#brain better for now ty for the meds

[ace--of--swords]

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I finally tidied up the sketches.

#nadia satrinava #nadia the arcana #countess nadia #dia zine #brain better for now ty for the meds

[saetoru]

#𝐈'𝐌 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐋𝐋 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 (𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐎)

☰ SYNOPSIS ⋮ he doesn’t make a lot of good decisions, but ran thinks threatening you with a gun was one of his better ones. or basically haitani ran slowly falling in love with you every time he climbs through your balcony

— pairing ⋮ haitani ran x reader

— length ⋮ 10.6k words (my fault boss)

— contents ⋮ nsfw and 18+ content, fem! reader, mentions of blood, drugs, and violence (bonten activities), strangers to lovers, bonten! ran, jealous! ran, kind of slow burn-ish, mutual pining, stab wounds (on ran), med student! reader, he threatens you with a gun to patch him up rip, fingering, gun play, edging, dacryphilia, handjobs, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, pet names (princess, doll, pretty girl)

— notes ⋮ this is the most cliche thing i’ve ever written—and i’ve written a lot of cliche things. but i wanted to write at least one cliche gangster romance. ty ris and cat for hearing me ramble about this and reading over it ily <3

the first time ran comes to your apartment, it’s by mistake. he’s got a stab wound to his arm—from who, he doesn’t quite know, but he’ll sure as hell find out eventually—and a couple of cops tailing him. he doesn’t know what else to do but climb to the first-floor balcony of the apartment building behind him. 

your first-floor apartment’s balcony, that is.

scaling up the wall and climbing over the railing is easy enough, he’s got a great build and even better athletic ability—although, it does leave a searing sting in his wound and a throb up his arm that makes him stagger for a moment. and then he crouches under the little table you’ve set up for reading—there’s not much fresh air or wowing sights to intake in this side of the city, so all it’s really good for is to sit down and read at sometimes. 

he hears the cops turn the corner, listens as their footsteps pound against the sidewalk as they run, and then he grins to himself when the sounds become more and more faint, and it becomes more and more apparent that he’s lost them. he waits one more moment before standing—because being in this game as long as he has, with a name as big as his, he knows that being messy is nothing if not a gunshot to your head and the rest of your affiliates being  tracked down. so he waits a few minutes, chuckles through a gritted jaw from the pain at his victory, and he stands. 

and then he comes face to face with you. 

you stand there, staring at him through the glass with your mouth agape, eyes falling immediately to the blood on his arm and the small knife lodged in the skin through his sleeve, and you tremble. and now he’s doomed because you’ll scream, the cops will come running, and there’s no way he’s gonna scale back down in time to run away—nor does he think he has the stamina anymore. so he does the one thing he’s good at. sweet talk. 

and by that, he pulls out his gun and holds it to your forehead through the glass door—with a smile, though, that’s the part that makes it sweet. 

“alright, listen here woman. i won’t shoot your brains out if you don’t start causing a scene. deal?” he raises a brow, and you look almost like you’re seconds from taking the gun from out of his hands and pulling the trigger on yourself. it almost makes him feel a little bad. 

almost. 

“i-i…d-don’t worry, i’d never!” you quickly stumble over your words, frantically trying to persuade him you’re not going to make things worse and he won’t have a reason to splatter your brain all over your room for your family and friends to find. “i d-don’t even…it’s not like i care! you can do what you want,” you chuckle nervously, “seriously, i don’t judge. i’m totally not a judgey person, really. no tattling to any cops here,” you even make a show to zipper your mouth shut with your hand and throw away imaginary keys.

he almost snorts. to be quite honest, you’re kind of cute— in a pathetic and weak kind of way. and you seem to be trying to convince yourself more than him that you’re not a threat, but still, he lowers his gun. 

and since he’s not exactly known for being a good man—which is not without reason, either—and because he argues to himself he’ll never see you again and it couldn’t really hurt, he taps against the doorknob with the head of his gun. 

“open this door,” he demands, “unless you want me to shoot at the knob and let myself inside. then i won’t be nice, though,” he smiles with sickeningly faux sweetness. if he shoots at the door, the cops will definitely find him, and then he’ll definitely get caught. not before he’d have managed to kill you though, but something tells him knowing you’re dead won’t really make jail all that more enjoyable for him. 

but it doesn’t matter anyway because the threat is enough that it makes you gulp before you move to unlock the door. 

“p-please don’t hurt me, mister,” you sniffle, opening the door as you stare at him with watery eyes. 

ran doesn’t kill strangers, and he certainly doesn’t kill women and children. not that you know that, of course—and not that you have reason to believe it either. he’s sure you’ve spotted the bonten tattoo on his neck by now, and he knows it doesn’t really paint a great image for him in your head. bonten isn’t exactly known for having morals—however loose they may be—that leaves women and children out of it. but ran and rindou come to an agreement at young ages that the two of them would live by that rule, even if any organization they join doesn’t.

“i’ll let ya off the hook if my wound’s cleaned and my stomach’s full,” he spits—he doesn’t really talk to people this way, that’s more rindou’s style. ran is a bit smoother, purrs out saccharine words. the first thing you learn in this line of business is that drugs are easy to mask under sweet, sugary tastes. one wrong move and that drink you’re offered is the reason you’re tied up with a pistol pressed to your skull. that’s how ran likes to go about business, so sweet and undetected, the pistol is pressed against the back of your head before you even have a chance to realize it’s coming. 

“i don’t…i haven’t m-made dinner yet—”

“then you better get cooking,” he chuckles condescendingly, tapping his gun to your arm. you whimper in fear, and he almost feels remorseful…until his arm throbs again, worse than ever this time. he lets out a low groan in pain, hissing as he stares down at his injury, trying his best to assess how bad it is—until you reach forward and catch his attention. 

he takes a step back, and instinctively holds his gun up until you hold your hands up in surrender. gulping, you fumble over your words again. 

“i can…umm, i work in a hospital,” you say quietly, “i just…i can treat that,” you point to his arm, “it doesn’t look too bad, so don’t worry.”

ran stares at you for a moment in disbelief—how can someone so close to passing out, who stumbles over their words so much, work in such a stressful place under such pressure? but he counts his blessings and simply nods. 

“kay, get to it then, i don’t have all day.”

“it’s uh…it’s night,” you whisper, and then your eyes widen before you sputter. “s-sorry, i just…i have an awful habit of like…you know, being too literal when i’m nervous. my boss, she uh, she hates it. well, i think she hates me in general, but i—”

“you talk a lot,” he says bluntly, “it’d probably get you killed by now if it wasn’t me.”

“oh,” you squeak. this time, he does let himself snort in amusement. “my bathroom is this way,” you point to the door on the opposite side of the room. he waits a moment, watching as you simply stand before raising a brow. 

“feel free to lead the way.”

“oh, right!”

——

in your defense, you didn’t think someone would climb onto your balcony the same second you come home from work ready to cry your eyes out. whoever said get a job and be self-sufficient and work to be successful and be a woman-in-stem and all that other bullshit being a good idea was a liar. you are not defining your own future—because at this rate, you’re not even sure you’re gonna live long enough to have one. 

either the stress will cause you to drop dead in the middle of your shift or the lovely gangster man who forcefully broke into your home right before your breakdown will kill you. whichever comes first, your money’s on either one. 

you don’t usually act this pathetic. usually, you just bite your tongue and hold onto the long thread that is your patience. but this man has caught you in a very bad moment with a very bad situation and well…you’re only human. 

so you may be making a tad bit of a fool of yourself, but he seems to be decently approving of your actions if he’s whistling behind you as you gather the first aide kit in your bathroom. 

“tiny bathroom you got here,” he mumbles, peering over your shoulder as you gather disinfectant, and the bane of his existence—needle and thread to do stitches.

it causes you mild irritation because really, who does this guys think he is? he trespasses onto your property (it’s rented, but that’s not the point), interrupts your mental breakdown, holds a gun to your head, enters your home, demands your services and food, and now he’s nitpicking over the size of your bathroom? you almost wish the stab wound was over his heart and not his arm, just so you can tell him there’s nothing you can do and watch him bleed out over your sink with your own two eyes. 

but then there would be a dead corpse in your bathroom, and explaining how that got there would be an entirely new problem, and you’re not sure an aspiring healthcare professional can afford to have a smudge quite like this one on their record. so you keep yourself levelheaded—but that doesn’t mean you can’t be at least a little petty. 

“i’m a medical student,” you huff, “you try paying for a large bathroom and tuition.”

“touchy subject, huh?” he chuckles. ran glances around some more—there’s a towel with stethoscopes on it by the sink, he eyes it with an amused look. 

“that was from the hospital i work at,” you mumble when you notice where his eyes have wandered, “they gave those in a bag as a little welcome gift. i thought i might as well use it instead of buying one myself, you know?”

“right,” he nods, biting back another laugh, “saving money. i like it, it’s financially responsible.”

“it’s a cute towel,” you huff, pouting slightly. when you’re not nervous and seconds from passing out from fearing for your life, you’re funny, ran decides. in an unintentional, rambling type of way. it’s kind of cute, but also entirely too naive—which is dangerous in a city like this.

“it is,” he nods seriously—because really, it kind of is. the stethoscopes have hearts on them. “so, what made you decide to be a med student? you love people? wanna be a hero? you have a passion for helping those who need—”

“i didn’t know what else to do,” you shrug, “so i picked it, and now i’m in too deep to back out.”

that’s not the answer he was expecting, but somehow, he likes it better than his guesses. it’s not that disgustingly self-righteous talk of giving back to the world or doing good for others he was prepared to hear. and in a world that doesn’t offer any good, he’s glad you’re not naively handing it out for free. 

“so how—”

“give me your arm,” you cut him off, and now there’s a completely new side of you that he’s seeing—which is funny considering he’s known you for five minutes tops, but by now he’s seen you go from terrified to bashful to now serious. he figures this is the work side of you, the side that actually does seem equipped to shoulder working at a hospital—he has to hand it to you, you seem quite suited for the field. 

“here you are, milady—ow, fuck, that shit stings,” he hisses, clenching his teeth as you pull the knife and begin to clean the wound. 

“for someone who’s in the most feared gang in the nation, you’re kind of a pussy when it comes to injuries.”

“the fuck did you just call me?” he growls, sweat collecting on his forehead as he lets out labored pants. now it’s your turn to chuckle, and ran decides that since your laugh isn’t the ugliest, he’ll let this slide. 

that and his arm really fucking hurts. 

“i said you’re pussy when it comes to injuries,” you grin.

“not takin’ shit from the same woman that cried like five minutes ago. please don’t hurt me, mister,” he mocks, voice turning a pitch higher to imitate your voice as he fake sniffles to reenact your moment of weakness. rolling your eyes, you shoot him a light glare. 

“they don’t hold guns at my face in the hospital,” you grumble, “excuse me if i was scared. and you aren’t the nicest when asking for help, you know. a please and thank you can take you a long way.”

“spare me,” he grumbles, “pleases and thank you’s don’t do shit in my line of work.”

“well, your line of work is what made you hold a gun to my head in the first place, so i already hate it.” he laughs—genuinely this time. not because you’re helpless or because you’re so awkward it’s entertaining. you pull a real laugh out of him this time, and it’s a boyish one, a bit too charming for someone who can kill you in under five seconds.

“true—”

“okay, done.” you interrupt as you tighten the stitches and tie the knot. he flinches a little as you pull on the thread to tighten your handiwork before registering what you just said—done.

“already?”

“aw, did my company entertain you enough to keep you distracted?” you tease. he realizes now that he’s been so busy bantering with you, that he doesn’t even realize you’ve started stitching him up, let alone finished. he has to admit, you’re definitely cut out for your job, even if you really don’t seem it at first.

“don’t flatter yourself, doll,” he grunts, letting you wrap his arm as he looks off to the side. now that he’s not worrying about the hunk of metal sticking into his flesh anymore, he’s a lot more aware of your proximity as you finish patching him up. 

it’s oddly comforting—he’s never really been patched up in a small bathroom with cute stethoscope towels. usually, it’s in bonten hideouts, with people they’ve hired to take care of injuries like this. that or he does it himself, he’s figured out how to treat at least a few injuries after all these years. but he’s never had someone so close in a setting that’s almost domestic, never had anyone hum as they clean up the medical kit, never had someone who pokes their tongue out a bit when they’re concentrated. 

but before he can internally curse himself for letting him enjoy something a little less rough than what he’s used to, you’re interrupting his thoughts. 

“so, dinner and then you’ll leave me alone, right?” you raise a brow. obviously, you’re not too keen on keeping him here for long—and that’s probably for the best, he rationalizes. 

so with a scoff,  he stands, shooting you a small glare. “nah, forget it. i don’t need dinner anymore.” you blink before furrowing your brows, and he walks towards the door. he stops for a moment before just barely looking over his shoulder to cast you a glance. “thanks for fixin’ up my arm.”

———————————————

for a while, you’re mildly offended he skipped dinner after he already got free medical service from you. arguably, if you had charged him for either, you’d have made a decent number off of the stitching, and you can’t help but roll your eyes that of course, he didn’t choose to bail on the more pricier of your (forced) free services. plus, he’s left drops of blood on your balcony that you had to scrub at and rinse away.

what an asshole. 

but still, a part of you kind of wishes maybe he’d have stayed for dinner—which is crazy, absolutely foolish. but he wasn’t bad company…at least when he wasn’t threatening to kill you, of course. and he didn’t even tell you his name, which you were kind of hoping you could ask over dinner. not because you wanted to get closer or anything, just that you feel it’s at least courtesy to tell someone your name after you trespass, threaten to kill, and then break in and demand help. 

really, he’s such an asshole. 

but life goes on, and you return to your shitty job with your shitty hours and your shitty boss. and it’s all back to normal for maybe…one week—and really, you probably should’ve figured that an encounter that’s as downright cliche and out of a novel as that one would lead to your life being anything but normal afterward, but for a small period of time you really let yourself believe. 

he’s back in one week with that grin on his face that makes you want to smash your head against the wall. and, because he’s just that taunting, he has the audacity to tap against the glass of your balcony door with that damn gun of his again. 

“i don’t suppose you’re here for a free physical now too, are you?” you huff as you open the door, making him grin at you widely as he lets himself in. he seats himself on your bed, spreading his legs widely in a way that almost seems inappropriate. he smirks a little when you quickly look away. “unfortunately this is not a free clinic.”

“i did not want a physical,” he chuckles, “but if you really wanna do one on me that bad, i won’t say no—”

“i’m calling the cops,” you spit. he only lays back against your mattress, hands behind his head as he snorts in amusement. 

seriously, how much of an asshole can a guy be?

“i’ll just shoot you,” he shrugs. “i’ve shot people for less.” somehow, the last part doesn’t feel like a lie, so you decide to drop the topic all together—you don’t really want to test the theory of whether or not he really will shoot you.

“what’re you here for,” you squint, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the floor at him like you’re waiting for an explanation he owes you. your ability to have so many personalities is truly astounding, ran thinks, you’re almost completely different from the sniffly and petrified woman he met just a week ago through the glass door—except you’re still kind of trembling from a distance away, a distance you seem keen on keeping.

“for dinner, of course,” he grunts like it’s obvious. “i had to cut our last date short, but i did say dinner was part of the deal. otherwise, i’ll just have to shoot you,” he says with a dramatic sigh. it almost makes your vein pop—of course, he picks the time convenient for him to snatch a dinner out of you, and of course, it has to be the night you decide to buy more pricey items from the grocery store to treat yourself for once. 

you’re almost certain that his bank account has more than enough funds, and even if it doesn’t, he really isn’t someone people would deny free services if they want to live—you can attest to that yourself, so you can’t imagine why he can’t just get dinner elsewhere. but still, you sigh before you let your shoulders slump and your arms drop to your sides. 

“it was not a date,” you firmly remind him, “but fine,” you grumble. “but the deal was dinner—and then you have to be out of my hair for good,” you warn. 

“of course,” he grins, winking at you. 

it’s not all too convincing, but you sigh and nod anyway. 

——

the rest of your apartment is just as small and cramped as your bathroom is, ran notes this almost instantly. it practically feels like the size of a storage closet in the bonten mansion, but he doesn’t tell you that. he might be a gangster, but he’s still got some manners in him. 

still, something about the little throw pillows you pile on the couch and the small glass figures you have on the tables makes him feel a bit more at home here than he ever has in the mansion. it’s small and cozy and it has what it needs, nothing more and nothing less. 

he likes it—thinks the couch might be a perfect spot for him to nap on occasionally. but just as the thought trespasses his mind, he shoves it back out with a frown on his face. he cannot be daydreaming about napping on your couch. 

“dinner almost ready?” he asks impatiently, head on his arms as he has them folded over your dining table. you chop vegetables and scowl, throwing him a dirty look as you scoff. 

“dinner doesn’t happen in ten minutes,” you roll your eyes. he mumbles something under his breath and you move back to chopping vegetables—and then you ask the question you’ve been waiting to ask. “what’s your name?” 

“what’s it to you,” he raises a brow. 

“i scrubbed your blood off my balcony floor, let you point a gun to my head multiple times, cleaned and stitched your injury for free, and now i’m letting you eat my dinner. you can either pay me the bills for your maintenance or you can tell me your name,” you snap, making his eyes twinkle with amusement as he gives you a lopsided smirk. it grates at your nerves, makes you want to grab him by his lilac hair like it’s the scruff of his neck and toss him off your balcony. 

but he hums before shrugging, “guess you’re right,” he admits. “haitani. haitani ran. you?”

“what’s it to you,” you mock his earlier statement, and he rolls his eyes in a way that can almost be described as fond. 

“i like to at least know the names of the people i shoot in the head,” he teases, and you contemplate if you’d be able to aim straight for his heart if you threw your knife at him right about now. but once again, that probably would end with a tarnished legal record, and you don’t really want to watch all your hard work wash down the drain for a man whose hair looks like he showed the Trolls movie poster as his reference photo. instead, you just huff and mutter out your name for him, which he repeats quietly as if testing the sound as it rolls off his tongue. 

“i’ve heard your name on the news,” you add, “you sure do have the cops running in circles for you, haitani ran.”

“‘s not like they’ll ever catch me,” he shrugs, “and if they get close, it’s not like they ever live long enough to get any closer.”

“that’s very reassuring to hear,” you say sarcastically, but either the sarcasm flies over his head, or he simply doesn’t care to acknowledge it. 

“no worries, i’m not getting caught any time soon,” he drums his fingers on the edge of your table, throwing you a cheshire grin as you toss the vegetables in the pan and stir. 

“very glad to hear that,” you scoff. 

“i’m sure,” he hums, chuckling lowly, “more dinners i can keep you company during.” 

you throw him a warning glance, making him turn away with a grin as he whistles. it gives you deja vu to the night in your bathroom, which almost instantly springs on a headache. in fact, you think ran might as well be a living, breathing, walking headache. 

“the deal was that you’d spare me and leave me alone if i cleaned your wound and fed you dinner. you never said anything about this being a regular thing.”

“well, that’s why you gotta read the fine print, they always got catches in them,” he retorts, and now you’re really considering throwing your knife at him. at this point, you don’t even care if it lands at his heart—as long as it lands somewhere. 

“there’s no fine print in a verbal agreement, asshole,” you spit. 

“i whispered it,” he winks, “it’s basically the same thing.” 

you’re starting to see why the police want to lock haitani ran behind bars so much, this man can’t possibly be allowed to wander freely amongst others—he’s horrendously bad for physical and mental wellbeings. 

———————————————

ran likes your cooking. it’s hearty and homely and tastes like something you’d make on a budget—but it’s still good and that’s why he likes it. 

it doesn’t taste like the expensive stuff he always eats, he doesn’t eat simple dishes too often—in fact, he can’t remember the last time he even had something simple to eat at all. it must’ve been back when he was younger, when he and rindou lived off of cup ramen and other snacks all the time, when they reveled in being able to eat all the junk food in the world without being told no. but even then, ran never got to eat a real home-cooked meal very often, and your cooking satiates a certain type of starvation he still suffers even after living such a lavish lifestyle. 

so he returns every once in a while, joins you for dinner as he sits at your tiny dining table and watches you cook, lets you complain about your boss and your patients and your classes as you add spices and stir the pot. he laughs, makes a joke or two, which then, of course, makes you laugh too, and he thinks he can get used to this. 

eventually, he starts leaving cash on the counter before he leaves to make up for all the extra grocery shopping you’re now doing to feed two mouths instead of one. he quietly leaves it there before you can say anything, and after a few back and forth arguments, you finally just let it be. if he could, he’d fund for you to move to a nicer apartment, something bigger, somewhere safer and a shorter distance from your work, somewhere where the balcony of your room isn’t just good for reading, but for some fresh air and a nice view of the city. but he knows you’ll never let him, and he doesn’t dare offer.

a short while after that, he even starts helping around the kitchen—which mostly only means he washes dishes and taste tests for anything the food might need because he’s not much skilled in doing anything else. but it’s nice, you form your own rhythm together, and it almost feels like he’s a well-knit piece to your carefully woven life. 

and he doesn’t threaten to shoot you anymore—even if he never really meant to in the first place. he ends up changing phones often, being in a criminal organization means he has to use burners left and right, but he always sends you a text every night he leaves and signs it with a water gun emoji. 

the first time he signs off with it, you tease him. great emoji for a gangster, you send, and you giggle when you all but imagine the scoff you know he must’ve let out. not my fault there’s no real gun emoji, he sends you back. it becomes a nice added bonus you look forward to with each visit. 

that, and getting away with making him do your dirty work. 

“ran, make yourself useful and help me carry these,” you point to a pile of books by your door. he raises a brow, staring at them like they’re too suspicious for him to touch. 

“what'dya need that many books for?”

“to study,” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “they just got delivered and they’re heavy. and seeing as you had no trouble climbing my balcony with a stabbed arm, you’re strong enough to lift these,” you point at the pile. he rolls his eyes and scoffs, but still, he reaches and easily lifts the pile that would take you maybe three trips on your own. 

“already got me being your little maid, huh?” he mutters, “washing dishes, carrying things around, what’s next? you gonna make me do your plumbing too?”

“can you do plumbing?” you giggle, “because then—”

“not happening,” he snorts, “nice try though, princess.” he sets the books down by the desk in your room, turning to flick the tip of your nose gently. it makes you crinkle it slightly before swatting his hand away. he thinks you look cute like that, nose crinkled and a soft grin tugged at your lips—blissfully unaware of how good you look. “you really need all these books to study? why can’t they just teach you the shit in class instead of makin’ you buy all this.”

“it’s additional aid that’s optional,” you inform him, like it’s common knowledge. but then again, you don’t think haitani ran is the type of guy who spent most of his time in school, let alone worrying about higher education. “but that almost always means it’s gonna be on the exams, so then it’s not really optional anymore,” you grumble. “college is a scam.”

“that’s why i just steal,” ran grins, “didn’t need college to pay my bills.”

“so then how do you have that cash you insist on leaving me for the groceries?”

“i steal that too, princess,” he snorts, “unless we get it from shit we sell—usually that’s stolen too.”

“i’ll stick to college then,” you mumble.

“probably for the best,” ran nods, almost a little too seriously. you raise a brow, and it makes a smile tug at his lips before he finally lets out the chuckle he’s been trying to fight back. “you would probably start cryin’ and turn yourself in after the first day.”

“would not,” you scoff, “i’m not stupid.”

“right,” he grins. “well, i’ll be on my way if that’s all the maid work ya need me to do for today. i’ll swing by tomorrow and—”

“oh, i won’t be home tomorrow,” you hum as you straighten out papers on your desk. he tilts his head, furrowing his brows a bit in confusion—and slight disgruntlement. 

in all honesty, he shouldn't be this irritated that you have your own plans and your own life, you really only see ran once a week—sometimes less than that if he’s exceptionally busy, or you’re loaded with work and school. but he can’t deny that there’s just a small bit of him that’s irked that your free time isn’t only reserved for him, even though he knows it’s highly irrational. 

“and why not?” he asks, trying to mask the unimpressed tone his voice desperately wants to lace with his words. 

‘because i—” you spin, to face him, grinning widely, “—have a date. and he’s cute. and,” you drawl with a sing-song voice, “he’s smart.”

“smart,” ran repeats. the word tastes acrid on his tongue. it fuels something in him that doesn’t come out too often, a part of him that’s hungry for something worse than a petty fight. something purely dangerous and purely violent—something ugly that only shows up when he’s in charge of taking down a traitor, or rindou’s been messed with, or he’s been disrespected by a subordinate. 

“yeah,” you nod, and you giggle—like he’s your friend and you’re telling him about some schoolgirl crush on the playground. he clenches his fist. “he’s really smart,” you say excitedly, “it’s really hot.”

“right,” he spits. “well, you have fun with that. i’ll see you…” he hesitates for a moment, trailing off before he ultimately doesn’t even care anymore, “i’ll see you when i see you.”

“what does that mean—”

the door to your room is closed shut, and a moment later, so is the front door. you stare at the spot he stood at just a moment ago in confusion, sitting in silence for a few moments before shrugging and turning to your textbooks. 

it’s alarmingly difficult to focus when you don’t get a text signed with a water gun tonight. 

———————————————

smart. 

the sound of your voice repeating that one word replays on his mind on loop—and he’s sick of this track, has been since he first heard it.

haitani ran is a lot of things, but he supposes smart isn’t one of them—which isn’t to say he’s stupid, he’s just not an academic guy like your supposed date. it makes his fists clench because he basically (sort of) has a domestic little life with you, and some asshole with a perfect gpa is pulling giggles out of you without even trying. ran would love to see the look on this guy’s face when he finds out that you and ran cook together—even if you do most of the cooking and all he really does is wash dishes. and he especially wants to see the look on the guy’s face at the fact that you make his favorite for dinner every time he visits. 

and at this point, rindou thinks everyone in bonten can tell something’s eating away at his brother, it’s crystal clear. it’s extra evident today because rindou is almost never the voice of reason, it’s always ran.

except right now—right now, haitani rindou is the voice of reason, and it’s alarmingly out of the ordinary. 

“bro, i think the guy’s had enough—”

“shut up, rindou,” ran grits, his baton slamming away at the very disfigured face under him. blood paints the concrete in splatters, and at this rate, rindou thinks the man’s face and the sidewalk might just become one with how violently his brother is thrashing away at the man’s head. 

“dude,” rindou tugs once at ran’s shoulder, and almost too easily, he’s able to pry him away. ran should never be this easy to pry away from an opponent. he casts a slightly concerned glance at the older of the two before he pulls ran to his feet and raises a brow. “the fuck’s gotten into you?”

“what do you mean? i’m fine,” ran grunts, spitting a mixture of blood and spit on the ground, rubbing away at the spot on his jaw where he’d been punched. it’s unlike him to start fights through hostility, ran has a charm to him that rarely lets things escalate unless they were meant to be escalated from the start. he sweet talks his way through any and everything, doesn’t involve himself until he absolutely has to—he never instigates a fight that lands him getting the first punch. 

“yeah, sure,” rindou scoffs, “fuck you. tell me or i’ll wrestle it out of you,” he threatens. 

“you won’t beat me,” ran raises a brow. in a way only a younger sibling can get away with, rindou flashes his brother the brattiest grin he can manage—which is rather bratty for a grown man in the largest criminal organization in the country.

“yeah i would,” rindou snickers, “you’d never hit me back. now what’s up your ass, bro?”

on any other day, ran would throw a (very soft) punch to his brother’s shoulder to prove rindou wrong, but he doesn’t care to at the moment—which only concerns rindou more. sighing, ran runs a bloodied hand through his hair. the sting of his knuckles reminds him of you, how you’d scoff as he holds them up at you, how you’d make some snide comment about your apartment not being a clinic and your services not being free, how even despite that, you’d carefully cradle his hand close to you as you’d clean the dried blood and disinfect the busted skin, how you’d stick your tongue out in concentration while ran would smile at the sight. 

and for a moment, it really hits him how much you have someone like him softened up for you—and that might be dangerous, but he thinks the even more dangerous part is that he doesn’t find it in him to care. 

he wants you, and whatever means he has to go through, ran thinks he’ll do it to have you. but he doesn’t think there’s anything he can really do, no matter if he uses his gun or baton or fists, if you don’t want him back. 

“is this to do with that girl?” rindou asks bluntly. throwing his brother a dirty look, ran scoffs as he shakes his head. 

“no, it’s nothing to do with that girl,” he grunts, “and she has a name.”

rindou snorts, looking his brother in the eye with amusement on his face that makes ran scowl. “yeah right,” he rolls his eyes, “that’s about as likely as this guy’s nose not being broken,” he deadpans, gesturing at the unconscious figure laying on the ground a few inches away. 

“man, fuck you,” ran clicks his teeth, letting out an irritated huff before looking off to the side. it’s quiet for a moment before he finally grunts lowly. “fine. she’s got a date,” he mutters, barely audible. 

rindou must hear it though because he offers a slow, sympathetic nod as he takes in the words. 

“damn, sounds like it sucks.” ran almost wants to scoff at the words. you think? he wants to spit, but he doesn’t have the energy to start an argument. “you should probably…i don’t know, maybe just tell her how you feel?” rindou raises a brow. he’s judging ran a little bit, he can feel it.

now ran really does want to start an argument because who does rindou think he is, acting like this is as easy as he thinks? 

if it were that easy for ran to admit he cares, he wouldn’t let you walk alone from work to your apartment at night on this side of town just because it saves you a bit of money. if it were easy, he wouldn’t let your boss take advantage of you to work hours you don’t want to work when he could easily drop in a little threat. if it were easy, he wouldn’t let you go on a date with a smart-ass know-it-all who probably lives off trust funds and his parent’s money on a joint bank account—even if ran is a wanted criminal and isn’t much of a better option. 

but it’s not easy. and he doesn’t quite know how to tell you no one can touch you as long as he’s around, that as far as he’s concerned, no one can give you what he can as long as he’s around either—and he should be the only one that can actually stick around. 

“shit’s not that simple,” ran spits. and once again, rindou is alarmingly the voice of reason—twice now.

“could be,” he shrugs, “if you just grew a pair.” 

the man on the ground groans slightly, and ran swiftly gives his crotch a kick before walking off. 

———————————————

the date was boring. you don’t talk to the guy again.

but more importantly, ran hasn’t shown up in about three weeks. that’s twenty-one days. five hundred and four hours. a number of minutes you don’t feel like calculating—but you know the number is high, and you’re mad. 

you’re mad the first week because you brought a bunch of groceries to try a new recipe. it was good, and you think ran would really like it. you think he must be busy with whatever work a criminal does, so after waiting a while and realizing he’s not showing, you pack it up nice and tight in a little container, write his name on a sticky note, and after much contemplation, you add a small heart next to his name with a smiley face in the center. he doesn’t show, and eventually, you eat his portion for dinner before it goes bad. 

you’re mad the second week because you’ve got loads to tell him, and he’s not here to fucking listen. your boss has been promoted, which means you have a new boss, and this one is finally a reasonable one. you’ve also found out your final replaces your lowest exam score for one of your classes, and you’re thinking about saving up to buy your professor a cruise ticket for his kindness. and now that your semester is almost over, you’ll finally have a little more free time. ran needs to hear all this, and you’re increasingly irritated he’s not here to poke fun at your “mundane” joys as he grins against his glass before taking a sip. 

by the third week, you’re mad because you’re hurt. it’s apparent by now that haitani ran, the asshole who broke into your apartment and threatened to shoot you in the head, who not only got free medical services off of you but also free dinner a number of times, who made himself a part of your life against your will by incessantly tapping away at the glass of your balcony door no matter how long you try to ignore him, is avoiding you. he’s avoiding you, and it’s starting to leave an ache in your chest he never should have the opportunity to leave. and now you’re mad because not only has he hurt your feelings, but also because you’re foolish and naive and all the things he called you before for falling in love with someone like him. 

so you curse his name, wipe your tears—you refuse to admit you cried over him, so you tell yourself it’s just stress from work and school—and you sit down at your desk to do some studying. you are defining your future, even if it’s one overpriced textbook and one underpaid work shift at a time. 

but then there’s a tap at your balcony door and you almost contemplate calling the cops. but like clockwork, before you can even realize it, your feet are padding against the floor as you walk to open the door. 

“stupid fucking haitani ran,” you mutter, “doesn’t he know i’m fucking studying? and i fucking hate him?”

he has the audacity to scowl at you through the glass when you pull the curtain of your door—if you stood a chance against him, you’d have killed him by now. 

“well that only took forever,” he grunts, “hurry the fuck up, it’s cold out here.”

“you can freeze then,” you spit, crossing your arms. “because this door is staying closed,” you say firmly.

“then i’ll fuckin’ shoot the doorknob in and let myself inside, you choose,” he glares at you, and because he’s an asshole—because he always has been an asshole, he pulls out his gun. “then i won’t be so nice when i come in,” he offers you a faux grin. 

“then do it,” you raise a brow. 

for a second, he’s shocked. he didn’t think you’d actually challenge him—and you’d win this challenge of course, but still, he didn’t think you’d actually do it. 

“open this fuckin’ door, princess,” he squints his eyes at you. 

“where have you been, haitani ran?” you don’t back down. your hands are on your hips, your brows are furrowed and your lips are curled into a frown, and you’re calling him by his full name like you mean business—and it all means you’re mad at him, and he should apologize. 

but all he can really feel is a tad bit excited because that must mean you missed him. like his absence meant something to you like it meant something to him. 

he grins, you scowl deeper, and he grins a bit wider at that. 

“oh is that it?” he grins, “did you miss me, princess? is that why you’re mad? you defini—”

the door opens all too quickly, and you’re coming forward with a finger prodding at his chest accusingly as you glare at him—face to face this time with no glass separating you. 

“listen here, you asshole—”

you’re cut off by a kiss. haitani ran has the audacity to wrap his stupidly muscled arms around you, pull you flush against his stupidly firm chest, and press his stupidly soft lips to yours. and what’s worse? you let him. you let your eyes close, hands fist his shirt, and mouth mold against his. 

he kisses rough, but still like you’re fragile. he bites and sucks on your bottom lip and drinks the oxygen from your lungs, but he cups the back of your head and rubs the small of your back. he groans against your mouth and lets his tongue explore you with heated passion, but he lets out a soft sigh every time your fingers smooth through his hair. he’s everything you want—painfully so, and you hate it. 

so you kiss him deeper to forget. 

“i’m listenin’, princess,” he chuckles lowly against your mouth, nose bumping against yours as he looks you in the eyes. if you weren’t sure your eyes were just as hazy as his, you’d be proud of yourself for the way his pupils are so unfocused. “but i think you’re a bit distracted,” he grins smugly. 

he’s an asshole—has been since you met him. you don’t think that’s ever going to change at this point. 

“fuck you,” you spit. 

“you wanna?” he grins, “won’t say no,” he says as he pecks along your jaw, pressing hot, searing kisses to your neck before he nips gently at the skin, sucking into it until a small mark starts to form that makes you let out a quiet gasp. “won’t say no to you—ever,” he grunts. 

“where have you been?” you repeat, fisting his shirt tightly as he moves onto the other side of your neck. 

“you enjoy your little date?” he pulls away and looks you in the eye again, and you almost whine at the loss of his lips from your skin. instead, you notice the way he masks his hurt with a teasing grin. “did he help you study while you waited for the food?”

“he was boring,” you admit, cupping his cheek. ran presses closer against your palm, watches you carefully while it’s your turn to press gentle kisses along his jaw, how you take your time kissing the corners of his mouth before you press one soft, lingering kiss over his swollen lips. his breath hitches at that. “i don’t think he even owns a gun,” you smile, “how boring.” 

he grins at that, lets out a soft chuckle before his smile widens and the chuckle turns into a boyish little laugh, coming right from his chest that you feel vibrate against your own. 

“yeah?” he teases, “not as innocent as you seem,” he reaches behind him to close the door shut before he has you pushed onto your mattress, hovering over you with a smirk on his face. he pulls out his gun—you’ve seen it so many times before, but this time there’s no dread. it just makes you fill with excitement, excitement that pools as slick between your legs. “this thing here makes me interesting, huh?” he dangles the gun over your face. 

you nod, gasping when he chuckles and loops a finger under the waistband of your pajamas. 

“hips up, princess,” he hums, pulling the fabric down your legs as soon as you do, grinning at the way you're so wet already, making him chuckle before he presses the barrel of his gun to your head. “bet this excites you, huh?” one hand holds the gun to your temple, the other travels down to your clit, his thumb teasingly rubbing slow circles against it and making you whimper. 

you’re dripping, he can see trails of your slick glistening against the insides of your thigh, and he can feel his cock twitch at the sight alone. slowly, his fingers tease against your entrance, making you whine before your hips buck to get more of him. 

“ran, ran please,” you gasp, staring up at him with a pout on your face and his gun to your head. and you look fucking perfect. 

he groans, slips his fingers into your tight walls, and watches as your face goes slack with pleasure at the intrusion. he curls his fingers into you, letting his palm glide against your clit before angling to find your spot. you gasp before letting out a breathy whine, trying to match his rhythm with your hips before he presses the barrel of his gun harder against your skull as he stops his fingers. you whimper at the loss of movement. 

“no moving,” he growls, “you’ll take what i give, ‘kay princess?” you nod, staring up at him with wide eyes as he bullies his digits into your cunt, try your best not to move and just take it while his gun is right there against the side of your head. you close your eyes, moaning when he slams his fingers against your sweet spot, feeling the slow drag of his palm over your sensitive clit. 

he fingers you slowly, takes his sweet time and watches you writhe under him as you fight your body to keep from moving. you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt this good, the last time something has excited you this much and left you breathless from just the thought alone. you mewl when he slams against your spot over and over, and ran listens like each whine from your mouth is the note to a song you wrote just for him. you serenade and he listens, that smug grin on his face that you want to kiss off. 

“feels…oh god, feels good, ran,” you encourage, making him chuckle quietly as he rolls his thumb over your clit. you’re practically sucking his fingers in on your own, walls tight as they flutter around his digits—he can only imagine how you’d feel around his cock. but he wants to take his time with you, get to know you in and out like he has for weeks now. 

he likes the sound of your voice when you ramble over dinner, and he likes the sound of your voice when you moan on his fingers, and he thinks he’ll like the sound of your voice as you wake him up in the mornings. 

“don’t cum yet, baby,” he warns—because that’s just how ran is. he’s that sweetness you mask drugs with until you wake up with the barrel of the gun pressed to your skull, that soft glimmer in the grass of what you think is something shiny, but turns out to be the scales of a serpent waiting to sink its fangs into your skin. “you’re not cummin’ till i say so,” he hums, “gonna make sure i wipe that date from your memory.”

“p-please, ‘m gonna…’m so close—no,” you shriek, latching onto his wrist with your hands as he stills his fingers. he laughs at the way your lips wobble and your eyes tear up—and he grins all cocky at the way your walls flutter around his fingers while they’re stilled inside you. “please, ran,” you sniffle. 

“please what?” he asks like he doesn’t know. “use your words, princess.”

“please, wanna cum,” you whine, “keep going,” you roll your hips for added emphasis, and he presses his gun a little harder against your head as another warning. 

“anyone ever touch you like this?” he asks, pulling his fingers out and making you sob quietly at the loss of his fingers keeping you full. he teases over your clit, making you pant harshly as your thighs quiver. more, you need more—and he knows it too, gives you just enough that it’s not enough at all. “anyone ever make you feel like this? or get you this wet?”

“no, just you,” you insist, “no one else.”

“good,” he nods approvingly, and then his fingers slip into you once more, fucking into you hard and fast, making you throw your head back as you mewl. he tosses his gun to the side, creeps his hand up your shirt—he’s pleasantly surprised to find you’re not wearing a bra, so he squeezes and pinches at your nipple, rolling it between his fingers and watching as you squeal. 

your hips are bucking against his hand now, the wet sound of his fingers bullying in and out of your pussy filling the room before he rubs harshly at your clit again. and then you cum, hard. your back arches, and you let out a quiet sob of his name that makes his cock ache in his pants as he watches your face break with your orgasm. he leans down and kisses you, lets you whine against his mouth. he drinks in your moans like he’s thirsty, like you’re the first drop of rain after a cruel drought. 

“oh—f-fuck, ran,” you cry, spasming around his fingers before your hips fall back onto the mattress and your chest heaves with labored pants. you peer up at him as you come down from your high, and he looks down at you and meets your gaze. 

he’s quick to pull his shirt over his head, letting you take in his tattoos through hazy eyes, watching slowly as your fingers lifts to trail over the lines and dips as you map his body. he shivers a little when you trace down the middle where the pattern is cut off. 

“my brother has the other half,” he tells you quietly. you stare up at him in awe—it aches a little in his chest. 

“it’s perfect,” you hum, “you have a whole side to dedicate to me now,” you grin cheekily, pulling a warm chuckle out of him before he leans in to kiss you again. and again and again. his lips press onto yours as soon as you pull away. 

“would that make you happy?” he grins, “having your face on my chest?”

“not my face,” you scrunch your face in distaste. he grins, kisses the tip of your nose. “that’s just weird. but you should definitely get my name. big bold letters,” you wink. 

“big bold letters, huh? i’ll keep that in mind,” he muses. you giggle, and he kisses you again, humming against your mouth as you wrap your fingers around his hair and tug gently. 

you let a hand travel between your bodies, slipping past his pants to grab his cock. ran groans against your mouth, eyes fluttering shut as you smear the pre cum weeping from his tip along his length, wrapping your hand around him and stroking him a few times. he moans lowly, helping you slip his pants down his hips to fully expose his cock. 

“fuck, princess,” he pants, rutting his hips into your fist, grunting when you squeeze the tip with each upstroke of your hand. he’s thick, heavy in your hand aching for the friction. you watch his jaw clench as you pump him slowly, watch as his forehead presses against yours and strands of his purple hair fall over his face to curtain his features. he looks pretty, like he’s yours, like he climbs through your balcony and comes home to you and your arms. 

“next time i go on a date,” you mumble. he stiffens before cursing under his breath when you glide your thumb through his slit, “i wanna go with you.” 

he moans softly, pants into your neck as his face falls to the crevice by your shoulder, muffles his sounds against your skin as you drag your palm along his pulsing cock, rolling over his tip before stroking down again. his hips are bucking to chase the friction of your hand, the squelching noise of your hand pumping him and his choked grunts filling the room. 

“princess,” he groans, a hand coming on top of yours and gently forcing you to stop. you furrow your brows, but he pulls you back in for a brief kiss as he collects himself. “didn’t wanna cum yet,” he mumbles against your mouth, pressing a quick peck to the corner of your lips, “that’s for later—when i’m fillin’ you up so you know who you belong to.”

your breath hitches, and he grins when you whine his name, letting his hands squeeze your hips before he pulls your shirt over your arms and slips it off of you. he leans down, tongue rolling over your nipple, hand coming to cup your other tit and roll a thumb over the pebbled nipple so it’s not neglected. you gasp, throwing your head back as you moan, the dull ache between your legs returning as your clit throbs. he kisses between the valley of your breasts before taking the other nipple in his mouth, switching places with his hand and repeating his earlier actions until you’re tugging at his hair with a plea. 

“ran, ran please—please, i need you,” you beg, making him let out a breathy chuckle in amusement. 

“yeah? need me to fuck this pussy, baby? need me to make you cum?”

“please,” you whimper, lips pulling into another pout. ran learns two things—you like being spoiled, and he likes spoiling you rotten. because with just a simple pout and a bat of your lashes, he’s groaning before he strokes his cock a few times, lining up with your entrance.

your hips are greedy, raising up to get more of him, but he grunts and pushes you back with a warning glance, making you pout again. you both gasp with a shudder when he teases his fat tip along the slick folds of your cunt, dragging it along slowly before pushing into inch by inch. you mewl, arms flying to wrap around his neck and cling to him while he lets out a deep groan, panting at the way your walls constrict around him and all but suck him in. 

“fuck, baby. so fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, “feel so good, pretty girl.” 

“think i’m pretty?” you still have it in you to throw him a teasing remark even as he’s bottomed out, which only makes him want you more, only makes him want to come home to you every night instead of once a week—sometimes less than that.

“think you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says instantly, “next man who tries asking you out’ll get shot in the head. swear it.”

“don’t worry,” you kiss the side of his head. he melts at the gesture, head tucking into your neck again. “only you.”

with that, he snaps his hips, pulling a soft moan from you and a choked groan from him before you’re both rolling your hips against each other. your hips snap against his, the sound of his cock slipping in and out of your wet heat and your skin slapping ringing through your ears as ran ran pants into your skin. the sound of his breathy moans makes your walls flutter around him, clit throbbing until his thumb catches it to rub slow circles. 

“g-god—ran, like that,” you squeal, making him grin against your neck, thrusting his hips sharply and kissing the head of his cock with your sweet spot. it makes you dig your nails into his shoulder blades, makes him hiss with pleasure at the slight mix of pain. 

“like that? that feels good, princess? my cock makes you feel that good? you’re fuckin’ dripping, you know,” he smirks, and if you weren’t so lost of the drag of his thick veins along your walls, you’d have been embarrassed by his words. 

“yes, yes,” you mewl, “make me feel good—so good!”

“yeah, i bet i do,” he chuckles, “pussy’s squeezin’ me in,” he teases, “i don’t even have to do anything.” he angles his hips to slam into your spot again, making your legs wrap tightly around his waist as your thighs quiver. his thumb rubs harshly against your clit and you feel tears slip past your cheeks as you tug at the roots of his hair. “fuck—you feel so good, princess. so t-tight, not gonna last long,” he pants. 

“c-close,” you cry. ran fucks you like he hasn’t committed crimes and doesn't have sins that taint his name. he fucks you like you’re an angel—like he deserves an angel, like he’s got one foot over the gates of heaven and there’s nothing to tug him back to hell. he pulls your body close and cradles it to his chest like the weight of you in his arms outweighs the weight of his crimes, like the sins of every person he’s hurt are undone with the slam of his hips into your heat. 

he fucks you like he’s loved you in this life and the last—like you’re gifted to him in this life and he promises to find you in the next. 

most of all, ran fucks you like he owes you for the healed scar on his arm, like he owes you for the warm home-cooked meals and the sweet laughs behind the rim of a cheap glass. like he owes you for the silly texts at three am and empty threats of not landing himself in jail in disguise for your worried concerns. like he owes you for the constant ache in his chest that’s replaced the vacant spot—because he loves the ache, and he loves you. 

so he groans into your skin, peels his face from the crook of your neck, and presses his lips to yours and he kisses you like he loves you. because he does. he loves you like he loves climbing through your balcony and invading your dinner plans. he loves you. 

“me too, baby,” he pants, voice lilting to a soft whine as you squeeze around his cock, pleasure burning through his spine in a slow build-up until it’s everywhere at once. “god, i love you, baby,” he rasps, the words spilling before he can even realize he’s said them. 

it’s not until you repeat them back that he realizes what he’s said. “love you too, love you too, ran. so much,” you sob. and with a few more harsh rubs of his thumb over your clit, you come undone with a loud sob, hips rising from the mattress and head tossing back against the plush of the pillow beneath you. “fuck—ran, oh god.”

“sh-shit, ‘m close,” he breathes, “g-gonna make me cum, princess.”

the fluttering of your walls as you ride out your high makes him reach his, letting out a choked grunt of your name against your mouth before he lets out a wanton moan. he cums hard, filling you up with thick ropes of his release, and you feel his cock twitch in you through each one. you whimper against him as he fucks you through his orgasm, letting him fill you up and paint your walls white before he pulls out with a shaky breath and collapses over your body. 

he blankets you with his weight, and you pull him closer like you’re tucking yourself in. it’s silent for a bit, comforting and sweet as you both linger in the bliss. 

“i’m still mad at you for avoiding me,” you whisper against his bare skin. he scoffs, wrapping his arms tighter around your figure. 

“and i’m still mad you went on a date with another man,” he grumbles. 

“so then stop being mad and take me on one yourself,” you say back with a huff.

“if you go on a date with me, it means you gotta let me start walkin’ you home after work,” he warns. you smile to yourself, elated. 

“deal.”

“and you gotta let me threaten that shitty boss of yours.”

“can’t. i got a new one,” you hum, stroking through his sweaty locks and scratching at his scalp, “this one’s nice. you’d know if you didn’t stop coming to visit.”

“i don’t wanna come to just visit,” he grunts. “you gonna give me keys to your door?”

“you’ll come every night?” you raise a brow, and he nods against your chest, pressing a soft kiss to the skin near his lips. you smile into ran’s hair, his weight in your arms and his heart in your hand. “okay, deal.”

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

#teepods.writings #thirstee! #fics. #ran x reader #ran x you #ran smut #haitani ran x reader #haitani ran x you #haitani ran smut #tr x reader #tr x you #tr smut #tokrev x reader #tokrev x you #tokrev smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers smut

[ecoamerica]

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[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/744798398911266817/a-question-a-bit-out-of-the-usual-ones-but-do-you?source=share

NB, vagina owner, sensory processing issues haver, took several years of effort to learn to orgasm, heres some tips;

Psychology is a BIG aspect of being able to get off for some people. Some people really need to be 'in the mood' at first. The Need To Be Horny. Really into what they are doing and what they are imagining. You need to be able to let go and lean into the sensation, mentally. Try watching or reading things that turn you on, really wind yourself up for a bit, then ensure you arent going to be interrupted and give it a shot. Really focus on your fantasy, try to really focus on the sensation and don't get sidetracked. It can make a difference for sure. Its why some people can 'cum on command'- the frame of mind is important.

Being used to the sensation you need to lean into can take work. When I first started jerking off it was so intense it 'hurt' because I have sensory processing issues and it was new weird stimulus my brain decided to register stupid, so id slow down or stop or get distracted and not get off. I had to teach my body to accept the feeling and do it in a way that didnt mess with my sensory processing as much (which ironically involved causing a little pain and being a little rough because phsyical-pain isnt severely uncomfortable the way discomfort-pain is). When you are used to it you also relax more and get into the right frame of mind. The feeling like your guts are tensing and building towards something, maybe a hazy sort of liquid fire in your skull going down your spine? Keep chasing that, really focus on it. That means you are heading in the right direction. It took me several years of dedicated kind-of edging before the feeling stopped being so intense it prevented me from making it to the other side.

Try different stuff. You might not like how you are doing things right now. If all youve done is penetration with your fingers, try clitoral. If all you've done is a gentle stroking motion, try a jerk-off motion if you can get your fingers around your clit, or a kinda rough grinding. If you usually keep your body still, try humping the whatever for the heady 'lose yourself in the moment'. If you usually move around, try being still so you dont distract yourself too much from the intensity. If you are always on your back, try your stomach or side or kneeling upright. Toys! Try rubbing different textures on your clit or getting a real toy like a strong vibrator or sucker. Cheap 20$ vibrators can do the job if you need something a bit better than your hands, but you may have to step up for the good intense shit or a fancy vibrating dildo or something. Try different kink stuff you imagine or do or watch like self-ties for bondage or hypno kink audio files* or whatever, try some 'foreplay' (touch your tits or somesuch). Some people like anal also. Figure out what feels nice -what puts you in that tense shivery-hot coiled-spring sorta feeling- and do that- dont just do what you think you 'should' do.

/* For safety prelisten to these in chunks or look at a script to be sure its what you want and always keep scissors near you if you are self-tying to get free if there is issues, do kink safety right dont stick anything up your ass you could lose, etc etc

Finally, some people just cant cum for whatever reason (meds, trauma, etc) and thats ok. So long as you are enjoying the sensation and having fun, you are masturbating 'correctly'.

--

[neatandniffty]

{ FYI idk how active I'll be today considering I don't have any of my epilepsy meds left. I had to get new insurance and they wanted to charge me ONE THOUSAND DOLLHAIRS for it and my prescription says fill as written so they couldn't give me the generic. I had to call my dr and get a new prescription for generic and they couldn't get it done in time.

So now I have to raw dog brain activity today and will probably be quite useless to the world. Cross your fingers I don't die! = )

(that's an actual legit concern and not as hyperbolic as you would want it to be lol so please send good thoughts ty)

Please send in dance requests since today is the last day! I'll draft them all and reply when I'm feeling better. }

#{break time : ooc}

[crowborn666-writes]

ah, I'm sorry to hear you're a bit ill, I hope you'll get better the soonest! and if you don't mind a jiro request, then here's my idea:

fem!reader x jiro. They're both pretty introverted but have an interest in one another. Reader has been interested in jiro for a while now, but they never had more interactions than awkward hellos and brief little chats here and there. Obviously, reader wants to get to know her and stuff, but she just keeps on telling herself she's far too out of my league/perfect for me, there's no way she'll like me back, etc. However, little does she know that jiro feels the exact same way and that she really wants to initiate more interactions with her too. Somehow, it works, and thanks to both jiro's and the reader's efforts they grow closer over time and they develop crushes on each other.

Bonus points if there's a confession scene, although you don't have to write it if you don't feel like it! Also: take all the time you want/need, I understand how pressuring requests can be so no worries about the time! Take care of yourself :)

Switched

(Ty for the get well wishes ‘Tenshi! ❤️ doin’ better sickness wise, harvest season is never kind. Finally got into a doctor tho and got put on some bipolar meds, hoping to get ahold of a therapist/psychologist soon too. In other news, apologies this took so long! Writers block iS A BIT—)

(Hope it’s okay I switched up the request a teeny bit! I was trying to figure out how to start and my brain screamed “VALENTINES DAY”)

Kyoka Jiro x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Romantic

Summary: Jiro is way out of your league, you know that. But you can’t help but still try.

Have a vibe: Coyote - Mako

~~~~~~~

You were dreading February. Not only were you fearing another lonely Valentine’s Day, you were afraid your crush would be scooped up by someone else. Your crush in question?

Kyoka Jiro.

You were so afraid she wouldn’t be interested, too afraid to pass along the handcrafted note you had made just for her.

So the days passed by, brief interactions with Jiro resulted in passing hellos and small conversations on current events or your favorite songs that had just come out. Music was one thing the both of you could agree on, often finding yourselves in the dorm kitchen jamming out while making dinner together.

You adore those moments, feeling like you could just be yourselves in those moments, no awkward hellos or forced polite body language like you both would in the hallways of the school.

You would bop and move to the beat of the music, Jiro singing in the background while you chimed in with the words you knew well.

When Denki and Mina would set up karaoke night, and you and Jiro got the confidence, you both would find yourselves in a singing battle with your own little groups of cheerleaders behind you.

You found yourself subconsciously doing or making things that you knew Jiro would like. Like using her favorite colors in a bracelet you made once while hanging out with Ochako. Or seeing a piece of clothing and first wondering Jiro would like it, rather than if you liked it.

In the moments you did hang out with Jiro you both along well once the walls were down.

But Valentine’s Day was growing closer and closer, with each passing day students were getting more and more excited. Many talked about going on dates with their partners, others talked about spending the afternoon with close friends, some even debating a confession.

You were one of them, staring down at the handmade card you’d carefully tucked into your backpack with increasing worry and doubt.

“So who’s the card for, (Y/n)?”

You practically jumped a foot in the air, head snapping up to see Denki glancing between you and the card, the electric boy smiling like a cheshire cat with his cheek resting on his palm.

“W-What’s it matter?” You stammered, face heating up as you tugged your bag a bit closer.

Denki passed you a knowing glance and a raised eyebrow, glancing between you and Jiro now, voice hushed. “Just tell her! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I get horribly rejected and become a laughing stock.” You replied bitterly, nerves flaring at the eye roll he gave you in response.

Oh if only you hadn’t smashed your fingers in your previous hero training class, you’d reach out and flick him in the forehead.

Maybe you’d ask Bakugo to do it for you later.

Class passed by soon enough, and lunch rolled around. You gathered up your stuff after having asked Aizawa a question, standing up straight and turning only to smack right into someone in the doorway.

You heard your bags hit the floor, and your eyes opened to see Jiro standing there.

“Gah—I-I’m sorry!” She stammered, flushing a bit with embarrassment, “I left something at my desk and wasn’t paying attention to where I was going!”

“It’s okay.” You replied, hoping you didn’t sound breathless. You both crouched to retrieve your things, you quick to snatch your card before Jiro could see it.

Jiro soon stood once again with her things, stammering out an apology once more before moving to her desk.

Classes went by without any other issue, your attention too ensnared by the lessons to truly focus on your interaction with Jiro earlier. A heavy sigh left you when you got back to your dorm room, setting your backpack down and beginning to dig out your homework.

A frown etched onto your face, you were coming to terms with failing to confess when your eyes landed on the card.

Wait…

You didn’t use this shade of purple paper to make the card…

Dread filled you so quick you could’ve sworn you were gut-punched by All Might himself. You shuddered at the thought of Jiro finding the card you made for her, hands shaking as you carefully picked up the card.

You had a card Jiro made, and Jiro had the card you made for her.

Your brain running a mile a minute, you were thinking of ways to avoid devastating rejection. Maybe she hadn’t seen the card yet, and you still had time to switch them.

Your eyes caught the name on Jiro’s card, and you felt your breath stutter.

Your name was written on the card.

Your eyes flitted over Jiro’s neat handwriting, words of hopefulness and love greeting you. A knock on your door ripped your attention away from the card, Jiro’s flushed face standing in your partially open doorway.

In her hands was the lavender, heart shaped card you had made.

“I…” You watched as Jiro took a breath, her face tilted up from the paper to look at you, voice gentle and soft. “I like y-you too…”

A hitch of breath left your throat, face heating up as your feet moved on their own, carrying you to her and allowing you to get close enough to embrace her, words tumbling out of your mouth like a waterfall breaking through a dam.

“I was so worried you wouldn’t… w-wouldn’t like me too!”

Jiro was quick to return the embrace, warm cheek pressed to your own. “I’m a bit glad our cards got mixed up, I was honestly so afraid to give it to you…”

“Same here.” You let out a laugh, watching as Jiro pulled back to take your hands in hers, being conscious of your lightly bruised fingers.

“What do you say about a music jam until dinner?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

#mha #bnha #fluff #bnha fic #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fic #fem!reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bnha jirou #mha jirou #kyoka jiro #jiro x reader #jiro kyoka x reader #jiro x f!reader #mha x female reader #bnha x fem!reader

[bipresso]

hi, this is a brain dump blog. its for myself more than anyone else.

i have bipolar II and can't stop writing so much goddamn shit. i made this account cuz my (hypo)manic ramblings have taken over my main accnt.

General About Me:

nonbinary (xジェンダー)

i live in japan

ミックスルーツの日系人

Basic Mental Health Stuff:

I see psychiatrist & psychologist regularly. Japanese mental healthcare isn't as bad as people think and I hope maybe writing this will help ppl know that.

I been institutionalized once. It was a beautiful & peaceful break from real world, tho also mind-numbingly boring.

I take quetiapine since 2023

I manage anxiety with benzodiazepines since 2015

sleep meds since fall 2018

I have "light" PTSD managed by self-isolation, benzodiazepines, or distraction by drawing

Where I'm At (August 2023):

i quit alcohol march 2023. it began as a "break", but i srsly feel sm better when i'm not drunk or hungover, and regretting shit i barely remember.

i wasn't always wanting to focus on recovery. for a long time, i kept pushing forward trying to be "functioning". then i nearly destroyed myself, and now the pieces are all over the damn place 🤬

its v annoying that some family doesn't understand that I'm not just gonna "get better" one day and finally quit the meds, so I'm trying to educate them.

ty for reading. i hope you have a cute day full of nice feels 💖

#actually bipolar #hello tumblr #bipolar 2 #blog intro

[janggtoco]

hi dear honey !! it’s been a hot minute </3 may is kicking my ass

what’s up with you <3 how have you been?? i saw that you’ve become closer with some of your moots and to that i say I AM HAPPY 4 U it’s such a great feeling to be surrounded by pleasant people! also not sure if you were moots on your old blog but do you know/remember mushroom? i miss her </3 and many other caratblr blogs who left :/ tumblr is soooo . these days

i recently made the decision to quit med school lol 😭 i’m currently applying for a job for the FIRST TIME EVER with no relevant experience whatsoever because all my life i was on the pre-med -> med track……. what are corporate recruiters gonna do with my knowledge in pathology.. pls wish me luck 😫

hope you have a great week ahead 🩵🩵

🐻‍❄️

omg hi wonderful!! i was thinking about you this whole time fr!! i’m sorry your may is stressful and if it makes you feel better, mine has been too 😭

life has been pretty ok :3 stressful mostly with finances and family but ok!! but yes 🥺 i love my moots so much.. i've gotten really close with a lot of them by just annoying them daily with my presence <3 it's weird bcs my days used to be so quiet and i'd get stuck in my head a lot bcs i had no one to talk to, but now my days are filled with a lot of love and comfort! like a lot of my friends i can only say are just my comfort place now and idk.. my brain is still mean sometimes but my friends make sure i don't listen to it so much anymore :3 and i'm forever grateful for that hehe. and i do remember mushroom! i wasn't mutuals with her but i had friends who were and she always seemed so lovely~ but i agree, if you don't have your comfortable group of friends, tumblr is kind of... :/ it has its ups and downs

WOAH that's such a big decision and i'm so proud of you!! it's difficult to come to that decision!! if it makes you feel any better, my whole life was pre-vet track until my sophomore year of college and i realized being a vet just wasn't for me and i went into wildlife biology! and now i don't work in either field and work a normal corporate job 😭 trust me, a little bit of education and some work or leadership experience can actually go a long way! i mean, look at me! i believe in you and i'll be sending you all my good energy <33

ty bb;; i hope you have a wonderful wonderful week ahead of you too! keep me updated on the job search!!!

#i missed you a lot i was so happy when i saw you in my inbox ;-; #i'm so glad you're still around #also my therapist and i get along so well <3 i love meeting her every week #asks #i just wanted to update you with that skdfsk #🐻‍❄️ anon

[aromanticbuck]

first, congration on the hockey things! i don't follow the sport but i enjoy a game if it's on tv, i'll root for your team if i see them <3

second, you're one of the only blogs i follow where i know there's an OG 911/One Chicago overlap so. spoilers for Med 8x18 but my brain is now LATCHED ON to the (potential) parallel between Buck and Hannah...

obv we have much more detail on Buck but like. The very real probability that both of them grew up blamed by their family for Being Born? Thinking about Buck in In Another Life literally facing off against himself saying It Wasn't My Fault but also there's a part of him that doesn't believe that... Hannah dedicating YEARS of her life to giving the help her mother didn't get,,,,,, her line about hating her mother for prioritizing her kids over herself bc she wanted her mother too....... Buck growing up doted on and neglected at the same time bc the wrong kid lived............ both of them probably as adults (we see this in Buck Begins but Hannah probably had the realization pre-canon) growing into the idea of Was It My Fault. Was It My Fault For Being Born. they were KIDS they were TRAUMATIZED

yes admittedly the struggle here is Buck has some of the most backstory development on 911 and Hannah has some of the least on Med but STILL. I am USING MY IMAGINATION. Like. Buck without Maddie (and arguably without Bobby) could've so easily ended up like s5 Hannah... does Hannah get along with her siblings I am begging Med to tell us????? I'm slightly scared of Buck stans and there, uh. Aren't really many Hannah stans so I'm going insane in your inbox ty for putting up with me!!!!

in conclusion:

First off, thank you, for the hockey support. I'm so proud of my boys being in the playoffs for the first time ever. I haven't felt like this since rooting for the Sharks in the 2015-16 season fr.

Second... I love me some similar blorbos. Thank you for putting this coherently because I've been thinking about an AU where Mouse and Hannah are best friends since last night but I could not articulate why their mommy issues, while so wildly different from each other, could play off each other so heartbreakingly. Thank you, for the words, I'm going to keep them. Don't know if I'll use them, but I'll hold them dear.

This is a Hannah Asher adoring space I hope she never leaves us again.

And yes, Buck has so much more development because he's a main who's been around since the first season of his canon, and Hannah is relatively new and only became a main recently, but like... that essence of blaming themselves for any and all of the bad things that happen to their families, because what if it had been different? What if they hadn't been born? Would things have been different? Would those differences have been for the better?

I feel a normal level of emotions about them and this. I am not going to think about them being friends and bonding over wildly different but also shockingly similar childhood trauma and the feelings that come from that (lying)

You connected more than two dots. You won a game of connect four I don't think anyone realized were were playing. And I'm so glad you did.

#answered #avasrhodes #alex says things #cmed #cmed spoilers #one chicago #one chicago spoilers #chicago med #chicago med spoilers #death mention #many thoughts... so many...

[bugdotpng]

tagged by @starfoozle ty!! ;w;

rules: tag some folks u wanna know better (nah i'm just nosy)

last song: i just got done driving so idk my spotify was on shuffle but the song i currently have on repeat is tornado of souls by megadeth bc there's something wrong w me

last show: i'll be honest i've been living in a void of absolute nothingness over the past few weeks as i was adjusting meds so i haven't had much of a personality nor have i really partaken in any media consumption...but probably IASIP? and i've been watching VEEP off and on bc it's a household staple in my work group gfhfldsjk...i also randomly watched a bunch of KOTH episodes the other day. don't ask, my brain's been weird.

currently watching: lots of youtube unfortunately...i love nilered (all those fun little chemistry videos) and flygonhg is my fav pkmn youtuber/whatever-er so i'm always watching his vids (check out his highlights channel too). also been kind of into pkmn vgc lately (cybertron vgc)

currently reading: ...the body keeps the score lmao it's pretty good and honestly so fascinating and explains a LOT about all that...i won't go into detail lmao but it's been really interesting from a psychological and physiological standpoint. def recommend it but it's not a light read haha and it obviously discusses some seriously triggering material... but very interesting and informative if you're in the right headspace for something like that! i've also got "alice isn't dead", "the long way to a small angry planet" and "one last stop" in my queue when i decide i wanna pick those up again! reading is hard and i'm not good at it ghsdlfkjsk

current obsession: so many things. getting back into houseplants (i wanna build a greenhouse at some point), still going strong w/ pokemon, (doing 3 nuzlockes currently, collecting cards, playing ttrpgs w the buds, etc.) finally have some energy again to devote to OC stuff (writing and drawing), coding my OC repo and writing bios/etc. for all of my characters, and i've been teaching myself ruby in my downtime (in hopes of also eventually learning ruby on rails) when i'm feeling particular productive! i had perpetual brain fog and wasn't productive or creative for about 3 weeks when i was messing w meds (work has also been a nightmare), and now that i've got those figured out and work's calmed down (FINALLY) i'm ready to do literally everything. i took tomorrow off and i have so many things i want to do i don't even know where to start ghlsdkfjsk

tagging: @emsloe @gingerredshirt @destroyhorse @clown-femme @thedaywedied @typefettinge

#ty!!! these are always fun to answer

[zyonsay]

Wildfire, Chapter Seven MV1

Fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: The white room glares at you tauntingly

Reader: Male

Warnings: Injury, Hospitals, Slightly angsty

Now playing: 'Ultraviolence' by Lana del Rey

AN: Hey dears, this one is tiny bit angsty, im feeling devious pookies. Send help. Sorry for the long wait! I was overwhelmed with requests and private events >:[ I hope you enjoy though!

Comment or dm me to be added to the tag list!

(Here is the previous chapter)

(Here is the next chapter)

“We’ll need to keep you here for two more days, until your condition improves. I’ll keep you updated!”, the grey-haired doctor smiled brightly, but you didn’t feel happy at all. The cold, sterile light gave you headaches and the get well soon cards on your side table mocked you silently. ‘I hope you’ll get well quickly!’, yeah right.

You hated the hospital. You hated the white walls, the white floors, the white curtains. You hated the forced smiles, the shaky hands of the underpaid nurses and that disgusting sanitary smell that crawled up your nose and into your brain. The bed was comfortable and warm, but if you closed your eyes, you could feel the imaginary straps tying you to it like you’re some lunatic in a mental asylum. Tick, tock, tick, tock. The further the hands of the clock wandered, the more irritated you got. You were pretty sure that this is what it feels like to go insane. Steps hallowed out in the hall and then even those disappeared and once again, you were all alone with yourself in this glaring white room. As if you’re going to torture yourself by staying awake, you thought while closing your eyes to nap. Maybe you’ll sleep through this whole thing.

A light knock danced over the door and your eyes fluttered open. A quick look to your right showed that it must be some time in the evening, the sky was dark and the city alight. A sweet, pale face peeked through the lightly opened door, which was soon accompanied by a much more tanned visage. For the first time after the crash a faint smile tugged at your lips. “Hello there mate!”, the older of both practically stormed in and rushed to your side to give you a hug. Oscar, though much slower than Lando, also shuffled towards your bed. Lando risked a quick glance at your leg making him wrinkle his nose, not in disgust, but rather pity. “Shit, that looks bad. Does it still hurt?”, the concern in his eyes was apparent but you really couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit. “I’m high on the pain meds they pumped into me, so no.” You winced at how rude your tone sounded; you really didn’t mean to come off as mean. Not to your best friend. Although he didn’t mean to show it, his expression visibly soured at your words. Oscar’s concerned gaze landed on your face. You looked tired and, just like Lando, bitter. If he didn’t know any better, it would look like you’re laying on your death bed. The aussie couldn’t stand the tension in the air and decided to do something to lighten the mood and shoo away the threatening, lightning filled clouds above your head. “Me and Lando brought you a little something.”, he gently handed you a paper bag. “You shouldn’t have.”, the little whisper escaped you subconsciously as you fished an object out of the bag. It was a light blue Nintendo, one of the older models. When you looked back up at Oscar, a slight grin adorned his lips. He then gestured for you to explore the bag further. Blindly fumbling around in the bag, you pulled two square, plastic cases out. Turning them over, one depicted a picture of a tiny dachshund puppy and ‘Nintendogs’ in broad white letters. The other case looked almost identical, but instead a chocolate labrador crowned the cover. You couldn’t help the small smile from creeping onto your face. They remembered.

“I used to love that stuff as a kid. I could never get a real dog because of my mum’s allergies, so I was obsessed with these.”, you shoved your phone into Oscar’s face, a picture of the Nintendo’s game cases on the screen. “She would have to take away my Nintendo, so I wouldn’t be playing it through the whole night!” Lando’s face lit up. “Ohh, I remember these! I always chose the shelties”, if you squinted you could see the tiny stars glow in his eyes as he rambled on about his own experience with the game.

“Thanks.”, your voice was hoarse, and the words almost got stuck in your throat as you choked down tears. This wasn’t the moment for you to cry. They would only pity you more and you definitely didn’t need more of that. Oscar’s smile faded, he felt incredibly bad for you. An Achilles tendon rupture was serious, and you had barely started your Formula 1 career. He didn’t want to pity you, he knew you’d hate him for it, but he couldn’t stop the sad sigh leaving his lips. Your thoughtful expression hardened again, and your lips formed a straight line. “It might be best for you guys to leave. Thanks for visiting though.”, with glossy eyes you mustered up a small, dishonest smile to appease the two boys. Lando’s eyebrows tugged in an annoyed manner as he moved from your side, towards the door. “Get better soon, we’ll see you around.”, he whispered before messing with the handle of the door. Oscar winced at the venom in Lando’s voice and offered you a gentle smile and a court ‘goodbye’ before heading out too. Seconds after the door closed again, you heard Lando’s awfully offended sounding voice outside. ‘We come to visit him, bring him gifts and he still can’t loosen that fucking stick up his ass?’

That one stung.

Now that you were once again alone, you let out the sobs you’ve been holding the entire time. Your chest heaved and sunk with sad little whimpers and your eyes were puffy from the salty tears that streamed from them. The light flickered and the aggressive, sanitary atmosphere caught up to you again. Your shaking hands clutched the Nintendo tightly, pressing it to your chest. What have you done?

taglist: @velunis , @ares10156 , @ineedhelp-takethatanywayyoulike , @leosxrealm , @erinleclerc , @badblondebisexualboy

#welcome to hell pookies #oscar im so sorry #love u #wildfire #f1 x male reader #f1 x reader #male reader insert #max verstappen x male reader #reader insert #x reader #f1 fanfic #male reader #x male reader #male!reader #male x male #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #mv1 x reader #gay #f1 fic

[foxilayde]

Lamb in Wolves Clothing  [Poe Dameron x Fem!Reader]

Summary: Poe walks the line between vengeance and compassion when you are admitted to the med bay.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Domestic violence, opiates in an IV bag

Author’s Note: This is Angst. With fluff at the end. This will be a happy story. I’d like to make this a 3 part story. Let me know what you think!

gif by @james-flint​

Poe Dameron was not a violent man. Despite his high kill count (somwhere in the hundreds, to be sure - storm troopers, TIE fighters, and legions of imperial guards vaporized under his hand and by his command) he still held a sanctity and respect for life. He never dragged out an enemies death, only killed when necessary - wasn’t one to take pleasure in man’s pain, but he could not stop fantasizing about killing your boyfriend. 

And sitting there in the medbay, all alone, head in his hands, nothing to distract him; the fantasies were numerous- mainly involving Poe leaving Dric, the boyfriend in question, stranded on an uninhabitable planet. Poe daydreamed about tying him up and leaving him on Hoth to freeze to death, or tying him up and abandoning him in a desolate part of Tatooine or Jakku. He couldn’t decide which he liked better, Dric being frozen to death or dehydrated to death. Should his lips turn blue, or blister? Which was worse? The only thing stopping him from finding Dric and acting out these fantasies was needing to make sure you were alright. All he knew was that you’d sustained a brain injury and you had been sedated.

He’d already been through it with the medics, ordering that every chart, every scan and test be delivered to him as soon as possible. You had a concussion, contusions, some stitches. All too the head.

He knows what you claimed happened. That you fell down some stairs. That’s what you told the med team and Rey. But that was bullshit. Stairs didn’t usually leave defensive wounds. It was such a bad lie, it was almost like you weren’t even trying to cover for this asshole anymore. For one, you were admitted to the med bay in the middle of the night wearing pajamas. Your’s and Dric’s room, in Res Hall B, was about as far away from a set of stairs as you could get. The closest being in Hangar B, which you had no reason to be in. Barefooted, in the middle of the night, when you should have been sleeping? Didn’t take a detective to work that one out. And secondly, Poe would have seen if you’d gone into the hangar at all. He and some squadron buddies were playing Sabacc right near the staircase. They would have invited you to play that night, but that invitation would also be an invitation to Dric. And as much as they loved you, they couldn’t stand being around your boyfriend.

Everyone knew Dric was an asshole. An asshole that somehow charmed you, a new recruit, your very first day at the Resistance base. Like a long-con predator, a wolf marking its territory. Dric took no time in declaring his love and affection for you, making sure no other man or woman could have a chance. Dric told you it was love at first sight, that he’d been waiting for someone like you his whole life, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. You never even got your own quarters, you moved straight in with Dric into Res Hall B. 

He wasn’t a bad looking guy. Attractive, really. Big and tall with lots of muscles. All the better to protect you, my dear. He was loud, confident, and funny… okay, sometimes crude funny, but still funny. And it was rare to laugh these days.

This came as a shock to Poe when he first arrived back on base after a week-long mission. He remembers the first time he saw you, he was battled, bruised, tired as hell … and he hates to take the word’s from Dric’s mouth, but love at first sight was right. 

Now Poe likes all kinds of girls, right? He isn’t too picky about who he flirts with- he sees beauty and sexuality in pretty much everyone and can admire all types of people… but if he had a type, if he had to sit and think and build a combination of all his very favorite things, all the things that got him going- it’d be you. Your hair, your skin, your eyes, your smile - your teeth! He never knew teeth could be so cute. Your laugh, the pitch of your voice, your sense of humor, your love and compassion, your intelligence; these were things Poe would come to know later and really cement his attraction to you. 

Each quality of yourself that was revealed as your friendship progressed was a nail in the coffin of his heart. He was stunned when he heard you were already seeing someone, already living with someone, living with Dric. Dric the Dick?! This deflated Poe as much as anything could. He figured it couldn’t be Dric’s personality you were attracted to. It had to be his hyper masculine stature, 6’4, 220lbs… something Poe definitely was not. So he figured he didn’t stand a chance anyway. Even if he had met you first. He was nothing like Dric. He thought about it though. Thought about it a lot. If you were single… I you could be more than friends… As much as he loved you, he respected you. And would never do anything to compromise your relationship with your boyfriend. Thinking about that now, Poe wishes he would have said something sooner. Then, maybe you wouldn’t be here. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Poe blames himself. He should have done something. He knew! Everyone knew what a jerk Dric was. And he just sat back and let you make that mistake. Some friend he was, huh? 

You wished you could explain why you fell for Dric. But hindsight is 20/20. Laying in the med bay… yeah, the signs all seemed pretty freaking clear looking back. You were lonely. From the moment you arrived. You’d just lost your older brother, Lee. A resistance pilot. You had hoped to be fighting alongside him. Only a month before your recruitment, your brother was shot down. You still hadn’t grieved him properly. His death only fueling your need to fight in this war. Maybe predators had a way of smelling that kind of thing on prey. Maybe grief and loneliness gave off a scent like blood in the water. Maybe, despite all your war experience, you were just a lamb in wolves fur.

On his 3rd cup of caf, Poe continued to wait, entertaining himself in the waiting area with the idea of ejecting Dric from a ship into the void of space. His morbid curiosity  leading him to speculate as to how slow and painful that death might be, and stacking those pain points next to all the other options. Suffering was key. He didn’t fantasize about giving him a quick and painless departure, though he could feel his hand gravitating toward his blaster, urging him to head to the canteen. Lunch was starting and he knew Dric would be there. Big guys gotta eat, right? But no, he could wait… the more humiliating and torturous, the better. 

It was in the midst of these violent daydreams that he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Rey had found him where he had been seated for the past 10 hours, in the medbay waiting area. Rey looked like she’d been up all night too. 

“Hey,” Poe’s voice sounded strange coming out of his mouth. Was he thirsty? As thirsty as Dric might be wandering the deserts of Tattooine? He shook his head, trying to come to the present.

“She’s awake now.” She gave a small smile and offered Poe a hand, before he took it he rubbed his eyes with his palms.

“Does she want visitors? I don’t want to bother her, I just wanted to make sure she was okay,” stars he sounded tired. He stood up and smoothed his hands over his shirt and pants.

“She was asking for you, Poe. Go on in, I’m going to get some rest.” Rey made a move towards the Res hall, but stopped noting Dameron’s hesitation. She sighed and patted his arm. “I know, Poe. It’s okay, go sit with her. She doesn’t want to be alone right now.”

Those words seemed to awake him to a call to action. He wished Rey sweet dreams and quickly turned to make his way to the med bay, Rey caught his sleeve. 

“Don’t, erm… don’t talk about killing him, okay?” Was she reading his mind with the Force? But this did cement everything. Rey had been with you since it happened. She’s the one that escorted you to the med bay. Dric was definitely the reason you were here.

“I wasn’t!” He denied. Denying that he was going to talk about it, yes. Denying that he was thinking about it, thinking about it A LOT, no. 

“It’s not what she needs right now. Right now, she needs her friend to sit with her.” This was an insight he was grateful for. Truthfully he didn’t know how he was going to interact with you. Being on the same squadron had prepared you two for a friendship based around military tactic. Plan and attack. Seek and destroy. Poe had been planning for the past 11 hours. He was ready to attack. He was hopeful that perhaps you were too. He was kind of hoping you’d like to hear the finer details of his Bind and Abandon Playbook, plays A through J. You could tag team Dric and blast him to smithereens like the two of you did with countless common enemies. He hadn’t stopped to think that maybe your mind wasn’t on violence. Maybe you’d seen enough violence for a while. Poe shook his head.

“Do you see him around here, Rey? He’s not even checking up on her. Doesn’t even care that she’s been unconscious.”  His eyes were wild, hair disheveled from being pulled at and combed through with his hands too many times for the past half-day. Rey felt for him, and decided against guiding him through a Jedi meditation to calm him down.

“Poe, this isn’t about you. This is about her. Just be here for her. That’s more important than your vengeance. Got it? You’ll only upset her.” 

This sounded like some Jedi crap to Poe. He was too exhausted to argue though, and calmness and compassion did seem like a better plan than brainstorming which predatory birds would be best for pecking Dric’s eyes out. 

“No murder talk. Got it. Goodnight… day, Rey” 

“Night-day, Commander.” She gave a tired smile and made her way back to her quarters.

He ambled down the short hallway that led to the infirmary, nodding at the medic team as he opened the sectional to the recovery unit. It was good to see there weren’t many people in here right now. It was probably the quietest he’d ever seen it, if he wasn’t so worried about you, that fact would’ve relaxed him.

Just sit with her. Be her friend. Ask her what she wants. Just sit. And be. Poe’s resolve to achieve this zenlike state was discarded as soon as he laid eyes on your face. Bruises at the apex of their bloom. A busted lip, stitches on your forehead. Oh that fucker was going to die. Slow. Was that blood in your hair? He clenched his fists and tried to calm his racing heart. Fucking slow. So fucking slow. It’ll take weeks. He’ll need to put in a request for vacation-time to do it properly. He’d do it on Tattooine. Strip him naked and give him juuuust enough water to keep him alive for a few excruciating days. Maybe rustle up some of the aforethought predatory birds to pick the bones clean. No one would ever find him.

You were awake and looking at him with… was that shame? Poor girl. Maker, you looked so small like this. A tube in your arm, a brace on your neck. Poe was trying to rid his mind of the violence he didn’t want you to see in his eyes. Later, he told himself. There’d be time for fucking up the fucker later. You didn’t need to be party to anymore hatred right now. Shit, you never looked this bad before. Not even after that scrape in Kijimi where you head butted a stormtrooper. Like a fucking badass. The thought made Poe smile. You were something else. And how dare that oaf- no no, not now. later. He lowered himself the chair that was angled toward your bed. He assumed it was the same one Rey had been sitting in minutes earlier. 

Just be normal, Poe.

“How are you feeling, Swing?” The nickname he gave you all those months ago still stuck. He and the rest of the squad heard you singing on your first ever mission over the comms. You were new and either didn’t know or totally forgot to click over to ‘silent’ after the conference comm and unknowingly blessed them with a two minute rendition of your favorite song. When you finished, you were mortified to hear the rest of the squadron clapping and whistling. And your heart dropped when you heard Poe say “nice pipes, Black 10, but let’s keep the comms clear for awhile. You know, in case of emergency.” From then on they all called you Singin’ in the Wing, which over time shortened to Swing. Poe thought it was the most adorable thing in the whole kriffing galaxy. He’d love to hear you sing to him on missions if only he didn’t need to keep the comms clear. 

“I’m feeling okay Poe. It looks worse than it feels, especially with all this pain relief junk in my blood. I don’t feel a thing. Except for really embarrassed and… clumsy.” You said the last word hesitantly. You weren’t sure if anyone bought your stairs story. You didn’t want to insult Poe’s intelligence and you could see by the way his eyes darkened slightly that he didn’t buy it one bit.

“So those stairs, you fell down, huh? Some stairs. Always hated those kriffing stairs. Want me to get rid of those stairs for you? Promise you’ll never have to see those stupid things again. Get a nice sturdy ladder or something instead.” God dammit, Poe. Really good job. That’ll make her feel better. Your eyes welled with tears and you went to turn your head away, which wasn’t easy considering the neck brace. Fuck he must think you were so pathetic.

“Hey, hey, no no no, I’m sorry I’m sorry. Shit. I’m… here for you okay, whatever you need. I’m trying to keep it cool and it’s not easy.” He admitted. Man, the lack of sleep must be contributing to all this chaos in his head. It couldn’t be helping. “I’m really tired and talking out of my ass right now, Swing. Forgive me?” He rested his hands on the side of your cot, catching himself before reaching for your hand. He didn’t want to hurt you in case it was sore.

You wiped your eyes and nodded. “Of course, Poe. Thanks for coming to check on me.” His eyes were glassy with dark circles underneath. His shirt, the same one he was wearing when he almost invited you to Sabacc last night, was littered with caf stains. 

 “You look like shit, commander.” You knew it’d be funny coming from you- who looked passably like you did indeed fall down a flight of stairs face first. “Get some rest, Poe. I’m going to be okay. Probably going to close my eyes myself. I’m telling ya, whatever they’ve got in that bag,” you pointed to the IV connected to your arm, “is some good shit. Would you like a sip before bed?” Poe got up from the chair and made his way around you to the next empty cot, about 4 feet away. He kicked off his boots.

“No thanks, Swing. I’ll order my own if I need it.” He winked at you and tucked his legs under the blanket.

“Poe, what are you doing?” You asked, amused. Was he really going to sleep in the fracking med bay?

“I’m going to sleep. You were right I need to rest. And this cot looks fresh, looks inviting. I really don’t wanna walk back to the Res Hall. Plus…” He tucked his hand under the pillow and shifted onto on his side to face you, “I don’t think I’d be able to sleep without knowing that you’re okay… and without getting too into details, it’d be best to keep me separated from the general population right now.” You knew what he meant. Didn’t want to chance running into Dric. 

“I’d ask for a lullaby, but I don’t think I’ll need it,” he offered a sleepy smile eyelashes slowly batting closed. “Goodnight, Swing, I’m so relieved you’re okay.” It took no time at all for his eyes to close fully and his breathing to even out. You might’ve protested, told Poe that there was no way in the galaxy that the med bay cot was anywhere near as comfortable as his bed. You didn’t know that. Well you kind of knew. You sat on it a couple of times, hanging out with him and Beebs, filling out reports in his room. But you didn’t know know.

You didn’t protest because you really did need him here. You knew you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep on your own, the med bay so quiet and open. Every shadow cast or medic’s footsteps making the rounds had made your breath hitch. Every shadow morphing into Dric’s form. Every sound transforming into the footfalls of a man on a mission to finish the job he started.

But now, with Poe snoring lightly a few feet away, the sounds were just sounds. Steady beeps, far off voices. Nothing to fear.

#Poe Dameron #Poe Dameron x reader #Poe Dameron x you #Poe Dameron x fem!reader #Poe Dameron x afab!reader #Poe Dameron x female!reader #Oscar Isaac #Reader Insert Fic

[skunkes]

i am so happy to be the cheye of right now, that yesterdays cheye was envious of. I feel so much better already!

(medical vent under read more, exaggerated graphic description/wording of ailment feeling, along w general descriptions of what happened (bt cld still potentially be Gross to some))

Nobody else was at the Dr's office so I didn't have to wait ^_^ my doctor was also finally incredibly gentle for once and also didnt shame me, which im also sure was bc i cld barely move my jaw enough to speak properly at that point + he d**d seriously asked me "so you must be in a LOT of pain, right? :(" after deciphering my desperate gibberish

got my ears minimally slurped (LOL). I always look away frm the TV/camera of what goes on in there bc I dont want to know the horrors happening where i cannot see them but I caught a glimpse and I dont even wanna describe it. They also had to use a thingy to keep the canal open bc my ear was almost swollen shut. Im actually so glad my body cranked up the jaw pain to 15 in exchange for lowering the ear pain to a 4 by the time I got there bc I dont think i wldve survived the cleaning otherwise. There was also a few drops of blood afterwards, which is probably why there was minimal interaction there.

I got ye olde IM injection (IT FELT LIKE IT TOOK 5 MINUTES! GOOD LIRD!), which hit in the next hour, trading the jaw pain for slight inability to walk and sit down fhshkfhsf ^_^ went to pick up meds, shopped at the grocery store while still across the border w my mom with the money we had left + I got myself some snacks. Tried to get my mouth working again on the way back

I am still completely devoid of hearing in the affected ear but I've gone longer without my hearing so its ok ^_^ its only mildly disorienting + also im back to understanding why my parents listen to videos at max volume. It also no longer feels like someone is repeatedly hammering a heated ice pick into my brain thru my ear

Still have to hold jaw to eat w.o pain atm but I can form words + fit a spoon in there again (and I can eat!!!!! I ate food!!!) without it feeling like im pinballing a 300 million volt grapefruit in between my temple and lower teeth

I am able to lie down again ^_^ i can finally sleep! I am waiting for a good time to take meds and then I will be doing that. I am ready to rest up. And also be able to do things again instead of spending the day in unshakeable pain limbo ^_^

Ty to everyone who sent me well wishes I was actually able to make it thru the night w.o the annoying full body nervous tremors thanks to yall! ^_^

#i can also feel my ear trying to let sound in again!! like go ahead king we're all waiting #big talkys #long post - #sometimes i feel bad ab huge personal posts like this but also i like to log things on here! #mybe i shld get livejournal or dreamwidth instead shdjjsf ^_^ #talkys

[reyesstrand]

#2 for Tarlos please.

thank you for the prompt!! i hope you enjoy 💗

all prompts are from this list. also available on ao3!

In theory, TK knew that this could always be a possibility. 

It’s a given in their line of work—both of them run toward the danger, not away, and it’s something they have to grapple with. But the worry before every shift, the simmering nerves that something could go wrong...it’s something they face down as a team. And while the team’s always there to offer support, it’s the two of them against the world in so many ways. 

But it doesn’t make it any easier when the ladder-truck pulls up to an intersection, on some unassuming, regular old Thursday, and TK’s eyes instantly lock on a familiar blue Camaro.

“Hey, kid—” Judd starts, but TK pushes all thoughts but his boyfriend out of his mind. He grabs his med-kit, the ambulance still a couple minutes away, and beelines for the driver’s side of Carlos’ car. 

Only, his boyfriend isn’t there. 

“Carlos?” TK hears the strain in his own voice as he searches, acknowledging the considerable damage to the front of the car. His boyfriend couldn’t have gone far, and TK spares a glance to the backseat and the ground nearby, looking for any sort of sign. 

But there’s nothing. 

He runs a hand through his hair, looking around once more for fear of missing something. His dad catches his eye from across the street, where he’s chatting with Mateo and pointing to various onlookers, and TK just shrugs, throwing his hands in the air. He’s completely bewildered, wondering if this is just the universe playing some cruel trick on him, as he shoulders his bag. 

“Hey TK!” Marjan calls, and he turns to follow her voice. 

She’d been assigned to the other vehicles to assess the victims, alongside Paul and Judd, and she waves him over to where a pickup truck has its front end bent around a traffic pole. There’s a small crowd of people curled around the perimeter of the accident—a usual occurrence, especially something like this in the middle of the day—and so TK has to announce his arrival loudly in order to get through to his team. 

When he does, TK staggers for a moment. 

Because Carlos is there. 

He’s kneeling, attention focused on a woman who’s sitting on the curb. She has a few small cuts along her head and a larger one along her arm, which Carlos has his hands pressed over to staunch the bleeding. He looks up briefly, and catches TK’s eyes, offering him the tiniest reassuring smiles before turning back to the woman. 

“Passenger of the truck,” Paul explains, as Marjan digs through her own med-kit and pulls out sterile bandages. She moves into Carlos and the woman’s space, replacing Carlos’ hands with her own. “He says he saw her struggling and ran over to help.” 

TK swallows hard, watching as Marjan works. There’s the telling wail of the ambulance’s siren as it arrives, and Tim and Nancy are quick to come over with the stretcher. They take off with the driver, who’d been grabbing at his neck, and Michelle leads the woman—carefully wrapped up with the bandages Marjan supplied—along with her husband. 

“How are you feeling?” TK asks, coming in close to Carlos’ space when his boyfriend stands. It’s his first opportunity to get a good look at him, and his breath catches in his throat when he spots the gash over his boyfriend’s brow. “Let me look at that.” 

“Ty, I’m fine...” Carlos tries, though TK shoots him a look and Marjan and Paul manage to simultaneously whistle under their breath. 

“Come here,” TK says, leading him toward the ladder-truck for the smallest bit of privacy. He’s thankful that the cut on his boyfriend’s head looks superficial, but there’s always a subtle worry about neck or brain injuries whenever they encounter a car accident. He rests his hands on Carlos’ shoulders and pushes gently, guiding him to sit on the step on the back of the rig. 

After a moment of digging through his bag, he clutches the stethoscope and goes about checking Carlos’ ABCs, just to make himself feel better. Content enough with what he finds, he moves on to find some gauze, glancing up to meet his boyfriend’s eyes. “So, what happened?”

“I was just doing some errands,” Carlos starts, wincing a little when TK gently wipes at some of the blood on his forehead. “Someone ran the light, and it all went downhill from there. But I—I feel fine, TK.” 

“That’d be the adrenaline,” TK murmurs, moving so he’s standing between his boyfriend’s legs. He feels Carlos drop a hand to his hip, and he lets the touch anchor both of them as he examines the wound. “But it doesn’t look too bad. I’ll patch it up, and they can run some tests at the hospital.” 

Carlos looks at him incredulously. “Baby, I don’t need to go to the hospital.” 

“It’d make me feel better if you went,” TK says, pouting a little at him to sell it as he smooths the gauze over the gash. “Actually, it’d make me feel better if you promise to never get hurt again.” 

He says it with the tiniest huff of a laugh, trying to lighten the mood as Carlos stares deep into his soul. 

“Well,” Carlos sighs, leaning back a bit. He looks a little more tired, now, the reality of the day probably settling in. “I could say the same about you.” 

“I promise not to ever do it on purpose,” TK says, gently cupping Carlos’ face, dragging his thumb in small strokes over his cheek. 

“Me too,” Carlos offers him a warm smile, before giving him a little smirk. “Pinkie promise?” 

TK grins, shaking his head fondly at his boyfriend. He still holds out his free hand, though, pinkie sticking out. 

“Pinkie promise,” TK confirms, lifting a brow at Carlos. The other man smiles at him and mirrors his actions, removing his hand from TK’s hip so they can interlock pinkies. Their hands linger in a soft touch even afterwards, and Carlos maneuvers them so their fingers intertwine. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Carlos murmurs, slowly standing up. TK steadies him with a hand to his waist. 

“Don’t apologize. I’m just glad you’re okay,” TK says, curling his fingers into his boyfriend’s shirt. Carlos settles an arm around his shoulders, and pulls him close for a makeshift hug. 

I love you, Carlos whispers into his hair, before pressing a kiss there. TK feels warmth spread throughout his body, as he reaches up for a quick kiss pressed to his boyfriend’s mouth, repeating those three fateful words, knowing in that instant that they’ll be okay. They’ll always be okay, together. 

#tarlos #911 lone star #tarlos fic #my fic #sixringss

[notveryglittery]

mice on venus (1.1)

summary: gee, those forest ravines really pop out at you, huh? wc: 2k / ships: romantic royality, qpr prinxiety, romantic analogical. warnings: falling off a cliff, injuries, janus is a lil rough around the edges but sometimes u gotta be when living in a dangerous blocky world... author’s note: i couldn’t sleep last night... bc brain was making this... and also @thoriffix​ makes nice minecraft art... so yeah, minecraft sanders sides au? i have no clue what i’m doing besides having fun :) not too much knowledge of the game is needed; you can look at it as a basic adventure au. enjoy!

mice on venus (1.1) (you are here) | far (1.2) title inspo: (spotify link) (youtube link) idk if this will go on ao3 but here’s a spot for editing 

— — —

Patton’s voice tears from his throat in a raw and terrified shout. "Roman!" He screams, hands outstretched uselessly, as Roman tips backwards over the edge of a ravine, and disappears.

Logan is there, barely a second later. He rifles through his bag, finds what he needs, and throws it with all the force he can muster. Gravity won't let it hit the ground before Roman does, but it will help when it arrives nonetheless. He hurries to stand, turn, and face —

"What happened?!" Virgil asks breathlessly, daggers drawn and at the ready.

"Roman fell into a ravine," Logan answers with so little tact that Patton would scold him for it if he were paying enough attention to overhear. The color in Virgil's face drains. "I threw a Splash Potion of Healing after him," Logan reassures without pausing, "but we need to get down there."

"I knew I should've stayed home," drawls their final party member, sounding awfully bored despite the situation.

Patron does hear this and he rounds on Janus with fire in his eyes. "How could you be so cruel?! Roman might be dead!"

Janus raises an eyebrow. "Were you not listening just now? Our local brewer lobbed a potion. Roman's seen worse. He'll be fine."

Patton's lower lip trembles but it's hard to tell whether he wants to cry or to berate. Maybe both. He looks for Virgil, only to find him at the ravine's edge with a bucket. Water is flowing from where it's been poured, creating a safe passage for them to traverse down in once safe.

Roman, meanwhile, is falling.

His only warning had been the horror dawning on Patton's face and even then, it came after his foot met air instead of solid ground like he expected. For some inane reason, his first thought as he went plummeting was "who put this ravine in the middle of a forest?" Next, it was panic and "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"

With the wind stinging his face and his blood roaring in his ears, Roman knows he has mere seconds to figure out how to make this suck less. He struggles to right himself until he's facing the ground that is rushing up to meet him. He pulls his shield from where it is strapped to his back and thanks Jeb that he'd had the foresight, as their fighter, to give himself something sturdier. The rickety thing the others use wouldn't have done much for him here but the curved, solid iron plate he tucks himself into should absorb most of the impact.

That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt like hell. He can barely cry out with how his breath is knocked out of him. Pain shoots up his ankles and legs, lighting every nerve along the way. He tilts over, gritting his teeth and trying to see beyond the stars that swim through his vision. He isn't safe… There could… Mobs…

Glass shatters next to him and he flinches from it. Please not a witch, please not a witch, please not a witch —

As opposed to the nauseous kick of poison or the heavy weight of slowness, however, warmth of healing washes over him. In his shock, he'd forgotten anyone had been with him but of course, Logan would have been right behind Patton, with his emergency potions. Relief floods over everything else. He isn't alone. He has help.

"— an idiot!" is the first thing Roman hears when he comes to. He opens his eyes to see Virgil pacing beside him, flailing his arms, and apparently mid-rant. It's probably Logan at his feet, wrapping his ankle in a splint. Ah… the pain from it being jostled must've woken him… He's glad he doesn't remember it.

"Honey," Patton's voice whimpers, close to him, choked and scared and none of that will do —

"C'mere," Roman croaks, reaching for his beloved. Patton catches Roman's hand and holds it almost too tightly. Roman isn't sure which one of them is shaking. He brings Patton's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "I'm okay, sweetness. Don't cry. Please. You know a smile will help me recover better than anything."

"That's not true," Logan pipes up, deadpan.

Patton gives him a tremulous smile anyway.

"Learn to watch—" Virgil stops. Freezes. Looks up. "Oh. Great." He's rifling through his supplies before the others even have time to ask him what's wrong.

The sudden realization of dimming light answers them well enough, though. Janus wastes no time in beginning to help Virgil, moving with him to the ravine's wall to back their makeshift base against. Sunset brings with it monsters and they certainly aren’t in the best place to handle that.

"You need to sleep before you get back on your feet," Logan tells Roman as he packs away his med kit. "No adventures for at least three days."

Roman gasps, as if Logan has just told him his birthday is canceled.

"Logan's right, dear," Patton intervenes, pulling one of Roman's arms over and around his shoulder. He helps him stand slowly, making sure Roman favors weight on his less injured ankle. "It's okay, I'm gonna stay with you! It'll go by so quick, you won't even know it happened."

Roman wants to complain further but he’s lightheaded from his now-vertical position. With practiced ease, Virgil and Janus have a lean-to set up to keep them safe from the nights terrors. Unfortunately, there’s only enough materials for two beds. Fortunately, they sleep in shifts anyway. It takes some coaxing to convince Roman that he doesn’t need to stay awake for one but once his head is on the pillow and Patton is combing a hand through his hair, he’s out.

Logan sits up for the first two hours. Forty minutes in, Janus leaves to explore the ravine. The others know better than to even try stopping him. He returns, laden with coal and iron ore.

“Roman’s shield is gonna need repairing,” Janus says matter-of-factly as he takes over for the next watch.

Logan groans. “I suppose, at least, the painting will keep him busy while he’s grounded.”

“He’ll last…” Janus pauses, considering. “I give him no more than a day and a half.”

“If he wants to sustain his injuries, sure.”

“Bet you he’ll try stealing an Instant Health potion.”

“Not if he knows what’s best for him,” Logan snaps.

Janus smiles with too many teeth which isn’t to say he has too many teeth, just that normally his smiles are close-lipped. Logan scowls before ducking into their small shelter to try and get some rest.

The next two hours pass without trouble. Virgil takes his turn. The howling screech of an enderman startles Logan awake but just as quick, Virgil is peeking in on the party and waving the concern away with an ender pearl clutched in his fist.

“Didn’t wanna pass up the opportunity,” he whispers, before returning to his post.

Patton sets up for the last watch. Virgil makes Logan take the free bed, which doesn’t take much convincing seeing as he’s half-asleep already. Roman begins to toss and turn so Virgil sits on the ground beside him, reaches up, and holds his hand.

“Sap,” Janus says from the corner where he’s been making torches.

“Have you slept at all?” Virgil asks instead of taking the bait.

When Janus doesn’t answer, Virgil frowns. “How long has it been?”

Another round of silence.

“J, what the fuck? We don’t need phantoms on top of everything else!” Virgil raises his voice without meaning to. Logan stirs at the sound of it; he’s always been a light sleeper.

“Hush,” Janus hisses. They wait a few moments more until Logan has settled. “I will when we get back home. I’ve got at least one more safe night.”

Virgil’s glare sharpens but he doesn’t push any further. Janus goes back to his crafting but Virgil notices now how slowly he works. Instead of staring and letting his concern build, Virgil leans back and shuts his eyes, focusing on Roman’s warm hand in his.

Sunrise means a quick breakfast of bread and crisp apples. They share amongst themselves before Logan and Patton take down the lean-to. Janus returns to the top of the ravine, making sure to dispatch any mobs lurking in the shade of the trees. Virgil remembers the leads Patton had brought with him, for if they had come across any horses, and suggests tying Roman to one of them, just in case things go wrong on the swim up the waterfall.

Roman, ever full of bravado, insists he would be just fine on his own. Looks of concern and frustration come from his boyfriend and queerplatonic partner, respectively, and he quickly gives in without much fuss. Janus joins them again and offers to build a ladder back up, especially since there’s no short supply of wood; Logan disagrees, worried that it would take too long and they’d be caught out once more at nighttime.

Eventually, they do all get up and out of the ravine. Roman’s splint needs redoing now that it’s wet and heavy but afterwards, they are on their way home. He relies heavily on Patton and Virgil to help him, careful to not put too much weight on his injured foot; he hates needing so much help, but he supposes it’s mostly alright, what with Patton keeping him entertained with stories and Virgil teasing him about dumb little mistakes made in the past.

Slow going as as they are, they make it just as the sun is beginning to set. The lanterns are lit at the village they had set up nearby roughly a year ago and their neighbors are gathered at the bell for gossip and trade. Patton wants to swing by to say hello and offer some cake but Roman is really struggling beside him now.

“Oh, sweetpea, you must be so tired,” Patton murmurs, shifting so that he can take more pressure off of Roman. “I’m gonna get you the best dinner… And hot cocoa, too, how’s that sound?”

“We haven’t got a steady supply of cocoa beans yet,” Roman says without much conviction.

“I’ll cocoa bean anyone that tries to stop me,” Patton insists.

Virgil stifles a laugh behind his hand and pretends he didn’t hear the thinly veiled threat disguised as a pun. He makes a note to kick their search for a jungle into first gear and wonders if Janus would be up for a trip to the west. It is the least explored direction and their terribly empty maps remind them every day. In the meantime, he’ll help Patton to get Roman comfortable and settled. He makes sure Janus goes to bed that night, keeping him company until he’s well and truly deep in sleep.

After one last sweep of the perimeter, Virgil retires to his and Logan’s room. Logan is waiting up for him, reading by candlelight. Virgil changes into his night clothes and slides in under the covers. Logan is warm and, with a fond eye roll, compliant as Virgil tugs at his sleeve until he eventually puts his book away. Logan lays on his back with Virgil splayed half-across his chest; the sensation has always put Logan at ease, having his partner’s presence so physical and grounding and there.

“Will Roman be okay?” Virgil asks in a voice so small that Logan almost doesn’t hear him.

“Like Janus said, Roman has been through worse.” Logan hesitates but not long enough for either of them to actually start thinking about it. “As long as he is careful, which I’m sure Patton will help him be, he’ll recover in no time.”

The tension flows out of Virgil in one slow exhale. “Thanks, L.” He shuffles deeper into the blankets and Logan’s embrace. “Love you.”

“And I you,” Logan responds with a hum, pressing a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head.

#sanders sides fan fiction #royality #prinxiety #analogical #ts deceit #dani writes #minecraft au #sanders sides #romantic royality #qpr prinxiety #romantic analogical

[indieninja92]

this feels a lil silly but i wanted to say thank you for ' You Can Cut My Hair But You'll Never Cut My Comedically Long Fanfic Titles!!!' & how much love you put into writing crowley w/ adhd. i'd thought i might have adhd for a while now but was hesitating to actually get assessed/get help and your fic helped nudge me towards taking the plunge. i got myself a diagnosis & meds & a support system & i'm so excited to start working with my brain instead of against it! so yeah! ty and have a gr8 day!

oh my goodness thank you so much!! that's incredible! you're doing better than me haha ive been meaning to get assessed since my therapist was like "bby ur textbook" in oct 2019 and still not managed xD its almost like... there's something in my brain.... that makes it hard... to get organised...??? anyway this is probably the best response ive ever got from a fic, thank you SO much and congrats on your diagnosis and meds etc! adhd crowley has my whole heart and im glad he was there when you needed him <3

[ditsydaydream]

Feelings of Frisson

Newt (TMR) x OC

[part 2 of 2]

Frisson: a sudden strong feeling of excitement or fear

‘Winston you have to start taking better care of yourself.’ I insisted, wrapping his wounded forearm in a clean bandage.

‘Sorry, Florrie.’ He said, sheepishly, slightly wincing at the bandage.

‘This is the third time in the past 5 days I’ve had to bandage you up. Half of my bandages are being used on you. Honestly, it’s like you deliberately butcher yourself to come and see me. I joked.

‘Yeah…So where’s Newt?’ He asked.

‘Bedrest.’ I finished tying the bandage up and put a little bow at the end, Winston smiled. I grinned back at him, as I started tidying away my herbs and bandages.

Suddenly, Ada flew into the Med Hut, slamming the door open.

‘The box. It’s coming up.’ She gushed, breathily.

But it’s not due for another week?’ I questioned; my eyebrows arched.

‘We know.’ Ada replied.

Every Glader was sprinting over to the rising Box, Winston, Ada and I bolted out the door to join the crowd of confusion that was gathered round. I slid to the front of the crowd, desperate to get a good glimpse at whatever was happening.

Gally pulled the metal doors open. The box was bare, no supplies, no Greenie, nothing was in it. Except a single scrap of paper, that was crumpled up on the floor. Confused looks flew around the Gladers. The whole situation was suspicious. Gally jumped down into the Box, landing with a large clang as his boots hit the rusted metal frames, and picked up the flimsy paper. He uncrumpled it, a black marker had scrawled ‘Florence’ on one side. Underneath it was some smaller black scribbles.

Gally’s eyes roamed the paper for a second. He quickly folded up the note, and handed it to me. I leant down and grabbed it, still confused.

‘Everyone back to work.’ Gally ordered.

Protests came from the Gladers.

‘They can stay if they want. I’m sure it’s nothing bad.’ I hoped.

‘Trust me, you don’t want them here for that.’ Gally said darkly, herding the grumbling Gladers back to their jobs. ‘Go to the Med Hut, get some privacy, I’ll wake up Newt.’

Newt had dislocated his shoulder yesterday whilst helping the builders move some supplies. Clint and Jeff had help me pop it back into place and I told him to take a day of bedrest, he protested but eventually I got my way and he’d dragged himself off the hammocks and dozed off.

‘C’mon, he was hurt, he’s resting – do we really need to wake him?’ I argued, my mind now in a frenzy and panicking over what disastrous thing could be on the paper that had made Gally so deadly serious.

‘Yes.’ He said solemnly, taking off towards the hammocks.

Ada nodded at me reassuringly. I jogged over to the emptied Med Hut, clutching the note so tightly in my hand I felt my nails dig into my palms.

I sagged down onto one of the beds, in a state of terror of what the note could say. Trying to convince myself it couldn’t possibly be that dreadful, I took a deep breath before opening the crumpled paper.

‘Florence

This note is in regard to your pregnancy’

I turned the fragile note over, revealing a paragraph that had been hurriedly jotted down.

‘The Glade is unsafe for children. It would be inappropriate to raise one here. You and the other girl subjects in the Maze are forbidden from ever having offspring.

This pill will terminate your pregnancy. You have 60 minutes to consume the pill. This is a direct order. Failure to comply will result in the execution of Subject A5, known as Newt.

~ The Creators’

A small red pill was strapped to the bottom of the paper. I didn’t doubt it was an empty threat for a second, I don’t know how they’d kill Newt but if these people had the power to put us in here without any memories, they could slaughter him like a dog.

I didn’t realise I had been holding my breath, until my lungs begged for air. Letting out a loud gasp, I dissolved into the kind of despair that can take one's mind prisoner and never give it back. I sank down to my knees onto the hardened wooden floor. My chin trembled as if I was a small child. I breathed heavier than I ever had before. I was gasping for air that simply wasn’t there. My throat burned forming a silent scream. I released the most hysterical cries, the screaming sobs only interrupted by the need to draw breath. I cried as if my brain was being shredded from the inside. Emotional pain flowed out of me like a dam bursting. My mouth released a cry so raw, I felt dust fall from the support beams

Tears streamed down my face, they pooled into a small puddle of salty sadness below me, as my hands were placed on the wooden floor, the only thing keeping me from collapsing.

Barely able to breathe, I gripped the paper tightly, watching my tears soak the fragile note. This wasn’t fair. They can’t do this. I don’t have a choice.

My breath was as jagged as sharp rocks, but I knew what I needed to do.

I ripped the red pill off the paper, and discarded the paper, watching the pill lay in my palm. Panting, I whispered, ‘I’m sorry’. I snapped my eyes shut. I threw the pill into my mouth. I swallowed it.

Newt charged into the room; panic written all over his face. He saw me, sobbing like a child on the floor and quickly pulled me into a hug as he fell to his knees. He tried to soothe me, he stroked my hair gently and rubbed my back but my heart-wrenching screams wouldn’t cease.

‘Florrie, love, what’s wrong. What happened? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?’

Words failed me and I just continued sobbing into his chest, letting my heart bleed its pains. Newt picked up the discarded note, his eyes scouring the paper, horror consuming his face.

‘No.’ He gasped, in shock, tears welling in his eyes. I sat back from him; I saw the heartbreak on his face. He looked like a broken shell of a person.

‘Florrie, where’s the pill?’ He whispered, his voice fighting off a sob. ‘Where’s the pill?’ He repeated, his voice slightly firmer.

‘I’m s-sorry.’ I sobbed, my voice catching on my hysterical weeps.

Realisation dawned on his face, he looked like someone who had just had all the joy stripped from their life. He wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled me into his body, cradling my head as my tears stained his shirt.

‘You didn’t have a choice.’ He reasoned, I knew he was pretending to put on brave face for me but inside he was breaking like a shard of glass.

For a while, we just stayed there, holding each other. Our hearts were beating next to one another, and I felt as if without Newt’s arms wrapped around me and keeping me grounded, I’d slip into a deep sleep and never wake. His care was like a life support machine, keeping me alive when I didn’t have the strength to. And after today, I didn’t know if I’d ever had the strength again.

These ‘Creators’ had taken so much from us, I was terrified of how much more they would take, because God knows I couldn’t lose anymore.

‘I’m so sorry, love. They can’t do this to us.’ A mix of grief and rage intertwined in his trembling voice. Newt’s mouth turned into a snarl and he radiated fury. But the anger was nothing but a shield for pain, like a cornered soldier randomly throwing out grenades, scared for his life, lonely, desperate.

‘It’s not fair, Newt. It’s not. They took our child from us.’ I wept.

‘I know, love. But I promise, when we get out of here, we are going to make them pay.’ He said darkly, a growl in his voice.

A ball formed in the pit of my stomach, I recognised it as an old friend, my thirst for revenge. I changed that day, became bent on destroying the Creators, became a fighter. These people had taken everything from me, my memories, my family, they had tried to take Newt but I fought for him and I won.

They weren’t people, they were monsters. And I’d fight against every last one of them.

#planetnaptune #tmr series #tmr thomas #tmr alby #tmr newt #newt x reader #newt deserved better #newt fanfic #newt maze runner #newt imagine #the glade #scorch trials #the death cure #the maze runner fanfic #maze runner oc #maze runner #tmr fanfic #tmr fandom #fanfic