#All That Hard Glossy Armor

[miqojak]

Does your OC observe any ceremonies or festivals of remembrance? Who do they memorialise? How does your OC feel on these occasions?

Actually, there's a piece (Here!) I wrote about exactly this! (Technically, there's a second piece as well - I made it a sort of New Year's/Heaven's Turn tradition for her, after the first one I wrote about here - I wrote about the second one, but I can't find that piece atm...) However, I can talk about it a little OOC as well, though she talks about it in her own weird way in the writing. She's a person carved out by seemingly endless sorrow - it has broken her in a lot of ways, and made her a harsher person than she might have otherwise been... but she has never forgotten who it was all for: her Tribe. Her family. Her home. Her people. Ala Mhigo, yes - but the J Tribe, mostly.

And they are all gone. She is the only one left. She has a lot of trauma surrounding the types of deaths her family had, as well - how dehumanized they were as a people... little more than 'savage beastmen' to their captors. So in remembrance, she is somber. She is grave. She is quiet... she is on the edge. Family was everything to her people - tribe was what was important, and now she is utterly, and singularly alone; the only one left to light a memorial fire. It weighs on her heavily - the weight of a legacy she can see the end of - knowing she is the end of it. Every memorial fire marks one year closer to the end of the Jackal.

Speaking of the memorial fire! I can't find the right word for it, but it's effectively a funeral tradition I've come up with for the J tribe about burning the bones of the fallen, since they are a nomadic desert people - she didn't have the bones of her own fallen people, here, so she used mostly animal bones ( ...don't ask about the others). You build a sort of... small, pyramid-like structure out of the cleaned bones of the fallen, essentially weaving in flammable tinder, and light it up! Send off the fallen warrior's spirit by lighting a beacon to call the Jackal to guide them to the afterlife ( ...and you know, to keep their loved ones' bodies from being dug up to be eaten by desert wildlife). Jak has a lot of survivor's guilt - though, oddly enough, that's what has kept her alive when she really hasn't wanted to be, at times... knowing that all those dead people, all her dead loved ones? Their deaths would be for nothing, if she doesn't achieve something with her life - if she doesn't live it to the fullest, and do whatever it takes to come out on top in life... which isn't the healthiest outlook either, but it's given her a healthy will to live when she had little left.

Once a year, she gets to just go be alone and let all that sad out, all that regret and loneliness - and not be afraid to do so. Taking off her 'armor' is a rare thing.

[princessslolly]

Summer Bishil was phenomenal in this episode!

So. Fucking. Good!

Watch!

So you never give them a chance. You hit first. And anyone dumb enough to hit back soon finds that there’s no hurting you, sheathed in all that hard, glossy armor. Then why does it hurt so much? Why does it feel like I’m losing my mind, Eliot?

[heartsdefine]

@hoboblaidd:

(cont'd) ⇉ ❝ i'm doing some of my best work here and you don't even have the decency to roll your eyes at me. honestly it's hurtful. ❞ Solas barked a laugh despite himself, shaking his head. “Yes, it is very impressive,” he said, dodging the sear of an energy barrage that flew slightly too close to his head. He normally didn’t take pleasure from a fight, focusing on the necessity of the battle rather than its excitement. But after crawling through hot metal and sand for the better part of a day, the unrelenting sun straining even the strongest of his sunblocking spells, Solas was just happy to see it done. Someone else could mourn these Venatori dead. His only thought was for dinner, and shaking the biting crystals of sand from his clothes. “For a Circle mage,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Which he rolled once for good measure.

        “Now, that's much better,” Rosalind said with a smirk, as she moved to stow her staff again. “I love a good back-handed compliment, even coming from an apostate.” The Hissing Wastes were not a forgiving place to travel, that much was true. Though the sunshine didn't bother her nearly so much as the sudden cold when all the light went out of the sky. Shivering slightly and clutching her clock tighter around her, she kicked over one of the Venatori corpses, wrinkling her nose. “We should make camp nearby.” A pause. “Not here, though. Too much clean-up for my tastes.” The Tevinter cultists could come and collect their own dead, as far as she was concerned.

[ii-magician]

I rewatched 3x05 A Day in The Life and then 4x05 Escape from the Happy Place back to back and I am unwell

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (04)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 6.4k

Aliyah's Notes: i'll say it again, but specifically this chapter depicts heavy body image and ed descriptions + vomit so i beg of you to skip the beginning if you're uncomfortable with that. besides that, the chapter is cute and full of rafe and reader moments

No, no, no, no, no…

The air in the cramped bathroom felt stifling, its walls pressing close as if they could hear every breath slipping through your lips. Your phone screen glared up at you, the message burning into your mind, twisting your insides. It felt like a rope tightening around your chest, the words somehow dragging you thousands of miles back to a place you fought so hard to escape.

It was just a text. Just words. But your body reacted as if you’ve been thrown into an ice-cold river, your mind spiraling as your heartbeat thumped in your ears, louder and louder, drowning out all your sense of reason. You weren’t supposed to feel this way—not here, not anymore. You fought too hard to let a few words send you back to that place.

The text was simple, it read: "Hey, do you remember me? Just to let you know we're coming to the U.S. in a few weeks."

Your fingers, knuckles white, tightened around the phone as you tried to calm yourself. You had come so far, broken so many boundaries to make it, to have a life that was your own, that you chose. And now? Now your world felt as fragile as glass, your strength chipped away by something as simple as a message.

For years, you pushed that life aside, buried it beneath layers of success and glossy magazine covers, of flashing cameras and compliments that felt like armor. You learned to smile, to keep your chin up, to say what people wanted to hear. Y/N Y/L/N, the golden girl, they’d call you, the one with the perfect life, the charmed career. They didn’t see the cracks beneath, the memories you pushed so far down you could almost believe they’d never existed.

You missed them, sometimes. In quiet moments, when you let yourself think of them, you felt the familiar pang of loss. But you missed them on your own terms, and never to this point—never to the point of feeling that old, oppressive weight. The suffocating sense of having your every move watched, every thought scrutinized and molded into someone else’s idea of perfection. You’d broken free of those chains. Or at least you thought you had.

Your breath hitched as a tear slipped down your cheek, cold against your heated skin. You quickly wiped it away, but another followed, then another, until you were gripping the edge of the sink, trying desperately to hold yourself together. “You’re okay,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely a breath. “You’re fine. Suck it up, come on.”

The words felt hollow, but you forced yourself to repeat them, steadying your breathing as you stared at your reflection. The woman looking back at you wasn’t the helpless girl from your past; she was someone stronger, someone who’d fought for every inch of her success. But as you brushed away the tears, you wondered just how deep those old wounds ran.

Another shaky breath, another splash of cold water. You didn’t have time for this. Not here, not today. There was a shoot waiting, people depending on you to be the flawless professional you always were. You could fall apart later. That would have to be enough.

Drawing yourself up, you checked your reflection one last time, wiping away any trace of emotion from your face. Your fingers still trembled, but you forced them to steady, exhaling one last time before stepping out of the bathroom, your shoulders set with the poise you spent years perfecting.

As you walked back into the studio, the lights blinded you momentarily, the heat from the set lights prickling against your skin. The room buzzed with activity—assistants darting back and forth, stylists fussing over racks of clothing, and the low hum of the photographer’s voice directing the scene. You slipped back into your role, letting the familiar rhythm carry your as you took your place on set.

“Finally,” the photographer muttered, barely looking up from his camera. “We’re on a schedule, Y/N. I don’t have time for dramatics.” His voice was cold, clipped, as though your presence was nothing more than an inconvenience.

You clenched your jaw, brushing off the comment. Just keep your head down, and keep moving. You struck your first pose, forcing yourself to focus on the rhythm of the camera’s clicks. Each flash, each snap, pulled you farther away from your thoughts, grounding you in the present. You knew this world, knew how to inhabit the perfect persona they wanted from you. You could do this.

“Okay, chin down,” the photographer barked, barely glancing up from his lens. “More. More—there, but tighten up your core, Y/N. It’s looking a little… fat.”

The comment hit you like a slap, the faint tremble returning to your hands. You adjusted your pose, forcing yourself to stay calm. You've heard comments like this before. Your body was scrutinized in ways most people couldn’t understand, your curves debated and dissected like they belonged to someone else. You have been trained to brush it off, to smile and push through it with the poise they expected of you.

But today, after everything, the words dug a little deeper.

The photographer snapped another shot, then lowered his camera, looking you up and down with a critical eye. “You’re slipping, Y/N. You used to be skinnier. Are you having those episodes again?” He cocked an eyebrow, his tone dripping with condescension. “If you’re going to stay at the top, you have to stop whatever it is you’re doing that’s triggering you. That means discipline, diet, focus. Do you have that? Or am I wasting my time here?”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, the words stinging sharper than you wanted to admit. You knew you gained a little weight—nothing drastic, nothing worth commenting on, but in your world, even a fraction of a change was enough to invite scrutiny. You forced yourself to hold your pose, to keep the practiced smile on your face, even as your heart pounded in your chest.

“No,” you said quietly, your voice steady but clipped. “You’re not wasting your time—I understand. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” he said, turning his attention back to his camera. “Because the camera doesn’t lie, Y/N. Either shape up, or Chanel will find someone who will.”

The ride home was a blur, the city lights streaking past the window as you sat, rigid, in the back seat of the car. Your stomach twisted painfully, a churning knot of anger, shame, and something that felt dangerously close to despair. Each time you closed your eyes, the photographer’s words replayed like a cruel loop in your mind, mocking you, unraveling every shred of confidence you’d managed to build. You’re slipping… used to be skinner…discipline, diet, focus. His voice echoed with the ghost of memories you’d focus so hard to bury.

You barely noticed when the car finally stopped. As soon as you stepped out, the familiar ache in your chest intensified, the weight of everything pressing down, suffocating. You fumbled with your keys, barely able to keep your hands steady long enough to unlock the door. Once inside, you kicked off your shoes, not even caring where they landed, and stumbled over to the couch. Every nerve in your body screamed, the urge clawing at you with a ferocity that was both frightening and familiar.

You sat there, breathing heavily, your fingers digging into the fabric of the couch as you fought to steady yourself. But the memories kept coming, one after another, tearing at you until it felt like you were drowning in them. You saw yourself, younger, lost, staring into the mirror late at night, desperate to feel in control of something—anything. The hunger, the self-loathing, the endless cycle of guilt and relief—it all rushed back with a force that stole the breath from your lungs.

It would be so easy to give in, a voice whispered in the back of your mind. Just this once. Just for tonight. You could have the relief you craved, the escape from the pressure that felt like it was suffocating you from the inside out.

No, you told yourself, clenching your fists. You’re stronger than this.

But the temptation was too strong, too insistent, and before you even realized what you were doing, you found yourself in the kitchen, stuffing your face with whatever you could find. You just needed to eat, eat, eat, and eat more. You blinked and found yourself in the bathroom, hands braced against the sink as you stared into the mirror, a tear-streaked, desperate face staring back at you. Your chest tightened as the shame washed over you, the familiar ache settling deep in your bones, dragging you down into the darkness you’d spent years trying to escape.

Your fingers brushed your throat, trembling as you fought against the impulse. You didn’t want this, not really. You knew the pain that would follow, the emptiness that would settle in your chest like a lead weight, crushing you from the inside out. But the need for control, the need for release, was stronger than you were.

As if in a trance, you gave in, the guilt and shame numbing your mind as you went through the motions, each step mechanical, devoid of thought. The feeling of release came in a rush, bringing a momentary sense of relief that quickly dissolved into nausea and self-loathing. You sank to the floor, gasping for breath, your entire body trembling as the full weight of what you’d done settled over you.

The bathroom floor was cold against your skin, grounding you in the present even as your mind spiraled, tangled in a haze of guilt and despair. You pressed your forehead to your knees, the tears coming fast and hot, unstoppable. Your chest heaved with silent sobs, each one cutting deeper than the last as you choked on the bitter taste of regret. The walls seemed to close in around you, trapping you in a prison of your own making, a prison you’d vowed to escape but somehow couldn’t.

You thought you were done with this, that you’d left this part of yourself behind. But here you were, broken and hollow, the fragile pieces of your self-control shattered beyond repair. You wanted to scream, to tear at your own skin, to do anything that would make the pain stop, even for just a moment.

“Why am I like this?” you whispered, the words barely audible through your tears. 

When the tears finally slowed, you felt hollow, emptied, the relief you’d hoped for replaced by a numbness that was somehow worse. You pulled yourself up, the motion slow and heavy, as though your limbs were weighed down by the shame you carried. You splashed water on your face, watching as the streaks of mascara and foundation washed away, leaving you bare and exposed, a shadow of the person you pretended to be.

Stumbling back into the living room, you sank onto the couch, the silence of the apartment pressing in around you, thick and suffocating. Your stomach ached, a dull throb that echoed the ache in your chest, a reminder of everything you’d tried to forget. You leaned back, closing your eyes, your fingers still trembling.

The silence was shattered by the faint buzz of your phone, the sound jarring in the quiet. You opened your eyes, feeling a fresh wave of dread as you reached for it, already bracing yourself for more bad news. The screen showed a message from Rafe, sent twenty minutes ago.

Rafe: “Hey. On my way over. Be ready. We’re going out.”

Your heart skipped a beat, panic flaring in your chest as you processed the words. Rafe was coming here. He’d be here any minute, expecting you to be ready, expecting you to be fine. But you were anything but fine. The thought of facing him, of pretending everything was normal, felt like an impossible task.

You wanted to ignore it, to curl up on the couch and let the world fade away. But you knew you couldn’t. He’d see through you, he’d ask questions, and you weren’t ready for that. You weren’t ready for him to see the broken pieces.

Taking a shaky breath, you sat up, wiping the last traces of tears from your face. You couldn’t fall apart now. You’d have to pull yourself together, put on the mask he expected to see. 

But as you stared at the screen, the weight of what you’d done settled over you, a cold, crushing ache that threatened to drown you all over again.

A sharp knock broke the silence, the sound slicing through the thick air of your apartment. You jolted, your heart racing as you looked toward the door.

Fuck! You hadn’t even had time to fully compose yourself. 

Another knock, lighten this time, followed by his familiar voice. “Come on, open up, sweetheart,” Rafe called out, his tone easy, teasing. He was here. Of course he was here. 

Forcing a deep breath, you pushed yourself up from the couch, running your hands through your hair in a last-minute attempt to look put-together. You brushed a hand over your face, trying to erase any trace of what had happened, then ran to close the door of your kitchen to hide the mess of food sprawled everywhere.

The moment you opened the door, Rafe’s eyes locked onto yours, his playful smile faltering as he took you in. The lightness in his gaze shifted, softening with a concern that made your chest tighten. You could feel his eyes sweeping over your face, catching the lingering redness around your eyes, the slight shake in your hands and naked legs, the way you wouldn’t quite meet this gaze.

“You…” he said, stepping forward as his brow furrowed. “You okay?”

You forced a smile, dismissive, brushing it off as though he hadn’t seen what he had. “I’m fine, Cameron. Just a long day, you know,” you replied, your voice steady but rough, your fingers clutching the edge of the door.

He didn’t move, his gaze unwavering as he studied you, his expression laced with worry. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice careful now. “You don’t look fine. Your eyes…”

“I said I’m fine, Rafe!” you snapped, the words sharper than you’d intended, the force of them surprising you both. His brows shot up slightly, but he didn’t move, his gaze locked on yours as though he were searching for something beneath the anger. 

“I’m just asking, but something’s obviously wrong. You don’t have to—”

“Why do you care?” you interrupted, your voice edged with a defensiveness you couldn’t control. “It’s none of your business, alright,” Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, the sting of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you willed them back, pressing down the wave of emotion threatening to rise again. “I told you, I’m fine. Just drop it.”

The silence stretched between you, tense, your words hanging in the air like a challenge. You could see the hurt flash across his face, fleeting but unmistakable, before it softened into something closer to understanding, something that only made you feel more exposed.

“Alright,” he murmured, his tone calm, measured. He took a step back, lifting his hands slightly in surrender, his gaze lingering on you, patient, waiting. “If you say so.”

But you could see it in his eyes—he didn’t believe you, not for a second.

You stepped back, allowing him to come inside. He moved past you slowly, his gaze flicking back to you once before staying put. You headed toward the living room, and he followed you, swallowing the lingering shame in your throat as you focused on steadying your breath.

He paused near the couch, glancing around the room as though searching for a sign of what had shaken you.

“Alright, so… where exactly are we going?” you asked, aiming to keep your tone casual. Your gaze dropped to your hands, hoping to mask the slight tremor of your nerves.

Rafe glanced over, he seemed to take a moment to consider his answer, studying you as though choosing his words carefully. “One of my friends is hosting a little get-together…”

“Topper?” 

“Hell nah!” He quietly laughed, shaking his head. “Not this time. It’s Kelce. He throws these gatherings sometimes—more chill than anything else. It’s just a handful of people, around a dozen or so, max. You think you’ll be okay with that?”

His gaze lingered on you, a mix of playfulness and genuine concern softening his features. You swallowed, nodding as you offered a small shrug. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine. So… just friends? Are there going to be, um… other girls?”

He tilted his head. “Yeah, some. Kiara and Cleo are usually around for these things, and…” he paused, scratching his jaw before continuing, “my sister.”

That made you look up, your curiosity piqued. “You have a sister?”

“Two actually, both younger,” he replied with a faint smile. “But only one’s coming tonight. Sarah. I think she’s around your age. You’ll probably like her. She’s… got a bit of a wild streak.”

You nodded and stayed quiet for a moment, lost in thought, before glancing back at Rafe. “So… I’ll just go get ready—wait! How should I dress up? Is it a casual-casual or a casual-but-nicely-dressed type of gathering?”

Rafe’s lips quirked into a smile, visibly relieved to see you bouncing back to your usual self. “Pretty sure, whatever you wear, you’ll make it look elegant, sweetheart.”

“That’s not helpful—but thanks.” You arched a brow at him, waiting.

"Just something simple," he replied with a shrug, leaning back on the couch. His eyes traveled over you, taking in your outfit—a pair of black shorts paired with an oversized, ripped T-shirt splashed with images of Barbie. Somehow, even in that, you looked hot, and he couldn’t help but let his gaze linger.

“Simple?” You tilted your head thoughtfully. “Like…a dress? Wait, maybe a skirt is better for this. But a dress is more of a party vibe…” you started muttering to yourself, lost in wardrobe decisions. “Should I wear something with prints? Oh, wait—”

“Just wear a skirt, baby,” he cut in smoothly, his gaze softening as he watched you.

That one little word—baby—made your heart flutter and stopped your train of thought cold. You caught his eyes, trying to ignore the sudden swarm of butterflies, and arched a brow at him with a teasing smirk. “Oh, I see what this is. You just want an excuse to look at my ass. Bet you’re hoping for a little peek under my skirt, huh, you perv?”

Rafe’s smirk grew, and he sat up, his blue eyes gleaming with something undeniably mischievous. “I’ll see your ass at some point during this marriage, whether it’s tonight or some other night,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “Got you speechless now, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, pretending his words hadn’t just lit a spark that was still buzzing beneath your skin. “No, actually, I was just thinking of all the ways I could strangle you.”

“Kinky,” he teased, eyes alight with amusement.

You groaned, chuckling despite yourself. “Not like that, you perv.” You waved your hand dismissively, shaking your head. “Enough of this. I’m gonna go get ready.”

Before you turned, he grinned and made a move to get up. “Can I come and watch the show?”

You placed a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down with a laugh. “Absolutely not. Stay here and be patient. I won’t be long.”

Rafe relaxed, settling back with a smirk as he watched you disappear into your bedroom, and you made sure to close the door firmly behind you.

You emerge from the bedroom an hour later, dressed in a strapless leopard-print tube top that clings to your figure just right, paired with a faded denim mini-skirt. For makeup, you opted for a natural look with a subtle glow, focusing on your lips, and you left your curls loose, letting them fall naturally over your shoulders, once again. 

You walked into the hallway, slipping on your black Louboutin stilettos. As you straightened, you didn’t need to look back to know Rafe was right there, his presence a steady hum in the quiet of your apartment. You’d heard his soft footsteps the second you stepped into the hallway.

"You—"

"Watch what you’re about to say, Cameron," you cut him off, throwing a teasing glance over your shoulder, "because if it’s about my ass, I’ll slap you so hard you’ll fly out the window."

His smirk widened. "Now, I wasn’t gonna say anything like that," He let his gaze travel up and down your figure, lingering on the way your fitted mini skirt hugged your curves. "But since you brought it up—yeah, it’s the perfect opportunity to take a peek. Especially with you bent over and all."

You straightened up, narrowing your eyes at him, though a faint smile tugged at your lips. "Rafe."

He raised his hands, palms out. "Alright, alright—my bad." He let his eyes travel over you one more time, this time slower, more appreciative. "But you look nice."

"Just nice?" you teased, tilting your head slightly as you stepped closer, noting the way his eyes darkened as he drank you in.

"No..." His voice dropped, his eyes turning hungry as they lingered on you. "You look hot. Really hot."

You felt a satisfied smile spread across your face. "Perfect. That’s exactly what I was going for."

"Well, you succeeded, sweetheart," he replied, voice thick with an admiration that felt too close for comfort.

You smiled, pushing down the heat rising to your cheeks, and made your way to the door, pulling it open. Rafe followed close behind, stepping into the hallway as you both moved toward the elevator.

"So," you asked as you pressed the elevator button, "do your friends know about the arrangement, or…?"

Rafe shook his head, popping the 'P' as he answered, "Nope. None of them have a clue. Not my teammates, not my sister—nobody. So you’re gonna have to pretend to tolerate me for a few hours. Think you can handle that?"

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. "Tolerate you? For a few hours? I mean, it’s gonna be a challenge, but I think I can manage.”

“Is that so? Gonna be that hard to put up with me?”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, in fear to hurt your poor feelings but you are extremely annoying and hard to put up with, Rafe Cameron,” you shot back, your eyes sparkling.

“Ouch,” he touched his heart and mocked a pained expression. “You’re hurting your husband’s feelings here, sweetheart.”

“Future husband,” you corrected with a smirk. “And, womp womp!”

The elevator reached the lobby, and the two of you stepped out, making your way toward the exit. Rafe opened the door for you, his hand resting briefly on the small of your back, sending a shiver up your spine.

Outside, his car was waiting, sleek and polished under the streetlights. He held the passenger door open, and you slipped inside, watching as he rounded the front and got in beside you.

The car ride was quieter than you expected. He seemed content, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually near the gearshift. You stole a few glances at him as he drove, catching the glint in his eye as he noticed you looking.

Finally, he spoke up. "You know, if you’re gonna be my girlfriend for the night, you’ll have to act the part."

"What do you mean?"

He smirked, shifting gears smoothly as he turned onto a quieter road. “Maybe try not to glare at me every time I look at you. Oh, and try smiling, or I don’t know, pretend like you don’t find me annoying.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Noted. You have some more notes, Mr. Cameron?"

“I do, actually, future Ms. Cameron,” he said, glancing at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “As my girlfriend, you should probably let me put my arm around, or even hold my hand if we’re getting really freaky.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. “Oh, yeah ‘cause touching your hand will make me nut, right?”

He chuckled, glancing over you, his expression full of amusement. “I mean, that’s usually how most people feel—but more seriously, we need to make this believable. The whole world has to think we’re in love.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "And here I thought this was a marriage of convenience. You know, strictly business. But since we’re giving notes then I think you should show a little more enthusiasm."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he navigated the streets. "Alright, I can do enthusiasm. How about I serenade you while I drive?"

"Oh my God! Please don’t," you laughed, shaking your head. "I’d like to keep my hearing intact."

"Suit yourself." Rafe grinned, glancing at you with a mock-seriousness. "But if I can’t sing, then I have to hold your hand. That’s the rule."

You hesitated, your heart racing at the idea of intertwining his fingers with yours. “Fine…”

He raised his hand triumphantly, a playful smirk plastered across his face. "See? You’re already getting into the spirit of things. Besides, it’s not like our lips haven’t touched—"

“Rafe!” you exclaimed, slapping his chest with a mix of disbelief and embarrassment.

“What? I’m just stating the truth,” he said, feigning innocence as he rubbed his chest, an exaggerated pout forming on his lips. “Come on, don’t get shy on me now, baby.”

“I am not shy,” you retorted, unable to suppress a smile.

“Right, and I’m the bloody king of England,” he shot back with a horrible fake British accent.

“Shut up,” you laughed, the sound echoing softly in the quiet of the car as you shook your head at his antics.

The banter hung in the air between you like a playful thread. You both lapsed into a comfortable silence, the gentle hum of the engine and the occasional rush of wind outside the car providing a soothing backdrop. As the minutes passed, anticipation buzzed in the air, making each second feel charged with excitement.

Finally, you pulled up in front of a large, ornate gate guarded by stern-looking security personnel. Rafe, unable to contain himself, leaned forward and called out his name with exaggerated bravado, “Rafe Cameron!” The gates swung open, revealing a huge house with lights everywhere.

As he parked the car, you took a moment to steady your breathing, inhaling deeply to calm the flutter of nerves in your stomach. With a final exhale, you opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement. Before you stood three familiar faces, their expressions a mix of anticipation and curiosity as they waited at the door of the house. 

You glanced at Rafe, who had just stepped out to join you, his presence exuding a quiet confidence that somehow eased your tension. The way he stood beside you, relaxed yet alert, made you feel a little more at ease.

“Am I dreaming, or are there three people waiting for us—and they’re jumping?” you asked, barely able to contain your laughter as you watched the trio bouncing in place, their enthusiasm infectious.

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “You’re not dreaming. The idiots over there are my sister, JJ, and Topper.”

“Oh, I know Topper!” you exclaimed, a spark of excitement igniting in your voice. The prospect of recognizing someone made the moment feel a bit more comfortable.

“Yeah, you do, sweetheart,” Rafe replied, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes glinted with warmth.

As you approached the animated group, the sounds of their laughter filled the air, creating a vibrant atmosphere that made your heart race with anticipation. Rafe walked beside you.

Topper was the first to spot you, his face lighting up with a broad grin as he waved. “Love birds! Over here!” he shouted, bouncing on his feet, you could tell he was slightly tipsy already.

JJ turned at the sound of his voice, his expression shifting from casual to surprise when he caught sight of you two. “What the fuck? Rafe is here with a girl—isn’t that—”

“That’s Y/N! What the actual fuck, Rafe?” Sarah exclaimed, her voice rising in disbelief as she slapped JJ’s chest, the surprise evident in her wide eyes.

As you stepped into view, the weight of their stares sent a wave of nerves crashing over you, and suddenly, the words you’d rehearsed vanished from your mind. It was ridiculous—usually, you were the life of the party, friendly and extroverted. Why were you feeling so overwhelmed now?

“Hi,” you managed to say, cringing at the awkwardness of it. A rush of heat crept up your neck as you mentally kicked yourself for being so inarticulate.

“Hi, pretty girl,” JJ chimed, his grin infectious. “Now that Y/N and her boyfriend have arrived, the party can officially start!” He turned and bolted into the house with an enthusiastic shout, followed closely by Topper, leaving you alone with the Cameron siblings.

Turning your attention back to Sarah, you took a moment to admire her outfit—a stunning black leather dress that hugged her curves perfectly, her makeup expertly applied to accentuate her striking features. She radiated confidence.

“I’ve seen stuff about you two on social media, but I didn’t expect you to actually bring her here—respectfully, of course,” Sarah said, her gaze flicking to you as she finished her sentence and you simply shrugged. “This is a first for you, Rafe,” she continued, raising an eyebrow at her brother.

“I’m serious about her, so get ready to see her everywhere by my side,” Rafe replied casually, but the warmth of his words sent your cheeks aflame. “Are you the only girl here—”

“I love your dress, by the way. I don’t know if I said that already ‘cause I’m pretty tipsy, but I love it. Leopard prints suit you so well! Every time you wear animal prints on the runway, I’m always so in love with how it fits you. Oh, and I heard you’re working with Chanel right now—is that true? You can tell me; I promise I won’t spill. Plus, I’ll probably forget about it by tomorrow anyway—”

Rafe, clearly exasperated, swiftly placed a hand over her mouth. “Don’t say weird shit like that, stalker. You’re creeping my girlfriend out.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, placing a hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “No, it’s fine.”

“You sure? Because she really sounded like a fucking creep,” he said, feigning seriousness, but you could see the hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Guess that runs in the family,” you teased, lifting yourself on your tiptoes to lean closer and whisper in Rafe’s ear, the warmth of his body radiating against you. “But thank you, Sarah. I was going to say the same about you and your dress. It fits your body like crazy; I’m honestly jealous.”

“Girl, please. Have you seen yourself?” she scoffed, her confidence shining through.

“I have, but have you seen yourself? You’re stunning, like a goddess.”

“Oh my God—”

“Alright, enough with the glazing,” Rafe interrupted, a mock-seriousness creeping into his tone. Sarah shot him an annoyed glare, which you mirrored, both of you momentarily united in your frustration. “I introduced her to you, but there are other people who don’t know she’s here, so get out of the way, Sarah.”

With that, he gently nudged her aside, his protective demeanor hinting at how much he cared, even amidst the playful banter. You couldn’t help but smile at the way he navigated the room with ease, leading you into the chaos of the party.

The room was awash in vibrant colors, illuminated by twinkling lights strung overhead. A long table was set up against one wall, laden with an enticing spread of snacks and alcoholic drinks that sparkled enticingly under the glow. The atmosphere buzzed with energy; laughter and music melded together in a lively symphony. Groups of people swayed on the dance floor, while others engaged in animated conversations or indulged in the delicious food. Rafe was right—though the crowd wasn’t particularly large, the energy was palpable, and the music was loud enough to make your heart race.

You gently tapped Rafe’s arm to get his attention, and he leaned down slightly to hear you over the din. “We’re not gonna go to each person to introduce myself, are we?” 

“Hell no! Just my close friends—” he started, but his words were cut off as someone unexpectedly leapt into his arms, wrapping their limbs around his neck with abandon. Rafe staggered slightly, instinctively holding the person tight to steady them both. Your brows knitted together in confusion and irritation as you wondered who would be so brazen as to interrupt a conversation. The person had clearly come from the front, meaning they’d seen you two talking moments before.

Fucking prick, you cursed internally at the bold interloper.

When the person turned around, you found yourself face-to-face with a woman who had long, straight brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her cheerful smile faltered briefly upon noticing you, but it returned almost instantly, though you could sense the shift in her demeanor.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry for coming in like that,” she shouted over the thumping bass, her voice bright and exuberant. “I was just so excited to see Rafey. I couldn’t contain my joy.”

You waved your hands dismissively, plastering on a friendly smile, trying to keep the peace. “It’s totally fine, don’t worry. I get it.”

“I’m Chiara, by the way. Chiara Romano,” she introduced herself, extending a hand for you to shake. You accepted, noting the warmth of her grip.

“That’s a pretty name,” you said sincerely, your tone genuine. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“The supermodel who fled from her country, right?” Chiara asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

You scratched your cheek, a touch of embarrassment creeping in. “Well, not exactly, but yeah… that’s me.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Y/N,” she said with a bright smile before turning her attention back to Rafe, suddenly snatching his arm and tugging at him playfully. “Come with me, Rafey.”

Rafe, who had been uncharacteristically silent during the exchange, finally spoke, his tone firm. “Wait! No, Chiara.”

“Why? It’s gonna be fun—” she retorted, but Rafe’s tone shifted to a more serious note.

“I’m here with Y/N,” he said firmly, the protectiveness in his voice undeniable. Chiara halted her playful tugging, her expression shifting as she turned her full attention to you. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh…” she said, her brows raised in surprise as she studied you intently. “Are you two serious, or not?”

You frowned, taken aback by the bluntness of her question. You knew Rafe had a reputation for jumping from one woman to the next, but he had just referred to you as his girlfriend with such conviction. That had to mean something, right? You couldn’t help but wonder what Chiara would have done if you had said no.

“We’re se—” you started, but your voice faltered.

“I want him to say it,” Chiara interrupted, a challenging glint in her eye as she turned to Rafe. “Say that you two are serious, Rafe.”

The air grew thick with anticipation as you awaited his response. The weight of the moment felt significant; this wasn’t just a casual interaction—it was a test of the fragile foundation of your arrangement. Rafe’s eyes darted between you and Chiara, a mix of uncertainty and determination swirling in them. You held your breath, knowing that you needed him to affirm the seriousness of your relationship, even if it was just for show. Rafe couldn’t afford to slip up, not when so much was at stake. You watched him struggle with the words, a silent plea hanging in the air as he held Chiara’s gaze, and you braced yourself for what would come next.

Who the fuck was Chiara Romano to Rafe Cameron?

chapter five

[fixated-on-something]

UPDATE I FOUND IT!!!!

Can’t believe I got the quote right first try

Parallels: 4x10/4x05 - “I’ve got my Id, my lost innocence, and my guilt…”

[jesuistrestriste]

cw (18+): sub!art, afab + femme!character, age gap, crying/dacryphilia, art being a sad and lonely hot guy in his forties, tashi and art never really got together, creampie

˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢

dilf!art getting with a pretty young thing from down the block. . .

he always admired her effortless confidence and the way her body moved when she walked down the street to the corner store every weekend.

always watched her return from his brownstone apartment window; a pack of cinnamon gum and a case of peach seltzer in her hands.

she’s beautiful and bouncy and everything he didn’t get to have in his youth when he was too sucked into tennis to let himself live a little. he lost tashi to patrick. that was that. and he never tried dating again until about ten or so years ago.

they were all flings that crashed and burned their way through his thirties. meaningless moments where all he was left with was a wet dick and a heaviness in his chest. he hated it. he was done with it.

until her.

she was different.

she sparked a conversation with him one day when they ran into each other outside his doorstep. she was cracking jokes that only made her seem more intriguing because art didn’t understand the social context behind them— he was no longer hip and cool, he’d accepted it. but that, combined with the pop of her hip she did when she was making him laugh (not to mention the way she smacked her gum + batted her lashes when she smiled; all pearly whites) made him feel like even more of a creep.

but now she’s bouncing on his cock and gazing down at him while he gasps and squirms like a livewire underneath her.

they’ve only really known each other for a week and a half.

“say thank you, Artie,” she purrs, her hand tracing the spattered flush on his chest, “say it.”

he bucks his hips up as much as he can to meet her movements, and bites his lip hard enough to taste metal when his tip bumps her cervix.

“thank you, oh my god, thank you— thank you, thank you—! ha-aah-!”

he babbles; a broken record of whines and shaky moans. his throat hurts from all of the sounds being pulled from him when the most he’s talked all month has come from just a couple of boring, remote interviews about his athletic career.

and her, of course.

god, it’s all her..

he swallows and keens, and then his eyes are watering.

and then he’s sobbing. he’s choking on his tears and yet he’s still feeling the tight coil of warmth tense further and further and further-

“don’t cry,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss the wetness from his cheeks, her hips swiveling to ride him harder just as the first slimy blurt of his orgasm spills inside, “you’re a good boy, okay? you’re perfect… a total catch…”

she smells like candy. she’s wiping his tears now.

“oh fuck, thank you-uu—hnghh!”

art lifts his hips, his face crumpling with pleasure and sadness, before he yelps and his climax wipes him out. his whole body trembles as he feels his cock pulse and coat her pussy with gooey clots of his spend. he’s practically wheezing.

he grips onto her hips fiercely; like if he doesn’t squeeze hard enough she’ll just go *poof*, and then he’ll be alone again.

“.. ungh, ‘m sorry, im cumming inside you, im cumming, im so sorry,” he whimpers, the aftershocks leaving him feeling bare and weak. stripped of all of his armor. if he even had any left to begin with.

she kisses his shoulder gently, and then she’s dipping her glossy lips down to whisper right next to his ear. her dainty necklace chills his skin when it dangles from her body and meets his collarbone. she’s so close to him.

“don’t worry, Mr. Donaldson…

you’ll be a great daddy.”

[prettiestlovergirl]

TROUBLE

tw: MDNI; fem!reader; slytherin!reader; spoiled!reader; ditzy!reader; semi-public sex; unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it); oral fixation! reader; slight dumbification; rough sex; fingering; italian!theodore nott.

a/n: giggling and kicking my feet with this one, I LOVE ITALIAN! THEO. one of my favorite hcs. i had a grand ole time writing this one hehe. enjoy, my lovelies! 𓆩♡𓆪

theodore nott thrived on things being neat and orderly.

he was reserved, controlled, proper. his hair was always perfectly styled, his uniforms neatly pressed, every single act was planned in advance, he functioned 5 steps ahead of the world.

even when he and his friends were cruel or caused some sort of chaos, it was perfectly controlled. there was nothing that could break his focus, his drive, his desire for perfection.

well, except for you that is.

you and theo had been... acquaintances for years. you had classes together, attended the same house parties, you were incredibly hard to miss. you were his opposite in every way: you were bold, impulsive, fucking chaos personified.

he liked controlled actions, carefully planned out steps, and neat perfection and you? you liked everything but.

he should have wanted nothing to do with you, should have been appalled by you but.... it was exactly the opposite. everything about you seemed to draw him in. your charming smiles, your hissed demands, your expensive taste, everything about you fascinated him.

something about you made him want to lose control, to let you drive him insane. being around you felt messy, felt like playing with fire, he should have never been alone with you.

being alone with you meant thoughts of letting you ruin him completely and letting him ruin you ran wild, so he always made sure to have a buffer or three to keep you at arm's length.

but when snape asked if anybody could tutor you... he couldn't resist offering his services, being your knight in shining armor. you'd just looked so desperate, with your glossy pink lips sticking out in the sweetest little pout.

now, however, he was seriously regretting allowing himself to think with his dick instead of his rational brain. you were so close he could smell the fucking strawberry scented shampoo you used and the way it mixed in with your expensive perfume.

theo prided himself on his self-control, so really, it was pathetic that 40 minutes with you sitting across from him had him so tense. he tried to focus on helping you, but you consistently pulled him off course.

you hated studying, hence the need for a tutor. you could never focus, it was just so boring. especially right now, when you had the theodore nott helping you out. how could you be expected to focus on potions when you could pick the brain on the most poise and proper man in your year?

you couldn't help but tease him a bit, i mean, you figured he was indestructible. you joked around and flashed him flirty little smiles, relishing in every teasing comment or joke you pulled out of him.

eventually, theo couldn't take it anymore. he was one pink-tinted glossy smile away from grabbing you right then and there. he excused himself abruptly, lying about needing to find you another book. really, he just needed a second to breath strawberry-free air and calm himself down.

but you had to follow him, didn't you? you just had to follow him into the secluded section, hands behind your back, pouty lip caught between your teeth. "are you alright, theo?" you questioned, eyes full of concern as his name rolled off your tongue perfectly.

and that was all it took for his last shred of self-control to break.

it had taken you completely by surprise. one moment, you were afraid you'd upset him, going to follow him and apologize for your teasing. the next, he'd murmured a quick "fanculo" (fuck it) and crashed his lips onto yours.

the kiss was rough and unrestrained, not at all how you'd imagined he'd have kissed. you thought it would be chaste and sweet, all proper like him. the roughness, the desperation of it all had you moaning on impact in both surprise and delight.

theo relished in your moan, pushing his tongue past your lips and teeth to explore your mouth. his tongue moved so expertly; it made your brain go a little fuzzy. his tongue drew moan after moan out of you.

his long, nimble fingers expertly unbuttoned your shirt before tugging your bra down just enough to expose your mouthwatering tits to him. the cool library air made your nipples harden instantly.

"merda, guaio." (shit) he swore, pulling away from your lips to admire all your exposed flesh. he watched as your chest heaved while you caught your breath. "you gonna be quiet for me, mio tesoro?" (my treasure) he asked, his lips wrapping around one of your nipples while his eyes stayed on yours.

it took a moment for you to even register that he was talking to you. your mind was spinning with a million different thoughts but you still found yourself unable to come up with a coherent sentence.

it felt a little like you had whiplash. you couldn't quite believe that the perfect and oh-so-calculated theodore nott was currently swirling his tongue around your nipple in the middle of the library.

"i asked you a question, guaio." he cooed, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh and making you gasp. "yes. yes, i'll be quiet." you breathed, nodding your head rapidly as your eyes stayed trained on his. "brava ragazza." (good girl)

his words burned into your skin, the wetness between your thighs practically gushing over your panties while he continued to suck and lick both of your nipples until they were coated in his saliva.

"t-theo.." you whimpered softly, biting your lip harshly as one of his hands trailed under your skirt, fingers brushing against the wetness soaking your panties. "please..." you gasped.

the sound of you whimpering out his name drove him fucking insane, his hands quickly sliding your panties off and shoving the damp fabric into his back pocket before brushing his thumb over your swollen clit.

you mewled out in pleasure, his smooth thumb making your vision get a little hazy. "so fucking wet, guaio." he groaned quietly, continuing to rub your clit with his thumb.

you didn't see when he pushed a finger deep inside, making you cry out before his free hand smacked over your mouth. "gotta be quiet for me, or i'll have to stop." he hissed, making you whine at the idea of him stopping anytime soon.

"'m s-sorry." you moaned against his palm, hand latching onto his arm. you brought two of his fingers into your mouth, sucking them and coating them with your saliva in order to help keep you quiet while he consumed you.

he played with your body with ruthless precision while you writhed in pure bliss, free hand gripping onto the bookcase beside you as you moaned around his fingers.

he pushed a second finger into you and then a third, stretching your puffy walls out over and over with his thrusts. your knees were practically shaking when his fingers crashed into that familiar, gummy spot that made your toes curl.

he forced his fingers further down your throat once he hit the spot, keeping you from screaming out in pleasure while you came all over his hand.

theo relished in your pussy walls fluttering around his fingers, the squelching sounds of your wetness coating his hand making his trousers feel fucking unbearable at this point.

he pulled his fingers out of both your holes, letting you catch your breath for just a second before shoving his cum-soaked fingers back into your mouth. "clean them for me, will you guaio?" he cooed, a borderline deranged smirk on his face as you did just that.

"cazzo, i can't enough of you." (fuck) he huffed, pulling his fingers back out and spinning you towards the bookcase. he pressed your face lightly against the bookcase, bringing his hands down to quickly bring his cock out from his pants.

you gripped onto the bookcase for support, face pressed against some old atlas' no one ever used anymore will your nipples scraped the smooth wood.

"you're gonna be the fucking death of me, guaio." he hissed, before lifting your skirt back up and thrusting roughly into you. you gasped and moaned against the shelf, unable to help yourself before his fingers pushed back into your mouth.

you gagged and sucked on his two fingers while he thrusted roughly into you, muffling his grunts and groans of pleasure into your neck. his lips latched onto your sweet spot, teeth scraping over it repeatedly as he fucked you.

"so fucking tight, guaio. such a good fucking girl for me. you drive me fucking insane." he grunted, each word followed by a fast and rough thrust and made your whole body shake with pleasure as he fucked you.

his free hand gripped your waist tightly, keeping you from rocking the shelf as best he could while he moved roughly in and out of you. your tongue swirled around his fingers, muffled babbles about how fucking good you felt escaping your lips.

the neat and pristine man relished in turning you into a dumb, babbling mess. your own drool and saliva coated your chin as he fucked you.

it wasn't long before your legs started quivering and your pussy walls started to clench tighter around him. "'m gonna- f-fuck, 'm gonna cum!" you whined, the wet sounds of you gagging on his fingers and his cock pounding your pussy drove you insane.

theo bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing himself to stay quiet while he lost himself in your tight walls. his eyes were fixed on where you two were connected, the sight of your arousal creating a creamy white ring around his cock nearly sent him over the edge.

"cum for me, guaio. be a good girl and cum on my cock." he cooed in your ear, gripping your hip even tighter to fuck deeper into you until you coated his cock in your cum.

you had a couple tears running down your cheeks, mascara clumping as he continued to fuck you hard and fast until he reached his own high and painted your walls with his cum.

he buried his now sweat covered forehead into the crook of your neck, trying to catch his breath while you panted. he pulled his fingers back from your mouth, letting them drag over your kiss swollen lips and chin.

theodore nott had fucking ruined you and he was sure you had done exactly the same, he had the crescent shapes etched into his arm to prove it.

"what does guaio mean?" you asked suddenly, absolutely butchering the pronunciation as you blinked your doe eyes at him. you would have looked so innocent if it weren't for the saliva and streaks of black.

"it means trouble, bambola." (doll)

ᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ @ᵐᵘʳᵘᶠᶠⁱⁿ

[aweina]

౨ৎ. PEACHES & CREAM ( 17 + ) ; raiden

tags gn reader. caught masturbating. hand job. oral sex. food play. hair pulling. friends to lovers. + 2k words.

based on this ask

the straw basket you held was snug in your grasp, filled with assortments of glossy apples, fuzzy peaches, and ripe lychees. it was all of raiden’s favorite fruits — something you learned from tomas’s daily commutes to your family’s fruit farm.

a bad fever. you distinctly traced back to kung lao’s words, a bitter look animating his face every time he spared details about raiden’s current sickening state. a layer of cold sweat covering his skin, unusually complaining about muscle aches, and his appetite only consisting of a glass of water and some good sleep.

that was bad. raiden has never gotten sick in all the years you’ve known him. he wore his skin like armor — resilient and adaptable to any weather. but with the current heat waves passing through the condensed village, it only made sense for the hardworking farm boy to be too stubborn to miss a day in the cabbage fields.

nevertheless, you admired raiden for his work ethic, but most importantly his compassion and kindness. he shined so bright when there was a smile on his face. hearing his gentle voice made your eyes flutter shut and soothed throughout the whole day. your crush on the farm boy couldn’t be anymore obvious, but it seems your subtle flirting and wandering eyes went unnoticed for years.

you gently pad through the zen garden, minimal with white rocks and gravel that held the warmth of summer — your scandals were neatly placed by the entrance, footsteps much softer and less damaging to the wooden platform. raiden’s home, blared with midnight silence all while the vicious heat waves irritably hum in your ears, making you flush under your thin garments.

drop off the basket and make your way home. that was the plan.

but your nerves heightened at the source of warm light that bled through the sliding doors — shadows of objects inked all over the paper panel. it was raiden's room. he was awake?

slowly, you got closer, softly step towards the light with a nervous grip on the straw-woven handle. you froze in shock when you heard a strangled sound coming from the other side of the panel. one step. the sound was suppressed, lodged deep in his throat. closer. a rhythmic wetness, in sync with your racing heart. in front of the door. with a hoarse voice, your name desperately fell off his lips as a gushing sound followed after.

with a shaking hand, you curiously slid open the thin panel.

it’s raiden, he just jerked off on his bed while he moaned your name.

before slipping his strained hand past the waistband of his soiled underwear, he restlessly opens his eyes and sees you standing there.

did he come so hard that he was hallucinating?

it took an awkward second to realize you were in fact, real. immediately, raiden frantically covered his lower half with the bunched up covers beside him — his usual kind eyes filled with the fusion of embarrassment and guilt. if it weren’t across his room right now, raiden would’ve used his straw hat to avoid your unreadable eyes — preferably forever.

“i – uh – i can explain,” raiden finally sputtered with desperation. he was stressed, darting his wavering gaze over to the fallen fruit basket to your terrifyingly neutral expression.

he looked away, gazing down at his fidgeting, haphazardly wiped hands.

“i’m truly… truly sorry about this. you must have been uncomfortable hearing all that – if you wish to never see me, i’ll make sure to —“

“are you still sick, raiden?”

your tone was even as you entered the humid room and slid the panel door shut. he flinched at the sound of your footstep, even more so with your lack of response to his apology.

“i – i’ve recovered well…” his words seemed to fall into silence as he looked up and watched you slowly bend down and take a peach from the floor, peeling off the fuzz with delicate fingers.

“has any of madam bo’s remedies worked well for you?”

one side of the peach was peeled off, a bead of sweet juice running down the plush fruit. it gleamed under the warm lantern light and made raiden swallow in anticipation.

“yes… they have made great improvements to combat my sickness, although… i’m still suffering from a headache.”

thinking about his lengthy absence, away from his responsibilities in fengjian, away from the sense of community, away from you, led him to a troubling spiral that left his head pounding with an intense ache. touching himself seemed like the only solution at the time, especially when his worries about you transformed into a lustful yearning.

you nodded in acknowledgement, the peach extract now ran down your arm — tacky on your dewy skin. to his surprise, you took a generous bite from the fruit, the delicate floral flavor coating your mouth. a gush of juice ran down from the corner of your lustrous lips, prompting you to take a finger and catch the leftover juice, only to apply it over your lips like a sweet balm.

raiden concentrates on your alluring movements with wide eyes, thankful for his previous panicked behavior to hide his shameful actions, only for it now to hide another painfully confined boner.

pressing your sticky lips together, you tread towards the small bed to take a seat on the edge, far from the farm boy’s reach. but with you much closer than before, raiden’s rapid breathing was apparent. he’s nervous, yet there’s a sense of urgency coursing through his stiff body. he could crawl towards you if you wanted him to, he could even set aside every ounce of his pride to beg for your touch. but then your question made his flush pink while the sudden surge of blood pumping through his veins made his cock twitch.

“mind if i try one of my remedies?”

your voice is so sweet and intoxicating, replacing all his senses with sexual desire.

raiden nodded frantically.

“o – of course, please do.” then you smiled for the first time of the night.

you crawled towards him with need, immediately latching your mouth onto his. raiden sighs in relief, sloppily kissing you back in desperation, the taste of peach on the tip of his tongue. eagerly, he lapped his pink muscle over your sweet lips. his favorite fruit coating your lips, tasting it with his own mouth — he must be dreaming. you whimpered at his gentle licking, eyes fluttering shut to memorize each caress of his tongue.

to close any space between the two of you, raiden pulls away the covers and guides your flushed body to straddle him. your weight sealed tight against raiden, his hardened cock brushed along your own clothes wetness — a choked groan escaping his lips all while you swallow them into a searing sugary kiss.

in need of some air, the both of you were panting heavily as you pulled away, a shared dazed expression on each other’s faces. you were the first to laugh, lips swollen and glossy from raiden’s eager tongue. he joined in the break of sexual tension with a small chuckle, the essence of peach was still sweet on his palate. you smile warmly as you gently brushed threads of long black hair away from his flushed face — cradling his warm cheeks into your hands.

“is it fine if i continue?” you whispered against his lips, leaving a plethora of sweet pecks in between each word.

“i could never deny you.” he confesses with no sputter or hesitation to his words — genuine and sweet.

by the elder gods, you wanted to make him feel so good.

you smiled wickedly as you leaned back and adjusted yourself, grinding agonizingly slow and hard against his hot erection. raiden hisses, rough hands suddenly firm around your waist for leverage. the dimly lit room felt more humid than before, filled with desperate pants and heady sweat. summer’s heat waves didn’t help the fact that the both of you were burning with desire.

you began to undress from your silky robe, the patterned fabric pooled by the side of the bed. raiden fondly stares at your bare body, starstruck by your natural beauty. before he could remove his own damp clothing, your nimble fingers began to undo the buttons of his shirt — exposing his heaving chest. for as long you’ve ever known raiden, a shirt clung onto his frame. never once showing an ounce of skin further than his collarbones. but this was something new. a well-toned stomach from his training with madam bo did him wonders. but with his even, golden tan shows that he does in fact train without a shirt — maybe after all this, you can accompany madam bo’s vigorous training.

but for now, your hands and lips ache to touch raiden everywhere. eagerly, you began to leave a trail of wet kisses and love marks all over his exposed body. raiden begins to groan with every scrap of your teeth, hands clinging desperately on his bedsheets. you smile at his impressive self-restraint, pulling away occasionally to fully memorize the details of his body. to the soft moles that scatter along his dewy marked skin, the deep contours that drew his frame, and finally the trail of coarse hair running his navel. he was perfect — so perfect.

raiden notices your intense gaze over his exposed form and shyly averts his eyes away, the grip on the cloth bed sheets giving him some stability.

you placed a sweet kiss over his navel, trailing down further as your cheeks began to graze his pubic hair, erection bumping against your chin.

“nervous?”

raiden shifts at your question and cutely nods.

“i am, but … i want to continue.” he has been waiting for this after all.

you nod at his words, hooking your fingers under the elastic waistband as you carefully drag down his pants. raiden lifts his weight a bit to give you easier access — a comedic look on his face when his cock accidentally slaps your cheek when his waistband reaches down to his thighs.

“oh. i - i’m sorry.” he faintly chuckled in embarrassment, shrugging off the shirt to let it join the rest of the clothing on the floor.

you shook your head when you disgraced his pants, sitting up briefly to reach towards the nightstand.

“your excitement shouldn’t bring you shame.”

the half-bitten peach felt soft and sticky in your grasp, still supple with sweet sap.

“it just needs to be taken care of.”

raiden’s eyes perk up at the softened peach and immediately shift towards his cock. are you going to –

a sudden coldness kisses his swollen, oozing tip, dripping down on his shaft. raiden immediately moans at the foreign feeling, the delicate scent of honeyed sweetness seeping on his skin. your hands squeeze the peach a little harder, getting every ounce of sticky sap onto his twitching cock. running the fruit dry, you discarded it on the nightstand and began to run your hands down his length at an agonizingly slow pace.

your name falls prettily out of his lips with every careful pump — hips moving desperately to meet your hand. with his cock much more sensitive from the new sensation of a sticky essence and his previous orgasm, he was sure that he wouldn’t last much longer. sensing raiden’s peak, you pulled away — his hips sputter for a moment until they fell back onto the bed. raiden tried to compose himself, his shallow breaths brushing against your flushed face, progressively becoming more stable.

“don’t cum just yet, i haven’t even gotten to taste you.” you jested, shifting on your knees so that you’re at head level with his cock.

“your skill makes it hard for me not to.” raiden breathes out, a small smile on his face.

you playfully roll your eyes, brushing your hand over his fingertips — urging to guide his touch. curiously, raiden follows your gentle hold onto his long fingers until you thread them through your scalp. as he was a fast learner in combat, so was he in the bedroom. with a firm grip, raiden tugs onto the back of your head. you smiled at his new sense of confidence, the hesitation in his touch much more rough with assertiveness.

without a word, he slowly guided your mouth down onto his cock — the warm air replaced with a scorching wetness.

“shit.” raiden curses, a rarity in his usual vocabulary. his dark brows pinched together, strands of hair falling from his bun. “you are amazing.”

the small praise made your mouth water, dissolving the juice clung onto his length. raiden allows a few seconds for you to relax your mouth and begins to bob your head along his cock — careful to not let you gag just yet. the sweet taste of ripe peach and bitter precum laid deliciously over your tongue, twirling over his tip with every tug at your scalp. whimpers of your name escaped raiden’s lip as the sleek sounds of your filled mouth were in sync with one another. with your mouth adjusting to the forgiving pace, you began to suckle and moan around his cock — sending extra sensations for raiden to feel. he bites back a groan, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth and the perfect view of his hand gripping your messy hair and glossy eyes eagerly looking up at him.

even like this, he honestly found you to be breathtaking.

“you are so beautiful. oh. it just feels so good –“

raiden tilts his head up, his cock beginning to twitch in your mouth. the heady taste of cum and peach puts you into a mind numbing trance, intently suckling and licking down his length. suddenly, you gagged at the sudden graze of his tip, noticing how much further it is down your throat. your senses suddenly flood back into you, his low whines and groans much more clear.

“i – i’m close — so close.” raiden warns, his restraint begins to slowly chipping away as his grip begins to leave your scalp tender, his pace backing more grueling with each hard thrust of his hips, making you choke and tear up.

you grip tightly into his thighs, steadily breathing through your nose as his cock continuously plunges down throat. the coil in your gut burns with greed, ready to take his load. the fast building tension came so quick, you knew instantly that he was there. and with one final thrust, raiden calls out your name, hot cum spurting down your bruised throat — coating your mouth with a salty, peachy taste. his body jerks in overwhelming ecstasy, sweat collecting around his brow bone dripping down his neck. his cock softens in your mouth, making your breathing less restricting. the death grip on your scalp exchanged to a comforting massage, gently guiding your mouth to detach from his cock with a lewd pop.

your eyes met, his much more apologetic and filled with worry. as yours was filled with a satisfied haze.

“are you feeling okay?” raiden whispered in concern, making the effort to pat down the messy strands of your hair. “i was too rough on you, i’m sorry about that.”

you shook your head, laying your head over his stomach. raiden sighs in relief, although his brows still knit with concern.

“i’m fine. what about you? is your headache finally gone?”

raiden tilts his head in confusion, until he realizes what you mean. he lightly chuckles, continuing to caress your head adoringly.

“it is actually,” he genuinely admits, eyeing the crushed peach on the nightstand in amusement. “your remedy does work after all.”

you grinned at his teasing, slowly lifting up your whole body to grab one of the few sizable fragments of the fruit — pressing its sweet yellow flesh against your cum coated lips.

“if you ever feel sick again, i can try out other remedies.” you suggested, raising the sweet remnant towards his mouth.

his eyes light up before he gently grabs your wrist as he takes a bite, holding your unwavering gaze. he catches you off guard with a sudden short tug — locking into a tender kiss. raiden gently drags his tongue along the molars of your mouth and over your quivering lips. the taste of himself and the delicate floral sweetness surprisingly compliment each other.

he slowly pulled away, a trail of saliva between your lips gleamed under the warm light.

“then i hope my fever could last a little longer.”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[nics42]

No "All That Hard Glossy Armor"??? The outrage!

the magicians (2015—2019) highest ranked imdb episodes

[loveandfictionforall]

I have an idea for some fluff headcanons with Astarion.

So, Asharion and Reader had met before the happenings of the game and knew each other. Maybe she never really acted on his tries to lure her in? They maybe kept secret friends? I don‘t know, who cares.

To the idea? Reader finally meets him again when the party reaches Baldurs Gate? Maybe some heartwarming headcanons of seeing him and recognizing him and wondering what happend, where he went, making sure he is alright?

Yey, my first request for Baldur's Gate 3!

Astarion meets his friend again

Astarion knows you since a while back. The first time, he tried to seduce you. The second time, he tried to suck you dry. The third time, he sat down beside you and you began to talk. After that you came ot the conclusion that you two were friends.

It didn't take you long to understand that Astarion had a burdend past and present. With everything you've got, you tried to make him smile, let him rest for few hours so he can relax before going back to his personal hell.

Of course, Astarion being the person who he ist, tried every time to seduce you - after all it was one of his most prized skills.

You two spend every other day together, as soon as the clock stroke midnight.

But soon Astarion did not appear. For weeks. You were worried out of your mind, pacing through your home, asking people about him and staying every night at the place you both shared. But he never appeared. After nearly two months you began to admit with glassy eyes that he would not appear again and so you began visiting his grave (yes, he did show it to you.)

On one fateful day, you were already too late for work, you sprinted through Baldur's Gate. Your eyes were focused on your feet mostly since you were a realy clumsy person sometimes. As thus, you tended to run against people, yelling an apology but never stopping.

That changed when you collied with a lean body, head on against a hard armor breast plate. Internally you cringed. Hopefully it was not one of the guards, sometimes they tended to be a bit mean towards you.

Stumbling you would try to keep a distance but slender fingers wrapped around your upper arms.

Startled you would look up, your moth half open as you realized who stood before you.

"Astarion?", his name would spill quietly from your lips while your eyes would get glossy. A smile graced your lips as you saw the light and playfull smirk from Astarion. How you missed that stupid arrogant bastard.

"Well, hello there, my darling.", he smirked. His fingers loosens around you and in that moment you propelled yourself forward, slinging your arms around his neck und pushing your body against his.

"Where were you? I fucking missed you!", you would cry but you weren't really angry since you knew he would have said anything if it happened willingly. Instead you focused on him and how his arms hugged your body closer to him while he buried his face against your neck. Damn, did you miss that cocky bastard.

[heartsdefine]

@dalishborne — starter call / accepting!

        “Go ahead. Be honest.” The newly crowned Inquisitor gestures to the eye-patch now adorning her face, clearly proud of the design and not at all desiring honesty. “The rhinestones. Too much?”

[nics42]

As much as I love all things Queliot, this is my favorite episode for so many reasons.

Margo in every episode → 4x10 “All That Hard, Glossy Armor”

[simpcityy]

My Little Spawn Pt.3 (Dadstarion X Child!Reader)

Summary: Astarion was finally free from Cazador after being kidnapped by a mindflayer but he was stuck with one annoying task, you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate 3 or any of its characters.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Cazador, language, violence, spoilers for those who haven't gone far in the game, mentions of blood, animal death...Uhhh...I think that is all.

Authors Note: Thank you all so much for the support! I am so glad you are all loving this series so far! As always please, like, reblog and comment if you are loving this series and hopefully others would like it as well. Also...THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 500 FOLLOWERS. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST. Since we reached this number, I would do another father figure series because I feel I'm much better at that than a romance x reader version. Who should it be? Gale? Wyll? Rolan? Gortash? So many choices!

  Astarion leans against the rocky wall watching you get swarm by the female druids and Tieflings coddling you from how adorable you are. He lets out a small smile seeing you pout as the ladies coo at you. He thinks back to the discovery he found out 2 nights ago. Dhampir, when has Cazador ever been involved with a human. More importantly which dumb female wants to be in a relationship with Cazador. He looks at you seeing you trying to squirm away from the ladies. He sudden thinks back how protective Cazador was with you. Never letting you step out of the palace even at night….no…he wasn’t protecting you but rather himself. He’s raising you as a spawn to conceal the reality of your powers. What a bastard but then again Astarion is not surprised, it’s Cazador after all.  

 You finally had enough of this ladies and burst out crying “Astarion!” You wail feeling overwhelmed. He sighs and walks over “Excuse me Ladies, I think the little one has enough and I hate for them to get cranky.” He picks you up walking away from the pouting ladies. “Now, now, there is no need to cry” He sighs and rubs your back as you whimper clinging on to his armor. “Don’t like the attention or what?” He asked as you only kept quiet whimpering a couple times laying your head on his shoulder trying to relax. He leans his head back trying to look at you, “Are…you okay, so odd of you to be quiet.” He mutters trying to find the group in the grove. “I just miss home…I miss papa…and everyone else…” You mutter. He sighs “there, there but you have me no?” He hums walking through the grove enjoying this simple conversation with you. “I want to go home…my clothes don’t fit much…it hurts me and I miss my toys!” You whine. Astarion lets out a chuckle “Oh what a spoiled little spawn…well creature…eh, you’ll always be a little spawn to me.” He puts you down looking at you, it was true, he did notice you were an inch taller than yesterday and your clothes did look a bit tight. “Oh you weren’t kidding…” He thinks looking around “Dhampir do grow faster and mature faster….” He mutters to himself before going to a trader seeing if they have anything in stock, fabric even. 

As he was busy, you stray from him as you spotted a few tiefling children playing. You ran over smiling “Can I play!” You stood in front of them. “Sure! You’re from Baldur’s gate aren’t you by the way you talk and dress?” One of them smiles, “What games do you play at home?” One asked. You think carefully. Games, well you play ball by yourself, Cazador has you learn reading and writing. “I…um…I don’t know…usually papa has me studying and sends his people to play with me.” You held your hands behind your back and kick your feet in a shy manner. “Oh…you’re those kinds…Um….I think I heard my mom calling” They quickly left as the others give other excuses and leave you alone. You only look down and grab the ball they dropped bouncing it on your own. “What’s the matter?” Gale walks over seeing the scene. You look up, eye glossy trying not to let tears fall down. “Making friends is hard…” You whisper “Back home there is no other children playing with me…” Gale looks at you thinking back to himself as a young child. “It is isn’t it?” He smiles gently grabbing the ball from you and tossing it to you playing. You smile giggling and toss it back to him. “I don’t have any friends at home to play with, papa never lets me leave the big castle…” You catch the ball as it was tossed back. “Is that so? I know how it feels to be lonely…how about this.” He catches the ball and placed it down as he squats to your height. “(Y/N) would you like to be my friend?” He smiles as your eyes widen gasping. “You mean it!” Your little body bouncing with excitement. Gale nods waiting for your response. “Yes!” You bounce happily “ I have to tell Astarion!” You ran off to find the pale elf. Gale chuckles watching run off to bother Astarion with a big smile on your face.  

The next day You were told to stay in the grove. Shadowheart chuckles watching you pouting away eating whatever was given to you. “I want to go out too!” You look up at her. She only sighs “How do I deal with children…you want to go out you say? I guess we can outside the gates and collect some herbs. I know everyone is going to need healing after this battle.” Getting up, she held your hand and walked outside of the grove. You ran around happily collecting flowers for everyone. “What am I supposed to collect?” You asked her. She smiles fixing your hair “See this herb right there, that’s what we need.” She points as your eyes follow the direction she was pointing at. You ran over picking it up smiling and collected more. She only sits by the rock watching you over as you collected whatever caught your little eye. You hum the same tune Cazador would hum to you. Collecting flowers you stopped seeing a bunny hop around in the distance. Shadowheart was busy playing with the artifact like a rubik's cube only to look up hearing the poor bunny squeal in the distance. She panics not seeing you and gets up putting the artifact away. “(Y/N)!?” She follows the sound before going down a small path behind a rock wall seeing you drain the blood of the poor bunny. You look up at her blood soaking your shirt and your lips stained. “What…are you doing?” She slowly walks over to you and kneels by you. You look at him “I…I didn’t mean to…I wanted to play with the bunny but…” You began to wail feeling overwhelmed by these urges. “Oh please don’t cry.” Shadowheart panics looking around, not knowing what to do in this scenario. “Where is the Spawn when you need him…okay. Let’s clean you up and a nap will help” She holds your hand ignoring the blood and toss the rabbit on the side into a bush for a wolf or other animal to chow on. She walks to the river and makes you wash your hands. “Relax, everything is going to be okay.” She whispers as you whimper. She collects water into her palm and rubs off the blood from your shirt the best of her ability. She sighs seeing the shirt to be now discolored into the blood stain. “Your bag is in the grove….we can’t let them see you like this.” She wipes your cheeks clean as well. You look over hearing the bush rustle behind her. Shadowheart quickly picked you up and took out her mace. “Who goes there!” She glares. You cling to her only to tear up seeing Astarion walk out of the bush. 

“There you are, I thought I smelled blood near the gate.” He was out of breath and bruised from the battle they came back. His hair was all over the place and had a panicked look on his face. Shadowheart puts her mace away “Don’t scare me like that! I could’ve swing!” She scolds at him. He paid no attention to her as he walks over seeing your face stained in tears and a scared look. He noticed your clothes stained in blood. He took you from her arms and held you close, his hand on the back of your head. “What in the hells were you thinking?! I thought it was your blood I smelled all the way from the gates! I thought you got hurt!” He yells but not loudly knowing how much you hate it. You only laid your little head on his shoulder crying into his shoulder, your fist clinging on to him. He softens a bit feeling your little shoulders shake, you were scared. “What happened?” He looks at Shadowheart ready to pin this on her. “What did you do to them!” He glares at her. Hearing the commotion, Tav found them along with the others following. “What’s going on? Why is (Y/N) crying?” Tav walks over ready to stop Astarion seeing the murderous glare at the young woman. “What did you do!” He repeats to her, holding you close. “Their Dhampir side came out…” Shadowheart looks at him, feeling a bit speechless seeing him get this overprotective. She snaps out of it and points to the bunny in the bush. Gale walks over but turns around quickly “If you have a weak stomach…I suggest not looking” He covers his mouth. Tav walks over and looks at the bunny. “Gods…its in pieces….” They whisper. Hearing their comments made you tear up. They think your a monster, they won’t be your friends anymore…they won’t take you to see your home and papa anymore. You only hide your face more, letting out choked sobs. “Enough! Think before you speak.” Astarion held you close “We just hide the damn bunny and do our best to cheer them up…they are feeling overwhelmed and not themselves…gods do you people ever use your brain?” He walks off holding you close. 

  Night fell, you were in Astarion tent, in the corner. The pale elf walks in holding food, “Your still human…you need to eat this….we can start implementing human foods more than blood to control that urge.” He sits by you. You only look at the plate, hugging your knees and shake your head no. “(Y/N)...it was okay what you did…it’s in your nature…and I know your scared…I was too…when I first became a spawn….” He whispers softly and scoots closer only for you to scoot away. “ No…I don’t want to you…or anyone…like I did to Mr.Bunny..” You tear up. “Is that why mommy didn’t want me…am I a monster…they…probably won’t be my friends anymore” You whispers thinking back their reaction to the bunny. Astarion looks at you before grabbing your arm, you gasp and try to wiggle away, scared to hurt him only to feel a warm embrace. Astarion held you close, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “By hells, you are speaking nonsense little spawn.” He rubbed your back. “If they thought of us as monster, we wouldn’t be here now…they…are odd in their own ways you know so no one is perfect.” He grabbed the plate “Now eat up” He feed you a piece of fish and sat you on his lap, making sure you ate. You happily munched feeling slightly better. 

  After finishing your food, you laid your little head on Astarions chest as he held you close in one arm while the other was busy reading a book about Dhampir’s he found in a box. Your little doe eyes look up seeing everyone walk to Astarion’s tent. You cling to him feeling anxious only to calm down as Astarion rubs your little arm, “Relax, they come bearing gifts” He hums. Gale was the first one to talk “(Y/N), it was rude of me to…you know…having a weak stomach but you have nothing to worry about, I will always be your friend.” He smiles and leans down leaving down a purple wrapped gift on the ground for you smiling. He rubs your head “Sleep well” He whispers before being pushed back by Karlach, “Hey little soldier! Look what I got you” She smiles placing the small stuff bear in your arms which you happily accepted. “Thank you” You whisper shyly hugging the bear. Shadowheart smiles as it was her turn. “I got you some pretty flowers and made a couple of bracelets, we both have one. “ She shows off hers and place the other next to Gale’s gift. Tav walks over smiling and crouched next to you and Astarion. “Mine…you’ll have to wait because I promise…I will take you back home” They pat your head. Upon hearing this, you gasp. “You mean it! I get to see my papa soon!” You sat up. 

Astarion leans back watching you interact happily with everyone, that fear gone. He chuckles seeing you yawn and rub your eyes. “Alright little spawn time for sleep.” He looks at the others shooing them away from his tent and picks you up, fixing the bedroll and lays down, holding you close. He wasn’t going to let you go through this alone, not on his watch. You’re his little spawn after all.

[ireallyliketalldarksultrymen]

HIII!! Can i get a fic of Creakblings? (Wild life Bigb and scott creakings!)

I LOVE RHEM SM!!! (this fic can be found here on ao3, and go vote mumskizzscott at @trafficblrpolyamshipbracket !!!)

—

BigB was a person who enjoyed to keep to himself. 

Now, don’t get him wrong. He liked people. Loved them, even! Cleo, Lizzie, Ren—those were his friends he was content with throughout last life (minus a couple of instances), and he wouldn’t have it any other way. But, if you had to ask BigB if he’d rather spend an afternoon with them at a bonfire, or eat dinner alone in his house on a clifftop, let it be known he’s running for the hills.

It’s mainly the silence that he enjoys, being able to pause and take a breather in a server full of constant hurry. Hurry to obtain materials, hurry to thieve, to slaughter. With each and every explosion, after explosion, after explosion, BigB’s longing for peace swells.

It wasn’t as if solitude was foreign to him, either; he’s spent games without allies, living right beside the border in shacks of wood. There, he found comfort in the flowers and fireflies, the frogs and fish that ran through his lakes. Those were enough for him.

And again, ages after secret life, his journey has aligned with seventeen others, hurtled into a biome and given one goal: barter, kill, win. Alliances shift like the wind, and the air thick with desperation. At this point, he’s lost all energy to complain; BigB’s fought long and hard enough to know the inevitable.

As sunlight wanes and the day’s star dips, players scattered across the map begin to settle for the night. The air once full with laughter and retorts starts to quiet, but not without a few disturbances. There’s the cows of Gem’s barn lowing at their calves, and Billy yipping at Pearl whenever she leaves for bed, offering those wide, glossy eyes in exchange for more scratches behind his ear. 

The Pale Garden whistles, a soft churr that flies by your ears. It’s both eerie and comforting, like a canary held in a cage that’s grasped by coal miner navigating dark tunnels of the underground. Silver bushels of leaves gleam like glitter, dangling from gnarled, cadet branches. It groans when wind dances between them, straining at the lightest pressure.

The chill in the forest wraps arounds you and clings like a second skin, seeping into the fabric of your clothes and causing gooseflesh to arise. It isn’t exactly the worst—he’s managed it for long enough to practically resist it—though BigB hated enduring the constant feeling of his fingers and toes numb.

He would think the eerie stillness of the forest would be enough from him. I mean, it did had everything he could want—a marsh, good scenery, and amazing view. The moment BigB stumbled upon, he figured he’d spend his days in forest alone.

Ultimately, he proved himself wrong.

BigB was a person who enjoyed to keep to himself…or so he thought.

Originally they weren’t the closest; Scott lived along the river way, residing among the flowers in the valley with his husband. BigB, on the other hand, settled far west in a forest of birch. He was on his own, days filled with mining for resources and building his castle. 

Their paths rarely crossed in the early days. BigB’s world was self-contained, and Scott had a want for more with every day that went by. While he thrived with the bustling alliances at his fingertips, BigB rarely had anyone knocking on his front door.

Soon enough came the Battle of the Red Desert. BigB had been adopted into fighting for Dogwarts alongside Ren’s knights. He remembers spotting Scott on the other end of the battlefield, aligned with Scar and Grian’s faction. He donned armor and a sword similar to BigB’s own that glinted in the dust bowel’s Sun.

He isn’t sure what had him drawn to Scott in the first place. Maybe it was his laugh, sticky-sweet, light, and able to fill the air in the harshest of circumstances. Something about it stood out among others, the noise feeling far from forced and carrying a warmth that settled in your chest. BigB found it to be harmonic, a melody sung by a songbird. 

Or, maybe it was his kindness. It always caught him off guard, being in a death game and all. He remembers the day after Cleo abandoned the Fairy Fort, bitterness radiating off of her. Scott had visited later in the day and offered a place to stay in his cottage if things ever got rough. When BigB couldn’t thank him enough, he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

On opposite sides of war, they were never meant to meet.

Looking back on it, BigB chuckles.

Tonight, he sits atop his enormous head that he dubs his house, perched high above acres of monochromatic trees. From this vantage point, BigB could see almost everything—from the Tuff Guys’ mineral structures towering in the distance,  to Joel’s car, sitting idle in the plains. Even the high stalks of bamboo surrounding Lizzie’s parrots come into view, their careful eyes watching over the server.

Sat next to him is Scott, dangled legs swinging carefully against the staccato-y breeze. His locs tickle Bigb’s where his head his rested against his shoulder, eyes closed as he hums a tune with no particular rhythm. BigB smiles.

Scott’s the only person who understands him, BigB thinks. He doesn’t mind his preference for listening to someone over speaking, nor disinterest for conversation. He doesn’t mind the silence.

When Scott first saw him—the real him, vines curling around his forearm and an unsettling amount of golden eyes scattered across his form, he didn’t find him unnerving, nor appalling. Instead, Scott gasped, face lighting up. “You’re gorgeous, B!”

So the next time when he saw Scott, BigB wasn’t entirely surprised to see his sweater embroidered with amber orbs, or the honey curl that bounced against his forehead.

“You two!” Pearl laughed, eyes darting between them, stood side-by-side as their bodies shook from laughter. “Attached at the hip, eh? At this point, you’re practically brothers!”

Brothers. The word rolled off his tongue with no problem.

BigB thought he would’ve been a person that kept to himself his entire life, that wasn’t until he met Scott.

That wasn’t until he met his brother.

[strawhatsoraya]

GOJO X FEM READER X GETO | SFW WC: 3.4k CW: suggestive language, mentions of bullying, gojo continues to be a little shit, second hand embarrassment, geto suguru just existing, rom com vibes SUMMARY: Gojo Satoru can't seem to stop annoying Y/N, and Y/N unwillingly shares a lollipop with him. Geto Suguru appears like a knight in shining armor, but he has his own feelings to sort through.

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter Two

Every time he’d see you in the halls, there was a lollipop in your mouth.

Your eyes, dull and hard to read, stare at nothing as you lean against the wall. You absentmindedly turn the stick between the tips of your fingers, swirling the sticky sweet against the inside of your cheeks.

He doesn't know why or how it started.

Maybe it began as a whim, or maybe it was an innocent token given by someone Gojo Satoru hadn’t noticed before. Someone he had long forgotten. Although he severely doubted that. He prided himself on his observational skills and on his keen ability to file away personal little tidbits he could manipulate to his favor later.

If someone had given you a lollipop, even as a mere act of kindness to breach past the invisible walls around you, Gojo would have noticed; and he would have definitely remembered. After all, whether he liked it or not, he had developed the uncanny ability to find you in any room without much effort.

You had joined a few weeks into the spring term, a surprise transfer student no one was expecting.

Your introduction to the school had sent everyone into an unnecessary tizzy, as rumors about the reason you had transferred broke out in every corner. Some mentioned bullying as to why you suddenly left your previous school; that it had been so bad you had contemplated doing something reckless. Others mentioned violence, and theft.

The more days passed, the more embellished the stories became.

“You know what I heard?” Shoko spoke out of the corner of her mouth, her voice low and drawn out. It was a habit that drove Suguru crazy. Satoru looks sidelong at him with an amused grin. “I heard she got caught in the teacher’s lounge doing,” she pauses to use her hand and turn it into a fist. Shoko tucks her tongue against her cheek until it bulges, and brings her first to her mouth rhythmically. “You know.”

Suguru sucks his teeth impassively. Gojo finds his reaction infinitely more humorous than Shoko’s far-fetched rumor. He smiles as he leans against the corridor wall, the sun reflecting off his dark sunglasses.

“That’s enough,” Suguru speaks sternly, frowning down at his short haired classmate. He turns to Satoru. “And you too, stop entertaining her!”

“I’m just saying that’s what I heard!” Shoko defends herself as she brings her hands up in defeat. “I didn’t say I believed it.”

“And you’re making it worse by repeating it,” Suguru admonishes. He shakes his head in disbelief, hands deep inside his pockets. There’s a strand of ebony hair that falls away from his bun, gently grazing one eyebrow. Satoru watches it from behind his lenses, suddenly entranced by its movement.

“Relax, Class President.”

Satoru’s voice is jovial once he manages to swallow the thick lump in his throat. His heart races when Suguru directs his frown at him next. His dark eyes, usually kind and understanding, were turning turbulent and unreadable.

“The rumors will die out soon enough. She’s not even in our class. What are you so upset about?”

“You just don’t get it,” he mumbles quietly, sharply turning his face away. Shoko elbows Gojo, and whispers in his ear before snickering–something or the other about a stick being far up where the sun doesn’t shine. Satoru smiles reflexively, he even laughs and leans in but the lump is back in his throat as he notices the flush on Suguru’s cheeks.

His eyes, always kind, and understanding have gone past unreadable. They were searching down the hall for someone that wasn’t standing right in front of him.

It is then you appear around the corner. Your glossy curls framing your face, falling around your shoulders. The sun filtering through the glass is soft when it lands on your hair, and trails down your face. Tucked to a corner of your mouth, is a lollipop that you let dangle there as you cradle books to your chest. Your gaze is distant even as you approach them. You don’t even look at them as you pass them by, and in the moment Satoru sees the beauty mark on your jaw, a memory comes in like a tidal wave, sweeping away every other thought in the current of it.

“Oh,” he exclaims softly, lost within his memories.

He remembers suddenly, the sound of rain, the smell of wet dirt. He remembers your soaked hair clinging to your cheeks, the sound of you crying. It comes in fragments, as you distort the sunlight when you pass by, leaving him in tentative darkness. He shivers remembering that day but sunlight touches his milky skin again when you’re gone.

“You alright?” he hears Suguru ask. Satoru looks away from your retreating form.

“I’m fine,” he assures Suguru. “That’s her?” When Suguru nods, Satoru turns to Ieri. “Shoko-chan. Don’t ever bring up that rumor again.”

“What?” she repeats in disbelief, amazed at Gojo’s sudden change in behavior. “Since when do you care?”

“Since now.”

You always acted like it didn’t bother you. In fact, Gojo wasn’t even sure you were aware of the rumors. Every time he saw you, in the halls, in the cafeteria, as you crossed the courtyard leading to the gated entrance of the school, you always had that distant detached stare.

And there was the lollipop, tucked safely inside a cheek.

Something about your blasé existence bothered him. It gnawed at his conscious, slowly chewing around the edges. The rippled shadow of his resolve provoked him to act impetuously. There’s a tinny voice echoing in his ears, begging him not to do it but he still does. He still reaches for you, gripping the end of your lollipop stick between index and thumb finger.

Satoru pulls it out of your mouth with a ‘pop’, leaving you stupefied as drool oozes from your bottom lip to your chin. You wipe at it slowly with the back of one hand, only to watch him push the used lollipop into his own mouth.

“That’s disgusting,” you tell him flatly, top lip curled, brows raised to better convey the message. You’re trying to bury it between his eyebrows. Maybe if it digs into his brain deep enough, he’d leave you alone for good.

“Only if you think you’re disgusting.” His quip is quick, sharp, lethal. He doesn’t hold back, as if he has no concerns for your ego. Satoru observes you as he hangs his tongue out of his mouth, twisting the lollipop over the surface of it. You watch, your eyebrows slowly drawing together, as the fleshy pink of his tongue becomes blue at the center of it. His stance is languid, the weight of his statuesque figure laying mostly on one foot. Gojo looks down at you sidelong, ivory lashes fluttering seductively.

“What’s up with you, Knee Pads?” he asks you, not bearing the silence between you. “It’s like you’ve been avoiding me or something.”

“What’s up with you?” you retort, unhappy with your bout of stupidity. You blush as you try to steal back the lollipop. Gojo holds steadfast, his neck craning as you tug with more strength. “Also, my name,” you clench your teeth as you pull one more time, freeing your lollipop from Gojo Satoru’s impressively strong lips. Just what kind of suction power a tall freak like him possessed? “Is not Knee Pads.”

He knew that.

Instead of confessing, he resorts to digging into his trouser pockets, curling long fingers around lint like well kept secrets.

“Hmm,” Gojo hums contemplatively as he watches you put the lollipop back into your mouth. The corners of his mouth twitch as he does his best to fight off a wicked grin. His best, in this case, was not even close to good enough. Even as his lips split into a mischievous smile, he sees your eyes narrow in suspicion.

For your amusive efforts, Gojo allows his own eyelids to become playfully heavy. A tapered finger reaches out to tap the end of your lollipop stick. You flinch.

“We just kissed. Did you know that?”

You blink, shake your head. You blink again, thinking it would clear the fog from your mind.

“I see,” you speak around the lollipop that’s tucked safely back into one of your cheeks. You bob your head, nod as if you had been imparted with some worldly wisdom. “You’re crazy crazy.” You wind a finger around the side of your head, and hold out your palm briefly. “Full. Alternative facts crazy.”

Gojo closes his eyes dramatically, lifting a finger to wag it in the air. You watch with the last vestiges of your patience, as his soft looking hair falls to the side when he tilts his head slightly.

How incredibly annoying of him to be so undeniably beautiful. Surely, that was illegal somewhere in the world.

“No no,” Gojo coos softly, his white eyebrows drawing together. “Indirect kisses are real. We just had one.”

He tries to bop your lollipop stick again but you dodge him by reeling back slightly.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Mister Gojo!” you mumble, your own brows drawing together. You can feel them settling there, as if that was henceforth their permanent location when Gojo Satoru was around. “Indirect kiss or not, this isn’t a free for all. You may not have boundaries, but I do.”

Guilt washes over his expression, turning his glimmering smile empty.

Whether it’s feigned, or genuine, you don’t want to bother thinking about it. His shoulders slouch as he deflates, pallid hands hiding inside his trouser pockets once more. The way he looks up at you through his lashes, behind those stupid circular glasses, reminds you of a dejected puppy.

You liked dogs, but you weren’t in the habit of picking up strays.

“Sheesh,” he exclaims after a tense moment of silence. “You’re pretty brutal with that mouth of yours. Guess it does more than just suck on a lollipop, huh?”

“Ha ha,” you laugh sarcastically, a single brow cocked high over your forehead.

You don’t seem receptive to his jokes, and he should really learn to observe and heed the lines drawn on the sand but Gojo Satoru was never one to follow the rules. He simply didn’t think they adhered to him.

“I mean,” he drawls, shifting the weight of his body to the other leg. “It makes sense why you don’t have any friends.”

There he went again, throwing words like daggers; like he didn’t care where they landed, like he didn’t care if you bled in front of him.

You open your mouth, thoughts slowing down partially because you were not expecting his brutal observation and partially because you were stunned into silence by his sheer audacity.

“That’s-that’s really none of your business,” you try to speak calmly, even as you stumble over your words. You pray your practiced stony expression saves you this time. “Also you’re one to talk. I’m surprised you even have friends.”

You, in fact, were not. He didn’t need to be told that.

Gojo Satoru loved his theatrics.

You had reached this conclusion after seeing him exert his dramatic skills at school plenty of times. Often in the company of Geto Suguru, Class President and the current star of your dreams; much to your chagrin.

You take a front row seat to Gojo’s performance as he places a hand to his chest, a trembling injured sound shooting out his throat.

“My friends love me,” he declares hotly. “I have a best friend. In fact,” he turns, swinging an arm out to point behind you. “He’s right there. SUGURU!”

You flinch at the sudden volume of his voice, shutting your eyes as one of your hands raises to pull the lollipop out from your mouth.

“SUGURU, COME HERE!”

Panic seizes in your chest, before it untangles into heated tendrils. They shoot out to your limbs, confusing your neurons. The signals are messed up, you’re sure of it, as you falter in your spot, turning and spinning to and fro. Your mind screams: run, but your legs find that extremely inconvenient. So you settle for popping the lollipop back in your mouth, and placing your hands on your hips; the epitome of teenage nonchalance.

You even lean back on a leg, as if you didn’t care about your crooked posture; scoliosis be damned.

It isn’t long before his footsteps reach you. There’s an electric chill on your fingertips, forcing you to drum them against your hips. It was all you could do to keep from screaming as Geto Suguru’s shadow fell over you.

“Oh, Suguru!” Gojo exclaims excitedly. You can’t help but notice the way his face lights up, as if the whole sun was shining down on him and only for him. An infectious smile stretches his pouty lips. “You’re here.”

Geto nods slowly, an impassive expression temporarily rippling across his features. It is quickly replaced with a more patient ambiguity.

“Mmhmm,” he admits, still nodding slowly, hands deep in the pockets of his baggy trousers. His glossy locks are tied up in his characteristic bun, bangs gently swaying against his temple with every motion. “You did flag me down.” He pauses as if to give Gojo the time to answer but the fair-haired man only stares back with a broad smile. Geto shrugs his shoulder in question. “So, what’s up?”

“Oh!” Gojo claps his hands, finding himself back on his initial train of thought. He leans over to drop an elbow on your shoulder. You try to train your expression even as you buckle slightly under the weight of your taller classmate. “Knee Pads here,” he says next, flicking a finger down at you as he continues to use you as a crutch. Your hands, still on your hips, grip tighter. “Was trying to say I didn’t have any friends. So…”

He trails off, nodding at Suguru expectingly.

You dare to finally look at Geto head on, as you feel his gaze land on your flushed face. Shiny dark marble eyes that take your breath away inspect your facade for cracks. You feel yourself small under his brief scrutiny. Fortunately for you, he flicks his gaze over at Gojo, still inconveniently close to your body.

You watch as Geto Suguru open his mouth, only to close it. You do your best to fight off a smile. It is extremely difficult when Gojo tenses slightly next to you, so you chew on the inside of a cheek for distraction. It’s like you can hear the gears inside the brunette’s head spinning, creaking, in search of some kind of answer.

“I mean…” he starts, but his voice dies out quickly. He frowns at Gojo, an overplayed sympathetic look takes over his elegant features. “First of all, her name is not Knee Pads…”

“Don’t!” Gojo interrupts, one hand going out in the air. “Change the subject.”

“Yes,” he admits with an eye roll. “We are friends. Okay?”

It was all Gojo needed, apparently. His mood shifts quickly, and he gives your shoulder up to replace you with Geto. His hands go out to his shoulders as he settles behind the dark haired young man, squeezing them repeatedly.

“See, Knee Pads? What did I say?”

Geto tries to shake him off, but gives up when he sees his attempts are futile. You laugh tensely, feeling sweat seeping into your school shirt from your armpits. It’s like your body is screaming for you to finally high tail it out of that situation but something keeps you tethered to the ground you’re standing on.

Maybe it’s the sparkle in Gojo Satoru’s shit-eating grin that pushes every button inside you, like a kid with sticky fingers. Maybe it’s the way Geto Suguru tilts his head, a quizzical expression on his face as if he is trying to read your every thought.

Maybe it’s an unknown third thing—a lonely dark thing, that still craves what it cannot have.

Friendship. Bonds.

Those were things you didn’t dare touch anymore. You’d never cross that threshold again, much less if it involved the Class President and the devoted Sunflower boy on his side.

You shift the lollipop to your other cheek with your tongue, raise a hand and vertically slice through the air with your palm.

“Good for you, Gojo Satoru,” you declare without humor. “Wonderful, even.” If there was any part of you that was envious, delirious with want, you make sure to stamp it out when you plant your feet on the ground in preparation to your exit. “I’m gonna go. Bye.”

“Wait!” Gojo stops you before you can spin and run against the wind. He reaches over Geto’s shoulder, pressing his chest against his back. Suguru starts to protest, you see him aim his elbow at Satoru’s stomach. It doesn’t stop him, however, from once more plucking the lollipop from your mouth with talented fingers.

Just as before, you watch him with a petrified expression as he crams the lollipop in his mouth, half of his body draped over Geto Suguru.

“You can go now!” he bids you adieu cheerfully. A hand wave and a smile is all you get for your mortification. “Thank for the kiss. This is my favorite flavor, actually.”

Suguru’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

“HUH?” he shouts, as he attempts to look over his shoulder at Gojo.

He does his best to shake him off of him, his gaze flickering from you to his friend repeatedly. Your heart freezes painfully, and there is a heat wrapping around your neck that suffocates you, that buries every excuse and explanation back into your stomach where it gets ready to fester.

You’ll feel them there later, tangling themselves into knots, as you lay in bed awake replaying this disaster of a meeting with your high school crush.

Unable to bear it anymore, you spin on your heels and speed walk away, far enough until you think you’re out of their line of sight; but the school gate seems so far away, as if the distance is never shortened and although you tell yourself to be patient, to just suck it up for a little longer, tears prickle your eyes. Your legs kick up as you start sprinting away, and take a sharp corner at the gate disappearing from Geto and Gojo’s sight.

Suguru finally shakes him off, and for his grievous affront, he makes sure to dig his pointy elbow into the apex of Satoru’s abdomen.

Gojo coughs and folds over, wheezing as he takes in a deep breath. He laughs, deeply amused by jokes Geto wasn’t privy to. Despite having been practically thrown off his body already, Satoru goes back to Suguru, this time propping his arm on one of his shoulders.

“She’s cute, right?” Gojo asks, peering closely into Suguru’s eyes.

Suguru finds that his friend is uncomfortably close, as he often was. He swallows thickly, a knot inside his throat that is indiscernible, tastes bittersweet on its way down. There’s a heat on the back of his neck that touches tenderly, turning the tips of his ears crimson.

“Leave her alone,” he argues, voice so taut he fears his vocal chords might tear. Suguru swallows again hoping that would solve the issue. He shrugs his shoulder, efficiently ridding himself of the source of his current affliction; at least for now; at least until he remembers the bright shade of blue of Satoru’s eyes in the middle of the night. “You don’t even like her.”

“Says who?”

“Says I.” Silence falls between them, a rare ordeal. Geto feels his shoulders stiffen as Gojo peers at him from behind his dark shades. He senses the questions in the way he stands, knows that Satoru is running through various scenarios in an effort to figure him out. If he doesn’t speak now, he might be asked questions he doesn’t want to answer. “Well, do you?”

He forces the words out, throws them like stones at a fragile skylight.

“I don’t know,” Satoru admits with a crooked smile, a dimple decorating one cheek. “Maybe? She’s interesting.”

The thing with throwing stones at glass ceilings, it’s that sometimes they shattered all around you. Geto pretends the shards don’t cut right through him. He pretends just like he’s done countless times before.

“Like I said,” he pauses to lick his bottom lip, mouth going dry. “Leave her alone. You’re just bored. Let’s go find something else to do.” He begins to walk, expecting Satoru to follow him closely—and he does as predicted.

“Oh, you wanna go to the arcade? Why?” he asks, bumping into Suguru playfully. Suguru allows himself to be swayed, and fights off a smile. “You lose against me every time. You’re that desperate to buy me food?”

“Shut up, Satoru.”

“I want McDonald’s.”

Suguru sighs heavily.

“Fine.”