#with hands recently so uh

[sneez]

i used to talk about this a lot on twitter a few years ago but recently i’ve been thinking again about how little agency victor kain has both within the narrative and as an individual. specifically i think a lot about how his life after nina’s death is one in which he as a person plays very little role, and the fact that his duty as her husband (and as a kain) means that after she’s gone the nature of his family’s beliefs about the preservation of the soul keep him trapped by design in a grief that is necessarily all-consuming. if he wants to keep nina’s soul alive he can never progress beyond even the first stage of grief: every moment has to be dedicated to her and her memory; he has to be constantly reminded of her and the fact that she is dead. for him to move on would be for him to essentially kill her, so he can never even attempt to recover from her loss. his life has to revolve around the space where she was. in that way i see him as kind of a living shrine, a memorial whilst he’s alive and a vessel when he’s dead. his path is called the mistress! his entire life is explicitly devoted to someone who will take his body and return to life when he sacrifices himself for her! he’s working towards a utopia like the rest of his family, but who is it for? he lost his son in the pursuit of this thing which he will never get to see, and which seemingly never had a place for him at all. the kains’ utopia doesn’t even extend to their own.

all of this pains me particularly acutely because of how clear it is that victor does have interests and desires of his own, despite his implications that he is nothing more than a mouthpiece for his family. if you believe andrey, he doesn’t even want to be here: he wants to go back to the capital to finish his degree. i often see people talk about the kains as if they are one undifferentiated entity, but a lot of the quests ‘the kains’ give you are from victor, and i would argue that in most of those he is acting as an individual rather than necessarily a kain. he wants daniil to free the wrongfully imprisoned people; he acts against his family’s interests in rewarding clara for telling him about rubin. his letter to daniil on day 9 causes me agony for many reasons but in this context specifically because it doesn’t seem like he wants to die. georgiy appears pretty unfazed about being possessed by simon (although it’s georgiy so who knows) but victor, who has two children and has been one of the town’s rulers for presumably several decades, is telling a man he met just over a week ago that he is the only one to whom he can pass on anything meaningful. you could argue that he is just manipulating daniil here to persuade him to take up the kains’ cause, but i am of the opinion that he is being genuine in this case. he doesn’t want to die. he wants his family back again, but the only way they can be reunited is with his death. he wants to finish his degree. i am putting my head through walls

[worldsquietestjojosfan]

Mingjue's gaze softens.

"Didi. You are confused. You are misinterpreting brotherly love for romantic interest."

Huaisang clenches his firsts and stares down at the floorboards. His expression morphs into one of pain. He draws in a deep breath.

"Da-ge, please sleep with me." Mingjue's body jerks back at his little brother's words. "If I sleep with you, then I'll know for sure what I'm feeling."

[talentforlying]

@handgiven: ❝i’m fine. you’re the one who got stabbed.❞ fallen em moments u.u — SIX OF CROWS STARTERS

' fine my arse. you're fuckin' bleeding. '

the rest of the sentence fades out to static, bullied back by the instinct he follows to catch em firmly by the chin and tilt his face up for better inspection, stiff and unsteady fingers fumbling for a pocket hankie ( thank christ he never fully gave up on the desire to dress pretentiously ) to crumple in his fist and dab at the dark streak sliding down from em's hairline. he still hasn't gotten used to this: the stomach-dropping, tilt-a-whirl feeling of finding em after a fight and seeing dings and scrapes and bruises. even now that it's become more common, now that em doesn't have a halo to beam down holy armor from the angelic mothership — especially now that it's become more common, now that they both know a nick at the wrong junction could puncture clay like plant roots in soil — constantine can't fucking get used to it.

devotion's simple enough to stomach when it doesn't cost anything, when the person giving it's got plenty to spare and has a finger on the scale strong enough to keep themself level. it's a different story entirely when you're the one responsible for ensuring they make it out alive at the end of the day.

( em's choice, to keep following him in. em's decision to take the hits and risk his newly-under-nine lives. still constantine's responsibility, because . . . because he owes it. because he owes em. )

it's only once he can see the edges of the laceration, shallow enough not to be life-threatening, that his lungs kick back into active service again, the release of air dropping his shoulders like the limbs of a cut marionette. then the static clears, leaving him blinking blankly, hands retreating to absently pat down his own chest for a cursory triage. ' . . . 'ang on, stabbed? how d'you mean, stabbed, i'm perfectly — oh, fuck me. '

yeah, being stabbed would account for the hot and sticky something that's been running down his forearm and pooling in the crease of his elbow, wouldn't it? it'd account for the smeared fingerprints he's left on em's cheek, too. and, you know, there's the searing fucking burn in the center of his right palm where the perforation's gone clean through, now that he's noticed it. hard to buff that one out.

he looks up at the expression on em's face and just can't help it: he laughs, a nervous giggle that sounds an awful lot like shock, wiggling his claret-colored fingers in a gruesome sort of cooee. ' look — guess i'm the hole-y one now. '

[theinfinitedivides]

recently every time i read an Aldis Hodge interview and he's geeking out like 'i got married!!!!! i have a kid!!!!! i'm going to be in [insert title of next coolest project here]!!!!!' my thought process is just 1. congratulations, ofc you're geeking out (as you should) and 2. do you need a third

[welcometomybraincomics]

The Temple of Life and Death

Buildings are so lifeless. Wood is dead, but stone was never alive in the first place. Buildings are dark and must be lit artificially unless one wants to pay for expensively large windows, specially engineered not to break under storm’s wind. Buildings are kept clean. Dirt is frowned upon. Insects are pests. Any animals uninvited are intruders who may be killed. Plants are kept in neat and tidy pots that limit their growth for lack of space.

Buildings cannot be a temple for Life and Death.

Worshipers gather around a clearing full of plants and covered in fallen leaves. Surrounding them is life, growing and consuming. Beneath them is death, decomposing and feeding. Death leads to life as life leads to death. The never-ending cycle of reality that shall continue long past any mortal’s imagination. Plants grow beside them. In their roots and bark and leaves, creatures live: scurring, biting, birthing. The plants grow and their leaves die and the ground is covered in their corpses. The leaves decay into dirt. Within the leaves live beetles and worms and all kinds of insects that aid in their decay. They grow and live and birth upon death and the cycle continues. The bird eats the worm, the bird feeds the wolf, the wolf feeds the tree, the tree feeds the worm. Again and again, life consumes life and death begets death. The holy cycle continues forever.

A temple to Life and Death starts as a clearing. A priest directs the construction of the temple. It is a community activity involving all attendees. They bend the young trees to form arches and doorways. They are careful not to damage the plants. Children run underfoot, weaving crowns and baskets out of flowers and reeds. Some try to help, tying long grasses to the base of a tree in a messy knot. Parents laugh at the adorable sight. The temple is not made in one lifetime, nor two. The temple has been alive and growing for thousands of years. Millions of families have dedicated their lives to it and thousands of plants have been woven into it. Where once it was simply trees and dirt, it is now a towering figure full of wood windows that let in pillars of light. There are floors of live tree wood and bridges of growing vines. The temple is not a building, but a living creature, an ecosystem, alive and dead and growing.

Light shines through the leaves, speckling the ground with green-yellow light. Each layer is full of open spaces, each floor designed to allow light to pass from one floor to the next. The center of a temple is an open column of air. Laying down within it allows one to gaze at the sky, where woven fences and tree crowns frame their vision.

The temple is full of life. Animals come in and out, birthing, killing, and dying. There are no doors, there are no windows. Only arches to the world.  

Each floor is covered in dirt from aeons of decay. Leaves and insects layer the floors. When it rains, rivulets of water trickle down through its many cracks, making small rivers that wet each floor. New growth drinks from these rivers and the cycle continues.

[cherrysnax]

as someone who has to draw everyday, or else I forget how to draw, repetitive strain injuries are bound to happen but damn I didn’t know long it was gonna take to heal 😭 I have to take like a 2-3 week hiatus and if it doesn’t get better after that I have to take a few months off which makes me so nervous n upset

[heartual]

ough

[sharkieboi]

had a meeting with my boss and she asked “is it okay if i bring a lizard?” so of course i said Absolutely Yes it’s okay if you bring a lizard

[knocking-on-peoples-non-doors]

september, meeting the family

from the @yearoftheotpevent prompt list

[technicolorxsn]

current collection

[rene-darling]

WHEN- you store things inside your boobies

...very obviously fem reader lmao, you store things in the middle of your chest...

...lyney...xiao...itto...wanderer...

Lyney

You're showing lyney a card trick that learned.

But no matter how much he tries to figure out where you hid the card he just can't get it.

He never usually does this but he's just too curious!!

So he's been asking- no, begging for you to tell him how you did it and where you hid the card!

After much pleading and you repeating "a magician never reveals her secrets" you finally spill.

You tell him to watch carefully and he nods.

His eyes widen and his mouth drops open as he burns red.

You reach down your shirt and pull out a card from in between your boobes

"I- you uh..ah.." he's stuttering, not sure what would be an appropriate response to this.

You just laugh "see, this is why I said you can't do this trick, your tits are too small darlin"

"h-hey- making you blush is my job! Not the other way around!"

he's used to making snarky remarks or dirty jokes he can't believe he fell for this!

Xiao

Xiao recently gifted you some adeptus beads

They were meant to ward away evil spirits and demons and keep you safe when he's not around

However, he's noticed that he can't seem to find you wearing them around your neck, so he decided to ask you about it

"y/n where are you keeping the beads I gave you? I didn't give them to you just for you to leave them somewhere to collect dust."

He huffed offended you wouldn't keep the charm on you.

You already insisted on not calling his name when in trouble so you should at least keep the beads on you!

You just looked at him amused telling him you had them on you but he insisted you showed them to him, so you did.

Pulling down the neckline of your shirt you reached your hand in to grab said beaded necklace.

His mouth dropped once you showed it to him and his face bloomed "i- y-you..you have no respect for the adepti!" he vanished after yelling that likely to hide his blushing face, and his boner

Itto

Recently you've hid one of ittos little purple bugs right before his little match with some kid

He's frantically searching for said bug, insisting that he has to take that one or he won't win! Not that he will either way

"y/nnnnn! Are you sure you haven't seen my little bugger! I really need it!" he's whining like a little baby!

Feeling bad for him you finally relent telling him you might have an idea of where his beetle could be

"REALLYYYY!!! You're the best babe-" you tell him to watch carefully as you pull your shirt down and from in-between your valleys crawled out the purple beetle you had hidden

His mouth dropped his eyes looked like they would pop out of their sockets (imagine gojo when he looked at megumi)

"not fair y/n! Why does the beetle get to stay there and not me!" he's thinking about it being unfair,

Then the next second he wants to see if the beetle would fit in between his tits,

Of course, they do. I mean have you seen his tits? He's very proud of that fact

Wanderer

Nahida recently sent the both of you on an expedition together

He acts like he's not happy but deep down he's happy to be traveling alone with his beloved

Recently you both stopped at a shop to buy something but he had forgotten his mora back at camp.

He looked towards you waiting for you to pay, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at you when you looked at him amused and asked "you sure"

"just pay." well, he insisted, so why would you deny?

As soon as you reached down your shirt his mind short-circuited

You pulled out a mora pouch and handed some mora to the shop keeper like it was nothing and then again stuffed the pouch down your tits.

Grabbing the things you started walking away as wanderer stood there just blushing violently

Looking back you yelled "are you coming or not darling?" he snapped out of it following after you

"did you really have to do that in fucking public?" he huffed in embarrassment, walking back home with a boner is annoying

[reiderwriter]

Isn't She Pretty, Daddy?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Teacher f!Reader

Summary: You're a little bit worried about one of your brightest students recently, so you call her Dad to come in for a meeting. Her absolutely adorable - and single - Dad.

Warnings: the birds and the bees as explained by a kindergardener. Some angst about being a single parent.

A/N: Here's another entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Kid Fic Challenge! Dad Spencer has my heart, and I've been in a really fluff forward mood this weekend, evidently! I think I have one more Kid Fic left to go before the end of the challenge, but we'll see what the will of the fanfiction gods is...

Masterlist

If you were to be asked what the hardest part of being a teacher was, you would, without question or even a second to think, have an answer. Parents. The worst part of teaching is talking to parents. 

Little kids were easy to talk to. They asked questions if they didn't understand things clearly, and they didn't typically say things they didn't mean. Adults were the opposite, and it just so happened that all of your kids' parents were adults. 

Including your most recent problem  child. 

You were used to the kids in your class having some behavior issues - for one, they were kids, it was to be expected that their little bodies couldn't quite handle all of the emotions they were feeling at once. But you were doubly struck by your school area being close to Quantico, meaning half the kids in your care had families with law enforcement backgrounds. 

Absent parents plus growing bodies plus normal kid stress equalled attachment issues, and your problem child Harper Reid was one of your more worrying cases. 

You really hoped everything was okay in the Reid household, so you'd called the little girls parents. She was lovely - honest to god - one of the sweetest little kids you'd ever met. 

Every day she came to school with some older kids and their mom, carpooling on the way in, so you had yet to meet her parents, but you thought that anyone who could produce something that sweet and cute and brilliant couldn't possibly be a bad person. 

You didn't know what to expect, so when her little pigtails peaked around the corner and she came running in, you were momentarily filled with anxiety. 

“MOMMY!” The little girl yelled, launching herself into your arms as soon as she spotted you behind your desk. 

“Hi, Harper! Hi, you must be, Mr. Reid-”

“Doctor, actually, um, but that doesn't really matter. I'm so sorry about this, Harper doesn't usually tackle people.” 

The 3ft tall ball of energy had managed to crawl into your lap and wrap her arms around your neck, so you had to pick her up when you stood to greet her dad. 

“Will your wife be joining us for the meeting today?” You asked, already used to Harper's hugs and general closeness. 

“Oh, no. No, she's not coming. She, uh, doesn't exist. Single father.” 

“Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume, it's just not on my files-” 

“It's okay, it's a …bit complicated.” 

You took your seat at the desk and gestured to the man to do the same. Finally, looking at him for the first time now that some of your anxiety had died down, you couldn't help but think that Doctor Reid was incredibly attractive. It wasn't one part of his face that stuck out to you as being particularly pretty, just the entire ensemble of it together that took your breath away. Either that of Harper was gripping you so tight she was restricting your ability to breathe, and considering a five year old is not a boa constrictor, this was all dad's fault. 

“So, you said on the phone Harper's been having some problems at school?” 

You snapped your attention back to the issue at hand, searching for the relevant files and pictures you wanted to show the man. Harper turned herself around in your lap and looped her arms around your arm, pulling it in close to use as a pillow. 

“Isn't Miss Y/N so pretty, Daddy?” You froze and flushed in an instant, suddenly so aware of the man's eyes on you. You weren't sure if you were thankful or even more embarrassed that Harper's dad seemed to be even more flushed than you. 

“Daddy? Isn't she pretty?” Harper insisted, and you realized that you both weren't going to get out of this without him answering. 

“Yes, angel. Miss Y/N is very pretty.” The little girl smiled in triumph and nuzzled into your arm even more, happily curled up into your lap like a cat. 

“Hey, Harper. We got a new puzzle delivered yesterday. It's got My Melody and Cinnamaroll on it. They're your favorites, right?” 

The little girl nodded in glee, eyes shining as she hung on your every word. 

“How about you go over to the play area and get it started, and then me and your daddy will come over and help you finish it?” 

In a flash, she'd hopped up out of your lap and wriggled away, shouting a quick “You promised, right?” behind her as she went. 

“I'm so sorry about that, I don't know what's gotten into her, she's usually very shy and-”

“Doctor Reid, it's fine. That's just why I called you in today. Teachers and parents are a team, right, we work together to make sure the kids grow up well, you don't need to apologize to me for that.” 

The man seemed to take a deep breath and nod, to regain his wits about him for a second. 

“Is she… this attached in her regular classes?” 

“Well honestly, she was a bit like that at the beginning of the semester, but she grew out of it after a while. In the last week or so, she fell back into it, and now she's calling me ‘Mommy,’ too. I was wondering if anything happened recently at home that could've led her in this direction, or…”

The man looked a little bashful, but there was a twinge of sadness in his expression that you recognised all too well. 

“Harper, uh, doesn't have a Mom. I adopted her, and it's a long story, but... She's been asking me to get her one recently, because she doesn't really understand all that well? I'm sorry, I didn't know she'd do something like this. I should've done a better job at home-” 

“Doctor Reid, raising a child is hard. It's so hard that humans usually do it in communities, or at least in couples. You're doing it alone, and Harper is already one of the smartest and most empathetic little girls I know. You're doing your job as Dad just fine.” 

The man smiled at you and looked down, quickly wiping away a tear as you gave him a moment of privacy. 

“So. If nothing at home set Harper off, we should probably go and ask her why she's calling me mommy, right?” 

You stood, and he stood with you, leaving his satchel next to his chair and unbuttoning his jacket. 

“Great. Sure, let's go see.”

Walking to the back of the room, you both smiled quietly, looking at the small girl. The 100 piece puzzle you'd guided her to was neatly arranged on the desk, pieces split into edges and centre pieces as she slowly looked at each one with a quietly focused face. Each time she found the piece she was looking for, her smile was bright as she connected it to the small part she was working on. 

“Mommy! Daddy! I can't find the melody's face, can you help me?” 

“Sure, Harper, we'll help you.” You moved to sit beside her at the tiny desks, giggling when the older Reid on Harper's other side struggled to fit himself in the toddler sized chairs. 

Harper assigned you roles, and you all started quietly doing your jobs, waiting for Harper to focus again so you could ask her questions without agitating her. 

“Harper, can you tell your Daddy why you call me Mommy?” 

“Sure! You're Mommy because I want you to marry with Daddy.” 

If you weren't already still flushed from her earlier comments, you certainly were lightheaded with embarrassment now. 

“Harper, that's not how it works-” 

“Yes, it is, Daddy! Henry said so. He said his mommy and daddy were sad one day, but then they were together again and they had a big party called a wedding and now they're happy, and that's why we have Michael.” You didn't quite follow from all the names and the story events, but it was evident that Reid did, so you waited quietly for his explanation. 

“My friend. Her son was at her wedding a few years back. They have another son who is a couple years older than Harper, they come to school together?” 

Your mouth made a small ‘o’ as you slowly filled in the blanks. 

“Harper, you want daddy to have a wedding so he isn't sad anymore?” 

The little girl gave a big nod and a smile, like she was so happy that she was finally being understood. 

“Miss Y/N should marry daddy because he thinks she's pretty. Henry said that was important for a wedding, your mommy has to look beautiful.” You made eye contact with Doctor Reid awkwardly as she spoke, both of you looking away for fear of seeing the embarrassment on each others faces. 

“And Miss Y/N wants a baby. So I will be Miss Y/N's baby, so everyone can be happy!” Harper's kid logic was a little hard to find fault with, but you still had to push back a little. 

“Harper, why do you think I want a baby?” 

“Angie asked you, and you said," the girl pouted, almost frustrated woth habing to answer all these silly questions.

"She asked you why you don't have a baby, and you said that you can only have a baby if you're married and that you wanted to have a baby when you were married. So marry my dad, and I'll be your baby!” 

Harper's smile was so happy and content that you really didn't want to spoil her dream just yet. You continued putting the puzzle together for a few minutes in silence, the full picture nearly being complete now. Harper seemed to fidget a little in her seat next to you, pushing closer and closer to you before tugging on your sleeve. 

You leaned down and she whispered in your ear - though you didn't doubt that her dad heard every word. 

“If you really want, I'm sure we can get another baby like Henry got Michael. I'll ask my dad, but I think it's allowed.” 

The poor man on the other side of the desk had to cover his face with his hands to stop the blush from showing, devolving to just straight up resting his head on the desk when his daughter kept going. 

“A boy is okay, but my dad doesn't really know about boy stuff. Uncle Derek says that my daddy is just a pretty boy with a book brain. We should get another girl, so daddy can be not worry.” 

The more you listened to Harper's adorable family plan, the more you just wanted to squeeze her tight and say yes and give her everything she wanted. 

“Miss Y/N, once again, I'm so sorry for everything, I'll talk with Harper at home about this.” 

“It's okay, I actually find it all very sweet,” you laughed a little and smiled back at him. 

“No, I'm sure your boyfriend would be so uncomfortable if he knew that she was trying to marry you off-” 

“Doctor Reid, are you trying to ask me if I'm single?” 

The small grin that quirked his lips up was nothing if not unfair. He really was a very pretty boy. 

“It was that obvious?” 

“Yep.” You made sure the ‘p’ popped a lot as you both shared a small laugh. Harper looked up between you and smiled, too. 

“So, can you get married now? Henry said you can do it really quickly, like in Grandpa Rossi's garden, and then you can go and do the secret part at home while Auntie Penny looks after me.” 

“Secret part?” 

“To make the other baby, silly!” 

[justaz]

country bumpkin merlin not knowing anything about city life and accidentally courting arthur without knowing

merlin, watching gwen give lancelot her favor: why do you do that

gwen, heart eyes at lance and not paying that much attention to the conversation: so he knows i’m rooting for him

merlin, with an Idea: ah.

gwaine, lover of chaos, pisser offer of nobles and royals alike, ultimate wingman: merlin…you have such lonely lips. shall i introduce them to mine?

merlin, unaware of the game gwaine is playing: so you can steal my breath away? i think not, scoundrel

arthur, crushing his goblet in his hand:

merlin: arthur’s been in a bad mood recently :( i should cheer him up

merlin, remembering when arthur was put out when merlin brought morgana flowers and not him: i know just the thing

merlin, bringing a bouquet of carnations, roses, and tulips and setting them on arthur’s table while he’s eating breakfast: good morning, sire

arthur, trained on flower language in hopes that one day when he was to take a queen he could woo her easily, trying not to audibly choke on his sausage as he reads merlin’s declaration of love sitting in front of him:

arthur, who recently found out about merlin’s magic and was trying to find a way to bring it up, catching him in the act and watching merlin panic to explain himself:

merlin, Freaking: and i swear to you arthur, i have only ever used it for you. my magic is yours. my life is yours. i am yours. i would never do anything to harm you. i have protected you for years and will continue to do so at your side if you’ll have me

arthur, already believing them to be courting, desperately trying to figure out if that was a proposal for marriage or not but tired of being confused and deciding fuck it: here.

merlin, taking it: i…uh…huh?

arthur, watching merlin with hawk eyes and trying to figure out what he’s thinking and feeling: it’s my mothers sigil

merlin, confused as FUCK but is focusing on the fact that arthur is handing him something of his mother rather than a death sentence: my…my lord?

arthur, realizing how scared merlin’s must be about him finding out about his magic and trying to comfort him while also proposing, killing two birds with one stone: i will always keep you at my side, merlin, so long as we both shall live. if you’ll allow me.

merlin, almost collapsing with relief and tearing up, smiling at arthur as if he had parted the storm clouds to allow sun to shine down on them in that moment: of course…of course, arthur. always and forever.

merlin, watching the castle staff rush this way and that: wow. this banquet must be incredibly important

sir leon the long suffering, day one ride or die, one of the original merthur shippers: banquet? merlin, this is for your wedding

merlin, overworked and exhausted: my WHAT? to WHO??

leon, regretting everything he’s ever done in his life that led him to this moment: to…arthur?

merlin, over joyed but also absolutely befuddled: i’m getting married to ARTHUR?????

leon: you two have been courting for the past year or so, have you not?

merlin: i’ve been COURTING ARTHUR?????? FOR A YEAR?????????

[with-ink-and-quill]

Alone in the Torrent

After traversing the nightmare fog taking over the old graveyard and facing the buried traumas it dragged into the night, the party found the source of the horror and her nightmare protector. Left to fend for himself against the colossal knight and their giant mace, nearly crushed to death in one swing, Nik must now come to terms with the last long day. He may have banished the monster, but it lingered in his mind in more ways than one.

As the door shut behind him, eyes glowing in the dark room, he finally let out a shivering breath. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been holding it. It had been hours by now and the realization caused his hand to tighten on the glass bottle, claws threatening to mar the surface. Instead he forced his leaden legs to move, trudging to the desk and letting the bottles of his chosen poison clink onto it. With a shaking hand he spilled his journal out as well, ink bottle and pen tumbling after. The bundles of papers and expensive inks bounced to the tabletop as well and he eyed them warily. For once, he felt thoroughly done with magic. He didn’t want to think about it. The feeling of being crushed was still causing his breaths to wheeze, too fast and short. The phantom pain lingered: the earth sucking at his feet, the rock clawing into his back as vicious metal ground his ribs to dust, desperately trying to pull in a breath as the world forced the air from his lungs, choking on his own words and blood to force the magic free. The sheer terror of running for his life, barely escaping the next murderous swing and praying the second strike didn’t steal someone else from him; of being left to fend for himself and knowing that if he failed, someone else would die for it.

He didn’t register falling to his knees, his fingers clutching the edge of the desk so tight it hurt. Forehead pressed to the cold wood, he was gasping for air, vision blurring. The pain and fear of the last day finally sunk in, whipping up inside him violently. He was drowning in it. Magic may have physically healed him, but it didn’t make the experience disappear. Silent, wheezing sobs escaped him, long minutes slipping by. He wanted to bundle himself in the bed, shut away from the world in warm darkness, but the same thought caused his heart to beat wildly. Just the mere thought of being wrapped in anything felt terrifying. And as tired as he was, the buzzing from the Banishment spell ensured it would be a hard won rest. Part of him despaired that night had passed them by, as if the starlight would somehow offer him reprieve from the peculiar affliction. At the very least, he missed the eerie comfort it brought him.

Exhaustion eventually robbed the strength from his sobbing and he scrubbed a sleeve over his face to dry the tears. A grimace curled his lips as he felt grave dirt and rock dust grind against his bloody and sweat stained skin. Long hours of grueling hiking and miserable combat had left him filthy. It wouldn’t be great to try and sleep like this. With nothing left to fuel the emotional turmoil, he let himself slip into cold logic. He was tired, dirty, and beaten up. Sleep would eventually happen, and magic could solve the rest. A simple spell to disappear the detritus, but he could feel the power shoot pins and needles up his arm from the crystal. He had used a lot of magic without very much rest between, and it smarted. Trying to cast anything more complex would be too much, he didn’t have the energy, or strong enough connection, or whatever properly powered his spells. He needed an actual fucking break.

Which brought him to his bed. Apprehensively, he poked the mattress before sighing heavily. It brought back memories of the earth softening under his feet, loamy hands snatching to pull him under. He almost let out a whine at the tragedy of it. A proper bed was always one of the few things he looked forward to most after long days on the road. Sleeping on the floor wasn’t viable, though, unless he wanted to wake up feeling worse. With a heavy sigh, he spread his bedroll out and dragged the pillows and blankets off the beds. If he was going to have a shitty camp out in the middle of a gods damned inn room then he was going to have every other comfort available. Pausing for a moment, he arranged it all much like the nests of one very sneaky and charming little bird. If she found them a comfort, maybe he could eek out some for himself. Satisfied with his handiwork he finally set about removing his gear. Kicking his boots off clumsily, he tugged at the lacing of his arm guards and shrugged off the solid leather. His shawl was pulled over his head and tossed atop the pile of blankets making up his bed as he set upon the leather around his waist. Shedding that he finally removed the rather solid jacket, casting it only a slightly bitter glance for the protection it had offered.

With a sigh he sat unceremoniously on his makeshift bed, fiddling with the silver bracelets before tossing them aside. Next came the earring, then an absent discarding of the silver ring, and finally his hand came to rest on his chest before faltering. His crystal wasn’t there anymore and the habit of clutching it was proving hard to shake. Instead of dwelling on the uneasy somersault his stomach did at the notion, he busied himself with untying his hair. For a moment he just sat quietly, carding fingers through the knots the past day had created and taking long, steady breaths. He was fine, the party was fine. The battle was over and they had won. It was fine.

He fell back into the awaiting embrace of far too many pillows, his tail lashing out in annoyance among the sea of blankets. It wasn’t as comfy as the bed would have been, but he could easily put a hand out onto the very solid floor should he need the comfort. For a moment he missed Thorne. Having a cat to pet and listen to purr would have gone some long way to settle his nerves. The damnable creature was just as likely to claw him for the efforts though, and was charged with giving that comfort to Verity. He felt a pang of guilt at that thought, followed with a wave of anger and bitterness that had his tail thrashing. He knew he wasn’t being fair, but he was upset. She had abandoned him to the hulking monstrosity from the tower and then after the harrowing fight, had proceeded to heal him excessively before passing out from the effort. As if that would comfort him! He was horribly, gut wrenchingly worried about her now. Which was why he had left Thorne in her charge. At least this way he could check in on her himself without having to address all the messy emotions. It didn’t untangle the roiling mess of feelings that had moved into his chest, but it helped a little. He was still mad, still felt betrayed, still worried horribly for her. But it helped.

With a long deflating exhale, he forced himself to close his eyes and curled up under a blanket. First, sleep. He would deal with feeling afterwards. And for some few blissful moments, that plan worked. Until the bed felt too soft and the cloying scent of death had him flailing out an arm for solid ground. It had been too much to hope for peaceful rest. Electing to simply leave one hand resting against the hardwood floor and pulling in a steadying breath, he tried again. This time he got to the hazy half sleep, the border of consciousness bringing the relaxed comfort of almost sleep. Except at the edge of his thoughts he could swear there was a faint voice calling out to him. He knew that voice, so achingly familiar, far too much time passing since he had last heard her, and it twisted his heart with fondness. And then that fondness turned to icy fear, squeezing his heart until it pounded painfully in his chest. She was crying for him, begging for help, she needed him, needed him now, and he wasn’t there. Why wasn’t he there for her? He needed to run, to chase after her, had to reach her before it was too late. He still had time, he had to have time, he couldn’t be too late. He would never forgive himself if he was too late. She would be okay, he would make it, she’d be fine, she had to be fine-

With a gasp he woke in a tangle of blankets, still half fighting himself free of them in the confusion of his sudden wake up. The frustration and fear caused a snarling sob to escape him as he ground the heels of his palms against his eyes. He was so tired of everything. He missed Katya dearly and was terrified that his absence had caused something terrible for her. And for a moment, just the sliver of a moment, he missed something he thought he never would: the simplicity of home. It had been boring, but it was familiar. He knew all the monsters that lurked there, or he thought he did. But it wasn’t his home now, if his last conversation with his father was any indication.

In a flurry of exhaustion and anger, his fingers began the somatic components of a spell, the arcane words muttered under his breath before a stinging pain shot up his arm. He bit his tongue, unaware of his actions before the negative feedback shocked him. His body was suspended in silent hurt, mere seconds of agony before it faded. He couldn’t cast still, not anything meaningful. Not like his father would give him clear answers anyways. What was he thinking? Clearly a magical call in the early morning from an entity claiming to be your dead son after almost three years of silence would be well received. Especially when he hadn’t planned out the message already. What kind of pathetic, juvenile attempt was that?

Clearly sleep wasn’t helping and magic was very much out of the question. His arm still felt like pins and needles, an almost awful resonance radiating from the crystal itself; like the chunk of rock was protesting his stupidity. It almost made him laugh. Well, his pact wasn’t helpful so he might as well try another route. If his father was such a famous entity now, surely it wouldn’t be hard to get a letter to him. It was just as likely he’d burn it once he figured out who wrote it, but it would be better than doing nothing. So Nik dragged himself out of his makeshift bed, a fist tangled in his shawl as he trudged back to the desk. With a heavy sigh he plunked into the chair and set about lighting the lamp to spare his eyes the effort of darkvision. Only partially dazzled by the brighter room he dragged out loose paper and his pen from the pile of spilled goods, settled into his seat, and pressed the nib to parchment. He sat motionless for a long minute, lost.

How was he supposed to open the letter? ‘Hey dad, please keep reading, I know you think I’m a lying abomination, but how’s the new job? You happy?’ Surely a cold open demanding to know if they were dead or not would go over well. Or he could upend the roiling, angry mass stewing in his heart that his parents had lied to him, manipulated him into thinking himself mad, and then disowned him when he left. He could demand answers for so many questions about his life; why they felt the need to keep him afraid, why they couldn’t explain anything when he asked about the voice he heard, why they just covered for the people who hurt him when he was just a child. He could beg them to forgive him for whatever wrong he committed to be cut off so suddenly. Because he was sorry, even in his ignorance. They were his family, his only family, and he loved them dearly. They were his home and the thought of losing that extinguished the rage, leaving him shivering.

The pen left an ugly dark splotch on the blank letter and he let it fall to the desktop, his hand tightening on the shawl. He cradled his head in the other, trying to force himself to take slow, deep breaths. Life would have been so much simpler if he had never left Trestan. He could have been sitting at the kitchen table tucking into the leftovers from the previous night while Katya gushed about her plans about town for the day. Their mother would have been shaking her head in exasperation, smiling while heaping food onto her excitable daughter’s plate. Their father would have been trying to get her to stop at the market for this or that while mixing a bowl of herby dough that would accompany dinner as a savory bread later that day. And Nik would have sat there, listening contentedly, knowing he would have to do the shopping and chores, but that was fine. Because he was home and, if nothing else, at least he had his family. He knew he had love and warmth waiting for him.

Except now he didn’t, because he had left to chase a voice in the sky.

The chair rocked dangerously far back, his face blank as he stared up at nothing. When the legs touched the floor again, he had a bottle of honey mead in hand and was clawing the seal free. He took long draughts as if each one could somehow ground him, would chase away the cold hole opening up in his chest. He had never cared for drinking back in the village. He even had a great deal of disdain for the drunks that staggered out of the tavern late at night to collapse in the streets just to repeat it all again the next day. But they had seemed so insensate after it all and that sounded just fine to him now. When he finally stopped to breathe, he was shaking slightly and the bottle was missing a decent amount of liquid. He set it back down, picked up the pen, and hesitated. And then he wrote. He would jot down long sentences, cross them out, take a swig, and try again. Letters were torn up, crumpled into balls and tossed aside, and left unfinished. When his hand felt too sluggish, the script beginning to dance before his eyes, the bottle was half empty. It was hard to tell how long he had been failing, but then no, he knew how long the sun would linger didn’t he. Well, far too long for a simple letter.

The pen clattered out of his hand onto another abandoned attempt and he reached for the drink again, but he paused. The light glinted off the crystal and from something just peeking out of his bag. He dragged a dagger into the open, turning it over in contemplation. Would it hurt terribly if he carved the accursed rock from his flesh? The area felt rather numb normally and he was right sloshed now, it was as good as he’d ever get without asking someone else to do it. Would it sever his magical connection? If he presented it to his father, would the man forgive him? Could he get his family back if he returned to being nothing special? Would giving up this magic, this life of adventure, this identity return what he lost? The blade clicked against the crystal lightly, held a bit awkwardly in his right hand before he changed his grip for better stabbing force. There really was only one way to find out.

The warlock spread his hand flat on the desktop, standing up and holding the dagger above the offending appendage. It would be so simple. Maybe he’d lose the hand, but he wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. He wouldn’t have to worry about the implications or what mysterious role he was supposed to be fulfilling. Oh, he would be useless, but he’d be free. The blade pressed against the flesh bordering the crystal, cold and sharp. Just one push. A bead of bright red sprung up in response, vibrant and tempting. He pulled the dagger back, paused to shakily aim, and struck. He did feel a sharp sting, felt the blade hit something solid, but as he blinked down all he saw was a shallow cut on his hand and the dagger stuck in the wood tabletop. He had missed. Even this simple task was impossible for him.

He dropped back into the chair, dagger abandoned where it was impaled. His head fell back until it met wood, limbs limp like a puppet discarded, and he laughed. It was soft at first, a huffing of breath that slowly built until it was manic. The whole situation was comical. He was too special for the simple life of a villager, but too normal for the fraught life of an adventurer. What was he to do? So he laughed, because he had nothing else. He laughed until it hurt and kept laughing a little longer even then, before he finally tapered off. In the ensuing silence he simply watched the weak shadows dance in the room to the lamp’s light. He felt so tired and altogether numb now. The night had been a bundle of failures and it drew a heavy sigh from his lips as he sat upright. He was surrounded by a little sea of letters, not a single one viable. The ink stained even his hands and it caused his mouth to twist sourly. He was thoroughly fed up.

The anger bubbled up fast and hot, simmering frustration fueling it. He wanted to scream until his throat ached, tear the room to shreds, somehow vent the helplessness from himself. It was infuriating. He couldn’t talk to his family, likely wouldn’t survive pleading to his patron, and was being a stubborn ass with the woman he loved. He couldn’t write a measly letter asking if his sister was alive, couldn’t tear out the damned crystal that housed his cursed magic, and couldn’t be less of a coward when it counted the most. And honestly, getting drunk was proving to be rather a big let down. There were no numbed feelings, just a shorter path to anger and despair. Useless fucking drink.

“What I would give to cease feeling.” He snarled into the empty air, teeth bared to no one.

He felt it all too keenly, much as he liked to pretend otherwise. Loathed as he was to admit it. What had feeling ever done for him? Lancing agony at the loss, alienation, isolation in his life. It had gifted him simmering anger for his treatment at the hands of others, the pain they inflicted because they could, because he was different. Because he was weak and meant nothing, so it bit deep into his flesh and spread its vile venom to his heart. What was the small warmth in his life to the vitriol of living? Where was the purpose? 

He found himself staring out the window, squinting in the light and hating the headache it brought. If only he could dash the sun out of the very sky, plunge the world back into blissful darkness, bask in the moonlight and lose himself in the stars. He ground the heels of his palm into his eyes, exhausted, before staggering out of the chair. Almost tripping into bed, he clumsily tangled himself under the blankets. He laid flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling for a long minute before his eyes slid closed. He pressed his hand against his chest, just above the collar of his shirt, the crystal cold against his flesh. A part of him wanted to cry out to his goddess, to beg Her to take all the pain away or give him some direction to walk. Instead he thought back to the fountain, of the liquid agony the waters held, and the endless expanse of stars. He held that impossible sky in his mind, the cold comfort it reflected in the mirror surface he had walked. He offered up each ugly emotion roiling within him, all the pain and hope as one, to that sky. And slowly, with each breath, the keen bite of feeling ebbed. Even the itching buzzing in his skull seemed to grow quiet before the great expanse. His fear and doubt were simply dwarfed and finally, finally he could rest. Under that sky he could simply stop existing. Living was a chore for when he woke. For now, all the world was stars.

[beautysamour]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟑: 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬

— 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

“Why?” Your boyfriend looked at you with a raised brow, two silicone toys in each of his hands.

You let out a shaky breath, the entire situation making it difficult for you to breath. You weren’t sure how Miguel was going to react when you brought using toys during sex—he’s always been the type to prefer using himself to make you cum, he took pride in it.

He straightens his back, “If I haven’t been making you feel good—“

“That’s not it,” you interrupt, taking one of the vibrators out of his hand, “I just thought it’d be fun to try,” suddenly you couldn’t look him in the eye, “a—and mj got it for us as a gift, it’d be rude to give it back after accepting it.”

You peek up at Miguel and find him looking at the sex toy in his hand. You hold your breath hoping that he’d—

“Alright. Are these the only ones?”

Without realizing it, your back straightens and your eyes have a sudden glow in them that was dulled by the previous nervousness, “For now, yeah.”

He chuckled at your wording, you planned on getting more?

“Great,” he sticks out his hand with the vibrator on his palm, “We can try these out after the dinner, yeah?”

Your body deflates at his words. After dinner? You can’t promise you’ll be able to wait that long, not with the other vibrator in your possession.

Well, that’s only if you stayed here.

He leans forward attempting to press a kiss on your forehead before his body falls against yours, his eyes fall down to your hand gripping onto his tie as he stops his tip with a hand against the wall.

His eyes flicker to yours seeping with confusion, “What was that for?”

You hum innocently, questioning his question.

Suddenly you release your grip on his tie, softly patting it against his chest as you smooth out the wrinkles. “You might be gone long—no—you will be gone long,” you rest your other hand on his chest, and start tracing circles with the vibrator on his left tit, “and the dinner will get rather boring pretty quickly.”

You lean up on your tippy toes, pressing a kiss against his jaw, “And the house gets lonely without you,” you press another kiss along his jaw, “And I’ll get bored—“

“Ok,” Miguel roughly breathes out, his large hands rest on your hips—the other vibrator still in his hand, “Do you want to come with me then?”

You smile. “I’d love too.”

;;

“I understand, Mr. O’Hara, but with the recent hit the industry took…”

You gripped onto Miguel’s hand as your vision went blurry, “Mig…Miguel,” you bite your tongue hoping the suppress the moan that nearly came out.

The coworker who was talking turned his head to you, “Oh, Mrs. O’Hara? Is everything alright?”

Your grip strengthened around your boyfriend’ hand as sweat started to trail down your throat and your pussy clenched around the toy.

“Mrs. O’Hara?”

You forced yourself to look up, to look at the coworker, and to speak. Your lips, both of them, trembled as they opened—a moan sitting prettily on the tip of your tongue.

“A—I—“

Your boyfriend was so sweet, so loving, and so attentive. He knew you were close, you just needed a little more, and he was more than happy to help you out. Especially when you were so obviously struggling to get any noise out of your mouth.

He played with the remote in his other hand under the table, pretending to look at you with worry in his eyes as a beautiful moan rips out your throat.

You pray that when you get up there won’t be a puddle of cum.

“Uh—uhm—Mrs. O’Hara—?”

“Pardon me,” Miguel heroically interrupts as his holds your close to his, “My wife isn’t feeling well, could you excuse us for a bit?”

“Oh—of course, yes.” The coworkers all move out of the way, making a clear path for the both of you to go through.

You cling onto him as you try to stand up, your legs tremble as you take your first step. “Miguel,” you breath out, “Ca—can we go, ah, home?”

You close your eyes, your over sensitive pussy is able to track every movement the little toy inside of you makes—it makes you pull away from Miguel, you’re body acting as it would whenever he’s in you.

Your heart breaks a little when you hear him laugh—and your legs nearly give out as the toy goes up to its next setting, “Miguel!”

He ignores your cry, maneuvering you around the tables until the bathrooms are right in front of you. He hums a tune, almost mockingly, as he opens the family bathroom, “Come on tesoro, get in.”

An almost heart wrenching whine leaves your throat as Miguel locks the door. You fall to the floor and your mouth opens, a silent moan comes out as you cum on your drenched underwear. Your back arches as the toy never stops it’s movement.

Miguel tsks as he kneels next to you, “What’s wrong cariño,” he feigns innocence, “Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Can’t,” you choke out, “Ca—can’t!”

He holds the remote out, purposely putting in the your line of sight. He twirls it around his fingers, “You said you wanted to go home? Thought you wanted to come with me, tesoro.”

You grind your pussy against the cold floor as you feel your body start to heat up.

“Miguel,” you cry, “Why are you being mean?”

You lean into his touch as his hand cups your cheek to make you look at him. He looks at you, eyes soft as he rubs your cheek.

You turn your head to press a kiss on his palm, stupidly taking this act from him as kindness.

Your head drops immediately, tighs pressing against each other as the vibrations in your pussy get more intense.

“F—fuck.”

Miguel presses a kiss to the top of your head as he watches you crumble underneath him, “Sorry tesoro, but you’re just so pretty like this.”

[mariespen]

Who? ˳༄꠶

jealous!Rafe Cameron x fem!Reader ༄꠶ summary: “No way am I sending my girl on a study date with another man." warnings: very very mild sexual concepts, jealous Rafe

based on this request!

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Rafe Cameron was looking right at you with a death glare, the kind of look you’d pin on horrible people who were only doing horrible things. You’d think your boyfriend would understand that being in college requires unavoidable group work, which leads to unavoidable conversations with people you would much rather not know at all. Naturally, you were wrong. Devastatingly wrong.

“I don’t get it.” He said plainly for the fifteenth time that night, “You don’t even need this class if I’m honest.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to focus more on packing your things rather than the hole he was staring into your back.

“Don’t do that shit.. c’mon baby..” Rafe said, getting up to stand closer to you, a persuading hand on your hip, “M’working so hard to give you a life where you don’t gotta work and-“

“Rafe, we’ve talked about this too many times.” You cut him off in hopes to finally shut him up.

“Well why don’t we talk about it again,” He said, a tiny smile on his face, “Like right now? Over dinner?”

“Baby you know that my group members will kill me if I don’t pull through.” You shrugged past him, walking to put your shoes on.

You weren’t wearing anything near special. Sweatpants and one of Rafe’s oversized hoodies were all that you were planning on showing off. But in Rafe’s eyes, HE would fuck you in that, so who’s to say that no one else would? Naturally, he carries a heavy bias considering that Rafe would fuck you in anything, but he says ‘that’s not the point.’

“So what, you’re gonna spend all night with people you don’t even like?” He asked with a scoff.

You gave him an annoyed nod, trying to prove your point.

“That’s gotta be like.. bad for your uh.. mental health. You should stay in.”

“Rafe stop-“ You started before getting a ping on your phone. You groaned to finish the sentence, storming off to get your shoes on.

“What?” Rafe called after you, quietly shuffling behind before picking your phone up and looking at the recent notifications.

Connor: When r u getting here?

“Who’s this?” Rafe asked, pointing to the phone with a look of pure hatred in his eyes.

“One of my group members, love.” You said, trying to stifle a giggle over how protective he was over you.

“Another man? Absolutely not,” He said, turning away from you to block the door out of your shared apartment before continuing his rant, “No way am I sending my girl on a study date with another man. Who do you think-“

You pushed past him, backpack already slung over your shoulders as you made your escape to the front door.

“Nope.” He said plainly, grabbing the back of your bag and making you look at him, his fingers tracing your jaw and holding your eyes to his.

“Rafe..” You whined, but his touch was strict.

“You’re mine, baby. Not Connor’s, a’ight?” He said, brushing hair from your face.

“I’m yours.” You repeated, standing on your tip-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

His eyes softened and he thought he got you wrapped around his finger, pulling away to look at your flushed face. Instead, you darted to the door when his touch weakened, hand on the knob before Rafe could get another word in.

“Love you!” You said, closing it before everything caught up to him.

The group work went fine and almost exactly like you thought. A long session and a gut wrenching feeling of exhaustion afterwards. It’s never your favorite event but there were worse things that could happen. Things like walking back into your apartment after narrowly escaping your boyfriend’s possessive hand. 

You opened the door quietly, which was already unnecessary. Of course he was still wide awake, waiting for you like a father punishing his daughter for sneaking out. He was sitting on the couch, arms crossed and scowling at you.

“What the fuck?” He asked, getting up to meet you at the front door.

You shoved your shoes off, setting down your backpack and walking closer to Rafe. “M’tired baby..” You said, making every attempt to walk past the intimidating block he made in the hallway.

“No, no no.. this isn’t how it’s gonna work,” Rafe said, using both of his hands to hold your shoulders and forcing you to stand right in front of him as he lowered his voice, “Can’t just do that baby.. a’ight?”

“Sorry..” You whispered, breaking free of his hold on your shoulders and instead pulling yourself into him, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

You could feel the slightly annoyed laugh that bubbled from him, but you could also feel the chaste kiss that he left on the top of your head. Rafe’s soft spot for you would always shine through his anger. You let yourself melt into his arms while you contemplated falling asleep standing.

“C’mon..” He whispered into you, equally as tired from staying up and waiting for you to come back to him.

You felt him pick you up cautiously, kissing your cheek as you let your eyes start to close.

——————————————————————

The next morning was a beautiful Saturday, which of course was the day you woke up to about 15 messages from your project’s group chat. Somehow you managed to squirm away from Rafe’s death grip over your body to check your phone. Casual conversations relating to different parts of the project and other things that you wanted nothing to do with flashed across the screen.

Over your shoulder you heard Rafe groan and felt him reach for where you weren’t. He looked around for you, watching groggily as you typed out a response on your phone.

“Baby..” He trailed off, rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry.. group project.” You whispered, giving in and letting yourself melt back into his arms.

“At 9 in the morning?” Rafe mumbled into you, an annoyed sigh died in his throat when you ran your fingers through his hair.

Sleep clouded your mind as the two of you held each other close again. He wasn’t trying to show it, but his possessiveness and jealousy were leaking out of him like a faucet.

“G’morning princess..” You heard Rafe whisper from above you, brushing the lazy hair from your cheeks.

You groaned and shifted, trying to find the warmth in the bed now that Rafe had gotten up.

“Let’s get lunch, hm?” He asked, gently moving you to face him again.

You nodded, trying to nod away the urge to dive back under the blankets.

Getting ready wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be, just because Rafe had already bought you the perfect outfit and you didn’t have to fight off your hair as much as you normally did. Whenever you got ready, Rafe would always finish before you and sit on the edge of the bed, admiring your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Your cheeks would flush up and you could never get your blush right anymore because he somehow always had your face a pink shade of red.

Rafe grabbed your bag for you, a small purse that fit your pretty dress. He also went to get your phone from its shameful place at the bedside table because of course you had forgotten to charge it last night.

One text had lit up your screen and his eyes narrowed the moment he saw it was from Connor.

“Baby, why is Connor texting you?” He asked, walking to your spot in the bathroom and shoving the phone in your face to quickly get your attention.

You took the phone, opening the notification while Rafe watched from over your shoulder.

Connor: Hey, I have some ideas for the paper. You want to meet up to talk? I was thinking a Cafe or something.

You could feel the angry red heat of jealousy seeping out of Rafe’s body.

“I told you.” He said, taking the phone from you and staring at the message again, almost dumbfounded at Connor’s audacity.

“M’not going.” You said plainly, looking at him with a lightly apologetic look.

“Damn right you’re not.” He replied, throwing your phone onto the bed and looking at you with an angry glare staring down at your face.

You watched an idea form in his head. It was easily not anything good considering the way his lips turned up in a thin smile and his gaze moved between you and the phone in a heartbeat.

“Y’know.. I really don’t want my girl missn’ anything..” He trailed off, walking to where he threw your phone originally.

“Rafe..” You tried to protest, not fully understanding where his head was at.

“No.. I think I gotta be a good boyfriend here.” He nodded to himself before looking at you with an unforgettable smirk.

“Baby I don’t want to go.” You said, walking up to him and trying to read his cocky expression.

“You, go?” He asked with faux confusion, cocking his head to the side, “No no, you’ve got it all wrong.” 

Rafe stood up, taking your hands in his and kissing your knuckles before looking back down at you. Now it was your turn to be confused, furrowing your eyebrows.

“You think I’m stupid, baby?” He mocks, kissing your up jaw and stopping by your ear, “M’gonna go in for you.”

Whatever hint of a smile you had on your face slowly disappeared as realization dawned on you.

“I think I’ll text him right now and let him know I’m on my way. Give him a nice surprise when he realizes it’s not the pretty little girl that he wants.” Rafe said slyly, pulling back with a malicious smile.

“Then he and I can really talk, hm?”

The next day, Connor dropped the class.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵