Tags: Alternate Universe 1950s, Classic Hollywood vibe, Period typical views of homosexuality, Actor Lando, Director of Photography Carlos, Eventual smut, Medium burn, 100% a product of Lando's British Vogue shoot, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst with a happy ending
For being an actor, Lando thinks he does a horrible job of hiding how he feels about Carlos in the days following their kiss at the hair and makeup dressing tables. He has a near permanent smile on his face just thinking about the way Carlos had touched him— how his lips felt against Lando’s.
It doesn’t help that Carlos watches him with an intensity that makes Lando hot under the collar. He feels Carlos’ eyes on him constantly when they’re in the same room, like even the thought of not seeing him for a second is too much.
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gotta hear me out || sick Akutagawa w/ caretaker Atsushi - chapter 2 of 3
ao3! 5.1k/10.6k - please refer to the tags in the link for content + warnings! sicktember 2024, day 30: past prompt (2022, day 27: sleepless night)
Atsushi tries to keep himself busy. There’s not many signs at all that Akutagawa has done anything in his home outside of his room - there’s a few dishes and a pot in the sink that Atsushi decides to clean and put away, dishes far fancier than necessary, he thinks - a rice cooker and a teapot on the counter too. He thinks his next objective is going to be to get Akutagawa to eat something. Rice is probably an easy start.
The storm seems to have let up a bit. It’s still raining, sky still filled to the brim with dark clouds, but he hasn’t heard thunder for a while. He knows that it won’t continue like this, but it’s a nice break for now. He really hates having to listen to thunder.
He finally finds a thermometer, too. He snuck into Akutagawa’s bathroom through a second door, finding one buried under other medical supplies, without charged batteries, of course. At least the batteries were easier to find, and now he has a working thermometer.
He checks his own temperature, laying the thermometer under his tongue for a few seconds, to make sure it’s working properly. He’s been told by Yosano that his temperature is higher than the average human’s, closer to that of a tiger’s, and the thermometer reflects that. A hundred and one point one. That would be a decent fever on a normal person. He washes the thermometer and sets it on the counter beside the rice cooker.
Atsushi turns the TV in the living room after peering around for a remote. Thankfully, it was already on a very low volume. He doesn’t need it loud at all, he really just wants to keep track of the news. They’re actively reporting on the storm, confirming his hypothesis that it will indeed continue on through the night.
He bites his lip.
He wanders back into the kitchen, deciding he’ll work on the daunting task of trying to figure out how the rice cooker works. It’s more difficult than it looks. It’s way, way fancier than one he’s ever seen, and he thinks he might have to give up and opt for cooking rice in a pot, but luck is on his side, and he finds a manual.
He turns back to the island in the kitchen, opening the foldable manual to find the section that explains which buttons do what, and he catches something dark in his peripheral. Atsushi backs up, nearly hits his back against the other counter, arms defensively over his chest as he gasps.
Akutagawa just raises his eyebrows in vague confusion. He’s sitting at the kitchen island on one of the bar stools, one arm crossed and his head propped on the other.
“You scared me,” Atsushi says with the heavy sigh, lowering his arms and closing his eyes for a few seconds, trying to lower his heart rate. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“Not long,” Akutagawa says simply. Atsushi has no idea how he didn’t hear him leave his room. He doesn’t even really look half-asleep, his eyes just squint, bothered by the overhead light. Atsushi wanders over to the light switch to turn it off.
“Do you ever have these on?” Atsushi asks him, realizing a pattern from earlier.
“No,” Akutagawa says. “I hate having the lights on. Such a waste. I can see perfectly fine without them.”
“Maybe you’re still a vampire after all,” Atsushi jokes, finding the connection a little amusing.
“Ugh, shut up,” Akutagawa grumbles, bringing his head down into his hand and pressing them against his temples. Atsushi realizes he still definitely has a headache, no wonder the lights are bothering him so much. He’s slept a few hours, at the very least, Atsushi was hoping that would help. He definitely needs something in his system.
“When was the last time you had something to eat?” Atsushi asks him, folding up the manual after figuring out enough to be able to do simple things with the rice cooker.
“Not sure,” Akutagawa murmurs, lowering his hands back onto the counter, “a couple of days ago.”
Atsushi’s eyes widen. “Days?!”
“I don't eat often. That's not abnormal,” Akuatagwa huffs, like that’s an easily acceptable answer.
“Well, yeah. That's clear,” Atsushi mumbles. Akutagawa is ridiculously thin, which he’s sure has something to do with his illness, but he’s seen him regularly refuse to eat. “You should eat every day. No wonder you're passing out all the time.”
Akutagawa seems taken aback by that accusation. “I do not pass out all the time.”
“I can't count the number of times I've seen you pass out on two hands, so, that's too many,” Atsushi chides. It’s not always for a long time, but Akutagawa clearly never has enough energy to fight regularly. He’s seen him pass out, just for a few seconds, many times after using his ability for extended periods of time. “Also, you literally passed out when I got here.”
“I’m sick, in case you forgot,” Akutagawa grumbles.
“I thought you’re always sick,” Atsushi says, mocking how difficult he was being earlier. Akuatagwa just rolls his eyes, props his chin up on his palm and stares out the window, childishly pretending Atsushi isn’t there.
Atsushi opens a few cabinet drawers and doors looking for rice, surprised Akutagawa doesn’t try to wring his neck for going through his things, but he finally finds the rice. He takes the container out onto the counter.
“How’s rice sound?”
“Nauseating,” he answers, still staring out the window.
“Okay, well you have to eat something, Akutagawa,” Atsushi tells him with a half-pout. He wishes there was some way to help his nausea without him taking medicine, because he’s sure any of that would make him feel terrible on a completely empty stomach.
“Do as you wish,” Akutagawa huffs, repeating his earlier sentiment. Maybe he's realized that Atsushi won't back down.
Atsushi takes that, and decides to continue.
Akutagawa doesn't say a word to him for at least the twenty minutes while the rice is cooking. He stays on the chair for a while, listless and staring out the window, deep in thought. Atsushi wonders what he's thinking about, or what's ever on his mind in general, but he thinks that's something he'll never find out.
He disappears behind Atsushi's back once he's turned around and scooping the rice into a bowl. He sees he's gone and sat down on the couch, his eyes now on the TV screen instead of the window. They're still covering the weather. Atsushi suspects they'll probably be doing that through the night too.
Atsushi wanders into the living room with two bowls of rice and just sits with him and watches the news for a little while. It's kind of nice - calm, quiet. Akutagawa doesn't turn it up and neither does Atsushi, so at times the raindrops against the windows are louder than the weather reporting, but Atsushi doesn't mind it. He wishes Akutagawa had some sort of rice seasoning or chazuke packets laying around, but based on what he found in his kitchen, he gets the feeling that the latter never cooks at all. He thinks eating rice plain in solidarity with Akutagawa is fine in the end.
Akutagawa eats more of the rice than Atsushi expected him to, considering he hasn't eaten or taken medicine in days due to his nausea. Maybe he had been mistaking hunger pains from not eating for nausea. Atsushi decides he'll see how it goes, and if that's really the case, maybe he can take some medicine.
He's relieved at the idea that Akutagawa might be fine after all. He just needed a few simple things, just to be taken care of for a few hours.
The weather report starts to show aerial clips of Suribachi City. Atsushi's been through there several times in his time at the Agency, being it's an area of high crime that even the mafia seems to stay out of.
He'd never thought out how horribly prone to flooding the crater-shaped slums are, but it makes perfect sense. The reporter talks about how many of its inhabitants will be found in Yokohama during the storm to avoid drowning in the floods. They have nowhere else to go.
Akutagawa takes the remote, changes the channel to the next one down and hands it to Atsushi.
“Choose something else to watch,” Akutagawa tells him. Atsushi takes the remote, a little surprised by the sudden demand, but the look in his eyes is strange. It's not fear, is it?
“News not good enough for you anymore?” Atsushi says, testing to see if he's receptive to teasing, because even the tone of how voice is a little concerning.
“Are you enjoying watching homeless children drown?” he bites back. It's not quite as mean as he usually is, more defensively, and a strange comment considering nothing of the sort was shown on screen. It was simply implied.
“Since when do you care about kids? You kill people,” Atsushi reminds him. He's really just teasing him, but he's never seen Akutagawa interact with a child other than Kyoka, and he wasn't good to her. “Or, used to.”
Akutagawa looks angry for a few seconds, like he's trying to figure out what to say, but it seems Atsushi's comments have left him speechless enough to decide against it. He just sighs and turns his head back towards the screen.
Atsushi thinks the entire interaction was strange. Akutagawa getting so defensive out of nowhere isn't like him. Atsushi at least knows what to avoid in conversation most of the time so he doesn't get choked out, but this time, he has no idea what set it off. Or, if he does, he doesn't know why.
He knows a lot less about Akutagawa than he thinks he does.
Akutagawa coughs into his hand a few times before he places his bowl of rice on the coffee table, chopsticks laying over the top of it, to then cough into his elbow. Atsushi gets up quickly and decides he'll get him a glass of water. He needs to start getting hydrated anyway. The dizziness and headache could certainly be lessened if it wasn't dehydrated.
Atsushi hands him a glass of water once the coughing dies down. Akutagawa is hesitant on taking it, looking like he's considering ignoring Atsushi's presence, but he gives in and takes the glass from him, only taking a few sips of it.
“You're aware my lung illness doesn't care if I'm hydrated or not,” Akutagawa mumbles, ignoring Atsushi's eye contact as he stands in front of him.
Atsushi's heart sinks a little, hearing him say that.
“Let me look at that wound again,” Atsushi decides, not wanting to start an argument on how Akutagawa should care for himself. It's a losing battle with how unbelievably stubborn he is. He takes the glass of water and sets it behind him on the coffee table.
He leans forward over Akutagawa, who doesn't resist, pulling down the neckline of the sweatshirt to reveal the bandage. Blood has seeped through it already, but not enough to stain the sweatshirt, it looks like. He lifts a knee up onto the couch to avoid awkwardly leaning over Akutagawa, trying to inspect the wound a little more closely as he peels the bandage back.
It looks okay. Not better by any means, but cleaner at least, from Atsushi's earlier work. He thinks this should be stitched up, but it's far too old to do that now - it would only trap the infection the way it is. He thinks right now all he can do is keep it clean and covered, but once Akutagawa is feeling a little better, he needs this looked at by a professional.
He wishes he could lend Akutagawa some of his self-healing. It would make his life so much easier.
“You're too close,” Akutagawa mumbles suddenly, and Atsushi realizes how close he really is.
He's almost straddling him. One knee leaned against the couch and the other propped up on the other side of Akutagawa’s leg, almost leaning against him. This would have been much easier to do from the other side of the couch, but he was already here.
Akutagawa doesn't do anything to push him away, but his cheeks are suddenly red.
“Right - sorry,” Atsushi stammers awkwardly, standing and backing up. “I'll be - right back. I think I just need to change the bandage.”
So he does just that. He takes some supplies out from the bathroom and leaves the basket on the counter, since he'll certainly need this again later.
Atsushi just sits beside him this time, taking off the bandage as carefully as he can. Akutagawa doesn't react to much of what he's doing, aside from when he tries to clean it up. He can feel him flinch and tense up, but he doesn't make any noise - just staring forward, even though he's paying no attention to the random channel he flipped to on the TV.
Atsushi looks up every now and then, just to peer at what he can see of his eyes, and he's deep in thought about something, so much so that Atsushi is worried he'll scare him if he suddenly speaks.
He wishes he knew what Akutagawa was thinking about.
As he finishes up the bandage, he eyes Akutagawa’s unfinished rice. He ate a fair amount of it, but not as much as Atsushi would have liked him to.
“You need to eat more than that,” Atsushi tells him after he pulls the collar of Akutagawa’s sweater back up over the new bandage. He thinks he'll have to change it every few hours or so.
“Do you want me to vomit?” Akutagawa grumbles, using the armrest of the couch to force himself up, an action that seems to be rather painful. He's sore. He hopes that doesn't mean his stomach is already hurting.
“Does that mean you feel sick?” Atsushi asks him.
“I wish you would leave,” Akutagawa mumbles under his breath, not with any intention of hiding that sentiment from Atsushi. He thinks that's a yes, then, with how he's deflecting. His arms are crossed over his chest, very defensively, but Atsushi's at least glad to see he can stand on his own.
“I don't get all your back and forth. You let me bathe you and then you want me gone,” Atsushi huffs. Akutagawa has never made any sense to him. He can never tell what he's thinking or what he'll say next.
“You're only here because of Dazai, are you not?” Akutagawa says, walking towards his bedroom, “Tell him I'm alive and go home. He doesn't care how I'm doing beyond that. As long as - I can still use my ability.”
Atsushi can't see his face, but he can tell by the way his tone wavers that it hurts him to say out loud, like it's something he's only recently come to terms with.
“That's not -”
Akutagawa slams his bedroom door behind him with the help of Rashomon, as if it's helping him prove his point.
That can't be true. Dazai isn't like that. Sure, he did ask Atsushi to make sure Akutagawa wasn't dead and really didn't say anything beyond that, but it was because he hadn't heard from him in over a week, and he wanted to make sure he was okay before the storm came in. He doesn't think Dazai would be okay with Atsushi leaving as long as Akutagawa’s still breathing. He still needs help, he's not okay by himself.
Surely that doesn't have anything to do with the usefulness of Akutagawa’s ability.
As the sky gets darker, it brings on more thunder. He thinks the storm is starting to kick things into gear, and he changes the channel to confirm his suspicions. They talk about how the worst of it will come at around three in the morning, and they're still only at eight in the evening. He shivers at the thought of having to deal with the thunder all night.
He decides to force himself back into Akutagawa’s bedroom.
Akutagawa's sat up against his pillows with his comforter up over his knees, reading a book, of all things. He looks a little cold. Atsushi doesn't understand how he can read the words with how dim the light on his nightstand is, even with the pair of glasses he's suddenly wearing.
Akutagawa glares at him, and Atsushi stares back, but only because he can't stop thinking about the glasses. Does he think they look cute? Stupid? He doesn't know, but he's staring, and Akutagawa doesn't like it. The way he looks at him almost make it seem like he's taking it as a challenge, like a dog would.
“Glasses?” Atsushi just says.
Akutagawa tilts his head, confused at first. He rolls his eyes, visibly annoyed, before lifting his book back up. “I have terrible eyesight.”
“You do?” Atsushi says. That's new. He's never realized that. Does he wear contacts? Akutagawa doesn't seem like the time for that. Maybe he only needs them to see close up. Why does he even care?
“Must you always bother me? If you refuse to leave I'd rather not have to interact with you,” Akutagawa grumbles. Atsushi's realized over time that when he says stuff like this it doesn't sound genuine at all. Akutagawa thinks it does, that's what he's trying to put on, but Atsushi doesn't think he wants to be alone. But Atsushi doesn't have any idea how to call him out for it.
“Just shout if you need me, then,” Atsushi says, feigning indifference, nonchalance, he doesn't know, he just doesn't want Akutagawa to know it doesn't bother him.
“I will not,” Akutagawa says in some feeble attempt to defy him, but as if immediately struck down by karma, he suddenly groans from some intense pain, painful enough to make him drop his book and wrap an arm around his middle, painful enough to catch him off guard like that.
“Are you okay? Atsushi asks him, cautiously approaching the bed. “Is it your stomach?”
Akutagawa nods with a little noise of discomfort. He has a feeling this is a result of him eating, and he's got a lot more to be concerned about if Akutagawa throws up.
“Please just - leave me be,” Akutagawa groans quietly, his book already forgotten and off to the side as he doubles over, clearly in pain. Atsushi doesn't want to leave him. He is a little afraid of the backlash he'll face by ignoring him, but he thinks Akutagawa has other problems to worry about right now.
Atsushi wonders for a moment if maybe he has a heating pad somewhere that would help the pain a little bit, but Akutagawa derails any of Atsushi's mental plans to prevent him from getting sick when he gags.
Atsushi is fast enough to get the trash bin under his chin just as Akutagawa shifts to the edge of the bed, presumably to vomit on the floor to avoid the bed. He has his mouth covered and he's breathing fast and heavy, staring forward like he's too focused on avoiding throwing up to see Atsushi has the bin for him.
“Here, use this,” Atsushi tells him, fairly certain that whatever Akutagawa is trying to do to breathe around his nausea isn't going to work, and he's right. As soon as Akutagawa is aware of the bin, he coughs and retches, and a rush of vomit splatters into the thin bag.
It's not much at all, just a few bits of rice mixed in with saliva. Atsushi is fairly certain that there's blood there too, but he's not sure if it's a result of
his cough or how poor his health has been the past several days. He bites his lip, trying to stay as still as possible as he holds the bin.
He breathes heavy, shaky over the bin, strings of saliva caught on the sides, his lips shining from it. He spits to break them off and tucks the side piece of his hair that's facing Atsushi behind his ear. Atsushi holds his breath. That was weirdly attractive.
He groans quietly, gagging one more time over the bin, catching him off guard. Atsushi reaches over to lay a hand on his back to give him some comfort, but before he can, Akutagawa shifts himself back to the center of the bed to lie down, arms wrapped around his abdomen.
Atsushi sets the bin down on the floor, assuming he doesn't need it anymore, but he doesn't look any less nauseous.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Akutagawa grumbles. Atsushi didn't realize that he was making a face. “I'm not…a stranger to this.”
Atsushi feels his stomach sink. He knows that. This isn't even the first time he's seen Akutagawa throw up, but seeing him in so much pain and discomfort without much of a way to help him still makes him feel awful. Atsushi really wants him to see a doctor.
“I think you should -”
“I'm fine,” Akutagawa mumbles, now letting Atsushi even finish his suggestion, “let me sleep. I'll be fine.”
Atsushi doesn't believe him. He's still visibly nauseous. He thinks Akutagawa just wants him to leave to save him some embarrassment, but really, Atsushi has no real power over him there, as long as he's not actively throwing up right now.
Atsushi takes the comforter and shifts it around a little before laying it halfway over Akutagawa, who pulls it up closer to his shoulders. He doesn't say anything, doesn't ask Atsushi to leave or to do anything else, he just shuts his eyes and pretends he isn't there.
Atsushi supposes that's better than pushing him away.
…
Atsushi thinks it's around one in the morning when he hears Akutagawa's bathroom door shut.
He hopes for a few seconds that maybe he's just gone to use the bathroom, but the coughing and retching that follows is enough to get him off of the couch and headed that direction.
It's dark. It's probably midnight now, Akutagawa somehow slept for longer than expected, at least as far as Atsushi is aware. He left Akutagawa’s bedroom door open just enough for him to still hear anything, but even so, his enhanced hearing helps as a backup.
Unfortunately, though, it makes him extra sensitive to the thunder roaring overhead and the needle-like raindrops flying against the windows, too.
Atsushi sneaks into Akutagawa’s bedroom, peering through the first door and allowing the dim light from the living room to spill into the bedroom. Akutagawa isn't here, of course, he can still hear him coughing in the bathroom, but his sheets are strewn across the bed as a sign of a very restless sleep. The sweatpants he wore are tangled in the sheets, too.
He opens the bathroom door now, carefully, and flips on the light switch because it's far too dark for him to see anything right off the bat. Akutagawa is on his knees in front of the toilet, his forehead pressed against it for a moment before he lifts his head to hiccup, and gag unproductively into the bowl. He's just wearing the long sleeved shirt and a pair of boxers now. He must've gotten too hot and taken his sweatpants off.
“I don't need you in here,” Akutagawa grumbles, whipping his head to the side and attempting to glare at him, but the light is too much. He hisses through his teeth, like he didn't realize it was on to begin with, turns his head back and presses a hand up against his forehead.
“Does your head hurt?” Atsushi asks, his hand on the light switch.
“Turn them off,” he mumbles. “Please.”
Atsushi shivers as thunder roars over head just as he turns off the lights, and he swears he sees the same reaction from Akutagawa, barely lit by the plug-in light near the sink.
“I didn't know you knew how to say please,” Atsushi teases, trying to keep his voice quiet, now that he's aware of his returned headache - if it ever even left in the first place.
“Leave me alone, Weretiger. I don't need you to sit here and watch me vomit,” he mumbles back, his tone weak and desperate, almost, the bite from his tone completely gone now.
Atsushi's heart sinks. He sounds miserable. He really sounds like he's in a lot of pain, and Atsushi can see it, too. He moves and sits beside him, close enough to be useful but not too much in his space, and watches him wrap an arm tight around his stomach, groaning quietly from the pain. His skin is paler than before, in a harsher contrast against the dark circles under his eyes, and there's some shine against the sweat collecting on his forehead. He’s certain his fever isn’t any better.
“You don't wanna try taking anything for your stomach?” Atsushi asks, clicking his tongue. He knows anything Akutagawa swallows will just come right back up. There's injectable medications for nausea, but he doesn't exactly have those resources in this situation. He thinks Yosano would kill him if he even attempted asking her.
“There's something I have that -” he stops, his body tensing up sharply as his stomach cramps, but his mouth stays closed through grit teeth and nothing seems to come up, “in the mirror…that can melt under my tongue.”
“The mirror?” Atsushi repeats, standing up and headed for the absurdly large sink counter where the mirror, three times the size of his own at home, stands. He didn't know such a medication existed, but Akutagawa certainly would, considering how often he's sick.
“Just press the corner of the left panel,” Akutagawa mumbles, laying his head against the porcelain with a shiver and a defeated sigh.
Atsushi does so very gingerly, not entirely sure what that will do, but the panel pops out at an angle, like a cabinet would. He takes the corner and opens it all the way, revealing six or seven shallow shelves filled to the brim with various medications. Most of which are in prescribed amber bottles.
Atsushi's stomach twists at the sight of all of them. He doesn’t think that even Yosano has this many in her in-house supply. They all have his name. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke. He catches sight of various dates, ranging from a month ago to two years ago, and so many medication names he doesn't recognize. Doxycycline, Azithromycin, Prednisolone, and dozens of others, some unfinished and some empty. There's over the counter stuff in here, too - Midol, Theraflu, extra strength Tylenol, and more - some of which he's never seen before.
“Which…one?” Atsushi asks, overwhelmed by what he's looking at. He had incorrectly assumed it would be easy to find.
“Zofran,” Akutagawa murmurs quietly. Atsushi can barely hear him. “Or…Ondansteron.”
Atsushi scans over his collection and finds it labeled under the second name, carefully removing it as not to knock over the others, one hand splayed out just in case they happened to fall. He’s tempted to make a joke about it to lighten up how he feels seeing this collection, but he doubts Akutagawa wants to hear any of that, being this sick or not.
“I need to sort through those,” Akutagawa mumbles when Atsushi kneels down next to him, crossing his legs just a foot or so away as he opens the box and pulls out the silver packing. “It’s…it’s not as much as it seems.”
Weirdly enough, Akutagawa seems to be saying that to make Atsushi feel better about it. He doesn’t think that it’s true, and that makes him feel worse.
Akutagawa twists up in pain again, breathing out a pained groan as his eyes screw shut. He shifts to gag over the toilet bowl, an arm still wrapped around his abdomen, but he still can’t bring anything up. Atsushi doubt he has much left anyway with how little he’s had to eat.
Akutagawa breathes heavy over the bowl, very visibly nauseous now, having trouble focusing, it seems like. Atsushi hears more thunder, louder than before, and Akutagawa shakes at the sound of it, this time, apparently not caring much to hide that fact from him right now.
Atsushi bites his lip. He scoots a little closer and lays a hand between his shoulder blades, surprised to not see him lash out considering how much he wanted him gone.
“I’d be surprised if you had anything left to throw up,” Atsushi says with a quiet sigh.
“I don’t think I do,” Akutagawa mumbles back, “that’s - the problem.”
Atsushi tries to shift his hand a little in attempt to rub his back, give him some comfort, but he fliches at the sudden movement and Atsushi takes his hand back. It’s strange, how he won’t allow this despite the fact that Atsushi bathed him not too many hours ago. Maybe the fever was subduing him. Maybe he’s a little more with it now.
That’s good, he thinks, but it means Akutagawa is pushing him away.
Akutagawa lays down on his side in front of the toilet, slowly. almost holding his breath. He wraps both arms around his middle with a quiet groan and almost relaxes on the floor. Atsushi would rather he realx in his bed, but he’ll let him rest here for a moment before he makes him move.
Atsushi's pained to see how battered Akutagawa’s thin legs are. There's awful scars of all shapes and sizes - Atsushi can pick out several from bullets, he's able to recognize those fairly easily. There’s newer injuries, too, as new as the one on his shoulder, but none nearly as bad.
He doesn’t often think about the kinds of things Akutagawa has suffered through. He’s sure bullet wounds are just the surface, even despite how long something like that must take to heal, and the nasty scars they leave behind. It’s no wonder Akutagawa’s body can hold up long anymore, illness or not.
“Do you wanna go ahead and take it?” Atsushi asks him quietly, trying to ignore how loud his own thoughts are. “You can lay here for a little to see if it works. But I don't think you should sleep here.”
Akutagawa lets out a quiet, defeated groan, and reaches a hand out to take the pill from Atsushi. He watches him take it, but he can’t use that to ignore what he’s thinking.
He doesn’t think he could ever convince Akutagawa to leave the mafia, but he’s worried he won’t survive through it much longer in his condition.
Diligent investigation and planning should be completed prior to investing company assets.
18+ content, murder, graphic violence and torture, mentions of drugs, vivisection livestream
Chapter 2: "Unusual Purchases"
Written by me: sinfulwrites
<Chapter one
The soiled sweatpants now laid in the hamper, they were a problem for tomorrow.
A squeak rang through the bathroom before water began to pour out from the rain shower head, down to the stone flooring below. Steam began to form in the room, fogging up the mirror and glass walls of the shower; that was Jesse’s cue to get in.
Warm water rolled off of Jesse’s head and down his back before swirling into the drain his feet were currently planted by. His eyes were planted on the mess between his legs, a mess he was still trying to process. The water washed away the proof, but it could not wash away the reality he was now faced with.
He came. He was aroused, and he came. Completely untouched; that was the part leaving him in shock. That hadn’t happened in years, no, a decade.
… Why? That was the only question swirling in his mind. Why? What about that stream was so special?
Was it the woman who got him aroused? That wasn’t unlikely, he got aroused frequently by the women he kept in his coffins. This was not the same situation, though. She was not his piggy, he wasn’t making her shriek and weep with his mere presence. He knew nothing about her aside from her screen name.
Was it the stream itself? Men were not his forte, they were mere inconveniences on his knife, in the way of the real goal. There wasn’t even a tingle. They didn’t scratch that itch for him as a woman could. Even so, Jesse could appreciate art when he saw it, and that was something special. But it wasn’t enough to explain this.
So what was it? What was the cause of this mess? There were no answers, try as he might, there was just nothing. As annoying as it was, there was nothing to be gained lamenting about it. With a sigh, Jesse finally grabbed his washcloth so he could finish his shower.
With a robe loosely tied around his waist and a towel hanging over his shoulders, Jesse placed himself in his leather office chair. A glance at the clock hanging on the wall caused him to sigh, his shoulders falling with his breath.
Time was wasted checking his old emails, exploring some of the previous job opportunities he had been sent the night before. Emails filled to the brim with candid photos of unsuspecting women. All sparked interest, yet simultaneously grew frustration. The urge to grab his suitcase and take to the unsuspecting streets ate away at him, but he couldn’t. He was on vacation. Jesse couldn’t help but wonder why Spann sent him these emails in the first place if she wanted him to lay low and play nice.
After a long wishful gaze at a woman in Miami Jesse exited the email before he couldn’t resist the urge any longer. Before leaving his email entirely he refreshed the chain of emails one last time. It caused a brand new email to pop up, though its title wasn’t anything new.
[RE: RE: Business Opportunities: Something fun to keep you entertained.]
“Hello Sir,
I’m happy to hear you found the content to your liking. Your patience is greatly appreciated, as always.
I looked more into this “Miss Morbid” for you and found a webpage related to her streams. I have attached it below, and the times specified have been added to your calendar.
Please let me know if I can be of any more assistance. -S”
Attached to her reply was another link ending in the familiar .onion.
Opening it in his Tor browser brought him to a mock website for a clinic, complete with a fake number to call and make an “appointment.” The name Atropos Surgical Center was sprawled at the top with a blue backdrop, and what appeared to be a line of thread acting as a border. If it wasn’t for the fake number Jesse would have thought Spann sent him the wrong page, but the name was enough to tip it off for him. That, and when he hovered his mouse over the “schedule” tab, a window dropped for him and greeted him with a familiar name.
💉🩸|Miss Morbid’s Hours of Operation|🩸💉
Monday: 9 pm
Wednesday: 12 am
Saturday: 9 am
It was her. The mystery woman who had his feathers all ruffled. The theming of her website and streams was thorough, and he respected her level of dedication to her craft. On a sticky note, Jesse wrote down the times and stuck the note on his desk by his laptop, just to act as a last line of defense against forgetfulness.
His email was reopened once more, and this time he hit the “compose” button.
[Schedule Change]
“I need my Saturdays free until 1 pm. Do not disturb me until then. -CS”
…
Monday finally came after what seemed like ages, and Jesse planted himself in his office chair at 8:30 pm sharp with a glass of scotch on the rocks in his left hand.
With his right, this USB was fished out of his pocket, glowing green in response to his fingerprint to confirm his identity. The stick was inserted into the drive on his laptop and it began to boot, a few taps on the touchpad bringing up the windows he needed. Jesse took a sip from his drink as he did so, before setting it down on a nearby coaster.
With a simple copy and paste from his email, Jesse was back in the familiar streaming room from Saturday. The screen was blank, but the live chat was active, so he knew Miss Morbid would be here soon. Only a couple of minutes had passed since he sat down, so Jesse allowed himself to slump back into his chair after picking his glass back up.
While it didn’t interest him any, he had time to kill, so his eyes drifted down towards the chat log as he savored his beverage.
|Oddnmsor76 has entered the chat
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|Big~Wiggly has entered the chat
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|<Big~Wiggly> It’s consultation day, isn’t it?
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|Mommy_Milkers has entered the chat
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|<Mommy_Milkers> PLEASE WEAR THE SILVERY TOP AGAIN I LOVE THAT ONE
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|<NonSexualUrges> You only like it cause it shows off her tits lmao
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|Mommy_Milkers has donated $6.90
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|XxXDeathNinjaXxX has entered the chat
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|<XxXDeathNinjaXxX> So is she fuckin these dudes before or does she just chop em?
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|<Oddnmsor76> Of course not! This is serious surgery
Consultation? The chat gave him more questions than answers, though it gave him the notion that this wouldn’t be quite like last time. That prospect was disappointing, but not enough to make him completely lose interest. He wasn’t just here for the content.
But the content was still going to take some time to get here. He still had a good ten-minute wait left, and he wasn’t sure if he could tolerate the chat for that long Jesse made a mental note to not show up so early next time. While he waited, he decided to take a look around the rest of the page. Under the video box, he finally got a good look at some pop-ups he saw out of the corner of his eye the last stream had ignored. A few of them were the typical pop-up ads that were to be expected on a dark website like this, but a couple were specifically placed for the stream. Most notably, a big “donation” button took center stage.
So that’s where those donations were coming from.
Out of curiosity, Jesse clicked on the button. It brought him to a new page, most notably with a big money sign right at the top. Along with donation specifications, there were options to attach gifs and messages to the donations. The pieces were finally coming together, now he knew what was causing text to pop up on the stream. The question of “Why not?” entered his mind, but he contained himself. No, it wasn’t worth the endless nagging he would get from Spann for “unnecessary spending.” He was still hearing about the car.
Jesse simply closed the window and sat back in his chair with a small sigh. The liquid in his glass sank a little more before it was placed back on the coaster. Before his fingers could remove themselves from the cold surface, the screen suddenly lit up thanks to the video feed that just flickered on.
It was her, this mysterious Miss Morbid. Seemingly in a public restroom, the stream started with her adjusting her frizzy ponytail atop her head. It took a moment for him to realize where the camera was, but Jesse quickly realized she had attached a hidden camera to those interesting goggles of hers, though tonight she was missing her black face mask to show off her shiny gold lipstick. That one eager watcher got their wish fulfilled tonight; she was wearing an eye-catching top, a noodle string one with silver sequins all along the front, with a collar around her neck connecting the straps. They weren’t wrong, it did show off her breasts generously. The countertop cut off the rest of her outfit, but if Jesse had to guess she was probably wearing another black skirt. Once her hands moved off of her ponytail Jesse could see her hair tie was also silver and sparkly to match her shirt. She finally waved to the mirror, which drove the chat crazier than it already was.
“Hello everyone!” One of the animated eyes on her goggles winked towards the mirror. “The nightclub extended their happy hour to 11 tonight, so you guys get to see my outfit!”
She stepped back from the mirror to show the rest of her attire to the camera, finally showing Jesse the skirt she had on with two splits around her hips attached with buckles. The skirt went no further than her thigh, her shapely, pale legs on display for all to see. The splits on her skirt were perfectly placed for grabbing, and Jesse’s hand balled into a fist against his knee at the thought. She knew what she was doing.
Her shoes caught the light from the bathroom along with Jesse’s attention. They were chrome, cheap ass chrome, but chrome nonetheless. Chrome heels attached to her ankles with an equally shiny strap. Not that she needed anything else to draw him in, but this was just the cherry on top. It suited her.
“You guys will have to forgive me, but I got ahead of myself, I already have someone in mind for this weekend… But we’ll see how things end up by the end of the night.”
The stream was robbed of her reflection when another woman entered the bathroom, causing Miss Morbid to leave. Now being inside the club itself, the music began to play loud through the stream. It was packed, there wasn’t enough room to breathe in that place. The crowd, the sounds, and the glare from the laser show made Jesse grateful to be in his cozy office chair instead of there.
Nothing incredibly eventful happened that night. It was interesting to see the perspective of the pretty girl getting free drinks from wishful men looking to booze her up enough to screw, but aside from that, nothing else too interesting happened. The only other thing of note Jesse noticed was some custom text on the screen of the stream. There were two straightforward options:
⭐Donate $50.00 dollars to make a suggestion~!⭐
🔪Donate $100.00 dollars to pick a patient~!🔪
A donation of either amount wasn’t made that night. Instead, the host picked her victim herself, an aforementioned sucker who tried to get in bed with her who earned his spot on her list with a snarky comment about her outfit. The stream ended a quarter to midnight that night, with a simple summary of the week done in the reflection of a closed shop window outside of the club out on the street.
“Looks like we’ll be going to the hospital again this week, since we’ll have to grab some goodies for our upcoming kidney extraction this Saturday. Until then, see you all next time!”
The stream cut to a black screen with an offline message not long after.
While it was not as thrilling as the first, she had not lost Jesse’s interest. It was interesting to watch a hunter who didn’t have the brute strength to rely on for catching prey. She had to be clever; she was clever. She knew how to take advantage of all her tools to their full potential, and it was no wonder how she was successful in his mind.
The only thing left in his thoughts as he laid in bed that night were those chrome heels. She looked lovely in chrome…
…
Unlike Monday, Wednesday night was quieter. A lot quieter. The most Miss Morbid spoke was near the beginning of the stream, basically as heads up that she wouldn’t be talking much today because of the circumstances. Those circumstances being a burglary of a hospital.
That got Jesse to sit up in his chair. Sure, all forms of burglary had a preconditioned level of risk, but robbing a hospital was leagues above stealing from a small store. He knew from personal experience, you didn’t just stroll into a hospital like it was Sunday dinner and leave with leftovers unnoticed. It was a multi-man job to infiltrate a hospital, so the fact that she was doing it all by her lonesome got Jesse’s attention.
Her camera was attached to her goggles again, but for this stream, they were turned off so the lights didn’t give away her location. From what the angle provided, it could be seen that her typical attire was traded out for a long-sleeved sweater, black in color, along with two layers of gloves over her hands. It was something Jesse had seen before in the shadows of America’s underbelly; something he personally saw as a sign of paranoia. The brief glimpses of her legs showed she also traded out her skirts for a pair of pants, and her heels were replaced by a pair of black boots. It was certainly an outfit more appropriate for the crime.
The question brewing in Jesse’s head since the beginning of the stream was finally answered once she reached the hospital with a simple little piece of plastic. She had a keycard. The keycard gave her effortless access into the halls of the hospital; they might as well have just left the doors open for her. From there, it was a game of cat and mouse with the skeleton crew left to watch over the patients on her way to the rooms containing everything she needed. Jesse took note that this was not a search for her. She never had to stop and check any signs, her feet walked a straight path etched into the floor from memory. She knew where she was going.
And soon, the rest of the stream knew where she was going too once the camera panned to a sign next to the door she was standing in front of.
Surgery.
All it took was a final tap of her keycard against the scanner to open the door for her, which she quickly slipped through and shut behind her without making a sound. The lights were out, but enough reflected through the small windows in the doors for her to navigate the room comfortably. The room was spotless, as a surgery room typically was. The operating table could be seen in the view of the camera as she made her way to the locked storage at the back of the room. Presumably from her pocket, a pair of lock picks were brought up to the lock on the door and were skillfully slid in. Miss Morbid picked it open with precise and practiced movements, which told Jesse this was also not a first-time thing for her.
With a final push, her hands twisted to the left and the door began to creak open. This finally got another few words out of the host’s mouth in a hushed whisper.
“We’re in.”
The inside was like an adult candy store. Morphine, oxycodone, fentanyl, anesthetics; all of them were a familiar sight to Jesse and there was more than a generous amount. The bag she had on her shoulder was finally shown to the camera when it was placed in her lap to collect the drugs she was grabbing in careful handfuls, mindful not to pick up too many at once and risk making noise by dropping any.
She did, however, finally talk to the chat a little more, though she was still in that hushed whisper to maintain her cover. Jesse watched through her eyes as she pulled a cellphone from her opposite pocket, the chat passing by on the dimmed screen.
|<XxXDeathNinjaXxX> Oh shit let’s go time to get lit
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|XxXDeathNinjaXxX has donated $4.20
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|<4365733567> Oh no gorgeous are you gettin soft on us~♥ Morphine?
“It’s not for our patient this weekend, silly. We don’t want him to miss out on all the pain.”
|<VEINSSS> THATS RIGHT NO COMPROMISE MAKE EM BLEED
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|<A suspicious egg> oh ow ouch big owies
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|<Big~Wiggly> That last guy was really loud though, almost blew out my ears lol. Maybe use a gag if you don’t wanna knock them out?
“Ooh. That sounds a little kinky, chat. I’ll think about it.”
It took balls to break into a hospital on your own, but it took a whole other level of bravery to talk to a live chat as you did it. The more Jesse saw this woman in action, the more he began to respect her. She was quite a ballsy broad.
Once she got the supplies she needed, her phone returned to her pocket and it was a straight path out of the hospital and onto the streets with her successful haul. The streets were practically dead, the only sounds of an occasional car that was passing by her, tipping Jesse off that she wasn’t a city dweller. Where she was though, not even he could figure out off the top of his head. It would take more dedicated research and even some organizational resources to track her down, if he wanted to go that route. It also added clarity to why there were so many closed shops in the last stream he watched; this wasn’t a bustling city.
Her stream ended like the last, with Miss Morbid’s reflection in a closed shop window. Her goggles were finally turned back on with a small switch on the side, letting her red eyes glow back to life and mimic her blink.
“Well, chat,” her hand fished into her pocket one more time to pull that keycard up again and show it to the camera on her goggles. “Dixie Rect strikes again!”
Jesse saw the chat erupt in laughter almost instantly; he couldn’t keep up with all the new messages flooding in, but they all pretty much said things in the same vein. He didn’t get it at first until he said it over again in his mind.
Oh.
She got a small chuckle out of him before he just shook his head.
Alright, that was funny.
“... But now she needs to go get the clinic ready for our new patient. I have a lot of work to do! We’ll be taking a lovely pair of kidneys this weekend, so don’t forget the clinic opens at 9 am sharp! Until then, everyone!”
Her animated eyes winked at the glass and she blew a kiss over her masked face before the video cut to black. Jesse’s shoulders finally fell back into his leather chair once he was staring at his own reflection once again. One long leg crossed over his knee as he collected his thoughts, his fingers mindlessly drawing circles on his armrest.
While the initial thought of a simple robbery brought him no interest, this stream ultimately ended up sinking her line into his tongue, because she had him hooked. She made a high-stakes job look like a walk in the park. She was not an amateur; no wonder she had the confidence to stream her crimes. She wasn’t just some woman with a camera and a morbid hobby wishing to make a quick buck. She was special; she was like him.
Jesse closed his laptop that night without many more answers to his previous questions near the beginning of this week, but the puzzle pieces were slowly coming together for this Miss Morbid. Her identity still eluded him, and the effect she had on him was still bewildering, but she was no longer quite the hidden figure she once was. This whole medical theme was a pretty bow wrapped around a very intriguing present.
…
For the first time in a decade, Jesse set an alarm to wake him up Saturday morning at 8:30 sharp. His hand nearly crushed his alarm clock under the weight before sliding off his nightstand to hang off the side of his bed. His other hand wiped the sleep away from his eyes before flattening over his forehead and resting there for a moment. The urge to just go back to sleep was strong, but he gripped the bottom of his mattress and used it as leverage to pull himself up out of bed, even if his body protested. The black duvet covering him was shoved off and kicked to the other side of his body as his legs swung over the mattress, and slipped into the preplaced skull slippers resting by the bed. He had to push himself to his feet, but once he was up his body reluctantly stumbled him to his bathroom.
The boxer briefs he wore the night before were tossed towards the hamper. They missed the bin, but they went unattended for the time being. Jesse stepped inside the cold tile and glass enclosure, turning a chrome knob that screeched in response. A shower of cold water dropped onto his bare head, ripping him out of his drowsy daze with a violent shiver when the chill settled in his bones. He was awake now, like it or not.
With the last drops of liquid leaving the Keurig and landing in his mug, Jesse was finally planted on his sofa with his morning death brew in nothing but his bathrobe. His laptop had been pre-placed on the coffee table the night before, so all he had to do was fish his USB out of his pocket and turn it on with his thumbprint. He waited for his coffee to cool in the meantime, enough so it didn’t burn his lips off.
His email was accessed first, as was the routine, though this time he went to his emails flagged under “Important”. Annoyingly, there were some new emails only a couple of minutes old sporting Preston’s initial. Someone missed the memo. Jesse ignored it for now, and instead retrieved the link he had become acquainted with for a week now to finally get to the thing he’d been antsy for that entire week.
There was no wait this morning unlike the other streams, her webcam was on and broadcasting a few minutes early. She wasn’t in the frame, but a man was. He was the man picked on Monday, completely nude like the last. The brown straps attached to the operating table were attached tight over the man’s chest and legs, keeping his arms locked firmly to his sides. His hands were tied to the operating table with zip ties, though they seemed to be completely slack despite the circumstances. His fingertips were scraped up, from the markings it was most likely road burn. Similar marks on his shoulders seemed to drive the theory home; she or someone else must have dragged him by his feet from a car. The camera aimed at his face explained his unusual calmness; he could barely keep his eyes open. He was under the influence of something, most likely an anesthetic. Just enough to keep him awake but incapacitated. His head moved in slight twitches as he tried to look around, and only small mumbles could leave his lips. He had no strength left to speak.
Yeah… This was what he was excited for. The woman of the hour didn’t make anyone wait too much longer for her appearance. Her heels gave her away before Miss Morbid entered the frame, in the same outfit she wore last Saturday. But what caught Jesse’s attention were some red stains near her right shoulder. There must have been a scuffle; so she did kidnap them herself.
“Good morning, everybody!” Her voice still rang through the speakers as chipper as ever, despite the injury she sustained.
Instead of going straight over to the man strapped to the table, she took a seat on-screen on a stool out of view from the camera. As she sat down she finished adjusting her rubber gloves on her hands and pulled her fingers away from the cuff of the glove, letting a loud snap echo through Jesse’s laptop. A sigh of annoyance left her lips as she flattened the wrinkles on her shirt, a third button was left undone instead of just two this time. She must have had her shirt yanked on.
“Well everyone, as I’m sure you’ve guessed we’ve got quite the unruly patient. Someone didn’t want to listen when their doctor told them to take it easy before their surgery. He’s also proven to be much more than a smooth talker, so we’ll be adding some dental surgery today to teach him to watch his manners. I’ve been practicing my extractions; I’m practically a dentist at this point!”
|<VEINSSS> BASH EM IN BREAK HIS TEETH A NEW SMILE
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|<4365733567> Oh no! ❤❤❤ How could someone be so rude?
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|4365733567 has donated $10.00
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|<Oddnmsor76> Your shoulder! :(
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|<Big~Wiggly> Are you okay?
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|<XxXDeathNinjaXxX> Agagah teeth ooh that’s rough
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|<duodenumSucker> You’re not a licensed dentist? :^)
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|<Mommy_Milkers> I SEE BRA ASKDJSKFSFEDOLMD PLEEEAAASE @o@
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|Mommy_Milkers has donated $6.90
Typically she would stay and talk to her viewers, but this morning Miss Morbid was angry. She stayed composed, but her displeasure was apparent from the front of her mask bulging in and out with her breath. Her head snapped back towards the body tied to her operating table, and her heels hit the ground in heavy clomps on her way over. Though the man was still drugged, his body had enough strength to try and squirm under the restraints, turning his head away from her when she took her seat on another stool next to the table. Her head tilted down at him, and she sat in a brief pause before grabbing his hair and pulling his head back to the left so his face was pointed at the active camera.
“Don’t move,” she warned before looking at her surgical tray to grab a rubber square sitting beside the gauze, forceps, scalpel, and dental elevator all placed from smallest to biggest. Despite her order the man turned his head away, but she pulled him right back where she wanted and this time held his head in place.
“I said, don’t move.”
Oh.
Jesse’s fist began to clench the bottom of his robe, barely hanging onto his spread legs.
She’s sexy when she’s angry.
One hand clutched his brown hair roughly while the other began to wedge his mouth open with that small orange square. It only took her index finger to spread his jaw and force the piece of rubber between his teeth; simple, but effective. With his mouth wide she grabbed the scalpel off the tray and began to poke around in his mouth, occasionally making a noise of disgust with certain teeth.
“I was only going to take one, but you need some serious work here.”
She used the scalpel to poke into the gums surrounding one of his rotting molars, causing a weak cry to leave his gaping mouth. She just huffed in response.
“Oh stop it, that hardly hurts. Save your breath for later.”
After a little more digging around in his mouth, Miss Morbid finally settled on which teeth she would pull; his bottom molars and a third premolar rotting near his upper canine. Since she already got one part of his gums bleeding, she decided the tooth closest would be the first to go.
“Now, listen,” she used his hair to pull his head up enough so she could growl in his ear. “I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to sit still. And if you don’t, I’ll glue your skull to the table to keep you still. Capiche?”
Capiche.
While the nod he gave in return lacked a lot of movement, the frantic look in his eye told everyone he was terrified. She confirmed the morbid agreement with one more nod before she let his hair go, letting his head fall back against the cold metal so she could grab the mayo scissors laying on the tray by her thigh.
Starting right where she left off on his bleeding gums with her scalpel, the blade entered the pre-existing wound, sinking further to start working away at the muscle and nerves encasing the tooth. She began to twist the blade in his gums to begin carving out her workspace. Blood began gushing out of the crevice within moments and began to gargle in his throat as he wailed in response to the invasive scalpel. His body only had enough strength to twitch his feet and let him clench his fists in response, hiding his true agony from the world, though that did not seem to be an issue for Miss Morbid tonight. The scissors came in after the first hole was made to clip the muscle trying to hang on, to make her cut look less jagged. Part of his tooth became exposed more than it was meant to be, though it was hard to see due to the blood pouring out of his wound. After he gagged and made blood squirt out onto his chin she finally sighed and put her scalpel down.
“Do you see this?” Miss Morbid lifted her arm to show him her sleeve. “White. Do you have any idea how hard that stain will be to get out? I don’t need another one.”
He could only respond with a meek whimper. She definitely rolled her eyes, but the camera could only see the head shake that went alongside it while she lifted a small machine off the floor. It had a white knob on the front with a straightforward setting level on it, a simple plus and minus on either side of a white arch, along with a numbered dial and a green on and off switch. The machine also had a tank for fluid which had a tube attached to it; it was meant to clear fluids in surgery.
It was placed above his shoulder on the table, and was turned on with the knob sitting even in the middle of the power settings. The tube began to wiggle around freely before it was caught between her fingers and jammed into his mouth. It went too far down his throat at first, causing him to choke some more, but she corrected it soon after to actually empty his throat of blood and spit. Some seeped into his esophagus already, so he was still sputtering, but he wasn’t going to drown anymore. Miss Morbid pointed the tip of the tube over the gaping wound and began to suck up the blood gushing out, making the man’s eyes squeeze shut and drip tears down his cheeks. His toes finally found the strength to curl.
“Not going to make a mess anymore?”
There was no way he could make that promise, and she knew that. So his weeping just got a pat on the head in response before the machine was turned off.
The bloody tube was placed on his chest and was soon replaced with the scalpel yet again. She continued this around his entire molar, and one final clip from the mayo scissors finally allowed the forceps to take over. Once the metal tines were firmly grasped around the exposed bone she started the extraction with a jerk to the right, causing a scream to finally rip out of his throat regardless of the drugs. She jerked to the left, and it ripped another scream out just as the last did. Each scream torn out of him lined up with her hand motions until he collapsed into a wailing fit, his tears beginning to collect on the steel table underneath him. Jesse found his eyes following her wrists and their every move, and he followed her hand up when she finally lifted it hand out of the man’s mouth with her prize on display under the single light bulb above the table; a bloody tooth that dripped crimson right into its previous owner’s eyes. A clean extraction.
|<A suspicious egg> teefs teff shiny toof
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|<NonSexualUrges> You could make a necklace or earrings!!!
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|Uoutio has entered the chat
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|<Uoutio> What the shit is this?? LMAO
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|<57567_XmcZerp> That’s hot
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|<VEINSSS> MORE MORE MORE
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|NastyToothFairy has entered the chat
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|NastyToothFairy has donated $5.00
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|<NastyToothFairy> Put more under your pillow for more rewards ;D
In a small silver tray on top of the blue cloth covering her surgical tray, the first tooth was placed with care regardless of her anger towards the man whimpering in her operating room. The roll of gauze beside the tray was unraveled onto the mayo scissors into a small ball on the bloody tips, and then aimed at the new hole she created. It was stuffed rather deep to ensure the bleeding would soften up, though stopping it entirely would have been impossible. It was enough to ensure he didn’t bleed to death, because the marks drawn onto his body with a sharpie indicated the kidneys were still on the menu.
His whimpers were quite pitiful, but Miss Morbid wasn’t known for her pity, so she kept true to her word. A second molar and the upper premolar by his canine were removed and placed in the dish. By then the man had melted into a pale, quivering mess on her table as his third new hole was stuffed with gauze. More blood had sprayed out of his mouth from his cries; his chest was caked in his own blood, some of it still fresh and dripping while other parts had begun to congeal. The mayo scissors were placed onto the now blood-soaked cloth to confirm she was finished. The man was finally freed of the rubber square keeping his mouth open, though he was no longer in a rush to shut it. Her saliva-covered fingers patted his cheek once Miss Morbid’s hands were free. His head was kept in place with her hand when he tried to look away, keeping him still so she could peek in and get a good look at her work.
“There, now your breath won’t smell so bad anymore.” There was a giggle in her low voice as she stroked his cheek one last time. “Not that you’ll be around for anyone to tell.”
She finally got off of her stool and picked it up to carry to the other side of the table, grabbing her scalpel and mayo scissors on the way. The stool was placed back down so she could roll over another small table with a tray to accompany her. Her bloody scalpel was placed on the new tray, along with a pair of retractors and some clamps that were pulled out of a nearby bag. The man’s eyes followed every movement she made. With each tool his eyes grew more frantic, and she noticed while sliding on a clean pair of gloves.
“You know, you’ve really got the short end of the stick here today. Typically we’d use a laparoscopic arm for this.” Her gloved hand rolled up her white sleeve up to her bicep and wiggled the same hand for emphasis. “We only have this. It’s all in God’s hands, now.”
She gave his shoulder a pat before adjusting herself in her seat, her leather skirt beginning to strain when one leg swung over the other. Her heeled foot loosely dangled in the air as she picked up her scalpel and traced her sharpie mark with her fingers, making the man jump and begin to shake his head and weakly beg.
“Don’t… don’t…!”
She had no come back for him this time, instead she responded by placing her scalpel on the line, sinking in and beginning to slice open along the black marking. Blood began to drip down his body in succession with her cuts onto the spotless steel, soon bathing it in crimson. His stomach sunk with his scream, the zip ties continuing to rub his wrists raw with each futile attempt to escape. She used her fingers to wedge inside of the incision, lifting the skin to begin cutting at the fat and tissue it was previously shielding. The way the camera captured both her digits digging around in his flesh along with her exposed thigh caused the chat to erupt in yet another uproar, though Jesse’s eyes were glued on her. It was a work of art, and she was a gorgeous artist. She’d done it again; she had him wrapped around her finger, and he had no idea how she did it. He was enamored. Jesse nearly slipped off his couch from how forward he was bent in front of his laptop.
With her sizable hole cut in, Miss Morbid’s scalpel was traded for her retractors that took the blade’s place right between the bleeding slabs of skin. A simple spread of her index finger and thumb held the flesh out of her way, a simple lock on the handle assuring her continued access. Her bloodied mayo scissors finally came back into place so she could begin cutting away any loose fat or tissue in her way of making it deeper inside his body. Her scalpel was able to work alongside thanks to her retractors, so she was able to cut through the initial layer of muscle into the fascia and fat surrounding the organ in question. With a few more incisions his kidney was finally exposed to the camera, though it was partially obstructed by her hands. The stream got a good view when her hands temporarily left to grab the clamps so she could attach them to the arteries and veins connecting to the kidney. The blood flow was properly stopped to prevent him from bleeding out, making it safe to begin detaching the organ with her scalpel.
Jesse could only watch for a second longer, when the organ was encased in her fist, and then he was searching for his wallet. His hand made an instinctive dash for a pocket that didn’t exist, which made him have to rip his eyes away to remember he wasn’t in his usual attire. His hands slapped down on the coffee table, nearly tipping over his now cold coffee from the force, and scrambled around to find his wallet. He found it behind his laptop and quickly flipped it open to grab one of his credit cards. He didn't even look to see which one it was, he only gave it a glance to get the numbers onto the site. When prompted to input an amount, he hardly even thought about it.
|Chromeskull has entered the chat
|
|Chromeskull has donated $100.00
A heart monitor flatline tone rang into the room, freezing the woman in the middle of removing the organ from her unwilling patient. She dropped both the flesh and her tools on the table to rush over to her computer monitor. Her face was hidden, but her jaw noticeably slacked when she saw the number with her own eyes. Her bloody hand pressed against her mask-covered mouth as a breathy gasp escaped her.
“I… W-Wow, thank you,” She briefly paused to read the notifications, taking another moment to gawk when she recognized his name. “Thank you, Chromeskull!”
Jesse chuckled, a crooked grin on his lips as his fingers typed deftly at his keyboard.
|<Chromeskull> Keep up the good work.
The chat exploded; flooded with emotes, with screaming. Some were amazed and others furious. Jesse didn’t care, he was watching her. Watching as her hands cupped her own cheeks after reading his message. Watching as her previously stiff shoulders just fell, and her composure began to get more bouncy and lively again. Watching her like she was before; the beautiful but deadly Miss Morbid.
She took the cue to get back to work, spinning around and letting her hair bounce in the tie it was held in with her steps. She didn’t even take a seat again, she was too excited to shove her fist back inside the man to make him wail. The deep red organ finally came out, and she held it up to the camera to proudly present it to her viewers, most particularly a very special donator.
“If you ever need a kidney, Chromeskull, you just let me know! I’ll find the perfect one for you!”
The kidney was placed on a bigger tray from the teeth, and the second one joined soon after with a much more bubbly excavation. Her bloody tools were finally placed down on her “dirty” tray, announcing to the stream that the procedure was finally complete. Her bloody fingers cupped the man’s pale, tear-ridden face with tenderness for the first time that night, giving his temple a short massage as her goggled eyes peered down at him.
“It’s time we part ways.”
He was graced with a final stroke from her thumbs that caught his last tears, before she moved down to unclamp his veins and allowed him to bleed to death. As the man took his dying gasp she dropped her bloody tools on the dirty tray and then dumped the entire thing in the sink nearby. It took no more than a minute before the man expired on her operation table. Miss Morbid casually took a seat in front of her audience; fresh gloves on her hands allowed her to finally button up her shirt the way she liked it, using the coverage of her breasts as the signal that the stream was ending.
“Well, everyone, that will be all for tonight. The operation was an utter failure, just another to add to my record. I have quite a mess to clean up and sterilize, so I’d better get started. I hope to see some of you next time…”
Jesse’s fist unclenched on his bathrobe once the screen cut to black. His adrenaline began to fall back down once he came back to reality; his screaming spine finally heard and soothed when he slowly sat back up straight. His card was still in his hand, and he spun it on its corner on his knee cap as he thought about what just happened. He tapped the card on his knee when he had to admit it; yep, he just did that.
There was no regret. There wasn’t a reason for him to feel bad about it. That monetary loss wouldn’t hurt him. He was mostly hung up on the fact that she got that out of him so easily. He almost forgot he was holding his card until now. She was something special, and she earned herself his attention permanently, and in more than one sense. The aching between his legs finally got him off the couch and off to the bathroom once again. He’d need another shower.
[Unusual Purchases]
“Hello Sir,
I apologize if this message has reached you at a busy time, but I noticed an unusual transaction coming out of our company fund. Do you happen to know what this is about? -S”
The laptop was slowly closed as Jesse walked away from it with his new cup of hot coffee. No, he had no clue.
Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: RWBY
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi, Ace Ops & Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen & James Ironwood
Characters: Qrow Branwen, Clover Ebi, James Ironwood, Ace Ops (RWBY), Harriet Bree, Ozpin (RWBY)
Additional Tags: Atlas (RWBY), Atlas Academy (RWBY), Fair Game Week (RWBY), Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Pre-Canon, Injury Recovery, Injury, Slow Burn, Crushes, Romance, Espionage, Protective Qrow Branwen, Flustered Clover Ebi, Protective Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen Has Issues, James Ironwood Has a Heart, Mentioned Ozpin (RWBY), Flirting, Atlas Ball (RWBY), Teacher Qrow Branwen, Career Ending Injuries, First Dates, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Undercover Missions, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secrets
Series: Part 6 of FairGame Week 2025, Part 25 of My RWBY Fic Collection
Summary:
Clover Ebi is the newly promoted Captain of the Ace Ops, an elite squad of huntsmen dedicated to keeping Atlas safe from whatever the world can throw at them. He can't help but notice it feels like the world has a lot to throw. He will do what he must.
Qrow Branwen has come to Atlas under false pretences. Officially, he's retired due to injury and here to teach the next generation. In truth, intel has revealed that Salem is moving against Atlas, and her agents need to be rooted out. He will do what he must.
At 8am one sunny morning, their paths cross for the first time. It changes everything.
.
Fairgame Week Day 6- mutual pining/regrets
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/3
Fandom: Darker Than BLACK
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Hei (Darker Than BLACK), Kirihara Misaki, Ishizaki Kanami, Hazuki Mina, Petya (Mao), Otsuka Mayu
Summary:
He's placed in an interrogation room. Like so many years before a PANDORA scientist (because nothing will stop the behemoth that is PANDORA) gently probes with questions. Li does not speak.
At one point, he looks up, and his eyes – blacker than anything Misaki has ever seen – cut right through the glass wall and into her core. It is an image that stares at her when she excuses herself to find a vending machine, and buys something just to ground herself to this world.
