i wanted to come on here, especially in light of everything going on, and say something that’s been heavy on my heart. even though i’m not able to protest in person, i want to use my voice to say this:
if you’re an immigrant—documented or not—you are welcome here. you FULLY deserve safety, dignity, and peace!
to anyone from palestine, sudan, congo—i’m sorry. i’m sorry for the silence, the inaction, the bystander role we as americans continue to play.
and I as christian woman want to say if you’re queer, trans, questioning—your existence is not up for debate. you belong here! and you are loved!
also any trump supporters or far-right wing people that are okay with what is going, you are not welcome on my blog at all!
I might get hate for this but just a small request 💛 if you send a Rafe ask to me, please don’t send the exact ask to someone else. Or, if you see something written by someone and you like it, please do not request that same prompt to my ask box. Even if you’re curious about how I would write that same exact scenario, thank you for thinking of me, but it creates a lot of unnecessary drama for me.
Also, the storylines I create are really special to me. I’d appreciate it if they weren’t used without credit (no need to ask first) just please credit if you’re inspired by something. That goes for tumblr and for any chatbots made outside of this space. Please don’t copy my work word for word at any time.
I think I speak for a few writers when I say if you send someone an ask that is inspired by a storyline from a different blog you should mention that in your ask so the writer can decide if that’s something that they want to piggy back off of or give them the chance to give credit where credit is due.
Just to clarify I’m not talking about different !rafes, pairings, or AUs… they have pretty much all been done before. I’m specifically talking about storylines. 💛
“Writers shouldn’t write for interaction”, “Likes are good enough”, “you should write for yourself not others, engagement shouldn’t be necessary.”
HAVE YOU THOUGHT THAT MAYBE I NEED ENCOURAGEMENT?!?
THAT MAYBE I NEED POSITIVE ENGAGEMENT/FEEDBACK TO STAY MOTIVATED TO STAY ON TOP OF WRITING?! BECAUSE OTHERWISE I CONVINCE MYSELF THAT MY WRITING IS ASS.
Anyways, this is your sign to comment/reblog a fic or blurb of your favourite writers on this app and just show their work a little bit of love.
We are absolutely begging at this point, but if it means getting the message across, then I am on my knees.
Not every writer is the same and while some can manage on their own, others may need more encouragement that they're doing okay and that they are producing enjoyable work! We are not machines, after all.
I am also not just speaking for myself, I'm speaking for other creators on this site that don't get enough recognition or encouragement. Writing is not easy, you can't just sit down and whip out a fic in an hour, ideas don't just come on command, it's a process of juggling time to sit down between life, developing an idea, writing it, editing it, sometimes the brain and hands just don't want to cooperate and sometimes we fall into slumps - become uninspired, demotivated. It's a case of having patience for your writers, your request/ask will see the light of day, just not immediately. Nobody wants to write more than the writer.
The smallest bit of appreciation and love can go so so far for confidence, it's just a little reminder that 'hey, I'm not bad like I think I am!' for some people. I promise you, love can do wonders <3
JJ’s legs were thrown over yours on the couch, chin on your shoulder as you scroll on your phone. He’d been like this for the past hour, touching you like you’ll disappear if he lets go. “I missed you,” he mumbles, even though he’s been with you since the sun rose this morning. His fingers lazily draw circles on your thigh, rings clinking together when he shifts.
You smile, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m right here, clingwrap.”
JJ ignores that. Then he adds, dead serious, “You’re not allowed to leave me. Ever.”
You scoff. “What about work, Jackson?”
He melts at the sound of it. Jackson. No one else calls him that. Not even his friends. To them, he’s JJ, always has been—loud, reckless, a little unhinged. But to you? He’s Jackson. Soft and warm and real.
He nuzzles into your neck with a small smile. “Say it again.”
“Jackson?” you repeat with a giggle.
A pleased hum leaves his lips. “Mmm. Just like that. Sounds so pretty coming from you.”
“You’re such a weirdo,” you laugh, leaning your head against his.
“I don’t care. No one else gets to say it. Just you. If anyone else calls me Jackson, I’m fighting them.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
JJ pulls back, eyes serious now—like he means it. “I’m not kidding. That’s your name for me. You gave it meaning, you know?” His voice softens, “Jackson didn’t mean anything until you said it.”
You freeze, heart doing flips. “That’s… weirdly poetic for you.”
He grins, a little proud. “I can be deep.”
Then he tugs you until you’re laying on his chest, legs tangled. His hand slides under the back of your hoodie, warm and possessive. “I like when you say it when I’m sleepy,” he murmurs against your temple. “Or mad. Or when you’re all cute and bossy.”
“Jackson, get your hands outta my shirt.”
He gasps. “Hot.”
You swat his chest, and he catches your hand easily, lacing your fingers with his. “Don’t test me, Maybank.”
He makes a face. “Ew. Everyone else calling me Maybank? Normal. You calling me Maybank? Hate it. Feels illegal.”
You laugh so hard your stomach hurts, and Jackson is right there, eyes on you like you hung the damn stars. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Seriously though. It’s yours. That name. Jackson. You made it soft.”
You go quiet, your fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve. “I like that,” you admit. “That it’s mine.”
“It’s all yours, babe. I’m all yours.” He kisses you again—slower this time, and you believe he’s yours.
summary: no really, i can
characters: rafe cameron. reader
warnings: mentions of violence, weapons, and smoking
word count: 1.1k
Everyone on the island knew her.
She was the kind of girl who carried sunshine in her smile, even on the grayest days. Her voice was honey-warm, smooth, and sweet-and when she laughed, it was like the soft chime of bells that made people stop and listen. Not because it was loud or attention-seeking, but because it was pure and genuine, the kind of laugh that made the world feel lighter for a moment. She wore sundresses with small floral prints that fluttered in the ocean breeze, and in the summer heat, she smelled faintly of coconut lotion and lavender- a scent so soothing it felt like a balm to anyone’s rough edges.
She sat on her porch swing in the evenings, waving at strangers passing by on dusty roads, offering homemade blueberry muffins to neighbors without reason or request, simply because she believed kindness was a language everyone deserved to hear. Her eyes were soft pools of light, bright with hope, and the kind of warmth that could melt the coldest heart.
She was, simply put, the sweetest soul on the island.
And everyone knew Rafe Cameron, too.
He was a different kind of flame entirely.
The boy with a temper like a matchstick in a dry forest- quick, dangerous, and always threatening to burn everything around him. There was a permanent curl of smoke lazily drifting from his lips, like a freight train tearing through a small town, marking his presence with a haze that clung to the air long after he’d gone. His eyes were wild, untamed, like they had seen too much or maybe just never learned how to settle. There was something magnetic about him- a raw, untethered energy that crackled in the spaces he occupied.
He wore chaos like cologne, bold and intoxicating. He didn’t care what anyone thought, except maybe her.
Rafe was fast hands that could soothe or strike, slurred words that sometimes cut deeper than any fist, knuckles rough and stained, and a devilish grin that promised trouble. A walking car crash- beautiful and burning and bound to destroy something precious if you got too close.
So when she walked into the Island Club one sultry summer night, glowing like the first light of dawn breaking over the ocean, and her arms wrapped around him like she was holding the sun itself- the whispers around the room shattered like thunderclaps.
“God help her,” they said in hushed tones.
“She doesn’t know who he really is.”
“Poor thing thinks she can save him.”
But she did know.
She had seen him drunk and dangerous, his breath thick with whiskey and his eyes glassy with anger. She had seen him furious and too far gone, his jaw clenched tight like a trap, lips curling around words that tasted like poison. She had watched him stumble through fights, tearing at the world with fists and rage.
And still, she loved him.
Not in spite of the darkness he carried- but through it.
Because he wasn’t all fury and heat. Not with her.
With her, Rafe was something else entirely.
He’d stumble through the door of her small apartment at 3 a.m., blood dried on his knuckles, bruises blooming purple and blue across his jawline like tragic flowers. His heartbeat would thunder in his chest, wild and frantic- like a trapped animal desperate to find a way out.
And there she would be. Waiting.
Always waiting.
Barefoot, wearing one of his old hoodies that swallowed her small frame, eyes soft as a summer night but never scared.
She’d catch him before he fell, steady him when he swayed.
Her fingers-delicate and sure-would lift his face, tilt his chin, and wash the grime and blood away, cleaning more than just his skin.
He’d sink to the bathroom floor, exhausted and broken, while she knelt beside him. Her hands trembled sometimes as she dabbed at his wounds with cotton soaked in peroxide, but her touch was gentle, healing. Her presence was heavier than the weight of the world- like an anchor that held him steady, a lighthouse shining through a storm he thought he’d never survive.
“Good boy,” she whispered once, voice barely more than a breath. She pressed her forehead to his, skin warm against skin. “Come close. I’ll show you Heaven, if you’ll be an angel all night.”
And in that moment, the wild storm raging inside him softened.
They never saw that Rafe.
The one who traced soft hearts on her cheek with his rough thumb, careful as if she might break.
The one who kissed her like she was a rare secret he could never risk losing.
The one who told her his darkest secrets in broken fragments, trusting her to hold them gently, like fragile glass.
They didn’t hear how he laughed for her -a low, hoarse sound, like it scraped its way out of him, surprised it could exist at all.
They didn’t see how he held her like she was the first good thing he’d ever touched in his life.
All they saw was the wreckage.
She saw the boy inside it.
“I can fix him,” she told her sister once, pouring coffee into a chipped mug, her voice quiet but certain. “No, really. I can.”
And maybe she was right.
He started leaving the gun in the drawer when he came over. Stopped picking fights just to feel something real. He let her paint daisies on his nails once- pink and clumsy, and he smoked out the window, pretending not to smile as she giggled beside him.
She could feel him changing- slow as molasses, but real. Tangible. Like watching the tide retreat and realizing land had always been beneath the waves.
But some nights…
When the whiskey came back out.
When the darkness cracked through his grin again.
When he said things he didn’t mean, and broke things he swore he wouldn’t.
She’d lie awake long after he’d fallen asleep, staring at the ceiling while his arm lay heavy across her waist, steadying her like the world itself might shatter otherwise.
And she’d wonder.
What if I can’t?
What if loving him isn’t enough?
Her eyes would sting, but she’d blink the tears back, lean close to kiss his temple, and whisper promises he wouldn’t remember in the morning.
Because she remembered.
She remembered who he was when he was hers.
And if the whole island wanted to shake their heads and mutter prayers? Let them.
“Hold You Like This”
—JJ Maybank x Reader
—Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Fluff
📌 This is a work of fiction written by me. Reposts, copying or translations without credit is not allowed. Please be kind — creators deserve respect. 💌
— Warnings: Mentions of parental abuse, visible bruises, emotional vulnerability, gentle physical care, soft language
The steam rose from the hot tub, curling through the cool night air like a whispered secret. Around us, the backyard was dark and quiet except for the soft hum of the jets. JJ sat there, water just below his shoulders, muscles tense beneath the surface, face shadowed in the dim glow of the patio lights.
I slipped in beside him without a word, letting the warmth wash over me. The silence between us wasn’t awkward; it was the kind that filled with everything unspoken but deeply understood.
JJ’s eyes were fixed somewhere beyond the edge of the tub, distant like he was looking for something he could barely name. After a long moment, his voice came out, low and rough.
“I bought this for them.” His hand traced the rim of the tub slowly, deliberately. “For my family. So they’d have something good. Something to come home to.”
I turned toward him, catching the way his jaw clenched tight, like he was holding back a storm. The bruises on his ribs peeked from beneath the water—deep purples and yellows, angry marks left by a fight that didn’t just hurt his body but seemed to weigh on his soul.
“You don’t have to do everything alone, JJ,” I said gently. “You’ve done so much already.”
He finally met my eyes, dark and stormy. “I’m tough,” he whispered. “I’ve gotta be.”
“I know you are,” I said softly, the words like a balm. “You don’t have to prove it to me.”
He shifted, the water rippling as he moved. “I can take care of myself.”
“You have,” I said. “But that’s not all. You don’t have to. Not with me here.”
JJ’s shoulders dropped just a little, like he was easing down after carrying a weight he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His voice cracked just slightly when he said, “I’m used to doing it alone.”
“And now you’re not,” I told him, reaching out to let my hand hover just above his bruised ribs, careful not to touch too hard, but close enough for him to feel the promise in the space between us. “We take care of each other now. You don’t have to carry it by yourself anymore.”
For a long moment, JJ said nothing. Then he finally let out a breath that sounded like surrender, or relief, or maybe just the exhaustion of fighting so hard all the time.
“I want to be better,” he admitted, voice low, “not just for them, but for me too. But some days, it feels like I’m drowning in all the shit I’ve been through.”
I leaned closer, meeting him fully. “You’re not drowning. Not when I’m here.”
JJ’s eyes flickered, vulnerability breaking through the tough exterior for just a heartbeat. “Why would you stay? Why would you care?”
“Because I see you,” I said simply. “Not just the tough, angry side you show the world. But the part you try to hide. The part that’s scared and tired and still wants to believe in something better.”
He looked at me then, really looked, like he was trying to memorize the shape of my face. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden,” I said firmly. “You’re someone I want to be with. Someone I want to stand beside, no matter what.”
JJ swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw working. Then slowly, he reached out and took my hand, his fingers warm and steady in mine.
“I’ve always tried to protect the people I care about,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “Sometimes I’m scared I’m not strong enough.”
“You’re stronger than you think,” I assured him. “And you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”
The water rippled as JJ shifted closer, not with words but with a small, unspoken gesture. His hand found mine again, fingers tightening just enough to remind me he was still there—still holding on.
I reached out, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a quiet hug. His body was rigid at first, every muscle tense like he was waiting for the moment to break. But slowly, he leaned into me, resting his head lightly against mine.
“I don’t always know how to let people in,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the jets. “But... I’m trying.”
I pressed a soft kiss to the side of his head. “You don’t have to be perfect at it. Just let me be here.”
Gently, I ran my fingers over the bruises along his ribs—careful, tender. The marks were raw reminders of his father’s fists, but tonight, my touch was a small rebellion against the pain they represented.
“Let me help,” I whispered. “You don’t have to carry all this alone.”
JJ stayed still under my hands, breathing slowing as the warmth of the water and my touch started to ease the tightness in his body. For a moment, the weight he’d been holding so fiercely lifted—not vanished, but shared.
The night wrapped us both in its quiet hush. No promises were made, no grand declarations. Just two people, holding onto each other in the stillness, proving that sometimes strength comes from letting someone else carry part of the load.
And in that steaming glow, JJ didn’t have to be the only one holding up the weight anymore.
My hand lightly rested on JJ’s shoulder, steadying him in the warm water. After a moment, I slid my fingers beneath his arm and squeezed gently. “Let me help.”
He didn’t protest, but the way his muscles tensed told me he was already bracing himself for the pain.
I stood slowly, careful not to pull him too fast. “Ready?” I asked softly.
JJ nodded, but as he lifted himself out of the water, a sharp groan escaped him, low and guttural. His face twisted for just a second—the kind of pain that demands you pause and breathe.
I wrapped my arm around his waist, supporting his weight. “Take it slow. You don’t have to rush.”
He took a shaky breath, pressing his palm against his ribs as if trying to hold the bruises in place. I felt the heat from his skin, uneven and tender under my fingertips.
Together, we moved inch by inch, my hand sliding from his back to his side, careful not to touch the bruises until he was steady on his feet.
When he finally settled on the bench beside the tub, I reached for the healing balm. I warmed it between my palms, then pressed my fingers gently against his ribs where the bruises were darkest.
JJ flinched sharply, a small grunt breaking past his lips, and I stopped immediately, waiting for him to catch his breath.
“Sorry,” I whispered, but he shook his head, eyes clenched shut.
“No—keep going,” he said quietly. “Just… slow.”
I adjusted, pressing lighter, rubbing in slow, circular motions. The skin was tender, swollen beneath my touch, but the balm’s coolness seemed to soothe some of the heat beneath the surface.
JJ exhaled slowly, the tension in his body loosening just a fraction.
I stayed close, my hands gentle but steady. No need for words right then—just the quiet between us.
After a moment, JJ’s eyes found mine, tired but real.
He didn’t say much, just a quiet shake of his head, like he was trying to push something back down.
I gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You don’t have to keep it all inside.”
He swallowed hard but didn’t look away.
He gave a small, tired smile—the kind that’s both grateful and weary all at once. I kept my hands moving, slow and deliberate, tracing over every bruise and scratch, willing to take on some of his pain if only through touch.
When I finished, JJ shifted, his breath hitching as the soreness settled in again. I helped him lie back against the bench, wrapping a towel gently around his shoulders.
“Better?” I asked.
He nodded, though the ache hadn’t vanished. “Yeah. Thanks.”
For a moment, we just sat there—quiet, close, sharing something without words.
And in that stillness, I knew we’d both been holding up more than we thought. But right now, neither of us had to do it alone.
🌊Huge thanks to @enchanthings and @bbyg4rlhelps for the beautiful dividers! All credit goes to them for the design. Please check out their work and give them the love they deserve.
📌 This is a work of fiction written by me. Reposts, copying or translations without credit is not allowed. Please be kind — creators deserve respect. 💌
— Warnings: None
The house was quiet—unusually so. After a long night of music, laughter, and the chaotic mess that came with Topper’s version of a "small get-together," the silence wrapped around you like a heavy blanket.
Rafe’s room was dimly lit, only the lamp by the bedside flickering softly as it cast golden shadows over the walls. You sat cross-legged on the edge of his bed, wearing one of his hoodies that hung loosely on your frame. It still smelled like him—clean laundry, salt air, and a hint of cologne that lingered from earlier in the night.
He walked in quietly, shutting the door behind him like he didn’t want to disturb the stillness. For once, he looked… peaceful. No loud words. No bravado. Just soft eyes and a tired smile as he dropped his phone on the nightstand and made his way over to you.
“You good?” he asked, voice low and a little rough.
You nodded, reaching out to brush your fingers along his wrist as he sat beside you. “Tired. But yeah.”
He leaned back, one arm slinging around your waist and pulling you into him until your head rested against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath your ear. Strong. Safe.
“I like when you wear my clothes,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into your hairline. “Looks better on you.”
You laughed softly, fingers curling into the hem of the hoodie. “I’ll keep it forever then.”
“Good,” he said, like it settled something deep in him.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was the kind you sink into. The kind you only get with someone you feel safe around. His hand stroked your back in slow, absentminded circles, like he needed to remind himself you were really there.
After a while, you lifted your head to look at him. “What?”
He was already staring at you.
“Just thinking,” he said.
“About?”
He hesitated, lips twitching like he wasn’t sure how to say it.
“I don’t know,” he started, then tried again. “You just… you make everything quieter. Not boring,” he added quickly, “just… calm. Like I can breathe better when you’re here.”
You blinked, caught off guard by how sincere his voice sounded.
“Rafe…”
“I know I fuck up sometimes,” he said, not letting you stop him. “A lot. I know I get too loud or too angry or just too much. But with you, I feel like… I’m not that guy. At least not all the time.”
Your chest ached. He wasn’t asking for forgiveness. He wasn’t even asking for reassurance. He was just trying to be seen.
You reached up and cupped his face, thumb brushing over the edge of his jaw. “You’re not too much for me. You never were.”
His throat bobbed, and his eyes looked a little shinier than before. “You sure about that?”
You leaned in, pressed your lips gently to his—slow and soft and sweet.
“Positive,” you whispered.
Rafe rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.
“You staying tonight?” he asked, almost shy.
“I always do,” you replied, a smile playing on your lips.
“Yeah, but I mean like—” He paused, searching for the right words. “Not just tonight. I want you here. Like… all the time.”
You looked up at him, heart flipping in your chest.
“I want to wake up and see you in my bed,” he continued. “I want to come home and find you stealing my hoodies and leaving your stuff everywhere and rolling your eyes at me when I say dumb shit.”
You laughed, because that sounded like the most him version of a love confession ever.
“Okay,” you said softly, fingers brushing his hair back. “Then I’m staying. As long as you’ll have me.”
His arms tightened around you, pulling you into his chest like he was never letting go again.
“Yours,” he whispered into your hair, voice a little shaky but full of meaning. “Always."
🦇 Huge thanks to @toastray for the beautiful divider! All credit goes to them for the design. Please check out their work and give them the love they deserve.
📌 This is a work of fiction written by me. Reposts, copying or translations without credit is not allowed. Please be kind — creators deserve respect. 💌
— 🔞 Contains suggestive content and mature themes.
All interactions are consensual and written for entertainment purposes only. Read responsibly.
---
The air was thick with motor oil, pine, and that unmistakable scent that was just Jacob — earthy, warm, intoxicating. You sat perched on his beat-up workbench, legs swinging, the hem of your shorts riding up just a little higher each time he glanced your way.
He was leaning under the hood of his rebuilt Rabbit, shirtless, his bronze skin glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights. Muscles flexed with every twist of his wrench, sweat trailing down the line of his spine as he worked.
“You keep staring like that, and I’m gonna start charging you,” he said without looking up.
You smirked. “Charging for what? The show?”
He finally glanced over his shoulder, a crooked grin spreading across his face — cocky, wild, dangerous. “Damn right,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag before tossing it aside. “Premium view. I should at least get a tip.”
You tilted your head, letting your eyes roam slowly over his body — the tight line of his abs, the tattoo on his arm, the unmistakable heat in his gaze.
“I thought you liked me watching,” you teased.
Jacob stepped closer, every movement smooth and predatory, like a wolf circling prey — except you weren’t scared. You were aching.
“I do,” he said, voice lower now, rougher. “I like it a lot.”
His hands found your thighs, large and hot against your skin as he stepped between your legs. The energy shifted — electric, magnetic. You felt it hum through you, pooling low in your stomach.
“You always wear these little shorts when you come over,” he murmured, his fingers sliding just under the hem, knuckles grazing the inside of your thigh. “Is that for me?”
“Maybe,” you breathed, trying not to squirm under his touch. “And if it is?”
His grin deepened. “Then I guess I owe you a thank you.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing your neck — not quite kissing, just hovering — warm breath ghosting over your skin. His nose trailed up to your ear, and you felt the soft press of his teeth against your lobe.
“Thank you,” he whispered, low and sinful.
You couldn’t stop the soft gasp that left your lips. One of his hands moved to your lower back, pulling you forward, flush against him. You could feel everything — the heat of his skin, the unmistakable tension between your bodies, the raw desire that radiated from him like a furnace.
“Jake,” you said, your voice shaky now, but your fingers had already found his waist, sliding around to his back.
“I’ve been trying to be good,” he growled, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck. “Trying to take my time. But you make it so hard, baby.”
Your hands traveled up his back, nails lightly scraping his shoulder blades. “Maybe I don’t want you to be good.”
Jacob froze for half a second. Then — gone. The leash snapped. He crashed his lips into yours, hot and hungry, devouring your breath like he couldn’t get enough. His hands were everywhere — your waist, your hips, sliding beneath your shirt, skin to skin.
You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily, pressing you back onto the workbench. The tools clattered, forgotten. All you could feel was him — the fire, the weight, the need.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen. “You sure?” he asked, voice rough, almost shaking. “Because if we do this…”
He didn't finish the sentence, but the promise in his eyes said enough.
You bit your bottom lip, fingers tugging him closer by his belt loops. “I’m not scared. I trust you.”
Jacob smirked. “Good.”
He kissed you again — deeper this time, slower — and when he spoke next, his voice was nothing but a rumble in your ear.
“Because tonight, baby… don’t pretend you didn’t come here hoping I’d ruin you.”
I've been trying to find some decent Jacob x Bella or Jacob x Reader smut and have found very few.
Can y'all just agree with me on the fact that Jacob is clearly a sub? Like yes, he's tough and angry but he's 100% a munch who will get on his knees for you. (Do I need to remind you all of the way he looks at Bella in her room during New Moon????)
No because you’re SO right for this 😩 Jacob is 100% the type to act all tough but he’d melt the second you look at him right. I’ve been dying to write something like this
