#and it's all fishie's fault

[beckywiththeshitassbangs]

Kaitlyn liao in The Junior

[syluses]

fuck me like i’m famous

popstar! rafayel x female reader

in theory, attending your favorite popstar’s after party seems a dream come true. for you, it certainly is. in reality, though? it doesn’t live up to it- at least not innocently.

content popstar! rafayel, nsfw, smut, dubcon, fingering, disillusion, mc learns why idolizing celebrities isn’t wise (by being banged by one during his afterparty), yandere & obsessive undertones, 18+ characters

sidenote hrm… was supposed to be a lil drabble but it snowballed into almost 5k words. hopefully the fishie girlies will like this lil meal tho since he’s kinda a rare sight on the blog 💔 rafayel is freaked the fuck out in this deadass... also i literally had nothing better to name this but i believe chase atlantic kinda fits raf’s vibes here so :,] OH & THANK U FOR 600 FOLLOWERS I LOVE YALL ♡♡♡

Lights glitter on his face in the after party.

You don’t know what you did to earn God’s favor in this life, but whatever the reason, you’re thankful for scoring yourself that ticket. He’s all you listen to; a staple to each of your playlists. And so for what Thomas did- gifting you a special pass he had as an extra to your favorite popstar’s show- you’re ever in his debt.

He might be his publicist; that spare ticket may mean nothing to him. Alright, but-

It might as well mean the whole world to you.

Girls crowd his spot on the couch. It’s decadent: the room bathed in dim, yellow lights as the drinks, generously taken from, sparkle on the table before it. He kicks his long legs out on it and stretches an arm behind the woman at his side. She’s beautiful, scantily clad, all of them are- some curled up to his shoulder, others drunkenly twirling around the room- and because of it, you feel a little out of place.

In jeans and a band tee, you weren’t prepared.

Not for this.

One part of you is positively gushing at the scene that unfolds around you, deciding you could die in peace now that you’d finally experienced one of his concerts, especially in such an exclusive way. Still, another part of you, dwelling low in your belly, twisting like a bad gut feeling, quietly thinks, Has Thomas mistaken me for a whore? Perhaps it’s wrong to think that of those girls... But you also don’t believe they’d take any real offense to that if they were to hear your internal back-and-forth, because they seem delighted to put on their shows for him.

They can’t be blamed, right? I mean… It’s him. Rafayel. Everybody and their mom would trip over their own two feet trying to get an audience with him.

Still.

You ball your fists in your lap.

A-Are you even meant to be here?

Rafayel was always bold on camera, yes; flirtatious to a fault. Sure, he was a playboy and you were aware of that, the whole community was. Really, it was integral to his charm.

But this—

One of the girls giggles when she stumbles over her high heels and into Rafayel’s lap. It’s convenient. Too convenient: even if she’s only half aware of her surroundings, in for a bad hangover tomorrow morning, she still manages to go flying right towards him. You know the purple-haired man must be aware of it too, her frolicking stunts.

Nonetheless, he catches her in his arms before she topples, and he laughs, too.

It’s a pretty sound. Then again, everything about him is. With his dyed, lavender curls and the softness to his otherwise coy face, the little moles dusting it and his glossy, pink lips— he’s beautiful. All the more in that outfit. Cheeky but not enough as to be scandalous. His stylist and his designer have your applause. Clearly, they know what they’re doing.

On stage, he’d seemed playful, but was able to keep his gallivanting at bay. With a wink, though, all that sex appeal just oozes out, and—

It’s weird. How you can spend so much weeks and months and years idolizing somebody, and then suddenly have all that worshipful intent collapsing in a breath. Within the span of not even an hour, you’ve become so disillusioned with this celebrity- your all time favorite- that you can hardly bear to look at him and his wanton display.

Sat on the armchair opposite of it all as it takes place, deathly quiet, you begin to feel sick.

Is this really him?

You knew he was a flirt, yes, but- but what the hell is even this? Is this what he demeans himself to after each show? Just some cheap manwhore with his hand-selected throng of groupies, sipping away at an expensive wine just moments after he set the mic aside after a love song you’d thought to be heartfelt—

Your glass, the one a suited man offered on a tray and you took only to mimic the others, remains untouched before you.

This is startling. And far from your preferred scene.

M-Maybe you ought to go home. And soon. Is what you’ve been thinking for closer to thirty minutes now, and yet you’re too nervous to speak on it. I mean, maybe if you just stood up and left, nobody would notice your slipping out— the room is far from bright and everybody’s buzzed on something, anyway—

Marbled, coral-blue eyes stare at you over the rim of his glass, and they glint with something you think is mirth.

Curiosity, alongside it.

It makes you second guess yourself. Taking your leave.

He’s been watching you for a while now. Even when the stunning women gather in a flurry around him, tugging on his hair and teasing with whispering breaths in his ear, his attention doesn’t remain on them for long. It drags back to you and, for all the distractions occuring around you (the stereo playing an all too familiar song, the drunken chatter, the unease in your chest), he’s impressively focused.

It’s unnerving. It’s divine. He’s all you listen to in the car and in the shower and in your bedroom when you’re dancing to his newest album in an oversized sleep shirt and panties. You’ve cried to him and laughed to him and now he’s here, in shocking clarity, and you were so so excited, rambling about it to your girlfriends for months, but now you’re not so sure of what you’re seeing. If you like it.

He seems less god to you, now; oh, still heavenly, still angelic, for sure, but he toes more along the line of something wicked— like a cherub fallen.

And you can’t find it in you to get up and scurry out even when that’s all you can picture yourself doing in your head, escaping.

When you catch his eye again, you dip your chin (not out of reverence, no longer, but rather unease) and bite on your lip until you taste blood.

So when he lifts his hand with a snap then, the girls pouting as they crawl off him, dissipating no different than fog- you’re ever thankful for the opportunity to finally get up and leave, too—

A voice chimes over itself, layering over the familiar song playing in the background.

“Hey- wait up, cutie.”

You pause when you belatedly realize it’s calling for you.

As if your legs are stilts, you turn around hesitantly (strange: because really, shouldn’t you be happy he’s noticed you?) and try to lessen the shock on your face- even though his amused little smile tells you it’s as clear as day.

He laughs pleasantly, playful to a fault.

“What’s that silly face for? Oh, IIIIIII see, you’re feeling a lil left out, is my guess. Here,” he pats the cushion beside him and you actually blanche. For a moment you think your heart has stopped beating and those thumps you hear are the drum beats in his song as it drifts through the now empty room.

Save for you and Rafayel, it’s completely barren; the better part of its energy has left with the dancing girls but whatever remains of it, he holds.

You eye the spot beside him, unmoving.

An excuse, you realize right then— you can still spit out an excuse.

“I-I’m not one of the girls,” you stammer with a wince before clearing your throat, “I- I don’t even think I’m really supposed to be here.”

Another laugh, and a dismissive wave of his hand. You try to make yourself laugh too if only to appease him, your idol- endlessly nervous.

“Oh, well that’s just untrue,” he teases. “C’mon, don’t be shy~! I was just playing around with the others. It’s just you and me now, so no need to feel all nervous,” he assures, the image of harmless as he crosses his leg over the other and waits.

You blink rapidly. “I—“

You’re about to spew out a feeble rejection and that’s when his face drops.

You’re not sure, for all the records and posters and billboards you’ve seen of his face, if he’s ever made that expression. Not on camera, at least.

He lowly murmurs, “Aren’t you a fan?”

“I-…. Well-….”

A fan? For years now! His number one! A stupid girlish voice in the corner of your mind shrieks, and you almost dredge some joy out of this whole thing.

Letting out a shaky sigh, defeated, you creep over to him on equally shaky legs and take the spot beside him— all with great hesitance, though.

His pretty face alights again. Some of the pressure loosens up, even if only by a little, and your shoulders relax by a smidge.

Maybe it’s fine. Maybe you’re crazy and this is how he interacts with all his listeners no, no it’s not. Or maybe this is just a normal, celebrity thing and you’re blowing this way out of proportion here.

Just like he did with that other woman- that other likeminded fan or plaything or- or you don’t know- he loops an arm around the back of the couch behind you.

…What’s different, though, is that, unlike with her, he rests his hand on your shoulder and hugs you closer to his side. Clinging.

Rafayel smiles. Charming. Frivolous. With a glint in his eye, intense and engrossed, that’s weirdly sober when taking the half empty drink he sets down on the table into consideration.

“There. Good girl. So tell me, pretty,” he starts thoughtfully, fingertips twirling your hair as he leans into you. For the popstar that takes very little seriously, you think he appears awfully interested in some no-name girl who happened to score herself a limited-time lanyard to see him sing.

You swallow thickly. In the back of your mind, thoughts race. So does your heart. You might explode.

H-He didn’t act like this with the others— did you somehow present yourself in a way that made him think he could take more than what the others let him? More than what the others practically begged him to, but for some fucking reason he wouldn’t—

“Did you like the show?”

“Y-Yeah.” You don’t mean to whisper, but a certain, resigned silence is what you’ve been reduced to. His other hand stretches across his body to rest on your thigh.

Rafayel hums. But before he can speak, you- rudely, might he add- cut in. “I- I have to go home soon, so-“

Amused, he snorts. “Relax, alright? Tonight, you’re a very important person, aren’t you? Home can wait,” he muses, so close he’s near nuzzling your cheek.

A very important person? Funny. You’re just another fool bouncing around amongst the nosebleeds- a face he’ll be hard-pressed to catch and certain to forget. Honestly? This whole facade of his is as cruel as it is unbelievable.

Gradually, he’s letting you down.

Your throat bobs. Almost a bit bitterly, you remind, “I- I know you’re a popstar, but we’re still strangers. You don’t have to feel like you need to entertain me or be nice to me.”

“Huh. You’re one smart cookie,” he wryly comments before giving his head a tiny shake, almost more to himself than to you. “Um, look, cutie, you’re definitely no stranger to me,” his words leave you dazed because they sound genuine. You snap your head up to look at him, needing to gauge his expression and fish for deceit. You… find none.

He smoothly continues. “But I guess I’m no stranger to you either, huh? And tonight, you’ll be like, extra acquainted with me.”

✦

It’s difficult.

-When he’s hovering over you and gently pushing you onto the plush cushions into a half-lying position, to not only push him off but find the strength to.

Physically, Rafayel’s no hulking display of power, but he’s intimidating all the same. Mentally, he’s more or less your idol and although he may not hold too much weight in stature (still, he’s stronger than you), he still holds enough golden trophies to decorate a shelf— and too much influence for you to really comprehend.

Or try to toy with.

…You should want this. Should want to lie down and offer yourself up to him with eagerness— it should be like a blessing and yet you’re hesitating.

…Why are you hesitating? A voice in the back of your head, the one that had raved endlessly to her friends about the upcoming concert, asks perplexedly. You’ve no answer. But the man atop you seems to wonder much of the same, too; his brow twitching just slightly with what you think to be dejection before he tilts your chin with long, slim fingers to kiss you and it’s gone.

He moans into that first kiss. Prettily and soft.

Heat flutters in the core of you, your body involuntarily responding to him even as your eyes snap open and shift to where the door is- or where you think it is (have the lights gotten dimmer? or is he just all you see?)- his palm tugging at your hair softly to lie you down.

His lips are plump, pink, just as gentle as they look as they meld against yours— definitely aroused, there’s no doubt there, his warm breaths tinged with needy whines- but there’s an odd affection in them, too. Something personal and doting.

When he tries to slip in tongue, you reel away but there’s nowhere to go. Not really. Not when your head finally touches the cushion and he lets out a small, disapproving sound before giving up on that goal- for now- and attacking your neck instead.

It’s good. Delicious; that perfect mouth knows its way around a mic and a lover, you suppose- suckling and kissing and nipping with the barest amount of teeth as if he’s intent on leaving a mark.

You can’t hold back on it anymore— you drop your hands that had been hovering awkwardly on his broad shoulders, mewling in response, and he shivers.

“Yeah, cutie, make some noise,” he chuckles mildly. You think back to the auditorium. The roaring cheers and shrieks, the phone lights waving in the air and the mist rolling beneath his feet as he sang.

His hand descends down your belly, and you’re brought back to now.

It’s more instinct than anything that has you clamping your legs shut as soon as his fingers reach the denim. He tuts at you, and yet the glimmer in his eye is… endeared, almost.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t shut me away now,” Rafayel scolds, thought it lacks any real bite. Still, your lashes flutter and you stare agog at him.

Like this, he’s positively gorgeous as he props himself up mere inches away- albeit his little grin can almost be considered vulpine. “Didn’t I put on a great show for you out there? Don’t tell me I get nothing in return,” he pouts, tone light but what lies under it is a layer of desire. Opaque and thick.

Hesitantly, you mull over his words. I mean, you just really want this to be over- so to hell to with it, maybe you should just submit yourself. The sooner you appease the playboy with what he wants— that is, some nameless girl he perceives as cheap enough to get on her back for him— the sooner you can leave and pretend Thomas never gave you his special ticket.

The popstar’s words turn comforting as he watches you carefully. “If you’re shy, don’t worry. I’ve seen it plenty’a times before, you know.”

Bigheaded, you think then. Bigheaded but he has every right to be.

Maybe if it was any other guy bragging about the chicks he fucked and scrutinized, you’d throw up in your mouth— and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t cringe a little on the inside— but it’s embarrassment for yourself above all that stirs in your stomach. It joins the butterflies as your cheeks warm over.

“Now,” he continues, his familiar lilt flattening into heavy, breathy lust, “All I want is to see yours. I’m sure your pussy is pretty, cutie- really,” he convinces.

A tremble. “So pretty.”

Oh, you’re erupting on the inside— heart snapping like a snare drum in your chest, overpowering the faint music and drowning it out- your hand shaking where it weakly closes over the back of his own, now only half trying to drag it away.

He hammers the last nail into your coffin. With a ragged, but gentle breath and- as he leans in- a surprisingly chaste peck to your lips, appreciative of what he has before him.

“Won’t you show me it?”

But jaw slack, you hesitate. And- Of course you hesitate. The reasons for your deliberation, that weird gut feeling, become clearer and clearer as seconds progress:

Firstly, he’s the image of fame- and if you were to deny him, if he said the smallest word over it, your whole entire social life as you knew it would backfire on you. The possibility of his saying mean things on the internet hangs in your mind. Rumors circulating, as untrue as they are vivid, coming to bite you in the ass. For as many hours as you’ve spent watching and listening to Rafayel, you don’t know his true colors (as evidenced by right now); that includes what a wounded ego would look like if you rejected him.

Secondly, you hesitate because—

Because he’s perfect. Much like an idol on a pedestal, carefully set there with a singular light overhead to define him and him alone.

In a dark room, all look to him.

Once- an hour ago- you did, too.

Maybe you still do. You don’t know. There’s a whole bunch of feelings (confusion, awe, a betrayal that makes you question just how parasocial your relationship with him was) swirling inside you, none able to be grazed or grasped, and it shakes a part within.

“Please?” He breathes, ever headstrong.

…Your rationale is headlong, falling into the abyss with a word.

“O-Okay,” you all but squeak out. It’s the best you can manage. Rafayel’s breath hitches at that, though, your given assent, no matter how feeble, planting satisfaction deep in his chest.

And so with that he’s swiftly undoing your jeans and rucking them down your thighs.

It’s less out of good will that you help him shimmy them off you, to a bunch above your shoes, and more so eagerness to be done with this whole thing.

When he tucks his knuckles beneath the waistband of your panties- cutesy cotton put on full display for him, perched above pretty thighs- he curses under his breath.

His hands are as big as a man’s but as soft as a woman’s. His fingertips are dutiful as they brush along your folds, as singleminded, hungry, as the former.

…But when they nudge between your pussy lips and at your tight hole, his thumb prodding expertly at your clit, it’s like he has all the awareness of the latter.

“Ah, you’re so wet…” he muses aloud. Very pleased with his discovery.

His eyelids, dazzling with some glittery shade his makeup artist applied prior to his show, droop and don’t meet your flustered stare as he focuses on the space between your legs. And he takes it upon himself to rid you of your panties, too: for as adorable as they are, Rafayel knows it’ll be ten times better for you both if he can just-

Finally fucking see for himself what you’ve got goin’ on down there—

Undies midway down your leg, he comments, “you’re really hyped up after the show, huh?” His exhale is a shaky sound. His gaze is utterly fascinated (and perhaps a touch unnerving, what with its intensity) when it bounces back to that soft dip below your belly.

You’ll give him this much credit— for as wild as that glint in his unblinking stare becomes, he’s fortunately gentle with you.

He wets his lip absently. “Yeah… it gets me going, too. All the lights and cheering faces... Feeling the bass vibrate up from the floor. Can I be honest, though, cutie? When Thomas- oh, shit-“ he shivers when he inserts a digit in- his pointer one- and your hole instinctively clamps down around it, juices glistening to the base of his knuckle as you try not to squirm.

Y-You can’t believe this is happening. Your clothes are all in a disarray- the only piece intact, actually, is your tee that just so happens to be merchandise of the popstar that hovers over you now with his hand between your legs—

You blink back to real life when he sharply inhales.

“…When Thomas told me you were comin’, I made absolute sure to know your standing. That way, I could find you easily in the crowd. I was gettin’ so worked up just looking at you. Could you hear it-? My voice began to shake.” he chuckles, voice euphony to your ears. Familiar in its lilt but not in its timber.

His words stun you. They don’t make sense- is this is all some cruel, sick game after all-? Or- Or maybe he’s mistaking you for someone else? or he’s just choosing a really weird, admittedly screwed up way to let off some steam. God knows, what with his recent album built on the back of unrequited love, he needs the stress relief—

But no. He continues on like nothing is amiss, like your heart doesn’t plummet to the tips of your toes at his offhanded admission, and you forget how to breathe.

“When our eyes met- you looked like you were doubting yourself, but I really was staring at you, you silly girl.” Again, he’s fucking laughing, albeit this time, it takes on a more self-deprecating tone. You witness, almost unseeing, as his facade crumbles in increments. More and more he undoes it by the seams- much like he is with you.

“I was… Hm. I was even singing about you. All those stupid pining love songs— who do you think they’re for, princess?”

A gasp punches out from your lungs. You don’t know what it’s for- his nonsensical confessions, or his handling as he stuffs in another finger (you could’ve used some more working up to it, sure, he knows, but he’s a little impatient tonight) and scissors you open.

Wet shlicks ring in between guitar riffs. Your essence flows all over his knuckles and the numerous- horrifically expensive, you realize- jewels lining them. Rafayel doesn’t seem nearly as appalled as you do, though... If anything, aroused.

It feels so good. He’s hitting that spongey spot inside you just right. It’s a surreal experience, so much so you almost feel like you’ll coalesce into a dream at any moment. The melody playing in the background, the opulent couch as it groans beneath you with every piston of his arm, the twinkling, but dim lights and his face. That picturesque, idol face.

“Here, I’ll tell you the answer…” he leans over you to whisper in your ear, subjecting you to all the charm of a siren. You’re helpless to it ‘cause you’re just a girl.

“You. Always you.”

You’re dizzy. Your head is light but your lower half is heavy, the inner portion of your thighs numbed and sticky. Your limbs tingle but all you can feel is his lips tenderly suckling at your neck and your gushing walls as they constrict around their intruder.

Though they, too, ease up on him. He’s good at disarming you. That’s how you were walking in here, anyway, disarmed and beyond yourself with excitement.

Rafayel moans over you, finding a great amount of pleasure in the whole ordeal.

“You gonna cum? yeah?” He’s sweet, purring in your ear, making sounds as pretty as a girl- maybe even more so. His voice has won awards for a reason. You recall binging musical ceremonies on the internet and shrieking as soon as his name was called to stage, his seeming nonchalance as he accepted an accolade…

Yet you saw his ears, too, the tips of them red under the resounding applause, and wondered just what or who it was that had him bowing his head to the camera—

“A-Ah, mmph- Rafayel, please—!” You choke, fingers curling into his shoulder. In response, he lets out a pleasured, breathy sound, all encouragement and delight in his eyes.

“Mhm. Go ahead. Cum. Cum, pretty girl, all over my fingers. Oh- I really wanna taste you- will y’let me taste you afterwards?” He’s moaning unabashed as you come undone at warp speed. It’s shameful and your cheeks toast over but you clamp your eyes shut and choose to bask in the feeling of it all as it overwhelms you.

He’s good. So good. Masterful with it, really. Not like any of the bungling guys who courted you for all of one date (the more patient: two) before ripping your pants off and sticking their fingers inside without prompting or even half the skill to back their confidence.

No- he’s every bit qualified and then some.

Your nails dig into his clavicle. Rafayel doesn’t care- if that pinch of pleasure between his brow is the least bit credible, maybe he even likes the sting.

“Good girl. There, good girl.”

It’s building inside you. He works you up progressively, rapidly, and it shows in the little gasps you make that fall back to back, the L shape you make with either of your legs as they hitch up around his hips and quake, the ball in your gut that suddenly hardens before—

“Ngh— Rafayel-!”

You scream. Louder than the music. Louder than his words of encouragement, sugar-sweet, hungry, susurrating as they spill in your ear. He sensually nibbles on it and wraps his free hand around your head- with a misplaced affection, you think- to anchor you throughout your climax. He manages to keep you grounded there on the couch but only barely.

Your mind does slip off to another place, though, floating in white oblivion for a number of seconds as your limbs offer small trembles.

Rafayal takes close to nothing serious. So the light, but bubbly laugh that draws you back to consciousness with a sigh is fairly appropriate.

What isn’t is his touchiness as he drags you to sit on his lap— boneless; your skin damp with heat, your damned pants still cuffed awkwardly around your ankles— and croons into your neck. Holding you close like a lover would in the after glow. But this isn’t the after glow, this is the after show. But then again, if his earlier words were true- the ones that barrel back into you with clarity, the haze dissipating- then…

But no. No, how could that be? Those songs aren’t about you— and when you met his eye during the opening, and all the times afterward, you were sure it was just your imagination, especially after the fan beside you threw up her arms and cheered as if his stare was for her instead—

You might know Thomas (very vaguely- more of a friend of a friend you’ve seen at a few get-togethers; you follow him on insta), but that doesn’t mean Rafayel, the man he works for, should know you... I mean, you doubt they hang out often, anyway. Especially not since Thomas would more or less be viewed as the king of no-fun in the popstar’s eyes.

His whole job is to assure that Rafayel keeps his lips sealed tight: you can’t imagine that he’d be loose with his own by chatting with him about you, a girl he’s not all too familiar with but knows just enough to throw a spare ticket at.

So there’s just no way any of this is true.

Half of you expects Rafayel to shove you off his lap at any second, snap back to the reality that you’re not the woman he mistook you for, and flusteredly point you to the door. The other half of you is like it’s waiting for him to pull out his cock (it stirs underneath your ass, hard and by the feel of it, very excited) and take all that’s left to.

He moves your hair aside your shoulder and rubs along your back, instead.

And he whispers in your ear (or into your neck, really), his warm breath fanning there as he says like it’s a vow:

“Wanna see you at my next show. Better be there.”

Your throat bobs. As he speaks, you try not to focus too much on the fluid that oozes from your pussy lips and onto his expensive, designer slacks- but that’s no easy task when he seems to want for that, slightly lifting his hips up.

“No. Before that, even—“ he pauses for a moment, seemingly deep in thought before smiling, resolved. “Oh, I know- I’ll have Thomas help get you settled in with the tour bus. That way, you can just be on the road with me.”

You gawk. Whatever he’s saying doesn’t reach you; you’re only receiving that garbled bits of it, like a radio interpolated by static between voices. Your palms lift to his chest and push there softly.

Smoothly, he takes them in his own and kisses the knuckles, peering up at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky, giggling.

“Doesn’t that sound just great, cutie?”

“I- wait, you-?”

“I’ll name my next song after you- my next album, even!- and then we can go public immediately.” You can recognize it for what it is, even coming from someone as frivolous as him.

A promise.

“The fans will love you,” he says excitedly before leaning in and smushing a kiss to your damp hairline, murmuring there with a fiery tinge of what you think is devotion. “But not as much as I already do.”

He fishes into his pocket, then, one hand still securing your waist.

“Lemme give Thomas a call… I guess he kinda deserves my ‘thank you’, too, huh?”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[takes1]

your needy Kenma smut was SOOO good omfg I was biting my fist reading it!! can i request a needy suna smut?

needy!suna rintarou x reader

hi!! so glad you liked it!! wow this took me so long i'm so sorry! i just could not find a way to write it without it being exactly the same as kenma's!

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / forbidden, established relationship / manager!reader / vocal!suna / whiny!suna / needy!suna / bratty!suna / liiiight mommy kink nobody freak tf out!! / suna has a cute laugh / creampie / raw cuddly sex / 1.9k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines. my request box

"Don't look at me like that, Rin'."

Your fingers were smushing the lower half of his face, angling his head away from you. His head stayed obediently forward at the center court, but those eyes were still piercing through you.

Through his fishy-lips, his words became jumbled together, "'can' helb i'--,"

It wasn't his fault he looked so mean, so critical when he focused in on something.

"I can't help it," He spat, rubbing his jaw.

Suna wasn't careful about his hand placement. The members of Inarizaki knew you had been dating for a time, but Coach Kurosu did not need a reason to question your managerial position.

When you pushed his hand away from your waist, his face scrunched; that mean and bitter look returned, tenfold.

A frustrated, hushed, but not quiet, "I want you."

Though it wasn't an appropriate time, place, or circumstance, it would be lie to say that it wasn't hot. The unique mixture of his assertive, court-like focus and lesser-known bedroom-only begging forced you to cross your arms.

"You-," You glanced around, thankful nobody heard that, "Have a game to focus on."

The attitude he gave was not only unwarranted, but it succeeded in making you less receptive. To you, it was obvious that he was only looking for an out. He was tired and halfway through a challenging match. You couldn't spare to be his partner right now, and he did not like that.

He sucked his teeth, tapped his foot, crossed his arms, worked his jaw, and gave you a sharp sigh, all within five minutes of angry silence.

What a whiny bastard.

You found his struggle almost amusing. At the moment, it was more important to maintain your focus, for the both of you.

Still, it kept you wondering throughout the remainder of the match: What had you possibly done to warrant such a strong response?

Every instance that he had to be around the bench, drinking water, a temporary switch-out, he would send you a deeply dissatisfied glance. You didn't justify it with a reaction. He was being bratty.

Though you were a prude, anti-PDA personality in public, especially around the team-- you were the one to push him back onto the mattress and throw his shirt across the room, once you were back at his place.

"Fuck--mnh!"

That pretty sigh was all he could get out before you were on top of him.

"Start talking," You muttered. Your shirt was off in seconds.

His breathing grew heavy, eyes black with lust at the sight of your pretty skin, his favorite bra he clocked earlier under your shirt- the whole reason his mind got to spinning.

Suna was kept this irritating, calculating, slithery persona up around his friends, and especially during matches, because he learned that it kept him safe. He didn't always like being so on edge. He wanted to trust somebody enough to tell them everything that passed through his mind, to be skin-to-skin and a little weird, because you were comfortable and safe.

Here, under you, after enough love and time, he knew he didn't need to waste energy on appearances.

"I- ah-h, I just wanted you so bad," Was his honest attempt at an explanation.

He sat up to touch you, kiss you, but you kept him to the sheets with a forearm.

"Are you trying to get me kicked out?"

Suna huffed, eyes bouncing from your face, to your confined tits, then back, "What?""

Your legs slid a bit further apart, weight settling better onto his warm lap, "If Coach finds out we're dating, you know I'm gone."

You snapped, just for emphasis, but he flinched, "Like that. In an instant."

He was painfully hard. You could feel him throbbing, even through his combo of athletic shorts and thick sweatpants. Despite the circumstances, you knew he was keen enough to understand that you were a little pissed off about his lack of restraint.

He was in that spot you liked seeing him work through. Struggling, deciding whether to be nice, or snarky.

"You're smarter than that, baby," Was much kinder of a statement in tone, but it tipped him off to be rude, instead.

Those narrowed eyes dripped down to your chest slow, sweet, like honey.

"Why'd you wear that, then?" He felt you stiffen. He placed a hot palm onto your hip to help his well-intentioned venom settle.

You couldn't believe that was his entire problem, summed up in five words.

"Are you really so dirty-minded that you could tell what bra I was wearing? Under my shirt?"

The call-out was meant to return his energy, but he responded in a more secure way than you.

"When it's you, yeah--," He sat up with ease, against your pushing, just to remind you that he could outclass your force if he wanted to. He caught your small frown and he corrected himself, "Yes, ma'am."

You gave a small hum, a low-lidded stare right back at him. He was so hot when he deferred to you.

It warranted a strong, messy kiss- all charged with hours of denial, suggestive glances, and too many minutes of clothed rubbing.

All your clothes came off in a range of easy to difficult, distracted efforts.

Suna lay under you, all flushed and twitchy with anticipation. Your hands flitted down his sensitive, strong sides, his cock crammed between your legs, getting spoiled and slick. Not inside, not just yet.

You loved tickling him just to hear his laugh.

And he'd tolerate anything with you gliding over his dick, like that. Giving him such a good view.

"Shhh-haha-h-ahh!" He bit his lip to keep from giggling, moaning, too much or too loudly.

That look he gave you was enough. All twisted, pleading, intelligent. Like he knew exactly what he said and how he said it, would get you turned on.

His sound was adorable, rare.

It was unrestrained, and light, cute, enough to understand why he kept it behind his hand around his friends. Sounded exactly like something a bunch of guys might make fun of him for.

"Hmm.. Let's cuddle fuck," You pressed a tingly kiss just under his ear.

You knew he was feeling lazy. Your job today wasn't easy, either. You wanted to feel close at the end of a busy day, more than anything.

Suna was warm, and tired, and tacky to the touch but it all added to how badly you wanted each other. It was a demanding match, and getting all upset with each other made it feel that much longer.

Slick, and hot, and easy was the adjustment to him. Nothing to do with his real size- you were just ready, after having to put up an act, as if you were too above all of it.

The panting you had to listen to on the sidelines, watching him miss his mouth with the squeezy bottle, all the sweat and water dripping onto his jersey, it ate at you, corroded the brick walls you put up. Even his frustrated glare was sexy. He couldn't stop looking at you, even with an important task at hand, or when his teammates needed him to focus.

Now he fucked you like your mean -still, justified- rejection was never a problem, like he was savoring you slowly.

"Yes-yes, yesyes," Suna swallowed up your moans in a greedy kiss.

"Mmh- how's that feel--?" You purred.

"So good," A satisfied groan, "Fuck- Got such a perfect pussy."

His hand kept your thigh up, your knee close to your shoulder. He inspired a gasp at how quickly he bottomed out to your teasing.

He stretched you so good, so easily, and kept your trembling steady in his grasp-- but every sound he made was shaky, barely held together, and never masked.

After three months, Suna decided at some point on his own that he could trust you enough to completely let go in the bedroom. Though he naturally gravitated to a more submissive role, he usually said some downright sleazy, vulgar shit to get his kicks.

"A-ha, h-fuc-k, aughh, you feel so good, you--," His breath clipped into a high, closed-mouth whine as he pulled you harder onto the base of his cock, just flexing hard, as deep as he could get.

Your teeth sunk into his pillowcase, fingers filled with plush.

The knowledge that he loved it, but couldn't ever get as deep as he wanted, had your strength waning. Squeezing, bracing, at all the butterflies tired you out.

Although, if it were a competition, Suna had you beat by a mile. The drooling, whiny mess behind you may have had enough to strength to use his body weight to keep you smushed, but you could tell he was sloppier, clumsier, with exhaustion.

He buried his face in your neck.

"I-I'h- needed you so bad," His moan was so light and breathy- like he was swimming on Cloud 9-, "So-h, so... fucking...bad."

Your uncontrollable squirm to get away from the sensation was met with instant crushing. Even if you wanted your thigh back, it would never happen.

"Mh-h-! Rin-," You tried to speak, but he was hitting all your angles just right, so you stopped.

His words were twisting up that knot in your tummy, the trap of his arms a steady, innocent backdrop to how filthy he decided to fuck you.

Slurred mutters, consisting of mostly nonsense syllables and phrases, sometimes bred real messages like, "So hot," "Mommy," "So much," and, "'Can't take it."

His yapping, you thought, may have been a way of making up for how little he spoke, usually. You were generally much quieter than him here, but outside of the bedroom, the opposite remained true. It was cute.

"M'so- close-mh," His groans were short, choked on pleasure, his squeezing desperate and uneven.

The idea of him finishing close, hugging you, just like this, was too hot to let not happen.

You gathered yourself to tell him, "C-um-- Mh, inside, pretty boy."

"F-uck!" That tone completely tipped him over the edge.

Your grin was to yourself, twitchy and genuine, before the feeling of fullness set in.

He was left to fuck out his load as deep inside of you as he could get, "Fuckfu-ck- Ahh-hh-!"

Your nails dragged across his skin- the white hot, pulsing enough to spur a sudden orgasm. Dark lines remained in their wake as your muffled whines filled his ears.

And Suna was nothing if not dedicated. He fucked you as well as he could through your own, whinier, less violent experience. His breath, laden in the resolution of his own, was hot and tingly across your sensitive ear.

You squeezed his arm to stop and he finally let your leg down.

"Hm...sorry," He mumbled into a peck against your cheek, "You okay?"

Sore, and achy, you shared a giggly kiss. He softened naturally and you readjusted to hold each other, warm and soft, with chemical infatuation.

"Mhmm," You stole a longer, slower kiss.

Those pretty eyes watched you, worshipped you, as you rubbed your hand across his jaw.

"Perfect."

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu my request box

[twistedpink]

Merry Mermay!! Just some mermaid!blorbo head cannons to celebrate the season :>

Anglerfish!Ace that’s clingier than any guy you’ve ever known- if you could get close to guys for reference without him whispering in your ear about cooties :/ It’s not even like he has the right to get that jealous, you’re not dating, but you need to understand that you’re all he’s ever known,, He’s just stuck behind the glass of his aquarium, loyally waiting for you to come home, and praying that you’re alone :( You can regret getting him a phone all you want- it won’t do anything against the daily gaggle of texts he sends, and if it’ll convince you to take a dip in his tank, your pouty face is more than worth it! Isn’t taking a dive worth it for him? He’ll play nice!! (Ignore the tank light he’s swinging. You want him sooooo bad) <3

Shark!Jack’s the gentlest woodchipper possible for his favourite vet, and if you didn’t know already, that’s you! Of course there are some things that he just can’t babyproof- like the rough texture of his tail (that you insist on stroking), or the points of his maw (that he can’t stop nibbling at you with), but it’s the thought that counts!! It’s not his fault you make him feel all dumb and bitey :( There’s a chunk of him missing from the well-oiled machine of his heart when you’re gone, it feels like he’s eating through a small fortune of steak to fill it :/ but it’s the strangest thing,, That melancholy, that need, just disappears when it’s time for you to give him a checkup.. As his doctor, you should know that he needs you by his side. Y’know,, For his health <3

Minnow!Azul’s just the smallest, sweetest thing you ever did see :) He’s spent the better half of his life with you- simply because you are his better half. From the pet store to the comfort of your family pond, you’ve been there for him.. And he can’t help but feel like he has to pay you back :( He knows it’ll be hard as a little fish in a big pond, but you’re worth any risk- especially if you’re willing to get into some fishy business with him <3

Oarfish!Malleus that’s only so isolated because he’s a factual anomaly,, He looks so beautiful under the aquarium lights when you get to visit him, so it’s a HARD sell for you to believe that there’s nobody to hang out with the big guy :( He’s.. Interesting, to say the least. It feels like you’ve watched him push away mer after mer in favour of dragging his face across the glass of his enclosure.. Even with all your research, you can’t figure out why- but, you do know what it feels like being watched, and he’s been practicing his jumps to get an even closer look <3

[luvendiary]

something fishy / h. haddock

hiccup haddock x reader

request: Hello everything is fine? I hope you are well…. I would like to say that I loved your Hiccup fic, just perfect!! And the vows… OIIIIII my heart jumped! Congratulations on your masterpieces…. and if possible, when you're better with requests… could you do something for Hiccup again? This time, maybe something where the twins, playful as they are, might want to play a prank on Hiccup, where the reader feels sick. Hence, the reader agrees to play this prank, but when the time comes, does she really feel sick? (Maybe you feel short of breath, and pass out… or, you choose, I trust you) and then a cute moment of Hiccup taking care of the reader, thank you very much!!! a/n: i'm sorry for taking soooo long. thank you for your request and i hope you like it!!

Ruff and Tuff could be a pain in the ass sometimes. As much as you loved joking around with them, and their constant banter humored you, sometimes you couldn’t help but want to throw them both off the nearest cliff.

Right now, was one of those moments. You tried to block out their voices as you stitched through your charred armor, trying to repair the damage it had taken from your last ‘excursion’. However, they seemed to run on an endless supply of energy.

“Fine!” you shouted over their nagging voices. “If I agree to do this, will you leave me alone, for Thor’s sake?!”

Their response came in the shape of two identical grins, which told you all you needed to know.

That’s how you found yourself hunched over a bucket in your hut. What was supposed to be a harmless prank to Hiccup had ended up becoming your worst nightmare.

Tuff had bet Ruff that Hiccup had feelings for you, and all it took for it to be confirmed was to see you in your worst state to prove that. He would come and rescue you from your misery, and his point would be proven.

You thought it was ridiculous.

Ruff had said that to achieve your ‘most hideous state’ you had to at least smell like raw fish. At which you had started to double think your compliance in their plan. Maybe letting them annoy you wasn’t as bad as covered in fish skin.

However, by the time you realized that it was most definitely too late. The smell of fish had overwhelmed your senses and caused you to sprint out of the room before you got sick all over the place.

Much to your dismay, Hiccup had just walked in when he saw you bolt out of the room.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked as he glanced back at you with a worried expression.

You could hear the twins trying to come up with some sort of explanation as to why you looked as if all the blood had drained out of your system. They stumbled over their words guilty, as Hiccup’s expression grew with anger. The realization dawning on him that your current state was their fault.

“What did you do to her?” he asked sternly, cutting off their rambling.

“It was just a harmless prank!” Ruff defended as she extended her arms towards your hunched figure. “She’s fine!”

“Does she look fine to you?”

You could barely hear their response as ringing sounded in your ears. Your breaths became shallow. The smell of fish overwhelming your senses completely.

You broke out in a cold sweat, but you felt incredibly suffocated. You held your hair up in a ponytail, trying to relieve yourself.

“M’fine…” you mumbled once the ringing in your ears had stopped.

Your words had been enough to silence their bantering.

“See? She’s fine!” Tuffnut nervously said to Hiccup. His voice, unusually high-pitched.

Hiccup threw a murderous glare at him, but didn’t get to give him a piece of his mind as you clumsily stumbled to your feet.

His arms instinctively flinched toward you, as he watched you stand up like you were a deer, just learning to walk.

“Maybe you should sit down for a while,” he said, carefully making his way toward you. His voice, extremely gentle.

“What? No. I’m fine. I’m good. Just got nauseous there for sec…” your words slurred into each other and before you knew it you were back on the ground again.

You couldn’t feel your legs, and all you knew was that Hiccup was staring down at you with those big brown eyes of his.

You tried to smile, but darkness took you over.

Warmth and shadows welcomed you back when you opened your eyes again.

It was like you had been completely removed from the world you had known just a moment ago. The first thing you noticed was the smell of wood, a contrasting difference from the stench of fish which made you shiver in disgust. You were wrapped in a soft cozy blanket. It looked like it had been scratchy once before, but so many years of use had worn it down to the perfect texture.

A log cracked in the hearth nearby, and the sound was enough to draw your attention to a figure seated beside you. His back was slightly hunched in the chair, head resting in his palm, elbow propped on the armrest. Hiccup looked exhausted. However, his head shot up the second you moved.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, voice thick with relief. His eyes, those warm brown eyes, studied your face with a mix of worry and something gentler intertwined.

You tried to sit up, but your arms trembled beneath you.

“Whoa, hey—easy,” he was beside you in an instant, gently pressing a hand to your lower back, to guide you back down. The simple gesture made butterflies fly in your stomach.

“You fainted. You scared the hell out of me.”

You frowned, brows drawing together. “Did I… throw up on anyone?”

His lips twitched in amusement, the concern in his expression never wavering. “No. You missed everyone by a mile. But you were burning up by the time I got you out of there.” He hesitated, then added, “You’ve been out for hours.”

You looked down at the blanket, feeling your cheeks heat for entirely different reasons now. “Guess I really sold the whole ‘sick and pitiful’ act, huh?”

His brows drew together in confusion. “Wait—this was a prank?”

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “Ruff and Tuff thought if I looked like I was on death’s doorstep, it would somehow confirm that you had feelings for me.”

You were mortified. “They kept pestering me until I agreed. But if I had known their plan had included me being covered in fish guts, I would never have said yes.”

He was quiet for a long moment. You dared a peek through your fingers. He looked conflicted.

“Gods…” you whispered. “I’m so sorry. This was so stupid.”

Then, unexpectedly, he smiled—just a small, private curve of his lips.

“Well,” he said slowly, sitting back on the edge of the chair. “They weren’t completely wrong.”

Your heart skipped. “Wait, what?”

His eyes met yours. “Maybe not the way they went about it… but I was ready to throw them both into the ocean the second I saw you collapse. I—I was scared. I thought something was seriously wrong. I care about you. A lot.”

You stared at him.

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “So… yeah. Next time, maybe just talk to me instead of dousing yourself in fish guts?”

You stared at him in disbelief. A breathless laugh escaping your throat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was a pause, warm and gentle, before Hiccup reached down to tuck the blanket more securely around your shoulders.

“Get some rest,” he murmured. “After that we can throw them off a cliff together. Yeah?”

“Is that a promise?”

“I’ll wait for you.”

[astracora]

Poly!LADs headcanons - Bathing/Showering Edition

Inspired by thinking about how cold Raffy's preferred baths must be as a Lemurian.

Featuring all lads (inc Caleb) and main MC.

Masterlist

Rafayel prefers baths, he'll shower if he's in a rush, but he'll mostly want to bathe. This normally involves him spending hours just lying in the bath (Sylus has made a lot of jokes about stewed fish).

Prefers his water ice cold, as a deep sea fishy it's most familiar and while he can use hot water it's not as comforting, and he'll normally only do that if he's sharing the bath or shower with someone else and doesn't want them catching hypothermia.

Has the greatest supply of bathing accessories and products you'll ever see in your life. Anything that's ethically created or not harmful to the environment.

Is still unsure on bath bombs, on one hand, very fun, on the other hand, he likes being submerged in the water and he CAN keep his eyes open and often does. Yes he's gotten the bath bomb stuff in his eyes cause he forgot, yes he complained for hours after and got spoiled to high heaven for it.

Is mostly likely to bathe with Sylus at normal temperature for him (ice cold) cause Sylus is unbothered by temperature changes, so does not require the added heat for it to be bearable. If the temperature of the bath is adjusted, he'll often bathe with MC or with Xavier (who uses it as an excuse to have a nap, because Raffy won't let him drown and he's terrible at bathing alone.)

Always smells delightful after his routines, and they take a while.

Zayne is typically a shower guy, because he's a busy man but cares about looking presentable a lot. His routine is next level organised. Showers are pretty average temperature, but do run a bit hotter especially after using his EVOL.

While he has been known to have a bath, he's more likely to do it with someone else, or if someone has forced him to take it slow and pamper himself or is doing the pampering for him.

Kind of a get in and get out, he has products he likes to use and sticks with those, unless another one is suggested to him and he takes a liking to it. Will take longer showers if he's sharing the shower with someone else, in that case he enjoys taking care of them, and it takes quite a while before he gets used to anyone else doing it for him.

He shares the shower most with Sylus out of anyone (though frankly Sylus showers the most out of everyone so he'll happily hop in with anyone), close second are Caleb and MC. Both of whom he will nudge so he can take care of them, old age childhood friend worries. They do return the favour.

Jasmine shampoo and citrus body wash is the way to go for this man, citrus shaving cream too. Smells like a dessert, though tends to tone it down for when he's working at the hospital cause there's enough strong scents around his patients.

Xavier cannot be left alone to bathe, more than once someone has checked on him in the bath and he's fallen asleep and has almost drowned. Now if he bathes they set timers, or someone will bathe with him. It's not his fault, poor man is exhausted and worn down between how often he spends hunting and his connection to a dying planet.

He's most likely to shower and similar to Zayne he gets in and gets out, but he's also raised a prince, he knows how to self care and groom himself so he always looks good and presentable. He is very fond of baths more than he is of showers, because of this he will bathe with Raffy often. Depending on how he's feeling someone will join him in the shower and help him take care of himself. Especially after a nightly stint as Lumiere.

Water temperature is pretty normal, fairly hot but not that hot. Because of this he's easy to share a shower with.

Prewarning if you wash his hair he will fall asleep even quicker, or get frisky.

He likes really simple scents, things that aren't too powerful just incase it messes with his work. Tends to go with soft florals, it's like lying in a field of flowers, but you can only really smell it up close. (Raffy, Sylus and MC have all buried their nose in his neck before now, and just fallen asleep there.)

Caleb is a busy man so in the farspace fleet, showers are quick, like incredibly quick and whatever he has time for he'll do. Due to this he's prefers bathing when he's not at work, more time, more space to relax (more likely to be able to have MC wrapped up in his arms in the warm water), and just generally a luxury he doesn't really get time for often. He'll still shower when he's in somewhat of a rush to do something, like if he has a date with any of the polycule and he's running a bit late, or just wants to be done quickly cause he's excited.

He's used to cold showers... for several reasons, but also because MC had a bad habit of losing track of time in the shower when they were younger, and used up all the hot water more than once. That said he's chill with cold showers (badum tsh) but he's actually good with any kind of temperature (farspace training means you get used to all kinds of situations, as does DAA training). If it's super hot, the pain of the heat makes his sensory feedback respond better, so he has joined Sylus and MC for the 'I'm scalding my skin off with boiling water' showers, just to get to touch them to his hearts content. (Pre-cybernetic fixing anyway)

Showers most with MC, Sylus and Zayne, bathes most with MC and Xavier.

For work all his stuff is non-scented, at home he'll use whatever he knows MC likes most, he has however tried chocolate-smelling stuff, but they're very hit or miss, also likes fruit smells, strawberry is a favourite.

Sylus loves showering, he will spend such a long time in them, not as long as Raffy spends in the bath, but it's real close. (You best believe he's spending a fortune on heating water in the polycules house, this man does not care.) Temperature is 'burn your skin off' hot, he's a dragon, while he's not bothered by temperature in general, the hotter it is the better. The amount of steam in the shower room after is frankly suffocating.

Has the second biggest collection of skin care and body care products, all his stuff is expensive, but he'll make sure everyone's favourite stuff is stocked regardless. (Very obsessed however with other people wearing his scents, and visa versa) This man luxuriates, his stuff smells like you'd expect a rich man to smell. Woody, spicy and earthy smells. Like you've walked into a fancy boutique, it is pleasant though. He's never overpowering (what happens when you've got an autistic partner), but he does like to smell nice so he can wrap his partners up in the smell by contact.

Enjoys sharing showers with everyone, will happily bathe with others too but prefers his showers, partially cause he's used to needing to be prepared but also because he just enjoys them. He does get handsy, like a lot, but it's not (always) sexually driven, he's just a very big fan of pampering others, and enjoys touching his partners.

Any shower with Sylus will take longer than you planned. (And he wants to have his hair dried and brushed after.)

MC is similar to Sylus for temperature, but not QUITE as hot, will still leave their skin raw though, and will also spend a fair bit of time in there. Doesn't really actively go out of their way to bathe, but will if someone wants them to join them (ill advised to let them and Xavier bathe together, both fall asleep). Also rarely shares showers with others, unless requested or they really need help cleaning up (or are feeling the need for physical comfort and care).

They prefer to just clean up, zone out for twenty to thirty minutes, and then leave, the routine is important, and is a destress method. Has a stool for the shower too, because taking a prosthetic in there is very ill advised and cleaning yourself one handed can be a real pain in the ass. Much easier for them to sit down sometimes.

Doesn't like strong smelling stuff, but does love tropical scents (coconut, pineapple, mango, passion fruit stuff, as long as it's not too artificial) but will otherwise happily use anyone else's stuff, because it's all been stress tested. (And sometimes they just wanna smell like their partners more)

If they do share a shower, they wanna give as much as they take, but all the guys absolutely have to bend down (or sit on the stool) to let them shampoo hair, they used to stand on the stool to do it. They slipped once, it made Zayne so stressed he put a no standing on the stool rule because they're too clumsy.

Has the most basic care routine because they're terrible at taking care of themselves and only really have started since realising HOW bad they were with the polycule. Is slowly adding self care routines as they find ones the like.

[chiscaralight]

#6 on fishy’s failed kinktober! includes: nsfw balladeer!scaramouche x fatui!fem!reader. electrostimulation, slapping, brat taming, degradation, begging.

everyone knows the balladeer has a short temper. his subordinates fear interacting with him for that reason alone, praying to the archons that they'll survive the next conversation they're forced into it with him.

and everyone pities you once you are moved to work under him for a particular mission in a different nation. you're not as highly irritable as the harbinger you're assigned to, but anyone with a pair of eyes and a half-functioning brain could see this would be the breeding ground for trouble.

scaramouche practically demands respect, and even those who lick at his feet can die by his hands in the most random situation. his subordinates are generally expected to shut up and keep their heads low, to just take the harsh words and move on. it’s better to be insulted and alive, right?

but it’s so difficult having to put up with this terrible behavior for days on end, especially when it’s the fault of your colleagues, misinterpreting instructions and refusing to own up, leaving the blame to be carried on your shoulders.

and the balladeer is ruthless with his insults, raining them down on you without further consultation. your anger is bubbling inside, throat closing with rage before you yell out a retort, claiming he should check the facts before spitting abuse at the wrong person.

his reaction is almost immediate, palm connecting with your face harshly, jolts of electro surging through the skin of your cheek in tandem with the slap.

you can barely hold in the near moan you let out, and you freeze in your tracks. scaramouche pauses too, face contorting from a look of shock to disgust as your cheeks flush. he turns, telling you to get out of his office which you quickly oblige, heading back to your resting quarters as you curse yourself for such a stupid display.

he pays you no mind for the rest of the trip, acting as if you didn’t exist except when assigning orders. you thank the tsaritsa's for letting this shameful moment pass and for sparing your life. but that’s nowhere near the end of it.

but the night you return to shneznaya, ready to return home and have a good night's rest after a long and draining mission, you consider taking your life as one of your colleagues states that the balladeer wants to speak to you. the walk to the office feels like a journey into mare javari, full of nothing but injury and death.

you find yourself face to face with the purple-haired man regardless, room deathly silent after you greet him appropriately.

he’s watching you as you writhe under his gaze. he’s closed the gap between you long ago, and he can feel how shallow your breaths are. he knows you’re waiting for him to strike you down, to kill you for the disrespect. but instead, he’s crashing his lips against yours, pressing your back hard into the door as you struggle to understand what’s going on.

do you find your answer? no. but what you do find is yourself bent over his large wooden desk, chest pressed flat against the hard material as he fucks into you from behind. just like his personality, scaramouche is ruthless with his thrusts, one hand fisted in your hair as the other grips your hips. your head is pulled back, and he’s pumping electro into your side.

each jolt is making your entire body twitch, body shifting hard as he keeps you in place with his inhumane grip.

you can barely fathom the evil in the words he’s saying, each taunt and insult flowing straight through one ear and out the other. you’re pathetic, drooling all over his important documents like this after attempting to call him stupid. of course he knew you weren’t at fault, he’d killed the true culprit long ago. your mannerisms had just piqued his interest, and you’re certainly not disappointing him now.

and you sigh as you’re disconnected from the pulses of electricity from the pulses of electricity. he can feel your legs starting to shake, your moans are getting higher, but he won’t let you off that easy. you have to beg. and you meekly shake your head even in his grip. you can’t, you won't. you’re above begging. another harsh slap to the face, very similar to the first one you’d uneasily been thinking about, the one you touched yourself to night after night has the pleas almost flying out of your mouth, broken cries and pants flooding the space of his office while he drinks them all in.

it’s only the bare minimum, but this is the first of many embarrassing situations the sixth has planned to put you in. so his fingers are pulsing with the power of his creator once more, aggressively pushing on your clit, practically shocking the orgasm out of you. your vision is flashing white hot, and you can’t even hear yourself as you cry out, sobbing through the entire ordeal of your orgasm. it’s painfully sweet, and his hips never still until he’s sure you’re both done.

your head drops to the table and he holds you in place, waiting for you to regain consciousness because he wants you out of his office. not exactly because he wants you gone though, he just wants to see how much more power of his your body can take.

[pomefioredove]

Hi! i’d like to order a sugar cookie, 11, with powdered sugar, marshmallows, and whipped cream please! (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

o7 this was really fun to write!

order #11, sugar with whipped cream, powdered sugar, marshmallows

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ it don't take a word

summary: relationship sabotage and ariel!reader tropes: royalty au, roommate au, coffee shop au (mentioned) characters: floyd additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, little mermaid au!!! actual relationship sabotage

Azul had warned him about this.

"Don't get too invested," he had said, "It's only business."

But, then, when had Floyd ever really listened to his boss? He had been told to keep watch, "Don't let them out of your sight", were the exact words. He cozied up in your room at the castle, called himself a cook, and then got comfortable. It wasn't his fault that there was just... something about you.

Really, if Azul wanted professionalism, he would've had Jade do his dirty work.

You were a lot like him, Floyd had thought. Never happy where you were, always looking for the next interesting thing. That's why you had gone to Azul in the first place, wasn't it? You wanted to be human.

And there was some... boy, or something. Some prince.

Floyd didn't really care about him.

It was his job to prevent you and the guy from getting too close, anyway. What did it matter if Floyd jumped in his place? Azul didn't even have to know! Azul didn't have to know anything.

"Don't get too invested. It's just business,"

But it's not. Not now. Floyd hates when you leave your room to go see that guy. Going to work is one thing, Floyd can sit around a coffee shop on Azul's dime all day, but he can't stalk your dates. That would be... well, sloppy. He didn't really care about the morality of it, but the last thing he needed was for you to get suspicious.

Tonight, you're going to kiss him. The boy, not Floyd. He'd overheard your fishy friends bubbling about it.

Obviously, that's not going to happen.

If he were Jade, or even Azul, he might have the patience to plan something smart. He'd stage an accident and make himself a hero, or he'd blackmail your little boyfriend into backing off.

But he's Floyd, not Jade or Azul.

And so he tails your romantic evening (dinner and a boat ride? Lame, he could do so much better for you) waits to get in the water, and then flips your boat.

You look funny when you're all surprised. Floundering around in that silly outfit as if you didn't know how to swim. No kiss for you!

He practically has to bite your little boyfriend (and by that I mean he does bite him) to get ahold of you and pull you out of the water first.

"Hey, it's you!" he shouts, dragging you to shore. "What're you doing in the water, flapping your arms around like a fish without fins, huh?"

You sputter, covered in seaweed and saltwater, pointing at him.

"You know this guy?" your boything asks. Floyd ignores him.

"I was out for a swim,"

You squint, as if to say ...Now? In your clothes?

Floyd looks down at himself. He's wearing a full suit. Oh, right. "Didn't really feel like changing,"

You seem to accept that, and keep picking the kelp out of your hair, but your prince looks suspicious. Floyd sticks his tongue out at him.

"Awh, you're all wet. Guess you're gonna have to call off your little date," he says, taking you by the arms and lifting you to your feet. "Let's get you dried up. Wouldn't wanna catch something, huh?"

He grabs your wrist and drags you away before you can say no.

Floyd slams the door as soon as you're inside with him, losing the tension in his shoulders. "Don't get too invested," Azul had said.

Azul doesn't know anything.

"Poor fishy. Your prince didn't even spare you a second glance!" he says, dumping a heap of towels on your head. "He woulda let you drown if I weren't there. You're real lucky."

You give him a pout. He pretends he doesn't see it. "Here, I'll make 'ya something warm,"

Floyd goes down to the kitchen, and you follow, towel wrapped around your shivering shoulders.

He starts heaping butter and oil into a pan, and then looks over his shoulder at you. You stand there, silent as ever. What he wouldn't give to hear you speak. Just once.

"...Ya know," he says, kicking the oven to get it started. "...I could probably call in a few favors for the voice thing."

You raise an eyebrow. He smirks. "What, you don't believe me? Just... keep that in mind. If the whole prince thing doesn't work out,"

[demonic0angel]

with how young Jason is in the silkie au and the unknown about sea education, he could think that kiss = baby. He sees Jazz with seal pup Dani for the first time and draws all the wrong conclusions.

(PFFTT—)

Part 1

Jason froze at the sight of his selkie approaching him. She swam over to him fluidly, doing a flip in the water to show off and although Jason absentmindedly clapped his hands, he was mostly staring at the seal pup by her side. The little seal pup was all white, covered in a soft fuzz and swam over shyly.

They had blue eyes, just like him.

Jason was pretty sure that baby Mer grew up in eggs and it didn’t take them that soon to grow up, but maybe selkies were different? After all, they were magical and mammals.

…. What sort of baby did a selkie and a Mer even make?

Jason shook his head to wave away the thought and then hugged his selkie close to him. She made a confused noise, tilting her head but happily returning the hug. The seal pup stared at them curiously, nudging its little nose against their tails.

“I will take responsibility,” Jason said in a deep voice to show his conviction. “I’ll take care of both of you, okay?”

He pulled back to look into her dark turquoise eyes. She blinked, the perfect picture of cuteness.

Both of them were too young to be parents and it was more of his selkie’s fault for kissing him than his, but Jason was a very responsible little Mer. Also, he had Bruce to take care of him and he was pretty sure that Bruce wouldn’t mind being a grandfather. Dick would be a good uncle and Alfred was the best, so surely they would all help him.

Jason nodded to himself, a plan already forming. He took one of his selkie’s flippers in hand and said, “C’mon, we have to make a plan!” He paused in place and turned around to draw the seal pup into his arms, who was swimming rather slowly due to its size. “Let’s go see my guardian. Let’s go before you run out of air!”

Both selkies exchanged bewildered and confused looks but followed the over excited lionfish Mer.

Dani stared at her sister with confusion. Wasn’t she supposed to just meet her friend and no one else? Why were they both swimming to meet this Mer’s dad?

Jazz could only give a seal’s equivalent of a shrug.

She had no idea what was going on either, but her Jason was very dashing as he swam so determinedly, so… it probably wouldn’t be too bad?

Bruce would later have a fishy heart attack as his youngest came back with two selkies, declaring one his wife and the other his child.

[fire-lizard-ro]

Lemurian Form Rafayel - rut

I forgot to post this here. Crosposted on my AO3. The tags are for both parts, but you won't necessarily see those things on both parts.

pt. 1/2 - Houston We Have a Problem

CW: non-human genitalia, oviposition, vent fingering, oral (f and m receiving), breeding, breeding kink, cum inflation, squirting, edging (self inflicted), prone bone, cowgirl position, dumbification, dacryphilia, overstimulation, sex toys, you guys mutually scratch each other up lol, fucking while swimming, underwater sex, dom/sub switching, top Rafayel, masturbation, he has to stretch you out, cum eating/swallowing

reader gender: fem

Rafayel had explained it to you before. The cycles he went through. Something something moon cycles, something something rut- You had listened to his words when he, embarrassed and red-faced with a flush that crawled down his neck to his chest, explained it. But he wasn't exactly clear on all it entailed. Just that it was an occurrence due to being Lemurian. Seasons and stuff.

So you didn't really think much of it.

You really, really should have.

Rafayel was partially to blame for you ending up here. Actually- When he no longer had you pinned beneath him, writhing like the fish you often teased him about being, you were going to promptly smack him over the head. Because he was entirely at fault for this predicament.

Having not been able to explain this... condition to you due to flustering, you were unaware of the situation that had been creeping up on you even back then.

Your fishie had been acting a bit odd lately. At times he was clingy as can be, while at others he was almost completely avoidant of you. His behaviors began to deviate beyond the norm, even for his erratic and ever changing self.

Sleeping and eating more yet seemingly more energized and restless. The odd bounce between being glued to your hip to nervously skittering away from you when you'd drift close.

You asked what was wrong, but he said he was just starting to feel a bit sick. And so you'd left it at that, hoping that if anything was seriously wrong that he'd tell you.

But then when he didn't darken your doorstep for the past few days and you hadn't heard from him since the last you'd called... You'd promptly made your way over as soon as you were off work.

Key turned and door pushed open, you were immediately dizzy as a smell you couldn't quite place buffeted you. Like sex and something else that was far too enticing to be normal. It wrapped around you like an embrace and tugged your feet forward, beckoning. The next thing you noticed was the sound of Rafayel... moaning? Was he- His voice was sweet and something about it had your head a bit foggy. But not in an uncomfortable way. As you approached his room, his moans became louder and there was a slick sound you soon found out was his fist squeezing around his cock; bathed in his sticky white pleasure as it dribbled in a sluggish but constant flow- To the point you weren't sure if your boyfriend was actively cumming or if it was just leaking from him without restraint. Your question silently lingered in your head for but a moment as your split second thought was immediately interrupted by a quiet whine of your name. Now Rafayel was typically loud when you two took a tumble in the sheets, easily voicing his pleasure to you while between your legs. But now, he whispered your name reverently and guiltily. Like he was going somethnig shameful or embarrassing yet could not help himself. Suddenly his eyes snapped up to see you in the doorway of his room, having smelled the arousal now staining your panties, and he came with a sound that was almost like a cross between a squeal and a moan. His cum gushed from his tip- no, tips?- that were now in clear view as he threw his head back and arched into the tight grip of his hand.

As he came down from his high, shaking and panting, he seemed to realize what just happened. With a panicked call of your name as he tried to cover up his cocks(?), Rafayel's raspy voice called your name. "I uh-" He cleared his throat and looked away, his already flushed face seeming to reach a deeper shade, somehow. "My rut... I meant to tell you but I just couldn't," he began as your feet padded closer, your weight soon settling on the bed beside him. He gasped, for more than one reason, when your hand cupped his cheek to turn his face to you. When he looked into your eyes, your pupils widened and gaze hot, he realized his fears had been unfounded. "I had been worried I'd scare you away. This isn't exactly typical for humans, after all." He instinctively leaned into your touch, his hair brushing your forehead with how close you'd drawn.

You shook your head, giggling a bit at the ticklish feeling of those purple strands sweeping across your skin. "No way. You're my Rafayel, right?" A choked sound came from the man practically falling into your arms at the moment, a peek of his shining scales flourishing at your words over the flesh of his cheeks. Pupils dark, they swallowed the blue-pink of his widened eyes. A tinge of a brighter, glowing blue flashed through the small sliver of color still ringed around the black, there one moment and gone the next as the ethereal man blinked quickly while reorienting himself.

"Yes. Your Rafayel," he confirmed breathlessly, a chuckle just as breathless chasing his words.

"Let me help?" you asked, your panties slick with your lust but your eyes tender with your affection. Rafayel carefully encircled you with strong arms, skin hot and grip firm- like he didn't want to let you go again. "Please-" You reached for him, but your hand was gently caught in his. "Wait- I didn't mean now, Miss Hunter. I know you're eager to catch your prey, but it might be a bit too much for you to handle right now," he teased. But you could hear the very real concern beneath that lilting, easy tone. Uncovering his lap he'd hastily thrown the blanket over, the Lemurian revealed the... issue.

So your eyes hadn't tricked you. He had... Two. Huh. "If we try to do anything now... I don't want to lose my reason and end up hurting you," Rafayel explained with a sigh. "I kinda can't control myself when I'm like this. All I can think about is, well... this," he continued, a hand pressed against your sternum before sliding low to rest just above your twitchy heat.

"So-" you began to ask. "Sooooo-" He interrupted with a smile, "I have to get you ready. I can't stretch you enough to take both of them in one night. But- I'm not in rut just yet. This is just what comes before it happens. We have time." His lips pressed to yours in a chaste, but intense kiss. As though he could contain neither his need for you nor his love.

"Okay, cutie?" "Okay." "Good girl."

The way your breath came out in a rush at his words made him smile. He knew what that sort of thing did to you and he loved it.

You swatted his shoulder to which he jokingly pretended to be injured by. After yet another kiss... "Can I at least help you out a little now? Maybe not that way, but..." you asked, slowly moving to straddle his legs before sliding down until you were positioned just right. You continued slowly, so he could stop you if he wanted to, hand pressed to his chest to lead him in laying down. "Don't-" He was cut off by his own gasping moan at the feeling of your smaller hands wrapping around his cocks. "Don't push yourself," Rafayel managed to get out.

With a smile and a kiss to his hip, you slid your body down to come face to face with his throbbing need. You resolved to do your best to alleviate the need that plagued your fishie and proceeded to give him one long lick all the way up the shaft of the dick closest to you, gently firming up your grip on the other in the meantime. You slid your tongue, now messy with his almost pearlescent spend, over the sensitive head before swallowing down Rafayel's cum. You'd yet to break eye contact with him, his gaze held by yours, captivated and unwilling (unable) to look away. You set about cleaning off both cocks, delighting in the way that your beloved squirmed and writhed beneath your hand pressed to his belly to help keep him still. His cries of pleasure and frustration both equally sweet as you teased him. "If you're gonna help then at least don't tease me- Please, baby, I'm already begging-"

During your regular escapades, whether he begged easily or not was a toss up on the days he let you take the reigns. You didn't think the whole... pre-rut situation helped him in this matter.

With every purposeful pass over his cockheads, tongue occasionally digging into the slit of whichever held your mouth's attention at the moment, you couldn't stop the way your cunt would tingle and clench around nothing at the way you could feel his arousal gush out against your wet muscle. Finally, after sucking the last bit of the mess off his sex, you smirked at him before pressing one of them to your lips and take it into your mouth. Slowly, ever so slowly- You slid his cock deeper to tap at the opening of your throat. Resting it there, you moaned at the heavy feel of the shaft parting your lips and weighing on your tongue. With a steadying breath to prepare yourself, you pushed your head farther down to squeeze his pulsating cock into your throat. You could vaguely register the sound of Raf pulling at the sheets you both lay on as he tried to not thrash about while you made your open up for him. The tight squeeze of you threatening to take him over. And it did. The second the blunt head of his cock went as deep as it could in your wet, warm throat, your nose pressed to his pelvis and lips stretched around the base of him- He couldn't hold back. With a choked moan, Rafayel came.

All attempts to push you off were combatted by your free hand holding onto one of the offending appendages while pushing your head against the other trying to dislodge you. You relished in the feeling of him throbbing against the tight seal of your lips and deep in your throat as his other cock spilled over his belly, adding to the pool of previous loads staining his skin and pooling in the divots of his muscles, your hand still moving over the shaft as you had been doing unconsciously while swallowing down the other. The nasty sounds of your mouth and throat working around the large intrusion and the feeling of his thick spend as it was emptied down your throat were doing things to you. And it was clearly doing things to Rafayel. With the look on his face as he watched you- he hadn't looked away once, not even to close his eyes in ecstacy- you think that if you asked him his name, he'd only call for you with a fucked out voice.

With a hummed moan muffled by his cock, you slowly began to pull off. The wet sound of it sliding out of your throat had him keening out your name again as he nearly ripped the sheets. Sucking even as you pulled off of him, you stopped to let him finish cumming it the warmth of your mouth; letting him ride out and extending his high. As you suckled at his softening dick, you gave one last swallow and finally let his manhood plop onto his belly with the other similarly wrung out cock. Of course that only smeared more cum on the once cleaned off shafts, but that was expected.

"I think that was... an... attempt on my life-" Raf practically wheezed out between panting breaths as you shuffled over to lay next to him with the man himself moving to bury his face in your neck to lazily kiss at the skin there reverently and affectionately. Your laugh was quiet as you replied, "I'd tell you to not to be dramatic, but that would be like telling a fish not to swim." "Very funny, cutie," was his only response before he kisses you, tongue invading your mouth and tasting himself all over in your wet cavern.

Whilst looking at him and running fingers through his hair soothingly amidst your kisses, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye that made you break away from making out which caused Rafayel to whine. "Are you- Are you hard again?" Not only was he stiffening up again after lord knows how many orgasms, but it was so soon after just cumming down your throat. He sighed and explained shortly, "Rut does that to me. Don't worry about it, really. You've already helped me plenty tonight. I don't feel nearly as about-to-die-from-being-overheated-and-horny as I was before you helped."

As you laid together, he began to finally explain everything to you properly while running his hands over you tenderly.

The next few days would be intense for you. But with Rafayel with you, you didn't worry. You cuddled closely together as you both finally drifted into sleep that night.

[greentrickster]

Okay, so, been reading some good scumplane (OG!Shen Qingqiu/Airplane) lately, because in this house we support Airplane being loved by terrifying/terrifyingly hot men, but also, like... I do love Moshang just so so much as a ship.

And all this has awoken a mighty need in me.

A need for a Moshangjiu fic with scumplane getting established first and then bringing our favorite popsicle in on things.

Anyway, scenario! Shen Qingqiu starts noticing Shang Qinghua when they're disciples via the classic scenario of being smart enough to realize something is fishy about SQH being the only survivor of a demon attack, begins paying attention to his most anxious shidi, accidentally shows his most anxious shidi the simplest of Human Kindness, accidentally becomes shidi's favorite shixiong, accidentally becomes friends with shidi, accidentally catches feelings. Continues being a Sneaky Bastard in order to figure out what shidi is up to (and now also to confirm shidi is single).

Ah, shidi is entangled with an Ice Demon. This shixiong will make use of his scholarly peak's library to learn all and then decide to- wait. Wait, it's super violent by human standards, but is it- is this demon attempting to... court shidi?

...

Not if SQQ dates him first he's not!!!

There follows a whirlwind romance between SQQ and SQH where no one really knows what's going on, especially the two involved, it involves a lot of shit talking about everyone else in their lives, snacks, and accidental trauma bonding.

Also Airplane being Airplane and accidentally spilling that not only is he also kinda crushing (bad) on Mobei-jun, but also Mobei-jun's entire backstory and please, shixiong, I know it all looks bad but this shidi's house is literally the only place in the world it's completely safe for his king to sleep, everyone deserves to sleep without having to worry about their relatives murdering them for things that aren't their fault from time to time, right, shixiong???

Shen Qingqiu: ...goddammit, the demon's a fellow sad little meow meow. (only not in these exact words because he doesn't know these phrases, naturally)

In a wild, bold, and - dare I say it - shockingly sexy convolution of thought processes and ideas, SQQ manages to finagle SQH into letting him meet with MBJ (SQH nearly has a heart attack three times in the process but it's fine, it's cool, this is his life, this may as well happen, it's fine-).

SQQ: It has come to my attention that my shidi is spying for you on our sect.

MBJ: (glowering at SQH, who is cowering behind shixiong wondering how he got talked into all this)

SQQ: However it also appears that this is merely a cover story and the only thing you really do is use his room to nap. And also that you are quite fond of him.

SQH: (This is it, this is how I die. Again.)

MBJ: (...if I stare straight ahead and don't change my expression, no one will be able to tell that he's right)

SQQ: So anyway I think you should join Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.

MBJ: (gears grinding)

SQH: (squawking splutters of protest and confusion)

SQQ: (who speaks panicking!SQH at this point) Stop that, it's perfectly reasonable. He has the head disciple of our logistics peak under his thumb, it would be the simplest thing in the world for him to have you throw the sect into absolute chaos without even trying, then organize an attack, swoop in, and crush us all. He could have done it years ago, but he never has, he never even seems to initiate anything. I don't think he even cares about taking the Northern Throne, I think he's just incompetent about wanting to spend time with you. So he might as well just lie low until our shizuns ascend and then I'll take him on as a disciple on Qing Jing and you two can stop sneaking around like idiots.

MBJ: >8O

SQQ: Are you actually opposed?

MBJ: (folds arms and looks away sulkily, because like... it's true but you don't have to say it like that)

SQH: 8O ...reverse uno...

SQQ: What?

SQH: You're reverse unoing my blorbo!

SQQ: Quit making up word-

SQQ cannot continue because the System just presented the option to accept this potential new plot line (even if it does have the rather confusing title of 'Shidi Has Two Hands'), and holy shit, Mobei-jun seems to be potentially down for it, holy shit, apparently Mobei-jun actually likes me, holy shit, SQQ may have just solved all my problems-?!? This is great, this is fantastic, this is the best day of my life, this- is a long time I'm being allowed to be myself about all this, why is Shen shixiong not interrupting...?

Ah.

It is because I am kissing him full on the lips.

Cool cool cool.

At least I'm gonna die on a high note.

SQQ: O///O o_o (ahem) Shidi's- shidi's a really bad kisser.

SQH: Ah-haha, I can explain-

SQQ: We should work on that. Later.

SQH: (BEST DAY OF BOTH MY LIVES!!!)

MBJ: (I... did not actually hate watching that. Hm.)

Anyway, he agrees to the plan, SQQ and SQH start dating, some more time passes, the previous generation of peak lords ascend, the new generation take their places, and a week later Mobei-jun is an outer disciple of Qing Jing Peak.

The other peak lords are not amused, Qingqiu that is a demon, no.

SQQ: So what I'm hearing is that whole 'Cang Qiong will accept anyone from anywhere' philosophy was a lie then?

He's a demon!

SQQ: Children can't help where they're born. Now if you'll excuse me, I have classes to teach.

First lesson of the day is SQH and SQQ are a package deal, take it or leave it. Second lesson is no canoodling with Shang Shibo until you've finished with lessons and chores for the day. Third lesson is if you see any Bai Zhan disciples hassling our peak's disciples you can break their swords. Just snap 'em in half. Throw them off the peak. Don't kill them, but do make them cry.

SQH, meanwhile, has now seen MBJ in an outer disciple uniform and had a whole bunch of new awakenings on top of all the other things he already knew about himself.

And, in a twist of dramatic irony... Qing Jing's first disciple to ever have demonic heritage decides the dorms are a no-go after one night because, to him, they are broiling hot, how can anyone sleep in this heat, and chooses to go sleep in the wood shed instead.

[elpeadro]

If the writers wanted CaitVi to be their canon OTP so damn bad, they had two ways of going about it:

THE GOOD ENDING:

Caitlyn doesn’t turn to fascism in her grief and rage. Ambessa still takes advantage of the council bombing to goad Piltover’s elite toward supporting martial law, likely installing Salo as her puppet as she originally planned to, but Caitlyn is one of the few who protest and refuse to be swept up in the authoritarian fervor Ambessa stokes. Because:

1) there’s no way she wouldn’t notice how fishy the attack on the memorial was. This is the same person who pieced together the conspiracy surrounding Silco and his criminal empire without ever stepping foot in Zaun. She’s a great detective who has been shown to see through the surface level cover-up. Not to mention the list of potential suspects with both motive and means is very small. Add on Mel’s insight, who she would interact with as one of the other Piltover characters who resists Ambessa’s scheming, and they would definitely pin Ambessa as their prime suspect. The problem is that they have no proof. All of the attackers are dead. Ambessa covered her tracks well, a nod to Noxian subterfuge in the wider lore. 

And most of all, and most horrifyingly, Piltover doesn’t care. They’re angry. They’re outraged. Their bigotry is being preyed on by Ambessa, but they hardly need a push to go from the indifferent oppression of Zaun to active, overwhelming oppression. They already saw Zaunites as a monolith: criminals, street scum, dirty people who need to stay out of Piltover’s golden streets.

That Jinx is the lone guilty party is irrelevant. Her attack threatens their status quo. It has disrupted the utopia of Piltover living in its ivory towers without a care in the world, and they will bring back that false sense of security by crushing any possibility of Zaun fighting back ever again.

and 2) even with the grief of losing her mother fresh on her mind, this is still Caitlyn Kirammen we’re talking about. The woman who gives up her rifle - not just a prized possession, but her means of self-defense and safety when she’s deep in the worst parts of Zaun - without a second thought to save Vi’s life. The woman who hugs Huck, a homeless drug addict with a cancerous-like growth on half his forehead, of her own volition.

Because she cares.

As we are reminded time and time again in season 1, while Caitlyn is an incredibly naive, privileged, idealistic woman with an exceptional ability to put her foot in her mouth and say the most tone deaf things, she has a good heart, and more importantly, is willing to learn. It isn’t easy at the start, but when confronted with the irrefutable proof of how awful Piltover’s treatment of Zaun is, she listens. She feels sympathy for Zaunites, even if they are drug addicts (Huck), convicts (Vi), or gang leaders (Ekko).

That same Caitlyn, the one we see a small glimpse of in episode 1 when she protests that innocents will be caught in the crossfire, would not stand for Piltover’s martial law and mass imprisonment of Zaunites. She would try to fight it alongside Mel, using her position and influence in the enforcers as Mel uses hers as a politician.

(While she still develops an obsession over Jinx and getting justice for her mother’s death, she doesn’t see collective punishment and chemical weapons as acceptable costs of achieving said justice.)

And if the writing stayed true to the themes of class conflict in season 1, then she would quickly be forced to confront the horrible realization that there is no fixing this. The faults are systematic, not individualistic.

It doesn’t matter if it’s Marcus or Salo or Ambessa or whoever. The enforcers and Piltover will always be corrupt institutions stepping on the necks of Zaun. Piltover’s society is rotten from the inside out. And if she isn’t going to stand by and let it happen (because she refuses to compromise her morals and enforce martial law, because she cares - not just about Vi, but about Ekko and the Firelights, Huck, all the innocent people who will be swept up in Piltover’s thirst for blood), then the only way forward is to fight against Piltover.

So she becomes a class traitor. She fights alongside Vi and Ekko in repelling enforcers and Noxian soldiers from Zaun, protects the innocent. 

Her relationship with Vi develops healthily compared to the canon season 2 - or as best it can in the midst of fighting a war and given their personal issues (Caitlyn’s grief and rage; Vi's self-loathing and guilt) - and they are good for each other.

It becomes a loving, supportive relationship and a wonderful piece of queer representation.

It would be beautiful. Not just the love and trust they have in each other, but that such love can flourish even in dark times. That people are capable of being defined not by their class and the systems they are born into, but by their actions and morals.

(Would such writing be too radical for the higher-ups at Netflix, Riot, and Fortiche (i.e. writing a class traitor and class war)? Most likely, but that discussion is for another time.)

Part 2: The Bad, Tragic Ending

Part 3: The Disjumbled, Tonal Mess of an Ending We Got

[strwbrychffoncke]

"guess thats my own fault for makin you my world, now all i feel is blue,, 1.7k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: what would the matrimony between the god of the sea and his beloved look like? contains: lads rafayel x f!mc reader ,angst no comfort ,set before raf + mc reunite (in this timeline) ,depictions of Lemuria ,GoT!raf but hes kinda softer here lol ,possible inaccurate wedding ceremony depictions (never been to one bare w me) ,raf just wants his mermaid bride ugh ,yearning!raf ,thats all i can think of ,basically fluff until its not note: (unedited!) based off the unofficial leak/banner predictions w talk of a wedding card but make it angsty... i just hope i was able to execute it ok..? forgive me rafayel kissers i will make it up to u somehow....

-

the light in the depths of the ocean shone upon the interior of the main palace, highlighting the pearlescence of the pillars stretching towards the top, framing the windowpanes of glass that served as view upon view of the sparkling blue as fish of various sizes came and went. flora of various colors bloomed at the foot of each pillar, each small step, adding a touch of life to the endless royal white, reaching up towards the artificial light of the deep. silk curtains flitted and swayed against the various windowsills, and he was stood by one of them.

he blinked.

he found himself back in that underwater palace, in the middle of a long corridor that he knew all too well.

his arms were folded across his bare chest as he looked around, subconsciously seeking out something, or someone.

he took a few steps forward, away from the window, the various embellishments hanging from his clothes gently jostling with tinkling sounds as he made his way down the crisp walkway. his footsteps echoed down the empty halls, the only sounds accompanying them being the movement of the ocean around him.

a puzzled look crossed his otherworldly features.

the emptiness of the centre was not foreign but uncommon, only occurring should there be some grand event or ceremony taking place at the altar or elsewhere.

he gazed out through the clear windows, watching a school of fish swim by, eyes drifting up towards the waters' surface.

not that he could see it, not from down here at least.

he must've been lost in thought of the surface, because he missed the pitter-patter of steps echoing down the hallway towards him until the person's voice reached him.

"what are you doing here? we're going to be late!"

the informal way in which he's spoken to goes right over his head as he hears that voice, slowly turning his head towards the soruce.

he feels his breath leave his lungs.

its you.

though, instead of your usual attire, you're dressed in something completely different.

from head to toe, you're wrapped up in the traditional Lemurian wedding attire. its still a two piece but mostly white with light blues and pastels- a sign of the uncoming matrimony. the top fit to your exact measurements hugging your chest perfectly, pretty pearls embellishing the neckline with sheer fabric falling over your midriff. the bottoms are a similar white shade, the same pearls decorating the edges, light purple and pink pieces flowing beautifully from them. your shoes match too, creamy white and shiny, clicking beneath you with each step you take.

but what catches his attention the most is the headpiece.

there's pearls and little chains dangling from it and there's the same sheer fabric falling over your face-

your veil.

he's frozen, staring at you, and this only seems to agitate you further.

"helloooo? earth-to-fishy?" you step forward, waving your hand in front of him to break his trance.

he blinks.

when you see this, you quickly reach out for his hand, and pull him forward.

"come on, you don't want the elder to chastise you, do you, your grace?"

the last two words leave your lips in a teasing tone, throwing him a small smirk.

he scoffs, but the edge of a grin peeks from his lips.

"is that any way to speak to your God?"

"it is when you're late for your own wedding!"

he allows himself to be dragged away by you, trailing behind you with hurried steps (keeping up with your jogging as you drag the sea god) watching the way the fabric of your outfit flows behind you, the sounds of the colored beads and chains a pleasing jingle in the silence.

its only then that he realises his own outfit is much more formal than his usual wear (albeit still light, considering he's still shirtless), his outfit matching colors with yours.

a mix of feelings swell up in his chest, grasping your hand a little tighter. if you notice, you don't comment on it.

. . .

it isn't long before you arrive at the altar.

the beginning is a bit of a blur. sure, there's been ceremonies before that he's both attended and been a part of, but this was something else entirely.

all of Lemuria was here to witness the gathering of their sea god and his beloved.

he took his place at the front of the alter first, everyone's eyes following him to his spot, and looked toward the aisle that he only just realized was decorated with various shells, pearls, and small flowers.

something shifts, like a drop of water rippling over the ocean's surface, and there you are.

he had just seen you, but in this lighting, its as if you are the one everyone is here to worship, to watch become entangled with an outsider.

you were absolutely radiant.

you walk slowly, (a little bashful, he notes) giving everyone the time to admire the details of your outfit, the grace in which you carried yourself, your willingness to stand next to their god—

it filled him with a mix of pride and possessiveness.

while everyone was allowed to lay their eyes on you now, they were about to be witness to you being claimed by him completely (and he, you).

all of Lemuria would watch you two come together, as the sea god's betrothed.

two worlds combining in the name of love.

as soon as you're close enough, he takes your hands and tugs you towards him, throwing you off balance and almost making you fall into him, but you're quick to catch yourself.

you shoot him a look, and he only grins at you.

the ceremony begins, and you both stare into each other's eyes as the elder clears his throat and begins with the opening words.

its a bit of a bore, pleasantries and formalities about the dear god of the sea and his beloved joining together in this ceremony of love. rafayel stares at you as the elder speaks, noticing that a lot of what's being said might be going a little over your head, but he doesn't mind.

after all, Lemurian wedding ceremonies greatly differed from mere human ones, considering the dedication it means when they've found their one true mate for life.

Lemurians live for love, after all.

only after plenty of formalities does the ceremony officially come to you both, repeating vows to one another. rafayel wears something between a pleased and amused half-grin when you're meant to repeat words and phrases in Lemurian, trying your best to mimic him yet struggling to do so with how the unfamiliar language feels on your tongue.

after each phrase, you look towards him, tilting your head in a silent question.

'did i do well?'

and each time, he squeezes your hands in response, offering a short nod.

once you finish, he offers a pleased grin, easing the furrow of your brow and watching you breathe a deep sigh of relief.

you pout lightly then— an unspoken qualm.

'so difficult... you didn't prepare me for this!'

he tilts his head slightly, offering nothing but a lazy grin in response.

'i'll teach you more.'

. . .

shortly thereafter, the ceremony has reached its most anticipated point.

"by the power vested in me by the sea, i now pronounce you husband and wife. the lord may now kiss his bride."

his bride.

those words were like music to his ears.

he looked down at you, deep sunrise meeting your bright gaze, staring back at him with anticipation and something akin to nervousness.

he offers a smile, releasing your hands in favor of reaching for your face, parting your veil and cupping your cheeks in his palms.

he leans down, eyes half-lidded, heart pounding in his chest.

all of Lemuria would see...

"my beloved bride..." he murmurs.

the sea god and his beloved were meant to be.

his eyes flutter closed as he leans in.

his lips brush against yours, grazing against the soft warmth of your lips when you suddenly speak something against his.

"wake up."

his entire body goes rigid, and instead of cheers, nothing but white noise seems to surround him.

he feels your hand around the back of his neck, your head reaching up, lips leaning close to his ear now.

"you have to wake up."

he feels as if he can't breathe, like he's a helpless creature that's been cast to the deepest pits of the ocean, nothing but the sound of his heart beating loud in his ears—

he wakes with a start, gasping for air, his hand over his chest.

when he realises where he is, rafayel blinks his bleary eyes open, squinting at the sun peeking through the glass roof.

when had he fallen asleep?

"a dream....?"

he reaches his hands forward to shield the light from his eyes, but his gaze can't help but to land on his empty ring finger.

he drapes the back of that hand over his face, his other falling back to his side.

"my beloved bride......"

how cruel the world was, to conjure up his very fantasy and make it feel so real that he was able to hear your voice, see you in your entirety, feel your warmth....

his thumb absentmindedly traces over his lips.

what he would give to kiss yours again.

he supposes its partially his fault, turning over on his side to gaze at his half-finished painting depicting Lemuria in its glory days, something he'd continue longing to return to so long as it remained forgotten in the darkness— a grave of his creation.

but there was something, someone, who he longed for just a little bit more.

and if he could only choose one, then he figured....

he pulled himself to sit up, roughly rubbing his face against his hands, stretching his sore limbs before deciding to soak himself in a morning bath.

he had long since decided that he would wait on you, his beloved, to come back to him, to reach out to him, so that he could grab you, pull you against him, and never let you go again.

even if that was a wishful dream, he didn't forsake the idea of making you his bride altogether. even if it wouldn't be possible to have it done in his tradition, even if he wouldn't get his familiars to bare witness, that was okay.

so long as the ceremony was done by the shore, the sea's witness to it would be enough for the ocean to acknowledge the matrimony of the sea god.

for now, the sea that surrounded him would keep the secret of the stray pearls that fell from the former sea god's sunrise-colored eyes as he counted another day without you.

-

a/n: maybe i wouldn't have to make him suffer if the GoT had just come home to me sigh..........

-

[lavenlady]

Hai hello!

I really like your work and the way you present the characters ^^

Would you be interested in writing megatron or Optimus prime (whichever you prefer :3) x Organic/cybertronian reader? Maybe she was previously Sentinel's partner who he got as a gift for killing the rest of the primes? Maybe they knew her earlier as Orion pax or D-16?

I really like your work

I am happy that you liked it! I have decided to do both but more on D-16 side.

The reader will be a minicon - small but powerful!

Enjoy :3

✿Special Gift✿

D16/Megatron and Orion Pax/Optimus Prime

➤ You were 'taken in' by Sentinel Prime

➤ Forged a little after the betrayal so you do not know the truth, but found the perfect Prime suspicious - he was just too perfect

➤ You were a minicon and minicons posses the ability to power up cybertronians, so Sentinel saw usefulness in you and decided to let you keep your cog, even then you only reached the hip of a miner bot

➤ It was a win-win for Sentinel, he just kept getting more and more powerful after his successful 'promotion' - a special gift that made him more of an Icon in Iacon

➤ Oh how many times he showed off with your help and called you his partner

➤ You were usually by Sentinels side in Iacon but were always left behind when the Prime went searching for the Matrix of Leadership

➤ You couldn't really go anywhere, but after the Iacon 5000 race you were intrigued by those two miners - Orion Pax and D-16

➤ You probably saw how Darkwing threw them into Sub-level 50 and decided to follow them

" So you are the miners that took part in the race. I never knew I would see this in my entire onlining! "

➤ You accompanied them to the surface and finally got to know everyone better, mainly D-16 and Orion Pax

" You sneaked into the archives, nearly got beaten and was close to fall into the void?! On a daily basis?! And I thought I had an exciting life! "

" You are on top of the sector and use a steel bag to train?! You are so strong! I bet you could snap someone in half! "

➤ Then finally finding out the truth...

" Ha! I knew it! There was something fishy about him! "

➤ And others finally got their cogs and you got an upgrade, but couldn't really check as you had to run away

➤ Others had quite a difficulty in transforming and thus you decided in the end to cling to D-16

➤ Then High Guard takes you hostage and D-16 takes on Starscream, but you couldn't just sit there and watch

➤ So you jumped to help D-16, transforming into his fusion cannon, but quite more upgraded

➤ Now you can imagine how easier it was to find them when D-16 fired into the sky

➤ Then Sentinel's pawns capture you and you finally met Sentinel again

➤ All is the same, but as D-16 is about to be branded, you finally transform and jump at Sentinels face trying to buy others time

➤ In the end Sentinel breaks your knee joints to keep you in place and that fuels even more D-16's rage - or rather said fury

➤ His new friend used and forced to do as the false Prime says? Not gonna happen again

➤ Then the branding, the fight that you decided to take part in only wishing for the treachery of Sentinel to end, not expecting Orion's actions

➤ And finally Orion gets shot

➤ You and D-16 didn't want that to happen and especially didn't plan on killing their friend

➤ It was D-16 decision to drop down Orion into the void, but you couldn't really find the reason to leave him - you have to get rid of the false prime still, it was his fault after all

➤ You and now Megatron, after getting the Megatronus Prime's cog and a power up, plan to fix Iacon all together

➤ Then Optimus Prime comes and the battle followed by banishment

➤ You didn't know who to choose, you really liked both of your friends

➤ But at the same time....

➤ Not everything can be solved without violence, it was needed to be done and you will - for now - stand by it

➤ Feeling sad that you have lost some of your friends, but at least you still have D- Megatron left

➤ He promised a new, better future and you are going to help in achieving it, even if it ment to offline in process

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□

(anyway here is the height I imagine the reader having

The cybertronians in Tf One are huge so minicons have to be quite bigger to fit with proportions - at least i think)

(Master list)

[sillyuin]

can i request for svt x grovelling??? I REALLY WANNA SEE HOW THE MEMBERS WOULD BEG FOR ANOTHER CHANCE TO THEIR S/O 😭

Hi anon! sorry it take me so long, I've been really busy with work but here it is.

How svt apologizes after breaking up 💔 (ot13)

Yuin's note: this is purely fiction and my p.o.v. Being honest, as a spanish native speaker I never heard of the word "grovelling" before and I thought I didn't handle the concept properly 😭 but I tried. Any advice is really appreciated.

Scoups, Mingyu, Dino. He’s almost whining for it.

You’ve lost the count of the notifications that came to the phone, and blocking him just doesn't feel right at all (at this point it seems like a good option tho lol). After reading some pity messages you decided to call him and... Oh boy. You didn't need to look him in the eyes to realize he was about to cry, he insists a thousand times that everything has been his fault and that he will do whatever is necessary to make things up.

Jeonghan, Joshua, Minghao. Tries to keep it cool but is not.

After some days with zero contact, you received an unexpected call and he’s inviting you go for a walk; it’s a bit awkward because it feels too quiet but you accept anyways. There is definitely something fishy going on. He seemed very stoic and, respectfully, he apologizes if something he did or said offended you, asking for a peace agreement. But you know him very well and you don't give in, until he's flustered enough to open up about his feelings and begs for another chance with you.

Jun, Dokyeom. Wants to say a lot but his head is a mess.

His mind has simply left this astral plane because, the moment you accidentally ran into him during an outing, he completely froze. He tries to be friendly and makes an effort to address you but his voice is so, so shaky he can’t even say a coherent sentence, making this situation even more uncomfortable. When you decided to leave as quick as possible, It was like the ideas in his head finally connect and asks for your forgiveness in the most desperate way possible, then he breaths and starts speaking out while his face blushes with embarrassment.

Seungkwan, Hoshi. Wants to say a lot and says a lot.

The phone has rung several times during the day and after countless missed calls, you decide to answer just bc you’re tired of this situation. However, as soon as you answer, there's no time to say hello properly when he starts talking as if this were a rehearsed speech. He had never said so many things to you in this lifetime. “I’m sorry for the time I didn’t close the toothpaste” “I’m sorry for making a midnight snack and leaving the kitchen a mess” “I’m sorry for the time I…” And so on for a long time.

Wonwoo, Woozi, Vernon. Straight to the point.

Too straightforward for his own being lmao. He just comes to your apartment with an nice gift and apologized in the most direct way possible, willing to listen to you, no matter how long it will take. Literally left everything behind just to see you :(

[revelboo]

//stands ominously in the corner like a sleep paralysis demon on

I bet BrainStorm is really good with his hands.

🤣 He is, once he figures humans out and realizes he likes them.

My Way Pt 5

Brainstorm x Reader

• “Oh,” you say, sounding surprised as you dip a tiny finger into the dish for more of the sample and your lips close on your finger. Finally. Percy’s human had lost interest after the chemical flavoring he’d been sure humans would like had been described as ‘fishy.’ And you’re not so bad when you’re not leaking and whimpering. Feels good to have someone interested in his work, asking questions and genuinely invested. “This is good. Sweet, but it’s really subtle,” you add, smiling up at him. It’s not like he needs your validation, but a hungry part of himself that he hates loves the attention. Craves it. Someone to smile and tell him he’s doing good.

• It’s hard to tell with the battlemask covering his lower face, but you think he’s pleased, his wings flaring out slightly like a bird preening. And he’s not so scary now that you know he’s no threat to you. Seeing that other person, talking to them, had helped calm the panic. You still don’t love this situation or that they can’t give you a straight answer on when you can go home, but the giants apparently aren’t interested in hurting you. Trying to make sure you’re happy and comfortable. And that your food is edible.

• Mixing together another combination after cycling it through the scanner to make sure the chemicals aren’t toxic to human physiology after being combined, he siphons some off into a dish and sets it down, sliding it over. Watches your head lift as you smile and dip a finger in, bringing it to your nose to smell first before popping it in your mouth. And you’re wheezing, hacking and gasping almost immediately. Startled as Percy drops what he’s doing and hurries over, Brainstorm scoops you into his hands. Trying to figure out what happened, because that combination was safe. You’re coughing, eyes and nose streaming as he carries you to your dish of water. Can feel your whole body jerking as you cough. “What’s happening?” He asks as Percy grabs a scanner. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he growls, panic lifting through him. This isn’t his fault.

• As soon as he lets you down near the water, you dunk your face in. Mouth, eyes, sinuses all burning. You’d eaten ghost pepper once on a dare and it hadn’t been this bad. This feels like your insides are liquifying. Drinking until you make yourself sick beside the dish, you’re almost immediately dunking yourself again. When you surface wheezing and choking, Brainstorm and Perceptor are arguing, your bot’s wings back as Perceptor gestures at you aggressively. “I’m good,” you wheeze weakly, throat and mouth burning. “But I think you accidentally made mace.”

• Venting as you rest your cheek on your water dish, Brainstorm cups his hands around you. Can feel Percy hovering, the weight of the other bot’s disapproval almost physical. This wasn’t his fault. Those compounds were safe. And one of your tiny hands grabs onto his servo and pats him like you’re trying to comfort him. “That one’s a hard pass,” you croak, still coughing. Not blaming him. Not upset. “Too spicy.” Lifting you into his hands, you look awful. Leaking from every orifice on your face, but not sobbing. “What’s next?”

• Clearing your throat over and over, you hear the other human ask if you’re good and you flash a thumbs up, thankful you only tasted a small amount of whatever that was. Pure unadulterated, liquid pain. And his servos slide against your spine like he’s trying to comfort you and has no idea how. When you look up, he’s just staring at you like he’s not entirely sure what to make of you. “You want to try another one?” He asks, sounding so hopeful you almost start laughing as he looks from you to Perceptor and back. ‘Sure,’ you manage hoping that the last one was the worst.

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