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thefuseoftemptation · 2 months

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wrong number

'you get a phone call and find out it's a wrong number but realize that you don't want to stop talking to the person at the other end. come to find out, he's from another decade.’

eddie munson x reader/ eddie munson x gn!reader

warning(s): cursing, au (not sure if it would be considered an au but imma put it), mention of modern time. I'm just putting tags I'm not even sure what to tag this under. lmk if there are more.

a/n: prompt # 4 from the strangerprompts by @allthingsjoeq @somnambulic-thing and @bettyfrommars. mkay, I've never done these types of things or participated before, but yknow, I took a shot and I liked it lol so thank you guys!

—

"What?"

Your voice was nothing short of clipped. The results of hearing your phone vibrate too many times for you to tolerate another call going unanswered.

It was abnormal in your opinion. To receive this many calls from the same number within a short time.

While sure, you occasionally complained about the lack of service that came through the device due to your inability to actually hold a relationship with anybody, much less a conversation, this isn't what you were looking for.

And if your shortness wasn't clear enough before, your annoyance must've been by the way you questioned a 'hello,' with a lifted brow. Not really saying it as one should when normally speaking to someone. That was, if anyone was even on the other side.

"Uh, hello." The voice imitated your previous tone, pulling out the last vowel as he sung it.

He.

If you had to guess, probably no more than your age.

"Huh, so you can speak? You know you could've begun with that? When someone picks up the phone after being called, who knows how many times," you state through your teeth, "the least you could do is have the decency to actually say something when they answer."

"Y’know I don’t like your tone, we’re going to try this again.” He mouthed.

“Wait, what? No-”

He hung up before you could refuse. Your phone pulled away from your ear as your mind tried to catch up with what just happened. And in the midst of that, your phone vibrated, again.

Your finger hovered over the button as you eyed the device, sliding it over when you’d been staring long enough.

“Hello?” You questioned, unsure. The shift in your tone is clearly obvious.

“You learn quickly.”

The same voice replied back, and his response had you narrowing your eyes.

Asshole.

“I had said it before. You were the one who needed the lesson in how to answer back.” You reiterate.

“Well, m’not about to respond to somebody who starts a conversation with 'what.' I mean, have you no manners?" The guy said. You could hear the lilt in his voice and how he seemed to be grinning on the other side, but you had to shake your head from thinking any further on it because there was still a question that you'd been meaning to ask.

"Who are you?"

"It's your conscience, clearly I haven't been able to get through to you which is why you're probably lacking, well, manners, but- worry not, for I am here."

You weren't sure if it was you still trying to comprehend everything that's happened in the last few minutes, or that this guy knew how to pull conversation so easily that you went along with it- but you hadn't even realized he never properly answered or that he just lowkey called you out on something you knew was evident to a blind person.

And you didn't even correct him, and rather than just hang up on someone you didn't know, you stayed on the phone and chose to enlighten him.

"Hm, so that's what that was? Who would've thought I'd have one of those," you sighed and shrugged, leaning back against the bed frame. You could hear him snort at the small insult you'd given yourself, hearing the feign in your voice was enough to let him know your humor was in tack.

It made you grin. The first of many, and the first in a while to tell the truth. You also couldn't stop yourself from thinking about how this was probably the longest conversation you've ever held with someone.

"I'm Eddie." His voice pulled you from your thoughts, trying to catch up in the moments you'd been away.

"Huh?"

You could hear chuckling before it was repeated. "My name. You asked me who I was."

Eddie.

It didn't sound familiar. You didn't know anyone named Eddie, but then again, you didn't really know anyone and you had questioned it when you guy's began talking. It was a number you'd never seen before either so there was that.

You hadn't realized you'd been quiet until Eddie spoke.

"Y'know, this is where you tell me your name." He remarked. "We really gotta work on your communication skills and social cues." Unbeknownst to you though, since you only just met the guy, he shouldn't be one to talk.

You let out something between a scoff and a breathy chuckle before telling him yours. And Eddie repeated what you did moments ago- saying your name under his breath, to himself- as if he was worried he'd forget it in those few seconds.

It was easy to get into conversation with him, primarily because he kept pulling you into things he’d knew would get a response out of you. Like saying shit that you’d end up reprimanding him for because it annoyed you.

He knew that, and you weren’t so sure you liked how transparent you seemed to be. You’d known him for only a short time and he already knew how to push your buttons. Which you told him but his response was anything but what you expected it to be. He simply shrugged it off, telling you that ‘you let it get to you.’

To which you rebutted fully knowing he was right, which annoyed you more. Though other than that, the conversation between you two had been decent.

There were a few times when you had been confused by what he’d been speaking about, but you just assumed it was the way he was. I mean, the guy spent- you’re guessing- most of his time today calling the wrong number, only to hang up on you just to call you again because he didn’t like your tone. And then went on to call you out on your shit, which by the way, you still haven’t let go of. Either way, you just thought that what he was talking about, was how he spoke. A sort of slang, you know? I mean, now, that’s all people use these days.

Who were you to question it? It’s not like you could ask anybody what it meant. You weren’t even sure what the words were yourself. I mean you did but nobody said that sort of thing anymore.

There were a few moments of silence that occurred, mainly between your guys' turns in speaking. It wasn’t until you heard him on his end that you asked what he’d been up to. He kept muttering something under breath.

Well, it was more him humming, every other minute or so though you’d hear a word, and the more he hummed- the more familiar it sounded.

“Is that…..Metallica?” You peeked, unsure if you were right. His side went quiet the second you said it, and you could assume it was because you were likely wrong in your guess.

“Y-You know Metallica?” Eddie enounced. He was standing upright, his previous stance of leaning on the frame gone, as he stood there with wide eyes and mouth agape at your sudden query.

So you were right.

“Uh, yes.” It came out sounding like a question rather than you stating the obvious. “My Uncle used to listen to them. Whenever he came over when I was younger, that was all I’d ever hear. He’d tell us he grew up on them, so it was only right that we did too.” You explained. Eddie’s mouth stretched up at hearing your words, too caught up in the recognition you had for one of his favorite bands, for him to even comprehend what you just said.

“I’ve never-” and then it hit him. His brows pinched together as he pulled the phone away from his ear. Did he hear you right? “Wait…grew up on them?” If it hadn’t been for the way you told the story, as if it actually happened, he would’ve thought you were pulling his leg. And you probably were so he just reacted logically. He chuckled. “Mkay, right right.”

It was your turn to pinch your face together, not understanding his sudden shift or why he was chuckling to begin with. “What? It’s true. The man grew up on them.” You raised, still clearly confused by his response.

“Mhm, sure.” You could hear the way he pulled the word, like he wasn’t convinced at all. Why was it so hard for him to get that what you were saying was true? “He’d have to be my age, kid.” He voiced.

W-What?

“Excuse me?” You uttered, sitting up from your bed frame. Not only were you confused but you were getting a little freaked out. He sounded young, your age, give or take. There was no way you had been conversing with a guy in his 50’s.

“You heard me, he’d have to be my age. There’s no way this guy grew up on them. The band isn’t even that old, it hasn’t been that long. I mean, I get we were joking before but man, you really got me there. I almost fell for it!” Eddie said. “How old are you?” He managed through his breathy laughs.

You could feel your heart pick up, the genuineness clear in his voice. He really thought you were joking, that everything you just said in the last few minutes was made up. But it hadn’t been and that’s what had you getting up from your bed. This was beginning to be too much for you.

“E-Eddie, what are you talking about? You’re freaking me out.”

And suddenly it wasn’t so amusing anymore. His face fell upon hearing your tone. The humor he once found in the situation, now gone, as he stared ahead. You sounded worried, alarmed even. It was quiet for a few seconds until he spoke, his tongue swiped his bottom lip before he did so.

“Uhm, look t-this isn’t-” his hand wiped down his face. “W-What are you talking about, man? One minute we're laughing and joking around and the next you’re telling me about your Uncle growing up on Metallica. There’s no way! Mkay?” He was getting agitated, visibly shaken up as he thought about you on the other side in the same state. “Like I said, the band isn’t even that old. It's only been a couple of years, it’s 1986 for christ sake!” And though he had been saying it all so fast, you still understood them. It’s why you felt yourself unable to move upon hearing his last few words.

1986.

The numbers repeated over and over in your head as you stood there.

“W-What?” You stuttered, voice shaky as you asked. It wasn’t possible. “It’s not!” You raise, your hands moving with a mind of their own as you swiped out of where you were and looked at the screen. In the corner of your phone, the current date stared back. The time you were currently in. As in, right now. You could hear Eddie speaking but because you didn’t have it against your ear, you couldn’t tell what exactly he’d been saying.

It’s not possible, it's not possible, it’s not.

He said it like it was true. He didn't just think it was 86', he was saying it like he knew it was. It was just impossible, the year he said, wasn’t the year you were in.

You lifted the phone back up to your ear, hands unable to keep still as you look ahead. Your eyes glassy as you spoke.

“Who are you?”

Eddie’s breath picked up at the way you questioned it, your voice at a whisper. He ran his hand through his hair again, already disheveled from how many times he’d done it prior to when you went quiet.

“I told you. My name is Eddie....and it's 1986."

Your eyes shut as he uttered his name, the lack of deceit evident.

—

a/n: I wasn't sure how to end it.

feedback and reblogs are appreciated.

#strangerprompts #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson hcs #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson one shot

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parrythisucasual · 8 months

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no pressure ofc but may i request a jax x reader where the reader is basically a ball jointed doll with some of the parts made of a soft playdoh material that can be shaped? i have no idea if that makes sense lmao. if not feel free to just do a normal bjd! as for story specifics ive been on a hurt/comfort kick tonight so maybe reader has joint pain or smth?

feel free to put your own spin on things! ive loved basically everything ive seen of yours in the jax x reader tag so im sure itll be great.

OKAY I WENT A BIT OVERBOARD AND I ACTUALLY HAD TO CUT IT SHORT DUE TO GOING TO A PARTY. I LOVED WRITING THIS STORY AND IM MORE THAN WILLING TO DO A PART 2 TO END IT A BIT MORE SATIFINGLY

HOPE YOU ENJOY, ANON!!!!

Jax x Doll! Reader

You were tossing and turning in your bed. No matter how you lay, your joint always managed to get caught on your sheets or blankets. It doesn't seem bad, in theory, but it was terribly painful. You finally settle in a spot, sighing happily.

“SH(boing)T!” you yelp, jerking so hard you nearly fall out of bed. Your knee had pinched the blanket. You throw the sheets off, tears of anger (and probably pain) pricking the corners of your eyes. You swing your legs off the side of the bed, deciding to go for a mid-sleep walk. You’d say midnight, but there isn’t exactly a night here.

Trudging from your room, you walk up the halls. Your joints, your annoying burdens, click with each step. You feel a pang of jealousy; the others in the circus didn’t have any problems with their new bodies. If you really had to be a doll, why couldn’t have you been a plush one, like Ragatha? Instead, you’re stuck with stupid ball joints and silicone. It sucks.

As you pass by his room, you find you’re not alone in your restlessness. The sound is faint, but you can hear the floor creaking in Jax’s room. You pause outside his door, wondering what he could possibly be up to.

The creaking passes from left to right as if he was simply walking back and forth in his room. As if he was pacing. You frown, debating whether or not you should knock. Maybe something was bothering him?

You shake your head, turning away. Jax wouldn’t talk to you, what are you thinking? You’d ask him if hes okay and he’d gaslight you into thinking he’d been asleep, into thinking you’d interrupted his night. He wasn’t the kind of guy to admit to his problems, not the type to care about yours.

You start up the hall once more, mind settling on the digital lake. At very least you could relax to the Lake_Ambiance.mp3 and watch the digital water move.

Crack

You let out a sharp yell, falling to the ground. Your knee had locked up, twisting at just the right angle the joint wouldn’t move anymore. God, it felt just like a sprained ankle. You hiss, gripping your knee in your hands. The tears really do come now, rolling down your cheeks in an oddly realistic fashion for this digital realm. Well, at least your night couldn’t get any worse.

“What, you forgot how to walk or something?” Dear god, it got worse. You glance behind you, the familiar smug grin staring you in the face. Jax’s confidence falters, very plainly, when he sees your tears. He raised a brow, “Oh, come on, you just fell. Are the waterworks really necessary?”

You try to stretch your knee out, yelping when it doesn’t budge, “It’s not just a fall you ignorant little- AUGH!” you give up trying to move your leg, resolving to simply lean back, giving yourself room to breathe.

Jax trots over, bending down and inspecting your knee, “How’d you manage this?” he reaches out and your stomach drops, “No, don’t!” He freezes, the surprise plain on his face, “Why not? I can snap it back into place easy as-”

“You stupid rabbit, it hurts!” you practically wail. He sits back, “Don’t be stupid, (Y/N), we’re digital now. Can’t get hurt. Can’t die.”

You turn your face away from him, growling slightly, “Clearly, I’m different. Not like you’d care, right? Too busy shoving your head up your own a(honk).” Jax doesn’t react to this, much to your surprise. Instead, he silently stands up, walking up the hall, one hand on his hip.

“Wait, where are you going? Jax?” you regret what you said immediately, you really didn’t want to be alone with this right now. “You won’t let me help you, I’m going to find Caine.”

“You’re… huh?” you blink, confused. Jax shrugs, “If it hurts that bad, why would I leave you like that?” You aren’t sure whether or not he really was going to find Caine, but with the lack of arrogance about him, you decide to trust him, “Alright… thank you.”

He doesn’t respond, merely gives a dorky salute as he rounds the corner. As the minutes pass, you begin to wonder whether or not you should have believed him. Just as you were about to give up hope, Caine appeared at the end of the hall, flanked by Jax.

“Oh, dear, oh dear! Would you look at that!” Caine’s annoying grandeur made your head hurt, but you couldn’t have been more relieved. With a simple snap of his fingers, your leg righted itself without pain. “Now then, anything else I can do for you, my dear (Y/N)?” the eccentric ringleader asked. You shake your head, a relieved sigh escaping from your chest.

“Excellent! Well, off to bed with you!” he zipped back into the air, “I was busy, after all.” Caine darted away, leaving you alone with Jax once more. He seemed off, not grinning as he usually did. You’re not sure what to say, until-

“Are you okay now?” he asks, looking anywhere but your face. “Um… yeah, now I am,” you start to sit up, and Jax rushes to your side, grabbing your hand and practically lifting you to your feet himself. “Are… you okay?” you ask, “you’re acting way different.”

Jax finally looks at you, “Why wouldn’t you tell anyone you were in pain? Are you really that thick? Any of us would’ve helped you! Any of us would be there for you!” he snapped, seemingly angry you’d hidden this.

“I… I didn’t want to burden anyone…” you admit, a bit shocked. “Burden us? Are you kidding?” his voice grew louder, making you wince, “you think your health is a burden? You moron, you’re-” he stopped suddenly, noticing your expression.

“I-I’m sorry… I-I…” He sighed, interrupting your shaky apology, “Next time, come to me. Okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt. (Y/N)...” he hesitated, “I just… I really care about you. Please, don’t hesitate to tell me you’re in pain.” He gathered himself, then placed a quick kiss on your forehead before darting into his room with a final, “Night.”

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #jax #jax x reader #tadc jax #tadc jax x reader #tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus jax

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existslikepristin · 5 months

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Okay, so I've done a couple of rewrites now, and I don't think I'm going to ever be fully happy with this, so let's just fuckin post this bad bitch

Tags: NSFW, TheLounge, Sounds, Dreamcatcher, Itzy, Gahyeon, Yuna, first times, but let’s be real virginity is a social construct that means nothing about someone’s physical state of being, #LearnHowTheHymenWorks, cunnilingin' n' fingrin', nervousness, not even the normal kind of brattiness, Yuna’s just an insufferable idiot, no anal in this one wtf am i thinking?

Off to a Slow Start

~~~~~

Gahyeon rubbed the stress out of her eyes. Or at least she tried to. The skinny, shivering girl draped over her lap was turning out to be a pain in Gahyeon’s ass (instead of the other way around, as it should have been).

“How about we do something else?” Gahyeon asked with a tone somewhere between hopeful and commanding.

“W-what? Why? I’m f-fine. This is s-so hot,” Yuna peeped. Sort of. It was more like she sobbed it like an emotionally damaged puppy might.

It was quite the shocking change in attitude after only two warm up spanks. Yuna’s butt wasn’t even pink.

Downstairs, when she first stomped up to Gahyeon, Yuna had been acting like she was hot shit. She put her hand on Gahyeon’s thigh, played footsie under the table, talked out of her throat like some kind of pornstar wannabe. It came as no surprise, then, when Yuna suggested that Gahyeon accompany her upstairs and "teach [her] a lesson." The part that was actually a surprise was when Gahyeon realized: when Yuna said “teach [her] a lesson,” she might have meant that very literally, because it was pretty obvious she didn’t know what she was getting herself into.

Gahyeon caught Yuna’s glistening eye in a decorative mirror on the wall and raised her hand as if to strike again. Never before had Gahyeon seen someone flinch away so hard from a simple slap on the ass, or grimace like they were expecting an executioner to flip the switch on an electric chair. She lowered her hand and very, very gently patted Yuna’s thigh. "You know what would be fun? Let's make out!”

Yuna pushed herself up on her elbows. Her bare stomach peeled away from Gahyeon’s thighs. Probably because she’d been sweating so darn much from her nerves. She gave Gahyeon a poor excuse for a defiant glare and sniffed away the lump in her throat. “Make… make out? But I’m here for… I thought you were supposed to be a good dominatrix.”

Gahyeon looked up at the dimmed light fixture and exhaled quietly. “Hey, I know you said something kind of like this earlier, but can you remind me what your safe word is, Yuna?” The question sounded a little more condescending than Gahyeon had meant it to.

“I don’t need woa-aaah!”

Crooking her elbow under Yuna’s waist, Gahyeon picked her up, suplexed her onto the bed, climbed on top of her, and got face-to-face. “First of all, ‘dominatrix’ is improper terminology for this situation. Second, if we don’t negotiate a safe word, I’m out of here.”

"Ummm. I, uh. Um."

"Tell me the first word that comes to mind."

“M-mistress?”

Gahyeon rolled her eyes. “Okay, bye.”

“Huh? Wait!”

Gahyeon was already halfway to the door by the time Yuna scrambled off the bed, but turned back to give her an uncaring glare. On her feet, Yuna was a hell of a sight. Tall, skinny, but curvaceous, like the kind of doll that would be sold to make young girls self-conscious about their bodies. Long, dark red hair and black pools for eyes, and she'd put on far more makeup than reasonable for an average coffee run. Gahyeon didn’t want to leave, but Yuna wasn’t making staying the easy decision.

"Wait for what?" Gahyeon asked.

"For… to… so you can make me…"

"I can't make you finish a sentence."

Yuna's supermodel bearing was taken down a peg by her disappointed slouch and concerned grimace. "You know what I mean… like, dominate me."

"Why?"

"Aren’t you horny?"

Gahyeon glanced at Yuna's tits. "No more than usual."

"What? But I…"

"You sure did."

"I-I was going to say—"

"I know."

"N-no you don't!"

Gahyeon groaned, "Maybe I don't care then. No big deal. Take your pick. I don’t like brats. I only tolerate them during Kinktober."

Yuna blushed and looked down, wiggling her knees in discomfort. Gahyeon wasn't going to deny that Yuna was fantastically fuckable, but she was also responsible enough to know when someone was in over their head. "Well, Yuna? What are you trying to do?"

Yuna muttered "I want to get laid" under her breath. With no other noise in the room to mask it, Gahyeon heard it, and yet a vague muttering wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"What's that? I couldn't hear you."

"I wanna get laid,” Yuna whined, fully out loud, “Okay?"

Gahyeon leaned back against the doorframe. "You a virgin?"

Yuna's blush extended down to her shoulders.

"Well that's a yes."

"B-but! I'm—No, I'm not!"

"And you would say that even if I said calling someone a virgin is just a bad social construct and that being a so-called ‘virgin’ is no better or worse than the alternative?"

"Uh…" Yuna scrunched her nose as she used all of her brain power to process the question. "Yes? Or, wait, no?"

"Nevermind.” Gahyeon waved it off. “Just tell me the truth. Have you had sex before or not? Anything with hands or mouths counts."

There was a pause while Yuna weighed her options. "No…”

Gahyeon was actually a little bit shocked. Yuna was among the hottest of idols, so even this level of awkwardness didn’t seem like it should be too much of a hindrance. Gahyeon had fucked or at least fucked around with a dozen idols with subpar social skills in the prior couple of months.

“But I've been trying!” Yuna shouted after the briefest silence, “Nobody will fuck me though! Not even men!”

“The fuck do you mean, ‘Not even men?’”

“Boys are supposed to be horny all the time. But even if I show them my pussy, they keep rejecting me.”

Gahyeon sighed, “Is that proceeding or preceding a conversation?”

“Of course I say ‘Hi.’ I try asking them if they work out too.”

“Is that it? Because idols have to work out. It’s in the job description.”

Yuna groaned and plopped onto the bed, curving her back like a clothes mannequin, apparently subconsciously. “I've tried all the stuff boys are supposed to like! I touch them, I guide their hands to my boobs, I tell them they smell sexy. All that stuff! And don't get me started on girls. I see them going around and getting laid all the time! And it's like, they'll be sluts for anybody except for me, and—”

“Let me stop you there before you make more of a fool of yourself,” Gahyeon snapped. Yuna froze. “A few things. One: We only use words like ‘slut’ in an endearing manner around here. Two: Some people might just not want to fuck you, ever. Can’t control it. And three: Are you just expecting sex from people? Like me?”

Yuna shifted uncomfortably. “No… I'm doing what I'm supposed to do first.”

“And what is that?”

“You know.” Yuna waved her hands around, pantomiming nothing in particular. “I ask politely. I let them know I'm available. I make myself up for them.”

“And…” Gahyeon mimicked Yuna’s pointless pantomimes. “They should obviously be throwing themselves at you, yet somehow nobody is approaching you?”

“I’ve been approached, I guess, but not from anyone in my league.”

“Pretty sure you’re still in the little leagues, my dude.”

Yuna whined, “Why should I be?! Every fan and their mom wants me.”

“Gross power dynamic, but okay. So I should have just known what you wanted when you walked up to me? And I should have wanted to fuck you? No conversation required?”

“Well… No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that if I do all that stuff—and more, by the way—and they're horny, why shouldn’t they want to fuck me? I'm not even demanding anything from them. I'm offering! Like, blowjobs. I'd be doing all the work!”

Gahyeon stepped away from the door frame and paced the room. “Here's the thing, Yuna. It sounds like people might be picking up on an attitude problem.”

“Attitu—but, no! I'm literally offering a good time, and usually I offer just to make them feel good! I'm not asking for anything in return! What's the big deal?”

“Nothing you've said yet strikes you as ‘bad attitude?’ Because it sounds to me like you're not affording people the courtesy of assuming they have a full breadth of human emotion and think they're good for nothing but sex.”

Yuna blinked. “I-I am, though!”

“Not, or aren't?”

“Ugh!” Yuna grabbed a handful of her hair. “No, I'm saying… You know what? Forget it! I'll just never—”

Looking her up and down for a moment (and not really listening), Gahyeon wondered if her behavior was ever anything like Yuna's. Probably not. She was practically domming her members ever since they met, and it turned sexual almost as soon as Gahyeon was old enough. Relating to Yuna was clearly out of the question.

Even so, Gahyeon felt a sympathetic pulse in her veins. Yuna's troubles, self-imposed or not and ultimately, definitely not anything close to a big deal, were still troubles to Yuna, and they were eating her up, it seemed.

Gahyeon weighed her options. Doing as Yuna demanded would enforce negative opinions. Refusing would make things more awkward for the next person Yuna tried to seduce. But Gahyeon did still like the idea of Yuna… She cracked her knuckles.

“—so I guess I'll just die alone,” Yuna continued to bitch on, “stuffing myself with bigger and bigger—”

Gahyeon cut Yuna off with a hand over her mouth. “Yuna? One word answer. Do you still want to get laid right now?”

Yuna’s eyes, glistening with tears at the edges, widened in something between fear and awe. And yet, she didn’t answer.

Half expecting her to come up with some kind of painfully awkward excuse for saying no, Gahyeon kicked things up a notch. She pulled up her shirt with one hand, catching her bra along the way, and flashed Yuna, full-boobed. She took her hand off Yuna's mouth to gesture at her bare chest, and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Yuna said almost as if she was in a trance.

“Then turn around.”

Yuna scrambled to her feet without standing up fully, spun a hundred and eighty degrees, and fell forward, catching herself on her elbows. Her knees followed her up and with that her ass was presented.

“Good,” Gahyeon said as she took her shirt and bra off entirely, “Now what exactly would you like me to do?”

“Uuuh…”

“Finger you? Tease you?” Gahyeon dropped her pants, climbing out of them and onto the bed behind Yuna. “I can let you take charge. Maybe I shouldn't have told you to turn around?”

Yuna shook her head. “N-no, nope, it would be better with you in charge.”

“Just give me a little bit of guidance then. I could have sworn you were asking for this.”

Gahyeon slid her hands up Yuna’s back, nails first, leaving white lines that quickly faded back into the approximation of porcelain that this new canvas was made of. Over and over again, Gahyeon reminded herself that Yuna was very pretty, and tried to use that to make herself forget the annoying parts. The fact that she was still thinking about them as she gripped Yuna’s tits didn’t bode well, but many three-plus-somes with Sua and Yoohyeon taught her the virtue of perseverance through annoying sex partners. Yuna was a very pretty canvas that needed to learn some manners.

In-depth lessons would come later though, after Gahyeon showed Yuna what her reward had the potential to be. “Well?”

Yuna's breaths got heavy as Gahyeon’s hands continued to wander, shifting between teasing touches and firm pressure. “I… I, um.”

"You want this?"

Yuna shook all over. She bit her lip and nodded.

Gahyeon breathed across Yuna’s ear, sending a deep shiver down her spine. “Tell me, then.”

“I d-don’t know what to say,” Yuna whined, groping blindly behind herself for Gahyeon’s arms.

Gahyeon pressed her chest against Yuna’s back and grabbed her hands, twirling their fingers together in a cruel, teasing dance. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, for starters.”

“It’s… hard to say.” Yuna arched her back, pushing her ass into Gahyeon’s hips. Her breath spiked over and over.

Gahyeon let her arms go mostly slack. “Then guide me there.”

With no small amount of hesitation, Yuna pulled Gahyeon’s hands tighter around herself and onto her ribs, moving them in a slow, jerking way down until they were between her legs. “Here.”

“I see. So you want me to touch your pussy? Your clit?”

Yuna whined even harder. She pushed insistently on Gahyeon’s limp fingers. “Both.”

“Both? That’s not how I phrased the question. It’s your pussy.” Gahyeon pressed one finger against Yuna’s entrance, earning a gasp. “Or your clit.” She pressed Yuna’s button with another finger, which all but made Yuna double over. Only then did Gahyeon wonder if she was technically providing incorrect information by distinguishing the body parts as separate.

“Oooh my g—My clit! Touch my clit…”

In a flash, Gahyeon took her hand back, licked her middle finger, and put it back, steadily swirling around Yuna’s clitoris. Yuna had to reach back and hang on to Gahyeon’s thighs to keep herself from falling. Her twitches, jerks, and shaky breathing were fun, and exactly what Gahyeon needed to get over her annoyance, at least for a while.

“I’m going to do the same thing with my tongue now, okay?”

Yuna shot up onto her hands. “Your t-tongue?”

Gahyeon circled Yuna’s clit with her finger, making her moan and tense up. She lowered her face so her mouth would be obscured, and the air from her every word would brush across Yuna’s pussy. “I might accidentally touch you with my lips too, if you’re okay with that. I promise I’ll be soft and gentle.”

“O-okay?”

Figuring that Yuna wouldn’t be giving her any more confident a response than that, Gahyeon leaned in further, gathering up extra spit as she went. She pressed the end of her tongue to Yuna’s clit, not hard, but somewhat firmly.

“O-oh," Yuna cooed and took a deep breath, "that’s pretty much just like your finge—”

Gahyeon swirled her tongue around Yuna’s hood, and the girl squirmed back and up out of range with a comically loud gasp. Gahyeon smiled internally. She knew what that was about. The shock of a good time could occasionally make one run away.

"Oh no," she said sarcastically, "You didn't like it. I'm sorry."

Yuna scrambled to get back in place, nearly kicking Gahyeon in the face. "No! I-I liked… please do it again?" There was desperation oozing out of her puppy dog eyes.

"Fine. Just be sure to tell me how you’re feeling, yeah?" She really wanted to hear Yuna try to describe being eaten out with her limited sexual vocabulary.

"I'll try…"

"Yes, just be as descriptive as you can, okay? I’ll adjust as needed."

Yuna nodded quickly. It was pretty clear that she just wanted Gahyeon to start again, so Gahyeon did, very, very, very slowly. She wet her tongue and barely touched it to Yuna's clit.

Again, Yuna flinched. This time Gahyeon was sure it was in anticipation. She looked up through the mild cleavage to give Yuna a reminder.

"Uh! Good! It felt good!"

Gahyeon touched again, but snaked her arms around Yuna’s legs to keep her in place. Another twitch, but smaller. Yuna was trying to contain herself. Gahyeon dragged her tongue slowly left and right. Trying to hold back wasn’t easy.

"It's… good."

Yuna's body language said much more than "good" though. She wanted more. Her eyes were fixed on Gahyeon. Her toes curled and uncurled against Gahyeon’s hips. Her knuckles were white, gripping the blanket. Her lungs shuddered with each brand new sensation that popped its way through her nerves. Goosebumps rose and fell and rose and rose and fell and rose. She had to be putting immense effort into holding still.

"Good."

Upping the ante, Gahyeon swirled again, catching the underside of Yuna's hood. Yuna twitched hard, and for a brief moment her eyes rolled up. Her breath was stuck, but it came unstuck with a second swirl, and exited Yuna's mouth in the form of a pained whimper. That was what Gahyeon was looking for.

"You like?"

"Good! It was so good! Please do it again!" Yuna’s inhibition was faltering.

"Tell me more." Gahyeon didn't pretend to hesitate again. She pressed her tongue under Yuna's hood and down against her clit, wiggling back and forth while keeping herself planted.

"Mmm! I… I don't know what to—OH! AUGH!”

Yuna’s last exclamation was a bit of a surprise, both to Gahyeon and Yuna herself, it seemed, as she quickly covered her mouth, eyes wide.

“Was that a good sound?” Gahyeon asked, already knowing the answer.

Yuna nodded.

“Uncover your mouth, then, and keep it up.”

There was some hesitation in how Yuna followed the instructions as Gahyeon got back to playing with her clit, but she did a little better than simply following. She grasped Gahyeon’s hands, alternated between hitched breaths and primal moans, and tucked her chin toward her chest.

Every word Yuna tried to say morphed into one of those noises until she came. One long, vulgar scream faded into mewling whimpers.

Gahyeon crawled up Yuna’s body, pecking her along the way and giving her a much longer, wetter kiss on the mouth. Yuna giggled through it all, a little cum-drunk. “So,” Gahyeon said, “that’s one of the basics.”

“The b-basics?”

“Yeah.” Gahyeon twirled onto her back, slipping an arm beneath Yuna to pull her in close.

“Wow…” Yuna muttered.

The two basked in each other’s warmth for a while without a word. Gahyeon shifted a couple of times to try to optimize her comfort, but still mentally bemoaned Yuna’s lack of experience. She would not have minded a bit of reciprocation. A plan to pick up one or two of her usual subs on the way home began to formulate in her head. Jane would certainly be up for a bit of fun.

“Um, Gahyeon?”

Gahyeon stroked Yuna’s hair, around her ear, down her jaw, and to her chin. Yuna smiled and purred a little. Gahyeon returned that smile. “Hm?”

“Thank you for, um… not making fun of me.”

“Don’t thank me for that.” Gahyeon traced half of Yuna’s lower lip. “I made fun of you a little bit when we started. And quite a bit more later, I believe.”

Yuna cautiously placed a hand on Gahyeon’s breast, but got a little bolder and lightly squeezed when Gahyeon smiled. “I just mean most of the time.”

“I guess. I’ll keep in mind that you appreciate that.” Gahyeon giggled as Yuna nuzzled her stomach with her cheek. “Just be clear with people about what you do and don’t like, and you’ll have a… great time.”

Gahyeon’s last words were drawn out over the sound of a buzzing phone. Yuna’s, to be precise. She stretched to get it from the nightstand and saw “RAW” was calling.

“Raw?” Gahyeon asked.

Yuna reluctantly removed her hand from Gahyeon’s boob to take the phone. “That’s Ryujin… sorry. One sec.”

Though it was quiet, the lack of ambient noise made it easy for Gahyeon to hear Ryujin’s loud voice. “Where the hell are you, Yuna? We checked the bathroom.”

“I’m… upstairs.”

“Upstairs? The fuck are you doing upstairs for a whole hour?”

Yuna’s eyes traveled up and down Gahyeon’s body. “Cuddling?”

“Cuddling? For an hour? Yeah right.”

Huge puppy dog eyes met Gahyeon’s, trying to ask for permission. Gahyeon shrugged.

“Wel—”

“I’m cuddling with Gahyeon because we just had sex,” Yuna said, and then immediately snapped her mouth shut and stared into space.

“What?! No you didn’t, you fuckin baby child! You couldn’t handle her!”

Gahyeon watched for a few seconds as Yuna’s shoulders shrunk into her neck while Ryujin berated her.

“... and you’d come running back down the stairs crying—”

“Actually, Ryujin,” Gahyeon spoke loudly, “she’s not bad. You should let her practice on you sometime.”

Gahyeon swore she heard the sound of a pair of spit takes through the phone before it suddenly beeped twice and went silent. She decided not to wait too long for Yuna’s embarrassment to take over, and laid a hand on Yuna’s back. “Care to learn anything else today? If you want to prove what you can do to Ryujin and Yeji, you may need to do to them what I just did to you.”

Thankfully, Yuna’s blush didn’t get too far. “I-I don’t know if I can do any more right now.”

Gahyeon smiled. “As in it’s time to head out or you just want more snuggles?”

Yuna pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and crawled forward, kissing Gahyeon’s lips a few times in rapid succession. “If I say I have to go, can I have your number?”

Gahyeon ran her fingers through Yuna’s hair. “Sure… but the first thing you're going to text me is a safeword for next time.”

#gahyeon #yuna #itzy yuna #dreamcatcher gahyeon #dreamcatcher #itzy #kpop #fanfic

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amimuu · 2 months

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A splurg of questions if thats okay: What does VTA Lamb and Narinder do on a daily basis? What are their sleeping arrangments? Routines? How does Narinder navigate the touchy awkwardness currently? Does Lamb ever ask anything of Narinder outside of being put to rest when all is done? (Is there ever any hesitancy about that still, on either side?)

OHHHHH ASKING THE IMPORTANT QUESTIONS I SEE

Alr lemme think UHHHHH….this is gonna be a long one brace yourselves

What do they do on a daily basis/their routines?

Well, excluding crusades…

Lamb: basically it goes like, morning sermon, checking on the disciples individually, checking on how they are doing on supplies and stuff like that, and just going around the cult making sure everything is working properly, sometimes sending a follower or two on errands to get more stuff if needed. They normally have a little checklist with them to not forget (which they tend to make the night prior). They also go on walks sometimes, in which Narinder usually tags along (I think I answered an ask about this before but am not sure). They walk in silence 80% of the time, and sometimes they stop by the Lamb’s favorite spot (a tree up a small hill close to the limits of the cult grounds). After this Lamb goes back to their room and does NOT sleep unless they really really need to (which can be up to 6 days without sleep)

Narinder on the other side: wakes up, Morning sermon, checking the protection he set around the cult is still working, cleaning the Lamb’s statue (and leaving offerings, usually flowers), following the Lamb around a bit, checking on the Lambs’ memorial altar (set up by the lamb when they first started crusading. Narinder started taking care of it after they died), and then if it is a silent walk day he just goes and tags along. Sometimes he tries to give gifts to the Lamb, but they are usually rejected or immediately disposed of. Still, doesn’t discourage him. After the walk or if there was no walk at all he goes back to his hut and sleeps. Lemme say that cat sleeps a LOT. Which brings us to the next question

Sleeping arrangements:

It’s basically like this.

Both their sleep schedules are concerning for very different reasons. Lamb doesn’t sleep nearly enough, practically avoiding it like the plague. It was easier when they had the crown cuz sleeping was more of a choice, but now that they are stuck in a semi-mortal body that has semi-mortal needs it’s not as easy as it was. They dread it. Because every time they go and sleep there’s a new nightmare waiting for them. About what? About what not, really. They are haunted. And funnily enough Narinder barely shows up in these dreams, and when he does it’s usually in the form of a memory or a comforting presence. Usually

So yeah avoid sleep at all costs!!

And then there’s Nari who just sleeps an unhealthy amount of time ever since he was freed. The cultists assumed he probably needed big amounts of sleep for some reason and just rolled with it. They were wrong. In fact Narinder doesn’t need to sleep AT ALL, but he enjoys it. He finds his dreams comforting especially cuz a certain someone tends to show up. Before resurrecting the Lamb this was his way to process his grief, but after resurrecting them he is finding it very hard to leave the habit behind and honestly? Why should he. Now,

How does Narinder handle the touchy awkwardness?

Oh boy does he struggle. Lamby here tolerates his presence but they made their point clear. They don’t wanna talk. And Narinder respects that, begrudgingly. He does however, bring them gifts as mentioned before, hoping this can somehow ease things a little between them (This is the way in which he knows to give affection, offerings.), but naturally it is ineffective. He is protective of them too, but mostly from afar.

Does Lamb ever ask anything from Narinder aside from their initial request?

Sometimes, but it’s rare. They do however ask him at one point to please take better care of himself. And other stuff later on in the story. But currently, just the occasional “Please go get this or that” or asking for his company during crusades, mostly cuz that’s both their responsibility.

And so we get to the best one.

Is there any hesitancy about it?

OH BOY IS THERE. A big chunk of the main arc revolves around what they both truly want and have wanted for a long time but their lack of communication kept them from. Narinder straight up hates the idea of having to let Lamb go again. While the Lamb is exhausted and feels betrayed, but a part of them wishes to remain with Narinder for the rest of eternity, so that makes things more complicated

See, they’ll eventually talk this all out but that’s after they actually start crusading and are basically obligated to spend time together. Everything I listed here eventually starts to shift as the story progresses , shifts that include Narinder getting into knitting to avoid sleeping all day, discussions about what ifs, lamb accepting some gifts and eventually asking Nari to please not go where they can’t follow. Fun stuff :]

HOPEFULLY THAT WASNT TOO LONG OF A RAMBLE (who am I kidding it was UHM.) and also hope very much it answered your questions :>!!!

#cult of the lamb #vows to ash au #ami answers!#they’re just silly #this’ll eventually all be covered hehe

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void-of-unparalled-chaos · 7 months

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Fic Masterlist

Because Tumblr search features are shit. Fandoms, Fics, and Series are organized in alphabetical order. Each link will send you to the Tumblr version but there will be a link to the AO3 version within that post. If you would rather go straight to AO3, my account is linked in the post pinned on my blog.

Assassin's Creed:

Of Blades and Parchment Series

Tumblr tag: #Of Blades and Parchment

Altmal AU where Malik never became an assassin and instead works as a crippled bookseller. Series is in progress.

DPxDC

Here's Where You'll Stay (3082 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #Here's Where You'll Stay

"As John stared at the door preparing to get his face mauled, he couldn’t help but incredulously complain that this was not how he wanted his weekend to go. He had plans! He supposes that he would be willing to put them on hold for Phantom’s sake, but he wasn’t agreeable to the incoming face mauling. "

When Phantom comes down with Core Sickness it's up to John Constantine to save the ghost from fading.

Nothing Says "True Love" Like Being Given The Soul of Your Murderer (1510 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #nstllbgtsoym

Addition to a post by @nelkcats

"Another snarl caused him to lose his staring contest with the Bat. Nightwing was now standing between the two of them and appeared to be trying to placate the crime boss while Red Robin made the bloody stupid decision of trying to sneak up behind him. Red quickly paid the price for his folly, finding himself flat on his back pinned underneath Hood's boot while he honest to God snapped at Nightwing like a rabid dog.

"It's my gift! He gave it to me. Now fuck off before I m̶a̷k̸e̸ ̵y̶o̸u̶."

Yeah. Someone should probably interfere before they pissed him off anymore.

"You should corral your kids before one of em' loses a hand."

"Hngh." Batman leaves to break up the fight with Nightwing's aid. Hood scampers off to one of the corners of the cave, cradling the violet ball in his gloved hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. It sounded like he was purring. John was suddenly very tired."

Rending Flesh From the Bone (3093 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #RFFTB

Dick wasn't so sure about Jason's "gut feeling", but what are brothers for if not to support each other during paranoia episodes? Now, deep underground in an abandoned subway tunnel, Dick is starting to have regrets as he watches the scene before him.

TW: Gore, Cannibalism, Vomiting, Zalgo Text

Slap a Bow on It (4752 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #Slap a Bow on It

Dead on Main ship, written for Dead on MAYn 2024

"Contrary to popular belief, Danny wasn’t stupid. He could be a bit oblivious, but he always got there in the end. So when Danny woke up the next morning and realized that last night wasn’t a dream, he had an epiphany. He was being courted by the super hot and apparently undead crime lord who ran the haunt on the other side of the street."

TW: Danny is thirsty as hell, mentions/allusions to nsfw but nothing explicit

Star Shoes (2772 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #Star Shoes

Dead on Main ship, written for Dead on MAYn 2024

"Things had been going so well for him lately. He should have expected the other shoe to drop. Or the metal pipe in this case."

In which Danny and his totally normal boyfriend who is definitely not Red Hood are abducted by cultists. Danny is super concussed, but he's got the spirit.

The Double-edged Blade of Chance (5309 words, 1 chapter)

Tumblr Tag: #The Double-edged Blade of Chance

Dead on Main ship, written for Dead on MAYn 2024

Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate. It was just a fact of life. There was always a chance, but chance was a double-edged blade.

Jason quite literally runs into his soulmate at the young age of eight.

“Sorry! I thought you were a ghost!”

"Why would I be a ghost?”

TW: Major Character Death, Child Neglect, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Drug Addiction, Depression

Unnamed fic (ghost chirps/unintentional ghost adoption au fic)

Tumblr Tag: #ghost chirps/unintentional ghost adoption au fic

Addition to a post by @starwrighter

Fic is currently a work in progress with only a minimal amount released to the public under the Tumblr post. Once it's completely written chapters will be posted and linked independently.

#Void's masterlists #my writing #of blades and parchment #ghost chirps/unintentional ghost adoption au fic #RFFTB #nstllbgtsoym #Here's Where You'll Stay #Slap a Bow on It #The Double-edged Blade of Chance

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glimmeringtwilight · 2 years

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Y'know what I'll just say it. I feel like Dottore would make clones of his darling. Not even in the sense of replacing them, but solely so he can get out some of his darker urges without doing irreparable damage to their body/psyche.

Gonna put this below a cut again because jesus christ I cannot just write this man normally. It always turns into creepy shit I can't help it.

CW: Implied murder (of the clones, not of reader), torture, medical play. I guess pseudo reader-insert death should be a tag too because it IS a clone of the reader. Same creepy shit from the last post applies here. Yandere themes.

Also not gonna lie, Dottore gives me very "bluebeard's castle" vibes with the potential the ability to clone himself (and I totally assume others, as well) gives. And boy howdy have I been in the mood to write a bluebeard's castle type of fic. Originally it was going to be with Diluc, but Dottore fits much better.

So... Dottore would totally make a clone of you.

Just something that looks like you, something with the same blood type, heartbeat, hair color, eye color. Something that doesn't faint when he cuts it open, so he can cup his hands around your heart and feel it pulse, feel how it strains to keep beating when he starts to squeeze. And he doesn't have to worry about killing you, either. Because it isn't you.

He'd probably also use these clones as guinea pigs for certain things he'd like to try on you, certain drugs or treatments. Like, say he wants to extend your lifespan but doesn't want to lose you in the process. The answer is simple: make a clone of you. Sure, it's sentient, and sure, it screams and thrashes against the restraints, but it isn't you. He knows, because he knows you. Down to every atom of your being. And it may be a convincing replica, but it never compares to the real deal.

You're none the wiser, either. He's careful to keep it from you, because he's smart enough to recognize how scarring it would be to watch your captor lover cut a replica of you open and grab its heart.

But it helps the urges he gets, sometimes. Little things he thought long buried– the urge to pluck out your eyes, to keep your heart in a jar, to make a ring out of your sternum so he can wear it when he's not with you.

And some of these things he DOES do. The third clone's heart sits on his desk, preserved neatly in a jar. You looked unnerved, the first time you saw it, but you didn't ask whose it was, and he wouldn't have said, anyway.

In his lab, where you're prohibited, he keeps the eyes from the second clone, almost perfect in their imitation. Those too, are preserved.

And just last week you commented on his new ring, likely suspecting he'd swapped places with a clone again (he hadn't. You've been so good lately, he just doesn't see the point in testing you. At least not for a while.) That ring, made from the tibia of the fifth (the sternum was too thin and too difficult to work with).

He asked you if you liked it, and you said it was okay. It looks nice.

Het got you a matching one the next week, made from one of his own clones, this time. You never wear it, but he's sure you will, once he tells you. Once he's sure that you'll be just as charmed by the sentiment behind the little trinket as he is of his.

And you will be, he's sure. You've come so far already, so sharp and keen, and he knows it won't take too much of a push until you have the same urges, too.

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mellybouboulove · 12 days

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My guardian angel🤍𓆩♡𓆪☁️

Chapter 2

Hi here's chapter 2!

Plot summary: Drug Dealer Ellie Williams X OFC slowburn fic, out of universe and takes place in college, set in the 2000s. Smut content to come.

Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapitre 5, Chapter 6, Chapitre 7

Tags: #wlw #sapphic #drugdealer!ellie #modern!ellie #tlou #slowburn #smut #fluff #tlouau #au #modernau #drugs

Let me know your thoughts on this and enjoy ^_^

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

CHAPTER 2

I woke up with the sounds of the machines all working around me. I opened my eyes, blinded by the hospital’s bright light on the ceiling. I felt so confused, I couldn't recall anything of the accident but I knew something bad happened. A doctor entered, gave me a check up and asked me if I remembered my name and what my last memory was. I would have rather lost my mind. He then proceeded to explain what happened last night : I caused a car crash. I felt my heart tighten in my chest, the pictures slowly making their way back to my brain. Emily was severely injured, left unable to walk properly for the next few weeks; she probably won’t be able to play soccer anymore and Jonathan was in a coma.

Unfortunately, I was luckier than them and only got three broken ribs and a broken arm. The doctor said I should get better in a couple months however, they have to keep me until the end of the week to make sure there’s nothing more than that.

I spent most of the days crying in bed, the guilt eating me alive. I almost killed my two best friends and myself. Thankfully, the medical treatment I was prescribed numbed me enough to make the burden easier to carry. This week felt like it never ended, I couldn't wait to go back home and leave this awful hospital bed.

The medicines I had to take made me feel better. So much better, that I started to take bigger doses instead of decreasing it as time went by. When the doctor stopped my prescription, I realized I couldn’t continue without the treatment. Without the medicines all I could do was think about that day and the lives I ruined. I was going back to school after a couple weeks of staying home. I tried to stick to the rhythm again but I struggled to focus on anything else. I eavesdropped and heard people talking about a party in an abandoned place tonight; I thought about it for a second and linked the dots: I must be able to find what I need at this party.

As soon as I got home I opened my wardrobe and put on a short tight black dress with ripped thighs. I did my makeup and got ready to leave. I could hear the loud music from down the street; I arrived at the place and had to walk over people’s bodies laying on the floor. Everyone was high and the atmosphere was very odd but all I cared about was my drug.

I saw a bunch of people assembled in a corner and took a look. The plug was just behind that wall. I waited for my turn and walked towards the drug dealer. I was really surprised when I saw Ellie Williams, the girl I met during the Halloween Party. She looked just as surprised as me when she recognized me.

-Maya? I barely recognized you. So this is how you normally dress, huh? I knew Wendy Terrance’s style was not your normal style but… -I don’t really have time to talk, do you have Opiates ? I said cutting her. -Maya you’re shaking you’re ok? -Just give it to me please, how much is it? -No I’m not giving you anything look at you, I don’t want you to kill yourself. -Why do you even care ? Aren’t you just looking for new clients at parties ? You have a new client now. -Hey, look at everyone around you here, I know that you’re not a junkie and I don’t want you to become one. You shouldn’t even be here wtf are you doing here anyway?

I didn’t know what to say and avoided eye contact with her the whole time. I realized I started to get crazy and I felt so ashamed that she was witnessing all of this. She was so kind and I was acting like a pathetic drug addict.

-Maya, what's happening? Do you need help?

I felt my throat tightening as I answered.

-Yes. -Ok, take my keys and wait inside my car. I’m gonna come in a few minutes.

I took her keys and did what she said. About 10 minutes later, she came and joined me, she turned the car on and drove off. I didn’t say nor asked anything about where we’re going. After a short while she pulled into a fast food’s parking lot. We stayed in the car as I began to tell her everything that happened in my life since the last time we talked. She was very caring and reassuring. She proposed to get us some food at the drive. We talked about many random things, I saw that she tried her best to make me think about something else.

After spending 2 hours talking we were both feeling tired. She drove to my place to drop me off but seeing my street and my house brought me back to reality. I didn’t feel strong enough to face another day without opiates. I knew I would just get crazy in my room. Having her around me made it feel a little easier so I asked her if she wanted to crash at my house tonight and keep me company. I noticed a hesitating look on her face but eventually she accepted.

We went inside my house, it was such a mess. I tried my best to clean and make things look better but the truth is I haven’t been able to clean for the past week. My life totally went downhill and everything was so dirty but she didn’t seem to care, I guess she’s used to this type of place.

I installed her on the couch, I thanked her, said good night and went to bed. Everytime I fell asleep I was having the same nightmares with flashing memories of the accident and Emily and Jonathan dying. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep. I went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and saw that Ellie was still wide awake.

-Are you not tired ? I asked interrupting her from staring at the ceiling -Not really. Aren’t you? -No, I can’t sleep. Wanna watch a movie or something ? -Sure! She answered with a shy smile, I felt so happy to find an excuse to spend more time with her. -Maybe it’s time for you to watch this classic. I said taking out The Shining from my pile of DVDs.

She made space for me on the couch next to her and I pressed start. During the movie I felt her arm get behind my shoulder acting like nothing. I was starting to feel sleepy and laid my head on her shoulder as she began to play with my hair. She moved position to make us both lay down on the couch and grabbed the blanket to cover us. I felt safe and finally managed to sleep without nightmares.

------------------- To Be Continued..

#modern ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #tlou2 #the last of us #wlw #lesbian #pride month #sapphic #lesbian community #fanfic #fanfiction #drugdealer!ellie #slow burn #smut

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nonsensicalramblings79 · 9 months

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Dead Seagull: Do Not Eat – Albatrosses, Seagulls, and Guilt in Our Flag Means Death

(for future reference: written 10/6/2023, ~36-48 hours after the first 3 episodes of S2 were released)

Hi, all! I, like many of you scrolling the #ofmd meta tag, have a head filled with nothing but the Gay Pirates. This has been the case since 12am PST on 10/5/2023 and will remain the case for several months to come. On my 3rd watch-through of the first 3 episodes of season 2 of OFMD, I started paying closer attention to potential symbolism so that I could maybe predict how the rest of the series is going to play out and get a better idea of what’s going on in these little guys’ brains. This post is the introduction to a short series of long posts wherein I rant about symbolism that may or may not be in the show. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I haven’t written anything even close to a literary analysis since high school, and I generally don’t know wtf I’m talking about. I’m just having a lot of very normal thoughts about The Pirate Show and I need to put them somewhere; if anyone has more ideas relating to this please add to it!! And to the best of my knowledge, the thoughts I express here are my own – please let me know if there are other analyses that say similar things that I should link to.

TWs: animal death, blood, eating animals, starvation, emotional abuse, physical abuse, gunshot injuries, suicidal ideation, canon-typical mental health problems

MAJOR OFMD SPOILERS THROUGH S2E03!!!

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

What originally prompted this whole rabbit-hole exploration was the conversation that Ed has with Frenchie at the end of s2e01.

…

You know there's a bird that never touches ground?

It's born in the air. Never once lands. Spends its entire existence in the sky. …

As Frenchie astutely notes, this seems…kind of impossible. How could a bird be born in the air? I could see potentially never landing, but surely every bird has to come down at some point to lay eggs (or to hatch from them), right? So I did a quick Google search for birds that spend their whole lives in the air, and the first result that came up was the common swift, which apparently spends up to 10 months out of the year in the air, never once landing (or only landing very occasionally) during that time. They catch food in the air, sleep while drifting on air currents, mate in the sky, and only land to nest and lay their eggs.

So that seemed…promising? I guess? But not exactly what Ed was talking about. After all, these birds aren’t “born in the air,” and they certainly don’t spend their entire life without landing. And this still could be what Ed was talking about; it matches fairly closely, and it’s possible that whatever Ed heard was either mis-told, misheard, or intentionally exaggerated. But I think there’s a more elegant answer to what bird Ed is referencing here, and it has much more potential for analysis than the common swift: the albatross.

This is the second thing that I found while searching, and this piqued my interest much more than the last result, since - as many of you probably know, spending time reading tumblr metas – the albatross is an extremely pervasive metaphor in literature. It usually represents a psychological burden that one has taken on, most often as a result of having made a mistake that resulted in others getting hurt. I’ll go into more detail about the source of this symbol in a little bit, but the basic gist is that a dead albatross gets hung around one’s neck until whatever guilt they have is resolved – albatrosses are huge birds, so this represents an enormous weight.

Before I go on, I’ll add that, at first glance, the albatross actually seems to fit Ed’s description less well than the common swift does – albatrosses are known for being able to glide for a long, long time, but they do land…on the water. One of the first things that comes up when you search for “birds that never land” is that albatrosses spend years and years never landing on shore. There’s a similar problem here to the common swift in that no bird actually hatches from an egg while in the air like Ed is implying here. But I would argue that the albatross is indeed what Ed is talking about. Whether he misheard, someone misspoke, or a tale got distorted from it being verbally passed down, Ed is referencing the image of an albatross that spends its entire life above (or on) the sea, never once going to land.

And this fits. In the context of the conversation that Ed is having with Frenchie, Ed is lamenting the fact that he can only exist in one place, fulfilling one role – on the sea, performing the role of Blackbeard. He imagines the life of this fictional albatross as quite lonely, I think, never once leaving the place it has spent its entire life (again, this isn’t exactly how the birds behave, but I believe Ed views them this way based on how he’s interpreted whatever he heard about albatrosses). He’s resigning himself to never leaving his habitat, and quite literally never going back to shore.

“…We’re gonna sail…rob…raise hell forever…and ever…without end.”

Right. So, if I am to be believed, we’ve established that Ed is actually diegetically referencing albatrosses. So what?

Well, as another disclaimer, I’m not 100% sold on these ideas myself. Especially only having the first 3 episodes of S2 to go off of, there’s plenty of time for these ideas to be proven wrong in as few as – checks watch – 6 days. There are lots of different, potentially overlapping, potentially conflicting ways to interpret this information. I’m probably going to split this up into parts, for ease of access and reading. Because all this so far has just been the introduction :))

In one part, I’m going to talk about what is probably the most intentional reference: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, the original poem that the albatross metaphor is pulled from. Beyond just the link to the “Impossible Birds” conversation, there are some other elements in OFMD that seem like pretty clear references to this poem. Based on references to this poem in popular culture, I suspect that parallels here would be non-diegetic – meant to be apparent to the audience, not to the in-universe characters. Link Here!

Next, I’m going to talk about another poem, simply titled “The Albatross” (French: L’albatros). This particular poem is maybe less likely to have inspired references in OFMD, but if there is an intentional link, this poem reflects a lot of how Ed sees himself and his life thus far. I’ll admit that I’m a bit biased toward this poem since I had to memorize it in French class in high school and it’s stuck with me – but it was also one of the first things on Wikipedia that was linked on the page of the metaphor of the Albatross. Parallels in this poem are what I would suspect to be diegetic – despite it being an anachronism, I think Ed has at some point read this poem, and he relates to the albatross/poet. [Link Here!]

Lastly, there are some loose ends that I’d like to pick up that may not tie into anything, but I feel like they’re worth mentioning, especially as they relate to the albatross metaphors and parallels. This section is going to talk more generally about birds and bird imagery in OFMD, and how these instances can support or refute my albatross theories. [Link will go here: haven't written yet :)]

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd meta #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2 meta #ofmd season 2 spoilers #ofmd season 2 #ofmd season 2 meta #ofmd blackbeard #stede bonnet #albatross #the rime of the ancient mariner #literary analysis #media analysis #frenchie ofmd #izzy hands #lucius spriggs

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cosmicanamnesis · 1 year

Text

everybody loves a(n as yet untitled) coffeshop au pt. 2

[part 1] [part 3] [part 4] [read on ao3]

“You’re late,” Keith said as Steve came in.

“What? No I’m not,” he said, confused, and pulled out his phone to check the time for good measure. “Yeah, I’ve got like, two minutes.”

“Yeah, I know. Hurry up, though, I need to take my break.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He quickly hung up his coat in the break room and pulled his apron on so he could take over for Keith before he got yelled at some more. The second he was at the register, the door chimed.

“Hi, welcome in- Oh, hey Eddie. You… Hang on, don’t you normally come in, like, three hours ago?”

“I did, you just weren’t here to see me,” Eddie smiled, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Oh, um. Alright. What can I get you, then?”

“Just a small hot chocolate. Um… Did you know you’re wearing the wrong name tag?” He tapped his chest a couple times in the same spot Steve’s name tag hung on his apron.

“Huh? Oh, yeah!” Steve laughed, grabbing a cup to make Eddie’s drink. “I’m covering for Robin right now. We started doing this thing, ages ago, where if one of us covered for the other, we’d uh… We’d swap name tags. It’s kinda stupid.”

“That’s hilarious, actually,” Eddie chuckled.

“Yeah, we have fun with it. It’s funnier on her than it is on me though.”

“Oh, cause Robin is a kind of androgynous name,” Eddie guessed.

“Yeah, and Steve really isn’t. So, hot chocolate, huh?” Steve asked, changing the subject. “Didn’t expect that one to be yours.” He passed the drink to Eddie at the end of the counter. Eddie smiled, almost laughing as he took it.

“Yeah, I’m not really a coffee guy. Shocking, I know, based on the,” he gestured up and down at himself. He always dressed more or less the same, with big heavy boots and ripped jeans and an old leather jacket with a denim vest on top, covered in pins and patches advertising bands that Steve had never listened to. “Y’know, all of this.”

“Yeah, you don’t really look like a hot chocolate guy. So the whole huge order, that’s for everybody else in the tattoo shop, yeah?”

“Ah huh. I just started apprenticing there, which means I’m the store gopher.”

“The store what?” Steve laughed. Eddie smiled and sipped his drink, still standing at the pick up counter. Fortunately, there was no one else in the cafe.

“Gopher. Like an errand boy. Y’know, hey Eddie, go for coffee, hey Eddie could you go for lunch, stuff like that. Gopher.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard that before. That sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad. I should probably get back, though,” Eddie said, tapping the counter. “It was good to see you, Steve. Got kinda worried when you weren’t here earlier.”

“What? Why?”

Eddie turned back to him, walking backwards, and shrugged. “You’re my coffee guy,” he said simply.

“Well, just a heads up then, I won’t be here at all tomorrow either,” Steve smiled.

“Alright, good to know. See you around, Stevie.”

Stevie?

“So did you get his number yet, or what?” Keith asked, coming back up to the front.

“Shut up.”

“So, no?”

“Isn’t it, like, unprofessional for you as my boss to be asking me that?”

Keith just shrugged and started wiping down the counters. The bell on the door rang again, drawing both of their attention as Eddie ran back in, drink still in hand.

“Wait, if you’re free tomorrow-” Eddie slammed his hand down on the counter to stop his momentum as he caught his breath. “Do you want to come to a party tomorrow night? It’s not a huge thing, but my band is playing and it’s like, a bunch of their friends, so it’d be cool to have somebody else I know there.”

“Oh! Um. Sure?” Steve said, trying to ignore Keith staring at him. “I didn’t know you were in a band, that’s really cool.”

“Thanks," Eddie smiled like he wasn't actually expecting a yes. "Here, can I put my number in your phone?”

“Yeah, of course!” Steve opened his phone and passed it over the counter.

“Phones are supposed to stay in the break room, Harrington,” Keith deadpanned. Eddie, apparently only just noticing Keith, giggled quietly as he added himself as a contact and handed the phone back to Steve.

“Okay, for real this time, I gotta get back to work. Just text me so I’ll have your number!” Eddie called, again walking backwards out of the cafe. As soon as he was gone, Steve immediately headed back to the break room to text him. He burst out laughing halfway there.

“What’s so funny?” Keith asked.

“Look what he saved himself as,” Steve passed Keith his phone to look at the new contact.

hot chocolate guy

“You want to kiss him so bad, it makes you look stupid,” Keith said, ever unimpressed.

“Appreciate the support, Keith,” Steve said sarcastically, ducking into the back.

He shot a quick text to Eddie as promised and immediately texted Robin after. He didn't expect a reply, assuming she was on her date, but she answered within seconds.

Got his #

who

Eddie, the guy none of you like.

WGAT

WHAT*

FR???

Yeah, he invited me to a party. Apparently he's in a band.

oooo sounds like a date ;)

Stop it. It's not a date.

could be a date ;) ;) ;)

Stop.

"Steve!" Keith yelled from the front. "Quit texting your boyfriend and get back out here! And leave your phone in the break room this time, please?"

Steve huffed and slipped his phone back into his coat pocket so he wouldn't have to listen to it buzz on the table his whole shift.

"I was texting Robin, actually," he said, coming back up to the front. "Dude. There's no one here, why the rush?"

"I like making your life hard," Keith shrugged.

The next time Steve got a chance to look at his phone, he had a text back from Eddie, two from Robin, seven from Chrissy and one from Dustin for some reason.

hot chocolate guy:

Hey, it's Steve!

hey there coffee guy

Robs:

Stop.

you love me

warning: i told chris so she might blow up ur phone

Chrissy (work):

Oh my god Robin said you got whats-his-face’s number??

And he asked you out?

And he's in a band? That’s so cool!!

I take back what I said about not knowing what you see in him.

I do NOT take back what I said about him being weird though.

Oh Keith made you put your phone away didn't he?

I ask as if you could respond if the answer is yes.

Lil Buddy:

hey Steve, what are you doing tomorrow night?

He decided to respond to Dustin's message first.

I'm going to a party. Why?

oh, that's cool. we're throwing a party at the house too, I was going to ask if you wanted to come but if you're busy then don't worry about it.

Let me find out what time the party is, I'll see if I can swing by your place too!

Honestly I'm not sure how long I'll be at the other party, I'm only gonna know the guy who invited me.

who invited you?

Just a regular at work.

the one you have a crush on?

Oh, fuck off. But yes.

;)

Stop. God, you've been spending too much time with Robin.

sounds like a you problem.

Steve rolled his eyes. He loved the kid but god damn was he a handful. He decided to move on before he got sucked into the text-based slapstick comedy that was a drawn out conversation with Dustin Henderson.

He moved on to Chrissy's messages.

Haha, yeah, I did. Don't listen to Robin, he didn't ask me out. He invited me to a NYE party.

How is that not him asking you out?

Because it's not a date!

;)

Jesus Christ, is Robin paying all of you to do that?

Do what?

Nevermind.

He'd see Robin later so he didn't overly feel the need to text her back, instead opting to stare at Eddie's text trying to think of something to say that didn't make him sound desperate or insane. It wasn't going well. Every time he got a free minute, he would type something, stare at it for a while, and backspace the whole thing. By the end of his shift, he still hadn't texted him back.

He and Keith had managed to get the whole cafe clean and ready to close without anyone coming in right after they finished cleaning the espresso machine, which felt like a miracle, and they actually got out on time. As he walked back to his apartment, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out to check quickly as if it were an emergency. It was from Eddie. A somewhat blurry photo of Steve, taken from inside the tattoo shop. Another message popped up as he looked at the image.

saw you :)

Haha, hey. Yeah, I just got off work. Sorry I didn't reply earlier, my boss made me put my phone away.

rude ass

Tell me about it.

so the partys tomorrow at 7. no dress code so just come as you are. i can come pick you up

If anyone asked, Steve wasn't blushing, it was just cold.

You don't have to, I do own a car. I just live so close to work it's not worth it to drive.

good to know. but apparently the neighbors get mad when theres too many people parked on the street so were trying to carpool as much as we can

also its gareths turn to drive the band van and his driving scares the shit out of me

Steve laughed to himself as he climbed the stairs to his third floor walk-up. He didn't know who Gareth was, one of Eddie's bandmates he imagined, but he had friends like that too so he understood. He let Max drive his car one time and one time only, and in her defense they did all get home in one piece, but never again.

Haha, alright, you can pick me up then.

He dug his keys out of his pocket and let himself into the empty apartment. It was a tiny little two bedroom thing, but it was just him and Robin living here, so they didn't need that much space. And despite being a walk-up, it was actually pretty nice. The living room had big windows, they had a balcony, they couldn't hear their neighbor's every move through the walls, it was great.

He tossed his coat over the back of the armchair in the living room, which was the chair's sole purpose, and flopped down on the couch. His phone buzzed in his hand. Text from Robin.

omw home, bringing a friend

if you don't want to hear anything you can't unhear then leave

Gross.

you've been warned. eta 15

Steve didn't really have anywhere to go on short notice. He had half a thought to text Eddie to see if he would be off work soon, but thought better of it. He didn't want to freak the guy out. His phone buzzed again. Speak of the devil and all that.

wyd

Trying to figure out something to do to get me out of the house in the next 15 minutes. You?

getting off work

why do you need to be out of the house in 15 minutes lol

Robin's bringing her date home. I don't want to listen to… Whatever they end up doing.

i thought you were dating robin?

Nah, we’re super platonic. We just live together.

wanna hang out?

Apparently Eddie didn't have the same reservations that Steve did.

-------

Well. That blew up.

Howdy? I'm Lichen. I shipped Steddie so hard it brought me out of a several-year-long writing dry spell. I have this fic in progress and a oneshot series that's like. Halfway done? But I am on AO3 as Lichen_Not_Moss and I've got a few complete fics up right now, so far all for Stranger Things

Ode to the Dungeon Master - <1k words, angst, not Steddie

I'll Come If You Call - 4k, angst, Steddie-adjacent

Brown Eyes, I'll Hold You Near - 132k, all over the place, longform Steddie fic

Tagging (everyone who replied to part one, whatever you asked to be tagged or not:)

@original-cypher @avacrebs @dangdirtydemons @rainydays35 @changenamelater @phantypurple @alienace @renaissan-vvitch @krazyperson @dreammetheworld08

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #stranger things 4 #text

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blainesebastian · 2 years

Text

coffee cart girl (pt5)

words: 3,418 ship: austin x female reader summary: you’re the coffee runner on the set of Elvis. Coffee deliveries run pretty easy, until Austin accidently spills coffee on you. notes: thank you so much for all the support! previous parts are under this tag, this part was inspired by this gifset warnings: none tag list: under the cut! sorry if your username does not link up on the post if you requested to be put on the tag list (it’s getting hefty! :)), unsure how I could fix that. please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Despite everything changing, things stay the same—which is actually pretty comforting. You keep showing up on set, day-in-day-out, serve coffee, come back home and then wake up to do it all over again. You have to admit that you feel slightly lighter working your coffee deliveries and know it has everything to do with this relationship you’re building with Austin. Keeping things under wrap for right now feels like the best idea, just between the two of you, which is exactly what you both need right now. With Austin constantly working on Elvis, you have no interest in being in any sort of spotlight—at least not yet. Your script work is getting better but you’re still figuring out the steps that you’ll need to move forward, to get yourself out there—be noticed.

The last thing you want is for someone to assume you haven’t gotten somewhere by talent alone but because of who you know, or in this case, who you’re seeing.

Austin has always seemed like a very private guy anyways, he’s not very active on social media—he likes to keep his personal life exactly that, personal. It leaves you with this intimate bubble forms over you both, time to get to know one another and develop on shared feelings. It may not look like normal dating, and it might seem like sneaking around sometimes, but that doesn’t bother you.

In the end—what you have with Austin is no one’s business.

Except, you do want to tell Jillian.

Getting on set Thursday, you make a direct route to one of the makeup trailers that she works in. Climbing inside and closing the door, you make sure you’re alone with her before spilling the beans. You tell her everything, from start to finish, all the details you feel like are necessary to get you both on the same page.

It doesn’t take much—Jillian already thought that Austin liked you, so the conclusion jumping is a short distance once she has all the information.

Jillian’s face somehow looks like an emoji, a permanent heightened emotion that is hearteyes and shocked all at the same time. Her jaw may also be taking up a residence on the floor, she hasn’t closed her mouth since you began talking.

“I fucking knew it.” She laughs, “I’m so good at sensing chemistry—like, I should probably quit my job here and become a relationship guru,” You roll your eyes even though you’re smiling, “Or a tarot card reader.”

“You can’t tell anyone Jillian, I mean it.” You say after a moment, taking a step closer to your friend. “Austin and I don’t want our business out there.”

“Austin and I,” She repeats with a dreamy laugh, “Our,” She shakes her head, curls tied up in clip today, which is probably a good thing seeing as how she seems to be vibrating at a high frequency. “Does that feel weird to say—like, you’re dating a celebrity.”

You let out a slow breath, your stomach fluttering in a slightly nervous way that it does sometimes. It’d be obtuse not to acknowledge the elephant in the room that Austin is, in fact, a celebrity, that he is different than someone you met at a coffee shop or a bar. You two are very unique in that sense and are on distinct paths for your futures. But at the same time you find it important to remind yourself that Austin is human, he’s a regular guy that has normal emotions, needs and desires. You’re on the same page, you’re working together on this.

But that doesn’t mean that sometimes this whole thing doesn’t blow your mind because it does. It’s as if you’re worried you might wake up from a dream or something, harsh reality ready to grab you by the throat.

“Jillian,” You repeat, holding her gaze so you know she’s actually listening.

Jillian sighs, head tossed back towards the ceiling, “I hear you, promise. I won’t say a word to anyone.” And you do believe her otherwise you wouldn’t have said anything in the first place. Jillian might be a little eccentric but she’s trustworthy. “Are you going to go out on dates…or?”

You pause a moment, considering that…you actually hadn’t thought about it. So much of your interactions kinda stem on being on set together, you spend time between shoots, when you bring coffee or Austin lets you know when he’s taking food breaks but…

Eventually Elvis will come to an end and then what? There’s award shows and interviews and a very public eye. You’re pretty sure that even now if you two were to go out, someone would notice and put it out into the world—a fan, a pap, a gossip tabloid, too many different outcomes. One of the great things about set is that you can have privacy here.

“We’re figuring it out.” And it sounds like such a lame excuse right now but to be honest you don’t want to admit that it hasn’t crossed your mind.

Jillian just smiles before nodding, the door to the trailer opening up before any more questions can be asked. You’re secretly kind of thanking whoever’s listening for that—if your friend thinks you need to be a bit more planned about your future with Austin, she doesn’t comment.

Right now you think a day-to-day approach is best…but maybe a little bit more of a strategy wouldn’t hurt either.

The day is as busy as it always is, filled with running around on last minute rotations and add-ons mixed with your regular orders. Sal actually seems like she’s in a decent mood for once, which is always a nice surprise. You take your afternoon lull at the typical picnic bench, getting some serious editing done on your script as you slowly sip on a coffee. Second readthrough is done, now all that’s left is reading it outloud to catch any last mistakes before…letting a second pair of eyes actually look at it.

Speaking of—

You frown, picking up the clipboard nearby that had your morning and afternoon orders on it. Just as you thought, you don’t see Austin’s name anywhere. Time had been runnin’ so smoothly, you barely noticed that he hadn’t placed any coffee orders. Normally, you might not think that was odd but…after ending up on the same page, it’s usually a nice stolen few moments to see one another through a busy day.

You chew on your lower lip—it’s probably just a hectic day for him but there’s also a small pit in your stomach that is slowly beginning to feel like a black hole for whatever reason. You put the script in your bag and decide to stretch your legs, dropping your things off where you usually keep them and take a long stroll around set.

In a not surprising turn of events, you end up outside Austin’s trailer. Glancing around for a moment, you take a sip of coffee and make your way up the steps—at the very least you can pretend you have a last-minute caffeine fix for him, should anyone ask. You knock on the door and wait, taking a step back to make room for the door to open.

It takes a few moments but when it finally does, you pause, unsure of what to say.

Despite still getting to know him, it’s very plain to see that he’s upset. He must be in-between scenes because he’s in his own clothes, jeans, a black shirt, his hair scrubbed free of gel from what looks like his hands going through it. His face is slightly pink, eyes red-rimmed and wet and it somehow makes the color seem even more blue. He works his jaw a moment, swallowing, seemingly trying to get ahold of himself.

You’re kinda dumbfounded because…you’ve obviously never seen him like this before.

Blinking, you realize that you should say something. “Hi,” You pause, taking a breath, “Do you—you want me to leave you alone?”

“No,” He says quickly, clearing his throat. His voice is twinged with emotion, slightly deeper than usual as he opens the door so you can walk over the threshold, “You can come in.”

You hesitate for a moment before wandering inside, the door closing behind you. Austin moves to lean against the kitchenette counter and you stand in front of him, putting your cup of coffee down near the sink. You give him a few moments to collect himself, watching as he runs a hand over his forehead, swallowing, the muscles in his jaw flexing again. Your gaze flutters over the rings he has on today, both gold, one on his middle finger while the other rests on his pinky.

Did something happen? You’re trying not to bombard him with questions…so you do the only thing you think you can in that moment, remembering how his hand had smoothed its way down your back during that migraine. One hand moves to settle along his arm, squeezing, while the other gently rests along his neck. Your fingers graze the bottom of his jawline, his pulse quick and skin warm where you’re touching. You feel, rather than see him, take a short breath in.

Whatever’s got him worked up, it’s at least good to know that he’s letting himself feel it rather than keep it buried underneath his ribcage. Some people are so concerned about strong emotions, never allowing themselves to give into them, feeling like they have to keep them hidden or tucked away. Austin’s not only allowing himself to feel, but he’s also letting you see him like this.

Neither of you say anything for a while, just stand there together, soaking one another in. You rub along his arm, sometimes your other hand moving to cup his cheek, stroking along his cheekbone. He sniffles, running one of his own hands underneath his eyes before letting out a slow breath,

“Sometimes it’s uh, it’s hard for me to take a step back from what I’m doin’.”

You nod and honestly, a lot of details aren’t necessary. You're sure the emotional toll is sometimes brutal, how hard it must be to separate his feelings out between what's reality and what's the film. You know that Austin gives absolutely everything to his work—it's obvious in the way he carries himself, how he speaks about his roles, in interviews you've seen and even in conversations you've shared with him.

He doesn’t need to explain himself.

It’s a bit crushing to see him like this—you wish you knew what to say. “Can I do anything?”

Austin shakes his head, giving you a small smile. Removing the hand that you have along his cheek, he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, “You’re doin’ it.”

You smile back, your stomach doing that ridiculous fluttering thing it sometimes does because of him. “I was wonderin’ why your coffee orders were missing from my clipboard.”

“Just been kinda nauseous all day,” Austin admits, running a hand through his hair, “Stomach’s in a knot.”

You’ve heard rumors that way before filming started Baz had organized for studio producers, crew, and the like to heckle Austin while he played some of his first Elvis songs. This wasn’t done without a purpose—much of Elvis’s first performances as an artist were similar. Regardless, you can’t imagine what it’d be like to experience something like that, especially if you’re already nervous about embodying such a role.

You wonder if today was something similar in the studio…or maybe it’s just a bad day. Not all of them can be perfect, even if Austin shows up ready to work as hard as he possibly can.

Taking a small breath in, you step back from him—you don’t have much time left on your own break before you’ll have to start taking late-night coffee orders. You’re sure he wants to spend a bit more on his own before he’s called to hair and makeup or wardrobe.

“I’ll see you later?” You offer, leaving it open just in case he wants to take the rest of the day to himself. You wouldn’t blame him, sometimes time alone is the best way to bounce back.

But Austin reaches for your wrist as you move to leave, squeezing gently, “I’ll find you.”

Giving him one last smile, you grab your cup of coffee and head out of his trailer.

Shooting stretches until two AM, which is not at all surprising. You end up leaving set around midnight, making a convenience run to grab a few things before making your way back to your favorite picnic bench outside the food tent. It’s a skeleton crew and luckily no one seems to bother to ask you why you’re still hanging out, walking past you with either a goodnight or no words at all.

Looking up as you hear footsteps approach, you smile when you see Austin, sliding off the table you’re sitting on to meet him halfway. He’s in his own set of clothes again but his hair is still styled to look like Elvis—the most important part, he looks a lot better than when you saw him this afternoon. Shoulders not as heavy looking, his eyes brighter,

“Hi,” Austin smiles down at you, “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

“I know,” You laugh lightly, “What a coincidence.” Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you walk with him towards his trailer. You don’t pass many people, which is comforting, before you finally make it to the destination. Austin heads up the steps first, opening the door for you to walk in.

Switching on the lights, the door closes behind you and you pause as you see that way back in the trailer…is in fact a bed. So it is true that some stars have legit places to sleep on set if they wish for late nights, naps between scenes. Though you’re not sure how that’d go—you always feel like such a zombie waking up from a nap. Can’t imagine that’s a good thing going from scene to scene.

So much for that being refreshing.

“Is that comfortable?” You ask, motioning to the bed as you put your bag down on the coffee table.

Austin looks up and in the direction of what you’re referring to, “Kinda, it has its moments when you’re really tired.”

“You gonna sleep there tonight?”

He purses his lips in thought, toeing his boots off near the couch. “Probably.”

And that…is totally not something to be thinking about right now. You shake your head as if to get rid of the imagery before clearing your throat, “I got you somethin’.”

He raises his eyebrows as you pass over the bag from the convenience store,

“Just my go-to’s when I’m feeling poorly.”

You smile, chewing on your lower lip as he pulls out a few essentials: a plastic container of Oreo’s, Ginger Ale, and mint tea.

“They didn’t have peanut butter.” Then quickly to clarify, “For the Oreo’s, I mean.”

Austin laughs softly, nodding, running his hand over the pack before smiling up at you. He reaches out to tug you close, placing a kiss on the bridge of your nose. “Thank you.”

You feel warmed from the inside out, blooming in your chest and sprouting outward. It’s not much and you’re not sure if his stomach is still upset but…you just wanted to be able to offer something to help. Sometimes a well-placed gesture is all you need.

Opening the pack of Oreo’s, he sets the bag on the coffee table to take a cookie out. Biting into it, he says, “I’ve never had Oreo’s with peanut butter before.”

You raise your eyebrows in mock outrage, “This is just unacceptable—don’t tell me you’re a cookies and milk kinda guy.”

He smiles a little guiltily—it’s cute. “You gonna take the cookies back if I say yes?”

You crinkle your nose, grabbing an Oreo for yourself. “Just please tell me you’re not a dunker.”

Austin shakes his head and well, good, at least you can work with that. Snagging a seat on the couch, you take your shoes off, crossing your legs up on the cushions. As you both eat through another sleeve of cookies, your mind wanders to this morning when you were talking with Jillian about…everything. The future, or at least what might happen when the filming of Elvis ends. You glance up at Austin, on the couch with you, one long leg folded up under himself, the other resting on the ground. His fingers hold one cookie while the other runs them along his lower lip, as if he’s in thought.

He touches his face a lot, you realize, especially when he seems to be considering something. After the emotive day he’s had, you’re not sure it’s the right time to really talk through what’s on your mind. There will be time for that.

Austin looks over at you as he takes an Oreo apart, which makes you scrunch your face a bit because you know he’s going straight for the icing. “How’s your script comin’?”

You take a soft breath into your chest, debating the words behind your teeth for a long few moments before, “Maybe end of the week you can look at it? If you’re not too busy.” No pressure, you can have Jillian read it over if he can’t.

“I’m not too busy for you.” Austin replies and he says it in such a way that has you believing it. Though, it’s a double-edged sword, you’re not quite sure how you’re going to handle him reading your script and…what if he thinks it’s absolutely awful? It’s just one opinion, sure, but you have to admit that it means a bit to you.

You shake out the nerves best you can and nod, determined, he’ll get that script by the end of the week.

Then you’ll go from there.

You stay on the couch for a while eating Oreos, easy conversation passing between the two of you. It kind of amazes you how simple it is that you can just…talk about anything. There’s topics that range from the serious (where do you see yourself in five years, who’s your biggest influence, book you could read over and over again) to the dramatic (zombie apocalypse—how fucked are you, favorite bird that you think has the biggest personality, drunk food go-to).

Another hour of time passes and it was already late to begin with, another yawn slipping past your lips,

“I think you should crash here,” Austin says, “That’s like your fifth one.”

You blink at the offer because no…while you know it’s late and he’s not wrong about you yawning a lot, the day catching up with you, you couldn’t possibly sleep here, right? On a few counts.

No…people would notice, wouldn’t they? While you like to think you blend into the background pretty easily, tomorrow would be the day for people to notice you coming out of Austin’s trailer, or in the same clothes you wore today. Way too risky, right?

And yet, for whatever reason that’s not what comes out of your mouth, “I think I got an extra pair of jeans in my car but—”

“I can grab you somethin’ from wardrobe.”

You raise your eyebrows, a scoff sneaking out. Oh really? “This couch is—”

“Let me worry about the couch, you’re takin’ the bed.”

Now you do laugh, “What you got an answer for everythin’?”

He grins, “Maybe.”

This is such a bad idea—the couch was comfortable enough to nap on when you had a migraine but getting a full night’s rest? Not even to mention, “Your legs are far too long for this thing.”

Now he’s amused, his eyes dancing warmly as he leans into your personal space. Your stomach flutters, gaze flickering down to his lips when he speaks, “You checkin’ me out Y/N?”

“You’re incorrigible.” You shake your head, gently poking at his chest.

Austin hums, “I’ve been told that’s my best quality.”

You don’t kiss him even though you really want to, a smile tugging the corners of your mouth—you realize within those few moments how much you like him, how your feelings for him are becoming more and more defined the longer you two figure this thing out together. At the same time, it’s a dangerous thing—you’re really falling for him.

You just hope it’s not too fast.

Once again, thanks so much for reading! I think I worked out that this series will be 10 parts total :)

Tag list: @pearlparty, @theinvisiblecapricorn, @kittenlittle24, @andrewgarfields-girlfriend, @mirandastuckinthe80s, @nonsensical-nonce, @softlispoken, @dudinhahoff, @peterparke-r, @lottiee03, @little-diable, @therealwriter17, @bob-the-tomato, @bcofl0ve, @domaniquessidehoe, @matsbarzals, @rosequartzluvr, @callthedarknessdown, @laperceval, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @starry-night-20, @ahoyyharrington, @obsessedunicorn24, @lulu-recs, @queenotaku23, @embobemm, @milaa24, @medleyj, @myownparadise96, @butlersluvbot, @girlokwhatever, @pinkle-monade0103, @vintagebitc, @xcallmetaniax, @adoreyouusugar, @karamelcoveredolicity, @thisisntmeok, @kvcssghbjbcd, @mamaspresley, @jazmin2211

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler drabble #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #ccg #ccg series

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detective-and-dreamer · 20 days

Note

Dealer's choice for Ockham, if you'd like? <3

[I've put some notes on this one! The tags would've been a mile long otherwise.]

23. a kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances (the substance in question being neathbow fuckery)

It wasn't the worst party Emory had ever been dragged to; they didn't even mind that Lenora had wandered off partway through the evening. Nocturnal artists often wanted to hear hunting stories, though he was sure they wished he'd speak of it a bit more poetically. When they tired of it, they were happy to leave him to stand near the wall with a glass of wine. The decor, however, was a bit of an issue - not something they would normally care much about, but the skeleton someone had set up as a centerpiece made no fucking sense. It was made up of three, no, four different zee-beasts cobbled together into a completely implausible monstrosity. He glared at the place where a fin didn't even attempt to connect properly to the frame. Artistic liberty was one thing, but they thought it should at least look like the creator had given a damn.

...If this was what they were focused on, they needed to make this their last drink. Gods forbid he start trying to fix the thing. Before they could give it any further consideration, though, they were interrupted by Lenora's sudden return. She was accompanied by a redhead in a deep green dress and...a wave of flirtatious joy?

"Je vais vous présenter - " whatever that meant, it was directed solely to the person beside her - "Emory, dear, this is Ockham; I fear I've essentially been holding her captive for language practise instead of making introductions to anyone else." She gestured to them, and they noted her gaze was far less sharp than usual. "This is my friend, Captain Emory Hayes."

"Nice to meet you." Ockham held out her (Emory would have guessed something neutral, but who were they to argue?) hand. He felt a hint of curiosity and wondered what Lenora had been saying about him.

This wasn't a state of mind that should have been possible without physical contact or conscious will. The only exception they had ever encountered was Parabolan influence of some kind. Yet Ockham's own eyes seemed normal, and she bore no other obvious signs of possession; just the opposite, in fact. There were flickers of reptilian instinct, now that he could pick up on such things, but they felt buried in the way a person's thoughts normally would when they weren't in full control of themselves.

Was there a polite way to ask are you from a different realm, and if so, how the fuck did you get here? Probably not. Between the nearly palpable emotional aura and the apocyanic haze encroaching on his vision, Emory could barely even think of a normal introduction.

And so, before his mind could catch up with his actions, he brought Ockham's hand up for a kiss rather than the handshake he had planned. They felt the shallow, fleeting memories skin held; the touches of others, the brush of fabric. Lenora raised an eyebrow, and he knew he was never going to hear the end of her teasing once they were alone. Somehow they doubted an explanation would help. Teratomancy made me do it? Technically, this is your fault? No, it would only encourage her.

"...It's nice to meet you, too." he said, resigning himself to his fate.

- I wanted to explore what viric would do to Emory. What I decided is that it brings on a version of the "half-dreaming" mental state he enters for teratomancy, thus making him more emotionally perceptive/receptive. They were able to catch themselves before slipping into an actual trance, though, especially since there wasn't a completely overwhelming amount of input.

- They can, in fact, tell what Ockham should look like! Sort of, anyway. It's not the same as what you'd see through cosmogone lenses. Rather than a vivid, current appearance, they're getting an impression from hishertheir own memories. Since Ockham's been in stasis for so long, though, there's probably not a lot of discernible difference. Maybe some of the details are hazy or slightly off, since you can't really conjure up a perfect image of yourself without looking? If someone else who knew was nearby, it would probably help. I'm also not sure exactly what he would remember once he'd left hishertheir presence and the effect was no longer there.

- I don't see any reason why he shouldn't be able to pick up some memories from skin - it is an organ, after all. I think it probably doesn't hold information for quite as long, though. Also, most of it is just things like "this area was touched by someone recently and this is how they felt about it" or "the pain of getting a scrape that has since healed."

- Nora knows multiple languages. I don't, unfortunately, otherwise I would have given them more dialogue together instead of having her switch back halfway through a sentence so she could include Emory. She was thrilled to have an excuse to practice, though. Also, Ockham could probably get a two for one deal here if heshethey tried; she's pretty easy to get kisses from.

#ask #my writing #Emory #Lenora #sorry this took forever! I rewrote it so many times before I felt satisfied. I hope it turned out well #anyway Emory don't worry! Nora might forget that you acted like a proper gentleman towards a stranger #also featuring the first bone market skeleton I ever threw together. so awful nobody but the colourful phantasist wanted it

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thecouchsofa · 6 months

Text

2023 ao3 wrapped / fic review / whatever else I'm putting here

@oflights, the human, the myth, the legend, has made me go look at my stats and now you have to look at them too. Tagging @jtimu @elskanellis @sillywives @sleepstxtic @maesterchill @peachydreamxx @hoko-onchi-writes @starquestingfordrarry @rainstormradish @apricitydays-lazynights @annanother-thing @uncannycerulean @drarrymyheart @mallstars so they can also feel this sweet, sweet pain (if they want).

First up, some stats!

Fics posted: 7 public, 1 currently hidden, 1 awaiting submission date + 3 tumblr microfics

Fics started (and maybe finished): 18 + 3 tumblr microfics

Word count of fics posted: 414,013

Total word count written: 513,953

Sorry, but what the actual fuck do you mean I've written over 500k words since April? Put me in restraints, truly.

My favourite fic I wrote this year: The Brightest Constellations of Our Souls

My most kudos'd fic of this year: Driving me crazy (but I'm into it)

I've also read, like, a fucking horrendous amount of fics this year. More than I think I read back when I was deep in the One Direction trenches as a teen. Getting back into writing has given me a fresh appreciation for everyone's work; it's so fucking hard to write well and everyone who puts themselves out there and does that gets an online hug from me.

After Erised reveals I'll be posting a ridiculously long list of my favourite fics that were posted in 2023. It is ... exhaustive. I should probably be embarrassed by how long it is.

But without further ado, a recap of my fics from this year.

May

Driving me crazy (but I'm into it) (8k, E) (Draco/Harry)

Draco’s fucked a lot of people. He’s fucked models, Quidditch players, members of the Wizengamot, even a Muggle actor, but none of them come quite as prettily as Harry Potter.

September

A Walk in the Woods (48k, E) (Draco/Harry)

After ending up in the Spell Damage Ward at St Mungo’s, Harry is put on mandatory holiday leave.

The catch: he has to spend it with Malfoy at his cottage deep in the woods. Harry has no idea why Malfoy agreed to host him, considering he avoided ever being alone in a room with Harry before he left for his sabbatical a year ago.

To complicate things, Harry’s enormous longstanding crush hasn’t waned at all in Malfoy’s absence.

For: HP Cottagecore Fest

The Brightest Constellations of Our Souls (256k, E) (Draco/Harry)

Harry doesn’t know how to cope after the War. The only things that make him feel even remotely normal again are taking risks while flying and fighting with Malfoy. It’s not likely to end well.

Or,

Draco becomes obsessed with ‘Wonderwall’, reads Muggle books, and drives a campervan, while Harry slowly falls in love with Draco. A story about travelling around the British Isles in the late 90s while healing deep scars.

October

Capillaries (3.6k, M) (Draco/Harry)

Draco’s Sectumsempra scars have never fully healed. He says that it’s not Harry’s fault, that he doesn’t blame him for it. Harry hears him, but he’s not sure that he believes it.

Evergreen (23k, T) (Harry/George)

“You’d better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will have gone.” Fred leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly thinking that he’d now exceeded his allowance of brotherly wisdom for the day.

“Who are you going with then?” Harry asked suddenly. He looked between Fred and George, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Harry asks George to the Yule Ball because it’ll be a laugh and he’s in dire need of one of those. If George can continue to keep his crush under wraps it should all go swimmingly.

For: HP Rarepair Fest IV

Celestial (paint me like one of your starscapes) (30k, E) (Draco/Harry)

Draco needs a partner for an art project. The only catch is, they have to be magically compatible with him for the paints to work properly. He’s fairly certain that he knows who his partner will need to be, he’s just not sure that he wants to admit it.

For: H/D Sudsfest Lite 2023

November

November Flush (5k, E) (Draco/Harry)

Draco Malfoy might be an absolute raging arsehole, but he gives Harry exactly what he needs.

Microfics (all Draco/Harry)

From one to another, for the prompt 'follow': tumblr link

Til resentment do us part, for the prompt 'keep': tumblr link

Satiate, for the prompt 'indulge': tumblr link

Thoughts / feeling / goals for next year

Pride, slight embarrassment, love, appreciation.

For the coming year I'm excited to get stuck into writing even more. I've got so many ideas that I'm excited to work through and a fantastic community to do that with. I will need to be bullied into not signing up for more fests in the new year, so please give me a nudge if my blogging starts to look stressed. Also never be nervous to send me a message about random shit if you're on the fence!

If you have read this far, have read even a single sentence I've written this year, or have thought my Squirtle pic looks cool, I love you, I appreciate you, and I support you.

The motto for 2024? Bedcurtains. One word, not two.

Thanks for being here! ❤️

#my stuff #fandom #drarry fics #thecouchsofa #year in review #fic year in review #ao3 wrapped #tee rambles

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sickficideas · 5 months

Text

bella notte || akutagawa sickfic + atsushi and dazai

ao3! 6.5k - please refer to the tags and notes in the link for content + warnings!

Dazai knows it's not a good sign when Atsushi calls him an hour before midnight.

Truthfully, he's not doing anything particularly fulfilling or important. He had actually just finished an undisclosed amount of time staring at the ceiling without any intention of sleeping, like he does most nights, occasionally interrupted by his cell phone - so, really, it's good timing. Someone is giving him something to do.

He reaches for his cell phone, already knowing from the kitten ringtone he chose for Atsushi that it's him. He's not too worried. Atsushi doesn't have very good sleep habits himself, and he's called late for pointless questions and such before, so that's what he's expecting.

However, the shaky tone of voice he answers with immediately puts Dazai on edge.

"Are - are you still awake?" Atsushi stammers nervously almost as soon as Dazai picks up, without any room for him to say anything.

"I answered your call, didn't I?" Dazai asks as he sits up.

Atsushi pauses for a second. "Well - I know, but I don't want to disturb you if you're trying to sleep, I -"

"I wasn't," Dazai assures him. He really wasn't. He never sleeps before midnight, willingly or unwillingly, and even if he was, Atsushi sounds incredibly distressed. He wouldn’t favor sleep right now anyway. "What's going on?"

"Can you come to the agency?" Atsushi murmurs quietly, too quickly.

"The agency?" Dazai repeats.

"I couldn't take him to a hospital. I don't know what to do," Atsushi mumbles frantically. Dazai is slowly putting the pieces together. Whoever this is, is someone who should never be at the Agency to begin with.

"Take who?" he confirms, just to keep Atsushi honest.

"A -" Atsushi stops, like he's not sure he should be having this conversation, but Dazai has already connected the dots. And Atsushi probably knows that, too, because he's whispering now. Like he thinks he's in trouble. "Akutagawa."

"Atsushi," Dazai huffs. Now it's real, and not just a theory, so he actually has to deal with it. "You brought Akutagawa to the agency?"

"I know, I - I just, he's really sick, Dazai, and I couldn't…I couldn't -"

"I'll be there soon. I'm leaving now," Dazai tells him, rubbing both hands over his face as he sets his phone back down. "Do what you can until I get there."

Atsushi mumbles something resembling a confirmation before he hangs up reluctantly.

Maybe he should have just continued his very important activity.

…

"I'm here. Where are you two? The infirmary?" Dazai says as soon as Atsushi picks up the phone. He lets himself in with the keycard and starts to head that direction anyway. Normally, he wouldn't let something like this bother him, but he has a lot of unanswered questions right now. He doesn't have time to play around.

"Um - yeah, infirmary," Atsushi mumbles, but Dazai can already hear his voice in person as he approaches the infirmary door, which has been left slightly ajar.

Atsushi looks beyond relieved to see Dazai. His eyes shine and he looks like he's about to completely unravel all of his thoughts and feelings about all of this, but Dazai prioritizes the situation, and Atsushi seems to realize that.

Akutagawa is lying on his side on the cot furthest from the door, miraculously, without his signature coat. That's interesting, Dazai used to have to pry it off him in these situations.

Akutagawa doesn't look good at all, but this isn't the first time Dazai has seen him like this. In fact, it's probably not even the tenth, or twentieth.

He's frozen, for a second, feeling like he's sixteen again - hovering over a collapsed fourteen-year-old version of Akutagawa with a temperature so high the dingy thermometer he managed to get ahold of without Mori’s knowledge wouldn't read it correctly. He's holding his breath. Remembering the feeling of hoping to not get caught, because whatever Mori would do to Akutagawa upon finding out would be his responsibility to carry.

He shakes his head to try and dissolve the memories he’d long forgotten.

"What happened?" Dazai starts, his hands on his hips. He can tell a few things right off the bat. He's got a bad fever, that's for sure - he's incredibly pale and Dazai can see how the sweat has started to form along his hairline too, parts of his bangs plastered to his forehead and other parts sticking up. Atsushi is frozen in place, looking completely unsure of what to do, where his hands should be, where to look. He’s worried. Interesting.

He pays close attention to the way Akutagawa breathes, because his lungs are always his biggest concern. The number of times he had contracted pneumonia while under Dazai's care was truly astounding, and he'd hate for that to be the case again, but he doesn't hear that rattle in his chest he’s gotten so used to.

"Akutagawa," he starts, tilting his head to the side.

"He's - I…I found him like this, I don't know how long he's been this way for," Atsushi stammers in Akutagawa's place as Dazai leans down to get closer to him. He's out of it, that's for sure, but he's not unconscious or beyond reach.

"Akutagawa," he says again with a sigh, kneeling down just a bit. He watches the latter's eyes focus as soon as the sound hits his ears.

"Dazai," he breathes out in return, not sounding particularly delighted to see him, but not against it, either. He's desperately trying to hold his focus, and Dazai decides he would rather not waste his limited energy trying to find out how he got here, and instead try to fix what's right in front of him.

Akutagawa subconsciously seems to tell him that's the right choice, too - his eyes suddenly screw shut and he groans, obviously in some sort of major discomfort. Atsushi scurries around to the other side of the cot, like he's concerned that he's in the way of whatever Dazai is trying to do.

"What hurts? Your chest or your stomach?" Dazai asks him. He's familiar enough with the way his face twists up to know that it's one of the two.

"Both," he breathes out. Atsushi looks surprised at the fact that he's willingly given up that answer. Dazai thinks Akutagawa knows very well that he won't get far at all trying to withhold information from Dazai.

"Have you thrown up today?" Dazai asks him. Akutagawa has the most sensitive stomach out of anyone he's met, so he really should just start forgoing that question in favor of the next. Akutagawa nods, though. Barely. "How many times?"

He just barely makes a four with his hand before he's hit with another wave of pain, it seems like, and he curls in on himself.

"Okay. Then we'll need to get some fluids in you. You’re definitely dehydrated," he says with a puff as he stands up straight.

Dammit. He hates doing this. He hates needles, he hates them on himself and he hates using them on other people, but he doesn't have any other choice. At least now, Mori isn't breathing down his neck and watching him like a hawk, but it'll always feel that way.

"I can do it, Dazai," Atsushi tells him. Dazai snaps his head up a little too quickly, wondering for a second if he said all of that out loud by accident. "Yosano showed me how when Kyoka was sick."

Dazai almost wants to brush him off, but the idea of someone else doing this sounds too wonderful to pass up. He trusts Atsushi. He's not the type to offer to do something like this if he's not confident he can do it correctly.

Akutagawa curls in on himself a little tighter, forcing his eyes shut tight too once Atsushi walks off to get what he needs. Atsushi talks to himself as he gathers the supplies, reminding himself the steps Yosano gave him and the order or what he needs. Dazai just keeps an eye on Akutagawa, who is still aside from the occasional cough and shiver.

“Does this look right?” Atsushi asks, showing Dazai everything he's collected on the tray. Dazai scans everything and nods, that looks right to him.

Atsushi sets the tray down on the nightstand and takes Yosano's stool, looking afraid to bark any orders at Akutagawa.

"Lay on your back, Akutagawa," Dazai tells him sternly, because he knows he won't listen if Atsushi asks him to. Akutagawa does as he's told without any deliberation aside from a pained groan. Dazai knows it's uncomfortable to lay that way with the way he's feeling, but he needs him to right now.

Atsushi takes Akuatgawa’s arm hesitantly. Akutagawa seems to pick up on that with how tense he holds his arm, fighting back on purpose, but Atsushi squeezes his arm in retaliation with a glare that's only mean to Atsushi himself, and adorable to everyone else.

Maybe not to Akutagawa, but it does enough to get him to give up.

"Don't…don't destroy my veins," Akutagawa murmurs as his arm goes limp and he turns his head away from Atsushi.

"You better shut the hell up, 'cause I could just toss you back out in the alley if I wanted to," Atsushi huffs, a far cry from how nervous he seemed to be doing this just a second ago. He seems to have remembered that Akutagawa is just as much of a coward as he is.

"Do it," Akutagawa grumbles. He's so sick and weak, and still has the gall to bicker back at him. Dazai huffs through his nose. It's a too-familiar sight. It always feels strange when Akutagawa reminds him of himself. The two bicker with each other like a ragged street dog and a house cat fighting over food.

"I won't," Atsushi grumbles back. "I'm not some heartless bastard."

That seems to quiet Akutagawa, for some reason. Maybe he agrees and refuses to admit it. Dazai isn't sure.

He watches Atsushi work, impressed to see he does this relatively well for only having been taught one time. Dazai looks away as soon as the needle becomes involved, and decides instead to make sure that he locked the door to the infirmary.

When he wanders back, Atsushi seems to have finished placing the IV and is now busy preparing the fluids on the IV pole, and Dazai's eyes drop back down to Akutagawa.

Dazai realized a little too late that Akutagawa likely only dropped his squabble with Atsushi because he's trying to will away intense nausea, but it seems like he's lost the battle. He tries to push himself up onto his elbows, and Dazai is certain that he's about to vomit, and Atsushi hasn't caught on. He takes the bin that was tucked away under the cot on the other side of Atsushi and holds it up under Akutagawa’s chin, figuring they can at least avoid him throwing up on the floor, just in time for him to choke up a few mouthfuls of stomach acid and bile. Of course he doesn’t have much at all to bring up.

Atsushi's frozen, eyes wide, clearly uncertain of what to do. Dazai isn't sure either. Akutagawa used to not let a soul touch him when he was throwing up. Something about his vulnerability complex, and he doubts much of that has changed, but Atsushi doesn't know that. He lays a hand on his shoulder.

Dazai freezes for a second, fully expecting Akutagawa to whip around and curse him out at best, and maybe decapitate him at worst, but all he does is flinch. Maybe he's distracted by the next unproductive gag his body forces, Dazai isn't sure. Dazai's now distracted himself, painfully aware of how much he's shaking, how painful the retching sounds.

"Stop holding your breath like that, it doesn’t help," Dazai tells him, and Akutagawa immediately takes in a shaky breath, like he had forgotten. He's not sure where that habit of his comes from, but it's resulted in him passing out before, so he has to make sure to get him to stop before that can happen. "When was the last time you had something to eat?"

Akutagawa doesn't answer, even though he very clearly heard the question. He just breathes shaky and heavy over the bin and spits up whatever is left in his mouth. Dazai will guess at least yesterday. Akutagawa has another habit of refusing to eat when he's nauseous, and Dazai knows for certain that's a habit he picked up from living in the slums.

He starts to slowly lay back into the cot with a shaky sigh, his head turned away from Atsushi, and Atsushi quietly takes his hand back, visibly a little concerned by what just happened.

"You know it hurts more when there's nothing in your stomach," Dazai says with a disapproving sigh. He's told Akutagawa this on multiple occasions. He knows the reason. Vomiting was simply another waste of food in the circumstances he had to live through before, in the slums. If he had any of the group's food and threw up, it would mean precious resources were wasted.

"I know," Akutagawa breathes out. Dazai imagines he'd roll his eyes too, if he had the energy.

“You should say something if you think you might throw up next time,” Atsushi chides with a nervous sigh. He connects the fluids line to Akutagawa’s IV.

“Stop telling me what to do. I’m not a child,” Akutagawa grumbles.

“Maybe if you quit acting like one, I wouldn’t have to treat you like one,” Atsushi grumbles and huffs through his nose back at him like an exasperated mother. He’s horribly stubborn, it really goes against Atsushi’s vibe, but he still puts up with it for some reason. Dazai almost smiles.

“Enough,” Akutagawa murmurs, sounding noticeably more tired than before. Arguing for no reason takes a lot of his energy, evidently. He shifts his arm from the discomfort of the IV. “I’m older than you, Weretiger.”

“Yeah, yeah. Like that’s ever mattered to you before,” Atsushi grumbles to himself. Akutagawa is certainly not one to consider seniority for any reason.

Atsushi finishes situating everything as Akutagawa shuts his eyes. Dazai doubts he��s truly trying to sleep, but he’s sure he’s been awake for much longer than necessary. Resting his eyes at the very least isn’t a bad idea.

Atsushi is doing a pretty good job looking after him, considering how much he’s been bickering.

Dazai stays where he’s at but sits back down on the cot beside Akutagawa’s, carefully watching his form.

“What should I do to bring his fever down?” Atsushi asks after turning around once, like he’s not sure what else to do, hands awkwardly floating in front of him.

“Cold rags or something. I’m pretty sure there’s some under the sink,” Dazai answers, and Atsushi nods, heading that direction right away. When Dazai’s gaze drifts back down to Akutagawa, he thinks he might have actually fallen asleep. He’ll see how long that lasts for, he’s not a heavy sleeper at all, but it might help Atsushi for the moment.

Atsushi comes back with a damp, cold washcloth, nervously reaching down for his forehead.

"Lay it over his stomach instead. It'll cool him down faster," Dazai insists. Back in the Port Mafia, he was in this situation so many times that he started testing to see what worked better. Akutagawa is so prone to random fevers. "Usually helps his nausea a little too."

Atsushi looks unsure. Dazai moves to the stool beside the cot and lays a hand over Akutagawa’s wrist to show Atsushi he doesn't need to worry about Akutagawa attacking him, even while unconscious.

"Are you sure? Don’t these usually go on foreheads?" Atsushi asks.

"He moves his head too much. A cooling patch would be better for that," Dazai says with a shrug, "but he'll complain. He doesn't like the adhesive."

"Well, he needs it, so he can shove it," Atsushi huffs. He really sounds like an annoyed mother. It's amusing, Dazai can't help but smile.

He keeps a hand over Akutagawa’s wrist, the other carefully lifting his shirt. Akutagawa flinches, likely not expecting that, but he relaxes after Atsushi slides the washcloth to lay over his tummy. He’s used to that. Dazai hopes it gives him some relief.

"Should we give him medicine?" Atsushi asks, sitting back down on the stool, unsure what to do from here.

"He won't be able to keep it down,” Dazai reminds him. When he’s sick like this, even if he cooperates, he usually can’t even keep sips of water down. They always come back up.

Atsushi frowns.

"Doesn't she keep injectable stuff here?" Atsushi suggests after a few seconds. It’s a good idea, in theory. “We could put it in his IV line.”

"She logs it. She'd notice it was missing," Dazai says. He knows enough to be able to figure out what to give him, but he doesn’t have any clue what kind of medications and treatments Akuatagawa is currently on.

Atsushi nods dejectedly, trying to think of another option, it seems. If there was one, Dazai would have already thought of it.

"Normally you wouldn't care," Atsushi points out, almost like it’s a test. A measure of keeping him honest, maybe.

“About what?” Dazai asks with a tilt of his head. Innocently. Atsushi doesn’t take the bait.

“Yosano catching you,” Atsushi says, his gaze narrowed, arms crossing over his chest.

Dazai’s surprised that he caught onto that, because he really hadn’t considered that himself, but soon enough, he realizes why. "Yeah…yeah, I know."

Dazai wouldn’t care if it was Kunikida. It wouldn’t matter if it was Atsushi, or even Ranpo, really. Not even Fukuzawa. But it’s Yosano.

He’s not sure why the idea of being caught by her sends a shiver up his spine. She wouldn’t do anything to him, no realistically. Is it because she’s a doctor? Dazai’s never liked doctors. He hates hospitals and needles and anything related, but Yosano has never hurt him. He’s imagining her. She’s at her desk, filing away some papers, but she turns around and it’s Mori’s face.

He remembers to breathe. Atsushi tilts his head. Dazai smiles at him.

He doesn’t really have anything to say back to Atsushi. That’s a first.

Atsushi drops it, though. He heads over to the supply closet after a few moments of silence to get a blanket for Akutagawa - a kind gesture - and lays it over him carefully, not wanting to wake him, if he’s truly still asleep.

Dazai’s still stuck in his own head, though, staring off into the corner, staring Mori right in the face.

…

Thankfully, Akutagawa is one of the easiest people to read when it comes to sleeping. His breathing is quiet and relaxed when he’s asleep, but it’s erratic and irregular when he’s awake, especially when he’s trying to pretend he’s sleeping.

And really, it sounds much worse than it should. Worse than before.

"I know you're awake," Dazai says.

He’s sitting on the stool, now. He and Atsushi switched spots at some point, and somehow, Atsushi ended up curling up on top of the sheets of the second cot and falling asleep. Dazai’s not cruel enough to wake him. He’s not going to sleep himself, either way.

"Why won't you leave," Akutagawa mumbles, his eyes opening, staring up at the ceiling. His voice has become hoarse, his eyes are still glassy, too. He hasn’t improved much. Dazai took his temperature about an hour prior, and it’s still sitting at one hundred and two.

"I'm not leaving you in my place of employment unattended,” Dazai scoffs. He’s teasing him, but Akutagawa never recognizes the difference.

"Do you think -" he coughs as he attempts to sit up, "do you really think I -"

He breaks into a coughing fit, because of course he does. He covers his mouth with his forearm, nearly choking on his breaths from how difficult it is for him to breathe.

Dazai just waits, because there's nothing else he can do. Chuuya's called him cruel for it before, but he'd rather not waste Akutagawa's time by patting his back or offering him water when neither will help him.

He’s faced with the image of a fourteen-year-old curled up in front of him and coughing so hard he can’t breathe, and suddenly, he remembers Atsushi’s hand on Akutagawa’s shoulder, just a few hours ago.

Was Dazai really in the right for that?

"Have you seen a doctor recently?" Dazai asks once Akutagawa’s coughing has died down, but it’s exhausted him so much that he lays back down with a frustrated huff. He doesn’t look good. His eyes tell more than Akutagawa would like them to, he’s sure. "About your lungs?"

"I don't want to discuss this in front of the Weretiger," Akutagawa grumbles, his eyes shifting to the latter’s sleeping form on the other cot.

"He's asleep. Don't avoid my question," Dazai tells him. Atsushi isn’t the type to fake being asleep to listen in on a conversation. He’s a bad liar. Akutagawa turns his head away from Dazai. "It's not good, is it?"

"No," Akutagawa admits. He won't look at Dazai.

"A year?" Dazai asks after a brief moment of silence. He can hear himself breathe.

"Less," Akutagawa says quietly.

Dazai wishes he could explain the way his heart feels. He doesn't fully understand it.

He's known for a long time that something was wrong. He initially assumed it was asthma. He personally dealt with that for a long time too, but when Akutagawa started fainting from getting so out of breath, and coughing up blood after coughing fits, Dazai slowly started to realize Akutagawa must be very sick.

Mori would know a way to fix it. Mori would know someone or something that could give Akutagawa more time, but alerting Mori of his condition could be dangerous. Not could be, it would be. There is no avoiding that fact.

Dazai would never want to put him through the horrors he went through, the things Mori did to him under the guise of trying to get the sight in his right eye back. He doesn't want to imagine the things he'd do to Akutagawa considering it's his lungs, not just an eye. He feels sick, suddenly sucked into a memory of Mori with a pair of hemostats and -

He shivers. He's so unbelievably torn.

"Does anyone know?" Dazai asks. He hates the shake in his tone. He does his best to hide it, but thankfully Akutagawa isn't one to pick up on subtleties like that.

"I haven't told anyone," Ryuunosuke manages with a shaky sigh, "I'm sure some have guessed."

Gin must know. While they've been separated for most of their time in the Port Mafia, Akutagawa was showing signs of his lung disease even before then. But even so, it says a lot to Dazai that Akutagawa refuses to tell someone as important to him as his sister. Gin knows things about him that even Dazai doesn’t know.

"You should tell someone," he says quietly, his gaze dropping down to the hands he’s stuffed into his pockets. "People who care about you. Your friends, at least."

"I don't have any friends," Akutagawa scoffs, as if it's ridiculous to assume such a thing. That’s the only brief moment he actually looks at him, like he’s trying to decide whether or not Dazai is joking.

"Really?" Dazai says, a brow raised. "Because Atsushi wouldn't call me in the middle of the night and beg me to help him take care of his enemy."

Akutagawa's eyes widen at the implication he's making there, clearly thinking

"He would do that. Because he's foolish. And his actions are entirely incomprehensible," Akutagawa murmurs, his voice getting quieter with each word he speaks. He coughs a few times, but no fits follow right after, thankfully. "I don't understand him, Dazai."

He sounds far away, in that moment, like the sentiment whisked him away into thought. His eyes even unfocus.

Dazai almost says something, but Akutagawa is whisked into a coughing fit before Dazai can finish any thoughts he might be having. It’s not as bad as the first one, at least.

“So you’re just determined to die without anyone around to even say goodbye, huh? Not even your sister.”

Akutagawa is quiet for a moment, and Dazai recognizes the irony in his words before Akutagawa calls him out on it. Not even the mention of his dear sister riles him up, and that tells Dazai he’s firm in his decision. “I don’t recall your plans being any different.”

Dazai just smiles.

"Close your eyes and get some rest. We need to get you out of here before everyone starts arriving in the morning," he reminds him, hands shoved into his pockets. He thinks he sounds a bit like Kunikida right now. "Take better care of yourself to make sure this doesn't happen again."

"You would laugh if anyone ever said that to you," Akutagawa scoffs.

Dazai almost smiles at the accusation. “I don’t like how self-aware you are, these days.”

“Hm.”

…

Only an hour later, when Dazai checks his temperature again, does he realize he needs to get Akutagawa home. They’re getting dangerously close to the time when others would start to arrive at the Agency.

Akutagawa hasn’t gotten any better, but the fever he has is steady at a hundred and two. Even so, he’s completely devoid of energy, with little to no reaction as Dazai takes his temperature and changes out the washcloth Atsushi placed.

Dazai lays a hand over Akutagawa’s forehead at one point, pushing his hair from his face, and even though his temperature hasn’t climbed, his skin feels worse - unbelievably hot. Akutagawa’s eyes even roll up to look at Dazai, but he doesn’t say or do anything. He can’t. He looks miserable.

“Dazai,” Atsushi says sleepily from behind him, shifting to sit up from where he is on the cot. He still sounds half asleep, but driven by a need for his question to be answered. “How is he…?”

“We need to get him home. I think he’ll do better if he’s somewhere he can let his guard down,” Dazai says quietly, hoping to be out of earshot of Akutagawa’s fever-riddled brain. Akutagawa’s still so tense, he can see it in his shoulders, the way his hands haven't flattened. He’d never relax in a place like this.

Atsushi is quiet for a moment, likely trying to wake himself up. He rubs his eyes and swings his legs over the side of the cot. “I still have…I still have the number of that woman he works with.”

“Higuchi,” Dazai recalls. Higuchi wasn’t in the organization during Dazai’s time. He doesn’t know much about her. Gin would be a better option, simply in getting Akutagawa to cooperate, Dazai’s seen him shut down around her too. Gin’s not an option regardless, he has no contact with her.

Atsushi scrambles for his phone and manages to find an old saved photo of Higuchi’s business card, given to him that first week he met her and Akutagawa. Dazai only gets a glance at the number before he dials it into his phone, and he steps off the stool and wanders to the other side of the room just in time for Higuchi to answer.

She’s silent for a second, like she’s suspicious of who’s calling her. He’s surprised to have an answer, although, it isn’t unusual at all for a Port Mafia member to be up at this ungodly hour.

"You're -" she starts to hiss, but Dazai doesn’t let her finish. He doesn’t have the time.

"Akutagawa is at the Armed Detective Agency and needs to be brought somewhere he can rest. Can you take care of that?" Dazai asks sternly, a chill traveling up his spine, thinking he sounds a little too much like he did four years ago.

“What? That’s…that’s where he is?” Higuchi stammers, her tone suddenly much softer. “Is he hurt? You-”

“Hurry or I’ll find somewhere else to put him,” Dazai huffs, and hangs up before the woman can get in a response.

He doesn’t have any doubts that Higuchi will be here as soon as possible. As far as he’s aware, she’s incredibly loyal to Akutagawa, beyond that of what most subordinates are.

Atsushi has moved to the stool beside Akutagawa’s cot, carefully leaned over him with a tense, uncertain expression coming over his face. He turns his head to give Dazai that same uncertain look.

“He looks worse,” Atsushi murmurs quietly. “You think he’ll be okay?”

Dazai just nods. Akutagawa has gotten sick and recovered hundreds of times at this point, and there’s no way he would let it finally bring him down here of all places, despite the help of his so-called enemy. He certainly understands Atsushi’s concern. He isn’t used to seeing him like this.

Thankfully, it’s not long at all until Higuchi arrives, calling Dazai’s cell phone back to alert them that she’s here.

Akutagawa isn’t able to move, much less walk downstairs with them to make it to her car. Dazai looks around for some kind of temporary wheelchair they can use for him, he’s almost certain he’s seen one in Yosano’s office, but before he can, Atsushi offers to help.

“I think he’s too out of it to try anything,” Atsushi says, looking over Akutagawa. “I’ll carry him. That’d be the fastest.”

Dazai nods, surprised Atsushi is suddenly offering to do something like that, despite all of his hesitancy to touch him earlier, but Dazai agrees. Akutagawa hasn’t even spoken a word since their conversation while Atsushi was asleep. Even though his fever hasn’t climbed, hopefully because of the fluids and the washcloths, he certainly feels much worse. And for Akutagawa, it takes quite a bit to truly silence him.

So, Atsushi slides his arm under Akutagawa’s neck and knees, looking a little surprised by how light he is, and brings him to the door. Dazai picks up Akutagawa’s coat, knowing they won’t hear the end of it if he doesn’t get that back.

Higuchi’s car is parked right outside the agency. She stands outside of her car with a sour expression, ready to tear into whoever speaks to her first, but it slides off like water to show a deep concern - horror, almost, like she thinks Atsushi is carrying a corpse. She doesn’t waste any time in opening the passenger car door and laying back the seat for Atsushi to lay Akutagawa onto. Her body language has changed completely, now aware her superior is in fact alive, but confused and scared all the same.

“Be careful that his fever doesn’t get any higher. It’s at a hundred and two,” Dazai tells her as soon as she looks to him, silently begging for some sort of explanation. He hands her Akutagawa’s coat. “He’s not injured, but very sick. Don’t let him get worse.”

“I - I won’t,” she says, nodding fervently. He thinks she’s deciding whether or not to say thank you, watching Atsushi click in Akuatgawa’s seat buckle with zero retaliation from the latter. He backs away before Higuchi carefully closes the car door, and Atsushi doesn’t look any less concerned than he did before. “You…found him, Weretiger?”

Atsushi nods.

“We haven’t been able to reach him for several days,” she says quietly, and Dazai realizes he must have been hiding on purpose. Atsushi is lucky to have found him. “I don’t understand why you would go out of your way to help him, but…thank you…”

Atsushi looks like he wants to say something, even though he’s unsure of his response, but Dazai turns and starts to walk back to the Agency door. Atsushi pauses for a second before he turns on his heel to follow Dazai, not able to gather the courage to say whatever it is he wanted her to hear.

Dazai hears her car’s engine start up before they close the building door behind them, and he trails back up the stairs, with about half an hour to spare until their Agency members’ arrivals.

"Dazai," Atsushi starts as they ascend the stairs, him trailing closely behind Dazai. "You're used to taking care of him."

“You could say that,” Dazai answers vaguely. He’s trying to decide if the two of them should go back to the dorms for ten minutes of sleep, but he knows he won’t catch any himself anyway. Might as well stay at the Agency.

"Was he sick a lot?" Atsushi asks as they make it to their floor.

"He was. Bad immune system, awful at taking care of himself," Dazai says, opening the Agency front door to let them into their office. He turns on the light, squinting as his eyes re-adjust. "Nothing's changed, seems like."

“He told me something,” Atsushi murmurs after a brief pause, like it’s not something he’s sure he can say. “About his health.”

Dazai’s shoulders drop an inch or two.

He’s told Atsushi. No one but Atsushi.

Dazai almost wants to laugh. What are the odds, that he would choose to tell Atsushi, of all people? Akutagawa says he doesn’t understand Atsushi, but Dazai is having a difficult time comprehending Akutagawa’s actions, at the moment.

“I don’t know if he thought he was gonna die, or…or why he’d want hide from all of them,” Atsushi says quietly, gaze averted when Dazai turns around to look at him. Dazai understands it. Akutagawa hates how delicately he’s treated on account of his health. He can’t stand others worrying about him. He can certainly imagine Akutagawa hiding away once he truly thinks he’s at the end of his life, like a stray dog looking for a hole to die in.

“You didn’t find him,” Dazai realizes, taking note of the change in body language, the subtle hints he’s given through his words, “he came to you.”

The street dog going to the house cat for help.

Atsushi has nothing to say to that, it seems.

Atsushi situates himself at his desk, straightening it out from the day before, quietly and to himself, still not quite focused and obviously tired, but Dazai’s glad he got a little bit of sleep, at least. He can feel his own eyelids start to feel heavy, but he needs to make sure the infirmary is clear of anything that might arouse their resident doctor’s suspicion.

So, he gets to work. Cleaning up any sign of Akutagawa’s presence. The cot, the IV pole, the IV catheter supplies. Atsushi peeks in and asks what he can do to help, but Dazai assures it won’t take him long at all, and Atsushi’s head disappears.

He’s rolling the IV pole back to his original place when he sees another form appear in the doorway, but it’s not Atsushi. Dazai holds his breath.

Yosano stands in the doorway with a huff.

"Do I even want to know?" she starts.

"Hm…probably not," he answers with a nervous half-smile, meeting her gaze just as he closes the closet supply door. She’s arrives just a second too early. Their doctor is a detective as well, he remembers, and likely would have figured it out no matter what.

He wishes Atsushi would have kept Akutagawa at his apartment, but it’s too late now. He would have had to sneak out supplies from here either way.

"Are you and Atsushi safe?" she asks, heels clicking against the cold floor as she enters the room. She’s closed the door behind herself, and Dazai leans against the supply closet door, feigning nonchalance.

Dazai nods.

"I don't like you betraying my trust,” Yosano says. He's not used to this tone in her voice. It's dark and it reminds him of someone he doesn't want to think about. He doesn’t see Agency Yosano right now. It’s ex-mafia Yosano, ex-military Yosano. Ever since she’s learned Dazai’s history, she’s been on edge with him, but she was never entirely comfortable with him before then.

"Won't do it again,” he says. He's trying to sound as casual as he can, but he's sure she can see right through him. He feels Mori staring at him. Not necessarily through Yosano’s eyes, but somewhere, here in this space. He needs to sleep.

Yosano raises a brow. "How do I know that?"

"I don't think you're heartless enough to want to send even your enemies to Mori for medical treatment, Yosano," Dazai tells her, more than aware she’s already figured out exactly who was in her infirmary.

"Surely it wasn't serious enough for Mori to need to intervene if you took him here," Yosano says. “You knew what you were doing. He taught you just as he taught me.”

He feels sick, hearing that.

"His doctor is in Kyoto and refuses to come treat him here. And tonight he needed help sooner than he could make it there," Dazai says. His chest tightens.

“You’re lying,” Yosano says. “Atsushi is here. He called you and asked you to help.”

Yes, she’s still a detective.

“I don’t know how long he has left to live. He has a terminal lung disease he won’t give me any information on,” Dazai huffs. “I don't want his last few months to be at the mercy of Mori's unlicensed experimentation when I can easily help him myself with what we have here. Maybe you'll agree."

Yosano’s expression changes completely. Like he’s told her something that he couldn’t possibly know about, unless -

“Dazai, did he…were you - ”

“Are we done?” he asks, already kicking himself for the shake in his tone. He just smiles. Smile and pretend nothing about this makes him want to bolt through the door and jump out of the window.

She pauses for a second. Dazai is begging and praying she doesn’t finish that question, because he doesn’t want to answer, but he thinks his reaction has probably been answer enough.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” Yosano says, her gaze dropping the floor, looking conflicted, angry with herself. “You can go.”

And, he does.

He manages to keep himself together long enough to avoid some sort of breakdown, manages to push away any thoughts or awful memories when he walks into their locker room, face to face with Kunikida, who looks concerned, but more confused.

"Dazai," Kunikida starts.

He really doesn't have the energy for an act right now. Even thinking about it hurts the muscles in his cheeks.

"Can I go home?" he asks quietly. He's exhausted. He wants to at least try to sleep, even though he’s certain he’ll get very little of that.

"I was about to ask you to," Kunikida says, closing his locker. "What happened?"

"Long story," Dazai answers. Kunikida gets the memo, and doesn't seem to want to continue questioning. Dazai’s beyond thankful for it. He doesn’t want to recount any of that. He’s far more content with coming in the next day and pretending he and Yosano are best friends with absolutely no shared history, that they don’t know a thing about what the other went through.

“I’ll bring you lunch later,” Kunikida says, thumbing through a notebook he had pulled from his locker.

It’s really a terrible time for a tear to slip from his eye. He didn’t have any idea he was close to crying. He must be ridiculously sleep-deprived.

“Dazai,” Kunikida says again, this time, with a tight grip on his wrist. “I’ll take you home. Okay?”

Dazai can only nod.

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