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luveline · 30 days ago

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𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

five | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

James can tell you're nervous, though you hide it exceptionally well. Years of training and years before that of being the best friend to two natural born fibbers has given him a professional understanding of the ways people will pretend.

There's no need to pretend. It's your father's funeral.

James sits behind you on the pews. There are guards posted at all four entrances and exits to the church, but the level of security doesn't relax you, because it isn't why you're tensed.

He has to bite his tongue to stop from speaking. Has to cling to his own hands rather than lean forward and inquire if you're alright. He's lucky he'd been allowed to sit as close to the front of the room as he had been, and that was only after a convincing speech to the Queen herself on the dangers your first public outing may entail. He hadn't been exaggerating.

James hadn't been as succinct as he could've been, either, but no one else needs to know.

He looks around the front of the church rather than the back of your head and your tight shoulders. The room has all the furnishings one would expect of a royal funeral, garish white tapings and mammoth crystal chandeliers with their metal fixtures waxed to a burning shine. Light floods in multicolour from gargantuan stained glass windows, reds and greens and buttery orange-yellow kissing the floor, the walls, and the brown lacquered casket at the front of the room.

The proceedings had been in Genovian. James understood the majority, and he's sure Remus caught the rest. Your shoulder had started shaking somewhere between psalms, which means your arm had been shaking, and that's likely from a jigging anxious knee. You're unsettled.

James is unsurprised. There are huge cameras in several places across the room, and at times they'd been pointed at you, your cousin, your aunts and uncles, and, of course, the Queen.

Your identity has been officially broadcasted to the entire world —though thanks to now redundant members of the Royal staff, that had already been true to some extent. You are a princess in the gaze of billions, even if you do choose to give up the role as you're intending. This won’t be easy to leave behind.

Crown Princess or not, you're of royal blood, entitled to royal protection, and so. James can follow you anywhere you want to go for the foreseeable future as long as you allow him. You are just scared enough to say yes. (He hadn't exaggerated the state of things to you. No part of him wants to scare you. But he told you the truth, and he'd scared you anyhow.)

Sitting next to the Queen is the Queen mother (your great-grandmother), and beside her is your uncle, your aunt, the Princess Julianna, and then you. Julianna is clearly unhappy with your untrained decorum but won't risk talking lest she end up on the front page of the newspapers scolding her newly instated cousin.

"Might we all bow our heads for the final prayer."

You bow your head too quickly and too low. James winces and does the same. Hopefully they'll think you miseducated rather than stupid, though to many that's the same crime.

The prayer ends, and pallbearers step forward to carry the casket back out of the church to the hearse, a mixture of royals and paid actors strong enough to take the weight. The first row stands, James sticking out like a nettle among flowers, though his all black uniform isn't out of place for once.

He slots himself behind you in the procession as it begins to walk down the aisle. He can speak and get away with it due to both occupation and occasion, a melancholy orchestra plays as the King is carried home.

"Hello," he says, his face tilted near imperceptibly toward yours. "Everything okay?"

He wants to ask the same question, but better. How are you feeling? I'm sorry I can't give you an out yet.

"Okay," you say.

"You're doing so well," he says.

You relax slightly. You pass Sirius at the very back of the church, where he taps his chin, prompting you to lift your own. The photography outside of the church is respectful, but Sirius and James alike have already quizzed you on what expression to keep. You can't smile. You can't frown. You have to look heartbroken but not hysterical —being branded as an attention seeker so early would fry your reputation. The last thing you need is a smear campaign before the funeral is over. You have to look grateful to be here.

It is not an easy balance to strike.

James thinks you're doing wonderfully either way, and the point of the funeral is to respect your father now he's passed, but he'd also say it was a successful launch. You look sweet, and remarkably made up.

"Can we go home now?" you ask.

"We can. You don't have anything else on the docket."

"I don't have to go to, like, a wake?" you ask.

James shakes his head. "No. I think most of the family want to grieve in private after a spectacle like this."

"An event," Sirius corrects.

"Are you hungry?" James asks.

"Why, does Genovia have McDonald's?"

It's a credit to both James and Sirius that they manage to hide how funny they find you. "We do, but we can't take you to McDonald's. There'll be paparazzi following your car as soon as we leave the lot."

"I don't want McDonald's," you say.

"We know. I'm just asking so I can call ahead," James says.

"It's my job, really," Sirius says.

It's neither. You should've had a lady in waiting by now, a professional one to handle every aspect of your day by day, but the sudden nature of your arrival and now incoming date of your departure has left you without one. Sirius and James (and Remus, at times) have been happy to pick up the slack.

"Is it bad that I am hungry?" you ask.

James guides you away from the procession as the hearse pulls away, eager to get you in your own car sandwiched between a crowd of bodyguards. His men fall in without prompting, surrounding you on all sides. You visibly wither at the precaution.

"It's not bad. Grieving is hungry work," Sirius says.

James can't keep up with your conversation. There's suspicious movement at the barricade, the gathered supporters strangely rowdy for the occasion. He gestures with two fingers for the guards at his side to pull in tighter. Unsatisfied, he clears his throat and says, "Fall in, guys."

He doesn't need to say what he's worried about. The guards under his employ and under any branch of Palace security should have enough sense to feel the difference in the atmosphere.

"There's the Princess!" someone shouts. Hundreds of eyes find you.

"I don't wave, do I?" you ask, turning to look at James. You realise the guards have tightened ranks, a frown twisting your pretty smile down. "What's happening?"

He hates the sudden fear in your voice.

"Nothing," he says, hand hovering behind the small of your back, eyes at the crowd. There's a man standing too still to be natural. "Don't worry. What are you having for dinner?"

"That was an awful lie, you didn't even try," you complain, following his line of sight as best as you can to the crowd.

"Seriously, Princess, what are we having for dinner?" Sirius asks.

"Am I in danger?" you ask.

"No," James says firmly.

"They're protecting me," Sirius says, which would be more believable if he didn't have to shout it over someone's shoulder.

"You're not in any danger," James says, firmer still, a bite to his voice that makes Sirius wince. You stare. "You're still on camera, Princess." James is on camera. Your safety comes first, but his job is his job. Mary already berated him upon her return about his mishandling of the first airport disaster, and if James can't handle these situations, they'll find someone else to do it.

They manage to get you to your car without any incidents. James covers the roof and ushers you in, closing the door behind you. He takes the passenger seat, and your driver for the day, Munroe, starts the short journey back to Bellaverden House.

James stays sitting prim, the light of the police escorts fronting your procession gaussian blue on his hands.

"Are you okay?"

James is surprised that you're asking him, turning to meet your eyes from over his shoulder. "I'm perfectly fine. How are you, are you alright?"

You look a little seasick, hands either side of you in the empty seats. "I'm sorry if I made you mad."

It's an expression he's seen on Sirius a hundred times, uncertainty, the anxiety of not knowing if you're in trouble with someone. He does as he would with him. "I'm not mad, Princess. I have to… I have to be someone else when I'm working to make sure I perform the way I need to. I’m sorry if that feels personal, but I can assure you it's just work. Okay?" He starts professional, ends soft. "Now, are you alright?"

He keeps waiting for the reality of your situation to press upon you. Grief for a man you never knew, even anger at his inactive role in your life, but you stay quiet and cagey as a nervous cat.

"I'm fine, James."

"Are you?" James watches for it, finds the tremor in your hands that betrays you even if you don't think there's anything wrong.

"Fine," you say.

—

Two days later, you take a flight home. Private again, less than ten passengers, six of which are following you. You’d wanted to escape the royal duties and they’re practically tucked in your back pocket.

“Don’t look so scolded,” Sirius says, ineffectual as he gets comfortable beside you, a tray of biscuits in his lap.

“What?”

“James isn’t angry.”

You hide a small fluster with a swallow. “I know.”

“Well.” Sirius eats another biscuit. You honestly like him as much as you like James, though you’re starting to think he might end up being a pain in your side. He’s… opinionated. “You don’t look like you know. Can you eat something so everyone can stop worrying?”

“Sorry.”

You eat a chocolate biscuit, frown, eat a shortbread. Your stomach rumbles with a sickly lurch, but after a bit the sugar kicks in and you feel better. You peer around Sirius to spot James and Mickey pointing at different things on an iPad across the aisle. Just behind them, Remus sleeps, sitting next to Marlene. And, for reasons unbeknownst to you, Lily and Emmeline chatter in the seats just ahead.

You tried very hard to get out of being a princess, and yet you’ve been trailed back home anyways.

“You’re like Remus,” Sirius says, with surprising affection for both of you, “a bit of chocolate and the sulking stops.”

“They’re nice biscuits.”

“They’re Genovian, obviously they’re nice biscuits. You’re used to that English shite–”

“Come on,” you reprimand lightly, “have you ever had a Welsh shortbread? Get a grip.”

“I’ve had many Welsh shortbread. My Remus is very Welsh.” Sirius sinks down in his seat a little, seemingly sated by even a mention of Remus. The more you know them, the more you realise ‘my Remus’ is accurate. Sirius doesn’t even really say it with fondness or anything so saccharine, but just the addition of the word packs a punch. He’s said ‘my James’ before too, and that had been the same.

A little nibble of jealousy blossoms in your chest.

“Have you and Remus always been friends?” you ask.

Sirius tilts his head back. His nice chin points at you, his eyes lazily opened but friendly all the same. “Yes. Despite his wishes, some of the time. I was friends with James first, the day we met, but Remus shared a room so he couldn’t escape us. He was friendlier with… we had another roommate. So for a while we were natural pairs, but eventually we became a right group of messers.”

“I find it a bit difficult to make friends.”

“Me too.” He closes his eyes for a second. “If I hadn’t been forced to see them every day, I wonder if I would’ve managed it.”

You’re late for boarding school, but seeing people each day might be manageable. After all, you’ve a trapped posse of advisors with you at this very moment, destined to trail after you for what could be months.

You hope that, when they inevitably return home, they might still want to be friends.

The plane begins descending half an hour from the airport. Sirius squeezes the arm but doesn’t fuss. Then, suddenly, the landing gear is out, the seatbelt lights are on, and Sirius is encouraging you to ram the last of the biscuits in with him so he can bin the plastic tray they came in. “Go on,” he whispers, forcing the last, huge slag of caramel and chocolate in your direction, “before Marlene can see we’ve ruined dinner.”

“She’s not actually going to cook for me, is she?” you ask, frowning.

“Of course she is.”

Of course she is. You cringe through the landing, but can’t stop yourself from smiling when James makes his way to your chairs to get your bag from the overhead. You know it’s lame, but it’s just like having a boyfriend.

“Remus, will you get mine too?” you hear Sirius ask as he slinks around James’ body.

“Get your own.”

“Nice flight?” you ask James.

He smiles. “Awesome. You look better off than the last time.”

Last time you’d been exhausted, with red-rimmed eyes and a shiner. This is decidedly better, but you’re thrice as tired emotionally.

“I can’t wait to go home.”

James puts a hand behind your shoulder like he’s known you for years. “I bet you can’t,” he says.

“Will you be, uh, sleeping on my sofa again?”

He laughs and encourages you down the plane’s aisle. “Not this time, Princess. The proper arrangements have been made. I’ll miss your floral pillowcases, rest assured.”

“I’ll miss getting decked by my door.”

James’ gaze snaps to yours in shock. He pauses with his mouth just slightly open, and then a laugh jumps from him, a sunny, warm, crackly chuckle that heats your cheeks. “Yes!” he praises, giving you a poke. “I knew we’d make a comedian of you. And a dark one.”

The sheer look of joy on his face buoys you as you journey home. It was out of character, sure, but worth it to have made him laugh. You find you like the feeling of it, the pleasure, even the satisfaction of making him laugh. You’ll have to do it again.

You seem to have avoided any leaks of gossip or press, ushered by a small, tight group of security through the airport and to a jet black freelander.

James opens the back door for you. “No SUV?” you ask, climbing in.

“They’re not exactly common here, are they? This is less eye-catching.”

“Less impressive,” Sirius says, nudging you across to climb in after you.

You find yourself shuttered to the opposite side of the car as Remus gets in behind him. “Idiots,” James mutters.

“I thought we should’ve had a G-wagon,” Sirius says.

“That’s ridiculous,” Remus says.

“Or something stylish, then. A Benz.”

“This is nicer than the bus,” you say.

Sirius wrinkles his nose. “Too right.”

“So, where are we going?” you ask. You can’t work out why they’ve gotten into the same car.

“I thought we’d stay with you for a bit,” Sirius says easily.

“Why?”

You flush as you realise what you’ve said, and how bluntly it came out.

Sirius doesn’t flinch. “I was thinking you might want company. No?”

“You don’t have to–”

“No, we don’t,” Remus says, resting his weight on Sirius’ arm, “but we want to if you’re alright with it.”

You settle in your seat for the drive home, a small smile playing on your lips. It would be nice to have friends right now.

—

It turns out that time spent with the boys can get out of hand. Even James, oh so serious, begins to play into their shenanigans. Being together relaxes them, evident in their huge dopey smiles and the tactile way they go about the evening.

James was supposed to leave sometime after eight when Mickey arrived to relieve him, but he’d hunkered down with Remus on the sofa, stealing sips of his tea and attempting to push his socked feet under Remus’ thighs. “No,” he says now, giving Remus a prod, “you knocked the Genovian pear juggler clear off of his feet! And you blamed Sirius!”

“And I took the blame like a proper man,” Sirius says, tipping his head back to lay on Remus’ knees. “You’re welcome.”

“You owed me.”

A vague tenseness lines James’ shoulders, but Sirius only says, “Yes, I did.”

“He had to wash dishes for a month,” Remus says.

“I accepted my punishment. Besides, it gave me plenty of opportunity to pilfer the kitchens. We ate enough chocolate to make ourselves sick of it in a week.”

You curl up tighter in the armchair. The TV is playing quietly, an old movie flickering in muted colours, dabs of it caught on James’ arm.

He pushes his glasses further up his nose. You like them, the glasses, though he says they aren’t practical. They look good on him, bringing an extra darkness to his eyes, already a nice honey brown. All these brown eyed boys in one place isn’t good for you.

Marlene had, to your horror, come around to make you and your guests a late supper. You’d asked her how the royal kitchens would run without her and she’d asked you not to insult her workers. She’s bullied you into three plates worth and promised to be back tomorrow morning.

You’d said oh, no, please don’t, and James had reminded you that you’re going to be a princess for the rest of your life. Get used to extravagance.

And company! Sirius called.

He hasn’t moved since he got here, not even for dinner, though it’s not like you all would’ve fit around your teeny kitchen table anyhow. He picks at a plate of buttered bread and Genovian grapes, which Marlene had apparently gotten for him on special request. He has a planner in front of him, a heavy looking silver pen between lithe fingers scribbling across the pages, scratching things out, drawing big arrows as he moves dates around.

“You’re busy,” you say sympathetically.

Sirius snorts. “This is your planner, babe.”

“My what?”

“I’m trying to fit driving lessons around your classes. They’re quite random, aren’t they?” He lifts his gaze to meet your confusion. “James wants you to learn.”

“Well, I haven’t asked her yet, mate,” James says.

Sirius shrugs. “If I’m going to work it out, I need to do it now before bed.”

“What about my shifts?” you ask.

Sirius tilts his head ever so slightly to one side. “You still want to work?”

You remember the shock of the inheritance all over again. Weird to think a lump sum will have cleared in your bank account before you got home, the accruement of years spent unaware of your heritage. It will be strange to quit The Morgan —you know so many of the regulars, and you’ve spent the last two years living off of that paycheck— but the idea is a sudden warm blanket.

“I can quit?” you ask.

“Sure,” Sirius says. “If you want. You don’t have to worry about it anymore. That’s not to say you can’t work, but I can’t imagine you’ll spend what you have soon…”

You smile to yourself, guilty and so, so relieved. “You wouldn’t believe how horrible my manager is. I don’t want to be spoiled–”

All three boys roll their eyes. It’s unnerving. “It’s not spoiled,” Remus says.

“It makes my life easier,” James says. “Besides, the Royal Family might demand it.”

“Mm, it’ll look bad if the heir keeps her pub job,” Sirius says. He scratches out a last corner of the page. “Alright, darling, listen up. You can fit in two hours of driving a day, three times a week, is that gonna be something you can do? In about two months you should have your forty five hours of practice. We can study theory twice a week. If it’s too intense we can slow down, there’s no rush, really, just James–”

“Doesn’t like the bus,” you say.

“Hates public transport,” Sirius agrees.

“It’s good for the environment,” James speaks up, leaning further and further toward the arm, sinking into your battered throw cushions, “bad for princesses.”

That awful p-word.

“Alright. That sounds perfect, Sirius. Thank you for working it all out.”

“You’re very welcome. You might not like me so much when you see how many hours I’ve given Remus.”

You put your hands between your legs. “Oh, do I still have to do all that? Even if I’m not going to...”

“Become the crown princess of Genovia and rule the country?” Remus asks. “Yes, you still have to do all that. If only the basics.”

“But why?”

“‘Cos I said so,” Remus quips, leaning forward as Sirius leans back, a scarred hand falling naturally against his sharp shoulder.

“Ooh, you’re in trouble now, Princess,” James says. “An angry Remus is formidable.”

“I’m not angry.” Remus reaches over Sirius for a grape, his nose brushing black hair.

Sirius softens from the brush of touch alone. It is an intense thing to see, not private but intimate nonetheless. They must be seeing, you decide, curling tighter again in the armchair and craving another box of biscuits. For the first time since the funeral, you aren’t feeling off centre. You just feel like you, home again, an itch to sketch in your hands battered down by fatigue. It’s been such a long day, yet you stay your leave.

“Scratch my hair?” Sirius asks.

Remus hums. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, please, Remus. Just scratch it, don’t be selfish.”

“He’s a sponge for it,” James tells you. “Couldn’t be touched when we met him, mind, but now he won’t leave you alone once you’ve said yes. If he asks you to draw shapes on his arm, save yourself and say no.”

You wouldn’t mind, you don’t think. Sirius sees it on your face and grins.

James decides to appease Sirius while Remus refuses and ushers him his way. He runs a big hand through Sirius' hair, fingers combing to the ends, and then he goes up the back of his neck, where he begins to scratch long circles. “That’s better,” Sirius says, falling back against James’ leg. “I always thought I should be a prince, you know. I like the royal treatment.”

“Didn’t get much royal treatment as a lord, did you?” Remus asks.

“You’re a lord?” you ask.

“I could’ve been. I was the heir,” Sirius says, tone taking on a dripping disdainfulness that seems tired of real emotion.

“Lord of the most Noble House of Black,” James says. “Only he ditched them. Quite dramatically.”

“Thank goodness,” Remus says.

Sirius looks at you again. Both exhausted and unaffected, like the deepest pain has passed. You can see the weariness of someone who’s spent days at a long dinner table, though now he sits slouched and cared for against your ratty sofa, and it suits him more. “My family is traditional, and I’m less so. I could never have lived the life I was supposed to. It probably would have killed me. So I left, and I was lucky enough to be taken care of by another oh so noble family.”

“The Potter’s aren’t noble,” James says quickly. “I’m not a lord or heir or anything.”

“Well, you are heir of the Potter name and riches and all,” Remus says, taking Sirius’ plate of snacks into his lap. He folds a thick piece of the bread and butter and offers it to Sirius before eating the last one.

“Yes…” James gives Remus a pointed look, which Remus ignores. “But it’s not like the Black family. You might actually meet them, one day.”

“Pray not,” Sirius says to himself.

“Hmm. The Potter’s are an older family too, but not like the Black’s. The Black’s have deep Genovian roots, my family are–” James’ cheeks take colour. “Rich, yes. Very rich.”

“But you work,” you say.

“I think I’d go mad if I couldn’t.” He must spot the look of guilt you fail to thwart. “But it’s different. To grow up completely looked after, I’ve never had to do anything I didn’t want to do.”

“That’s not what I’ve been led to believe,” Remus cuts in, laughing, meeting James’ eyes, “all that homework you needed my help with, you did that willingly?”

You laugh at James’ faked annoyance and their matching chuckles. Time that night seems to slip away, and it’s well past midnight when you fall asleep, still curled in your chair.

In the morning, you wake up in bed.

You pull a pillow over your face, cold underside to your boiling skin. How did I get here? you ask yourself, terrified of the answer.

—

Honestly, your flat isn’t the nicest. It’s clean as you can manage, but there’s damp in the bathroom and it’s rather squashed. James finds himself squinting in disgust at the door at the front of the building which still doesn’t open properly (and so can be jimmied) despite his annoyed email to the landlord where he’d cited a few chosen laws and threatened to withhold the rent, though he supposes it had no weight because James isn’t the one paying it. Still, he can’t deal with this. He has to convince you to move. A gated community might be a shout; he’d worry less if you lived among the rich and their security cameras.

But he doesn’t suppose the best course of action here is to displace you again. You like your flat, he thinks, hadn’t you told him before that you liked the quiet? Or was it the noise? It’s not like London has a reputation for peace. He’s still not sure how you ended up living in central London: he commits to ask.

James isn’t going to give up on you. He wants you to be princess, The Princess, he wants you to take your place as Queen of Genovia one day. Not because you’re the only one who can stop fucking Baron Riddle from ruling Genovia as a tyrant bastard, but because it’s your birthright. You run from something that could be so special to stay here, alone and lonely. He knows it’s harsh to think of it that way, and yet he does. And, selfishly, he wants to stay with his friends. He wants to be your friend. If the Riddle family control Genovia he can say goodbye to his job, and he can say goodbye to the life he’s made. He could make another one, of course, but he has a feeling about you.

He takes the stairs past the huge discarded mattress and a floor covered in mail to your flat. The door is propped open which he hates, but Mikkelson is inside, sitting at the kitchen table with you, drinking a polite cup of tea. Sirius leans up against a counter with his own.

“Good morning,” James says.

You’re wearing jogging bottoms, socks, and a t-shirt with a charcoal smudge on the neck. It has short, short sleeves, showcasing the lengths of your arms. James is only a boy, following the curve of one down to your hand.

You glance at your arm, then him. “Good morning?”

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks to save himself.

“It’s warm out?” you say, peering around Mickey to check the sunshine coming from the window. “It’s warm in here, at least.”

“Mickey, are you ready?” James asks.

Mickey thanks you for the tea and leaves, tired in the eyes. James slaps him on the shoulder as he goes.

Sirius stretches backwards. When he rises up, he fixes James with a cool look. “Jamie, I’ve just heard from our royal sweetness that you’ve been calling me her stylist.”

You flinch. “Uh–”

“Well,” James says, grinning as he settles against the doorframe, “it is how Lily introduced you.“

“Ah, yes, Lily Evans. Longtime frenemy. I expected it from her. I didn’t realise you were driving the narrative home in my absence.”

“Sirius, you do style her, you realise.”

“I’m a media coach!” Sirius sniffs. “And a gentleman in waiting, for the time being.”

“You’re more than a coach,” James says.

“Yes, well. I’m not a stylist. At least, that’s not my first priority. I’m miffed with you now, so steer clear of me.” Sirius says, ferrying back to the living room.

James hears the clunk of his modest briefcase being opened. You start to apologise, but he shakes his head with a grin. “Please ignore him, he’s kidding.” He traces the side of your face in the light. “Your bruise is almost gone.”

Your fingers flit to your cheek and the well of your eye. “Yeah. Yeah, it's only sore now.”

“Little yellow in the crease.” Hard to see if you’re not really looking.

“It feels like it was a really long time ago,” you say, standing from your chair with a wobble.

“You alright?” he asks.

You make for the kettle, flicking it on. “Fine. Tea, coffee?”

“Sure, I’ll have some tea. What’s Sirius doing up so early?”

“He didn’t say yet.”

You take a mug from the cupboard printed in autumn leaves. James hears a rough sound and turns to the living room on instinct, hard pressed to hold in a laugh as he watches Sirius right your knocked coffee table. James had taken Remus back to the accommodation last night while Sirius insisted he’d stay. It’s not nice to be alone, he’d said simply. When James turns back to the kitchen, you’ve placed a tea bag and a teaspoon in the mug, jug of milk waiting, jar of brown sugar cracked. “It’s gone solid,” you warn, “there’s nothing wrong with it though, I promise.”

“I only have a little. Here, I can do it. Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, we had toast. Did you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says.

James has said goodbye to professionalism. Not safety, not doing his job, but if what you need to be the crown princess is a friend, James will be your friend. He can do that easily. It feels a little odd after fighting it for the time you spent in Genovia, but he’s done with pretending you’re not cutesy.

“What are you going to do today?” he asks, coming up behind you, close enough to see the dark pupil of your eye and the white of the kitchen light against it.

“Um, well, Sirius is going to help me tender my resignation at the bar, and then I guess I have a driving lesson? I should probably try to catch up on my assignments, or. I don’t know, maybe I’ll drop out.” Your eyes widen slightly. “Not because I want to do nothing. I just– I can– can try again. A fresh start at a proper university.”

James holds the top of your arm. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t have to decide anything today. I’m sure you can take a sabbatical for your current term, Sirius can help you sort that out, just until you decide. Or you could drop out tonight and think about it all later. You have time. I didn’t think for a second it was because you want to do nothing, and even if I did, that’s not bad either.” His thumb crests a small circle, pushing up the line of your sleeve.

Your lips part for a moment before you answer, as though practising. “Thank you, James.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“I bet you don’t think so.”

James pats your shoulder gently, then reaches for the kettle as it flicks off, boiled. “Can I suggest an addendum to your calendar?”

“Sure.”

“I was thinking you could try another counselling session.”

You blink, stopped with a tea bag in hand. “Why?”

“The first one went well, didn’t it?”

“But I’m home now.”

“That doesn’t erase the last week.” Nearly two now, since you found out.

You push your mug toward his and he fills it with hot water. He follows suit and adds his own milk, stirring it together quickly. His spoon on the sides is a biting clink, clink, clink.

“Things have felt a bit staccato, haven’t they?” he asks.

You nod, toying with the handle of your mug.

“It would be nice for you to have something constant. Some stability. And we can arrange for you to have private care here, you know.”

“I have stability,” you argue unsurely. “You and Remus and Sirius, and Frank, too. Is he coming back?”

“Frank’s having some time off with his partner, but he’ll be here soon.” He laughs, pushing the body of his teabag against the side of his mug, the brown of the tea seeping into the milk in a wave. “I don’t think you can get rid of me, however hard you wanna try.”

“I wasn’t trying to get rid of you.”

James looks up. He catches your eye. Again, the dark of your pupil shines and shakes, not sure where to look, but your lip stays in a firm line like you’ve been chastened. He remembers flicking you under the chin the last time you’d looked at him like that. He could do it again, but he fears Sirius’ judgement. “I know,” he says, voice soft with his low volume. “I’m teasing.”

“Would you not?” you ask.

“So spritely today! Alright, is your tea done? Let’s go sit in the living room and make a list.”

“A list?”

“Of things you want to do,” he says, scooping the tea bag from his mug.

“I don’t know what I want to do.” You take his spoon to remove your tea bag.

You chuck it in the sink, pulling your mug to your chest. You don’t sound happy about making the list, but you follow him obligingly to the living room where Sirius is brushing his hair from his face, a list of his own coming to life on his knee.

“Not more duties for me?” you ask tentatively.

Sirius makes grabbing hands for James’ mug. James, with a sigh, lets him have it. Sirius takes a glutinous sip and doesn’t offer it back.

“I’m sorry I didn’t clear up your job status when talking to the Princess, Pads. Can we ever be friends again?” James says in defeat.

“I’ll think about it,” Sirius says, not bothering to meet James’ eyes. “And to answer your question, your sweetness, it’s not for you, don’t worry. I’m trying to make sure Remus’ medical information is being properly swapped over. It’s…” Sirius takes another sip of tea and then thankfully passes it back. “A headache. Doctors.”

“Does Remus know you’re doing that?” James asks, sitting on the empty sofa. You take the seat beside him.

“Not yet. It’s not– not like it’s not part of my job. He works for the princess, I work for the princess, I might as well make sure he’s tip top shape to do that.” Sirius gets that look James recognises for not wanting to talk about the thing he’s talking about anymore, his eyes lighting up predictably. “What’s on your agenda today?”

“I suppose we’ll be taking the Princess to the shops at some point. You needed some bits?” he asks.

You noticeably fluster but don’t answer.

“And then after that I’ll be taking her for her first driving lesson.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait, you're teaching me?”

“Well, just to begin with,” James says. He squints at you. “I’m a good driver, I’ll have you know.”

Sirius rolls his eyes.

“I am! And besides, who do I trust more than me? And you trust me, don’t you?” he asks you.

You cross your arm over your chest. “Yeah, ‘course.”

James’ grin is evident in his tone. “Good. Because after that we’ll be endeavouring into the land of self-defence.”

“What?”

“With a safety mat, don’t worry.”

You nibble your bottom lip. “Well, I wasn’t until you said that.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 3 months ago

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I remember your submission about H and national security implications. So, with the new Boris revelation- that he had a talk about Harry just before megxit to convince him to stay- what do you think about this from a national security angle?

To me, it seems, that the uk govt also realised what the possible implications could be if Harry's loyalties landed on the wrong side. Do you think that is why, as a last resort, the then PM was recruited to have an informal chat with him? Obviusly harry is so thick and daft, that he would take any allegations of possible defection very poorly. But, surely that must have been a point of discussion at the palace as well as 10 downing.

It seems that everyone but Harry, took his leaving very seriously. And he didn't realise the repercussions until just recently. What else do you will could think might come out about megxit?

So first, the palace has announced that they never asked Boris to speak to Harry. I think what probably happened is one of the following two scenarios:

Scenario A: The Queen discussed Megxit with him in one of their weekly audiences and he thinks she’s asking him to problem solve this, so Boris steps in.

Scenario B: It was Charles/Clarence House that asked Boris to step in and not the palace, but Boris doesn’t know the difference. (Which is very plausible considering that he confirmed in his memoir he never read his briefing papers and often learned things from The Queen herself.)

Second, there’s no national security angle to this. It was made very clear that take away their demands in the Megxit Manifesto - which the BRF did at the Sandringham Summit - the Sussexes didn’t actually have a plan for what they were going to do. Where would they live? Were they going to lease/rent or buy? What would they do about transportation? How would they pay for their expenses? For childcare? For security? What would they do for work? Would they immigrate or just live there? What kind of visas did Harry need? Could they keep their diplomatic passports or did they need to get regular ones? Etc, etc. That’s probably how they got the 1-year trial period; there was no plan and the little plan there was wasn’t realistic.

The BRF was doing everything they could to make the Sussexes wake up to the reality that the grass wasn’t greener on the other side and that Harry, especially, was too dependent on the machinations of the monarch - living expenses paid for, generational wealth, do-nothing career, household staff, drivers - to be able to manage it exclusively and entirely alone without support. Since the Sussexes weren’t listening to the BRF, someone thought an “outsider” might be able to make them listen and Boris (who’s very much equally privileged and tone-deaf on similar issues) was chosen. Or self-appointed.

I think had the BRF called the Spencers in to help, they might’ve had a chance but it was still too late because once Meghan got Archie out of the country, she was gone and if she was gone, so was Harry. The opportune time to get the Spencers involved would’ve been Summer 2019 or right after Africa. But even then, I’m not sure that the Spencers would’ve been able to do anything; at that time, Harry wasn’t speaking to the Earl (he either no-showed or was NFI to Archie’s christening) and he was probably the only one that could’ve made the Sussexes happy, by allowing them to stay in Diana’s home. I know, Althorp wasn’t really her home but the association of Diana to the estate is really strong and probably would’ve mollified the Sussexes long enough for things to cool down but it doesn’t address the issue that Meghan hates the UK and desperately wants the golden glorious glamor of Hollywood.

Harry does seem to have better relationships with Diana’s sisters but I’m not sure they could’ve convinced the Sussexes to change their mind without being able to give them Diana in the way that only Earl Spencer could, as he is the current occupant for Althorp.

But for all I know, maybe they did call the Spencers for help and it just didn’t work. But I don’t think they did, because it would’ve leaked out. Maybe they tried to and Meghan blocked it because she knew once Diana was invoked, it was game over and she’d be stuck. Or maybe she had already invoked Diana to Harry and that’s how she convinced him to do this in the first place and now Diana’s sisters coming in with their version of Diana would undo her hard work.

Anyway. Not really a national security analysis. Personally, I don’t like doing hindsight analysis - where you take everything you know now and apply it to a situation years ago in the last - because then you’re making assumptions and assumptions end up turning opinion into fact. That’s not objective.

I prefer to focus hindsight analysis on “what we knew then” with “what we know now about what we knew then.” Specific to the January 2020 bro-chat, there isn’t much context for that. The only thing that changes is how much anger Harry had at the time, with revelations in all the royal books, towards not being treated exactly the same as William by everyone - his wife, the public, the family, the monarchy, etc.

I can’t comment on the national security aspects of why the PM may or may not have decided to speak with Harry about Megxit because at the time in January 2020, there weren’t concerns about defection or bought loyalty. Not publicly, at least. At the time, the public concerns were about Harry’s relationship with the press, and with that we knew that Harry was friendly with certain members of the press and liked speaking to them because they made him feel important. Remember, the interview with the Russian pranksters where the general public began to realize “wait a minute…” wasn’t until March 2020.

I don’t know that I have anymore predictions for Megxit. Obviously the biggest issue is whether Archie is “of the body” as there’s been a lot of speculation Megxit happened (partially) to obscure that. I’m not sure we’ll ever get the answer to that.

Some other guesses:

Exactly when, where, and with whom all the contract negotiations for their content deals (Quibi, Netflix, Spotify, The Bench, Penguin Random House, and Oprah) began. There’s a lot of very plausible speculation that these talks (and Netflix filming) began way before 2020.

The press lawsuits - who, what, where, when, and how. I want to know everything - who finally convinced Harry to sue? What role did Elton really have in it? Who’s bankrolling the lawsuits? Did Harry seek lawyers out or did lawyers seek Harry out? How much influence did Meghan have on the lawsuits? Were the lawsuits preemptive to get Fleet Street to stop investigating or talking about the inconsistencies in Archie’s birth?

The exact details and timing of how Megxit went down. Who stayed with Archie, and where, while the Sussexes were in the UK each time? Who financed their expenses? When did Trudeau learn that he was footing their entire bill and how long before he booted the Sussexes - was it immediate or was it only when the public began complaining? When did Meghan start complaining about Canada and began demanding they move to the US? When did Oprah and Tyler Perry come into the picture? How long did they really plan to stay in Canada before moving to the US? Did they take advantage of the Covid panic to expedite their US move or were they already in the US before the revenge tour? What did/does Dan Wootton know that he didn’t publish? What did/does Scobie know about Megxit? Was the BRF aware that the goal was always to move to the US? Did the BRF really believe it was the media that made the Sussexes quit? Did the Sussexes really quit monarchy or did The Queen actually fire them as speculated

#sussexes #brf #national security #theories #megxit

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never-goingtopostanything · 2 months ago

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Eternyx headcanons!

Night Swan despite being a dictator does not actively rule Eternyx if an issue is brought directly to her she hands it off to Jack to deal with, she is too busy with her take over of the danceverses to rule over Eternyx.

There are very few police in Eternyx because of how much violent crimes there is and no-one wants to put there lives at risk when their families can hardly survive as it is.

There is a total of 5 schools, 2 primary schools and 3 high schools, in Eternyx they are all over filled and understaffed, Jack is trying and failing to get more staff in the five schools and more schools built, Night Swan refuses to give him a budget to do so.

2/3 of teens and children don't have parents and live either in shitty apartments or on the streets, half of them were abandoned because their parents couldn't care for them and the other halves parents are dead. Eternyx has no orphanages for parents to give up their children too.

The people of Eternyx can barely afford to live but Night Swan charges a ridiculous amount of money to travel by starship to a different danceverse so they can't even leave because they can't afford to pay to get on a starship.

Only 3% of people are able to get qualifications when leaving school each year, those qualifications are often low level qualifications, only one or two people will get higher qualifications and get decent jobs.

There is no way to pursue higher education in Eternyx, anyone who has left school and wants to continue learning will end up working for years just to leave Eternyx and that's assuming they aren't leaving to get their basic qualifications in the first place in which case they might never get a job in the first place and will therefore never be able to get qualifications.

There is over 5,000 prisons in Eternyx every one of them holds 1,000 people they are all filled, there is constant break outs because there is maybe 3 guards per prison, the prisons are constantly being raided by citizens because there is food it might be shitty food but it's food and the majority of people or starving they'll take whatever they can get, prison food is better than no food.

The only good thing about Eternyx is that there is free healthcare, it's a recent thing and it only happened because Jack was able to convince Night Swan that no one would pay for healthcare because of how shitty it is, so now people get free healthcare but they do need to pay for medication from pharmacies so she's not really loosing much.

Eternyx is the only danceverse that still has executions, they are very public events that citizens are forced to attend, there are at least 10 a day, if someone is caught not attending an execution then they will be executed so people will leave work, school and appointments just to be just the executions so they won't be in danger.

The public is unaware that Night Swan is kidnapping coaches as far as they are concerned the minions are wilfully working for Night Swan and they don't know she is planning to take over the other danceverses.

The public is also under the impression that Night Swan is working to improve their living situations, she obviously is not trying to fix the problems in Eternyx but the people don't know that. When Night Swan started to rule Eternyx it was in a much worse state than what it currently is in.

Underage drinking is a massive problem once Jack set up a volunteer run program where people would be paid to go into bars and clubs and try to find out the ages of the people there and kick them out if they are underage, it backfired because people would get their friends to sign up for it then they kick each other out get the money then they would go out to an other bar or club the next day, the volunteer system was shut down by the end of the month it was introduced. Mihaly and their friends exploited this system the entire time it was active.

Eternyx only has one large major city that is still standing which is a popular tourist place since it is considered the only place safe in Eternyx, Swan tower is in the centre of that city overlooking the whole city. The city itself looks gorgeous with pink and purple lights all over the place keeping the city bright at all times, Night Swan sends her minions to keep the city clean as well if you don't get distracted by the lights then you will notice that there are homeless people everywhere you look.

Eternyx has the highest poverty and homelessness rates out of all the danceverses by almost 40% more than the next highest.

there is a country side that is beautiful during the winter but no one ever goes to it because of how cold it gets during the winter.

Because of the eternal night Eternyx is always cold.

Cygnus city was destroyed when a factory exploded and caused dangerous chemicals to leak over the entire city.

The dark flow in Eternyx often causes people who don't have a high resistance to it to become incredibly ill and in some cases die.

#jd jack rose #just dance #just dance jack rose #night swan just dance #jd night swan #just dance fandom #just dance 2024 #just dance 2023 #jd2024 #jd2023 #just dance headcanon #just dance eternyx #headcanon #jack rose just dance

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caramelcleopatraa · 10 months ago

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vi. SUIT & TIE

word count : 2.1k

x : hello hello hello beautiful people! it's finally starting to get good you guys! (lol) as always, excuse the errors you see, and leave comments.... I love comments. I do have a taglist! comment down below if you want me to add you <3

content: Mafia!Roman Reigns x Designer!Reader, suggestive themes, 18+

Your outfit for today

It was a surprisingly quiet Saturday morning. Today your shop was closed, but your staff was still working tirelessly to finish the influx of custom orders. This was no uncommon flux however, it was that time of the year. La Mesa Alta’s annual ball was right around the corner, and people were coming to you so that they could scrounge together some outfits. You’ve been on your feet for a while, cutting at different types of fabric, sewing, perfecting, and repeating. This would be a vicious cycle, but you loved creating too much to be burdened by the workload and demand requested of you and your staff. If anything, that demand made you work harder.

A busy 4 hours later, you finally get the chance to sit down. It’s been a day already, and it's only noon. You were a little concerned that Mercedes didnt get back to you at 10, but you knew she would call you back at some point in the day. You open your laptop, and see a notification at the top from a name you didn't expect.

! 1 Gmail Notification from [email protected]

‘I know you’re fucking lying’

“Umm Gio! Mads! Here… and quickly!” They hurry quickly to your side and look at your computer. “What is i- what the fuck is that?” Gio says, pointing at the notification in the top right corner. Madison folds her arms across her chest and sits in her hip, rolling her eyes “I know that’s not who I think it is.” You hear Gio sigh and add on, “This bitch.”

“Calm down with the ad libs alright? Who is this girl anyway? I didn't know anything about her until she came into my shop.” You felt like you were missing out on some important information. Everyone knew about this girl except for you, and you know everyone. Usually. “Oh, I forgot, you weren't out here when she was acting a damn fool.” ‘Excuse me?’

“When was this?” You sit back in the swivel chair, looking at Gio. “While you had your appointment with Roman. She was looking through the clothes saying that her friend JT could make one design better than your entire rack.” ‘THE FUCK?!’

You didn’t stand for disrespect. Both of them knew that. So they knew that this wasn't gonna slide by you. “Lemme see what this email is about,” you say, typing in your password and opening up your Gmail. You were in no way excited nor looking forward to anything that this email was going to say.

Good Morning Ms. Semele,

Hello, I hope I'm not bothering you.

‘You are.’

I admired your shop and your staff so much! Working at your shop seems like such an honor.

‘This fake ass bitch.’

I was wondering how I can apply for a job there. I would like to work closer with the best fashion designers in the east coast, and you are deserving of the title.

‘Whaaaaaaat?!’

Please email me back at [email protected]

~ With love, De’arra Washington

It was dead silent for the next minute and a half. She talks shit about your shop and then wants paid employment here the next day? You had seen all of it. ‘Maybe this can be helpful?’ With this influx of orders, you had been putting your staff through overtime. Maybe one more person could lighten the load for them. You didn't like the idea of her working at your shop based on what you had heard, but if she was offering help, you were going to give her a chance. You clicked the three dots and selected reply and typed a short response.

Hello,

Thank you. Much appreciated. Could you send in a resume please, so that I can look at your work experience?

~ Y/N Semele

“What the hell are you doing?” Madison looks at you with wide eyes. “Calm down, I don't plan to employ her, I just want to see if she’s any good. I already have another person who wants to work here that has a good resume.”

RING RING

Your phone buzzes loud against the counter and an unknown number displays at the top. You pick up the phone to hear a voice you had been waiting to hear all morning.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it's Mercedes. I’m calling from my personal phone.” Fucking finally. “What happened to 10am?” She chuckled to herself and replied, “Got busy. Do you want the information or not?” “I paid good money, didn't I?” She sighs and says, “Fair.” I settled into the chair and put the phone on speaker. You told Madison to tell the other employees to take their lunch break while you three listened to Mercedes give a rundown on De’arra. She joins back with you and Gio and you tell Mercedes that you're ready.

“Alright. De’arra Washington, daughter of Kenan Johnson. He was one of the richest thiefs in the west coast. Specifically in California and Oregon. He stole everything from pencils to old paintings to jewelry. He was on the run for a while, so he fled to Florida and started his own family business and made that into a family mafia. Here in Florida, he met up with a prostitute and turned her into a housewife and had a baby girl while orchestrating robberies from the comfort of his home. De’arra is all kinds of spoiled. Barely got her high school diploma, and her father bribed the president of Howard University so she could study there. Got into a lot of trouble up there stealing shit.. Who would've guessed. And daddy was there to save her. After 2 years, she decided she didn’t want the college life and desired wealth, like her father and moved back to Florida. Speaking of Kenan, he's been eyeing Roman since he moved down here. That’s probably why De'arra is hanging onto him like a lost child. If I knew anything from my years in this business, I'd guess that they are the family trying to challenge Roman, or disassemble the Anoa’i family.”

“So you’re telling me that I'm dealing with a girl with a case of sticky fingers?” She laughs lightly and says, “Basically.”

! 1 Gmail Notification from [email protected]

This must be the resume.

Of course! Here is my resume

resume.pdf

~ With love, De’arra Washington

“Is she emailing you?” Mercedes asks, her tone laced with confusion, understandable though. “Yeah, I'm gonna see what she can do or if she can help me out here at the shop.”

“I've seen her resume before, it's forged. She’s only worked at minimum wage jobs. So anything that has to do with corporate jobs and fashion design is fake as fuck.” ‘What the hell is going on here?!’

“You still gonna give her a chance?” Gio says, reading the fake resume. “She’s not getting a chance, but I'm still gonna let her do a training session today so I can see what she is about.”

2:30 pm

You emailed her back and told her to come here at 2:30 pm to do a training session, which would technically be more like orientation. Both Gio and Madison knew that this could go sideways quickly if she tries something, but they also knew that you weren’t dumb. You knew how to handle yourself in bad situations. And you didn’t let anyone push you around. A red corvette sped across the huge display windows and disappeared into the parking lot on the side of the building. You took a deep breath to prepare yourself for the foolery you were going to face today. You fixed up your desk space and closed the file filled with De’arra’s personal information.

You heard the door open and saw two people walking in. “Ms. Semele?” You give her a polite smile and depart from your desk to shake her hand. There she was, wearing a pink crop top stopping right below her breasts and dark ripped jeans with pink butterfly strappy heels. She was hand in hand with someone you didn't know you would see today.

“Hey Ms. Expert.”

That made you genuinely smile. “Didn’t think I'd see you here again. Helping out the missus?” He smiles at you and slowly licks his lips, eyes drifting up and down your body. His eyes found yours and he focused all of his attention on you. “Yeah, I said I was gonna take care of her, and imma do just that.” De’arra gushes and latches onto his arm, but he doesn't budge; he keeps his eyes on you, smirking at you, adding the cherry on top. ‘Was he saying that to me?’ You briefly remember the last time you two spoke in person, and it seems like he was going to make good on his words.

“Oh good, you're here, you can put your stuff in the faculty room. That ok Y/N?” Gio says walking in from the factory downstairs. “Yeah that’s fine. I need to talk with Roman anyways,” You reply, and Gio gives you a simple head nod. “What do you need to talk to him for?” You look at De’arra and she is already sizing you up. You laughed to yourself. There’s no way she’s really trying to pull these strings right now. “About La Mesa Alta’s annual ball.” You kept it short and sweet. Of course, that's not what you guys were actually going to talk about, but you needed to get her off your back. “Well my family is going to be added to La Mesa Alta too, so I should be a part of this conversation,” De’arra demands. “The only thing you should be a part of is your training session. Give me a second i'll be right there,” You fired back, shutting down her request. He trails behind you, but doesnt get far, due to De’arra’s small hand latching onto his wrist.

“You guys can just talk out here-”

“Hell no.” You were getting sick of this back and forth already. “Well why the hell not?”

“Because it’s a private conversation about mafia business.” You could feel that she was already catching an attitude. “Well what type of mafia business involves you being in a room with him alone?” ‘This bitch..’ You turned around for the final time, and your face couldn’t hide the fact that you were fed the hell up. “The type of mafia business that doesn't involve you. Come on Roman.” He follows you into the room and closes the door.

You wipe your hands across your face and catch him looking at you with a sly smirk. “Don’t look at me like that.” He walks closer to you and takes his hand in yours and holds it above your head, twirling you to face away from him. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind. You close your eyes and melt into his touch. You forgot how much you liked his touch. “That was so sexy.” His breath gave you tingles as he talked into the crook of your neck. “You missed me baby?” While he was luring you with his voice, his hands sneakily dipped into the waistband of your sweats. You turned your head to look at him and gently grab his chin. Your eyes shift from his eyes to his lips, and you lean in to kiss him, but his fingers teasing your folds stop you. “I didn't hear an answer.” He was already making you melt, and you were loving every single second of it. “Y-yes baby I missed you.” He was teasing you, getting close to your lips and then pulling away while rubbing at your sensitive clit. You couldn't stand it. You pull his chin closer to you, trying your hardest to kiss him, but he keeps pulling away still.

“Please baby, kiss me.” You wanted to feel his lips on yours so badly. Without warning his right hand clasps around your neck and finally attaches his lips to yours. His left hand was hard at work, pinching and applying pressure to your clit, while both of your tongues are fighting for dominance. You grind your hips against his hand, giving up on dominance for the time being and letting him take over. He takes his hands off of your neck to tug your tube top down to your waist, freeing your breasts. You moan into his mouth, feeling his warm hands grab at your breasts and the pressure building up between your legs. “Fuck baby that feels so goo-”

BANG BANG BANG

“De’arra decided she doesn't want to do her training session. She’s going to file a complaint to La Mesa Alta to have your shop shut down.”

‘Are you fucking serious?’

🏷️tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @cyberdejos2

#roman reigns #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x y/n #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x chubby reader #roman reigns x oc #joe anoa'i #roman reigns x you #caramelcleopatraa #[ S & T ]

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houseofbrat · 5 months ago

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Have it on good authority that Angelina was known as crazy at the UN by many of the staff members, and the actual reason she left is because she demanded to be made a Diplomat instead of Goodwill Ambassador and gave them an ultimatum, make me a Diplomat or I will leave. They said no, and she left.

Angelina has such a long history of using her children in the press I can't believe more people aren't critical of this.

Not taking away from what a nightmare Brad is, obviously he sucks.

Thank you for bringing this up. I have heard similar things from friends working in international aid organizations often contracted to work with the UN. Also, remember all of the press and accolades she received due to her association with William Hague and how they created an Initiative for violence against women in conflict zones? It was basically abandoned shortly after its creation. Granted Hague retired so she shouldn’t shoulder the entire blame, but considering Angelina continues to receive special treatment as an actress who isn’t like the rest of Hollywood — sHe AcTuAlLy CaReS — I find it astounding that this has had no impact on her. If she needed to take a step back due to family or health issues, that’s okay! It doesn’t take a lot to do a handoff to other (more qualified and capable!) individuals and cut a check and continue to support with fundraising. But to have an independent governmental body say that you’re “letting down survivors” due to your inaction or lack of interest is absolutely something that deserves attention.

Here’s a Guardian article which gives a great summary: https://amp.theguardian.com/global-development/2020/jan/09/letting-survivors-down-criticism-for-william-hague-angelina-jolie-sexual-violence-in-war-zones-scheme

And here’s the report: https://icai.independent.gov.uk/psvi/

Also have it on good will that when she visited the Houses of Parliament she was a diva nightmare from hell, so there’s that too

Her move to the UN was motivated by public relations. She contacted them and pitched that she be a representative for Unicef, the UN agency that provide humanitarian aid children. The UN said no. Her image at that point wasn't what the UN wanted associated with children. So she ended up working for refugees.

Not surprised by this at all. I knew a few people who did international aid work in various places and Jolie was well known as a opportunistic fake who came, took pictures, and then returned to her 5 star hotel.

I know someone who knew Brad and AJ in similar circles and his biggest takeaway is how very “not bright” they both are.

I’ve posted about this before and most people don’t believe me but that’s ok .. Brad wanted the kids to be disciplined, in school, not be spoiled - and Angelina wanted to be their bestie, buying whatever they wanted and letting them do whatever they wanted. Now she just talks shit about him, brainwashing them into to believing he’s the devil. He’s not perfect by any stretch, but from what I know, she’s way worse than what is presented in the media. Very manipulative, calculating and nasty. Source: I’m an almost 60 year old woman who used to work in the entertainment industry and still have many friends in their circle.

Everything you say! I have two solid sources who are a-list and one of them works with her, the other share a team member. Shes a menace. Im team no one but their kids but truly she is dangerously manipulative. Perfect example she paid someone to build her fashion line, promised them co-creator credit and when it was time for it to be debuted in Vogue, called the editor and specifically said don’t name the main designer. The main designer found it and when confronted Angelina continuously denied and eventually pretended it didn’t even happen. Shes not all there. Source: been in industry for two decades and around these two quite a bit

This is essentially what I had heard as well. He had a more traditional approach to parenting, like set bedtimes, cooked family meals together, time-outs when the kids acted up, asking them to do their share of chores, etc. and she just didn’t believe in any of it. It was a constant source of friction. He was supposedly really unhappy that the kids ate a lot of junk and fast food as their meals. And yes, when things tanked between them, she worked on them to alienate them from him.

I used to work in the executive offices at Warner Bros in the late 00’s and this absolutely tracks with everything I heard about them from the other assistants and receptionists.

That seems like her PR spin though. I’ve heard (from reliable sources) that her refusal to set any kind of boundaries or discipline of any kind with the children was the main issue between them and ultimately was the match in the powder keg of the ugly airplane incident. Her older kids especially have no respect for authority. He wanted more structure and discipline. Now they are *gasp “troubled.” Who could have foreseen it? He “lunged at” the oldest kid (who is also “troubled” now) and Angelina jumped on his back. Not his best moment for sure but he doesn’t have a history of violence. Since then he’s been sober for eight years.

#reddit #celebrities #celebrity gossip #rumors...conjecture #my gif

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qedmirage · 2 months ago

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Chapter 14 awaits! Let's go go go!!! As ever, gameplay thoughts first and then story thoughts below the cut. Which means...first off, disappointment!

Up until 13-5 instead of new mechanics you're dealing with Londinium Second Defence Artillery again, my least favorite arc 2 mechanic! At least I have a lot of practice dealing with it now. It was just kinda disappointing to see it come back...in my head I know it allows for a few interesting ways to handle things as you deliberately cause blue-on-blue incidents (for them) but I've never liked how it seems like the targeting can switch last second because a single scrimblo touched your defender. Once past that though we get a new mechanic, centered around these guys:

Bloodborn Spawn and Blood Ambers are hilariously tuned to be countered by Hoederer exactly. But enjoyably there's a bunch of ways past them. For those not familiar, the spawn deal arts damage and lifesteal; they also deal increased damage the more of them a single target is blocking. That makes them really good at chewing through defenders and really awful at fighting Crushers exactly; their enormous HP pools mean they're the best at tanking these guys. When defeated, Spawn turn into Ambers, which have enormous defences (3k Def, 90 Res) and negative taunt. If they're within the range of a Bloodcalling Altar, they'll die and spawn a Bloodborn Spawn at the altar when it activates its skill (every 20 seconds). So, many stages revolve around managing this endless tide of respawning arts-damage scrubs. And enjoyably, there's a ton of ways to deal with them! Some examples: - Hoederer's True damage to burn down Ambers - Virtuosa S3 to necrosis-> True damage Ambers - Ceobe S2 Mod3; with 3k defence she does enormous damage to Ambers - Manticore + Ascalon, who can infinitely stall the respawning horde - Pushers or Pullers to shove Spawn into holes, preventing respawning And I'm sure there's more. This was also the first episode I played entirely on its Hard (Adverse) mode, and it was a fun experience, with only 2 or 3 stages (13-5,13-15,13-21) giving me enough trouble that I felt the need to refer to a guide for ideas. The TF2 bomb-pushing mechanic is incredibly funny ('so then I rammed a VBIED into him') and gives Marksmen a day in the sun as the game's gradually inflating defences slowly leaves them behind. I suspect Exusiai would actually be good at killing phase 2 of the episode boss, if you could time it so her skill activates after a bomb hits him. The other new enemies are interesting enough; special mention to the Fluxcaster, which slowly grinds down my Ambusher Stall strat; and the Boneguard Torturer, who gets you thinking about splitting enemies up or using truly insane numbers of DPS. The Welfare op, Delphine, is cool and one of the few I've leveled, though I'm a known Mystic Caster partisan. I wish her last talent was just an anti-sarkaz one instead of a chapter 13 only one, but alas. Her animations and art are great though, 6* levels of glam on a free 5*. On to the story below the cut. Spoilers abound!

There's a lot that happens in this one, so much that it's kinda hard to pull out a specific overarching thread - it's an ensemble story alright - but I'm gonna be my boring self and start with the milhist portion. Which is, the Victorian Dukes get owned. This whole chapter is a gradually escalating military disaster that will be taught in Columbian war colleges to illustrate the perils of divided command.

For four goddamn years the Dukes have been locked in a stalemate with the KMC and each other. In that time they failed to stop enemy resupply, they failed to exert tactical and strategic pressure on their foe, and they failed to even begin to understand their opponent's strategic and political goals. In the earlier conversations the dukes and their staff are focused mostly on their future wars with each other, not the present war with the Sarkaz. They underestimated their foe and they paid dearly for it; because they gave Theresis time, time enough to build an airship that could blow them up at his leisure, time enough to construct the Shard, time enough to organize and then transport the Nachzeherer Legions via the Lifebone. This isn't actually unrealistic, imo, there are plenty of people IRL who have been way dumber - look up the battle of Bien Dien Phu. But it's striking how much their political infighting cripples them. Even with Caster's intelligence network penetrating Londinium, the Victorian Dukes didn't grasp that Theresis was going to go on the offensive and had the capability to do so. They didn't manage to find the Lifebone and its logistic network before an entire legion had appeared past their interdiction. They didn't even grasp the tactics of the Sarkaz military, until after Theresis's offensive started. The time factor is also truly unforgiveable when you keep in mind a remark that 75% of their armies are conscripts. For people who aren't huge nerds, that means they've been redlining their economies to support field armies full of workers who go and sit in trenches and stare at the Sarkaz while fields and factories go untended back home. For four years! Meanwhile Theresis has been conserving his strength, and only pulls a full mobilization of his best soldiers from Kazdel when he's ready for the decisive moment. And when that decisive moment comes at the end of the chapter, he commits all his forces in a singular thrust. If the Victorian Dukes had done the same at any point in the preceding four years, they'd have taken heavy losses, they may have lost their lives to the next duke to roll in - but they'd been able to win, instead of ceding the strategic initiative to Theresis and letting him choose to fight only when he's sure he can succeed.

They should have listened to Windmere. Anyways, on to other things - the Lifebone!

I love The Lifebone. It's kinda funny how each arc 2 chapter seems to have Theresis get a new mystical superweapon, but in a fun break from pattern the focus for this chapter is... a logistics vessel! It's weird and fantastical and somebody cared about logistics, I love it. Skeleton whale that dives through history to teleport cargo? fuck yeah. Other story bits... It's cool to see Siege step up and become a leader, though it's kinda sad to see the Self-Salvation Corps implode to make room for her to do so. Still, the Exemplars are cool and it's nice to see them fight. I like Amiya's final showdown with the Sanguinarch:

That's our king! She's very fierce!!

I also love the Logos Trans moment ('I thought all banshees were supposed to be girls?' 'correct.' 'oh ok'). But don't forget that in the same scene, Logos flashes back to the first time he used his bone whistle to mark a passing - for himself, and for the old identity of the Sarkaz, just before he left home. Symbolism!

The lives of the Brentwood civilians under occupation, and the Sarkaz officer's attempts to make it better, really ring to historical incidents for me. Alas, the KMC was not aiming for occupation so much as annihilation. The Reunion stuff this chapter was good to see too, their focus on being an all-hands liberation movement really gets to the core of the story past all the wizard nonsense. Not sure what Nowell's doing with them, I guess we'll deal with him later.

#arknights #qedmirage plays arknights #episode 13 #the whirlpool that is passion #arknights episode 13

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 4 months ago

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Don’t Go Blindly Into The Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Meanwhile there is a darkness growing in Ketterdam, and it seems a killer may be stalking the streets of West Stave. An unknown evil is closing its jaws over the city, and it’s starting to feel like nowhere is safe.

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus @i-need-help-this-is-my-obsession @devoted-people-hater

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: implied trafficking references, implied violence, implied death references, threats, implied abuse references, abduction references, separation from family/loss of family

AO3 link

Chapter 56 - Nina

Even after mulling on her words for a few days and giving herself the time to assume that some smaller details may be over exaggerated or entirely fabricated, Nina was still feeling pretty sure that the rumours Siobhan had heard were complete and utter nonsense. Squallers flying, she’d said, and Tidemakers turning to mist? Please. Whatever this drug was, Siobhan had no name for it from whatever hearsay she’d picked up on, and however the story was being spun, this was not the truth. It couldn’t be.

Though the disbelief hadn’t stopped Nina from asking around, had it?

Her contacts in Ketterdam weren’t extensive but they could be considered reasonable enough for her purposes; she was trying to start a conversation to find out whether anyone knew the whereabouts of Wylan’s friend Anya, anyway, so she reasoned that if she was already talking she might as well bring the rumours into it too. And people had heard of it, she started to realise. Jurda parem, they were calling it. She supposed it made sense if it had some link to jurda, the little blossoms were stimulants and to Nina’s understanding it sounded like this - obviously fictional, she promised herself - drug was as well, but it was that second word that bothered her. Parem. A Shu word, she knew. Without pity.

There was nothing solid anyone could really give her, so it was probably just some melodrama that would blow over within the month, but for some reason Nina couldn’t shake it.

The hunt for Anya had been less fruitful. Anyone who had heard of her - which so far was only one Fabrikator from the other side of town, though there was a Squaller at another house on West Stave who’d said he knew someone in the Geldin District who might be able to find out more - could only tell her that they’d heard nothing of the girl since her indenture to Councilman Van Eck came to a somewhat seemingly abrupt end. That was hardly unusual around here; Nina doubted anyone would think twice about it.

Nina could have just waited a few days to see if the Squaller’s contact managed to find anything for her, but she desperately wanted to be able to give Wylan news - even just of progress in searching, if not anything concrete. She thought he needed to hear something good.

“The staff are mostly too well paid to bribe,” said Inej, speaking Suli, as the pair walked down East Stave together, “But I managed to gather a little gossip,”

It had been three days since the de Baal job, and the sun had briefly returned to Ketterdam in between the recent rain showers but the air was still cold and Nina was wrapped snugly into her coat. Inej usually, and to a casual onlooker would have done today, seemed resistant to the weather, but more than once on this walk so far she’d tugged on her long sleeves to pull them over her palms. Nina wasn’t sure if she was cold or if something was on her mind. She wondered if she should ask, but she didn’t want to pry.

The ground was still wet and the cobblestones were slippery underfoot as they strolled, but Nina had been watching Inej with close attention for the past ten minutes and was yet to see her slip or struggle with her injured knee. Good. Inej had neglected to mention it since a few nights ago, the night of her birthday, when she broke into Nina’s room at the White Rose in tears. Nina still wasn’t sure if she’d seen anything in particular when she’d been scoping out the WIllow Switch, or if it was all just too much for her to keep it under wraps any longer. Hopefully, after what Nina had told her that night, Inej wouldn’t feel like she had to keep it buried anymore; if she wanted - needed - to talk, Nina would always be there.

“Apparently there was quite a shouting match the day she left,”

Nina raised an eyebrow.

She’d asked Inej after her fruitless initial attempt at tracking Anya down, if she could try to find out anything about Van Eck sending her away, only if she had time and only as soon as she had a chance. Nina glanced at her watch - it had been about ten hours.

“All I could gather from the servants was that she and Van Eck were briefly alone, and then she ran out in the main hallway shouting for Wylan. They said that she tried to attack Van Eck and the guards had to pin her down,”

“She attacked him?”

“Well,” Inej shrugged, “The servants are also spreading that the reason Wylan left was because he got caught in a sweaty romp with one of his tutors, so I’d probably take their words with a pinch of salt,”

Still, Nina thought, that seems like a development. Nothing that happened in that house ever seemed to quite make sense.

“Do you think…?” Nina hesitated, and glanced at Inej to see that she was staring up at her, patient but expectant, “He wouldn’t have… killed her, would he?”

Inej paused for a moment, her head cocked slightly to one side as she considered. They had both stopped walking for this moment, and Nina found herself rubbing the soft lining of her coat between her thumb and forefinger as she watched Inej’s mind turn. Inej had pulled her sleeve right up over her palm.

“No,” she said, decisively, shaking her head, “No, I don’t think he would have. Where’s the money in that?”

Inej turned to make another step and Nina made to follow her, again trying to study the younger girl’s gate until she looked up and - catching Nina off guard - asked lightly:

“Did you know that Elodie has ten siblings?”

Nina blinked.

“Really?”

“Well, eight living siblings; five older, three younger. She was telling Jeluna about them,”

Nina frowned, nodding slowly. She wasn’t sure where Inej was going with this.

“She’s never met the youngest, her mother was pregnant when she came to Ketterdam,”

Eleven children. Saints, some women were bloody stronger than Nina was.

“I thought…” her voice drifted, thinking of what she had told Inej at the Slat when they’d spoken quietly about Elodie before.

“Her parents?”

Nina nodded.

“I think so. The way she talks about it all, at least, makes me think you were right. It sounds like she all but raised her younger sisters alone; a six year old and a one year old. They… they won’t remember her, will they?”

What was she trying to get at, here? Nina tucked her thumb inside her palm and began to work it against her skin in comforting, repetitive circles. Her earliest memories were all at the Little Palace in Os Alta; groups of small school children, raised by teachers and nurses and in a way each other, peering on tiptoe through the windows of the Palace to see the older Grisha rushing about below on their important missions. She remembered her early lessons, with Healers and Heartrenders alike in their little chairs where some were still so small their feet didn’t touch the ground. She remembered, at least for the most part though maybe the finer details would be lost on her, the dormitory she’d lived in before she was old enough to move into a double room, split with one other student when twelve and deemed an inappropriate age to make them stay with the tiniest of the others, or to have to change in the space shared with so many. She remembered the Civil War, the evacuation of the school to Keramzin, trying to calm the littlest ones from crying even as she had wanted to simply give in and start sobbing herself. She remembered the Darkling’s army finding them, and damn everything straight to hell if she didn’t remember the Shadow Fold. She remembered having her own bed chambers upon her return, and wondering whether she’d reached the age the school deemed proper for it or if there were simply less Grisha than rooms left over.

But Nina didn’t remember the arms that had held her before she could walk. She didn’t remember who had fed her before she sat in a dining hall with dozens of other children. She didn’t remember who dressed her before she learned how to herself, or who gave her the clothes she had travelled in the whole journey to Os Alta. The journey, at least to her faded recollection and a little child’s mind, had been incomprehensibly long, and she had spent it - though this part she no longer remembers very clearly - sat on the bench of a carriage with her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around them as she glared over the top of her knees at the man and woman in the fancy, colourful coats. In her tiny fist she had clutched a handkerchief, someone from wherever she had come from must have given it to her, and with all her minuscule might she tried to keep it safe and secret. But as soon as she arrived at the Little Palace she was led to a small, strange looking room, given a pile of clean clothes, and told to change. She didn’t have a kefta yet, of course, and the children didn’t exactly have a uniform - though there were certain rules expected of them - but they were not allowed to keep the clothes they had arrived in.

“It’s a plague precaution,” the woman in the pretty coat had told her, kneeling down so they were closer to the same height, “We just have to be safe, you understand that don’t you?”

Nina didn’t remember this by now. She didn’t remember nodding at the woman slowly, even though she didn’t really know what that meant. It sounded scary. Everything was scary today.

“And look at these new clothes,” she’d smiled, holding up a blouse that was a crisper white than the one Nina wore beneath her cardigan, clearly much newer, “Aren’t they pretty?”

If Nina really searched her mind, she could bring to the surface some vague snippets of that day. She could remember that her cardigan was a thin, woollen thing, of comfy navy blue. When she took it off she did her best to fold it in front of her to lay it on the table, though it probably looked a mess, and she could remember the golden embroidered crest on the too-small-to-put-anything-in breast pocket. A school uniform, then? But surely Nina had been too small for that, yet? What else could it have been?

She could remember, as well, the embroidered black stitches on the inner tag of the cardigan, that matched the tag of her blouse and skirt and the label inside her shoes; the letters of her name in neat, threaded lines. But she couldn’t remember who had sewn them.

She’d washed all over and then dressed in the clothes that the woman with the pretty coat had left for her, and had then been walked hand-in-hand through the doorway to an entirely new world. That was when they found that she was still clutching her little handkerchief, refusing to give it up. She might have cried, she didn’t remember by now, but plague precautions were plague precautions, Nina needed to be a big strong girl now, and her tears were not appropriate for a future soldier.

“You are special, Nina,” someone had told her - the woman with the pretty coat? Someone different, in a different coloured coat? There were so many of them, all so tall and strong and busy. Nina had never felt smaller, “You are part of the Second Army, now. You are forever part of something bigger than yourself. Isn’t that special? Isn’t that exciting?”

Nina smiled, nodded, let them take her hand and lead her on. She trained and studied and dedicated her entire life to Ravka, to her home, to the country that would love her forever, to the Second Army of which she would now forever be one small cog in the grand machine. She was Grisha, she was special, she was a soldier of the Second Army. That meant something.

They took the handkerchief and burned it, along with the clothes that someone had embroidered for her. Someone for whom Nina had not even done the courtesy of a memory.

“I suppose so,” she said quietly, without looking at Inej.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been happy at the Little Palace. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to be part of the Second Army. But for whatever reason this had been bothering Nina lately. The lack of the Before.

“My little cousins will have forgotten me, won’t they?”

Oh. That was where she was going with this.

Nina finally turned to see Inej, who was staring fervently ahead in what looked like an effort not to drop her gaze down and start studying her boots. She couldn’t really say anything. She just slipped her hand around Inej’s and squeezed it tightly. What could she say?

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noneedtofearorhope · 10 months ago

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An entire Dollar General staff has walked out of their Wisconsin premises due to staffing issues and poor pay and conditions.

Staff allegedly didn’t want to leave their customers in the lurch, but their manager claimed they were underpaid and overworked, and wanted their work to be appreciated by customers and the company. A letter was also found near the entrance of the store, giving more details on the staff's decision to walk out.

"Take this as notice that we the team at store 20610 located in Mineral Point, WI, all quit! We can not and will not work for a company that does not stand behind in true honest form of what they want the world to see them as," it read.

"Although we love and adore our customers, we must take a stand for the community and not allow corporate greed to continuing [sic] preventing people in need of the help they need and could receive. Policies, processes and procedures need to change! Don't make claims about supporting and helping communities when the reality is that it's all about the bottom line and not about support or help!"

Trina Tribolet was the general manager in the store for around a year. She said: "This is something we've been talking about the last couple of months. Until Friday night when we walked away, this weekend was my first time off since Christmas."

She explained staff were underpaid and overworked, adding she'd been working seven days a week for months because she, as the manager, was only allotted so many paid hours to give her staff. She said staff didn't want to leave, but wanted their work to be appreciated.

"A lot of our regulars came in there every day, and it’s hard on all of us to not be able to see them every day because they brighten your day,” she said. Staff followed through with their plans by walking out at the end of the shift and leaving notes on the door to say would all be quitting.

With no staff, the Dollar General remained closed for about three hours before they could get enough team members in. A spokesperson for the company said the store has replaced the entire staff. They declared that Dollar General is "committed to providing an environment where employees can grow their careers and where they feel valued and heard".

One of the biggest issues that led to the walkout was the store's food donation policy as well as hours and pay. The former manager was alarmed by how much of the food they were ordered to throw out. Trina was one of six members of staff working at the Dollar General in Mineral Point, Wisconsin, when they all made the decision to walk out on Friday

Dollar General donates food to specific pantries, but there are strict guidelines the company follows, and only a portion of what’s available goes to helping other people in disadvantaged areas. “There have been tears that have been shed over the fact that we’re throwing away coffee that is not expired, but it’s close,” Ms Tribolet said.

“Or you’re throwing out a box of Lucky Charms that you know there’s a whole bunch of kids that would love to eat those, but you can’t donate them out because you’re supposed to throw them away," Ms Tribolet explained.

In response to Ms Tribolet's issues with the food donation program, the store’s public relations team said it is following guidelines laid out by Feeding America. Over 44 million people in America live in households that struggle to get enough food.

[...]

The Economy Policy Institute's Wage Tracker reports that 92% of Dollar General's 119,904 employees make less than $15 an hour. That's nearly double the number of employees making under $15 at Walmart (51%).

The EPI notes that companies like Dollar General are "notorious for poor working conditions" along with low wages while generating millions in revenue annually and often rewarding their CEOs "with hefty compensation packages."

#labor #wisconsin #dollar general #food insecurity #poverty #precarity #minimum wage #workers rights #corporate greed

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stardustshelb · 1 year ago

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"Late Checkout" - Danny One Shot

18+. TW: Language & Sexual Content. Your name (female) + Danny. 9,544 words.

Part One

“Mr. Henry, I requested tomorrow off months ago,” you said as you shakily held this week’s work schedule in your hands. You had a good relationship with your boss since you’ve been one of the most reliable employees at the hotel for several years. You looked up to him as a father figure and old friend most days, but you suddenly wanted to strangle him after seeing he scheduled you to work on the one day you asked off.

“I’m sorry but I need you manning the front desk,” your boss said, not looking up from the computer screen.

“I have a concert tomorrow night. I can’t work,” you said, fighting the lump forming in your throat. You had been looking forward to this day for months and you were not about to let anything or anyone get in the way of that.

“That’s exactly why I need you. The hotel is completely sold out tomorrow because of the concert. It will be all hands on deck,” he said, still avoiding your eye contact.

“I can’t miss that concert,” you said in a stern tone.

“Fine. Let’s make a compromise. Can you stay until after the check-in rush? You could leave around 6:00 p.m.,” he added.

“That doesn’t give me enough time to get ready,” you plead.

“I’m trying to make this work for us both. I know you need the extra hours and I know you can handle the influx of guests we’re anticipating,” he said.

“That’s true, but–” you began.

“If I can get you out of here any sooner, I will,” he said, interrupting you. You start to go through the timeframe in your head. If you brought your concert outfit and cosmetics to the hotel, you could get ready in the breakroom. The distance between the hotel and the arena wouldn’t take more than 15 minutes depending on how fast you could get an Uber. The opener goes on at 7:30 p.m., but you didn’t care if you had to miss part of their set.

“As long as I am clocked out by 6:00 p.m., I can swing it,” you said with a sigh.

“I know I can always rely on you,” your boss said with a smile. “Who’s the band again?”

“Greta Van Fleet,” you said. Your boss’ puzzled expression made it clear he had no idea who they were.

“I don’t know what you kids today listen to,” he said as he waved his hand like he was shooing away a fly. “But since you’re helping me out by working tomorrow, I’ll fill you in on a secret.” He leaned in closely and lowered his voice. “Did you notice anything peculiar about the room reservations on the top floor?”

You hadn’t paid much attention to which rooms were occupied today since you clocked in; when you saw your name on the work schedule for tomorrow, that took precedence. You logged into your front desk computer and scanned the booking information for the 8th floor. You noticed every room was booked under the same reservation number. Yet, there were no guest names assigned to any of the rooms. As if your boss could sense your confusion, he leaned in closer.

“That band is staying here,” he whispered. You felt your eyes grow wide as if he just admitted his deepest, darkest secret. You turned to face him with a wild look in your eyes. You whispered, “Are you serious?”

“Their people called months ago and requested a private entrance, booked the entire floor; the whole thing was hush hush,” he said as he mimed an imaginary zipper sealing his lips.

You suddenly felt yourself begin to sweat in places you didn’t know could sweat. “When will they get here?” you asked.

“They are set to check in around noon today, and they will check out the day after tomorrow,” he said in a hushed voice. “I’ve got our best housekeeping staff assigned to their floor as well as our kitchen staff on standby in case they order room service. But only you and I know who our special guests really are,” he said with a wink. You hated your boss 10 minutes ago; now you wanted to kiss him. You glanced at the clock and noticed noon was less than an hour away.

“I am asking, begging, pleading–” you began with your hands clasped together. “Mr. Henry, please, please, please, let me be the one to deliver any extra towels, sheets, blankets, toiletries, whatever they need. Please,” you said.

“You aren’t even scheduled to work tonight,” he said with a laugh.

“I can. I can absolutely work tonight,” you said, continuing to beg.

“I’ll keep you as long as I need you, but no promises,” he said. Without much thought, you wrapped your arms around your boss in an embrace to thank him. He nervously laughed before patting you on top of the head. He was clearly uncomfortable by this sudden display of affection.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he said.

“I won’t!” you exclaimed as you released him from your grateful hug. The idea of potentially meeting the members of your favorite band made you feel lightheaded. You gripped the desk to make sure you weren’t going to pass out.

“I’ll need you to stay here at the front desk while I meet them around back to escort them to their rooms. They’ll be using the service elevator to enter and exit the building. They won’t mingle with the hotel guests at all,” he said. You couldn’t help but to feel bummed that you wouldn’t be part of the welcoming committee, but you decided not to push your luck. You knew you’d find a reason to go up to their floor one way or another.

You practically watched the clock as it took its time to get to 12:00 p.m. You had already taken a smoke break AKA a break to go freshen up your hair and makeup before the boys checked in. Mr. Henry knew you didn’t smoke, but he didn’t object when you asked for a smoke break. He knew exactly what you were up to.

Even though you weren’t going to be the one greeting them, you still didn’t want to risk not looking your absolute best. Well, as good as anyone could look in a work uniform. You glanced down at your khaki pants and your light blue polo neatly tucked in. This uniform certainly wasn’t doing your figure any favors. As you helped the line of guests checking out for the day, you saw Mr. Henry step away to take a private phone call. Was it them? Were they here? You struggled to pay attention to the guest in front of you because all you could think about was the idea of meeting the four men who changed your life. Breathe, you idiot.

“I’m going to assist our top floor guests. Call my phone if you have any issues. I’ll be back shortly,” Mr. Henry said to you in a hushed voice. You felt like all of the oxygen in the hotel lobby left with him as he went out the door.

“Ma’am?” the man in front of you with tired eyes said.

“Yes?” you asked, suddenly aware of where you were.

“Can I get another copy of my bill, please?” he said as if he had already asked you once. Maybe he did. Your mind was elsewhere.

“Yes, yes, of course,” you said as you moved the mouse to print the tired guest a copy of his bill. A short line formed behind him and you tried everything in your power to focus on your job and not the idea that Josh, Jake, Danny, and Sam would be sleeping in rooms that you have access to. Wait, that sounded creepy. You’re not creepy. You’re just freaking the fuck out. Chill.

When Mr. Henry made it back to the front desk, you practically jumped on him. “What were they like? What were they wearing? Were they nice? What rooms are they in? Do they need anything? Who did you talk to? Did they make any requests?” you asked in a rapid-fire fashion.

“Relax, relax,” he said with his hands up like he was bracing himself for impact.

“Tell me everything!” you exclaimed.

“The ones wearing sunglasses and hats are the ones in the actual band, I presume. They are in rooms 808, 809, 810, and 811. Their management people are occupying rooms on the other side of the hallway per the famous ones’ requests. The rooms in between are vacant, but booked to maintain privacy, of course,” he said. You burned the numbers 808, 809, 810, and 811 into your brain as you listened to Mr. Henry talk.

“I gave them my cell phone number in case they need anything, so don’t hold your breath that they’ll be calling the front desk,” he said.

“Mr. Henry,” you whined.

“They seem to want total privacy, young lady,” he said pointing his finger at you. You sighed and rolled your eyes at his response.

“That being said…” he began. “I will let you know if they need anything,” he added with a wink.

Part Two

“You know your shift ended 34 minutes ago,” Mr. Henry said as he walked up to you at the front desk.

“Oh, did it?” you asked nonchalantly. Normally you’d be clocking out the second your scheduled time ended, but now you had a reason to stay. The guys checked in four hours ago but no sign of them… yet.

“I can keep you on into the next hour, but then I’ll need you to clock out. You can linger here if you want, but I can’t pay you for it,” he said.

“Yes sir,” you said. Just then you saw the front desk phone light up with a room number that made your heart stop. You stared at the phone, stunned as if it suddenly grew legs.

“Answer it!” Mr. Henry commanded to break you from your trance.

“Hello?” You said in a panic, totally forgetting the customary front-desk-speech you’re supposed to recite each time you answer the phone.

The familiar voice belonging to the man in room 809 said, “Hello. Um, I know this is a strange request, but I was wondering if you could recommend the best local florist to me?” Oh great, he’s sending flowers to his girlfriend.

“Yes, yes, I can compose a list of our best local florists and deliver it to your room, Mr.—?” you ask.

“Wagner,” the voice answered. It was Danny, but you already knew that. You recognized his sweet, sultry voice immediately.

“Yes, Mr. Wagner,” you said, trying to keep the squeal out of your voice. “I’ll personally deliver this list to your room shortly.”

“Thanks, you’re an angel,” he said before hanging up. You hung up the front desk phone and took a deep breath. Did that really just happen?

“I’ll personally deliver this to your room shortly,” Mr. Henry mocked you in a high pitched voice.

“I’m just honoring our guest’s request,” you said while sticking your tongue out. You turned your attention to your computer and opened a new tab to start researching the local florists. Surely Danny knew how to use Google… Why in the world would he need to call the front desk of a hotel for something like this? Oh well. You weren’t going to question it because now you had a reason for making your way up to their floor.

You finished compiling a list of local florists, sorting them from highly rated to lowest, and hit print. You grabbed a mint from the bowl on the counter–that of course was intended for guests only–and reapplied your lip gloss before grabbing the list off the printer.

“Mr. Henry, I’m delivering this to our guest in room 809,” you said with a smirk. You made your way to the elevator and reminded yourself to take steady breaths as you hit the number 8 button. As the elevator moved up, you felt your stomach grow heavier. Relax. As if you had to command your legs to move, you forced yourself to walk through the open elevator doors. The short distance to room 809 now seemed to be a million miles away. Hoping your sweaty palms didn’t dampen the list of florists, you approached Mr. Wagner’s room and mustered up the courage to knock. As if your knuckles were made of glass, you lightly knocked on his door and waited for him to answer. Alas, the door opened and there in front of you stood a Greek God who came to Earth. You couldn’t believe he was actually there standing in front of you.

“Mr. Wagner, here is your requested list of the best local florists,” you stammered, wondering if you stumbled over any of your words in the process. You had no idea if the words that came out of your mouth were English. Hell, maybe you didn’t even speak at all.

“There’s my angel,” he said with a smile as he reached for the list in your hands. His fingers lightly grazed yours unintentionally, or was it? You watched his eyes move across your chest, surely just eyeing your nametag. “My sister’s birthday is tomorrow, so I’m needing a bouquet of daisies delivered to the venue,” he added as if to answer your unspoken question of why he would need a florist.

“Daisies?” you asked.

“Her favorite flower,” he said with a soft smile.

“She has great taste. That’s very kind of you,” you said while biting your lip to hide a relieved smile. “Is there anything else I can assist you with today, Mr. Wagner?”

“Please call me Danny,” he said with a nervous laugh.

“Mr. Wagner, I–” you began.

“Danny,” he interrupted. You stood there tight-lipped. You knew it was part of your job to always address guests formally, but you also knew that Danny would correct you every single time.

“Mr. Danny Wagner,” you said, finding a loophole, “is there anything else I can assist you with this afternoon?”

“Yes, actually,” he said. “Since I have you here, could you recommend what I should order for dinner?”

“Yes, of course. We have two wonderful restaurants on property that provide in-room service. Menus for both should be located on your dresser. Personally, I recommend the steak frites or the ahi tuna nachos,” you said.

“And would you be the one to make those deliveries?” he asked.

“No, sir. I will not be working this evening,” you said.

“So that means you are free to join me for dinner tonight?” he asked. Suddenly, you felt your body temperature rise. Your cheeks began to warm, showing a deep shade of red that no blush could ever create.

“Mr. Wagner, I–” you said.

“Danny,” he interrupted again.

“Mr. Danny Wagner, I don’t think–” you said.

“It’s just dinner. I’m going to put in two orders of steak frites and two orders of ahi tuna nachos to be delivered to my room by 7:00 p.m. I hope you will be back here to join me before then,” he said.

Without thinking, you immediately nodded. “Yes, I’ll be back,” you said. Suddenly, the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen lit up his already glowing face. You swear his eyes even sparkled.

You went home to change out of your unflattering uniform and put on something that was both comfortable and cute. You freshened up your makeup, brushed your hair, and sprayed the expensive perfume that you always saved for special occasions on your neck. You stared at your Greta Van Fleet records and wondered if you should bring them for Danny to sign. Nobody was going to believe that you two were hanging out in his hotel room, and you sure as hell weren’t going to take a picture to prove it. But you wanted to remember what was probably just a fever dream forever, so you grabbed the records and put them in your tote bag. You gave yourself one final look in the mirror before walking out the door.

On the way back to the hotel, you started to feel nervous. Was this just going to be a one-night-stand? How often does he do this? What if he tries to take it too far? You contemplated turning the car around but something in your head told you to keep driving. No matter how attractive you found him or how much you loved his band, you would not be pressured to do anything you didn’t want to do. You pulled into the employee parking lot–even though you weren’t there as an employee–and took a deep breath before exiting your car. Carrying your tote bag with your Greta Van Fleet vinyls in it, you walked through the automatic glass doors and into the hotel lobby.

“What are you doing back so soon?” Mr. Henry called from behind the desk.

“I was invited to have dinner with a friend,” you said smugly.

“A friend, eh?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes, a friend who is staying on the top floor,” you said, meeting his gaze.

“Please do not harass our guests. I told you about their stay in confidence,” he whispered.

“Mr. Henry, a friend who happens to be staying here invited me to dinner so that’s where I am headed,” you said as you made your way to the elevator. “I’ll call the front desk if I need you,” you added before leaving the lobby.

As you hit the number 8 button inside the elevator, you nervously bit your lip as the doors closed. You gripped the strap of your tote bag tighter as you tried to remind yourself to stay cool. When the doors opened, you made your way to room 809 where you stood outside his door wondering if you made the whole thing up in your head earlier. There was no way this was real. If he answered the door and had no idea who you were because you made the whole thing up in your head, you would just make a run for it. You knew where all of the emergency exits were. Good plan. You lightly knocked on his door and awaited your fate. Suddenly, the familiar Greek God from earlier appeared in the doorway and was welcoming you inside his room. So it was real. Danny greeted you by name–good to know he wasn’t just staring at your boobs earlier–and you made your way into the hotel room that you knew like the back of your hand.

“The food should be here in about 15 minutes,” Danny said as he grabbed the remote to turn off the television. You made a mental note that he was watching golf on ESPN.

“I can’t wait,” you said as you took a seat on the small couch in the room. Sitting on his bed would just be rude.

“What’s in the tote bag?” Danny asked as he took a seat next to you. You could feel your cheeks start to blush as you pulled the vinyls out.

“I was hoping you’d sign these for me,” you said sheepishly.

“Oh hell yeah, of course,” Danny said excitedly as he grabbed the stack from you. “Uh, let me call and see if someone has a Sharpie.”

“It doesn’t have to be right now,” you added quickly.

“Well, I won’t forget. I promise,” he held up his pinky. You wrapped your pinky around his which made your heart beat faster. His big hands made yours look and feel tiny in comparison.

“I’m so excited for the show tomorrow,” you said.

“What song do you want to hear most?” he asked with a smirk.

“I already know the setlist,” you said, matching his smirk.

“Well, setlists aren’t set in stone, ya know? Seriously, what song would you want to hear tomorrow?” he asked again.

“Well… One song I noticed that wasn’t on the list that I would kill to hear live would probably be ‘Talk On The Street’ if you want total honesty,” you added. Suddenly, Danny jumped up and made his way into the closet.

“Uh, what are you doing?” you asked, feeling a little nervous. He grabbed a pair of drumsticks and made his way back over to join you on the couch. He turned his body to face you as he began tapping the drums on the sofa cushions. You recognized the beat instantly. He was playing “Talk On The Street'' flawlessly as if the cushions were his drum set. You watched his face as he concentrated on hitting the cushions; you couldn’t help but smile. Before he could finish his performance, a loud knock on the door startled you both.

“Here,” he said, handing you his drumsticks as he jumped up to answer the door. Your hands shook as you held his drumsticks in your hands. Signs of wear and tear were noticeable but they still held up well. You looked up to see Mr. Henry had pushed the room service cart into the room. Four covered dishes were neatly arranged on top of the white tablecloth, along with a bottle of wine and two long-stemmed wine glasses. You quickly met his gaze to give him a reassuring look that you were “ok” before he finished uncovering the dishes and arranging the polished silverware.

“Would you like me to open the bottle of wine, sir?” Mr. Henry asked Danny as he presented the bottle like it was a newborn baby.

“Yes, thank you,” Danny said as he shot you a wink. You felt your body melt into the sofa cushions and prayed you’d be able to climb back out. As Mr. Henry finished pouring the second glass of wine, he turned to you one last time to make sure you felt safe. Then he turned his attention to Danny and asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you this evening, sir?”

“No, I think we are all set,” Danny said as he held what looked to be a 100 dollar bill out toward Mr. Henry.

“I cannot accept tips, sir,” Mr. Henry said as he put his hands behind his back.

“I insist,” Danny said, holding the bill out even further.

“As the manager, I am legally unable to accept tips. I do appreciate the gesture,” Mr. Henry said as he bowed to Danny. He grabbed the silver covers to the dishes and made his way to exit the room. You watched him leave and realized you were squeezing the drumsticks so tight that you were probably going to get a splinter.

“I just realized you probably eat food from here all of the time. I should have ordered us something else,” Danny said as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“No, I actually don’t. This is wonderful, thank you,” you said as you jumped up to join him near the front of the room. You held the drumsticks out to him but he held up his hand in protest.

“Keep them,” Danny said.

“I couldn’t–” you said.

“You can pretend you caught them at the concert,” he said playfully. You held the drum sticks close to your heart as a way of showing how meaningful this gesture was. You put your newest prized-possession inside your tote bag when Danny brought you over a glass of wine.

“Cheers to new beginnings,” he said as he lifted his glass for a toast.

“To new beginnings,” you repeated as you touched his glass to yours. You took a sip of the wine and watched his eyes linger on your face a little too long. He realized that he may have been staring and immediately cleared his throat before bringing the glass to his lips.

You both ate and drank while enjoying the simple company of one another. Danny controlled most of the conversation but not in an arrogant sort of way. You almost felt like it was a Q&A because he was asking you so many questions about your life. You could tell he was genuinely curious about who you were, your hobbies, your family, and more. You barely had an opportunity to ask him any similar questions because he was always ready with the next question for you. However, you were curious what the other guys were up to. Were they staying in the hotel or did they go out? Were they hanging out together in another room? You didn’t want to pry but curiosity got the best of you.

“So do you guys normally spend evenings alone when on tour?” you asked as you swirled your second glass of wine around. You were thankful to have had a moment to put him in the hot seat where he had to do the answering.

“Honestly it depends on the city and how long of a break we have,” Danny said as he smoothed his palms over the top of his pants. “I think everyone just wanted some alone time tonight.”

“I get that,” you said. While others needed to be in constant contact with friends or family, you found yourself often wanting to be isolated. It probably stemmed from having a job where you were always having to interact with the public. You didn’t mind spending evenings alone, but it was nice to be in his company. Oddly enough, you were also fighting the urge not to clean the dirty dishes from the room. You had to remind yourself that you were currently there as a guest and not an employee.

“We’ll probably party tomorrow night after the show,” he said. You consciously took your time forming a response as you finished your glass of wine. On the one hand, you considered this as an invitation to spend more time with him. On the other hand, you weren’t sure if you wanted to cringe at the idea of having to clean up their mess after they left.

“Don’t tell me you guys trash hotel rooms,” you said, covering your face.

“No, no, it’s not like that,” Danny said, grabbing your hands away from your face. You noticed he didn’t let go once he held them. You could feel the rough parts of his palms and fingertips–calluses from playing instruments. Your hands looked so small in his but you didn’t pull away.

“I meant it when I said you’re an angel,” he said quietly.

“I got you a list of florists. That’s hardly angelic,” you said, staring at your hands in his.

“I could simply tell from your voice. I didn’t even know what you looked like. But then when you came to my door, I knew I was right,” he said as he lightly ran his thumbs over the top of your hands.

“Do you normally call the front desk for things you could Google on your own in hopes of finding angels?” you asked playfully.

“I may have been influenced to call,” he said with a grin. Your bewildered expression caused him to laugh. “Your manager may have hinted that the girl working the front desk was a huge fan when he was escorting us to our rooms…”

“Oh my God,” you said as you tried to pull your hands away to cover your face in embarrassment, but his hold on your hands became firm. You felt your body heat up and you weren’t sure if it was because you were embarrassed or because you felt a connection while he held your hands tighter.

“It really is my sister’s birthday tomorrow. I really did need a florist,” he said laughing. “I just wanted to meet this huge fan for myself.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” you said, closing your eyes. If he was going to keep you from covering your face, you figured you’d do your best to hide by not looking at him.

“Don’t be,” he said as you felt him let go of your hands. Before you could open your eyes, you felt his fingers gingerly push a strand of hair away from your face. His touch sent waves of electricity through your body. You wanted him to put his hands all over you if that simple touch could cause such a reaction inside. You fought the temptation and used your better judgment, even though the combination of the wine and your attraction to him made it difficult to think clearly.

“It’s getting late and I have to be up early for work tomorrow,” you said as you watched the light in his eyes dim.

“Are you working tomorrow night?” he asked as if he were worried about something.

“No, no, I will be at the concert come hell or high water,” you said. “I’m bringing my outfit to work so I can change when I get off.”

“Where is your seat?” Danny asked.

“Oh, it’s not great but I’ll just be happy to be there,” you said.

“Can I get you a pit ticket?” he asked, grinning. You bit your lip to keep from smiling but the corners of your mouth gave you away. “I’ll pull a string or two to make sure I can see you from the stage.”

“That’s really not necessary, I–” you started.

“Please,” he said softly. You met his eyes and then realized he was being totally serious about wanting to watch you while he played.

“Yes, of course,” you said, not looking away from his stare as you studied his deep brown eyes. He jumped up again and went over to the dresser. You watched with curiosity as he returned back to you with a room key in his hand.

“I know you already have access to my room–wow, that sounds weird saying it aloud–but here,” he said, handing you the second key. “You can use my room to get ready in when you get off work. I have to be at the venue pretty early, so you’ll have the whole place to yourself. I’ll get a pit wristband somehow and leave it in here for you too.” The idea of not having to use the tiny breakroom to get ready for the concert was nice, but something about having one of his room keys made you feel a little nervous. “You can use it to come back to party with us after the show too,” he added. So it was an invitation earlier.

“Are you sure? I’d feel weird being in your room when you’re not here,” you said.

“Just don’t go through my underwear. Or do, I won’t know,” he said, grinning.

Part Three

Now that you knew you were going to be up front at the concert, you started to wonder if the outfit you had planned was good enough. That being said, you had literally no other options and made the best of it. Mr. Henry was able to let you off work before 6:00 p.m., so you didn’t feel super stressed for time. You carried your outfit on its hanger and had your cosmetic bag in tow as you made your way to the elevator to get ready in Danny’s room. You still couldn’t believe he offered his personal space to you, but you were going to take advantage of the opportunity. You had an hour and a half before you had to call an Uber, so you made mental notes on where to start when you got to room 809. You scanned the key card and entered the room. Housekeeping had definitely been here because it was spotless; that is, unless Danny naturally kept his room that way. It could be a toss-up. As promised, an envelope with your name on it was sitting on top of the dresser. You put your stuff down on the couch and made your way over to open the envelope. You opened it to find not only a wristband but also a handwritten note that said:

Angel,

I can’t wait to see you tonight.

-Danny

When you finally got to the venue, you could hear the opening act loudly from the lobby. You asked an employee where to go to get on the floor, and she directed you to the general admission entrance. You entered the pit and stood behind rows of hundreds of fans; yet, you noticed your wristband was a completely different color from theirs. Not like anyone but you would even notice. You found a clear area in the back of the pit and hung out on the side barricade, enjoying what was left of the opening act. You weren’t sure when Greta Van Fleet would go on, but you were glad that you made it with plenty of time. The openers played their last song so you knew you had a brief intermission before Danny took the stage. The simple thought of seeing him again made you feel like you were floating.

“Excuse me,” you heard a deep voice say. You turned to see a large man, who was clearly working for security, standing near you. “You can follow me,” he motioned with his hand.

“Me?” You asked.

“Yes, I’ve been looking for a bright yellow wristband all night,” he said as if he were annoyed with you. Confused, you made your way out of the back entrance and followed him along the right side of the pit. You could feel people staring at you but you tried to focus on following the large man. Even though he was three times your size, the man moved quickly. He stopped near the front section of the pit and let you in at the side, the furthest right on the barricade. You felt bad moving up to a space that was so clearly coveted by the surrounding fans. You gave the girls next to you a soft smile to which they just turned their backs to you. Lovely.

The music started to play from behind the curtains and you felt every ounce of energy in the venue radiate. After what felt like an eternity, the curtain fell and even though there were four men on stage, you were immediately drawn to Danny. You loved seeing both versions of him: The soft, kind man who had his hair pulled back in a clip yesterday and the rockstar version with rhinestones, eyeliner, and full luscious curls. You screamed as the four of them took their positions on stage to play “The Falling Sky” but your eyes were still fixed on him. As if he could sense you, he met your gaze and playfully stuck his tongue out. You felt your knees get weak and you fought to stay standing. You grabbed your phone to record bits and pieces of the concert. Every time you moved your camera on Danny, he’d go especially crazy, no doubt showing out for you. You didn’t realize it, but you were biting your bottom lip so hard that you started to feel pain.

Once the guys started to head back toward the front from B stage, you realized why the security guard positioned you to this exact spot in the pit. You watched as Jake passed by you and felt your lungs almost give out when Danny personally handed you a white rose. Screams of fans enveloped all around you and you noticed many phones pointed at you too.

“Holy shit, did you just get a rose from Danny?” the girl who ignored you earlier asked.

“Yes,” you said breathlessly as reality was still setting in. You continued to watch in awe of the band as they performed the last half of their setlist. Part of you wondered if they’d stick to what you knew was coming after Danny made the comment last night about them not being set in stone, but you had about all you could take. If they were to play anything else, you wouldn’t make it out of the arena alive. As long as you were buried with this white rose, maybe it’d be worth it.

While you were watching the final song, you felt a tap on your right shoulder. You looked to see that it was the large security guard from earlier. Without a word, he motioned for you to exit and follow him. What the hell? The concert wasn’t even over yet. Not wanting to get on this man’s nerves any more than you inadvertently did, you slipped out the side of the barricade and followed him backstage. Even if he were to say something to you, the noise from the stage overpowered your senses. You couldn’t hear anything but the music. You weren’t sure where he was taking you, but you kept your rose and clear purse firmly clutched against your body. He finally stopped when he reached a small door in a dim hallway. The place kind of gave you the creeps.

“Danny asked me to get you out of there before it got too crazy,” the man finally spoke as he unlocked the door. Before you could say a word, he turned around and left you standing in the barren hallway. You entered the room and noticed a huge bouquet of daisies on the table in the middle of the room. No card, no note. His sister must have already taken it out before the concert. The local florist he chose did a beautiful job. You admired the soft petals before making your way to his vanity. You took a seat in the chair and stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your subtle rhinestones in the corners of your eyes had held up surprisingly well. You took the lipgloss out of your clear purse and reapplied it when you heard the doorknob start to turn. You spun around to see Danny entering the room. His tall stature took up the entire space of the doorway. Clad in only a pair of shiny white pants, you gulped when he locked the door behind him. You admired his back muscles before he quickly turned back to face you.

“That was incredible!” you squealed as he made his way over to you.

“Yeah?” he asked like he didn’t already know. He took the rose out of your hand and stuck it in the bouquet of daisies. It looked incongruous sticking over the top of the daisies that you had to giggle.

“As long as your sister doesn’t take my rose,” you said.

“Oh, those are yours,” Danny said, moving closer to you.

“What?” you asked.

“I may or may not have ordered two bouquets. That one is yours,” he said as he was now close enough to touch you. “You said she had good taste. I assumed they’d be your favorite flower, too,” he said sheepishly.

“Yes, they absolutely are, but–” you started to say.

“I wanted to give you a daisy tonight instead of a rose, but Josh told me no. Between you and me, I think he was just mad I was copying him to begin with,” he said with a shrug.

“Everything about tonight was absolutely perfect. I can’t thank you enough,” you said.

“The second I saw you, I immediately got nervous,” Danny said.

“Shut up,” you said while rolling your eyes.

“No, seriously. I never get nervous before a show, but seeing you made me feel like I was under pressure,” he admitted.

“You wouldn’t have felt like that if you had let me keep my seat in the nosebleeds,” you said sticking your tongue out.

“I still would have found you out of the thousands of people. You naturally glow, angel,” Danny said as he softly touched your arm. You moved your hand over the top of his and admired his rare beauty. You felt your heart race as he moved his body closer to you. Even though he already towered over you when standing next to him, now that you were sitting down, he looked even more intimidating in the best way possible. You held your breath as he seemingly removed any open space between you two.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked in the most faint of voice you almost wanted him to ask you again. As if every word you’ve ever learned escaped your brain, you nodded. He leaned down and put his soft lips against yours. You felt your body relax as his hands moved across your back, pulling you closer into an embrace. His lips pushed yours open and his musician’s fingers glided up your back until they reached your neck. You moaned as if you had never tasted anyone so sweet, so good in all your life. The noise that escaped you only seemed to ignite the fire that was already lit inside him. This kiss was becoming dangerous, and now you had a new reason why you weren’t going to make it out of the arena alive. As if he sensed the same need for caution, Danny slowly pulled away and left you wanting more.

“Now that was incredible,” he said in a voice so low you barely heard him because there was a loud, obnoxious knock at the door. You watched as he nervously situated himself to answer the door. You obviously weren’t the only one who got excitedly lost in the kiss. You watched as he took a deep breath and shook his head before opening the door. Without warning, Sammy entered the room carrying a bottle of tequila.

“Are we partying here or taking it back to the hotel?” he loudly announced as he made his way into the room. He stopped moving when he noticed you sitting in the chair.

“Oh shit, was I interrupting something?” he asked with a nervous grin.

“No, no,” you said as you jumped down from the chair. “I was just leaving,” you said as you grabbed the vase of daisies with the tall rose sticking out the top.

“You still have the room key?” Danny leaned in and asked you quietly.

“Yes,” you said.

“Will I see you soon then?” he asked as if he were holding on to your every word.

“Yes,” you repeated. He relaxed into a smile and rubbed your arm.

Part Four

You called an Uber to take you home so you could put your new vase of flowers away before you Ubered back to the hotel where your car was. Before leaving the house, you stuck an extra change of clothes, your toothbrush, and a phone charger in a purse just in case you weren’t coming back home for the evening. You did have a key to a hotel room, after all. When you got to the hotel, you recognized concert-goers in the lobby based on the outfits. You blended right in with your rhinestones, glitter, and pearls. You wondered what these people would do if you revealed the band was secretly occupying the same space as them. Keeping that secret made you feel even more confident as you made your way up to room 809.

You could hear music blaring from their end of the hallway as soon as you stepped out of the elevator. The security guard from earlier was positioned right outside the elevator doors. Like an old friend, you gave him a wave to which he ignored. He didn’t say a word to you as you walked around him. “Great talking to you again,” you said as you made your way to find where the music was coming from. Doors were propped open and you tried to ignore the safety hazards that were everywhere. You walked past rooms crowded with faces you didn’t know, scanning for the one that made your heart beat faster. Unlike the others, room 809’s door was closed. You scanned the key card and let yourself in. There you found Danny, Sammy, and another girl pouring shots. Danny called out your name as you nervously shut the door behind you. Danny introduced you to his friends when Sammy said, “We’ve already met, remember?”

“Hi, I’m Josie,” the girl said, holding out her hand.

“This is my sister,” Danny said as he pulled Josie into a side hug.

“Oh! Happy birthday!” you exclaimed when shaking her hand.

“Thank you!” she said as she handed you a shot glass.

“To another trip around the sun,” Sammy said as he held up his shot glass to make a toast. You touched your shot glass to theirs and threw back the liquid that burned all the way down. Trying to mask your disgust, you cleared your throat.

“Here,” Danny said, holding a can of White Claw out to you. “This will help cut the burn. Sorry, Josie insisted on us taking tequila shots for her birthday.” You took the can and was grateful for the chaser.

You panicked a little when you scanned the hotel room and noticed your stuff from earlier was nowhere to be found. Your cosmetic bag, work uniform, and shoes weren’t in the spot where you left them earlier. As if he could sense your uneasiness, Danny whispered in your ear, “Your things are in the closet.” You gave him a soft smile to show that he had read your mind perfectly.

You continued the evening party hopping from one room to the next with Danny on your arm. Every room had a different sound, vibe, and smell to it. You did your best to ignore the state laws being broken right in front of you when the boys blew smoke out into the hallway. You were a guest, remember? Not an employee. You silently prayed they wouldn’t trigger the smoke detectors, but you had a feeling they were experts at avoiding that by now. It was a surreal moment getting to hangout with your favorite band. Getting to see them on stage was one thing but getting to see them act natural in a relaxed environment was a whole different experience.

As if the work day and concert was starting to catch up to you, you stifled a yawn that you tried to keep hidden. It was a little past 2 a.m. and the party showed no signs of stopping. Danny noticed your attempt at hiding your yawn and squeezed your shoulder before announcing to everyone in the room that he was calling it a night.

“What?” Josh yelled. “You can sleep on the bus all day tomorrow.”

“Not with your snoring,” Danny responded back. You made a mental note that Josh snores loudly. Then again, who would you have to tell that would believe you?

“It was so nice to meet all of you,” you said as you waved both hands to the dozens of people occupying the small space. Josie jumped up to give you a hug goodbye and you noticed a look you couldn’t quite pinpoint that she exchanged with her brother. You followed Danny out of the room where he took your hand and led you back to his room.

“You really didn’t have to cut the party short on my behalf,�� you said as you followed him inside.

“I can party with them every night. I want to spend more time with you,” he said.

“Well,” you said looking at the time, “you have a little under 8 hours until check out.”

“What if I request a late checkout? Do you know anyone who could pull some strings for me?” he said, pulling you into a bear hug.

“I would let you stay as long as you want, but I don’t think my say matters,” you said into his chest.

“You’d let me stay forever?” he said as his chin rested on top of your head.

“That’s certainly the latest checkout time I’ve ever heard, but I’d make it work for you,” you said. You felt him let go and you looked up to see him looking down into your eyes. He still had his concert makeup on, but then again, so did you. He quietly said your name and you felt your bones turn to jello.

“Yes?” you responded.

“Would you like to stay the night with me?” he asked.

“What if I told you I had my toothbrush and a change of clothes already in my purse?” you answered his question with a question. His face lit up with that contagious smile. Suddenly, he picked you up and carried you to the bed. You squealed with laughter as he dropped you gently on top of the comforter.

“Mr. Wagner, are we going to leave a trail of rhinestones in this bed?” you asked playfully as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

“I won’t mess up your makeup, angel,” he said as he stood over you.

“What if I wanted you to?” you asked with a smirk.

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he said as he began to remove his clothes. You had already seen him shirtless earlier, but seeing his muscles again made you short of breath. You followed his lead and began to remove your top. He then started to take off his shoes where he held on to your legs for balance. Without removing his hands from your body, he moved his way up your thighs and lingered near the waistband of your shorts.

“May I?” he asked.

“You may,” you said, matching his tone, “such a gentleman.” He slowly pulled your shorts down while you laid back on the bed. Danny smiled as he gazed over your matching bra and panty set–something you were mindful of when deciding what to wear tonight.

“My, my, my,” he said as he admired your body.

“I believe you’d be more comfortable out of those pants,” you said when you noticed the large bulge behind his zipper. He immediately began to unbutton his own pants and pulled them down. He now stood in front of you wearing nothing but a thin pair of boxer briefs that left nothing to the imagination. You pulled your body up and moved your fingers over his chest that started to heave in anticipation. He moved closer to you and you felt his hands slowly move down your back until they met your bra. As if undoing a bra clasp was his area of expertise–and maybe it was but you didn’t want to think about that–you felt the straps fall in one swift motion. Your breasts were bare and when you met Danny’s eyes, you could see a shudder run through him. He gently pushed you back on the bed and traced his mouth over your right nipple before taking it into his mouth. You rubbed your fingers through his thick ringlets and couldn’t believe how soft they felt.

His mouth moved from your chest as it kissed every inch of your stomach until he reached your panties. As if waiting for your permission, Danny lingered until you gave him another sign of approval by inching yourself up so he could remove your panties easier. His calloused fingertips traced your hips when he pulled your panties down, exposing the sacred part of you. “Fuck” he gritted out. You let out a giggle and wrapped your legs around his waist, moving him toward you. It looked like he stopped breathing when you pulled the waistband of his boxer briefs down and saw his large erection up close and personal. Wow. “You’re the sexiest man on the fucking planet,” you said as you gazed up at him. That was all he could handle. He climbed on top of you and you felt his hard erection rub against the top of your center where it rested on your stomach. He took you in mouthfuls at a time. His tongue parted your lips and you breathed him in. You moved your fingers back to his curls where you pulled fistfuls gently as you drew him closer. You heard him say your name as his lips moved to kiss your neck, nipping you lightly with his teeth. You arched your back and pushed your hips into him, signaling you were ready for him. Suddenly you screamed when you felt two fingers, that had once been so gentle against your skin, now sliding inside of you. “I want you so bad,” you moaned as he moved his fingers in and out of you in a rough, repeated motion. You could hear the sound of your own wetness and could only imagine what his dick would feel like inside of you. “Please,” you moaned. You weren’t one to beg, but the effect he had over you was hypnotic. You felt him slowly remove his fingers and when you looked at him, he put them inside of his mouth–not breaking eye contact. He reached inside the nightstand where he pulled out a shiny gold wrapper. You waited in anticipation as he slid the condom over himself. He returned back to your wanting body and grabbed fistfuls of your ass to pull you to the edge of the bed. You parted your thighs as an invitation for him to enter, and he slowly pushed his way inside of you. “Oh, Danny,” you moaned as you threw your head back on the bed. You felt him enter deeper, still taking his time to make sure you were ok. Your white knuckles clenched the comforter beneath you as the intense pleasure took over you completely. Now that he had made himself known, he went at you harder. You whimpered as he continued to deliver deep, hard thrusts that you hoped would never end. You couldn’t help but to scream as his primal instincts made you start to writhe beneath him.

“I’m going to cum,” you yelled as you felt your body tighten beneath him.

“Cum for me, angel,” he moaned. And as if you’d follow his every command, an orgasm shuddered through you. Your hands found his strong arms where you gripped his biceps, digging your nails into his flesh. He continued to hit deeper and you thought you were going to black out. “Oh my god,” you yelled out as you felt his hands tighten against your legs. He was at his breaking point–you felt him collapse on top of you breathing out a “holy shit” in the process. The once perfect curls that framed his face now stuck to his sweaty skin. He rolled over to lay beside you as you both struggled to catch your breath.

“Holy shit,” he repeated. You turned to face him, admiring the features of his beautiful face. You always had a soft spot for him, but the last two days have made you absolutely crazy for him. You knew this was only going to be a hookup; as much as you would love to lay next to–and especially under–this man every day for the rest of eternity, it would be impossible. You chose not to dwell on the fact that he could never be just yours, so instead you chose to enjoy the fact that you didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world at this moment.

“What are you thinking?” he asked as he studied your face. Your eyes must have given away your busy mind. You met his eyes that were once soft, then animalistic, and now concerned.

“I’m thinking about how I wish I could be in every hotel you stay at,” you admitted.

“You know, the tour is currently on its last leg of dates,” he said as he pushed your hair back from your face. “I’ll be free in a little over a month.”

“You wouldn’t want to come back here during your time off,” you said, shaking your head. You knew he was only telling you things that you wanted to hear. You knew the closest you’d ever get to him again was going to be watching concert videos from tonight on your phone.

“I would absolutely come back here. Those steak frites were incredible,” he teased. “Oh, I would come back for you too, of course.” You rolled your eyes and tried to turn away but he pulled you closer to him. He nuzzled his face into the nape of your neck. “Why do you smell like strawberries?” he said.

“My conditioner,” you laughed.

“I love it,” he inhaled. “Use it again on November 20 when I check back into this hotel.”

“Shut up,” you said as you playfully hit his arm.

“Will you leave me rose petals on the bed?” he asked. “Is that something I can call and request before I arrive?”

“I’m sorry. That’s not a request we can accommodate, Mr. Wagner,” you said in your customer-service-voice.

“I’m sure the angel working the front desk will pull some strings for me,” he said as he squeezed you tighter.

“I’ll see what I can do,” you said as you enjoyed the moment in his embrace. He began kissing your neck and you felt goosebumps erupt all over your body. His kisses became more frequent and passionate, and you sensed he was ready to go again when you felt his dick harden against your thigh.

“Again?” you said as both a question and an invitation.

“Good thing I have a late checkout,” he said with a smile as he pulled you on top of him.

The End

#greta van fic #greta van fleet #greta van smut #greta van fleet smut #danny wagner #daniel wagner

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doraminatook · 6 months ago

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Uneasy is the Head (a fanfic)

Specifically, a Marvel fanfic.

Synopsis:

Wanda is on the run AGAIN. Following the destruction at Kamar-Taj and Mount Wundagore, she is doing her best to just remain alive in the safety of anonymity. That is until an old enemy walks back into her life with a proposition.

Words: 7,735

Rating: Teen and up

:::

Wanda knew what it was like to be on the run; if it wasn’t one form of government, it was another. In many ways, this was nothing new to The Scarlet Witch, but the game had admittedly gotten significantly more difficult. The longer she lived, the more enemies she seemed to amass and so with each year, her very existence became more and more precarious. Where at first she was simply running from the corrupt politicians controlling Sokovia, now she had the added attention of the US government and the Masters of the Mystics Arts. Of course, the latter was under the assumption that she was dead, and she wanted to keep it that way. If they found out she had survived the collapse at Mount Wundagore, they would certainly make her death a reality. And, truthfully, Wanda couldn’t really blame them.

She wasn’t entirely sure what this new part of her life would look like; she’d burned so many bridges and had very few places to go. It would have been easy for her to give into despair, and many times she did. More than once, the pain had overtaken her again and she’d just laid down in the middle of the street, weeping uncontrollably. Luckily, for her, Barcelona was a massive city with more displaced people than anywhere else in Europe. When people saw a random woman lying in the streets, especially in the back alleys, they paid little attention. Someone might attempt to rob her, but they only got as far as putting their hands on her before some strange magic came over them and they shuddered in silent pain. The smart ones let go, but the idiots held on and soon joined Wanda on the ground. Unlike The Scarlet Witch, however, they never got up again.

After months of just wandering across Spain and Portugal, living off the charity of others and only occasionally stealing, Wanda had finally collected enough money to secure a tiny flat in the darkest corner of Barcelona. It was a quiet, anonymous existence that included a part-time job as a waitress (where she went by the name Isla), trying desperately to learn Spanish as quickly as possible, and dyeing her infamous red hair a mousy brown every two weeks or so. Once in a while Wanda would stick her neck out in order to break up a few human trafficking rings or surreptitiously send the abusive husband of her manager into a shark tank at Aquàrium Barcelona where he promptly drowned.

Wanda had worried that Abril would be sad over the loss of her husband, as many victims of abusive relationships and Stockholm syndrome occasionally are, but time and a hefty life insurance policy in Daniel’s name proved to be good medicine for an aching heart. Seeing her friend walk around with a newfound lease on life was almost enough to make Wanda forget…about everything. Perhaps it was best if she did just forget; it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d attempted to leave Wanda Maximoff behind in favor of someone else: someone more normal and less complicated.

But even if she had genuinely wanted to let it all go, the Darkhold’s stain across her hands were a constant reminder of who she was and what she had done. She wore flesh-colored gloves whenever she was out in public and told elaborate stories about how she’d been burned in a car accident. The gloves made her job at the diner difficult at times, but Abril and the rest of the staff had always been so courteous and accommodating towards “Isla” and her fictitious injury. They were all so kind, and none of them had no idea what kind of monster she was.

The only souvenir of her past life, save the blackened fingers, was a single photo: a precious relic that she only took out in her darkest of hours. She hadn’t the foggiest idea of how, after everything, it had stayed both in one piece and in her possession, but she was grateful nonetheless. While living on the street, Wanda had treated it like a holy grail, the single flame that kept her going merely because it reminded her of a simpler time when she had been truly happy. Between The Blip, the Hex, and the Darkhold, it was sometimes difficult to sort out what was real and what had been magic, but the photo grounded her in many ways. That had been real.

It was taken in Prague: one of the many locations Steve had moved her to during Team Captain America ’s time as fugitives. But the location was hardly the important aspect of the photo. Yes, Charles Bridge was clearly featured in the background, but the focus was the bright-eyed and beaming Wanda with an arm wrapped around the torso of a tall, blonde-haired man who, in turn, had his willowy arm draped across her shoulder. She was smiling winningly at the camera, held by a random stranger the pair had flagged down, but Vision’s gaze was entirely on Wanda. It was one of those small moments one sees in movies: Vision sneaking an adoring look at the woman he loved. To Wanda, they had just been posing beside some pretty bridge, but the man beside her had no interest in architecture. The most beautiful thing in the world was Wanda, and he was unable to look away.

Today, she needed to see the picture. The night before had been plagued with the same old terrible nightmares and specters, and Wanda’s mental health necessitated a trip down memory lane. She pulled open the drawer on her nightstand and dug a bit until she found the worn manilla envelope that served as the photo’s home. She sighed with relief as she took in the image and ran a finger adoringly over Vision’s face. It wasn’t just the fact that the print featured him but also that Wanda could clearly see the unaltered happiness in herself. It all seemed like several lifetimes ago.

This lifetime, however, would not wait. She glanced at the clock on the wall and knew she had to go; Isla had work and Wanda had to be put aside for now.

:::

Want to read more? Check out my Archive of Our Own page at the link below

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byuljoonie · 2 years ago

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6 inch (heels) // jhs

She murdered everybody and I was her witness.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: one shot, angst, fluff, yearning, growing tension, friends to lovers, slight smut

word count: 4K+

warnings: mentions of mature topics, recreational dr!g use, mar!juana, cigarettes, club scene/celeb party, cunnilingus, dry humping bcs desperate, fingers ( in a few ways…), dom!sub, dom hoseok!sub reader, alcohol consumption, probably a good amount of swearing, and the most important warning of all: JITB era hoseok.

summary: your best friend convinces you to attend a launch party, without mentioning the presence of a certain someone. Inspired by the song 6 Inch from Beyoncé’s Lemonade.

note: I really don’t know how long this will end up but hoseok is going away soon and this is me coping. being delusional is the best way. we know namjoon is my soulmate but hobi…actually I’ll be quiet. sorry if this is too raunchy for you, I got some fluff coming soon. sorry for any errors, I suck sometimes. I hope you like it feel free to leave comments and asks. playlists in bio🫶🏾

“Y/N just give it a chance. You’ll never get out if you don’t actively try,” she pleaded. Here I am, still in bed reading the same book while listening to my best friend attempt to persuade me to leave the house. I know she’s right but I’d rather choke than admit how much I want to go. The thought of complimentary champagne and weed was the only thing lingering in my mind. Well, not the only thing but I’d rather not talk about him.

“I can see that sparkle of longing in your eye and I promise he won’t be there!” Aniase exclaimed dramatically. I almost missed the Cheshire grin that slipped past her lips. “I am not even thinking about him, I just have nothing to wear,” I said beaming with trepidation. I can’t put anything past her I don’t know why I even try. “The launch starts at 8, I’ll hang your dress on the door at 6,” she explained letting out a breviloquent sigh. I glanced at the white clock on my nightstand, zoning out slightly as the iridescent 4:46 swirled into unrecognizable shapes. I turned around to see Aniase walk out quietly shoulders heavy with burden.

I closed my long-forgotten novel and flopped my head into my pillow in despair. I don’t need everyone thinking they constantly have to babysit me. I know they only want what's best for me, but sometimes what's best for me is just me. The comfort in knowing I can’t get hurt right now is enough to appease my unstable emotions even if it means coincidentally being busy during events he could possibly attend. As much as I want to rot away in bed, my perspicacious ability warns me. Aniase’s intransigent attitude flashed through my mind.

I lept from my bed as the clock read 5:30, I’ve spent too much time moping about. I rush to my bathroom searching for my makeup bag catching a glance of myself in the mirror bringing me to a halt. Bags adorned my tired eyes, a stain-riddled t-shirt hung loose around my torso, all while a giant hair clip he gifted me held back my messy hair. Seems as if evening passing he’s somehow invading my everyday life.

“Hoseok. Jung Hoseok,” his name appeared suddenly in my mind. I don’t think Aniase is telling the truth about him coming to the launch but on the slight hope that he does, I can’t look like this! I’m a wreck and all because of a man whose smile can light up an entire universe. I’m so utterly in love with him that everything feels unfeasible without him. A radiant star even the moon smiles back when he bids a greeting, our first encounter on boundless repeat.

In my first year of graduate school, I received a paid internship from HYBE as a library assistant. I would run errands for the librarian, sort catalogs for upcoming meetings, assist in presentations, and my favorite help HYBE staff find the right read. I’ve always been a diffident individual, preferring to work or compete alone. Books and writing were my best friends, besides Aniase of course. Haruki Murakami is my favorite author, when a certain Kim Namjoon sauntered in with a bright Hoseok in tail looking for his newest release I was ecstatic, to say the least. Combating the harshness of reality while completing a Ph.D. is enough in itself, but combine it with continual yearning and you’re done.

“Hey Y/N! You already know what I’m here for,” Namjoon said cheerfully, grinning from ear to ear at me. “I sure do and I hate to say it but I may have read the first chapter already…” I trailed off with a guilt-filled expression. Namjoons boisterous laugh filled our ears as he grabbed the book from my waiting hand. “I knew you couldn’t wait! You’re such a sly fox and for what?” he playfully questioned with a raised eyebrow. “I can’t help but be myself,” I smirked, “also it’s just as profound as we thought.” I shot back gleefully. I glanced over at Hoseok suddenly getting chills when our eyes connected. His fluffy, black hair styled gracefully on his forehead, tan skin illuminated in the library spotlights. His expression of curiosity only peaking my interest further. He wore loose washed-out blue jeans and a short-sleeved black sweater with a single white strip near the neck and arms.

Namjoon stood knowingly glancing between us. He shook his head in disbelief at the awkward staring contest we were having. “Ah hyung this is Y/N,” Namjoon said signaling to me cautiously. He knew how hard it was for me to introduce myself to anyone. I’d grown close to the patient leader during my first few weeks at HYBE. He frequented the library even advocating for its renovation and new employment. I’ve spent countless nights with him arguing over our next read or what guitar riff is better in a song. He’s another constant in my life I will forever be grateful for.

I raise my hand in return as Hoseok reaches for it across my desk. “It’s nice to finally meet you Y/N I’ve heard so much about you, you can call me Hoseok or J.” he beamed. His delicate hand lingered in mine for a second too long, I watched as his golden bracelet slid down his wrist. “Likewise,” I stuttered out embarrassingly quietly. Namjoon could have sworn he saw sparks fly when my manicured hand slipped into Hoseoks.

“Y/N it’s time for your lunch break, take an hour and a half we have to stay late tonight.” The librarian said in passing with her lunch bag in hand. Before I could respond she was already near the door, exiting without another word. I let out a sigh of dread and started to say my goodbyes. “Y/N why don’t you join us for lunch, seems like you have some free time today,” Namjoon said looking at Hoseok. I went to shake my head no until I saw Hoseok waiting for an answer. “You know what, sure can we get tteokbokki please?” I asked fluttering my eyelashes at Namjoon knowing he’ll break. “Of course, hyung’s buying let’s go!” he said playfully rolling his eyes at me.

I snap out of my reverie grabbing my makeup bag from under my cabinet. I slip into the first pair of matching undergarments I find, not having time to waste. I don’t know what color dress Aniase bought me so I settled on a black smoky eye with cat eyeliner and a glossy lip. I made a scornful face at my reflection when suddenly loud knocking fills my bedroom. “Open up I have your dress and you’re going, I won’t take no for an answer-” Aniase halts in the middle of her sentence as she takes in my appearance.

“You look so fucking good oh my gosh!” she yells pushing past me into my room, the small black fabric in her hand catching my eye. I turned around wide-eyed as she smiles at me holding it up. “Is that-” I start to get teary-eyed as she passed me the dress I’ve been wanting for months. It’s this simple black Calvin Klein dress I saw on a runway with Hoseok months ago. It was a slightly above-the-knee body con with velvet black straps. I’d been telling them how much I’d fallen in love with it and that I needed to have it one day. “Yes it is, I love you and no one deserves it more than you,” she said closing the space between us and pulling me in for a tight hug.

“To be completely honest with you I also got the dress because I knew you had the perfect pair of shoes to match,” she admitted looking directly at the shoes in my open closet. “I fucking knew you were up to something, I’ll wear the shoes if you go roll a joint right now,” I said pushing past her with a frustrated huff, grabbing the sleek white box from the closet floor. “You got it, boss,” she said laughing as she walked out of my room. I crossed my room and set the shoe box on my bed. I slipped into the dress, taking a few minutes to admire my figure in the mirror. I glanced at the clock that now read 6:46. I put on a small silver cross necklace my parents gifted me for getting into grad school, I can’t believe I’m already halfway through my last year.

I opened the shoe box on my bed and gasped at how beautiful the shoes were. Hoseok gifted me a pair of 6-inch black Versace Medusa Aevitas, but instead of the usual golden charm he custom-made a silver sun and moon charm. One on each shoe, coinciding to make a gorgeous pair of heels. I never had the chance to wear them until now. I slipped them on and took a quick picture of myself in the mirror. Feeling my reflection come alive and ignite with a passion akin to madness. I felt irresistible and I needed someone to see.

I don’t know what came over me but in a flash I grabbed my phone, angling myself in a provocative pose in the mirror. I snapped the picture trying to come up with a clever caption to send Namjoon. “Hey Siri, play 6 Inch by Beyonce.” I typed out laughing at my cringe idea. I didn’t have time to react before I instantly got a notification.

Hobi ddaeng: “Wow..you look stunning baby.”

My eyes widened in horror as I read the recipient's name. I audibly screamed and I looked down in shock. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how I feel right now. I meant to send that to Namjoon I’m royally fucked. I have a plethora of questions but the main one being why did he respond so fast? I couldn’t stomach a response right now, I called Aniase into my room telling her I’m ready to smoke. My mind stayed fixated on Hoseoks' message through the night's progression. Aniase stared at me puzzled at my sudden mood change. “Is this because I made you wear the shoes?” she probed and passed me the joint. “No.” I simply stated, inhaling the plant to calm down.

At 7:50 I call a taxi to the apartment and we begin our 30-minute commute to the event center. I cross my legs hastily hoping the taxi driver didn’t get a peak under my short dress. His taxi smelled of cigarettes but he appears to be a nice middle-aged man. An email notification from my phone penetrates the stale air, making me jump slightly. The first thing I see is my professor's name and I audibly groan. “I’m so freaking tired of talking to my prof about my dissertation!” I exclaimed crossing my arms over my chest. Aniase laughed and didn’t spare me a second glance from her phone. “I thought Joon was helping you with that? Quit complaining and start worrying about the real problem!” she said. “Which is?” I questioned confused at her aimless outburst. “Your sex life,” she stated dryly looking up and laughing at the look of disgust on my face.

“You’re so gross just shut up please,” I begged while slapping her knee in embarrassment. I looked up noticing the taxi driver holding back laughter. I was quiet the rest of the ride and my nerves only grew worse. When we arrive at the building our driver opens the door for both of us and we are ushered inside by 2 security officers. As we walk through the labyrinth, the fluorescent office lights start to make me dizzy. I steady myself and give Aniase a look of reassurance.

“Here you go ladies, enjoy,” one of the tall officers says. He combs his hands through his gelled black hair and holds the door open. Aniase thanks, them as we cross the threshold into a sea of blinding lights. Blue, red, neons, and purple all flickered through the black-lit room. “Everything’s going to be alright Y/N, we can leave whenever you’re ready. Let’s go get a drink,” Aniase said pulling me through the small forming crowd on the dance floor. We spot the white-clothed table filled with champagne flutes and jello shots. “Isn’t this a clothing launch, it almost feels like a frat party,” I thought to myself. She handed me a glass of champagne and we downed it with solid cheers. This was Don Perigon 88, it tasted like heaven on the tongue and eased my nerves.

“Hey Aniase, Y/N!” a familiar voice echoed from the crowd. Kim Seokjin emerged from the crowd beaming at Aniase. I almost gagged when she sent a flirtatious wink in his direction. He grabbed her by the waist and gave her a bear hug. Sweeping her off of her feet because of their conflicting height difference. He then put her down and gave me a quick hug and lame pat on the back. “You suck Jin why don’t you two just fuck already?” I questioned causing him to turn red. “Hey you’re one to talk Ms.Jung,” Aniase struck back with funny intensity. “Fine, you win!” I said raising my hands in defeat. “Y/N about that…I’m going to steal Aniase for a while see you!” Seokjin said grabbing her hand and running before I could protest.

I grabbed another glass of champagne and walked slowly to a corner of the room. I can’t believe he just took her like that and she didn’t protest! I’m going to fight her later, she promised not to leave me. I nursed my glass for 20 minutes before receiving a text from Namjoon. Starting to feel the drinks I respond slowly.

Joonie Bear: “Are you going to the launch party Y/N/N?”

I nodded at my phone realizing he couldn’t see me. I held up my empty glass beside my face and took a quick selfie for him. Hoping he’d tell me he’s on his way or he invites me over. I received another notification while I’m thinking about leaving and going to get drunk with Namjoon.

Joonie Bear: *heart eyes* Great

I respond quickly this time, asking if he’s coming to the launch. Disappointed at his response and lack of enthusiasm, I wait 10 more minutes before I leave my spot. He left me on read and I am thoroughly pissed, 2 of my friends bailed on me while I’m tipsy and alone. I strut towards the drink table bumping into someone along the way. I down 2 more glasses and tipsily head to the restrooms. I needed to loosen up and I know just how.

I burst through the large door stumbling towards the countertop and clinging on. I grab my pen out of my purse and take a long pull, a euphoric rush of calmness invading me. I look up to see a blurred reflection in the large mirror. My eyes hung seductively low as the alcohol coursed through me. I could feel myself growing hotter as if a certain assailant was caressing my body. Flashbacks of his hands on my neck ravaged my mind. It’s never gone far enough with Hoseok and I need him.

Loud music starts blaring through the speaker to catch the attention of the guests. I check the time on my phone, it reads 9:00 pm adorning my wallpaper of Namjoon and me at a restaurant. I lingered in the restroom for an unprecedented amount of minutes, techno-pop music blasting through high-definition speakers as models walked on a stand-in runway. My heart is suffering with every beat, I have to leave. After I hear someone announce that the runway walk is over I check myself one last time and walk out.

Like the devil himself making a special appearance, I lock eyes with Jung Hoseok as I exit the restrooms. With the rhythm of the music matching my heart's beat, he smirks at me in surprise. I nod at him and run to look for Aniase. I can’t believe I just avoided him to his face, where the fuck is Aniase? “6-inch heels, she walks in the club like nobody's business. Goddamn, she murdered everybody and I was her witness…” Beyonce sings on as the hard bass palpitates through my eardrums.

I look over my shoulder in disbelief as Hoseok maneuvers his way through the crowd, gravitating toward me. I spare him a knowing look, beckoning him to follow me. I finally break out of the crowd leaving through the door behind the Dj booth. I walk down a long hallway and glance over my shoulder to make sure Hoseok is following me. A second later he bursts through the door eyeing me hungrily like well-marinated prey.

I make a right down the hallway and enter the first door I see. I blink rapidly as my eyes adjust to the bright dressing room light, being accustomed to the dark room making me overly sensitive. I notice a blue couch on the opposite side of the room facing the door, I hurry to take a seat because my legs feel numb. I grow more nervous with every passing second that I’m alone. Hoseok cautiously opens the door letting out a sigh of relief as we made eye contact. I took in his presence and outfit as he closed the space between us.

He wore a low-cut black top with baggy blue ripped jeans and a matching jean jacket. Luxury brand pins adorned his jacket and rings rested comfortably on his nimble fingers. He stared at me through his black cat eye shades, the brand matching the shoes I’m wearing. He set his glass of champagne on the small table next to me, not breaking eye contact as he invaded my space. Hoseok stares down into my eyes causing me to grow wetter with his every action. He takes off his sunglasses setting them in his jacket pocket before he finally breaks the silence.

“I feel like I’ve been chasing you all night,” he said lowly taking my hand in his and pulling me up. He spun me around and sat down in my spot, leaving me standing idle in front of him. He took in the sight of my outfit, eyeing my heels curiously. “Finally got you to wear them huh? Let me see you walk again doll,” He commanded nicely. I nodded and began walking away from him, smoothing my dress down in the front before turning swiftly on my heel and stopping. My eyes nearly popped out of my head as I watched Hoseok palm himself through his jeans. I could feel the heat between my legs growing embarrassingly persistent. I nearly moaned at the sight of him, his skin glowing like a fallen angel.

“Come here baby,” he growled and I sprung into action, quickly closing the space between us sitting on his lap with my thighs sprawled on either side trapping him. I brace myself by placing my head on his chest, feeling his heart palpitate with mine. Hoseok then gently grabbed my face bringing it up to his, “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time Y/N knowing you’ll come back to me,” he started while staring into my attentive eyes. “I think about you day and night, those gorgeous eyes, the last time I felt your soft hands, the way your lips felt around my-” he said ceasing because of my urgency to kiss him.

He was completely magnetic, the silkiness of his deep voice sending me into oblivion. I sighed against his lips irrevocably getting a taste of something I will never again relinquish. I felt his hands travel down the back of my dress, roughly grabbing my ass under my dress. The taste of his lips intoxicated me and dragged me deeper into my addiction. The mix of alcohol, drugs, and Hoseok was enough to make me feel weak. He pressed my body against his with unpalpable desire, pulling away to let us catch our breath.

He grabbed my hips guiding me to rest on his right thigh. “I meant what I said Y/N, I can’t let you go..” he trailed off breathlessly. Though our self-control has already failed us tonight, I saw a flicker of something sinister in his eyes. He grabbed my hands which lay idle on his chest and place them on his shoulders, he then pulls up my dress to make my movement more accessible. “You know what I want doll, ride my thigh like the desperate slut that you are,” he commanded voice permeated with lust. My breathing grew shallow as he picked up his glass from the table and took a sip, “go ahead now,” he deadpanned motioning for me to start. Placing his drink down, he captured the straps of my dress and slowly slid them down, making me remove my hands from his shoulders and let the straps fall. He then grabbed the front of my dress yanking it down, to stare at my chest with lustful eyes.

The air was heavy, my skin damp and feverish being exposed to him. The cold air caused my nipples to harden, he sensed my aching need and started massaging at the supple mounds. Mindlessly groaning as I start to slowly move. I ground myself on the denim fabric and whimpered at the sweet pressure on my clit, my panties only adding to the friction. I couldn’t last long, I craved him for so long the need to consummate our relationship consumed me.

No amount of masturbating or toys could make me drunk with lust the way Jung Hosoek does. He was as addictive as any gateway drug, as mesmerizing as a siren's song. I could feel my orgasm growing closer, desperately moaning for him to take me. I continued to circle my hips on his thigh, biting my already swollen lips to muffle my needy noises. “Don’t be quiet now Y/N, ride my thigh just like that. Tell me how bad you need me,” he said continuing his devilish assault on my clothed center.

“Talk to me baby, I don’t care who hears,” he growled grabbing a fistful of my hair and exposing my sensitive neck to him. He starts leaving sloppy, wet kisses up my neck until he reached just behind my ear. Earning a loud groan from me as he leaves a harsh love mark behind. Stars fill my view as my orgasm reaches its climax. Hoseok then abruptly stands up, placing me to the right of him on the couch.

“I’m sorry doll, you’re not cumming tonight until I’m inside you,” he states plainly as if this esoteric action is commonly known. I whine in displeasure as my orgasm blindly fades into nothing, my body still tingling with fervor. “Ya-” I began to whine and was forcefully stopped when Hoseok stuck two fingers in my mouth. “Oh now you want to talk,” he said smirking as I proceeded to suck on his pointer and middle fingers. I lean back on the couch, melting into a mess of libido and yearning. “Good girl, you look like an absolute sin right now.” he gushed as he pulled out his phone from his back pocket.

He angled his camera above me and snapped a picture, staring at his phone in awe for a second. He then pulled his fingers from my mouth and ran them down my front until he reached the top of my panties. “You want me here right pet?” he teased maniacally, making me whimper pathetically. “Use your fucking words Y/N or I won’t touch you,” he commanded taking my throat in his hand and giving it a light but serious squeeze.

“Please touch me, sir, I need you to fuck me so bad,” I cried out defeated and horny. “You know I love when you call me that doll,” he said while aggressively yanking my panties down. He then shoved them in his back pocket and gave me a sly wink. He spared me one last look before he dove in. He starts feverishly lapping his tongue at my pussy, consuming me like his last meal. I scream out in pleasure as he grinds his tongue inside me, slurping and giving off the dirtiest sounds I’ve ever heard. One of his hands snakes its way up gripping my right breast and massaging in torturously slow circles. I’m almost at my climax, rhythmically riding his tongue when my phone loudly interrupts our session of perversion.

A familiar ringtone fills the room but that doesn’t stop Hoseoks wanted assault on my body. He continues indulging in the sweet sounds that I emit all at his leisure. My phone stops ringing earning a sigh of relief from Hoseok, sending a vibrational wave through my core. It starts again causing me to groan in annoyance, grabbing my phone from my discarded bag somewhere on the couch. I push his head away trying to pry him away from me, but he grips my thighs harder and hungrily laps at my pussy. I yelp in surprise moaning at the sudden pressure increase.

“Ho-Hobi she called twice, it has to be important,” I stutter out still trying to push his head away, tears slipping from my eyes as he stares into them. It feels so divine, but I aggressively answer the phone anyway. “Y- Y/N,” Aniase gurgles out, I could hear the drunken stupor in her voice. “Can we go home please, I don’t feel so good,” she slurred, “Hey! Y/N it’s Jin, Aniase may have taken a few too many shots,” he confessed nervously into the phone. I gave Hoseok a concerned look and his brows furrowed in confusion as he pulled away. “Seokjin you know she can’t drink that much, why the fuck would you let her.” I seethed into the phone, pulling my dress straps back over my shoulders. Hoseok rose from the floor and plopped on the couch next to me, mouth glistening with bright eyes. “I’m sorry I can’t help but do what she says, I love her..” he gushed at the end causing me to gag into the phone. “Whatever Jin, both of you better be waiting for me when I make it outside the main room door.” I passively said on the phone. I ended the call and stood up to fix my dress. Hosoek reaches for my hand pulling me back down to his lap.

“Trouble with the old married couple?” he playfully questioned igniting an uproar of laughter from both of us. I nodded and told him that I need to leave, standing up again and stuffing my phone in my purse. I turned to leave and Hoseok quickly stood up capturing me by my waist from behind. He let his right hand slowly trail up my body and stop on my neck, “don’t think I would let you get away that easily dollface.” he threatened squeezing my neck once more. “After you get home and settled, I’ll be downstairs waiting for you Y/N,” he promised, letting go of my neck with a chaste kiss.

I turned around and kissed him one last time before I departed the room. I run to a nearby restroom hoping I don’t get lost on the way back to the main room. I grow wide-eyed at my reflection in the mirror, my hair was a mess, my eyeliner is smeared from crying, my pupils are blown, and lastly 2 prominent marks decorate my neck. I try to make my hair as presentable as I can, removing my eyeliner smudges, and putting in clear eyedrops for my bloodshot eyes. Once I’m decent I stammer out of the restroom almost falling in my heels, again.

As I’m making my way down the hallway mindlessly thinking of Hoseok I can hear Beyonce’s voice echo through my mind. “You’ll always come back to me…” she sings dreamily causing me to a halt. His face projected in my mind once more, bringing a small smile to my lips. I walk through the Dj door, slipping past everyone before someone stopped to question my whereabouts. I burst through the main room entrance seeing Seokjin stroke Aniase’s hair as she rests her head on his chest.

“Where the hell have you been Y/N Belgium!?” he said frowning at me. “Nowhere I got sick on the walk back sorry, come on Aniase let’s go,” I said apologetically walking up and taking her hand. She drunkenly said her goodbyes to her boyfriend, and we walked outside to the driver Seokjin had ready for us. The drive back to our apartment felt like an eternity.

I woke up Aniase on arrival and help her up to our place, thank god for the elevators because our last apartment was a death trap accompanied by stairs. Aniase protests me putting her to bed, becoming inquisitive about where I was the entire night. After fighting her to put her pajamas on she finally gave in and fell asleep on my bed.

I haven’t received a text from Hoseok yet and I’m starting to think he’s not coming, or worse he’s changed his mind. My heart aches for a second, letting the somnolent atmosphere creep in before it's all ripped away with the sound of a text notification. I smile in my bathroom mirror as I finish retouching my makeup. I leave Aniase a note on my bedside table with 2 Tylenol and a coupon for a breakfast delivery service. I check my phone as I walk towards our apartment door, the text from him sending a shiver down my spine. I race to the elevators with my overnight bag in tow and a cheesy grin on my face.

My sunshine: I’m downstairs dollface come on, I have some joints already rolled ;)

THE END

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angelfrommontgomery · 1 year ago

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Pls explain the Michigan football thing more

For you I will try. I am not the most versed scholar on the topic but the background you need:

The Michigan Ohio state rivalry is rooted in an actual dispute over land (the toledo war)

From 2012-2019, Ohio state won every year

Since 2015, Michigan has been coached by Jim harbaugh, former Michigan quarterback

In 2019, tensions are high. Harbaugh has never beat Ohio state. Tensions are so high in fact, Michigan players attempt to take off an osu players shoe.

In 2020, Michigan has a TERRIBLE season and cancels the osu game, citing covid, but many are skeptical about the real reason

Jim Harbaugh gets a NEW CONTRACT. With a pay cut. He goes from highest-paid head coach in the conference to eighth. But if he starts winning, there’s incentives in his contract to win.

2021 Michigan wins

Credit where credit is due, Michigan had a good team. No suspicions are raised

2022 they win again, after coming back in the second half. Lots of rumors about them “stealing signs”

The deal with sign stealing: to call a play, teams have signs for the coaches to communicate with players. The nfl has technology in their helmets to avoid this problem btw. It’s not illegal to have somebody scout the other teams signs during the game, but it is illegal to send somebody to another game to scout signs “in-person”. It’s also illegal to record the other teams sideline like that. This is because it would give bigger teams a big advantage while smaller schools can’t afford to bankroll spying.

OCTOBER 2023: it breaks that Michigan had a staffer stealing signs. most people assume this story will amount to nothing. It’s hard to prove sign stealing.

THEN it comes out that this Michigan staffer bought 30 tickets over the past three years (since…2021… when they were better…) in his own name on his own credit card. His venmo transactions are public and he appears to be paying others to go to the games and record for him.

Rumors on message boards confirmed:

Many people suggest he could have been a lone actor, who decided to do this on his own, which would lessen the penalty.

THEN it comes out how crazy this guy is. He wrote a 500 page plan to become Michigan head coach in 15 years called his “Michigan manifesto”. He also includes other buddies of his that are coaching staff at other schools.

We all think it’s over, this guy is crazy and did this by himself. How sad for all the Michigan haters

Just a few hours later, the news drops that Michigan computers had detailed budgets and schedules of the sign stealing operations.

So not only was this guy crazy and wrote a Michigan manifesto, the entire program was participating in the cheating with him at the lead. It’s the best of both worlds for a hater like me

Many other rumors are still out there waiting to be confirmed, like the rumor that Michigan shared their knowledge of Tennessee’s signs so their opponent could ruin their championship chances.

Among the rumors

Is the cheating staffer on the sidelines of a Michigan state game???? It certainly looks like it

Note that he hides his face during the tv broadcast. And he wears shades at a 7pm game

How much crazier can this get? Will Jim Harbaugh leave? How much did this effect the 21/22 championships? Did they share the illegal signs? Will Michigan have to vacate their 2021-2022 wins? That would restore Ohio states winning streak… but we won’t know until the end of the season. Michigan hasn’t played since this news broke, but they are back this weekend. We will see how they look. This is the best thing that ever happened to a Michigan hater like me

#it certainly LOOKS like Harbaugh became desperate enough to cheat after the 2020 season #after YEARS of him talking about how he has the most moral program 🥱

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melis-writes · 2 years ago

Note

THIS REQUEST OMFG MELIS

So one day Michael says he’s going away for a few weeks for business. Obviously by this time, Victoria and Sonny have a fully fledged relationship and affair that nobody has caught onto or figured out about.

Connie is away to NYC with Sandra and their kids. Vito and Carmela are away on vacation with Giuseppe and Ludovica and the guards are off as well while Fredo is dead perhaps and Victorias brothers are in NYC and that Niccolò and Verona joined their grandparents on vacation. The catering and cleaning staff and chauffeurs are off as well.

That leaves the Lake Tahoe compound and estate completely empty for other than Victoria and Sonny… Sonny excuses himself from going to NYC saying he’s going to do some things round the house yknow men things and Victoria’s parents tell her to have some chill time to herself without the kids there and some relaxation without Michael there too…

As the security is away, Victoria knows how to defend herself thank you very much, she and Sonny continue their relationship and affair openly at Lake Tahoe as nobody is there to notice or find out…

They have sex in the living room, dining room, kitchen, pool, yacht, gardens, the cellar, all the rooms in both Victoria’s compound and Sonny’s compound and there is obviously no cameras or security there to catch them… they have a few rounds in each place over those few weeks… they can be as loud as they want and even walk around naked…

But they also have a few rounds in VICTORIA AND MICHAEL’S MARITAL BED 👀🔥👀🔥👀🔥👀🔥

Ofc not long after those sex and love filled weeks together alone, Victoria finds out she’s pregnant and smiles knowingly at the fact it’s undoubtedly Sonny’s baby…

Down astronomically bad for Victonny… WOW. 😶😶 This is as scandalous and steamy as it gets, ESPECIALLY the marital bed part. 😈🙏🏻

Embroiled in your secret affair with your brother-in-law for well over a year, there’s no part of you that wouldn’t use the opportunity for privacy and to get away from hecticness of life and work just to be with Santino.

Even just standing there and hearing the words you’d been anticipating for weeks to come out of Michael’s mouth telling you; “The Molinari family is expecting Tom and I for business in California. It will be only be for a few weeks as their guest, however…” The rest you completely drowned out.

It was the tingling rush of excitement and relief going through you at the sound of Michael’s absence—not because you had no love or respect for your husband despite your affair you’d never second guess or give up on, but because every part of you yearned and ached in desperation to be with Sonny without all the extra precaution.

Despite sneaking away, pretending to be busy and meeting up elsewhere among the many things you and Sonny did and do to savour every moment spent with one another, not a single soul has even caught wind of slight suspicion about the two of you.

Rarely does it ever align that you and Sonny are completely left alone at the Lake Tahoe compound, but with less family on the grounds of the estate also means less security and enforcement.

Of course, your regular patrol and security will be around the perimeters of the estates closely, but their concern does not lie with the privacy of the residents inside and what they do.

Your own family lives in Long Island and visits periodically every three months for a week whereas Vito and Carmela also spend half of the year back at the Corleone mansion in Staten Island as well.

Newly married to Leonardo, Connie spends most of her time in New York City with her husband frivolously shopping, dining and travelling most of the time and the twins are equally spending time with both of their grandparents while Michael is away.

Naturally due to the lack of family at Lake Tahoe, there’s a paid break also provided for the chauffeurs and catering staff, leaving almost the entire compound empty.

You’ve always been insistent on not having staff do everything around the estate at least for your family, seeing no need for a private chef or chauffer either but none other than Sonny know as to why your insistence on not having them near you much at all has grown more demanding.

Sonny himself would accompany his wife Sandra and the children to visit their in-laws for a few weeks back in Hell’s Kitchen, but excused himself with his own work and being left in the charge of the estate during Michael’s absence.

“Peace and quiet, eh?” Sonny smirks, leaning against the doorway of the study. “Not somethin’ we get so often here like you’d think.”

“Just the way you like it,” you tease back, walking out of the study.

Sonny smacks your ass firmly just as you walk past him, following you. “Just me and my wife here for the next three weeks like nobody’s business, huh. Except now…” Sonny embraces you from behind, chuckling. “She wants to play hard to get and tease me.”

“I do no such thing,” you purr, leaning your head back and stealing a wet kiss from Sonny’s lips. “You came prepared.”

“You have no idea.” Sonny breathed hotly over your shoulder, looking down the hallway with you. “I got this whole place to my damn self with you. It ain’t a damn fantasy anymore.”

“A-anywhere…” Your breath hitches as you gaze down to see Sonny’s hands roaming up your blouse, squeezing your breasts through your bra.

“I’m gonna take my time with you.” Sonny whispers against the nape of your neck, inching your bra down your chest. “Get a good taste and feel of that sweet pussy… Mike’s car barely took off and you were back in the bathroom suckin’ me off in a heartbeat. Think I should reward you for that.”

“Oh, please.” You whine softly, pressing your back against Sonny’s body only to feel his erection poking against your ass. “I’m yours. I’m all yours, baby. Fucking take me wherever you want.”

“Anytime Mike wants to enjoy a cigarette by the window or sit on the couch—” Sonny squeezes your face, giving it a little shake. “He’s not gonna know I fucked his pretty little wife here and there, is he?”

“Never,” you moan back quietly, feeling Sonny’s free hand toying with your hardened nipple.

“Everywhere, baby.” Sonny’s quick to pull his hands off of you only to snatch down your pencil skirt off your knees before pulling you back.

“Do it.” You gasp out breathily, giggling and turned on by Sonny’s sexual aggressiveness and insistence on stripping you down bit by bit himself.

“For the next three weeks you’re gonna be walkin’ around with me completely naked.” Sonny roams his hands down your thighs, pushing off your skirt and panties by force. “I wanna see every bit of you whenever I want. You got this—” Sonny smacks both of your ass cheeks harshly, “fine fucking ass and these—” his hands then move to squeeze your breasts, fondling them. “Tits and they’re all mine, baby.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes!” You whimper, practically squirming from arousal in Sonny’s grasp.

With nobody, not even your private hired security to gain suspicion as to how long Sonny and you spend in Michael’s estate, moving from there to Sonny’s back and forth for the next few weeks, everything is set in perfection.

Every ounce of sexual frustration and heated desire built up in the two of you is released in every corner of the house both of you only teased and imagined each other fucking in; nothing is off limits.

“O-Oh my God, YES! Y-yes!” Stuttering from the overstimulation, you shriek out a load moan as you bounce up and down on Sonny’s cock—held in a full nelson position. “YES!”

With Sonny’s arms over your thighs and gripping the nape of your neck, your legs are fully spread and up in the air as you’re helplessly fucked on the leather couch you spent so many evenings cuddling up with Michael on.

“You fuck so good, you know that?” Sonny growls in your ear, pounding upwards into your pussy ruthlessly. “Mine, your pussy is mine, isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes, yes!” You nod frantically, unable to stop the quivering in your thighs from edging back your orgasm multiple times.

“Wanna cum on this cock already, huh?” Sonny grunts, smacking your thighs again and again.

“I-I want to, I want to!” You pant, feeling your skin redden from the spanking and your ass slapping back down against Sonny’s waist. “P-please let me—”

“Tell me how much you fuckin’ love this cock.” Sonny pulls a fistful of your hair back, maintaining his swift and quick thrusting. “I know you want it more than Michael’s, don’t you?”

“I do, I—yes, yes!” You squeal, curling your toes from the waves of immense pleasure coursing through you. “I want you m-more—more than Michael. More! I want—” You shakily glance down at Sonny’s thick cock, all ten inches ramming into you. “I want your cock so much!”

Sloppy fucking only continues over the dining table barely three hours later with neither of you having enough.

Keeping one thigh up on the mahogany table and clutching onto the corner, Sonny kept one knee planted firmly on one of the dining tables and a perfect view and angle of your ass.

“I’ve never wanted someone as badly as you.” Sonny breathed over your back, having you completely pinned down on the table. “So fuckin’ much, baby. God, you drive me crazy.”

“Sonny, S-Sonny—” Your voice quivers with each rough thrust in your ass and Sonny shoving three fingers into your dripping pussy. “Oh my God, yes… Like that—right there. Oooh!”

Switching back and forth on both holes, your body gives into Sonny again and again, careless to squirt and let your cum drip off the wood.

“Keep cummin’ baby. Show me how much you fucking like it,” Sonny grins devilishly, spreading your ass open. “Don’t waste a single drop for me.”

Just as Sonny licked up the mixture of his and your cum out of your dripping pussy, he made you watch himself lick the rest of the mess off the table too before tongue kissing you sloppily to let you taste yourself.

Even pumping you full of his cum with no regard to any chances of pregnancy, Sonny refused to let a single drop go to waste over the kitchen counter.

“Deeper, yes!” You screamed out in pleasure, pushing your hips back to meet every inch of Sonny’s cock again and again.

“If it was up to me, I’d never come out of your pretty pussy.” Sonny exhaled sharply, obsessed with the way your tight, wet heat contracts over his shaft. “Take it in like a good girl, yeah baby, every single inch. Fuck, yes!”

Just as nowhere is off limits to fuck and please each other limitlessly, there’s nobody and nothing to stop neither you nor Sonny from using Michael’s silk ties as a blindfold on his and your own marital bed.

Pumped with three rounds of cum, squirt and cum seeping into the bedsheets, thrown off blankets and wrinkled duvets, you’re all the more turned on and severely aroused from having a blindfold over your eyes as Sonny fucks you into bliss.

The sore, aching sensation in your pussy from spending the remainder of your day fucking by the poolside and on the coffee table in the yacht only intensifies your rushing orgasms coming out back to back and provides more stimulation altogether.

“I wanna taste that sweet, heavenly pussy—” Sonny abruptly pulls his cock out of you after spewing another load of his hot sticky seed inside your pussy.

“Sonny—” You gasp out as he shoves you back down on the bed and lifts your thighs in the air before burying his face into your pussy.

With your thighs shaking uncontrollably against Sonny’s head, you clasp both of your hands over your mouth to stifle out the screams of how heavenly it feels to have Sonny’s warm tongue slobbering over your engorged, aching clit.

Sonny hungrily licks and suck his own cum out of your pussy, letting his tongue in and out of you before drooling excessively against your clit and shaking his head between your legs to stimulate you further with his stubble.

With his and your cum dripping off of Sonny’s soaked chin, Sonny’s quick to pull your thighs back down and let his hips meet yours all over again.

“YES! FUCK! FUCK!” You grip onto the bedsheets with every bit of strength left in you as Sonny’s cock impales your pussy again.

“I know he doesn’t fuck you like me here—” Sonny pants heavily, putting your legs over his shoulders but continuing to push and move in further so that your knees touch your shoulders and your pussy is fully angled up. “I’m the one who fucks you so good, baby. Isn’t that right?”

Having never been fucked in a position like this and right over the side of Michael’s bed, you squirt out more cum helplessly as you feel the outline of Sonny’s cock burying itself inside of you.

Your pussy convulses against Sonny’s cock and with the sound of skin slapping against skin and the even louder sound your pussy squelching from cum and dripping wetness, the scent of sex emancipates in your bedroom and is pure music to Sonny’s ears.

Having had the best sex of your life back to back in those three weeks, it was no doubt as to why you constantly had Michael take you in the same position upon his return although both you and Sonny knew it would never be or feel the same.

You still maintained a healthy, normal sex life with Michael before and certainly slept with him before the day of his lengthy business trip arrived so none took it as a surprise weeks later to find out you were pregnant once again.

Only you and Sonny knew the truth, secretly smiling at each other behind everyone’s backs at the announcement.

Two and a half weeks later after the fuck fest around the compound, you rest your hand over your stomach and know without a doubt that you’re carrying Sonny’s first child.

#godfather au #victonny #sonny corleone #santino corleone #sonny corleone x reader #sonny corleone x reader smut #moth to flame fic #moth to flame fanfic #smut prompts #moth to flame au #godfather x reader #not canon

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leam1983 · 8 months ago

Text

Oblivion

So. Tomorrow, we're flying back home.

Seven days. A week spent with a small legion at my beck and call, bending to Walt's every whim, acceeding to Sarah's every request. One massive kitchen divided between four dining rooms, serving up everything from Americano-Mexican tentpoles to recomposed would-be Taino dishes, with a buffet where passable is the order of the day. Mornings were bland Continental breakfast affairs, but the evenings shone brightly, capstoned with the best cigars I've had in the last three years and the best damn Cappuccino in a decade.

Seven days realizing that an army is re-making my bed, giving me clean sheets every morning and fresh towels on the dot, showing extreme deference for my walker-using ass. A little cohort of maids paid Cheap Labor wages to smile, respond to everything with Es mi placer, señor, and pushed into treating USD tips in the single digits like they're Godly gifts.

You can bet that Walt was so appalled by this he starting leaving twenties. "These poor girls - cleaning up people's shit and vomit after the douchebags three doors down the hall spend the evening getting plastered on Mojitos - and not an ounce of gratitude!"

People started asking questions. Our passable Spanish led to us forming basic bonds with the staff, and turned our little bungalow in the Adults Only section into the talk of the resort. People with less manners started asking for drinks delivery and had to handle polite rebuffs, where we got the sense that the Room Service people were starting to network with the Pool Bar guys to figure out our schedule of preferred drinks.

Eventually, what had to happen happened. My feet were so swollen I couldn't put on my closed-toes shoes for the evening, as the dress code requests, but the staff didn't bat an eyelash when i wheeled in, looking like someone's favourite Math teacher, with socks and sandals. A Karen whose husband had completely overlooked the dress code was shocked.

"Why does he get to head inside dressed like this, and my husband can't?"

Yamilet, 23, born and raised in Santo Domingo and using the thankless job of the French Cuisine-oriented dining room's maître d' to pay her way through nursing school when she's not in church, gave her a Crest commercial-worthy smile.

Is un especial guest. Disculpe - see his legs. Mira?

For once in my life, I was happy to be singled out as disabled.

What really emerged from this is how gratitude really is crucial, when you're travelling. Everyone I heard who spouted variations on "having paid for the right to do whatever they wanted" received piss-poor service. Everyone who lowered their voice in a corridor, who showed basic deference and treated the staff like human beings received distinctly improved treatment. It wasn't just us - we noticed several other cultural groups in the resort, and I was actually thankful to draw a clear line between the nice Americans - and the douchebags.

In open spaces like the buffet, it's kind of impossible not to eavesdrop. If you're on vacation and you're still griping about your Democrat neighbours when you're halfway across the hemisphere from your point of origin, you're coloring your entire stay. The Trumptards who demanded service came in pissed off, stayed ornery and left irate. Anyone else, from anywhere else in the world, who politely asked, language barriers be damned, got what they asked for.

The Semester-Enders were hard to miss, too. Sixteen kids in total, barely in their twenties, who'd clearly pooled cash to rent swim-up suites together, and who turned the All-Ages section of the pool into a nightmare. There wasn't an inch of it that wasn't their private Football Toss area, and no resort-provided pool float that they just didn't claim for themselves.

It allowed for a sense of liminality to settle in. On one end of the more or less football-field-length of pool, you had pure chaos. On the other, placid waters, where the Adults Only club and our bungalow was located. I recovered the float I'd bought for myself, one of the Spring Breakers giving me a florid-faced and pleading look.

"Come on, bro!"

I gestured towards the back. "You've got seven other floats, over there, plus an inflatable mattress. I bought this one and brought it here. As it's my possession, I'd like to use it."

He chuckled meanly. "Nobody cares, man."

Christopher, 27, from Bàvàro, gave the guy a level look while climbing down from his lifeguard chair. "Everything okay, señores?"

"Me? Oh, everything's swell, Chris. It's the gentleman over there that's operating under weird delusions."

Chris nodded, his facial language obvious. Another one of those, huh? I nodded.

He smiled. No te preocupas, amigo.

The kid's response stuck with me. Nobody cares. Is this why some people work so much, hustle their way to a therapist and then book a week off to someplace where there's palapas, Afro-Cuban covers of Celine Dion classics and drinks that would make a medicated diabetes sufferer scream in abject terror? You put your ass to the grindstone and your only hope of recovery is to find a place, however theoretical, where nobody gives a shit?

Walt, Sarah and I brainstormed. We planned ahead. We rested aplenty, sure, and napped even more than we do back home - but this place energized us. We were free to create, and spent a week being the best versions of ourselves that we could possibly be.

For other people? It's apparently Adult Daycare. You get up at nine past the breakfast buffet's closure, complain that you can't get any service, throw yourself on yesterday evening's pizza, knock back cocktails starting at 11 AM and end up throwing up in the kiddie pool by 5 PM. You throw a fit because the pool boys had the gall to lift your limp ass out of the wading area before you could drown yourself while passed-out in a puddle-sized expanse of water. Because you're in your twenties, your brush with death is all but forgotten by 8 PM, and you head to the lobby's bar to knock back tequila shots with your fellow jabronis. The wee hours see you treating the public hallways like your personal hangout space, exchanging football huddle cries with equally-inebriated kids with no sense of their own mortality.

To all this should be added the resort's sense of liminality. If you forget your optimal route to your room, you'll end up in an entirely different resort. Pools look the same, everything's connected, and everyone feels transitory, obviously. It's the ersatz of a place. It's as impersonal as a hotel, except the staff are all stuck under a pall of fake-ass exoticism they can't shed. The equator line being so close means days are blisteringly hot and painfully short. By 7 PM, the sun's all but gone - and we're in May.

Nobody stays. Nobody leaves an impression. I've regaled Yamilet and Christopher with tales of La Banquise and of Schwartz' smoked meat or the bagel bakeries on St-Viateur - but I'll forget their faces just as they'll forget mine. We spent a week treating one another like culturally Latin brethren - Québécois deference having always meshed well with Cuban and Dominican confidence - but we won't remember one another in short order.

Single-serving friends, as Pahlaniuk once said.

I might as well head to the gift shop, swallow my pride and see if there's a tee-shirt on offer that reads I went to the Carribbean, and all I got for it was a lousy sunburn.

#thoughts #life post #vacationblr

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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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