#sorry i'm getting sick so i'm really tired

[always-just-red]

Oh I forgot to add 😭😭😭 be it fluff like jelly sylus but fluff maybe he trying to make the mc jelly too ? I’m going wild with ideas, I will be quiet

(Part 1 of ask) FINALLY finished this fic oh my goshhh I've loved it so much but writer's block was my constant companion for this one 🫠 Thanks for your patience!! Sy is jealous but I'm still pushing my 'Sylus is the softest man alive and would die before hurting MC' agenda, so I had to get a lil creative! Hope I've pulled it off idk 😭😭

Be Mine

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus is getting a little tired of sharing you with the other men in your life (and he doesn't mean Luke and Kieran 🙃)

Genre: lil bit of angst, comfort and fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, jealousy, other LIs mentioned, brief allusion to Raf's self-harm tendencies, cheating mentioned, some intimacy & kisses-- more soft than spicy!

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus has spent centuries waiting for you, so he’s going to give you another minute.

Patience is not a virtue; it’s an old acquaintance he greets with a false smile whenever he’s forced to pass it on the street. Sometimes outside your building, whilst you’re chatting with a neighbour from the apartment above yours. Sometimes when you’re running late from a doctor’s appointment.

Patience has been cropping up a lot these days and gods, he’s sick of its face. Even now, it sits with him at this table for two as he sips at a glass that’s almost empty. There’s poetry in stalling, in savouring what’s left, especially as a waiter hovers anxiously nearby, anticipating the need for yet another refill (it would be the third).

Dregs of blood-red wine swirl with solemnity. Sylus is a patient man, a man who waits, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants the reward of it: the pot of gold at the end of that insipid rainbow. Hasn’t he waited enough?

He lifts his drink to his lips again.

“Sylus!”

They curve as he swallows the final drop.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, flinging yourself into the seat across from him so quickly that he’s cheated of the chance to rise and help you with your chair. “Sit back down,” you usher, because he had made a start on it, “really, Sy, I’m so, so sorry. Things at work just got crazy, and I—”

“You don’t have to explain, sweetie,” he smiles as he signals the waiter. He’ll have that refill, now, and he orders your favourite drink as you shrug off your coat and fumble with your bag, looking for something. “I’m more than familiar with the Association’s… dedication to a cause.”

You glance up with an amused smile. “We’re keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Mmm. There is one hunter who’s proving to be a real thorn in my side.”

“You on top of that?”

“Most evenings, yes. Some mornings, too.”

You poke your tongue out at him. You’ve retrieved a compact mirror and you use it to study your dishevelled reflection. “Is everything all right at work?” he asks as you fuss over your hair.

“Yeah,” you puff. “Long story.”

“We have time.”

With a warmer smile, you stash your mirror away and sequester your bag by your feet. “You sure?” He gives you a look. “Fine,” you chuckle. “Basically, Xavier forgot to write up some reports. He’s been away on an ultra-secret, special mission or whatever—” you tap your nose conspiratorially— “which I didn’t just tell you, okay? But yeah, the reports weren’t done, and they were due tonight, so…”

Sylus raises an apathetic eyebrow. “He asked you to help?”

“Begged me, more like.”

Of course he did. The waiter arrives with your drinks and Sylus has never been gladder for a distraction. His mouth is full of pettiness, bitterness, so he drowns it with wine. You could have called. Texted. “So kitten’s been playing secretary, hmm?” he goads instead.

“That would imply kitten could keep track of time,” you pout, “so no. And speaking of playing a part—” you poke his nose— “you’re allowed to be mad at me. I should have called you. Texted. So let me have it, yeah? I feel bad enough already without you being all… perfect.”

You’re only teasing, but Sylus doesn’t feel perfect. He’s thinking about you working late with your partner, laughing at his jokes, poking him with your pen to keep him from falling asleep on his paperwork. He smirks, regardless. “What if I want you to feel bad?”

“Oh, gods,” you slump forwards, face-down on the table. “How long were you waiting?”

“Years.”

You fake cry into the tablecloth. “Don’t, Sy. Just tell me the truth. How bad was it?”

“Really, years,” he insists again, folding his arms on the table and sliding forwards, too. His chin is resting on his hands, and he blows at the top of your head. “Look.” Your face lifts so you can peer at him. He pinches his hair. “I’ve even gone grey, see?”

You sit up the tiniest bit more and your noses are almost brushing. “It looks nice,” you whisper.

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Suits you.”

Your eyes are every gem— every jewel in an illicit auction Sylus has to steal away from the rest of the world, because something that pretty just has to be his; it will find no worthier home than his hands. His devotion fills vaults. Aren’t they spilling with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds— those reckless imitations of your gaze? No-one else could deserve them, adore them like he does.

And they’ve nothing on the real thing.

Someone clears their throat and Sylus tracks the noise begrudgingly. The anxious waiter is back, clutching menus this time. You sit up fully, laughing to break the tension, and sure enough, Sylus feels less like hurling the man through the nearest window.

He’s still thinking about it though. He tells the waiter as much with a smile, and the menus are passed over with shaking hands. When Sylus says, “thank you,” it sounds like a bomb, ticking.

“Play nice,” you tut, once the waiter’s cleared the blast radius.

“Sweetie, when do I ever not play nice?”

You blink back at him disbelievingly. This should be good. “How about the time that you—?”

A familiar ringtone interrupts you, and your eyes widen in apology as you grab at your bag, rifling around for your phone. You find it— check the call and decline it— but relief is hiding, refusing to set foot on stage. Not yet, it confers to Sylus darkly, because it knows what comes next.

“Do you need to…?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, it was just Rafayel. Thanks, though.” You set the phone down. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what a terribly bad man I am, sweetie.”

“Right!” you giggle. No, not yet. “So how about the time that you…” The phone rings again. You check it. Decline it. “How about the time that you—ugh!” It’s ringing again.

Sylus taps a finger on the table, impatiently patient. You can’t mute the wretched thing: the next call you miss would be a Wanderer, tearing through an orphanage or the like. It’s the reason you check, even when there’re no orphans at stake— just a pest of an artist with too much time on his hands.

Except… “Oh,” you say, glancing downwards, “it’s Zayne. I should probably—” Sylus gives a half-smile of blessing, but you weren’t waiting around for it— “hey, Zayne! I can’t talk right now, unless— Raf? What the hell? How did you get Zayne’s phone?”

You pull yours away from your ear as a string of whines come through:

“— ignore my calls, don’t even text me to ask what’s up, and then pick up his call right away? You hate me, right? Just say that you hate me, cutie.”

“I don’t hate you, Raf.” The phone is back to your ear. ��I’m busy. Now seriously, how did you get— oh, hi, Zayne. Why is Raf…?” Sylus can hear a deeper voice answering your questions. “He’s at the—? Shit, is he okay? Ugh, tell him I can hear him. Tell him I know he’s not dying.”

You meet Sylus’s eyes as conflict erupts on the other end of the call. Sorry, you mouth as static filters through, interspersed with broken words and curses. The doctor’s voice prevails. “Yeah, Zayne,” you speak back to it. “I’ll call Thomas, get him to pick him up. Mmhmm? Oh!” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I forgot, he’s at that stupid art thing. Look, maybe later, I can…”

The artist’s shrill tone is protesting.

“I know it’s my job, Raf!” you counter. “But gimme a break, please. If it was any other night, you know I’d be there. Of course I wanna be there! But I can’t—”

It’s just a slip of the tongue— words you don’t even realise you’re saying— but Sylus still feels his heart sink. He hates it. A heart is so difficult to argue with: it’s long gone before you can talk any sense into it. He stands from the table, those priceless eyes of yours pursuing him. When you tilt your head, he musters a smile, then a weak excuse: “I’m just stepping outside for a moment.”

You nod, a follow-up question on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s a voice in your ear again— two voices— and you’re you, so of course you listen.

…

Sylus waits on a bench outside the restaurant, closing his eyes as he waits for his heart to come back.

It’s only been a few minutes. He’s thinking about your eyes, your nose and lips— an inch from his— and how he should have closed that gap before it grew treacherous. Shouldn’t he be done with this? This… longing? You’re his. You’ve told him you’re his, over and over again, but he finds himself needing to hear it once more; the ghost of your voice is starting to lack persuasion.

He is yours without exception, but you? There’s always a caveat. I’m yours, Sylus. But only so long as the city is quiet. I’m yours, Sylus. Until someone else calls. The door to the restaurant opens— he can hear it— but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to pretend.

I’m yours, Sylus. No caveats. No exceptions.

“Sylus.”

He swallows the dread in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you entreat softly. His eyes open, and you’re wearing your coat, holding your bag. “I have to run to the hospital— it’s this whole thing. Raf, like, passed out or something. He’s not been eating again. Zayne said when something like this keeps happening, it’s a sign that… yeah. He just… needs someone. And he hasn’t got anyone else, you know?”

“I understand.” You’re worried about your friend. That’s all it is.

Why can’t he believe that’s all it is?  

You come over and sink down on the bench beside him, looping your arm through his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t you know that he’s afraid? That a selfish, spiteful part of him wants to hide you— with the rest of his treasures— away from the light, so he can love you in the dark?

There’s a sigh as you lean against him, savouring his touch like the wine one swirls in a glass when their thoughts are elsewhere. It’s gone in a mouthful; you check your watch, and he hopes it’s bitter.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

No, he would rather be sweet for you, but look at you— making him lie. “I’m okay,” he says, and it doesn’t have a drop of conviction. He’s tired of philanthropy.

…

“What are you gonna do? Come on, tell us. Tell us! What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Give me a second, okay? Jeez.”

You literally just got here. Your pace is brisk and the night air still clings to you— you shed a layer of it by peeling your arms out of your coat. Luke and Kieran are close behind, keeping to your heels like terriers hoping you’ll trip with a plateful of food. They’ll take even a crumb at this point.

“You gonna fight him?” Kieran nudges, but your lips stay tight.

“Oh, you’re so gonna fight him,” Luke takes away from the silence.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve reached a decadent lounge, lavished with black and gold, and you throw your coat over the arm of a chair before starting to wrestle off your combat boots. You’ve been off work for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. One call-to-duty after another; first the hospital, now this.

Mephisto caws in greeting from a nearby perch. “I’m not gonna fight him,” you say as your second boot drops with a clunk. “I just need to—”

“Say no more,” Luke cuts you off. “We want in.”

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the twins at last. Kieran is readying a fist: punching his hand softly, the beak of his mask low and threatening. Beside him, Luke swings a baseball bat over his shoulder. He didn’t have it a second ago. Where did he even—?

You put your hands on your hips. “You guys got a death wish or something?”

“Yes!” they enthuse together, nodding excitedly.

You haven’t got time to ask. Your focus drifts to Sylus’s bedroom door, where music is leaking with honeylike light. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen over that threshold, exhausted— always slightly broken. You want to crawl into cool silk sheets and a warmer embrace, but there’s one small problem.

The text that had brought you here, anxious and out of breath:

Boss is with someone.

“What’re you thinking?”

You’re closer to the door, now, and Luke’s whisper makes you jump. You spin, twisting the bat from his fingers and pushing him back until the tip is pressed to his throat. “Get back,” you hiss, before levelling the weapon at an encroaching Kieran, “both of you.”

Luke leaps behind his brother— swinging him between you for protection. The baseball bat stays hovering, and Luke peeks over Kieran’s shoulder, swatting at it like an indignant kitten.

“Stop it,” you scold, poking back at his hand and his masked face. “Begone!”

“Yes, boss!” Kieran goes to move, but Luke is holding him in place. He’s dragged backwards: a human shield until they can both scurry around the turn of a corridor.

You smile fondly. You forget, for just a moment, that you’re alone and full of uncertainty. The song in the next room lulls, at its inevitable end, and then you can’t forget. You’re stood in silence, staring at a door you’ve never had to knock before. Another song starts up.

Whatever this is, you can handle it.

You use the baseball bat to tap against the dark wood. “Sylus?” you call.

He makes you wait. You can hear him, moving around— unmistakably taking his time— but you don’t mind. You’re running scenarios through your head. Is he in on this, too? Or…?

He opens the door and oh, he definitely is. His silk robe hangs haphazardly over his figure, one side threatening to slip from his shoulder and the belt dangerously loose at the middle. A flush is tinting his face, spreading down through his neck, past his collarbone and lower, you think, but you’re trying not to look.

“Sweetie,” he purrs in the way that tells you he’s up to no good, “what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes flit downwards. “And you’re armed, too.”

There’s a breathlessness to the observation, and your ability to breathe briefly eludes you as well. His hair is damp and unkempt, his skin warm, his gaze hot. Is this a test? It feels like a test.

“Are you alone?” you snap, because he’s clearly put some thought into whatever it is, and you’re a good sport, so you’ll play along.

“No,” he says, but then: “You know you’re always with me in spirit, kitten. Even if not in—” another downwards glance— “body.”

“Sylus.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” You catch his chin with your free hand, forcing his gaze back to your face. “And I want a real answer.” He swallows thickly. “Are you alone?”

His submission is fragile. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers around your wrist like a reminder of the fact. “Careful, sweetie.” His grip tightens as his voice drops. “Think about what you’re asking.”

“I know what I’m asking.” You snatch your hand free and step closer. “Get out of my way.”

Sylus narrows his eyes, but soon relaxes. He sweeps a hand through his hair, chuckling as he obeys— moving aside to let you past. You storm through, looking over every visible inch of his room. There’s nothing to see, of course. No clothes that aren’t yours pooled over the floor. No lover wrapped up in his bedsheets.

“Just what exactly are you looking for?” he asks smugly behind you.

“Save it, Sylus.” Your pretend patience is gone. “The twins told me everything.”

So you start searching more strenuously. You make your way over to his bed, baseball bat slung over your shoulder as you check behind the far side— even stooping to peek under it. You open the wardrobe. Nothing. Use the baseball bat to push back the curtains, letting in more blood-red moonlight. Nothing. You huff in frustration.

“You know, don’t you?” Sylus says quietly.

He’s leant against the doorway, arms crossed, and you spare him a glance. “Know what?”  

“That there’s no-one here.”

It sounds like defeat. “I’m taking this very seriously, actually,” you dismiss as you roll open the drawer of his bedside table, where no-one is hiding. You move on to even more absurd places: lifting flowers out of their vase to glance about inside it, peering into the horn of his vintage gramophone.

You’d hoped your antics would elicit at least a short laugh, or a scoff of amusement. There’s nothing, though, so you plonk onto the bed— defeated, yourself— and look to the man as you set your weapon down.

He looks back with an insincere smile. “How did you know?”

“That you weren’t really with someone? Because you’re you, Sylus. The key to a good prank?” Your fingers twinkle in the air beside your head. “Believability. Besides—” now a forefinger taps at your temple— “nothing gets past this.”

“Your ego?” he guesses with a smirk that is sincere, if nothing else.

“My brain, Sy.”

“Ah.”

Your ego— tsk. Your feet are dangling from the bed, playing with a slipper they’ve fished out from underneath it, and you have half a mind to launch it at him. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual games, though, and you’ve had a whole ride through the N109 Zone to figure out why.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?” you speak like a confession, staring down at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “That’s what all this is about, right? You wanted to get back at me for dinner?”

“No, I—”

“I get it.” Your feet find the second slipper. “I do. I mean, it was a really shitty thing to do— walking out on you like that. Especially after you waited for me. You went to all that effort, and I— ah.” You’ve toed one of the slippers out of reach.

“Allow me,” comes a voice that’s suddenly close. Sylus’s figure looms over you before he’s crouching, kneeling by your feet. He still looks like a mess of sin, but he’s gentle as he retrieves the slipper for you. Removes your socks for you. Slides a slipper onto each of your cold feet. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters.

You let out a sigh. “Sylus.” You’re scolding him, and he gazes up at you, his eyes garnets of adoration only you could afford. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“So why won’t you tell me how you feel?”

He sits back on his knees, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your ankle. The ministrations are mindless, and so are his words: “How I feel is not important.”

“Of course it is!” You pull away from him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought I could tell you anything, kitten.”

It’s a nick from a blade that could do much worse; he wants you to feel how sharp it is. His smile is a warning and he’s waiting for the hunter in you to strike back, because violence is what you’re good at. What you’re both good at. It hurts, but it’s easy.

You shift forward on the bed. “Sylus… you don’t need to protect me. Not from you. Not from anything you feel. I want you to be happy, to tell me if you’re unhappy. I don’t need you to—” your fingers skirt over his chest and you falter inexplicably— “to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Sylus looks down to where you’re tracing the shape of his heart on his skin. He lets out a long, beleaguered breath, then leans closer to you, his head turning away as he settles it on your lap. Your hands find his hair instinctually, threading through it in slow, meandering motions.

“I want you to be mine,” he admits on another sigh.

He can’t see you smile, but he’ll hear it in your voice: “I am yours, Sy—”

“No— just mine.”

He won’t make it a demand. Even asking you nicely has him breathless and still, like the drawn-out pause of a finished symphony. Your hands stop moving, out of respect for the quiet. You’re remembering the times you’ve been late out of your building because you’d stumbled into Xavier in the lobby. The doctor’s appointments that always overrun, and Rafayel’s ‘emergency’ phone calls.

“Come and sit with me,” you mumble, patting the bed beside you.

When Sylus does, it’s with the same reluctance a cat surrenders a sliver of sun. Lazy and listless— still warm from the light. The bed sinks under his weight and you turn to face him. His robe’s collar has fallen further, so you hook a finger under it to draw it back up to his neck. Then you straighten the lapels, smoothing them over distractedly.

He’s watching your face, not the movements of your hands. Your cheeks feel warm. “I was speaking to Rafayel earlier, and we—”

A groan, and Sylus is no longer at your fingertips; he’s flopped down backwards on the bed, his hand over his face. You can’t help giggling— you’ve broken the big, bad boss of Onychinus, it seems. Is that all it takes? You grin as you lie down with him, settling on your side, propped up on an elbow. He doesn’t stir when you fix a few stray strands of his hair.

“We talked about boundaries,” you continue. “How I can’t be on call twenty-four seven, and how he’s going to take better care of himself, so I don’t have to be.”

Sylus has moved his hand, ever so slightly.

There’s more: “I’m gonna call in sick to work tomorrow. I made a deal with Xavier, that’s why I stayed late today. He’ll cover for me.” You shift closer. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I can’t always be with you, but I am always thinking of you, I promise. You’re always with me in spirit, Sy, even if not in—” you press a quick kiss to his chest— “body.”

He chuckles at the words, or maybe the touch tickled.

You grin down at him. “I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“No! Ugh, just—” Smart-ass! You flick his forehead as he laughs quietly. “Not the words ‘I’m yours’, say that I’m���”

His hand is at your face, pulling you in so he can kiss you. It’s slow and it’s patient; he’s taking his time, and you won’t slip away. You can feel his smile. “You’re mine,” he murmurs when he finally withdraws. One more kiss, lighter, on the tip of your nose. “Just mine.”

Always. You let him pull you into an embrace, snuggling into his warmth like you’ve been wanting to from the moment you last left it. You can hear his heartbeat beneath the lullaby of his breath. “Sy?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You look really hot when you’re pretending to cheat on me.”

He scoffs, but a yawn comes before his response. “Don’t get any ideas, kitten.”

Your quiet is pensive. “I have this lunch with Zayne later this week. I really should text him to find out—”

The grip around you constricts, and a voice is in your ear, soft and possessive:

“What did I just say?”

[4urvalidation]

can you make a story where rafe and reader broke up 3 years ago, but she comes back to Outer Banks only now she has a daughter(who looks just like Rafe) and a husband (Whom she doesn't really love) and rafe still loves her

Oh, why you gotta make the wheels in my brain turn like this 😩 Not a huge expert when it comes to writing anything Y/N related, but willing to give it a go.

Didn't expect to connect to this as much as I did, so hopefully if the inspiration still flows once I'm done with A Case of Limerence I might explore this story further.

As for now, please enjoy this little blurb.

SUMMARY: Three years ago, Kook!Princess and Rafe began a secret love affair that lasted for an entire summer, until her parents found out and forbade Rafe from ever seeing their daughter again. Now, twenty-two years old and somewhat sober, he spends his days working a dull office job at his father's company wondering if he'll ever get to relive the golden days of his teenage years.

That's when she shows up - his first love. His only love. With a husband and baby and Rafe's heart is almost on the brink of breaking all over again until he realizes the kid looks exactly like him.

CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of alcohol and drug use; sexual content - nothing too graphic but the implications are strong; Rafe is not a psycho killer, but a drug addicted fratboy;

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⸰ .° ☆ ° ☆ °. ⸰ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

The term Kook Princess has been thrown around a lot in these parts, but no one seemed to be embodying it as perfectly as her.  She was the golden girl; the good girl. With a pair of rich, uptight parents, designer dog and curfew. Never seen at parties, but always invited and if she were to come, she was always quiet, subdued - soft drink in a red solo cup pressed tightly to her lips; her loud best friend never leaving her side. 

Rafe doesn’t know what it was that made him so attracted to her. With her honey blonde hair and soft sun kissed skin, she was light years away from his usual type, but then again, not quite. She was forbidden; out of reach, a conquest if you will and as a man who was never taught the word no, he too saw her as something he simply must get his hands on. 

He spent his days scheming how to get close. They had no mutual friends, she rarely left the house and when she did she was always with her stupid best friend or her parents and yes - Rafe was fearless, but not to the point where he would openly embarrass himself in front of two of the most influential people on the island.  

Days passed and he forgot about her soft smiles and the way those long legs looked in all those frilly short skirts. That is, until fate decided to butt in. 

It was hot - the hottest summer they have had in years and it was his sister’s birthday and he was so sick and tired of her and all her stupid friends but then he saw a glimpse of honey blonde hair and freckled skin and Rafe’s entire world stopped turning. She was smiling: perfect white teeth on an even more perfect face and there were so many girls in the world; so many girls in his backyard in skimpy swimsuits, but at that moment, Rafe only had eyes for her. 

He had no idea she and his sister were friends; he had no idea she even had friends aside from that loud, annoying one and yet, there she was: taking his breath away in a bright red bikini. 

The following events happened in a blur. He had been drinking since 10 am that morning -  perks of having his father and stepmonster away for the weekend - and he’d been laying on his bed, joint in hand when she walked in. 

“Sorry,” Her voice filled his room and only when his gaze met hers was when Rafe realized her eyes were hazel and not brown like he originally thought. “I can’t find the bathroom.” He put the joint between his lips; his limbs limp with relaxation and he wanted to stand up; was desperate to move towards her and feel the warmth emanating from her body, but he was too fucking high for all of it. 

“It’s okay.” She giggled just then and it was the best sound Rafe had heard in years. ���I’ll find my way.” 

To say that he was embarrassed was an understatement. He was fucking humiliated and so out of his mind, he could barely think of anything but that. The moment replayed in his head like a broken record of sorts; her soft smile on constant repeat and just as he was about to force himself out of the scenario the door of his bedroom opened again. 

This time she had put on shorts: the tiniest Rafe had ever seen and her bright red bikini was blinding and hot and fuck - she was so hot and he was so gone. He’d barely made any conversation with the girl and he could already imagine their entire life together. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Here,” Sitting on the edge of his bed, she handed him a tall glass of water and watched as he drank. Her eyes were insane; the freckles on her face an array of constellations and she smelled sweet like cupcakes or strawberries and fuck fuck fuck he wanted to eat her. Trace his lips and tongue in the crook of her neck; taste her mouth, taste her skin, taste her …

“Feeling better?” He heard her say, her voice quiet and meek just like she had been all those years he’s been aware of her presence.

“Yeah.” 

Rafe doesn’t remember how they ended up kissing. How the weight of her body moved on his lap; how she let him run his needy hands all over her body and kiss all that exposed skin. His shirt was off and she was practically naked, in his bed - just like all those times he had fantasized about her, except this was so much better. 

His name escaped her lips softly, always in a form of a muffled moan and suddenly all he wanted to do is make her feel so fucking good, she had no other choice but to scream his name. And she did. She was so loud he had to cover her mouth with his hand and feel her lips spread into a grin against the calloused skin of his palm. 

He was bewitched. 

Charmed. 

Fucking obsessed with her and for some reason this perfect, golden girl who could do no wrong felt the same. 

That entire summer she had him off balance; sneaking inside her home; always through her bedroom window and straight into her bed where they made crazy senseless love. She was going away after the summer but Rafe didn’t care. He loved her. Sure, he never made it his mission to let her know this, but actions spoke louder than words and boy did he show her just how much she made him feel. 

He was going to tell her - Rafe constantly made promises to himself but then she would give him those eyes and every word in the English language would suddenly disappear from his brain.

On the night he finally decided to let her know just how fucking in love he was with her, there sat her father. Sternly, with a pin straight back, he told Rafe to leave and never return. To forget her because she had already forgotten him. What they had that summer meant nothing and will remain nothing because Rafe Cameron had no business being around his perfect daughter. 

“I love her.” Rafe said weakly, but it went unregistered. The man didn’t care about that. He could care less about the way his heart burst whenever he was around her; how he was willing to do anything, be anything… All her father wanted was for Rafe to leave his little girl alone.  

She was smart, ambitious -  with a bright future and big dreams and all he had was a bad temper and drug problem. 

It all ended that night. 

She was gone without a trace. So gone to the point where not even that best friend of hers knew where she’d disappeared to. 

Days, weeks, months passed and Rafe tried moving on; dated girls that looked like her and when that didn’t work he started dating girls that looked nothing like her. He drank and smoked and snorted. He traveled the world and caused havoc and went to rehab and relapsed. He made his father proud and then disappointed him again and again and again and before Rafe knew, three years had passed by and he was twenty two and bitter.  

His hair was thinning and he might’ve been a whole year sober, but every now and then he’d be itching for a drink and peruse the liquor aisle wondering which bottle of whiskey was worth enough to ruin his life with. It was this exact thought that had been haunting him one June evening when fate decided to interfere again. 

It was his sister’s twentieth birthday and they were having her celebratory dinner at the country club for some reason. She’d brought her useless excuse of a boyfriend and because that wasn’t awkward enough, his father decided to invite one of their new hires: a software engineer named Marjorie that clearly had the hots for Rafe, but he was far too desperate for a drink to pay any attention to her. 

And then she appeared. 

Her laughter - that rambunctious, delicious sound - was the first thing Rafe heard before actually seeing her. And when he finally did it was like all pieces of his long ago broken heart finally fell into place. Her hair was gold and her legs were long and sure, she might’ve ditched the frilly skirt for a pair of sensible white shorts, but she still looked just as perfect as he remembered. 

His gaze followed her as she sauntered into the room; her parents behind her and a man and a child and there was Rafe’s heart breaking all over again. She hadn’t seen him and it was probably for the best, but then Sarah turned slightly and suddenly, she was all his sister could see. 

Smiling, Sarah had called her entire fucking family over. The scowl on her father’s face was unmistakable and in a matter of seconds there they were: having awkward small talk and introducing significant others and she was married. 

The diamond on her engagement ring was blinding, just like her smile and when she finally looked at him, it was like that very first time in his room when she begged him to kiss her and he couldn’t dare say no. 

“Hello.” She nodded at him like they used to be coworkers, but her gaze lingered - drinking him in like the whiskey he was so desperate to taste again.

“And who is this young lady?” He heard Sarah coo at the small child hiding her face in the crook of her husband’s neck and the word made Rafe sick. 

“This is Phoebe. Phoebe… baby, don’t be shy. Come now, say hi.” The tone of her voice softened and silently he watched her pet her daughter’s head until the kid was ready to face the audience. And when she did, a pair of wide, curious blue eyes were looking straight at him. 

Fuck.

It was like looking in a mirror. 

A tiny, chubby cheeked mirror. 

Even the way their hair was thinning is the same. 

Rafe swallowed.

She was looking at him, those hazel eyes dancing on his face expectedly as if waiting to see whether the realization has hit him yet. All those years ago… she didn’t disappear because she had stopped loving him or because her parents found out… 

She was pregnant. 

He had gotten her pregnant.

He looked at her and then at his daughter…

His daughter. 

He has a fucking daughter. 

A tiny little girl in a baby blue dress and pigtails. 

Their eyes met again and it’s as clear as day - she knows he knows and Rafe watched her answer his silent question with a single, curt nod. 

He is a father.

[rdr2enjoyer]

Hi sweetheart! Was wondering if I could have some headcanons for how Arthur would look after you if you were sick/ how he’d comfort you if you were crying. Don’t worry if not, cancer’s been kicking my ass and I thought this could be a pick me up! All my love 🫶

Of course I can do this for you! Honestly, Arthur has a much more caring and nurturing nature than he gives himself credit for, and I believe he would do very well taking care of a sick loved one.

I'm sure you also get this all the time but, I'm so sorry you have to deal with this. I'm sure it must be exhausting in more ways then one. I wish you all the best, and I sincerely hope it turns around soon. Sending you so much love <3

How arthur would care for you if you were sick

I imagine Arthur would really struggle with feeling helpless when you're sick. He's not a doctor, not a miracle worker, and all he wants to do is take the suffering away from his sweetheart. He would try to hide it, of course. He doesn't want to put any more stress on you and the last thing he wants to do is make you worry about him, but it would just kill him that he couldn't take the sickness away.

Anything he can do, he would. When he's not by your side he's in the fields, forging for medicinal herbs to help with the pain, insomnia, and fatigue. every second away from you has him wracked with worry. He'd return as quickly as possible with a satchel full of different herbs - some he's not even sure what they do but hopes are helpful - and makes a tea for you.

Even if you didn't have much of an appetite he'd push you to eat and drink, telling you that you need to keep your strength up to fight this thing. If you're in such bad shape that you don't have the strength or will to feed yourself, he'd lift the cup and spoon to your lips himself, "That's it...doing good. Thank you, darlin'." He only hopes he has the capacity to be as gentle and patient as you need him to be.

When he's gone he puts only the people he trusts most to watch after you; that would be Grimshaw, Charles, or Sadie. But he's never gone for long; he can't handle the worry and anxiety he feels when he's away from you. What if you suddenly turn for the worst and he's not there? Waht if you wake up looking for him?

On the days where you're feeling a little stronger and want to try doing your chores again, Arthur would hover around you like an overprotective bird. You can tell how anxious he is as you struggle to rebuild your strength and stamina. Every groan of effort has him reaching out towards you, ready to catch you or whatever it is you're working to lift. Every time you assure him that you're okay, he'd deny even worrying. He doesn't want you to feel weak, but even more than that he doesn't want you to hurt yourself or tire yourself out.

He'd be a quiet listener as you confide in him how much your struggling. The exhaustion and pain in your voice would break his heart, but he would try not to show it externally. He wants to be strong for you, a rock. Words of comfort don't come easily to him, but he can quietly wrap his arms around you and hold you against him. His hands smooth down your hair and back as you cry into his shoulder, and he's grateful that he can at least do this for you.

[hils79]

Alive! Sort of?

Sorry I haven't been around much. I got back from seeing Ateez, and immediately got sick, which is no big surprise after 3 arena shows in 5 days. I'd have been more surprised if I hadn't tbh. Just about everyone I know who saw them in Manchester ended up getting sick.

I'm over the worst of it now but I'm still quite run down and tired and I've got a lingering cough which is only just now starting to subside.

You know what, though? Totally worth it. I had amazing time seeing Ateez and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Initially I was going to do a write-up of the shows but it's been nearly 2 weeks now so instead here's a few bullet points

This was my first concert since 2008 and my first kpop concert period so I honestly had no idea what to expect

Nothing could have prepared me for the atmosphere. The crowd was pumped and singing loudly before the show even started

So thankful to everyone who told me to invest in some earplugs. I took them out for one (1) song because I needed to hear Jongho sing Everything unfiltered and I wound up losing my hearing in one ear for most of the next day

Going to a kpop concert was not unlike going to a convention. Everyone was super nice and friendly and everyone was handing out freebies to each other. Some of the freebies were so creative and people clearly spent so much time on them

Ateez themselves were SO GOOD. I'd heard they put on a good show but they were absolutely locked in and focused when they were performing and then having a bit of fun and joking around between songs. Pretty sure this has ruined me for other kpop shows now

The first show I went to I barely took any photos or videos because I was so overwhelmed by them being right there on stage just a short distance away from me. We didn't go for any of the VIP packages because those were all standing only, but we had really good seats all three nights.

They absolutely are that pretty in real life even when they were exhausted and had sweat dripping off them

Even seeing them for 3 shows in a row they changed things up enough that it never felt stale or boring. And they made a real effort to talk about things local to the host city. Jongho and Hongjoong talked about the correct way to make tea, Seonghwa and Wooyoung showed off their attempts at a regional accent. It was all super cute and very endearing

It’s funny I never imagined I would boo Hongjoong but the first night in London when he said it was time for the end of the show everyone booed. I assumed people did that for every show but on day 2 he said he’d been quite taken aback but he was prepared for it this time

(I'M SORRY I BOOED YOU HONGJOONG ILU)

My absolutely favourite thing was someone made some double-sided photocard holders with 'my bias before the show' on one side and 'my bias after the show' on the other side. I got wrecked by a different member each night

Yeosang in particular was an absolute revelation to me. I have a very clear memory of saying OH NO out loud from the moment he introduced himself. I can't even explain it there's just something about him that just grabbed me and held my attention all night

All in all 100/10 would do again

[pleasantspark]

To make it abundantly clear. I do see @chaifootsteps as a friend. A close associate. But it doesn't mean spreading false allegations. Just like the pitchforked. I don't like Proshippers or Zoophiles but I don't obsess over calling Chai out 447744747 times over blatantly disproven claims. And thanks to @doodler16 Chai had delivered on concerns that brought up.

I'm a victim of CSA, Grooming and a plethora of false allegations. To have people freak out about the drawing of a chibi character (I don't really understand the difference between the two. Because Cub is child like and chibi is just miniature. People mistake the two a lot.)

"These came from credible SOURCES!!!!"

The screenshots you are referencing and the anti-chai crowd are getting it from DaniDraws and other problematic Twitter users. The same people who exclusively defended against the things YOU claim CHAI did.

They accused Chai of shit that seems to be out of nowhere. Going off assumptions rather then actual logic. Because the crash outs I see is really fucking telling. You can claim someone is a Murderer for wanting to kill a fictional character and the person accusing them of it would be attacked but THE AUDICITY WHEN I A GROWN WOMAN LIKES CELL, A BUG!!!1! INCECTAPHILLA! YOU'RE A ZOOPHILE!

If you're this butthurt about people TRYING to change maybe I don't know? Ignore them. This drama all started because people genuinely can't take a hint and solve this shit in private. And no it's not because "Ohhh I couldn't contact them bc their DMs are private" its really dumb af because this person could've asked someone else to help them contact them, which shows you DIDN'T want to handle it.

I'm sorry if I am laying Heavy on this person but I am sick and tired of false allegations that were proven by the accusee of being false or warped or even worse misconstrued being used around. If you have a problem with someone, go to them. Refusing to confront them but rather call them out as the various people (Newsflash some people who are criticizing them in your Anon Box/Reblogs are on the side of the Stans so they will OF COURSE overexaggerate claims.) who I see are COWARDS who can't even leave a message or go to me to sort an arrangement out, FOR THE LOVE OF SATAN HIMSELF, I have a server where you can sort this shit out.

Some of you are what? in your 20s? Adults? Functioning members of society but you cannot handle talking to people or hiring someone to middleman it? I am genuinely embarrassed of you guys, perpetrating false allegations and pushing the guilty by association just for PEOPLE trying to educate you? No, none of you should be critics at all if you're gonna act like stans, if you disagree and still believe Chai is guilty after his clarifications, then fine by me. No one's gonna change your mind. I just find it time consuming and all in all stupid to continue to focus on shit NO ONE really cares about or just finding more reasons to hate.

Sounds like stans amiright? So whenever you cross a post that has some allegations, don't go get the pitchforks, consider it as false before proven. You are not helping the case, and Tumblr is going to become the next coming of Twitter if we all don't treat allegations as skepticism. Goodnight, and this is my final message.

[blanketforcas]

(mild negativity ahead!)

oh that urge to be able to sit jackles down and explain that queer castiel doesn’t hinge on reciprocated destiel. the angel is gay regardless of how dean feels!

i think the two — queer!cas and fully canon destiel — are so intertwined in his head and that’s why he feels the need to try to explain away the gay whenever he talks about castiel’s feelings and describes them as otherworldly/heavenly/not lustful or romantic etc because he’s so intent on his straight interpretation of dean.

it’s frustrating because unfortunately the way he talks about it undermines cas’ character growth and an arc that is very obviously extremely meaningful and important to misha and a lot of fans

(ask inspired by your tags here: https://blanketforcas.tumblr.com/post/735811813423349760/they-really-missed-the-opportunity-for-cas-to-say)

i have complicated feelings about the why of it all and also go back & forth on it sometimes, so i'll just post your ask as is

[momentomori24]

I don't believe liking immoral and downright evil characters says anything about you as a person, but I think acting like this definitely does.

"The HH fanbase will defend Valentinoto the moon and back" this and "Val is praised by a majority of the fandom" that, except said majority of the fandom fucking HATES that moth and fans have been harassed, had their art scribbled on to "fix" it, repeatedly called "rapist apologists" and "abuse romanticisers", get questioned or accused about condoning him irl, received graphic death/rape threats and are in general mistreated by the fandom. A Val cosplayer was mistreated and had a gun pulled on them IN REAL LIFE not even a year ago. Even the VA got repeatedly asked or assumed to be like the character he plays because "why else would he want to voice a rapist??" and told they deserve for choosing that role (fucking WILD btw). People that like Valentino as a character are the minority of the fandom, and even there NO ONE defends him. We all realise he's a disgusting individual whose actions shouldn't be defended in any capacity. What kinda bullshit lie is that?

I'm also in the Mouthwashing fandom, and it too has a bunch of issues. Infantilising Curly and minimising his actions, making Swansea to be better than he actually is and ignoring that he knew of the SA, people still debating or not realising that Jimmy raped Anya in the first place, shipping Jimmy and Curly (which isn't even a bad thing or a real problem but this person would see it that way), ect. But sure, conveniently don't bring that up. Anything for the Hazbin Hotel hate, right 💀

These next comments especially piss me off (nevermind how they're talking about an abuse survivor which is gross already). This might be a hot take and I don't care if that's the case, but I think people refusing to call Jimmy by name and excluding him from the cast is not show of a "good" fandom, actually. Jimmy has a lot more to him besides being a rapist. Rape culture, toxic masculinity, capitalistic exploitation, misogyny, male dominance-- there's sooo much more to explore and discuss about his character besides him being a rapist. And he's an incredibly disturbing character in a fucking horror game. If you can only refer to him by some stupid nickname (which takes away the seriousness of his character imo), ignore the significance of his role and themes in the story and the rest of his character and reduce him to a single trait that's BAD. That's not a good thing, and in fact, probably makes you worse than the people that do like his character because they can at least separate fiction and reality and not scrap well written disturbing characters for the sake of "comfort" or moral standing (again, in a horror game of all things). People shouldn't feel bad for liking Jimmy because he's a very good character, and ignoring that completely and acting like there aren't people who could like him... kinda sucks?

Moving over, Valentino is not and has NEVER been portrayed in a positive light in the show. I can't wrap my head around people that genuinely think that. Whenever I hear people say that the arguments I always see are "he shouldn't be attractive" and "he's just a cartoon villain" and "he acts silly and quirky even tho he's a rapist" among other things, and I don't think these people realise they're spouting eugenics bullshit and demonstrating that they don't know anything about his character simultaneously. No, Valentino isn't a "positive" portrayal of a rapist because he's attractive (way to tie morality to appearance btw). No, Valentino isn't a positive portrayal of a rapist because he acts goofy and funny and silly. Those traits are intentional and important to his character. Val is the Overlord of lust and depravity, hell's most famous pimp. His beauty is how he lures in unsuspecting sinners, and his personality is how he gains their trust and gets them to sell their souls for him to exploit (notice how Angel signed his soul away willingly). He's supposed to be appealing. He's supposed to be charming. He's entire persona is meant to be disarming. If he were like Jimmy or just a one-note unlikeable guy, his position in the show and his relationships with the characters wouldn't make sense, so he isn't. That doesn't make him a more positive portrayal or anything, it just means he's more fleshed out and written more complex than you want him to be. He's a very real depiction of an abuser, of their two-faced nature and how being attractive and charming to others doesn't make you less of an abusive monster to someone else. For context, I have been abused by someone extremely similar to Val, so his depiction feels very real to me and it's extremely tiring seeing a bunch of assholes who have probably not even seen the show or have been abused act like he's "romanticised" or "unrealistic" or "bad" simply because he was written by Vivziepop (who's ALSO an SA survivor like what is wrong with you 💀).

This is a broader point and not entirely related to this specific case, but we don't give people shit like this over people liking murderers and serial killers-- acting like all a sudden liking a rapist character says something negative about their writing or about the people that like them is INCREDIBLY stupid. People don't talk like this about Alastor and Vox-- who are both VERY despicable people. Both of them are also abusers among other horrible things, but they're not (or at least Alastor isn't) rapists so they're "not as bad". This is a sentiment I see all the time in both the fandom and hatedom whenever Valentino discourse comes back up, and this line of logic that rapists are a unique evil that can't be liked as characters in fiction but murderers and cannibals and serial killers are totally Ok is so dangerous and backwards. Liking evil characters says nothing about you as a person aside from the fact that you're a freak in the fun way. Liking evil characters but then going after others who do as well because you consider their character "too evil" and watering down the crimes of yours to justify liking them says a lot about you tho. Saying that the characters you like says something negative you in general does too.

We seriously need to stop bringing morality into fiction and saying that "normal" people wouldn't like certain immoral characters. We need to stop ostracising people for their "problematic" ships, proudly brag about ostracising them and justify it by calling them "weirdos". We need to stop saying villains are "badly written" because they're not written how YOU want them to be written, regardless of whether or not that opinion is valid (which in this case it isn't). We need to stop putting fandoms in some weird competition with each other about how characters are written and spit on people who actually enjoy them, are comforted by them or felt seen by them (gestures at the whole Angel dust situation barely a week ago). And honestly we need to stop giving attention to people like this, who spread a false narrative and kick others down for being fans of a media they don't like or know squat about for whatever reason. Who spread lies about the media or fandom in question in way that's blatantly in bad faith.

This crappy post is sitting a 17k while I'm typing this. The way people can just say ANYTHING about Hazbin Hotel and its fandom-- doesn't matter if it's valid or true or if they watched the show or know anything about the fandom at all, it just has to be negative-- and others will eat it up no questions asked needs to be studied at this point. We saw that in the months the show first aired. We saw that with the Angel Dust video. We're seeing this again here. I don't think we should be harassing anybody over fiction and in general (and needless to say don't harass any of these people) but calling out bad actors who pull shit like this more often and making it uncool to shittalk Hazbin Hotel and its fandom (and any fandom from unapologetically dark media where the people deal with enough bullshit already) for no reason and in bad faith is a change I'd be down with. Like, wash your mouth of its name and disappear into the shadow realm, goddamnit.

[onlyasimp4nobody]

[lee-blogs]

Still packing stuff and now i'm looking for a box for this.

My dad and i made it a few years ago for halloween, probably 2015/16 if i'm remembering right. It's made from a lays can, a wipes container from his work, and paper maché. I don't remember what the wires and front metal bits are from, but the middle actually lights up! It has one of those long battery-powered emergancy lights in it and some colored tissue paper

[kingslionheart]

parents' incapability of apologising to their children should be studied

[moonlit-orchid]

When your friend needs you to be there to comfort them, but you have no energy for serious conversations and so you're stuck wondering if youre being a selfish asshole or if youre justified in not wanting to be the one to sort their problems out

[chirsu]

Page Five of When I Say No, I Feel Guilty by Manuel J. Smith, Ph.D. that I bought at a thrift store.

I am using the cut-up technique and going page by page.

[umemiyan]

does your doc not understand how necessary your meds are for you? like what’s the hold up? they need to stop playing around…

apparently the fuck not <333333333 apparently it's just a game to them <333 and i can't drive and show up there right now and demand to speak to someone because i'm trying to work even though i have a constant headache and brain fog on top of all my usual ADHD symptoms <333

i hate being a karen or looking like a fucking junkie, but what if these were meds that were even more vital to my health? like insulin or heart meds or something like that? would i just have to sit here and hope to not fucking end up in the hospital? i'm so tired of this ridiculous shit. and i can't have it filled a whole week ahead of time or anything to try and be safe because it's a fucking controlled substance and they won't let me. so guess i'll just suffer!!! especially if they don't get it in by today because it's friday <33 i'll have to be like this all weekend while trying to work while they have their nice days off :)

[kingquentin]

hoping and praying they made so many quality of life upgrades to the answer remake because my god am i suffering right now with this fucking game

[kalicocoa]

An Announcement on the State of Night Rule

So I’ve been struggling with how to say these things and I finally just need to get it off my chest. I think I’ll feel better after finally speaking about things, so here we go!

After today, I will not be participating in the Project SEKAI fanbase outside of finishing my fanfiction, Night Rule!

I’ve had a lot of unsavory experiences with people in this fanbase that were behind closed doors in a way. (Discord Servers, Private Messages, etc.) Making a big stink out of things will only reflect poorly on me as past experience has proven to me, so I’d rather just let sleeping dogs lie and remove myself from the equation without making an enormous post about those things.

I don’t feel very safe when interacting with people anymore and more often than not I’m hurt by unnecessary hostile behavior toward me. Hostility that ranged from disagreeing on meaningless headcanons to straight up bigotry at my expense. (I quite literally watched as some passionate readers of my fic turned on me immediately upon learning I was a person of color. I don’t feel good about this and I never will either.)

However, Night Rule will be completed. I plan to finish it, even if my motivation is practically abysmal lately. I have love for my story and the completed outline I worked so hard on, but I do not feel well writing this story for people that ultimately think little of me as the creator.

That being said, updates will be extremely scarce from this point onward. Hopefully at least once a month, but I can’t promise this due to my current mental health state. You’re getting this fanfiction for free and it’s a work that has brought a lot of aggression toward me as a person, so you can be reasonable and accept that it will update as much as it will on my terms. Hope that’s understood, because if it isn’t, that’s something you’ll have to deal with on your own I’m afraid.

Night Rule was a creation of my own personal passion for Proseka and its cast, fit with my favorite fantasy tropes and ideas I had been dying to use in a story for years. For this reason, it’s much too special to me to abandon and I plan to keep this as a thing for me before I worry about how much people love or hate it.

I recommend that if you only follow me for Project SEKAI, you should probably unfollow me now! I will not be sharing posts of it anymore and the only things related to Proseka that will be posted will be updates on this fic and reblogged fanworks of Night Rule if people continue to make those. I’ll still be playing the game on occasion, but I will not be talking about it on here casually from here on out.

Where I plan to go from here, I’m not really sure. I still have things that I enjoy, so I plan to keep writing and reblogging things that I like. Maybe I’ll move on to the next big interest. Maybe I’ll disappear someday. Who knows. We’ll figure it out when we get there.

But the point remains, this chapter of my life is coming to a close, and the end of Night Rule will be the end of my involvement in this fanbase for good.

Thank you for understanding! See you on the flip side. (❁´◡`❁)

[apatheticlexicographer]

to be completely honest, the stranger things fandom has damn near ruined the show for me lmfao