#stop mosquito bite itch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theblacklewinsky · 8 months ago

Text

Note: Hey y'all! I hope y'all enjoy, the next one might be submissive Terry idkidk 🫣 kinda hate this one.

Perfect Gentleman. | Aaron Pierre.

Gentle!Terry Richmond x Black!Female Reader

Warnings: MNDI!! this story is 18+ with depictions but not limited to; sexual content ( penetrat!on, oral s3x ( m receiving), extreme language (cursing, sexual references) established relationship, slight daddy kink if you squint. Not proofread!

Summary: terry's been the perfect gentleman, maybe a little too gentle.

swear you can have me, you really one-of-one.

how you so nasty? you really one-of-one.

You eagerly scratched the itch away in your bitten up ankles. The mosquitoes out here in the Black Bayou had torn your exposed ankles up—and this was why camping wasn't your thing. You'd never complain though, any excuse to be with Terry was a good one.

"I told you to wear long socks," he chuckled looking back you and at how you'd scratched the skin on your ankles red, "all that gardenin' you do and you out here with no socks on," he softly lectured as you watched him pitch the tent, at his demand. He was such a gentleman.

You'd been dating Terry for over four months, you've both went on a plethora of dates, had the steamy first kiss, and even spent a night at each others apartment, but you still hadn't fucked yet. Was it you? You knew you had an Oscar worthy performance of your coy-innocent act that Terry ate up all of the time, but you weren't a prude. You couldn't count how many times you'd hinted, and seduced only to be met with more gentleness.

And you loved how patient, protective, and gentle he was with you. He was everything you'd practically asked for when you started dating. A nice man, a sweet man—and you got it, a full blown golden retriever boyfriend. He had so many amazing qualities, he was always on time arriving fifteen minutes early. Something he said was one of the most useful things he learned from his time in the Marine Corps. He was a full blown de-escalator, he never wanted to argue with you, always communicating as calmly as he could before coming to an understanding with you. He was gentle. But maybe he was too gentle? You wanted Terry in the worst ways. It didn't help that he stayed in good shape, gym four times a week, and his infinite morning runs kept him in tip-top shape.

You pouted, squinting your eyes as you looked at Terry from underneath the brim of the Nike bucket hat you'd retrieved from him. Although he was pitching the tent and the sun was currently beating down on him, he decided that, you, sitting in the shade doing nothing, needed the hat more. Such a man.

"You said come comfortable, and I garden in my crocs—that's what I came in!" You defended your reasoning for not wearing the socks that he did tell you to pack last night over a quick FaceTime call, but he did say come comfortable in the same sentence. "These mosquitos are relentless, baby, look at my ankles!" You frowned looking at how red and irritated the skin has gotten there even on your deep brown skin.

Of course Terry stopped his meddling with the tent and came over to assess your so badly injured ankles. He tsk'd softly his big hands cradling both of your ankles gently. Now push them behind my head! you eagerly thought feeling him touch you at all always sent shocks and shivers through your body.

"They eatin' my baby up," he somberly acknowledged rubbing his thumbs where the bites were firmly, "you put bug spray on like I told you?"

You nodded. "Yeah, just go and finish the tent," you dramatically sighed waiting to eagerly scratch at the bites, "I'll just be sitting over here, itchy, getting ate up." At least something was eating you up.

He brought your left ankle up to his lips casually, placing a soft kiss there before setting the both of them back down carefully. You almost moaned, it had been way too long. "stop scratchin' at em, you makin' em worse."

You looked at him, batting your eyelashes at him a dazed nod following right behind. He was so gorgeous, and it didn't help that he was so sweet and treated you like the absolute brat you were. He continued on with his quick work with the tent and you continued on with your sneaky scratching. After it was perfectly pitched, he got you inside as soon as it was done to rub a bit of alcohol on your itchy ankles and making you put on a pair of his socks that were way too big for you.

You frowned looking down at your legs later that night as you both set around the campfire, that you had gotten started. You hadn't forgotten all the survival tips your father had shown you. Terry focused on cooking the fish he and you caught earlier from the pier. He'd cleaned it and dissembled it himself. "These are puttin' a damper on my outfit, so not cute."

Terry chuckled, quickly flipping the searing fish over in the pan. Your eyes flickered over to him. "What?"

"You so country," he commented through a light chuckle, "damper?"

"That's not country!" You defended through a smile. "Everybody says damper!"

"Nobody says damper,"

"Does too!"

"Why you gotta be such a brat? Why you act like that?" He teased playfully, holding his hand out to you only to pull you up from your chair and into his lap. "Hm?" He hummed nuzzling his faced into your neck where he playfully nipped at the skin on your neck, knowing the ticklish effect it had on you.

You laughed hunching your shoulder up to push him away from the area, "stop!" The assault lasted a few more minutes before he reluctantly stopped, only when he seen the tears from your nonstop laughter, and how you cradled your aching stomach when you laughed.

"Brat," he mumbled in between persisting kisses to your lips. You happily returned each one, who were you to deny the brat allegations. They were very true. "Always gotta have yo way."

"You love how bratty I am," you retorted, trailing your own lingering kisses from his lips, to his jaw, to his neck.

"I do," he mumbled out an agreement making you laugh against his neck before continuing on, and you thought maybe, as his hands kneaded the back of your thighs and the undersides of your ass. But all that came undone when he urgently removed you from his lap in light hysterics about almost burning the fish.

The fish.

How could he even think about fish when he had your throbbing pussy in his lap, was he really blind to all this shit? Or was he just not sexually attracted to you? Or was he fucking celibate? The questions brought on a lingering insecurity. The rest of the night you were more distant, quiet, the situation left you a little embarrassed and salty. You'd never had a man be so indifferent to your advances. Or did he even see them as advances? Hell, you didn't know anymore.

Your distance and quiet demeanor didn't go unnoticed either Terry, who constantly made it his mission to see if you were okay and enjoying yourself. You answered the same all the time, yes, which did very little to comfort him—but he also didn't wanna push you into irritation.

"You sure you good, baby?" He asked later that night as you both settled into the cozy tent. You made sure to nestle yourself into your cute, pinky, sleeping bag. It was so you.

"Yeah." You simply answered with a nod, forcing the weak smile. Such a liar. But you weren't gonna admit that the situation left you feeling a little salty. You didn't wanna bring the situation up at all, you'd much rather forget it.

"You sure? You not actin' like yourself, baby. You want me to take you home?" There he went. Being so him. Always being so caring.

"No, I'm fine. It's nothing really, im just..itchy still." You seamlessly lied. Or maybe not. You were still itchy.

Terry decided not to press the issue instead making sure he got as close as possible to you, something he always did when you slept together, he loved being right up under you—you didn't contest to it. Ever. You both gave your good nights, and Terry made sure to turn off the LED lantern lamp you both had in the tent. A soft and easy silence falling over the both of you. Terry's soft breathing, body heat, chirping crickets and the pitch black were enough to lull you to sleep. And they almost did, but damn, you were still itchy.

You brought your knees to your chest, hastily scratching at your extremely itchy ankles, a heavy, draws out sigh from the temporary but almost euphoric relief skipped past your lips.

"Stop scratchin'." Terry's deep voice but through the silence, the raspiness on the edge of his voice attributed to the sleep that had took him in quick. The words halted your actions quickly as you tried to quietly morph into a comfortable position.

"I'm not," you spoke quietly.

"But you were."

His damn hearing. He heard everything.

"Well I wouldn't have been if I was doing something else." Your tone snappy but the suggestiveness fore fronted the sassiness.

"Somethin' else like what?" Terry questioned.

You huffed immediately, sitting up abruptly from your sleeping bag and flickering the lantern on. "Are you really that clueless?" You exclaimed almost, looking at his ever so lost expression. "Terry, are not you sexually attracted to me?"

Terry looked at you as if you'd grown two heads. Like he couldn't understand why you'd ask him such a question, like you didn't know he was a full blown raging man. "Why would you even ask me that, of course im sexually attracted to you, baby."

"You don't act like it," you quietly murmured, "it's like every time I try, you pull back. What is it? I really thought I was obvious enough with everything."

And you were. Terry wasn't ignorant to your advances. But he also wasn't ignorant to your past relationships and the men that you dealt with. Full blown sex addicts a few of them seemed to be, and some of them seemed unable to form a real bond with you without sex. He wanted to prove to you that he actually liked you, that he wanted to get to know you past sex. That he wanted this to last. It'd taken copious amounts of restraint for him to slyly deter away from the advances. Copious amounts.

He wasn't exactly sure how he made it to four months himself, without caving in. Maybe it was his serious he'd gotten about your relationship, maybe it was genuine like for you that made it somewhat easy. He was still a man though, taking care of himself when he was finally away from you.

He said your name slowly, sitting up himself, "im utterly, completely, and deeply sexually attracted to you. But I wanna show you that when it comes to keeping this together, sex is indifferent to me. I don't want you to think we need that shit to connect. I genuinely like you, alot."

"I like you too, but I already knew that Terry," he softly laughed, the weight of the insecurities dropping off your shoulders. You couldn't believe that once again, all this time, the lack of sex was catered to his feelings about you. You were gonna fuck this man so good. So good. "I knew that at the end of the first date when you didn't try to kiss me when you dropped me off." You giggled at the recanting of the memory.

"I wanted you to feel it though."

"And I do feel it," you slinked even closer to him, hand trailing up his thigh, "I feel it so much." You looked up at him, batting your long lashes.

Terry sat there slack mouthed, brows furrowed, his stormy eyes looking down at you with bursting pleasure and astonishment as he watched you suck him down. How the fuck did you get so good at this shit? You'd completely covered his shaft in your saliva, you were loud and sloppy. Just how he liked it. Throat so tight around him, every time you nuzzled him in. You were dazed yourself, tasting him, having him in the back of your throat where you craved him so many times before. You were savoring all of this.

Your hands wrapped themselves around his girthy length, stroking them at a brisk pace, your wet mouth guiding them in their dizzying up and down movements. His grunts and groans of approval only furthered you to please him more. You looked up at him, eyes watery, and soft as you took him down, spit bubbles formed around him, as you nuzzled him in deeper into your mouth. Removing a spit soaked hand, you nuzzled that into your soaked panties, pleasing him, pleased you.

"Sss-shitttt," he drug out through a groan, his strong hand grasping the back of your neck, as he bucked himself up into your mouth, relentlessly fucking your throat. You shut your watery, burning eyes letting him use you how he wanted. "Fuck, eat that dick up baby. You do that shit so good," he slurred through his persisting moans.

That only furthered your arousal, which furthered your efforts. The rough gags and choking from you was almost enough to send him over the edge. Almost. You finally pulled back, giving him a chance to recover and giving yourself a chance to catch your ailing breathing.

You stroke him off, spitting down on his shaft in your hands, eagerly stroking the lubrication in, leaning your head down to suck one of his balls into your mouth; gently. You knew too much. How did you know so much?

"Why you so nasty?" He mumbled grabbing your chin once you were done tending to his balls. "Hm?" He hummed before pressing your wet lips to his own. His kiss rushed, sloppy, and deep. His tongue searched every inch of your mouth, his lips sucking your own into his mouth.

Oh he was nasty like that?

"Move," he knocked your hands away from his still hardened dick, "take that shit off." He comments taking heed to the articles of clothing you still had on, his own hands slithering under the oversized shirt you'd put on for bed.

"But I wanted to make you cum—" you started, wiping your wet mouth with the back of your hand once he eagerly pulled your t-shirt off, nipples immediately pebbling due to the exposure of the cool night air in the tent. You didn't get to finish your sentence before Terry's lips were already latched onto the flesh on your neck, creating red blemishes as he cascaded down your body skillfully.

"You bout to," he mumbled attaching his lips to yours once again, "open up," he tapped your jaw firmly, "lemme see." The firm taps to your jaw ignited the fire and aching need in your belly, a moan slipped past your lips as you opened like he asked.

You watched, dazed, as he spat down into your mouth. Oh, he was nasty.

It was like yin and yang to you. This couldn't be your Terry. Not the Terry that bought you flowers every Sunday and never let you lift a finger Terry. This was a different Terry, nasty Terry. Impatient Terry. Demanding Terry. Just what you wanted.

"Oh my god-uhhhh!" You slurred out through a moan. Terry's vice grip on your locs matched the same vice grip you currently had him in right now. He had you positioned on all fours, one hand on your hip to steady his hard, dizzying strokes. He was fucking you hard, too hard. Too good. Your thighs trembled beneath you, knees threatening to buckle as he slammed into your heated core repeatedly. It's like he knew exactly where that spot was located. "Right there, daddy! Right fucking there," you whimpered, face pressed pathetically on the pallet beneath you.

"I know, i feel that shit," he groaned, sending another hard smack to your ass cheek, the recoil from his pelvis constantly slamming into your ass had him in a complete daze. Four months he kept himself from this, restrained himself from what he knew had to be good. But he didn't expect it feel like this. "Wettin' me right the fuck up—mm mm, keep that shit right there, you better not fuckin' lay down, keep that shit open just like that." He mumbled out into the tent, taking into head your trembling legs. The lewd sounds of your sopping wet pussy, followed by the loud slapping of your skin together filled your tent and your empty head.

"Fuckkkk," you groaned out, managing to sit up in your elbows, acrylics clawing at the covers beneath you, your eyes crossed as you felt his tip kissing a little too deep, "so deep, baby."

"Mhm," he hummed pulling your head back with his tight grip on your hair, his lust filled glare looking right down into your own crossed eyes, "right where i should be. Look at you, takin' this dick like a good girl. This what you wanted right?"

"Yesssss," you managed to fully get out, a series of breath taking moans following. He was giving you exactly what you wanted; hard, rough shit. He was fucking you like he hated you, like he had a point to prove. This shit was only making you delusional did he not understand the type of you he would get now?

"Yeah? Wanted daddy to dig yo' shit out just like this, huh?" He nodded watching you nod in response, your breaths coming out in a series of heavy puffs. "I know you did, can tell by the way you creamin' on my dick."

"Shittt!" You gasped out the exploitive, planting your hands flat against the ground, mustering yo whatever weak energy you had to fuck yourself back against him, working toward your own impending orgasm. "I'm finna cum!" You rushed out.

Terry pulled you back toward his chest, your small frame engulfed in his as you sat promptly in his lap getting impaled in the most delicious way possible. You felt lightheaded, high, and perfect all at once. "Babyyyy, im cummin'!" You whined out.

"Keep tellin' me, do that shit. Lemme feel you cum on my dick," he grunted, the lewd works making you clench around him as they clearly sent you tumbling over the edge. Terry mocking your long, loud and drawn out moans with his own. His lips attacking wherever they could on your exposed neck. His impaling strokes never stopped, even when it was clear you'd completely rode it out. He kept fucking you, sending you into a deep place of overstimulation. When was he ever planning to cum?

"Look at you," he mumbled a smug smirk on his lips, hand firmly holding your slacked jaw in his hand, "dick got you dumb—breathe through that shit, baby." He tapped your jaw, repeatedly. The sight of you alone, plus the constant contracting of your walls around him had earned you a deliciously sounding groan. You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until he spoke up.

Everything was too much. It was too much to focus on. The pleasure, his voice, his kisses. Forgetting to breathe in the middle of your overstimulation was warranted.

Your breaths cane tumbling back to you fast, hard and quick you panted. Body trembling in Terrys grasp, as dared to lean forward feeling another orgasm approaching, but this one felt harder. Body-shattering. It hurt and felt so good at the same time.

"Fuck, ima nut baby," Terry grunted in your ear. "Pussy so good, why yo shit so good like this?" Finally.

"Cum in my pussy, please daddy," was the first and only thing you could get out, not even warning him about your oncoming orgasm. This one cramped everything, the tightness in your stomach didn't subside but seemed to get tighter. Your thighs were numb, but your legs ached. The squeal you let out left your throat raw, and that's why you didn't hear Terry when he finally announced that he was cumming, but you felt him for sure, right where you told him to.

You felt Terry's lips against your jaw, kissing you repeatedly. Telling you how well you did for him, how he couldn't believe he kept himself away from that for four months. How good it was. These were finally the words that lulled you off to a blissful sleep, you'd finally got what you wanted. There you were, fucked out In a tent, with cum leaking out of you. Such a whore. A happy whore.

still no tag list! 😭 hope you enjoy this little filler! 💕

#aaron pierre #fine as fuck #fine black men #terry richmond #black writers #rebel ridge #black!fem!reader

1K notes · View notes

angstyhikka · 2 months ago

Text

REUPLOAD because I'm dumb and should've done close-ups from the start. GUYS, I SPENT A WHOLE WEEK GIVING BIRTH TO THIS, I SWEAR! I was completely obsessed - could only think about this poor feathered woman with a kid, nothing else. 😭 Didn't even finish the canvas - ran out of steam for that corner sketch. 😔 And this isn't the final design yet because I made Eda way too cutesy, when her actual character is much harsher. More on that below.

WHO SHE IS

Eda's a side character in "The Axe", but I stuffed her so full of drama even Ludwig got pissed. Here's her backstory:

• Homeless (lives in a broken-down wagon);

• Killer:

— At first her parents tried treating her at home - hid her, prayed, did magic. But the curse won: one day Eda broke free and tore a random passerby to shreds.

— Guards arrived, saw a "monster" - wanted to execute her on the spot. But her parents stood their ground: proved she wasn't a monster but their cursed daughter. Convinced the court to send her for treatment at the castle.

TREATMENT: GLYPHS, RITUALS AND THE CRYSTAL

What happened at the castle wasn't just "treatment". It was months of experiments:

Diagnosis:

— First the mages studied her: walked her through glyph circles, made her drink potions with sacred herbs, even tried "extracting" the curse with silver needles.

— Conclusion: she'd merged with the owl beast at soul level. Separating them would be like cutting a person in half.

Treatment attempts:

— Purification rituals: dunked her in ice water with runes, burned incense, chanted spells. After each session she'd pass out from pain.

— Restraining glyphs: drew suppression symbols on her skin. Worked for a couple days... then the beast broke through again.

The crystal - last resort:

— When all else failed, the mages created an artifact:

• Partially separated her consciousness from the beast

• Blocked her magic (which was fuel for the beast)

• Bonded to her sternum - if removed, she'd turn back

Her parents took her home "healed"... but for Eda, this was just the start of new hell.

PHILIP WITTEBANE

Now here's something fascinating about Eda - despite everything she's been through, she maintains this peculiar fascination with Philip Wittebane:

• She actually produces and performs puppet shows depicting him as this Robin Hood-like character who steals from the corrupt and helps the innocent - basically complete fairy tales

• She knows about him both from the various legends circulating around the islands and from having read one of his many diaries (yes, there are apparently multiple)

• She's fully aware that Philip was actually a complete asshole in reality, but that doesn't stop her from idolizing him as the ultimate model of the perfect swindler and rogue

• She actively strives to emulate this idealized image of him

• In her mind, there's absolutely nothing wrong with theft or even murder - she sees it all as natural selection at work ("if you were quick enough, you got to eat")

• The delicious irony? She has no clue (just like everyone else) that Philip is actually the Black Guard

• What connects her to the Guard is actually the whole history with her crystal... but that's spoiler territory. Let's just say she's absolutely terrified of him.

THE CURSE (AND HOW IT BREAKS HER)

This isn't some back-and-forth transformation. It's constant discomfort:

The body changes slowly... almost:

— Feathers grow in gradually but itch like mosquito bites. Everything itches: back, arms, even fingers.

— Her face stayed human, but her eyes - golden with black sclera like an owl's. Her gaze became piercing, alien - sometimes even she's scared by her reflection.

The world irritates but doesn't torture:

— Sunlight makes her squint

— Strong smells like smoke or rot "hit her nose"

Instincts - a quiet nightmare:

— Worst of all: her instincts see King as prey. "He's small... weak... eat him." For now she copes by freezing and distancing herself, but who knows how long that'll last.

Shame and pain:

— Remembers being a witch - strong, whole. Now her back's covered in pathetic wings (they can't even fly!), every step reminds her: "You're not human anymore."

— Wants to go back but can't: fixing the crystal means becoming helpless again. Not fixing it means King dies.

Aaaand that's the main stuff^^

Would love to hear your thoughts and opinions :>

#the owl house #toh #toh au #toh axe au #where the war axe is burried #eda clawthorne #toh king

317 notes · View notes

itwasanangryinch · 9 months ago

Text

only if you're allergic to the protein chain they inject into you with their bites

do we think vampire bites would itch like mosquito bites or…?

#hence why Some People are mosquito bite neutral and others simply Can Not Stop itching when they get a bite

11 notes · View notes

bigification · 1 year ago

Text

Carrier

The intersection of 4th and 7th is clos-

Click

That's that me espre-

Click

Reports of a disease carried by mosquitos have flooded north America. Hospitals can't keep up and the CDC is struggling to contain it. Professionals are suggesting to stay inside as much as possible, and to wear bug spray when outdoors. Symptoms of the disease ar-

Click

"This is bullshit, it's just fear mongering. People talk about world ending shit all the time and it's always nothing." Kane said as he pulled up to the south valley hiking trail. A trail he visited often to escape the real world. It was usually busy, but today it was completely empty. "Such a beautiful day and everyone's wasting away inside." He scoffs.

Kane parked his car and stepped out into the beaming sunlight. "Good day to work on my tan." He said as he pulled off his plaid shirt and headed down to the trail.

Only a few minutes into the hike and the bugs come out. They usually never bother him, but that radio broadcast was stuck in his head.

Bzzzz- Smack!

"Ah shit!" He yelled as he smacked the back of his neck. That bite hurt a lot more than he expected. "Maybe I should be a bit more careful." Kane muttered under his breath as he slipped his shirt back on.

He couldn't quite get comfortable after that. He was paranoid about the mosquitos. That bite he got earlier kept getting itchier, and his chest felt really tight. As he was walking he kept unconsciously unbuttoning his shirt. Each button came off with a sigh of relief, but then the tightness would return and he would have to remove another button. Until the shirt was completely open.

"Man I'm getting tired." Kane said, out of breath. He stopped hiking for a moment. He wiped the sweat off his face, wondering why he was having so much trouble on a trail he had done dozens of times before. His hand drifted to his stomach to scratch an itch, and he nearly jumped in shock when his hand sunk into the soft fat on his belly.

"What the fuck!" He said poking at the round belly that protruded out of his open shirt. He then noticed the soft moobs that hung above them, adding to his shock.

"What the fuck is happening to me!? Was it the mosquitos?" He said, panicking. He was running short of breath as he felt all of the soft rolls of fat that covered his entire body. His plump ass and thick thighs that threatened to burst out of his pants. His double chin hidden under his beard. Even his bulging love handles that spilled over his waistline. He was getting fat.

"Oh fuck." He said as he took off his hat and rubbed his thick hands through his hair. His hairline started to recede and the hair that was left was thinning.

"I... I gotta get back." He said as he finally caught his breath.

He turned and started running back. But it was getting harder with the extra padding on his body. He felt his gut and his moobs bounce with every step, weighing him down. His tightening pants restricted his movement, and his increasing weight made it harder for him to move.

It felt like forever, but he finally made it back to his car. He didn't want to look, but it felt like his gut had doubled in size on the way back. And he doesn't even want to know what his hair looks like.

He sits in the car, sliding the seat back to even fit inside. He thought about whether to go home or to a hospital or what. He decided on a hospital, and stepped on the gas. His heart was racing, but something in his mind was telling him to relax. Almost as if nothing had even gone wrong on the hike. Why was he even on a hike, hikes are for pussies anyway. He just couldn't wait to get home and have a beer, maybe watch the game.

He pulled into his driveway, completely forgetting that he planned on going to the hospital. Why go to the hospital when there's nothing wrong with him, he's exactly the man he wants to be.

As he got into his house, he unzipped his fly, relieving the pressure in his pants with a sigh. He grabbed some leather and threw it on, thinking it looked sick. And finally he grabbed a cold one and a cigar.

He sat on his front porch, feeling the leather wrap around his man tits and his bulging gut lay on his lap. He cranked the radio as he lit his cigar.

-and the wear bug spray when outdoors. Symptoms of the disease are rapid weight gain, increase in testosterone, and an increase in aggressive and confident behavior-

Bzzzz- Smack!

"Hehe, why would a man want it any other way."

- Carrier B-Sides -

Father and son take vacation in Florida. The duo got bitten several times over their vacation and remained unphased by the drastic changes done to their bodies. Due to the amount of bites by infected mosquitos, the father and son have gained the most weight of any known victim so far. The pair insist that nothing is wrong, despite pictures taken before the trip placing them at 160 and 200 pound respectfully. The two now weigh 360 and 320 pounds respectfully, and their credit cards show them buying new clothes nearly everyday, starting from larges to now five XLs that they're wearing now. Both have been taken in for guaranteeing, and for additional research.

Sports teams around the world have been destroyed by the spread of the disease. An increasing amount of players are showing up to practices and games unrecognizable from the men they used to be. Many have become overweight and overly aggressive, making them unable to play. Teams are also reporting an unprecedented amount of sexual relations in between players. Most major sports organizations have been put on pause until things stabilize.

People are starting to wonder whether certain politicians are fit to do their jobs after infection. Many become impulsive and erratic, with little ability to think for the future. Many politicians and world leaders have begun having secret meetings without any infected people, but the disease has wiped out many of these politicians. Below is a before and after of one such politician one week ago and yesterday. Conspiracies have also been spreading that government officials who have been infected have begun intentionally infected others in order to take over entire governments.

Local Sheriff was in charge of temporarily holding infected individuals before they could be quarantined. The sheriff was bitten by one of the infected men. He soon started to show symptoms, he grew so fat that be burst out of his uniform. He then released the infected men, who then wreaked havoc on the small town. This was the first record case of the infection spreading human to human.

A couple left their window open during a romantic dinner they had for an anniversary. One of the men was bitten by a mosquito during their dinner, but hadn't shown signs of infection. The infected make them brought his boyfriend to their bedroom. The infected man started to show symptoms while having sex. He started to grow visibly fatter. He started to get more aggressive with his partner. His partner showed concern but did not stop the situation. The infected man finished inside of his partner, who quickly started to show signs of infection. He grew about as far as his partner had. This was the first reported case for the disease being sexually transmitted.

#male tf #masculine #fat tf #hairy #male wg #reality change #male transformation #muscle tf

455 notes · View notes

kitkat13001 · 8 days ago

Text

⋆˚꩜🏕️｡. 4 ➢ ENTER THE WOODS

𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓 a mha x reader gravity falls au ! -> ft.izuku midoriya, ochako uraraka, shoto todoroki, and denki kaminari ᨒ ོ ☼ prev ➢ m. list ➢ next ➢ 04 - down the rabbit hole !

🗓️ ✎ᝰ .ᐟ 📼⋆.˚

you figured monster-hunting wasn’t going to be glamorous, but that doesn’t ease the itch of your mosquito bites or the sweat beading on your forehead as you tromp through the woods.

todoroki’s leading the way, the four of you trailing behind grumbling strings of complaints.

“you wanted to be monster-hunters,” todoroki replies from the front, charging on with determination. ochako’s not too far behind him, keeping a good pace and cheery demeanor. denki’s right behind her, chattering away about everything he’s noticing about the woods. he seems pretty familiar with them too.

you and izuku make up the rear, his eyes darting around like he’s seeing everything for the first time. this sure isn’t like anything you’ve ever seen or done back home in california.

you’re this close to turning tail and quitting out of pettiness when todoroki stops, halfway down the light slope of a hill. “it was around here,” he says, looking around.

you all stop, but nothing looks out of the ordinary. todoroki walks around, rapping his knuckles against several trees.

“are you sure—”

clunk clunk.

“this is it.” he kicks the tree once more to be sure, and it clanks like metal. you watch in shock as he pops a hatch on it and the tree opens, a tiny little door appearing at the base of the trunk just big enough for you all to crawl through.

“i’ve seen coraline too many times for this,” you whisper, shaking your head. still, the five of you join hands and descend into the darkness. a hand gives yours a tight squeeze and it gives you the reassurance to face the darkness below.

the flashlights on your phones light the way as you stumble around in the dark.

“this looks like some kind of lab,” izuku notes, studying the metal tables and now-empty tanks lining the walls. it’s a small space, more of a bunker really. but shoto was right, the place is pretty much empty now.

you huff, somewhat disappointed. you’re not sure what you expected to find here, but surely there has to be something that explains something.

you poke around a while longer, coughing and sneezing from the dust. you’re about to give up when ochako yells out in the dark.

“got something!”

the four of you rush over, finding her crouched next to a metal filing cabinet. the thing itself’s been cleared out, but she’s holding some papers that have been dislodged from underneath.

denki holds up his flashlight and you all stare down at the pages, dumbfounded.

“it’s…it’s gibberish,” denki says, frowning as he studies the symbols scrawled on the papers. you hold them up in different angles, hoping to make some sense of the pictographs. you catch some words in messy penmanship — things like experiment and journal and forest. nothing that makes enough sense to go off.

todoroki takes one of the pages, running a finger along the edge, which is ragged like it was torn from a book. he kneels, placing it next to his journal. he flips through it, but it doesn’t fit into the seams.

“none of the pages are torn…” izuku murmurs in wonder. “which means…”

“there is another journal.”

“but we already knew that!” you insist, visibly frustrated. “we just need to find out where it is.”

“so how do we do that?” denki asks, looking as confused as you.

the five of you sit in silence for a long awkward moment, nothing but literal crickets chirping from outside. you hadn’t thought this far ahead.

this might be harder than you’d thought…

𒈔 ִ ࣪𓂀 𖤐 — journal entry 04:

shoto did change his pfp (“against his will”). his siblings made fun of him mercilessly for it <3

if you recall his private account’s username (ificouldwrite) it’s a gilmore girls reference. he’s seen it at least three times because of fuyumi

the sanrio matching pfps were ochako’s idea

the five of you don’t have a lot of leads so far on the other journals, but you’re thinking about asking hizashi. you remember shota telling you that he had a huge occult phase in college and having grown up in gravity falls, is very knowledgeable about the paranormal lore

its true that while the mothman lore originated in west virginia, there have been sightings in gravity falls too. its more of a local legend, but people have been known to venture into the woods looking for the blue moth variant

you didn’t find any more monsters on your expedition, but you did get a lot of mosquito bites. denki claims his spell out “bewarb”

📖 🪬🗝️ — from the author: kitty is back! this one stumped me a little but we’re back on track <33 it might be a sec for the next update as the next ep is going to be longer w/ more writing >:) so stay tuned for that! summer is almost here and we are going to UPP with this!!

taglist: @ceecilya @n3r0-5352 @taxavoider @bloomness @deadhands69 @bowtiepasta @hydeonysus @bloodb3nders @fellowchickennugget @keeeenbeeaan @boreaswrites @bangersplusmash @crushmeeren @agirlenchanted @biodegradablevagina @xoyuji @zukiiiiiiiii @teeesthings @tv-gh0st @reality1escaping @candiiee @bitchyfestivalbouquet @majoryeager104 @tokeposts @inumkii @th34rs0n1st (ask/comment to be added!)

111 notes · View notes

simons-simp · 3 months ago

Text

Hook, Line & Sinker | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Fisherman!Ghost, slowburn, afab reader

Part 3 | Previous

The smell of damp earth and petrichor filled your lungs, as the pine needles crunched under your wellies. The birds had come back after the heavy rain and sang loudly on the tops of the trees around you. Your eyes were darting to your legs regularly, paranoid for any mosquitos. When you had arrived there had been swarms of them following you, something you didn't know was common for the area, but maybe it was because there was a lagoon so close by.

In the distance you can always hear the ocean. Its presence is like a backdrop, never ending. You're not used to it - it's as if you were near some large waterfall or there was always strong wind over a hill nearby - that low constant rumble. You could feel the mosquito bites on your foot itching, inaccessible. You tried to focus your mind on the forest around you, the occasional stir of the trees above you, as your mind thought about this new situation of yours. Away from friends and family, it's what you had wanted, no? To get away from it all? The responsibilities of being a loved one? Have you been able to completely switch your phone off? Not really. Even though there were mostly low cellular bars on most of the land, you still desperately clung to it, tethered to the familiarity it brought you.

You climbed over your first hill. The trees here looked like they had been bent over from a storm, although you weren't sure - tire tracks marked the sandy earth and you could suppose this had been man made as well. But ahead of you lay a fallen branch from a tree, it's yellow flowers now laying on the soil. It was quite large but you felt like if you were any stronger you could have moved it out of the way. You stepped around it, noting that up the second hill lay another one of these. Looks like the wind and storm yesterday did more damage than you would have thought.

When you reached the beach, you gasped. Today it was a turbulent green, and close, much closer than last time to the dunes. This time, you were alone on the beach. You looked down the long stretch, on your left where you couldn't even see the end of it, and on your right, the coastal town. As if like some magic, you suddenly felt the sun on your back. The clouds had parted and you could see the blue sky, something that when you had been on the land, you hadn't yet seen that morning. You did feel freer here - the dunes outstretching for miles, parallel to a wild Atlantic ocean. The wind strong, but not so strong as to destabilise you, just enough to give you gasps of fresh air. And no mosquitos.

You relished that you were alone. No large lumbering fisherman you had to keep your eye on. Just you, the wild ocean, and the sun, bringing out her gorgeous hues of greens. You loved how she was always a different colour, always unpredictable. And always wild. Watching the waves crash, one after the other, never stopping on the sand, it felt like she was giving you permission to also be loud, unstoppable, and strong. Not caring if it disturbed anyone, or was too much. The ocean was the ocean, that's just how it was. You held onto your hat tightly, not wanting it to fly off your head unexpectedly. This time, there was no fisherman to grab it before it got lost into the waves.

You noticed the waves were getting closer. Your eyes couldn't help but fall down to the shells and stones again that littered at your feet. You crouched over, your eyes scanning for any interesting one. Once you started to find one or two that piqued your interest, it was hard to stop. You pocketed them into your hand and picked a fragment of a shell. It was orange and striped, but the stripes looked like they belonged to Jupiter or the rings of Saturn. There was something unearthly about it, and in a way, it was. You thought about how the ocean was less explored than space, even though it was right there, just a few feet from you. The wind was really picking up but you kept your head down, looking for more treasures, your hand moving past the first layers of shells and digging a little deeper into the sand. Maybe there were more layers here to uncover.

You were startled when a shadow covered the shells in front of you. You stumbled backwards, and landed on your ass, suddenly very aware of how cold and wet this beach was. You quickly looked up, although you had to crane your neck to actually fully see the behemoth standing above you. It was him.

"You betta watch out b’for' the waves take ye." He said. His voice easily cut over the sound of the crashing waves, a mere few metres away. You didn't know how to respond. You focused on standing back up, your shells now strewn back into the sand and mixed up with the others. You unsteadily came back to your feet, and roughly rubbed your sandy hands against your trousers roughly.

"I was being careful." Is the only thing that finally comes into your mind to answer him. After all, who is he to tell you what to do on the beach? You curse the gods above you for ruining your privacy, and almost as a response, the sunshine that had warmed you so nicely between the strong gusts of wind, was covered behind a large grey cloud. Well, that wasn't coming out any time soon. And where on earth had he come from?

He didn't answer you, just stood staring at you, hands deep into his black waterproof coat, black mask covering his face. Was he sick?

"Not fishing today?" You say, noticing his lack of gear.

"S'my off day." He replies shortly. Another silence. What is he waiting for, what does he want?

You shift your weight onto your other foot and you feel a chill run up your spine. It suddenly hits you that you two are completely alone on this beach. The layer of security that you always feel wrapped around you suddenly feels like it's been violently ripped away.

You try to cling onto the normal, the casual, and give him a small smile, the kind you give to a stranger you acknowledge across the street.

"Ok well, I'm gonna-"

"Let me buy ye a drink" he interrupts. It's like he knew you were trying to slither away. The request surprises you, both because it's still before midday, and because you find it hard to imagine a man like him asking to buy anyone a drink.

"Um... Right now? I still haven't had lunch yet and..." you don't know why but your words fail you. While you started speaking you had made eye contact, deep brown eyes and blond wisps of eyelashes, and his stare was so intense, so smouldering, that you didn't know exactly what you were trying to say to him. You didn't want to go for a drink right? Or did you? Suddenly you weren't so sure of yourself.

"Come on, I know a nice pub where they make a good fish n chips." He says, and he suddenly begins to move past you, hands still on his pockets, as he starts to walk down to the coastal town in the distance. You stand there for a few seconds, watching him walk away…

No one is forcing you to go, and you had to admit there was something about him that creeped you out - maybe the way it seemed he didn't know how to make normal conversation, or his unnaturally large size. But your legs began to walk towards him, following, a few paces behind, before your mind could actually make a decision.

You didn't bother to try and keep up with his strides, content to be a little behind, watching the back of his neck where his short blonde hair started, and you could make out the edge of a black tattoo, whenever the collar of his rainproof jacket moved down with his steps.

You had to admit, there was something a bit off putting about him, like the smell coming from his stall. What should have been a smell you usually enjoy - fresh salty ocean - was mixed in with death and guts: smells that should have stayed contained. The glassy eyes of the fish staring at you, as if to blame you for their predicament, their cold cadavers now laying on ice chips. Perhaps the smell of the dead fish served to cover his own smell of death that came off him.

Part 4

57 notes · View notes

writinginatree · 10 months ago

Text

John Wick x reader - The Hunt

Summary: Professional killer vs. mosquito — who would win?

John walked into the bedroom, expecting you to already be asleep, or at least lying in bed, and instead found you standing on your pillow, head craned back to look to the ceiling, a hand with a folded newspaper in it raised ready to strike.

"What are you doing, darling?" he asked, amusement and confusion mixing in his voice. Despite your aggressive pose, there was no threat he could make out, and he doubted you would have picked a newspaper as your weapon of choice if the situation was serious.

"There's a mosquito in here somewhere," you explained, glaring around the room. "It's already bitten me three fucking times, and I'm not going to sleep until that fucker is dead. If I did I probably wouldn't have any blood left in me at all in the morning."

"Must be a very skillful mosquito if it managed to bite a legendary killer such as yourself three whole times," John teased.

"I was reading! With headphones on! Now could you stop laughing at me and actually help? Because if I can't kill this thing, I'll leave you here alone at it's mercy and sleep on the couch while you get your blood sucked out."

"Well, we can't have that," John chuckled, taking the improvised weapon from your hands, and scanned the room for your bloodsucking foe with the same deadly focus that he was so infamous for among your colleagues.

Even he couldn't immediately spot the mosquito. It had to be somewhere in here, but there were simply too many places for an insect to hide in the room. It would be near invisible against the dark bookshelf, or the curtains, could be sitting atop a picture frame where you wouldn't be able to look. If it were that easy, you wouldn't have spent the last fifteen minutes hunting the beast.

John prowled from one side of the room to the other, searching. Just when you were about to make a comment about how he wasn't any more successful than you, despite his earlier teasing, he went still. He'd spotted his prey.

The mosquito didn't stand a chance. John nudged the curtain it sat on, scaring the insect into flight so he could kill it without leaving bloodstains on the fabric. His hands clapped together, and just like that, your problem was solved. There was no escaping the Baba Yaga, not even for a mosquito.

John held up his palm to show you the bloody smudge proving his victory, and went to wash his hands. You followed him, handing him the towel to dry his hands before rewarding his efforts with a kiss.

"Thanks for avenging me," you grinned as you reached for the ointment to stop the itching of your mosquito bites.

"Anything for you, love."

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #john wick

75 notes · View notes

belit0 · 1 month ago

Note

Mafia modern au

Dkkckc Ivy and the family visiting her parents

How would that go?

JHSDKJHASDSKJHDAS I'll just say that Ivy's mom kinda.... hates, Indra;

The morning was unusually bright for a Friday, sunlight draped lazily over the quiet, pristine lanes of the Uchiha private neighborhood.

Outside the largest estate on the cul-de-sac, the peace was already shattered.

–You’re the one who forgot the candy...

–You said you packed it, Inari!

–You said you didn’t trust me to pack it, and then you blamed me! That’s abuse of power.

–You don’t have power.

–Not with that attitude!

Ivy didn’t look up as she zipped the last overnight bag shut. –Indra, please tell your sons that if they keep it up, they’ll be sleeping in the barn with the goats. Again.–

Indra walked out the front door like a shadow under the sun—broad-shouldered, calm, and already exuding that quiet authority that made delivery men and neighbors second-guess their life choices.

He had on a black fitted shirt, loose cargo slacks, and boots made for both comfort and intimidation.

His hair was pulled back in a half-tie, and his eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. He carried three bags at once without effort.

–We don’t have goats, Mama.– Ame pointed out sweetly, holding her rabbit plush like a judge’s gavel.

-Oh, but Grandma does.

Ivy tossed the last duffel into the truck bed while Indra secured the camping cooler—Misaki didn’t believe in fridges, but Ivy refused to let her kids suffer through a whole weekend without something cold.

–Got the bug spray?

–Yes.– Indra deadpanned. –And the mosquito net. And the anti-itch balm. And the anti-anti-itch balm your mother insists works better because it’s ‘blessed by the mountain wind’.–

–Oh, good husband. Prepared husband. Look at you.

He didn’t answer, but his mouth twitched.

Barely.

Raizen slid into the last seat with his phone and his usual silence, earphones already in.

Inari and Hikari were still fighting over ownership of the middle seat.

Ame was climbing up with the determination of a small, stubborn raccoon.

Ivy leaned on the passenger door, watching her husband lift the last case into the trunk.

–You sure you’re ready for a whole weekend with my mom again? No phone signal. No espresso. No locking yourself in the guestroom to read war novels while pretending you’re helping with chores.

–I don’t pretend.

–Oh no, of course not. You just happened to be holding a broom in the same place for three hours without moving your arms.

Indra shut the trunk with a finality that felt like resignation.

He came around to the driver’s side, glancing over his sunglasses as she slipped into her seat.

-Don’t forget: when we get there, you’re not Lord Uchiha, you’re Ivy’s husband who can’t chop wood straight.

–...I’ve improved.

–You’ve gotten worse. I saw the pile last time, it looked like a demon took a bite out of every log.

He exhaled slowly, rolling out of the driveway like a man heading straight into his own personal hell—with his favorite woman riding shotgun and four chaotic souls in the back who’d inherited every sharp tongue and untamable spirit he’d ever tried to repress.

The truck pulled into the gas station on the edge of town, tires crunching against gravel as the engine settled into silence.

–Bathroom stop. Everybody out.– Ivy unbuckled before the truck had fully parked, turning to the backseat like a drill sergeant with a fond smile. –Don’t touch anything in there. Don’t talk to anyone. And do not come back without snacks. I mean it. I want chocolate.–

–You always say that like it’s optional.– Hikari grinned, hopping out.

–It’s not.–

–Roger that, Captain Mom.– Inari saluted before bolting with his twin.

Raizen followed wordlessly, headphones still in, but paused just long enough to murmur something to Ivy—probably asking what kind of snacks Ame wanted.

The passenger door slammed.

Indra stayed behind, hands still on the steering wheel, his profile stoic.

He watched the gas meter slowly rise, reflected in the side mirror.

Beside him, a small rustling noise.

Ame had climbed from her seat and was now settling in his lap, her tiny hands reaching for the wheel with all the gravity of a pirate claiming her ship.

–I’m driving now.– She declared, her plush rabbit tucked under one arm like a co-pilot.

–Is that so.– Indra's voice was low, warm, faintly amused as he moved his arms around her without taking the wheel away. –Do you know where we’re going?–

–Yes. Grandma and Grandpa’s. Mommy said it’s far. We need snacks and wood and mosquito cream.

–Impressive list. I should hire you.

–You already did. I’m the boss now.– Her fingers flipped switches on the dashboard that thankfully did nothing dangerous—air vents clicked open, then closed, then flared again.

Indra let her play, watching her tiny reflection in the windshield—serious eyes, slightly flushed cheeks, and that intense little furrow she wore when trying to understand something bigger than her.

She was quiet for a second. Her voice, when it came, was almost too soft for the size of her question.

–Why does Grandma hate you?

Indra didn’t look away from the wheel.

Ame turned one of the knobs like she was steering through a thunderstorm.

–She doesn’t hate me.– He answered eventually, his voice as steady as the hand he placed lightly on her back. –She just doesn’t like the way I drive.–

–But you drive good.

–You think so.

–Yes. You never crash.– She glanced up at him. –Mommy said you’re the scariest man in the world, but you always carry my backpack. That means you’re not bad.–

A soft breath left his chest, like a ghost of laughter.

He nudged the seat warmer off—she’d accidentally turned it on—and leaned his chin lightly over her shoulder.

–You’re very wise, Ame.

–I know.– She reached for another switch, flicked it. The hazard lights clicked twice. –Is it ‘cause you didn’t marry her? Grandma, I mean.–

He almost smiled.

–Maybe.–

–But that would be weird.– She crinkled her nose. –Grandma is grandma. You’re Dada. That’s not allowed.–

–Agreed.– He adjusted the mirror idly. –And besides, she would’ve hated me anyway.–

–Why?–

–Because she loves your mother very much.

Ame didn’t answer, but she let the wheel go for a second and leaned back into his chest.

–I do too.

He closed his eyes, just for a breath, and nodded.

–Me too.

Outside, the twins could be heard laughing through the glass doors, Ivy’s voice rising with pretend scolding, and Raizen emerging with arms full of bags and a face that said never again.

But inside the cab, there was only soft air conditioning and the quiet weight of a little girl pressing against a man feared by empires, calmly letting her believe the world turned beneath her hands.

The truck rumbled up the dirt path like a beast too big for the quiet of the countryside, its polished body reflecting the late afternoon sun in arrogant glints of black and chrome.

Insects scattered. A cat dove under the old porch. Bamboo chimes clinked, almost nervously, from the edge of the veranda.

The house stood the same as ever—wood darkened by decades, paper windows glowing warm behind the slatted doors, and that old tree still leaning sideways over the garden like it had paused mid-bow.

The moment the truck stopped, the doors exploded open.

–We’re here!– Inari shouted, nearly falling out.

–Grandpa!!– Hikari was right behind him, arms flailing like a windmill in distress.

Ame had unbuckled herself with expert timing, clutching her rabbit as she bolted after the boys, Raizen calmly trailing behind with all the bags and no complaints.

The second their feet hit the ground, the front door slid open with an audible snap.

–My babies!

Hideyoshi appeared like sunlight bursting through a storm cloud, barefoot on the porch, arms open wide, that familiar laugh echoing through the air like music.

His robe hung open, sleeves flapping like wings as he raced across the dirt path with the energy of a man who had waited too long to be swarmed.

Three grandchildren collided with him at once. Raizen followed quietly.

–Look at you! You're taller! You’re faster! You’ve grown noses!– He twirled, nearly losing a sandal. –Hikari! Inari! Are these mustaches?–

–Yeah!– Inari yelled. –No!– Hikari corrected.

–Ame’s the pilot now.– Raizen added dryly as he set the bags down. –She drove us all the way.–

–A menace behind the wheel! Just like her mother.– Hideyoshi crowed.

From the doorway, another figure stood unmoved.

Misaki.

She had not changed.

Her hair was the same brown waterfall, pulled high and bound with the red ribbon Ivy had once stolen as a child. Her yukata was pressed, her posture faultless, her mouth a straight line.

She stepped down from the porch like a judge descending into the courtroom.

The moment the children launched toward her, however, that cold mask shifted.

–You’ve all grown thin.– She murmured, opening her arms. –Do you not eat in that enormous house? Come here.–

The embrace was brief, but it was real.

She kissed Ame’s head. Tucked Inari’s collar. Straightened Hikari’s hair without comment. Raizen got a firm squeeze on the shoulder, and something about her eyes softened—but just for a breath.

Then, her gaze lifted.

Ivy had just closed the truck door.

Indra stood at her side.

–You ready?– She asked under her breath, brushing off invisible lint.

–Always.– Indra replied.

–You look too confident. Frown a little. She likes it better when you look punished.

He adjusted the cuff of his black shirt, exhaled once, and took her hand.

They approached together, but hung back at the invisible border of acceptance—where the children had already crossed, and they were not yet permitted.

Hideyoshi turned at last.

–There they are! My wayward girl and her shadow king.– He came in with no hesitation, hugging Ivy first, enveloping her like the warmest of storms. –I missed you, dumpling.–

He moved on to Indra without pause, slapping both arms around him with affection so genuine it nearly unbalanced them both.

–My son-in-law! The most terrifying man on the east coast! Have you brought my sweet potatoes?

–Two crates.– Indra replied.

–You see? He’s perfect.– Hideyoshi boomed.

–Perfect.– Misaki echoed behind him.

The temperature dropped several degrees.

They both turned.

Misaki had not moved. Her arms crossed. Her mouth remained a blade.

–So nice of you to remember where we live, Ivy.– she said without blinking.

–Hi, Mom.

–And you.– Her eyes slid to Indra like knives slipping from a sleeve. –Still wearing black. Still brooding. I see nothing’s changed.–

–Only the amount of property damage.– Ivy muttered, elbowing Indra gently.

–You’ve aged.– Misaki added.

–I try my best.– Indra answered without irony.

–Your brother had much better posture.

–I’m sure he still does.– Indra replied smoothly.

Hideyoshi was already ushering the kids inside, pretending not to hear.

–Let’s go! Hot water’s ready! The bath’s yours first, Ame.

Misaki remained at the porch, unmoving as a shrine statue, watching Ivy and Indra with narrowed eyes.

–Take your shoes off at the door. You track death inside.

–Yes, Misaki.– Indra bowed faintly. –Nice to see you too.-

The smell of cedar lingered in the hallways, and the sliding doors creaked like they were remembering older footsteps.

Tatami mats welcomed them with the familiar hush of tradition as the family was herded—gently by Hideyoshi, mercilessly by Misaki—into their respective rooms.

–Go on, go on, change before your grandma disinherits me.– Hideyoshi ushered Inari and Hikari ahead, both boys already tugging at the sleeves of their modern shirts with dramatic groans.

–Are we gonna sword-fight after?– Inari asked, hopeful.

–Only with chopsticks.– Hideyoshi winked.

–Boring.–

Raizen had taken one look at the hakama folded on the futon and quietly begun dressing without protest, efficient as ever.

Hikari and Inari, naturally, began putting their legs through the sleeves and trying to swap obi sashes like it was a trading game.

–Hold still! This one’s for your waist, not your forehead.– Hideyoshi tried to correct, already wearing his own kimono askew thanks to Hikari’s earlier tug-of-war affection. His collar hung sideways. –Why are you both crawling on the ceiling?–

Ame, meanwhile, had latched herself to Misaki’s hip like ivy to stone.

–Grandma, help me dress like a princess.– she said, soft and sweet.

For Ame, Misaki bent without hesitation.

–Of course, little flower. Turn around. Arms up. I made you one with foxes on it.

While children whirled around the house like small tornados in silk, Ivy emerged from their shared room in a crimson yukata, one hand still tying the back, the other struggling with an earring.

She peeked over the screen to find Indra still seated cross-legged on the floor, dark fabric stretched across his lap, unbothered.

–You’ve got five minutes before Mom comes in here and accuses you of dishonoring the gods again.

–I’m folding the sleeves properly this time.– he replied without lifting his head.

–She’ll say you looked better dead than wrinkled.–

–She wouldn’t be wrong.

Ivy leaned on the frame, watching him.

His shirt was already off, and his back glinted with old, thin scars that had long since faded into patterns. Neat rows of tendon and shadow, carved and proud.

Then she saw it—the comb.

–You’re tying it up.

–It’s easier this way.– Indra said plainly, brushing through the long strands with steady strokes. –Your mother said it looked unkempt last time.–

–That was four years ago.

–She remembers.

With slow, practiced movements, he gathered the brown mass high at the crown, twisted, and bound it with a crimson cord.

He looked... composed.

Dangerous, yes—but in that quiet, ritualistic way of old generals preparing for temple festivals.

–You look like a husband on good behavior.– Ivy teased, adjusting his collar once he was dressed.

–I look like a man planning survival.

–Same thing around here.

When they stepped out together, the hallway quieted just a little.

Raizen was already done, sleeves perfectly aligned, hair smoothed back.

Inari and Hikari stood at war, obi sashes still mismatched and both claiming they looked better “like ninjas.”

Hideyoshi, now fully consumed, was being used as a human balance beam by both twins.

–Grandpa’s back is breaking!– Inari howled.

–No respect for the elderly!– Hideyoshi cried, dramatic. –I have fought in at least two wars. Of love. And taxes.–

Ame swished in behind them, serene in her fox-patterned kimono, her tiny hand in Misaki’s as if she’d always belonged at her side.

And then Misaki looked up.

Her eyes swept across the children, lingered briefly on Ivy with a faint nod of approval… and then locked on Indra.

The ponytail bought him five seconds.

Then:

–You’ve grown paler. Less sunlight? Less conscience?

–I haven’t seen the sun in months, Misaki.– Indra answered, polite.

–That explains the permanent scowl.

–I call it my marriage glow.

Ivy’s hand twitched near her mouth.

She did not laugh. Barely.

–You still wear too much black. This house is sacred. Death wears no shoes here.

–I took them off at the door.

–But you brought them in your heart.

Indra bowed faintly.

–I apologize. I will meditate by the koi pond at dawn.

–Good. With cold water. And regret.

Hideyoshi, tangled in a twin's leg, called from the tatami:

–Alright! Everyone into the main room! Dinner’s next! Let’s all be a family and pretend this is normal!

The long, low table sat under the flickering glow of old lanterns.

A full spread of countryside dishes covered every inch—pickled vegetables, roasted sweet potatoes, grilled river fish, enough to satisfy even Hikari’s heroic appetite.

The children dove in like they'd been starved for weeks, all save for Raizen, who politely poured tea for his grandmother before settling in with quiet grace.

Ame had been seated beside Misaki by unanimous and uncontested decision, perched like a princess in her fox-print kimono.

Inari and Hikari, seated beside Hideyoshi, were alternating between stuffing their mouths and whispering war plans.

One of them had a shrimp tail behind his ear.

No one knew how it got there.

Indra sat near the end of the table, back straight, sleeves perfectly folded, posture impeccable.

And yet somehow, to Misaki’s hawk-like gaze, he may as well have slouched. –You’re holding your chopsticks like a barbarian.–

Indra blinked.

He hadn’t even touched them yet.

–Thank you, Misaki. I’ll be sure to fail your expectations consistently.–

–You do, without even trying.–

Across the table, Ivy elbowed him lightly, her expression too neutral to be innocent.

She hadn’t said a word since they sat down, but her chopsticks conveniently kept finding his plate.

–You’re stealing from me.– he murmured.

–I’m softening your sins.– she answered, stealing another piece of simmered lotus root.

Misaki took a sip of tea like she hadn’t noticed.

She absolutely had.

Hideyoshi, now acting as an emotional buffer with the skill of a hostage negotiator, clapped his hands once.

–A toast to family! To everyone who survived the drive, the tradition, and the twins!–

–To Grandpa’s spine.– Inari added, raising a grilled mushroom.

–It’s holding by faith and vinegar.– Hideyoshi grinned.

Raizen gave a small nod of amusement and passed Ame a new set of smaller chopsticks.

Ivy leaned in and whispered something into Indra’s ear just as he was about to sip his tea. –Don’t flinch. Mom's about to ask you why your hands are so calloused again.

–They’re not.

–Doesn’t matter.

A beat.

–Indra.– Misaki said, calm as a storm.

He set the cup down slowly.

–Yes, Misaki.

–You haven’t brought a gift.

–I brought your daughter. And your grandchildren.

–I asked for something thoughtful.

Hideyoshi coughed into his sleeve, eyes darting anywhere but the conversation.

Inari whispered, “She’s gonna kill him,” to Hikari, who whispered back, “He’ll respawn.”

Ivy stabbed a piece of eggplant and slid it onto Indra’s plate.

–Eat. It’s your only defense.

He did.

Quietly. Dignified.

Possibly with regret.

–Do you even enjoy this food, Indra? Or would you prefer... a rare steak with blood on it?– Misaki’s tone was dry, as if she suspected him of moonlighting as a vampire.

–This is wonderful. Thank you.

–Don’t lie at my table.

–Then it’s slightly under-seasoned.

A hush.

Then, Hideyoshi, like the hero he always tried to be, raised his voice—

–More rice, anyone? Oh look, Inari dropped tofu into the miso again! Let’s all focus on that and not the rising tension between ancient rivals across this sacred table!–

Ivy turned to Indra, whispering behind her fan. –Should I trip her down the stairs? Accidentally, of course.-

–You wouldn’t survive the trial.

–You’d defend me.

–I’d take the blame.

–That’s romantic.

Misaki looked up suddenly. Her gaze slid between them like a blade.

–What are you whispering about.

Indra bowed slightly, serene as ever. –Your eternal beauty.-

–You must want to die.

–Always in good company, Misaki.

Ame giggled beside her, still unaware she was cuddled up next to a battlefield.

Steam clung to the wooden walls as the warm water ran over their hands, bowls clinking softly in the washbasin.

Ivy stood with her sleeves tied up, drying the dishes her mother handed her.

Outside, the cicadas sang like the countryside’s very pulse, unbothered by generational tension.

Misaki had said nothing for a while, but it wasn’t silence—just simmering.

–He’s gotten better at taking it.– she said finally, tone even, eyes locked on the soapy bowl she scrubbed.

Ivy blinked. –Who? Dad?–

–Indra.

There was a beat of amusement before Ivy folded the towel over a lacquered plate. –Takes it like a soldier. You should see his face every time you speak.–

–I do. That’s the point.

Another plate.

Another silence.

–You do know I don’t actually want him dead.– Misaki added, quietly.

–I figured, around the third year.– Ivy said, fighting a smile.

Misaki’s lips twitched—barely there, like a ripple on still water.

–I was wary. You were young, quiet, idealistic. He was... dangerous. Or, seemed to be.

–He is dangerous.– Ivy muttered, folding a towel. –But he’s also the man who makes bento for the kids when I forget, and always asks if I’ve had water that day. The man who lets our daughter believe she’s driving a truck, and who never once missed a school event, no matter the blood on his hands. He’s mine, and he’s stayed. Always stayed.–

Misaki rinsed the next bowl in silence.

–You chose well.– she said softly. –He’s held your heart like it’s glass, and your children like they’re gold. I see that. I see him. Beneath the jaw and the glare and the horrible way he holds chopsticks.–

Ivy’s smile curled slow and warm. –You’re allowed to say you like him.–

–I don’t like him.– Misaki shot back, quickly. –I respect him. I tolerate him. I admire his ability to withstand me. But I will never say it to his face.–

–Because?–

–Because it’s fun watching him suffer.– she deadpanned.

Ivy burst out laughing, nearly dropping the plate. Misaki didn’t flinch.

–Don’t you ever tell him I said anything kind. Not a word. I will deny it. I will say you were delusional from rice wine fumes. I will double my attacks just to reassert dominance.

–You’re the devil.– Ivy grinned.

–I’m your mother.

–Same difference.

They both paused as Ame’s soft voice echoed from the other room, followed by the rumbling bass of Indra’s low reply, soothing, patient.

Misaki handed over the final bowl, a rare flicker of emotion softening her face.

–You built something good, Ivy.– she said quietly. –Don’t let him forget that you’re the one who built it.

–I won’t.

Misaki turned back to the sink, eyes dry but gentle.

–Now go help him. He looks like he’s losing the war to three children and a mochi.

The room Misaki had prepared for them was… suspiciously perfect.

The sliding door opened to a space that smelled of cedar and rice paper, the futon wide enough for two, the tatami swept so carefully it felt ceremonial.

Warm candlelight bathed the low-beamed ceiling in gold, and a brazier in the corner crackled quietly, perfuming the air with hints of sandalwood.

There were fresh robes. Extra blankets. Two sets of slippers arranged with infuriating precision.

–She’s mocking us.– Indra murmured, stepping inside with an amused twitch at the corner of his mouth.

–She’s being polite.– Ivy said behind him, kicking off her socks with a sigh. –In the most terrifying way possible.–

He crouched near the brazier, checking the coals even though they were perfect, of course.

His mother-in-law wouldn’t allow imperfect.

Ivy moved behind the screen, already tugging at the obi tied around her waist. Her voice floated back to him, light and still half-laced with laughter.

–I don’t think she called you a war criminal once today. That’s a record.

–She’s pacing herself.– Indra replied, peeling his own robes off with mechanical ease, folding each piece neatly before exchanging them for the cotton yukata left out for him. –Tomorrow she’ll find new material. The calluses on my hands, maybe. The way I breathe.–

–You do breathe very dictatorially.– Ivy teased, stepping back into the room with her hair loosely braided over one shoulder, wearing one of the soft old yukatas she always used here. Familiar. Homely.

She looked like she belonged in this room, more than the warmth or the light itself.

Indra watched her cross the space with that look he reserved only for her—quiet, grounding, as if her very presence recalibrated something inside him.

She slipped under the covers first, curling onto her side as he moved to blow out the candles.

Shadows gathered at once, softening every harsh edge of the day.

He settled in beside her, body curling in a half-moon around hers, his arm finding its way beneath her head, his other hand resting low on her waist like muscle memory.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Just breathing. The slow, layered silence of the countryside wrapping around the room.

–You’re not offended, right?– Ivy whispered finally. –By her.–

–No.– His voice was low, as always, that same unshaken calm. –I’m grateful for her honesty. I’d rather be disliked for who I am than respected for who I pretend to be.–

She smiled into his chest.

–You’re not disliked.

–Feared, then.

–Not feared either. Watched like a tiger, maybe.– She tilted her head, her fingers brushing the inside of his wrist. –But not feared.–

His thumb moved slowly against her back, drawing a line over the fabric.

–She loves you.– he said, quieter now. –You and the children. That’s all that matters to me.–

–And she loves you too, in her own way.

–I don’t need her to.– he murmured. –But I like that she does. Even if she only lets it show through scolding.–

–She told me not to let you find out.

–Too late.

Ivy chuckled under her breath, and the sound vibrated through his ribs.

He turned slightly, leaning down to press a kiss into her temple, just above her braid.

They lay like that for a while longer, his fingers tracing idle patterns against her spine, her legs tangling more deeply around his. The kind of silence that only comes when everything is exactly as it should be.

–They’re going to want pancakes tomorrow morning.– Ivy said sleepily.

–I’ll make them.– he offered.

–You’ll burn them.

–I’ll try not to.

–You’ll still burn them.

He smiled into her hair.

–Then I’ll make the tea instead.

The next morning smelled of woodsmoke and responsibility.

The sun had barely breached the low mountains when Indra padded into the old-style kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair already tied into that precise, high tail he'd silently adopted ever since that comment Misaki made four years ago—“You’d look less like a wild dog if you simply brushed it back.”

He had, every visit since.

The kitchen was serene. Peaceful.

A war zone waiting to happen.

He surveyed the counter: fresh eggs in a basket, flour, a small jar of honey Ivy had brought from the city, milk Misaki must’ve set out at dawn.

Everything in delicate porcelain bowls like it was an imperial tea ceremony.

He began with measured care.

Whisked. Mixed. The pan, old and seasoned, sat heating over the coals. He poured the batter with intention. Control.

A small hiss as it hit. So far, so good.

Then came the smell.

The wrong smell.

A little too smoky. A little too soon.

He flipped.

Slightly blackened edge.

Tch.

Another try.

Too early. Pancake torn.

Tch.

Again.

Meanwhile—

From the other room, laughter, footsteps, a chaotic stampede of youth.

The twins were fighting with fans stolen from the decorative stand.

Ame glued to Misaki’s side like some tiny floral-clad parasite.

Raizen quietly pulled a splinter from the shoji frame while Hideyoshi pretended not to notice.

Then that voice came.

Sharp. Inevitable.

–Something’s burning.– Misaki announced from the hall like a thunderclap dressed in silk.

Indra didn’t flinch.

He turned the next pancake with perfect calm.

It looked… edible. Not beautiful.

Certainly not Misaki-approved.

She stepped into the kitchen without hurrying. Her hair tied up, robe folded flawlessly, eyes already narrowed like a hawk circling a carcass.

She looked at the pan. Then at the growing stack.

–Charcoal cakes. Delightful.

–Pancakes.– Indra corrected, without looking at her.

–Is that so?

–Yes.– He flipped another. This one wasn’t half bad.

Misaki leaned closer, inspecting the stack like a general surveying enemy lines.

–You have all the ingredients of a perfectly capable man. A steady hand. Strong wrist. Eyes that see too much. And yet you somehow still manage to ruin something meant for children.

–I’ve improved.– Indra replied, unfazed.

–You’ve added honey to mask the char.

–Strategic compensation.

–So that’s what you call failure in your world.

–I call it adjustment.

There was a pause. A stare. Like swords being drawn behind silk.

Then Ivy’s voice floated in from the hall—

–Are they edible, love?–

–Yes.– Indra answered instantly.

–Barely.– Misaki said, not missing a beat.

Indra placed a plate gently on the wooden counter.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was a pancake.

Sort of. Maybe.

Misaki picked it up, tore a piece with the ferocity of a judge pronouncing sentence, and bit down.

Chewed.

Paused.

Swallowed.

–You didn’t burn the honey this time.

Indra looked at her calmly.

–Thank you, Misaki. Always a pleasure cooking for you.

–You should stick to tea.– she said, but turned, walking away with the plate still in hand.

From the other room, Hideyoshi peeked in.

–She took one!– he whispered gleefully. –That’s a win, boy! That’s a win!–

Indra sighed and reached for the teapot.

War was a long game.

The house was loud again—but it was their loud now.

Shoes were kicked off without aim, backpacks dropped in the middle of the hallway.

Ivy moved like a hurricane through the rooms, commanding order while still half-laughing at the mess they’d brought back with them.

The washer churned in protest from the weight of muddy countryside clothes, and the dryer beeped at inconsistent intervals, like it too was exhausted.

Inari ran past in a towel, dripping wet, yelling something about Hikari stealing his shirt. Hikari yelled back from the bathroom about how it was technically his because he wore it first.

Raizen was quiet, slipping into his room and closing the door with a sigh only teenagers knew how to perfect.

Ame clung to her mom's waist like a sleepy vine, cheeks pink from the warm shower Ivy had given her.

Indra was folding clothes. Meticulously.

The task was beneath him in principle, but in execution, he found a strange peace in it. His fingers smoothed each shirt like they were silk robes.

He glanced at Ivy across the room, her own hair damp, her voice low and rhythmic as she got Ame into pajamas.

The house smelled of lavender detergent, steamed rice, and shampoo.

By the time the last drawer was shut and the last sock reunited with its pair, it was well past ten.

The lights dimmed room by room until only the bedroom remained.

Ivy sat propped against the headboard, scrolling through her phone, one leg curled beneath the other, her robe loose around her knees.

Indra entered quietly, drying his hair with a towel.

He dropped it over the back of a chair, then climbed into bed beside her with a long exhale. His weight pulled the mattress toward him; she leaned without thinking, without looking.

Their routine.

He reached for his phone, scrolled until he found the right name, and pressed it.

–What now.– came Madara’s voice, immediately suspicious.

–You have the meetings tomorrow. I’m still recovering.

–You’re already home.

–Physically. Spiritually, I’m in a ditch behind their house, next to the koi pond.

–She broke you again, didn’t she.

–She complimented my discipline. Then said my posture looked weak.

Ivy snorted softly beside him. -You were weak by that point.-

–Is that Ivy? Tell her she’s a saint.

–He says you’re a saint.– Indra relayed, deadpan.

–Tell him I’ll remember that next time he needs help with a cover story.

–She says next time you get caught transporting stolen diamonds, you’re on your own.

–Ingrates.

Indra hung up before Madara could retaliate.

He tossed the phone aside and sighed, dragging a hand over his face.

Ivy kept scrolling.

–So… spiritually dead, huh.

–Buried. Decorated. Memorial built.

–You do realize she made you tea before we left?

–Yes. That was her eulogy.

Ivy nudged his shoulder, amused, then lowered her phone, locking it.

–I thought you handled it well.

–She told me our dog obeyed commands better than I did.

–We don’t even have a dog...

–Exactly.

They were silent momentarily, the kind that felt earned after a long, chaotic day.

Ivy found her way to his chest, Indra’s arm curled under her neck, head resting on his shoulder, breath steady. He kissed her hair.

–You ever think we’re just keeping the world together with laundry and lies?– he muttered.

Ivy smiled, eyes closed.

–Yes. And we’re doing an incredible job.

#naruto shippuden #naruto #naruto imagines #uchiha clan #uchiha ivy #indra otstusuki #otsutsuki indra #indra #uchiha raizen #uchiha inari #uchiha hikari #uchiha ame #mafia au #madara uchiha #uchiha madara #madara #my ocs #ocs #oc

20 notes · View notes