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I love the implication is that THIS MAN

Has convinced the law on multiple occasions that he’s a woman. He’s gotten intel about stake outs to prevent guards from ambushing Wildfire and WHAT ARE YOU DOING DRAG RACE NEEDS YOU.

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Dragon!Sylus and his strange affectionate habits

❥ you’re his mate, but you’re also human. his habits weird you out!

⭐︎

❥ he licks you! you could be sitting on the couch, minding your own business with a book in hand and sylus would come up right next to you and just start licking your cheek. you’d retract suddenly and look him up and down with a strange look on your face.

“what? i already explained this to you kitten.”

licking is his way of showing affection toward you. it’s supposed to tell you “i’m here to protect you” in a way. he also just loves tasting your skin and becoming more familiar with you since it brings him so much comfort. he’ll even lick your hair if he’s really getting into it!

❥ he feeds you really well. hungry? no you’re not, not with him at least. he’ll feed you until you’re completely and utterly satiated from his meals. when he sees you happy and drowsy from a full stomach it brings him very deep satisfaction.

sometimes he’ll put bags of snacks or containers of food where you frequent in hopes you’ll eat them. if you don’t, he’ll take offense or think he did something wrong and now you’re protesting!

❥ he makes you wear his treasures. part of being a dragon means hoarding pretty and shiny things. dragons are very protective and territorial about their things, but sylus makes an exception for you. he insists that you wear the jewels he’s collected and will drown you in his riches.

he especially loves it when you go out into public with his treasures on because it shows off his wealth via his beautiful mate. he’ll designate certain jewels or items just for you and if you’re even a little bit dissatisfied with them, he’ll throw them out right away.

❥ he builds nests for you. sylus will innocently steal your most precious items or the items that seem to bring you the most comfort and then bring them to an empty corner. it’s here that he piles up your cosmetics, clothes, bedsheets, pillows, stuffies—anything you could think of—and then he waits.

sylus would never force you to do anything, he wants you to come to the nest on your own volition without his input. he won’t even mention it, he’ll just wait until you find the nest and watch from afar what you do. if you finally do decide to nestle in, he’ll jump for joy knowing that you like it. he’ll also never come into your nest unless you ask him to, and if you do, let’s just say he’ll take care of you really well.

❥ he purrs, and really loudly too. you’ll hear him purring when you’re cuddling, when you’re eating, when you’re bathing, during sex, when you’re doing anything, really. dragons only purr when extremely content but sylus makes a habit out of it when he’s around you. the man is just very happy.

the sound of his purrs come from a deep place within his chest, making them loud and deep. even though they may startle you sometimes, the frequency and vibrancy brings you a sense of comfort and peace, and sylus knows this. whenever you’re upset or anxious, he’ll start purring loudly in hopes of calming you down.

❥ he walks around naked. of course, sylus only does this with you, but it never fails to catch you off guard. it’s not so much a sexual thing, per se, but more of a comfort thing. he’s so comfortable with your presence that he doesn’t feel the need to keep his tight, itchy clothes on when he’s alone with you. he’ll let everything hang and jiggle if he so calls for it.

although, there are times where he’ll purposefully walk around naked to seduce you like a peacock would. he thinks flaunting off his assets will make you want to pounce on him and make love to him all night—which is unfortunately true.

❥ he watches you while you sleep. at first it was cute, but when you awoke one night to his vibrant red eyes staring you down in the dark, it started to feel a little creepy. he explains it away by saying he needs to make sure you’re okay, which doesn’t really make much sense to you since you were in his secure territory.

because sylus doesn’t need much sleep, whenever you take your beauty rest, he feels the urge to look after you and your vulnerable form. he also just enjoys watching you do something so silly and human-like sleeping. this was one of your habits that he didn’t understand. he does finally back off a little bit after your complaining, though.

❥ he has a wild tail. sylus has full control over all of his body parts at any give time, so his tail is always indicative of how he’s feeling. he has a rather calm tail when you two are around others, but when alone with you? you have to dodge it sometimes from how erratic it is. he explains that it’s the equivalent of how your leg bounces. something you don’t even think about when it happens, but can have control over once you realize it.

it’s just another way of him saying to you that he’s comfortable enough around you to let loose with his body and do more natural, unconscious mannerisms.

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Dragon!Sylus and his habits while in heat

❥ You always knew being a dragon’s mate was going to be a bit… difficult.

affectionate habits ver.

࣪𖤐

❥ absolutely claws you. you think your scratches on his back are bad? yeah, no, try dragon claws. yes, they HURT, but they hurt SO GOOD. sylus knows how fragile humans are so he won’t ever scratch you enough to really hurt you, but he will leave marks. mating season is when you get the most scabs and bruises.

pounding into you never felt so good. he needs somewhere to release the extra excitement in him and so sylus will gets a little claw-happy. no part of your body is left untouched, he’ll mark every part to make a beautiful masterpiece of pink and red on your skin.

❥ he tries to impress you. much like a modern bird, sylus is always about impressing his mate before mating with them. sometimes for days even before he has you bent over, he’ll begin the first step of courting you, which could be done by a multitude of things.

sylus with walk around naked, flexing his muscles and shiny shimmering scales in hopes of impressing you and seeing how virile he is. not to mention he’ll obviously show off his DDDs—double dragon dicks! they’ll swing low or perk up high, thick and creamy for your enjoyment. he’s saying “hey, hey! look at me! i’m the perfect mate for you.” sometimes sylus will growl at you or make certain warning noises not to scare you, but to show you he can protect you by doing that. it’s an entire draconic ritual that will have you simultaneously confused, impressed, and most importantly, aroused.

❥ he’s so goddamn loud. sylus is not usually one for loud noises, he prefers more tame atmospheres in his home… until he’s in his heat. day and night you’ll hear him stomping and thudding into things to assert dominance. it’s to simultaneously scare people and let them know that he’s there and not to be messed with.

not only that, but he roars. his growls are pretty loud and booming too, but sylus rarely lets out a full snarl unless he’s pretty upset or pretty horny. he’ll do it to anyone, even you. except, he uses his loud noises to instill fear into others but instill submission into you. don’t like it? he’ll try to tone it down, but it’s a reflex at this point. try to close your ears while he’s coming, it’s a powerful sound of pleasure and accomplishment.

❥ he has toy eggs. sylus knows he can’t give you babies and it makes him super upset. all his heat makes him think about is giving you babies, so to cope he got toy eggs. he essentially makes you play house with him with the eggs. you have to play mama dragon and he’s daddy dragon, and daddy dragon’s job is to protect and provide for his family while mama dragon’s job is to nurture the kids.

and he genuinely does do that. he will stalk the nest he’s built for you and his toy eggs; he will bring you and the eggs food to eat in the nest; he will bathe you and the eggs with his tongue; he will legitimately get emotional if something happens to you or the eggs. he’s a little hormonally crazy but you indulge him every single time.

❥ DOUBLE TROUBLE! that’s right, you’re cock-trained to take sylus twice at a time. on a normal occasion, you’ll only take one dragon dick at a time so you’re not overwhelmed. sylus will alternate so as to not neglect either one of his cocks, but that all changes during his heat!

DDDs all shoved up your poor pussy, you’re gonna break! sylus has slowly size trained you over every occasion of sex until you could somewhat comfortably take him two at a time. it takes so much restraint but he goes slow at first and by the time you’ve calmed down and let out the tears, he’s ready to really fuck. always paying attention to you, always licking away your tears, always embracing you, sylus will still give you the ride of your life. it’s like two rollercoasters at once, so jarring but addicting. how can you even still be tight after that? it’s a mystery. 𖤐

tl: @mangobellini , @rin-dont-wear-clothes , @kentosbak3ry , @napa-the-yappa , @amaveon , @ivysorrele , @webshooterrr9, @calebandenergydrinkaddict , @ch4c0nnenh4 , @lilkactuz

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Bodies and Tails

so slowly, rafayel would go so, so slowly for your consummation.

on the sea floor, on your back, his hands on the toes of your dress, he admires you as if you shine brighter than all the ocean pearls.

kiss. kiss. kiss.

all the way down your throat, between your breasts, and down to your navel. his nose would nuzzle into your soft stomach and revere just how feminine and lovely you were there.

his hands, big and clawed, would map you like feathers.

“may i see?” he would ask with a low, warm tone.

he could see everything if he wanted to.

stroking you gently through the ripples of your folds, even here down on the bottom floor of the sea, rafayel could tell your arousal apart from the water.

“humans… they’re much more beautiful than i expected,” he murmured. “or perhaps, it’s just you, my bride?”

kink, fetish, depravity, none of those existed in his sea god heart. it was all pure. worshipping, reverent touches was all he knew and it was all he was going to give you.

he didn’t need anything back. especially not your service.

to honor his beautiful bride with his own body was enough service to his life as it was. and seeing you spread out on a large shell, hair floating away from your face and sunlight shining through the waves and onto your skin, even the lemurian language couldn’t describe you nor what his heart felt.

“you are bound to me already, heart and soul, body and mind. you know that?” rafayel rumbled. “then letting myself give you my body, that will only solidify how bound we are. this bond of ours…” he took your hands and brought it to his chest to feel the rapid beating of his ghostly heart, “is forever. through lives, through tragedy, through sorrow. i’ll never let you forget that.”

he brought his kisses back up to your face and interlocked his soft lips with yours. his tail wrapped around your legs, pressing them together in a very delicate hold.

his hands touched your breasts. they cupped them, squeezed the fat there, and gently rubbed the nipples. after the kisses he leaned his head down to them and smiled.

“do humans often enjoy these? i do. they remind me of how soft and tender you are, my bride. a loving bed of seaweed, you are.”

finally finding his mate felt… incredible.

even the sea god was oblivious to the true feelings of love until he met you.

lemurians mate for life. there is no other, there is no hit or miss. there is only hit, and every mermaid or merman knows it when they feel it. that hit.

it’s undeniable and remarkable. its not a feeling you can mistake.

meeting you, above waters and exploring the sandy shore. rafayel was blessed with experiencing that hit at such a young age. it was overwhelming and confusing. a human? of all the creatures in the sea, the one most dominant on land was what his heart chose?

no lemurian could reprimand him. love was love. love was you.

arousal was different for lemurians in love. it was triggered from attraction, sure, but it was wholehearted and consuming. a gentle obsession.

his arousal grew from every sound and sight of your on the shell. you couldn’t take two, not yet. one was okay today.

rafayel smiled down your body and align himself with you. love was penetrating you slowly and steady. now you could feel the staggering love rafayel felt for you. that love fit perfectly and stung nicely.

“i hope my attempts are helping, my sweet.”

he placed his hand over your navel and a gentle hum of his power helped the rippling ache in your deepest of crevices.

you squeezed and wrung and almost begged with your body. pain was nonexistent right now.

rafayel tilted his head back to look up to the ocean surface. he closed his eyes and hummed deeply and intensely. “my beautiful bride,” he proclaimed, “has been taken.”

the size of him was overwhelming enough, he didn’t need to move intensely to make you feel good. gently, his hips and sharp V of his tail undulating like a hypnotic dance. over and over again, sweet kisses to your womb.

rafayel looked over you, his long hair spilt around you like curtains or a canopy. his pupils were practically in the shape of hearts and his lips were curved up in a small, neurotic expression. he bit the side of his bottom lip almost seductively while keeping his eyes on yours.

for a long time he didn’t say anything. he let you sing your own chorus of sounds and simply listened. he only stared hard, but it was loving.

“i wish to be in your skin, fusing my love with yours to create a love no lemurian has ever seen nor felt.”

his hand went from caressing your cheek right down to your soft, pulsing nub. he didn’t look at what he was doing, refusing to let his gaze peel off your face.

“this pearl here means more to me than all ones gifted to me in prayers,” rafayel stated as a fact. he circles the area in a slow and rhythmic motion. “just with a few touches of my love, i can give you a pleasure nothing else in this world will.”

he leaned down to your breasts and take a nipple into his mouth for soft sucks. his eyes gazed up at your from your chest like a hatchling while nursing.

“and these pearls,” he continued, “are too my favourites. what a nurturing body you have.”

faster, harder.

sounds ripple through the water like thunderclaps. it wasn’t painful, just passionate. the water on the skin was cool, but the sensations inside were burning hot.

rafayel was the beauty of this sea, but with you here, he thought you put him to shame.

he touched your arched back gently and used it to thrust harder. your legs sprang up and immediately he caught them.

he kissed up and around your calves and ankles and then to the soles of your feet. no part of you went under appreciated.

rafayel was losing it fast. he grinned widely with devotion written all over his smile.

“my bride, my bride, my bride, my bride, my bride.”

the chemicals in his lemurian brain hazed over his gaze and mind. the ultimate sign of love was no longer just the burning bond on his chest, but the feeling of kissing your deepest aches with his sharpest appendage.

true and utter penetration.

“the sea will thrive with you by my side,” rafayel panted softly. “because our love is exemplary. it shall set an example to all mermaids and mermen. this,” he immediately finished inside with just the thought of showing off his worship of you, “i-is love. my beautiful bride… you’ve been claimed by the sea god.” he slowly unsheathed himself from you and smiled warmly. “and i know im meant to be yours,” he whispered by your face, “because you’re glowing like an angel after being filled by me. you’ve been christened.”

with his body, rafayel could’ve gone for days with you on the bottom floor. but you?

you delicate, sweet creature.

you needed time and mending. and rafayel was the most patient lemurian in the sea.

he pressed an affectionate kiss to your forehead like always. there was still so much to show you about lemurian love, but now, as you laid tired and equally as obsessed, rafayel was the happiest to just simply hold what he’d claimed.

࣪𖤐

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sampo koski + welt yang panty theif agenda

sampo is so sneaky with it. he can pick locks or get his hands on an extra key. or just swipe your room key while you’re distracted. he gets in and out of your place without anyone noticing

he’s got them in his pocket in public 😭 sitting right in his coat while he’s trying to charm you and follow you around. he’s got this smile that’s just a little bit too happy and a faint blush and you have no idea why. he’s so satisfied with his little secret

if he’s ever caught he’s kind of shameless about it. lol. he just goes on a tirade about your loveliness and how he couldn’t help himself. he’ll compensate you for them. how much do you want? just let him keep them. please 🥺

welt is so nervous he plans it out and backs out and fights with himself in his head about the morality and consequences before he cracks and just walks to your room on autopilot

welt has to hide them!! locks them up where he thinks no one will ever find the evidence of his creepy ways. puts your panties in a little baggie then locks them in a lockbox and then locks them in a suitcase never to be found by anyone but him. he’ll take the secret to his grave

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Oh my gosh ur so right on the post ab pantalone 2ds ago like as much as he loves u like hes still gonna save his money yk SAFE SPENDING PEOPLE

-also do u do requests

yeess! i'm glad people can agree with me! once pantalone has money, he is going to keep hold of it tooth and nail. it's the trauma, survival skills and personality mixing.

SAVING MONEY IS IMPORTANT PEOPLE!! (says the person who just spent way too much at a con this weekend)

i'll gladly do requests! i'm not much of a fic writer yet (or at least i am too shy to share any), but headcanons and "conversation starters" are welcome. I am always happy to talk and share what my little lonely brain cell has to say.

(this includes genshin, hsr and zzz for now)

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like, imagine him somewhere, dressed in a deep dark blue and sparkly dress and lingerie. hot.

been thinking about this for a while now, but it only got amplified by a pantalone cosplayer who i saw today. hot.

i think pantalone is very comfortable with his body, his sexuality, masculinity and all that. i also think pantalone liked to wear "women's clothing". dresses, skirts, you know.

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i think pantalone is very comfortable with his body, his sexuality, masculinity and all that. i also think pantalone liked to wear "women's clothing". dresses, skirts, you know.

[blvfix]

sampo koski cross-dressing

sampo koski maid outfit

sampo koski in a dress

sampo koski in lingerie (RED lingerie)

(and his tip is showing slightly from the top)

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okay so i have some thoughts about pantalone that i've been meaning to write down, but haven't had the energy nor time. many of these thoughts reflect my own experiences on handling my money.

• the man has money, we all know it. he's one of the richest (or the most rich?) person in teyvat. he grew up poor and he's worked for that money he has. honest work? more or less.

• pantalone is stingy to a degree. rich people, or people with more money than most are. they don't get rich by spending money. i'm not even rich, but i hold on to my money and savings tightly.

• he never wants to go back to the days when he was a little boy, trying to get his hands on anything, food or clothes. there is that nagging voice at the back of his head going like "my precious".

• he plans everything. he keeps track of every mora that comes and goes into his pockets.

• he makes the harbingers write DETAILED requests for funding. he hires only the necessary amout of staff. a cook, a cleaner or maybe two and a butler and a maid. and a few guards to keep his manor guarded.

• i love the fanfic trope of pantalone spoiling his lover and going on shopping sprees and spending money, but i don't see him doing that "in reality". not even for his lover. not frequently at least. maybe once a month at most? and even then, it's not every dress you stare at, every jewelery he thinks looks good on you. he notes those things down though! for future.

• of course his lover gets something special for important occasions, a date, birthday, anniversary or other celebration. and his lover can also "request funding" for something they want. pantalone can be more lenient on them and their request.

• he's just strict with his money, that's all.

that's my thoughts. feel free to share yours. do you agree or disagree with me? 👀 I think both, "spending pantalone" and "stingy pantalone" are both equally good concepts.

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WALK THE PLANK | Part 1

Happy Mermay! 𓂃𓂁𓂃 ོ

— mershark!Simon Riley × fem!Reader — 18+ | Pirates of the Caribbean AU; magic; strangers to lovers; slowburn-ish; monsterfucking; possessive/territorial! Simon; breeding kink; time skips; loss of virginity; canon-typical violence; smut; fluff; dub-con (to be safe)

You have been drawn to the sea since your mother gave birth on a pirate ship.

Even though your father warned you to stay away from the Gems Cove many a times while growing up, told you to stop swimming there, stop feeding the fish, stop praying to Calypso, stop serenading the bloody sea at dusk when the last golden rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon, because you cannot even comprehend what lingers in the depths of the reef, sweet lassie, you never listened, and when your father left one last time to follow after his Captain’s orders one last time, there was no one left to tell you to stop going there.  

And with your dear father’s disappearance, your feet only carried you towards the cove with more purpose—and a lot more spite. 

Raised and fed by kind townspeople who took pity on your situation, you continued to spend your teenhood at Gems Cove, glaring at the horizon and quietly cursing ever ship that sailed by and didn’t magically take you away. 

A warm breeze sweeps through your hair, swirls around your bare legs as you stand there in your flowy white undergarments, dress and boots discarded in a haphazard heap in the shade of a rock, salt curling the strands and sticking to your dewy skin, sunrays dancing on the crystal-clear water, sparkling like a million gemstones. 

“Perhaps I’ll become a bloody pirate like you, eh? How does that fucking sound, father?” you sneer again, angrily flicking another broken seashell over the glittering surface as you stand on the rotten boards of the old jetty, gentle waves lapping against the jagged rocks and wooden pillars supporting the planks. 

It’s what you’ve been doing for the past decade, whenever you realize once again how incredibly meaningless and mundane your life has turned out to be, like a ruffled feather blowing in the wind—working as a hierling on fishing boats to get by, helping out as a seamstress and barmaid, selling self-made jewellery to drunken travellers, and avoiding the local brothel at all costs like Davy Jones avoids dry land. 

Your father had always promised to take you with him—“when you’re old enough, sweet lassie”—though it was too late when you realized that he was simply staving you off. You would have never been old enough, always his little lassie, too soft for the ocean—a pebble with no edges, smoothed by the current. 

“Perhaps... Perhaps I’ll have a child only to abandon it, too, huh? Or even better, I bloody snuff it givin’ birth to it like mother did!” You scoff, and the sound ricochets around the enclosing cliffs sharply, like the shot of a well-maintained pistol. 

A murder of crows and a few scattered seagulls feeding on a large mutt’s cadaver at the beach nearby, are startled by the sound and take off flight; distracting you momentarily as you glance over your shoulder, squinting against the slowly setting sunlight. 

You barely register the gentle sloshing of waves behind you. The mass that heaves itself out of the water to peek up at the jetty, and the quiet, steady dribble of fat drops dripping off sleek skin, back into the ocean.  

When you turn around again, you let out a surprised yelp and nearly jump backwards at the sudden sight that greets you, stumbling on bare feet, almost slipping on slick algae. 

He’s huge, and it’s barely half his torso that’s sticking out of the water. 

Black, beady eyes—marbles containing the depths of the sea—staring at you, with a rather curious twinkle, from behind a mask crafted out of what you assume must be a cracked human skull, secured around his head with a frayed string of hemp rope, its upper row of teeth twinkling with a gold tooth. It exposes a crown of short brown hair sticking to his skull, the sharp curve of jawline and a plump, rosy bottom lip. 

His skin is pale, with a silvery shimmer and faint grey stripes along his upper arms and ribs, depending how the light catches it. Paler than the white sand on the beach, like it has never been kissed by the afternoon sun. 

Blessed with wide shoulders, a bulky chest, chiselled abs, and large arms with bulging muscles and protruding blue veins running along the inside of his forearms. Half a brown leather harness is secured around his upper torso, a short and tattered sheath attached to it, the blade’s ivory handle seemingly carved from some great fishbone. 

You’ve never seen a man quite this large, not even on your father’s crew, but once you spot the row of gills on each side of his neck, you know that you’re not faced with a man, but a beast—and suddenly, all doubts you once held vanish. 

As it turns out, your father didn’t lie in his bedtime stories, didn’t exaggerate when he warned you all those years ago: “There are things–beings–lingerin’ below the surface that might not make sense to us, but it don’t mean they’re not real. Aye? If ye feel like ye’re bein’ stalked by the water, chances are bloody high tha’ ye are, lassie.” 

“Who–Who are you?” You shake your head, rubbing your eyes on wobbly legs to make sure you’re not dreaming again. 

He doesn’t answer at first, only regards you with those dark, soulless eyes, head tilted like a puppy experiencing something new while his chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, until you find your footing again, slowly backing away from the edge of the jetty, holding your breath despite the salty air scratching in your lungs. 

“Wait!” He calls out firmly with a voice like gravel coated in oil, barking like a captain yet pleading like a lost boy. You freeze, exhaling a shuddering breath while your sweaty skin pebbles with goosebumps. 

The water parts as he glides through it with ease, closing distance while your eyes flicker to observe the large silhouette of his lower half moving below the surface, causing your eyes to widen in fear and disbelief—and curiosity as it begins to tickle you in the back of your mind. 

You should grab your clothes and run far away, but you stay where you are, mesmerized by the creature who is now pulling himself out of the water, bracing his forearms on the edge of the first planks while they creak under his added weight.  

For a moment, you’re distracted by his body and the sheer power emanating from him; his hands so brawny and veined, he looks like he could crack a coconut without any effort. 

“My name,” he takes a deep breath as if it strains him to speak, “is Simon.”  

“Simon,” you repeat, and something splashes sharply behind him, breaking the surface like he’s excited to hear you utter his name, and you wonder if your eyes have deceived you—or if you’ve truly just seen a shark tail. 

There is a brief yet tense pause, then he speaks your name, loud and clear, and your heart throbs inside your chest. “Why are ya so angry again?” he asks casually, as if he’s talking to an old friend. 

Simon belongs to the mythical merfolk. 

Different than the mermaids and men you’ve heard of through legends and lore, and the heresy fishermen and pirates alike love to spread, the creatures who call the territory around Whitecap Bay and Isla Sirena their home, he’s a maverick, a lone sea ghoul. 

Unlike them, he doesn’t belong to any pod. He’s been on his own for most of his life. 

Mershark, they call themselves. “Aye, stronger than those pretty fish,” he tells you one day two, chortling when he adds, “smarter, too.” 

He does look like a ruthless tiger shark, his lower half nearly twice as long as a human body, with tough skin, criss-crossed with battle and other scars. And when he catches how your gaze lingers on his unique body, a rare smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, nearly preening under your attention. 

Simon lets you inspect and learn as you please, answers your questions about his tail, and why it doesn’t look like any of the merfolk drawings you’ve seen in books—his large caudal fin like a shark’s, undulating from side to side rather than up and down whenever he swims. 

And you start spending more time at the cove and less at your hometown, ignoring your lack of money and possibilities in favour of being with him—your scarily handsome sea beast. 

After five days, you bring what is necessary, along with a tattered pillow and thin blanket as you stay more nights at the beach, reading aloud old books to him as he can neither read nor write, and sleeping in the sand while Simon prowls his territory underwater, hunting at night. 

You’ve never had a friend quite like him, if any at all, but neither ever did he, from what you can tell. 

He gets terribly restless when you do end up leaving the cove a couple of hours a day, pacing while the big trademark fin of a shark swims circles in the bay until you return, and Simon ends up bringing you fish to cook over an open bonfire and fresh clams to slurp with lemon juice to keep you from having to leave him again; always making sure you’re fed while he lingers; sometimes sitting awkwardly in the shallows with you, when the tide is lowest, and the temperature burns too hot. 

It’s peaceful, being with him.  

“Everyone always told me to stay away from Gems Cove. Said it’s too dangerous and cursed,” you remark, kissing your teeth in snide as you gaze out on the calm water. “Nothin’ ever happened, and they stopped pestering me eventually, though.” 

There is a pause after you tell him, and you wonder if he’s even listening to you, but then he opens his mouth to speak, and you realize that he’d been hesitating. 

“I’ve watched over you whenever ya swam here. Nothin’ would’ve ever happened to you, because I never allowed it,” he admits sheepishly after barely ten days of knowing each other, as the late afternoon sun inches towards the horizon. He points a finger at the span of the cove. “F’all these years, y’know?” 

Simon looks straight ahead as you gaze up at him, his skull mask resting in your lap after taking it off for him, and you use the moment to admire how the sunlight makes his dark blonde hair shine, the unruly strands now close-cropped, thanks to you, exposing the three deep claw marks at the side of his skull from a fight with a merman.  

Then his jaw clenches and his cheek ticks as if he regrets telling you now, but your heart skips a beat at his admission, utterly touched by it.  

“Why?” you croak, and your eyes sting with salty sea spray.  

His head tips down at your hand now resting where his hip should be and where his body turns twisted, abnormal. Still, your thumb rubs soothing circles on his sleek looking yet rough skin, sharp like sand and fine glass shards. 

Reaching out, he takes your right hand, turns it over to look at your palm, tracing the jagged scar in the middle of it, and huffing through his nose at the memories flooding his mind, before he speaks: “Because you saved me and almost bloody died doin’ it.” 

You don’t remember it, but Simon recounts that you’d lost consciousness back then. He could never forget it—stuck and tangled up in a net, thin ropes biting into his skin while a fat hook was piercing his dorsal fin, his own blood attracting more sharks. 

You’d jumped into the dark water without hesitation, the full moon the only light illuminating the restless waves, and you cut him free with a rusty pocketknife before pulling out the hook. And Simon remembers your sharp cry of pain, the one that made his heart drop heavy in his chest, then the sweet and copper scent of your blood as it dripped onto him and into the sea, when the hook went through your palm.  

Barely a decade old the both of you, when he had to watch from afar how loud men hauled you out of the angry water, pressing down on your still flat chest with force until you sputtered and coughed gallons of salty water while death kept clinging to your complexion. 

Simon still wishes he could’ve kissed you back then, protect you from drowning like that, but he was still a silly pup—oblivious to his own powers, because nobody close to him was still alive to teach him. 

His shoulders slouch, dry skin pulling taut over his muscles after spending too much time out of the water. 

“I never even got to say ‘thank you’ back then.” 

The sourness of lemons from supper is still sticking to your lips as you lick them, the taste of seafood lingering in the back of your throat as you listen and watch, barely breathing while Simon paints a vivid picture in your head; lifting the fog of a sad, lonely childhood for a smidge to teach you how you got that nasty scar on your hand. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, not moving your hand as he keeps cradling it in his. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” 

Then, your father’s words come to your mind: “Whenever the sea calls out to ye, ye walk the plank and take a jump, lassie.” He’d always laugh fondly. “One fearless minx, ye are. Every pirate cap’n would fear the lass who’d cheated Calypso of another innocent soul.” 

It makes more sense now, but before you can think about it, Simon turns to you, his eyes dark pools of nothingness, swallowing up all the molten golden brown in his irises.  

“That’s what I’m afraid of, love. Bloody reckless y'are.” There is no malice in his baritone voice, just a hint of exasperation and fatigue, as if he’s done with your bollocks after years of playing guardian angel and keeping himself hidden in a desperate attempt not to scare you away, but then there’s a faint smile lifting the scarred corner of his lip—a gnarly scar caused by another fisherman's hook, he’d told you. 

A genuine smile graces your lips when you entwine your fingers with his, feeling the smooth, translucent webbing between his fingers, while his body tenses, nostrils flaring with a sharp inhale of breath. 

“Wouldn’t have met ya if I was some prudent, Si.” 

It’s still a foreign feeling for him to feel air burn in his lungs for so long, but Simon can’t help the way his breath stutters and hitches whenever you’re close to him—whenever you touch him so effortlessly, just as confidently as when you’d jumped into the water to save him from a cruel death. 

And Simon is almost sure you don’t know, not yet anyway, but you’re doing things to him he’s never experienced before. 

The naturally fearless mershark continues to crumble under your gaze, your voice, your every touch, like a delicate sandcastle blown over by the breeze. He’d endure the burn of air in his lungs, of sunrays on his sensitive skin, a thousand times over if it means he can spend another moment in your bright presence. 

“Aye.” He returns your smile, squeezing your hand lightly as you hold his gaze. “Guess ye’r right.” 

For the first time in his pathetic life, Simon doesn’t feel that cold and crippling kind of loneliness, and unbeknownst to him, you feel very much the same. 

After two weeks, when the Caribbean sun burns too hot at noon, Simon steals you away from the Gems Cover, has he listened to you hiss and moan about your townspeople and the desire to leave the island one too many times in this short amount of time. 

“Bring water,” he keeps calling out to you like a mother hen, bracing his arms on the jetty as he watches you fussing about in your makeshift camp at the beach. “Can’t have ya faintin’ on me,” he adds with a teasing lilt, and you roll your eyes, stuffing your flask into your old leather rucksack. 

When you sit down at the edge of the jetty, bare legs swinging while the hem of your yellowed tunic flutters around your thighs, Simon feels a different kind of warmth stirring in his chest that spreads down to the tip of his tail, pooling and pulsating low in his gut. 

His hands twitch below the surface, clenching into fists to keep himself from reaching out to feel your supple flesh give under his brawny hands, nose twitching as he gets a whiff of your scent—luscious sweat and salt coating your skin, a trace of coconut water on your hair, a whiff of your heavenly womanhood when you squirm on the rotten planks and your knees spread apart.  

His mouth fills with saliva and the urge to shove his face between your thighs becomes unbearable as something wild claws and thrashes behind his ribs, razor sharp teeth tearing him apart from the inside while he tries to tame his instincts. 

Simon exhales slowly through his nose, dark eyes flickering up to observe your gorgeous face from behind his skull mask as you secure your rucksack on your back, so unaware of this predator—lusting, wanting, adoring you so openly.  

Sometimes he wonders if you know that you’re his salvation, and he hates himself for not bracing that surface sooner, for not taking that leap and show himself to you. 

“Now c’mon, little legs.” He clears his throat and water splashes as he lifts his arms up, waiting for you to make the final jump. “I’m takin’ ya for a swim.” 

Your pearly teeth flash with a grin and then you slip off the edge, right into his embrace before he cradles you close to his buff chest while a pleased rumble bubbles up in his throat at the weight of you finally in his arms, legs wrapping around his midriff where man meets shark. 

“Fuckin’ hell, ye’r squishy,” Simon mutters under his breath, earning a glare as he snorts in amusement and slight embarrassment, pale cheeks flushing under the bone of his mask. “I–I mean... soft. In a–a good way.” He adjusts his grip on you, cupping the back of your thighs, squeezing involuntarily. 

You squirm against his body, lashes fluttering against the spray and breeze whipping around your body, while your heart beats rapidly against your ribcage, overwhelmed by the closeness to him, not having expected nor ever experienced this effect from a anyone.  

“Hold on tight now, aye?” 

Adjusting your grip around his neck, you nod, and Simon eases himself into the water, floating on his back while he has you lay on his broad body, keeping you secured to his chest while he starts moving his tail underwater, gliding through the waves as he manoeuvres you both out of the familiar cove, past the colourful reef where the sheltered bay opens up into the vast ocean. 

“Haven’t been out in open water in so long,” you start shakily, eyes darting around, but the sun’s reflection on the surface blinds you too badly. “What if someone sees us out here?” 

Simon shrugs. “Don’t ya worry ‘bout that. I know these waters better than anyone,” he assures you, sounding proud while his chest puffs out. 

“Sounds like you expect a pat on your head for that,” you quip as you play with the hair at his nape underwater, and there is a brief pause before his tail breaches to splash a cold wave of water on you.  

You squeal and Simon smirks triumphantly at the sound you make, and he can’t stop his hands from roaming over the curve of your back, the thin fabric of your drenched tunic now clinging to your body like a second skin. His fingers twitch to rip it clean off and shed the barrier between you both, but again he pushes the urge far away into the darkest depths of his mind. 

The secret he’s so determined to show you turns out to be a cave halfway around the island; unreachable from land, its entrance hidden behind large lumps of boulders covered in moss, seaweed and barnacles. An old smugglers hideout he had discovered in his years of calling this island his territory, though no one has returned here since the Royal Navy has been patrolling close to the island occasionally. 

As Simon takes you farther inside, the pool of turquoise water ends in a U-shaped landmass of dark glimmering stone, surrounded by a solid rocky wall with large cracks at the ceiling where daylight spills inside and illuminates the cave. It smells sweet and clean, like a source of fresh water is nearby. 

When he sets you down on a dryer spot of stone, you push yourself up slowly, your gaze wandering around the cave in awe, head tilted back, while Simon watches, eyes crinkling deep in the corners with a pleased smile at your reaction. 

“You like it?” You nod eagerly, a breathless laugh erupting from your lungs. “Yes! This place is beautiful, Si!” 

The water ripples around Simon’s midriff while his tail swishes below the surface, like a mongrel wagging its tail. 

A few hours later, Simon is lounging on his back on a larger, flat rock in the middle of the pool while listens to the gentle padding of your bare feet echoing around the cave, enjoying the shade and warm, damp air, while you continue to explore each nook and corner curiously, letting him know whenever you find something worth mentioning. The sound so soothing to him, he nearly dozes off with one arm propped up behind his head. 

You’ve found the pile of driftwood that he’d brought to the cave a few days ago, when he’d shoved them into place where the sun shines the brightest through the cracks in the ceiling to let them dry, and you’ve been trying to build and start a fire for a while before you call out his name suddenly.  

Simon cracks one eye open, waiting. “Is this your home? Uhm, I mean... Is this where you stay when you’re not at the cove with me?” He lifts his head up and catches you standing at the edge of the pool, dipping your toes into the water tentatively.  

“No,” he answers eventually, his tone curt. “I don’t have a home.” You are his home, but he can’t possibly tell you that now.  

“So,” you start again, and Simon props himself up on his elbows as he notices how you suddenly avoid his eyes. “Why did you never,” you shrug, pulling your toes from the water, “y’know... try to find a–” You make a vague hand gesture in the air, and his stomach twists into a thousand tight knots. 

Simon utters your name, though it comes out as a growl. “A what?” 

Your pretty eyes snap up to meet his and you look so innocent, he can barely endure the sight. His chest heaves and his tail slashes briefly before he speaks: “A pod? A family? Come on, say it.” 

You lick your dry lips as your cheek warm up. “A mate, Simon.” 

His tail swishes, stirring the water. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth tightly. This question alone nearly offends him, especially coming from you, and he doesn’t quite know what to say while the truth is already trying to claw itself through his gills and up his throat, burning in the back of his tongue as if he ate something rancid and rotten. 

Then he huffs. “Why don’t you have one?” He doesn’t even want to know the answer, and fear clogs up his veins when he briefly imagines that you already have one, that you’re simply spending time with a lonely bastard like him out of pity and kindness.  

You kick a tiny seashell into the water as you shrug, looking like a child that doesn’t know how to explain itself.  

“Never liked anyone in my town. The men are all just–” You sigh, shrugging again, unaware that Simon is already seething at the mere mention that you’ve looked at males in the past.  

But the truth is mundane—you feared you’d end up like your mother, with a man who loved his freedom and a life of piracy more than her, only to die scared, giving birth to her child during a storm on a pirate ship. 

“Not bloody good enough for you.” He finishes your sentence with a frown on his face. They’re not the words you would’ve used, but deep down, you agree with him.  

A dreary smile tugs at your lips as you finally look at him, regarding him lolling about in the rock, muscles stretching and flexing in a way that twists and turns your insides warm and your smile more bashful.  

“Perhaps, aye,” you agree, and Simon perks up at that, heart fluttering with hope. “Perhaps that’s it.” 

Yes, I planned this as a oneshot, but things got out of hand and I'm having way too much fun in this universe. 🙃 I hope you've enjoyed the first part! If so, I'd always appreaciate your feedback, likes & reblogs. Thank you so much! 🧜🏼‍♂️🩵

[blvfix]

WALK THE PLANK | Part 1

Happy Mermay! 𓂃𓂁𓂃 ོ

— mershark!Simon Riley × fem!Reader — 18+ | Pirates of the Caribbean AU; magic; strangers to lovers; slowburn-ish; monsterfucking; possessive/territorial! Simon; breeding kink; time skips; loss of virginity; canon-typical violence; smut; fluff; dub-con (to be safe)

You have been drawn to the sea since your mother gave birth on a pirate ship.

Even though your father warned you to stay away from the Gems Cove many a times while growing up, told you to stop swimming there, stop feeding the fish, stop praying to Calypso, stop serenading the bloody sea at dusk when the last golden rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon, because you cannot even comprehend what lingers in the depths of the reef, sweet lassie, you never listened, and when your father left one last time to follow after his Captain’s orders one last time, there was no one left to tell you to stop going there.  

And with your dear father’s disappearance, your feet only carried you towards the cove with more purpose—and a lot more spite. 

Raised and fed by kind townspeople who took pity on your situation, you continued to spend your teenhood at Gems Cove, glaring at the horizon and quietly cursing ever ship that sailed by and didn’t magically take you away. 

A warm breeze sweeps through your hair, swirls around your bare legs as you stand there in your flowy white undergarments, dress and boots discarded in a haphazard heap in the shade of a rock, salt curling the strands and sticking to your dewy skin, sunrays dancing on the crystal-clear water, sparkling like a million gemstones. 

“Perhaps I’ll become a bloody pirate like you, eh? How does that fucking sound, father?” you sneer again, angrily flicking another broken seashell over the glittering surface as you stand on the rotten boards of the old jetty, gentle waves lapping against the jagged rocks and wooden pillars supporting the planks. 

It’s what you’ve been doing for the past decade, whenever you realize once again how incredibly meaningless and mundane your life has turned out to be, like a ruffled feather blowing in the wind—working as a hierling on fishing boats to get by, helping out as a seamstress and barmaid, selling self-made jewellery to drunken travellers, and avoiding the local brothel at all costs like Davy Jones avoids dry land. 

Your father had always promised to take you with him—“when you’re old enough, sweet lassie”—though it was too late when you realized that he was simply staving you off. You would have never been old enough, always his little lassie, too soft for the ocean—a pebble with no edges, smoothed by the current. 

“Perhaps... Perhaps I’ll have a child only to abandon it, too, huh? Or even better, I bloody snuff it givin’ birth to it like mother did!” You scoff, and the sound ricochets around the enclosing cliffs sharply, like the shot of a well-maintained pistol. 

A murder of crows and a few scattered seagulls feeding on a large mutt’s cadaver at the beach nearby, are startled by the sound and take off flight; distracting you momentarily as you glance over your shoulder, squinting against the slowly setting sunlight. 

You barely register the gentle sloshing of waves behind you. The mass that heaves itself out of the water to peek up at the jetty, and the quiet, steady dribble of fat drops dripping off sleek skin, back into the ocean.  

When you turn around again, you let out a surprised yelp and nearly jump backwards at the sudden sight that greets you, stumbling on bare feet, almost slipping on slick algae. 

He’s huge, and it’s barely half his torso that’s sticking out of the water. 

Black, beady eyes—marbles containing the depths of the sea—staring at you, with a rather curious twinkle, from behind a mask crafted out of what you assume must be a cracked human skull, secured around his head with a frayed string of hemp rope, its upper row of teeth twinkling with a gold tooth. It exposes a crown of short brown hair sticking to his skull, the sharp curve of jawline and a plump, rosy bottom lip. 

His skin is pale, with a silvery shimmer and faint grey stripes along his upper arms and ribs, depending how the light catches it. Paler than the white sand on the beach, like it has never been kissed by the afternoon sun. 

Blessed with wide shoulders, a bulky chest, chiselled abs, and large arms with bulging muscles and protruding blue veins running along the inside of his forearms. Half a brown leather harness is secured around his upper torso, a short and tattered sheath attached to it, the blade’s ivory handle seemingly carved from some great fishbone. 

You’ve never seen a man quite this large, not even on your father’s crew, but once you spot the row of gills on each side of his neck, you know that you’re not faced with a man, but a beast—and suddenly, all doubts you once held vanish. 

As it turns out, your father didn’t lie in his bedtime stories, didn’t exaggerate when he warned you all those years ago: “There are things–beings–lingerin’ below the surface that might not make sense to us, but it don’t mean they’re not real. Aye? If ye feel like ye’re bein’ stalked by the water, chances are bloody high tha’ ye are, lassie.” 

“Who–Who are you?” You shake your head, rubbing your eyes on wobbly legs to make sure you’re not dreaming again. 

He doesn’t answer at first, only regards you with those dark, soulless eyes, head tilted like a puppy experiencing something new while his chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, until you find your footing again, slowly backing away from the edge of the jetty, holding your breath despite the salty air scratching in your lungs. 

“Wait!” He calls out firmly with a voice like gravel coated in oil, barking like a captain yet pleading like a lost boy. You freeze, exhaling a shuddering breath while your sweaty skin pebbles with goosebumps. 

The water parts as he glides through it with ease, closing distance while your eyes flicker to observe the large silhouette of his lower half moving below the surface, causing your eyes to widen in fear and disbelief—and curiosity as it begins to tickle you in the back of your mind. 

You should grab your clothes and run far away, but you stay where you are, mesmerized by the creature who is now pulling himself out of the water, bracing his forearms on the edge of the first planks while they creak under his added weight.  

For a moment, you’re distracted by his body and the sheer power emanating from him; his hands so brawny and veined, he looks like he could crack a coconut without any effort. 

“My name,” he takes a deep breath as if it strains him to speak, “is Simon.”  

“Simon,” you repeat, and something splashes sharply behind him, breaking the surface like he’s excited to hear you utter his name, and you wonder if your eyes have deceived you—or if you’ve truly just seen a shark tail. 

There is a brief yet tense pause, then he speaks your name, loud and clear, and your heart throbs inside your chest. “Why are ya so angry again?” he asks casually, as if he’s talking to an old friend. 

Simon belongs to the mythical merfolk. 

Different than the mermaids and men you’ve heard of through legends and lore, and the heresy fishermen and pirates alike love to spread, the creatures who call the territory around Whitecap Bay and Isla Sirena their home, he’s a maverick, a lone sea ghoul. 

Unlike them, he doesn’t belong to any pod. He’s been on his own for most of his life. 

Mershark, they call themselves. “Aye, stronger than those pretty fish,” he tells you one day two, chortling when he adds, “smarter, too.” 

He does look like a ruthless tiger shark, his lower half nearly twice as long as a human body, with tough skin, criss-crossed with battle and other scars. And when he catches how your gaze lingers on his unique body, a rare smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, nearly preening under your attention. 

Simon lets you inspect and learn as you please, answers your questions about his tail, and why it doesn’t look like any of the merfolk drawings you’ve seen in books—his large caudal fin like a shark’s, undulating from side to side rather than up and down whenever he swims. 

And you start spending more time at the cove and less at your hometown, ignoring your lack of money and possibilities in favour of being with him—your scarily handsome sea beast. 

After five days, you bring what is necessary, along with a tattered pillow and thin blanket as you stay more nights at the beach, reading aloud old books to him as he can neither read nor write, and sleeping in the sand while Simon prowls his territory underwater, hunting at night. 

You’ve never had a friend quite like him, if any at all, but neither ever did he, from what you can tell. 

He gets terribly restless when you do end up leaving the cove a couple of hours a day, pacing while the big trademark fin of a shark swims circles in the bay until you return, and Simon ends up bringing you fish to cook over an open bonfire and fresh clams to slurp with lemon juice to keep you from having to leave him again; always making sure you’re fed while he lingers; sometimes sitting awkwardly in the shallows with you, when the tide is lowest, and the temperature burns too hot. 

It’s peaceful, being with him.  

“Everyone always told me to stay away from Gems Cove. Said it’s too dangerous and cursed,” you remark, kissing your teeth in snide as you gaze out on the calm water. “Nothin’ ever happened, and they stopped pestering me eventually, though.” 

There is a pause after you tell him, and you wonder if he’s even listening to you, but then he opens his mouth to speak, and you realize that he’d been hesitating. 

“I’ve watched over you whenever ya swam here. Nothin’ would’ve ever happened to you, because I never allowed it,” he admits sheepishly after barely ten days of knowing each other, as the late afternoon sun inches towards the horizon. He points a finger at the span of the cove. “F’all these years, y’know?” 

Simon looks straight ahead as you gaze up at him, his skull mask resting in your lap after taking it off for him, and you use the moment to admire how the sunlight makes his dark blonde hair shine, the unruly strands now close-cropped, thanks to you, exposing the three deep claw marks at the side of his skull from a fight with a merman.  

Then his jaw clenches and his cheek ticks as if he regrets telling you now, but your heart skips a beat at his admission, utterly touched by it.  

“Why?” you croak, and your eyes sting with salty sea spray.  

His head tips down at your hand now resting where his hip should be and where his body turns twisted, abnormal. Still, your thumb rubs soothing circles on his sleek looking yet rough skin, sharp like sand and fine glass shards. 

Reaching out, he takes your right hand, turns it over to look at your palm, tracing the jagged scar in the middle of it, and huffing through his nose at the memories flooding his mind, before he speaks: “Because you saved me and almost bloody died doin’ it.” 

You don’t remember it, but Simon recounts that you’d lost consciousness back then. He could never forget it—stuck and tangled up in a net, thin ropes biting into his skin while a fat hook was piercing his dorsal fin, his own blood attracting more sharks. 

You’d jumped into the dark water without hesitation, the full moon the only light illuminating the restless waves, and you cut him free with a rusty pocketknife before pulling out the hook. And Simon remembers your sharp cry of pain, the one that made his heart drop heavy in his chest, then the sweet and copper scent of your blood as it dripped onto him and into the sea, when the hook went through your palm.  

Barely a decade old the both of you, when he had to watch from afar how loud men hauled you out of the angry water, pressing down on your still flat chest with force until you sputtered and coughed gallons of salty water while death kept clinging to your complexion. 

Simon still wishes he could’ve kissed you back then, protect you from drowning like that, but he was still a silly pup—oblivious to his own powers, because nobody close to him was still alive to teach him. 

His shoulders slouch, dry skin pulling taut over his muscles after spending too much time out of the water. 

“I never even got to say ‘thank you’ back then.” 

The sourness of lemons from supper is still sticking to your lips as you lick them, the taste of seafood lingering in the back of your throat as you listen and watch, barely breathing while Simon paints a vivid picture in your head; lifting the fog of a sad, lonely childhood for a smidge to teach you how you got that nasty scar on your hand. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, not moving your hand as he keeps cradling it in his. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” 

Then, your father’s words come to your mind: “Whenever the sea calls out to ye, ye walk the plank and take a jump, lassie.” He’d always laugh fondly. “One fearless minx, ye are. Every pirate cap’n would fear the lass who’d cheated Calypso of another innocent soul.” 

It makes more sense now, but before you can think about it, Simon turns to you, his eyes dark pools of nothingness, swallowing up all the molten golden brown in his irises.  

“That’s what I’m afraid of, love. Bloody reckless y'are.” There is no malice in his baritone voice, just a hint of exasperation and fatigue, as if he’s done with your bollocks after years of playing guardian angel and keeping himself hidden in a desperate attempt not to scare you away, but then there’s a faint smile lifting the scarred corner of his lip—a gnarly scar caused by another fisherman's hook, he’d told you. 

A genuine smile graces your lips when you entwine your fingers with his, feeling the smooth, translucent webbing between his fingers, while his body tenses, nostrils flaring with a sharp inhale of breath. 

“Wouldn’t have met ya if I was some prudent, Si.” 

It’s still a foreign feeling for him to feel air burn in his lungs for so long, but Simon can’t help the way his breath stutters and hitches whenever you’re close to him—whenever you touch him so effortlessly, just as confidently as when you’d jumped into the water to save him from a cruel death. 

And Simon is almost sure you don’t know, not yet anyway, but you’re doing things to him he’s never experienced before. 

The naturally fearless mershark continues to crumble under your gaze, your voice, your every touch, like a delicate sandcastle blown over by the breeze. He’d endure the burn of air in his lungs, of sunrays on his sensitive skin, a thousand times over if it means he can spend another moment in your bright presence. 

“Aye.” He returns your smile, squeezing your hand lightly as you hold his gaze. “Guess ye’r right.” 

For the first time in his pathetic life, Simon doesn’t feel that cold and crippling kind of loneliness, and unbeknownst to him, you feel very much the same. 

After two weeks, when the Caribbean sun burns too hot at noon, Simon steals you away from the Gems Cover, has he listened to you hiss and moan about your townspeople and the desire to leave the island one too many times in this short amount of time. 

“Bring water,” he keeps calling out to you like a mother hen, bracing his arms on the jetty as he watches you fussing about in your makeshift camp at the beach. “Can’t have ya faintin’ on me,” he adds with a teasing lilt, and you roll your eyes, stuffing your flask into your old leather rucksack. 

When you sit down at the edge of the jetty, bare legs swinging while the hem of your yellowed tunic flutters around your thighs, Simon feels a different kind of warmth stirring in his chest that spreads down to the tip of his tail, pooling and pulsating low in his gut. 

His hands twitch below the surface, clenching into fists to keep himself from reaching out to feel your supple flesh give under his brawny hands, nose twitching as he gets a whiff of your scent—luscious sweat and salt coating your skin, a trace of coconut water on your hair, a whiff of your heavenly womanhood when you squirm on the rotten planks and your knees spread apart.  

His mouth fills with saliva and the urge to shove his face between your thighs becomes unbearable as something wild claws and thrashes behind his ribs, razor sharp teeth tearing him apart from the inside while he tries to tame his instincts. 

Simon exhales slowly through his nose, dark eyes flickering up to observe your gorgeous face from behind his skull mask as you secure your rucksack on your back, so unaware of this predator—lusting, wanting, adoring you so openly.  

Sometimes he wonders if you know that you’re his salvation, and he hates himself for not bracing that surface sooner, for not taking that leap and show himself to you. 

“Now c’mon, little legs.” He clears his throat and water splashes as he lifts his arms up, waiting for you to make the final jump. “I’m takin’ ya for a swim.” 

Your pearly teeth flash with a grin and then you slip off the edge, right into his embrace before he cradles you close to his buff chest while a pleased rumble bubbles up in his throat at the weight of you finally in his arms, legs wrapping around his midriff where man meets shark. 

“Fuckin’ hell, ye’r squishy,” Simon mutters under his breath, earning a glare as he snorts in amusement and slight embarrassment, pale cheeks flushing under the bone of his mask. “I–I mean... soft. In a–a good way.” He adjusts his grip on you, cupping the back of your thighs, squeezing involuntarily. 

You squirm against his body, lashes fluttering against the spray and breeze whipping around your body, while your heart beats rapidly against your ribcage, overwhelmed by the closeness to him, not having expected nor ever experienced this effect from a anyone.  

“Hold on tight now, aye?” 

Adjusting your grip around his neck, you nod, and Simon eases himself into the water, floating on his back while he has you lay on his broad body, keeping you secured to his chest while he starts moving his tail underwater, gliding through the waves as he manoeuvres you both out of the familiar cove, past the colourful reef where the sheltered bay opens up into the vast ocean. 

“Haven’t been out in open water in so long,” you start shakily, eyes darting around, but the sun’s reflection on the surface blinds you too badly. “What if someone sees us out here?” 

Simon shrugs. “Don’t ya worry ‘bout that. I know these waters better than anyone,” he assures you, sounding proud while his chest puffs out. 

“Sounds like you expect a pat on your head for that,” you quip as you play with the hair at his nape underwater, and there is a brief pause before his tail breaches to splash a cold wave of water on you.  

You squeal and Simon smirks triumphantly at the sound you make, and he can’t stop his hands from roaming over the curve of your back, the thin fabric of your drenched tunic now clinging to your body like a second skin. His fingers twitch to rip it clean off and shed the barrier between you both, but again he pushes the urge far away into the darkest depths of his mind. 

The secret he’s so determined to show you turns out to be a cave halfway around the island; unreachable from land, its entrance hidden behind large lumps of boulders covered in moss, seaweed and barnacles. An old smugglers hideout he had discovered in his years of calling this island his territory, though no one has returned here since the Royal Navy has been patrolling close to the island occasionally. 

As Simon takes you farther inside, the pool of turquoise water ends in a U-shaped landmass of dark glimmering stone, surrounded by a solid rocky wall with large cracks at the ceiling where daylight spills inside and illuminates the cave. It smells sweet and clean, like a source of fresh water is nearby. 

When he sets you down on a dryer spot of stone, you push yourself up slowly, your gaze wandering around the cave in awe, head tilted back, while Simon watches, eyes crinkling deep in the corners with a pleased smile at your reaction. 

“You like it?” You nod eagerly, a breathless laugh erupting from your lungs. “Yes! This place is beautiful, Si!” 

The water ripples around Simon’s midriff while his tail swishes below the surface, like a mongrel wagging its tail. 

A few hours later, Simon is lounging on his back on a larger, flat rock in the middle of the pool while listens to the gentle padding of your bare feet echoing around the cave, enjoying the shade and warm, damp air, while you continue to explore each nook and corner curiously, letting him know whenever you find something worth mentioning. The sound so soothing to him, he nearly dozes off with one arm propped up behind his head. 

You’ve found the pile of driftwood that he’d brought to the cave a few days ago, when he’d shoved them into place where the sun shines the brightest through the cracks in the ceiling to let them dry, and you’ve been trying to build and start a fire for a while before you call out his name suddenly.  

Simon cracks one eye open, waiting. “Is this your home? Uhm, I mean... Is this where you stay when you’re not at the cove with me?” He lifts his head up and catches you standing at the edge of the pool, dipping your toes into the water tentatively.  

“No,” he answers eventually, his tone curt. “I don’t have a home.” You are his home, but he can’t possibly tell you that now.  

“So,” you start again, and Simon props himself up on his elbows as he notices how you suddenly avoid his eyes. “Why did you never,” you shrug, pulling your toes from the water, “y’know... try to find a–” You make a vague hand gesture in the air, and his stomach twists into a thousand tight knots. 

Simon utters your name, though it comes out as a growl. “A what?” 

Your pretty eyes snap up to meet his and you look so innocent, he can barely endure the sight. His chest heaves and his tail slashes briefly before he speaks: “A pod? A family? Come on, say it.” 

You lick your dry lips as your cheek warm up. “A mate, Simon.” 

His tail swishes, stirring the water. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth tightly. This question alone nearly offends him, especially coming from you, and he doesn’t quite know what to say while the truth is already trying to claw itself through his gills and up his throat, burning in the back of his tongue as if he ate something rancid and rotten. 

Then he huffs. “Why don’t you have one?” He doesn’t even want to know the answer, and fear clogs up his veins when he briefly imagines that you already have one, that you’re simply spending time with a lonely bastard like him out of pity and kindness.  

You kick a tiny seashell into the water as you shrug, looking like a child that doesn’t know how to explain itself.  

“Never liked anyone in my town. The men are all just–” You sigh, shrugging again, unaware that Simon is already seething at the mere mention that you’ve looked at males in the past.  

But the truth is mundane—you feared you’d end up like your mother, with a man who loved his freedom and a life of piracy more than her, only to die scared, giving birth to her child during a storm on a pirate ship. 

“Not bloody good enough for you.” He finishes your sentence with a frown on his face. They’re not the words you would’ve used, but deep down, you agree with him.  

A dreary smile tugs at your lips as you finally look at him, regarding him lolling about in the rock, muscles stretching and flexing in a way that twists and turns your insides warm and your smile more bashful.  

“Perhaps, aye,” you agree, and Simon perks up at that, heart fluttering with hope. “Perhaps that’s it.” 

Yes, I planned this as a oneshot, but things got out of hand and I'm having way too much fun in this universe. 🙃 I hope you've enjoyed the first part! If so, I'd always appreaciate your feedback, likes & reblogs. Thank you so much! 🧜🏼‍♂️🩵

[blvfix]

okay so i need to share some horny thoughts about blade (and kafka? 👀)

°lowercase writing is intentional. written on mobile.

°marastruck!blade x gn!reader (x kafka?)

°smut. mdni. +18 only

°warnings: voyerism?, dubcon, rough sex, hmm... anything else that comes to mind?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

imagine blade having a mara flare up that refuses to quiet down no matter what, so you, his sweet helpful darling, let blade fuck you silly in an attempt to help. while blade has you basically folded in half and is pounding into your hole with aggression, kafka sits on a chair in the corner of the room, legs crossed and that signature smirk on her face as she watches you and blade go at it. it's a safety measure in case blade gets a bit too excited, still you can't help but feel embarrased, but also maybe a little... aroused? about the woman staring at you two, like she was enjoying every second of the acts she was witnessing.

oh, you won't be able to look her in the eye for a few days... or weeks.

[blvfix]

Drawing him is my favorite past time 💥💣

[blvfix]

HELLO YES KEEP COOKING OVIPOS NEUVILLETTE IS SUCH AN UNTAPPED POTENTIAL!!!!

- Neuvillette in heat, his draconian side finally re-emerging after thousands of years and thus starting the long month of heavy downpour in Fontaine

- Dutiful, faithful, and ever observant AFAB!reader stumbling upon him in agony and offering to help him alleviate the pain.

- Neuvillette, delirious from his heat, took it jm a literal sense of reader offering to be his mate and carry his brood. Uh oh.

- Cue the eggening and reader being bred over and over hhhhh

- The good news is, the long month of downpour had finally ended. And that the Chief Justice had announced his sudden marriage.

That's it that's my offering good bye

Absolutely this is everything I could ever need in life ty anon

[blvfix]

🤍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

characters: Alhaitham, Dan Heng, Blade, Sampo Koski

content: soft angst, good endings, gn!/reader

warning: mention of harsh language, drinking, not proofread

🍃... 𝑨𝒍𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒎

▫️ It doesn’t take much to annoy him since he despises when he gets bothered reading and just weird sounds alone throw him off. You do know that but at some days you’re not too aware of his bad mood.

▫️It starts with him ignoring you, trying to focus on whatever he’s doing but the fact he’s actively trying to ignore you makes it worse. You’ll notice he grunts in dissatisfaction or completely avoids you. When you ask him what’s up with him, he might blow up.

▫️ He’s dislikes yelling at you and therefore he simply doesn’t. He dislikes when people yell at him since he feels like a child that just broke a plate. In his mind yelling isn’t a solution. He'll tell you his issues in other way such as very harsh and cold words.

▫️Most of the time he's annoyed or mad it isn't actually you who caused it. Alhaitham struggles to find right moments to discuss emotions and maybe lets his anger slip.

▫️You're often questioning yourself being a nuisance when he shoves his madness in your face. The moment he notices you hating yourself he feels sorry. It's not your fault he has a hidden short temper.

▫️Alhaitham feels sorry afterwards since he usually ends up saying hurtful things when mad. He never intends to harm you and it pains him seeing you hurt over his silly emotions. To make up for it he will apologize with small gestures.

🍃... 𝑫𝒂𝒏 𝑯𝒆𝒏𝒈

▫️Dan Heng gets constantly annoyed by March and is used to have a constant nuisance sticking on him. His border from annoyed to mad is pretty high up and it's hard to actually drive him crazy. His clam attitude is nearly impossible to provoke.

▫️At times there are bad days though where Dan Heng can't handle anyone and anything. Alone the thought of March jumping in his room to show him some of the newest trends is a bother to him. These days he shuts himself in his room to read in peace.

▫️With that being said it's quite hard for you to make him angry. He usually keeps everything in himself until he can't handle it. When that happens you're not allowed to be around him. The answer is quite simple: he doesn't want to hurt you because others made him crazy.

▫️Maybe it hurts you to avoid Dan Heng, your loved one, all day. On the other hand it shows his care for you and how afraid he is to lose you due to some irrational feelings.

▫️Dan Heng gets angry, not very angry but a little angry, whenever a book of him gets destroyed. If you accidentally spill coffee on his limited edition astrology book he gets angry with you. It won't last long as the both of you know it is an accident but books are very important to him.

▫️The same goes for his clothes. Dan Heng isn't the tidiest but dirt on his clothes make him feel incredibly uncomfortable. You have to count in some mad side eyes if you make his clothes dirty.

🍃... 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒆

▫️Oh dear it is not a good idea to wake the anger inside of him. Blade has a short temper especially when his strength or authority gets questioned. He hates it when others look down on him. So you better not even make a joke about his lacking skills (which he does have).

▫️He isn't a violent man but a loud man. Yes, he will shout at you, not understanding why you're so incapable of doing things and he will be very hurtful. It is a rare occurrence though. When you start crying or distancing yourself he immediately falls in panic.

▫️Most of the time he'll show annoyance whenever you don't follow his instructions. He's not controlling but when you go into a fight that isn't made for you and you get hurt, he does get angry with you. In other cases it's you being mindless about your health or too easy with people who are obviously trying to manipulate you.

▫️Blade dislikes whenever you don't take yourself serious and end up getting hurt by bullshit people. His anger overtakes him sometimes. You could say his anger is a product of worry and annoyance.

▫️You need to grow a little cold when he's mad at you and yells. It's something he has to get out somehow and you need to protect yourself from stupid statements he says. Afterwards he'll be apologizing so much.

▫️You shouldn't play with his emotions. It won't turn out pretty but after all he is a great man and his only goal is to protect you.

🍃... 𝑺𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝑲𝒐𝒔𝒌𝒊

▫️You don't notice when he's mad. Is he really? Or just a little annoyed? It is a hard mission to look through his laid back facade. Most of the time you won't even notice.

▫️The causes of his inner trouble are rather trivial: you get hurt, you leave him on read, you make him feel lonely because of lacking affection. These are all things you may not notice here and there but to Sampo they're very important.

▫️So in cases of madness and sorrow he visits a local Pub or the fight club to have one or two drinks. Alcohol helps him with processing his emotions. He wouldn't dare to let his anger slip through you. It's not his personality and Sampo knows anger can hurt everyone severely.

▫️The evenings he spends in the pub and not with you, you do question what you did wrong. To make up for it you prepare some little surprises but what more can you do if he doesn't express his feelings towards you? It is a hardship and both of you have to overcome some barriers.

▫️Sampo knows that alcohol never truly solves the issues but to him it's a way to deal with it. It takes him some time to give in his emotions and let them roam freely. In the end is afraid to hurt you or make the situation worse.

▫️When he gets home and sees you're little tries to make it up to him he tears up and falls in your arms. He's an easy boyfriend and sometimes needs extra love or else he'll struggle.

Please reblog, like and support!🤍