#black box recorder cw

[strawberry-creep]

If u know this song, kiss me

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 7

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 6.7k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter cw! non-descriptive mentions of vomit

A swing and a miss, again.

Rafe’s game was all over the place, he hadn’t been able to focus in batting practice all week, and now it was the bottom of the ninth in Academy’s rivalry match against Kildare County. He was down in the count when he asked the ump for a timeout.

He had resisted the urge to look in the stands the whole game, afraid he knew what he would find, or rather, what he wouldn’t.

You usually sat behind the dugout, wearing his old jersey that he’d given you after his record-breaking freshman season, and his number in black eyeliner on either cheek. Sometimes, it would take a few days for it to wash off, and you’d show up to school with the hint of his number still faded on your skin. 

No one - not his coaches, not his teammates, certainly not his father - could read him like you could. Sometimes he’d pop his head out of the dugout between innings so you could tell him his swing was a few seconds too early for the pitcher’s fastball, or that he needed to stop chasing the backdoor slider. You were never wrong.

They’d tease him in the dugout, tossing sunflower seeds at him and taunting, “what is she, your hitting coach or your wife?” Then he’d ignore you for a few innings, though he almost never got on base without checking in with you first.

Your absence from this game was glaring, one of those same teammates taunting, “can someone please get Cameron’s hitting coach on the phone for fuck’s sake?” after his third strikeout.

He’d brushed it off, but now the game was on the line, and he realized he’d endure any amount of teasing if it meant looking up and seeing you in the stands.

He stepped out of the batter’s box, took a deep breath, and craned his neck to your usual seat, hands gripping the bat tighter when his fear was confirmed - it was empty.

He struck out, and they lost the game.

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It’s actually about to happen, the moment you’d wished for on every star, every eyelash, every birthday candle since you were six years old. The moment you never thought would actually come. You’ve played this scene in your mind a million times, what your first kiss with Rafe would be like. None of the many versions took place in an alley behind a Florida nightclub, but none of them were real either, so now was not the time to be picky. 

Rafe’s thumb was still lingering on your bottom lip, the rest of his long fingers caressing your jaw. 

“Can I? Please?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, dimples creasing his cheeks so handsomely, and leaned in. You realized you were holding your breath as you awaited the first brush of his lips against yours.

It never came. The door to the club slammed open, making you both jump. Your already thumping heart flew to your throat as Kelce stumbled out the large metal door.

“Woah, sorry,” he jumped back, smirking at the sight of you and Rafe pulling away from each other quickly.

“What could you possibly need from me right now?” Rafe said, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed in warning.

“I came out here to find her,” Kelce pointed at you. “So calm your ass down.”

“What is it, Kelce?” You asked gently, hand on Rafe’s arm to hold him back as he started stepping menacingly toward his friend.

“Something’s wrong with Carter,” Kelce said.

“What?!” Your face flooded with concern, you started toward the club, and Rafe didn’t stop you, knowing the sound of your sister’s name dashed any hope he had of keeping you in this alleyway.

“What happened?” You asked Kelce as you brushed past him back into the crowded club, Rafe following behind the two of you.

“I don’t know, she got into an argument with Top and then she stormed off,” Kelce shouted over the thundering music as he struggled to keep up with you.

You scanned the whole club, but couldn’t find her, just Topper ranting emphatically to Tom in the corner, and Sabrina and Maddie on either side of the bathroom door, trying to talk to someone on the other side.

Kelce and Rafe were lost to the crowd as you beelined toward the bathroom, forcefully pushing angry clubbers out of the way to get there. You didn’t care, you were locked-in on finding your sister.

“Is she in there?” You asked as you approached the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Maddie confirmed, looking worried, and a little queasy. “But she won’t let anyone in.”

“She’s so wasted it’s crazy,” Sabrina added with a hiccuping giggle.

You ignored her lack of concern for your sister and banged loudly on the door.

“Car? It’s me,” you shouted, “you gotta let me in, alright? I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

After a moment, and the thought that you’d break this fucking door down if that’s what it took, the handle finally turned. She opened the door just a crack to let you slip through, and closed it back firmly behind you.

Sabrina wasn’t wrong, Carter’s intoxication was written all over her face. Flushed, clammy skin and bloodshot eyes. She threw her arms around you, squeezing tight enough to knock the wind out of you.

“What happened? Are you okay?” You asked nervously.

Before you got an answer, she was on her knees in front of the toilet bowl. You rushed to grab her hair and hold it back, getting it all out of the way with just seconds to spare before she got sick.

Thinking through the day's events, you realized no one had eaten much before you left the house, and you knew this group well enough to know it didn’t take much for them to get hammered. What you didn’t know was that while you were distracted with Rafe, the rest of your group was in the club throwing back drinks and racking up tabs like the world was ending.

Rafe was having a similar realization out on the floor, trying to wrangle everyone to the front door where he had a pair of cabs waiting. He physically dragged Topper away from the bar as he demanded another drink, the bartender shouting that he was cutoff. He led Maddie and Sabrina away from some sketchy looking guys who were inviting them back to their house boat, which they proudly advertised held gallons of their homemade moonshine. He stopped Tom from sucker punching a guy who booed when the DJ played a Drake song. He lost Kelce twice.

Once he had finally corralled everyone into the cars, he convinced the drivers to hold up so he could come back and find you. He stood by the bathroom door until you appeared behind it, jumping at the sight of him standing so close.

“I got cabs waiting,” he yelled over the music, eyeing Carter sprawled out on the dirty bathroom floor behind you.

“I can’t get her up,” you told him defeatedly, eyebrows knit together with worry. “She’s not doing good.”

Rafe brushed past you without a word or a second thought, and leaned down to scoop Carter up with ease, fireman carrying her out of the club like your own personal Superman. You followed closely on his heel, feeling guilty that you were thinking about how strong his shoulders looked and not how concerned you were for your sister. 

You opened the door so he could lower her into the first cab, which only had enough seats left for you and her. Once you slid in behind her, leaning her head against Maddie, who was already dozing off with her forehead pressed on the window, Rafe made sure you were settled before closing the door.

He motioned for you to roll down the window, ducking down so he could lean on it.

“Yo Rafe let’s go man!” Topper yelled from the cab behind you before Rafe could speak.

“Give me a fucking second!” He yelled back.

Forearms against the window sill, he leaned in close enough so only you could hear.

“Just, um, don’t stop thinking what you were thinking in the alley.”

Your lips twisted into a smirk, “couldn’t if I tried.”

He gave you a wink before hurrying back to the other cab.

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You didn’t stop thinking about it. You didn’t stop when the cab driver took the wrong turn and made the trip twice as long as it should’ve been. You didn’t stop when Carter asked the driver to pull over every five minutes so she could hurl on the side of the interstate. You didn’t stop when you finally got Carter up to her room, ranting incoherently about her argument with Topper. You didn’t stop as she kneeled in front of the toilet bowl again and you held her hair back, attempting to soothe her with gentle shushes.

You should’ve been focused on your sister and the awful night she was having, but you couldn’t stop thinking about the shape of Rafe’s mouth.

The thing that finally pulled you from your thoughts of him was a sight you hadn’t seen in almost a decade; Carter started to cry. 

Carter never cried, she was your rock, the shoulder for you and all her friends to cry on. She didn’t cry when she fell off the monkey bars in third grade and broke her arm, or when she was rejected from her dream school, or even when your parents got divorced. But here she was, on the cold tile of the Airbnb bathroom floor, bawling.

“Hey, hey, woah,” you said, alarm ringing in your mind as you rushed to sit beside her on the cold tile floor. “What’s going on?”

“I’m such a mess,” she gasped between sobs.

“Well, for starters we need to get you a makeup wipe,” you countered.

“No I mean, like, emotionally,” she wiped her tears with the backs of her hands, only for a new round of drops to fall and further streak her mascara down her skin.

Your sister spent her life running from difficult emotions. It was something you tried to gently point out to her many times, but she’d typically push it away with a sarcastic joke or just ignore you altogether. 

You started therapy about a month after you got to college, taking the university health center up on its free psych eval offerings for freshmen. You’d shown up to your therapist’s office every Wednesday at 2:30 since then, religious about not missing a session. 

You recommended Carter do the same, but she’d just brush you off with a teasing, “nah I don’t need all that, I’m supposed to be the normal one, remember?”

Taking the hint, you stopped bringing it up after a few months. But now, with Carter’s tears pooling on the floor of this Airbnb, you wished more than ever that she’d listened to you.

“Well, that’s okay,” you gently brushed the hair from her shoulder. “It’s okay not to be okay.”

Carter laid her head on your criss-crossed lap and let the tears fall harder. You rubbed her back and continued to reassure her all was going to be okay, waiting until the tears began to slow and her breathing steadied to broach the subject again.

“Do you want to…” you swallowed, preparing for her to brush you off again, “do you want to talk about it?”

She was quiet for a long moment, you sighed in acceptance that she would pick the ignoring you route this time. 

Then, in a small, feeble voice, she whispered, “it’s too scary.”

“What is?” You whispered back, hand resting on her arm for comfort, praying she wouldn’t get spooked and would keep talking. 

“Loving him,” she confessed.

Your heart nearly burst. You didn’t need to ask who she was talking about.

“Topper, you mean?” you responded.

She nodded slowly, “it was easier when I didn’t love him. I’m supposed to be leaving in a week. I’m supposed to be on to my next big thing, and all I can think about is what the best time to facetime him is if I’m six hours ahead. I should be thinking about me, but all I want is him, and that’s fucking terrifying.”

The thought sent her into another round of sobs, tears soaking the skirt of your dress. 

“I know it feels scary, and new,” you tiptoed to your point, “but…have you ever really not loved him?”

She thought over your words, but the alcohol and drama of the evening was starting to pull her into a restless sleep.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she mumbled, half-asleep already. “So much.”

“Let’s just get you into bed, yeah?” You said, pulling her up off the floor. “We can talk tomorrow.”

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In the darkness of Carter’s room, your phone lit up on the nightstand.

You pulled your arm from under her slowly, praying not to wake her up now that she was finally snoozing peacefully, though her deep snores were occasionally interrupted by shaky breaths, the aftershocks of her sobs. You’d gotten both of you changed and into bed with some difficulty, a strategically placed trash can next to her side of the bed just in case. You reached over to check your phone, turning the brightness down so as not to disturb her.

You had a text from a number that wasn’t saved in your phone, starting with the same 252 area code as yours. You didn’t need to ask “who’s this?” because you’d know that seven digit combination on your deathbed. Deleting his contact from your phone had really been more of a cathartic exercise than anything else.

‘She asleep yet?’ 

‘I think so but it’s been rough, what about Top?’

‘Same, but he’s out like a light now…and snoring like a jet engine.’

You stifled your laugh so Carter wouldn’t hear, keeping your movements slow as you climbed out of her bed and padded towards the door. Wincing at the squeak of the door hinge, you pulled it slowly closed until the handle clicked. 

Down the hall, the same click sounded from Topper’s door. Rafe stood with his hand on the doorknob, listening for any signs that his exit woke the sleeper inside.

His eyes flashed up to meet yours, and you shared a knowing, nervous smile. You each walked a few steps towards the other, Rafe immediately picking up on the water pooling in your eyes. You’d held it together up until now for Carter’s sake, wanting to be strong for her like she’d always been for you, but now the heartbreak of seeing her so upset was finally settling in.

“Hey, hey,” Rafe whispered, lengthening his strides to close the gap between you faster. “What’s wrong?” 

He ducked to search your face for a second, your small sniffles breaking his heart. When a tear slipped from the corner of your eye, he pulled you in by your shoulders, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. You let your arms circle his waist, not taking the time to worry if this was strange or if you were okay being this vulnerable with him, just reveling in the comforting smell of him and the rise and fall of his sturdy chest under his t-shirt.

A few more tears slipped out, but with his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back while you breathed him in, your sadness faded slowly into a calm reassurance.

“You good?” He whispered, his chin resting on the top of your head.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, arms still wrapped around his torso.

“I just didn’t know she was so sad,” you explained, your lip trembling slightly at the thought of your sister, with all her strength and tenacity, slumped over on the bathroom floor. “I should’ve been paying closer attention. I came on this trip for her and all I’ve been doing is thinking about myself. I’m so selfish.”

That thought caused more tears to roll down your cheeks. Rafe placed a palm on either side of your face, his thumbs reaching out to swipe away the salty drops.

“You,” he said firmly, his voice just above a whisper now, more concerned with making sure you heard what he had to say than making sure not to wake anyone, “are not selfish.”

Once your tears were dried, he lifted your face towards him so he could look in your eyes. You ever-so-slightly nuzzled your head into his palm, wondering if he could even feel the gentle way you were surrendering to him. His soft grin told you he could.

“He’s a mess, too,” he nodded back toward Topper’s door.

“I love them, but those two are exhausting,” you chuckled softly. 

Even as the conversation lightened up, his hands didn’t fall from your face, and your arms stayed firmly in place around him, just holding each other as you whisper-laughed about the antics of the whole group this evening.

“Sabrina said you had to chase Kelce half a block,” you giggled, and he’d never felt so relieved to see someone’s tears give way to laughter. “Your dad instincts really kicked in there, huh?”

“I don’t know,” he smiled, his eyes creasing with the upward tick of his lips, “the way you basically parted the crowd to get to Carter? Topper might have competition for house mother. Maybe we’re the real mom and dad.”

You snorted at that.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you blinked back, “just funny that you’re already talking about being parents when you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

Rafe nodded, tongue darting out to lick his lips, feigning seriousness, “you’re so right. We should probably do something about that.”

“You should probably do something about that,” you taunted.

His persona cracked and he laughed, eyebrows raised.

“Oh yeah? Should I?”

You nodded, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling at him as he leaned forward, eager to recapture the moment that had been so unceremoniously stolen from you a few hours ago.

Just before your lips touched, a vile retching noise came echoing down the hall from Topper’s room. He was vomiting again, and the romance was zapped from the air.

Your head fell back in frustration, groaning.

“You wanna go for a drive?” Rafe offered, hand sliding down your arm to find yours, fingers lacing together like they belonged there.

You nodded quickly, a smile replacing your annoyed frown. He led you down the stairs fast and you padded behind excitedly, giggling at his speed and urgency. 

“Shit,” he paused before reaching into the bowl on the kitchen counter where everyone was keeping their keys. “I forgot Sabrina blocked me in.”

“We’ll take Carter’s jeep,” you offered, fishing around the bowl until you found her fuzzy pink keychain. “She parked on the road.”

“She won’t mind?” He asked.

“I have a feeling she’s gonna be out for a long time,” you pointed out. “I’m driving though.”

“Just like old times,” he grinned, your heart doing cartwheels at the memory.

Fingers intertwined, you let him pull you away from the house, and the risk of any more interruptions.

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The sky glowed with that pre-sunrise blue fog, turning the world around you into a collection of navy silhouettes. The only shape you cared about seeing was the faded profile of the man in the passenger seat next to you.

Though the air still held the chilly nip of dawn, it was warm enough to roll the windows down, which was always your preference. Your hair whipped around you in a frenzy of wind. You could feel his eyes on you as you drove, but you didn’t look back, suddenly filled with nerves, butterflies crowding your stomach and doubt flooding your mind. You just kept driving, suddenly terrified of what would happen when you stopped.

After a few minutes of unreturned eye contact, Rafe finally tore his gaze away from you, poking around Carter’s car to have something to do with his hands. He opened the glove box, and the middle console, fidgeting with every little button and knick-knack he could find.

You smirked at his restlessness and kept driving straight, not entirely sure where you were going. Rafe opened the sun visor above him, gasping at what he found.

“No fucking way,” he laughed with a disbelieving shake of his head, “Carter has CDs? Still?”

He pulled the sleeve of CDs from the visor’s clip, inspecting them closer. 

“Wait,” a slow smile bloomed on his face as he observed knowingly, “these are yours.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because they’re the same ones you had in your car in high school.”

“Didn’t think you’d remember,” you scoffed.

“I remember everything about you,” he said, like it was the most obvious and casual admission anyone had ever made.

Even with the cool morning air blowing in through the window, the car suddenly felt too hot. Too hot and too small. Your chest and neck bloomed with a nervous blush as your breath quickened. How were you supposed to respond to that? 

Rafe kept sorting through the CDs, nodding at each one in recognition, leaning back in his seat as if he hadn’t just dropped an atomic bomb into the conversation.

You needed to fill the silence before he noticed the tornado of anxious thoughts tearing through your mind. 

“You gonna pick one?” You urged him, eager for the sound of familiar music to erase his words that hung in the air between you.

He finally made it to the back of the plastic sleeve, to a familiar silver disc decorated in sharpie in your handwriting; your favorite homemade mix that you’d played every single day from ages fifteen to seventeen.

You’d titled it “car mix,” though a more accurate title would be “Rafe’s mix.”

Sometime during your freshman year, you’d spent a whole day sitting in front of your computer, meticulously sorting through songs that made you think of him, or that you wanted him to listen to, hoping he would hear them and finally understand you somehow. It was a love letter without words, and he’d heard it a thousand times, but you doubted he ever really listened. Par for the course.

“I think that one got scratched,” you tried to discourage him from playing it, the flashback to your desperate, lovestruck younger self a little too much to handle at five a.m.

Rafe turned it over in his hands, inspecting it for those so-called scratches, finding nothing satisfying.

“Looks good to me,” he disagreed, popping it into the CD player and beaming bright as the first song began to play through the speakers.

“Oh my god,” he laughed, “it’s like we’re in a time machine.”

You agreed, the familiar opening notes of the first song you’d picked for him sent you flying back in time, to a girl you thought was long dead, and the boy next to her, whom she’d loved to her grave.

Chills shot up your spine, a warning shot before the tears that were beginning to gather on your lash line. You pulled the car quickly to the side of the road, sand flying up with the screech of the tires. You realized then that you’d somehow found your way to the public beach, the parking lot empty and sandy shore free of any sunbathers or surfers.

Rafe turned the music down, looking at you quizzically as your foot slammed on the break. Before he could ask what was going on, you were pulling the keys from the ignition and throwing off your seatbelt, hopping down from the driver’s seat and slamming the door behind you. He scrambled for his door handle as you started walking quickly toward the water and away from him.

The salty air was so thick you could taste droplets of seawater on your lips before you were even halfway to the shore. The waves crashed violently, remnants of the week’s storms throwing the water back and forth until it was foaming and angry.

Angry. You were as angry as the sea, sand kicking up with each stomp of your foot as you hurried as far away from him as you could possibly get. His long legs were already catching him up to you as he chased you down, calling your name.

Despite your efforts to outpace him, you could feel him gaining on you, nearly at your heel by the time your toes touched the water’s edge. Flight would not be an option, it was time for a fight.

“You remember everything?” You whipped toward him, nearly knocking him over with the force of the glare that met him. You stalked toward him, catching the way he backed up just a step before squaring his shoulders and planting himself until you were nearly chest to chest. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that, Rafe?”

“What are you talking about?” He asked desperately, scrambling from the whiplash of your sudden outburst. “What the hell just happened?”

He was genuinely so clueless as to the reason for your sudden shift in mood, reeling like he was mentally still back in the car listening to music, eyes scanning your face as he tried desperately to catch up. You almost took pity on him. Almost.

“I can’t,” a lump lodged itself into your throat and you bit your lip for a second to hold it down, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“What? Can’t do what?” He begged for clarity.

You just shook your head, a final plea to your own tears not to fall in front of him, but they betrayed you, one single drop slipping down your face. You turned from him quickly as a final ditch ending to hide them from him, and stepped away further down the beach.

“No, no wait, please wait,” with two easy strides he was close enough to touch you, wrapping his hand around your wrist to turn you toward him. “Don’t do this to me. You said you’d remember the alleyway, we were so close. We are so close.”

“Are we?” You challenged him. “If we’re so close then why can’t I even ride in the car with you without feeling like I can’t breathe? You don’t get it, Rafe. You don’t understand that every memory feels like a fucking sucker punch.”

“Then let’s not focus on the memories,” he suggested, “I just want to be with you right now.”

“Why now?” You burst out, another tear breaking through the barricade and sliding traitorously down your cheek. “Why not then?”

They were the two questions that plagued you since you saw him on the beach. You felt you knew the reason. You looked different, he was attracted to this version of you. Even though it would hurt like a bitch, you really wished he would just admit it, that he only wanted you because of how you look now, so you could finally just hate him and move on.

Instead, he continued his time honored tradition of giving you the exact opposite of what you wanted.

He looked straight at you, no waiver in his voice as he said, “because I wasn’t ready for you. I wasn’t good enough.”

It was the perfect answer, and your worst case scenario. Heartfelt, honest, a hot knife to the wall of ice you’d worked so hard to build between you and him. As he’d done so many times before, Rafe melted you.

Soft eyes, you tilted your head as you studied him, “and you are now?”

“No,” his laugh surprised you, scoffing as if it was the most ridiculous question in the world. “But I’m smarter. Smart enough to know that I’ll never be good enough for you. Who could be?”

The last chips of ice melted away entirely at those words, the image of his sweet smile when he said them etched itself on your heart in a way you knew was completely permanent. 

As so often happened when you were at a crossroads with your own mind, you heard Carter’s voice ringing through your thoughts. Though this time, it wasn’t a quippy comment about Rafe, or a catchy mantra to encourage you to hold your head high. Instead, you heard her weak, cracked voice as she cried on the bathroom floor just hours ago; “it’s too scary.” 

Suddenly, you knew exactly what she meant.

Your every instinct was to pull away from him, hide away the vulnerable thought to avoid any risk of him making it worse. But as he looked down at you, the first traces of sunrise streaking across the horizon, casting a gold-pink glow on his cheekbones, something in the back of your mind was saying you could trust him.

“I’m scared,” you all but whispered.

Rafe lifted his hand slowly, as if you were an elusive, wild thing that would run off at any sudden movement. When you didn’t flee, he took the chance to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, voice dropping low as he said, “I know.”

“How am I supposed to know you won’t hurt me?” 

Your deepest fears continued to flow out of you, into his waiting hands, praying he wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers.

“I don’t think you will until you give me a chance to prove it to you,” he countered.

You knew he was right. Holding him at arm’s length would never get you the answers you needed from him. You’d never know if he had really changed unless you got close enough to relearn him, and you’d never know how he really felt about you unless you gave him a second chance to show you. You aren’t generally opposed to second chances, more likely to give them out then, say, your sister is.

“You know what Carter would say?” You chuckled darkly, unable to detangle your sister’s voice from your own conscience even if you wanted to. “That you don’t deserve any more chances.”

“That might be the first thing I’ve ever agreed with her on,” Rafe was quick to acknowledge. “But you know what else she’d say?”

“What?” You asked with raised brows, skeptical that he had any clue what Carter would actually say, and knowing she would hate that he was claiming to.

“That you deserve a chance.”

Funny thing is, that’s exactly what Carter would say. She didn’t really know how badly you wanted him, that you were starting to suspect you might just be happiest when you’re with him, but she always encouraged you to do what made you happy, even when it was something she didn’t understand.

“And if I’m what you want then I just happen to be the luckiest idiot in the world, because I want you too. You have no idea how badly.”

The tide was coming in, the very edge of each wave nipping at your toes before being pulled back out to sea. Rafe’s confession made you feel so unsteady, you wondered if you’d crumble and get pulled out right with it. Your mind reached for anything to ground you before you drowned in him completely.

“Why?” You asked him, needing his answer like a port in the storm.

“Why?” He repeated, either confused by the question or by the need for it. Somehow, both possibilities annoyed you.

“Yeah, tell me why you want me,” you placed your hands on your hips, shoulders squaring up with him in challenge. “And you’re not allowed to use the word beautiful, or cute, or call me baby.”

“This kinda feels like a test,” he laughed, scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah? Maybe it is,” you huffed. “And this time there’s no cheating, no open book. And no me to slip you the answers.”

“Can I get a few minutes to review my notes?” His cheeky pout was so cute you worried you were about to fold right there on the spot.

“Fine,” you allowed, “you get one minute to think about it.”

He feigned worry, faked stress, biting his thumbnail and looking out over the waves as if he actually had to think it over.

In reality, he was more prepared for this test than any he’d ever taken in his life. He’d spent years thinking about this moment, about what he would say, what he could say that would possibly be enough. 

While you waited for him to speak, you mirrored his stance, facing the water with your hands wrapped around you.

Rafe turned his head slightly to take in your profile, the sliver of daylight creeping over the horizon making your features glow so romantically.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you tried to focus on the count in your head, dutifully keeping track of the seconds until his allotted prep time was up.

Evidently, he didn’t need a timer, his voice broke the silence before you had even gotten to forty-five.

“Y’know, I got a walk-on tryout invite for baseball at Chapel Hill,” he started. 

You resisted the urge to look at him or respond, despite your mind racing to connect the dots between that statement and the challenge of explaining why he wants you.

“I was…so shitty,” he laughed at the memory, “I mean just awful. Striking out in the cage, my fielding was all over the place, I dropped a fucking pop fly. I’ve made that play a thousand times and the one time it counted, I dropped it. I mean, you wouldn’t have even recognized me out there. And the best part was that my dad came to watch. He bribed an old alum buddy to get him into closed tryouts just to watch me absolutely shit the bed.”

His smile faded.

“It was the worst day of my life. The coaches didn’t even call me themselves, they sent me an automated email to tell me I didn’t make the team. They were nice enough to send me some film from the tryout, though. I must’ve watched it a hundred times. I was spiraling like a bitch, just full on meltdown. I watched that film over and over, like some kind of torture. When I watched it, I just kept wondering how that guy could’ve ever been considered good.”

He turned to you, looking down at you intensely, hesitating for the first time since he started talking.

“I know I fumbled you. I knew it from the second it happened. And,” he swallowed hard, struggling with the next part. “I knew you were in love with me.”

Your head snapped to the side to look at him, face beat red.

“I was an idiot, but I wasn’t blind,” he continued before you could interject a defense. “The problem was never that I didn’t know, it was that I didn’t know why. But the way you looked at me, I don’t know, it made me feel like I must be like, somewhat good. Why else would you care about me if I wasn’t? But then when I was fucking rotting in my dorm watching that film over and over it dawned on me…you didn’t love me because I was good. I was good because you loved me.” 

Breath escaped you, eyes glossy as you let those beautiful words sink in, but he wasn’t done.

“I thought it was just a lucky break that I got you for four years. And of course I fucked it up, I fuck everything up. After those tryouts, I had nothing, no one. I failed my classes, dropped out of rushing a frat, I stopped talking to everyone. Shit, even my sisters were calling me to see if I was okay. I got it together eventually, kind of, but it’s never been the same. I have never been the same…since you. But then I saw you on the beach the other day, and it kind of hit me. The biggest loss wasn’t your love for me, or my fielding skills, or the bullshit frat parties. It was my best friend. You were my best friend. You were - you are - my favorite fucking person. When all that shit happened, you were the only one I wanted to talk to, and I couldn’t, I didn’t deserve to. But god, I’d give anything, anything, to have my best friend back. You don’t have to…be with me. I understand if you don’t want to. But please, can we just be friends again?”

You blinked up at him as he finished his monologue, all his words swirling around your head like cartoon birds, dizzying and all consuming. You wished it really was a test, cause then you’d have a printed copy that you could study and analyze and go over and over with different colored highlighters.

But it wasn’t a test. It wasn’t a metaphor. It was just you and the boy you love standing on the beach at sunrise, looking at each other like you were the only two people on earth.

“No.” You said, shaking your head.

His eyes blinked rapidly, trying and failing to hold back his emotion. Before he could spiral any further, you added,

“I don’t wanna be friends.”

His eyes flicked over yours for just a second, double checking, asking you silently if that meant what he thought it did. You gave him the slightest nod, as if to finally say “yes, Rafe.”

Rafe’s hands landed firm but gentle on either side of your face, pulling you towards him. Your lips met in a symphony of passion and affection and need and a mutual sigh of fucking finally.

He tasted better than you’d ever imagined, a sweet rush to your head as his tongue parted your lips slightly. He pulled back just an inch to let his uncontrollable smile break against yours, laughing into each other’s mouths in disbelief and pure, unadulterated joy. Once he was satisfied that you understood how happy he was, he pulled you back in. 

If the first kiss was a spark, the second kiss was a goddamn explosion. He kissed you like the tide kisses the shore in a hurricane, his tsunami waves crashing into you over and over again. His tongue took over, claiming you, taking up space in your mouth like he never planned to leave. His hands drifted, one to the back of your head, laced in your hair, the other on the small of your back, holding you against himself. Your hands snaked up his arms, savoring every inch of him until you reached his shoulders. You linked your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you as you stood on your tiptoes to meet him, finding middle ground for the first time in your lives.

After a while, your lips parted, both of you desperate for breath, the lack of oxygen dizzying.

“So,” he smiled, hand still cradling your head and his thumb sweeping over your bottom lip, “did I pass?”

“Hmm,” you pretended to consider it, “A minus.”

“What? You must be grading on a curve,” he shook his head.

“Maybe you could do some extra credit,” you flirted.

With a sly smile at that, he returned his lips to yours, and you forgot a time when you didn’t know what it was like to kiss him.

Time passed, the sun rose, night bloomed into morning, and Rafe kissed you for what could’ve been a lifetime. With each minute that passed with his lips on yours, you felt all the bad memories fade to gray, the past washing away with the crash of the waves, leaving only him. 

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

Carter’s Jeep sat parked on the side of the road, the interior dark in the early morning light, except for the phones buzzing uncontrollably on each seat.

On the passenger's side, Rafe’s phone blew up with texts from Topper. The most recent reading ‘dude, we’ve got trouble at the house…’

On the driver’s seat, yours lit up with twelve missed calls and a single text from Carter,

‘Don’t come back.’

(to be continued)

a/n: sorry for any taglist errors, to be the first to know when I post, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

[nthflower]

Life is unfair, kill yourself or get over it

Life is unfair, kill yourself or get over it

This made them banned in England radio so funny I absolutely not agree or find something deep here but I can't get this two lines out of my mind.

Like always in repeat but because of melody I didn't even give attention to meaning untill now I was sending myself secretly subconscious toxic massages all time.

[st-dionysus]

(The Poem is named) Emetophobia CW

It’s 2024 and I’m in a 20 year old drag bar, watching the very first trans-masculine performer to compete on their stage, he gets second place even though he deserved first.

I show up to the men’s bathhouse on trans night to get free entry and get turned away at the door, and told it’s for transgirls only, bitch you could have put it on the flyer that transmen need not apply.

I’m doing a line of ketamine off the table, calling it stealing transfem valor.

I get banned from the camsite for listing myself as transgender when I don’t have a dick, I complain online and get told that the trans-masculine body is to grotesque to be fetishized and I should be grateful.

I wear a packer and hitch up a skirt, walk the street, get $20, calling it stealing transfem valor.

Cissie puts a TW #body-mutilation tag under my thirst trap. Tranny puts a TW #dysphoria tag under my thirst trap.

T-girl with a callout post pedojackets me, Enby with TME in bio pedojackets me, T-boy with a self-deprecating joke about men in his bio pedojackets me.

I do another line of ketamine off the table, calling it stealing transfem valor.

I am at the woman’s clinic, I am at the woman’s clinic, I am at the woman’s clinic wearing a mask – not cause I’m compromised (I am), just to hide my beard – avoiding making everyone uncomfortable.

I am getting re-diagnosed with BPD, which just means I have bitch disorder and no one trusts me.

I take my pills and throw them up. I drink my liquor before the beer and throw them up.

I am just 14 when the picture and videos go up. Remind me that I have it easy, they were only pictures and videos.

I am just 17 when the recording of my proof stops before it happens, my phone memory is full, I’m called a liar and now I can’t see buttered crackers, thanksgiving, or sriracha sauce without wanting to kill myself.

No one gets me therapy, but they still want to convert me, she puts her hands down my pants, at least I’m 19, to remind me I’m a woman – tell me how they love trans men again.

I do a third line of ketamine off the table, realize it doesn’t effect me, calling it stealing transfem valor.

I call myself a dog, I start biting my lovers and I have to hold back from ripping out a chunk of flesh, I don’t think I’d throw it up.

I am reading the statistics, 40% of BPD patients try and kill themselves. 1 in 2 transgender men try and kill themselves. I’m one of them. I’m 12 and I swallowed all the pills. I’m 14 and the gun is empty. I’m 17 and I put the box-opener against my throat. Therapist calls me a liar, there is no scar, and my words don’t count for anything.

I’m using he/him pronouns for Stormé DeLarverie, like the stonewall veteran association said to, and telling you he started the riot, calling it stealing transfem valor from a woman who told you she didn’t fucking do it.

I’m shoving my fingers down my throat in a fit of mania, convinced I can vomit up my uterus. She tells me I should be grateful, she’d do anything to be able to get pregnant.

My brother in the struggle gets bottom surgery without top, calling it stealing transfem valor to feel comfortable in his body.

It’s 2024 and I’m at trans pride, the announcers tells everyone to give a round of applause for trans woman, a round of applause for gender-queers, a round of applause for transfems, a round of applause for the enbies, a round of applause for trans-masculine people. You forgot someone. Did you know a trans man started the first ever transgender pride parade?

A book on queer history talks about gay men and lesbians and trans women and the women who dressed as men for better job opportunities. I’m reminded that my invisibility is a privilege, if you aren’t seen you don’t get bashed.

I’m 13 and they throw me in the girls bathroom, pin me down, beat me, and in black sharpie write “dyke”, write “tranny”, write “lesbo”, and pull my hair out the cap I shoved it in.

I’m 19 with D cups that a binder can’t hide and a beard I refuse to shave less I break the mirror and kill myself with the shards of glass I would swallow.

Man at the bus stop calls me tranny and tells me I’ll never be a woman. I’d laugh if he didn’t have his hand on my throat. Calling it stealing transfem valor.

I’m 21 and have to pull a taser on him, cause from the back, even with short hair and top surgery, I look rape-able.

I’m 23 and in the gay district when they chase me down the street, calling me faggot.

Make another forcemasc post, calling it stealing transfem valor.

Read an article about a trans man prostitute that kills himself and ends up another female statistic.

Read an article about a trans man shooter, they blame the HRT he didn’t have access too.

Going to read a callout about me, five pages on Google Docs, does this post make it on the list?

Do a final line of ketamine, write the final line of a poem that makes me want to die, calling it stealing transfem valor.

I puke and miss the toilet.

[jymwahuwu]

BARKINGN WOOF WOOWF DOES HE LIKE DOGS?? I CAN BARK!! GOOD HEAVENS MR. RECA. MISTER MISTER!! HELLOOO SAILORRRR!!

cough cough, my apologies for that outburst but here are my thinking thoughts on Mr. Reca..

Thinking of him holding you in a headlock to make sure the camera could capture your face. Maybe press down on your tongue with some of his fingers so the camera can capture those lil mewls and such.

He loves to keep going until he sees that doe-eyed blank stare you get whenever he goes too far. Face tear-stained while you drool mindlessly against his fingers. In fact, he always tries to get that one clip in whenever he wants to record(which is always.)

Bondage but it's him tying you up with old film from your previous commercial/scenes of you in other movies. Just so he can see the before and after his special films. He loves you dearly, look at how footage he kept of you from your previous acts!!

(Also on a more romantic topic, thinking him of making roses out of his favorite film tapes of you on the first date. You don't know because it's pitch black but they're actually from the films that you have acted as a romantic love interest. He's very sweet..when he's not insane me think.)

I passed out…Mr. Reca…his movie-related kink, and the way he expressed his love…😩💖💖💖

cw: yandere, dub-con, obsession, humiliation, oral sex, ooc because the official plot has not been released yet

Headlock may be a little rough, but that's the way to get your face on camera! He enjoys making low-budget movies for his own entertainment, without any regard for commerce but only his art and desires. The camera is right in front of you. Are you a little too shy? His arms were draped across your neck, holding your face in place as you bounced on his cock. Now you can't avoid the camera no matter what. He presses his thumb against your tongue as you swallow those sobs. No reason to hide them!

Mr. Reca doesn't show restraint. He pushes you to your limits to see how far you can go. Disappointing that you only need 5-6 orgasms to be brainless. The dazed look on your face is priceless (eyes melting out of focus, tears all over your face, and trembling legs. No quick reaction, just a subconscious whimper as your lips wrap around the cock). He often fails to part with these precious films and adds plots that have no obvious connection. In a movie about human loneliness in the universe, the scene of your orgasm is played. This is what happens at film festivals and cinemas. Anyway, if the audience complains, he will say it is a montage.

He keeps every movie that includes you. Those are his treasures. Even with the technology here, he still keeps these physical movie discs in his collection box. There are handwritten marks on it, such as: "1:15:32 blowjob part", "A must-see during the holidays", "3 hours without breaks version" and so on.

This stems from Mr. Reca's romantic moment. He created a CD collection of movies about you, decorated with fresh flowers and a cosmic gemstone.

Tucked inside is a card:

"To my favorite actor, legend, and sun. (Beautiful cursive writing, but at the last word, the person who wrote it seemed a little emotional, and the ink melted) Only when the sun shines on him, the moon will glow.”

[rebelfell]

Who, me? Done with them? Where the fuck did you hear that? 18+ MDNI 2.4K

older!fem!Harrington!reader x eddie

cw: none except for actual, despicable, disgusting, nauseating fluff to make up for all some of the angst 💋

continued from here, index here

When Eddie comes to your house that night, he looks around it with wide, entranced eyes.

He only saw it when it was bare bones—plain white paint and dusty floors scattered with boxes. Now it was bursting with color and personality, shelves lined with your books, walls adorned with art and posters. A little calendar in your kitchen scribbled with various activities and reminders. Dishes from your breakfast still in the sink. Plants in just about every window, some of them with small tchotchkes hidden in the pots—figurines you’d picked up at yard sales or found randomly.

Your couch is velvet, a deep green that makes your throw pillows seem even brighter. There’s a thick knit blanket strewn across the chaise end of it and an intimidatingly long book lying out on your coffee table. It’s much nicer than the one he broke—a piece of wood shaped into an octagon with a dark gold grain polished to perfection.

In the right light, he can still see the faint white line of his scar across the center of his palm.

He finds your record player and starts flipping through your albums he only saw a small portion of that summer, most of them stashed away in the garage with the rest of your stuff. 

And while he was looking at your stuff, you just looked at him.

It was impossible to believe he was actually standing in front of you. Like a dream come to life, a vision in a hunter green dress shirt tucked into black slacks. He had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and he’d only buttoned the shirt half-way to show off the white tank underneath, the tattoos over his collarbone peeking out from underneath the skinny straps.

You watch him as he moves on to your mantle, looking over a little altar of all things you. 

Seashells from a trip you took to Marco Island years ago. Vintage crystal candy dishes with lids repurposed into candles. A bowl of matchbooks from different clubs and restaurants. Pictures of you and your friends with your faces squished together in mis-matched frames.

And down at the very end, a copy of your book. 

Eddie picks it up and turns it over in his hands, running his fingers over the cover and the spine where your name is embossed.

“You can have that, if you want,” you tell him. “I’d love for you to read it.”

He smiles and places the book back down, eyes twinkling. “I already have,” he says.

Your brow wrinkles instantly and you’re about to ask him how that was even possible, but Eddie is already offering an explanation. Apparently, right around the time he was starting his company, Viv brought him out to do a consultation…and just so happened to leave a copy of it laying out.

You shake your head and chuckle softly, recalling a Christmas in Hawkins that you found Corroded Coffin’s self-released album in your stocking.

Eddie turns toward you and his eyes land on the staircase that leads up to your bedroom.

He feels that old impulse—that ancient craving in him that laid dormant for so many years, now urging his hands to reach out and grab you and bend you backwards until your spine is folded in half he’s kissing you so hard. Your own smile spreads across your face when he looks back to you, but there’s a tightness to it. Almost like you’re wondering what he’s going to do.

Like you’re imagining the same things he is.

He doesn’t do them, though. Because he doesn’t want it to be like that this time. He has so many other things he wants to do first.

All the things he never got to before.

A slow exhale leaves your chest, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and he glances at the clock hanging over your fireplace, tilting his head at you in a question,

“You wanna go see a movie?”

It’s no Starcourt Mall, but the discount theater you take him to is only a ten minute walk from your house. You go there some evenings after dinner without even checking what is playing. They never have new releases, just stuff that’s a few months old by the time they get it, nearly ready to come out on video. And sometimes they show the really old black and white ones.

Eddie buys two tickets for the next show and holds the door open for you to walk inside. You pause in the lobby, letting the smell of popcorn imbue your senses, looking around at the scant number of other people milling about. He lets the tips of his fingers trail down the inside of your arm and wrist to lace his hand with yours, giving it a squeeze as he nods at concessions.

“You like Red Vines?” he asks with a smile.

It’s a good thing the movie isn’t anything of note, because it’s near impossible to concentrate with Eddie sitting next to you. You plop down in a pair of seats towards the back in the center of the row, you with the candy and a drink while Eddie holds the popcorn—only $3 for a giant ass tub, how do they even make a profit? he asks excitedly, his eyes so wide that it makes you giggle.

Then he asks you to hold it for him while he digs in his pocket for his glasses.

”Don’t laugh,” he warns, tipping his head down and squinting at you playfully over the frames. 

Yeeeeah, laughing is not gonna be the issue. If the slightly scruffy beard wasn’t enough to send you into overdrive, the wire-rimmed glasses he perches on his nose sure as shit were.

The fourth or fifth time you catch yourself staring, at him, he catches you too. He fights back a smile while lightly brushing his fingers over his chin and cheeks, then leans over the armrest to whisper to you, even though there’s no one in the theater sitting close enough for you to bother them.

“Did I get it?” he asks, brows raising.

“Huh?” You blink rapidly, coming out of your daze.

“You’re staring at me so hard, I thought I must have something on my face.”

His lips curl upwards in that familiar cocky smirk of his and you roll your eyes, plucking a piece of popcorn from the bucket to throw at him. Already laughing, anticipating the move, his mouth opens wide and his jaw snaps closed as he catches it easily, still grinning as he chomps. It earns him the prize that is your laughter—the sound of it warming his chest from the inside out.

You hold hands the whole walk back to your house, only letting go once when he moves his to the small of your back and guides you in front of him so you don’t walk through a puddle.

And far too soon, you’re standing at your door. And he’s swallowing hard, throat bobbing as he shifts closer until the tips of his shoes bump with yours. And your heart is pounding, rattling all your organs as he looks up at you through his lashes.

“So, I should…go?”

His voice goes up at the end, making ita question.

“I guess so?” You shrug, chewing on your lip as you glance at your door. He nods.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispers, the short stubble on his jaw rubbing your cheek as he drops a too-brief kiss on the side of your face, lingering there to add, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

You take a deep inhale of his scent. It’s lighter one than the woodsy cologne he used to wear. More mellow and earthy, like sage and sea salt.

Heaven.

The two of you step apart and he stays on the porch, waiting until you’ve unlocked the door and safely slipped back inside the house before he dares turn to leave. You place your keys in their spot on the hook by your door. Same as you always do. You step out of your shoes and slide them under the little bench where the rest of them reside. Same as you always do.

And then suddenly, you stop. Because what the fuck do you think you’re doing letting him leave?

You yank open the front door to find him standing there holding the screen door, his chest heaving from running back up the walkway and steps.

For a moment you just stare at one another, all your memories rushing back at once. A haze of summer heat, sunscreen and chlorine. Fresh grass clippings and perennials in bloom, messy sheets and sticky skin on sticky skin. Moonlight reflecting on the lake, thunder booming and pouring rain. Burnished eyes in a darkened hallway, a whisper of please, please, please…

And like tectonic plates colliding, you crash.

His shirt barely makes it past the threshold, your fingers tugging apart the buttons to push it off his shoulders. He helps to pull it the rest of the way off and tosses it aside before his hands find your waist, guiding you backward towards the stairs, the both of you giggling in between feverish kisses as you try and climb them without separating your lips.

You stumble through the bedroom door, him clumsily kicking off his shoes while you slap at the light switch on the wall. The red scarf draped over the lamp on your bedside table casts a haze over the soft and warm glow of the bulb, making everything it touches a radiant scarlet.

He wraps his arms around you in a tight squeeze before his hands slide down to palm your ass, lifting the skirt of your dress with his grasp. Lips vibrating with the moan you release, you put your hands on his shoulders and guide him downward to sit on the end of your bed.

His knees spread and he pulls you in to stand between them, black eyes shining up at you.

“You’re so beautiful…” 

He whispers it, half to himself, his kisses being peppered along your collarbones as he tugs down the top of your dress. The air hits your breasts as they come spilling out of the bodice and his hands cup them gently as you come forward to straddle his lap. The breathy, stuttering groan he lets out as he feels your weight sink down on top of him instantly zings between your legs.

He mouths at your breasts, kissing over the top curves, burying his face in the middle of them. It makes you sigh, dreamily, as your fingers weave into his hair and you scrape your nails across his scalp until it makes him shiver under you.

He falls backward, bringing you with him as he’s engulfed in the softness of your unmade sheets. You place your hands at his pecks, ready to tear through his flimsy undershirt to feel the warmth of his bare skin on yours. Your hips buck, almost violently, starting a rough and needy grind on his cock, whimpering with each drag of your core against the growing bulge in his slacks.

“Hang on, wait—wait, wait, wait—”

Eddie gasps for air, panting heavily as he sits up, supporting you with his hands on your back. Your body stills, the grind ceasing instantly. Your hands at his chest, fingers still curved like claws.

“Are you okay?” you whisper. “Do you—do you not want to…”

Eddie shakes his head instantly, lips pressing to your forehead as he tries to catch his breath.

“No, I wanna do this, I do,” he breathes, “you have no idea how much, but…”

And those eyes. Those big, wet, round eyes of his scan your face as he dredges up the nerve to say the thought that’s been in his head for years.

Never knowing if he’d actually get to say it.

You swear you can feel how his heart races as you smooth your hands over his chest and draw them up to cup his neck. He reaches up to hold your face in his hands, and finally he says it.

“I don’t have it in me to get over you again.”

The words steal every speck of air in the room. You can’t even inhale because every atom in your body is frozen in place. You swear even the blood in your veins stops pumping for that moment.

And then you feel it. The rush of warmth in your extremities, tingling with realization.

You don’t want just one night with him. You don’t want just a few weeks of fun. You want to see him in every season—bundled up against the cold, his cheeks pink and snowflakes clinging to his bangs; wrapped in a flannel, raking umber colored leaves into a pile and then jumping into them; throwing his head back to catch raindrops on his tongue during an April shower, splashing in puddles.

You’ve been so distracted all night by how different he is now that you haven’t even thought about how much you’ve changed. Back then, you were so worried about what people would think—your coworkers, your boss, your family. Some people in a town you didn’t even live in.

You let all the bullshit win, you let it rob you of what could have been. Not again.

“I need to know…” He swallowed hard. “If you still want what I want.”

And you know you do. You know it down to your marrow, on a cellular level. But there’s a part of you that still wants to hear him say it.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you whisper, the words leading and heady.

“You.” He says it like it’s easy. Like it’s obvious. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

You nod back at him, licking your lips to stop their trembling. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

There’s a kind of peace to the moment that passes between you, a long exhale after a deep breath, a pause at the peak of a mountain where you look around breathless and winded at the majesty of the view. Your eyes scan over all the features of his face, all the details you’ve spent years trying to recall properly that are now before you in startling clarity. The faint dusting of light freckles across his nose, the natural texture of his skin, the fullness of his plush lips that are rosy red from your energetic kissing, his dense lashes that frame those twin black holes in his face.

Staring back at you like you’re the one who holds all the secrets of the universe.

“Then I…I think we should wait,” he says, smiling even though it seems as if it’s physically painful for him to say it. “I want—I have to do this right.”

You press your lips to his, your fingers curled loosely in the hairs at the nape of his neck. Not gripping—not clutching, not scared of losing him.

Just holding. 

He kisses you back and you giggle, feeling exactly how much his body wants to betray what he just said. You keep your face close as your smiles touch, noses bumping as you whisper,

“Do you want some ice cream?”

prev┃next

okay, okay, okay, now I’m really done. Or am I? Again, this is all y’all’s fault ‘cos you go and say nice things and that makes me think about them more and then THIS HAPPENS!

This song also has to shoulder some of the blame…

[atimeofyourlife]

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round: bakery au rated: t | wc: 840 | cw: none | tags: pre-steddie Eddie never got involved in the upside down, he and Steve meet again a few years later in a bakery in Chicago

The bakery was Steve's pride and joy. It was something that he had accomplished and built up by himself, without the input from his parents. No financial assistance from them, no help in learning how to manage a business. It had been a lot of trial and error, and incredible support from his friends, but he had succeeded. He'd brought the small unit in Chicago using most of the hush money payment over the Upside Down. It needed a lot of work doing to it before he was ready to open it, but once it was open it just took off. Constantly selling out of most of the bakes by lunchtime each day, having to take on extra staff to keep up with demand.

After nearly two years, he had a number of very loyal regulars, the ones who would come in at the same times and same days each week, always ordering the same things. The local workers that would always come in before work or on a morning break for a sweet treat everyday. The older couples that would come in twice a week, once for a dessert for their weekly date nights, and once for treats for their grandchildren. The college students that were adamant that Steve's pastries were infinitely better than the ones they could get on campus.

But the newest regular, one his staff had nicknamed 'Mr Metal,' Steve had yet to meet. From the name, Steve assumed that he worked in the new record store that had opened across the street, but the man always managed to be in and out while Steve was still working in the kitchen, setting up the next batch for the oven or decorating what had just finished cooling.

One Friday morning, he was carrying out the boxes ready to restock the counter, when he heard the voice of Zara, one of the cashiers.

"Uh, I'm not sure. Give me a minute, I'll just have to ask the boss."

"Ask me what?" Steve asked as he rounded the counter, the stack of boxes obscuring most of his vision.

"Please tell me that those boxes have lemon cream cheese pastries and apple pie cookies in them." She replied, sounding a little stressed.

"Yeah, lemon are in the top box, apple in the bottom." Steve replied as he put the boxes down on the side, and started unstacking them. He glanced up at the customer, a vaguely familiar, handsome man, and from the long hair, piercings, and the Black Sabbath t-shirt, this had to be the Mr Metal that all the staff kept mentioning. "How many of each did you want?"

"Two of each." The man replied, staring hard at Steve.

"Uh huh." Steve worked quickly to box them up. "Are you aware of our Friday five for four offer? Five bakes for the price of four, so you could get another of your choice at no extra cost."

"I get them for me and my coworkers, theres four of us so I don't think we can split a fifth four ways without fighting over who gets what."

"I can always bag it separately, so you can slip it in your pocket. They don't have to know a thing about it." Steve offered with a wink.

"You drive a hard bargain, Harrington. I'll take another apple pie cookie."

"I-" Steve looked at the man, confused. Unsure how he knew his name. "Did you go to Hawkins, then? I'm sorry, I don't think I remember you."

"You got a table round here? I could climb up and start talking about jocks and conformity." He looked Steve up and down. "Though, you don't seem to conform to the jock image any more, big boy."

It took another moment, but the name hit Steve as he was bagging the extra cookie. "Munson. Used to buy weed off you."

"I don't know if I should be honored that the king remembers me, or wounded that it took so long."

Steve rolled his eyes at the dramatics, it reminding him even more of high school. "I don't remember most people now, too many concussions."

"Shit. But now you're boss of a bakery. How life changes."

"Yeah. It only took three serious concussions, two major disasters in Hawkins, and one disownment after getting caught behind The Hideout with Matty P. But then I realized that this is what I want to be doing."

"What were you doing behind The Hideout with Matty P? Smoking weed or something? I know you never hid about that."

"We had been smoking, but at that point my mouth was, uh, otherwise occupied." Steve admitted.

"Oh, shit." Eddie choked back a laugh, then looked at his watch. "I'd love to hear more about that, but I've got to get back to work."

Steve quickly wrote his number on the bag with the extra cookie, before handing it over. "Call me sometime, maybe we could spend some time together outside of work."

"You're on, Harrington." Eddie winked at Steve, before leaving the bakery.

im not the happiest with the end of this bc it was rushed after my brain turned to mush from migraines

[pullhisteeth]

worry lines | eddie munson

requested here -`♡´- your ex turns up and Eddie gets jealous. idiots in love! 4.7k

cw !!! for a borderline abusive (ex-)boyfriend. 18+ please and thank you x

contains hurt/comfort, fluff, jealous!Eddie, fem!reader, conflict, shitty ex-boyfriend. everyone’s in their early 20s

-

He was cruel, Eddie knows that much. Cruel enough that it took weeks and lots of gentle handling to coax it out of you. 

You were a shell of yourself until you weren’t. Eddie doesn’t know the details, because who would he be to make you relive it if you didn’t want to? But he knows enough to sear a tar-black scorch mark in his gut, a branding, a fury reserved only for him.

And he’s perhaps a little oblivious to it, but Eddie’s patience never went unnoticed by you. The two of you might be like parallel lines - apparently doomed to just miss one another forever - but you’re still filled to the brim with giddy love for him. The fact he stuck around through it all only adds fuel to the fire. Something unruly burns behind your eyes every time you think about him.

“What about this one?”

You hold up a record and show him the front while you peer at the back. Eddie looks up from the stack he’s been flipping through for the past three minutes.

“Garbage,” he mutters, eyes back on his busy fingers. 

“What?!” you exclaim, mouth wide and attempting to hide a grin. You’re fighting him for fun, really; you’re already putting the record back where you found it. “It came out, like, a month ago! How’ve you heard it already?” 

“Gareth’s mom got it for him for his birthday,” he tells you without looking at you, side stepping only slightly to move onto the next box of albums. He’s close enough now that you could lean over and bump his shoulder with your own. You don’t.

You sigh, though it’s bright with amusement. You go back to your own shelf, eyeing up the scarce new releases stock that Trax only manages to update every few months.

“No shit,” you whisper, grabbing with greedy hands at the record you’ve spotted. You catch Eddie’s attention, his own hands stopping as he looks over. “I’ve been looking for this everywhere!”

He smiles, not because he likes the album - it’s The Cure, and they’re far too British, even for him - but because he likes your smile. Sometimes you make a face, with your mouth twisted to the right, because you’re holding it back. You told him once that you don’t like your smile very much, that it’s too wide, too toothy. He couldn’t disagree more, and when he catches you in these moments, the ones just before you realise you’re grinning and close your mouth, he cherishes it.

“You want it?” he asks, tone nothing but genuine.

“Fuck off, Eds,” you say anyway, still smiling. He’s lapping it up. “I can buy it myself now, don’t need your filthy drug money.”

He elbows you softly with an expression of faux offence. “Hey, y’didn’t mind my filthy money all those times it got you food at Benny’s.”

This makes you giggle, and Eddie is on cloud nine.

You tear your eyes away from the cover to meet his and he damn near keels over; it’s like a mallet on his temple, a slap across the cheek. He could look at your eyes forever and it’d never not hurt.

“Can I buy you one?” you ask him, adding “please?” when he gives you a look like he’s about to tell you no.

“Absolutely not,” he says, still grinning.

“But you’ve bought me so many!” You’re closer now, toe to toe with him, beaming back at him and gripping the record between clenched fingers. “I make my own money now. Consider it me payin’ you back, or at least starting to.”

“You don’t have to pay me back,” he mutters, “I like buyin’ you records. At least it meant you listened to somethin’ other than this shit.” He bumps the bottom of the cardboard sleeve with his fist.

“Hey,” you bite, pulling it out of his reach. “I like The Cure.”

“I know y’do, that’s the problem.”

You look at him for a beat, one so brief he only just gets a chance to take in your pensive face - adorable - before you scrunch your eyes and stick your tongue out at him.

“Suit yourself,” you say, turning on your heels and marching down the aisle, heading for the cash register.

He watches you cross the store, the way your walk shifts from comical to confident. This walk is familiar to him; it’s your I’m-nervous-because-I’m-in-public walk.

His eyes are still on you when you take your change from the girl behind the desk. He watches you pocket it, and catches your self-satisfied smile as you turn. And then he watches as it falters, and your face drains of colour, and he feels himself walking over to you before he has time to think about it.

You’re looking at the door, where the bell’s just chimed, and the bottom of your stomach’s fallen away. Heart in your throat, you stare blankly at the man who just walked in.

“Oh, hey,” he says, though he may as well be on the other side of the glass for the way he sounds so distant. He shakes snow off his hair and you feel the ghost of it between your fingers. “Fancy seein’ you here.”

You feel Eddie before you can muster up a response. He stands behind you, just close enough that, if you wanted to, you could reach behind and take his hand.

“Hey,” he says lowly, just by your ear, words for you alone. “Who’s this?”

There’s something simmering in his voice, something defensive. He knows.

“Uh, hi,” you squeak, fingers clutching the plastic bag you’re holding to keep them from shaking. “Hi- uh, Eds, this is, uh-”

“Tom,” the man says, sticking a gloved hand out to Eddie. You feel him shift slowly behind you; his eyes move between the back of your head and the man in front of you a few times before he returns the gesture.

He’s handsome, Eddie thinks. Better looking than he is, anyway. Cleaner, softer; none of the hard edges Eddie harbours that he doesn’t know you think are soft as anything.

“We used to go out,” you say quickly, before Tom tries to explain it himself and makes you feel smaller than you already do. You hope Eddie gets the hint.

He does. The burning in his gut flares and his hands clench into fists without him meaning them to.

“Eddie,” he states, sharp and blunt.

“We were just, uh- We’re headed out,” you say, and the way you’ve come over all nervous and quiet is almost enough to make Eddie’s heart split right down the middle. He hovers a hand over the small of your back and steps around you, around Tom, until you follow him.

“Well, see you around,” he says as the bell chimes again and Eddie damn near pulls you out into the snow.

The cold, damp flakes that land on your flushed cheeks are a sweet relief. So are Eddie’s hands, which wrap around yours to take the bag from you. He doesn’t miss how they shake.

“Fuck,” you breathe. The air escapes your lungs and doesn’t return for a second, long enough that you have to think to inhale. Eddie looks you over, desperate to pat you, fawn over you, kiss the snowflake off the bridge of your nose.

He opts for something safer. “You alright?”

The busy Indianapolis sidewalk doesn’t allow for too much fussing, and you’re quietly grateful for the bustling Saturday afternoon crowd pushing the two of you along and away from Trax.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, breathless again, trudging through stomped-over snow. “Just took me by surprise.”

“Yeah, no shit. When’d you last see him?”

“When I picked up my stuff from his place.”

“Shit.”

You walk aimlessly around the corner, until Eddie begins to lead the way. Wordlessly you follow him for six blocks, and think to yourself that maybe he’s getting you as far away as he can.

He knows a coffee place, apparently, one so much better than any of the ones around Trax that you know are just as good. He ushers you into the warmth and buys three pastries - one each and one to share - and you eat until you’re not thinking about Tom anymore.

-

Robin sidles into the booth beside you, the familiar shape of her slotting into your side without care. She nudges her hip into yours, a wordless signal for you to move around and make more space.

The six of you squeeze around the tiny table as Eddie and Steve place drinks down across it. Pints of beer, far too big glasses of wine and six sickly coloured shots decorate it and all of a sudden you’re counting to five and banging a tiny glass on the varnished wood.

It tastes of sour apple and coats your lips with a shiny, sugary lacquer. Eddie sits opposite you harbouring a fiery urge to lean over and kiss you clean.

You grin at him, missing the flicker of affection in his tipsy eyes, and lean into Robin, who takes a swig from one of the pint glasses.

“Rob!” Steve shouts, reaching over and grasping at the glass. “You asshole, that’s mine-”

“What’s yours is mine, dingus,” she slurs, her dopey smile met not by something frosty but by Steve’s own grin. The tenderness inside your stomach is just as sickly as the shot; you’re drunk on sugary liquor and an unbridled love for your friends.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The bickering stops as Eddie raises his glass from the table.

“A toast,” he says, “to the newly-weds.”

You grasp your own pint and raise it too, along with everyone else, as Nancy and Jonathan beam back at you. They’re the picture of happiness, her rosy cheeks blooming from joy and champagne, his smile so wide you’re scared he might split in two. Nancy’s so pretty in a simple, short dress, Mrs Wheeler’s pearls around her neck, and Jonathan looks so smart in his suit, fresh from the dry cleaners courtesy of Joyce. A long day of family celebrations ends here, in this bar on the east end of Indianapolis, four walls that have seen the six of you grow up and into yourselves.

Nancy and Jonathan thank everybody, and Steve disappears without a single one of you noticing, reappearing with a new round of shots. Robin takes your hand in hers and squeezes, which tells you that she’s putting off crying. You’ve already covered the shoulder of her new shirt in tears. Happy tears.

If some benevolent force happened to be looking down and caught a glimpse of your happy little table, they’d find that your mind and Eddie’s look very much alike right now. Dizzy daydreams of a future neither of you are confident in, that neither of you think the other would ever even dare to consider.

The distant call of your name pulls you up off Robin’s shoulder. You hear it again, and the voice it’s called in sends your blood running cold. Regardless it beckons you and you turn to look, seeing him approaching like a fucking stalking lion.

“Oh,” you breathe, “hi.”

His unwelcome hands spread over the back of the booth, his fingers brushing the back of your neck. You bristle.

He grins down at you and then looks up and around at everybody else. “Hey, guys. I guess these are your friends?”

All you can do is look up at him. Eddie can see you recoiling and his stomach churns.

“Oh, hi again,” Tom says, spotting Eddie. This is your nightmare situation, frankly, and you’re afraid of where Tom might take it.

“Hey, man,” Steve says. His words are lopsided because he’s three pints and four shots in and too giddy to recognise this for what it is.

“Steve, right?” Tom asks. His knuckles whiten as he grips harder.

“Mm-hm,” Steve hums, leaning just enough to the left that Eddie has to push him upright. In the brief moment he’s preoccupied with his untrustworthy friend, he doesn’t see the way Tom dips his head to meet yours, or the attempt at a kiss on the cheek that you dodge, or even the quick words whispered in your ear. He does see you flush, your face, already warmed by wine, becoming even brighter. Before he can ask what’s happening, Robin’s scooting out to let you stand, and Tom’s hand’s on your waist and you’re off to the bar together.

Nancy shifts uncomfortably beside Jonathan, her hands on the table. “Is that…”

“Yeah,” Eddie says.

“Fuck,” Jonathan breathes.

“No way,” Robin barks, almost loud enough for Eddie to chastise her; you’re only twenty feet away.

Despite the stretch of time separating this moment from your last one with him, Tom’s hands haven’t become any less curious. They paw at you, never settling but instead trying each possessive spot he loved to frequent before you left him. Your waist was his favourite, but you’ve felt the unwelcome impression of his palm on each arm, your shoulder, the small of your back, and when he goes for your hip you twist just enough that he’s forced to drop it.

He’s telling you about his promotion. When you left, he’d been clamouring for it, doing everything he’d once confessed to hating: sucking up to his boss, shmoozing, working late. It pays well, apparently; well enough that he’s got his own place. It’s a five minute cab ride away. Want to come see it?

“Why would I want to do that?” you ask him, emboldened by the fiery rage his wandering hands are reigniting within you.

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, cooing your name with a sincerity so false that you taste the saccharine flavour of it on your gums, “you’re not telling me you haven’t missed me, huh?”

“No,” you tell him honestly, “I haven’t.”

“What, you with that metalhead or something?”

“Eddie is just a friend”, you bite.

“Yeah, right,” Tom scoffs, slamming his glass on the bar. He’s leaning closer, crowding you, and there are too many people behind him and all of a sudden you’ve lost sight of your table. “Knew I was right to put a stop to that.”

“Fuck you, Tom,” you spit, trying desperately to wriggle free. “I want to get back to my friends now, please.”

“Had his fuckin’ hands all over you the other day,” he continues, ignoring you. “Bet he tried it on when we were together, didn’t he?”

“No, he- Fuck, Tom, will you please just let me out-”

Eddie catches glimpses of you between passing bodies. He sees the way Tom’s crowding you and how you’re squirming and, honestly, he wants to walk into the sea.

Tom was never introduced to your friends. It was mostly his own choice, but Eddie and Robin and everyone else saw it for what it was. You just managed to get out before he cut you off from them all completely.

Now, in the low light of the bar, he’s not so certain that you’re done with him. Sure, you seemed unnerved when you bumped into him at the record store, but he begins to wonder if maybe you’d just been caught off guard, and if you’d thought about him since then. Had you called him?

“Hey,” Robin mutters, leaning over the table to Eddie with her eyes on you, “I think- I don’t know, she looks annoyed.”

Finally, there’s a gap in the crowd, and he sees it too. The pinch of your brow, and the squirming that isn’t squirming. You’re scared.

He stands so quickly that his head spins. He sees Nancy in his peripheral vision standing too, though she’s penned in by Jonathan and Steve. Eddie’s heavy footsteps take too long, he’s too slow; Tom’s hand is around your arm and he’s leaving, taking you with him, willingly or not.

He follows the silhouette of Tom, dark against the brash streetlamp light coming in through the glass doors. He can see the top of your head and feels himself pulled to you like a fish on a line.

He catches up just as Tom pushes the door open and stumbles into the snow, blinded by the fluorescent bulb in the lamp above. You feel the inebriation seep out of you with every second spent in the cold, your bare arms covered in goosebumps.

“Tom, what the fuck?” you spit, finally separating yourself from him. You feel the burn left by his tough grip on your upper arm. He’s still close, close enough that he can take your head in one firm hand.

“Just wanted to see your pretty face,” he says, his voice suddenly softer, his breath too hot on your face, “couldn’t see you properly in-”

“Hey.”

You turn just as Tom does to find Eddie in the doorway. His fists are clenched again and so is his jaw; you know him well enough to see your own anger reflected back at you.

“You okay?” he asks, looking at you, tender as always and it does something to dampen the fiery rage you’re keeping at bay. You nod as Tom drops his hand and scoffs.

“See,” he spits, “loverboy won’t leave you the fuck alone.”

You take three steps back. Eddie comes closer.

“Go home,” he says to Tom as you reach out and take his fist into both hands. He relaxes, and you wind your fingers together. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Tom says, “you can’t be serious? Look at him, babe, he’s…”

“Can we go back in?” you whisper to Eddie, whose stern face is beginning to worry you. He says nothing but tugs on your hand and, to your relief, Tom seems to back away around the corner as you retreat indoors.

The door shuts and Eddie turns, but before he can say anything you throw your arms around him and push your face into his neck. He’s startled, but not so much that he can’t return it, his own arms around your back, the pressure a welcome thing.

“Hey,” he coos, “are you sure you’re okay?”

“Thank you,” you say, muffled by his shirt. “Thank you.”

He pulls back, too worried to care to hug you any longer. Instead he lets himself fuss over you, a tentative hand at your jaw as he looks you in the eye.

“I’m okay,” you finally say, sighing. “I hate him.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh. “I do too.”

“Thank you for not hitting him,” you murmur.

His fingers hover by your ear and just as you think he’s going to touch you, he lowers his hand.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I knew you’d hate that.”

He takes your hand again, a gesture which sends both of you independently loopy, and returns with you to the table, where Nancy nearly falls over Robin to get to you. As you reassure her and take your seat again, sandwiched between the two girls, Eddie takes a long swig of beer.

“Hey,” Steve slurs, leaning over to you. “Did y’know Eddie’s ears go red when he’s jealous?”

You look back at him with wide eyes as Eddie gives him a swift thwack to the arm, telling him to fuck off.

“It’s true!” Steve assures you. “I saw it with my own eyes! Like, five minutes ago, I-”

He’s stopped by more of Eddie’s playful hitting.

Quietly, just to you, Nancy says, “It’s true.”

You turn to look at her. She’s got that sparkle in her eye. It appears when she’s got a plan, or an idea, or knows something.

“For a minute, it looked like you were enjoying it,” she continues. “I bet he could’ve burned this place to the ground with how jealous he was getting.”

She nods to her left, where Eddie is dealing with a still restless Steve. He senses you looking and meets your eye, and the pretty pink blush that covers his cheeks is enough to make you look away.

-

The coffee machine pings just as the doorbell goes.

You jump, startled by both noises. Leaving the coffee to stew you pad through the apartment and open the door slowly, making sure to hide behind it to save the postman seeing you in your pyjama shorts.

When you pull it back, you’re surprised by the sight of your best friend, standing at your door in his own pyjamas.

“Morning,” he says, chuckling lowly.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you let him inside. “Did you- Did you walk here in that?”

“God no,” he says, “have you seen it out there?”

Truthfully, you haven’t dared pull the curtains back yet. “No,” you admit, locking the door again and wishing you’d had the sense even in your drunken stupor to put your good pyjamas on. You pat the front of the crinkled cotton at the top of your thighs, smoothing it down to no avail.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” you tell him as you step over to the living room window and pull back the blind to reveal what can only be described as a blizzard.

Eddie comes in behind you with two steaming mugs. “Slept on Steve’s fucking couch,” he says, laughing again. “Dimwit couldn’t get himself into bed and then the weather got too bad for me to get a cab home.”

Steve lives two floors above you, in an apartment much the same as your own. His couch is small. Eddie’s back must hurt.

“How is he?”

“Steve?”

“Hm.”

“He’ll be fine,” Eddie sighs, throwing himself onto your couch and kicking his feet up, socked toes just missing the side of your bare thigh. “Probably regrets the fourth round of shots, but at least he had fun.”

“Did you have fun?” you ask softly.

“Yeah, I mean- Of course.” He reaches over to pick up your coffee and leans over to pass it to you. “Didn’t you?”

You take it from him and sit back, sighing. “Yeah, yeah, just…”

Your throat is suddenly too thick to drink the coffee. You stare at it, the deep mahogany liquid pouring steam into the tepid room.

“How does he still manage to ruin everything?” you ask, the question more an abstract frustration than anything aimed directly at Eddie.

He stiffens on the other end of the couch. He knows you don’t mean Steve, that your mind is elsewhere, on the impatient hands that couldn’t keep themselves from pressing painfully into your arm or the coddling of his hot breath on your face out in the snow.

“Hey,” Eddie coos, softening when he notices your hands shaking. He takes the mug, his own hands gentle on you to save from startling you, and replaces it on the table. “Here, c’mere-”

You lean into him, pushing your face into the softness of Steve’s sweater that he’s wearing. You keep apologising - variations of I’m sorry spat out between quiet sobs - and he keeps telling you it’s okay. One hand holds your elbow while the other smooths up and down your back, his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

“Thank you for saving me,” you say, and he exhales when he hears the smile in your words.

“Y’don’t have to thank me again,” he says. You lean back and the two of you sit as mirror images of one another, one knee up on the couch and the other foot on the floor. You wipe your eye with the back of your wrist. Eddie yearns to knock your hand away and do it himself, to clean you up and kiss you when he’s done. He keeps his hands to himself instead.

“I dunno what I’d have done,” you whisper, “I mean, I don’t think he’d have done anything, but I still don’t wanna think about it.”

“I don’t either,” Eddie agrees before he can stop himself.

You look at him. There are deepening shadows beneath his eyes that you’re sure the couch is to blame for, and his hair’s unruly, matted from what you can only imagine was an useless night’s sleep, but your favourite thing - the mellow brown of his eyes - is just as pretty as ever. So’s his skin, pale and imperfect where he’s inked the left side of his neck and you can see the very top of the scar that stretches over his collarbone. He broke it when you were both ten, and he still teases you about how quick you were to run from him when you saw the bone and the broken flesh. You’re desperate to know if it’d be warm under your fingertips, your lips, your tongue.

“Do your ears really get red when you’re jealous?” you ask him. You see him stiffen at the question, his eyes narrowing just so, as his hands flex over his knees.

“Steve’s an asshole,” Eddie says.

“I know-”

“But yeah,” he says, the corner of his mouth breaking loose into a smile, “He’s right. It’s stupid.”

You kick his foot with your own softly and laugh.

“Why were you jealous?”

“Oh, seriously?”

“Yes! Why were you jealous?!” you repeat, grinning.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?”

“Yes.”

He sighs, all dramatic and silly and you laugh until his restless hand lands on your knee instead of his own.

“I thought you were glad to see him,” he admits.

“I don’t know how you got that impression,” you say. You’re trying to ignore the soft rumbling in your chest, lest it take your breath away.

“Dunno,” he says, and suddenly he reminds you of sixteen-year-old Eddie, awkward and goofy, the boy you fell for.

“Well,” you say, “I’m very glad you came to my rescue.”

“I didn’t rescue you, you’re perfectly capable of doing that yourself,” he says, laughing. His knee knocks yours and his fingers spread until the tips of them are meeting the middle of your thigh.

“Still, it was a nice thing to do.”

He hums and you inhale as you place your hand on his. He looks up at you and the contact seems to provide some courage.

He says your name, and it’s softer than ever in the quiet of your living room. As far as the two of you are aware, there’s nothing beyond here; no blizzard, no hungover Steve two floors up, no shitty ex-boyfriends. Just you and Eddie and the string of starlight pulling you together.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks in a whisper, leaning in, already resting more weight on the hand on your thigh. Somehow, it feels like the most natural question in the world.

You nod. “Yeah, please.”

He closes the gap with his forehead to yours, tilting his head enough that his nose slots beside yours as he kisses you. You expected a peck, something nervous, but that’s impossible when there’s a decade of want behind it. He’s firm and certain as his hands finally take grateful handfuls of your hips, and your mouth burns as you kiss him back. He worries he’s being too handsy, especially after last night, but when you feel him retreating you take his larger hands in yours and keep them there.

This morning, as his tongue moves past yours, Eddie tastes like spearmint, coffee and tobacco. You miss the taste as soon as his lips paint tender kisses at the corner of your mouth and over the hill of your jaw, but you keen at the sensation anyway, arching into him.

“This okay?” he asks in a pant, pulling back and hiding a smile as he hears you whine.

“Yeah,” you breathe. You use shaky fingers to push curls back so you can see his face and, holding him in both hands, kiss the swell of his cheek followed by the other. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me,” he says, chuckling.

“What do we do now?” you ask him.

He looks back at you, feeling more whole than ever, and notices the creeping worry lines between your brows. Pushing against your hold, he leans forward and kisses you there. The satisfaction of feeling you relax is enough to keep him going for a thousand years.

“Well,” he whispers, and his breath isn’t too hot like Tom’s. It’s warm and friendly where it blooms over your closed eyes. “Go take care of Steve, probably.”

“Kiss me again?”

He does, wordlessly, softer than before, once on your mouth and another on your forehead. You wind your arms around his back, and with cheek resting on the top of your head, he says those fateful words into your hair: 

“Love you.”

You squeeze without thinking, smiling into his chest.

“Love you too.”

-

[holidayinhell]

Whumpay: Attack!

Panic or heart attack implied. You be the judge.

Characters: actual psychopath/ serial killer Whumper, simp Whumpee CWs: restraints, electrocution, male whump, eyeballs (?), murder, it's pretty dark, you have been warned!!

“Push your ankles against the legs of the chair.” He unrolled a length of duct tape. 

Whumpee’s smile dropped. He wrinkled his eyebrows, puzzled, and stared open-eyed at the larger man skeptically. “More?”

“It’s for the thrashing.” He reasoned. “Like I said, you need to be completely still if you’re gonna get high.”

“This is really weird.” Whumpee dismissed. But if this is what it took, fine. He’d go along with it.

Whumper wrapped the tape around his legs and ankles, securing them to the legs of the narrow wooden chair.

Now that his ankles were tethered down in addition to his wrists, Whumpee couldn’t move anything but his head.

“Good, good. You’re a trooper. Getting excited yet?”

“Not really.” Whumpee said flatly. In truth, being tied to a chair had excited him, but certainly not in the way Whumper was inquiring about.

“C’mon. It’ll feel really good once it gets going.” Whumper cracked a smile “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

The scholar crossed the room to the couch that was heavy with clutter; books, equipment, and garbage it looked to be. The entire basement had a stinking, foul odor, Whumpee wondered if it was coming from the junk piled high on the sofa.

Whumpee tried rolling his wrists and ankles to loosen the tape securing him to the chair, but they were wrapped snugly in their duct tape cocoons.

“God damn this is uncomfortable. Argghhh! My nose itches and I can’t scratch it.” 

Whumper disregarded Whumpee’s objections. The man grabbed a silver and black case resting on the cluttered couch, popped the latches open and removed a camcorder box. He unfurled a roll of canvas containing a tripod. 

Apprehension settled over Whumpee as he watched from his chair, his anxiety mounting with every passing second. A rancid smell in the air made him recoil. “Can you smell that? It kinda stinks down here.”

I should really stop complaining, Whumpee thought to himself. He didn’t want to annoy Whumper, much less offend him. He considered himself lucky that Whumper had even chosen him, of all people, to assist with his thesis project. 

Thankfully, it seemed Whumper didn’t hear him. He was entirely focused on assembling his recording gear.

Whumpee felt a pit in his stomach. Whether he was being annoying or not, he reminded himself that he had to make his boundaries clear before they did this thing.

“Hey. Hey. Whumper!” he yelled to get Whumper’s attention for the first time. “Remember what I told you, I’m gonna to tap out after twenty minutes. Hard stop then, okay?” Whumpee said emphatically. “Got it?”

“Yeah, sure. Got it.”

Whumper silently loaded a roll of film into the camera, snapping the plastic compartment closed with a click. He pressed the power button and framed Whumpee in the center of the video screen.

“...and now,” Whumper hit the red recording button. “We are officially ready to begin.”

Whumpee’s breathing increased. He had anxiously awaited this moment since he agreed to it days ago. Whumper had been so happy he volunteered to help with his project, he reminded himself that this was a small sacrifice for the greater good, this was the first step towards forging a real friendship. And if he played his cards right, maybe something even more.

He steeled himself and summoned every last ounce of courage from the depths of his being.

“Oh shit, I forgot. Safety first.” Whumper retrieved the object he’d been fingering in his pocket. A short leather strap. “I have to put this in your mouth--”

“What is th--!” Whumpee tried to interject.

“--so you don’t bite your tongue.” 

Whumper already grabbed a handful of Whumpee’s hair and tilted his head back before he could protest. The bound man jerked his head back and instinctively pursed his lips closed. Whumper attempted to push the strap past his lips but they were closed tight.

“Wha — STOP! Stop it!” gasped Whumpee, breath ragged and nerves shaken by the sudden assault. “Fuck. What the hell was that??!”

Shit. Too heavy handed. Impatience always got the best of Whumper.

“Heh, sorry, sorry. ‘M sorry.”

“Sorry?! That was fucked!!”

“I’ll be nice this time. Promise. Here. Now bite.”

Whumpee looked at the man incredulously and sighed, but bit down on the gag obediently. He had to stay in Whumper’s good graces, he’d come all this way. Plus he really didn’t want to bite his fucking tongue off.

“Comfy?”

Whumpee firmly shook his head no.

“Well you look like a million bucks. Ya ready?”

Whumpee’s sigh was muffled by the strap of leather trapped between his teeth. He was completely immoble and incredibly uncomfortable, with absolutely no control of his body beyond his mouth and head. To add to his discomfort, a looming putrid odor hung in the stale basement air and the anticipation of being electrocuted made him nauseous.

His cheeks burned and he prayed Whumper didn’t notice him blushing. Whumpee reminded himself: he was going to be fine, Whumper wouldn’t hurt him, and he was lucky to even be there.

“I’ll start with the calf.” Whumper commented, touching the cattle prod to Whumpee’s leg. His breath audibly quickened.

“Easy. Shh. Relax.”

ZAP

It felt like all of the air, light, and sound had been sucked from the room and replaced with searing pain.

“Mmmmmmph!” His leg jerked upwards involuntarily, if he wasn’t tied to the chair he’d have kneed himself in the jaw. A biting soreness ran from his toes to his hip even after Whumper pulled the cattle prod away.

It was intense, the most blinding agony Whumpee had ever experienced. But now that it was over, Whumpee felt strangely... good?

Whumpee spat the strap from his mouth, and the saliva-coated leather fell on Whumper’s shoulder. The slimy gag slid down the taller man’s shirt like a snail leaving a path of slime, and plopped to the ground unceremoniously.

“Oh shit!!” Whumpee cackled as Whumper rose to stand. “My bad, my bad.” He felt delirious, but amid the chaos of his mind there was a course of energy that left him invigorated. He giggled at the trail of saliva that glistened against the larger man’s black sweater.

Whumper glared at the discarded leather gag on the floor. His eyes shot back to the human filth sitting in front of him. He exhaled slowly. A tempest of rage brewed beneath his calm.

“There is some kind of weird pleasure, I guess.” Whumpee offered, “I see what you mean. But it hurts like frikin’ hell.” Whumpee started laughing again and turned to Whumper. “I wonder what pervs actually use this to get off. Maybe we should think of a safe word.” He giggled.

What, like this was supposed to be some fucking sexual exercise? 

The very concept made Whumper want to gag.

Playtime was over. 

His vision went red. It was time to end this fucker.

Whumper retrieved the roll of tape and wrapped it around Whumpee’s mouth, circling his head once, twice, three times.

The man under him struggled to fight against his motions, bobbing his head and trying to bite at him as he layered his face in duct tape. But the ambush happened quickly, and Whumpee was powerless to stop him.

Whumper felt like all the duct tape in the world couldn’t silence the miserable brat.

The large man rolled the dial on the cattle prod to maximum voltage out of curiosity. Holding the device against Whumpee’s skin, he administered white-hot pain directly into his forearm. The small man heaved in his narrow wooden chair and nearly fell backwards.

Whumpee screamed. He screamed so much that his yells bled into one another. If his mouth were free it would have been the loudest he’d ever shrieked, but under his adhesive gag he could never eke out more than a muffled MMMmph!

Whumper pushed the device deep into the flesh of his arm, stabbing the prongs into him with so much force it nearly drew blood. Whumpee thrashed wildly, the excruciating electric shock traveled up his arm all the way into the deep veins of his neck.

“Mmm. Mmm-mmph!!” Whumpee hummed into the tape that sealed his lips. He awkwardly blinked to get the moisture out of his eyelashes, which were heavy with tears. It was all he could do at this point: blink.This was the only thing he could control in the entire world right now.

“What was that? Use your words, Whumpee.” He grinned wickedly. “You’re crying now? We’ve barely warmed up!”

Whumper took his captive’s chin in his cold hand and tilted it back to get a good look at his face. Tears rolled down Whumpee’s cheeks rapidly and his breathing was rugged and quick. He averted his eyes from the larger man’s intense, hungry stare.   

“Time to come clean, Whumpee. I know you’ve been stalking me all years. The way you’ve injected yourself in the background of my life--” A remorseful tear ran down Whumpee’s cheek.

 “--what, you didn’t think I noticed? It’s not like you were subtle about it. You’re like a fly and shit, your presence is a constant annoying buzz in my ear. So I thought, what’s the best way to kill an insect?”

“Do you know, Whumpee?”

Whumpee groaned.

“Zap ‘em.”

Whumper retrieved a box cutter from his pocket. “Don’t get too excited.” He warned, pressing the blade from its plastic sheath. The knife found the neckline of Whumpee’s shirt where it traveled down his torso, digging into his flesh in places. Whumpee sliced the shirt into jagged strips and let them fall to the ground, one by one. 

Whumper took a moment to admire the pearls of blood that seeped from the shallow gashes he made on Whumpee’s bare torso. He stepped back to ensure everything was in frame of the camera’s viewfinder.

“You only have yourself to blame for this one, Whumpee. I mean who the hell volunteers to get electrocuted?” The scholar grinned wickedly.

He thought they were supposed to be friends, he thought he was helping him with his project…

“I’ve never even been to college. Didn’t even graduate high school, not that I needed to. Did you know that, Whumpee?” Whumper rounded the corner so he was out of Whumpee’s sight, not that he could see much through his watery vision. “I was pretty convincing though, wasn’t I? You didn’t make it easy on me, with you stalking me for so long.” Whumper came back, holding a heavy metal object and thick rubbery wires. “I appreciated the challenge at first.”

He sat the car battery on the floor at Whumpee’s feet.

“But now it’s annoying. So I came up with this solution.” Whumper retrieved a box of cigarettes from his pocket and placed one between his teeth.

“I had to do a little practice with Big Bertha over here.” He said with the unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. Whumper tapped the car battery with his foot. 

“Winston was fucking old as hell-- you remember old man Winston right? The fucker up the street with the dog that bit me that one time?”

Whumper raised his eyebrows at his captive, silently demanding a response. Whumpee didn’t realize. He nodded his head, sniffling.

“One little zap and boom, he was gone. You wouldn’t believe it.” He shook his head. “Must’ve been like two, maybe three minutes? I don’t know. It was disappointing.” Whumper lit his cigarette.

“But his eyes did shoot out of his face, which was pretty funny.”

Whumpee squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. His muffled cries intensified, he shook his head violently. Snot ran down his tape-covered chin and he was screaming bloody murder into the sticky adhesive that silenced him.

Whumper’s fingers grazed his hot wet cheek.

“I kept one of his eyes. And you know what I did with the other?” A sinister grin crept across his face.

“Fed it to his dog.”

Whumpee was reduced to a puddle of wailing mucus.

“All that to say that the old man actually did teach me a little something about electricity. So I went to the library-- like a real goddamn scholar-- and I did a little research on how to control this shit. Check it out: this is an alternator and this one is a voltage regulator.” He presented the two small devices. 

“You want to know why I went to all this trouble?” He took a drag and exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Because, Whumpee, I don’t wanna just zap you like a mosquito. I want a real show.”

“And you’re going to give me one hell of a show, too, because this gear was fuckin’ expensive.” He glanced at the bifold doors to the closet. “At least Winston picked up the tab.” 

Whumper crouched down to assemble the parts of his machine, leaving Whumpee helplessly taped to the chair, awaiting his impending doom. Tears welled in his eyes and he was silently thankful that they blurred his vision almost entirely, at least he wouldn’t have to watch as his life was literally fried out of him. All he could see through the haze in his eyes was the steady, rhythmic pulsing of the camera’s red recording light.

Whumper rose to his feet, his full focus fixed on Whumpee, who shivered in place.

“Now then,” he declared, ashing his cigarette. “Let’s get started for real this time.”

((more Whump oneshots))

[babybatss-blog]

Could I please get a Sirius x f!reader where they move in together after graduating? Thank youuu

BELLA DONNA

Sirius x f!reader, 740 words 

Authors note: so honoured to have my first request, I hope I did it justice! If you’re not familiar with the song, I’d recommend giving “Bella Donna” by Stevie Nicks a listen as it is a pertinent part of the story :)

cw: none ~

Highschool sweethearts. That’s what Sirius Black and you were known as at school. When you were 14 the two of you got together, in an unlikely pairing of a playboy and an average girl. No one thought that you would last, but now four years later it’s clear that you two were there to stay. The “pocket change” that Sirius’ family left him was more than enough to buy yourselves a small flat, with only three rooms and a tiny outdoor space only fit for a table and chair. Your parents were generous enough to gift a couple of appliances to you like a microwave and a tv, but apart from that the boxes packed into your new home were few and far between, not even constituting any help from your friends.  

So here you stand, hands clasped in his and staring at the empty floor surrounding you, unsure of your next move. You could unpack, but you didn’t have cupboards to place anything. You couldn’t buy any cupboards either, as you had no money left to spare. Instead, Sirius walks over to a box with his name written on it in bold letters, and pulls out a perfectly sealed package, about the size of a pizza box, but much heavier and thicker and hands it to you.

“For you, my love.” He says, looking down at you with the same adoration you’ve seen time and time again before sitting down on the cool floor. You smile, sinking into a cross-legged position and carefully peeling back the wrapping. Its purple, with black and white cartoon dogs spotted upon it. After a minute of slowly unravelling the pieces as to keep the wrapping safe, a cd player and a single cd that has “Stevie Nicks: Bella Donna” on it are unveiled. “Ever since you broke my record player, I know you’ve felt horrible. So, I thought I could buy something we could both use, with an album we both love.” Silence lingers, Sirius waits for your response, and you wait for the words to come to you. Eventually, you place the player to the side and open the cd, putting it in and pressing a couple of buttons.

“You can ride high atop your pony I know you won’t fall, cause the whole thing’s phoney”

Stevie Nicks’ soft voice calls from the crackling speakers, accompanied by the uplifting hum of instruments. You smile at Sirius, and he smiles at you, pulling you to your feet with him as he wraps his arms around your waste and yours around his neck, swaying to the soft beat.

“You can fly swinging from the trapeze scaring all the people, but you’ll never scare me”

Singing along, huge smiles are plastered on both of your faces. You felt horrible when you accidentally knocked his record player off the shelf, but Sirius could never be mad at you. Instead, he finds joy in any situation, just like he has done before in any challenging situation. Whispering in your ear, Sirius serenades you with the following lyrics. You’re his Bella Donna, a north star he will always fight for. Although the lyrics may seem outrageous, as the centre of Sirius’ universe he forever ensures that you know he feels this way about you. When the beat kicks in, Sirius jumps back from you into a dramatic flair, singing the words at the top of his lungs.

“No speed limit, this is the fast lane! It’s just the way that it is here.” You laugh loudly, joining in for the following lines. “And you can say… I never thought it could!” The two of you wrap your arms around each other once again, this time faces mere centimetres away from each other. Here in this baron house, their old school mates would have never imagined the two would be so happy. But until the sun goes down, you dance and sing to your tiny collection of previously acquired cd’s as if there is nothing else in the world but the two of you.

[phoxey]

„Who knew you could be so cheesy…“

Chocol x fem!reader

CW: none :) this is purest pure little fluff

AN: at the end cuz i don’t wanna spoil the oneshot

It was a cloudy November day. The Moon was barely to be seen and it was cold in the streets of Seoul.

Yet you were sweating. You stood in a small underground club, panting but grinning as heavy hiphop music blasted out the speakers. It was a smaller dance battle event but the place was crowded. In front of you the orange haired beast that was your girlfriend. But in this dancebattle she was your opponent and you weren’t going to go easy on her.

In her turn she threw every possible impressive move at you. It seemed like she really wanted to win over you. You knew that this battle wouldn’t be finished on this stage, but rather continued later in your bed in the apartment of you two. You had the deal, that whenever you two battled, the winner could control the sexy time in the evening.

Smirking you bit your lip, when she did that ground move of hers. It always made you go crazy over her and she knew it. Your girlfriend was so impressive and with every passing moment you fell in love more and more.

How can a person be so talented? So beautiful? So handsome? So gentle? So rough? So perfectly imperfect? So smart? So foolish?

She was everything at once. The whole package. And the Bonus? She was yours. Yours alone.

At the end of her turn she came to a halt before you and winked at you teasingly. Chuckling you pushed her back, by her waist. To be honest, you just wanted to feel her body in your hands for a moment. The entire day had been so hectic, so this was the first time of the day that you touched her. You felt how deprived you were. Chocol had been out with Haechi and Mini the entire day, doing god knows what.

You had a different style than Chocol, less wavy motions, less floor work. It was a hard hiphop style with krump elements sprinkled into it. And the music was yours, so that would be an easy win, you thought. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the judges nodding approvingly, but your eyes were fixed on your girlfriend. You copied her ending move and finished, standing in front if her and winking cheekily.

Chocols second turn started slowly and she had that smug grin plastered onto her face, she was planning something. You wondered what, because she had already used up all her killer moves.

A record scratch ripped you out if your thought process. Suddenly „Marry you“ by Bruno Mars was playing. Confused you looked over to the DJ, who was just grinning at you. You looked back to your girlfriend, to see if she knew what was going on. What Chocol was dancing, wasn’t a battle dance anymore. It was a Choreography.

She mixed some b-boying into her dance it seemed, as she swirled around on her knees and before you knew it, she was kneeling in front of you and was holding a black box in her hand. The music faded out. Even the crowds chatter died down. Everyone, including you, was holding their breath.

„We have been through endless battles together, on and off stage. For the past ten years you supported me through every storm and every war that i fought, especially the ones against myself. When in doubt you were always there. When we are apart i can think about nothing but the moment i will have you in my arms again. And when we fight, i am not afraid, because i know in the end it is you and me against the problem. You read me like an open book. You always know what to say and do to cheer me up. Though, if i am being honest, your mere existence makes me happy. Seeing you makes me happy. Hearing your sweet voice and laugh makes me happy. Holding and kissing you makes me happy. I want to make you happy as well… for the rest of my life i want to be the reason you smile and feel good. Please let me take care of you for the rest of my life and become my wife?“, she asked and opened the box. A simple but beautiful ring shimmered there.

The hand that had covered your mouth in shock, slowly reached for Chocol as you slowly nodded, as though you were in trance.

„Yes, oh god… yes, please.“, you whispered and the crowd erupted in cheers.

Chocol beamed happily and stood up. You jumped into her arms and quietly sobbed happy tears into her neck. Then she pulled away to slide the ring onto your finger. Gently she peppered your face in kisses.

„I love you.“, you whispered.

„I love you more.“, she whispered back.

Grinning you shook your head and pushed her playfully.

„Who knew you could be so cheesy…“

********

AN: This is how i want someone to propose to me... doesn't have to be Chocol. Doesn't have to be one of the SWF girlies... i just need a dancer gf, i suppose, so i can battle against her and have her propose to me.

[notttkayyy]

HELLO GUYSS!! this is Kayyy !!! <3 this is like the master list of me, aka an intro AND my stats😋😋

HIII GUYSSS NEW LW TIMEEEE!! STATS AS OF EARLY NOV.- I post b00dy ch33cks sometimes, but they're is always a CW!!

stats:

5' 9

bmï: 17.7

SW: 160

CW/LW: 120

GW1: 130✅️ (bmï 19.5)

GW2: 123✅️ (bmï 18.2)

GW3: 120✅️ (bmï 17.7)

GW4: 116 (bmï 17.5)

UGW: 108 (bmï 16)

OK THIS INTRO BOUTTA BE LONGGGGG SOOOO heres a cut in the page😋

Hi, my name is Kay!! Im a big reader, especially of classic young adult stories, like what Louisa May Alcott and Frances Hodgson Burnett wrote. I crochet and am learning to knit! I like small projects, and I've made bags, hats, little toys, etc. I watch mid 2000s tv usually, but I do enjoy some more recent shows and movies. I listen to music, especially at night. I play basketball, and do HJ, LJ and discuss. I am also taking ballet!! I dress mainly in a downtown esc style, with like a hint of americana and California teen (think brandy and jean shorts+ tie dye😭) sometimes i throw the occasional long skirt in there. I love taking little trips, like on the train or across town to take myself thrifting or out to see pretty cafes and such! My favorite animal/ insect is moths, but my favorite pet is cats!!

Likes:

Thrifting

Antique jewelry

2000-10's movies

Hiking and swimming

Beach trips

Collages/Scrapbooks

Coquette&downtown styles

Fall candles and baking

Collecting bodyspray/lotion

Artists+3 fav songs:

Alex g- Mis, gnaw, kute.

Dazey and the Scouts - nice nice, groan, wet.

Pigeon pit- F.M.I.D, wichitalk, love letters.

MOBO- rock bottom, the waterboy returns, hope.

Adrianne Lenker- zombie girl, Womb, forwards becon rebound.

Fiona apple- IWYTLM, under the table, fast as you can

CSH- IWYTKTIA, Over exposed, deadlines

Black box recorder - girl singing in the wreckage, england made me, child psychology

Whatever, dad- chiot, Ok(gm album), death of a phone call.

Pavement- Nail clinic, Frontwards, range life.

TV Girl - one of these mornings, act like u never met me, It almost worked

The flat Stanley's- Tony perks!, look, i really love u, but..., Me v ur friends.

Mitzki- Dan the dancer, Shame, Townie

Books:

TPOBAW

Fight club

Mysterious skin

Girl interrupted

Speak

Lovely bones

The broken girls

Frozon Charlotte

The silver crown

The Yellow Wallpaper

A storm of strawberries

The reader

[bimbodoggie]

･.｡*･.｡*♥︎ RULES & REGULATIONS

synopsis: ghost wanted you to abide by his rules, but of course you had other plans.

cw: dom/sub dynamic, size kink, (reader is hinted to be black) fem reader, plus sized reader, slight cam girl reader, mean dom!simon, hair pulling, impact play, degrading, double penetration, restraints (simon uses his belt), the mask comes on and off, creampie, and anything else i missed :3

you were 100% made for simon, you two happen to meet at a small bar, he was there with soap, his friend…and simon doesn’t have many of those.

today was one of the most important days, he was coming home after a mission overseas, you prepared all day for this to happen, you even brought a new camera with a new ring light, and tripod to record you guys new tape.

he promised that he would be home at a certain time, the time was dwindling down, to keep yourself busy you grabbed your wand from your light pink box.

you turned on the camera to start recording, your moaning bounced off each decorated white wall….you were unable to hear the sound of simon creeping up the stairs.

he stood in the doorway watching you until he snuck from behind and squeezed your neck a little…you were fucked

“how many time do i tell you to listen?” he stood there staring at your big doe brown eyes, you were nervous because well shit this man is huge…you had this stupid look on your face making him squeeze your plush thighs as if it was a stress ball.

“simon im sorry” the betrayal he felt how a electric vibrating device made you feel good rather than your own boyfriend’s dick, you felt ashamed almost like he caught you in the bed with one of his men.

“no noise, you were supposed to abide by the rules and you failed to do so, now i have to drill them into your brainless head” the first thing to go that was on simon’s body was his belt, he made a makeshift cuff which held both of your arms into one

“please” you begged for his forgiveness and hopes to maybe overlook this, but with simon he wont stop until HE is satisfied, you were already naked in front of him, it was like you were his weakness…

his large calloused hands made its way to the globes of your ass, one assault on each side, it felt like hours but in reality it was only 10 minutes he did this for….next he went straight for your cunt

“there she is, my other pretty girl” with that statement alone it sent you into orbit, he started to spread you open which made your cunt clench around nothing

the attempt to get him to fuck you was poor…he knew he wanted to take his time with you so you can really learn that you need to listen

his thumb found your walls, simon knew you HATED teasing, but at this moment that was the last thing he was thinking about

“gonna fuck you dumb again and again until you learn to listen” simon added another finger his index but by then he was already lined up with your entrance

there it was, the familiar sensation of trying to let him in, when he was in his thumb met your puckered hole

“si no more, im sorry, im sorry” you kept repeating yourself over and over, your eyes full of tears and you were, well a fucked out mess

there was a dip in the bed when his chest met your back, he undid the restraint that kept you from running, he had you where he wanted, helpless, and fucked out

“you keep fuckin tryin me, do you know that doll? always doin the complete opposite so now i just have to teach you again hm?” the only response you gave simon was a nod, this wasn’t enough for him

his thumb plunged further in your other hole which made you squeal out “mmmh” was as verbal as you were going to get, the rest of the noises were “please” “im sorry” “im a good girl”

that wasn’t enough he pulled out of you which made you whimper, he flipped you over and there he was, his balaclava was lifted enough to where you could see his lips and stubble

the teasing process started all over again, he took his cock and rubbed it up and down on your cunt making you look away in sheer embarrassment, he leaned over and grabbed a fistful of your hair forcing you to look at what was going down below

“you- fuck, see this baby?” he rasped directing your head to his dark, soulless eyes

he let go and leaned for a kiss while he slid himself inside of you, it was sloppy

the only thing that filled the room at this moment was the squelching of your abused cunt, simon grunting, and how you whimpered

simon was the first to pull from the kiss, he stared and looked how soft and gropeable you are, the way your boobs jiggled in missionary along with your soft stomach, and how your plush lips called out for him every single time

he then put your legs on his shoulder making him dig deeper “i know baby, gonna cum in you, i know you want it”

you KNEW what was going to happen, but it came all so quickly.

“are you with me?” the million dollar question, if it wasn’t his hand made contact with your skin snapping you out of whatever trance he had you in

“not a single thought in that brain, always wantin me to think for you….i know baby you just love how i slut you out every time, yeah?”

your eyebrows furrowed together which was an indicator to simon you were close, lust was filled in your eyes, no matter how many times you and simon fucked it was the same thing…hes just too fucking big.

he removed your legs from his broad shoulders and folded them, “we can do this all night doll its up to you”

“simon i didn’t mean it i promise, i was just needy” you had zero idea what the hell you were saying to him, all you knew was his balaclava was completely off and he was close…his strokes were sloppy

“now baby, be good at take this dick for me”

after one last stroke he finished inside of you, he pulled out and grabbed his cell phone, “another addition to my collection”

[ultraviolet-cello]

Day 8 of the tristamp analysis marathon and jesus christ i am!!! really excited to do these now because people have been adding onto/being nice abt my stuff and that's super cool. Thank you again to @tristampparty for running this! I didn't manage to join in on the book club last year so it's nice to have a fun little event all the same

[But as for next book club,,,, well. I'm extremely transgender about trimax and would love to join in]

As always, spoilers for trigun stampede and trigun maximum! Also some CWs for Vash-typical passive suicidal tendencies and discussion of his psyche

So! Episode 8! I have.... mixed feelings, on how Tristamp portrays Knives. On one hand, I definitely think that we're being lead to believe that Vash has always been a peace-loving kid and that Knives has always had those tendencies, which would set up for season 2 to break that down. I hope.

The one thing I couldn't figure out, ofc, is the Knives not needing to eat thing - My friend millions-dykes theorized a black hole/white star dynamic a little while ago [as seen in the screenshot. I'm Organ, they are Nagito Malmonella]

aaaaaaaaanyway, we still get these little instances of knives just being a kid, and it's the funniest thing in the world to me. Vash is also apparently in tune with him enough to pick up on that and it's such twin behaviour.

There's also just a lot of cases of Knives smiling or being giggly around Rem, which,,,, he's such a mama's boy like we know this but it's so nice to have it reinforced. This theory of Knives having always been cold/standoffish just doesn't track - the only time he usually seems uncomfortable is when Rem touches him or when he talks about Plant stuff - particularly when he's talking about being different to Vash. Knives, to me at least, is a tad autism-coded :]

OKAY TO THE SCENE[TM]

So obviously this has changed from when we first saw Vash tell the story. Vash's sequence of events runs as follows:

Vash walks up to the little hill that Knives is laughing maniacally on top of -> Knives says "I finally did it! It worked! -> Vash confronts him with "How could you do that?" -> Knives reassures him with "Don't worry, I left the Plant ship" -> Knives says "I even got Rem killed!" -> Knives points out that Vash is his accomplice, but does not elaborate why. "Don't get mad. You're already my accomplice, isn't that right Vash?"

Now the sequence of events in this version is provably more accurate (the same audio is used in the black box recording discovered later), and goes as follows:

Vash wakes up from the escape pod and goes "Nai, where are you?" -> He spends some time following Knives' footsteps where he sees the crashed pods and fire and Knives laughing on the hill -> Knives says "I finally did it! It worked!" -> Vash says "I can't believe you killed Rem!" -> Knives says "Don't get mad. You're already my accomplice, it was you who told me the passcode - Am I right, Vash?"

So there are several inconsistencies in these two versions of events, most notably for me is that Vash is the one to bring up Rem. If the 1st telling was correct, it would imply that Knives wanted to kill Rem, but that part is conspicuously absent, because Vash is the one that brings her up.

Vash's retelling also omits the fact that he was the one to give Knives the passcode, shifting more blame onto Knives. It's very very interesting to me. Finally, Knives mostly has his back to Vash when he dissolves into laughter again. Which is a technique often used to hide if you've been crying or are having a hard time keeping some emotional responses down.

And I'm not even done with this flashback! The scene where Vash just lies down and wants to give up is,,, Well, in Trimax, ever since Tesla, Vash has struggled with suicidal ideation - he's the one that asks for Rem to just kill him, and that's heartbreaking, but we also see a bit of that leaking through here again, where he just wants to lie down and give up. It also gives me hope we're gonna see that Tesla aftermath scene in the next season, because that'll be breaking Vash down into his more complicated, messy parts.

Okay so I do think that the subtitles Aniwave uses are... a little bit Wack, I'm pretty sure that they're unofficial and probably a bit wonky, and I'm only slightly conversational in Japanese so I have 0 idea about this, but hey I think someone should inform Wolfwood, for no particular reas- [I am dragged away by security]

[I did check the dub, which referred to Plants giving birth which I think is much more likely to be accurate. But it'd still be funny for Wolfwood to have to sit through Plant sex ed so neither of them get pregnant]

Rem really was very, very young,,,,,

There are four photos here, but only one is given to Vash. I wonder why,,,, Possibly to gauge his recognition of Knives being in the photo, or keeping the other three to learn what they can about Knives.

The night/day progression cycle here doesn't really match up with Vash's little tally, so I don't think it's counting days. Given that he apparently went to say hello to everyone in cold sleep while on the ship, I think it's a little more likely that the tally marks are for them....

Do we ever actually get to hear Rem say the blank ticket thing in a flashback? I don't recall it, but it is said to Vash after the whole Stabbing Incident in Trimax, so that's possibly why they've kept it from us.

Theeee markings under this Plant's eyes match Elendira's, which. Obviously Elendira in tristamp is part plant there's just so many little details that lend themselves to it,,,

The HAIR COLOUR CHANGE AAAA

I like the little wall of Vash baby pics in the background here, but he still didn't get any of his 3 other ship pics back :(

Finally, Vash's line of "an Independent will make up for what an Independent has done" is interesting because his guilt complex really does spiral, huh. The reason Knives telling him "Oh, you just feel guilty for the Big Fall, huh?" in a later ep fucks him up so much is because like. That is kinda true to an extent. Vash is his own kind of self-deluding, but that only really starts spiraling at about this point in time.

Alright, setting up for a Day of analysis tomorrow, because I have many thoughts and feelings surrounding Knives (I love him very dearly and I hate him a lot (affectionate)) and we Will spend some time talking about Trimax Flavour Knives because my understanding of him is fundamental to my understanding of Tristamp Flavour Knives.

Thank y'all for the fun comments and theory addons!!! I'm having a lot of fun and we're really getting into how [normal] I am about Trigun!

[maracujatangerine]

76. Musical Experimentation

CW: emeto, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

The park was almost empty during the early morning hour. An older lady in an orange fleece walking her Yorkshire terrier down the wooded path along the stream. A young couple jogging together, the woman reaching up to adjust her chestnut pony tail. A bald man in his fifties bicycling slowly with his black labrador in tow. Apart from them, only Lydia and Coriander walked together across the wide expanse of grass.

“Here it is, Cory!” Lydia pointed to the simple wooden pavilion ahead, just an open deck with wooden supports for the roof in each corner. “This is what I wanted to show you. I found out that the council has refurbished some pianos and placed them around town for anyone to use.”

And indeed. In the middle of the pavilion was a fairly battered, but freshly repainted, piano.

The blonde pet looked quizzically at his owner.

“T-that sounds very nice, Miss Lydia” he said.

”I was thinking that perhaps you would like to try to play it?”

A worried wrinkle creased Coriander’s forehead.

“T-this pet i-is afraid that it cannot, Miss Lydia.” He said regretfully. “I-it doesn’t know how to play.”

“Remember how you didn’t know that you could swim, either?” Lydia smiled. “I just want you to give it a try. It is totally all right if you can’t play.” She held up a hand. “You have to take a seat on the bench. It is all right, it is just the two of us here.”

When Coriander hesitatingly sat down on the duet bench and placed his hands on the keys, she nodded approvingly. “That’s really good. You are doing well. There’s no stress, take as much time as you need.”

Lydia sat down in the grass next to the piano, closing her eyes and enjoying the warm morning sun on her face.

A bumble bee buzzed among some early daisies, a few seagulls called to one another overhead. The faint sounds of a few cars in the distance. Coriander hesitatingly pushed down a few of the keys, first discordantly, then in a cascade from the one side of the piano to the other.

It sounded just as haphazard and unskilled as Lydia thought that she herself would have sounded, if she would have tried to play. She had nearly made up her mind that her hunch was just a guess gone wrong, when something shifted.

The unmistakable first tones of Für Elise floated out over the park’s green lawn.

*

A few weeks later, they walked past a music store when Lydia stopped, hit by inspiration.

“Would you like to go inside, Cory?”

The young man blanched. Almost, but not quite, shaking his head.

“B-but we don’t need anything, Miss Lydia.”

“I know, but maybe you would like to look at some of the instruments? I mean, you weren’t as awesome with the piano in the park as with the tin whistle, but you could still play. Maybe, if you try some more instruments you could discover even more skills?”

The pet swallowed, hard.

“I-it is soon time for dinner, Miss. P-perhaps we s-should go straight home and cook some food?”

Lydia relented.

“Sure, Cory. Let’s go home.” She glanced thoughtfully at all the instruments in the window as they walked past.

Coriander stared down at the pavement almost all the way home.

*

Transcript of audio recording

Several rustling sounds and a thump, from placing the recorder on the table, then Lydia’s voice.

“Cory, today I would like you to look at some different pictures and tell me what you see on the picture. I also want to tell me if you feel anything in particular about the picture, would that be okay?”

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia” Cory’s voice, slightly nervous but obviously eager to please.

“Okay, what is this?”

“It is a tin whistle, Miss Lydia.” A smile in Coriander’s voice. “T-this pet enjoys playing the tin whistle.”

“That’s good.” A smile in Lydia’s voice, too. “So what is this?”

“A trumpet.”

A faint rustle of paper as Lydia changed cards.

“A set of drums.”

“A cello.” A faint, almost undetectable tremble in Coriander’s voice.

“What about this, then?”

“An oboe.”

“That’s really good, I didn’t even know what that was called.”

“An harpsichord.”

“A guitar.”

“Now this is a hard one.” Lydia laughed. “I had no idea what this was. Ready?”

“Yes, Miss Lydia.” Coriander huffed a small laugh. “T-this pet knows what it is, Miss Lydia. That is a theremin.” He sounded pleased with himself.

“You are really awesome at this.” Lydia said warmly. “Only a few cards left. What is this?”

A sharp intake of breath. The faintest moan. The vicious sound of someone vomiting, liquid splashing all over the floor.

After a few moments only dry heaving could be heard on the tape.

“T-this pet is so, so s-sorry, Miss Lydia.” Coriander’s voice faint and shivering. “I-it will clean this up at once.”

“No, Cory.” Lydia sounded shaken, too. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you. Please forgive me.”

Sound of steps and movement, someone fumbling with the recorder and the recording turned off.

In the margin of the transcript, with blue ballpoint pen, Lydia had noted in her curved handwriting. “A violin.”

*

This post is a part of the 2023 BBU Community Days organised by @bbu-on-the-side The last part of this post - the transcript - is my entry for day 10: In-BBU-media.

*

Fun Facts:

There’s a really cool international street art initiative that is called Play me, I’m yours that aims to place pianos in public places that are free for anyone to use. The project started in Birmingham, UK by artist Luke Jerram, but can now be found all over the world. It is particularly brilliant since pianos are often given away for free since moving them is expensive and many people have a hard time finding space for them in their homes. More info can be found here and here.

*

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[jennyyy007]

RAT 💉 pt. 1

Regeneration

Cw: lab whump, male whumpee, male whumper, multiple whumpers, multiple whumpees, experiments, violence, cruel whumper, defiant whumpee, obedient whumpee, body modification

Felt like starting another story!! Hope you guys enjoy! Whoever wants to be on the taglist for this or any other stories, feel free to dm me!!

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“No- w-wait please”

The boy squirms as he’s put down on the stretcher, his legs and arms tightly strapped down on it.

The people surrounding him are dressed in white lab coats, their faces covered with masks. He can’t make out their faces, if they touched him before or if they didn’t.

A camera is moved over him, recording whatever test they’re performing now. Oliver tries his best to move his face out of the way, not wanting to be recorded.

Another doctor enters the room, washing his hands before putting on some gloves before immediately stepping over to the stretcher. Looking down at the boy.

He can’t tell any of the other doctors apart… but he knows this one… those bright blue eyes, that scar on his face and that disgusting burn marks over his left eye, making him half blind.

“Let it be known that today’s test is the regrowth of flesh. We already took notice how he heals extremely fast… much faster than a normal body. Today we’re going to see to what extent that healing factor goes to. If it’s just a boosted immune system or a full regeneration.”

In reality, Oliver is an anomaly. A freak of nature… He’s immortal. He didn’t know until just recently either. But that car crash… that was supposed to kill him. He’s supposed to be dead. He had 57 broken bones. He was bleeding out. But he survived… his parents didn’t… his sister didn’t… but he survived. His body completely regenerated in an hour. And that skill… that special ability… doomed the rest of his life.

Doctor. Rowan Pierce…. That’s what it says on the little name tag on his lab coat.

The man grabs a small Skalpell.

“Doctor Wells, if you would please begin the tape as well as injecting the anticoagulant into his arm”

Oliver starts to squirm a little. He doesn’t like the needles… he hates them… they hurt him.

The other doctor walks over to another table before picking up a syringe, pushing a bit of the liquid out to get rid of any air before he flicks it, quickly injecting the boys arm with the anticoagulant.

Oliver makes a soft whimper as he starts to cry, he doesn’t want this… none of the tests are performed when he’s unconscious. He’s always completely aware and able to feel what’s going on.

It only takes a second to inject the liquid into him before Pierce picks up a scalpel and a black marker, gently grabbing the boys arm to not already cause any damage before he stats to draw tiny black lines on his upper arm and finn knows that that is definitely not a good sign…

“We will now remove our patients arm to see if it will regenerate or not. Let it be known that if any problems occur, his arm will be frozen and sewed back on later.”

Oliver starts to squirm more and more, terrified of what he’s about to endure.

“N-no please-“

The doctor doesn’t show any hesitation before he pushes the needle into Olivers skin, digging through the flesh before he starts to cut, through his skin…his flesh.. his muscle… and lastly his bone.

The boy has been screaming, begging and sobbing for the past few minutes but nothing helped, they only put a muffle on him to shut him up.

Right after the arm was removed, Doctor. Pierce picks it up and carries it over to a long freezer box, laying it inside before he slowly steps back to the stretcher, his footsteps filling the room as the other doctors are quiet, waiting for any results.

Oliver just whines, closing his eyes as he leans his head back. They took his arm… they took his fucking ar-

“Movement. Get the camera closer I spot movement in the flesh.”

Another doctor rushes to get the camera a bit closer before oliver lets out a loud scream under his muffle. Shaking his head.

In not even three minutes, his arm was completely regenerated. The bone, the flesh.. everything having grown back to its original state, missing all of the scars the doctors have given him.

The doctor quickly walks back to the freezer, picking up Olivers old arm before he holds it next to his freshly regenerated one.

“Incredible… if we manage to extract that gene- we might be able to solve world hunger! We can create the most powerful soldiers!”

Pierce says cheerfully as a few doctors write some notes down.

“This is a grate success indeed. Cut the tape and bring 187 back to his cell.”

A doctor pulls the camera away from the boy before a few nurses start to untie him.

Picking him up and pushing him to a soldier who immediately points his gun at the frightened thing. Motioning him to walk.

But Oliver turns around to look at the doctor who’s already looking through some of the notes.

“W-wait can I have something to eat? Please-“

The man doesn’t even look up, only taking off his mask for fresher air.

“Your nutriloaf is waiting in your room.”

He says blankly before Oliver shakes his head as he’s trembling. He got so skinny it’s disgusting. His whole body scarred up, only wearing some white boxers.

“I-I don’t want that please- It’s- d-disgusting”

The boy says as the soldier grabs him by his shoulder.

“Well it’s all you’ll get since all of our nutritious foods are pumped into the more obedient subjects! Which is weird considering they’re the aggressive ones!”

A tear runs down the boys cheek as he glares at the monster of a man around two meters in front of him.

He doesn’t hesitate before he pulls away from the soldier grasp, unable to hold the boy back since everything happens so suddenly.

He picks up a scalpel before he jumps the doctor, tackling him down before getting on top of him. Oliver looks at the man with an expression of rage before he stabs the scalpel into the mans already blind eye.

“I hate you! I-I hate all of you! If I could I’d f-fucking kill-“

Another soldier quickly grips a pistol before stepping behind Oliver, raising the gun to his head slowly, making sure not to accidentally hit the doctor before…

Bang.

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@a-living-canvas @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees