#i smell fatphobia

[wolf-tail]

I can't even be super mad at this bc I stick my ass out weird like that sometimes when i look in the mirror just to give myself the illusion of an ass (i am a no booty bitch) but whoever drew this seems to think women just be built like that.

If you wanna draw some butt at least give her an actual ass instead of breaking this poor woman's spine to show off her Hank Hil Special. Or like, give her a normal standing position. There's no shame in being a pancake queen girlie.

Darkchylde by Tony Daniel

[perdidosbucky-yyo]

People loved Joe Goldberg but not Patty Bladell?????

HOW?

[krakensdottir]

A scene I wanted to address, because I think we need to, because there is some understandable concern over this.

So, Aziraphale's first taste of human food... he goes pretty nuts. He eats it as fast as he can get it down. He can barely stop to breathe. And I can see why that evokes the Greedy Fat Person trope for some.

Given that Gaiman is no fan of fatphobia, I'm pretty sure that's not the intent. But I won't lean on that. I'll go further, and explain what that scene evoked for me, and see if it makes sense to anyone else.

(To preface, I'm a fat person with blood sugar problems who DOES eat like a starving animal and has 0 shame about it. So I'm not just Not Seeing It because of skinny privilege etc. To get that out of the way.)

So first off, of course, it's his first EVER attempt at eating human food. The absolute lack of moderation could be explained by that alone. But I think it's significant that it's specifically meat.

Those who are familiar with the Old Testament know what I mean when I say that God is carnivorous. It's the entire reason he was a bitch to Cain and not to Abel. The Abrahamic god was one of many at the time that accepted burnt animal offerings, before later revisions attempted to wave that away because oops, it sounds too pagan. Flesh of livestock was a common and expected offering, and burning it assured that the smell and smoke and 'essence' would rise to the heavens.

With that in mind, consider what the taste of meat would do to an angel. What it might awaken in them, the first of God's creations?

Maybe it's the monster-lover in me, but I didn't see a fat man gobbling food. I saw an inhuman ancient entity of immense power that only disguises itself as a man, briefly succumbing to a primal and Earthly urge. It wasn't comical to me. It was almost frightening, in a very intentional way. Rarely do we see through the human guise in this series, see just how eldritch these ethereal beings really are, especially Aziraphale. But here he is, ripping almost uncontrollably into the flesh of another life-form with ominous music and thunder overlying the whole scene, and a demon staring at him with intense satisfaction and fascination throughout.

That's what I took from it. If I had to guess, I'd say that's closer to the intent. Again, partly from knowing the author, but also from the way the scene is shot. We're watching an angel partake in literal pleasures of the flesh for the first time, taking formerly living matter into his body. I can totally vibe with Crowley's reaction, tbh.

[monstersflashlight]

Patreon commission for anon

Request: I was thinking a fem!vampire reader that works at a coffee shop and she has fallen in love with a werewolf customer, but he’s kinda oblivious and a bit of a himbo, and when she finally confesses he’s like…completely taken aback but not in a bad way? And if you feel like it sexy times, but I��m also open to serious fluffy stuff too…ummm the reader is chubby tho, like…I would really appreciate it if you keep it either neutral or make it apparent that the reader is short and chubs.

“You know I don’t like coffee?”

Werewolf (name: Toby) x fem!vampire chubby reader || heavy make out, fluff, pretty much SFW || TW: internalized fatphobia (very light)

“Order for Toby!” You try not to get amused by his taken aback stand as he approaches you.

He always looks so confused when you call his name that you don’t even know why he comes here in the first place. You always have to bite down on your lip to avoid giggling when he takes the first sniff of his coffee. Coffee black, two sugars, one vanilla. Every evening he comes and asks for that, even though he clearly doesn’t like it. It amuses you how he clearly wants to order something else but ends up ordering “the same” everyday.

“Tha- thanks,” Toby’s stutter makes you smile at him, your fangs glistening under the fluorescent and catching his eye. He licks his lips predatory, like he’s savoring your smell in the air, but once again he doesn’t say anything, he just leaves.

You grunt at the next customer, getting angry at yourself for being hopeful that such a cute werewolf would give you the time of the day.

That’s why after a couple weeks writing down your number on his cup and not hearing back from him, you had enough and start getting your break when you know he’s going to show up. The first day you almost give up and get back to work when his soft tone asks for you. But you endure. He didn’t call you. He didn’t show interest in you. Maybe he just likes the way you make coffee (even though he frowns every time he picks it up).

But the third day he shows up in a different time, making you prepare his order the same way you always do, writing your number one last time on the bottom, always hopeful that this time would be the time. When he grabs his coffee, you tell your coworker you are taking a break, wanting to get far for him. He doesn’t let you. He follows you to the back room, your coworker not even caring that he does that.

He crowds against you in the tiny room, he’s so much taller than you that you have to look up when he asks: “Why are you avoiding me?” His tone is a bit hurt and you have to swallow your regrets, because this is his fault.

You press a finger against his chest, accusatory, when you ask back: “Why didn’t you call me?”

“What?” He looks completely confused, and you want to kiss his stupid face so much you have to press your long nails into your palms, the little pain bringing you back to reality.

“I’ve been leaving my number on your cup for weeks and you never called, but then you show up here everyday even though you don’t like coffee just to see me. I don’t get it. I don’t understand it,” you explain. You try not to sound hurt, but it permeates your voice either way. It did hurt, it hurt so much that he didn’t call any of the times you left him your phone number.

“You know I don’t like coffee?” He deadpans, making you even more angry at him, forgetting your pain at his rejection in order to look at him. If you were a cartoon character you’d have smoke coming out of your ears.

“That’s what you wanna focus on?!” You whisper-shout to him. He steps back, completely taken aback by your tone.

“I- Sorry. What?” He questions again, his puppy eyes making you want to melt.

You want to be mad at him, you want to be furious, but when you open your mouth what comes out is: “You don’t... You don’t like big girls, is that it?” You hate yourself a tiny bit for letting your insecurities get the best of you.

Toby’s face contorts in what feels like a caricature. “What?! NO! I love your curves, I want to take a bite of every curve of your body, good goddess you look like my best fantasy came to life,” he says everything so fast that your brain is a bit dizzy by his confession.

When you fully register his words, you are even more confused than before. “Then why didn’t you call?” You are really missing something here. If what he says is true, and what you say is true… Why haven’t you been on a date or something?

“How would I?” His confusion is so clear in his tone, and his ears twitch so adorably when he tilts his head to the side that you want to squeeze him until he’s just a puddle of goo on the floor.

You take the coffee cup and turn it around, splashing some of the contents on the floor. You show him that there’s indeed a number written on the bottom. “My number. In your cup. Everyday,” you repeat.

His surprise is so evident that he gapes like a fish at the numbers and then back at you. Numbers. You. Numbers. You. “Wait. Wait. You like me? You gave me your number?” His question is followed by some mumbling that you don’t catch, like he’s talking to himself. Or more like cursing himself.

“Yes! I’ve been trying to get you to notice me since you first came in,” you confess. You are so glad you can’t blush, because if you could, you’d be as red as a tomato.

He repeats: “You have?” His surprise shouldn’t be as adorable as it is, and it shouldn’t make you want to kiss him senseless. It should make you mad at him that he’s been so obvious to your flirting.

“Yes!” You exclaim, throwing your arms up, exasperated.

“I- I… I didn’t know.” His tone is soft, almost a whisper, and his ears keep twitching over his head. He’s embarrassed, you realize. And that makes you want to coo at him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he keeps chanting as he squeezes your body against his. Your face barely gets to his shoulders, but the way he squeezes you against him makes every worry you had about him disappear. He wasn’t rejecting you, he was just too dumb to realize you were into him. Stupid werewolf himbo.

Toby’s arms hold you so tightly against him that you fear he’s going to break you. “Dude, if I wasn’t a vampire you would break me,” you let out.

“Oops. Sorry.” He lets go of you and looks like you just gave him the best Christmas present ever. “Can… Can I kiss you?” He asks, his big paws holding your face tenderly.

“I thought you’d never ask.” You grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull down with all your supernatural strength, giggling against his mouth when you hear the ripping sound. But you don’t care. And he doesn’t either.

Your lips are against his, and your fangs are pinching his lips as he whimpers. You deepen the kiss as he grabs you by the waist and pulls you up, your legs wrapping around his middle as you grind against his toned abdomen. His hands find your ass and he starts groping you, his tongue dancing against yours. You are in heaven. After so many weeks of pining, you can’t believe you are grinding against his body as he caresses yours. You’ve never been happier to be with a supernatural, his strength coming in handy to support your weight without any problem. It’s exhilarating.

You make out like horny teenagers for what feels like hours, but it’s probably no more than fifteen minutes. You are breathing heavily against his neck, your fangs gracing his artery without biting down, as he groans and moans, rocking his impressive erection up to meet your needy core. You want to bite him so bad, but you know it’s not the place. Your venom can induce some kind of frenzy in werewolves and you really can’t have him fucking you raw in the backroom of the cafeteria. You like this job.

“Your break is up,” a voice says behind you, making you let out a short scream as Toby giggles, his face buried in your neck and his hands still squeezing your ass like he’s kneading bread.

He lets you down and pats your ass once more, kissing the tip of your nose softly. “I’ll pick you up when your shift is done. I think we have things… to discuss.” The innuendo on his words and the way he looks up and down your body like you are his next snack is enough to make your non-existent pulse race.

You can’t wait for your shift to be over.

Reminder that you can commission me (info here) or suscribe to my Patreon (info here). And that my second account is @whiskis

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Note: F!Reader but no gendered terms in this chapter, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: terrible grasp of british-isms, parental angst, sick parent (cancer), some reader backstory for storytelling purposes, talks of pregnancy and readers womb, fatphobia from a parent, food mentions. (lmk if I need to tag something else for filtering!!)

Chapter Three: Don't tell mum

It is an ungodly hour of the morning and you have a sugar hangover and a canopy bed full of empty wrappers.

You’d spent the night crying and cursing stupid posh, blond men with trust funds and selective sperm practices. Which then led you to curse even stupider, infuriating wankers with pretty brown eyes and smooth burnished skin.

(Also the perky twits the two species have tea and procreate with, but you’re trying to do a better job of showing unwavering solidarity with other women. Despite the present fuckery at hand that is.)

A brief glance in the mirror of your vanity reflects the deep dark circles under your eyes and the evidence of your emergency chocolate eclairs on the bodice of your moo-moo. The silk lined linen had been no match for the wild disarray of your hair during the night. You looked quite frightening really. You don’t even need to glance at the framed Olivia Pope photo on your nightstand to know your fictional icon would be utterly disgusted at the state of you.

This would not do.

Sitting up from your pillow you point an accusing finger to the wobbling lipped wretch in the mirror and take a deep steadying breath for fortitude.

"Tits up, buttercup! There's no crying in show business!" you bellow at the watery reflection firmly.

The wretch in the mirror looks no more enthusiastic than before.

Mentally you shrug. Sure the motto is not as an effective motivator as it is with the raspy American accent of your chain smoking paternal aunt, but still. It's the thought that counts! With shoulders back and head high you're determined to expel angst from your body like water off a duck's arse. You force your mouth into a semblance of a smile that doesn't reach your eyes and tumble-scooch out of the nest of blankets in the middle of your bed. 

It was Saturday and you had an overbearing mother to visit (and subsequently lie to). If you didn’t get it together she’d smell the bitter notes of ‘Eau de Failure’ wafting over you like a shark scenting blood in the water. So with that in mind, you prepare for war with a nice candle and the motivating sounds of a beloved global hero. 

“Breakup, shmake-up! Alexa, be a dear and play Chaka Khan, we need this show back on the road. Pronto!”

An incoming text comes in briefly interrupting your improvised rendition of ‘I’m Every Woman’ while you perform (lounge) in the tub. With suds scarily close to your face you squint at the message from your father with one eye.

> Nurses called, mums in a mood.

You scowl. To be frank there’s not a time as of late where your mum wasn’t in a mood. Waving an arm in the air to dispel the bubbles covering your hand, you type out a text back.

< Gobsmacked, truly. Send rating for level of risk in engaging the matriarch, Skipper.

The reply comes in seconds. You can imagine your tech averse father having already expected the request and having a reply at the ready. 

> Threat level five, Captain.

You scrunch your nose and make a whine of irritation. 

Bugger. The scale only went up to six. 

With a sigh you send a simple ‘Roger that’ and sink lower into the bathtub. It was probably best to add more bubbles and break out the epsom salts. You were going to need all the relaxation you could get.

An hour later you’re dressed and slathered in body butter, glistening like a plump glazed ham. 

Outside your flat you’re shifting your bag around to find the knock off sunglasses somewhere traversing at the bottom when the sound of the door across the wall causes you to tense. Kyle stands in his doorway shuffling with a small plastic bag in hand and a sheepish smile. He’s blinking sleep from his eyes and scrunching his face as if the light filtering in the drab hallway disturbs him greatly. 

Your gut clenches seeing the serene yellow glow cascading across his brown skin. (It wasn’t fair that even the sun was a biased ninny and painted the bane of your existence out to be an ethereal creature.)

You give him a look up and down that you hope is less awestruck and all venom. It’s hard not to get distracted by the low hang of his gray sweatpants and the compression shirt that encompasses his broad chest. 

Sweet blueberries, the man dressed like a common whore. 

Sniffing you turn your nose up at him, shoving your sunglasses on your face when you finally reach them.

“Garrick.”

He smiles wider despite your dry tone. “Good morning, love.” 

“Were you just standing there at the door waiting for me?”

Kyle gives you a flat look in return with slightly less chipper-ness. He shifts his arms to rest in a cross, the bag swinging from the crook of his elbow like a metronome. His biceps bulge in a way that makes you want to clutch your pearls. 

(Or bite him. Hard.)

“I wasn’t waiting at the door.” He’s not quite mocking the cadence of your voice but you still wonder if you could get away with braining him with your overstuffed bag.

“I just happened to be nearby and I know you always leave around this time on Saturdays.”

You roll your eyes. 

“So you were waiting at the door then. You know Garrick stalking is illegal in the UK. I would hope you’d know that being military and such.”

Kyle narrows his eyes into slits. His nostrils flare as his once bright smile turns sardonic, gravely affronted.  

“Don’t know if you’re always such a charm in the mornings, love, but like I said, wasn't waiting around.” He clips. You are incensed at the degree of excitement that shoots through you at his rare snark. 

(You make a mental note to have one of the cute nurses at mum’s care center check you over for possible head trauma.)

“Besides,” He gives you a pointed look. “You would know something about illegal acts considering you’re the one who got banned from the resident’s meetings for nicking the snacks.”

The gasp of offense you let out is involuntary. Morning Kyle was not only scandalously dressed but also very rude!

“I did not steal anything, Garrick, they were complimentary for the residents!” You snark haughtily, pushing your sunglasses up your nose with a manicured finger. “I happen to be a resident you know and I gave my compliments when I took them.”

Kyle lets out a bark of laughter. The sleep layered tenor makes your toes curl in your sensible slippers. 

Bugger he was pretty. 

“Is there something you need from me?” you ask when his laugh trickles off into chuckles.

Kyle sobers and shoots you a sheepish glance. “Ah yeah actually. I wanted to give you these.” 

Kyle maneuvers the bag off his arm and extends it to you. With an abundance of caution you accept the offering like one would handle a ticking bomb and peek inside. 

An assortment of moon cakes greets you at the bottom of the plastic. 

You can smell the crisp outer shell and the sweet red bean filling of the pastry signifying their freshness. You do the mental math in your head and realize he’d had to have been up at the crack of dawn to get in line for them at the shops around the way. 

The treats sold out in minutes and you very rarely got the opportunity to get them on your own during the season as you were prone to sleeping in.  

“What’s this for?” 

“It’s an apology.” He gives your bewildered look a self deprecating grimace. “I don’t know what the other night was about but I wanted to apologize for hurting your feelings.”

Okay, no. Can’t have any of that now. 

You straighten up and put your hands on your hips. Kyle’s eyes follow your movements, staring for longer than polite. You clear your throat and he looks away when you give him an eyebrow raise in return. 

“Firstly, Garrick, you didn’t hurt my feelings, don't insult me. I was just taken aback.” pausing in consideration you peer over the rim of your glasses at the man. “What exactly did Madelyn tell you?”

Kyle shifts, one side of his mouth twitching upwards bringing your attention to the facial scar on his cheek.

“Nothing, actually. Just a lot of crying and mumbling about some Hugo. I honestly thought she was talking about a dog before I realized it was some chap she's seeing.”

You hum. Interesting, really.

You’d been sure he’d known more than he’d let on or at the very least that Madelyn would prove to be the unsavory sort to spill the beans on the sister wife shuffle you’d been unwittingly involved in. 

A glance at your watch shows you that you’ve spent too much time dawdling. No need to ruffle mum’s feathers further.

“Well, this has been lovely, Garrick, but I have to cut out. Places to go, people to see and such.” You shake the bag in your hand in emphasis, “Thanks for the goodies. it ���s very... Sweet of you.” 

“You’re welcome, love.”

You’re glad you thought to wear your shades, the smile he gives you is infused with satisfaction and warmth. (He really should be much more careful where he aims those things he’s liable to blind someone.)

With a twirl of your wrist you give Kyle a halfhearted wave goodbye. He watches you until the lift closes.

What a strange duck.

You find your father at his usual haunt within the oncology unit of the extended care center. 

“Step away from the vending machine, Skipper. I come bearing tastier morsels.”

You smile at his wide eyed panic as he turns to you with shoulders to his ears. He curses low and pulls you into a bear hug, tight enough that a passing nurse shushes you for the squawk you let out. Your father’s miserably dramatic groan vibrates throughout your own chest and he lets out a puff of air.

“You’ve gotta announce yourself kid, I nearly shit myself.”

With a laugh you poke a finger into his rib causing him to jerk away from you. “It’s shat, do try to act like a proper Brit won’t you? Besides what's the fun in announcing myself when I can catch you red handed doing something you shouldn’t. Mum will be pissed you’re wasting money on vending machine biscuits ya’ know.”

Your father gives you a droll look when you snatch his change and shove it in your own pocket. 

(Someone has to pay the child tax after all.)

“Shit or shat, same difference and you would be the one responsible for cleaning me up, brat. And, I’ve been divorced from your mother for nearly a decade so I don’t care what she won’t like. I'm a grown ass man, I’m not afraid of her.”

Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head you swear you can see your medulla. He was so full of it.

“Yeah? So, if I told you not to tell mum something you’re not going to do that thing where you blurt it out the second she looks at you?”

He puts a hand over his heart in reply. “Of course I wouldn’t say anything. I’m a little offended right now, when have I ever run off at the mouth.”

You stomp your feet in irritation. He didn’t get to play clueless!

“Literally all the time. You’re the reason she sent me to that awful boarding school for nicking one of your cigarettes! I’m still scared of nuns you know- stop laughing!”

Your father continues to chuckle and pats your face. When you swat his hand away the look he gives you is unimpressed and flippant.

“In my defense, you were thirteen and had no business smoking in the first place, much less skipping class to do it. I had to put fear into you so you didn’t come out a delinquent.” 

“By telling mum?” You quirk a brow.

“Course, what’s scarier?” He gives you a smug look, linking his arms in yours. You both set a pace down the hall in the direction of your mothers room. 

“Besides, I wouldn’t be a father if I hadn't done whatever it took, you were very rebellious and snotty at the time. But still, it worked out didn’t it? Got a cool nickname out of it. Siggy, the chain smoking lawyer.”

You start to glare at him but the word father makes you wince and he catches it. “What’s the look?”

“So about being a father,” you slow to a stop just outside your mothers door. You give the nurse at reception a tight smile and try to come up with a way to say the thing. 

“Hugo got someone pregnant.” 

It takes the old man some time for it to click. You watch his mind whir putting together the things you didn’t say. Finally he levels you with a smirk much like a cat who drank the cream would wear.

“No shit? Didn’t think he had the cojones for that, you’d kept them in your purse long enough.”

The look you give him is unimpressed, he snickers. How dreadful, you were being parented by a child. 

“Yes well,” you look away “according to him I wasn’t mother material and he dumped me for the other woman.”

Your father hums “Tragic that. Didn’t like him very much so I can’t say I’ll miss him. He send you off with something?”

He motions his head at the plastic bag you fiddled with subconsciously. With a snort you hand it over, watching his eyes light ups when he digs through its contents.

“No, gift from my neighbor.” you wait until he’s taken a moon cake out of its individual wrapping before leveling him a glare. “Under no circumstances are you allowed to tell mum that Hugo and I broke up.”

Your father shrugs off your concern with a wave. “Yup got it. Won’t hear a peep out of me about it.” He takes a big bite that sends pastry flecks over his shirt and you roll your eyes.

Facing the door to the hospital room you roll your shoulders back and prepare yourself mentally.

The sound of a wrapper crinkly disturbs whatever inner peace you search for in the universe.

“Please Siggy, I served with guys in the Navy with less seriousness going into battle.” 

Good grief.

“Eat your sweets please.” You cluck, “I need to meditate before I walk in there.”

Your father ha-rumps in reply but thankfully keeps quiet. When you feel some semblance of self control you shoot a look behind you.

“Remember not a single word!”

Your mother is propped against mounds of pillows. She looks every bit like a queen holding court despite the tubing and wires running along her body. Her sallow skin is grayish in tint, far from the myriad of browns you remember from your youth. 

Yet her scowl remains sharp and dagger-like in nature.

“Oh, how nice of you to show up. I thought this was your way of telling me you want me to die alone.”

Your father shoots you a look as he finishes off the cake. Threat level five indeed.

You smile at her sheepishly which only makes her glare more.

“I got tied up with my neighbor, sorry mum. I’m here now though. What’s been going on?” 

Your mother says nothing instead choosing to follow you with her eyes as you make your way to the armchair beside her bed. When you’re seated she sucks her teeth and looks you up and down before gesturing at your still standing father with her head. 

“Why did you bring this traitorous shadow on my doorstep, eh? I already have a sickness, why must you make me suffer more?”

Your father rolls his eyes before gesturing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Alright… glad we had this talk. I’ll just run to the cafeteria.” Your father turns tail and leaves without waiting for a reply. Your mother gives you a look.

“Wisdom chases your father but unfortunately he is faster.”

“Please, that’s mean, mum.” You ignore her brush off, “He comes to visit with me every weekend even when he doesn’t have to, maybe you should give him a break.” 

Your mother is silent, choosing to disregard your scolding by facing away and watching the drama playing out on the telly. You allow the dismissal, watching along with her and sharing occasional comments on the plot. 

During an advertisement break she folds her hands into her lap and shifts to get a good look at you.

“Are you pregnant yet?”

You jerk back into the cushions of the chair, “No!”

She frowns. “Why not, you are getting old? 

And here we go.

“Mum,” you start carefully, “You say this every time you see me and I have to remind you once more that I’m not old. It’s actually pretty rude, you know, to suggest I need a baby because I’m aging.”

She huffs adjusting the nasal cannula. You look at the IV in her thin hand and the feeling of wrongness makes your body vibrate with anxiety. 

She shouldn’t be here.

You don’t get a chance to think about it anymore when she leans over the railing of her bed to stare deep into your eyes.

“What’s happened to that Humphrey fellow, what is he saying about your empty womb?”

For fucks sake!

“It’s Hugo and he’s got nothing to say about my womb because it’s not his bloody-” you refuse to amend the curse when she swats at you with the hand closest to you, “it’s not his bloody business mother, I’m not a breeding mare!” 

She narrows her eyes, jaw working as she contemplates your tense shoulders. “Where is he?” 

You recoil. For. Fucks. Sake!

You try to look casual while sitting back in the armchair, your unseeing glaze pretending to be interested in the period piece that now plays on the in-unit television.

“He’s around or whatever. Doing fiancé things and all that jazz. Super happy. Great guy, truly the best.”

Your mother lets out a sharp ‘Ha!’ She calls your full name in the tone. The ‘I have birthed you and I will end you’ like filicide is her right as a mother, tone. You sink low into the chair.

“What, mother?”

“You are lying, I can tell. Where is Harold and what happened to your engagement? If you’ve run off another man I will cut you from my will.”

You snort humorlessly.

“Like I said Hugo is fine where he is. Besides you don’t have a will, I know because I oversee your legal paperwork and you refuse to sit down and draft one with me.”

She mumbles something unintelligible about everyone speaking death onto her when your father walks into the room with a cup of coffee.

You see the second your mother sets up a plan of attack and your father does too in the way he freezes in fear like a doe in the path of a wolf. 

“Where is the child’s husband-”

“He broke up with her!" He blurts with wide, dodgy eyes, "Got some girl pregnant and ran off.” 

He returns your disgusted look with a shrug. “Sorry, Siggy got nervous.”

Seriously, the man needed some backbone! He’s not even married to her any more! You’re opening your mouth to lay into him when your mother launches her own attack on you both.

“Do not call my child that awful name, you discombobulated fool!” you mouth the word ‘discombobulated’, the woman was creative with her insults, you’ll give her that.

“And you!” she wags her finger in your direction with a stiff lip, “You should be ashamed of yourself for lying to your own ailing mother. Quickly, how did you manage to run this one off? I am dying to hear it.”

Primly you sit up, adjusting the hem of your shirt around your tummy. Your time in court was much less daunting, to be honest, but you’re a believer in faking it until you make it.

“Mumsy, I didn’t run anyone off, thank you very much. In my defense he was a cheating oaf and he is free to do what he wants, it's no skin off my back.”

She laughs haughtily and it makes you feel awful. 

“He wouldn’t have left if you gave him children!”

The dark desire to mention that giving a man a child hadn’t worked out in her favor when you catch your father’s look. He shakes his head, knowing you well enough to pluck the vicious thought from your mind.

You swallow back the biting retort in defeat.

“Mum please. Hugo said he didn’t want kids right away” you mentally add the ‘children with you’ with a frown, “I believed him when he said it and that’s not something I should be punished for.”  

Your mother sits back in bed, raising her hands in the air in defeat. 

“Everyone else in the family has a grandchild or three!” She cuts her eyes at you, “Why was I the one cursed with a child who buys ugly bags instead of raising babies.”

The pit in your stomach grows as tears prickle your eyes. “My bags aren’t ugly and its very mean of you to suggest that.” you whimper dejectedly.

Your father takes a step and puts his hand on your shoulder.

“I think that’s enough, we should be comforting our child not being insulting. You didn’t like the man anyways so what's the issue?” 

Your mother just tuts and closes her eyes like she couldn’t be arsed to have you both in sight a moment longer.

“He was also a fool.” She opens one eye to peek at you, “Your cousin is expecting again by the way.”

So that's what this was about, you snort.

“Yes well, terrible for you to compare me to my underage cousin when she’s barely a teenager with her second child on the way. You know as well as I do the family was in a kerfuffle about it the first time!”

Your father hums in agreement, voicing his support (a little late after having caused this mess, but still.)

“You should be proud to have a kid who has degrees, a great career -an admittedly shit flat,” He ignores your sound of objection “but otherwise really fabulous things going on. Say something nice, please.”

Your mother sniffs “I’m getting older and who knows if this sickness takes me to glory. The child obviously wants me to die without a grandbaby.”

Your sigh is deep and loud in the room. You know for a fact she's bringing up her cancer to twist the knife in deeper. Yet you heard from her yourself that the doctors crowed about the progress of her health.

“Mum please don’t keep saying stuff like that. It really hurts my feelings because you know I love you and I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” 

You watch your mother fight to not soften with your admission. She doesn't look directly at you, glancing more in your general direction. You place a hand over hers on top of the covers, squeezing her fingers tight. The dull shine of her wedding band catches the light of the side table lamp. 

She squeezes your hand back and lifts it out from under yours to pat your fingers. You know it's the only form of apology you’ll get from her. She does ruin it though, moments after.

“Your wrists are like sausage casings, have you gotten bigger?”

Yes well, that was your sign that it was time to go.

“Well lovely as always to see you mum,” you shift to a stand reaching for your bag at your feet and patting your father on the arm. “Think I’m going to pop out and consider my life choices and all.”

She tells you not to be cheeky when you kiss her cheek. She ignores your father’s goodbye  and continues on with watching her shows.

On the walk out front your father stops you from leaving. He lights up a cigarette, the cloying menthol aroma turning your stomach. 

(You never could pick one up again after that traumatizing moment in secondary school.)

Your father is quiet for some time, flicking the ash of his cigarette occasionally in deep thought. You don’t make an effort to break the silence, thinking of your own recollection of another successfully humiliating interaction with your mother. They’d been happening a lot more as of late and it was starting to wear a hole in your heart.

When you shuffle in place your father finally looks at you with a softened glint in his eye. He stumps out his ciggie and places a hand on your shoulder.

“You and your mother are just alike.”

Snorting, you look off to the darkening parking lot, settling your gaze on a flickering street lamp in the distance. You try to ignore the warbling view from behind the tears in your eyes.

“Wouldn’t let her hear that. I’m sure she’d pop her lid at the very suggestion.” You don’t mean to, but bitterness coats your tongue before you can stop yourself, “Poor, fat, pathetic Siggy mucking her perfect plans up as always.”

Your father shoots you a warning glance, not liking your tone or the self deprecation dripping from your mouth. Being under his steel gaze makes you feel childish but you refuse to show it, meeting his look head on.

Because like it or not it was the truth. Whether she said it outright she wasn’t satisfied with your person.

You’d grown up always being on the wrong end of your mothers ire. No matter how hard you tried otherwise. But there wasn’t an excellent mark you could get, a partner you could bring home, or even a diet you could go on. You were always just… lacking.

Your father sighs in the night.

“You’re just as hard headed as her, you know that? Just as quick to cut down an idea that doesn’t fit your vision.”

Catching the defeated slump of your shoulders he calls your name. When you don’t look at him he tucks a finger beneath your chin forcing you to meet his gaze. Love and sadness sit on his weathered skin like a cloak. 

“It’s not a bad thing, Captain. I know being all brass and bull dick helps you at that fancy ass firm of yours but it keeps you from smelling the roses from time to time.”

You wrinkle your nose at the crassness, not sure how to take being compared to bulls testicles. He continues on.

“You also got her flare for dramatics and her ambitious nature. It’s why you two have been butting heads since you could set up and talk.”

Whoa, not the case!

“She butts heads with me!” You cry out, “I don’t know what I could possibly be doing to trigger her but I’m exhausted figuring it out. I just want-“

The lump in your throat stops you and you take a shaky breath. 

“I just want her to be on my side for once? Instead of being worried about me embarrassing her in front of the family.”

He gives you a sad smile.

“She’s just scared. Been on the wrong end of the hyenas before, I think she tries to nag you into submission in hopes she can spare you half the pain.”

That you can’t help but give an unbelieving look to.

“Please she acts like the head hyena most days. It’s hard to believe she’s ever been judged the way she judges me.”

Your father hums humorlessly, wrapping an arm over your shoulder to smush you into his side.

“You’d be surprised. She’d gut me, then stuff me over the mantle for saying it, but I have it on good authority that she’s on thin ice with her side of the family as well.”

You sniffle past the tears on your lashes, blinking to peer at him. “Well don’t leave me in suspense, old man. What’s the story behind that?”

Your father chuffs and flicks the tip of your nose, you whine rubbing the sore spot left behind. 

“I got your old man alright, you little shit.” He laughs boisterously, “They’re pissed she dared marry me, an American. Then by doing me the honor of birthing you, the most loving, headstrong tornado of a child a man can ask for, despite their objections.”

The forehead kiss he plants on you brings more watery fluid to your eyes. You hide the emotion by frowning and pretending to wipe off imaginary residue from your forehead.

“I’m not following.” You snark flatly. It earns you a pinch.

“They’re pissed she went against them then had the nerve to agree to divorce me when it was all said and done. That’s on top of inconveniencing them by getting sick. Your mum’s been on the chopping block far longer than you’ve been and the pressure is getting to her.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh and you imagine he’s reliving the hard years that came about after the divorce. The constant yelling and coldness within your childhood home still sends ice down your spine. Your father notices the resulting shiver and rubs your arm to provide warmth into your limbs.

“Despite our differences, I know your mum is just worried you’ll face the same treatment she did when she went and ran off with me, the ‘no good American’ while on vacation.”

You sigh, still not really understanding. It was definitely unfortunate their treatment of your parents' marriage. You’d witnessed it in the slick remarks of your aunties and the other elders over the years. 

Your father had done what he could to shield you from figuring out his ostracism up until he’d asked your mother for a divorce. 

It wasn’t fair to either of them that the family was so caught up in outdated traditions to see your parents had loved each other once. But you couldn’t live like this and you say so.

“You said it yourself, you've been divorced for ages. It’s not fair that she puts so much pressure on me when I don’t give a damn about what they say. I’ve never amounted to anything they want and I refuse to exhaust myself trying to meet her expectations.”

Your father nods in agreement.

“That’s valid, Siggy. Ultimately I just want you to make your own path. I’ll talk to her about laying off, promise.” He cocks his head and squints at you. 

“What?” You give him a worried perusal.

“Are you still mad that I spilled the beans about the fiancé situation?”

You laugh, pinching him around the middle. “I’m still very upset actually. You sold me out so quickly, it’s like you didn’t even try!”

He shrugs shamelessly. “It was me or you. I had to put myself first in the end.”

You roll your eyes and enjoy the swaying hug he keeps you in. After some time he speaks, peering at you.

“Your little friend Blue is right, by the way, that Hugo man does look like a chihuahua.”

“Dad, please.” 

“I’m just saying, Captain, might have gotten lucky after all. wouldn’t want you to go off and birth a litter of pups with a french accent.”

Your resulting cackle echoes loudly into the night.

A/N lol sorry for taking forever for an update and all the parental angst lmao. If you can’t tell I suffer from mommy issues and I was avoiding writing this chapter. Excited, next part the good shit begins :’D

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[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Bully x F! Reader

Forgot to post this to Tumblr, but this was requested by ElinaHiganbana on Wattpad.

Wanna buy me a kofi?: ☕

🎀🎀🎀🎀💖💖💖💖

TW: Noncon, dubcon, eating disorder, vomit, fatphobia, disturbing body descriptions, hair pulling, impregnation, degradation.

Today will be a good day. You won't feel like a piece of shit again. You can get through the day.

That's what you say to get through the day. It usually doesn't prove true, but you somehow manage to stay alive.

"Hey, Shamu! When is your fatass going to skip the gym again?" Kory, the boy responsible for your misery, yells, making his friends laugh.

You've been wearing your old clothes that are extremely baggy to cover up the sad state of your body. It feels weird having so much space between the clothing and your skin. Unfortunately, they don't help cover up the feeling of nausea. You run to the nearest bathroom and throw up stomach bile.

You can make it through the day. There are only eight more hours left.

You get up and walk to your first class, Calculus. By the time it's over, you barely remember what you learned. After moving through the rest of the day like a zombie, throwing up your lunch, you shuffle into the girl's changing room for the gym. You ignore the concerned and scared looks the other girls give you as you take off your shirt and pants. Admittedly, you know your body is a wreck. You can even see the veins that are supposed to be hidden by the skin on your arm. Unfortunately, your ass and chest have a bit more to go, but thankfully your boobs went from Gs to Cs. But it makes you feel good knowing Kory would have to create a new insult when you're nothing but skin and bone.

When you walk out of the changing room and go into the gym, your body bubbles with anticipation for Kory to see your body and think of something to say. You're perfect now. All of that fat has been shed to your liking. The gym is silent, and everyone is staring at you. You imagine spotlights pointing at you, and something deep inside you makes you walk with pride you shouldn't be feeling. Well, that is until you bump into your bully Kory. Your eyes meet his, and you swear you could see amazement flash between his brown eyes.

"Y/N, what happened to you?" Kory asks, his brown eyes looking all over your body.

"I don't know, but I don't feel hungry anymore," You reply, your cracked lips bleeding from just you smiling.

"Get away from me, you disgusting freak," Kory says, shoving you to the ground.

You fall and swear you could hear your heart shatter.

Why didn't he call you something else?

He didn't call you something else because you're so big and disgusting.

You're so disgusting, you attention whore.

Your eyes shift to the white ceiling, and suddenly, your vision gets enveloped in white. If this is what death feels like, it feels so warm and nice, like you're swaddled in the first blanket you ever touched as a baby.

~~~~~~~~~

When you wake up, you're underneath the covers of someone's bed sheets. They smell like men's body spray, B.O., and sex. You wanna throw up, but someone puts a hand over your mouth, stopping you.

"If you throw up on my bed, I swear I'm going to ruin your ass," Kory growls, glaring at you. "How long has it been since you ate a meal?"

You stay silent and look away, not wanting to spill your guts.

"Since you wanna try and play games with me, I'll just punish you until you answer me," Kory says, aggressively pulling your hair and forcing your head to go up. "How long has it been since you ate a meal?"

"Two weeks," You croak, earning a kiss on the neck from Kory.

"Good girl," Kory replies, letting go of your hair and pulling down his sweatpants. "I know it'll take time for you to eat full meals again, so why don't we start slow."

Before you even have a chance to say anything, his hand is grabbing your hair again and shoving his cock into your mouth. You choke on his length as he forces you to take all of it.

"Did you really think I was going to help your pathetic ass without me getting some pleasure from it?" Kory groans, thrusting his hips as you choke on his cock. "Jesus, you useless piece of bones, breathe through your nose."

You do as he says through the tears, hoping he takes mercy on you. He bobs your head more and more until your whimpers are taken over by the sounds of you sucking his cock.

"I'm going to cum in your mouth, and you're going to swallow it. Don't even attempt to make a run for the toilet to throw up, or else I'll fill up all of you with cum," Kory says, riding through his high as he presses your head harder to make sure you don't lift your head until he's done.

Kory cums into your mouth, and you feel it go straight to the back of your throat and to your stomach.

"Haha, great, now there's some calories in your stomach," Kory laughs, pushing you onto your back as he takes off your pants. "Now I get to eat you out."

You try to close your legs, but Kory forces them open.

"Just for that, I'm going to finger you instead," Kory says, getting up and holding one of your legs open.

With his other hand, he puts three fingers in and immediately fingers you with speed. You try not to let out any moans, but the minute Kory sticks his whole entire fist in, you lose it.

"Ah, fuck, Kory, faster!" You moan, making Kory laugh at you.

"Aw, is my Little Bunny not in control of her body? You wanted my attention so bad, didn't you?" Kory mocks, laughing at your hands, unbuttoning your shirt to get to your boobs.

"Yes, yes, yes!" You scream, making Kory laugh at you more. "Please, make me cum!"

Kory laughs and kisses you on the lips.

"Tell me when you're cumming, Bunny," Kory whispers in your ear, licking your neck.

"I'm going to cum, Kory! I'm going to cum right now!" You moan, wrapping your arms around Kory's bare back.

Kory takes his hand out of your pussy and flips you over.

"No!" You whine, missing the high you were feeling.

"Don't worry, Bunny. I told you I was going to help you," Kory says, grabbing your hair while his other hand is on your ass. "You're going to get big and pretty again just for me."

Kory starts thrusting into you while pulling your hair, and you eventually lose yourself.

"Harder! Harder, Kory!" You moan, making him chuckle.

Both of your bodies become sweaty, and the sound of skin slapping together becomes more frequent. Even the bed is shaking like there's an Earthquake happening.

"I'm about to cum, baby!" Kory yells, tightening his grip on your hair.

"AUGH! Me too!" You scream, a knot forming in your stomach.

Kory yanks your hair hard as he cums into your pussy. You cum onto his dick and scream as an orgasm ravages you. Kory lays on top of your chest and leaves a hickey on your neck.

"If you ever think about starving yourself or throwing up any food you eat ever again, I'll shove food down your throat myself. Only I get to degrade you, Bunny," Kory threatens, keeping a tight grip on your arm. "Now, relax, and I'll get you breakfast."

"How did I even get here?" You ask, rubbing Kory's head of straight black hair.

"You passed out, and I took you to my house since I wanted to talk with you privately," Kory answers, leaving a trail of kisses. "Any other questions, Bunny."

"Are you going to make me drop out of college?"

"Temporarily. You're too sick to be going in this state. Don't worry, I'll take care of you, Bunny."

[eddiexmunsonlover]

One Step Away From You (Chapter 4)

ExBestFriend!Eddie Munson x PlusSize!Fem!Reader

Follow my new blog for future chapters & fics @cherryxhaze

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Chapter Summary: Your off-handed comment to Jason catches up to you. Before things get out of hand, someone swoops in to your defense. A heart-to-heart ensues. WC: 6.4k Warnings: MDNI. Explicit language. Fatphobia/bullying from Jason. Jason almost hits you. Brief references to toxic family relationships and abuse.

Saturday, September 21st, 1985

The ever so alluring smell of bacon and pancakes invades your senses, stirring you from your slumber. You rub your eyes as you look at the clock on the bedside table. 10:35 am. You slept in, though you can’t say you’re surprised. After the day you had, you must’ve really needed it. You roll out of Steve’s spare bed, making sure to re-make it before you venture down the stairs. 

The smell intensifies with each step down the stairs and into the kitchen, spotting the stack of pancakes and bacon waiting to be picked. Steve is pouring a cup of coffee, eyeing you as you grab a plate and start loading it up.

“Morning, sleepy head”

“Morning, haircut” you respond, taking a quick bite of bacon. Groaning softly in pleasure, “You know, Steve. If you don’t figure out what you wanna do for a career, I think you’d make a great little housewife.” You smirk to yourself as you pour syrup onto your plate. Steve scoffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Know any takers?” You laugh with him before you catch a glimpse of Robin sitting on the couch, eating her own plate. 

“Oh, hell yes.” you say excitedly when you see and hear Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? playing on the TV. You quickly scurry over to join Robin on the couch with your own plate. Steve joins soon after, all leisurely eating your brunch and watching Saturday morning cartoons. After you’ve all finished your plates and are relaxing before eventually having to get ready for your work shifts, Steve speaks up.

“So, we gonna talk about what happened yesterday?”

You look between him and Robin, confused. You quirk an eyebrow up at him.

“Uh, what happened yesterday? What do you mean?”

“I mean, something happened yesterday, didn’t it? You seemed a bit…off.”

Goddamnit. If Dustin hadn't learned it from you, you're now sure he learned his ability to read people so well from Mr. Steven Harrington too.

“Did you talk to Eddie?” Robin asks softly.

You sigh, crossing your arms over your stomach.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell us anything. But if you want to, you know we’re here. I’m also just really nosey.” Steve adds, causing a smirk to tug at your lips before you take a deep breath.

“Yeah. I talked to him. Ran into him after lunch, literally. And uh, let’s just say it did not go well. He kinda flipped out on me. But, I kinda deserved it. Aaand, I kinda slapped him. But, he kinda deserved it.” You let yourself laugh a little, taking in their surprised faces.

“So yeah, based on that I don’t think we’ll be friends again anytime soon. At least I can say I tried.” You finish with a shrug.

Robin reaches out and rubs your arm soothingly as Steve looks at you with sympathy and in thought. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N” he sighs, “Maybe just give things some time to cool down, I’m sure he’ll come back around.” He gives you a soft, crooked smile.

“Yeah, maybe. And if not, I’m sure I’ll be okay.” you say, more to yourself than to them.

You pull into your driveway an hour later. You sit there, finishing your cigarette as your eyes linger on the now familiar van across the street through your rear-view mirror. You look longer than you’d like, finally tearing your eyes away to throw out your cig. Cutting off the sounds of Black Sabbath as you turn off the ignition. 

You slowly shuffle your way to the mailbox at the end of your driveway. Flipping through the spam and advertisements when you hear a familiar sound, a skateboard. Your eyes follow the sound, a figure shaded by the sun. You know who it is. If it wasn’t for the skateboard, it’s the flaming aura around her head under the sunlight. A big smile stretches across your face, leaning against your mailbox as she rides closer into view. When she’s close enough to see your face, her eyes widen and she nearly stumbles off her skateboard, eliciting a giggle from you. She stares at you for a second as she comes to a stop, sliding her headphones down to her neck.

“Hey, you.” you say cheerfully.

In a second, she’s running to you, wrapping you in a tight embrace. You feel the shakiness as she inhales a deep breath.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, the ever elusive Red.” You smile as you return the hug, briefly rubbing her back before she pulls back to look at you.

“W-How?” She looks toward your trailer, “You moved back?!”

“Yep, just this past week. I tried keeping an eye out for you at school, then Dustin told me you moved here. Knew I’d catch you eventually.”

Her smile falters ever so slightly at the mention of Dustin.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, it’s a piece of shit but it’s a roof over our heads I guess.” You nod in agreement, pondering how to approach her. If she’s been avoiding the party, you worry one wrong move will send her running away from you too. You decide to go the easy route, knowing you might not get a truthful answer right away.

“You and mom doing okay?” 

“Yeah. She’s either working or drinking most of the time, so” she shrugs nonchalantly, a move you see right through. “But I can take care of myself just fine anyway”.

“Well, if you ever get bored entertaining yourself, just come and give a knock, okay? I gotta get going for work here soon, but maybe we can go out to the drive-in or something soon?”

A small smile tugs at her lips as she nods lightly.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Oh, and you know. If you ever need a ride, I’m already giving the knuckleheads rides home after school and since we’re neighbors, I can just stick them all in the bed and give you passenger seat privileges.” You ramble before noticing the way she begins to awkwardly sway at the suggestion. “Or ya know, I can just kick them to the curb and save myself some gas with just you.” You quickly offer. She forces a small laugh before shaking her head.

“No, that’s okay. It gives me more time to skate anyway.” 

Great, I’ve already messed this up. Just add it to the list…

“Alright, well the offer’s on the table anytime. For anything.” You insist, giving her an out to the conversation as you begin to move back toward your driveway. She only nods in response, before putting her skateboard in place to ride again.

“See you later, Red.” You wave before heading into your trailer to get ready for work.

During the slower phases of the work day, your mind drifts to worries of Max. How she’s really doing, how you should approach her, how to get her to open up to you. It’s a welcomed distraction considering the other places, or people, your mind would be wandering to otherwise. You and Max had gotten fairly close over the summer, you gave her opportunities with and outside of the party to get away from home, from her asshole step-brother. Being the only other girl and older, she often confided in you. Whether it was about her brother, her relationship with Lucas, or the struggles of girlhood, you were there for her. 

Since Billy’s sacrifice to save her from the mall fire and his resulting death, she’s closed off. Isolating from everyone close to her. That happened to be something you’re familiar with. Something that helps you to understand her, something you can use. You know you need to take it slow though. Based on her initial reaction to seeing you, you know she's missed you, and know that connection is still there. There’s just some walls you need to chisel down first.

Take it slow.

That connection is still there.

Just some walls you need to chisel down first…

Those dark curls… chocolate button eyes… cutest fucking dimples you’ve ever seen in your life.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, frustrated with your brain and your heart. Both deeply longing for him… before the shock of pain with the memory of his words hits you.

Just let it go. Move on. He’s not your Eddie anymore.

~

It was bothering Eddie more than he’d ever admit, even to himself. You. Thoughts of you swimming around his head with every emotion he could think of, was bothering him.

After your argument, he felt a bit of relief. To finally say the words he’d been carrying with him these last few years to you. To finally release the anger and pain out onto you. It felt like a weight off his shoulders in the moment. What he hadn’t been expecting was for you to match it, taking the pain and anger you felt in response, right back out and onto him. 

This whole past week you’ve been back has thrown him off. More distracted than usual. More reactive. More irritable. The other boys in Hellfire noticed, taking extra effort to not poke the bull. 

Your argument and slap left him even more distracted and off-balance. You’d thrown him off his game for Hellfire for christ’s sake. Forgetting details for the campaign that he’d otherwise would’ve had memorized, left him referencing his notes. He didn’t exude his usual dungeon master playfulness, animated voice and facial expressions coming out muted. Everyone noticed. Eddie’s own off-balanced performance reflected in his players. Nothing had ever distracted him so much to the point of interfering with Hellfire campaigns. The way Henderson eyed him suspiciously throughout the night almost set him off completely, again. He’d ended the campaign a little early, offering a brief apology and a quick lie to write off his abnormal performance on. He’d spent the rest of the night getting as drunk and high as he could in his bedroom until he passed out. 

Saturday isn’t going much differently for him. Sitting in his bed with a joint in his mouth as his fingers mindlessly strum his guitar, thinking of you. The anger he felt yesterday is now replaced with guilt. A guilt that sits and churns in his stomach, teetering on the edge of nausea. Maybe that was just the hangover, or maybe it’s from the way he can’t get the image of your tear-streaked face out of his head. Tears caused by him.

You deserved to hear how much you hurt him. Be faced with the consequences of your actions. You deserved that. But as he remembers the look in your eyes yesterday, the way you flinched, the way he caused a side of you you rarely show to come out… he knows you didn’t deserve that. He scolds himself for letting his emotions get the best of him, letting them get out of his control. You hurt him, that didn’t make it right for him to hurt you back. It didn’t even make him feel good. Maybe very briefly in the moment, just to release what he’d been holding in for so long, but it left as quickly as it came. 

He sighs as he moves the guitar off his lap, putting out his joint in the ashtray before rubbing his hands over his face, staring up at the ceiling.

He can’t hold on to this anger anymore, he knows it’s not healthy and is only hurting him more. But he can’t blame himself too much for wanting to, it’s one of the ways he’s protected himself in the past. Protected him from getting hurt. You knew that about him. The way he held onto anger at his dad, people in Hawkins, not wanting to waver and give either the chance to hurt him more. You knew almost everything about him, more about him than he’d ever willingly shared with anyone. That’s why what you did hurt him so deeply, and why he wanted to hurt you just as much. And feels like utter shit for it. 

Hey, you!

His eyes dart to his window as his brain immediately recognizes your voice. He peeks out to see you interacting with a younger girl he’d seen skateboarding around in the neighborhood and at school. His heart begins to ache watching you, watching you embrace the girl, watching the way you smile at her and ramble.

God, does he miss it. Misses the way you’d ramble and rant about something you’re passionate about, the way you’d cackle and smile when he’d do the stupidest thing he could think of just so he could see it. Misses the way your warm, plump body feels against him when you’d hug or lean your head on his shoulder. 

He sighs watching you wave goodbye to the girl and walk inside your trailer. 

Maybe he could give you another chance. Now that he’s not so overcome with anger, maybe he’d be able to hear you out. Not overpower you so much with his anger that you can actually have a real chance to explain yourself. 

Maybe.

Tuesday, September 24th, 1985

Some things have changed since your fight with Eddie on Friday. Flipped, really. Your eyes no longer sought him out. You do your best to avoid looking at him whether it was in the halls or in your shared classes. Knowing the sight of him would only bring back that sting in your chest.

Eddie on the other hand, couldn’t tear his eyes away from you whenever you’re in his sight. Watching you in regret, longing, confusion, hurt, all twisted into one. Eddie’s confident in himself most of the time, except for in a few areas. This situation with you and how to handle it moving forward is one of the latter. It’s a big fucking mess he isn’t sure how to fix. He knows with the way things went on Friday after you made the first move to talk to him, that it had to be him this time to try to make things right. 

You take your time walking down the quiet halls before the end of the lunch period, hearing the distant, muffled chatter from the lunchroom. You open your locker, putting away your books from your morning classes, switching them out with your afternoon ones. Just as you finish putting the last book in your bag, your locker slams shut in front of you, causing your head to whip toward the culprit you didn’t notice come up next to you till now.

“You’ve got a smart mouth on you, don’t you piggy?” Jason seethes out, hand pressed against your now closed locker door. Your smirk at him as you lean against it.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, well I don’t know who the hell you think you are or who you think you're talking to bu-”

“You know, I remember you from years ago. The last time I lived here.” You interrupt before looking him up and down, “Jason Carver. Back then you were just a scrawny guy, trailing behind the older jocks, carrying that ever so fragile ego in tow with theirs.” You look back up to meet his eyes, brows furrowed above them. “I see you’ve grown a few inches, even bulked up a bit. Looks like that’s about all that’s changed, though.” You watch as he processes your words, your insult.

“You fat fucking bitch” He says through gritted teeth, face turning red.

“Oh come on, Carver. Don’t you have anything fresher than that?” you say flatly, cocking an eyebrow at him. You watch as his body tenses up.

“Looks like I need to teach you and that smart mouth a lesson” He says, taking a step closer to you. You don’t move an inch, refusing to give him the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of you.

“Oh no. What are you gonna do?!” You say sarcastically. “You don’t scare me, Carver.”

You watch as a vein protrudes from his forehead, face turning a deeper red. 

It all happens so quickly. One of his arms pulls back, raising in the air in the motion to slap you, but it doesn’t come. Curly dark hair appears behind him, before Jason’s thrown flat on his ass in front of you.

Eddie had been outside smoking before lunch ended. On his way back into the school, he spots you and Jason. He slows his steps, listening in on the quickly escalating conversation. You’re teetering on the edge and you don’t care. As fragile as Jason’s ego is, so is his masculinity. Eddie wasn’t sure if Jason's above hitting a girl, but he knows that’s where this could go. He creeps closer, eyeing the way Jason’s hand begins to twitch. Waiting for the string to snap, and it does. When he spots Jason’s hand raise, Eddie swoops in. With a foot behind Jason’s, Eddie wraps his arm around Jason’s front, pulling him till he’s falling back on the floor. 

Eddie was no stranger to fights, the jocks of Hawkins having taken their frustrations out of him plenty of times. He didn’t like putting himself in the line of fire, but he has and would do it in a heartbeat for the people he cares about. Despite how he’s acted, you’re one of those people.

Your eyes widen, at the fact Jason was about to hit you in the middle of the school, and at seeing Eddie before you, swooping in out of nowhere to defend you. Your eyes lock with his and everything slows down, so many emotions and words unsaid flowing between you with just a look. For a moment your mind flashes back to 5th grade Eddie, reaching his hand out to help you off the ground, worry and sympathy filling his eyes. History repeating itself. You take a deep breath as the memory hits you, staring into Eddie’s brown eyes. In that moment, it’s only you two. No one else. No white brick halls. Just you and Eddie, conveying so much to each other through just your eyes.

Jason’s groans pull you from your trance, your eyes leaving Eddie’s to look down at him. You drop down to one knee, getting into Jason’s face. Eyes popping open wide when he senses you so close. You look at him with fire in your eyes as you point a finger in his face.

“Let me tell you something, you piece of shit. I didn’t come back here to deal with your little brat boy bullshit. If I see you try to put your hands on any of my friends, let alone me, again… I will make you regret it. And don’t think that I won’t.” You hiss, voice full of steel. Staring at him with as much intensity as he held earlier. You relish in the brief moment of fear that flashes through his eyes before his face hardens in frustration and embarrassment, chest heaving with deep, short breaths.

A silence falls before the bell rings to end the lunch period, breaking you all out of the moment. Jason quickly pulls himself to his feet before students flood the halls, not wanting anyone to see him in his embarrassing position. You rise with him. He fixes his letterman jacket, staring daggers between you and Eddie.

“Fucking freaks” he huffs before turning around, stomping down the hall quickly as it fills with students.

Both you and Eddie relax, releasing a breath before you’re just standing there awkwardly next to each other. You resecure your bag on your shoulder before chancing a look at Eddie, who's already staring at you. Reading you, assessing you, trying to tell if you’re okay.

You clear your throat before nodding your head at him.

“Thank you” you mutter softly. When he doesn’t immediately say anything back, your body takes the lead, quickly walking away toward your next class. 

Eddie considers chasing after you, but he doesn’t know what the hell he’d say if he did. He just watches you walk away before he takes slow steps to follow you to your shared class together.

In the two classes you have together, you can feel his eyes on you. You catch him a few times, eyes locking with his before one of you quickly looks away. 

You feel like you have whiplash. From the switch up of the Eddie you faced on Friday that hated your guts, to the Eddie who didn’t waste a second coming to defend you, with only a few days passing in between. You can’t wrap your head around it. You know he cares, he wouldn’t have been so angry before if he didn’t, but you assumed he was done with you, hated you. But someone that hates you wouldn’t rush into potential harms way to defend you, right?

A few more stolen glances and the muffled voices of your teachers’ as you’re lost in thought fills the remainder of your school day. When you leave your final class, stopping at your locker before walking out the front doors, you wonder if he’ll come up behind you, apologize for his behavior on Friday and give you another chance. But it doesn’t happen, making the walk to your truck uninterrupted. You want to chastise yourself for holding that hope, but what happened today can’t mean nothing. It just can’t. You don’t want it to.

You spend the remainder of your afternoon trying to do your homework. It takes everything in you to focus, almost giving up when the calculus problems push you right to the edge in frustration. You let out a huff in relief as you finish the problems and slam your notebook shut, throwing your head back as you slouch in your chair. Rubbing your hands over your face before you hear your mom unlocking the front door. When you note the time and sun setting through your window, you get up and make your way to the kitchen to start making dinner. You browse through the cupboard before your eyes land on a package of pasta. Spaghetti it is. 

As you wait for the meat to brown, your mind replays the events of the day. Landing back into the loop your thoughts had been stuck in all afternoon about Eddie. Trying to make sense of it all, of him. The moment your eyes locked this afternoon made your heart ache, and still does when you think of it now.

You aren’t sure when exactly you first fell in love with Eddie Munson.

The first day you met when he came to your rescue from bullies? That time in the woods when you were 10 when he insisted you be the trapped princess his mission was to rescue? The countless Friday nights you spent staying up late to watch The Midnight Special, eventually falling asleep on each other's shoulders? The first time he shared his mom’s records with you? The first time he really opened up to you about the loss of his mom, and the strenuous relationship with his Dad? That night your parents fighting got so bad you snuck out of your window and went to his trailer in tears, consoling you and doing anything he could to cheer you up? That time he almost went to fight your mom when he saw the red mark on your cheek? Or maybe it was the time he told you you’re beautiful the way you are, when your mom and everyone’s criticisms of your body weighed too heavily on your mind? 

You can’t pinpoint which event triggered the change from seeing Eddie as your friend, to your crush. What event marked the transition to being in love with your best friend, seeing and imagining him in ways beyond a regular friend would. You aren’t sure when, but you know you’ve been in love with him for as long as you can remember. An unrequited love that made your heart ache with every pet name bestowed upon you, with every flash of that devilish smile and irresistible dimples, with every use of his deep, animated voice for dramatic storytelling. An ache you’d decided for years you could stifle to keep his friendship. An ache that turned into a sharp pain hearing his voice over the phone, hundreds of miles away. A pain you’d decided you couldn’t bear anymore. Maybe if you hadn’t been in love with him, things would’ve been different. You wouldn’t have pulled away. 

So foolish. Desperately longing for things you couldn’t have. Longing so desperately you pushed away the best person in your life, the very person you longed for. A decision that didn’t take long for you to regret, but in your mind was too late to fix. Now, after today, you aren’t so confident about that.

You sit on the couch with your mom, eating Spaghetti and watching Magnum P.I. reruns as your thoughts continue. Mindless small talk about your days, vision zoning out as you stare at the tv, petting Henny who sits in your lap, and a heightened awareness of Eddie’s presence only 100 feet away. An hour later when your mom announces she’s going to bed, you ponder how to spend the rest of your night. You know you won’t be able to fall asleep yourself anytime soon, anticipating one of those nights you won’t be able to shut your mind off. 

You wander to your room, shutting your door as you reach into one of your dresser drawers for your little stash box. Sighing in frustration when you notice you only have enough left for one more smoke.

You roll a quick blunt before throwing on a flannel and slipping out the front door. You take a deep inhale of the fresh air, relishing in the cool breeze of the late September night as you begin the short walk to the little neighborhood park at the end of your street. You don’t notice the figure on the porch across the street smoking a cigarette in the dark as you walk, taking in the sound of the breeze blowing through the leaves on the trees, the quietness of the park beyond the very faint sound of some network sitcom playing on a tv.

You sit on a swing and begin to move back and forth slowly as memories flood back. This playground hasn’t changed a bit since you first moved to Forest Hills Trailer Park 9 years ago. Paint faded and chipping, old mulch littered around the playground, and rusted metal chains on the swing that creaks with each movement. Eddie and you spent countless afternoons here in the early years of your friendship. Swinging together, laughing as you’d watch Eddie do the monkey bars, spinning each other on the merry-go-round till you thought you’d get sick.

You put the blunt to your lips and light it, taking a deep inhale as you look around the abandoned playground, hoping the weed would help to calm your mind enough to get some sleep. You rest your head against the metal swing chain, feet softly kicking at the mulch and dirt beneath you. You don’t hear the soft footsteps on pavement approaching you till they’re only a couple feet away, head shooting up at the intrusion when the sound meets your ears. Eddie clears his throat, hands in his vest pockets as he stands at the edge of the playground. Your movements still at the sight of him, streetlights illuminating his figure and messy curls. When your body stiffens and you remain silent, Eddie takes a few steps closer.

“I-uh, I come in peace, promise.” He says softly, raising his hands in surrender. “Mind if I join you?” he asks, head gesturing to the empty swing next to you. You only nod in response before casting your eyes down. You take another hit as he sits down next to you, praying the calming effects you sought would kick in quicker.

You’re both silent for a while, the light wind blowing through the trees, neighborhood noises, and soft creaks from the swing set the only sounds filling the space between you. Eddie’s knee bobs anxiously before he clears his throat.

“I um, just wanted to apologize for Friday. The way I acted, some of the things I said… I let my emotions get the best of me. I didn’t really give you much room to talk, and I’m sorry for that.” Eddie says nervously, eyes turning to look at you as he finishes. You nod in response again, not looking his way.

“I understand. I don’t blame you.” Silence falls between you again before you look towards him. “Thank you again, for earlier today. You didn’t need to step in like that.” Eddie chuckles softly.

“Oh, I know you could’ve handled him just fine on your own, but you shouldn’t have had to... It’s no problem, really. Not my first run in with him anyway.” You wonder just how many times Eddie’s had to deal with Carver and the other jocks, just how bad those run-ins have possibly gotten. In a sign signaling truce, you hand your blunt to him, offering a hit. He gladly accepts with a soft smile before taking a hit.

“Since when do you smoke the devil’s lettuce?”

You giggle softly, letting a smile spread to your cheeks.

“About a year now, same with these” You say, pulling the pack of cigarettes from your pocket enough for him to see. Eddie tsk’s in response, passing the blunt back to you.

“Naughty naughty.” He teases in a deep voice, eyeing you while blowing out smoke. You tear your eyes away and back to the mulch beneath your feet, the sight enough to send a shiver up your spine. 

After a few more passes between you, the blunt is gone and you’re left to face the inevitable conversation. You rub your sweaty palms against your thighs as you work up the courage.

“I just wanted to say again, I’m sorry for how things went. For dropping contact. It’s entirely my fault and… I’m really sorry for doing that to you, Eddie. You didn’t deserve that.” Your eyes peek at him. He’s faced forward, nodding softly in response as he lights a cigarette. He moves his hips slightly, enough to turn his body more toward yours. 

“So why did you do it?” he asks quietly, dark eyes looking up from his cigarette to meet yours. A somber look on his face, a stark contrast from a few days ago. You take a shaky deep breath while turning your head to look up at the stars littering the sky.

You can’t tell him the truth. You can’t tell him you stopped returning his calls because you were so in love with him that the distance, the sound of his voice over the phone caused your heart to ache so deeply that you couldn’t take it anymore, that you’d recluse to your room and cry after each call.

“We were so close and it hurt so much to be torn apart. Every time I heard your voice on the phone… it just” you take another deep breath, “it was just a reminder that I wouldn’t see you again and that just hurt too much to deal with. I didn’t want to deal with it. So… I secluded. I avoided you. I know it might not make sense, that it might not be a good enough answer for you, but it’s the only one I have.” 

You didn’t exactly lie. It’s not the full truth but you were still as honest as you could let yourself be. He’s quiet for a minute as he takes in your words before letting out a deep sigh. 

“I guess I get that,” He does, he felt the pain too. The way his heart ached in longing every time he heard your voice, every time he’s thought about you since. It wasn’t enough for him to stop calling, but he still understands you shared the same pain during every call. “But you could’ve seen me again, you’ve been visiting in the summers this whole time.” he protests softly.

“Eddie, when I stopped calling I didn’t know I was going to come back to visit.” You shake your head lightly before turning your body towards him, mirroring his. “I mean, I figured I’d come back and see my Dad eventually, but uh if you remember, he wasn’t exactly in the best mental state when we left and was also locked up so, I didn’t really know anything about what would happen.” You look away from him and towards your lap, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your flannel. “It’s not that I don’t regret it, I do. But by the time I changed my mind and found out about coming back in the summer I was just… like, paralyzed. It had only been two months after I stopped calling, but I was afraid. Afraid it was too much time that’d passed, afraid you’d moved on and replaced me, afraid you wouldn’t forgive me… so I didn’t do anything. Just let it be. The whole time I just told myself you probably didn’t care much anyway.” Eddie blinks at you, wide-eyed as you finish before scoffing lightly.

“You really think I would’ve ‘replaced’ you that easily? That quickly? You were my best friend too, Y/N. The closest I’ve ever had, even closer than Ronnie, you know that. How could you think I wouldn’t care?”

“Come on, Eddie. You’re telling me your brain never fucks with you like that?” You ask, fingers picking a cigarette out of your pack and lighting it quickly. After an inhale you continue, “I mean logically, I know that you felt the same about our friendship. Plenty of memories and moments to prove it. But I just kept thinking back to when I first told you I was leaving. Sure, you seemed disappointed but you weren’t as upset as I was, you didn’t cry. And despite knowing I've only seen you cry like, twice before in all those years, my brain still just clung onto that. Like ‘See! He doesn’t really care, not as much as you.’” You shake your head in disappointment and frustration with yourself as you take another hit. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“No,” Eddie answers quickly, squashing his own cigarette in the mulch with his Reebok sneakers. He looks at you, a sympathetic look etched across his features. “I know what that’s like.” You’re both quiet at first, letting the new information and understanding fall into place. You rock yourself back and forth on the swing slowly, gathering your words before you speak them.

“Look, I don’t expect you to forgive me and I don’t know what I could do to make it up to you but, I just need to say again that I’m sorry. I would take it all back if I could. I’ve really missed you.” You finish, eyes meeting his. You hope they’re portraying your sincerity as his own search your face. He looks away from you as a small smile tugs at one side of his lips, feet kicking at the mulch below.

“Yeah well… I missed you too.” He breathes out, eyes meeting yours again. A small smile tugs at your own lips. After a few moments of silence, he finishes. “I forgive you.”

He leans towards you, pinky finger extended. You choke out a laugh at the sight, relief washing over you. You wrap your pinky around his, closing your eyes to stop them from watering as your smile deepens.

When your fingers detach, you sigh deeply and open your eyes to meet his again.

“Thank you” you say quietly, warmth spreading through your body. It feels like a massive weight has been taken off your shoulders. The optimism and hope you haven’t felt since last Sunday, before your first day back at Hawkins, creeps its way back into your mind and body. You note how much lighter your chest feels as it moves with each breath, and the knot you’ve felt in your stomach for a week begins to loosen.

You stay there for a while, lightly swinging back and forth as you and Eddie dive into discussions about new bands, albums, and movies that have come out since you moved. Concerts you’ve been to since. Eddie smiles seeing that you haven’t changed one bit since you’d left, even mentioning bands and movies he hadn’t even heard of, promising to share your tapes with him at some point. He finds himself getting lost watching you as you excitedly describe the Journey concert you went to with your cousins in 83’. Smiling when he notices the sparkle in your eyes as you rave about Steve Perry’s voice and how they played your favorite songs. Laughing as you pout in jealousy when he describes the Metallica concert he went to with Gareth earlier this year. It all feels so familiar, so comfortable.

You’re so lost in conversation you don’t notice how much time passes by until Eddie checks his watch and whistles. It’s almost 11:30pm, nearly 2 hours since you first walked down to the playground. The hesitancy you held about your ability to get a goodnight’s rest tonight was gone. You feel like you’re floating as you and Eddie walk the short distance back to your trailers, Eddie telling you about Hellfire’s current campaign. 

“You know, you’re more than welcome to join us sometime. You already know half the club.” He offers as you reach the end of your driveway. 

“I’ll definitely think about it, thanks.” You give him a small smile.

“Cool. Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He returns your smile as he rocks back and forth on his heels lightly, hands shoved into his vest pockets. 

“Oh, wait! Kind of an odd question but before I forget, do you know anyone around here that sells?” You ask as the thought of your now empty stash box pops into your head. Eddie smoked with you, you figure he knew where to get some around here.

And boy, did he. 

A bright, cheeky smile stretches across his face.

“Oh yeah, I know a guy.” He says with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes before he bows dramatically, “Your friendly neighborhood drug dealer at your service, my dear.”

[genderqueerdykes]

hi, i hope its okay to ask you for advice/information, if not then im sorry, please ignore me

so, im 10 month on t, and my endocrinologist said something about how i shouldnt gain weight because it can lessen the levels of testosterone, and i really want to become somewhat fatter. she advised me to not do that, and i don't really know how this works and whether she is fatphobic or she is right?

sorry if i worded anything weirdly, english isnt my native language and i really only get to use it online

hello there, thanks for stopping by!

first of all i wanted to say it's great that you want to put on some weight- testosterone causes weight gain for many. that's just something that's going to happen for many people who take T. weight has no bearing on the efficacy of testosterone? i've neve heard of that, what the hell is your endo on about

for reference: i've fluctuated between 260 - 360 at points throughout my adult life. i'm muscular after getting on T- very muscular. i do a lot when i'm able to. if being fat lowers testosterone levels that means almost every T user would almost instantly have their testosterone levels drop once they start gaining weight ... ?

that smells like fatphobia to me. that doesn't sit right. has anyone else heard this before? i'm sorry you got told that, that makes no sense to me. also it's not a bad thing for you to want to put on weight. this person is very biased

[petewentzisblack1312]

sorry with the fatphobia patrick stump has experienced through out his career pre and post hiatus PUBLICLY to the point where the essay he wrote that was taken as a suicide note after losing weight was called WE LIKED YOU BETTER FAT named after things people yelled at him during his solo career the way that man has been criticized and fetishized and woobified for his weight you cannot under any circumstances be taken seriously if you think hes not fat, at least socially. like at that point you are covering your ass in the most embarassing and delusional way. i understand you want to have the high ground because your band is better and more serious and their farts smell like roses and their piss tastes like honey but can you be objective for once in your goddamn lives. jesus fucking christ.

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER TEN: RABBIT

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm, fatphobia, body dysmorphia

This is chronologically the tenth chapter in the series.

Read beneath the cut...

Napalm is the slow fire of waking from a terrible dream, blind, gasping, burnt. The pain, though delusive, is made actual by the action of nerves.

Only a hand at your shoulder, vigorous in its attentions, hauls you up from the putrescence of slumber into the light-dark of four in the morning. You find Hannibal's shape through lashes gummed with sleep's adhesive.

His face is as impassive as a star, but his hair, ever coiffed, is displaced from the friction of his pillow.

“You were screaming,” he says, as you sit, stunned, in his arms. “What were you dreaming about? Do you remember?”

“No,” you say, although the scenes remain briefly in your vision, doubling like silk screen prints upon the walls.

Hannibal fills up a glass with fresh water and bids you to drink, his eyes pensive, unconvinced.

Only the notion that he may suggest you share his bed or else intrude upon yours impels you to honesty.

“I dreamt that I was trapped in one of the Silicone Lover’s dolls. That he was trying to squeeze me inside, and I wouldn’t fit. He said, ‘You’ve gotten so big since I last saw you. I’d better do something about that.’

“Then he started cutting me up with kitchen scissors, and I couldn’t stop him.”

You pause, choking on a breath, a verbal stagger.

Dr Lecter offers you the water again, which you take in both hands and drain to its end.

“Take your time,” says Hannibal. “When you’re ready, go on.”

Lying will fail you before the all-seeing eye, so it is with a flat honesty that you say, “It wasn’t what the Lover did in my dream that scared me. It was what he said to me. Because he was right.”

You reach down to pull the quilt up across your stomach, which Hannibal, with a subtle gesture, prevents.

“To agree with such a statement there must be some basis of comparison for you,” he says. “You knew the person standing in as the Lover in your dream. Can you name him?”

Hannibal could guess it, from the little you’ve told him of your unclean past, but if memory conjures the name from the gully of silence he does not say so.

Instead, he comments, “I think it’s unwise for you to sleep again until your mind is settled. Perhaps we may take advantage of the hour to continue your therapy, in an informal fashion.”

He sits in a chair by your bed, producing a notepad and pen from a pocket of his dressing gown.

You see that he will not move.

"What if I don’t talk?” you ask, softly. “What if I say I'd rather take the punishment?"

Hannibal's slender lips upturn.

"I wouldn't be inclined to take such a claim seriously.”

In sullen defeat you flounce back against the pillows.

Dr Lecter takes his cue.

“I’m curious about the friendships you’ve formed throughout your life. Have there been any notable examples?”

“Not many,” you answer, looking at the raw edges of your fingernails. “I was kind of the weird kid. It was like looking through a dusty museum window at everybody passing by, not really knowing how to get out there and talk to people. Like I was too old and too young at the same time.

“I got bullied, kind of. Nothing worth talking about. Just dumb kid stuff.”

“Even persecution of a childish nature bears painful resonance in later life,” Hannibal comments. “Moreover, isolation from one's peers may disrupt development in those vital years.”

You think of dolorous hours patrolling a fallow playground alone, three hundred children staring through you with adult hostility.

“I did make one friend,” you say. “First year of high school. Amy Glass. She was a weird kid, too.”

Hannibal scratches deftly on his notepad.

"Describe how you met."

Closing your eyes, you find your way back through the forests of the past to a corridor whose tiled floor squeaks under your shoes. You smell textbook paper and saccharine body spray. The sweat of young bodies, and the stale cafeteria fare you’d never tasted throughout your time there.

“Between classes Amy would sit in a window listening to music, or reading,” you say. “Stephen King, usually. Sometimes Anne Rice. She seemed to be up there all the time. I don’t think she was getting shit from the other kids or anything; she just preferred hanging out on her own.

“I wished I was like that, not caring. I wished I was her, period.”

“In what way?” asks Dr Lecter, and in the hallway of your mind a slender figure appears, brown of skin and eyes, blue hair cut roughly to the chin, its roots seeping in atop it like a stain.

Amy.

“A lot of ways,” you say. “Before I really knew her, it was about how she looked. She had piercings— ears, lip, nose, eyebrow. Teachers would tell her to take them out, then the second she was out of their eye-line she’d put them right back in. And even back then she had these awful stick and poke tattoos of bats and crosses she covered up with band aids for classes.

“She did all of them herself with a safety pin. God knows how she didn’t get an infection or anything.

“Then there was the fact I knew we liked some of the same music because of the patches on her bag, and her t-shirts and stuff. Nothing you’d approve of,” you add, as interest touches the face of your listener. “Jesus, I can’t even imagine playing stuff like that in this house. Anyway, I didn’t want to just be like, ‘hey, you like that band, too’. It would have been too weird. Stalkery, maybe?”

“Music isn’t such a terrible way to form a connection,” says Hannibal, amused. “I was once approached in friendship through a shared taste in cheese.”

Picturing his restrained derision you cannot help but laugh.

“Oh, god,” you say. “What were they thinking?”

“It was a naive assumption of commonalities. Besides, my commitment to professionalism would never have allowed us to be as close as he would have hoped.”

You give a little start of affront.

“You’ve made friends with other clients.”

Dr Lecter’s smile remains.

“Only with those whom I feel my presence benefits.”

“Benefits you, you mean,” you say, pettishly. “Whoever it was, you just didn’t like him that much. That’s why you turned him down. Or maybe he was too like you.”

Without appearing offended, Hannibal turns a page in his notebook.

“I'm unconcerned with debating my personal relationships, little one. Let’s return to Amy. Who initiated the friendship between you?”

“Amy,” you say. “It was after this councillor was trying to get something out of me, and I didn’t want to talk. I walked out that room feeling so... heavy, and grimy, and embarrassed. Then there was Amy, heading to the same office I just walked out of. She looked at me, scrunched her face up, and said, ‘Wish me luck.’ Next time I saw her I made the same face back and asked, ‘how was it?’

“‘The worst, just like always,’ she said. ‘Where’d she get her certificate, anyway? Clown school?’

“I burst out laughing. ‘She’s so bad, right?’

“And that was it. Friends. We went everywhere together. Amy really liked me. I don’t know why. I think maybe she thought I was sort of mysterious and interesting rather than just depressed, probably because I didn’t want to talk about what was going on with me.

“She told me everything about her. How her dad didn’t believe in mental health issues even though he was just like she was, and how her mom just ignored everything, hoping it’d just... go away. But I didn’t tell Amy even one little thing about me, really. Not one.”

Guilt you’ve never truly confronted falls like a petal from a late summer bloom, cloying the dark with its flavour.

“Did Amy ever indicate that she’d recognised your particular illness?” prompts Hannibal, and you shrug glumly.

“A couple of times. I ignored every hint. Changed the subject. Acted like it wasn’t a thing when it obviously was. I knew that she knew. That was the dynamic. She was softer, around me. She got it. She got me.”

Suddenly your breath feels very high in your chest, catching on a rib.

“I can’t help but notice your use of the past tense,” says Dr Lecter. “Might I assume that you are no longer friends?”

“We grew apart after school,” you mutter. “I think she would have liked it if I stayed in touch, but then sometimes I wonder if that’s just wishful thinking, and maybe she didn’t care all that much when we drifted apart and stopping talking.

“I have her on Facebook. That’s all, really. She was never a social media person anyway, but still. I could have tried harder. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

Hannibal allows the silence between you to ferment before he speaks again.

“Looking back, what do you think prevented you from maintaining contact?”

“I felt like after school was over she’d find other friends, and I’d just end up being left behind. So I got out of there before I had to see it happen.”

"You abandoned a friendship on the basis of a prophecy that might never have come to fruition."

"It would have,” you insist. “All my life I've had senses about things. Like, if I get a feeling something will or won't happen, I'm always right. Like I was right about you."

Swanlike, Dr Lecter’s hands move across his notebook, tactfully punctuating a note.

"It's common for sufferers of complex post-traumatic stress disorder to misinterpret their hypervigilance as psychic premonition. A heightened awareness of your surroundings and the behaviours of people in your vicinity develops in order to predict danger before it occurs. Pattern recognition is more mathematical than clairvoyant."

"What about my dreams?" you ask, sharply. “Are they math, too?”

"You've had other nightmares?” asks Hannibal, and leans forward, poised to digest you answer.

Canny, you hoard the matter like a serpent its glittering lair.

Hannibal accepts his defeat with grace.

Gathering up his notebook and the empty glass, he says, "That's enough therapy for now, particularly so early in the morning. I'll make you some tea, and you may return to sleep. Peacefully, this time, I hope."

*

Later, there is a meal that sits, sinking in a bath of bronze on Dr Lecter’s dining table, so much of it that you’re gorged merely from the arithmetic of its makeup.

“Arroz de Cabidela,” says Hannibal, as he pulls out his own chair. “A Portuguese dish made with rice, chicken, or rabbit cooked in its own blood. Today I’ve chosen rabbit. Have you ever eaten it before?”

It occurs to you that he expects you to be disturbed by the notion, but you are not. Meat is meat, all of it equally cruel. That life must end for the furthering of your existence has driven you to veganism many a time.

Little chance of sustaining such a diet now that you sleep in the devil’s slaughterhouse.

“No,” you say. “I’ve never tried rabbit. I heard it’s really... gamey.”

Your palate is scarcely educated enough to comprehend the statement. Still, it is apparently accurate, for Hannibal makes a low hum of agreement.

“It has similarities to poultry, in flavour, though it’s rather lean and dry. The blood stew adds a richness you’ll find complimentary, however.”

The scent is certainly inviting, but you are so committed to rejecting whatever is served to you that you feel lightheaded, succumbing to the altitude of starving heights.

“Couldn’t you have given me a smaller portion?” you ask, piteously. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s so... much.”

Hannibal glances from your plate to his own, his visage neutral.

“I’ve served you a great deal less than I’ve given myself,” he says. “That said, I’m sure we can settle our differences. I’m not unyielding, if I can see some effort is being made.”

You look him in the eye, hoping you appear more bold than frightened.

“Dr Lecter, you make me all these courses, and they’re crazy even for a normal person. I feel like you do it on purpose. And afterwards my stomach hurts.”

“That’s normal, after a period of fasting. Your body will adjust. Now, please eat.”

You don’t. The cut on your plate makes you think of the Lover’s dolls, how even at your slightest you wouldn’t have fit into such a shell. How, changed as you must be through Hannibal’s cooking, you would ooze over every edge.

“I could use the feeding tube, if you’re unwilling,” says Dr Lecter, rising from his chair to stand at your back. “It would be relatively easy for me to administer. But I’d hate to sour an otherwise pleasant meal with brute force.”

He cups your throat in his smooth hand, and you envision how lovingly he’d coil about you in restraint, guiding the pipe down through you as you choked and flinched in his grasp.

“I’ll eat a quarter,” you say. “That’s it. Then... then nothing else until tomorrow. I won’t sneak out of bed, and I won’t do anything that breaks the rules. Please, Dr Lecter. Uh... Daddy?”

Your confusion between roles endears you to him, as does your breathless, eager willingness to beg.

“Should I allow you to barter?” Hannibal muses, still caressing the wand of your stiff neck. “It’s a symptom of your illness, after all.”

“Just let me choose how much and I’ll try anything you offer me.”

Dr Lecter releases a small breath of laughter.

“I wouldn’t like you to eat your words, little one.”

Gnashing your teeth, you say, “I won’t. I can do it. Please let me. You’re supposed to dote on me, aren’t you?”

You feel Hannibal’s lips against your hair in a kiss of paternal indulgence.

“Always so spirited,” he says. “Very well. I cannot deny my little beauty her request.”

What beauty does he refer to? You’ve only recognised it in the mine shafts of furthest hunger, mistaking a shadow for some precious stone.

Yet clearly you are not so low quality as you believe if both men have fucked you so freely over other women, whom they could conceivably draw into the net of the house.

Then again, there is no accounting for the tastes of madmen, and mad they both are, even Hannibal in his gelid divinity.

From the topiary of his language and flippant games you are beginning to see that you interest him in your very opposition to his being. Were you to succumb completely you would not be so worthy: all men bow to Hannibal, after all, seduced and deceived until they’d lick his fingers like lambs for the milk of his approval.

You, like Will, resist and evade enough of his passes to set yourself apart from the flock.

You may yet throw a halter over the head of the horned man, if only in as much as he allows himself to be reigned.

Quartering your meal as neatly as you're able, you glance up at Dr Lecter, afraid that, by some caprice, he’ll break his code and force you to eat down to the bare plate. But he merely stands by, retaining his honour, and as you look at him you picture his mild hands breaking the neck of the rabbit to drain as though for a ritual of blood.

*

Frequently through your days with Hannibal he immerses himself in hobbies and work about the house, cultivating a necessary solitude after the long hours of ingesting others’ anxious thoughts.

He reads, or writes music, sketches, telephones his friends and past lovers—of whom there are many—or else sets his pen to journals, having seen you safe to your locked room, where he need not prepare for misdemeanour.

In this way your residence in Hannibal’s home does not impede upon his individual pursuits, but rather compliments them, an accent of his sempiturnal glamour.

You are, after all, but one of his many pastimes. It is indulgence, then, when he insists on attending your evening bath.

As he kneels beside the tub to dampen a washcloth his intentions surface, another infringement upon the flesh.

“I don’t need you to help me,” you mumble, arms taut across your chest. “I’m not your baby.”

“Your inner child wails for the tenderness your illness has long obstructed,” says Hannibal, calmly. “Your independence would have you die like an infant abandoned to the forest. Let me carry you, at least in this small act of service.”

You look at him with eyes as dull as old blades and picture the futility of your struggle, his lithe arms holding you, kicking and airless, beneath the foam.

“Don’t you have your own daughter you can do all this with?” you ask; you’ve not yet needled him on his familial relations, and feel yourself more than entitled to know.

Hannibal begins to work the flannel over your naked form, paying no heed to your twitching affront.

“Abigail would have served the role admirably,” he says. “But it wasn’t to be. As for my own children, I have none.”

The revelation passes you without surprise. It’s only possible to imagine him having elegant, adult offspring, absent of the soiling indignities of rearing an infant.

“So you took me away for you and Will to raise,” you say. “Guessing he doesn’t have kids, either.”

The washcloth folds beneath the water, and you gaze studiously at the opposite wall so as not to think about the hand behind the fabric, how it has touched you in other ways, pleasantly, horridly.

“Will is also childless,” says Dr Lecter. “He has never known family, as you have. His mother left him when he was only an infant, and his father was a distant figure, though present. Now it seems that they’re estranged from one another. One can only imagine the loneliness Will has known in his life. Perhaps, with your assistance, this will change.”

Cloth, skin, hands, touch. Gentle and beguiling their trap, to distract from the permanence of this suggested triptych as fingers play against you underwater.

Unsteadily, you ask, “Is Will your boyfriend?”

Hannibal turns you an indecipherable look.

“Do you perceive our relationship to be romantic?”

A strange question, considering the violation with which you were inducted to their company. But not once did either man kiss or grasp the other— a technicality, certainly, yet one, it seems, that holds weight.

“Yes,” you say. “For you, anyway. I don’t know about Will. I know he thinks highly of you. He just sees me as something that’s in the way.”

You kick a foot testily, splashing water over the rim of the bath.

“What are you in the way of?” asks Hannibal, as he begins to lather your hair.

“Not sure. Your friendship, I guess.”

“Do you believe him when he implies that you're only an obstacle to him?”

Water pours over your head, and you close your eyes, enduring the sensation.

“He told me I’m unwanted,” you say.

“When you attempted to kill him?”

Fear bowls over you with a black suddenness.

“He told you?”

“I came to my own conclusions. You weren't quiet, either of you, that night."

You look at Hannibal, at the stag man of your dreams, and taste something like dirt, something like blood, at the back of your mouth.

“Had you seriously injured him or succeeded in your bid to end his life I would have been forced to conclude our treatment,” he says. “But you did not. I’m thankful to have been provided with a truth I hadn’t yet drawn from you: I know that you are not a killer, at least not at this present moment.”

In a strengthless whisper, you ask, “What do you mean?”

Hannibal draws a comb through your hair, unmoved by the conversation.

“As time changes the continents, people come apart through circumstance into new being. That shift may one day lead to the birth of murder’s country.”

A thought stings you like the cold: Will and Hannibal want you to be capable of killing, if not of them, then someone of lesser consequence, the hereditary illness emerging in the child.

That is the secret under this house, the whisper in the walls, its present haunting.

“I hope that never happens,” you mumble. “Never. No matter what you do.

“And yet the whetting of your blood thirst didn’t begin with Will and I,” says Dr Lecter, mildly. “Until you admit your liking of its flavour you will remain unsatisfied, little one.”

You do not ask how he knows you’ve thought of killing, once before, which you yourself had forgotten; having been in your home, the chill sanctum of your childhood bedroom, he may have learned, of you, a myriad, his interrogation merely a practice in contextualising his findings.

“I’d rather starve,” you say, at last, and sink your chin beneath the water.

Dr Lecter takes a razor from a nearby cabinet and begins to shave you with slow precision. He does not ask if you wish for it, only glides the razor across your underarms, groin, and each leg until you run silken beneath his hands.

That done, Hannibal rises, brushing unseen dust from his knees.

“I’ll bring you some fresh clothes,” he says, and leaves the room, a ghost departing the stage.

You look at the razor, entrapped in its plastic guard on the rim of the bath.

Had you a pair of scissors you might have cut the metal free to make a weapon, or else an escape into realms unknown to the living. Though its edge is still wickedness manifest, it would take a great deal of pressure to pursue death by this angle, though it would not be impossible.

It is not death you want to meet, however, but another, nameless coward.

You take the blade to your arm, and the pain is like eating, a sin that sates the freak of misery.

The bathwater turns like a devil’s baptism, and though they are but shallow cuts you feel suddenly faint. Lying back, you lay your arm against the porcelain, thinking murky thoughts of your mistake.

Hannibal returns carrying a muted lilac dress and pale stockings, stilling at the sight of you, of the water, red as autumn mud.

He sets down the clothing and kneels beside you again.

“Let me see.”

You let him take your arm and touch the crude little gashes softly.

“Shower, quickly. Then I’ll treat your wounds. Fortunately, they aren’t so deep.”

How gentle he is with you, this beast dressed as a man in his pressed shirt and waistcoat, guiding your numb form about with a soothing authority. You’d once yearned to be handled like this, to be absolved and set free of any and all expectation. That it comes from him is like being spit in the eye by the Fates, one after the other.

Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos: what have you done to so offend them?

It’s only after having bandaged your forearm and settled you, dummy-like, upon his bed, that Hannibal speaks again.

“What motivated you to do this?”

“You know.”

“Elaborate.”

You lie, face down, in the pillows. The cotton smells like him.

“To feel better,” you say. “Amy said it helped her, sometimes. Cleared her head.”

The mattress tilts slightly as Dr Lecter sits down beside you.

“You mirror her pain to feel closer to love lost. Has it helped you?”

“No. I feel stupid. I feel—”

Restless, you turn onto your side and feel a tear, compelled by gravity, mark your jaw.

“I feel like a kid,” you say. “It’s humiliating. I hate that I always feel this way. Don’t make me live like this.”

Dr Lecter presses a tissue into your hand, as much to save his bedclothes as to comfort you.

“Fighting the expression of necessary emotions will only stunt them further, little one. Will and I would dearly like to see you flourish. Amy would surely wish that for you, too.”

Cradling your wounded arm to your chest, you flick the used tissue to the floor with the other.

“Screw you,” you say. “Both of you. That’s what Amy would tell me to say to you, Dad.”

Hannibal stares at the tissue, and you sense the inward twitch of his irritation as he bends to pick it up from the ground.

“Your parents called again, this afternoon,” he says, offhandedly. “I informed them that you were struggling with your treatment. I advised that we continue your residence here a month longer than previously agreed.”

He casts you a pitying look, and you’re reminded of the futility of going to war with Hannibal Lecter.

“It seems that I made the prudent choice,” he says. “Don’t you agree?”

[missredherring]

An Act Of Kindness

Eddie (BTVS) x Fat!F!Vampire!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 3k

Summary: "More," he begs, his tongue eager and searching out every drop. "Please."

Contents: fatphobia. descriptions of throwing up. horny thots. mouth-to-mouth blood transfer kiss. Max being a dick. Sweet baby angel vampire Eddie.

A/N: I really had a fun time playing with the idea of Max being Eddie's selfish douchebag maker. I'm also trying to write a more explicitly fat reader, and a confident one at that.

Thank you to @reaperofmen for beta reading.

Tagging those who expressed an interest: @prolix-yuy @oonajaeadira

Part Two

The man is a little too intoxicated for your tastes, but you've put off feeding for too long this time. He followed you out here without complaint, just strolling after you with a sleazy grin on his face. It takes effort to keep up the coy act; the arrogance and stupidity of men hasn't changed in centuries. 

He only chuckles when you nudge him to the wall and reach to pull the shirt collar away from his neck. His sweaty hands are on your wide hips, pulling you closer and squeezing too hard. 

You almost don't hear it with how focused you are on his pulse, with how the hunger has hollowed you out so the rattling bass of the club music thumps inside your chest in place of a beating heart. The smell however, couldn't be missed: rejected blood on damp pavement. The hot and cool scent sours in your nose and makes you turn away in an attempt to clear it. 

"Don't get nervous on me now, baby. C'mon, you should be thankful I'm paying attention to a girl like you. Not everyone likes 'em big," your prey says and you give serious thought to opening his neck and draining him like the pig he is.

A hint of a command in your voice shuts him up and pins him in place. He's humming to himself, stargazing in the back alley of a club like an idiot while you walk around the nearby dumpsters to find the source of the smell.

It would be bad manners to poach in another's territory. Vampires have a habit of becoming especially violent when feedings go wrong, and by the smell of it, this one had. The days of killing first and asking questions never are sadly long gone. The consequences of a bad temper are swift and deadly when everyone has a camera in their pocket. The newer generation of vampires think your kind are invincible, but they just haven't shed the bravado of youth enough to appreciate just how well thinking before acting can serve them. The last thing you need tonight is to spend precious hours cleaning up after someone else's mistake that could've been prevented with a little caution.

You see a tattered book sticking out of a back pocket first. The pages gleam like a beacon in the dim light. The figure is hunched over, clutching at their middle with one hand and the wall with the other for support. One more spasm of their stomach expels a bit of tar-like blood and there's nothing left to come back up. 

At their feet are the mangled remains of a human; flesh torn in haste and wasted blood already turning dark and dry. It reeks of alcohol.

As they stumble back their heel catches on the corpse and you end your observation to act, putting a hand out to stop their fall backwards onto the dirty pavement.

They whirl around to reveal a face as pale as the pages of their book. Dark eyes stare back at you in fear from under floppy brown hair that's fallen over his forehead. It's a fledgling vampire, as you suspected, his face still transformed from his high emotions. 

"I d-didn't- it's not what--" he tries to say but his stomach gurgles and he has to lurch away again; the heaving of his muscles is undeniable. 

Your lips curl up as fresh bile scents the air, but you reach out to pat his back a little until he calms and finally stops. 

"Thank you." He says, turning back to you. He wipes at his face, leaving streaks of blood on his sleeves and cheeks. Tears wet his lashes as his face slowly smooths back into its human death mask. It's easy to see he's beautiful even in this terrible lighting. A sharp bone structure balanced with round eyes and plump lips. He's sorely out of place in the clubbing scene, dressed as he is in simple clothes, sneakers, and a jacket that hangs on his frame. He's a fallen angel let loose on the devil's playground. 

With all of his sudden movements the book has fallen from his pocket. You pick it up, reading the title with an amused twist of your lips. Mary Shelly's Frankenstein. You hold it out to him with a smile wide enough to show your own fangs.

"Where is your maker, darling? Surely they didn't leave you on your own?" You ask.

He flusters so prettily, and you imagine how red his cheeks would've turned when the blood ran fresh in his veins. Some of the tension drops from his broad frame and he carefully takes the book from you with a nod of thanks.

"I'm Eddie," Eddie motions towards the club's backdoor with the book. "Max- my maker- he's still in there. He told me to watch him 'do his thing,' but it's been hours so I came out here to read. A-and then this guy came out and wouldn't leave me alone. I was so hungry-"

He glances down at the corpse and swallows thickly, his shoulders rounding as he hunches in on himself. 

You tsk and turn Eddie away from the mess. He goes willingly, twisting the book in his hands before stuffing it into his jacket pocket.

"A club full of unleashed humanity is no place for a fledgling. Come, you may share my meal. It should be enough to hold you until you can find more suitable food."

Your prey is still looking up, his throat on full display, when you lead Eddie to him. 

You motion to Eddie your permission for him to feed, but he doesn't move.

"He said it's supposed to get easier," he says almost to himself, his gaze glued to the hypnotizing beat of the man's pulse. "But I didn't mean to kill him. I don't know if I can control myself right now."

It's sweet, that thread of earnestness in his voice. You smile at him and take up your previous position, finally biting into your prey's neck. The blood is hot as you suck it into your mouth. It's so very tempting to swallow and gulp, to latch on and drain every drop until the heartbeat slows just enough to keep him alive. But Eddie is shifting behind you, and it's a reminder of his plight, his nervousness and attentiveness at your back. His breathing picks up when you break the seal of your lips, even though he doesn't need to inhale anymore.

The man slumps back into the wall as you leave him and approach Eddie. 

Eddie's eyes are wide, the pupils expanding in reaction to his want. He flinches just a little when you press both of your palms on his shoulders, using a bit of force in your muscles and only a twinkle of amusement in your eyes to put him on his knees. Then you cup his handsome face and kiss him.

He's hesitant and unsure when you press your lips to his and slip your blood-coated tongue into his mouth. A rush of liquid follows gravity's lead, and he grabs you then. His arms surge up under your own, careful not to disturb your hold on him as he fights to get as good a hold on you as he can. Large hands catch on fabric, and he grips the rolls of cool skin on your back.

He holds you to him with the desperate strength of the newly turned. You chuckle into his mouth. His hands may sink into your soft flesh, but it'll take much more than this to break you. 

After the initial rush he sips and sips at your mouth. He sucks blood and saliva from your tongue and whines in the back of his throat when it's gone.

"More," he begs, his tongue eager and searching out every drop. "Please."

He growls when you take a step back, his grip shifting to your clothes, and it's a testament to your seamstress' skills that they don't tear. Although, you're starting to think you wouldn't mind this young vampire rending your clothes from your body. 

You swipe at a smear of blood at the corner of his lip, and your thumb is in his mouth a second later, his dark eyes never leaving your face. 

"Do you feel more under control now?" You ask, and the question brings him back to himself.

"Y-yes. Thank you." He says, and his attention goes back to the night's meal. Another glance at you and Eddie is on the man, his fangs sinking into flesh in the same spot that yours had. 

Eddie's moan is a sinful call and there's an answering throb in your fangs and your core. 

At a more leisurely pace you come up behind the men, taking in Eddie's feeding technique. It's sloppy and non-existent. His hunger is only just tempered by the fear of his new existence. 

"Listen closely to his heartbeat. Can you catch its rhythm? Pull on a beat, and then wait. Move the blood in your mouth; taste it, savor it, and be thankful for its nourishment," you instruct him in a soft tone. Food aggression can get nasty with fledglings before they're taught better table manners. 

Eddie's head tilts towards you, and he blinks a few times, his gulping stuttering to a stop as he absorbs your words. It takes a moment, only one heartbeat, and then two, but he finds the rhythm and begins to dine instead of gorging himself. 

"Well done, darling, that's it," you say, and the way he preens under such little praise makes you want to shower him in it. 

Feeding, fucking, and fighting are core tenets of a vampire's life, and you feel them keenly right now. It would be easy to find another meal and then test Eddie's skills in other areas. You run a hand over his head and note how he doesn't growl or snap or perceive your presence as a threat to his meal.

Your hunger is changing, the allure of food fading as you feel the slight movement of his head as he readjusts his angle at the man's neck. If you took his chin in your hand and directed his mouth to your cunt, would he continue feasting? Eddie gulps, forcing his Adam's apple to bob in his throat, and you clench your thighs together to tease yourself.

"Killing isn't necessary when feeding. It's downright rude when you have consenting partners and is frowned upon in most circles these days. Follow the rhythm until it falters and becomes too irregular. That's enough to satisfy you and leave them alive."

The man's heart has only just begun to misfire from the lack of blood when Eddie jerks away, landing on his backside and breathing hard. Again he wipes at his face with his sleeve, but this time the expression on his face is triumphant. 

He looks at you with a grin stretching his ruddy cheeks, and you want nothing more than to kiss him again. To sink down on him and feel the fresh blood rushing through his body. It would be so tempting to drink from him in return, to mark his pretty skin with your teeth. Has he had a vampire lover before? Does he know the pleasure of another's bite? Would he let you be the one to show him?

You rest a hand on the alley wall, and your nails gouge through the cinder block like a cat's claws caught in lace. You allow yourself to indulge in the lusty thoughts before taking control of your urges. 

"Are you alright?" He asks.

"Just hungry." You say, your tongue catching on an extended canine. 

"Oh. Oh, no," he frets. "You said you'd share him and I drank it all. I'm so sorry, I can go find someone-" Eddie gets to his feet and is turning away from you, but you take his hand and keep him in place.

"You're a fledgling, darling, and need it more than I do right now. Don't worry, hunger is an old friend." 

You're about to tug him close and offer to spend the rest of the night with him when an unctuous voice calls out from behind you.

"I was wondering where you'd gotten off to. A back alley blowjob, huh? You didn't even have to leave the club for one of those."

Any distracting desire is sufficiently snuffed when you recognize the voice, and you curse your foolishness for it.

Of course Eddie's maker, Eddie's Max, is Max Phillips. A graduate of the feeding ground disguised as a college. It chewed up a selfish boy and spit out a selfish vampire. He cares for nothing but his own gain, and frankly you're surprised that a boy as seemingly sincere as Eddie got tangled up with him. But if they're together, maybe Eddie isn't as innocent as he seems. Max does like to pull the wool over his victim's eyes. 

Eddie quickly steps in front of you. "Max, I-"

"I don't care, kid. You're not dead so that's good enough for me," Max says, not taking his eyes off of you. Up and down, they roam over your thick thighs, wide hips, and ample curves. His perusal makes you realize that Eddie's gaze had never strayed far from your face. 

"Well, if it isn't Bella Lugosi, herself," he says, smirking at his own joke. 

"Bella?" Eddie echoes, looking at you with curiosity. 

"I have been called beautiful in many languages over the centuries by lovers and admirers alike. I do like bella; it suits me well, don't you think?" Ignoring Max in favor of teasing Eddie, you enjoy the way his eyes track the movement of your hand across your belly, his eyes keen on your fingers as they press into the giving flesh of your hip. "Max thinks he's being clever." 

"I was clever enough not to be fat when I was turned. A gym membership won't do shit for you now, sweetheart," Max shoots back, and your lip curls in disgust. It's so disappointing that he is quite handsome. While his looks are striking and sharp, the image is ruined when he opens his mouth and starts spewing shit.

"What small insults from a small mind," you say. "Eddie is your fledgling, then?"

"Sure is. Aren't you, champ? You didn't smell my scent on him?" Max saunters to Eddie's side now, his polished shoes clicking on the pavement. He slings an arm around Eddie and shakes him a little. They're a mismatched pair in every aspect. Max's tailored suit with its coordinated pocket square and cufflinks a stark contrast to Eddie's simple attire. Had Max even bothered to procure more clothes for him, providing for his fledgling, as a maker should? Or did he leave Eddie to his own devices? A miserable look passes over Eddie's face before he tries to cover it up, and you think you know the answer. 

"I thought that was the dumpsters," you say and wrinkle your nose at the strong cologne Max insists on wearing even with his heightened senses. There's a hint of a smirk on Eddie's lips before they twist back into a semblance of a straight line. 

Max opens his mouth to say something, but a scream coming from inside the club stops him. Another one follows, and the pounding music is abruptly stopped. You could feel the vibration of many feet moving on the ground like a disturbed ant hill. 

"Leaving another spoiled hunting ground in your wake I see, Max." You scold him, but he just shrugs. Has he no shame for his actions?

"Just a few girls who wanted a good time," he says and jerks Eddie a step away. "That's our cue to leave, kid. Say goodbye to the big bad vampire lady."

Eddie's eyes fly to you, and you're surprised at how strong the bloom of disappointment is in your chest. He wriggles out of Max's grasp and swallows at the scowl his maker throws him, but his steps are sure as walks back to you.

"Thank you for your help tonight." Eddie says, taking your cold hand and squeezing it. He brushes a kiss on the round apple of your cheek, and his lips are warm and chapped from his recent feeding.

The tang of Max's scent is on him, yes, but now that both men are present you can identify the scents that are unique to Eddie. You inhale and memorize the hint of vanilla, citrus, and cedar. 

"You're welcome. It was a pleasure meeting you, Eddie." 

He smiles, revealing a deep dimple in his cheek. "The pleasure is all mine, bella. I hope I'll see you again."

You untuck a slim card case from your cleavage and take out a calling card. The way Eddie's eyes track your movements, lingering on your chest, makes you stand a little taller and lean a little closer to him when you hold it out to him. 

He takes it, examining the cream cardstock and tracing a finger over the iridescent ink. Your name and a street address in the city are the only things printed on it. 

"If you need help in the future, you may call on me." You tell him and he nods dutifully.

"Oh. My. God. You're gonna make me hurl, and the alcohol hasn't even kicked in yet. Let's go, Edward." Max says, and the command snaps Eddie to attention, forcing him to turn away from you and follow Max out of the alley.

Police sirens are getting louder, and the streetlight is soon overshadowed by flashing red and blue lights. 

You don't spare a glance at the man passed out against the wall or the corpse a little further down as you leave. They can be lumped together with Max's mess, and he can have the blame for them as well. 

Tonight didn't go as planned at all, but you know that teasing your appetites only deepens them, and when you finally sate them it will taste that much more delicious.

[dragynkeep]

Also reblogging on this blog just so there’s no discourse constantly on the AZRE blog but-

Anon, not even half of my cast are considered overweight. You just saw characters that aren’t the size 0 stick figures that RWBY has for most of its women and decided that this was now fat.

And even if I made all my characters fat, so what? Why is that such an issue? Quickly.

Why are you making all of your chars so fat?

I am channelling the spirit of 16th century beauty standards of the rich elite.

[nessinborderland]

V-E-N-U-S (03)

Pairing: Rafe x plus size!Reader

Genre: smut, dark-ish fic

Word Count: 6 ,2k

Warnings ⚠️ Mildly Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, more like Enemies to Enemies That Fuck tbh, Rafe Cameron Being an Asshole, mentions of bullying, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Rough Sex, Mentions of death of a parent, Drinking, Drug Use, Rafe needs therapy asap, fatphobia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary: The nickname he had given you in 8th grade was supposed to be ironic. In Rafe’s defense, he used to be a pretty stupid and cruel fourteen-year-old, as most kids that age are. So yeah, nicknaming the fat and nerdy chick Venus – like the goddess of sex and beauty – had been pretty hilarious in young Rafe's opinion.

What he would've never guessed was how much that name would fit you now as a grown woman.

Notes: Here is part 3! Enjoy 💖

AO3 | Masterlist | Part 1

You felt like you could finally breathe when you set foot inside your house, the familiar scent of beef strogonoff making your stomach grumble as you realized you were starving. You knew it wasn’t healthy, but you rarely got hungry while working, doing a shift without much more than a granola bar and yogurt in your stomach.

But you were home now, and your body knew it, muscles relaxing and mouth salivating at the prospect of finally sitting down and having a nice meal. Maybe then you would forget about your shitty day – in particular your last conversation with Rafe. That had really soured your mood, a tension in your shoulders and neck that was starting to give you headaches.

Locking the door behind you, you dropped your backpack on a chair and sat on the floor with a tired exhale, taking off your shoes before fully laying down on the wooden surface, dust and dog fur in your hair be damned. Your whole body needed a break, your feet in particular; they always hurt like a bitch after a long shift of standing up and walking around.

The noise of loud indie rock came somewhere from the back of the house, and you could hear kid music and cartoons coming from the living room, just to your right. A tip-tapping sound from the hallway made you look up, and a smile stretched your lips as you were approached by the only family member to always greet you at the front door.

“Hey old man, how was your day?” you cooed as you sat up to pet K-Nine behind the ears, just how he liked it.

The old German Shepard mix wagged his tail from side to side as he excitedly tip-tapped his nails on the floor, trying to welcome you with a lick to the face that you promptly dodged with a chuckle. Your dad had let you pick K-Nine on your 10th birthday, and, in a way, this dog was like a part of your father that was still with you. It hurt watching him get older and start to prefer naps instead of long walks outside.

After a quick cuddle and a pet to his graying muzzle, you stood up and walked into the living room together, where your younger brother sat on the couch with his full attention on the TV.

“Hello, Kev,” you greeted when you passed by the couch, being completely ignored even when you ruffled his hair as you walked towards the open kitchen. “Bluey is that good huh?...” you muttered under your breath before smiling at your mother. “Hey, Mom, smells good!”

“Hey, sweets, you got home just in time,” greeted your mother, sending you a tired smile as she set the table. You hurried to help her, knowing that – no matter how tired you were – your mother would be ten times worse. “How was work today?”

“Work was okay, got some good tips,” you said as you took out the orange juice from the fridge and set it on the table. “How was your day?”

“Exhausting,” She said as she sat at the table with a tired sigh, a smile still on her lips. “But cleaning rich people’s houses does have its perks – Mrs. Lockwood gave me some good clothes her son doesn’t use anymore, so that’s one less thing I have to worry about – I swear that your brothers are growing like weeds.”

“That’s nice of her,” you said with a forced smile; your mom was always thankful for the things her employers at Figure 8 gave her, didn’t matter if they were second-hand or not – but you still remembered how kids used to bully you over it. You just hoped your brothers didn’t go through the same. “Have you been taking your new medication? Doctor Marsh said you weren’t supposed to feel this tired after a few weeks of taking it, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s working,” she muttered with a shake of her head, eyes down on the napkin she was folding. “They help a bit with the pain, but I still feel so drained…”

“Maybe you should do some more exams?” you asked as you grabbed the plates and started serving the still piping hot food, the smell making your stomach grumble again. “We can go early tomorrow if you want, I only start work at five.”

“And mess even more with your college savings?” she asked in what you knew was a rhetorical tone. “I’m not doing that.” Then she turned to your younger brother, still watching his cartoons like they were the only thing in the room. “Kev, honey, go call your brother for dinner, please – Kevin, now.” Then she turned to you again. “Fibromyalgia won’t kill me, I can manage. Let’s just focus on getting you into college for now, I’m not having you stuck on this island waiting tables for the rest of your life.”

You gave her a resigned nod, setting the plates on the table before sitting down at your usual place in front of her, noticing the bags under her eyes and the silver in her hair – she had aged so much since being diagnosed two years ago. You didn’t like the fact that your mother refused to get all the help she needed; yes, there was no cure for her condition, but there were treatments to alleviate the symptoms, which she just refused to do if it involved touching your savings.

At times, it frustrated you more than just a little. You would rather your mother enjoyed her life comfortably with no pain than go to college; it was not like your major of choice was going anywhere, anyway.

The arrival of your brothers stopped you from pressing on the matter again, and dinner went by as it always went, with silly conversations that made you laugh and your worries disappear, allowing you to enjoy these little moments when everything was fine.

No work, no stress, no drama.

It was now almost ten-thirty in the evening, and your mother and Kevin were already long asleep while you relaxed on the couch with K-Nine sprawled belly up between you and David. Mom had only recently allowed him to watch scary movies, and the kid was obsessed, to say the least. So, it had become tradition, for the past few months, to watch a horror movie every Friday and Saturday night after dinner, which you were happy to oblige.

David was very noticeably going through puberty right now, and sometimes the only way to get him out of his room was to convince him to either go to the movies or watch something on the TV. Netflix was a luxury you were willing to pay for if it allowed you these special moments with him.

“Do you believe in demons?” David murmured as you watched the final shot of Annabelle in a glass enclosure fade to black before the credits rolled.

“Sure do,” you snorted as you stretched your stiff muscles with a yawn. “See them all the time at my job.”

The boy tilted his head to the side, brows furrowing.

“Uh, do you mean Kooks?”

“Kooks. Demons. They’re pretty much the same thing,” you replied with a specific person in mind. “Why? You scared?”

“I’m thirteen, of course I’m not scared,” he said with an eye roll that could match your own, helping you fold the blanket you had used before adding with a small shrug, “Just wondering…”

“Well, I don’t think we have to worry about demons, so you’re good.”

“Hmm…” He looked lost in thought as he hesitantly asked, “And what about ghosts? Do you think they’re real?”

“Not really.” Something sounded off, you could see it in his faraway gaze, the way he chewed on his bottom lip, shoulders sagged. “Why do you ask, Davie?”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he uttered, his bottom lip trembling, “I- I can’t remember Dad’s voice anymore… I think I’m forgetting Dad.”

“Aw, Davie.”

You pulled him against you, arms going around him as you held him in a tight embrace, kissing the top of his head when he hugged you back just as tight, his shoulders lightly shaking as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. He was growing up so fast; another year and he would be taller than you.

You said nothing as you let him cry, hugging him while rubbing his back, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. Even though you could cry, you wouldn’t do it now; he had seen you cry so much in the past, seen you sob and lose yourself as you grieved, not old enough to quite process everything that had happened, but old enough to hold you like you were holding him now.

It was your turn to support him through this.

He had been eight years old when your father died, just a little boy – which, in a way, made it so much worse for him. You had been fifteen and had almost died yourself, too deep in your own despair at the time to notice anyone else’s misery. But now you felt his pain as if it was your own. You were sure that if there were no pictures of your father around the house, his face would also start to blur from your memories.

“I think Mom might have some videos of Dad in a hard drive somewhere,” you said after some time in silence. “Why don’t we look for them tomorrow and watch them together?”

You heard him sniffle as he nodded, and you broke the embrace before gently guiding him out of the living room and saying goodnight to each other.

You watched as your brother opened the door of the room he shared with Kevin before getting inside, leaving it slightly ajar as he did every night, the shine of the night light (he still had nightmares sometimes) giving you some visual aid as you walked the dark hallway towards your own bedroom.

A sudden knock at the front door made you jump in place.

“Shh, boy, it’s okay,” you hushed your dog as he let out a bark from the living room, rushing after you as you hurried to check the peephole. Your brows furrowed, lips pursing as you noticed who was on the other side of the door.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door to face none other than your cousin.

“Hey,” he said in a hushed tone before you could utter a word, looking at you with his hands in his pockets and a nervous expression on his face. “I know it’s late, but can we talk?”

You hesitated before giving him a nod and stepping outside, leaving the door unlocked behind you as you walked towards the front steps. You had a good guess as to why he was at your doorstep at this hour, and your shoulders tensed at the prospect of having this specific discussion right now.

“Fine,” you muttered as you moved to sit on the front step. “What do you wanna talk about?”

John B followed your lead and sat beside you, absently petting K-Nine behind the ears as the old dog lay down on the porch with a huff.

“JJ told me about you and Rafe.”

He was going straight to the subject. Good. The sooner you finished this, the sooner you could go to bed and pretend it never happened.

“What about me and Rafe?”

John B stopped petting the dog, fingers fidgeting as he started picking the old scraps of paint from the wooden step beneath him.

“Please don’t lie to me, V. Not about this.” You didn’t think you had ever heard John B say anything in such a serious tone, jaw clenched and mouth set in a straight line as his gaze locked on yours, eyes shining in the moonlight with something akin to concern. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you would never have something with him even if he was the last man on earth, but I heard the rumors, so what the hell happened between you two?”

Your brows furrowed, his tone not lost to you as you tried to understand exactly the meaning behind his words.

“Wait, what- what are you talking about?” you asked after a moment of only staring at him, unsure of what to say. “What the hell did JJ tell you?”

“Last Saturday, at that Kook party, Rafe did something to you.” You looked at him in total confusion as he took your hands in his, his grip a little tighter than you would find comfortable. “He forced you, didn’t he? I saw the bruises, I saw the marks but I just thought…” he shook his head, tone turning frantic as you let out a nervous chuckle, at a complete loss for words as you realized what he was implying. He couldn’t be serious. “Did he drug you? Whatever he did, you have to tell me, tell the police. We can get him arrested. If- If you don’t want to do that maybe we can try to- to, I don’t know, but we can make him pay somehow.”

This was madness. This whole situation was ridiculous. Absolute insanity.

“John B, no, please stop–”

“No, no, no, you don’t have to be scared of him–”

“Johnathan, stop!” you snapped, tears stinging your eyes as you finally managed to pull your hands from his grip. “Whatever JJ told you, it’s not true. Rafe didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do, so stop whatever this is!”

He stared at you, eyes wide and mouth agape as understanding finally settled.

“What?”

“Rafe didn’t hurt me.”

His eyes flashed with anger, and an intrusive thought crossed your mind; it was almost like he preferred you had been assaulted.

“You actually willingly slept with him?”

The disgust was as clear in his voice as it was in his face, and you couldn’t stop yourself from recoiling in a sudden burst of shame. You were quick to push that emotion aside; you had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Even if I did, whatever my deal is with Rafe is between me and him. Not you and not JJ, so you can just stop getting in my business like I’m your responsibility. I’ve been dealing with Cameron for years now, he’s not your problem.”

“That’s the thing though, he is my problem!” he shouted, and you looked back at your house, afraid your family would be alerted by the ruckus. This was not a subject they needed to get involved in. “He’s always picking fights with us and treats Sarah like shit! Have you seen what he and Topper did to Pope the other day? He’s not a good guy and you know that so why the hell would you willingly spread your legs for him?”

“Hey, watch it!” your tone raised to match his own, index finger pointed at his chest as you pinned him down in a glare. K-Nine barked, sensing the rise in emotions. “You don’t get to talk to me like that!”

“What, am I lying?” his tone quieted, but the expression of anger on his face didn’t falter, hand raising to roughly push your own away. “Didn’t you go from hating him one minute to letting him fuck you the next? Like a–”

You felt the heat in your palm before you could even register what you had done. Tears stung in your eyes as you stared down at John B, who was cradling his cheek and looking at you with a mixture of shock, anger, and sadness in his hazel eyes.

“Get. Out. Of my house,” you commanded in between shaking breaths.

You stared down at each other for what felt like hours, neither of your saying a thing. You forced yourself to stop your lower lip from trembling, hiding your shaking hands behind your back as you finally broke eye contact, sure that you would erupt into tears if you stared at the disappointment in his eyes for one more second.

“Just leave,” you whispered as you made your way to the front door, not caring anymore if he left or not.

“He’ll hurt you.”

You halted, hand on the doorknob, glancing at him over his shoulder. Waiting.

“He’ll hurt you,” John B repeated, firmly this time, avoiding your eyes. Then he added, his tone so soft you barely understood the words “And when he does, you can count on me. Until then…”

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he was already walking away before you could utter a single sound.

«»«»«»«»«»

You rolled in bed for the hundredth time that night, your cousin’s words repeating themselves in your mind over and over and over, like a broken record that never stopped.

Didn’t you go from hating him one minute to letting him fuck you the next?

You had… hadn’t you? Against your better judgment, against your own principles, you had let Rafe touch you and kiss you in ways you never even thought he would want to. Rafe Cameron was an awful person, and that wasn’t a matter of opinion. He was entitled, cruel, temperamental, and prone to violence. You knew that. He had terrorized you for years and made your life a living hell; laughed at you, hurt you, made you cry more times than you could count, and still…that hadn’t stopped you from riding him and moaning for him as if your life depended on it, had it?

And now here you were, unable to sleep, with a tightness in your chest and a churning stomach that was starting to make you nauseous. You were exhausted from all the muffled crying you had done as soon as you got to your bedroom, your pillow stained with tears.

John B’s words hurt, making you feel even worse than you already felt. Part of you hated him a little, insulted and beyond upset by everything he had said. He had no right to act like that. Still, the other side of you cried in shame, wondering if he was right and if you really were being the stupid and undeniably wrong person in all of this mess.

I slapped him, for God’s sake!

That alone was enough reason to at least text him an apology, but you quickly stopped yourself from doing it. You were still too furious, wounds too fresh.

Your thoughts started spiraling out of control, and that tightness in your chest grew worse.

What if your mom found out?

What if your boss found out?

What if you lost your job and your family because of it?

What if you and John B’s relationship never recovered?

What if this stupid fucking mistake stopped you from going to college and making a better life for yourself and your family so you would be forced to work as a waitress for the rest of your life until you died alone on this island with no family and friends, only the police to discover your cat-eaten corpse?

What if, what if, what if?

You buried your face in your pillow with a grunt of frustration, wishing you could go back in time and murder Rafe Cameron in his sleep, just for good measure. Then none of this would’ve happened, and you could continue living your life without this particular storm hanging over your head.

Groaning at how stuffy your room felt, you kicked your sheets off of you before getting out of bed and walking straight to the chair in the corner of your room. Grabbing the pair of shorts and the hoodie laying on it, you hurriedly got dressed before making your way out of the house, phone and keys safely stored in your hoodie’s pocket.

You hesitated as you walked down the stairs of your front porch, unsure of where to go.

It was at times like this that you wished you had more friends; Nina had been abroad for two years (It would be four in the morning in Portugal, so it was not like you could call her now) and you doubted that JJ, Kie, Pope, or Sarah would want to hear anything you had to say, after what happened. A couple of other people came to mind, but you never contacted them unless sex was involved, and that was not what you wanted right now.

Sex was what got me into this mess in the first place.

The sounds of waves in the distance crashing against the shoreline caught your attention. You listened for a moment, taking a deep breath of the salty breeze, mind going blank for a blessed moment. Living this close to the ocean could be a curse some days, unwanted memories rushing to your mind if you let them take over; right now, however, you would like to think of it as a blessing.

You were strolling towards the Boneyard before you could give it much thought, hands stuffed in your pockets and hoodie over your head as the chilly coastline wind made you shiver despite the warm island weather.

Your ears perked as the sound of loud music and voices alerted you to a party nearby, right on the other side of the dunes. You could smell burning wood the closer you got, and it didn’t take you long to catch the sight of a bonfire, people laughing and dancing and drinking without a care in the world.

Exactly what you needed.

You approached the gathering with your eyes on the crackling fire, enjoying the way the dancing flames cast a glow over the sand, making it look the color of melted caramel under the moonlit sky. The sand under your naked feet was cool to the touch, and the seawater was thankfully far enough away for you to be able to relax.

Most people around you were familiar in one way or another, a fair mix of Kooks, Pogues, and Tourons that just wanted to enjoy their Friday night as much as you did. You walked through the party crowd, being mostly ignored besides the occasional wave or nod of recognition that you made sure to retribute.

Fortunately, you saw no unwanted faces that would make you instantly turn around and leave.

That made you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding; no one seemed to be talking about you or looking at you weirdly, and there was no one to ruin your night more than John B already had. Perfect.

Coming here was a good decision, you thought as you approached the kegs of beer, smiling as you recognized one of the guys handing out drinks.

“Hey, V.” Eli, a tall young man with short curly hair smiled at you as he handed you a full cup of beer before you even had to ask. “Haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrugged as you took the cup from his hand, sipping the bitter drink, “just working and binge-watching shows on my days off. All very thrilling. You?”

“Same,” he chuckled, warm brown eyes looking almost golden in the light of the fire. “Just helping out at the cafe and surfing when I can. By the way, when are you passing by? My Mama keeps telling me to bring you over again, says she has some new books you might like.”

“Aw, she misses me?”

“C’mon, V, you know we all do,” he said, sending you a wink that made the corners of your lips twitch and a familiar heat take over your cheeks, the suggestion in his tone not being lost on you.

You really liked Eli, with his pretty smile and easy-going nature.

He had graduated two years before you, and you had gotten closer when you started spending your free time at his family’s cafe, staying whole afternoons reading or writing in their quaint little book corner. It didn’t take you long to develop a friendship, and before you knew it you were having your first kiss and experiencing your first time in his bed, in the apartment right above his shop. He had been kind and patient, and you really couldn’t have imagined a better way to lose your virginity.

But – even though you were aware that he liked you – you had never let your relationship evolve into something more than friends with benefits. Why ruin something that worked just fine?

“Maybe I’ll pass by on my next day off,” you said, and his eyes glinted. “Are you working on Monday?”

“I’m not, but I’ll be waiting there for you. Wanna go out and have lunch too? This new place just opened and–”

Your smile faltered, and he was quick to notice.

“No, no, I mean, just as friends,” Eli quickly clarified with an awkward chuckle. “I know you don’t want to change what we have and that’s fine by me. But, you know… we can hang out if you want and have a good time. We’re chill, right?”

Sometimes you wondered what was stopping you from getting into a relationship with a guy that was handsome, kind, shared so many of your interests, and knew how to please you in the best way. The problem wasn’t him, you were well aware of that. The problem was you and your fear of commitment.

Fuck that. You deserved something good in your life. And, right now, you really needed it.

“We are,” you answered, and you noticed relief softening his brow. “You know what, yeah, let’s plan something fun for Monday. How about–”

A heavy hand on your shoulder made you jump, and you stopped mid-sentence to look behind you, heart almost jolting out of your chest as you faced the last person you wanted to see at that moment.

“Rafe,” you muttered, glaring at his blue eyes before looking down at his hand, still on your shoulder. “Take your hand off me.”

“You’re in the way,” he simply said while dropping his hand to his side, nodding past you at the kegs of beer.

You said nothing, moving to stand next to Eli as Rafe passed by you and refilled his own cup. With a strange look at you and a glare sent in your friend’s direction, the blond left, and you followed him with your eyes as he walked away to the other side of the crowd, where he stood with his little gang of friends.

Of course he would be here, you thought as your hand reflexively squeezed the plastic cup in your hand. Luck was rarely on your side.

Maybe coming to this party hadn’t been a good idea, after all.

“That was weird,” uttered Eli, also looking in Rafe’s direction. “He could’ve gotten more beer right there.” He nodded in the direction of the other kegs, where no one stood in the way.

“Yeah, he just wanted to piss me off.”

“You’re still at each other’s throats then?”

“Yup.”

He hummed in response, and a weird moment passed where neither of you said a thing. You, for once, were too preoccupied with weighing the pros and cons of staying at a party with Rafe Cameron in your vicinity. The smart move right now would be to leave; you had no idea what would happen if both of you stayed. Then Eli spoke again, words coming out deliberately and slowly like he was thinking them carefully.

“You know that he’s not a good guy, right?”

You scoffed.

“You’re telling me that, of all people?”

“Just making sure…”

You let out a sigh, hand raising to brush over your face with a tired grunt.

“So, you heard about it too, huh?” you asked, hoping the irritation in your voice scared Eli enough so he wouldn’t ask too many questions.

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’, eyes down as he kicked a tiny hill of sand. “Don’t know if it’s true and I don’t understand you if it is, but it’s none of my business so… just be careful, okay? He hangs around the wrong crowd sometimes, and, well,” he shrugged, “you know how he is.”

You glanced at Eli, taking in the way he rubbed the back of his neck, thinking his words through. Whatever he was implying, was said out of concern for your well-being, nothing more.

“Okay…” you started, unsure of what else to say. “Thanks for letting me know, but there’s no reason to worry. I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” He nodded once, and a pretty smile graced his lips again as he looked at you. “Now, about Monday…”

«»«»«»«»«»

You were more than just a little tipsy.

You stumbled over your own feet as you walked past the dunes, giggling to yourself as you remembered a joke you had said early in the evening, already so plastered that you had struggled to get the words out without laughing. You hadn’t really meant to get as drunk as you were, but before you knew it you were six cups past sobriety, dancing and singing at the top of your lungs with Eli and his friend group.

You felt amazing in your intoxicated high, barely remembering what had soured your mood in the first place. Eli had helped you forget, with his easy conversation and sense of humor, and his friends had welcomed you into their group without unwanted questions or weird looks sent your way.

Was exactly what you had been needing; and a long time overdue if you were being honest with yourself.

Not even Rafe had been able to smother your euphoria, despite the very noticeable glares sent your way throughout the night. After some time, you had even forgotten he was there, completely focused on enjoying the party to its fullest.

And damn you if you hadn’t succeeded.

It was now somewhere past two in the morning, and the exhaustion of your workday had gotten to you despite the alcohol in your bloodstream and your high spirits. So, you had said goodbye to Eli – with the promise to meet on Monday – and were currently making your way out of the Boneyard. A tiny voice in your brain warned you about the massive hangover that you would without a doubt suffer in the morning, but you lazily brushed it off; now was not the time to think about tomorrow.

Now all you wanted to do was lay down.

Lay down…

You fell to the sand with the grace of a newborn foal, giggling as you laid face up, eyes wandering lazily on the clear sky. It was spotted with shiny stars, one constellation more beautiful than another, and your eyes watered; looking at the night sky had always made you feel emotional.

I’ll sleep here tonight, you thought as you curled in on yourself, face towards the stars, fingers tapping on the sand out of rhythm with the music still playing from the party just on the other side of the dunes.

“‘Cause everytime we touch, I get this feeling,” you drunkenly sang off-key as Cascada’s ‘Everytime We Touch’ played loudly. “And every time we kiss I swear I could fly.” You could still hear people sing and laugh from your spot in the middle of the sandbanks, and it almost made you want to go back there and stay until the sun rose.

But you really had to go to bed; or sleep right there, one of the two. Your head spun as you tried to sit up, so you let yourself lay down again with a huff.

That’s when you noticed someone approaching.

“You’re so fucking drunk.”

“Oh, pardon me, your Royal Highness,” you mocked with a snort, turning towards the voice to see Rafe Cameron standing just a few feet from you, hands in his pockets, “but this peasant doesn’t give a shit about what you think.” You couldn’t see his face well in the darkness – only the moon as a light source – but he was most likely looking down at you with a frown, as per usual. “Leave me alone, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Here?”

“I’m homeless, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Venus.”

“Rafe,” you laughed as you tried to imitate his baritone. “Oh, Venus, you’re so fucking drunk. Oh Venus, let me fuck you again.”

“You’re fucking annoying, that’s what you are.”

You didn’t even notice Rafe approaching you, letting out a yelp of surprise as you felt him pull you up before stumbling against his chest as dizziness took over you. You made a whiny noise as he started to half-push you, half-drag you away, a strong arm around your waist while the other grabbed you by the elbow.

“No, I don’t wanna leave!” you cried out as you tried to turn away from him and back to your spot on the sand.

“I’m not leaving you to sleep on the fucking beach, you moron.”

Now you were close enough to see the annoyed glare that he pinned you under, giggling at his pinched expression as you slapped his chest in a weak attempt to have him release you.

“Ugh, you’re so boring,” you whined, letting yourself fall in his arms when you realized he was not letting you go. “Okay okay, I know, let’s tell each other secrets!” You clapped your palms against his chest, pulling his shirt when he groaned. “C’mon I’ll go first: I hate you. Like really hate you. But-” you lowered your tone to a conspiratorial whisper, “having sex with you was really good – I still hate you, though.”

“Venus–”

“Shh, it’s a secret,” you giggled, putting a finger against his lips. “Now you.”

“I–”

“You have really pretty eyes, you know that?” you mumbled as you looked into his blue eyes, forgetting the game you had been one-sided playing. “It’s so unfair…”

Rafe let out a long sigh.

“Anything more you want to tell me?” he asked, hands steadying by your shoulders as you swayed in place.

“Hmm… nope.”

“Good, then let’s get you home.”

“Wait!” you exclaimed, pulling at his hand as you let yourself fall to the sand again, laughing as he fell on his knees beside you. “Let’s watch the stars.”

He sighed again.

“I’m so close to just leaving you here.”

“Good, then go, goodbye,” you said as you frowned at him, slapping his hand away when he tried to lift you again.

You heard him sigh a third time, followed by a sound of resignation before you watched him sit down beside you. With a grunt, you used his arm to pull yourself into a sitting position, leaning against his shoulder for support as you turned your neck to look up.

“Aren’t the stars so pretty?” you whispered, shaking his arm when a moment passed without an answer.

“Yeah, guess they are.”

You kept staring up, feeling your lids drop the more you looked at the mess of gold, red, and silver dots that painted the dark blue sky. It was all so beautiful. You felt… content, even with Rafe beside you. He was still an asshole and you still couldn’t stand him, but he wasn’t being himself right now, for some weird reason your intoxicated brain couldn’t even wonder about.

Rafe cleared his throat beside you, snapping you out of your stupor.

“Can we go now?”

“Wait…” you murmured, closing your eyes for a moment as you took a deep breath of the clean ocean breeze. “Okay, we can go now.”

“Finally.”

He pulled you up and you yelped as you tripped over your own feet, allowing him to hold you straight against his chest. You looked up at his face, and a sudden thought made you bite your bottom lip.

No, don’t do it, warned a voice in the back of your mind that you promptly ignored.

Kissing Rafe felt… nice. Better than nice. You had thought so too when you had been naked under him just a week prior, moaning against his soft lips as he fucked you in a way you had never been fucked before.

Now felt no different.

You moaned into the kiss, intertwining your arms behind his neck as you pulled him closer, fingers tangling in his soft blond locks. One of his arms went around your waist, pulling you flat against his body as a hand cupped your cheek, forcing you to deepen the kiss. You did so gladly, enjoying the feel of his tongue against yours, shivering as his teeth swiftly pulled at your bottom lip.

You let yourself enjoy it, the possible outcome of it all pushed to the back of your mind. All you wanted right now was to kiss him, consequences be damned. You would deal with those when you were sober.

Rafe was the one breaking the kiss, and you almost cried as he lightly pushed you away. You wanted more than just one kiss, at this point, an insisting heat making you squeeze your thighs together.

“C’mon, you little tease,” he said, chuckling as you whined and tried to chase after his mouth. “Let’s get you home.”

«»«»«»«»«»

Part 4 ->

[reigningqueenofwords]

One Second, Sweetheart

Pairing: Dean x plus size!Reader Word count: 1,682 Warnings: Fatphobia Request: Can you do a request with Dean and the plus size reader where they go to a festival and she takes his snap back and he is just in awe but he gets mad when guys start saying mean things about her. She is in shorts and a tank top and he finally has enough and freaks out in the guy.

Read on AO3

Part 1 of Festival

You’d been looking forward to this weekend for months . Dean had gotten the pair of you tickets to a festival you’d been wanting to go to, but always came up with reasons not to. Finally, he bought them so there would be no more excuses. You’d bought a couple new outfits (you’d even splurged at Torrid!) just for the occasion, as well. 

He would be picking you up on Thursday night, driving most of the day Friday, and then checking into your hotel Friday night. You’d been the one to book that. There was no way you’d let him pay for everything! The festival would be on Saturday and Sunday, and then you’d be driving home Monday morning. Four days with your best friend. That you may or may not be in love with. Maybe. Not that you’d ever tell him that. 

Standing in your room, you looked over your bed. You were packing for your trip, and trying to make sure that you didn’t miss anything. “Outfit for Saturday, check.” You muttered to yourself. “Two outfit options for Sunday.” You went on. “Chub rub stick, deodorant, dry shampoo, makeup bag, a pair of cute shoes, a pair of comfy shoes…” You went on. “Why does it feel like I’m forgetting something?” You furrowed your brows. “Phone charger! Oh my God. How did I forget that?!” You went to grab your spare. The last thing you wanted was your phone dying. 

You grinned when you opened your door Thursday night. “Hi!” You let him in. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” He smiled. “Looking forward to this weekend?” He sure as hell was!

“I am. Four days with my best friend? Of course I’d be looking forward to it.” You teased. “Let me get my shoes on, and then we can go.” 

He motioned to the two bags by the door. “Just these two?” He asked, glancing at you. You simply nodded. “I’ll get these out to the car.” He lifted them without giving you a chance to protest. A moment later he was headed back out. 

You quickly got on your shoes, grabbed your phone and purse, and followed him out. Once your door was locked, you jogged out to the car. “Did you want me to drive first?” You offered. 

“Nah. I napped all day.” He shrugged. “You hungry?” He leaned on the top of the Impala, that knee buckling smile on his face. 

“I could eat.” You smiled, slipping into the passenger’s seat.

“That’s my girl.” He said proudly. 

Saturday morning, you were up early. Before Dean was up, you quickly got ready, and then went out to get the pair of you breakfast. Sure, you could have gotten something at the hotel, but you didn’t always like the options. So, you went down the road to a little cafe you’d seen. 

Twenty minutes later, you were walking back into the hotel room with breakfast and coffee. “Wondered where you went, sweetheart.” Dean spoke from the side of his bed. His voice still held the remnants of sleep.

“Was hoping to get back before you woke up.” You chuckled, setting everything down on the table. “I got you an egg, bacon, and cheese bagel, with a hashbrown.” You smiled. “And then a coffee.” 

“Smells amazing.” He got up to go sit with you at the table. “I’ll shower after I eat and then we can head out. Sound good?” 

You nodded, getting comfortable in your chair. “Sounds perfect.” 

“This has been amazing, Dean!” You gushed after you’d been at the festival a few hours. “I will never be able to thank you enough for this.” You looked around, not seeing the way he looked at you. “You will get the best Christmas and birthday presents ever for the rest of your life.” 

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Nah, this was for both of us.” He told you honestly. Seeing you light up like this was a gift enough for him. 

You grinned up at him. “Selfie together?” You asked, hopeful. You really hadn’t taken many pictures that day, but you knew you wanted at least one of the pair of you. 

“Of course.” He agreed, taking your phone. “I am taller.” He teased, holding up the phone to get a couple pictures. “Wanna go grab lunch at the hotel, cool off, then come back when it’s socially acceptable to drink?” He asked as he handed you back your phone to put in your little bag. 

“Sounds good. Give our feet a break.” And give you a chance to refresh your anti-chub rub stick. 

After a few drinks, you were a bit giggly. Not drunk, but feeling really good. Smiling up at Dean, you bit your lip and snatched his snapback off his head when he wasn’t looking. He whipped his head around just to see you putting it on. “What do you think?” You asked, striking a playful pose. 

He had been fully ready to tell someone off for taking his hat until he realized that it had been you. Licking his lips, he playfully let out a sigh. “I think I just lost my hat because it looks good on you. Matches your tank top.” He noted. 

You blushed, nudging his side lightly, and you were taken aback when he put his arm around you to keep you close. You shyly put your arm around his waist, not complaining one bit. While you could hear laughter, you assumed it was just other festival goers having a good time. Drinks had been flowing for a few hours now, afterall. However, when you heard a ‘moo’ a little to close to you, you tense. 

Dean noticed, glancing at you. “You okay?” He asked, worried. 

“I’m fine.” You brushed it off. “How about we go to the taco truck for dinner?” You suggested. 

“Yeah, because she needs tacos.” A voice from not far snorted. 

That one Dean had heard, but he didn’t want to ruin your night, so he ignored it. “Sounds good.” He smiled, moving to lead you away from whatever asshole made that comment. He didn’t realize the same group was following. “Burgers tomorrow for dinner?” He suggested. 

“Have I ever turned burgers with you down, Dean?” You teased. 

“She should, isn’t that cannibalism?” Another voice laughed, making you swallow. You weren’t unused to cruel comments, you’d been bigger your whole life. However, it had died down quite a bit since you’d graduated high school years ago. “Maybe get a damn salad.” 

Your hand gripped the side of Dean’s shirt, willing them to just go away. “How’s Sammy doing?” You asked, trying to veer things away from the rude guys behind you. 

Dean chuckled. “He’s good.” He smiled. “Starts every call asking me if we’re dating yet.” He admitted, making your eyebrows shoot up. “Then gets annoyed when I tell him no.” 

Before you could say anything, another rude comment met your ears. “Who the hell would want to date her?” The first voice asked. “She should go to the gym and put some damn clothes on. No one wants to see that.” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he moved his arm from around you. “One second, sweetheart.” He saw the worry on your face. “I’m just going to talk to them.” 

You watched him get closer to them and gasped when his fist met some guy’s nose. “Dean!” You rushed over, pulling on the back of his shirt. 

“What? You can say a bunch of shit but you can’t deal with the consequences?” He spat at the group who looked like they were about to bolt. “Learn not to be such assholes and you won’t wind up with a broken nose.” 

“What the hell, man?!” One finally spoke up. “Why are you defending that?!” 

That made Dean even madder. “That? That ?! That is my best friend, the woman I love, and a better person than you could ever hope to be.” 

“Come on, Dean.” You tugged him, as more people were looking. “Let’s go back to the motel.” You said softly. He loved you?! Since when? 

Dean heard the softness of your voice and let himself be pulled away. “Yeah, let’s go.” He pulled you back to his side, kissing the top of your head as he led you towards the exit. He was clearly still upset over what was said, but now he was also a bit worried. You’d heard him say that he loves you. Would he lose his best friend? He couldn’t lose you! 

Neither of you said anything the entire way back to the hotel. Neither of you knew what to say. You were wrapping your head around him feeling the same way about you, and he was panicking that this would push you away. 

Finally, you sat on the end of your bed and pulled off your sneakers. You left his hat on your head, not wanting to give it back just yet. “Hey, Dean?” You asked, nervous. 

“Yeah?” He braced himself. 

“Did you mean what you said? That you love me?” You asked, crossing your fingers it wasn’t just something to shut those guys up. He blushed and looked down, speaking volumes. “Because I love you, too.” 

His head shot up, and his eyes were wide. “What?” He breathed. 

You giggled at the look on his face. “I’ve loved you for ages. Who wouldn’t?” You asked, getting up to walk to where he was sitting. “Thank you for sticking up for me.” You ran your hand through his hair. As he leaned into your touch you giggled. 

“I’ll always defend you, sweetheart.” He sighed, sounding content. He surprised you by wrapping his arms around your hips. As he rested his head against your stomach, perfectly comfortable holding you. 

“How about we order dinner, and then cuddle while we wait for it to get here?” You asked, feeling brave. 

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” He agreed, looking forward to holding you. “Sleep in my bed tonight? We can keep it totally PG.” He promised, looking up at you. 

Smiling, you nodded. “I think I can do that.” 

[real-total-drama-takes]

just saw someone say that owen was loud, dumb & annoying but then say they love wayne for being a "hot himbo" (their words not mine) in the same breath...I'm not saying I smell fatphobia buuuuuuuuuuuut....😬

[big-edies-sun-hat]

Watched Lisa Frankenstein last night—was really delighted by it. I can see why male critics weren’t, but it hit its marks.

There were things they remembered from the 80s that only women would, like the Mean Fat Goth Girl archetype. (This is not fatphobia, it is just a type of person you saw, like Pajama Pants Girl. I can think of at least two that gave me grief.) Also the tanning bed was used as a site of rebirth, instead of just a punishment in waiting for vanity. I did it a few times as a teen because I hoped the UV light would be good for my skin problems, and it was.

Spoilers

The more I thought about it in the night, the more problems I saw. Like, why wasn’t he writing to Lisa? He was clearly literate to a fault. Why did he only gain the power to speak offscreen at the end? And how did they solve the problem of him smelling “like a hot toilet at a carnival”? Or did they not?

Also, whenever I see or read about a high-achieving woman getting a boyfriend from The Past—either because of time travel or because she was born too soon—I have questions. Sure, he knows his Shelley, but what about his Wollstonecraft? Is he not racist, or at least just abolitionist? 

Speaking of anachronisms, the toughest girl from the 80s would not mention “changing her pad” in front of a guy unless he was a medical professional, and probably not even then if he was young. It was hard enough to take pads up to a male checkout guy. (My dad, a wonderful man, is still slightly unnerved by the sight of perfectly clean unused feminine items—)

But in any case I only think about a movie so much if I adored it or hated it, and I certainly did not hate it … does this mean fic—oh dear—