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frantic-fiction · 9 months ago

Text

Tension 18+

Pic: littlelovelore

Astarion x f!reader

Summary: During a solo mission, Astarion takes the opportunity to indulge in some "depraved carnal lust".

Warnings: 18+ MDNI Slight enemies to lovers, sex bent over a desk, sex with clothes on, mild choking, rough sex, reader handles her crush like a fifth grader (by being mean) Astarion is his smug self

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist

Back-to-back posts brought to you by Bree's insomnia...Enjoy!

"Do you want me to do it?" Astarion smugly asks, flicking his wrist sharply, sending a dagger into the wood beam before him. He's leaning against the cracked wall of the tunnel. A condescending smile stretches across his pale lips.

"Shut the fuck up!" You snap, twisting the lockpick violently, it's stuck on something, and it is pissing you off.

"My my, someone's testy today." The Vampire pushes off the wall to retrieve his dagger, only for you to hear the same thud of the knife hitting the abused beam once again.

You clench your jaw, wanting nothing more than to drown the bastard in the small stream of gray water. See him try to be a smartass when he's choking on sewage.

No! Just breathe.

As soon as you get this damn door open, all you need is to grab the stolen lease for the damn butcher, and the party will have a nice payout. Then Astarion's snarky comments and teasing jabs can be ignored behind a glass of ale and a nice meal.

Well, if you don't kill him first.

The relationship between you and the Vampire is a complex one, to say the least. Astarion is an arrogant, pompous dick. You're a temperamental stubborn asshole. It made for a messy mix of harsh insults and constant attempts to belittle the other.

It would have been so easy to hate him completely, but Astarion can be sweet under the cloak of night, and you could almost pretend he's a tolerable person when he speaks those honey-coated words. And when you let him feed from you, everything became so much more complicated.

The pick snaps, and you drop your head, groaning in frustration. You stand up and kick hard against a crate; the decayed wood breaks against your boot. Sighing in defeat, you motion to the rogue.

Astarion laughs smoothly, tucking the knife away, and exchanges it for his thieves' tools. Giving you a wink, he bends down to examine the lock. You pretend not to admire the swell of his ass, but who are you kidding Astarion is extremely attractive.

With little to no fanfare, the lock turns over, and Astarion opens the door. "After you."

"I fucking hate you." You grumble, pushing past, making a point to shove your shoulder hard into the rouge.

"Keep telling yourself that Darling,"

You flip him off.

The sewer system is a winding path of tunnels leading to various places. The two of you walk in silence for a few minutes.

"Are you sure we are going the right way?" Astarion asks, breaking the peace.

"Of course, this is the right way." You hiss, glaring over your shoulder. "I can read a map."

"Just like you could pick a lock, yes?"

You don't think you've ever seen a more punchable face. You're almost tempted to smack him just to see his reaction. Instead, you practice a semblance of self-control and ignore him.

After a few more turns, you hit a dead end. It's nothing but a damp brick wall. Scanning the map, you're sure you followed all the proper steps; there should be an entrance. Stowing the stupid paper away, you begin feeling the brick for any invisible button, unwilling to admit defeat in front of Astarion. All hideouts have secret levers. Right?

"Well, sweetheart, I think you've gotten us lost."

"No, I didn't, jackass, now be useful for once and help me." You bend down and begin trailing your fingertips against the rough bricks near the floor.

"I don't think I will. I'm quite enjoying the view from here."

You look back towards the rogue, "What are you talking about–" you choke on your words.

Astarion is shamelessly eyeing your form. A fang tugs at his bottom lip, hunger darkening his eyes. You swallow hard, and a flame ignites low in your stomach. You have a sudden urge to press him against the wall. That thought startles you. This is Astarion. The obnoxious, arrogant, attractive–no, stop that. You stand up and shake your head, willing your thoughts to clear.

"You're ridiculous," you sigh and dig through your bag.

Retrieving the knock scroll, Gale scribed for you. Repeating the steps he told you to do, you mumbled the incantation, and soon enough, what was once a solid brick wall cracked open to reveal a hidden path.

"Told you I knew where I was going," you boast, sticking your tongue out childishly.

Astarion smirks, "Yes, a broken clock is right twice a day."

Scoffing, you shove him hard, causing him to take a few steps to correct his footing. The entrance leads to a broken-down ladder and a worn wooden hatch. Astarion steps up to pick the lock and lifts the hatch barely to survey the room. He pushes the trapdoor open and enters.

Following suit, you find yourself in a dusty broom closet. Astarion is already at the door to the hallway, a sliver of light pouring through the crack. Closing the trapdoor, you cross your arms and wait for Astarion to turn back to you.

"It's abandoned."

"Are you sure?"

Scoffing, Astarion doesn't answer. He pushes the door open and begins down the hall. You follow after him.

The small hideout is plainly decorated, the common room has a dingy sofa and a coffee table. The fireplace is dead; not even embers remain. Good. In the corner, there looks to be an unfinished game of cards. The faded carpet runner leads down the hall to a large ornate door.

Astarion is already opening the door by the time you reach him. By the looks of it, this is the boss's office. A large oak desk sat in the middle room. A plush chair pulled slightly away as if someone hadn't bothered to move it back. Bookshelves line the back wall.

"Secure the door," you say as you move to the window to the left of the door. You hear Astarion mumble something but don't quite catch his words.

The window is a short drop good for a quick escape if needed.

You move to the desk and begin rifling through the papers on the desk. Tax documents, random notes, crappy doodles, and a cringey love letter, but not what you're looking for. You rip open the first drawer. Nothing. Second drawer. Nothing. Third, nothing.

"Astarion, did you find anything?"

"Nothing important." His sultry voice is deep and so very close to your ear.

Your heart drops, but you suppress any other signs of distress, knowing that is exactly what he's looking for. Sighing In annoyance, you turn around to face Astarion and cross your arms over your chest.

"Are you even trying to look for the damn paper? We need to get what we're here for and get the fuck out!"

Astarion's mouth cracks into a cheeky grin, and he closes in on you. You back against the desk instinctually, reaching a hand up that lands on his firm chest. Astarion has you caged against the desk, each hand on either side of your hips. You know Astarion can hear the thrumming of your heart and the shaky inhalation of your breath, and you curse your body for betraying you.

He bends his head down to press his mouth against your ear. "What if I'm looking for something else?"

You freeze. What did he mea–

The thought is forgotten because he's slamming his lips onto yours. You gasp in surprise, and Astarion wastes no time, delving his tongue into your mouth and claiming it as his.

The slight metallic taste of blood that lingers on his tongue should repulse you but has you moaning desperately for more. You grip your fist tightly into the fabric of Astarion's armor. His body is flush against yours, but you need more. You scratch your nails up his neck and tangle your fingers into his hair. Astarion groans into your mouth, biting at your bottom lip.

Everything is hazy, and you're lost in the kiss. Your thoughts are slow to catch up with the situation, too consumed by the taste of his lips. Astarion's lips. Astarion.

You push him away, chest heaving in rapid breaths. "What are you doing?"

"I'd hope my intentions would be obvious by now." He grins and dives back to kiss down your neck, dragging his teeth against your skin. "I could be more obvious if that would clear things up."

A sharp bite of his mouth at your throat drags a choked gargle from your swollen lips. You feel dizzy from the scent of rosemary and bergamot invading your nose. Lightheaded from the sudden turn of events. Astarion presses a knee between your legs, applying firm pressure against your burning arousal.

Gods, what was he doing to you?

Needing to gain any form of control, you tug sharply at the roots of his silver curls, drawing a hiss from the man.

You finally manage to gasp out, "We hate each other." As if that would somehow clear up your raging thoughts.

Except, could you hate someone who is making you feel so good?

Cold fingers trail against the skin between your leather armor and trousers. Astarion's deft hands start pulling at the lace of your pants. Another wave of arousal warms your body, and you feel drunk on the pale elf.

"You say that, yet I don't think you want me to stop." He purrs, halting his movements, and meets your eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head, desperate for more. Your dignity couldn't live with letting Astarion reduce you to a begging mess. However, if you were honest with yourself, you're already halfway there. Reaching out, you grab for his belt.

Astarion was having none of that. He's quick to twirl you around and press your torso flush against the top of the desk. A stack of paper flies off and scatters to the ground, but neither of you put much care into it. Astarion grinds his front roughly against your ass, and you moan at the feeling of his hardening cock against you.

"No, no, no, my dear, use your words."

"Gods, are you always so fucking annoying?" You whine pressing back and rolling your ass against him. Astarion grunts, gripping your hips tightly. "Are you going to fuck me, or should I just take care of myself?"

Astarion groans, rocking against each roll of your hips. "There's my spitfire."

"I'm not yours."

Astarion tugs at your pants and underwear, pulling them over your rear and letting them pool around your ankles. You kick off your boots and free yourself, leaving your lower half bare to the open air. A shiver rushes up your spine as the cold air hits your dripping heat.

Astarion's slim fingers trail down your folds, and you bite your lips to stifle a cry. Tilting your head back, you see the rogue admiring the slick coating his fingers.

"You might not be mine, darling." Astarion slips his drenched fingers into his mouth, and you watch, mouth agape, as he swirls his tongue to clean each digit. "But who else has seen you bent over a desk looking as desperate and delicious as you do now?"

"I could name a few," you say cheekily, earning you a smack on the flesh of your backside.

Astarion gropes the reddened skin and bends down, blanketing you with his body. You feel the soft pants of his breath cascade over your neck as Astarion brings his lips to your ear.

"Then it seems I'm just going to have to ruin you for anyone else." Astarion practically growls and licks along the shell of your ear before taking the lobe in between his mouth and teasing it with his teeth. You don't recall hearing Astarion unclasp his belt, but when you feel his bare cock rub against your back, all you can do is arch your back and moan.

"Astarion," you part your legs more in silent invitation.

"Yes, my dear," His voice is smug as he rocks against you. He knows what you want but wants to hear you say it.

The head of his cock parts your folds and moves to tease your desperate clit; a collective moan fills the room, but it is not enough for either of you. And knowing that the two of you are currently in the middle of dangerous territory means there is no time to play.

"Stop being a prick and fuck me."

"Have I ever told you, you always have such a way with words." Astarion chuckles before plunging deep into your cunt.

A shaky cry leaves your lips, all air seemingly ripped from your lungs. Astarion is bigger than most men you've slept with prior - though you wouldn't dare voice that out loud in case it inflates his already-inflated ego. The stretch holds a delicious sting, and you feel the beginning of the burn of tears at the corner of your eyes.

Astarion's still his hips for a moment, letting you collect yourself. His thumbs are rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back and peppering kisses across your neck. Once the sting of his initial entrance simmers to a stirring heat, you tell him to move.

"Hells you're so tight." Astarion groans as he sets a teasing pace, dragging the rugged ridges of his cock out before plunging back in at the same agonizing pace.

A pace you could imagine sharing intimately with Astarion all night somewhere secluded. Perhaps your tent or an isolated clearing, not a random gang's currently empty hideout. And since you're not one to play nice, you decide to play with fire instead.

Pushing up on your elbows, you move your head to look back at Astarion, a playful smirk on your lips. "You say you're going to ruin me, but I think Gale could be doing a better job of it right now."

Astarion's body freezes just as you hoped he would react. He shoots you a look full of daggers and bares his teeth in annoyance. Without comprehending entirely what's happening, Astarion pulls out of you and, with a strength you have not seen from the Vampire (the same Vampire who asks others on multiple occasions to carry his pack because it's too heavy), flips you over and has you seated firmly back on the desk leaving you dizzy but feeling giddy as a schoolgirl.

"Oh darling, you're going to regret that."

Astarion rams back into your pussy and begins to thrust quick and brutally deep into your body. His cold hand is wrapped around your throat, holding it firmly enough to keep your eyes locked onto him.

Your legs link around his lean hips, pulling him deeper into you. Moaning desperately, you run one of your hands up under his leather armor, splaying it across his stomach. You grab his face and pull him into a kiss, all tongue and teeth and perfection.

The desk is groaning under the movement of your bodies. Random knick-knacks are clanging to the floor. A bottle of whiskey shatters, and the pungent aroma wafts into the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and slick.

"You and that mouth of yours." He breathes deep into your ear. "Always so confident, so snarky, so bratty."

"M-more…" you choke, clenching around his length, desperate for anything and everything he will give you.

"Do you think the wizard could handle you?" The hand not firmly holding your neck snakes between your legs and begins to play with your clit.

"Gods A-star.." You gasp, eyes rolling back.

"Could he or anyone else make you feel this good?" Astarion's hand tightens slightly against your neck, and the lack of oxygen leaves you feeling dizzy and euphoric.

"N-no…please."

"After me, no one will ever be able to satisfy you." His thumb is now rubbing fast, tight circles against your clit. "Fuck, that's it, squeeze me just like that."

Gripping onto the desk, you shift your hips, and Astarion is now hitting deeper into your abused cunt. You tighten your legs around his waist, urging him to go faster. That delicious coil is beginning to burn deep in your stomach, and you know you won't last much longer.

"Tell me, who's making you feel this good," Astarion demands, voice husky.

"Y-you,"

"And when you come on my cock, I want you to scream my name." He grunts, and the thrust of his hips is beginning to become sloppier. "I want to hear just how good I make you feel."

Everything is too much. Astarion's sinful words, the harsh thrust of his hips combined with the tight circles of his thumb on your clit, the musky smell of Astarion's sweat mingling with yours, and the intense fragrance of the spilled whiskey.

You don't remember the details, just the wave of euphoria as the coil snaps and your orgasm washes over you. The words that spill from your lips hold no meaning in your clouded mind. The only thing that holds context is the feeling of Astarion stuttering thrusts of his hips as he chases his release from your spent body.

And when he stills, and the world falls silent apart for your combined pants of breath, all you do is brush the curls off his forehead and kiss his cheek. Why? You're not sure, but that's something you'll ask yourself later.

Once you return to relatively normal breathing, Astarion moves from his slumped position against your body. He stares at you in astonishment.

"Well, that happened." You offer because what else were you supposed to say?

Astarion breaks out into a genuine laugh, full belly and joyful as he tucks himself away. You couldn't help but join in as you move to put your clothes on.

"Yes, my sweet, I suppose that did happen."

"So where-"

The two of you jump at a commotion coming from the hall. Someone is jingling the doorknob, trying to open it; when it doesn't budge, there is a loud bang followed by an even louder shout of anger.

"Fuck!" You quickly finish tying your boots and collect your gear.

"Seems like our friends are back from their trip. I believe it's time to go." Astarion says as he moves to the window and opens it. Without waiting for you to respond, he gives you a devilish smirk and jumps out.

"Shit, the paper." You sigh, knowing you'll never hear the end of it.

By the time you make it to the window, the door is being busted in, and a very angry-looking dwarf is storming into the room. You smile at him and give him a salute before diving out the window, knowing Astarion will be there to catch you.

***Later at camp***

"What do you mean you didn't get the document?" Gale yells, the others equally baffled by you and Astarion's failure. "That was the only thing you needed to get!"

You shrink in on yourself looking to Astarion for help. "I...I don"

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Stealing objects from heavily populated hideouts is harder than you might think, wizard."

"That's why we sent you two!"

"Then perhaps next time-"

"HOLY SHIT!" Karlach interrupts, drawing everyone's attention. She's pointing straight at you with a look of bafflement. "Soldier's got a fucking hickey."

You clamp a hand over the spot Astarion was biting at earlier, wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.

Shadowheart's face scrunches up in disgust. "Please don't tell me, we're not getting paid because you two idiots decided to fuck?"

"Darling, it would seem the cat's out of the bag." The bastard has the audacity to look proud.

"I hate you all." You groan and storm off to your tent, contemplating just how bad it would be to join the Absolute.

Feedback always makes my day so let me know what you guys thought. And if you're looking for something sweet to balance out the spice check out my last post right here.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 days ago

Note

tips on writing physically disabled (wheelchair bound) characters?

Writing Notes: Characters Using a Wheelchair

"Wheelchair/wheelchair-bound/confined to a wheelchair"

People who use mobility equipment such as a wheelchair, scooter or cane consider the equipment part of their personal space, according to the United Spinal Association.

People who use wheelchairs have widely different disabilities and varying abilities.

National Center on Disability and Journalism Recommendation: It is acceptable to describe a person as “someone who uses a wheelchair,” followed by an explanation of why the equipment is required. Avoid “confined to a wheelchair” or “wheelchair-bound” as these terms describe a person only in relationship to a piece of equipment. The terms also are misleading, as wheelchairs can liberate people, allowing them to move about, and they are inaccurate, as people who use wheelchairs are not permanently confined to them but are transferred to sleep, sit in chairs, drive cars, etc.

Other terms to use: “wheelchair user” or “person who uses a wheelchair.”

Wheelchair

A chair with wheels to help people move around.

Used by individuals who have impairments that limit their ability to walk.

Typically consists of a seat supported on two large wheels attached towards the back of the seat and two small wheels (castors) in front near the feet, a good braking system, footrests and a cushion. There are often small additional features to prevent toppling or to assist in mounting curbs.

The user moves by pushing with his/her hands circular bars on the outside of the large wheels, known as the hand-rim or push rings.

Types of Wheelchairs

Based on variations in the basic design, there are many types of wheelchairs, with being highly customized to suit individual needs.

Manual wheelchairs are mostly propelled by the user. Other features such as foot/leg rests, front caster outriggers, adjustable backrests and controls can be added to the basic model. The seat size (width and depth), seat-to-floor height, seat angle (also called seat dump or squeeze) relative to the horizontal plane can be modified. Users who have specialized needs may opt for a custom-built wheelchair.

Attendant-propelled chairs are designed to be propelled by an attendant using the handles, and thus the back wheels are often rimless and smaller. These chairs are often used as ‘transfer chairs’ possibly within a hospital or airport to move a mobility-impaired person when a better alternative or a user’s standard chair is unavailable.

A rigid frame wheelchair is usually a non-folding type with a base of support on which the person sits. In some models, the backrest of the chair can be folded down, and the wheels have a quick release mechanism to enable easy transportation and storage.

A folding frame wheelchair is one whose frame is collapsible sideways by the use of an “X” mechanism in the frame. This mechanism is lockable, and the wheelchair folds on release of two locking levers on the chair.

A motorized wheelchair, power chair, electric wheelchair or electric-powered wheelchair is propelled by means of an electric motor rather than manual power. Motorized wheelchairs are useful for those unable to propel a manual wheelchair or who may need to use a wheelchair for distances or over terrain which would be fatiguing in a manual wheelchair. They may also be used by people with cardiovascular and fatigue-based conditions.

Interacting with People with Mobility Disabilities

Do not push or touch a person’s wheelchair/scooter without their permission – a wheelchair is part of the personal body space of the person.

Try to ensure there is space in your waiting room and your office for someone in a wheelchair or scooter to comfortably wait in their chair.

If you are speaking with a person who uses a wheelchair or a person who uses a mobility device for more than a few minutes, place yourself at eye level in front of the person to facilitate the conversation.

Writing about People with Disabilities

Words are powerful. The words we use and the way we portray individuals with disabilities matters. Below is a guide for portraying individuals with disabilities in a respectful and balanced way by using language that is accurate, neutral and objective.

Emphasize abilities, not limitations. Choosing language that emphasizes what people can do instead of what they can’t do is empowering.

Use language that emphasizes the need for accessibility rather than the presence of a disability. Examples: "Accessible" not "handicapped" parking; "Accessible" not "disabled" restroom

Portray successful people with disabilities in a balanced way, not as heroic or superhuman. Do not make assumptions by saying a person with a disability is heroic or inspiring because they are simply living their lives. Stereotypes may raise false expectations that everyone with a disability is or should be an inspiration. People may be inspired by them just as they may be inspired by anyone else. Everyone faces challenges in life.

Do not mention someone’s disability unless it is essential to the story It is okay to identify a person’s disability when it is necessary for clarity or provides important information. For instance, “Virali, who uses a wheelchair, spoke about her experience with using accessible transportation” is totally fine, since it adds a new layer to the story. In other instances, the disability may be irrelevant. For example, do not say, “Charles, who has a congenital disability, wants more sugar in his caramel espresso.”

Create balanced human-interest stories instead of tear-jerking stories. Tearjerkers about incurable diseases, congenital disabilities or severe injury that are intended to elicit pity perpetuate negative stereotypes.

In the 1990s, some health care and disability activists introduced the term “differently abled” as a substitute for the term “disabled.” While well-meaning, this term is euphemistic and works to avoid talking about a person’s disability in honest and specific terms (critics point out that in a pure dictionary definition, everyone is “differently abled”). Use of the term waned in the mid-2000s, and now many individuals in the disability community consider this term condescending or offensive.

Best Practices around Terminology for Disabilities

A foundational part of disability rights is using the right language and terminology to be respectful to members of the disability community. Here are a few best practices:

Avoid outdated terms. There are a number of terms for people with disabilities that are outdated, ableist, and potentially offensive to members of the disability community—terms include “differently abled” (and “the differently abled”), “handicapped”, “special needs” or “special education”, “wheelchair-bound” (as opposed to “is a wheelchair user”), and “cripple.” All of these terms have negative connotations, either because they serve as euphemisms or because they suggest that people with disabilities have a worse quality of life than people without; avoid these terms and replace them with more appropriate terms.

Consider how you describe nondisabled people. In addition to appropriate terms for people with disabilities, there are appropriate terms to use when describing people without disabilities. Avoid words like “normal,” “able,” “abled people,” or “able-bodied,” since these inappropriately suggest that those with disabilities are abnormal or do not have able bodies; instead, use language like “people without disabilities,” “nondisabled,” or “enabled.”

Learn whether to use “people-first” or “identity-first” language. Just as with any other group, people with disabilities are not a monolith. When talking about people with disabilities, remember that they are multifaceted human beings rather than an easily categorized group. To reflect this, opt to use person-first language whenever possible—for example, “a person with epilepsy” rather than “an epileptic person,” or “a person with blindness” rather than “a blind person”—to emphasize the individual and avoid letting their disability serve as their only defining quality. However, some communities prefer identity-first language over people-first language—for example, many people in the deaf community who use sign language prefer the term “deaf person” to the term “person who is hard of hearing,” and many people with autism prefer the term “autistic person.” Always use the individual’s preferred terms.

Refer to a person’s specific disability. Where relevant, avoid referring to people with disabilities as a homogenous group—the range of disabilities varies wildly, and individuals with disabilities have very different experiences depending on their condition and other factors. In addition, avoid the phrase “the disabled” and be careful when using broad terms like “cognitive disability” or “learning disability” when it would be more specific and appropriate to mention their exact condition. Instead, when discussing a person’s disability, use words that refer to their specific condition—for instance, as a person with ADHD—to respect their unique experience and needs.

Respect individual preferences. Individuals have different preferences when it comes to discussing their disabilities, and some people prefer particular terms over others—for example, many people with dwarfism prefer the term “person of short stature” or “little person.” Learn the individual preferences of the people around you to use their preferred terms.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

Thanks for the question, learned some new things from these notes as well. Hope this helps with your writing!

EDIT

Ambulatory wheelchair users

Individuals who, despite having the ability to walk short distances, rely on wheelchairs for mobility due to various health conditions.

Can walk but need wheelchairs for longer distances or when experiencing fatigue. Conditions like multiple sclerosis, arthritis, or other mobility-impairing diseases often necessitate this dual mobility approach.

Many ambulatory wheelchair users report being judged, stigmatised or accused of faking their disabilities to cheat their way into support.

#writing notes #writing reference #writeblr #spilled ink #dark academia #fiction #creative writing #novel #light academia #literature #character development #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #writing tips #writing advice #writing resources

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lokicraft · 6 months ago

Text

Self indulgent idea about task force 141 rescuing a wrongly-kidnapped scientist/researcher reader. Gender neutral reader, implied American reader implied violence and torture, implications about the reader looking young (I imagine the reader being between 20 and 30 years old). I see it as future tf141xreader, but feel free to imagine otherwise and/or take this idea and run with it as you please. MDNI.

————

Imagine you are a government researcher. Technically a government employee but you are pretty low on the ladder, just starting out at a research laboratory on a small military base. You are so excited to start working with your supervisor/PI, a very influential scientist who has their fingers in a lot of research pies (some more secret than others).

But you have nothing to do with the secret stuff. You’re more interested in environmental research (of which the military does have to pay at least a little bit of attention to, so you work with what you get).

You’re getting out of the lab late one evening, having to stay even after your PI left to clean glassware (your least favorite task). You lock the door to the research building and walk to your car, only to see someone else parked next to you. The hood of their car is open and they look distressed. You don’t recognize them but it’s not like you know everyone on base. So when they ask you for a jump start you agree and start rooting around your car to pop the hood. You just got your hand around that pesky lever when you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head and everything goes dark.

————

You wake up in a dingy concrete room with your arms and legs tied to an equally dingy chair. You are shocked, panicking and in pain, but through the ringing in your ears you hear shouting from outside the room.

“What do you mean that’s not Dr. Scaffer?” An angry accented voice shouts.

“It was bad intel!” Another voice insists, same accent as far as your fuzzy brain can register, “we did not get any physical description, only that they would be the last one out!”

“A head research scientist with top secret clearance won’t look like a kid who just got out of college!” You hear a muffled bang - your heart stops beating in your chest - but the voice continues, dismissive, “I have to do everything myself.”

He enters the room.

————

Two hours later, not that you can really keep track, you are left alone again. Significantly more injured from what you just went through (your brain cannot even ponder the word “torture” through the unceasing static of your thoughts), you realize that you are going to die. Whoever kidnapped you grabbed the wrong person, and unless they want to know about the water quality of the watershed around base you don’t have any information they want. You are no use as a hostage, and you are going to die. You can only hope it will be quick and painless—

You can’t breathe, you were never good at handling stress.

At least when you’re unconscious it doesn’t hurt anymore.

————

Recovering VIPs is well within their capabilities, Gaz thought to himself as he recounted the brief they were given a short two hours ago. But usually if it was a researcher they were rescuing then their area of expertise would be weapons technology, or infectious diseases, or something that’s not water chemistry. It’s not his job to judge, it’s his job to get you back home where you belong. However the judgmental voice in the back of his mind can’t help but kick in, remembering the profile photo they were provided of you.

“They’re quite a cutie, no?”

Gaz is knocked out of his thoughts when Soap catches up to him, both fully geared up and heading to airstrip. Wheels up is in 15 minutes, and Gaz is sure their Captain and Lieutenant are already in the transport. While Ghost is probably just sitting and “brooding” as Gaz likes to call it, he gives Price a 50/50 on being on the phone with Laswell. Their Captain probably wants to know how a young researcher got kidnapped from an American military base only to end up as a hostage in Russia. Hell, Laswell probably wants to know that too.

“Time ta go save us a bonnie researcher!” Soap proclaims picking up the pace and rushing in front of Gaz. It’s obvious Johnny shares the same thoughts as Kyle when it comes to your appearance, only one is better at keeping those thoughts to themselves.

“Yeah let’s make sure we get them back alive” Gaz responds, his sharp mind working overtime to calculate how long your captors will keep you alive once realizing you are not a spring of top secret information nor a high profile bargaining chip.

“Of course we will mate,” Soap declares, his sober tone almost catching Gaz off guard, “with LT back on the roster we’re at full strength again, n’one left behind.”

Gaz agrees with the sentiment, and taps Soap on the chest lightly as they approach the transport.

“No one left behind”

————

Thanks so much for reading, this is my first time writing something like this so I’m still trying to get the character’s ‘voices’ right and all that. If you decide to build off this idea please tag me! I appreciate y’all 💚

#cod mwii #task force 141 #tf 141 x reader #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #fic idea #text post #LC writes

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eaterofman · 1 year ago

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Stuck in The Dark Alone... or Not. (Monster x F!Human) 1.8k

An unlucky adventurer, you find yourself once again the victim of fate as you become locked in a dungeon room... with something else inside.

Content warning: Dub-con bordering strongly on non-con, non-con touching, mentions of death (but no actual character death), overstimulation, yandere monster.

This was supposed to be a quick first foray into writing on tumblr... and ended up being an almost 2k long beast. Oops.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Another adventure gone wrong'

You find yourself thinking, head leaning against the cold, stone wall as you gaze into the darkness. The room was rather small, but spacious enough that the candle you had lit did not light up the entire room, causing shadows to gather at the far corners of the room. Finding the candles had been your only stroke of luck today, without it, you'd be trapped in complete darkness.

'When I manage to get out-'

You stop yourself in your thoughts, as the very real possibility that this is where your journey ends sinks into you. You had already exhausted yourself looking for a lever, a button, a switch, any possible escape from this dungeon trap. The walls, while craggy with the ancient stone they were made of, were completely barren of any and all features. You'd been tempted by the chest on the far side of the room. Looking back, you should've known better. Too obvious, too perfectly placed... but that didn't matter now. Nothing really mattered now. You doubt that the small party you had been adventuring with would even notice your disappearance. You were just another temporary member in yet another party. Your unlucky nature, your tendency to seem to just fall right into traps, made you an undesirable companion. This hadn't been your first, second, or even third party, but it may very well be your last. The chest hadn't even had anything in it, clearly a set up by the people who had built this place hundreds of years ago.

Your stomach grumbling distracts you from your spiraling thoughts. Thankfully, you had been carrying your pack with you when you walked into the trap. Within it, you estimated that you had a few weeks of food and water, enchanted to stay fresh longer. Aside from that, you had your sword, shield, and a few other miscellaneous trinkets you had picked up on your adventures. You dug around inside, pulling out a piece of bread and a piece of smoked meat.

Tearing into your small meal, you almost don't notice the movement in the dark corner of the room. It's the slightest shift of a shadow, you'd think it was just a flicker of the candlelight... but it seemed different, somehow. Intentional. You startle, moving to pick up your sword. You stand up, sword in hand, a slight tremor in your body.

You never had been very good at fighting.

Your specialties had always leaned more towards enchantment, healing, and potion making. A good skill to have, but not the most useful when adventuring alone... or trapped alone in a room with something more than likely very undead, and not very friendly. You steady yourself, a single undead or ghoul you could handle. You'd fought many on the way deeper into the dungeon.

As you stare at the wall, minutes pass by... and nothing happens. As time passes by, and the sound of your own breathing begins to wear on you, you find yourself relaxing. Maybe it had just been a figment of your imagination. An attempt at a panicked, overstimulated brain attempting to distract itself. Still weary, you fall back onto the floor, eyes still locked onto the dark edges of the room.

‘... had they gotten darker?’

You brush off the thought, there was no way. The enchantment you had cast onto the candles should keep the candles lit for weeks. You remember the fear you felt as you had fumbled around in the dark, until you’d quite literally fallen right on top of the candles in the corner of the room. They sat on one of the strange, short stone pillars that decorated the room, the only things in the room besides the chest. It seemed like there may be more candles in the other corners, but you can barely make out the vague outlines of the other pillars from where you are, let alone whether they had more candles. You’d go over to check, but you can’t help but feel an echo of the fear you’d felt early when you were completely submerged in the dark when you consider traversing it again.

It had almost been like there was… something in there with you. You were not a stranger to darkness, an adventurer who goes into as many dungeons as you’ve been into learns to get over their fear of the dark rather quickly. There was something… different about the shadows here. A sort of dreadful feeling like they were staring back at you, waiting for you to make a move.

You shudder, trying to expel the thoughts in your mind as weariness pulls at your eyes. You were not only mentally exhausted, but your body was sore and tired from a week’s worth of adventuring, fighting, and your frantic searching for a way out earlier. You close your eyes, despite your instincts telling you not to, and lean against the stone pillar hosting your only lightsource. As your eyes close, you make out the faint details of hundreds of inhuman arms carved into the stone, branching up towards the top of the pillar, seeming to grasp desperately at the sun imprinted at the very top of the pillar.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awake from a dreamless slumber to the ever so faint sound of whispers. You jolt awake, a small ounce of hope welling inside you that your party had come to save you, only to be met with an empty room. The same empty room as you’d fallen asleep too except-

Your heart races.

The shadows were so, so much closer than they should be.

You couldn’t even make out the vague pillars in the other corners of the room anymore. You had maybe enough room to stretch your legs out now. You spare a panicked glance to the candles, wondering if maybe you’d screwed up again, been unlucky enough to mess up an otherwise easy enchantment on your only source of light… but the candle is still as tall as it was when you closed your eyes. There had been no mistake in your enchantment, you realize as dread takes hold of you.

The light wasn’t getting weaker… the shadows were getting stronger.

You feel a sob rise out of your chest. You really were shit out of luck. Everything you’d done in life, culminating in getting trapped in a small, cold room in a dungeon, abandoned by your party and left to the whims of whatever the fuck was in the room with you.

You yank your foot back with a scream, startled by what felt like fingers dragging across the sole of your adventure-worn sandals. You curl your limbs up to your body, getting as small as possible as the darkness continues to approach you. You don’t even bother with your sword, instead grabbing your shield and cowering behind it. You doubt whatever was in the dark could be hit with the basic, cheap steel sword you’d bought for 2 gold from a small town blacksmith. Your shitty luck had not made getting gold, or stumbling upon legendary weapons, as easy for you as it seemed to be for other adventurers. But that didn’t matter now, whatever was surrounding you was closing in fast… and it had obviously lost its patience. You try to steady yourself, holding onto your shield tighter as the shadows close in one you. Any moment now, they’d be-

And just like that, the darkness engulfs you.

You sobbed, shaking so hard your shield rattles against the stone floor. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the shaking of your shield and your frantic breaths. Until the thing speaks.

“It’s been….. so long… since we’ve…..”

You freeze in fear, as a thousand voices seem to echo around you, somehow both a whisper and deafeningly loud at the same time. You can’t seem to concentrate on any one voice, the voices sounding both masculine and feminine, shy and bold, warm and cold, and all variations therein. It’s both the most soothing thing you’ve ever heard, and the most unnerving.

You whimper as what seems to be a hand strokes your arm, trying to pull away from the touch. You don’t get very far, as what seems like dozens of other arms join the first in exploring your body. The touch everywhere, some weak, like a faint whisper on your skin, while others roughly pinch and pull at you without any care of their claws scratching you. You cry out as they start to wander closer to between your legs. Your shield is jerked out of your grasp and lands with a clang somewhere in the dark. As one particularly bold one slides against your crotch, the voices continue.

“... had someone to play with.”

You try to get up, to move away, but you only run into more hands, grasping you firmly to keep you in place. They begin to tear at your leather armor, the clawed hands surging underneath to stroke at your bare skin. The pressure between your legs grows stronger as more hands join the first bold one. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you as they descend on your pussy. Surprisingly warm fingers circle your clit while others begin to pry you open. Your fear turns to confusion and arousal as the hands work you over, never staying in one place for long enough to get used to the sensation.

Your experience before this would be considered limited at best, so there was nothing to prepare you for the feeling of dozens, maybe hundreds, or even thousands of hands caressing, pinching, and prodding at you. You're lost in overstimulation as you quickly reach your peak, much too fast, crashing over you as you scream. The hands work you through it, never letting up on your clit, continuing to shove desperately into your pussy as you shake around them… and they don’t let up afterwards either. They’re relentless.

How many fingers are inside you? You can’t focus enough to count as they continue to mercilessly finger you to another climax. More fingers impatiently push into your mouth, prying your mouth open for them to explore. Your sounds are muffled as fingers play with your tongue, rub against your teeth, and choke you until saliva is running down your chin into the valley of your breasts. Your chest is squeezed and kneaded, saliva rubbed into your skin and nipples by yet another set of hands.

Your eyes roll back into your head as you reach your peak again.. how many has that been? How many more will there be? Your thoughts begin to slip as you’re ruthlessly overstimulated. Voices follow you as you begin to black out.

“We are going… to take such good care of you.”

#monster fucker #shadow monster #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #hand monster #that's such a stupid tag but idk how to explain the monster lmao #monster x reader #reader insert #minors dni

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103rafes · 18 days ago

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TAPE 009 ᯓ★

"Why come here? You're not seeking comfort you're seeking loyalty."

in which BSF!Rafe comes to varsityboy!kook!reader's penthouse in Boston after Morocco's incidents, and a certain other one.

warning : 18+ , smut is involved (anal) , holocaust and nazi mentions (reader is doing a history paper) , spoilers from OBX S4 ahead , if you haven't finished it DO NOT read ahead.

BSF!Rafe and VARSITYBOY!KOOK!reader

Late nights in Boston, Massachusetts never got old when nightlife looked right back at you, sat snug in your bed with your Macbook air in your criss-crossed lap, brow furrowed with concentration while you typed up something for your history lecture, a paper about the Holocaust which you'd chosen as a topic.

But now as you sat here, nail between one of your canines lost in research, you'd seriously wish you could've chosen Dunkirk; Goddamn, Dunkirk would've been so much easier, or maybe even the JFK assasination.

University was always something that kept you busy, and even thought you were dedicated to Varsity football, especially being captain-

You still had to study, and get good grades; you were at Harvard for a reason. Thank God you hadn't chosen MIT.

The low light from your Macbook highlighted your features, a loose black tee and blue and black plaid pajama pants fitted your body, comfortable attire for a simple night to yourself; maybe you'd go and dine out for tonight.

It was only around 10PM, though if you wanted to be specific, the digital alarm clock next your bed glared *10:12PM* in bright red.

Your fingers were just about to type in evidence for a photo of segregation, before you heard the pitched, slow hum of your doorbell ring throughout your penthouse.

The sound made you stop your typing, eyes flicking to the closed door of your big, cozy room. You'd like to assume you misheard and maybe, reading about all this Holocaust stuff was getting to you, but when you heard it again you had to raise an eyebrow.

You made sure your work had been saved on Microsoft word before you set the Macbook down and got up, opening the black sleek fibreglass door and walking down the hall of your humble and modern abode, white hues blending nicely with smoke grey and black.

Most of the lights were off besides the warm white dim of the stove light, brightening your place with the city from the floor to ceiling glass windows in the living space. You made it to the front door, glancing to the small screen attached to the door, the one that showed you your cameras.

Your eyes squinted when you saw a face that you hadn't seen in a while; Rafe, Rafe Cameron. Your childhood bestfriend.

You stared for a bit, noticing the dirty white knitted sweater and tight black jeans. Before you could really check if it really was him, your hand was already unlocking the door and turning the black lever handle.

It opened, and you were met face to face with the man himself. Your eyebrows raised, eyes resting, "Rafe?" You questioned, more for your own consciousness before rubbing a hand to the back of your neck, "dude..uh, hey. This is a surprise." you spoke, and Rafe's eyes fully locked with yours.

Rafe's lips parted in a slow exhale, and he nodded in greeting, "Hey..sorry for uh, coming so- so randomly, it was jus'..I had to see you." He murmured, and you leaned against the doorway for a minute, arms crossing against your chest in a way that made your biceps flex a bit, "Oh..deadass?" Your expression changed into one of skepticism, "It's, well I mean- I'm glad really it's just," you scratched the back of your head, "How'd you..even get here?" You questioned.

You saw the way Rafe's brow twitched, that thing he did unknowingly when he was caught off guard or really confused; you weren't sure which one it was this time.

"I uh..I boated, here." Rafe answered flatly, and your eyes opened wide, "You boated here?" You repeated, "You- you boated from North Carolina to, to Bosto-"

"Well, no..it was, Morocco, to here..I just, drove back here from Kildare actually," Rafe interrupted, and you stood up straight, "Shit- what? Morocco?" You asked, incredulous, "You mean the country all the way in North Africa?" You couldn't believe your ears.

Rafe stared, eyes looking away before his lip did a little pout, and he shrugged, "Well, yeah do you know any other Morocco?"

Your face turned into one of mild annoyance and your nose scrunched, "Any other Moro- no, I don't. Just- Jesus Christ, get inside." You muttered, moving out the way for Rafe to step inside, to which he did quickly, already beginning to pull his shoes off.

You watched him from the corner of your eye while you closed and locked your front door, making sure it was good before turning around, "K I'm gonna ignore, that you just told me like some dumb, Indiana Jones shit and just, ask if you want like a drink- do you want a drink, Rafe Cameron?" You asked, an eyebrow raised.

Rafe knew you were going to think if he was even more insane if he told you everything while drunk, so he shook his head, "No, no I don't want a drink, I want to talk. I really, really need to talk to you, man." He stated, his voice almost shaky with the effort.

You stared, taking in the sense of urgency there seemed to be in Rafe while thinking about your Holocaust paper; you still had to write in about Hitler and his affects, aswell as the stages of genocide. With an exhale through your nose, you nodded, "Ooo-kay, that's a first," you shrugged your shoulders, "gonna bring a bottle anyway. Wanna talk outside? You know, on the balcony?" You questioned, and Rafe seemed to hesitate before nodding a bit quick, "Yeah, yeah the- the balcony sounds good."

Walking over to your display of alcohol, you hummed in consideration; Glenfiddich, you had that the other day so no. Jameson? Nah, wasn't the mood, and Jack Daniel's just..it wasn't that night either.

But then, your eyes landed on an untouched bottle; an alcohol you'd left sitting for a bit.

"Want Hennessy?" You questioned, and Rafe glanced up, "I don't want a dr-"

"That wasn't the question. I know you Rafe, and you know me. Do you want Hennessy?" The tone of your voice told Rafe he couldn't argue, and the buzzed brunette knew that he probably would want a drink mid-talk. So, he sighed, "..Yeah, Hennessy." He muttered.

And so, the two of you went out to the balcony of your penthouse, though you guys eventually decided it'd be better to go to the roof; with your parents also helping to back your funds up during your University time, you had a sweet spot in the condo building; that included a pool at the very top, lit up a little.

You and Rafe sat on one of the soft couches, a glass table in the middle of the curving C. You placed the Hennessy there, two crystal glasses before you leaned back, "So, what brings you to my humble abode, dude?" You asked, and Rafe scratched his head, "..Need to get shit off my chest, and I just, you know..haven't seen you in some months, I was beginning to miss how annoying you were-" Rafe coughed between his sentence when you smacked his chest, a laugh escaping him, "okay okay, fine..you're not that annoying, but..s'been borin' without you."

You nodded, a tilt in your head with a shrug, "Yeah well I'm very missable, but uh..what do you need to get off your chest exactly?" You questioned, and that's when Rafe kind of tensed.

It didn't go unnoticed by you, and your brow creased, "Yo, what's wrong? Did something happen?" You asked, subtle concern starting to appear. Rafe was leaned forward, hands clasped together with his elbows over his knees before he slowly shook his head, a shaky exhale.

Only now did you really realize that you hadn't even questioned Rafe's face; it seemed to have very faint scars from overexposure to the sun.

Rafe after a while, spoke, "You know those uh..the Genrettes?" He asked, and again you didn't know why this was the topic, but you rolled with it, "Yeah, my Mom was Wes Genrette's lawyer, he was a nice guy..bit strange though but I don't remember much," you answered, "why?"

You could sense Rafe had bad news; shit, when didn't Rafe have trouble hoarding to him?

"Uh..he, he died," Rafe started and you snorted, "K, I know that, you really came all this way to-"

"Chandler Groff, he was apart of this, this deal I signed with Hollis, that.." He trailed off, and you squinted, "Hollis? Like that chick who was married to Mr. Robinson? The realtor and cougar of Kildare?" You asked just to affirm, and Rafe nodded, "Yeah, yeah I did a, a wire transfer with her..said she was going to develop Goat Island."

You nodded, listening before Rafe continued, "But, the guy she was also doing this thing with her, her partner. That was Chandler Groff and he..he convinced her, that Goat Island was in his control, that after Wes Genrette died, she'd get the Island." He spoke.

A loud psh left you at that, leaning over to pop open the Hennessy bottle, the conversation already making you want to drink to death, "That's bullshit, the uh..State said it would be a Nature conserve or some shit like that, my mom mentioned it," you spoke, pouring a glass for yourself before glancing at Rafe, who nodded for you to pour him one too, which you did.

You set the bottle down, bringing the glass to your lips, a subtle smell of the alcohol before you took a slow sip. The Hennessy hit nice, flavourable but strong. You laid back, "said Wes Genrette didn't have it in his will." You finished.

Rafe sighed, "Yeah, but s'not the shit here. He, he killed Hollis. He shot her, stole the 400 grand I'd given through the wire transfer, and then he, he somehow framed those, those Pogues. Y'know Luke Maybank's kid, JJ." Rafe asked, and you rolled your eyes, "God, yes Rafe I know who JJ fucking Maybank is, you're acting like just cause I live in Boston now and study in Harvard I don't fucking know what happens in Kilda-"

"He's..he's dead, man." Rafe suddenly said, a subtle break in his voice.

You paused at that, brows drawing down with your eyes narrowing softly.

"..What?" The word left your mouth softly, and Rafe had his hand to his mouth, silent, "He..Chandler Groff, s'..he was his actual Dad, 'n he..he stabbed him. We, we went to Morocco for some, some artifact this- this crown. Led us all to there, I helped the, the Pogues. John B and his..his crew and.." Rafe didn't continue, expecting you to finish his thought to which you did, "..And Sarah." You added, your voice a bit more serious than before.

Rafe nodded, "There was another group after it. They had..AKs, and guns and- this crew..I, I made up with Sarah- finally and I just- one minute I was making up with the Pogues, only a 30 minute time frame or- or some bullshit and then, I come back and there's, there's Kiara and all of them staring at a guy who'd been hollering like a duck," He ran a hand over his head, "It's..and I, I had to dig the burial, I had to help," Rafe's breath shook, "bury him."

You could only watch in silent pity as Rafe just poured all this out in a river of emotion. Maybe you didn't know what happened around Kildare as well as you thought.

"Didn't..didn't John B of them have that place after they found El Dorado, that- Poguelandia or something like that, what.." You waited for Rafe to respond, and he did, "Court..court put a zoning notice, and they lost the case because, Luke..Luke Maybank he did some- some shit and screwed them over." He informed, and really if this was another other situation you'd be laughing in amusement from all the chaos.

But, death? One of the Pogues, dying? It was unheard of, especially at an age as young as 20.

You stared, "But..you, are you okay?" You asked, a low murmur. You'd noticed the scar in Rafe's hand a while ago, but you hadn't commented on it. Rafe stared into the abyss, silence in the air before speaking more shakely.

"..I wasn't gonna do that wire transfer, I knew the Goat Island thing was full of shit, but..but Sofia she, she told me that maybe it was legit, that I should do it 'n, 'n she's my girlfriend I trusted her so I did it," Rafe started before you noticed the way his lip seemed to quiver, "..When, when I found Groff in Morocco after he ran off, he tried to kill me but, just before, just before, he told me. 'told me that, that Sofia had been paid to get me to sign the deal, to convince me and I-"

You sat up a bit, seeing the way Rafe's lashes fluttered. You'd seen this before, this little deatil; you had it carved into your memory from times you and Rafe were younger, when he was trying not to cry.

You could never forget that look because it always made your heart crack just a little, "Rafe.." You started lowly, shuffling a bit closer to him as Rafe covered his mouth with his hand, the subtle shine in his eyes told you all you need to know, "She- shit, how could she do that t'me, I loved her, 'gave her everything and she fuckin', she stabbed me in the back." He hoarsed out, and you felt bad for him.

Growing up with Rafe, you'd seen all kinds of people fuck him over. Out of all of them, you were the only one who truly stayed; the one who saw him as Rafe, not Rafe Cameron.

Because, there was always a difference between Rafe and Rafe Cameron. You wrapped your free arm around Rafe's shoulder, rubbing it, "Some people don't deserve you. Always the ones you least expect. I'm sorry. You two, you're..?" You murmured in hopes of Rafe filling the spot in, and he shakily sighed, "Yeah, no we're done. I told her to get outta my house. I, I gave her my mother's ring 'n.."

That's when, Rafe's eyes filled with tears and he brought the edges of his palms to his face, trying to stop the tears that started to escape. You panicked internally, setting your glass of Hennessy down before wrapping your arm around Rafe tighter, the other grasping his chin.

"Hey, hey Rafe," You called to him, hoping to get through to his head, "look at me, come on." You urged, tugging his chin carefully as you heard those dragged in sniffles; it hurt you deep when you saw the familiar line of wet tears drag down his sharp features.

You held him tighter, "Rafe, seriously look at me. I know you loved her but if she was gonna stab you in the back like that, then her love didn't run as deep as yours did. I'm sorry," You spoke firmly, not wanting to use tough love but with someone like Rafe, you had to use all kinds of coaxing methods.

Rafe shuddered out, shaking his head, "You don't understand, I thought she was the one, 'did everythin' for her," His voice cracked, "Why does everyone want to screw me over?" His voice almost sounded whiney, so unsure and it was slowly killing you to see your bestfriend like this.

You rubbed his back, "I know, I know it's been tough for you and it has been for most of your life, but believe me not everybody wants to. I mean, you made up with Sarah for fuck's sake Rafe, that's amazing. You redeemed yourself in someone's eyes, didn't you? In hers, and definitely mine." You reassured him, trying to be gentle without coming out as a soft hearted pussy.

Rafe seemed to only break more, but you could tell he was somewhat beginning to get over it in his mind; until, a sentence Rafe said made your bones shake.

"Shit, why can't everyone be like you? Why couldn't she have been like you?" Rafe murmured, his voice cracking.

Your movements slowed a bit at that, trying to process the words. Why couldn't she have been like you?

It made your heart thump wildly.

You stared at Rafe, still rubbing his back in a comforting manner as you thought of what to do. Your eyes moved to look at your pool, before your eyes moved to you and Rafe's glasses of unfinished Hennessy.

"..Forget about her," you murmured, and Rafe still sniffled, "Huh?" He asked, all broken. Your eyes flicked to him, "I said forget about her. You need to forget about her, and everything else." You sat up, your hand coming off Rafe's chin to grab your glass.

You gazed over Rafe, "Pick up your glass, that bottle's like 300 fuckin' dollars." You muttered, eyeing the Hennessy XO.

Rafe had to take a moment, before somewhat composing himself and sitting up to reach over and grab his glass. You gazed at him, raising your glass towards, "Cheers?" You offered, and Rafe was silent, his lips still slightly shaky before he clinked his glass with yours, "Cheers."

Before you could say anything, Rafe tipped his head back and chugged the glass, your eyes widening, "Woah, woah relax." You laughed in slight disbelief and nervousness. Rafe's eyes narrowed a bit wearily after the drink, feeling a rush he'd so badly needed.

It flowed nice in his system, and he turned to look at you.

"You told me to forget about it, s'how I fucking forget about it."

With that sentence, it settled a foundation for you both; glass after glass, Hennessy just kept pouring. Atleast half the bottle was done by the time you and Rafe had decided to pour your last glasses, the two of you all free and giggly.

All drunk. Everything but sober.

You were laughing at something absurd Rafe said, wiping your eyes which were slightly red, "Oh fuck! Seriously? Yo, is she actually a bitch? I heard baaad shit about her!" You practically barked; the two of you were currently spewing shit about Ruthie, Topper's girlfriend.

Rafe scoffed, a laugh leaving him also, "She's the most annoying hoe I've ever met. Always startin' shit just cause she's a Kook. Nobody fuckin' likes her back at Figure Eight." He snorted.

You snickered at that, your mind foggy with ideas that weren't smart. You were gazing, and then you stared at the pool. You giggled, "Rafe, wanna take a swim?" You asked, and Rafe looked at you, "Bro, that's the best thing you've said this entire night." He said, patting your back which elicited a oof from you.

With that, the two of you took your glasses and stumbled haphazardly to your pool (a miracle neither of you fell), quickly stripping down to just boxers, though as you were about to dip your feet in, Rafe spoke.

"Yo, we should skinny dip," He suggested, and you looked at him, a cheeky drunk smile, "skinny dip? What are you, horny?" You poked at him, and Rafe rolled his eyes, "Oh my God, s'not that deep. Come on, it'll be fun." He said, voice slightly slurring in a way you for some reason shivered at.

It sounded like honey in your ears.

You hummed dramatically, "Y'know what? Hell yeah, let's do it!" You decided excitedly, causing Rafe to grin wildly before the two of you slipped your boxers off, and slipped into the waters.

It was thankfully warm because of the hot night air, and you leaned by the edge of the pool, basking in the waters. Rafe had dipped in and was now swimming to you, a snicker, "Been so long since we swam together," he said, and you nodded, "yeah, been busy as shit with Uni..Harvard's riding my dick with all the shit I keep having to do," you groaned, and Rafe barked out a laugh.

"Jus' say you're lazy, pussy." He mocked, and you shoved him by the chest playfully, "Oh fuck you!" You snarked playfully.

Rafe chuckled at that, swimming right back to you; you two didn't seem to take in how close you both were, it seemed so natural to you both when drunk.

"Mm..sorry, shoulda visited you sooner, but..Kook bullshit, everyone's talking crap," Rafe's voice cracked, and you sighed loudly, arms resting on Rafe's shoulders, "Yeah and-" you paused momentarily, feeling hands come to your waist.

You glanced at Rafe skeptically, and Rafe stared, "..What? Habit, with uh, you know.." he murmured, a half assed excuse.

Good thing you were drunk, because you shrugged it off and believed it, "k..but yeah. They can't fucking talk. You're Rafe, what is that cheesy ass ehh..title? King of Kooks? Tha's you..not them," you jabbed a finger into his chest with one hand, "Don' forget it..heh.." A drunken guffaw left, a little silly but you could do silly with Rafe; could do anything.

The two of you were drunken, smiling at eachother in this silence, a silence that slowly began to grow tense with this sensation.

Rafe's brow twitched, his lips parting and before you knew it; lips pressed onto yours. It happened so fast, you couldn't even act surprised. Instead, you melted right into his lips, hands on his shoulders moving to wrap around his neck instead.

People, always had talked about you and Rafe; ever since highschool.

Those two don't know it yet, but everybody else does.

You hadn't known then, but growing older you understood; couldn't confront though, even if you'd so desperately wanted to kiss Rafe's lips dumb, or even fuck him till he tapped out.

So God, when you'd heard his voice tremble as he poured out what Sofia had done to him, and how bad it had hurt, a sadistic sense of glee had washed over anyway.

To hell with Sofia.

Messy making out had both your hands roaming, Rafe's hands on your waist now coming to massage your hips, "Fuck, don' know why I didn't come to see you, I really don't.." he panted right into your mouth, his hands groping your ass so suddenly you gasped, "Rafe-"

"Because you're just so fucking hot, s'drivin' me insane. Always wanted to know how your back would looked arched like a little pussycat." He muttered in a low tone, one that had your skin crawling in a delicious way.

You knew even in your drunken haze, that this would change everything and shit, feeling Rafe's cock press against your thigh so needily was already changing everything.

But then again.

You wouldn't pass this chance up for the world. Alcohol had always messed with your hypothalamus terribly.

"Yeah? Then c'mon 'n find out," You breathed against Rafe's lips, and a breathless laugh left Rafe, "Shit, you're so goddamn.." He couldn't even finish, before nodding frantically, "Yeah, yeah m'gonna find out..gonna find 'n then fuck you against this shit so hard."

The foreign feeling of butterflies inflated your stomach, before you felt your legs being spread by one of Rafe's hands, the other holding the edge of the pool.

"Can I even fit in your ass?" Rafe murmured, slurring a little before shrugging, "whatever..wanna fuck you raw anyway," he said, "too fuckin' sexy to be fucked like anything but."

You brought a hand almost instinctively to hold the leg Rafe was holding up, feeling Rafe's hand slip from there and before a smart comment left you, you felt the press of Rafe's tip against your ass, "Shi-hit, you're throbbing." You laughed in surprise, breathless as Rafe grinned proudly.

"Yeah, you feel it? S'what you fucking do to me," He muttered right into the corner of your mouth, kissing and nipping your jaw before he nudged at your entrance, "Shit's gonna burn, y'know that right?"

You rolled your eyes dramatically, "I'm not stupid, just put the tip in already," you snarked, and Rafe was next to roll his eyes, "K, Jesus."

Soon enough, after some nudges you felt Rafe slowly pushing his tip into you, a shaky gasp leaving as your free hand braced the edge of the pool, "Oh fuck, that hurts," you immediately said, and Rafe grimaced, "I'll pull out if I-"

"No, no don't. I'm not glass, just keep going," You said, subtle slurring and though Rafe was a bit concerned, he shook it away, slowly bullying his way past your walls with his cock, at some times the air even being knocked out of you. You'd never been stretched so fucking good in your entire life.

"Shiiiit," Your eyes rolled back momentarily, eyes scrunching while you took a deep breath in and out, "Oh my- oh my God!" Your voice cracked loudly when you felt your back arch, an electric wave going through you at the feeling of Rafe touching a specific angle for only a second, "What the fuck was that?" You shivered at the ghost of the feeling.

Rafe panted, muscles straining a little from the subtle effort as with one final push, he bottomed out entirely in you which caused a loud groan to leave his lips, "Holy shit, y'so goddamn tight," he shuddered himself, taking a moment before he dragged out, and pushed right back to you, eyes flicking to take in your reaction, which to his great satisfaction contorted into pure pain-pleasure.

"Oh," You heaved before gasping slightly, back arching, "Feels insane."

"Yeah, well it always does the first time around. Can't believe m'fuckin' a virgin as good as you," He basically growled out, before he set a slow pace, more of a way to get you to loosen up.

Easy moans slipped out from the new sensations. You'd never experienced sex, hadn't had an interest in it despite being a Kook who could have any girl or guy you wanted.

But feeling it now, how could you have missed out on such a thing? Maybe it was Rafe that made you feel that way but it was the best way.

Slowly, Rafe was beginning to pick the pace up, his cock forcing it's way past your barriers as he groaned, the hand that wasn't holding the edge moving to wrap around your throat.

"Shit, squeezin' my dick like a greedy bitch," Rafe scoffed, almost enamored with how you felt around his cock. The pace was picking up gradually, and soon enough Rafe was thrusting at a speed that had you seeing galaxies, "Shit, shit, shit." Rafe repeated, panting as the water sloshed around the two of you.

Moans left your mouth in little blockades, but it was starting to become a symphony with how good Rafe made you feel, "Shit, come on faster," you urged, and Rafe obliged instantaneously, hips slamming faster and faster before he switched up the angle, thrusting up just to hear you whine out uncharacteristically and arch your back like some cat.

"Holy shit, Rafe!" You yelped out, a pathetic whimper you'd never heard from your throat leaving you as Rafe punched up right against your prostate, your body squirming as Rafe laughed in satisfaction, "Gotcha."

Rafe only continued his merciless onslaught, hitting your prostate dead on with every force of his hips, causing you to moan loudly and cry out in bliss, "Rafe, you're gonna bruise me, holy fuck!" You gasped out, back arching so right as Rafe sniffled, nose scrunching as he continued to fuck into you with abandon.

"Good, need you t'fuckin' remember this for the rest of your goddamn life. Screaming f'me." He muttered right against your ear, before he smashed his lips with yours, your moans and whines drowning against his tongue.

The water splashed a bit into the long forgotten glasses of Hennessy by the pool edge, the pleasure was making your mind go blank, dumb with it as you felt that familiar ache tightening, "Rafe, Rafe I'm gonna come," you breathed out, feeling Rafe's thrusts getting rocky; he was close to blowing too.

"Shit..me too, 'gonna come in you," He muttered, before the hand holding your throat reached down to grab your aching cock, pumping in time with his messy thrusts, "come over my hand, c'mon c'mon."

With forced out sounds, you were coming with white streaks and the soul being sucked out of you, the orgasm hitting so hard you swore colours just flashed.

With a close to scream moan of ecstasy, you were whining from the overstimulation to your throbbing dick as Rafe thumbed over it, "Oh m'God, Rafe Rafe stop! Stop!!" You whimpered, though you'd never want this to end.

But, Rafe didn't know that. In his drunken haze he still understood no, and took his hand off you, a groan leaving as he soon thrusted to the hilt, coming deep into you with a sigh. "Shiit..feel so good, 'n for what." He rasped, both of you breathing heavily.

Your eyes were heavy, almost close to closing as you laid your head back. You hadn't felt an orgasm that fierce before, never in your entire life. Rafe was silent, just the mix of both your breaths and the chlorine around you to giving little help to ease the tension.

After a while Rafe spoke, "..Can I sleep over?" He muttered.

If you had been sober, you probably would've folded him just like you did with the guys during football practice for your varsity games.

But you weren't, so with a tired grumble you spoke, "Yeah..got some pajamas in my closet for you."

Rafe hummed, exhaustion teasing at him, "Sorry, took your first.." He mumbled against your cheek, and you scoffed, "Sure you are."

It was silent between the two of you again, before Rafe slowly pulled out, a grunt leaving you at the empty feeling now residing in you. You two gazed at eachother, almost oddly for a while before Rafe spoke.

"So, we're sharin' a bed?" He asked, and this time you did glare, "Jesus fucking Christ, you fuck me in my pool and ask if we're sharing a bed? What do you think you dumb fuck?" You snapped, and Rafe groaned, "Jeez, okay! I get it. You're still as bitchy as ever man, how did I even become best friends with you?" He asked before you spoke in rebuttal.

"Are we still bestfriends after this, after you just put your dick in me?" You raised an eyebrow, and Rafe grumbled in drunk annoyance, "You loved it. You know what- bed, let's just go to bed." He finalized, and your eye twitched a little, before sighing heavily.

"Fine. We'll..hm, sober up 'n go sleep." You murmured.

Somehow, you two showered and managed to sober up at least half way, before going into pajamas and sleeping in a tangle of legs and limbs.

Like you two were two teenagers having a sleepover after gaming all night.

Not like two best friends who'd just fucked.

Well, that'd be a great hangover topic for tomorrow.

note : Hey. It's me again. I don't know why I did this, I never do but mainly it's because I deadass was missin' the city, 'n I thought of the pool I had and this just flowed out my brain..and uh, I watched OBX 4 'n finished it today. What the fuck, what the actual fuck was that ending, I might've gone senile watching all of that. Anyways, I know JJ dying and the emotion isn't grandly displayed, but it's Rafe; he wasn't as close to JJ, barely like he was on good terms with him for 20 minutes before JJ died, so I portrayed him getting obviously more emotional about Sofia and making up with Sarah. Honestly Sofia deserved it, I don't know why she though selling her boyfriend out cause of what he said was a good idea instead of confronting him especially knowing, people have crossed him all his life LMFAOOO. Anyways, hope this read well. I might make new personalities OR a new shot (hopefully not smut because I need to cleanse or some bullshit), maybe right after I write this note or tomorrow; depends. Hope you guys like this. Thank ya kindly!

also, not proofread because when is it ever.

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vivantesopvles · 6 months ago

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They meet again between life and death, in a place called the Limbo.

This time, Harry does not wake up in the pure-white King’s Cross he so often revisits in his memory. He’s back at the Dursleys’, locked inside his cupboard again. And someone’s banging hard on the door.

No, he thinks in despair. Not Uncle Vernon.

‘Open up!’ But the voice is too high to be his uncle’s, Harry dimly notes; and the accent way too rough to be Dudley’s either. ‘We’re running out of time!’

‘Door’s locked from the outside,’ Harry says wearily. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Use your magic, you daft mug. And it’s Riddle you’re speaking to.’

The lever is met with resistance when Harry turns the handle. But Riddle’s right. Harry pushes his magic through the keyhole – Alohomora – and the lock clicks open.

Riddle is eleven, and so is Harry now, it seems. He takes a look at Harry – a dead spider caught on his shoulder, his too-large t-shirt full of holes – and curls his lips with derision.

‘So that’s how you’ve been using your magic?’

Harry ignores him. He leads the way out onto the empty street. As they walk past the trimmed hedges and boring gardens, Riddle tries to get him to talk again. ‘A wizard called Dumbledore says I should find you, says you know the way,’ he prompts.

‘Did he?’ Harry is briefly taken aback. ‘Where to?’

‘To the new place, of course.’ Riddle shoots him a dubious glance. ‘You’d better not be giving me the runaround.’

‘I’m not,’ Harry says, wondering why Dumbledore still enjoys complicating matters this much, even in death. ‘In any case if we’re going anywhere, I think we ought to head over to King’s Cross Station first …’

‘King’s Cross? That’s in London, that’s where I come from,’ Riddle exclaims.

As if fuelled by the information, he grabs Harry by the wrist and begins to sprint down the street; all the while, he talks and talks.

‘… and I grew up in Whitechapel. Wool’s Orphanage, if you must know. A soft touch like you wouldn’t have lasted a day there, Harry.’

Harry shakes his head, exasperated. It has just occurred to him that they needn’t run at all. It’s the Limbo; they could probably teleport themselves wherever they liked. But they’re going so fast now it’s all Harry can focus his mind on: the speed, the wind in his hair and Riddle, his small, cold hand holding Harry’s.

It’s almost like flying. Harry can feel himself becoming lighter with each step forward, with each memory left behind. He forgets his own death – the second one … then the first – he forgets the horrors of the war and the people he lost.

Around them, the tidy suburban streets of Surrey blur, blend, into the cobblestoned confusion that is the East End, which Riddle navigates with the elegance of an alley cat.

‘We’re almost there,’ he says, before immediately launching into another one of his dark anecdotes about the exorcist whom he’d named his archnemesis since he was six.

Harry’s usually put off by gobby people, but somehow Riddle is growing on him. Maybe it's because Riddle's actually quite hilarious. Maybe it’s because of his endless energy; how vital and unapologetic he still is after being told that there’s something wrong with him his whole life.

‘I’d like to come here again sometime,’ Harry says as they outrun the old warehouses and backstreets; the red brick lanes and ivy-clad walls. ‘With you. On the other side.’

At that Riddle’s face breaks into a wide smile, a genuine one. ‘On the other side,’ he agrees, a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘Why not? I’ll show you around.’

Later, at the white platform where a train stands waiting for them, Harry finds a one-way ticket in his front pocket. On it says: 01 - SEP - 1938.

21052024 | @microficmay | life & death

#microficmay2024 #tomarry #tomarrymort #tomarry fanfic #harry potter #tom riddle

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slyandthefamilybook · 7 months ago

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I know we all like to joke about tzfardei'a like "how can frogs be a plague? it's just a bunch of frogs!" But I think we're going about it the wrong way. So imagine, if you will, this:

You're at home when you find a frog. It's sitting in your living room. That's not so bad. You might even make a TikTok about it. What a silly little guy! But eventually it has to go, right? You don't want a pet frog. So you hold out your hand and the frog hops on and you take it outside. You stand up, go inside, close the door, turn around, and there's a frog.

Okay, that's weird. It must have just jumped through your legs when you stood up. But no worries. You hold out your hand and the frog hops on and you take it outside. You stand up, go inside, close the door, turn around.

There are two frogs.

Okay that's definitely weird. This time you don't try to pick them up. You just use your hands to gently push them out the door. You stand up, go inside, close the door, turn around, aaaaaand one of the frogs had peed on your floor. Great.

You go into the kitchen and open the cabinet under the sink. You reach in and pull out a cleaning spray. Sitting on the nozzle is another frog. Okay, what is going on?

You take the spray bottle outside and gently encourage the frog off. You stand up, go inside, close the door, turn around, and there's another frog. It's standing in the puddle of piss. It croaks at you. Okay, this is fine, you're fine. It's just a frog. You gently but firmly push the frog outside. You stand up, go inside—

There's seven frogs.

In frustration you spray the cleaning spray at one of the frogs. You didn't think it was that much, but the frog's eyes bulge and it croaks and hops around in circles. You watch, horrified, as it lands on its back and its legs stretch out and then it stops moving. The other frogs stare at you in silent judgment. Another one pees on your floor. You gently tap the overturned frog with the toe of your boot. It doesn't move, and it's starting to smell. You reach down and touch one of its feet. It doesn't respond. You go back to your kitchen and get your broom. You start to shoo the frogs out of the door. You get them all out. You close the door and, perhaps irrationally, lock it. You return the broom to the kitchen. There's a frog clinging to the handle. You shout and shake the broom and the frog flies off. It hits the floor with a wet thud and does not move. You pick the dead thing up by a foot and drop it in the trash can. It lands on 10 more frogs, sitting at the bottom, all peeing.

You go to your room and slam the door. Behind you you hear a croak. You turn, very very slowly, and look at your room. Every surface has at least one frog. They all just sit there, staring at you, peeing on your belongings. Several of them, implausibly, are already dead. Their overturned bodies create a stench you wonder how you could have missed. You don't even know what to do with this many frogs. Where do you begin? You go to the bathroom. There are frogs in your toilet. You spitefully go to flush it, but there's a frog clinging to the lever. You try to wash your face in the sink, but it's full of frogs. You leave the bathroom and feel something soft and small crunch beneath your foot...

Everything seems to freeze and you sense dozens of pairs of baleful black eyes turn toward you......

You feel something brush the back of your neck and you swat at it, but your hand meets empty air. You feel something wet and you look down at your hand to see a frog sticking to it, peeing. You shake it off and it lands on the floor, already dead. You trample several more frogs as you sprint to the kitchen. You throw open the fridge, crushing the frog on the handle against the wall, and pull out a brewski. You pop open the cap and raise the bottle. There's a frog already inside your brewski. You throw the bottle down and it shatters, sending tens of tiny frogs scattering every which way. You feel something on the back of your neck again, and again you swat and again hit nothing but air, but this time it's because the frog has already made it down your shirt. You shriek and shout and twist about and a frog jumps inside your mouth. It's one of the tiny ones, and when you talk about this with your therapist later you won't feel confident that you didn't swallow it.

The frogs are everywhere now. Your house is more frog than house. Your kitchen is more frog than kitchen. There are frogs on your fresh fruit, and frogs in your sink and frogs in your sourdough starter. Frogs stick to the ceiling and jump inside the extractor fan above the stove where they make a horrible slicing noise. This can't be happening. There aren't this many frogs in the world, probably! You hear a click and turn, horrified, to see your oven preheating. It's set to 700°. Does your oven even go that high? Inside there are crisp frogs, and frogs waiting to crisp. The smell is unbearable.

You wade through a sea of frogs: frogs piled up on top of other frogs, all shapes and sizes and colors and all peeing and dying and smelling. You burst through your front door and take a deep breath of the fresh, clean air. What you see makes your head spin.

A mass of frogs in the approximate shape of your car sits where you're pretty sure your car used to be. A thing that looks like a dog but made of frogs runs past, screaming. Your neighbor's house writhes under a coat of green and red and yellow. You don't even want to imagine what your neighbor looks like. Frogs inundate your herb garden. They're eating all your herbs. You feel them creeping up your shins, but you can no longer move. You fall to your knees, squashing more frogs as you do. The frogs are all croaking. It's so loud it makes your ears bleed. Their voices all blend together, becoming a persistant hum. And oh g-d. You think you can hear words.

#atlas entry #cosmic frog horror. frogror if you will #passover #pesach #the prince of egypt #plague of frogs #ten plagues #פסח #jew #Jewish #judaism #jumblr

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dluxdekor1 · 6 months ago

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The Truth About Luxury Lever Door Handles: What You Need to Know Before You Buy

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#homedecor #luxury door handles india #antique door handles #designer handles #door handles with lock #luxury handles for door #fancy door handles #lever handles for kitchen #main door handles #cabinet handles for kitchen #home dekor #dlux dekor #designer handles for main door

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 9 months ago

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 39.5

(this takes place just before their first day back to school after the events of season one)

They slip out of the trailer.

The park is just waking up around them, a few birds chirping, Mr. Robinson’s car starting up as he drives to work. One of their older neighbors must have fallen asleep with the television on – he can hear its static blaring all the way out here.

It makes a shiver run up his spine. That almost familiar, eerie sound that resonates through a Demogorgon’s call.

But, the sun is shining and Steve’s safe and whole and warm at his side. So, he brushes it off, skipping over to the passenger side of the van and holds it open for Steve with a bow.

Steve rolls his eyes, but there’s no more desperation bleeding into his expression. He’s like a caged bird, freed. He even settles his fingers daintily into Eddie’s flourished out hand, like he’s a maiden being helped into a carriage.

Eddie closes the door once all of Steve’s limbs are in and accounted for, and damn near skips around the front of the van and flings himself into the driver’s seat.

Dio blares out of his speakers when he turns the key until Steve reaches over to turn the dial down. Eddie tries to pout about it but the edges of his mouth keep turning up.

Steve’s slumped over in the passenger seat, arms crossed as he lolls his head sideways against the headrest to glare over at Eddie. “You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“It’s a surprise.” He bites his lip against a grin as Steve huffs and rolls his head the other direction to glare out his window.

Eddie taps his fingers to the quiet beat of the song, blood sizzling with anticipation.

It’s a short drive, made longer by the careful way he’s stopping and starting, taking each turn ten below his usual. There’s precious cargo barely on the mend in here, and he won’t risk damaging it any more.

He pulls into an empty parking space, easing his foot onto the break. There’s only one other car in the lot, but the open sign in the front window of the diner is lit up. It’s a lurid red, but Eddie’s willing to forgive it.

“This is the surprise?” Steve asks. He’s not glaring anymore, but he’s looking doubtfully out of the windshield, eyebrows raised as he eyes the diner’s front door like he’s never seen it before. “Breakfast?”

Eddie reaches over to pinch his side – softly, gently – until Steve laughs that honking pig laugh that Eddie loves so much and has so rarely heard.

“You don’t remember?” Eddie asks, teasing. “You said you’d kill for some bacon, and now you don’t even want to go in?”

There’s something fathomless in Steve’s eyes as he finally looks over at Eddie. It makes heat pool in Eddie’s gut, sinking into him until he’s aflame. He wants to scoop out Steve’s brain, figure out what’s ticking away in there. He wants to rip out one of Steve’s eyelashes and make a wish.

“I remember,” Steve murmurs, looking up into Eddie’s eyes.

He still looks sallow and tired, but there’s a rudy pink blooming on his cheeks by the time Eddie rounds the van again to open his door. He doesn’t hold out his hand this time, but Steve still settles his fingers onto Eddie’s shoulder and uses it to lever himself up and out.

Eddie rushes back around to lock the van. Steve doesn’t wait for him, but he holds the door open wide to let Eddie in. There’s a little bell dangling off the handle that jingles under Steve’s shaky grip.

Eddie hurries in.

The waitress moves at her usual sleepy pace, calling out a quiet, “mornin’”, as she heads over to their chosen booth with unnecessary menus.

Her eyes widen when she catches sight of Steve’s state, but she doesn’t comment, just takes their orders and walks away without writing anything down.

They settle into sleepy silence.

Eddie’s breath stutters in his lungs when he feels Steve’s foot hook atop his under the booth. He taps the toes of his boot three times against Steve’s tennis shoe and smiles across at him.

The cook must be raring to go because it takes less than ten minutes for their waitress to round the partition, arms laden with dishes piled high with food.

Eddie’d followed Steve’s lead, so there’s two of everything. The pancakes are fluffy, squares of butter melting at their centers, sides of warmed maple syrup just waiting to be poured. The hashbrowns are greasy and crip on the outside, soft on the center.

The bacon’s bubbling with fat, edges crisp, steam still rising from its surface. Fresh off the griddle. Eddie skewers a piece on his fork. He thrusts it up toward the middle of the table, nudging Steve’s sneaker repeatedly.

“What?”

“A toast!” Eddie calls, beaming across at Steve when he finally gets with the program and raises his own fork and its dangling bacon. Eddie clinks their forks together. Fat drops in fat drops down onto the previously clean table. “To fresh starts!”

Steve brings his fork down to his mouth and takes a huge bite, closing his eyes in apparent ecstasy. “To good bacon.”

“And a monster free life.”

“And staying right-side-up.”

“Here, here!” Eddie cries, ignoring the way the waitress is glaring at the mess and ruckus their making.

Because Steve’s smiling down at his food, taking big, savoring bites. The edges of the morning have been sanded down.

Besides, it’s only fair. All Eddie had wanted when he got out was to hug Uncle Wayne, and he had. Steve doesn’t have a Wayne, so if he wants bacon, he gets bacon.

Eddie’d make sure of it, for as long as Steve will let him.

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary @practicallybegging

#realized while editing that Steve had said his greatest wish during truth or dare was to get bacon at the diner and then they just never go?#anyway. added this!#my fic #steddie upsidedown au #anyway. not the update everyone wanted probably but honestly i found a COUPLE loose threads while editing so i'll probably make my way #all the way through before finishing the end. to make sure there aren't any more that I actually care about

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