nora ⋆˙⟡

The impressive part of SweetDream isn't that it generates text, it's that the text understands you. My companion reads my mood, adjusts her tone, and responds like she actually gets it.

( doll eyes, brown skin, fragile heart ) rafe cameron’s pretty baby, dean winchester’s sweetheart . *ೃ.⋆ if you don’t like what i post, then simply don’t interact with my blog.

navi .ᐟ rules. sideblog. instagram.

₍^. .^₎⟆

enjoy your stay and proceed with caution ⋆ ₊˚ ⊹

© TWOBITSBLADE 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. ‎do not copy, translate, or claim any of my work as your own.

ᨳଓ . newly-wed sweetheart!reader cooks for toxic!rafe

the kitchen was warm with the scent of melted butter, fresh herbs, and the faint sweetness of lavender drifting in through the open window. golden evening light spilled across the marble countertops, making everything glow in soft honeyed hues. the pale blue apron rafe had bought you for your anniversary fluttered around your legs each time you twirled between the stove and the counter, the ribbon bow swaying against the small of your back.

your freshly manicured hands moved with careful eagerness as you worked. you hadn't cooked for rafe in what felt like forever, and he'd certainly made his disappointment known—not just to you, but to every one of his friends and their girlfriends whenever they'd come over. his mouth would curl with that familiar teasing grin as he'd tell them all about the fast food you'd brought home instead of making dinner yourself.

today, though, you were determined to be the good girl he'd married.

with quiet concentration, you assembled warm sandwiches and stirred a pot of creamy soup, silently hoping he'd like it. maybe it'd put him in a better mood. maybe he'd smile.

the sudden slam of the front door echoed through the house.

a second later, his bag hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud.

"i'm home."

no "hey, honey."

no "baby."

not even your name.

your stomach tightened.

shit.

he was mad, wasn't he?

lost in thought, your fingers slipped for only a second. your knuckle grazed the scorching rim of the pot.

"ah!"

you yelped, immediately bringing your finger between your lips, sucking softly against the sharp, white-hot sting. every time you pulled it away, the pain flared all over again.

"fuck are you doin'?"

you looked up.

rafe stood in the doorway, one eyebrow furrowed as he looked you over from head to toe. his eyes kept drifting back to the finger tucked between your lips.

before you could react, he crossed the kitchen in a few long strides.

his large hand wrapped around your wrist, gently pulling it toward him so he could inspect the burn. his touch was firm but careful.

you suddenly felt the need to explain yourself.

"um... i— it... this... well, my finger..."

his eyes lifted to meet yours.

you could never tell if your flustered stammering amused him or irritated him.

maybe both.

"i burnt my finger while... while cooking for you," you mumbled, gesturing timidly toward the stove.

his expression softened—only a little.

"well," he said, his voice lighter than before, "you gon' let me taste it?"

your entire face brightened.

hope bloomed inside you so quickly it almost hurt.

you hurried back to the stove, scooping a small spoonful of soup before carefully blowing on it. once it had cooled enough, you held the spoon out to him.

he leaned forward and tasted it.

for a brief second, he said nothing.

then his face twisted.

"jesus..." he muttered.

"this is shit."

he turned toward the sink, spitting it out before wiping his hands absentmindedly against the front of your apron.

the casual contact sent a flicker of warmth through your chest, cruelly clashing against the heavy disappointment settling there.

you stared down at the floor.

"will you, uh... will you just order some popeyes or some shit?"

"...okay."

your voice was barely above a whisper.

you nodded without looking up.

"thanks, doll."

he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss against your forehead before turning and disappearing toward your shared bedroom.

the kitchen suddenly felt much quieter.

ᨳଓ . tutor!rafe comforts a heartbroken mouthy!reader

that day, you showed up to rafe's house looking, to say the least, a mess. usually, you felt this compulsion to look perfect, even in front of a boy you had mixed feelings about, but today you just couldn't.

your boyfriend—or, well, now your ex, you thought bitterly—had been caught with another girl, his head between her legs at some bullshit party. the thought made you nauseous, and you couldn't stay home any longer with your parents' disappointed eyes burning holes into your skull. so you decided... or, well, your legs practically led you to rafe's house on their own.

you knocked sharply on the door at 2 p.m., and almost immediately it swung open.

you looked up at rafe and caught a flicker of shock cross his face, his eyebrows shooting up before he quickly schooled his expression.

"uhm..." he cleared his throat awkwardly. "come on in, kid."

you sniffled quietly as you stepped inside and made your way over to your usual spot on his living room couch.

"your textbook?" he prompted.

"i forgot it."

he sighed, then paused. usually he'd have already begun lecturing you by now, but today he simply sat across from you in silence.

"are you alright?" he asked suddenly.

that made you lift your head, looking at him through your lashes as you sniffled again, your nose scrunching like rabbit's.

"do i look alright?" you asked, letting out a watery little laugh that dissolved into tears.

he bit his lip, staring down at his lap.

"...was it him?"

you blinked.

how did he know?

how did he even know you were dating?

he seemed to read the confusion on your face.

"i mean..." he rubbed the back of his neck. "most people know. like... they know you, so they know him, and then... well..." he trailed off, mumbling, "the situation."

you scoffed bitterly.

"yeah. a situation where he was fucking another girl."

the words came out much harsher than you'd intended.

seeing the discomfort flicker across rafe's face, your shoulders sagged.

"...sorry. i just..." you swallowed. "can we study?"

"that's rare coming from you," he teased gently, trying to lighten the mood.

coming from him, somehow, it actually worked.

a small smile tugged at your lips.

"there," he murmured, smiling back. "that's... i wish you smiled more."

you let out a quiet laugh.

"do you now?"

and in that moment, it felt as though the room tilted.

you noticed the way he was looking at you.

for once, his gaze didn't seem soft or patient or quietly encouraging. it felt intense.

his blue eyes searched yours before drifting to your lips. then lower.

your breath caught.

before you could overthink it, you leaned forward on impulse, mischief and hurt colliding into reckless courage, and pressed your lips against his.

your hands instinctively tangled into his hair.

a tiny, surprised whimper escaped him, making you giggle against his mouth before pulling away, another sniffle escaping you.

he stared at you for a second, almost dazed.

then, with surprising tenderness, he brushed his thumb across your bottom lip.

"do i get a chance?" he asked, almost playfully.

thank you so much, angel! that’s so sweet. ♡ well, if i’m being honest, i don’t really have much of an idea myself. my pinned post’s format was taken from—with permission—@bambrinaa, while my newer posts’ (stories, blurbs, etc.) format is inspired by @rafesbows. the three images used as a header in my pinned post were found on pinterest, while the brown ribbon and white lace images/pngs were found on tumblr.

then, as you can probably guess, the background of my blog (the colours) was chosen to match those images. i also don’t use any external colour sourcing/coding because i’m way too lazy to code!

all the little symbols i use are from (here), though i occasionally tweak them a little to fit the vibe i’m going for.

ᨳଓ . tutor!rafe helps mouthy!reader with english

you were tired. schoolwork, friends, family—all of it felt, to use your admittedly limited vocabulary, so... ugh. boring.

your reverie was interrupted by fingers snapping in front of your nose.

"hey. you still there?" rafe said before sighing and rolling his eyes, though you caught the slight—albeit wry—smirk tugging at his lips. you thought, as you often did during these tutoring sessions, that he was incredibly handsome for someone who spent almost all his time with his head buried between the pages of a book rather than between, well... for example, a girl's legs.

"this is bullshit. i'm not gonna learn anything," you whined, letting your freshly manicured fingertips trail up the hem of his jeans, desperate for any type of stimulation.

"hey," he said, mock-stern. "no touching the tutor."

"aww, but why not? that's no fun for me. i need a reward."

you jutted out your bottom lip, purposely trying to annoy and repulse him. maybe he'd quit trying to help you learn if you bothered him just enough.

"your reward is not getting expelled, kid," he said, shaking his head.

"well, if i got expelled, we wouldn't get to spend time together, would we, rafey?"

his lip curled at the nickname, and you felt a flicker of hope. maybe he'd finally storm out.

"firstly, don't call me that. secondly, you barely acknowledge me at school unless it's to attempt to bribe me for the answers."

you chose to ignore the last part of his statement because, really, what were you supposed to say to that?

"what am i supposed to call you? sir? professor?" you scoffed.

"sir's not bad," he replied, eyes still fixed on the textbook, though you noticed the faintest smirk on his face.

"ew. i'm not calling you 'sir.' that's, like... gross."

he paused his reading and looked up at you with a blank expression. well, less blank and more i don't care enough to display emotion in response to the things you’re saying.

"ouch," he said flatly, lacing the word with obvious sarcasm before taking your hand off his leg and placing it back in your lap. then he set the textbook down firmly in front of you.

"now, please, for the love of god, try—just try—to comprehend something."

you groaned.

"don't do that. you know i hate this. it's not my fault your mom hired me,” he said.

"well, can't you, like... quit?"

he paused, carefully formulating his response.

"well, then we wouldn't get that time together that you cherish so much, would we?"

you froze.

that wasn't like him. not at all. he was never that bold.

you recovered quickly, refusing to let him see that he'd actually managed to catch you off guard, and let out a low whistle.

"wow. someone's got balls for once."

he scoffed, shaking his head.

i know it’s been around four months since i last posted on this blog, and i’m sorry for that. i’ve been going through a lot, but now that it’s summer and life has been going relatively better (touch wood, lol), i’m active again!

i’ve also redone my account. do you guys like it? i hope so.

anyhow, i’ll slowly be sorting through my inbox, so please feel free to write to me, as it’s quite motivating.

also, special surprise: i’ve made an ao3 account and am planning to begin posting on there! would you guys be into that?

♡ hello angel! my top five artists are:

lana del rey

jeff buckley

twice

radiohead

the room was silent except for the heavy breathing of rafe, who sat tense beside you with a beer in his hand.

you thought you hated how it felt before, filled with jeering young men, cigarette smoke, and the clatter of remote controls slammed so hard they should have broken, but this was worse.

you bit your lip and stared at the ground, waiting for what you felt would come, but it didn’t.

the silence lingered like smoke from a bullet until you finally tapped his shoulder. his head snapped toward you, eyes blazing and jaw tight. when he barked “what?” you froze, and at the sight of your deer-in-headlights expression, he rolled his eyes, stood, and tossed his bag into your lap, “i deal with your bullshit!”

when you stammered “what?” he stepped in front of you, grabbed your camisole between his fingers, and spat that he “couldn’t take it,” accusing you of “showing off for the assholes around you.” though you tried to explain, he cut you off, storming upstairs with the tantrum of a child.

normally it would have made you laugh, but this time it only drew tears, so you retreated as you always did, climbing to the bedroom, turning on the fan and lamp before drifting to sleep. later you woke queasy, your eyes swollen, and felt an urge to walk to his office, where the shredder hummed. when you peeked inside, his face was no longer angry but tired, and his arms instinctively opened for you.

how are you doing (fr fr)??