#here's a little of what happened afterwards for anyone reading tags

[cecedownbad]

Hold On

Summary: A missing child's case resurfaced so many memories you wished to keep buried. Sure enough, seeking comfort from the heavy feelings came by as a form of a person. [Spencer Reid X Fem!Reader] Part 2.

Warning: Child abduction, death of a child, angst, no Y/N, made up last name: Cyrus, made up case, light fluff, hurt/ comfort, not too romance-y but alluding to it, not proof read, I don't think the mystery/crime aspect is good but let me hear thoughts guys. Something extra in tags, read after the story.

Word Count: 4.1k

Part 1

I'm so sorry this took so long, my exams, mental health, projects, assignments allll just rolled in the past months, and I've been doing everything to stay on top of writing. It's rushed towards the end but with all that's going on I hope it's okay. If anyone is up for part 3, I'm all for it .

Enjoy

"Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it."

-George Santayana

'Okay, let's see, Conrad Miller, 16 years old, went missing on June 12th, 2007. Last seen by the local church with one of the volunteers, she was questioned once but was never linked as she had a solid alibi, her name was Grace Cyrus.' Tara paused. 'So she took Conrad, no she definitely didn't just take him, poor kid is definitely not okay.'

'Right now Stephen is our priority, the anniversary of Steven's disappearance is in 4 days, so what does she want with him now?' You pace in the room, spinning a pen you grabbed in your hand. 'I think that's something only you can answer, what happened 4 days prior to Steven's disappearance?' Tara pondered, she sat down, looking at you, intent on finding answers. '4 days prior…that was the day my dad— Daniel had come to visit, they, Grace and him got into a fight and Stevie, Steven tried to "protect" Daniel in his own way, he thought Mom was going to hurt him…'

Was it then that this all weighed down on you? Words long lost had started pouring through the cracks of memories locked away. You were never in that station in that moment, no, now you were back there.

'Stevie, get back here! We can't stop them!'

'No! No let go! I don't want Dad to go, Mom's going to send him away!'

'Steven!'

No matter how hard you tried, he slipped from your tensed grasp, landing right between two enraged adults.

Pacing the floor helped gather your thoughts, a little better.

'What was the very last thing she said to you when you left?'

The thought of how it all ended passed through your minds, each time much like a bullet to the brain but you push it all down, now wasn't the right time for you. 'everything okay there?' Tara asked you, it's only been a few minutes since you and Tara confronted the idea that Grace might have done more than anyone could have put together.

'Yeah just a lot going on in my head, I think I need a breather.'

'Hold that thought, JJ and Luke are back with Daniel,'

Your hand now wrapped around the empty coffee mug, a dad you haven't spoken to for the last two decades, what would you have to say? or better yet, what would he say to you? This isn't an official reunion, it's an interrogation and who knows what will spill out of your mouth if you see the very first man in your life that disappointed you, taught you that having a person in your life was enough to make you fall apart.

'JJ and I will go in first, you sit tight.' Tara patted your shoulder giving it a good squeeze before heading out the conference room.

It was soon after that Rossi, Reid and Emily came back in, all three harnessing disappointment with their stride. 'Hey, what happened?'

'Well, Rosa was not in her home, we searched the house and by the looks of it, she hardly came back there.' Emily sat down with her legs crossed. 'but, her room had keepsakes, maybe from the time you lived with her?'

'What did she have?'

'She had pictures, some old folded drawings, and the weirdest one, an old juice box.' as Emily finished, you sat up from your chair, 'an old juice box? Do you remember what flavour?'

'I think it was Apple? Why? Does it have something to do with Steven?'

'…'

'Cyrus?'

'That, uh, it's nothing, I think sentimental feelings do surface no matter what kind of person you are.' You began fidgeting with your sleeves, your mind now slowly began recalling events that transpired long ago. 'Is there something else? It looks like you aren't sure about something.' Rossi eyed your movements, he knew something was keeping you. 'My mother, she'd never show any sign that she felt remorse, not even as far as I could remember.'

'Okay Reid, stay with her, I'm going to check in with JJ and the rest. Rossi? Do you mind?' soon after, Rossi and Emily exited the room, leaving you and Spencer in the conference room. 'Could you tell me what kind of person your mother is?' Spencer sat down right before you, urging you to take a seat right next to him and you did.

'She was an uptight woman, she loved to be in control of her life that meant being in control of mine too, it's why I left. She loved being seen.'

'Being seen? What do you mean?'

'She was always a respected figure no matter where she went, be it at work or in the neighborhood, she pushed for that at home too. When Steven had disappeared, I would always remember how she would tell me he was in a better place, and that if I do anything to disobey her or question her authority, I would be punished.' your head hung as you remembered more, 'I would study, day and night, that was the only life I knew, if my grades dropped by a mark, she'd lock me in my room, made sure I only had books on my desk.'

'Did Daniel ever drop by after what happened to Steven?' Spencer asked gently, 'No, I never saw him after that, I thought he finally got sick of mom and left, but I see now that wasn't the case.'

'Okay—'

'You know the one thing I can't seem to remember though?' you looked up at Spencer, his eyebrows now furrowed in question. 'My mother would always say how beautiful I am, and…and that I look just like her, her very own reflection but, Spencer, I can't…I can't remember her face.' your voice sounded shattered at what came out of it. You felt the tears fall, but you couldn't turn away or hide them, Spencer saw just how much this hurts you.

'You are your own person, no one can ever take that from you, no matter what, you are you.' He held your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of your palm, that gave you a sign of comfort and you smiled at him. 'Alright, let's get back to the case.' quickly wiping away your tears and pasting on a smile, which you flash at Spencer, he in turn regained a more unmoving figure. 'When you said Rosa knew that Steven would never come back, what did you mean?'

'I was only a kid but to me it felt like she already knew that Steven had maybe...and all I could remember was a frown anytime I even remotely related to Steven.' You return with an answer. It was then the phone on the table went off.

'What is it Garcia?'

'So I dug into Daniel a bit more, and you aren't going to like this, so he was actually never in Bakersfield until a week ago, before that he was working as a cab driver in Nevada. He was in Nevada for a long time, but he touched base sometime in 2007, in the month of June. Looks like he tried several times to contact his ex wife but she never entertained any of it. What is concerning is that he was reported of stalking a young boy, said he mistook the boy for a boy he knew and he meant no harm but he was fired from his workplace and when was that? A little before coming over to Bakersfield.' Once Garcia had informed both of you, it was then JJ, Emily and Luke walked back in.

'What did the boy look like?' Spencer asked, 'I sent his picture to your phone.'

'Thank you Garcia.' You picked up your cell and scrolled through to find the image.

'No problemo.'

Upon quick inspection, you could tell at a glance the young boy and Steven shared a few similarities, nothing too obvious except hair colour and facial structure, age is the more obvious factor.

JJ walked in, arms crossed, she sighed but began asking what Garcia checked in for, 'Looks like Daniel was fired from his work place prior to coming to Bakersfield a week before Stephen's abduction.' You informed the three.

'If I didn't know any better, I'd say that's a trigger for him.' Emily began, 'Yeah, I agree.' and Luke followed suit.

'So he not only gets rejected by his ex-wife, but fired from his work place for stalking a boy that looks like his son, then he goes and kidnaps a boy that Rosa seemingly dotes on? Something doesn't add up.' JJ looked on with confusion. 'How did it go with him?' you asked finally.

'Said he had something vital for the case but he would only discuss it with you.' Emily sat down, her voice already etching with exhaustion. 'He's hiding something and my gut is saying it can't be good.'

'I'll go talk to him.' You were close to leaving the room, but Emily had halted your motions.

'Wait,'

'Yeah?'

'Reid will go with you, Tara might want to step out.' You gave a quick nod to Emily's order.

Every step to the interrogation room, you could hear the pained voices of yours, more precisely, from when you were a child. A young girl, alone in a room with nothing but her thoughts, you swallowed hard as you stood by the entrance of the viewing room. When you entered, you let Spencer call Tara from the interrogation room to the viewing room. 'No matter what, don't give in to his requests, you need to break him down, and if you ever want to leave, you can.' Tara gave you a small nudge and she stayed back in the room.

This was it, you let Spencer lead you into the interrogation room, allowing him to get there before you creeped on behind.

'How many times do I need to tell you people? Can't you bring my daug—you, your—'

'Let me be very clear, you have something vital for this case and I'm willing to hear you out, but say or do anything and you will be escorted out of the door by agents, understood?' the firm voice you let out hid every sorry cry that was wailing in you, having not seen your father for 20 years was a shock but not something that should be seen. 'Look at you, what it's been 15, 20 years, oh my beautiful little angel, I missed you.' honey coated words slipped from his mouth and every cell in you twisted in anger and contempt, 'Mr. Carter, the case.' Spencer stepped in this time.

'Always in such a hurry, well, since you brought my little girl. I know where the kid is being held.' He sat there with no remorse, no care that a child, close to the age of the son he lost years ago, was missing.

'Where might that be?'

'I can take you there, but I'll only go if she goes with me.'

After so long, he cares or at least that's what he's showing but you knew what he was playing at, he thought he could get away light just because his flesh and blood was in the justice system, what a sorry bastard.

'I think we're done here.' Spencer had got up from his chair but you stayed seated, deal or not you wanted to break the man in front of you and that was what was nailing you down to your chair. 'Mr. Carter, what good will it do if I went with you? Was it not enough that you came in here demanding to see your daughter about a case I know damn well you don't care about?' you pressed, choice of words were clearly targeted but your composure remained cool. 'What do you mean, you know what happened to Stevi—'

'Your son that you never bothered to report missing? I don't believe you have a right to bring that up, Sir.'

'Now listen here—'

'In the time Rosa had left you behind, you did nothing but fail to bring yourself together, I have a question for you, what were you doing on June 12th, 2007? Why did you come back to Bakersfield prior to that date?' you swiped through the tablet that Tara handed to you, it contained everything Garcia had found including some case files. 'I don't know why you're asking me that, don't you have the life of a boy to save?' He avoided it with such harshness, you only wanted to pry further but somehow it felt like you knew the answer, but the words never fell into place.

'Answer the question Daniel.' Spencer sat back down now jabbing at him as well. 'I just had someone to meet, is that really so important?'

'Why did you need to meet them? Did you coming back here have anything to do with Rosa Cyrus, your ex-wife?' Your slowly tapped at the desk, it was a timed beat. 'I did visit her once but that—'

'Were you aware that a teenager was reported missing around the same time you arrived here? His name was Conrad Miller, he was 16 years old.'

'W-what? I-I don't know anything about that.'

'Really? Because it says in the case files that Rosa was the last person to have seen Conrad, but you knew that didn't you?' He flinched at the response, at this point he wore a sign that screamed suspicious.

It was then that Daniel remained silent, you believed that any word that came out of him at that point would dig his grave deeper.

You stepped out of the room and walked into the room behind the mirror. 'Now he won't speak,' Rossi now stood there with his arms in his pocket.

'We need to find Rosa and Stephen soon, the man is hiding something and Rosa is the key to finding out why.' Rossi took the words right out of your mouth, looks you both knew what he was playing at.

'I think I can help with that, how much can you guys bet on a gut feeling?' You asked the three of them, weary of their answer, 'At this point? I'll take it.' Rossi let out, the two soon followed. 'Rosa will most likely be at the house we used to live in, which is not in this area, I'm hoping that she's keeping Stephen safe,'

'Safe? How come?' Tara asked you, 'Daniel here, came a week prior to Stephen's abduction, not only did he lose his job before coming here, he needed to have a reason to come here,' you deduce.

'His reason being Rosa? But wouldn't that not trigger Rosa?' Looks like you still needed to elaborate your theory, so you continued. 'It did, Rosa having heard that Daniel came here must have caused her protective instinct to kick in, call me crazy, but I think Rosa is keeping Stephen away from Daniel.' you finally let out a sigh, your palms clammed from sweat but if you were right, the little boy you came here for was safe.

'A mother's protective instinct, I'm guessing that something happened 20 years ago that she didn't agree on, which caused her to completely reject this guy, I'll have Garcia send the address of her prior location.' Rossi curtly exited the room, Tara followed along.

Spencer stood before you in silence, you didn't register any movement from him because all your focus was on the man, sitting on the other side of that glass.

'You can go on ahead, Reid, I need to talk to him.' 

'But I can't let you go in alone...'

You huffed, your eyes did what it could but meet his but looking away won't make what you want go away, 'Given the chance, I might punch the daylights out of him—'

'More of a reason for me to stay.' 

Spencer interrupted, you returned with a sharp look in your eyes before you relaxed, 'Let me finish, I would want to give him a piece of my mind but I need to know, I just, he's the only one that has got to know something about Steven, maybe I can finally put him to rest.' 

It was selfish, that's what you called it, asking for just one more clue when you couldn't do anything before. Maybe now that helpless little girl all those years ago, can see her brother off. 'I need to do this, alone...'

'...' 

You stood there, waiting for something, a sound from him in response, anything at all. 'I'll wait here, being short of another agent will not slow down the rest of the team.' He'd finished but his response ticked you, it poked at the idea of a child being monitored by their parents.

'I don't need you watching my every move, Reid.'

'I'm just following orders.'

'Following orders? Do I look like a child to you? Do I need a leash around my neck too? I can handle him, he's one man!' Your voice raised, and you stared up at your fellow colleague with a ray of contempt.

'A man you can't stand being around for long, you sounded just fine in there earlier to anyone that watched, but do you want to know what I saw? I saw that you were holding back, hard enough your hands curled at his answers, your feet apart was enough for me to know that you would have given Emily a reason for you to be dismissed from the case.' He'd stated what was right, but it wasn't right to you, not right now, you don't know when it would be. 'I'll wait here, you can go in alone.'

Your feet put you in place for a good moment, his words tore right through you. He was right, somewhere in your clouded judgement, you understood he was right, but just because you understood doesn't mean you accepted it.

With a second left to pass, you turned from Spencer. All in silence, it was accepted that you had a job to uphold, no matter the personal toll.

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

The dial ups in the station, voices of police officers, movement all around you had become void. Nothing, that's what you heard when you left the interrogation room, you couldn't even hear one Agent calling out to you when you had left. Something gathered, something rotten had formed in your stomach. Your body felt hot, your head on a swivel.

You felt the acid burn at your throat, the half conscious part of you managed to drag your feet to a bathroom stall for you to expel the choux pastry you ingested.

Standing before the mirror now, you washed your mouth, feeling the remnants of the expelled food at your throat.

Nothing felt right to you, not right then, not right now. Having no mind to lose any more time, Reid waited in the conference room as you begrudgingly walked yourself back into it. You said nothing.

You dialed in Emily immediately, hoping she hadn't reached the house yet. 'What have you got for me Cyrus?' 

'I spoke to Daniel.'

'What did he say?'

'He'd been sending frequent messages and calling my mother, they met once, 2007. There was an argument and Conrad had gotten in-between the two of them, it didn't end well.' you informed her, almost mechanically.

'What did he say about Steven?' JJ chimed in.

'Steven was, he said he was never meant to be hurt and Rosa in the mess of things, covered up for him. He told me where...I know where his body is.' Your voice strained, as it got to harsher details.

Nothing came out though, you tried filling in the rest of the details but your voice was overtaken. A pleading look carried over to Spencer and he took over. 'He said that you have to ask where he's sleeping, Rosa's delusion right at this moment is that Steven would come back.'

'Okay, we'll get back to you as soon as we're done here.' The line cut. If you'd carried a boulder on your shoulders, the weight of it might be the same as your conscience. All that was left was you see a family reunited and you get the closure you've been searching for.

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

The team was back, so was the little boy, he was safe. The Turner family could now go home with their son safe and sound in their grasp.

'Nothing beats seeing that.' you stood, satisfied in a way, the others agreed in unison to your words.

'Cyrus, I need to have a word with you.' Emily called you to a secluded corner of the station, but you had no fear built in you, in fact you felt rather empty, exhausted enough to be emotionally drained. 'We found Steven...' she said quietly.

'Where was he?' you met her in the eyes, having nothing left to tie you down. 'Remains were found in the wall of a small bedroom, it looked like he was initially buried but moved there later.' Every word had struck you, the smaller bedroom was your shared one, no doubt. 'Was he, uh, covered?' a crack sounded in your voice.

It took Emily a moment before answering, 'He was...' 

The last bit of remorse. You'd promised yourself for 20 years that he was found. Part of you wanted him to be alive, maybe he ran off and just found a better life or he was on the streets, alive at least. But you knew how far-fetched that sounded, hope was the one thing you were aware that could end you. '...Thank you, can I, um, I want to be alone.'

'Of course, take all the time you need, listen, once this is over I need to speak with you, but only when you're ready, okay?' She patted the side of your shoulders, adhering to your request, she left you alone.

You let out a wavered breath, trying to breathe in and out to calm yourself. What you needed now was to mourn, you knew that but having a hard cry at this moment would slow down everyone.

Not long after, Rosa and Daniel had gotten arrested. You couldn't catch a glimpse at her face, or more accurately, you refused to see the face you'd forgotten. That didn't bother you that much, as a mother she never cared to look out for you, there wasn't any good reason to remain adherent to the details.

Bakersfield PD would have no more reason to have you stay, for now at least but before you could leave it all behind, Steven deserved a proper burial.

The Funeral was small, no relatives, just few friends from school and the BAU were attending, with Chief Marks as well to pay respects.

You stood over the coffin, looking at how small it was, how it all came to an end, all in silence. Quietly you watched as the coffin was buried, soil tossed over it but before it was over, you had to have one last goodbye.

'I did what I promised, took you long enough to come back from playing, huh? You must be tired, rest well, Stevie.' The Carnation held in your hand had been placed on the coffin, a mark of innocence now put to rest. Once it was all over, you stood, not waiting or expecting anything but just, letting the weight gradually let go of you. This was what you needed yet, it didn't feel enough, something remained in you. 

Footsteps were heard behind you, and you took a peak at the intruder before lifting the corners of your mouth to him. 'He was a handful you know, always wanted my attention no matter what, saying that one day he'd make it to the moon just so he could get me some space rock.' Spencer said nothing to your bouts of reminiscence, 'He told me once, "I'm going to be no.1, so watch me!" I thought he was being silly, Dad left right after and we were alone, it was us against the world.' It all came back, then you knew what you hadn't let go, knew what it was that made you feel utterly at loss. 

'Hey, Spencer, you don't have to do this, but, um, I...' You wanted to ask just for a bit, that little comfort that you so desperately pushed away.

Without another word, he lightly turned to face you. Your mind was too caught up on other memories that when you felt his arms wrap around you, you didn't think for that second. All it took was this to let it all go, no longer in silence but in wailing agony.

He didn't need another word, he simply knew. It was like some crazed superpower of his but it's like he's always known.

He couldn't let go.

Tagging:

@treehouse-mouse

#once again Im so sorry about the late update on the fic #the ending was a bit rushed I'm sorry about that but i hope it's okay #i actually wanted to add Matt to this but because of time constraints I couldn't so #here's a little of what happened afterwards for anyone reading tags #matt was away because his wife was expecting but he dropped by after the case #he got worried about you but you were more happy about him and his family #emily asked if you wanted to continue in the bau you said yes but she said you should take time off so you did #you and spencer have this insane slow burn office romance going on after #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #cm x you #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #self insert #kinda #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #luke alvez #david rossi #jj

[junkdyke]

That Time I Hooked Up With A Tumblr Mutual

Ok. Let me start by saying this is not a callout post, and this should be read as a humorous story, with some takeaway lessons at the end. Please enjoy my story of my weird ass encounter with a Tumblr mutual.

Part 1: The Backstory

Alight so boom. I had just returned home from a trip where I met a different Tumblr mutual. That trip was great but didn't end up going to plan, so long story short, ya girl was horny. I had never really had a one-night-stand or sought out a solely sexual hookup, so I started thinking maybe I could try it out, see how I like it. And through the sheer power of manifestation, that opportunity presented itself.

I was scrolling Tumblr and one of my mutuals posted asking if anyone was in (my area) and wanted to hang out. Mind you, I have never spoken to this mutual before. No DMs, maybe like 1 or 2 comments through tags and that's it. But, most of my moots are far as fuck, so when I saw she was near me I was like oh ayo, I'm free! Why not, I had nothing else going on! So I reply, and she DMs me.

So she introduces herself, we'll call her Chicle for reasons I'll get to later in the story lmao. Anyway, she gushes a little bit, saying she's been too shy to DM me and that I'm a really cool tattoo artist mutual, I say she's cute and seems cool, and she asks if I've ever been to this particular mall. I say I have and if she wants to cruise the mall with me. She says yeah I'd love to cruise the mall and "if I like her vibe, then maybe we can do something more fun." I say I'm down, she gives me her number.

So here is what I'm envisioning. We'll meet up at the mall, walk around and talk, get to know each other, have some laughs, get a snack, it was a Friday so maybe we could go out to like a bar or go dancing, and then maybe after that, possibly make-out or even have sex! I am not opposed to having sex after a first date if I'm really vibing with the person and if we've been talking for a bit before. Girls, this is not what happened.

Part 2: The Meeting

I get ready, and I drive to the mall. I park, we text on where to meetup and I head over to the Gamestop. I see her at the counter, go up and I'm like "are you buying Pokemon cards?" She starts laughing, she says "I didn't want you to see this!" I'm laughing, I told her it's cute, she finishes paying and we walk around. Cute start and thennnn it all starts to go downhill from here.

As we are walking out of the Gamestop, a minute and thirty seconds into meeting this stranger, she wraps her arm, not around my waist...but around my ass. And pulls me close. I'm instantly uncomfortable by how close this gesture is. She starts cooing in my ear about how she's "so glad I'm not a catfish" and "if I like her vibe because she really likes mine". We met not even 5 minutes ago, I have not had time to evaluate any vibes! But anyway! She asks if she wants smoke 🍃 so I agree, and we go outside, right across from where we just were.

I get to take like 1 hit from this pen, she then steps close to me and says "I'm so glad you're real" kisses me and squeezes my ass. I again feel the need to emphasize that at this point, it has still been less than 5 minutes since we've met, and we have exchanged about 10 messages only a couple hours prior. This is a stranger to me. ANYWAY.

We go back inside, she asks if I wanna walk around, I agree. We chat for a short bit of time, before we go to the food court. I wasn't hungry, so she got some food and we sat and talked. I had made some mention about my past and she wanted to know more so I'm like "okay, I'll give you my lore while you eat" so I basically tell Chicle my life story. Afterwards, we go to walk around more and I start trying to ask her questions so I can get to know her more. It becomes very apparent that she is not interested in getting to know each other lmao. I ask what she does for work, and what she's interested in, and she tells me she's interested in getting into (something animation related) and i'm like "oh ayo, that aligns with what I do" and start trying to get more info cause i'm curious, annd I get just the shortest fucking answers. Ok.

She ends up making a comment about how I'm probably more experienced than her, and I'm like "oh really? Well how many people have you been with?" and Chicle asks "are we counting online?" Now, there is nothing necessarily wrong with this...but it does become more clear on just how "online" this person is. Anyway, she has only been with a few people, never had a partner. It becomes very clear as to why she may have never had a partner.

Part 3: Inappropriate Behavior

We are walking around the mall, stopping in a few stores to look at stuff. Chicle is walking next to me and I am still trying to invoke conversation. But Chicle is not interested in conversation, because instead, she is deliberately and blatantly staring directly at my tits. What I mean is, mid-walking, she is at my side, craning her head to the side to make it incredibly clear that that is what she is doing. I straight up ask "are you...staring at my tits?" she confirms as such, and says something about her being a dog. The dog thing will come up again.

Chicle is at different points, holding me, kissing me, and saying various suggestive things. She grabs me and whispers in my ear "do you want to go back to my room" and I nervous laugh and say "uhhh, we'll see!" At another point, she says "you're so small, you want me to manhandle you and throw you around?" and I again nervous laugh. We're like in Hot Topic, and she start trying to makeout with me and grabbing my ass and says "you're making me so hard"(we'll put a pin in that) and I push her away and say "not in public". I can do a little PDA but this is a lot, and at this point I have known her for about 40 minutes, maybe an hour.

Continuing on, as we're walking through this crowded mall, she drapes her arm over my shoulder and starts grabbing my boob and trying to pinch my nipples, which I immediately pull away from and again say "not in public". Chicle again says "do you wanna get out of here and go back to my room" and I'm questioning what exactly she means, because the phrasing is a little weird. "what do you mean 'your room'?" and she says "I have a hotel room" so I'm a little confused cause I thought she lived in the area. She does.

"i got us a room"

Ya'll, this bitch preemptively booked a MOTEL ROOM without even asking me.

At this point, she has asked multiple times and each time I nervous laughed and said "haha maybe, we'll see, ehhh we'll see" To any normal person, my body language was extremely clear that I was uncomfortable. And again this is not a callout post, she is not a bad person, and everything that ultimately happened, I did consent to. But I will not sugarcoat the fact that this behavior was definitely inappropriate harassment, and there was absolutely some pressuring with the continuous asking. But as I mulled it over, there were 2 reasons I ultimately decided to agree and meet her at that motel.

I was craving intimacy

I had never done something like this before so..fuck it, let's do it for the plot.

And so, she gave me the address, we got in our respective cars, and we met at the motel.

Part 4: The Motel

We go to the room, put our stuff down, and I go to use the restroom. I'm thinking "oh shit, this is weird but alright, let's see what happens"

I come out of the restroom, wash my hands, and she comes over and we start kissing. Already it's fucking weird because the way she is kissing me is so goddamn fast, it's like someone inhaling a meal because they think it's gonna run away from them. Now idk about ya'll, but I like a slow, deep kiss. So already it's a mismatch, but whatever. She lifts me onto the sink, despite the weird kissing, it's hot. She has some really minty gum in her mouth, hence the name Chicle. Put a pin in that.

After a bit, we go to the bed, and I keep saying "how did you get me here" because honestly, I'm not fully comfortable, it's just a weird situation for me and I'm surprised I agree to it. But agree to it I did, so we get on the bed, and keep going. Now, even though she does not have much experience, she's not bad! But...I can tell there's certain things she's doing that I've seen. Or rather, read. Whew lad.

As we're getting into it, my clothes are coming off, she's saying "You're my favorite Tumblr mutual. I can't believe this is what my favorite Tumblr mutual is into." I don't even really know what to say to this because quite frankly, mentioning social media in bed in any capacity is kinda fucking cringe. But it just gets worse.

So, she's spitting on my pussy. And I, personally, have a strong aversion to spit. It's something that I tell anyone that is a potential sexual partner, but it this case, we obviously did not have a prior talk about our sexual boundaries. In this case, I'm like "okay whatever as long as it's just there" but I quickly say "hey uh, just please don't do that in my mouth or i'll throw up" lmao. She's like "Oh okay sorry sorry". But then at some point, without warning she smacks the FUCK out of my pussy, and I'm so taken aback I immediately say "UH DON'T DO THAT" and she again apologizes and says

"Oh sorry, you know I had to try that one. Like that Tumblr post, you know the one."

Ya'll, everything this bitch is doing, she is referencing posts from Tumblr. She is referencing the sexy fantasy butch/femme text posts from Tumblr and she is referencing them out loud. In the middle of real life sex.

She goes on to reference more posts, and the worst part is I know exactly the one's she's talking about. "Mutuals to lezz out with" etc etc, it's so fucking cringe, and she tells me about how she started wearing more of a certain article of clothing after I reblogged a picture of her in it and how embarrassed she is to admit that (I thought that was kinda cute actually) anyway

She's still going way too fast with like all her movements, I tell her to slow down and relax and I think at this point I mention how she did not have to do all that PDA shit from before. She says "well you know, on my Tumblr I do say I'm a dog" and then uh, she starts barking. 💀 literally starts going "woof, woof" and I tell her to s t o p. Jesus fucking christ.

Anyway, after mentioning Tumblr and calling me her favorite Tumblr mutual way too many fucking times, I'm on top of her. Mind you, this whole time, I'm kinda in and out dissociating, just due to how not fully comfortable I am with this. But ya know, I'm still going for it. Her shirts off, she has really cute boobs, and then I notice a really fucking huge bulge in her pants. And I fully dissociate. Not gonna lie, I started feeling really panicky, because straight up, I was not prepared for this. Physically, I'm still touching her, but my mind is fully disconnected, and I'm thinking "oh fuck. When she said 'you're making me so hard' was she being literal? I don't know if I'm comfortable with this. Should I tell her I want to stop? But I don't wanna hurt her feelings. Should I just take it? Well no, I don't really want to...maybe I'll just say 'hey is it cool if I don't touch it?' I mean, she's cute so ehhhhh let's just see what happens!" SO. We continue on.

We flip and she's now on top of me. She references another fucking Tumblr post, and says "do you wanna suck on this lesbian cock?", unzips her pants and pulls out...this MASSIVE transparent strap on. And I'm like oh, it was fake LMAO. Then I say "...yeah, so that's not going in me"

She ends up taking it off, I don't even know how the fuck she hid it in her jeans that entire time, and we continue on. Around this point, I'm starting to feel pretty spent, she did some other things like opening up my pussy to stare at it and describe the color, whatever, I'm kinda done and I just wanna cuddle. So we cuddle for a bit and again, it's physically nice but it's just so weird because she is SUCH a stranger to me that I can't get fully comfortable. She starts trying to start up again and I'm just not really in the mood anymore. She keeps playing with my nipples and typically whenever I'm touched in a way I'm not digging, I'll just take their hand and move it away as a silent but pretty clear way to indicate "no". But uh, I had to do that like 4 times with her before I verbally say "hey, please stop" and her response is "why" 💀 like wdym "why" bitch, cause i said so. I'm kinda surprised by this response so I start to say "Uhhhh, it's...kinda specific" and she goes "oh okay, sorry sorry".

So, honestly, I kinda just wanna go home but I don't wanna be mean and just take off. But there's also no way in hell I'm sleeping over in this motel room. So, I suggest we go out and maybe go to a club or something and she's like "uh, no. I don't like going out" 💀 like damn, maybe you should spend less time on FUCKING TUMBLR AND TRY GOING OUT IRL but whatever, instead we just go get food and bring it back to the room.

Part 5: What Could Have Been

We got some burgers, and she wants to open the Pokemon cards. We do, that's fun and cute, and she asks if I wanna keep some of the stickers that came in one of the packs.

Then she tells me that she had went to the library and checked out a book on tattoos since "she knows I'm a tattoo artist, and thought we could flip through it together." And I genuinely think this is such a cute fucking gesture, I think it's really sweet, and it frustrates the fuck out of me because of what this could have been.

I told her that she did not have to do all the PDA, it was a lot and it was excessive. She is not apologetic about it, and says that the reason she was like that was because "she needed me to know what her intentions were and that this was not just a 'friendly' meeting." so I reiterate that she did not have to do ALL OF THAT just for me to know that. And she just insists that in the past, girls have treated her like just a "bestie" so she needed to get her point across. Now call me old fashioned, but you could have just verbally fucking communicated "hey, i'm really attracted to you" and I would have caught the fucking drift. But okay!!

She asks me if I have any knives because I guess femmes tend to have a knife collection. I say no. And she fucking pulls out this huge ass lethal switchblade thing and is like "this is mine!" and i'm like oh god, this is it, I'm gonna fucking die in this motel room. But she doesn't kill me, she just shows me the cool knife and then puts it away. I have known this person for like 4 hours.

So, we flip through the book, and it's funny and cute, but she keeps trying to kiss me and instigate, and i'm just not interested, I just wanna flip through the book and go the fuck home. And that's pretty much what happens, we finish, I'm like "aight, ima head out" but

before i do

we end up making out again and then I think she was helping me put my shoes on?? she's on her knees in front of me and...she asks me to spit in her mouth. Once again, I have a major aversion to spit and i really, truly, do not want to spit in her mouth. But she says please...so I do like a half assed spit and hope it's good enough. She asks me to try again....so I get an accumulation and spit in her mouth, and she swallows it and i am so so sad about it 😭 and I finish getting my shit and I go the FUCK HOME.

Now here is what frustrates me about all this. Physically? This girl is extremely my type. I like the way she dresses, she has really nice arms, she has a cute face, she's really fucking attractive. She's interested in getting into the animation industry, which I'm currently also working on getting into as well. We could have talked about that and really had a cool discussion on what kind of projects she wants to do and what style she works in. She likes video games, we could have talked more about what games we like. She got this tattoo book because she knows I'm a tattoo artist, and I think that's really fucking cute. There's so many non-sexual aspects that could have made this a real fucking date where I got to know this person, and feel comfortable, and then we could have had really great sex because straight up, the girl was good. She may have learned it from Tumblr, and some of it was weird, but for the most part? She was damn good, especially for only having limited experience. This could have turned into something real! But NO. Chicle, instead, wanted to grope my tits in front of families an hour into meeting me, and made no effort to really let me get to know her in any capacity whatsoever! And it's not like she wanted this to be just a one-night-stand, because she had told me she was looking for a gf and asked me what I was looking for!

It just could have been so much better than this weird ass situation. And after the fact, she texted me and I answered a couple times, but when the following morning she said something to the effect of "it felt so good having you on my lap" I just never answered. Because prior to this, there was absolutely no established relationship, friendship or otherwise. And I could not see anything moving forward, because we couldn't backtrack into the aforementioned "could have been". I considered communicating how I didn't actually feel super comfortable with how things went, but I ultimately just decided to not reply. Shitty on my part, but again, there was no prior anything. And we just never spoke again, we remained mutuals, and so I never talked about this because uh, obviously she would see it. But since she blocked me, heyho now you all get the story!

Part 6: Epilogue

Now, the reason I decided to call her Chicle (Spanish for Gum)

So, while the nice minty gum was a nice gesture, her spitting that gum juice all over my vagina resulted in me getting a yeast infection💀 No more hookups.

So what lessons did we learn!

It's important to talk about sexual boundaries before having sex with someone!

Internet fantasy is not real life! Don't just do shit because you read about it in a fucking internet post or saw it in porn! (Especially when that person doesn't even make those kinds of posts, i don't reblog most of those for a reason)

Don't chew gum before going down on someone

Communication overall is really important for setting up any foundation, even if it is just a one-night hookup!

(yes this is ok the RB cause I spent forever writing this and I do genuinely think it's a very funny story. Sometimes ya just gotta do things for the plot so you get a good story out of it. No regrets, and my pussy is all healed up lmao)

#decided to make this it's own post oops #wlw #lesbian dating #lesbian #storytime #dykeposting #mine #ok to rb

[ghostlychief]

Weighted Blanket

This is part 2 to Pockets of Peace

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Wc: 3.8k+ (First half is in Simon’s POV, second is reader’s POV)

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of children being victims on a mission (nothing graphic), brief, BRIEF mentions of self harm (this part is italicized if you want to skip OR can read it as wounds from fights or missions; emotionally vulnerable reader and Simon; some fluff; some cuddling

Summary: After your last mission, things changed between you and Ghost. Although feelings shifted and emerged, your quiet routine with the Lieutenant stayed the same. He never failed to provide you with little pockets of peace throughout your tumultuous life, and you treasure these moments, holding them close to your heart. Except this time, it’s you who returns the favor, and offers him a warm embrace to grieve quietly.

A/N: HELLO! Part two to Pockets of Peace is finally here. I really can’t express my gratitude for all the love that fic received. I really appreciate all your likes, comments, and reblogs. Comments are always so fun to read and same goes for the reblog tags <3 This is another purely indulgent fic lmao and I found this part harder to write than the first, so I hope you enjoy it just as much. As mentioned, the first half is written from Simon’s POV, so that was fun to explore and write. Sorry for any typos/grammar mistakes </3

ENJOY!

--

Simon didn’t have much to be grateful for in his life. Sure, he was thankful for the camaraderie he found within task 141, and his friendship with Soap (although he will never admit that they’re true friends). Outside of those two things, there wasn’t much, and he was okay with that. Comes with the line of work, he supposed.

It’s hard to trust people when majority end up pointing their gun at you, even after years of working together, training together, living together. Hell, it took him years to feel somewhat comfortable around the task 141 members. When he first joined, he barely talked to anyone except when necessary either when preparing for a mission, or during a mission. Afterwards he would float off to his room and be alone. He ate alone, trained alone (unless sparing was required by Price), he went out alone. Not that he went out a lot, but if he had to leave the base, it was alone. He was somewhat of a recluse, a phantom hiding in the shadows that the team rarely ever saw.

The team member he first grew closest to, not without them trying, was Soap. The outgoing sergeant was able to make a friend out of the standoffish lieutenant, and even got Ghost to crack jokes during missions, a big deal for task force 141. This happened a little over a year and a half after Ghost joined the team. And now fast forward almost seven years later, and here he was, still on task force 141, but with a friend of sorts. That was one thing he was grateful for.

About two years in, he started to eat breakfast when the other team members did. Did he sit with them? No, of course not, but he was eating at the same time, just a few tables away. He started training with the other members more regularly, and on occasion, would coach them and give them tips here and there. And after a mission, he would sometimes tag along with the other men when they went out to a bar to wind down.

--

One night, shortly after you joined task 141, Ghost begrudgingly accepted Soap’s invite to go to a bar with the other male team members. Once they got there and had a few drinks, they were poking fun at him for having a “soft spot” for the new recruit.

He just rolled his eyes at their comments, and muttered “Fuck off,” up until they started talking about your skillset. Specifically, your lack of skills in sparing.

“Well, she certainly could improve her technique. We were sparing the other day, and I almost squashed her like a bug.”

“Yeah, she’s fast, but sure doesn’t know what to do with her speed and size. I pinned her down almost every time.”

“Yeah, last week, I had her in a headlock and almost made her pass out.”

“Hey Ghost, haven’t you been training with her? I’m sure you crush her each time you spar; she doesn’t have a chance against you.”

“Doubt she’s improved at all, even with Ghost’s help.”

Ghost couldn’t help but notice the frequent use of the word ‘almost,’ and at this point, he had enough. The comments the 141 members made weren’t even accurate. Sure, you had some improving to do, but by no means were you bad. He felt like they just felt threatened by you, a young woman with much more potential than them. He also had a feeling that they were jealous of your mastery at sniping. To put it simply, Ghost knew they were full of shit.

“She’s actually improved quite a lot.” His rough voice pierces through the air, silencing the banter surrounding him.

Embers burned at the pit of his stomach at the thoughtless comments his teammates said so flippantly about you. Embers that soon caught fire, and burned bright crimson flames. He stayed composed, but his eyes flickered, darkened by the shadows of the black paint surrounding them, and the tarnished skull that covered his nose and mouth. All the more imposing to those who looked at him.

“Plus, someone had to give her pointers for fighting a highly skilled, large, and imposing person; something you short fucks couldn’t do.”

Ghost was met with silence once again, and he smirked under his balaclava. Since then, the other men of task 141 have not commented on your sparing abilities, not wanting to be cursed out by Ghost.

And hey, it was all worth it when the next day you defeated Soap, match after match.

--

New recruits of 141 typically come and go, retention isn’t all that great. So, when you joined the team, he wasn’t expecting you to persevere, and stay. He was impressed by your skillset; snipers are always impressive in his mind. But your agility and speed that allowed you to take down opponents twice your size, is what mainly caught his eye. Sure, you needed some improvement, but you were promising.

When you first joined the team, you were so nice to everyone, even him. That’s not something he’s privy to in his line of work. Yet, you didn’t seem intimidated by him at all, not in the slightest. He didn’t have the slightest clue as to why. You just kept being so warm to him and he didn’t know what to do with that.

Of course, he wasn’t nervous to be around you, no that certainty wasn’t it; but he couldn’t help the warm feeling that would spread through his chest whenever you would talk to him. At first you only conversed with one another in meetings, debriefs, missions, etc. All work related, with no cross over into ‘personal life territory’. Simon was content with this, he rarely ever crossed that boundary with the other 141 teammates, so why would he with you? Incidentally, you and him started to get paired together mission after mission, and he couldn’t help but want more.

Ghost was immediately impressed at your abilities to smoothly get in and get out during missions, especially with what little experience you had. Not that you were any less competent than any of the other 141 team members, you just hadn’t been in the field for as long as some of them. You were smart as a whip though, and you got the job done quickly and quietly, and never got in his way. That was something he deeply respected about you. You understood the task at hand, asked questions if needed, but otherwise were highly independent. An admirable trait that takes some weight off of his shoulders as a Lieutenant. Something that he quickly added to his list of things he was grateful for.

You also had the curiosity to learn more, and to learn from the more experienced team members. Always ready with a question, and never embarrassed to ask. Sure, you were quiet like him, but when it came to job stuff, you didn’t hesitate to make your presence known.

He still remembers, one night after completing a mission, you and him were sitting in the helicopter. You turned to him and asked, “How is it that you’re never scared?” Your sweet voice traveled over to him through the coms and he felt confounded by your question. He felt his stomach warm at your tone in which you asked him this. Did you somehow look up to him?

“Who said I was never scared?” He glanced over at you and saw your eyes sparkle at his response.

--

To say that Ghost was concerned after you got shot in the leg was an understatement. Although he tried his best to stay composed, he was having a full-blown crisis inside his mind while trying to get you to safety, which, was a safe house miles from your current location. He couldn’t properly examine your wound, so he had no idea how bad of a state you were in, and he hated blind spots.

That was the first mission he ever felt real fear for you; distressed with thoughts that said you wouldn’t make it back. Thoughts that kept bouncing around, tormenting him the whole journey to the safe house. Luckily when you guys arrived, he was able to fully assess your wound and it didn’t look life threatening. No, all he had to do was clean, stich, and bandage it.

Simple enough, right? Wrong.

Of course, of course the best way to get the wound clean and ready for stitching was for your fucking pants to come off.

Things were never easy for Ghost.

His nerves didn’t stop him though and he somehow managed to get through everything without making a complete fool out of himself. Though, if you could somehow hear his heartbeat, at all, it would have been a dead giveaway, as it thumped erratically in his chest. There were moments when he was afraid it would burst.

Then, only to make this mission even worse, was him waking up to your blood curdling screams in the middle of the night. His first thought was that the enemy found you guys, and they got to you first. He thought that he failed to protect you, which was a silent promise he made to himself after the first night you guys drank beer in his room.

However, when he entered the living room, he saw that no one was in the room, it was just you on the couch where he left you. Your screams turned into cries, then sobs, then screams again. It was deafening and he couldn’t stand to hear it any longer. It took a few good shakes to wake you and he felt his heartstrings pinch in his chest when you apologized to him for waking him up, completely disregarding the trauma you were currently experiencing.

He decided right then and there that what you needed right now was not a work colleague, but a friend. He carried you to bed that night, hoping to provide you with some consolation, wanting to provide you with anything that would make you feel safe again. And before he even knew what he was doing, he found himself closing the distance between your lips, and he felt you kissing back. He may have added that to the list of things he felt grateful for.

--

It’s been a few weeks since then. Your leg is pretty much all healed, and you have full mobility. All thanks to Ghost’s handy work. Although you felt fine and ready to get back out there, Simon insisted that you continue to rest. He even managed to convince Price not to assign you to any missions for the next month, which thoroughly pissed you off.

Who was he to boss you around and tell you when you were ready or not to start working again? He was technically your direct supervisor, so he did have the power to boss you around, but still!

Even though you were slightly peeved at him, you knew that it came from a good place. He was just worried about you, and this was his way of showing it, well, in front of the team at least.

In private, he had other ways to show you how much he cared for you. After he learned about your nightmares, he insisted that you come to him whenever they occur. You were hesitant at first to take him up on his offer. What if he just said that to be nice and he just feels bad for me? You didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. Even though, you found yourself slowly start to cross more and more boundaries with him as the weeks went on.

So, the first night you experienced another nightmare, you found yourself in front of Simon’s door. You probably stood there for at least a minute, racking up the courage to knock. But before you could even do that, the door swung open to reveal a sleepy looking Simon decked out in black sweats and his signature balaclava.

Since he was so close to you, you had to crane your neck to look up at him and meet his eyes. Why he was still wearing his mask at this hour, you were unsure. He usually took it off to sleep, but you were too unmoored to ask.

“I heard your footsteps approach my door.” His gravelly voice fills the space in-between, and he casually leans on the door frame.

“Oh.” You looked down at your slippers and twiddle your thumbs.

“Why don’t you come in, yeah?” Simon’s voice lifts up a bit at the end of his question, and you look back up at him and offer him a small smile.

“I’d like that, thank you Simon.” It still felt weird on your tongue to call the Lieutenant by his first name, but your chest sparked each time you did so. He held out is hand and you fit your palm against his, and he leads you into his room, his thumb caressing your knuckles.

You and Simon talked for what felt like hours before you fell asleep, head on his shoulder and his hand rubbing your head.

It was a common occurrence after that, to visit Simon’s room at night whenever you woke up screaming in the dark of your own room. It felt like nothing could happen to you in your dreams, so as long as Simon’s arms were wrapped around you, almost like an anchor. Weighing you down, preventing you from drifting too far away.

But even with this new sense of security surrounding you, some nights when you fell asleep with Simon next to you, the nightmares would still creep into your mind. Though, Simon was right there to help bring you back.

If for some reason you both separated during the night and were sleeping apart, you’d reach out to him after waking, your hand patting the bed, searching for him.

“Simon?”

“I’m right here.” He’d then swiftly pull you back into him.

He’d rub your back. Up down, up down.

Wrap his arms around you. Squeeze.

Kiss your forehead. Smooth back your hair.

Whisper affirming words that reminded you that it’s all in your head, you’re safe in this reality, he’s here. No one is trying to harm you.

Other nights, you found yourselves simply enjoying each other’s company. You love to outline his forearm tattoos with your fingers and trace your hand up his arm to his broad shoulders, to his chest. You like to trail your hand across his abs and just love to explore his whole body with your hands.

He does the same, and his touch always feels so heavenly. Though his hands were calloused and rough, they were always extra gentle in handling you.

His hand brushes over the top of your thigh and his fingertips graze over the slightly raised bumps that span across your tender skin. Your once smooth legs, now marked permanently with light lines. You feel his hand pause after it initially goes over this area of your leg. And you know, that he knows.

Before you can say anything, and push him away, his warm hand comes back up to rest at the top of your thigh, and his thumb gently traces circles over the scarred area. He doesn’t say a word, but his touches mean everything to you, and it’s all you need.

You feel him squeeze his arms that are already wrapped around your form, and feel a slight pressure against the top of your head, like a kiss was laid upon your hair.

You feel your breathing start to slow, and before you know it, you’re drifting off to sleep, the steady rhythm of Simon’s heart calling out to you like a siren with a lullaby.

You started to feel a deep sense of familiarity within the four walls of Simon’s room, and you knew that it would always be a place of condolement for your aching self. Little did you know, that you provided just as much relief, if not more, to Simon as well. Although more rare than yours, Simon had bad days too.

--

Tonight was no different than any other; you and Simon are lying in bed together and you’re semi-on top of him, leg thrown over his waist, head on his shoulder, fingers mapping out his entire being.

“If you want to talk about it, you know that you can, right?” You absentmindedly trace your pointer finger across the span of his chest as you ask him this. Drawing small circles into the fabric of his black t-shirt.

To Simon, it felt like there were small sparks leaving your fingertips every time you touched him, causing his heart to ignite.

“I’m always here to listen.” You remind him one more time.

Simon just came back from a particularly brutal mission, one that he has told you very little about. They were gone for almost two weeks and all you were able to find out from Soap was that children were involved- a sensitive subject for Simon. You can only imagine what he went through during the mission, and now, what he’s dealing with in the aftermath. You’re trying not to push too much, but you want him to talk to you.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that. But you shouldn’t have to.”

You pause your ministrations and crane your neck to look up at him with a slight pout on your lips. This was always a struggle with him, he didn’t like to talk to you, let alone anyone when he was going through something. He would just put up a wall and it broke your heart. Sometimes you would get bits and pieces, but never the whole picture; it was always fuzzy to you.

You wanted him to feel safe enough that he could confide in you, vent to you, about whatever was on his mind, but you knew it wasn’t that easy and that these things take time. You’re patient with him, as he is with you. It’s the least you can owe him for all he’s done for you. This is his time to lament, not yours to be nosey. So, you just let him be.

He lets out a sigh and then moves you so you’re laying completely on top of him. He tries not to be too rough as his hands grab onto your waist to situate you further, and he tucks your head under his chin.

One arm wraps around your middle and the other comes up to hold the back of your head.

“I just want you to be here with me right now, like this. That’s all I need.” His breath tickles your hair and you succumb to his wish, relaxing against him.

“Ok, I can do that.” Your hands come up to wrap around his neck, and you pull him impossibly closer to you, no inch of yourself is left untouched by Simon.

He likes to put you in this position whenever he can’t find the right words to explain. He instead craves the comfort of physicality, liking the weight of you on top of him.

Your hand comes up to play with his hair at the nape of his neck. You found that his hair tends to curl a little at the end, initially not expecting his hair to be this long. Silly, you know, but you’re honored that you’re one of the few people that get to see him like this.

You don’t know how long you and Simon lay like this; time always seemed to bend and disappear when you were with him. Since you guys had been lying in silence for so long, his voice startles you when he speaks for the first time in what felt like hours.

His hand that was resting on your lower back is now softly stroking your spine in a steady up and down motion.

“I felt scared for the first time in a while, on the last mission.”

His admission surprises you, but you wait a beat to see if he’s going to say anything else before you respond.

You’re glad that you do, because he continues to speak in a hushed voice.

“I- I didn’t know how to help them and they were looking towards us to be saved. And yet, we couldn’t save all of them. Some were left behind.”

You feel your heart start to crack again, the beginnings of the break started forming the moment you saw Simon step out of the plane when he returned back to the base.

And now it feels as though a chisel is working its way through your chest, chipping off piece by piece as you listen to Simon morn the loss of little lives. Lives he couldn’t rescue. You know it’s eating him up on the inside, with no respite in sight.

You personally have never been on a mission where the victims were children, and you’re thankful for that, so you can only empathize as much as your experience allows you to. You just have to remind him that he does the best he can, and not everyone can be saved, no matter how much you want to help.

You shift a little so your head is no longer tucked under his chin, and instead rests more on his shoulder. Since you’re so close to him, your lips touch is jaw.

You sigh, “I’m really sorry you went through that, Simon. I know that nothing I can say will change the outcome of what happened, and it doesn’t really matter what I say, but I do want you to know that you and the team did all you could. You did your best with what circumstances you were given.”

You feel him stir under you, and his arms warp tighter around your frame.

“You’re wrong.”

You feel you the pieces of your heart break into smaller and smaller pieces, losing hope that they will ever fit back together.

“You’re wrong to think that your words don’t matter.” Oh. “They actually mean the most to me.” Your chest doesn’t feel like it’s going to concave anymore.

“I really appreciate you; you know that right, Little Swan?” You feel him kiss your forehead and your chest warms at his term of endearment.

“Of course I do, Simon.”

“Ok, good.”

You bring him in for a kiss.

--

Simon found that he didn’t have much in his life, let alone much to be grateful for. Yet over the years, he realized that he grew quite the list.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod x reader #ghost mw2 x reader #ghost cod fanfic #ghost cod fic #ghost mw2 fanfic #ghost mw2 fic #simon riley fic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley hurt comfort #ghost hurt comfort #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #weighted blanket #simon ghost riley fanfic #simone ghost riley x you #ghost cod x you #simon ghost riley x you #hurt/comfort au #hurt comfort #fluff #fanfic

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 14 – AUTHOR WEEK

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: itsallAvengers

If you've been in this fandom for any amount of time, you probably already know that itsallAvengers is a gem. I've read their entire AO3 catalogue, and I loved each and every fic that's on it. Their writing is incredible, and I wouldn't be surprised to find out I've read some of their fics hundreds of times, especially the hurt/comfort-y ones.

Here's some of their work that I think you should check out:

Hold me, I'm yours

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 7,229 Tags: Fluff, Avengers Family, Marriage Proposal

Summary: Steve is a little touch starved, and Tony is more than happy to satiate him in any way that he can- much to the despair of the rest of the Avengers, who would just like to eat their cereal without having to watch mom and dad make out on the tabletop, thank you very much.

Reasons why I love it: Oh my god, they're SO CUTE, I can't! The rest of the Avengers despairing at them (and not so secretly being happy for them) is the best, and I absolutely love that ending, holy shit, Natasha is a queen. This fic is so happy and fluffy, and I really want you to experience it for yourself, so go ahead and read it!

Memory Lane

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 3,669 Tags: PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Steve

Summary: Suddenly, he's soaking - someone just threw a fucking water bomb or something, and it's not a big deal, it shouldn't be a big deal- But for some reason, it is.

Reasons why I love it: Steve taking care of his sweetheart, what else could we want? I really feel for Tony in this one, and I bet the entire team feels awful for what happened too, so I'm glad that he has Steve to be there for him. This fic is wonderful, and I hope you give it a read!

Talking Bodies

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 13,268 Tags: Misunderstandings, Insecure Steve, Oblivious Tony

Summary: Coincidentally, the physical effects of romantic and sexual desire match up very closely with the physical effects of fear. But it's not a problem-- it's not like anyone is going to be able to hear the way your heart speeds up, or see the minute dilation of your pupils, are they? They'd have to be some sort of Superhuman to do that. And what's worse than a Superhuman hearing that quick pulse and seeing those dilated eyes and concluding that you're in love with them? A Superhuman hearing that quick pulse and seeing those dilated eyes and thinking you're terrified of them.

Reasons why I love it: This is one of the most fun misunderstanding fics I've ever read. It feels so logical that Steve would come to the exact wrong conclusion, and of course they confront it in the most ass-backwards way possible. We love our idiots in love. This fic is fantastic, and I hope you check it out for yourself!

Going Steady

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 13,497 Tags: Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD

Summary: Steve has a soft spot for the sound of Tony's heart.

Reasons why I love it: I love how despite all of their flaws and their shared trauma in the past they still find a way to love each other wholeheartedly. This is one of the most beautiful takes on the Infinity War aftermath that I know, and a fantastic exploration of how they deal with their PTSD to boot. I adore every word of it, and I hope you give it a shot, if you haven't already!

'Til Death Do Us Part

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 15,612 Tags: Presumed Dead, Grief, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Steve goes on a mission. Steve dies on the mission. Or at least, SHIELD make everyone think he's died on the mission. In reality, he's alive and well, and still kicking ass. If only someone had let his husband know that.

Reasons why I love it: Oh god, poor Tony, he's going through a lot in this one. I love how Steve comes to the rescue though and how he deals with SHIELD afterwards. This fic hurts, but it makes up for it with lots and lots of comfort and fluff. I love it so much, and I bet you will too, so go ahead and give it a read if you haven't already!

#marvel #stony #fanfic #fic rec #fanfic rec #ficrec #a year in fanfic recs

[suchalonelysunflower]

You Are What You Love (l.h)

Pairing: Luke Hemmings x Fem! Reader

Requested? Yes! (requests are currently closed)

Summary: Based on the song "Daylight" By Taylor Swift. Luke's thinking about his perspective of love while he reminisces about when he first met you

Warnings: Fluff, language, mentions of alcohol and toxic relationships. Some grammatical errors (English is not my first language, im sorry)

Word Count: 2.4 k

Author's Note: I just really wanted to write this one and give it my own lil twist. Remember that REBLOGS are super IMPORTANT and so are COMMENTS AND INTERACTIONS. PLEASE SUPPORT YOUR WRITERS. Hope you like it and Happy Reading

My masterlist // tag list in bio!

The day was getting to him and they’d practically just started. Doing promos all day is something they all got used to when they first started, but it has become repetitive and unhealthy after years of being in the spotlight.

It’s not like Luke isn’t grateful for the opportunity he has of making music with his best friends, he loves what he does and why he’s doing it. But he has to admit priorities have changed for him lately, and being away from home for too long was making him angsty.

“Dude, cheer up!” Ashton would say, giving him a big smile and patting him on the shoulder as they waited for the next interviewer.

Luke would give him a half-hearted, tired smile that mimicked his feelings on the inside. He would see how Michael, Ash, and Calum would joke with each other a little bit, already getting in the mood for another seven minutes of answering questions - although everyone knew Ashton would be speaking the most again, thank you very much. And for a moment it was nice to see them slip from the personas they present in front of the camera and just let them be.

He also took this moment to check his phone and take it out from “do not disturb” when a text message showed up. After reading it his smile was for real this time.

“Is it Y/N?” Michael asked, noticing the grin on Luke’s face.

“Yeah, she says hi”

Quickly, Luke texted you back, noticing the interviewer was already making their way to them. Still, he couldn’t shake the smile off of his face.

* A few years ago.

The party was a success - or a mess if you’re the one cleaning afterward, which is pretty much what Luke promised to do if Ashton threw a party that weekend. This time it took more than ten minutes to convince the eldest of 5sos to throw a party, which is more than anyone would’ve expected coming from him.

“Luke, I already hosted a party three days ago” Ashton sighed while doing the dishes, giving his back to the youngest of the band.

“But Aaaash,” Luke pouted even though Ashton couldn’t see him “It’s the weekend!”

“Don’t you think you like partying too much?”

“Funny you’re saying it,” Luke rolled his eyes, but when he noticed Ashton stare once he turned back, he knew he was serious “C’mon, dude”

“Luke, you’re deflecting” Ashton crossed his arms in front of his chest “Don’t think we don’t notice how you use parties as an excuse to avoid the elephant in the room”

“I’m fine,” He scoffed, and the eldest raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh? So you’re ready to tell me what happened the day you showed up at my house with your dog and a U-Haul filled with your things?” Ashton sighed again when noticing Luke’s eyes deflecting his gaze “Look, you know I love having you here, but it’s not fun to see you hurting, Luke. Whatever happened with her… you know we’ll support you, right?”

And Luke knew they would. Fuck, Luke loves his friends because of it, they will never leave him behind if the ship was sinking. But the ship was already at the bottom of the ocean and they were still looking for the remains of his broken heart, not knowing there was nothing left to save. Not even himself.

“Luke…”

“Fine, if you don’t want to have a party then forget it,” Luke said, turning around and going to his room.

Ashton groaned loudly and threw his head back before calling out “Okay! We’re having a stupid party! But you’re cleaning up the next day!”

And so came Saturday and the house was packed. Except for one lonely soul sitting outside against the wall, drinking a beer, and not being able to figure out what was so wrong with him. Ashton was right, he was deflecting. But what was wrong with wanting to have a little party to try and forget the past?

The lights were low, so no one could recognize him that easily as he slipped out. The loud noises of the party drowned the sounds of his mind telling him he was the one that fucked up and that he should go back to what he knew was an unhealthy environment. At least that’s a place familiar to him; the feeling of not being enough but still trying to make it up somehow; being the butt of the joke everyone and laughing along even though they never knew the struggle or the pain behind every word or comment he read on the internet.

He was in love, or at least he thought he was. Damn, there was his whole life ahead of him and he thought she’d be by his side through all of it. But love doesn’t have to be black and white, it doesn't have to make you doubt every single word or move or Instagram post. He never thought love could be so cruel… or maybe he didn’t know what love was after all.

What’s worst of it all is that he knew he hurt some people along the way. Fuck, he even made Ashton throw him a party every week to try and cheer him up even though everyone knew it was all a charade. After everything that he did wrong, his friends are still there for him when he least deserves it. All because he was too hung up to see the reality, or too scared to face it.

Still, at least he was sound of mind and heart and didn’t plan to go back to her, even if that meant waking up and facing the unknown future again.

“Cheers to that,” He mumbled as he brought the beer bottle he was nursing to his lips.

“Amen,” A voice said behind him, making him spill his drink all over his shirt “Oh shit! Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you”

Luke wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, counting to ten in his head so that he won’t curse this person out. But soon a hand was stretched out to him, offering some napkins to clean himself out.

Finally, his blue eyes were able to look at the person who so rudely interrupted his self-deprecating moment. And for a second there he was speechless.

“I’m truly sorry,” The girl gave him a shy, awkward smile, “I thought you heard me get out and- Well, that’s what I get for trying to be funny, I guess”

Luke blinked up at her, losing his train of thought when he noticed how cute she looked when blushing and the way her eyes sparkled before she looked down. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he accepted the napkins.

“It was funny,” He said, dabbing his shirt “I always hated this shirt anyways, so thank you for helping me get rid of her”

The girl smiled “I don’t know if you’re making fun of me… but, yeah, that shirt is very 2015”

Luke fake gasped in surprise “Are you saying I have bad taste?”

“I’m saying that maybe you did but are now repenting for your sins”

“So quick-witted”

“One of my many talents”

“What’s another one?”

“I can run faster than a wolf”

“Don’t you get tired?” He asked, scooting to his side so that she could sit beside him. She did.

“Maybe when I do I’ll finally find the place that makes me what to stay” She shrugged “Do you have a talent?”

“I can’t seem to differentiate heroes from villains”

She looked at him, resting her chin on her hand “What do you think I am, then?”

“I don’t know yet” He laughed, looking back at her and getting lost in her eyes for a second before asking “Should I be offended you'd rather be out here than at my party?”

“Should I be offended that the host of the party would rather sit outside in the cold than at his own party?” She challenged him “My friend dragged me here, but I’m not much of a social butterfly and I need a moment to charge my battery before she tries to set me up with another stranger”

“Ooff, tough crowd?”

“The toughest”

“Good.” Luke said, leaning back and looking up at the sky “Easiest way not to get hurt”

“Maybe,” She shrugged. “But if we don’t get hurt once in a while then why bother to feel anything at all?”

Luke turned to her, frowning as he examined her face. “Did Ashton send you here?”

The girl looked at him quizzically, “I literally have no idea who Ashton is, but if he’s like- I don’t know, your “guide” in the universe, then maybe?”

Luke laughed “He’s my co-host”

“Oh! The one singing “I will survive” in karaoke! Yeah, no, I haven’t talked to him. But if you want me to call him I could-”

“No!” Luke said way too quickly and she noticed that as well “I mean if he sees me he’ll know he’s right and I would rather eat another one of Calum’s veggie lasagnas than do that”

“Ouch, tough crowd?”

He groaned “You have no idea”

“I might, a little bit”

“Yeah?” He bumped her arm with his “What’s your story then?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Luke,” He said, extending a hand for her to shake.

“Y/N,” She took his hand in hers, shaking it firmly “Well, Luke, I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours”

“And if we never want to see each other after we do?”

“Then that’s a risk we’ll both have to take”

*

The memory faded as he noticed all eyes were on him.

Shit.

At least there’ll be more elevator memes after this interview.

“Sorry, could you repeat the question, please?” Luke asked, ignoring Calum’s chuckle.

“Of course!” The interviewer smiled “I said that you were one of the main writers in almost every song of this album. What’s the inspiration behind it?”

“Oh,” It was an easy answer, of course, something he had rehearsed with the guys beforehand. But as the memory of your first encounter was still so fresh, another answer came to mind “Love,”

“Love?”

“Well, I guess that the right way to say it would be the feeling you get when you know you’re safe” He started, “When you feel safe around that special someone, no judgment nor fears or doubts. When that person means the world to you and you would do anything to give it to them just to see the smile on their face even for just a second. Or when you make a mistake and you’re willing to put everything on the line to try and make it right, just hoping the other one will forgive you when you think you least deserve it. “I had my doubts about love for quite some time. Thinking I was defined by it when we just create the context ourselves when we find the right person to share that love with. I always believed love would be…”

“Burning red?” Michael smiled, finding the words right out of Luke’s mouth.

“Yeah,” He smiled “But love is not supposed to burn or to hurt. Love is supposed to keep us warm and safe. Love is golden, like daylight”

“But not our old song Daylight,” Ashton said, making everyone laugh “That truly was a mistake”

“But it is part of our history,” Calum added.

“Like heartbreaks and hurt,” Luke chimed in, going back to the original question “But without them, is it even worth feeling anything at all? They’re just passing by until you find the place you want to stay, with the ones you love”

Luke watched with a smile as the other guys answered the rest of the questions, knowing full well that this is where he was meant to be. But there was someone missing.

*

The car dropped him off first, his friends all saying their goodbyes or see you tomorrow and saying I love you to him before he got out. He cracked his back before he grabbed his bag and made his way to the front door, waving one last time at the guys.

The moment he crossed the door he hung his keys and got rid of his boots. He was about to call your name when a faint mixture of sounds got to him. He frowned as he walked toward the living room, quickly finding you under a pile of blankets, wearing his hoodie and with an arm wrapped around a very sleepy Petunia whose snores were drowned out by the sounds on your phone.

Luke smiled as he shook his head, walking over to his two girls and sliding down next to you, wrapping you with his arms.

“What’ you doing?” He said, kissing you on the cheek “Are you- are you watching 5sos TikToks?”

“What can I say?” You said, turning into his embrace and facing him “You guys are very entertaining”

You ignored the rolling of his eyes as you leaned over to kiss him sweetly on the lips, feeling how he relaxed against you.

“Hi,” You mumbled once you pulled back just enough to have only your noses touching.

“Hi, darling” Luke smiled, kissing you briefly one more time.

“Long day?”

“The longest without you”

“Sap” You giggled, trying to scurry away before his hands found your waist and started to tickle it, but not being able to succeed.

This is what he meant about love. Coming home after a long day and having your laugh be music to his ears. Being able to touch you and kiss you like it was the first time every time. Just relaxing with you on the couch with your dog, watching hours and hours of tiktoks before any of your stomachs started to grumble. Talking about your respective days while you cook dinner together with Fleetwood Mac’s music surrounding the house, listening to all the good and the bad and the ugly, and just being there for each other.

The words “I love you” never made sense to him before you came along. But when you kiss him goodnight and whisper those words to him, he knows them to be true. And when he says them back, he knows he’s falling short. Because a love like that is impossible to describe.

A love like that is golden. A love like that is kind.

So every night he adds:

“Loving you is the best thing I have” * * tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @mystic-232 @talksoprettyjjx @theshyspy @hoodhoran @hoodharlow @littledrummeraussie @bubblegum183 @irwin-fletcher-ash @wiiildflowerrr @another-lonely-heart @aabc5sauce @in-superbloom @sadcupofcoffee @personalmuyverypersonal @vtte @as-hs-blog @himbohood @sofiaaraee @irwindoll @weasleytwinscumslut @fairytrice @colourfulcal @nibin0912 @hfkait @savagejane1 @youneedtocalumdown @ashtonsunflower @nicebasscalum @calumspupils @secretsicanthideanymore @alltimesos @wontlastimokwiththat @whywontyoulovemecami @theimpossiblehologramtree @perriexed @abiancajg @rewmuslupin @icelily13 @bookthingz @gracieboogirl @fastandtheformula1 @kingxnichole @wildflower98

#luke hemmings #5 seconds of summer #5sos #suchalonelysunflower #luke hemming imagines #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings fanfiction #Luke 5sos #luke 5 seconds of summer #5sos Luke #5 seconds of summer luke #5sos luke hemmings #5sos fic #5sos fanfiction #5 seconds of summer pic #5 seconds of summer fan fiction #luke hemmings one shot #Taylor swift #daylight

[footballffbarbiex]

Uninvited

Summary: He has a lot of fans and seeing girls in his jersey isn’t an uncommon occurrence. But he sees you everywhere - from the stadium, to outside of training and near his home. You’ve got him in your sights and you won’t stop until he admits that you’re made for him. Pairing: Unnamed player  x  “crazed fan” Type: Consensual non-con. Words: 4776 Warnings: stalking, breaking and entering, use of restraints, fingering, blow jobs, unprotected sex, breeding threat.

Since the teaser went down super well, I bring you this. no tag list incl with this as I don’t know how the tag list would feel about a darker fic.

You are responsible for your own consumption, especially if proceeding to read a piece which has warnings not to your tastes. Don’t like, don’t bitch.

However, if you do like this, please send me an ask (even on anon) and show this some love?

_

His home is shrouded in darkness by the time you get there and though there’s an icy nip in the air that licks over your exposed skin, you don’t feel it as the adrenaline kicks in with each step you take. Streetlamps cast an amber glow and with no cars passing by shining their headlights on you and very few house lights on from the neighbouring homes, there’s no-one to notice as you are almost skipping up to his door with excitement. Adjusting the backpack to a more comfortable position, you give one last glance around the street before you head around the back.

His bedroom faced the garden. You knew that from the photos he’d taken and shared, and after scoping out the area the last few days and nights, you knew that the security light which should be working, wasn’t.

What a shame, you think.

The large garden storage box is resting against the brickwork of the house, giving just enough space to manoeuvre between the roof of it and the balcony.  Like the other nights, his window remains open, just enough for you to be able to work it open a little more and climb through.

You grin to yourself as you pull on your gloves; after all, you don’t want to get in trouble for breaking and entering…assuming he doesn’t enjoy what you’re about to do to him and tries to press charges afterwards. They’ll not find your prints here. Everywhere else, but not here. It would appear to anyone who looked that he let you in himself willingly. But the window being open? It’s as though he wanted you here tonight. He’d lovingly left the window open to make things easier for you to come to him. A silent, but noticeably clear, gesture that you should come to his bedroom. It should be lit up with a neon sign that screamed your name, it was that clear and obvious, and who were you to deny him his wants? His needs? Certainly not you.

You’d completed a practice run earlier today while he was at training after learning that there were no security cameras on the back, needing everything to be perfect. There was no room for error. You knew this could be done and it was only a matter of a handful of minutes that separated you and him. Pulling yourself up onto the storage box, you pause as it creaks a little under your weight before you steady yourself and look upwards hoping he wouldn’t have heard. When no sound comes from above and no lights are switched on to check what is happening outside, you continue.

You twist and turn your body, walking your feet up the wall as you pull yourself up before swinging your foot up and latching it onto the balcony - enough of a grip there to hoist yourself up and over the railing. It was a piece of well-practised cake. You lift your hands, palms faced upwards and press them to the window, pulling it open further, big enough for you to get through but drop your bag inside first quietly, your body following afterwards.

The air in the bedroom smells faintly of a late-night shower and the remains of his aftershave lingering in the air. His clothes, when your eyes finally adjust to the darkness and allow you to see, are neatly folded over the back of a chair which faces a dresser that is topped with a small mirror, several bottles of aftershave, a brush and comb and, surprisingly, a tube of ChapStick. Though it’s mostly standard furniture, there are very few personal touches to the room where personal and intimate thoughts are allowed to be free.

The man himself lays in the bed with the sheet twisted around his body. You’re not sure if he’s naked beneath it but even in the poor lighting, you can see the outline of where his bulge is. You lick your lips at the sight of it, wanting nothing more than to crawl eagerly across the bed and begin but you can’t. Not yet.

Instead, you remove the gloves and pull your clothing from your body until you stand in his room naked. You pull out the contents of your bag before neatly tucking away everything you’ve just removed from yourself. The soft fabric of this season's jersey, one with his name and number spread over the back in delicate printing, is scrunched in your hand as you contemplate your next actions.

With your gaze fixed on his sleeping form, you pull the jersey over your head and tug it down into place. Turning away briefly, you reach for the ChapStick, remove the top and twist until there is enough for you to apply it to your lips. Rubbing them together, you make sure they’re well coated before securing the lid back on it and placing it back on the dresser and checking yourself in his mirror.

Unable to resist, you lift each aftershave and inhale deeply. Choosing your favourite one, you can’t resist giving yourself a little spritz, wanting to smell this on yourself later as you lay in bed and reminisce about tonight's events while your hand fits perfectly between your thighs.

Turning, you collect some of the items you’ve brought and silently approach the bed. As quietly as you can, you attach the restraints to the bed posts. Only when they’re in place do you begin to peel back the bed sheet. Inch by inch, perfect skin and taut muscle come into view. You long to press kisses over his abdomen, following the soft trail of hair from his belly button into his boxer shorts, but there’ll be time for that in a few minutes; assuming all goes to plan.

Opening the restraints so all you need to do is reposition his limbs, you take a deep breath and pray he stays asleep. You lift his feet first, deciding it better to restrain them so he cannot kick out. His hands you can manage, but should he get to his feet before you’ve had him, that wouldn’t do. You’re securing his right foot when his breathing changes, small whimpers sound from him and he fidgets in his sleep.

You pause, freezing on the spot and hold your breath as you wait for him to wake.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

When he doesn’t stir and the light snoring begins again, you finish up with his ankles and make sure they’re fully locked in place. Carefully, you step to the side of the bed and bind his wrists in the same way, making it so that he’s stretched out in a starfish. Returning to the foot of the bed, you drink in the sight of him laid vulnerable and ready for the taking. A part of you wants to reach for your phone and take pictures, have an actual visual memory of this rather than allowing your mind to do that for you. And maybe you will when he’s balls deep inside your pussy.

You backtrack momentarily and collect your phone and panties, only to place them on the bedside table. The phone is now close enough for you to be able to reach for it while you’re straddling his hips and close enough for him to see that he’s that close to calling for help. So close yet so far.

You can feel the way your thighs glide against one another as you begin to climb on the bed, lubricated by your own juices as the thoughts of what you’ll do to this man begin to take over. Inching forward, you kneel and settle between his spread thighs. Usually, you’d take your time with the men you slept with. Kissing up their thighs, over their stomach, flicking your tongue over their sensitive nipples and making them beg for you to take it further as you stroked them to a needy and whiny status. But, sadly, tonight you don’t have the time for such slow-paced foreplay.

He’s still sleeping soundly when you press your hand to his bulge, surprised to find that the bulge was not all balls and a hint of dick until hard like with some, and even soft there’s good length to work with. You palm him, feeling the way he swells beneath your touch as blood rushes to the area. His hips tilt as he hardens, lips parting ever so slightly as a soft moan sound. Biting down on your lip at hearing those whimpers, you can feel your arousal growing even more and you force your hand to remain steady, stroking up and down as he hardens in your hand, the inches growing rapidly with every tens of seconds that you stroke him through his boxers.

The front opens, allowing you to pull his now fully erect cock through it and you finally get to feast your eyes on his size for the first time. Long, thick and begging to be in your mouth; something you cannot refuse. He remains where he is, body barely moving but his breathing has certainly changed. Your hand continues to pump his full length, drawing pearls of pre-cum to leak at the slit and this is when you lean forward and swipe your tongue over the soft head. The tang of it spreads over your tongue, making you swallow it down and lick at the corners of your lips before you take him into your mouth.

You manage only the first inch after the head, pausing as he whimpers, the muscles in his stomach tensing and his chest rises and falls faster as you continue. Bringing your lips back to the tip, you sink them back down, taking a little more of him this time as you press your tongue flat against his shaft. He throbs against where it can touch and the more you take within you, the more noise he makes until he’s rousing from his sleep.

“I didn’t know you were coming over.” he croaks and begins to move his arm, no doubt intending to wipe the sleep from his eyes until he realises he cannot. Panic begins to rise in him. His eyes widen while he tugs on the restraints, cussing when they don’t give and keeps him firmly in place. The sight of him struggling within them makes you grin.

“I told you I’d find you.” You whisper, hand gripping the base of his dick, the soft hairs that cover his pubic bone tickling against your fist as you look up at him. You bite on your bottom lip with glee, like you’re about to reveal a surprise that you’ve been keeping a secret for a long time. In a way, you are. “And it seems…” you trail off and give him a small suck before releasing him with a wet pop, “that you want me here.”

He can’t speak, he’s frozen in place, and you can feel the way his muscles tense up in his thighs. His cock twitches as a result and you see his stomach become more defined as his body becomes rigid. All he can manage is a pathetic head shake as his voice fails him.

“You’re mine and I told you I’d make you see that. Gonna show you just how made for you I am.” you tell him, your voice is nice, light, and cheerful. You pull your attention away from his fear-stricken expression and watch as your hand pumps up and down his shaft, eagerly licking away the dots that form once more.

“Listen to yourself,” you say as he lets out a groan that seems to rumble up from his chest, “you want this. You like what I’m doing to you.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh, so he does have a voice after all. I thought I imagined it last time. Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you do not want this.” you demand, your tone strict now and no longer playful. He’s about to answer when you take as much of his cock into your mouth as you can with no warning, pushing him further to your throat while you try to ignore your gag reflex kicking in.

You can hear the restraints knocking against the bed frame as a “yes” hisses from his mouth and your pussy tightens at the sound of him enjoying what you’re doing and encouraging you. Just like you knew he would. You keep him there for as long as you can, feeling your throat contract around him as your body pleads for more air and his mouth spews profanities which replenishes your need to continue. But the longer you’re keeping him there, hollowing your cheeks to envelope him better, the more he pants and whimpers with pleasure.

Your chest burns as you keep him lodged within your mouth and throat, and only when you fear you may vomit from the way your stomach is churning in response do you pull yourself back off. You’re gasping for air in your lungs, inhaling deeply as you feel the heat spreading through your chest and spit dangles from your lips and chin, wetting his jersey in the process as your chest rises and falls with each breath you take.

Your hand continues to stroke, resuming the pace that you’d set previously.  Everything about his reactions is saying yes, despite his initial plea of no. You keep watching him, wanting to savour every moment and submit it fully to your memory. Needing to remember the way he tastes, the way he sounds, the expressions he makes, needing this to be ingrained in your mind for when your fingers bring you to an orgasm as you replay this memory over and over for as long as you live.

Leaning forward, you take little more than the head into your mouth and barely pull your lips from him before you’re sinking back down again. Your hand remains near the base of his shaft, and you stroke your way up your thighs with your free hand. You can feel the heat from your pussy before you’re even halfway up your inner thigh and finally, your fingers glide through your wetness as they near where your legs meet.

“I wish these were your fingers, so you could feel how wet you’ve made me.” You tell him, speaking your words against him before giving him small kitten licks. “Then again, I could ride your face and let you clean me up. Give you a real taste.” The last word comes out as a whimper as your fingers push through your soft, wet folds and tease the

“Why are you doing this?” He asks, his fingers curling into his palm and stretches back out again as he tries to keep the circulation working. “I have a girlfriend and a family an-”

“Aww baby, are you trying crisis techniques?” You almost laugh at him, “you’re forgetting that I already know all about you. Your girlfriend doesn’t worry me. By tomorrow, you won’t be able to look at her without thinking of all the things that I’m doing to you which you’re enjoying right now.”

“I'm not thinking of you. I’m thinking of her.” he states.

"Why would you want to be thinking of her when I'm right here?" You whisper as your tongue swirls around him. Small dots of his pearly wetness smear within your mouth as you continue to fuck yourself with your fingers. "We both know you're enjoying this more than anything you've done with her." You almost spit the final word as you very briefly imagine them together.

"Does she suck your cock like I have?" You ask him, removing your fingers from your cunt as you begin to pull yourself to a kneeling position before him, allowing his thick length to drop back against his belly, your drool and his seed mixing as one before dripping from the head and leaving small spots of wetness against his V lines.

He says nothing. You take it as a no. Of course, she couldn't do it better than you. You bet that she barely paid attention to what he needed in bed, just allowed him to give her the pleasure and deprived him of really experiencing what he wanted.

"Look how aroused you are with me. You can barely take your eyes from me."

With his jaw clenching, he makes a point to look away; anywhere that isn't on you or in your direction. He twists his wrists again and the muscle in his cheek clenched as he tries to focus on anything else.

"Oh baby," you chuckle to yourself and begin to move, "I know you've never looked at her the way you've looked at me." You move higher, positioning yourself above his lap, your thighs on either side of his hips as your pussy lowers and rubs up and down his erection. Your lips part with the contact and every ridge of his cock rubs against your clit making you whimper a little.

"I've seen the pics of you both. Watched the way you interact with her. I know she can't do it for you like I can." You prop yourself up with one hand and grip his dick with your other, positioning it at an angle to enable you to sink down onto him. "And I know you've never felt a pussy like mine."

The silky head pushes between your soft folds and though the temptation to just sink right down until every centimetre of him is within your walls but like earlier, you refuse to go quickly. Refuse to rush this when you know you won’t get another opportunity to have him like this, completely at your mercy.

This action makes him look at you again, his gaze not lasting long on your face before it's directly where your bodies meet. You lift his jersey, giving him the perfect view of your pussy enveloping him inch by inch. He can’t pull his gaze away, staring intently the way your bodies merge and become one as though he’s hypnotised. “Look at you baby, you can’t take your eyes from us.”

He clenches his jaw and looks away again, almost ashamed of the way he enjoyed it. He stretches your walls apart, making you burn in a way that you hadn't realised you could manage as you continue to keep taking him within you until you seat yourself against him. You can't close your mouth from the soft "o" it's formed, with every blink you take it becomes harder to open your eyes once more and when you do, it feels as though they're rolling into the back of your head as he pulses within you.

You can't move. You've never felt fuller than having him inside you and for a second or two, it almost takes your breath away. Only when you feel comfortable to do so, you begin to lift and hiss as he drags along your sensitive walls until you take the same inches again.

Trying not to say anything when you hear him whimper and feel him trembling beneath you, you don't want to stop those beautiful noises by making a comment that could silence him. You need to hear them like you've never needed anything else. The look of pleasure that sculpts his expression is one that you will never forget.

He's no longer tugging at the restraints, just allowing his arms to hang as much as they can, hands slack and limp as he allows you to use him in any way you feel is justified. Wave after wave of unfiltered pleasure surges through the two of you with every rock of your hips and bounce that you make.

“I’ve got your name on my back and your cock inside me.” You whimper, your strangled words finally getting his attention rather than him focusing on the way your core feels. “Who knows? Maybe when I make you cum in me, that won’t be the only thing of yours that fills me up. I could be your baby mamma. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Us, together forever.” Your words sound gleeful even to your own ears.

“Can feel you throbbing in my pussy, you want that, don’t you? You want me to keep fucking you until you come. You’re moving your head wrong baby.” You reach over, halting your movements ever so slightly, still taking a moment or two to tight up around him until he groans and bucks up into you. Wrapping your hand around his jaw, you make him nod. “It’s like this. It looked like you were saying no. But I know that’s not what you want. Why else would you be this hard for me if you didn’t want me to come here and do this? Shhhh, shhh shhh. Don’t try to talk. You don’t need to say anything. Your body is doing it for you.”

You move both of your hands as you speak to him. One now cups your breast, fingers, and thumb tweaking at your nipple while the other rubs a different swollen bud between your thighs as you continue to ride him. The combination of being stimulated from your most sensitive spots causes a plethora of words to jumble together until you’re incapable of coherent thoughts.

Your movements become less controlled as pleasure surges through you, your hips are rocking back and forth, trying to make sure that as much of him is always buried within your cunt. The fingers rubbing against your clit become sloppy and frantic as you get closer to your climax. The restraints at his wrist clang against the bed frame as you pick up the pace, your rhythm slower than your hand but faster than it had been.

Your wetness is hard to disguise, the lewd sound of it filling the air as much as your moans. Had you not been close to the edge, your mind becoming fuzzy nothing, you may have made a comment about the way he helplessly whines as your orgasm brings him closer to his own. Your toes clench, your muscles feel as though they burn as they tighten, and your pussy holds his cock deep within you like a wet, hot fist until your contracting walls push you up and off his cock. Your juices drip from you as your pussy tries to clench around nothing, desperately needing to be filled like moments ago.

When you lower yourself once more, your soaked hole meets his now slick length. Your hands splay over his damp chest to try to steady yourself until you can get your breathing under control. Wrapping your hand around him, it takes seconds to angle him at your opening and for him to be back within you again.

“Still not willing to admit that you love being inside me?” you grind your ass against him and purposely tighten around him. “Being fucked by me? You made her a girlfriend. I’ll make you a daddy. We are not the same. Look at me!” You snap at him when he tries to close his eyes, the look on his face is one like a puppy being reprimanded. A deer caught in headlights. The harsh tone of your voice is different to how you’ve spoken to him prior. Babied him. Handled him with care.

“This doesn’t feel like you don’t want it,” you tell him as you lean forward again, your hands resting lightly on his waist and stomach as you begin to bounce. Wet marks from the juices that you’ve coated his cock in are now smearing over his skin from your hand. “This feels like I’m made for you.”

Despite how sensitive you are right now; you take him again and again at a pace that suits you. Your eyes never leave his face, watching as he fights the compulsion to keep watching the way you sink down onto him and trying to look away again, not wanting to allow himself to really enjoy this. Even though you know he does. The way he’s unable to look away for too long tells you this. The way he makes small, but pussy clenching, sounds tells you he does. The subtle but very much there bucks of his hips tells you he does.

He turns his head away from you, teeth desperately trying to sink into his bicep, lips closing around the area to try and muffle his beautiful sounds as he begins to tremble beneath you.

“Come for me, baby. Fill up this pussy and claim it as your own.”

Despite his best attempts to silence himself and stop himself from reaching his orgasm, you ride him until you can feel his balls beginning to tighten beneath you and finally, hot thick spurts of cum spill into you. He’s breathless, chest rising and falling quickly as his cheeks burn with shame from finishing inside you after what you’ve done.

Leaning forward, you try to keep as much of him inside of you as possible, feeling the way he twitches with sensitivity, as you press your lips to his. “See, that wasn’t so bad was it?” You ask him with a grin as he grits his teeth.

“Why me?”

Two words that pack a punch but rather than reacting instinctively to his question, you tilt your head to the side and observe him. “Because we’re meant to be. I told you that.” You reach across and pull the panties you’d left on the bedside table into your palm before trying to climb from his body as easily as possible without dripping too much down your thighs. You pull on your underwear and stare down at him looking used and spent before collecting your phone. “Not going to smile for the camera?” You ask him and he turns his face the other way, refusing to give you what you want free of will. “Be good and stay here. I’m going to go and freshen up.”

You give his thigh a light hearted slap before moving around the bed and towards the en-suite bathroom. Flicking the light on makes you blink from the brightness, having gotten used to working in the dark but the woman staring back at you in the mirror takes you a little by surprise. You look at yourself as he had, taking in every single detail as you try to submit this to memory too; this was something you wouldn’t be forgetting in a hurry.

A smirk sculpts your mouth as you begin to gather some things, a towel and a clean cloth which you quickly dampen. With another final glance in the mirror, you turn the light back off and head back into the bedroom where he remains laying still as he watches you approach him once more.

“Not finished yet?” He asks you coldly, throat working as he swallows hard. His wrists rotate, trying to get some feeling back into his hands. His expression is set in a hard grimace, one that only softens a little when you begin to wipe at his skin with the damp cloth, cleaning his stomach of the mix of your juices. “Did I do ok?” He asks in a quiet voice.

“You did perfectly.” You give him a broad smile and lean forward to kiss him on the lips, this time feeling him kiss you back. “How did I do?”

“You scared the shit out of me when you woke me up. You were terrifyingly good.”

“That’s what you asked for, wasn’t it?” you ask as you sit on the edge of the bed and continue to clean him up.

“I didn’t know you were going to do it tonight though,” he chuckles.

“It wouldn’t have made sense to tell you when. Though I damn well nearly fell trying to get up to the balcony.” You laugh to yourself, remembering a second or two where your footing felt a little too loose and you feared you’d mess up the whole roleplay.

With his skin now clean and air drying, you turn your attention back to his restraints and collect the key to open them up and allow him to pull his limbs back into a normal position. He flexes his fingers as blood travels back to his hands but it’s not long before he’s pulling you back to his chest and kissing you again. “Thank you. I enjoyed that far more than I thought I would.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” he nods and gives you a small kiss on the tip of your nose. “I wouldn’t say no to it happening again. Now, about that possible baby…”

#mason mount blurb #ben chilwell blurb #trent alexander arnold blurb #john stones blurb #leon goretzka blurb #antoine griezmann blurb #football one shot #football imagine #football blurb #football drabble #football fanfic #football fanfiction #footballer one shot #footballer imagine #footballer blurb #footballer drabble #footballer fanfic #footballer fanfiction

[a-queer-seminarian]

*deeeeep breath* so. (cw church hurt, religious queerphobia)

another Thing has happened in the unfortunately still-ongoing saga of The Pentecost Incident (see my tag if you don't know, but basically, i visited my childhood church back in late May, my priest gave a queerphobic sermon, i got up and said something, got kicked out and verbally harassed by a dude, it went a little bit viral, ugh). (Oh btw i also discuss it a bit near the end of my latest podcast ep over here).

the priest in question, who's been at this same parish since 2002, has now been reassigned to a different church elsewhere in the Cleveland area.

naturally the same Cleveland journalist who's been covering this story since it started published a fresh article that questions whether the move is related to what happened back in May. The official diocese statement is that the events are unrelated, which. Sure. i could see. I definitely don't think it's "punitive" like the article suggests — apparently this other church is in a more conservative area / the parishioners are more conservative. So i could believe this is either a coincidence, or the bishop decided he'd be a better fit for this other church...or hell, that father tim is the one who requested the transfer to get out of the spotlight or something

which just. really bums me out. because unless he's really changed that much since i knew him better in high school (so a good decade ago), Father Tim isn't like, a Mega Conservative?? Like, relatively speaking, for a Catholic priest.

...If i really wanted to know, i guess i'd have to like, listen back through a ton of his homilies to see if they have gotten more conservative over time but. obviously i'm not going to do that because that would be The Worst thing i could do for my mental and spiritual health lol but. part of me is tempted just so i can Know.

i did what i did primarily as a message to anyone in the pews feeling as alienated and betrayed as i did; and secondarily in hopes that Father Tim would see how what he preached was so hurtful. i sent him a loooong email afterward to explain my feelings more (he replied with a quick sentence about not wanting to talk right now but i'm hoping he at least read it).

and now i can't stop thinking about like. what if what i did instead pushed him further right?? fed his persecution complex???

despite the fact that people on the left don't tend to pose any real physical threat to those we protest, and that i was the one who ended up verbally threatened in this situation, i was never surprised when conservative Catholics by-and-large responded to this incident by being like "see! Catholic-phobia is real!" ...But i hate to think that someone like Father Tim, who's known me for most of my life, would feel like i threatened him or whatever.

part of me knows that wouldn't really be on me if that's the case. most of me knows i would have felt the need to get up and say something regardless of how it's all shaken out — as gut-wrenching as it feels to have so little control over the narrative, i still couldn't have just sat there and said nothing. And i've had enough people from the broader St. Raphael community reach out to thank me and say what I did was encouraging or even healing to stand by my decision.

and yet. it still feels really painful. and this added bit about him being transferred to a new church just makes my stomach hurt. i bet there are people within the parish who now blame me and loathe me for like, tearing their community apart or whatever. and i bet the new church will welcome father tim in like a hero, maybe even expect him to preach more things like what he did that day, which will only push him farther right...

all of this is out of my control. i keep trying to center myself and remind myself of that. but God, it's just painful.

#pentecost incident

[midnight-in-town]

About Real!Ciel, the major thing that I think is that it's not really him anymore, the core of a person is his soul. And his soul is gone. It can't even rest because it has been eaten.

Of course he's "alive" now thank to blood transfusions and fake memories/record but it can't go for forever. It's still the memories of a child. He's can't mature and he can't change, he can't grow up. He's stuck in the past. And I really doubt that his body can't stay forever in this state. Blood transfusions or not, there a point where his body will reach his limit.

Somewhere he still the ten years old who did a tamtrum because his sibling wanted to do something different of him. He's a zombie who will never grow up, mentallly and emotionally. He can't have differents "thoughts" that what he is "programmed" to have as bizarre doll. He's not "programmed" to change Because the memories must be very closes of what he was when he was alive.

If "this day" never happened and that the twins didn't lose their parents, weren't kidnapped, tortured, abused and Rea!Ciel killed…well he may have grow up to be better. Pretty sure that his parents would have done something. The twins grow up without knowing other children than their cousins so Real!Ciel could say "don't need anyone else". But who know, Real!Ciel could have make friend at Weston. He COULD have grow up nicely. We'll never know :/

We can't judge a 9/10 years old, because he's a child (it's more his parents who arer to blame to not have done anything about it sooner). But sadely the child he was is dead and he's just a zombie with "fake memories/record". I just hope that one day he'll be able to rest, because it's not a life, it's even not really him.

Hey Anon! Okay, so I totally agree with you on the idea that, yes, as a bizarre doll, real!Ciel's growth is stunted and he will never be able to be the same as "if he hadn't died and had grown up to now be nearly 14".

Let's be real : UT's greatest wish is impossible, he's biased and full of sorrow, it's made quite clear in the story.

However, where I disagree with you is that I don't think real!Ciel would have grown up as a good person with a lot of friends.

Contrarily to what you seem to think, it is hinted several times that he only truly cared about his little brother, to the point of obsession, because he only thought about him as family (compared to Ann and the Midfords, it's really made clear in the Japanese version, especially compared to how our!Ciel thinks, you can read the explanation here).

Another striking example is, in a short bonus chapter (ch99.5, that you can read here), he even refused to think about getting "fake brothers" at Weston, when Vincent explained who Diedrich was to him.

That's actually the RCMT theory (recap post, tag), which I just detailed to another Anon (unless you sent both asks) and which hypothesizes that real!Ciel is probably an accomplice who played a part in the attack on his own home 4 years ago.

Why is still unclear, but I personally think he wanted at least his father to die, so that he would become the next head of the family, with absolute control over his little brother's future (or so he thought, as a kid). That or he was tricked into helping to kill his dad, so that he and his brother would remain safe afterwards.

So, as a BD he's stuck in the past, yes ! but as such he's also even more obsessed with the idea of "being together forever" with his little brother, because of the episodes of "yearning for the future" that were implemented on his cinematic record, which is why he's a villain.

Look Anon, I get it : he died a terrible death, so it's easy to want to pity him. But with all the hints we've gotten about the kid he was before his death ? I kinda really doubt real!Ciel would have grown up to become a good adult. Not when he possibly played a part into his parents' murder at the age of ten years old, motivated by his obsession with his little brother.

Of course, you're free to interpret his character as you want, but try not to blind yourself with lies, in case you want to decipher where the story is going. :) Also yes, we will find out about the entire truth when it's time. So all the more reasons to get ready for it, because it's certainly going to be absolutely ugly. ;)

I hope it answers your question, have a good day!

#kuroshitsuji #2CT #rcmt #kuroshitsuji theory #ciel phantomhive #anon #answers

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Ten.

A big thank you to everyone for your feedback! I’m going to push the boat out a little and say this time, it’s 40 notes to unlock the next chapter, of which you can accumulate with your likes, but most importantly, comments and reblogs. Don’t let me down with the engagement, now!

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine

Words - 3,154

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“Hey, Garcie,” Gilly spoke, entering the garage of his home, which he’d converted into a workshop so Amelia could have a place to run her business from and work on her leathercraft items in plenty of space, her hands currently pushing a piece of black suede through her sewing machine. “Listen, I brought Camille back with me, she’s in the lounge. Something, um... something bad went down tonight.”

She ceased her sewing immediately, taking her glasses off and turning in her chair. “Is she okay? What happened?” In her heart, though, she knew. She just knew that whatever it was, it involved EZ.  

“She and EZ got into a fight, and he slugged her. Knocked her out cold.”  

Immediately she gasped, pausing to hug him and kiss his head before exiting her seat at speed.  

“I know I said we shouldn't get involved, but...” he trailed off, Amelia halting.

“You did the right thing.” He knew he had, knowing she shouldn’t be alone, especially since he didn’t trust his president not to turn up at her home and perhaps do something else heinous, where she wouldn’t have anyone there to protect her from such. He’d attempted to get out to her before they’d left, Bishop hauling him back, telling him to ‘get inside and leave her be’ as he’d worded it, stating strongly that he’d done enough.  

“Sweetie?” she spoke softly, Camille emerging from within her hands, her cheek already turning an angry shade of purple. “Oh, love. Come here.” Seating herself beside her, Amelia pulled her into a hug, letting her cry in her arms, stroking her back, Gilly coming back in through the side door and making a motion with his hand that he’d fix them both a drink. Luckily for Camille, his girlfriend was also a fan of rum, going over to the small bar in the corner of the room and grabbing a bottle along with two glasses, and a beer for himself from the mini fridge.  

“I can’t believe he did this,” Amelia began, Camille straightening, thanking Gilly for the drink he slid across the large, glass coffee table towards her, his girlfriend picking hers up and sinking it in one, topping off both their glasses after she watched her friend do the same. “Is this the first time he’s hit you?”  

She nodded, but then made a face that alluded to more, looking a little uncomfortable. Gilly read the room quickly. “I’ll leave you girls to it. I got dragons to slay on Skyrim.”

“Nerd,” Amelia joked, poking out her tongue, chuckling softly when he raised a middle finger. “Love you!”

“You’d better.” Exiting the lounge, he headed into what used to be the dining room, he’d carved out the space as his man cave, giving the girls the privacy he sensed they needed. They both moved further back onto the big, comfy couch, sitting cross legged as they faced one another, Amelia holding her hand.  

“He hasn’t hit me before, but... he, he has scared me by being overly physical,” Camille stated, Amelia nodding. “When we were having sex once, he gripped me around the throat and called me a whore, and I’m not the kind of girl who likes that. I mean yeah, dirty talk and throat holding is great, but he was close to throttling me. I tried to get away from him, but he wouldn’t let me go. As soon as he saw me crying afterwards, though, he was completely different, so apologetic and loving, and I don’t understand it, how he can be so lovely to me one minute, and then... then...”

“Abusive the next,” Amelia finished, sighing, her worst fears confirmed. “Because that’s abuse, Camille. And you shouldn’t have to tolerate it. It isn’t acceptable, no matter how much you love him, or how much he says he loves you.” They were silent for a time, the weight of her words sinking into Camille’s head, the truth she’d been so desperately trying to ignore. “What triggered him tonight, what was it that happened that lead to him hitting you?”

Camille sighed, knocking back her drink, Amelia quick to top up her glass. She was so thankful, to have fallen on her feet with finding such lovely new friends in the shape of her and Bella. She guessed it was easier to confide in them somehow, because they saw it too, they knew of the duality in her boyfriend. They had insight to offer. “I booked tonight off to spend time with him, but my boss called me and asked if I could come in at short notice as he was two girls down, both testing positive for covid. I said I would, but when I revealed that to EZ, he went ballistic.”

“He just turned, and this time it was worse than before. His whole personality, it shifts sometimes, and so rapidly, but tonight it was something else. He started by saying that, oh, I can’t remember exactly now, something about him having to be cool with me going to grind on someone’s lap, and I tried to keep my cool and remind him that it’s exactly how he first met me. He’s never, ever had an issue with the fact I dance and strip, ever, but now I’m thinking he must’ve had something brewing away, and tonight it just exploded.  

“I said to him that he was the only guy it had ever gone further with, and he immediately told me that he didn’t know that for sure, and for all he knew, I could be taking guys out back and fucking them. Then he accused me of doing that with my boss, too! That was it, I was out of there after hearing all of that, but he wouldn’t let me leave. He grabbed me and said he wouldn’t let me go and hoe it up in that place, as he worded it, so I slapped him for it. The next thing I knew, I had a fist in my face.” 

“Oh god,” Amelia exclaimed shakily, running a hand through her hair, the other tightening its clutch on Camille’s. “What the fuck is wrong with him? He was never like this! I’m sorry, babe. I’m so sorry he’s put you through all of this.”  

Camille nodded, sniffing as tears prickled her eyes again. She couldn’t believe it either, feeling like she was a magnet for bad guys, whether they’d always been bad or not. She couldn’t discount it, though, that beneath the considerate, loving boyfriend he was, there was something very, very dark festering within. What she hated more? The fact that all she wanted was to fix him, because she knew, even though she’d only been with him for four months and known him for just under five, this wasn’t him.  

She was shaken and scared after being on the receiving end of his fist, but she wasn’t blind to wondering what the hell was wrong with her in all of this, that her first instinct wasn’t to run as fast as she could in the opposite direction of her abusive boyfriend. True, she had no desire to see him right at that moment in time, but in her mind, she at least wanted to hear what he had to say, to explain it, indefensible as it was. She wanted to get to the bottom of it all with him, because she was emphatic in her stance that it wasn’t truly him.  

Sitting there, she detailed all of these thoughts to Amelia as well, her friend nodding, her face creased with concern. Inside, she felt very frightened, that being knocked out wasn’t enough to make Camille see that if she stayed with him, she remained very much in danger of the same thing happening again. However, she also knew as a grown woman, she couldn’t tell her what to do.

“Look, I can’t sit here and tell you how to live your life, or be governing over the decisions you make, but all I will say is that if you remain with him, it’s gonna set a precedent, it’s gonna tell him that hitting you isn’t the final straw for you. In other words, he’ll know he can do it again and it won’t change anything, you’ll still go back to him.” Biting the corner of her lip with nerves, she had to wonder if she’d said too much, Camille’s face twisting, sighing heavily, sinking her drink in one gulp.  

“Right now, I don’t know what I want, Amelia,” she began, unclipping her mountain of curls and running her fingers through them, setting the clip down on the table. “My better judgement is telling me it can’t continue like this, and I hear what you’re saying, but there’s something I feel so deep down, something that’s yelling at me that this isn’t him. I think he needs help, someone to bring him back to himself, and that someone is me. I know it sounds like wishful thinking and that I’m making excuses for inexcusable behaviour, but I feel it so strongly.”  

It did. It was exactly what it sounded like to Amelia, her concern growing. If being knocked out didn’t frighten her away from him, what on earth was it going to take? While Amelia sat there having no clue how to guide Camille into safer waters, the storm she wanted so desperately to protect her from was being placated by large measures of alcohol, just the two of them remaining in the clubhouse.

Pouring a bourbon, Bishop slid it across the bar, the glass scraping against the wood from the jerky movement it had been passed with. EZ took it, glancing at his VP, his jaw tight and twitching.  

“Thanks.” He knocked it back, the glass snatched away again, anger still cording the muscles in the arms of the man who refilled it, sliding it back once more. “I’m kinda surprised you’re actually sitting here drinking with me, though. I have to say.”

Bishop’s tone was biting, frostier than a Siberian chill. “Oh, I ain’t doing this out of any feelings of brotherhood. I’m doing it to get you so wasted that you’re incapable of getting on your bike and riding off after that poor girl to start round two.” His nostrils flared, sinking his drink and refilling it, a rasped sigh echoing his throat. Bishop Losa had few lines he drew in concrete, ones that he considered too much to ever cross, but striking a woman who had done absolutely nothing to deserve it was at the very top.

So, she’d slapped him. For what he’d yelled at her, it was the very least he deserved, Bishop thought. He’d caught the same from his wife in the past, after coming home drunk and calling her a complaining bitch, Julia leaving a sizable handprint upon his cheek. Even near blackout drunk, he’d realised he’d been in the wrong, and very much deserved that ‘come to your senses, you absolute mess’ slap. EZ was sober, and so far, not verbal at all in admitting any wrong.  

“You have a problem,” he began, knowing now was the time to voice it, what everyone had been thinking for months. “And it needs to be addressed. Your behaviour, EZ, it’s spiralling. You’re spiralling, carnan, and if no one pulls you up, pretty soon, ain’t nobody gonna be able to reach you to help you stop spinning.”

EZ bit down on his tongue, suppressing the urge to speak from sarcasm about Bishop stating he wasn’t there for brotherhood, only to offer words that reflected it.  

“What is it?” he spoke, the statement delivered a little gentler than the sharp cut of his words to him so far. “What the fuck is causing you to behave like this, together one moment, only to descend into unhinged, reckless asshole territory the next? You have virtually everyone in your life walking on eggshells around you. It’s like dealing with a mine field with you. Nobody knows where the hell to step, save being blown the fuck up.”

Looking at him, Bishop finally watched some of what he felt on the inside play across his face, EZ closing his eyes, shaking his head. “I don’t know, and if we’re being candid, that’s the truth.”  

Straightening, Bishop topped up their glasses again. “I think we’re way past anything less than total candidness, don’t you?”

“I do.” The words slipped from his mouth on a sigh, sinking his drink, refilling it himself. “Sometimes, I have control of it, other times, I don’t, but I can see myself doing it. Sometimes not in the moment, actually most of the time not in the moment, and it feels soothing when I am, when I’m acting in a way that dictates I have to have a stranglehold on every single aspect of my life. The club, my friendships - or rather what little is left of them - and then of course, Camille. I’m sure I can’t count her now, after what I did to her.”

Finally, he had the good grace to look ashamed.

“You can’t carry on like this, mano,” Bishop stated, lighting a cigarette, the air filling with blue-tinged smoke.  

EZ shifted uncomfortably. “I know.”  

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t know.” And it was the truth. He didn’t have a single clue over how he should begin putting himself back together again, sewing up whatever gaping hole had been torn into his psyche that allowed the free-flowing darkness to keep creeping in and poisoning his entire life. Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so prepared to discuss it further, simply turning, sliding from the bar stool and heaving himself up the stairs, feeling heavy, his shoulders slumped, his head starting to pound.  

The only thing that could improve upon this was sleep. It was, as he anticipated, completely unattainable, though. His bed felt cold and vast without Camille next to him in it, and he didn’t know how to undo the kind of damage he’d done that would prevent him from feeling her warmth within it again, or even if that was possible at all.  

What was worse? The fact that it wasn’t hitting him as profoundly as it should have. Yes, he knew it was wrong to punch his girlfriend straight in the face, even more so to knock her out, but it didn’t cut him deep. He was more irritated by his complete loss of control than he was at the fact he’d hurt someone he loved.  

That was, until he saw her the following day, Gilly arriving with her on the back of his bike so she could collect her car while he was out in the yard, throwing a ball for Sally. Sitting on the steps, he saw the bluish-purple bruise as soon as she took off the helmet, handing it to Gilly and kissing his cheek before she slowly walked towards him. Her steps grew slower, the fear of him palpable, swirling around her, her arms folded as she stopped in front of him, EZ viewing the damage close up.  

“Jesus,” he whispered, dropping his head after seeing it, the darkly bruised, swollen cheekbone, her bloodshot eye, and absolutely no sparkle left. “I’m so sorry, and I know that’s not enough, I know it isn’t. I know I’ve lost you now, because how the hell could you ever still want a fucking monster like me after I did that to your face?”

When he looked back up at her, he had tears streaming down his face, reaching for her, wrapping his arms around her thighs, hugging them tightly. Eventually, Camille rested her hands to his head, her nails trailing his scalp softly, biting her lip before she spoke.  

“Because I know you’re not a monster. I know that underneath whatever it is that causes this, there’s a good guy. Don’t ask me how, but I just know. I feel it. I’ve seen him. He’s the man I’m in love with. If you want me to stay with you, though, you need to get help. Go see a therapist, get to the bottom of your anger issues, because you can’t go on like this any longer, and neither can I. Do something about it, or I’m gone.”

Suddenly, he felt scared, very, very scared, both sides of him. The one that saw the control he had over her slipping, but even more so, the man who was in love with her, and didn’t want to ruin what he had with her when it was good, and then be without her. The thought left him terrified. Looking up at her, he felt icicle cold in the pit of his stomach, Camille stroking his cheek before dropping down to sit astride him, beginning to cry. “Please, please don’t let me down.”

Looking at her, stroking her face gently, her tears wetting his fingertips, he nodded, kissing her forehead. “I’ll try. I will. I don’t want to be like this.”  

And he meant it. For how long, though, neither of them knew. That was the thing about inner darkness; it overshadowed everything, whether the person afflicted by it wanted it to or not. With EZ, he was at about fifty fifty. Unfortunately for them both, the pendulum that was his fragile mental balance would only continue to swing further into the shadows. Luckily in that moment, though, his keel remained even, standing up with her in his arms, carrying her inside, Sally running in after them.

Taking her upstairs, he lay down on his bed, stroking her fondly, telling her the same thing over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”  

“I know you are.” Pushing herself up, she rested her head on her hand, her other stroking his chest. “However, things won’t go back to how they were, at least when they were good, until I see you starting to really try here, not giving in to your anger. Your arms used to be the place I felt safe, untouchable. I don’t any longer, no matter how much I love you.”  

His face crumpled, shifting to prop his head beneath the pillows, both eventually moving so they lay side by side. “I understand that, I do.”  

And he did, he knew it would take time before she trusted him again, he understood that.  

And the darkness? It smiled. Because it knew it held all the cards. The side of EZ that wanted to remain in control of it, though, it tried like hell to fight it. The last little spark of the man he used to be didn’t want it, to be so in tune with his darkness, and that’s what he knew made it so difficult. Dark felt good. Dark felt right, but then again, so did lying there holding Camille, telling her over and over how much he loved her.  

#ez reyes #ez reyes fanfiction #ez reyes smut #ez reyes imagine #ez reyes x ofc #ez reyes fanfic #ez reyes fic #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc smut #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic

[invisibleraven]

20 questions writer meme!

I wa tagged by my beloved @bananakarenina <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3? In total across 5 fandoms, 124, 84 of those are JatP, and 5 of those are prompt fill compilations.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 1,674,136 uploaded as of right now, and I know that over 1 million of those words are JatP.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently just Julie and the Phantoms, but in past I wrote primarily for Glee/Glee RPF, and Teen Titans. There's no other fandom really interesting me enough to write for it at moment.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I'm going to limit this to my JatP fics, but if you wanna check out my stories in my previous fandoms, well here's my AO3

And giving yourself to me can never be wrong my collection of smut prompt fills with 235 kudos

I Know Who I Want To Take Me Home the first installment of my Semisonic Sunset verse with 192 kudos

But came the dawn the show goes on (and I don't want to say goodnight) my PeterPatterLina soulmate AU with 169 kudos

Maybe this news can wait Part three (and the only non smutty part) of Semisonic Sunset with 124 kudos

Better walk the line my single dad Reggie PeterPatter fic with 124 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Honestly no I don't. I tried, once upon a time, but I just felt like no one really cared what I had to say, and then I didn't have the spoons for it, so I stopped. I know I should though, my brain just doesn't seem to like letting me.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Hands down it is Haunted by the moments of what we used to be because every comment I got on it was some variation of how very dare you.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Generally I try to give all of my stories a happy ending, but for this one, I'll go with Yellow Wood  because it gave everyone a happy ending, no matter the path taken.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Currently no, but when the blacklist was a thing that happened, my name was second on there, so that kind of sucked.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Out of my 84 JatP fics, 24 are rated E, and my smut prompt fills are currently sitting at 80 something chapters, so you tell me. In honesty, I don't write smut as much anymore, as I find it a little more difficult to write and the response to anything rated above a T is vastly lower than anything else. But when I started in this fandom, it was what I was known for; see my point regarding the black list.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I actually kind of hate crossovers? If I'm looking for a fic to read on AO3, I always click the Exclude Crossovers choice. I'll write any and every AU I can, and I might add minor characters from said AU, but that's rare, and that's as close as I get.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Unfortunately yes. There was a person on WattPad who went and stole a bunch of different smutty JatP fics over a year ago, and one of mine was amongst them. They were reported, and the fic was taken down. This is why now my fics on AO3 are only available to registered AO3 users.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No, but if anyone ever wants to do a translation or podfic of any of my stories, they have my permission as long as they credit me and send me a link afterwards!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, and no one has ever asked. It's something I'd love to try if the chance ever came along, and had the right idea.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship? I mean I can't pick just one, I've been involved in fandoms since I was a teenager. Like for Teen Titans Raven/Beast Boy will always own a piece of my soul. In Glee, Kurt/Blaine was such a formative part of my life. And even with Jatp I don't think I could choose between Rulie and PeterPatterLina, they both mean so much to me. And those are just the fandoms I've written for!

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? *looks at my GDocs which is a WiP graveyard* Oh gosh there's so many.

16. What are your writing strengths? My brain is not being kind to me ATM, so I don't think I have any? Like maybe how much I write? Does that count?

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Everything. Editing especially.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I have done this quite a bit, even if it's just plugging what I want to say into Google Translate. So I know it's not entirely accurate, but I think I have been getting better about it.

19. First fandom you wrote for? The first fic I ever wrote that wasn't done like on a dare was a smutty fic for the anime Trigun that still exists on my ff.net page if you find it (no I'm not linking it) that I wrote in high school. It is Not Good.

20. Favorite fic you've written? I give the same answer to this question every time: But came the dawn the show goes on (and I don't want to say goodnight) and I don't think that will ever change.

Honourable mentions

-For better or for worse (Even if it's just tonight) 

-So Close To Reaching That Famous Happy End

-Yellow Wood

-Dress You Up In My Love

Not tagging anyone, but if you wanna do this ask game, go to!

#answer time #tag games #my writing

[thxrnking]

What brought me here...

In my previous fandom before this I had a vast ongoing fanfic project (think 200,000+ words) that used to have me writing a little bit everyday but after some time, friends found other things they wanted to read and talk about. One friend accused me of trying to manipulate people and this caused me to overthink everything I said afterward as I didn't want to manipulate my friends, and eventually everyone stopped posting in the discord I made and stopped talking to me.

I tried to keep writing but over the course of a year, I got 5 responses, 2 were positive, the other 3 were people asking to be removed from the tag list because they were no longer part of the fandom or because their ex introduced them to my stories and their breakup had gone bad and they wanted nothing more to do with my works.

For nearly two years I limped along trying to keep it going, trying to diversify my writing, creating new projects just desperate to feel the joy it used to give me. Nothing was working.

When I found this fandom (Just Dance) I was scared; terrified to even interact with anyone. What if the same thing happened again? I lurked for a good few weeks, reading and watching people in the fandom before I finally realised I actually wanted to write for it. So I made a new blog, a new AO3 and I wrote. I watched others talk and interact and let's just say being a part of the fandom (even if I was mostly on the fringes of it) made me feel so good about not only myself but the things I'd lost the drive for.

Friends. Fandom. Writing. Everything that had been slowly dragging me into a deep depression was giving me life again.

The other day I was talking with My Moon and they reminded me of an old fic I had been writing that I hadn't thought about in years. One that I had quickly lost motivation for when the person I had been writing it for stopped talking to me. Instead of the dread the thought of it used to give me, I felt excited. I re-read what I had so far and even found my original half-plan for it. And while I remembered why I'd stopped writing it (why I'd stopped writing a lot of my favourite things) it didn't scare me anymore.

Yesterday I opened my old tumblr for the first time in over eight months. I changed the picture, updated the theme, trimmed out some old posts and honestly, I love it. I'm finally ready to continue with this old project (alongside my Just Dance fics of course).

Basically Just Dance fandom, I wanted to thank you.

When I found you, I was a husk. I was exhausted. I was bruised and scarred and you provided a loving, creative, beautiful space where I was able to find joy in something I'd grown to hate. You've shown me there are still good people out there beyond all the people I lost touch with. Seeing all the ideas and thoughts and creativities of such a still blossoming fandom has reignited me.

I hope every last one of you who reads this knows, whether we ever crossed paths or not, you are fantastic and should give yourselves more credit.

#an open letter to the people I've interacted with over here #if you want links to my old blog or fics feel free to ask #not rebloggable

[silvfyre-writings]

Tell me a Story Ranpo-kun Pt. 2 (BSD Fanfic)

Welcome back! First of all, I'd like to say thanks to all the comments I received on the first chapter! I'm grateful to you for taking a chance on this story despite the tags, so I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

Normally, I'd wait to finish the next chapter before publishing this one, but I'm feeling pretty confident I'll have chapter 3 written in a week or two!

So, yeah, i hope you enjoy! Feel free to let me know your thoughts!

CW: suicidal thoughts, medical inaccuracies (I am not a doctor, and I only have a year of nurse school as knowledge)

-------

True to her word, Yosano really does handle everything, so much so, that Ranpo doesn’t have to do anything but sit and wait to hear from her about what happens next about this program she’s starting up. Yosano had left him with a little booklet of information on what to expect, and Ranpo had flicked through it just to appease her. He wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what he was getting himself into—an experimental treatment that will either extend his life or end up killing him. It’s a little scary, not that he'll admit it to anyone, not after he’d sounded so determined when accepting the offer in the first place; he thinks Fukuzawa can tell he’s a little spooked though, as his guardian didn’t leave his side for the entire night afterwards, only leaving him once Poe had returned the following day.

“Looks like you’ll be seeing a lot of me soon, Poe-san.” Ranpo says as he watches the nurse change his sheets for him. Ranpo’s helping of course, from the safety of a chair; shoving new covers onto his pillows and folding up the dirty sheets so that they’re easier to carry. “I’ll be going in for my eighth stay after all.”

Ranpo’s only a little upset about returning to hospital. He really thought he might’ve been able to hold off until next year at least.

Poe doesn’t look at him as he continues to make the bed, although he gives an understanding hum. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept in a few days if the bags Ranpo can see under his eyes are anything to go by, but despite that, he still continues to help Ranpo with whatever he needs without any kind of protest.

“Are you okay?” Ranpo finds himself asking when Poe’s silence continues. “I know you’re quiet and all that, but you usually don’t mind holding a conversation.”

That seems to drag Poe from whatever he’s thinking and he looks up at Ranpo, a faint smile on his face. “Ah, no, I’m fine, Ranpo-san. My apologies, I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“Studying?” Ranpo doesn’t know exactly what’s involved in nursing studies, but he’s often seen the student nurses passed out in strange places after particularly intense bouts of studying.

“…writing actually.” Poe says after a brief silence. “I had an i-idea that wouldn’t leave my mind, so I got a bit c-carried away in jotting it down.”

“Oh? Can I read it?” Ranpo perks up, interested. Poe’s only shared a few short stories with him since he’s been here looking after him, but each of them has managed to capture Ranpo’s attention like no other writer has. The stories that Poe scribbles into his notebook show just how talented of a writer the man is, how he can easily string words together to construct a beautiful world with characters that are capable of dragging the reader into the story, unable to escape until one finishes the story.

Ranpo’s come to admire Poe’s writing, and he’d once told Poe that, grinning when the man had blushed and tried to tell him that his stories weren’t that good.

“It’s not even a story yet, Ranpo-san. Just an idea.” Poe argues, although he doesn’t say no.

“When it’s done then.”

“Maybe.” Poe says as he comes over to stand in front of Ranpo, holding out his hands for Ranpo to use as a support. Ranpo reaches out wraps his hands around Poe’s arms and stands as Poe helps to pull him upright. He hisses at the way his knees protest the motion, and allows Poe to guide him back to bed. As Ranpo’s crawling under the covers, Poe speaks. “To answer what you said earlier, about me seeing more of you, I am aware. Yosano-sensei’s asked me to be a part of the team that will be administering the treatment.”

“She has? Aren’t you lucky!” Ranpo had initially thought that Poe would just be stopping by occasionally as he shadowed one of the older nurses for his studies, not once had he thought that Poe would actually be a part of the team. He found he didn’t mind though; Poe was friendly and easy to get along with, and there was still so much he didn’t know about the man. Suddenly, the anxiety surrounding his next stay was easing, knowing that he wouldn’t be completely bored.

“I was surprised when she asked. They don’t usually allow students in on clinical trials after all, but I guess I’m doing something right.” Poe looks happy, like he doesn’t believe he’s ever done anything right in his life before. Ranpo finds it odd, but doesn’t question it. Not that he really gets a chance to even try when Poe talks before he can even think of a response. “Do you know when you’re being admitted yet?”

“Not yet. I’m sort of hoping it’s not until next month at least.”

“Is there any particular reason why?”

Ranpo hums and nods. “It’s my birthday at the end of the month… I’d like to not spend it in the hospital if I can.” The look Poe gives him when he says that is a sad one, and at first Ranpo thinks the man is pitying him, but then he realizes that it’s not that, but that Poe is sad for Ranpo. He decides he doesn’t like that look, and quickly changes the subject. “Well anyway, I hope I can help educate you on all the perks that come with being chronically ill.” He says with a grin.

“P-Perks?” Poe says, a stunned look taking over his face.

“Yeah! You know, like how I get all the attention I could ever want, and how I can eat whatever I want without being told no. Those kinds of perks.”

“Oh, so that’s why I see you eating sweets all the time.”

“Well, if eating healthy actually helped me, I might be more inclined to do it.”

Poe snorts from where he’s picking up the laundry, and soon he’s laughing, and the sound of it is enough to have Ranpo laugh a little as well. Just like his voice, Poe’s laugh is a soothing sound, gentle and light much like a warm summer’s breeze. It’s a nice sound.

The laughter dies off sooner than Ranpo would like, and he vows to try and make Poe laugh again another day.

Ranpo is admitted to hospital a week before his seventeenth birthday.

Naturally, he’s not happy about it, and complains about it to Fukuzawa as he packs a bag of his belongings to keep him occupied. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to be in hospital this time, but from the way Yosano had phrased it over the phone, it wasn’t going to be a short one. Fukuzawa had listened to him as he ranted, nodding, and agreeing with him in all the right places; it reminded Ranpo of the time he’d first come into Fukuzawa’s care, when the man hadn’t quite known how to interact with him. It wasn’t the same as back then, of course, since this time it was because Fukuzawa was just as unsure as Ranpo was.

His guardian had planned to close the café for a week or two, to help Ranpo adjust, but Ranpo had quickly refused, arguing that Fukuzawa shouldn’t have to put his entire life on hold because of him; Ranpo already had enough guilt over how many times the man had already done that, and he didn’t want anymore. Eventually, Fukuzawa had conceded, although he’d promised to visit Ranpo as much as possible, and reminded him that he was only a phone call away if Ranpo needed anything—anything at all.

And it’s with that, that Ranpo walks into Yokohama Hospital, doing his best to look confident despite feeling anything but. He’s holding onto Fukuzawa’s hand—he was grateful to have the man by his side for this—and are greeted by the reception staff the moment they enter the building. Yosano comes down to meet them and escorts the two of them to the room that will be Ranpo’s home for the foreseeable future.

“Just because it’s an ‘experiment’ doesn’t mean you have to commit to the entire study.” Yosano says as they walk down a hall. “If you want to pull out at any time, let me know and we’ll have you back home in no time.”

“I won’t. I’m not giving up.” Ranpo’s determined to see this through, regardless of how much strain it places on his body. He can’t imagine this drug is going to do much worse than what his body already does to him on a near weekly basis.

Yosano gives him a smile, already knowing his response before he’d even said it. “I know, but I have to give you the option anyway.”

The room Ranpo’s going to be staying in is just like any of the other rooms, but it’s a little bigger; but only a little. But other than that, it’s just as empty and white as the rest of the hospital, and he’s just glad that the room is his and his alone, because he just may have given up if he’d had to share with someone else. “It’s very boring.” He says without meaning to.

Fukuzawa huffs a laugh from behind him, and a hand comes to rest on his head. “We can change that. I’m sure it won’t take long for you to strong arm the staff into helping you redecorate.”

“Just so long as you don’t go smuggling one of those cats from your café into the room, you are free to do what you like.” Yosano smiles. “I’ll leave you to get settled and then I’ll introduce you to the people working on the study with me.”

Ranpo visibly shrinks, and he ducks his head to avoid the concerned looks thrown his way. This is the part he hasn’t been looking forward to; seeing just who it is that’s going to see him at his worst. He knows Poe is one of them, which is more of a relief than he’d thought it would be, but he has no idea who else is going to be around, and that scares him. Will they judge him? Or will they say he’s not ‘sick enough’ to be here in the first place?

A hand lands on his shoulder and Ranpo looks up into Yosano’s eyes, kind and reassuring as they always are. “Aside from the other doctor on this study, I selected everyone myself, Ranpo. You don’t have to be scared.”

“’m not scared.” Ranpo mutters, because he’s not going to admit that he is—he’s stronger than that—and pulls away to sit on the edge of the bed. “If anything, they should be scared of me!”

“By the time we’re finished here, I think you’ll have that covered, kid.” Fukuzawa sighs, even though he’s got a faint smile on his face that he hides with his sleeve.

Ranpo decides in about three seconds that he doesn’t like the other doctor that’s going to be monitoring him alongside Yosano. The man’s tall, arrogant, and clearly rich just based off his clothes alone. Like, seriously, the suit he’s wearing looks like it costs more than everything Ranpo owns, and his Japanese is atrocious. And while he may know what he’s talking about, he has no bedside manner, looking at Ranpo like he’s more of a test subject than an actual person; Ranpo doesn’t hide his displeasure, and he can see Yosano already preparing for the coming war.

But the worst part is the way that Poe is standing as far from the doctor as he can possibly get, more hunched over than Ranpo’s ever seen him, anxiety, and stress on his face. At first, Ranpo had thought that it had simply been the fact that Poe was the only student in the room, but the more that the doctor kept talking, the more Poe seemed to shrink, and that was when Ranpo made the connection that they must know each other. Ranpo doesn’t like the way Poe seems scared of the man and it’s that, that makes Ranpo particularly spiteful towards the man he doesn’t know—Fitzgerald is his name, and that’s all Ranpo cares to learn.

Haruno is also there, standing on Poe’s other side, and Ranpo’s glad for her presence. She’s been apart of his care for almost as long as Yosano has been, so he’s not surprised his doctor chose her. And obviously, there’s Poe, who Ranpo already knew about.

The most surprising member of this incredibly small team, is Nakahara. He doesn’t understand why the man’s there; he’s a social worker that works with the psych kids mostly, and despite the fact he should be listening to Yosano and Fitzgerald talk, he can’t stop his eyes from continually drifting over to stare at the man; not only because he’s confused as to why Nakahara is here, but also because the man’s chosen to stand next to the tallest man in the room, and the height difference between the two is hilarious.

Ranpo’s tempted to take a picture to send to Dazai, knowing his friend would find it just as funny, but he doesn’t lest he risk Nakahara drop kicking him—he’s seen the man do it; it’s a valid threat.

“Why is Nakahara here?” He asks, interrupting whatever it is that’s being said. Fitzgerald’s eye twitches.

“You’re a minor, Edogawa-san.” Nakahara says. “I’m required to be here to provide any support you might need.”

“If you don’t mind.” Fitzgerald cuts in. “You really should be paying attention to what we’re saying, Edogawa. This is important information regarding the clinical trial and—”

“And your precious drug that may or may not help me, I know. I’ve been listening. But all you’re doing is repeating yourself and I’m getting bored.” Ranpo stares the man dead in the eyes, a grin forming on his face that has the rest of the staff rolling their eyes; used to his antics. Even Poe—whose known him for not even a full month—is trying his best to hide a smile. “So, unless you have something new to tell me, I’d appreciate if you stop talking.”

Another eye twitch.

“What Ranpo means,” Yosano interjects gently, “is that he’d like to know more about what we plan to do rather than the drug itself.”

“Fine.” Fitzgerald sighs. “I’ve been made aware of your condition from Yosano-sensei, and that you’re currently in a ‘dormant’ phase. Since we need your illness to be active when administering the medicine to see if it works as it should, we’ll have to wait.”

“I’m sure you won’t have to wait too long then. I’m sure you’ve heard all about how much my body hates me.” Ranpo shrugs.

The doctor grimaces, the one sign that shows he does actually have a heart under all that arrogance. “Yes, I am aware.”

A week passes and nothing happens.

Normally, Ranpo would rejoice at his body cooperating for a week, but he’s here in the hospital, taking up a bed and spending Fukuzawa’s money, and for what? To sit in a bed and do nothing all day? It’s frustrating, and the worst part is that he spends most of the day alone; Fukuzawa’s working during the day, so Ranpo doesn’t get to see him until the afternoon, and the staff assigned to him are busy with other patients, so they don’t have time for him.

He'd sort of been hoping to see Poe, since he’s a student and doesn’t work as much as the other nurses, but he’s been off work, sick, so Ranpo hasn’t seen him. And aside from Fukuzawa, he’s not allowed any other visitors right now, so he’s only been able to keep in touch with Dazai via phone, but even that doesn’t happen much; his friend had simply told him he was busy, and Ranpo hasn’t heard from him since. Which would be concerning, but Nakahara had swung by later that day and assured him that Dazai was fine, and was legitimately busy.

It's been a week, and Ranpo’s bored. He’d tried to convince Yosano to let him take a walk outside, but she’d refused, which Ranpo had found odd because walking around outside would make him more likely to get sick and didn’t they want him to be sick? Not that he’d gotten a chance to ask because Yosano had had to go take care of another patient and promptly left him alone, leaving Ranpo confused and even more bored than before.

“Ranpo-san?” A voice calls from the door, and Ranpo sits up, eyes lighting up as he registers Poe standing in the doorway. He almost doesn’t recognize the nurse at first since he’s not in his scrubs; he’s wearing dress pants and a nice looking, cream sweater, and there’s a mask obscuring the bottom of his face. Poe’s hair is loose too, falling over his eyes and hiding them from view.

“Poe-san! Where’ve you been? And why don’t you have a face?” Ranpo asks, referring to the way that almost none of Poe’s face is actually visible. Yet, somehow, he still looks good.

“Oh, uh—” Poe brushes his hair to the side, revealing one of his eyes, dark circles more prominent than they usually are. “—I couldn’t find any pins to keep it back, sorry. As for where I’ve been, did they not tell you?”

“Yosano-sensei told me you were sick, but you just had a cold didn’t you? They only last, what? A couple of days? Never mind anyway!” Ranpo tilts his head, patting the empty space on the bed in front of him. “Come sit! I’m so bored, no one’s been around to keep me company, and they haven’t let me do anything at all.”

“Actually, I’m here for a reason.” Poe says, coming closer, but not sitting.

Ranpo narrows his eyes and studies Poe from where he stands. The man has his hands behind his back, but from the way his arms keep shifting slightly, Ranpo can tell that Poe’s fidgeting with his hands and trying to hide it. And despite Poe’s hair, and the mask on his face, there’s no hiding the pink tint to his ears that comes when Poe’s trying to lie about something. Or do something he’s not supposed to. That parts a guess though, because Ranpo’s never seen Poe be disobedient about anything before.

But, Poe’s planning something, and Ranpo’s going to figure it out if it’s the last thing he does.

“A reason huh? Would that reason have something to do with the fact that you are dressed like you’re about to go out? And that you’re hiding an extra mask in your pocket?”

“Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t.” Poe says cryptically, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “They did tell me that nothing gets by you.”

“That’s because everyone thinks they’re smarter than me, which is honestly, their first mistake. I’m sick not stupid.” Ranpo rolls his eyes and climbs off the bed, accepting the mask that Poe holds out to him and dutifully pulling it over his face.

“You know, you’re supposed to get dressed before wearing the mask, Ranpo-san.”

“Maybe that’s a sign you should tell me what’s going on.”

“Patience, Ranpo-san. You’ll see.” Ranpo can’t see the smile on Poe’s face, but he knows it’s there. He can’t help but stare, brain working overtime trying to piece things together. He knows he can figure it out, he just needs some more clues.

Ranpo’s confusion grows as Poe leads him out of the hospital and as much as he’s excited to finally set foot outside, he finds himself hesitating at the entrance of the building. “Uh, Poe-san? Not sure if you realize, but I’m not supposed to be just walking out of here.”

“You have permission for today. We’ll be back by evening.” Poe says. He’d managed to snag a hairclip from one of his fellow nurses on the way out and now his bangs are clipped to the side, revealing both his eyes, and Ranpo finds his heart skipping a beat against his will every time those eyes fall on him.

So, Ranpo focuses on Poe’s words instead of his eyes and a grin grows on his face, stepping out of the building and grabbing onto Poe’s hand, dragging him forward, ignoring the undignified yelp Poe makes. “Well why didn’t you just say we’d be doing something for my birthday? No wonder people were leaving me alone all day.”

Poe groans. “How did you even—”

“Figure it out? Well, for starters, Yosano-sensei’s my doctor and she’s never avoided me when I speak to her, so I knew something was up then. And then Dazai was busy, and I know you don’t know him well, but Dazai would rather be shot in the face than do some actual work.” Ranpo explains, watching Poe’s expression turn from curiosity to awe. “And while my sense of time might be a little skewed, I do still remember what day my birthday is. One thing I don’t know though, is where exactly you are taking me.”

“It is supposed to be a surprise, so you know… I’m not… going to tell you…”

“You don’t sound very confident about that, Poe-san.”

Poe sighs and drops his head. “It is very hard to say no to you, Ranpo-san.”

“Well, you were warned.”

How much further? Ranpo can’t help but think as Poe leads him down yet another street. He’s long since lost track of where exactly they are, content to trust Poe’s judgement, even as the man has his nose buried in his phone looking at directions. It’s a little reassuring to know that Poe’s just as lost as him, even though it’s for a much more valid reason. Ranpo had never seen the point in learning how to get to places, not when he didn’t go anywhere in the first place.

He’d tried to get Poe to talk to him earlier, but the man is so focused on making sure they’re going the right way, that he hadn’t listened to Ranpo at all, so they’re just walking in silence. Not that it’s an awkward silence; it’s actually rather pleasant, and it does give Ranpo the opportunity to look around and observe his surroundings. There are a lot of people walking on the streets, bundled up layers of clothing; winter is on the way and the wind is already cold enough to leave a bone-deep chill in the air. And normally, at this time of year, the blue sky is broken up by gray clouds blocking the sun, and therefore, what little warmth remained in the day. But today, there’s not a cloud in sight, almost as if nature could sense that it was a day that didn’t warrant them.

And while Ranpo was glad to have the sun beating down on him and warming his bones, it didn’t stop the problem that was starting to grow.

He was getting tired.

Being tired was hardly a new sensation to him, and he was well aware that his physical fitness levels were absolute trash—even though it totally wasn’t his fault to begin with—but that didn’t stop him from trying to push his limits. And, well, he’d been pushing them. For a few blocks now.

“Poe-san.” Ranpo wheezes suddenly, reaching out to grab at Poe’s hand, tugging the taller man to a halt. “I need to stop.”

Poe spins around to look at him, eyes widening as he takes in Ranpo’s condition. It’s comical the way that his head jerks around, trying to find somewhere for them to stop and rest, and Ranpo can’t help but chuckle at it. He’s still grateful, though, when Poe leads him to a bench and they sit.

“I’m sorry, are you alright?” Poe’s hand is on his back, moving up and down steadily while Ranpo tries to remind his lungs that he does in fact need them to keep functioning.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Ranpo takes a deep breath. And then another. “Just tell me how much further we have to walk.”

“Two more streets. I can call us a taxi though if you need it?” Poe queries gently.

“When I’ve already walked this far? No way. Just give me a moment and we can go.”

It takes ten minutes before they can keep going, and while Ranpo would’ve been happy to sit on the bench for longer, he knew if he didn’t get moving, he wasn’t going to move until forced—and Poe clearly wasn’t going to force him to do that. So, he pushes himself onto aching legs, and begins walking. Poe reacts quickly, overtaking Ranpo until he’s in the lead and two streets pass by in the blink of an eye.

And Ranpo doesn’t tear up when he sees where he’s been taken.

Not at all.

He’s been brought to an arcade, a place he’s always wanted to go to, but never had the chance to actually do so. And now he’s here, standing in front of it. Ranpo can’t help but rub his eyes, thinking momentarily that this is some elaborate dream his subconscious has conjured up, but no, it’s not. He’s really here. “What…?” He’s at a loss for words, and his eyes are wide as he slowly turns to look at Poe.

“I admit, I did not come up with this idea.” Poe says, and doesn’t say anything more, just motioning for Ranpo to enter the building.

“Surprise!” Ranpo jumps as he’s greeted by those he considers his friends and family, the people that have been there for him the most in these past few years. And no, he’s certainly not crying; there’s just dust in his eyes.

Dazai wraps him up in a hug the moment he spots the tears, his voice teasing. “Aww, Ranpo, I didn’t spend all week coming up with this just so you could cry about it. That’s just going to make me think it was a bad idea.”

“Shut up, they’re happy tears.” Ranpo reaches up and flicks Dazai in the forehead, his friend pulling away and acting like he’s just been shot which has the rest of the room rolling their eyes.

Fukuzawa’s next to approach him, and Ranpo readily accepts the hug the man gives him. “Dazai didn’t want you to spend your birthday in the hospital, so he arranged for you to be able to leave and spend the day here.”

Ranpo gives his friend a look. “Ready to admit you actually have a heart underneath all those bandages?”

Dazai gives him a look. “You’re going to have to beat me first.”

“You’re on.”

Aside from Dazai and Fukuzawa, Yosano and Nakahara are also there—they try to say that they only came to keep an eye on the two teens, but Ranpo knows that they came for him—and it doesn’t take long for him and Dazai to rope the two into playing games with them. Supposedly, Nakahara’s the one that introduced the arcade to Dazai in an attempt to give him a healthy coping mechanism, and now Dazai’s introducing it to Ranpo.

He appreciates the sentiment.

He also now understands how Nakahara has the patience to deal with Dazai on a daily basis; the man takes all his aggression out on the poor arcade machines that have done nothing to deserve the wrath of a tiny ginger man whose literal job is being calm.

“One day, Dazai, I swear to fucking God, I am going to figure out how you cheat! Bandaged bastard!” Nakahara curses as he and Yosano lose yet another game to Dazai and Ranpo. The four of them are playing a fighting game that Ranpo’s heard of, but never played in his life—and it shows. After the first two times his character gets obliterated, Ranpo’s content to hang out with Yosano’s character on the edge of the screen and watch Nakahara and Dazai pummel each other.

“Now, now, however could I cheat, Chuuya? It’s a fighting game, it’s all about skill, and my skills are clearly superior to yours.” Dazai retorts, sticking out his tongue.

“Another round!” Nakahara demands.

And rages when he loses again.

Ranpo has fun; letting Dazai drag him around the arcade and playing all kinds of games with his friend. He has no idea how to play half of them, but Dazai takes the time to teach him—poorly he might add—before pitching him up against Yosano most of the time, but also Nakahara, and surprisingly, he manages to convince Poe to play a game or two. They’d tried to convince Fukuzawa to join them, but the man had politely refused, stating he was much happier watching the rest of them have fun.

Then Yosano suggests a dance battle, and the true war begins.

They find the Dance, Dance, Revolution machine on the second floor, and the first round is Ranpo and Poe—Ranpo throws an accusatory look at Dazai for that, who does nothing to hide the fact he’s filming this.

Ranpo has no idea how to dance, and neither does Poe, so the dance battle becomes more about trying not to trip over their own two feet instead of dancing, but despite that, they still enjoy themselves. By the end of the song, Ranpo’s legs are ready to die and he lets himself collapse to the floor, breathing heavy but smiling. Poe falls next to him a few seconds after, looking just as tired as Ranpo feels.

“I do not understand—the appeal in dancing.” Poe wheezes when he finally catches his breath.

“Apparently it’s fun.” Ranpo responds, dragging himself upright so he can watch the next battle—Dazai and Yosano—play out.

“It’s torture.”

“I’m pretty sure dancing has never been used as a torture method before, Poe-san.”

“You don’t know that.” Poe says. Ranpo just laughs, imagining a scenario where prisoners had to dance and keep dancing until they physically couldn’t, and maybe, just maybe, Poe’s onto something.

The second dance battle concludes with Yosano as the victor, and the air turns to ice as the doctor turns a predatory gaze onto Nakahara. “You’re up, Nakahara. Think you got what it takes?”

Nakahara’s eyes narrow and he removes his coat, throwing it on top of Dazai whose joined them on the floor. “Oh, you’re on, Yosano-sensei. You’re not winning this one.”

Yosano does in fact, win, the first round.

But only the first round. After that one loss, Nakahara seems to become possessed by some sort of dance god, and wins, one round after the next.

“Chibi’s a beast.” Dazai mutters under his breath, and Ranpo’s inclined to agree.

“Are you having fun?” Fukuzawa asks Ranpo when the group decides to take a break, retiring to the rest area that Fukuzawa had taken residence in.

Ranpo nods, stretching out to lean across the table. He may be exhausted, but it’s been worth it, to smile and have fun with others. It leaves him wanting to do this again in the future; hoping that he’ll actually be able to do such a thing—and not just visiting the arcade. He’s hoping that a day will come where he’s actually able to travel places and have lots more fun. Hope is all he has at this point, and he’s going to cling to it.

“Here.” Ranpo looks up to see Fukuzawa holding a box towards him, wrapped carefully with a ribbon stuck to it. It takes him a second to realize it’s a present, and he slowly takes it from his guardian. And just as slowly, Ranpo undoes the bow, and carefully tears the wrapping paper to reveal the gift underneath.

It’s a gaming console. The new handheld one that Ranpo had seen advertised.

It’s an expensive gift.

Before Ranpo can say anything, a hand lands on his head, ruffling his hair and he just stares as Fukuzawa smiles at him. “Happy birthday, Ranpo.”

“Thank you.” Ranpo says, eyes tearing up as he places the gift on the table and leans over to give Fukuzawa a hug. His guardian returns the gesture, holding him firmly. “Thank you.”

“My turn!” Dazai practically throws himself into the chair beside Ranpo and produces his own gift; this one crudely wrapped in newspaper, which doesn’t surprise nor bother Ranpo in the slightest. It’s a gift from a boy he’s come to call his best friend. “Open it, open it!”

Ranpo opens it with just as much care as he did Fukuzawa’s. A card slips out—handmade from the looks of it—and Ranpo puts it aside to read later once he’s back in his room. He knows Dazai, and knows whatever is written inside is not meant for anyone else’s eyes but his own. He continues to pull apart the newspaper, layer by layer, and after the seventh layer, he snaps. “How many newspapers did you kill to wrap this?”

Dazai snickers. “Let’s just say the newspaper population is very much under control now.”

“Those poor papers did noth—” Ranpo cuts himself off as Dazai’s gift is revealed. It’s a leatherbound book, that upon opening, reveals it’s actually a photo album. And it’s filled with photos of the past three years of Ranpo’s life. Ranpo flicks through the book, seeing plenty of photos of him and Dazai, but there’s also photos of him and Fukuzawa—his guardian must’ve contributed some of the photos—and somehow Dazai’s even managed to get a photo of him and Poe.

He remembers the day the photo shows; when he was still recovering from his last flare up, Dazai had come around to visit him whilst Poe had been in the middle of reading one of his stories. The photo shows Ranpo resting with his head against Poe’s shoulder, trying to keep his eyes open as he listens, and Poe’s shrunk in on himself so that Ranpo can rest comfortably. It’s a nice photo.

Ranpo sniffs, blinking back the emotions that threaten to make themselves known. “Thank you, Dazai. I appreciate it.”

“I should hope so, it took forever to put together.” Dazai’s cheeks are dusted pink and he looks a tad uncomfortable at being thanked, but he doesn’t reject the thanks—not that Ranpo would let him in the first place. “There’s some empty pages at the back too, so you can add more photos if you’d like.”

“I’m sure with you around, I’ll have plenty to add.”

Ranpo expects that to be the end of it all, but then Nakahara and Yosano pull out a gift for him that they’d pooled their money together to buy for him. Yosano’s portion of the gift is a very, very, soft blanket that Ranpo immediately loves, and Nakahara’s is a little gift basket of sweets from all over the world.

“Only the best for our favorite patient, even if he’s a little shit at times.” Yosano says.

Nakahara doesn’t say anything, but he does knock a fist against Ranpo’s shoulder gently.

Ranpo cries then.

“Happy birthday, Ranpo-san.” Poe says as Ranpo climbs into bed, and he blinks as Poe holds out a carefully wrapped present. It seems that he has one more surprise waiting for him. In all honesty, he hadn’t expected Poe to get him a gift—they haven’t known each other for long, and Poe doesn’t seem like the type of person to just buy a gift for people he doesn’t know. “I-I-I know we haven’t known each other for l-long, but when Dazai-san told us h-his plans, I thought I could do something similar.”

Ranpo’s curious now, and while he wants to just rip away the paper, he forces himself to carefully pull the wrapping apart. It’s only fair, after he’d done the same to everyone else’s gifts.

Inside is a leatherbound book, similar to the one that Dazai had gotten him, but it’s not a photo album. It’s a novel, and it’s handwritten. Ranpo runs a hand down the first page, caressing the book as if it would fall apart if he dared to be any rougher with it. He tries to say something, but his throat closes up and he coughs to clear it. He tries again. “Is this… one of your stories?”

Poe nods, his face slowly turning red. “You-You seemed to enjoy the short stories I wrote, so I thought you mi-might like to read one of my longer ones. It’s a mystery novel I wrote years ago, so I hope, you uh, enjoy it.”

Ranpo continues to stare at the book for a little longer before he realizes he should say something instead of making Poe just stand there looking lost. He closes the book and brings it to his chest, and smiles at Poe. “I will. Thank you, Poe-san.” He gestures for Poe to come closer, and brings the man in for a hug once he’s close enough to do so. Poe stiffens as Ranpo hugs him, but he relaxes after a few seconds, his own arms coming up to return it.

“You’re welcome, Ranpo-san.”

-----

The trial finally begins when the very next day, Ranpo wakes up unable to move. His joints scream at him at the slightest motion, and he tries his best to just lay there and deal with it. The sun isn’t up yet from what he can tell, which means it’s not yet time for morning rounds, so no one will be by for a little while yet. He could reach over and press the button to call for help, but Ranpo would rather wait than risk increasing the pain.

Haruno comes to see him at the start of her shift, and upon seeing the pinched expression on his face, she immediately pages Yosano to his room, who thankfully hasn’t gone home yet after working the night shift. Yosano takes one look at him and summons the foreign doctor Ranpo doesn’t like and the two get down to business.

“When did the pain start?” Yosano asks him, sensing his apprehension to having Fitzgerald in his room and taking charge.

“Couple of hours ago.” Ranpo grits out. He still hasn’t moved from the position he woke up in.

“Any other symptoms?”

“None.” Ranpo spots the look of guilt that flashes across his doctor’s face as she realizes what’s triggered this flare up—like Ranpo had figured out hours ago—and tries his best to smile. He refuses to let Yosano feel bad for giving him a day he’s going to remember until the day he dies. “It’s not your fault.”

“I allowed you to overexert yourself.”

“And I went along with it.” Ranpo argues back. “Besides, I’m fine if I don’t move, so really, this is just a very elaborate game of Statues.”

“We’re not going to stand by and leave you in pain, Edogawa-san.” Fitzgerald says, coming up to stand on his opposite side. Ranpo really hates the feeling that comes from being loomed over by someone so much taller than him, but he really doesn’t have much of a choice right now. “The drug we’re going to be using on you has painkiller properties, so if it does what it’s supposed to, it’ll help.”

“If it doesn’t?”

“We’ve tested how it reacts to the usual painkillers we supply to those who suffer from chronic pain, and there’s been no reaction between the two, so if it doesn’t work, we’ll give you them instead.”

“Would you like me to call Fukuzawa-san?” Yosano asks as they get everything ready.

Ranpo shakes his head. “No. He’s coming by today anyway; he’ll find out then.” Ranpo just wants his guardian to hold onto the memory of him being well enough to play arcade games for just a little while longer.

The drug doesn’t work, and no one is surprised by this outcome in the slightest, but relief still comes for Ranpo when they give him his usual painkillers, and it’s only a few hours before he feels like he can finally risk moving. Even though the pain fades, there’s still a deep aching sensation in his bones, but Ranpo has long since grown accustomed to ignoring it. It’s only if it becomes sharp, shooting pain, that he actually needs to worry.

Once Ranpo is comfortable, Yosano and Fitzgerald leave, already talking medical jargon and what to do next before they’ve even left the room, and Haruno takes a seat in the chair beside his bed, tasked with watching over him just in case he has a reaction to the combination of drugs running through his veins.

Ranpo closes his eyes and sleeps.

When he wakes, it’s to see Haruno replaced by Fukuzawa, his guardian quietly dozing in the chair. It must’ve been a busy day at the café; Ranpo can count the number of times he’s seen Fukuzawa sleep outside of his bed on one hand—nearly two. And it’s always odd when he sees it. Ranpo briefly tosses up between waking Fukuzawa or trying to go back to sleep when his eyes catch on the novel that Poe had given him, and promptly changes his plans. Carefully, he calculates whether or not he’s able to reach the book without having to leave his bed, and thinks he can do it.

Now the hard part; staying quiet.

Ranpo shifts over to the edge of the bed and leans, stretching his arm out as far as he can, ignoring the way it shakes. He wants that book and he is going to get that book, even if he has to fall out of bed to do it. His fingers brush the edge of the book’s spine, and he hooks them into that gap between paper and leather, tugging the book close enough that he can get a hand around it and pull it the rest of the way.

Just as had when Poe had given him the book, Ranpo traces the cover. It’s made from brown leather, and the borders have been embroidered in silver. The book lacks a title, but there are words on the cover, in a language that Ranpo has no clue how to read—it’s English, he knows that, but he’s never learnt how to read the characters or how they’re pronounced.

For Ranpo.

            E. A. Poe.

Ranpo recognizes Poe’s name at the bottom—only because he’s seen Poe write his name in English before—but not the two characters before it. It clicks then that Ranpo only knows Poe as Poe; he doesn’t actually know the man’s full name despite the fact they’ve known each other for a few months now, and makes a promise to correct that when Poe next stops by, whenever that is. Ranpo’s learnt recently that Poe only works part-time so he’s only at the hospital a few days a week; it doesn’t stop him from coming in on his days off and reading to the kids in the paediatric ward.

It also doesn’t stop him from visiting Ranpo.

Ranpo opens the book. The first page is blank so he flips it to the next one and—wow, Ranpo appreciates the gift even more than he already had. Because the entire novel is in English, but Poe’s taken the time and effort to translate the entire story onto the opposite page; Japanese and English, side by side. It’s a beautifully crafted gift, and Ranpo can’t help but stare at Poe’s handwriting, reading the words but not taking any of them in. He’s just too enamoured with the book.

Eventually, Ranpo does begin to read it, reading slow so that he can appreciate Poe’s writing skills; it seemed that Poe was just as good a writer when he was a teen as he is now, and before long, Ranpo feels as if he’s being pulled into the book itself, unable to put the book down or fight a good stopping point. He continues to read, and read, devouring the words with the need to know what happens next as quickly as possible. He wants more. He never wants to stop reading Poe’s stories, never wants the man to stop writing, not if every story he writes is just as good as this one and the others that have come before.

He's a quarter of the way through the book when he hears Fukuzawa stir in the chair, and that’s enough to get him to finally put the book down. He looks around for something to use as a bookmark, but doesn’t see anything and resigns himself to folding the corner of the page down, which he’s been told, is supposedly a bad thing to do.

He can already imagine Poe’s horrified face when he finds out.

“Hello.” Ranpo greets his guardian, patiently waiting as Fukuzawa returns to the land of the living.

Finally. “Hello.” And then. “I heard the trial started this morning.”

Ranpo quickly turns his head away, not wanting to see the expression that’s on Fukuzawa’s face. It’s most likely calm indifference—the way it always is—but he can hear the unasked question underneath his words.

Why wasn’t I called when you were hurting?

“Yeah. But it didn’t work.”

I didn’t want to bother you.

Fukuzawa sighs, leaning back in the chair, his bones popping at the change in position. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay.” Ranpo answers, because he is. He’s still got working painkillers in his body, and the deep ache had eased off once his body seemed to realize that no, it was not going to be trekking across the city again anytime soon, becoming much more bearable. “I’m still sore, but it’s not too bad.”

“I see.” Fukuzawa’s eyes fall on the book that’s still in Ranpo’s hands. “Did one of the nurses give you that?”

“It’s from Poe-san. It was a birthday present. He gave it to me yesterday after the arcade.” Ranpo hands the book over so that Fukuzawa can look at it. “He said it’s a story he wrote years ago. It was in English, but he translated it so I could read it.”

Fukuzawa’s eyes widen as he sees what Ranpo means. “That’s incredibly kind of him. Are you enjoying it?”

“Yeah. I’ll read more tomorrow. How was the café?” Ranpo asks, slipping into the usual routine of questioning that he and Fukuzawa had developed between them.

“Same as always. Atsushi and Kyouka send their well wishes as well.”

Ranpo nods and listens as Fukuzawa continues to quietly talk about everything that happened in the café that day; from new customers that didn’t understand that the café was literally being run by three staff, and therefore, could not cater to their extravagant coffee orders that were more sugar than coffee, to how each of the cats living in the café were doing.

Ranpo has a love-hate relationship with the strays that Fukuzawa had given a home. On one hand, he loves them and the attention they give him. On the other hand, he hates how one scratch—even the tiniest of scratches—is enough to nearly kill him. He’s heard rumours from other cat owners that the aloof creatures often seem like they are plotting their owners’ demise, and he’s starting to believe that they’re true.

Ranpo continues to listen as he’s updated on the two workers that Fukuzawa had been forced to hire when Ranpo had become too ill to help out. Atsushi and Kyouka are nice kids, both younger than him and barely old enough to work in the first place. Ranpo still doesn’t know exactly what it was that led to them getting hired—apparently it had something to do with being given kitten eyes? —but Ranpo was more than grateful for their help, even after everything that’s happened since. Ranpo was mostly glad to see the stress lines begin to fade from Fukuzawa’s face.

It's like that, that he slips back into sleep.

The second trial of the drug yields no other results other than an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach and an intense feeling of nausea that lasts for days.

The third brings about the longest migraine Ranpo’s every experienced.

When the fourth time eventually comes for him, Ranpo’s tired. And rightfully so. With each time that the drug is pushed into his veins, he’s monitored so closely that he’s long forgotten what peace and quiet feels like. All he wants is just a few precious hours of time to himself—mostly so he can breathe—but it doesn’t seem like that’s bound to happen anytime soon.

Especially since, right now, he’s being monitored.

But unlike the other times, this time it’s Poe sitting with him, and Poe’s presence is always welcome. His friend—because after so long in close proximity, Ranpo’s decided that they are indeed, friends now—is more than happy to sit in the chair beside the bed after the usual routine of questions, and scribble away in his notebook, not bothering Ranpo unless it’s him that breaks the silence, and these days; the room is more silent than not.

Ranpo had been attempting to read Poe’s book when Poe had arrived, but ever since he’d woken up that morning, he’d felt chilled, like he was walking through a cloud of fog, so he hadn’t been able to focus for more than a few sentences. He’d felt a little better though, when Poe had caught sight of his book on Ranpo’s lap and blushed.

“Ranpo-san?” Poe’s voice draws him out of his head and back to the present. Poe’s looking at him with concern all over his face.

It takes another minute for Ranpo’s brain to come back online enough for him to respond. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I asked you how the pain is today.”

Ranpo grunts in response. It’s enough of an answer and the only one he’s willing to give right now. He’s tired and sore, he’s allowed to be just a little bit bratty. They should know by now that he’ll tell them if the near-constant pain gets any worse. And it beats repeating the same old words over and over to the same people, over and over.

“Is it still your joints?” Poe asks, fiddling around the equipment that Ranpo is connected to.

“Stomach.” It had been hurting since last night.

“Are you nauseous?”

“A little.” Ranpo answers honestly, because while the nausea was enough that morning for him to turn away his breakfast, it wasn’t bad enough to have anyone concerned—namely the doctors in charge of him. So he hadn’t said anything about it. But he’s been warned several times against downplaying his symptoms, and the discomfort had increased a little since the morning, so for once, he speaks the truth.

Poe lets out a hum, grabbing Ranpo’s chart from where it rests at the end of the bed and reads through it, adding his own notes and observations before returning it to his rightful place. Ranpo relaxes as Poe plonks himself into the chair and stretches his long legs out instead of curling them into his body like he usually does.

Ranpo has made it a little game for himself to try and figure out just how Poe’s body works considering the man is so damn tall, but more than capable of fitting into the smallest of places; namely, the plastic chair that Poe seems more than happy to squeeze into despite it looking extremely uncomfortable. Yes, Ranpo is definitely overthinking it, but it’s a valid concern, a fun little mystery for him to try and decipher.

His train of thought stops, replaced by another mystery he has yet to know the answer to, but can easily gain. He feels the soft leather under his fingertips. “Hey, Poe-san.”

Poe looks up, pen paused where it had been writing, probably in the middle of a sentence. “What is it?”

“What’s your name?”

“My name…?” Poe sounds confused, and Ranpo doesn’t want to repeat his question so he holds up the book and taps where Poe’s embroidered his name into the cover and understanding dawns on his face. “Oh, I thought you knew my name? It’s Edgar Allan Poe.”

Ranpo blinks upon hearing the name, and blinks again, repeating the name in his mind. And again, under his breath. He says it normally and then says it slowly, and it’s as he’s sounding it out that he snorts, but not because he thinks Poe’s name is funny. Edgar suits Poe quite nicely he finds. “Really?”

“Yes…?”

When the confusion persists on Poe’s face, Ranpo decides to take pity on the man. He points at himself. “Edogawa Ranpo.” He then points at Poe. “Edgar Allan Poe.”

It must be the way Ranpo pronounces Poe’s full name that makes it click and the man laughs. “Oh my, that is quite interesting. Who would’ve thought that our names were so similar?”

Ranpo opens his mouth to respond when he’s hit with a worst case of nausea yet, the room spinning slightly as he throws himself upright, one hand coming up to cover his mouth, the other wrapping around his stomach as he hunches over. He must make some kind of noise because Poe’s throwing his notebook to the side one second and shoving a basin under his head the next, a hand coming to rub at his back. Ranpo drops his hands to grasp at the plastic, knuckles turning white from his hard his grip his. He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing deeply through his nose to try and alleviate the nausea. And after a few minutes, he thinks he’s won, but then his stomach cramps and he’s throwing up.

Amongst half-digested food and stomach bile, there’s blood. A lot of it.

Ranpo stares, heart pounding as he tastes the iron on his tongue and sees red from his peripheral vision. He barely registers the moment Poe invades his personal space, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder as the nurse leans over and slams his hand against the call button before he goes into nurse mode. He can hear Poe talking to him as Ranpo throws up more blood, but is too stunned to respond. This has never happened to him before; he’s never thrown up blood, and he’s scared.

He hears more voices and rapid footsteps entering the room, but he still can’t bring himself to look away from the red in front of him. His hands are shaking now, and he’s pretty sure he’s starting to hyperventilate. There are hands on him now, voices that he hears but doesn’t understand talking at him, and he feels something cold against his bare skin. It’s the cold that jars him from whatever state he’s in and he jerks his head up, eyes meeting those of Yosano’s.

“Breathe, Ranpo.” His doctor commands as she tries to listen to his lungs. Ranpo does his best to obey, managing a couple of proper breaths before his stomach rebels again, body falling limp when he’s done.

He hears shouting, but it’s soon replaced by a ringing sound and Ranpo does nothing to fight against it nor his quickly fading vision.

“You’ll be fine.”

It’s the last thing he hears, whispered directly into his ear, before he knows no more.

One surgery later, Ranpo learns that what caused him to throw up blood was a perforated bowel that was caused by an ulcer that was caused by the medication he’s been taking. Unsurprising, really. Ranpo doesn’t quite take it in when he’s told, trusting Fukuzawa to do that for him and tell him when he’s not high on anaesthetics; he doesn’t know when his guardian arrived, but—Ranpo loses his train of thought, not even sure himself how much time has passed. Ranpo just continues to stare as Yosano talks.

“We caught it early enough that it was only a minor perforation. He’ll be fine, Fukuzawa-san.”

“Will he though?” Fukuzawa sounds upset. And stressed. Ranpo whines when he catches the look; he doesn’t want Fukuzawa to be stressed. He wants to see him smile and be happy. His guardian squeezes the hand he’s holding gently. “You know that Ranpo has a higher infection risk than most. It’s why surgery is always a last resort with him.”

“I know, and know that we’re taking the necessary precautions. We were able to repair the damage with laparoscopic surgery, so he only has small wounds to take care of.” Yosano raises a hand as Fukuzawa goes to say something. “I am aware that with Ranpo, small wounds are just as dangerous as large ones, but they also heal quicker, meaning it’s a lower risk.”

“And the trial?”

“Since the medication is what’s caused his condition, we’ll have to put it on hold temporarily. He’s the third patient in this study to go through this, so it’s most certainly the drug doing this and not his illness. We’ll work out the kinks and try again once he’s recovered and strong enough.”

Ranpo decides that then is a good time to enter the conversation with the question burning at the edge of his mind, and speaks. “S’ther ‘ugs not…” His voice trails off and he giggles.

Yosano just stares at him, trying to decipher whatever it was that had come out of his mouth, although Ranpo’s not sure what’s so hard to understand. He’d spoken clear and concise, like he always did. Like he’d been taught to by his parents.

Fukuzawa comes to Yosano’s rescue when she takes just that little too long. “He’s asking about his other medications.”

“How—no, you know what, don’t answer that.” Yosano sighs, quickly replacing her stunned look with one of professionalism. “Because of the nature of Ranpo’s injury, in order to let it heal properly, we do have to put a halt to his usual meds. It’s not ideal, I know, but we do not want to risk aggravating the injury.”

Ranpo will later come to understand that Yosano’s words are the reason for the coming hell he can barely recall, but for now, he just floats through the clouds in his head, giggling every now and then whilst Yosano and Fukuzawa watch him worriedly.

Ranpo’s body decides that this surgery is to be the catalyst of all catalysts, and throws the worst flare up Ranpo’s ever experienced in his life at him.

Despite everyone’s best efforts, Ranpo’s incision sites become red and inflamed; infection has set in, and with it, comes a raging fever that leaves him weak and breathless. It truly feels as though he’s been doused in alcohol and set on fire, and he’s completely unaware of his surroundings. He thinks he can feel something, or someone, touching him, but he really has no clue. Whatever it is never lasts long anyway. Sometimes, the fever disappears at times, but it is always replaced with chills that leave him wanting the burning heat to return. The chills make him tremble and shake, which sends tiny bolts of agony through his body every time he moves. The fever isn’t much better, making him thrash and toss and turn.

The worst part is the pain.

He can deal with the side of him that’s ill and fighting against the infection, but he can’t deal with the constant—because it’s always present, no matter how delirious Ranpo is—pain. He’s pretty sure he cries, maybe even screams, but there’s no relief and he can’t understand why that is. Every other time he’s been in pain that’s this bad, relief has come for him, painkillers snapping at the source of it until it’s nothing more than a distant memory.

He doesn’t remember being told he can’t take anything right now.

He doesn’t remember why.

Ranpo knows he says things, but he has no idea what he says; it’s like he’s drowning and everyone around him is free of the water, watching as he struggles and flails, trying to get to the surface for the next precious breath of air that’ll keep him alive just that little longer. Later, when the infection has long passed, he’ll ask Fukuzawa about the things he’d said under the influence of the delirium, but he won’t get an answer; only an expression of pure sadness that tells him all he needs to know.

It gets to the point where Ranpo just gives up, let’s his body sink further into the ocean in his mind, but it’s then that a hand breaks through the water and pulls him free, and his eyes blink open, and instead of an ocean, he sees a ceiling. He sees relieved faces all around him before he closes his eyes again, this time slipping into a sleep that will hopefully chase away the exhaustion that’s eating at him.

It doesn’t.

Even though he’s fought off the infection, it quickly becomes the least of his problems. The fever is gone, but it’s been exchanged for nausea now. He’s so nauseous these days that anything he manages to ingest comes right back up before an hour as even passed, and it gets to the point where he just refuses to eat, no matter how much they try to convince him to, all because he’s tired of the pain trying to eat brings him. He loses weight; his clothes becoming baggy and loose as time passes by. Ranpo already didn’t weigh much to begin with, so he’s not surprised when his refusal to eat is met with quick resistance.

Yosano sits on the edge of the bed—Fukuzawa had already tried and failed, so they’d sent her to talk to him—a hand resting on the multitude of blankets that cover his body as he shivers underneath them; the weight loss has caused him to feel cold all the time, at least, he thinks it’s that. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was another elaborate scheme his body was throwing at him to make him even more miserable. He doesn’t know, and he no longer cares. “Ranpo, you need to eat, hon.”

“No.” Ranpo shakes his head. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, and we’re doing what we can to avoid that.”

No, you’re not. Ranpo thinks. If you were, you’d put a stop to it.

Despite him not speaking his thoughts, Yosano is able to understand what he’s thinking and she gives him a sympathetic look. All Ranpo can see however, is pity, and he pulls away to bury his face into the pillow. “Ranpo, you do understand why we can’t give you anything, right?”

Of course he does, he’s not stupid after all. It’s been explained to him several times since he’d woken up, but that doesn’t mean he’s listened. His mind and his body are far louder voices than the ones taking care of him, and it’s just so easy to get lost in his mind instead of paying attention. At least in his mind, he’s able to forget about everything that’s happening right now, yet everyone around him seems determined to keep him tethered to the present.

“You can’t make me eat.” It’s a lie, he knows what’ll happen if he continues to refuse food, but he can at least pretend he has a choice.

“Ranpo—"

“Um, is it a bad time?” Poe’s voice sounds from the doorway, interrupting Yosano’s pleas, and Ranpo peeks up to see his friend standing there holding some kind of beverage, looking nervous about something.

“Yes.” “No.” Ranpo and Yosano say at the same time. Ranpo glares. Yosano sighs.

“Ranpo’s just having some troubles.” Yosano explains. “Is there something you need, Poe?”

Poe shakes his head, brow furrowed in the way it usually is when Poe’s trying to think about what to say without it sounding like he’s overstepping. It’s something the man seems to do unconsciously, and Ranpo’s yet to figure out what causes it. Maybe one day he’ll know. “I, uh, was thinking about the way that Ranpo-san’s unable to eat right now, and I-I might have a s-solution…”

Yosano’s interested now, leaning forward so far, she might as well no longer be sitting on the bed. “What is it?”

“W-Well… sometimes I have days where food is h-hard to stomach and I find that shakes a-and s-smoothies were sometimes acceptable. So, maybe, uh, Ranpo-san could try one?” Poe shakes the drink in his hand slowly, drawing attention to it.

Ranpo looks at it, trying to figure out just what’s in the cup. He can’t smell anything from where he is, so whatever it is, is simple and not overpowering in the slightest. He’s still hesitant, but upon looking at Poe’s hopeful face, he finds is reluctance fading and curiosity taking over. “What is it?” He asks as he sits up, drawing the blankets tighter around himself.

“Fruit—berries mostly, yoghurt, milk. Simple and easy on the stomach—well, unless you can’t handle dairy—while still being somewhat beneficial. If it’s not to your liking that’s fine, I can come up with something else. But if you can keep it down, then maybe… we can do this until you can handle solids again?” Poe explains, crossing the room to hand Ranpo the drink. Ranpo stares at it for a long time, mentally debating whether or not it’s worth the risk of trying it. It’s just as Poe said; it’s simple and easy, and certainly looks like it’d be digestible. It’s just a matter of whether or not Ranpo’s body agrees with that.

The hope in Poe’s eyes grows even more when Ranpo sniffs it, and he smiles when Ranpo has a mouthful. The drink is smooth, as expected, and sweet. Ranpo’s pretty sure that drinks such as these are not supposed to be this sweet, which means that Poe’s taken the time to curate the drink to Ranpo’s tastebuds, and that knowledge chases away the despair that’s long settled within Ranpo’s chest. He takes another mouthful, and then hands the cup back to Poe. Rolling over, he pulls the blankets over his head, cutting himself off from the world. It’s rude, and he should be more appreciative, but he doesn’t care. He has little energy for caring these days.

But he’s grateful when, hours have passed and he realizes that while he’s still nauseous, he didn’t throw up.

Poe looks especially pleased when Ranpo asks for one of those shakes again the next day. Then the next one as well, until slowly, Ranpo stops dropping weight and stabilizes. He doesn’t gain any weight, and probably won’t until he can eat proper meals again, and he still throws up occasionally, but it doesn’t hurt as much when all that comes up is liquid. He can see the relief of everyone’s faces when he moves from one shake a day to two, the nausea fading enough that Ranpo can finally push it to the back of his mind and pretend it doesn’t exist.

He's presented with a small plate of food after some time that’s more like mush than actual food, heart pounding and hand shaking as he slowly eats it, waiting for the moment his body decides to reject it.

It doesn’t, and he feels he can finally relax.

-----

Ranpo wakes with a scream tearing itself from his throat, eyes frantically looking about the pitch-black room, hands clutching the sheets underneath him so tight he’s sure they’ve torn. His chest his heaving and he’s gasping, but he’s losing more air than he’s taking in. A sob escapes him, and it’s that one, lonesome noise that sets off the panic that had been lingering since the nightmare that had awoken him. He cries and sputters, burying his face into his trembling hands as he tries to quiet himself, not wanting anyone to witness this side of him, even though he knows they’ve seen him in much worse states. But it feels a little different, for them to see him crying from something his subconscious has showed him, when usually he’s crying because of something physically affecting him.

He doesn’t usually cry from bad dreams, they don’t usually affect him so, but when the dreams involve his parents, he can’t help but fall apart. Ranpo barely remembers what the nightmare was about this time—it’s not surprising, he’s never really remembered his dreams—but he could easily remember the feelings that had come with it; terror and sadness, along with a smidge of pain. And grief.

Ranpo’s still a mess when he hears the door to his room slide open, but he moves to cover his mouth, muffling his sobs as best he can in hope that the person will leave him alone.

They don’t.

He hears footsteps quickly approach the bed before it dips underneath a weight and seconds later, arms come up and draw him into a hug that’s tight but not too tight. Ranpo doesn’t hesitate to drop his head against the person’s shoulder, and slowly, his hands fall away from his mouth to return the embrace. He clutches at the person’s shirt, recognizing the unique texture of the scrubs under his hands. It wasn’t until a slender hand threaded its way through his hair that he realizes it’s Poe that is holding him. That knowledge alone is enough to ease the panic into something easier to deal with, and he takes his first proper breath of the night.

“Are you alright?” Poe asks when Ranpo’s calm enough that he can.

“Yeah.” He’s lying, and it’s obvious he is, but not even Fukuzawa’s allowed privy to his nightmares; his dreams and the memories they show him, are for his eyes only.

Thankfully, Poe doesn’t push, just hums. “Would you like a story?”

“Yeah.” Ranpo pulls away, just enough so that it gives Poe the space he needs to climb fully onto the bed, being mindful of the equipment still attached to Ranpo, and settling against the pillows. Ranpo drops against him, his arms winding around Poe’s waist, head coming to a rest against his stomach. He feels Poe stiffen underneath him, but he doesn’t tell Ranpo to let go or move, so he stays like that.

Poe begins to speak once Ranpo is comfortable, and it’s then he notices the lack of notebook. Usually, whenever Poe reads one of his stories to him, it’s one that’s already been jotted down in whatever notebook he’s carrying with him at the time. But this time, he isn’t, not that Ranpo’s surprised, not really. The stories in the notebook all come from the same place after all; Poe’s mind. The notebook is just a conduit between the Poe and the story, allowing him to order his thoughts around enough for it to make sense on paper.

Even without the notebook to guide him, the stories Poe tells are his to tell, long-written into his memory, and it’s almost as if the man is able to see his notebook in front of him without it actually being there. Ranpo listens to the way Poe speaks, his friend’s voice just as soothing as it always is; sometimes his words slow as he tries to remember what comes next, but the story never stops. Ranpo lets his eyes drift closed, allowing the words to chase away the last of the nightmare.

The next night, when Ranpo awakes in terror, Poe is already there, on the bed with his legs stretched out, and textbook in his lap. He’s not in scrubs this time, and Ranpo vaguely recalls that Poe had taken the rest of the week off to study, or something like that. As if the textbook didn’t make it obvious.

“Another nightmare?” Poe asks him.

Ranpo nods, rolling to press his face into Poe’s thigh this time. And this time, Poe doesn’t stiffen; it’s Ranpo who’s tense this time, waiting for the inevitable question of what’s terrorizing him in his sleep.

It doesn’t come.

“I don’t have a story this time, but I can tell you about… bioethics?”

“Bioethics? Really?”

“Yeah, I suppose it doesn’t really make for good bedtime reading.” Poe sighs. He looks tired, and Ranpo wonders just how long he’s been sitting here. “I can find something else?”

“Bioethics is fine.”

“Okay, so—” Poe begins, and even though it’s still the same voice talking, the words don’t feel as empowered as they usually do when they are Poe’s own. They feel less… magical and devoid of life. Ranpo finds himself quickly bored of the subject, but it’s something to focus on, and he had agreed to it, so he can’t really complain in the end. But it’s still boring.

He falls asleep listening to Poe talk about moral quandaries.

By the fifth night, Ranpo doesn’t even jerk awake. He just opens his eyes, body locked in fear, and he tears up, not because of the nightmare himself, but he’s just so, so tired of waking up every night with his body on high alert for a threat that doesn’t even exist. It’s this fifth night, that Ranpo is the one that starts off the late-night conversation he and Poe have started engaging in.

“Tomorrow marks three years since my parents passed.” He doesn’t offer more than that, his words enough of an explanation for someone as smart as Poe to connect the dots.

And he does. Connect the dots that is. “How long do the nightmares last when this time of year comes around?” Poe asks, a hand coming to grip Ranpo’s own. Poe’s sitting in the chair beside Ranpo’s bed this time, a different textbook in hand this time.

“A week, sometimes two.”

Poe nods. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You’ve been helping.” Ranpo admits, because he has. He feels bad for keeping Poe up at night, knows he’s one of the main reasons for the bags underneath his eyes, but he does appreciate what Poe’s been doing for him, all without him asking too. Everything that Poe has done for him, outside of what’s required of him from his job, has simply been out of the kindness of his heart, and, well, there aren’t many people who just do that.

Poe ducks his head at Ranpo’s words, cheeks turning pink just a little. It’s barely noticeable with the way that Poe’s hair falls across his face, but Ranpo’s spent enough time around him to notice the change. It’s adorable.

“Would you like me to sleep with you?” And now it’s Ranpo’s turn to blush, face turning an impressive shade of red at the words. Poe takes one look at him and turns equally just as red, seemingly realizing what it is he’s just said. “Not like that! I-I mean, you always seem to rest e-easier when I’m—when someone’s sitting on the b-bed with you, so I thought, um, it-it might help you get some rest—”

“Sure.”

“—but I can understand—wait, what?” Poe stops rambling and just stands there, seemingly shocked that Ranpo’s actually agreed.

“I’m not repeating myself. Just… get over here.” Ranpo huffs, shifting over so that there’s space on the bed. Poe hesitates for not even a second before he’s climbing onto the bed. Unlike the first night, where Poe had sat against the pillows, he lays down beside Ranpo, their faces only inches apart as they both try to fit onto the bed that is certainly not made for two people. Poe’s arms end up winding around Ranpo’s waist, and his legs are awkwardly pressed against Ranpo’s own. It’s not the most comfortable position, but it generates a warm feeling that has Ranpo sighing out the stress and fear he’d been harbouring.

He shuffles closer towards Poe as his friend begins to speak, quietly starting a story when Ranpo hadn’t even asked for one. Ranpo tucks his head underneath Poe’s chin, and entangles their legs until they are both comfortable in the bed. Poe responds by loosening his awkward grip so that he’s more draping his arms than embracing, and buries his face into the top of Ranpo’s hair. His words become a little muffled, but Ranpo can still hear them and that, along with the sensation of behind held, quickly sends Ranpo off to sleep.

When Ranpo wakes up in the morning, Poe is gone, and Fitzgerald is striding into his room with the latest version of the drug, deeming Ranpo well enough to continue the trial now, even though Ranpo does not share the sentiment. If anything, he feels as unready as he possibly could be to resume the trial; the side effects of his last flare up still at the forefront of his mind. Ranpo wants to say something—and he really should—but as he stares into Fitzgerald’s determined face as the main claims that this is the one that will actually yield results—like Ranpo’s some kind of animal and not a teenage boy whose done nothing but suffer since the trial began—his words fail him and he just watches as the drug is administered. It’s too late now to say something, so despite how lethargic he feels, he does his best to listen as the doctor warns him of potential side effects.

He just wants it all to stop.

It’s the seventh—or eighth, Ranpo’s lost track at this point—trial when Ranpo wakes up in the middle of the night, sweating and shaking, his body on fire. It hurts so bad, and it takes only a few seconds for Ranpo’s mind to catch up with the signals his body is sending it, and he bursts into tears. This pain is different to that of his usual flare ups, and that leaves Ranpo feeling both frightened and angry. Frightened because he doesn’t know what this is; has never experienced it on this level before, and pain of an unknown origin could mean anything right now, and none of it good. And he’s angry because Fitzgerald is the doctor and should’ve been able to see that Ranpo wasn’t ready for this. That’s his job. But…

He should’ve told Fitzgerald he wasn’t okay before the trial restarted in the first place.

He should’ve said that he wanted to stop, that he was done; tired of going through the same thing over and over with no results.

Mostly, he just wanted it all to end.

He’s alone right now in his room, which is the worst scenario possible, since he can’t move without hurting himself, which means he can’t get someone to come and help him. His leg twitches, and Ranpo can’t help but tense as the feeling of being stabbed over and over washes over him, but the movement reminds him that his phone is where he’d left it before falling asleep; beside his leg. He manages to grab it and with shaky hands, doing his best to ignore how it sends bolts of agony up the limb, and flips it open to press the call button on whoever’s contact is the one he lands on first.

“Hello…?” Dazai’s sleep-filled voice comes through the line after only a few rings, and that’s all it takes to set Ranpo off, and he sobs into the phone.

“Dazai, it hurts. It hurts so bad. There’s no one here and I can’t move, and it hurts. It hurts, I’m tired and sick, and—and, I don’t want to do this anymore—”

“Ranpo—”

He doesn’t give Dazai the chance to interrupt “—I can’t do this anymore. The pain, the nausea, the hospital, I can’t—I can’t. Please, Dazai, make it stop. I want it to stop—”

“Chuuya, get up. We need to go, now.” He hears Dazai say, Nakahara’s sleepy grumbles unintelligible through his own mindless rambling. He can hear things move in the background; the rustling of bedsheets, the sound of two people throwing clothes on in a hurry. Ranpo knows that Dazai and Nakahara are speaking to each other—more like Nakahara trying to figure out what’s going on whilst Dazai tries to both listen to Ranpo as he continues to ramble and to Nakahara as he asks questions.

Ranpo continues to cry and shake, waves of agony flying across his body. It feels like there are nails being dragged across his skin. It feels like he’s been dunked into a bath filled with ice. He can’t do this—not anymore. Just once in his life, he’d like to be given a chance to live instead of whatever bullshit this is. “Dazai, if this is what the rest of my life is going to be like, I don’t want to live anymore. It hurts. Life shouldn’t hurt this much. Why does it hurt so much? Please just let me die—"

“Ranpo, listen to me.” Dazai’s voice is firm as he interrupts, and it’s enough to get Ranpo to focus enough to hear the rest of what he has to say. He can hear frantic sounds in the background as people move about. Car doors slam. “You’ll be okay. Just keeping talking to me, okay? About anything other than the pain. I’m on my way, so just talk to me and try not to focus on the pain. You’ll be okay.”

So, Ranpo speaks through his tears, following Dazai’s request and just talking about whatever comes to mind—he ends up talking about Poe’s latest story that he’d listened to just the other day. He hears Nakahara asking questions in the background every now and then, but still, Ranpo talks. He keeps talking until the next thing he’s aware of is a hand coming to cover his own, gently prying his phone away from his ear. Ranpo opens his eyes, unaware that he’d even closed them in the first place, and the first thing he sees is Dazai’s face right beside his own.

Dazai’s crawled onto the bed to lay beside him, one of his hands clutching Ranpo’s own—holding it loosely—and the other cupping his cheek gently. Ranpo lets out another sob, grateful that his friend is here, that he’d left the comfort of his own bed just to be here. Even through the haze that’s clouding him, Ranpo notices the lack of bandages underneath Dazai’s baggy clothes.

“Shh… breathe, Ranpo.” Dazai says. “Chuuya’s hunting down Yosano-sensei, she’ll be here soon, and then you won’t hurt anymore.”

Ranpo nods. Then flinches when it hurts. He cries more.

Dazai breathes deeply from beside him, silently encouraging Ranpo to follow his cue, and Ranpo tries, he really does, but it’s just so hard when his body jerks because of his sobs and makes him hurt even more. It’s quickly become an endless cycle of distress that shows no signs of stopping.

Hurried footsteps echo down the hall, coming towards his room, and Ranpo is relieved, knowing that help is coming for him.

But the relief is short lived when instead of Yosano, it’s Fitzgerald that enters the room. Ranpo stiffens, and he lets out his loudest cries yet—he doesn’t want this man anywhere near him—and that’s enough to set Dazai on the defensive, his friend pulling away to become a physical barrier between Ranpo and the doctor. Ranpo is so grateful that his friend can read him like a book in moments like these, when he himself is incapable of articulating.

“Who are you?” Fitzgerald questions, eyes narrowed.

“A friend.” Dazai’s voice is ice, cold and unfriendly, a far cry from his usual cheerful and carefree way of speaking. “Where is Yosano-sensei?”

“You are in the way. Leave. My patient is in distress.”

“He’s in distress because of you. I’m not moving unless it’s Yosano-sensei.” Dazai spits back, and Ranpo knows that if he weren’t clutching Dazai’s hand like a lifeline, Dazai would be squaring off against Fitzgerald. He’s almost tempted to let go just to see it happen. A wave of pain reminds him why he hasn’t done that yet, and he whimpers.

Fitzgerald growls. “Move, or else—”

“No.”

“What’s going on here?” Yosano’s voice interrupts as she strides into the room, Nakahara right behind her. She doesn’t even wait for an answer before her eyes scan the room, stopping on Dazai and the way he’s standing protectively in front of him, and then they continue to fall upon his own shaking form. Yosano turns towards Fitzgerald. “Out. I’ll deal with this.”

“It’s not—”

“Do you really want to argue with me?” Yosano doesn’t give her co-worker the chance to respond. She’s furious. “I’ll speak with you afterwards, but first, Ranpo needs tending to.”

Fitzgerald continues to stare down Yosano, who refuses to back down, for several long seconds, before he finally clicks his tongue and leaves the room. With the doctor gone, Ranpo feels himself relax a little, and Dazai returns to laying beside him, a hand returning to wipe away the tears under his eyes.

Yosano says nothing and works around Dazai instead of asking to him to move like she normally would; the only thing she asks of his friend is for him to let go of Ranpo’s hand so she can access his IV.

“What are you giving him?” Dazai asks, not because he’s curious—he probably already knows what’s happening—but because he knows Ranpo needs to know what’s happening to him.

“A sedative to help calm him down, and painkillers to combat the pain.” Yosano explains, and Ranpo feels the always odd sensation of medication being pushed into him. It works fast, and Ranpo is soon relaxing as the pain recedes. “Nakahara’s told me the gist of it, but if you could fill me in on what happened, I’d appreciate it.”

Ranpo falls asleep before he can hear what Dazai says in response.

This time, when Ranpo wakes, he’s not alone, and importantly; there’s a distinct lack of pain. There’s a warm weight pressed against his back; an arm draped over him as whoever is behind him breathes into his hair, still asleep. He’s almost tempted to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but then Nakahara walks into his field of view and falls into the chair beside his bed, and he can’t help but tense up, memories from the night prior returning to him in a flash. Dazai must be the one that’s behind him.

“Breathe.” Nakahara is quick to say, realizing that Ranpo’s awake. “You’re alright. Nothing’s happened since Yosano-sensei came and took care of you last night.”

“Why are you here?” Ranpo asks. He knows he could figure it out, but he’d rather be told straight right now, not willing to spend the brainpower required to think right now.

“Because of an idiotic doctor that drove his patient into a breakdown.”

“It wasn’t a break—”

“Edogawa-san, you called Dazai at two in the morning, telling him you’d rather die than keep doing this.” Nakahara doesn’t say the words unkindly, but it doesn’t stop Ranpo from flinching at hearing them. He doesn’t quite remember that part of the phone call. Nakahara sighs, leaning back in the chair. “How are you feeling? Right now, I mean.”

Ranpo takes a moment to think over it. He feels like he’s run a marathon, which isn’t surprising considering the state he was in last night, and his body feels a bit heavy; a side effect of whatever medicine Yosano gave him. Then, he realizes, that it’s not his physical state that Nakahara’s asking after, but his mental one. Nakahara’s a social worker after all; one that works closely with the psychologists and psychiatrists of the hospital, helping to mediate between adults and the children he works with.

“I don’t know.” Ranpo answers eventually. “Tired, I guess?”

“Do you think that’s because of last night, or what’s been going on since the trial restarted?” Nakahara asks.

Ranpo narrows his eyes. “Shouldn’t someone from psych be asking me these questions?”

“I’m more than happy to bring someone down if you’d rather speak to them instead.” Nakahara shrugs, unbothered by Ranpo ignoring his initial question. The man seems to have endless patience, and considering his main client is Dazai; he’s not surprised. “You know what my job is; what it is I do, so I’m sure you know what my intentions are.”

“You intend to figure out what it is I actually want, and relay it to Yosano-sensei and Fitzgerald-san, right?”

“That’s right.”

“What if I don’t know?” Ranpo questions quietly, because he truthfully doesn’t know what it is he wants. He was telling the truth in his ramblings to Dazai over the phone; that he wanted to stop doing this, but he also didn’t want to stop, knowing that this trial might one day be the thing that helps him live longer.

Nakahara remains unbothered by his words. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Ranpo and Nakahara talk for a long time, the latter helping him work through his thoughts and feelings and figuring out a plan from whatever it is Ranpo tells him. The questions are hard, and sometimes Ranpo can’t find the answer, but Nakahara is never bothered by that; moving on to the next question whenever Ranpo hesitates too long.

It’s just the two of them now, Dazai having been kicked out of the room once he’d woken up; his friend had kicked up a fuss at that before stealing one of Ranpo’s blankets and leaving the room to go sit in the hall where he hears him start up a conversation with whoever else is waiting outside. Apparently, Nakahara had refused entry to anyone, including Yosano, just so that he could talk privately with Ranpo—even if that talk ended up taking hours.

In the end, Ranpo tells Nakahara everything that he’s been feeling since the trial restarted; from the nightmares he’s been having for the past couple of weeks—he doesn’t say what they’re about—to the way Fitzgerald’s presence has him on edge because of the way the man looks at him. Personally, he thinks that parts a bit pathetic, but Nakahara doesn’t judge him, only nods and waits for him to continue. Ranpo continues to talk about the way he feels drained after every flare up, wondering when it’s all going to end—if it ever ends. It’s after he says that, that Nakahara begins to look concerned.

“Edogawa-san, answer me honestly.” Nakahara says when he’s finished talking. “Do you still wish for your life to end?”

Ranpo looks away, unwilling to answer the question, but knowing it’s one of the few that he won’t be allowed to get away with not answering. Even if he answers ‘no,’ he’ll still be put under a watch because that’s just what the policy of the hospital was, but he’d also be lying if he did say that. “I don’t actively seek to end my life, but if an opportunity came up, I may or may not take it.”

“Okay… you understand that you saying that means—”

“I’ll be put under a watch for the next forty-eight hours to ensure I don’t do anything stupid.” Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Ranpo grins. “I know how it works, Dazai’s told me.”

Nakahara rolls his eyes. “Of course he has. I shouldn’t be surprised that the two of you don’t seem to know how to hold a normal conversation. But yes, you’ll be under watch for a couple of days. After that, we’ll reassess and see how you feel then.”

Ranpo nods, fidgeting with the sheets as he stares at the ground. It’s not something he’s keen on being subjected to, considering he’d mostly said what he’d said last night in the heat of the moment when he was feeling like absolute shit, but he’ll deal with it. Not that he has a choice in this case.

“Now, last question.” Nakahara waits for Ranpo to look back up at him before he continues. “Do you want to continue this trial?”

After talking for so long with the man in front of him, Ranpo feels that he finally understands what it is he wants. And that’s to stop. The trial’s not worth shortening what life he has left to live with the amount of flare ups and issues he’s had since it started, and Nakahara had reassured him that there was no shame in pulling out; that if someday, the drug did work and did end up on the market, he wouldn’t be cut off from it. But the most important part, is that he’s reassured that he won’t be judged for failing to see it through to the end, and that he’s not wasting the hospital’s resources—or the doctor’s time. It happens. Nakahara had said. Plenty of people drop out for various reasons, yours wouldn’t be any less valid.

So, with that on mind, Ranpo shakes his head.

“I want to stop.”

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #bungo stray dogs fanfic #ranpoe #edgar allan poe #edogawa ranpo #fukuzawa #dadzawa #dazai osamu #yosano akiko #chuuya nakahara #fanfiction #writing #hurt/comfort #lots of hurt #angst

[aseriesofunfortunatejan]

I'm programming this post for in a while because I'm definitely clogging the tag.

As I've already mentioned, Wikipedia is using my edit of short hair Swindler, crediting it as a "screenshot" with a link to the Fandom Wiki, and treating it as though it's 100% official.

This is a really awkward situation. I don't really mind sharing my small edit to her hand with Wikipedia, I like Wikipedia. I just wish my work as a fellow Wiki editor had been acknowledged, instead of reposted without asking or proper credit to either the actual creators of the original image or the lady who made it into a useable render. I also feel like the honesty of whoever published it as though it's official is dubious. This is iffy for Wikipedia's standards, but par for the course for an anime character's Wikipedia page

I left a message explaining the situation on the file's talk page, but of course, no one paid attention to it. Recently, a long time afterwards, I decided to write about it on my Wikipedia profile, just for my own sake, because that's also what I did when much worse was done with my translations on French Wikipedia. For the purpose of illustration, I added said Swindler file as a thumb next to my profile.

I just saw this.

It's fine, I get it, Wikipedia's rules. But the unfairness being displayed...! I'm pretty sure that file is iffy by Wikipedia's rules, but when it came to removing it from my profile, that was done immediately. If this bot does use AWB, then it's still user operated. Pay attention for one second...

What if I decide my small edit to her hand is my intellectual property and Wikipedia can't use it...? Well, that's not exactly how things work. I'm just playing it up for laughs. The edit is seriously minor, but it did make the image usable whereas it wouldn't have been on its own. There's something a little frustrating happening here, though, isn't there? All I'm asking for is, honestly, a little bit of acknowledgement. Again, I'm a fellow Wiki editor, and I've done so much for Akudama Drive, Wiki-wise. Most likely, more than anyone else. It's disrespectful to act as though I don't exist - but that's the fault of the person who uploaded the file, not of the many Wikipedia editors who don't give a shit about a small anime's character pages.

Anyway.... There's probably just a lot of buildup here, between my many years as an admin and the fact that my translations were stolen by French Wikipedia before. Such a shame, when I'd be happy to help. I'm ready to let this go, to be clear, and that's why I was comforted by just writing it on my profile no one would read anyway... This is just... A little funny, tbh.

#akudama drive #wiki stuff #i guess

[helena-thompson]

MAGIC Summary: Helena and Sebastian make out. Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Female MC Words: 715 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences  Tags / Warnings: Kissing, Oneshot, Canon Compliant, POV Third Person, Romance  

No one had ever kissed Helena the way Sebastian did. She kissed a boy here and there before she ever came to Hogwarts—little, innocent kisses, with barely any tongue involved. She experimented a bit more when she briefly courted Eric Northcott. She got used to the feeling of hands on her body and a tongue in her mouth. Helena would admit it was… nice. But Eric had never kissed her like this.

Read on: AO3 | Wattpad | Tumblr (continue below)

- - - - -

I just randomly started thinking about these two making out and then this happened, okay?

Background info: Helena briefly dates Eric Northcott, literally only because she’s got a crush on Sebastian and she thinks he doesn’t have a chance because he’s off fooling around with random girls (he’s got issues) and she wants to try to get over him. I’ve got a whole post on how they end up together here: https://helena-thompson.tumblr.com/post/714050177335492608/i-have-to-make-my-obligatory-how-helena

More info about Helena (description, info on her and Sebastian, timeline, etc.) & a comprehensive list of all fics featuring her can be found on her character website: https://sites.google.com/view/helena-thompson/home

- - - - -

No one had ever kissed Helena the way Sebastian did.

She kissed a boy here and there before she ever came to Hogwarts—little, innocent kisses, with barely any tongue involved.

She experimented a bit more when she briefly courted Eric Northcott. She got used to the feeling of hands on her body and a tongue in her mouth. Helena would admit it was… nice.

But Eric had never kissed her like this.

Sebastian kissed her like he was a man starved, and she was the first meal he had in days—in weeks. His lips were so soft, and he knew exactly how to move them against hers… and he knew what to do with his tongue, too. Helena hated the fact that he was so well versed because he had so much practice with other girls, but at the same time, it was amazing, because he was just so good at it.

Sebastian practically drew the air from her lungs, suffocating her in the best way, had her going dizzy from him and his lips. He cradled her head in his hand, angled it to deepen their kiss as he pleased, taking what he wanted from her. Helena couldn’t help the little sounds he coaxed from her with a brush of his fingers over a sliver of exposed skin, a twist of his tongue just so against her own, or a press of his lips against the sensitive skin of her neck. 

His scent engulfed her, the aroma of burning embers, old books, and that scent that was distinctly Sebastian mixed with the fragrance from the soap used in the Slytherin common room baths. It was like smelling that bloody amortentia potion all over again, except now, it was intoxicating. 

His teeth grazed over her neck, his tongue following, before he sucked at her skin, marking her, claiming her. He would no doubt give her that stupidly satisfied smirk afterwards when he admired his handiwork, always left in a spot that was just barely visible from under the collar of her uniform, where everyone and anyone could see what he’d done. 

Sebastian liked to hold her close, delightfully so, usually pressed between himself and something else—a sofa, the wall of the Undercroft, a secret alcove in the halls between classes—and he held her possessively, his fingers digging into her. It was almost as if his damned hands burned through her layers of clothing as he touched her. Their legs were practically tangled together, and when he moved just so—and when she had half a mind to realize—she sometimes felt that she wasn’t the only one who was so affected by their actions.  

But Helena was becoming more adventurous, more bold in their escapades, mostly because of the way Sebastian drove her insane and she needed more. 

She loved the deep little throaty sounds he made when she curled her fingers at his scalp at the nape of his neck, loved the way it sent shivers down her spine. She started grabbing fistfuls of his hair, holding him where she wanted, taking from his mouth as he took from hers, and she was rewarded with even more lovely sounds that sent tingles even lower than her spine.

If she was lucky, she managed to slither her hands under his jacket and vest to trace over his back through the thin cotton of his shirt. Perhaps most brazen thing Helena did, though, in her desire for more of him, was sliding her leg up Sebastian’s and hooking it around his thigh. Without hesitation, he grabbed her, securing her leg around his waist as he settled even closer to her, and she could feel the rumble of his moan in his chest as he pressed it against hers.

Merlin help her, it was both too much and not enough at the same time.

They finally parted to breathe, Sebastian’s forehead resting upon her own. Helena could feel his breath on her face as they both gasped and gulped for air, and as she stared up into his beautiful, brown eyes, only one thing crossed her mind.

No one had ever kissed Helena the way Sebastian did… and it might have been the most magical thing she’d come across since arriving at Hogwarts. 

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy #helena x sebastian #i'm sorry i just thought about them smooching and then this happened #my writing

[quinnthebard]

wip wednesday but its thursday my dudes

thank you so much for the tag @allaganexarch! I tag in turn anyone else that happens to have anything they wish to share. I've lost track of who is and who isn't actively working on anything atm oops

Below the cut, have some nonsense from a future chapter of my BG3 fic. Astarion drank and Sarynna might be a little tipsy, just a bit, as a treat.

They sit side by side outside his tent after. It’d become a bit of a ritual of theirs. Sarynna must have realized quickly that he would refuse to ask to feed from her. As good as she tasted, it felt wrong and honestly he got what he needed most the first time. So instead, she would go to him and explicitly offer to which he’d gladly agree. It was an odd kindness he hadn’t expected from her but perhaps she liked him more than he thought—which was useful information to have. Regardless, she kept surprising him.

At first they’d have a quick whispered conversation but then she and him worked out a signal. She’d tap his elbow twice if she noticed it was time and he’d nod in affirmation that yes, he could use a boost, to which she’d nod back in consent. Then they’d meet that night in his tent and get it done. Afterwards, he would retrieve the hearty stew that Gale insisted will make her feel better near instantly—it never did but she always put on a show for the wizard. Eventually, Shadowheart would stop by to make sure all is well, giving Astarion a minorly scathing look while she worked.

And then, once Sarynna no longer was being fretted over, they drank.

Gods, he missed the sun. They’d hardly spent a half day in the Underdark and he lusted after the sunset views as everyone wound down from a long day. Here, the most light they get is from torches and fire and the odd glowing mushroom. He took a swig from his bottle, a vintage they found in the Selunite outpost immediately upon arrival. It’s sour but better than nothing if he had to choose.

Turning his attention to Sarynna, he watched as she also took a sip from her glass while her bowl of stew remained mostly untouched, its contents merely shifted around and picked at. She hummed under her breath as she watched their surroundings, a slight curve to her lips. Out of nowhere, she loosed a giggle then looked up at him with a mischievous glint in her azure eyes.

“I think Lae’zel is jealous.”

Astarion blinked at the observation. Bards are supposed to be good with people right? How did Sarynna read their githyanki friend so poorly. “I assure you, she is not jealous of you.” Lae’zel had made it very clear she did not want to be bitten early on in their travels much to his disappointment.

She took a swig from the bottle of wine. “Not me. Karlach.” A giggle slipped past her lips. “Shadowheart was thrilled when Karlach joined the group. I heard her mutter under her breath, ‘looks like she could pick me up and carry me to safety’. Lae’zel was scowling the rest of the day and making a show of her training each night since.”

“Oh?” Astarion rested his chin on the back of his hand, leaning closer. “Do tell me more.”

“They pretend to hate each other.” A pause. “I think they honestly did at first. But they had that huge argument and I yelled at them and then they had a spar? And since then I just assumed they came to an understanding but…”

“Don’t leave me hanging, darling.”

Sarynna’s eyes looked around camp, checking if anyone could hear her. Which of course they could, she was lightheaded from blood loss, had hardly touched her dinner but insisted on wine. She wasn’t exactly being discreet.

Finally, she curled a finger urging him closer to which he obliged. “I saw them stalk off to the abandoned building by camp after the celebration together.”

“No.”

“Yes!" Another giggle that quickly evolved into an honest fit of laughter. “Honestly. Good for them.”

“You think?”

“I think finding happiness in our predicament is important. No matter how fleeting.” She yawned, stretching her arms in wide arcs and nearly hitting him in the face. “Besides, Lae’zel is a lot more relaxed now that she’s gotten a good fuck.”

He had to purse his lips to avoid laughing. “I think… you’re a bit drunk.”

“Nah, I had…” She squinted at the bottle. “Just a few sips.”

“And I had quite a few more sips from you. You need to eat.”

“Hmm.” Staring at her bowl forlornly, she picked up her fork. “I have a confession.”

“I bet.”

She frowned. “I’m sick of camp food.”

“What, used to better than what your dear wizard cooks up?”

“I miss mom’s food.” Then her eyes widened as she processed his words fully. “What do you mean my wizard?”

Gods, she’s dense, he scoffed. “Oh, tell me you’ve noticed the way he lusts after you.”

“We’re friends.”

“Sure you are.”

Sarynna grimaced, squinting up at him as she squirmed. Her knee brushed against his. “We are. It just sounds like you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. It was just an observation, darling. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I just take this over to Gale’s tent and bother him instead?” The cheeky woman began to stand and instinctively he grabbed her wrist, yanking her back down beside him.

“Don’t you dare leave me. You make the camp bearable.”

He watched as her cheeks flushed red. Her skin was so warm against his, her bare arms flush against his after being pulled back to ground. The customary gap left between them had been fully closed by his childish actions—actions he did not find himself regretting.

Again, she picked up her fork and this time took a bite. She chewed while watching the fire and in turn he watched her, mesmerized by the way the flickering flames of the campfire made shadows dance across her cheekbones. Even watching her perform such mundane tasks was better than brooding over the past and what could have or should have been. He couldn't imagine a different version of events he'd prefer. Well, barring never having had to deal with Cazador at all. Avoiding that in its entirety would have been optimal but he never did have such luck.

Sarynna continued to eat in silence, her posture relaxing over time until she leaned against him ever so slightly. An odd development, Astarion mused. Sure, Sarynna may know him best so far of all his travelling companions but he got the impression that despite how close they were in comparison to his bond with the rest of the crew, they weren’t truly that close. But something had shifted, just enough that he found himself seeking out these odd moments, the brush of her skin against his. The quiet that usually came with solitude now shared.

A terrifying thought filled his mind: perhaps he wouldn’t mind them getting closer after all. His body certainly reacted to hers and if her elevated pulse was anything to go by, he did the same for her. Perhaps that’s all he needed to do, stay the course, continue to lure her in. Don’t focus on the fact that he might actually enjoy himself. He’d built himself a script to follow over the centuries, no need to stray from it. With that thought, he took the plunge.

“Well now, looks like my treat has their cheeks all flushed.” He smirked as her cheeks reddened further. “You know, you could always come to my bed tonight. Won’t you?”

“A little treat? Come on, Astarion, you can do better than that.” He twisted his lips, fighting a smirk.

“Oh, I certainly can and it’d be my pleasure. How about this one: All these accolades from the Tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips.”

“Is that your best?”

“Hmm, let me give it another go. Every part of your perfect body whispers temptation—it’s as if the Gods made you just to ruin me.”

Sarynna snorted. “And these actually worked on Cazador’s targets?”

“Well they worked on you last time, didn’t they? How about if I said these little words… Everyone’s favorite…” He schooled his features and ignored the sudden chill that ran through his arms. “I love you.” Something unreadable flickered across her face before she laughed.

Having fun, are you?”

“I am. It’s hard not to with you. Now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all my favorite lines at you, I’d much rather we got to experience each others’ full portfolio of talents once again.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fic #wip wednesday #bg3 fanfic #astarion x tav

[footballffbarbiex]

Uninvited teaser pt 2

Summary: He has a lot of fans and seeing girls in his jersey isn’t an uncommon occurrence. But he sees you everywhere - from the stadium, to outside of training and near his home. You’ve got him in your sights and you won’t stop until he admits that you’re made for him.   Pairing: Unnamed player  x  “crazed fan”   Type: Consensual non-con (CNC) Words: 4776   Snippet word count: 1928 Warnings from the full piece: stalking, breaking and entering, use of restraints, fingering, blow jobs, unprotected sex, breeding threat.

as requested, a longer snippet. no tag list incl with this as it’s not something i’ve shared before and don’t know how the tag list would feel about a darker fic.

You’re responsible for your own consumption, especially if proceeding to read a piece which has warnings not to your tastes. Don’t like, don’t bitch.

His home is shrouded in darkness by the time you get there and though there’s an icy nip in the air that licks over your exposed skin, you don’t feel it as the adrenaline kicks in with each step you take. Streetlamps cast an amber glow and with no cars passing by shining their headlights on you and very few house lights on from the neighbouring homes, there’s no-one to notice as you are almost skipping up to his door with excitement. Adjusting the backpack to a more comfortable position, you give one last glance around the street before you head around the back. 

His bedroom faced the garden. You knew that from the photos he’d taken and shared, and after scoping out the area the last few days and nights, you knew that the security light which should be working, wasn’t. 

What a shame, you think. 

The large garden storage box is resting against the brickwork of the house, giving just enough space to manoeuvre between the roof of it and the balcony.  Like the other nights, his window remains open, just enough for you to be able to work it open a little more and climb through.

You grin to yourself as you pull on your gloves; after all, you don’t want to get in trouble for breaking and entering…assuming he doesn’t enjoy what you’re about to do to him and tries to press charges afterwards. They’ll not find your prints here. Everywhere else, but not here. It would appear to anyone who looked that he let you in himself willingly. But the window being open? It’s as though he wanted you here tonight. He’d lovingly left the window open to make things easier for you to come to him. A silent, but noticeably clear, gesture that you should come to his bedroom. It should be lit up with a neon sign that screamed your name, it was that clear and obvious, and who were you to deny him his wants? His needs? Certainly not you. 

You’d completed a practice run earlier today while he was at training after learning that there were no security cameras on the back, needing everything to be perfect. There was no room for error. You knew this could be done and it was only a matter of a handful of minutes that separated you and him. Pulling yourself up onto the storage box, you pause as it creaks a little under your weight before you steady yourself and look upwards hoping he wouldn’t have heard. When no sound comes from above and no lights are switched on to check what is happening outside, you continue. 

You twist and turn your body, walking your feet up the wall as you pull yourself up before swinging your foot up and latching it onto the balcony - enough of a grip there to hoist yourself up and over the railing. It was a piece of well-practised cake. You lift your hands, palms faced upwards and press them to the window, pulling it open further, big enough for you to get through but drop your bag inside first quietly, your body following afterwards. 

The air in the bedroom smells faintly of a late-night shower and the remains of his aftershave lingering in the air. His clothes, when your eyes finally adjust to the darkness and allow you to see, are neatly folded over the back of a chair which faces a dresser that is topped with a small mirror, several bottles of aftershave, a brush and comb and, surprisingly, a tube of ChapStick. Though it’s mostly standard furniture, there are very few personal touches to the room where personal and intimate thoughts are allowed to be free. 

The man himself lays in the bed with the sheet twisted around his body. You’re not sure if he’s naked beneath it but even in the poor lighting, you can see the outline of where his bulge is. You lick your lips at the sight of it, wanting nothing more than to crawl eagerly across the bed and begin but you can’t. Not yet. 

Instead, you remove the gloves and pull your clothing from your body until you stand in his room naked. You pull out the contents of your bag before neatly tucking away everything you’ve just removed from yourself. The soft fabric of this season's jersey, one with his name and number spread over the back in delicate printing, is scrunched in your hand as you contemplate your next actions. 

With your gaze fixed on his sleeping form, you pull the jersey over your head and tug it down into place. Turning away briefly, you reach for the ChapStick, remove the top and twist until there is enough for you to apply it to your lips. Rubbing them together, you make sure they’re well coated before securing the lid back on it and placing it back on the dresser and checking yourself in his mirror. 

Unable to resist, you lift each aftershave and inhale deeply. Choosing your favourite one, you can’t resist giving yourself a little spritz, wanting to smell this on yourself later as you lay in bed and reminisce about tonight's events while your hand fits perfectly between your thighs.

Turning, you collect some of the items you’ve brought and silently approach the bed. As quietly as you can, you attach the restraints to the bed posts. Only when they’re in place do you begin to peel back the bed sheet. Inch by inch, perfect skin and taut muscle come into view. You long to press kisses over his abdomen, following the soft trail of hair from his belly button into his boxer shorts, but there’ll be time for that in a few minutes; assuming all goes to plan. 

Opening the restraints so all you need to do is reposition his limbs, you take a deep breath and pray he stays asleep. You lift his feet first, deciding it better to restrain them so he cannot kick out. His hands you can manage, but should he get to his feet before you’ve had him, that wouldn’t do. You’re securing his right foot when his breathing changes, small whimpers sound from him and he fidgets in his sleep. 

You pause, freezing on the spot and hold your breath as you wait for him to wake. 

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

When he doesn’t stir and the light snoring begins again, you finish up with his ankles and make sure they’re fully locked in place. Carefully, you step to the side of the bed and bind his wrists in the same way, making it so that he’s stretched out in a starfish. Returning to the foot of the bed, you drink in the sight of him laid vulnerable and ready for the taking. A part of you wants to reach for your phone and take pictures, have an actual visual memory of this rather than allowing your mind to do that for you. And maybe you will when he’s balls deep inside your pussy.

You backtrack momentarily and collect your phone and panties, only to place them on the bedside table. The phone is now close enough for you to be able to reach for it while you’re straddling his hips and close enough for him to see that he’s that close to calling for help. So close yet so far. 

You can feel the way your thighs glide against one another as you begin to climb on the bed, lubricated by your own juices as the thoughts of what you’ll do to this man begin to take over. Inching forward, you kneel and settle between his spread thighs. Usually, you’d take your time with the men you slept with. Kissing up their thighs, over their stomach, flicking your tongue over their sensitive nipples and making them beg for you to take it further as you stroked them to a needy and whiny status. But, sadly, tonight you don’t have the time for such slow-paced foreplay. 

He’s still sleeping soundly when you press your hand to his bulge, surprised to find that the bulge was not all balls and a hint of dick until hard like with some, and even soft there’s good length to work with. You palm him, feeling the way he swells beneath your touch as blood rushes to the area. His hips tilt as he hardens, lips parting ever so slightly as a soft moan sound. Biting down on your lip at hearing those whimpers, you can feel your arousal growing even more and you force your hand to remain steady, stroking up and down as he hardens in your hand, the inches growing rapidly with every tens of seconds that you stroke him through his boxers. 

The front opens, allowing you to pull his now fully erect cock through it and you finally get to feast your eyes on his size for the first time. Long, thick and begging to be in your mouth; something you cannot refuse. He remains where he is, body barely moving but his breathing has certainly changed. Your hand continues to pump his full length, drawing pearls of pre-cum to leak at the slit and this is when you lean forward and swipe your tongue over the soft head. The tang of it spreads over your tongue, making you swallow it down and lick at the corners of your lips before you take him into your mouth. 

You manage only the first inch after the head, pausing as he whimpers, the muscles in his stomach tensing and his chest rises and falls faster as you continue. Bringing your lips back to the tip, you sink them back down, taking a little more of him this time as you press your tongue flat against his shaft. He throbs against where it can touch and the more you take within you, the more noise he makes until he’s rousing from his sleep. 

“I didn’t know you were coming over.” he croaks and begins to move his arm, no doubt intending to wipe the sleep from his eyes until he realises he cannot. Panic begins to rise in him. His eyes widen while he tugs on the restraints, cussing when they don’t give and keeps him firmly in place. The sight of him struggling within them makes you grin. 

“I told you I’d find you.” You whisper, hand gripping the base of his dick, the soft hairs that cover his pubic bone tickling against your fist as you look up at him. You bite on your bottom lip with glee, like you’re about to reveal a surprise that you’ve been keeping a secret for a long time. In a way, you are. “And it seems…” you trail off and give him a small suck before releasing him with a wet pop, “that you want me here.”

He can’t speak, he’s frozen in place, and you can feel the way his muscles tense up in his thighs. His cock twitches as a result and you see his stomach become more defined as his body becomes rigid. All he can manage is a pathetic head shake as his voice fails him.

“You’re mine and I told you I’d make you see that. Gonna show you just how made for you I am.” you tell him, your voice is nice, light, and cheerful. You pull your attention away from his fear-stricken expression and watch as your hand pumps up and down his shaft, eagerly licking away the dots that form once more. 

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