#Bc it's been SO fucking long

[shima-draws]

After maybe like four years I FINALLY have a new phone

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[nova-rpv]

a redraw of the first drawing i posted here to celebrate the fact that ive been in tumblr for more than a whole year posting my shit and havent deleted my blog in panic yippee \:D/ (mushy rant in tags)

[bacchuschucklefuck]

they licensed his ass

my finished piece of the FWMS (official name definitely 100%) thing we started a few days ago! I had fun I hope folks had and/or continue to have fun with the sketch as well.

[zecoritheweirdone]

wanna preface this by saying that i am. So normal. anyway i just spent the last week redrawing scenes from mystery skulls animated but as that hermitcraft au i posted about a couple times. you guys should watch msa it is. so so good.

[cloudyydraws]

more mario and luigi doodles but i took their mouths away

+ extra unfinished stuff under the cut

[lotus-pear]

bsd rewatch w my friend means obligatory art of my fav found family ever

[iwasbored777]

Only true Trolls fans love this baby girl, y'all can't call yourself Trolls fans if you hate her

[raiiny-bay]

Love, Dhes

Parker,

It's unfair how time with you feels so short. How the last 10 years have felt like no time at all. I like to think there are other versions of us out there, somewhere. Maybe in another timeline, another universe. I like to think we find each other no matter where we are or what we're doing. That we're together and happy and I get to love you in a dozen different lifetimes. That's what I hope, anyway. And I hope when this lifetime ends, we get to start over and do it all again. Because once just isn't enough. Not for me. Not with you.

I hope the next 10 years pass slower.

Love, Dhes

[nadvs]

watch and learn (part ten) (end)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug and alcohol use

summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

When you both get to your door, Rafe is kissing you like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind.

You’re giggling between kisses as his big, warm hands cradle your jaw, your heart feeling weightless.

He can’t let go of you. This is such a new, addictive feeling. Liking a girl this much. Knowing she likes him back. Wanting to take on the responsibility of a relationship, something that used to repel him.

You both decide to spend the night in Rafe’s room. You text Liv that you’re home as you get ready for bed, the high from the drugs leaving your body and being replaced by a heavy fatigue.

When you walk into Rafe’s dorm, he recognizes the pajamas you were wearing the night you met. You watch his eyes travel down your body in a smirk before you turn off the lights.

“What?” you ask, hand on the light-switch, gazing at him as he sits up in his bed, wearing nothing but his boxers.

“I remember those,” he mumbles. “You yelled at me in those.”

“Yelled?” you scoff. “I didn’t yell.”

“You gave me so much attitude.” You roll your eyes with a smile, flipping the switch and plunging the room in darkness.

You feel your way to his bed, sinking on top of him, head digging into the crook of his neck.

“Only because you were so rude,” you respond. “Maybe you deserve attitude.”

“What else do I deserve?” Rafe asks, his hands dragging up your back, eyelids heavy. You chuckle and shift to lie on your side and rest your head on his warm chest, feeling his heartbeat.

You close your eyes, arm draped over him, cupping a hand around his hip, rubbing your thumb over his skin.

He has never been touched like this. Affection just for the sake of affection. It’s unlike anything else.

“You deserve anything you want,” you say sleepily. You mean it.

Rafe’s not sure if that’s true. But all he wants is you, endlessly and with no conditions. And he’ll do whatever it takes to deserve you.

He doesn’t know why he ever denied himself the pleasure of spending his first moments awake with you in his arms. Last time you woke up together, he was relieved you rushed out of his room. Now, he just might lose his mind if you leave.

You’re loosely tethered together, your leg over his, your cheek against his shoulder. His chin is resting on your head and he fights the impulse to hug you tighter, not wanting to wake you up.

You start to stir a few minutes later, burrowing against his shoulder, smelling the familiar, perfect aroma of his skin.

“Knew you liked cuddling,” you tease, voice thick with fatigue. Rafe’s chuckle is so innocent that it makes your cheeks warm. You’re in disbelief that last night happened.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Dunno,” he says with a grunt, shifting to grab his phone from his dresser. “I didn’t wanna check and wake you up.”

“Wow,” you coo. “You’re already doing a great job as a boyfriend.”

The word makes his heart leap.

“You remember last night, huh?” he asks. Truthfully, he was a bit worried you were too high to recall everything you said.

“Did you want me to forget?” you say.

“Not a fucking chance.” He unlocks his phone to check the time, but a text from an hour ago takes all his attention.

Sam: yo wtf happened? you trying to get kicked out??

You turn to get comfortable, the side you were lying on aching now, your back flush against his torso.

“The time?” you say tiredly. Rafe turns to spoon you, lips pressing against the back of your head.

He doesn’t know how to say it. He’s pissed off beyond belief at himself for how he acted last night. So he just shows you. He holds his phone in front of you and your eyes travel over the text.

You think back to how frantic Rafe was last night outside of the house after shoving Blake. You don’t know much about fraternities, but getting aggressive like he did against a brother last night seems like a big deal.

It’s his fault for losing his cool, but you can’t help but feel bad for him, knowing he was fuelled by jealousy and protectiveness and insecurity. Nonetheless, he couldn’t control his temper and the consequences might be rough.

“It’s fixable, right?” you say, hopefully. You heard Blake say he was done, but he can’t really be done, can he?

Rafe sighs and puts his phone away, then drapes a heavy arm over your waist.

“Doubt it,” he says bitterly. Your heart aches. At first, you thought frats were just an excuse to party, but you can see how much joy it brings Rafe to be part of something. And now it might be taken away.

“What if you talk to him?” you say. “It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

“I’m not…” Rafe sighs. He’s never been great at talking things out.

“What?” you ask.

“I don’t know what I’d say,” he admits. And the thought of grovelling to Blake to not go to the president of the frat, if he hasn’t already, is humiliating.

“You’d say what you’re thinking,” you say simply. “You did it with me and look how nice that worked out.”

Rafe smiles, glad you can offer him some relief while he’s so flustered.

“Real nice,” he says lazily, his hand sliding down over your hip. His fingers slip under the elastic of your pajama bottoms, dropping to press over your panties.

“Hey,” you breathe. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” His voice reverberates through you as he runs two fingers up and down your middle, the pressure firm and sweet.

“Avoiding your feelings,” you say, breath hitching, “and trying to distract me.”

“Maybe I just wanna touch you,” he rasps, pushing your panties to the side and dipping a finger against your entrance. You tremble under the tender touch.

“I’m being serious,” you say.

“So am I.” His pulse quickens as he feels how warm and soft you are, trailing up to your clit and massaging you slowly.

“Rafe,” you try to assert yourself, but your body naturally tilts towards his touch.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Talk about it,” you say. “Tell me what you were thinking.” Your mind replays how angry he looked last night, how harsh and loud his tone was with a man he thought mistreated you.

“Hmm,” he mumbles, shifting to kiss and suck on your neck. “I was thinking that it killed me to imagine someone else doing this to you…” He’s slow with every circle he traces. “Making you feel like this.”

“Only you can make me feel like this,” you whisper. He exhales deeply. You know just how to wind him up.

“Yeah?” he says. You feel him growing against you. You bite your lip, realizing just how much he loves praise, surely taking every bit he can get with more appreciation that he can show. “No more pointers, huh?”

“None,” you say. “You know exactly what to do.”

Rafe loves that you’re so vocal now, partly because the compliments go straight to his head, but mostly because it means you’re not shy or ashamed about your own pleasure anymore.

He lowers his hand to tease your cunt again, feeling how much you’ve pooled for him.

“So wet for me,” he whispers, his cock starting to ache. “How’d I get you all to myself?”

You breathe through your smile, understanding now that all of Rafe’s words during sex before couldn’t have just been great dirty talk.

You had no idea he was yearning for you this badly. That his jealousy wasn’t only carnal like you told yourself it was.

“I want you inside me,” you say. Rafe groans against your skin, savoring the feeling of being so wanted. You’ve seen him at his worst and still desire all of him. He’s waiting to wake up from the dream that’s you.

You help him push down your bottoms, feeling him shuffle to pull himself out of his boxers. You hike up your leg and feel his hand at the back of your knee, holding you up.

When he pushes into you, your flesh like velvet, he feels complete like he always does with you.

Rafe’s rhythm is slow as he fucks you from behind, the tension in you coiling at a sweet, gentle pace.

“Right there,” you sigh as he hits deep with every thrust. “That’s so good.”

You pull his big hand up to your mouth, kissing the back of it softly. Rafe is on another planet. He thought fucking you was already perfect, but doing it with your hearts so open instead of just your bodies is mind-blowing.

“My sweet girl,” he groans. “You want me to cum inside you?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I’m yours.” Once your words hit his ears, he hugs you tighter, squeezing you with pure adoration as he rocks in and out of you slowly.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, lips wet against your shoulder. “I’m yours, too, baby.”

He fills you so nicely, moving like he has all the time in the world.

You’re both in raptures of delight as you cum, warm bodies pressed hard together, existing in a perfect moment made just for you two.

You fall back asleep and he dozes off behind you, dazed.

It’s almost noon when you stir awake again. Rafe is on his phone, scrolling quietly, waiting for you to wake up. You give him a smile as you pull yourself out of his bed and adjust your bottoms.

“Haven’t you heard of aftercare?” he teases, saying it in the same tone you did the night of the beach party. You laugh, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles.

You pretend to sigh out of irritation, leaning over and kissing his forehead.

“There. A-plus?”

“Not even a pass,” Rafe replies.

“Next time,” you quip. “I’m gonna get ready and then let’s get some food? That’s something couples do, just so you know.”

He loves hearing refer to you two as a couple.

Not many places on-campus are open on Sundays, so after you both get dressed, Rafe drives you to a popular restaurant in town.

As you expected, it’s effortless with him. You both intertwine jokes into your flowing conversations, eyes locked on each other, cheeks hurting from how much you’re smiling.

Rafe didn’t know it could be this easy with someone. Neither did you.

He picks up the bill and holds your hand as you walk back to the car. He rushes to open the door for you, making you laugh in endearment.

“The boyfriend stuff comes naturally to you,” you say, lowering onto the passenger side seat. You don’t see him look shy very often, but when he lowers his eyes and smirks, you can tell the compliment means something to him.

When Rafe starts the car and passes you his phone to pick a song, you choose the first one he played in his room the night of the dorm party.

“Oh, you liked this one?” he teases once the first few notes float out of the speakers, thinking back to the way he had you moaning on his desk.

“I bet I knew it before you,” you reply.

“Couples have… like, songs, right?” Rafe asks awkwardly, putting his hand on your thigh.

“Aw, you want this to be our song?” you coo. “That’s so cute.”

“Shut up,” he laughs.

You put his phone down, eyes trailing over his profile. He squeezes your thigh. For someone who was so against affection, Rafe seems to love it.

You wonder why he restricted himself from what he seems to have wanted for so long, but when you remember how afraid he seemed of fucking things up last night, you realize he has a bit of a self-sabotaging streak when it comes to expressing himself.

“Did you text Sam back?” you ask.

“No,” he says simply.

“Do you want to stop at the house to talk to Blake?”

Rafe just stares ahead, biting the inside of his cheek.

“The longer you wait, the weirder it’ll be,” you say gently. He swallows hard. He knows you’re right.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna say,” he admits after a moment.

“You regret what happened last night, right?”

“Yeah.” He’s still embarrassed that he snapped at Blake over something he didn’t even do.

“Start there,” you say. ”Apologize. Just be honest.”

Rafe drops you off at your dorm, feeling awkward as hell when he drives to the frat house and faces Blake. Thankfully, Blake hasn’t gone to the president with what happened.

Taking your advice, Rafe tells him the truth about how started losing his head when he started losing you. He’d rather die than have to be open with someone he’s been holding animosity over for so long, but Blake seems to appreciate it.

Thankfully, Blake agrees that he doesn’t need to be kicked out for a drunken push, especially since he came to apologize the next day. Rafe has you to thank for that.

“Gossip spreads fast but I’ll say it was a misunderstanding if anyone asks,” Blake says as he walks Rafe out of the house. “Don’t forget about the code of conduct, man.”

Even though Rafe knows he should be grateful he’s not being kicked out, he still has to stifle an eye roll.

“So, we good?” Rafe says.

“Yeah,” Blake says. “You’re volunteering this weekend, right?”

Rafe’s been dreading the fundraising carwash. He thought he could fly under the radar and get away from a day of labor in the sun, but he can’t really say no to anything with being a first-year pledge. Especially now that he just narrowly escaped being kicked out of the frat.

Rafe agrees to participate. And when he tells you about it, you’re much more thrilled about it than he is.

“So, you’re going to be all wet and soapy?” you say with a grin, sitting on your bed together after Rafe gets back from the house and tells you what happened.

“I can get like that now if you want,” he mumbles. You laugh, the memory of hooking up with him in the shower still fresh in your mind.

“We’re lucky we didn’t get caught yesterday,” you say. “You wanna almost get kicked out of here, too?”

Rafe smiles, leaning in to kiss you. When you pull apart, you look at him for a moment, eyes tracing down his handsome features.

“I’m really happy it worked out,” you say. It would have crushed you to watch him lose his spot in his frat, knowing how happy it makes him.

Rafe loses all concentration when he sees the sincerity in your eyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever known someone so sweet.

“That formal thing is coming up,” he says once he catches himself, looking down at your lips again.

“If you’re not going to be wet and soapy, I’m not interested,” you respond. Truthfully, you love the idea of seeing him in a suit.

“You’re annoying,” Rafe laughs, shuffling closer to kiss you again.

“You’re annoying,” you reply, your noses bumping. “It’s a Sadie Hawkins dance, right? Girls ask the guys?”

“Go with me,” he says, breath hot on your cheek.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” you laugh. “Girls ask-”

“I don’t care.”

“I was going to ask you.” Your faces remain inches away from each other, talking between kisses.

“Then do it if you really want to.”

“Do you want to go-”

“Yeah,” Rafe interrupts, kissing you again. You giggle against his lips.

That Saturday afternoon, you and Liv are sitting are in her car in front of the Sigma Chi house, the carwash in full swing.

You both laugh when you notice Sam whip a sponge at the side of the car in front of you. You finally find Rafe in the scattered crowd of shirtless boys, baseball hat on backwards, holding a big yellow sponge, wringing it over a bucket.

He looks good. You’ve seen his muscular, commanding body so many times by now, but it excites you every time.

You open your window all the way and catcall him. When Rafe’s gaze meets yours, he smiles. You always look so beautiful to him, your grin so bright.

He walks over to the car, hands on the frame, leaning low to meet your eyes.

“Need some help?” you tease. “You seem to be struggling.” Rafe gazes down your body, loving the idea of seeing you drenched in the short dress you’re wearing.

“No flirting on the clock, dude,” Sam shouts, approaching the car, bending to smile at Liv through her open window. “It’s only okay if I do it.”

In retaliation, Rafe holds your face in his wet hands, kissing you. The gesture earns a few suggestive shouts from his frat brothers.

“We’re supposed to be working, Rafe,” Sam jeers. Rafe flips him off.

“You might wanna roll up the window, baby,” Rafe says quietly to you. “You can hang out in front of the house after.”

You and Liv are in hysterics as the boys hose down and sponge Liv’s car, some of them pressing their bodies up against the windows.

After the show, Liv parks down the street and you two sit on the front steps of the frat house, talking and watching the action. You stare at Rafe the entire time, noticing how girls in cars smile and try to flirt with him.

About ten minutes later, Rafe approaches you, greeting you and Liv. You already caught her up on everything that happened between you and Rafe and she wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

“What’s up?” you say.

“Need a break.” He adjusts his hat, his wet skin glistening in the sunshine. Truthfully, he just wants to talk to you.

“Does pretending to clean cars make you tired?” you ask.

“Pretending?” Rafe scoffs. “I’m working my ass off.”

“I’m gonna go say hi to Sam,” Liv says with a smile, purposely giving you two privacy. Rafe takes her spot when she leaves, sitting next to you on the steps, his leg pressed up against yours.

“I saw you staring,” he says smugly, nudging your knee with his.

“How could I not?” you say. Rafe feels his cheeks flush with heat. He’s still getting used to the fact that you want him. Really want him.

You notice his eyes trail up your legs, and just to tease him, you drag your hands over your thighs, pinching the hemline of your dress.

“You like my dress?” you ask. You watch Rafe’s jaw tighten as he leans closer to you.

“You’re making me hard,” he mumbles. Your entire body goes hot, looking down at his lap, imagining how good he always feels inside of you.

“We should do something about it,” you say. Your own boldness doesn’t surprise you anymore. Thanks to Rafe, you’re no longer shy asking for what you want.

“Everybody’s outside,” he says, eyes darting to the empty house behind you. You excitedly take his hand.

Rafe leads you to the large, quiet rec room downstairs, and his hands are immediately all over you, sunkissed skin pressing against yours.

He settles on the loveseat, guiding you to straddle him, your dress up around your hips.

“You knew what you were doing wearing this,” he says gruffly, sliding his hands over your ass.

“What? It’s hot out,” you say.

“You gonna keep acting all shy and innocent?”

You perch up to feel his hard length over his shorts. You start to stroke over the fabric, gripping tight.

“Yeah, like that,” he praises. “My good girl. Tell me what you wanna do.”

“I wanna ride you,” you say.

“Fuck,” Rafe grunts with a lazy smile. He kisses you passionately, fingers burying into the flesh of your ass as you grind on him, growing wetter.

The feeling of his hard cock rubbing against you is overwhelming, making you ache for him. Your hands are fast and shaky as you sit up to peel your panties off, watching him pull his shorts down.

He holds himself at his base for you to easily sink onto him, lowering with a sharp inhale. He dips his head back, moaning quietly, eyes squeezing shut.

The brim of his hat pushes against the back of the couch, frustrating him. He pulls it off, and instead of tossing it away, he decides to put it on your head.

“Hold this for me,” he says with a smirk, cradling your cheek.

“You’re never getting it back.” You arch your back as you start to roll your hips, your hands on his shoulders. Your pussy squeezes him so nicely, walls tight around him.

“Damn,” he shudders, watching you, thinking about how cute you look with his hat on and your face relaxed in pleasure. “I’ll give you anything you fucking want.”

“Yeah?” you whisper, planting a chaste kiss on his lips. “All I want is you.”

The words make his heart beat even faster.

“You have me,” Rafe promises breathily. “You have me, baby.”

Your lips meet again as you rock and bounce on him, tight around his girth, head spinning from how big he is and how deep he reaches.

Your hands squeeze his shoulders tightly as you reach your peak. You keep riding him through the overstimulation, taking the help from him as he grips your ass and controls the pace.

Rafe’s breaths quickly grow shallow, panting in your ear as he bucks into you, pulsing through his orgasm.

You sit like that, joined together and kissing for a few minutes, before you pull apart and share a smile.

Throughout the next week leading up to the Sadie Hawkins dance, Rafe texts you random questions, asking you to name your favorite flowers, your favorite sweets, your favorite meal, your favorite drink.

Once he seems to be out of questions, you text him: wow… you sure you havent been a boyfriend before?

The message makes him so proud that he screenshots it.

The night of the formal, Rafe knocks a few minutes before the time you agreed he’d pick you up. You slip into your heels, smooth down your dress and open the door.

You’re striking. There’s no other word for it. The fact that you’re his sends him on a bit of a mental spiral.

“Early,” you tease. “Someone’s eager.” You notice how nicely he fills out his suit, how pretty the bouquet in his hand is.

He can’t tease you back. He can’t say anything. You’re stunning.

“You look so handsome,” you beam. “Are those for me or are you gonna hold them all night?”

Rafe holds your favorite flowers out to you with an awestruck smile.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly.

“Baby, you…” Rafe shakes his head. “I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off of you.”

“Then don’t,” you say, putting down the flowers away and taking his hand as you leave your room.

As promised, Rafe won’t stop touching you all night. You’re seated at one of many draped tables amongst frat brothers and their dates.

Liv is across the table with Sam, taking pictures with him on a Polaroid. They both look just as happy as you assume you and Rafe look.

Rafe’s hand is on your knee under the table, rubbing in circles. You lean in closer to him, mouth by his ear.

“Remember when you had a tantrum about holding my hand?” you joke. “Now look at you.”

“I was an idiot,” he replies. He dips his hand to your inner thigh, trying to guide you to sit on his lap. You give in.

“This is supposed to be a classy event,” you laugh, draping an arm around him, looking around at the massive, ornate banquet hall.

“You guys are so cute that it’s gross,” Liv shouts over the music, holding out her camera. “Smile.”

You roll your eyes at her comment and put up your middle finger, realizing Rafe is doing the same at the moment she takes the photo.

“God, you two were made for each other,” she says, amused. Rafe watches you as you laugh, feeling fortunate that you seem to wholeheartedly agree with your friend.

He’s not one for slow dancing, or dancing at all, but when he later notices you looking out at the floor filled with couples swaying together, he tries to force away his discomfort.

“You want to go out there?” he says. You glance at him, melting under his sweet gaze, noticing just how tense he looks.

“We won’t dance if you don’t want to dance,” you say. While he’s working hard to be a good boyfriend, you want to work just as hard to be a good girlfriend and make sure he’s comfortable.

The way you say your words is enough for him to stand up and take your hand. He doesn’t feel awkward as soon as he’s looking down at you on the dance floor, following your lead and your pace.

When the song ends, you walk back towards the table and notice Blake a few feet away, holding a grinning girl.

You’re glad that he let Rafe stay in the frat even though he could have been kicked out for trying to fight one of his brothers. And you meant it when you said you think he deserves a great girl. He seems happy.

As you sit down, Rafe follows your gaze and when he sees you’re smiling at Blake, a burning, painful jealousy flares deep inside.

He steps away towards the bar, wishing they were serving alcohol. He feels the familiar sensation of his temper bubbling up and his muscles tightening.

It’s been a few minutes without Rafe and you look to the bar to see him standing there alone. Something feels off.

“Hey,” you say, squeezing his forearm when you approach him. Rafe looks down at you with irritation, shoulder squared away from you.

“Hey,” he says flatly.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. Rafe’s lips firm as he glances away, taking a sip of his soda.

Confusion and sadness fill you. You should have figured Rafe’s flaws, like his moodiness, wouldn’t simply go away after making things official, but the sensation he’s giving you is uncomfortable and hard to swallow.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he mutters.

“What?”

“You do,” he says with a sarcastic chuckle. “You obviously do.”

“What are you talking about?”

He finally meets your gaze. This is the Rafe you saw so many times over the past few weeks, pissed off and short-tempered. And he knows by now that you don’t tolerate it.

“Why’d you look at him like that?” he mutters.

“At who?”

“At-” Rafe tenses up even more, shooting daggers across the hall. “At Blake.”

“How did I look at him, hmm?” you say, crossing your arms. “Tell me.”

“You were smiling at him.”

“You wanna know why I was smiling?” you ask. Rafe’s mind resorts to assuming you’ll say you chose wrong and that you wish you were here with Blake instead.

“Why?”

“Because I was thinking about how glad I am that he didn’t try to get you kicked out since I know how happy being in a frat makes you,” you explain. “And because it’s nice that he looks happy with that girl. You think I’d smile at the sight of him with another girl if I liked him?”

Rafe steps back, jaw still clenched. For a moment, it feels like he’s still living in the days of agonizingly pining over to you, watching you with another guy.

“You think I don’t get jealous, too?” you say.

“What? When do you-”

“At the carwash. Girls were looking at you all day,” you admit.

“What?” he almost laughs, endeared beneath the pain. He can’t even imagine entertaining another girl.

“Sometimes jealousy comes up in a relationship, Rafe. But this isn’t how you handle it.”

You step away and head towards your seat, frustrated and disappointed.

Rafe finds it hard to come down from his anger, the cruel fear of inadequacy still stinging him. But eventually, he sits down next to you, placing your favorite drink on the table in front of you.

“My bad, okay?” he says, an edge to his tone. You look at him through apprehensive eyes, taking a sip from the cup he gave you.

“You don’t have anything to be jealous of,” you say softly, putting your hand on his under the table.

“I was…” He clears his throat, leaning closer. “I was… thinking that maybe you thought you made the wrong choice.”

The look of pure disbelief on your face calms his racing thoughts. You smile in shock, shaking your head in quick, short jerks.

“The wrong choice was not knocking on your door to tell you to shut up sooner,” you tell him. He looks down at his lap with a small smile.

“Rafe,” you say.

“Yeah?”

“I pick you, okay? Every time. You’re the right choice.”

Rafe’s chest loses its tension. Even in such a loud, crowded hall, you somehow quieted things down for him. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever feel worthy enough for you.

When you make it back to the dorm, you part to get ready for bed. You take the Polaroid Liv gave you out of your purse, smiling at the image of you sitting on Rafe’s lap in formal wear, both of you flipping the camera off with amused smirks.

You tack it onto your wall amongst your other photos. It sums up your playful relationship so well.

Rafe knocks at your door minutes later. At this point, you hardly ever sleep separately.

Within seconds, you’re in your bed, Rafe hovering over you, kissing your lips, your cheeks, your face. Your desk lamp is on, offering both of you a dim, warm light to look at each other in.

You taste his toothpaste and smell his cologne as you kiss, feeling like you’re floating every time you’re under him.

Once he has your bra tossed over your chair, his hot mouth is on your chest, tongue playing with the peaks of your breasts.

You rake your fingers through his hair just the way he likes as he sucks languidly, squeezing gently.

“I love that only I get to do this to you,” Rafe rasps. He was staring at you in awe all night, feeling like he’s dreaming knowing you’re his.

“I don’t want anybody else,” you breathe, trembling in anticipation below him.

His eyes are glazed over when he dips his mouth between your legs, savoring your taste. You tremble as his tongue works over your clit, flattening and tracing shapes.

“How does this pussy get sweeter every time, hmm?” he praises. “You taste so fucking good.”

His hands are still on your tits while he eats you out slowly, burying his face in your middle. He’s sucking and licking at a perfect rate, your moans like music to his ears.

You need all of him now, unable to wait any longer.

“Fuck me,” you whimper. “Please.”

He loves it when you beg.

Rafe melts into you, sliding in and out of you with a hard, fast pressure, the sound of your skin slapping filling your small room. You wrap your legs around him, plastered together in delicious harmony.

Your gazes are locked the whole time and you appreciate every feature of his face, from his eyes to his lips.

He’s hard and rough and vigorous as he gets closer, your bed squeaking, his hand cupping your head, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone.

Your peak comes in shockwaves, uttering his name as you unravel beneath him. His orgasm weaves in with yours, his body tensing before he loosens completely, losing himself in you.

Rafe pulls out and stays hovering over you, propped up on his elbows, while the rest of his body covers you like a blanket. He gazes at you with adoring eyes, revelling in how you look when you’re so pleased.

He feels like an idiot for ever assuming he’d want something solely physical with you. That he wouldn’t want all of you.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?” you laugh. “That was… nothing to be sorry for.”

“Before, when I said I was satisfied,” he says, guilt still eating away at him even though he said it weeks ago. “I lied. I’ll never get enough of you. It…”

“It what?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“It scares the shit out of me. How much I like you.”

The butterflies in your stomach go crazy.

“Rafe,” you say with a sad smile, placing your hand on his cheek, your heart heavy. “I’m scared, too. But the whole point of this is trusting we won’t hurt each other.”

“What if I keep fucking up like I did tonight?” he mumbles. He’s terrified that he’ll be a victim to his own temper and insecurity forever, eventually driving you away.

“I’m not asking for perfection,” you say. “I’m just asking that you’re direct with me when something’s bothering you. And that you try to fix it when you do fuck up. Because I’m never going to blame you for having feelings. Ever.”

Rafe’s eyelids drop as he looks down at your lips, nodding, half-convinced. You take a deep breath, hoping your next words aren’t too raw.

“That one day, I… I heard you get yelled at… for crying,” you say. Embarrassment pricks his skin and Rafe drops his head, resting his cheek on your sternum, hearing your heartbeat. He can’t look at you.

Your fingers rake into his locks again, heart still aching from overhearing his father’s words.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I only brought it up to tell you that you don’t deserve that. It’s okay to feel things. I know you think it’s weak but it’s not. Has he always done that to you?”

He only nods.

“That’s…” You don’t have the words, disgusted and angry.

“Maybe he’s right. I should man up.”

“Man up? That’s what he tells you? God,” you mutter. “You are a man. That shit is so stupid. I’m so glad I yelled at him.”

Rafe remembers how jarred he was when he saw how pissed off you were, snapping at his father, a man you’ve never met before.

“Nobody’s ever done that for me.” He wanted to tell you this the day it happened, but his jealousy ruined things when you smiled at a text from Blake.

Something in you shatters thinking of Rafe as a young boy, being berated, nobody standing up for him. He must have felt so lonely.

“Well, I’ll keep doing it,” you promise, feeling protective as hell over him.

Rafe didn’t know what having a girlfriend meant. He never expected he’d feel so safe with someone.

“And I’ll fuck up, too, okay?” you say. “And I’ll just buy you more protein powder when I do. That’s like flowers for you, right?”

Rafe chuckles, squeezing your hip.

“You won’t fuck up.”

“I will,” you laugh. “I’m not perfect.”

“Yes, you are,” he mumbles. “Don’t say that shit ever again.”

“You’re kind of setting me up for failure, frat boy,” you joke. He lifts his head to look at you again, his heart racing. Then something catches his eye on your wall.

Rafe can’t find the words when he sees it. It’s the Polaroid of you and him from earlier tonight, flipping the camera off.

He remembers the first night he was in this room, looking at your photos, thinking how pretty you were. And now he’s part of this collection. Part of your life.

“What?” you say.

“The picture,” he says.

“I can make you a copy if you really want one,” you tease, still playing with his hair.

Life has never felt brighter for him. He does want a copy. He immediately imagines it sitting in his wallet, inside his phone case, on his dashboard. He’s already planning to take a photo of it and make an Instagram post with the lyrics of your song.

Rafe shifts to kiss you again, allowing the bliss and awe and fear and vulnerability to take over.

He started this wanting no strings attached. Now he’ll be tying you together for as long as you let him.

(the end) (alternate sad ending) (continuation blurbs)

author’s note: writing “the end” is always more bitter than it is sweet 🥲 thank you to everyone who read and supported this series! if you had a “couple song” in mind, let me know what it was - i’m curious! i found “miss summer” by odie was my fav song to listen to when writing the fluff scenes hehe i think it covers how rafe feels perfectly. love you all 💋

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[nebuladreamz]

A little different than last year's, but here we are again. To say that this past year hasn't been absolutely wild would be a lie, cause HOLY SHIT MAN

This year's birthday is. A little different for me, but you already have the silly comic to show that so I won't make like a broken record oops

But, despite the changes and hills that life's decided I should climb or throw at, it hasn't changed the fact that I'm so genuinely fucking thankful to the people that I've known since joining this fandom. I'm not even kidding when I say that being here has actually changed my life for the better. I know I said something similar last year, but this time, hoo boy it sure turned up the AMP and test how far I could go.

So, to everyone, both new and old; thank you for being here :D

@garbagechocolate @darkxsoulzyx @smoljeanius @bunmuffin @skizabaa

@tuzesdays @sleepykas @fernzwing @kandidandi @starsketchez

@just-a-drawing-bean @notdysfunk @ilsole @amberluvsbugs @cloudyvoid

@nomsthecat @alfinefalf @nosleepygay @theblog-with-thestuff

@cacaocheri

(Edit: ty kibbits for informing me of the. Fuck ass tagging system)

AND TAGGING OTHERS BECAUSE. POINTS. BONKS WITH HEAD. GETTING TO EITHER INTERACT OR TALK OR WHATEVER IS ALWAYS A DELIGHT

@ohno-the-sun @kibbits @ink-yy @saltyfryz @kaprisvn

@hierba-picante @sunny-sophies-garden @cookiiemancer @sneeblbop @justaduckarts

@pepethehumanz @crystalmagpie447 @woolysstuff @mocha-illustrates @duhsty1

@sanchensky @pillowspace @victarin @witherfide

[I DEFINITELY GOT SONAS WRONG AND THESE AREN'T ALL THE SILLY PEOPLE I KNOW BUT IM SITTING HERE AT 2:30 IN THE MORNING JUST KNOW YOU'RE THERE IN SPIRIT HANDING YOU ALL POPTARTS WAUGH]

[maythearo]

The cast I drew on sticky notes!

[skellagirl]

Back in winter 2022 I started working on a comic of one of my favorite nsfw oneshots, Practical Demonstration, made like five pages, and then promptly dropped it cause I was still in the midst of Art Block From Hell, among other reasons

but the fic series recently got an update and I read it on a flight last week, which has renewed the brainworms :)

The comic's FAR from finished (I've thumbnailed the entire thing and it comes out to twenty-eight pages, while I have thirteen of those pages in varying stages of completion) but I've been having a lot of fun working on it and forcing myself to try and learn new things (backgrounds/environments, in this case) in the pursuit of Harvey Smut LOL

I thought I'd post some WIP shit here, in case ADHD gets my ass and I end up dropping it again 😭 pray for me

[cptnbeefheart]

this old world may never change and sometimes i wonder: do you ever think of me?

[holographings]

happy valentines day may all your love be monstrous and uncontainable

[heartorbit]

the star you've longed for