#bryn thread

[songs-in-nature]

closed starter for @distoretion​

Whisper ran her hands along each tree trunk she passed, brow creased with concern. The long and arduous heat had taken a toll. Even on the old and wizened trees. Branches turning brown when they normally wouldn't, grass having an extra crunch under her feet. It was only natural that long and intense heat would have this effect on things. But it didn’t make her like it any better.

Or make easier on her, either. You might not notice if you didn’t pay close attention. How her footfalls were a bit heavier. How her longer blinks hinted at exhaustion. Or the stiffness in her shoulder she was so good at hiding.

#distoretion #another round of slow burn anyone? #XD #bryn thread

[bluestsdays]

            "  you're  not  still  mad  at  me,  are  you  ?  "  there  has  to  be  at  least  one  person  at  this  fucking  party  who  doesn't  want  to  scream  at  her,  and  hopefully,  it's  him.  "  or  can  you  at  least  pretend,  for  like,  just  five  minutes  ?  i'm  trying  to  make  someone  jealous.  " / @bluerevs.

#ohhhh brother this guy sucks (me mostly but her too) #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ bryn. #bluerevs

[oflowtides]

closed starter for @oftatteredwings (jace) location: portobello market

"Jace!" that white blond hair was hard to mistake for anyone else, and Bryn quickened his steps to make sure he was able to catch up with his friend before he disappeared around another corner. "I didn't expect to see you here today - you should have told me, you would have made the ride over way more fun."

#bryn taylor ; threads #bryn and jace 1 #you didn't ask for this but i'm giving it to you anyway!

[speakxprophecy]

He could have sworn he locked the front door to the keep, but as he takes a minute to grab a snack in the back room, the doorbell sounds, a dramatic ‘what do you seek, traveler?’ played from a speaker near the entry tells him he was incorrect, and sends the psychic scattering for the front desk. “PLEASE DON’T STEAL ANYTHING I CAN’T AFFORD TO- Oh! Bryn! Hi!” His panic ends, around the time he slips and smacks hard into the floor, groaning and sticking his head up over the counter. “I’m alright.” They declare, dragging themselves back to an upright position and picking up the Yoohoo on his desk to take a long swallow. “Anyway. Crisis averted, you’re not gonna rob me, are ya babybird?” He teases, leaning his elbows on the counter. “What brings you in, dude?”

@mytarnishedsilver​

#Everything Blurry Looks the Same [threads] #[character] Bryn #Season 2; #Feathery Friendship;

[ofterrafirma]

@mytarnishedsilver​

“Bryn,” Bea starts, as she full-on stops her on the sidewalk, tugging her into the front porch area of a business. She looks serious--though, this doesn’t mean that anything is particularly wrong. Especially not since her tone is light as she continues, “I have to show you something. Come with me, please?”

#bea - start #bea - thread ft bryn

[moonlightxandxroses]

“Mornin’ Chickadee! Wakey-wakey eggs-and-bakey.” He poked his head into the converted barn outside of his ranch. He always knocked or called before entering his daughter’s space, “Time t’get up and create and say good mornin’ to the sun and so on and so forth.” the barn used to house chickens and cows and other farm animals; now it’s bottom floor housed the band for practices (which was like housing a barn) and the loft up top was for Bryn to decorate how she pleased. He called up towards the loft:

“I had some runnin’ around to do today, wanted t’know if you wanna come with?”

Kerry’s old Bloodhound Cher had already laid down in a sunny patch on the rug. 

“Was gonna take the ol’ girl with us but she doesn’t listen to me -- lazy bones...” he pat the dogs head, “Maybe you can get her up, Bryn Bird? The exercise would do her good.”

@mytarnishedsilver​

#❝ that’s deep daddy-o ❞ → kerry threads ft. bryn #❝ music and wonderful roses ❞ → bryn bird

[letsriddlemethislucifer]

Bryn would focus on his breathing, in and out. In and out, slowly and meditative manner. The incubi would bring his feet up on the couch and embrace his knees, staring around the room. Keeping himself in that location or else he may wander around as usual. He rested his chin on his knee in deep thought, but his face remained a pink shade as he cool down as much as he could without the silence making his thoughts go back to what happened.

----

#;;bryn #[[i dont have a reply for this but gosh i love this as an ending piece to the thread like forhgohrtijgr]] #[[ bryn is adorable bye]

[honxyswxxt]

tag dumps

#astoria threads #astoria mirror #astoria asks #astoria misc #brooke threads #brook mirror #brooke asks #brooke misc #bryn threads #bryn mirror #bryn asks #bryn misc

[aninkwellofnectar]

so in case people on here aren't on twitter/ig and won't get this message: we recently learned that prominent dark romance indie author freydís moon is, in fact, a catfish. they've been brownfacing under several aliases for years and there's speculation they've taken on other identities to pretend to be industry professionals for their own nefarious ends.

this is important not only due to the deception, racism and manipulation but also because they've been using their various aliases to bully fellow authors, particularly neurodivergent authors and tarnish their careers and torpedo opportunities for them. d.n. bryn, also known as brynwrites, was one of their many targets.

if you're interested in learning more i direct you to the following twitter thread:

#from my writing desk

[alexanderlightweight]

I am loving the thread of "cultural misunderstandings" between Magnus and Alec in your fics/canon. Can we get some resolution of one of them, either for dragon!Alec series where he realizes that Magnus doesn't feel appreciated (or Magnus learns more about dragon culture), or for any other series really! Tldr idiots in love realizing that they have been missing some major signs~

magnus is about to be *shocked pikachu face* and alec is just: why are you acting so surprised?

and i'm glad you're enjoying them! i enjoy non-super angsty miscommunication rn so i have quite a bit of fun with both parties misunderstanding while working to the same goal with different efforts and etc

i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

*canon typical violence and alec has to be bribed not to eat someones remains because he's very angry and digesting them would make him feel better

—

Alec doesn’t care one way or another that Magnus enjoys Pandemonium. Especially now that he knows his warlock no longer allows others to touch him as intimately as he once did.

It also means that Alec continues to prefer joining Magnus by wrapping around his neck or shoulders, unwilling to risk getting a stranger’s strench on himself.

There’s a presence that joins them and Alec lazily blinks open a single eye, watching curiously to see what is new. He figures it out immediately, recognizing the tang of pheromones and the winding, sleek magic that steeps around the figure.

Aesthetically, he’s probably pleasing to some standards but Alec gives the man a disdainful once-over. He can hardly compare to Alec’s precious hoard and while his incubus attributes clearly give him a boost, Alec simply rolls his eyes and settles back down under Magnus’ jacket for a longer nap.

Or at least, that’s his plan until Magnus straightens and welcomes the incubus with a purr of power, magic brushing but not tangling with the seelie’s power. 

“Bryn, well met.” Magnus says in greeting and Alec begrudgingly allows it, tail curling around the chains of Magnus’ necklaces possessively.

“Well met, Bane.” Is returned and then Bryn gives a deeper, lingering look over Magnus and smirks. “I heard you’d picked up some kind of magical reptile.” The look he casts at Alec is one of casual interest, not true intrigue and Alec gives a warning hiss, wings pressing against the back of Magnus’ neck.

He will not be a prop used to get close to Magnus and if this one tries it, then the queen shall find herself lacking an ambassador.

“You’ve heard.” Magnus says and it’s not a pleasant tone to anyone but Alec who snuggles more closely to Magnus’ skin, enjoying the warmth of him as anger heats his body. “I did not realize that the gossip of my personal deeds were so important to your people, Bryn. Do you have actual news for me, as an ambassador of your people? Or shall I inform your queen that you no longer have the intelligence to convey pertinent information between the realms?”

The incubus flounders for a moment and Alec can smell the way he’s pushing down his irritation and then true arousal taints his anger.  He’s drawing on his attraction to Magnus to manipulate his own body and when he steps close he even goes so far as to kneel.

“Forgive me, Magnus. I overstepped.”

“And in the same breath you ask for clemency, you take a privilege not granted you. There is no reason for my name to leave your lips.”

—

Magnus isn’t sure what Bryn thinks he’s doing and if this is his own personal mistake or one that was assigned to him. It only matters because one is easy to deal with while the other will involve politics and Magnus hopes that it’s just Bryn’s arrogance rather than true maneuvering.

“My apologies, my king.”

Magnus lets his glamor drop, keeping his gaze firmly on Bryn even as he wonders just what Bryn is playing at.  For him to be able to call Magnus ‘my’ king is either a sign that he’s switched allegiances, or that he thinks he owns some part of Magnus. That some piece of Magnus might belong to Bryn, when Bryn had merely been a part of a conduit in a mildly entertaining orgy that had been used for a ritual.

Magnus doesn’t even notice the hand reaching out to press against his thigh until a heavy weight is in his lap.

Alexander is draped over his thighs, naked and unashamed and with rippling scales that role down his bare skin in tantalizing designs.  When Magnus finally stops staring at Alexander’s skin, he looks over his treasure’s shoulder and finds Bryn on the floor.

The metal and gems of his clothes have twisted around him and he lies in shock even as the metal tightens cruelly around him. The softly seductive aura of his power flares as heat rushes down Magnus’ spine and arousal forcibly floods his system and those around them.

Alexander makes a startled noise, turning to give Magnus a sour, unhappy glare even as he shifts back — as if pressing his naked, muscled body against Magnus’ erection is doing anything to help the situation.

Then, his darling little treasure gives a furious scoff and inhaling first with a grimace, exhales.

Frost tints the air and a cool gust of air devours the aura, forcing the power away. The crowd around them shudders, the twist of Bryn’s forced arousal being cleared from their systems.

There is a moment of silence and then Alexander leans forward and Magnus nearly grabs him by his nape to keep him in Magnus’ lap. Instead, his dragon balances against the laws of physics, somehow staying in Magnus’ lap even as his spine twists and pops. The usual chime of his voice is gone and the harsh rasp that comes from his throat makes them all wince.

Even Magnus.

It sounds like metal cleaving metal and then Alexander’s tongue flicks out, black and forked before it flicks.

Magnus knows Alexander has a great many natural abilities and it doesn’t surprise him that Alexander can taste the very magic in the air. It only makes sense with how carefully he curates his palette.

“Even if he were your king, he would not be yours to touch.” Alexander speaks with a low solemnity that Magnus has never heard from him. “A mere ambassador of the seelies dares to try and steal from me?”

Magnus blinks and lets his hands settle on the scaled curve of Alexander’s hips.

“I stole nothing.” Bryn begs, voice a begging whisper that Alexander’s growl silences.

“To try and touch a dragons hoard is to court death.” Alexander murmurs in a vicious murmur that echoes around the large room. “I will reward you with what you seek, for your bravery.”

The mockery in his tone is nearly physical and then he flicks his tongue and Magnus sees a single, shimmering drop of venom fall to Bryn’s bare arm. 

There is a moment of nothing and then an agonized, screeching plea as Bryn gasps out the last noise he’ll ever make. His body freezes so quickly and so powerfully that he looks like a corpse that has been lost to the elements for years, not mere seconds.

Alexander snorts and then — still somehow staying in Magnus’ lap — reaches out and taps the frozen skin of the seelie with a single touch of his nail.  Bryn’s body breaks apart into hundreds of small pieces, nothing of him spilling as even his organs are now crystal ice.

It’s impressive, but Magnus is still surprised by the cause of it all.

“I know you love these pants, treasure.” Magnus murmurs, because Alexander adores the current outfit he’s wearing. “But I didn’t realize they were a part of your hoard.”

“You’re wearing them, anything you wear becomes a part of my hoard.” Alexander returns evenly, looking completely nonplussed by the frozen chunks of seelie shattered across the club floor. His tongue flicks out and Magnus recognizes the gleam in his eyes and immediately summons a gem that he holds up to Alexander’s mouth.

“Treasure, you cannot eat him. Any of him.” Magnus is both ordering with his words and coaxing with his tone. “He’s nothing but poison.”

Alexander seems to consider that for a minute and Magnus hopes they can end this casually. Without Alexander further desecrating the corpse that Magnus will have to send in pieces back to the queen… Magnus wants it to remain recognizable by magic at the very least.

“True.” Alexander sniffs, “and if his queen liked him so much that she was willing to overlook his stupidity, then we should let her piece him back together. A cracked statue of failure for her to look upon and recognize her own incompetence.”

Magnus chuckles, unable to help himself and Alexander accepts the gem with a pleased trill. It’s a relief to hear the gentle song of it and Magnus relaxes, finally letting go of the magic he subconsciously summoned. It twines around Alexander with a covetous pulse, still full of the rage Magnus had felt at the idea of Alexander’s mouth anywhere near another, even if it were a corpse.

The seelie remains vanish through an easily called portal.  The queen will recognize the lingering magic of her own subject easily enough and while she is a queen, she is a queen in her own realm alone and not a king of dominion as well.

“Why does everything I wear become a part of your hoard?” Magnus asks as casually as he can. Dragons covet their hoards and as much as Alexander adores him, it wasn’t a topic Magnus has been willing to broach without a good opportunity.

Alexander turns and twists himself to straddle Magnus and — remembering the people still around them — Magnus summons a robe that he wraps around his treasure. Alexander seems confused, looking at Magnus with dark eyes that seem to piece his soul.

“Because anything my hoard claims, becomes mine as well.”

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #the taste of his magic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #malec

[bluestsdays]

tag drop ii.

#⁺﹒. * ask meme. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ devon. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ fletcher. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ auden. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ harlowe. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ bryn. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ elliot. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ iris. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ max. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ sage. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ rory. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ grey. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ savannah. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ asher. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ hudson. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ banks. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ maisie. #⁺﹒. * thread ⁄ roman. #⁺﹒. * dynamic ⁄ devon & miller. #⁺﹒. * dynamic ⁄ beckham & blake. #⁺﹒. * dynamic ⁄ savannah & brooks. #⁺﹒. * dynamic ⁄ elliot & ivy.

[rousseau-vargas]

(would take wayy too long to comment thread this, so;)

The entire Rot & Ruin series by Jonathan Maberry: a post apocalyptic zombie series that follows a teenage boy and his buds as they learn the horrid reality of the world they live in (horror/sci-fi)

The Simon Snow trilogy by Rainbow Rowell; orphaned kid goes to magic school bc he's supposedly a chosen one, aka gay mages & vamp/human subplot romance, enemies to lovers (urban fantasy)

The Boneless Mercies by April G. Tucholke; an unfinished series abt a group of female mercenaries in the death trade who travel to kill whoever they are assigned, gone off path to fight a beast in hopes they'll earn enough that they won't have to be mercies anymore. (Fantasy/action)

Midnight Strikes by Zeba Shahnaz; girl stuck in a time loop, whole lotta violence and decent world building, barely there subplot romance (fantasy)

Hell Followed With Us by Andrew J. White; another post apocalyptic, but this time with religious imagery, whole bunch of body horror and a subplot gay romance, trans main character (horror/fantasy)

How to Bite Your Neighbor & Win a Wager by D.N Bryn; a deal between a dude desperately trying to figure out what the hell happened to his mother and a vampire who's starving. Gayness and angst ensue aka the inherent homoeroticism of letting ur vamp bro feed off you (fantasy)

Ethan & Jag Destroy the World by Maz Maddox; monsterfucking w a splash of saving the world that you broke by accidentally binding a demon to u bc you wanted a fake bf to piss off your ex. Gay. So gay. (Fantasy)

Angels Before Man by Rafael Nicolás; a retelling of Lucifer's fall from heaven but make it angsty gay shit. Oh, and a terrifying amount of gore and violence at the end. It actually made me super uneasy, something not many things I've read have done. (Dark fantasy)

Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon; if you really like world building, high fantasy. DRAGONS so many dif pov's and lovable characters. Takes a bit to get into it, then it's addicting (high fantasy)

Boyfriend Material by Alexis Hall; fake dating, good character development, dudes bein gay . Pretty sure there's a second one? Haven't read it yet tho (romance)

These are just a few of my favs, I've got a bunch in my mini library.

I've prolly got more if you're lookin for something different

MY FRIEND I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO REACT

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS MATE

the synopsis and everything⁉️🔥 dude this convinced me to buy a kindle just to read foreign books without paying for the [very expensive] freightage

Aside from the ones with heavy gore and body horror [my bad bro, weak-ass stomach😔], I gotta read them all

Thank you for the recommendations man🫶🏻🫶🏻 fr thank you🫂

And you got a whole mini library⁉️⁉️ Man thats so cool, genuinely

[speakxprophecy]

He’s not really watching the parade, there’s too much to do, too many people to talk to, and with Calem passing him a joint periodically, Duke can’t really think of a reason why he should be focusing on whatever’s going on in front of him, when people watching could be just as satisfying. They take a drag when it’s offered, Calem rolling dark eyes beneath his matching mask when Duke eyes him curiously- it’s not the vampire’s usual, really, a lot weaker. “You going soft, Fed?” He questions playfully. “I just think maybe you should remember tonight, so I’m not stuck trying to convince you I paid my dues... and we have a show later, you can answer to Eight about being out of your mind, but I will not be the one jumping on that bomb, mon cher.” “Ah, you’re no fun-” Duke starts, then pauses, a familiar face picked out of the crowd. “Hey! Bryn! Over here!” they greet, waving a hand above their head to draw her attention. “Save me from this party pooper, dude!”

@mytarnishedsilver​

#Everything Blurry Looks the Same [threads] #Mad like a Hare [Event01] #[character] Bryn #A Crossroads;

[the960writers]

Here is the thread of all the evidence. Fredys Moon acted under ten eleven different personas to harass other writers (chasing DN Bryn off their socials and hurting their career), to land four agents under four different names, while pretending to be Latinx and accusing anyone speaking against her to be racist.

Unbelievable.

#current events #DN Bryn #I am so sorry #Freydis Moon personas #Freydis Moon harassment #eleven personas so far for Fredys #harassing as one persona and comforting as another #how even? #writers behaving badly #Freydis Moon

[sunshine304]

FTH Fanbinding: "Disrespect" 'verse by Khashana

And here is my last fanbinding for the FTH crafts bazaar! @khashanakalashtar won one of the raffles and decided on having their own fic bound, a series of 12 parts for Avatar: The Last Airbender. I’m unfamiliar with the fandom; I know some basics like a few characters’ names and the elemental bender thing but that’s about it. But when I read the fic, I found that it didn’t matter all that much because it was a modern AU and was really enjoyable even without knowledge of the show!

As it’s set at Bryn Mawr College, I decided to use that as a bit of a throughline for the design, because it definitely was easier than trying to find many fitting pictures from ATLA where I often can’t even tell if it’s official promo or fanmade stuff. XD

The design for the cover was quite clear early on. Khashana had said that they’d like the colour red for the case (fitting, as Zuko is the central character), and so I settled on this lovely Duo bookcloth. Depending on how the light hits it, the linen looks either red or slightly orange as it mixes threads of different colour.

This was the first time I tried a full linen case and it worked super well! I had no problems and no creases, so I’m very happy that it was quite easy to do, actually. 

I didn’t want to go yet again for the red/gold type of cover, so I decided to write the title with blue, as Katara and Sokka are also heavily featured in the fic and they're colour-coded blue. *g*

For endpapers, I kept to Zuko’s colours, basically. I think it looks appropriate. Same with the ribbon and headbands.

The typesetting, ohhh boy. This took me the longest out of all the books, because I’d gotten it into my head to keep to the 12-part-structure (instead of, say, making chapters out of the parts). That meant that I wanted to make a little title page for each part. Which also meant doing graphics. Lots of them. T_T

Khashana had done graphics for all the fics/podfics, but not all of them worked for this book as they of course came from the show. So I used a few of them, doing some editing to get them to the right size, and then went hunting for more. I settled on a mix of edited photos of the college (like the houses that are mentioned in the fics) and edited screenshots of the characters that did a least look slightly like it could be a modern setting. *g* In any case, I tried to find a connection to the fic when choosing the graphic.

I also added little graphics at the beginning of each part that illustrated something from it in one way or another, sometimes basically repeating the title page, sometimes choosing a different image. 

Halfway through these edits, I was like, "OMG this takes forever, I should've just gone with a text-based title page." T_T But now I was committed! XD

I also added their current map to the book as I really liked how it looked.

I think the book came out really well in the end and it’s a well-rounded concept, but wow, did it take me a while. XD

Anyway, I’m very pleased with this book! :D

Thank you, @khashanakalashtar, for participating in FTH and for letting me work with your fic!

Materials used:

Printed on Clairefontaine Papago 80g

- booklinen Duo 222 - booklinen English Buckram (lantern) - endpapers: Chiyogami paper 60g - hot foil (Action) Link to the fic series:

#my fanbinding #fanbinding #bookbinding #arts and crafts #books #fth #fth 2023 #fandom trumps hate #atla #avatar the last airbender #atla fanfiction #my posts

[mackenzielovee]

sixth sense: part four

synopsis: "I really don’t think you understand what I’d do for you. Picking up the phone isn’t even close to the top of the list.”

warnings: mentions of domestic violence, bruising, swearing, alcohol consumption, illusions to sex, kissing, crying, it's a mess

wc: 4.8k

a/n: hi <3 i hope you guys enjoy this and i did it justice. so much love

series masterlist

     You stare at the marks on your neck until the tears pour down your face, until the sobs shake the mirror, until you sink to the floor and cry until you feel absolutely nothing. After you’ve cried everything out, you stay there. Seated on the floor of your bathroom, staring at the opposite wall, wondering how it all got so bad. 

Had there been a moment, you wonder, that had fucked it all up? One little thing you did, one tiny little bit of karma that brought Campbell into your life. Or was it different, somehow? Were you damned from the beginning, always destined to be this girl? This person who couldn’t seem to trust anyone?

Your phone buzzes on the counter, and at first, you ignore it. You’re sure it’s Campbell or Bryn or someone you can call back. But on the third ring, it dawns on you. 

It could be him. 

The thought of hearing his laugh, picturing those eyes, it draws you out of the numbness. You grab it and are not at all surprised when you recognize the last four digits of his unsaved phone number, and without hesitation, you pick up.

“Hello?”

He inhales sharply, which seems to still your breathing. 

“I wasn’t sure you were going to pick up,” he admits, “I was going to leave a message. Although all bets were off on whether you’d listen to it or not.”

You smile softly, your cheeks puffy, “I would have.”

“Good to know,” he says with a light laugh. 

You give him a small laugh in response, not sure of what you should say. Every part of last night comes back to you when you think about the fact that you called Rafe at your most vulnerable, and you’re sure you should explain yourself. You just don’t know how. 

He clears his throat awkwardly while you pick at a stray thread on your shorts, trying to distract your brain. 

“Um, I was calling to see if you still wanted to come by tonight. The frat party and all. It’s fine if you don’t feel up for it or had a rough night–”

“I’d really like to,” you say, noting how your voice sounds weaker than it usually does. 

Rafe says nothing for a moment, then lets out a breath, “I was waiting on a ‘but’. You don’t have one?”

Your lips tip up, “I have a butt.”

Rafe laughs then, and just for a second, all of the sobbing and the feeling of Campbell’s hands wrapped around your neck feels worth it. Just because of that laugh. 

“Trust me, I know you do,” he replies. 

Your eyebrows shoot up at that; Rafe Cameron had never even come close to making a comment about you until this moment. 

He seems to notice this and coughs. His phone muffles for a moment, like he’s moving around.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “That kind of just came out.”

“It’s okay,” you laugh.

“So, I should expect to see you tonight?” he asks, “I’m trying to plan out how much time to spend getting ready.”

You grin, “My attendance determines that?”

He laughs that laugh again, and you swear your heart stops. You rip off a few pieces of toilet paper and wipe under your nose, grateful he can’t tell you’ve been crying. 

“Well, yeah,” he states, as if it’s obvious, “I’m not gonna wear a polo if you’re not coming, and I’ll have to gel my hair–”

“Leave it,” you blurt, wondering what he looks like when his hair isn’t gelled back, “I want to see it messy.”

He chuckles lowly, which makes you smile. Why is this so easy? 

“Okay. Messy it is. Any other requests?”

You hum as you think; one more coming to mind but you’re unsure if it’s overstepping. Then, you think, it’s him. He’s wormed his way into your life, and you think maybe it’s time you do the same. 

“Can I see your room?”

Your voice is hesitant, weak, and just emotional enough that Rafe’s breath audibly hitches after you speak. 

“You want to– yeah, you can see my room. Absolutely. Yes. You and I can definitely be alone in my room.”

“Great,” you laugh to yourself, “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Wait,” he calls out, his voice louder. You pull the phone back to your ear and furrow your eyebrows, waiting on him to continue. 

“What?”

“I was also calling to, uh, check on you. You were upset last night, and I’ve been kind of worried. A lot worried. Are you okay? Did something happen?”

You sigh and stand from the floor, placing yourself in front of your bathroom mirror again. You run your free hand over the slight bruising forming on your throat and collar bones, then squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Everything’s fine,” you say, your voice robotic, “I’m fine. Sorry I bothered you.”

“No, Y/N, you did not–”

“I’ll see you tonight,” you reply weakly, then pull the phone down and end the call. 

You glance at the bruises once more, then shut off the light and exit the bathroom, all while trying to push what happened out of your mind. 

     The fact that you’ve never attended a frat party means you have absolutely zero idea what time they start. You’re sure some part of a frat is partying consistently, but for tonight’s purposes, you don’t show until almost midnight. You’d picked a top that hides your bruising well enough, but still looks cute enough to pass for a party. 

The whole college scene was never something you’d gotten into. Your mindset had always been to take the classes, work to pay for it, and that would be your life. During your relationship with Campbell, the only fun you’d been allowed to have was with him, and you never dared to defy that fact. 

But now, as you push past several groups of people with drinks in their hand, searching for a pair of familiar blue eyes, you can’t help but wonder what you’ve been missing. 

You find him in the kitchen with his back to the doorway; drink in hand, white polo covering his chest, and his hair is untamed. Just like you’d asked. He’s talking to a girl, you realize, and draw back out of instinct. 

You suck in a deep breath and try to calm yourself, taking in his body language. He’s standing tall, gesturing as he speaks, and every time she reaches to put her hand on his arm, he draws it back as if scratching his neck or running his hand through his hair. You try to relax and step toward him, letting his voice fill your ears once you’re close enough. 

“It’s a pretty easy fix, honestly. Just pop off the top of the stopper and pour the gel down in there. It’ll dissolve pretty much anything.”

She nods, batting her lashes at him, “Is that something you could do for me? Maybe next Friday?”

“Oh, I don’t–”

He shifts his body, as if moving away from her, and his eyes connect with yours. He grins then, reaching for you and then pulling his arms back awkwardly. 

He laughs and so do you, taking a step toward him. 

“Excuse me,” he says to the girl, then turns and meets you halfway, “You made it.”

“I made it,” you give him a relieved smile, one he instantly returns. 

You watch as he takes you in, his eyes never leaving yours as he does so. After a few seconds, he seems to snap out of it and shake his head, making you laugh. 

“Let’s get you a drink,” he says, nodding his head across the kitchen, “What do you like?”

You glance at his cup, “What do you have?”

“Well,” he grins, and you know this should be good, “Since I can’t make a vodka soda even remotely close to yours, I’ve got rum and Coke.”

“That’s what I’ll have, then,” you decide. 

His smile widens and he pushes off the counter he’d been leaning on, holding his arm out to let you walk in front of him. He leads you over to the countertop covered in bottles, his hand just ghosting over the small of your back so you don’t feel like you’ve lost him in the crowd of people. 

“You want me to make it, bartender?” he teases. 

You smile and nod, “Yeah. I need to see your skills.”

He lets out a laugh at that and skims over the different bottles until he finds the rum, pulling it forward. 

“Here,” he offers you his cup, “Tell me if that’s too strong for you. And don’t say you like it if you don’t.”

You accept his cup wordlessly and stare into it, only a quarter full. You eye the rim for a beat too long, making Rafe laugh to himself at the fact that you’re hesitating. You sip from it then, wincing when the rum meets your tongue. 

He takes in your facial expression and laughs, nodding his head to himself as if he now knows how much rum to give you. 

“It’s good,” you say through your weak voice. 

He turns his head and meets your gaze, his jaw shifting from side to side to hide his smirk.

“You little liar,” he says. 

You smile, making him smile, too, and watch as he makes your drink. He only puts one shot in yours – making you wonder how many is in his – and then mixes it and hands it off. You sip from it, relieved when the flavor of the Coke meets your lips. 

“Better?” he asks. 

“Much,” you reply, “You’re good at that.”

“Thank you,” he beams. 

“Cameron!” 

Rafe turns around and you follow his gaze, meeting eyes with the same guy Rafe is usually in your bar with. His lips form an ‘o’ when he sees you standing with Rafe, tossing an arm around his shoulder when he’s close enough. 

“Oh, shit, you’re the girl from the bar,” he says, slurring his words slightly.

“Y/N,” Rafe hisses at him. 

“Right, Y/N,” he nods, “I’m Topper. I hear you’re a real charmer.”

Rafe punches Topper in the chest hard enough that he draws back, but doesn’t learn his lesson. 

“He’s an idiot,” Rafe explains quickly, apologetic expression. 

You shake your head at Rafe, then step forward and raise your eyebrows at Topper. He’s still smirking, somehow proud that he’s trying to embarrass you. 

“I remember you,” you say, a devilish smirk dancing across your lips, “You’re the guy who comes into Black Boar and orders Blue Hawaiians all night. Well, I shouldn’t say all night, because you drink two and then try to skip out on your bar tab after hitting on my coworker.”

Rafe coughs to cover the laugh that erupts from his throat while Topper narrows his eyes at you. He remains like this for a few seconds, then breaks into a grin.

“She’s all right, Cameron,” Topper says, “Good to finally meet you.”

Rafe playfully rolls his eyes at Topper over his head, then holds his hand out for you. 

“Come on,” he murmurs. 

You stare at his outstretched hand and then up to those blue eyes, the ones you want to trust more than anything in the world. 

His shoulders fall only slightly when you don’t take his hand immediately. The action combined with the thought of him being disappointed makes your stomach turn, directly resulting in your hand meeting his. 

He grins and threads his fingers through yours, using your clasped hands to lead you through the crowd. As you walk, you hear several people greet him, and he smiles and holds his cup up to them in response. Your lips tip up at this, liking watching him in his element. He’s friendly, kind, and respectful. Qualities you have yet to see in a man before Rafe. 

He stops at the bottom of the stairs and turns around, keeping your hand in his. 

“Still want to see my room?” he asks, blue eyes trained on yours. 

“Yes,” you nod, your voice barely audible given his proximity. 

He smiles and pulls you forward gently, letting you go up the stairs ahead of him but keeping a hold of his hand as you do. Once you’re at the top, you turn and let him guide you down the hallway, stopping in front of one of the last doors on the right. He gives you an apologetic smile and a squeeze of the hand before he pulls away, fishing a key from his pocket. You squirm, trying to push down the feeling of wanting his hand back in yours, and watch as he pushes open his bedroom door. 

He lets you enter first and you take it in, already immediately sure he’d tidied up for you. His bed is made up and his carpet looks freshly vacuumed. His desk houses his laptop and his textbooks. What catches your eye, though, are the personal things he has around. A bulletin board full of photos, old football game tickets, and random little things from his life. From people who he loves and who love him. And based on the photos he has, there’s a lot of them. There’s one that catches your eye as Rafe softly closes his bedroom door behind the two of you, stepping over to see what you’re looking at. 

“Who are they?” you ask, pointing to a photograph of him and two girls. 

“My sisters,” he replies from behind you, his voice like honey in your ear.

“And here?”

It’s a picture of a group of guys on a dock; Rafe’s wearing a snapback and swim trunks only.

“Some friends from high school,” he says, “I need to print out some new ones.”

You spot one that looks a little more recent, when Rafe started gelling his hair. You turn and look at him, comparing his hair now to his hair then, and smile. 

“What?” he questions you. 

You shrug, trying to remain nonchalant as you avoid his eyes and skim over his bulletin board again. 

“I like your hair like that,” you tell him. 

He takes a step closer, “Like what?”

You swallow, trying to win the battle he silently proposed. He wants your eyes, and you’re refusing to give in. 

“Like it is tonight,” you say. 

“Yeah?”

You nod. 

“Thank you,” he practically whispers. 

He’s standing so close now that you can feel his body heat, the warmth of his skin, crawling up your arm. Of course he’s a fucking furnace, you think, The warmest heart ever. Makes sense. 

“Do you like my room?” he asks. 

You hear him swallow at the silence. You can feel yourself giving in, wanting to see those blue eyes more than anything. 

“Yes,” you say quietly.

“Y/N.”

That’s all it takes. Your name off his lips, and you’ll do whatever he asks. Your head turns, and when he takes you in, he grins. 

“What?” you ask. He’s stolen your voice, given the question comes out hoarsely. 

“I’m really glad you came tonight,” he says, “I was worried about you.”

You set your solo cup down and turn to face him completely; about two inches of space between the two of you. 

“You don’t need to worry about me, Rafe,” you mumble. 

“Someone has to,” he argues, “It sure as hell isn’t that ex-boyfriend of yours.”

You flinch at the mention of Campbell, and just for a moment, you swear you can feel your throat constricting around his hand. Rafe’s eyebrows furrow just as you try to correct your facial expression, plastering that mask back on. 

“I don’t want to talk about him when I’m with you.”

“I’m sorry,” he replies carefully, “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I am because of you,” your voice is low as you reach up, taking it further by placing your hands on his arms, which promptly rise so his hand meet your waist, “Thanks for picking up last night.”

He laughs, but it’s low and sarcastic, “Y/N, I really don’t think you understand what I’d do for you. Picking up the phone isn’t even close to the top of the list.”

You swallow the emotions that threaten to rise at that statement and instead angle your head up to look at him, silently asking if he’s serious. As if he knows, he nods his head slowly, telling you he is. 

“Is kissing me one of them?”

Your eyes flicker to his lips and you watch as he licks them, then sucks in air. 

“Definitely,” he says, his voice low, “Right now?”

Your lips tip up and so do his, right before you answer, “Right now.”

He barely has time to nod before he pulls you closer by your waist, one hand traveling up to cup your cheek and guide your mouth to his. He kisses the same way he conducts himself; passionately, calmly, and with purpose. You feel yourself melting, losing all of the heaviness weighing on you just by kissing Rafe. 

He pulls back and you swear you could cry, having lost that blissful feeling when he stops. 

“Shit,” he groans, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a little while now.”

You smile and rise up on your tip-toes, ignoring the syrupy feeling in your stomach, and kiss him again. 

“Keep going,” you encourage him, “Please.”

He swears under his breath and then nods, bringing his lips down to yours again. This time, it almost feels like he’s trying to hold onto his control. His tongue skims across your bottom lip and you immediately allow for entry, making him groan again. 

Everything about his kiss feels perfect. It feels intimate and loving, two things you’ve never felt before. You want to make Rafe lose control, to know how else he can make you feel. 

You grab onto his polo and start to guide him back toward his bed, which he allows because he can’t seem to stop. You pull back from him to sit, watching him blink and try to regain composure. 

“Y/N, how much did you–”

“Not even half of it,” you say, “I’m sober. I promise.”

He nods and then guides you back on his bed, letting you lay flat before he places himself on top of you, connecting your lips again. Your hands meet his back and tuck under his shirt, meeting his warm skin underneath. He ejects a low moan from the back of his throat and then pulls back from your mouth, moving down to your neck. 

“If you’re feeling even the smallest bit off–”

“Rafe,” you pant, “I’m not drunk, I just–”

You stop yourself from saying those words, the ones that admit vulnerability. That tell Rafe you want him as much as he seems to want you. That tell him you have feelings involved here. 

“Just what?” he pulls back, meeting your eyes. 

You can’t help but smile when you see him, puffy lips and dilated pupils. You reach up and stroke his cheek with your thumb, which he responds to by moving and kissing the inside of your hand. 

“I just want you,” you admit to him, “You make me feel good. Not just physically.”

“I do?” he questions. A smirk tugs on his lips, and you trace over them with your finger. 

“You do,” you confirm, “Please.”

He nods. You extract your hand and watch him as he lowers himself down to you again, connecting the two of you. One of his hands travels the length of your torso while you lose yourself in him, sliding your shirt up. He pulls back after a minute to rid himself of his own shirt, then reaches down with raised eyebrows and the intention to do the same to you. 

“Go ahead,” you tell him quietly.

He tugs your shirt over your head and tosses it on his floor, groaning when he sees the lacy bra you’d had hidden underneath. 

“Shit, Y/N,” he groans before kissing you again. 

You moan into his mouth and his hips buck at that, making you laugh against him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “You just sound really pretty when you do that.”

You’re sure you melt right into his comforter when he says that. Your lips form into a pout that he kisses away, then shifts down to your neck. You can feel his tongue work against your skin, and you are less inclined to hold back your moans after his words. 

Just as you enter into bliss, wanting his mouth to touch everywhere on your body, he freezes. Your eyes open and you watch him sit up slowly, not saying a word, but his lips part in an unreadable expression. 

You watch him as he stares down at you, his eyes focused on one point. Just before you open your mouth to speak, Rafe reaches down with the gentlest of touches and tips your chin up, angling you so he can get a better view of your throat. 

It doesn’t click in your mind until you see it click in his, and when he moves to confirm his suspicion, placing his hand over your throat in the exact way Campbell had, lining up with the marks he left, Rafe swears and jumps off the bed. 

Your heart sinks into your chest as you sit up, “Rafe–”

“Who the fuck did that to you?” he questions, pacing the length of the bed, “Was it him?” 

“Rafe, please,” you beg him, even though you’re not entirely sure what you want from him. 

Really, you just want him to forget he ever saw them. The same way you want to forget the whole thing ever happened. Your throat dries up, leaving a burning sensation in its place every time you try to swallow. 

“Y/N, answer me,” he says, quieter now, his voice more desperate. 

You can tell by his expression that he already knows. As smart as he is, Rafe Cameron has already worked out what happened in his head, and he knows. So this, you think, this forcing you to say it, to tell him, is a test. A trial to see what he means to you. If you would pick up the phone when he calls out of the blue. If you would be concerned if you found the same markings on his skin. You choke at the thought. 

“Yes, it was him,” you answer, eyes shut, listening to his scoff. 

“Fuck,” Rafe whispers, “Where did it happen?”

Your eyes remain squeezed shut, and all you can see is Campbell's face. How angry he was, how he tightened his grip on your throat and watched as you couldn’t breathe. The feeling of not being strong enough weighing on you, knowing you could never fight him off successfully. 

“Last night,” you whimper, “In the parking lot.”

“Fuck,” he repeats, louder this time. He stops pacing and sinks down on his knees on the floor, resting his hands on your thighs from where you sit on the edge of his bed. You open your eyes and meet his, finding comfort in the fact that those blue eyes are on you. As if when they are, nothing bad can happen to you.

“It’s okay,” your voice is barely audible now, because you’re too busy holding yourself together to focus on speaking. You don’t want to break in front of him. 

He shakes his head, “It’s not fucking okay, Y/N. He put his hands on you, marked your skin – fuck. How could anyone look at you and – shit, baby, I’m sorry, I should’ve been there, I should’ve–”

He trails off and collapses his head in your lap, which opens up your tears. You cry silently above him, your hand raking through his messy hair. His hands come underneath your knees and pull you closer and closer, until he looks back up at you with red, water lined eyes. 

“It’s not your fault,” you murmur, “You’re not responsible for what happened.”

“Come here,” he demands softly, pulling you down into his lap on the floor. You obey, letting his arms wrap around you and your thighs rest on either side of his body. He reaches up and uses his thumbs to brush the tears away from your cheeks, then kisses the tear streaks. You’re pulled closer by him when his hands meet your back, and your face rests on his shoulder. 

“I just wanted to feel close to you,” you explain through tears, “Because you’re not like him.”

He exhales a long, deep breath at that, guiding one hand up to your hair and stroking through it.

“Look at me,” he whispers, watching as you pull back to do so, “Look at me, baby. I’m saying no. But not because I don’t want to or because of this in any way, but because I want you to want me the same way I want you. Not because of some asshole who put his hands on you. I don’t want it to be about him. I want it to be about us.”

You nod in understanding, but you know he sees the fresh tears well up in your eyes. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks you’re damaged now. Broken in some way.

“I understand,” you nod, placing your hands on his shoulders and moving to stand. 

“No,” he latches onto your waist, “Wait. Please. I’m not rejecting you, Y/N. I’m not. Do you understand that?”

“I said, I understand,” you reply, wiping a stray tear, “I’m just ready to go home.”

Despite your declaration, you settle back into him and let out a breath you’d been holding when he leans forward and nuzzles his head into your neck. He kisses over each mark, pulling you only closer on his lap, which makes your tears fall once more. 

“Stay,” he whispers against your skin, “Stay with me. You’re safe here.”

Your eyes close. I know I am, you think, I know I am, because I’m with you. 

“Rafe–”

“Please,” he insists, “So I know you’re okay.”

He pulls back then, meeting your eyes and begging you with them. You nod, which is when he leans forward and brings his lips to yours ever so carefully. You cup his cheek with your hand as he kisses his feelings into you; his care, his kindness, his apology. 

“Okay,” you agree when he pulls back. 

He pecks your lips at the agreement, then moves to stand. He places you back on the edge of his bed and rises silently, walking over to his dresser and removing a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt. 

Your eyes never leave his as he walks back to you and hands them over with a small smile. 

“You can get changed and washed up first, if you want,” he points to his bathroom, “There’s an extra toothbrush under my sink.”

Of course there is, you smile, Of course he’s considerate of people he doesn’t even know are staying over yet. 

You do as he says, stepping into his bathroom and closing the door behind you. Despite wanting to, you do not look in the mirror, because you don’t want to see the bruises or the way you must look right now. Instead, you change and brush your teeth, then hurry back out. 

You set your clothes on his desk, where he’d folded your shirt already, and give him a weak smile when he sees you. 

“Be right out,” he promises with a kiss to your forehead. 

You lay down on his bed once he closes his bathroom door, just taking in his room. Secretly, you love the fact that he wore his hair how you requested and most likely cleaned up his room just because you asked to see it. 

When he comes out, sporting a tee shirt and shorts, he smiles at your smile. 

“Did you clean your room for me?” you ask him. 

He pulls the blankets back, and you squirm underneath them. 

“I did,” he admits, “Just a little bit. I’m not messy or anything.”

He climbs into bed and lays down on his side, facing you. You stare into those blue eyes and smile. 

“No, you’re not,” you whisper. 

He smiles at that, “Do you think it would be okay if I put my arm around you?”

Your heart freezes in your chest at that, and you’re nodding before you can think of a verbal response. He extends his arm and you scoot closer to him, remaining still while he shifts so he’s flat on his back and ushering you to put your head on his chest. Your body molds to him with an ease you don’t recognize, but the task of breathing becomes easier. 

“That’s better,” he says quietly, “Wake me up if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Rafe,” you grasp his shirt in your hand. 

“Get some sleep,” he answers. 

You close your eyes, unable to remember the last time you fell asleep within minutes of laying down. You only think about it for a bit, because before you know it, you’re out like a light.

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