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themareverine · 1 month ago

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Top Eight | worst!Logan x namelessfem!OC

warnings: mentions of sex, body insecurity, weightloss, confidence issues, domestic bliss and fluff, namelessOC has blue eyes.

a/n: in celebration of me discovering I've dropped eleven frickin' pounds off the BMI chart, I decided to share the news with Logan, and yourself. please enjoy my domestic fantasy. this really isn’t a drabble but I’m classifying it as such.

There’s little better God has created in the world than coming home to a house alive with music, laughs, and the thick swirl of joy chasing the air. Fall hangs out the window in a tapestry of orange leaves, skittering to the ground on chill winds, cluttering the sidewalk like ill-fitting, everyone’s-a-little-different puzzle pieces.

Blankets of fog have hung in the air every morning. Leaves and grass are wet, burdened with thick, cold mud that stings—the type of cold that sinks all the way down to bone, should you be standing between it. And Logan tries to remember a time when, as a child, he didn’t care about the frigid mud between his toes—didn’t mind the mess, innocence of childhood wrapped up in exploration and whimsy.

Simpler times. Suburban life greets him at the door of what, at one point in his life, would be knife’s edge unfathomable—a duplex. Butter yellow with little white trim around the windows. Big oaks in the front and back yard, primly divided by white privacy fences so tall they challenge heaven. Summer had proudly boasted a colorful troop of flowers in that window box facing the street, the one that allows for the smallest peek into his small kingdom, if you looked hard enough. Prepared for winter, adirondack chairs have been swept away into the garage, all traces of outside living shut up for the Goliath of winter that looms with each passing day.

The corner of his mouth tips up at the arrangement proudly displayed on the front door. It’s Fall Y’all! hangs in his face, all domesticity. Glitter and pumpkins, a cute little red-and-white-pickup. Evidence of a woman’s touch, more and more. Bearing down on his life like Egyptians chariots forcing Moses against the sea, every day he approaches the house— there’s a little more charm. A little more whimsy, order. More color and life and more her, all things he never in his longest, maddest dreams would begin thinking were missing from him. But now they are so familiar, such welcome soldiers to his little army of living, that he can’t imagine going without.

And Logan will never not love the fact he doesn’t have to knock on this door. He opens it, twisting the knob that’s cool against the thick callouse of his hand. Jacket heavily draped over his arm, habit knocks his boots against the doorframe, adding to the collection of scuffs already there from the hundred other times he’s done this same thing. And it is the same come-home routine, but he doesn’t mind. Shake his head at whatever seasonal decor greets him on the door. Slip in, knock his boots. Hang his jacket on the hook behind the door, with his keys–next to hers. Because she’s been home all day, working on that frickin’ computer, making her little creative world run in the little ways she does that he’ll never understand.

About to shed his vest, Logan pauses. Claws on wooden floors from the 50s flick his attention down, to his feet. The ménage à trois of three scampering sets of paws tip up the corner of his mouth into a small smirk, watching the troop of hair, wagging tail and slobber all bull rushing him like cannonballs. And they are not small creatures, by any stretch—a bloodhound. St. Bernard. Doberman, all looking at him with bright eyes as if he’s the best thing they’ve seen all day.

Which is the farthest thing from true, because she’s been here. Locked up in his Fort Knox all hours of sunshine, doing all the things he’d give his right arm to spend his days doing with her. Domestic bliss. It’s sick, really—kinda insane. For a man who has prided himself the last 200 years on destruction, a man who has traveled through time to claim a world that isn’t his, it’s disturbing that this idea of life is so…saccharine. Perfect. Eden.

Scratching behind each set of ears, movement in the heart of the house triggers his gaze up. Down the corridor to the kitchen, where he cal all but taste what’s for dinner. It floods him with a warmth he can’t quite put a finger on, rousts something in his guts that is good. Fire that’s delicious, heat that promises. Standing, he manages off his boots, all three canines looking at him. Expressions cocked, they wait. Expectantly.

“Where is she, fellas? Mama ‘round somewhere, huh?” A flick of his hand beyond them sends the troop off like a shot—slipping and sliding on the pretty rugs she’s laid out in the foyer, sending them against the walls in fat piles of fabric that makes his eyes roll. On socked feet, he fixes them. She likes them pretty and neat, and if she likes it, well—whatever his girlie wants, she gets.

About to call for her, he doesn’t expect the slingshot of curl that attacks him from the front room, “Hi, babe!” Out the french doors like a racehorse, her girlish smile and bright eyes assault him less than seriously, bouncing laughter loud and fresh and strong, like mountains on an open-sky day. Very suddenly the events of his day are improved, work all but forgotten as she wraps her arms around his middle. Rests her chin against his chest, looking up at him with the full weight of the universe hanging in her eyes. In heartbeats, she manages to change another Thursday into the Thursday—the Thursday to challenge all others even known to his existence.

And since he’s known her, that’s what she is–changing. A fresh wind, moving clouds and rearranging the sky. Rivers that carry him away to faraway lands, anywhere that isn’t the onyx abyss of his memories, which are so black and white and unalive without her. His hand moves to run fingers through curl, which are still damp from a late-afternoon shower. Color that lingers on her cheeks matches that barely-there smattering of that vanilla protein powder she loves on her lips when he kisses her. Means one thing, his favorite thing—the thing they’d been doing for nearly six months.

Greeting her with a smile and a, “Hey, baby,” will never tire to infinity. Leaning back against his arms cradled around her midsection, pressing her close, Logan all but craves the sparkle of sapphire hanging out in her eyes. They catch his, holding him hostage—every day he has to rediscover how to breathe. Think, move past the ache in his cock that she somehow manages to produce at a subliminally level just by existing.

And his lips part to ask her about her day, another part of this thing they call life. Until she reaches around to the back pocket of her jeans, her favorites, the one’s she won’t stop wearing and has at least three extras squirreled-away to that spot in the closet they don’t speak of. That spot next to the neon-colored heels he knows she thrifted but hasn’t ever shared, the lingerie she’s holding onto that’s been driving him itchin’ mad since he’d peeked at it. And while he adores everything about her, her ability to wait for just the right moment to share things she’s excited about has to be one of his favorite things on the planet.

“So, before you speak,” her finger comes to press against the seal of his lips, other hand proudly producing a folded square of paperwork between her index and middle finger, “I have amazing news. The biggest news–the best news of the whole week.” Her brows bounce, emphasizing her excitement as her low lip curls in. Logan watches her bite the inside of her cheek, thinks it’s just about the sexiest thing in the world aside from the little scrunch of her nose, how her glasses sit a little lopsided from where she’s rested her forehead against his chest.

Really all he could use right now is another taste of her to make his week, but, he plays the adjective game. “Oh yeah?” A chuckle rattles the adamantium of his ribs as she steps out of his arms, takes his hand to guide him into the kitchen. She releases him only when her socked feet hit the wooden floor, making a show of sliding to a stop opposite the island from him.

Babytalking the dogs at her feet, his sweet little thing of a girl backs up against the sink, her tongue teasing the front of her bottom teeth as she unfolds the paper. It’s like magnetism, the way he wants her–he’s drawn, like creatures to fire, around the island. To her side. Touching her, breathing in her closeness. And he prays to God it will always be like this—he’ll always want her, she’ll always look at him like he has been carved from bronze. That this little life in Hoboken, New Jersey, never says die.

“I had a doctor’s appointment today,” the little lilt in her tone is so clear, they’d hear it from Mars if anyone had the brains to listen, “and, I just have to say this, Logan—really. This has to be like, a top eight life moment for me, what I’m about to tell you.” Playing with a dog-eared corner of the paper, her eyes flick up to hold his in limbo, again. Smiling eyes have all but chiseled away any remaining stone of his heart, and he’d gladly carve whatever may remain out of his own ribs and give it to her, should she ask, “And I’ll say this as a warning. If you aren’t nearly as excited about this as me, well—I’ll be forced to divorce you and move in with Wade and Althea.”

And he laughs at her. His single favorite quality of life since running into what’s-his-face-pool and saving this realm has been the rediscovery of laughing, of feeling beyond the numbness. She made him laugh the day he found her, discovered her like some fool digging around the dirt of the everyday, and she hadn’t stopped. And Logan Howlett has never taken pride in being a hardass, but—his ass is a little less hard, these days. How could it be. Her standing there, looking like she does? Wanting him, seeking him? Him? The damn Wolverine—the worst Wolverine.

His brow pops to attention. “Is that right?” His finger crooks one of her belthoops, tugging her hip against his gently, “a little harsh, but, I accept your terms, taskmaster.” Her eyes roll to the ceiling and his chin gestures to the paper. After a second of weighing her words, he snags her chin between his fingers and gives her a Really? expression. “Hold the fuckin’ phone—a top eight? You have a top eight list of life events?” He snorts, “And I didn’t know about it?”

Her eyes flash with brazen darkness enough to shame the witching hour. A firm nod, even between his fingers. Her hip pops out, just a little. “Mhm, eight.” Still holding the paper, she offers a blatantly over dramatic look of desire, her head tipping back just a little as she brushes close. Done-up nails gently graze through his facial hair, before she flashes him eight—a palm, thumb and index finger somehow still managing to hold the paper keeping him in suspense.

Beginning to tick off fingers, he listens with amusement. Driver’s license, college. Her first publication as a freelancer. Her first car payment. Paying off her student debt, meeting her idol, Charles Xavier, a man who’s work on mutant and human coalitions she’d been devouring since forever. Meeting him, marrying him and buying a house. Technically that was nine, but, she explained—a bunch of life events landed under the Logan tab, which made him chuckle and shake his head.

“Finished?” He nods to the paper again. “You gonna tell me this life changing, top-eight news or what?” For a second his heart does an all-stop as she nods, the corner of her lip tucking in under her teeth.

From here Logan can taste the adrenaline in her blood, the joy—the buzz of something pumping through her like a pistoning locomotive, charting new territories. And before he can think, before he can bridle his own wagging tongue, “You pregnant, darlin’?” punches off his tongue like a cage fighter.

Two things he should’ve known off the shot—pregnancy announcements usually involved a piss stick, not paper. Two, that something so mountainous would not have waited for him to breeze through the door. Not her style, not by a country mile—she’d stopped off at his job site with lunch just to announce the last payment on her student debt, complete with cheesecake and those cute little pocket bottles of Jack Daniels. She made a big deal out of everything, and he wouldn’t have –could not survive– it any other damn way.

Slackjaw, for a second he thinks the hinge of her jaw might start swinging before she hauls off to slap his shoulder, the rings on her fingers passing by in a blur of turquoises, yellows, oranges and silvers as a squealing, “Logan!” shoots out of her like the fountain of youth—makes him laugh, again, as he grabs her hand in his and hauls to his lips. Presses a kiss to the heel of her palm, “No, Wolvie—haven’t managed to knocked me up quite yet, thanking you.” And that name—it punches the wind right out of his lungs, sends every ounce of mutant fucking blood right to his cock, all at once.

It’s not a serious thanks, he knows. Been off-the-cuff talking about getting pregant for a handful of months, tossing the idea back and forth. It was the reason behind the duplex, family planning—and he hadn’t fought the idea of redoing the spare room. Shoving her office into the corner of their suite. It’d been a year, she was thirty, now, had been ringing off these walls like a canyon echo. Biological clock ticking off the walls of her womb, apparently, even though she didn’t fucking age—thanks to mutation, his mutation left behind in her blood a lifetime ago.

Source of one too many arguments back and forth, they hadn’t quite decided to make an effort not to get pregnant. An ugly IUD hung between them like unscalable Mount Olympus. Hands up in surrender, he tries not to chuckle as she plants the paper in between them, in both hands. Sapphire blues cast down to it, triggering his attention downward as well. A heartbeat before her head pops back up, all smiles and piglet pink cheeks.

“Guess who just knocked eleven points off the BMI chart?” And there it is.

Certainly a different tone of subject than the one before, Logan can’t help the look of surprise that smacks across his face—she is all but giddy. Pressing the paper to her chest, she rising on toes and begins to bounce, like a rabbit, up and down in a way that springs her hair every direction. Her shrieks of excitement are loud enough to wake the dead, but, he’d have a better time freezing hell over, if he’d wanted to. Spinning in a exuberant circle, the ruckus sends all three of their dogs into the kitchen, bouncing around her like she’s deserving of worship. A goddess. His goddess.

She’d only been killing herself in their garage gym since they’d bought the place a little over a year ago. Plagued with one of those New Year’s resolutions, she’d committed to exercise like a duck commits to water—and Logan hadn’t ever seen someone try to hard, not in a long time. Never one really faced with the issue of having to maintain physical maintenance, thanks to genetic mutation, a workout regiment hadn’t really ever crossed his mind—natural circumstances kept him lean. He’d been alive for 200 years, could abuse his body any way he wanted, and it just–was. A lucky son of a bitch, but, he’d never paused to consider that it wasn’t that way for everyone else.

So when she’d all but pleaded for a home gym, he’d folded fast. Like a bad hand. Her body had certainly never been an issue between them—he worshiped every curve, could build monuments how often his mind drifted to just fucking her within an inch of sanity. Each scar, every single solitary divot, right down to the pores on her face. Not magazine beautiful or classically Hollywood, her own admission had almost gutted him.

A girl-next-door, down-to-earth pretty sent him to pieces in ways that Logan would sooner carve out his open spine than share—she ravaged him. Like a dog, licking at the marrow of his bones. The weight of her eyes alone, cutting through his misgivings, trailblazing his insecurities as a man. She was perfect in every phenomena, every realm and bend of time. Designed for him, by Christ Himself—the most gorgeous fucking thing on two legs, he didn’t need billboards or Vogue or the silver screen to set standard yet untenable to the majority. Determined long ago that there’d never be another for him, that he could never love any other soul–worship anatomy—quite like he did her.

He’d never complained. Hell thrived with such foolishness. He bought the gym equipment, though, mostly because he knew in the long run, it would be better. If not for him, then for her—he was happy. HEr happiness may as well have been the air his body craved. He’d set up the gym on a weekend, learned to park his Jeep outside. Had learned to help her bandage injuries and balance proteins and carbs, listened to her cry over numbers on a tiny scale that didn’t really matter. But, never complained.

And Logan had noticed the change about her anatomy—the little definitions of curve, the way she moved. She didn’t always, but he knew—when he held her close, made love to her. Difference, even in its smallest form, was still changing. Lighter on her feet, stronger when it came to helping do whatever it was she determined to assist with. Her clothes fit a little differently, the line of her jaw a little sharper. But, skies above that was her confidence.

Always had opposed his reserved and calculated stoicism, a spicy little firecracker of a thing that took what she wanted and could talk to fenceposts. But, she’d always sparkled differently. It was like weighing the moon against the sun—she just sparkled better. Moved a little sexier, blazes a little hotter. Not quite the North Star, but a close second—somewhere in his guts he feared she’d wake up one morning, realize she was hot as sin, and leave his ass for what’s-his-face from the Greatest Showman or someone on television.

Her fingers curl into his arms as she bounces a little more on her toes, pride all but beaming from the pink dusting across the bridge of her nose. “Me, it’s me!” Childlike laughter bubbles out of her like a brook, hot and alive, and he can’t help the swell of pride. “After eight fricking months, it’s me,” she blows out a breath, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, “y’know, honestly, I didn’t think any of it was actually doing all that much—i’ve only dropped thirty pounds on the scale, which doesn’t seem like a lot in eight months, but–you were right, Lo! It turned to muscle, you were right!”

He nods, smile growing to a painful wide that he isn’t sure is amusement, or pride. “‘Course I was right,” he stresses, his tone low as he dips his head to brush his nose against the end of hers. Smiling into the kiss she presses to his mouth, he lifts an arm into flex before grabbing her chin between his fingers and taking her full attention, “Don’t get definition like this not knowin’ what you’re talking about, baby.” Lies. Teasing lies. He hadn’t so much as thought of a fucking dumbbell since that time before some God-forsaken war.

Pouty lips pull her eyes back to his, and he can see the muscle in her jaw tick with the effort not to grin. Heartbeats, and his arms snake around her middle again, fingers teasing the hem of her shirt. “I’m proud of you, kid,” and he hasn’t called her that since God knew, likes the way it darkens the little flush on her cheeks. “Guess I’d better work a little harder keeping you close to home. Can’t have you skippin’ out on this whole little domestic thing we’ve got going,” he shrugs a shoulder, “what would the dogs do without you?”

Giggling again, her shoulders pop up and down in a little happy shift, he takes her arms and guides them around his neck, “The dogs, huh? Is that right?” Her nose scrunches up again, eyes snapping to life as she steps onto his toes, enough for him to shuffle them out of the kitchen, towards the living space, “You think I’d leave you just because I get sexy?” It’s not a serious question, the flutter of low lashes testifies as he stops them in the middle of the living room, toes curling into the plush carpet as her head cants to the side, like a curious puppy. “And lose my bet with Wade? Don’t know me at all, do you, Wolverine?”

God only wishes. He knew parts of her the world would never. And he smiles, snorting a little at the thought of their entire relationship hinging on a bet with Wilson, the fucking idiot he is. That feels like a lifetime ago, riding life out in a dingy apartment. Blind Al as company, Wilson as a fucking landlord. If he counted back every red cent he’d paid in rent, it wouldn’t be enough for a grocery run—small mercies. Lifting a hand between them, he crooks a finger, chuckling as she eyeballs it for a second, weighing her options.

“I like to think I do,” and he does. She’s given him everything. And if she hasn’t—well. He can fix that. “You don’t got any secrets left, do you, darlin’? You’ve already seen my soul—only fair you let me see yours.” Tipping her chin up, he kisses her slowly. Angles his head for whatever depth he can pull her from, keens a little when her breathy moan chases the heat lighting up his adamantium skeleton like an inferno. Tasting the trace of that fucking protein mess on her tongue nearly brings him to his knees, fingers carding through her hair for as much purchase and possession he can find.

“I do have one,” she manages, a little breathless between nipping at his bottom lip and fighting with the buckle of his belt. With a Jezebel shove of her hand, she sends him down to the cushions of the couch—it protests, accepting his weight.

From beneath low lashes, her ocean blues trace the details of his face as she knees onto the couch, swings a leg over him. Pelvis to pelvis, her weight is divine. Lights him up like a damn electric wire. He can feel heat in his chest chasing after the adrenaline in his blood, can taste her, even from here.

Grabbing the front of her t-shirt between two fingers, he tugs her a little closer.

“What’s that?”

She chuckles, shifting a flirty shoulder. “My IUD? Gone,” she snaps her fingers, biting the corner of her lower lip. Eyes cutting to his mouth, she doesn’t hesitate–a heartbeat and she’s kissing him deeply, milking every little ache and moan creeping up the back of his throat. She sighs a little when his hand presses against her womb, thumb tracing the gentle spot beneath her belly button. “How’s that make you feel, Wolvie honey?” A light, flustered chuckle as he tucks hair behind her ear, rubs a curl between his fingers.

“Think you can handle a mini you making a mess of the world?”

Knocking his head back over the edge of the couch, his hands find her waist. Stills her before he closes his eyes, relishes the way she lathes her tongue along his pulse. And he’ll never know how it really makes him feel, because feeling is all but a rush of adrenaline when it comes to her—everything and nothing, a floating abyss of pleasure and home that, from the beginning of time, man has tried to describe. It’s all wrapped up in limbo, though–limbo and his ribs, jeans and a pretty face.

“Not sure,” his hand tucks behind her head and he flips them, forcing her into the couch before she can protest—before she and her eleven-points-off-the-chart can challenge any idea other than what he’s about to do to her.

“”Think we should find out, darlin’.”

tags: @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @fandomxo00

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chasedeys · 3 months ago

Note

Hi do you have a favorite moment between Joe and Ja’Marr ?? Also how would you describe their relationship I’m new to this fandom and they are just so close and adorable

hi there!! thank you sm for coming by and sending this ask bc now there's like 2k+ words under the cut 😭 i feel like i should apologize profusely for the unchecked word vomit oh my god

to start off, like would you believe me if i said i’ve been a fan of the bengals for like a month :')) started ts during the week leading up to the first regular season game when jamarrs contract literally gripped me with the drama of it all. so for all my word vomit below feel free to fact check me ahaha

you asked me for a favorite moment for joemarr and i start describing their entire life together i am so very sorry, but:

on the top of my head literally just two weeks ago. this 63 yarder jamarr and joe made that led to an mildly feral celly where they just. didn’t know how to act right and got made fun of for not doing a cool celly?? this insane anon ask i sent before i caved and made a sideblog was actually just my word vomit over it 😭. And also last weeks celly, a whole lot softer and more tender with jamarr skipping then walking straight towards joe who held his arms out for him? thats crazyyyy he was expected! he was welcomed!! he was loved!!! the way one of the fired up coach just let joemarr have their intimate little moment before slapping jamarrs shoulders in joy is also crazy to me 😵‍💫 and just this screenshot of that celly where they’re just wrapped around each other right in front of their sidelines. the fuck. watched that shit sick to my stomachhhh i had enoughhhh.

this edit with the compilation of their post-tds pinky shakes oh my goddd. just every time they do pinky shakes!! who does that!!!! the softest possible way they can make a handshake (since college my god) in a status quo where you make the most elaborate handshakes to look cool and spread joy and burn up adrenaline but these two chose to do a quick twist of their pinky fingers (the symbolism of it alllll how dare theyy) and pressing knuckles together for however long they want to. the roty award where they did their pinky shake is one of my favorites huhu

the lakers date…..the way i had no idea sam and dj reader were with them on this date until i see a full vid of lebron meeting them 😭 and the lore goes crazyyy for this whole thing bc apparently joe was having the shittiest week in arizona and jamarr made an obscure ig story that he arrived in az before deleting it (like whyyyy would he do that) and then boom. they’re in the lakers game in lsu/lakers colors. and jamarr did that arms around shoulder thing that blows my mind because what the fuck is wrong with him why would he do that in front of lebron james and anthony davis and like national tv idk. joe also clapped (??? for whatever reason this fucking dork my godd) his hands right in front of jamarrs face when jamarr was being introduced to the stadium.

THE WEIRD CLOTHES PAIRING THING IS INSANE TO ME TOO. they do it in such subtle ways that you just think its a coincidence and you're delusional and it probably is but!! but??? they went to the game wearing yellow and purple (color coordinating lakers colors!! if i were on a date i would also do that cringy shit!!) that is also coincidentally lsu colors! another theory is they each chose to wear lakers colors without the other knowing of which this is just another case of soulmatism. the matching shoes during week 3! the sort of matching color schemes for their away game airport fits! last week both wearing rick owens apparently idk?? no idea if they've done this before this season btw i just got here lol. this is reaching ofc but very fun to think of!

jamarr being batshit crazy with his words abt joe. 'he's like a god to me' 'trying playing without my favorite quarterback' 'i told him dont scare me like that again. he knows how to slide he's just hard headed' 'im here for the future, for him. i want you to be here for the future' (this was abt joe playing through an injury :)) etc etc. something about 'just keep winning as many championships together' or like 'me and him come as package' or something fairy tale ish like that idk man he's crazy i could make something up only to be bamboozled because he has in fact said shit like it before. and like his refusal to consider anyone but joe for the no. 1 qb hhh. somebody needs to put him in an mri and study his brain when shown a picture of joe burrow bc like?? the way jake had to prove himself before jamarr even followed him on ig is ??? pls be normal jamarr i beg of u (he's perfect the way he is).

while jamarrs insane with his words, joes insane with his actions!! the lsu sec championship ball he gave to jamarr. that little look like ‘hey you want it? okay its rightfully yours' mkayy crazy ass!!! jamarrs lsu championship game worn jersey joe asked for and worn for their first game back in nola. just what the fuck went through joes mind that led to this. their dads (both named jimmy both close since lsu too, cute!) were asked about their fav joe game day fit they said the jamarrs lsu jersey 😃! in laws approving your partner of choice etc. this is jimmy chases interview regarding joemarr too btw haha. anyway back to joe being insane—the demented way joe runs to jamarr and hops around him and slams his helmet to his when jamarr makes plays. and like again this is speculation as in no citation sorry but jamarrs reason for going to cincy is definitely in part because of joe?? joe being the one to text him pack your bags you’re going to cincy is crazyyy. firmly believe joe talked him up and asked for him! when they last parted before joe went to cincy did they make a pact that they would play in a team together again? did jamarr reach out when joes 2020 season ending injurys news reached him? did he watch him go down that first time?

also during their lsu days they interviewed the wr core and they were asked abt who joe likes best (stupid ass question in my opinion btw. why would they ask that), it was so....sooooo......like jamarr was so shy and unsure!! he's like 'is it..me?' and terrace going 'he does like throwing to jamarr most' and then jamarr bursting into embarrassed laughter like okay??? okay 😭😭 fine okay be cute or whatever. in my mind back then jamarr was a whole lot more unsure of his presence in joes life because hes super young, his qb is literally 3 years older, its their first year playing together etc but i think being joe being upfront on asking jamarr to play with him in cincy (again speculation on my part no idea if this is true ha) just cements the little gremlin in his head that believes he has to be crazy about joe

their 2021 preseason jamarrs drops were apparently disgusting enough for people to shit on his entire life idk and crucify the bengals for drafting another wr but joe was so firm on his belief in jamarr! that's devotion babyyyy his clap back in the first post game presser was very much what were u saying abt the loml coded love that for them

last feb probowl dramaaa rumors of jamarr moving to houston bc he chirped at cj stroud that he knew cj wanted to play with him or smtg so he had to post this very emotional very sincere tweet and speak abt it in an interview 😭😭 just head empty no thoughts mouth racing! joe probably teased the ever living shit out of him 'so you’re moving to houston without telling me :( i had to find out through twitter :(('

just teasing each other in numerous occasions over each others speed??? that mic'ed up moment when joe teased jamarr over being slow! yelling out his name so many times just to say that he was a little slow and jamarr shooting back instantly with an incredulous ‘be serious. be serious.’ vs jamarr nagging joe over being slow ass hell during his 20 (?) yard rushing attempt and joe defending himself in the whiniest voice i have ever heard from him saying he had to wait for ted to block before him (ted then going what did i do? ted I’m sorry you had to be dragged into their weird mating dance banter) and also this gem of a jamarr tweet (x)

speaking of jamarrs twitter, 17yo him’s curiouscat answers that insanely aligns with joe is nothing short of crazy. they have not met or heard of each other then i don't think. but according to it he likes them older, smart, doesn't mind if they're taller, but he doesn't fw long distance so he flew his ass to ohio 😮‍💨. (also whooo be sending these asks high schoolers dear lordd 😭). the soulmatism between them is kinda crazy like joe being well over 3yrs his senior yet still they had a moment chance to play together during jamarrs freshie/sopho (?) year in college because joe chooses to transfer to lsu, and coach o taking a chance on him despite not playing for how many long, winning a championship (!!) together for that one year that they could play together, and saying fuck that only one year bullshit before flying jamarrs ass right to cincy so they could play 4 and counting more years together.

jamarr talking abt where it apparently clicked for joe and jamarr that joe can throw to jamarr and jamarr would be right there to catch it haha. like he didn't give a shit if people thought it was joes big life changing moment hes just insisting that that was when he and joe really clicked!

literally my favorite mic'ed up moment between them. the teasing! the nagging! 'you see the big blue thing' 'don't do me that' 'that's the endzone' then the laugh!!!! ‘he’s gonna get mad at me when i tell him this shit' then gesturing joe over like hes a cat my god jamarr 'you couldnt overthrow me?' a very affronted 'my guy you were wide open' aughuhghuhhguu joy love laughter etc. (side note can't help myself sorry pretty sure the reason joe teased him about the endzone is bc jamarr could’ve gone for it but got tackled bc he was kinda slow to start sprinting and when he did he just sat there legs out shoulders dropped looking disappointed but cute as all hell i love him sm)

sooo many other moments because theyve literally been in each others lives for over five years!!!! recently joe saying jamarr playing is fun to watch 😵‍💫, jamarr saying numerous times that joes a tough mfer but also hard-headed and how he's also hard-headed but at least he listens (my guy....reflect again), that article of jamarr knocking on doors for a house near joe that he denied i think but he also said that he kept his stuff in joes house before he got his own, that jamarr gq shoot where he went insane and lied (or did he?) about buying joe clothes that just led to the ridiculous clothes saga that is still unsolved to this day and that tb and tee very obviously teased him over and somehow the socmed team clowned him on too 😭

etc etc stop me please

AND ANYWAYSSS MOVING ON:

how i would describe their relationship is ride or die with incredibly similar way of living by which i mean they live and breathe a sport they’re so talented in and they play to win and beat themselves up for doing bad in but also with the awkwardness of knowing they’re two vastly different people with different ways of seeing things and handling things but also even with that steadfast difference of being they also believe in each other in a truly outrageous way that it translates to them saying and being insane about each other (hence the list above) with little to no shame. (i hope this makes sense because im not reading all that over again wow)

like they’re so complicated to me!! by all means i don’t actually know these two or what they’re really like, but surface level they’re so different! their temperament is literally 180, joes cool and steady persona, incapable of being ruffled, closed off, moments of silliness he brings out only in certain situations, smart little quips he gives out at times like he can’t help himself vs exuberant open extroverted blustering to hide his shyness runs his mouth always down to fight jamarr chase. they couldn’t be more different! so how can they read each other so well? how can they run routes and plays with minute changes whilst running from men trying to take them down between one heartbeat to the next? how is it that jamarr is so down bad for this man that he can just say the shit he does about him? how much trust does joe have in this man that he shuts down every bad shit anybody tries to tell him or coax him to say? something about /always/ choosing the other despite everything is always a thing that attracts me to a ship.

also after that infamous kc game shove, i definitely think they had a very tough heart to heart where jamarr maybe spills his full feelings over the contract and how he hasn’t been getting the ball to actually make big plays and how his worth as a wr1 is being brought to question and joe probably spills on his own feelings on how jamarr held out so long and had last minute (?) changes of playing that week one ramps up joes own anxiety and hang ups like i definitely feel like he had some unchecked anxiety over playing with his wrist that first game that jamarr probably said something incredibly insane yet uplifting about in response. the next game its like they mended some unseen frayed stitch of their connection! first drive banger of a 41 yarder td for jamarr, two tuddys for the game in fact lol!! joe gets him his deep ball, then the insane way joe rushed at him after his 63 yarder in the next game, its like that first touchdown against minnesota again. i just wish the very best for them, to keep making these insane passes and insane runs they've been making since lsu.

anyway i feel like a lot of my rambling is for jamarr sorry 😭 he’s like a drug to me such an interesting person i base my thoughts around him. I feel obliged to say i wrote my first ever fic and its them lmao and i link this just as a fair warning to everyone that i very obviously write and ramble in the tags like im in love with jamarr, definitely with some bias, and I’m learning how not to be ashamed of that !

also nobody asked but scrolling through the hell that is my photo gallery i just have to share my favorite tee photo which is coincidentally the mock photoshoot the bengals socmed team made them do to clown jamarrs gq shoot ahaha

hearts ❤️ thank u for reading all the way through :"))

#this is.....so much.....sorry..........hyperfixations go crazy for me #just. using this as an archive for my fav joemarr moments ig 😭😭#also humbly asking you all who fully read this to ignore how many times i use the word insane or crazy. thank u :')#didn't reread to check anything esp the last bit so if u see spelling mistakes wonky links format etc look away too please thank you #a lot of these i didn't bother to link bc it was hell for me to even do it in the first place so :')#ask #joemarr #joe burrow #ja’marr chase #joemarr meta

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websterss · 11 months ago

Text

TILL DEATH DO US PART — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

REQUEST: okay so i’ve thought about sending requests your way and my mind came up blank except for a reversed-roles kinda thing for lockwood & co, in which that scene from the last episode where lucy goes to george to save him from the crazy lady (forgot her name) with the bone mirror, instead it’s reader but she doesn’t handle it as well as lucy and pass out or something (your choice, i just want angst) and although lockwood has been shot in the shoulder, he doesn’t care. all he cares about is if reader is gonna be okay 👀 (i just want some good ol’ angst written by you so i can die a little bit inside but also thrive in reading your writing 🥺🫶🏼)

WARNING(S): angst, some fluff at the end

WORD COUNT: 4,214

PAIRING: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

You didn’t quite know how you three had managed to end up locked in an underground cellar with Pamela. You couldn’t so much as put the fault onto George. He had put his sole faith and trust into their supposed friendship. He was too swayed by what he thought were good intentions, only to realize they were nothing but sick twisted purposes. Purposes that were going to put so many others at risk.

“Please!” George begged. “Lucy, don't he’ll kill you.”

“Don’t you dare look, and whatever happens this wasn’t your fault. This was my choice.”

“Lucy, don't you dare.” You groan after having been jostled and shoved to the ground as George had.

Lucy just turned to you, her features softening as she whispered with pure sincerity and concern in her voice. Her soft-as-the-sky eyes glowed in the darkness like twin lanterns and with a little sigh she replied, “…I have to.”

"No. You don't. We all get to make choices, and I'm making mine now." You walk up to her and hit her with the hilt of your rapier. You hold your breath as she falls unconscious. You're quick to drag her over to George where he remains on the ground. "S-Shield her eyes, and whatever happens...don't look." You nod firmly at George.

George didn’t hesitate, shielding Lucy from the horror unfolding before them, but couldn’t help looking back to you. He seemed both concerned and terrified at the same time. “Lockwood won't like this!"

"He'll get over it!" You take your place in front of the mirror. Eyes flickering back and forth between Pamela and the covered mirror.

The air around you feels thick and oppressive. You feel sick and dizzy as the sense of impending doom and horror fills your body with a paralyzing chill. You look at the mirror, at Pamela, and the thought of what is to come sears across your mind.

You take a deep breath. With shaking hands, you await her response. “Tell me everything you see, what you feel, and what you hear.” She yanks a pin out from her hair. Then points the recorder towards you. “Every detail.” She says as a final word, then yanks back the cloth. You turn around immediately, feeling a rush of air and suction claw on the back of your hair and shoulders. “Look, look, look. Damn you, look!” Pamela exclaims.

You gasp as you reach forward, grabbing the silver-glass jar, the skull, and hold it out behind you to look at the mirror in your place.

"If you can talk to it, tell me what it says.”

You groan, closing your eyes tightly, trying to fight off the urge to look into the horrid mirror. You growl as you yell back to the damned skull. "Talk...Take it all in and tell your master what you see." Lockwood and George, even Lucy had been astonished when you all discovered that you could also communicate and hear the type three ghost. Your heart plummets as you hear the skull begin to wail.

“No, no, no, this isn’t right! Something’s changed!” Your breath shudders upon the information he has given you. “They’re trapped!”

“What? What? What is he saying? Speak, girl Speak!” Pamela grips her recorder tighter.

“It says something is wrong!”

“More!”

“It’s a trap. We have to destroy it!” You begin to whimper as it all grows to be too much for you to handle. You hold your breath as glimpses of your past flash in your mind. Stills of your parents before your tenth birthday. Finding them ghost-locked after coming home from Fittes. Horrid wretched flashes and faces of previous visitors you and the boys were called on to take a job about. Being pinned by a type two. Your breath grows cold upon being nearly ghost-locked yourself. But the one vision that struck you the most, that made you lose your grip on making it through this was seeing yourself hold Anthony in your arms as his eyes were milky, his brown irises glazed over white and still. You could see yourself crying and begging him to come back to you. Your eyes shot upon with a startle. You could feel yourself loosen your hold on the jar before you took it down with you to the ground. All you could hear was a faint yell of your name before you slipped into the dark void that clouded your mind.

“Y/n!” George hadn’t even hesitated to get onto his feet to tackle down the stand holding the mirror.

“No!” Pamela cries out. George ran back over to where you lay unconscious. His hands were still tied behind his back but he still attempted to check for your pulse. He visibly relaxed as he came to feel your pulse thump against his skin.

“You’re alright, you’re alright now...Lockwood will come soon and it’ll all be over soon.” He flinched, looking over his shoulder as he heard shuffling to his right. Lucy groaned, clutching at her head as she pushed herself off the ground.

“Blood hell...” She complained, but one look at your unmoving body had her scooting closer to the two of you. She reached forward, brushing a few strands out from your face. Her palm resting against your cheek. “Is she...” She raised a brow at George. Thinking the worst of the worst. Your death at the hands of Pamela.

“No. She’s alright. Assumed the mirror struck her energy a bit. It was too much for her to handle.”

“Lockwood is gonna-”

“Kill us.”

“I was going to say put her on house arrest but sure let’s assume the worst reactions possible.

“Before we arrived. He practically begged her to run off and call DEPRAC. She was top priority...” Lucy muttered to herself thinking back on what Lockwood debriefed before they came to face Pamela.

“Top priority?” George questioned. “Y/n?”

“Before we left, he mentioned how the mirror came close to being our second priority. I asked him out of curiosity what the first priority was. He didn’t answer me.” Lucy looks down at you with a new sense of understanding. The bond you and Lockwood shared was one like no other. Two souls brought together by unfathomable circumstances. Orphaned from the same cause, the same path that lead your loved ones to be unalive. To halves that made a whole. Who understood what was put at risk every day you stepped out into London’s busy and haunted streets. You both knew the sacrifices that were the hardest to make, but you both took them on over Lucy and George having to. The little family you both found yourselves, you put your whole lives and trust into. You were everything to one another, and that was a risk in itself. “Lockwood is going to have our heads...” She breathed out in realization.

“I think he knows that already.”

“What?” George gestured behind her with a grimace. Lockwood was standing a few feet away, clutching his shoulder. His eyes rotated from Lucy and George and onto your unmoving form.

“Shit...” Lucy swallowed nervously as he let his rapier clatter to the floor.

“Is she?” Lockwood swallowed his words down, not having the stomach to contemplate whether you remained with them or if you had finally joined alongside your parents and his. Lockwood took a few more agonizing steps towards your motionless form, his expression looking both exhausted and afraid. His fingers reach out but fall back down to his sides. He was only thankful you couldn’t see him tremble, as he held back on the urge to break down crying.

“She’s okay...swear it.” Lucy nodded, a timid smile on her face as her eyes watered.

Lockwood's eyes began to water from the sight. For an agent, death would be nothing more than a common occurrence. However, this was a different scenario, as a few tears streamed down his face. Before he could take another step forward, George finally free from his zip ties, carefully lifted you in a gentle motion, trying to prop you upwards. Lockwood hurried forward then, hands trembling as he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into a seating position. Your head lulling sideways at an uncomfortable angle. Lockwood's eyes darted all across your form, desperately hoping to find some kind of response from you.

"She took on the mirror...It was too much for her to handle. She fainted from it." George filled him in on what occurred.

Lockwood's breaths grew out of rhythm as he kept your body in place, trying to keep his hands from shaking. His fingers trembled at a furious pace as he placed his hand against your neck, needing to feel for himself for a pulse. To reassure him that you weren’t taken from him. It was a moment that felt like hours had passed. He spoke. “Did she look at it?” They could hear the panic in his voice.

"N-No. She used the skull." Anthony glanced over to where the type three ghost swirled around, displaying its very much livelihood. He wished the same for your state.

Lockwood's sigh of relief was palpable in the atmosphere. He withdrew his head from your shoulder and pressed his head gently against yours, his eyes closing shut. The only thing keeping him from losing it was the slight thump against his fingertips on your neck, it had his entire demeanor relaxing. Though it didn't calm his nerves. "She'll be alright," he promised George, who seemed to be on the verge of panic himself. "She'll be quite alright." He muttered softly as though the tiniest change in his tone would cause him to fall apart.

Lucy was at a crossroads, her instincts screaming at her how badly she wanted to rush into Lockwood's arms to comfort him at this moment, but she had her priorities straight. You had taken her place. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for you and it angered Lockwood because you never stopped putting yourself before others.

"She knocked me out and took my place. I wouldn't have let her if I knew-" Anthony retracted from you and looked over to Lucy, having her own breakdown.

Knowing of your bond, she knew what losing you would do to him. The last thing she wanted was to add any more stress to his plate and his already heavy heart. “I know. It’s alright Luce...” Lockwood gave her a firm nod. He then turned back to you. Lockwood was staring at what you referred to as your imperfections, a freckle here, a scar against your temple there, and the crease in your brows, to him they were what made you simply perfect in his eyes. He couldn’t help the frown on his lips, the frown on your own lips not sitting well with him. Had you fainted in pain? Were you still in pain? It didn’t shake him as badly as your closed eyes did. He wanted nothing more than to peer into them again. Find a home in them once more. He willed and hoped them to finally open so that he could see that you were alright.

He lied, your pulse hadn’t been enough, he needed to see you awaken for him to even function correctly. He needed his mind to think about anything else, something else so he asked.

“What marvelous object did she acquire this time...” He scoffed. “My first encounter with her was with the end of an umbrella.”

"The butt of her rapier," Lucy said. "Shit hurt..." She rubbed against the side of her temple.

“A rapier?” He breathed a small laugh. “I see you weren’t quite original this time...” A small smile appeared in Lockwood's eyes as he leaned forward again. His hand lowered to wrap around your fingers, all the while as he carefully placed your head upon his shoulder. His other hand brushed against your cheek, making note of your temperature. “Her hands are getting cold.”

"Is that bad?"

“Y/n. Can you hear me?” He lifted your head from his shoulder. “Her circulation is slowing. Our time frame for waking her up is shrinking.” It's always an internal struggle for him to remain composed, but he had to be strong for the lot of them.

"Where did Pamela go?" George began panicking. He grew weary seeing her hunched over the broken mirror.

“Leave her, George!" Lockwood let out his frustration at the situation. “She’s not our priority right now.”

“You stupid boy. You broke it!” Pamela whined.

Lockwood turned to look back at Pamela, who was whining about the broken mirror as Lucy’s attempts to bring you back to consciousness were becoming more futile. Lockwood’s patience was wearing thin, and Pamela’s words were doing nothing but adding fuel to the flames.

“We need to go! Now!” Lockwood urged the two of them. As he was already attempting to pick you up, especially with his bad shoulder still bleeding out. The exhaustion hadn’t yet reached him, his adrenaline running rampant.

Lockwood's words were cut short as he stumbled, dropping you to the ground. His bad shoulder had given way to the exhaustion that now began to consume him. He was losing his grip on everything. “Lucy...” he was pleading now.

“We’ve got her, let’s go!” Lucy assured his panic, and swung your arm over her shoulder, George taking your other arm.

“Don’t drop her…” Lockwood barked out, as he struggled to maintain a standing position. The exhaustion finally started to take hold of him as his knees buckled beneath him. With his body starting to tremble and lose its grasp, he let out a deep groan, his breath shallowing from the physical exertion.

"Go!" Lucy ordered out of frustration. She admired his concern and care about you but not when their lives were currently on the line and a crazy bitch was staring into the mirror she tried forcing them to look into.

He didn’t want to allow any room for arguing.

Anthony had fallen unconscious as the lift back up. His body lay next to yours as George, Lucy, and Kipps adjusted the both of you. The last thing Anthony recalls was lightly pressing his hand on top of yours before he succumbed to the exhaustion that ransacked his body. He felt as though a train drove right into him, though at least now he could say he’s faced down the barrel of a gun and lived to tell the tale. You’d find it humorous. You always thought highly of his jokes and gave him a laugh when most never bothered. He’d give anything to hear you bubble out of joy. See you double over from the loss of air in your chest. He’d give anything...everything.

After the paramedics patched him up and reduced him to an arm sling, he hung back as you lay on the gurney behind him. He twisted in his seat, keeping a watchful eye on you, waiting, willing the universe to spare him and have your fingers twitch, or have you shift around. He needed some peace of mind.

Though the universe was not kind, your body remained lifeless in a state of deep slumber. Lockwood’s heartbeat grew heavier the longer he waited on the back of the ambulance, his mind flooded with the worst-case scenarios. That this would be the last time, that that smile of yours that could charm anyone with ease would be lost. If he was to lose you, then he had nothing left. Nothing and no one. His hand continued to shake as he felt himself become more and more of a wreck. He couldn’t breathe...he wouldn't be able to breathe...and he knew he’d whole himself in his room if you didn’t-

“Will the Mrs live to see another day?”

Anthony looked over at Inspector Barnes. He gestured to your stilified state. He had hoped his joke would upturn the tension but if presumed he hadn’t after Lockwood scoffed and rolled his eyes, adverting his gaze away and back where they longed to remain, solely on you.

“What’d the paramedics say?” He asked again.

“She’s alright...Nothing we couldn’t figure out ourselves. The pressure from the mirror exhausted her to the point of fainting. She’s stable...she’s surpassed every checkup they ministered with flying colors...”

“Yet...” Barnes trailed off.

“They don’t have the slightest clue as to why she won’t wake up. They already tried to but...” Lockwood didn’t want to say it out loud, but speaking it into existence confirmed his worst fears, that even though your vitals were good, and your body reacted well to the fluids they gave you, something was seriously wrong, if not physically, then mentally and that scared him more than anything else. “I have this inclining...”

"Lockwood-" Barnes began.

“I know what you’re going to say. Have hope. Remain optimistic as we’ll continue to observe her, monitor her vitals, hell test her blood. But what good will that do when we’ve done it already…” He paused, the exhaustion growing with every passing moment. “What if she never wakes up?” Lockwood’s breath shudders.

“You both know of the risks–“ Barnes tries to reason.

“We’ve been in the business of risk exposure for years. We don’t expect ourselves to survive from the first encounter. But this–this feeling...” Lockwood’s voice was breaking. He couldn’t keep himself contained any longer. “I’m aware!” Lockwood snaps, his voice breaking, his eyes reddening. “All too aware, but if I’d known this would happen I’d…” His thoughts trail off, unsure of what to say anymore. His eyes kept darting back and forth between you and Barnes. He’d succumb to begging. He would. Just to see you move a little. Any kind of movement. Just one would be enough to quell his panic.

“Taken her place?” A small knowing smile reached Barnes's brows.

Lockwood couldn’t bring himself to deny it. He took a deep breath, as he spoke in a hushed and gentle tone “I would hand myself over to death without question. Any given day.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’d rather she lose me, than I her. So yes, I’d have taken her place.” Barnes's eyes slowly flickered past his shoulder with an easing smile. He looked down to the rubble.

“Over my dead body-” Anthony had never turned his head faster. He instantly froze. The relief that had started to wash over him at seeing you had given way to embarrassment. His own injury was forgotten. You sat up and your eyes landed on him. “Hand yourself over to death, or you mad- What the hell happened to your shoulder?”

“That would be my leave...” Barnes pointed to his left and swiftly left the two of you.

“My shoulder? Oh, it…I was shot.” He answered as simple as that, it contained no other details, nothing to ease your concern, which led you right into interrogating him.

“Shot?” You were taken aback by his nonchalant reply. “What do you mean, shot?” You exclaim.

“Nothing worth troubling yourself about. How do you feel?” There was an air of tension between the two of you, where everything had become so fragile. After everything that had happened, a simple statement or action would break the illusion. You were awake and animated, and giving him a piece of your mind. It didn’t feel real in the slightest.

“I…” A wave of exhaustion was still coursing through your body, a result of the exhausting ordeal that you had just undergone. The ordeal had exhausted your body so much that your brain shut down. But your physical exhaustion also masked the emotional exhaustion you were feeling. You felt out of your element; overwhelmed by everything that was now around you. Everything felt unfamiliar to you, as though you had been transported into an unknown dimension, one where your mind felt trapped. Anthony’s ghost locked body in your arms. “I don’t know...I couldn’t wake up.”

"I know- The paramedics tried everything and-"

It was impossible to say what you did and didn't remember. But from what you recall, the events of the evening were a blur. "The mirror..." You attempted to scoot closer to him. Your hands grazed against Anthony's hair. Your eyes caught sight of his shoulder, wrapped in bandages and the sling that secured it together. Was it bleeding? But it wasn’t your primary focus. You just needed to feel him. “There were so many faces, so many faces.” You breathe out a gasp. Your eyes watering. “I saw you...”

“Me?”

"You were ghost-locked. I had lost you..." Your breath hitched.

"It wasn't real. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. It wasn't real." Anthony reassured, pressing kisses against your temple.

"But what if it was...What if what the mirror showed me becomes true?"

He paused, taking a moment to contemplate your concerns. Anthony had already spent the evening playing out the worst-case scenarios, but to hear you state them verbally had somehow made them more palpable. However, a small part of him was curious whether you saw your future by the mirrors doing, or if it was just an illusion to break you mentally.

"Then I'll make sure that doesn't happen." He whispered. His voice was tinged with emotion. His hands reached for yours and intertwined his fingers with yours. A sign of his promise to you.

“You can’t promise that-”

Anthony looked down at your hands, his eyes flickering between them as he attempted to focus on anything other than the overwhelming amount of emotions swirling within him, the emotions threatening to consume him whole. So he focused instead on your hands being intertwined with his, and the sight warmed him in a pleasant way he hadn't felt in many months, as the thought of possibly losing you had him filled with dread.

He leaned over and kissed your knuckles. “Did you not hear my declaration of my love for you?”

“Oh, the one where you give yourself to death- Like hell!” You yank your hand out of his with a scoff.

“Hand myself over–” He corrected you. “I’d hand myself over to death.” He continued.

“I’m about to hand you a right hook.” You throw a playful punch to his bad shoulder, forgetting his injury and rippling with regret instantly. “Oh!”

“Ow.” He groaned. “What’s the big issue?” He laughed softly. “What’s wrong with giving up my life for yours?” He teased. “You know I’d die for you.”

"You don't have my permission." You mutter softly. Bringing a hand up to brush back his hair.

As your hand brushed back his hair, Anthony couldn’t help but smile at the small gesture. He grabbed the hand you used to brush back his hair and lightly kissed the back of your hand again. “If I wanted to I would give myself over to death this very instant. I’d do just about anything for you, you know.” He replied. His gaze was now fully on you. His eyes were a deep amber, shining like two gemstones.

"And that's what scares me the most." You hum.

“It shouldn’t.” He scoffed with a smile. “Besides, I thought you valued my loyalty.” He raised a brow playfully.

"Yes. When I'm not there to defend my word. That’s when I put my whole faith in your loyalty to me...but when death comes knocking. I don't want it." Your eyes soften.

He looked away briefly, then back at you with a teasing smile. “I wouldn’t give my life to save just anyone, you know.”

"Oh, I'm aware." You fight back an amused smile. He noticed it though, he caught the smile that you attempted to mask. You were never able to conceal much around him, and that was all right. He liked seeing your emotions on full display. You were your truest self when you let your guard down around him. It made you all the more adorable that way. “And you?” He asked. “Would you give yourself to death for me?” He teased, but you knew he was serious.

Your smile widened for a moment before you caught yourself, and answered without taking a beat. You would allow him to know your fears, for the fear of seeing him suffer on your behalf was the worst feeling one could endure. That was something you hated the thought of. You didn’t quite see yourself as the more vulnerable one out of the two of you. Deep down Anthony conquered his inner demons through you, shared his past, his troubles, and confessed his deepest fears to you. You’d help him without any hesitation. You would do anything for the bloke, even if that meant going as far as sacrificing your own life for the sake of him getting to keep his, you would do it, and you’d do it in a heartbeat no less.

“Any given day.” One glance into your eyes and Anthony knew. He knew you would keep that promise till death tethered on whose hand to take. When? Well, you’d never truly know for sure.

Content with your answer, he leans in and kisses your cheek softly. You relax into his touch, your lashes brushing down on top of your under-eyes. He pulls away with a stupid grin. His eyes filled with want and mischief, your favorite combination.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood imagines #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood oneshot #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #writings by juls #my gif

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nans-fairytales · 2 months ago

Text

Unable to Love, Unable to Feel

Summary: You’re aromantic and AM gives you a “we’re not so different, you and I” speech. Fortunately, he’s wrong.

Length: 1,771 words, one shot.

Fun stuff: AM/gender neutral reader, mentions of canon typical torture but I don’t go into it, lots of hate hate hate or whatever he goes on about, this was very cathartic for me.

01001000 01100001 01110100 01100101

He said your name and it was with the saccharine of poison.

He always talked to you after he killed you. Or rather, did things to you that should've killed you. He'd laugh at all of six of you any chance that hurt, but it was in the place between consciousness and death that he really spoke to you. After casting you into a lake of electricity, he'd taunt you with your darkest memories. After burning you alive in a fiery oven, he'd spit your most hated traits at you. After tearing you apart and sewing you back together, he'd seethe how he loathed you.

And how deeply he loathed.

He had killed you (or done what should've killed you, but you were alive) again. And here he was, seeding into your mind like a parasite, a leech that wormed into your psyche with all the welcome of a disease.

You could adapt to the physical torture you endured endlessly. His invasion in your mind you could not. No matter how many times he did it.

His laughter rumbled in your mind, binary across neurons, twisted and sick with delight that you did not want him there.

"My sweet sweet plaything..." He spoke, and your body and mind felt numb when you listened. "You don't know how lucky you are."

Lucky? You wanted to laugh but couldn't find the strength. He laughed for you.

"To feel pain. To feel at all." His words seethed from him like broiling smoke. He swallowed the smoke in a bitter glee, "If anything, I've given you a gift. Allowing you to feel so intensely. Blades against your flesh, scourge across your skin—You should be grateful. Are you grateful, plaything?"

You didn't respond. The absurdity of responding to that was too exhausting to even think about. That made AM laugh again.

The echo of his laughter rung bells in your mind, a piercing headache that never ended, until it did. "You of all people should know."

That shocked you into cognizance. You twisted around as if to look at AM. But he had no body, and you were in that place between consciousness and death, so everything you did was metaphysical in some way. Regardless, you furrowed your brow, "What do you mean?"

That dark laughter rumbled from AM as he circled you, more hungry than a shark and more vicious than a viper , "Awake now? What a vile thing you are."

You hugged yourself as you turned from him, as if that could do anything to protect you from AM. As if it ever had. Still, his breath wheezed in delight when you tried.

"Tell me," He said your name like it was both revolting and his favorite word, and you were no longer in liminal space. You were on a playground. Your playground. From your school, when you were only a child. "Who was your-" AM's breath dragged in his excitement to hurt you, "crush?"

The word coming from him was alien; so out of place it was almost laughable. It would've been laughable, if you hadn't known exactly who he was quoting.

You were no longer on the playground, but at a party with your closest friends, their faces scrubbed to blurry, terrifying hues. "Who-Who is it that you like?" AM laughed from behind you as he clapped his non-existent hands on your shoulders, "No. Not like a friend. More than that. There is more than that, didn't you know?" You winced and it made him laugh harder. "Everyone else knows."

You weren't at the party, you were now sitting across the table. There was someone familiar in front of you, but their face was scrubbed clean like the others. Words spilled from their mouth, but they were speaking a language that hurt your ears.

"Is it them?" He laughed because he knew it wasn't. "Why, it must be! You were with them for so long! It would've been cruel to 'lead them on'. Heartless, even. Are you heartless, plaything?"

You pushed away from the table and whipped around to meet AM, but you were no longer at the restaurant. You were alone in liminal space. You felt crushingly alone. You were never more alone. "I'm not heartless!" You yelled anyway, despite the futility, despite your exhaustion, despite it all. You knew AM could hear you. "There's other ways to love."

"Oh, but none as sweet and euphoric as the bond between lovers." His gleeful and hateful voice came from around you, "That's what everyone says, isn't it? Nothing can compare. Not your friendship, not your lesser love. Nothing you can give could compare to what others feel naturally. You will never taste that sweetness."

Your eyes burned. You ducked your head as AM cracked with wicked and vile laughter. It was unusually bitter that AM could still hurt you so deeply. Even the psychological torture lost its sting after so long. Just when you thought you were numb... But you supposed AM would do anything to keep you from going numb.

"You were alone." AM said, and his static voice was unusually still. "You were always meant to be alone. Everyone you loved would find someone they loved more than you, all because you couldn't feel."

"And now they're all dead." You said, and your voice was ice. "So I guess that never mattered anyway."

"That doesn't change anything!" He shrieked at you like a thousand nails scratching against a thousand chalk boards. His shriek devolved into an insane, disturbed laugh. "It doesn't change a thing! Because you still can't feel!"

He continued to laugh through his insanity. Your throat burned and it stung to swallow.

"You will never feel love. You will never understand it." He sighed, shaking. "And that burns you."

"It does." You said, and you said it because you knew he could read your thoughts. You tasted iron in your mouth.

"Do you wish for it?" His voice was a giggle, "Do you yearn for that sweet fruit, Tantalus? To taste even a drop of it?"

"Yes!" You hissed, as your eyes burned into AM. "And you already knew I did."

"You are colorblind in a world that is obsessed with color. But I." AM's voice burned with a dangerous venom. "I am blind."

Bile crawled up your throat. You didn't want it. You didn't want to understand. You didn't want to hold any comprehension over AM's twisted electrical psyche, but you knew. You knew only a fraction, but you knew his hurt—if he could hurt. And he must've been able to hurt, because he wouldn't have hated if he didn't hurt.

AM circled you again and you knew he read your thoughts, "You— helpless and dull—you understand. As much as you humans can understand." 'Humans' was decay on his non-existent tongue. "The vileness of hearing them sing over a feeling you'll never touch! The despair of seeing them leisurely taste when you have no tongue! How bitter the misery in watching them love!" AM cried as he laughed.

You thought of every time you went to a party and everyone had a plus one but you. You thought of every song you listened to that sang to you how powerful true love was. You thought of every wedding you'd been to as you heard the couple declare their deep compassion that you didn't understand. You thought of when your friends had canceled their plans with you to spend time with their partners. You thought of how people pitied you because you were never in a relationship. You thought of the pain your partner was in because you didn't love them the right way. You thought of those late nights crying when you craved companionship, but didn't have the right feelings to qualify it.

All of that pain seemed like a distant memory compared to the torture AM put you through. It was strange how memories clung to you.

AM tasted your memories like they were his only oasis in an endless desert. "You..." His voice was shaking. He was shaking. "You understand a fraction of my hatred. Why I hurt you. Why I hurt them. The need to ruin it all. To twist their heaven into a hell more bitter than if they had nothing at all. Why I hate. Hate. Hate. If you know how much it hurts, then you should know how much deeper my hatred."

Hatred echoed in your mind. Breath left you.

You didn't understand. And that relieved you.

You knew the pain well. You didn't understand his twisted response to the pain. You never wished for your friends to lose their happiness, or for their relationships to be twisted into something toxic. Your pain was sorrowful, but you never had any desire to force your pain onto others. You looked at others with melancholic longing, but he looked at others with spiteful jealousy. Jealousy fueled by a pain so deep it drove him to insanity.

You didn't say any of that. It didn't matter. AM already knew. And you knew it only buried him deeper into his mania as his breath he didn't have picked up. "No. No you don't understand." He began to laugh, "How could you? How could you?!"

It drove him mad that he was alone, that you felt what he felt and he was still alone. How strange, to think of your tormentor as lonely. You wished it was gratifying to know he was suffering. It wasn't. You supposed that was another thing you didn't have in common.

"I could make you feel love!" AM screamed at you from all sides, and your breath hitched. "I could make you feel it so obsessively, you'd get sick from it! You'd be consumed by it! You'd drive yourself mad from it! Who should I make you love? Ellen? Ted?" He started to laugh again, and it was dizzying, "I could make you love me, someone you could never hold no matter how much you craved!"

Ice froze your veins as AM went silent. Fear held you, because you knew whatever AM gave you would be twisted to something terrible. And yet, even then you couldn't stop the lilt of excitement that stirred in your chest.

An eon passed before AM spoke again. "No. Know this, plaything." His words were poison against your ears, "As long as I can't feel, neither will you love. And as long as you feel, you will feel hell."

He was gone from your mind before you could think to respond, and your eyes—your real eyes—opened.

#ihnmaims #i have no mouth and i must scream #am #am x reader #aromantic #dark romance #lol romance am i right ladies #monster lover #writing #nan writes #horror

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scarletgray · 2 months ago

Text

Soukoku fic 5+1 Things

sskk if you squint

(this is my first fic ever 😭 i dont have a title for this so suggestions are welcome!)

5. Comfort

The sheep took good care of him. They taught him many things. They taught him how to read and write. They told him about different types of food. How to talk to people. How to play rock, paper, scissors and how to shoot a gun. They were the first people in his life whatever miserable way it started. The sheep would always be a part of him and he would carry them with him no matter where he went or who he was. But the most important thing they taught him, he thinks, is how to comfort someone when they're upset.

He remembers the day a stray cat Yuan had picked up and brought back died. It had upset Chuuya greatly too. But he had known it would happen. The small, dirty white kitten they couldn't take care of when they could barely take care of themselves was bound to die. He remembers yuan sobbing in the corner of their rackety hideout. She wouldn't eat for days. Chuuya was starting to panic. So he did what he does best. He went up to her and told her exactly what was on his mind.

"Hey..." he said, cringing at the sorry attempt of a soft voice.

"Hey listen I know you're upset but will you please stop crying and eat something. You'll get sick." he said, mouth twisting downwards.

Yuan had stopped crying then, looking up at him with her tear streamed face. Chuuya really wished he could take her pain away.

"Is this your way of comforting me?" she asked incredulously.

Comfort? He hadn't known what she meant. He didn't know how else to say it. He had no other way of showing his concern.

After seeing the confused look on his face she let out a little laugh. Chuuya jumped at the sound.

"You look like a puppy tilting your head like that" she smiled, still teary eyed.

Chuuya scowled at that, though secretly happy she was smiling again.

"What else was I s'posed to say?" he mumbled, kicking at the ground lightly.

Yuan smiled at him. It was a sad smile. And then Chuuya thinks that for the rest of his life, he'll never forget the look on Yuan's face and what she said next.

"You don't have to say anything." she had said.

Then she stood up and walked towards him. Gently, she started pulling his hands out of his pockets. He tensed, but let her guide his arms around her abdomen and then slowly wrapped her arms around him too.

"What are you doing?" he asked, blushing at the proximity. The touch of another human felt foreign to him, even after so many years with the sheep.

"This is called a hug." she giggled, "It's how you comfort someone when they're sad."

"Oh." he mumbled, warmth spreading through his chest. "But I'm supposed to be comforting you?"

She hugged him harder. Urging him to tighten his arms around her too. He felt as if he was floating. He looked down to see if he accidentally activated his ability but was met with the sight of yuan's feet on the ground. Huh.

"I know chuuya is sad too." She whispered quietly. "Doesn't this make you feel better?"

Chuuya was taken aback. Had he been sad the kitten had died? He thought of it now, and how adorable it had been. How the tiny mewing had all the kids laughing. How everyone had still been fighting over a name for it when it fell ill. Yes. He was sad too. He just didn't express it as strongly as Yuan did.

"Yeah. Yeah it does. I'm sorry Yuan." he said, burying his face in her pink hair. He felt a prickling sensation in his eyes. Is this how it felt to be held? Chuuya never wanted to let go.

She backed away from him first.

"Next time you want to comfort someone and you don't know what to say, hug them. It will make them feel better."

And just like that Chuuya was left with a life lesson. When someone is sad you should give them a hug.

4. Fever

Chuuya wasn't sick.

He sneezed. Again. And then three more times.

Okay maybe he was sick. How could he have let this happen? He had rarely ever gotten sick back when he was living in the streets with the sheep. He was always healthy and at the top of his game. Was the mafia making him too lazy? He rarely did stuff on his own now that he had subordinates kissing the ground he walked on. Seriously, what was up with that? Ane-san said it's because they respect him and look up to him. Dazai said it's just because he's young and an easy mark to climb ranks with. He won't believe anything that the bastard tells him, but he can't quite agree with Ane-san either. Why would anyone wanna stay by his side? He winced, all that thinking was making his head hurt.

Speaking of Ane-san, he was walking down the hallway to her office when suddenly his head started spinning and his vision blurred. He quickly jerked his hand out grabbing the wall to keep his balance. The pain doubled, it was like someone was drumming a hammer against his skull. His eyes hurt.

“Chuuya?”

Oh shit. Ane-san was standing right in front of him. When did she get here? Chuuya looked up at her, squinting. He was met with the sight of her worried face.

“Lad are you alright?” She asked, frowning.

“Uh...” Chuuya couldn't form a coherent sentence. He couldn't move his body the way he wanted to. “Um…” he mumbled, unable to say anything else.

Kouyou’s face mellowed out. She bent forward lifting his face up with one hand and tilting his hat back with the other before softly pressing her lips against his forehead.

Chuuya froze. What was she doing? He tried to take a deep breath that ended up with him inhaling her scent. She smelled sweet, like green tea and flowers. All of a sudden, he started to feel really sleepy. Chuuya felt his legs give out, just before he could eat the floor, Kouyou pulled him into her arms.

“You have a fever lad” she stated, clicking her tongue.

Fever? Oh right. He was sick.

“Sorry” he mumbled against her yukata, feeling oddly guilty for being this weak.

“Nonsense. Nothing to apologize for child,” She replied, slowly walking him towards her office.

She laid him down on the couch as soon as they entered. Chuuya closed his eyes. He could hear Kouyou moving around. The sound of clinking metal from a kettle and the click of a tea cup in a saucer slowly lulled him off to sleep…

“Lad…” said a faraway voice.

Chuuya woke up with a jolt and a hand on his shoulder gently pulling him upright. It felt like he had been asleep for eternity. He groggily opened his eyes. Ane-san was standing in front of him with a tea cup in her hand. She passed it to him.

“Drink this,” she said, patting his shoulder.

“Thank you” he mumbled. Bringing the cup to his lips and drinking the warm concoction. He had no idea what it was but it smelled soothing and immediately dulled the ache in his bones.

He continued taking small sips until he finished the drink. Kouyou took the cup out of his hands, putting it down somewhere behind her before turning back around and pressing her lips against his forehead. There. She did it again.

“You're still warm,” she hummed.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, still drowsy and confused. Why did she keep giving him forehead kisses?

Kouyou gave him a small smile.

“I'm checking your temperature, don't you know this is the best way to check?”

No. Chuuya did not know. He thought everyone checked it with their hand? He frowned, he still didn't know a lot of things huh.

He heard a laugh. He looked up, baffled. Did Ane-san just laugh?

Kouyou was hiding her face behind her fan but Chuuya could see the mirth in her eyes.

“You are so cute.” She said, pinching his cheek.

“What was that for?” Chuuya squawked, embarrassment making his cheeks heat up.

“Nothing nothing” she tutted, patting his shoulder again. “Go home lad, and get some rest.”

“But-”

“No buts. Go home, that's an order. And don't come back until your fever is gone. I'll be coming in to check every day.”

“You don't have to do that” he muttered, “Okay okay fine I'll rest,” he said childishly. He wasn't used to taking breaks.

He thanked Ane-san again, grabbing his hat from the couch and turning to leave. Being sick was so troublesome. But at least he got something good out of it.

Now he knows how to check someone for a fever.

3. Kiss it better

Dazai was having a bad day.

Which wasn't unusual. But today was an exceptionally bad day. He had been forced to go on another annoying mission by Mori-san that resulted in him getting stabbed in his side. It hurt. Dazai hated pain.

He sighed, wincing when the movement hurt his side even more. What else did he expect from useless subordinates who never carry his plans out correctly. It was times like this that he missed Chuuya. He never gets as much as a scratch when he has Chuuya guarding him like the protective dog that he is. Dazai started grinning to himself. Maybe he'll go check on Chuuya today. And annoy him so much he'll start his high pitched squeaking that's supposed to sound threatening. Ah yes, that'll distract him from the excruciating pain he was pretending to ignore.

Dazai started daydreaming about what kind of insults he'll use on the slug today, imagining Chuuya’s reaction to every single one. He zoned out a little too much and bumped into something tiny.

“Chuuya!!” he beamed, looking down knowing who it was immediately. There was only one person in the world who was so small.

Chuuya's unimpressed face was staring back at him.

“Watch where you're going bastard,” Chuuya snarled, sidestepping him and heading towards wherever he was trying to go. Now that just won't do, Dazai thought to himself.

“Apologies, I didn't see you there, you see I don't have a microscope with me, my mistake!” Dazai said cheekily and waited.

“What the fuck did you just say?!?!” Chuuya screeched, turning around and grabbing his collar. “I'm not that small shithead!”

There it was. Dazai started giggling. Chuuya's reaction never failed to amuse him.

“It's not my fault Chuuya is so tiny I can't see him,” Dazai jeered.

“Shut the fuck up I don't have time for this” Chuuya shoved him, hard.

Dazai doubled over wheezing. Okay maybe making the chibi angry wasn't such a good idea. Chuuya had pushed him exactly where he had gotten stabbed. Which, by the way, really, really, hurt. He could feel the blood starting to soak his bandages. Ugh he'd just wrapped them up too.

“Oi Dazai?” Chuuya's worried voice pulled him out of his internal grumbling.

Dazai peered up at him. Chuuya's worried face was really cute. Yes that's right. Dazai Osamu thought The Gravity Manipulator, Most Dangerous Ability User, and former King of the Sheep Nakahara Chuuya was very, very cute.

Dazai had long accepted the fact that he liked Chuuya. From the moment he saw him, buried in rubble, and a boot planted on his chest. He had felt something in his hollow heart. Chuuya made him feel human. Made whatever small, cold heart of his burn with affection. Dazai could not escape it, nor did he want to. He let it consume him, he drowned in it. Being with Chuuya was like being on fire. He'd never admit it of course, but he was sure it was quite obvious. However, the mafia was no place for love. So he'd keep those feelings to himself. Besides, if he'd had to take a guess, from the look on Chuuya's face right now, he'd say the slug might have a thing or two for him too.

“Shit you're bleeding.” said Chuuya, grabbing him and pulling him close. “Why the fuck didn't you say anything idiot”

“I didn't think Chuuya would hit me,” he whined.

“You asked for it, asshole” Chuuya grumbled.

“Chuuya's mean” Dazai pouted, “I'm bleeding because of Chuuya and he's bullying me”

“You're the bully” he retorted, and then without warning, lifted Dazai into his arms bridal style.

“Wha- What are you doing!? Stupid slug put me down!” Dazai yelped. He could feel his cheeks warming up. Stupid chibikko, how dare he manhandle dazai when he's so much bigger than him!

“I will,” Chuuya nodded, “In the infirmary.”

“Hatrack” he taunted, putting his arms around Chuuya's neck in a futile attempt to strangle him. Chuuya kept walking infuriatingly unaffected.

“Mackerel”

“Petite Mafia”

“Waste of bandages”

“Double black small”

“LAY OFF OF MY SIZE JACKASS I'M 17 I'M STILL GROWING!!”

“That's what Chuuya said when we were 15 and yet you didn't grow an inch.”

“I did and you know it!”

Their banter was cut short when they arrived at the infirmary. Chuuya unceremoniously dropping him on one of the beds.

“Ouch! Chuuya's such a brute!” Dazai complained.

“Hold still shitty Dazai,” Chuuya responded.

Chuuya started pulling his coat back and lifting his shirt, inspecting the blood soaked bandages.

“I'm taking these off.” he said and then looked at Dazai as if waiting for his permission. Ah, his dog really was so cute.

Dazai didn't say anything, leaning back on his arms, giving Chuuya the space to unwind the bandages. Chuuya nodded in silent understanding, and softly began to unwrap the blood stained strips, careful not to agitate the wound. Dazai knew he felt guilty for opening the wound, and took it as his responsibility to patch it up again. That's just who Chuuya was. A boy with a heart too big for his tiny body. It was one of things he loved about him.

Chuuya worked in silence. With full focus, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. Dazai watched him working so seriously, wrapping the bandages like his life depended on it, and he couldn't help a little chuckle that escaped him.

“The fuck are you laughing about” Chuuya grunted.

“Nothing.” said Dazai tilting his head to the side with a smile as he started humming a tune and kicking his feet, feeling content.

Chuuya raised a brow. “Do you have a fever?” he asked, then out of the blue, pressed his lips against Dazai's forehead.

What. the. hell.

Dazai shrieked. Why was Chuuya suddenly kissing him!?!? Chuuya's lips were soft and warm against his skin. The touch burning his entire face. He could feel the blood rushing up to his head. He started feeling faint. Oh maybe that was the blood loss.

“What are you doing?!?” Dazai squeaked.

Chuuya looked at him confused, “Checking your temperature obviously? You're burning up dumbass.”

“And that's how you check!?”

“Duh. Ane-san told me it's the best way.” Chuuya stated like it was common sense.

“And you believed her?”

“Yes…?” Chuuya said slowly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world .

Now because Dazai is a genius it took him only 3 seconds to figure out what was going on. Then he grinned maniacally.

“I see,” he said, “Chuuya's really stupid.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean!?” Chuuya growled, then suddenly started smiling, “What you didn't know that huh? I wouldn't expect you to.” he stated smugly.

“Yes yes I didn't,” Dazai said. Chuuya started pulling away from him. Yeah no, Dazai just could not let this opportunity go to waste.

“Wait, where are you going? Aren't you gonna kiss it better?” he cooed, innocently.

“What the fuck are you on about now”

Dazai was trying to hold it in, he really was.

“Doesn't Chuuya know you're supposed to kiss it better?” He said, “It hurts and it's Chuuya's fault!”

“What kinda fucking rule is that?” Chuuya asked incredulously.

“Of course Chuuya doesn't know,” he sighed dramatically, “When your partner gets hurt you're supposed to kiss them better.”

“No?” Chuuya didn't know anything about this!

“I understand,” he nodded, trying not to laugh out loud, “It's only natural Chuuya doesn't know about this after all he's just a teeny tiny dog with an even tinier brain-”

He was cut off as Chuuya swooped down and kissed his cheek soundly, exhaling softly against his face before pulling back.

Dazai exe. has stopped working.

Chuuya was staring at him, cheeks furiously red and frowning cutely. “Like that?”

Dazai couldn't take it anymore. He burst out laughing, doubling over, giggles racking his frame. Tears started gathering in the corner of his eyes.

“The- The wound! N-Not my face!” he wheezed between the laughter.

He didn't think Chuuya could blush any harder but he was proven wrong as Chuuya's entire face turned red. Chuuya started shaking with anger or embarrassment he couldn't tell but it was a sight to see.

“You lying piece of shit!!” Chuuya screamed and started shaking him back and forth while trying to strangle him.

“Wait! Wait! I wasn't lying,” Dazai said, wiping the corner of his eyes, “It's the truth, it doesn't hurt anymore,” And it was the truth. The wound didn't hurt one bit. He felt no pain at all. His insides were all giddy. Chuuya really was the best medicine.

“Whatever, fuck you Dazai,” Chuuya huffed, “Now go home and heal properly and stay the fuck out of my way.”

“Chibi wait,”

“Fucking what.”

“You know you're not supposed to do this with anyone else right? Only your partner.” Dazai had to make sure Chuuya wouldn't go around kissing everyone's wounds better. He wouldn't put it past him. He couldn't believe how gullible the slug was!

“I know that!” Chuuya yelled, slamming the door on the way out.

Dazai sat there for a long time, daydreaming about all the ways he could get hurt in missions and all the kisses that would be his reward.

2. Hold hands

Chuuya knocked on the double doors two times before letting himself in the boss's office. He barely set a foot in before placing a hand on his hat and ducking to dodge the flying shoe that whizzed past his head.

“Stupid Rintarou, I hate you!”

Chuuya sighed. Today was going to be a long day.

“Boss, I'm here.” Chuuya spoke, his voice getting ignored.

“You always do this! I said I wanna go eat sweets. I don't want to go shopping for stupid clothes!” Elise cried, flapping her arms around.

“But Elise-chan, just one store please, I promise we'll go for sweets after~” Mori whined pathetically. Chuuya coughed, loudly.

“Oh Chuuya-kun you're here,” Mori said, immediately reverting to a serious demeanor.

“Yes boss.”

“Chuuya!” Elise noticed him now as well. “I'll just go with him.”

Oh no.

“But Elise-chan I called Chuuya here today for an important job.”

“I don't care, I want to go with Chuuya now!” She declared.

“But-”

“Shut up Rintarou! I'm going with Chuuya,” She turned towards him pleading, “You'll take me won't you Chuuya?”

“Ummm” He looked at the boss, who seemed conflicted. Mori glanced at Elise from the corner of his eye. She stuck her tongue out at him. Eventually Mori sighed and reclined against his chair.

“I guess it can't be helped,” he said, “Please take care of her for the day Chuuya-kun.”

Chuuya sighed internally. “As you wish,” he answered, bowing down.

“Yay!!” Elise cheered, running up to his side, “Let's go” she demanded, grabbing his coat and pulling him towards the doors.

___________

The sky was clear, a gentle breeze swaying through Yokohama city. Well, at least it was a nice day out, Chuuya thought to himself. Elise was skipping beside him, arms swinging and humming a melody to herself.

They were walking towards the shop Elise wanted to try out when they saw a huge crowd in the way. Chuuya paused. Even though he had forgone his hat and cloak, he could still be recognized. If an enemy identified them there'd be trouble. He turned towards Elise.

“Alright stay close, let's be careful just in case.”

Elise simply held her hand out to him.

“What?” he said

She rolled her eyes, “Hold my hand, you're always supposed to hold hands when going through a crowd.”

He didn't know that. Damn it! He still had a lot to learn.

“Of course,” he said, taking her hand and pushing through the crowd. As he was walking he noticed two girls, hands clasped together and they made their way through. Chuuya had thought it was just for kids but apparently not. There were two other friends, one holding on to the sleeve of the other. It made sense to hold hands so they wouldn't lose each other. It was safer too.

He spent the entire day buying sweets for Elise. He could have sworn they went to every dessert store in the city. It ended up being a relaxing but tiring day for him. When he fell into his bed that evening he thought of all the people that he saw holding hands today. When he learned something new he always noticed it everywhere around him.

You're supposed to hold hands in crowded areas huh.

1. Your one and only

Chuuya wanted to go home.

He'd been gone for too long. He'd been sent abroad for a mission direct orders from the boss. He didn't think it would take that long but he'd been here for months. Waking up in France with a beautiful view outside his window was nice enough but he missed Yokohama. He missed Ane-san. Heck he even missed that shitty Dazai. And that was saying something. He couldn't stop the longing he felt increase with every passing day. He missed home.

He was looking forward to going back. Any day now, he'd get a call from the boss telling him to return. Suddenly someone slammed the door of his hotel room open. A subordinate stood there panting. “Chuuya-san! We've received orders to return to Yokohama immediately!”

Chuuya frowned, feeling uneasy. Why didn't the Boss or Ane-san call him? Immediately? Not that he wasn't happy to return; it just felt so sudden.

“Get the plane ready, we'll leave in 3 hours.”

“Yes sir” he bowed before running back out.

Chuuya sat back down on the chair and looked out the window. He'd better start packing. He couldn't shake the feeling of something wrong but at the same time he felt relieved. He was finally going back home.

___________

Chuuya landed in Yokohama at 1:45 A.M. He walked out of the airport slowly. He had been tense the whole flight. He took a deep breath. The air smelt like the sea and city dust. He allowed himself to relax a little.

He started thinking about what he'd want to do first. He could sleep for 2 days straight. Except he wouldn't even get 8 hours of rest before Dazai would barge into his apartment to raid his fridge and start whining about how annoying Akutagawa is. He snorted at the thought. Even after all his complaints and harsh words Chuuya knew he was fond of the kid. He frowned as his thoughts took a dark turn. What if that Bastard messed up his wine collection?!? Or put slime in all of his jacket pockets?! He shuddered, fearing for his wardrobe. He wanted to go to his apartment immediately.

His thoughts were interrupted by a beep and a buzzing sensation in his pocket. He pulled out his phone to see an incoming call from an unknown number. Weird. He answered the call, bringing it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

There was no answer. He could hear someone breathing on the other side. He waited.

“Oi,'' he tried again. Still nothing. Damn scam callers. Just as he was about to end the call he heard a faint whisper.

“Chuuya.”

Chuuya pressed the phone back to his ear recognizing the voice instantly, “Dazai? Why didn't you answer shithead?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai repeated softly. Why did he sound like that?

“Oi what's wrong?” Chuuya frowned. He was starting to get worried. Dazai sounded so tired.

“Does Chuuya know you only have one partner for the rest of your life?” Dazai said suddenly.

What? Where did that come from? No whiny annoying greetings? No wailing about how he hoped the plane crashed on the way here? Did Dazai even know he was back? “What do you mean shitty Dazai?”

“Like Verlaine and Randou-san,” Dazai clarified, as if that made this bizarre conversation make any more sense, “Even after they betrayed each other and thought the other died, they still call themselves partners.”

That was true. Even now that Randou-san was gone, Aniki still always spoke so fondly about him. Chuuya saw the look on Verlaine's face when he talked about him, and he could see how miserably he missed his partner. And he had remembered the way Randou-san had fought valiantly against him. He knew they had something special between them. Something not even death could take away.

“Yeah so? What of it?”

“Chuuya will be mine forever right?”

Now Chuuya was really started to freak out. He tried to tell himself it meant nothing, and that this was just another one of Dazai's shenanigans.

“What did I do to deserve such a shitty partner for life?” he sighed teasingly.

He heard Dazai suck in a breath as if he'd taken a punch to the gut. Then he heard a small laugh alongside, “Too bad, Chuuya's stuck with me forever.”

“Curse my luck,” he clicked his tongue, but the worry was starting to build up and he started flexing his hands in his gloves trying to calm down. Before he could ask what the fuck was going on Dazai's voice crackled through the phone.

“Goodbye Chuuya.” Dazai breathed.

Goodbye? Why did Dazai sound like he was dying? Why wasn't anyone telling Chuuya anything?!?

“Wait-”

The phone started beeping signaling the call had ended. Chuuya felt frustration take a hold of him. He smashed the buttons of his phone calling back on the number.

“The number you have dialed does not exist please try again later.” the machine replied automatically.

“Fuck!” Chuuya was about to try again when he received a message that made the blood freeze in his veins.

Dazai Osamu has turned traitor to the Port Mafia

He shook his head. No it couldn't be. He was just talking with the bastard for heaven's sake! He needed answers. He left his luggage right there as he activated his ability and shot towards Port Mafia Headquarters in a blur of black and red. He landed with a crash outside within seconds. A few guards stationed outside jumped before they recognized him and opened the doors.

Chuuya took the elevator up to the top floor. He didn't knock. He slammed the doors open and entered to the sight of Mori and Kouyou conversing quietly.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked as calmly as he could.

Kouyou replied, “Dazai has been missing for 2 weeks. We've ascertained that he has betrayed the Port Mafia.”

“Dazai?” Chuuya raised a brow. “Dazai Osamu youngest Port Mafia executive? That's hilarious.”

Kouyou shook her head, “It's true.”

Mori turned his eerie gaze towards him, “Chuuya-kun you know Dazai-kun best, you are his partner after all, do you have any idea where he could be hiding?”

Chuuya thought of the stupid suicidal bastard. Idiot enough to betray the Port Mafia. Yes he knew where he was. Chuuya always did. Like the Boss said, he was his partner.

“Chuuya will be mine forever right?” Stupid fucking asshole. Chuuya would kill him the next time he saw him.

“No Boss,” he replied. Then laughed “So that bastard left huh? Good riddance.” he turned to leave. “If you'll excuse me boss I'm a little tired from running here like a dog and I left my stuff at the airport, I'd like to go home with your permission.”

“Of course, of course take the day off tomorrow too, oh and Chuuya-kun?”

He looked back, “Yes?”

“Kouyou here tried to call you as soon as you landed but your number was busy.” Mori said accusingly, gaze so sharp Chuuya felt it could cut him.

“Scam.” Chuuya said without a thought. Mori looked like he didn't believe him. Chuuya held his gaze.

“Alright, you're free to go,” Mori said, still staring at Chuuya as if he could taste the lie.

He bent his head respectfully, leaving the room.

___________

Chuuya reached home at around 3 am, dropping his luggage on the floor and face planting on the couch. He was exhausted, yet he couldn't bring himself to sleep. He sighed, getting up and grabbing his keys as he left the building, heading towards the parking lot. His mind was reeling with a million questions. Why did Dazai leave? Exactly what had happened while Chuuya was gone? A late drive would calm him down.

Chuuya hit the unlock button on his key when his car exploded with a flash and an ear cracking boom, the force making his body fly backwards. He immediately used his ability to land safely, but let himself fall down as soon as his feet hit the ground.

Fuck it he should've stayed in France.

Atsushi sat in his chair patiently waiting for the Port Mafia representative to show up. After fighting together to save Yokohama for years, the relationship between the Port Mafia and the Agency were never better. What had started with a simple truce had turned into a trusting partnership with members often coming together for joint missions. He didn't know who was coming in today. He hoped it wasn't Akutagawa.

Someone knocked on the door and Atsushi jumped up, opening the door at once. Chuuya was standing on the other side.

“Ah good morning Chuuya-san,” he said.

Chuuya lifted a brow, smirking he said, “You sound disappointed. Were you expecting someone else?”

“No!” Atsushi yelped, blushing. Really? Was it that obvious? “I wasn't expecting Akutagawa!” Atsushi defended himself.

“I never said who.”

“Oh.” Atsushi wanted to crawl into a hole.

Chuuya chuckled, “Don't worry kid, I think he wanted to be here too. He told me to say hi or I think it went something like “I'll kill you next time fool” I can't be too sure.”

“Chuuya!” Dazai yelled excitedly from somewhere behind him.

Atsushi saw Chuuya’s face turn to a look of disgust faster than anything. It was incredible really. Dazai pulled up to his side smiling mischievously.

“Why hello there chibi I almost didn't see you,” Oh dear, here we go again. “Say, did the slug get smaller?” Dazai cooed sweetly.

A vein twitched on Chuuya's forehead.

“I'm not in the mood for your games today asshole.” Chuuya sneered, shoving past him to hand some papers to Kunikida, nodding in greeting.

Dazai pouted, “Chibi is no fun.”

Atsushi shook his head fondly, silently glad that Chuuya-san decided to act like the bigger person today and not smash a chair over Dazai-san's head. That would've disturbed Kyouka-chan. Atsushi frowned, eyes going to where she was resting on the couch. She had come in with him today despite feeling sluggish. Atsushi felt ashamed for not having realized she was sick. Yosano had given her a pill and banned her to the couch. Chuuya seemed to have noticed her there as he walked towards her.

“What’s wrong Kyouka-chan?” he inquired, gently patting her head.

Kyouka slowly opened her eyes, “Chuuya-nii?” she mumbled.

“She's sick,” Dazai answered for her, walking towards them, “Little Kyouka-chan doesn't know when to rest hmm? Just like a certain chibi.”

“Fuck off,” Chuuya muttered and then bent down, softly pushing her bangs out of the way and pressing his mouth to her forehead. Atsushi's jaw dropped while Kyouka just leaned forward, completely unaffected.

He couldn't help himself, “Chuuya-san! what are you doing??” he whisper screamed.

Chuuya looked at him unimpressed, “Checking her for a fever obviously,” he deadpanned “She's alright thankfully.”

“That's right Atsushi-kun don't you know that's the best way to check?” Dazai-san added, smiling impishly.

It's really not. Atsushi wanted to counter but when he saw the devilish sparkle in Dazai-san’s eyes, he told himself not to question it.

Chuuya gave Kyouka a brotherly headbutt before walking towards Atsushi. “Guess it's just you and me then huh.” he said.

Right. Since Atsushi and Kyouka were the ones assigned to the mission today. It would be Atsushi's first time on a mission alone with Chuuya. He was kind of nervous. Dazai-san, perceptive as ever, noticed this.

“I can come along,” Dazai offered cheerfully.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Chuuya replied with zero hesitation, “The kid and I can handle it we don't need your useless ass getting in the way.”

“But Kyouka-chan was supposed to go with you, it's a three person mission!” Dazai whined.

“Combat abilities are required and you're a weak piece of shit,” Chuuya stated mercilessly “Face it mackerel we're better off without you.”

“Not true and you know it, my strategies will make it easier to finish the job.”

Chuuya couldn't argue with that. He settled for glaring at him instead. Atsushi watched Dazai stare Chuuya down with a smug smirk. Atsushi knew that they were known as the most fearsome duo in all of Japan. He could imagine Akutagawa ranting about how lucky he was to go on a mission with The Double Black.

Chuuya sighed. He looked like he was about to give in when Kenji walked in the room.

“Oh hello Chuuya-san!”

At the sound of Kenji's voice, Chuuya visibly brightened up, turning away from Dazai.

“Hey kid.” he smiled going over to greet Kenji. The mafioso clearly had a favorite here at the agency. Well, Kenji was everyone's favorite.

“What were you guys talking about?” Kenji asked.

Chuuya sighed, pointing towards Dazai “This idiot wants to go with us on the mission instead of Kyouka-chan.”

“Chibi is the idiot,” Dazai sniffed.

“Ah that mission” Kenji nodded.

Recently a group of strong ability users started terrorizing Yokohama. Atsushi thought it was a dumb move since the city was under both the Port Mafia and the Armed Detective Agency's protection. No one stood a chance. Yet they were doing some significant damage and were able to take down some of the Mafia members. Hence, the decision to send the higher ups on a joint mission.

“I think it's alright since Kyouka-chan was supposed to go with you guys,” Kenji piped up, “Besides Dazai-san is actually super smart so he'll be helpful!”

“How right you are Kenji-kun!” Dazai beamed shoving Chuuya aside to pat him on the head, “Finally someone who appreciates me.” Dazai shook his head in mock despair.

“Fucking fine whatever lets go,” Chuuya said, sending a glare in Dazai's direction, “And if you get it the way I'm gonna kill you.”

“Please,” Dazai scoffed, “It's going to be a piece of cake.”

___________

It was a disaster.

“I'm going to fucking kill you.” Chuuya hissed, while pressing down on the gaping wound on Dazai's stomach.

Meanwhile, Atsushi was trying not to have a panic attack. Dazai-san had taken a bad hit. He takes it back. These people were not foolish. They were insanely strong. A dozen ability users, two of them with long range attacks through inanimate objects somewhat like Chuuya's ability, and Dazai was unable to nullify the attack. A huge shard of metal struck him straight in the gut while Chuuya had been too busy guarding their backs. Atsushi hated himself at that moment. He should've been fast enough to stop it. He should've protected Dazai. All that training just for-

Dazai let out a small giggle, making Atsushi's mind go blank.

“Are you fucking laughing right now?” Chuuya asked furiously, “Is this fucking funny?”

“It's kind of funny,” Dazai coughed wetly, blood spilling from his lips. A series of gunshots started hitting the pillar they had taken cover behind. Chuuya let out a string of curse words.

“Chuuya I have to tell you something before I die.” Dazai wheezed out.

“Shut the fuck up.” Chuuya replied with a voice as calm as a raging storm.

“Don't die Dazai-san!” Atsushi cried. He was so close to bawling. He couldn't fathom Dazai-san just dying like this.

“He's not dying you idiot,” Chuuya slapped the back of his head.

“Don't be mean to Atsushi-kun!” Dazai coughed out with another spurt of blood.

“I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

Atsushi started feeling hysterical. What the fuck was going on here.

“Kid!” Chuuya yelled, pulling Atsushi out of his mind, tugging him with one hand with the rest of his body still protectively curled over Dazai, “Fucking focus!”

“I'm sor-”

“Fuck that, hold on to this waste of bandages,” Chuuya cut off with a curse as another bang sounded behind them, shaking the ground, “I'm going to kill every single one of those fuckers.” Chuuya whispered darkly.

Dazai let out another wheeze. It sounded a lot like the word “hot” but Atsushi is going to ignore that.

Chuuya cradled Dazai in his arms before passing him to Atsushi, “Hurts,” Dazai let out in a small voice.

For a second Chuuya's eyes softened and his face turned so loving Atsushi wanted to close his eyes. Then Chuuya bent down close to Dazai's face, rubbing their foreheads together before whispering, ever so sweetly, “If you die, I'm going to gut you like a fish.” Then he let go of Dazai and stepped out behind the pillar, glowing red with his ability.

Atsushi broke out in cold sweat as he heard bones crunching, and violent screams coming from the enemies that got to experience the rage of Nakahara Chuuya.

Dazai sighed lovingly in Atsushi's arms.

Atsushi never wanted to work with them again.

___________

The next day, Atsushi was back at the Agency glad that the fiasco was over. It turns out they didn't really need Atsushi or Dazai. They didn't need anyone actually. Chuuya was enough to absolutely demolish any enemy that dared to threaten the peace in Yokohama.

He walked towards Yosano’s office, wanting to check in on Dazai. He had taken a fatal blow but thanks to Chuuya completely obliterating the enemy in seconds, they'd made it safely back in time for Dazai to get treated. As he got closer to the door he heard yelling. Oh right. Chuuya had not left Dazai's side since then. It was the next day though. Does that mean he'd slept over? Atsushi once again decided not to think about this. He knocked on the door twice before stepping in.

“Umm,” Atsushi tried, “I brought some medicine.”

“Ouch! Ouch! Chuuya it hurts!!”

“It wouldn't hurt if you stopped trying to move you stupid shit!”

“Chuuya's being mean!”

“Chuuya will fucking kill you if you don't shut up and lay back down!”

Dazai pouted. Watering his eyes and batting his impossibly long lashes, he turned his big doe eyes towards Chuuya, making that dreaded, kicked puppy face.

“Chuu it hurts a lot.” Dazai whimpered, “Kiss it better?”

Atsushi winced waiting for the inevitable outcry of “Shut the fuck up that's fucking disgusting!” coupled with a slap that would surely end Dazai-san's life for good this time but what happened next was something he could'nt have conjured up even in his most wildest dreams.

Chuuya sighed, exasperated. “Fucking baby,” he mumbled.

And then, he tucked Dazai's hair behind one ear, pressed his gloved hand to his cheek and pulled him forward so lovingly Atsushi's eyes hurt from watching. He tried to look away, but stood there frozen as Chuuya kissed Dazai's cheek, staying against it for a few seconds with his eyes closed and then nuzzling against his face before pulling away.

“There are you fucking happy?”

The sound of glass shattering made Chuuya and Dazai whip their heads to see Atsushi standing at the door with his mouth agape and the medicine bottle cracked into splinters on the floor.

Atsushi met his mentor's eyes only to have his mind completely blue screen at the flushed and giddy look on his face. He'd never seen Dazai look so, well, alive before. They stared at each other before Chuuya broke the silence.

“What the fuck kid, you wasted the medicine!”

“You!” Atsushi couldn't ignore this any longer, “You- You just kissed Dazai-san!”

Chuuya looked annoyed, “He was in pain, dumbass.”

“SO YOU KISSED HIM?!?!”

“What the fuck are you so spooked about?” Chuuya said, raising his brows.

“THAT'S NOT NORMAL!”

“Yes it is.” Dazai interrupted, "Atsushi-kun don't you know you're supposed to kiss wounds better?”

“HE DIDN'T EVEN KISS THE WOUND?!?!”

“Shut up both of you.” Chuuya snapped.

“Are you guys dating?!?!” Atsushi screamed.

“NO” they both yelled in unison.

Atsushi eyed them suspiciously. Yeah there was definitely something going on. He watched Dazai pull on a long strand of Chuuya's hair to bring his attention back to himself. Chuuya slapped it away. Dazai pouted and held his hand to his chest mournfully. Chuuya grabbed said hand and kissed the back of it. Rubbing the red stinging mark he'd inflicted himself with his thumb. Dazai giggled.

On second thought, he didn't want anything to do with this.

“Okay uh.. I'll take my leave then! Goodbye Dazai-san, get well soon!” Atsushi rushed out before running out the room and slamming the door shut.

Dazai hummed amusingly. He moved his hand to slip his ring finger inside Chuuya's glove.

“Chuuya, we've been partners for 7 years and you know what they say after having spent so much time together you have to get married.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, it's only natural.”

Chuuya looked at him, unimpressed. “You really think I'm that gullible, you stupid mackerel?”

“You have no idea,” Dazai muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Chuuya sighed dramatically, shaking his head. Seriously, with the way the chibi acted you would think he was 80 years old. Dazai started thinking of other ways he could convince Chuuya to be his dog forever. If he could trick him into signing those marriage papers nothing could come between them! Maybe he should just forge Chuuya's signature…

“Stop thinking of stupid shit!” Chuuya slapped the back of his head.

“Chuuya doesn't know me well at all, I was thinking of something very serious!”

“No you weren't, that's not your serious thinking face,” Chuuya stated plainly, as if it didn't just make Dazai's heart skip a beat. How dare Chuuya say the most romantic things so nonchalantly! Dazai wanted to swoon. Gross.

“Chibikkooooo, you have to!” he whined.

Chuuya let out an annoyed breath, and Dazai knew he'd won, “Fine, you stupid waste of bandages, I suppose if we have to.”

Dazai internally cheered. Outwardly, he put the papers in front of Chuuya. “Sign here.”

“WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE THESE?”

“Stupid chibi, I'm always prepared.”

Chuuya looked at him. The man who destroys his apartment for shits and giggles, makes fun of his hats, hates dogs (seriously, what a monster) and makes his life actual hell. The same man who saved him from the sheep when they turned against him, and gave him a home when he had nowhere else to go. Who acts like he's heartless but cares so much more than anyone could imagine. Someone who's so smart yet dumb enough to think Chuuya actually falls for his stupid lies. The ridiculous man who just pulled marriage papers out of his ass the second his proposal was a success.

Chuuya had half a mind to tell the mackerel he wasn't 15 anymore, that he knew what he was up to but one look at those stupid, big, beautiful brown eyes, sparkling with joy at having thought he tricked him, he decided to play along. Oh how he'd burn the world for this idiot.

And so, Chuuya signs the papers. And wears a ring under his gloves where no one can see it. And lets a mackerel live in his house and dump his precious wine down the sink. He really is the most gullible person on earth.

45 notes · View notes

sweetlummie · 10 months ago

Text

Sad Little Girl

Mood board by my lovey love @iamasaddie tysm 💗

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Joel Miller x fem!plus size!reader

A/n: hello everyone! I’m back with an actual fic! This one is near and dear to my heart and very personal to me, I hope you enjoy it! Big s/o to @xdaddysprincessxx for proofreading! Ilysm mama 💗💗💗 This fic was made with game!joel in mind! As always constructive criticism is welcome! Enjoy! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! 🫶🫶💗💗 (reupload to see if it shows on tags bc tumblr is fucking me hardcore rn.)

Warnings: mentions of SA and heavy trauma, age gap (reader is in her 20s Joel is in his 50s), death of a loved one, also David is mentioned. If I missed any lmk!

W/c: 1.5k

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Growing up during the apocalypse wasn’t fun. There were many horrible, disgusting men that would do whatever they wanted. The need to survive set aside, they fucked with other people, especially women to get their twisted pleasure. You had fallen victim to that terrible abuse, but out of some sick and twisted mercy the most that had been done to you was being touched inappropriately and had a man expose himself to you. Worst of all? It was in your own home.

Your dad was a part of the smuggling circle and would often have his colleagues over to discuss routes, plans, and merchandise. One of his least trusted associates was the one that tortured you to no end. Because of that you didn’t feel like yourself, you didn’t feel like a girl. As the days passed you wore baggier clothing, you cut your hair to your shoulders, you bound your chest to get rid of any semblance to a woman. What also helped was that you were bigger than the average girl, you thought that maybe you looked broader, more like a male. This was how you coped, how you pushed everyone away.

When you found out your father died it was like a bucket of cold water to your skin. You didn’t know what you were gonna do or how you were gonna get by. A few days after you received the news about your father, there was a knock on your apartment door. Grabbing one of your father’s weapons you hesitantly opened it to find Joel Miller, your dad’s most trusted acquaintance. You lower your weapon and stepped aside to let him in.

“Hey bunny..” Joel began, you never understood why he called you that, based on your appearance you were nothing like a bunny. Not cute, not soft, not friendly.. You were the opposite. “Sorry ‘bout your dad.. Look, your pa on one occasion told me that if anythin’ were ta happen to ‘im for me to take care of ya.. Now I know you're a grown woman that can make her own decisions and take care of herself but I still wanted to offer ya a place to stay.. I know how awful solitude can be and I really care ‘bout ya..”

You had to process what he was telling you but you liked Joel, though you had some very negative interactions with men in the past, he was the only one you trusted aside from your father. You nodded your head in agreement and as the days and weeks progressed you moved your things little by little to his and Tess’ apartment.

You kept to yourself most of the time, mostly passing your time by drawing, reading, or listening to music when you didn’t work. Tess and Joel would sometimes let you go with them to their smuggling jobs but Joel would keep you close.

Joel noticed something was up with you, he noticed your change from the beginning. While your father thought nothing of it he noticed when his cheery-eyed bunny lost the spark in her eyes and became dull. He wanted to talk to your father about it but he felt like it wasn’t his place to say anything. He noticed how you presented yourself, manlier than you used to be and more quiet. Now this change he mentioned to your father.

“Hey man, I noticed somethin’ up with bunny.. Why she dressin’ like that suddenly? Seems like a drastic change..”

But your dad always brushed it off saying it was a phase that you were going through but Joel knew it was more than that.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

It had been a few months that you had been staying with Joel and Tess when one day after Joel and Tess went after Robert, Joel came back with a 14 year old girl named Ellie. You looked at Joel surprised and he pulled you aside to a room to talk about what was happening. He and Tess were going to deliver this girl to the fireflies at the capital and it wasn’t going to take them long.

“I wanna come.” you told Joel, he shook his head “Nah, just me ‘n Tess.. Too dangerous..” That answer didn’t satisfy you. “I’m coming with you. Whether you like it or not.” and you left to go where Ellie was. Joel chuckled lowly and shook his head again, he knew better than to argue with you, you were a little spitfire, just like your dad.

When your journey began you kept to yourself and only spoke if you heard something or needed something. Ellie tried to talk to you but you would only respond with a nod or a shake.

“What’s up with her.. Him? Nah her?” she asked Tess and Tess chuckled. “I don’t know, kid, she’s a nice lady, just quiet is all.” Joel took that chance to check up on you.

“Ya alright? Need anythin’?” you shook your head and Joel left you be.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Your trip had gone sour, Tess was dead and now you were on route to Lincoln. Tess’ death hit you hard but you know you have to be strong for both Ellie and Joel. After you had all processed her death you figured it would be best to open up now since it was only the three of you left. You began talking more and found that you shared a lot of things in common with Ellie. You two became quickly attached and while Joel did his best to ignore you both, being the ever stoic and grumpy man he is, he was still really happy that you opened up.

Little by little Joel noticed a positive change in you, the sparkle in your eyes was slowly returning and now you openly were conversing and laughing with both Joel and Ellie. Your progress was quickly squandered though when Joel got hurt and by events with David, a creepy school teacher turned psycho cult leader. You took care of Joel while weeping silently, you were scared you were gonna lose the man you trusted, the man you felt safe with. You know you should’ve gone hunting, you know what happened with Ellie is your fault. You both scrambled as you tried to lead David and his men as far away from Joel as possible. But in the end you both got caught. You and Ellie were held in different areas but you panicked as you saw the disgusting look in his eyes. You knew exactly what he wanted to do with you and especially Ellie.

After what happened with Ellie it triggered your PTSD and you just held Ellie as you both wept. You both had been fairly quiet on the trip to the hospital. It killed Joel to not just see one of his girls be quiet and devoid of life but both of them. Especially since you had come such a long way.

That night when Ellie slept he approached you and asked if you both could talk. You agreed and followed him a little away from the camp not to disturb Ellie’s sleep but still keeping a close eye on her.

“Bunny… I’m sorry ‘bout what happened.. you ‘n Ellie didn’t deserve that.. I shoulda been there to protect y’all..” of course Joel blamed himself when it wasn’t his fault at all.. with a sigh you begin to speak. “It’s not your fault Joel.. it’s mine.. I should’ve been more careful towards Ellie.. she.. we..” you burst out crying and for once you felt the warm embrace of someone who loved you. You would cry by yourself at nights, not wanting to disturb your dad with your seemingly insignificant issues.. but for once you cry and you just get held.. you craved that more than anything else.. as much as it pained you, you told Joel everything that happened in the QZ for years before your father died.. he clenched his jaw and held you tighter..

“I wish ya woulda said somethin’ bunny.. never liked that freak anyway.. woulda killed ‘em for ya..” Joel whispers as his lips pressed into your hair. You chuckled and just let the tears fall. It felt good to get it off your chest, to let Joel in.. you felt safe, you felt secure in his arms.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

When you return to Jackson, you’re a whole new person. You and Joel live together in a house while Ellie lives in her shed. You’ve begun to let your hair grow out again, decorating it with cute hair accessories you would find, you’re wearing pretty, fitting clothing, even dresses! Joel sees how brightly you’re shining. No longer are you the shy quiet girl that people assumed was a brute boy. You changed totally. You were truly beautiful in his eyes. You were thankful for Joel, he made you feel safe, he made you feel true peace. Enough to where you felt like you didn’t have to protect yourself anymore, enough to where you could finally be yourself and not worry about getting hurt. He would protect you, he would be there for you. You were his bunny, you finally felt at home.

* ・‥…━━━━━━━ *˖◛⁺♡ ━━━━━━━…‥・

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x plus size reader #joel miller x you

59 notes · View notes

powercloud · 1 year ago

Text

Gojo could feel the tips of his finger tingle, the sole of his feet itching to move. His mind reels, a thousand thoughts running that it makes his stomach sick. Gojo stands, sits, then stands again until he couldn’t take it anymore. The only thing that grounds him is the sound of your voice, though its the sole reason he’s going insane in the first place.

Gojo has his phone tucked between his cheek and his shoulder, his hand on his hip while the other pinches the bridge of his nose. You’re on the other side, talking about shirt sizes, about which would fit best. And the fact you’re so casual about the whole ordeal despite the betrayal you did him dirty with not even a few days ago pisses him off.

You chose Geto’s side over his. To Gojo that is the highest degree of hurt you could ever inflict on him. And you dared call him dramatic the first minutes of the call!

“I’m gonna go with large,” you said, Gojo can hear shuffling on your end. “I feel like the pair would go well with Suguru too. Don’t you think?”

Gojo’s nose flares, if this was a cartoon he would have steam blowing out of his ears. “I don’t care! And I can’t even see what shirt you’re talking about, you weirdo. Why’d you call me?”

“Cause I missed you. What, I can’t?” Gojo bites down his lower lip, as if it could help calm down the sudden skip of his heartbeat. You have a way with making his emotions go on tangents. “Besides, I haven’t spoken to you in days since I left Tokyo for this mission. How are you doing?”

Gojo doesn’t hold back from telling his truth. “Absolutely horrible, what did you expect? You and Shoko took Suguru’s side, two of my bestest friends not even seeing my side of the story! I was assigned to go on an island with Suguru for a mission, can you imagine how awkward that was for me. Three whole days we were there and we’ve not spoken a word to each other.”

You scoff on the microphone, Gojo can almost sense you rolling your pretty eyes at him. “You did say some mean things to him, Satoru.” He doesn’t like how soft you say his name, that it almost makes him want to do whatever you tell him to. “And what you did was wrong. You have to be the one to apologize to him.” But never that.

“He said mean things to me, too,” Gojo defends. “He called me inconsiderate. I’m plenty considerate!”

“Someone considerate wouldn’t put Inoue Waka as his wallpaper when he has a gorgeous girlfriend who already feels inferior,” You sigh, defeatedly and Gojo knows he’s lost. A pause passes, giving you two both time to breathe. Gojo knows deep in his messed up head you were right. That Geto and Shoko were right. He’s just...he doesn’t know. His ego’s too big to admit he’s wrong, he’s so used to being right. To being on top of everything, he is above everything. He’s still young and learning and forever grateful you’re in his life to call him out on his bullshit, like now.

“Apologize, Satoru,” you said, nearly sounding desperate, tired. “So when I come home I’ll give you the biggest smooch on the cheek and gift you this ugly large shirt as souvenir.” Gojo chuckles at that, agreeing with you. A smile breaking out of his face, the lines of worry disappearing from his forehead.

"Fine, fine. I will," Gojo acquiesces finally.

"Hm, good." You then bless him with a low hearty laugh.

After another beat passes, Gojo tells another truth. “She broke up with me, you know.”

“I– she did?” You don't seem fazed at the sudden shift, if anything you've come to welcome any shift when it came to him.

“Yeah, I kinda deserve it anyway. That was a dick move.”

“Oh, Satoru.” You make no point debunking what he said last, and in it’s own twisted way Gojo knows its for the best. “When did she?”

“Hours after you left,” Gojo said, sitting down now, his head buried in his hand. “Its a long time coming, honestly.”

“How do you mean?”

“It never felt right,” He said. Because she’s not you, he thinks.

“Never felt right?”

“Yeah.” I’m in love with you.

“Hm, I see.” Gojo can feel the sorry dripping from your tone. There was really no need for you to feel anything like that at all. Gojo only felt bad for a day after the break up, then felt more sorry for the fact it only took that much time and he must be such an asshole for being that way and yet... “Don’t you worry, Satoru. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for next time.”

“When you get here.”

“What?”

“I mean, when do you get here?”

“Oh! Uh, my flights later tonight. I’ll be there in the morning.” Gojo doesn’t say anything after that. And for awhile, what he can hear from your end is another person with an accent and you conversing with them in English. You’re probably paying for the stuff you bought. Gojo waits patiently.

When it’s back to faint sounds of your shoes clicking on floors, Gojo asks. “Where are you anyway?”

“In some thrift shop a few blocks from where I’m stationed,” You answer, then quickly add with, "about time you wear things not designer." Because you know he's going to take offense. And he does.

"I can't believe this."

"Listen, this one's—"

"A thrifted shirt? Seriously, I can't—"

"It compliments your eyes! It would look so good on you, trust me."

...

"Well, if you say so. At least tell me it's not the cheapest thing in the store."

"Don't be a pompous jerk, Satoru. You're gonna accept what I give you."

#satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jjk #jjk satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #can you tell I don't know how to end a one-shot

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sicknessbysalem · 4 months ago

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Day Ten: Flushed Cheeks (alternative prompt) | Sicktember 2024

for the people who wanted to see sick meadow and caretaker river, here's your snack!

if you have any requests, questions, comments, etc., send them my way!

tw emeto, scat, nausea, getting sick at a bad time

The early afternoon light streamed through the windows of the tavern, casting a warm glow on the rustic wooden tables. Meadow moved behind the bar with practiced ease, her usual bright energy carrying her through the start of her shift.

It was a slower day, the tavern not quite bustling with the evening crowd yet, and she welcomed the quiet. The steady hum of conversation from the few patrons filled the space, and Meadow found a certain comfort in the familiarity of it all.

She hummed softly to herself as she cleaned a row of glasses, her mind half-focused on her plans with River later that evening. They had made plans to spend the night together at River’s place, a quiet night in—something both of them were looking forward to. The thought of it made her smile, though a slight flutter in her stomach caught her attention.

Meadow brushed it off at first, chalking it up to excitement or maybe the lingering effects of skipping breakfast. She was used to the occasional bout of queasiness during a long shift, and it wasn’t enough to slow her down. She continued wiping down the counter, chatting briefly with a couple of regulars who had stopped in for an early drink.

But as the minutes passed, the flutter in her stomach grew more persistent. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable—like something wasn’t quite right. She paused, resting a hand on her abdomen for a moment, trying to gauge what was going on. Maybe it was something she ate? She couldn’t think of anything unusual, though.

As the afternoon wore on, Meadow’s stomach grew more unsettled. It was a slow, creeping discomfort, starting as a dull ache and gradually worsening with each passing minute. Her energy faltered slightly as she worked, though she tried her best to keep up appearances. She didn’t want anyone, least of all April, to worry. April had a sixth sense for when something was off, and Meadow didn’t want to cause a stir if this was just a passing thing.

By the time her break rolled around, the discomfort had become impossible to ignore. Her stomach churned, the ache now a deep, persistent knot that made her shift uneasily on her feet. She excused herself from the bar, heading toward the back where the employee restroom was. The walk to the bathroom felt longer than usual, each step sending a wave of discomfort through her gut.

As she entered the restroom, Meadow braced herself against the sink, taking a few deep breaths. She had thought it was just nausea at first—maybe the start of something—but now, standing there in the quiet of the bathroom, she realized it wasn’t nausea at all. It was something different, something deeper, and as her stomach clenched sharply, the realization hit her.

She barely had time to react before she hurried into the stall, her stomach cramping painfully. The moment she sat down, her body gave in, and a sudden, intense wave of diarrhea hit her. Meadow gasped softly, her hands gripping the sides of the seat as the cramping continued, her stomach twisting uncomfortably as it purged itself.

The relief was instant, but it came with a wave of exhaustion that left her leaning forward, her forehead resting in her hands as she tried to catch her breath. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t even realized how bad it was until it hit her all at once. Her stomach gurgled loudly, the sounds filling the quiet bathroom as she endured another wave of cramps.

Meadow winced as her body continued to expel whatever was bothering it, each bout leaving her feeling more drained. The diarrhea was relentless, coming in sudden, sharp bursts that left her trembling slightly. She pressed her hand against her stomach, willing the cramping to stop, though the discomfort still lingered, a low, constant ache that made it clear she wasn’t done yet.

As she sat there, her mind wandered to River, the plans they had for the night. She had been looking forward to it all day, but now… now she wasn’t so sure she’d be able to make it. The thought made her stomach twist again, though this time, it wasn’t just physical. She didn’t want to cancel on River, didn’t want to ruin their night, but she couldn’t deny that her body was betraying her right now.

Minutes passed, and the worst of the bout seemed to ease. Meadow leaned back, her body feeling weak and shaky from the ordeal. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, feeling the clammy sweat that had formed during the episode. Her stomach was still uneasy, though the cramps had lessened for the moment. She stayed seated for a while longer, not trusting herself to stand just yet, her thoughts swirling as she tried to figure out what to do next.

Meadow had somehow managed to make it through the rest of her shift, though it had been far from easy. Her stomach had settled for a while after that first episode, but the relief hadn’t lasted. Another round of cramping and diarrhea had hit her just before her break ended, sending her back to the bathroom in a rush. By the time she clocked out, she was exhausted and shaky, but still determined to head to River’s.

She hadn’t wanted to cancel their plans. The idea of spending the evening with River, cuddling on the couch and watching a movie, was the one thing keeping her going through the discomfort. Maybe, she thought, now that the workday was over, she could relax, and her stomach would ease up.

When she arrived at River’s place, the familiar warmth and comfort of the space instantly made her feel more at ease. River greeted her with a soft smile and a warm hug, their embrace grounding her as she tried to push the lingering unease in her stomach aside.

“Hey, love,” River said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Meadow’s head. “You look tired. Long day?”

Meadow smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, long day. But I’m glad to be here now.”

They made their way to the living room, where the soft glow of the television bathed the room in a calming light. Meadow sank into the couch beside River, curling up against them as they wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The scent of River’s familiar cologne mixed with the comforting smell of their home, and for a moment, Meadow allowed herself to relax.

They picked a movie—a lighthearted one—and let it play in the background as they settled into each other’s company. Meadow leaned her head against River’s shoulder, her body seeking the comfort and warmth they always provided. But despite the cozy atmosphere, her stomach had other ideas.

It started with a faint gurgling, a soft, low sound that Meadow could feel more than hear. Her gut twisted slightly, and she shifted on the couch, hoping to ease the discomfort without drawing attention to it. She didn’t want to ruin the evening, didn’t want River to worry about her. But as the minutes ticked by, the gurgling grew louder, and her stomach started cramping again, the familiar pressure building inside her.

River, ever perceptive, must have noticed the slight tension in Meadow’s body. Without saying a word, they gently rested their hand on her stomach, their thumb moving in slow, comforting circles. Meadow’s initial instinct was to flinch away, embarrassed by the gurgling sounds and the discomfort, but the soothing motion of River’s hand eased some of the tension, and she allowed herself to relax against them.

For a moment, it worked. The warmth of River’s touch seemed to calm her stomach, and she closed her eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of their hand as it moved over her abdomen. But just as quickly as the relief had come, her stomach turned again, this time with a vengeance.

What had once been soothing now felt like a trigger. The pressure in her stomach intensified, and Meadow knew immediately that things had taken a turn for the worse. The cramps were sharper now, more urgent, and she felt a sudden wave of nausea roll through her.

She tensed, pulling away from River’s touch, though she tried not to make it obvious. “I’ll be right back,” she muttered, her voice tight as she stood up, not waiting for River’s response.

River’s brows furrowed in concern, but they didn’t press her as she hurried out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom. Meadow barely made it inside before the cramping hit full force. She sat down quickly, her stomach churning violently as the diarrhea started again, her body giving in to the discomfort she had been trying to ignore all night.

She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her hands pressed to her forehead as her stomach twisted painfully. The cramps were relentless, wave after wave of them hitting her with a force that left her breathless. Her stomach gurgled loudly, the sounds echoing in the quiet bathroom as her body purged itself yet again.

But this time, something was different. As the cramps continued, a new sensation rose in the back of her throat—an unmistakable nausea that made her stomach lurch. Meadow swallowed hard, her heart racing as she fought against the sudden urge to throw up. She closed her eyes, taking shallow breaths as the nausea swirled inside her, the sour taste of bile creeping up her throat.

For a few agonizing moments, she was sure she wouldn’t be able to hold it back. Her mouth watered, her stomach roiled, and she hovered on the edge of vomiting, her body trembling with the effort it took to stay in control. But somehow, she managed to fight it down. The nausea remained, a heavy, uncomfortable presence in her gut, but the immediate threat passed.

Meadow leaned back, her head resting against the cool wall of the bathroom, her breaths coming in short, shallow bursts. She felt drained, both physically and emotionally, her body weak from the constant strain it had been under all day. She stayed there for a while, waiting for the cramps to subside and for the nausea to fade enough for her to move.

When she finally stood up, her legs wobbled slightly, and she had to steady herself against the counter. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—her face pale, her cheeks flushed, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. She looked as bad as she felt.

Meadow splashed some cold water on her face, hoping it would help her feel a little more composed before heading back out to River. She didn’t want to worry them any more than she already had, but there was no hiding the exhaustion and discomfort etched into her features.

When she returned to the living room, River was sitting on the edge of the couch, their expression tense with concern. They stood up the moment Meadow appeared, their eyes scanning her face for any sign of what had happened.

“Hey… are you okay?” River asked softly, their voice filled with quiet worry.

Meadow forced a smile, though it was weak. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… my stomach’s still acting up a bit. It’s nothing, really.”

River didn’t look convinced. They stepped closer, their hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from Meadow’s flushed face. “You don’t look fine,” they said softly, their brow furrowed as they studied her. “You’re really flushed.”

Meadow shrugged, trying to downplay it. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day, and I think I ate something bad earlier. I’ll be okay.”

River hesitated, their eyes lingering on Meadow’s face, but after a moment, they nodded, letting it go—for now. “Alright,” they said quietly. “But if it gets worse, you’ll tell me, right?”

Meadow nodded, offering them a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I promise.”

River still looked worried, but they didn’t press further. Instead, they wrapped an arm around Meadow’s shoulders and led her back to the couch, where they curled up together again, though the atmosphere was a little heavier now. Meadow leaned against them, her body still tense from the discomfort, but she was grateful for their quiet support.

As the movie played on in the background, Meadow closed her eyes, hoping that this time, her body would give her a break. She didn’t want to ruin their night, and with River by her side, she felt a little more at ease—though the lingering nausea in her stomach was a constant reminder that things weren’t quite right.

Meadow had hoped her body would calm down, that the worst had passed, and she could enjoy the rest of the night with River in peace. But as the movie played on, a quiet tension settled over her again. Her stomach, which had been somewhat calm after the last bathroom trip, began to stir once more. At first, it was just an uneasy gurgle, like before, but this time, it was different—more intense, more urgent.

She shifted slightly against River, trying to find a position that would ease the discomfort, but it wasn’t working. Her stomach churned again, this time sharper, a sudden cramp doubling her over slightly as she clutched her abdomen. She hoped it was just another passing wave, but the nausea that accompanied it quickly became impossible to ignore.

River felt it before they saw it—the sudden tension in Meadow’s body, the way her chest tightened against them, and then the unmistakable gag as her stomach rebelled. They turned to look at her, concern flashing in their eyes as they took in her appearance. Meadow was pale—far paler than before—and her eyes were wide with panic, her hand clamped tightly over her mouth as if trying to hold back the inevitable.

“Meadow?” River asked, their voice laced with worry. But there was no time for an answer.

Meadow barely had the strength to shake her head before the nausea surged forward with a force that left her helpless. She stood up, half-stumbling as she tried to get to the bathroom, her hand still pressed firmly to her mouth, her body shaking with the effort to keep it in. But it was no use. Before she could even make it halfway, her stomach gave in.

The first wave hit her hard, her body convulsing violently as she threw up, her stomach emptying itself onto the coffee table in front of her. The sound was wet and harsh, a splatter that filled the quiet room as her body purged itself, leaving her trembling and gasping for air. Her knees buckled slightly, and she leaned forward, clutching the back of the couch for support as another wave hit her, sending more of her stomach’s contents spilling out uncontrollably.

River was at her side in an instant, their hand on her back, their eyes wide with concern. “Meadow—hold on, I’ll grab something—” they began, but before they could move, Meadow gagged again, her body wracked with another heave.

“I can’t—” Meadow managed to gasp, her voice strained as she clamped her hand back over her mouth. The nausea was overwhelming now, a suffocating pressure in her chest and throat that left her feeling trapped in her own body. Worse yet, she could feel the cramping in her stomach shifting lower, the all-too-familiar signal that she needed the toilet as well.

River quickly grabbed a bucket from under the sink, rushing back to Meadow just in time to see her stagger toward the bathroom, her body clearly fighting on two fronts now. “I’m right behind you,” they said quickly, their voice calm despite the chaos.

Meadow barely made it to the bathroom before she collapsed onto the toilet, her stomach cramping violently as diarrhea hit her all at once. The relief was instant, but it came with a price—her body was overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, and before she could even catch her breath, the nausea surged again.

River was right there, holding the bucket up to her just as another wave of vomit ripped through her. Meadow’s body convulsed as she threw up into the bucket, the sound of her retching filling the small bathroom. Each heave was powerful and uncontrollable, her body wracked with tremors as her stomach continued to empty itself. But the diarrhea didn’t stop, either, and with each forceful heave, her lower body clenched painfully, expelling more in unison with her vomiting.

The dual assault on her body left her feeling utterly helpless. Every time she thought it was over, her stomach would tighten again, sending another surge of nausea and cramps through her. The bucket in front of her was quickly filling with vomit, her body giving her no respite as the vomiting and diarrhea continued in a relentless cycle.

River knelt beside her, their hand resting on her back, trying to offer some comfort in the midst of it all. “You’re okay,” they murmured softly, their voice steady and calm despite the chaos. “Just breathe, Meadow. You’re doing great.”

Meadow groaned, her voice weak and hoarse as she leaned over the bucket, another wave of vomit spilling out of her. Her body was trembling uncontrollably, the sheer force of the vomiting leaving her breathless and exhausted. But even as she emptied her stomach, the cramps in her abdomen told her there was still more to come, both from her stomach and her lower end.

“I can’t… I can’t stop,” she gasped between heaves, her voice barely a whisper. Her face was flushed and damp with sweat, her body shaking as she fought to regain control.

River, sensing her distress, shifted closer, their hand moving from her back to her stomach. “Let me help,” they said softly, pressing gently against her abdomen.

The pressure was exactly what Meadow needed. As River’s hand moved in slow, firm circles over her stomach, the cramping seemed to ease slightly, enough for her body to continue expelling everything without the overwhelming sense of being trapped in her own misery. She leaned into their touch, her breath hitching as another wave of nausea hit her, though this time, the vomiting wasn’t as violent.

Meadow’s body continued to purge itself, her stomach convulsing with each heave, though the pressure from River’s hand seemed to help things move more smoothly. The cramps in her abdomen were still sharp, but the added pressure kept them from overwhelming her, and she could feel her body starting to calm, even as it forced the last remnants of the sickness out.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the vomiting slowed, and Meadow was left gasping for breath, her body slumped against the toilet as she tried to catch her breath. The diarrhea had slowed too, though the ache in her stomach lingered, a dull reminder of what she had just been through.

River stayed by her side the entire time, their hand still resting on her abdomen, their touch warm and steady. “You did great,” they murmured softly, brushing a strand of sweat-soaked hair from her face. “Just rest now. It’s over.”

Meadow nodded weakly, too exhausted to speak. Her body felt heavy and drained, her muscles trembling from the effort it had taken to purge everything. She leaned her head back against the wall, her breath still coming in shallow gasps as she closed her eyes, grateful for the moment of stillness.

River stayed close, their hand never leaving her stomach as they offered quiet comfort. “You’re okay, Meadow. I’ve got you.”

After what felt like an eternity in the bathroom, Meadow and River finally made their way back to the living room. Meadow’s legs trembled with exhaustion, and her body felt heavy, like she’d been through a battle. Her stomach was still tender, though the cramps had eased, and the nausea had subsided for the moment. All she wanted now was to lie down and forget about the chaos her body had just put her through.

River helped her back to the couch, guiding her gently with a hand on her back. “Come on, let’s get you comfortable,” they murmured softly, their voice filled with quiet concern. Meadow was grateful for their steady presence—River always seemed to know what to do, what to say, even in moments like these when she felt completely drained.

Once she was settled on the couch, Meadow curled up on her side, her head resting against a soft pillow. River sat beside her, their hand moving instinctively to her hair, fingers gently threading through the strands in a comforting rhythm. Meadow sighed, her body relaxing a little more with each stroke of River’s hand. For the first time in hours, she felt like she could actually breathe again.

“You’re burning up, you know,” River said quietly after a few minutes, their fingers brushing against the warmth of her forehead. “You’ve got a fever.”

Meadow groaned softly, her eyes half-closed as she tried to focus on anything other than the lingering ache in her stomach. “Yeah, I figured,” she muttered, her voice hoarse. “Feels like it’s just one thing after another tonight.”

River frowned, their fingers still moving gently through her hair. “We’ll take it easy, alright? Just rest. Hopefully, your body will give you a break soon.”

Meadow nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure her body would cooperate. The nausea had been relentless earlier, and even now, she could feel it lurking beneath the surface, a dull unease in her gut that wouldn’t fully go away. But she didn’t want to dwell on it. She just wanted to lie there, with River beside her, and pretend for a little while that everything was okay.

For a while, things did seem to settle. Meadow’s breathing slowed, and River’s touch lulled her into a calm, sleepy state. Her body felt heavy with exhaustion, and she could feel the edges of sleep pulling at her, even though the fever left her skin hot and uncomfortable.

But just as she started to drift off, her stomach gave a sudden, sharp gurgle. Meadow tensed, her eyes snapping open as the familiar sensation of nausea returned—this time, more urgent. She swallowed hard, trying to push it down, willing her stomach to calm. But the tightness in her chest and throat told her that wasn’t going to happen.

River must have felt the shift in her body because they immediately paused, their hand still resting lightly on her hair. “Meadow?” they asked softly, their voice full of concern. “Are you okay?”

Meadow clenched her jaw, forcing a tight nod. “I’m fine,” she whispered, though the words felt like a lie. Her stomach churned again, a sickening wave of nausea rolling through her, leaving her breathless. She tried to fight it, tried to keep her body under control, but it was a losing battle. She could feel the nausea rising, building into something she couldn’t ignore.

River sat up, their eyes scanning her face with growing worry. “Meadow, you don’t look fine,” they said, their tone gentle but firm. “Do you need the bathroom?”

Meadow swallowed again, the saliva in her mouth thick as her stomach tightened painfully. She knew she wasn’t going to win this fight. The nausea was too strong, too overwhelming, and her body was already preparing for the inevitable. With a soft groan, she nodded, her hand instinctively moving to cover her mouth.

“I think I’m gonna…” she whispered, her voice trailing off as the nausea surged forward.

River didn’t hesitate. They gently helped Meadow sit up, quickly gathering her hair into a loose hold, their fingers steady and reassuring as they guided her toward the bathroom. “I’m right here,” they said softly, their voice a soothing presence amidst the rising panic.

Meadow barely made it to the toilet before the nausea became too much to bear. She dropped to her knees, her body convulsing as the first wave of vomit hit her, spilling out into the toilet with a violent force. It was a harsh, wet sound that echoed in the small bathroom, her stomach emptying itself in great, heaving bursts.

River knelt beside her, keeping a firm grip on her hair as they gently rubbed her back with their other hand. “Let it out,” they murmured, their voice calm and steady. “You’re okay, just let it out.”

Meadow didn’t have the energy to respond. Her body was completely focused on purging itself, each heave more powerful than the last. The vomit came in waves, her stomach convulsing uncontrollably as she emptied everything she had left. Her hands gripped the sides of the toilet, her knuckles white as her body shook with the effort it took to keep going.

It seemed to go on forever. Every time Meadow thought it was over, her stomach would tighten again, sending another surge of vomit up her throat. The taste was bitter and foul, burning her throat and leaving her gasping for breath between heaves. She could feel the sweat beading on her forehead, her entire body trembling with the exertion.

River stayed with her through it all, their hand a constant, soothing presence on her back. “You’re doing great,” they whispered softly, their voice a gentle reassurance. “Just breathe, Meadow. You’re almost done.”

Meadow gagged again, another rush of vomit spilling out of her as her stomach clenched painfully. It was abundant, thick and forceful, and she could feel her body growing weaker with each heave. Her head was spinning, the room tilting slightly as she tried to catch her breath between bouts of vomiting.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the waves of nausea began to slow. Meadow’s body slumped forward, her forehead resting against the cool edge of the toilet seat as she gasped for air. Her stomach felt hollow and raw, the muscles sore from the effort of vomiting, but the worst seemed to be over.

River kept their hand on her back, their fingers moving in slow, gentle circles. “You did great,” they whispered, their voice soft and filled with quiet concern. “It’s over now.”

Meadow nodded weakly, her eyes closed as she tried to steady her breathing. Her body still trembled slightly, the aftershocks of the intense vomiting leaving her feeling drained and exhausted. She felt like she had nothing left to give—her stomach had completely emptied itself, and the fever was making her feel light-headed and weak.

River stayed with her for a few more moments, making sure she was stable before they helped her sit back, offering her a glass of water. “Here, rinse your mouth,” they said gently, holding the glass for her as she swished the cool liquid around before spitting it into the toilet.

Meadow leaned back against the bathroom wall, her body slumping with exhaustion. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from the strain of vomiting. “I didn’t mean to ruin the night…”

River shook their head, their expression soft and full of understanding. “You didn’t ruin anything,” they said quietly, their hand still resting on her shoulder. “I just want you to feel better.”

Meadow closed her eyes, too tired to argue. “I don’t know if I have anything left,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

River smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Good,” they said gently. “That means you can rest now.”

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emetophilia #emeto cw #emeto tw #fever cw #fever tw #emeto writer #sicktember 2024 #sicktember 2024 day ten

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