jules-pill
fraud
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- Mar 4, 2025
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this story is abt stacy inviting you (ltn) for going campoing, you lend her the aumbrella during a rainfall and get ill. next day, this happnbes.
It began with the fever. I lay curled on my sleeping bag, shivering as the rain drummed gently on our tent’s roof—each drop a soft lullaby in the dark. My head felt heavy, each breath like wading through fog. Then I felt her. Stacy, kneeling beside me, her face a quiet glow even in the dim light. Her hair, damp from the storm, fell like silk over her shoulders, and her skin—soft as petals—trembled as she pressed a cool cloth to my forehead.
I could smell the wild strawberries we’d gathered before the rain—now mingled with the earthy scent of moss and damp wood—that scent clung to her hair and clothes. She whispered, voice hushed, “I’m so sorry I brought us here. I never meant for you to get sick.” There was something so tender in her apology, a gentle awkwardness that made my heart ache.
I reached out, brushing a strand of her hair from her face. “It’s not your fault,” I murmured, my voice thick. My fingers slid along her cheek, feeling the warmth beneath her cool skin. She let out a soft sigh, tears pooling behind her lashes, and leaned in closer—her head resting on my chest, her breath even and slow.
Rain pattered around us as I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close. Her strawberry scent filled the small space between us, and I felt a quiet peace settle in my chest. She whispered my name once, voice tired and grateful, then drifted into sleep, cheek pressed against my heart. I stayed awake a moment longer, tracing the curve of her eyelashes, the softness of her skin—feeling like I was floating on a cloud.
When I finally drifted off, it was with her warmth against me and the steady rhythm of her breathing as my lullaby.
I POURED MY HEART AN SOUL INTO THIS PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE I EVEN PAYED ATTENTION TO CORRECT GRAMMAR
now go sleep like a little angel
It began with the fever. I lay curled on my sleeping bag, shivering as the rain drummed gently on our tent’s roof—each drop a soft lullaby in the dark. My head felt heavy, each breath like wading through fog. Then I felt her. Stacy, kneeling beside me, her face a quiet glow even in the dim light. Her hair, damp from the storm, fell like silk over her shoulders, and her skin—soft as petals—trembled as she pressed a cool cloth to my forehead.
I could smell the wild strawberries we’d gathered before the rain—now mingled with the earthy scent of moss and damp wood—that scent clung to her hair and clothes. She whispered, voice hushed, “I’m so sorry I brought us here. I never meant for you to get sick.” There was something so tender in her apology, a gentle awkwardness that made my heart ache.
I reached out, brushing a strand of her hair from her face. “It’s not your fault,” I murmured, my voice thick. My fingers slid along her cheek, feeling the warmth beneath her cool skin. She let out a soft sigh, tears pooling behind her lashes, and leaned in closer—her head resting on my chest, her breath even and slow.
Rain pattered around us as I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close. Her strawberry scent filled the small space between us, and I felt a quiet peace settle in my chest. She whispered my name once, voice tired and grateful, then drifted into sleep, cheek pressed against my heart. I stayed awake a moment longer, tracing the curve of her eyelashes, the softness of her skin—feeling like I was floating on a cloud.
When I finally drifted off, it was with her warmth against me and the steady rhythm of her breathing as my lullaby.
I POURED MY HEART AN SOUL INTO THIS PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE I EVEN PAYED ATTENTION TO CORRECT GRAMMAR
now go sleep like a little angel
