#she was moving WAY too fast anyway so maybe ill just block her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kumacyy · 3 years

Note

Hello how are you me im doing good can i request a one shot where nanami and fem!reader are at a mall (and can the reader be chubby?) and the reader look at a girl that is thinner than her and nanami notices this and her takes the reader home and has gental sex with her and prasies her and tells her she is beautiful and she doesnt need to change?

You're Perfect

Hey!! It's good to hear that you're alright sorry it took so long I had a writer's block so I hope you don't mind me going silent for a while anyways I hope you like it.

《Warnings》: 18+, gentle sex, praising, and body worship

Wc:

Unedited

Nanami Kento x Chubby! Reader

You were walking with your very handsome daddy boyfriend in the mall bonding with each other since we sure as hell all know that Nanami needs a break. Especially when a certain man child is nearby. But enough of that you and him were walking around the mall doing some window shopping and occasionally buying clothes.

Whilst you were walking around you noticed a HUGE crowd of people some were screaming some were taking their phones out but they're mostly pushing each other running to your direction. 'Probably someone famous' you thought and unfortunately for you; you got dragged by the crowd no matter how much you held on to nanami your grip just slipped and ofc this caused you and nanami to panic.

And getting dragged caused you to meet the lady that the people has been going crazy on... it was Kitagawa, Megumi (from say I love you) out of all the models that you have seen she was the one you loathed the most (sry I still hold grudges '^') I mean with just a single look at her pictures in the magazine you immediately knew she was fake. Well maybe loathed is too much but you still hated her so at first interaction with her you grimaced on the inside knowing it would offend her if you did it openly.

"Oh! I'm very sorry I just got dragged in the crowd" you apologized.

"No, no it's fine I understand it wasn't your fault anyways" she responded.

"Anyways sorry again bye!" You said trying to leave immediately while respectfully giving a wave.

"Farewell!" She said while waving her hand in response.

And with that you dissapeared in the crowd trying your best to navigate through it and of course because you're a clumsy hoe person you tripped and fell well almost fell luckily for you your sugar dadae boyfriend was there to catch you and with that you were thankful. Once both you finally left the crowd you were back to window shopping but with you more spaced out.

I mean could you blame yourself you just met a model a slim model to be more precise. The more you think about her the more insecure you become and nanami having to always be busy does not help at all. I mean what if he was just using his job as an excuse to mingle with women. No. I doubt it, he wouldn't would he? I mean he's a handsome and muscular man he can easily attract women and the fact that he settled with someone like you a fat girl is just weird.

And with more thoughts going through your head the more you get insecure which results with you unconsciously scowled at the thought which did not go unnoticed to your boyfriend. He knows you're thinking ill of yourself your expression alone made him think you're insecure which means he also knows that you were doubting his loyalty which hurt him not gonna lie. But that wouldn't stop him from loving you nonetheless.

He's for sure has to comfort you at home in a way so that you wouldn't think ill of yourself nor doubt his loyalty. It's a win win situation he gets to comfort you and you get to know how much he loves you plus he's been missing you for a while now.

And with that after hours of window shopping it was finally evening. While going home the atmosphere in the car was very tense and awkward for you but to nanami he's just thinking of ways to make sure you know he's loyal. Once you guys want home he immediately locked the front door and placed your things on the ground and went to grab your wrist. Not too hard to hurt you just enough so that you won't break free and dragged you to your shared bedroom.

Of course you didn't expect this after you went home you just expected it to be awkward so you were definitely confused.

"Nanami?" You questioned

"..." he didn't respond he just kept dragging you to the bedroom.

And once you finally reached the bedroom he immediately locked the bedroom door and pinned you against it. And started kissing you in a gentle way that you found very comforting and kissed back. Seconds later you guys released being out of breath he started giving you butterfly kisses.

"I love you so much." He mumbled in a husky voice it was low but still audible enough for you to hear.

And hearing what he said made you skip a beat and blush so out of embarrassment you hid your face on his chest which also made you hear his heart beat. It was beating very fast as if he was nervous to make the wrong move. While you were deep in thought he carried you to the bed and made you sit on it.

With a plop you snapped out of your thoughts and looked at nanami confused and with that he started to take your clothes off in a very gentle way like he's handling a very fragile object. After your clothes has been removed completely leaving you in your underwear and out of instinct you immediately covered your body with your arms. Which he had predicted and held your arms instantly uncovering it and started kissing your body that you were insecure about.

"Chu~ I love you" he said while kissing your cheeks.

"Chu~ I love this" he said again but instead of kissing your cheek he kissed your nose.

"Chu~ and this-" he said kissing each and every stretch marks on your body.

"Chu~ and this-" he continued and kissing your stomach and thighs.

"Chu~ and this of course" he said kissing your curves (hips, waist, bobs and a$s)

"Chu~ and this as well" he said kissing you body hair (armpit hair, leg hair, arm hair, and the hair underneath your belly button)

(A/n please keep in mind I'm not saying you guys have these insecurities it's just there because I think those are some of the things that most people have insecurities on (I researched about it) and also mines we all have insecurities all we have to do is to accept them.)

And with that it made your insecurities and doubts get washed away solely because you saw and heard how sincere he really is on about how much he loves you. He then pulled away and took his clothes off hastily and eagerly and after he took his clothes he is now in front of you buck naked. And with him standing it gave you a clear view of his huge cock which made you Yelp and cover your eyes immediately and made him chuckle at how cute you were being.

And he took your underwear of and carried you and placed you on his lap making you straddle him and entered in your womanhood which made your breath hitch and moan for having to be stretched after months of not doing it. And since he's a very patient man he waited for you to adjust which wasn't long. Since it was specifically made to take his cock in.

"N-ngh. yo-u.. can m-move." You stuttered having a hard time speaking because of the pleasure you were receiving.

And with that he started to gently move you and with you also helping by moving up and down. Then the room was know filled with skin slapping, and moans and groans of pleasure.

"A-ahh~"

"Ugh~"

And after going at it for hours you guys finally are close to your end which you both know.

"I-I'm close.." he said

"I-I'm c-close too.." you said

And with that you finally released together which made you scream in ecstasy and him groan loudly and with that he finally pulled out and placed you on the bed in which you were still in a dazed state and went to put his boxers on and went out the bedroom to get towels and water bottles then came back with fresh underwear for you.

And went to clean you up and gave you water which you thanked him for and then layed beside you and pulling you into his embrace.

"I love you so much" he said kissing your forehead

"I love you too" you said snuggling closer to his chest and slowly drift to sleep.

After seeing you asleep made him smile lovingly ant your sleeping face and mumbled to himself then started drifting to sleep as well.

"You're Perfect..."

Hey guys I hope you like it and thanks so much for reading.

#jjk nanami #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami x you #nanamin #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jjk #x y/n #x reader #x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #anime smut #smut

162 notes · View notes

senju-sekhmet · 3 years

Text

The Leash (Part 11)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~6000 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8; Part 9; Part 10 Read on AO3! Disclaimer below the cut!

DISCLAIMER! Part two of the finale! More to go after this though as you can tell, stay with me <3 Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ________

Tobirama was nothing if not dutiful. The time for your last dose had come faster than he wanted to. And he’d be there to administer it. He made sure to look more presentable before he entered your rooming using the hiraishin seal. What for, he didn’t know anymore. It didn’t matter, did it? Failure was certain, anyway. Perhaps it was for decency. Or maybe he needed the moment to recover. He was too numb. Spent from the breakdown. The short minute he spent at your shared home - that already screamed mute guilt at him - to wash off his smeared facial paint and reapply it before teleporting to your room.

You were in your bed, perfectly still. At peace. Of course. You couldn’t take any withdrawal anymore, at all - your body was too exhausted. To think this was how you’d pass - a shadow of your former self, at the limit of what you could take, physically, in every sense. You had fought a gruesome, cruel battle, gave it your everything, and now? Now, it was all for nothing. The sorrow flared again in a most painful way.

You won’t even hear his words.

He wouldn't even get to say goodbye.

Dazedly he strode closer to your bed, silently wondering where Hashirama was. He’d surely be here in a moment, he barely left your side. Your condition wouldn’t allow it - although with the seals covering your pale skin, you were stable, at least stable enough to allow him to tend to other duties, briefly. So long as the withdrawal didn’t kick in. He seized the moment while it presented itself like this.

He wouldn’t get another.

His eyes prickled again as he shuffled closer to your side. Briefly, he sat down on the side of your bed like he always had done when nobody else was around - but soon, the ache in his chest pulled him down onto his knees on the floor, by your side. The tightness inside was yet expanding and stealing his breath viciously as he wheezed past his clenched teeth for more air. Looking at you - your content face, the way your chest moved evenly albeit too fast - weak maybe but alive - it was tearing him apart. He didn’t know how to even exist with the grief that was seizing him faster than a fire ate up dry parchment.

His shaking hands reached for your cold, slender one, enclosing it in his, slowly bringing it to his face as he nearly buckled over it. Already, his chakra expanded to cover your network gently, coating it, wrapping around it in an utmost tender way. Tears welled just as the sorrow overflowed inside of him, like a barrel that was full and kept being poured in. The moment was sheer agony and yet he didn’t want it to end - to let go - because that would be the end.

Very tenderly he increased the connection to examine you, briefly - you still wouldn’t respond, but that was normal. You hadn’t woken in a couple of days during what was your lucid interval because you simply were too strained - Tobirama wondered if you could at all, really. The exhaustion was too great. Still, his examination found you were no better nor worse than the last time he performed it - your body was heavily impacted by each time the withdrawal had wreaked havoc inside, particularly your lung and heart were affected. At the same time the seals steadily streamed their support into you to keep your blood pressure up, your airways free, your attacked organs functioning. Not to mention the many wounds from the torture that had not been healing as you had been fighting for dear life. There wasn’t a part of you that wasn’t affected in some way, damaged, dysfunctional - critical, but not so that it couldn’t be helped.

It was, just like they had judged, a narrow edge they had been teetering.

And now it would tilt. The delicate balance they had managed to uphold, all they had done-

“I’m so sorry,” Tobirama finally spoke, his voice but a broken, haunted whisper. The baritone wrecked by guilt and sorrow alike, entirely unlike him and yet with an utter tenderness, reserved for you and your ears only. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Tears still flowed. “I’ve given it my all, my love. I couldn’t do it. I had it - I thought I had it - but in the last moment, it eluded me,” he continued, slowly cracking more by his sobs. “My failure will cost you everything,” he was practically wheezing now. “And I will never forgive myself for it. The void inside of me won’t ever be filled.” He paused for a moment to take a few shaking breaths, stroking over your forearm as he still cradled your hand to his face, rocking back and forth on his knees now.

“Please, forgive me, for I’ll never be able to.”

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard the door being opened. He needn’t tune into his sensory skills to know it was Hashirama, only his brother carried the gargantuan aura about himself.

His steps froze the moment he realised Tobirama’s pose. “What are you doing?”

Tobirama didn’t move nor open his eyes. He didn’t want to break the connection with you. He’d savour every single second that he had left with you. With a numb voice, he explained the result of his last experiment to his brother, his final findings, their implications.

During it, Hashirama got on his knees by Tobirama’s side, an arm flung around him in comfort. ________

The clinking of metal armor echoed through the corridors of the interrogation and information headquarters. Two fully equipped shinobi made their way down the hall. One of them carried an odachi in front of his chest with both hands - sheathed. For now. They were given respectful nods and salutes where they passed members of the unit, but nobody questioned their purpose nor their destination. After a left turn they were greeted by a burly man with stern, pale eyes and two more members of the unit, all dressed in a black uniforms. Only curt greetings were exchanged before they descended the winding staircase down into the cell block.

Their appearance gathered attention immediately. A rumble clattered through the bleak prison, growing with each cell block they passed. They needn’t go far. It was the middle cell block where they intended to go.

The prisoner’s gaze swept up as the group of five halted in front of his cell. Recognition flashed in his gaze, followed by laughter that carried an eerie sense of finality. “It happened, finally?”

Nobody answered. The burly man unlocked the door to enter with his two subordinates. The prisoner flashed a toothy grin, aimed precisely at one of the armed shinobi, namely the one carrying the odachi. “I’ve won,” he sneered, “I’ve fucking won, I’ve told you!” - his voice was a hoarse shout in the end, strained by the pain of a broken jaw. The three interrogators made quick work of the chains that held him tightly wrapped in the middle of the cell to ready him for transportation, arms still secured and legs only allowed a minimum of movement to walk.

The two armored shinobi watched them entirely impassively, showing not even a shred of emotion.

The prisoner’s manic laughter echoed off the prison’s wall forlornly, hauntingly. An utterly broken sound of defiance only a certain kind person would have.

A shrill scream broke through the dismal setting. “You fucking idiot! I hope you rot in hell!” - the woman of the far end. Nobody paid attention to her.

The group made their way down the corridor that was only illuminated by a few candles along the way, passing the stairway they had taken down. The prisoner kept chattering. His voice carried a slight tremble now, “How did she die? Tell me, come on. I’ve never actually seen it, but I learned it’s fucking gruesome in the end,” his eyes were alight with sick pleasure.

The shinobi dressed in blue battle armor adorned with a white fur collar gripped the odachi so hard his knuckles turned white. His back was turned towards the prisoner, he couldn’t see the way his face scrunched under his happuri.

Nobody answered him.

He kept jabbering along incessantly. At some point the tone had taken on a perfectly fine frantic edge. Blubbering, almost, to himself. Eventually, they reached a door the burly man unlocked. The room beyond was dark but lit up as soon as they entered. No windows were inside, just like in the prison block, but no seals adorned these walls. This room was entirely bleak save for dark, crimson stains on the stone floor in the middle of the room.

The subordinates dragged the prisoner into that very center. With an ungraceful kick to the back of his knees, he was brought to kneel. The two shinobi stood in front of him and the man in the red armor crossed his arms. His expression was sorrowful, moved. But the taut line of his jaw and the coldness of his gaze betrayed no lightness about this situation.

“Zenji of the Stone Village,” he began somberly as the three interrogation unit members lined up behind their prisoner who now was wheezing on a low tune, his stare fixated on the harbinger of his fate. “The actions of your unit have endangered our borders, the civilians who live there and ultimately,” he paused meaningfully to take a deep breath - the stone cold tone cracked a little, pained lines wrinkled his smooth face. “Cost the life of one of our own.”

Immediately, Zenji’s mien lit up. He grinned widely, but he did not give the red-armored man another glance. Instead, his gaze was trained on the figure in blue, whose scarlet eyes were murderous as he stared him down, face framed by his happuri and finely applied facial paint. He looked spotless. Zenji cackled again.

“I do not wish for there to be more bloodshed,” the shinobi continued, entirely unperturbed by the behavior of the prisoner. “However our village can and will not condone these actions with idleness nor continue to nurture an enemy we cannot possibly ever release. Your kage,” Zenji’s head snapped back to the red-armored man momentarily. “Made clear he is not interested in an exchange of prisoners.”

The room became completely silent.

“I bear no revenge nor joy, but as the Hokage of Konoha, I’m here to tell you that you have been sentenced to death.”

The blue armored man stepped closer now, odachi still tightly clasped, but the man in the red armor raised his hand slightly, prompting him to stop and give him an irritated stare.

Zenji’s ragged breaths came wheezing so loudly they echoed off the walls as his wide eyes stared at the man, motionless besides the fight for oxygen.

Hashirama regarded the prisoner with the same cold gaze he had been wearing all the time. “Do you wish to speak one last time?”

That was his clue. Zenji threw his head back to release a long groan, each breath transforming more and more into a chuckle. A disconcerting lull settled over the room as it died down with a sense of finality and his eyes locked with Tobirama’s. “Oh, I fucking do,�� he began, grinning widely. “To him. It’s my last wish.”

Tobirama’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his teeth, giving no verbal answer. Hashirama did instead. “Very well.”

Zenji cocked his head. “Tell me, how did you fail? What part of the leash didn’t you copy? I want to know.”

Tobirama’s eyes closed slowly and his jaw worked visibly. “Anjia…,” he began slowly, his deep voice so low it was barely more than a strained growl.

“Answer him, Tobirama. A dying man’s wish should not be denied.” Hashirama’s tone left no room for discussion.

Tobirama’s eyes opened again to give Zenji a glance of sheer hatred, his nostrils flared, scarlet glare ablaze. He did not even attempt to hide the fury in his voice as he spoke. If he spat the words out any more in fact, they’d be lost in the rage. “I created a leash of my own and tethered Kimi to it. However…,” he worked hard to find the next words, Zenji’s grin widened already, likely in anticipation for the best part of the story, “... it would appear my sealing technique differs from yours, if just slightly.”

The prisoner burst into laughter, Tobirama flinched. The sheathed odachi trembled slightly from the force he held it with. “I fucking knew it! Ah,” he replied when he had gained a grip on himself again. “The seal. The master’s finishing touch. Unique, really.” Zenji wriggled his eyebrow in a manner that prompted Tobirama to bare his teeth slightly. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to copy mine. Ha!”

Hashirama cleared his throat.

But Zenji was not yet finished. “I’m not a liar though, y’know? I keep my promises,” the grin now was sickening. Gloating. Zenji cherished this moment as though he was an actor on a grand stage. Living it to its fullest. “And I promised to tell you everything once Y/n croaked, so here we are.”

Tobirama exhaled a wheezing breath as he stepped closer abruptly, Hashirama’s hand shooting up instantly to lay on his shoulder guard. “Brother, please,” he whispered, turning towards him slightly. Then the cold stare was back on Zenji. “You need not besmirch your Village’s secrets now.”

“Ah, ah,” Zenji sneered, “Why the fuck should I care? I’m as good as dead anyway, and I want to teach Konoha’s best scientist how he could have saved his oh so beloved.” His voice dripped with caustic smugness and Hashirama had to grip Tobirama’s forearm lest his brother shot forward and delivered the sentence just for these words alone.

Tobirama’s expression was one of sheer murder. His teeth were bared and the scarlet gaze alone was ready to kill a man - just like the rest of himself, particularly the large weapon he carried; the same weapon he had used many times before.

Zenji continued to live his show. “Now I needn’t explain the weaving process since you kinda copied it - well fucking done, man - but my seal - ah, let’s see. My seal is relatively simple!” Hashirama’s grip on his brother tightened as he near vibrated with lethal energy still, spurring Zenji to even greater extravagance. “Of course, it was passed down to me by the one who taught me, but I made some modifications,” he drawled lazily, an adventurous glint to his gaze.

What followed was a detailed explanation about the intricacy and yet simplicity of his own sealing process Tobirama couldn’t stomach anymore - he turned away lest he drove the odachi through the prisoner’s neck on the spot, perhaps. It was impossible to tell in the dim light - the shadow looming over his face hid his expression well and with the happuri, his profile was somewhat obscured. Only the taut stance, the clenched grasp on his weapon were telltale signs of the high-strung situation - a tight coil, ready to lash out any second.

Zenji didn’t hold back on information about how exactly he performed the seal that made the disruption stick within the leash - everyone else listened quietly. Hashirama’s mien had turned stony throughout it and the three members of the interrogation unit simply watched the man with practiced nonchalance.

“And that,” Zenjia finished his grand, final play, “is what could’ve saved Y/n. Too fucking bad.” The grin he wore was nothing short of sick. “Maybe I can tell her too, when I’m dead, hm?”, he tilted his head.

Suffocating silence befell the room.

Hashirama cleared his throat. It was time for the execution of judgement, literally. He turned his head towards Tobirama, whose back was turned towards the prisoner at this point. “Very well,” he concluded with a loaded kind of finality.

A few moments of heavy silence later, Tobirama turned around.

His head was tilted downwards slightly, shadows cast over his face.

Then he looked up.

Smirking broadly.

He lowered the odachi that he had clasped so tightly throughout all of the conversation - more like, Zenji’s soliloquy, and stepped yet again closer to the prisoner.

The smirk became smug, and smugness became condescending as skin around his mouth wrinkled in an utterly arrogant way. There was a satisfied, bright glint in his scarlet gaze. “You are without a doubt the dumbest shinobi I’ve ever encountered,” finally, he bared his teeth in a wide grin. “And for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” His baritone voice dripped with sarcasm.

Zenji’s expression fell apart. His jaw hung open slightly and his gaze was wide as he tried to process the change of demeanour in who he deemed by now his arch nemesis. “What the fuck?”, he spat out finally when Tobirama didn’t speak again.

He simply clicked his tongue sympathetically and arched both eyebrows. “Y/n is not dead. In fact, thanks to you, she will live.” Both relief and caustic smugness were tangible in the way he worded this, no doubt basking in the moment of figuratively crushing Zenji under his heel. Who still didn’t find the words to answer yet, but Tobirama was more than happy to supply him with more fodder. “Certainly, time was running quite short - almost, imagine, almost - you could’ve won.”

Zenji’s jaw trembled beside the pain that must cause him alongside the rest of him. The man still hadn’t found his words again.

Tobirama wasn’t done with the verbal execution, however. “I truly did not know how to copy your seal after creating my own.” A slow nod, his baritone voice now came rolling smoothly, “And then it occurred to me - why not use your petty thirst for revenge for Y/n? All it’d take was make you believe she died. And here we are,” a smile spread over his lips again. “You delivered perfectly.” Then, he had the audacity to give Zenji a single pat on the head as though he was praising a dog.

The prisoner recoiled from the touch as though it was scalding hot. “Fuck you!” he screamed from the top of his lungs, nearly tipping over from his kneeling position, had it not been for Ikuro’s hand shooting out to secure him by the shoulder. “Rot in fucking hell, Senju!” he howled, but it was no more than a little bandaid for the hurt pride.

Tobirama already turned around to Hashirama, any trace of smugness or gloating gone from his expression. “I’ll get to work. Thank you, anija,” he dipped his head slightly. Zenji was still shouting profanities at him, but it was no more than a background noise.

Hashirama smiled broadly, much more like himself. “Of course.”

Tobirama turned back to Ikuro and his subordinates. Now, he actually took a slight bow. “And thank you, too. There still is little more to be done, but I’m very grateful for your support.”

Ikuro had already wrestled an unruly Zenji off of the floor, but the burly man wore a wide grin. “I - no, we will be expecting you. Right, Zenji? Come on, let’s get you back to your compatriots. They’ll be glad to see you again,” he finished with a dangerous chuckle.

The sounds already drowned out as Tobirama initiated the hiraishin seal teleport to the laboratory.

You only had a few hours left.

_______

You were suspended in sweet nothingness.

You had been for a while really, perturbed only by occasional nightmares. They were dim and far away, visions of what had been. Maybe. You weren’t sure anymore.

It hadn’t been like this before. Before, your world had been on fire. You had been on fire. Being burned from the inside out and yet too powerless to scream out your agony at the world. Something - someone - had chained you up in the nothingness with no company except your torment that you suffered through, over and over again. Until it faded, and the nightmares came. You laughed about those now. Then, all was calm. For a while.

Your reason for going through all this was becoming but an abstract concept.

Until you weren’t even sure anymore what might be happening. Dimly, you remembered your strength leaving you - waking up was getting harder, eventually it was tantamount to the one armed climbing exercises you used to steel yourself with. You actually had been able to pull off something like that?

Tobirama had been by your side every waking second. His face; you’d never forget the expression. Never before had you seen him haunted by distress of this kind while his chakra warmly embraced you, while he comforted you - telling you he was working hard. You had wanted to comfort him in turn, then. He needed it more than you - he hadn’t looked fine. Drawn, worn out.

Unwell. Sick, almost.

Things must be looking very bad, you knew then. It reminded you why you went through all this. But you all were losing the fight, it seemed?

No matter how much you fought, how badly you wanted to - during the phases in which you weren’t suffering from being burned alive nor haunted by nightmares, you couldn’t wake anymore. You wanted to. So badly. But your eyes wouldn’t open and ultimately, the darkness was your lonely repose in which you anxiously waited for the next time the fire began to light up again.

But that had been fading. The fire’s burn was becoming shorter. And your consciousness was slipping more. Sometimes, you thought you felt Tobirama’s presence, but maybe that was wishful thinking.

Eventually it was just you and forlorn nothingness with the occasional nightmare.

Had you died?

It changed. The fire returned once more - and this time, this time it felt as though you were burning away. Not like before - when it burned you out until someone snuffed out the flames - now, it consumed your very being. It became so great at some point, pain was all you were - nothing besides the scorch of the fire that ate you alive.

You realised then, this must be it - every moment more of you faded and the pain kept on roaring through every single cell of your body. But you - you were becoming duller and duller. You didn’t want to. Not yet - this wasn’t how you were going to go down, was it? Yet the promise of eternal rest after this, all of this pain - it was alluring. After all you’ve been through, was there really a point in returning?

Tobirama would choke you personally if he ever caught on to these thoughts.

But he’s not here, is he?

You were all alone.

Ready to go. You had fought, you had tried, you had walked the road to hell many times over but eventually even your stamina would forego you.

Except they didn’t let you go. Something - no, someone was holding you back. Any time you were dipping into the part of darkness you just knew there was no returning from, there was a pull. It was forceful, unpleasant - a jolt that might have spurred your heart to keep on beating, your lungs to draw air and each organ of your body to keep on functioning.

You wanted to reject it.

I don’t want to, anymore. I can’t. I just can’t. It hurts too much. Please.

They didn’t let you.

You wanted to cry.

You were suspended in nothingness by titan chains that forcefully kept you right on your very own pyre while pain was becoming you.

_______

He didn’t want to take any chances. But he didn’t have time, either. Tobirama had no choice but to follow the information Zenji had given as dutifully as possible and hope this was it - that the bottle of leash he had crafted was identical to what Zenji would have produced. Really, it was an all out move. His back was against the proverbial wall while yours lowered more and more into a coffin.

You were going into withdrawal again, and he knew what that meant.

Never before had he woven the leash this fast - frankly working with a larger quantity of base substance seemed to make the whole process easier, and yet at the same time more demanding. Not that he felt any of it, he was focusing entirely on getting this done as fast as possible. Once he was satisfied with the result - enough to give it to you that was, which was about the highest standard he could think of - he teleported straight into your room.

Where his brother was bent over your sweating, and shaking body as his palms glowed lightly.

The rattle of your breath - Tobirama knew it well. He had heard it many times before.

A dying person’s breath.

“I’ve got it,” Tobirama whispered as his heart spasmed alongside your flat rasps for air. Blood rushed in his ears and ice-cold through his veins. He struggled to keep the floor under his feet as he staggered closer swiftly. He wouldn’t lose you now. Not after all this, not with the solution to your demise in his hands.

Hashirama didn’t even answer him; his expression was wrinkled by deep concentration and a fine sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead.

Numbly, Tobirama plucked the vial with Zenji’s - his - leash from his pocket and effortlessly opened your mouth. Your skin was icy to the touch and so pale, were it not for your faint chakra signature, he’d have thought you dead already.

The image branded itself into his mind, scarring him forever.

He poured the leash in and tilted your head back so it’d run down your pharynx, giving your scalp a trembling stroke with his hand.

With prickling eyes, he moved to bend over you, place his palms on you as well to assist his brother in healing - no, in keeping you alive. As soon as he established the connection needed for examining and healing, the reality of your condition rolled over him like a boulder. Your body’s reaction to the withdrawal was as violent as ever, just like the substance that was causing it. A proverbial bushfire that had spread throughout all of you. Hashirama wasn’t just stabilizing you alongside the seals - he was taking aggressive action to keep you alive. There wasn’t a part of you he wasn’t actively pouring his own chakra in to keep on working. Were it not for him, you’d be long gone already - in his brother’s chakra’s embrace you’d stay alive, barely, so long as he forced your body to keep on going, and going. Tobirama was positive you were well beyond what you could take any more in terms of another person’s chakra.

The alternative was you dying.

It was another problem they’d deal with later. Swiftly, he began to assist his brother to split up the efforts evenly and try to keep you alive to the best of his abilities.

The next moments felt like an eternity.

Work. Work already. It was all Tobirama could think of while his chakra bolstered your failing heart to keep it on pumping, wound through your lungs into the tiniest alveoles to clear them of fluid and repair tissue damage so that you might breathe.

Just work.

Agonizingly slowly, the drug was taking effect. Already, your chakra began to clog, freeze - the muting component hit your network exactly like the leash would.

Tobirama thought time and his heart both froze in the next few moments that surely decided your fate.

The withdrawal’s flame died down and fizzled out as though water had been poured over it.

Time was starting again.

He started to breathe once more. Before he realised it, he sank to his knees at the side of your bed. He couldn’t focus any more, he barely felt the wheezes that escaped him as a few heavy sobs wrecked his torso.

He had done it. Finally.

The oppressing feeling of time running out - the rock that had been crushing him was lifted.

But the elevation did not last long.

Reality - the parts that weren’t circling around the fact you were at least not going to die due to a lack of the leash - very quickly yanked him back to the situation at hand. Already, he dragged himself up again to aid Hashirama once more, who had not once broken focus. They had stopped the destructive withdrawal, true enough; but the damages it had wrought were not gone of course. Swiftly he gathered himself to concentrate back on aiding his brother in keeping you alive, really, a task no less dire than before. Rather, it was time to tip the scales into the opposite direction now.

He couldn’t say how long the two of them sat in silence, simply forcing you to keep going by continuously pouring their chakra into you.

He wouldn’t lose you - not now, not after everything you both had gone through.

He wouldn’t let you go.

Bit by bit, your body started to function more and more on its own - requiring less of the forceful aid both brothers were providing. That wasn’t to say you were becoming stable at all - tentatively, Hashirama would nudge Tobirama to withdraw some, only to watch you relapse quickly.

As it was, your condition remained critical.

Some time later, his brother allowed himself a momentary almost-break. Hashirama hummed deeply. “She’s well into chakra overload now,” he announced somberly, gazing at your face. “However we can’t stop yet.”

Tobirama’s attention was still mostly turned inwards and towards you as he did the brunt of the work so his brother could catch a breath. There wasn’t a part of you his chakra wasn’t aiding in some way; all he managed was a brief grunt of agreement.

Effectively, chakra overload wasn’t much different than a late allergic reaction of the body to the procedures a medic nin had performed. The extend of what a patient could take and experienced varied from how well-versed the healer was - and Tobirama knew his brother’s skills to be capable of healing fatal wounds without sending the person into overload - but your system barely had been able to catch a break from the agonizingly long time of capture, torture and what effectively just served to keep you alive for more torture. And then of course, all that had followed back home, in Konoha.

But what they had been doing to you for who knew how long?

That was as good as keeping defying death itself.

Hashirama sighed deeply. “I suppose we have no other choice anyway. The next few hours will be decisive.”

An ice-cold shiver ran down Tobirama’s spine, disrupting his strained focus momentarily.

Of course. They couldn’t keep on going like this forever - and neither would you endlessly, readily respond to what they did.

Either you’d start pulling your own weight again, or…

Tobirama swallowed heavily.

Silently, Hashirama’s efforts picked up again alongside his own to stabilise you.

_________

Tobirama had thought weaving the leash was about one of the most straining things he had done. But like so often these last few days, he had been wrong - cradling your very life with his proverbial hands was wrecking him a lot more for numerous reasons - the least of which was the exhaustion setting in.

Because if one thing was keeping him going, it was his determination - he wouldn’t, he couldn’t lose you, not now, not after all this.

Slowly, they had begun to lessen the intensity of the aid they provided and watched whether you relapsed into a more severe state or not. If you did, they settled back to the previous level - and waited again. A tedious procedure, but there was no other way.

Eventually, the time you managed without any aid from him or Hashirama had increased substantially - naturally, the seals on your body still were working strongly, though.

Both were now standing next to your bed, an eerie silence had filled the room, save for your flat, strained breaths.

Hashirama spoke first. “I don’t want to say this is over, yet,” he announced somberly. His mien was drawn, tired. His brother had his limits - keeping someone alive for hours pushed even him. Something told Tobirama he still could have kept on going, though. “Though we will watch now. Her overload is very severe. If she makes the next hours well enough…” He trailed off, giving Tobirama what best could be described as a sad glance.

Tobirama didn’t know what he felt anymore. In these last hours he felt just about any kind of extreme emotion - utter heartbreak, loss, sorrow, murderous fury, followed by exhilaration, followed by despair, topped off with numbing focus.

Truth be told, he could sleep while standing at this point. And yet at the same time, he was restless. He knew - he knew, just a bit longer. Just a bit.

He swallowed heavily. “Alright.” His gaze was locked on your gaunt features still. “We should keep her sedated,” not that he believed for a second you’d be anywhere near waking anytime soon. “There will be no more withdrawal challenges. We’ll keep her chakra locked and use the seals to stabilise her until the overload fades.” Perhaps he was just convincing himself this would work, too.

Hashirama hummed in agreement. “Frankly her weak state may be advantageous. She’s too weak to have much of a too severe reaction now, I believe.”

Tobirama’s gaze flickered momentarily to his brother, then back to you. He hadn’t considered that angle. Then, he sighed deeply. “The irony,” he muttered finally.

A low chuckle was the answer, which irritated Tobirama slightly. However his brother’s gaze bore an honest kind of appreciation he always had a hard time spitting sarcasm at. “Either way, I’m hopeful she’ll make it. You’ve done it. The plan was… daring, but.” He shrugged.

He could only give a curt snort in reply. “I regret not having used my enemy’s pettiness and thirst for revenge for Y/n’s advantage sooner.” The solution had been so obvious when it revealed itself to him in what had been the darkest hour of all this fight. When he had crumbled by your bedside with his brother by his side. He frowned then. “Although it made the show most… credible.”

Hashirama’s mouth formed a thin line again as he nodded. His brother might not have fallen apart like Tobirama did, but his reaction had been just as intense. And just like Tobirama, he had been ready to protect you with any means available. Using his position for a mock execution was nothing difficult. “Now to find a cure.”

Tobirama sighed again and crossed his arms. Luckily, time wouldn’t be pressing him this time. Although he had not spent a single second on the matter, either. “I first will create the leash in such a way Y/n doesn’t need to suffer the psychotropic effects of the base substance anymore.” His baritone voice was firm. With the weight off of his chest, the protectiveness was filling him again. You were not going to suffer any more than you had. And he knew precisely how to make that happen. “It’ll just be medication she has to take regularly.”

Again, his brother hummed affirmatively. “Very well. Even so…,” he frowned then, growing quite stern. “You are going to sleep now. For about a day or three.”

Anger flashed through Tobirama faster than he had truly comprehended the words. “Anija, I will not-”

“Yes. You will.” Hashirama crossed his arms. “You’ve been awake for, what? Forty-eight hours? More? Don’t make me throw you out.”

Tobirama’s voice had risen in volume before he realised it might disturb you, but the ire stewing inside made it near impossible to keep it down. “I most certainly will not before I made the drug more bearable for-”

Something flashed in Hashirama’s eyes. One didn’t need Tobirama’s sensor skills to feel the surge in chakra that his brother emitted - but for him, it was like staring into the sun. Sometimes, it was too much. Like right now.

He yielded with no more than a curt “Alright,” before teleporting to your shared home.

Now, it didn’t feel so forlorn anymore.

#tobirama #tobirama senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader #sekhmet writes

28 notes · View notes

malikmata · 3 years

Text

Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

#diary #photoblog #photo diary #midwest #kansas #travel diaries

7 notes · View notes

annhellsing · 4 years

Text

Demon King

notes: i wanted to dom lucifer, this got a little out of hand (like five thousand words out of hand) but i’m genuinely quite proud. enjoy!!! rating: EXTREMELY EXPLICIT. sub lucifer ahead :0) pairing: lucifer / female reader. implied lucifer/diavolo and diavolo/reader word count: 5,094

It’s hard to ask for the storm when he insists on calm. Lucifer is a straight-backed believer in order and enforcing it. So when your fingers curl around your cup of coffee --and he wishes that the mug was his throat-- it leaves him quite shaken.

And you may know. It’s the hardest part for him.

How can he allow himself to want like that? Especially when the little things entice him. The breakfast table is in a state of painful tension, and the only one who appears to be in a good mood is Diavolo.

“Have you been sleeping well?” he asks you. And for a brief second, you turn your head not to who will be king of hell, but to Lucifer.

You blink, watching as he stews in early-morning self-dissatisfaction. Then, the moment passes and you look away. You smile, it’s only slightly forced and reply, “You always know when I’m tired.”

Lucifer grips his teacup a little tighter. He tries not to think about what you might have been doing while you were up late. You had a nightmare, perhaps, or decided to get in a little extra studying. But his mind drifts to places dark and twisted.

He’s worried about you developing the habit of keeping late hours, of course, but Lucifer can’t help but wonder if you’d filled the time some other way. He pictures you in bed, spread out with the clock on your nightstand pointing to three am. A shape huddles between your legs, their work making you writhe and twist.

You take a handful of dark hair, with shocks of dull silver near the front and pull. You pull until the moan that breaks the silence is loud and undoubtedly his. Lucifer shifts in his seat, blinking and taking a slow sip of his tea.

“I can see it in your eyes,” Diavolo explains, “rather, under them. You have dark circles, it’s a bit worrying.”

“Oh,” your smile falters a little bit, your hand coming to rest on your cheek. “I must’ve missed them when I looked at myself in the mirror.”

“You should go to bed earlier tonight,” he says with that soft insistence that always leads you to the right decisions. “I’d hate for you to work yourself to death.”

“I wasn’t studying, I finished that up a bit earlier in the evening,” you say. The other six table-members seem too wrapped up in their own bickering to notice you mention that.

But two pay attention, the demon at the table and the one sipping tea across from you. Lucifer feels the almighty urge to ask what you were doing, perhaps under the pretense of rule-breaking. The question stays in his throat, however. He looks to Diavolo, just briefly, and watches the man nod.

“Don’t tell me you were slacking off,” Lucifer huffs. He sounds more annoyed than he intends to, but his thoughts have been quite annoying.

“Leave her be,” Diavolo interjects, looking stern in a way that is nothing short of mortifying. And exciting. “I’m sure she just couldn’t fall asleep. It happens to everyone.”

“That’s right,” you say, looking to Lucifer again. Your eyes are narrowed, you fix him with a harsher stare than before. He feels pinned down.

He’s not between your legs on the bed any more, he’s on his back. You have his wrists held tight above his head, you force them up and back against the bars of your headboard. With a scarf that was not in your fist before, you tie him up tight.

“I get so in my own head sometimes, I think too much and I can’t sleep..” you say, “A little bit like you, Lucifer. Don’t you think?”

He swallows, keeping his expression neutral. But it’s difficult, for in the back of your mind you’ve picked up another scarf from the nightstand. You tie it around his head, over his eyes. He blinks in the face of your teasing expression.

“I promise I won’t stay up too late twice in a row,” you say. The spell is broken, but the little curve of your smirk remains. The heady silence that swims around Lucifer’s head blocks out the way his brother’s argue. You’re smiling only for him. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“We will anyway,” Diavolo says. But the pitch of his voice is lower enough so that only three can hear.

Breakfast ends shortly after, with the sound of feet shuffling towards the hallway ending conversations. Lucifer sits in the dining room longer even than Beelzebub. Almost as long as you.

You look at him again just before you leave. The two of you are mostly alone, the door closes on Asmodeus with Mammon close behind.

“It’s you who’s starting to worry me,” you say, cocking your head to the side. That awful smirk from before returns with a force that infuriates him. “You’ve been stealing glances since I woke up. Is it the dark circles or something else?”

“You happen to look ill,” Lucifer lies. You look beautiful, sitting across from him. Tired and teasing, but so very beautiful.

“I was with Diavolo last night,” you show teeth when you smile. “I made him very happy, did he tell you about it?”

You fill your mug halfway with the last of the coffee in the pot. You stir in two sugar cubes. It becomes clear after a moment that he isn’t going to answer you, which makes you shrug.

“The way your eyes glaze over every now and again, I’ll say he did,” you mumble. You watch the door close on Mammon and decide to stand yourself. “But I wonder, are you imagining what I did with him or what I would do with you?”

Maybe a little of both, you think with a devilish glint in your eye. As you pass by his chair and straight posture, you drag your hand over Lucifer’s shoulder. You curl your fingers, very briefly, around his neck and lean in.

“Your lord says he wants you to come and see me tonight,” you whisper. “He’ll be there, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

You hardly stay long enough to feel his skin go hot. At the very same time, a shiver shakes his shoulders. Lucifer doesn’t look as you take your leave, he only sets his teacup down. His hands were trembling.

His intrusive thoughts bully him for the rest of the day. For the most part, he’s annoyed to find himself thinking about every sordid detail that Diavolo shared that morning--- but with him in place of the one-day-king.

Standing up from the breakfast table is an exercise in misery. He can still feel the weight of your hand at his throat, the front of his trousers are so tight as to be uncomfortable. He does his best to go about his day with that heavy, heady warmth between his legs-- it’s more difficult than he anticipates.

The sensation is almost unfamiliar, which doesn’t sit right with him. It isn’t as if he’s inexperienced, Diavolo keeps him very busy, but the sway you hold over him is painfully new. And it dominates his waking thoughts.

He busies himself at his desk, but has to pause when the daydreams take a turn for the fantastic. As far as he’s been told, you’ve never bent anyone over their desk and had your way with them like that. But when he pictures it, it’s vivid enough to distract from any meaningful task.

Lucifer lives on auto-pilot. His mind is hostile territory and you’ve made yourself the enemy. He’s waited too long, denied himself too much for you to be a gentle lover. You hold him down, you bring the pain. All he can do is moan.

That kind of empty-headedness is enough to inspire jealousy every time there’s a knock on the door. He wishes very badly, though he would never admit it, that you were on the other side. That you knew what he was thinking and came to rescue him from his work day.

But it’s Levithan. Then Asmodeus. Then everyone in hell, it seems, except for you. That night can’t come fast enough.

You saw the look of dread at being found out on Lucifer’s face. It hurts to see him insist on lies, concocted by his greatest sin. You know as well as he does that he has a restless mind, but you don’t expect that he’ll be in your bed tonight.

Surprise, surprise.

“You kept us waiting, didn’t you?” Diavolo beams from his place on the sofa, dressed down in an unbuttoned shirt with an open fly. Lucifer lifts his head very sharply, his cheeks turning a brick-red.

“I’m never late,” you smirk, “the two of you are just early. And I’m worth waiting for.”

Diavolo sits up a little straighter, unabashed delight in his eyes. You drop your shoulder bag and approach with a sway of your hips.

Lucifer makes himself scarce, sitting back in the corner of the sofa when you take his lover’s face in your hands. You kiss the king in hell, dragging him towards you and biting gently on his lower lip.

When you pull away, you turn your eyes to the demon trying to look smaller.

“Are you all right?” you ask. And you’re wearing that expression he’s so frightened of. Loving and concerned.

“He’s a bit shy,” Diavolo interjects. You nod, but don’t look away.

“Would you like a kiss, Lucifer?” you try, tilting your head and motioning for him to come closer. You’re different from how you looked at breakfast. Softer, but still firm. It makes his cheeks flush.

“Y--” he cuts himself off. You’re moving across the couch, cornering him against the armrest. He inhales sharply when you reach for his chin.

“I’m going to kiss you, okay?” you continue. His eyes go wide. He nods.

Your mouth is as soft as your voice. How many times has he wondered what it would be like for you to press up against him? He’s imagined you breathing the way you are now, smiling against his lips. Your unspoken promise is kept, you’re very gentle with him.

When you pull away, the colour of your lipstick clings to his mouth like a sigh. His shoulders loosen, he feels lighter than before. Still terrified, his stomach is host to a thousand butterflies, but he’s somehow unburdened.

“You’ve been so shy around me, lately,” you say, your hand moving slowly down his jaw. “That is, when you haven’t been extremely rude. Wouldn’t you like to apologize?”

“Y-yes,” he stutters, “you have my apologies. It was immature of me to be so inhospitable.”

“Hm, so polite,” you mumble. To Lucifer’s immortal shame, he notices you say that more to Diavolo than him. “Do you want me to forgive you, dearest?”

“More than anything,” he sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“For?” you ask. And the edge in your voice that makes his stomach flutter returns. He swallows hard.

“I am very sorry for saying that you were slacking off,” he replies. You nod.

“Very sincere, good job,” you smile, “I forgive you. Come here.”

He’s only distantly aware of what you say, because you take hold of his throat the way you did at breakfast. You tug him forward and kiss him a second time, pressing your tongue to his lower lip. Lucifer doesn’t hesitate, he opens his mouth and grants you entry.

“You’re being much nicer than this morning,” you comment, “ did Diavolo give you a lesson in manners?”

He looks over your shoulder, half-glaring at the demon sitting behind you. He shrugs and gives a wide smile. Lucifer hesitates, then nods.

“But you still look so scared of me,” you say, “that won’t do. Look at me.”

It takes a second for him to pry his eyes away from where the hem of your skirt ends and your shirt begins. Making eye contact at a time like this, with your lipstick on his mouth is unspeakably difficult.

You guide him with the hand still at his throat, pulling him away from the couch corner. Lucifer’s eyes, dark and still so full of pride find yours.

“Do you want this?” you ask. He wonders if you ask Diavolo this many questions. And then he imagines that yes, at some point, you must have. It’s odd business, being cared for. But you seem sincere in not wanting to hurt him.

“I do,” he says after a long sigh. “It’s a challenge for me to admit to it.”

“I know,” you say, “but you’re doing so well. You’re making me very proud.”

His eyes widen a fraction, taken aback by that. He’s barely done anything, he thinks. You’re far too free with your praise. But any desire to deny what you say dies quickly.

Your thumb rubs gentle circles over the side of his neck. Instinctively, Lucifer leans towards the source and presses himself against your palm. When you’re sure he’s comfortable, you give his throat a small squeeze.

And though he tenses up, he doesn’t tell you to stop. He leans in, hoping you’ll apply more pressure without him needing to ask. One embarrassingly long moment later confirms that you won’t be doing any such thing. He grits his teeth.

“More,” he sighs. “I want more.”

“You can have more,” you start, “if you say please.”

“You’re kidding,” he huffs. His complaint is so quiet as to almost be inaudible. But the moment he considers being difficult, he catches Diavolo’s glare out of the corner of his eye. “Please.”

Immediately, you tighten your grip. Lucifer gives a very startled squeak, but his eyes fall closed in surprised pleasure. He nods like he’s been granted his greatest wish.

“So, you like a little pain,” you say.

“I did mention that,” Diavolo pipes up. You look at him over your shoulder, sharing a smirk.

“I wanted to see for myself. It’ll be fun having someone I can punish,” you lean in and put your mouth to Lucifer’s ear. “Especially considering you’re so fond of discipline.”

He shivers with his whole body, uncaring if you notice. Trying to hide something like that when he’s already so nervous is almost impossible. But the sight seems only to make your smile more sinister.

“I will never hurt you without your permission,” you say, “which is why safewords are important. Do you know what that means?”

“That I need to think of one,” Lucifer replies. You bite down on his earlobe, making him suck in a breath. “Human. If I say human, you stop.”

“Of course, dearest,” you say, “do you want to use it now?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“Good,” you beam.

You hear movement behind you, Diavolo’s shadow looms at your back but you barely flinch when he hugs you. His arms are strong, they curl around your chest and pull you back against his.

“I thought you said you’d behave,” you say, exhaling softly when he kisses your shoulder. “I know I’m neglecting you, I’m sorry.”

Lucifer watches with almost rapt attention. His mouth hangs open very slightly, a mixture of surprise and lust hiding in the centre of his eye. He was told by the man himself that you hold some kind of lovely power over him, but watching it is very different from stories.

You nudge your nose against his cheek, giving him a soft kiss. The look in your eyes makes Lucifer strain with jealousy. He wants it in a way he’s never wanted anything before, without thinking he reaches up and puts his hand over yours.

He puts pressure on your fingers, clearly wanting them to tighten around his throat. That beautiful smile, that softness in your face shifts.

“Are you really so impatient?” you ask, snapping with more force than he expects. But through it all, Lucifer sees the sparkle in your eyes. “Diavolo has been so good and the moment I take my eyes off of you--”

Lucifer’s hand falls. His mouth is still slack and he finds himself wanting to pose an idea, one that makes his fluttering chest turn to ice.

“Forgive me,” he shivers when your lip quirks up at the edge. “Perhaps I-- I do need discipline.”

And he thought only you knew the magic words.

Your eyes light up, holding so much joy that it could make him burst. He imagines this is how Diavolo feels when he takes up his place between your knees. Lucifer feels lucky, just for a moment, to have a little of your love. Just a little of your grace.

“Well, since you admitted to it--” you start, grinning from ear to ear. You kiss the man half-folded across your back, patting his cheek with so much affection. “Undress and wait on my bed, there’s a good boy.”

Lucifer straightens up under your hand at the last two words. That jealousy, hot and overwhelming returns. He has a single-minded ambition, to hear such a name used in reference to him.

You notice his shift, but say nothing out loud. You only give him that same, sweet smile and give his throat a gentle tug towards you. He follows, trying his best to forget at how his pride screams. This will be good for him, he thinks. He’s wanted this for so long.

He’s needed it for even longer.

You guide him over your lap, not necessarily the position he was expecting-- but Lucifer is far from stupid. He swallows again, shuts his eyes tight and then remembers to relax. To breathe. You would want that for him.

“It’s the first time, so I promise I won’t hurt you,” you say, and then add, “much.”

He has to stifle a gasp when you take your hand from his neck, instead reaching for his arms.

“Do you want to be tied up? Diavolo likes that, are you all right with trying it?” you ask. It occurs to him after a pause that you’re waiting for an answer. Lucifer shivers.

“Y-yes,” he replies, “I want to try it. And you needn’t worry about being gentle. I-I want it to hurt.”

You coo, the sound almost embarrassing to him. You hold both of his wrists at his lower back with one, loose fist. Your other hand comes to rest on the curve of his rear. You give two, soft pats over the back of his trousers.

“You’re allowed to be fragile, Lucifer,” you say, quiet enough that only he can hear. “I want to do what’s right for you. Will you trust me?”

“I will,” he sighs instead of asking why you have so many questions. It didn’t occur to him that his opinion on the subject might matter.

“Good,” you grin, “before I tie you up, I’m going to take your pants off.”

It’s said so casually that the full weight of that doesn’t hit him until you’ve let him go. His stomach drops and he instinctively raises his hips away from your leg. As if anticipating this, you say nothing but return your hand firmly to his backside. You push down until his crotch and his ignored, blooming arousal make full contact with your thigh.

You undo the button and the zip at the top of his trousers, nudging them down and asking hardly anything of him. You know how vulnerability startles him. The best thing you can be when he’s nervous is independent, stable and strong. This is what he came here for.

“How many strikes have you earned?” you ask when his pants are around his knees. You’re not surprised at all by his choice of demure, black briefs.

“How many--” he cuts himself off, the confusion on his face as he twists around to look at you is adorable. “I don’t know what you’d like me to say.”

“We’ll start with twenty,” you say. He braces himself.

“Are you going to whip me?” he asks, the fear in his voice now palpable. And to his great surprise, you giggle. It isn’t a cruel sound, nor a particularly menacing one. It makes him feel quite warm.

“No, dearest,” you manage when you’ve stopped laughing, “I’m going to do something much nicer.”

He still braces for pain, but you catch him off guard by reaching up and untying the ribbon from the back of your head. Your hair falls around your shoulders, looking lovelier than he expected. With that thin length of silk ribbon, you tie his wrists loosely together.

“Not too tight the first time,” you whisper, “if you enjoy yourself, I can use something less yielding.”

He only nods, turning back on his stomach and looking at the upholstery. Surely now you’ll administer his punishment, he thinks.

But again, you diverge from his expectations. Your hands, now free that his wrists are bound, move to his shoulders of all places. And instead of coming down hard, they settle on either side of his neck. He shivers when you begin to squeeze.

To his shock, you’re rubbing his back. The sensation is less intense over a few layers of clothing, but he finds himself more inclined to listening to his instinct to relax. You take your time, moving slowly down his spine to his hips and raised ass.

Over his briefs, you rub and touch to your heart’s content. Lucifer almost lifts his hips again out of embarrassment, at this angle you can definitely feel his half-hard cock pressing into your thigh. But, perhaps that might be something you enjoy. Oh, he hopes it is.

You move down his thighs and then back up again, pressing your fingers into him and making him sigh. A small part of him hopes that this never ends, a much larger part grows impatient. He gives a wiggle of his hips that’s almost automatic, something he can’t stop before it’s happening. And he hears the sound of your laugh over him again.

“All right, we’ll start,” you say, “let’s just get these out of the way.”

He knows what ‘these’ are immediately. Your finger hooks in the elastic of his briefs, tugging sharply downward until his ass is exposed. He lifts his head sharply, looking at Diavolo who’s now naked on the bed. Lucifer’s mouth falls open, watching as his lover pumps his cock in his fist.

“Eyes down,” you warn. Lucifer does as he’s told. “Twenty, I think I said? Keep count for me.”

He barely has time to nod. Your cupped palm is brought down firmly on his left cheek. Lucifer bucks, but not nearly as much as he imagines he might’ve without the massage. Dutiful as ever, you needn’t remind him,

“One,” he sighs, “thank you, my lady.”

There’s a laugh from the bed, belonging to Diavolo this time. He raises his head with the intent to glare, but finds himself unable to do much more than look longingly. Your hand at the back of his neck pushes him down again.

“Aren’t you a natural, dearest?” you praise, “Good boy.”

He’s stripped of any language that he knows, of any way to tell you how you are loved. It was a bone-deep desire to hear that, he just didn’t imagine it would be so soon. He goes still, only looking up every so often to see if Diavolo still finds the scene arousing. Inevitably, he does.

Strikes two through nineteen --thank you, my lady-- pass by in a blur. His ass is pink when you bring down your palm for what he hopes won’t be the final time. Lucifer’s legs are already parted as far as his trousers will allow, to accommodate his now-painful erection.

But once again, you’ve caught him peeking over the armrest to the bed. There, the king in hell teases and touches himself with the full knowledge that he’s not to come unless under your hand. Lucifer is transfixed.

“Is he in charge here?” you weaponize your question this time, catching him off guard and making him turn sharply. He shakes his head. “No? Then who is?”

“You are, my lady,” Lucifer feels a weight lifted from his chest to admit that. You smirk.

“Sit up, get on your knees,” the authority in your voice has him scrambling to comply. With a small amount of difficulty, he pushes himself up as you instruct.

You shift so that you’re in front of him, blocking his view.

“Really, Diavolo,” you scold as you undo Lucifer’s tie. “You shouldn’t tease him like that. Hands off until I tell you otherwise.”

“I was anticipating that,” Diavolo replies, but makes a show of taking his palm off his cock. You nod.

Lucifer waits through the whole exchange, barely able to close his open mouth before you turn back to him. His ass is warm, the sensation more pleasant than the general imaginations at breakfast. It feels real, a little painful but earned. He decides to trust, even with no basis, that you love him.

Why else would you care enough to do this to him?

You tug his tie out from his collar, holding it in front of his face. That smile of yours is back, he begins to realize it rears its head whenever you’ve had an idea.

“Since you’re having so much trouble with staring, I’m using this to blindfold you,” you state like it’s everyday. Lucifer does his best not to openly resist, no matter how much instinct demands he try.

He wants it, he knows it. His safeword is in the same place it’s been since the start, nowhere near the tip of his tongue. He nods, even though he knows you purposefully didn’t phrase it like a question.

The last thing he sees is your pretty face, disappearing behind red silk. Pressed so close to his closed eyes, it looks black as pitch. You tie it tight at the back of his head, unlike his wrists, so that it won’t slip an inch.

“Good boy,” you reward again. He leans in when you pat his cheek, seeking out your affection like he’ll die without it. “All right, let’s get you lying down again.”

You help him this time, positioning him over your lap again with more vulnerability than he knows how to allow. But closing his legs is cloyingly painful, it does nothing to help the situation.

Nor does your searching hands.

“You didn’t make a sound except to count, dearest,” you muse. “I was worried.”

“I’m fine,” he replies. His voice sounds strange, not distant but distracted. Your palm presses against his rear, making him gasp.

“There we are,” he can hear the smile in your voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t make you count for the next set, so you can focus on moaning.”

“I wanted to,” he says through gritted teeth. From the bed he can no longer see, Lucifer hears Diavolo’s throaty scoff. “As I said, such things are-- difficult for me.”

“Why don’t we dispense with counting, then?” you sound softer, now. Your fingers are warm but gentle, dragging over his hot skin.

“Will you strike me again?” he asks, wondering if he should prepare.

Your hand in his hair cuts him off. It’s neither rough nor seeking, you brush your fingers over the back of his head, the gesture is surprisingly calming.

“Lucifer, it’s all right. Just relax.” you say, “You’re being very good, it’s starting to worry me.”

“I’m enjoying this,” he replies, “very much.”

“I’m glad, but I’m here to make you feel good. You know that, right?” that concern from earlier comes creeping in. He’s oddly pleased to hear it, to be cared for.

“I do,” he says after a pause.

“And since you’ve been on your best behaviour, I think you’ve earned the right to lie still while I take care of you.” your tone has an air of finality that he agrees with. Lucifer’s shoulders go slack.

He gives an appreciatory grunt when your other hand moves lower. No longer skirting over his bare ass, it reaches between his parted legs. Though he does seize up when you cup your hand around his straining cock, the spasm is not as harsh as it might’ve otherwise been. He settles soon enough, letting himself rock his hips against your hand.

You say nothing, not even to tease him. Perhaps you’re worried he may retreat in on himself if pushed too far. Lucifer finds himself wanting to retaliate, to show thanks in the only way he can think of.

He moans.

The sound shocks you, evidenced by your hand in his hair going still for a second.

“He doesn’t part with those very easily,” Diavolo pipes up. You give him an exasperated smile over your shoulder, still idly exploring your dearest.

“Yes, I know,” you reply. “I’ll have fun with you in a little bit, don’t tease him.”

He lies back down with no further complaint, thankfully. As much as you know him to be a handful, Diavolo seems more than content to behave while you help Lucifer adjust.

You turn back to the demon in question sprawled out on your lap. While you’d love to coax another moan from him, you decide to move on.

Lucifer chokes on a whine when your hand moves down to his thighs, feeling soft skin over hard muscle. And then you retreat to his bared rear again, squeezing and patting with a gentle fascination.

You push your fingers under his shirt next, nudging the fabric up to reveal some of his toned lower back.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper. Goosebumps stand on the back of his neck. “You did so well, I’m very impressed. You were very good for me.”

Lucifer makes another sound, quieter this time and completely unintentional. His face is already flushed, but he swears he turns redder.

The blindfold makes things easier to focus on. It’s harder to cling to the distracting sight of pleasing Diavolo when all he can feel is your hands on him. It does its job, he supposes, as a reminder that he’s here for his own pleasure.

His cock twitches, it throbs with his heartbeat. This morning, he was fairly certain that this would be pleasurable. Now, he knows it completely.

“I’m going to start up again, dearest,” you tell him. “You don’t need to count, but I’ll give you fifteen.”

He lets out a breath, releasing the anticipation he didn’t know he’d been hoarding. Your hand stays in his hair, the grounding presence helping him stay calm.

“Thank you, my lady,” he sighs.

#lucifer #obey me!#lucifer x reader #diavolo x reader x lucifer #diavolo x reader #lucifer x diavolo #obey me #nsft #anniewrites #i'm EXHAUSTED good night!!!!!!

204 notes · View notes

anastasiabeaverhousen87 · 3 years

Text

Praying to the porcelain God

words: 3205

You been told before never to eat from suspicious food stands, especially if you never tried them before or if Kara or Alex haven’t already approved the food. But today you forgot your lunch at home and the food from the cafeteria was not very appealing for you. One of your co-workers saw you make faces at the food options and invited you to eat lunch with them. They were going to get burgers from a new street vendor a couple of blocks away. It was too tempting; you love cheeseburgers and they made it sound like they were really good. So, you said yes. Everyone was going and you were starving.

The following day you woke up feeling a little odd, a bit nauseous but you didn’t think anything about it. You got a chamomile tea instead of coffee and went about your day as usual. Kara was already gone so you just decided to grab a yogurt and granola bar at work.

You finished getting your things ready and were about to leave the apartment when you felt a sharp pain in your stomach followed by cramping. You went to the bathroom and removed your sweater, you felt a swelling of your abdomen and yes, you lower abdomen was inflamed and felt tender to the touch. Another painful cramp made you run to the toilet and you knew you were screwed the moment you sit down.

y/n: “Fuck!!!, ughh it hurts…damn it, Alex is going to kill me” – you didn’t leave the bathroom for a while, you lamented your poor choices while you were sitting in the toilet seat.

You decided you needed to let someone know you felt like shit and wouldn’t be able to get to work with further incidents, so you called Kara. Kara was softer and if you play your card right maybe she could be the buffer between Alex’s lecturing and you. You dialed her number and put it on speaker while washing your hands, you were standing Infront of the sink mirror and put the phone down.

Kara: “Hi sweet girl, what’s up?”

You were about to respond when you felt nausea hit hard, you saw your reflection become green and you ran to toilet once again. Just in time for you to continue emptying your stomach contents, tears sprung into your eyes as the pain in your stomach grew stronger and effort of being violently ill into the porcelain bowl.

On the other side of the line, Kara was listening to you suffering. “Y/N baby? What’s wrong, where are you?” but at not getting a response she ditched everything to fly straight home following your heartbeat.

You stopped vomiting and felt exhausted, you spit into the toilet and flush it. You use toilet paper to clean you mouth and drop to the bathroom floor exhausted. Kara enter the apartment looking for you.

Kara: “y/n?, oh my God what’s wrong baby?”- Kara panics at looking at your body sprawled in the bathroom floor all pale and clammy.

y/n: “Ughh best guess? stomach bug. I just puked my guts out, and before that I emptied my bowels in a different way” - you grimace at the explosive diarrhea you went through less than half an hour ago.

Kara: “Oh sweetie, I’m sorry you feel so poorly. Come on, let me pick you up from the floor”- the blonde woman tries to pick you up, but you feel like you’re not quite over.

Y/n: “Kara, I don’t think I can move quite yet and the floor is cold, it feels nice” –you move a little on the floor to get more of the chilly sensation on your hot skin- “I feel like crap sissy” a tear runs down your cheek and you look up to your sister. Kara brushes the tear away and cradles the side of your face. You are about to move again into a sitting position when you feel your stomach painfully cramp again and you roll into a fetal position trying to make the pain lessen somehow.

Kara: “Oh baby, looks like a horrible stomach bug. But I’m so bad at human illnesses let me call Alex really quick, she is the best when it comes to this kind of things.” Kara looks desperate and seeing you so sick on the floor. Kara is now sitting next to you holding your head in her lap and running her fingers through your hair.

Y/N: “You can’t, busy. Summit in New York” – you mumble trough clenching teeth.

Kara: “I know she is busy with work, but she can take a phone call if it’s an emergency. Its her or the ER. Your call.”

y/n: “Alex…” – you much prefer hearing your helicopter sister ask a thousand question that being prod and wait in the Emergency Room.

Kara takes her phone out of her pocket and dials the number; it rings a few times and then it connects.

Alex: “Hey what’s up, everything okay?”- the red head asks immediately, knowing her sisters wouldn’t be calling her if it was not an emergency.

Kara: “No, y/n is sick. I just found her on the bathroom floor all clammy and she told me she vomited a lot. Also, she thinks it’s a stomach bug.” You can´t hear what Alex says on the phone, then Kara turns the phone on speaker “Ok hold on, yes. Ok ok now you’re on speaker now”

Alex: “Hi little one. I’m so sorry you got sick baby and I bet you feel awful but I need to ask you a few things ok?”

You nod, even though Alex cant see you, but you think if you can let her think it’s a stomach bug going around the office you’ll be off the hook and avoid the speech on getting food from street vendors.

Y/n: “Yeah ok…”- you feel to tire so yes, you can answer whatever she wants as longs she doesn’t ask you to move.

Alex: “Ok sweetie, Kara mentioned vomiting, what else are you feeling? Do you also have diarrhea? is she warm or cold Kara?

Y/N: “painful cramps, diarrhea definitely that was first and the puked my guts out. Honestly, I don’t think there’s anything left inside my intestines by this point. It was super gross Alex. I feel a little cold now. There’s a bug going on around the office and some of the guys got sick”- you say the last part a bit fast and avoid looking at Kara, then you groan in pain at another cramp.

Kara: “She is all clammy, her cheeks are flush, and she is shivering a little. Also, she is now avoiding direct eye contact…” – Kara raises an eyebrow at you, knowing there’s something you are avoiding.

Alex: – “y/n baby, was your stool a little bloody and watery? Or soft and muddy? , also Kara can you check her abdomen does it look a little swollen and prod very gently please “

y/n: “first one”- You can hear Alex give a long sigh

Kara: “definitely swollen and a bit tender”

Alex: “What did you eat yesterday either at lunch or dinner? And don’t even think about lying to me y/n. I will know if you are lying. That’s not just a stomach bug”

Kara is looking down at you worry on her face, “We ate steak and mashed potatoes with some veggies last night. Lena cooked. and I know I can’t get sick, but Lena was okay. So, what did you eat for lunch baby?”

Y/n: “a cheeseburger” –you mumble

Alex: “Where?”

y/n: “A new place near the building, a few of the guys I work with we got burgers yesterday”

Alex: “when you say ´new place, you mean a well stablished franchise or restaurant? Not a street vendor with doubtful hygiene and suspicious meat or produce, right? - ughh busted, you thought.

y/n: “Street vendor” – you lamented

Kara: “ohh sweetie. You know better than that”- Kara kept her gentle touch but looking a bit disappointed in you.

Alex: “Well baby, I hope the burger was so amazing and worth it, because what you have is food poisoning and most likely due to contaminated ground beef with E. coli. There is nothing to stop it or make it better faster. Your body will get rid of the bacteria during the following days. Simply needs to run its course.”

Y/N: “No cheeseburger in world is worth this pain or disgusting vomiting or explosive diarrhea. I feel like crap Lexie”- you play your Lexi card, so your big sister takes pity on you. You feel bad enough as it is, you don’t need to hear more disappointment from her.

Alex: “I know baby girl. Its quite uncomfortable and painful. You need rest and avoid over exerting, that will only make your stomach feel worse. Kara, I need you to make sure she drinks lots of fluids, she will keep vomiting and having constant bowel movements in the next couple of days and she can get dehydrated very quickly. Lots of water and Pedialyte . Let her stomach to settle first . Avoid giving her any solid foods until she is no longer nauseous or vomiting as much. Avoid juices or other beverages with a lot of sugar or sweeteners that can make diarrhea worse. Let’s wait for 24 hours like this without any food and after that we can see if you can ease her back into eating soft and bland food. Call me if she gets worse or if the fever is too high.”

Y/N: “not even hungry anyways…”

Kara: “will do Alex, I’m taking off work for the week I’ll let Lena know. She is out of town as well, but I can handle goober just fine. right kiddo?”

You just try to crawl into Kara’s lap you starting to feel cold and so very tired. “Yeah, I’m cold. You warm”

Alex: “She will sleep a lot, wake her up and make her drink water or fluids Kara, its very important. Make sure her temperature doesn’t go above 102 F. if she get above that range just make her take a bath in lukewarm water or use a cold compress. Let her eat ice chips, NO dairy, no caffeine, no sugar, or fatty food. If she does eat those, she will end up throwing up everything. If temperature goes above 103 take her immediately to the ER. It shouldn’t but keep an eye on that. Seriously Kara call me anytime ok?”

Kara: “Will do Alex. Thanks, and I’ll call you later once y/n is more comfortable and asleep”

Alex: “Ok, feel better sweetie, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Be good for Kara and try to relax and let your body get rid of everything at its own pace. Don’t rush anything. I love you sweetheart. Love you Kara, bye”

Y/N “Bye, love you Lexie”

Kara: “Bye Alex, love you too” – the phone calls gets disconnected. Kara looks down at you. “You think you are ready to move from the bathroom floor to the living room?”

y/n: “can you help me up to rinse my mouth? It tastes like crap ugh”

Kara: “of course. Up we go”- Kara gently stands up with you in her arms and helps you to your feet.

But you get dizzy and grab ahold of Kara’s arms for support

Kara: “hey hey I got you, easy there baby girl”

y/n: “everything its spinning and I don’t feel so g…” but before you can finish the sentence your eyes go wide and Kara see what’s about to happen and helps you to your knees in front of the toilet once again. Kara holds your hair away from your face with her other hand rubbing soothing circles down your spine while providing word of comfort.

You keep vomiting for a few minutes more “ughh I thought I had ridden of everything by now. This Is so disgusting” a few tears leak down your cheeks and Kara just helps you to your feet again and flushes the toilet.

Kara: “I know sweet girl, but Alex did say you will be experiencing vomiting and other stuff for a few days. So, let’s get you rinse your mouth and settle down in the couch so you can sleep this off, okay?”

You just nod and work on getting your teeth brushed and get rid of the nasty taste. Kara helps you to your room to change into your pajamas.

Kara: “Bed or couch?” -you just point down to your bed giving her your answer. “Okay okay” Kara lowers you on your bed and goes to close the curtains so you can rest more comfortably.

y/n: “Hold me?”- you pout pitifully

Kara: “of course baby girl. Let me just get your water and text Lena to let her know I won’t be into work for a few days and also text your boss you’re sick” – I’ll be right back.

y/n:” don’t want water please just hold me, I’m cold sissy”- more tears run down your cheeks, you just want your sister to hold you now.

Kara: “aww chucks, baby you feel real awful don’t ya? Ok here I’ll call later, and you need to drink water in an hour or two. I will wake you up. come here sweet bean”- Kara moves you so you are now lying basically on top of her, you hide your face into her neck and wrap your arms around her. You are leaching on her warmth shamelessly. Kara doesn’t mind at all begins to pat down your back softly like when you were little she needed to calm you down and put to to sleep.

Kara: “Aww my little koala is here. You’re so cuddly baby. I’m sorry you are feeling so poorly but I’ll be here with you all the time. You just close your eyes and go to sleep. You’ll feel better in no time, you’ll see”

y/n: “I’m never eating cheeseburgers again”- you give a yawn and began to drift off. Kara juts chuckles and starts to hum softly a lullaby song she uses since you were a little girl and where having trouble falling asleep or felt sick. You are out in less than 5 minutes.

Kara wait for you to be completely asleep to grab her cellphone she still has on her pocket. Texts Lena you are sick and will call her later, but you are okay just miserable for eating street food. And then sends a quick text to y/n boss, thank Rao she is close friends with y/n otherwise would be a pain to explain why she is texting instead of her employee.

Kara puts the cellphone down on the nightstand and holds y/n more to her chest and begins to run her hand up and down y/n spine and watches her sleep for a little while until herself starts to feel sleepy and decides to take a nap too.

Kara is awaken by your moving around and painful moaning. You curl into yourself as much as you can, trying to wave through the painful cramp in your tummy.

y/n: “It really hurts Kara, it hurts so bad”- you say through clenching teeth and tears sprung into your eyes once again. You feel miserable and in so much pain.

Kara feels you are getting a bit hotter now and you are sweating too. “Okay little one, I think a bath can help you now, and you need to drink a little bit of water. Come here”

y/n: “No. pelease, no Kara. I just want the pain to stop and sleep again. I don’t want a bath” -you cry softly into her neck

Kara: “I’m sorry baby, but you feel too warm and you will feel better after the bath. I’ll stay with you the whole time.”

Kara picks you up from the bed and takes into the bathroom, she sits you down at the toilet seat while she runs a lukewarm bath for you.

Y/n: “Kara I don’t feel so good…” again you turn green and Kara helps you to sit infront the porcelain bowl once more.

You throw up again, but its mostly bile. Kara holds your hair out of your face while making comforting rubs on your lower back while you continue to be sick. your stomach its already empty from all the previous vomiting and you didn’t really eat anything for breakfast. You feel so weak after the effort it took to vomit once again. You are sweaty and pale and slump into Kara. Kara gently runs a hand down your spine and grabs a small towel to clean off the bile in your lips.

Kara: “sshh …baby come one. Its over now. Here use this mouth wash to rinse and spit it in the toilet” -Kara then flushes the toilet and strips you off your clothes. She also strips down to her underwear and gets into the tub with you. She helps you lean into her so she can wash your skin with a soft washcloth and pour the lukewarm water down your body to cool you down. After a while she notices your feel cooler to the touch. Washes your hair gently and lets you lean back onto her. You have always loved the skin to skin contact when feeling sick or unwell. Your sisters have done this many times over the years as well as you mom Eliza. You like feeling their warm skin and listen to their heartbeat. But Kara posses a special feature, she is warmer than any human. You feel her skin on you help you with the chills and you feel yourself drifting off to sleep again.

Kara notices you are almost asleep, and decides you are cool enough now and gently nudges you awake.

Kara: “sweet girl please don’t fall asleep quite yet. Let me dry you off a bit and you need to drink a little bit of water. Then you can sleep again promise”

You grunt in disapproval “Nuh uh … don’t wanna, I just want sleep”

Kara: “ I know sweetie but its not an option, come one”- Kara immediately stands and grabs ahold of you and takes one of the bath robes and uses one on her and then she uses a big fluffy towel to pat you down enough to remove the water excess but leaving your skin a bit damp to help keeping you cool.

She takes you back to your room and sets you on top of the bed and quickly grabs a set of lose shorts and tank top to avoid overheating you. She then sits you with you back on a pillow resting against the headboard while she speeds to the kitchen to get you ice water.

Kara: “Okay sweetie small sips, just a few smalls sips and that’s it.”- she makes you drink a bit of water and leaves the glass on the nightstand again. You notice she is now wearing a pajamas too and in the nightstand there’s also a bowl with water and a few small towels and an empty plastic bow- “Just in case you feel sick and need to vomit again and avoid a trip to the bathroom”

Y/N:” thank you sissy”- you tear up and your chin trembles.

Kara: “No no don’t cry baby girl. Come here”- she gently lifts you up sits down and then lays you on her side you head resting on her collarbone. She left her soft button- up pajama top mostly open so you can lean into her and feel her skin near the collarbone and upper chest. You settle down and keep listening to her heartbeat.

Kara: “sshh sshh…sweetie just close your eyes and sleep. You’ll feel better soon just sleep now” – once again you feel her gentle touch on your back, down your arms and temple. And that soft voice humming the melody you associate with comfort. you move a little trying to find the perfect spot and just like that in less than 10 minutes you’re asleep.

#supergirl #alex x baby danvers #baby danvers #baby!danvers #alex danvers #baby danvers x kara #baby danvers imagine #b!d #sickfic #i feel sick #vomit warning #food poisoning #caretaker #skin to skin

43 notes · View notes

vintagedolan · 4 years

Note

Could I request maybe some angst to fluff with Raleigh. Maybe gray yells at her and she starts crying and then he feels bad so he makes if for it with a lot of cuddles.

Could we get some more Raleigh plzzzzz

ya’ll really got me soft for that baby girl huh 🥺 (all the raleigh things if you wanna read/catch up :) )

-----

He couldn’t have looked away for more than 30 seconds, he was sure. He was just checking the time, seeing when they should leave the park to avoid the traffic.

30 seconds too long.

When he looks up, he doesn’t see her. Doesn’t see her little black running shorts he put her in this morning, her tiny little nikes. He put her in a bright green shirt just to make it easier to keep track of her, but he doesn’t see that either.

“Raleigh? Raleigh!?” There’s a blind panic in his voice, one that only a parent can truly understand. Some of the mom’s turn in concern at his calls.

She couldn’t have been out of his sight for more than a few seconds, the slide blocking his view of her. But she was on a mission, off the mulch of the playground and heading up the grassy hill that stretched behind it. She’s following a man, obviously trying to keep up with his long strides and Grayson’s stomach plummets to his feet. What was he doing? Did he tell her to follow him? Oh god.

He lets out a “Ra!” and then he’s running, dodging 5 year olds and moving as fast as he can around the playground equipment, ducking under the slide and running up the hill until he’s right there, scooping her up, his little 4 year old back in his arms.

She’s beaming when he lifts her up, just happy to have her dad there with her, thinking he wants to come play.

“Raleigh Jo! What did I say about going off the mulch, about wandering off away from me?” He scolded, voice a bit too loud, a bit too harsh. “You have to listen, you could have gotten hurt!”

Her face says it all. Her lip juts out, her eyes that match her dad’s go wide in shock. He immediately wishes he could grab his words back out of the air, back out of her ears, say it differently, say it nicer.

The worst part? She doesn’t cry yet. She puts on her ‘brave face’, the one her Uncle Ethan taught her, and all she says is “wanna go home.” If hearts could crack, his would have right there.

It’s the worst car ride of Grayson’s life. He’s only half watching the road, eyes constantly flickering to the backseat where Raleigh is sitting in her carseat, watching out the window. She’s not singing along like she usually does, not asking Grayson if he saw the cows or horses or goats that they pass. The guilt is eating him alive, and it’s only punctuated when she undoes her carseat herself and doesn’t take his hand when she gets out of the car.

Raleigh is sensitive, just like he was at her age. And he remembers enough about himself at 4 to know that she’s gonna talk about it when she’s ready and not a minute before.

He tries anyways. After ten minutes of her quietly playing in the floor with her toys in the living room, he sits down criss-cross on the rug and takes a deep breath.

“Raleigh.” She freezes, but she doesn’t look at him. “I’m sorry that daddy yelled at you. I didn’t mean to.”

She turns to him then, and theres tears in her eyes before she speaks. “You did it on accident?” She asked, c’s sounding like s’s in a way that made him turn to mush.

“Yeah baby, I was just scared. I couldn’t see you, and then you weren’t where you were supposed to be and I got scared. But I shouldn’t have yelled, and I’m sorry.”

She pondered it for a minute, and he lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding when she comes over to him, the tears still flowing.

“I sorry too.”

Now he’s got tears prickling in his eyes too, unsure of how he could have ever been a part of bringing something so impossibly precious into the world.

“C’mere sweet girl.”

She climbs into his lap, settles in and rests her cheek against his chest the way she used to when she was smaller, her left hand coming up to grab onto his shirt.

“Can we watch clubhouse?”

Grayson doesn’t like her watching too much TV, but he gives in, picking her up and turning it on before laying down on the couch with her on his chest. It used to be the only way she would nap, and it’s still natural for her, even if she takes up his whole torso now. Ten minutes later the exhaustion of the park takes over and she’s asleep, hand still wrapped up in his shirt to keep him next to her even in her dreams while he plays with her curls and keeps a hand on her back.

By the time you get home from work they’re both asleep in the same position, the ills of the day forgotten in their dreams, the peace of forgiveness in the air.

#c: raleigh #had time before my call so BLURB DAY KINDA AYEEE #grayson blurb #blurb #anon #ask #c:raleigh #g:blurb

112 notes · View notes

promethes · 3 years

Text

dumping the horrendous unconventional short story I wrote for my midterm under the cut to get it off my mind bc I do not like it.

ENTRY 1

I think I will make my life’s motif a bird. It shouldn’t be too hard. They’re everywhere and pop out at the most opportune moments. I’ll find a way to tie them in.

ENTRY 2

Stood in line for way too long at the cafe. Can you believe the girl in front of me didn’t even look up to plan her order until she was physically at the front of the line? I knew what I wanted to order before I even stepped foot into the place. They need to change that. I’m on the lookout for some kind of online suggestion box to submit to since they decided to forgo an in-house one for some God forsaken reason. There’s not a lick of common sense in anyone these days. Saw a robin on my way out and flicked it a sesame seed from my bagel.

ENTRY 3

Would you listen to this garbage? They’re planning on tearing down my favorite bowling alley. “Didn’t pass inspection” my ass. It’s an important cultural landmark of our city and I’m marching down to the mayor to set him straight. I can’t stage important life moments around the cardinal themed bowling alley if there is no bowling alley to have a cardinal theme!

ENTRY 4

Mom’s in the hospital. Driving over now, she said it has something to do with her cholesterol. It either spiked or dropped real low, but I can’t be sure. Either way, she’s in the hospital. I don’t know why she chose the one that’s so far away though. The vending machines in the other one have way better stock.

ENTRY 5

Forgot to say. I didn’t run over any birds on the way there.

ENTRY 6

I don’t think I’m spiraling yet but I’m close to it. Mom’s fine, she’s just staying overnight in case anything acts up again. I, on the other hand, am NOT. Car won’t start and I’ve been sitting here in the parking lot for almost four hours now. Embarrassed beyond belief. A weird old man with a huge shiny truck offered to help and he’s been good on his word lending me his car to jump-start mine, but his bumper stickers make me nervous. His truck has custom lettering too. I’m a big guy, so not too worried, but a little concerned.

Anyway, it didn’t work and I’m calling a tow truck now. I tried to thank the guy and offered to buy him coffee, but he just said “No way, Jose” which was weird. He smacked the top of my car before he left and said I need to “dress this little lady up.” Maybe I’ll get a sparrow bumper sticker online. Everything’s online these days.

ENTRY 7

Starting to rethink the bird motif thing. Not much goes on in my life anyway, and there’s only so much material I can get out of waking up early to chirping. Maybe I should aim lower. I could choose a color instead. Red would be a cop-out, it’s too obvious. Blood! I need something that’s at least a little challenging. We’ll see. I’ll sleep on it.

ENTRY 8

GREAT NEWS! Sister got a BIRD. A real-life living breathing chirping flying bird. It’s a sign and I’m not going to ignore it. My life’s motif is a bird and it’s not going to be one of those unbearably hidden motifs from English class required readings either.

(Although I did like some of them. That spoon in Middlesex…… I want my bird to be his spoon. To take up space in an almost eerie way. I’ll find a way to make it work.)

ENTRY 9

Laying the groundwork. These things don’t come easy, so I’m sowing the seeds (birds do that, right?) Told everyone at work that my great great great grandfather’s name was Starling. Drilled up a lot of curious questions and I even got to know some of the people I always just miss talking to. They were all VERY interested. Tomorrow I’ll bring in a picture of an actual starling. I don’t think Andrew quite knows that it’s a kind of bird.

ENTRY 10

Don’t remember the name my sister chose and I couldn’t remember if I tried even if I squeezed my eyes shut before blinking really fast like I usually do because this bird (Polly I’m going to call it Polly because an annoying bird deserves an annoying name) is so incessantly annoyingly unbearably loud. I can’t believe this thing is my sign.

My sign is chirping me into the basement and into a frenzy. At least I have my old sleeping bag handy until I can figure out how to shut it up. Why must my motif be so unbearably annoying?

ENTRY 11

Update on the car: starter wires snapped. Haven’t seen any birds around lately (except for a crow but I hate crows and I won’t be counting them) so I was hopeful and asked the mechanic if there’s any chance a bird could’ve pecked at the wires until they got so worn down that they snapped in the hospital parking lot.

He looked at me like I was crazy. I know that was what the look meant because he said, “Are you f****ing crazy man? The wires are deep in your car under the hood.” (I’m censoring the language. I don’t want language taking away from my story. If this is to be read in a future child’s English class to teach a lesson about motifs, I can’t be including foul language.)

I’m not f***ing crazy but I am extremely ticked off. Does he not realize how little birds come out in the cold weather? I need whatever I can get.

I’ll just tell people a bird got stuck under the hood of my car. I’ll change this entry later. Mechanic man doesn’t deserve a spot in a child’s English class; he didn’t even have the decency to watch his language for them.

ENTRY 12

People at work are finally starting to catch on! Got called “bird guy” by Kathleen (Catherine? Kristy? Whatever.) when she saw my shirt. I knew it’d be a good move when I saw it on sale at Walmart. I’m thinking of making the cover of my book Hawaiian print, but I’ll tell my future publisher I’m not married to the idea. Can’t be too picky on my first book! I’ll leave that for the second.

ENTRY 13

I will enjoy my day today I will enjoy my day today I will enjoy my day. Sister needs to get control of Polly. I’ve moved down my whole mattress now. I will enjoy my day I will enjoy my day I will enjoy

ENTRY 14

Can’t believe I overlooked eagles and hawks. Of course sparrows and starlings weren’t doing the trick! Classic oversight, focusing too much on the mundane. I won’t be making that mistake. I blame it all on that incessant chirping. Mom says it’s not too bad but I’m fairly certain that cholesterol has gotten to her ears. She must be going deaf. She’s lucky she’s ill or else I’d be very extremely sore at her for making that face at me. I know it’s a bad face because it’s the same face that f***ing mechanic made and I don’t think he’s ever made a good face in his life so if my mom made that same face then I really don’t like that. She gets a pass for the cholesterol.

ENTRY 15

I feel amazing. Bought an eagle bumper sticker at a roadside gas station and after a few strategic snips, it’ll be ready to go on the car. I’m dressing this little lady up! The red, white, and blue has got to go first though. Decided a while ago not to let colors mess with my motif, and I’m not going to slip up on that again! Snip snip.

I’m considering this a debt paid. Dressed the little lady up. Two birds, one stone! I’m making that my new catchphrase.

ENTRY 16

Should I make this a love story? I’m thinking about making it a romance. Doves are right there, really just waiting for me to weave them in. On the other hand, I don’t think that’d work to create much of a conducive learning environment for the kids. I think I’ll stick to a Mark Twain type story instead.

Reread the beginning and don’t think it’s working. I’ll be cutting all that out. I spoke too much about mom’s cholesterol. Too many side characters and not enough focus. Where was I going with this again?

ENTRY 17

Writer’s block. It’s ok, I still had that major breakthrough with the hawk/eagle thought. Put in my two weeks to dedicate all my time. I’ve found a bird-watching site that I hope will bring me more peace than f***ing Polly.

ENTRY 18

These birds are really working to stay in my New York Times best-selling children’s novel. Knew this would be a challenge, but they really do never stop conversing. If only they could read, I’d write them a best-selling manual on the best ways to speak inwards rather than outwards. Chirp chirp chirp needs to turn into ______ ________ ________.

ENTRY 19

Sister’s going to be f***ing pissed but it was the only thing to do.

ENTRY 20

Honestly, it was just a bird! If it was really part of our family, you’d think that I’d know its name by now.

ENTRY 21

I said that Polly’s in a better place now, but set her off with the “Polly”. Maybe this was a mistake. She said I “begged” her to get the bird but she shouldn’t say that when she’s the one reacting like this.

ENTRY 22

Books should come with suggestion boxes. No more birds. Story’s six feet under just like Gladys. See, I can finally remember it now that I can hear myself think.

#eugh #og #emptying notes #essays

21 notes · View notes

t--rash · 3 years

Text

“Maybe this forest here will have something in it, let’s take a look.”

The group had been traveling through the dusty plains bordering the forests. The tall grass occasionally being thrown about by gusts of wind making the landscape look like green and golden waves. Covered in dirt and grass stains, the five of them had been trudging the grasslands looking for any kind of indication of ruins. The woman who had just spoken, Ilanis, was pointing towards a line of trees to the North. The trail of long golden hair flowed like a line behind her head, where it was tied up high to prevent it from going into her face from the wind. Her lithe form was accented by the light clothing and long brown cloak she wore to help against the winds, to little avail as the cloak rapidly pulled away from her. The two long knives she had were clinking against her hip as she started into a light jog. The rest of the group looked after Ilanis as she started off ahead.

“We’ve been doin’ this for like three days now, can’t we just give it a break?” A harsher voice whined, coming from the shorter, stouter woman named Lidda. Her long black hair was being loosened from her braid as it was whipped around by the wind. She had stopped and put her hands on her sides just as another gust of wind sent her cloak around to cover her face. “Gah! I am sick and tired of these plains! Do we have to travel through here?”

“Yeah! I’m gettin’ dust everywhere! It’s even in my beard, watch!” Vondal exclaims as he bends over and shakes out his long dark beard, sending a cloud of dust into the wind. He stands back up next to Lidda, being not too much taller than her, and rests his arm on her shoulder. His gray-white robes that were normally clean and pristine, decorated with iconography of his religion, were now almost beige due to the travelling, with a small line of green forming at the bottom.

“Oi! Dull head! All that dust just went right at me!” Lidda shoves Vondal away with her elbow as she attempts to brush herself off. To no avail, however, due to her cloak tangling itself within her arms.

The broad form of Jerard turned towards Thaddeus, a small grin forming on his face causing dimples to form on his strong features. “You know, when you said traveling together would bring us together more, I almost believed you,” he said through a small chuckle, his lower voice contrasting the higher voices that was just heard, “there must be something up there though. I can’t take another failed search.”

“I can’t either, to be honest. I was really hoping this would be a short trip, Minth is bound to be dying with anticipation waiting for me to get back.” Thaddeus responds, his low voice ringing out through the howling of the wind. Looking down at himself Thaddeus brushes off the dust from the front of his clothes, trying to hold back his cloak as he does so. His wavy brown hair was starting to poke into his eyes from the strong winds, causing him to run his fingers through his hair every couple minutes.

Ilanis’ voice could barely be heard over the winds, “Wait guys! There’s something here! I see a bunch of stone!”

“Finally! Come on, at least being in the trees will block the damn wind.” Lidda started into a fast jog to catch up to Ilanis, shielding her face from the tall grass as she went. Jerard, Vondal, and Thaddeus all shared a glance together before the started forward as well.

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

The forest’s air was much calmer compared to the plains outside, with most of the wind instead moving through the upper canopies of the trees, causing the leaves to break the beams of light shining in. The deep green colors starkly contrasted by the light brown barks of the trees was a welcoming difference compared to the golden flatlands. Ilanis was trailing ahead of the rest of the group, stopping every so often to point out stone bricks in area.

“There’s gotta be something around here. Why else would there be so many pieces of a broken structure?”

Vondal was the first to speak up from the group. “Why don’t we stop for a second, Ilanis. The rest of us would like to take a moment to regain our bearings.”

“Yeah, it’d be ill advised to not to take a rest. And I think I have some dust I need to clean from my armor.” Jerard chuckled the last part as he sat down onto the forest floor and started to remove his chest piece. The heavy looking metal had a dull shine on it, its silver surface browned by the vast amounts of dust coating it.

Ilanis shook her head as she watched Vondal and Lidda sit down along with Jerard, with Thaddeus still looking off into the distance. “Go ahead then, though I’m going to scout ahead for a bit. We’re close to finding something, I can feel it.”

“Hey, you shouldn’t head out alone. I can go with you.” Thaddeus interjected, stepping towards Ilanis with a smirk in his tone. “Besides, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t go taking all the loot for yourself.”

“Oh, come on, I told you that I was done with that. Whatever though, let’s go then.” Ilanis had rolled her eyes as she turned away to choose a direction to go.

“Have fun you two, but not too much fun.” The wink that accompanied what Lidda had said sent a slight blush onto Thaddeus as he quickly turned away into the forest.

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

The pair had been traveling in silence through the tangled underbrush as the forest grew heavier around them. The trees pushing them closer together as the terrain shifted more and more rocky.

The stillness of the air was cut short as Ilanis mused aloud. “So, why’d you never tell me about your little sister?”

Thaddeus stopped walking as he turned towards Ilanis with a bewildered expression. “H-how would you know about her? I don’t talk about her to anyone.” His voice was stuttering, the mistrust evident in his tone.

Ilanis started to lean back against a tree, crossing her arms as a smirk spread across her face. “Oh, don’t think too seriously about it. I just heard you talking to yourself in your sleep when I was on watch last night. I’m just surprise is all, considering we’re all your friends.”

Thaddeus’ brow was starting to furrow as he started walking ahead again, avoiding where Ilanis was standing. “I know we are, but I just didn’t want to bring it up. I prefer not to talk about my family, and you know that.”

“Oh come on now, I thought you got over that. Is Daphne really still on your mind? It’s been years, Thaddeus, I thought you would’ve gotten over it by now.”

“Gotten over it? What the hell do you mean by that?” The resentment was building in Thaddeus’ voice.

“Come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that. You know me, I wouldn’t want to intentionally hurt you like that.” Ilanis jogged forward to catch up to Thaddeus, grabbing for his hand gently. When he did not pull away, she turned him around to face her, a small smile forming on her lips. “You know me better than that.”

Thaddeus looked down at the ground before glancing up and meeting her gaze for a moment, which he then quickly looked back down to the ground and continued walking. Ilanis fell into step next to Thaddeus, maintaining her grip on his hand as the continued onward in silence.

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

After what felt like twenty minutes of walking had passed Thaddeus and Ilanis started noticing metal tracks on the ground, leading them towards a clearing. They followed the tracks as the tree line suddenly stopped, leaving loose dirt and rock in the open space before the giant rock outcroppings. They were like small mountains with rail tracks heading into and out of them on various levels, wood beams supporting the tunnels that they led into. The fading sun shining behind the rocks, silhouetting the structures across the opening. The whole place seemed abandoned for quite some time now, with rocks and tracks strewn about and out of order.

Ilanis perked up as soon as they crossed the threshold into the clearing, running towards a smaller entrance to the mine. “See! I told you I could feel that something was here! Tell the group, let’s camp here for tonight, then we can explore in the morning.”

Thaddeus responded by pulling out his spellbook, muttering some words as he produced a wire from his bag. The wire started to faintly glow as Thaddeus spoke into it, “Hey, we found a mineshaft out here. You should come out here so we can camp here, I’ll start a fire so you can see the smoke.”

A response came to Thaddeus soon, Jerard’s voice sounding out in his mind. “Alright, we’re on our way.”

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

The rest of the group had found their way to Thaddeus and Ilanis’ clearing, setting up some tents and sleeping bags. The moon was high in the sky now, and Thaddeus was absentmindedly writing in his journal during his night watch.

The sound of dirt scuffing the rocks had brought Thaddeus out of his trance as he looked over his shoulder to see Ilanis approaching him, still in her traveling gear. “Hey, why don’t you and I take a look ahead of the rest of the group, just to scout it out and see what we’re dealing with in there.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer to wait until the morning? We won’t be able to get any help if we get injured without Vondal there.” Thaddeus responded, fatigue starting to bleed into his words.

“It’ll be fine, especially with a spellcaster as good as you around, we’ll be completely safe.” Ilanis was nudging Thaddeus as she said this, smirking with a hopeful look in her eyes.

“Fine, but at the first sign of danger, we’re gone.”

“That works for me.”

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

The mineshaft was extremely dark, promoting Ilanis to light a lantern for light. The two were keeping close to the wall as they traveled down into the cold stone tunnel, moving at a quiet pace as best as they could.

Ilanis was the first to speak, “So, back to your younger sister, why’d you keep her a secret? It’s not like any of us know Minth anyways, so what’s the harm in talking about her?”

Thaddeus stopped dead in his tracks. “How do you know her name? I never said her name before.” His firm tone starting to sound harsh as it echoed off the stone walls.

“Oh, I uh… I just heard you say it, that’s all.” Ilanis voice was very unsure.

Thaddeus turned around to face Ilanis, the lantern spilling light from underneath him causing shadows to form deep in his cold expression. “Tell me, now.”

“I-it’s not a big deal, ok? It’s late, can we just forget about it? Maybe we should head back up.” The lantern was starting to make noise now as Ilanis’ hands were trembling as she started to back away, an uncomfortable smile accenting her terrified eyes.

Thaddeus reached out and grabbed onto the wrist of the hand that Ilanis was holding the lantern with a dull arcane glow spreading across his palm. The cold magic caused a burning sensation in Ilanis wrist, causing her to cry out in pain as she dropped the lantern. It hit the ground with a loud metallic echo but stayed alight.

Ilanis was practically screaming in pain now as she grabbed at Thaddeus hand on her wrist, trying to wrench herself free of his grip. “Agh! Thaddeus what are you doing?! Please, let go you’re hurting me!”

“Tell me. Now.” The magic from Thaddeus’ hand started to glow brighter as Ilanis cried out in pain, her wrist and hand blackening from where Thaddeus was holding on to.

“I read it in your journal, ok! I don’t know what I was thinking, I just thought that there was maybe something important that you- AGH!” Ilanis cried out as the blackness started to spread across her forearm.

“Minth was supposed to remain a secret. That is my business.” Thaddeus expression was completely blank now, his eyes locked to Ilanis’.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry okay! P-please just, let go…” The pain that was filling her voice was echoing into the mines. “W-what would the other’s think if they woke up and I was injured like this?”

“They won’t know. They listen to me, unlike you do. It seems evident to me, that there’s some corruption within our group.”

“C-corruption?! I promise Thaddeus, I-” Ilanis didn’t have time to finish her sentence as Thaddeus grabbed one her daggers and brought it across her arm, rending apart the flesh as deep crimson started to flow. Ilanis cried out as she fell back, Thaddeus’ grip still firm on her arm as he stood over her, looking down.

“It’s ok, it’ll all be over soon. We can have our happy ending together later when you learn to listen. We could run off together, like you always wanted, run away to a small town on the coast.” A terrified smile formed on Ilanis’ face; hope started to cut through the pain as the magic in Thaddeus’ hand started to die down.

“Do you really mean it, Thaddeus?” The tears in Ilanis eyes were reflecting the small glow of the lantern away from them. Ilanis took one final breath as blood gently started to spill out of the corners of her eyes as they fell shut. She collapsed to the floor, the smile still on her pale face as her body laid there limp. Thaddeus reached down and picked up the lantern as he started to head back up towards to entrance of the mines, wiping the blood on his hand away onto his cloak as darkness enveloped Ilanis still body.

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

A Story for my Favorite Sister Minth:

You might not know this, but I have a group of friends I travel with, we go on all kinds of adventures together. There’s Jerard, who reminds me of dad a lot. He can be very serious at times, but he has a gentleness to him that shines through. There’s Lidda, a short woman with an even shorter temper. She can cast magic left and right, she almost singed my eyebrows off with one of her spells! There’s Vondal as well. He has his own way of thinking, being a very pious man. Reminds me a lot of your older sister Daphne, in fact reminds me a little too much of her. But we cannot forget Ilanis. She is a very beautiful and witty woman; I think you would have liked her a lot.

The adventure we had this time was quite exciting. We had just traveled through the plains to the south, we were traveling north in search of ruins. Picture that, your older brother going through dangerous ruins with his friends in search of loot. We had just gone into the forest looking for the ruins I had mentioned when we started seeing stone bricks strewn across the ground. There were traces of something that used to be here, but we just had to look. Ilanis was the first to spot it, the mineshaft. There were rails and small bridges built up into a small mound of rock that came up from the ground, with one big entrance. We had camped outside of it for the night, preparing to face whatever was inside of it. However, when we woke up Ilanis was gone. We had gone searching for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. We were freaking out. Sadly, she is still missing to this day. We had left those forests for good then, swearing that whatever took Ilanis away from us would pay.

But hey, don’t let that discourage you from venturing off on your own. I may have lost my friend, but you are strong enough to face anything by yourself with the magic that I taught you. I love you the most Minth, I cannot wait to return home and tell you more stories.

~From, Your Dear Brother Thaddeus

4 notes · View notes

yuzuriha-sayori · 4 years

Note

Hey hun💕 Could I please request a SFW Benimaru x Reader firework festival one shot, where Benimaru tries to win the giant rabbit plushie at one of the game stalls for reader? Love you 😊

I got way too carried away with this 😭 be it my first request, btw THANK YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS 💕💕💕 but I really hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Shinmon Benimaru x Reader SFW where Benimaru tries to win a giant rabbit plushie for x reader!

Watashi no Usagi

"Waka, it seems the kids have brought a guest." Konro began as he entered through the noren of Company 7's Guardhouse, using the back of his hand to push it out of the way. Orange light pierced in through where he entered, indicating night was just a few hours upon them.

"Aah?"

Lazy crimson eyes darted to the entrance where the tall Lieutenant appeared, but he had moved himself to his right in order to make way for incoming. The captain sat on the genkan step with furrowed brows and pursed lips. "Tch, what did these little rugrats drag in this time?"

Laughter and squeals bubbled loudly with their fast approach as the twins, Hika and Hina came running in, pulling another person in each hand right through the cloth entrance.

The young girl stumbled in, surprised in the strength of these two kids that she had no time to react well. She wore a thick silk deep blue kimono with sleeves long enough to potentially graze the ground. A light purple juban could be seen and was matched with a similar colored obi, with blue wisteria decorating the sash. Slightly disoriented, she struggled to catch her footing and teetered side to side a bit before righting herself looking up and taking in her surroundings.

'Oh no,' she thought. These youngsters dragged her right into the den of the beast. The Destroyer of Asakusa. While he had a good reputation among the townspeople as the Captain of Company 7, he was also known to be rowdy at bars, and very ill mouthed.

"S-S-Sumimasen!" She quickly blurted out, bowing unnecessarily low. Her [h/c] spilled over her shoulders as she did so. After quite some silence, she cautiously glanced up, her big [e/c] eyes meeting his slightly displeased ones. One eye a crimson circle, the other with a crimson X. 'He's quite handsome...' She could feel the heat of embarrassment on the tip of her ears.

"Hika. Hina." The raven captain spoke very blunt, not taking his eyes off the stranger that was dragged into the guardhouse. The sudden words made the stranger's shoulders jump. "What did you two bring in here?"

"Ahaha.." Hina sheepishly laughed while both the twins ran to jump on his shoulders. "Hika and Hina brought a friend for tonight!" Hika exclaimed, dangling from his left shoulder, while Hina was climbing up the right.

"For tonight?" The young man's eyebrow twitched in confusion and seemingly slight exhaustion. These kids really knew how to be a handful. The girl, still bowing, uprighted herself. She began to speak, her lips barely parting open before being interrupted by the very tall man standing to her left.

"The festival tonight. The one you promised the girls you'd take them to." The Lieutenant spoke. He then turned to the girl with a gentle smile, and a wink after saying, "I'm assuming they brought a friend in case our young master decided to ditch." The girl gave a small giggle, visibly relaxing just a smidge.

"I'm Sagamiya Konro, the Lieutenant of Company 7. That brazen young man over there is our captain, Shinmon Benimaru. Forgive him for his rudeness, he lacks a bit of tact. What is your name young miss?"

"M-My name is [l/n] [f/n]." She said softly, giving a more proper and curt bow than the one she did earlier. Konro's eyes lit in realization, "Ah is that so? You're [l/n] Shiyou's daughter correct?" She nodded in response.

"The girls started visiting for mother's cooking whenever she makes yakitori for the hikeshi. She doesn't like to stay home during the rebuilding, so she rides with father and cooks for the men during their breaks." The girl gave a small smile to the man in front of her, but he still didn't seem to understand.

"Who the hell is [l/n]?" Benimaru, still sitting on the genkan steps, grumbled. Something told him maybe he should know, but he didn't really care too much about it. It was clearly evident with how he ignored how proper the young girl was dressed.

"Waka," Konro said sternly, eyes locked on the shorter male, "it would do you well to at least be courteous with the young miss. After all, her father runs the business that keeps us supplied with materials. You know, the ones needed to rebuild homes and the shops of our town after they're demolished every other day."

Ack, well this was going to be one hell of an evening. He didn't care much for respect, but Shinmon Benimaru was going to have to do at least some tongue biting. "I guess it would be...rude not to escort the old man's daughter around during a festival. After all..." He looked away and let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his head with mild irritation, "I do owe that old fart quite a lot."

----

"Yaaaaaay! Festival time! Festival time! Hika and Hina are gonna eat all the candy!" The twins chimed while jumping up and down off the sleeves of Benimaru's yukata. The sun was beginning to set and they were making their way to the festival. The lights could be seen glowing over rooftops of Asakusa just a few blocks away.

"Oi, don't tug on the sleeves, they might tear with all the weight you two have eaten in snacks already." The captain complained and he pried them off of the navy blue cotton sleeves. Konro, walking behind him, wore one of matching color.

Hina puffed her cheeks, "Not our fault you take forever getting ready."

"We got hungry!" Hika stuck her tongue out. "No candy for you then!"

"I don't like sweets anyways." Benimaru retorted. "Konro, where did the brat say she was going to meet us?"

Konro let out a deep sigh, "By the mask stall if I remember correctly." He'd mainly came along to make sure his captain didn't lose the kids but he was more concerned with Benimaru causing problems with [y/n].

"I guess your memory isn't going just yet," Benimaru joked while pointing in front of him. The joke earned a smack to the back by his Lieutenant but Konro looked in the direction his captain was pointing in and spotted [y/n] waiting patiently. She was standing in front of a mask stall at the beginning to one of the entrances set up for the festival.

"I wonder how long we've kept the poor girl waiting." Konro jest, walking up beside Benimaru and giving him a slightly disapproving frown.

"Tch. I got it, I got it." Benimaru made his way over to the young lady waiting. "Sorry..." He managed to get out, "I took too long finding my yukata."

She gave a small yet soft smile, something that was becoming usual for her, he noticed. "It's okay. I wasn't waiting long. Besides, I'm glad you were able to find it. It looks good on you." She hadn't realized how that could come off and she immediately flushed red after understanding their positions.

Benimaru however seemed unfazed. Though, he did give her outfit a scan and noticed it was fairly...appealing? She wore her [h/c] hair up in a loose bun, a mahogany wooden hairstick with a glass lotus at the end of it with jewels dangling. Her yukata was a light pink decorated with darker pink lotus and tied with a similar color sash. He had to avert his gaze after noticing he was staring rather long.

"Lets go." He said and pursed his lips, walking onto festival grounds. [Y/n] followed along after grabbing both Hika and Hina's hands. They had ran up to her with hands out to her. Konro felt as if it was going go be a looong evening for him.

The beginning of the festival was filled with much food consumption. Mainly by the twins. They made it a point to stop at almost every food stall they could.

"[Y/n] try this! They only have these during festivals!" Hina had a small brown puff on a toothpick. What appeared to be an octopus appendage stuck out in the cooked dough. [Y/n] bent down and opened her mouth for Hina to feed her was was delighted and the sweet and savory ball of goodness.

"Mmm it's delicious! This isn't a flavor from here is it?" [Y/n] gushed, her cheeks pink in pure happiness.

Benimaru had been watching the whole thing, and while the girls droned on about food, he kept watching her. The way her lips closed around the takoyaki and the way her cheeks puffed up as she chew. She kinda resembled...a rabbit. When [y/n] looked up at him, to ask if he wanted to try one too, he jerked his head away.

She looked slightly downcast but he didn't want her to see his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Just for being caught staring. It was impolite to stare, he told himself. He didn't want to acknowledge the real reason for it. 'I'm too grown to be acting like a teenager.' Had Konro heard those words, he'd have probably shot the sake he was gingerly sipping on right out his mouth.

"Shinmon-sama, won't you try one?"

Benimaru's head snapped back. [Y/n] was looking up at him with her big [e/c] eyes while holding a takoyaki up to his mouth. Not close enough to threaten his personal space, but just close enough that it was too inviting not to eat. Especially from her.

"Tch, fine." He said while opening his mouth and taking the small streetfood into his mouth. [Y/n] beamed. She thought maybe he didn't like her, but that feeling was slowly going away.

"[Y/n] look, look! Toys!" Hika and Hina chimed, tugging on the taller girl's sleeves. The [h/c] haired girl looked up and saw a booth that had toys lined up in several shelves. People were walking away with all sorts of arrangement of toys. The two younger girls darted for the booth and the three adults followed before someone tried to grab them. For the safety of whoever would try to, the two males hoped no one would dare.

"Step right up. Step right up. You have 3 chances to hit your target. Who would like to go first?" The stall owner boasted loudly.

Hika and Hina almost exploded in excitement but Konro stopped them. "This is [g/n]'s first time to an Asakusa festival. You should let her try first. Afterwards, I'll let you two try as many times as you can in 10 minutes."

"Okay!" The twins exclaimed, fire in their eyes.

"I guess I'll go first." [Y/n] said nervously while stepping up and dropping a few coins into the older stall keeper's hands. He handed her three white balls. They weren't that heavy and probably wouldn't knock down the giant pink bunny plushie she'd been eyeing. "I still have to give it a shot..." She mumbled.

Pklunk. "Darn it." Pklunk. "For the love of..." Pklunk. "Hmmmm...." [Y/n] hummed loudly in slight frustration. She'd hit her targets. But the balls didn't have enough force to even make the giant plush move one bit.

"Sorry missy, better luck nex--" [y/n] slapped more money into his hand as he tried to shrug in a 'sorry' gesture. She was not leaving without that plush. Benimaru, who had given up hiding the fact he'd been eyeing her, let out of 'hmmph' of amusement.

Again, she didn't make any knock the pink bunny down. Paying for another round, she furiously threw two out of the three balls at it and they just bounced off and to the ground. "Son of a fuck--"

"Ah our little 'Oujo-sama' can have a potty mouth." Benimaru mused at [y/n].

[Y/n] shook a little before turning to glare at the man a good bit taller than her, the bottom rim of her eyes slightly red from tearing up and cheeks puffed from holding ber breath in frustration. "Pffffttt" He couldn't hold back laughing and [y/n] was so close to smacking him had he not slipped his fingers into her hands and gently pry the last white ball from her fingers. This action caught her so off guard, she almost really did stop breathing.

"The pink rabbit right?"

[Y/n] nodded in defeat and watched as Benimaru lined the ball up. Holding it like a marble ready to shoot. With an audible flick, it shot from his hand, right into the pink rabbit's face. He knocked it over with so much force, a normal person might've had whiplash...or a very ugly bruise.

Eyes wide in surprise, [Y/n] squealed. Once handed the plush, she burried her face on the top of it's head and spun around. It was a little more then half her height. After letting out most of her excitement, she looked up and smiled warm up at Benimaru. "Thank so much, Shinmon-sama."

A blush began creeping up his neck as he looked away again, "I didn't want you to start crying and scaring all the kids away." He proclaimed. [Y/n] was beginning to feel that his rudeness quite often times might be a little misunderstood. She hoped at least. "Oh, and you can call me by my first name."

"Benimaru-sama?" She said taken by surprise. She wasn't the only one though. The crimson eyed man wasn't ready for her to use his first name so quickly that he couldn't hide the instant unsettling blush on his face. He stormed off down the street in confusion.

"W-Wait!" [Y/n] exclaimed. She turned to Konro and the twins. The lieutenant gave a gentle flick of his hand, as if signaling for her to make her way after his captain. "I have to help these girls carry all the toys they're about to siphon out this poor man." [Y/n] gave a confused expression but turned and darted after Benimaru.

"Hehehe. Hina and Hika are gonna take all these toys!" They dropped all their money on the counter and collected as many balls that could sit on the counter. The sounds of toy after toy hitting the ground echoed past several neighboring stalls as the twins windmilled ball after ball at the wall of toys. The poor stall keeper huddled in the corner shaking in fear, for these balls came flying with more force then he'd ever seen in his life.

Konro gave a tired and strained smile. He was going to have a lot of carrying to do.

----

"Please wait up!" [Y/n] called out. Benimaru turned to glance at her before continuing to make his way away from the lights and crowd of people. "Then hurry up, the fireworks are about to start soon."

[Y/n] faltered in her dash towards him. A smile spread on her face. "O-Oh okay!" She followed him towards a hill with not quite so many trees. One with a clear view of the sky. He sat down with his legs crossed, not waiting for her to sit down first. [Y/n] smoothed the fabric of her yukata behind her and sat next to him, still clutching her overly large rabbit. Her face burried in it's head.

The first pop of a firecracker shot up in several colors. A basic round one in colors of red, blue, and green. There where sparkles of excitement in [Y/n]'s eyes that Benimaru couldn't keep his eyes away from. She turned to look at him and smiled.

"I think I'll name him Bunnymaru." She giggled and turned back to the fireworks that started coming in more frequent succession. She turned just in time to miss his eyes go wide in surprise, his neck, ears, and face a red so bright that he thought he might actually overheat.

"Tch. Whatever."

As much as he wanted to focus on the fireworks, he kept stealing glances at [Y/n]'s excited face. She was much more like a rabbit herself. In one day, he had noticed she was nervous, skittish, but really bubbly. A bubbly he didn't hate that much.

"My rabbit." He mumbled just as more fireworks sounded off, masking his words. Much to his relief. He didn't mean to say 'my' and he nearly choked in realization. He glanced at [y/n] again, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed in his usual expression as he watched her enjoy the display in the sky.

'Ah what the hell,' he sighed inwardly, 'It won't hurt if she was...'

#x reader #one shots #probably not one i fail at this #i think it might be cute at least?#i have the poooower #shinmon benimaru #benimaru shinmon #benimaru x reader

460 notes · View notes

stomachflu · 4 years

Note

Ooo, for c//ritical r//oll concept, something with sick Mollymauk? Maybe he's got a really bad stomach flu but is covering it super well with his usual showmanship. He's gotten used to taking care of himself and not showing weakness while on the road-- cant miss a performance for a lil bug. Pretends to be totally fine until he crashes, cue the rest of the m9 taking care of him? Bonus for belly rubs and drawn out nausea.

🚫don’t rb to non-sickfic/emeto/kink blogs, thanks!🚫

thank you so much for this really good prompt! i’ve been working on this for a REALLY LONG TIME but cr//itical r/-/oll has become one of my new fave interests so i enjoyed writing this a lot!

have over 5k of nausea buildup, multiple puking sessions, and caretaking!

(i only realized after writing this fic that not only does jester not have the cure illness spell, but it’s not even a spell in dnd 5e, and i’m thinking of a similar spell from my 3.5e campaign. whoops! there’s probably a lot more errors in here due to me being new to the show, so please be nice to me and ignore them! ^_^)

Molly certainly hadn't objected to taking shelter out of the storm, but the town was small, with only a few small rooms in their only inn, and not much in the way of entertainment, so by all means, he should've been more than happy to be moving on as soon as the rain passed.

The thing was, he had definitely picked up something in that weather. He'd spent most of the previous day huddled in blankets, trying to rid himself of the chills that racked his body. He was lucky that they'd had enough money for four rooms this time, luckier still that Beau and Jester were still insistent upon rooming together, and Caleb and Nott were stuck like glue, leaving him and Fjord with separate rooms. Molly had to make appearances at mealtimes, of course, but he'd put on a good show then, mustering up enough energy to entertain the room with simple tricks – disappearing coins and such.

Molly had hoped that it was just a momentary illness, that it would pass in time, but when he'd woken up burning with fever, he knew he was in it for the long haul. He felt terrible, hot and cold at the same time, aching down to his very bones. It hurt to swallow, but he needed energy if he was going to beat this, so he choked down breakfast as quickly as possible.

The sky was clear now, not a cloud in sight, and they needed to be moving on. The group didn't have time to waste on a cold – Molly was no use bedridden, and, besides, there was nothing that would cure him but time. Jester needed her spells, and it wasn't like he wouldn't have plenty of time to rest in the cart.

Once they jerked into motion, though, Molly quickly realized that he'd made a mistake. He had eaten breakfast with everyone else, and his stomach was not happy with that decision. He took deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to concentrate on something other than his suddenly-churning gut.

Probably motion sickness. Traveling had never made him ill before, but there was a first time for anything. If he had to guess, it probably had to do with how dizzy he was – having the world spin around him while he was jostled back and forth? That would make anyone queasy. What was it that people always said? Something about focusing on the horizon, but that just made him feel more queasy.

Fjord had the reigns, with Caleb keeping watch next to him, so Molly snuck a glance at the rest of the group – Nott and Beau in an animated conversation, Jester with her sketchbook – and risked placing a hand on his tender belly, rubbing it gently. He swallowed back a burp, grimacing as the pressure in his stomach only increased.

The sun was still high in the sky, and Molly needed a distraction from what was quickly becoming nausea, so he spread out his cards in front of him, shuffling through his deck.

"Ooh!" Jester exclaimed, bouncing into a sitting position across from him. "Do a reading for me, please?"

Despite himself, Molly smiled. With his view of the horizon blocked, he did feel a little better. Perhaps it was simply motion sickness after all.

"Alright, cut the deck for me – good. Now, two more times..."

Molly's momentary relief didn't last long. He did a reading for Jester, and then one for Beau. By the time Nott asked, he was certain his fever was up, sweat beading on his forehead, so he feigned exhaustion and put the cards away.

His stomach hurt. It was an on-and-off kind of pain, the cramps coming in intervals, leaving him shivering with chills each time. Maybe it's simply hunger, Molly thought, fishing out some strips of dried jerky out of his bag and gnawing on them absently. At any rate, he needed to eat to get over this illness, but putting food in his mouth, but swallowing it down just made him more nauseous.

He needed to throw up.

The thought struck Molly at the same. time that a wave of nausea washed over him, and he swallowed hard. Not right now, not this moment, but at some point in the near future, he was going to vomit.

The cart pulled off to the side of the road, jostling Molly's sick stomach and forcing a soft burp up his throat.

"Alright," Fjord said, hopping down from his position at the reins. "Short break to feed and water the horses, but 's about all I got in me. Anyone else wanna drive?" A beat in which nobody else answered, and he repeated, "Anyone...?"

"Fuck it, fine, I'll do it," Beau grumbled.

"If we are to be switching positions, is there anyone else who would like to take watch?" Caleb asked.

Molly slowly slid out of the cart, his hot, aching joints protesting every movement.

"I volunteer," he said. Maybe the fresh air would help. Already, he felt a bit better, standing in the open air like this.

That was settled, then. Fjord and Nott went about taking care of the horses, and the others took their time walking about, stretching or disappearing into the woods bordering either side of the road to relieve themselves.

Molly was glad for the thick cover of trees – the second he was out of sight of the cart, he clutched his belly with both hands, bending over at the waist. The pressure helped, but his stomach was still churning. He felt awful, knew that he needed to throw up now if he was going to keep up appearances.

Molly traipsed a little further into the underbrush, determined to keep out of earshot of the others, and... waited. He was nauseous, yes, but not nearly to the degree that he had been when he was sitting in the back of the cart.

Come on, puke already, he thought. Absentmindedly, he reached underneath his shirt to rub his stomach, the taut skin hot with fever under his palm. Almost immediately, a gurgling burp shot up his throat, and he leaned forward expectantly.

Saliva flooded into his mouth, and Molly spit onto the dirt, throat tightening in a gag. A sick belch brought up a thin mouthful of foamy bile, and he retched again and again as the liquid pattered onto the dirt.

He didn't bring anything else up, though he remained bent over at the waist. Molly knew he couldn't stay here forever – he was already pushing the limits of what the others would believe, had his excuse of needing privacy to relieve himself been true. Anyways, his stomach felt... not good, not even better, but he wasn't on the verge of puking anymore. Maybe he could make it 'till nightfall.

As he traipsed back towards the cart, he suddenly realized why nobody had gone looking for him, why his absence had gone unnoticed. Standing in a circle around Fjord and Nott were a group of bandits, weapons drawn. Molly was too far away to tell, but by their gestures, he would have bet that they were demanding the cart, and everything on it.

Sighing, he drew his swords. It was going to be a long day.

They made quick work of the bandits, dispatching their leader and sending the others running into the woods, pursued by a few of Nott's arrows. It had been a good thing that Molly hadn't asked Jester for a healing spell earlier, though, because Fjord had taken a heavy blow to the chest, and Jester used almost all of her spell slots healing him.

And so they were back on their way, with Molly perched at the front of the cart, acting as lookout. The crisp air was helping a bit – he felt less foggy, like his head wasn't quite so stuffed with cotton. His stomach, however...

Right on cue, his stomach gurgled, and Molly winced, pressing a hand to his midsection. He could feel it bubbling under his skin, everything he'd eaten churning around in there.

Oh. Oh no. A cold sweat washed over his body, and Molly swallowed back the taste of bile.

"Beau?" he asked, swallowing back a belch.

"Yeah?" She wasn't even looking at him, so he allowed himself to press three fingers to his mouth, muffling another queasy burp.

"Would you mind stopping for a moment? I need to, ah – you know, relieve myself."

"Again? We just fucking stopped," Beau grumbled, but she dutifully pulled the horses over to the side of the road anyways, and Molly gratefully slid off of the cart, walking into the treeline as fast as his queasy belly would allow him.

He was gagging before he even came to a stop, a thin trickle of vomit splashing onto the leaves at his feet. He belched up a thick mouthful of undigested food, and then he couldn't stop burping, the sight of his pale vomit on the dark leaves making him more and more nauseous.

Calm down, Molly willed his stomach. He needed to stop puking, he needed to get his churning guts under control and –

Another sickly gag, and Molly managed a mouthful of watery puke. He hovered there for almost a full minute, mouth slightly open, too queasy to even wipe away the thick ropes of saliva trickling from his lips to the ground.

Was that it? He didn't feel done. If anything, his stomach was more bloated than ever, and he didn't feel any less nauseous, but, yet again, he couldn't stay here.

"Done?" Beau asked, hopping back up onto the cart as he approached. Molly took a more careful method, gingerly leveraging himself up so that he wouldn't have to bend over, keeping one hand under the small bloat of his gurgling stomach. It didn't do much, but the illusion of supporting his belly, keeping it from being jostled – it almost convinced him to feel less queasy.

"My apologies," he said simply, muffling a nauseous burp into his fist.

Beau looked at him strangely but only shook her head, taking the reins in hand. "Let's get this show on the fuckin' road!"

He had made a mistake. Molly knew this from the moment the cart jolted to life. Not only was he not done being sick, but the motion was too much to handle. A gag rose up in his throat, and he risked the motion of pressing the back of his hand to his lips as he rode it out. His mouth filled with vomit, and he swallowed it back with effort, and then kept swallowing, throat hitching in an attempt to heave.

Molly sat as still as possible, arms wrapped around his stomach, not even trusting himself to raise his head. The cart hit a particularly bad dip in the road, and his tongue arched in a gag, and he could taste bile on his tongue, and –

"Shit, Beau, pull over," he managed tightly, his throat closing in on a gag. She protested, probably about to make a terrible joke, and then he retched, and she looked over at him in alarm.

She'd yanked the horses over to the side of the road, but he was vomiting over the side of cart before it even came to a stop. He tried to climb down, but it was more of an undignified scramble as he gagged again, adding to the puddle in the grass.

By this point, the others had taken notice, and he was surrounded by a blurry semicircle of his friends as he fell to a crouching position, gagging again and again until he belched up a torrent of puke that splashed everywhere.

He was crying, Molly realized. His face was a mess of tears and snot, thick ropes of spit dangling from his mouth. It felt as if the nausea was never going to go away. He remained there on his hands and knees, panting and belching for what felt like an eternity, until he felt strong arms under his that pulled him to his feet.

Fjord had pulled him up, and was still supporting most of Molly's weight as Jester bounced into his hazy field of view.

"You're sick! Why didn't you tell us?" she demanded, pressing a hand to his forehead. He tried to answer, but couldn't open his mouth for fear of gagging. "Oh, Mol-ly," Jester said in her lilting accent, voice light and almost... teasing? "You have a fever."

"I know that," he managed. "You n – urrp!" He burped into his fist, trying to fight back the wave of nausea that was coming on strongly now. "You need your spells."

"Well, I have one left, so you should have told me," Jester said, voice still light as she fished the Traveler's symbol out from her cloak and pressed it to his belly. "I am going to cast Cure Illness and then you are going to feel better, all right?"

Molly nodded, and the symbol began to glow as Jester concentrated. All at once, a feeling of wrongness washed over him, the nausea surging back tenfold, and he pitched over and vomited on Jester's shoes.

"I really do apologize," Molly said miserably for what might have been the tenth time. "I wasn't aiming for you at all."

"My shoes can be cleaned!" Jester said brightly, crouching barefoot in the grass next to him. "You really do need to keep drinking, though."

After Jester's spell had failed and his stomach had calmed somewhat, they'd half-dragged, half-carried him a good bit away from the puddle he'd left on the ground. Fjord had handed him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth with ("Please, keep it.") and Caleb had fished a handful of dry, bland crackers out of his pocket, instructing Molly that he needed to both drink to avoid dehydration, and fill his stomach with something inoffensive if he could.

More like something stale, Molly thought, nibbling on the edge of a cracker. Thinking about how long they'd been in Caleb's pockets made his gorge rise, but before he could ruminate on the thought for too long and make himself sick, Beau walked over from where she'd been huddled with Caleb, Fjord, and Nott.

"Alright, here's the plan," she announced, map in hand. "We obviously can't camp here, so we're gonna get'cha back in the cart and find somewhere where we can settle down for the night, take it nice and slow. There're some towns we could make it to before sundown, but we'd have to go at a pretty fast clip, and I really do not want you puking over all of my things."

"That is very agreeable to me," Molly said, placing a hand on his sour stomach. At Jester's urging, he ate a few more of the crackers and drank deeply from the waterskin as everyone else worked out the logistics of their new plan.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, followed by a chill traveling down his spine, and Molly put his head between his knees, breathing deeply. He could do this. Now that he'd vomited, he would feel better any minute now –

"Molly? Do you think you can stand on your own, or should I be helping you?" Jester asked.

"Thanks for the offer, but I can stand," he said, pulling himself to his feet. His belly felt awful, all the water he'd drank churning in a way that really didn't feel good. He could actually hear his guts sloshing as he heaved himself back up onto the cart.

Jester frowned as he put a hand on the bloat of his still-tender stomach. "Are you feeling bad again? Do you need to vomit?"

"Yes, and maybe," Molly said, swallowing thickly. "Not right now. Probably soon."

"Get him set up in the back of the cart," Beau suggested dryly. "If he's gotta puke, he can do it over the edge. If we stay here any longer, it’s gonna get dark."

"That's a good idea!" Jester exclaimed. As Molly shivered with fever, she collected his blankets and bedroll, setting them in the back of the cart, close enough that he would only need to turn his head to vomit over the side. He gratefully settled into the little nest she'd built for him, arms wrapped around his protesting stomach now that he didn't have to hide his illness. Jester sat next to him, humming as she pulled out her sketchbook.

The cart jolted back to life, and Molly swallowed back a sour belch. His stomach was cramping again, and he screwed his eyes shut, tongue rising in a silent gag. He slipped his hand under his shirt to rub his stomach, only to feel a small hand on his wrist.

"Oh! This looks very painful," Jester said, scooting closer to place her hand on the swell of his stomach. "Does it hurt to touch?"

Molly shook his head. "Just hurts in general. Cramps, I'm..." He trailed off as the cart hit a pothole on the road, causing him to burp lightly into his fist. "I'm feeling a bit queasy right now, to be honest."

"Would it help if I rubbed your stomach?" Jester asked, already untucking the loose fabric of his shirt from his pants and rucking it up to his chest.

"Normally, I'd ask you to buy me dinner first, but..." The suggestive joke was lost as Jester poked experimentally at his stomach. Even if he'd wanted to, Molly couldn't fake being healthy now with his flushed, swollen belly on display, gurgling and churning audibly. Her touch ushered up a soft burp, and he blushed a bit, uncomfortable with the sheer amount of sickness, of vulnerability he was showing.

"Did that feel good? I bet it did!" Jester said, continuing to gently skim her hand over his stomach.

He had to give it to her, Jester was good with her hands. She rubbed his stomach in widening circles, slowly increasing the pressure as she went, switching to kneading the sides of his bloated belly every so often, pressing in with her thumbs as she did so. It seemed as if she knew just when to push in deeply, releasing a pocket of air that had been trapped, finally letting him burp it up.

As they bounced around, Molly's burps became more frequent and more queasy. At some point, he had to ask Jester to stop so he could fish out Fjord's handkerchief, and he pressed that against his mouth now, muffling increasingly wet belches.

"I hate to ask, but –" He gagged, mouth closed. "Jes, do you have any healing spells left?"

Molly's stomach gave a particularly loud gurgle, and Jester pressed in hard, dragging her hand along where it was bubbling the most. "I'm sorry, that was my last one! I won't have any more until tomorrow".

"Okay," he choked out, fighting back another gag. "I'm going to vomit again."

He turned his head and did just that, retching harshly over the side of the cart. A series of burps brought up small mouthfuls of water and undigested crackers. He gagged and belched over and over, only aware of the sensation of Jester's cool hands on his stomach, soothing away cramps and then pressing in each time he heaved.

The next thing he knew, Beau was supporting his back, trying to get him to sit up, and Jester was wiping his face with a cool rag. "Not done –" he tried to croak, but retched dryly before he could even finish the sentence.

"It's okay, go ahead and puke!" Jester said brightly, folding the cloth and cupping it under his mouth.

Molly shook his head, lips pressed tightly shut. He was gonna make a mess, he needed to turn back over the side – but Jester held his chin steadily, keeping his head over her cupped hands, and he retched again and again, bringing up more than a mouthful of stringy bile that was easily absorbed by the cloth.

"Think you're empty, dude," Beau said after a few minutes of fruitless gagging. Molly shook his head, one hand pressed to his aching chest. "Look, okay, I'm gonna teach you some monk shit, right?"

"'Kay," Molly managed, immediately choking on a retch.

"This breathing shit, it's supposed to keep you centered, or something like that? I dunno. Anyways. You're gonna breathe in through your nose for eight counts –" She counted him up, and Molly shakily inhaled, fighting back gags all the while. "–And then out through your mouth for another eight."

On five, Molly gagged, slapping his hand across his mouth even though he knew he had nothing left to lose.

"You gotta keep doing it, okay? Don't stop fucking breathing. It helps me when I'm motion sick; you'll feel better soon."

He hoped so. Molly leaned back, listening to the quiet count of eight-seven-six-five-four... He breathed in. He breathed out.

By nightfall, they'd found a small clearing with enough room to pull over the cart and horses and lay out bedrolls. Molly mostly dozed through the process, lying in his nest of blankets in the back of the cart, watching proceedings through half-lidded eyes.

"Molly should be nearest to the fire!" Jester insisted. "Look at him, he's shaking!"

"Don't think that you're supposed to let someone with a fever get any hotter," Fjord drawled. "Maybe we oughta help him cool down first."

The cart rocked a bit as Beau clambered up, sitting cross-legged next to Molly. "Hey," she said. "I'm supposed to make sure that you're drinking water. Are you?"

Molly made a face. He'd been trying to, really, but it just didn't feel good.

"Shit," Beau said. "You gonna puke again?"

"No, it's more like..." He grimaced again, waving a hand in the general direction of his stomach. "Cramps. Hurts."

"Puking all day really took it out of you, huh?"

Molly nodded. His stomach muscles were just sore. Even sitting up hurt; he really didn't want to have to puke again. Just for Beau, he took a small sip of water.

"Excuse me," Caleb said, appearing on Molly's right like a ghost. "I could not help but overhear you say that you were experiencing, ah..." He tried a few words in Zemnian before landing on, "Pain, soreness, in the stomach?"

"Yeah," Beau said, and Molly flashed her a grateful smile. His throat was raw from stomach bile, and talking hurt. "Probably from puking too much. Y'know, if you keep that up, I bet you could get a fucking amazing set of abs," she said, elbowing Molly.

"What makes you think mine aren't already stunning?" he retorted.

"I do not think Molly wishes to repeat such... an intense performance," Caleb said, already flipping through one of his books. "Can I have... yes, that, give me that."

Beau tossed him one of the blankets that had been cast aside, and Caleb caught it in one hand, deftly folding it into a compact square and working some sort of magic on it, something that made both his hands and the blanket glow.

"Here," he said at last. "It is enchanted to stay warm for at least a few hours. Not as good as a heating pack, but, under these circumstances..."

"Thank you, Caleb," Molly rasped, nodding his head in gratitude. The folded blanket was warm to the touch, and he peeled off the other blankets to set it on his stomach, the tension instantly draining out of him as warmth spread through his body. The effect was like taking a hot bath after an intense fight – not completely relieving his aches and pains, but making them much more bearable.

Eventually, Molly was able to stand as Beau and Jester moved his bedroll over to the fire, but he gratefully sank back into the blankets as soon as possible. Even with his makeshift heating pad, he was left trembling with both cold and exhaustion, his energy sapped by just a few simple movements.

"You need to eat, Molly!" Jester exclaimed. "It will make you stronger, you know?"

"I'm good, thanks," Molly said, and then, at her intensifying glare, added, "Really, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Well, Fjord is making soup, so! You should eat it anyways."

"'S less of a soup and more of... I dunno. Leftover meat in water?"

"Hot water," Molly said. He was feeling well enough to joke with the others, at least.

He thought to close his eyes and get some rest, but an insistent poking at his shoulder startled Molly out of any chance at sleep, and he turned his head to see Nott crouched next to him, holding a vial in one green hand.

"Here!" she said, pushing the vial into his own hand and closing his fingers around it when he just stared. "You have to drink it!"

"What is this?" Molly asked, holding the vial up to the light. The glass was dirty, nearly opaque, but the liquid inside seemed to be thick and viscous, a texture that made his gorge rise. "Medicine?"

"Yes! Sort of! It will help settle your stomach, make it hurt less. Probably!"

"Nott," Molly said slowly, "did you make this yourself?" She had the chemistry kit, yes, but from the amount of times he had seen her make acid with it, he didn't want to drink anything that came from one of her vials.

"Yeees," she said slowly, stretching the word out. "But it works!" At Molly's doubtful look, she added, "I drank it before, several times! When I had too much to drink, or when I was hungover, or..."

"All right, I get it, thank you," Molly said. "I appreciate the thought."

He uncorked the vial and peered inside. The liquid was a muddy brown, and grit rose to the top as he swirled it. Well, what did he have to lose, besides his lunch? He tipped the contents into his mouth, gagging on the texture but forcing it down in one swallow. The aftertaste was absolutely vile, and he lurched forward, clapping a hand against his mouth as his stomach threatened to revolt.

"You gotta keep it down!" Nott exclaimed. "Otherwise, it doesn't work."

Molly hummed, rocking back and forth as he tried to swallow back the bile that was creeping up his throat. A muffled gag sent the potion flooding into his mouth, filling his cheeks out, and if was only by sheer willpower that he swallowed it down again.

"Ugh," Molly said when the nausea had passed. "You have a stronger stomach than I do, my friend."

Nott beamed at him with a mouthful of sharp teeth, and Molly found the strength to laugh.

After another few minutes of quiet chatter, it became evident that the potion had worked, at least in some capacity. Molly's stomach felt more sure, like that tight queasiness had abated somewhat, and he was able to entertain the thought of food without gagging. Maybe he really was on the mend.

"You know what?" he asked. "Maybe I'll try some of that soup after all."

Molly woke up shaking, drenched in sweat, and with a growing sense of queasiness in his belly. He tried to ignore the latter – he had been feeling a bit better, just weak, and he didn't want to get up – but the churning and bubbling under his hand wasn't going away, and he didn't enjoy the thought of soiling the campgrounds.

With a muffled groan, he rolled over, his stomach protesting every move as he stood. It was bloated again, he noticed, far more than last time. Clearly, the soup he'd eaten wasn't sitting well at all.

"You are awake," Caleb observed from his post as watchman. "What are you doing?"

"Need some privacy," Molly said quietly, giving him a small half-smile. He didn't want to wake anyone else, didn't want the attention –

"Are you going to vomit?"

"That too," he muttered.

"I will come with you," Caleb announced. "You are ill, and I would feel – badly, if anything happened to you."

"You don't have to," Molly said, pressing his hand against his sour stomach. His nausea was mounting quickly, a sure sign that he needed to leave before he redecorated the campsite. "You're on watch duty, besides."

"I have this." Caleb gestured to the silver thread wound 'round the perimeter. "I will know if anything happens while we are gone."

"As you wish." Molly pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, burping quietly. He traipsed into the woods yet again, Caleb at his heels. When the dying light of the campfire was no longer visible, he allowed himself to stop, stretching out one arm to lean on a nearby tree and breathing heavily.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he focused on breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. Beau's exercises didn't make him any less nauseous, but his heart wasn't beating quite so fast, and it helped him breathe through some of the worst cramps.

"Are you still going to vomit?" Molly jumped, nearly forgetting that Caleb was with him. The other man stood a few feet away, head tilted curiously to the side. "I thought you said you were nauseous."

"I will, eventually." Another cramp seized his middle, and Molly winced, bending forward and clamping his hand down on his stomach. The movement jarred a long, deep belch up his throat, and he stayed there for a moment, the taste of acid on the back of his tongue. "It's coming up, just – I'm waiting."

"I see."

Saliva was beginning to collect in Molly's mouth, and he parted his lips, allowed it to fall to the forest floor. No point in holding it back now. "You should head back now, if you don't want to be disgusted. It's not – uuuurp–gh!" A deep, rumbling burp turned into a gag, and Molly clapped his hand against his mouth as he spoke, voice muffled by his fingers. "It's not pretty."

"I am not disgusted," Caleb said, his clipped accent making the words sharper, somehow. "It is merely a function of the body, no more or no less. You are ill, ja? Let your body do what it needs to."

"Mmm." Molly gagged audibly, spitting a glob of thick saliva onto the ground. He felt awful, sick and dizzy again, wanting nothing more than to get this over with.

"Beau said earlier that rubbing your stomach helped, yes? Would you like me to... shall we say, get things started for you?"

"Please," Molly practically begged, shaking with nausea. Caleb silently walked behind him, wrapping his arms around Molly, fingers resting on the base of his stomach. "I can't believe you're not absolutely grossed out by this."

"Like I said, I would like to be of help."

Unlike Jester, Caleb's hands were warm, almost hot to the touch, and Molly wondered if he was doing that with magic. He didn't waste any time, just waited until Molly's stomach cramped and then pushed in, hard.

Molly immediately belched up a hot torrent of vomit, the soup he'd consumed earlier splattering at his feet in a foamy mess. Caleb didn't let up, keeping up a steady pattern of squeezing and then letting go, ushering up wet burps alternating with splashes of thick vomit. Nott's potion, he recognized with disgust. It tasted even worse coming up.

When he was belching emptily, Caleb released his stomach, turning Molly to face him.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm – urp! – waiting on the next round," Molly said. Caleb held out a waterskin, and Molly shook his head queasily.

"You know, vomiting on an empty stomach is never much fun," Caleb insisted quietly.

Molly got a few swallows down before he gagged directly into the waterskin, spraying watery puke onto his hand and arm and down his chest, soaking his nightshirt. He choked on it, coughing and spitting out mouthfuls of water and bile, gulping down gags and trying his best to catch his breath.

When the coughing fit stopped, though, his stomach had stopped churning. The cooling vomit on his shirt and beads of sweat on his forehead let him know that his fever had broken, too.

"That was absolutely vile, but I feel – better," he said under Caleb's questioning gaze. "I didn't catch you in any of that, did I?"

"Oh!" Caleb said, as if he had never even considered the possibility. "No, I believe that my clothing is... unscathed, for now. Are you finished?"

Molly wiped his mouth on his sleeve, making a face. "For now. I'll probably have to puke again later, but I don't enjoy the idea of sitting out here and waiting for it."

"If it would help," Caleb offered, "you might sit with me while you wait for your stomach to settle."

Molly smiled, despite himself. "I just might take you up on that, my friend."

#emetophilia #emeto #do NOT @ me about characterization or anything please... i am new here!#ironically molly is one of the hardest characters for me to get a grasp on so i hope i did him justice!#(rip. i know.)#is caleb into it (tm)? Maybe A Little. but that's just headcanon it's not canon in the fic #supersecretsick #my fic

80 notes · View notes

theravencawsatmidnight · 3 years

Text

Them Video Games . Pt 1

A very special Non Fandom fic that i care deeply about. I wrote this a few years ago around E3 Time and ive since rewrote it and turned it into a fic with Suna. But this is the rewrite and the one i adore. Its not the full thing because its too long . So ill call this Part One for the time being. I hope you enjoy the read.

W! Nsfw ish. Mentions of body insecurities. One slur. Slight incesty vibes.

I hope you enjoy this as much as me and @squeaky-ducky do. And i hope you fall in love with Toshi like we have 💞

It was early morning and the sun was creeping up to start the day . The sunlight made its way into a medium sized room . It was full of gaming posters. God of War, Overwatch, Tomb Raider and Final Fantasy. The room also had a large desk riddled with games and systems . Ontop sat a big screen tv with little figures in front of it. A dresser was also in the room that was full of figures and had a stack of gaming guides. An alarm was going off … for a long time.

The door to the room opened and a tall boy came in. He was tall with a small build . He was wearing a tank and some jeans . Quietly he went over to the bed to see a small girl asleep with the blanket kicked off . She was wearing Spyro panties and a video game tourney shirt .

The boy leaned down slightly shaking the girl.

“ kiki… kiki…”

Sleeping

“ MISHIKO” he shook her fast waking her up in a panic . He laughed standing up. “ time for school.”

Kiki sat up with a grumpy look on her face and the boy chuckled.

“ but Maaaax” she whined

“ cmon . Or i take the ps4 outta here”

“ nooo!!!!” She jumped outta bed hurrying to the restroom.

Kiki was in the shower trying to hurry to get ready for school, Max went downstairs checking his phone , he sighed up at the stairs when he heard the shower turn off and a door close.

Kiki hurried to get dressed . She pulled on a Playstation shirt and some shorts along with sneakers and rushed downstairs with her backpack on to see Max waiting by the door. He smiled at her and the two got in his car. Kiki was quiet during the ride, she was squeezing her pack looking out the window.

“ do I have to go..” she asked looking over.

“ yes, you do, why don't you see about joining the video game club ?” He pulled into a parking space.

“ I don't know…”

“ adam is in it you know. All you gotta do is ask Toshi to join”

She squirmed before getting out and Max got out too looking over at her.

“ i .. I don't know who that is..”

“ ah well. Uhhhh.” He came over to her side of the car and crouched down pointing to a black Mazda. A tall japanese guy got out holding a backpack that he slung over his shoulder. Max pointed at him and Kiki fell into him shaking her head fast.

“ hes .. hes..” she wiggled.

“ I promise he's nicer then he looks”

Kiki wiggled and they both heard the bell.

“ have a good day kiki” he hugged her and kiki whined when he let her go. They both went into the school but went opposite ways .

Kiki went into her math class to her seat and sat down holding her shorts , she watched more kids come in . Most didn't look at her , or talk to her. Most kids in her grade thought she was a hermit . Class started and Kiki took her book out to take notes and solve problems . She was mostly thinking about video games though. New strategies , new skins, new loot boxes.

“ Mishiko..” said the teacher

She jumped looking up to see everyone looking at her.

“ please pay attention and solve the problem…” asked the teacher. Kiki wiggled in her seat and answered the problem nervously . The teacher nodded in response.

She was right . The kids turned away and Kiki tried to relax.

Max was in class with his friend Adam . He also liked video games and enjoyed football. They sat next to each other to. The teacher instructed the class to work among themselves and Max turned to Adam.

“ i told Kiki about the club , I even showed her Toshi.”

Adam chuckled down at his books .

He was a big kid. Mostly muscle for football and athletics. “ ill ask her again but I don't know man. She seems shy, I wish she would though. No one will join cuz Toshi is so good” said Adam

Max tapped his pencil on his desk and sneaked a peak at his phone. He had a text from Gina. He grinned and elbowed his friend.

“ cover for me?” He asked and Adam agreed rolling his eyes. Max left class and went down the hall to see Gina waiting for him along with another girl . Kera.

They pulled him into the bathroom and into a stall and started to kiss him all over . Toshi was in the computer lab studying up on some game for the first bell . He did not have a first class but came in anyway to study. He leaned in to his hand watching the monitor , blowing air at it. “ almost time for E3.. “ he clicked on an article reading it about the event . He always went , he loved it . But he always went alone. He read the article and some girls came over to try to talk to him . He glanced over.

“ ohayo.” He said

The girls giggled at each other.

“ we were wondering .. if you wanted to join us for some fun?” They smirked.

“ nani?!” He was not amused

“ you know what we mean..”

“ nani?!?” Louder

The girls rolled their eyes leaving and Toshi smiled going back to his article.

The bell rang and Kiki hurried out of the classroom into the hallway. Toshi logged off and got up going to the hallway . He walked a strut almost, but a lazy strut. He was tall. And he took small steps when he walked. Never in any rush. Kiki was hurrying past all the kids down the hall when she passed him. He noticed her shirt and looked back when she passed him and raised an eyebrow then faced forward again. He shrugged his shoulders smiling and strolled into class.

Kiki made it to her class and tried her best to not be noticed. The class was english and the teacher was talking about an upcoming field trip to a museum . She handed out the paper and Kiki read it over. It was in a couple days . The class went on and one of the boys in her class looked over at her a few times. He nudged his friend and he looked up.

“ how come she never talks?” He asked

“ kiki is a video game hermet thats why”

“ yeah all she does is come to school and go straight home” said another kid.

“ I heard she's into freaky stuff too like video game characters” said a girl.

Kiki squeezed her book trying to block them out.

Max emerged from the restroom panting and zipping his pants. The girls came out and waved goodbye walking away. Max leaned on the wall panting and looking around.

“ to be fair. They asked me first” said Toshi. Who was leaning on the corner wall. Max jumped in his skin looking over the corner to see Toshi leaning on it.

“Well.. uh..” Max leaned on the wall next to Toshi.

“ ill take it i guess. Don't gotta work for it.” He said

“ you Americans are interesting. “

“ nab one Toshi you won't regret it”

“ looking for the right one.”

“ good luck” Max said rolling his eyes.

A bell rang and the two made their way to lunch. Kiki rushed out of the room and to the lunch room . Quickly she got her food and went outside to eat alone . She sat down with her back against the brick school and started to eat. Max went outside and sat down with his sister and the two ate their food. She leaned on him sighing and Max smiled down at her .

“ I have a field trip tomorrow..”

“ oh yeah?”

“ yeah just a museum.. “

“Just a museum .” He mocked chuckling and Kiki giggled pushing on her brother.

“ maybe uh.. ill ask .. friday...”

“ I think you should , it will be good for you”

Kiki wiggled around and Max pulled her up hugging her. He squeezed her tight for a minute. Kiki squeezed back whining. He stroked her hail till he realized and let go quickly.

“ c'mon ill take you to class”

Kiki nodded following her brother.

The day went on and eventually school was over. Kiki was waiting by Max’s car for him and Toshi was walking to his car with Adam. Adam waved and Kiki jumped fumbling her backpack trying to wave back. When the two got in the car Toshi looked over Adam and out his window.

“ .. whos that by Max’s car?” He asked

“ oh that's his sister Kiki. Her real names Mishiko though”

Toshi looked closer and noticed her playstation shirt.

“ she's like a huge video game nerd too” he added.

“Hmm..” he drove off.

Max hurried out of the school with some books and greeted his sister. “ sorry , I needed to get some books from my english teacher.”

Kiki smiled and got in the car and so did Max. He drove home and the two watched tv on the couch till Kiki nodded off. Max looked over and slowly moved his hand to her thigh squeezing it. He rubbed gently.

Toshi was up late playing video games and browsing leaderboards. He only had boxers on and bandages around his chest and back . His room was full of trophies and video games. His bed though took up most of the room . He sighed at the boards till he noticed a “KiKi” in the overwatch top 3. He was number one of course . But this girl was number 2., his phone buzzed and Toshi put his controller down to read it.

“ im skipping tomorrow want to come over around 9?”

Max.

Toshi replied and picked his controller back up.

Max looked at his phone and stopped rubbing his sisters thigh to roll his eyes at the text.

“ はい”

“Christ just say yes..” he rolled his eyes putting his phone down and looking at his sister.

It was the next day and Max was dropping Kiki off at school, she looked up at him and he hugged her tightly.

“ your fine. I promise” he assured her.

“ you'll be here at 6?” She asked nervous

“ 6 sharp “ he rubbed her head.

Kiki nodded getting out of the car and boarding the bus. Max drove home and saw Toshi's car already parked. He was leaning on it looking at his phone when Max pulled in.

“ no Adam?” Asked Max getting out of his car .

“ as if Adam would skip school”

The two went into the house and just laze around all day .

“ so i didint know you had a sister Max” Toshi said looking around the house.

“ oh yeah. Kiki. I thought id told you before. She's a sophomore”

“Nope.. didn't know”

Toshi got up going to the kitchen for a drink and Max scratched his lower chest feeling aroused. He sighed at himself trying to think of something. He slipped up to his room trying to fight back the urge. Toshi heard him go upstairs and put his drink down following quietly. He leaned on the wall listening to the door.

“ ughn.. kiki i miss you..” he heard and Toshi peered in but it was too dark to see. He assumed what he was doing and leaned in the doorway .

“ so do you do that all the time or just when she's not here” he smirked .

Max jumped and Toshi flipped the light on to see Max with a hand in his pants.

“ Toshi!!!! God damn it….” Max looked down and away. “Dont tell anyone…”

“ i wont. You should see our porn”

“ WHAT?”

Toshi shrugged his shoulders smiling and strolled out of the room down the hallway. “so where's her room”

Max ran after him grabbing his arm. “ you can't just walk into her room!”

“ but Adam said she's a gaming nerd i wanna see her set up”

“ whats a set up?”

Toshi rolled his eyes opening the door flicking the light on. He peered in and had a grin on his face. It was nice. Playstation and Nintendo, big tv. Stack of games .

Max closed the door and Toshi smiled going back downstairs. Max followed and felt embarrassed still.

“ how are you.. not grossed out?” He asked.

Toshi was feeling his bandages on his back trying not to scratch.

“ because You aren't hurting anything.” He looked over. “ you do you. But I do wanna meet her”

“ she's supposed to ask to join your club at school”

“ mmmm yeah?” He smirked

“ just let her join Toshi…”

“ oh it's not that easy..”

Kiki was on the bus looking out the window. The museum was okay… mostly they listened to lectures about art and sculptures. She was not very interested. The other kids did not bother with her either . She just wanted a friend…

The bus pulled up to the school and Kiki got off running to her brothers car getting in. He smiled and petted her head driving home. Kiki hurried inside and Max grabbed her pack pulling her to him.

“ i'm gonna miss the new loot boxes!!” She whined struggling and Max smiled squeezing her.

“ yeah yeah. Dinner first” he let go going to the kitchen with Kiki following.

Kiki sat down and Max brought their dinner over . They ate their food and Max looked at her a couple times when she was not looking. When they finished Kiki raced upstairs and Max slowly made his way to doing the dishes.

Kiki stayed upstairs for a couple hours playing her video games . She liked to play with all the lights off and the curtains closed. She had just finished opening her last loot box . She rubbed her eyes yawning and looking around. She was lonely . Kiki picked up her phone and looked at her contacts. Just Max and Adam.. she sighed putting it on her night stand. The clock on her tv said 10 pm . Slowly she got up and left her room to not hear the tv on and the lights were off. She knocked gently on Max’s door .

Max was in bed with some music on when Kiki knocked. He yelled for her to come in and she peaked.

“ Max.. can i hang out here… maybe..”. She quietly asked.

Max sat up looking over. He was in pj bottoms and a white shirt

“ yeah.. of course you can” he said quietly

Kiki came in holding the bottom of her shirt blushing and Max’s heart rate increased as he watched her come over. He held his arms out and Kiki hurried into them . Max laid down hugging her and he turned his lights down. The two snuggled while they talked.

“ so.. when do i ask.. to join the club” she asked holding her brothers shirt.

“ well they are there during the off periods , lunch and after school for a bit” he rubbed her back gently.

“ if i eat fast i might ask then…”

“ don't rush yourself Kiki . I can wait for you after school”

“ okay..”

Max held her tightly and let out a big sigh.

“ kiki..”

“ yes?” She looked up but it was dark so she could not see. He stroked her hair for a minute.

“ im just happy you can come talk to me…”

Kiki rolled to her stomach to lay on and hugged her brother tight.

“ me too.. I love you'' Max ``

“ i love you kiki..” he squeezed her and the two listened to music all night.

It was morning and Max was shaking Kiki to wake her up . She whined rolling off of Max and hugging his arm. He sighed watching her and reached over to rub her butt gently.

“ cmon wake up. You can sleep in tomorrow” he said

Kiki whined opening her eyes and sitting up.

“ what are you gonna do today?” He asked trying not to look at her thighs.

“ ask.. about the club..”

“ yes you are” he pet her head smiling and Kiki slid over him and went to the shower. Max waited till he heard the shower and slipped his hand in his pjs groaning.

Once everyone was ready the two went to school. Kiki was a nervous wreck the whole day. Would Toshi let her join? She was so paranoid that she did not hear the other kids in her classes talking about her.

The final bell rang and Kiki hurried out of her class and to the upper classes hallway. Her legs hurt since she was on the bottom floor. She peeked into the hallway to see Juniors and Seniors making their way to the stairs. She jumped when some of them said hello and complimented her gamer shirt. She spotted Max and ran over and he hugged her smiling.

“ just go down the hall, last door on the left Kiki”

She nodded fast still hugging and some of the seniors chuckled as they passed.

“ cmon you can do it” he slowly peeled her off of him.

“ ill be at the car” he petted her head and followed some of his friends.

Kiki held her shirt looking around the now empty hall and closed doors . Slowly she walked down the hall to the only open door. It said Computer Lab on the wall . She could hear talking and button mashing along with some music.

Kiki peaked in to see Toshi and Adam playing a game on a computer . She tried to sneak in but she bumped a nearby chair making it squeak. She jumped hugging the wall and the boys looked over. Adam jumped up and hugged her.

“HEY KIKI!!!” He squeezed making her whine and try to get loose. “ are you gonna join finally?!?”

“ augh let go!!! Adaaaam!!!” She whined till he let go .

Kiki held her chest looking at Toshi . He was… she slumped into the wall and Toshi smirked going over and leaning down till he was eye level .

“ you must be Mishiko…”

Her heart jumped. No one ever called her real name..

“ yes i.. I wanted to.. join” she said quietly

He smiled looking over over. Now he knew why Max liked her so much. She was cute and tiny.

Toshi held a controller in front of her face.

“ beat me in Overwatch and you can join. Three outta three”

Kiki grabbed the controller grinning . Toshi smiled at her standing back up and the two went to sit down in front of the computer. Toshi leaned back in his sit looking over at her. She didn't look nervous in the slightest . She had on a Ubisoft shirt and blue shorts with sneakers and thigh highs. He smiled at the thigh highs and Adam let them know it was starting soon.

A half hour later Toshi’s controller was in half and on the floor. The screen said “WINNER. KIKI & JUNKRAT” the chalkboard had three tallys on it for Kiki. Toshi was very … very silent. Kiki was shaking and looking at Adam but he looked just as surprised as her. The sound the controller made made her jump and look over at Toshi. He was huffing heavily, the bandages on his arm looked like they were being strained from his fist . Kiki slowly set the controller down and slowly got up. She should leave… he's angry… this was a bad idea…

Toshi whipped out of his seat in front of Kiki putting his hands on her shoulders sitting her back down.

“ …...how……” he ordered.

“Wah!!!” She jumped hiding being her hands. “ I WATCH A LOT OF STRATEGY STUFF IM SORRY. “ she whined through her hands. “ I can replace the controller…!!!!”

Adam was about to intervene but Toshi stood up and looked at him in disbelief. Adam nodded very fast. They both looked down at Kiki . She was hiding behind her hands with her knees touching.

Toshi stretched smiling.

“ ahhh…. baka… you can join” he chuckled

Kiki peaked through her hands up at the boy.

“ but to repay me your gonna come over tomorrow.” He smiled down at her and Kiki nodded fast and left in a flash

It was just Toshi and Adam in the computer lab. Toshi slowly picked up his broken controller and Adam quietly packed up the system. Toshi squeezed the controller again making Adam look over.

“ uh ..Toshi..” Adam said quietly.

“Well well well….” he threw his pack over his shoulder walking out of the room . His steps were heavy down the hall and down the stairs. He was on his way to the last floor when he stopped to look out the window. Kiki was running to Max’s car . He grinned and kept walking .

The car ride was quiet , she must of beat Toshi .

“ sooo.. what game was it?”

“ Overwatch…”

Max nearly missed the light .

“ you beat Toshi in Overwatch?!?”

“ yes!! He broke his controller and … told me to come over tomorrow”

Max pulled up to the house not saying anything. Kiki got out running inside and Max dialed Toshi

Toshi was already home and looking at the broken controller in his hand when his phone rang.

“ ohayo” he said

“ so what exactly do you plan to do with my sister tomorrow?”

Toshi made his way to his room to lie down. He ginned looking up at his ceiling.

“Friendly gaming Max. I'd never hurt your little sister”

“I swear Toshi if you try anything”

“Nani?!?”

“I mean it !”

“Uh huh.” He hung up smirking.

It was the morning of the next day and Kiki was still asleep. Max was awake in bed, he did not sleep much, he was caught up on his sister going to Toshi’s house. He trusted Toshi, he wouldn't try anything. Right?..

Max’s phone buzzed , he rubbed his face lifting his phone up to look at the text.

“She can come over whenever. I'm awake.” -Toshi

“Don't try anything.” -Max

“🤷🏻” -Toshi

Max groaned putting his phone down hugging his pillow. He heard Kiki after a while going down the stairs and the door opening.

#ThemVideoGames #not fic #oc writing #Ravens Hatchlings

5 notes · View notes

docholligay · 4 years

Text

*WARNING, WHINING* I have been working on this all damn day+ and I am so fucking frustrated and upset about it, none of it turned out how I wanted and I hate it AHHHHHHHH. *END WHINING*

Something for father’s day! 2,400 and change.

Lena Oxton was a cheerful sort, resilient and funny, who could generally find pleasure in her life even in the more difficult moments. She was not particularly given to long bouts of sorrow, preferring instead to quite experience all of it at once, get it over with, and move onto more pleasant things. There was no point, she figured, in dwelling on the things that couldn’t be helped. Life was short enough as it was, even when you knew what you future might look like, and she intended to spend the two to two hundred years given to her enjoying as much as she could.

People loved this about her. She was the sort of person who could lift the mood of a room with her bright smile and loud, lingering laughter. Her happy chatter and quick, joyful movement had more than once led someone to a smile whether they wanted to or not. She was rather legendary, for her cheer, and people always wondered at how she managed it.

But she was still human, and sadness still found her however fast she moved and how brightly she shone.

Father’s Day was harder for her than it should be.

She was hardly unique, in her little group cobbled-together group. Mercy was an orphan, same as her, and she hadn’t gotten nearly so long as Tracer with her father. Winston struggled with whether or not he had a father at all, or if he were only an experiment. Jack and Ana, well, Tracer wasn’t convinced that they were born of human beings anyway. So that was a solid seventy percent of them without fathers, what reason did she have to pout about it?

And yet, every Sunday in June, she felt that little pang, that twist in her chest that said she was never going to see her father again, that she hadn’t hardly had a chance to say goodbye, that it was her death that had killed him, if you believed her grandmother. It was a heart attack, it was a broken heart, and they could both be true.

That was the worst of it, she thought, sitting alone, as she often preferred to on this day, rubbing at the edge of her chipped tea cup. She had lost him, but he had also lost her. Losing him might have been tolerable if he’d at least been spared that. It seemed such an unkindness, a constant reminder that life is very rarely fair.

“It’s only a quick flight, can’t tell you much. You know.” She smiled, “Be ‘ome for Christmas this year, they promised me.”

The last conversation they had ever had, as Tracer quickly gathered up her things from her brief furlough. She’d believed it. There was no reason to believe the Slipstream would, at least temporarily and in a fashion, kill her. Why would she think anything else?

“Tell me, soon as you’re allowed.” He took her elbow and kissed her on the temple. “And be careful as you can be, love.”

He did know how it worked, and so he hadn��t pressed her too hard about the secrecy of the flight. He was, to a point, used to waiting around to hear from her, and she had always, diligently, told her that she was safe as soon as she could. He was an airman himself, but he could also be a proper worrywart when it came to the subject of Tracer. He never stopped her, but he always worried for her.

“Dad, it’s nothing.” She had giggled. “Take your girlfriend out for a night or two, maybe, forget about the whole thing, and then you’ll ‘ear from me and remember you was supposed to be nervous. Nothing.”

She’d given him a hug and rushed out the door. That was the last time she’d ever seen his face, and she hadn’t taken the care to memorize it, to know what it felt like to hug him tight, to take note of the every syllable and they particular way he said it. She hadn’t known.

Grief and guilt are both complicated emotions, and it often struck Tracer that she was more sullen on Father’s day than Mother’s. It made her feel disloyal and ungrateful, and so she rarely told anyone. It wasn’t that she missed her mother less. It was that losing her mother was like losing a grand opportunity. It was the trip she never took, the house she never had. She had been so young that it was a part of her, the loss, as much as her mother herself was.

Losing her father was like having her house burn down. It had been just the two of them for so long--at least as much as any Oxton is ever “just” anything--and they had been so close. She had never even considered moving out, why would she bother paying rent on a miserable flat when she and her father got on so well, and repaired their little place together, and cooked together, and teased each other about their dating lives? Why would she go elsewhere, when here she had a place where she was always loved and appreciated for what she was?

And then it was gone. Oh, the house was there, and it was Tracer’s now, but if she fell asleep on the couch, there was not blanket set to cover her, dinner was never waiting in the fridge, and the only message on the whiteboard on the back of the front door was the last one he’d left.

Keys.

Wallet.

Phone.

Charger.

Call your Nan while you walk to the tube.

I love you, Dad.

She’d never had the heart to erase it. He hadn’t either, in the six months she was gone. She returned to London to find her room exactly as she left it, excepting her small effects returned to where they belonged, Biscuit, her stuffed sloth, safely on her pillow.

Tracer tried to cheer herself, narrowing her eyes in frustration at her own sorrow. She would make a chicken salad sandwich, and pack a bit of a lunch, and maybe she would head over to the East London Cemetery. It had been seven years. And there had been happy Father’s Days, for her, and for him. She had been spoiled by the joy of her life, in so many ways. Even in tragedy.

She smiled as she remembered their first Father’s Day without her mother, strange as it seemed. She hadn’t hardly been gone more than a month, and her father was still so sad. Tracer had wanted, more than anything, to do something very special for him, to help him turn his face to the sun, like he always told her to do.

Her Uncle Teddy had been the greatest help, being that he was a baker, and he and Mark had watched Tracer so much when her mother was ill that it wasn’t unusual at all for him to offer to take her for an afternoon. Teddy adored her--him and Mark never could afford to have one of their own--and she felt the same. So she skipped next to him down to Ballard’s Baked Goods and they had whipped up a little cake, which was hardly Teddy’s speciality, and the fact that Tracer had made it with only a little guidance was obvious, but oh how she remembered the look on her father’s face when she presented it proudly to her father, with tea, which had also, she thought quite expertly made.

“Oh, don’t I ‘ave the most wonderful girl in all of London?” He smiled, and cupped her cheek, and kissed her forehead. “Look at all this!”

They had eaten it together, sitting side by side on a small parcel of dirt behind the house, big enough to contain a block of cement, a tree, and perhaps one square foot of grass in a strip, but Tracer had known, in that moment, that they would make it, her and her father. They had each other, and that was enough. They could make the sun shine, even when it was cloudy.

And she had, of course, found so much love in her life. The sun was easy to find, with all the people she had in, waving away the clouds. Tracer worried about a small handful of things, but none of them were ever that she would be alone. In truth, she really should be with Winston today, given his general troubles concerning Doctor Harold, and she nearly starting walking there, sandwich in hand, before deciding that she’d just like to spend a moment with herself. Or her father. Her parents. A fair amount of relatives stretching back to the first World War. Whatever it was that did or didn’t carry on after someone died, of which Tracer was never herself quite sure.

The sun was bright today, wasn’t it? This was a rare enough treat in London, and despite the air of melancholy inside of her, she had to smile. Fathers were walking with their children, a few of them waving and smiling at her as they did so. It was the sort of day her father would have loved, where they would run around the Victoria Park together until he collapsed onto the grass, declaring the entire thing a disaster, as Lena was wound up, and he needed to be put to bed.

Mostly, she went back, to her memories, after the Slipstream, when she was jumping around, trying to go home. There were a few times, though, where she got home. In her time, in her place, a living ghost. Tracer never liked to remember the few glimpses she had gotten of her Dad, then. But Father’s Day, they often couldn’t be shut out. The look on his face as he brought the box of her things into her bedroom. He’d taken out Biscuit and looked at him, just for a moment, before hugging him close and sinking to the bed, sobbing.

“Oh Lena, my girl.”

Those four words haunted her. Haunted her almost as much as the memory of him sitting on the couch, telling her Aunt Lily that the worst of it was not that she was dead.

“If I just,” he was red-eyed and tired, “if ‘ad her body, Lil. If I could bring ‘er ‘ome....bury ‘er with Mary. Annie.”

Her aunt, the oldest of all of them, with no idea how to comfort her brother through his worst nightmare. She felt guilty herself, sometimes, Tracer knew. She had four of her own, an embarrassment of riches, and her little brother, with his one. She was guilty, because was glad it wasn’t her. She touched his shoulder.

“I know, Bert, really I do. It’s--grief is like that, sometimes, right? And--”

“Lily, I don’t think she’s dead.”

He didn’t make eye contact with her, just stared into the carpet, and Tracer had tried so hard to scream to him, but nothing came out, nothing but the sheer cold of the lack of time pouring into her throat.

“Oh--”

He held up his hand. “I know. But I get the sense--I get the sense she’s alive, and someone’s--” he looked up at the ceiling, “Someone’s ‘urting ‘er. I don’t know ‘ow it is I know that. But I do.”

He was at least partly right, though he didn’t live to know it. He had never gotten rid of any of her things, marked her name on the gravestone but never gave up enough hope to lay her jacket and her sloth in the ground as all he had of her.

He believed in her, always. He believed in her from the day she was born to the day she died the first time. Even when he said he’d accepted that she was dead, he believed she might just make it. Even after everyone said he’d gone mad, even after Overwatch had tried to suppress his call for an inquiry into Overwatch’s experiments.

Your father was right, Mercy had said once, quietly. They should have been stopped so much sooner. He never got to know that, either.

There was a little girl across from her on the tube, chatting happily to her father, who smiled sheepishly. Too little to know the unspoken rule of ultimate silence that lived in London’s trains. Tracer gave him a big grin.

“Nothing ever really leaves the world, Lena.” He looked dreamily off into the sunset, the calls of children still playing echoing across the green, “Just, changes form a bit. New flowers grow from the old, right? Dead leaves, well, they’re the ones fertilize the trees. No,” he shook his head, “nothing ever really leaves us. Not if we can see it. When we look.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him with all the skepticism of her sixteen years. “Dad, you do know I’ve no problem with you dating, right? Believe I suggested it. No need to tell me about renewal and all that.”

“Lena!” He snapped off his flatcap and hit her playfully on the leg. “No need to step on every tender moment.”

“I’m not, I’m genuinely trying to discover what it is you’re driving towards.” She picked at the picnic dinner in front of her, enjoying the long London evening.

He chuckled and looked back at the sunset. “Guess I’m not entirely sure meself. It’s just--I see so many people I’ve loved, in you. The best parts of them. Your mum, of course. Annie. Even people you never knew. And I think, ‘Bert, everything stays, some’ow. Changed, but, it doesn’t leave.’ That’s what I think.” He looked back at her. “I love you, Lena. You are a wonderful part of me life. I’m a lucky man, being your dad.”

“Dad.” She looked away awkwardly, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry, and opted to look at the cheese on the plate and mumble. “I love you too. ‘Course.”

She hadn’t really understood what he’d meant, then. She was too young to know, hadn’t lost enough and found it again, to see the truth in what he said. Watching the little girl with her father, she knew it had been true all along. Her father had never left her. He was still here, in the little crocuses that peeked up through the grass. In her Uncle Teddy’s concern and gentle nagging. In the way Winston happily worked with her quick little mind, and called it never a burden, but a gift. He was with her every time she lucked into West Ham seats, and when she sat down to her family tea every Sunday with her mismatched and chipped china set. When she was loved.

He’d never left her at all. And so there was nothing to find at East London Cemetery and Crematorium, at least today.

The train screeched to a halt, and the voice from above announced her station. She got off the train, and walked right to the line headed toward Hackney Wick. Winston would be tinkering in his lab, trying to forget the day. She’d swing by the pizza place on the way to his house, pick something up, and she’d do a better job of making him know he was loved than Dr. Harold could have hoped for.

Tracer was a cheerful sort, resilient and funny, and she did her very best to find pleasure in her life, even through the difficult moments. This was a gift given to her, she realized as she walked through the station, by everyone who had loved her, everyone who had entrusted her with the joy of this world, to be its bearer and its champion. She was all of their greatest dreams, and they were hers.

Somewhere against the announcements and the chatter, Tracer heard it clear as day.

“Proud of you, Lena.”

18 notes · View notes

lyssismagical · 4 years

Text

happiness can be found even in the darkest of times

Febuwhump Day 13 & 14 – Unfortunate & Broken Heart

Read on AO3

For once, the day didn’t seem to hold any heaviness to it. The sky was bright, the cake made to immaculate perfection, the card and present nervously left in the center of the table.

“Happy Becoming a Stark Day, kid,” Tony says, uncertainty obvious in the way he holds himself, shoulders tense and eyes wary.

Three years ago, Peter would’ve hid away in his room at the reminder, scolding himself for calling it his room. He would’ve tucked himself under his blankets, locked the door, and cried, begging May and Ben to come back.

Two years ago, Peter would’ve shrugged Tony off. He would’ve rolled his eyes, refused to have any of the cake, and ignored the gift. He would’ve shouldered his backpack and stalked to school, not even accepting Happy’s offer for a ride.

Even last year, Peter would’ve squared his jaw, maybe attempted a half-smile in consideration. He wouldn’t have eaten the cake, would’ve maybe peeked at the gift when he thought Tony wasn’t looking, but would’ve ignored the idea of the day that stood before him.

But today’s different. Three years is a long time to heal.

So, instead, he offers Tony a smile, maybe a little weary and down, but a smile nonetheless, and he sits at the table across from his guardian.

“Hey, bud,” Tony murmurs, even quieter than before, but his shoulders have relaxed. “I know I’m not supposed to let you have cake for breakfast, but I figured we could go out tonight, if you want.”

Peter pauses, and even quieter than Tony, even smaller, he says, “Could we maybe just have a movie night? Just us here? If not, that’s okay, I don’t mind going out, but I just- I-”

But Tony’s face is so gentle, eyes shining. “Yeah, buddy, of course. We can watch that show you never shut up about.”

Tentatively, Peter steels himself to extend the olive branch he’d been holding close to his chest for far too long. “Do you think, maybe, we could try to make meatloaf? It was- It was the only thing May could cook and I found her recipe when I was going through her things.”

And Tony’s eyes light up with pride, smiling softly. “Course we can, buddy.”

“Can I?” Peter asks, reaching for the present. Anxiety still thrums in his veins and the remnants of grief still curl from his toes up to the pit of his stomach, and guilt still lingers in the back of his mind. But he wants to try.

Tony pushes the present and card across to Peter, still smiling so carefully like he’s scared any wrong move on his part will set Peter backwards on his course to happiness.

The card is simple, a few kind words scrawled in Tony’s messy handwriting about how much Peter means to him.

The gift makes tears spring to Peter’s eyes. A gold chain with a locket on the end of it. When he opens it, it’s the picture of Peter, Ben, and May on the beach when they went on one of their Spontaneous Sunday Stunts. They drove out to Coney Island that Sunday, not long before Everything Happened.

Peter quickly slips the gold chain around his neck, unable to tear his eyes away from the picture of Ben and May smiling at the camera, arms wrapped around Peter.

He stands suddenly, chair kicking out behind him before he can stop it, but Tony beats him to talking, voice low and apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s soon and it’s not my place, I just saw the picture when I was going through some of the stuff, and I figured-”

“Thank you,” Peter murmurs, swallowing thickly. Tears catch on his cheeks and his hands are shaking where they clutch the golden pendant, but he needed this. It’s been three years.

Peter moves around the table and allows himself to hug Tony, a few years ago, he would’ve never allowed himself to, he would’ve told himself it was betraying May and Ben to be accepting Tony’s comforts.

“Yeah, course, kiddo,” Tony says, pressing the quickest kiss to Peter’s temple.

He clears his throat, offering a proud smile. “Finish up your piece of cake and then I’ve gotta get you to school.”

Peter lets himself laugh, a small fraction of the person he once was, before everything happened, but it’s enough for now at least.

Three years ago, Peter watched Ben die in the grim alleyway (bloody hands, pained wheezes, the murmured With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility, the guilt and the grief, watching May fall to her knees when the police officers dragged Peter, shocked and blood-caked hands, into the house with The News) and there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening. And then, as though the universe wasn’t done ruining his life, when Peter went to see May the next morning, she was gone too.

Broken Heart Syndrome, the doctors told him. A rare occurrence, but somehow Parker Luck had struck again.

And suddenly, within the course of twenty-four hours, Peter was alone. Absolutely, irreversibly, indescribably alone.

Running away from the CPS wasn’t as hard as he thought, running from grief was harder than he’d thought.

He spent his days swinging through the streets of Queens as Spider-Man, he’d take naps on rooftops, hoping nobody would catch him.

Until, of course, Iron Man showed up one day and took him back to the tower, offering up one of his hundreds of guest bedrooms.

It wasn’t like Peter couldn’t accept it, he didn’t have much of a choice unless he wanted to sleep in his stupid Spider-Man onesie on various rooftops for the rest of his life, running from CPS.

And three years later, somehow, Tony’s still here. He hasn’t given up on Peter yet, he hasn’t died like Peter thinks he might if he starts to think of Tony as a real parental figure.

But Peter’s been letting his guard down. He’s been accepting the homework help, he’s been letting Tony take him out to restaurants and for ice cream, Tony’s been coming to his Academic Decathlon competitions, they have movie nights at least once a week.

Peter’s let himself get close to Tony in a way he promised he wouldn’t because he knows that whenever he gets close to somebody, they die. It’s happened four times already, and he swore he wouldn’t let it happen to Tony.

But he lets his guard down, and the bad things happen like he knew they would.

* Ned’s rambling about his new girlfriend, hands moving wildly with his emotions. Something about how he thinks she may have cheated on him already because of some snapchats MJ swears she saw during Academic Decathlon the other day.

It’s obviously important to Ned, and normally Peter would care a lot about it, but something seems off. Wrong. His spidey-sense is ringing in the back of his head.

And then they leave the school, Ned rolling his eyes dramatically as he gets to the part of his story where he’s planning on asking Betty about it, and Happy’s the one waiting for him not Tony.

Normally, Peter wouldn’t have been worried. Happy picks him up all the time.

But it’s their third anniversary of being a family and Tony said he’d pick Peter up from school so they could grab some ice cream, maybe some fast food, hang out for a bit.

He wouldn’t just miss it.

“Happy?” Peter calls out, wincing when Ned abruptly stops talking. “Sorry, man. I’ll call you later and you can tell me everything about what happens tonight.”

Ned’s shoulders don’t slump in the way Peter thought they would, there’s no disappointment or anger or any ill feelings in his eyes. He just grins and claps Peter on the shoulder.

“No worries. I gotta get going anyways. Guess we’ll cross our fingers that Betty has a reasonable explanation for those snaps,” Ned says. “Bye!”

Peter murmurs a half-hearted goodbye with a distracted smile, before turning on Happy, trying his best to push down the worry and disappointment.

“Hey, kid,” Happy says. His sunglasses slip down a little to reveal red-rimmed eyes, making Peter flinch.

“What’s going on? What happened?”

Happy sighs, opening the door for Peter to get in but the teenager doesn’t move. “Listen, kid, it’d be easier to explain when we get back home-”

“Is he okay?” Peter demands, tears already threatening to spill. Of course this happened. Of course something bad had to happen on the three years since Peter became a Stark. It was bound to happen one day, Parker Luck always ready to attack when Peter least expects it.

“He had a heart attack, Pete,” Happy says, voice soft and careful. “It happens sometimes, ever since Afghanistan his heart’s been weak.”

Peter’s knees buckle and Happy barely manages to catch him, gently maneuvering Peter into the car.

“He’s okay,” Happy reassures, easily blocking the car from the view of the prying teenagers passing. “He’s going to be just fine. He’s going to spend a couple days, maybe a week, in Medical, and then he’ll be fine.”

Peter lets out a broken sob, tears spilling over the edges. His shaking hands comes up to cover his face, hunching over himself in passenger seat.

“Pete, kiddo, he’s going to be okay, I promise,” Happy soothes, hands rubbing at Peter’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Peter cries, tugging loosely at his curls. “It’s my fault. If I had- If I had just-”

Happy’s shaking his head, hands tightening on Peter’s shoulders. “Not your fault, kid. Tony’s heart been weak for over a decade now. It just happens sometimes. There was nothing you could’ve done to prevent this.”

But if Peter had followed his gut and stayed away from Tony, away from the Starks, maybe they would’ve been okay. Peter, he’s infectious. The Parker Luck attacks anyone close to him.

That’s why Mary and Richard were dead. That’s why Ben and May died. That’s why Tony’s now in the hospital.

Because of Peter.

“C’mon, kiddo, let’s get you home.”

Happy doesn’t say much more as his hands disappear from Peter’s shoulder and he gets into the driver’s seat, starting back towards the tower. He murmurs a few more quiet reassurances, before he gives up and lets Peter curl up and cry. All he does is reach out a hand is pat Peter’s shoulder gently every once in a while.

Peter just cries and wishes the bullet had taken him instead of Ben that night over three years ago. Things would’ve been different.

Ned calls him when they get back to the tower and Peter answers it without really thinking, sinking down onto the couch as Happy disappears down to medical without him.

“I walked Betty home from school,” Ned starts without waiting for Peter to say anything. It’s not like he knows anything’s wrong, he doesn’t know Peter’s life is crumbling before his very eyes. “And I confronted her about the whole ordeal.”

Peter hums, worried if he tried to speak, his voice would crack and give it all away.

“Betty admitted she was planning on going to Brad’s this weekend,” Ned exclaims. “MJ was right, she was going to cheat on me. Can you believe it? I ended it right then and there, told her if she liked Brad so much, she should be with him and not me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… I know I was the one to break up with her, but man, does it ever hurt? I think my heart is broken, dude. Like can you believe it? Brad, of all people?”

Ned continues rambling about his relationship problems, but Peter stops listening, mind looping the same phrase. Heart is broken.

Broken heart.

Ned and Betty were together for like three weeks, maybe. Ben and May were married for ten years, happy and in love, and prepared to spend the rest of their lives together.

Ned’s relationship problems may feel like the end of the world to him, but it isn’t a broken heart.

“I gotta go, Ned, sorry, man,” Peter blurts, cutting Ned off again. “I, uh, Tony’s, he, fuck, Ned, Tony had a heart attack and I-”

“Shit, Peter, I had no idea, I- I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can, just let me know, yeah? I- I don’t know what to say. I’m just-”

Peter shakes his head, willing the tears not to fall. “It’s cool. I’ll call you back later. I gotta go bye.”

He hangs up, gives himself exactly two minutes to panic, to absolutely fall apart at the seams like he remembers doing when he walked into May’s room the day after Ben died and found her already long gone. He gave himself two minutes to panic before he called the police, packed up his things, changed into his Spider-Man suit, and swung into Queens.

This time, Peter doesn’t run away, he doesn’t try to hide. He pulls himself together as much as he can, and steels himself to go down to Medical.

* When Peter’s parents died, Ben and May would take turns reading Peter to sleep out of the Harry Potter Series, a collector’s edition Mary bought just a few weeks before the fateful plane ride.

She had left them with Peter at May and Ben’s before they’d left, saying it would be good entertainment while they were away.

Turns out, they’d be one of the only things Peter could keep that belonged to them.

The Harry Potter books were tucked away in the back of his closet not long later, when looking at them was enough to bring back waves and waves of grief.

After Ben and May died, Tony found them when taking everything from the apartment to the tower.

Peter was practically catatonic, refusing to leave his bed or eat the food Tony brought. And his new guardian did the only thing he knew how to do.

He read the Harry Potter books out loud, night after night after night until they’d made it to the part where Sirius died, and Peter had jerked out of bed and taken the book from Tony’s hands, drawing it to his chest as he cried.

It’s not like he didn’t know it would happen, he’d read the books six or seven times each, but hearing Tony’s rough voice depict Harry’s closest parental figure’s death so soon after Ben and May…

Now, years later, Peter tugs the box of books out from his closet where he’d hidden them a while back.

He takes them down to medical where Tony is, needles and IV’s and machinery surrounding him. His heart monitor is steadier than Peter thought it would be, but it doesn’t do much to quell his anxiety.

The spine crackles when he props open the first book of the series, tucking the rest of the box under his chair and he starts reading.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

* Pepper came down every once in a while, trying to convince Peter up from Tony’s bedside. She brought a few snacks, but when they went uneaten, she settled for bringing a few bottles of ice water when Peter’s voice became rough and cracking through the overuse.

Happy was in and out for the first night but he didn’t bother as much after that. They both knew Tony would be back on his feet in no time, there was no reason to cry at his bedside when he’d be just fine.

Bruce and Helen showed up occasionally, they tried to speak to him, tried to take the books from him, tried to get him to rest or eat or drink some water at the very least, but he never complied and used his sticky fingers and strength to his advantage.

The two constants, though, was the steady beeping of the heart monitor and Peter’s voice, reading and reading and reading.

After two nights of Tony resting, which apparently was perfectly normal according to Helen and Bruce, Peter’s voice finally cracked, tears overcoming him as he tries to continue to force himself through the blurring words of the page.

“‘There's nothing you can do, Harry... nothing... He's gone.’ ” Peter chokes out, voice trembling and hands shaking.

A sob escapes his throat and he can’t get his voice to keep going, book falling into his lap. Even three years later, he can’t make it through Sirius’s death. He can’t do it.

He tucks his knees up to his chest, hunching in on himself in the uncomfortable plastic chair at Tony’s bedside, tears refusing to cease, pouring down his cheeks like waterfalls. Sobs wrack his chest, shoulders shuddering, book clutched to his chest.

He cries and he cries and he cries.

And then,

“Pete?”

He turns quickly, nearly falling from his chair in his haste to see if the voice was real and not a figment of his imagination.

But it’s real. Tony’s eyes are finally open, boring into him with an intense worry and concern, hands already reaching for him, seeking to comfort the crying teenager.

Peter flinches, shying away from the outstretched hands. The book slips from his grasp and hits the floor with a thud, and he scrambles to grab it, hands trembling violently.

“Kiddo, hey, it’s okay, we’re okay,” Tony’s reassuring, voice rough from disuse, but so soft and caring it makes Peter want to fall into his arms and let him will the horrors of the world away.

But he can’t. He can’t pretend it’s okay.

“I’m sorry. I- I’m sorry,” he cries, knees buckling. He doesn’t have Happy to catch him this time, instead hitting the floor with a whine and hunching in on himself on the floor as he gasps for breath.

“Hey, hey, hey, kiddo, we’re okay. It’s alright. I know it’s scary, but it’s okay. I’m just fine, alright? But I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

His eyes slide over the books, in particular the book that Peter’s pulled into his lap again, and his expression softens.

“Buddy, you know we skip over that book, don’t you?” Tony murmurs. He carelessly tugs off the circles on his chest, monitoring his heart rate, and the IV out of his hand, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

“No, no- You shouldn’t-” Peter tries to say, but then Tony’s kneeling on the tiled floor beside him and pulling him into a tight hug, effectively cutting off his protests.

Tony’s voice is soft and warm as they rock gently on the floor, reassuring him that everything alright.

And it works in a way that Tony’s perfected over the past three years of learning how to soothe Peter through guilt and grief and panic.

“You wanna tell me what’s up, bud? You wanna talk to me?”

Peter pulls away from Tony’s arms, knowing he must look like a wreck with tousled greasy curls and red-rimmed puffy eyes and a trembling mouth.

“I kill everyone I get close to,” Peter says, face crumpling. “Everyone I get close to dies, Tony, and I- I can’t lose you too. I can’t do it again, I can’t. My Parker Luck, it- it- Please, I- I have to leave, you have to send me away or else- or else-”

But Tony isn’t angry like Peter thought he would be. His voice stays in the same soft tone he’s adopted. “It’s not your fault, buddy. I know you think it is, I know it’s been tough for you, but it isn’t because of you. My heart’s been weak since Afghanistan, kid, long before you.”

“But- But Ben, and May, they- If I had just-”

“Kiddo, baby, you weren’t the one to pull the trigger. You weren’t the one to crash your parents’ plane. You weren’t the one to give me a heart attack. This isn’t on you, bambi. Bad things happen to good people.”

“But-”

Tony shakes his head, pulling Peter more firmly against his chest. “No buts. None of it was your fault no matter how much that little voice in your head is saying it is. It wasn’t your fault, I promise.”

Peter gives up fighting, he sinks into the hug, hiding his face away in Tony’s shirt, shaking hands curling into the hem of his shirt.

“I can’t lose you,” he says. “I can’t do it again, Tony, I can’t.”

“And I’ll try my hardest to make sure you won’t have to, okay? But you know I can’t promise you something like that.”

“I know, I just… I just can’t do it again. I can’t lose a fifth parent, Tony. I can’t do it. I don’t think- I don’t think I could do it.”

Tony curls tighter around Peter. “You won’t, baby. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”

“Tony?” He curls one of his hands around the pendant that hangs around his neck, the one Tony got him.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, buddy. Now what do you say, we hop back into bed and we can pick up where you left off, yeah?”

Peter looks over to where the fifth book lies harmlessly on the floor. “Can we skip to the end?”

Tony offers a smile, picking up the fifth and the sixth with a little huff of laughter. “Yeah, kid. Of course.”

They shift up onto the bed, Peter refusing to let go of Tony’s shirt, and Tony opens to the end of book five, clearing his throat.

It’s not perfect. Nothing will ever be perfect for Peter. But it’s enough. It’s good.

“‘Instead he smiled, raised a hand in farewell, turned around, and led the way out of the station toward the sunlit street, with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley hurrying along in his wake.’ ”

#lyss writes #febuwhump #irondad fanfiction #irondad fic #irondad #peter parker fic #don't tag as starker #harry potter reference

47 notes · View notes

self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 4 years

Text

Take Your Time | Bodhi Rook x Reader

Prompt: Loss

Fandom: Rogue One (Star Wars)

Words: 1266

Warning: Angst, of course, and a brief scene of torture.

A/N: Kind of a prequel of a canon divergent/Winter Soldier fic I had written a while back called [The Kyber Soldier]. I’ve been meaning to revisit it, so I thought this would be a good place. Please check out the first chap I made for Kyber Soldier if you’re interested. I’m quite satisfied with it. I will rewrite the second chap and continue when I have the right head space for it.

The thing about facing death, is that it makes you think more about life. The life you’ve had, the life you could’ve had, the regrets and mistakes that you’ve made, your hopes about the future, everything. Bodhi wanted to break out from the Empire’s hold and make a difference. Galen Erso himself had chosen him to deliver the message to Saw Gurrera.

Now crouched in a ship on Scarif, trying to get a signal to the Rebellion white there was a battle waging on outside with his comrades falling around him, he thought of you. The love of his life. Yet, he had never told you that. You were his best friend in the entire galaxy, the one constant in his life, and he never told you how much you meant to him.

The signal finally went through, and if Jyn and Cassian were able to retrieve the Death Star plans and send it up to the Rebellion, there’s hope that they’ll make it. Bodhi risked a sigh of relief, closing his eyes for a moment. He pictured you safe on the Rebel base, him flying down the tarmac and running out the ship to scoop you up into his arms and never let go. Only, he had no way of knowing if you were able to escape Jedha, let alone get away with helping him escape.

There was a clattering that entered the ship through the ramp.

Bodhi opened his eyes, instantly finding the source of the noise.

Everything happened in slow motion.

He thought of his family, many relatives that had gone or lost contact after the Empire took a hold of Jedha. He thought of his mother who had fallen ill and was not able to work. He had tried hard to become a pilot, picking up gambling habits just to make ends meet. Would he be able to see them again? Be drawn into their warm embrace and be told that he didn’t have to fight no more? Or were they always with him, like Chirrut would say, as part of the Force?

Then there was Galen Erso, the mind behind the making of the Death Star. An important man of the Empire that entrusted him, a cargo pilot, with an important task. Bodhi was grateful that Cassian had not followed through with his orders to kill him, but Galen had ended up dying anyways. War was messy. There was no way that either side would come out with clean hands. Bodhi wondered if Jyn could still feel the presence of her parents, if it was one of the reasons why she was so stubborn and hopeful. Will he also see him on the other side?

Has his friends made it? Were they able to finish the task that they had set up to do? Everything happened so fast, Bodhi wished he had more time with them. He finally found people that had the same beliefs as him, that would willingly fight alongside him. He prayed they made it, that this mission was not in vain, that it made a difference.

What would he be doing if they could make it out of Scarif? Imagine, a former Imperial cargo pilot becoming a Rebel pilot. Maybe even commandeering his own squadron. The Rogue Squadron. He liked the sound of that. Jyn would be amazing out on the field, maybe even training new recruits if she had the patience. Chirrut and Baze would enrapture the Rebels with stories of the Force, about the Jedi, and the temple they used to protect.

And then there was you. Would it have made a difference if you had gone with him? He remembered you being angry, he remembered you crying when he told you he had to go. At first, Bodhi had assumed that you didn’t think he was capable enough to handle such an important task, but he realized what you truly felt. You were scared and worried.

You wanted to go with him, but he feared that it would be dangerous for you. As long as you kept your head low, they had no reason to hurt you, compared to the world beyond Jedha that could harm you for just being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

As he readied his ship, he took one last look at you. He foolishly believed that he’d be able to come back for you. Had Galen helped you find a way to leave Jedha and hide? Were you waiting for him somewhere?

The grenade beeped in time with his heart beep, as if waiting who would make the first move.

Bodhi summoned all the energy he had left and surged towards it with one hand stretched out.

He was determined to keep his eyes open, trying to face it head on, with the sliver of chance that he could chuck it out of the ship in time.

The beeping stopped just as his heart skipped a beat.

The last memory that flashed through his mind was of the two of you staring out at the stars. You had turned to him and smiled. A smile that grew brighter than the stars as the grenade went off.

(Y/n), my love, Bodhi thought, take your time. I’ll see you on the other side.

You jolted awake, but your limbs couldn’t move. Cold metal clamps held them down, a bright light shining down on you, almost blinding your vision. You blinked rapidly, trying to take in your surroundings. A man in a white uniform walked up, sparing you a glance before turning. There was a symbol on his arm. You were captured by the Empire.

“Ready?” the man asked his assistant.

There was a bright red light, followed by the sound of whirring. Pain coursed through your body, travelling up from your limbs to the center of your body. You couldn’t tell if you screamed or not/ Everything felt like it was on fire.

Then it stopped. You felt lighter, with a sudden boost of energy coursing through your veins. You felt like you could break through your restraints if you could.

The metal clamps opened, releasing your limbs and returning circulation to them. You pulled off the wiring and needles they stuck in you and sat up. The two scientists were too busy looking at their report to notice. You spotted a file next to you, a file with your information on it. How long have you been held here?

“Hey!” The head scientists shouted at you. “Guards!”

You swung your arm out and he was suddenly lifted off his feet and pushed across the room. Heavy footsteps approached through both sides of the lab, Stormtroopers filing in and aiming their blasters at you.

“Don’t move!” One of them shouted.

You slowly slid off the table, wobbling as your legs tingled and ached from underuse.

“Hey, I said don’t move!”

He raised a hand and sent a signal to the others to fire. Half a dozen blasters went off at once. On instinct, you raised your hands up as a futile shield, but the pain never came. You slowly lowered your arms, keeping your hands up and saw six blaster shots frozen mid air. You looked down at your shaking hands, then back up at the Stormtroopers with a smirk. You thrust your hands out, sending the shots right back at them. They collapsed, blocking the exit with their bodies. The main lights switched off, with a bright flashing red light lighting the room, alarms blaring in your ears.

You needed to go find Bodhi. And fast.

#WritersMonth2020 #bodhi rook x reader #Bodhi Rook #rogue one #rogue one imagine #star wars #star wars imagine #yes I've added a Hamilton reference to yet another fic #the kyber soldier

11 notes · View notes