#fic: about the size of it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

astrobei · 1 year

Text

for @quinnick: kiss prompt #4 - lips barely touching

The car is out of gas. Will is about ten seconds away from maybe-dying (again). Mike Wheeler has been abnormally quiet today.

At least of late, one of those things is more abnormal than the others.

The car is always out of gas. Will doesn’t know when the last time they’d filled it up was, but he does know that it’s not his problem trying to figure it out. That’s Hopper’s deal. Or his mom’s, maybe. Or Nancy’s, or Jonathan’s, or–

Whatever! The point is that the car is out of gas, Mike and Will are stranded at the currently closed general store, and they’re probably about to die.

Again.

“Mike,” Will tries, for maybe the hundredth time. “It’s not your fault, okay, it could’ve happened to anyone–”

“Yeah,” Mike grumbles miserably, as they round the corner, from aisle four – cleaning supplies and household items – into aisle five – canned goods. Most of the shelves are empty, turned over. Mike picks up a can of pickled green beans, pulls a face, and puts it back on the shelf. “But it didn’t happen to anyone. It happened to me.”

Will takes a long, deep breath in through his nose. God forbid Mike Wheeler ever let anything go. “You didn’t know,” he huffs anyway. “It’s not your fault.” The store is dark, which is great for being able to roll your eyes without Mike seeing. Will’s flashlight sputters, briefly, the bright circle of light flickering in and out of view. He smacks it against his palm once, twice, and it steadies. “Seriously,” Will adds, as Mike slows to a stop in front of him. “Stop beating yourself up. So we have to wait for a ride. Big deal.”

Mike turns around to face him. His expression is mostly unreadable in the dark, but Will’s flashlight catches the edge of it – worried, a little guilty. “Yeah,” Mike says softly. “Except there are things everywhere and waiting for a ride is just– we’re sitting ducks here, okay,” Mike frowns. “I don’t like it. It feels like tempting fate.”

“Well, the simple fact of my existence feels like tempting fate sometimes,” Will jokes. It works, for a split second – Mike’s furrowed brows smooth out into something halfway amused, and he makes a noise that might be a laugh.

“Not funny,” Mike says anyway. His lips twitch.

“You laughed!” Will insists, smiling. His voice carries down through the hallway in a vibrant echo. “I know you did!”

“Shut up,” Mike whispers, looking away. “Would it kill you to keep your voice down?”

It might. Somewhere in the back of Will’s mind, he’s vaguely aware that they’re not safe here, out in the open, and that the whole point of them coming inside instead of waiting in the parking lot was to hunker down until Jonathan and Nancy could get another car here to pick them up. And also, preferably, get some gas.

Somewhere significantly closer in Will’s mind, though, is the knowledge that this is the most Mike has said – and the closest he’s come to laughing – since the car had stalled on the way from the cabin to the general store ten minutes ago, and Mike had just barely had time to pull into the abandoned parking lot before it had stopped altogether. He knows Mike doesn’t like this – being caught off-guard, out in the open. Even minute changes in the plan – which you’d think they’d all be more prepared for, considering the way things have been going lately – get Mike a little keyed up.

And the sorry, borderline pathetic part is this: despite it all, despite the ever-present threat of danger, and the impending sense of doom that’s been hanging over their heads for what seems like forever, Will feels vaguely pleased with himself anyway, seeing Mike hold back a smile instead of forcing one on his face.

So yeah, it might kill him, if he kept his voice down. That’s okay. Will thinks it would be worth it, sometimes – the danger and the doom and everything else – to hear Mike laugh.

God, what’s wrong with him? That’s embarrassing. That’s so embarrassing.

He shakes the thought off. “Whatever,” Will says instead, praying the cover of darkness is hiding the blush that’s rapidly rising to his cheeks. He angles the flashlight away from them anyway, just in case, and Mike’s face falls back into silhouette. “You know I’m right. You’re doomed just by being here with me.”

Mike shakes his head. “You know I don’t think of you like that.”

Will frowns. “Like what?”

“Like– like a bad luck charm,” Mike waves his hands around. “Or whatever.”

“I didn’t say bad luck charm,” Will exclaims. “Ouch! Stop putting words into my mouth.”

Mike grins. “Would you rather have, uh,” he picks up the nearest can to him, something small and vaguely gray, “tinned sardines in your mouth? Tinned sardines in water? Oh, gross. Never mind, actually.”

“I would rather not,” Will decides, even though the shelves are so bare that they might have to suck it up and take home the tinned sardines in water after all. “Would you like some, uh. Tuna?”

“I guess we know why there’s so much fish,” Mike sighs, leaning heavily against an empty shelf. “Nobody wanted it.”

“You mean the ten people outside of our circle of friends that are still left in Hawkins? Yeah,” Will scoffs, then sets the can back down with a soft clink. “I guess not.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment. It’s quiet in the store, the room dark and lit faintly by Will’s flashlight and the display in the corner. It lights Mike up a faint blue, catches the edges of his jaw and where his hair is curling softly over the hood of his jacket.

Will’s flashlight sputters again.

When it comes back on this time, it’s more faint than it was before. It’s dark in here, Will realizes, a bit belatedly. Like, really dark.

He takes a deep breath and shuffles closer to Mike, just a little, like the shape of his body all leaned against the empty shelves is a grounding force. Mike gives him a look that Will can’t quite decipher in the dark.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Will breathes out. The proximity is helping, a little. “Just– waiting for our ride.”

Mike leans in a bit closer too, places an arm under Will’s elbow. It’s a light touch, nothing forceful, but the semblance of support is there. “You sure? You look a little pale.”

Sometimes, Will hates how well Mike knows him. He doesn’t get antsy in the same way Mike does in situations like these, but he’d be lying if he said they didn’t affect him at all. It should be expected by now, the automatic fight or flight.

For some cruel reason, it still isn’t. “You can’t even see me,” he says, but lets himself lean into the touch anyway.

“I can see enough,” Mike says easily. “Do you want to sit down?”

Will shakes his head. The only thing worse than waiting out in the open is sitting out in the open. At least when you’re standing, you can run. “No. I’m fine.”

Will can’t see Mike either, but he’d be willing to bet real money – that he doesn’t have – that he can tell exactly what Mike’s expression looks like. The pause grows, swells and swells and swells, until Will is sure Mike is going to say something–

There’s a clattering outside.

Instantly, Mike’s hand tightens its grip on Will’s elbow. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” Will hisses, twisting around to try and see through the windows. “Of course I heard that, Mike.”

“Do you think that’s–”

“No idea,” Will whispers. With no small amount of reluctance, he tugs his arm out of Mike’s grip. He misses the warmth of it almost instantaneously, and the tugging in his stomach is only amplified by the way Mike automatically leans in behind him, places a hand on his back to replace the absent touch, like it was never gone at all. Will swallows, and flicks the flashlight off. “Now be quiet.”

“The windows are boarded up,” Mike says, decidedly not being quiet. Will wonders where the Mike Wheeler of fifteen minutes ago went – the one that was sulking and fidgeting in silence the whole way down the first aid aisle. “They’re boarded up, so nothing can get in. Right?”

“We got in,” Will points out, which Mike seems to realize at approximately the same second he does. It’s getting a little hard to think, with Mike so close to him.

Will really wishes Mike would pull his hand away.

“Right,” Mike whispers, breath ghosting gently over the back of Will’s neck. “Okay. That’s fine. That’s fine.”

Fine, Will thinks. That’s one word for it.

Another clattering. It’s closer this time.

Will freezes.

Jonathan and Nancy are probably about ten minutes out. Twenty if they had to go back to the Wheelers’ for the other car. So they’d probably be fine if they stuck it out here, because the chance of something happening across them now, in the brief period of time where they’re stuck without a ride, in a building equipped with close to nothing that could help, is small.

Small, but not nonexistent.

Will isn’t really feeling inclined to take that chance. “Come on,” he says, then spins on his heel, grabbing Mike’s hand and tugging him in the opposite direction. “Come with me.”

Mike follows easily, stumbling slightly with the sudden movement. “Wh– where are we going?”

“Just come on,” Will says, then tugs Mike around to the back of the store. He yanks open a door, and shoves him inside. “Get in.”

“Whoa,” Mike says, as Will tumbles in behind him. “Will, what–”

“Would it kill you to be quiet?”

“Sorry,” Mike says, then does, at last, fall silent.

Immediately, Will wishes he hadn’t said that. It’s dark in here – even darker than out in the front of the store – and the only noise is the faint hum of a generator, somewhere behind the walls. It’s grating and stilted. Will wonders when the last time it had been repaired was.

Plus, it’s really–

It’s really fucking dark in here.

Will lets out a long, slow exhale, and reaches out to feel for the wall beside him. His palm comes into contact with chipped paint and he follows the shape of it down, lowering himself onto the ground.

“Will?” Mike says, and Will is in half a mind to say that thing about being quiet again, but–

It’s dark. It’s really dark.

“Yeah,” he says, barely audible even to himself over the faint hum of the generator, and the louder hum – demanding, prominent, persistent – of his blood rushing through his ears. “I just– sitting. I’m sitting.”

There had at least been some light out in the front, but this storage closet might as well be a void. It smells vaguely of dust, something stale and unknown and probably untouched for who-knows-how-long. Will takes another deep breath in.

“Where?” Mike asks. “I don’t want to step on you.”

Will cracks a smile. “Here,” he says, and holds a hand up in the air. “Right here.”

There’s a quiet shuffling sound as Mike moves closer, and then Will feels fingertips brushing against his. Mike latches on immediately, gripping tighter onto his hand and sits down in front of him.

Will still can’t see anything – he can’t see anything – but he can feel Mike’s presence like it’s a tangible thing.

Mike could let go of Will’s hand now. Now that he’s found him.

He doesn’t, though.

“Hey,” Mike says, then there’s another faint shuffling noise. “Where are we?”

“Storage closet.”

“Huh. How did you know it was here?”

Will cracks another smile, despite himself. “My mom worked here, remember? For, like, years.”

“Right,” Mike laughs, and then he’s moving closer, knees bumping against knees in the dark. “I forgot. It doesn’t feel like the same place.”

“Tell me about it,” Will sighs. He’s probably breathing in dust and debris and soot and all sorts of gross stuff, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He presses his knees against Mike’s a little harder, just because he can.

“I remember,” Mike starts, readjusting his grip on Will’s hand – fingers interlocked, a firmer grip – “she’d give me free candy from the front counter. Whenever I came in with my parents, I mean. My mom was so confused about why I kept asking to tag along to Melvald’s with her.”

“That’s not fair,” Will laughs. “She never let me have any candy.”

“You were a menace all hopped up on sugar,” Mike points out. “I knew how to behave myself.”

That’s a damn lie, and they both know it. “Liar,” Will says quietly, leaning his head back against the wall. “You’re such a liar.”

“Maybe so,” Mike hums. “But I’m still the one who got free candy, so–”

“Mike!” Will shoves lightly at his knee, and Mike’s answering laugh fills the small space instantaneously. It’s loud – too loud, because they’re supposed to be hiding, goddamnit – but the nagging little voice at the back of Will’s head is vanquished almost as quickly as it came. “Shut up.”

Mike, as always, ignores him. “Why don’t we turn on a light?”

“The fuse is probably blown,” Will responds. “If there’s even a light in this stupid closet.”

“I mean this, idiot,” Mike says, and then clicks the flashlight back on. The batteries must be dying, because it flickers to life weakly, steadying out into a dim yellow-white. “Obviously.”

“Don’t waste the batteries,” Will says at once, trying to grab for it. “Come on, Mike–”

“Jonathan and Nancy will be here any minute and then we can go put in new batteries,” Mike says, holding it easily out of reach. “No point sitting in the dark, right?”

“Mike,” Will tries to protest, but it’s useless. Mike’s made up his mind.

Slowly, and a little far away, Will realizes what Mike is trying to do. He’s not being subtle about it, but subtlety has never been Mike Wheeler’s strong suit. He’s always been exuberant, quick and spontaneous with his actions, and this is no different. Sitting up close, closer than would be strictly necessary in any other situation. Turning the light on, despite the dying batteries. Telling Will about coming here as a kid, all those years ago. Making him laugh. Diffusing the tension.

Jesus, and he’s still holding Will’s hand.

A wave of affection washes over him, sudden and overwhelming enough for Will to feel borderline nauseous.

This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. Mike can’t just sit here and touch their knees together and hold Will’s hand, and–

“Look,” Mike is saying, and then he’s holding the flashlight under his chin and grinning. “Don’t I look freaky?”

In all honesty, Mike looks fucking hilarious. The direct light casts long shadows across the dips of his cheekbones, the shapes of his eyelashes distorting wildly as he blinks. “No,” Will snorts, rolling his eyes. “You look ridiculous.”

“Really?” Mike grins, in a way that means he knows just how ridiculous he looks. “Not even a little?” He waggles his eyebrows, and the resulting effect is so comical that Will can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, sharp and sudden and real.

“Mike,” he chides, for the millionth time. “You’re going to kill the battery.”

Mike looks way too pleased with himself. “Worth it,” he says anyway, as he sets the flashlight down. It evens out the sharp angles of his face, now that it’s farther away, lights his cheeks and nose and eyes up into something softer, more open.

Something about the steadiness of Mike’s expression is brighter than any source of light. Suddenly, it’s too much. Suddenly, it’s blinding.

God. He’s so screwed. “For what?”

“Getting you to laugh,” Mike says, simple and easy, like he’s reciting times tables instead of proceeding to turn Will’s entire world upside down on its pathetic little axis.

Will feels his lungs stutter on his next inhale. He looks away. “Don’t do that.”

The gleeful expression falters on Mike’s face. “Don’t do what?”

“Don’t,” Will says, “don’t– you’re being so– so–”

Mike looks caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. “So what?”

“So,” Will tries again, and then Mike moves closer, and the difficulty of articulating a halfway decent sentence immediately increases tenfold. “So.”

“So,” Mike echoes, shifting so the side of his thigh is pressed up against the side of Will’s. He’s being slowly backed into the corner, but the thought isn’t terrifying like it might have been five minutes ago. Suddenly, Will is overwhelmed in a completely new way. “So what?”

“Nice to me,” Will gets out. “Stop being so nice to me.”

Mike pauses, then says, incredulously and half-laughing– “What? Why?”

Bad choice of words. “You heard me,” Will says anyway, because he’s nothing if not stubborn. “You’re being too nice.”

“I should hope so,” Mike says. “I mean, you’re my friend.”

Maybe Will is imagining it, but the sentence feels unfinished. Like there’s a second half to it that Mike is keeping for himself: You’re my friend – right?

The obvious answer here is that yes, Mike is his friend. But that answer feels unfinished too, like a lie by omission. Will tries to imagine it, doing these things with anyone else – what it would be like if Dustin was holding his hand, or if it were Lucas sitting next to him this close.

The conclusion he comes to, almost immediately, is that it would be weird.

It would be really fucking weird.

That feels like– something. An admission, maybe. Because the fact of the matter is that things with Mike have always been like this, and they’ve never been like this with anyone else, and Will doesn’t think they can be like this with anyone else without it being the most unsettling thing that’s ever happened to him.

The silence, he realizes, has gone on just a second too long.

“Yeah,” he blurts out at last. “Yeah. Obviously.”

Something settles over Mike’s face. “Will–”

“Forget I said anything,” Will backpedals, a little bit desperate. “Never mind. Be as nice to me as you want.”

Mike bites down on his lower lip. It looks like he’s holding back a smile. “As nice as I want?”

Oh, no.

“Sure,” Will tries. “Do your worst.”

Mike lets out a shaky exhale. He presses in further, leans in closer until their shoulders are almost touching. “How about this?”

“That’s not nice,” Will says weakly. “That’s just an invasion of personal space.”

“Seems pretty nice to me,” Mike mutters under his breath.

Will inhales sharply. “Mike.”

“What?”

“What are you– doing,” Will whispers, stumbling over his words, just slightly, as Mike places a hand on his arm.

Mike’s gaze does not waver. “Is this okay?”

Is it okay? Will thinks his brain might be halfway to leaking out through his ears. This is–

This is–

“Yeah,” he hears himself say. “Yeah. Great.”

“Okay,” Mike whispers. He’s so close now that Will could count all the freckles spattered across his nose, if he wanted to. He could, and the thought is dizzying, dizzying – suddenly, it’s not the claustrophobia that’s making him feel like this. It can’t be, because Mike is in front of him, and he’s so close that Will could just lean forward and–

He could just–

“Mike.” And maybe he’s a bit of a broken record, but he can’t come up with any words other than his name. He clutches at Mike’s knee and meets his gaze and prays – to whatever deity allowed him to get trapped in a storage closet with Mike Wheeler two inches away from his face – that Mike Wheeler will find the courage in him somewhere to close the fucking gap.

He doesn’t, though, which is a sign that the universe must be majorly fucking with him. Not yet, anyway. Not anywhere near as fast as Will needs it to be – if this is what he thinks it is, it’s nowhere near fast enough.

In actuality, what it is is excruciating – the way Will’s heart is beating so loud that he’s sure Mike can hear it, in the proximity. The slow circles Mike is tracing over his other hand – the hand that he’s still holding. He’s so close that Will can discern the warmth emanating off him, the familiar scent of soap, can feel Mike’s eyes trained steadily on his mouth, and yet–

Either Mike is actually moving at a speed of one nanosecond per minute, or time has slowed to a near-stop around them. Mike’s grip on his hand is agonizing, caustic in all the places where they’re touching, each slow circle of Mike’s thumb against his wrist driving him slowly and steadily out of his mind. Do it, Will thinks, like maybe if he thinks it loud enough, Mike will be able to hear him. Do it, do it, do it.

Mike’s lips touch his.

The world stops moving.

It must, anyway. Or maybe it’s just that Will doesn’t think he’s breathing anymore – he doesn’t know if he can find it in him to remember how. All he’s aware of is this: Mike’s hands on his arm, his wrist. Mike’s leg under his own palm, warm and steady and pressed up against him in a smooth, unyielding line. The pressure of the wall behind him, the strands of Mike’s hair brushing against his face, and Mike’s lips – gentle, gentle, gentle, and nowhere near enough.

It’s like Mike is waiting for something. Waiting for Will, maybe.

God, okay.

Fuck it, Will thinks, from somewhere far off in his own head. Fuck it. Fuck this.

“Will,” Mike whispers, pulling back a precious few millimeters, and that’s it. That’s all Will can take.

Will lifts his hand off Mike’s leg, raises it to his wrist and tugs. Mike topples into him with a small gasp, Will falls backwards into the wall, and then they’re kissing.

God. Okay.

Mike steadies himself quickly, braces a hand on the wall behind them and leans in, firm and enthusiastic. His hand, Will notices, faintly and with no small amount of affection, is shaking. Just slightly. Will’s trapped between them again – Mike and the wall – but this time he can’t find it in himself to care even the slightest bit. As if there’s anywhere he’d want to go that wasn’t here, as if he’d want to be somewhere without Mike’s hand carding through his hair, or without his lips moving softly against Will’s own, or the noise he makes when Will presses forward, too fast, too eager, too betrayed by his own fluttering pulse – something like a laugh, trapped deep in his chest.

Suddenly, it’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s–

“Mike? Will?”

Shit.

In a flash, Mike pulls away, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked and breathing like he’s just run a marathon.

Shit.

“Yeah,” Mike calls, voice cracking just slightly on the syllable. “We’re in here!”

Shit.

“So,” Will says, aiming for nonchalance. He fails immediately. His voice cracks too. Great. “That–”

Don’t freak out, he thinks. Please don’t freak out.

Mike, to his credit, is not freaking out.

“Yeah,” Mike says, voice a little high-pitched but surprisingly even. He clears his throat. “Um. Yeah. You were–”

“Yeah,” Will finishes, rather lamely. He’s grinning like an idiot. He doesn’t even need to look at himself to tell. His expression is mirrored, perfectly, flawlessly, brilliantly, on Mike’s own face.

The closet door gets thrown open, and there’s a blinding, sudden light– “What the fuck,” Mike exclaims, squinting and throwing a hand up in front of his eyes. “Nancy?”

Jonathan peers around her shoulder. “What were you guys doing in here?”

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t–

Will can’t help it. He looks at Mike, and they immediately burst into laughter.

Shit.

#hiiii quin so sorry but tumblr ate ur og ask #i did immediately memorize it tho bc i read it and i was like Oh Yes #anyways ik u asked for maybe s5 too #and idk why this is where my mind went #there are a million other s5 scenarios that i could've written #but something about byler kissing in dark closets.... haha #yeah <3 #anyways i hope u like this !!#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #fun sized fics #also fun fact for anyone who reads my fics #this was rly close to my og concept for ive come home im so cold #like the third chapter #but that story got away from me so #this isn't the Same but its similar !! kind of.#ok bye

689 notes · View notes

stxrshxpxd · 6 months

Text

“that’s my girl!” part 3

part 1 part 2

pairing: dr house x reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: smut

prompt: house hasn’t forgotten what happened the night before and refuses to focus on the case, and reader makes a deal with him

House’s arrival matched my expectation. He limped in through the glass door at around 10:15, in the process of stripping his body of his jacket.

“…his fever is spiking and he vomited three times this morning. He hasn’t had an-“ Foreman spoke but was cut off by House’s demanding tone.

”L/N, I need you in the office.”

I swapped glances with Thirteen quickly.

“We’re in the office.”

House performed a short bit of acting confuddled and then made a face at his own stupidity.

“Sorry, I got that mixed up. Must be all the whiskey I had with my cereal this morning.” He gave a fake chuckle and all of us around the table rolled our eyes in unison.

“I want them out of the office,” he corrected.

Thirteen, Taub, Chase and Foreman proceeded to sigh in unison as well as they began to gather their stuff.

“Cool!” House exclaimed. “Did you all practice that?” he pointed out the synchronized eye rolls and sighs, which only prompted a couple more of them as the team passed him on their way out.

“Are you incapable of having a normal, serious conversation?” I asked, wrapping both my hands around my hot cup of coffee. House tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and sat down.

“No. Let’s have a serious conversation. Tell me about your hopes and dreams.”

I began to keep my daily count of House-induced eye rolls as I did my second one.

“Specifically the dirty dreams you had about me last night and your hopes of having sex with me on this table,” he added.

“You clearly had too much whiskey with your cereal,” I confirmed with a nod and flipped the page of our patient’s file, turning my gaze down.

“I didn’t have any alcohol last night. You didn’t either.”

I flexed my jaw and kept staring at the documents but couldn’t make myself read any of it. The memories of being pressed against House’s chest and ravenously kissing him replayed in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about how good of a kisser he was.

“I don’t think refusing sex with a cripple is politically correct,” House said. I had to laugh and my third eye roll of the day came before I could stop it. I looked up at him, his short hair pointing in several directions and his stare intensely fixed on me.

“How politically correct is it to refuse to treat a dying patient because you’d rather have sex with your colleague?”

“Employee,” House was quick to correct and I squinted my eyes at him.

“Are you implying we’re gonna have sex?” he asked additionally.

“Do you promise to give a crap about the case if we do?” I bargained, trying to ignore the growing tingles in me.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, sweetheart,” House smirked as he watched me stomp over to the glass walls and in two swift movements lock the door and draw the blinds.

Coming back up to him and standing in between his spread legs, he instantly hooked his hands around my bare upper thighs under my skirt and pulled me closer. I laid my hands on his shoulders and he skillfully slid two of his fingers under my underwear, swiping them through my inarguable wetness.

“It’s so cute you’re pretending you don’t want me. I think I’ve got some pretty convincing proof you do,” House muttered and flaunted his sticky fingers before sucking them clean, which only added to the fluttering feelings inside me.

“Shut up,” I breathed and quickly straddled him. House chuckled darkly and studied me in detail as I rolled my hips on him and felt him grow inside his jeans.

“And you’re eager-“

“What part of ‘shut up’ do you not understand?” I growled and grabbed his chin firmly before smashing a kiss into his smirking lips.

Sliding back on his legs, he groaned at the pain of me pressing down on his aching thigh, so I was quick to tear his jeans open. He seemed to like that more and he stared up at me with the hints of a smirk.

I was indeed pretty eager when I dug his hard-on out of his boxers and had to keep myself from making too big a fuss about his size, swallowing a gasp as to not feed his ego.

House’s fingers clasped the flesh of my hips under my hiked up skirt and I pulled my underwear to the side to cautiously run the length of his cock between my soaked folds a few times. I caught him gazing down with his lips parted and eyes half closed, breathing through his mouth.

“May I speak?” he asked pettily, referencing my demand for him to shut up. I met his eyes and chuckled with another roll of the eyes. Four.

I kissed him as a response and he took a risk, pulling away and speaking into my ear with a deep, hushed voice.

“God, you’re wet for me!”

I smiled and hid my blushing cheeks in his neck as I finally pushed him inside me, spilling quiet moans down his broad chest. House let a few groans out and his fingertips dug deeper into my skin as he helped set the pace of my grinding on him.

“Come on, I know you can take all of me, can’t you?” he breathed tauntingly and I swung my head back up to stare at him, sitting down all the way on him and burying his cock inside me. I clenched my walls around him and made a moan trickle out from between his lips. His cheeks were pink and his intense eyes somehow brighter than normal.

“That’s it,” he exhaled encouragingly and bucked his hips into me again, making me resume my grinding on him.

“You feel really good inside me, House,” I admitted in the middle of my hazy, horny state. It prompted a cocky smirk from him which instantly made me regret it, and I kissed his grin to wipe it off his face.

“I always knew you’d be begging for me sooner or later.”

“I would never beg,” I snapped and picked up the pace, with arousal and anger boiling in my core.

“But you would get on your knees for me,” House answered while holding back a handful of groans. My legs were shaking around him and I scoffed at his comment as I felt myself coming closer to my orgasm.

“And you’ll come for me, won’t you?” House spurred me on, kissing and nipping at my neck. I didn’t bother answering him as I was already faced with my high. I dropped my forehead against his strong shoulder again and bit my lip hard as I let a few whimpers out, feeling my body twitch and shake and break a sweat.

House forced my hips back and forth on him a few times and I stared down at our spent bodies as he pushed me off his cock and came across my thigh. I allowed a moment of weakness as I watched him catch his breath and lick his lips. He caught his cum with his fingers before it dripped down the side of my thigh and he edged his hand closer to my mouth in a suggestion. I sucked his fingers clean swiftly and noticed there was something new in his eyes. Something genuine and maybe vulnerable.

“Back to work,” I declared shortly and patted House’s warm, stubbly cheek before sliding off of his lap and pulling my skirt back down. That new something that had been hiding behind several walls in him was still with us for a few beats as he zipped his jeans back up. I grabbed the patient’s file and pressed it into his chest, feeling his faint heartbeat as I waited for him to grab it, but he never did.

He rolled his head around with an elongated sigh and let it hang for a moment as he blinked up at the ceiling and spoke in a low voice.

“It’s fungal meningitis. Start him on 0.8 mg amphotericin and 100 mg of flucytosine.”

And without even so much as a glance my way (in fact he seemed to be avoiding my eye contact) he made his way out towards the hallway, leaving me with my rejected files in hand staring at his broad back as he left.

#bahahhah i hate that i wrote that little bit about his size but #dr house #house #gregory house #dr house x reader #smut #imagine #fic

237 notes · View notes

chiangyorange · 1 year

Photo

love me some cassandras, the girl ever

anyway go read ITBOTB and VFP RIGHT fucking now for prime cassandra content because my fucking god. it is so bleak being a cassandra jones liker

In The Bottom Of The Bottle - @beeceit

vigilantism for fun and profit - @radishhqueen

we’ll meet again soon - me

#vigilantism for fun and profit #in the bottom of the bottle #we'll meet again soon #rottmnt fic #rottmnt #casey jones #rottmnt casey jones #rottmnt cassandra #cassandra jones #my art #hi if ur weird about itbotb cassandra being plus sized i will kill you on sight <3 #beloved fawn beeceit says she is that size and i am but a humble soldier #peepaw multiverse

588 notes · View notes

theshotsheardacrossworlds · 3 months

Text

Jealous

Seeing his lady attract so much attention got Gale going in more ways than one. NSFW. Based on this post.

On the outside, Gale Dekarios was charming. Smiling. Happy. Polite. On the inside, however, he was seething. He and Ramona had decided to head downstairs to get some light refreshment when he noticed several people leering at her and now one man was speaking with her at the bar.

He’s close.

Dangerously close.

Don’t you dare touch her.

She likes it when I touch her. Only me.

I am her lover. I am her future husband…hopefully. I am her god…well, in bed. Don’t worry, Selune---you’re very much her favorite deity!

Gale stared at young tiefling flirting with her. He was tall, muscular, and had incredibly menacing horns. He’s got a handsome face as well---square jaw, a perfectly proportional nose, and striking eyes. And what a head of hair!

Everything I’m not.

No. No. She wants me. She chose me. Even when Astarion was throwing himself at her left and right, she still chose me.

He decided he had had enough and made his way to Ramona.

My beautiful girl. Perfect in every way. So damn oblivious. A trap could bite her and then detonate, and she’d still be looking for it. Gale casually walked up to her and the young man, hearing the last part of their conversation.

“—the bluebonnets are nice this time of year. Maybe we could go and see them if you want?” he asked, smiling warmly.

Ramona, however, was nodding politely, and her expression completely neutral. She lit up when she saw Gale approach, turning her head to greet him with a kiss. A chaste one. I’m not some lout wanting to show everyone who leered at her to whom she belongs. No, I will show her that in private. “Oh, sorry---my partner’s arrived. Hope you have a good rest of your evening, saer.”

The look on the young man’s face was pure disappointment. He bowed. “You as well, my lady.”

When he was out of earshot, Ramona sighed and placed her hand over her heart. “Oh thank fuck you arrived, love. I was desperately trying to think of ways for me to stop talking to him while still waiting here for our food.” She beamed at him, and Gale felt her tail wrap around his hips. Good gods, the things she does to me.

“Dearest, I very well could not have left you here to suffer inane conversation. What kind of gentleman would I be if I did?” He draped his arm around her broad shoulders, his fingers daring to go just the slightest, no one will see bit under her top to play with a bra strap.

Her cheeks flushed a deep red. “Well, you could’ve…I don’t know…let me suffer?” She glanced up at him and giggled as his index finger traced a circle with the strap in the middle. “No, you’re far too good of a man for that. A very naughty, good man.”

That’s it. I need to get her upstairs. Now. He turned to the bartender and flashed a grin. “My dear man, could the food we ordered be brought to the second room in the suites upstairs?” Gale smiled to himself as he caught her raising an eyebrow, placing several good pieces on the counter. Not to worry---the countess can always send more gold.

“Aye, sure. No problem.”

With a nod, he took her hand and led her towards the stairs. As they walked up, she laughed breathlessly. “Gale love, what on earth has gotten into you?”

“I’ll explain in one moment, my beauty.” They entered the suite common room and then made a beeline for their room, closing and locking the door behind him. Gale could feel the sweat dripping from his brow as he touched his earring, the glamour disappearing.

“Love—”

His lips crashed against hers in an instant, and his arms wrapped around her soft, thick waist. When he broke the kiss, he began to paw at her top. “Do you know how many people were staring at you? Watching you? Leering at you?” he growled. “All of them looking at your every curve, your pretty eyes, your heaving cleavage…and that young so-and-so, thinking he could charm you? Ha!” Once she was down to her smalls, he practically ripped his robes off. “What fools these mortals be---thinking they could compete with me for your affections?” You chose me. You want me. Out of all the people in the world, all of our companions…you chose me. And most days I still cannot believe it. “You’ve shown me time and time again one fundamental truth, my love. Do you know what it is?” He reached behind her and unclasped her bra with ease, freeing her large and extremely soft breasts from their confines.

Her bright blue eyes never left him as she watched him help her with her clothes and then remove his. “N-no?” she whispered; her eyes wide.

Gale cupped a breast and leaned against one of her short black horns. “That I am yours, and you, in turn, are all mine.” This pair of underwear is already tight enough and falling apart, so I suppose… His other hand reached for an existing tear in his underwear and tore them off, finally liberating my cock. Gods take me, she does things to me. “My love, my sweetest lady, my dearest one, I need you. I need you right now.” Backing her up towards the foot of the bed, he kissed her again. The kiss was sloppy and passionate, not his usual controlled, chivalrous ones he shared with her in public.

As she hit the bed, she fell backwards and let out an amused cry. “Gods Gale, were there really that many people looking at me?!” She panted in disbelief and removed her panties, tossing them on the floor. I’ll put them in the dirty clothes pile later. Everything should be organized, my dear! She moved up the length of the bed, her tail swishing all the while. “I didn’t think anyone was—”

“By Elminster’s beard, of course there were!” He sighed as he crawled to her. Stopping to line himself with her glistening cunt (fucking hells, she is so wet), Gale put his weight on his hairy forearms, nearly pressing onto her. “My love, you are alluring to anyone with eyes! And I suppose, everyone without eyes when they hear you speak! So many eyes on you—ah!” He exhaled sharply as he entered her, and she moaned wantonly. Sing for me, my angel. I want to hear it all…hear how you’re mine… “But all I could think was how you. Are. Mine.” Punctuating each word with a thrust, his rhythm became faster every second. Mine. Yours. All mine. All yours. Forever. Always.

The claws on one of her hands threaded through his silky hair as the other lightly dragged along his back. “Gale…please…”

“Too much?” He panted and hung his head to glance at her face. “If it is, I—”

She shook her head, her expression as light and bright as could be. “More, love. More…please…”

Whatever the lady desires, so it shall be done! Thrusting harder, he tugged at her plump lower lip and moaned. “You are…so beautiful…one day…you’ll see…will do anything…to have you see…what I see…”

“And you?” she asked as she reached where they were joined. Good girl. Such a good girl. “Will you see yourself as I see you, my handsome wizard?” Ramona moaned again, her cheeks now bright red. “Gale…so close, love…”

He quickly pressed a kiss to her lips. “So am I, my sweet…ah, tell me, darling…tell me I’m yours…”

“You’re mine!” she cried, her climax hitting her hard. “You’re all mine…my Gale…”

Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he nearly screamed as he released several torrents of seed into her. He rolled off her, panting heavily. “Thank you for indulging me, sweetness. You truly are the most wonderful woman in all the realms.”

Minding her horns (she’s always so careful not to nick me with her horns and claws), she curled into his soft side, head resting on his plush hairy chest and her tail swishing happily. “And you are the most wonderful man.”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Ramona quickly rose from bed and grabbed her black silk robe. As soon as we “moved into” the Elfsong Tavern, she grabbed that very sexy robe and returned saying she “needed” it. Well, it turns out I need it too because godsdamn, she looks incredible wearing it. “Hi, thank you so much! Here you go.” She took the tray of food and handed the waiter a handful of gold before she closed the door. She didn’t tie it well enough because there it goes! Dinner and a show---who’s better than me? His mouth salivated at the sight of her jiggling belly and swaying hips more so than the charcuterie plate he ordered.

A long night ahead, I think. Perhaps I should give into my less than gentlemanly tendencies more often…

#ramona wildheart #plus size tav #jealous gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #tiefling tav #cleric tav #galemance #this fic came about because that post lol #they love each other your honor #chubby gale #plus size tiefling #ramona “my goddess is selune except in bed when it's gale” wildheart

77 notes · View notes

caelanglang · 2 years

Text

Dazai and Chuuya’s relationship across alternate universes (part 2)

once more it’s me doing style and coloring exploration with soukoku as my muses once more, thank yall for the kind words from part one they gave me a lot of strength and motivation for part two <3

In an alternate universe they are…

Powerful cultivators from the Port Mafia sect: the Young Master, Dazai Osamu, and his right hand man Gravity Cultivator, Nakahara Chuuya. But after Nakahara’s sudden disappearance, and Dazai turning into the first ever demonic cultivator, the whole sect fell into chaos. Banished from the realm of martial arts, the grandmaster of demonic cultivation and his demonic familiar now wander across the five realms as cultivation partners known as Double Black. (Danmei cultivator setting level of angst and adventure)

“You can’t… you can’t be with me, the demonic energy around me is too much for a human body… you can’t stay with me, Dazai.”

“Chuuya, we both know that I’m way too inhuman to be affected by your energy.”

“Dammit, Dazai! Thanks to the cursed blood running in my veins— I am now at the brink of awakening into a mindless demon, and you’re still here prattling about your nonsense! Your body is just as fragile as a mortal one— no cultivator has ever withstood a demonic awakening!”

“Then I’ll just have to be the first one.” The bandaged man grinned smugly, as if he were talking about being the victor of a competition. “I’ll be the first ever demonic cultivator of the realm and turn you into my dog familiar!”

“You’ll get yourself banished, young master.” The fiery-haired man spat out the last words like venom in his mouth. They both know the weight of those words. “The whole realm will turn against you.”

“I’ll get us banished, and the whole realm will turn against me and my dog.” Dazai corrected. “Which is perfect to me because annoying you will always be better than dealing with the responsibilities those self-righteous cultivators always throw at me.”

They both looked at each other for a moment; a tense silence hung in the air that was only broken by a defeated sigh. “I’m never getting rid of you now, am I…”

The bandaged face cracks into a sincere smile. “Never.”

In another,

They were once roommates and academic rivals in law school. Bringing such enmity to their careers as professional lawyers, their court sessions would always shake the entire courthouse. Everyone knows how much Prosecutor Nakahara Chuuya, the guard dog of justice, hates Defense Attorney Dazai Osamu, the demon prodigy who would do anything to get a not guilty verdict. But only Chuuya knows that after the death of Dazai’s friend, Detective Oda Sakunosuke, during the Mimic Case he was handling, something about Dazai had changed. He no longer took up clients who were guilty; no longer forged evidence or bribed officials. Instead, he took up innocent clients that seemed too impossible to defend; he took the side that truly saves people. And deep down they both knew that they were partners in the pursuit of the truth with every case they took. (Whoooop it’s the ace attorney au for me)

“Chuuuuyyyaaaaaa~”

“What do you want from me, you bandage-waste-of-space?”

“I want you to take up the Weretiger Case.” A pause. “It has to be you.” A whisper.

The teasing atmosphere took a serious turn. “What about this case? You’re gonna be defending Nakajima Atsushi?! You idiot, all the evidence and testimonies point to him!”

“That’s the point, slug.” The man in a blue suit says as he lightly pokes at the shorter man’s forehead, earning a slap directed at his hand, which he quickly dodged. “Atsushi-kun is innocent, but all the evidence and testimonies say he’s guilty.”

Which is why I need you to be the prosecutor of this case, was left unsaid but understood by the other.

The prosecutor scrunched up his nose, unsatisfied by the explanation. “There are other prosecutors skilled enough to investigate this on a deeper level. Stop putting more work on my plate. I’ve been going overtime more often these days, just so you know.”

“Aw~ come on, you always go overtime, Chuuya.” Dazai grins, but something clouds over his eyes as he continues. “The headmaster of Atsushi-kun’s orphanage was the one who filed the case. Funny enough, he’s also the very same man who ‘went out for drinks’ with multiple people involved in this case.” His voice lowered, “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the actual culprit behind the crime he’s filed against my client.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened. Back then, before Dazai changed for the better, he would always hurl the insult of ‘going out for a drink’ at Dazai for his dirty ways. They both know the meaning behind those words. He hates to admit it, but knowing the man in front of him for nearly a decade, he knows just how important this request is for Dazai to use that term.

“…… Fine, I’ll take that case.” He grumbles, trying to ignore the twisting feeling inside his chest as he sees the taller man beam at him. “If you don’t get that not-guilty verdict, I’m whacking your head with all the court records I’ll be gathering from my investigation!”

“Gotcha~ my dearest prosecutor!” Dazai winks. Smiling at his rival in court; his partner in pursuing the truth.

In yet another,

They were children who would never reach adulthood, and perhaps it was better that way. Despite being born into different eras, having lived different lives and dying different deaths, they had one thing in common: their fate to roam the land of the living as lost souls, barred from passing through the gates to the afterlife. But that’s alright; they didn’t mind being ghosts. To watch different kinds of sunsets as they fly through the sky; to pull different kinds of pranks on the living; to watch the changes of the world like how the living does with the changes of seasons—for the rest of eternity…... as long as they have each other to annoy and look out for nothing else seems to matter… (Summer Ghost and Harry Styles’ Two Ghost inspired I’m sorry not sorry)

“Oi, Dazai… I wanna ask you something, but I dunno if it’ll remind you of the time when you were still alive…”

The boy wrapped in bandages hums in response, letting the wind envelope his thin frame—a tiny speck in contrast to the clouds around him.

“Don’t you ever get tired of watching sunsets? I mean, I get that they’re all beautiful and unique but… we’ve been watching them for hundreds of years…” Everyday for the past centuries since they’ve known each other, Dazai would, without fail, drag him to the sky just to watch the setting sun. Chuuya always looked forward to it, but today his curiosity finally got the better of him.

Dazai glances over to his companion; something inside him itches to lie his way out of this. But after being together for centuries, wandering as lost souls around the world, Chuuya had long mastered the art of recognizing his lies. He smiles softly as he drifts closer to the other. “Chuuya will you ever get tired of me?”

The answer was as natural and as definitive as the sun’s movements. “No. But that’s not the answer to my question.” The ginger haired boy rolls his eyes, “Look, if you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine.”

“I’m dead and have been so for centuries, Chuuya; nothing really matters at this point.” Dazai chuckles, “Just like how you’ll never get tired of me. I’ll never get tired of sunsets.”

A pair of bandaged arms gestures to the sky. “Look, when the sky is azure, they are like your eyes. When the sun starts to set, it goes pink like your cheeks, then goes orange like your hair, then goes red like your lips.” Brown eyes twinkle as he speaks, “then it goes purple and blue, like the bruises you hide under your sleeves; and then when night falls it the sky becomes decorated with stars like how freckles decorate your cheeks.

“Yes, sunsets are always beautiful and always unique; one could argue that many things in nature are like that. But, we’ve both seen how forests can burn down, and seas can dry up; mountains can collapse, and glaciers can melt.” Dazai turns to look at the other boy gaping at him, his own voice laced with fondness. “But sunsets are a constant in this world. And you know what else is constant in my world that the setting sun reminds me of?”

They both know the answer to that.

Chuuya stares back at the chocolate-haired boy. A feeling started growing inside his chest; he wasn’t sure what word could describe its movement. Twisting? Aching? Blooming? Beating? Oh, it’s beating. “... Y’know… if I were still alive, I’m sure my heart would be beating real fast at your words.”

“Whoa, Chuuya still remembers what a beating heart feels like?” Dazai marvels, a childlike wonder spreads across his face. “You died waaaay earlier than me, but you remember it better than me. Unfair~”

“Tch, just you wait, idiot Dazai! I’ll make sure that you remember how it feels like to have a heartbeat.” Chuuya huffed, the sunset light dyeing his cheeks pink. “So that you’ll experience what I felt when you said all that to me!”

Laughter like the sound of tiny bells echo across the clouds. They’re just two ghosts… trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat.

In a mundane one,

They were teenagers with a passion for music. Spending all the time they had messing around with instruments and lyrical word plays, they were later on scouted by big companies who recognized their talents. Debuting with a hit single and a record breaking album, they became known as the musical duo “Double Black”. They’ve always been known for their catchy songs about life and reasons to live, about corruption and sorrow, about the world and humans… And so it was a shock for the whole industry to witness them dropping an album with over thirty different love songs dedicated to ‘the love of their lives’ which they never once mentioned. (They only realized they were in love when they started writing about love, and it’s hilarious because they’ve been each other’s muse after all this time without realizing it)

“This is actually a really good love song.” It was rare for Chuuya to give an honest and straightforward compliment to Dazai; they both always prefer to stab each other with criticism after all. “Who did you write it for?”

Dazai stares blankly at the shorter boy in front of him. Brown eyes blinking slowly at him. “Who do you think I wrote it for?” He answers with a question.

Ginger curls frame a frowning face. “Dunno. I’m not the scheming bastard between the two of us, mackerel.”

“Well…… The title is ‘Sunset Man’... Who do you think is this sunset man, Chuuya?” Each word leaves Dazai’s mouth slowly and carefully, like he’s taming a wild beast approaching him.

Perhaps Chuuya lost his patience, or maybe he’s just too tired today to bother with this. He gives up his pursuit, muttering as he turns away from the other boy. “Whatever. Keep your muse to yourself. I just asked since you never wrote a love song before. But do bring that piece when we meet with our manager next time.”

He misses the frustrated face Dazai makes from the couch as he starts busying himself with dinner preparations. Ignoring the bugging feeling he gets for not knowing who inspired that Dazai to write something so sickeningly sweet and romantic. “A love song is a good change of pace though,” he forces out, trying to distract himself from his feelings. “We better start brainstorming concepts for our next album, maybe we can include that one if we get approval.”

Chuuya’s words were followed by a loud thud on the floor.

“Oi, what’s wrong?” He turned back to see Dazai on the floor, groaning miserably, covering his face with both hands. “I swear if you hit your head and get even dumber than you are now, I’m kicking you out of this place.” Is what he says as he hurries over to the fallen mackerel, just to double-check if the fall was serious or not.

“Chuuya!” Dazai sits up all of a sudden, with a face that’s slightly flushed. “I’m gonna write another love song!”

“???” Chuuya was startled. “Okay?? Go ahead?? Whatever makes you happy??”

“The title…” Dazai looks at him directly in the eyes, wearing an extremely serious expression that further puzzles Chuuya. “is called ‘Idiots to Lovers, Slow-burn at the speed of 220k words’ what do you think?”

Chuuya smacks Dazai’s head at this, forgetting the latter’s fall from the couch just moments ago. “I knew it, you dramatic idiot! You were reading those cringey fanfics about us on the internet again, weren’t you! Stop rotting in fanfictions and start writing songs already!”

“But they serve as good inspiration for me~” The brown-haired musician whines. “Do you think someone who’s too busy babying a chibi dog has the chance to experience something romantic enough to write a song like ‘Sunset Man’?”

“Who’s babying who you whiny bastard!?” The other musician retorts, once more ignoring the feeling of relief that washes over him knowing that Dazai was using cringe works of fiction as inspiration for his love song instead of an actual muse—no, he is definitely not relieved by this piece of information, nor did he feel any better with the fact that said works of fictions are about them written in the twisted perspectives and assumptions of their fanbase about his professional relationship with Dazai. He definitely is not—

“Chuuya~” Dazai cuts his thoughts with a teasing voice, “wanna see who writes a better love song between the two of us?”

Mischief and signs of scheming flash in his brown eyes, Chuuya’s heart skips a beat at the challenge.

“Bring it on, mackerel. I’m gonna compose love songs that are so sickeningly romantic that they’d make yours look like a cheesy pile of lyrics and notes.”

“The game is on, my chibi.” My muse.

In which two musicians decided to write love songs as a competition. Only to realize how easily it comes for them to do so, only to realize that they had a muse to always write about and associate love songs with, only to realize that somewhere along the lines of music that they’ve been in love with each other since a long time ago.

And in one other universe…and galaxy,

They grew up and trained together as space rangers, but time had warped their relationship into something as astronomical and as twisted and as dense as the celestial bodies in the galaxy. After years of turmoil, they’re finally reunited under the blaring emergency lights of a spacecraft—not as space rangers, but one as the emperor of the galaxy and the other as the general commander of the galactic fleet. (did y’all know that Dazai’s voice actor also voiced for Reinhard from The Legend of the Galactic Heroes, and guess what else do they have in common?? thEY BOTH LOVE THEIR RED HEAD RIGHT HAND MAN)

“Dazai. You have to leave. Now.”

“Now, now, Chuuya, that’s a really rude way to greet someone you haven’t met in years.”

“You idiot! Reinforcements are coming, at this rate, you’ll really get assassinated—”

“And get the peaceful death I longed to have? I sure could wait for it—”

“This isn’t the time to be joking, Dazai!” Glaring emergency lights dye the room bloody red, as the general’s grip on the emperor’s collars tighten. “You have to leave before someone else other than me finds you!”

“Chuuya, do you know of the legend about the stars?” Was the calm response to the angry voice. Dazai Osamu was talking as if he wasn’t standing inside a spacecraft that might as well be his coffin. “They say that each star represents a timeline similar to ours. If science were advanced enough, we might be able to get into a different timeline by flying directly into the core of the star.”

“What nonsense are you spouting right now?” Chuuya could hear his own voice shake with emotions he chose to label as anger. They both know that this isn’t the right time for idle talk. But they were once space rangers— fighters who were used to waltzing with death, a duo as unstoppable as a storm, before duties and responsibilities chained them down. This isn’t the first time they have had such moments while at the doors of death.

“I’m sorry I ruined our dream of becoming space cowboys.” The emperor of the galaxy whispered. It was a soft and quiet voice, but to Chuuya it was enough to silence all the blaring noises around them.

“You had promises to keep. I had responsibilities to carry out.” The general commander whispered back. “We both couldn’t let go. Space cowboys and bounty hunts be damned.”

A sad smile twisted its way onto the bandaged face. “And this time, the whole galaxy and duties be damned.”

Sparks of explosions waltz around the spaceship as a small spacecraft escapes into the empty void of space.

Dazai Osamu’s final lie. Nakahara Chuuya’s last promise

“In the next life, or perhaps a universe parallel to ours, let’s be the most legendary space cowboys the galaxy will ever see.”

Somewhere in the galaxy, the core of a star dies—collapsing from the force of gravity, giving birth to a black hole.

In another universe,

Human experiment test subject A5158 did not know if he was an artificial being or if there were really mermaids out there in the vast wild waters. No one bothered to tell him. Until the newest recruit, a young science prodigy, told him that mermaids did exist deep down the oceans. He thought that he was already content with having that knowledge— knowing that he wasn’t a lonely existence in this world. But that sense of contentment was immediately shattered when that very same young scientist, a boy, really, asked him: “Would you like to escape with me and see it for yourself?” (late mermay thingz aksjdhglasg)

A year after their grand escape, in a local town by the sea, sits the humble shack of a young fisherman. The townsfolk who passed by would always sigh and say “What a waste it is for a brilliant mind like him to spend the rest of his days throwing nets over the sea!”

Yet whenever they tried to encourage him to reach for greater heights in the world, the young brunette would simply chuckle and say, “A bird who flies into the skies will never reach the fish that swims into the seas.”

“Oh young man,” they would reply, “but the city is ever changing, and ever growing. Once you see it, surely you won’t miss the boring waters of this lowly town.”

“It’s not the waters that keep me by the sea.” The former scientist replies, “It’s my anchor, that has reached deep under these waters, that keeps me here.” A gentle smile lingers on his lips.

And later that night, he visits the town to distribute his ‘catch’—a variety of fish, many that could only be caught at the heart of the sea. “No way, Dazai-san! These are all extremely hard to catch, how could you just give it to us for free?”

“Don’t sweat on it.” He grins, “They aren’t that hard to catch for me.”

“Now that you say it, I actually haven’t seen you set up your boat to fish for the day. Yet you managed to get so much harvest today?” The townsfolk wondered.

“Well, there are some trade secrets I’d like to keep to myself~” He waves it off as he returns to his cozy shack and is welcomed by a salty splash to the face.

“You went out to get credited for my catch again, you sly mackerel.” A brilliant red tail lazily swims through a passage of water, one that Dazai had built into the shack so that the merman could enter anytime he wished.

“Chuuya~ they loved it! I wanted to make sure that me being a fisherman here would greatly benefit them so that they’d stop trying to convince me to leave for the city and what other nonsense, you should praise me for being smart!”

The merman rolled his eyes as he sighs. “They’re not wrong, though.” He ignores the betrayed gasp the man makes, “Try to live for yourself for once, Dazai.”

“Chuuya, I am living for myself! Can’t you see it? I’m shellfish-ly keeping this wonderful mermaid all to myself~”

“You’re impossible.” Another sigh, this time exasperated with fondness. “Like a damned barnacle sticking to me for the rest of my life.”

Hazel eyes that were once bandaged now shine as a pair as plans for the rest of their lives flash through them like a whirlwind of ideas. “For the rest of our lives.” He agrees.

…📖✍️… (part 1, part 2)

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd fanart #bsd skk #soukoku #double black #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #alternate universe #art study #bsd dazai osamu #bsd nakahara chuuya #i had fun making these hope you had fun going through them too :3 #their dynamic will always be something special to me 😭#they are partners your honor #part three in coming soon maybe #okay but soukoku in space concepts unlocked something emotional to me idk how to explain #i wanted to make these all angsty but for some reason they all ended up not so angsty???#if you get all the references for these aus you get a cake from me lol #people in part one were reblogging about reading fics about the aus so i tried my best *key word: tried* to write bite size dialogues #please forgive my rustyass writing ;-;#if yall wanna expand on any of these feel free to reblog bc i’s read the heck out of it!!!!!#let me know in the tags which ones are your favs too! owo #my art

1K notes · View notes