#teal blue wall color

[whatsernameanyways]

Guest Bedroom Example of a mid-sized beach style guest dark wood floor bedroom design with blue walls and no fireplace

[design-and-html]

Beach Style Bedroom A picture of a medium-sized guest bedroom in a beach style with carpeting, blue walls, and no fireplace

[inspiredlivingspaces]

IG pamelajaccarino - 1920’s Tudor interior. Interiors by: @teresamannsdesign

[htfmetsy]

[jennystinson]

Revitalize your space with our modern abstract artwork! This Soothing palette features Teal and Blues. Elevate your decor with versatile pieces suitable for walls, desks, and shelves. This gallery art piece brings a touch of serenity to every corner.

[mal-educado]

Traditional Family Room Mid-sized elegant enclosed game room with blue walls, a light wood floor, no fireplace, and no television.

[daily-borgia]

Farmhouse Home Office Orange County Idea for a home studio: a mid-sized farmhouse with a freestanding desk and a medium-tone wood floor, blue walls, and no fireplace.

[ello-meno-p]

Boston Music Room Mid-sized transitional enclosed medium tone wood floor living room photo with a music area, blue walls and no fireplace

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 3: Bubble Tea

“Hey.” Kyle murmurs, hand lightly grazing over your shoulders to rest on the back of your neck. His palm feels warm on your skin and you unconsciously lean back into it.

“Hm?” You look up from where you were hunched over your phone - definitely not shopping for a new purse on company time.

“Gonna go pick up lunch f’the shop. Want t’ come with? I don’t think I can carry it all myself.” He asks. His eyes are always so soft when he looks at you. Relaxed and bright with that constant slight quirk in the corners of his lips.

“Oh! Yeah, sounds good.” You grin, standing quickly and grabbing your wallet out of your purse to shove into your back pocket. Might as well get something for yourself if you’re going out. “Where are we heading?”

“That poke place a couple blocks up.” Kyle nods in the intended direction.

You follow him out of the shop. The weather has begun to warm more. Still cool enough for long sleeves but the sun feels nice on your face as you trot up the street, speed walking to keep up with Kyle and his accursed long legs.

“Switch with me.” Kyle murmurs, hand flattening on your lower back as he steps to the road side of the sidewalk.

You snort, cheeks warming when his hand remains a few beats longer than necessary. “How chivalrous.”

He chuckles. “My grandad always said t’never let a lady walk by the street. Guess it stuck with me.”

As much as you want to tease him about playing into gender roles, you can’t lie and say you don’t like it. That it doesn’t make your heart patter and your stomach flutter. Growing up fat, you never really got the chance to be treated delicately. Femininely. Always expected to be tougher, louder, more masculine. It feels good. Healing, in a way, as stupid as it is.

God, your inner monologue is embarrassing.

The shop is smaller than you expected. Tucked away like many buildings in this downtown with a short, blue awning shading the teal colored door. It’s surprisingly crowded too, people packed in like sardines and filing in and out quickly. The inside is nicely decorated - a few tables off to the side that no one seems to stay at. They more so seem to act as a waiting spot until people get their food and head out. The menu board is shaped like a bright blue, wall-length fish.

“Ladies first.” Kyle grins, opening the door for you. You roll your eyes at him, earning a pinch to your side in return. It’s almost strange how easy things are with him - with all of them. You don’t think you’ve ever been this comfortable around a group of men before. That would probably make you sad if you thought about it for long enough.

Kyle passes you a little clipboard with a stack of papers to customize your poke bowl and a small pen. He begins filling out three for the others, seemingly from memory. You wonder how often they come down here - if it’s their favorite local spot or just convenient. You look over his shoulder, snooping for the others preferences. Apparent Simon likes a lot of spice. Johnny, not so much.

Your eyes widen as you reach the bottom of your menu. “They have boba!”

“You want some?” Kyle grins.

You nod excitedly. Like a kid discovering a new candy. It’s been so long since you got your hands on some bubble tea - if you’d known they had it sooner you would’ve been in here nearly everyday. Then again, maybe it’s good that you didn’t know.

Kyle holds out his hand. You look between it and his face dumbly for a few moments, clutching your order in your hands before putting the pieces together.

“I can get my own!” You insist. “I don’t-“

“Price’s treat, love.” He snags the paper from your hands. “He always pays when we come here.”

“Oh. Okay.” You chew your lip. “I can at least pay for my drink, since it’s extra-“

He just waves you off and marches up to the register. You don’t miss the fact that he pulls out a very shiny credit card. So it’s not Price’s treat. It’s a company treat, eh?

Not that you’re going to complain. Free poke and boba is a dream come true.

Kyle takes your little plastic number, ducking to snag a now freed up table to wait at. They’re tall, causing you to scramble unceremoniously to get up in the heightened chair. You think you see him laughing out of the corner of your eye, but as soon as you face him he’s just sitting with that usual, casual smile of his.

One of the workers brings over your drinks in a little carrier, saying the food will take a minute longer. You’ve never been patient, greedily grabbing your tea and aggressively stabbing through the cover.

“When do you think John’s gonna let you do your first real tattoo?” You ask, kicking your feet under the tall chair.

Kyle shrugs. “He said soon. I think he’s waitin’ for me to’ be less nervous about it. Plus I need to find someone to do it on-“

“You can do it on me.” You blurt without thinking.

He eyes you. “Really?”

You nod excitedly. “I really like your work - at least what I’ve seen of it. It doesn’t have to be anything big. I’m perfectly happy with one your black-only flashes. That way you can start small.”

“I don’t know…”

“Plus, John says I sit real good. I’m not gonna wriggle and fuck you up.” You chew your straw absentmindedly.

“And what do you get out of this?” Kyle cocks and eyebrow, that slight, constant smirk only growing across his face.

You tap your chin. “Bragging rights when you get famous someday. I got the first official Garrick tattoo ever!”

A surprised laugh forces it’s way out of him, sending him into a coughing fit around the drink he was sipping. “Don’t think I’m gonna be that good, love.”

You reach out, resting your hand over his as a strange wave of seriousness overtakes you. “I don’t think John would take you on as an apprentice if he didn’t think so. Plus, you should hear how much he brags about you. It’s almost insufferable.”

There’s something in his eyes as he gives you another once over. It’s slower this time, dragging up your arm and across your features and back down your other arm, coming to an end where your hand lays over his. Kyle turns his hand upward, brushing his two middle fingers over your pulse point. It steals your breath, strangely enough. He hold your hand so gently, barely cupping it in his.

You wish you could tell what he’s thinking. For all Kyle’s honest and kind nature, he’s hard to read. That perma-smirk hides a lot more than you think you or anyone else realizes.

“Alright. I’ll talk t’John about it.” He murmurs, withdrawing his hand.

“Yah. You better.” You grin, leaning back in your seat just as the food comes out.

[chemevan]

happy birthday my baby girl smfs (redraw of this)

[Image ID: a digital drawing of pete wentz, Andy hurley, patrick stump and joe trohman from fall out boy, respectively. this drawing recreates the cover art of their album take this to your grave but with their most recent album so much (for) stardust, meaning they're all sitting on a broken couch. in front of them is a doberman dog sleeping. there's a brick wall, wooden floor and a window with blinds on a window. the color palette of the drawing is blue and teal. /.End ID]

[bulletjournaling101]

Living Room Music Room (Los Angeles)

[lalunanymph]

MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

includes: mentions of food, mentions of murder, talks of death, allergic reactions, mentions of giving birth, mentions of injuries, mentions of assault, sick!reader, reader is in cerena's body, isekai-ed reader, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, unrequited love, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo

⟡ masterlist

ACT 1, SCENE 4: THE THRONE ROOM

Satoru’s fingers were icy cold, burning into your skin.

He didn't utter a single word when you jerked your head back, the furious glint in your eye looking so pathetic that he almost dared to pity you. 

You hang your head forward, crying softly, unaware of anything but the rushing scenery that fades from foliage to stone walls. Once inside the castle’s fortress, Satoru cuts through your bindings, dismounting from his horse and extending a hand to give you assistance. 

But, stubborn as you are, you slip off the horse and land on your shaky feet, ignoring his outstretched hand and walk ahead, your head held high and glare unyielding.

Satoru catches up to you easily, and you can hear the frustration in his voice when he utters, “We need to see my Father.”

You falter. 

Of course. After the stunt you pulled, it was only natural that the King himself wanted some answers.

Nodding, you clasped your wasp-bitten hands together, trying to smooth your skirt which bore tatters from your tumble with Satoru on the snowy ground, and the hellish chase you endured through the prickly forest foliage.

He led you towards the throne room, pushing open the heavy duty double doors for you.

Immediately, the courtroom fell into a hush; nobles who were conversing amongst themselves stopped to appraise you with horrified looks. The guards gaped at your state of being, and even the court jester ceased his juggling antics, the plastic balls in midair plummeting to the floor with dull thuds. 

The second he clasped his gaze onto you, King Satoshi stood up, a look of horror inscribed upon his features as he took in your wounded hands, the tears on your dresses and across your face. 

“Cerena.”

Satoru moved to stand in front of you, bowing deeply to his father. “Princess Cerena has been rescued and retrieved. She was found in the middle of the Northern Forest, Your Majesty.”

Perturbed by this discovery, Satoshi moves from the dais, approaching you with caution. You dropped your gaze, unable to look him in the eye. 

“What happened to her?” He demanded, as if dealing with an errant child. He turned to Satoru who shot him a grimace. “I thought I told you not to hurt her? Why does she look bedraggled… like she was hunted down?”

Striking up his loathsome glare, Satoru slid his frigid blue gaze to you and spoke the truth. 

“Princess Cerena assaulted me, Father. She climbed up a tree and hacked through a wasp nest to drop it at my feet where I was stung. Then, she tried to run away and cause a scene. I had to do what needed to be done.”

Satoshi’s brows shot up into his white hair, his horrified expression clamoring for your attention in your periphery. 

“Gods above, Cerena—you tried to assault the Prince?” 

The nobles around you gasped, their hands fluttering to their gaping mouths; hiding their shocked expressions behind colorful fan plumes. 

He turned back to you, anger thundering in his teal eyes. 

“Child, what do you have to say for yourself? You have caused a grievous error to my son and you need to be punished duly. It is high treason for anyone to lay a hand on the Prince of Northern Haleway.” 

The injustice and horror of it all coalesced inside of you, and you felt faint from the numerous eyes around. Their accusations grated your ears, sounding like demonic whispers which made you faint with alarm, the corners of the room growing fuzzier as your knees were close to buckling.

“I only ran away because Satoru was conspiring with his lover to end my life!”

Whatever the court thought you would say, it was never this. 

Frenzied murmurs run amuck in the courtroom, like fire catching on dry leaves, crackling around you like a roof about to topple down. King Satoshi’s face paled, and beside you, standing stiff as a rock, your fiancé gritted his teeth. 

“That is absurd,” Gojo rushed to defend himself, sparing you a pertinent glare. “I do not have a lover and I have never conspired with said woman to bring any harm to the Princess’ life. Her accusations are those of a mad woman, Father.”

You flinched and slapped a hand to your mouth, the shakes in your body growing harder to ignore.

“Liar! You conspired to end my life! Why do you think I would run if not for such a treasonous act?” 

Peeling your lachrymose eyes to the King, you hiccuped, “Please, Your Majesty. Speak to the maid named Miri and she will validate what I have to say.”

It was a slim prayer, that of a desperate woman, but you had to try. You had to shine reason into the King’s eyes that his heir was a cruel, calculating and cold man who unfairly wanted to end your life. 

Satoshi pursed his lips, looking between his son and his fiancée who can barely stand without her knees shaking.

In the passing tenseness where no words were spoken, the lightheadedness suddenly stole your breath away and your legs buckled. You would have collapsed to the floor if it weren’t for Satoru’s quick reflexes in catching you, holding you upright as he shot you a seething glare.

“For goodness sake, woman. Stand up straight. You are embarrassing yourself.”

But, you cannot hear his condescension or his warning. Your heart was palpitating rapidly, almost like it wanted to claw out of your chest. The room started to spin, and you realized in a frenzy that you couldn’t breathe properly without feeling like your throat was closing in.

Desperation washed over you and you tried to speak, to tell them something was gravely wrong. 

A flicker of concern flitted across Satoru’s expression and he tried to hold you upright, but your body would not cooperate. 

Losing all bearings and control of your composure, you crumpled right in his arms, as high-pitched screams echoing in the courtroom.

“... guards!” 

“... infirmary… hurry!” 

Satoru lifted you up into his arms, the sheen of his pure white hair shining under the fleeting lights of the passing sconces. Weakly, you tried to call out his name, but he shushed you, his voice dipping in and out of your consciousness. 

“... save your strength… determine what's the issue…”

A hard bed met your back and hands were all over you, expertly probing, pressing and checking your vital signs. 

The physician, an elderly man with wiry salt and pepper curls, pursed his lips, shifting his gaze to the King and the prince waiting anxiously by the sidelines for your diagnosis. 

“Your Majesty. Your Highness. It appears the princess is suffering from an allergy attack. I have the right combination of herbs to aid her, though she might need to be sedated for the time being.”

Satoru bristled at the physician's words. 

“Sedated? Why? She was merely stung…”

He trailed off, the unease in his tone catching the older man's attention.

“Stung, you say, Your Highness? What was she stung by?” As he spoke, he gestured to his assistants to prepare the herbal remedy, applying warm compresses onto the sore portions of your swollen hands. 

Satoru felt his father's eyes boring into the side of his head and replied uneasily:

“She was stung by wasps.”

The physician scrutinized him, noticing the same reddened lesions all over his face and neck which were identical to the ones on your hands. 

Satoru glanced at your unconscious form, guilt glimmering in his cerulean eyes when he took in your ashy pallor and your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

“She got attacked while trying to escape from me.”

The physician’s expression turned grave, though he does not openly rebuke the young prince. Rather, he turned his full attention to the afflicted princess and made it his mission for tonight to cleanse her body free of the wasps’ poison. 

“My men will be working tirelessly to resuscitate the Princess’ health, Your Majesty, Your Highness. We shall provide you with a report once it is done.”

There was nothing Satoru could do but let himself be led out of the infirmary, the curtains drawn around your feverish and malaised figure to keep your body away from prying eyes.

However, the idea of a whole group of men taking their turns to rub down your body with salve and paste made his stomach churned, and he quickly snapped his fingers to catch a young maid’s attention.

She straightened, rushing forward and bowing immediately.

“Stay with the Princess until the cleansing process is over and report to me instantly once it is done, do you understand?” 

Bowing again, the brunette scurried towards the drawn curtains and parted it, letting herself into the circle to keep watch over the unconscious Princess.

A large palm squeezed his shoulder and Satoru turned to find his father’s solemn reflection echoed upon his countenance.

“Whatever happens to Cerena tonight, we must prepare for the worse, son.”

Satoshi moved them out of earshot, leaning forward to depart his grave strategy.

“If she should pass on, we would need to secure your engagement with another princess.” Satoru did not expect his father to bring up such an outrageous suggestion at such a delicate time. The abhorrence deepened the lines of shock on his handsome face and he took a step back.

“No—”

Frustrated by his son’s refusal, Satoshi growled. “Satoru, this is what is best for Northern Haleway—”

“Father. With all due respect, you severely underestimate Cerena’s will to live,” Satoru darted his gaze to the cordoned area of the infirmary, failing to hide the shake in his clenched fists. “She will live and she will make it out alive. I swear upon my own words, I will look after her and nurse her back to health. You do not need to make such a rash decision so soon.”

Struck mute by his son’s passionate insistence, Satoshi pursed his lips. 

Eventually, after a few moments of staring down his only heir, the King relented, exhaling an exhausted sigh.

“Alright. I shall put aside the immediate plan for now,” he added gruffly, “Let us hope she makes a speedy recovery.” 

Satoru nodded silently and left his father’s side, moving to lean against the threshold of the infirmary. With his strong arms folded across his chest, his gaze remained fixed on the drawn curtains that concealed his betrothed from the world. 

The distinguished figure of his son, accentuated by the dark embroidered jacket and matching riding pants that highlighted the stark contrast of his pure white hair, stirred a bittersweet longing in Satoshi. It brought back memories of his own burdensome youth—the long nights spent in that very position, waiting for his Queen to deliver him an heir.

With a quiet sigh, he turned away from the infirmary, pausing to give his son one last, curious glance.

This is strange, indeed. I thought Satoru despised Princess Cerena…?

MTT fun fact: swan hunting is a popular sport in Northern Haleway

dawn says: king dadjo is sus,,,,,,

!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3

©️ all rights reserve to lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, repost or claim as your own.

[renai-fr]

Perler Flight Banners!

Made the first of these when I made the flight flags a bit back (my flight, Light), and figured it was a good time to make the rest of the flight banners and share the designs! To the best of my ability, they're also to scale with each other, so I think they'd look pretty good if you wanted to make the whole set and put 'em on your wall or something.

Sort of also for Dergtober's first prompt ("Flight"), but uh, ran into that thing with trad media where sometimes you run out of materials, ha! This is also why they're mostly not fused (Ice and Water share most of their mid/light blue beads, for example).

(Crafting info after the break!)

First off, all of these are either 17x34 or 19x34 (these squares are 17x17 on their own). They fit fine on the larger squares, but my big squares happen to all be either bright red or bright yellow, and don't show off the colors very well. They almost all use transparent beads for structural reasons- if you want to cross-stitch these, the transparent beads are fine to ignore! I was just making them so they could theoretically hang on a wall.

Colors used (my best guess, not gospel! I get most of my beads from kits/mixed bags, and they don't always list the color names :/ )

Light: Cream/Créme, Yellow, Cheddar, Transparent

Lightning: Copper (metallic), Robin's Egg, Parrot Green, Glitter Blue, Turquoise, Transparent

Fire: Black, Cherry, Orange, Cheddar, Neon Orange, Transparent

Arcane: Pearl Pink, Cheddar, Raspberry, Pink, Light Pink

Plague: Red, Cherry, Raspberry*, Pewter, Brown, Kiwi Lime

Earth: Brown, Light Brown, Pewter, Dark Gray

Ice: Robin's Egg, Pastel Blue, Gray, Dark Gray, Toothpaste, Light Blue

Shadow: Pastel Lavender, Purple, Dark Gray, Pewter, Toothpaste, Transparent

Wind: Kiwi Lime, Dark Green, Bright Green, Yellow, Rust, Red, Transparent

Water: Denim, Turquoise, Pastel Blue, Parrot Green, Teal, White, Marshmallow, Pastel Yellow, Transparent

Nature: Olive, Bright Green, Kiwi Lime, Dark Green, Marshmallow, Cream/Créme, Transparent

(* I used Raspberry on Plague's flag because I ran out of Cranberry. Cranberry looks WAY better, but like... mismatched didn't work at all. I highly suggest using Cranberry in place of Raspberry in all places it occurs on the design!)

Another color note- when you fuse metallic beads, the shiny stuff makes a lil halo around the bead's center hole. For Lightning, since they have wires/chains on their banner/support, I figured it would work fine, but you could swap the Copper beads out for Rust and it would look good enough, I think. You do lose the shiny factor doing that, though.

A couple of these extend off of the side of the boards; better to use a bigger board for them if you have one (or like, if you have a third 17x17, sticking it to the side of the others and scooting the entire design over a peg would also work!)

As is very visible on the Light banner, it's really easy to get a faulty fuse where the boards meet. The trick where you put masking tape/painter's tape on the back of the beads before ironing (the OTHER side, and then take the tape off to iron its side, to be clear) helps a lot on multi-board fuses. You don't have to poke holes in the tape, but I find that doing so with a ballpoint pen or what have you can help a lot with keeping the beads from moving around, etc.

Happy crafting- if you end up making any of these, please ping me (or um, whatever I'm supposed to call it... still don't quite know how this site works) so I can see!

[nightlight-rising]

this is such a fun challenge!! they're really pretty <33

Let’s Build Your Flight Rising Sona!

Breed: Determined by the breed most prominent in your den + hibden!

Gender: Determined by your gender! ENBY, gender fluid, nonconforming folks choose what feels best!

Age: Choose hatchling if you prefer sunrises, choose Dragon if you prefer sunsets

Primary Color: Your favorite FR color

Secondary Color: The color most often found in your room

Tertiary: Your childhood favorite color

Element: Your flight!!

Eye Type: If your age is an even number, choose from: Bright, Dark Sclera, Glowing, Innocent, Pastel, Rare, Uncommon. If your age is an odd number, choose from: Common, Faceted, Goat, Multi-Gaze, Primal, swirl, Unusual

You get to gene yourself however you want, mix and match to find the best look for yourself! (Also bonus points if you can find your dragon self on the AH)

[djarrex]

submerged

Steb x f!reader

read on ao3 (more warnings and notes here too) | masterlist

Steb comes home after a long day and the two of you take a nice soak in the tub.

a/n: I don't recall buying the ticket but I hopped on the Steb train real fast - anyway, here we are. smut. +18 only. about 2.9k words.

After being on shift all day, Steb enters your home and walks toward you, peeling off his beret and setting it down on the counter. His duffle bag slides off his shoulders and plops unceremoniously to the floor, and just like always, he greets you with a kiss while wrapped in his arms.

“I've filled the tub.” You tilt your head to the side, and he hums in acknowledgement. One of Steb’s favorite ways to decompress after a shift is to take a nice soak, to sit relaxed while temperate waters work to rehydrate and regulate himself. His appreciation is displayed with how his features soften at the sight of you, the longer, drawn-out and thoughtful hum he emits.

“Hungry?” you ask sweetly enough, your hands delicately running from his exposed neck down the thick uniform fabric and metal accents covering his arms. Your hands find his gloved ones, intertwining your fingers. You feel him start to melt into it. “I can start on dinner while you soak for a bit. Recharge.”

You go to pull away, but Steb’s fingers tighten around yours. You raise a curious brow, but your impending inquiry dies on your tongue once you register the look in his icy eyes followed by the subtle nudge of his head toward the direction of the bathroom. 

Join me. 

A knowing smile forms on his lips upon your wordless understanding. You peck him on the lips, and squeeze his hand tighter. 

Steb guides you into the bathroom. The two of you begin to shed each other of your clothing, working at buttons and fastenings, peeling off a layer at a time. As more layers are removed until he's standing bare in front of you, you shamelessly ogle at him. The sight of his body never fails to make your heart skip a beat. Fins and wispy frills protrude from the blue-green hues that color his skin. Stripes of darker shades stretch from his brows and disappear beneath thick, slicked back hair of a heavier shade of teal; the same patterns crawl down the back of his neck, his thighs and abdomen, while symmetrical blotches of scales pepper the planes of his biceps and down his forearms.

You trace a finger along his lithe abdomen, the thinnest sheen of film barely collecting underneath your nail. Your palm rests between his pectorals and Steb’s chest vibrates at your touch, the short, fanned frills above his cheekbones flickering rhythmically.

You pause to dip your hand in the water, gauging its temperature. It's still pleasantly warm, not too overbearing for Steb. 

“Long day?”

His ears flicker backward and his eyelids blink slowly as he gazes at you, offering a telling dip of his head and twist of his lips. You can feel just how dry his skin is compared to normal, but along with that, the invisible yet imposing weight sits on his shoulders, bending his spine in an almost slumped way, contrast to his usual well-kept posture. Steb works so hard, cares so hard, and even though the war ended, things are still taking a toll on him. 

Reassuring him with a smile, you cup his chin and run the pad of your thumb just below his pout, playfully pulling down his bottom lip. “Let’s get you into the tub, handsome.”

Steb’s eyes light up at the praise, then his pupils darken among the sea of glacier blue just as quickly. You take his hand and walk with him to the edge of the elongated basin, and being the gentleman that he is, Steb guides you into the water first. You scoot away from the wall of it, leaving room as he takes his place behind you. His long legs stretch out as much as they can on either side of you–leaving just a slight bend in his knees–his hands pulling at your shoulders to urge you backward. Your head rests against his shoulder, your nose inhaling his natural scent of what you always describe to him as the earthy undertones of lush vegetation growing along a riverbank.

“Better?” you ask him with a tilt of your head upward to see his face. Steb looks down at you with a content, calming gaze, and you get lost in the subtle ombre of orange and pink that colors his external eyelids and the contours of his nasal bridge. He clocks your lingering stare, and huffs a chuckle. 

Your hands find themselves running up and down his thighs, pushing into the muscles to ease some tension. The massage elicits a low dragging hum, and you continue, pressing yourself even further back into him to reach higher up near his hips.

Steb wants to return the favor. He always does.

His skilled, precise hands work at your shoulders just before they curve up to your neck, kneading your muscles with the right amount of pressure to make you reciprocate with a similar sound of your own. Medically trained, Steb knows exactly what spots to hit and how hard to hit them.

“That feels so good.”

He hums, and then his hands are moving again – palms now cupping your breasts. Nimble fingers swipe across your pebbled nipples and an unmistakable heat rushes to your core. As he's touching you, you don’t miss the awakening twitch of his cock against your lower back, the feel of the bulbous head curiously poking at you. You bite your lip, looking up to see his reaction; a contrasting rosy tint has since grown across his cheeks and his lips have parted ever so slightly. 

You scoot up just a tad so you can twist your body to face him at an angle, just enough to where you can slide your hand down his tensing abdomen below the water line to grasp at his hardening cock. Always cautious at first with his sensitivity, you watch as the short, delicate frills lining the underside flicker with your touch through the ripples of the water. Steb releases a soft groan from deep in his throat when you close your hand around him and give a few experimental pumps, relishing the way he feels within your palm. When you start to grip a little harder and move a little quicker, his head falls back against the edge of the tub with a comical ‘thud’, and the both of you let out a simultaneous huff of laughter. 

Once he's throbbing and starting to pant, Steb pauses your ministrations with a gentle grasp of your wrist, his eyes signaling what he really wants with a devastatingly soft yet lustful stare. His thumb absently traces the skin on your wrist.

“Is this what you're needing, handsome?”

Normally this look in his eyes–determined with a haze of lust–says enough, but his lips find your ear, the plush of them parting.

“Need you.”

His voice, slightly raspy with what could be explained as disuse or desire–or a pleasant blend of both–never fails to thrill you in the most inexplicable ways. You savor hearing that rich, velvety sound of him formulating his thoughts into words, rare as it may be.

“Have me, Steb. I'm yours.”

You fully turn around to meet him face to face, with his blissfully lustful gaze watching your every move: When you allow him the space to adjust so you're straddling his thighs, and when you take his cock in your hand as you lift yourself with the help of your other hand on his shoulder. He always wants to watch your face as he enters you; it's a high that strokes his kempt ego, knowing he's the one to get you to make those pretty expressions and devastatingly sexy sounds.

Pumping his cock slowly with his natural lubrication sliding under your palm, you recall the time when you'd found out just how heightened Steb's senses can become when he's operating in wetter conditions, whether it's being on shift in the rainfall on an overcast day, or taking a quick reset in the shower. Sharper hearing, crisper eyesight. The way his body reacted to physical touch within this very tub now has a debauched idea popping into your mind. You're intrigued. How much better would sex be for him in water?

Since you’ve been paused in thought, a question mark etches its way onto his expression. Adorable, you mentally note. A sultry smirk pulls at your lips. His cock still in your hand, swollen and leaking from just above the water line, you tease the darkened head with a swipe of your finger along the slit. Steb shivers.

“How long was it that you could stay underwater?”

Eyes blowing wide, he nods eagerly. Adorable, again. If there ever was an inkling of apprehension on his end, it’s unabashedly tossed to the wind. Steb understands exactly what you’re suggesting, and hastily moves toward the center of the tub. He immerses himself into the water, his knees bent behind you. All of the gills on his upper body submerged, you finally lower yourself onto his cock and moan at how he totally fills you. It takes a moment or two, but once you get accustomed to the feeling of him inside of you again, you start to ride him in earnest. You rest your hands on his chest, using his sturdy body to keep up your momentum and effectively keeping him pinned to the bottom of the tub. His crystal eyes are piercing through the rippling water, carefully watching your expressions as you use his body to keep yourself moving, the water softly splashing around you and threatening to spill over the edge. 

Briefly slowing your motions, you remove a palm from his chest to delicately grasp at his chin, a tender gesture that the both of you know well. 

Is this okay? 

Steb takes his hand and encircles your wrist with those deft fingers, bringing it up to rest just above the gills on his jawline and nuzzles into your palm. Tiny air bubbles pop silently on the surface. His eyelids briefly shut. 

I’m fine – feels so good like this – keep going.

He releases your hand then, instead running his own up and down your thighs. You keep your eyes on him as you focus on your angle, aiming to hit that spot that makes you see stars. Steb is beautiful already, but something about the way he looks under the water – skin glistening with an almost luminescent quality, his frills and hair flowing freely, the mesmerizing way his gills pulsate with breaths –  you're fixated.

His freshly-hydrated skin feels all the more smooth against your own, but slippery as well. You start to struggle with keeping yourself perfectly balanced, and when you meet his groin on every downward thrust, you begin gyrating from side to side. Sensing the struggle, Steb taps your wrist and you allow him to emerge from the bottom, water sloshing messily and actually pouring over the edge of the tub. While his head turns to the side to assess the mess, droplets of water trickle tantalizingly down the cords of his neck and chest until they rejoin the source at the waterline at his abdomen.

“Was that okay?”

He looks back at you. Nodding, Steb’s eyes crinkle with a smile. His cock still blissfully impaling you, you're pulled flush against him. Strong arms wrap around you, holding you close. The throbbing deep inside your cunt has you wiggling impatiently, earning you a coy chuckle punctuated by him recapturing your lips for a deep kiss.

He grunts against your lips at that.

“Needy,” he notes, a playful smile curving his own. Before you can protest, Steb jerks his hips, and soon he's moving his body with yours in a crazed dance. His hands run up and down your back, pausing every so often to hold you impossibly closer as you rock into one another, the feeling of his rough fingertips surely leaving imprints in your skin. 

The weight of his breaths–ones that carry whispers of pleasure–tumble down your throat. Your fingers move to brush back his dampened hair, nails scratching his scalp. Every little touch you grace him with, pulls hurt noises and whimpers within the confines of his throat, and you want to hear them over and over again – intoxicated. Leaving his scalp, your fingers continue along the base of his skull, ghosting above the short fins that start to protrude there, and then you move down his neck and back, careful to not roughly scratch the ones that line the length of his spine. The almost liquidy, viscous groan that Steb lets out in response makes you clench around his cock, and just like that, you feel him throb deep inside of you with his release, panting heavily, his body twitching within your arms in the aftermath. 

Steb holds you for a moment longer before untangling his slippery limbs from yours. It takes only seconds for him to scoot you back against the opposite wall of the tub, part your thighs, and easily slip two fingers into your cunt. It isn’t long before he curls them, thrusting his long digits rapidly and determined. 

Your hand smacks against the lip of the tub, and the other quickly darts to grab at his hair.

“Sh-Shit – Steb…”

A cocky smirk and a grunt to match – ears twitching. He feels inebriated when you speak his name in such a way, and it gives him the extra push to work quicker, harder, until you’re a blubbering mess. The water splashes around where his wrist continuously plunges with his motions. The corded muscles in his forearm bulge with exertion. You’re weightless sitting in this tub but every muscle is tense and every nerve feels like a fraying thread. You watch, transfixed, on how his fingers draw in and out of your cunt beneath the water line until you can’t. It’s too much but oddly not even close to being enough. You want to reach that peak. It’s close – you’re close. Your head lulls with the rush of blood and adrenaline, tipping backward.

Steb won’t have that, though.

Suddenly he pulls his fingers from you and out from the water, instead grasping your chin to angle your head back upright. The look in his eyes has a slight bite but lacks any venom – yet you’re instantly sobered all the same. There’s a slight flutter in your core at this side of him. Sometimes even your quiet, caring, selfless Steb can take charge.

Your chin is released once your undivided attention is back on him. The shape of a V made with his index and middle fingers taps once, twice just below his eyes, and the frills on his face flutter in time. The wordless command is one you understand implicitly. 

Eyes on me.

You nod, loyal, eager to revisit where your body was heading before. “Please.”

A softer haze fills the look in his eyes then, satisfied with your compliance as much as it is charming. Even after taking you like this, claiming you with fervor, Steb is still the sweet, gentle man you’ve grown extremely fond of. Your pride swells knowing that you’re the only one to see him, to understand him in ways far beyond what meets the eye. Gratitude swells in your chest. You want to kiss him.

The moment is over when his fingers stuff back into your cunt.

The same devastating pace at which he finger fucks you quickly brings you back to where you wanted to be, just moments before finally tipping over. Only now, you’re looking right at his face, at the way his frills flutter and how his ears involuntarily twitch in response to every sound you make as he focuses solely on the way you’re feeling. His warm yet icy eyes are glued to your own, and somehow meeting them is more lethal than you can anticipate. 

“I’m close–”

Steb leans toward you. You think he’s going to kiss you, to tangle his tongue with yours in an intimate gesture that is like a soothing balm through it all, but–

“Come.”

You were wrong: Hearing Steb’s gruff voice tell you–no, command you–was the most lethal weapon that sent white-hot pleasure searing through every fiber of your being, not just tipping you but launching you over the edge, sending you soaring through your climax. A high-pitched whine tears itself from your throat, pruned toes curling with it. Steb does lean in to kiss you then, doing exactly what you had thought he was going to do before, only moments later. His fingers move slower as you writhe and clench around them. You continuously hum into him, an evident smile shaping his lips.

Everything after that is a blur. At some point, Steb guided you out of the tub, carefully, because the water that had spilt on the floor had been clocked as a safety hazard, somewhere in the throes of it all. You were wrapped in a towel, Steb on his knees as he dried you off with reverence – then carried to bed, clothed with an extra undershirt of his and buried beneath a blanket right beside him. 

Steb adjusts and turns to face you. He runs the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible but you know the shape of the word well.

[jennystinson]

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