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crepesuzette2023 · 5 months

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Hi! Because someone just asked me, I'd love you hear your Top 5 favourite McLennon fics!

You made my day! Nothing could have made me happier than this ask.

I'm not going to evade your question. I will post my top-five, even though it hurts to choose. But you inspired me to finally write a longer (okay: very long) post about some (not nearly all!) of my favorites, which will be under the cut.

(Sorry for not knowing every writer's tumblr, by the way. Please feel free to let me know, so I can tag authors where appropriate. Thank you!)

My Top 5:

MIRACLE WORKER by @scurator. What can I say. Every time I need my heart broken and to feel an inkling of what grace truly means, I go to this masterpiece about Paul and Robert Fraser finding each other again at Cavendish in 1981.

COAST STARLIGHT by bookofapril is "Miracle Worker's" cosmic twin. The sun to its night. Paul and Robert Fraser on Fire Island in 1974. Nothing I can say will do it justice, so I won't try. This is the "other world" conjured in "Tug of War," so powerfully and joyfully imagined, it's real. (I'm always thinking of this story, but I did so extra hard when I came across a prompt recently: 'They aren't each other's first love, but they're each other's true love'.)

SAME AS IT EVER WAS by RedheadAmongWolves. My favorite Outsider's POV. An ageing newsstand owner from Liverpool remembers John and Paul as boys and young men. There's something magical about the relationship coming alive in these glimpses. A story filled with tenderness that reminds me to always look closely.

AN ORGASM OF SOUND by @pauls1967moustache. The insanity of John and Paul in 1967 got the tribute it deserves. I sleep easier since I read this story. It feels cosmically right that it exists.

PLANT A SEED by @eveepe. Paul in his slutty sailor outfit in Miami. He and John are into each other, and happy, and fuck slowly. Afterwards, Paul has an idea for a new song. That's it. Tender, glorious, hot perfection. Apply at least once a week for best results.

For more thoughts about some of my favorite stories, sorted into very much defined-ad-hoc categories, read under the cut.

Young Love:

I love the myth of their first meeting, and stories that speculate about the sexually loaded creative fireworks/gritty jealousies/tentative hand-holding/topping and tailing during the first years. Here are some faves:

Paul finds music, and John, and his life is changing. In STREETS OF OUR TOWN (@with-eyes-closed) you can taste the upheaval and promise of first love and growing up. Deeply sensual, even without on-page sex. The shaky, sweet, and all-consuming fire of John and Paul’s first kiss is immortalized in ALL I KNOW SINCE YESTERDAY (RedheadAmongWolves). In NON NOBIS SOLUM (@downtothe-lastdrop), art student John simply has to know how far grammar school boy Paul will go to please him. But Paul matches him play-by-play. In THE CAST IRON SHORE (@m1ssunderstanding) Paul earns extra money through music and sex. John finds out. They fall in love, and hide their mutual pining behind transactions—but in the end, they man up to pair up, and get their band back on track. (The first part is finished; I can’t wait for part 2.) John and Paul’s ’61 trip to Paris has been honored in fiction many times; WHEN YOU ARE YOUNG THEY ASSUME YOU KNOW NOTHING (@lilypadd23) is a slow-burning, blessedly long story that blossoms sweetly. DON’T THINK ABOUT IT is the concept by which Paul measures both his pining for John and their deeply satisfying (but surely not really queer?!) sex life. Perfectly realized Paul POV by @merseydreams. Finally: I NEED YOU DARLIN’ (verse) (by @beatlessideblog) would have fit many categories, but I put it here, because in the end, it’s about young John and Paul becoming friends, making music, having sex, and falling in love. No more, no less. Embedded in a late 50’s/early 60's Liverpool omegaverse in which there's a place for their bond. But, surprise (?!): It’s still complicated. I can’t overstate how charming and satisfying and funny and hot this work is.

Old John and Paul:

Is there anything as lovely as imagining John and Paul growing old together?

In HERE TODAY (@herspecialagent), John and Paul found happiness with each other in Scotland. On 8th December 1980, they invite friends for a party, and fight an inexplicable sense of doom. A reminder that our other lives can be closer than we think, and to keep our loved ones even closer.

GROW OLD WITH ME (@inherownwr1te): Old farmers and husbands John and Paul enjoy domestic bliss, deal with a broken arm, and make sweet love.

HAVING COFFEE (@feathersandblue): John Lennon and Paul McCartney, “one of the most iconic gay couples in history,” look back on their early love, the Beatles, and being outed in the 80’s, in this oh-so-glamourous, well-written 2020 portrait…

Magical re-tellings of J/P and/or the Beatles Story:

No matter where you come down on the blessed vs. cursed continuum—they were living through something magical.

In KISSING THE BLARNEY (@zilabee) the Beatles draw love and music from kissing Paul, and each other, until the stupid world interferes. But fear not, all ends well. How to tell the truth through whimsy: this story demonstrates it.

In WE ARE ALL TOGETHER (also by @zilabee), John and Paul switch bodies. It helps.

I WAS A YOUNGER MAN NOW (THEN) (POST HOC) BY @fingersfallingupwards: Paul is a time traveler and braids his life together with John’s, out of order, through the years. And yes, they do grow old together—but not without losing each other first. I’m in awe of this story.

A darker time-traveling story is A MATTER OF TIME (D12Fan), in which John and Paul love each other, over and over, and never manage to make it work—but Paul won’t give up.

FOR THOUGH THEY MAY BE PARTED (@downtothe-lastdrop): The misery of the 'Get Back' sessions and memory-stunting technology imported from “Severance” are not enough to kill off John and Paul’s attraction and longing for each other. Again, this is basically what happened, so.

John and Paul without the Beatles?

Yes, please! Sometimes, the best way to dissect and celebrate (and fix?) this mesmerizing and exasperating partnership is to lift it from its context and drop it elsewhere. Anything goes.

WHATEVER FATE DECREES by @dailyhowl: A gorgeous, finely spun, securely handled, self-contained vision of how John and Paul could have worked as artists in love, without a band to 'legitimize' and constrain their bond. I love this homage to their deep and complicated love that needed trust and breathing room.

1967 by @walkuntilthedaylight: What if John and Paul had gone to Spain together and not come back? This story not only explores their relationship layer by layer, it also dives into the the feelings of those who knew them 'before' and who now meet them again, as a couple. A fascinating alternate history. Not a fluffy one.

TOMORROW I'LL MISS YOU (@pauls1967moustache): Paul abandons John in Hamburg—or John stays behind without bothering to write, depending on who you ask. This "Before Sunset"—AU reunites them, years later. They ride a bus and write a song, and the love and tension are sweet and painful.

DOUBLE FANTASY (by @javelinbk): Modern AU in which John and Paul meet at John's flower shop and manage to ignore and creatively re-interpret their feelings for one another for a surprising amount of time, before fate has mercy. I love how their sweet, well-matched eccentricity makes the world a warmer place for both of them.

WE ARE STARDUST (Unchained_Daisychain): AU. John and Paul meet at Woodstock, fall hard and fast for each other, and have to decide what to do with it: Paul's life is back home in England...except...

Angst, darkness, and courage:

Pain, fear, grief, and other dark emotions are part of the real J/P story, so it makes sense to honor and harvest them in fiction. One of my favorite brands of McLennon angst is the one triggered by their feelings for each other, and the thing they become once they're together™. When they're scared of how much they need each other, and of what will happen next.

ONE AND ONE AND ONE IS THREE and MANAGING EXPECTATIONS (both by @pauls1967moustache), for instance. The first is a terrifying threesome with Yoko (at John's instigation, of course), in which trust is never rewarded and sex resolves nothing. The second is Paul wondering, in thoughts both messy and crystal clear, whether he exists independently of John. He turns to Brian for answers. They fuck. It feels like a human thing compared to what is going on in Paul's mind. Just astounding.

SUNDAY DRIVER (@boshemians) dives into the theme of Paul and John being afraid of themselves in the aftermath of Paul's accident (moped, sexual) with Tara Browne. This one, like "Managing Expectations," ends on a lovely grace note.

MACABRE (@dovetailjoints). Lennon and McCartney go too far.

OPEN HEART (@paisanas). Paul drinks John's blood. John lets him. But Paul starts to hate himself for how much he needs John, which John feels as rejection. I love how this story ends on Paul embracing his need. You can see the painful, bare bones of their malnourished love under the lush sensuality of the vampire sex. Raw and rich.

SILENCE (@ohjohnnysblog). Short and piercing. If there is someone you love—tell them. Don't wait.

THE LATE, GREAT JOHNNY ACE (@midchelle). Reeling with grief, Paul is recording an album in 1981. George and Ringo are there. John is not. But in the end—he is. And they touch. I've always admired Paul's resilience in the face of having to perform or "prove" his love of John in public, and this story showed me, without sugar-coating, where this resilience comes from.

Light, hope, and fixing things:

There is also much lightness and brightness in McLennon, because John and Paul were ridiculous, and horny, and weird. And also: they deserve a laugh. They deserve the fluffiest of happy endings. They deserve high-quality, life-affirming smut. They deserve silly, because silly is what they were. You know their names, look up their number.

1980. John is in BERMUDA (@scurator), Paul visits. Paul comes prepared, John just comes. Sometimes, it can be this simple. This story always leaves me in such a good mood. Paul is the (more) experienced one, and it...really works for me.

GOT TO GET DOWN (@eveepe): In praise of John's obsession with Paul's...precious. His small and perfect prick.

ADVENTURES IN TOTAL HONESTY (@merseydreams). Pithy and sexy, and, I quote from the tags: #Excessive Margarita Mixing.

ANINUT (@pauls1967moustache): The Beatles heal, together and separately, after Brian's death. Once more, I quote the writer: "The Beatles did not follow any of the Jewish mourning traditions, and frankly, they should have."

The unhinged weirdness of the Mad Day Out, with John and Paul escaping and Francie, Yoko and Mal not missing them...much, is rightfully celebrated in one of the insaner stories I read: JOHN, I'M ONLY DANCING (@skylikeaflame)

FAIR'S FAIR (@javelinbk): John and Paul are being silly during a press conference, resulting in acute arousal requiring John's skilled intervention. I love the unexpected care and tenderness in this one!

WHERE THE POETS WENT (RedheadAmongWolves): Tender and enchanted story in which Paul and John go to a bookstore, where they're not as famous as everywhere else. As delicate as the chiming doorbells and the pages murmuring around them.

TAKEN AWAY (@crumblingcookies) Extraterrestrial Intelligence intervenes to reunite John and Paul.

CAN I TAKE MY FRIEND TO BED? (manhattanvalleys). Paul fucks the band in sequence and gets off in the end, as is his due. This is a story like Prince's KISS. No filler, all effect.

THEY SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY (@ohjohnnysblog). Warm and nostalgic phone sex in the 70's.

KEEP THE LIGHT WE'RE GIVEN (@backbenttulips). Amidst the rise of Beatlemania, Paul and John expect their first child. This is Paul's 1962 diary.

More Outsider POV's:

STILL MATES (@pauls1967moustache): in 1968, Peter Asher takes the leap to act on his feelings for his sister's spiraling ex fiancé. This isn't about Paul as much as about Peter, and who he wants to be. Gutting character study. It made me love Peter.

ANOTHER GIRL (@boshemians): Astrid reunites with the Beatles during the making of AHDN and registers their words and deeds with the same stark objectivity as her camera. I love how she seeks the shelter of obscurity while they are being dragged into the limelight. But she sees them, wherever they are. J/P in this story feels incredibly real to me.

WHY BUY THE COW (RedheadAmongWolves). The milkman sees everything on his early morning rounds: the arrival of a nice new family, the McCartneys, the mother's illness, the sadness after her death...and the arrival of a new love in the older son's life. He shouldn't approve—should say something, in fact. But a small inner voice holds him back.

SLEEPLESS IN WALES (thinkpink20). Mike overhears Paul and John whisper in bed. He doesn't understand everything they say. I do. Adorable.

Not each other's first love, but each other's true love

THIS YEAR'S FOR ME AND YOU (@skylikeaflame): After a long life, after deep and loving partnerships with other people, John and Paul, encouraged by their grown-up children, finally meet their mutual love head on. A festive story about waiting the perfect amount of time.

THERE ARE ALWAYS FLOWERS (tarenas): The Beatles are in the past; John and Paul's love is in ashes. Paul, who is fragile and bereft, lives with George, who is content. The four ex-Beatles unite for the second wedding of Mike McCartney. At times, the aching grief in this story is almost unbearable. But the love between George and Paul is unusual and real. This is unfinished. I'll keep waiting for the final chapter.

Beyond J/P

WANT ME WHEN I'M NOT THERE (@backbenttulips): Linda catches Paul cheating on her with John. She divorces him. Finally: a story that puts her most likely reaction front and center, with no mercy for the messed-up geniuses.

In the Rebecca-AU LOVE LIKE GHOSTS (@backbenttulips), Yoko becomes Mrs. Lennon. Soon, she discovers that her husband is haunted by the ghost of his first love. It's pleasing how well this re-telling matches the events as they (alas) (almost) happened. The ending is chilling. Genuinely horrifying. I love seeing Yoko as the sensible one and as the focus of empathy.

THE BASS LESSON (@aquarianshift). Paul and Stu fool around without letting go of their mutual resentment for even a moment. And it works. "Let's never do this again." I don't think so.

TELL ME ALL MY LOVE'S IN VAIN (@midchelle). Forget about quote unquote platonically obsessed male rock stars: This about about Maureen and Patti through the years. The web weaving continues.

SPOTLIGHT ON JOHN AND STU (@dailyhowl) A love story in letters—too brief, like Stu's life, but sounding as if the writer transcribed their dictation. Some of the best descriptions of what it must have been like to play on stage with the Beatles during the mania are in NO I IN THREESOME (@with-eyes-closed). George finds himself in the beam of attention between John and Paul, and nearly loses his mind. But he's determined to stay and become part of them. Paul is daddy and "fucks like music" as seen through George's eyes. The whole story is vicious and hot and uncomfortable—until there's the love and quiet at the eye of the storm.

Not for the faint of heart! WHAT THE CIGGIE CARTON SAW (@waveofhand): Paul McCartney having his way with cigarettes.

This is getting out of hand...but I'll stop here. There are so many more stories I love. And I can think of many other categories that would deserve their own post.

So, who knows: To be continued?

#fic rec #mclennon #mclennon fanfiction #mclennon fic #asks #fic recs #overall favorites fic recs

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staretes · 7 months

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Hello may I request an ex husband Jing Yuan x reader?

diverging paths

synopsis: "til death do us part" were the words uttered by you and jing yuan on the happiest day of your life, promising to love and cherish each other for the rest of your long lives. but what are promises, but words to be broken? or, jing yuan sees you, decades after your separation, now a bystander to the life that once revolved around him w/c: 0.7k tags: jing yuan x reader, angst, not proofread a/n: thank you anon for sending me this!! (sorry for the angst HAHA) i think i like it?? it may be ooc but i can never tell?

jing yuan is fine. he's perfectly fine.

he's sitting by a stall in aurum alley, savouring one of the rare moments of his free time with yanqing, when suddenly you stroll past, accompanied by someone else. it's like time stops around him, and his eyes are no longer able to see anything but you.

it's been decades since he's last seen you. you look more confident. happier. you've changed so much without him. your lips form a beaming smile, one that was once reserved for him, and your fingers are intertwined with your lover in a soft, everlasting grasp.

oh.

your hands look so strange without a wedding band on your finger. jing yuan himself had stopped wearing his ring, leaving the broken symbol of the eternal love both of you promised each other hidden in his bedside drawer. he wonders why you stopped wearing it. maybe you, like him, felt the icy guilt stabbing into his chest whenever your ring comes into sight.

but that couldn't be right. after all, you did nothing worthy of guilt.

maybe, just maybe, you left behind the ring shackling your hands to free yourself of the marriage that had kept you trapped for so long. jing yuan imagines how unrestricted you must feel, like a bird soaring out from its cage, no longer burdened by a dying marriage.

"jing yuan, this isnt working." this was bound to happen, jing yuan thinks. as general of the luofu, he carries the weight of the entire ship on his shoulders. he’s seen the bitter eyes hidden by your understanding smile whenever he was whisked away to deal with the luofu’s every stain and smudge. he’s arrived late and left early on every date, anniversary and birthday you’ve tried to spend with him. when was the last time he even slept in the same bed as you? it’s almost impressive that you’ve lasted 300 years in this empty marriage. throughout these years, he’s watched as the passion and vibrance drain from you, as you poured your love into him, and he took it all, not leaving a single drop for you. “ I’ll be there, next time,” he tells both himself and you. after all, you’ve been there for him all this time. but time and time again, he shatters your trust, leaving you to pick up the pieces and glue them back together all by yourself. it would be cruel to keep you caged in this neglected marriage. so jing yuan let you go without a single question. *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* jing yuan remembers the last time he sees you. this is the crossroad, where the two of you part ways, where you'll be free to journey through your long, happy life. "you'll be fine, right?" you ask, your eyes meeting his. "of course, " he lies through a smile. after all, you've already wasted enough of your concern on him. "i wish you well, (name)." he speaks again, but this time, his words are nothing but sincere. "alright then." you say resoundingly, but the doubtful worry does not fade from your eyes. however, it does not matter, as your gaze drops to the ground. "i wish you well too," you tell him and you leave, all the same.

"general, aren't you at all sad?" he hears yanqing inquire curiously from behind him. “they were once your lover right? qingzu told me.”

it’s at this point that jing yuan realises that he’s been staring at you with a blank expression on his face. hurrying to recover, he faces his young apprentice.

“you should know better than to listen to qingzu.” he chuckles half–heartedly. “but yes, they were my lover. however, we found that we worked better apart. sometimes yanqing, when you love someone, you have to learn to let them go.”

“but don’t you miss them?” yanqing asks further, his young mind still confused.

"i do," he admits. “ but i have wonderful memories of them, and i will cherish those memories always.” always is an understatement, jing yuan thinks, for in his long life ahead, he promises to never let the memories of you fade away.

his gaze lands back on you. you haven’t even noticed him. you’re still walking with your partner, oblivious to the rest of the world. jing yuan knows the feeling. his eyes soften as he watches you laughing and smiling, walking away from him without a glance cast his way.

he hopes you’re happy.

#[✦ - archives!]#jing yuan x reader #jing yuan angst #hsr imagines #hsr x you #hsr x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x gender neutral reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #i hate tagging omg #jing yuan imagines

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mlm-writer · 10 months

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If I Should Become a Stranger (Smokescreen x GN!Reader)

Pairing: Smokescreen (TFP ver.) x Human!Gender Neutral!Reader Rating: General Audiences Words: 1608 POV: Second Summary: Smokescreen left you over a decade ago to rebuild Cybertron and until today, you had not heard from him since. Note: Read a Transformers novel and then it really dawned on me how beings with such a long life span must view time differently. So this fic explores that a little. Inspired by this song. Tags: angst, hurt no comfort (for smokey tbh), breakup from Smokescreen’s POV and song fic.

Humans would argue that in war, there was nothing as precious as love. In war, one should hug one's friends more often, hold one's family tighter and kiss one's lover longer. Such was the philosophy of men; cherish what you have now you have it. It was quite befitting to a race with such short lives. Cybertronian's however…

Even in war, many acted like life would never end. There was plenty of time to fight one's friends. There was even more time to find it in you to mend things, patch up the wounds you created together. Even when friends started to lose the light in their optics, when the streets started to fill with the husks of neighbours, when tomorrow was more a wish than a promise, even then, Cybertronians were often found doing anything but cherishing the moment.

Smokescreen was no different. Sure, he was impatient and young by comparison, but even to him, everything seemed to be able to wait, 'fore there will be a later. Hence why he had no reservations about going to Cybertron to rebuild. Hence why he could look upon his human lover with a smile as bright as the full moon on a clear night, while saying his goodbyes. "I'll see you soon," he had said while swaggering backwards into the space bridge. You had believed him as much as you had loved him back then.

"Hey Ratchet, any messages for me?" You asked as you always did when visiting the medic at the old base. Ratchet looked down at you with those same sorry optics. He didn't need to say anything, but he always gave you the courtesy of an answer.

"I'm sorry, there has been no communication for you," he spoke evenly, trying to keep the pity out of his voice. It was always like that. At first you stopped by every few days, then weekly, monthly, every few months… at some point you forgot to go altogether. You moved for work, so it was suddenly a whole journey to come visit. You got fired from that job, then you got a new job. You fell in love, got your heart broken, broke a limb, healed both and what else? It was just life - life without sentient alien robots, explosions and secret government missions.

It almost seemed like it had all been a dream. You had almost forgotten about all the adventures of your youth, were it not for that scar on your arm you got from a brief brush with Soundwave at the satellite array. That was just the start, but somehow you made it through several threats to the planet fairly unscathed. That scar on your arm was the only big reminder you had of those days aside from the pictures stuffed in a box in your garage, somewhere on a shelf that was too high for you to reach without a chair to stand on.

You were about to drive back from work to that garage when you caught sight of a familiar car in the parking lot. The colours were not as you remembered them, but it was strange to see a sports car like this at an office like yours. You stared at the vehicle for a long time and then sighed, before opening the driver's door to your car. However, as soon as you opened the door, the sports car you had been staring at earlier flashed its lights and started honking. You squinted your eyes and closed the door again.

You locked your car and walked over to the other car that was making a ruckus. As soon as you approached, it quieted down and the driver’s door opened on its own. Against your best judgement, you got in. When you sat down, the seat belt wrapped itself around you and the engine revved to life. “Missed me?” A familiar voice came from the radio as the car drove out of the parking lot to God-knows-where. However, hearing that voice, you felt no fear, no worries, just a deep-seated resentment that had been dormant for many years.

“Smokescreen,” you greeted your ride with a tight voice. Said Autobot made a joke about how you simply could not forget him. It only angered you more. You had forgotten, mostly, until now. After that greeting, the air chilled down and not a word was exchanged, until Smokescreen pulled up at the side of an abandoned road. There used to be a factory at the end of it, but since the building had been decommissioned, no one used the road anymore; it was leading to virtually nowhere nowadays.

The seat belt unfastened and you got out. When your shoes hit the dusty ground, the vehicle transformed into a shape that you used to know. You marvelled at his size as if it was the first time you witnessed his transformation. Cybertronians did not age, but that young face you used to know seemed more mature anyway. There was something about his gaze that got more intense, more serious. There was a slouch in his posture that was the telltale weight of responsibilities befitting an adult.

Smokescreen whispered your name after a while of quiet staring. “Why are you here?” You inquired as a response. Hurt was evident on his face, but you thought it was a valid question. For over a decade, there was radio silence. Why would he be here if not for another danger looming over your planet?

Smokescreen let out a scoff. “To see you of course!” He beamed in spite of everything. It was your turn to scoff as you crossed your arms. Your ex looked you over and then, very intelligently, said: “You’ve become bigger! That’s really cool! I forgot humans could do that… Want to go to the drive-in theatre today?”

You sighed and turned to walk back to your car. It was gonna be a long walk, but you were stubborn and too prideful to tell him to drive you back. “There are no drive-in theatres in this area..”

You barely got a few steps away when Smokescreen yelled from behind you. “I should have left you a message! I’m sorry!” You kept walking, tears prickling in your eyes. “I forgot!” He added as if it was a valid excuse.

“Well, I forgot who you are!” You yelled over your shoulder, speeding up your walking. You heard your ex transform behind you and like a bad movie, he started driving next to you. All that was missing was pouring rain, but the sky was so clear, you could see the many constellations gradually making themselves known.

He was driving with the door closest to you open, trying to get you to get in. “Come on! It has not been that long! I admit I have changed a little, but I’m still me, your Smokey…” You tried to block his voice out, stubbornly trudging on down the abandoned road. “I came back, because I started talking about you so much, Arcee practically shoved me into the space bridge to shut me up. It’s been like my processors always circle back to you.” He swerved and came to a halt right in front of you, forcing you to stop walking. “I told you I would see you soon…”

You took a deep breath, ensuring that whatever you said next would be spoken in a normal, even tone. Smokescreen reverted back to bot mode, looking at you with pleading optics that could once pull your heartstrings. However, those times were long behind you. “Smokescreen,” you started like you were lecturing a child, “it has been like what? A decade and some? That may not be a long time for you, but I am human. A decade right now is about a third of my life. You made me wait a third of my life. Does that sink in with you?”

Smokescreen seemed to shrink, pinned under your intense gaze. “I’m sorry,” he muttered eventually. His servos clenched and unclenched. You could see his processors working overtime, just to formulate a response. “I guess you’re right. Cybertron has become quite lively. I proved myself a leader. I made a lot of new friends… Maybe it is a long time…” For someone with a seemingly endless supply of RAM, he was awfully slowly putting the events of the past decade in perspective. His voice trailed off after every sentence. Eventually he just whispered one last thing. “A third…”

You pitied him. You had enough time to mend the heart he broke many years ago. To him, however, he came back like he said, just to find what he left behind to no longer exist. Without a word he transformed into his alt mode. “I’ll take you back,” he stated. You did not resist this time and got in.

The drive back was quiet. You did not speak. He did not speak. Only white noise filled the spaces between one heavy spark and only a slightly lighter heart. He drove you back to the parking lot where you had your car. You were about to get out when you heard his voice one last time. “For what it is worth, let me just say: I love you. You’re the best thing I ever had.”

In spite of him being a stranger from the past, your heart ached. “Your life is long. You’ll love again. Don’t worry.” You patted the steering wheel and then got out. You did not look back and by the time you sat in your car, your car was the only one in the parking lot with the lights on.

#smokescreen #tfp smokescreen #smokescreen x reader #gender neutral reader #male reader #transformers #tfp #Transformers Prime #transformers x reader #transformers x gender neutral reader #transformers x male reader #tfp x reader #tfp x male reader #tfp x gender neutral reader #hasbro

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tu-sugar-mami · 10 months

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Could a queer bitch possibly ask a solid?, remember the “heavily injured s/o” you did for Alcina …….

……but Donna

Holy cows, I'm sorry for being so late but work has had me on a chokehold 😩 I tried to make it a lil longer than Alcina's one for your reading pleasure and for your patience, so enjoy! 💖✨

Words: 1,910

Tags: Light angst, fluff, happy ending, neutral gender reader

_________________________________________

The Beneviento estate had always been a quiet place, occasionally disturbed by a tornado of chaos named Angie, but aside from that and the roaring of the nearby waterfall, the place was pretty serene. Quiet but in a good way, there were always light sounds such as the ticking of the grandfather clock creating a pleasant background noise enough for the silence to not be overwhelming, and Donna liked it that way. Although, when you arrived, Donna learned that silence wasn't everything. With you she learned the joys of a fun ruckus on a chase and its balance with the quietness of reading a book near the window after it.

Despite stirring Donna's routine into a 'whatever will it be next?' lifestyle, you became Donna's constant, the only thing that she could count on that wouldn't change, always being there by her side and showing her a whole new side of her world.

Although, you developed a tendency to wander through the manor. At first it was difficult for Donna to allow you to do so, since her inner demons always tried to convince her you did it as an attempt to "escape" from her, but when you -through patience and love- showed her that you were going nowhere, she encouraged you to explore the home that little by little became also yours.

Sometimes though, the feeling of restlessness and anxiety returned when she didn't hear the noises you made while exploring. The sound of the heel of your shoes scraping against the floorboards, your distant laughing or the creaking of the old stairs under your weight became her anchor, something she could rely on to know that you'd keep loyal to your word and stay with her.

But all the nice and calm things can't last long in house Beneviento.

It was the silence that alerted her. A cold and echoing silence that made a chill run down her spine in worried anticipation. Not even Angie could be heard running around in a hurry. The birds outside were not singing, the clock ticking seemed to have lost its strength and with them all the waterfall roaring also dimmed. The entire house and its surrounding gardens seemed to hold their breath expectantly, and Donna in her many years living there had never witnessed such horrid and deafening quietness.

It took her a second after she realized something was wrong to go looking for you, checking every room and frowning when she didn't spot any speck of your face in the halls. Even the rest of her dolls, always scattered all around the manor, weren't able to tell her anything about your whereabouts, much less about what was happening, but she tried to stay serene, although there was only so much she could handle.

Desperation slowly clawed at the Lady, you weren't answering to her calling out your name with urgency. The thought of you leaving her despite reassuring her many times that you wouldn't do it stabbed her heart. Did you break your promise? Where were you? Where was Angie? It had been a long time since she was last completely alone, only before you arrived into her life. Even Angie, her beloved doll had always been by her side, and if being glued to her side wasn't possible, she was at least always close, why wasn't she answering either?

The lower level was empty aside from her dolls, and she didn't know where else to look. Her knees felt weak from all the running around in your search, and her lungs stung with the effort of yelling your name.

That is until a quiet voice called out to her. Distant but strong enough for her to react. Her connection to her dolls had always been stronger the more they were close, and the further away they were, the more difficult it was for the connection to be clear. But this voice, inconsolable, reached for her with a level of panic that had Donna stumbling against the furniture and walls in her path as she hurriedly ran towards her doll calling her.

Help

The sweet voice repeated the word again and again, and Donna's heart clenched every time.

The plea came from the lowest level in the basement, a place not even Donna herself -being the owner of the estate- would visit frequently. The only thing there was darkness, cold and… a stone well.

Her doll's calling became louder, and she didn't waste a moment before climbing down the stairs bringing an oil lamp to illuminate her path.

It was hard to see at first, but the light provided was more than enough to illuminate your limp body onto the well's bottom.

Her blood ran cold. It was so shocking to see her beloved like this, her always resilient and full of energy sunshine who brightened every room, now defeated on the ground before her. Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought that crossed her mind briefly as lightning but not any less painful. She couldn't bear it if she lost you, she had lost so much in her life, she couldn't possibly lose you too, it would be her last straw.

Donna fought the tremble in her knees to approach you and settle down at your side, defeated, before noticing something.

Your breathing was shallow and Donna would have missed it were it not for the whistle that came from your nose every time you exhaled, but that was enough to bring new tears to her eye and with them renewed hope.

She decided to be careful in her approach, and gently analized the situation. She couldn't believe it, your arm was bent in an awkward position, one that definitely shouldn't be possible unless something was broken, and that was enough to let Donna guess you had fallen from the well border, but the question was how?

Not only that, but when she brought the lamp closer and the rest of the shadows crawled away she could make out Angie's dress peeking from under you, and it's only then that she noticed her beloved doll being held protectively in your embrace, but also unmoving.

Donna knew she had to act quickly, and she lifted you easily -her strength thanks to the Cadow was one of the things she was grateful for in times like this- in sort of an inverted piggyback style, to allow her to climb up the stairs, careful to keep Angie and your injured arm cradled in against both your bodies.

Only god knows how long you were out before your eyes, albeit groggily, opened again. It took you a moment before realizing you were in your shared bed with Donna, who was lying next to you far enough to not disrupt or accidentally hurt you, but close enough for you to feel the dip of the bed from her weight.

Your shifting made her come out of her light slumber in a blink, and her eyes widened as soon as she realized you were awake. Her sight became blurry, and she let out a sigh of relief and reverence. How were you so beautiful even in this state, she couldn't understand, but goodness her breath was taken away. All she could do was try to keep her relieved tests at the sight of you being alive and well again.

Gently, almost as if scared of hurting you, Donna's cold hands found their way towards your face and her thumbs began to caress your cheeks. The touch made you feel better, soothing the uncomfortable warmth of your cheeks, and in return you held one of her hands with your free own and tenderly kissed her palm. At that moment, Donna swore she could never live without you.

The Lady felt a pang of guilt and sorrow every time you winced away from her touch, not because of her, but because your body still complained about your wounds, but the sting in her heart made her promise she wouldn't let you get hurt again. You had become so important to her that the mere thought of not having you in her life made her sick.

After getting out of the well and successfully carrying you to the bedroom she had needed to clean the bleeding wounds from when your skin was scratched by the pebbles and stone and made use of her first aid knowledge to fix your arm and secure it. Tears would blurry her sight every time you winced at the sting of the cotton and antiseptic and the movement of your mauled bone.

Although, both basking in eachother's presence in a lovely rosy-orange afternoon in the comfy bed, it felt like heaven, and even if you were aching everywhere, you weren't complaining, not with the way Donne looked at you, with such love and wonder.

If Donna was shy about kissing you too much before, that definitely wasn't the case after the incident. Every hour your face and lips would be peppered by soft kisses and tender touches, and who were you to deny them? Your blush did speak a lot.

She would check your bandages far too often, but you can't really blame her. It was quite the nasty fall, and your arm did suffer an ugly break, but Donna's care was tender and patient, loving and effective. Besides, you discovered that if you let out a fake pained whimper you would immediately be granted comfort in the way of your Lady holding you close and letting you hide your face in the crook of her neck and sweet words to accompany her sweet scent. While it might have been amusing, you could guess that the calls she gave Moreau every half an hour to consult about your broken arm were starting to tire him, and you tried to keep her attention on you rather than smothering your friend Sal with health questions for your sake.

Also, the arm you fell on had been your dominant one, and while you had no problems trying to use the other in your daily activities, Donna insisted on feeding you herself. Your favorite spoon would be wielded by her while she fed you your favorite meal that she made with such care, and snacks were not lacking either, your bedside table drawer became full with every little thing you had told Donna you liked to munch on. Honestly, you didn't even know how to thank her anymore for all the effort she put in taking care of you.

For a faster recovery, Donna took it upon herself to ensure you had the best sleep you could have, but between wanting to not accidentally hurt you and her need to be close to you, she decided that the only solution would be letting you sleep on top of her at night, with her arms secured gently around you while humming sweet melodies and gently cooing you until you were knocked out by such comfort.

Angie (after recovering too and explaining that you went after her to prevent her from getting too close to the well's border but accidentally slipping and cushioning her own fall with your body) helped as best as she could, bringing compresses and new bandages along with medicine and soothing cream.

The next day after the incident the well was sealed shut, and you spent the rest of the month being spoiled rotten by a very affectionate Lady and her energetic doll.

_________________________________________

If you'd like you can also swing by my kofi

#donna beneviento x reader #lady beneviento x reader #donna beneviento #lady beneviento #re8 #my fic #asks #request

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slytherinsallows · 1 month

Text

In The Shadow Of Serpents

- A Dark Sebastian Sallow Series

Majorly inspired by my Dark Seb series on TikTok

Synopsis: Many years after leaving Hogwarts, Ominis is telling his and Mc’s children the downfall of his old friend turned dark Wizard, Sebastian Sallow…

Disclaimer: this is not at all how I see Sebastian, it’s just a twist on what his character could’ve become and is just a concept!

Tags and triggers include: Drugging, 18+ content and themes throughout, read at your own risk!

“It’s our decisions that make us who we really are”

[Intro- the main story is set in the past of these events]

Summer - 1915

(somewhere in the Scottish highlands)

Ominis’ two children laughed as they ran into the living room of their little cottage, excited for yet another one of their father’s enriching bedtime stories. Ominis would always smile widely as they’d fight the urge to close their eyes, too invested in the story to go another day not knowing the ending.

The two had inherited their father’s icy blonde locks, with both even going as far as shocking their parents by speaking parsel tongue to a grass snake one night. Ominis loved them both dearly, and would never change them for the world, but some part of him had always hoped they’d inherit Mc’s traits and talents over his…

He ran a hand through his blonde,- going- silvery locks for an idea for tonight, before falling upon a deep and dark memory that had sat stagnant in his mind since he was a boy. The slytherin cleared his throat as Ivy and Jasper, his troublesome twins, finally got comfy and waited patiently for their father to begin the story.

Ominis sighed softly, inaudibly. He thought they were old enough to learn about their parents past now, it was time…

“A long time ago, I had a friend called Sebastian. He was friendly and smart, that was until, his sister fell ill. Though he always loved to read, he turned to books in the dark arts and started to practice unforgivable curses…

Your mother and I… couldn’t support him any longer after he killed his own uncle and we made the decision to send him to Azkaban. Many years later we received an owl saying he’s escaped. No one knows where he is now. But he’s out there…somewhere…”

The two children turned to look at eachother in confusion at the story. Normally Ominis stories were about fairies and magic and fun, not his past and…dark wizards… especially not in this tone…

“He’s one of the most dangerous wizards still out there” Ominis swallowed. “But me and your mother will always keep you safe, as long as we shall live, you have nothing to worry of my darlings.”

Just as he finishes his sentence Mc quietly enters the room, clasping a cup of her home brewed tea, curling up on the sofa like a cat, smiling happily at her little family. “What did I miss?” She smiles as she cozies up, curious as to what story her husband had thought up tonight.

Ominis coughs. “Hello dear. I was just telling them about Sebastian Sallow” he says, biting his lip softly as he awaits his wife’s reaction.

Mc’s face turns pale as she almost drops the tea out her hand. “Sebastian?” She says the word as if it isn’t quite real, as if it’s been so long she needed to brush off its cobwebs.

Ominis nods. “Yes dear”

Mc sighs quietly as she slowly brings the teacup up to her lips.

“I remember well”

*Flashback to Summer, 1890*

[Main story begins here]

Chapter 1: Hanging by the thread

Sebastian looks tired, slumped into a chair in the library as he stirs his butterbeer for the thousandth time while flicking the forbidden pages of the restricted section’s literature. He couldn’t sleep though, hell no, that would just amplify his sickening guilt at how he hasn’t found a cure yet.

It was taking forever, and though he demanded (and got) all the help anyone could ask for, the cure seemed to be running from him. The further he delved into his books, the further hope seemed to fade away…

He heard the library clock strike midnight and decided that was enough for today, picking himself up and navigating the twisting corridors of hogwarts back to the slytherin dorm room.

When he arrived Ominis was already fast asleep, lips slightly parted as he lay on his side, hand twitching every so often as if he were lost in some dream. Sebastian deduced he was probably dreaming about Mc, as much as he wished he would not think of her that way… but that was something he was letting take it’s course for now.

The slytherin stretched and yawned as he quickly undressed and slid under the covers, determined to make progress again tomorrow.

The brunette tossed and turned in the night, having a restless sleep, if you could even call it that, riddled with dreams of Goblins doing awful acts…a flashback to Anne being cursed on the cliff next to his home being replayed over and over again in his mind. It filled the boy with this unbreakable rage, only to be satisfied with an act of revenge.

These dreams continued until he heard a familiar well spoken voice.

Ominis broke a nervous smile.

“Late night again I’m assuming?”

Sebastian sat up slightly dazed at the question, ruffling his chestnut hair into something presentable, as if Ominis could somehow see it or even could care.

“Mhm… researching again, you know…” He said, his morning voice a little gruff and hoarse.

“And…. Did you get any further?” Ominis laid his words down delicately and softly, knowing how loose the thread that held their friendship together was now becoming. Ominis was always a master of this, having learned it from being the only kind hearted Gaunt beside his aunt, always having to hedge his words to avoid provoking an argument…

Even so, finding ways to prevent Sebastian’s fiery tantrums proved exceedingly difficult nowadays, and he never knew when the boy would go off on another of his dark tangents. It was hard watching his best friend destroy himself this way, and in a way, it was destroying a part of him…

Sebastian sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes, knowing well he couldn’t go into detail of his thoughts and plans around his Goblin filled dream as Ominis would definitely give him a lecture. He decided he was going to keep quiet and discuss it later with Mc in under undercroft. Along with some other things…

“No, but fuck do I need some caffeine.” He groaned.

They got ready quickly and headed to the great hall for breakfast, making small talk about their classes that day. Any outsider looking in wouldn’t be able to see the threads in their friendship tearing, at least.

Mc was already sat in her designated spot when they arrived, legs crossed as she nibbled on some toast, doing something so mundane yet looking ethereal to them both. The twinkle in her eye as she saw them both headed to her, cheeks turning a warmer shade of pink.

Sebastian licked his lips unknowingly at the sight of her, his mind wandering to their steamy sessions in the undercroft in the past. Their last one was weeks ago now, and he was getting withdrawal from her touch. His body burned to be ontop of hers, to be intertwined with her like he had been so many times before.

He was far from happy when she confessed to him her feelings for Ominis, and although he only saw it as two friends having some fun in the beginning, the boy came to love her deeply… and the only obstacle was his own best friend… not that Ominis even knew of their escapades yet…

Sebastian swallowed his thoughts and sat down, grasping for the coffee that was already half way down the slytherin dining table. Ominis tutted as he heard Sebastian down the entire cup in one go, not once stopping for air.

Mc tries to hold back a giggle at the sight of it, earning her a wink from Sebastian. She tries to ignore it out of respect of her dual feelings for Ominis but her cheeks betrayed her, blushing anyway. At the end of the day Sebastian still held some power of her, as much as she hated it. It was much simpler before all these romantic feelings appeared, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that this friendship trio wasn’t what it once was…

Ominis shifted uncomfortably in his chair, picking up on Mc’s laugh, digesting that familiar feeling of being left out, and thought he hated to admit it, jealousy.

Breakfast wrapped up and the bells rang for first lesson, prompting everyone to slowly pack up and leave. Ominis quietly said goodbye, mostly to Mc, before using his wand to navigate next period’s classroom.

Before Mc could even register his goodbye Sebastian took her wrist, pulling her in a spin to face him. She blinked in surprise, suppressing another harsh blush from appearing as that charming smile she dreaded spread across his face. “I want to meet you later….in the undercroft” he growled in her ear, brushing her hair behind it as he rubbed her arm possessively. Mc bit down on her lip, knowing she shouldn’t be letting this happen again, determined to say no to him for once. Another visit to Sebastian wasn’t going to help her fix this love triangle… but that face made it bloody hard to refuse.

“Uhm… okay, but I can’t be long. I promised to spend time with…” she trailed off, realising he’d react. The dark haired slytherin raised an eyebrow, prompting her to finish. This boy could see through her lies like polished glass- there was no use. She sighed.

“Ominis”

Sebastian rolled his eyes in distaste but strangely didn’t say anything and let go of her.

“Undercroft.” He repeated, before disappearing to his class, leaving Mc stood there alone, having a good idea of what lay in store for her later…

A/N: Feedback is appreciated! I hope to make this a full length fic! Chapter 2 coming soon :) Stay tuned!

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow fanfiction #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis x reader #sebastian sallow smut #ominis gaunt smut #dark sebastian sallow

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satoruvt · 4 months

Text

spent every autumn getting taller

pairing → yoon jeonghan x reader

word count → 482

genre → angst mostly ↳ tags: hm. immortality, sadness, past lives, anxiety... not very much since its so short LOL

song inspo → years on by novo amor

warnings → mentions of blood!!! and death. nothing super explicit but still!!

a/n → hi guys im not sure if ill ever write this entire fic but heres an excerpt i guess. novo amor released a couple singles and i wanted to kill myself over it and they immediately reminded me of this fic saur. here we are! no banner we die like men (im too lazy)

You remember when his hair was black.

Dark as can be, messy and fluffy, royal even without a crown to shine throughout the strands. He looked younger then, but he looks young now, too. Maybe... no. You watched it happen. He couldn't be like you.

Cursed to live a thousand lifetimes. Cursed to never die. Cursed to see it all.

But he's real, in front of you, even still. He stands with the same pink in his cheeks and nose, the same glimmer to him. A gentle smile, slim frame, crooked fingers. But his hair is blonde now, down to the roots. Longer, too.

When your eyes start to water with tears you blink them away, trying not to think about how it's been centuries. Is he the same him? Does he recognize you? Does he resent you for what you did to him?

"Hi," he says. his voice shatters your heart and you realize that until now you could never really remember what it sounded like. "I'm Jeonghan."

He says it like you don't remember. Like you haven't spent the last 600 years thinking about him, writing down every memory you have of him so you have something to hold on to. You can't meet his eyes, weak and scared. "You are...?"

In what feels like a whisper, you tell him your name. There are a million possibilities, you know, a million reasons for why he's here. If he doesn't remember, is it even him? Is it some awful, strange coincidence? Some other soul sharing the same face?

(If it is him, you hope he doesn't remember. That cult, tales of a rebirth. A sacrifice. You woke up in the forest alone, covered in dirt and his blood. You searched for his body for so long. You still do not know where he's buried.)

You look at him in the eyes, and it's like a shot of electricity.

A flash of something you cannot name strikes you. Almost makes you physically jump back, but you stand still, succumb to the goosebumps all over your body in a small shiver. Jeonghan -- the new Jeonghan -- looks at you strangely, brows furrowed. You hope he doesn't ask. You're not sure you can manage more than a few words to him.

"Have we met before?" he asks suddenly. You feel spineless, liquid, like you could melt through the floor. The world shifts and spins.

"Um," you start, voice shaky. Your eyes flicker between his and the ground. "I think we had a class together, maybe last semester."

You're just making things up. But it sounds better than everything you've wanted to say to him. I love you. I miss you. I'm sorry. What have I done. Where did you go.

Jeonghan hums. It reminds you of the peach tree in the palace gardens, laying in the grass in the summer. The stars that first night, and his smile in the candlelight.

"Maybe," he seems to agree.

#i just think the violins in this song sound like him #svt x reader #svt imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan imagine #svt jeonghan x reader #seventeen jeonghan x reader #svt jeonghan imagine #seventeen jeonghan imagine

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sinofwriting · 1 year

Text

Sweet Nothing - Clay Spenser

Words: 4,912

Note(s): This is a long one that I honestly did not want to end. Also this is x reader but she goes by the nickname Mira. And anything in italics unless stated otherwise is them speaking Urdu. (Oh, and title is of course from a Taylor Swift song)

Tagging @nerdyreaderpapi who said they were really excited for this. Hope they and everyone else enjoys this.

Summary: Clay has a wife and no one believes him. He’s been a part of Bravo for eight months, the wife excuse is getting old, got old after the first month and yet he sticks to it, despite the fact that they never met her, don’t know her name, or seen a single picture of her.

Turning his phone on, a tired smile crosses his lips at the sight of his lockscreen and he can’t help the way his thumb caresses the screen as he mouths the words on it that he knows by heart, a yawn leaving him in the middle as he adjusts to being awake.

The always there ache in his heart, grows now that they’re so close to being home. And he has to resist rubbing at his chest. He didn’t need to catch Trent’s attention, the medic was like a mother hen to all of the team, but especially him since he was the youngest.

Unlocking his phone, he goes to his texts and scrolls through his missed texts, body relaxing into his hammock as he looks at the texts from his wife. Some just random tidbits of things she had to translate, or things she had to buy that they ran out of, things she made for dinner, how she forgot to pick her meds up but not to worry because she did end up getting them, just a week later than she should’ve and he can ignore the email from the pharmacy about it, and that yes Clay she knows she hopeless without him and she’s more than okay without.

He lets out a chuckle at one of her texts telling him that she wants a dog and he needs to stop dragging his feet about it.

“It’s been nearly a year, husband. The longer we go without any paws running about, the more I’ll want.”

He lifts his eyes from his phone, letting them drift around until they land on Brock who’s also laying in his hammock, though he’s more upright, Cerberus in between his legs.

“Hey, Brock.” “Hmm?” Clay doesn’t notice that the rest of the team have also turned their attention to Clay. It wasn’t often that the kid was talkative after missions, especially one like this one. “I’ve been meaning to get a dog, anything I should keep in mind with Cerb?” The dog lifts its head at his name, tail wagging as he looks at Clay. Brock runs a hand over the dog's head. “I’d say once they settle in, we introduce them, just in case.” “What kind of dog you getting?” Clay shrugs, “not too sure yet. It’ll be a puppy, that’s for sure.” His wife would have his head if they’re first pet together wasn’t a puppy. “Puppy? That’s a lot for our job.” “Yeah, who’s getting to watch it when we get spun out or are on deployment?” “My wife, who absolutely exists.” He throws up a middle finger at Sonny, already knowing what comment was going to leave the Texan’s mouth. He makes a noise and half hearted denial, but doesn’t say anything, jaw twitching as Clay tries to press that he had a wife on them again.

“She going to pick you up?” Clay’s eyebrow raises, and he pockets his phone as he feels a shift in the altitude. They’d be landing within the next thirty minutes. “I drove myself. So, no.” Ray makes a noise at that and he has to resist the urge to snap at him or one of the other guys who was staring at him.

“Join us for beers tomorrow?” Sonny asks, as they all step out and start heading to their cars. “We just spent nearly two weeks together, next time absolutely.” Sonny grunts. “Fine, but just remember what you're missing out on, GQ. I could get you a great girl.” “Married.” He shouts, as he rushes to his car. The door shuts before he can hear Sonny’s reply and with it comes a sigh of relief.

The drive home passes quickly and before he knows it, he’s in the driveway of his house. His wife’s car parked in its spot and the porch light on, with its automatic timer set to turn on at eighteen hundred and shut off at four hundred.

Clay feels the ache in his chest grow, being so close and yet still so far away. So, he doesn’t bother grabbing his go bag, even though everything needs to be washed, he just climbs out of the car, barely remembering to lock it and running up the steps to the front door.

Opening the door, he quickly steps into the house, kicking off his boots as he closes the door behind him.

“Baby?” He calls, anxiety and excitement warring inside of him. “Mira?” He uses the name that her parents started calling after learning that he and her grandmother had taken to calling her Miracle in Urdu. “I’m home.” He hears the sound of feet rounding the corner before a cry of his name greets him and he’s got an armful of his wife.

He holds her tight, lifting her off her feet, his hands moving down to her bottom to hold it as her legs wrap themselves around his waist.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He whispers into the skin of her neck, tears pricking at his eyes, as he takes in the feeling of home, the smell of it, of her. “Missed you too.” Her arms loosen from around his shoulders and she pulls back slightly, looking into his eyes as her hands come up to his face. She sighs, thumbs rubbing his cheekbones. “You got even more handsome. I think you can’t, then you leave me and somehow it happens.”

His cheeks turn pink at the compliment, the one she always gives him when he comes home to her. At one point he had denied it, thought she was just saying it, that she didn’t mean it, but with over a decade together, he knew that she meant it. It was clear in her face, the way her eyes were lit up in awe and they couldn’t stop looking at him. Clear in her body, how her breath still sped up, heart hammering in her chest.

Emotion bubbles up in him, how overwhelmingly he is in love with this woman and has been since they met, since he was fifteen. And he knows that if he speaks right now, he’ll stumble over his words, so instead he presses their lips together.

And the ache that had been plaguing him vanishes at the contact. At the soft lips pressed to his. Her hands slip from his face to his neck, her right pointer finger tracing the shell of his ear making him tighten his grip on her and press his tongue to the seam of her lips, gently touching them, before retreating. Even with the sigh into his mouth.

“Do you have anything cooking?” “No.” She breathes, “take me to bed, soldier.” He grins at the command, pressing their lips together, once than twice before starting the trip to their bedroom. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

“Stop looking at me like that.” She murmurs, eyes scanning the menu. “How am I looking at you?” She lifts her eyes off the menu, her husbands grinning face staring at her. “Like you won the lottery.” His grin grows wider, eyes alight with amusement. “Everyday with you is like winning the lottery, miracle.” She has to look away for a moment, lips pressing together to suppress a giggle. Fuck, her husband was a charmer.

Her eyes drift back towards the menu. Despite having dinner two hours earlier, she was hungry again, but not hungry enough to eat something all by herself, so it was a good thing she had Clay with her. She swore sometimes he had more than one stomach on him with the way he ate.

“Want to share a chicken strip basket with me?” “Sure. You want a beer?” He asks, looking out for a waitress. “Please, just whatever you get.”

Resting her chin on her hand, she watches as he orders for them. Seamlessly keeping the waitress's attention off her.

“It ran over. Complications?” She asks when the waitress leaves, curiosity pulling at her. He nods, “Intel was bad. HAVOC nearly blew a gasket.” “But, no injuries.” “No injuries.” The whole team had basically been glorified bodyguards for two weeks. “It was a milk run that went long. Only reason we were there for so long was because of the intel and having to get new contacts.” She hums, switching back to english. “This place seems nice.” She takes a glance around. “Only opened up a month or so ago. Kids aren’t allowed after eight.” “Yes, sir.” The waitress says, setting down two beers in front of them. “And the last family we had just left. So just a warning the music will be going up and our cook is only here until ten.” “Thank you.” She smiles at the waitress. “Of course. Let me know if you need a refill and your food should be out shortly.”

“She’s nice.” “Hasn’t worked long enough in food service.” Her eyes roll. “Says the man who's never worked in food service.” “But you did. Worst six months of our marriage.” Her mouth falls open, “you were deployed for all of it.” He shrugs, “you were miserable working at the place. Me not being there just made that worse.” “Such a softy.” Clay smiles, tangling their fingers together on top of the table. “Only for you, my miracle.”

They're halfway through their beers when the music gets turned up and their basket of chicken strips arrive. Grabbing one, she hisses at how hot it is immediately dropping it back down. She shakes her hand out, rubbing the pads of fingers together.

“Cut it?” “Please.” He doesn’t say anything, sending her a fond look before grabbing the fork and knife that had been resting on the table and cutting the chicken up.

Nearly an hour later and on her third beer and last one, since Clay was also stopping at three since he was driving, the door opening to the bar and raucous noise catches her attention.

Turning her head, she eyes the group of six men and two women, military she noted by some of their stances and they way all the men seemed to be surveying the building. It’s then that her eyes focus on their faces and her eyes widen, recognizing some of them.

“Clay,” she kicks his shin lightly. She hears his sharp intake of breath and she blindly reaches for his hand, squeezing it tight. Her heart thuds painfully in her chest when he grasps it tight, clinging to it. “Do you want to leave?” “No.” “Are you sure?” “It's your choice.” She takes her eyes off his team, going to protest, but he stops her. “No, it’s your choice. I know you don’t particularly like them.” His face twists at that, because that was a light way of putting it.

His wife nearly despised them for judging him just because he had the last name Spenser. Add on Sonny’s treatment those first few missions and how Jason treated him after that first time he worked with Bravo. He was surprised that she hadn’t stormed onto base using her clearance to give the Master Chief a piece of her mind. It wouldn’t shock him if them meeting eventually resulted in that happening. She wasn’t one to hold back, not when it concerned him.

She eyes her husband, remembering how he had come home practically collapsing in her arms because of Bravo, because he had the last name Spenser and more stupid military men weren’t willing to not judge a book by its cover. Remembering their refusal to believe that he was married, all because he won’t introduce them or talk about her, because he was a kid, despite being twenty-seven. But she also remembers the light in his eyes as he talks about Cerb, Trent’s mother henning, Ray’s quiet accompaniment to the range. He’s been with them for nearly a year and she knows that they’ve become like family to them, so close to being brothers in not just name but also bond. And she knows that the only thing that is stopping him from letting them in and really see who he is behind that cocky façade is her. And she can’t deny him family, more people to love him, so she squeezes his hand again.

“Let’s stay.” “Really?” She nods. “They’re your brothers, honey. I can’t deny you people that love you, just because of my misgivings.” He looks at her in awe, blue eyes shining. “I don’t deserve you, not one bit.” He sounds reverent and before she can deny it, protest, he’s leaning across the table, crushing their lips together in a passionate kiss.

A loud whistle breaks them apart and he’s still looking at her in absolute awe. “You, Mrs. Spenser, are going to be spoiled so much later.” She swallows harshly, thighs pressing together at the promise. “And I can’t wait, husband.” His eyes flash but the sound of a chair being pulled out stops him from kissing her again.

“I’m going to take these up and get something else to drink. You want anything?” She asks, grabbing their beer bottles. “Water, please.” She nods, flashing him a smile before standing and heading to the bar, a slight limp in her gait.

He watches her, heat simmering inside of him.

Clay looks away when someone sits across from him, knocking their feet together,

“Would ya look at that, GQ. Said you didn’t want to come out drinking with us and we still ended up at the same place.” The Texan accent makes him sigh. “Sonny. First stop of the night?” “Yeah, even managed to get Blackburn to join us.” Clay spots the rest of the group in the corner where there’s pool tables, brows going up seeing Naima standing next to Lisa. He had forgotten that her parents were in town this week. “Naima eat?” “You think Ray would’ve let her out of the house to drink without food in her stomach?” “I don’t think Ray tells her to do anything.” Sonny laughs, “right you are, brother. Last time Ray tried to tell her to do something,” he whistles. “I don’t think I’ve seen a man regret something so much.” He chuckles, he hadn’t been part of the team for that but he could imagine it. “Lisa text you, we were coming here? Decide to join us anyways?” “No, I actually,” he begins before he can continue, two glasses are being put on the table and a familiar weight is settling on his leg that’s planted outside the booth.

“Next time we should Uber, they’ve got some interesting cocktails.” She tells him, before turning her head to look at the stunned Seal sitting across from them. “Hi, I hope I wasn’t interrupting.” Clay has to press his face against her back to hide his smile. She knew damn well what she was doing and he couldn’t love her more for it. “No, ma’am. You known Clay long?” His eyes flicker between the two. She lets out a laugh, just a little off from her normal one. “Long enough.” He squeezes her waist and she relaxes a little back into him. “Well, my name's Sonny Quinn, I work with Clay since he ain’t got the manners to introduce us.” She extends her hand, giving the Texan’s a quick shake before giving her name and they both watch as his jaw drops and his eyes widen. “But please, call me Mira. Everyone does.”

“Spenser?” He repeats, barely hearing her request. “Yes, sir. And proud.” She lifts her left hand and gives it a small shake where both his grandmother’s wedding band sits and her grandmother's wedding ring. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you” He manages to say after a few seconds. “Mira, I don’t think you’ve met the rest of the team, but if you’d like you could join us. We're just playing some pool and drinking.”

“Join?” The french makes him blink, but he nods. “Sure.” “We’d love to.” He blinks at the language change, but nods, standing. “Alright, then. Can I get you anything to drink?” His eyes flicker to Clay, expecting to see some sort of scowl on the younger man’s face at his offer but the kid just looks amused and tension he didn’t know he was holding, vanishes. “I’m alright. I just got us some water.” She tells him, standing, grabbing one of the waters from the table.

Nodding, he watches as Clay also stands, doing the same as her, his arm looping around his wife’s waist, lips brushing her temple. They make an interesting picture, a pretty one. Cause of course Clay would have a wife even prettier than he was.

Leading them over to the corner that Bravo had commandeered, Jason spots them first, smiling at him, before a brief look of concern takes over at his wide eyes. And a quick nudge to Ray’s ribs from Jason gets everyone else's attention.

“Ladies,” he nods to Lisa and Naima, “gents. Look who I ran into?” He steps aside letting them more easily see Clay, who’s setting their waters down on a high table they took over. “Hey!” A few say at the time, catching other people's attention for a moment. “What are you doing here?” Lisa asks, smiling at the youngest member of Bravo. He tilts his head to the left, gesturing, “date night. Went to dinner then ended up here. Would’ve gone somewhere else if I knew who we’d run into.” He grins, catching the elbow his wife starts to throw before it can make contact. “You love us.” She teases and Clay rolls his eyes but the soft line of his shoulders and grin betrays him. “And who is this?” She looks at the woman next to Clay offering her smile. She smiles at the woman who Clay talks about fondly, always having their back in HAVOC, “I’m Mira, Clay’s wife.” Her smile doesn’t flicker at the sharp intakes of breaths her introduction causes. “You must be Lisa, Clay talks about you often. He talks about all of you often.” She looks at the rest of them. Naima hits Ray’s chest. “I had no idea that Clay was married.”

She quickly shakes the younger girl's hand. “I’m Naima, Ray’s wife. If Ray had something sooner, we could have set up something sooner. All of us wives and girlfriends have a groupchat. I know how difficult it can be.” “Thank you. We’ll have to exchange numbers. You have two kids right? Jameelah and RJ?” “We do.” Her smile widens at Mira remembering her kids names just from hearing Clay talk about them. “Clay mentioned them. He’s never been uncle Clay before. Came home all lit up.” He nudges her slightly. “They meet you and you’ll be Auntie.” “Damn straight, I married you for the benefits, honey.” “And my body.” He grins down at her, holding her tighter against him. She pats his chest. “And your body.”

Naima awes a bit at the young couple. She remembered when her and Ray were first together, they had also been stuck together at the hip. Now with being together for so long and two kids, there wasn’t a lot of being stuck at the hip.

“How long have you two been together? Or married?” She asks, curious. They seemed like newlyweds, just a couple of months under their belt, still firmly in the honeymoon phase. “Been together for twelve years, married for eight.” Clay tells everyone, a proud look in his eyes. “Seven, honey. We got engaged eight years ago.” She corrects, watching the shocked faces of his team. He scowls at the reminder of the near year of waiting he had before they finally could get married. “Worst year of my life.” “It wasn’t even a year!” “It was nearly a year.”

“Now, why do I feel like there’s a story there?” One of the guys says, recovering first. “Trent,” he offers his name, just in case. “That would be because there is.” She pats Clay’s hand. “Clay and I got together when we were fifteen, but there’s nearly a year between us. So, Clay turns eighteen, proposes, is already to go to the courthouse and be married and I had to remind him that we had to wait a good eight months to get married since I was still seventeen.”

“The wait was horrible.” He groans. Mira laughs, “what wait? The only thing that changed was my last name and us getting a piece of paper. Nothing else changed.” “Sex.” Sonny chokes on his beer. “We had sex before.” Lisa lets out a laugh at the exasperated look on her face, she already liked this girl. “Yeah, but it wasn’t married sex.” “Oh my god.” She rolls her eyes, not needing to look at him to know he was grinning, chest puffed out a bit.

She looks at the other women in the group, “Please save me from him.” Naima laughs at the girl, but steps over to the booth where Brock is sitting and motions for her to join. “Sit with me and Brock. I want to know all about you.”

She feels Clay squeeze her hip and brush his lips across her temple before letting her go. She sends him a smile before joining the older woman at the booth, sliding in on the same side that Naima’s sitting on.

“Nice to meet you, Brock.” She greets the man. “You too.”

Clay watches as Naima and Mira start to talk, Brock paying rapid attention if the way his body language is anything to go by.

“So, Bam Bam does have a wife.” He scowls at the Texan, “Told you I did.” “Still. Can see why you kept her away. She’s so far out of your league.” Sonny laughs, sending Clay a wink as he dodges an elbow from Lisa. He looks back at Mira, who’s laughing. “Damn right.”

He felt lucky most days that she even took a glance at him.

“Why did it take so long for us to meet her?” Jason asks. “Does she not like the job? Cause problems at home?” Clay scoffs, “god, no.” It wasn’t that they hadn’t had problems, they’d been together for over a decade they had them, but the idea of his job causing some was laughable. “She encouraged me to enlist, wouldn’t have made it as far without her. And she understands the job.” Something in his tone sets Jason on edge, “Not too much, I hope.” “Spenser,” Eric starts, realizing where Jason’s head went and it’s clear Ray did too by the way he sets his pool cue down. He sticks his chin out, shaking his head. “She’s a linguist.” He gets blank looks. “She knows as many languages as me, more. She’s been a consultant for the CIA since we were twenty. She’s got higher clearance than me.” Sonny whistles, “she’s really out of your league.” He grins at him.

“So, what was the problem?” Jason asks and god was he like a dog with a bone. He could tell there was a reason and all of them knew he wouldn’t stop until he knew why. Clay sighs, sending a look over to Mira, who sensing it, looks back at him and sends him a smile and nod. “I talk shop with her.” Jason sends him a disapproving look, but he ignores it. He liked Jason, but he wasn’t about to take relationship advice from the older man. “So, if I’ve had a bad day or something went wrong I talk about it.” “I don’t get it.” Lisa whacks the Texan on his arm, understanding why Clay hadn’t introduced her or even talked about her. He sighs, “she doesn’t like you,” he looks at Sonny. “Or you.” he looks at Jason. “What? For what reason?” Trent and Ray let out laughs at Sonny’s confusion. They could take a good guess for why she didn’t like either Sonny or Jason and they couldn’t say they blamed her. “She doesn’t have much tolerance for anyone who sees the last name Spenser and immediately assumes I’m like my father.” Jason winces at the statement and reminder of what he had first thought of Clay and how he treated him because of it. Yeah, he could see the reason for dislike. “Shit, Bam Bam. I fucked that one, huh?”

Clay smiles at the older man, “give her a year, maybe two. You’ll get off her shitlist.” “And me?” Jason asks, noticing that his eyes hadn’t drifted over to him. He winces, “that’s a bit more complicated.” Ray lets out a laugh at Jason’s face, slapping him on the back. “I told you that one of these days your big mouth and unwillingness to let things go would bite you in the ass.”

“He did not, Mira!” Naima’s scandalized voice rings out and makes them all turn their heads to look over at the booth where her, Mira, and Brock were sitting. She lets out a laugh, people’s reactions to how exactly Clay proposed never ceased to make her laugh. “He absolutely did.” Naima’s scandalized expression vanishes and her jaw locks as she ushers the younger out of the booth, turning her attention to the man they had just been talking about. “Clay Spenser!” His eyes widen at his name being said like that and he sends a look to Ray, but the 2IC just shakes his head. He was on his own with this one. “I can not believe you! Proposing like that!” She stands with her hands on her hips, lips pressed together in a frown. He relaxes at that. He knew how he proposed wasn’t normal and had pointedly not mentioned how he had to her parents or his grandparents knowing he’d got smacked upside the head. “Naima, I was eighteen.” He pleads, putting his hands up in surrender, sending a look to Mira who’s giggling. “Really, it’s funny more than anything.” “Oh, I’ve got to know this.” Sonny mutters under his breath. There would never be enough material to tease Clay with. And something from his relationship, well that was even juicer.

“How exactly did Clay propose?” Lisa asks, wondering what had the normally chill woman up in arms. “Well, honey, should I tell them or do you want to?” She asks, teasingly as she walks over to him. He wraps an arm around her, pulling her closer. “You can, miracle. Already told it once today, what’s two times?” She nods, wrapping an arm around him as well. Might as well get as comfy as she could with all the eyes on her.

“Well, you already know that Clay was very eager to get married.” “Be a fool not to.” He mutters, interrupting her which she ignores but Trent snorts hearing the mutter. “But he was really eager. My parents and his grandparents were missionaries, so they kept odd hours, were really only home to sleep and even then sometimes depending on how bad the area they were at was they sometimes would sleep there. Which meant we had a lot of time to ourselves.” The guys all grin at that, knowing exactly what that meant. “And with our luck, the week that Clay turned eighteen, they were away helping a village six hours away that experienced a horrible fire.” That earns a few frowns, but everyone is still listening intently to her.

“So, when it rolled over to midnight, I woke him up to wish him a happy eighteenth and to have birthday sex.” She earns a few laughs at how unashamed she is and she smiles at the sound. She could blame it on being a horny teenager but she still wanted to climb Clay like a tree as much if not more than when they were teens. “In the middle of said birthday sex, he just asks me to marry him. Tells me that one of the guys in the village we were in owes him a favor and we could take his truck to get married as soon as the sun was up.” “You didn’t?” Clay shrugs at the disappointed look from Jason. “I’d been thinking about it for months, it slipped out.” He defends. “It was sweet.” Mira also defends him. “Even if my response put a damper on things.” He winces at that, because yeah, he hadn’t reacted the best to hearing the word can’t right after he had proposed and then forced onto his back so she could ride him. It was one of the few times that he had stopped in the middle of sex for a reason that wasn’t cramping or someone knocking on the door. “And what was your response?”

“Can’t, just the word can’t.” She gives Clay a sorry smile. “Even in the middle of sex the logical side of my brain was working.” “Sounds like someone wasn’t doing a good job.” Sonny jokes. “Nah, I was thinking of a way to flip him on his back right before he started talking.” Sonny lets out a loud laugh at that and the way it makes Jason slightly bug eyed. “I definitely like you, Mrs. GQ.” “Can I be Mrs. Bam Bam instead?” She asks, grinning. “Rolls off the tongue better.” “You can have whatever nickname you want, Mrs. Bam Bam.” The Texan tells her, a bit more southern drawl in his voice as he gives her a wink.

#clay spenser x reader #clay spenser imagine #seal team imagine #seal team x reader

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genderfluid-insomniac · 10 months

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I hope this request isn't too specific. It's also pretty silly.

Could I request a modern au of Diluc with a reader who used to be his highschool rival? Reader's always up to no good, super lazy, and has weird talents. Yet, somehow, she's still gets above average grades.

Diluc sees her again few years after graduating, working at a new, little bakery that many recommend for him. Poor Diluc felt his heart stop at how gorgeous she looks. As they converse, he realizes just how calm and gentle she's become and accidentally confesses in the middle of their conversation.

“What baking can do” /// Diluc x baker!reader modern AU (post highschool rivals)

Diluc decided to stop at the bakery for lunch during his break and noted a sign above him decorated with cats and paw prints. “Cats Tail, hm?” Briefly remembering the few arguments the owner had had with him about the wine industry he ran and silently hoping the place was quiet (or Diona would at least be gone), immediately being met with the scent of ground coffee and baked goods.

It….was quite pleasant, reminding him of early Sundays with his brother and father— “Hello! Welcome to the Cats Tail! How can I-“ The friendly voice slowly went quiet as he snapped out of his thoughts and turned to see a familiar face, someone he never thought he’d see again but even after all these years she is gorgeous. “Diluc?” “Name?”

The redhead’s heart almost stopped when his ex-rival smiled genuinely and stepped out from the counter, noticeably holding herself back from running across the room. The name looked more gentle and calm much different from the rebellious lazy troublemaker he knew in high school, their hair was pulled back and her name tag was clipped onto the front of her shirt.

“Hi? Sorry, it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.” Another moment of tense silence sat between them both before the young CEO was back in the real world, fighting the blush on his face as a part of him created mental images of you sitting with him in the park hand in hand. “Yes, I haven’t seen you since graduation. I’m glad to see you’re doing well, Name. A…friend…recommended this cafe to me saying it was delicious even if he wasn’t a huge fan of the cats.” Cursing himself for the awkwardness creeping in, another reason why he likes to stay out of the spotlight.

Now seeing small cuddle piles of cats napping in the sun and a pristine black cat sitting next to the register, finding it quite amusing his musical friend managed to step in here and reminded himself to ask for the story later. Name brightened up and nodded, nervously laughing and going back to the counter with him not far behind. “Of course! I was guessing that’s why you came here. Do you still like BLTs with light toasting on whole wheat?”

Diluc was visibly shocked before nodding slowly with a confused expression, “Yes, I do. But how-“ As Name was preparing the sandwich she continued the conversation and grabbed the necessary ingredients. “You passive-aggressively argued with the cafeteria about healthier food options and nearly got in trouble more times than you think. ‘Luc, I teased you for months about how uptight and fancy your meal was remember?” He did. Choosing to ignore how his heart sped up and face warmed at the old nickname you gave him.

“For your information, it wasn’t fancy. I just had better taste in food than you.” Name laughed and rolled her eyes when he started to rant about her terrible diet, how eating only junk food will kill you one day and unconsciously petting the Prince the black cat (who kept the customers company near the cashier). It warmed her heart, stealing glances at him and admiring Diluc’s longer hair in its high ponytail. Just barely catching the last thing he said.

“I mean not like I took your jabs to heart, I couldn’t even bring myself to hate you even if we were rivals. Not when you had my heart in your hands already…” He snapped his mouth shut and in panic looked straight at you, looking as red as his hair and nervous. Name nearly dropped the tray she was holding when she heard him and still had enough mental energy to put it down, walking over to him and smiling warmly at his almost silent muttering of apologies.

“I knew it.” He let the hand on his chin guide his gaze back to her and couldn’t find anything to say. “I-“ Nothing. She whispered, “May I?” and slowly leaned forward to press a quick sweet kiss on his lips once he nodded. “I think I’ll take the food for here.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc fluff #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc x reader #genshin diluc

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vidavalor · 6 months

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I just happened upon your blog (right terminology?) and I’m learning a lot. One thing that startled me was your referring to Crowley and Aziraphale’s love (sex) life as a matter of course, something seemingly everyone but me knew about. I was blown away and really wanted it to be true. After all, they’ve had to do without so much—openness, safety, the expectation of future togetherness. It would too unfair if they had to do without physical consummation too. What’s the deal with this? How do we know it’s so? What’s the history? Please enlighten me. Have you written posts about this? I’d love to read them. Thanks

Hello! Thanks for the ask. Nice to meet you. I call it a blog because I'm old and don't know the cool terms but we can call it whatever lol. I have no idea re: how many people who view the show and are able to see that Crowley & Aziraphale are more than friends (because, believe it or not, that concept still shocks some lol) who think that they're already lovers. I do think I'm sort of in the minority, maybe, even if there are a bunch of people who think that they're already a thing. When scrolling through the Ineffable Husbands tag on here, I tend to see a lot more posts that suggest that they aren't lovers and that 2.06 was their first kiss. (Let's hope that it's not lol.)

I guess I would say that if you are thinking about whether or not they might be, consider that Good Omens shows you most of its story out of chronological order in order to give layered meaning to the stuff you've already seen so, just with that knowledge alone, it would be actually pretty surprising if 2.06 was the first time they'd kissed. In S2 itself, earlier on, there's some heavy suggestion that it's not. If you want to read about when I think that happened, go here and I'll link you one more post at the bottom of this response here:

While I like to read all points of view-- I read a lot of aro ace GO stuff as well, even if I don't necessarily see that in my own interpretations of things-- I have thought they were sleeping together since the first time I watched S1 a few years back and S2 just kinda reinforced that for me. I think that, technically-speaking, there's a path to either they still haven't gotten together or that they're long-time lovers. I say that but honestly... it's more like if they somehow do something that suggests that they're only getting together during/after S3, I think it could kinda work but I honestly don't actually think that's the story they're writing. I'm pretty firmly set on the idea that they've been sleeping together for, uh, a very long time at this point. Someone told me the other day via messages that they would burn my house down if I did not finish a sex meta that I promised people so I best maybe get on that and also potentially call the police lol. (I am both flattered and scared?). So, uh, I'll get that up soon... I wrote a couple of longer metas lately about different eras of their relationship that are replies to recent asks on my blog-- I'd probably recommend the one about what they call each other and coded love confessions in 1941, if you're looking to read about them as a couple that's already a couple (even if they would have an anxiety attack at the word 'couple', as Crowley does in 2.06 lol). Will link it below. I'm very flattered that you and others have asked to read more of what I think and I have gotten asked a lot for more sex-related content so, uh, watch this space, I guess? :)

Make yourself a tea first or plan to come back to it as I'm wordy lol:

#ineffable husbands #good omens

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tinalbion · 2 years

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Hello, could you write something about slashers with a male S/O who is blind and who is not aware that in his eyes it is possible to see the universe? Calm down, I'll explain! The blindness of the reader may have taken away his vision, but it also brought stars to his eyes, ahm, it's kind of confusing, I know! Here, look, it's like the illustration of this owl, see? Its name is Zeus, it is blind and inside it eyes you can see a galaxy!

Continued: "This is embarrassing, but, uh, I forgot to ask for the slasher in my question, so I'll ask this one if it's okay? Haha... Harry Warden, please!"

Oh my dear, I finally got an ask for Harry! I love him so much and I hope this finds you well, just know I didn't forget about you or this amazing idea. It's a very beautiful concept that I really enjoy, so I hope I do this ask justice. He's one of my absolute favorite boys and I want to write for him more!

"Between The Stars" ||

Harry Warden x AMAB!Reader

Rating: None; mentions of cannibalism, general fluff between the reader and Harry, pining

Length: 2.1k

Harry Warden had wanted to leave Valentine Bluffs for so long after the incident, it ate away at him the longer he remained hidden away, but even he was weak and couldn't find it in himself to finally uproot and leave.

The town had dwindled since the killings began to happen again, he remained far from the mines and had found a liveable set up in an abandoned water tower not that far away from the Bluffs. He remained there for most of the year, but when Valentine's rolled around, he couldn't help but grow emotional over the events that happened so long ago. It pained him that whenever he would see the town going against his wishes, they would learn nothing no matter what he did, so he turned his back on them and remained hidden from view.

From his hideaway, he saw so many walks of life come in and out of the mining town, most people just visiting family, others that moved away years ago only to come back because of nostalgia. He watched from afar and wondered what life would be like I'd his mind wasn't destroyed by the events he suffered so long ago. Maybe one day he would feel complete again, but it would be almost impossible, he thought, that it would never happen for him and he’d just have to live with that.

As he dreamt of better times, he was unaware of a new visitor that graced the town's grounds, an unexpected fresh face that he never would have paid much mind to.

You were talked into visiting your family despite travel being hard for you considering you were blind, but you thankfully got your friend Gracie to tag along and help you out, she agreed to be your guide and took this as a sign for a well-needed vacation for you both.

She guided you along and described the sights to you the best she could, pointing out the old buildings or monuments that had been standing since you were a child, remarking on the newer housing, and you remembered them fondly as you recalled some old memories. It was making you grow homesick even while you were here, but you knew the reason why you left in the first place, so you held onto that and pushed it down to enjoy the rest of your visit.

What you found incredibly humorous was that people still talked about the infamous Valentine's Day massacre and how Harry Warden was the sole survivor of the mining accident. Yes, you found it funny to see people would always need to find someone or something to blame when it was themselves they needed to blame all along It was rumored that he ended up caught eventually and shoved into a facility where he was no longer a threat, but that didn't even stop Harry from somehow escaping the facility he was taken to. They claimed he died in the safety of the institute, but why would they want the word that their number one sought-after killer was gone?

The little whispers around town still continued and they'd never stop, you figured, but it was quite fun to see what silly stories they made up in this day and age. Mostly still the same thing, and since you were visiting before Valentine's Day, you figured you were safe from any unnecessary silliness that could be caused by the town’s kids.

Gracie had offered to run and get some food for you both while you said you'd stay behind, so she was gone and it left you to explore the familiar area of your old stomping grounds. You found yourself easily falling back into the rhythm of things and made your way to your old favorite spots around town, and when you got to the docks, you could smell the water as you breathed it in.

You sat here for what felt like ages and hadn't even thought to leave until you felt the briskness of the chill in the air, plus you figured Gracie would be back at the motel by now and probably freaking out.

So you trekked back the way you came, or so you thought as you tapped your walking stick along the ground. You ran into something solid and you came to a halt, wondering just what you should do. You could dial your friend's number and call her, asking her to help find you, but you'd done this loads of times before on your own, maybe you could prove to yourself that you still had it in you. As you removed your hand from your pants pocket and left your phone where it was, you tapped your stick around and found another path that you had no idea where it led.

As you continued your journey, you truly weren't familiar with this side of town and you had no idea how you got so turned around. Your phone suddenly began to ring and you fumbled for it in your pocket before you pulled it free and answered.

"Hello?"

"There you are, where are you? I've been worried sick! Are you okay?" Gracie was yelling on the other end, pure panic in her tone.

You couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah I'm fine, I got a little turned around, but I'm okay. I'm coming back to the motel, I was near the docks, but I don't know where I'm really at now."

"I can come and find you, I'll ping your location and I'll be there, just try not to wander too far."

You laughed again. "Alright, I'll behave. See you soon."

You hung up and waited for a good five minutes until you got bored, so you said to yourself you'd only wander around the area, not too far off from where you'd been, and then you began to explore. The way things sounded, you were near a small wooded area filled with birds, so you stood there and listened for a bit before stepping off somewhere else. Your ankle rolled and you tripped over something that your walking stick didn't quite pick up on, your body lurched forward, and you tumbled down a small hill. You weren't hurt, just a little shaken up and even more lost than you were to begin with.

"Ah damn," you sighed.

As you got to your feet, you realized your glasses had tumbled from your face, so you knelt back down carefully and tapped the ground for them, not finding them anywhere.

What you didn't know was that you were being watched by someone, they had seen the entire ordeal and had spotted your glasses on the ground just a few feet away from your wandering hand. The crunch of the leaves beneath the stranger’s feet was masked by the fact you were crawling around on your hands and knees

Your hand came upon something unfamiliar and you tapped it several times until you realized it was a boot that was connected to a leg. You sprang back and gasped.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't realize that anyone was here!" Your hand was placed on your chest and you tried to control your breathing. "I uh, my name is Y/N, I got a little lost on my way back to my motel… Have you seen my glasses anywhere?"

While you were busy talking, the stranger stared down at you, his breathing heavy from the trek, but he lowered his pick ax and continued to stare. You figured they weren't one to talk much, but you lifted your gaze to them and tried to listen to where they were around you.

"Uh, you don't talk much, huh?"

The man grunted in response and you smiled gently. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, maybe you can't talk, who knows. But if you see my glasses anywhere, could you grab them for me?"

As you looked directly at him, the miner stared down almost dreamily at your eyes and how peculiar they were. It was as if the entire galaxy was taken from the skies and placed gently in your eyes, he'd never seen anything like it. He could have easily stared at them forever, but he knew you'd have to leave him, which was to be expected.

Your hand touched something and your palm opened, then you felt your glasses drop in your hand along with a gentle feeling of a leather glove.

"Oh, thank you for finding these," you said happily and placed them back on your face.

"Your eyes," the man's deep, husky voice suddenly said softly, muffled as if something was over his mouth.

You were taken by surprise and paused as your hands froze. "Wh-what about them?" You asked curiously. You had no idea who this man was or how he found you, but you didn't want to ask just yet.

"Pretty," was all he said.

You laughed and looked down, your hands fiddled with your walking stick while your mouth suddenly felt dry. "Thank you, that's very kind of you… My friend Gracie saw them once and she said they looked unique, is that true? I never got to see them, obviously." The little smile you made after speaking only made the stranger feel more interested in you.

"Like stars are in them," he replied shortly.

Like stars, you couldn't help but find that as unique as Gracie described, and strangely romantic from a stranger you just met. "What's your name?" You wanted to meet his gaze if you could, but kneeling on the cold, crisp leaves beneath you wasn’t so bad.

The man took a sharp breath and wondered what he should do, knowing fully well you were aware of the whispers of Harry Warden, the cannibal monster who snapped, would he ruin this for you completely or would you have no clue? It didn't hurt to test the waters, he wasn't invested completely in you, yet it felt nice that you of all people wouldn't know who he was or about his past.

You were met with silence again and that's when you sighed with a small grin on your face. "I get it, I'm usually like this with people, too. Uneasy, and untrusting, it's a sign of shared experiences. If I see you again and you're up for sharing, I'd love to know your name."

It was quiet and then he spoke again. "If I see you again, could I see the stars?"

You bit your lip and nodded. "Yeah, you can see the stars."

You were alerted to the sound of footsteps nearing you and then the man before you began to take off running, his heavy steps receding further and further away until the pair that you heard behind you were the only ones you could hear. You had wished you could continue your talk with the man, you had enjoyed the shared company and how kind he seemed. It was strange with how awkward he’d been but you didn’t mind, it was nice for a change that he didn’t seem uncomfortable by your condition, he seemed more intrigued than anything.

Gracie found you on the ground and gasped as she ran toward you. “Y/N, what happened!? Did you fall?”

“Yeah, just a little tumble, I’m in one piece though, we’re all good.” You took her hand and pulled yourself to your feet, then you dusted yourself off as a force of habit. “I promise I’m okay.”

Grace slipped her arm through yours and began to guide you through the wooded area, but you had stopped just for a moment and removed your glasses, hoping that your stranger had seen your gesture that was directed for him, hoping he’d understand that you meant to return one day.

Harry did see this as he hid amongst the trees, watching the girl guide you carefully, wondering just how long it would be until he saw you again. The one person who wouldn’t run from the very sight of him, the one person who seemed genuinely interested despite the small number of words exchanged on Harry’s behalf. He convinced himself he wasn’t invested, yet here he was his hands gripping the wood of the pick ax, thinking of your eyes and all of the beautiful innocence held within them. If it came down to it, he would kill to see you again.

The miner would try to keep his promise; he would see you again and he would see those stars in your eyes. That was a promise he intended to keep to himself.

#tinalbion writings #slasher requests #slasher community #slasher fandom #slashers x reader #slashers headcanons #slashers imagines #harry warden #harry warden my bloody valentine #my bloody valentine 1981 #harry warden x reader #harry warden headcanons #harry warden imagines #amab!reader #amalunah

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sickficideas · 11 months

Text

no promises || kunizai sickfic

ao3! 7.4k, mild nsfw/emeto themes - please refer to this link for warnings/tags! request for @potatopersonal on ao3!!

"Is Atsushi -"

"We've got it under control, Dazai. I need you to take this, you're the only one in any real danger here and you know that," Yosano tells him in that scolding mother voice of hers that often reminds him that she's the older one.

She's holding a cup of activated charcoal, something that he's dreadfully familiar with. He's taken it against his will and of his own accord on many occasions through his time with the Port Mafia, and he thinks even once or twice at the Armed Detective Agency, but this time he's not the culprit of his own demise.

He realizes that Yosano isn't going to give in and that she's really asking him to take it right here, right now - so he does like she's asked of him and somehow manages to down the entire cup without a pause.

It always makes him vomit. Every single time, without fail. The texture is so awful, and on top of that, he thinks his body has developed some sort of gag reflex specifically for this substance because he's taken it so many times against his will.

He and Atsushi were both poisoned downstairs at the cafe just about a half hour ago, he thinks. They only noticed because Atsushi started to feel incredibly unwell. Dazai doesn't know if he didn't get hit as hard because he's been poisoned before, or if Atsushi had much more of the poison than he did - either way, he's much more concerned about him.

This has happened before, this exact scenario, back when Dazai was a Port Mafia Executive. He and Akutagawa were both poisoned in the same way, their drinks being spiked. Dazai's health back then was much worse and it took him a lot longer to recover, but Akutagawa was unconscious for two weeks. Dazai thought he would never wake up. He remembers Gin asking him if he was going to die. He can still remember tears in her eyes that he'd never seen before or since then.

He can't believe he's let this happen twice. Why was he so careless?

"Yosano, he's - is he unconscious?" Dazai hardly manages to choke out before he feels the charcoal push its way back up his esophagus. Yosano's well prepared, of course, with a bedpan under his chin just seconds before a gag forces everything to splatter into the pan. He sucks in a breath and groans.

"He's conscious, and I need you to stay with me, too," Yosano says. Dazai can feel himself getting seriously lightheaded, and obviously it's bad enough for Yosano to notice, too. "I need you to take more of it, I'm sorry."

Dazai doesn't know if he can stay conscious. He can see the black creeping into his peripheral and he knows that's a sign that he's losing the battle. He lets Yosano do what she needs to do and he helps her as much as he can in his half-conscious state. He's really trying to fight it. Yosano forces more of the active charcoal down his throat and it bubbles back up in no time at all. Dazai's not even sure where the vomit ended up this time.

“Put me out of my misery,” he chokes out.

“I can’t do that, Dazai, I’m a licensed physician,” she reminds him for the hundredth time. Mori sure didn’t have a problem trying to help him die, but he didn’t care much about the law. He starts wondering if Mori even had a license at all, but his brain starts to fog up, and his eyes unfocus.

He can hear her saying his name. She sounds desperate, but his body is starting to go numb, and he can't respond. He can't fight it anymore.

At least, if he dies, it won't be painful.

But Atsushi -

…

Kunikida hasn't been this stressed in a long time. He's very aware that his presence stresses Yosano out so he's kept himself out of the infirmary and he's been sitting on a stray chair across from the couch. He's trying to stay calm, but he's deeply concerned for Dazai. Yosano reported that he started seizing, which is a bad sign.

Atsushi is sitting on the couch across from Kunikida, his expression looking just as solemn. He's still hooked up to an IV at Yosano's request with how dehydrated he is. He's only just now started to improve after hours of dealing with a raging fever and vomiting - Yosano thinks that his ability is slowly starting to mend his body and allowing the symptoms to subside, with the help of her own ability. She told him to stay out of the infirmary because she had a feeling the smell of the antiseptic was making him feel worse, with his heightened senses.

Dazai doesn't have anything to help him out. No ability to heal himself, and no possibility of Yosano interfering, so they're not even sure if he should be improving at this point.

"Kunikida?" Atsushi starts. His voice sounds hoarse. He coughs a few times to clear his throat.

"He'll be fine. Don't worry. He's always fine," Kunikida tells him, already knowing what he's going to say. He straightens up. "I want you to go home as soon as Kyoka gets here. You need to rest and I know you won't be doing that here."

"But I don't want to go," Atsushi murmurs. His voice sounds wobbly. He's been crying on and off for hours, Kunikida wouldn't be surprised if he started again now, but he's trying to keep him in good spirits.

"I get it, Atsushi. Trust me," he sighs. He pushes his glasses up to the top of his head and rubs at his eyes. "But you need to look after yourself too."

"Will you tell me if something happens?" Atsushi asks quietly.

"Of course I will."

Thankfully, it's not long until Kyoka is back from the medical supply errand she was asked to run for Yosano. She's incredibly worried about Atsushi, it's obvious even for someone who rarely shows strong emotion. He cries into her shoulder for a while, and she lets him. He's so drained, mentally and physically, that no one tries to cheer him up. Kunikida almost hopes that the tears will tire him out and help him sleep.

They all wish Atsushi well before the two of them leave, and not long after, Yosano makes an appearance back in the office, gathering concerned looks from everyone inside. Fukuzawa has appeared, too.

"He's not improving the way I'd like him to," Yosano says quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm keeping a close eye on him, but if he needs supplemental care I'll have to send him to a hospital."

Kunikida wastes no time in slipping inside the infirmary to see him as Yosano addresses the rest of the staff. He's at the one closest to the door. Kunikida's heart drops when he sees him.

Dazai's frame looks incredibly small and fragile in the cot like this. It's so rare to see him in such a state. Kunikida would have thought this is the kind of thing Dazai would never ever fall victim to, but he supposes every human lets their guard down. Even superhumans like Dazai.

Kunikida isn't sure if he's unconscious or not, but either way, he's in pain. Kunikida can see it in the way his face is all twisted up, the sweat collecting at his hairline. He wants to do something.

He sits down on the cot right beside his and sighs.

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" Kunikida sighs.

An hour or so passes, and Kunikida spends his time completely still at Dazai's bedside, trying to stay out of Yosano's way. Ranpo comes back from a job with the Yokohama police and quickly assures them that the attack on Dazai and Atsushi was an angry client of theirs. Ranpo knows who it is, and he's already on the case - and before long, he leaves to catch him, with Kenji in tow to apprehend him by physical means.

Kunikida was starting to worry it had something to do with Dazai's past at the Port Mafia. That would open a whole new can of worms. This is easy, something they can handle with no issue.

"One of my friends up in Tokyo is a poison specialist. I'll take the sample there and he'll help me create an antidote for him without using any abilities, that way it’ll work on him…" Yosano murmurs. Kunikida heard her mention she already tried ability-based antidotes she’s acquired, just in case there were somehow enough degrees of separation for it to work, but with no luck.

Yosano tells him this with a briefcase in hand and her lab coat, something she doesn't wear as often nowadays, letting him know that she's leaving now.

Yosano gives him a list of ranges for his vital signs to look out for, and any symptoms that could appear that would require a hospital visit.

"Shouldn't you stay with him instead?" Kunikida asks nervously, looking up at her. He's not sure about this. Dazai doesn't seem to be doing well at all, for the only doctor on their staff to leave him. God, his stomach is starting to hurt from the stress. “What if he has another seizure?”

"I trust you. If you think he needs to go to the hospital at any point, do that. Don't ask me first," Yosano says. "I know you'll do what's best for him. He hasn’t seized in at least an hour, so I think that’s over with for now.”

Kunikida bites his lip. He hopes she's right.

…

It’s almost eight o’clock in the evening now, and Dazai has been unconscious since the first time he had a seizure.

He’s stable. His vital signs haven’t changed, he hasn’t had any seizures, and Kunikida has checked in with Yosano a few times. She expects him to wake up soon. Kunikida started working himself up, horrified that Dazai has slipped into some sort of coma, but Yosano doesn’t seem to think that’s a possibility.

“Kenji caught the culprit. He’s been placed in a holding cell until they can prove his guilt,” Ranpo says as he hands Kunikida the report. He’s stopped by to hand it off to Kunikida. Kenji has already gone home.

“They didn’t take your word for it?” Kunikida asks, half joking as he thumbs through the pages. Ranpo doesn’t do a very good job at filling these out, so Kunikida usually has to fix most of it for him.

“The guy’s a cop, of course. So they’re protecting him,” Ranpo grumbles, mildly annoyed. “Sounds like he was after Dazai specifically. Couldn’t give me a solid reason, but I know he’s been a client before. He knows something about Dazai’s…previous job. I’m sure.”

Kunikida bites his lip. As long as the guy is behind bars.

“How is he?” Ranpo asks. “Stable?”

“Yeah. Yosano isn’t too worried about him getting worse too quickly,” Kunikida mumbles, “but he’s not getting better.”

“Be careful with him. You know how he gets around Yosano when he’s not in his right mind,” Ranpo warns, and that’s the last thing he says to him before he waves him off and leaves the Agency.

Kunikida finds himself standing at that front door, staring at the report cover, thinking about what Ranpo said. It’s only happened once - Yosano was trying to treat Dazai after he collapsed from a high fever, but he wouldn’t let Yosano touch him. It was the most hysteric that Kunikida has ever seen him. They weren’t sure what was going on, but obviously, Yosano specifically reminded him of someone from his past.

He's pulled out of his thoughts for a moment when he hears something fall.

He tosses the report on his desk and almost sprints over to where the sound came from, certain Dazai is the source of it. He turns into the infirmary and Dazai is crumpled on the floor, turned into himself, arms shaking and breath hitching. The fluid stand is on the floor beside him.

"Dazai, what the hell?" Kunikida starts, carefully kneeling down beside him. He reaches out to touch his cheek. His skin hot to the touch. Kunikida knew he was running a fever, but this seems much worse than before. He curses under his breath.

"Where is…where…" Dazai murmurs. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he tries to force himself off the floor. His arms are hardly support his weight. He’s shivering, Kunikida thinks, but he’s not sure if it’s from the fever, or from fear. His eyes meet Kunikida’s once he’s at level with him, but his expression doesn’t change.

"You shouldn't have gotten up, what are you doing?" Kunikida chides nervously. Dazai can't answer, and he pulls himself out of Kunikida’s way fast enough to vomit on the tile floor instead of his vest.

Kunikida curses to himself. It's just a splatter of bile and activated charcoal, it looks like, but he doesn't know if it's good that he's still throwing up like this. Dazai’s breath hitches and he gags again, this time, only spitting up saliva.

Kunikida reaches forward to touch him, to offer him a comforting hand or something, but the second he does, Dazai whips his head around with eyes wider than he's ever seen them.

He looks scared. Why on earth would he be scared? He didn’t look like this a minute ago, but Kunikida quickly recognizes this as the look from the time Ranpo referenced earlier.

Dazai scrambles to get away from him, he rips the IV that was somehow still attached out of his arm and somehow manages to stand himself up, but one wrong move has him crumpled on the floor again, right after his head made contact with the metal framing of the cot he was using for support. Kunikida is trying to keep his cool. He's only seen Dazai like this once before, he doesn't know what to do. Does he need to call an ambulance? Should he call Yosano?

"Dazai," Kunikida says, biting his lip to keep his cool. He stands up to get on the other side of him. He needs to get him back in bed, but the moment he touches his arm, Dazai flinches so hard that Kunikida is almost worried he'll hurt himself. He's sure he hears him whimper. God, his heart aches.

"Don't," Dazai mumbles. He's shaking, and his voice shakes with him as he turns his head away. Kunikida doesn't know what's gotten into him. He wonders if his fever has gotten so high that he's hallucinating.

"Dazai, it's Kunikida," he tells him quietly, tightening his grip on his arm. He needs him back to reality.

Miraculously, Dazai stops trying to get away.

Kunikida doesn't waste any time. He scoops him up into his arms and carries him back to the cot he was in earlier. He tries to lay him down, but Dazai's gripping onto his shirt, refusing to let go.

Kunikida takes his head and tucks it under his chin. He lets out a shaky breath. If Dazai wasn’t so out of it, he’d give him a talking-to about how much he scared him.

"Where…" he murmurs into Kunikida’s chest, still holding on.

"You're in the infirmary," Kunikida tells him. He almost wonders how Ranpo could have guessed this would happen, but of course it did. "At the Armed Detective Agency."

He feels him relax in his hold, just enough to let Kunikida worry a little less.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone. I’m sorry,” Kunikida says quietly, holding him a little closer. He can’t imagine waking up in a hospital cot by himself like that, in the dark infirmary. No wonder he was so freaked out, especially with that fever - Kunikida has concerns that Dazai’s fear just now was more deeply rooted in something else entirely, something that Kunikida will likely never be able to get him to admit.

Kunikida holds him like that for a while and Dazai starts to breathe normally. He’s not shaking as much, but he feels him shiver every now and then, and after long enough, Dazai barely manages to pull out of Kunikida’s hold to gag, and bring up more activated charcoal onto the bed sheets. He coughs a few times, but nothing else comes up.

Kunikida sighs. Of course, he can’t help it. Thankfully there’s plenty of other cots in here, so Kunikida decides he’ll move him to the next one. “Can I pick you up again?” Kunikida asks.

Dazai’s frame melts back into Kunikida’s hold to tell him yes with a whimper, and Kunikida scoops him up to lay him down on the other cot. This is probably better anyway, fresh cool sheets ought to do him some good.

Kunikida takes a comforter from a different cot to lay over Dazai, and he’s realized too late that his arm is still bleeding from where he pulled out the IV - not much, but enough to leave marks. He rummages through the supply drawers beside the cot to grab some gauze and wrap to wrap it up, at least, and as he carefully pulls it around Dazai’s arm, he sees his head tilt in his direction.

"Is Atsushi okay?" he asks, almost sounding out of breath at the effort it took him to say it. Kunikida is beyond relieved to hear him speaking coherently.

"He's fine, Dazai. He's home with Kyoka and she'll let us know if anything goes wrong," Kunikida assures as he closes the wrap. "Worry about yourself, for once."

Dazai doesn't seem like he's going to take that into consideration even remotely. Atsushi at least listened to reason.

Kunikida needs to place another IV for fluids. He’s been vomiting so much that there’s simply not another option - he highly doubts he can get him to drink any water. The problem is that Dazai hates needles, at least when anyone else is using them on him in this kind of setting. Kunikida has seen him refuse fluids at hospitals before because of it. Kunikida isn’t sure if it’s just a general dislike or if it stems from trauma, since Dazai is whiney about most things, but he’s afraid of making things worse right now.

“I have to put another IV in,” Kunikida tells him, a hand wrapped around his wrist where he just wrapped up his arm.

“No,” Dazai whines, childishly turning his head away.

“I have to, Dazai. You’re still throwing up, you’re dehydrated,” Kunikida tells him. “And I know you won’t be able to keep water down.”

Dazai doesn’t turn his head back, but he makes no effort in trying to pull his arm away, either. He thinks he realizes he can’t avoid it.

“Is it okay if I take some of your bandages off?” Kunikida asks.

“Use the top of my hand,” Dazai murmurs, his head still turned away from Kunikida.

Kunikida stands up to gather what he needs - he’s done this enough times to know how to on his own, thankfully. While he’s up he decides to wet a cloth for Dazai’s forehead, hoping that will help distract him.

He brushes Dazai’s hair out of his face, and his dark eyes peer up at him with emotions that Kunikida can’t quite read. His hairline is damp from sweat. He lays his hand over his forehead again and frowns before he lays the washcloth over his burning forehead, and he shivers, but relaxes just a bit once he gets used to the feeling.

He pulls up a chair on the other side of the cot and turns on the lamp to get started. “Can you make a fist for me?”

Dazai obliges. His head turns up and his eyes are glued to the ceiling, looking for something else to focus on. Kunikida takes note of how his breaths quicken, just a bit. Kunikida needs to distract him.

"You seem familiar with this situation. Am I correct?" Kunikida asks. Kunikida was at the cafe with them when it happened. Dazai shouted for someone to get Yosano as soon as Atsushi said he felt nauseous because it was far too soon after he complained of the taste of the tea. Dazai had his fingers down the poor kid’s throat to get him to vomit before Kunikida could even piece together what was happening. He’s been wondering if this happened to him before.

"Mhm," Dazai mumbles after taking in a sharp breath.

"So this has happened to you before," Kunikida says.

"Mhm," Dazai nods. At first, Kunikida thinks he's just going to drop it, because even though Kunikida knows about Dazai's past now, he's still not any more open to sharing the details. "Almost…this exact scenario. With me, and…my subordinate."

"Yeah? Someone spiked your drinks?" Kunikida asks, making sure he has good placement before he uses the needle.

"Mhm," Dazai mumbles. "My subordinate was…he was unconscious for two…three? Two weeks, I think."

Kunikida wasn't aware he had any direct subordinates, but he supposes it makes sense, given Dazai's rank as an executive. It's so strange how he's never mentioned anything even remotely alluding to their existence. He uses that brief moment to stick Dazai, and he flinches, but manages to keep his arm still enough to not pull anything out. “Good. Good job, that part’s over.”

“I hate those things,” Dazai murmurs feverishly. His breaths have gotten a bit faster now, and Kunikida makes a mental note to remind himself he still has to get him hooked up to the monitoring machines again.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Kunikida says gently as he starts to dress Dazai’s hand. He wants to comfort him, somehow, but he thinks the best thing to do for someone like Dazai is a distraction. "How long ago did it happen? Long time ago?”

Somehow, turning the conversation back around to the previous topic has worked a bit. Dazai focuses back on that. "Yeah, must've been…sixteen, I think."

"You had subordinates at sixteen?" Kunikida huffs, looking up at him for a brief moment. "How old were they?"

"He was…fourteen, I think," he breathes out. Kunikida bites his lip. He knew that the mafia recruited a lot of their members very young, after all, Kyoka stands to show that.

"You recruited him?" Kunikida says. It’s hard to imagine. Kunikida almost wonders if he’s joking, but he doesn’t have the energy for that right now. "A fourteen-year-old."

"I did," Dazai admits.

"Still alive?" Kunikida asks.

"Mhm. You've met him," Dazai says turning his head back towards him. Kunikida reaches forward with his free hand to readjust the washcloth on his head, as it’s started to slip.

Well, now Kunikida's intrigued. He keeps eye contact. "Who? That redhead?"

Dazai scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Hell no."

"Then who?"

"C'mon, guess,” Dazai says, Apparently, he’s gathered enough energy to mess him with. Kunikida will take it, it’s a good sign.

"I have no clue, Dazai. Tell me," Kunikida huffs, exasperated. He turns his attention back to dressing the IV catheter on Dazai’s hand, which he’s almost finished with. "I don't even know that many Port Mafia dogs by name. Akutagawa is the only one I can think of."

Dazai tilts his head to the side with a cheeky grin. The washcloth starts to slide down his face.

"You're kidding,” Kunikida blinks, reaching back up to fix it. “Stop moving so much.”

"Not kidding."

"You've known him the whole time?" Kunikida exclaims. He feels like he should be angry, but somehow it makes sense. Dazai always seemed a little too eager to brush off any mention of the so-called Hellhound of the Port Mafia. Kunikida thinks he even recalls Dazai slipping up and mentioning a detail about him that none of the rest of them knew, but that memory was lost to him until now.

"I couldn't tell you I knew him. That'd give me away," Dazai shrugs, this time, seemingly making an effort to keep his head still.

"Your information would've been helpful, though," Kunikida grumbles, attaching the line to Dazai’s hand to get the fluids going.

"You knew everything you needed to know. He's a Port Mafia attack dog and he'll kill anything he sees," Dazai says incredibly casually.

"And you've known him since he was fourteen, huh?" Kunikida asks, sitting back in the chair as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Dazai's expression changes, but it's an emotion that Kunikida doesn't quite recognize. "Mhm."

Kunikida can't really fathom any of this. A sixteen-year-old Dazai with a fourteen-year-old Akutagawa is just something his brain can't even picture - both of them younger than even Atsushi is now. Dazai having any connection to someone as cold-blooded as Akutagawa doesn't make any sense to him.

When he looks over at Dazai again, his eyes are lost. He's somewhere else. Kunikida doesn't know what life was like for him in the Port Mafia, but it can't have been good. He was already a major alcoholic by the time he joined the Detective Agency, and Kunikida still remembers the shiver that ran up his spine when he saw how thin he was under his clothes. He still doesn't eat meals regularly out of habit, it's something that Kunikida almost has to force on him, but he’s gotten much better about it.

Whatever happened to him damaged him much more than anything Kunikida could ever hope to fix on his own.

"Are you okay?" Kunikida asks him.

Dazai lifts his head with wide eyes like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. "Huh? Oh, yeah."

“Let me get your temperature,” Kunikida says, taking the thermometer from the drawer out of the case. He sticks it under Dazai’s tongue for a few seconds and it ends up reading 102.3. That’s not horrible, but it isn’t good, either.

He looks back in Dazai’s direction to find that look in his eyes again, but this time, some of the color has started to drain from his face, and he notices him swallow thickly.

"You look nauseous," Kunikida comments.

"Uh-huh," Dazai mumbles. He burps into a closed fist and groans. "Need the pan."

Kunikida feels awful for him. Yosano couldn't give him a thing for his nausea because vomiting would actually help his specific situation according to what Yosano gathered, so he's probably been feeling horribly nauseous this entire time. Kunikida doesn’t see a bedpan in the drawer so he takes the trash bin and holds it under Dazai’s chin as he tries to sit himself up with a whine.

He spits into it, saliva getting caught on the sides as he huffs out breaths. He lays a hand over his stomach and groans. “Ugh…”

"Empty?" Kunikida asks. He can’t imagine he has much left in his stomach.

"No," Dazai breathes out, to Kunikida’s surprise, "won't come up."

Kunikida sighs. Of course. "Want me to help you?"

"Please," Dazai whines. He burps, and it sounds wet, but all that drips from his lips is saliva. "I suck at doing it myself, I… hrruk -"

A gag that brings up nothing, and Kunikida realizes he really will need help.

He's done this before. He's probably a pro at preventing overdoses because of Dazai, but this here isn't a life-or-death situation, at least.

He doesn't bother with gloves because he knows he'll wash his hands regardless, and he slips a hand past Dazai's saliva-coated lips, his other hand on the back of Dazai's neck to make sure he doesn't jolt back when his hand gets back far enough.

His mouth is warm, the insides of his cheeks are so soft. He’s trying to ignore the thought, but Dazai looks hot like this. His eyes red and tired, lips wet and almost swollen, cheeks flushed. Kunikida feels something he shouldn't in that moment, and he gets far enough back without realizing, and hot vomit spills over his hand without much warning.

It's not much. It's water and charcoal and bits of whatever is left in his stomach from lunch dripping down Kunikida’s hand and into the bin. Dazai whines and spits the bits left in his mouth into the bin. He breathes heavily over it and Kunikida haphazardly covers his hand in a layer of paper towels to avoid dripping Dazai’s stomach contents onto the floor on his way over to the sink, but he stays for a moment to make sure Dazai’s okay.

“Hurts,” Dazai groans. He burps over the bin, but of course, nothing comes up. He lays back but he holds onto the bin.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Kunikida sighs. He wishes he could do more to help him. “Will you be okay by yourself for a second?”

“Uh-huh,” Dazai murmurs, leaning back and pressing his hand against his stomach.

Kunikida remembers there’s a splatter of puke on the floor and on the cot Dazai was previously resting on that he needs to clean, but right now, he’s not keen on leaving Dazai out of his sight for too long. He washes his hands a bit longer than he needs to, and looks over his shoulder to check on Dazai one too many times - he hears him burp and gag a few times, but once Kunikida is on the way back to him, he’s laid back all the way, eyes screwed shut and breaths heavy.

Kunikida places the bin back on the floor as he sits in the chair again. He looks over the fluid stand and Dazai’s hand to make sure everything is still properly attached before he leans forward to flip over the washcloth on his warm forehead. “I’ll check with Yosano to see if there’s anything I can give you for that fever.”

“I just want my stomach to stop hurting,” Dazai whines, but he really sounds like he’s in pain.

“I know, Dazai,” Kunikida sighs, Yosano already told him that will have to wait until he gets an antidote. “Maybe we -”

“Can you…can you check on Atsushi for me?” Dazai asks, forcing his eyes open to look over at Kunikida. Kunikida finds it a bit out of nowhere. “Please.”

“I can do that,” Kunikida says. He hasn’t heard from Kyoka. Junichiro texted Kunikida a while ago to let him know he and Naomi would check in with the two of them occasionally to make sure they were doing okay, but that was all. He pulls out his phone and dials Kyoka’s number.

“Hello?” she answers nervously.

“Don’t worry. I’m just calling to make sure everything’s okay,” Kunikida says. He lowers his phone and puts it on speaker for Dazai to hear. “How’s Atsushi doing?”

“Kunikida? Is that you?” It’s Junichiro’s voice. He hears some shuffling, and suddenly Junichiro’s voice is much clearer. “Kyoka had to knock him out a little bit ago. He couldn’t sleep ‘cause he was so anxious. He was making himself sick.”

Kunikida’s shoulders sink. “Anxious about what?”

“He’s worried about Dazai,” Junichiro says a little more quietly, and Kunikida watches Dazai tense up in his peripheral. “We kept telling him he’d be okay. And you said you’d call if something went wrong, but…we had to use the last resort.”

Kunikida bites his lip as Dazai turns his head away.

“But I think it was good for him. He’s been sleeping well since then, maybe we should’ve knocked him out sooner,” Junichiro half-jokes. “Is Dazai doing okay? We’re worried too.”

“He’s doing fine,” Kunikida tells them. He doesn’t want to lie and say he’s better, but telling them how he’s really feeling will only worry them more. “Nobody needs to worry. We have everything under control and they’ll both be good as new once Yosano gets ahold of that antidote.”

They exchange a few more words before Junichiro tells him they should get to sleep too, and Kunikida realizes he’s probably in the same boat as Atsushi - he won’t be able to sleep in favor of worrying about Dazai, but he can’t sleep even if he wanted to. He has to make sure he stays stable until Yosano gets back.

Once he hangs up, Kunikida reaches to lay a hand over Dazai’s arm, but the way he’s breathing - so calmly - tells Kunikida that he’s fallen asleep. Kunikida almost has to wonder if he was getting himself that worked up over Atsushi in his fevered brain.

Kunikida gets him hooked back up to all of the necessary monitors while Dazai drifts off into a deeper sleep, and he changes the washcloth on his forehead, too. He looks so much more relaxed. His eyes aren’t screwed shut so tightly. He looks like he might actually get some good rest.

Kunikida presses a kiss up to his forehead before he changes the washcloth, and he sits back in the chair beside Dazai’s cot as he cracks open the report and gets back to work.

…

The rest of the night went by more smoothly than Kunikida could have asked for. He’s usually not a fan of pulling all-nighters like that, but he got caught up on the work he missed through yesterday’s situation. And even better, Dazai slept through the night.

“I have to pee,” Dazai mumbles as soon as he wakes up. The staff have started to file back into the building, Kunikida can hear it from across the hall, and the light has started to spill through the windows back into the infirmary.

Kunikida sits beside him on the cot to help him up, making sure Dazai doesn’t have any room to do another sprint across the infirmary like last night. He’s looking better, but he’s downright exhausted, shown in the dark circles under his eyes. It’s still obvious he doesn’t feel good.

“You won’t carry me?” Dazai pouts.

“Do you need me to? Or do you want me to carry you?” Kunikida huffs as he snakes an arm around his waist to help him up on his feet. His legs are still a bit wobbly, but he gets his footing, and uses the fluid stand pole for support.

“Want, need? What’s the difference?” Dazai complains with a dramatic sigh. He can tell he’s feeling better with how absurd he’s acting, but his fever is still there, Kunikida can feel it on his skin. “I want you. It’s that kinda sexier than saying I need you?”

Kunikida keeps a hand on his back as he leads him over to the restroom. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hehe. Love you too,” Dazai jokes.

Kunikida makes sure he doesn’t need help going to the bathroom before he closes the door, and he busies himself with changing the sweat-dampened sheets on Dazai’s cot while he waits.

He’s surprised to see Atsushi standing in the doorway, looking horrified to see the cot empty.

“Relax, he’s just in the bathroom,” Kunikida says, dropping what he’s doing to meet Atsushi at the entrance, but the deep concern doesn’t leave his eyes. “What are you doing here, Atsushi?”

"Is he still not doing well?" Atsushi murmurs nervously.

"He's improved," Kunikida assures him with a hand on his shoulder, "You look much better. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Atsushi tells him. Kunikida won't take his word for it, he's not usually very honest about this kind of thing. He looks better than he did yesterday, but he can tell just by looking at him that he's nauseous with anxiety, just like Junichiro described last night. He takes note of the way he's breathing through his mouth instead of his nose to avoid the antiseptic smell.

"Don't worry about him so much. He's survived worse, hasn't he?" Kunikida reminds him with a chiding sigh, regardless of the fact that he's just as concerned. He can't pass those feelings on to Atsushi, especially knowing they had to knock him out last night to get him to sleep.

"I guess so," Atsushi murmurs.

"Who told you to come in today? You should still be resting," Kunikida tells him. He knows Atsushi came of his own accord. He’s here much earlier than detectives usually need to be - he probably snuck out.

"Um…well, no one, I just…I just wanted to make sure he wasn't…" Atsushi mumbles.

"I'll call you if something's the matter. Go back home, no one needs you sitting around here with how you’re feeling," he sighs, landing a hand on Atsushi’s back and walking outside of the infirmary with him.

Atsushi doesn't seem to be paying attention entirely, and Kunikida almost starts to scold him for not listening before he realizes that he's lost a lot of color in his face, enough to make him think he's about to throw up. Atsushi is much more aware of it than Kunikida, obviously and he bolts for the trash bin right inside of the infirmary to retch and gag once or twice before vomit spills past his lips. He’s shaking, breathing hard and clearly anxious, but thankfully, he seems to have only needed to vomit once. Even so, he coughs and forces a burp or two just to make sure.

He crouches down in front of the bin and leans his head against it, still visibly shaking. He's not in nearly as rough shape as he was yesterday regarding this. Atsushi doesn't seem to mind other people throwing up at all, but if it's himself, he almost makes himself even more sick with anxiety. Yesterday he was too out of it to really take in what was happening, but now he's fully lucid.

"I guess - this whole thing is a, uh…a good way to get - get over this," Atsushi stammers between shaky breaths, of course, still trying to keep a positive attitude. Kunikida can hear his breathing patterns start to get erratic with panic, and he hears him attempt to swallow back a gag.

"I'll be right back. Stay here,” he tells him after patting his back and heading back for the Agency Office, where Junichiro has since appeared with his sister.

"Tanizaki, can you take Atsushi home?" Kunikida asks. Normally he wouldn't bother a detective with a task like this, but he'd rather Atsushi be with someone familiar while he's feeling so anxious.

"Did he show up? With how he’s feeling?" Tanizaki asks, concern already washing over his face as he gets up from his desk. Kunikida assumes he and Naomi went home after Atsushi fell asleep. "He's still sick?"

"I think part of it might be nerves now. I don't need him hanging around and worrying about Dazai," Kunikida says, and Junichiro follows him back out into the hallway.

Atsushi is sitting against the doorframe with his knees pulled up tight against his chest and his head on his knees, mumbling something to himself.

"Hey, Atsushi, let's get you downstairs, yeah? You should go home and take days off when you can get them," Junichiro tells him gently as he crouches beside him. Atsushi seems to have given up on his image entirely as he leans into Junichiro. The latter's brow twists with concern and he brings him into a hug, and Kunikida quickly realizes that Atsushi’s crying. "I know. You'll both be okay soon. I'll see if Yosano can get you something to settle your stomach when she gets back, okay?"

"Kay," he mumbles into Junichiro's shoulder.

"Good. I know you hate it, but you're doing a good job," Junichiro tells him in a gentle voice that Kunikida doesn't think he'd be able to pull off. He ruffles his hair fondly. "You know how seasick I get, right? You're handling this way better than I do."

"I am…?" Atsushi murmurs, lifting his head just a bit.

"For sure."

Junichiro is much better at this than Kunikida is in general.

Kunikida waves both of them off as Junichiro leads him back to the elevator, continuing to talk to him gently, and Kunikida shakes off his concern for Atsushi as he notices his shoulders relax before they disappear behind the elevator doors.

Kunikida walks back into the infirmary and stops in the doorway to find Dazai peeking out of the bathroom like he’s checking if the coast is clear.

"What'd you do to that kid to make him worry so much, huh?" Kunikida sighs.

"Beats me," Dazai half-chuckles, clutching onto the IV pole as he walks out of the bathroom, looking less wobbly than before, but Kunikida still meets him to walk him back to his cot. Kunikida can see the hint of concern in his eyes, but Dazai doesn’t show it for long. "He went home?"

"He did," says.

"Hope he won’t be that upset when I finally end it all,” Dazai says, singing the words at the end.

“Well, he will, and so will everyone else, so go ahead and cancel your plans now,” Kunikida grumbles when they make it to the cot. He’s bewildered by Dazai’s audacity to say things like that sometimes, but he thinks he’s so disconnected from the reality of it that he just doesn’t understand. “You’re still dizzy.”

He observes that when he lowers him back down to the cot and Dazai’s head bobs a bit, just before he lays him back down. He’s not so pale anymore, thankfully.

“‘S not a big deal,” Dazai says. His head sinks back into the pillow, and he’s relaxed, Kunikida thinks. He’s not as tense as usual.

"Yosano should be back soon," Kunikida tells him. “She texted me earlier.”

"Mm," Dazai hums as his eyes start to fall shut again.

Kunikida lays a hand over Dazai's cheek. He's still warm, but he thinks his fever has gone down a bit. He’s hoping he’ll get the clear to get Dazai to eat something once Yosano is back. Kunikida probably needs to grab breakfast for himself, too.

"What'd I do to you?" Dazai suddenly asks with a dry, one-note laugh, just as soon as Kunikida takes his hand back.

Kunikida feels his ears get hot. "What do you mean?"

"You're more worried than Atsushi is," Dazai tells him with a little chuckle, thoroughly amused. "And you know how hard it is to kill me."

"I'm not worried," Kunikida scoffs. “Just making sure you don’t die. Do you know how annoying that paperwork would be? I have to pick up enough of your slack as it is.”

“Sure, Kunikida, whatever you say,” Dazai giggles to himself, “You love me. You took such good care of me and you’re so worried about me you can barely stand it.”

“Fine,” Kunikida grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. His face is red beyond belief, he’s sure.

“Say it back!” Dazai whines.

“You didn’t say you love me!” Kunikida shouts back at him with a groan. “How do you think this works, you idiot?!”

“But I do,” Dazai claims. His eyes soften, but there’s still a hint of that cheeky grin left on his lips. “I love you, Kunikida.”

He almost sounds sincere. “Fine. Fine, I love you too.”

Dazai looks incredibly accomplished, meanwhile, Kunikida wishes he could duck his head underwater. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“Go back to sleep. You’re so annoying,” Kunikida grumbles, “you’re sure not acting like you were poisoned yesterday.”

“Aw, that’s mean, Kunikida. I still don’t feel good,” Dazai whines, and even though he’s just using it as leverage, Kunikida feels guilty, because it’s obvious he doesn’t feel good. “Will you lay with me?”

“Not a chance, Dazai. I’m not risking falling asleep and Yosano walking in,” Kunikida grumbles, rubbing his eyes as he slides his glass up on top of his head. His lack of sleep is starting to catch up with him.

“Aww, please? You’re tired. And I need comfort. It’s a win-win,” Dazai explains, but Kunikida shakes his head at him.

“I can comfort you from here,” Kunikida tells him. He takes his hand and squeezes it a little tighter than normal. He’s so thankful Dazai’s doing better. He’s not sure what he would have done if he took a turn for the worse. “I’ll lay with you tonight when we go home.”

“Your place?” Dazai asks.

“Pretty sure yours is a mess,” Kunikida confirms. He reaches forward to brush his fingers through Dazai’s soft curls, still damp with sweat at the roots. Dazai lets his eyes fall shut. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“Mmm…no promises,” Dazai says quietly, and Kunikida squeezes his hand one more time as a reminder. Dazai may not be able to make that promise, but Kunikida will be there with him every time. He leans forward to press a kiss on his warm, flushed cheek.

And of course, despite his efforts to avoid getting caught, he hears Yosano’s voice, already giggling.

“Kunikida?”

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