#eel... with feet...

[lexicals]

I put a rune on keo's armour a few weeks ago that I got to use tonight which is hilarious to activate bc whenever anything tries to grapple me I get to go NO. I AM THE GRAPPLER HERE. 1 MILLION SPIKES ATTACK. And if I hit (very likely with a +17 at this level) they take 2d6+6 damage. And that's not even the best part bc when the way the armour deals this damage is by making an attack roll that means MY ARMOUR CAN CRIT ATTACK YOU FOR 4D6+12 DAMAGE IF YOU TRY TO FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT. AND IT DID

[reasonsforhope]

Although dam removals have been happening since 1912, the vast majority have occurred since the mid-2010s, and they have picked up steam since the 2021 Bipartisan Infrastructure Law, which provided funding for such projects. To date, 806 Northeastern dams have come down, with hundreds more in the pipeline. Across the country, 2023 was a watershed year, with a total of 80 dam removals. Says Andrew Fisk, Northeast regional director of the nonprofit American Rivers, “The increasing intensity and frequency of storm events, and the dramatically reduced sizes of our migratory fish populations, are accelerating our efforts.”

Dam removals in the Northeast don’t generate the same media attention as massive takedowns on West Coast rivers, like the Klamath or the Elwha. That’s because most of these structures are comparatively miniscule, built in the 19th century to form ponds and to power grist, textile, paper, saw, and other types of mills as the region developed into an industrial powerhouse.

But as mills became defunct, their dams remained. They may be small to humans, but to the fish that can’t get past them “they’re just as big as a Klamath River dam,” says Maddie Feaster, habitat restoration project manager for the environmental organization Riverkeeper, based in Ossining, New York. From Maryland and Pennsylvania up to Maine, there are 31,213 inventoried dams, more than 4,000 of which sit within the 13,400-square-mile Hudson River watershed alone. For generations they’ve degraded habitat and altered downstream hydrology and sediment flows, creating warm, stagnant, low-oxygen pools that trigger algal blooms and favor invasive species. The dams inhibit fish passage, too, which is why the biologists at the mouth of the Saw Kill transported their glass eels past the first of three Saw Kill dams after counting them...

Jeremy Dietrich, an aquatic ecologist at the New York State Water Resources Institute, monitors dam sites both pre- and post-removal. Environments upstream of an intact dam, he explains, “are dominated by midges, aquatic worms, small crustaceans, organisms you typically might find in a pond.” In 2017 and 2018 assessments of recent Hudson River dam removals, some of which also included riverbank restorations to further enhance habitat for native species, he found improved water quality and more populous communities of beetles, mayflies, and caddisflies, which are “more sensitive to environmental perturbation, and thus used as bioindicators,” he says. “You have this big polarity of ecological conditions, because the barrier has severed the natural connectivity of the system. [After removal], we generally see streams recover to a point where we didn’t even know there was a dam there.”

Pictured: Quassaick Creek flows freely after the removal of the Strooks Felt Dam, Newburgh, New York.

American Rivers estimates that 85 percent of U.S. dams are unnecessary at best and pose risks to public safety at worst, should they collapse and flood downstream communities. The nonprofit has been involved with roughly 1,000 removals across the country, 38 of them since 2018. This effort was boosted by $800 million from the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law. But states will likely need to contribute more of their own funding should the Trump administration claw back unspent money, and organizations involved in dam removal are now scrambling to assess the potential impact to their work.

Enthusiasm for such projects is on the upswing among some dam owners — whether states, municipalities, or private landholders. Pennsylvania alone has taken out more than 390 dams since 1912 — 107 of them between 2015 and 2023 — none higher than 16 feet high. “Individual property owners [say] I own a dam, and my insurance company is telling me I have a liability,” says Fisk. Dams in disrepair may release toxic sediments that potentially threaten both human health and wildlife, and low-head dams, over which water flows continuously, churn up recirculating currents that trap and drown 50 people a year in the U.S.

Numerous studies show that dam removals improve aquatic fish passage, water quality, watershed resilience, and habitat for organisms up the food chain, from insects to otters and eagles. But removals aren’t straightforward. Federal grants, from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration or the Fish and Wildlife Service, favor projects that benefit federally listed species and many river miles. But even the smallest, simplest projects range in cost from $100,000 to $3 million. To qualify for a grant, be it federal or state, an application “has to score well,” says Scott Cuppett, who leads the watershed team at the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation’s Hudson River Estuary Program, which collaborates with nonprofits like Riverkeeper to connect dam owners to technical assistance and money...

All this can be overwhelming for dam owners, which is why stakeholders hope additional research will help loosen up some of the requirements. In 2020, Yellen released a study in which he simulated the removal of the 1,702 dams in the lower Hudson watershed, attempting to determine how much sediment might be released if they came down. He found that “the vast majority of dams don’t really trap much sediment,” he says. That’s good news, since it means sediment released into the Hudson will neither permanently worsen water quality nor build up in places that would smother or otherwise harm underwater vegetation. And it shows that “you would not need to invest a huge amount of time or effort into a [costly] sediment management plan,” Yellen says. It’s “a day’s worth of excavator work to remove some concrete and rock, instead of months of trucking away sand and fill.” ...

On a sunny winter afternoon, Feaster, of Riverkeeper, stands in thick mud beside Quassaick Creek in Newburgh, New York. The Strooks Felt Dam, the first of seven municipally owned dams on the lower reaches of this 18-mile tributary, was demolished with state money in 2020. The second dam, called Holden, is slated to come down in late 2025. Feaster is showing a visitor the third, the Walsh Road Dam, whose removal has yet to be funded. “This was built into a floodplain,” she says, “and when it rains the dam overflows to flood a housing complex just around a bend in the creek.” ...

On the Quassaick, improvements are evident since the Strooks dam came out. American eel and juvenile blue crabs have already moved in. In fact, fish returns can sometimes be observed within minutes of opening a passageway. Says Schmidt, “We’ve had dammed rivers where you’ve been removing the project and when the last piece comes out a fish immediately storms past it.”

There is palpable impatience among environmentalists and dam owners to get even more removals going in the Northeast. To that end, collaborators are working to streamline the process. The Fish and Wildlife Service, for example, has formed an interagency fish passage task force with other federal agencies, including NOAA and FEMA, that have their own interests in dam removals. American Rivers is working with regional partners to develop priority lists of dams whose removals would provide the greatest environmental and safety benefits and open up the most river miles to the most important species. “We’re not going to remove all dams,” [Note: mostly for reasons dealing with invasive species management, etc.] says Schmidt. “But we can be really thoughtful and impactful with the ones that we do choose to remove.”

-via Yale Environment 360, February 4, 2025

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - i.

selkie!soap x reader. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

When your mother asks you if you’re planning to kill yourself, you have to lie to her.

To be fair to you, it’s a half-lie. You have no plans. Courage, you find, is as slippery as an eel in gloved palms—you don’t actually think you could do it if you tried. You’re deeply averse to pain of the bloody sort, and doing the deed would take a will and an energy you don’t really have.

But still. You’ve stopped looking both ways when crossing a street. You forget the stove is on, hot oil in the pan popping like the report of a handgun. The sound of shattering glass is the only thing that makes your heart sit calm in your chest, and the only thing that can make you fall asleep anymore is the notion that when you die, the earth will welcome the molecules of your body back into its folds.

So a half-lie is not the truth. You sit in the terminal, the afternoon smell of airport coffee in your nose as you swear to your mother that you’re not looking for a cliff to jump off of, or a convenient wave to pull you under. You’ve always wanted to visit Scotland, remember?

You can’t tell if she believes you. Probably not. People not planning to kill themselves don’t blow their savings on a first class ticket over the Atlantic with no scheduled return flight.

Especially not after quitting their job.

The flight over the Atlantic is uneventful. Quiet as money can buy. You sip champagne at your window seat, recline as far back as you can go, and watch the ocean, far, far below. Its depths exceed, you remember, the heights at which humanity can fly—but you can’t really tell, looking at it from so far above. It looks like nothing less than a thin veneer stretched overtop the crust of the earth. A puddle that could barely cover the soles of your feet.

There’s not a single murmur of turbulence across the fifteen hours you’re in the air. Much that you might’ve welcomed it.

Your connecting trip to the Hebrides is much shorter. The massive sprawl of Glasgow shrinks and recedes as you leave it behind, replaced not long after by a spit of an island chain that, from a distance, hardly looks worth populating.

You land on Barra, on a sandy stretch of beach still wet and compact from the receding tide. There’s a cottage here with your name on the rental agreement for the next month, and your mind is already there ahead of you, thinking about arranging your toothbrush and toothpaste on the bathroom counter and sitting and listening to nothing but cold island wind in the grass. The cottage’s owner has graciously agreed to drive you there.

When you step off the plane, you miss him at first. You’re expecting someone completely different—an older man in cable knit, perhaps more mustache than face, and the morose demeanor of someone for whom sunlight is as common on the island as veins of gold. So your eyes skip over the younger man, even despite the sign he’s holding with your name on it.

But then you look again. Because with a man like him, you can’t not look again.

He’s wearing a sweater, sure. But he also looks like a rugby team maverick—burly and tall, rugged, tattooed, flaunting a dumb haircut because he’s handsome enough to get away with it.

He stands out from the few people in the airport as if the whole world has adjusted its lens to bring him into focus, sharpening his image such that anything in his periphery is too blurry to notice. He does not in the slightest look like he rents out an old fisher’s croft in the least popular place in Scotland.

But then you catch your name. Do a double take. Clutch your suitcase handle a little tighter, because when you approach, the man’s eyes widen, look you up and down, and then crease with a too-confident smile.

“Bonnie!” he exclaims when you introduce yourself. He has a deep, rough voice, burred and low. More still, he’s kilted, plaid hanging at muscular knees, with an odd speckled pelt slung around his hips.

You’ve never seen that before—maybe it’s an islander thing.

“You must be Mr. John MacTavish,” you say. Up close, there’s a weathered look to him, as if buffeted by the salt in the wind.

“Johnny’s fine,” he says, winking. His eyes are a lively, vibrant blue. The color of the ocean in some place much nicer than this one. “Welcome to Scotland!”

Then, incredibly, “Johnny” pulls you into a hug before you even realize what’s happening, brawny arms closing around you like the noose of a snare. You go rigid—what the hell?—but this man, whom you have met only just now, doesn’t seem to notice, compressing you against the blazing pillar of his body in an embrace that flattens your lungs behind your ribs.

“Um,” you manage. He smells like axe body spray and diesel fuel, and cold ocean wind. It wipes the forefront of your mind blank, like sweeping an arm across drawings etched in sand.

After at least five whiplashed beats of your heart, Johnny pats your back several times and lets you go, grinning.

“Sorry, bonnie. Scots are huggers.”

Then without warning, he reaches for the handle of your suitcase, warm hand nudging aside your own. “Let’s get you down there ‘fore the tide comes in. Canny wait t’show you the place, I fixed it up m’self.”

You let him take your luggage and follow; he sets off at an energetic clip that you struggle to keep up with. He gestures with his free hand as he talks, motions rising and falling with the tenor of his voice.

“You know you’re m’first guest? Was startin’ to wonder if I was gonna have to sell the place, no one seemed all that interested. Guess I can see why, no internet, barely any signal. Me, I think that’s a good thing, people spend too much time on their phones, y’know?”

You make a noncommittal noise.

Were you this cold before he let go of you?

“But it’s a great little place to get away, I promise you, nice and quiet, and I updated everything m’self. Radiator in the bedroom and everything!”

Another noise from you.

Thankfully, you reach his car—a small truck, older than the both of you, with only one row of seats and what looks like large spools of rope in the bed. Johnny pauses briefly to secure your suitcase beside them with a couple of bungee cords, and then opens the passenger side door for you to get in.

“It’s not too far from town too,” he continues as he slides into the driver’s seat. You attach your seat belt. He does not. “You got your essentials there. A supermarket—think you call ‘em grocery stores? There’s that and a cafe and a pub. No bank though, so let’s get cash now if you need it.”

“I have some.” You’d exchanged for a few hundred pounds in Glasgow.

“Good! You want to stop by the store? Took the liberty of filling up the fridge too, but if there’s somethin’ you want—”

“No,” you say.

“Alrigh,’” says Johnny.

You feel his eyes on you—when you look at him, he’s smiling again. You are not pleased to find, through the benefit of close proximity, that he has dimples.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothin,’” he says.

Johnny drives you across the causeway from Barra to Vatersay, the latter of which, he helpfully informs you, is populated by less than a hundred people.

“More wildlife than anything,” he comments, as the ocean outside the window passes by. The water is dull and gray, hidden from the sun by an overcast sky. “That’s what the tourists come for. You here to see the seals?”

“Seals?” you ask.

“Aye,” Johnny says, grinning. “They come here for breeding season.”

You ignore the quirk of his eyebrows.

The cottage stands alone, a ways out from the island’s main village at the top of a modest hillock. Island grasses sway along the dirt road as Johnny directs the truck upwards, coming to a stop a few meters away from the house proper.

It’s quaint. Thatch roof, cobbled walls. A generator hooked up on one side. There are flower boxes flanking the front door, although nothing’s in bloom; it’s the wrong season for it. The window frames are unpainted, and the glass panes, despite looking recently cleaned, are crusted with salt at the corners.

And it’s smaller than it looked in the pictures online. Even close up to it, the blue-grey sky overhead, swimming with dun-colored clouds, swallows it up.

You exit the truck into a cold breeze that tugs at the collar of your fleecy sweater. You’d read online that this time of year was the last gasp of summer into the autumn months in the Hebrides—it hardly feels that way, with the chill that drags its fingers across your hairline.

“It’s on a septic tank so y’ve got alright plumbing,” Johnny goes on, hefting your suitcase over one brawny shoulder. “Canny say much for the water pressure in the shower, but other than tha’ it’s alright. Matters more that it’s hot, ‘f you ask me—and it is! Come on, I’ll give y’the tour.”

The cottage is not big enough to warrant one. Johnny shows you the four rooms—kitchen, sitting room, bathroom, and bedroom—in under five minutes. It ends with him leaned up against the counter, arms folded genially across his plush chest, grinning at you like he knows some embarrassing secret of yours.

“Was thinkin,’” he says, scratching the stubble on his jaw with one thumbnail, “this’d be kind of a honeymoon thing, y’know? That woman with the time travel show, lots a’folks been comin’ here lately ‘cause a’her.”

“Is there anything else to do here besides look at seals?” you ask.

Soap gazes at you through half-lidded eyes, smirking. “I dinnae think you leave the bedroom much on a honeymoon, do you?”

You flush. “I never really thought about it.”

“So you’re no’ married, then?”

“No. Not—not interested.”

Johnny lifts one brow. “In marriage?”

“In anything.”

He keeps fucking smiling. You have a barely controllable urge to smack him; you settle for wringing the hem of your sweater, imagining it could be his neck.

“So what brings y’here, then?” he asks, tilting his head like a cat playing with its food. “If no’ a honeymoon?”

You frown.

The truth is, of course, that nothing brought you here. Vatersay, nor the Hebrides, nor Scotland itself were actually of any consequence. You’re ambivalent about the ocean, and you certainly don’t care about seals.

You just hadn’t been able to think of anything you wanted when you asked yourself that perennial question. You wanted nothing.

You wanted nothing.

So you found as much nothing as you could and bought the soonest first class ticket heading toward it.

Your only stipulation had been no language barrier—so here you are now, cursing the lack of such, because it means this man, who belongs on this island no more than you do, is bothering to try and talk to you.

“Just wanted some peace and quiet,” is what you decide to say.

“Needed a change, aye?” Johnny nods sagely, as if understanding. “I did too, when I came here. Was in the army. Special forces.”

“O-okay,” you say, because you hadn’t asked.

“Didnae plan to stay,” he continues.

He turns his head to look out the kitchen window; on one temple is the ghost of a scar. A starburst-ripple in the shaved side of his dark hair—nothing more.

But something about it suggests that the wound it closed around was a horror to behold.

Then he turns back to you, the corners of his mouth quirked. “But somethin’ about this place is hard to leave.” The quirk turns into another smarmy grin “Bet when your month’s up, you’ll know what I mean.”

It seems rude to say probably not. “Maybe.”

The radiator in the kitchen breathes a swell of warm air through the room, blooming with Johnny’s diesel-and-ocean scent. There’s very little space between you, him against the counter, you across from him at the sink. Johnny’s bulk claims what little room there is to maneuver, and if you tried to move away, it would require first moving closer.

“So,” you begin.

“Here,” he intercedes. “Wanna show you somethin.’”

The only reason you comply is because he leads you outside, which is a step closer to him finally leaving you alone. Johnny circles around the cottage, revealing a footpath that leads down the hill. The ground transitions from soil to sand as you both walk; the wind picks up as the sound of waves grows. Eventually you reach what turns out to be a small cove, hidden by the curve of the island, flanked on both sides by cliffs of only middling height.

The tide is only now making its way in; probably why you hadn’t realized it was here earlier. You think you’ll be able to hear the waves when you go to sleep tonight.

“Oh,” you say, unable to hide that it’s impressed you.

“Yeah,” Johnny replies, smug. “All yours. Come down whenever you like. Dinna recommend skinny dippin’ this time a’year, though.”

You look at him, intending some sort of flat response, but what you see stops your words up in the chamber of your throat.

There’s something…different about him. There’s a sharp glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A dangerous cant to the angle of his grin. He suddenly feels very real to you—

Like standing in front of a wild animal.

Realizing, at the same time it does, that there is no barrier between it and you.

He looks you up and down. He doesn’t even try to hide it; too-blue eyes jaunt from yours down to your throat, the span of your shoulders, lingering on your chest before drifting down your stomach and hips. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, shoulders lifting as his chest expands, and you get the strange sense that he’s trying to smell you.

The ice that slithers through your veins, drips down the rigid column of your spine, wars with the spike of heat that breaks across your face. You feel here. You feel very present, your heart pumping wet in your chest, electrical wisps zipping to every nerve ending and back up your cerebellum to remind your brain of every part of your existing body.

Suddenly you are in Scotland, thousands of miles away from home, freezing fucking cold, only half of all the money you have in the world left in your bank account. Tomorrow stretching out in front of you. The next day after it.

Panic, which you thought buried, turns over in your belly, grave-dirt too light to keep it down. Hard earth is beneath your feet. A light drizzle is starting overhead. You begin to shiver, your nervous system’s effort to warm your hairless mammal body up, to save you from the cold and the wet and the fucking predator standing two paces away from you while gazing at you like it can’t wait to break your bones open for the marrow inside.

“Okay,” you finally snap, though you’re unable to keep your voice from quivering. “I really appreciate you driving me, Johnny, but—”

His eyes flash. The ocean-depths of them shift with an awareness beyond your ken, the dark edges deepening, the vivid blue swirling. The expression on his face transmutes into something unknowable—like the difference between the look on a pet dog’s face and a wolf’s.

Something isn’t there that should be, and what is in its place is entirely unfamiliar.

What is in its place is something your species evolved long past being able to understand.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the flash is gone. Johnny is human again, as if he had always been in the first place. The thin crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes crinkle, as he gives you what he probably thinks is a sympathetic smile.

He doesn’t seem able, or perhaps willing to hide how amused he is, though.

“Long flight, I know,” he croons, meeting your gaze again. “Dinna worry, bonnie, I’ll let you get your rest.”

Whatever you were about to say dies. Your mouth hangs open. Johnny backs away from you, hands casually in his pockets.

“I’ll take you to see the seals tomorrow!” he calls to you before he turns away. A sudden gust ruffles the pelt hanging around his hips. “I know all the best spots.”

He throws you a casual wave, and then disappears over the rise.

You do hear the waves that evening, when you lay down to sleep. The covers are soft over you, cozy and warm even as the ocean wind hums outside.

You can’t stop shivering.

next

a/n: last fic of the year (probably)! i'm so into this one tbh. i figured out the ending a while ago and i'm so dang excited to get to it.

[solxamber]

Match Made in Madness - Floyd Leech x reader

Soulmates get updates of each other's lives through an overly enthusiastic dream narrator. What's worse is that your soulmate seems to be completely unhinged.

It all starts on another one of those nights—the weird dream where your soulmate’s day is narrated to you in the most ridiculous fashion imaginable. No names, no faces, just an over-the-top, enthusiastic narrator who acts like they’re introducing a daytime soap.

"Good evening, soulmate! Ready for another wild day? Well, buckle up, because your beloved got into a fight with a vending machine!"

You groan in your sleep, already bracing for what’s next. The narrator continues with gleeful energy:

"After losing said battle, your soulmate kicked the machine and declared, ‘I’ll have the last laugh, metal box!’ Later in the day, they spent 45 minutes trying to convince a bird to become their personal spy. Spoiler alert: the bird didn’t agree, but they’re not giving up anytime soon!"

When you wake up, you rub your eyes and mutter, "What the hell is my soulmate doing?" Clearly, the universe decided to match you with an absolute madman, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ll even survive meeting them.

The dreams continue for weeks, and the updates get progressively weirder. Whoever this person is, they have the chaotic energy of a tornado in a convenience store. One night, you get this gem:

"Exciting news! Today, your soulmate tried to see if they could juggle three eels at once. Spoiler: they couldn’t, but they did manage to send one flying into a professor’s lunch. Next on the agenda, they challenged the ocean to a race. The ocean won."

You’re so used to these bizarre updates by now that you don’t even flinch. Instead, you’re beginning to wonder why the universe thinks it’s funny to torture you with someone who clearly doesn’t have a firm grasp on reality.

And then one night, the narrator drops a bombshell:

"Your soulmate spent the entire afternoon wondering if there’s any way they could convince their twin brother to switch places with them on a date— Oh wait, forget I said that! That one’s classified!*"

What? Now, you’re officially on edge. Not only do they have a twin, but they’ve been thinking about dating? This is spiraling out of control.

You’re sitting at the Mostro Lounge, thinking about the increasingly unhinged dreams when you spot Floyd Leech across the room. Normally, you’d ignore him because, well, Floyd has a reputation, and it’s not exactly “outstanding member of society.”

But today, something feels off. You’ve heard a few things—people say he’s chaotic, unpredictable, and obsessed with “playing” with his victims. And suddenly, you can’t stop thinking about the dream where your soulmate tried to juggle eels.

Floyd catches your eye, and before you can look away, he’s making a beeline for your table. Oh no. Please no.

“Hey, Shrimpy,” he says with his usual, lazy grin, flopping down in the seat next to you like he owns the place. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Close enough.

You swallow hard. “Uh… just thinking.”

“Thinking, huh?” Floyd leans in, uncomfortably close. “What about?”

How are you supposed to say, I think you’re my soulmate, but I’m also convinced you’re a lunatic? Instead, you nervously laugh. “Oh, nothing. Just… dreams.”

“Dreams, huh?” Floyd’s eyes narrow, but he looks more interested than suspicious. “Like… those ones where some random guy is juggling eels?”

Your blood runs cold.

“Wait—how did you know about the eels?”

Floyd’s grin widens. “Oh? So it is you! I knew it!” He laughs, leaning back with a satisfied look, like he’s just solved the greatest mystery of his life. “Shrimpy, you’re hilarious! I’ve been having those dreams about you, too. You’re always doing weird stuff, like… rescuing ducks or tripping over your own feet.”

Your heart races. “Wait, so—you're my soulmate?”

“Duh,” Floyd says, rolling his eyes like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The universe has a sense of humor, doesn’t it?”

At first, you’re convinced this is a prank, a cruel joke. But the more you talk to Floyd, the more everything starts to click into place. He’s chaotic, sure. Completely unpredictable? Absolutely. But he’s also the same person who, according to your dreams, once wondered if seaweed could be used as a fashion statement. He’s also the guy who—oh right—challenged the ocean to a race.

And now that you’ve met him, you realize one important detail: he’s perfect.

Well, perfect in the most unhinged way possible.

A week later, you find yourself in an increasingly ridiculous situation—Floyd has somehow convinced you to help him “steal” a giant fish from the campus pond.

“Why are we doing this again?” you ask, holding the bucket as he dives headfirst into the water.

“Because,” Floyd says between splashes, “the fish looks like he’s having a bad day, so we’re gonna give him a makeover.”

You stare blankly at the pond. “You want to makeover a fish.”

Floyd pops back up, water dripping from his hair, with a grin that could melt glaciers. “Yeah! Why not?”

You don’t have a good answer for that, so you just shrug. This is my life now.

That night, you’re lying in bed, starting to doze off, when the dream narrator pops up again:

"Good evening, soulmate! Today, your other half tried to give a fish a new look. It didn’t work, but they still had fun! Also, they’ve been thinking about holding your hand."

You wake up with a groan, rubbing your face in disbelief. Of course, Floyd would think about something like that in the middle of a fish-stealing escapade. But there’s something undeniably sweet about it, too.

The next day, Floyd grabs your hand without warning as you’re walking through campus. “I had a dream about this,” he says casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You smile, squeezing his hand back. “So did I.”

Maybe the universe isn’t such a prankster after all.

Masterlist

[wafflefries13]

Blood in the Water (Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You get your period and Floyd is confused.

AN: Gonna be honest, this is mostly for me. I'm having the absolute worst cramps and writing this is mostly cathartic. I need a good comfort fic every once and a while. Thanks for reading!

Cross posted on my AO3 TheGhostIsTheKitchen

Warnings: AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, menstruation, cramps, nausea, brief mention of assault but no actual assault, can be read as romantic or platonic

There was a familiar twist in (Y/N)’s gut and she groaned. Putting a hand to her stomach, she leaned against the wall in the library, sinking down between the bookstacks as her head went dizzy and a knot of pain grew in her belly. 

When her period had started this morning, two days late, she’d felt mostly fine. Sure maybe a little bloated and sluggish but that was par for the course. For a minute she’d been able to fool herself into thinking this would be one of those easy periods. It would last a few days without the plummeting change in emotions, the barbed wire cramps in her lower stomach, and every inch of skin feeling way too sensitive. Now that seemed like wishful thinking. 

The first time she got her period here she desperately looked through the stacks of pain medication at Sam’s, wrestling with the unfamiliar brands to try and decipher which were good for period pains and which might make it worse. Thankfully, a trans Scarabia student had seen her struggling, pointing out which products they used. Sam had thrown in a free heating pad shaped like a huge dumpling. She’d almost cried. 

She wished she had that heating pad now. She closed her eyes, thunking her forehead on her knees as she curled up. This was supposed to be a free study period, but she now suspected she’d spend the whole hour hiding in the library, afraid to move for fear of agitating the growing bundle of pain in her abdomen. She took a deep breath through her nose, exhaling through her mouth. 

(Y/N) sensed the presence before she saw him. Months of being startled by Lilia or Chenya breaking onto campus had sharpened her skills in being ready for surprise attacks. She cracked open an eye, catching the fleeting glimpse of teal colored hair ducking behind a stack. She pressed her lips together. She normally loved having Floyd around. She appreciated his vibrant, if not volatile, personality, how surprisingly talented he was in domestic tasks like cooking. Jade had once mentioned that (Y/N) was able to sense Floyd’s mood swings with almost as much accuracy as his own brother, anticipating the shift and adjusting accordingly. And, to be honest, she loved how he would squeeze the life out of her at any given chance. But right now, when she was fighting a wave of nausea? Now was not the time. 

She watched from the corner of her eye as Floyd stalked through the stacks, more like a shark than an eel. When she saw him ready to pounce, muscles tensing, ready to strike, she quickly held out her hand in a ‘stop’ motion, cutting him off mere inches from his arms enveloping her. 

“Floyd,” She said, exhaustion seeping into her voice. “If you squeeze me right now I’ll throw up on you. That’s not a threat, it’s just what will happen.” 

Floyd pouted, his posture deflating. “Boo,” He said. He blinked, just now taking in (Y/N)’s curled in form. “You okay, Shrimpy?” 

(Y/N) chuckled mirthlessly. “All my insides want to be my outsides, but other than that I’m good.” 

Floyd blinked, wide eyed, mouth dropping open in alarm. His features almost immediately switched to steely anger. “Who hurt you?” 

If (Y/N) wasn’t so preoccupied by the lethargy pulling her body down, she might have found his protectiveness cute. “Just Mother Nature, Floyd. And I don’t think even you have much of a chance against her.” At his puzzled expression, she added, “I’m on my period.” 

“Oh.” He stood there for a moment, long limbs awkward now that he couldn’t use them for violence. He shifted on his feet before collapsing down to sit next to (Y/N). He tapped his feet, trying to dispel ounces of his endless energy. “So, your period?” 

(Y/N) hummed in response. “Yeah. It’s a few days late, but it’s here. At least I’m not pregnant, right?” 

Floyd jumped, eyes wide. “Pregnant?” He asked, voice cracking. “You have a boyfriend?” 

(Y/N) scoffed, waving him off. “God, no. It’s enough juggling everything else that’s happening here without worrying about a relationship.” 

“Then,” Floyd thought for a second, eyebrows furrowing in anger. “Is somebody hurting you?” 

(Y/N) looked up at him, just now noticing his angry confused face. “Hurting me? No, I’m not - Oh, wait, no! Not like that, no! I’d tell someone if anything like that happened, I promise.” 

“So you’re just seeing someone?” He almost looked hurt with his pout. 

“No, I’m not, casually or anything serious.” 

“But you thought you might be pregnant?” 

“Every girl thinks they might be pregnant when their period is late, even if they’ve never had sex before.”

“When your period is late,” Floyd repeated. 

“Yeah, it’s universal. Ask any girl. Or a person with a uterus. You know what I mean.” 

It was quiet again, Floyd tapping his feet more aggressively this time. Just when (Y/N) was about to ask him to stop, that the tapping sound was adding to her hammering headache, Floyd asked, “What’s a period?” 

(Y/N) turned her head from her knees to look up at him, and, realizing he was serious for once, jerked straight up. “Wait, really? You never heard your mom talking about it? Or any girls you know?” 

Floyd shrugged, looking away and rubbing the back of his head. “I’ve never heard mer-girls say anything about it. And you’re really the only human girl I know.” 

(Y/N) had momentarily forgotten that her and Floyd’s biology was far more different beyond physical sex. Now that she thought about it, it would make sense if mermaids didn’t have periods, right? She found it hard to believe that Floyd could be willfully ignorant of something that affected half the human population, (come to think of it, did beast women have periods? Or fairies?) but if he didn’t have extended contact with humans who suffered monthly, his confusion and concern would make sense. 

“Oh,” (Y/N) said, feeling herself blush. “I didn’t think - yeah, no, I’m fine. This is normal. It sucks and hurts, but it’s normal, I promise.” 

“It’s normal to hurt without getting hit or something?”

“Yup. Totally normal. Did you… want me to explain it to you?” 

Floyd cocked his head, peering at her. “Well, if it’s important to Shrimpy then it’s important to me, right?” 

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and said. “Yeah, sure. Okay, human biology 101.” (Y/N) held out her fist, pinkie and thumb extended. “Okay, so biological females have an organ called a uterus, down in the lower abdomen right above the pelvis. Branching out from the uterus are fallopian tubes connected to ovaries on either side.” She wiggled her pinkie and thumb to demonstrate. “The ovaries have eggs, not like chicken eggs or fish eggs. It’s a cell, like a skin cell or blood cell or something. During the month, the uterus builds up this cushioning of blood and tissue and an egg gets sent down from the ovary. If the egg isn’t fertilized by a sperm cell to make a baby, then the body needs to get rid of that tissue. So the uterus contracts,” (Y/N) opened and closed her fist to demonstrate. “And pushes all that out through, uh, the vagina. You basically bleed for three to seven days down there, depending on the person.” 

“You’re bleeding?” Floyd said in shocked horror. His eyes darted down to (Y/N)’s lap before quickly cutting back up. 

“Yup. Mine usually last four to five days.” 

“And you’re bleeding the whole time?” (Y/N) nodded. “Wow, you’d be calling every shark from miles around in the ocean.” 

(Y/N) smirked. “Then I guess it’s a good thing mermaids don’t have periods.” 

“So how do you, like, stop it? Are you bleeding right now?” 

“Pad or tampons, mostly. I know some people who use a cup but I’ve never tried one.” At his blank look, she continued. “Pads are like a flat piece of cotton. One side is sticky so it stays on your underwear. Tampons are cotton cylinders you wear internally. So if I did want to go swim in the ocean I’d wear one of those. Not sure if a shark would be able to smell me though. You mostly just have to watch out for toxic shock syndrome.”  

“Sounds like something from a jellyfish.” 

“It’s a little more intense, although I guess that depends on the jellyfish. It’s blood poisoning or a bacterial infection, I think? If you keep in a tampon for too long you can get toxic shock syndrome, and that can lead to hospitalization, amputation, or death. I think you’re only supposed to have a tampon in for up to eight hours. Everyone who uses tampons that I know was terrified of it. It’s really rare though. After a while you kind of get used to wearing stuff, but it’s always at the back of your mind.” (Y/N) looked over at Floyd and laughed at his pale shocked face. “Not what you were expecting, huh?” 

He shook his head slowly. “So that’s what���s making you hurt?” 

“No, not that. Like I said, the uterus contracts getting all the stuff out so it causes cramping. It can also make you feel really nauseous, which is what’s going on with me right now. It could be worse. I knew a girl back in my world that had endometriosis. That’s when all that tissue I was talking about grows outside the uterus instead of inside. It can be super painful. But even if you have a normal period it’s a pain. Your hormones get all thrown out of whack. Some people get angry real easy, but I just end up getting really teary. If I ever just burst into tears for no reason it might be because I’m on my period. But never ask a girl if they’re on their period if they're angry or sad or something. There’s this whole thing where people dismiss any extreme emotion a girl has as being because of her period and not a valid reaction to something. It’s super annoying. To be fair, this world seems more up to speed with gender equality, so maybe it’s not that big a stereotype here.” 

Floyd didn’t say anything, stuck in a rare contemplation. “Can I help?” He asked. 

(Y/N) smiled softly at him. “This kind of help, just talking about it. Heating pads help too. Having that pressure helps ease the cramps.” 

Floyd hummed in thought. He reached over and tugged her blazer. “Scoot forward.” (Y/N) quirked an eyebrow at him but did as he asked. Floyd slipped in behind (Y/N), long legs stretching out around her. He pulled her back into his chest, his hands coming down to gently press against her stomach. His thumbs rubbed in small circles. “Does this help?” 

(Y/N) leaned her head back against his chest, closing her eyes. “Yeah, thanks.” 

~

A few days later, (Y/N) was hanging out with Ace and Deuce on the quad. They were talking when they heard a loud, “Shrimpy!” Ace and Deuce flinched back as Floyd bounded over. He stopped abruptly a breath away from (Y/N), arms outstretched. 

(Y/N) laughed and held out her arms. “Go ahead, I finished the other day.” 

Floyd gave a cry of delight and immediately scooped (Y/N) up in a huge squeezing hug, tight enough to make up for the last lost few days.

[plaguedocboi]

They should give eels little legs and feet. Like ferrets

Amphiumas are pretty close

[oceantornadoo]

(simon riley x f!reader, same rank!)

violence, cod inaccuracies, reader is a badass

simon riley never calls you baby

until he does.

you tell him it has to stay hidden. you can't be known as "the girl fucking the lieutenant", no matter if you're the same rank as him, the same sweat and tears put into the job. it scares you, the thought of losing decades of hard work over some stupid fling with a man they call ghost. a man who brings you tea on your sick days, a man with soft eyes and a listening ear, the only man who's ever brought you to orgasm. the push and pull of your autonomy and your love is ever growing, that bone deep fear rooted in your marrow.

simon's scared too. scared of waking up and it's all a dream. scared that his enemies will find out, scared that it'll show he isn't so dead after all. he's been a rotting thing on earth for nearly four decades and he's comfortable with it; no matter how alive you make him feel. his hand on your waist feels right, but he can't bring his heart into the light.

so you call each other "lieutenant." maybe "riley" when he pisses you off, just to get under his skin. "dove" is rare, but it warms you up just the same, gives you an unbidden vision of hot chocolate and snow days. mainly its "l.t.", remnant of johnny, the respect and friendliness woven together sweetly. you murmured "babe" to him once, in the early morning when he sneaks out, and felt his shoulders bunch, the weight of it too much to bear. that was the end of pet names, or so you thought.

--

it's a foggy day on what becomes the worst night of your life. the mission is at a standstill, the intel outdated. you were supposed to be taking out a terrorist organization, blowing up the base of their operations, but instead the building is damp and abandoned, echoes of life the only sign they were here. price is in your ear, telling you to clear one last room and retreat, simon already on his way out. you nudge your way into the room with caution, years of practiced steps coming to you on instinct. for some reason, you don't catch the glint of a stranger's eye in a hidden corner. you don't see the rope in his hands, the knife between his teeth. the next thing you see is the floor, fog seeping over concrete as rough hands gag you and mutter promises of ungodly harm.

something's wrong. "price." simon murmurs soft and low, crossing out of the building to the tree cover below. "where is she? s'pposed t' be out by now." he's scanning the building through his scope, looking for that figure he knows so well, could find blind. "copy. 'er tracker says she's still in the buildin'. let's-" there's a piercing scream in the air. the ravens take flight from the trees. dark wings, dark words. "ghost-" "goin' in." a sigh on the other end. he can practically feel price's hesistancy but he doesn't care, heavy feet already moving back into the building. "you're goin' in blind, radar's jus' gone out." he swears under his breath, clearing hallway after hallway as the building falls back into silence. just as he comes upon a 4-way split, you scream again, the sound far away and to his left. "'m comin' dove, hold on." there's no gunfire, no sounds of fight. it's so eerie he thinks he might have dreamed it, his worst nightmare come true. his instincts lead the way, some knowledge of your location hidden in his blood. pop. finally a gunshot, and if he squints hard, he tries to imagine it being from your weapon. he's close, nostrils expanding at the scent of you, memorized even without your favored perfume.

there were four of them. you still can't believe you missed them, the thought in the back of your head as you fight for your life. scrambling from the rope one tries to force on you, becoming an eel as you slip out of their grasps. this is what you do, what you're trained for. until someone stomps down hard on your ankle, the force of it cracking straight through. you scream, can't help it, searing pain blinding your vision for precious seconds. they take advantage of it, gloved hands tying your own behind your back in a tight knot. you can't reach your comms so you scream again, this one out of frustration, desperation that your team, that simon, might not find you.

the big one shuts you up with a hand to your throat, a bruising grip that leaves you unable to speak. they aren't well trained, fumbling hands and shaky grips, and you're finally able to reach your holster, shooting the first between the eyes before you can even glimpse his face. now you're in your element, adrenaline covering the pain of your ankle as you fight back, shooting one after the other, digging out your knife for close combat. it's over in a blink, the men no match for your skills, and once you double check they're dead, you collapse in the corner, the pain of your ankle roaring. that's when you hear it.

"baby?" it's him (but it can't be). he's never called you that. you pretend not to see when he whispers it into your neck as you feign sleep, when he murmurs it in a grunt as he's deep in your cunt. he's never said it to your face. "baby!" it's definitely him, that gruff voice cutting across the fog. you whine out of frustration, your throat too sore from your attacker to call out. instead, you limp to the door, almost running into simon as he comes crashing into your own personal hell. he sweeps you into his arms and you let him, grabbing his shoulders to make sure he's real.

"y' hurt?" he takes a look around the room, at the carnage in your wake. "my brave girl." you're sobbing, unsure whether its from frustration or relief. still can't believe you got caught, feeling like such a stereotype to have your knight in shining armor rescue you. "handled them all y'rself, hm, baby?" he's all sweetness and it hurts, seeing his eyes swell in pride as he takes in the four dead men, gunshots and a knife sticking out of one's eye. "why- why are you calling me that, simon?" he's ushering you out, your arm around his neck as you limp towards freedom. "proud of you." he says it simply, eyes trained on potential threats, not watching your reaction.

"aye, i told you, gaz. ye owe me a drink." soap's voice crackles through the comms. they were on. which meant your team heard the whole thing, heard simon practically claim you, knew you were together, thought you were a slu- "she's too good for him. i don't believe it." gaz's voice replied. "bugger off." simon grumbled into the mic, the sounds of them snickering loud and clear. "good?" he turned back at you, stopping you before you approached the clearing where your team waited. his eyes told you something different, that he'd walk out of here right now if you wanted. the cock of his head meant he'd follow you anywhere, live off the lamb for decades if you wanted. that was all you needed to know. you nodded and pushed forward. "yeah, i'm good, baby."

--

this is SO CRINGE but it's been in my drafts forever and needed to start paying rent

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jade Leech - Shore Celebrant Voice Lines

Now, time to flip the boat. After all, this is a Trial of Love!

Summon: There were two moray eels in service to the Sea Witch. I will give my all for this traditional ceremony that was formed from one of their tales.

Groovification: According to their story, the two moray eels flipped the boat together, but... It seems I was able to do it all by myself.

Home: Please treat me well.

Swap Looks: I need to fix up my hair.

Home Transition 1: Merfolk who come to land are few and far between, let alone those who choose to marry humans... Heheh, some merfolk truly are eccentric.

Home Transition 2: What would I do if I were to get married on land? In that circumstance, I think I would want to make my entrance on a gondola.

Home Transition 3: The view from atop the highest point in the city was quite lovely... But I believe that it would be an even more spectacular view if I were to look down from atop the cliffs.

Home Transition - Login: I never thought the day would come that I would be able to walk with my own two feet the city I had gazed at from within the waters. I'm sure if my younger self were to learn of this, he would be astounded.

Home Transition - Groovy: I've often been told that I resemble my mother, but that is an utter disservice to her. It will probably still be some time before I can be of any comparison.

Home Tap 1: When we came across the bride and groom in town, Rook-san gave them a hearty congratulations. He spoke with the fervor that rivaled even their closest relatives.

Home Tap 2: I was surprised to see so many thick textbooks come out of Riddle-san's bag. Amazing that he doesn't neglect his studies even while taking a trip...

Home Tap 3: Oh? I feel as though I just saw Malleus-san walking on the ocean waters... I must have been mistaken, yes?

Home Tap 4: My mother's fashion sense is truly lovely. I've never had the chance to see her look like this before, so I had no idea.

Home Tap 5: This formal outfit suits me well? I'm honored by your kind words. I can feel my whole posture straightening while wearing such crisp clothes.

Home Tap - Groovy: That was an utterly fantastic Eternity Float. I would do well to polish my abilities so as to generate an even larger splash next time.

Duo: [JADE]: Let's turn the tides, Riddle-san. [RIDDLE]: I suppose I should try trusting you for once, Jade.

Requested by @clove-noko.

[crowborn666-writes]

Squeezed

(You know, at first thought, being squeezed until you may lose feeling doesn't sound too pleasant. But all I can think about is how grounding that could be when in an panic attack)

Floyd Leech x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Platonic/Romantic

Summary: The reality of your situation finally hits you, but you definitely don't need the other students taunting you for something out of your control. Thankfully(?), you have Floyd.

~~~~~~

"Henchman?" Grim's worried call barely registers, your heartbeat creeping into your ears as you quickly speed walk out of your last class. "(Y/n), what's wrong? You're not really bothered by all those chumps are you?"

Your feet stutter, your body falling into the wall of the empty hallway, having been going the completely wrong direction. Your arms wrapped tight around your chest. Your breathing speeds up, vision narrowing as thoughts fill your head.

You were gonna either die here or be stuck here forever, weren't you? Stuck in a world of magic, unable to tap into any of the mystical power. Has Crowley even been looking for a solution???

You barely register Grim saying something about getting help, barely see him rush off. Your ears ring, gaze darting around you yet focusing on nothing.

You blink, trying to take in a steadying breath. You just needed to focus, identify colors or shapes to reset your head, calm yourself down before you truly lose it. You try to focus on something to begin, but your brain is too scrambled to give a name to any shape or color.

You don't hear the sing-songing lilt of someone calling your name, barely registering the figure now in front of you.

"Shrimpy?" It's Floyd, his toothy grin on display. "You're breathing awfully heavy there, you know. What's got you so worked up?"

He leans into your space, trying to see if you'll react. Had you been lucid, your blood would've ran ice cold at the way his grin drops. "Shrimpy?"

He takes note of the tight grip on yourself, the way you seem to look through him. He bends down a bit more on your level, one hand gently resting on the top of your head. His expression twitches at the way you're trembling.

Well, this isn't good. Not with the way you flinch at the mere brush of his hand on your hair.

"Hey, Shrimpy... (Y/n)?" he tries calling out to you again, bi-colored eyes locked onto you. When you don't react, he figures he has to resort to other methods.

His hands grasp yours, prying them off your arms and towards him. He ignores the startled gasp that leaves you, quick to wrap his arms around and squeeze.

You sit there, completely trapped, for a few long, tense moments. You blink, the blurriness in your vision coming back into focus as you register his heartbeat against your ear. Slowly, you relax, regaining control of your breathing, the dull ringing in your ears fading.

You feel him grin into your hair. "There you are Shrimpy!"

"F... Floyd?" you mumble, voice cracking as you reach up to wipe at your watery eyes. "W-What...?"

"I found you here against the wall, panicking like a beached fish. Where's your little beast, hm? Did he leave you here alone?"

You hum, leaning into the stupidly tall eel as he starts playing with your hair. "Ah... he said something about... about going to find help."

Floyd hums back, cheek pressing to the top of your head. "What got you so worked up?"

You explain the situation, the whispers of your crueler classmates, your own fears, and the fact Crowley hasn't done anything.

Floyd catches your emotions before you do, squeezing you a bit more to calm you back down. For as scary as he can be, you're finding this extremely comforting, pinned to reality and shielded from your wandering thoughts.

"I'll take care of it."

Had you been in any other situation, those words would've sent the fear of the Seven straight through you, but right now they were simply comforting.

Thankfully, you aren't looking at his face right now, otherwise you'd find a very murderous looking eel. Instead, you press into him, smiling.

"Thanks, Floyd."

[inquissien]

You can wear the feet eel as a very unpleasant scarf by the way

[mbari-blog]

We heart gulper eels ♥️🫶♥️⁠

Gulper eels are deep-sea fish that live throughout the world’s ocean from a few hundred meters to over 2,000 meters (over 6,500 feet) in the deep midwater.⁠ ⁠ See that massive mouth? Food is scarce in the deep sea, so a gulper eel’s oversized mouth helps it swallow any morsel of food—big or small—that it comes across. Scientists think the glowing tip of this eel’s sinewy body might act as a luminescent lure to attract unsuspecting prey and then—gulp—it becomes dinner.⁠ ⁠ MBARI has studied the deep waters of Monterey Bay and beyond for more than 30 years. In our thousands of dives to these dark depths, we’ve only seen this species seven times. But we were so enamored by this curious creature that we featured it in our logo.

[juletheghoul]

educational

a/n: I still have so many asks for this man, and I have not forgotten them! Thank you to everyone who voted, to everyone who takes the time to comment and reblog on my posts. You have no idea how you all have reinvigorated my love for writing, a million hugs and cuddles for all of you. I always welcome any and all comments and questions or deep dives! This isn't beta'd, barely proofread. Hope you enjoy 💕xo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.3k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

The sun was oppressive. It beat down with a vengeance and the fan in your hand did nothing to alleviate the waves of heat permeating the market. You had half a mind to head right back to the villa, to ask Marcus to bring you on another day when you could focus on anything other than the drops of sweat sliding down your spine, making your new robes stick to your skin. Or the way the stiff leather sandals on your feet rubbed your ankles raw. 

Running back to the villa didn’t seem right however, it tasted too much of defeat, of a refusal to accept your new place in this world and the thought of your General, your husband being disappointed in your inability to shop for yourself put eels into your belly. Gritting your teeth, you continued your hunt for the things you needed. 

“What about this Domina?” Your new attendant, a girl a few years younger than you had been when you’d first joined his house pointed at a blessedly covered stall, golden trinkets glittering where the sun poked through gaps in the covering catching your eye. 

“Let us look.” You smiled, making your way over. There you found a lovely perfumed oil for your skin, at a fairly reasonable price. You also found some of the incense Marcus liked, and a new brush for his hair. You bought them, even though he had sent you with the intent to buy things for yourself. With your purchases made and in the hands of your guards you decided to finally return home, when another stall caught your eye. Gauzy sheer linens covered most of it but when the warm breeze blew them aside, glittering jewels flashed. 

The woman running the stall smiled when you entered, she had streaks of grey in her hair, lovely oiled skin and eyes as dark as night. 

Opals with fire caught inside them hung on golden racks, rubies the size of walnuts, emeralds as green as fresh laurel leaves glittered, all of them entrancing you enough to pull your hands out to touch them. 

“With your skin, those would look lovely.” She walked over, pulling dark blue sapphire earrings from their place on her wall and holding them to your ears. “Beautiful.”

“They are gorgeous, I must admit.” Marcus had told you to buy whatever you wanted, had given you enough coin to splurge but you hesitated. Your eyes fell to a small book on a shelf, a picture of a man and a woman on the cover. 

“That is… very educational. Especially for a married woman.” She pulled the book off the shelf, placing it into your hands for you to peruse. The contents made you gasp. It was a guide book, a guide for the art of love. The art of copulation. There were diagrams, positions to try, all manner of things you’d never even thought of. 

Heat rushed to your face, the thought of showing Marcus, of trying them with him made the heat grow and spread to the place between your thighs. 

“You must have it, I have no doubt your husband will enjoy it, you as well.” She winked and you laughed a nervous little laugh, nodding conspiratorially. 

“You should adorn yourself for him, something glittering, something precious.” She gestured to the jewels once more and you bit your lip, wondering what to choose until you saw what looked to be a belt of different coloured gems. 

“I like this–is it for my waist?” You slid your fingers across it. 

“That would be perfect, not just your waist my lady.” She undid the clasps and arranged it, draping it onto your body. “Usually the ladies wear them over a simple robe to elevate it, but I think it would look just as beautiful against the skin, if you take my meaning.” You could see it, the top part of it like a necklace, with a long line of gems between your breasts leading down to connect with another line of it like a belt. 

With an ache for him, and a considerably lighter purse, you left with your purchases and made your way home once more. 

-

He was occupied, held up in his study with representatives from the Emperor, a senator and a whole host of others taking up his time with important matters. You left him to it, and busied yourself with your own preparations.

The tub was steaming and fragrant when you submerged yourself. Dried flowers and sweet smelling oils swirling with every movement, all manner of different elements coming together to soften your skin and make you shine for him. Thoughts of what he would think of your book fill your mind as you cleanse yourself of the day, musings about what he might choose pull at the corners of your lips as you run the clean washcloth across the expanse of your chest and thighs.

You oil your skin once out of the tub, arrange your hair and adorn yourself with jewels. Golden bracelets and anklets he’d gifted you on your wedding night, an armband shaped like a snake, earrings that dangle and trap the light when you move, the special body chain from the stand. You feel like a goddess, like a priestess readying yourself for worship. 

By the time he comes to bed the need, the arousal is fierce enough to make your hands shake. 

“Apologies my love, I was hoping to have been done sooner but—“ he catches sight of you then, sprawled out on the bed, an airy robe leaving nothing to the imagination, the small book in your hands. His eyes devour you, robbing him of his words, making your heart race.

“I have something for you, something for us.” You rise, exaggerating the swing in your hips with every step you take towards him. Your adornments jingle, a pleasant sound rings with every stride. 

“Do you now?” He licks his lips, and presses his palm to his growing bulge at the sight of you. “I have something for you too, growing stiff and aching.” His hand reaches for you as you get closer, pulling you into his embrace. 

“I do not doubt that.” You laugh, pressing your palms to his chest to keep him from pushing you onto your bed.

“I would very much like to give it to you, nice and deep.” His eyes are so lust blown that the warm brown is now a cold black. A moan escapes at his words, at the feel of his kiss on your throat.

“First, I would like you to look through the book I bought today.” He frowns, confused at the apparent shift. “I believe it could be very educational for us.”

If you weren’t so aroused, so excited to experiment you might have laughed at his expression. Naked shock was all you could see on his face. Never, in all your years within the villa, within his presence had you ever rendered him speechless before. The effect is titillating.

Wordlessly he peruses the pages, cheeks flushing, attention rapt at the diagrams and instructions shown within.

“Gods above.” Your smile deepens at the low whisper of his voice, nerves fraying with anticipation. 

“I am particularly curious about this one.” With trembling hands, you flip the pages to a certain diagram, where the woman is sitting on the man's lap but facing away, her legs closed tightly between his legs underneath her. The thought of Marcus having you that way floods your body with heat. His mouth at your ear, his hands free to slip between your legs or hold onto the weight of your breasts. 

Silently he studies the book, eyes intent. His quiet intensity fills the air between you, it makes you wring your hands with nervous anticipation, almost makes you wonder if you’ve gone too far. Your nerves fray the longer he stares, the old fear of disappointing or upsetting him creeps up your spine, until he smiles and licks his lip. 

“You, my love, continue to surprise me.” He closes the book and sets it aside. 

“Do I?” You take his hand in yours, and press it to your lips, desperate for his approval and for his love.

“Oh yes. Just when I think I cannot be any more fortunate, you spoil me and show me another facet of your love.” He pulls you forward, guiding you to stand between his spread legs at the edge of your bed, pulling the robe off to expose your nakedness.

“Look at you.” His palms slide from the sides of your thighs past your hips where they touch the jewels that adorn your waist. Up, up, up until his thumbs flick at your nipples. 

“You are yourself, my most precious jewel. So beautiful–” He presses his face to your breast, his lips gliding across your skin between words, “-kind, adventurous and brave, sweet as summer fruit,” he skims his nose over the top of your breast before licking at the stiff peak. With a sigh you hold him close, fingernails scratching at his neck, slipping through the fine grey waves, cradling his head close. 

Your heart races as he pours his love onto you, any and all fears are quieted to nothing under the silky slip of his palms against your back. His mouth forms a tight seal around your nipple, enough that it makes you gasp. His smile is predatory, confident and it makes you laugh; half nervous, half exhilarated. 

Your breasts shine with the oil, and his spit when he lets go. You take the opportunity to pull his robes up and off. Your mouth waters at the sight of his manhood, hard and leaking for you. 

“Turn around.” His voice sends a shiver down your spine, deep and commanding, irrefutable. His lips press to your shoulder, moving down to your lower back, you squeal in shock and delight to feel his teeth on the meat of your ass. 

“I could devour you whole, do you know that?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

The arousal is enough to choke you, enough to ease the glide of himself against your sex. Butterflies swarm as he pulls you back, guiding his own weeping tip to the tight fist of your cunt until you sink, slowly onto him. You gasp at just how deep, just how full you feel like this. 

“Gods above, woman.” His grip on your hips is tight enough to bruise, his voice strangled in your ear.

It is so much better than you had imagined.

His thighs bracket yours as you adjust to the fullness, slick dribbles out of you and drenches his lap when his hands do exactly as you hoped they might. With deft fingers he pinches and pulls at your sensitive nipples, teasing the peaks mercilessly as you begin a tentative bounce on his lap.

“Is this how you wanted it?” His breath tickles your neck, painting your skin in gooseflesh. 

“Yes, yes Marcus, just like this-“ your head falls back onto his shoulder, the arousal so fierce it burns through you, sets your heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird, trapped in the cage of your ribs. 

“Take it, take your pleasure from me my love, ride this cock—“ he bucks up, pulling a pained moan from somewhere inside you. 

“That’s it, you can do it, milk my fucking cock.” His arm tightens around your middle and you can feel the jewels pinching at your skin, the edge of pain only heightens the pleasure coursing through your veins, ripping a swathe through your body in the shape of him, always him. 

Thick fingers force their way between the tight press of your thighs, pinching at your swollen clit and it’s almost too much. Sweat beads in your hairline, slips between your bodies as you roll your hips harder, clenching around him with every tight bounce. 

There are no more words, only the harsh pant of his breath in your ear, the slick, vulgar sound of your wet arousal; the whimpering heralding your climax. 

His fingers leave your clit and you whine, the demand for them to return on the tip of your tongue but he quells it, pressing those same fingers into your mouth. He takes the saliva from your mouth, and returns his fingers to their task. The slip is just right and with a silent scream you freeze, squeezing him tight enough for him to hiss, tight enough to do just as he wanted and milk him for all he’s worth.

His grip around your middle softens, the jewels have left indents in his skin as well as yours, you pull his arm up to press your lips to it. 

Once the blood has settled and you’ve caught your breath, you pull away from him, turning to settle in his lap again only this time facing him. 

His expression is pure bliss, flushed with exertion and smiling with the ghost of his climax still painting his features. 

“I must send you to the market more often, spoil you as you spoil me.” You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck just as his wrap tightly around your waist.

“So you are pleased with my purchase then?” Your lips press to his mouth, his cheek, the little hairless spot on his chin, your favourite constellation to map out. 

“I am more than pleased with it, but I must study it in depth. So many things to try, so many lessons for us to learn from this book, hmm?” He skims his nose across the column of your throat, smiling into your skin as your heart races for him even with your pleasure still coursing through you. 

“…And you know that I am a quick learner, my love.”

-

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[dystopyx-blog]

"You've been avoiding Floyd."

You had stepped away from your friends for a second, only to be face first with Jade's chest.

Its not like you were unused to being suddenly accosted by a tweel, it just usually wasn't this one.

"I haven't been avoiding him," you told him. "I just have other friends."

"You might not for much longer..." Said Jade, lifting a hand to just barely conceal that sickening pointy-toothed grin on his face. "What I mean to say is that Floyd has been a bit... testy lately. Seems without you he just doesn't know what to do with himself! I'm sure youve been seeing the increase in injury among the student body lately? If not, I suggest you start paying attention...."

The next couple days you started doing just as Jade suggested. Sure enough, there were a startling number of students with various injuries--though most commom was bruises. And some of them even seemed to glare at you--more so than usual, that is.

But surely it couldn't all have been from Floyd... right? The students here weren't known for being particularly merciful, after all. Right?...

One day, after witnessing a freshly battered boy fearfully run through the halls, you decided to investigate yourself. You followed where he had run from, and sure enough, there he was, acting like a perfect stereotypical highschool bully.

"Floyd?"

At the sight of you, Floyd drops the random student, a big grin spreading across his face.

"Shrimpy!" He exclaimed.

The poor victims immediately took the chance to flee. Floyd approached you. First he grabbed your arms, giving those a light squeeze. Seeing you didn't protest, his face lit up like a kid's on Christmas, and soon your feet were off the ground. He hugged you close to him, even swinging you a bit, though gently (or, at least, as gently as Floyd can be.)

"I missed ya, Shrimpy..." He said in a surprisingly soft voice. But he didn't say anything else, just kept hugging you. You sighed.

Just how in the heck did you become the favored squeaky toy of an overgrown eel???

[calcifiedunderland]

Shrimply Yours~

In which you invoke your shrimp privileges to cheer Floyd up.

Floyd x GN Reader! Enjoy, shrimpies!!~

—————

“Y’know Floyd, I’d say you’re the shrimp, not me.”

Maybe you really did have a death-by-squeezing wish. Or maybe your plot-armor protection had finally worn off. The eel in question lifted his head slowly at your words and side-eyed you, his golden eye glinting ominously in the Mostro Lounge kitchen’s light.

You’d been washing the dishes after asking Azul for a job in exchange for a little extra madol on the side. For the most part, your day had been as peaceful as it could’ve (the life of a magicless prefect was always maniacal), until you heard arguing from outside the kitchen. You all but jumped when Floyd slammed the door open and wordlessly stalked to the stove, and you spotted Azul walking off shaking his head to himself. Floyd shoved pan on the heat and began frying something, completely ignoring your presence. Was it even possible to fry chicken so aggressively?

In any case, Floyd seemed a little more volatile than usual at the moment, even considering it was him. The other students who’d been in the kitchen with you before had scuttled out before Floyd could snap at them too. But in any case, you knew that Floyd’s mood flipped faster than Crowley leaving all his work to you. So, you thought you’d try to lighten the mood.

At your words, Floyd slowly brought his head up from his deep-frying, golden-and-olive colored eyes zeroing in on you, baring his sharp, shiny teeth at you in a scowl. And in that split second, you suddenly remembered that Floyd was, in fact, a mer-eel. Moray, specifically. A predator. A predator that probably ate shrimpies like you. Who was now looking at you predatorily.

“What did ya just say, shrimpy?” His pupils were practically pin-pricks, and for a moment you swore you could hear the Jaws theme song in your head. You could remember, time and time again, your friends and upperclassmen telling you not to engage Floyd when he was in one of his moods. Even up until now, you’d never been on the awful end of his anger, especially alone. But you weren’t called beast-tamer for nothing, damn it, and maybe that title could extend to taming angry Floyd’s too. An angry Floyd that was still your friend.

“I said, you’re the shrimp, not me.” You maintained eye-contact with him, almost challenging him, ‘come at me, bro.’ You tried to keep a straight face, although you were deflating rapidly by the second because by Sevens this was so stupid but-

“Because you’re shrimply amazing.”

One second passed. Two. Three.

Then Floyd broke into a wide, sharp-toothed grin. He surged towards you, completely forgetting the frying food. “D’awww, SHRIMPY!!!”

He swooped behind you, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up. Your legs flailed around and now your arms were locked in as Floyd spun around the kitchen haphazardly with you in his arms. “Shrimpy knows just how to cheer me up! I knew this is why I kept you around!” He laughed cheerily, bobbing you up and down.

“FLOYD!” You cried, “PUT ME DOWN-“ the kitchen swirled crazily around you, as Floyd babbled some song or other cheerfully. Thankfully he’d stopped spinning, but began shaking you side to side while humming, “Shrimpy’s so brave n’ nice, all the other guppies left when they saw me but only Shrimpy stayed!”

He started pouting, and squished his cheek into yours. “Azul was bein’ mean to me, making me work now. Just ‘cause I roughed up a few customers doesn’t mean it was my fault! They shoulda been nice to me~”

Even though you were basically suspended in the air by him, you smiled at Floyd’s words. “Glad I could help Floyd, that was so mean of Azul,” you consoled him, hoping he’d put you down. He bent over until your feet were safely on the sweet, sweet ground, but didn’t let you go from his arms. The two of you swayed together, basking in each other’s company in the subpar lighting of the kitchen, until you frowned.

“…Hey, is something burning?”

“Ah shit, I burned the chicken.”

———

[aventurineswife]

Dan heng, caelus, Aventurine, ratio, sunday, anaxa, jing yuan and Jiaoqiu who are sirens (cuz I'm not a fan of mermaids and they're not mischievous enough) with their s/o who they try to coerce/play with them into pulling them into the water (or any silly or cute mer games/gifts frm sly boys)

Fast forward the next day, they see their fish boyfie is now walking on land and talking to their colleagues or friends and their interactions with their s/o for them keeping this secret from them and the relief of being able to see them out of water whenever they want. Me just want to see fluff

(I apologise if there's too many boys in this request. If it's a lot, you may remove sunday, jing yuan and caelus)

-🍭

Seabound, Lovestruck, Yours

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Caelus x Reader, Fluff, Fantasy AU, Siren!Men, Humor, Established Relationships, Slight Angst (Very Mild), Soft Boys Being Menaces, Sweet Teasing, Gifts, Secret-Keeping, Bittersweet Longing, Happy Endings.

Warnings: Light suggestive teasing (nothing explicit), Minor emotional whiplash (from shock to fluff), Aquatic puns and chaotic flirting, NOBODY drowns, Crabs may or may not have been weaponized.

A/N: I hope you don't mind me removing Jiaoqiu and Anaxa... 🧍‍♀️

The waters were unnaturally calm that afternoon, kissed by golden light and scattered feathers floating gently along the tide. Sunday waited at the edge of the shallows, half-submerged, halo glimmering under the surface like a sunken relic. His wings shimmered beneath the clear water, feathered fins catching the light.

“You never come in,” he said softly, eyes golden and distant. “You stand on the edge like a poem never read.”

You laughed, barefoot on the sun-warmed rock, dangling your feet above him. “You say that every time.”

“And I will continue to,” he murmured, “until you finally do.”

Sunday never tugged—he only invited, tempted with serenity rather than storm. That day, he offered a gift: a scarf made of woven pearl-thread and glinting sea glass, soft as seafoam and cool to the touch.

“For you. To remind you of the peace I see in you... and the chaos I hide beneath.”

You almost slipped. Almost dove in.

But before you could say anything more, he vanished beneath the surface, halo gliding like a moonbeam underwater.

The next morning, you nearly dropped your coffee.

There, standing beside Mr. Yang and engaging in perfectly normal conversation about Star Rail protocol, was Sunday. In a tailored coat, scarf gently draped over his shoulders, halo now a subtle glow behind his head.

He turned and caught your stunned expression with a small, amused smile.

"You kept the secret well," he said gently, brushing a wet strand of hair behind his ear. "Now I don’t have to choose between sea and sky."

You threw your arms around him.

He smelled like salt and warmth and something like lavender tea. And he smiled against your shoulder, wings gently fluttering beneath his coat.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Aventurine purred from the water, swirling just beneath the surface like a living mirage. “Just a little toe in. I won’t bite—unless you're into that.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s what you said last time, and I ended up being chased by a literal school of sea-snake eels.”

“Hey! That was a group activity. I don’t control extracurriculars.”

Today, he offered something new: a pearl dice set, carved with tiny numbers and the tiniest gold inlay. “Lucky charm,” he said, twirling one between clawed fingers. “Bet you can’t roll a seven.”

You scoffed. “There is no seven on a six-sided—”

Splash.

You were in.

He laughed, bright and chaotic, tail flicking like a gambler’s flourish. “That’s my lucky number. And looks like I just rolled you.”

The next day, you nearly choked on your sandwich.

Because Aventurine—your siren boyfriend, glittery-eyed, smug and soaking wet—was now in human form, lounging on a bench outside your workplace in a slick suit.

“Didn’t recognize me without the tail, huh?” he teased, adjusting his rose-tinted glasses.

You blinked. “You—walk now?”

“Oh, honey, I strut.”

And strut he did—right up to you, leaning in close. “I missed the fun. But don’t worry. I can cheat gravity now. You and me? High tide or low. Your call.”

He slipped one of those pearl dice into your hand.

It was a seven.

Ratio did not coerce.

He challenged.

“Statistically, you're overdue for a spontaneous decision,” he remarked, hovering just beyond the tide’s reach, violet hair slicked back, fins glinting like obsidian. “Come in. Observe the sensation. Collect the data.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re making swimming sound like a math test.”

“And yet... you're curious.”

He handed you a shell. Inside was a small, reflective gemstone that glowed faintly in your palm.

“I compressed starlight into a prism for you. Hypothetically, it should shimmer brighter if your heart rate increases in my presence.”

“Ratio, is this just your way of asking if I have a crush on you?”

He smirked. “Hypothetically.”

The next day, you spotted him arguing with The Herta at the café—on dry land. His sculpted features weren’t hidden behind alabaster this time.

You approached, baffled.

He looked over his shoulder, lips twitching into a smile. “There you are. I’ve adjusted my environment to accommodate the subject of my interest.”

“I am not a research subject!”

“You were never just one,” he replied softly, pressing the starlight prism into your palm again. “And now I can verify... you glow even brighter in daylight.”

The moonlight shimmered across the waves, silver trailing like stardust behind the quiet form in the water. You sat by the rocky edge, feet dipped in the cool sea, when a familiar ripple broke the surface.

"You're late," you murmured, but your tone was teasing.

Dan Heng’s dark hair fanned out behind him as he surfaced silently, eyes glowing faintly beneath the night sky. "You came again."

"You make it sound like I have a choice," you replied, playfully nudging water his way. “You always leave that dumb scale on my windowsill.”

He tilted his head slightly. "You kept it."

"You always know when I toss it," you grinned.

Tonight, he was more playful, flicking water at you with a graceful flick of his tail. “You should come in tonight. The moonlight’s strong—we can race the reef edge.”

“I can’t outswim you,” you laughed, leaning closer. "You cheat by being faster."

His eyes softened. “Maybe. But I like catching you.”

He reached out, brushing your hand gently. The water felt like home when he touched you—but still, you hesitated.

The next day, you nearly dropped your drink.

There, calmly browsing books and chatting—chatting!—with March and Himeko, stood Dan Heng. Dry. Walking. Wearing actual clothes.

You stormed over, whisper-shouting, “Are you serious?!”

He turned, calmly sipping tea. “I was going to tell you.”

“Since when do sea cryptids walk on land?!”

He paused. “Since always. I just liked seeing your expression when I pretended I couldn’t.”

You blinked. “You jerk.”

His mouth twitched in a rare smirk. “Want to race the reef again tonight?”

You punched his arm. “Only if you let me win.”

His hand found yours, fingers twining. “I think I already lost.”

You sat on the sun-warmed dock, watching tiny fish flicker below, when a burst of sparkling bubbles tickled your toes.

“Hey!” you gasped.

Caelus popped up with a wide grin, fins catching the sunlight like shards of pearl. “Got you.”

“You splashed me!”

He blinked innocently. “I’m a siren. Mischief is in the job description.”

You leaned over. “What’s in your job description is singing eerie lullabies and luring me underwater.”

“Well, maybe I wanted to try something new.” He offered you a strange, shimmering shell. “It whistles when you blow into it. Took me three coral storms to find one that doesn’t summon eels.”

“...That's romantic?”

“For a fish-boyfriend? Extremely.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling as you tucked the shell into your pocket. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The next day, he was there—talking with Dan Heng and Welt like it was normal.

“YOU WALK?” you whisper-yelled as he wiggled his fingers at you across the room.

“Hi!” he beamed. “I’m learning dry land stuff. I tripped over a vacuum cleaner earlier.”

You dragged him aside. “You’ve had legs this whole time?”

“Well, they’re a little awkward but—yeah? I didn't want to spoil the mystery!”

“I swear—”

“Hey,” he said, grabbing your hand and twirling you playfully. “Now you don’t have to wait for low tide to see me.”

You melted a little. “Okay, that’s unfairly sweet.”

“Also, I brought more whistling shells.”

“...You’re a menace.”

“But I’m your menace.”

It always started the same. You’d walk the shoreline, hear a soft hum on the breeze, and suddenly—

“Caught you again,” Jing Yuan purred, his tail gleaming like polished moonstone as he lounged across a tide-washed rock. “Were you trying to avoid me?”

“Only a little.”

He pretended to pout. “After all the sea glass I gift-wrapped in kelp for you?”

“You wrapped it?”

“With claws. It’s impressive.”

“You left me a crab last week.”

“A proud guardian of the seas. He’s named Clawbert.”

You groaned.

“Come now,” he chuckled. “Let me braid seaweed in your hair again. You looked magnificent.”

“You looked like you were going to eat me.”

He winked. “Only figuratively.”

The next day, in the plaza, you saw him. Golden eyes. Snow-white hair. Tall and handsome as ever.

You stared as he chatted with Yukong and laughed at something Yanqing said. His gait was graceful, no trace of water to be found.

“You.”

He turned smoothly. “Ah, beloved landwalker. Fancy seeing you out of your tidepool.”

“You’ve been able to do this the whole time?”

“It’s harder to be mysterious when everyone knows you eat dry toast,” he said, brushing his hair back. “Besides, I liked making you wait.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he murmured, leaning in, “you still came to the water.”

You huffed. “...Fine. But if you bring me one more crab, I’m putting it in your bed.”

He grinned. “Then I’d better make room.”

[starogeorgina]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Corruption kink, loss of virginity, fingering, hand job, mention of blood.

Deep in thought you pace the floors of your bedchamber the cold floor below, pinching at the pads of your feet while you palm at your breasts. It was the hour of the eel, and the only light was from the candles and flickering flames of hearth.

“Byka mēre.” (Little one)

Startled, you use your hands to conceal your breasts. You look across the room and see a tall figure by the fireplace, “cousin.”

“Hmm,” he lets our disapproving tsk. “You should be asleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

He wasn’t wrong. Your father, Ser Gwayne, and yourself travelled to the red keep so he and Queen Alicent could find a suitable husband for you. It wasn’t uncommon for Aemond to visit you before settling for the night, but he usually didn’t come so late.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

Aemond ignores the question and finally turns to face you, his expression hard to read. In a stern tone, he asks, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Pirtirys.” (Liar.)

Frowning, you shake your head. You hated it when Aemond spoke in High Valyrian. He knew how badly you wanted to learn it since the histories of House Targaryen fascinated you, but as you grew up in OldTown and had Hightower blood, you never got the opportunity to learn about such things.

“Some may consider what you’re doing unbecoming of a young lady soon to be married.”

Feeling embarrassed, you look down at the ground. “I was told simulating your breasts makes them grow larger.”

“Oh,” he smiles at you mockingly. “And who told this?”

“A couple of my ladies... Why are you here so late?”

“Your breasts are in proportion to the rest of your body,” he says, ignoring your question. "Plus, I can tell when you are lying. So tell me, Why are you groping at yourself as if you’re putting on a show in a whorehouse?”

“I… I was told if a woman touches herself during sex it can bring her pleasure; I just wanted to see if it was true.”

“If you wish to know, you only needed to ask.”

Stepping forward Aemond lowers your hand and replaces it with his mouth. If anyone else had tried to touch you in such a way, you would have screamed, hit them, and ordered the knight standing guard outside your room to kill them.

But with Aemond, it was different.

The warmth from his tongue was a stark contrast to the feeling of your fingers. He takes one of your breasts into his mouth, teeth grazing soft flesh, sucking at your nipple. A small moan leaves your mouth, encouraging him to keep going.

A sudden knock at the door causes you to leap apart. Aemond leaves the room without saying anything, his head held high while you hurry to fix your nightgown for your handmaiden entering the room.

—

Aemond couldn’t get you out of his mind, his sweet younger cousin, his little one.

You were only a few years younger, but growing up, you were much smaller in height, which is why he gave you the nickname. All the teasing was in jest, of course; you were his favourite, and the prince could think of nothing worse than upsetting you. You had an innocence he had never seen in another person, even now that you had become a grown woman.

The more the Prince watches lords parade their sons, themselves or whoever the next male heir in their house was to his uncle Gwayne, he grew more and more irritated.

You were his beautiful, innocent girl; he wouldn’t allow for you to be ruined by some man unworthy of you.

He would be the one to marry you.

As far as the one-eyed prince was concerned, you were his to love and cherish, and he would be the one to take your maidenhood to seal the deal, making sure you were his forever. And in the back of his mind there may be a sick satisfaction knowing you would allow nobody else to touch you in the way he already has.

His sweet girl, all ready to be corrupted by him and only him.

—

The next few weeks were long and tiresome. Your father had paraded you around court while eagerly listening to every lord who came to him and said why they should be your husband. But none of them paid any mind to you, the bride.

However, Prince Ameond was a different matter. During the rare few hours you had, he would come and keep you company. He gifted you books of Targaryen history, a pearl necklace, and a silk dress that was similar in shade to his dragons scales. He even read poems to you.

And not once has he tried to touch you again. Perhaps almost being caught scared him, or he was no longer interested.

Aemond was reading while you practiced needlework in silence until a sudden thought crossed your mind. “Do you think of me as spoilt?”

“Jason Lannister is a cunt,” he says sharply. “He only referred to you as spoilt because your father refused his marriage proposal on the spot. Out of curiosity, what do you want in a husband?”

“I want a husband who pays attention to me like you do.”

He smirks, placing his book on the arm of the chair. Aemond waves for you to go over to him. “My lady, do you want a man like me, or do you want me?”

“I want you, my prince.”

When you stand in front of him, his hand immediately goes to your hip. “My uncle still has lots of lords to speak with, but I may know a way he would agree for us to be married immediately if that’s what you truly wanted.”

“What is it?”

“If you’re no longer a maiden, then Ser Gwayne would have no choice but to betroth us.”

“I would be dishonoured.”

“You would be married to a dragon.” His grip on your hips tightens. “I would be the only man ever filling your womb with their seed; no dishonour would be taking place.”

“Why do you want this?”

Aemond thinks hard before answering. The prince was completely obsessed with you, to the point it was borderline possessive. And from the moment you became of age to be married, he has been hounding his mother to arrange a marriage between the two of you, but as always, she put duty above all else and insisted on waiting to see who else asked for your hand, but Aemond couldn’t let that happen.

He’s silently for so long you start to grow nervous, “Aemond?”

“You are mine, little one, and always have been.”

Swallowing thickly, you step back out of his reach and remove the thin material covering your body, then move to straddle Aemond’s lap. “Then make me yours forever; claim me so no other man can have me.”

Aemond claims your lips with his own. With one leg on either side of his lap, Aemond lowers his hand underneath you with ease, using his finger to spread the small amount of wetness dripping from your folds to and drag it up to your clit. After a few moments, he urges you to move off him. Aemond lifts his hips and pulls his clothing down until his cock is free, then pulls you back onto his lap.

You look down at his penis, watching as precum forms a glistening tip on the head of his cock. Holding your gaze, Aemond guides your hand to slowly start stroking him.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “You are doing good; I’m going to prepare you now so that it doesn’t hurt so much.”

Your stomach clenches.

Aemond slides one long, slender finger inside you, then adds another. He pumps them back and forth while rubbing at your clit. You feel a weird sensation, like your core is starting to spasm. You still stroke at his cock, but your movements are now weaker than before.

“I feel weird,” you mumble.

“It’s okay, that’s good. Let the feeling take over.”

A few seconds later, you cum over his fingers, whimpering his name. “You’re doing so good,” Aemond withdraws his fingers from and lines his cock up. “I’ll try my best to take it slow.”

Placing one hand on your backside, Aemond holds you in place as he eases into you. Feeling the sting of his cock stretching you, you whine, “It’s too big!”

“Tis only the tip, little one. Rub your clit, it will only feel better.”

Doing as he says you start rubbing as Aemond pushes you down until his cock is completely inside you. It felt weird—a good weird. Aemond holds onto your hips again and starts to slowly move you up and down; you spread up the rubbing motions.

“I think I’m going to cum again.”

“Then cum for me,” he says before kissing you again.

You moan into his mouth when a similar feeling as before comes over you. Aemond’s thrusts become sloppy as he approaches his own peak, spilling his seed inside you.

After a few moments of kissing and Aemond stroking your back tenderly, you remove yourself from his lap. Glancing down between your legs, you notice blood-mixed arousal sliding down your thighs.

Aemond tilts your chin up gently, “tis normal for some women to bleed.”

“Oh.”

You step back and reach for your nightgown to redress, suddenly worried this might have been a mistake. Why if Aemond decided you weren’t good enough to be his wife?

“What happens now?” You ask shyly.

“I will have one of your ladies prepare a bath for you,” he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. “You need to do nothing else but rest, and while you do that, I will speak with my mother and inform her of what transpired. Then I suspect come morning she will be meeting with Ser Gwayne to discuss our betrothal.”