he lets go. For Mushroom’s frivolous stories, for his mother’s crown, for his brother’s timid bravery. For home. Even if it is not his own. He thanks them. And he lets go.

Which is why a jolt drops through him when he awakens with an unexpected, wet cloth on his head and a scratchy blanket cocooning him. He blinks once, twice and then thrice as a soft golden light floats like a mist beside him. A gasp jumps past his lips, his eyes just as wide as those belonging to a fearful stag. The shock freezes him. There is no candle in sight. He shifts for only but a moment before he jumps again at the sound of a creak beneath him. The bed, of course, he sighs. He must recall that these are not the luxurious quarters he is used to. Jacaerys looks around him as his breath quickens, it is certain by the wooden planks that this is not his home and nor does he expect to find a loved one nursing but then…who has been? The door squeaks its presence like a vengeful kitten before a gentle face pokes through the gap. Jacaerys feels his sights rest on…a woman. A young woman. A young woman who is…He blinks. Beautiful. The prince stiffens his posture immediately and clears his throat. And then just as quick as the door opened, she was suddenly at his side and her oddly gentle hands were now taking away a wetted cloth from his forehead. He flushes pink as he realises. She caresses his face gently. “Oh you poor thing,” She says, her words soft and cooing. Her lullaby lips soften him with the speed of clicking her fingers as they press to his temples. Jacaerys can feel his lashes flutter as the soothing strokes of her fingers gentle his mind, circling the skin below his eye. And then the sweetest words fall from her lips, foreign and yet ever so welcome to his wanton ears. A sweet song from lands of old, lands he had never been and yet they flow through him as easily as his blood through his own veins. As if they are part of him.

The woman looks commonborn by her dress and the flicker of dirt across her face but still, the prince is not certain. She handles him with the softness of a bird and the care of a devotee. He turns pink at the thought alone. At the image that flashes across his mind…The image of touching those pretty cheeks of hers and cupping them gently–of being close enough to do so...but that might be his delirium guiding those thoughts. He cannot find it in himself to care however when her lashes flutter over her eyes which shine like the reflection of an opal. When she leans forward and kisses either temple before pulling back again. The heat that radiates her flesh presses into him with homely warmth and the lingering scent of amber. It cloaks his nose and Jacaerys finds himself chastising his sights closed to intake every wave that graces him. When his eyes open again, he is greeted with an even more longing sight. There before him, this beautiful woman with her soft eyes and gentle appearance looks to him with concern and care. “How are you feeling, milord?” The title catches him off-guard but he does not let it cloud him. “Hm?” Too much… He blinks again to shake off his nerves. A smile twitches at her lips to his mild confusion, it can’t help but make him prideful. “How are you, milord?” She repeated, a twinkle in her eye. “Are you feeling any better?”

“It is not their fault that they have created such beauty before me that I am struck by her.” His words flutter through the air like a butterfly’s wings and she is taken aback. She pauses and he watches, mesmerised by her. For a moment, he wonders whether she will answer, whether his words have scared her and he is instantly grateful that she cannot hear his beating thoughts. The rush that braces against his head. He swallows them down. An invisible thread of string pulls from his centre toward her and he cannot help the way he listens to it. His gentle hand rises to cup the side of his face. “That I find myself shivering at your touch–not the cold.” A shudder runs down the woman’s spine and she melts before him. She whispers to him in one mere word. “Oh.” And like that, Jacaerys feels his most sacred organ squeeze. He feels that invisible thread multiply and wrap around his heart and clench it. “If you are to pray to the Gods for my well-being…” Het rails, seduction thick on his tongue. “Then pray for the desire of my heart to quench itself.” Her hair rustles through his fingers in curls. Odd little waves that call for his attention. He follows them as though they crave it themselves. But the woman’s breath hitches and she stands abruptly, pretending as though she is not silently pleading for breath as it heavies. She clears her throat as she walks backward toward the door. His sights remain only on her. His hand stays still, holding nothing more than cold nothing. The barest of a linger. “Then, please, make yourself at home and rest, I shall return later with…with food.” She is gone without a trace.

Without her, he had rested, but surely once she returned, the heat of embarrassment conquered his face and his body begged not to cringe away from her. Never had the case of flirtation struck his mind and yet once he is incapacitated, he does so. With false conviction. A sigh ripples past his lips and he stares down to the wooden floor while the woman hurries herself around the room with baskets of berries, fruits, herbs. Jacaerys cleared his throat and squeezed shut his eyes. “I apologise for my behaviour last eve.” He blurts before he can stop himself. Before the shame can grow any more great. He hears a distant hum, curious enough to call forth his sights. The woman looks entirely unbothered as she unloads the baskets. Her head tilts toward him, eyes catching his unsure stare. “I had not…I had not intended to cause discomfort or concern you.” He presses further, desperate to amend himself. But then her lips twitch upward and a chuckle escapes her. “You need not. It was quite amusing.” Her sweet voice echoes. He would be lying in untruth if he attempted to suede one into thinking his shoulders did not drop in relief. “I do not?” He breathes. Her smile grows and she shakes her head. Slowly his embarrassment softens. His own lips begin to quirk. “You do not even know my name–” “And you do not even know mine.” She returns, the quip light on her tongue.

Slowly, her steps track closer to him rather than into the short kitchen. The bags are dropped onto the floor with an odd gentleness. “Then what should I call you?” He queries, leaning up on his hands. At this, she hesitates, but still she sits at his side and smiles at him. Her smile is warm, he notes. It is kind. It is welcoming him to her mere presence. “Perhaps I will tell you once you are well.” An inch apart, Jacaerys chuckles. His head dips down as a low rumbling sound was pulled from him as easily as a branch from a tree. Tough at first but surely. “Why must I wait?” He inquires, biting down on his lip. As the mysterious woman looks down at him, Jacaerys’ eyes glimmer. He looks…He looks sweet…Gentle…It had been a long while since she had seen such a face, she was sure. Not that she could possibly remember such a thing…Her face felt as though its lowering was entirely of the fates. As though the Gods themselves were pushing her forth. Were curling their fingers in her hair and pressing her closer. She clears her throat and longs to remember. She snaps her head backward and lets Jacaerys’ hope fall flat. Unhomed. A now-familiar pink flush washes up his neck. She smiles back at him sympathetically. “I am afraid that some things are better kept to oneself until they are certain.” And Jacaerys sighs. He supposed that that was right but it did not ease him.

The woman then lifts herself from the bed and starts back toward the basket-cradled foods. Again, Jacaerys sighs but now tosses back his head in frustration. The last day that he had spent, before yesterday, without forcing a purpose had been far too long ago to comfort him. He tried to recall it now…Perhaps the day after teaching his brother Joffrey of The Seven. It had been dark and dreary that morn–so much so that he had taken ill. A smile pulls his lips at the memory of Lucerys tugging at his arm and pleading to finish a story from the night before. The boy had fallen asleep too early. His smile faded just as quickly. A grunt ripped from his mouth and his teeth clenched shut. Lucerys…Lucerys…Lucerys… Jacaerys’ breath hitches and his head whipped to the other side of his pillow. A wince overran his face as he fought away his brother’s face. His brother’s voice. His brother’s mere name. He tries desperately to push it out, out, out. Just as he is about to rip away his hair (fingers tight in his curls despite no memory of reaching there)–The soft murmurings that he could remember as a voice are lulling him back.

The voice is muffled but it was as clear to him as a siren and just as tempting. It sounds like a song…As if a sweet-voiced bard were calling for him. Still, his breath shrieks for release, still it sunk through his lungs and weighed hard but his body had calmed from its tension. Reluctantly, it pries open his eyes too. He peeks cautiously until only the mysterious woman’s face greets him. She says nothing as he softens. As he returns to the flesh of his body rather than the panic of his mind. She only smiles. She only welcomes him. A hand holds one of his own. “Would you like something to eat?” The woman asks, holding out a plate filled with bread. Jacaerys’ eyes flicker over the slices and try not to irritate his stomach at the sight of vibrant red, blue and purple spreads coating them. He licks his lips at the puffed oranges. He swallows in his dry mouth and nods. “Yes.” Jacaerys chokes out. She settles beside him once more and reaches for one of the thick-pasted breads. If she did indeed question why such a happening occurred, she did not bring it to his attention.

Silence erupted between them with ease. It was almost startling how quickly he grew to miss the warmth of her touch in only a few spared moments. The curl of her finger in his hair, the gentle circle of his neck. He swallowed down the affectionately crafted food but let the sweet taste linger on his tongue. Beside the treacle flavoured bread, she had arranged a thick broth to join their taste buds. It was warm and satisfying as it slid down to his stomach. He found it odd how well common food could please him after so long in a life of luxury. It was nothing like the food in the South nor the North but it was not quite akin to the foods in which he would devour against the cold brush of war. The meals he spent only among his harrowed comrades. He winced but not at her food. At what he had missed, what he had lost, as he stared down at the honey coloured broth. It glimmered in the light of the sun. “Was he your friend?” The woman asked suddenly. Jacaerys’ eyes snapped up to her. “What?” Ripped out of his mouth. Her face was soft and gentle, almost beckoning the words out of his mouth. “...Luke. You say his name in your sleep.” Again, Jacaerys swallowed but this time not for the crave of her food. Her hand reaches for his but Jacaerys feels himself flinch. The woman stills. “You need not tell me,” She continued, quietly. Her lashes fluttered with a slowness that if he focussed on it, it would soothe his inability to breathe. “But I have heard that speech is a human’s most comforting solace.” This time when she reaches for him, his fingers nudge between hers. They interweave like thread.

Jacaerys gives himself a breath. A crisp, cold breath and then…”My brother, actually.” He whispered just short of air. An exhale. His chest is tight, it squeezes and whimpers and wrenches. “He was my brother.” She only nods, unwrapping him of his nerves with a mere circle of her fingers along his hand. The encouragement threatens the water in his eyes but one more time he swallows it down. “I killed him.” Pressure heavies the air. It pushes down on them with the weight of a boar. Yet, she retreats not. Not even when the dam breaks and his tight throat releases a choked gasp. Tears push themselves from his eyes and the crushing wave of his own guilt grasps his tender brain with a roughness he hadn’t known possible. “I was the one who told her we should be messengers! That it was our duty to protect her! I should have been protecting him.” Shock rocks through him when a soft hand pulls his face to her chest. As she clambers onto the bed and she clutches him close. The warmth of her draws his every instinct. It cries for him, begs for a skim of his flesh. “I should have been protecting him and instead I killed him.” The lump in his throat thickens and his tears refuse to stop. No matter how hard he begs them. His hair tousles in the woman’s soothing hands as he sobs. Jacaerys almost hopes that once her breath draws to his ear, she will sing her song again and the internal harrow will soothe just as the external had before but she did not. Instead, she presses a calming kiss to his temple. She lets him wail with her arms cocooning him.

An hour wastes away in the sour afternoon but she does not leave him. She lets him lay and calm and finally when the tears stop, she strokes back his hair. Droplets of sweat pearl at his forehead like a circlet. A crown of purity and anguish. “I think you are beautiful and kind and you should understand how proud your brother would be of you for looking after your mother in his absence.” The woman whispers then presses another kiss to his face. “I will not be a moment.” She assures but a quiet whine breaks past Jacaerys’ lips and his hand paws at her like a frightened man of youth rather than a war-torn soldier. She supposes he is both as she slips away and descends back to the kitchen. The bowls and plates are scooped into her hands and sent to the thick bucket of now cold water. She glances behind herself to catch sight of Jacaerys. To her surprise, he is staring back at her softly; his face sits blank when their eyes lock but there is something gentle in his eyes. Something waiting for her call. “Can I help?” He asks quietly, akin to that of a wounded dog. Hesitation tenses her but surely, she nods. “Of course.” She answers. Her fingers dip into the cold water and flows them back and forth an invisible creek of her mind. The ridges of water rock over her hand before it finally warms. In time for Jacaerys to kneel at her the bucket’s side and take a plate from her. Their flesh brushes against one another and they still. They pause. They feel their breath hitch as one…before he rolls the plate into the water.

The woman’s eyes track down to the smooth, white bowl in her hands and she grasps a wet cloth. Cleaning had not been something she enjoyed but now with the curious man beside her, there was an odd domesticity she enjoyed. “My name is Y/n.” She finally tells him in a wisp and it is as if the air has cooled. As if clarity has finally bitten through a frost and gentled their minds. Jacaerys, himself, halts. His eyes track to her and follow the curves of her face. “My name is Jacaerys.” He returns, holding his breath. There was only one who could wield such a name without insulting all that house the heritage of Old Valyria. One who could bear such a sacred name. But if she understands his secret, she speaks not of it. She smiles. Soft and sweetening the salt of his nerves. She nods. “It is honourable to make your acquaintance.”

As Jacaerys nods and stirs lukewarm water atop porcelain (to which he does not have the curiosity to question from whence it originally came) to rid of it the jams and honeys this generously sweet woman had crafted for them to share, he lets her name sing in his mind. To rivet through the caverns and corners of his thoughts. All is still and all is gentle. All is kind. And all is their own. Two flesh familiar and yet such strangers. He decides then that he will not allow her to go unnoticed by his heart. That he will better his judgement until he can be worthy of her friend perhaps. Oh what a bittersweet title he desired as his own.

Perhaps Jacaerys would not allow them to remain strangers for long at all. In fact he is certain of it as the distant sound of waves crashing echo in his ears and hope floats in the air.

A/N: first of all, wtf my beloved @jacevelaryonswife??? this is a beautiful gif i adore it ♥♥♥ second of all thank you to all the lovely people that took the time to have a read through this and coached me through my concerning moodboard procrastination process ilysmm, @worms-on-a-single-string @pendragora @hopelesswritergall @officerbrowneyes thank you all for feeding my delusions. also, while reader's abilities are only hinted at for now, i swear they will become more relevant

General Taglist - @hopelesswritergall - @succnfuccubus - @madame-fear

HOTD Taglist; - @wrendermedone - @its-actually-minicika - @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly - @adelusionalwriter - @cookielovesbook-akie - @maximofftwinsbitch - @ughhthisbitch - @daenerysapologist - @savagemickey03

Jacaerys Taglist - @fairysluna - @jacevelaryonswife - @maximofftwinsbitch

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