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tenderlyrenjun · 1 year ago

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Personal Trainer

When Park Jisung told his roommate - Jeno - that he wanted to start working out, Jeno told him that he was already working out.

And Jisung deadpanned.

Jeno teases him too much. He had to clarify that he wanted to start working out more intensely, like Jeno and Jaemin. Although, Jaemin uses the gym to deal with a break up, unlike the rest of them. Still though, Jisung wants the same result, and he thought that Jeno would get the hint, that he wanted Jeno to train him. But Jeno just forwarded him the number of the front desk person at his gym: you.

You also happen to be a trainer ... and were the only available person to do his kick off session, a free, one-hour personal training consultation to, essentially, gauge his goals, set up his work out plan, etc. So, reluctantly, Jisung accepted (he had to) - mainly because Jeno actually really had no time to consistently train him like you, nor did Jaemin, and he wasn't about to ask Renjun for breathing exercises.

But then, everything changed when he found out that you're hot.

To his first session, Jisung arrived early.

Surprisingly, Jeno's gym is an easy 15-minute walk from their apartment; five minutes, if he felt energetic enough to run, but he wanted to give himself time to mentally prepare for meeting a stranger. He never really goes out, except work and stuff, preferring to stay home. Unfortunately, he hopes to eventually make the gym part of his routine, so he has to get used to seeing new people. Plus, the extra few minutes let him get a lay of the land before his muscles inevitably gave out in front of a girl.

And besides, you were running a few minutes late to your shift - not that his session started with your shift. You staggered it by about 15 minutes, you told him over the phone the previous day, in case he showed up to stretch in advance - which he did, kind of. He only remembered to stretch after seeing you, so he discarded his jacket in the tiny lockers by the turf and started those basic shoulder rolls he learned in middle school.

You came over after he passed a few sets, correcting his form, "Squeeze your shoulder blades together. Your chest should be slightly ahead of your abs."

Of course, he jumped, not having expected you, like, at all.

"Sorry," you apologized yet still inched closer. You held your hands a couple inches off his back, fingers stuttering back and forth from his rhomboid. "Can I touch you?" Jisung nodded, fighting the smile that breaks into the corners of his mouth. "You should feel it -" You closed the gap and touched your fingers to his spine, eventually flattening your hand between his shoulder blades, and he inhaled sharply. Your hands felt small, smaller than his at least, your fingers not even taking up the half space of his rhomboid (though, he couldn't see it). "- right here."

Jisung tensed, fixing his posture and lifting his chin higher.

"Sorry," you apologize again, immediately withdrawing your hand, and he turned around as equally fast. "Did that feel weird?"

"No," he answered loudly, then cleared his throat. "No, it was, um, helpful. I - I don't think I know exactly where to -" He covered half his face to hide the increasingly pinkish hue and the dimples in his cheeks. "- to feel it, so anything you do is ... appreciated." Jisung tried to avoid your gaze too, looking at the ground, but you are shorter than him, so you met his eye incidentally, also stepping into his personal bubble.

The whole first session went like that for the most part - you correcting his form; him giving you honest feedback; you stepping into his personal bubble, touching him; etc.

No wonder Jeno keeps coming back to this place, Jisung thought. If not just for how attentive and detailed with him you are, then for - and this was where Jisung started to feel bad - how sexy you look demonstrating every exercise. (He felt guilty, semi-pathetic, literally running home to masturbate in the shower for an hour).

Because every time you parted your knees, Jisung, too, nearly dropped to his.

He had to watch you, from a bird's eye view, standing while you illustrated simple hip raises on the ground, giving him an excuse to stare at your camel toe perfect range of motion in your ilolumbar ligaments. Even worse, when you and he did high planks across from each other, because he could see down your loose neckline, down your tight, compression bra, at the slightest peak of your cleavage.

And he couldn't stop staring, waiting for a flash of your tits, like a pervert, or for your leggings to roll down your stomach a little bit more, before you covered the waistband of your panties all over again (he would have sworn, on Sakura Yamauchi's grave, that you wore a thong, and that you wear a thong to every session).

Then, the kick off ended so soon, and you summarized all his strong points, noting the slight bulge of his bicep, asking him whether he would want to continue strengthening your core, as is your specialty. Jisung hadn't the heart (or hormones) to deny you. His main goal, he figured, - to bulk - could be done on the days he doesn't train with you, since he planned on joining Jaemin, Jeno, or Haechan for weight lifting the other times.

But you catch him.

Pretty easily, actually, on one of your off days.

"Hey, stranger," you greet him, a few months after that first session. Jisung looks up at you, from the ground, where he reracks 25-kg dumbbells next to an even taller storage rack. You hold a medicine ball, in both arms, so tightly to your stomach that he can see the way your cleavage spills over your sports bra, even under the oversized t-shirt.

Jisung giggles, just once, timidly, under his breath - half-winded from his bicep curls - and smiles at the ground. "We saw each other on Saturday."

"Well," you sing a little, throwing the 3-kg med ball between your hands. "Actually, I could've sworn I saw you on Tuesday, a mere two days ago," you tease him, and he looks up again, kneeling on just one knee now.

"Ah ... Really?"

"Yup!" you emphasize the last syllable, then turn to the racks, squinting at the empty top row high above your head. "I thought, 'Hmm, couldn't be my Jisungie', since you were counting concentration curls." Those are not part of the workout plans you make for him. "Mmph." You jump a little, throwing the ball, but it stays on the ledge and rolls back into your hands. Jisung stands up immediately, behind you, and racks the ball for you.

He hopes you don't hear his heart beating through his chest, or at least that you attribute it to his final workout. But you called him yours. And he needs to hear it again.

You tilt your head up, following his hands, until making eye contact with him upside down. He presses against your back a little tighter, to really settle the ball on the rack, and incidentally, he also feels the curve of your ass hit his wide thighs.

Jisung lowers his arms, slightly, shuffling forward. He hangs one hand on the ledge behind you, while the other finds the waistband of his Adidas sweatpants. For a second, as he tries to meet your gaze, Jisung dips down to your legs, hoping to glimpse another outline of your panties, but you just wear an innocent pair of biker shorts. The black fabric barely peeks out from under your oversized t-shirt, only showing off your legs and pubic bone. Jisung's short sleeve, also oversized (as is the trend) does little to hide his own hips, since he holds it, folded, over his abs. The sleeves, though, fall down his bicep without his workout, and hide the wrong bulge.

You turn around, in his strong arms, brushing your own arm between his defining pecs.

"Sorry," he apologizes, panting thickly through his pouty lips, suddenly worried that you could read his thoughts. "Was that ... Was that weird?" Jisung lifts his hand off the rack with the intent to brush away the messy black bangs in front of his eyes, but you grab his wrist and drag him even closer than he had initially been. He purses his lips and tilts his head to the side.

"Jisung - ah," you clear your throat, rubbing your collarbone with the hand that was just on his arm. Jisung shifts to the tips of his toes, to better hear you as you start whispering, "Do you - do you want a free session? Right now? With me?" You brush your face closer into his personal bubble, and your pupils get bigger.

Jisung tilts his head a little deeper, nearly kissing you on the cheek, and scans your face. This might be more awkward, might have made him self-conscious - the borderline public indecency PDA - if today were not a random Thursday at 10 AM. But it is. The mostly empty gym really doesn't have anyone to notice the two of you. And Jisung takes advantage of it.

He nods.

"Meet -" You inhale, squeezing his arm once, marveling at the veins. Deliberately, he flexes. And your entire body jolts taller, giving you the momentum to look him in the eye again. "Meet me in the racquetball room in five."

Jisung actually meets you in seven minutes, too busy splashing water on his face in the locker room.

Ironically, the racquetball room offers more privacy than the bathrooms all the way in the back of locker rooms. It might have something to do with how many people are able to use each room at any given time.

So, Jisung takes a deep breath and wipes his hands, palms to fingertips, on his athletic pants. Then, he opens the door.

He barely gets a second to walk through the entrance, when you shove him against the door, fitting your lips onto his mouth.

You only peck him once, practically jumping into his chest, but Jisung still gasps, inviting you to bite his bottom lip - which you do, causing him to yelp.

"Oh, my God," you nearly scream, climbing off him - not that you climbed him very high, or that you stuck on him tight enough to topple him over (but if you did, he would have caught you). You teeter on your toes, fingers stuttering back to your chest. "I'm so sorry, Jisung. Was that weird? I - I thought -"

Jisung cuts you off, this time. One hand slides over your cheek, his nails knotting in the roots of your hair, and the other grabs you by the waist, pressing his hips into yours. He kisses you once, like that, nearly snapping the both of you in half. A scant moan leaves his esophagus, as low as a groan, before he switches sides and picks you up. His palm scoops your entire ass, helping you into his arms.

You gasp. "Whoa, Park Jisung??"

Your ankles tie together behind his small waist, and the momentum of his scoop pushes him into the wall. You readjust a little higher, cradling his face once you get stead. Your hands feel soft on his freshly shaved jaw.

"You're so tall," you whisper, slotting your lips together.

"There," he says with some finality, some assurance. Jisung shifts you up even more, using the wall as support, and smiles, innocent in his eyes, naughty in the way his squeezes your ass. "Now you're taller." He kisses you again, trying to lick your lips clean. Your hand slips down to the front of his neck, as you suck and bite his lips. His bottom lip follows you, while you change angles, grinding your hips on his abs, driving him firmer against the wall. Jisung pulls off, briefly, his eyes still closed. "Fuck, baby."

Jisung kisses you even harder and slides both his hands under your ass, spreading your ass cheeks wide. His middle fingers brush your cunt, poking around the thin string, finally verifying that you do, in fact, wear a flimsy thong.

"Shit," he swears when you tug his hair unexpectedly. Your nails scratch his temporal lobe, fisting and re-fisting around his split ends.

His hands automatically dig into your thighs. And you yank his hair again, this time backwards, pulling off him. Jisung gasps without your mouth to suppress his moans, and his fingers slip lower into your inner thighs. You withdrew just far away enough to take off your shirt, and his jaw falls, heavy pants shaking his entire chest as he inspects your sports bra. A deep v-neck cuts straight between your tits and the tight material pushes them together and up, although slightly misaligned - half your nipple exposes under the black fabric. Jisung almost bites one, when you yank his hair a third time, making him look up at you, his eyes glassy around the rim.

"Sungie," you pant and lick your lips. God, he wants to kiss you again; he even parts his lips to ask, but you speak first, "There's something I want to do. Really bad." You cup his jaw, and he swallows thickly. "Can I suck you off?"

"Fuck," he swears again, kissing you harder. "Yes. Yes, baby, fuck, please suck me off," he begs, chanting an affirmation mixed with your name. You moan equally with him, and your legs tighten around his waist as a single one of his hands roams your back, snapping at your bra. His other palm gives your ass more support, slipping into your shorts, into your thong.

He kisses you a few more times, his lips pursing forward more and more as you pull away, slowing down his tongue into quick pecks. Jisung knocks his head against the wall and shakes his bangs out of his face. He scans your face, then realizes that he likes looking at you.

"Pretty."

"Hmm?"

"I said you're pret -"

Jisung doesn't get to finish his praise, because you push a thumb past his lips, holding down his tongue. Instantly, his cheeks hollow, but your thumb tugs backward a little, so he sucks even harder, to trap you there, amidst his whiny protest .You pull a little bit more, enough to reopen his mouth, and replace it two fingers. Satisfied again, he licks at your index finger, imagining how you would blow him with those small hands (how will you wrap them around his cock?). His dick, standing upright toward his abs, between your legs, jumps, and your eyes darken.

You jump off his lap, simultaneously pushing him against the wall.

"Oomf."

"Shh, Jisungie," you whisper. Your hands creep into the waistband of his trackpants, folding over the layer until the inseam reaches his thighs. "You're so loud."

"I can be louder," he whimpers. But still, he mouths, "Oh, my God," and bites his lip, hitting his head on the wall again. His hips work on a mind of their own, thrusting forward (only slightly), anticipating you to do more, especially after you asked, so nicely, to suck him off. "Baby, please." Finish what you started.

Your next few actions move like a virgin who only has experience from watching porn. Not that Jisung has any complaints, remembering how he was with his first partner. Except, you don't bumble around like an idiot, like he did. No, you spring his dick free and gasp. He looks down, mouth sluttily ajar, panting all over again as the air conditioning brushes his shaft. With your eyes wide, you slowly wrap your fingers just below his tip - the fingers that were in his mouth. They prevent you from dry rubbing his erection, not that he needs it, necessarily. His cock embarrassingly dribbles through the slit, clear liquid sliding down in beads. He has to grit his teeth to will himself not to cum, but you stand on your knees, barely tall enough to point his cock down your throat. You rest your palms on his thighs, keeping him still, and lean a bit higher to swallow his tip, just the tip.

Jisung's fingers hook under your jaw, making you look up at him.

And he nearly cums at the sight. You're so fucking sexy.

Your eyes dilate, looking at him through your pretty lashes and messy hair. And his dick throbs, again - which makes your mouth pulse around the tip. Mmm, you moan, lips tightening involuntarily. Jisung thrusts forward, faintly, bending at the knee as his dick, 85% hard, fits halfway in your mouth. You shift a little bit taller and take more of his cock, by yourself.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jisung whines, hiding his pout lips behind one hand. "You're so good, baby." The hand that stayed on your jaw fists its way into your hair, supporting your temporal lobe enough for him to slide his cock all the way down your esophagus. "I don't even need to train your throat. You're already so good for me."

Then you pull off his cock, coughing and rubbing your throat. You hold his length at the base, but the momentum held and his cock slaps your cheek, leaving a puddle of precum and spit on your cheek. "You're so big, Jisungie," you whine, lips swollen and pouting.

But your thighs squeeze together, and he can just tell that you ride the thick inseam on your crotch. He bets, too, that your clit got caught in your thong, pressing in all the right areas. It might look like how your tits look right now - raised and spilling out of your tight sports bra. God, he wants to cum on them. He can't, this time at least, because it would make a huge mess, but next time, if you'll let him.

"Baby, finish what you started, please," he begs, flopping his dick back in your mouth, guiding your head down his shaft. "I'll repay you after, I promise, but I'm so fucking hard right now. I need to cum."

You take half his cock down your esophagus, sloppily drooling down the corners of your mouth. He can feel his tip hit your tongue, grating the fucking moist foliate.

Jisung's thrusts get clumsier and clumsier as he tries to memorize the way your body moves. Your wrist flicks his cock inverse to how it goes down your tongue. You grope and squeeze your own tit, slipping your hand into your bra, bringing out one of your stiff nipples for him to gawk at. Your thighs shake, ass driving your pussy forward like those hip thrusts you showed him on the first day. Jisung feels your nails graze the veins in his cock, and he looks down, panting open-mouthed, moans spilling.

He cups your face with all ten fingers enveloping your cheeks. Your own hands drop down to your body, back to your tits and pussy. Jisung jerks your face around, swirling your mouth around his cock to prepare you for the entire length. He groans, abs crunching, barely shoving his dick halfway, before you retake control.

"Gawk, gawk, gawk," you swallow, half gagging, half sobbing.

"Yeah, fuck, I'm almost there," he chooses to interpret.

You stand tall again, on your knees, and squeeze his cock between your tits, freeing them from your restrictive bra. Jisung slowly feeds his cock all he way, as you raise your tits, visibly pinching your nipples with your index and middle fingers. His tip, angry, leaking, and throbbing, knocks on your tongue, and you get the hint, bobbing your head. You look at him through your lashes again, eyes somehow wider, more innocent, before rolling them to the back of your head. You force a little bit of his cock out of your mouth, down your tongue like a slide, letting him take over.

Jisung's stomach drops, and he shoves his cock down your throat, brushing his pelvis against your nose.

"Hnng, fuck, fuck, fuck," he moans. His entire cock throbs with your esophagus as you choke on the width. Then he cums.

Jisung slowly pulls out while he cums, letting his thick, white semen pool in your mouth. You fold your tongue into a cup, as wide as you can, showing off how good you take him, still jerking off his cock between your tits. You swallow all the cum you can, before it starts streaming down your cheeks, like your tears.

"Cute," he mumbles, pushing his cock in your mouth, only halfway until he stops cumming. Then, he helps you stand up.

You swallow again, panting after an audible, large gulp, and wipe your bottom lip clean with your wrist. "I know -" You heave, wrapping your arms around his neck, falling against the wall with him. "I know guys don't like to make out or anyth -"

Jisung cuts you off again, pressing his lips chastely against yours. He brushes his nose across your cheek, smelling the prominent salt and sweat on your skin before parting your lips with his tongue and lifting you back into his arms. "I don't care," he whispers. "I'll cum inside you and eat you out, too."

You grab his jaw and scan his face. "Really?" you ask, almost doubting him.

So, he spins you around, pinning you to the wall. You, again, tighten your legs behind his back, steadying on his shoulder.

"Yeah, baby, I'm gonna put all these muscles to use."

#well … sorry this took so long but guess who had time to write #jisung smut #park jisung smut #nct jisung smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct jisung x reader #park jisung x reader #nct smut drabble #Mia.txt

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beacarrot · 12 days ago

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Yes, I think I'm doing it again. One day without you turned into a week, and soon it will become a month, but I refuse to let it stretch to a year, ten years… This text is another open letter to share my experience, especially the grief of losing Liam Payne.

I've been a One Direction fan since I was 14. I discovered the band because of Liam, who, back in his “fetus era,” looked like an Australian actor I had a crush on. One day, while browsing the internet, I came across the name “One Direction.” Honestly, I didn’t feel anything phenomenal in that moment; I had no idea how much that name would change my life and my youth as a whole. I didn’t imagine the hours of research, the nearly one hundred songs memorized, the posters, the fan theories I still hope are true, the Pinterest boards full of images, the photo edits of myself with the boys just to get a taste of what it might be like to be near those five special guys. Fanfiction, imagines… the list goes on.

In the beginning, I even mocked their songs, calling them cliché. A few months later, I knew all the lyrics AND the dance from “Best Song Ever" video clip. Life has a way of transforming our paths when we least expect it, when we’re lost enough for any path to seem fine. But life is generous and shows us the "right direction."

The truth is, it was October 16, 2024. I was coming home from school, crying, and, strangely enough, I had no idea that Liam had passed. I’d been introspective in recent days, reflecting on my last months at school and my amazing friends in class. I’d been listening to One Direction more than usual, and that very day I’d listened to ��Stand Up”! I got home and was getting ready to go out again; it was almost 7 p.m.

I remember precisely: my mom looked at me with that expression she used to soften bad news, but it didn’t hide her own anxiety. She said, “I want you to hear this from me, but it’s not someone in the family.” I widened my eyes, jeans halfway on. I felt calm; if it wasn’t family, it wouldn’t hurt that much. But then she said it was something about the band and that one of them had fallen from a hotel balcony and was in bad shape.

My heart skipped one, two, maybe five beats. I don’t remember my tone of voice, but I know it was loud, trying to make my mom remember who it was. When she said “Liam,” I still thought, “Well, he just got hurt, but he’s alive, right?”

“Is he okay?” I asked, near panic. Truly, I wasn’t considering the possibility that he could have passed. But my mom’s words echoed: “No… unfortunately, he’s living with God know.”

My world stopped. I wasn’t even fully dressed, and I started shouting Liam’s name over and over, as if trying to confirm the reality, as if pleading for an answer from the heavens. I looked at the photo beside my bed, which I’ll include in this post, and messaged my friends who were also fans. I cried uncontrollably. I smoked so much in those days that I literally got sick, with a sore throat. Only my mom, my friends from youth group, and school saw my true state. Edu, thank you for putting up with my grotesque sobs on your shoulder. I adore you, friend!

The first night was a nightmare, a heavy and negative energy settled in, but I was clinging to the hope that with sunrise, something might change. But it didn’t. The sun rose, and I relived everything in my head, going over the story, just wishing it was truly a nightmare. I think no one has the right to talk about someone else’s pain. Grief is an individual experience, full of complicated nuances.

I’ve been alternating between suffering, crying to the point of dehydration, listening to the songs while every line hurts. There’s the denial phase, when it feels like it didn’t happen; that Liam is out there somewhere, and we’re still in 2012. Then, the reality drops like a piano falling. And there’s anger: “Is this real? He was so young!” And finally, moments of acceptance, when I smile at the memories and look at the photos, though I’m not completely there yet. Grief isn’t a straight line; you repeat and get lost in these stages, and no one should blame themselves for that.

People have lost the capacity for empathy and humanity. It doesn’t matter if Liam didn’t know me; I knew him. Not personally, of course—he had layers, and that’s one reason we couldn’t imagine how he was self-destructing. But he was a singer with an amazing stage presence, always sweet and attentive with the fans, a real warrior in his personal life, and he certainly made his share of mistakes. He lost his way on the crazy road of life, fame, money, media, relationships, addiction; it drained the hope from that 16-year-old boy who didn’t give up on "The X Factor". Liam is a legend.

There are days I can laugh, listening to the songs and remembering their silly dances, like when I watched “This Is Us” two days after his death. I thought I’d cry, but those boys never make me cry; they only make me smile. What makes me cry are the circumstances surrounding 1D. On other nights, I cry knowing there was nothing I could do. The closest I ever got to him was in a dream once, where the boys were having a party at my house. Liam was sitting in the corner of my room, the same spot where I was when I found out he’d passed. I walked over, asked him about Louis and Zayn, and hugged him. It was a sweet, protective hug. That’s my comfort: imagining his face painted in the beautiful blue sky, knowing he was lost and needed rest. I’ll continue with my contradictory life, and when things get hard and tough here on Earth, I’ll smile because he'll be far away and safe, no longer needing to deal with it all.

I’m still hesitant about watching his funeral online. Since finding out, I’ve stepped back from social media. It cleanses my soul to know I didn’t contribute to the hate, negative energy, dirty jokes, or nasty comments thrown his way, in real life or online. I learned from Liam; I let myself be touched by his essence, loving him completely, and I learned to see the world through the lens of songs and art. Words won’t be enough, Liam. This is not a defective goodbye. I still need you, and even if I can’t see you with my eyes, you’ll live forever.

I can't post something that is not just about it, but I will just continue posting some things because they were already ready before I knew about his death.

Gratitude and strength to all!

I don't like to put black pictures blank in these moments because I don't think it's right black and white because Liam brought and still bring so much color to us.

We love you Liam, our eternal red.❤️

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earthstellar · 1 year ago

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crying over Rescue Bots, yes it’s the ghost ship episode, it’s fine

so I’m watching Rescue Bots again because I don’t feel good today lmao

and the episode where they’re on the ghost ship and TEN WHOLE ASS YEARS GO BY WHILE THEY ARE STUCK ON THE SHIP came up in the playlist

and even though it’s resolved in the end, it’s like, holy shit

okay so for those who haven’t seen it:

halfway through the episode Chief Burns shows up and sees his kids for the first time in TEN YEARS because tl;dr the kids got on the ghost ship to investigate but it vanished back into the fog and it time travelled them at accelerated speed but beyond the ship, time passes normally, so it’s been 10 YEARS from their dad’s point of view since they left, even though for them it has only been one hour

and him and the Doc and Frankie are visibly older when they land on the ship’s deck

so naturally Chief’s talking to his kids and probably trying not to fucking have a break down and he’s like okay everyone, let’s go

and Cody’s like “no we think we figured it out, let us stay and try”

and the Chief has less than one minute to make this call: do I bring my entire family home after ten years, or do I let them disappear maybe for another ten years based on a hunch they have

and he lets them stay on the ghost ship because he trusts his kids that much

ten years lost, maybe ten years more, and how old is he now? how old will he be in another ten years, if they happen to be wrong? what happens to the town if he ages out of rescue work (and so would Doc), which would leave only Frankie to protect the island?

even the rescue bots themselves openly state that they feel like they’ve abandoned their posts because of their extended absence, even though it’s not their fault (I don’t remember who specifically said this but it was one of them and it makes it sadder lmao)

but he lets them go after finally seeing them again for five minutes in total, after they have been missing in real time for ten years on this ghost ship

and IDK the amount of trust Chief has in his kids and his ability to immediately trust them in this way despite what I am sure is an incredible amount of grief and stress over what has been ten fucking years for him is actually so intense

like this is a show for babbies, so of course they can’t focus on how emotionally fucked this situation is for literally everyone, it would be Too Much for Babbies which is understandable

but thinking about it for ten seconds is like oh shit!! oh shit, feelings

I love this episode because the feels are real, both for the Captain of the ship (which is the whole setup, tl;dr stuck in time loop never got to marry girlfriend, it’s sad already) and for Chief Burns because holy shit his fucking entire family has been gone for ten years and he still trusts them enough to let them stay on board and try to solve shit even though he absolutely has to be emotionally trashed in that moment

10/10 Rescue Bots is a great show, I don’t know why I don’t post about it more tbh the emotional whiplash is so intense lmao

there’s also that time Optimus turned into a t-rex and freaked out but then in TFP concurrently this was somehow fine and it never came up again in canon or seemingly anywhere else, holy shit I forgot all about that until today LMAO

I love the Aligned Continuity, all of this shit is so good, I’m crying but also laughing

mostly crying right now though because Chief Burns lost all his kids for TEN YEARS and he immediately let them go again because he loves them and trusts them THAT MUCH

#rescue bots #maccadam #maccadams #chief burns #transformers rescue bots

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kaleidoscopewritings19 · 2 years ago

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Bruce Wayne x Reader

Title: “Secrets will be told” SERIES PART 3

Part 1

Part 2

-TWO YEARS AFTER THE EVENTS OF PART 2-

Pairing(s): Bruce Wayne (from the show Gotham) and Female reader. BOTH BRUCE AND READER WILL BE 26-28 in this part.

Warnings: Mentions of smut, other than that, none

Summary of series: Bruce Wayne was captivated when he met Y/N, and the feeling was mutual. Dating turned into being engaged and engaged to married. They knew each other’s secrets and told each other everything; they confided in one another. But once Y/N follows Bruce back to Gotham, he begins to change... He becomes secretive, is he having an affair? Y/N needs to find out the truth.

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

The Day after the Wedding

We chose to go to Bora Bora for our honeymoon. Bruce had rented an overwater Bungalow. I haven’t seen him this calm in almost two years; not since he proposed. He has not been calm since Jeremiah Valeska escaped Arkham. Jeremiah has been running loose for two years, and there has not been an encounter with him yet.

But being here, being surrounded by a big body of water and by a literal jungle, he has been at peace. I was lying out enjoying the sunlight, and Bruce was across from me doing push-ups. For the last two years, he has bulked up a lot; he worked out every single day, sometimes twice a day.

I brought down my sunglasses, and I watched the newly formed muscles tighten with every movement. But what caught my attention, was the scars along his spine. I stood up and walked over to where he was, and my fingers gently pressed against the faded red and white colored marks. “Bruce, what happened? When did this happen?” I asked, and he sat up.

“I don’t know years ago, maybe?”

“No, some these are recent. Why do you have scars, Bruce?” I questioned again, and his hand went to my cheek. “Baby, when I do jiu jitsu, and other things like combat training, I tell the guys to not go easy on me. That’s all they’re from.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and helped me up off of the ground. “Do you want to join me for a swim, Mrs. Wayne?” he asked, and I smiled. My heart fluttered at his words, Mrs. Wayne. I was now Mrs. Wayne. He turned to look at me, “What? Oh-- do you like it when I call you Mrs. Wayne?”

Another smile broke across my lips. Bruce pulled me by my hips, and he brought a gentle, yet hungry kiss to my lips. He kissed down to my jaw, and then worked his way to my neck, “You so gorgeous, Mrs. Wayne.”

It wasn’t too long until we were back in the bed again, and I never thought about his scars again. Two full months of honeymoon bliss; being married to Bruce has its perks. He was able to stay away on a vacation for as long as he liked.

---------

-TWO MONTHS AFTER WEDDING AND HONEYMOON-

When we got back home, Bruce became tense all over again. I wasn’t even sure how to begin to help him at this point. He started to become distant and more quiet than usual. Hours were spent at the gym in the mornings and we would pass each other by as I was going out the door for work.

After our honeymoon, things changed-- he began coming home late at night, and then he would disappear in the middle of the night. The first few weeks, I did not really pay any mind to him leaving. But after a month of him leaving our bed at midnight, I decided to follow him.

I waited until he was out of bed for five minutes, and I grabbed my robe and quietly made my way down the stairs. He was not in his study, nor was he anywhere else in the house. All of his cars were parked in the garage, and when I came back inside, I bumped into Alfred.

“Oh, Mrs. Wayne, you are up late.” Alfred said, and my hand went to his shoulder. “Please, call me, Y/N, Alfred. I was looking for Bruce. Do you know where he went?” I asked, and he hesitated.

“Sometimes Bruce has nightmares. Caused by the death of his parents; it still troubles him deeply. Sometimes he will go out for a run to tire himself out.” Alfred rambled, and I sighed.

I whispered a quiet: “Thank you” and made my way to the kitchen. Pouring myself a glass of wine, I waited for Bruce. I was sitting at the kitchen island, and I looked down at my wedding band and engagement ring. Shaking my head, I picked up my cellphone and tried calling Bruce. Each call went to voicemail, and each time he didn’t answer, my heart would drop. But an all too familiar jingle was playing across the room. With the phone to my ear, I walked over to the stove and Bruce’s cellphone was sitting next to it. He left his phone. Why? I hit the “end call” button and slammed it on to the counter. I brought my glass of wine to my lips and took a long drink.

The wine must have been making me emotional, because my thoughts began to wander. Bruce leaving every night at the same time, and not coming back until four or five in the morning. That led to one explanation: Bruce was having an affair. Two months into our marriage, and he wasn’t happy? It didn’t make sense. Was I doing something wrong?

Before I could finish that thought, Bruce crept through the hallway across from the kitchen. I wiped the tears from cheeks, and quietly went into the living room. I did not have the energy to deal with this tonight; I had to find out more before I accuse him of something he may or may not be doing. But I also could not face him tonight, and I grabbed a blanket and laid down on the couch.

When I woke up the next morning, my head was throbbing, and I was back in our master bedroom. Bruce was buttoning up his shirt, and when caught glimpse of me in the mirror, he smiled. “Good morning, babe. I put some Tylenol and a glass of water on the nightstand.” Bruce said as he nodded towards the nightstand.

I gave him a small smile and took the pill along with the water. A small bruise adorned Bruce’s jaw, and I cocked my head to the side, trying to get a better glimpse of the purple and blue bruise.

I threw the covers back and my hand went to his jaw, “Did they have to hit you in the face?” I questioned and his eyebrows drew together. “What- what do you mean?” he asked.

“Your jiu jitsu group... That’s who hit you, right?” I questioned and he sighed. “Oh. Yes. Practice got a little rough; that is all.”

I folded my arms up to my chest, “Was that after you left at midnight? I thought you went on a run. At least that is what Alfred suggested you were doing.” Bruce turned to me as he tightened his tie.

“I went on a run. Then after that I went to the gym. I couldn’t sleep.” he said, and before he could walk away, I shook my head. “Your cars were in the garage. Surely you didn’t run all the way into the city.”

“I called a cab. And I came home in a cab.” Bruce grabbed his suit jacket, and he walked out of bedroom. Tears brimmed my eyes, he was lying. There was no cab. He never calls cabs. His cellphone was on the counter.

Bruce lied to me and that was enough evidence all in itself. He got the bruise from somewhere else, and I was going to find out. I picked up our bedside telephone and dialed the number to the gym Bruce frequented.

“Hello, Donnie’s gym, how can I help you?”

“This is Mrs. Wayne. I am calling in regard over my husband Bruce Wayne’s account. I’m paying bills this month and was wondering what I owe you for this month, Donnie?” I asked.

“Ah Y/N! It’s good to hear from ya. Now, Bruce hasn’t been to the gym since before you guys tied the knot. He hasn’t been in uh--- maybe two years? I do appreciate his donations though. Keeps the place running.” Donnie said, and my grip tightened on the phone.

“Oh. I see. Well, how much does he donate? I can fill out a quick check and mail it to you.” I say, and Donnie sighed.

“Usually $2,000.” I scribbled down the amount on a sticky note, “Well, thank you Donnie. Bye-bye now.” I say before hanging up the phone. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the diamond ring on my finger.

I wiped the tears away before they could fall. I was going to Wayne Enterprises, and this was getting sorted out now.

-----

When I walked into the building, I was greeted by multiple people. “Mrs. Wayne, would you like me to call up to Mr. Wayne and inform him that you are here?”

I shook my head, “No, I am here to surprise him.” I say before the elevator door closed behind me with a ding. The elevator door stopped at the top floor, and I walked out of the elevator. Bruce’s main secretary Sidney looked up from her computer screen: “Oh! Hi, Y/N! How are you?”

“I am great, thank you. Is Bruce in a meeting?” I asked, and she shook her head. “No, a matter of fact, he just went back into his office.” I thanked her and walked over to Bruce’s office door. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, and a woman was standing next to Bruce looking out the big glass window.

They both turned and looked at me; Bruce’s eyes widened, and the woman’s eyes trailed over to look at Bruce, and then her attention went back to me.

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

Hey guys! Sorry I didn’t post this sooner; I got super busy with school and studying. I know these chapters are fast paced, and I apologize for that. But I hope you enjoyed, Comment if you want to be added/removed from taglist.

TAGLIST: @rl800 @auspicious-lilana @theclassicvinyldragon

#dc comics #dc heroes #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #gotham #the batman imagine #batman x reader #alfred pennyworth

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simpingandshitposting · 1 year ago

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

Two ppl actually tagged me in this so thank you @malewifetouya and @happyely 🖤🖤🖤

Sadly some of my most favorite projects are ones that are still sitting in my drafts unfinished 😭 but out of all the ones I've posted these are the ones I'm most proud of <3

"Come Home" — Deku:

I don't even know if this would be considered a fic?? Cuz honestly this was such a short little thing that I wrote in under like 15 minutes 😭 probably the shortest amount of time it's taken me to ever write literally anything. But it was after I watched S6 E136 and literally that night I had a dream where this whole scene was played out in my head. And it just felt so dramatic in the right ways and just raw emotion that I had to write it down. And it's STILL my most liked post on this entire blog😭 but honestly understandable bc sometimes I go back and read it and I'm just like "damn wait I wrote that????" lmfaoo

"Only for you, Toshi" — Shinsou:

Completely opposite from the last one, this is actually the longest thing I've ever written. (that's posted anyway, there's a few longer still in my drafts) I just feel like Shinsou doesn't get enough love but he definitely deserves it😭❤️ all my friends that read it said they really enjoyed it and I'm just really happy with how it came out after working on it for a couple weeks, and that not touching it for a few months and then coming back to it only to finish it in like 2 days lmao

"Attention" — Dabi:

Now this wouldn't be a post about my fics if I didn't include something for my absolute favorite character in the entire show🖤 this fic was very self indulgent bc I'm such a brat🤭 and I'm convinced that Dabi is the king of brat taming. Fun fact, the outfit I described is something I literally own in my closet 😂

"Secrets" — BakuDeku x reader [UNFINISHED]:

This is a multi-part series I'm co-writing with my bsf @haru-x-ren on a joint account we made. (@bunny-x-haru if you'd like to follow) it's currently still a work in progress with only a few parts released, but it is a continuation of a 2 part fic I wrote when I first started called "You're the Only Thing That Makes Sense" — Bakugo So I do recommend reading this one first before Secrets for context and background info. I feel like you can really see my growth in writing from then to now, cuz that was like literally the second thing I ever posted lol. And Haru was literally my biggest fan bc he's the one that got me into writing fanfic<3 so after he read it, he had this absolutely BRILLIANT idea (spoiler) to take the scene I wrote where bakugo and deku were caught fighting after school hours (similar to that scene from season....2? When Bakugo learned about OFA) and turn it into a BakuDeku love triangle and I was honestly obsessed with the idea

And lastly

"For Your Eyes Only" — Dabi:

Another one for my fav<3 this one was for his birthday and is very nasty🤭 also with a little bit of fluff at the end bc I am indeed a hopeless romantic with no romance🥲 also, the cover photo is most definitely the reaction I was imagining when he walks into the room lmao

Side Note:

I know it's been a while since I've posted any writing and I am so sorry 😭 I guess I've just been in a little bit of a funk when it comes to my creativity lately. I mean I've got plenty, and I do mean PLENTY of ideas written down, but Im having a hard time executing them and turning them into something I can post. But I promise I'll get back to posting as soon as I can and I'm really sorry to everyone who has been waiting for stuff😭 I appreciate your patience❤️

Here's 5 other writers I recommend<3

@cathwritestragediesnotsins @aquadenks @kemakoshume @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic + any other writers who'd like to make ur own posts<3

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angelforstyles · 3 months ago

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Lonely (together) Chapter Four

Lillian’s POV

Five days have passed and I haven’t seen Harry. He’s been busy the whole time.

I’ve cleaned my apartment a few times, rearranged my library, organized my paintings and notebooks, washed my paintbrushes, sharpened my pencils.

I’ve done two new paintings, read a book, and started discovering new smoothies. I’ve only gone out to the grocery store once.

I even organized my closet. I’ve done everything and I still feel like I’m missing something.

Now I’m literally on the living room floor looking at the stars.

I pull out an old device I brought with me when I was taken from my home when I was 16.

It’s one of the few things I’ve taken with me.

If I turn off the lights, it reflects the stars and space onto the ceiling and walls. I’ve been like that for a couple hours.

The girls are busy so I haven’t asked anyone to hang out with me. And I miss Harry.

In the past few days I have thought about all the moments we have had together.

I have written down all the positives and negatives of the situations that happened between us, his personality and how he treats me.

There was not one negative thing. (Except on my part there was)

My phone rang with a notification.

Harry: Hello princess. How are you?

Me: Fine Harry, how are you?

Harry: Good, I wanted to check up on you.

Me: Don't worry about you :)

Harry: Sorry I haven't seen you the past few days, I was busy, my mom and sister came to town without telling me. Things are a bit chaotic around here.

Me: I'm happy for you! Enjoy with them

Harry: Thanks. How do you handle your break?.

Me: Ahhh I don't know where I am if I'm being honest

Me: I did everything. I painted two paintings I feel like I'm going crazy but enjoy it, don’t know how

Harry: Aw princess. Relax, don't be too busy and not taking care of yourself, and I'm really happy that you're spending your time enjoying your hobbies.

Me: Don’t worry, thank you Harry

Harry: I really wish I could come over but my mom insists I stay with them after work and I quote: ‘We only see you once a year, we have the right to see you, and it's clear you have nowhere else to go.’

Harry: Plus she's the one forcing me to stay home.

Me: I don't know if I should be sad or happy for you, but I laughed

Harry: Naughty princess.

Me: Sorry🥺

Harry: None of that. Anyway I’m gonna try to stop by tomorrow.

Me: Okay byyye <3

Harry: ❤️

I can't wait for tomorrow.

——

It's 4pm. I'm cooking some pasta, I decided to start a new book series so I went and bought it today.

A soft knock on the door made me scared then I remember Harry knows the code.

I tried to fix my hair while looking at the mirror next to the door. I was wearing a pink t-shirt and gray pants.

I opened the door and Harry was standing with a bag in his hand. "Hello princess" He opened his arms and I threw myself at him. "Hey you did it" my voice is muffled on his neck.

Then I pulled away and looked at his face "Your work ends in an hour! Why did you go out early?" I said with my hands still on his shoulders and his on lower back.

"I wanted to see you" he said softly and smiled.

"Do you want to eat?"

"It smells delicious here but mom wants us to go out to a place I don't even know what" I laughed and hugged him again.

"I brought you something" he whispered in my ear.

"What?" "Do you want to know?" He said as he lifted the bag up.

"Harry" I said sadly and looked at him.

"Stop looking at me like that or I will fucking get on my knees."

He said and my heart started beating fast and everything disappeared from my mind except his sentence.

I looked at him with wide eyes. He cleared his throat "Do you want to open it now?" He said nervously. "Um okay" I took the bag from him.

I opened it gently and it was a red box. I turned to him and said "Why did you bring me a gift?"

He looked at me softly "When I saw it I remembered you so I brought it for you." I felt butterflies flying in my stomach.

I opened the box and there was a beautiful red bag the size of the one I have that I always wear. But more beautiful. "Harry" I said and felt tears gathering and my throat tightening. I gently put it on the table and hugged him.

"Thank you didn't have to buy me anything" I said and the tears fell "Hey no need to cry, it's just a bag princess”. He said stroking my hair.

“Oh my God, I forgot the food on the stove.” I ran and put out the boiling pasta and went back to him. “Nothing burned,” I said, laughing and wiping my tears.

As we sat on the couch, his phone rang. “Mom uhgh” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

Then he answered. “Yes mom.. I know, I’m close.. No.. okay.. No I said okay mom.” His brows furrowed and he let out a sigh of annoyance. He hung up.

He looked at me, smiled and kissed my cheek, "I have to go, sorry." I hugged him and murmured, "It's okay." He pulled away and looked at me, about to say something before he got up and left.

For two days we texted late at night, in the afternoon, and when he finished work. It was very innocent conversation.

Today his mother and sister are going back to England. I didn't mean to get excited, but I was. I missed spending time with him.

The girls were going out today but I told them I was busy. Harry and I were going to go to the library.

I was getting ready, I put on a little white dress and comfortable white boots.

I put on my make up and now I was standing by the window waiting for Harry to come. I saw his car stop and I jumped and then pulled myself together.

A minute later there was a knock on the door. I opened the door and it was Harry in a half-open shirt. His hair was shiny and he looked like he had just taken a shower.

“Harry" I hugged him and he lifted me off the ground and spun us around. "Harry" I laughed "My princess" he said with a laugh. "Put me down, my dress will wrinkle"

He put me down and we recovered from laughing then looked at each other. “Are you ready?” he said with a smile “Yes sooo ready !!”

He took my hand and we walked out to the car, I didn't feel for a second that our situation was as wired as my friends say, I pushed the thought aside and enjoyed the moment. He opened the car door for me and I got in.

The drive to the library was quiet with little conversation. We were going to one of the biggest libraries. I was so excited.

He parked the car and we got out. There were people everywhere. I was starting to feel nervous so I moved closer to Harry until my hand was brushing his. "Are you okay?" I nodded.

He put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me closer to him. I looked at him and he smiled so I felt comfortable putting my arm around his waist and he didn't say anything.

We walked around the library and I looked at the books and took pictures of several to buy later.

When we got out Harry said, “There’s a museum close to the library do you want to go?” My heart skipped a beat because I always wanted to go and never had the time or energy.

“If you want to.” Harry didn’t reply and we walked to the museum. It was indescribable, everything was so beautiful, I wanted to stay longer but Harry said it was nine and we should get out.

We got in the car and Harry said, “Dinner?” “If you’re hungry.”

“Are you hungry princess?” “Not much.” We stopped at a red light. “What do you want to eat?” Harry asked in a low voice. “Anything?” “Indian food?” I don’t like Indian food.

“If you want” “Italian?” “Anything is fine.” Harry took a deep breath and stood to the side.

“What do you want?” My cheeks burned. “It’s no big deal Harry, anything will be fine.” Harry went to the restaurant where we had eaten the first time.

We sat next to each other and Harry ordered almost everything in the menu after he asked me and I said pasta. We finished dinner and went back to my apartment.

Harry came out and we stood at the building door. I thought he wanted to come in but he stopped and took my hands.

“Did you have fun today?” he whispered, his face close to mine. “Uhm” I looking at our hands.

“Did you know that I like spending time with you princess?” My cheeks burned.

“Can I ask you something?” He said softly, I looked into his eyes my heart pounding and my hands starting to shake, but he held them tightly to stop them from shaking.

I looked up and for a moment I thought I might faint from the way he was looking at me. His eyes were shining, clearly nervous.

“Yes” I whispered and looked down. “Look at me” I looked up after a few seconds. “May I take you on a date?”

My ears started ringing, I started feeling dizzy, my heart was beating all over the place, and my legs couldn't hold me up.

Harry’s POV

Two days ago, I thought she would refuse to go on a date with me. But her eyes sparkled, her pupils got bigger and her hands were shaking, but she just smiled and nodded.

I couldn't believe it so I texted her that night to make sure she still wanna go out with me. So here I am going to buy flowers for her and pick her up.

I got the pink flowers. I knocked on her apartment door. Seconds later she opened the door wearing a short, soft pink dress.

I smiled and hugged her, "You look beautiful" I kissed her cheek. "Look at the coincidence, I brought you pink flowers" She laughed and took them then kissed my cheek. "Thank you Harry" She went to put them in the water and came back and we left.

We went to a fancy restaurant, and took the elevator to the thirtieth floor? I don't really know, she's so beautiful and took all my attention.

We sat at a table but she didn't like her chair position and wanted to sit next to me so I moved my chair closer to her. "So you never drink?" I asked curiously.

"No, I guess I'm afraid of losing attention to what's going on around me" she said playing with her hair.

The food was served and we sat talking about what she did and where I went with my mom and sister and my fights with my sister. I didn't go into much detail about my relationship with them.

We finished dinner and I dropped her off at her apartment.

A few days later we had our second date, it was at her apartment. We played puzzles and ordered dinner.

We sat in silence for a moment after dinner. “Harry,” she said quietly and nervously.

“Yeah my princess?” “I want to tell you something,” she mumbled, looking at her hands.

“You can tell me anything.” She looked at me for a moment then looked away. “I’ve never kissed anyone before” she whispered, hugging her legs. What?

“Don’t be mad at me, please,” she whispered, covering her eyes. “I wanted to tell you before but I couldn’t” she said with a trembling voice.

“Hey, look at me,” I pulled her hands away from her eyes, her face red and her eyes watery.

“You’ve never kissed anyone before? Like never? Not even a kiss without a kissing?” She shook her head no. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

I looked at her lips for a moment then into her eyes, “Sorry but does that mean you didn’t do the other stuff??” She shook her head and put her hands over her eyes. I pulled her hands away again.

“You’ve never had sex?”

“Harryyyy.” She closed her eyes.

“You’re the only guy I’ve ever talked to,” she said with a trembling voice. I hugged her when she almost cry and then we moved on.

I convinced her to come over to my place for our next date. She agreed so here I am today nervous as hell.

I made lasagna since she loves all kinds of pasta. With Caesar salad and champagne if she wanted to drink.

I went to take a shower and put on a black shirt and pants. I texted her to let me know when she was ready and I sent her my driver Cal.

Lillian’s POV

Call me crazy but I feel like he's going to kiss me today. I haven't given him a chance to touch me on the last two dates. But I think it's time.

I put on a red silk dress, black heels and the bag Harry gave me. I baked a vanilla cake, and put cream and strawberries to take with me. Harry said he'd send me a car so I went out.

A very big man (not kidding) opened the door for me. I thanked him. The whole way I tried to remember the way to Harry's house, it was close but because I’m nervous it felt like it was forever.

We stopped at a gate, the man opened the door for me and I thanked him again.

He talked for the first time "door code 1294" I went to the door next to the gate and wrote down the numbers and went in.

There was little big house and big garden in front of me. I couldn't see it well in the dark but it was very big and full of trees.

I walked to the front door. My stomach started to hurt from the tension. I rang the bell and hoped the pain would go away.

It was just Harry, the place had just changed. There was no need to panic.

Harry opened the door and looked at me with a smile. "Hello princess." He took the box from me and hugged me, then took my hand and we entered.

Directly in front of me on the right was a staircase and on the left was a large living room with a large glass door from ceiling to floor in the middle of the wall. At the beginning of the living room there was a piano and shelves.

Then in the middle was the sofas. The walls were light gray and the couch dark gray, the floor was light. "Do you like it?" Harry asked as I looked around.

I didn’t have time to answer him when a cat came towards us meowing. "You have a cat???" I asked in shock as I got down to pet her.

"Her name is Grey."

"Hi Grey" She closed her eyes as she let me pet her.

"She seems to like you, she's very moody, doesn't like strangers."

“She’s cute Harry,” I said grumbling. “Why didn’t you tell me about her before?” I looked at him and he held out his hand for me to stand up. “I don’t know why it didn’t crossed my mind.”

“Your house so gorgeous .” When we walked in, the kitchen was to the right, open to the living room, and there was a dining table. “Thank you, my princess. Sit down, I will bring the food.”

The table was set with gray plates, spoons, and a candle. I sat on the edge of the table with my back to the kitchen. I didn't think he was that romantic.

I smiled when I saw him coming. "Do you need some help?"

"Just have a seat, princess." I would never get used to the name.

Harry put the salad and lasagna, "Would you like some champagne?" "No thanks." Harry poured himself some champagne and brought me water.

We sat down to eat then I said, "This is so delicious, thank you." I reached for a napkin but hit Harry's glass and spilled all over him. "Oh my god, I'm sorry." I grabbed the napkin to clean it up.

"It's okay, princess." I felt tears welling up in my eyes. "Sorry, Harry." He took my hand and sat me down. "Hey, I'm home, I can easily change, it's okay, princess."

He kissed my head and said, "I'll change and come back."

I wanted to cry when I saw his empty glass. I got up and got the champagne and poured him another one. Harry came back in a grey t-shirt and black sweatpants.

“You didn’t have to refill my glass” he said, smiling at me.

We finished and I got up to put the dishes in the dishwasher with him, but he stopped me and sent me to sit down.

I sat on the couch and Grey jumped into my lap and I played with her. Harry came and sat next to me. “I’ve always wanted a cat, but I never had the time, and I didn’t want to leave the cat alone all the time” I said, then kissed Grey’s head.

I looked at him and slowly our smiles fade. I feel so nervous and excited, i bit my lip and looked down to avoid his stares. Grey jumped around again at me so I kissed her and pet her.

“Princess” Harry whispered and my cheeks burned. I looked up and his face so close, he holds Grey and put her down.

“Harry..” I mumbled. His hand touching mine, i wanna kiss him and i am so scared.

He slowly brings his lips closer to mine and I couldn’t move back, i want him to kiss me.

He brush his lips down on my jaw and i let pathetic breath.

“If you wanna stop you can tell me Princess”

“please” i don’t know what I’m begging for or why. He gives me a soft kiss, i still didn’t make a move not even opening my mouth.

He sucked my lower lip a little and I felt so dizzy, i feel his breath on my face, and wet sucking voice.

He gently pushed me to lie on the couch, my dress exposing my thighs so I kept on of my hands on his, while my other hand on my dress, his other hand on my jaw, sucking my lips slowly.

His nose on my cheek, i feel mine on his, and i feel the recently shaved face, and my stomach burning from the strange and completely new feeling.

My lips haven't moved yet I don't know what to do, it took me a few seconds to mimic what he was doing.

I kiss his upper lip then suck it gently, he stopped kissing me completely and made me do it for a few seconds until he slowly kissed me back.

I was holding my breath but now I'm breathing slowly. My legs started to hurt from the position, but I didn't move.

My hands moved to his shoulders then his neck, I was so nervous to touch him but when I felt his hand moving mine and put it on his cheek to his chest then back his cheek again, I brought his face closer to me as if he could be closer, until I felt my lips hurting me.

I pushed him a little and when I realized that my dress was very high and my panties were showing I quickly put my hands down on my dress.

His hands were behind my back they he carried me to sit on his lap. I looked at him as he smiled and then I realized what had happened.

I put my head on his shoulder and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Harry’s POV

I set her on my stomach because my cock was hard as fuck and I didn’t want to scare her, she put her head on my shoulder for a moment.

I looked down at her thighs, her dress was a bit up. She pulled her head back and looked at me, her face was so red, “hi” I said softly, “you did good princess” I kissed her cheek then her forehead, she hit my lips with hers and start kissing me again, i smiled then i kissed her harder, she whine softly and i almost cum i pull her back, she was out of breath, but tried to kiss me again.

“so greedy baby, you need to breathe”, her expression got sad.

“None of that princess” i kissed her again, our teeth clashed a little. I felt something wet on me, for a moment I thought i cum, but no it was on my stomach, I smiled at the thought of the source of the wetness.

I think she's too busy to realize she's dripping.

I was about to cum and I didn’t even touch my cock.

I pull back, “princess i need the bathroom” She got off my lap, I looked down at the black spot on my gray shirt, then looked at her.

She dragged her gaze down to my stomach. “Harr— I’m sorry oh god” she whispered and reached for a napkin, she was freaking out about to cry and her cheeks were flashing. I stopped her.

“Hay hay, relax it’s fine, happens to everyone” It doesn't happen to everyone. Only happens when you’re so horny.

“it’s okay“ I pulled her between my arms and kissed her head, “you’re so sweet you know? For a first kiss this one was pretty amazing. If I didn't know you I wouldn’t believe it was your first kiss”.

She laughed. “Now i need the bathroom, can i go?” She pulled away “uhmm”

Grey jumped up to her. I walked fast upstairs to my bedroom and go to the bathroom and locked it.

I took my cock out, I tried to be fast, I fist my hand around my cock and let out inhuman grumbling, i fucked my hand fast and hard, with her image on my mind, swollen lips, red cheeks, the line between her breasts, I want to bury my face between them, her delicious thighs, and what is between them, I want to smell, bury myself inside her, I want her touch on me, and I want to touch her everywhere.

“Fuuucccckk” I came so hard, my cum all over the toilet, the guilt on my chest so heavy.

I cleaned the toilet, i took my shirt off and smell the almost dry spot, her smell so good.

I put the shirt in the closet I don’t want to wash it. And changed my pants and put t-shirt on. I went downstairs and she was playing with Grey.

When she looked at me her cheeks turned red, “need something to drink princess?” “Water please “ she mumbled.

I grabbed two glasses. “Sleep here tonight, it’s getting late” she choked on the water, and shook her head no, "I'll sleep on the couch, you can take the bed." She shook her head no again.

“I don’t have to go to work tomorrow, we can make breakfast together.” She looked at me hesitantly and then said, “I don’t have my stuff to stay in.” Grey clung to her and licked her cheek. “It tickles me, oh my god,” she laughed. “I have an extra toothbrush, and I can lend you my clothes.” I smiled at the scene in front of me.

“Harry,” she said, clearly trying to refuse. “I won’t take no for an answer. You brought a cake, huh?”

Her face lit up even more. “Yes! I’ll get it.” I went with her to the kitchen and pulled out a plate. We cut off a piece and started eating. “Your house is so beautiful.” She said as she tried to sit on the counter but couldn’t so I lifted her up. I stood between her legs and held the plate between us. “Really?” “Uh huh.”

“We’re going for a tour in a bit.” Grey came over and started making noises as she tried to jump. We laughed and then I got down and lifted her up to sit on my Angel thighs. “She’s so cute ahghhh”

I've never seen Gray like anyone.

Lillian’s POV

We finished and Harry dropped me off the counter and walked to a door near the kitchen. "Let's go to the basement first"

he said as we went down the stairs and into the gym. "Wow you have your own gym?"

I walked around the room with Harry standing behind me. We went upstairs and went to Harry's office.

There was a desk in front of a floor-to-ceiling window and a library filled with files and books. We walked out silently and went upstairs.

There was a door right in front of the stairs. "This is my room" he said in my ear.

I felt my stomach burn from his deep voice. We walked in, the walls were gray, a very large bed, a couch next to the balcony. The dressing table was between the archway and the bathroom door.

We entered the archway it was a closet.

"Oh my god" it was very beautiful and very big. I looked at Harry in surprise as he smiled.

"Do you own the house?" He nodded.

"I won't forgive you if you sell it."

We walked out of the room and went to three more, all of them guest bedrooms.

Down the hall we entered the laundry room. "Do you have a roof?" I asked.

"No but I have a garden" he said and we went to his room. I sat on the edge of his bed and looked around. The bed was very comfortable and soft and very manly too.

Harry came back from the closet. "I got a t-shirt and shorts and sweatpants I didn't know what you'd like" I blushed and took them. "Thank you.. I need the bathroom" I said as I walked.

I closed the door and it was a very large bathroom with a bathtub and a shower area enclosed. I used the toilet and then got dressed.

My panties were so wet so I took them off and covered them with my dress and put them aside. What happened earlier was so embarrassing.

The pants were too long so I put on the shorts. They were tight but comfortable. His t-shirt was so big and covered my thighs.

I went out and told Harry I was going to get my bag.

I brought makeup remover wipes after our first dinner.

I learned my lesson.

I asked him if he had any face wash and he gave it to me along with a new toothbrush.

I washed up and went out and he got in after me.

I sat on the bed and looked at the clock. It was 11. I didn't have a sleep schedule. Whenever I slept, I slept.

"I can sleep on the couch," Harry said. We already slept in the same bed so there's no need for all this.

"No, it's okay, you can sleep here." Grey entered the room and Harry took her out and closed the door. Then he turned off the lights.

It was very quiet as I got under the grey covers. It was very cold but I tried to warm up.

Next to me Harry, he moved a bit then stopped. "Thanks Harry." I whispered.

"It's okay princess, good night." "Good night."

I kept moving. I couldn't sleep. I didn't know if Harry had fallen asleep.

I looked at the clock and it was 1 am.

I thought about what to do and then decided to get out of bed.

I opened the door quietly and closed it and went downstairs.

Grey was awake too so I sat down to play with her on the living room rug.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" I jumped and put my hand on my heart.

"Harry you scared me." He came beside me.

"You need to sleep let's go." He took my hand and led me upstairs.

“I need water,” I whispered as we entered the room.

Harry sat me down and went to get some. He gave it to me.

“Thank you.” He lay down and pulled me towards him.

A heat between my thighs but I tried to ignore everything and focus on Harry’s breathing.

My head was between his neck and his shoulder, my body on his, he was so warm.

“Harry I can’t sleep.” He held me tighter. “Shhh relax your body.” I tried to relax it but it was no use.

I tried to get out of his grip but he wouldn’t let me.

“Stop moving, I won’t let you go,” he said sleepily. “Harry you sleep, I can’t sleep.” I groaned.

“You’re going to sleep.” I gave up and hugged him tightly, closing my eyes and breathing in his scent.

There wasn’t a single thought in my mind so I fell asleep.

Please tell me what you think :3

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kickthecan-revolution · 1 year ago

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The camera is kind of insane. This is a five point telephoto lens.

Peach and I had a rough night last night. Cats are naturally active at night, ferals particularly so, so she had a lot of energy/anxiety. It was so cute watching her play with her toys, up until the point where she was jumping up on the door, and I realized this smart little sister cat was trying to open up the door, jumping up on it, trying to pull it down. And she could have, or locked herself inside. I froze - she’s only 4 pounds, she would hide somewhere I couldn’t find her, and it would definitely be a danger to the other cats if she got outside, somehow so I slept in my soaker to try to dissuade her but that didn’t even work - for hours I would watch her run around the bathroom try to jump on the door, shush her away, and then she would fall asleep in that kitten exhaustion for an hour. It went on and on like that for the entire night. I finally went outside and slept on the couch for a few minutes, and then got us ready for our vet appointment. When I went to put her in her carrier , she wouldn’t even take any chicken. She was exhausted. When I looked more closely in the fleas were just all over her little face.

That was… Awful, no sleep I couldn’t protect my imagination from the flea infestation in my house, even though I’ve been really good about immediately taking my clothes off that I use with her and sanitizing them and washing everything three times. Still, those fuckers are tricky, still no sign of anything in the house and I give the cats regular flea medication, which apparently will stop the spread if there is any. Mostly though, I just felt so terrible for her.

At the vet, I was exhausted and asked for a flea bath versus the topical and oral medication that she needed, and when they said they didn’t do flea baths, I burst into tears. this whole thing has been pretty intense, I wasn’t planned for it, and my lack of experience and relying upon my vet’s technician who isn’t great on follow through has left l me feeling stuck. In the last couple of days, she’s been a poor communicator, saying someone is dropping by to give peach, a flea topical solution, but never did, and I know how busy she is in her own work, so it was just hard to reach out and constantly hound her She also said she had a foster but the fleas needed to be cleared prior but she’s been so unreliable. I didn’t even know if that was true or not. Just like peach, I don’t trust people and you learn to do it on your own.

So I called her and she was actually great, she confirmed that there was absolutely a foster, we just needed to get her checked out and get the fleas off because the foster has cats that have a really horrible reaction to fleas. And the foster is right across the waterway from me which is even better so I can go visit her. We aren’t out of the woods, if she’s got some kind of respiratory infection and it's serious. She won’t be able to go, but I am just having Faith that she’s OK, and antibiotics will cure it and there’s nothing serious .

I left her for all of her vaccines and flea treatment, and all the testing, came home, and literally scoured every inch of that bathroom reset it so she couldn’t get behind the toilet, and tried to MacGyver something over the doorhandle. They called for me to come and fetch her, but I was an hour late, frantic to get it all done

So she will be here for a couple more days. She is pooped and found the perfect little hiding place, I’m just letting her be. She seems so exhausted, and of course she is with all those chemicals passing through her tiny little body, but at least all the fleas die within an hour or so of the medication so that has to eventually feel so much better.

I’ve learned so much about myself and my own feral, terrified survival energy I don’t even know what is that I’m protecting myself from. Dan is always was incredibly insightful, and I need to do some work here but, I’ve also learned a lot and a feral kitten, playing with her toys, no more fleas, and that torture.

And getting a feral kitten to take chicken from your hand, makes me feel like a giant.

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illusioninfnty · 2 years ago

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Outlast: Chapter Five (Sam Giddings x Reader)

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.7K

1:03 ; Six hours until dawn

“Well that doesn’t look fucking creepy.”

Blackwood Sanitorium stands tall and proud in the distance. Although your vision is slightly skewed by the current weather, it was nearly impossible to miss its imposing presence.

You roll your eyes at Mike’s comment. “I really don’t think anyone’s going to be renovating a building like that.”

You were acutely aware of the long history behind Blackwood Sanitorium–it was something drilled into you when you had revealed to your parents where exactly the Washington’s vacation home had been. Mike was none the wiser, but you knew that it was probably for the better that no one went near that place to fix it up.

He shoves your shoulder. “You know what I mean. Besides, it makes sense that a dude like him is probably hiding out there.”

A rather strong gust of wind reminds you of your current predicament, and the time that the two of you are currently wasting with your petty arguments as the snow piles on.

“Come on. It’s just going to get harder to walk if we keep dilly dallying.”

“Dilly dallying? What are you, my mom?” Mike retorts.

“No, but I’ll be your stepmom when I’m done with her.” A moment of silence passes between the two of you until you both begin to laugh.

“It feels like forever since we’ve had a conversation like this.”

Knowing it’s partially your fault, you can’t help but feel guilty, especially hearing the glee in Mike’s voice. “Yeah,” you respond glumly.

You focus on lifting your legs up to navigate through the increased height of snow before speaking up again.

“So how have you been?” Mike gives you a surprised look. You realize that you haven’t actually asked Mike about himself, with your angsty grudge against him and all. But if the two of you were going to face the Sanitorium together, it was probably better to build up your relationship again. You did also really miss your friend, and you knew that Sam would chastise you if you kept your feelings to yourself once again.

“Oh, so now you want to know?” He raises an eyebrow at you, a smirk ghosting his face. You can tell by the tone that he’s being lighthearted about it, but it still stings. You bite the inside of your cheek and look down, not responding.

You can hear Mike sigh next to you. “I’ve been alright. I kind of distracted myself from everything by surrounding myself with people. Em and I weren’t doing too well, and it led to me getting closer to Jess. You know how the rest goes.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have pegged you as a friendship destroyer.” You snort at your own quip.

Mike shakes his head. “Things were already tense between them, I think I was just another factor.” You nod in understanding before he changes the subject. “Okay, enough about my shit. What about you? Seems like you and Sam are getting really serious.”

You smile, never giving up the opportunity to talk about your girlfriend. “Hell yeah. We moved in together and all that shit. We’re super serious.”

“Damn.” Mike whistles. “And she’s okay with you drinking all the time?”

You freeze. “I mean, I don’t drink all the time.”

Mike deadpans. “Most of it.”

“Some of it.”

“Most.”

“Okay, okay, most of the time.” You concede. “It was getting better, you know. Just me and Sam in our cozy little apartment really eased my anxiety. But then we just got back here and it all came flooding back. And you’ve seen how this night’s been turning out.” you try to argue.

Mike isn’t buying it. “If you were literally any other person, I would not blame you for trying to get shitfaced tonight. But you’ve got to stop doing this to yourself.” He turns to you, his face serious. “Have you tried getting some actual help?”

You shift your gaze, avoiding eye contact with him. “Sam’s been trying to get me to do it but…I don’t know. I just don’t think it’ll do much. No one’s going to understand all of my baggage.” You’re pretty sure if you mention your upbringing and your newfound belief in what your parents have been warning you about you’d be hauled off to a mental institution without second thought.

“That’s because you need to let them.” Mike shifts the rifle in his hand so he can squeeze your shoulder. “You don’t let anyone in. I’ve known you forever and I still feel like you're a mystery. And I’m sure you didn’t tell Sam much more about it either.”

Your silence confirms his belief.

“You won’t get any better if you don’t let anyone understand.”

He was right, you knew that. But you also knew that none of your friends would believe you about the horrors that existed unless they saw for themselves. By the looks of it, that was most certainly happening tonight. You needed to focus on being prepared for whatever was to come, not your personal woes.

“Maybe.” You dismiss Mike’s comment and cross your arms around your upper body. “Let’s keep going.”

The two of you talk about mindless things for the rest of the walk, occasionally struggling with the heavy winds and snow. The thought of the night ahead lingers in the back of your mind as you finally approach the entrance of the sanatorium. Once you reach the entrance where you saw the stranger go through, the two of you peek in an opening of the door. You watch as the stranger throws food to the wolves and walk around a bit until he’s out of your limited view. The slam of a door only seconds later alerts you to his exit. At that point, Mike grabs the door handle before turning towards you.

“You ready?” He asks, preparing his rifle in his free hand.

“No need to be dramatic, Mr. Macho.” You roll your eyes and grab the handle from him. “Just stay quiet and don’t touch shit that looks like it shouldn’t be touched.”

You reach to open the door, anticipating the vulnerability you’ll face to whatever it was that was waiting for you inside.

1:11

Sam lets out a contented sigh as she sinks deeper into the warm bath water. It definitely felt great with the current weather, but Sam would’ve preferred if you were able to join her.

She tries to forget how long it’s been since you initially left, instead trying to soak up all the worries through the classical music blasting in her ears, an orchestral piece that the both of you enjoyed listening to during quiet afternoons at your apartment.

Suddenly, the snuff of the candles that line the bathtub alert her to another present, causing her to pause the music and pull out an earbud.

“Hello? Guys?” With no response, Sam pulls herself out of the tub and wraps herself in a white towel, looking around for her clothes but finding nothing but a single sock that she picks up with her index and thumb.

She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. This was really not the time where she wanted to be pranked by her friends. “Seriously not cool, guys. Not cool,” she shouts out, hoping they can hear her from wherever they’re hiding.

She heads downstairs to look for everyone—for anyone, at this point—uneasy about how quiet that lodge felt at that moment. “Chris? Mike? Emily?” She hesitates before calling out your name as well.

God, Sam really hoped you weren’t back and pulling shit like this on her. She would’ve much rather have been surprised by you sneaking in the bath with her, not stealing her clothes and leaving her feeling uncomfortable in the seemingly empty cabin.

But Sam knew you, and you wouldn’t pull something like this.

Sam’s forehead creases with worry as she makes her way down the stairs in search of whoever it was behind her clothes’ disappearing act. She heads to the cinema room, grabbing a flashlight before entering.

As she yells for her friends again, the doors to the cinema room slam shut, causing her to scream and spin around in a feeble attempt at locating the source of the disruption.

“Hello, Samantha. Looking for me? I don’t think you’ll have much luck by looking, Samantha.”

A modulated voice rings out in the cinema room through its speakers. Sam’s breath hitches as she stills in fear, unsure of what this person was doing. She attempts to shout in protest before they continue.

“You’re only going to see what I want you to see…and I have quite a lot to show you.”

“What’s going on?” Sam sputters, equally confused and petrified.

The screen turns on, and Sam sees herself—just moments ago—as she relaxes in the bathtub. Her hand holding the flashlight quivers as she can barely find the words to speak, horrified at some random stranger recording her without her knowledge. “Why are you showing this to me…?” she manages to get out, looking behind her to find this person once again.

“Why are you watching?”

As Sam turns back to the screen, the video flickers to Josh who was bound by his hands and screaming, a circular saw cutting him in half, innards spilling everywhere as he cries in agony.

“Josh!” Sam was absolutely horrified at the scene, tears forming in her eyes as her hands trembled. “What did you do?” she shouts, despite knowing it was hopeless.

“I’m going to give you ten seconds…nine…”

“No, no, no…” Sam panics, unsure what she should do.

“Seven.”

The man—the psycho bursts into the room, a hulking figure covered up by a menacing skull-like mask.

“Sam…” he draws out her name teasingly, mockingly.

By instinct, Sam grasps around for the first thing she can use as a defense. Her hand finds the touch of a ceramic vase and without hesitation she throws it at the psycho. It shatters against his arm as she runs towards the guest room.

Not wanting him to catch up, she jumps over the bed and out of the room just as he busts the door of the guest room open behind her.

She’s met with the basement stairs, hurriedly stepping down them as she remembers the broken step Josh mentioned earlier and avoids stepping on it.

She’s breathing heavily at this point, one hand holding the flashlight up and the other across her chest to ensure her towel doesn’t fall down. She briefly thinks about how impressed you’d be to hear her outrun this psycho in just her towel before hiding behind a nearby pillar and covering the flashlight.

As she hears the psycho enter, she takes a deep breath and tries to remember what you’d taught her about self defense.

“Sam? Why are you hiding?”

Your comforting voice in her head drowns out the cold, sinister one of the psycho. “When faced with an opponent who’s much larger and stronger than you, always use your surroundings to your advantage.”

Sam looks around frantically for anything to defend herself with to no avail. With no choice but to run, she tries to dodge the psycho but he grabs her from behind in a chokehold, lifting her off the ground as she kicks her feet against his legs, seeming to do little to free her.

As your words come back to her, she remembers Josh’s baseball bat that he had placed in this area from when they came down here to turn the boiler back on.

When the psycho forces a mask on her nose and mouth to gas her, Sam feels around for the bat, the cool wooden handle meeting her hand and she grips it tightly, whacking him upside the head and running away.

Sam approaches the next door only to be met with a roadblock. “Are you kidding me? No handle?” she shrieks in disbelief as she searches the ground for it.

In an attempt to buy herself more time, she pulls the wine storage down and the handle miraculously rolls out of it. She picks it up with haste and opens the door, slamming it just as the psycho reaches it.

As she turns towards the new room she’s in, quickly realizing it’s the laundry room, Sam keeps on going ahead, slamming her shoulder into the old door. She tumbles through the entranceway, the musty smell of this new place indicating that she’s in the old and abandoned Blackwood Pines Hotel.

Knowing that she won’t be able to outrun him for much longer, Sam drops down in an old elevator shaft and ducks down, hiding from the psycho’s view.

“Here, little kitty. Here, pussy pussy.”

Sam can hear his footsteps approaching her hiding place, and she frantically goes to hide the light shining from her flashlight. However, her trembling hands drop the flashlight and she curses at the loud noise.

In an instant, the psycho snatches her by her hair, tugging her head back to force the mask back onto her face.

“Little birdie unhappy in her cage?”

Sam makes hopeless attempts to grab at him as she feels her consciousness fading out, and her last thoughts are only about you and your own safety, all alone in the desolate woods.

1:48

The door was locked.

You were starting to get deja vu.

Your presence in front of yet another locked door leads your thoughts to shift to Sam, slightly bummed out that you definitely weren’t going to be able to join that bath with her. You hoped that she wasn’t too upset about how long it was taking you to return to the lodge.

Mike’s eyes shift towards your pouting face, a quizzical expression plastered on his own. But he knew not to question your peculiar actions by now, and he ignored your antics in search of another way in, walking back the way you two came.

You follow him, keeping your eyes peeled for anything dangerous. This place was incredibly run down, and no doubt was a safety hazard especially with you and him coming along and moving things around.

“This place is falling apart,” Mike comments as some ash crumbles above the two of you. “The fuck happened here?”

“Mining accident,” you respond as you pass him. “Whole lotta shit went down after that.” You kick around some gravel with the toe of your boot.

He raises an eyebrow, turning to you. “And you know that how?”

You roll your eyes. “You asked, bud. I just answered.” You walk back the way you came, looking for another entrance you could go through. A doorway labeled Admin catches your attention, and you nudge Mike as you head towards it. “Let’s try here.”

He follows behind you, holding the lamp out to give better lighting in the dim corridor. The room is barren like you anticipated, dirty books and notes strewn about. You and Mike walk through, finding all sorts of documents from years ago detailing all the shit that went down at Blackwood Mountain. All the same details that you’ve gotten from your parents.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, low enough that Mike doesn’t notice your concern. Your parents being right about this meant they were probably right about everything else you were told about Blackwood Mountain. A threat you weren’t sure you could defeat.

“Hey, come look at this.” Mike calls out, and you realize that you didn’t even notice him leaving the room. As you approach, you see he’s pointing out a sign for a morgue.

You crinkle your nose. “Ugh. I bet it stinks in there.”

Mike ignores you as he carries on. You sigh, more prepared now for what you may find. Mike picks up a medical report, and when you peek over his shoulder you see it’s for the mining accident.

“You were right,” he says, sensing your presence above him.

“Course I was,” you respond curtly. Your searching leads to a staircase, way too dark for you to see down. “Come on, Mike, I need your light.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The building gets even mustier as you walk downstairs, a good sign you were getting closer to the morgue. Next to you, Mike opens a door that wasn’t fully closed due to a table blocking it. A machete is lodged into the top of the wood. He pulls it out, brandishing it as you take a step back. “Nice,” he hisses.

“Careful with that thing.” You push the sharp blade away from your face with a finger, noticing the dried blood on it. “Let’s keep going. We need to get back to the lodge.”

Nothing catches your eye in the rest of the dingy rooms except for a single scrap paper—another incident report, listing twelve survivors received at the sanatorium.

You bite your lip, the paper slightly crumbling in your hand as your grip tightens. Twelve was a lot. You silently hoped that there weren’t that many still…around.

You hear Mike faintly from another room, probably talking to himself as he likes to do quite often.

“What are you doing over there?” you exclaim, following his voice.

“Check this thing out.” He points to an odd contraption in the middle of the room. A fake hand moves back and forth mechanically. He goes to grab the tag that’s attached to it, but your mind is on high alert. You snatch his wrist, pulling him back

“What the fuck was that for?” he shouts at you, rubbing his wrist once you let go. “That thing is clearly a trap, doofus.” You throw a random syringe from a nearby cart at it and Mike jumps as a bear trap comes from below, snapping shut furiously.

“...Thanks, for that.” You hear Mike say, though your mind is all scattered now, on high alert of any other dangers that could be around.

He calls out your name softly, bringing your attention back to him. “You good?” he asks.

You give him a halfhearted smile. “Yeah. Just really want to get back to the lodge.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about that for too much longer.” Mike pulls a security card out of his pocket. “This’ll get us in that Chapel.”

You look at him quizzically. “When did you snatch that up?”

“Just before.” He shrugs. “It was with one of the corpses.”

You glance over your shoulder at the body drawers, noticing one slightly ajar. “You went through the bodies? Gross,” you remark. You grab the pass from him and make your way over to the Chapel door. The pass works, and the two of you continue up the stairs until one of the wolves that was with the stranger intercepts you.

It releases a deafening bark, and begins to chase you.

“Oh shit!” Mike calls out, and two of you book it. The wolf is close on your heels, but the two of you are miraculously faster. You're able to shut a door right before he reaches you, Mike in front of you bending over and letting out heaving breaths.

“God damn…” he wheezes out, hands on his hips. You grab the lamp he set down and continue ahead. “How the fuck are you not about the puke your guts out right now?” Mike asks you, perplexed.

You shrug. “Probably the adrenaline.” You turn, seeing that Mike hasn’t moved from his spot. You nod your head towards the way of the Chapel entrance. “Come on, we’ve got shit to do.”

“You’re insane.”

“Thank you.”

Once you reach the original door, you’re happy to see that the security pass worked. “In and out, Mike, got it?” You aren’t able to get a response because the wolf, the same one from just a few minutes ago, jumps out again in front of you.

“Where the fuck do you keep coming from?” you shout, exasperated, as Mike gets into a defensive stance.

“Easy there, bud,” he coaxes gently. The two of you shuffle slowly into the room as the wolf backs down. While Mike tries to approach it again and be friendly, you search the room for any kind of food so that it wouldn’t attack you guys. You find a bone in a chest, throwing it over to Mike and the wolf, with which it happily snatches it, tail wagging furiously.

“There we go,” you smirk. Mike rubs its head affectionately, you mimicking his movement after.

Mike finds a pistol and some ammo among piles of junk that the Chapel holds, causing you to sigh as he pockets yet another weapon that he’ll probably be careless about.

“Wow, leaving me defenseless here. What a gentleman.”

Mike glares at you and reluctantly pulls the machete from where it was resting against his jeans holding it out to you. “I’m sure you can handle this shit on your own, though.”

“Totally. But I’m not letting you keep all of the cool shit.” You grab the machete from him, making sure not to hold it out in front of your face like Mike did earlier.

Nothing else catches your attention as the two of you continue through the sanitorium, going down more flights of stairs until you and Mike reach a standstill with a locked gate in your path.

Mike doesn’t hesitate as he shoots the lock off, just as he’d done with other doors before, knocking a barrel out of the way as he does so as to not hit it.

You think to look at the barrel that he just knocked over, breath hitching as you spot the flammable liquid label as the barrel rolls around. Your eyes widen and you reach your arm out to stop your friend from entering through the gate.

Sparks from the shot hit the ground, and you're now aware of the many, many barrels that surround the two of you.

“Wait, fuck, Mike, no—!” You only manage to utter out a few words before Mike opens the gate, and within seconds you’re thrown back and your vision is encased in black.

Character Traits:

Honest: 5/10 ↓

Charitable: 9/10

Funny: 4/10 ↑

Brave: 10/10 ↑

Romantic: 5/10

Curious: 5/10 ↑

Relationship Status:

Ashley: 6/10

Chris: 8/10

Emily: 5/10

Jess: 3/10

Josh: 9/10

Matt: 7/10

Mike: 6/10 ↑

Sam: 10/10

Chapter Four || Chapter Six

#sam giddings x reader #samantha giddings x reader #until dawn x reader #until dawn #sam giddings #samantha giddings #mike monroe #wlw

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imnotoverlyobsessive · 2 years ago

Text

Title of Your Sex Tape

Chapter Four: So Lovely, It Feels So Right

AO3 one two three four five six seven eight

All my work is 18+.

You’re just my type, I’m lying when I’m looking away. I’m staring up and down, I’m all around obsessed with your face. Oh, what a mess I’m in; you’re so masculine, sweet like cherry cola. Dripping confidence, lose my common sense; kiss you till I’m sober.- Charlotte Sanda, Dress

“Jeans?” Tim groaned into her mouth as she ground her core against him, his hands squeezing her ass roughly. “You’re wearing jeans when you’ve got an ass like this?”

“L— like what?” she stuttered out breathlessly.

“So big,” he growled. “So sexy. Wanna see you walk around in these, I’ll be able to see even more than when you wear skirts, fuck—“

He almost came that time.

Okay, so they’d become friends. That was a thing that had occurred. Lea was friends with a pornstar.

Weird.

But like, he was so nice. He was kind, courteous, funny, well-spoken and interesting to talk to— it was just good to have a friend like that.

And okay, yeah, maybe her overwhelming attraction to him and the way he kissed her, touched her—god, the way he touched her—had something to do with her incredibly non-platonic feelings towards him, but that didn’t really matter.

She was his coworker. His friend. Nothing more. They’d never be more than that. It was essential that they would never be more than that, on account of his job.

She wondered sometimes how he could kiss her that way, touch her that way, make her orgasm over and over and over again—and clearly enjoy it a great deal when he did—if he didn’t feel anything for her, but then she remembered that he literally did all of those things with numerous other women for a living.

She wasn’t special. Not in that regard, at least. He seemed to have some affection for her, however, which she had learned upon one of the many recent occasions during which she’d stayed over at his apartment.

It was a late fall evening, and there was a torrential amount of rain hitting the cold New York sidewalks.

“You can’t leave with it like this,” Tim insisted firmly. “Just hang out here till it clears up.” She was about to object, but then he said, “Please?” with that damn smile of his, and that was that.

“I guess I can do some homework,” she mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of her oversized sweater.

Tragically for Lea, her lack of adequate rest the night before resulted in her falling asleep in the armchair she’d been sitting in as he watched TV, her homework still in her lap.

She wasn’t aware of being picked up and carried, or having her shoes gently taken off before she was laid on a soft bed and tucked in.

She was, however, aware of waking up a couple hours later and seeing the rain hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows in Tim’s bedroom. He was passed out on one of the chaise lounges, a blanket thrown over him haphazardly, only partially concealing his bare chest. The position didn’t look very comfortable at all. Neither was her bra. Or her jeans, for that matter. But— god, she was in Tim’s bed!

She sat up, scratching her scalp and trying to process the situation, when Tim’s eyes blinked open. He sat up halfway, eyeing her sleepily. “You okay?” he asked, his voice scratchy.

“I’m in your bed,” Lea observed.

He blinked.

“Yes, it would appear that you are.”

“Why?” she pressed.

“You fell asleep,” Tim explained slowly. “Putting you in a bed was the logical thing to do. My room was closest, so…”

She stared at the way the moonlight filtering through the windows glinted off his pale skin. “I feel weird taking your bed, though. I can just go home—“

He cut her off with a soft snort. “No, absolutely not. Not this late at night. Just stay here. I don’t mind. I’d rather see you safe.”

“Okay. Um.” A gulp. “Do you have any clothes I could change into, maybe?”

“Oh, sure.”

With that, he stood with a groan, stretched, and walked around the bed to his walk-in closet.

She didn’t know how much money he made, exactly, but she had surmised but the way he lived that it was no small amount.

Tim returned with some pajamas a few seconds later and handed them to her. “I don’t know how they’ll feel, sorry. don’t usually wear… y’know. Stuff to bed.”

Lea stared up at him with wide eyes. “O— oh. Okay, uh… just give me a bit, then.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, and she stumbled into the bathroom, sliding the pocket door shut behind her. She stripped down to her undergarments and stared at herself in the mirror. Should she take her bra off? She wasn’t likely to get back to sleep if she didn’t, and he’d seen her bare boobs plenty of times. He probably wouldn’t care, right?

She decided on taking her bra off and then slipped the pants on.

…Except they wouldn’t fit over her thighs. Oh god, she was too big for the clothes he’d given her! How humiliating.

The sweatshirt he’d handed her fit her just fine, at least, and it was quite long on her. It was pretty baggy, too, so he may not even notice she wasn’t wearing a bra in the dark. She could just change as soon as she woke up, that was fine.

Lea gathered her discarded clothes—as well as the unused pajama pants—and exited the bathroom. He was getting re-situated on the chaise he’d been sleeping on, and she put her clothes on the bedside table, the pajama pants next to them.

He stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes—the neckline of the sweatshirt hanging just below her collarbones, the too-long sleeves only revealing the tips of her index and forefingers, her legs, bare from the upper thigh down—and gulped.

“The pants didn’t fit,” she said apologetically. “They’re too small for my legs.”

“Of course they are,” she thought he said, but couldn’t quite make out the mumbled words.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Tim assured her with a slight shake of his head. “As long as you’re comfortable, that’s the important part.”

She blushed and stared at her feet before shuffling back towards the bed and climbing in.

He smiled at her, and Lea frowned. He looked so uncomfortable in that position. “Don’t you want to, like. Sleep in the bed?”

He stared at her for a moment. “Well, yeah, of course I do, but I’m cuddly when I sleep next to another person, and I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything, so…”

“C— cuddly?” Lea stuttered anxiously. “Oh, uh. Okay. Well… I get hot when I sleep.”

His bedroom was dark, but she still caught his grin as he stood up and walked over towards the bed. “I get cold when I sleep. Maybe we’ll even each other out.”

“That’s fine,” Lea decided hastily. “You can… you can sleep here. I’d feel bad if I kicked you out of your own bed.”

“You’re sure?” he clarified.

Lea nodded, gnawing on her lip anxiously. He climbed into bed and pulled the covers over himself.

Staring at her for several seconds, he finally lifted an arm and said, “Well, c’mere.”

“Huh?”

“If I’m gonna end up cuddling you anyway, we might as well get comfortable.“

“Oh. Okay.”

Lea scooted closer to him, and as soon as she was within reach, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest, burying his face in her hair.

“You’re so soft and warm,” he mumbled contentedly.

“You’re bony and cold,” she returned bluntly.

He was silent for a moment before chuckling and nuzzling her. “That’s why we even each other out, though.”

“Hm,” she hummed. “I suppose so.”

“Goodnight, Lea.”

She woke in his arms, the early afternoon sun illuminating the room.

“Hey,” Tim said softly upon seeing she was awake. “How’d you sleep?”

She was blushing due to the fact that she was nestled against his bare chest when she said, “Good.”

“Yeah? Me, too.” He smiled at her gently, reassuringly. “Holding you like this is really nice.”

“Y— yeah,” she agreed, her lips quirking up in a small smile.

Half an hour later, Lea found herself sitting next to him on the downstairs couch in front of the projector rather than the actual TV.

“Tim?” she asked nervously, wondering if what she wanted to ask was too personal.

“Yeah?” He adjusted the fuzzy blanket he had thrown over their laps to fight off the cold outside, nestling in closer to her.

“Do you like your job?”

He stared at her for a moment, considering. “Yeah, I suppose I do. Why do you ask? You’re not considering getting into it, are you?”

“No!” Lea insisted. “I just… I dunno. I was wondering if you liked it and why.”

He shrugged. “It’s easy, I guess.”

She blinked at him. “Easy?”

Tim nodded. “I pretty much do what I’d normally do during sex. It just so happens to be filmed. Not really that big of a deal, to be honest.”

“I’ve heard it’s, like. Choreographed,” she admitted. “Fake.”

He hummed. “It can be. For me personally, though, it’s not all that fake. There’s some acting, yeah, but for the most part, I just imagine I’m with somebody I find attractive.“

“You don’t, uh… you don’t find your costars attractive?”

“They’re fine, I guess,” Tim hedged. “I’ve recently discovered I prefer women who are somewhat curvier than the girls they pair me up with. And I prefer girls a bit closer to my age, too. I tend to have a two types of costars: extremely skinny girls who are often nearly as tall as I am, or MILFs, neither of which would be my preference.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him.

“Thankfully,” he continued with a grin, “I have a fluffer who is exactly my type.”

Lea blushed to the roots of her hair.

He laughed. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to embarrass you. You’re just so cute.”

“T— thanks,” she stuttered.

His grin widened. “Y’know, you should stay over more often.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” Tim hummed. “Never slept so well in my life.”

“Really?” she giggled.

“Oh, definitely.” He moved closer to her. “I’d love it if you could spend the weekend with me sometimes. I could just bring you here after work Friday, then back home once we’re out Monday. What do you think?”

Her smile widened at the prospect of getting to spend more time with him, of waking up in his arms again. It was weird; she should probably be anxious, but she wasn’t. Not with him. Not in the slightest.

“I’d like that.”

He grinned. “Well, it’s Saturday. Wanna go out to dinner or something?”

“Oh, uh… I don’t have anything to wear…”

Tim chuckled softly. “Lea, sweetheart,” he began, “Saks is fifteen minutes away.”

Her eyes widened. “I can’t afford a designer retailer!” she squeaked out.

“That’s fine,” he assured her with a smile. “Consider it a gift.”

“I cannot ask you to get me designer clothes, Tim.”

“You’re not,” he informed her bluntly. “I’ve decided. I’m taking you shopping, and then we’re going to dinner.”

“I dunno—“

He ignored her. “Ever had caviar?”

“This is way too much,” Lea insisted firmly, stating at her reflection in the mirror. He had picked out a white Zimmermann dress with lace detailing that reached mid-thigh, pink Versace heels that cost nearly as much as the dress, a fucking Judith Leiber purse that she absolutely refused to look at the price of, and pink jewelry. “The dress alone is, like, two thousand dollars, and I’m sure the purse is more, there’s no way I’m letting you get me this—“

“Don’t worry about the price, Lea,” he sighed in exasperation. “Just come out and show me.”

Huffing out a sigh of her own, she said, “Fine, but I look ridiculous.” With that, she pushed open the dressing room door.

Tim straightened up in his seat when he saw her.

“Well?” she asked, hands on her hips. “I look ridiculous, like I said.”

“You don’t look ridiculous,” he enunciated slowly. “You look…” He paused, raking a hand through his curls. “You look exquisite.”

Lea blinked. “Oh. Well. Thanks, I suppose.”

“I’m getting you that,” he decided, standing up abruptly and grabbing her hand. “I’m getting you more things later, too. Text me your measurements, would you?”

“W— what?!” she sputtered out in shock. “No way, Tim, this is too much as it is, it would cover my rent for the rest of the semester, this must be a crazy amount of your salary—“

He scoffed lightly, continuing to drag her towards the checkout counter. “One, I already told you not to worry about the cost, and two, just so you don’t worry, this will cost less than two days of work for me, and if I needed to, I could make it up in less than one day. It’s really not a big deal. I want to get you stuff. I want you to wear pretty things.”

“But why?” she pressed.

“Because you’re beautiful and sweet and I want you to wear whatever you want. You liked these things, so I want you to have them.”

“Thanks,” Lea mumbled awkwardly as they got into the checkout line.

He never let go of her hand.

“Yes, Tim,” Lea signed in exasperation. “I do have to take the make-up test on Friday.”

“But you can’t,” he whined over his sushi. They were at an obscenely nice Japanese restaurant, finishing up the tasting menu he’d insisted she try. “I have to work with Mackenzie on Friday, there’s no way in hell I can do that without you.”

Lea forced down her wince at the mention of his scenes.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. You managed without me before.” A pause. “There are probably girls who could, y’know, fill in for me—“

“Not interested,” he cut in flatly. “I actually enjoy working with you.”

She blushed, picking up her chopsticks. “Well. You’ll have to figure something out.”

He hummed. “What time does your test get out?”

She blinked at him. “Uh. Around noonish. Why?”

“Can I maybe…” He paused for a moment. “Call you or something? FaceTime would be better, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“I don’t see why not,” Lea mused. “Any particular reason?”

He stared at her for a few seconds. “So you can help me… y’know.” Her eyes widened in realization, and he hastily added, “Just by letting me hear your voice and— and see your face, is what I mean. Not that I’d say no to anything else you wanted, but—“

“Like…” She gulped. “Like pictures or, um… videos, or…?”

“Nothing you didn’t wanna do,” he assured her hurriedly.

“But it would help if I…”

“Well, yeah, of course it would help, and there is a clause in the fluffer contract about digital confidentiality, so you’d be safe if you wanted to do that, but—“

“If… if you wanted me to,” Lea began very quietly, “I would. If you asked.”

“They wouldn’t pay you for it since it would be private and they wouldn’t know,” he said apologetically, “but I could send you—“

She shook her head. “Nah. That’s what friends are for, right?”

He exhaled slowly, his breath a puff of air between them. “Yeah. Friends.”

Honestly, she had totally forgotten about their agreement by the time Friday rolled around.

Tim had bought her a great number of clothes and accessories—even a backpack for school!—, and a bunch of custom-sized lingerie. She had objected to all of this and been very firmly informed that the purchases were nonnegotiable (“Seeing you in clothes I bought you turns me on, Lea. It will help us both at work. Please?”). It was late November, so Lea had decided on a white cropped TOVE cardigan, which she paired with a brown pleated Burberry miniskirt and brown suede Saint Laurent booties. White thigh highs (well, technically they were over-the-knee socks, but her legs were shorter than most people’s, so they were thigh highs on her) were held up with a miraculous invention called sock tape, and they kept her legs warm.

She was shoving her pencil into her backpack after turning in her Energy & Climate Change test when she heard her phone buzz from its place on her desk. She zipped up her backpack, grabbed her phone, and left with a smile and a wave at her professor.

Once she was out of the office, she checked her phone. Her first thought was that it was 11:30, meaning she had finished significantly early, which she hoped wasn’t indicative of her doing poorly. Her second thought was more of an internal squeal, because Tim had texted her.

Timothée

How’d your test go ?

Lea strolled through the halls as she typed up her response, eager to get home to her apartment so she could text him uninterrupted.

Okay, I think? I’m honestly not sure tbh I finished it so early I’m kinda nervous but I felt mostly confident about it? Idk I studied really hard 😣

Her text didn’t ever say it had been delivered; it went straight to ‘Seen’.

Awww, I know you worked really hard. I’m sure you did great.

Gaaaaaah thanks lol

What’s up?

His response was immediate.

Working. Wishing you could be here to make things easier. Mackenzie is just… 😒

She’s what, what even is that face lmao

She’s unpleasant, honestly, and it’s such a huge turn off that it’s legit difficult to stay hard. It’s usually at least a bit of a struggle with any of the girls they pair me with, since they’re not really my type, but you’re always there to solve that problem for me, and she’s literally my least favorite person to do scenes with and she’s in every single one today, even the multis !

The multis. That meant he had done… stuff with more than one girl at a time. Jealousy twisted in her stomach, sharp and angry. She pushed it down. She was almost home, and then she could be comfy and warm.

That sucks, I’m sorry 😔

It’s cool, you said I could call you when you get home, so I’m excited for that 🥰

If you don’t mind terribly, I’d love a quick selfie just to like see what you have on ? Is it maybe something I got you ?

Lea’s heart stopped. Holy shit, that’s right! she recalled. I told him I’d… on FaceTime..! Oh my god, holy shit, holy fuck, oh god, he needs a response, uhhhhhhhhh fuckfuckfuckfuck—

She quickly took a selfie in the elevator mirror.

Tim was typing for a second, and then he stopped. He did this a couple of times before his response finally came through.

Holy fucking hell.

You’re wearing *that* ?

No, I’m wearing something else entirely and sent you a picture I took of my evil twin.

Well your evil twin is sexy as fuck, can you introduce me

She snorted inelegantly as the elevator dinged upon reaching her floor.

Omfg shut upppppppp don’t even give me that

Sure would like to give you something, jfc those stockings

I’m picturing what you’re wearing under that little skirt

She was, in fact, wearing a pale pink lacy bra and panties set from Lise Charmel.

Fuck I’m already getting excited, please tell me you’re almost home I need to hear your voice

She was turning her key in the door. Sam was at work, so she was alone.

I legit just got inside the door lol

Within seconds, she was getting an incoming FaceTime call request.

She tapped the answer button from her recently acquired place on the couch. He couldn’t see her since her phone was resting on the arm of the couch.

“Is that your ceiling fan?” came Tim’s voice.

“Yeah, sorry,” she said sheepishly in the direction of her phone as she pulled a bootie off her left foot. “I’m taking off my shoes. I meant it when I said I had just gotten home.”

She glanced at her phone screen. It was at an angle, but she could still make out his wild curls and bare chest.

“That’s fine, I’m actually on lunch right now, so…”

“On lunch and still working?” she laughed.

“I already ate!” Tim insisted defensively. “And anyway, it’s not just work, it’s Lea. I’ve been looking forward to this all morning.”

She tugged her other shoe off. “All morning, huh? Sure.”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“Not a bit, no.”

“I’ve been pretending for hours to enjoy the company and bodies of various girls I am not remotely interested in physically or otherwise, and you’re surprised I’ve been excited to talk to a girl whose company I genuinely enjoy and whose body turns me on to no end?”

“Alright, alright,” she sighed, picking up her phone and strolling into her bedroom, locking the door behind her just in case.

“You’re moving too fast for me to get a half decent look at you,” he complained. “Let me see you.”

Rolling her eyes, Lea plopped down in her desk chair and held her phone up to her face with a grimace. “Hello.”

A grin spread across Tim’s face. “Hey.”

They stared at one another in silence for several seconds.

“So, um…” She gulped anxiously. “Are you still wanting me to, like…”

His eyes widened in surprise. “I mean, if you want, obviously I’d love to see, but I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”

“I don’t feel pressured,” she confessed awkwardly, a blush spreading across her cheeks and nose.

“God, you’re so fucking cute,” he muttered. Her lips quirked in a small smile, and then he said, “Look, if… if you’re cool with it, I can tell you what I’d like to see, and if you don’t want to do something, you can tell me. I promise I won’t be upset.”

She nodded. “I know you won’t be.”

She probably should’ve been more nervous than she actually was. But the idea of him being so attracted to her that he wanted to see her, even from afar, so he could get hard… it made her stomach feel fluttery and strange.

“So, um…” His eyes searched her face. “Could I see your outfit again?”

Lea nodded and stood up, lowering the desk as she did so to allow him to see more of her body.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his gaze raking over her form. “Turn around for me.” When she did, he hummed with interest. “Bend down, sweetheart. Nice and slow.” She did, and she felt cool air hitting her newly exposed skin just below her panties. “God, I gotta see what you’re wearing under that skirt,” he groaned. “Sway your ass for me, Lea. Yeah, like that. God, I bet it’ll bounce when you’re getting fucked nice and hard.”

She closed her eyes and imagined him taking her roughly from behind, growing wetter by the second at the thought. He’d fucking impale her, wouldn’t he? She wasn’t even sure she cared anymore. He’d stretch her out, and god, she wanted it.

“Stand back up for me.” She did so. “Good girl. Now turn around and unbutton the first button. She obeyed, revealing two inches of her pale pink bra. “Pink, huh?” he smirked. “Thought you said you couldn’t wear pink with your hair.”

“Not where anyone can see it,” she mumbled with embarrassment.

“I’m not just anyone, then?”

“No,” she breathed.

“Good girl. Another button, sweetheart.” She undid the second. The cardigan was halfway unbuttoned now. “I think I know which bra you’re wearing,” Tim mused. “Tell me, is it a set? Do the panties match?”

“Yes.”

“Unbutton it the rest of the way, angel,” he murmured. “Show me what those tits look like in that bra I got you.”

She did so, letting the garment drop to the floor.

“So sexy,” he smirked. “Turn back around and pull your skirt up for me a bit. Show me your ass. And when you do, sway it back and forth.” She obeyed, moving her hips in a slow circle and lifting the back of her skirt up. “God, it’s so big. Wish I could smack it a good few times, leave my handprints on you.”

“Is— is this right?” she stuttered out anxiously as she continued to move her hips.

“Oh yeah it is,” he praised. “Look at you, shaking your ass just for me. Take your bra off now, baby. Let me see those tits.”

She did so, turning around slowly.

“Mmm, those are big, too. Twist your nipples, Lea. Show me the way you like me to touch you.”

She did so, moaning softly and rubbing her thighs together.

“You know what you’re gonna do, pretty girl?” he breathed. When she shook her head rapidly, still twisting her nipples, he said, “You’re gonna touch yourself while I watch. And as I watch, you’re gonna see me stroking my cock so you know what you do to me.”

“I’m gonna what?” Lea squeaked out.

“You’re gonna touch yourself for me. Turn around and take your skirt off, nice and slow.” She but her lip anxiously but obeyed, undoing the belt and feeling the skirt loosen around her waist. She unzipped it then, sliding it over her hips slowly, shimmying a bit to help the fabric fall to the floor.

“God, Lea,” he groaned, “your ass is un-fucking-real.” Grinning a bit, she swayed her hips back and forth, the way she’d done earlier. He groaned again. “Teasing me, are you? Why don’t you take those panties off and show me your pussy, hm?”

Lea slid her panties down over her hips and stepped out of them before turning back around.

“Sit down in the chair,” Tim commanded darkly. She could see his arm moving the way it did when he jerked himself off, so she knew he was enjoying what she was doing. Obeying what he’d said, she settled in her desk chair. “Good girl. Such pretty tits. Spread those legs for me, baby. Let me see your little pussy.”

She bit her lip again and spread her legs slowly.

“Closer, sweetheart,” Tim grunted. “Show me.”

She picked up her phone with shaking hands and positioned it so he could see what he wanted.

“Are you as wet as you look?”

“Yes,” Lea admitted, her voice a bit breathless. She gulped before quietly asking, “Do… do you mind if I… could I maybe see…?”

He was a bit startled by this request, but laughed and reached out to reposition his phone. It looked like he was on the couch in his dressing room. The camera shook for a few moments before it stilled, and her core clenched when she saw him. He leaned back against the couch again, continuing to stroke himself.

Tim must’ve noticed her eyeing him, because he smirked and said, “Like what you see?” She flushed, declining to answer, and he chuckled. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed. Will you touch yourself for me, angel?”

She nodded, her face heating further. “If… if you want me to.”

“You know I do,” he murmured, biting his lower lip briefly. “I know you don’t know how. It’s okay. I’ll tell you what to do.”

“Okay,” Lea breathed.

“Pinch your nipple with one hand,” he started, “and run your fingertips over yourself with the other. Just like I do it.”

She did so, inhaling sharply when her fingers brushed her wet folds. “Like this?”

“Depends on if it feels good or not.”

“It— it does,” she stuttered out, trying to keep her hips still.

“Good,” he told her, swirling his thumb over the head of his cock. “Use your index finger to rub where your clit is. Don’t spread your pussy lips yet, just touch right over it.” She did so, whimpering slightly at the sensation. “That’s it, baby. Tease yourself like you’re teasing me by not being where I can touch you.”

“I wish you could touch me,” she gasped out. “You’re so much better at this than I am.”

“Yeah?” he grunted, stroking himself a bit faster. “I wish I could touch you, too. Think my favorite place in the world is between your legs, tasting you, hearing the way you moan my name. God, you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Play with your tits for me, baby.”

She did so, pinching her nipple and moaning softly. “Wanna kiss you, Tim,” she whined. “Want your hands on me, your mouth on me.”

“I know,” he growled. “Spread your pussy lips for me now, sweetheart. Show me that tight little hole.”

She obeyed, twisting her nipple harder.

“That’s it. Wanna bury my face between your legs, babydoll. Wanna make you scream for me. Rub your clit for me. You know how I do it, c’mon.”

She did so, moaning. “F— fuck, I want—“

“I know what you want,” Tim cut her off, his voice rough. “You clench around my fingers so tight, have I ever told you that? And you moan so pretty when I suck your swollen little clit.”

Lea rolled her hips against her hand, rubbing herself. “Oh, fuck, that feels good,” she whimpered. “Fuck, Timothée.”

“Yeah, baby? You wanna cum? You wanna cum while I watch?”

“Mhm,” she agreed, nodding her head vigorously. “Wish it was you touching me, want it so bad—“

After several minutes of this, Lea was a moaning, whimpering mess. She wasn’t able to make herself cum. She was so fucking close, but she couldn’t do it.

“I can’t,” she sobbed desperately. “I wanna cum so bad but I can’t!”

“Come to the studio, sweetheart,” he rasped. “I’ll pleasure your needy little pussy until you’re satisfied.”

“I can’t afford a rideshare.”

“Don’t worry, baby girl,” Tim growled. “I’ll order you one so you can come over here and ride my face like a good little slut.”

Okay so maybe I added an extra couple scenes. Sue me.

Tag list: @meetmyothersouls @ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @vampire-reanimator

To be added, please ask 💗

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dancingwiththoughts · 6 months ago

Text

Medwhump May Day 19: Blood Loss

Okay, so I figured that today instead of a fic or art, I'd share a story time.

So, about a year ago, I started having a nosebleed. I was home alone from school because I had been feeling overly tired. I had had nosebleeds before, is I figured that it was nothing new and starting pinching with a Kleenex, trying to get it to stop.

About thirty minutes passed, and I started to get a bit nervous. It was gushing out blood to the point of when I changed out the tissue, it was literally gushing from my nose. I texted my mom, who was working as a substitute teacher at an elementary school, and she told me to call my dad, the owner of a small consulting company, if it didn't stop in the next ten minutes.

I did just that, and after explaining the situation the him, he called our family doctor to see what she had to say. While he was on this call, I start to hear ringing in my ears. Everything suddenly gets very hot, and my vision darkens and it's hard to breathe. I do my best to text my dad through shaking hands, and he says that he is on his way home and we're going to the ER.

As he's driving to come get me, I am sitting on the kitchen floor trying not to pass out. My puppy is sifting in front of me, franticly nudging my leg with his nose (he's a small, caviler King Charles). My dad eventually arrives, takes me to the ER, and we get checked in and seen almost immediately.

There were no rooms left in the hospital, so I'm in a makeshift office that's in the hall, and they're asking me all sorts of questions about if I'm sexually active, have I had nosebleeds like this before, how long has it been since the bleed started, etc.

After I answer all of their questions, they give me Afrin to try and stop the bleeding. It works, and I get to go home. By this point it's been almost five hours, and so my dad takes me home and decides to stay and make sure I'm okay. Everything seems fine for a while, until dinner.

I sneeze, and I start bleeding again. I rush upstairs to where my mom is cooking dinner, and explain the situation to her. She grabs the Afrin to try and use it, but then freaks out, calling my dad over. I don't understand why she's panicking, but then she states that I'm bleeding from my eye.

I have anxiety, and this only worsened it, so I was doing my best to stay calm. My dad drives me back to the hospital, where I'm at for six hours before being transferred. Once I got to the other hospital, it was starting to slow down, and I am kept overnight for examination. They have no clue what caused the bleeds, and since I wasn't bleeding anymore, they send me home. This cycle repeats for about three months, and to this day we still don't know what caused it all.

But I'm still surprised, because according to the doctors, I somehow did not suffer negatively from the blood loss. I was tested, but nothing came back as negative or cause for concern. I did not become anemic of suffer from any lack of iron, which was totally unexpected with the levels of blood I had lost.

But anyways, that's all for this story time. I hope you liked the change of pace, and thanks for reading!

#medwhump may #real life #whump scenario #tw blood #blood loss #nose bleeds

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silvfyre-writings · 2 years ago

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Tell me a story, Ranpo-kun Pt. 1 (BSD Fanfic)

Hello and welcome, I hope you enjoy your stay. It's gonna be a ride, and hopefully a good one!

The idea for this fic came to me, and it's all I could think about for two days (literally, even at work, I was thinking about it), so I sat down and started writing and... yeah. I currently have two chapters written, and five in total planned (it will not be more than five, I promise). The words just wouldn't stop coming haha.

This is my first time writing from Ranpo's perspective, and a first for writing the other characters that appear (aside form Fukuzawa), so I hope the characterization is okay.

So, yeah, enjoy and feel free to leave a like or reblog, or both!!!

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16 years old, 18 years old

Ranpo is no stranger when it comes to hospitals. He’s been in and out of them for years now, so much so that he knows most of the staff by name and they know him. Yokohama’s main hospital is basically his second home at this point in his life, and as much as it sucks, there’s not much he can really do about it. He feels just a little bad for Fukuzawa—the man that had been raising him for the past two years after an accident had taken his parents from him—who has to foot the medical bill whenever Ranpo winds up staying in the hospital for more than a week.

It’s fine, the man always says, as though Ranpo is unable to see the bills on his desk that are slowly accumulating over time, being paid off slower than they appear. But as long as Fukuzawa continues to turn a blind eye, Ranpo will too; one day he’ll pay the man back for everything he’s done for him, if he can remain out of hospital long enough to hold down a job once he’s an adult. If he even becomes an adult.

But that’ll have to wait.

First he has to survive the infection he picked up from somewhere that’s burning him alive. That’s the thing about Ranpo’s body; it creates the rules, and refuses to be negotiated with. Sometimes it’s kind to him where instead of pneumonia, it gives him a cold; a papercut instead of an infection. But other times, like right now, it’s cruel and relentless in punishing him. What for, he doesn’t know, but he must’ve done something, right? He was just a sixteen-year-old boy who wanted to go to school and make friends, grow up and put his genius brain to good use helping people just like his parents had before they’d passed. What could he have possibly done to make his body hate him this much?

Ranpo feels something cold brush across his forehead, a welcome distraction from the burning heat he’s been feeling for the past few hours. He tries to lean into it, but that does nothing more than increase the pain that’s settled itself deep into his bones. Ranpo thinks he lets out a whimper—he’s not entirely sure really—when the coolness disappears, but it’s quickly replaced by a feeling he recognizes, even as the fever burns through him. It’s Fukuzawa’s hand, callouses and cracked skin nothing but soothing as fingers brush through his hair. He thinks he hears words, but his brain is too addled to make sense of them.

Everything hurts, but he feels a little better now, knowing that he’s not alone in fighting this latest bout of sickness.

The next time Ranpo became aware of his surroundings, it’s when his fever breaks. The raging fire beneath his skin has calmed, and while it still burns, it’s no longer like his blood is hell itself, and instead more of a sunburn. Unpleasant, but survivable. He struggles to open his eyes, which feel like they’ve had sandpaper dragged over them, but he finally manages to open them, grateful when he opens them to a dark room. The lights of the hospital are always painful to Ranpo’s already sensitive eyes, even more so whenever he was unconscious for more than a day.

The next thing that Ranpo noticed once his eyes had adjusted, was that he wasn’t alone in the room, but it wasn’t Fukuzawa sitting by his bedside. In fact, Ranpo didn’t recognize the man sitting beside his bed at all, and that was concerning. Ranpo was familiar with all the staff in the hospital and this stranger wasn’t one of them. But he must’ve been staff; Fukuzawa wouldn’t have let a total stranger into his room. They were both overly cautious in that regard.

“You aren’t Fukuzawa.” Ranpo croaked out after studying the man and the way he was scribbling into a notebook for several minutes.

The man’s eyes jerked up, the notebook in his lap falling to the ground, clearly not expecting Ranpo to try and talk to him. And normally, Ranpo wouldn’t talk to a total stranger, not without someone to mediate between the two of them, but Fukuzawa wasn’t here and his body still felt like deadweight, so trying to call for a nurse was pointless.

“Ah, no, I-I’m not.” The man’s voice was quiet and heavily accented, although Ranpo couldn’t tell from what country. Maybe if he’d given himself more time he could figure it out, but it was taking all the energy he had to remain awake enough for this conversation. “Fukuzawa-san had to step out for a moment to talk to the doctor. I happened to be walking past when he asked me to sit with you until his return.”

Ranpo frowned which seemed to prompt the man into answering his unasked question. “I work here, in-in the hospital, I mean. It’s my day off, but I, uh, come and-and read to the children sometimes.”

“Oh.” Later, when Ranpo’s body would stop threatening to drag him back into the fiery pits of hell he’d just escaped from, he’d be able to make sense of the words. But as the darkness rose to claim him again, he only managed to murmur out a quiet, “that’s nice,” before slipping into unconsciousness once more.

Ranpo wakes after an unknown amount of time passes by, but the strange man from earlier is gone, and Fukuzawa sitting in the singular chair in the room, looking like he’s aged ten years since Ranpo’s last coherent memory of the man, which depending on how long he’d been locked in battle with the fever, could be anywhere from one day to a week. But something’s telling Ranpo it’s only been about three days, and it might have something to do with the fact that the creases that had begun to take residence on Fukuzawa’s forehead were nowhere to be seen for a change, meaning the man isn’t as stressed as he usually is during these events.

There’s still hope yet, that this most recent stay will only be a short one.

Fukuzawa’s eyes meet Ranpo’s own, and the relief is evident, and a smile forms on his guardian’s face; another testament to how worried he’d been since Fukuzawa didn’t really do emotions like other people did, preferring to let others assume he had none to begin in. Unlike Ranpo, where emotions were everything, and he simply felt too much. He opened his mouth to say something, only to let out a harsh croak as his voice failed him, and just like that, the usual routine happened. Fukuzawa moved confidently, helping Ranpo sit up in the bed—making sure that there were pillows behind his back for him to sink into before grabbing a bottle of water, the cap off and straw already inserted. This was usually where the routine varied. Sometimes Ranpo was strong enough to hold the bottle himself, but others, like now, he had to let someone hold the bottle up to his lips so that he could drink. Years ago, he’d found it embarrassing, but now he just didn’t care. He’d rather be helped than spill the water over himself and the bed.

“I’m sorry.” Ranpo said once he’d had a drink, eyes drifting away to stare at nothing in particular. He always apologized to Fukuzawa whenever he woke up in hospital; it made sense to, when Fukuzawa always seemed to be putting his own life on hold just to tend to Ranpo whenever his body gave up on him.

And just like clockwork, Fukuzawa’s deep voice responded. “It’s fine.”

Ranpo hummed, accepting the words but not believing them. It wasn’t fine, it never was, but there wasn’t anything Ranpo could do about it, but play the hand that life had dealt him, even if it was a losing one. He heard Fukuzawa sigh, and knew he’d failed at hiding his disbelief—not that he was any good at hiding his emotions from someone who was so adept at reading people and their intentions. So it didn’t really surprise him to know that Fukuzawa saw right through him.

“Really, Ranpo, it’s fine.” Fukuzawa said, getting out of the chair to sit on the edge of the bed. “The hospital isn’t charging us this time.”

Oh. That’s a relief. Sometimes, when Ranpo’s visits only last a few days, the hospital doesn’t charge them. It’s a generous offer born from the first time he’d had to have surgery to save his life under Fukuzawa’s care—when the man hadn’t yet understood what taking in Ranpo meant, and hadn’t quite been able to afford the surgery. The hospital’s higher ups had taken pity on the recently orphaned boy and his recently acquired guardian, and saved Ranpo’s life; pro-bono. It was nice, to know some people still had hearts in this cruel world.

It also probably had to something to do with that this was Ranpo’s seventh hospital stay this year.

“What happened?” Ranpo asked, because try as he might, the last thing he could remember was eating dinner with Fukuzawa and the other staff at the small café his guardian managed.

Fukuzawa reached over and brushed his hand against the bandage that’s wrapped around Ranpo’s ankle. “One of the cats scratched you and you reacted to it.”

“Oh.” How stupid. Of course, something as simple as a cat scratch was enough to land him in the hospital. Ranpo refused to dwell on it and pushed through to his next question. “How long?”

“Only two days. I thought you might be able to fight it off at home, but the fever caused you to seize, so I brought you in.” Fukuzawa explained, letting the words sink in before continuing. “You’ll be discharged tomorrow probably.”

“Is that what Yosano-sensei said?” Ranpo asked, finding it unlikely that his doctor would discharge him so quick. The woman, a genius in her field, always liked to be thorough in her patient’s treatment and was unlikely to let Ranpo leave so easily, especially nor after this most recent episode.

“Well, no, but I’m hopeful. It wasn’t that bad this time round.”

“I had a seizure.”

“And the last time you had a fever, you were hallucinating and unable to breathe. I’ll take the seizure.” Fukuzawa raised one eyebrow, daring Ranpo to argue with him. Ranpo huffed and sunk into the pillows, exhausted from how long he’d been talking. A hand tapped his leg and he looked back towards Fukuzawa. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Ranpo allowed himself a smile in return to the words. He closed his eyes, ready to go back to sleep, when a thought crossed his mind that had them snapping back open. “Wait!”

“What is it?” Fukuzawa frowned, halfway between sitting and standing. “Do you need something.”

The image of the stranger with a notebook sitting by his side flitted across his mind, disappearing just as quickly as it had arrived. “Who was sitting with me? When you had to talk to the doctor?”

Fukuzawa didn’t look surprised at the question; Ranpo had long since proven that even when delirious with sickness, he still remembered certain things that happened in his semi-conscious states. Like this stranger that Fukuzawa had trusted to watch over him. “That was Poe-san. He’s a nurse here. He offered to sit with you when Yosano-sensei stopped by yesterday to talk to me.”

“Poe-san?” It wasn’t a Japanese name, that much was certain, which did help to explain the accent that Ranpo sort of remembered hearing. He closed his eyes again. “I don’t know him.”

A soft chuckle came from Fukuzawa’s direction. “He hasn’t been here long from what I’ve heard, so I’m not surprised.” A hand came and gently ruffled his hair. “Sleep, Ranpo. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“You know, if you really missed me that much, you could’ve just come and visited. You didn’t need to put yourself in the hospital. That’s not nearly as much fun. You know they actually allowed me to leave to come sit by your bedside while you tried to die.” Dazai’s voice filtered from somewhere behind Ranpo, as annoying and unwelcome as it always was.

“Shut up. We both know that Nakahara sat in this room with you the entire time.” Ranpo grunted, opening one eye to look over his shoulder, ignoring the way Dazai tutted at him and shoved his head back to where it had been before, long fingers finding their way back into his hair as Dazai turned yet another section of hair into a misshapen braid.

Dazai was another constant in Ranpo’s life, albeit a recent one. They were the same age, and both were frequent visitors to the hospital, but that was where their similarities ended. Where Ranpo was usually in the hospital fighting to live, Dazai was usually in hospital fighting to die. Ranpo didn’t understand it, didn’t want to understand it, in the same way that Dazai didn’t want to understand why Ranpo kept fighting against a body that clearly didn’t want to live.

It was an unspoken rule between the two that they’d been following since the day they’d met almost a year ago.

Ranpo had been in an isolated room, fighting off some contagious illness—because of course he was—and it had been the kind where only specific people were allowed to interact with him; namely the doctor treating him and a singular nurse. It had been the first—and only—time that he’d been barred from having someone sit with him, and it had been so incredibly boring and lonely. Until a boy wrapped in bandages had ignored the big ‘quarantine’ sticker on the outside of the door and barged right into his room.

For some reason, Dazai had looked just as surprised as Ranpo was to see him.

“You look like shit.” The first words out of Dazai’s mouth, and they were an insult. Ranpo was promptly offended.

“Feel free to leave.” He rasped, barely able to keep his eyes open as shivers wracked his body. “Probably should. Contagious.”

“Oh, good, maybe you’ll give it to me, and then I can finally die.” Dazai crossed the room and without even asking permission, clambered onto the bed, pushing Ranpo upright in a not so gentle way before sitting behind him. “You’re shivering a lot. Are you cold?”

Yes, I feel like I’ve embodied the Arctic. Ranpo wanted to say. He was freezing, his blood like ice, even though it was actually far from the truth and that he was actually burning. His immune system had gone haywire in trying to fight off sickness, and now he was feeling the cold when only an hour earlier he’d been feeling the heat. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. But instead of admitting he was cold, like a sensible person would, he turned his head as far as he could and glared. “No. Get away from me.”

Instead of obeying him, arms swathed in bandages had wrapped around him, and a chin came to rest on his shoulder. “No thank you. If I leave, I’ll be found and where’s the fun in that.”

As sick as he was, Ranpo immediately understood what Dazai was implying and groaned. “Really? Escaping from the psych ward? And you chose here of all places to hide out?”

“No one would think to check the isolation ward now, would they?” The arms disappeared from around him and hands began to run through Ranpo’s hair, and he couldn’t help but become boneless at the motion. It felt like it’d been years since someone at touched him so gently, even though it most certainly had only been a couple of weeks; the attention was welcome, that was what Ranpo was getting at.

“No, I suppose they wouldn’t.” Ranpo sighed, letting his eyes drift close. “Do what you want, just don’t throw me under the bus when they find you.”

A gentle tug at a strand of hair. “I think I’ll stay and keep a very sickly boy company for a little bit. You know, just in case he happens to die during his nap. No one should die alone, after all.”

Ranpo had gone to sleep with those words on his mind, grateful for Dazai’s presence at the time; it had been a nice break from the constant loneliness, and reassuring that if that had truly been the day he was going to die, that he wasn’t going to be alone when it happened.

But he’d survived.

And Dazai had become a thorn in his side ever since.

Ranpo was pulled back to the present by the familiar sensation of his hair being tugged, and opened his eyes. Dazai had once compared him to a cat with how much Ranpo enjoyed his hair being played with; there had also been an insult tacked onto the end of it mocking just how much Ranpo slept as well, but Ranpo had simply ignored that part of the conversation. Ranpo didn’t see how he could compare to a cat, but Fukuzawa had once told him a similar thing, and if two people were telling him he was like a cat, then something about it must be true.

Another tug. “What? You trying to make me bald?”

Dazai scoffed. “As if. If anything, you need a haircut. And a shower.”

“Sorry, been too busy ‘attempting to die’ as you so kindly put it. It’s shower day today, though, so come back tomorrow if you want clean hair to play with.”

“Ah, but what it tomorrow doesn’t come for me tomorrow? I could still die by then, you know?”

“Doubt it. I don’t want you committing suicide in front of me, and Nakahara’s sitting outside the room waiting for you.” Ranpo pulled away from where he’d been leaning against Dazai’s chest, the boy choosing that moment to slip out from behind him. He watched as Dazai sidled up to the door and peered out the tiny window, a look of disgust forming on his face.

“Ugh, Chuuya’s no fun. I managed to steal a scalpel the other day and he tackled me to the ground before I could do anything with it.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be stealing scalpels then. They need those, you know.”

Dazai huffed, and slunk back over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it this time. If Ranpo had the strength, he would’ve kicked the boy off his bed. For someone that claimed to hate any and all physical contact, Dazai was more than happy to throw himself all over Ranpo’s personal space; had been that way since the day they met, and nothing Ranpo did ever deterred him from continuing to be an invader. “Get off.”

“Make me.” Came the response, followed by the shit-eating grin that Dazai always wore when he was trying to get on someone’s nerves, mostly his social workers and therapists, but that didn’t stop the boy from trying to do the same to his one friend in this hospital.

Too bad Ranpo was able to both figure out, and evade, Dazai’s tactics.

Silence fell between the two friends, Dazai swinging his legs and humming some song Ranpo didn’t recognize; Ranpo slowly moving to lean back against the pillows, hoping to get some more sleep before the nurses came and harassed him at the same time they always did; five o’clock sharp. Speaking of nurses…

“Oi, Dazai.”

“Hmm?” Dazai stopped humming, but didn’t look at him.

“Know anything about the new nurse?” Ranpo asked. If there was one thing Dazai was good for, it was information; the boy just as good at eavesdropping as he was at hiding from the hospital staff.

“Poe-san?” Dazai tilted his head. “Not much. He’s a student. Foreign—American I believe. Started working here a month ago. I’ve seen him around when Chuuya takes me outside sometimes, always scribbling in a notebook. I wanted to go say hi, but the hatrack wouldn’t let me.”

Ranpo snorted at the nickname Dazai had taken to calling Nakahara simply because of how often the guy wore hats. “He probably didn’t want you scaring him off like you do your therapists. How long has this latest one lasted you?”

“Ugh, three months. I swear the guy’s a masochist. He keeps coming back no matter what I do and it’s infuriating. He’s just so God damn patient and calm and human! I told him about my latest idea for a peaceful death, and he just told me how it was in fact, not a peaceful way to go. He ruined it.” Dazai ranted, coming to pause for a moment. “He’s talking about discharging me, actually. You think he would’ve learnt from the first time he did that.”

“Oh? When?” It was Ranpo’s turn to tilt his head. Dazai had been in the hospital for a little over a month now, if Ranpo was remembering correctly, his last attempt on his life having been the one closest to succeeding. Ranpo himself hadn’t been in the hospital when it had happened, but Fukuzawa had received a phone call, and he’d told Ranpo who’d then dragged his own ass over to the hospital to sit by Dazai’s bedside until he woke up.

It was the least he could do when Dazai had so often done the same for him.

“Next week. With precautions of course—because apparently I’m untrustworthy—and into Chuuya’s custody, blah blah blah. I stopped listening at that point. Seeing Chuuya every day is already painful enough, so why must they make me suffer in living with him too? Just kill me and save me the effort.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Ranpo shrugged, and nudged Dazai with his leg to get the boy to look at him. “Stay out of hospital for more than a month this time.”

“Only if you do the same.”

Ranpo sighed. “I can’t promise that.”

“Then neither can I.”

Five o’clock came, and with that came Yosano and two nurses; the one that Ranpo usually dealt with and, surprisingly, Poe. Dazai was gone by then, having been dragged back to his own room by Nakahara, the older—and shorter—man scolding Dazai for pulling yet another disappearing act, despite sitting outside the room for over an hour while the two of them had talked, and replaced by Fukuzawa, who dutifully took his spot in the chair by Ranpo’s bed.

“Ranpo, how are you feeling?” Yosano greeted as she entered the room. Ranpo glowered at her, conveying exactly how he felt with just that one look. Yosano cackled. “I see. Well good news is that you’re responding to the medication, so if your condition remains stable overnight, we’ll be able to discharge you tomorrow.”

“Great.” Ranpo let his eyes drift towards the young nurse standing timidly at Yosano’s left, lucid enough this time to actually study the guy. He was tall, although it wasn’t immediately obvious from the way he was hunched over in a way that screamed he was someone that didn’t like being in the centre of attention. He had long hair, way longer than Ranpo’s own, that was currently pulled back into a ponytail.

He wasn’t all that impressive.

“Who’s the new guy?” He asked, ignoring the subtle warning look that Fukuzawa sent him. If he was rude, he was rude, and if Poe couldn’t handle that, then maybe he was working in the wrong industry.

“This is Poe.” Yosano gestured towards Poe who jumped at being addressed before giving a polite, but awkward, bow. “He’s one of our student nurses, on exchange from America. I figured, since you’re one of our frequent flyers, Ranpo, I’d save you the trouble of sending Dazai on a manhunt for information and introduce you.”

“Why would I send Dazai, when I can just ask?” Ranpo argued weakly, when in fact, he had been planning just that.

And Yosano clearly knew it from the way she raised her eyebrow at him. Thankfully, she dropped the subject in favour of actually doing her job. “Anyway, Haruno’s here to assist you this evening, and Poe is shadowing her. Please behave and allow the poor boy to actually learn something. I need to talk to Fukuzawa-san for a moment.”

Ranpo frowned as Yosano and Fukuzawa left the room, leaving him in the hands of the nurses. Where there would usually be friendly banter, there was awkward silent, Poe’s presence an uncertain variable; because he was an absolute stranger, compared to Haruno who’d been taking care of him since he was fourteen, and Ranpo was not good at making friendly conversation to people he didn’t feel comfortable with.

Fukuzawa was easy; the man had taken him in, no questions asked, for which he was eternally grateful. He was the reason he had a place to live.

Yosano had been his doctor for years; she was almost like an older sister to him, always coming up with new, painless ways to treat whatever ailment he was suffering from. She was the reason he’d been able to live life outside the hospital in the first place.

Dazai was Dazai; he’d tied himself to Ranpo and refused to let go, no matter how much Ranpo tried to cut the rope. He was the reason he hadn’t gone insane inside the hospital.

Poe was a wildcard, a foreigner that Ranpo knew nothing about except that he was American and a student. So Ranpo remained silent, but compliant, allowing the two nurses to disconnect the tubes still connected to him, and get him out of the bed. He had Haruno on one side, and Poe on his other, both of them holding his elbows so that he could shakily place one foot in front of the other. This was what he hated the most about being so frail, so sick, all the time. Losing his independence. Sure, when he was having his good months, he could shower on his own and do all the things that non-sick people did, but the moment a bad day came around, all of his motor skills abandoned him and left him needing to rely on others. He’d gotten used to it, but he hated that he’d had to in the first place.

“Poe-san.” Ranpo called, interrupting Haruno’s careful instructions on how to shower a patient that was unable to support themselves, and the proper technique for it; all stuff Ranpo didn’t care to listen to, he’d been hearing the two talk to each other while they helped him, but had taken none of it in. “Where are you from?”

For once, Poe didn’t jump as he was addressed, unlike the last time Ranpo had spoken to him, but he still struggled to formulate a sentence. “Oh, um, I’m from America.”

“Well, duh, I knew that. But where?”

“Oh!” Ranpo could see the moment the light bulb went off in the guy’s head. “I’m not really… from anywhere in particular. I’ve… moved around a lot, you see, but I was living in New York before I came here.”

“I see. Why come to Yokohama then? Surely New York had all the nursing opportunities you could ask for.”

Poe didn’t answer for a bit, listening as Haruno directed him around the room. Only once Haruno had stopped talking did he answer Ranpo’s question. “It’s an ex-exchange program between America and Japan. They offered me the opportunity and I took it.”

Ranpo hummed. “You said you read to the kids here.”

“Pa-Pardon?” Poe looked a little stunned, like he hadn’t expected the change in topic.

“You. Read. To. The. Kids.” Ranpo enunciated each word clearly, looking over his shoulder at where Poe was standing.

“Oh, uh, yes, yes I do… I’m surprised you remember my sitting with you.” The last part was mumbled, not meant for Ranpo’s ears, but in the quiet of the bathroom, it was unavoidable that he would.

“Why? Oh wait, I bet I know.” Ranpo let a grin grow on his face. “You wanna hear what I think?”

Poe narrowed his eyes, seemingly aware that there was a trap waiting for him, and deciding whether it was worth springing or not. “What do you think?”

Interesting.

“I think you read to the kids because while your Japanese is very good, your reading abilities are still poor—” A flinch; Ranpo had hit the nail on the head. “—and you’re using the kids as an opportunity to practice.”

“Don’t let Ranpo-kun bully you, Poe-san.” Haruno interrupted before Ranpo could give a response. The woman looked down at him over the top of her glasses. “If you let him get under your skin, he’ll pick you to pieces.”

“Haruno-san is no fun.” Ranpo huffed.

“Haruno-san has put up with you for two years now, and knows all your tricks. Now be quiet so I can teach Poe-san, and so you can get back to the bed you need to be in sooner.”

Silence fell, and Ranpo let his eyes close.

Then.

“You’re wrong, about-about why I read to the kids.” Poe’s voice broke the silence.

Ranpo opened his eyes and blinked; it wasn’t often that he was told he was wrong about something he thought he’d figured out. He turned his attention towards Poe. “Oh? Am I?”

Poe nodded, shifting uneasily. “I read to them to practice, that is true, but the stories I read them are of my own creation… written in Japanese. I’m practicing my writing skills, not my language ones.”

That wasn’t what Ranpo had been expecting to hear and he couldn’t help but stare. Poe seemed to mistake his surprised silence as one of anger, because the man quickly began to stutter out an apology for speaking out of turn, when Ranpo laughed, almost falling off the chair. Poe’s apology died off on his lips as he stared at Ranpo in confusion, unsure as to why the boy he was taking care of was laughing of all things.

Ranpo’s laughter died away and he smiled. “I’m not laughing at you, Poe-san, before you think I am. I just never expected you to be a writer. You are an interesting person.” He rested comfortably against the back of the chair, letting his head drop, hair dropping to cover his face. “Tell me a story sometime, Poe-san.”

Ranpo goes back to sleep after he’s returned to his bed and doesn’t wake until morning, missing the way that Fukuzawa comes back in with a pensive look on his face, the way he sits in the chair and buries his face into his hands.

He wakes up the next morning to the news he’s being discharged that afternoon, and a snippet of a story scrawled in messy handwriting on the bedside table in his room. Ranpo makes sure to tuck it into the pocket of his pants as he leaves the hospital on steadier legs than he’d arrived on, and he’s hoping he doesn’t step foot into the building for at least a year.

A mini welcome back party awaits him at the café that Fukuzawa owns, the few staff his guardian employs either patting him on the back or drawing him into hugs. And the several cats that reside within the café itself all come to rub against his legs, like they weren’t the reason he was in the hospital in the first place.

Atsushi cries into his chest, blabbering words and apologies through his tears.

Kyouka presents him with a little gift basket of sweets that she’d put together with the help of the others. Ranpo appreciates their efforts and thanks them, before using his exhaustion as an excuse to escape up the stairs and to his room.

He sleeps for the next two days.

For once in his life, Ranpo’s body cooperates with him, and he’s able to actually live his life a little; he doesn’t go to school—it’s too much of a health risk for him to attend in person—but he still gets an education via online classes and tutoring. Learning is easy for Ranpo, his brain soaking up any and all information, although topics he finds boring are significantly harder for him to focus on, but he’s stubborn and petty if not anything else. He will finish his schooling and he will get a job helping people; if only to help Fukuzawa pay off his medical bills.

When he’s not in class, he’s downstairs helping Fukuzawa run the café. He doesn’t really do much but sit on a chair behind the counter and serve the people that come through the door and get them the baked goods they order. When he’s having a good day, Ranpo’s more than willing to help out more and be useful, and sometimes he does; getting behind the coffee machine and helping Fukuzawa make coffees—he’s become somewhat decent at it now. He tries not to do it too often though, because Fukuzawa gets distracted whenever he does, and it results in careless mistakes.

Just because he got a bad case of vertigo one time and nearly split his head on the counter doesn’t mean he’s completely incapable.

Fukuzawa worries, and Ranpo knows this, but it doesn’t ease the frustration that burns deep in his chest that he’s the reason for the worry in the first place.

Before he knows it, one month is passing, and then two.

Dazai comes by the café sometimes, having been discharged a week after Ranpo like he’d said he would be, and accompanied by Nakahara as he is wont to be these days. Dazai bitches and moans about it to him in the safety of Ranpo’s room, but Ranpo sees right through his friend; this is the fullest of life he’s ever seen Dazai, and he knows its because of whatever Nakahara and Dazai’s unknown therapist are doing; he still doesn’t know this man’s name on account of Dazai refusing to tell him. But he hopes that they keep doing whatever it is they’re doing, because as Dazai actually laughs at something he says, a genuine laugh instead one of his masked ones, Ranpo finds that it suits his friend quite well.

Of course, Dazai struggles as well; his mind the biggest threat to him just as Ranpo’s body is to him, and twice, Ranpo’s received a phone call in the late hours of the night, Dazai on the other end fighting the urge to take a blade to his skin. Twice, Ranpo has coaxed his friend into not relapsing and going into the room next door to wake Nakahara, not hanging up the phone until he hears Nakahara’s voice filter through the phone, soft and soothing, and a far cry from the usual harsh and blunt tone he’s usually set at. And twice, Ranpo received a text in the morning, once from Dazai, and once from Nakahara, both of them thanking him.

Ranpo brushes it off, but deep down he knows he tries because he’s come to actually enjoy Dazai’s presence in his life, and wants his friend to find a reason to keep on living, no matter how small.

Fukuzawa too, seems more relaxed after the second month passes without any incidents—without anymore hospitalizations. The stress begins to fade from his guardian’s face, and the two of them are even able to take a few outings on the two days the café is closed, going to parks, and even taking a trip to the countryside where Ranpo grew up so he can visit the graves of his parents; something he hasn’t been able to do in over a year.

Ranpo has to wear five layers of clothing and a mask, but it’s worth it, because it makes him feel alive.

And that’s where his luck ends.

He doesn’t know what time it is when he jerks awake, crying out when the motion sends fires of agony and pain rippling through his joints. His head simultaneously feels like it’s being compressed and attacked with a jack hammer, and it hurts so bad that even blinking is painful. But the worst part is the nausea and the tremors that cause him even more pain and discomfort. Tears prick at his eyes as he realizes what’s happening and he can’t stop them from rolling down from the corner of his eyes as he sobs. His cries set off another round of agonizing pain and he tries to keep still, because that’s the only thing that’ll save him now, but of course the nausea chooses that moment to make itself very known, because why would Ranpo ever have something go right for a change? Apparently, pain isn’t enough; he needs to be sick too.

Ranpo tries, really does try to drag himself out of bed and to the bathroom, not wanting to make a mess on his bedroom floor, but his body has decided that two months of cooperation is all he’s going to get, and he falls out of bed, hitting the ground hard, which just makes the pain so much worse. His cries worsen, and he knows he’ll probably wake Fukuzawa if the man’s not already awake, but he doesn’t get time to dwell on that before his body is revolting and his dinner acquaints itself with Ranpo’s sleepwear and the floor.

Shame burns through him as he coughs, choking a little on saliva as he vomits again. He hates this. Hates every time this happens, because it’s just a reminder that he’s imperfect, that he’s broken and sick and weak. And while he’d love nothing more than to stand and fight and show his body whose actually in charge here, he just can’t. All he can do is slump to the side and cry as the world spins around him, even though his eyes are closed.

He hears footsteps pad down the hall and soon, a light is flicking on, penetrating his eyelids, and making the migraine attacking his skull so much worse. He just sobs at the pain, unable and unwilling to move or ask for the light to be turned off. Thankfully, Fukuzawa understands the situation and the light flicks off before a different light is flicking on, one outside his room. The footsteps rapidly come closer and a hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

The pain doubles from that one touch, and Ranpo lets out a wail of agony, continuing to shiver and shake on the floor whilst Fukuzawa gets his thoughts together. The hand is pulled away.

Through the pain, Ranpo manages to hear Fukuzawa’s voice, talking to someone on a phone and Ranpo, through the haze of pain and sickness, understands what’s about to happen and has decided he doesn’t want it. Not this time. He doesn’t want to go back to hospital, not when he’d been free for two months. Not when it’s only been two months. He doesn’t want to add more medical bills to an already empty wallet. He doesn’t want to be anymore of a burden on Fukuzawa than he already is.

Most of all, he doesn’t want an eighth stay at the hospital.

Somehow, Ranpo finds the strength to latch onto Fukuzawa’s wrist that’s just within his reach, and his mind clears enough for him to start begging, hoping that he makes sense to his guardian. “No, please, please, I don’t want to go. I’m tired, I want to stay here. Please, Fukuzawa. Don’t make me go back.” He opens his eyes but can’t see anything through the tears so he closes them again.

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa’s voice breaks through to him. “You’re not well, you need—”

“No!” Ranpo sobs, and then chokes and coughs, panic joining the party after lingering in the corner of the room since it had started. He knows he’s starting to hyperventilate and that right now, it’s the worst thing he could possibly be doing, but panic has never been rational, not with Ranpo. He’s still speaking—attempting to at least—but it’s no longer making sense. He’s being illogical; he knows the hospital is the best thing for him right now, but it’s also the last place he wants to be. He’d promised Dazai he’d stay out of the hospital, and it’s the one promise in his life—after the one he’d made to his parents to keep fighting no matter what—that he wants to keep.

He hears Fukuzawa on the phone again, thinks he hears his guardian pleading with whoever is on the other end of the line, and knows that he’s being listened to, that Fukuzawa will do his absolute best to keep Ranpo out of the hospital unless there’s no other option. That knowledge allows him to relax as much as his body will let him, and he lets himself drift, away from the pain and the cold that have haunted him since he was young.

What brings Ranpo back to awareness is the feeling of a needle sliding into his arm and he opens his eyes, finding that he’s able to see now and finds himself looking into Yosano’s concerned face. He’s still on the floor, still covered in sick and sweat, and still shaking, but the pain is easing; the fires licking at his joints and his head begin to retreat back to where they’d come from, waiting for a chance to strike again.

“Hey there, kid.” Yosano says, kneeling in front of him, reaching out to brush some hair from his face. “You look a right mess.”

Ranpo can do nothing more than stare, but even that becomes too much, and his head tilts towards the ground. He feels… odd, and he can’t quite put a finger on what the feeling is, but it’s a strange feeling. He wonders if it’s whatever drug that he’s been injected with; a painkiller if the distinct lack of pain is anything to go by. He doesn’t like the way it clouds his mind.

“What’s wrong with him?” Fukuzawa’s voice comes from somewhere that Ranpo can’t see, and he thinks he can hear a hint of panic in his voice. Ranpo wants to tell him not to stress, that he’ll be fine, but all that comes out is a garbled sound.

“It’s just the painkillers.” Yosano is as calm as she always is. “It’s the strong stuff, and it acts quickly, so my guess would be that he’s gone from a ten on the pain scale to a zero, and he’s just a little out of it as a result.”

“Ah, but—”

“Fukuzawa.” Yosano interrupts, the lack of honorific showing how focused she is on doing her job. “It’ll be okay. Just let us do our job. We’ll get Ranpo cleaned up and comfortable. Can you handle the mess in here?”

We? Who else is here?

“Of course.” Ranpo hears Fukuzawa sigh and leave the room.

“Okay, Poe, grab his legs, I’ve got his chest. We’ll lift on three and move to the bathroom. Don’t expect any cooperation so get a good grip.”

“Yes, Yosano-sensei.”

Oh. Ranpo manages to tilt his head enough that he can see the second figure in the room, and sure enough, it’s Poe, looking much more confident than the last time Ranpo had seen him, yet still somehow making himself look smaller than he actually was. It’s then that Ranpo notices something else; while Poe is dressed in the scrubs that nurses wear, Yosano is not. In fact, it looks like the woman is in her own sleep clothes, with a coat thrown over the top of them.

“’rry.” Ranpo thinks it’s a word. His mouth opens and sound comes out, but he can’t really focus on what he’s saying.

But Yosano is nothing but an amazing doctor who can understand the gibberish her patients spit at her at times. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Ranpo has everything to be sorry for, but he’s not in the mood to try and argue against his doctor, not when she’s clearly come from the comfort of her own home to treat him. Instead, Ranpo lets his eyes drift to Poe, who on Yosano’s count helps to lift him, and observes the way the other man seems determined. Poe’s arms tremble a little as he lifts Ranpo’s legs, and honestly, Ranpo doesn’t think he’s that heavy. Sure, he loves his food, but he’s never been able to put on much weight.

Poe’s eyes meet his own, and the man gives him a reassuring smile, and suddenly Ranpo thinks he’ll be alright after all.

They sit him on the edge of the bathtub, and Ranpo does his best to stay upright so that they can strip him of his soiled clothing. It’s hard, but he manages and soon he’s in the bathtub itself, and he hears the water running and Yosano speaking.

“I’m going to find him something clean and warm to wear. Can you handle the rest?”

Poe nods. “Yes ma’am.”

Yosano leaves and now it’s just Poe and Ranpo and the silence that encompasses the room. Ranpo can hear Poe moving around the bathroom, finding what he needs and bringing it back so he doesn’t have to leave Ranpo unattended for long. The water stops running, and Ranpo hears the familiar sound of a cloth being squeezed seconds before its rubbing at his face. Ranpo can’t help but scrunch up his face, disliking the way the fabric feels on his skin, and tries to turn away, but a gentle hand forces him to be still.

“It’ll be uncomfortable for just a moment, Ranpo-san. Please bear with it just moment longer.” Poe says as he continues to wipe away the evidence of Ranpo’s latest episode, being as gentle as he can.

Ranpo grunts. He doesn’t think he’d be able to speak a word let alone string a sentence together right now, so he does his best to relax and let Poe work.

Yosano returns just as Poe finishes up, and together, the two wrangle him out of the tub and into the clean clothes that Yosano had brought with her, and before he knows it, Ranpo’s back in his bed, leaning against the headboard with Fukuzawa pressed against his side, a supportive arm around his back. Yosano’s sitting on the edge of the bed by his knee and Poe’s off somewhere else; not that Ranpo’s looking for the man, not at all.

“When did the pain start, Ranpo?” Yosano asks, gently pulling his arm towards her, and he feels the familiar sensation of the alcohol wipe against his vein, and something tight around his arm. She’s about to draw his blood; to find out whether he’s picked up something that’s caused this, or whether it’s just his body being particularly vengeful.

He ignores the way the needle slides into his skin, and buries his face into Fukuzawa’s chest to avoid watching. “I don’t know.” He answers, and it’s the truth, because he doesn’t actually know. He has no idea what the current time is, and has no idea how long it’s been since he’d woken in agony.

“It was just past one when I found him on the floor.” Fukuzawa interjects. “He’d already thrown up by that point, and touch seemed to make the pain worse.”

“Why didn’t you call an ambulance?” Yosano asks, her brow furrowed since normally, one would’ve been called.

Fukuzawa’s arm tightens from where it sits across Ranpo’s shoulder, and he’s not even sure the man is aware of it. “I tried to. But Ranpo didn’t want to go.”

Yosano hums, and the needle draws away; finally. “Ranpo, hon.” She waits for him to look at her, or at least, in her direction. “Why didn’t you want the ambulance?”

It’s a genuine question, and he can tell she’s curious about his answer, considering it’s the first time he’s tried to deny himself treatment in the three years Yosano’s been treating him, although Ranpo wouldn’t really call it denying. He wanted the help—wanted the pain to stop; he just didn’t want to go to the hospital to get it. He’s not sure how to put his thoughts into words in order to make them understand that he isn’t being difficult.

He’s just tired.

“Seven times.” He says after the silence long passes what he thinks is acceptable. He can see the slightly confused look on Yosano’s face and licks his lips before forcing himself to go on. “I’ve already been in seven times this year… I didn’t want it to be eight.”

“Ranpo…” Fukuzawa’s voice is pained, but he doesn’t say anything more, just holds him a little closer, a little tighter.

Yosano looks at him like she understands, and really, she probably does. His doctor has a lot of empathy in her heart, hidden behind sharp words and no-nonsense actions. He’s seen her hold a patient close after receiving bad news, but also seen her strong arm a patient that tried to make unwanted advances towards her, so he knows the sympathetic look he’s receiving is genuinely because she cares, and not because she pities him.

A door creaks open, and Poe returns.

“I’ve put everything in the wash, Yosano-sensei. Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

“Actually, yes.” Yosano says. “I’m going to take Ranpo’s blood back to the hospital to be tested, but I want you to stay here and watch over him—”

Hope swells within Ranpo’s chest.

“—provided the results come back negative with a virus or infection, I’ll talk to my boss’ about treating Ranpo at home, and arrange for the proper equipment to be brought over when they agree.”

When, not if. Tears well up in Ranpo’s eyes and he looks up with gratitude. “Thank you.”

Poe looks hesitant, but doesn’t argue. “Okay. What do I need to do?"

Yosano leaves after instructing Poe on what he needs to do, and Ranpo only listens half-heartedly as Fukuzawa manhandles him so that Ranpo’s able to lay with his head in his lap, and a hand begins to run through his hair, as it always does when he’s feeling like this. He falls asleep like this and briefly thinks that if tonight’s the night his body finally gives up and he dies, it would be a nice way to go.

When Ranpo wakes up, it’s to a different lap underneath his head. He feels fingers pressed to his pulse and a quiet voice counting upwards and realizes it’s Poe. He’s still tired, but waits for Poe to stop counting before he speaks.

“Tell me a story, Poe-san.” He mumbles. Poe jumps beneath him, and Ranpo lets out a hiss of pain as he’s jostled.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry!” Poe’s quick to apologize, and he freezes until Ranpo’s body finally relaxes. “How are—”

“Tell me a story.” Ranpo repeats.

“A story?” Poe sounds confused, like he’s wondering if Ranpo’s actually aware of his surroundings or not.

“You said you write them. Read one to me. Please.”

“Okay.” Ranpo feels Poe lean away from him, stretching for something that’s just in reach, and he hears the sound of a notebook opening, pages rustling as they are flipped. “Do you, uh, want something in particular?”

“Anything’s fine.”

“Alright then.” Poe says, flicking to a random page and begins to read the words he’s written on it, and Ranpo feels like he’s being wrapped in all the softest blankets he owns. Poe’s voice is calm, sure, solid, with not a single stutter or hesitation in sight, and Ranpo thinks he could listen to it forever. He’s not really in the right state of mind to focus on the words, and he probably won’t remember asking for a story when he wakes up again, but for now, he focuses on the way Poe’s voice spins the words together, creating a world of angels and demons and a kingdom by the sea, allowing it to come to life in his mind as he slips back into sleep.

It’s not an infection, and it’s not a virus.

His body just hates him.

But since it’s not something that’ll kill him, or something he can spread to others, Ranpo is allowed to remain at home to recover. Yosano brings over an actual IV stand in the afternoon, but Poe is the one who sets it up; under Yosano’s watchful eye of course. Ranpo pokes fun at Poe when the man fails to stick him twice, feeling well enough to joke about being a pincushion instead of a patient, and Poe’s face flushes a brilliant red at his words.

Yosano smacks him—gently—over the head for that.

“The IV’s rigged up with painkillers to keep the pain manageable.” Yosano stresses out the word, looking Ranpo dead in the eyes, as if she thinks he’s going to be up and walking about anytime soon. “You’ll still feel pain, but it should be mild enough that you can move around so long as you’re careful. If the pain rises to the same level as it was last night, tell someone.”

“Otherwise…?”

“Otherwise, you’re free to annoy the hell out of Poe and Fukuzawa-san if that’s what you so desire.”

“Uh please don’t.”

Poe’s words go ignored. “Visitor’s?” Ranpo asks.

“Allowed with masks. Your immune system’s shot right now, so you’re vulnerable. Anything else?”

Ranpo has just one more question, but he knows if he asks it, it’ll get back to Fukuzawa and he doesn’t want that, so he shakes his head. He’ll try to sneak into his guardian’s office later when he thinks his legs will support him and find the bill that’ll tell him how much this home visit and treatment is going to cost.

“Alright then.” Yosano turns to Poe. “Check his vitals every hour, although you can move it to every two provided he doesn’t have any flare ups. Call me if you have any questions or concerns, although I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Poe gives a silent nod and Yosano leaves, not before messing with Ranpo’s hair though, and suddenly, it’s just him and Poe. Ranpo’s not sure how he feels about it.

“You don’t have to hang around me all day, just so you know.” Ranpo says as Poe continues to stand there, looking unsure of what to do with himself. Ranpo can see underneath the uncertainty the natural curiosity that comes from any new staff that’s assigned to his care and he sighs. “Or you can just ask the questions you want to ask.”

“I don’t have any questions.” Poe’s quick to say, although his ears turn pink as he lies, and he refuses to meet Ranpo’s eyes.

“Liar. You’re not the first one to have questions, so just ask. Unlike other people, I’m not going to bite your hand just for being curious.” Unless the person asking is rude, then Ranpo is going to absolutely make them regret ever being curious. But it’s only happened once, and the hospital is now a lot more careful in who they assign to him. Ranpo notices that Poe is still hesitating and pats the edge of his bed. “Sit.”

Poe does, lanky legs crossing over in just a few steps, and drops to the edge of the bed, and Ranpo’s only a little irked to see that they’re eye level when Poe’s sitting instead of towering over him. Now that he’s closer, Ranpo can visibly see the man thinking so he waits, patiently for a change instead of being demanding. Poe seems to speak more confidently when he’s given time; something Ranpo’s figured out just from the few conversations they’ve had.

“I don’t want to be rude—” Poe begins to say.

“You won’t be.”

“I don’t want to be rude.” Poe repeats, looking a little annoyed at Ranpo’s interruption. Ranpo grins at him. “But when we met, Yosano-sensei called you a ‘frequent flyer.’ She was pretty insistent that I meet you when you were admitted to hospital last time too…”

“I’ve been in and out of that hospital since I came to Yokohama a few years ago.” The only reason he’d even come to Yokohama in the first place was because his parents had grown tired of receiving no explanation for his frail body and had hoped the city would be different.

It hadn’t, and Ranpo had lost his parents as a result.

“Yosano-sensei’s been my doctor for… almost three years now, and she’s the only one that’s actually tried to help me—and actually succeeded sometimes. But she calls me a frequent flyer because I spend more time in hospital than out of it.”

“Hence why you didn’t want to go back last night.” Poe concludes all on his own, and Ranpo’s impressed by how fast he’s putting everything together.

“Yep. The first time we met was my seventh visit. I’d had two months of freedom before last night, and I just—I just wanted a little more time.”

“Are you dying?” Poe asks his next question, his tone shifting to one of sadness and… sympathy?

Ranpo fidgets with his blanket. Is he dying? Technically, the answer is no, otherwise he would’ve been dead long ago; before he’d ever come to Yokohama, but he knows just as well as everyone else in his life does, that he’s not going to live a long life. He’s impressed he’s even made it to sixteen. A long life is just not on the cards for him, and as sad as that makes Ranpo, he still plans on living life to the best of his ability. Who knows, he may get lucky and live until he’s fifty. Either way, he’s going to keep fighting until he physically can’t.

“Sorry, that was insensitive.” Poe’s voice breaks into his thoughts and Ranpo realizes he never answered the man.

“No, it’s not. Well maybe it is, I don’t know. I don’t think it is.” Ranpo says. “They say I’m not dying, that I’m just chronically ill. But sometimes… I would say it feels like I’m dying. So, yes? But also, no?”

Poe nods, because what else is he supposed to say? Eventually, he does find the words and lifts his head from where he dropped it to give Ranpo a smile. “Well, I hope you get to live a good life, Ranpo-san. However long it may be.”

Those aren’t the words Ranpo expects to hear, so for a moment, he sits there and just stares before his mind finally catches up and he smiles.

“Thank you.”

“You know, when I told you stay out of the hospital, that did include not bringing it into your home.” Dazai’s voice drags Ranpo of the light doze he’d just been in and he glowers at his friend as he stands in his doorway. Despite the mask on the boy’s face, he just knows there’s a mocking grin underneath it, and Ranpo glares before rolling over, fully intending on ignoring Dazai. “Hey! Don’t ignore me!”

“I don’t recall inviting you over.” Ranpo grumbled, grunting as Dazai flops onto the bed without a care in the world, the other boys head landing on his knees. He knows that if it weren’t for the painkillers running through his veins, that the added weight would be causing him a great deal of pain, but regrettably, his body barely reacts, although the discomfort is still enough for him to kick at Dazai until the boy shifts to lay beside him instead.

Another voice joins the room, one that Ranpo recognizes but has never actually interacted with, on account of Nakahara Chuuya working in a department of the hospital that he’s never required. The only reason they’ve ever met is because of Dazai. “That’s my fault, Edogawa-san. I saw Yosano-sensei at the hospital on her night off and asked why she was there, and she told me.”

“And you told Dazai?” Ranpo gives Nakahara a slightly betrayed look at the same time as Dazai whines and kicks his feet against the bed.

“Of course, the chibi told me. We’re friends after all.”

“Are we now?” Ranpo raises an eyebrow and slowly eases himself upright to lean against the headboard. “Why are you even here?”

“I messaged you and you did not answer.” Dazai says, voice serious for a change, and understanding dawns on Ranpo. Dazai had tried to check up on him, and when Ranpo had failed to respond, he’d probably thought that he’d died.

Ranpo stretches his hand out and rests it on top of Dazai’s head. “Sorry. I was sleeping.”

“You’re always sleeping.”

“I know.”

The sound of a throat clearing interrupts the solemn atmosphere and both Ranpo and Dazai look up at the noise. Poe’s standing in the doorway, dressed in casual clothes instead of his scrubs, with a tray in hand. In an instant, the tired look disappears from Dazai’s face and is replaced with absolute delight, and his friend disappears from Ranpo’s side, slinking up to Poe like a cat might. And Poe, despite being just taller than Dazai, shrinks in on himself and looks much smaller.

Nakahara sighs from where he’s sat in the corner of the room, but doesn’t do anything. He’s clearly waiting for Dazai to open his mouth first.

And Dazai does just that. “Why, Ranpo, you didn’t tell me you had your own, personal, nurse to take care of you. And not just any nurse, but Poe-san.”

Ranpo narrows his eyes, knowing that Dazai’s implying something, but unable to quite figure it out. But he’s able to gain some idea just based upon the fact that it’s something Dazai seemingly understands while Ranpo does not. Poe seems to understand as well, if the way his cheeks are starting to turn red is any indicator.

Dazai’s eyes crinkle at the reaction and he draws a breath in, about to say something else when—

“Dazai. Stop it.” Nakahara’s voice cuts in and Dazai freezes. There’s a tension in the room and a silent conversation begins, one that Ranpo has no hope of ever understanding, and decides to have mercy on Poe and waves the nurse over.

“Don’t mind, Dazai.” Ranpo says as Poe comes close. “He likes to push buttons.”

“It’s-It’s fine.” Poe says, placing the tray on the bedside table. He still looks flustered, and normally, Ranpo would tease him for it, but he keeps his mouth shut, not willing to upset the person that’s dutifully been taking care of him for the past few days.

“Did Fukuzawa send that up?” Ranpo asks, eyeing the food hungrily. Since Poe’s been here to watch over Ranpo, Fukuzawa’s been able to open the café, when usually he’d have closed it in order to take care of his ward. It hasn’t stopped the man from coming up every time he got a spare moment to check on Ranpo, usually bringing food or something entertaining with him, and keeping Ranpo company while he ate.

“He did. He also told me to say he’s sorry that he can’t be up here with you. There’s a rush downstairs.”

“Ah, it’s fine.” Ranpo carefully takes the bowl off the tray and rests it on his lap. It’s beef ramen; simple which is good, because food is always a hit or miss when he’s bedridden, but this particular meal has always been kind to him.

“There’s some for the two of you as well if you’d like.” Poe addresses Nakahara and Dazai, who finally stop silently arguing with each other.

Dazai doesn’t say anything as he approaches and takes one of the three other bowls before forcing Ranpo to move over and sitting beside him, looking just a little on edge. Ranpo nudges his leg against Dazai’s and waits for his friend to look at him before taking the first bite; he waits for Dazai to take a bite himself before he takes another.

He can feel Nakahara staring at him as the man eats his own bowl. Ranpo returns the stare with one of his own; they both know about Dazai’s issues with food. How could they not, when food is another way of staying alive, and Dazai wants nothing more than to die?

Ranpo can only manage half the bowl before his stomach begins protesting, and it’s then that he notices the fourth bowl is untouched, and that Poe’s not eating; instead curled up in the armchair that’s been dragged from the living room to Ranpo’s bedroom, and scribbling into his notebook. “Aren’t you going to eat, Poe-san?” Ranpo asks.

Poe glances up, and quickly looks back down at his notebook. “Ah, I’m not very hungry. Fukuzawa-san wouldn’t take no for an answer though…”

“That’s okay!” Dazai pipes up. “Chuuya’s here, he’ll eat what we don’t.”

“I’m not a garbage disposal, Dazai!” Chuuya snaps, even as he gets up to take Dazai’s bowl from him to eat what the boy has left behind.

“Your argument is invalid when you literally eat my scraps. What are you, some kind of dog worried about when it’s going to get its next meal?”

Nakahara’s eye twitches and he looks ready to strangle Dazai right there and then. “I can, and will, throw you out the window.”

“Oh, please do, maybe it’ll kill me and I can finally be free of your presence.” Dazai claps his hands together, positively thrilled at the idea of actually being hurled from the second story. “Hey, you know, if you are a dog, does that make me your owner?”

“Fuck no, if anything, I’m your owner, since I’m the one that has to babysit your scrawny ass twenty-four, seven!”

Ranpo watches, amused, as the two begin to banter back and forth. For as long as Ranpo’s known Dazai and Nakahara, he’d always thought that the two hated each other, brought together only because of Nakahara’s job, but over time he’s come to see their relationship for what it is; trust. He knows it’s much deeper than simple trust, that things have happened to bring two polar opposites so close together, but despite their friendship, Dazai is still a secretive person, and doesn’t share everything that happens in his life with Ranpo, and that’s just fine. He’ll be there if Dazai ever decides to share with him.

“Are they always like this…?” Poe asks him quietly.

“Yep. It’s best to just leave them be.” Ranpo turns away from his friend and looks at Poe. “You should read me that story you’ve been scribbling in that notebook of yours.”

To Poe’s credit, he only hesitates for a second before he nods and opens up the notebook. “It’s not finished yet.”

“That’s okay.”

Ranpo’s not supposed to be out of bed, but Poe had to leave for a reason he wouldn’t explain, and Fukuzawa hadn’t come upstairs to sit with him, so Ranpo had decided to go to him instead. It’s one of the day’s that the café is shut so he can’t think of a reason why Fukuzawa hadn’t yet come upstairs, but as he braves the stairs and moves down them, he can hear voices; three of them. Two he recognizes as Fukuzawa and Yosano’s, but the third is unfamiliar. The unfamiliar voice is the one that’s talking, and Ranpo is quick to decide that he doesn’t like how smooth that voice is, how manipulative it sounds, even though it’s hidden by faked concern. Ranpo reaches the bottom of the stairs, only slightly out of breathe, and he inches closer until he can hear the voices.

“—to care for the boy, Fukuzawa-san.” The stranger is saying, and Ranpo tries to figure out what it is that he’s missing.

He doesn’t need to wait long.

“I don’t need your money or your help, Mori-san. We’re doing just fine.” Fukuzawa is angry, and Ranpo can picture him sitting behind his desk, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He hasn’t seen Fukuzawa properly angry before, but he’s heard it and seen the aftermath. His guardian goes to great lengths to remain a calm and comforting presence around Ranpo.

“Oh, really?” The stranger’s—Mori’s—voice takes on a liquid tone; like that of a snake, and Ranpo frowns. What could this man want with Fukuzawa? “Seven hospital stays within six months? I know you’ve done well for yourself, old friend, but even that must be causing quite the strain on your wallet. Yosano-sensei agrees with me.”

Oh. They’re talking about me. Ranpo suddenly feels the urge to flee, even as he remains rooted to his spot outside the office.

“Don’t drag me into this, Mori.” Yosano’s voice is tense, as if being in the same room as this Mori person is physically painful for her. “I’m here to help both Ranpo and Fukuzawa-san.”

“Is that not what I’m doing?” The question is innocent and confused, but it’s all so fake.

“If you were actually a doctor that cared, you wouldn’t be here trying to force Fukuzawa-san to accept money he does not want. You don’t even know the boy.” Yosano spits out.

“Money he may not want, but it’s money he does need. And I know enough about the boy; what doctor doesn’t? It’s not like his medical records are private.”

“Doesn’t mean you should go snooping where you aren’t welcome.”

Mori brushes Yosano’s words aside like he never heard them in the first place. “Chronically ill with an unknown disease; prone to all kinds of infections and illnesses; suffers from chronic pain and fatigue. Migraines. Frequently requires hospitalization, which has steadily increased year by year, with this year holding the record at seven, although he’s yet to have required surgery this year; a small mercy, really.” The man pauses. “Need I go on?”

Silence follows his words before Fukuzawa’s words break the silence, a quiet fury weaved into every word. “Get out, Mori-san. You are not his doctor, and have no right to be here.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll leave.” Ranpo hears someone stand from within the office and footsteps approach the door. He freezes as the door opens and his eyes meet that of a man he’s never seen before in his life, and Ranpo thinks he was right in thinking this man was not to be trusted; he looks every bit as heartless as he’d sounded. Mori grins upon seeing Ranpo and calls into the room. “I’m sure you’ll change your tune soon, Fukuzawa-san, when you finally realize that if you don’t accept the money, Ranpo-san will die.”

And with that the man is gone, leaving after ruining the day for the three people left inside the building. The bell on the door chimes as he leaves, and Ranpo allows himself to slide down the wall, burying his face into his knees and hugging them close. He must make more noise than he’d thought he had, because he hears footsteps approach and Yosano’s soft voice is speaking to him. “Ranpo? What are you doing?”

“Fukuzawa was taking too long.” Ranpo speaks into his knees. “Who was that?”

“No one you need to concern yourself with.” Fukuzawa comes to kneel beside Ranpo, a hand coming to tilt his head up. “I apologize for taking so long. Yosano-sensei arrived and wanted to speak with me when he showed up.”

“It’s fine.” Ranpo reaches up and wraps his arms around Fukuzawa’s neck, his silent request answered when Fukuzawa picks him up like he weighs nothing at all; which isn’t too far from the truth considering recent events, and probably future ones as well. Fukuzawa carries him back up the stairs and deposits Ranpo back into his bed.

Yosano follows them up the stairs; probably to see how he’s recovering—which is going quite well if Ranpo’s being honest with himself. The pain is all but gone, more of a dull, consistent ache, than the sharp pains he’d been having the past week. All that really remains to remind him of that agony filled night, is the exhaustion that refuses to leave him be.

“Mori has a point, Fukuzawa-san.” Yosano says suddenly, quickly continuing when Fukuzawa tenses from where he sits beside Ranpo. “About only one thing, and it’s not the money. Nor is it the idea that you aren’t doing enough.”

Fukuzawa narrows his eyes. “What is it?”

“He’s right in that Ranpo is getting worse. His body’s not coping with how sick he’s been, and you and I both know that this year has been exceptionally bad for him.”

Ranpo can’t help but flinch at the words, despite how true they are. It’s not like he asked for this though; to be born with an illness determined to make him suffer rather than be kind and just outright kill him. He can also hear the hidden words that Yosano doesn’t say, but is definitely thinking; that the years been bad on Fukuzawa as well; the stress of caring for an ailing teenager and running a café all on his own easily tipping into overwhelming territory.

He doesn’t say anything though; doesn’t know what to say other than ‘I’m sorry.’

“It’s chronic illness, Yosano-sensei. There’s no cure, only management. You told me as such when you took on Ranpo’s case.”

“What if there was? Not a cure, because you are right about that, but a solution that would help Ranpo actually be able to live? To make it to adulthood; perhaps further?”

Both Fukuzawa and Ranpo stare at Yosano, silently urging her to continue.

“I’ve been talking with the research department, and other doctors all over the world that deal with patients that are similar to Ranpo’s case. We’ve been spending these past months working together to come up with an experimental drug that we’re hoping to use to ease the suffering of those with chronic illnesses; regardless of what they are.” Yosano kneels beside the bed. “We’ve been given approval to test the drug out. If you’ll allow me to, I can pitch Ranpo as a candidate.”

“No.” Ranpo speaks before he truly understands what’s being offered to him. But when his thoughts catch up, he still thinks he’s right in declining. It’s not the idea of being used as a test subject for an experimental drug that may or may not work that he’s caught up on, but the implications of what being a part of such a study entails. It’ll mean staying at the hospital for god knows how long, being under the scrutiny of more doctors than he’s comfortable with—although he thinks he could handle it if he really had to, but that’s not the point.

The point is money.

He’s already put enough debt and stress onto Fukuzawa’s shoulders in the past two years, and he refuses to add anymore to them. He doesn’t care if that means he has to suffer until his body stops functioning; just so long as Fukuzawa doesn’t have to spend anymore money he doesn’t have. Ranpo realizes that Fukuzawa’s looking down at him and Yosano’s looking up at him, and he feels cornered. He doesn’t want to explain himself, but he feels if he doesn’t, they’ll both push him until he does.

“It’ll be expensive.” Ranpo finally mutters, and tries not to flinch at the sigh Fukuzawa lets out.

“Money’s not a problem.” Fukuzawa says.

“Yes it is. That Mori guy was saying so, and I’ve seen the bills on your desk.” Ranpo argues, looking up at his guardian with tears in his eyes. Fukuzawa’s gaze softens. “I’ve already taken so much from you. I don’t want to take anymore.”

“When I took you in, I will admit I was ill-prepared. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. But,” Fukuzawa carefully brushes away a stray tear that escapes. “I promised to take care of you, no matter how hard it got, and that’s not going to change. This experimental treatment may cost a lot of money, but it’ll be money well spent if it means I get to see you live.”

Ranpo lets out a sob then, and he’s quickly manhandled into a firm hug, not hard enough to hurt him, but more than enough to let him feel loved. His cries grow louder as his dam breaks and all the stress he’d been bottling away inside himself overflows. Fukuzawa’s words make him remember the reason why he’s been fighting against the illness that’s been eroding at him for so long; why he hasn’t given up on living, even when he’s reminded of how quickly his life could be snatched from him.

“Promise me, Ranpo, that you won’t give up, no matter what.” His mother whispers into his hair as he lays in the bed. “Don’t you ever stop fighting. Don’t let the sickness win. Live. Live and keep on living. You are more than this illness, my sweet boy. If anyone can win, it’s you.”

“I… promise.”

“I want to live.” Ranpo says, one hand reaching up to wipe away his tears. He looks towards Yosano. “I want to live.”

Yosano smiles at him, still crouched. “I know you do. Leave it to me, and I promise that you’ll get your chance to live.”

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