#he's a connoisseur for dressing up babies in

[blitzbuckz]

【 𝐿𝐼𝐿' 𝒮𝒯𝒜𝑅 𝒫𝒪𝒩𝒴 】💖リトルスターポニー

@heartsintertvvined

[lalunanymph]

ΉΣЯ & ƬΉΣ ƧΣΛ

༊ you ask rafayel how lemurians reproduce, and he can't wait to show you

✯ warnings; rafayel x fem!reader, established relationship, MONSTERFUCKING, switch!rafayel, switch!reader, rafayel's lemurian form, sex underwater, reader is coded to be feminine (wears a dress and lingerie), mentions of alien genitalia, rafayel calls reader 'master' once, petnames (my little conch shell, my queen, baby, my love, miss bodyguard), size kink (reader is obvs smaller than him, he's a goddamn mErmAID), OVIPOSITION, dirty talk, language, breeding, girl on top position, missionary, reader sucks his merman cock (lmao), dubious breathing underwater methods, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol, suggestive content, slight spoilers for rafayel's myth if you squint, mild angst

✯ istg i am a zayne girlie but something about rafayel just makes me go feral

"𝐇𝐎��� 𝐃𝐎 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒?"

The question stunned Rafayel from taking a bite of his souffle pancakes, his fork pausing from its journey into his now lax mouth. Sunlight continues streaming in past the French windows; the patrons of this cafe going about their day, oblivious to the malfunctioning celebrity artist amongst them.

A glob of whip cream freefalls off the metal tines and onto his plate. Those magnetic pink-blue eyes flash with a multitude of colors—like a sea-worn rock under the brilliant sun. 

However, as fast as your question hit him, he overcame it; no one could say that Mr. Rafayel, the art world's maverick and media-trained connoisseur, was slow in recovering his wits.

His signature teasing smile in place, Rafayel placed his fork back down onto the table.

Across from you, two friends were speaking in low tones and judging from their expression, unpacking their love lives with the sombreness of a priest reciting a divorce rite.

Rafayel blinked, tilting his head to the side. 

"Why would you ask, Miss Bodyguard?" 

He casually slung an arm over the back of his chair, a million dollar smile gleaming and ready. "Or, has something struck your most vivid imagination?" 

Laying it on thick, he couldn't even begin to disguise the gleam of his teeth—shining like the incisors of a great white after smelling fresh blood in the ocean. 

"I never thought you would be so sugges—ouch!"

Rafayel winced, and doubled over, rubbing his shin under the table. "What was that for?" 

You huffed, and fixed him a glare. "Don't embarrass me." 

"I was just joking."

"Wasn't funny." 

"Yeesh. You're really wound up about this, huh?" 

That infuriating smirk was plastered back onto his face; his boyish features making something in your chest squeeze. 

"Shut up and answer the question." 

He pretended to ponder on it for a moment. More color illuminates his stunning amethyst irises. Shining like jewels, only he knew the value of his true thoughts. 

Before you could retract your question and salvage this bright afternoon, Rafayel surprises you with his next words.

"Why don't I show you, my little conch shell?" 

You freeze. Scanning the area, you wondered if this was the right conversation to be having in such a brightly lit area. Granted, you and Rafayel were past the carnal stage —after being together for close to a year, your bodies were well-worn maps that lips and fingers could retrace and discover any time.

Fighting back a laugh, you shake your head.

"Is this another one of your racy propositions again?"

Rafayel merely smirked. "If that is how you wish to see it." 

Seriously now, you counter, "Will I have paint in my hair again?" 

Memories flash in your mind; of a large canvas, soft candlelight, and streaks of paint on the most random parts of your body found weeks after the deed was done. 

Your lover sits back, using one slender finger to cross over his heart. "I promise your hair won't go through such torment anymore." Despite your best efforts, your eyes trail to his broad chest, and the enticing V of his defined pecs.

As if sensing your eyes on him, Rafayel's mirth grows. "Looks like you can't resist much longer, I'll make you a deal—" 

He leaned in close—much too close—and you could smell the vanilla on his breath; the sunlight glinting off those purple irises softening with a look of warmth only he held for you.

"—come with me tonight to Whitesand Bay, and I promise you won't regret it." 

Muggy and balmy in the evening, Whitesand Bay wasn't exactly the ideal meet up spot for Rafayel to finally fulfill his promise and show you how mermaids reproduce. 

But, you showed up anyway.

Dressed in a light, silk dress to combat the heavy heat of the summer night, you cautiously made your way down to the docks, keeping your eyes and ears peeled for Rafayel. 

"You're here." He appeared a moment later, dashing as usual in his white button-down and pristine slacks. Dazzling under the half-light, you allowed him to take your hand and lead you right to a boat.

"We're not going for a to take a deep dive like last time, right?" Hearing the skepticism in your voice, he laughs.

"Of course, not. I paid Thomas a huge bonus last month and told him to buy a speedboat. For us to borrow, if you're curious." 

"Poor Thomas," you mused, letting him hold you close to his side as he helped you atop the board. "His boss is a tyrant... asking him to use his bonus for such lavish nonsense."

"Is it really a lavish nonsense if I get to have you here?" 

Rafayel's sincerity struck you mute. He breezed past your shocked figure, unaware of the effect he has on you. "Well? Are you going to continue mocking my methods of employment or are we going to do this?" 

Even though his chest was puffed and voice full of bravado, you could tell your sweet artist boyfriend was struggling with his nerves. The tips of his ears were bright red, a faint shadow of a pout on his lips. 

"Raffie," you whisper, taking his hand. He glanced at you, wide-eyed like a fish caught on the bait. "What're you so scared of? It's just you and me."

He lets you rub your thumb across his knuckles, tightening your hold on his fingers.

"I just..." he trails off. "... just don't want you to think I'm a freak. That's all."

Rafayel refused to look at you when he was this vulnerable, and you couldn't help the short giggle bursting past your defenses. He glared, and you quickly reached for his face, touching his cheek.

"Never," you emphasize. "I will never think you're weird. Ever. Besides, if you're a freak then I'm the weirdo in love with you."

Your dopey grin sets something aflutter in his chest, like ripples of ocean waves splashing across a strange shore. Rafayel smirks and takes your hand off his face, choosing to twine his fingers with yours. 

"Shall we make a move, then, my little conch shell?" 

"Rafayel..."

The sight before you stuns you with its splendor. Your beloved boyfriend had gone all out—picnic blankets, lighted candles, flutes of champagne, and spreads of seafood as far as the eye could see... arranged all across the flatbed of this hidden alcove where the sea kisses the land. 

In the distance, the gentle swishes of waves lapping at the shore greeted your ears, its waves illuminated faintly as if lit from within.

"Bioluminescent algae," Rafayel murmurs right behind you. His arms came to wrap around your waist, the heat of his breath fanning right across your exposed neck. "They only appear in the summer when the water is warm." You fight back a shiver, trying not to show how affected you were by his presence. 

"Oh." Dumbly, you weren't sure how to put your thoughts together, much less a coherent sentence. 

Sensing your speechlessness, Rafayel exhaled a laugh. "Come on. We should eat before the food gets cold."

There's a dip in his tone, something tinged with a darker emotion you barely had time to unravel before he was tugging you onto the picnic mat. The food was divine, his personal chefs going all out to satisfy both of your palettes. Conversation flowed easily like the champagne slipping down your throat, coaxing you to release the tightness in your chest in favor of bubbly giggles and flirty smiles.

Rafayel's cheeks were steadily growing pinker, and you were sure he would double over and pass out—forgetting about your brazen question—when you felt his hand on your thigh.

"Would you like to take a swim with me?" 

Memories of seaweed brushing your bare legs, Rafayel’s arms steadily around your waist as he led you past the shoreline fills your mind. Anything cool sounded like a blessing from this heat. 

Plus, he was a pretty good swimmer, as evident from what he truly was. Rafayel would never put you in harm’s way. 

Safe. That was the word. You always feel safe with him. 

“Yes.”

He takes your hand, gives it a squeeze and helps you stand.

Rafayel started to undress first. The hem of his expensive silk shirt reveals the fitted band of his equally expensive slacks—made by the best tailors in all of Linkon. Then, pale skin. It stretches, tightens over defined obliques, abs and then his impressively broad chest. 

Scattered across the sinew and muscle roping his torso were smatterings of moles and beauty marks. 

Someone once told you that these marks were spots past lovers used to love kissing. You idly trace your gaze over the one on his left pec, right over his heart. 

If Rafayel and you had been together in the past, you were sure that the spot over his heart would be your favorite spot to plant your lips on him. 

As furtively as you could, you tried not to gape at him, but completely failed.

Rafayel was a masterpiece made by the gods themselves, and you were the poor fool gaping at his altar; transfixed on the sharp V which led to a light dusting of his happy trail. 

His cock strains behind his slacks, bulging noticeably. You want to reach out and skim your fingers, eager to feel it twitch under your touch. 

"Well?" His gentle amusement tore your thoughts from their sinful vices. "Are you gonna just stare at me or are we going for a swim? Your pick, Miss Bodyguard." 

Showing that you were far braver than you felt, you stood up, shaky hands reaching for the straps of your dress. "Don't look at me." 

A surge of heat flooded your cheeks, your eyes resolutely turned to the side. Obediently, Rafayel followed your orders, though you could hear the cogs turning in his head. It's not like I haven't seen her naked before.  

But, this wasn’t the usual plotting, teasing and flirting you both would indulge in.

Something about the air tonight felt heavier. 

Intimate.

You swore Rafayel could pick up your heartbeat from where he stood. The heat on your cheeks spread down your chest, tingling on your fingertips.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

In nothing but in your lingerie, you shift from foot to foot, feeling too vulnerable and open.

The sky above yawns wide, inky black jaws lovingly unfurling like a spread of velvet sheets. His hand is warm in yours, and you squeeze it, trying to hide how you were trembling. 

“Hey.” Rafayel sweeps you into his arms. Try as you might to fight off the nerves, they bubble up in a short squeak when your face meets his chest. “Relax, baby. You’re shaking like a bubble in the sun… don’t pop just yet.”

You find comfort in his scent—oceanic and musky—breathing him in. 

Do you trust me? Rafayel once asked when you both were drunk on a night out. 

Of course, I do. You flick his nose. Why wouldn’t I trust you? 

Even if I’m different? He fixes you with a look, lucid for someone who had just downed an entire champagne bottle. And I can’t be normal for you? 

Especially because you aren’t normal in the sense of its word… I trust you even more because you trusted me, first. 

Waves lap at your toes, and you shiver at how cool the water is. 

“Easy,” Rafayel coaxes you. He takes the lead, sinking into the soft sand first, never releasing his hold on you. 

You do as he says, a sailor to his siren call, except you knew in your heart you would willingly follow him till the ends of the world.

Once the water was up to your waist, Rafayel exhaled. “Stay here. I’ll be back.” 

You don't have time to protest when he dives into the waves, barely kicking up a spray. Eyeing the softly luminated sea surface, you dip your fingers into the warm water, watching a blue orb float in between your loose fists. 

“Hey.”

Startling, you look up to find him grinning, lilac hair darkened with salt water; holding a bundle of what you thought was tangled hair in his grasp.

“I know you hate the taste of seaweed, but this’ll help when we… get into things.” 

He ends in an awkward note, and you wondered what happened to the once cocky, and sure Rafayel you knew. 

Unfurling his clenched fist, he hands you one single strand. “Eat this. It’ll help you breathe underwater temporarily.” 

“What is it?” you sniff at the strange vegetation. 

“Hydroweed. It gives humans the ability to breathe underwater for up to an hour.”

Putting your faith in his words, you nod. Opening your mouth, you bite into the Hydroweed. 

The briny taste was overwhelming, its tough fibers making it difficult for you to chew. But, you manage to swallow it down. 

Instantly, you felt your throat closing, the air choked out of your lungs. “Rafayel—!” 

Strong hands grab your waist, dragging you under the foamy waves. 

You gasp, about to scream at him to let you go, when you took in your first deep breath underwater.

The world suddenly came to life. Bright blue orbs floated right in front of your face, and you reached for them, in awe at how vivid they glowed now you could see them up close. 

Down in the depths, the waves became hushed murmurs in the background, filling your ears with a ringing silence. 

“Are you okay?” Rafayel’s voice shot through the floating calm like a shout, and you cringed back in shock. 

“Sorry,” he laughs, and pulls you to his side. “It’s way quieter down here than up above because sound travels differently. Strange, huh?” 

You nod, not entirely sure if you could use your voice. As if he read your thoughts, Rafayel chuckles.

“Go ahead and speak, my little conch shell. I can hear you just fine.” 

You take a deep breath. “O-okay.” Growing confident and more comfortable, you relax in his embrace. “It feels… strange. Like you said. But, at the same time, I don’t entirely hate it.”

“Mhm,” he rubs your back, smiling reassuringly and wide. “If there are other Lemurians within a few miles, they can most likely hear you scream.”

His double meaning didn’t register until you felt his palms tracing your hips, teasing down your body to give your ass a fond squeeze.

“Hey—!” 

You swat his hands away, mute with embarrassment. “I-is that why you all live so deep in the sea? For privacy?” 

Rafayel hums. It’s a little off putting how clear his voice sounds, like you were listening to him through a pair of high-grade earphones. 

“Usually, Lemurians mate deep in the trenches where the light can’t find us. It helps to keep things more private and intimate. If not, we travel to other seas uninhabited by our species. I used to know a guy who dragged his wife to the middle of the Atlantic when they were trying for a family.”

Rafayel’s focus ebbs into the distance, a tinge of sadness in his tone that appears whenever he speaks of his long lost people and home. 

You take his hands in yours and squeeze, trying to draw him back from the precipice of his ruined memories.

“We could try…” you trail off, unsure if this was the right thing to say. “...to repopulate it?” 

Like your words were a trigger, you found yourself planted right on the ocean floor, soft sand cushioning your body.

You squeak, quickly darting your eyes to his, arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders.

Rafayel’s usual glimmering pink-blue eyes were shadowed by a darker emotion; reminding you of glinting shark teeth or a blade of moonlight slicing through choppy water. 

“Don’t say that, baby.” Was it you, or did his voice drop an octave? 

Your Lemurian lover’s low reprimand made a shudder run down your spine, his half-mast eyes causing your stomach to flip.

“You don’t know how those words make me feel… my kind used to reproduce by the dozens—I can’t wait to see you bulging with my babies.” 

Wait… babies? 

With a capital ‘S’?

His mouth lands on yours, hungry and seeking. You kiss him back with as much ardor, lost in the sensations that you almost forgot what he had said earlier.

“Raf… Rafayel—” you gasp when he starts to dig his teeth into your neck, nipping down your jaw and collarbone.

Deft hands unclip your bra, the motion fluid like he has done this a million times before. From the corner of your eye, you see every article of clothing he took off you floating right to the surface; moonlight bouncing off the fragmented surface, playing across the broad expanse of his back. 

Your head swims with fuzzy thoughts long discarded when he pushes the plush fat of your tits together, licking and nipping around your areolas, ignoring how your nipples were already circling with need. 

“Raffie…” You fist his hair, trying to push his mouth to where you need him the most. “Don’t tease me.”

He laughs at your soft whine. “I need to make sure you’re prepared, my love.”

My love. Rafayel only called you that term whenever he was in the thick of his passion; it seems like you were about to witness the cumulation of your innocent question coming true.

Strong hands held you firmly while he eased down your body, planting fleeting kisses on every inch of your skin his lips could touch. 

Down in the deep, gasps and screams weren’t sounds, but vibrations; the sounds escaping your mouth resounding around your entwined bodies.

“Fuck,” Rafayel cussed once he reached the apex of your thighs. “I can’t wait to finally taste you underwater.” 

Barely giving you time to brace yourself, the broad stroke of his tongue melted through your folds. 

Never would you have imagined you would be eaten out right on the ocean’s bed—going deeper and deeper into the neverending blue. 

Rafayel’s lips were wrapped around your nub, sucking and caressing it with his tongue exactly how you liked it. Your smaller fingers sank into his hair, the other entwining with his own above your heart; back arched to give him everything you have.

“S’good,” he murmurs, verging on the edge of slurring. “I love you.”

His name tumbles from your mouth like a primal echo, calling him right to the edge of a bottomless trench.

Rafayel wasn’t afraid; he would traverse the deep beyond for as many chances to be with you as he could.

“Put your legs around my waist,” he whispers in between sloppy kisses back up your body. 

If someone were to tell you that your sweet boyfriend was literally making love to you on the bottom of the ocean, you would tell them a Wanderer had infected their mind.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his body emanating a faint glow. A distant memory claws past the thin membrane of your barely held together thoughts; moonlight bouncing off pink-blue scales, his unbearable body heat and a pearly sheen misting his eyes.

“Rafayel—” 

The change was imperceptible. At first, you couldn’t feel anything but the sinful sinking of his cock stretching out your cunt. 

Then, it hit you like a freight train.

His waist felt like it was expanding, pushing your thighs further apart. But, when you glanced down the line of your bodies, the length of his legs was replaced by something longer. Bigger. It distinctly had two fins attached to the end, bent at an angle to accommodate the position he was fucking you in.

“R-Rafayel—!” 

“Fuck,” he strains, lining his forehead with yours. “I-I’m scared of hurting you.” 

“N-no,” you force your thick tongue to relinquish the words. “You'll never.”

His skin grew harder under your touch, inches of pale expanses replaced by shiny scales. Minus his face, his limbs, back, chest and torso were completely covered by the armor-like toughness of multiple hardened plates. Where the scales couldn’t touch, they were bonded together by thin layers of lamella, giving his entire body an otherworldly sheen. 

Mesmerized, you titled his face towards you, marveling at the scattering of scales adorning his throat and jaw. 

“Wow,” you murmur, touching them. They weren’t as hard or sharp as you imagined; his scales had a delightful give you couldn't stop pressing down on. 

In response, Rafayel grunts. “Baby… It’s happening.”

You were about to part your mouth and ask him what was, when your eyes shot wide open. 

The place where you both were connected suddenly grew tighter, as if something was pushing against your insides. Your muscles instinctively tried to expel the foreign intrusion, tensing and tightening—it was a shot of fear unlike any other you had ever tasted. 

Panicking, you cried out, “Rafayel, stop!”

Immediately, he ceased rutting into you, breathing heavily. Anguished, pastel eyes peel clapped onto yours, a pearly sheen filming over them.

“Shit… shit, I’m so sorry…”

“What’s happening?” you blurt out, a tremble of fear in your question. “Are you… are you putting e-eggs in me?” 

“Eggs?” he sounds bewildered, and that causes you to be perplexed in turn. Breathing hard, Rafayel’s forehead thumps onto your sternum. He doesn’t refute you or confirm your suspicions. Instead, he takes in a deep, ragged breath, like he was trying to tame down a cresting emotion. “Did you actually think, for a single second, that I was going to leave eggs in you?” 

Before you can even speak, his broad shoulders start to shake. Rafayel’s quiet laughter roused your confusion and indignation; your brows furrowing together because he wouldn’t stop laughing.

“Shut up,” it was your turn to be the whiner in this relationship. “You’re mean. It’s a valid question!” 

“Oh, baby,” he wheezes. One second, he was laughing, and the next, he lapsed into a quiet seriousness, the sudden mood change giving you whiplash. “I would never hurt you like that, my love. Trust me.”

Gently grasping your hand with his, he slips it down both your bodies, right to where you two were connected. “What I meant to show you, my little conch shell, is this.” 

He brings your hand between your own legs. You thought he was going to make you touch yourself, but when you feel something hard and distinctively not flesh-like bump your hand, you flinch back.

“Ssh, don’t be afraid,” he murmurs. “Go on and take a look, my love.”

Again with my love. 

Rafayel was either struck with nerves, or he was completely enamored with you at this moment. 

You licked your lips, tasting salt water on them and cautiously stretched your fingers to feel the strange object up. It was long and girthy, like a penis, except it wasn’t.

Steeling yourself, you risk a peek.

Gone was the smooth, veiny skin of Rafayel’s cock. His human one. 

In its place, was a thick length, riddled with ridges and bumps like an octopus’ tentacle. His very human appendage was always a stunner—slender (like his physique), veiny, with a hooked tip—but the sight before you (that strange and downright alien sight) blew your expectations out of the water. 

Your gasp reverberated around the pressing silence. Rafayel was quiet, waiting for you to speak. In turn, you couldn’t keep your eyes off his new genitalia. 

“Is that…” you struggle to piece together a coherent question. “Is that all… going inside of me?” 

Rafayel grunts. “Unless you don’t want me to, sweetheart.”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, staring past the crest of his shoulder towards the shimmering, seemingly impenetrable ceiling of a world beyond the bubble you both created.

“I do,” you finally whisper, your confession rippling around the both of you, suspending your forms in an endless wave of mutual ecstasy. “I want this. I want you.”

Rafayel doesn’t bother to waste his time replying. You brace yourself, heels digging into his hips, clinging onto him with all of your strength. 

The first breach of his otherworldly cock inside of you felt like a touch of electricity up your spine. You cried out, nails digging into his scaly shoulders.

“Relax,” he paces you through the sensations. “I need you to relax for me, my love. I can’t get in if you’re this tight.” 

You gulp in a few deep breaths with your eyes screwed shut, and eventually, your heartbeat slows down. Sluggishly cracking your lids open, you catch the gleam in his pink-blue irises; locks of his iridescent hair floating around his serene expression.

The strange sensation was back, easing past your ring of muscle. You choke on a moan, trying to swallow your fear. 

“Ssh,” Rafayel murmurs. To distract you, he leaves feathery kisses on your cheeks, jaw and then, your lips. 

If the bottom of the ocean wasn’t enough to drown you, his kiss would. 

Rafayel… you whisper into the water. 

His name was a prayer dedicated to the Sea Gods on your tongue, your body sprawled out beyond your comprehension. Every line of you was taut with tension, the achingly slow stretch of his appendage plunging deeper and deeper into your heat had your head spinning like a whirlpool was threatening to suck you in. 

“Almost,” his harsh whisper clashes with your breath. “So good for me; you’re doing so good for me, my love.”

“Rafayel,” you mewled, the sea taking your tears. Hiccuping his name, you shudder, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. 

Your fist clamped down on soft sand, your back arched, and finally—finally—you felt his hips clipping yours.

“Fuck.”

The both of you groan in unison. 

His kisses were still warm, flush on your parted lips. Rafayel shunted his hips forward, then back. Repeating the same motion. 

Again. Again. And again.

The sensation was unlike any other you had felt in this world. No cock could possibly compare to the ridges wrapped around his length, the blunt, elongated tip almost touching the deepest part of your body.

“Rafayel,” you cried in a thick voice, like your mouth was filled with cotton. “Oh, God…”

Your tits flushed to his chest, your fingers in his hair and his tongue twining with yours shook your inner world like a deep sea earthquake.

This wasn’t like your usual lovemaking sessions; everything was amplified, more sensitive and tangible.

God, was it all so tangible.

You could physically feel every scaly ridge under your fingertips. His modified cock dragging those ecstasy-inducing bumps across your walls. Even his taste was different underwater; like a briny, primal flavor which coated your tongue. 

“Y/N,” his moan more angelic than what you could handle. “I love you. I love you so, so much—” 

Rafayel choked, and you didn’t need to ask to know he was about to cum. 

The ecstasy of it all wrapped its tendrils around both your embracing bodies; a human and Lemurian entangled in a dance as old as time. 

“I love you,” you cry out, toes curling and your nails raking down his back. Rafayel grunts, and in the dim half-light of the ocean engulfing you, you swore you saw his frantic eyes shine like precious pearls.

The world was closing in, darkness seeping into the corners of your vision. 

You pushed on his shoulder, trying to get his attention; acutely aware that the ache in your lungs wasn’t because of his kisses, but of something else.

Something out of your control.

The call of the surface burned through your lungs, and you opened your mouth, about to scream for him to let you go, when it all slammed into you like a tidal wave.

Darkness exploded, splattering across your mind, and you heard his cry of your name, the sound now echoey and muggy.

There was movement. A sharp tug. What sounded like wind whistling through your ears. 

Through your snatches of consciousness, you were aware of the pushback both your bodies weathered through the wall of water; how the ocean was trying to hold you back.

As soon as the sensation appeared, it was shattered by a golden burst of fresh oxygen.

Gulping in mouthfuls of air, you yelled out in fright, blindly grappling across the writhing dark mess of endless ocean surrounding you. 

Rafayel! Rafayel!

You felt strong arms wrap around you, holding you in his embrace like how a father would cradle his child.

Close your eyes, you thought you heard him murmur in your ear. And don’t open them until I tell you it’s safe to.

Arms clamped around his shoulders and legs wrapped around his waist, your intrinsic fear of the ocean made you trust his word. 

Gently now, you were bobbing across the water, the cool currents rushing across your bare skin. It felt like gelatinous cold drafts constantly hitting every body part. Staying true to his promise, you kept your eyes shut until you felt rough sand on your back; the waves receding from your body to lap at your toes.

Gasping, you peel your eyes open, lid by lid.

The alcove where he took you tonight was back in front of you. 

Rolling onto your front, you tried to stand, but only succeeded in stumbling back onto the sand; losing your sense of balance from countless minutes spent suspended in the ocean's mass.

“Hey, hey. Easy there.”

Rafayel was still in his Lemurian form, and this time, under the dim, flickering lights of the bay’s lanterns, you were stunned into an awe-inspiring disquiet.

The flickering warmth casted shadows over his iridescent scales, those once tough and gray plates under the ocean’s darkness glowing from the inside out with a pink-blue flame.

Half of his tail was still submerged in the water, and you couldn’t help but drag your gaze across the stunning length.

Easily a few feet long, you couldn’t even begin to wrap your head around the mental image of how majestic his entire Lemurian form would look underwater. It was just too bad the Hydroweed’s effects were over before you could even get to the good part.

Your thighs were chafing, drawing attention to your gapingly empty cunt. 

Pulling yourself to your knees, you came chest to chest with him. 

Rafayel’s saltwater soaked fingers grasped your cheeks, titling it up to inspect you. 

Trickles of water seeped down his face, darkening the sand with droplets of wetness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, fraught and remorseful. “I lost track of time. I could’ve seriously injured you.”

“It’s okay.” The both of you flinched back from how hoarse your voice sounded. Clearing your throat, you struggled to put your mushy thoughts into words. “I… enjoyed it.”

Rafayel dropped his hands, his breathing growing ragged. “I should get back to normal—”

“No!” 

You stunned him with your vehemence, scrambling to grip his shoulders, clapping your crazed eyes onto his widened ones.

You’re acting like a mad woman. 

But, he didn’t say that to you. Rafayel grasped your hands, drawing them to his chest, pouring every drop of attention onto you. 

“I want to… try it… here.” 

You pieced together your incoherent request, and a part of you wondered—dreaded—if you had already lost your mind from the lack of oxygen and crushing deep sea pressure. 

Rafayel stared at you for a moment, unspeaking.

Then, he gently dragged you closer. Before you could even squeak, he had you straddling his waist. 

This time, it was your turn to peer down at him, curtains of your wet hair framing your face.

“Take me, then,” his voice was equally as hoarse as yours, though you suspected it wasn’t from ingesting enough saltwater to fill up your lungs. Trembling fingers touched your face, smoothing across your cheeks. “I’m all yours. I’ve been bound to you since the very beginning. You can take me, I won’t fight back. I told you I wouldn’t that night, don’t you remember? I’m keeping my word now.”

Something about the longing in his tone, how those pink-blue eyes yearned to swim in your soul, brought a lump to your throat. 

“Rafayel…”

Strong hands helped to guide your hips over his cock, easing you down with quiet praises and encouragement.

So good for me, baby. Look at you. Taking me so well. Wish I could paint this moment—you look so pretty. All for me. My love. My love. 

“R-Rafayel!” Thin red lines bloomed on his chest from your nails, your eyes rolling back into your head.

Without the sea’s buoyancy to support you, gravity took over, easing you down his bulbous cock.

Rafayel’s thumb circles your clit, rubbing it gently, soothingly, to get you wetter.

Your body felt like it was about to split cleanly into two—he was much too big for you. 

“C-can’t!” you whisper-cried. “I can’t take all of you—ngh.”

His mouth found your nipples, licking and sucking along the fleshy nubs until they were coated with his spit and tightening obscenely; an erotic outline lit by the bay's dim lantern lights.

“You can,” he mumbled in between your breasts. “I know you can.”

The rough strip of his tongue slid from your sternum towards your neck, pausing right at your pulse point. Sharp bites bloomed on your neck from his teeth, and you shiver from the throbbing pain going straight to your clit. 

That strange, heightening sensation was back. You felt much too sensitive, like a lightning rod trembling from an impending electrical storm.

One touch could’ve made you explode.

Rafayel brought your lips to his, tangling his tongue down your throat; stoppering your cries. 

Warm, smooth, distinctively human palms caressed your hips and thighs. 

Almost in, baby, he whispers in between kisses. I can feel every inch of you. 

You flit your eyes to where both your bodies meet, in mute shock from how deep he already was in you.

“You like it, baby?” he breathes warmly on your jaw. “Like watching yourself sit on my cock?” 

Fuck. Stop teasing me, you want to whine. But, the words won’t slip past your clenched teeth. 

His name bounces across the soft sand, the wind picking up and making you shiver. 

The warm glow of the lanterns spill across his sharp cheekbones, planes of his jaw. You’ve never seen someone look this beautiful under a hazy night sky before.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” you feel him murmur against your lips. “Say the word, baby. We’ll stop.”

You’re panting now, trying hard not to break your progress and having to start over. Rafayel was about halfway inside, and you forced your body to push and receive. 

Guh, you gasp, tossing your head back. 

“Love seeing you stretch yourself out on my cock, baby,” Rafayel mutters hoarsely—passionately. 

The implicit meaning in his words is clear: I love how you give yourself so willingly to me.

For Rafayel, you would do this ten times over until your body memorizes him. Willing your cunt to make a home for his monster cock even if it would break your spine.

“Almost,” he reassures in a low groan. “You feel s’good baby.”

He’s sweating as well, bullets of exertion not to break his composure and fuck into you mingling with the last of the seawater droplets rolling down his temples.

Rafayel, Rafayel, you whimper his name over and over. Oh God…

Something bubbles inside of you, thick and hot. You think you’re about to spill over, thighs shaking from the effort of holding yourself up. 

Your lover groans, low and lusty, his eyes trapped right in between your legs. “You’re so wet—look. Your little pussy loves me, baby.”

You glance to where he’s telling you to look, and nearly pass out from the embarrassment. 

Thick, pearly droplets are oozing down his merman length, and you would’ve thought it was from him had you not felt your walls start to twitch—more wetness gushing and trickling down to stain his pelvis.

The added lubrication made it easy enough for you to bottom out on his cock, and both your mutual cries of ecstasy reverberated into the dark night.

Shit, shit. Too big. You’re too big for me.

“You can take it,” he mouths your earlobe, kissing down your cheek. “Doing so well for me.”

Your breathing trembles, like a question hanging in thin air. Can you fuck me now? 

Rafayel scoffs and bumps his nose with yours gently. “Always making me do the hard work. You really are my spoiled, pretty princess, aren’t you? Or…” his voice drops, the heat in his eyes almost scorching you. “Do you want to be my good girl?”

You gasp: I do. I want to be your good girl.

He hisses when you start to shift your hips, the motion making your clit catch on his pelvis. You mewl, leaning forward to repeat the same motion; trying to chase after that spark of pleasure over and over again.

Those big, smooth palms cradle your face, pushing your hair back.

Rafayel’s jaw is tense, like he’s biting down on some inner demon you can’t see. 

That’s it. That’s my good girl. 

Your nails leave white crescent moons on his pale shoulders as you ride him, every bump and ridge of his cock brushing your sweet spot. He was so deep in you, almost plunging right past your cervix. 

“Fuck,” he curses. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

An arm sweeps you right to his chest, your cheek pressed atop his heartbeat. Rafayel thrusts his hips up, meeting your sensual grinding.

Spit pools in the back of your throat, your eyes squeezed shut as you let your Lemurian lover have his way with you. You part your mouth, mellifluous moans touching the air and turning it golden to his reddened ears.

I love you. His whispers against your throat, the sting of his teeth soothed by the sweetness of his praise and adoration. I love you so much, my good girl.

“You fuck me so good,” the words tumble from your split mouth, recklessly thoughtful. “No one can fuck me like you.”

Yeah, he pants, mouthing your pulse point. Cream on this cock, baby. It’s all yours. His hands span across your lower back, traversing down to grip your ass and spreading you wider for him.

Give me everything you’ve got, Princess. 

His cock plunges so deep inside of you, and you were sure that if he came right now, he might’ve knocked you up in one try. 

All yours. Rafayel was all yours. 

You lean up, arms resting on either side of his head as the sand bites into your skin. 

Rafayel thinks he might’ve died and gone to heaven. He watches, mesmerized, as your tits sway right in front of his face. You’re fucking him now, meeting each fluid thrust he had to give; bouncing on his lap like you were riding out a desperate heat.

His thighs tense, and he feels your pussy clench down on him. 

Fuck, you stutter, and so do your hips. I’m close. 

He squeezes your ass, smacks it with both palms.

Your breathing catches, and you ride him even harder. Faster.

“Fuck,” those pretty eyes were hooded, latched on your bouncing tits and stiff nipples. “Look so good fucking me—you love using me, don’t you, Master?” 

You gasp, and Rafayel feels your composure slip when you squeeze down on him. He almost cums right there and then. But, he fights it off, needing to see you lose control first.

The sight of your stickiness frothing at the base of his cock nearly makes him white out in pleasure, getting messier with every stroke of his non-human cock. 

He’s never had a human before in his Lemurian form, but it’s something straight out of a wild, wet dream.

Your skin was so, so soft in comparison to his hard scales that he’s almost afraid of hurting you with them.

But, you prove you’re made of tougher stuff when you lean back, bracing both hands on the girth of his tail. 

Showing off your puffy pussy and glistening hole taking every inch of him like it was made for this and only for this purpose.

He feels himself drowning in you. No one has ever taken him this deep. His mouth falls open, a low grunt touching your hot ears. Good girl… good fucking girl. His praises make you warm all over. You would do anything and everything to earn his devotion. But, Rafayel doesn’t make you do it—he gives it to you freely. One large hand smoothed over your belly, your tits, pinching your nipples and smirking inwardly when you gasp and groan. 

Breathy whimpers resound, his thumb on your clit rubbing out full body shudders. The sky above spins, like he’s being sucked into and about to be spat out of a whirlpool.

His eyes bounce from the softness of your belly, your tits jiggling, and then back down to your pretty pussy taking all of him in.

“Like what you see?” 

Rafayel flits his gaze back up. Your eyes were two pools of smoldering heat, about to burn him alive.

You grab his wandering hand, pressing it right over your stomach. “I can feel you here.” He twitches, and you gasp. “So, so deep.”

Sloppy sounds of your bodies meeting; you were so, so wet and perfect. Your pussy was gushing, fighting between squeezing him out or sucking him in. 

I’m gonna cum, baby, he grunts. The vein in his neck tightens, and your whimper almost sets him off.

Gonna cum so deep inside of you. Make you so round and perfect with my babies. You’re my Queen, aren’t you? My love. I’ll love you until the seas dry up. You’re mine forever. 

It’s that tinge of possessiveness which does you under. You were putty to his deep, gravelly voice; those words of unending devotion and sin.

His thick, dark lashes flutter, those pretty eyes rolling back into his head.

Fuck, baby. He grabs onto your hips, looking for something to steady him. “I need you… I’m gonna cum,” he whines, and it’s pathetic really—how much you’ve affected him.

If he was a lesser man, Rafayel might’ve called you his weakness. But, you were more than that.

You were the reason he woke up in the mornings. The reason he relentlessly pursued the passages of time and space to find you; you were the muse to his madness. 

“Do it for me, baby,” you pant, and fall back into his arms. Chest to chest, lips to lips, every breath you took was exhaled by his own. “Cum for me.”

Make me yours forever, Rafayel.

The world goes white, and your pussy quivers around him, an ending opera note suspended in mid-air.

It comes crashing down, slo-mo turned to a normal pace when time rushes back to engulf your sluggish shore.

His cum fills you up, thicker and running hotter than a human’s. It felt strange; pulsating inside of you, glob after glob. Your pussy shudders and breaks, physical and emotional walls all torn down for him; voice hoarse and edged with mania. Rafayel, Rafayel, Rafayel…

You mumble his name like a prayer while he drags your lips to his, kissing you like an oath.

He feels you shudder around him, growing weaker like a kitten. It would be so easy for him to pierce your neck with his teeth, cut through your jugular with his scales. 

But, Rafayel tames his primal, oceanic urge to destroy, reining it back in favor of nosing your hair.

“Felt so good,” he mumbles tiredly. “Are you okay, my little conch shell?”

You hum, shift your hips. The bulbous head of his cock brushes the opening of your cervix. “I can’t believe I took you so deep.” You drift off and in a few minutes, feel him go from soft to half-hard in you again. 

“Are you still turned on, baby?” you ask innocently, voice soft and frayed with exhaustion. Rafayel swivels his face away, trying to hide his red ears.

“N-no.”

You huff a laugh, using all the strength in your jelly-like limbs to sit up. Something catches your attention, and in the corner of your eye, you pick up the dark strands, fisting it close to your mouth.

Rafayel watches, unsure what you’re intending to do. He sits up, squints, and almost gasps.

That’s enough Hydroweed for you to last a night under the ocean. 

He’s about to stop you, when you ingest it all in one go.

The second you convulse, he pushes you back into the ocean, your gasp of relief second to only his bruising kiss completely devouring your mouth. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, and your back meets the ocean floor again. This time, you take the lead, rolling him off to straddle his waist again. 

Rafayel glances at you, gorgeous pastel eyes hooded. 

He notices how comfortable you’re getting underwater; how easy it is for you to scoot down his torso, your playful smirk making his cock and heartstrings throb. 

“Baby—” he mumbles, only to be cut off by the sight of you kissing his bulbous tip.

Rafayel isn’t a believer of god per say (coming from his own experience as a retired sea deity), but at the sight of your pretty lips skimming his merman tip, he thinks he could give religion another shot. 

What’re you doing? His whisper carries across the currents.

Ssh, you hush him, rimming the tip of your tongue around his flushed head. You don’t miss how his tail twitches, cock now painfully at full mast. 

Isn’t it obvious? You mumble, kissing the tip reverently. I want to taste my Lemurian's pretty cock.

He seizes, back arching, putty in your hands when you take him down as deep as your little throat allows. 

What else you couldn’t fit, you used your hands to jack up and down.

Soft hisses slip past his clenched teeth. “You’re driving me crazy, baby.”

Mhm, you slur, flickering your hazy, fucked out gaze to his flushed face. Tastes so good, you whisper, and Rafayel was glad the ocean didn’t show the line of drool that usually trickles down your jaw; your fucked out expression which would make his control snap instantly. 

You would need to consume at least three more mouthfuls of Hydroweed before he was fully done with you. 

Luckily, Thomas’ yacht came with some fluffy towels.

Rafayel had wrapped you in one while he laid the other under your back; content to curl his tail around you, still in his Lemurian form. The honeywood deck was warm to the touch, the balmy evening offering comfort and respite from hours underneath the cold, dark ocean. 

“So…” he quips, not one for stewing in silence. “Questions? Thoughts? Comments?” 

You fight back a smile. 

“Was there really eggs put up inside of me? Swore I felt a lot of round and hard things sloshing inside.”

“That… would be my tip.” Rafayel flicks your nose when you scoff. “On a scale of one to ten, how freaked out would you be if I said I did actually put some eggs up in your body and it had to be fertilized so the rest would start falling out of you like gelatinous goo until the only one takes?” 

You blink. “Pretty freaked out, if I’m being honest.”

“So… a nine?” 

“More like—” you lifted your hand and made a so-so motion. “—a six, at best. I’m kinda used to your bullshit by now, babe.” 

“Hey!” Rafayel tugs on the ends of your hair, making you laugh. Growing serious now, he murmurs, “So, you’re absolutely fine with being knocked up with a half-Lemurian kid?” 

“Depends,” you mumble mildly. “Am I the first one you’re doing this with?”

Barely missing a beat, he nodded. “The only one. Never had time to sleep around. Always busy running a kingdom. Blah-blah. Typical God of the Sea stuff. No biggie.”

“Aw,” you coo, “I’m so honored you waited for me.” 

You expected him to scoff or roll his eyes, not lapse into a serious quietness. Rafayel’s silence stretched on, and you perched your jaw on his shoulder.

“Hey. Penny for your thoughts?” 

“Hmm.” Rafayel tugs you closer, grabbing your hand and pressing it to his cheek. His lips are inches apart from yours, warm breath touching your parted mouth. You taste him on your tongue, invigorating yet comforting.

A well-worn sign of home. 

“Just that I would do it all over again. Wait for you, I mean. Even if it takes a long, long time.”

A few centimeters and 800 years stand between the two of you. 

But, for tonight, you breach the distance and kiss him, grateful that you had been given this cherished memory together with Rafayel.

— rbs and feedback are appreciated !!

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or translate my work across other platforms.

[jujuscrolled]

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: 𝒋𝒂𝒆’𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋆｡˚⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Grab yourself some hot chocolate, a pair of cozy socks and sit with me by the fire as we listen to the best Christmas hits!

Last Christmas

A year after your break up with Suguru, your mutual friend Satoru decided it was the perfect time to bring everyone together, so he begged and pleaded for you to help him decorate for his yearly Satoru’s Spectacular Christmas Spirit Bash (yes, he thought of the name) and for some reason, you agreed. You just hoped you’d manage to leave in time before you do something you might regret.

▷ play now

It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas

Shoko never let Satoru drag her into any of his shenanigans. So why did she find herself in one of the ugliest christmas sweaters she’d ever seen, standing on some poor unsuspecting family’s front porch singing Christmas carols of all things? Well, that’s easy really, it’s because you’re there too - looking mighty adorable sporting the second ugliest christmas sweater in existence right alongside her.

▷ play now

Baby, it’s Cold Outside!

Your best friend Satoru Gojo had a bad habit of hogging you all to himself - especially around the holidays - but he always knew when to share. That being said, despite you telling him about your very important date with the guy from on of your classes, he seemed to be abnormally clingy (which you didn’t even think was possible.) Hopefully your hot date won’t mind the messy hair and rosy cheeks you’d probably show up with…

▷ play now (dec.7)

Santa Baby

Your boyfriend Kento always made sure you had whatever you needed (and some!) So when he asked you to write him a Christmas list - you were at a loss for what to ask for. You already had everything that you could possibly need, so what could possibly be missing? Oh, right, you supposed there was one thing you wanted most…

▷ play now

Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree

The Christmas party Higuruma’s law firm would throw to “boost morale” always seemed to have the opposite effect; deflating his coworkers instead of cheering them up. He knew most of them were only attending because they had to but this year seemed different - and it was all because of the pretty little bartender dressed in a ridiculously cute red dress and santa hat.

▷ play now

Silver Bells

Santa’s Workshop was only open for two months out of the year - and they’ve been your favorite two months for the past decade. Seeing the smiley faced, rosy cheeked children accompanied by their equally bright-eyed parents always sparked joy within you, after all, Santa’s Workshop was all things merry. That was at least until your boss decided that hiring Ebeneezer Scrooge to be Santa was a bright idea. But, no need to worry, it was your job to turn frowns upside down after all! All in the name of Christmas spirit, of course!

▷ play now

You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch

Sukuna doesn’t get the appeal of any holiday but especially not Christmas. In fact, he hates it! Or, at least, he did. Then he stumbled across silly little you; a self proclaimed Christmas connoisseur that came into his nephews life and flipped it upside down. Follow his (mis)fortune as you introduce him and his adorable nephew to the true spirit of Christmas!

▷ play now

All I Want for Christmas Is You!

Both you and Yuta adored all things Christmas so it was no surprise that you and him were paired to decorate Jujutsu High for the upcoming Christmas dinner (courtesy of Satoru Gojo, of course). Now, where the hell did all that mistletoe go?

▷ play now

Mistletoe

After being paired with Yuta and his crush to cover Jujutsu High in Christmas cheer you and Yuji are making it your own personal mission to finally get Yuta and his crush together. Thankfully, with the holidays rolling around, mistletoe is far too easy to come by! Wait, why is it that you two always end up stuck in your own trap?

▷ play now

Winter Wonderland

Nobara and Yuji don’t know where Megumi keeps disappearing to every night after class and the excuses he’s been giving them are starting to get ridiculous (they refuse to believe Megumi is trying out meditation) Their solution? Follow him into town, of course!

▷ play now

Santa Tell Me

Spending the months cleaning up vomit that nervous children would leave you in the most ridiculous places (you could’ve sworn the fake presents didn’t even open) wasn’t your ideal pastime and neither was arguing with the ridiculously cute elf that you always seemed to be paired with for your shifts… Well, maybe the latter wasn’t so bad… Especially not when he would go out of his way to get you your favorite hot chocolate before every shift.

▷ play now

A/n: so super excited to get these out n posted <3 i’ll probably also be posting drabbles for other characters (choso my love im begging for ur forgiveness) in between posting these so please keep an eye out for those as well ! <3 (side note; take a shot every time I mention drinking hot chocolate … wld u believe me if i said it wasn’t my drink of choice…? hehe)

[thedelicatearcher]

☆finnick odair masterlist☆

☆finnick odair who helps you study for your finals

☆finnick odair who breaks up with you after seven years together

☆finnick odair who loves making home improvements to make your life easier

☆finnick odair who loves doting on his partner, but also loves being doted on back

☆finnick odair is a sucker for affection from his romantic partner

☆finnick odair loves knitting and crocheting

☆finnick odair loves dancing with you on the living room floor

☆finnick odair loves being taken care of when he feels sick

☆finnick odair survives the mutt attack but is left with scars

☆finnick odair loves showering with his partner

☆finnick odair can’t stop writing poetry about you

☆finnick odair loves gifting you flowers with symbolism

☆painting finnick odair's nails

☆finnick odair likes going to sleep early

☆fair dates with finnick odair

☆finnick odair’s love language is physical contact

☆baths with finnick odair

☆finnick odair lets you braid his hair

☆finnick odair reacts at your bad haircut

☆you and finnick have a jewelry stand in the district four’s market

☆finnick odair loves having his back rubbed

☆finnick odair makes embroidery friendship bracelets

BLURBS

☆finnick odair has a bed full of plushies

☆finnick odair and classic maritime romance

☆finnick odair searches for your comfort when has nightmares

☆finnick odair's hair after the rebellion

☆finnick odair calls you cupcake ironically

☆finnick odair had a lemonade stand as a kid

☆finnick odair loves receiving forehead kisses

☆finnick odair's favorite ice cream

☆finnick odair is a hydrated king

☆finnick odair is an expert at poker

☆finnick odair loves being the little spoon

☆finnick odair is bad at making pancakes

☆finnick odair has a pair of shark slippers

☆finnick odair has a baby blanket

☆finnick odair wanted to be a firefighter as a kid

☆finnick odair gets sunburned very easy

HEADCANONS

☆finnick odair with a partner who loves animals

☆finnick odair goes dress shopping with his partner

☆finnick odair with a musical partner

☆finnick odair had braces as an adult

☆sick finnick odair

☆finnick odair with a partner who has dyed hair

☆finnick odair with a tattoed partner

NSFW

☆finnick odair eats you out

☆one of your favorite activities is sucking finnick off after his nightly shower

☆finnick odair doesnt't mind being submissive in bed with you

TWEETS

☆tweet #1

MODERN FINNICK ODAIR

☆finnick odair is a sucker for romcoms

☆finnick odair is a passionate duolingo user

☆finnick odair loves minions

☆finnick odair considers himself a fashion connoisseur

☆finnick odair doesn't want to wear his retainers

☆finnick odair loves cats

☆finnick odair and johanna mason watching garfield

☆finnick odair has a stanley cup in every color

☆finnick odair has protective cases for every device

☆finnick odair and the sims 4

☆finnick odair has a spiderman toothbrush

☆finnick odair is an excessive emoji user

☆finnick odair loves watching cake boss

☆finnick odair is a menace playing roblox

☆finnick odair gave everyone a kenough hoodie

☆finnick odair and peeta mellark love water parks

☆finnick odair calls the property brothers to remodel everlark's home

☆finnick odair and animal crossing

☆finnick odair & costco

SWIFTIE!FINNICK

☆finnick odair loves knitting and crocheting for his swiftie gf

☆finnick odair loves fearless

☆finnick odair and surprise songs

☆finnick odair is a swiftie

☆more swiftie!finnick thoughts!

☆finnick odair & eras tour

ODESTA

☆finnick and annie call themselves gamers

COMING SOON !!

☆finnick odair fluff alphabet

☆finnick odair's struggle after telling his story in mockingjay (requested)

☆finnick odair with a rockstar partner (requested)

☆finnick odair and a riot grrrl fan hcs (requested)

☆swiftie finnick odair and rock gf (requested)

☆swiftie finnick and rock gf go to the eras tour (requested)

☆finnick odair with reader dealing with trauma after being taken to the capitol (requested)

☆finnick odair with virgin reader (requested)

[fleckcmscott]

Silver Dollar

Summary: An outage in Gotham provides the perfect opportunity for a special night.

Words: 4,629

Warnings: Smut

A/N: This story was prompted by a request from @iartsometimes! 💜 It's probably a little tamer than intended. 🤭 Thank you for the request! Also, much appreciation to @sweet-nothings04 for low-lighting visibility tips. 😂 🌃

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The graffiti plastered bathroom plunged into darkness.

Arthur stiffened where he stood, blinked into the blackness. His vision did not become clearer. Grumbling, he tucked himself into his pants and stepped back from the urinal. The handle took two tugs to flush. He fumbled for the sink, gave his palms a rinse shorter than the Gotham Department of Health recommended. Paper pharmacy bag in hand, he opened the exit's steel door and headed northwest. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glaring, August sun.

Gotham had gone crazy in record time.

People spilled out of luncheonettes, crowds crammed shop doorways. Traffic lights refused to light and pedestrian signals refused to signal. Horns blared in the building pandemonium. A passenger yelled out of a taxicab and flipped the bird, while the driver pounded the steering wheel. Chaos repeated block after block. The Stutton Cowboy on the center billboard ("Price is good. Flavor is everything.") no longer waved. His cigarette hand hovered over his mouth in shock.

Arthur was prepared. Whether due to bad writing or an unpaid bill, he'd spent his share of evenings smoking in the dark. This was something he was good at, an event he could take the lead in.

Bumping a fleeing college kid who had a bottle of vodka hidden under his arm, Arthur shouldered his way into the nearest grocery. Squeezed by a couple of oh lords, maneuvered through murmurs and gripes, and ran through a mental inventory of the drawers in 4A. The day dimmed as he neared the rear aisles. When he arrived at the Home Needs section, he crouched between an abandoned cart and a baby stroller.

He squinted at the battery rack. AAs for the radio, Ds for the flashlight. Maybe some candles, just in case...

An ever-expanding line of shoppers accelerated the beads of sweat on the young cashier's forehead. Handwritten receipts and totals by calculator took twice as long. Arthur sidled to the next line, overseen by a matronly woman wearing a paisley wrap dress who did all the math in her head.

"I'm gonna need a drink after today," she said as he approached the counter.

It took a moment for him to realize she was looking for a kindred spirit. A rapid blink, a subtle nod. "Yeah. Me, too." He eyed a row of bottles on the shelf behind her. That'd make his reply believable.

She followed his stare, stretched to grab a green bottle with an art nouveau label, and put it on the counter.

Vermouth. He wasn't familiar with that word. It sounded exotic, like a fine imported thing. It was a screw top instead of a cork, which he tended to frown on. Uncorking a bottle together was romantic, whereas this was akin to opening a liter of seltzer. He was about to decline it when the price tag froze him. At $14.99, it was more expensive than any wine he'd ever had.

Maybe it really was a fine, imported thing.

"Is it good?" he asked. He picked it up, studied the back as if a connoisseur.

"One of our best sellers."

He gave the matron a one shoulder shrug, half-commitment about to go full. "I'll take it."

~~~~~

Y/N strode the hallowed halls of Gotham City District Court. On the corner of Badger Boulevard and Olsen, the granite behemoth belied the civil servants who were paid far too little to deal with far too much.

Adjusting the bag on her shoulder, she ambled down the checkerboard floor towards the clerk's window. Rita, her favorite, was working today. Rita returned every call, always helped with a combination of sarcasm and cheer.

"And what did you bring me today? she asked when Y/N plopped her canvas bag on the counter. Rita stopped watering her shaggy spider plant and walked to the window.

"A motion to continue the Caruso case and a dozen new filings. You can send the invoice for the filing fees to my office." Y/N split the stack of folders into three slim piles and pushed them through the gap under the glass. "How did your bowling league do last night?"

"We're one game away from regionals! I'm trying to convince my husband to-"

A loud pop echoed down the corridor, bounced along the linoleum, ricocheted off horsehair plaster. The air conditioner's hum devolved to a grinding whir. Bright fluorescents gave way to dingey emergency beams, crisscrossing through dusty, recycled air.

Hand on hip, Y/N looked up. "Did you misplace the electric bill?"

"Great. Judge Harkness is in the middle of a jury trial on the fourth floor. He hates taking the stairs." The clerk covered her face, glanced at Y/N's folders through parted fingers. "I'm not sure when I'll get these processed."

"That's all right. I just wanted them off my desk. I haven't seen the surface in six months." She retrieved a business card from her purse, pushed it to join the files, a gesture repeated every visit to Rita, a reminder to reach out. "Don't forget to update me on your tournament. And don't let His Honor forget who actually runs this place."

When she arrived at Dube & Ellis after a fifty-two-minute walk - all subways stations were cordoned off - she was sweltering. Polyester didn't breathe and it comprised seventy-two percent of her wardrobe. That Terry had done exactly the wrong thing by drawing back the vertical blinds on each and every window was typical. "There's not enough light in here! The whole city's out!"

She unbuttoned her collar and dropped in her chair. Normally her Sanyo desk fan would rattle and grate. Now she'd give her whole paycheck for a hint of its cool breeze.

Power outages had been a feature of many seasons in Missouri. Tornado season and sticky season, window season and squirrel on the transformer season. One night a drunk driver had slammed his Studebaker into a utility pole three houses down. It'd crushed Mr. Walter's front porch and left the road without electricity for two days.

Her mother had instructed them not to open the refrigerator unless they knew what they wanted. Shut the doors to the hottest rooms and placed rolled towels at the bottom to keep air from seeping in. Though she'd loved how the sun filtered through her lace curtains, she'd kept the drapes shut. They'd lit candles at night. She'd done needlepoint in her favorite chair and watched her husband play cards with their daughters until bed. A real family affair.

Daubing beads from his brow with a handkerchief, Phil stood in the center of the room. His expression said keeping them there any longer would be an OSHA violation. He wasn't wrong. The office had become the least relaxing sauna on the east coast.

"You've all put in a lot of work today." He spoke in the voice of a grandfather and daubed again. "I know it wasn't easy. I guess there's no sense in us staying any longer. If the power's not back tomorrow-" A gulp here, as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "Enjoy a long weekend. My wife'll be glad to have me home. I think."

Y/N stole a glance at her watch: 4:42 PM. A whole eighteen minutes early. Though it wasn't a lot, she got how hard it was for a workaholic like Phil to give them five. Offering a soft smile, she went to him and stuck out her hand. The corner of his mouth twisted wryly before he accepted.

She gave his arm a collegial pat. "We're as caught up as we can be, so feel free to stop sweating."

~~~~~

The next morning's breakfast: cornflakes and blueberries. Y/N gave the milk a good sniff before pouring. With the microwave, toaster, and stove out of commission, oatmeal, toast, and eggs were off the menu. (Not that Arthur complained about the latter.)

They'd discussed how to use what was left in the fridge and freezer before it all went bad, but salads wouldn't work for every meal, and they were only two people. The Caswells across the hall, the neighbors who'd gotten their mail while they were in Missouri, had a grill. Y/N gave them a package of ground beef and a bag of frozen vegetables.

Arthur let his spoon clatter in the kitchen sink and rinsed his bowl. (It was a good and joyful thing that the water - and therefore the toilet - still worked.) "You know, I should go the children's clinic."

"Do you have a gig?" She sipped her orange juice.

"No. But it's boring hanging around all day without the TV. They hire me a lot. I'll go for free."

She rose, rubbed the small of his back. "That's so sweet, Arthur. And very kind."

"You could come with me." He paused, pressed his lips together. She'd seen him on street corners but hadn't witnessed the entirety of his performance. Even with her unending support, he suspected an all-out clown show would be the one place she'd feel out of place. He dared a glance her way.

And found a wide-eyed expression of approval. She cupped his hips, planted a wet kiss to his cheek. "You couldn't keep me away."

In the cab downtown, excitement bloomed in him, unfurling in a great wave of nervous joy. Knuckles intertwined, he hugged the prop bag on his lap, thighs jiggling. "Do you think they'll mind me just showing up?"

"No." She shook her head, placed a soothing palm on his knee. "They'll be happy to get a break in the monotony. It's a medical facility, they'll have generators, but the staff are going home to no power. They could use a laugh. The kids definitely could, too."

The Philomena Children's Clinic was squat for Gotham. Five stories of alternating beige concrete and polycarbonate windows, shaped into a squared-off U. Moss hung from the side of the porte-cochere, green clumps littered the pavement. Cartoon animals played on the entrance doors, giraffes and bears in happy acrylics.

When he checked in unannounced, Gertel the receptionist had a snotty face, but he'd learned not to take it personally. She liked order, worked eight to eight, even on holidays, and her only hobbies were the anagram puzzles in the newspaper and Harlequin romances. She was a tough egg to crack. The most he'd gotten was a pinched smile, a thin line of conceit.

Once he'd procured visitor badges for Y/N and himself, he went to the staff room to change. White base, blue triangles at the eyes, exaggerated red grin, bald wig with green curls, patched brown pants. He'd skipped his checkered suit jacket for a white lab coat, a long ago find from the secondhand store.

Rather than congregating in the common area, the kids remained in their rooms. The change put a limitation on his usual song and dance. Without those trappings, he wasn't quite sure what to do. He hesitated in the doorway of 201, thumbed a flat balloon in his pocket. When the little girl watching Sesame Street gave a small wave, he wiggled the worry from his shoulders and stepped forward.

Stephanie showed him a picture she'd drawn, all crayon streaks and misshapen house. In turn he crafted a balloon hat, put it on her head and told her to get well soon. A youngster next door, no more than five, told Arthur all about Misty, his golden retriever, and how much he missed her.

When Kevin, swallowed by an oversized robe, IV drip drip dripping, started to cry, Arthur's chest hollowed out. The boy hadn't seen his mom in two days. Being alone in a hospital was hard, a fact Arthur had lived. He plucked a prop handkerchief from his breast pocket, pressed it into the boy's tiny hands, pushed the corner of his mouth up with his thumb. "You'll see her soon," he said, words carrying a conviction he hoped was right.

Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted Y/N chatting with an RN at the nurse's station. He went into the corridor to eavesdrop, knelt beside a girl in a wheelchair smothered with pink and purple stickers, Heather plastered across the side panel.

"It was nice of him to come," Linda said. "A lot of their parents can't afford the cab fare to get out here, with the subway out and all. And if they're not working, they aren't getting paid. He's always excellent with the children - sometimes he's just like them. Do you have any at home?"

Heather leaned in, prodded his shoulder. "Who's that lady?" she asked, pointing at Y/N.

"That lady?" He grinned from ear to ear. "That's Mrs. Carnival."

The girl gaped in astonishment. "She's not a clown?"

~~~~~

Stolen sheets hung from the railing at both ends of the fire escape. A forest green acrylic blanket obscured the front. A floral comforter, retrieved on tiptoe from the bedroom closet, covered the wrought iron platform. Two wine glasses and vermouth stood on the steps. All that was left was to tune the radio to easy listening, which Arthur did, treading lightly to avoid a stubbed toe.

Nodding, he smiled at his handwork. Well, at the blurred shapes he could detect in the dimness. He looked skyward. With the sun below the horizon and the usual light pollution gone, the night was sparkling.

Candlestick in hand, he eased the bedroom door ajar and sidled through. Gold flickered through the dark, a softening glow. Y/N was an unmoving lump on the mattress. Leg dangling out from the sheet, her half-slip a line on her thigh. Though sleep now came easier, her ability to nap stoked an ember of envy. Midday snoozes happened only after a bit of afternoon delight. She'd tired early, around quarter past six. If he let her doze any longer, she'd be locked in a daze brewing coffee at 2:00 AM.

Hot wax stung the web between his thumb and forefinger. He hissed, shook his hand, shoved the candle on the nightstand. The edge of the mattress sunk under his weight. He grasped the cotton sheet. Dragged it from her shoulder. Revealed the lace trim of her ivory chemise. A brief mumble fell from her mouth, a wet sucking sound. Her fingers curled into the pillow. He pulled the sheet down further. It puddled to the floor.

Stretching one arm, she rolled back to wince at the candle, then at him. "What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty."

That jolted her awake. "I slept too long."

"Mabel called earlier."

"What did she want?"

"She said the blackouts were on the news. I let her know we're all right."

A tender caress to her calf, which felt like silk in his palm. Images of the romantic evening he was about to have with his wife played in his head, a loop that made his stomach all aflutter.

Y/N boosted herself on her elbows. "You have that look."

"What look?"

"The look that means you're up to something," she said, brow arched to her hairline.

Part chuckle, part scoff, he laughed. She read him too well. While it made surprises harder to hide, it pleased more than it annoyed. He stood, offered his hand. "Come here," he said. She accepted, pausing long enough to blow out the flame. He led her to the fire escape and sat on the comforter.

Halfway behind the glass door, she clutched her arms over her chest. "Arthur, I can't go out like this."

"No one'll see you." He gestured at the impromptu walls. Besides, he was six feet away and her form was barely more than a shadow. "And without all the lights, you might be able to see the stars. The way you did back home. Like you told me in the park."

A beam bloomed across her face, what he imagined might be a faint blush. Bent at the waist, she slipped into the half moon's light. One hand on the doorknob, a lifeline in case she reconsidered. Her fingertips relented one by one. First the pinky, last the middle. She settled to his left, knee pulled to her chest, the other leg folded under.

Arthur shuffled closer so they were hip to hip, reached behind her for the wine glasses and bottle with the art nouveau label.

Y/N snagged it from him, squinted at it. "Vermouth?" She held the bottle while he twisted the cap. "My mother used to drink this before bed in the summer. And she rubbed it on Mabel's gums when she was teething. Whiskey, too."

When he brought the goblet of garnet colored liquid to his lips, his nose wrinkled. The liquor smelled like an overgrown garden. He dared a small sip, anyway - and bitterness coated his tongue. He winced, sputtering. "This taste weird. This was supposed to be wine."

"It is, just a different type." She drank long and deep then drank again. "This one's not bad. Strong on the cloves but it'll get the job done."

A news bulletin interrupted the animated notes of Herb Alpert's Tijuana Brass. "In what authorities are calling a historic event, Gotham's five boroughs remain dark tonight - including McKean Island. We're assured safety measures are in place and the maximum-security wing remains in lockdown. Though the extent of the damage is unknown, we're happy to report that crews from Pennsylvania and New York are on their way to our fair city to lend a hand. Police Chief Miles O'Hara and Mayor Thomas Wayne are urging calm and-"

"That's enough of that." Y/N flipped the off switch. "You know the best part of all this? Wayne Tower is just as dark as everywhere else."

Unable to stop a chuckle, Arthur shook his head. She wasn't one for holding grudges, but the ones she did carry lived in the lines of her palms, plain enough for any flimflam psychic to read.

But he didn't want her to talk about that, not now. And he knew of a guaranteed method to distract her, to bring her back to where he wanted. He refilled her drink and clinked their glasses.

Second helping swallowed, she inched her bottom forward to lay on her back, arm tucked beneath her head. "It was wonderful to see you work today. Thank you for inviting me. I'm sorry it took so long."

"Well, you come to my standup shows." Only a month ago, she'd recorded his performance and given him tips over Thai. He stretched out next to her, set his still full glass on the steps. "The girl in the wheelchair asked who you were. She was surprised Mrs. Carnival isn't a clown."

"As surprised as everybody was that I married one?"

A hitched laugh. He fiddled with his trousers' belt loops. "I guess."

"There's a magic wand." She pointed at the skies. "By the moon, to the right."

Arthur hummed a contented hum, let his eyelids flutter shut. The street was peaceful, as still as he'd ever heard it. With most shops and restaurants shut down, the list of leisure options fit on a postage stamp. It was a moment to capture, preserve, like swirls in a vase.

A breeze rustled the sheets, blew across them, carried Y/N's natural scent straight to his nostrils. Warm and spicy, like roasted vanilla edged with musk. He breathed deeply, needing to fill his lungs with her anew. Sighing happily, he turned to her.

Silver gleams turned her skin to gossamer, dusk smudged her features. Feathered brown locks merged with the vines on the bedspread's pattern. Her breast threatened to fall out of the armhole of her lingerie.

Christ. They were outside. He hadn't planned on getting aroused. But the longer he looked at her, the harder he got.

Y/N sipped, balanced her stemware on her sternum. "Thank you for tonight, too. You're always so thoughtful." A simple sentiment but exactly what he longed to hear. An affirmation, a pledge to love him further.

But before he could respond in kind, the glass between her breasts began to tip...

He caught it, a splash hitting his wrist, crimson droplets landing on her collarbone. He set it on the step, bent to seize her lips. An unpleasant earthiness covered them. He licked it away, coaxed back her sweetness.

Gigging, she broke away. "Was this your plan? To get me out here and ply me with drink?" The hand on his shoulder dragged to his cheek. The breathy voice she adopted shot straight down his spine. "To take advantage of me?"

It wasn't but he didn't have to tell her that. He nudged closer, his erection grazing her thigh. "Maybe."

A slow smile of pleasure. "I like that plan."

Her palms snuck under his t-shirt, forced it upwards as she explored his body. Nails swirled at his abdomen. It grew taut, stuttered at the sensations, her tickles and temptations. When she reached his pecs she gave a firm pinch. At his displeased grunt, a wicked laugh left her, bawdy and amorous. A clear sign of what they were up to.

His thumb followed her chemise's ribbon strap. His hand fell to her side, skimmed her rounded hip, the delectable curve of her leg. Her half-slip had a daring slit. He slid through, drew lazy circles on her inner thigh.

She shivered. "You're not making it easy to be quiet."

Fingertips traced her panties' elastic leg. Heat emanated from her core, luring him nearer and nearer. Her swallowed whimper rushed him there. Slick and wet, the nylon gusset clung to her vulva.

He'd grown deft at touching her, even in the dark. He trailed a careful stripe along her labia. Inner lips were a prominent line through the fabric, her clitoral hood a plump ridge. Light and rapid he flicked his nail across it. Her pelvis snapped up, held. Millimeter ruts chasing his scrapes, fingers digging his back.

A shudder racked him. His forehead pressed to hers. "If we had more room, I'd taste you." She pressed her lips together, a squeal trapped behind them.

The same breeze that'd carried her scent could very well carry her hungry little whines around the block. So he captured her mouth with his. It started off tender and shallow but was soon all encompassing. She raked through his hair, tugged and tugged again. His tongue sought hers, caressed, collided. Teeth bumped with a muted click.

Sharp gasps. Her neck, her breasts, her entire being arching into him. Desperate push-pulls. He pressed on, strokes licks of fire on her clit. Mewling built in the back of her throat. He heard it in her shallow pants, felt it in how she gripped his bicep. Her thighs trembled, vulva throbbing in his hand.

"Ah!" She squeaked, a strangled, undignified sound.

Snorting, he shoved her sweaty face into the crook of his neck, caught the cries she couldn't stop. (Long ago, she'd offered to visit his apartment on her lunch break - with the explicit promise she could be quiet. He hadn't taken her up on it. Phew!) Her grip on his shirt tightened. One leg went straight, the other knee brushed his cock. Stillness punctuated by tremors. He kissed her temple, slowed his caress to a languid pace.

Legs akimbo, she blinked at him. Signaled silence with a finger to her lips. She balanced on her knees, shed her panties, patted the spot where she'd lain. He scooted over immediately. When he tried to sit, she pushed him to lie on his back. Moving to straddle him, she unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. He made no move to stop her.

Y/N braced herself on his chest, reached between them to press him to her entrance. She began to ease herself onto him, ease him inside her. But he told her to stop.

A strap fell down her upper arm, loosened her camisole to accentuate her cleavage and reveal a breast. Her nipple poked out, its dusky brown a tantalizing contrast to her white skin. Moonlight sculpted the apple of her cheek in whirls of silver. The stars shone about her head, caught in her tresses like sequins on an evening gown.

A pleasant fuzziness swept through him. Nearly three years and he was still drawn to her like a magnet. He'd bet his life that'd be the same case in twenty.

She cocked her head. "What is it?"

He brushed her hair behind her shoulder. Lowered the other strap. "Perfect," he said, smiling as his heart swelled. "You look perfect."

Teeth pressed her lower lip in a shy smile. When she bent to kiss him, her nipples dragged up his chest, prickled his flesh. She shifted the angle of her pelvis forward, the angle that rubbed her clit on his public bone. The one that left his black curls a matted, wet mess.

A sensuous thrust, her hips rolled in a seductive circle. "I want you to come," she whispered, and licked his bottom lip.

One foot braced on the grate beneath him, which bit even through the comforter. He bucked into her, into that heady stretch of her slippery heat. As if testing their connection, she raised up until he nearly flopped out, until only the glans remained. Then her walls encompassed him once more. Clutching, grasping. A steady rhythm. Relentless motion that bewitched and bewildered.

He cleared his throat to keep from crying out, channeled the urge to groan into grabbing the baluster behind his head. Her pinky brushed the strong sinew of his neck, her tongue followed his collarbone. Tightness in his loins spread to his abdomen, crawled through his limbs.

A burst of light, white and pulsing, formed behind his eyelids. Fire rippled through his veins, a scarlet flush of satisfaction. He bit the inside of his cheek, permitted one weak whimper to escape. She held herself in place while he finished, in the way she knew he liked. Stroked the tension from his dimples until they melted into a smile.

Slack and sated, his arm dropped to the ground. He puffed out his chest and cheeks and huffed. On a swift peck, she began to push herself up.

Just then, the Caswells' glass door creaked. Sluggish steps, like a hiker stuck in the mud. Y/N ducked on top of Arthur, held her breath. A hurdy gurdy voice called from inside. "...should have added it to the list last week. Where are you going? Louie L'Amour's about to start on GPR!" The rattle of a far-off rotary phone. "Oh, I bet that's your mother. She's called every hour!"

"I never said you have to answer it!" A resigned sigh, the click of a lighter. Arthur could almost hear the man deflate.

"The heat must be getting to them," Y/N said. "I think he'll be out here awhile."

Arthur murmured into her hair. "If you weren't so sweet, we wouldn't be in this jam." A playful swat to her bottom.

Laughter tickled his neck. She lifted herself a couple inches, pulled up the straps of her camisole. Careful to remain discreet, she grabbed her panties, clambered off him, and duck walked towards the living room. One foot beyond the threshold and she scampered out of sight.

He zipped his trousers, straightened his shirt, stretched as he stood, stuck a hand in his pocket to appear nonchalant. He grabbed the radio and headed inside. The rest he'd retrieve ten minutes later, when the neighbor would be forced to answer to his mother.

As he entered, Y/N emerged from the bathroom. His feet stumbled to a stop, his brain blanked. She'd shed her clothing and now stood nude before him. His stomach again went all aflutter.

"Let's repeat all that as soon as we can.” She curled her fingers around his wrist, not giving him a moment to resist. “By candlelight. In our bed."

~~~~~

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[thrawns-backrest]

GIRL (gender neutral, I don't know what you prefer)!!!!! YOU'RE FEEDING ME!!! YOU'RE KEEPING ME ALIVE !!!!

Give me all the Thurfian you've got, all the headcanons, all the silly thoughts, all the sketches !!! TALK TO ME !!!

OH GOD YOU'VE OPENED THE FLOODGATES!!! (and hnnnnng he's so pretty here I'm-)

Okay starting with more about his hair because I'll never be done with his hair. I hc that the traditional hairstyle for higher ranking Syndics is long so whether your hair looks nice or not, too bad, you need to grow it out for etiquette. Thurfian of course has the best hair for that, long silky and heavy like a velvet curtain, and half the Syndics go green with envy every time he walks by. Because what a lucky bastard of a man.

He dresses very traditionally for a patriarch. All the items you would expect from a man who respects cultural traditions. The right pieces, cuts, accessories, colors. You can't clock him on that front, he's as proper as they come (and proud of it). And it slaps because the ensemble is insanely flattering on him.

(I'm still working on the details but here's what I have so far)

a lil wip of it lol. I have more outfit hcs but I'll keep those for a post jshfjh

He's actually scared of Thrawn because the way baby Vurawn read his mind that first time they met has been haunting him ever since. Like what do you mean this oblivious child read my carefully constructed facade? As a result he avoids talking to Thrawn in person like the plague. If Thrawn enters the room and Thurfian is there you can bet he'll beeline to the other end immediately.

Zistalmu is the most high maintenance bestie ever. He likes it when Turfian takes him to the fanciest restaurants, orders the best food prepared when he visits, etc. It gives Thurfian a headache most of the time but he perseveres because he needs Zistalmu to feel sane (someone who understands what a menace Thrawn is) and he's lowkey proud of himself for taming a feral bossy Irizi.

Other Syndics actually kept dropping hints that he's being considered for the position of patriarch but they all flew over his head. He's all bout procedure and the right order of things - he'll do everything in order, he'll earn every bit of progress and only then will he consider himself worthy of it. Still, even though it came as a surprise, man stepped up to the challenge like a champ.

Also every time Thrawn's insane plans succeed he locks himself in his office and gets drunk on expensive wine. Probably complains to the empty bottles too.

(I don't have any silly sketches yet because aaah time but if I could I would draw 14716998983 versions of this man looking annoyed/exasperated/tired/done with absolutely everyone.)

NOW PLEASE GIVE ME SOME OF YOUR HEADCANONS!! PLEASE I AM STARVED!!! PARCHED!! Finding a fellow Thurfian connoisseur is making my brain go brrrrrrr so much

[intheorangebedroom]

Hey orange besties 🧡

Here's the one thing none of you asked for but I'm giving you anyway!! Listen, Halloween is my favourite holiday and I'd do just about anything rather than start working on my WIP because it terrifies me.

So here's the most indulgent headcanon EVER, please feel free to scroll past this nonsense of a post, but not before I could wish you all a very spooky Halloween 🧡

Yes, I have no shame.

Explicit HC below the cut 🔞

This Halloween, you've convinced Frankie to host a party at your place. He was really the first surprise, you're not exactly the party type, yet here you are.

You’ve been on Pinterest looking up aesthetics and recipes since August, basically, you've spent an inordinate amount of money on fancy decorations, stocked up enough candy to give all the kids in the tristate area a stomach ache of biblical proportions, and it's finally happening, today is the day, this is your version of the American dream.

But what will you and your friends dress up as???

Rosie

For years, the two of you have had an ongoing argument about what constitutes a proper Halloween costume. To you, it’s either crafty and creative, or spooky if not disgusting. To her… Let’s say she’s explored all the slutty options out there.

This year, the debate resumes as early as September. Only this time, you outsmart her, challenging her to look sexy despite a plain horror get up.

Never one to retreat, always one to excel, Rosie chooses to dress up as Candyman. With the fur and the hook and the scarf, down to the fake bees painted on the left side of her face. And yes, she still is smouldering hot as all hell.

Will

Will? Dressing up? Fucking hell, why are you doing this to him? He’s a grown ass man. He was a warrior, for fuck’s sake. He’s not gonna go around and spend money on a fucking costume!

But. He’ll be damned if he’s the only one who doesn’t play along. He can probably whip up something with whatever he’s got in his closet, anyway. Like…. Motorcycle gang leader, for example.

(at this point, orange besties, I’m cackling in French).

Yovanna

Yovanna. Understood. The assignment. Obviously because she’s hands up the smartest one of all the TF bunch.

She dresses up as the Corpse Bride. Your jaw drops to the floor when you open the door. She's stealing the show and it is fine. You’ve no idea how she can look this at ease with all that heavy makeup covering her skin, but she looks like she's having a hell of a good time, oh and also SHE'S FUCKING STUNNING.

Pope

Pope could have made an effort and go as Victor, right? He should have. Did he, though? No. No he didn't.

Pope dresses up as Miguel O'Hara from Across The Spider-Verse, so he can slither into this tight af costume and strut his butt like a Spidey slut.

Tom

Kidding. Tom's not invited. But if he were...

Benny

Sweet, sweet Benny, our sunshine boy, our precious blond gem of a baby man…

Benny considered not coming at all. Not that he's not over you yet, come on, let's be serious, it's been over two years. He's totally over you. He’s slept with at least a dozen different women since you broke up and his friendship with Frankie is on the mend, so yeah, over you and beyond, thank you very much. Ok, he'll go, then. Besides... he wants to see you. Just to make sure he’s really over you. What could possibly go wrong?

A horror classic connoisseur, his first idea is to dress up as something overly sublte. Say… Tom Conway in the 1942 Jacques Tourneur’s Cat People, for instance. Only because it would be obscure enough for people to ask him about it, which would give him a good opportunity to show off his impressive... cinematic knowledge. Not at all because you and the director share the same last name. Of course not. And it has nothing to do with the fact that you’d probably be the only one in the room able to identify the costume. Argh fuck, he can’t go as Tom Conway in the 1942 Jacques Tourneur’s Cat People, can he? 

Fine. He’ll play it safe. Mainstream. Mike Meyers. But Mike Meyers with a twist: the kid version. 

What he does not anticipate, is how many times he gets asked if he’s that stupid Pennyclown from It. Doesn’t anyone have any fucking classic culture?? It’s winding him up real bad and he’s starting to think he’ll leave early, until you walk up to him with a shy smile and a tall glass of beer. 

“You make a real good baby Meyers, Benjamin,” you whisper, and it's the first words you've spoken to him all night. Of course you knew, of course you’re the only one who guessed, and he wants to say something smart but he can’t, he’s riveted to the floor, melting under your soft gaze. You lift your arm, as if reaching for him and for a split second, he thinks you’re gonna run your fingers through his hair like you used to, and his heart does this lurching thing, like it simultaneously shrinks and explodes in his chest, and fuck him. He’s not over you yet.

(maybe I’m not over him either 👀)

Meanwhile… Meanwhile, Frankie's watching the whole scene from the kitchen. Ticking jaw, sucking on his teeth, vein popping in his neck. 

But what did Frankie dress up as, you ask. If you're still reading this, that is.

Frankie

Well, Frankie’s not exactly big on Halloween. For one, he grew up in a household full of ghosts. The candy sure was a perk, as a kid, but he’s always enjoyed savoury food more than sweets. Later, Izzy would let him tag along to the parties she went to (not that her mother left her much choice, anyway), and those were fun, admitedly. There was always alcohol, but most importantly, ✨girls✨ Girls who would never fail to find Izzy’s baby brother oh so cute with his soft curls and his golden skin and his lovely dimples and he’d spend the entire evening passing from one set of arms to another set of hands, which suited him juuuuust fine.

However, the man now has an actual body count, so he’s not too keen on the notion of the dead coming back to haunt the living for one night…

But thewhole thing makes you so damn happy. In the end, it doesn’t matter if he has to fend off an entire army of undead.

Unlike Pope, whatever your choice of outfit may be, he’ll get behind you. You wanna be Lydia Deetz? He’ll be your Beetlejuice. He’ll be the Gomez to your Morticia, the John Bartlett to your Patricia Bradley. 

This year, you announce most enthusiastically, you want to be Frankenstein’s Bride. 

Alright, baby!

And let's just say this: he makes it very, very difficult for you to be a good host to your guests. How on god’s wretched earth can he be this incredibly sexy as Frankenstein's creature??

Not only is he good with the kids, patient and gentle and cracking dad jokes with each group of little monsters and Elsas and cowboys eagerly standing on your doorstep, but that jacket… That damn jacket he got himself, three sizes too small, fuck, that poor jacket is working hard ALL NIGHT trying to contain his breadth, the seams just as strained around his shoulders as your poor clenching cu– 

Oh and you’ve no idea where he found that headband with the bolts on each side, but you don’t really care because he’s slicked black his hair and it's curling thick and luscious on his nape and you can’t wait for every one to get the hell out of your place. 

You’re gonna go down on him the minute the last guest leaves your house, take him down your throat and show him just how grateful to him you are for playing along so well. Watch that handsome, pretty, pretty face, that the green makeup and fake scars can't even spoil, go slack when you suck on his balls and swallow his spend. 

And you almost get to do it. If it wasn’t for that tiny little misstep. The sultry teasing words you pour into his neck, halfway through the party. When you tell him that what you truly wanted to dress up as was Margarita at the Midnight Ball. And Francisco’s eyes grow dangerously dark and wide and wild, pupils shot open with lust, because he knows what this means. And what this means is stark naked. 

And sure enough, he has barely closed the door behind the last guest that Frankie turns around and orders you to "Take off those fucking clothes. Now."

His tone brooks exactly zero argument. You comply at the speed of light before he shoves you onto the couch and kneels on the floor between your spread thighs, and it's very obvious, very fast, that you are his Halloween candy.

He keeps your ass balanced on the edge of the sofa and your back pressed into the soft cushions, thick fingers digging into the dips of your hips to hold you still with a welcome, bruising hold. 

His mouth feels like lava, liquid and hot as he licks into you like a starved man, broad sloppy stripes through your dripping folds, tongue dipping to feast on your slick like his sole purpose down there is to drink you dry. 

And when he wants more, because it’s never enough, he fastens his plush lips around your pulsating clit and plays it with the curled up tip of his tongue, two fingers hooked inside your cunt and pulling on that fucking spot with the same deftness with which he used to pull the trigger, and you give him more, give him everything he wants, you leak straight into his mouth, you’ve lost track of time somewhere after your third orgasm. 

There’s green makeup smeared all over your inner thighs, rivulets of black tears streaking your once ghostly pale cheeks. Sweat’s pooling in the small of your back and damp locks of hair are glued to your temples and forehead. 

You're a writhing mess, nearly slipping out of consciousness when he grabs your waist and flips you around, rough and urgent. 

With that easy strength that makes you light-headed, he pulls you downward, kneeling you down between his folded legs, your back flush to his chest, you’re moulded into him, and by the time you register the change in position, he’s already lining himself up. 

It’s no longer than a split second before he all but impales you on his length. It’s too sudden and the stretch downright painful, and you cry a strangled cry of his name but it's soundless, there’s no more air in your lungs, he’s fucked all the oxygen out of there. 

“How are you so fucking tight,” he says, his voice sounds strained, and he starts fucking up into you, absolute, merciless, the pace is punishing and you’ve gone blind with the stretch. 

It’s too fast, too deep, too fucking thick. Your spine goes stiff as a metal rod as you try to get away from it but you can’t, one hand is clutching your throat and his other arm’s banded around your waist. You’re helpless, nails digging into his flesh, crushed against his sweaty torso and he keeps sliding your rigid body down onto his impossibly thick cock at this impossibly fast pace, hips hammering your ass, lewd and loud, slap slap slap. 

And he knows, he feels you trying to recoil. The flat of his tongue licks up the column of your throat and it’s a sharp bite on your earlobe, and a low grunt in your ear, “I'm not gonna last long,” and you relent, you slump down into his hold and let him give you what he needs you to take. 

“Good girl”, he pants, and what do you know? You feel another one coming. 

Oh but this one’s deep and violent, it’s building tense and heavy into your core like a burning fist gripping your insides right behind your navel, and if it wasn’t for his own grunts, you’d hear the pathetic mewl you let out when it explodes in your breasts. 

The frantic clench and clutch of your cunt around his length is more than enough to tip him over. He rams his pulsating cock into you one last time before he starts to grind, so forceful his hipbones are biting into your ass, pushing further inside you to bury his come as far up your body as possible, up to your fucking cervix, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to muffle his rumbling growl. 

When he stills, finally, he doesn’t unwrap his arms. Doesn’t loosen his embrace. Instead, he draws your body with his when he slouches backward, his broad shoulders hitting the coffee table.

Limp, spent, blissfully used, you lay on top of him, his length sheathed inside your warmth, your chest heaving along with his chest. 

“Thank you,” you breathe out. 

He nuzzles the crown of your hair, gentle again. 

“Happy Halloween, baby.”

****

HAPPY HALLOWEEN ORANGE BESTIES!!! HAVE FUN WITH THE DEAD AND STAY SAFE 🎃💀🧡

[bandom-agere]

Mama lindsey... your cries have been heard!

She loves to give little! Gerard her big sweaters, Gerard loves them because they have that signature momma's perfume smell

LOOVES TO PLAY DRESS UP, and let Gerard do her makeup (even tho its messy) and vise versa

Calls Gerard her little princess and kitten

Softest hands for headpats and caressing :)

The kind of mom to put Little Gerards drawings on the fridge for him to be embarrassed about later

"omg honey why did you put that up thats so bad" "Don't you dare say that! You made it so it's amazing, now hush!"

Has THE STERN MOM STARE TM just in case it's needed duh

(https://media1.tenor.com/m/kiUmp-mSqiAAAAAd/bluey-chilli.gif)

Doesnt mind cleaning Gerard's mess of crayons or toys, but is able to get him to do it himself if he's older

Definitely has a "kiss the cook" apron idk it feels nice to me

Cat mom to kitty!rard, gives him the best stratches :)

She knows how mucu changes upset Gerard, so she always either kisses Gerard's tummy or gives h a gentle tickle during diaper changes to cheer him up, blowing raspberries on his tummy it's also on the table !!!

Likes to match outfits or dress Gerard on dumb onesies, Big Gerard is a bit embarrassed when she shoves the pictures on his face the next morning, But little gerard was happily giggling on his kitty onesie!!

Loves to bottle feed Gerard, always holds the bottle for him even when hes feeling bigger, it's very special for both of them

Does silly voices for the characters in picture books

Likes to paint her nails with Gerard, Gerard picks the colors ofc

Gets Gerard those plastic glowing princess toothbrushes

Tries to get Gerard to play outside in parks, or go with other littles, but she knows that she's eventually gonna end up with him clinging on her lap

Lifting WEIGHTS TO CARRY HER BABY ON HER ARMS‼️‼️🔥🔥🔥

Monitors what Gerard watches on tv, always puts on either educational or higher quality cartoons, doesn't give Gerard a lot of screens, even when older, maybe let him play simple games on her phone but thats about it

Gave Patrick an earful about letting little Pete have an ipad /hj

Very skilled for calming tantrums

Snack connoisseur, shes more lenient on sugar, therefore all of gerards little friends love to go for playdates there because she always has a tray of simple snacks like apple slices or goldfish for them

Makes time to play with Gerard everyday, no matter how simple or young he is, she always tries to play along even if busy, this woman will more BUILDINGS. For her baby, kind of a bluey episode Driving, situation

Talking about bluey, she sees herself in chilli because i said so

-🥪

HOLY SHIT

YAYYYYYYYYYYY THANK U

[janis-imiike]

The trains aren't running

The cabs aren't coming

But I am going to the Plaza Hotel

One mile down and seven to go

Seven to go

He needs to know

Though I'm not showing, a baby's growing

And I am going to the Plaza Hotel

One mile down and seven to go

Seven to go

Watch the road, asshole!

Who are you calling crazy?

I will kick his little Daisy

And I'll stick it to her that he's mine

And this baby here is genuine

Once he knows, he'll kick her out the door

We'll open up a bottle, hell! We'll open two!

He'll propose, I'll smile and say "Sure"

And presto! Poof!

My dreams have all come true

I will be a rich man's wife

With a rich man's baby

And be set for life

A debutant! A connoisseur!

Wait

What if I turn into her?

When the new shiny thing

Becomes the one who wears the ring

I am guessing I'll have two good years

Before another shiny thing appears!

One-way road

Is that what this is?

Have I travelled on it from a very early age?

One-way road

Where the choices are his

And it dead-ends in a cage

Tom may not be loyal, but with him I'm royalty

Do I let him break my heart and nose to gain security?

No dress

No ring

No party

No baby

Will ever set me free

The trains aren't running

The cabs aren't coming

And I'm not going to the Plaza Hotel!

Turn around, go back to George

Back to George

Back to home

He'll love this baby as his own

And soon we three will be million miles away

I know that George will love me come what may

God, it's so simple that it's funny!

The only choice is love or money

A one-way road

No matter what

The Great Gatsby!

[dollgutted]

so my tumblr front page has a lot of ghostface stuff for obvious reasons, he's obviously a big fave of mine and i follow a lot of ghostie lovin' accounts, as well as following the ghostface tag. typical stuff. but i. every time i see live action ghostface i cannot fucking help but think of that poor fucking scare actor who was dressed as ghostface at the haunt i went to last year.

important details: i am a 4'9 man and despite being a horror lover and connoisseur, i do not handle irl horror very well. that is to say, i'm chicken shit. i'm a fucking baby. i cry and hide behind my friends at haunts. i love going! don't get me wrong! i love going so much because i love being scared but also my fear reaction isn't to fight, flee, or freeze, it's to fawn n cry, baby, that's how i do it. but it's always like "wow that was fun!" after the haunt, yanno? it's scary but it's not real so it's not traumatizing or anything, it's just like, "haha man i am weak let's go again next year", whatever yanno. those details out of the way, if you know ANYTHING about haunts, you know seasoned scare actors are usually pretty good at telling who the scaredy cat is, and a lot of times, that's the easy target. some will go for the one they can tell is already fuckin tweaking lmao. and boy, is it not hard to tell with me.

so let me set the scene: it's 11PM, dark as shit, i'm dressed like a fucken slut bc i always gotta dress up for haunts, if i'm gonna cry i wanna look hot doin' it yanno. got my bunny hat on, for emotional support (doesn't everyone have a hat w/ bunny ears for emotional support?). i'm clinging to my friends shirt while they're dragging me through this corn maze. i hear something crunch behind us and instinctively cling tighter. i know something is about to happen and i'm NOT going to like whatever it is. i'm anticipating a loud noise. a scream. someone to jump out.

LO AND FUCKING BEHOLD, who other than ghostface is suddenly fucking beside me. ME. this haunt isn't super strict about invasion of personal fucking space, it's not officially no touch but most of them won't really touch you. this guy, though, oh no. he says nothing, that'd be out of character of course, but i am staring. wide eyed. just looking up at him. my friends feel me pause. they turn back. THEY START LAUGHING. THEY ARE ANTICIPATING.

i am truly frozen, i am just looking at this man when he moves to press his (obviously fake) knife into my throat, tilting my chin up a little bit with it. i cannot fucking. i cannot function. i GIGGLE. i am a grown man and i giggle like a schoolgirl who's crush just picked up their dropped pencil for them. I GIGGLED. this man tenses, he did NOT expect that reaction. my friends are fucking cackling. this scare actor has been thrown for a loop. he once more says nothing, removes the knife, stares down at me for a solid thirty seconds, and then WALKS AWAY.

GHOSTFACE SCARE ACTOR IF YOURE OUT THERE I AM SO SORRY. I DID NOT MEAN TO MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE I SINCERELY DID NOT BUT I LOVE GHOSTFACE PLS UNDERSTAND YOU MADE A DREAM COME TRUE THAT NIGHT AND I STILL THINK ABOUT IT A YEAR LATER I WOULD APOLOGIZE IF I COULD BUT I WILL NEVER GO BACK TO THAT HAUNT EVER AGAIN OUT OF EMBARRASSMENT.

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

*crashes inside and falls over* I have come bearing a headcanon request!! Copia wearing dresses and/or skirts... What's it like when he first discovered he liked it? Did he confide in someone about it? Did he eventually show his fellow ghouls/ghoulettes? Does he have a favorite dress or skirt? I don't need sleep i need answers!!

*picks you up so gently* HI HELLO THIS IS MY ABSOLUTE JAM AND I ALSO NEED ANSWERS AND NOT SLEEP SO LETS GOOOOO!! Hope you enjoy @undyingghoul 🥰 (wrote these out on my phone so apologies for any spelling or grammar issues)

I think Copia has always liked the aesthetic of skirts and dresses

But of course growing up in the 70s like he did, even in a Satanic Abbey, he was aware of attitudes outside the Abbey walls about men who wore "women's" clothing

So he kind of suppressed it throughout his child and teen years until he became a Cardinal

He liked how the Cardinal robes were very dress or skirt like, loved the flow and how it accentuated his waist and hips

And nobody batted an eyelid or cared because it was normal and it's just clothes

Obviously, the fear of judgement still lurked a little so he tried not to show exactly how much he loved the feel of something so similar to a skirt or dress

He started buying dresses and skirts to wear in the privacy of his dorm room. Not lots, just a couple at first to see what styles and fabrics he likes

Discovered that he adores long, dramatic dresses with a slit up the one side in terms of more formal wear

So much so that he now has a red backless satin one that ties behind his neck and has been tailored to flatter and accentuate his figure. He loves to wear it with a small heel and long black gloves with claws at the ends when he's feeling particularly dominating

However, he also can't get enough of shorter skirts and dresses that feel floaty and almost dainty when he twirls in them

The twirling is one of his favourite parts of trying on new skirts and dresses

Has a few different short flowy skirts and dresses. His favourite of those are the ones with cute little rat patterns on the fabric

He didn't confide in anyone about it for many, many years until I'd say around the time Primo started touring the first album

He confided in his fellow Cardinal, Terzo. Terzo made it no secret that he was a connoisseur of dresses, skirts, lingerie - things perceived to be more feminine

Telling him was like lifting a huge weight off Copia's shoulders and helped to reassure him that he had nothing to be ashamed of

He did tell his ghouls and ghoulettes when the time came for him to take over as the band's frontman and to tour with them

Aether was the first one he told when he caught him trying on a new skirt in the hotel room after a show

Aether was ofc very understanding and was by his side when he eventually told the rest of the pack

The girls and Aether love to spoil him with new dresses and skirts. If ghouls had a sugar daddy or sugar mommy system, they would be that with Copia as their sugar baby (he blushes any time they joke about this and loves the thrill of that concept. Will likely have to unpack that sometime)

Rain will wear dresses with him sometimes to parties or Ministry functions

Aether has gotten all dressed up in skirts and dresses with him too, especially if he's feeling down or low in mood

There's a photo album somewhere stuffed full of various photos of him, Terzo, and his ghouls wearing skirts and dresses that he'll look through sometimes and smile at the beautiful, fond memories they've made

It reminds him of how far he's come since first realising as a Cardinal that skirts and dresses were his thing but hiding it from others

And he's damn proud of the journey he's been on to get to where he is now

[mrsoharaa]

@auraee I'll explain the dream I woke up from yesterday morning here since it was quite a bit too long for a reply! ₍₍ (̨̡⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)̧̢ ₎₎

this is what happened! ; ( · ❛ ֊ ❛) ₊ ⊹

˗ˏˋ ❥ NSFW UNDER CUT! MDNI! ⚠️❗

sooo pretty much we were at this masquerade ball (he was on a undercover sort of mission) and I was just there (a feeble civilian lol), all dressed up in a long beautiful crimson gown, hair all messily but beautifully curled up into a wavy bun (loose strands falling from it and a bit on the side of my face by my ears), and the moment we locked eyes we knew things would get- tense. He surprisingly asks me for a dance and I, of course, agree, so we dance.

Tension runs higher and thicker between us, due to immense eye contact and lingering, wandering touches on each others bodies. And as the song mellows out- he pulls me close to him, his left hand on my waist as his right holds my own in such a delicate manner, leans forward (due to my short height lool) and hotly whispers into my ear that he needs a moment with me.

So he gently cups my hand, takes a quick look around the vast open space filled of people and murmurs something under his breath (he was communicating with another Spider person most likely).

Guides me away from the ocean room full of blabbering, laughing connoisseur's.

We eventually make it into the furthest peak of a languid hallway, traps me against the nearest wall with his looming body and just stares down at me longingly, almost hungry like.

Makes me a bit nervous- but also, thrilled me at the same time.

Tucks his fingers just beneath the base of my chin and tilts my head upward to meet his intent gaze. Things get more heated, as his lips finally finds mine in such a messy, greedy way.

Large hands roam all over me, lips entangled sloppily with mine as he presses his body firmly against mine. Pins me strictly against the marbled wall with his hefty weight.

Things get hotter and hotter as time goes by, and before I knew it-- this man had me bent over some flimsy, frail table lodged into the nearest dim storage/closet whispering/grunting unspeakable murmurs into my ear while ramming into me ruthlessly, my dress scrunched up above my sore waist, his piercing talons digging, scrapping along my heated, glistening skin as his fangs loom over my tender, plushy flesh.

Tells me that I've been taunting him all night, practically luring him without my knowing. Distracting him from his duties.

But I can't comprehend a single word- not when he was seven inches deep into my sputtering heat. Drool staining my deep maroon lipstick along the side of my puttering lips, eyes rolling to the back of my fuzzy head as my frail, small body shudders almost violently beneath his stocky weight.

His right hand that wrangled into my loose hair, pulling and tugging my head back almost rigorously, his torrid lips meet my pulsing ear once again, breathing and growling ever so heavily- animistic like.

"I knew you were going to be a problem the moment I laid e-eyes on you- fuck"

"You just couldn't stop undressing me with those bright round eyes of yours, could you cariño? you just couldn't look the other way and draw your needy attention away from me, hm?"

"¡Mierda! Te sientes tan bien, nena--!"

"Well, since you can't seem to keep your greedy, beady eyes off of me- you better keep them locked onto mine while I impregnate you"

"I want to see that stupid, beautiful dazed look in your pretty eyes while I fuck a baby deep into you, honey"

"You would like that huh? want my cum so deep in this tight, pretty pussy of yours? to have a strangers baby?"

"Heh, I know you would preciosa-- I can tell by the way your sopping cunt is clinging around me for dear life"

"Going to make you m-mine and mine only mi amor...you're gonna be such a beautiful, radiant mother hermosa" he'd grunt hoarsely deep into my burning, ringing ear, his left hand dragging down to the midst of my belly, pressing down onto my exposed skin, as he empties himself completely deep inside of me.

b-but yeah! that...that was what I woke up too yesterday ROFL OOF😵‍💫😵‍💫🫣

[tiniest-hands-in-all-the-land]

Oh my I just realised from religiously looking at your Ronaldo-in-dress art (The art is too gorgeous not too look back on every day mind you-) that he has back scars, something I've noticed a lot of artists include. Is that a confirmed thing? If so when and why 👀? I've always been curious about that

Waaaa thank you!! A fellow connoisseur of the finer things in life, I see 🧐❤

To answer your question, the back scars are from a canon event in the manga! It happens in a 2-part chapter: chapters 81 and 82 (where the injury actually happens). The mini-arc is about Satetsu's backstory back when he was a delinquent and had a disdain for vampire hunters. But then he meets widdle baby hunter Ronaldo and they end up unofficially fighting off a giant inferior vampire together. The scars are from an attack Ronaldo sustained when the vampire first appeared and lunged to attack Satetsu, but Rona pushed him out of the way and took the hit for him ;w;

I'll be honest, I can't really remember if the scars themselves are canon or not. Considering it's one of the very rare instances of blood and injury in the series, I feel like they should be lol. And I feel like I remember reading some tidbit of information somewhere about how Rona does have the scars, but they're the kind that are only visible when his skin is heated (so like if he just came out of the shower or smth), but I don't know where i found that, or if it's canon info or not. But given Bonnoki's tendency to come up with silly reasonings for inconsistencies/details being different between chapters, i wouldn't be surprised if that explanation was canon?

Idk they might be canon or it might be like an Aizawa-elbow-scar situation where everyone in the fandom just agrees it's there despite canon saying otherwise f;aoeifna

[bluestar22x]

A Splash Of Red

A Splash Of Red: A Baby Fever Oneshot

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female!Reader

Summary: You met him at an art gallery

Rating: 13+ but it's a really innocent oneshot

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,292

Author's Note: I was going to wait until I had this series up and running for this oneshot but it spoke to me today. If you want you can read this as a standalone.

xxx

Why not? you'd thought.

You were standing in front of a small time art gallery for novices in the heart of Washington D.C., your hometown, with nothing better to do. Your best and only true friend was working the night shift at her job so you'd been stuck alone, wandering the streets for something to occupy your time as the sun set.

You weren't exactly an art connoisseur, but you did like looking at art on occasion in museums, and you did spend a good portion of your childhood drawing. You couldn't say you'd been gifted, but it counted as something, right?

So you'd paid the entrance fee and wandered about the large room, eyeing the paintings on the white walls carefully like the rest of the patrons inside.

Most of them were landscapes or fruit bowls, what you considered typical beginner stuff, though you had to admit to yourself they were a lot better than what you could ever muster up in your mandatory art class in high school.

There were a few portraits of people you did not recognize, probably relatives or friends of the artists, that truly did impress you, the details in the color of their skin and the lifelike hair not going unappreciated, but there was one painting that really confounded you.

The only word to describe it was color. It was just swirls of black and gray and white with hints of blue. All dull, except for the big splash of bright red smeared over it, an inch in width, spanning from the lower left of the painting to the middle right.

You stared at it, wondering what could compel a grown adult to throw a few layers of paint on a board and call it art. You could do a better job, you thought.

Money, you mused. You knew if the artist got famous, a painting like this would be well sought after and on occasion sold for millions. Rich people paintings.

You shook your head.

"Not impressed?" Someone with a deep voice asked from behind you.

They stepped forward, beside you, inches away from your left shoulder, and you glanced at them.

He was tall, and handsome, was your first thought. Overdressed for this particular gallery, in a black suit and tie, a white dress shirt, and black dress shoes. The man's dark brown hair was cut on the shorter side but was long enough to flop a little over his forehead, and he sported a well-trimmed beard. The neatness of the trim almost hid the patchiness of it, but you still noticed a few of the spots that stubbornly refused to grow hair. It was cute. You personally thought imperfections like that added character. Most guys didn’t have full beards anyway.

You were studying him for so long you almost forgot to reply to his question. "I don't know if I'm into art enough to be able to appreciate this kind," you finally told him. "It just looks like something a five year old would make in their spare time."

The man chuckled. "Yeah, I guess sometimes it does. Abstract Expressionism is certainly not for everyone."

Though his tone was light and kind, you felt dread as something awful occurred to you. "Oh my god, you're not the artist, are you?"

Please, please, don't be, you begged silently. You'd die of embarrassment if he was. You hated hurting other people’s feelings over something as trivial as art styles.

He grinned at your concern and you were briefly able to focus on how gorgeous and contagious it would be to you if you weren't so worried over possibly having criticized his artwork in one of the worst possible ways.

"You're safe," he assured you. "I'm just an observer here too."

You pressed a hand over your heart, massively relieved. "Thank god. I'm not trying to be mean; I just truly don't get it."

"It's alright," he said. "I didn't get it either at first."

"But you do now?" you prompted. You were curious what he had to say about the painting.

He pointed to the red streak. "Red over dark colors. The artist is expressing a dark mood, most likely depression, tinged with anger."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. "That's such a basic answer," you said boldly. "And it's wrong."

"Oh?" The man raised his eyebrows and nodded at you to go on.

"Pretty sure it is depression in the background, but that splash of red is love," you answered confidently.

"How can you be sure?" he inquired, apparently impressed by your conviction on the topic.

"There's more lighter grays and white around the streak of red suggesting that color is brightening the darkness around it," you pointed out cleverly. "And the nameplate says this is Love Through The Dark."

You smirked. You'd noticed the name of the painting while he was busy explaining what he personally saw in the work.

He belly laughed. It was loud, but pleasant to your ears. "Pretty and smart."

Your heart fluttered at being called pretty by him. Being called smart was nice too, but you got called smart a lot more than pretty, and being called pretty by him in particular was pleasing. It also made the conversation clearer to you. You hadn't been sure until then that his intentions for you were something beyond small talk about the painting.

You turned to him and smiled. "I try."

"Well, you succeeded," he told you, before extending his right hand out to you. "I'm Marcus. Marcus Pike."

His hand dwarfed yours when you shook it and said your name to him.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, still smiling warmly at you. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out to dinner with me sometime? We could exchange phone numbers and decide on when and where through text?"

You were caught off guard by his forwardness and you hesitated long enough his expression turned into one of insecurity. He brushed a hand through his hair. "Sorry if that was too upfront."

"No, no," you said quickly, flashing a smile to reassure him. "It's refreshing. I hate how society makes it feel like we have to dance around questions like that for an hour. Especially since I would like to go on a date with you, Marcus. Do you have your phone on you?"

"Of course." He pulled it out of his back pocket as you drew yours out from your purse. His was an iPhone like yours, but several generations older. You tended to keep up with the trends of technology, if being one year behind counted (the discounts were decent) but he apparently had little concern about that.

You both swapped numbers, writing them into your contract lists, and put your phones back away.

"Well, I better get going," Marcus declared a moment later, his tone regretful. He was truly sorry about it. "I have to get up early for work in the morning."

"That must suck," you figured, showing him sympathy.

He shrugged. "Depends on what the day entails. I enjoy my job for the most part, even if it takes up some of my weekends. And…I'll tell you more about it on our date."

You grinned. He was holding out on you, like you needed more reason to go on that date. "Alright. I'll text you later, after I think of the best day for it."

"And I'll text you with location ideas," he told you.

"Perfect."

He backed off and you exchanged waves before he strolled away towards the front door.

You watched him go, not shy about starring at his...assets, even though you were in public.

Cute, you concluded.

You were really going to look forward to that date.

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

[writer59january13]

Food glorious food

Asia generic guy gastronomy (and how gourmet foods eat destructively clearly beyond any) excess enthusiasm, the necessity to feed and clothe this lean mean exercising machine gunning corporeal essence christened Matthew Scott Harris revels more so within the medium of writing prevarication.

Aspirations toward fame nor fortune less significant then the mere pleasure to concoct a visually savory appetizing epistle. Food for thought more so then to fill the void, where growling heard across the world wide web, thus, no anterior, interior, or ulterior motive asper begging for money underlies this exercise. yet...if perchance a voluntary choice arises to dole out a smidgen of legal tender a name and address linkedin to this faux popinjay person, who tries to convey decency, humility, levity...qualities that wield zest.

Connoisseur of ethnic cuisine More so a culinary pipe dream versus being an actual way of life, though savory sustenance certainly preferred than bland tasting comestibles. Said theme (and title of poem) seems apropos during Holiday Fancy Feasts despite the plethora of – in my opinion bewitching barenaked lady hunting advertisements - reputable male personalities suddenly accused of sexual harassment after substantial time. Yes granted so the unexpected name dropping felt like a bomb shell towards chaps, this baby boomer mwm would never suspect, point the finger, or accuse, especially one former Norwegian bachelor farmer from Lake Woebegone.

Though anonymous and hardly

a substantially (rather puny) sized married sexagenarian baby boomer,

which dual disadvantages partly explains lack of ubiquity among

claque of cooks, yet hoop full

to get attention, especially after burning ghee at the Spring Valley Y.M.C.A.

sparking flattery courtesy

some well proportioned dame many popular rotund

gourmands l'chaim tame

their hungry beast –

wah hood put me to shame

vis a vis consuming in their one meal,

what yours truly eats in a lifetime,

none of those celery buddies,

whom this non television watcher can name seen on any selective cable channel,

I still revel in writing while

on the hunt

(during Red October) for a meme poetry and prose, and decided

to introduce myself quite lame with NON GMO marginal uptick

in any sudden fortune or fame,

yet twould be pleasantly syrup prized

principally if compounded interest from potential mistress didst exclaim

desire to enjoy a repast, though

said hypothetical gal need

not be a high society dame,

and if perchance such just desserts

came via the kitchen maiden kitty, versus kit chin middens

no boastful claim

would be uttered by me,

her intellectual company satisfactory aim.

First and foremost on the agenda,

would be to locate an affordable,

casual and favorable eatery

tubby agreeable to our taste

indubitable choice without

(any formal dress code),

nor further haste.

Strait away to the great weigh (or if vegetarian – whey)

station of delectable food

where the exquisite, expertise, and exotic high steak king a claim on Michelin Guide,

Gayot Guide/Gault Millau, American Automobile Association, Forbes Travel Guide reputation good.

Testimony to legendary praise explaining why patrons travel for countless days transforming him/her

into steady state,

where he/she shuffles along

in a dishabille quotidian famished daze

far and wide culinary craze

out of this world wide web, the wispy Lyft

wafts trace steamy filament up braise our twitching noses, whereat heads nod affirmation i.e. ayes.

Even before making a glad entrance

(into Restaurant) complete, a host of fresh, enticing,

and delicious aromas serve as a treat.

Delicate, foreign, hefty indescribable

ole factory stimulants delight

infiltrating thru swinging kitchen doors holding us smell bound,

though thin filaments invisibly light.

Thus upon a strategic seat we hoped for, or politely sought from manager of the house

ah, our luck to be situated in close proximity,

where impossibility to stave gaming hunger,

though neither myself nor honorable guest grouse.

Now decision time to select one delicacy equally

as appealing as the next on expansive menu list

the resultant penultimate decision method resorted to twist

then flick (with eyes closed) the wrist.

This once difficult task complete

twas now the responsibility of the maitre'd to store within his/her memory,

which tummy appeared like an amazing

sumptuous (promising scrumptious) feat

minutes ticked away

as our stomachs growled louder

patiently awaiting the grateful moment

to dine starting with clam chowder

poetry soup compiled

within me taste testing router.

Next in line from smorgasbord feast

hors d'oeuvres ample enough to satiate thine palate

to whet from deep fried delicacies greased

and self restraint practiced

so the main course diminished least.

We fell upon butterfly jumbo shrimp

and marinated mushrooms when brought

an atavistic motion that memory wrought.

The Matzo ball soup with Jewish rye bread went to the gullet with a dollop of butter thinly spread.

A vegetable, venerable, veritable, and spinach pie

herbivorous delight, apple of my eye.

Parmgians, pasta and poultry

(albeit free ranging

NON GMO and gluten free) dishes galore

kept off figurative lid

(no matter stuffed to gills

ready to be mounted) to eat more

quite aware that mine waist

bulged whereby beltway buckle tore.

Last (but not least)

at the FINIS of this well stocked meal

comprises selection of dessert,

which samples visible from a glass enclosed wheel

tickling that reserved “off limits” hot pocket

hashtagged for just such a sugary treat

thus summoning forth

within an engorged abdomen, nonetheless, an audible zeal.

That reserved allotted sweet baked, fried, or whipped parfait

or countless other grandiose mouth watering delicacy.

Ah...juiced enough wiggle room

for one decadent byte, perchance small enough to roll around in the mouth,

like a Chocolat Mousse, or a honey ball. Despite that ready to explode simply eyeing a food tray

no longer in an ala mode vis a vis clamoring for consumption well aware by the morrow or sooner this bloated dirigible fulfilled human would dearly caloric wise pay.

[catharrington]

I think y’all are slightly missing the point of a softer Steve.

To preface this let me be real I love to dress Steve up fem because I’m totally sexualizing him. Does that make me bad?? I don’t think so. I think people who dress billy up in pink crop tops are doing the same thing.

But onto the point: My favorite type of Steve for my fics is a softer beaten down secluded and misunderstood Steve. I’m a firm believer in his parents showing him emotional neglect, and I enjoy playing up the lost puppy type of Steve we see him as in season 1 and 2. He’s the softest of soft boyfriends to Nancy. Following her all day, begging for dates, climbing in her windows, buying her flowers. These are all canon Steve things that to me read as soft. And also to me as needy and lonely and neglected. So yes, I enjoy him as a cry baby. I enjoy him as a cozy sweater connoisseur. I enjoy him as a gift giver when he can’t think of the right words. I don’t think this is overtly masc or fem one way or the other. I just find him interesting this way. Also a really great song Hate You by Ingrid Michaelson I believe was inspired by Steve’s feelings after the Tina’s party bathroom scene and I feel it’s mood sort of sums up my Steve flavor perfectly.

Sorry to add to your post, I’m not trying to derail y’all’s convo, I’d just like y’all to know where maybe some soft Steve lovers are coming from.

the compulsion to feminize steve across the stranger things fandom needs to be studied because it seeps into everything. yall need him to be a “mother” to the kids, to the point where so often yall completely erase their actual mothers. yall need him to be the “woman” in any slash slip you put him in. you make him highly emotional and give him stereotypical female traits when he does not show any of that in canon like….

what is this reason. it goes way beyond like preferences and shit so dont pull that card. when you have to warp a character so beyond what they actually are… it gets weird its giving weird