#im thinking...🐳

[engel-hageshii]

Aaaaaand he is done!

Jack-o-Sun is finally completed!

And he is ready to fulfill his destiny as my jewelry plate 🎃🎃

I had so much fun working on him and I loved how he turned out!

He was part of a set along with a Moon figure I bought in like may lol they used to look like this::

And now they look like this!!

I'm so so happy I made these and I hope I can make more cute stuff in the future!

[justalildumpling]

i said i was writing the spin off for twin flame but my brain is so fried rn OAUBFOWUGBOWG

but im cooking a mini jaemin smau rn,, idk when it'll be out yet but soon😁

[seiwas]

hi stranger, for fmk: megumi, gojo and atsumu :’)

hey there stranger, an AWFULLY tough roster you’ve got there 🥲

now. atsumu and gojo are on the same boat! i can only marry either of them for maximum benefit bc. a one time fuck won’t cut it. it won’t be enough (will it even be good? 🤷🏻‍♀️)

so i’m fucking megumi 🥲

and.

i’m marrying atsumu. because i think. i’d actually be so in love with his stupid ass 🥲🥹

and i’m sorry gojo has to go again 😭

send me a set of fmk and i’ll answer!

[syluses]

landlocked

siren! rafayel x female reader

cw ▻ 18+, noncon, nsfw, smut, yandere and unhealthy behaviors, monster(?) on human, merman rafayel, minor violence, dark content beware

wc ▻ 11k, longform oneshot, buckle up

an ▻ HAPPY BIRTDAY RAF 🐬🐳🩵🎉🎂 i busted my ass on this one and its a day late but here we are :,) please heed the tags and do enjoy raf girlies :] eee his characterization is quite tricky but im getting there </3 (also please do forgive typos 🥲)

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

Waves crash against the rocks.

Sea salt shoots up and stings your cornea, your knuckles going white around the wooden ledge they grip onto for dear life. And to be perfectly accurate, that is what this is- life or death- something you’re not entirely certain you’ll make it to the other end of. With a frantic prayer, you plant your heels under the thwarts and try to find balance as the little canoe rocks violently.

Froth builds up around it; towering waves cresting over and leaving behind liquid dust, the air thick with it like a mist.

You squint your eyes to blot out the pelting rain; keeping them open for too long is a near impossible task anyway, what with the burn.

This was stupid, you know that. Whether or not it was a wise decision was never the question in your head.

No, the only one present- overarching all other thought, making it physically impossible to function in your day to day life- was if your fiancé was still alive. Or if what all the townsfolk gossiped about in whispering peels during brushes with them on the cobbled path was true—

If the waves got to him. If he was really lost at sea.

Stupid or naive or plain crazy (as one onlooker labeled you without so much as a care to just how worn-out this whole ordeal’s made you)- you don’t care. Truthfully, you think you’re a little beyond the point of it, of self doubt or second guessing.

The only room left is for action: the strong men at the tavern and the local fisherman you clumsily rallied together were helpful in some ways, but their help only lasted so long until exasperation kicked in and they called it quits.

The choice to do something is yours and only yours.

Look, girl. We combed the port front to back. Turned over the barrels and crates and all, found nothin’. And we’ve been hauling out them nets for weeks now— wouldn’t you be surprised-? nothin’ there, either. Your fiancé's gone. I’m sorry, but—

You didn’t stay to hear the rest, embittered by it.

They’d done you a kindness, carving time out of their strict schedules and afternoon, beer-induced naps. And you’ll always be thankful for that, that despite knowing deep in their hearts that you were a lost cause, they stepped up to bat regardless, but—

There’s no returning home for you. Wiping your brow of its sweat then throwing a towel over your shoulder, heading in for the night.

The spot beside you in bed is eerily empty and cold; you wake from nightmares in sheer darkness and swat a hand to feel him but you’re met with wrinkled sheets and a silence that sneers. Without him, this place is empty.

The town is beautiful- small- but beautiful- with its glittering fairy lights strung from shop to shop, worn paths branching off into pebbled ones that lead to the shore and the peer, the more developed side of it farther down the sand— and it used to feel comforting. Like home.

Now, there’s no lantern aglow on the porch banister to point you in the direction of home. You’re aimless and sad. Like a ship without a sail.

The first week afterward (the news that his crew never returned from their trip), you hid away in your room crying all day, the better part of you half expecting his footfalls to echo down the hall. Though, they never did. It’s fine, you’d reasoned with eyes clamped shut, splayed over his half of the mattress, he’ll be back tomorrow.

Tomorrow came. It went, too.

And he—

He’s still gone—

Worried neighbors flitted by and left steaming pastries by the door. You hardly had an appetite for them, though, delightful as they were sat outside your cracked window, the smell of pecan pie drifting under billowing, sheer curtains.

It’s encroaching on around a month now. A month of loneliness and denial and the cruel, pitying stares the locals level you in the times you seldom leave home.

Your fiancé's absence, as unexpected as it was devastating, has stretched on long enough to kindle a sort of determination in you. You pile your bones off the bed and set out for the shore with a small, leather bag at your waist and sandals that hang off your feet, nervous but hellbent.

That bag, now: floating off in the distance, whisked away by whirling winds and swallowed up by the sea. One valiant flipflop remains hanging off your big toe, but you question, albeit with little concern for it, for just how much longer it will last.

Your fingers shake as they peel hair from your temple. You can’t see, can’t see anything— the boat shakes and croaks as the bottom steadily fills, and you have the dreadful realization that you are slowly sinking and cannot stop it.

Through bleared eyes, you watch several, ringlet-like waves form on the horizon and disappear behind rolling, closer ones. You brace endlessly for impact, but another wave bulges and effortlessly lifts your canoe- a temporary respite from the others that come crashing over.

When it lets you down, you quickly squint to see what’s coming for you next and immediately pale.

It’s massive. Dark, cobalt, scraping the underbelly of the black sky. Another tall wave (but a small fish in comparison) interlopes into it and is swallowed within a blink. It only worsens it, feeds it.

You have no chance. None at all. It’s over. It’s over and despite it all- the pointed meddling of your neighbors and all the chatter meant to maim the stubborn belief you held that your to-be husband was still alive- a small hope flares to life in your chest.

It says maybe dying here wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe, if all of them were right after all, you’d be able to see him again.

As that unbeatable wave draws nigh, seemingly moving at a snail’s pace- casual in its approach but so terrifyingly powerful- it droops at the top and paints you in an opaque shadow.

You can’t see, can’t hear. The deafening roar of thunder and the foamy tide clapping against itself is tuned out. Your eyes see nothing but darting smears of lightning and the hurt of heartbreak and sea salt.

It’s happening. It’s over.

You give your fingers one last twitch to remind yourself that, for the moment, remarkably, you’re still alive. They feel fat with the cold, hardly budging.

Your last flip flop gusts over your shoulder and your ribcage rattles with a chill.

Your teeth chatter out one final prayer and perhaps a choked sob- although you can’t tell if it’s the brine gathering at your feet, rising with a gurgle- And you watch with wide, teary eyes as that tsunami finally descends—

A flash of color, indigo and bright, bobs above the slanted tide.

‘You. You shouldn’t be out here.’

Your eyes widen. Milliseconds before the boat is hit, a slosh from the side tips it and you’re catapulted into the open water.

It feels like an open flame.

Arctic temperatures freeze you to the bone. You’re reminded of hellfire as the cold licks away at your skin, limbs warping around you in violent currents.

You let out a scream of despair and watch as it turns to suds.

You know it was stupid, you know it was stupid, you know it was stupid— But you were hurting. And that life back at town- now devoid of the man you thought to be your veritable soulmate, who you were convinced you’d spend your final breaths with- is not the one you want to continue on with.

(But… you don’t wanna die.)

You dig to the surface with a sputter.

You manage to keep yourself afloat for all of two seconds before the ocean— or something that feels oddly like a fist— latches onto your ankle and pulls.

Consciousness is a slightly longer affair… but that, too, fades.

Teal blips across your spasming eyes. A vivid, long tail flicks along your arm, almost curiously, before curling behind you and disappearing.

Bubbles erupt from your jaw and shoot up, up, up.

Maybe, you think vaguely as the world blackens, quietens, you’ll find your missing fiancé lying at the seabed. The thought, surprisingly, isn’t as comforting as it is disturbing, but you suppose a reunion only in death would be better than none at all.

‘Silly human. Don’t worry, I got you.’

⊹⊹⊹

A voice breaks the quiet of night. Dulcet, lamenting.

The ocean whirs in his ears endlessly, his tail gliding below him in a dull swish. A school of fish passes by, and then another. A curious, blue one swims at his side and he biffs it dismissively.

“Not now, fishie.”

Rafayel isn’t concerned about the life swirling around him in colorful dots of assorted sizes, floating above the seabed, no- that’s all ubiquituous to him. It’s that song— that smooth sound drifting like a dirge from somewhere on the surface— that stirs something deep in his chest.

It was like that last night, too, and then a few nights before.

After over two decades of swimming in unbroken boredom- with each day bringing about the expectation of nothing more than waking up to see another- the siren feels a shift.

Something is breaking the monotony.

An excitement, existing deep in his chest but incipient, is invoked within him like an ancient god brought to wakefulness. Rafayel feels his bones rouse with the phantom aches of a slumber he never fell into- but the feeling is all the same. He rubs the disbelief from his eyes and pushes aside waving reeds before rocketing upwards.

When the waves kiss the morning foam,

From beneath the surface, the crescent moon is lopsided and shakes as Rafayel gets closer to breaching it.

The dainty shadow of a hand cuts in front of the white orb, as if wanting to capture it, before falling back to her side.

A gentle splash.

From up here, he can hear the things of land- the crickets and cicadas of summertime- purr from afar. That’s not what he came here for, though, what’s been stringing him in from the depths like fish in a trawl or moth to a flame.

And still, in the span of the last week, Rafayel has yet to get her name... (Something that definitely has to be remedied sooner or later, he quietly decides- despite the other half of him still holding onto the pride of coasting solo, the embarrassment at being led off by a mere voice. A land creature’s, at that.)

He latches onto the long, thick leg of the peer and props himself just under the overhang of it, laying his nose flat in the water but opening his eyes above it. It’s amplified now, that pretty noise, and the only thing separating the two- him and the human- is the planks of wood overhead.

Her feet rest on it. He hears her sandals squelch before she toes them off, sits down, and loops her legs over the edge.

Rafayel, with fluttering lashes and an interest so unexpected but strong it’s paralyzing- watches her heels make ripples just beside him, his heart thumping wildly. It could be out of the thrill of doing something this unusual, or the silent anticipation of maybe getting caught (although, he doubts he will, for the main reason that his kin don’t lack in cunning).

Maybe it’s just out of delight- the fibers of his being tingling with invisible sparks of… something. It makes him feel a little clumsy, innocent and fumbling like when he was a young merfolk just learning how to evade a rip current.

Similarly, she pulls him under. Drags him far out. Her voice is the tide and he’s all too willing to drown.

It’s… certainly not the first time he’s seen them- human legs- and he’ll be the first to admit that he wasn’t so sure about them initially- but he thinks he likes hers the best. It’s starting to grow on him, but just a little.

She’s soft. Smooth. At least, that’s how she appears- though he can’t say for certain because he’s never tested that theory, yet.

He’s extra careful to keep his hands to himself, intrigued as he is, lest his nails pierce through and break her. It’s a more common notion underwater, shared between much of the fishfolk, that humans are meant to be broken. Pieced apart in hungry hands or brought to the depths for a more extended, decadent death.

To be fair, he’s not a firm denier of that...

But this human, this girl who’s collided into his infinitely bleak life with all the grace of a ship wrecked hours off from shore, and whatever the hell she’s singing about— Rafayel’s not quite stupid enough to break her, no… He’s not quite willing to, either.

When the scent of roses pierces the lungs, The fish stranded at your fingertips…

For the rest of the moonlit evening, Rafayel floats beneath the peer at her (unwitting) side and listens to her languishing until she stands to her feet and retreats down the beach, disappearing into a cluster of warm, tiny lights in the distance.

Blood,

Blood,

Blood covers the sea.

Rafayel, with an inexplicable pang of sorrow- unable to fight the influence of her songs- can’t help but wonder what has made the girl so sad.

It’s not in their baser nature, the sirens, to commiserate, least of all with the humans. It’s a weakness, to cry, an open wound that his kind is all too susceptible to deepening- so they avoid it entirely. Call it preservation. But for as much as Rafayel loves the ocean- and yes, to an extent, his people- he was never all that interested in their society, and if showing a little bit of heart for the landfolk means escaping the bland shadows of the sea, then maybe right now is a good time to start.

…Before she swims away, anyway.

⊹⊹⊹

Silence sours the balmy air of your home, but you swear you hear something singing to you.

It was real.

It had to be, what happened just a number of days ago.

When you’d been retrieved from a bed of seaweed on the shore with little memory of what happened, you had retained just enough to know that something was… off.

That something having to do with the violent storm at sea and your lack of succumbing to it- the darting shadow that appeared by the boat and was there when you went under— wasn’t adding up.

You… shouldn’t be alive.

That thought was present even in the thick mist of early morning as boats began unmooring from the docks— stark epiphany, realer than the concerned hands of the fishermen as they helped you into town, your legs hardly capable of carrying you there on their own. Much less your frazzled mind; you didn’t quite miss the way they’d stared at you during the trek off shore, throwing frantic looks over your shoulder even as the sand gave to the reedy path leading into the village.

The rolling waves got flatter as you drew off from it, but something in you- like some inexplicable base instinct- was telling you to run. Away or back to it, you don’t know, but you feel the frigidity of the sea still in your chest, lapping away at your sanity as days pass.

The burn is surreal. Nothing makes sense.

You should be dead- scraping there at the bottom of the sea, drifting with your supposedly dead fiancé in a place where the light doesn’t dare reach—

But you’re not.

The earth feels shapeless beneath your feet. A perpetual dizziness in your skull that makes you feel like you’re swaying on a dock- but your toes are planted in dry land.

You’re alive. The scale tipped against you but it didn’t matter. The sea spat you out, didn’t want you.

Surprisingly, you take the whole ordeal in stride. The first days after being plucked from the shore are rocky and dreamy, but you find your footing and with it comes an unexpected hope.

If you survived, your fiancé must’ve as well. He’d always been the stronger of you two, anyway, more stout and determined.

The waves did not drag him under. Couldn’t have.

The canoe you took out to sea is gone, not to your surprise. It was more or less reduced to splinters. But you wonder if it was even real to begin with, if the canoe ever existed that day when you unroped it from its notch and embarked on the perilous journey. Down to the very point where you pattered off your porch steps and made the choice to look for your fiancé yourself- the whole sequence of events is wrapped in a forgetful fog.

But deep down, despite the whispers of doubt surrounding you and your own mental haze, you know it happened. All of it.

It was real, and something

Is singing to you—

(Wet hands descend the span of your belly. Sand feels like gravel beneath you, soaked and cold beneath a yellowed moon as night fades. Reverent, curious. Long nails carefully unravel algae from your fingers and thighs. The debris is tossed away, thrown down the shore without thought.

-…. in good shape, cutie. Is there anyone on land who’d sing for you if you disappeared? A gentle laugh- but even in your state of unconsciousness, you pick up on the note of disdain there. I guess if there was, you wouldn’t turn to the sea so much.)

Hands. Curious hands kneading into you like wet clay on a spinning wheel. Reshaping. Admiring. There’s painterly intent in every touch, every brush. Something between the cove of your legs gives a wanting throb and your tongue feels like cotton. Fire licks from your belly to your brain and makes it benumbed, pleasantly heavy as the gentle, rhythmic lull of the tide cools the tips of your toes.

Salt burns your throat.

You wake with it sore.

Rubbing it groggily, you come to before dawn fully does, the horizon flickering with a diluted, white-orange beneath a starry sky.

It gets to be too much. The emptiness of your bed, the suffocating drivel of the townsfolk and the lack of certainty in what happened to you.

Dubbed crazy or not by all around you, you’re past the point of caring. You have to leave. Worried neighbors advised you against it, adamant that you ward off on visiting the peer at least until your mind fog lessened; preferably, you’d wait an extra few months so the wound of heartbreak would seal over, but it seems they know better than to ask that of you.

He’s still out there, your to-be husband. He’s got to be.

You think something else might be, too. The thing that saved you. Although, the reasons it has for doing so are beyond you.

Go back, a lilting voice sings somewhere in the back of your head, a dull throb like a separate, beating heart. It thumps in your skull and sends a thrill through you. It speaks in urgency, like it’s warning you not to disobey— but all the sharpness of it is masked in dulcet chords.

Go back, back to the sea.

Crazy or not, you think it’s calling for you.

The lyrics lead you to the front door. Maybe you ought to think this over more, sleep on it (God knows you’re failing at that seemingly simple task). But something is driving you, picking up and physically moving your limbs for you as if your settings have been switched to autopilot.

You shrug on a thin cardigan to stave off the crisp air of early morning, not bothering to lock your door behind you.

A weird, eerie voice in your subconscious- hardly sounding like yours- says you won’t be coming back anyway.

Thankfully, you have half the mind to shoo it away and steel your nerves. Of course you’ll be coming back home. You’ll find your errant fiancé and burst through the little blue-painted door with celebration. All the village will cough up their sheepish apologies for the things they’d said- the faithless assumptions they made- and raise a mug to his return.

The key to finding him is finding that other thing, first. The thing with a watery fist and roaming nails, the glinting coral-red eyes that blurred beneath coiling waves and the tail that you’re sure swam you back to safety.

The locals can say all they want about you: The ruddy, fading ring of scratches wrapping around the bone of your ankle—

That’s all the proof you need to spur you onward.

Onward is the ocean.

⊹⊹⊹

Water gushes against the rocks at the seaside.

Dark and slate-grey, they dry up under the sun immediately. Seagulls caw overhead. The sand is warm- not cool as it was in your last visit- near scalding as you head towards the shore.

You hiss and don’t make it halfway until you start leaping, bare feet burning. You hurry into the water, standing only ankle-deep, and mentally scold yourself for forgoing shoes— but to your defense, your sandals had been lost to the abyss that was the sea just barely seven days ago.

The horizon is blinding. Sunlight bounces off the plane of the sea and glistens, just as bedazzled as a wealthy woman’s neck. It’s a far cry from what it was last week- all whorling ridges and roaring waters- and for that you’re thankful.

That storm, and being launched into the hellish currents of it, will remain in your dreams for a long time coming.

Even now, just looking at it from far out takes your breath a little.

It’s horrifying. It’s… beautiful.

…And it’s singing to you—

“I know you’re there,” you whisper.

Your voice is just a breath at first, hushed as you toss a squirrely look down the beach- where the fishermen drudge around as little specks- and straighten your spine.

You’re alone here, though. You’re allowed to be as crazy as you want.

You speak louder, forcing down the lump of embarrassment in your throat that says your voice is falling on deaf ears. And you know the ocean doesn’t have ears, or eyes; it hardly had the heart to spit you back out of it.

But that thing that snatched you into its arms and left you boneless on the sand does.

With hands bunched, shaking, you declare, “I know, you’re there.”

Nothing.

A short whitecap curls over the tips of your toes and stretches a few feet behind you before receding.

It melds seamlessly into the blue.

Nothing, and then-

Yards off, a colorful blur warbles. As it swims closer, you hold your ground, squint to assure it’s not a sea turtle or other creature (albeit, no typical marine animal is that shape or size), and let out a little gasp. Its head pops above the surface gracefully, and it’s full of hair, a vibrant shade of indigo that strikes a familiar chord in you instantly.

“It’s you,” you startle, almost out of breath. The fingers clutched tightly at your sides unfurl. Your heart picks up its speed, an abrupt surge of emotions- shock, relief, and confusion- leaving no different an effect than a stungun would.

“You’re real, I- I knew it—!”

“Shhh,” is his first word, coral-blue eyes narrowing with apathy as he palms himself closer, about knee-deep in the water now. And yet you step away, applying some distance as you stagger because for whatever reason, the knowledge that his creature- or fish-man- saved you doesn’t take the cake when it comes to self-preservation.

You don’t even have a name to put to his face (or tail), and up until now, you were certain mermaids and unicorns and fairies only existed between the pages of whimsical books or the imaginations of children.

Right then, you think, they also existed in the sage warnings of the Greeks before they sailed off to sea.

The quiet epiphany plays with your nerves.

“You don’t have to be so loud, you know. I can hear you just fine, thanks.”

Ear-length, wavy hair bobs with the movement as he tilts his head. You can’t help but feel estranged from the idea of caution, though, as he drifts a bit closer and gives you a petulant pout.

He gets as close as the sandbar will allow before pausing, broad shoulders jutting above the ripples.

And he’s childish still, the picture of harmlessness as he looks up at you, squinting in the sun, and murmurs, “buuuut, I admire your enthusiasm, cutie... Were you looking forward to our reunion that bad?”

You blink, lashes fluttering. A breath you’d been holding finally escapes you, a whit of that unease ebbing out just like the cool tide underfoot.

You’re… hardly a sailor, anyway. You’ve no ship to be wrecked; no, the man that served as the anchoring element in your life is missing. The boat in your life has gone AWOL. With it your warmth and love. It’s why you’ve even come out here in the first place, the flights of fancy belonging to a grieving woman or not.

The reminder of your lost fiancé steels you.

You lift a shaky hand to use as a visor against the sun, blotting it out so you can peruse the man-fish without obstruction.

“You saved me,” is all you really know to say. You’d had all sorts of lofty plans coming back out here, but you’d never fully considered what you’d do if your new friend (he is a friend, right?) did show.

He lets out an amused, dry sound. The ghost of a smile curls at his pink lips, though. He can’t quite hide that one from you.

“I did. Have you come to show me your gratitude?” He lowers his gaze then, glancing at your shins momentarily before peering behind you, at the grassland stopped just after the shore and right before the village.

He grumbles, “Or will humans with pitchforks show up any minute, intent on slaughtering me and my kind?”

For some reason, the most you take from that statement is the very end of it, quickly saying, “T-There’s more of you?”

He looks up at you. Makes a scoffing sound but it only holds half its bite.

“Well, of course there is. Silly girl,” he comments, that little grin returning with a vengeance as behind him, something teal shoots up from the water and pelts a small flurry of droplets your way. You close your eyes and turn, the gentle sound of his laughs ringing out.

When you look back at him, a long tail- gorgeous and as pigmented as turquoise paint- flicks under the sun and glitters no different than rhinestones.

“It was only me that was generous enough to save you, though. That’s the most important part.”

⊹⊹⊹

Trust is a big word, it is.

But there is no doubt in your mind that you would’ve succumbed to a watery death if not for the merman- Rafayel, he’d informed with a coy flap of his tail- intervening, and you’re grateful to him for that. His saving you— it means something. And you owe him.

You head for the shore each morning with a silent debt hanging over your head, but he never demands anything of you in return. During lazy afternoons by the cove trading pretty, swirled shells and at first tentatively getting in the water with him to swim at nightfall, you wait for the catch to come, for him to name his price.

You think it’s only fair. Rescuing something as valuable as a life is nothing to scoff at: you’d cough up the change.

He never holds out his hand.

If anything, Rafayel seems wholly uninterested in that.

You’re not entirely sure why you formulated your ideas of merfolk around blood-thirst and thievery (perhaps because of the myths), but the one you’re befriending is nothing like that. He’s playful and sassy and a little bit flirtatious but you suppose- if the legends of sirens luring sailors to the depths are really true- then it adds up. It’s only natural he’d be a whit on the provocative side, right?

Rafayel is friendly, clingy even when you convince him that you have no intentions of alerting the village any time soon of his presence. You tell him with a wry laugh that they’d hardly believe you anyway because everyone thinks you’ve lost it.

You see it in his pleasant face- the blip of interest that passes by- that he wants to ask why, but he holds off on it when you pour him with questions about what goes on in the deep blue and if his kind really eats fishermen.

He huffs, propping his elbow on the half-submerged rock he’d helped you onto, still in sight of the shore but more intimate a setting.

“What kind of question is that? Do you really think I could do something like that? Look at me,” he balloons out his cheeks and puffs. “I’m an innocent little fishie.”

You laugh, and drop the interrogation in favor of a more lighthearted one. You ask Rafayel what life off land is like.

With a mischevious twinkle in his marbled, red-blue eye, he tells you about what lurks in ocean trenches first, painting vivid imagery in your head of glowing bulbs in the dark and rows of jagged teeth that peer out of deep crevices.

You blanche and he can’t help but chuckle softly, a dash of something in his gaze that resembles ardor as it flits appreciatively along the curve of your face.

It’s not all horrifying, though, he eventually concedes.

He scoops shiny things up from the sand lining the ocean floor and gifts them to you in your following meetings. He tells you that the fish- sleek and chromatic- dance around him in schools where everything is crystalline. They sleep on beds of coral under-tail and stick close to the fins of whales, apparently having nothing better to do. Sometimes they get a little clingy, he admits, and he has to shoo them away, but the little creatures are friendly- and his underwater world is nothing short of beautiful.

Rafayel loves the sea. It’s his home.

“And what about you, cutie? What’s your home like?”

That gives you pause, but just for a moment.

You know what home is like; you’d only dwelled there, in the tiny village off the shoal, since you were a little girl.

And home is nice…. Or, it was. Now, it’s a husk of the warmth you once knew. Days drag by in drab monotony and the added, very much unwanted reminder that your fiancé has yet to return. Seagulls squawk outside and tricycle bells ring. Concerned neighbors knock on your door but this place feels dull. No more face to put to this snuggly seaside village.

With a small smile- one that Rafayal thinks is more wistfully sad than anything- you tell the merman about the things you cherish here, deliberately omitting what you desperately miss.

Memories of childhood circle back to you in fuzzy fragments: Despite the present, you can still at least cherish the past, right…?

Listening to you recount gems of your youth with a smile, it’s evident to Rafayel that you love it here.

Just… he understands that maybe it’s not as much as you used to.

His face takes on more of a sober look then, his cheeks, dappled with teal scales that break the surface in some spots, dusting a soft pink. You don’t really understand why- perhaps a mild case of sun burn- but he asks,

“And what about in it? Is there… Someone who’s special to you, who brings it warmth? Even underwater, in order to survive, we merfolk need a suitable temperature, you know.”

Ah. That.

You offer a hum of acknowledgment before glancing off, far out to where the flat whitecaps stretch into nothingness. Lounging around by the coast with your new, unlikely friend, the scenery is idyllic here.

You almost will yourself into forgetting what you’re really here for, what hurled you face-first into this predicament.

Sorrow hangs in your heart. The visage of your fiancé passes in your head rapidly, kaleidoscopic, his smiles and the tender moments spent with him, the sound of his laugh.

You are less and less certain of yourself. You are not sure if the gossipping townsfolk are correct or not to assume the worst, but what you do know is that it’s creeping up on two months and not one shiphand has returned. Not even an errant oar has washed ashore.

“Yes. But…” A pause. You swallow thickly and give your head a belated, uncertain shake. Tears form in the back of your throat and you pile them down, frustrated they’d showed up uninvited.

Perhaps you’re more weak to all the bleak murmurs than you’ve let on.

You laugh, but the sound lacks humor. “Everyone thinks he’s dead, all the people at the village.”

“…You wanna share?”

You shrug and draw one knee to your chest, the other still bent over the rocky ledge, dangling in the cool water. They’re still today, the waters, relatively level— but inwardly, you warn yourself against being so easily deceived by them: they looked more or less the same the day you rowed out.

The storm was nothing short of terrifying, yes, but you think the lack of expecting it somehow made it more devastating.

“Well, there’s not much to,” you respond, tongue in cheek. You don’t mean to sound uninterested in this conversation all of a sudden, but you suppose it’s a defense mechanism. Rafayel props his elbows on the rock and listens intently, giving his brow a little quirk at your tone.

“But my… fiancé,” why the words are suddenly hard to get out, you don’t know, “he went off to sea. Hasn’t come back yet.”

At your knees, Rafayel is noticeably quiet, but you get the inexplicable sense that he’s invested.

“I guess he’ll come back with lots of fish whenever he does,” you sigh. Your attempts to remain lighthearted just barely working.

Quickly, you try to breeze past the topic, but the merman chimes- “A fisherman? You were courting a fisherman?”

Courting. The word sounds a little funny, medieval almost, but you hum.

It’s his turn to make a tongue-in-cheek comment, lifting his scaly fist to support his chin. “He must’ve been a real prize to deserve all that singing... What do I get for saving you?” He says playfully, almost pettily, but you get the weird idea that this is more serious to him than he lets on.

You want to heave a laugh at his pouting words, but confusion stops you. You snap your head to him.

“You-?”

Quickly, Rafayel quips, “Yes, just about the whole sea can hear you at night. Why is that surprising?”

For some reason, a whit of hope warms your chest throughout. If Rafayel is cognizant of something as trivial as songs from above the surface, surely he must’ve been privy to a shipwreck or the hurried shouts of sailors as their boat went down.

Not that you believe it did, just—

You scramble upright, planting your palms on the rock in a kneel as you say- in a voice you’re not keen on sounding as desperate as it comes out-

“Have you ever heard anything else? A- A boat sinking? People drowning or- or—“ You stuff out an anxious breath, all the worries and doubts you’d been housing for weeks now bubbling to the surface. You suppose if anybody has garnered your confidence, though, it’s the merman that saved your veritable life.

Still, a lump of unease burns in your throat. Thick and acidic. It makes your voice shake but you ignore it, leaning over the edge. If you fall in, he’ll save you again anyway. If not a friendship (but you definitely treat it as such), there is still a mutual fondness between you two- a silent trust- and you’re sure, beside the marks on your ankle he left by accident in the heat of the moment, he would not let harm befall you.

“Because they say he’s gone— my lover— they say his crew got hit by something- like a plague or a storm- and succumbed out there. But maybe- maybe you heard something? Rafayel- did you hear or see any group of fishermen out there?” You bluster, before adding on like an afterthought, “two months ago?”

The longer your mouth moves, the wider Rafayel’s eyes get.

And then, you think it’s something like… recognition that skips across multihued eyes.

He’s quiet for a moment, mouth ajar. His bright turquoise tail, the tip jutting out from the tide as it sways idly, stops midway in the air and floats awkwardly.

Your brow furrows. You fear the worst. Your nails dig into the gritty surface, fingerpads whiting as you shake your head.

“Rafayel-? W-What’s wrong?”

Curtly, he shuts his mouth. An easy smile replaces his momentary surprise.

When he speaks, it’s in a familiar, somewhat sarcastic but harmless tone, and his tail sparks to life behind him, albeit quite unsteadily.

“Nothin’, cutie,” he lifts an arm to adjust his perch on the rock but it slips. His face dusts pink, his brows twitching together; all of it, the clearly disturbed signs of his composure, he ignores. Your heart thrums.

“I was just thinking how brave you were to venture off to sea after him. He’s lucky to have someone like you still waiting at home for him.” His compliment is overlooked. You’re too caught up in the rush of unease that sweeps through you- the niggling feeling that says there’s something more to this you’re not seeing- that you can hardly utter a bashful thanks.

“But- did you happen to hear anything, or-?”

Rafayel adds casually, “I’m sure the guy is fine wherever he is, though. And no, cutie. But I’ll let you know if that changes.”

Something like hesitance grips you as you watch, with silence, the friendly merman lose the better part of his mirth. You wonder if you’ve said something wrong as his exterior hardens cooly, if you’ve divulged too much of your emotions and quite possibly lost your final companion. Maybe you’re overthinking it- but if that’s the case, if even a fish-man from the sea has taken the same opinion as the land-living locals, then some drama seems warranted.

You don’t want to be alone again. And Rafayel- Rafayel was starting to really grow on you despite all your differences—

He strums his fingers against his jaw, painting the picture of boredom, and puffs out his lips, eyes drifting away almost flippantly as if he’s dead to the wounded look you send him.

A yawn. He unfolds his lean arms and ducks under the water.

“Wait- Rafayel-?”

“Sorry, princess, the fishies are calling me. They said it’s getting late now, and that I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“But—“

“Hop on my back, let me take you back to shore. Your little legs can only doggy paddle you so far,” he lets out a light laugh but you don’t miss the dash of mockery there, as if you’re some unfortunate soul cursed with four limbs and warm blood. Still, you bite your tongue- and the unbidden pang of unease in your chest- and slip off the rock.

You loop your arms around his middle, his muscles flexing in response, lean and tight, and keep your chin above the tide as he floats towards the sand bar.

“Rafayel, are you okay?”

“Of course, cutie. Why, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah. It’s just-“ you poorly stifle a sigh, still a bit taken aback by his sudden desire to truncate your meeting. That, and his odd behavior when you asked about any possible shipwreck.

You eventually settle on, “Please just keep it on your radar. If you hear or see any ships, call me, okay?”

“We don’t have shellphones under the water, you know. How am I supposed to alert you?” You can’t see the face he’s making, saddled on his back as his long tail gusts through the gentle currents, but you realize he’s teasing.

“I- I don’t know,” you admit clumsily. “Maybe I’ll just know if you say my name.”

I mean, it’s not too crazy an idea, is it? You felt a stirring towards the ocean- real and audible- would a creature living in it really be so different?

Perhaps the townsfolk are right in their claims made against you, that you’ve lost it.

There’s nothing left in you that cares, though.

Rafayel lets out a small chuckle but sounds oddly endeared. “How romantic.”

“Rafayel—“

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you know if anything’s up. Don’t worry!”

⊹⊹⊹

From the shipdeck, the water is beautiful, even as it takes you down under, swallowing up the thick hull in a lazy gulp.

A white moon pours down. The waves sparkle like sequins. It’s… hypnotizing, in a way. Your fist flies to your collar when the sails tear, the harsh rip of it reminding you of the breath still in your lungs, and you hold the locket there like it’s a lifering.

The crewhands scramble for them- and for the tiny boat hanging off the side. Another powerful slosh to the boat sends slippery hands in a fray; you hear the vague sound of wood cracking, planks you thought to be sturdy splintering. You’re no more than a raft drifting, victim to the elements.

The emergency lifeboat whistles as it drops, freefalling from the ropes and into the coiling sea.

It has no heart for mercy, the sea, but you’ve still one for home, a deep-seated urge within to return that has your nails digging bluntly into your palms, blood drawing in the paths of them.

…H-Home.

Sailors scream around you.

Someone, you realize with a flash of confusion, in the chaos- in the maelstrom of wind and shooting rain- is even singing.

The sound of it chills you to the bone.

Dazedly, you think they must’ve lost it. To be fair, there’s no blame there— men have drowned in waters far flatter: your crew is miles from the nearest chunk of land and the vessel can’t withstand this weather— you’re all gonna die and the crewmate must know. He knows and he’s singing.

Crashing waves silence heavy thunder. The sky glows endless white, one last fissure of lightning darting down before the deck lights bright gold.

Fire surges. It dances in your eyes and you swallow a scream.

She’s waiting at home, still. It can’t be over, it can’t be, it can’t be—

Fiery yellow, and then everything spins, your world going lopsided as the ship groans and you tip.

And then, it’s all blue.

Dark, vast cerulean interpolated only by flotsam that drifts away the moment you reach for it, fingers desperately clawing for the surface.

Up, or down— you’re not sure which way you’re swimming.

You do know, though, that you never find your buoyancy.

Hands. Hands on you and dragging you down, down, down, and then it’s clear the wrecked pieces of the ship are getting further away, not closer. A deepness surrounds you. Cold, quiet. The storm’s effects are mitigated the lower you sink— it’s counterintuitive, you think, because surely you’ll drown regardless, but a strange sense of calm washes over you as the air peters from your lungs. They spasm as you choke.

But you got to get home, you must get home to her—

The tips of your boots touch the sandy floor.

It’s tranquil, under the sea. The reefs are vivid, swaying with bubbling marine life. Navy blue swirls around you and is limned with muted fire light, displacing itself with every wild movement of your limbs. You flail them helplessly but something—

Something is holding you down and it’s singing—

From afar, and through bleared eyes, the coral looks like upright rods of colorful bone, yellow and blushing-orange. An opaque red smears over them— curling and wavering into smoke-like trails. It’s reminiscent of black and white marble. Beautiful, in a way.

A long, glittering tail scrapes across your leg.

You realize it’s blood- your blood- and then in a heartbeat, a pair of talons pierce through the veil and—

A gasp.

You come to wakefulness with a frightened noise.

That dream- you’d been having it for days now, each more fragmented and blurry than the last… But this time, it’s strikingly clear.

Horror frosts your eyes over, glossy and wide as you undo the covers bound tightly around you, standing to shaking feet.

That awful, awful dream— it’s not in your point of view, you realize, it’s in your fiancé’s, and that same claw that had been gracious enough to scoop you up and save you from stormful, roaring swells—

Dragged your lover down to the depths, burying him in liquid oblivion.

As you shrug on a thin cardigan and hurry outside, dashing under moonlit lawns with the single-minded focus to reach the beach, you vaguely wonder if you’re being unreasonable, if all these little dreams and visions and songs you’ve been experiencing are nothing short of delirium. But this is too coincidental— Rafayel had smoothly shirked all your questions days ago, and you realize now that the dull look in his eye wasn’t boredom but jealously, ugly and sudden, masquerading under disinterest.

Knowledge of that- and your naivety- comes to you in piecemeal.

You’ve been stupid. You’d been holding onto the feeble hope that your soon-to-be husband was somewhere out there, scraping together shellfish on an uncharted islet or lost at sea with his crew-mates but alive. Deep down, you always knew it was the dreams of a fool.

But damn it all if you’d just… stopped yourself for one fucking second to nudge aside your denial and take a good look at your marine friend, you’d have seen the lack of common sense in it. Your lover’s met no different and no more painless, as much as it horrifies you- a fate than the sailors depicted in all those whimsical tales of old.

You sing out to the sea. Anger warms your chest like a fleece, cardigan be damned, fists clenched so tight your palms swell as you cry out.

Panic, subtle but niggling, speaks to you from underneath thick layers of hate and pain, but you’re beyond the point of reason. No, you need to hear it from the siren himself just what the fuck happened to your other half— if he can hear your lamenting after dark without issue, surely he would’ve at least caught wind of some devastation off the coast or spotted the debris in his own waters—

But he’s been keeping something from you.

“Rafayel!” You cry again. It’s impossible to swallow the lump in your throat; it seeks to climb to the surface but for now, with a remnant of control that surprises yourself, you manage to keep from spitting it up.

Nausea turns in your belly, but you keep it at bay. Just barely.

Unshed tears burn your cornea. “Rafayel!” You don’t scream, no, your lungs are too wounded and overwhelmed by the simple task of drawing air to, but it’s a near thing.

Furious, beginning to think he’ll conveniently not show or he’s merely ignoring you, your feet splash into the water until you’re shin-deep.

You hiccup. “R-Rafayel! I know you’re there!”

Eventually, a head bobs above the tide, infuriatingly nonchalant, and a turqoise fluke appears not long after it, twinkling just barely under a clouded, night sky.

He doesn’t look as tired as you’re sure you do- and not by a long shot quite as disturbed. If anything, he looks a little pleased with himself.

Wet indigo waves give a little bounce as he lazily approaches, watchful eyes glimmering with something you’re both too enraged and emotional to name. Something like betrayal courses through you— distracting you from the very real fact that the siren is drawing closer.

He says nothing as you shake your hands emphatically, eyeballs practically bulging out your head. They might pop out and roll. “You-! You knew!” You accuse, momentarily stunned at the broken sound of your voice. “You knew all along b-because you did it, didn’t you? You’ve been lying to my face this whole time— You killed him! Y-You ripped him apart I fucking saw it—“

Your tirade is clipped short with a hiccuping gasp as you fully erupt into tears. You don’t bother to wipe them or even hang your head, brows furrowed as Rafayel regards you with a contemplative, almost curious look.

An undercurrent of desire, dark and intense, exists under it, though, and you can’t will yourself for any longer to view him as the same harmless, aquatic humanoid who’d rescued you.

You find yourself for both a lack of coherency and also gratitude; he could’ve left you to decay at the bottom of the ocean for all you care, or thrown you to the hands of Neptune or the feeding pit of sharks— it’s almost preferable to this.

Rafayel’s face, admittedly handsome, in a pretty way (albeit, you’ve no idea why your brain is suddenly forming opinions on his appearance, especially now of all times), is relaxed, devoid of emotion. You recognize the impatience there, though… like there’s been a string that you’ve pulled taut.

The silent truth that has been overarching your life for the past couple months- you don’t want to come to terms with it or you might break otherwise.

For the life of you, you can’t even understand what his goals were in all of this—

You hurl your anger at him and flail your arms and shout until your trachea feels like aggregate when you swallow, and he waits it all out with an ease that gets you impossibly riled up.

You suck in a sharp breath and shudder when you open your eyes again, color seeming to reenter your periphery, and measure the distance Rafayel has bridged.

Gasping, you go to take a step back, knees knocking together like newborn foal as a distinct sense of panic rips through you- not right, it screams, and, you messed up, you messed up, you stupid, stupid—

“Silly girl,”

A loud splash. A resistance.

Rafayel lurches his arm, belly almost brushing against the sandbar, and takes ahold of your ankle.

You let out a yelp, instantly reaching down to try to unlatch him from you, dismay robbing you of oxygen, but it’s too late for that. Each of your clumsy attempts is precluded. Faded scars line the knob of your ankle and Rafayel presses into them with the smooth pads of his fingers- forcefully, but he’s mindful not to use his nails. He’s learned since the last time.

He gives one good tug and you stand no chance, falling with a slosh.

Pulling you towards him, he’s fully confident now that you’re in his liquid domain, slowly dragging you away from the shallow end, from home- or at least, the shriveled, sad remains of it.

Mortified, and still very much resisting him— the merman surprisingly gentle, cognizant of your frailty despite the iron grasp he subdues you with— you throw a frantic glance up and watch as the shore shrinks.

“No!” He’s very careful to keep your head above the tide, but you’re choking still.

This is not the first time he’s helped you into the ocean and swam recreationally with you, usually with the addition of little trinkets and pretty shells you bring to swap, but it’s definitely the first time he’s trapped you in his arms, lean and impossible to swat away, and ignored your asks to return to land.

You remember your front door then, funnily enough, how you left in a tizzy and far too shaken to lock it, and burst into another sob.

You’ll not be returning, will you?

“Please!” You blubber with all the grace of a fish out of water. You squirm like one, too. “Please, don’t kill me, Rafayel, don’t- don’t eat me—!”

A laugh, breathy but humored- cruel in its softness- rings at your ear. Gorgeous tail folded in front of you, brushing against your rear and the underside of your thighs as they fruitlessly kick out, Rafayel uses it to propel you both backwards, treating your kidnapping like a pleasant stroll.

“Of course I won’t eat you, princess,” he coos, placing a painless but clearly posessive- like he’s marking his territory- nip to the juncture of your neck and shoulder. It makes you shiver. “Don’t you understand by now?” He frowns, “You’re mine. The ocean’d sooner dry up then watch me lay a fin on you.”

There’s exactly zero things funny about this situation, so with a pang of wrath, you don’t know why he’s laughing. Maybe at the irony, because in any case, he most certainly has laid a fin on you—

You feel angry at yourself next in the seconds that follow, managing to bite into the flesh of his scale-dotted forearm and slip out of his grip— thrashing away without ceremony before he hisses and curtly regathers you.

“You’re a slippery fishie, huh, cutie? You can’t seriously think I’ll just let you swim away though, right?” His tone darkens then, deepening with a quiet warning you can’t help but feel is incongruous to the generally mild, sassy but otherwise friendly merman you’d grown to know.

When you try to break free again, the exertion summoning a state of near dry-drowning, Rafayel drops all efforts at patience and seizes you by the throat.

His hand curling around your neck, almost playing at the idea of testing just how tragic your power dynamic really is, he lets out a frustrated noise behind you. He knocks his nose into the side of your face, tealy lamella spotting the surface of his cheek and scratching against yours.

Unfamiliarly low, he grumbles out, “You’d better stop fightin’, girl, because if you spin out of control, there’s no guarantee what’ll happen to you. You’re hurting yourself. Stop it, now, I said.”

That fully frightens you. The scream buried within your throat dies, withers into nothing.

Attenuated, pointed nails graze the soft flesh of your jugular, reminding you of all the horrific, brutal ways he could sunder you in two, but they don’t draw so much as a drop of blood.

“P-Please—“ You sputter, desperately digging at his forearms that make an X over your midriff and collarbone, your toes launching out of the water. Your fight, for as valiant as it is, is sapping you of an impressive amount of energy and at an alarmingly fast rate.

But you can’t stop. You refuse to buckle to him- because to bow your head and agree to give in would be like finally surrendering to the cold reality that has, as of a number of weeks ago, completely shrouded your life.

Y-You can’t admit he’s dead— that you’re entirely crazy, widowed, and in the strictest definition alone—

“Ah-ah, princess,” he murmurs as you heave wildly, “don’t you think that’s enough running away? It’s not fair if I can’t come on land at all, you know. Come and swim with me for a while.” Rafayel coaxes, resuming his more mild demeanor within a blink.

He releases a somewhat exasperated, yet thrilled sigh. It shakes as it leaves his damp lips, blue and fuschia-red eyes glittering with barely repressed delight as he lifts his chin from your shoulderblade.

Then, he leans in towards your ear, and he sings.

⊹⊹⊹

Everything is dream-like.

Birds soar overhead in a breezy circle. They offer a few, occasional squawks that help you to the conclusion of seagulls: paired with the rhythmic, wet purr enveloping you- and the warmth flushing your cheeks- you’d wager you’re at the ocean.

Perhaps a relaxing beach day with your fiancé. He’s laid out the cloth (albeit, it feels oddly… hard, smooth as if the sand beneath is without lumps), and you’ve just stirred from a long nap set to the backdrop of light, gusting sand and crashing whitecaps.

Something in your core throbs.

A particularly tall wave in comparison to the other relatively flat ones smacks against the black rock and cools your skin. Sweat beads at your forehead, the center of your thighs offering a sequence of dull aches that have you feeling weak, wanting nothing more than to let your eyes roll back and stay that way.

You make an incoherent noise as the metaphorical fog clears, buttery, white light warming you. Dawn, you realize hazily, lashes fluttering open gradually, it’s dawn.

…But when you’d last blinked, it was late into the night.

Memories pour back in, a potpourri of muddled events tracing back to this moment- uncertainty startling you upright as—

A hand, firm and a little slimy, presses your belly down.

It bars you from most movement, strong but gentle. A tongue- long and flat and fucking mind-numbing as it laps at your pussy- swirls experimentally against your clit and vibrates with a low, satisfied moan.

Not yours; but the next one that rings out, high and aroused and very, very afraid, is.

You can hardly recognize the sound of it. A thick beat of silence passes before you finally do, brain struggling to reconcile with this startling, admittedly idyllic panorama laid out before you.

A disoriented glance tossed down tells you all you need to know to confirm your fears, a sickness churning so deep in your gut you think it’s plausible you could puke up yesterday’s supper. What spills out from your slack jaw is another helpless, pleasured mewl instead.

Rafayel, mostly submerged in the water but with his upper half braced against the flat rock’s ledge, drapes your legs (trembling, you confusedly note, as if they’ve been positioned that way for a while now) over his broad shoulders to better present his prize and feasts on it like a man starved. One large hand serves as like an anchor on your abdomen, keeping you moored as you positively lose your mind, the other carefully thumbing apart your slick folds.

Somewhere between the span of late last night and very early this morning, he’s gotten them puffy and unbelievably wet, your tight hole clenching around absolutely nothing as his lips- just as swollen and needy- suckle on your tiny bump of nerves.

You rest your head back against the smooth surface of the rock, lukewarm but not quite scorching yet- the sun still moseying its way up the sky, clouds parting to reveal a diluted yellow canvas behind them. Resignation weighs you down better than any hand ever could.

You bite down another moan mixed with a sob and leave dents in the tender tissue of your bottom lip.

He parts with your pussy for just a moment, hesitating like he’s sad to step out from its warmth, knuckling over your labia with a reverence you feel is misplaced considering the circumstances.

He’s cruel when he lifts his eyes to yours, heavy-lidded and utterly transfixed.

The sincere, amorous glint in them is like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head, something you couldn’t prepare for or adapt to in time, his head dipping down briefly to pepper a lingering kiss to the gooey seam of you. Mine, everything about the way he gazes up at you says, and, if you don’t believe me then let me prove it.

“You’re gorgeous,” he groans, the dark sphere of his pupils spilling out like ink onto a multicolored canvas. He’s worshipful in nature, but curious- tentative to every little twitch your fatigued face gives, wondering how to push your buttons just right- perhaps above all, just desperate to know if your slick cunt will keep supplying him with that sweet, hot nectar- but it’s been so generous to him thus far, so he figures he’ll just keep on taking.

“It looks just like a seaflower,” he murmurs, breath ragged over the placid lull of the tide as he strokes your flesh, “Like the ones I’d grab from the ocean floor to give you, but so much prettier... Sweeter.”

Rafayel is careful not to hurt you- you can tell, somehow, that he’s fighting tooth and nail with his inner animal, his baser instincts, to keep the last modicum of his control. Hurting you, no matter how accidental or quick, would be detrimental. He knows that. He’s felt it. And to be perfectly honest, he’s quite enjoyed it— but you don’t fall under the category of food or paltry entertainment, no, you’re so much more than that to him.

The pretty, kind girl who kept the brainless town out of your unlikely relationship, who sang her way into his heart and stole it despite himself. His best friend, his sweet little playmate and—

…Mate. Yes, his mate.

“Have you been feeling me?” He asks suddenly. “At home, in bed? I’ve been trying to call out for you,” he relays in an affected pant you wish to unhear as he resumes suckling at your shamefully wet pussy.

You hate this, how worked up he’s managed to get you, how pliant your own body has become as it all but sells itself to him- guilt and confusion swelling in your chest. “I’ve been trying to get you to see how much I like you, princess. B-But it’s like you’ve been shooing me away or something—“

You hardly give any mind to what he’s muttering about, the point of his nose nudging against your sensitive nerves and expediting your release as he licks eagerly at your folds, your whole body trembling with delight. You don’t think you really want to know, anyway.

Sea salt shoots up against the rock, licking your limbs with a cool spritz. He muffles a low breath of amusement into you. “But you’re here now, I guess. Mngh- and you’re so delicious. You’re… fragile though,” he pants, prodding his long, hot tongue against your tiny clenching hole before delving inside it with a violent shudder, his cheeks bright red. “You might have to help me inside, cutie. I don’t exactly wanna break you.”

That stuns you. His words, single-minded and husky, remind you of just how fucked up this all is— and a panic crosses the involuntary fog of your head as you snap it down to get a good look at him.

You were sure merfolk had their own means of reproduction, but it’d never been more than a passing curiosity until now, your heart in your throat as you squint to make out just what he’s working with beneath the water.

Lazily, he looks up to you and smiles when he discovers what you’re doing. It’s a hungered, smitten one, sharp teeth peeking out and all. All your squirming is nothing more than an attempt at self-preservation, unsure of just what he’s endowed with but vaguely knowing- by the size of his tail and difference of species- you sure as hell won’t be compatible with it.

The need to escape is puissant and your limbs begin to move— but they feel oddly leaden, less like flesh and more like stone.

“You wanna see me, pretty girl, yeah? What’re you planning to do?” He coos, swilling away at your watering cunt, nursing from the endless stream of juices like a man possessed. Your fiancé's face flashes before your mind and you make a choked sound.

As if sensing your thoughts, Rafayel lets out a little contented noise and nuzzles against the soft inner portion of your shaking thighs.

“He screamed, just so you know,” a low chuckle rumbles from his chest and warps into a pretty moan. It’s too light and dulcet for comfort, and it feels disproportionate to the general sting of it all. You loathe the unbidden current of arousal that gushes through you at it, wetting his slender fingers as it trickles down the thigh he cuffs.

One final shlick of your throbbing pussy and the merman maneuvers with relative ease onto the rock, his thick tail flopping off at the edge and disappearing into the crystal water. And there’s nothing exactly large about Rafayel’s stature, but he feels heavy as he hovers over you, elbows flanking either side of your head, and the appendage that seems to summon itself between you, drooping with engorged need over your stuttering belly—

You don’t want to look. Too afraid to.

You suppose you don’t have to, anyway: Rafayel grabs your face and cradles your jaw in his smooth palm, hot, labored breaths warming your slack lips. The sun is lifting higher, now, a clementine-gold sky burning like blood low on the horizon. Soon, the temperatures- and his touch as it charts out the most intimate parts of you- will begin to bake your skin.

“He was all bubbly under the water,” he groans with a trace of humor, “but I saw the worry written all over his face. Back then, I’d always wondered why he looked so concerned... not afraid, concerned. But I guess… it was ‘cause he had you to get back home to, huh, cutie?”

Saccharine sweet, he dotes before wrenching your chin up in a desperate, heedless kiss- the action all too cathartic too him but world-stopping for you- and you feel the fat head of something foreign bob between your folds.

“Poor guy,” he moans, voice absolutely ruined as you lurch helplessly beneath him, back arching to accommodate the impossible stretch. You expect it to hurt- to be a searing pain as his massive, inhuman cock spears you apart- but a near blinding delight racks through your body instead as he worms his way inside your walls, wet and primed, your eyes fluttering back.

“But at least his death served a purpose. You’d never have sung for me otherwise. Would never have- went out looking,” he shudders, hanging his head against the sweaty column of your neck, his brilliant-blue tail sloshing in the water on its own accord.

“It’s all thanks to him,” he growls out, tone oozing possession- the innocent little merman you befriended dematerializing before your very eyes. “You’re mine now. Mine.”

And when it’s all said and done, strong, toned arms gathering you up with a low splash as the docks rupture with gradual life, the boots of fisherman croaking over waterlogged wood, and Rafayel takes you under the water- giving you breath with a deep, intimate kiss-

You’ve the feeling that your dreams of reuniting with your lover will fulfill themselves in their own roundabout, warped way.

But you know Rafayel’s not ever letting you go as he undresses your finger of its sparkling ring and tucks you away in his underwater cove— placing you in his nest with reverence before prying apart your numbed legs with rekindled hunger.

Curling across your face, a soaked lock of your hair drifts absently in the still waters and Rafayel thumbs it aside, clipping it back with a little clamshell fashioned as jewelry. He leans over you contentedly, whole body and fluke swallowing you up without difficulty or protest, and happily feeds you oxygen from his lips.

You cling to him helplessly and have no choice— several hundred feet below land level— but to hungrily nurse from him every few hours and pray he won’t make the sudden decision to deprive you of it.

Something in his rippling eyes tells you he won’t, though.

He dips down to paste a lingering peck into your temple, the pad of his thumb roving appreciatively under your eye.

“Don’t you think you’ve seen enough of the land, princess? The brainless humans up there don’t want you anymore, and that’s okay,” he whispers, tiny bubbles floating like balloons before popping. “You belong down here, with me. Who says you need a tail or fins to be one of us?” Mistily, you wonder just what exactly he’s trying to say and who he’s trying to convince of its veracity, a blip of frustration marring his pretty face before it retreats.

“I’ll give you life for as long as I live,” he vows, mouth brushing tenderly against yours as his cheeks puff out and he blows.

“See? Just like this, princess. Just keep holding onto me.”

[carbonfiction]

i know the general census is that frank is gentle but how would he handle if his little bunny that seemed all innocent and shy liked it insanely rough? not just spanking and backshots “rough” but face slapping and grabbing, breath play like holding her mouth and nose, intense manhandling like chokeholds and being held in the air to show how small she is in his arms and lowk clit torture. and she likes to act all delicate because she is and can’t even fit him all the way in after training and also squirts from a few touches to her clit but she likes being broken and wants him to use every ounce of his strength to do that and i need him to skullfuck me with my hands tied behind my back with a vibrator assaulting my clit…and then he slaps my cheek over and over and then pulling out to put me in a chokehold until i’m bruised 🐳 glasses anon i need him to break five pairs monthly from how rough he is i need him to CORRUPT MEEE

FIRSTLY!! 🐳ANON HELLOO<33 I have missed you<3

Please you are so real, it’s like actually a carnal needdddd how bad I need frank to hold my jaw and coo filthy filthy things at me while he blows out my back. And you are SO right on the corruption and skull fucking omggggg. Oh and I also wanna add bc of this ask (and my absolutely foul thoughts on born again bearded frank) I ammmm working on a rougher/mean!Frankie piece rn and I am quaking each time I open the draft. I cannot wait to get a sec to get it finished for y’all <3

im praying this is understandable enough though and not complete waffle😭 I struggle trying to get my thoughts out clearly enough sometimes if ya couldn’t already tell🥲 18+smut thoughts below the cut inc themes of rough sex, breath play/choking, Size kink? Doggy/prone? Was the goal anyway😭Overstimulation, bodily fluids and aftercare (pleeeeease lmk if I've missed anything, i always go blank tagging😭)

Buuuuuuut buckle up! in response to this, I feel like if there’s anyone who can offer the rough stuff it’s him yk? Obviously if you were to let him, no mattwr how embarrassed you could be about it, he'd listen openly. But just know there would be SO many conversations beforehand on likes, dislikes, hard limits, safe words, boundary’s ect, and this goes for both of you! Neither of you want to make the other uncomfortable, especially not in a moment that takes such a level of sexual intimacy, trust and even respect. (Even when being deceptively disrespectful sometimes)

Frank strikes me (and im sure many of you guys) as task motivated so if his baby bun wants something a certain way, he’s going to ensure everything is correct for her to get it. He loves you too much to do anything without afformentioned confirmation. This also includes a lot of discussion on what sort of thing you need for aftercare within those moments when things get heavy too-

And I say those moments bc I don’t think he’d always indulge it? like dont get me wrong, he’d do it, but it’s not going to be every single time you fuck yk? He might incorporate bits here and there like a lil hard tap on the cheek for your attention “eyes on me, yeah, there she is, theres my dirty girl” or a hand on the neck “that feelin good sweetheart? That pretty head gettin all fuzzy?”

Perhaps frank even indulges you with licks of overstim outside of those moments, forfilling it with whatever form is within the mood- vibe, his mouth or fingers. “Shhh, You can take it. Taken more than this before, atta girl, you feel it, aint gotta think, just gotta keep cummin”

But the whole shebang? The whole 9 yards of him getting reeeeal rough, properly leaving marks, really manhandling or getting intensely mean would definitely be different; perhaps even almost planned? Like for example those moments are reserved for say arguments sake, ovulation, pent up stress relief or when your headspace is feeling a specific way?

The way he fucks, the way he talks and touches you? All Completely different to how frank would usually operate in the bedroom and that’s not a bad thing in the slightest!! I just personally feel it would take as much out of frank to do it as it would for you to take it yk?

But That being said he would be disgustingly good with it when he does use it <3

Wrapping his big bicep beneath your chin as he fucks into you harshly from behind, the other hand pinching and slapping at your tits- the taugt buds of your nipples- sharply enough to make you jerk and gasp. Problem is though, the more you jerk and react the more he tightens his hold, squeezing you in the headlock until he can feel the flutters of your cunt and the heaves of your chest. His massive body completely draped over yours, the weight of him pressing you down toward the mattress, hips pummelling your backside in a brutal fashion, punching deep and fast. "Fuckin tight little hole's squeezin my cock, you like not bein able to breathe? feelin me in your tummy?" the hand at your tits drifting to press at your stomach making you squeak, the pressure intensifying the pleasure coursing through you. "Yeaaah, yeah you love all that cock in there dontcha Bun, greedy fuckin girl. Made for it, just lettin me use that pussy how i want"

That hand (sometimes then reaching for your vibe if the mood so runs that way) will then drift further down to your puffy clit, already oversensitive and abused from prior attention. Frank slaps it once, twice, three times before immediately massaging tight, quick figure eights until you practically end up limp in his grip, eyes rolling back as you cum again with a choked, almost gargled moan. Your cunt squeezing him almost as tight as the grip on your neck before he lets go; letting euphoria take over your body with each gasp of oxygen that fills your lungs.

Frank does not stop until he feels you physically cannot cum anymore (or you Safeword!!). He fucks you through orgasm after orgasm (even his own) until you’re nothing short of a mess, practically trembling like a newborn deer and the slightest brush on your clit has your legs closing with a broken yowl. Panting body absolutely covered with various marks, drying spit, slick and cum.

The aftercare, while hes incredible with it generally, is then a complete 180 however- gone is all the roughness of his movements, the sharpness of his words. Replaced by touchs that are feather light and words careful, quiet grumbles as he checks in on you. "Hey pretty girl.. Heads all hazy huh? I know.. But i gotcha, franks gotcha, your safe."

Once you've had a drink and a little bite to eat, some fruit or something simple, he'll always carry you to the bathroom and only leave you to change the sheets as you sit to pee (bc christ forbid a uti on his watch-) then you can lean back against his chest in the warm water of the bath he left running, his broad body sat behind yours as he gets you clean without you even needing to move.

Whispers of soft praise and gentle shushes filling the echoing bathroom as he ensures every sensitive inch of skin is clean even when your eyes droop. "Shhh, i know.. Know its sore baby, just one more moment. One more swipe n' ill leave it alone yeah?" punctuated with a soft kiss to your temble that an hour ago you wouldn't of been able to even dream of him doing.

Frank dries you off with the softest towl you own, of course warmed by the dryer. soothing your skin with a lotion and/or balm you love. Never forgetting to pay extra gentle attention to the red welts on your ass, thighs and chest as he tells you how gorgeous you are in a moment that sometimes, you can feel anything but.

He'll help you into the pajamas you choose (wether your own or one of his shirts/boxers) and not bat a single eye if wearing panties to bed is too uncomfortable for you to handle.

Once fully comfortable his first mission is to then get you a propper snack or little meal. Insisting food is fuel and you need it after everything he put you through as he treads of to the kitchen. Coming back to then execute mission number 2: laying down with you resting cuddled up on his chest.

Fingers softly running over your arm as he presses kisses anywhere he can with little movement. "Doin okay sweetheart? You tell me if you need anything else alright? Nothins too much for my girl." " so proud of you, ya know that?"

"Gettin sleepy down there? I know..shh, you get some rest. Not goin anywhere i promise, Love you sweetheart"

[cloudcountry]

water whale sees that requests are open for rsa and rollo, it's great that you are getting into writing again! they are very proud of you :))

may they ask of cozy autumn days with rollo?

(they also apologise if you already got this ask, their tumblr was being a bit weird.) 🐳

SUMMARY: cuddling with rollo on a crisp autumn morning.

WARNINGS: none!!

COMMENTS: water whale anon im not kidding when i say that ive been thinking about your "they are very proud of you" every day after you sent this request. thank you so much :C i needed to hear that <3

rollo is WHIPPED. its fun to make him in love C:

TAGLIST: @axvwriter

“Rollo, dear, you look absolutely adorable in that sweater.”

“Please don’t say that.”

You laugh at his reddening face as he fidgets with the loose thread on his right sleeve, looking completely comfortable and so uncomfortable all at once. You think it has something to do with your matching sweaters or the way you’re beckoning him under the blankets, because even though you don’t like to brag you’re well aware of the effect you have on him.

“Come here.” you coax, holding the blanket up and patting the spot beside you.

Rollo jerks his head away, lips twisting into a frown. You can tell by the pink of his cheeks that he doesn’t mean what his face is saying—and you're further proven right when he starts walking over to you, slowly and carefully.

He sits down stiffly, hands gripping his thighs as he stares straight ahead at the wall. You sigh and snuggle up to him, draping the blanket over him and tucking it around his shoulders.

His eyelid twitches.

Your thigh brushes up against his and your head falls on him, just like you fell for him all that time ago. You shut your eyes, reaching for the hand that's gripping his left leg and brushing your fingers over it. You feel him tense up before he relaxes, allowing your fingers to fit into the slots of his.

“Thank you.” you whisper.

He grunts.

It’s hard for him to relax and show affection. You know this, and you’re aware of how it looks to the public. You’re no stranger to students asking you why you were with the student council president, but you always explained all of Rollo’s good points without a moment's hesitation. Even if they didn't listen to your list of all the reasons you adored him, it didn’t matter.

Because you know, just so long as his head can eventually fall against yours and his hand can reach out and hold onto you and his legs can press against yours as he shuts his eyes and rests with you, nothing matters except for the two of you.

He loves you. And he proves it every day.

[hyukalyptus]

saw your reblog about kissing along the happy trail and let out a great sigh bc i could never do that to them 😔

but yeah i believe in kai happy trail and perhaps also beomgyu???

idk if you’ve done this before but what are your hairy TXT hc’s? like where do u think their body hair is most…evident? (does that make sense omg i hope it does!!)

- 🐳

okay girlie let's get into it,, i havent given it like, dedicated thought and i dont have strong opinions developed, other than i love the thought of hairy!txt lmao so i will try to be consistent with my thoughts ehehehe.

cw. lots of hair talk ahead. mentions of sex in kai's, balls, bjs.

so obviously theyve all got pelvic pubes right ? and i know we dont see a lot of their hair but this is if they don't shave/laser it off lmfao. also none of this is real im just being weird as hell about hair.

yeonjun- i think his armpit hair is like a long line ig? instead of it being like a clump in the middle, its like in a line lmao, idk how to explain it BUT i bring treats (sfw link to yj armpit hair crumbs!! its an old pic tho) and i know he shaved his face in that vlog but i feel like he was just doin that to look hot lmao, i dont think he has super intense facial hair tbh. other than that, i think he's typically got the sexiest happy trail ever!! and what i mean by that, is that i dont think his tummy is super hairy, so his happy trail is a pretty distinct line. and its dark and is a literally happy trail lmfao.

soobin- he's hairy!!! and i will not be silenced any longer. thats why he looks so baby is bc that man is meant to have hair. not a ton though. bushy armpit hair, even a little hairy chested i think. like a pretty wide line down the middle of his chest and it spreads over his pecks a little. hairy legs!! >< ugh imagine laying on his slightly hairy chest and rubbin his 5 oclock shadow, just snugglin and cozy wozy <3

beomgyu- seems to be the most facially hairy lol. i could see him having a pretty substantial beard. and a hairy tummy for sure. i know thats not a look for beomie but those are my thoughts lol

taehyun- oooohhh i think his arms and legs are pretty hairy. so rn i dont think he's as muscular as he'd like to be bc if youre super muscley and a dancer, it could cause injuries easier bc of flexibility SO anyway, all that to say, i think when he's retired he's gonna get all muscley and his arms and legs are gonna be all hairy and delicious :p

kai- ok y'all thought i yapped about yj and soob's hair too much well.....i could talk about hairy kai for hours and hours. i think he's the hairiest by far !! omfg. hairy chest and hairy tummy. FUCK im giggling too much. thinking about post-sex kai, sweaty and out of breath, laying on his hairy chest while y'all catch ur breath. thinking about his hairy arms wrapping around ur waist to hug you. i know this is so random, but thinking about rubbing sunscreen into his skin for him at the beach. eheheh. getting on ur knees for him, kissing down his tummy on ur way down AH, playin with his bush before playing with his balls before suckin his dick LOL. but frfr never not thinking about laying on kai's hairy chest post-sex lmfao.

[zetmns]

Hihi ! Can I request Lucerys with a s/o who likes playing with his hair ??

Playing with Lucerys hair hcs

pairing Lucerys velaryon x gn!Targaryen Reader

a/n: I actually life for sweet Lucerys headcanons btw THIS IS SO UGH IM GIGGLING I hope u like this 🐳

-to start Lucerys isn’t very fond of his hair to him it’s a constant reminder that he’s just a bastard and will never be a true velaryon and that’s were you come in

-luke loved the way you never cared about him being a bastard or his hair color and you truly loved him for him

-so one day when you were both sitting on a tree reading or just talking and you let him lay on your lap he was a bit surprised he was new to being in a relationship and was already quite nervous around you so it got 10 times worse when you started playing with his hair

-but it’s not like he stopped you or disliked it actually brought a smile to his face everytime it happened and he didn’t really care to hide it either

-Luke and your relationship was a well known thing around westoros being in such powerful family lines and dragonriders so everyone knew about the two of you, and all your family and servants knew you were both just lovesick teens to eachother

-sometimes you’d been caught in random parts of the castle just playing with his hair and talking like two love sick idiots with heart eyes which the servants may complain about but they think it’s adorable

-no matter how long you’ve had the habit he still gets all giddy and blushes so hard he’s redder then Caraxes scales at your habit

-sometimes he’d sneak into your room at night and just talk to you well laying in your arms so you could play with his hair he loves it very much especially when your alone and can just cuddle and play with his hair

-luke basically let’s you do whatever with his hair braid It? He doesn’t care as long as he’s with you. twirl it in your finger? He thinks it’s cute

-because you’ve been playing with hair since you were both little children he got used to it rather quickly and was obviously in a mood when you hadn’t played with his hair that day it was so normal to him that it not happening was like a Wierd event

-lucerys has always been a insecure since childhood, about his hair? Yes definitely and he thinks he won’t be good lord of the tides and heir to drift mark

-so theirs been times when he’ll be panicking about his duties and think he’s not good enough in his chambers when you saw him like this you took his hand and led him to sit on his bed and sat with him his head in your neck as you played with his hair it was relaxing for him after a few seconds completely calming him down

-sometimes he would sneak Into your chambers and just lay with you just to hear your voice or just lay in your arms and let you play with his hair it helps him sleep and will complain the whole day next day if you didn’t play with his hair

-servants have came up to you and said how much he mentioned It annoyed him that you didn’t play with his hair hoping you would end their suffering and just play with his hair

-even jacearys has come up to you with lucerys running behind him whisper-yelling for him to stop

“ you ought play with his hair he’s a bit moody today and that should help him hm Luke?”

he said turning back to Luke while you smiled and we’re trying to hold in your Laughter while Luke blushed brightly with a embarrassed look on his face well he glared at his brother

-“shut it” he said pulling jace along with him walking away from you “bye y/n! Make sure to play with his hair later!” Jace waved with a smile before being hit in the stomach halfway thru his sentence by Luke who was scolding him with a glare to his brother before he looked back at u and blushed brightly looking away when he saw you looking back at him

-later that day when he came into your chambers as usual he was quite with just a small greeting before laying next to you

“need me to play with your hair? We don’t want you being moody again” you teased ruffling his hair

“shut up” he muttered laying in your arms and putting your hand in his hair before you softly played with his hair as lucerys laided on you his face buried in your neck as he drifted off to sleep.

[motherish]

4/9.♡ I got to spend the entire day with my best friend. 👯‍♀️

🐣 I love Keii. You’re probably gonna hear me say that a lot cause I do LOL this was such a good day!? 🐳 And JUST the distraction I needed!!!

🌼 We went and sat at a cafe that’s home to my fav coconut coffee AND my fav Vietnamese coffee! I tend to get 1 tried & true drink and 1 new drink because I have no self control on my coffee anyway. 🤷 The new one I tried was good but way too sweet. Old me woulda loooved it but new me? (real coffee drinker me 💁) can’t hang! I was curious as to how much it would cost to get every coffee drink on the menu.. $110. Keii and I could totally split that?? 👀 Why do I kinda wanna do it.. I’d warn them ahead of time LOLL but 👁️

🌳 Afterwards we stopped by ANOTHER cafe, but this time to grab lunch! Almost got myself stuck in the smallest space I ever seen in my damn LIFE 😑 and in the weirdest parking lot ever? Keii and I were like ?? What is this place? Didn’t even feel like we were in Vegas anymore LOL thank god for back up cameras cause uhhh if I didn’t have that? Yeah every car getting dented. 🤥

🪻The food was good! I really liked what I had and the ambience and overall presentation was very nice? I feel like this is a place you go to take photos! I wanna bring a Baku plushie here lol! 🤓 There were some older ladies that were there before us and were still there as we paid for the bill and left. I told Keii that’s gonna be us as old ladies just yammering away. 😌 I mean we already do that lol but what I mean is we growing old together!!! 🧶

🦋 We went back to my place to relax before the orchestra and Keii FINALLY watched chicken run! Can you believe she loves chickens and has never seen one of the best chicken movies ever? 🤨 Even the loml was like “wait you love chickens but never seen that movie?” LOL RIGHT!!! That is THE chicken movie!? 😤Blasphemous tbh. Then afterwards we watched Treasure Planet 🥹 and CRIESSSS ok by this point I made us a mojito (I haven’t had one since my bday my god I forgot how good they are) and I was feeling it Mr Krabs 🥴 so as soon as the montage came on? And Silver made his speech (you got the makings of greatness in you)? Yeah I was emotional LOLL Keii was too!! 🥲 I wish we had time to finish the movie tho! Cause then we had to go n get ready! Next time.. gonna just rewatch it tbh cause it’s so good. 😌 ALSO Keii mentioned how she feels like they modeled Jim after future Trunks and omg. I never noticed but I can totally see it? Next time you watch the movie look at the hair and the fit! That’s him!!

🍄‍🟫 LOLL. All I can do is laugh. 🌚 Cause I made us a single mojito and then I made us a double mojito and then the love of my life made us a pear blossom cocktail and it took me so fuckin long to do my makeup cause I needed to CONCENTRATE but I was feeling those drinks! 💃🕺 I couldn’t even bother with my hair I just pinned it cause the eyeliner took too much time! 🫣

🐙 Got dropped off and the merch was wack like why can’t we get cool stuff like the bag and shirt Keii had on!? 🙄 I would buy that in a heartbeat! Stopped by the restroom before the show (I always gotta pee when I drink like every 2 seconds) and… I love Keii. 🧩 Why did we have a whole ass moment in the bathroom as people were coming and going behind us 👩‍❤️‍👩 LOLLL we were taking pics and all I could think about is how Keii looks SO pretty and how I HAVE A FRIEND THAT MAKES ME FEEL SEEN! And im holding her face in my hands and getting all teary eyed cause ummmm I found my other half? 🧸 Like in this big wide world I managed to find the other part of me? Not many people get that luxury?

🪆The orchestra was a lot of fun!! The performers ninja ran onto the stage LOLL! They actually played episodes! It reminds me a lot of the Spider Man one that we went to that I absolutely loved! They played the eps as they performed the music live and it felt SO seamless! We got to see some classic episodes too! You know the ones I’m talking about! Oh. And it was in Japanese too THANK GOD! 🙄 Idk if I coulda handled Naruto’s loud ass in English.

🐝 Afterwards we got picked up and went to have Japanese bbq and god.. 🫄I haven’t had bbq in such a long time and it tasted SO good! Keii was weenie hut jr she couldn’t have much but it was total annihilation for me. 🍽️ Thank the heavens for her man cause he was cooking the meat and cutting it up and placing it on our plates LOLLL he always gets the meat just right too!!Nice n rare. 🐺

🍄 I slept so so well that night. Had just enough energy to throw on my PJs and wash my face before I was in dreamland. 💫 I just remember curling up in bed and listening to the loml say something and then I was GONE LOLL such good sleep! And after everything that’s been going on I really needed that. 🪐

🌏 It’s forever n always a good time when I’m with Keii. 🎆 I just feel very grateful to have someone in my life that I can be myself with. Having a romantic partner is wonderful and I feel so grateful for that part of my life as well? But you need friends. You hear me? If you put all your time and energy into only nurturing romantic relationships then you are going to live a very unfulfilling and lonely life. I get to have the best of both worlds and I am so so thankful for that. Next time, we gotta finish Treasure Island! But let’s start over from the beginning. 🎇

[sister-daniels-confession-booth]

Im a trans harry potter fan and i feel bad about it.

I hate jk rowling, the queen of mold herself, and i dont buy any official merch that isnt fandmade or second hand. But i still accept gifts from family and interact with the fandom, so i feel like im still liking something that encourages slave races and stereotyping. I hate the story, but i love the world and characters.

Ive seen people i really like and follow speak against harry potter fans on this site and it makes me not want to post about it in fear of them seeing it and blocking me. Its a dumb fear but i needed to get it off my chest, i guess.

The thing is too, like i kinda said, i only interact with the fandom out of nostalgia and love for the characters (and for my own OCs) but i still feel like Im doing something wrong when i find myself consuming content of it.

I dont know, im just being overly anxious. It try not to let it bother me but, yknow

Forgive me, sister, for i have sinned. I think

You are forgiven, Darling. ❤️💙💛💚

Admin here, I fully support death of the author.

In this case I would love for Joanne herself to choke on a chicken bone while she alone with nobody to save her and no way of contacting anyone… or anything else really.

Having said that, I don’t support the author and try not to purchase new/official HP products as well. Second hand and deadstock stores are your friend baby! And fan artists are a bit of a grey area for me personally, but if you enjoy someone’s art, I support that you support the artist!

On a totally different tangent, if you already own merchandise from an IP that you still enjoy don’t throw it away! The author/company have already made that money off of you. Throwing the items away only pollutes our beautiful planet. Save the whales! 🐳

[justalildumpling]

youre the funniest smartest person in the world actually

THIS IS THE BEST COMPLIMENT IVE GOTTEN?????

[matriarchofwarfields]

— Ambessa Medarda — ( read this )

My emoji.anons ( 💄 , 🦇 , 🦦 , 🌚 , ⭐️ , 🐰 , 👹 , 🪼 , 🐳 , 🐸 , 🦎 , 🎀💋 , 🍒 , 🌷 , 🕸️ , 🕷️ , 🎀🐾 , 🎶 , 👑 )

About the rp, me & boundaries :

IF YOU’RE WORRIED THAT I QUIT, NO I HAVEN’T! IM JUST VERY BUSY WITH MY MENTAL HEALTH AND EXAMS ATM!!! I’LL REPLY AS SOON AS I FIND THE TIME, MOTIVATION AND NERVES TO ACT IN CHARACTER AGAIN!

How I rp my version of Ambessa : She still has her very cocky and confident personality & her cruel and blood-filled mindset like it’s portrayed in the show, but I think she can be very soft, gentle and loving too, at least with her close ones. Unapologetically bisexual, sassy and iconic.

I roleplay post-canon Ambessa, AU where Ambessa just barely survived the Black Rose.

About the writer / me : I’m a ghostgender dyke who’s incredibly obsessed with Ambessa, Sevika and Grayson :3 A lil chronically online so you don’t have to wait days for an answer. Though I am getting TONS of messages in my inbox and I still am a busy person, so please don’t expect to get a reply in the same minute or even hour.

English isn’t my first languages so I’m sorry for any mistakes, misspellings, ect..!

When you claim an anon, tell / hint to me whether it’s meant to be a romantic thing ( as in being her “lover” ), purely platonic ( friends, allies, ect.. ) or if you want to be “adopted” by her!

I will answer to like almost everything with the same vibe you give me. I do both fluff and smut, romantic and platonic. I prefer to keep my rps just talking, iykwim? Won’t do a lot of the *does this* or does that stuff since I just prefer just talking and answering in character.

I try to subtly spread positivity, I know many people on here struggle with themselves and / or their mental health, and if you love Ambessa and enjoy checking out my blog, then I hope I can make you feel a bit better about the world and living :3

Won’t do : scat, vomit as in a kink — if it’s just purely fluff and you feel sick then of course it’s okay, somno, the basic stuff like pedophilia and zoophilia.

Ships I will act out : Amvika ( Ambessa x Sevika ), ¿Ambeyson? (Ambessa x Grayson ), Ambessa x you, Ambessa x oc

I will NOT do any Caitbessa / Amblyn ( Ambessa x Caitlyn ).

And no, I do not believe I am Ambessa herself, I don’t claim to be her. This is simply a roleplay account for fun, I like acting out her character and my version of her character.

[foxxyboxy11]

★ Intro Post! ★

About me!

୨❀୧ I go by foxxy/fox online so you can refer to me by those

୨❀୧ I go by any pronouns, I don’t really care lol. FYI i am questioning a lot of stuff about myself so sorry i can’t give more info (current pronouns will be under my blog name in the description)

୨❀୧ I’m 16 but act older, so please don’t tell me to act/sound my age

୨❀୧ I am Hellenic Polytheist

what I like!

ಎ I love Minecraft, FNAF, art, music, and crocheting!

ಎ I obvi love shifting and have been a shifter for about 5 years now!

My journey with shifting!

🐳 I have been shifting for almost 5 years now! I have shifted countless times to alternate CRs, if you are curious about those please comment and I will do my best to answer!

🐳 I have shifted to my intended desired realities about a handful for times however I have a rocky relationship with my main DR so its weird lol.

My Main DRs are:

My Hero Academia Villain DR ( I intend to shift to this one the most)

Stardew Valley

Ocean Waiting room

Better CR

Dream light valley

Siren

Minecraft

Avengers

DNI list

𖦹 Close minded Shifters

𖦹 Racists, homophobes, transphobes, anti Shifters ect… Basically don’t interact on my page if you don’t have basic empathy and a brain.

𖦹 PLEASE LEAVE if you think i’m weird for shifting to MHA. No I don’t care. Yes I know it was bad back in 2020. LEAVE ME BE PLEASE!!!

𖦹 if you are unaccpting of therapist and any variant, and furies please leave

𖦹 if you tell people what they can and cannot script

𖦹 if you shame me or anyone for their religion, leave.

Basically if you are a nice person and are open to learning and are accepting you can hang here!

I will try to answer any questions you have about shifting and I will be giving advice on here!

~I will also rant about my DRs a lot on here FYI. And please feel free to tell me all about your DRs, I would love to hear!~

more clear up on my MHA DR since I have had really bad experience's when telling people about it.

I understand there was a ton of discourse on ShiftTok back in 2020-2021 about shifting for the Villains. I understand it was really bad and I am so sorry if you were a part of that discourse. I do not judge anyone on where they shift, who they shift for, or what they script. I do not agree with a lot of stuff of ShifTok.

(im so sorry this is so long lol)

Happy Shifting and ILY!!!

[carbonfiction]

the logan holding you to sleep reblog made me melt bc i’m sick rn and my whole body’s aching so i can’t sleep at all and i’m just thinking of him or frank being super duper pooper gentle and rubbing my hips that are in searing pain and cooing at me or holding my head closer when i make a pained noise 🐳 and my pussy is tender and fucking hurts too help 🥲

Pleeeeaaaaase 🐳nonnie!!! Being sick is so fucking sucky and i hope you feel better soon<3 i send so many lo and frankie hugs, plus heres a lil something bc goood, now im thinking about the way they would both take care of you when you were sick!!

Soothing Sickness, thought's w Logan and Frank! <3

Warnings?: mostly fluffy, mentions of medicine and such, a tinnnnnny smige of smut also- just some soft, fairly undescript, over the pants stuff! <3 masterlist

So, personally I feel like Logan would be much more.. Not quite anxious? But definitely a have that sort of disposition? Especially if you didnt have healing powers/weren't a fellow mutant.

He'd hover by the bed, by the couch, the door- anywhere you are. Half because it puts his mind at ease slightly to know where and how you are at all times, and half so if you need help at all; a drink, a snack, another blanket, literally just staggering to the bathroom, He is there and ready!!

Logan is the best at keeping you distracted too- in fact he will even bargain with you to stay in bed. "Nah cmon baby, gotta stay n' rest, ain't gonna feel better if you're staggerin about for everyone" and he does a have a point.. But perhaps you feel guilty about being stuck still in bed, like its not fair on those around you for you to be so inconvenient. Which is complete rubbish So logan breaks out the big guns.. Well.. books.

"How bout this, you stay in bed n' I'll stay.. Read you whatever you want. Hell, ill think about throwin in some cuddles if your good" with a stupid little smirk bc he knows hes got you- knows you will never turn down a cuddle with him no matter how bad you feel (you'd admitted something about feeling special that he feels safe enough with you to indulge in physical contact a while back and he swears it healed something inside him) or the soothing rumble of his voice. Those big hands of his rubbing over your skin, trying to ease the physical aches your body is feeling.

And if you began to get squirmy? A little warm and a little needy from having been enveloped by his scent for so long.. Well, he's gonna take care of that too. "What's the matter, not feelin sick are ya?" instead youd shake your head slowly, a soft sniffle filling his ears. "hurts.. " and the poor guy would practically be sniffling out whats wrong with you like an alert dog, checking everything until you all but tug his arm down beneath the sheets with a tiny whimper of struggle. "Whatcha doin with my- oh.. Oh i get it.. Poor babys all achey down there too? You need me to make it better honey 's that it?" logan would murmer, feeling over the soft fabric of both your panties and sleepwear. You'd stop him as he shifted to move them, to gather direct contact, instead putting his paw like hand back over the layers. "Hurts.. But sensitive.."

With a kiss pressed to your head in understanding hes rubbing slow circles on your clit over your clothes, providing just enough friction to build pleasure in your gut. Warm and fuzzy headed he guides you to orgasm, gasping softly into his neck. "Thats my girl, my pretty baby, did go good f''me. I know.. I know thats better huh?" as you you begin to drift off against him. Thoroughly taken care of.

----____--------____--------____----

Whereas our Frankie is a little more.. Prepared? Perhaps even clinical in a way. Every few hours hes plying you with medicine and warm tea for your throat, something like honey/lemon or camomile when he sees the way you refuse to sleep in favor of trying to push through.

"Aint gotta be doin laundry right now sweetheart, should be in bed." rumbled low beside your ear as he leans down, grasping a half folded shirt from your hands- too tired to protest physically.

"Gotta get it done frankie.." you try, only to hear him sigh- feel the weight of his hands begining to massage at your aching shoudlers. You stop and revel in the feeling for a moment, grumbling at the lick of pain that comes with the knots rubbed free.

Moments later you blink, trying to comprehend the fact your now off your feet and in franks arms- those hands now supporting your thighs as he carries you from the pile of laundry to the couch. Depositing you with a soft oomph! as he moves to grab at the blanket across the back.

Once sufficiently swaddled with it hes padding to the kitchen, coming back with tea; camomile if you had to guess despite not really being able to taste or smell it, and a few flu pills. Ready to get you comfortable for a nap so he can go finish the laundry you'd been trying to achive.

Except, frank doesn't get that far.

"Don' go.." he hears you sniffle pitifully, a soft hand grabbing at his forearm as he tries to walk away. Your expression filled with exhaustion that tugs at Frank's heart.

"Thought you wanted the laundry done sweetheart?"

"Mhm..Later" youd grumble, tugging again at him. "please.." The plea tugs at his heartstrings, sad and sniffley. Your eyes, filled with a sense of vulnerability, drooping the longer you peer up at him.

Frank sighs, resolve crumbling almost instantly as he sits himself down. "Alright, alright, my girl needs me huh?" you nod and his lips twitch into something like a smile. Large body open wide as he shifts to lie back against the arm of the couch. you begin to crawl your blanketed form ontop of his chest, legs between his. "Yeah, you come cuddle on up, atta girl, get all comfy"

You remain like that for a while, grumbling soft, contented sounds as his hands rub at your sore body. Shoudlers, lower back, your hips, massaged with gentle yet firm enough intent for him to think you fallen asleep if the soft puffs of your breath ment anything.

That is, until he feels you begin to rock over his sweatpant clad thigh. A broken, near Inauble sound pressing into his neck. The hands soothing over your sore hips drift up to sit at your waist with a careful squeeze. "Hey.. Hey sweetheart, whatcha doin there huh? Suposed to be nappin"

But your soft movements dont stop, the slow gentle rocks catching your core just right to feel good in your sleepy state. "Need.. Jus' wanna feel good.. Please.." you murmer into his skin, head not even lifting from the crook of his neck where you huff.

A thousand thoughts go through franks mind, most how he should stop you and get you resting. How he should be soothing you to sleep instead. But the broken, pitiful sounds you let out besides his ear makes Frank think otherwise.

So, as he always does when it comes to you, he gives in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "You got me sweetheart, not goin anywhere. Alright, shhh, i know. you hump away yeah? Hump that nasty feelin away sweetheart. Do whatcha need"

And you do, guided by his hands on your waist and the growing heat in your fluttering tummy. You hump at his leg in soft rocks until your own legs tremble and lips part in a quiet gasp. Shattering with a fuzzy mind and a throbbing clit.

"Oh there you go.. There it is.. Atta girl." frank coos, lips still pressing kisses to your skin as you grip him tightly. A large hand slipping to rub up and down you back soothingly. "Feelin a lil better now?"

Theres a soft mumble at fills his ears in response , arms nice and tight around you as you snuggle further into his chest. Eyes finally fluttering shut as the combination of your orgasm, the tea and medication kick in. "Yeah.. You take that nap while your all nice n' fuzzy. I gotcha."

Sigh.. Sigh i need them guys. I need them so fucking bad its not even funny.

[pinkpigtailsprincess]

౨ৎ ⁺ . “Illogical” Things im gonna manifest .ᐟ 🎀⭐️🐬

🌟- onions never burn my eyes (i eat salad everyday and i always put onions in it)

🎀 - the glitter flaries from barbie fashion fairytale!

🐬- talking plushie think like candy from smile precure!!

🧁- wish book!!!

👛- a barbie dream house + a pink penthouse

🐳 - being in a certain idol group (looks like fun)

[laura1633]

Im really happy for max, but I can’t stand this woman. All the problematic things she has done, all the racism and the defending of his homophobia and racism dad, and always posting her child naked on social media. Also the fat shaming? How often she makes really hurtful comments, like saying she is a 🐳 if she eats cheesecake and then talking about a special night with a 17 year old when she was 26? I’m sorry for my little rant, I try not to not like people, but she makes it so difficult, and whenever she posted cute pics everyone is like awww and then she dose something problematic again, and everyone is like noooo.

I think it's absolutely fine not to like her, you don't need to feel bad about that. We can't all like everybody. Personally I don't like her either and the reasons I don't like her remain the same whether she is pregnant or not. Being pregnant doesn't erase everything that has come prior. Although obviously I don't personally know her so I am only going off things I have read online.

I just also want to say, and this is in no relation to your ask , which I think was perfectly reasonable, that whilst I don't particularly like her I also think some of the comments I have read online are vile I would never wish harm to her or the baby.

Max looks ridiculously happy and I am very happy for him as he has spoken a lot about wanting children and clearly this is something they have planned for and have been trying for for some time.