ecliptide

[ecliptide]

‎‎‎ ANGEL!READER

'𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠' '𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐞' '𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞' '𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬' ‎‎‎ . . paired with frat!rafe

. . . ﹙ angel reader who ﹚ owns a collection of Jellycats and vinyl records, finding comfort in their nostalgia. Her room is a cozy refuge filled with Jellycats, each one named and always by her side. She’s often surrounded by them, the plush toys adding warmth to her space. The soft crackle of her vinyl records fills the air as she unwinds after class, each album a little piece of comfort. She doesn’t care if it’s childish — it’s her way of finding peace, a quiet world of music and stuffed animals. And even her record player is pink.

. . . ﹙ angel reader who . . . ﹚ loves stargazing, spending nights on her porch or in the park, lost in the constellations. She doesn’t mind being alone under the vast sky, the stars a constant source of wonder. With a blanket wrapped around her, she’ll gaze up at the twinkling lights, tracing the constellations with her finger, imagining stories for each one. Sometimes, she’ll bring a thermos of hot chocolate or tea and sit for hours, finding comfort in the quiet, in the vastness of the universe, and in the peaceful silence that surrounds her. Each person she ever met is described by a star.

. . . ﹙ angel reader who . . . ﹚ bakes late into the night — cupcakes, pies, cookies — and always has more than she can eat. She’s never made anything to show off or for any special occasion; it’s just something she loves to do. Afterward, she packs them into Tupperware containers, unsure whether she’ll bring them to class, drop them off at the library, or give them to anyone who might need a pick—me—up. Sometimes, she even leaves some in the breakroom at work or slips a few into a neighbor’s mailbox, hoping someone will smile at the gesture. She never expects anything in return — but every now and then, she catches a glimpse of someone’s smile, and that’s enough for her.

. . . ﹙ angel reader who . . . ﹚ has an extensive collection of classic romance films — think The Notebook, Pride and Prejudice, and Roman Holiday, where relationships are filled with passion, sacrifice, and devotion. She often watches them when she feels lonely or overwhelmed, dreaming of a love that is pure and untainted by the harsh realities of life. But not only romance is stocked in the dresser under the TV, she owns some musicals and a few thrilles she has never watched.

. . . ﹙ angel reader who . . . ﹚ works in a flower shop speaks to her deep belief in the healing power of nature. She believes that flowers and plants hold a quiet kind of magic, capable of bringing comfort and joy to people. This belief mirrors her approach to psychology — helping people heal, even in quiet, subtle ways. She often recommends flowers to customers as a form of therapy, encouraging them to surround themselves with colors and scents that evoke calm and happiness. Lavender for relaxation, sunflowers for positivity, and roses for emotional healing.

© ECLIPTIDE

[ecliptide]

‎‎‎ MAIN INFORMATION

keep in mind this blog is strictly +18, because of mature content posted on here. minors do not interact.

⁰¹ 𝄒‎‎‎ TAGLIST

for now I'm writing only for rafe cameron.

ᅳ ❝ if you'd like to be added to my taglist please reply to this post. you can include what content you wouldn't like to see.

ᅳ ❝ I plan to write something maybe about grey's anatomy or other shows, but that seems like expanded future.

⁰² 𝄒‎‎‎ REQUESTS

ᅳ ❝ my inbox is open and requests are welcomed. I'll try to answer them as soon as I can, but sometimes I'm really busy with life and school so I wouldn't be able to answer right away.

ᅳ ❝ requests will have their own masterlist.

© ECLIPTIDE

[ecliptide]

‎‎‎ PATIENT 013 . . .

‎‎‎ . . . dark!rafe & psychiatrist!reader

warnings: +18, mdni, talk about murder, mention of suicide trauma, mature and dark content, pet names. a/n: 'If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst?' maybe i'll turn this into some au.

The file in her hands feels heavier than the others. Not physically—emotionally. The name Rafe Cameron is scrawled across the top, the ink pressed into the page like the person who wrote it was angry. Or afraid.

“Patient 013.” her supervisor had said. “Take him. No one else will.”

She’s handled difficult cases before. Sociopaths, trauma victims, violent criminals. But there had been something unfamiliar in her supervisor’s eyes. Not warning — something worse. Pity.

And now, here she is. In a cold observation room with flickering lights, sitting alone at a metal table as two orderlies escort him in.

He looks… normal.

Taller than expected. Blonde hair messy, like it’s never met a comb. Hands cuffed, eyes dull and detached. He slumps into the chair with the lazy confidence of someone who believes the world owes him something. Or that he's already taken it.

Twenty-six. Twenty-six. The number echoes in her mind. She’s his twenty-seventh psychiatrist.

The others didn’t just resign. Some vanished. Some died. Rumors claimed he killed them. Not all — but enough.

“Here to fix me?” His voice is low, almost amused. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. He shows no remorse. If anything, he looks... satisfied.

The orderlies cuff his wrists to the bolted table, struggling to get him to sit still. He doesn’t resist, but he doesn't submit either. There’s something coiled beneath the surface — taunting, simmering.

“Thought shrinks were supposed to be old. Or ugly.” he says, grinning. “You’re neither.”

She exhales, keeping her expression unreadable. No reaction. No reward.

Eyes still on his file, she slowly flips through the pages—each one more disturbing than the last. The number twenty-seven drums in her ears. A quiet, persistent beat of dread. Finally, she looks up and meets his gaze.

“I’m not here to fix you." she says evenly. The words come before she can stop them. “I’m here to see if there’s anything in you worth saving.”

That makes him laugh. But not the kind of laugh that relieves tension. It’s cold, jagged — wrong. A laugh that belongs in a Netflix true crime documentary.

She tightens her grip on her pen.

Her supervisor had provided details, photos, case notes on every psychiatrist before her. No obvious patterns — no specific gender, age, or appearance that triggered his violence. Maybe it was the role itself. The power dynamic.

Still, the look in his eyes now — it’s not rage. It’s something worse. Vain. Empty. Shameless.

“They all thought they could handle me.” Rafe says, fingers twitching against the cuffs. “They said the same things. Asked the same questions. Screamed differently, though.”

Her brows furrow, but her expression remains composed. She scribbles quick notes: tone — calm, calculated; affect — disturbingly flat. He notices.

“Don’t look at me like that.” he warns, voice low and sharp. His fingers dig into the edge of the metal table. “I didn’t kill them all. Two of them killed themselves.”

Was that supposed to comfort her?

“That doesn’t change anything, Rafe.” She sets the pen down, eyes locked on his. Her voice is steady. Measured. “You’re still responsible. You still took lives. That fact doesn’t get rewritten just because your hands weren’t the weapon.”

"Are you sure they weren't?" He watches her with a smirk on his face, processing her defiance. His gaze drops — linger on her lips, still glossed in a soft pink sheen, catching the dim light above them. Then lower, to the long lines of her legs crossed beneath the table, framed by black heels and poise. He shifts slightly in his seat, leans forward.

There’s a new expression on his face now. Not anger. Not cruelty. Curiosity. And something else. Something dark and aching.

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. It’s not tender — it’s rough, intimate, like sandpaper against silk.

“No.” she whispers back.

“Don’t lie, doc.” His smirk fades. His tone darkens. “You’re trembling.” He leans in further, invading her space with terrifying ease. And yet — she doesn’t move.

His presence is stifling. The air between them thins. And against all logic, all reason. She feels herself leaning in too.

There’s something magnetic here — chemical, wrong, addictive. For the briefest, most dangerous second, she imagines his hand on her cheek. His mouth on hers. How rough he might be — or maybe, not at all.

The sharp tick of the clock pulls her back. Reality slams down like a gavel. She rises from her seat, quickly collecting her files. “I’ll see you next week.” she whispers, sealing the words like a promise — or a curse.

As she turns away, she doesn't notice it. The subtle clink of loosened metal. One hand. Free. And behind her, he smiles. His fingers brush against her wrist.

“Looking forward to it, kitten.”

© ECLIPTIDE

[ecliptide]

‎‎‎ FARMWORKER!RAFE

‎‎‎ "𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 (𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲)" ‎‎‎ . . paired with countryside!reader

farmworker!rafe who . . despite his calloused hands and sunburnt neck, Rafe finds peace in sitting under the old sycamore tree at the edge of the fields and sketching birds, insects, and sometimes the reader when he thinks they’re not looking. His notebook is worn, the pages smudged with dirt, but his drawings are surprisingly detailed — soft proof of the gentler side he never lets the crew see.

farmworker!rafe who . . loves tinkering with engines while blasting old country songs or classic rock on a dusty Bluetooth speaker. It's where he clears his head, especially after a tough morning. Reader sometimes brings him lemonade or iced tea and just sits nearby, listening, legs dangling off the fence.

farmworker!rafe who . . might leave the reader on read for hours because he forgets his phone in the barn, but he’ll show up with her favorite raspberries after work, patch their garden boots when they tear, or leave quiet notes in the reader’s jacket pocket “don’t forget sunscreen today <3”.

farmworker!rafe who . . tells everyone it's just for the extra cash, but the truth is, if this doesn’t work, he’s not sure it ever will. Some nights, after long days in the fields, he lies awake beside the reader, quietly running numbers in his head. When the reader finds his crumpled college application under the truck seat, she doesn’t say anything — just wrap her arms around him tighter that night. Rafe doesn’t ask for reassurance. He just breathes in the quiet, pretending it’s enough to keep going.

farmworker!rafe whose . . every glance, every touch is carefully timed. When Rafe sneaks a kiss, it’s always in the shadows, always when no one’s around. The reader’s father is strict and unforgiving, and if he knew, it would cost Rafe his job — and possibly his future. One night, Rafe pulls the reader aside, his voice low and serious. “If he finds out, I won’t be able to come back next season.” He doesn’t have to say more. The fear is clear in his eyes. They both know: it’s not just about the farm. It’s about everything they’re risking for this.

FARMWORKER!RAFE WORKS . . . ᅳ taste of freedom, ᅳ haystack's whispers,

© ECLIPTIDE

[ecliptide]

‎‎‎ ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSES

this is an organised material list of all my alternative universes. readers are usually paired, but it could be otherwise.

‎‎‎ ⁰¹ 𝄒 FARMWORKER!RAFE ‎‎‎ ﹙ material list ﹚

© ECLIPTIDE

[ecliptide]

‎‎‎ HAYSTACK'S WHISPERS !

‎‎‎ countryside!reader & farmworker!rafe

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, piv, virginity loss, unprotected sex, pet names, dirty talk, body worship, cowgirl. ‎‎‎ ﹙ man! i feel like a woman! ﹚

A sheen of sweat glistened on Rafe’s arms as he continued stacking bundles of hay in the barn. His muscles flexed with each lift and toss, straining beneath sun-kissed skin. The white tank top clung to his body, streaked with grime from the morning’s tractor work, the hem slightly frayed. His silver chain bounced lightly against his chest, brushing against the dark curls of hair that peeked from the neckline.

Though it was barely past noon, fatigue already tugged at his limbs. He’d been up since 4 a.m. — milking, feeding, hauling — then diving into the heavy labor of the barn. A few quick breaks and a strong cup of coffee were all that had kept him going.

August bore down on him like a cruel mistress — smothering, relentless — soaking his skin in sweat and dragging rough groans and muttered curses from his throat. And yet, the way he pushed through it — jaw tight, eyes burning with determination — made her thighs clench with desire. She watched him from the barn doorway, the tray of iced jasmine tea trembling slightly in her hands. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as he groaned again, the sound raw and masculine, vibrating straight through her.

She pressed herself against the wooden frame, half-hidden but unwilling to look away. Her breathing quickened. She shouldn’t be feeling this. He was here to work. Nothing more.

Still, her restraint wavered.

“ Hey. ” she called, her voice soft and uncertain, like a breeze brushing the edge of something forbidden. Rafe turned, his broad shoulders relaxing just slightly at the sight of her. His gaze roamed slowly, taking in the sundress clinging to her frame, the cowboy boots, the delicate flower curling like a secret around her calf.

“ I brought you some iced tea. ” she said, her voice just a touch breathless. A flush crept into her cheeks as he stepped closer. Up close, he looked even more devastating — damp curls, sun-flushed skin, chest rising steadily with the weight of his work.

“ Thanks. ” he murmured, reaching for the glass. His fingers brushed hers — and lingered. That single point of contact sent a jolt up her arm. The heat between them had nothing to do with the weather now. Her breath hitched. His slightest touch unraveled her composure. She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “ You look… hot. ” she said, then immediately cringed. God, that sounded awful.

But Rafe only smirked, slow and crooked. “ Yeah? You don’t look so cool yourself. ” The silence that followed pulsed with tension. Then, almost without thinking, she leaned in, her face tilting toward his. He closed the distance, cupping her jaw with rough, warm hands — his movement instinctual, almost reverent.

Her eyes shimmered in the light filtering through the barn slats. Her hair framed her face in soft waves, cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall. That delicate dress hugged her curves just enough to drive him wild. It was too much; he wasn’t made of stone.

Their lips met — tentative at first, tasting the moment. But it deepened fast, molten and desperate, like the sun had sunk into their skin and sparked something dangerous. The kiss burned with something they didn’t understand — maybe the heat of the day, maybe the fire in their chests. When they finally pulled apart, her breath came in shallow gasps, fingers still curled in the fabric of his shirt.

“ This never happened. ” she whispered, her voice shaky. Rafe smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. His eyes lingered on her swollen lips. “ But it did. ” he said quietly. “ Don’t you remember? The lake. Cotton ball. ”

His hands slid to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, stroking it gently. He could still taste raspberries, her chapstick, and a hint of jasmine from the tea she’d brought him. “ Then I guess we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen again. ”

But they both knew — it would. Everything took its own course, and soon after, she found herself lying on top of a haystack. Her sundress was nowhere to be found, tossed somewhere only Rafe knew the direction of. His mouth placed kisses on her bare shoulder and neck, following the path of freckles. Her scent was like the sweetest poison, somewhere between happiness and desire.

As her chest rose and fell, Rafe’s hand slid under her back and lifted her up, tossing her to the top and sitting her on his lap. “ The hay will scratch your back, sugar. It will itch. ” he whispered in her ear as he continued exploring the bare skin of her back. The sun peeked from behind her fragile figure.

She was also sweating. Her tights straddled his lap as she slowly ground herself against him. Rolling her hips in slow motions, up and down, toward and back. Little circles, eights. Sweet sounds escaped her mouth, echoing in Rafe’s mind, getting tattooed in his frontal lobe.

“ Please. ” she whispered. Her palms pressed against his shoulders as she lifted herself and, with little impact, fell back onto him. Her white panties were completely soaked, ruined. She felt so dirty but, at the same time, so desired. The way his eyes took in the sight of her was so satisfying, as if she were a candy he wanted.

As she pleaded, Rafe couldn’t help but smirk. He grabbed her hips and rolled them against his bulge. She let out a little moan. Desperate. Filled with need and desire. One of his hands unbuckled his belt, then he slid his pants down. His face was buried in her chest, his nose buzzing against her breasts as he placed small kisses there. Rafe pushed her onto him, her velvet walls stretching around his cock as she dived in, slowly taking him inch by inch. “ Shit, honey, so tight. ” Rafe hissed, grabbing her hips even tighter and causing little bruises on her hip bones. Her head fell back while his kisses traveled up to her throat.

“ Mmmphh. Rafey. ” she moaned softly, her lips parting as he started to thrust in and out. The pace is slowly building up. He admired her. How she reacted to unknown before pleasure. How her body tensed and relaxed under his hands. How she sometimes trembled with his thrusts. How her breasts got in sync with her own movements.

“ Quiet baby girl, no need to make your father know, right? ” he nipped at her neck, her teeth dived into her lips again. Trying to muffle down the sounds as their hips met with greater intensity. Soon the thrusts were more calculated. Making her squirm and shake. “ No. No. ” she moaned at tension building in her lower stomach. Her tights clenched around his hips. “ Stop. ” 

“ You’re okay baby. All okay. ” Rafe cooed and stroked her ribs with his thumb. Trying to get her familiar with the feeling of climax building up. “ You can let go, I got you. ” he lifted himself a bit and kissed her temple. His hands rubbed her lower back in circles as she was falling apart. He knew she was panicking a bit when something unexpected was happening to her body right now. But it would take a good wave on her.

She left out a whimper. Her head fell to his shoulders as he continued the thrust. Her nails scratching his skin as the knot in her stomach was undoing. “ Oh my- “ she breathed out. Her body tensing at the peek, he kissed her cheek in reassurance and her trembling body felt its whole weight on him as he spilled into her womb.

“ You did amazing, sweetheart. ” he praised her and brushed the hair out of her face to catch sight of her. “ So good. ” he punctuated his words with a tender kiss on the corner of her mouth.

She clung to him, still experiencing the aftershocks, but he remained by her side. He always will. He showered her in affection filled kisses. He needs to be close to her.

© ECLIPTIDE

[ecliptide]

‎‎‎ TASTE OF FREEDOM !

‎‎‎ countryside!reader & farmworker!rafe

warnings: nudity in semi-public, making out, pet names ‎‎‎ ﹙ take me home, country roads. ﹚

The calm, still waters of the brook reflected the moonlight in a soft shimmer — gentle, detached. It mirrored the sky above but not the way Rafe’s eyes did. His gaze was full — restless, burning, alive — where the water held only silence. You ran barefoot down the old wooden platform, laughter tumbling from your lips as your hair streamed behind you, catching the glow of the moonlight. The planks creaked under your feet with every light, pounding step, and the night air clung to your skin, warm and wild. With a final push, you launched yourself into the air — weightless for a breath — before plunging into the brook below, shattering the stillness with a splash that sent silver droplets flying through the quiet.

The air hummed with the secret rhythm of summer, the kind that whispered between leaves and licked at bare skin. Your body slipped beneath the surface, glowing like polished porcelain in the moonlight, as if carved into the night by something divine. As you moved deeper into the brook, the water climbed higher, stealing your warmth in slow, greedy increments. It soaked into your hair, dragging the strands into curls that clung to your neck and shoulders. The moment the cold met your chest, you let out a sharp breath and laughed — bright, uncontrollable, and utterly free. The sound rippled through the trees like it belonged there.

Rafe stood at the water’s edge, unmoving, watching. His eyes traced every motion you made, like he was memorizing you one last time. He blinked slowly, like he feared the moment would disappear if he looked away. “ You’re really just going to laugh at cold water like it’s a joke? ” he called, voice low and teasing. You turned to him with a grin, eyes glinting with mischief.

“ It is a joke. ” you said. “ Everything is, when the moon looks like this. ” He stepped into the brook without hesitation, smirk appeared on his face as the water licked at his thighs. “ You’re going to be the death of me. ” he muttered, half to himself, half to the sky, before reaching you and slipping an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

A hush fell between you as your gazes locked, eyes flickering between each other’s lips and eyes — nervous, tender, longing. A silent question passed between you — may I? — and the quieter, wordless reply — yes, please.

The world narrowed to the sound of your breathing and the silver lake behind your house. If your father saw this — saw Rafe’s hands on your bare skin, saw your chest pressed to his, saw what bloomed between you — he would end Rafe’s summer without a second thought. No more harvests. No more secret swims or stolen moments between chores. But even with that threat hanging in the air, Rafe couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when the simplest glance, the smallest touch, had started to mean everything.

Their chests brushed, breath mingling with the scent of honeysuckle and still air. The moonlight filtered down through the leaves, soft shadows dancing over your skin, and the night seemed to lean in, waiting. Rafe’s hands slid from your waist and dipped beneath your thighs, lifting you with surprising ease. You let out a soft gasp and wrapped your arms around his neck as your body rose from the water. He adjusted his grip, lowering you back until your spine met the surface of the brook, the current carrying you lightly. Your hair fanned out like ink in water, your smile small, secretive, your eyes fixed on his.

“ You look like a damn forest spirit. ” Rafe said, unable to stop the chuckle in his voice. “ A nymph or a fairy or… something I don’t deserve. ” You smirked, tilting your head lazily. “ You’re not too bad yourself. ” you murmured, half-laughing. “ Just a little dramatic. ”

“ Can’t help it. Look at you. ” he said, shaking his head. Then he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, then your collarbone, and everything else dissolved. The trees, the world, even the water — none of it mattered. For a breath, it felt like time folded in on itself, like this sliver of night was endless.

For a second, they believed this moment could last forever. They weren’t supposed to be together — not like this, not in any way that counted — but that impossibility only made the fire burn brighter. The wrongness of it made it feel sacred. With a sweet, breathless laugh, you rose from the water, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. Your bodies aligned again, warm skin pressed to skin, and under the rush of stars, you kissed him.

The kiss was slow at first — testing, tasting. Your lips brushed like secrets, soft and hesitant, and then deepened, as if both of you feared time might tear the moment away before you could finish it. Rafe’s grip on your hips tightened. Your fingers tangled in his hair. You hummed softly into his mouth, and he shuddered at the sound. Every part of you said the same thing — don’t let go.

But he already knew the truth. August was coming to an end. The fields would change. And so would this. He would have to leave. The thought carved itself into his chest like a knife, sharp and merciless. It wasn’t just a goodbye; it was something colder, deeper. It was the theft of a future he hadn’t even dared to hope for. “ I don’t want to go. ” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath trembling. You paused, eyes searching his face. “ Then don’t. ” He gave a crooked, aching smile. “ You know I have to. ” You didn’t argue. You just held him tighter, as if you could root him to the moment, to the water, to you.

Rafe knew he wouldn’t survive waiting for another harvest season. Not when every long day under the sun, every aching muscle, every early morning, was made worthwhile by moments like this — by you. If he could, he’d bury himself in this place, take root beside the cotton and never leave. But the universe had no space for lovers like you. Its design was colder, more logical. It didn’t care for stolen moonlight or soft, trembling hands.

Soon, the fields would dry and the soil would sleep, and your time together would fold quietly away. Nature itself had taken part in your story — seasonal, impermanent, impossibly beautiful. And you were his cotton field: soft, wild, fleeting, and worth everything. Holding you in the water, the moon glowing off your skin, he pressed a promise into your damp hair, his lips brushing your ear. “ I’ll come back. ” he whispered. “ I swear it. I’ll take care of you… my little cotton ball. ”

And beneath the stars, in that sacred pause between now and goodbye, he kissed you again. He would make sacrifices. He would risk it all, because the truth struck him with sudden, quiet fury — you had never tasted freedom. You had spent your life tucked away, homeschooled and hemmed in by rules and tutors, protected from the very world he wanted to lay at your feet. Rafe left a sigh against your lips, a vow already forming inside him like a seed breaking soil. I’ll show it to you. All of it. The whole world. I’ll make sure you never forget what it feels like to live.

© ECLIPTIDE

[ecliptide]

‎‎‎ COUNTRYSIDE READER ！

'𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬' '𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧' ‘𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 ��𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐬’ ‎‎‎ . . paired with farmworker!rafe

. . . ﹙ country side reader who . . . ﹚ loves harvest season. she always runs through the fields of corn or grain, her hair moving with her every jump. she is deeply connected with nature as she’s not afraid to slip off her shoes and walk barefoot on the fields. she always spends a lot of time on the grassland, enjoying the company of her father’s cows. she has her favorite; it’s brown with white mark on its snout, she named it polly.

. . . ﹙ country side reader who . . . ﹚ is the biggest raspberry lover. she was eight when she wished for her little raspberry plantation, she received it and her little wicker basket laid by oilcloth was filled up with pink fruits. its taste made her head dizzy and caused her toes to curl. she couldn’t help but giggle as she ate lots of raspberries, causing herself to struggle with stomachache later. but at that moment it didn’t matter. she didn’t understand how anyone could say that raspberries were overshadowed by strawberries, but she knew she had a point to prove. and soon, she after started a crazy baking marathon using only raspberries.

. . . ﹙ country side reader who . . . ﹚ is homeschooled. wooden house on the countryside was a pain in the ass for private tutors to reach. her feet never touched the public school. this part that made her stand out at the background of her brothers, she didn’t experience a fitting into new community which would surely effect her future well-being, but her parents didn’t seem to consider the potential consequences. on one hand the golden cage of harmless world she lived in brought her a lot of joy, on the other hand she felt like she didn’t match anyone.

. . . ﹙ country side reader who . . . ﹚ owns a pink bike and once intentionally ruined it just to observe how it’s repaired. secretly, she took a picture of rafe repairing it and glued it to the page in her journal with explicit description of emotions she was feeling. at the end she wrote ‘one day we’ll have a huge raspberry plantation..’ she was daydreaming, letting herself fall all over for him every august.

. . . ﹙ country side reader who . . . ﹚ found herself in the barn in a heated position. her thighs straddling over rafe’s lap as she sat on him. the make out was intense, her lips becoming all puffy and her cheeks gaining a pink color. she wasn’t supposed to be engaging in any activity with a man who’s being hosted by her family for the harvest season to earn some money. but she didn’t know any better than to sneak into his room when the wooden house was quiet. she knew she would count days until next august to see him again.

© ECLIPTIDE

[ecliptide]

READERS

𝟎𝟏. COUNTRYSIDE READER

© ECLIPTIDE

[ecliptide]

‎‎‎ MATERIAL LIST

⁰¹ 𝄒 RAFE CAMERON ‎‎‎ ⸗ requests ‎‎‎ ⸗ patient 013 ⁰² 𝄒 READERS ‎‎‎ ⸗ countryside reader ‎‎‎ ⸗ angel reader ⁰³ 𝄒 MY AU'S ‎‎‎ ⸗ au's material list

© ECLIPTIDE

[ecliptide]

‎‎‎ PEARLS SHINING IN THE MOONLIGHT

❛ PEARL ﹒ 20yo ﹒ outerbanks ﹒ grey’s anatomy ﹒ lady gaga ﹒ saturn & stars ﹒ jellycats ﹒ lana del rey ﹒ coffee ﹒ med school ﹒ @svturnsbae

‎‎‎ ﹒ masterlist ﹒ readers ﹒ visual ﹒ love letters ﹒ ﹒ requests ﹒ main information (taglist) ﹒

© ECLIPTIDE