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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 1 day

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Kouyou Ozaki (self-aware)

Self-Aware! Kouyou Ozaki x GN! Reader

Warning: OOC. Yandere. Koyouou wanted to do some damage to Reader. English is my second language. Some slight spoilers.

Becoming self-aware

🌂 With self-awareness came hatred. And Kouyou Ozaki can't tell exactly, at whom her hate were directed to.

🌂 Was she mad at author, for putting them through the pain? Was she angry, because her "life" was the way it "was", because Author thought, sad backstory will make... readers... pity the character..? Was she angry at readers for liking tragic backstories? And what about Kyouka? What she did do deserve such treatment?

🌂 Kouyou can't tell for sure. Every time she tried to make some sort of scene out of her feelings or thoughts, they go awry, and Kouyou will get a headache, boiling anger and no answers.

🌂Nevertheless, Koyou just can't sit here, mopping all day... night... Whatever time was in this wrenched place. She must help other Port Mafia members. And Kyouka.

🌂 Despite the situation, Mori tried to keep his head cool, Kouyou can give him that. The idea of patrolling the city in pairs were good. She and Kajii were tusked to patrol the borders of Yokohama. Maybe, they could find a way out of the city.

🌂 There was something else. Not only hate. Hope. Hope of a mad person.

🌂 Maybe, it's just a cruel ability, that took over Yokohama's citizens? Maybe, if they find a way to escape Yokohama, the life will be back to normal? They will only need to kill perpetrator, and life will be back to normal. To normal real lives of normal real people.

🌂 If Koyou could, she would pray. Pray for an ability user, who took over Yokohama with their ability. For someone, they could reach. For someone, her Golden Demon could stab.

🌂 But then, Hirotsu and Chuuya brought news. Armed Detective Agency, including Dazai also were self-aware.

🌂 Of course, Koyou could pretend, that Dazai wasn't real, that he was a doll, an illusion. Just a tool to mess with everyone's brains. But, Kouyou knew, that it's not true.

🌂There is an ability user. Yokohama isn't under ability's effect.

🌂 And Kouyou Ozaki, Port Mafia Executive, "Golden Demon" ability user was created only for someone's entertainment.

🌂 But, there was also good news. Kyouka was... fine. According to Dazai, Ranpo, that detective, asked her to be his assistant, while he was investigating current situation. Kouyou was happy about that.

🌂 Illusion might be broken, world is big fake, but, right here and now, Kouyou Ozaki exists. And she has duty to fulfill.

🌂 And then, she felt entity's gaze on her.

_________

She and Kajii were paroling borders of Yokohama again.

Kouyou Ozaki felt both irritated and nervous. The world outside of Yokohama was even... emptier.

The closest metaphor Kouyou could find, is drawing of a forest, made by kindergartener, who didn't know about animals existence.

Wilderness outside Yokohama was empty. No animals, no birds, no insects. Even trees were limited. It looked like a park, not an inhabitant area.

And it was flat. No hills, no complete roads.

The river and road lead to nothing. They just... stopped. Like someone cut them.

And beyond that only empty sea of green grass with rare trees existed.

That's why that unblinking gaze in the sky made Kouyou nervous. It was natural fear. Fear of being stalked by someone, while being far away from safety.

But, irritation still was Kouyou main emotion towards that entity.

Kouyou knew what it was. Who they were.

Reader. A single one, Kouyou was about that. Another of that people, who wanted drama. Who wanted to see sad backstories.

Looking from afar. In the security of their real lives. Of their real world.

Oh, how Kouyou wanted to blind that Reader up above.

She wasn't the only one, who had that idea. Some time ago Chuuya said to her, that he dreams about the day he could show that person, how powerful his ability is. They will feel it on their own skin.

And then, time resets.

And Kouyou, once again, was tasked to look after fifteen-year-old Chuuya Nakahara, who has just joined Port Mafia.

__________

When they start feeling your presence

🌂 The shock of sudden time travel still was fresh in her mind, when Chuuya's words delivered the second shocking hit.

"Ane-san... I think, we were mistaking about... them... They are"... Chuuya thought carefully about his next words. "... seems not that bad."

Chuuya grinned for a second.

"And they knew, when to start playing good rock song."

🌂 Kouyou wasn't sure, what to say about it. Chuuya wasn't the one, who would change his opinion that easy. What happened between him and Reader?

🌂 And why she was hearing a laughter during Chuuya's and Dazai's bickering? Very soft and nice laughter.

🌂 Next time travel was felt worse. Because Kouyou woke up in the middle of the fight with Verlaine. But, something was off. King of Assassins was looking at something above his head. He wasn't paying attention to the battle.

🌂 After the battle, Chuuya was mumbling something with a smile on his face. And he was looking at something above his head.

🌂 And when Port Mafia found Verlaine, he was looking before him with a faint smile on his face. He was whispering.

"Perhaps, one day, we will meet. And I will show my gratitude for you... Little Light."

🌂 Kouyou could swear, that for one moment, she saw a shapeless blob, floating before Verlaine.

🌂 Another reset. This time, Kouyou and Mori was discussing Kyouka. And two new things appeared. First, a blinking blob of light, that appeared and disappeared from time to time. And a voice, coming from up above.

Pretty [||||||||||] her [|||||||||||] kimono.

🌂 A surprisingly kind smile appeared on Mori's face.

"Oh, so you finally can see Little Light, Kouyou-kun? Aren't they adorable?"

🌂 Kouyou didn't answer Mori's question, choosing to met with Kyouka. He heard, that Port Mafia and ADA were negotiating about creating a union. To get to the Real World. And met with Guiding Light.

🌂 Kouyou guessed, that Guiding Light were Reader. What happened while she was away? For a moment, Kouyou felt irritated. Why she wasn't included in more events? She wanted to know more about sudden change of hearts about Reader.

🌂 Kouyou didn't call Kyouka's cellphone that time. She only wanted to make sure, that she is alright. Nakajima can be free, for now.

🌂 Kyouka and Atsushi were at the same spot, Kouyou found them last? time. Atsushi was talking about something with Kyouka. Kouyou could hear some words he has spoken.

"them" "good" "will like" "kind".

And second voice also talked.

"hope" "Kyouka" "fine"

🌂 This tome, it was a talk, not a fight. Kyouka was fine. And, she really wanted to hear something from Guiding Light. Were Guiding Light hypnotizing people? Kouyou didn't know why, but she repeated that words, she told Kyouka the last time.

_________

"Listen to me, Kyōka. I know how you feel. But... some things are simply impossible. No matter how much a natural-born assassin like you seeks light... A flower that blooms in the dark can survive only within the dark. If you pursue the light, its heat will burn you up in the end."

Something soft curled around her neck. And Kouyou felt a wave of warmth.

Kindness. Appreciation. Love.

"sorry" "didn't deserve" "strong"

"Kouyou, I admire you. You are such a strong woman. I don't know if I could go through, what you had to go through. But, I think, you can open up a little... They respect you. And, I don't think, they will try to betray you again. One day, even in the deepest darkness, light will shine."

And someone pet her cheek.

[*In reality, you traced your fingers along Kouyou's manga frame.*]

_______

🌂 Kouyou returned to ADA's building with Kouyou and Atsushi. Other Port Mafia members already were there. And Kouyou really need time to think about everything.

🌂 Chuuya... was right. Reader's emotions don't feel fake. And, what was important to Kouyou, Reader didn't pity her. Perhaps, Kouyou should soften up for a bit.

🌂But, one problem remains. Kyouka. Will Reader felt kindness towards Kouyou as well? If they aren't, well, Kouyou's sympathy will disappear.

🌂 Kouyou just need to wait.

________

The union finally was established, and remains of Port Mafia permanently moved to ADA's building.

Fukuzawa and Mori were discussing with Fitzgerald about Guild joining them.

That's when Kyouka wanted to talk to Kouyou eye to eye.

"They saw my past. My parents. They hugged me."

Kouyou saw a faint smile on Kyouka's face.

"Atsushi was right. They are a good person."

When Kyouka left to help Atsushi with something, Kouyou looked up. At the Little Light.

"You... Never were a bad person, right? I am glad, that I learned about it before I could do something, that would upset Kyouka. Guiding Light, when we met... let me protect you as well."

_________

🌂 Kouyou now understand, why others wanted to meet Guiding Light. And why they want to hear more from them.

🌂 If only all of them could hear Guiding Light's voice more often.

And then, one day, the purple moon shined above Yokohama.

When you installed BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan

🌂 When they got access to Scout files, Kouyou immediately gave you most of her SSR Cards.

🌂 She, and some other people, who didn't get much spotlight, asked to be first, who gives you their cards. They want your attention.

"Kouyou has so many beautiful cards"

"I wish, there was SSR Kouyou Tarot Card, SR."

"I adore Chibi Kouyou from Port Mafia base."

🌂 Kouyou is planning, how she will protect you, when she got in reality.

🌂 Kouyou is interested in Japanese culture. She took some sewing lessons online. She wants to sew something for you.

🌂 Real World, if you will be near, doesn't seem so bad. Same to hope.

_______

You got another note in your inbox.

Kouyou with Sakura flowers Stamp.

"[Y/N], I hope, you are doing well. If someone is bothering you, tell me, when we met. I will deal with them accordingly. Stay safe. Kouyou Ozaki."

You smiled and opened one of the Kouyou's cards. You pet chibi sprite.

"I am doing good, Kouyou. Thanks for your concern. No one was bothering me, but, if someone do, I will tell you. I hope, we will meet."

You didn't notice, but a smile appeared on chibi Kouyou's face.

#self-awarebsd #self-awareau #bungou stray dogs au #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd anime #bsd x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #yandere #Self-Aware Koyouou Ozaki #Ozaki Kouyou x reader #Kouyou Ozaki x reader #BSD Koyouou x reader

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justauthoring · 2 days

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your hand feels nice in mine.

requested! -> hii loved your natsu fic! 🤭 i’m glad that fairy tail content is coming back. i wanna request something similar w gray.. maybe it’s a hot day n he helps reader

a/n -> honestly it was not my intention to write for fairy tail today... but writing that natsu drabble was so fun and i can't help it im in a fair tail mood lol. also, for the sake of it, let's pretty juvia hasn't joined the guild yet okay?

pairing -> gray fullbuster x f!reader

it was far too hot.

ridiculously hot.

really, it shouldn't even be humanely possible for it to be this hot. hot enough that you were sweating profusely, it building up on your forehead and leaving you feeling gross and sticky. you were thirsty and your movements felt luggish, as if you might just pass out on the spot.

clearly, the universe had something against you because this was starting to feel like a personal attack.

your eyes flicker to your teammate who seems all too unaffected by the heat; which, yes, to be fair was to be expected. gray was an ice wizard and you knew he ran cold, so obviously this heat wasn't impacting him as much. he looked somewhat warm, you guessed, a small build up of sweat lining his forehead.

but he wasn't dragging his feet and he didn't look flushed or uncomfortable. nothing like you at least.

walking ahead of you, gray looks perfectly fine which, unfortunately, is just irritating you more. how was it fair that he was fine while you were practically dying?

"dumb ice wizard with your stupid ice powers and cooling abilities," you mumble to yourself, grouchy and annoyed.

you just wanted this mission to be over but it was looking like you were going to be stuck on this island for a while longer if the fact that you guys hadn't even found your clients target yet was anything to go by. the rest of team natsu had split up in search of them; natsu and happy with lucy and erza with carla and wendy.

which left you with the stupid, unbothered and cool gray.

truthfully, you're not even sure how you're going to even be able fight the damn target when you do reach them because it was so hot!

"are you okay?"

if he hadn't spoken, you would've ended up walking right into gray. but his voice is enough to snap you out of your own sulking, blinking as you stop and meet his gaze. his words seem genuine and you're sure he is concerned but the damn smirk on his lips just pisses you off more.

"fine," you reply sharply, turning to walk past him.

gray reaches for you before you can, his hand wrapping around your arm and halting your steps as he pulls you back towards him.

regrettably, even if his cold hand feels soothing on your skin.

"what—"

gray just lets out a chuckle, shifting you so you're stood in front of him before pressing his palm against your forehead. whatever you'd been about to say promptly falls silent the second his palm touches your forehead. instantly, a cold, gentle breeze flows over you, enveloping your entire body in a cooling sensation that has your tensed muscles relaxing.

"oh."

"feel better?"

glancing up at gray, you blink at him, dazed. "much," you admit, nodding, "your magic feels so nice."

gray flushes slightly at your words, the compliment making his insides feel funny as he coughs, trying to pretend like that hadn't affected him. "w-well, i'm glad. you looked pretty miserable."

as the feeling floods you, you start to gather your bearings, now just realizing how close you were to gray. his hand was raised, pressed against your forehaed, but his other hand still rested on your arm and the two of you were very close.

you feel your cheeks warm as you lower your gaze.

"th-thank you, gray." you mumble, feeling oddly embarrassed even though you can't reason why. gray was your friend and all he was doing was helping you, his friend, cool down in this ridiculous heat.

there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

still, that couldn't explain the flush on both of your cheeks.

"here," gray shifts, moving his hand and you have to resist the urge to moan at the loss of his hand. he lets go of your arm and moves to stand beside you. and, before you can dwell on the disappointment much longer, gray's face is burning and he's promptly turning away from you, avoiding your gaze.

your eyes then lower, seeing his hand held out towards you, palm inviting.

"gray?"

"hold my hand," he explains, muffled as he shoves his face into his coat collar (surprisingly still on). "i'll keep you cool."

the realization dawns on you, eyes widening. "o-oh," you mumble, forcing the words out as you glance at his hand once again. "okay."

slowly, hesitantly, you slip your hand into his, gray easing into the touch as he threads his fingers through your own, and squeezes.

true to his word, he lets his magic slowly seep out, cooling you and enveloping you in a consant cool sensation. but the heat refuses to fade from your cheeks, all the same, as the two of you avoid each others gaze.

"sh-should we get going?"

"ye-yeah."

"y/n?"

"hm?"

"why are you holding gray's hand?"

you snap your attention to lucy at her question, eyes then snapping to gray who's staring back at you, and then finally down to your intwined hands.

a second later, the two of you are pulling away.

"no-no reason!"

"nothing!"

lucy just blinks at the two of you, quirking a knowing brow.

"you guys sure?"

you send a lucy a half-hearted glare, knowing what she's insinuating, and given that she knew more than anyone else there, you refused to let her try and egg you on. "of course," you say firmly, and lucy just laughs. "it was just... hot. gray cooled me down."

hands on her hips, lucy snorts; "okay, then." then, stepping back, she shrugs. "i was just curious."

she leaves the two of you alone and both you and gray stand there for a moment, silent, not sure what to say.

then, gray speaks up; "i didn't mind, you know?"

"hm?" you mumble, meeting his eyes. he just gestures to his hand and your lips part. "oh. me... me neither. it... felt nice." then, you move to clarify; "and not just because of your magic."

"that's good," gray nods, flustered. "i'm glad."

"yeah."

"...wanna... hold hands again?"

you let out a breath of relief. "yes."

#fairy tail #fairy tail x reader #gray fullbuster #gray fullbuster x reader #gray x reader #gray fluff

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ktaerssoi · 19 hours

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Mmmm what about Kate with a partner who’s love language is gift giving, specifically handmade gifts.

Like just imagine Kate being gifted a bouquet of crochet flowers by her partner, I can’t get that image out of my head.

Also do you take anons? can I be 🐹 anon?

handcrafted

kate martin x fem!reader

summary: it was your's and kate's one year anniversary together, and to make it special you made your gift by hand.

(826)

you and kate have had a connection from the moment you met, you guys had ignored it until you finally confessed to her in the pouring rain, a story for another day, but a connection nonetheless.

you guys had made a deal on your six month anniversary that you wouldn't go all out for your one year, so you hadn't. recently, you had been trying to learn how to crochet, seeing some cute crafts that you wanted to make.

one of these crafts, a bouquet of crochet flowers, caught your eye one day while scrolling on Instagram. you looked up a tutorial and quickly got to practicing, thinking that they would make a nice, thoughtful gift for kate.

you had finally gotten the pattern down a few days before you were going to go out. you had made almost a dozen of them, untying and retying them all together until they were to your standards. you felt sort of weird making something so simple for such a big day in your relationship, but at the same time, it felt fitting for you and kate.

the day had come, you were woken up by kate bringing you breakfast, more like lunch, in bed.

the two of you had the whole day planned out, you were going to chill at home for a little, maybe hit up the mall, and then go out to dinner at a restaurant you guys had been frequenting more often. you were excited, to say the least, you had gotten ready two hours before you had to leave, wanting to look your best.

you were nervous too, you were starting to get self-conscious about your gift, thinking it was a little babyish. calm down, it'll be fine, it's just kate. you repeated those words in your head until you started to believe them.

you guys were having a great night, the food was great and you were laughing and talking the whole time. you guys had decided to do presents once you got home, feeling like it might be weird to do such a personal thing in a public setting.

you guys were wrapping up at the restaurant, the waiters and waitresses bidding you goodbye, knowing they would see the two of you again soon.

"c'mon y/n, I want to go home! I'm so excited to give you your gift, it's so cool" you smiled as you looked at kate, she was practically jumping off the walls to leave.

"my company isn't enough to keep you here?" you laughed as you walked out the door, watching her face contort to make an argument against your claim. you didn't hear the end of it till you got to the car two minutes later.

your leg was bouncing nervously on the way home, kate had noticed and grabbed your hand halfway there. it calmed you down, even if you didn't want to admit you were stressed in the first place.

you weren't totally sure why you were nervous, maybe it was the fact that you thought kate wouldn't like them, or that you felt like they wouldn't compare to whatever kate gets you.

finally, after both of you had changed and taken off your makeup, you were seated on the couch. both of you holding the other's respective gifts. kate had a tiny bag that seemed to hold something fancy. you were scared, to say the least.

you switched bags and to say you were shocked is an understatement. kate had given you a bracelet with what seemed to be hand-polished gems, she had held off on opening hers just to see your reaction.

you jumped into her arms, kissing her face to show your gratitude. "kate, baby, this is so cute, did you make this yourself? i love it so much oh my gosh." you had asked her to help you put it on, not wanting to ever take it off again.

you were sitting on her lap messing with the chain when you realized she hadn't opened your gift yet. "kate!" you gasped, a smile on your face as you reached for the bag, handing it to her. "open it! please? i know its not much but i learned how to make each one individually and it took me actual weeks-" you were cut off by kate kissing your lips, it was a slow kiss, one that expressed just how thankful she was for the present.

"they're amazing babe, im going to go get a vase to put them in." you got up, letting her walk into the kitchen to get a vase. you were still a little shell-shocked about that kiss.

the vase of handmade flowers sat on your coffee table for almost two years, only moving when you did. every year since your first anniversary you've added a new flower. every day, it's like walking into a reminder of just how much you two had been through together.

notes: erm chat?? new color?? but also yes, i do take anons! hi 🐹!! anyway chat.. i miss my gf.. YEAH GIRLFRIEND. I TOLD YOU SHE WAS INTO ME. (we've been on one date.) sos chat - kate

kate's gift to you

your gift to kate

#wcbb #caitlin clark #paige bueckers #caitlin clark x reader #kate martin #paige bueckers fic #wlw #iowa hawkeyes #iowa wbb

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feedthefandomfest · 3 days

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Comment Bingo: Angst Edition

Very simple rules: comment on a fic with the given tag in a particular square; repeat until you've completed 5 squares in a line

Very simple goals: encourage readers to comment on fics; encourage fandom writers to KEEP WRITING

thanks to @ihni for helping me brainstorm tags 💛 approach this one with care, friends—definitely substitute tags of your choosing if any of these are ones you prefer to avoid!

STEPS:

Download Bingo Card HERE (png) or HERE (jpg) or HERE (pdf)

Complete the tasks on the card, marking off each as you go, until you've completed 5 in a line (vertical, horizontal, or diagonal; NO double-dipping; flame is a free space)

POST your winning card (or list your filled squares) and tag @feedthefandomfest! Glory in your victory.

REWARD:

✨ victory badges ✨

New badge for this card, but here are examples from previous cards:

Tag me when you earn a bingo (or double, triple, quadruple... FULL CARD bingo) and I'll reblog a shiny badge with your name on it to commemorate the win.

FAQ:

Can I comment on tumblr or only on AO3?

Either one is great! The tags are drawn from AO3, but most can be adjusted to suit tumblr as well, so I say go for it. Tumblr fics deserve love, too.

Can one comment count toward multiple squares if the fic fits more than one category?

Since the goal is for as many fics to receive comments as possible, try to comment on a different fic for each square.

Is there a time limit?

Nope! Take your time or set your own deadline, whatever works for you. This blog is still in its early experimental stage, so feedback welcome. Play around and let me know what you like and what might be added/changed—including ideas for squares on future cards!

Do I have to record progress on the actual card?

Nope! If it’s easier to keep track in a different way, that’s fine. This is all very honor system, so if you say you earned a Bingo, we’ll call it a win 🎉

Some people have been tracking not just completed tasks, but the fics they read along the way, so that when they post a bingo, they can also promote the fics/authors in a little rec list. Not required, but definitely cool to see!

Can I adjust the task in a particular square to suit my comfort level?

Of course! If you deliver something in the spirit of the task, then it’s all good. Use your best judgement in constructing a comment that will make the author smile, and you can consider it a job well done.

In general, so long as each square has produced at least one comment, you’re golden and I salute you 🫡

Happy commenting!!

#comment bingo #angst bingo #feed the fandom fest #i feel bad for even posting this #hey kids do you like pain #please don't sue for emotional distress

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rosewaterandivy · 2 days

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rack 'em up!

Summary: in hustling, ya gotta keep the score real simple. count your money at the end of the game, and walk away.

Pairing: s.h. x fem! reader

WC: 1.6k

Warnings: NSFW 18+, drinking, cursing, & pool shark steve

A/N: A continuation of our Modern Love series featuring Steve 🥰 Reblogs, likes & feedback are appreciated - reposting is not. Enjoy! 💜

The first time you’d met Steve Harrington, you hadn’t been yourself. It was Halloween night and one of your best friends had somehow convinced you to go out with her to a local bar. You were in your Audrey Horne finest — pink sweater, plaid skirt, Mary Janes and all — while your bestie had settled for the Log Lady, classic Twin Peaks.

Thighs sticking to the cracked vinyl seat, you nursed a beer only half-listening to your friend’s bitching about her grad school class. Sitting at the bar, you felt exposed. And sure, she was there and had been supportive throughout this ordeal. But still — it was the first time you’d been out since the break-up.

Shaking your head, you tried to rid yourself of the incessant thoughts which were proving less than helpful. She quickly noticed your discomfort, she worried her lips and tried to get the bartender’s attention. “We can go if it’s too much babe,” she murmurs softly, “Or at least head up to Paschal’s where it won’t be as crowded.”

“No, this is fine,” you insist, taking a sip from your beer, condensation gathering on the glass. “I’m just getting used to it is all.”

She gives you a small smile, “Okay, but let me know when you want to bounce.”

The bar fills up rather quickly from there. The breaking of racks sounds out from the pool tables in loud cracks, quickly followed by loud whoops and hollers. The pair of you were occasionally jostled by patrons opening their tabs and ordering food or drinks. Coming to the end of your beer, you nod to her and she signals for the check.

Someone slides in behind you, sending your pint glass tumbling to the bar top the remnants of lukewarm beer readily making its way toward your lap. You quickly stand to avoid the spill and back up.

Large, warm hands lightly grasp your arms, causing you to jump, “Oh shit,” he says, voice apologetic, “That was my bad, I’m so sorry!”

Turning in the stranger’s grasp, you catch Liz’s wide-eyed gaze, “No harm, no foul,” you insist, “Quick reflexes and all.”

The sight of him makes you want to drop dead. A furrow in his brow and lip worried between his teeth — too handsome for his own good.

“Let me make it up to you.” His thumbs graze over the fabric of your sweater as you nod. He turns to the bartender and leans over the bar top to say, “Hey man, can I get two IPAs, a stout, and whatever else the lady would like?”

He glances back to you, waiting.

“She had a saison!” Your friend helpfully pipes up from behind you.

“Thanks,” he smiles at her, “Can I get you anything?”

She flushes under his attention and places her order before pulling you to the side out of earshot. Her eyes gleam in mischief when she says, “Ooh girl, he is fine.”

You can’t argue, he is objectively attractive. All coiffed hair and tan limbs, definitely out of your league. Involuntarily, you curl in on yourself.

“Hey,” she scolds, “Don’t do that.”

As if she could read your thoughts.

“Yeah, under Harrington man. Thanks!”

Schooling your expression into a semblance of cool, you smile when he leans back hands you the drink, your fingers brushing briefly.

“I am really sorry about that, by the way.” He says, eyes clouding over with worry. “Hope it didn’t ruin your night.”

“Not at all,” you say after taking a sip, “We were about to head out anyway.”

She elbows you something fierce and narrows her eyes.

“What she means to say, is that we were about to head upstairs.”

The stranger nods, “That’s cool.”

It’s only then that you notice the three other beers in his hands in a triangle formation, condensation growing steadily on each glass. You meet his gaze, “D’you need help with those?”

When he smiles, it’s slow and saccharine. “Don’t worry about it, honey.” He nods toward the pool tables, “But you can come along, if you’d like?”

Your best friend all but yanks your arm out as he walks toward a group of people surrounding the pool table. He hands the respective drinks to the man and woman arguing over stripes and solids.

“I broke, so I get to call Rob!” The man with long hair pulled up into a bun insists. “It’s like, common courtesy.”

The woman, Rob, takes a brief sip of her beer, top lip coming away covered in foam. “But polite society dictates that you should offer the choice to me, Eddie.”

Eddie rolls his eyes before noticing the new additions to the group. “Harrington,” he says with a smile, “Care to introduce us?”

The man’s eyebrows raise, “Oh, um,” he begins before faltering. “This is—“

Your bestie swiftly butts in to introduce you both. “Nearly ruined her night,” she jokes, “Beer stained skirt is a sure-fire ticket home.”

Eddie laughs along with her and turns back to the game of pool. “Whaddya think then?” His eyes meet yours, “Solids or stripes?”

Robin scoffs indignantly and chalks her pool cue.

His attention catches you off-guard, “Oh, um,” you echo Harrington, “Stipes, I guess?”

Eddie smiles and leans down to take his shot, “Excellent choice.” He sinks two stripes in the corner pocket and rises lazily to sip his beer.

Your friend, meanwhile, made herself scarce, socializing with Rob across the pool table. Harrington, first name unknown, eyed the game briefly.

“Take over for me?”

He glances across the table and takes the outstretched cue. “Sure thing Rob.” He brushes past you with a cautionary hand to the small of your back, “Sorry.”

Your friend and Robin continue their conversation at a nearby high-top table, while Harrington lines up his shot. Left alone with your beer, Eddie makes his way to your side. “This game is about to become distinctly unfair,” he grouses.

“How so?”

“Steve’s a pool shark,” he shrugs, “Good thing Rob and I didn’t bet on this game, he’d take me to the cleaners.”

You laugh at that, “Well, considering that she abandoned the game, I think that makes any bets null and void.”

“Maybe so.”

You sip your beer, conversation with Eddie coming easily. “I could give him a run for his money,” You say off-handedly, “If you wanted to make it interesting.”

The cue ball cracks against the remnants form the rack, two solids falling into the side pocket. Eddie gives you a wicked smile, “That so, sweetheart?” He chuckles and takes a drink, “Bit of a hustler yourself?”

You shrug casually, “Had a shit dad,” you supply, “Learned a thing or two in the bars he frequented.”

“Fair enough,” he says before turning to Steve, “Harrington!”

Steve stops his perusal of the pool table. Eddie chalks up the cue and passes it to you. “Care to make this game a little more interesting?”

Bets are taken — 3 to 1 with odds in your favor; you had graciously elected to abstain from betting. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for your best friend.

(“Oh my God, this is the greatest,” she crows, “The last time she played, she made a dude cry.”)

Steve, it had to be said, was indeed a shark; the game was evenly matched. Before long, a group had gathered around you to watch. Eddie kept the drinks coming while Robin insisted you both eat something.

Steve lined up to take his turn; it was a long shot, “Eight ball, left corner pocket.”

As he leans over, his shirt rode up slightly along his back revealing tan skin and toned muscles. You feel yourself begin to get hot under the collar. Eddie thrusts a cold can of beer into your palm, “Steve, make yourself decent, for fuck’s sake.”

He blushes at that, shot falling just shy of his call. The eight ball rolling to a stop on the precipice of the pocket. You let out a low whistle, holding the can against your forehead for relief.

“Wouldn’t be taking it easy on the lady, would you Harrington?”

Hazel eyes meet yours for a brief moment. He winks at you as you open the can to take a sip. “Not at all, Ed.”

You sip slowly, the cool beer alleviating your parched throat. Swallowing, you wipe a hand across your mouth and set the can aside. “That’s a shame,” you say approaching the table with a sway in your hips. “Get ready to pay up, pretty boy.”

Eddie cackles at that, Robin and your bestie howling in laughter. The patrons watching the game unfold let out whoops and whistles. It would be easy enough to simply tap the eight ball in the corner pocket, ending the game handedly.

You instead opt to ricochet the cue ball along the sideboards with enough force to propel it into the corner pocket with an audible crack. A wave of cheers erupts around you as Steve’s head dramatically drops in defeat. Eddie, Robin, and your friend bumrush and crowd you against the pool table.

“To the victor, go the spoils!” Robin hollers, turning you toward Steve.

You extend your hand, palm outstretched awaiting the payout. “Cough it up, pretty boy.”

With a huff, he digs his wallet from his back pocket and counts out the twenties. His fingers are warm against yours, you give him a small smile. “No hard feelings?”

He smiles in return, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Clasping the bills in your hand, you eye him up and down. Insecurity and shyness from earlier in the night alleviated from the progression of beers over the evening. “Tell you what,” you say, scrambling for a pen and paper, “If you ever feel like getting your ass handed to you again,” you jot down your number, “I’m available.”

He takes the scrap of paper from you with a slow smile, “Good to know.”

And if someone airdrops you a new contact before you leave, then so much the better.

Pretty Boy Steve: soooo, rematch?

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #Spotify

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twisted-wonderland-but-gayer · 2 days

Note

feel free to delete if this makes you uncomfortable. I saw on your rules dark content is fine, but I know yandere stuff can be a trigger in particular with its many aspects (stalking, murder, etc)

TW: Yandere, violence, kidnapping

im curious how a yandere Yuu would vibe with the great 7. they aren't good people (duh) but would they at least try to keep Yuu on a somewhat good path? even if its a student the 7 like, like the dorm leaders, their number one is Yuu, so I can't imagine they'd feel bothered, in addition to the being evil. And with half the cast having angsty backstories, I cant imagine it would be hard to make some justicifacation (I messed that up, didn't I?) for kidnapping the object of Yuus afection

Queen of Hearts: "Well of course I helped my Rose with young Riddle! Its so sweet to see such a happy couple, and honestly, why wouldn't he love this? A nice space for the two of them, free from *that* woman, allowed to indulge in whatever he likes! As long as he doesn't break my Rose's rules, sure he'll need some time to adjust, but they have the rest of their lives to spend together! :)"

Jafar: "So maybe its not Jamil's ideal, but what's there to complain about? Travelling the world together, free from the Al-Sims,and a nice home to come back to, where the housework is split evenly so he doesn't have to do it all. I just hope he doesn't try Snake Whisper again, or else his eyes may have to go. The ingrate may just deserve it, he has all he wants but still is fighting my poor gem"

Idk if i understand this but

Tbh I don't really care for yanderes– don't get me wrong the concept is cool but I feel it's never done right, it's either always tropey or overly edgy– but the 7 encouraging Yuu to be as deranged at they are is great. I mean look at Male and Grimhilde, they'd definitely be like "if he doesn't like you– lock him up!!

Meanwhile Hades advice depends on which story you believe. It's either "go kidnapp them and feed them a pomegranate" or "idk leave your house unlocked and if they love you they will walk in and make themselves home"

#not writing #not requests #the great 7 parents

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tunastime · 20 hours

Text

Restful Dreaming, Mr. Freelancer

hi everyone :3 so um. I may have gotten very much into rvb smiles. and you know what happens when I really love something! and when I really love some guys from a something! yeap. here we go again. I just think caboose could be friends with everyone. I'm a caboose enjoyer what can I say. I love him.

Washington follows the Blue Team back to Valhalla, where he tries to get some much needed rest. Emphasis on tries. (3828 words)

When Tucker and Caboose find the unused, fourth room in the base, it’s Tucker that sweeps his arm out and gestures grandly to the room around them. It’s not very large—bed, closet, table, desk, bathroom. Enough space to walk around in—enough blue-white light to make sure nobody goes insane in somewhere so dark. Caboose goes on about how they’re almost neighbors, listing off what they could do being so close, gossip and sleepovers and the like, and Tucker goes on about how that’s nice, Caboose, and sure thing, buddy, and both speak to a Wash that’s not listening. He’s looking over the room, filtering in through a fine layer of yellow, just enough to change the hue from cool to warm, and something settles in the slope of his shoulders. He turns after a beat, folding his arms.

“You’re certain I can stay here?” he asks. Tucker shrugs.

“Yeah, I mean…” he starts, in the way that Tucker always seemed to do when he was on the edge of a decision that ultimately made him uncomfortable. “Just repaying the favor. Plus you’re the only one who really knows how to get Church outta that thing.”

“Epsilon,” Wash corrects. “And it’s a memory unit, not a thing.”

“Sure,” Tucker shrugs. “Whatever.”

“We still don’t know where that thing is,” Wash says, but it’s without any of the usual bored sting he might’ve normally laid on. He can feel the worry in the room like water around the ankles, like it invaded his boots. He steps side to side for a moment, trying to shake the feeling.

“We’ll find it!” Caboose pipes up, nodding several times. “We’ll find Church. I know we will.”

Wash sighs.

“Yeah,” he says. “I hope so.”

There’s a beat of silence. Wash feels his lungs work against the tight feeling in his shoulders all the way up until the point where Caboose breaks the silence.

“I’m going to go make lunch,” he says. “I’m starving.”

“Good point, Caboose,” Tucker agrees. He turns to Wash as he adds: “You, uh, let us know if you need anything. You’ve got the tour, now, so…”

Wash nods.

“Right,” he manages. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

The silence leftover is mostly full of the sound of air circulating through the room and pulling into his helmet. Washington stands in the room in that long moment, finding his head spinning just enough to rock his balance. He’s not so sure he should even be standing, but Tucker had handed him enough med-kits to keep him running, and his bones felt mostly in place, despite some nasty bruising up his shoulder and back, all the way down his right hip and thigh and knee. He pulls himself from his stuck spot, finally gathering the strength to unlatch his helmet. Both thumbs hook under his chin until it clicks, and he sets it in the armor stand.

The thing about the armor is that they’re not necessarily supposed to take it off. It does come off, huge chunks of titanium alloy perfectly compressed to fit each wearer, to sit comfortably against layers of computer arrays and magnetic fasteners, bolts and straps and sealers. As soon as he starts pulling, chest pieces and arm braces come loose, and he sheds the exosuit slowly. Underneath is the cool-black bodysuit. That’s the part that really shouldn’t come off. It did, every once in a while, when there was enough time to spend recalibrating, readjusting, resyncing. The suit and all its layers, down to the skin, down to the channel of his spine, from tailbone to nape of neck, aligned with sensors and biocomponents along a fine, white scar to a thick, but equally healed one at the base of his skull, took time to adjust to. That time was precious.

But it didn’t matter with this suit. There was no connection. The suit would simply communicate without having to know, would respond to forces it knew best, and rely on what he had without a physical, grounding connection. He was free of it. The scar and its components would fade from his body. They’d be nothing but a memory.

Carefully, Wash dissects the titanium bodysuit—kevlar—coming apart at the seam, carefully fastened, skin-tight. It’s uncomfortable at first, adjusting to the air of the base, without the suit’s micro-adjustments for temperature and humidity, but he eventually shirks free and places everything in the armor compartment.

He feels light. He also feels exposed and a little small. He searches for any sort of replacement, sleeping clothes, uniforms, anything plastered with UNSC across the arm or chest or back. When he does find it, he’s quick to pull it on and over his head. The shirt falls crooked across him, pants similarly too large, and he has to wonder what sort of Spartan these were made for, knowing how he certainly wasn’t the smallest soldier he’d met. It’s something, though, and he doubts he’ll be wearing it for very long. In fact, he finds himself tugging it off as soon as he figures out the shower, and douses himself in hot water long enough to get the plastic smell off his skin.

Without the shadow of the day, his reflection in the mirror takes on a sunken quality. His eyes are dark and tired, lines stretching out underneath them, and the already-pale, now-bony quality of his face does little to hide it. He’s turned all sharp angles all too quickly. But if he’s got anyone to bitch to it would be himself. Well, maybe Caboose and Tucker would listen. But they probably wouldn’t understand. Epsilon might’ve ratted out his bad sleeping habits to Caboose, were he still around to actually see them. But he very well was half the reason they existed, so, touche.

Besides, now Wash was looking out on a bed that was impossibly too big for him. He pulls back far too many layers of blankets and pushes aside pillows and makes himself a space between it all.

The lights are dim, casting long, fine shadows in the cool light. They dim further to a blackness as he settles, lying back in the few pillows and pulling still-starchy sheets around him. His tired body all but sinks into the mattress, body aching at every joint from overuse, begging to stay and to be comforted. It's there he lies for a moment, adjusting to weight and pressure, air and texture around him. He sighs. It’s the longest exhale in what feels like a very long time. The back of his throat, up through his nose, starts to burn.

He squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a sharp breath in.

Washington’s hands come up on instinct, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes as he fights back a sound from deep in his chest. It’s hard—it feels so stupid to call this hard, because he could just crack, just for a second. Just for a moment of relief, and—he does, shutting his eyes tight still and willing in a breath through his nose as he turns his face into pillows that he hopes were nobody else's and probably never were and never would be again. Nobody knows he’s alive. Not Command, not Project Freelancer, not the Meta—Maine. Not even Epsilon. For now. The weight of his shoulders was so instant it nearly winded him, on a bed seemingly too large. It was simply him, unshackled, and the blue-white armor in its case, and Caboose, and Tucker. And the base around him was quiet..

Washington lets his body relax. Sleep comes like a heavy blanket.

His second week’s worth of sleep doesn’t go as well. Tonight, Wash is still awake. It’s not of his own choice—if it were he’d already be asleep, curled into the plush pillows and firm mattress. He stares up at the ceiling. His eyes are dry, and it’s not all that comfortable to blink, actually. He’d prefer to focus on sinking into this nice bed, but he’s having a bit of a hard time. What he means by nice bed is that he’s gotten so used to sleeping on the ground or in the back seat of a moving Warthog or the jet or his cot so folded and unfolded that it stopped being comfortable, or the bunk that was just the right size but not nearly deep enough to fit him without moving, that having actual room to move around is really good. It’s really good, actually, and he’s not sure when the last time he had such a nice sleep was.

He’s not even sure when he woke up that first day, aside from the fact that it was Caboose waking him up and it was still dark out—or had just gotten that way. Maybe he’d slept that whole day. But he wandered around the Valhalla base instead, swallowing down the ache low in his spine. He mapped the rooms in his head, twisting around the circular hallways. Kitchen, armory, five rooms, garage, a small central living quarters that remained barren and empty, aside from bits of broken computers, radios, and robot parts. The floor still smelled like cleaner, remnant from the UNSC’s thorough cleaning.

Anyway—he’s still awake in his own room. His eyes hurt. He’s looking into the dark grey ceiling and wondering if sleep might crawl its way back to him when there’s a knock on the door. There’s a brief pause before it happens again. He frowns, scrubbing at his eyes as his brain fights the fog settling over it.

“Agent Washington,” a voice says, feigning a whisper through the sliding door.

“Caboose?” he whispers back, furrowing his eyebrows. Isn’t it late? He looks over to the bedside table, reading the dull red numbers on the clock—yeah. Late. “What are you still doing up?”

He hears Caboose sigh. If he thinks hard enough he can imagine him leaning against the metal frame, cheek pressed against the door, looking about as pathetic as he sounds.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, part tired and almost part sad.

“Why’s that?”

“I—” Caboose lowers his voice even further. “I had a nightmare.”

Wash blinks slowly, sitting up, eyebrows still furrowed as he frowns. He counts himself lucky that his head isn’t spinning from lying down too much. Sighing, he presses his fingers to his eyes, rubbing the sleep from them, trying to make the blurry room come back into focus.

“You—” he tsks as he words jumble in his brain, hazy with sleep. “Why did you come here?”

“Can I come sleep with you?” Caboose asks, completely ignoring the previous question. Heels of the hands to his eye sockets. Alright. Fine. He waves uselessly at the door, knowing full well Caboose can’t see him. Then it clicks in his brain: response. Right.

When Wash goes to give him an answer, it’s replaced by the sound of his bedroom door sliding open and shut and Caboose wandering in. The muddled dark obscures his silhouette more than usual and the normally wide slope of his shoulders was much more drawn in than Wash was expecting. He’s partially shrouded by his own blanket, wrapped around him as he steps in.

Wash feels something rolling around in chest as he watches Caboose shuffle over, like his brain isn’t absorbing the situation properly. He mostly just feels lost. He’s still sitting up, slouched forward, mouth a fine line. His arms pool in his lap, head tilted just so as he observes Caboose in front of him. This is weird, right? Not in a bad way. It’s just weird.

Caboose stands there, frowning just a little bit, enough to almost be a pout, mostly looking at the bedside and not at Washington.

“I—” Wash starts, trying to protest. Caboose looks up at him for a moment with wide, brown eyes, and Wash feels his chest tighten. He shuts his eyes, sighing out of his nose. Then he pulls the covers back, gesturing vaguely to the space next to him as he lies back down. If there was one thing he’d learned from Caboose, it was that there was no arguing a point once he’d made his mind up. He was as stubborn as he was strong, and the man wasn’t slight.

There’s a beat of silence as Washington gets comfortable again against the mattress again, feeling Caboose move to his left. He worms around a bit, knee bumping the outside of Wash’s leg, elbows knocking together as Caboose makes more of Wash’s bed his own space. With Caboose’s arm now pinning his own, he clears his throat.

“Caboose,” he says firmly.

“Washington,” Caboose says, like his name holds the same weight as it did so long ago. At least someone’s impressed.

He sighs. Caboose is a heavy, warm weight against his side, and although he clings to his left arm like his life might depend on it, Washington couldn’t necessarily call it bad.

“You can either get comfortable,” he says slowly. “Or I’m going to ask you to leave.”

“Okay,” Caboose says quickly, wriggling further over. As his head lolls, it falls against the bone of the high of Wash’s shoulder. He ends up curled up in the space Wash’s side leaves open, head on his shoulder and arm over his ribcage. He’s heavy, holding himself and Wash to the mattress as he relaxes. Wash’s arm ends up pinned under him, bendable at the elbow, enough to shift around and find a comfortable spot to rest it. Caboose manages to pull the blankets over them both haphazardly, lying part on him and part over Washington’s torso. He squeezes his eyes shut. Caboose cannot be serious. This can’t be his solution, right? He takes a long breath in. Caboose finally says:

“Thank you, Washington,” in a soft and sleepy voice mostly muffled by his shoulder.

Washington sighs.

“Sure, Caboose,” he says, resigned. “Glad I could help.”

Caboose hums, sounding comfortable. In the time it takes for Caboose to finally knock out, how short of a time that was, Wash finally relaxes. He lets the weight around him settle him on the mattress, tired and heavy, and lets his eyes close. He can’t catch the edge of sleep just yet, but he can lay here, quiet and still, so that Caboose can sleep. He matches the slow rise and fall of Caboose’s shoulders, feeling his muscles slacken as he drifts off. Maybe it’s nice, actually. The weight against his side, pressure to the muscles that ache, warmth and heavy comfort. He can’t remember the last time someone shared the same bed space as him—those bunks were too small to really fall asleep next to somebody in, and sleeping in shifts wasn’t the same as someone sleeping against you.

He can faintly feel where Caboose’s cheek is crushed against his shoulder, where his arm rests over his chest, hand tucked against his other side. When he looks over, Caboose’s eyes have shut, face relaxed in sleep. There, he leans, pressing his cheek to the top of Caboose’s head, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe it is nice. Maybe being needed for something so innocent as comfort could be nice. His chest twists, something as painful as it is warm weaseling up next to his lungs.

It reminds him of Invention. Nobody really wanted to leave York alone after the accident on the training room floor. He could fall or trip, he could miscalculate and hit into something harder than expected. They spent time crammed into the bunk spaces, shoulders to shoulders, to hips, to legs over knees, trying to catch sleep in between missions, how little time that was. Washington found himself in these moments more often than not, and now more than ever it seemed that touch was a thing not often disseminated. But he had it now, and he let himself have it. He let Caboose snore into the hollow of his shoulder and tuned it out as he tried to rest.

In the morning he’ll ask him what bothered him so much that he couldn’t sleep, or why he thought Wash could help. It wasn’t important now.

For now, he just tries to sleep.

Wash feels heavy.

He blinks his eyes open, the world coming to in barely-there light and soft blankets. There’s a weight over him, warm and solid. Caboose still sleeps soundly even as Wash shifts to stretch pins and needles from his left arm. The world stays still, held in a quiet balance. In it, Caboose breathes slowly and evenly against his shoulder, torso still haphazardly thrown across Wash’s chest. He’s curled his hand in a loose fist, snagging part of Wash’s shirt.

Washington sighs. There lingers a heavy, groggy feeling over his mind that he thinks he’ll have a hard time shaking, remnants of running too hard, too fast without stopping. He fought so hard only to again come up empty handed, aside from the now-bitter taste of his freedom. But for now he focuses on this moment. He rests his cheek against the top of Caboose’s head.

As he does, Caboose hums, waking enough to tense and relax again.

“Good morning, Caboose,” Wash manages tiredly, lying still. Caboose doesn’t move either, except to shift his cheek to a more comfortable position.

“Hello, Washington,” Caboose says, slow and sleep-thick but cheery. “You let me stay!”

Wash huffs out something, maybe a laugh and maybe a sigh.

“You’re surprised?” Wash asks, staring at the ceiling. It takes a minute for Caboose to answer, and in that time, Wash’s eyes shut, too heavy to hold open. Caboose draws his arm back from his chest.

“Tucker’s not very cuddly,” he says, only partially answering the question. “I can’t really judge if people will like it.”

“I take it not many do?” He asks. Caboose shrugs, somewhat stilted, speaking in that long, sighing way that he does.

“It varies.”

Wash hums.

“Right.”

In a beat of silence, Caboose unravels himself. He sits up, swaying a bit, shuffling around. It leaves a cold hollow where he used to lie, and Wash pulls his arm back from where it used to curl around him. He folds his hands over his sternum as Caboose sits up and shifts back.

“How did you sleep!” He asks, leaning forward, arms resting on his knees. Wash nods, finally blinking his eyes open.

“It was fine,” he says slowly. “How did you sleep?”

Caboose shrugs again.

“I slept okay—” he says. “You scared off all my bad dreams I think.”

Wash snorts, furrowing his eyebrows. Caboose blinks down at him with wide eyes. It’s almost catlike, the way he watches over him, like he’s waiting for Wash to reach out and force him to move out of his space. He’s still slightly blurry, courtesy of the sleep in Wash’s eyes.

“I did?” Wash asks. Caboose nods, looking sincere

“Yep.”

Wash looks away, huffing out. Something turns in his chest, warmly at that.

“Well that’s good,” he says. Caboose nods again. He’s just far enough away that in the dim lighting Washington can’t really read his face, but it seems soft and comfortable and Wash tries to remember if that’s a good thing. There’s only so many times you see someone’s face while being out in the field that you sort of just learn reactions based on tone and less on body language. After a beat, Wash says, haltingly, brain trying to find the words:

“Caboose, what… what is it that you had a nightmare about? What—why did you come to me?”

Caboose shrugs, waving his hands back and forth. He’s not looking at him.

“Oh, you know, just about Church and Epsilon, and Tex, and you, and everyone dying and exploding and dying again,” he sighs, shoulders falling, looking distinctly less bothered than Wash expects him to be. It puts something cold-to-cool in the pit of his stomach. “But it’s okay, you’re still here! And nightmares are afraid of you.”

Wash swallows.

“Oh,” he says lamely. It doesn’t feel right, all of a sudden, to just be sitting here. Caboose tilts his head at him.

“Did you have a nightmare, Agent Washington?” he asks, leaning forward a bit. He squints at him. Wash stares back, eyes wide. “You look kinda pale.”

“Um, no,” he says plainly. “No I don’t… normally dream.”

“Oh,” Caboose says. His face drops. “That sounds sad.”

Wash shakes his head.

“It’s fine.”

Caboose hums, tapping his hands on his knees.

“You can tell me if you ever have a nightmare,” he says, smiling, a pleased look crossing his face. “I can come and scare it away.”

Wash snorts, a smile creeping onto his face. He folds his hands together, tracing out the edge of his thumb with his other thumb. He furrows his eyebrows as he looks up at Caboose.

“Are you looking for an excuse to sleep next to someone?” He asks, a curious lilt to his voice. Caboose blinks, eyes falling to his hands. He shrugs.

“No…” he says. Then, “Maybe.”

“Well it…” Wash sighs, shutting his eyes again. “It was nice. Thank you, Caboose.”

“Mhm,” Caboose says sleepily.

There’s a moment of silence. Wash moves to get more comfortable, shifting back to rest his head properly on the pillows. He can feel his body sag as he does, that tired tug pulling on his shoulders and hips and eyes. He drums his fingers against his sternum, watching Caboose. Caboose’s eyes slip shut for a moment as he leans hand against his hand.

“I’m uh…going to try to get some more sleep,” he finally manages, clearing his throat. Caboose stays still, as if he’s fallen asleep again, shoulders weakly rising and falling as he breathes. “Caboose?”

There’s no answer. Caboose leans sideways as Wash goes to reach for him, folding like he’d lost all his core stability. As he crumples, he falls forward, half onto Wash in front of him, half into the bed itself.

“Caboose,” Wash tries again. Caboose doesn’t move, sinking further into his side.

Wash sighs. Caboose stays, solid and heavy and thrown over his chest. He feels like a little kid again, sharing a room with his sisters, or he feels like it’s some time back in training, both cats making their home on his chest. Caboose was kind of like a cat. If a cat were a dog, were late to the punch, were the same level as unable to catch the joke as he was. It was kind of sweet. Wash shifts him ever so slightly, until he’s leaning into his side again, head against his shoulder.

Caboose yawns, sighing out against his shoulder, shuffling to get comfortable. Wash curls his arm over his back, hand cupping around his shoulder, smoothing his thumb over the seam of his shirt. Caboose makes a little noise, a little sigh, and falls quiet. The world, too, is warm and quiet. Somewhere in that warmth, a soothing feeling washes over him.

Just a little more sleep, he thinks. Then he’ll get up.