˛ 𓏲࣪ turning on . . . @rafesipod .ᐟ 𝜗ৎ serena. 9teen. biochem. salt air. nerd!rafe. marissa cooper. blood orange. bambi. daughter of cain. ·˚𖦹
$LAYYYTER
RMH

Kiana Khansmith
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
No title available
Monterey Bay Aquarium

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
cherry valley forever

Love Begins

oozey mess
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Peter Solarz
tumblr dot com

#extradirty
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
we're not kids anymore.

if i look back, i am lost
Stranger Things
ojovivo

Product Placement

seen from Iceland
seen from Hungary

seen from Maldives
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Indonesia
seen from Netherlands

seen from United States

seen from Singapore

seen from United States
seen from Netherlands

seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from India
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Japan
@rafesipod
˛ 𓏲࣪ turning on . . . @rafesipod .ᐟ 𝜗ৎ serena. 9teen. biochem. salt air. nerd!rafe. marissa cooper. blood orange. bambi. daughter of cain. ·˚𖦹
INTRODUCING … superman fangirl ! reader 📰 .ᐟ
𝓕𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝓡𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ◟ superman merch reading the daily planet ipods anything vintage whimsical flannel shirts photography good listener rom-coms sweetest girl ever wears glasses iced coffees doesn’t know clark is superman
𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : : @pittsick @illumoria @cameronsbabydoll @sturnskiss @angel06babysworld @eyesonmattyb @pepsipoet @clairo4life @sturnskiss @sophlvschris @sturniphone @mattflvwr @angelinlust
pogue!rafe x pogue!reader
‿ ᭝ ۫ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗴 ⊹ FRATBOY!SAM ꒱
varsity soccer spider bites drummer frat president red solo cups pot brownies extrovert has a full roster campus tutor golden retriever parties wealthy family
﹙ 🍻 ﹚⠀fratboy!sam who is attending stanford on a full-ride for his soccer career, but he’s also studying to become a future lawyer. his dad always told him to aim higher, and to use more than his athleticism to get by. but he was the favorite, the youngest. he knew he’d have borderline millions to fall back on if his dreams didn’t work out.
﹙ 🍻 ﹚⠀fratboy!sam works at an autobody shop owned by one of the frat guys’ uncles. even though he comes from wealth, he still insists on working for his extra pocket money. plus it roots him back to that small-town-boy edge he had growing up. and girls like seeing him all sweaty and covered in grease from working on car parts they know absolutely nothing about.
﹙ 🍻 ﹚⠀fratboy!sam loves going to his family’s beach house every weekend, he’s constantly throwing parties and inviting nearly half the campus every chance he can. him and some of his frat brothers have gone viral multiple times for jumping off of roofs and doing other idiotic things while drunk, which has earned them a lot of sit-downs about their actions and how they should ‘behave correctly’ because they’re ‘role models’ to the underclassmen. they never listen.
﹙ 🍻 ﹚⠀fratboy!sam who brings one of his childhood dogs—a golden retriever named bones—everywhere he goes. he snuck him onto campus one day, and nearly got expelled for it before his parents swooped in and ‘donated’ a large fee to the board, resulting in bones now living in the frat house as a permanent resident. many students have placed bets on sam walking across the stage with his dog trotting not far behind him. and honestly, the odds are looking to be in their favor.
BEST PAIRED ꒱ any request or reader.
‿ ᭝ ۫ 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 © FILTHGF⠀⸺⠀2026. ꒱
your quantum physics professor mr. rafe cameron.
professor!rafe who walks into class with a smile every time. like he’s genuinely happy to be there, setting his worn brown leather briefcase down and immediately asking, “how’s everyone doing today?” and actually having a light conversation before he starts the lesson.
professor!rafe who teaches partial differential equations and complex variables like it’s easier to the average person, breaking things down step by step, writing neatly across the board, turning back to the class and going, “stop me if something doesn’t make sense, i mean it.”
professor!rafe who is super big on participation, always saying, “i don’t want you leaving confused, because then i haven’t done my job properly,” and will literally pause the entire lecture just to re explain something if even one person looks lost.
professor!rafe who does a lot of hands on work during class. like walking between desks, leaning slightly over shoulders to check your work, pointing lightly at your paper with his pen like, “you’re really close here, just adjust this part.” and does it in a way you never feel dumb.
♡ — BORN TO DIE . . .
PAIRING : sheriff!rafe x farmer’sdaughter!reader SUMMARY : “feet don’t fail me now. take me to the finish line. oh, my heart it breaks every step that i take.” — secrets and sex; aka a perfect recipe for disaster. when rafe’s hand is forced to suspend one of his deputies, all is unveiled at a town hall meeting in the name of revenge. now he must make a choice, keep the career he has served for half of his life, or be with you, the only girl who has managed to give life to his once stone cold heart. WARNINGS : a lotttt of angst, age gap, brief smut in the beginning, unprotected sex, arguing, small time skip, slight manipulation, topper being the worst person ever, physical violence (it’s all justified i swear), fingering, dirty talk, pull out method, blackmail, a lot of slut shaming, mentions of excessive use of force and sexual harassment, public humiliation, mutual pining, lots of crying, mentions of abandonment, both mommy and daddy issues (sorry), use of a firearm AUTHOR’S NOTE : this took me a lot longer than i expected it to, but i hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i loved writing it. this was greatly inspired by the song ‘born to die’ by lana del rey, and i’m hoping to write more fics inspired by the album in hopes to create a series! also sorry for any mistakes if there’s any <3 WORD COUNT: 10k
i know you | clark kent
cw: insecurities, overthinking, innuendo, brief mentions of erections, prelude of physical intimacy, pet names
synopsis: clark kent is painfully, secretly, one-sidedly in love with his childhood best friend.
wc. 5k
read part one here / return to series masterlist / return to dc masterlist / return to main masterlist
clark is seated at his desk, the soft hum of his old laptop filling the silence usually found in his apartment. the sound is a steady companion to the thoughts that won't leave his mind.
as he stares at the screen, he finds the text blurring, paragraphs weaving into each other as his mind continues circling the memory of your weekend visits almost obsessively. he can't help himself, to be fair. that's because everything you do - your laugh, your presence, the way you touch him and speak to him - linger far longer than normal.
MEET… MECHANIC!DEAN.
grease smudged across his knuckles. sleeves of his flannel rolled to his elbows. forearms warm and strong from years of lifting engines and tires. a thin line of sweat at the back of his neck in the summer heat. smells like motor oil, leather seats, and cheap pine air. the low rumble of the Chevrolet Impala idling outside the garage like a heartbeat. a bottle of beer sweating in his hand. a smudge of grease he absentmindedly wipes on his jeans. flirts with customers over the hood of their car, smile easy and playful.
classic songs drifting from an old radio balanced on a toolbox. sunlight slanting through dusty garage windows. denim jackets thrown over the back of a chair. the clang of wrenches against concrete. the smell of hot metal and rubber after a long day of work. a toothpick between his teeth while he studies an engine. fingers tapping the hood in rhythm with whatever song is playing. drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other draped loosely over the seat behind you.
mechanic!dean makes a point of checking in with his old life, quietly threading it into his new one. he calls sam once a week, sometimes talks to bobby for hours about junk cars or old hunting stories, and drives down to the salvage yard at least once a month.
mechanic!dean still gets awkward when someone compliments his work; he scratches the back of his neck, gives a crooked grin, and mutters something about just doing my job.
mechanic!dean has a habit of leaning against the hood of the impala when he talks to people, one boot propped on the bumper. he asks you need a hand? or you sure you’re okay? in a way that makes customers and friends feel like they’re being taken care of, even if he’s secretly just making sure the day doesn’t get boring.
mechanic!dean laughs like it’s a full-body thing, shoulders jerking, head thrown back, and the sound fills the garage until even the radio seems to join in.
mechanic!dean flirts with customers, but it’s playful, teasing, never cruel. he’ll joke about the torque on their tires or the smell of their engine while letting a smile linger a second too long. he likes seeing people laugh, watching them lean in just a little closer. his eyes crinkle when someone catches him off guard.
sweet steps
summary talks of a gala. dean tries on suits and looks super pretty! content gn!reader, quiet, odd!reader. younger dean (nineteen, early twenties). super big crushes and a small town mall, two seconds of a very shirtless dean and many butterflies. use of sweetheart and angel!
odd!reader masterlist .ೃ࿔*:・
Dean being Dean, owns no formal wear. Heaps of worn band tees and a rotation consisting of two pairs of sturdy jeans, one ripped at the knees. He's got metal rings and bracelets and a couple necklaces. The flower crowns you've given him, some fresh and some drying out on his window sill. But no suits and no ties and definitely no loafers.
The mall is his last and only hope.
It's old and wilting. A generational staple in South Dakota, it's been around for seemingly ages and smells like musky, floral perfume all over. Lots of the stores have been closed up for good, but there's a nearly empty Macy's to Dean's benefit, and an ice cream parlor down the way to yours.
He's dragged you along with the claim of needing expert advice, and you're really not sure what about you makes him think you're knowledgeable on varied formal wear. But it had been easy to accept his pleas, easier to climb into Baby, and the easiest to sit and watch him try on all these fancy clothes.
He looks very handsome in them. This particular undershirt is a little too much of a see-through white that hugs at his chest nicely, you think it's the third he's tried on and the tightest yet. You shift in your seat behind him and he stands grumpily before a tall mirror, hands clumsy and working at the collar.
"Looks fuckin' stupid, right?" he huffs.
i know you | clark kent
cw: unrequited feelings, established friendship, pining, no smut warnings for the first chapter, clark is a little broody, suggestiveness, reader is not self aware, use of y/n.
synopsis: clark kent is painfully, secretly, one-sidedly in love with his childhood best friend.
wc. 4.3k
read part two here / return to series masterlist / return to dc masterlist / return to main masterlist
clark didn't say much when you dragged him towards the little cafe you chose for today's lunch date. he had simply allowed you to wrap your hand around his and guide him around like a puppy on a leash. he didn't mind being one - a puppy - for you if it made you happy. he's always been quite receptive to your big personality. you talk, he listens.
you're passionate, he's calming.
you're fire, he's water.
despite your somewhat abrasive attitude, you bring out the best in him. all of the darker parts of his mind shut off and back away when you're near. he puts himself in your hands and allows you to be in control. it feels safe.
the two of you have meetups every weekend now that you've gone on your separate ways. though you'd always been attached at the hip as kids - same elementary, same high school, same town - things are different now.
you go to a different university across the city, while clark's buried in graduate school coursework while working part-time at the Daily Planet.
it's not the same as it used to be. he can't just show up at your locker after last period to walk you home when the streetlights start flickering on. now he has to check his schedule twice, wedge you in between deadlines, and skip lunch breaks to finish his assignments so he doesn't cancel on you last minute. he doesn't mind. you're the highlight of his week.
you don't act like anything's changed. just the same bossy girl you were in third grade, you still tug him around like he belongs to you, grab his hand without asking, tell him everything that happened during your week as if he hasn't already been stalking your updates online. it amazes him sometimes, how easily you carry him along with you, like time never passed. you don't see the widening gap between who you are to each other.
friend.
best friend.
the words don't settle with him anymore. it's too small for the way he feels, too light for the way you weigh on him. but it's not like he can tell you that.
the place you picked today is a tiny one tucked on the corner of a busy block with painted brick, chalkboard menus, and sun streaming through the windows. the seats are close enough that your knees touch under the table. clark knows before he even sits down that it's going to drive him crazy.
your pretty hair's in a ponytail today, tied off with a soft silk bow, and every time you turn your head to talk to him about something, it bounces and he gets hit with that delightful scent of warm vanilla and sugar from your lotion and shampoo. it feels like a punishment.
you're halfway through a story about someone from your guys' old high school being pregnant when he tunes back in. you've picked a booth in the corner and you've sat down across from him, chin in your palm, voice soft and conspiratorial. you're licking a bit of gloss off your bottom lip like it’s an accident. clark hasn't even touched his sandwich because he's too busy staring at you, mouth agape.
"-and like, first of all, who even brings a guy like that on a Carnival cruise to begin with? he's such a loser. she was totally setting herself up to begin with"
he blinks. "hm?"
you pout, a little frustrated that he's just there picking at his food and hardly responding to a thing you just said. "are you even listening to me?"
clark leans back in the booth you're sharing, holding his hands in his lap so he doesn't do anything stupid like grabbing you and making you sit on his lap, or worse. there's this awful fog clouding his brain that makes him feel like his head's being smothered. he hates how stupid he gets around you, weak and vulnerable and desperate.
you frown at him with that ridiculous scrunchy face that makes him want to ruin you. "you're zoning out again! thinking about work, aren't you? how is it? i told you sitting in an office all day would get old real fast," his jaw tightens just slightly, fingers twitching against the table. "it's... not bad. i like it, a lot. it's what i've always wanted to do." he mutters.
you just hum in acceptance of his answer and reach across the table to grab his hand again like it belongs to you, fingers wrapping around his as you start to trace lazy hearts on his knuckles little it's casual and meaningless. like he's not getting hard under the table from smelling you and being so close to you. he gets so fucking sensitive around you like he's a little high schooler all over again. sure, he's had... some relationships while battling his disgustingly massive crush on you, and he can confirm no one gets him buzzing like this but you.
clark breathes out shakily and tries to look away from you, not able to look at your pretty face so full of adoration and all directed towards him. he can't bear to speak right now, because if he does, it'll accidentally be something that reveals the feelings he'd had for the past decade (give or take).
you pop a raspberry into your mouth and just beam up at him cluelessly, hand still locked around his. you're practically nuzzling his bicep, painfully oblivious to the effect it has on him, and then you have the audacity to say; "you look mad,"
"i'm not mad, y/n." he responds so softly because it feels like it hurts to speak. the pet name comes out of his mouth naturally. instinctively. you glance up at him innocently, tilting your head in an attempt to read him. when you fail, you just shake your head and smile, pulling your legs up onto the shared seat so you can slide them over his lap, all warm and sweet as if you don't even realize most of your body is glued to his. "you kinda look mad."
he drags a hand over his face and exhales through his nose, trying to physically force the tension out of his body. he's not mad. he doesn't get mad at you. his mind is just completely taken over by all the feelings he has for you. "i'm not mad," he says again, quieter this time. more honest. "just..."
you blink up at him, still waiting wide-eyed and patient and so soft that he wants to scream. "just?"
his hand twitches again, finally giving in. he brings it up to the hem of your sleeve and toys with it, tugging it gently like he needs to anchor himself to something. "just trying not to do anything stupid."
a sweet smile spreads across your lips. he knows you think you know all about hm and what he's feeling right now, what he means by stupid, but you don't. he doesn't think you'd ever really understand when you laugh at his stupid jokes or call him handsome or your other half.
"what kind of stupid?" you ask sweetly, even though you don't really expect him to answer. you're already going back to your food, resting your cheek on his shoulder.
"the kind that ruins things," he says finally, not pulling away from your touch.
"hm. i'm not sure what that means. but i don't think you could ever ruin anything, clark." you giggle and poke his nose affectionately, not thinking too much of it. one thing clark likes about your airheaded-ness is that you can never focus on a topic long enough to get a proper read on the situation. sure, it can be frustrating when he's trying to figure out if you ate today or did your laundry or finished your homework, but when it's him acting weird and you lose focus in the middle of trying to figure him out, it's a blessing.
you end up going back to talking anyway, fortunately taking your attention away from his strange behavior. "oh my gosh, and do you remember that girl named summer? with the highlights?"
he doesn't respond, blinking at you dumbly through lowered lashes. he can't help that his gaze ends up dropping to your lips. which are soft and a glossy, sticky pink. every word that comes out of them sounds sugary and teasing on purpose, but he knows it's not. you wouldn't know how to tease intentionally.
"remember in school when she used to copy everything I did?" you continue, twisting a silky lock of hair around your finger like you're thinking real hard. "like it was actually crazy. i wore those really cute black boots with bows on the back once and the next day she came to school in the exact same ones! and, i liked that one guy from band and suddenly she was, like, obsessed with him."
your foot brushes against his ankle under the table.
he tenses, and you don't even notice, because you're too busy talking animatedly and dragging your foot back and forth on his leg. he can hardly breathe right now. You couldn't possibly be doing this on purpose, could you? you're likely just restless, just one of those touchy little girls who always wants to hold hands and braid hair and cuddle people like it's meaningless. your cleavage spills just slightly over the neckline of your little white sweater. you're so close that your shampoo invades all his senses; every breath he takes is all you. your foot slides a little further, presses in, then back.
you whine suddenly, tilting your head at him with that baby voice you love to use on him when he's quiet too long. "you're not listening again."
he looks at your hand in his, gripping it tighter, while you don't even flinch. you just smile and wiggle your fingers like you're playing. he closes his eyes. counts to three. he's doing everything in his power, truly, to remind himself you're just friends. all you'll ever see him as is a friend. some guy you've strung along since primary school. he can't think about kissing you or touching you or fucking you when you see him as a friend. or worse, a brother.
you frown and squeeze his hand. "you gonna respond to me?" you question with a curious head tilt, your foot still moving up and down his leg as if you're not slowly killing him with every graze of your foot that climbs higher and higher, closer to his clothed bulge. "sweetie," he grunts, praying he doesn't get hard just from some playful touching. he wills away a boner with his mind, closing his eyes tightly to try and think of something else. "maybe... m-maybe don't do that. people might get the wrong idea."
you blink, "doing what? are you sure you're not mad? you've been so weird all day"
his heart rate spikes at the question yet again. it's really getting to him, the fact that you're able to tell when he's being off, and paired with the way you're caressing him under the table, it's hard to focus. he exhales shakily. "i told you no," he says. "i'm just trying really hard to behave because i don't wanna scare you off."
again, you giggle cluelessly, still having no idea what he means and no questioning it. "okay, weirdo." you lean back and pop another piece of fruit into your mouth, still holding his hand while he stares, wondering how much longer he can take this before he snaps. you reach up to his head with both hands, totally ignoring your own plate, and immediately start fussing with his hair. "hold still," you whine, pushing his fringe back and away from his face, your voice light and coaxing. "you have this little piece sticking up and it's driving me crazy."
he grits his teeth, but lets you touch him despite the flush crawling up his neck, his body tensed up as your fingers push through his hair. it makes his skin crawl. you're too close. you smooth his hair down, frowning a little in concentration, lashes fluttering as you squint. "you have such pretty hair, you know. you always did. like, it's thick but not frizzy, and it's shiny. boys never take care of their hair, but yours always looks so nice."
it takes everything in him not to grab you and tug you closer as your hand rakes gently through his hair. he wants to tell you that you're the reason he wears the conditioner you said you liked three years ago. that he started brushing his hair back neatly instead of chopping it off in the summer because you said once, "you look like a prince when your hair's longer"; and he's been keeping it ever since.
you sit back finally, satisfied with your handiwork, and as a reward, you grab his drink and sip from it, ignoring the one you ordered for yourself, raspberries with lots of ice. he watches the gloss from you lips smear on the rim. "hm," he murmurs suddenly, nodding toward his cup where your lip print lingers. "you always do that." you glance up, mid sip, blinking wide eyed. "do what?"
"steal my stuff." he's watching the gloss smear and faint wetness of your saliva. his eyes, dilated flicker up to meet yours and then right back down again. you shrug and smile prettily. "cause yours is always better."
he stares into your eyes, a strange expression on his face. you think he's just tired. he always looks like that when he hasn't been sleeping well, but you don't know why he wouldn't be. he's only up late or sleeping poorly if he's got editorials due soon or if he's hyper fixating on something, like when you used to date that guy who played in a band two years ago, and he stayed up for nights obsessively learning music theory and bass tabs just to prove to himself he could play better. he never even liked the bass, he just wanted to understand what you saw in that guy and if he could be what you wanted too.
you never knew that, of course. you assumed his hyper fixation was on music at the time, not on trying to win you over. which he failed at. but at least now he can play the guitar for you too. though when he does it, it's just clark being silly. not like when wyatt would play it for you and you would drool all over yourself.
"want me to get you a refill?" you offer sweetly, scooting back a little bit and raising your arms above your head in a stretch, wanting to loosen your body up before you head up to the counter to get him a new drink. the movement causes the soft skin of your tummy to peek out from underneath your sweater, and it drives him crazy. his cheeks heat up and his heart and pulse rate increase frighteningly quick.
his hand shoots out instinctively, firm on your wrist before you can get up. "no," he says lowly, a little too quick. you blink down at him, surprised, your stretch half-finished, your body still turned toward him, a tiny sliver of your stomach exposed. when you move just enough, he can see the waistband of your lacy panties under your pants.
"no just-" he looks at you longingly. he hopes it isn't too obvious. "don't leave," he mutters, but he doesn't let go of your wrist just yet. his thumb moves slowly over the delicate skin there, rubbing absentminded circles as if he forgot he was even touching you.
you blink at him cluelessly. "clark, would you tell me what's going on with you? you're not yourself at all today. is that boss of yours being a piece of shit again?" the soft, honeyed tone in your voice does something to him, and paired with his name falling past your lips, he's dizzy -and you don't even realize what it means to him. he bristles. he hates how you could call him stuff like that while he's already visibly flustered and worked up, acting innocent and confusing him more than you already have. your foot is still pressed to his leg, soft and slow like you don’t even know what it’s doing to him. "y/n- your foot... move it off my leg, please."
"why?"
"why-?" he nearly chokes on his next breath. you couldn't possibly be this unaware, right? if you kept moving your foot along the inside of his leg, he'd probably make a mess of his pants in the middle of the restaurant. you're tormenting him and you're confused why he's telling you to cut it out.
"it's too... it's too intimate."
"but i'm your best-"
"i'm not your friend," he interrupts quietly. the words hang there in the air between you awkwardly. you go still, eyes wide, lips parting slightly in surprise. is he... does he not want to be your friend anymore? his jaw ticks. his hand is still on your wrist.
"what..?"
clark's stomach drops the second he sees your face. it'd come out so quiet, more like a groan than a statement with intention behind it. it hadn't been meant for you, more for himself. he doesn't feel like your friend. just some strange man acting like he is because it's the closest thing he can get to being your boyfriend.
your foot finally stops moving. the little sliver of your stomach disappears under your sweater as you instinctively pull back a bit, your hand still caught under his. he squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could drag the words back down his throat. he hadn’t planned on saying it ever. because he knew that it would cause you to look at him the way you are right now - shocked, like he just slapped you. letting go of you, he presses his palms flat to his thighs under the table to keep from touching you anymore.
"clark?" you whisper.
he finally forces himself to look at you. you're still turned toward him, having not pulled back completely, but there's a little distance now. inside, he's screaming. tell her you didn't mean it! tell her you love her, tell her anything but nothing.
if only it were that simple.
"dang it... i just...." he groans under his breath, pushing his fingers into his hair until it sticks up where you just fixed it. "forget it. i'm just tired," he mutters, brushing it off. "didn't sleep much last night. said something stupid."
you widen your eyes a little and try to figure out if you can believe him. "oh... are you sure?" you look uncertain, which makes clark feel unpleasant. he doesn't think you've ever not trusted him with anything.
"mmh,” he hums softly, eyes pointedly avoiding yours. "you know i'm your friend. obviously. i'm just... tired and saying... what's that thing you say? talking out of your backside?" he relaxes when your face softens a little. he takes your hands in his, squeezing. "you know how i get when i don't eat." he laughs awkwardly. sounds weird, not like the cute little laugh he does when he's really amused, the one with the scrunched nose and dimples.
you don't answer right away, your head tilted in quiet suspicion. but then you smile and shrug it off like you always do. "well, eat then,” you say gently, passing him a napkin and scooting your drink back toward him. "and stop being so cryptic."
he nods quietly, heart pounding in his chest even as he tries to act normal. "yeah." he murmurs, voice lower now, finally lifting the sandwich like he’s about to take a bite. "i'll cut it out."
-
the waitress comes by with the bill. he takes it before you can even see the amount on the machine, grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket.
"hey," you protest, poking his chest with your forefinger. "i was gonna pay this time."
he hums and taps the buttons on the machine, "with what, hm? a smile and your little charm bracelets? you probably don't even carry money in your purse. i pay for all your things."
you gasp and swat his arm. "i offered to get the next one. you can't make fun of me and then still pay."
"watch me."
you scrunch your nose at him. "you're annoying." you stay like that with him for a little longer, picking at the last bits of fruit from the bowl between you while he finishes the waffles he ordered, neither of you mentioning how your legs are still draped over his. the booth's too small.
"you know, i've always wondered," you murmur after a while, your hands climbing up his body and toying with his sweater.
"what'd you wonder princess?" he questions, hoping you don't feel the way he's warm or slick with sweat with the way you're practically all over him at this point.
"why you never date anyone," you say softly, not looking at him. your fingers are tugging gently at a loose thread on his sleeve, your nails scraping the fabric in tiny circles, and it makes his breath catch. he's not sure if it's the question or the way you're touching him that has his pulse spiking like this. probably both.
"i mean," you continue and lift your head quickly when you notice the tension. "not that i'm saying you should, i just... like... you're cute. and quiet and kind and kind of mysterious. girls like that. i mean, i do at least."
he pauses and looks down at you when you say that, unable to believe that you really said that. do you... like him?
he turns his head to look at you, making sure he heard right. you keep your eyes low, still scraping little patterns into his sleeve, your face shows that you didn't make much of what you'd just said, probably thought of it as nothing but a passing comment you didn't think too hard about.
and then you go and ruin it.
"i just meant in general. not that you should date me or anything. it's not like i'd ever see you like that. a boyfriend."
his heart drops. he doesn't say anything right away, he just keeps looking at you like he's trying to figure out how the fuck you meant that, if maybe it came out wrong, if maybe you're about to laugh and nudge him and go "kidding!" but you don't. you're still playing with his clothes, just thinking out loud, and it hurts. you're not even trying to be cruel, that's the worst part. you're being sweet. being yourself.
you'd never be like that. he knows it. you know it. it’s better to change the topic before the thoughts in his head start to spiral.. he can't fall apart while you're still touching him. he doesn't want to be sad around you. not you. you're the only person he ever feels okay with.
"so. you think i don't date anyone?" he mumbles to you, and your eyes flit up to his. you curl closer to him, nearly on his lap now. God, you don't get what you're doing. "just cause you never talk about anyone. i've never even seen you look at anyone on campus." he looks at you intently.
"that doesn't mean i don't date people. maybe... you just don't know about it." he mumbles. a bold faced lie. you look a little awkward as he says that. it feels like he's withholding information from you, which is odd because you and him had never had secrets, not from each other. but now it seems like he's hiding a whole person from you.
"o-oh," you whisper. "right, sorry. none of my business."
he pauses, noticing the insecurity in your face. he sees the way your fingers stop moving against his sleeve, the way your mouth presses into a soft, uncertain line. you're not smiling anymore, and it kills him. he hates how fast your mood changed, how small your voice went, how you suddenly look like you regret saying anything at all. it's the second time he's said something stupid in the past hour.
he swallows hard, "you'd know if i was with someone."
his intense stare causes you to shift, folding your legs back down and moving to sit properly again, he misses the contact immediately. he'd give anything to hold you forever. "so…" you murmur after a second, voice uncertain. "wanna walk around a bit outside?"
he nods quietly, letting out a breath. "yeah. yeah i do." you brighten and slide out of the booth. he follows close behind, lingering just long enough to watch you fix your hair and fluff your sweater, little movements that shouldn't make his face to heat up the way it does. he should be used to it by now. being this close to you without being able to have you, kiss you, hold you, make love to you. but it never gets easier.
you pause at the door to wait for him, reaching out once more to take his hand. he holds onto yours immediately like its second nature, and just like that, he feels so safe and fuzzy all over again.
he weaves his fingers through yours tighter.
𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋: sam & dean winchester ft. eater!reader.
© 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 : 2026.
summary: Little town in Ohio, multiple bodies have been found; skin eaten and ribs cracked. Sam and Dean expect another monster. A werewolf, a ghoul, a wendigo. But when they get there, nothing is what they have seen before... In the end, the monster is just another human.
cw: +18. 10.2k words. fem!reader. graphic gore (torn flesh, exposed organs, blood). cannibalism. murder and implied past murders. predatory behavior. body horror. blasphemous / distorted religious symbolism and imagery. guilt. self-harm ideation (starvation, biting self to resist urges). psychological distress. shame and self-loathing. fear and panic. implied sexual activity (non-explicit). threat of gun violence. dark themes of faith, God, damnation. reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!
The town didn’t have a name that mattered.
It was one of those places folded into the flat spine of rural Ohio, stitched together by cornfields and faith. A single main street with a feed store, a diner that closed at three, and a church that stood taller than anything else, white paint peeling like old sunburned skin. The kind of town where porch lights hum all night and everyone knows when a stranger’s car rolls in.
The sidewalks were cracked like old knuckles, weeds pushing through as if even the earth was trying to escape. Screen doors slapped shut in the evenings while radios murmured gospel through open windows, and the air always carried the faint smell of fertilizer and something metallic beneath it—something that clung to the back of the throat if you breathed too deeply. The cemetery rested on a slight hill behind the church, headstones leaning at tired angles, as though even the dead were weary of standing upright in a place that refused to change.
On Sundays, the congregation filled the pews with stiff collars and bowed heads, singing hymns that echoed too loudly in the hollow space.
giving innocent!rafe his first blowjob .
your glossy mouth was wrapped around rafe's cock, the salty taste of his pre-cum on your tongue.
he had begrudgingly come to you, begging you to give him a blowjob. you obliged because he sounded pathetic, and you would never pass up the opportunity to humiliate him.
you didn't hesitate to slide your hands around the back of his tanned thighs, nails digging into the muscular flesh, keeping him close to you.
rafe's loud moans bounced off the walls, tensing underneath your hands every time he hit the back of your throat.
MEET… EATER!READER.
midwest girl, ohio raised. sunburnt cornfields. cicadas screaming at dusk. gravel crunching under tired tires. hunger humming low and steady beneath her ribs. metallic taste on her tongue. skin too aware of every brush of warmth. eyes that linger a second too long on pulse points. guilt like a rosary she holds in the dark. lonely men in neon-lit parking lots. soft voice, steady breathing, heart racing anyway. she doesn’t enjoy it—she survives it. quiet as snowfall, dangerous as drought. cries in gas station bathrooms and washes her hands twice.
faded levi's and long dresses. scuffed leather boots. smells like gasoline, ivory soap, and wild honeysuckle. cheap silver cross tucked beneath her shirt. porch-swing posture. drive-in movie glow on her cheekbones. summer night silhouette against endless fields. listens to old country on static radio stations. watches lightning split open the sky and feels understood. flirts soft but leaves fast. never unpacks her bag all the way. barefoot in tall grass. porch lights buzzing. moths hitting the screen door. leaves before the hunger gets loud and never stays long enough to be known.
omg hello cutie, your blog looks absolutely adorable !!!
ty pretty! ur acc is so so cute 🤍🤍
𝑴𝑨𝑹𝑳𝑩𝑶𝑹𝑶 𝑹𝑬𝑫. brother’s bsf!rafe cameron ♱ fem!reader
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒. reader is topper’s little sister, smoking for the first time, innocence & corruption kink, slightly manipulative behavior, close proximity, vaguely mentions ow involved
oh my the theme is so cute
thank you love!! ur theme is adorable 🫰
rafe begs you not to leave. it wasn't unusual for the two of you to get into fights over something stupid. tonight just happened to be the final blow, and the time you decided to give up.
sitting on your aged sofa, you watched the clock attentively, the loud sound of it ticking echoing in your head.
rafe had promised to take you out for dinner tonight to make up for the last time he bailed.
he had terrible habit of finding something else to do without you even knowing, your own plans constantly seeming to slip his mind.