#I think it works for the whole sea/fish thing he’s got going on

[notacluedo]

When my classics teacher said that Achilles could’ve been blond OR ginger and the entire class was horrified

based on The birth of Venus by Adolph Hirémy-Hirschl

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

Warnings: Mature language, sexual thoughts, canon typical violence.

Requested: Yes! But since I am particular about my aesthetic, I didn't answer there. Jealousy + arranged marriage. Brought to you by the seven deadly sins.

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

​the habit of eating and drinking too much.

Claw Island is as good as getting vanished from the court. You know it. Your Lord husband knows it. Even the tenants know it. Why else would the King order your marriage to Daemon Targaryen?

It was not as much of a punishment as the King had hoped. The Celtigars are a prestigious family, one of the few left with Valyrian blood. While not ones to flaunt their riches or seek for great power, you led a luxurious lifestyle.

The finest wines. Myrish rugs. The newest books. And of course, the riches from the surrounding sea. Beautiful pearls, a fleet that, while small, sailed with speed. The best foods.

The small island was your perfect little world, sequestered away from the troubles of the mainland. What else could a person long for, when they lived in a paradise? Claw Island had it all. Miles and miles of tempestuous sea, soft sands and gorgeous wildlife not seen anywhere else. Humble, but good people. Natural riches enough to last a lifetime.

But as of late, your breathtaking lands did nothing to bring you peace. Sometimes, in truth, as you walked along the shoreline, you wished for a tremendous sea wave to swallow you whole.

It would be better than this. Among the crabs, the sea life and wreckage of old ships, you would feel at ease. At home, even. And finally, finally untroubled. But things were not as you wanted them to be. With your Lord Father at court, someone had to mind the island. And no one knew the lands as you did.

You shuddered to think of something happening to you. In that case, the island, and its people, would go to your husband. Considering how much he hated it here, Prince Daemon would make a poor ruler.

You glare. He glares right back. Remembering your manners, you serve him a cut of spider crab seared in butter. The meal is rich and decadent, a show of the best Claw Island has to offer.

“Crab, Lady Wife?” Daemon raises both eyebrows. “Again?”

“What else does the Prince wish to eat?” You do your best effort at keeping your tone even. You try hard to not raise your voice at him, remembering the rumors about what happened to his last wife. So far, it seems to be working. Despite being older than you, the man behaves as a child. You have found he benefits from being managed as one, too.

Ever since you got married, he has been desperately trying to rile you up. The Prince always seemed to deflate when you refused to engage. He was clearly itching for a fight, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“You seem too willing to indulge in cannibalism for my tastes.” Daemon, in what he surely believed to be the absolute demonstration of cutting wit, smirks. You smile at him, sedate. You have heard enough remarks about crabs to last a lifetime. “It’s worrying.”

You could answer him. Perhaps make a mockery of his inability to perform in bed and the behavior of the female praying mantis. You do not. Instead, you force yourself to give him a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I will ask the servants to bring you fish.” You took your napkin out of your lap and placed it on the table. Dutifully, you rang the bell to call for a servant.

“Again?” Daemon complained, sounding much like a petulant child. You smiled and went back to your seat. Your crab was getting cold, and it would most likely be by the time your husband’s fish was served. But good manners dictated you could not start eating without him. You resigned yourself to another night of eating a cold dinner.

“You should write to the King, my Prince. I would serve you venison, were it not for the fact that your dragon has nearly extincted the population here.” While you were by no means poor, feeding a dragon was an expense you didn’t care for, especially one so picky as Daemon’s was showing to be.

While a dragon was a marvelous creature, and having one guarding your lands was a great perk, it was also hard. Caraxes ate the same as five grown men in a day, if not more. He didn’t eat just anything you served him, either. Much like his owner, he was picky. He had come with dragon keepers, and needed to be built a shelter.

You had hoped that his serpentine appearance would mean that he would eat a lot in one sitting, then hibernate, but no such luck. Your island couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard you tried. Animals didn’t reproduce at the pace required.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course.” Daemon says, in a dismissive tone. It’s then, when a servant comes in with his fish.

Your crab is cold. Again. Daemon is not pleased with the fish, but seems wary of extending dinner even more. For once, he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is eaten silently. In your head, you make plans for tomorrow's meals. Perhaps oysters, served cold, will withstand the wait better. You finish dinner and settle down to read some before bed.

When the time comes for it, you close your book. Daemon departs with a cold kiss to your cheek. You go to your bed, just as cold and empty as the kiss was, and fall asleep.

It’s around the witch's hour when he comes back to you, getting into the bed next to you. He stinks of cheap perfumes and oils. As he pulls you closer, to be able to hide his face on your neck, you can feel the smell of sex and alcohol induced sweat. It comes from the clothes Daemon hasn’t even bothered to shed before getting in bed with you.

You don’t like him drunk. He gets sloppy. You do better when he hides his indiscretions, the proofs of your failure as a woman. As a wife. He seeks his pleasure from other bodies, never yours. With you, he is unable to perform to completion.

Perhaps the same happens to him with others, on nights like these. That thought soothes you, and it’s the only reason why you allow Daemon to seek comfort in your arms. Sometimes, he has nightmares. It’s expected then, too, that you are the one to soothe him back to sleep.

Shifting in his grip, you rub his back, gently. You card your other hand through the matted strands of blonde hair, as a mother would do to his child. In many ways, you guess he is one. You pity him, your husband. A man with a void so deep, not even all the vices in the world could fill it.

You are unable to fall back asleep. You lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. When you hear the rooster’s first crow, you roll out of bed. Sleep is not coming for you. Daemon, unperturbed in his slumber, only sprawls more. You tuck him in.

When you get to your vanity, you catch the servants leaving the correspondence for the day on it. She giggles when you point at the bed and the mess of clothes, gesturing for silence. It makes you feel better, that they think your husband comes from the pleasure houses straight into your arms for more than just cuddles.

One of the letters catches your eye. It’s written in the strange alphabet used for High Valyrian, bearing both the royal seal and the King’s name. You don’t mean to pry. In fact, you open it because you are worried your husband has upset his brother even more.

Marriage is like being tied to a ship. When the tides are good and the ship strong, you soar above the sea. But no one wants to be tied to a sinking ship. It’s that fear what leads you to heating a knife on your candle’s flame and lifting the seal.

You read as you brush your hair, unrushed. You know Daemon won’t be awake for at least six more hours. But the more you advance, skipping polite greeting, the more your stomach sinks, and you jump from sentence to sentence.

“And while I understand your dislike of Claw Island, it is a less harsh punishment than you deserve. Much you complained of wanting a Valyrian bride, and now the opportunity presents itself, ripe for the taking. Yet, you do not seem keen on it. Is it, again, the lack of a throne you find off-putting? Perhaps, the lack of a child bride you can manipulate? Your Lady Wife might not have purple eyes or silver hair, as you mention, but she is a maiden in the bloom of youth. Tales of her beauty have graced the court, shared among the eager mouths of her family and previous suitors. Both Lord Velaryon and Lord Mooton agree that the woman is a delight, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. She has impeccable breeding and education. I will not grant you the annulment. I will not allow you to go back to your whore.”

There is a coppery taste in your mouth. Blood, you realize. From biting your tongue so hard to avoid letting out a scream of rage. It feels like being stabbed, countless times. In your back, and in your heart. Betrayal and deep, hurtful sorrow.

What have you done to deserve this? To be blindsided so? You have stood firm through all the humiliations your husband puts you through. Never once reproaching the way he goes out after dinner and does not come back until sunrise. Never complaining of his audacity to search comfort in your arms when he is drunk and stinking of whores. Never once raising your voice at the insults to your people, your home, your family.

But for Daemon Targaryen, it wasn’t enough. You would never be enough. Childishly, when you had first heard of your betrothal to him, you had hoped for companionship, if not love. At least, you thought, you would have a friend. But you hadn’t been enough of a woman to keep him in your bed, you had not been enough of the blood of Old Valyria for him to give you children, and you had not been enough for him to stay married to you.

He took from you, and took from your island and from your family, and not once was he satisfied. Not once, he was sated. And now, Daemon has done the unspeakable. Not satisfied with making a mockery out of you, with his constant unfaithfulness, he seeks to ruin you further. It’s only King Viserys who protects you and your family from further embarrassment.

You have underestimated him, pitying him while he planned your demise. The ruin of your house. You have been sharing your bed with the enemy. The thought frightens you and fills you with anger at equal parts. What will happen, when the King dies and the awful Princess with whom your husband was so taken ascends? Will you be put to the sword, accused of an imaginary crime to get you out of the way? Treason, perhaps? Hands shaking in anger, you fold the letter and reseal it as carefully as you can.

That is the day you decide you will retreat into your shell, like any good crab. You will close yourself over, put up walls and keep him as far away as you can. And you will wait for the day to stab at his heels until his physique reflects exactly the useless kind of man he is inside.

One day, this man might kill you. You will have to make sure he does not get away with it.

Envy /ˈenvi/

​the feeling of wanting to be in the same situation as somebody else; the feeling of wanting something that somebody else has.

It’s not often you are summoned to the court. But your father is about to be named Keeper of the Keys, a prestigious position often held by members of your house before being promoted to Master of Coin. The implication is clear. Soon, another Celtigar will be handling the finances of the Kingdom. It’s a ploy, to intertwine you further with the Royal Family. As soon as King Viserys dies, it will be your father who serves on Princess Rhaenyra’s council.

Hence, the need for a celebration. Traveling from Claw Island to King’s Landing is exhausting, especially considering that you do the journey by ship while your husband does so in his dragon. He seems overjoyed about it, but you can only think of how much the separate travel is costing your purses.

Daemon arrives early, because of course he does. Meanwhile, you spend your time preparing to put on the play of your life. You must be the most dutiful wife in the Seven Kingdoms, or else he might find a reason to get rid of you. Setting apart your most fashionable dresses, preparing gifts for the King and Queen and otherwise looking radiant.

Knowing Daemon, he is already whispering poison in his brother’s ear. You need to dazzle the King and the whole court, convince them you are not only an adequate wife but a perfect one. No stain must be perceived in your reputation.

You arrive punctually, just in time to prepare for the feast. It’s inside the Hall where you meet Daemon, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Chaste, but affectionate, performed under the King’s approving look. You are radiant in your house’s colors, with subtle references to Targaryen’s ones.

The feast is torture. Viserys, Daemon and Rhaenyra are all seated at the same table. They get along wondrously, while you, Queen Alicent and Ser Laenor are ignored despite being next to them.

The only thing that calms your heart is watching your father, sitting at the table of the Master of Coin.

“My Queen.” You say to her, hoping to curry favor. The Gods knew you needed as many allies as you could. “I brought you this.”

You take out a beautifully engraved rendition of the Prayers Book. It’s a gorgeous edition, with a gold finish. You hope that at least, if she doesn’t like it, she would think it is a gift to the babe she carries. It’s a thoughtful gift, the kind of thing you excel at.

“Oh, Lady Targaryen!” The Queen says, and takes it, admiring it in the light. Fortunately, she seems truly charmed by it. “It is the most wonderful thing!”

“I have one myself.” You tell her, as if you had not purchased it for exactly this moment. “When I heard you were from Oldtown, I couldn’t think of a better thing to bring.”

“It’s lovely.” Alicent says, as your husbands ignore both of you. Viserys and Daemon are too busy having their fun to care about what women are doing. “Will you join me in prayer tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted to.” It’s the first genuine smile you wear since your arrival. And it’s the first time that someone from the royal family smiles back.

You do attempts towards Rhaenyra and Laenor. They both ignore you, and so, you decide to keep strictly to conversing with Alicent. You decide to leave Viserys out of it, despite your gratitude to him because you would rather not look like much of a sycophant.

Your happiness at finally making a friend between your in-laws makes you oblivious to Daemon’s silence. During the whole dinner, he barely taunts you. None of the crab-based insults he so favors are present, either. That should have warned you. If you have learned something about your husband is that there is never a time when he is quiet.

He bides his time. The desserts are already served when Daemon delivers his greatest insult up to date. Some couples are even swaying to the rhythm of the music already, no matter if the tables have yet to be cleared.

“I wish to dance, I think.” Daemon says, getting up from his seat. You start to get up too, knowing you cannot refuse him, but he turns towards Rhaenyra. “A dance, niece?”

Rhaenyra preens under the attention and takes his hand. For a second, you stay frozen, hand falling uselessly by your side just when you were about to reach for him. You feel like you are being stabbed. Again.

The humiliation is so great you wish for some great disaster, perhaps one of the couples bumping against a table and overturning it, just to get the attention away from you. Half the hall has now seen you get rejected by your husband. In a celebration meant to honor your father, nonetheless.

You struggle to keep your face emotionless, curved into a polite little smile. You have made a fool of yourself. Hot tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill.

Noticing your despair, Alicent places a hand on your arm, softly.

“Thank you, Lady Targaryen.” She exclaims, loudly. “With the babe getting bigger and bigger every day, I find it harder to stand. You are very thoughtful.”

Her rescue, as she stands and walks down the dais, helps you save face. Your smile turns more genuine.

“It’s but good breeding, my Queen.” You answer, just as loud. “What kind of noble could see a Lady of your station and not aid her?”

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

“Indeed. Only a savage, I would think.” Her glance at her own husband is unmistakable. But Viserys is too busy watching Rhaenyra and Daemon dance to help his pregnant wife. His eyes never leave his brother and daughter, his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

Alicent makes her way towards a table where a few knights sit. Most of them are from Oldtown, and you cannot help but smile at her doing the rounds her husband so neglects. But her rescue, and quick exit, leave you in an uncomfortable position. King Viserys and Ser Laenor are engaged in conversation, including you only when they remember your presence, which means once every half an hour.

Without Queen Alicent, you have no conversation partner. The only thing you can do is watch. Daemon twirls around the room as if he were not a married man, taking every eligible bachelorette in the room for at least one dance. He is enchanting, pulling blushes left and right. He dances twice with Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon.

You play your part to perfection. Each time he glances your way, you give him an indulgent smile or a sweet tilt of your head. Even when he dances again with Rhaenyra, your expressions don't shift. Instead, you lift your cup to them and even find it in yourself to give a small clap.

It’s torture. It’s exhausting, having to play the devoted but never jealous wife, when he is doing his best to embarrass you. Finally, the King retires, but orders that the celebrations do not stop. You consider making your way towards your father, uncaring if leaving Laenor sitting on his own is rude.

Just as you are getting up, a knight, dressed in a fine green gambeson, steps in front of you. You look up at him, wondering what he could possibly want.

His voice is soft and eloquent, with the barest hint of an accent. His voice reminds you of someone, but you cannot quite place who.

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” You answer him, politely. Is he about to ask you for a dance? Is this a ploy for your husband to embarrass you further?

The knight smiles. He is tall and slender, very different from your husband, yet handsome just the same.

“If I had a wife as pretty as you, she wouldn’t be sitting here.” He compliments, and startles a laugh out of you. It has been months since the last time a man complimented you so. Before marrying, you had quite the suitors, but no one dared practice courtly love with the Rogue Prince’s wife. And your husband never once spoke to you kindly.

It’s a thrill, to feel wanted and appreciated again. You love having his eyes on you. It fills you with a forgotten kind of confidence. As the daughter of the man whose star in court is rising, as a beautiful woman and as the wife of a Prince, you deserve to be admired. It’s not your fault your husband can’t see it, you are desirable. People should be currying for your favor. You shouldn’t be begging for the scraps of a man whose only interest is his niece.

“Would she be on the dance floor?” You tease the knight, falling back into the practiced flirtations that had made you so popular before. You feel like you are glowing again.

The knight shakes his head, a hint of mischief appearing in his brown eyes.

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

At that, you laugh again, blushing. Despite how charming he is, you are still a married woman. You cannot give anyone reason to suspect or judge you, else Daemon might have basis to rid himself of you.

“I am not your wife.” You say, politely. The knight gasps, as if wounded, making you laugh again. You do not realize someone is glaring daggers at you, entranced as you are by him. “But perhaps a dance might suffice?”

The knight gives you a cheeky grin. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, gently.

As he leads you towards the dance floor, you barely notice Daemon looking disgruntled on the edge of it. You look over and see Rhenyra dancing with some tall and broad knight. He is probably jealous of him.

“You must give me your favor, for tomorrow's tournament. We are, after all, celebrating your family.” The knight says, making you focus back on him. His eyes are brown and kind, so soft. They remind you of someone, but once again, you can’t tell who.

“Ah, I see you are a tough negotiator.” You tease, your tone turning slightly more girlish. This time, it is the knight who laughs.

“What can I say? It’s in my blood.” The man winks, as he starts to twirl you around.

“I think, my lord, you have yourself a deal.” You grin.

It’s only when a Hightower knight approaches the stands the next day and offers you his lanze, you realize the mistake you have made.

Wrath /ræθ/

​extreme anger.

Daemon can’t believe his ears. Out of nowhere, a sweet sound reaches him. It’s the sound of a Lady’s laughter, but something about it makes him turn his head.

Perhaps, the fact that the sound has managed to catch his attention at all, despite the loud music, chatter and other laughs. Perhaps it is that the sound is familiar to him. He doesn’t know what it is, but as the piece finishes, he steps aside and tries searching for the source.

It’s then he sees you. His wife. Glowing and laughing on that Hightower cunt’s arm. And no, it’s not Alicent he is referring to. Otto’s spawn seems to have a proclivity for you because this is the other one. The elder.

Gwayne. His hands all over you, a gentle touch to your lower back to guide you forward. And are your eyes brightening? For him? As you pass by Daemon, you barely spare him a glance. He manages to hear a piece of the conversation.

“Your favor, for tomorrow's tournament…” The man has the gall to ask, as if he could win you the flower crown! The nerve of that Hightower pup, to think himself able to win. It’s clear he doesn’t remember the last time he faced Daemon, and while he was already planning on entering, now he knows with absolute certainty he is competing. Gwayne Hightower seems to have forgotten his lesson. He needs to remember his place.

“… Tough negotiator…” Your cheerful voice answers. Probably telling him he has to win if you do so because you are Valyrian and proud like him. Surely, the idea of getting crowned Queen of Love and Beauty appeals to you. You want a flower crown? Daemon will get you the damn thing.

When he was no more than a boy, his father used to have a particularly overzealous hound. Daemon had taken great delight in setting him free just when ladies were visiting. The dog loved sniffing beneath the ladies' skirts and humping their legs. The whole scene often ended up with Daemon getting yelled at, either by the ladies or their husbands. Now, as he looked at the proverbial dog humping his wife, Daemon understood why the ladies' husbands were so enraged.

He should cut his hands. Hightowers. No sense of shame at all, with their whorish ways. They were all the same. There went Alicent, throwing herself at Viserys when poor Aemma was not even in her pyre. There went Gwayne Hightower, placing his paws all over you and trying to charm you when Daemon was still in the room.

Couldn’t he tell you are his? It’s not that Daemon likes you, but it’s an affront to his honor. You are the wife of a Prince. The mere fact that a measly knight thought he could compare it’s outrageous. And the fact that he dared touch you! The nerve!

It’s Daemon who shares your bed, back in Claw Island. It’s Daemon you hold during the night, who pays for your silly little dresses. It’s for him you have clearly gotten all pretty today. How dare he, that Hightower fool.

He can’t have you. Gwayne Hightower is not allowed to just swoop in and try to steal his woman. You are meant to sleep by his side, be his solace. You are not the kind of woman for whom a simple knight would be enough. Just like him, you love the lush life. Could Gwayne Hightower buy you a dress like that? Could he use a dragon to protect your little island?

Daemon clutches at his cup so hard, he thinks he might bend the metal. You are his bride. He is the only one allowed to have you. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t mean someone else can.

Rhaenyra approaches him again, no doubt wanting another dance. But not even her allure, which is usually so hypnotizing to him, manages to get him out of his bad mood. He hates when other people touch what is his.

Daemon decides to retire for the night, before she can reach him. He needs to think. How he longs for your shared rooms back at Claw Island. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the night tossing and turning, wondering if the Hightower cunt escorted you back to your rooms, and if so, at which hour.

Strange, isn’t it? Such a small act can cause such a big shift in perspective. So many months, he had spent thinking of Claw Island a prison, longing to be able to come back to court. Now, he sees it as it was. A shell made to protect the most valuable pearl the sea had produced.

Had Daemon known men at court would try to steal his bride, he would have never authorized this trip. Your father could have been named Hand, but you would have never stepped foot outside your castle if Daemon had known. You would not be taken with Gwayne Hightower if he had a say in it.

He had a plan. The knight would make a fool out of himself. Daemon just had to encourage him in the right direction.

Daemon is up and about as soon as the sun is. He strolls towards the space prepared for the tournament, armor in hand. He changes slowly, giving plenty of time for Gwayne Hightower to arrive.

The foolish knight does. So do you, sitting next to your father in the stands, all pretty and glowy under the sun. You wear a red gown that compliments not only your skin tone, but pays homage to both of your houses. After all, both House Targaryen and Celtigar have red on their coats of arms. A clear show that you were meant to be his, and his alone. What would you even look like, if you were married to a Hightower fool? Red and green would look hideous in a dress.

As the highest-ranking competitor, Daemon gets to make the first challenge. To no one’s surprise, he picks Gwayne Hightower.

Daemon waits with bated breath, already seated on his horse. Does the man dare? Oh, he dares! The Hightower cunt gallops towards the stands. You don’t rise, looking towards the Hightower whore. It’s then he realizes you must be truly innocent. You are either doubting the boldness of the man or are not aware of his house, and do not recognize him under the armor.

But as Gwayne Hightower reaches the stand, Daemon close on his heels, he takes off his helmet. You gasp.

The Hightower whore makes a move as if to get up. Her brother’s voice cuts her off.

“I was hoping to get a sign of your favor, my Lady.” The man says to you, and your eyes widen. You stand, shakily. You look at Daemon, then at the cunt, then at him, then back at the cunt. Daemon arches an eyebrow, visor lifted. “For you have already struck me with your beauty, and the fact that you cannot be mine. Allow me the consolation of placing a crown of flowers upon you, and soothe my wounded heart.”

You gasp at the bold declaration. Daemon has to admit it, the cunt has some nerve. Not only has he praised you in ways that are too bold even for a couple courting, but he has slighted Daemon in front of the whole court. He has made explicit mention of your marriage to him.

Viserys eyes him warily. Daemon scoffs. The distrust is unnecessary. Why would he slaughter the Hightower now, when he has the chance to plummet him into the ground without consequences in just a few minutes? Besides, it would be in bad taste, slaughtering the brother of his sister-in-law.

Your father urges you forward, with a forced laugh. You grasp one of the favors from your box, which has only two, and place it upon the Hightower’s lanze. The pretty ribbons sway in the wind. White and red from House Celtigar proudly displayed.

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

You ignore him, as Rhaenyra approaches. Surely thinking how he will want to wear her favor, after his rejection of last night. Curse him, Daemon thinks. He should have danced with you. If he had known that up jumped son of a rat was going to try his luck, you would have not left Daemon’s arms the whole night.

“Thank you, niece. But today I fancy wearing my wife’s favor. For it would be a shame for her to be lacking her crown once her champion undoubtedly disappoints.” He loudly declares, uncaring if his niece’s face falls. Rhaenyra will get over it. But this has turned into a manhood competition. He can’t let Gwayne Hightower, of all people, win.

“Can I do that?” Daemon hears you whisper towards Viserys and his whore. “Can I have two champions fighting each other?”

Viserys, as if this is the most fun he has had in a while, answers cheerfully.

“Of course, my dear girl.” It probably is the most fun he has had in a while. Really. It must be very amusing to him, after hearing Daemon complain about you for months. Who would have known he would have to fight some Hightower for your attention? Laughable, really. A Prince groveling. “Double the chances for you to get the flower crown, is it not?”

“Of course.” Your father jumps in, clearly trying to prevent a scandal. “Go on, love. Give the other one to your husband. If more are needed, we will get more ribbons.”

You approach Daemon, pretty little favor on your delicate hands. You smile at him, pleasantly. But this close, he can tell you are shaken by the power play happening right in front of your eyes.

Daemon lowers his lanze as you stretch to place your ribbons. You give him a confused and hurt look. He stretches closer.

“Save that one.” Daemon says, as he places a hand on your hair and pulls out the red ribbon that holds it back. “I’m your husband, I get some privileges.”

His gesture makes you laugh. Daemon feels on top of the world. He gives a superior glance to the Hightower cunt, as if saying: Look at me, I do not need half your effort and get double the results.

Daemon is not so deluded as to think the laugh is more than half nervousness and half playing the part of the dutiful wife you are, but to Daemon is still a win. He can see why the other lords want you. With your hair loose, smiling and with your skin glowing from the sun, you are actually quite pretty.

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

“A kiss, for good luck?” Daemon knows he is pushing, but cannot help but be smug. His pretty wife gave him her hair ribbon to tie around his chosen weapon, for all the court to see. Smugness radiates out of his pores.

Without any expectation, the sweet peck you give him is even more of a delight. Even more sweet is the disgruntled look on Gwayne Hightower's face.

Safe to say, the man gets unseated so fast, it has to be the quickest defeat ever registered. The crunch he makes as he falls from his horse it’s the most satisfying sound Daemon has ever heard. The crowd gasps and cheers. The man does not get up.

That will teach him, he decides. Gwayne Higtwoer will never again even look your way. Daemon turns his horse back around, ready to face his next opponent, but it’s stopped by the pages.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower has requested to continue with the sword.” At that, his blood boils. He nearly jumps off his horse, discarding the lanze and unsheathing Dark Sister.

“What will it be, boy? First blood?” He saunters towards the man, and the sight of him this close only serves to anger him more. He shares Otto’s slender build, tall and slight. In Hightower armor, he even looks like him. Daemon is going to enjoy this.

“Why stop there?” The knight asks, hatefully. “Until one of us yields.”

“As you wish.” Daemon charges, forgoing his shield. He is just too angered for politeness. This is not jousting anymore, it’s his hate for Higtowers, and the fact that this man has tried to take something that’s his. He should have never looked your way. Never. And if it’s up to Daemon, perhaps he will leave the arena without the ability to repeat the feat.

The fight is quick and dirty, but even when he has disarmed and cornered him, Gwayne Higtower refuses to yield.

“What are you..?” Daemon asks, utterly confused because the little savage is grabbing Dark Sister with gauntled hands and pulling.

“Just as marriage is not an excuse for not loving…” He grins, teeth bared in a feral little grin, and Daemon lets go of his sword in surprise at the boldness of the fool. “No weapon is no excuse for yielding.”

He loses it, then. Later, he will only remember red. Daemon throws himself at him and starts punching him, until the asshole goes limp on his arms and has to be pulled away from him.

Only the fact that the Hightower fought back is what allows him to keep participating in the tournament, instead of being exiled again. The split lip and bleeding eyebrow do serve to build a case in his favor.

He wins the tournament without any opposition. With bloody hands, he places the flower crown on your head. Your horrified look is not as satisfactory as he would have thought.

Pride /praɪd/

the feeling that you are better or more important than other people.

Daemon manages to get a hold of you before you vacate the stands. You are trying to avoid the crowds, waiting patiently in your seat. He doesn’t allow it, urging you towards his chambers with a firm grip on your wrist.

Some other ladies titter and giggle, pointing towards the two of you. No doubt, they think he is about to ravish you. They are not wrong.

It’s not often Daemon feels desire for you. In truth, while you have a pretty mouth and a soft body, you do little for him. But today, you are enchanting. The flower crown still sits atop of your windswept hair, making you look like a forest nymph. There are a few red stains along your temple, left there by Daemon’s hands when he placed the crown on top of your hair.

Never has there been a woman more deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. As you walk with him down the halls, he feels a smug sort of satisfaction. Here is the woman half the court wants, Daemon wants to scream. Here is my wife.

The feeling is not unfamiliar to him, but it is in relation to you. His possessive nature so far has only extended towards members of his house. The lust is new, too. Daemon has experimented it many times, but never towards whom he should.

As soon the door closes after you, he kisses you forcefully, only for you to shove him away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, as you spit out some of his blood. You are remarkably strong, having been able to push him while still in armor. But what shocks him the most is the fact that you did it at all. Months of marriage and you have done nothing but smile, regardless of what Daemon does.

“Shh, Lady Wife. Nothing unusual, I assure you.” He pulls you back in, kissing along your neck. This time, you push him even harder.

Daemon stumbles and blinks, hard. Are you rejecting him? He sits down on the bed and takes off his helmet. He has beaten the Hightower fool half to death and won you the silly flower crown. Why would you reject him?

“You prefer him, don't you?” That has to be the answer, surely. You must be having an affair with the cunt. Why else would you reject him? It’s not allowed. While Daemon is not particularly keen on forcing you, you are his wife. He has a right to your body, and you shouldn’t deny him. You know it. Never before have you refused him, due to the same reason. So this must be something else.

“What nonsense are you on, now?” You barely lift your eyes from your work, busy with pouring some water in a bowl and taking out clean linens. Efficiently, as if a seasoned healer, and not a soft lady from Claw Island, you rip them apart.

“Don’t play daft, wife.” Daemon reproaches, scowling. Your innocent act is starting to tire him. You can’t possibly believe him so dumb. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about Ser Gwayne…” You start and he feels the urge to scream. He can’t help but cut you off.

“Of course it is! Of course it is about that fucking Hightower.” Daemon’s voice goes high-pitched, imitating yours. “Ser, Ser.” He rolls his eyes. “How easily they hand titles now. Is every scum in this realm a knight?”

Your face doesn’t even twitch. That is one of the things about you that drive him to insanity. No matter what Daemon says, he never seems to get a reaction. It’s infuriating. You are all manners and dimples, even in the face of the most vile insults he throws your way. You either have no honor, letting him stomp all over you, or you think him right. Pathetic. Even the Bronze Bitch bit back.

His nostrils flare. Softly, you step between his parted legs and dab at the cut on his brow with a soaked linen. Ever dutiful.

“You do know adultery is a crime.” Daemon says, in a low, threatening tone. You give him a pleasant smile, squeezing water out of the cloth. It runs red and fast down your wrist.

“So is incest.” Your voice is far too cheerful for someone who just got accused of a crime that’s punishable by death if he so chooses. And not only that, but you have the nerve to threaten him.

“I am a Targaryen.” Daemon practically growls. You glare at him. He should be angry, but instead, his loins seem to heat up. Who can fault him? Any man would feel the urge to take you over and over, when faced with those eyes and those lashes.

Surely, after it, you would understand you were his and not Gwayne Hightower’s. It was not such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a lesser man would have trouble with it, but not Daemon. Give him ten minutes between your legs and you would be singing his praises.

“And I am a Celtigar.” His pause has allowed you enough time to form a retort. You press down on the cut on his brow with a viciousness that startles him. Daemon winces in pain. No getting distracted, he notes. Less you murder him when he is not paying attention. “To stifle the blood flow.” You explain, but Daemon can see the bloodlust in your eyes. You want him to hurt. The past few months have not gone in vain, it appears.

“Mine, you are mine.” He replies, gruffly.

You let go of the cloth, hands on your hips. Your mouth opens and closes, astonished.

“You don’t have any right to speak those words to me.” How he longs to grab you and show you exactly who is in charge. There you are, screaming! You! The woman who Daemon doubted knew how to make sounds louder than polite conversation. “Am I not the bride you never wanted? Your chain? Well then, sail free. Go!” You scream, and Daemon needs to pick his jaw off the floor because never has he seen you this angry.

Are you screaming at him? He feels the urge to pinch himself, to see if he is dreaming. But the way you are pointing your finger towards the door seems very real. Still a bit confused by the sudden personality change, Daemon does not obey.

It feels like a dream. Like stepping into a parallel world. The words that come out of his mouth are spoken by a stranger, and he can only watch as you turn more and more furious.

“No. Come here.” Daemon grabs at your gown, trying to pull you into him. He doesn’t really know what he is going to do if you budge. Place you in his lap and placate you with a kiss? He doesn’t get to find out. Grabbing you has clearly been the wrong move.

You slip out of his grip with a harsh jerk. Daemon is not as young as he used to be, but the sight makes his lust bubble up. You are alluring when angry, all passionate lines, and bloody temples. Valyrian, in a way you had never been before, with your darker coloring and soft manners. Yet, when mad? You are a conqueror goddess made flesh.

“No! I will not. I am not yours. We might be married but I will…” You stomp your foot at him, all angry little crab. For the first time, he sees fire in you.

Such a shame this is the moment you chose to grow a spine. He couldn’t understand where you had been all this time. So many months wasted with the meek little wife, when he could have had you instead.

Why had you decided to show you had a personality now, of all times? It was not fair, if it was for that Hightower cunt.

“Why Gwayne Hightower? Out of all the men on earth?” Daemon mutters, clearly not low enough because you answer him.

“This is not about Gwayne Hightower.” You glare, crown of flowers balancing precariously on top of your head. As you move, a few petals fall down. Angry little dryad that you are, you bat them away.

“If not, what is it about?”

“You!” You scream at him. It’s hateful, it's rage filled, it’s everything you are usually not. A true Valyrian goddess, letting mere mortals feel her might. Daemon would have enjoyed the display more if he wasn’t the mortal in question. “I forgot what it felt like to be wanted. To be looked at as someone who was desirable. Do you know how I have felt? Begging for scraps of attention, trying to make this work?”

“Wife…” He pleads because now there are tears in your eyes, and while Daemon doesn’t do begging, he doesn’t do comforting either.

“Do not call me that! Didn’t you petition for an annulment?” And how had you found out about that? While he had not been exactly secretive with his correspondence, he didn’t believe you to be proficient in High Valyrian. He has no time to ponder on it because you intend to go further. “Well, you are in luck! I will make my own request!”

“Viserys will not allow it.” Even if Daemon has to go beg him on his knees to not grant it, you are not annulling this marriage. Not when he is just starting to see the real you.

“Fine! Then I am going back to Claw Island. Stay here.” You scream, and you look so determined it scares him. For a second, he actually thinks you have the power to ban him from the island and force him to stay, giving you plenty of time to receive visitors. Male visitors, all surrounding you, courting you, as if he were already dead and not just exiled.

“Look. I’m sorry. Can we start over?” Daemon offers, in his most pleading tone. He has not apologized since… Gods. He barely remembers how to do it.

“You made me forget I deserved more than scraps.” You laugh at him, as his first apology to someone in more than ten years is the funniest joke existing. Then, enraged. “It will be a cold day in the Seven Hells, when I give you another chance.”

Hurt. He realizes, as you throw the flower crown at his feet and slam the door. Hurt. You are hurt, not angry. He has done the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Damage her pride.

Lust lʌst/

very strong sexual desire, especially when love is not involved.

Much to your dismay, every time you try to speak alone to the King, you are swiftly intercepted. If it’s not Corlys Velaryon asking you to help him pick a book in the library, it’s your Lord Father summoning you to his chambers. It seems like the whole palace is in it because even Princess Rhaenys asks you to stroll with her through the gardens when you lurk too close to Viserys’s chambers.

Daemon was smarter than you thought. He had taken to using your own weapons against you. The need to be polite kept you from rejecting all these new invitations, and so, you often ended up stuck an entire afternoon with nonsensical plans.

As time passes, your rage starts to subside. Much to your disgust, it morphs into shame. You cannot believe how you lost control in front of Daemon. Everything you have worked so hard on could vanish for a single afternoon pf foolishness.

You would rather not be his enemy. When the time comes for the two of you to go back to Claw Island, Gwayne Hightower is still bedridden, despite it already being days. Daemon is a dangerous man to cross.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. In fact, your husband has never been more attentive. With the talent of existing just at the right moment, Daemon appears at your side each time there is a door to be opened or a chair to be pulled.

“No one has ever seen him like this.” Queen Alicent marvels, as he watches him go fetch you a blanket in case the room is too cold for your liking. “Whatever you did to him…”

“Nothing, I assure you.” You answer, sternly. You don’t want her getting funny ideas, like that you are dabbling in witchery or the Seven knows what. It’s not something you can afford. Already balancing on a tightrope after the fight, any accusation could be your ruin. You do not trust Daemon’s change of heart. He is probably just biding his time.

Noticing something is amiss, Daemon comes back with the blanket, wrapping it around you. Alicent falls quiet.

Daemon stares at you, his hands lingering on your back more than necessary. He seems to be taking you in. His eyes fixate on your bosom a tad too long before you realize what he is doing, and you cover yourself more with the blanket.

Your cheeks heat up. You cough. Alicent’s brows raise.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” Daemon says, a bit dumbly.

“And you are a fool.” Your response is heated, and stupid, too. But you feel too embarrassed to care. Alicent is still sitting there, with a scandalized look on her face. Anyone would be ashamed to be the object of such obvious ogling, much less when they have never been exposed to it.

You are unused to this side of your husband. At most, when trying to consummate, Daemon would glance at you with disdain and proclaim it was all your fault. His eyes would never watch the heaving of your chest as you breathed, or the sway of your skirts when you walked. Were you superstitious, you would have thought him a man possessed.

Daemon laughs, either at your comment or your expression. It’s good, you suppose. At least he has not taken offense. You would have thought he would be angered, never one to suffer affronts to his pride without reacting.

“Your fool.” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You stare at him. Alicent stares at you. Neither says anything. You are not sure what to make of it. It’s strange. It’s him now, who serves you dinner. The choicest cuts of meat, the sweetest of wines and meads, never asking for anything in exchange.

He has gotten unusually affectionate. Or possessive. Whatever it’s going through his mind, you don’t know. Daemon has never been open about his thoughts and feelings with you, unless they stem from displeasure.

Perhaps it’s a burst of boastfulness. He flaunts you, a hand on your waist, lower arm, whatever he can get away with. He is suddenly interested in the dresses you wear, commenting on them and gifting you new ones just because he thinks they would suit you. You do not miss the fact that the dresses are always in his house’s colors or styles he personally favors, with intricate needlework and embroidery.

It’s interesting. Once again, his testing of boundaries seems to come back. His hands are always playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, or the folds of your skirt. You have even caught him toying with the buttons of your bodice. It borders on the inappropriate.

“You are pushing it.” You say to him when his hands curls around yours as you dance. He is supposed to keep his hand extended for this step. He doesn’t seem to care. The other guests give him amused looks. No one is about to chide a Prince for his lovesick behavior towards his wife. Especially in a goodbye feast for the couple.

In truth, you are starting to think most of the fathers at court are relieved. If the Rogue Prince is chasing after his wife, then he is not chasing their daughters.

“Holding your hand is pushing it?” Daemon holds your hand more securely, as he makes you spin. This is another new and unexpected development. Now, he only dances with you. No heated looks at Rhaenyra, no longing glances towards Laena. You are not sure how you feel about it.

“It is. You are inconveniencing everyone.” You say, as he spins you again with a flourish. Despite wanting so badly to keep being cross with him, you cannot help but laugh with childish delight. What girl doesn’t want to be twirled around and made to feel special? “You are supposed to exchange partners.”

The balance of the dance has been thrown off by his refusal to let go of you. Any time there needs to be a switch, the couples flounder around the two of you. It’s childish on his part, but he seems unwilling to let you dance with another man.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me pushing it yet.” Daemon laughs, and pulls you in until your body is flush against his. It’s improper and probably not allowed. Scandalous, even. Yet again, no one is about to say anything.

Much less you, suddenly realizing that being pressed so close to Daemon is quite enjoyable. He smells surprisingly clean this evening. No trace of alcohol on his skin, or other women’s perfumes. Instead, he smells of the soap he usually favors and some sort of aromatic oil.

“Will you push further, then?” You raise your brows. It’s sort of amusing that Daemon is trying so hard. You would have not taken him for the seducing type, not when he had been so keen on dissolving your marriage.

“I will.” Daemon leans in, to whisper in your ear. His voice is low, thick with desire. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I want you. I burn for you. I need you in my bed, on top of me, under me, any way you will let me have you.”

You give a scandalized little gasp, softly hitting his shoulder. Daemon grins, pulling you in even more. The two of you are so close, you imagine you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I’m not done.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your jaw. Daemon’s lips trail kisses towards your ear, teasingly blowing some air against it. “I want to spend the nights feasting between your thighs, on the valley of your breasts…”

“Stop it! We are in public.” You squeak, yet you look up at him like a flower searching for the sun. The attention he bestows on you is flattering, and you can't help but want to hear more.

“Do you want to hear a secret, wife? Every time you walk, I find myself lost in the sway of your hips. I want to drown on it. Drown on you. Until no trace of another remains, until the taste of your lips is the only thing I know.”

By this point, your skin feels so hot you worry you are about to combust. You gape at him. Not only has he dared to make a bold declaration, but he has done so in a room full of people.

You take a moment to gather yourself. Daemon could be bluffing for all you know, and so, you decide to match him. You brush your thumb against his cheekbone, feather-light.

“Then do it. No one is stopping you. Come to bed. Drown on me. Drink me, take me, ravish me.” You are trembling, and you only realize it when Daemon holds you tighter against him. You feel feverish, voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “Give me Valyrian sons, to hold my island when we are both gone.”

“No. No.” He says, against the curve of your neck, embraced much closer than the dance requires, making a spectacle. “I want them to have your smile and your eyes, and that infuriating curve of your shoulder. Give me daughters with your smart mouth, and your even temper. I want them to be proof of the love I had for you.”

You tremble more. Love. He really said… Oh, by the Seven.

“You are shaking.” Daemon kisses your brow. “Don’t. Unless it is from pleasure.”

Laughter rings in your ears. It's yours, but it feels foreign. You are too stunned to think clearly. Daemon tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you still there, Lady Wife?” He taps at your lower lip with his thumb. There is a teasing tilt to his smile, but his eyes are nervous. Vulnerable. Daemon was clearly not planning on confessing tonight. “Or have I broken you?”

“Prove it.” You say, still caught up on the love part. His declaration has sent your mind reeling, and shown you all of your latest interactions in a new light. You don’t know if Daemon knows what he is doing. He is a deeply passionate creature, much like his house’s sigil. Daemon doesn’t do infatuations, nor does he do dislikes. He loves or hates, and there is no in between.

“I will.” He promises, playing with a stray piece of hair that has fallen out of your up do. “Our whole lives. But perhaps I can start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You frown, puzzled. You even pull back from his embrace to be able to look at his face. What an odd thing to say. Despite it, you admire the utter shamelessness he has about it. Were it you the one accidentally confessing, you would be a bundle of nerves.

Daemon doesn’t even blush. Of course, there is the small fact that he believes himself to be the Seven’s gift to humankind. You suppose if you believed yourself to be irresistible, you wouldn’t be nervous either. Cockiness wasn’t something you thought did it for you, but it seemed like you were learning new things every day.

“You will see.” Daemon smiles. You let him keep his secret, figuring it can’t be anything that bad.

You discover what he means when you arrive at Claw Island. A dragon egg waits for you, the fireplace clearly modified in a hurry, judging by the new stones and bricks that were added to the hearth.

“Even if it never hatches, I want you to have it. For you are as Valyrian as we are, and I was a fool not to see it sooner. You are worthy. It should have been on your cradle as a child.”

Greed /ɡriːd/

​a strong desire for more wealth, possessions, power, etc. than a person needs.

The way his eyes trail after you now, it’s quite unfamiliar. Not lust, nor disdain. Something entirely new. Heavier.

Your afternoons have been filled with new entertainment. You coo at the egg, holding it over the fire. Sometimes, Daemon kneels beside you and helps you hold it, making a game of it. How long before either of you gets burned? How long can you endure, hands so close to the fire, before you are yelping and giving it to him?

When you think he is not looking, you speak to it in High Valyrian, whispering soft promises of how loved him or her will be once it hatches. There is no doubt in your mind it will. Perhaps not in weeks, or even months. Yet, your heart tells you there will be a dragon before your life ends.

Every night, you place the egg in the bed next to you. On your side, you curl around it, trying to share your warmth. Daemon reaches forward, sometimes. When he thinks you are asleep, his hand will curl over your waist and touch the egg, pressing it more against your stomach. You wonder what he means by it.

Does he know what he is doing? The low lullabies he half sings, half mutters under his breath indicate a yes. The way his lips curl into a soft smile against your nape show a longing that’s very much not subconscious.

Just as a pot of boiling water, the egg hatches a night no one it’s looking at it. Both Daemon and you are curled in a love seat, engrossed in a book. He is reading something about the doom of Valyria, your legs over his lap. You are submerged in a text about a man’s travels around the Free Cities.

One of his hands is wrapped around your ankle, in the sweetest of chains. Each time he flips a page, he will brush it with his thumb, softly. While not unwelcome, it’s strange. You are not used to being comforted in the same way you did for him during the first months of marriage. While Daemon doesn’t expect any kind of retribution, you find yourself granting it anyway.

The domesticity is quickly broken, however, when a strange noise fills the halls of your home. At first, you are unable to hear it through the background noise, but if you strain your ears, you can just make it out. It’s a shrill cross between a bird’s chirps and someone crying.

“Daemon?” You close your book and stare at him. Unable to help it, you get a little sidetracked, watching his face. His mouth is pursed in concentration, the candlelight giving his features a golden glow. Despite him being several years older than you, you cannot help but find him terribly handsome. Age has only turned him more distinguished. You betted he was dashing when younger, but unlike his brother, he has aged like a fine wine.

Sensing your eyes on him, he gives you a lazy smile.

“Little wife.” His voice comes out in a pleased rumble at having caught you looking. Your face heats up. Daemon's eyes shift from yours, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. You squirm under his gaze, trying to focus.

“Do you hear that?” You force yourself to utter.

“Hear what?” Daemon leans more towards you, his hand squeezing your knee. You give a small, delighted shiver. Good gods, what is it about him that gets you to turn into a puddle of want with the simplest touch?

“Some sort of animal crying.”

Daemon frowns. He tilts his head to the side, as if to listen better. You keep quiet, hoping to aid him. Then, his face breaks out in the biggest grin.

“It hatched! You amazing, wonderful woman.” He praises, pulling you into him. The hug is awkward, but it doesn’t last because you are too eager to see the baby dragon. Your dragon. You squirm out of his hold and rush out of the room, not even bothering to put on shoes, Daemon hot on your heels.

When you open the door to your chambers, you find the cutest thing ever. A baby dragon, slimy and confused, sits in the middle of his egg in the fireplace. It’s all big, dark eyes and long limbs, much like a baby horse. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach towards them.

“I do not…” Daemon tries to stop you, but the baby dragon climbs right up into your arms, curling close to your chest. Eager to touch it, you let it climb over your shoulder and nuzzle you, even if the sudden weight makes you stagger a little.

“That was really dangerous.” Your husband reprimands, trying to lift it away from you. The baby dragon snorts towards his direction, as if attempting to breathe fire. It only manages to give a cute little sneeze. Daemon glares.

“Aw, you are just like a baby.” You coo at the dragon, petting its head. Daemon looks even more disgruntled.

“Your dragon tried to burn me.” He complains.

“It’s a baby, husband. They don’t know any better.” You rub the scales on its back, soothingly. Unwilling to let go, you find yourself looking around your bedroom. “Let it stay here? Just for tonight.”

Daemon glares. You give him your biggest, most pleading eyes. He relents.

“Fine. But it’s not sleeping on the bed with us. And only for tonight.”

“Only for tonight.”

A month after, and the baby dragon is still sleeping in your bed. He has taken to laying between Daemon and you, leeching off your warmth. Daemon complains of having to sleep on the edge of the bed and his back being sore, but despite it, never once asks you to send the dragon outside with Caraxes.

The trouble starts, how not, with a trip to King’s Landing. This time, you ride with him, as a passenger to Caraxes, while the baby dragon follows. When Daemon lands, the dragon keepers fret around your baby, unsure of what to do with the unexpected visitor.

You command him to stay by your side, despite the protests of the dragon keepers. You are arguing and complaining and shielding your baby while Daemon only watches, amused.

Perhaps the commotion attracts more people, or someone calls for them, but you end up cornered as King Viserys makes his way to the dragon pit.

“What do we have here?” He asks, smiling at you. You give him a nervous look. Your dragon has gotten bigger, and so, you can not pick him up gracefully, but you usher him behind you regardless.

“Nothing, your grace.” You say, lacking your usual charm. You feel nervous about leaving the baby dragon on his own in the dragon pit. What if the other dragons don’t like him? What if he gets lonely?

With one hand, you reach for Daemon. His fingers meet yours halfway, squeezing reassuringly. More often than not, being a woman, your orders were not taken seriously. But if your husband gave an order, people would rush to obey. You hope he intercedes in your favor.

“Daemon, please.” You say, under your breath. “Don’t let them send him away. He will behave.”

“What do I gain, little wife?” He asks, interlocking your fingers together. Daemon gives his most charming grin to his brother, before pulling you into him. You go willingly, body lax and pliant for him. “A kiss, perhaps?”

“Please.” You turn to look at him, hoping to move him. This close, once again, you feel slightly distracted. Your husband smells so nice, and his hands feel so good around your waist, it’s no hardship at all. You press a kiss to his cheek.

“Must you always arrive with such a ruckus?” Viserys frowns. Daemon gives him a small smile.

“You know me.” Slowly, he starts to lead you towards the Red Keep, a hand placed protectively on your lower back. The message is clear. Daemon wants you to make your dragon follow you. You don’t even need to order it because your baby, smart as it is, is already following. The dragon keepers step back, muttering unhappily.

“Is it going inside?” Viserys point at your dragon. Foolishly, you had been hoping he didn’t notice, and so, your stomach drops. But Daemon doesn’t falter, strolling confidently inside as if he owned the place.

“He will behave. As long as no one touches her.” Normally, you despise when people talk about you as if you are not there. Currently, though, you can only feel relief that your dragon is not getting sent to sleep outside in the cold. He is just too little for it.

Viserys walks you towards his private dining room. A blonde child runs around, playing. The Princess and Ser Laenor are already there. And Alicent is even more heavily pregnant than before.

“How have you been?” You ask Alicent, sitting next to her. You half expect to be left out of the conversation as you were a few months before, and so, choose to sit next to someone who has been kind to you. The baby dragon hops on your lap when you take your seat.

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

“Good enough.” She speaks, blinking slowly. It’s clear she cannot believe her eyes. She stares at the dragon in a mix of awe and fear.

“He is harmless.” You explain, petting it as if it were a small dog and not a baby dragon. “Do you want to pet him?”

Alicent reaches forward with a trembling hand. The dragon sniffs her, and curls to sleep again.

“… And I was thinking of changing the layout of the hall, to make sure he fits…” You hear Daemon complain, and your ears immediately perk up. Is he talking about your baby?

“So you keep it inside?” Viserys asks, sounding disbelieving.

“I have never seen such a close bond.” Daemon boasts. He sounds as if he is proud of you, you realize. It makes something warm flutter in your stomach. No longer are you the wife he never wanted and tried to get rid of. “Damn thing sleeps on the bed with us. It’s better trained than a dog, seriously. We should have given Celtigars dragons a long time away.”

“Why not leave it outside?” From where you are seated, you can’t see his face, but you imagine by his tone, Viserys is smiling.

“She will riot. She loves him as her own son.” Daemon explains. You keep your eyes trained on the nervous Alicent, who has managed to lay her hand on top of your dragon’s head. She looks about to bolt.

“Isn’t he the nicest thing?” You say to Alicent, excited. “He thinks I am his mom, or something. Isn’t it great?”

Alicent does not look as impressed as you hoped for, but she gives you a kind smile. She seems willing to tolerate your eccentricities if for the sake of not having to make conversation with Rhaenyra.

“Very nice.” She compliments. “Pretty colors. Prince Daemon was very kind, giving it to you.”

“He is.” You smile, softly. “Although he complains all the time.”

Alicent shrugs. This time, both of you tune in the conversation between Daemon and Viserys.

“Perhaps, as you build him something outside, you can distract her with an actual baby.” Viserys says. Alicent looks torn at the comment, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic.

It’s not something you had thought about before. Well, you had. Never with him, though. As a girl, you dreamed of being a mother, and as a woman, Daemon and you had discussed the issue of heirs already. You had spoken about it during your last goodbye feast, in this same castle. But those words had been spoken in the height of passion, and neither of you had done anything about it.

“Trust me. Next time she holds a babe, it will be a proper human one.” Daemon says, and his hand finds yours over the table. You look up at him, meeting his purple eyes. He looks hungry. Starved, even.

You lower your eyes demurely. Viserys laughs. And Daemon, greedy as he is, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

The light filters in through the open curtains, giving the room a soft glow. Daemon’s face scrunches up, bothered by the sunlight in his eyes. He has tried to convince you to sleep with them drawn, but you are unwilling. To you, the best way to wake up is slowly, with the sun. Or so you say. He is not very convinced.

Daemon stretches. You reach for him in your sleep. He gives himself a moment to savor it, the fact that he can finally pull you closer. The dragon is finally gone from his bed, although he is no way near distracting you with a babe.

Dragons are not pets. Daemon had been taught that since the cradle, even before he had a dragon of his own. Their control over them was only an illusion, and so, they should be trusted but feared. He had lived by that rule, never once questioning it. Until you.

Watching you raise yours as if it were your own child had proven interesting. You lacked his education about them, but you made up for it by sheer enthusiasm. The fact that your dragon had not bitten your hand off yet or burned you to a crisp could only mean two things: You were some sort of forest nymph, or they were mistaken about their approach to dragons. He knew which one he thought was true.

How much was nature, and how much was nurture in their relationship with dragons? Trying to answer that question would occupy his entire lifetime. Daemon hoped that watching you gave him some insight. Even if he ended up discovering you were a nymph in disguise or some sort of goddess of the hunt. He wouldn’t regret it, fascinating as you were.

No matter how much food for thought you gave him, Daemon had been enjoying the joys of marriage. Perhaps, a little too much. Seeing you with the baby dragon had awoken some unexpected feelings. Targaryens were dragons, after all. When the time came, you would make a good mother. Not only were your instincts well-developed, but you seemed to thrive on having something to nurture.

Ah, the joys of domesticity. Daemon loves that you trust him enough now to allow him to witness you at your most fragile. Asleep and wearing a soft white night shift, you are deliciously innocent. Giving, too. You do not complain when his hands find your hips or when he pulls you flush against him. Nor do you move away when his face hides in your lovely locks, mussed with sleep.

Your expression is open and vulnerable in ways you are never when truly awake. Your eyes open just the tiniest sliver, before you hide your face on your pillow, rubbing against it like the sweetest kitten.

He adores you like this. Worships you, even. Obsessed with the curve of your hip, or the soft flesh above your womb. Daemon can’t help but rub it, hoping to manifest a child into existence without actually fucking you.

If he believed in such a thing, as so many fools in this realm did, Daemon would say this was the Seven Heavens. But he knew the truth. Just like you, who worshiped the Old Gods of Valyria, Daemon did too. How could he not when he had a tiny goddess sharing his bed?

Your nose scrunches up. You twitch. Worshiping a little nymph, now that was hard work. Especially when the nymph in question does her best to escape his personal worshiping time.

If Daemon could spend all day in bed, just like this, he would. He would trace your features with his mouth, peppering your face with soft kisses. He would feast on the soft curve of your neck, drink up all your sweet little noises. Trace a path down your soft limbs, draw nonsensical patterns on your stomach. But you are an energetic little thing, always jumping out of bed, no matter the pleasure he tempts you with.

Convincing you to stay is hard, but Daemon likes to think it’s an art he has perfected. It’s not a ritual, by any means. Each morning goes differently. Sometimes, you need to be kissed silly. Sometimes, you need to be gently worshiped and coaxed back to sleep. But his favorite mornings are the ones that go like this.

“I have to go check on the tenants, down by the shore. The rain season just started.” You complain, as he noses along your hairline. Suddenly, Daemon’s arms are empty. He opens his eyes to find you sitting up and pulling your robe over your night shift.

You look delectable in red. He should buy you more robes like that one. Especially because he is about to ruin it.

“Did you say at what hour you are going?” Daemon sits up as well, toying with the edge of your robe. You bat his hands away, playfully.

“No.” You are hurriedly standing up, perhaps knowing what comes next. Daemon grabs your robe, and pulls you back in, using all his strength.

No matter how much you try to keep your feet planted on the floor, you end up tumbling back into bed. You give a girlish shriek, a smile already forming on your face. You struggle, kicking the blankets off the bed.

“Come back here, you little minx.” He tugs you by the ankle, making you laugh. Your hair is sticking up in all directions and your chest heaves up and down with the exertion of putting up a fight.

Daemon secretly loves it. He would never tell you because you would be outraged, but he enjoys the idea of overpowering you. Perhaps, once you fully trust him, he could ask you to play like that. But for now, he takes what he can get.

“Or else what Lord husband?” You tease, still trying to escape him. More blankets and furs are sent flying off the bed. You give a mean little tug to his hair.

“That was it!” Daemon complains, and starts tickling you. The night shift rides tantalizingly up your hips, giving him an unintentional show. He feels his blood warming, arousal turning into a dull throb in his loins. Your legs kick wildly, you squirm on the bed, and your eyes fill with tears from laughing so much.

It’s only when your poor body can’t take it anymore, and you are crying from laughter that he stops. He thinks of how it would feel, to overwhelm you in a different context, make your body take and take until tears ran freely down your temples. A different sort of crown for his forest nymph, one made from her own silver tears. The visual is too much for him to take without giving himself away.

Daemon lies on top of you, smothering you with his weight. He licks a few stray drops of sweat from your neck, making you flay once again. There will be a day when play wrestling will turn into something much less sweet. That day, though, it’s not today.

“Get off!” You complain. “That’s disgusting.”

“I could eat you up.” He teases, nuzzling into your neck. It's the truth. Daemon loves the taste of your skin and your smell. If he thought he could get away with it, he would crawl between your thighs and feast on you. “You are delicious, wife.”

“Daemon.” You push lightly at him, trying to get up. Again. But your words lack their previous conviction. Daemon can tell he is getting to you. “It’s getting late.”

“The tenants can wait. Let us hide from the world a little longer.” He pleads, clinging to you. Under him, exhausted after the play wrestling, you go limp. He knows he has won then.

You spend the whole day in bed. The tenants end up being visited closer to sundown. Daemon does not regret it one bit.

[merakiui]

read the beach thoughts with step-bro leech twins and i have so many thoughts,,, i love summer w my whole heart

not into stepcest but i’m imaging just regular old jade leech and beach sex. i feel dude has got to love outdoor sex, the feeling of earth underneath him and residue of sand or dirt on various body parts. found this image and just thinking thoughts

sooo on-the-nose swimsuit but hear me out

like him taking the reader in those grimy beach bathroom stalls, not bothering to take off the swimsuit, just pulling it aside bc he’s so greedy and insatiable, maybe sex on the beach, the sound of crashing waves such a pretty background music while fucking against the rock wall at night

anyway lmao bye

:O !!!!!! such a pretty swimsuit omg....... but you're so right. Jade loves outdoor sex on all terrains!!! Getting nasty in the dirt and sand... it doesn't even matter to him; he just loves being so close to the earth, pressed against his beloved, sweat and other fluids mixing with sand and dirt,,, leaving the imprint of your bodies in the soft soil. Omg the idea of Jade fucking you against wet earth after it's just rained and you smell like sex and rain!!!!!! Or finding a secluded strip of beach that's far from prying eyes just so you can fuck each other into the sand...... in my heart, there is nothing more romantic to Jade Leech than being wrapped up in two things he loves: you and nature. <3

Digression aside, the grimy beach bathrooms......... 👁 👁 clothed sex,,,, just moving it aside because he can't be bothered to undress the two of you completely (he's impatient and too horny; the swimsuit works miracles)!!!!!! That's so yummy AAAAAAAAA. Holding you up against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist. And it's probably so humid in there, and you're already so sticky from the heat. Now you can be sticky in other ways. :D

Maybe it's my own delusion, but I think Jade would be interested in sailing....... Floyd doesn't understand the appeal at first because (in his words): "why would I wanna be on the waves in some boat when I could just swim and be faster than them in the water??????" But Jade thinks boats are a lovely thing, and he wants to try it at least once. Hehe Jade renting a cruiser boat for a short getaway, and the two of you spend the weekend being out at sea. Feeling the waves rock the boat while you're cuddling in the cabin... or lounging on the deck,,, jumping off the boat to swim. Jade going between human form and mer form, hunting fish for tonight's dinner while you cheer him on from the boat....... this is just me shamelessly rambling about a silly sailing fic I want to write with Jade, but the Vision is there!!! T^T

In any case, I adore the idea of Jade and beach sex. It's so very true!!!! He would love to fuck you in all manner of ways and rhythms with a pretty seascape as the background and rolling waves as the ambience........ I love him a very unhealthy amount.

[yan-lorkai]

Hi! I was wondering how you think the octa trio would react to a darling who was studying to be a marine biologist? Like I can image that before darling was taken by the mirror they were studying, have an absolute love of the ocean, and even go deep sea diving regularly. I could also see them absolutely gushing over the trios mer-forms, being curious, making treats/dishes based on what their fish equivalent like to eat in our world.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ "Zuzu, it's true that octopus have three hearts?" You asked out of blue. You always asked such strange questions whenever you could corner him or the tweels but he couldn't deny you and your curiosity. You had this hopeful glimmer in your eyes that was so precious to see. "Oh and why do some octopuses like to lead an isolated life? It's, uh, because they don't have a mate or just something innate? And if I can ask more, how do this whole visual communication between octopuses work?"

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ At first, when you still haven't picked his interest, he wouldn't answer you. Not without a contract, that is. But after that, when you became someone dear to him, Azul genuinely feels very happy that you take so much interest on him though he is a little overwhelmed by how many questions you ask per second. Even so, he do his best at answering you when he note your interest on marine life.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ You two has long conversations about the life beneath water. You match his enthusiasm talking about fish, crustaceans and molluscs, about corals and the littles things you love. He might share some fun facts with you about octopuses and answers your questions as best as he can. Though he do gets a little shy sometimes. Like, wow, you really want to know all this? If he was in his mer form, you would see his tentacles moving in a very distinct way, almost like a dance and how his skin changed its color.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He gets even more shy if you ask to see his mer form, which he is still a little insecure about. He knows you won't laugh at him but he can't help so this might take a while. Till then, he is more than happy to this little routine of yours. Plus he like when you cook some crustaceans for him. Octopus loves to eat it. Your knowledge is cute in his eyes so he, in turn, study human customs to understand more of you. If you compliment on his human form, he'll blush. But if you compliment him on his mer form, he'll without notice release ink, blush and stutter a little.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Azul makes a potion for you to be able to breathe beneath water each and every time you go diving. Isn't he so generous, just as the Sea Witch herself? Though there's a trick to it. You love the sea so much and you want to know so much and there's so many things you haven't seen yet, it's just fair for him (and for the tweels, he suppose) to show you all. The price? Your legs. Yes, your legs. When you drink it you won't be able to go back to your human form.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Though that's only when you guys graduate from NRC. So you still have some time on your hands, use wisely.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ "Jadeeee, why do eels like to migrate so much? What yawming mean you want to mate with someone?" You ask him one day, watching him pause and offer that same sweet, mysterious smile. You then look at Floyd who is using your shoulder as a pillow. "And is it true that you live to be 100? And my main question is about electric eels, how do they use electricity to communicate?"

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ So many questions. Jade teases you a lot because of how many questions you ask, it's all good fun and he knows when to stop to not make you feel like you're intruding. He gets a little softer answering it, feeling a little nostalgic himself. He felt the same way when he got his legs, he wanted to explore the world, sightsee everything, eat different dishes and hear different songs.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Everything was new though he had to learn everything alone, as his brother and Azul were busy doing their own thing. You don't need to be alone learning about marine life, he can answer your questions, go diving with you, it's a little dangerous but he is there to protect you.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He likes feeling your gaze boring into his form and you little anxious hands touching his long tail and fins. It's cute. Feels intimate. Even more when he curl his tail around you and cuddle you, staying like that for various minutes or even hours.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ On the other hand, Floyd may or may not answer your doubts based on his mood. He likes to hear your questions, they're so diverse and they make him think about home. So far, he already told you how crabs have a strong exoskeleton, or that crustaceans adapt quickly or how eels sometimes migrate to live in salt water then on fresh water. There are so many things he could tell you about it. So many creatures who he fought against. Ah, the good times <3

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Most times than not Floyd likes to take you diving instead of answering you. It's just more fun, plus he like to have you pay such close attention to his mer form. He displays his tail and gills proudly, letting his bioluminescence leave you in awe.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ You and Floyd usually cook together on mostro's kitchen and he show you just how he like to eat molluscs, fish, algae and octopus. He even let you spoonfed him and he'll do the same for you, giggling happily, telling you how cute you are where you're eating. Though he knows humans may find eel food a little strange so he often cook your favorite dish as well.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ The Octotrio work together to trap and isolate you in their care. They are the only one worth enough to have you asking your little questions and they'll hate (they totally don't) to hurt someone, if you choose to be ask someone else about marine life. Thus the other octavinelle students are a little afraid of interacting with you.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ But that's ok, right? After all you have your beloved friends to keep you company.

[aqwnstars]

Give me siren scara or bratty mermaid scara hc pls. I'm begging you. I'm on the floor. I'm bashing my head on the wall.

HEY POOKIE<33 TYSM FOR REQUESTING!!

- A.N- I haven't been writing lately because my schools getting harder and I recently got an F in an exam so i have to study so the alpha scara isn't coming out soon so sorry my lovelies :(( I try to do my requests first, and then any other fanfic i started doing, but since fanfics take me a week or so to write, this one.... will be written in a headcanon format.. I'm not that experienced with writing a hc format so any criticism is appreciated, in a later time i might make a whole fanfic<33 (FUUCKKCKKKS I FORGOT TO WRITE HIM AS A BRAT ONEOMFMKOAKXKSK)

uhhmmmm i keep noticing i always write scara pining over reader which im not sure if its TOTTALLLYY in character, but writing him pinininy is cute so stfu🙏🙏🙏

Siren Scaramouche x partially deaf gn reader

Word count: 686 (short one..)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None!!

Pronouns: You/Yours, reader can be any gender (meant to be gender neutral!!)

Loving waves

Siren! Scaramouche who was known in the underwater world as the most majestic siren out of all.

His voice was such a lulling song so much so that anyone who gave him their listening ear couldn't help but be entranced.

And how shocked he was when he met a person he couldn't lure in.

He began to only think about them, at first planning on how to kill them because he wouldn't let someone he choose to lure in and kill survive, due to his ego, but that began to turn into a genuine interest a few weeks later.

Without thinking about it, Scaramouche had spent hours just staring at you, he wouldn't say it's admiring of course.

It has become a routine at this point, you'd go work outside, maybe take a walk and he'd just stare at you, gazing longingly at your features from afar.

The way you two met would be as if it was straight out of a fairy tale, he'd get caught up in a fishing web, and you'd be his knight in shining armor!!

Him, being a siren, is seen as a terrifying being, a coldblooded murderer, but to you he was such a majestic being, if you were more naive you'd think he was a God (in which case, he wouldn't complain!!)

Everyday since you had saved him, you started to visit him. You brought little trinkets from your home, and he brought you a few shells. (sometimes that is, if you're lucky!!) Might I add, the shells he gifted you were like no other. They range in colors and shapes, not even the most avid collecters saw the shells he had given you.

He enjoyed spending time with you, more than he thought he would. He has gotten used to being alone, so a daily presence in his life was something unusual.

He'd let you touch his tail, his face turning pink as you compliment him. Your fingers on his tail, lightly caressing his scales. He couldn't help but look away as you admired him. If anyone else had requested to touch his tail, he'd plan a new song just for them, ...let's ignore the fact he offered to let you touch his tail, that's an unimportant detail.

One of the things he loved, ahem... liked most about you is the gentleness your eyes hold. He has gotten so used to the trashing waves of hatred in the mankinds eyes, but to see one's with calming flowing water? He could and would get lost in that body of water, no hesitation, of course he wouldn't tell you that though!

He wanted to listeh to you all day, anyone who said his voice was enchanting has never heard yours. Although you sometimes slur your words, stutter and at times get too loud, he loves that about you.

At times he wished you were a siren too, how beautiful would you look under the waters light he wonders. How would your tail sway in the oceans, rivers and seas?

One time, you asked him whether or not he can sing without indangering someone, he had never thought about that. Well of course he's not gonna risk losing his only love to find out, but that's a story for another day.

A few things I can definitely see him doing is;

Giving you his scales! He could tell how you always admired his tail, your eyes glowing at how his tail would practically shine under the Suns light. One night, he'd pluck a scale out, later in the say give it to you, saying: "It had accidentally fallen out, here. Don't think for a second I pulled it out for you." All while looking away, trying to look as non-chalant as possible while.. panicking inside over your reaction.

This might seem cruel, but he'd sing to insects, without the intention of killing them, to see if he can sing to you without putting you in danger.

He'd look around the seas floor for hours to find a shell that you'd like!! (.. you like everything he gives you so that's... pointless..)

AND THAT'S ALL I HAVE ON SIREN SCARA!!! :DD I HOPE I SATISFIED YOUR REQUEST POOKIE!!! (hope i did the hc format right..............

[sourpatchys]

•Shigaraki Headcannons•

Some SFW❤️ and NSFW❤️‍🔥 headcannons for Skigaraki Tomura, this is my first time writing for this character so I hope it’s not OOC haha (though I’ve been writing for emotionally unavailable and touched starved men for years)

Warning: 18+ do NOT interact if you are a minor (this goes for all my explicit works) there will be a warning before the NSFW content starts if that’s not your cup of tea <3

Reader: this is written with a *female reader* in mind.

A/N: I know this isn’t usually who I write for, but honestly I think you all saw this coming at one point or another! I needed a way to get out of my writing funk and Shigaraki seems like the perfect candidate.

SFW❤️

Shigaraki isn’t exactly what you’d call the perfect partner.

He can be loud and demanding, he has no idea how to interact with other people, and there’s been a giant learning curve for the both of you.

If he happens to get too angry at you, or snaps at you in a way he finds himself regretting (he regrets it every single time don’t be fooled) he will immediately shower you in gifts.

While touch is his love language, he isn’t quite sure how to cuddle your problems with him away, apologizing isn’t, and never will be, something he thrives at.

So instead he looks into your search history, looking at all the things you’ve thought about buying, and just goes crazy.

Your love story isn’t as cut and dry as most. Honestly, when you met he had every intention of killing you where you stood, but he didn’t— instead choosing to keep you captive, and somehow you managed to force your way into his heart.

You do actually have your own room, though now it’s mostly used as a storage closet for all the apology gifts. If you’re really mad at him you sleep in there— and that’s when he knows he’s fucked up big time.

Though as the months go by and you learn each other limits (as he learns your limits) the bed in your room gets colder and colder.

As harsh as he can be verbally, he’s never once gotten physical. The whole reason you have an entire room to yourself is because he was too afraid to let you sleep with him. The first month of the two of you being official, you hadn’t even touched.

Eventually you had enough and put in an anonymous request with some hero costume designers, getting some specially made gloves so his pinkie would be covered without the threat of the fabric disintegrating.

He told you he’d never be caught dead wearing them.

He lied.

When he got to hold your hand for the first time, his entire nervous system shut down. He never wanted to let go.

He doesn’t wear them around the others, he’s not a fan of PDA, and if he ever feels like someone’s coming onto you he just kills them.

Out of sight out of mind.

He’s a really gentile lover, In the time you spend alone with him you’re always glued to his chest or being littered with kisses.

His favorite thing to do is to bite the tip of your nose or the shell of your ear and watch you try to pull away while you complain and pout

Even with how much love he has for you he’s still a sadist at heart.

He often has nightmares about you dying. He’s never had the chance to love someone like he loves you, and the fear of you being taken away from him is too much to bear.

So occasionally you’ll be put on house arrest so he knows you’re okay no matter what he’s doing or where he is.

If he’s out in missions while you’re at home, he always keeps his eyes open for things you might enjoy.

It started off with sea glass, some of the shards he’d find reminded him of the shine in your eyes

Other times it would be flowers

One time you complained to him about not having a pet, so he got you a moss ball

He didn’t want a stupid fish stinking up his room and he definitely didn’t want anything that could make noise

He soon learned the moss ball was a horrible idea though, because now every time he left you, he had to find some sort of material for you to make it a new hat. (You never asked him too)

The two of you don’t share the typical “I love yous” in relationships. He isn’t good at expressing any emotion that isn’t negative, and you don’t want to be over bearing when you know it’s hard for him ti say it back

Sometimes if he’s feeling really good, he’ll write the words out with the tip of his finger in the back of your hand.

And he’ll never admit it out loud, but he does it every night on your back once you fall asleep as a reminder to himself that you’re still here.

—

NSFW❤️‍🔥

Sex was complicated

Tomura was a virgin, he’d never cared enough to try before you came along, and even if he had he knew he’d just destroy whoever he tried with.

It was actually a pretty rare occurrence, your sex life was healthy, but it took awhile for him to feel safe touching you everywhere you wanted to be touched, you still felt fragile in his hands, even with the aid of the gloves you’d given him.

Though there was nothing he was against trying. No position was too bold, no act was too dangerous.

Once he found what he liked— he went all in.

His absolute favorite thing to do was pleasuring you.

He loved your harsh breaths, your whimpering.

He loved the fact that he could overpower you and gain complete control without even trying.

He would always start at your throat, nipping along the sides making sure you knew who was in charge and what he was going to do to you

He always made sure to leave a messy trail wherever he went, his tongue constantly darting out and tasting your sweet soft skin

Your breasts were his favorite, no matter how big or small, he loved leaving marks there, in a place only he ever got to see, a strong reminder that you belonged to him and him alone.

The malleable flesh always fit perfectly in his hands, he was sure they were made just for him

By the time he got down to your panties, your cunt would be pulsating and screaming to be touched

The way he would proceed would depend on how his day went

If he was pissed that day, he took time making you unwind, keeping your panties on, moving them ever so slightly to the side and blowing tiny puffs of air right where you wanted him most

He wanted you to squirm, to beg for release, dipping his tongue on every part of you but the part you craved, driving you insane with anticipation and want

He never went down on you properly when he was pissed, he never had too— he would tease and tease until the simple act of touching your inflamed clit drove you to finish

He always made sure you finished first, after all, you were his priority.

If he had a good day, he would eat you out until you saw stars

Ripping your panties down your thighs as if they were the plague, spreading you open and eating you as if you were the first meal he’d eaten in weeks

He craved the taste of you

He was almost positive the simple act of you comming in his mouth made him stronger.

If he could get over his anxiety’s of hurting you, he’d hold you down day and night, lapping you up until you couldn’t handle it anymore and begged him to stop

It was like a drug, a drug he loved to participate in.

When it came to intercourse, missionary was his favorite.

Seeing your face contort with pleasure as he fucked you senseless

The way your tits moved with his thrusts, it would be enough to drive any man mad.

He always made sure you were taken care of, weather he was rough, soft, or both, you always got the princess treatment

He would always return with a damp wash cloth, running it’s rough surface over your body, wiping away any trace of your activity

You were his prized possession, he needed to be sure you were polished to perfection— he simply didn’t trust you with that job. So he took it on himself.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

There's one good thing that I think came out of Ed trying to be a fisherman at the start of s2e8, and I think it's that he got to take a step back.

Ed says in the opening voiceover that he's seen the ocean as a battlefield his whole life, and the start of the episode genuinely does give him a chance to recontextualize it. Yes, he's a shit fisherman, but he still gets to have some quiet time to just be with himself and the world around him. My favorite shot in this opening is when he's holding up the fish scale and we see his eyes crinkle as he smiles at it. The whole thing doesn't go well but he's genuinely getting some time to slow down and reconsider the sea as a place that holds great beauty and himself as someone who can see that beauty.

And I think that's actually a very smart choice, to show Ed getting to reconsider something he'd just taken as a given, and I think it works quite well because immediately after we get to see him reclaim his Blackbeard outfit, take back all these parts of him he most hates, and recontextualize them as a tool to protect the people he loves.

[yuri-is-online]

Hi Yuri! I hope you are doing well<333 I really enjoy reading your writing and I am always more fond of reading the little octatrio fish gang! I dont really know how this usually works because I never send in any asks at all nor do I see your rules list or anything but if you dont mind I would like to make a request<3

A mc who finds an out of tune and old piano and fondly remembers that they used to play piano back in their world. And perhaps Azul hears in on this and despite the piano being old and out of tune, it is rather beautiful how you play it because of how imperfect the notes are being played out. (SORRY I WAS LISTENING TO FALLEN DOWN AND THE FEELINGS WERE JUST SURGING AND THE BRAINROT WAS TOO MUCH)

You dont have to force yourself or anything! Please take care and dont feel too pressured! <3

The Most Romantic of All Arts (Azul Ashengrotto x Yuu)

Hello dear friend and I am doing quite well thank you! I'm pleased you like my writing; the octotrio is what finally cracked my resolve to check out Twisted Wonderland and put FGO on the back burner so I suppose I shouldn't beat myself up too much for writing about them so much. I am sorry I caused you stress with my lack of rules, I don't usually send requests or asks myself, so I felt really bad to have frightened you. Not too sure if this will end up being what you had in mind, it got away from me a bit.

Also when you say Fallen Down, you do mean the Undertale soundtrack piece right? It's a soothing song I listened to it while I was plotting this to try and get into a similar headspace.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, header taken from the painting Spirit by George Roux (1885) which I found on this wordpres blog article I took the title from, it's a neat painting, Azul learning to find beauty and love in imperfections is important to me ok? Other works can be found on my masterlist here.

Sometimes you wonder if Ramshakle is sentient. The old building has more rooms than you know what to do with, and lovely as the ghosts are they don't fully remember what they were used for, if they remembered in the first place. But still there was something about those rooms that seemed to love you; he guest room almost built itself up around you, the kitchen had only needed some basic repairs before it was ready to help play host again, and no matter where a fire place was found it was always eager to burst to life and warm you and Grim.

It does not have the same love for Azul, he'd complained as much when you talked about just what it was he wanted with the building after the events of his overblot had cooled between you.

"It's got a graveyard in front of it, though?" That really had been the crux of your whole argument. It was hard to be annoyed with his laugh when it sounded so nice, the genuine amusement a refreshing difference to his previous performitive indifference.

"Yes," he muses, sipping at his real before he continues, "I'm not bothered by that much, ghosts and grave ships aren't uncommon sights under the sea, but I always forget how unusual humans think they are."

"There's a lot of superstitions about places where people are buried." You mean it as an explanation, but it brings an odd look to Azul's face, like there's an emotion bubbling beneath his surface he doesn't want to acknowledge but is too strong to suppress. It settles over you both, as you try to focus on drinking your tea while your host seems content to let his grow cold.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing that ruin isn't really sentient." He sounds almost bitter, disappointed in how long he has let his drink cool you decide as he reaches for the pot and warms it with some fresh tea. "Otherwise, I'd accuse it of trying to keep you."

It's a silly thought, but the sight of this latest discovery really does have you wondering. You are supposed to be in that wonderfully accommodating kitchen making snacks for when Azul decides to "coincidentally drop by" later this evening to "go over the Lounge's expenses" in your guest room. On a Tuesday. When it was almost guaranteed business would be slow enough to keep anyone from wondering too hard about where he'd gone or the twins from being too upset about running things. But instead of "just wanting to try" a new recipe, you are here, tucked in a room just a bit further down the hall from the guest room watching Grim give his best impression of Ace after completing a magic trick. Because stars know he has never seen any other magicians.

"TA-DA!" He puts both of his paws out to really sell the piano at the window. "See, I told you I had a great surprise!"

"I'm sorry for not believing you." You say and try not to laugh with just how much more proud that seems to make him. "But where did you find this? Or how I guess, unless you moved it?"

"Nah." He shakes his head before remembering he's supposed to be the "great" Grim. "I mean I could have! But I'm just so cool I managed to find a piano here already, so all I had to do was clean it up instead! You're welcome henchuman." You scratch just behind his ears and politely ignore his purrs as you examine the piano and its bench. They're old, likely just as ancient as everything else in the dormitory and likely extremely, achingly out of tune. But the mere sight of it makes your fingers itch, and Grim barely has to whine "Well ain't you gonna play somethin'?" Before you're at the bench, experimentally pressing the keys to try and sound out something.

Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are-

You hum it rather than sing, irrationally worried Grim will somehow figure out it's a lullaby and complain that you're babying him instead of cutely dancing along with the music like it's one of the cassettes Deuce let you borrow. He cheers for another, and you oblige, letting your muscle memory carry you as far as it can as you try searching your brain for just what it was you wanted most to hear from yourself after all this time being unable to play.

And missing the click of a heavy door down the hall in the effort.

Azul hears nothing at first, and though it does disappoint, it does not bother him. He's had a long day, one about to be made longer still by the grey zone already draping itself around his thoughts as he shrugs his blazer off to his shoulders while en route to the Ramshackle guest room. He pauses, for what he tells himself is only going to be second, at the kitchen door and is left unrewarded for his detour.

You aren't there: and that does bother him somewhat, even if it should not if his pretext is to be believed. These visits were too commonplace to be random, but maybe you'd made plans, deciding not to look past his excuses for the evening. Maybe you were asleep, tired of the day or just plain tired of him. But there is a kettle sat on it's base, mercifully not on just yet, but two mugs and the pour over cone set next to as if it was expecting company. The nerves remain knotted in his stomach, though the cause shifts towards something more welcome.

So you do have a mug purposefully set aside and designated just for him, and is that a little recpie card with notes on coffee taped to that tin? These things should worry him, the picture he snaps and immediately hides in a folder should be for a purpose. But it's separate from those ones, labeled something inane and barely full with how careful he is to have his longing remain unseen. He wonders, briefly if it would be an intrusion to make the drinks himself. If it would reveal to much to show outright he knows the way you take yours instead of just saying it in time with your order, but knows that would not be the exact issue here. He is a guest, and guests limit themselves to the halls and that room he forces himself, with haste that would be noticeable if you were there to see it, back down the hall and back towards the guest room. Azul has work to do, he can content himself with the warmth the mental image the cups on the counter produces until something forces him to pause at a door once more. The piano is old, droning out a tune that is unpolished and rusty from the player's lack of practice but filled with such a specific sort of joy it has him actually running towards it.

You sit at the bench, a serious look of determination on your face so unlike the usual Yuu it can't help but be cute. Grim sleeps contentedly on your lap as you continue searching for the threads of melody still trapped inside your head from years of only occasionally reluctant practice. It's an unfamiliar tune in composition, but not in feel. There's words to this song, maybe not in the form of lyrics, but there all the same for him to stumble even closer to as he comes to a halting stop just behind you and the music ends in a surprised crash as you whip your head around to see him.

"Azul!"

"Very sorry to interrupt." He holds up both hands in surrender, composure only just maintained as you check to see Grim still asleep and laugh nervously. "I didn't know you could play."

"Can't really." You say somewhat bitterly and more confidence comes to Azul as a slight plan froms in his mind. "I'm really out of practice ugh. I know it shouldn't annoy me! But with how everything's been since I showed up, it's just not been on my mi- Oh hello?"

Azul fully removes his jacket and sets it on a side table close to where he had been satanding, moving to sit on the bench next to you. He has enough mercy not to loosen his tie or do anything else scandalous, but the close examination he gives to the keys could have fooled you. "Pity it's so out of tune, this is a nice piano."

"I know right! I'm really happy Grim found it." You resist the urge to poke his cheeks some and Azul lightly, trying not to too openly relish in your surprise reaches one arm around your back to place his hands into a similar position as you had been earlier, tucking you close to his side.

"May I?" He's smug. Too smug it's robbing you of sanity.

"What's it going to cost?" You try too hard not to sound like you're flailing as you look to see your question hasn't even phased him at all.

"Oh normally I wouldn't dream of charging for a performance," he clearly lies "but it's been such a long day I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee." And he's off, music only marred by the off key of the piano in a clearly purposeful display of talent meant to sear itself into your mind enough that you don't think about his request too long. You and he are from two different worlds, but he knows that music has a way of gapping that if the stories of the mermaid princess told him anything at all. So when he purposefully slows the song at its end, he knows you know, that tricky smile he swore once he'd always hate kicking his heartbeat up again as you lean fully against his shoulder.

"Beautiful." You say, not bothering to give the compliment direction as he can't help but agree. "We should play together next time."

"I-" You pick yourself up and what he wants to say slows when you pick up his jacket for him and hold out a hand. Later, he all to easily decides. Later, without Grim and with specific time set purposefully aside so you know just how much it matters. "I would like that. You'll have to show me the songs that you can remember from your world." And he takes your hand just to soothe some of the ache, trying and failing not to show just how happy he is when you keep it.

[igotanidea]

Date gone wrong : Jason Todd x plussize!fem!reader pt 1

@jasontoddsthickbabe - here you go :D

summary: being bigger girl is not always easy. Especially when it comes to the dating and relationships. However, they say that there are plenty fish in the sea, so maybe some people are just to stubborn to realise they are looking in all the wrong places,

This can be read as a story preceding to my other plussize!fem ff: Beneath and Snickers and Hoodies

Warning: mention of past trauma and eating disorder.

Clarification: I have nothing against make-up, dresses, woman's magazines and girls who are feminine. I'm just creating reader as more of a tomboy, because I seriously believe we need more representation of such.

***

„What are you doing?”

„Thinking.”

„You sure you are not worrying?”

“Yes, Dick, I am pretty sure I am not.”

“You got that face you know. “

“What face?”

“The face you do when you are worried” he grinned, making her roll her eyes

“You are unbelievable….”

“I know. Now come on, if there’s anything you want to share with your best friend….”

“On second thought there may be one thing.” She tapped her chin “and you may be right , I may want to share with my best friend.”

“Well then….”

“I’m gonna go find Tim. Have you seen him around?”

“That is so not fair!” Dick rushed right after her, not wanting to miss any of the gossip that she may tell Tim. After all, he was the oldest brother, and her oldest friend, it was his dutyto take care of Y/N.

***

Before Y/N started working in tech department of Gotham’s press and met Dick, she was a freelancer for a woman’s magazine. Now, thinking back it was the worst time of her life. She was never really interested in all those articles like  “12 make up tricks to make your eyes look bigger” or “10 ways to make a man fall for you” Ugh! This was just too objectifying – was it really the purpose of a girl to play pretend just to catch attention?  But she was newly graduated and needed money to keep herself afloat, so the best option to have any income was to adjust to the realities. And that meant accepting the open slot and cut down on her ambition. Just a bit and just for the time being.

“One year” she was telling herself “you have to stick here one year, get a name for yourself and then you will be able to choose any other newspaper to work for.”

Biting the bullet she was writing all those silly news and gossips, counting the days to the desired promotion and submitting to the wishes and whims of her boss. The editor was not the person to discuss with, she always knew better what would turn out to be popular, and when one day she called Y/N into her office, the girl knew there was a task for her. Arguably the one she would not like.

“I’m sorry, boss, you want me to do what?”  she raised an eyebrow involuntarily, but quickly realized it was not professional. She was the newbie, with no power to bargain, treated rather like a coffee delivery and courier than a real journalist. If she was to act even a bit too cocky with the boss that would end with her on the street.

“I’m pretty sure you heard me the first time, but I’ll repeat it for you. I need you to go to ten different dates with ten different boys found on dating app and write a reporting on it. “

“But….”

“No buts.” The boss cut her off “you got two weeks and I want to see it on my desk.”

“Two weeks?” that would mean she would be forced to go out almost every night “But…..”

“You can go now, Y/n. Good luck.”

This was like a nightmare coming alive. Y/N did not have good experiences with men or with dates or with that whole relationship stuff. Maybe it was partially because of her childhood issues. She never felt wanted or accepted for who she was. Her father practically did not care about her, only willing to acknowledge her presence when he was in need of help or feeling lonely enough to settle for her in the absence of someone better. Not exactly a role model. Y/N did not have any male friends in school as well, to focused on being an A grade student to please her strict mother. Burdened with pressures and expectations from everyone, herself included, she got dragged into eating disorder that left her a bit bigger than her friends. At some point it felt like food was her way to suppress all the emotions, good and bad. Instead of letting her feelings out she was drowning them by sticking food in her mouth and stomach. It was shameful and embarrassing and the more she tried to hide this sick self-defense mechanism the worse it got.  Finally, after a lot of hard work she dealt with it, but her weight and curves stayed in place. She was still bigger.   

On good days, the outlook and weight never bothered her, she was just doing her own things, not caring who thought what about her, but on the bad days – she didn’t even want to leave the house and show herself. On those days she watched comedies and sitcoms that would lift her spirits and help her regain some confidence. But not with men. Her sarcastic and a bit harsh attitude alongside with emotional unavailability was not helping either. There were countless times when she heard from her mother, grandmother, aunts and cousins that she should be sweeter, lighter, feminine ….. All those words made her laugh inside. To hell with those comments. She was not going to be the men pleaser, and if that meant being alone then so be it.

But now, the task to come was bringing back all her insecurities. Again. So instead of treating it like a cruel joke from the boss (since at first she believed it was assigned to her only to mock her) she started thinking about it more like a job.  Involuntarily she created a fake account on the app and started her work. Maybe this would turn out to be a good social experiment.

***

“Hey Tim, can I have a minute of your time….” Y/N asked noticing the middle Wayne seated on the couch with some newspaper in his hands  “what are you reading…..? Oh, shit……” she hissed realizing the article Tim was so engaged in.

“Y/N?” the boy raised head and his eyes landed straight on her face “You did work for this magazine in the past, right?”

“I…. um…. Yes” there was no point in lying. Knowing Tim, he already got everything figured out.

“And you had one very particular nick you used for your articles, right?”

“Yeah, I…..”

“I am sorry.” Tim put the paper down and stood up to hug his friend. Y/N just stood frozen for a second not sure what to do, but after a few seconds reciprocated his embrace “you did not deserve any of it.”

“It’s in the past, Tim. I haven’t really thought about it in a long time.”

“Still. You did not ….”

“Mhm, you said it” she cut him off “and thank you for that. But what interests me the most here is how the hell did you find this outdated magazine?”

“I…..” Tim hesitated  and scratched his head

“Oh, you were spying on me.” She smirked

“That’s not the word I would use, but…. Look, you have been sad lately and Steph suggested….”

“So she was involved in this as well, great. I guess I should have known it from the beginning.”

“Don’t be mad at me, Y/N.”

“I am not.” she assured “I just need you to keep it to yourself, all right? Can’t risk your brothers finding it and…..”

“Finding what?” Dick peeked through an open door with a shit eating grin on his face

“NOTHING!”

“Oh you two are hiding something.” He muttered coming closer to the sofa. Predicting his next moves, Y/N quickly reached for the magazine, grabbed it and started running the other way but before she was able to escape Jason stood in her way and she ended up crashing into his chest.

“Auch!” she yelled, the paper falling from her hands, while Jason’s arm grabbed her securing her before hitting the ground.  Too close, too damn close.

“What the hell is going on here?” he asked, eyes switching between Tim, who just shrugged, Dick who quickly throw himself to gather the magazine and Y/N who wriggled out of his embrace, being the first to grab the paper.

“Come on, Y/N. Don’t be like that. Show me what is it.” Dick hissed, while Y/N hid behind Jay using him as a shield. “Don’t be a kid.”

“I am not the only one who’s acting like one! This is mine!”

“And yet, you let Tim read it!”

“In her defense, she didn’t know about it.” Tim chimed in

“Irrelevant. If Tim knows, we all knows.”

“Is that how it works now?”

“Pretty sure it was always like that.”

“I wonder why the hell do I even came here in the first place” Jason sighed and without any effort grabbed Y/N from behind, snatching that damn paper off her hands. “And you claim I am the crazy one here.”

“Give it back!” she struggled against his arms, but he did not let go. Just one of them was enough to keep her in place.

“What even is it? 10 dates that went wrong? Wait, did you write it?”

“Please…..” she whispered “please, give it back to me…..” her eyes were so pleading that it almost, almost got Jason wavering. He wondered why. Y/N just seemed to have strange effect on him and he wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not.

“I…..”

“Hey, Y/N. Relax. It’s just some funny article of yours, right. Nothing to be ashamed of. Or worried. Or…..” Dick opened the article, clearly ready to read it out loud “Y/N? Are you all right?” she was sobbing now and that was an unexpected view.

“You know what. I’m done fighting with you. Read ahead, but it’s not a funny little article.”

“Y/n….” Jason looked at her carefully. He recognized that look in her eyes. It was the same as he had when after coming back from the dead and dealing with all the shit in Gotham he still felt not wanted. Like a piece of trash. Clearly, just the title from the past brought some bad memories in her.

“I’ll be fine.” she took a step back “like I said, read ahead. Just…. not with me here” turning on her heels she rushed out of the living room.

“Tim?” Dick glanced at his younger brother.

“I’ll check on her. And just a word of advice to you two – prepare for some additional trauma after this.”

***

Date number  1 – he showed up late using some lame excuses about having an important job and being a really big fish. For the whole night he was talking about himself, not asking a single thing about me. After an hour of his monologue I excused myself into the bathroom to catch a breath and when I came back found him flirting with the sexy looking girl on the other table. “What, can’t blame me for being attracted to a good looking girl, for a change.

Date number 3 – he seemed like a nice guy. Came right on time, focused on me (perhaps a bit too much, not caring about personal distance), saying that he enjoyed my company. He paid for the meal. But when I started thinking that maybe, maybe he was a good one, the situation turned around. Despite my clear “no”, his hands were all over me, definitely in the places they should not. “come on, honey, you know no one else would want you. You’re just not the kind of girl to be desirable.” I used my pepper spray on him and got away, chased by his yells that I was a bitch

Date number 5 – “You should have posted your profile picture on the side. I wouldn’t have to waste my time if I knew you looked like this”

Date number 8 – “I believe man are far superior to woman. We are just stronger, tougher, smarter. Oh, and you probably did not know this, but color red is believed to be attracting to you, girls. I had plenty of woman falling to my knees just because I was wearing it.”

“Jason?” despite the seriousness dripping from the article Dick could not help a laugh

“What? That’s not why I chose to be Red Hood and you know it!”

 “Maybe that is why you are just staring at me with those dumb, pretty eyes without a single word.” I was staring, but definitely not because I was enamored by his behavior.

Date number 10 –Honestly, I was planning to skip it, but much to my surprise my date found me. “You must be Y/N” he smiled approaching the table “I knew it from the second I saw you sitting here all alone.”

“Did you?” I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, sipping on my drink.

“Mhm. You are smart girl. And those are rarely wanted. If you were pretty however….”

Ok, that was the end of that joke of a date.

So, to sum it all up, I am pretty sure finding yourself a good partner is a challenge I was not able to tackle. But if you follow all the rules and guidance we prepare for you in our magazine your chances for meeting your price charming are rising significantly. Go check our tips for weight loss and new trends in make up for the spring……

Dick voice broke at the ending, not capable of finishing.

“Poor Y/n” he sighed “she’s been though a lot.”

“She shouldn’t have searched on the Internet. “ Jason scoffed but clenched his fists. “She should have known better.”

“It was for a job.” Dick pointed out “she would never come up with something like this on her own and you know it.”

“How much time ago was it written?”

“Three years ago, why….? Jason! Jason! what the hell are you planning on doing?!”

“Making it right.” The younger brother muttered walking out of the room, grabbing his helmet on the way.

“Don’t you dare! Jason!” now Dick really felt like it was his responsibility to make sure his brother won't do anything stupid.

to be continued

@pinksirensong

[epictacobird]

Demon slayer! MC working at the Mostro Lounge

Ok ok so Octavinelle's part of my demon slayer MC series is coming out soon and I have so many ideas that I can't fit in there bc I don't want my favoritism for Azul to show that badly so this is a thing.

Content: Azul pining over demon slayer!MC

No gendered pronouns are used for mc, only "you"

Warnings: Azul being oblivious to himself, angst if you squint and look away

Demon slayer! MC who enjoys working a little too much

At first, Azul figured you were just happy to finally be making money outside of Crowley’s shitty allowance. I mean, no one can be that genuinely excited to wait tables and wash dishes.

Except for you that is.

He wasn’t complaining, not at all, it was just a little unusual. You never complained about any work he assigned you, unlike a certain eel. You were even just as efficient at scaring away rowdy customers.

Truthfully, the reason why you liked working there was because you were so busy. It made you feel more normal, as if you really left behind your life as a slayer. Or maybe working just let you not think about it in the first place. Either way, Azul clearly appreciated the extra labor. Just as Grim appreciated the pricier tuna.

One day he caught you singing to yourself while you were washing dishes.

Hushabye baby bunny on the hill…

Tell me why your eyes are very red…

Because when my mother was expecting me she dined on red berries from a tree…

And that is why my eyes are so very red…

It was a simple lullaby, and yet you held such a genuine smile while singing. It must’ve been from your home. Were you feeling homesick? Is that why you’ve taken so many shifts lately?

He wanted to ask about it but reasoned against it. You always kept him at an arms length after his overblot. He didn’t want to make it worse by suddenly asking you such a personal question.

Maybe later then….

Demon slayer! Mc who is enamoured by the large aquariums all around them.

You tried so hard not to let your giddiness show when you first stepped foot in the lounge with Jack. Imagine! Tanks as large as these embedded to the walls with tons of colorful sea-life and fish, you never thought you'd see anything like it.

Tbh you were actually a little grateful for the whole situation, | mean, you got to go underwater and see the sea life outside of those tanks. Ace and Deuce were a little worried about how side tracked you suddenly got when y’all were down there lol.

So when you got a job at the Mostro Lounge and were now able to stare at those tanks all day you could barely hide your excitement.

Azul took notice of this quickly, you never let it distract you from work but it was a little endearing how you were so fascinated by the aquariums. Platonically, that is.

One day he caught you staring at one of the aquariums while you were cleaning tables after closing. There was a look on your face of innocent wonder, very different from the normally gloomy cloud that hung over your eyes.

From the angle he was at he couldn't tell what you were staring at. Whatever it was it held your attention in a vice grip, I mean you didn't even notice him as he walked closer. Or when he cleared his throat...or when he called your name... you're not ignoring him are you?

Azul called your name one more time and he finally caught your attention. You whipped your head around, "Oh! Sorry Azul I didn't notice you. Did you need something?"

Azul sighed, “Not in particular, I was just wondering what had your attention. It's not like you to stare off in the middle of work."

You smiled sheepishly, rubbing the nape of your neck as you answered, “Well, I was actually looking at this one little guy in the tank. You see I don't have stuff like this back in my world so it's all kind of new to me." You laughed, “It probably sounds a little stupid to you, being a merman and all."

Azul shook his head, “Not at all, which fish were you looking at?”

He expected you to point out on of the colorful fish around you. After all, their large fins and the way they effortlessly swam through the clear water was pleasing to the eye. He would never admit it, but he was a little upset. It was rare the insecurities from his past came up nowadays but you were different for a reason he couldn’t explain. He wanted to impress you, and if you were attracted to the fins that he could never have then what would he do then? Maybe he was thinking too much…

You smiled, and pointed to a small creature sitting at the bottom of the tank. It was perfectly camouflaged amount the sand and rocks. His heart did a flip, out of surprise or something else he couldn’t tell. He was just grateful you weren’t looking at him in that moment.

“That’s an octopus, I didn’t actually know we had one of them in here.” Floyd must have put it in, Azul thought bitterly.

“Wait, seriously? That’s what they look like?”

Azul cringed a little inwardly, preparing for the worst.

“That’s so cool! I never thought they looked like that. I mean, I’ve eaten them before but I’ve never seen one alive. I thought they were red!”

The look on your face was comparable to a kid getting candy you were so happy. You were enamored by the octopus the entire time? The little sea dweller stuck at the bottom while the other fish sore high above you?

God, why did he feel like this? Heat pooled in his cheeks as he watched the smile on your face grow wider.

He wished he could make you this happy everyday…

He adjusted his glasses unnecessarily and looked away, “All octopi have the ability to camouflage to their surroundings. Only a few species are red naturally.”

Suddenly he was caught in a whirlwind of your excited questions. He forgot how behind your world was in terms of science and research. There was probably no way for you to actually study any of this before now. Either way he was happy to answer all of them. He reasoned that this was the best way he could finally build actual trust. That was important for a good work environment between employer and employee after all…

Demon slayer!MC who once saved Azul from falling flat on the floor (although he can’t tell if he would’ve rather you let him fall)

He doesn’t know how it happened, sure he wasn’t the most graceful walking around when he first got legs but he couldn’t have seriously tripped on air!

He just was walking down the stairs to check if everything was running smoothly. Maybe he was distracted by the way you smiled at the customers as you took their orders, or the way you winked at him as you walked past. Either way he felt his stomach drop when his foot missed the next step. He slid backwards and braced himself-

Except it never came, rather than the edge of the stairs his head hit the comfort of your arms. were you always this strong?

He didn’t get to dwell on it for long though. He felt the uncomfortable stares and whispers a little too much for his liking. He quickly pushed himself out of you arms and adjusted himself.

“Are you alright Azul? You look a little red, you’re not sick are you?”

“No! No, I’m fine. Thank you.” He spoke quickly, desperately trying to avoid your eyes.

You frowned, but took his excuse with a sympathetic smile, “Alright, if you say so. Don’t work too hard alright? You could’ve gotten hurt.” With that you walked off to the kitchen, leaving him to deal with the customers who were suddenly very interested in the whole event.

What he would give to crawl into an octopot right now to hide away his fast beating heart…

*****

“Ehhh, Shrimpy you should just kiss him already.”

“Floyd! It’s not like that!”

“It was a stunning performance Prefect. I’m sure Azul appreciated it.”

“Jade! Not you too..” You sighed as you collected the orders for your table, “Azul could’ve gotten hurt so I helped him. That’s all.”

The twins laughed to themselves, keeping their sadistic grins plastered on their faces as you sighed.

Azul did look pretty cute all surprised like that though…

The twins gave you their signature eerie smile. There really was no convincing them. You just shook your head in defeat, smiling a little to yourself as you watched Azul talk to another customer. At least he’s alright…

[tobeywobey]

this is me asking about your grandberry pirate gillion au :0

YESYAYYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this spawned cuz of a swordfish supercut and also the joke lizzie made abt "you come on this ship you're my crew"

ok SOOO its canon-compliant UP until 53/57, around there ! gilly takes Not Ferin Well a whole lot worse, especially the almost jay betrayal! hes basically the same as he is in canon (atleast to jay and chip) but hes so upset over jay lying to them this whole time even after what theyve been through together. lizzie and caspian roll up on the half a ship and yk yk, gill goes to help and lizzie makes the "hes on my ship, hes on my crew" and. gill just thinks shes serious and hes shocked and then kind of relieved? he didnt know how to confront chip and jay about what happened on block and now he doesnt have to! and so he just. says goodbye to jay and chip and lizzie is like oh shit youre fr? ok welcome aboard. LOL .

jay and chip take this as well as youd expect! theyre obviously very betrayed and upset, and chip is mad at both gill but also Lizzie cuz in his mind she has just taken his best friend away from her :( they go their separate ways after an argument between all of them (mainly gill, lizzie and chip) and jay keeps trying to convince chip to go back, chip keeps trying to sail them forward and is even more deadset on finding arlin now (they drop off ollie way sooner, as soon as they get to zero-- which they leave for after allport)

gill would start to feel guilty but also the training hes doing with caspian and lizzie starts to help him, and hes also coming to terms with being in the oversea and in his mind the grandberry ship is helping him a lot!

anyways a lot of time passes, both ships go on canon-compliant adventures (HOWEVER. grandberry pirates fight off against the navy a lot more than riptide crew does in canon, so gill is also dealing with that .)

since it starts out near ep 50ish, its near ep 100 where they are reunited (in the black sea!) niklaus tempts lizzie (and by proxy the rest of the crew) by saying if they go and help him with what he needs (which is uh. gillion. its the same thing he wants gill to do in canon) that he will bring ava back (he can Totally do that guys.) and then he gets A BIT SILLY and goes to riptide pirate crew (atp theyd have all the normal npcs minus queen cuz that was all gillion's doing) and is like. Do you Want your Fish Guy? Hes somewhere in the black sea. find him for me and ill make sure he comes back to you guys . :D (he can also Totally do that.)

they meet in the black sea, have the same battle they did when they first got there (both albatross and grandberry together) and gill is still the one who saves jay which leads to sillyness ^_^ gill and jay . talk it out and whatnot, chip (once he stops refusing to talk to gill) and gill argue about it and have. surprise. another ice arena moment. theyre so insane.

---also extra notes--- :D

i dont exactly think hed say hes happier on the grandberry ship than with chip n jay i just . think hes definitely less worried about being the main protector? he knows caspian and lizzie can hold their own (not saying jay and chip cant its just .. you know..) and is living with a lot less stress and also has worked through undersea trauma like how he does in canon except with lizzie and caspian so . hes definitely living a better life, and if offered a place back on the riptide crew he wouldnt just abandon lizzie and caspian after all that especially cuz he still has lingering pain from jay betrayal ^_^

has lizzie/ava (past), swordfish QPR (i love them), liz/casp (QPR) (have you heard how caspian talks abt liz?), and uh........ yeah thats it.

also little idea idk where to fit in here . thinking abt gill missing ollie and chip (once theyve made up) being like "the three of us can go back to Zero and see him!" and gill is just like .. "chip this is my family now, im so much happier here than I have been (OUCH.) I can't in good conscious rejoin you as a riptide pirate after i've spent so long with as a grandberry pirate. However I would Like to see ollie." but both ships go and see ollie bc. yeah ^_^. chip is. devastated :(

hes much stronger and also slightly crazier! the navy trying to kill you will do that to you ^_^

i feel like i had something else to say but i forgot it.

[fierycavalier]

Intro to Scouting for Nancy Drew Fans

i love to see Ace's Eagle Scout status come up in fics. Although it was almost a throw-away line, I think it informs Ace's character and fleshes out his backstory well, beyond just knowing knots and navigating the woods. But I see a lot of awkward phrasing, and I see a lot of missed opportunities to bring it up, and it got me wondering if a little primer would be helpful.

Things Ace could say: "I learned this in Boy Scouts." "My troop leader took us out here all the time." "This trail didn't go this way back when I was in Scouts." "Don't worry, they love me here--my eagle project was to clean up this beach." "Don't talk to me about Jared Spriggs-- I'll never forgive him for what he did to my derby car when I was 14."

Eagle Scout is a rank and an honor that he achieved, not a program he was in. The program is Boy Scouts of America (BSA). People familiar with the program will just say Boy Scouts or Scouts. After 100 years of only allowing boys to participate, the program became co-ed in 2019, so it's now called Scouts BSA, not Boy Scouts. Ace would have grown up in the program before then since he turned 18 in 2016.

If Ace started in scouting before he was 11, he would have been in Cub Scouts. At 11, he could move up to the scouting troop. There are ranks in scouting, tied to the number of merit badges you've earned. Eagle Scout is the top rank and must be achieved before the age of 18. It involves a certain number of merit badges, hours of volunteer work, and a main Eagle Scout Service Project that they must plan and execute themselves (with assistance from scout leaders and parents).

I think it highly likely that the Captain was a troop leader or otherwise involved in scouting, especially before his accident. I can see his mom stepping in as well- if I remember right, women could be pack leaders even before 2016.

Although most people work toward Eagle as 16-17 year olds, it's possible to achieve it earlier, especially if you're smart and committed like Ace. So his pot-smoking days could come after he earned Eagle and lost interest in Scouts, or they could coexist. Your call.

Although people assume scouting is about wilderness preparedness, the program's goal is to create well-rounded, responsible citizens. Ace would have the Oath and Law memorized.

Scout Oath

On my honor I will do my best

To do my duty to God and my country

and to obey the Scout Law;

To help other people at all times;

To keep myself physically strong,

mentally awake, and morally straight.

Scout Law

A Scout is: Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, Reverent

As you can guess, being Jewish might have been tricky for Ace in a program that's culturally Christian as many 20th century American institutions are. That'd also depend on what his troop was like--was there one troop for the whole town, or maybe his synagogue hosted a troop?

There's a Sea Scouts program. Where I'm from is landlocked so I don't know anything about it, but Horseshoe Bay or a nearby bigger town would definitely have Sea Scouting!

Lastly, here are the current Merit Badge categories: it covers a lot more than knots! Ace often gets into hacking in pre-series fics by hanging out at the library with his mom after school. But what if he was introduced to programming in Scouts? And I'm sure Florence helped him complete many merit badges.

Automotive Maintenance

Backpacking

Bird Study

Camping

Canoeing

Chemistry

Coin Collecting

Cooking

Digital Technology

Engineering

Fire Safety

First Aid

Fly-Fishing

Golf

Indian Lore

Insect Study

Journalism

Law

Mining in Society

Nuclear Science

Photography

Plant Science

Programming

Radio

Safety

Scouting Heritage

Skating (I know we never see him on a skateboard but come on)

Surveying

Sustainability

Swimming (the way Ace is built heavier in top looks like a competitive swimming shape in my experience!)

[bokutosmochi]

SHE LOOKS JUST LIKE A DREAM (THE PRETTIEST GIRL I'VE EVER SEEN)

gojo satoru x gn!reader

what's it? fluff allergen warning/s? n/a sugar level? 0.5k regulars? @tokyometronetwork​ @tahonet​ @hanayanetwork​

bon appetit!

gojo satoru is the student who receives mountains upon mountains of chocolates, flowers, and handwritten letters amongst other things during valentine's day. he gets asked out left and right, and whenever there's a school event and classes are suspended, your classmates ask to take a photo with him because of how much they're crushing on him. from anonymous confessions, to loud declarations of love, it's all something he's experienced countless times. he knows how to respond to compliments, whether it be a polite thank you - which happens very rarely - or something more extravagant - more of his style - because it's the norm for him. when you've done something over and over again, it's only natural you'll get good at responding to it, right?

but despite how many people are lined up on gojo's doorstep, to be happy with even just a single night spent with him, to say "gojo could break my heart and i'd thank him!" he still chooses you. he remains loyal, sweet, and wholeheartedly devoted to you.

he spoils you, shows you his everlasting love for you, treat you well, hell he'd even share the chocolates he got with you no matter how appetizing it looks.

he never fails in making you feel worth it. given his popularity, especially with the girls, one would think that perhaps, there were going to be days you look down on yourself, think you aren't enough for him when there were plenty of other fish in the sea waiting for you to mess up so they can grab their chance to be with him, but it's not like that at all. that's because he always reminds you that you mean a whole lot to him. that he wouldn't be the best version of himself if you weren't by his side because you're the one who brings out the best in him in the first place, that he works on himself day in and day out because you deserve the best and that's exactly what he's going to give you. he'd be damned if he doesn't do otherwise.

god, and the way he reminds you that you're beautiful in your own way is heavenly. the best part is that it's not even over-the-top. it's really just the way he looks at you with glossy eyes, a far way look on them as if he's just seen an angel. when you tell him about it, he'd simply tell you that he did. it's cheesy as hell, but it's him so how could you ever complain?

he's so in love with you and everything that you are, everything that makes you, you. he accepts your flaws, knowing it is part of who you are as a person and if you're willing to work on those, he'd be there supporting you every step of the way, oh-so patient and nurturing and with a few teasing quips here and there because it wouldn't be gojo if there weren't any of those. he finds solace, peace in your presence even if the both of you are desperately cramming for an examination. he know it's gonna be okay because you're there and truthfully, he doesn't know what he'd do if he ever lost you.

it's a good thing he's the strongest because he doesn't plan on finding out.

i get: reblog

you get: a belt chain with a gojo satoru charm

[fadingdaggerr]

rose infusion - l.w.

pairing: (college) larissa weems x gn/fem!reader (reads more fem but no gendered terms/pronouns for r)

summary: larissa smoking weed for the first time with a “good friend” (and r practically foaming at the mouth over her the whole time)

warnings: marijuana use, smoking, shotgunning smoke for the plot, rolling tutorial, discussion of drug use, making out, references to drinking, friends to lovers <3

note: this was fun to write considering smoking is one of my very few talents /lh. i also based a lot of the background on stuff that’s i’ve done or seen when i lived on campus lol

after probably breaking several traffic laws, i finally got to my destination. amir’s house was up the street a little ways, but i desperately had to change my clothes. putting my car in park, i fling my upper half into the backseat in search of the spare clothes i left there to change into. after a delightful struggle to remove my work uniform of khakis and a black button up, i finally got my jeans and long sleeve on. the black converse sneakers could stay, they were only part of the uniform that i had any say in.

opening the glove compartment to my right, i fish around until my hand knocks against a heavy piece of metal and a sandwich bag. grinder, check. weed, check. i look in my middle console, blindly moving the napkins and random plastic utensils until i find my prize, slowly raising it out like a claw machine. baby blue lighter, check. papers were the only thing missing.

i drive up the road, praying they remembered, then clapping to myself when they did, i see the spot in the driveway they left open for me. once in park again, i grabbed the grey, oversized zip up from my backseat, wrapping it tightly around me as i began to make my way to the house. finally making it to the door, i open to a sea of people. dancing, talking, yelling, oddly dangerous making out on top of the oven, beer cans littering the floor, and loud music blasting through the speakers. this was definitely an ‘amir and co. party,’ as it had been coined by himself, and himself only.

i find him by the makeshift pong table, a bookcase that has been brought face down, balancing on milk crates placed at each corner. incredibly stupid, but inventive, so i let this one slide.

“oi, you got papers?” i say loudly as i stand to his left, trying to be heard over the music.

he yelps, “you scared the shit out of me, you god damn ghoul,” he sinks a ball into a cup, followed by a happy fist bump to his partner, tomas.

“nice one. now, papers?”

“nah. go check out back i’m sure one of them has a pack of ‘em. if you can’t find any, sneak to my room and use one of my glass pieces. i don’t need you cranky at my party,” he smiles to me, before groaning at mikal when he lands a ball in a cup.

“you’re the best,” i say, turning and walking towards the back porch. i had opened at work, and been asked to stay later, and i wanted, no needed, was to sit and smoke in peace.

i get outside, and find my usual smoking buddies. i greeted them, gladly accepting a hit off of one of their pipes. after asking, more like begging” for only one or two papers, i was gifted five little sheets, and a couple spare filters dominic had prepared before the party.

“if i wasn’t gay, i’d so kiss you for this,” i joke.

“if we’re both gay, does it cancel out?” he jokes back, and we talk back and forth for a bit. i move to sit down to finally roll for myself, my very own joint. all i had been thinking about since leaving work.

i put some weed in the grinder, turning and turning the cover. grabbing one of the papers, i gently fold it in half to create a crease for the bud to sit. just as i reach for the grinder, the seat next to me dips down. i almost made a comment telling them to get lost, thinking it was amir coming to fiend off of me. every cell in my body thanked me for looking before i spoke.

when i looked to see who sat next to me, i’m greeted by the greatest sight for sore eyes the gods have ever created. larissa weems. ever since freshman year move in day when i first spoke to her in the hallway, she’s been the only thing on my mind. we had somehow been in the same english class every semester for the last three years, and i always had admired her from afar. she was always top of the class, peer reviews showed her masterful writing, and sitting close to her let me see her kindness up close.

we had become friends. most of first year we were just ‘school friends’ mostly, only sharing the one class each semester and sitting close to each other. second year the ongoing classes together became funny coincidences, now sitting directly next to her and coming in early to talk with her in the longue. this year, third year, andrea started crushing on tomas, so they both were becoming frequent guests of amir’s house, and larissa and i would just sit and talk the whole time.

i took her in, still not used to her outside of a school setting, or with her hair down for that matter. she had her long legs covered by light blue jeans, a fitted, white university t-shirt, and a golden necklace with a sun pendant. she finally looked back at me, realizing she had sat with someone.

“oh, hey,” she said shyly, eyes only looking in mine for a second, like she was checking to see if i was bothered by her presence. i was most definitely not.

“hey, larissa. i didn’t know you’d be here tonight, how are you?” i pray to every god that could hear me that i sounded normal.

“i’m good, i guess. and i’m here because andrea dragged me here. tomas asked her to come by and she ‘had to say yes’ because finds him ‘yummy in eight languages.’ her words, not mine,” she shakes her head at the thought. i fake gag muttering ‘straight people’ with a shiver, making her bark out a laugh.

“i definitely wouldn’t word it that way, not even if i was held at gun point, but tomas is a sweetheart. andrea’s in good hands, a little stupid, but good,” she laughs at this, tomas wasn’t known for being the brightest student, but he was the kindest kid out there.

“anyways…” wanting to get away from the topic of andrea and her conquests, i change the subject. “you decided to join us here in the smoking lounge. can’t say i’m not surprised, you never mentioned that you smoked,” i say lightheartedly.

“i don’t. well, i guess it’s more that i haven’t. this is the first year i haven’t lived in a dorm since before high school. never really got the chance,” she looks almost embarrassed by her confession.

“that’s totally fine. did you… did you want to? you can smoke with me, if you want. if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. i don’t want you to feel pressured into doing anything,” i make eye contact with her to try and prove my honesty, wanting her to know she’s not going to be judged.

“i want to… i just have a dumb question first,” she says in a small voice.

“no such thing as a dumb question, i’ll tell you anything you want to know,” i give her a assuring smile.

“is there a way… to make it, i don’t know. is there a way to make it not taste as gross as it smells?” she asks unsurely.

i think for a second. when we were in high school amir and i would take mint and lavender from his mom’s garden to lessen the smell. this wasn’t an option now, seeing as amir’s apartment was closer to growing blue cheese than mint, but mr. cho next door had a rose bush. i close up my grinder, and put the papers and baggie of weed under it, using it’s weight to secure them there. i stand up, offering my hand to larissa. she slowly reaches out, placing her warm hand in mine. her hand is so soft, and the weight of it in mine grounds me.

i pull her in the direction of the fence that lines the yard, stopping when i reach the hole that brings you to the other yard. i drop her hand, and get lower to slide through the opening, but before i can, she grabs my elbow.

“what in fresh hell do you think you’re doing?” she whisper yells at me, not letting go of my arm.

“getting something to help with the taste, you asked if there was a way. i’m getting the way,” i say, trying and failing to loosen her grip by shaking my arm.

“that is someone’s yard, you’re gonna be trespassing,” she said, making it clear that she was not coming with me.

“you’re worth it,” i say, and she goes to say something but i cut her off, “plus, i’m barely going into the yard, just to the side of the house to grab one little, tiny thing. he’s asleep i’m sure, he’s like a thousand years old and he only has a cat,” and with that, i drop down, finally losing her grip. i carefully go through the fence, trying not to get dirt on my clothes.

i look back, seeing larissa staring back at me. i wave to her, she lets out an breathy laugh before waving back. i run low and quick across the yard, coming up next to a rose bush. i stick my hand just a little, a few thorns digging into the top of my hand and wrist, but i pluck the head off of one rose. looking around, i make sure i’m in the clear, before grabbing swiss army knife from the pocket of my sweatshirt, detaching a perfect rose from the rest of the bush, closing and sliding the knife back in my pocket. i turn and head back to the fence, sliding under it. i pop back up into standing position, the head of the rose in my palm, the full one hidden by my sleeves.

“tada!” i say with a smile, “this should help a bit with the taste, and the smell.”

“you trespassed, on a man old man’s property, for a rose bud.”

“yes, now let’s go,” and with that, i begin making my way back to the porch. larissa follows after a second, walking by my side. she walks around the table, i follow her with my eyes as she moves to sit back down, a little shiver going up her spine as she does.

i grab and open the grinder, tearing up little pieces of the rose and adding it to the already grinded weed. ideally this would be dried rose, also ideally not from mr. cho’s yard, but the fact that i would be smoking with larissa made both of those facts mean nothing to me.

“i’m guessing you don’t know how to roll,” i state, looking larissa as she nervously plays with her hands, she shakes her head, confirming my assumptions. “that’s okay, i’ll show you. come here,” i motion her to come closer, and she immediately does, making me blush just as fast.

“you do it, i’ll talk you through. sound good?” i ask her, she nods, “okay, gently hold the paper in half the long way,” she does. “good, now reopen it, and put a filter in at the end,” i pass her a filter, my skin tingling at the short brush of our fingers. she lays the filter against the end closest to her left hand, “now, we just add the weed and rose, then the hard part.”

she looks at me desperately at the mention of ‘the hard part,’ i place my hand on her knee and caress the skin with my thumb, “nothing you can’t handle.” i don’t miss the blush that creeps up her neck, but i hope she missed mine.

i watch as she sprinkles the weed and rose mixture into the paper. long fingers grabbing small bundles of the plants, distributing it evenly. her rings make little noises as her hands move, and i can’t help but watch. she looks at me for confirmation each time before adding more, i only stop her by putting the cover back on the grinder.

“alright, now we roll it, get it all packed and into the right shape. it doesn’t have to be perfect, most of the time they look quite sad,” she giggles at the last bit, and my heart flutters, my smile growing.

i adjust her hands, showing her the motion to make, but when she gets frustrated and mutters something about “should be smart enough to figure it out,” i stop. i grab her hands, moving them manually, showing her the motion myself. she initially freezes, and my hands drop from hers with an apology ready on my lips, but she pulls them back with a ‘it’s okay, i’m just jumpy.’

my eyes go back to her hands, my own coming to help her again. she takes a deep breath, before focusing on the motion harder than before. after i see that she had gotten used to it, i moved away, watching the small smile on her face grow from pride.

“now, we seal it up. tuck, roll, lick, twist, done,” i say quickly, she chuckles warmly. “okay, for real this time. wrap this around the weed, start by the filter,” i start the tuck for her to show her, she quickly understands what to do next, beginning to finish rolling it up. she looks at me for the next direction.

“you have to lick it,” i say, barely being able to look her in the eyes, “ya know, to seal it.”

“is that really necessary?”

“what did you want a little water dish to dip your fingers in? that’s marijuana not a spring roll there, babe,” her eyes widen at the pet name, mine do too. i was not expecting myself to call her that either.

she looks at me before asking, “can you do it? i don’t want to mess it up.”

“you wouldn’t,” i say quickly, not liking how she talked down on herself twice now, “but i can do it, if you want,” she quickly passes her little creation to me, “this looks much better than the first joint i ever rolled, you should be very impressed.”

“i’ve had a pretty great teacher,” she says with a smile, but i’m frozen because her hands hadn’t left mine yet, both our hands cradling the almost finished joint.

with all my strength, i move my hands away from hers. i make eye contact with larissa, raise the joint to my mouth, poke my tongue out, and drag it alone the paper. her eyes are not subtle as they watch my tongue with intent, instead of my eyes. sealing it, i grab a twig off the ground to pack it down, then twist the end. i hold the joint by the filter and hold it up.

“our marijuana and rose mixture, m’lady,” i say with a smile that she matches instantly. i hold it out to her, offering the first hit, but she shakes her head.

“you first, it’s your stuff and you were patient enough to help me. plus you trespassed on someone’s lawn, lots of hard work,” she quips, making me laugh. i was not going to live down the rose bush, was i?

placing the joint between my lips, i look around for my lighter. it had just been on the table, i was sure of it. my head whips around a couple times before i hear a little click, click click.

larissa hold up the lighter, flame glowing. the orange hue lights up her face, her pale skin warmed by the fire. she was so close to me, faces only about a foot apart, knees touching as we faced each other on the couch. the shadows of her face and hands accentuated, her lipgloss shining, eyes reflecting the light. i knew in that moment that nothing more beautiful had ever existed.

she brought the flame to the twisted end of the joint, lighting it gently. no words between us, eyes on each other. i inhale for a few seconds, hoping to get it started as well as calm myself, before my hand rises to my lips to allow myself to exhale. i hold it out for her to grab, but she doesn’t move.

i lower my hand, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to, i’ll put it out if you want.”

“it’s not that, i just don’t want to make a fool of myself. you know, like cough my lungs out in front of you,” she looks at her lap the whole time, twisting her rings around her beautiful fingers. goosebumps grow on her arms as the wind picks up, the sun now past the horizon.

i sit up as i start talking, “you will not make a fool out of yourself,” i slip off my zip up, “everyone coughs when they smoke, if they make you feel bad about they’re idiots,” i hold out the sweatshirt for her, “and i most definitely will never think anything bad of you.”

she accepts the sweatshirt with a hesitant grasp, but once she puts her arm through one sleeve, she’s rushing to pull it fully on. she wraps it around her, i’m giddy at her in my clothing, but i try to remain calm.

“i mean, there is a way that might make you cough less. but it’s a little different and i’d be in your personal space,” i say, not wanting to pressure her or scare her away.

“what is it?” her eyes perk up, looking into mine.

“it’s called shotgunning. basically i’d take the hit, then exhale it into your mouth while you inhale, like passing it along. you can say no, i know it’s weird.”

“i wouldn’t mind you in my personal space,” she whispers, “i’ll try.”

i look at her quickly, making sure she’s serious, and she definitely was. i mumbled ‘okay’ before bringing myself closer to her. i stand on my knees, straddling one of her thighs. one hand on her shoulder, the other holding the joint. i slowly get closer, but she seems to be more impatient. her hands move to my waist, pulling me closer quickly. now fully straddling her, i decide to stay standing on me knees, my hand now around the back of her neck.

i bring her face closer to mine, she tilts her head back just in the slightest while her hands slide down to hold my thighs. i lean over her, moving my hand up to cup her face, stroking her jaw. i look into her eyes, asking permission once again, and she nods.

smoke fills my lungs and mouth, the joint resting between my lips, pulled away a couple seconds later. the smell of weed and a hint of rose surrounds us, but it’s nothing compared to her perfume. i raise my eyebrows while looking at her, letting her know to start inhaling.

i exhale slowly, my lips puckered so no smoke is wasted. smoke smoothly starts to flow my from mouth to hers, her hands grip was steady the entire time, my thumb never stopping the slow, circular motion against the bottom of her jaw. when all the smoke cleared my lungs, i watched her exhale a paler cloud. still perched over her lap, i take a hit from the joint again, this time for myself. i exhale slowly again, blowing the smoke up and away from her, not only to be polite but as to not cover her face.

her hand grabs my wrist, pulling it towards her mouth, this time taking a hit on her own. my eyes never leave her lips, watching as they wrap around the filter and how they leave a shiny print of her lips from her lipgloss. how the smoke leaves her mouth, swirling and dancing around her. her and i just look at each other for a minute before she squeezes my thigh and speaks up.

“i prefer your way,” she whispers, a tiny smile toying at her lips. my heart races.

“i think i do too,” i say back, though i wasn’t just thinking it, i’m fully in love with the idea. i never wanted her fo smoke another way ever again, always like this, me in her lap and her hands on me. i would be content living as her personal cigarette holder. taking another hit, i tap my thumb against her jaw, telling her to inhale once again.

by the time the joint is halfway down, she tells me she ‘believes it’s starting to kick in’ with a slightly more dopey smile, eyes now lightly tinted red. thighs beginning to tire from holding myself up on the cushions, i decide to sit down on her thighs. her stiffens, only for a moment, until her hands comfortingly rub my own thighs, before her hands slide up to my waist, pinching my side playfully.

she takes a hit herself again, choking on the smoke a bit when i bend away from her. i crawl off her lap, grabbing the rose i had plucked for her. i guarded the rose from her sight, i use my knife to remove the thorns so they wouldn’t hurt her.

“what is that you’ve got?” she asks through a giggle, trying to peek over my shoulder. her efforts unsuccessful as i practically fold myself in half to block her view.

“none of you business, now just sit there and look pretty,” i laugh, then wince as i jab my ring finger into a thorn. once the last thorn is removed, i look over my shoulder to look at her. her eyes are already on me, big, blue, and beautiful. “close your eyes,” she does so without hesitation.

i grab the joint from her hand, placing it in my lips, “okay, pretty. open,” i let smoke come out between my words. i had the rose held out to her, nervous smile on.

her eyes open, first focusing on my face then the rose. her smile grows instantly, eyes now flicking between the flower and i. i held it out a little more, urging her to take it.

she tentatively reaches out, hand grazing mine. her fingers wrap around the stem, eyes watering a little, “for me?” her voice was so small.

i nod, letting go of the flower so she can inspect it. her smile makes me heart race and stomach fill with butterflies, but the way she looks at the flower is what makes me weak. she looks at it like it’s precious, like i have gifted her the first rose to ever grow. her arms move around my shoulders within seconds.

“thank you,” she whispers into my ear, my arms wind around her waist, squeezing tightly. i mumble an ‘of course’ into her hair, i nuzzle my nose into her. when we part, she stays close to me. i roll another joint while she rests her head on my shoulder, her eyes watching my actions closely.

with the joint in my mouth, bringing the lighter up to the end. before the flame can reach, a pale hand swipes the lighter from my hand. she lights it in her own, lighting the joint for me. her eyes stay on mine as i inhale, hold, and exhale, still making the point to exhale away from her face. she stays facing me, an expectant look on her face.

with her face held in my hand again, i take another drag, exhaling slowly into her mouth again. she smiles, i smile back. the slider door opens, and larissa nearly jumps out of her skin, but doesn’t move from my side. andrea peeks her head out, grinning largely when she sees larissa. as she makes her way over, she grabs the joint from me, taking a hit, and puts it back between my fingers.

“okay, so on a scale of one to ten, how mad would you be if i stayed the night here?” andrea asks larissa, begging hands in front of her.

a sigh leaves larissa, “solid 8. you’re going to make me walk back to the apartment alone?”

andrea is practically pleading, larissa is irritated. i turn and see tomas in the window trying to see the outcome of this conversation. i shake my head at his antics. i take a long pull off the joint, breaking the ash off and putting it out, then cutting andrea off.

“alright! you have fun with tomas, just don’t use the bathroom in the hallway. boys live here,” they both look at me weird, “larissa, i’ll walk you home, if you want,” she smiles softly. andrea squeals loudly, running inside, no doubt to tomas.

“you don’t have to walk me home,” is all larissa says.

“i know i don’t have to, i want to. i would offer to drive you but,” i pointedly hold up the joint and take a drag, “so i will gladly be walk you home.”

— — — — — — —

the party had died down, the only people left were amir and his three roommates, some ‘too drunk to leave’ stragglers, larissa, andrea, and i. sitting on the couch inside, larissa’s head was resting on my shoulder, an arm wrapped lightly around mine. andrea and tomas slowly disappeared from the living room, larissa and i both chuckling at the clumsy duo sneaking away.

i lean my head onto hers, speaking into her hair, “want to head home?” the only response i receive in a gentle nod against my shoulder.

i begin to stand, saying my goodbyes, then give mikal and amir hugs. larissa finally stands, wobbly for a moment. she makes her way to stand by my side, polite goodbye and thank you’s sent to the guys. after grabbing my grinder and weed bag, i pick around the pockets of my sweatshirt, which was still on larissa. finally getting a hold of my keys, i pull her gently along to start the leave.

the air had gotten much colder during our time inside, my arms wrap around myself tightly. there was no way i was going to ask for my sweatshirt back, the view of her wearing it was enough to keep the cold from consuming me. always observant, larissa notices my shivering and wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into her side. my own arm goes beneath the sweatshirt, hand now resting on her waist.

i pull the remainder of the joint from earlier, it’s a little bent but can still do the job. i hand larissa the lighter, and she takes the hint, lighting it for me as she had previously tonight. we pass the joint back and forth as we walk.

“thank you, for tonight,” she says when we’re about half way to her apartment, she’s gently playing with the rose between her fingers.

“of course. i wanted to make sure you got home safe. and you’re welcome over to smoke, or not, whenev- i mean if you want,” i say, hoping that she’ll take me up on my offer to at least hang out. i just needed her presence, she was too beautiful to lose.

“be careful with that offer, you may never get rid of me,” she chuckles, smile bright and eyes glowing. she was a star plucked from the heavens and placed here on earth, just for me.

“maybe that was the plan all along,” my voice is quiet, i’m stuck in a trance by her beauty.

we arrive at her building, climbing shaky stairs to her door. she opens the door, motioning for me to come inside with her, and i follow with no hesitation. she walks quickly down the hall, to what i assume is her room, before coming back out with a sweatshirt. with an amused smile, she hands me her own cream colored zip up to wear.

we sit crisscross on the couch facing each other, my arm resting on the back of the couch to hold my head up. larissa just sat up, playing with her hands in her lap as we spoke.

“why did you give me that rose?” she asks, her eyes back on my face.

i can only be honest with her, “because it’s pretty, and so are you. i didn’t really think much before cut it, just that i wanted to give you a flower.”

she presses her lips together to hide her smile, but the blush on she cheek betrays her. when she finally allowed herself to look at me, she whispers, “do you actually think i’m pretty, or are you just high?”

i’m taken back by the question, my heart cracking at her thinking i wouldn’t find her beautiful. i reach for her hands, leaning close to her, “i think you’re beautiful. i always do, sober included,” i tilt my head to catch her eyes that dropped to our hands, “i gave you the rose because i like you. like a lot, like so much that amir has banned me from talking about you when we’re in the car because it’s ‘too tempting to kick me out while moving’ in his words,” this both shock and amuses her, so i go on, “i was sober when i picked the rose for you, i wasn’t when i have it to you, but the rose was always for you, larissa.”

she looks me in the eye, probably in search of a lie, but she won’t find one and she didn’t. her hands tighten their grip on my own, “i really like you too, incredibly so. and not just because i’m high. i’ve liked you ever since freshman year in that intro writing seminar, you lived right down the hall and i never got the courage to just knock on the door.”

i have no words to offer her, only an awestruck stare. my heart was frantically beating in my chest, my hands frozen in hers. in a sudden rush, i throw myself at her, and wrap my arms around her shoulders, back on her lap after hours away. her strong arms wrap around my waist, pulling me in further, her head burying in my neck. god, she was just so warm and she was so close, this was what heaven felt like, i’m sure.

her head picks up, now only an inch from my face, “can i kiss you?” her voice is so small, but the grip on my waist is confident. my arms slide from her shoulders, hand coming up to cup her jaw on both sides

“please,” and she does. her lips are so soft, gently dancing with my own. i pull her face in more, needing her closer, closer, closer. my hands slide into her hair, gently threading through soft tresses. her hands grasping my back, gripping my clothes. sliding down, her hands are on my ass, pulling my body in as much as she can. and i let her, and i’ll keep letting her. her tongue asks for entry, and i allow her in immediately, moaning into her mouth at the contact. the high from the marijuana mixing with the high of her touch was creating an addicting feeling, one i didn’t want to live without ever again.

she pulls away slightly, and i whine as i pull her in again. she gives in, laughter lightly vibrating in her chest. i pull away this time, breathing becoming necessary. i rest my forehead against hers, not daring to open my eyes so i can’t ruin this perfect moment. lips press against my cheek, gently moving up to my temple, before she’s back resting on the crook of my neck.

“stay,” she says into my neck, arms wrapping around me tightly. i definitely didn’t want to walk back to amir’s alone, and i most definitely didn’t want to leave her. i just hug her tighter, pressing kisses to her hair.

we stayed like this for a little while, wrapped in each other’s arms and mumbling to each other. i could feel her relaxing against me, likely ready to fall asleep, and i wasn’t far behind her. i pull away from our hug, holding her face in my hands. big blue eyes, soft from sleepiness were staring back at me, a barely-there smile on her lips.

“bed time?” i whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“you have to stay with me,” her voice is like honey, eyes never leaving mine.

“i wouldn’t dream of leaving,” pressing a kiss to her lips, i move off her lap and stand in front of her with my hand out for her. she grabs my hand so gently, as if she’s afraid she’ll hurt me, and lacing our fingers together. she leads the way down to her room.

with the lamp turned on, i could see her room is impeccably clean, only mess is her unmade bed. she lets go of my hand to walk over to her dresser, and i walk around looking at the photos and decorations. a photo of her and a girl with long black hair stand out, arms wrapped around each other, wearing matching uniforms. ‘cute,’ i think to myself. a little rainbow flag rests amongst pencils and pens on a desk in the corner, a matching little lesbian flag with the makeup brushes in the cart next to the desk. these make me smile, knowing she’s proud of herself had my heart melting.

she taps my shoulder, presenting me with sweatpants and a t-shirt of hers when i turn around. we both move to stand on different sides of her bed, she turns away and i copy her. we get changed quickly, or at least i did, wanting to be able to have my eyes on her again. she throws an ‘okay?’ over her shoulder, which i only respond to my picking up my clothes and folding them neatly, moving to put them on top of her dresser. she busies her self with pulling back the comforters and sheets, fixing her many pillows.

settling into bed proves a little awkward at first, both of us laying side by side, not speaking, lamp still on. she moves first, turning the lamp off before settling back in, now on her side, facing me. opening my arms, i motion for her to move closer. she scoots into my side, head resting on my chest as my arm wraps around her at her shoulders, our legs wrap around each other.

“larissa?” i whisper out, she nods against my chest, “i really like you,” i say quietly, my free hand grabbing hers and playing with her fingers. i’m fully aware she can feel my heart beating quicker.

she squeezes my hand, “i really like you too.” she places a kiss to my clothed chest before resting her chin there. “can we get breakfast tomorrow?”

i laugh at her sudden change in conversation, “of course we can, we can go get my car and we’ll go wherever you want, and you can get whatever you like.”

“french toast from the diner on dawson street?” she bites her lip with a smile, and my own smile grows huge on my face. she’s so impossibly adorable, and i get to witness it.

“it’s a date,” i say, relishing in the excited look on her face. she stretches up and presses a long kiss to my lips, then a short one right after, then gets settled back on my chest.

once i hear her breathing even out, her grip on my shirt loosen, i finally allow myself to close my eyes. i thank my lucky stars for this moment. to be holding larissa, falling asleep in her bed, wearing her clothes. heaven has got nothing on this, nothing on her.

hope y’all like this one, i actually really loved writing this and how it turned out. all feedback is appreciated <3

[ronearoundblindly]

If deep sea mermaid is free in some way she dosent just leave. She liked meeting the team and loves steve .

The time they went in the deepest trench in the world (thanks to tonys tech that went smooth trials and they are able to go there) they are surprised of what they saw assides their intended mission to find the bad guys hiding there as they look around a familiar tail sways and this time it glows

Steve smiled and knew who it was and assured everyone its alright

Tony joked steve fucked a mermaid

Wanda hears someone then at the front part of the submarine there she is Tail swaying in joy while waving her hand as a "Hi!!!!" Tony shrugs " yep shes not hangry

Bucky is also facinated in a curious way "So this is why you took too long punk

Bruce simply stunded theres folks like here here

Nat straight to the point to her" anything suspicious?"

Y/n simply nod and beckons them to follow her with her eletric glowing tail for them to follow her direction there . Is a bad guy hiding here

a continuation of the Sun, Salt, And Shield miniverse. (Also, this ask is from October. I am so sorry it took me so long to get to!) Warnings for action/adventure, vague innuendo, bad jokes (from everyone), and mild language have you met me?. Lightly edited. WC 1.8k

Pairing: steve rogers x deep sea mermaid!reader

"Is that...is that a Segway?" Sam Wilson completely fails to hide his amusement as you test out Tony's motorized way to let you 'walk' on land.

"Heavily modified, but--" Tony takes the handle from you for a second to lower the max speed while you learn "--essentially, yeah."

It wasn't easy. In fact, the part they thought would be the hardest turned out to have a quick fix. You can only breathe outside of the water for so long, so Atlantian technology was formed to fit over your gills and mouth. Thanks, Namor.

Then Tony was faced with a wholly new problem. You live in the deep sea, naturally, under a great deal of pressure, and as a non-bipedal lifeform who maneuvers that fast underwater, outside of the water, you are made up of over 250 lbs of muscle. Most of that lies in your tail which they've witnessed crush a man's skull on impact.

That...should not make Steve feel the things he does. It really shouldn't.

He did always think he'd fall for a strong woman though. So. There's that.

You listen carefully to Tony's instructions, eyes shielded by enormous black sunglasses the billionaire obsessed over designing. He made you look like an old Hollywood movie star--albeit with vivid green hair and pale purple skin--and Steve wonders if the style was a purposeful jab at him.

"Right, the direction is pretty sensitive at the moment," Tony slowly explains to you. "You've got to really control your weight distribution so it doesn't overshoot your target."

That three-layer grin comes out in an instant, and you nod. No hesitation, barely a glance around, you start the contraption rolling, circling Sam, then Tony, then Steve with pinpoint precision, pausing in the middle of them all to cock your head.

"Coral reefs require sharp turns."

Tony stares at you, the nine-foot-long crown-to-fin specimen before him. It's clear he both adores and loathes how adept you are despite your wildly different backgrounds. You've grown on him. A lot. So much so that Tony has not made a fish-fucking joke in two whole weeks.

Steve won't chance calling attention to it though. The more he lets Tony delve into tech to keep you here longer and tech that allows humans to be where you live longer, the more Steve gets to see you. Win-win.

"Show off," Tony grumbles with deeply proud eyes. "Let's see what you can do then."

Steve himself has never gotten to go in one of the new Divers. Tony always insisted on manning the crafts himself until all the bugs were worked out. The first prototypes fit one person (one not-very-large-person) anyway, so it wasn't going to be Steve piloting one.

The new models can fit approximately six people comfortably.

While Namor's city has a bright source of light to help surface folk see, you and your people function without.

That means a mix of infrared, night-vision, and sonar are all the team can use to 'see' your home.

Unfortunately, they aren't here on a social visit. A mutant named Tiger Shark is rumored to be hiding within a few hundred nautical miles. It's imperative he be found.

As great as Tony's tech is, it's clunky and slow compared to how fast the mermaids can swim and search. You can also survive at greater depths than Atlantians while maintaining your speed. There's a boing-hollow tap above Steve's head and he snaps to look through the low-light adjusted glass.

You wave enthusiastically before pressing a webbed hand to the window.

"Hey, doll," Steve whispers automatically.

Tony groans. "Right. Grariel, we are looking for the man--uh, thing I sent you a picture of. Have any of your people seen him before? Do you know if he's been nearby?"

The pressed hand turns into one held-out finger as you look away from the Diver. There are bizarre noises that send the sonar haywire until Tony switches it off.

Your tail glows again, something Steve hasn't seen since the first time he met you in the Raft, scales lifting slightly to show bright pink bioluminescence.

And then magic.

As far as is possible to see in the Diver, lights of different sizes sprout up in shades of blue, pink, and purple. Your people. They're telling you what they know. It's the first time Steve considers you might be a leader of your own people, too. It's his turn to be proud like Tony who looks duly impressed.

Quickly, faster than it can register in the infrared scans, you're off like a shot, and Steve feels almost sick to his stomach trying to follow your deft swimming.

"Well, ok," Tony scrambles, "I guess we're doing this damn thing."

He pushes it, but the Diver cannot move anywhere near as fast as you can. Steve loses the light of your tail and stiffens, gripping a hand over Tony's shoulder.

"I got her. I got her, Cap." Tony flicks a few switches on the panel in front of him. "She's a good girl. Keeps her tracker on. We'll catch up."

It takes too long to get to you once your tracking signal stops advancing, but then Tony grimaces.

"Uh, slight problem. She's ascending."

"How is that an issue," Nat asks. "Can't we help her more in shallower water?"

"Based on her heart rate--"

"Just get us there," Steve booms, franticly searching the scans above them for signs of you. The water shines blue now, and they can see some light, but Tony has them at a pretty sharp angle to get higher.

"Found 'em. Right there."

Suspended in cerulean blue, it looks like you're dancing, swirling and circling with odd twists and turns. It's almost beautiful until--

Bucky croaks. "Is that blood?"

"WHAT? Tony--"

"Hold your horses. It's red," Tony dismisses.

"Yes, blood tends to be that color," Steve deadpans. "Now help--"

"Black," Tony chirps. "Your girlfriend's blood is black, for the record."

They progress closer, and then a much darker gush of blood floats in the liquid sky but remains mostly red. Tiger Shark is a transformed human, after all; his blood remains close to human.

"Yeah, that's about what it looked like when she ate Chuck..." He swivels in his seat. "Do you know, I still can't buy ground chuck? Almost put me off burgers. Feels so wrong."

"Focus, Tony."

Swift like a cheetah on land, you roll your tail around Tiger Shark's legs and squeeze, stretching out behind him to grab at the corners of his mouth and below the huge shark's jaw. It's as if you purposefully display your catch, sharp ends to your long webbed fingers digging at the mutant's thick flesh.

"Atta girl," Tony cheers.

You beam but aren't looking at them.

Something huge, big enough to shadow the Diver completely, whips over their heads.

Another mermaid.

Actually, a male, something which Steve has never seen before. He supposes he knew they existed, of course, but this guy is enormous. Possibly two feet longer than you with a body almost twice as wide.

He completely blocks their view of you for a few seconds.

"We got something to secure him with," Tony announces to your comm.

When the merman flicks his tale to move away, you sport your Hollywood shades with gusto. The male brought you your sunglasses, and suddenly, Steve's...more than curious.

The Diver ejects a grappling hook and you and the male lash the unconscious Tiger Shark to the top of the submersible.

You are hugging the new arrival, who keeps his head facing down away from the surface light. Whatever the conversation, which is completely incoherent noise to everyone in the Diver, it's very animated. The male is protective, holding your shoulders and looking at your wound with a very clear frown.

You bat the guy's concern away and motion toward the sub where four humans watch in confusion.

You touch the center of the male's chest.

"Fah-ther."

Steve swallows hard. That's your dad? Holy shit, he is in so much trouble. People tease him for looking like a Greek statue, but your father is like...is like...really freakin' buff.

Everyone in the Diver stares daggers at Steve, and he knows it. All the years he's been off the ice, all the time he's had to get used to women--well, females, let's say,--and he is not at all prepared to handle Merman Goliath as an in-law, or...uh...sorta...oh gosh.

He raises his hand because he doesn't have any other ideas. "Hi, I'm Steve."

Bucky snorts. "Oh, buddy. Wow."

Too many thoughts flood him at the same time, and Steve freezes in place.

Father? He looks no older than you. Wait. How old are you? Steve's never asked. How long do mermaids live? Do they ever age? Do they just keep getting bigger or is your dad, like, the biggest?

"Tony," Steve finally whispers, "do you...do you know from your research how...?"

Thank goodness Tony takes pity on poor, panicked Steve, not stalling to admit he has no clue what age you are.

You return to speaking (a mix of sounds with rippling shimmers of light along your tail), so you aren't paying attention when Steve bends down to add, "can you though? Can you carbon date her?"

He's heard about science on that. Steve knows it's a thing.

A strange sort of elation blooms on Stark's face, and he turns to Bucky and Nat.

"That counts," Tony yells. "That totally counts!"

"Shit," Bucky grumbles, running his vibranium hand down his face.

Natasha is, for once, genuinely stunned and looking back and forth between Tony and Steve. "I'll be damned," she murmurs.

Steve gives in. "What's happened?"

"You," Tony boasts, "just asked me for dating advice. You asked me specifically to assist you in dating someone, and thus I have won a very, very large bet."

Before Steve can bemoan that, another tap sounds above them. You point to the prize catch of the day.

"Help take in," you say, quickly turning to swim up to the lighter blue waters.

"I've got so much to teach you, Cap. Promise I'll be gentle. Maybe I can teach Grariel a little something about--"

"NO" comes the immediate and emphatic response of everyone else inside.

Tony simply shrugs.

"What a great day," he bubbles, humming as he takes the Diver to the surface right behind your beautiful, ageless tail.

Steve realizes he has so, so many things he wants to ask you about that he'd never thought of before, top on the list being "what have you told your father about me?"

A/N: Tiger Shark is a real Marvel character who I have included in other fics before. It was fun to use him again!

I do not have words to describe how enjoyable this was to write. I just want to torment poor Steve with awkwardness. I can't help it.

I...I may have figured out a way to incorporate...uh, some smut into this universe...but I don't know if that's a thing y'all would read. I'm gonna hold off on that.

[Main Masterlist]

[ikeromantic]

Motonari, secret, 🥹

Ah how I love this wild pirate man. Approx 1200 words of Motonari and not-so-well-kept secrets.

Motonari paced the deck of his docked ship, trying to work off his irritated mood before the chatelaine returned. Supposedly, she was off doing some sewing commission delivery but that wasn’t true. Or at least, it wasn’t the whole truth. Problem was, he didn’t know what she was hiding. And it was eating at him. 

This was the third time in as many weeks. He’d been tempted to send a crewman to watch her, but there was every chance she’d notice. And then what? She would be angry or sad or maybe both. Motonari didn’t have a great track record with relationships, especially not the romantic kind. He wasn’t sure what you were supposed to do when the person you loved the most started acting strange. Unreliable. 

If it was anyone else, he’d cut ties and leave. But the chatelaine wasn’t like anyone he ever met. She was sweet and kind, with a head full of flowery ideas and pretty words. He loved her so much it made his chest ache. So why this, why now? What was she doing in town that she didn’t want to tell him about? 

Annoyed with her, and annoyed with himself for feeling so helpless, he retreated to his cabin to cook. The familiar routine of chopping vegetables and preparing the fish calmed him down a little. Enough that when she walked in the door a little while later, he was able to smile. “I was wonderin’ if you were gonna make it home today.”

“You know I could never stay away.” She smiled at him as sweetly as ever. So much that he almost doubted what he knew. The chatelaine took a few steps toward him and then wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?”

“Smell?” Motonari looked around, and realized she must mean dinner. “I was makin’ fresh caught mackerel. Chopped up yer favorite -” He stopped talking as she rushed back up to the deck. 

When he caught up to her, she was taking deep breaths into the sea breeze, and looked a bit green around the gills. “You sick?”

“N-no. I just got queasy all of the sudden. It’s nothing.” She slipped an arm around his waist and leaned into him.

Motonari pulled her close and rested his chin atop her head. She was lying again. He could feel it. But he wasn’t sure what she was lying about. Was she sick and didn’t want to tell him? Images of her wasting away and dying flitted through his mind like a grim portent. No, it was probably something else. Lying did all kinds of things to a person’s health. 

“Sorry I was so late getting back today. My clients always want to talk when I deliver their garments.” She sighed tiredly. 

“Maybe ya should take a break from going in to town. Leave off the work for a bit, savvy?” 

She laughed. “I probably should but I really can’t. Not yet.”

Motonari frowned. “Yet?”

“Well . . . I mean . . . one day I guess? Who knows, right?” She waved her hand as if dismissing it.

“I could make ya take a break. Sail off from the dock and keep ya with me till yer rested.” He meant it as a joke, mostly. Part of him was tempted to do just that though. He’d have her all to himself, and plenty of time to learn her secret too.

She gasped and looked up at him, her expression horrified. “You can’t! I have to go to town!”

“Oh?” He raised a brow. “Why’s that? Yer clients can’t wait a bit for their clothes?”

“Y-yeah. Exactly.” 

Her quick agreement only made him more suspicious. Motonari studied her face intently. He decided he was tired of playing this guessing game, trying to tease out what she hid. “I know yer lying, princess. Now clear the flowers outta yer head and tell me what’s going on? Ya keep visiting town every week, staying til late. Coming back and looking all green at yer gills. Are ya seeing someone? Tell me the truth.” He heard his voice tremble at the end, but he made the words come out anyhow.

“N-no.”

“Stop lying to me. I’m the damn Lord of Deceit. Ya think I can’t see right through it?” He took her chin in his hand. “Who is it yer seeing?”

She pulled away from him and turned her gaze to the sea. “I’m seeing a doctor in town.”

“Yer sick?” He took a step closer but she moved back. 

“No.”

That felt true, so - “Yer . . . dating a doctor?” Motonari felt his heart freeze. The one person he’d believed would never betray him . . . his chest felt too tight, his throat closed to breath. Like he was drowning, crushed by the waves. 

The chatelaine’s eyes went wide. “Dating?” She started to laugh. “Dating? Holy cats! Motonari! No! Oh my god. That’s your - that’s your first thought?” 

“Yeah?” He felt the tension in him release just a hair. “So what then?”

She took a deep breath, looking conflicted. “I - I wasn’t going to say anything yet. I wanted to be sure things were . . . far enough along.” Her gaze found his and held it, her expression so gentle and vulnerable that he could not look away even if he wanted to. 

“Motonari,” she said his name with love and he felt his breath return. “I’m pregnant. We’re pregnant.”

He felt like someone shot him. His chest, tight only a breath ago, was suddenly hollowed out. Her face looked as if she watched him from the top of a deep well, and he was at the bottom, hearing just the echoes of her words.

“Motonari! Oh! Oh no! Are you ok?” 

He realized he’d fallen to his knees and his cheeks were wet. Was it raining? No - no he could see the sunset and the hint of stars in the east. “I’m - I’m gonna be a dad?” Even his own voice sounded far away.

“Yes.” She knelt beside him and wiped at his tears with her sleeve. “Are you even a - a little happy?” 

Motonari’s world snapped into focus with terrifying alacrity. One moment, he was looking at her from a distance and then there she was, a handspan from him and looking so frightened and alone that he couldn’t bear it. “Happy? I’m over the moon, princess! Ya got so many petals in yer eyes that ya can’t see I’m dyin’ of happiness over here?”

He pulled her into a tight hug and pressed kisses to her cheeks. “Can’t believe ya kept it secret! I oughta be mad at ya. Crazy girl.” 

She laughed and clung tightly to him. “At first, I wasn’t sure if I really was. And then . . . you know, I wanted to be sure the baby was ok.”

“Is it? Are you?” Time stopped until she replied. 

“The doctor says we’re fine. And the midwife thinks so too.” She smiled.

Motonari kissed her. “Ya better not keep secrets from me again,” he whispered. “You’ll kill me with surprises like this. Trust me next time?”

She nodded. “I will. I was just afraid you - you might not want to have kids.” “Pffft. O’ course I do.” He squeezed her tighter. It was a little frightening to think about everything that went into becoming a father. Motonari wasn’t at all sure he was up to the task, but he was up to try with her at his side. He wanted to say something romantic and reassuring, but the only words that would come were I love you, said over and over again between kisses.