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one-piece-aus · 6 months

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Whumptober Day 17

Kid x Reader

Ahoy! Remember that angsty Kid story I wrote last year for Whumptober? I saw you guys wanted a sequel so I decided to write the prequel to that from Kid's POV! (I do have the idea of making this a series but I need more motivation) Anyway, if you can read the other part to this HERE

Enjoy the story! ^-^

"Kid, you've been acting different lately," Killer said as he stood beside his friend.

"You don't have to remind me," Kid growled, shifting his stance while keeping his arms folded as he leaned against the school's gate. His eyes were fixated on a group of friends walking by... no, he's only looking at one person, you.

"It's the girl, isn't it?" Killer stated, following Kid's gaze.

Kid grumbled in response and averted his eyes from the group to glare at the ground. Even with you out of sight, you weren't out of his mind. You haunted his mind and wouldn't leave, ironic because you didn't exist to him before Ms. Makino paired the two of you for an English project this year.

"When are you gonna tell her?" Killer asks turning back to the redhead.

"I don't plan to."

"Why not? She gets along with us just fine," Killer pointed out, which is seen as a good sign in the Kid Gang since most of the girls who try to run after them have a distaste for most of their members.

"She's probably already dating that goth freak."

"Who is?"

Kid and Killer turn to see Law approaching them.

"Fuck off Trafalgar!"

"I came to ask a favour, I thought I was going look for a way to bargain but it looks like you need information." Law smirks.

Killer glances at Kid who is already growling at Law, "Kid, if you don't want to ask her directly to find out, this is the next best thing."

"I know," Kid growls, loathing at the thought of asking Law for something. "Fine! Do you know if [Y/n] is with that freak Hawkins?"

Law shook his head. "I've seen Basil hang around [Y/n] but he's not dating anyone. He says romance is nothing but delusions and a distraction in high school, maybe you should heed his words Eustass."

"I don't ask for your opinion Trafalgar!" Kid flipped him off.

"Well you did ask for information, and now you gotta pay up."

"Like hell I will after-"

"Do you know if [Y/n] is with anyone?" Killer asked for Kid, figuring if they get more info Kid will help Law without a fuss.

"I don't, but if anyone in this school would know, it's probably Basil," Law shrugs. "He knows her the most, probably the only one who knows her. Not even Strawhat or his friends know about her, and that's hard to find these days."

"I know her."

"Sure you do Eustass, but I suggest talking to Basil."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You wish to know if [Y/n] is single?" Hawkins questioned, closing his locker door and turning to Kid.

"That's what I just asked."

"May I inquire why?"

"I just want to know," Kid told him, folding his arms.

"To answer your question, no, she is not with anyone at the moment," Hawkins stated. "However, if you're wanting to pursue her, I would advise against that."

"Let hell you'll stop me!" Kid shouted, side-punching the locker beside him.

"I'm not saying I will," Hawkins said. "But I think you should reconsider."

"What do you mean?" Kid asked narrowing his eyes at the blond.

"Knowing [Y/n]'s past, it's clear that you're not suited for her."

"And what? You are!?"

"No, our relationship is as she once stated 'loners who stick together', but you, on the other hand, are a bit more complicated now that you've developed feelings for her."

"That's none of your business!"

"Perhaps not, but it is [Y/n]'s business and as someone who has known [Y/n] for quite some time now, I can't help but be concerned about her well-being," Hawkins states while maintaining eye contact with Kid. When the redhead doesn't respond, Hawkins walks past him to go to his club when he stops. "There's more to [Y/n] that you haven't seen. If you're serious about this, I suggest you find out before you go any further."

Kid stood there, hearing Hawkins' footsteps echo further down the hall.

Did he really not know you? Sure, Kid might not know your childhood or the other schools you went to, but he didn't think that'd be a big deal. He hasn't been to your house yet either but most families wouldn't want a member of a gang in their house... No, that's not an excuse. If he's going to get to know this side he hasn't seen, he has to set that aside.

Kid decided that the next time he sees you he'll take you around town to see if he could take a step closer to knowing you. At least, that's what he wanted to do, but you were making it hard to do.

You no longer stayed in your shared English class, always asking to study somewhere else. He never saw you in the halls, not even when Hawkins walked by. You were nowhere to be found at lunch, and if you were in a club at the end of the day, Kid didn't see you in there because he checked every club meeting to find you.

Two weeks passed since this started, and Kid normally didn't like assuming these kinds of things, at least not when it comes to his friends, yet his mind couldn't stop whispering this thought to him.

You were avoiding him.

Tag: @gnarlycrys @roseoftrafalgar @bookandyarndragon

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oneweirdbookaddict · 7 months

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Whumptober day seventeen!

Touch aversion, leave me alone. Character focus: Legend and Hyrule, little bit of Wars

726 words

Warnings for injury, mentions of stitches, touch aversion. Let me know if there should be more!

~~~~

Sky was the go to for hugs.

You wanted a hug?

Sky was always willing.

Always happy to be comforting, willing to lend a shoulder to cry on.

And he just had something about him that made him easy to go to- he didn’t ask questions until conversation was initiated by the hugger.

Some of them spent more time hugging Sky than others- Wind, for example, was much more willing to go to Sky for a quick hug than Legend.

Touch aversion was common among them- sporadically or usual, they all had times when contact was unwelcome.

Just a side effect of the trauma- like most things are.

They respected it, always asked before any sort of contact, made it an unspoken rule to do their best to not touch those who consistently didn’t want contact.

Legend was very specific about who was allowed to touch him- Hyrule was a sometimes, Wind was a sometimes, Wars, surprisingly, was a most of the time.

The others were pretty much always a no, except in cases of emergencies.

Four was not a touchy person- didn’t seek it out, didn’t initiate it, but didn’t actively avoid it. He’d awkwardly lean into a hug if asked, but he’d be stiff as a board.

Wars was a big no- he’d initiate it at times, but it was rare. Touching him without permission if you didn’t need to was a massive no.

Sky, as far as they’ve all seen, has never turned down a hug or any sort of contact.

Time won’t turn down a hug or anything, but won’t seek one out. They privately wonder if he thinks he’s too adult to be able to ask for a hug.

Wild was weird- some days he’d rival Sky for the most cuddly Link, and others he avoided it more than Legend. Always best to just ask.

Wind was almost always touchy, always happy for a hug, a high five, a fist bump, any sort of contact. If he turns it down, something's up.

Twi was like Sky- never had they seen the rancher turn down a hug, he was another go to for hugs, always willing to provide a shoulder for anything.

Once his Wolfie secret came out, he’d even occasionally let them pet him as a wolf.

They found out these patterns early on into the group’s meeting, and respected them.

Nothing dire enough had occurred to put someone in a position where they had no choice but to be touched, even if they didn’t want to be.

Until now.

Knock on wood- the second he thinks these things it happens.

“Don’t touch me!” Legend growls, using the hand that isn’t pressed against the gaping wound on his side to swat weakly at Wars.

“Vet, c’mon, man, you need stitches-”

“No! I said no! Don’t you touch me, get away-”

“You’re going to bleed out.” Wars argues, dodging another weak attack.

“Leave me alone!” Legend snaps, and something in his eyes- the absolute panic in them- stops Wars.

“Legend. I don’t want to do this to spite you. You need medical attention, though. If you’d prefer someone else-”

“Leave me alone! I’m fine, it’s not going to kill me, I can do the stitches myself, please-”

“We both know you can’t, Legend, you need to let someone help you. Who-”

“Don’t touch me!” Legend hisses as Hyrule holds a hand out, and both pause.

“I can heal you. I have a spell.” Hyrule offers softly.

Legend pauses. Looks trapped, eyes staring at Hyrule.

“No stitches. I’ll just have to touch for… five seconds. That’s it. I’ll do it. Is that ok with you?”

“You shouldn’t waste that on me, that’s a powerful spell and someone else at some point will be hurt-”

“We can worry about that later. It won’t take much to heal this, so I’ll be fine, too. I just need your permission. Is that ok?”

Legend takes a shaking breath, still hesitant.

But nods slowly.

Hyrule offers a gentle smile, kneeling next to the vet when Wars moves, putting a gentle hand on the cut.

His hands glow for a moment, and then fade.

And all that’s left of Legend’s wound is blood on his tunic and Hyrule’s hands.

Silence for a minute. Then Rulie stands, offering a small smile. “Let’s see if we can get that blood out. There’s a small stream down this way, it’s not far.”

Legend takes a shaking breath, nodding and standing as well. And the two walk off, Legend's hand slowly moving to take Hyrule’s as they walk.

~~~~

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firstdegreefangirl · 6 months

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Just Let it Pass

"Just go,” Roy mutters, turning over in bed so that his back is to the door. “Leave me alone.”

He holds his breath, waiting for Jamie to close the door behind himself. The latch never clicks, but the mattress shifts down by his feet and he feels the weight of Jamie’s hand on his ankle through the duvet.

“Y’know, I got a … well not a theory, ‘xactly. But a thought, maybe? Doesn’t matter what I call it, really. Point is, I don’t think I’ve ever told anybody to leave me alone when that’s actually what I wanted.”

“Fuck you.” He means it, too.

Fuck Jamie, and his ability to see right through all of Roy’s bullshit to figure out the one fucking thing he wants, but doesn’t know how to fucking ask for. Fuck him for staying, even when it would surely be easier for him to go.

Fuck him for caring enough to stay.

“Yeah, alright.” Jamie rubs his hand back and forth over the blanket lump where Roy’s legs are.

He still doesn’t leave. Roy’s grateful for it, which he communicates by not yanking his leg away from Jamie’s touch.

“It’s not fucking fair,” Roy grumbles after a few minutes. His face is still half-burrowed into the pillow, so he’s not sure Jamie even hears him until he replies after a long, quiet moment.

“Yeah, shit never is, is it?”

Read the rest on ao3 here!

#katie writes #kw23 #ted lasso #roy kent #jamie tartt #royjamie #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #no. 17 #just leave me alone #fic

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quietlyimplode · 7 months

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the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 17 - Leave me alone

Warnings: aftermath of torture (graduation ceremony), red room.

Word Count: 1.7k (gif not mine)

Summary: After the graduation ceremony, Natasha tired to find reasons for moving forward. Sometimes it’s a friend, sometimes it’s something bigger.

A/N: this story is a little bit different- it leads into the head-cannons and story built into the travel through the shadows with me (a fic of how Clint recruited Natasha) timeline. If some of it feels familiar it’s because it has some of the story in it. This is the prequel of that story - no prior knowledge is needed and can be read as a stand alone.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

2007

RUSSIA

There’s a certain despondency that comes over Natasha as she’s discharged from the medical team. The doctors, if they could be called that, tell her she’ll be fine in no time.

This coming from the team that runs experiments on them, that pumps them full of drugs to make them awake longer, hit harder, run faster.

This is different.

Feels different.

It’s not just drugs in the system.

Natasha always has thought of herself as her own person.

Even when the Red Room tells her otherwise.

They always said she was theirs, but she held the belief that she never was. The ribbon and the photo proved it far more than their words could ever take away.

Now.

She really was theirs.

Take parts of her away, parts that mattered to her anyway, makes everything feel redundant.

She is the Ship of Theseus, change her, rebuild her and is she the same person?

The other girls, they know.

Isla, tried to tell her, snuck inside the medical rooms and held her hand, told her everything was going to be okay as she writhed in pain.

Antonia, laughed when she returned.

“Oh Natasha, congratulations. You’re truly a widow now.”

Of the girls who were left in Natasha’s graduating class, only the three of them remained on base.

Isla, due to reeducation. Natasha, due to the surgery, and Antonia for some reason that neither Isla or Natasha were sure about.

Isla was convinced it was to spy on them, keep them under control, Natasha didn’t have the presence of mind to even ponder.

Antonia’s behaviour had seemed erratic, manic and mean.

If Natasha cared, she would ask her, help her maybe, but everything felt too hard.

The expectations were still the same, get up; report to Dreykov, orders, training.

Natasha did it, pain continuously rolling through her body.

Voice gone, words seemingly caught in her throat as she has nothing to say.

Days she doesn’t talk.

Isla notices.

Finds her a heat pack, and an ice pack, puts on her head and the other for around her surgical wounds.

The small kindness that can be afforded.

Isla tries to offer assuring words but they get lost in her throat.

There’s not much anyone can do or say.

They took away a part of her, and she became theirs.

Isla comes for her in the morning.

Natasha can’t find it in herself to get up.

There’s no point.

She just wants to be left alone.

“Tell them I’m sick,” she whispers as Isla looks on in fear.

“They’ll take you,” she whispers back, the doors of all the dorms now unlocked. They have five minutes to get to Dreykov.

“Please?”

Five minutes, before alarms are raised.

If Isla does this, then she knows…

Gently, she kisses Natasha’s clammy forehead.

“Ok,” she agrees.

Standing she takes one last look at her friend, and gathers her courage to go and report by herself.

Dreykov is angry.

Makes the medics go and get Natasha and drag her out of bed.

Isla protests but it’s met with a backhand to the face that sends her to her knees.

She watches them frogmarch Natasha to the medical hospital.

Feet dragging as the doors closing behind her.

Isla knows nothing good happens behind those doors.

She doesn’t see Natasha for two days.

When she returns, her hands shake and she responds robotically, not missing a beat when asked questions.

In the dark of night, Isla leaves her room, picks the lock of Natasha’s and enters to find her friend still shaking.

“Oh Nat,” she whispers.

“What did they do?”

Compulsively Natasha answers.

“Shock, sodium pentathol. Thought. I was. Lying,” she bites out.

Isla shivers. Two days in the chair.

The electricity pulsing through it, and you, as questions are fired at you.

It’s torture.

She crawls into Natasha’s bed, and hugs her.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, her warm body against Natasha’s cold one.

“No one’s coming now, I’ve got you,” she tells her, whispering the only words that come to her mind.

“Does it still hurt?” she asks, as shaking become less.

Natasha nods.

“Yes,” she says, voice breaking, a sob coming out.

“Why does it hurt so much?”

Tears come out of Natasha’s eyes, as she brings a hand to her mouth to bite down on to stop.

As best as Isla can, she rocks her, Natasha eventually falling asleep as Isla looks over her.

It becomes a routine.

Natasha crawls into Isla’s bed, or if she doesn’t come, Isla seeks her out.

On bad nights Natasha sits and watches the door.

On good nights they make shadow puppets with their standard issue torches

They both seem to sleep better, in the same room, like they did when they were younger. Whatever sleep they can gather is between the nightmares that neither are willing to admit to.

The routine is kind, friendly and a light in the sea of darkness that is their lives.

Natasha thinks that if she was normal, and had a normal sister or upbringing, maybe it would be similar to this.

Someone to share your thoughts and feelings with, someone to confide in.

Isla’s reeducation and torture is brutal and Natasha endures some with her in rebuilding her strength and endurance.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, “you’re still you.”

Water trials, seduction, mini missions off base; the ones both of them hate the most are the ones involving the younger girls.

Those nights give the worst of nightmares, the fact that she’s helping produce the next generation.

Sometimes it feels like the only person that understands is Natasha.

Survival of the fittest.

It means that it requires you to be self serving.

Natasha presses hard to the pit of her elbow as the needle is withdrawn.

“One more, and then you’ll be discharged,” the nurse tells her, looking into unseeing eyes.

The nurse, an older lady, usually one with the smaller widows, watches her closely, torn between wanting to say something and letting it be.

“They know,” she says under her breath.

“They’re watching you and Isla.”

Sharp eyes look at her.

Snapped out of dissociation, Natasha knows not to say anything, but the nurse can tell she wants to.

“Stop it, and they’ll likely let it go,” she whispers, “if not, they’ll probably try and turn you against each other.”

Natasha’s heart stops.

The nurse draws up another needle, diluting it slightly.

“One more,” she says cheerfully, to the cameras.

Isla comes as she always does, looking forward to telling Natasha about the latest stunt with the handlers and her mini mission but Natasha ready and waiting.

“Leave me alone,” she tells her, a different kind of pain than the one that courses through her body.

Guilt in the wrongness of the words and the ache it causes makes Natasha look away.

Isla looks confused, stepping back.

“Nat?”

She looks at her friend, and frowns.

“Leave me alone,” Natasha repeats.

Reopening her door, she ushers Isla out.

“Leave me alone,” she says a third time, before whispering away from the cameras and spying eyes.

“They know.”

The mission in France is surveillance.

A solo mission handed directly from Dreykov.

Natasha’s first since the operation since graduation. Whilst not a hard one, she feels the despondency creeping back.

Once allayed by a friend, the consistency of companionship and support, making her feel more human, more of herself; the further away from it she is the more she feels like a former shell.

Consciously, she pushes the feelings and thoughts down.

They own her.

Her body, her mind.

There’s no way out of this.

Just when she thought she hit rock bottom, Natasha feels herself falling further.

FRANCE

She’s lost time. Again. Her limbs are heavy and the feeling of not being able to move sinks her further into the bed. She should get up. She needs to get up. Her limbs are leaden and the effort is monumental.

She pushes, and starts her day, remembers as she looks in the mirror of her black eye and bruised ribs.

Failure. It won't be taken lightly when she is returned to Russia.

Groaning she drops to the floor and begins to exercise, pain shooting through her shoulder, ribs protesting hard. It helps to clear her mind of the invasive thoughts all but the one she needs to get rid of.

Failure.

Moving through her daily routine, the feeling of being unwell is pervasive, it's not a cold sickness, but the sickness of being on the precipice of falling.

She ends the day vomiting in the toilet, gives up and goes to bed.

Opening her eyes is hard. So so hard. If yesterday her limbs were lead, then today they are concrete. Moving is an impossible task.

Cognitive dissonance, her brain supplies. That what she wants, is that, what she will never have.

If she just lays here, perhaps all the questions that've been plaguing her for weeks will go away.

What's the point of her? To be a good little soldier? Except. She’s not. She failed. And now they think it’s on purpose.

They’re watching her.

Waiting.

She thinks back to her lessons on pain, on the wind-up effect and how she feels this is exactly what's happened to her.

That if pain is received frequently enough, the brain rewires itself to just constantly feel pain where there shouldn't be any.

Her whole life has been painful, but today it's unbearable.

She closes her eyes and gives into the darkness, grateful for the black hole that envelops her.

The alarm that blares pulls at her. If she had any survival instinct left, she would move.

Tells herself to move.

Move.

But all she can do is open her eyes, light streaming, and daylight calling.

She's lost time.

If she doesn't check in, they'll come for her. She can't make herself care.

The alarm stops, and it's only when she's being pulled by the blackness that she realizes it was her phone.

#whumptober2023 #no. 17 #leave me alone #natasha romanoff #black widow #clintasha #my fic #natasha romanoff fic #black widow fic #marvel fic #clintasha fanfic #avengers fic #black widow 2021

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darkkitty1208 · 7 months

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Entry for day 17 of Whumptober 2023, prompt no. 17: Touch Aversion & "Leave me alone."

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Doctor Strange (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Stephen Strange & Wong Characters: Stephen Strange, Wong (Marvel) Additional Tags: Post-Doctor Strange (2016), Aftermath, Healing, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Nightmares, Touch Aversion, Stephen Strange has PTSD, Wong is a good bro, Mentioned Dormammu (Marvel), Dissociation, References to Depression, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sort Of Series: Part 15 of Whumptober 2023 Summary:

He did it. He defeated Dormammu.

The world is saved.

He should feel triumph, or glee, or at least relief. But he doesn't.

All he feels is exhaustion. A bone-deep, spreading tiredness that leaves his knees weak and his head spinning. He feels like collapsing.

Post-DS1, aftermath of Dormammu, because MCU has the audacity to not show how it affects Stephen.

#whumptober2023 #no. 17 #touch aversion #leave me alone.#marvel cinematic universe #doctor strange #fic #depression tw #nightmare tw #ptsd tw #fanfic #stephen strange #wong #my writing

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ajpendragon · 7 months

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Doubts

John blinked vigorously to clear his vision, forcing the two projections floating in front of him to merge back into one. A flick of his finger and the ship schematics spun in front of him, faster than he had intended it to. The movement threw him off balance, a rare occurrence in zero gravity, only possible because of his exhausted state. He drifted back into the wall, colliding with it roughly.

“John, it has been roughly 72 hours since you last slept. It would be wise to take a break. You are too tired to be any use at the moment.”

“I’m fine, EOS. I have to check everything. All of us are going to be on that ship, and I won’t risk a repeat of last time. I can’t risk my brother’s lives like that. I have to make sure it’s safe.” He continued stubbornly glaring at the schematics, even as his vision swam in front of him. His arms felt too heavy to move, and if he weren’t free-floating in space, he would have been collapsed on the floor.

The hologram flickered out, and he knew EOS had put her foot down. She would not allow him to work any more, even when he desperately wanted to. “You need to rest. You will be of no use to your brothers if you continue on like this. You look awful, and you are so tired you can barely function.” Her voice softened slightly. “Working yourself to exhaustion to avoid thinking about your problems is not healthy, John.”

He pulled himself slowly down the hallways towards his bed, conceding the fight. He was too tired to argue, and that in itself was clear proof that EOS was right. He never gave up on an argument if he could help it.

John knew exactly what the chances of finding their father still alive were. The likelihood that they were going on a rescue mission was slim to none. People didn’t survive on their own in deep space for as long as Jeff had been gone. All they were likely to find was a body. They had to go, he knew that. To finally have an answer after all these years would be worth everything. But if anything he could do would make it safer, he had to try. Dad wouldn’t have wanted them to recklessly risk their lives on the very unlikely chance that he was still alive.

John had not been good enough to save his father.

His brothers were all he had left.

And he refused to lose them too.

*******************************************

Alan clutched the photograph tightly in his hand. There weren’t many paper pictures left, most saved on computers and phones now, but this one was special. Each of his brothers had one as well, but his was the most well-worn. Everyone else didn’t need the picture as much, having enough clear memories of Dad that it wasn’t as necessary for them, but he did. He had been too young to remember much when Dad disappeared, and with the years, the few memories he had faded. He knew that Scott looked like Dad, everyone said so, but what they never mentioned was the little scar on the corner of Dad’s chin, just barely visible in the photo.

They didn’t mention how his eyes looked so much like Gordon’s, or how his smile reminded them of John. They never mentioned the smile lines around his mouth just like Virgil’s. In fact, as Alan stared at the picture, he could see each of his brothers there. Everyone except himself. Each of his brothers remembered when Dad was around, too. They had dozens of stories, which Alan had heard many times over the years. They knew where they fit in the family with Dad there. They remembered a life with him.

But Alan hadn’t. He didn’t remember his Dad more than bits and pieces, and he was pretty sure most of those memories were from his brothers’ stories. He couldn’t remember a time before. He knew he was a capable astronaut, pilot of Thunderbird 3, valued member of International Rescue, but with his Dad home, where did he belong? His piloting skills couldn’t measure up to someone like the great Jeff Tracy. He was still young. What if Dad pulled him off rescues? Alan had proved himself to Scott, but his dad wouldn’t know that. All he would remember was the child he had left behind.

He curled up on his bed, still grasping the photograph tightly. His father’s face stared back at him, his smile now feeling mocking instead of the comfort it usually was. What would Dad say when they found him? Would he even remember him? Would he be proud of him, or disappointed in what he had become?

He wanted Dad home, there was no question about that.

He just hoped that he wouldn’t be a disappointment next to the child Dad remembered.

*******************************************

Gordon flipped the light on, banishing the shadows to the corners of the room. He wasn’t sleeping anyways, so might as well do something. A book was picked up and just as quickly tossed aside, unable to hold his attention. He tried jumping jacks, continuing until his breathing came heavy, but he was no more ready for sleep now than he was before. He briefly considered pranking one of his brothers, but quickly discarded that idea. They needed their sleep, and he wasn’t thoughtless enough to deprive them of it. He ended up settled cross-legged on the floor, staring at his fish tank, watching the animals drift slowly through the water.

The motion, though calming, wasn’t enough to occupy his entire mind, and the shadows began to creep back in. Ever since he had found the beacon, he had been fighting them off, but they continued to return, only growing stronger in the dark of night. No matter what he told them, they refused to leave, doubts long-hidden that had not been forgotten with time, only buried.

What if Dad was didn’t want him? He was the odd one out, the only aquanaut in a family of pilots. While the rest of his family had spent their entire lives attempting to leave the ground behind, with varying degrees of success, he had embraced the restraint of earth. Water was his element, not air. He hated flying. He hated space.

Dad had never said anything to dissuade him from his passion, but he had never encouraged him either. Maybe he had been hoping time would cure Gordon of the foolish notion of remaining earth-bound. It probably should have. The rest of the family was so connected, so similar in their desires, their wants, their loves. But no matter how much they tried to convince him otherwise, Gordon knew the truth. His father’s shadow stretched over everything he did. He had made a place, a name for himself while Dad was gone, but with him back?

He didn’t belong.

*******************************************

Virgil settled his headphones more securely over his ears, adjusting his position on the bench. It wasn’t often that he played his electric piano, much preferring the grand in the family room. The sound was better, and there was always a brother or two around to share it with, but tonight felt like a night to be alone. They were each processing in their own ways, him as much as anyone. He and his father had never gotten along as well as some of his brothers, Virgil reminding Jeff too much of what he had lost.

But they had shared some loves. Jeff had loved music, not as much as Lucy and Virgil, but he had some favorite songs. Lucy had recorded him one night, hiding the camera in the corner to catch his singing, something he never would have done if he had known he was being watched. It was an odd choice for an astronaut’s favorite song, but Jeff had always been a realist. He knew the dangers to be found in space, but he felt compelled to go anyways. It was worth the risk to him.

Of course, the risk hadn’t just taken a toll on him, but on his children as well. Especially now that they knew there was a chance he could still be out there, the song held a whole new meaning. Virgil pressed the start button on the recording, settling his hands on the keys as he played accompaniment to his father’s voice.

Can you hear, can you hear, can you hear my voice?

Coming through, coming through, coming through the noise

The recording continued, Virgil fighting back tears to be able to see the keys. He could imagine his dad singing the same song out in the vastness of space, hoping desperately that someone would hear him. That someone would save him.

It's so dark, it's so dark out here in space

And it's been so long, been so long since I've seen a face

My eyes are shut but I can see

The void between you and me, mm

And I feel, and I feel like I'm going insane

Virgil could only imagine what it would do to someone to live for so long on their own. When they first found out there was a chance Dad was still alive, he had done a deep dive into all the medical research he could find with any bearing on their situation. He knew the effects of low or no gravity on a human’s body, and how to help. He knew what to do if Dad hadn’t been eating enough, how to rebuild a body after prolonged nutrient deficiency. But there wasn’t enough research on what solitary confinement did to a person’s mind. He knew it was bad, that it had been banned as a punishment for years for a reason, but no one knew how to fix the damage it caused.

He didn’t know how to fix it, and he didn’t know how to deal with that. He was supposed to be the one who fixed everything, and he couldn’t let everyone down. His brothers were believed in him. His dad was counting on him.

He didn’t know if he believed in himself.

*******************************************

Scott pushed himself harder, forcing his limbs to cooperate and propel him even faster down the path. His brothers would have tried to stop him from running at night, but they had all gone to bed hours ago, and he had needed the release. His thoughts were too loud to allow him to sleep, and so he forced himself to go even faster, hoping to leave them behind.

What if Dad didn’t approve of what he had done with International Rescue?

His brothers risked their lives almost daily. What would Dad say when he found out about that?

Tracy Industries now was quite different than it was when Dad left. Scott had done his best, but some of the decisions he had made weren’t very popular. What if his dad didn’t agree with them either?

He ran harder.

What if he had made a mistake in allowing Alan to join on rescues? True, they had needed another astronaut after Jeff’s disappearance, but he was still so young.

What about the scars that each of his brothers bore, both on their skin and on their hearts? He should have been the one to bear those. They never should have had to. What would Dad say when he saw them?

It didn’t seem to matter how fast he went. He couldn’t outrun the voices. They grabbed onto him, closing his throat and tightening in his chest, cutting off his breathing. They took the face of his father, fuzzy and distorted by time, all glaring at him, shouting the same thing. “I’m disappointed in you, Scott. You failed me.”

Scott collapsed to his knees, clasping his hands over his ears to drown out their shouts. All the fears he had fought for years were coming back to haunt him. All the decisions he had made questioned. All the thoughts that kept him awake at night crowded forward at once, demanding to be addressed.

No. Scott pushed himself to his feet, refusing to buckle under the pressure. It didn’t matter what Dad said when they got him back. They were going to get him anyway. It didn’t matter if it was hard or dangerous. They were International Rescue, and that’s what they did. It didn’t matter if the person they were searching for didn’t approve of them. They saved people. And they were going to save their dad.

If he hated Scott when they found him, then so be it. Scott knew he had done what was right, and he could live with a clear conscience, and the knowledge that his brothers were alive because of him. He had done his best, but if his father couldn’t see that, he didn’t know what he would do.

If his father hated him, he didn’t know if he could live with it.

*******************************************

The next night, wrapped in the warm arms of their father, doubts were laid to rest, and they all knew they would be okay.

Dad didn’t hate him.

He wasn’t a failure.

He was worth believing in.

He belonged in this family.

He wasn’t a disappointment.

He was good enough.

*******************************************

He was finally home.

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whumpacabra · 7 months

Text

Day 17 - Collar

Military setting, captivity, blood, bruises, shock collar, referenced waterboarding, torture, solitary confinement, anticipated major character death

[Directly follows Water]

“Sorry.” Harrison tapped the letters slowly into Merrick’s open palm. The cell was silent save for their breathing, Elias sleep soundly with his head resting across Harrison’s thighs.

Merrick offered him a wry smile, bloody teeth peeking through in the darkness.

“My fault.” He tapped back, fingers far less steady. “Should’a shut up sooner.”

Harrison scoffed softly, eyes tracing the heavy collar around his friend’s throat. It was meant for dogs. Dogs with thick fur to insulate the shock.

Merrick’s skin curled under its too-tight size, blood and burns peeking over the edge as every breath shifted its fit. It was voice activated.

Harrison’s may have been half-drowned by the time the Wolf had fully turned his attention to Merrick, but he could remember the screams. The first shout dissolved into wheezing whimpers, even a whisper from his throat setting off the shock.

“We could hear you too.” The Morse was soft against his hand, almost too light to understand. “Screaming. You said it was dark?” Harrison shuddered, the memory of the Box closing in on him this dim light of the cell.

“It was nothing compared - ”

“Don’t compare. We could hear your screams.” Merrick’s face twisted in a sad smile. “Elias thought you died, when it got quiet.”

Harrison flicked his eyes down to the younger soldier, sound asleep. The bruises on his face were yellowing with age, revealing the still soft curve of youth to his cheeks. Green, fresh from bootcamp - Christ, the kid wasn’t even 21 yet. The deep cuts into his arms and torso would leave scars for the rest of his life.

If they were given the time to heal.

“Take care of each other.”

Harrison flinched at Merrick’s message, brow furrowed in aching denial.

“You better stay close then. You know how shit we are at following orders when you’re not around, cap’n.”

Merrick’s smile didn’t reach his bruised eyes.

“Take first watch. Wake me if I start dreaming - ” He gestured to the collar, sigh thin to keep from activating a shock.

“I got you.” Harrison tapped back, resisting the urge to pull Merrick closer. There wasn’t anywhere to touch him that wasn’t bloodied and raw, save for his calloused palms.

[Follows Devil's Mercy]

(Part of my Freelancers: Swansong series)

#whump #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #no. 17 #collar #oc #whump writing #captivity #military #torture #shock collar #freelancers #it’s my birthday :] I’m the birthday bean today.#I wanted to do two of todays prompts so maybe I’ll post another one later. as a bonus.#but first: drive for hours to go back home so I can go back to work tomorrow (shaking sobbing crying)

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whump3000 · 2 years

Text

Whumptober No. 17- Hanging by a Thread

“Caretaker, you gotta help me, please.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Caretaker said, slowly taking a sip of their tea. “I didn’t even have to let you in here in the first place.”

“I know. I know. I know you didn’t.” Whumpee put their hands on their head and sighed. “But I didn’t mean to disappear. I meant to come back, I really did.”

Caretaker raised an eyebrow. Whumpee’s movement had lifted the hem of their shirt just a touch. Caretaker could see that they’d lost weight. A part of them wanted to reach out and hug Whumpee, but another more reluctant part told them to stay put. Nobody just up and left without a reason, especially not the person who promised to marry them.

“Then where did you go?” Anger forced its way through Caretaker’s mouth and tainted their words. They wanted to take it back so bad, but they just couldn’t. Not after all they’d been through. “Where the hell did you go? Nobody leaves for two years unannounced!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Whumpee let out a sob.

“Then what did you mean to do? Take a little vacation and come back on our supposed-to-be-wedding day!”

“It wasn’t my fault! I… I got mixed up with the wrong people. And they hurt me Caretaker. They hurt me so bad. I… I didn’t think I’d escape.”

Caretaker’s breathing slowed. “They… you mean… you didn’t run away?”

“Of course not! I mean yeah, I was mad after the fight. But I always meant to come back.”

“So who are these people? Who hurt you? What did they do to you?” Caretaker stood, hands shaking. “What do I have to do?”

“I…”

They were interrupted by the front door slamming open, and Whumper standing on the doormat, dripping.

“Whumper!”

“Caretaker.” Whumper strode across the floor, putting an arm around their shoulder and glaring at Whumpee. “Who’s this?”

“This… this is my ex-fiancé,” Caretaker said, wincing at the sad little squeak Whumpee let out as they said it. “I… I thought they left me. But I guess there’s more to the story?”

Whumpee let out a terrified whimper, wrapping their arms around themself and looking up at Whumper.

“I see.” Whumper said, looking down at Whumpee. “Are they hurt?”

“I… I think so. I hadn’t thought to check.” Caretaker spoke softly, sinking into Whumper’s embrace. They hadn’t been prepared for this. They weren’t prepared for this.

“Well, how about I take Whumpee away for now, hmm?” Whumper spoke softly, dragging a finger down Caretaker’s cheek. “I’ll take them to a doctor, get them checked out, find out what’s really going on.”

“Right. I’ll go find the keys to the car, and—”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Whumper pushed them back into their armchair. “It’s been a rough week for you, and I’d hate to put anymore stress than I have to.”

“Al-alright.” Caretaker took a deep shuddering breath. “Whumpee, you’ll be with Whumper, okay? They’re really nice, I promise. They’ll take good care of you, okay?”

“O-okay.” Whumpee said, tears pouring down their cheeks, slowly following Whumper. “Goodbye then, Caretaker.”

“Why are you saying bye? I’ll see you again, right?”

But Whumpee just looked at them with haunted eyes, as Whumper grabbed their hand and led them away.

#whumptober 2022 #no. 17 #hanging by a thread #reluctant caretaker #stress positions #whump #whump thoughts #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #whumpee x caretaker #caretaker x whumper #whump drabble

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riken-leather-co · 7 months

Text

Bapzo Propaganda | Day 17: Touch Aversion |

The Shimada’s had never been the most affectionate family. Of course, if he’d done well he’d earn words of praise. When Hanzo was younger he’d sneak out with his brother and as he got older it dwindled until eventually he went out no more. But, they didn’t have ‘family time’ he’d often see in the media during his times of isolation. There were no freely given hugs or kisses. The last important ‘touches’ he remembered was holding his fathers cold hand and Genji’s broken and bleeding body.

During his ten years of isolation, touch was the last thing on his mind. It was his quest for redemption after all. Not that there was even a chance for him to entertain such thoughts. His family frequently sent assassins after him and with everyone his paranoia grew. How could he allow someone close when there was a chance they were one of them? When they could attempt to stab him or slip something into his tea? When his brother was long gone and could hold no one himself? Even after the assassins dwindled and stopped, Hanzo remained vigilant.

Hanzo hadn’t realized how unused to touch he’d become until he joined Overwatch. Even then, he hadn’t realized for a long while. Because, besides being a brother-killer, Hanzo was generally unsociable. He was rude, pessimistic, and blunt - all things he’d heard the others describe him as. So, they avoided him generally, which was fine by him. Or, maybe, Hanzo avoided them in equal measures. Something he hadn’t realized he was doing, initially.

“You’re a hard man to get a hold of, you know?”

Hanzo froze. The kitchen was dark and, he had assumed, unoccupied. It was roughly 3 am and Hanzo had been unable to sleep. Slowly he turned around, the fridge still open behind him. A man - whom he recognized vaguely as Baptiste - stood there in pajamas. He yawned into his hand, flicked on the light, and trudged past Hanzo to begin preparing coffee.

“...Am I?” he asked, after a moment's hesitation on whether to escape or not. But, Hanzo needed a cup of tea to even have a chance of sleeping.

“Your brother calls you a hermit crab. And I find myself agreeing. I think I have seen you…three times?” Baptiste set the coffee on to brew. Hanzo made the motions of preparing his tea, oddly aware of how close they were the entire time. “Not that that’s a bad thing, of course! Is there a way we can make you more comfortable?”

“I am not uncomfortable.” Hanzo said, and the conversation was left at that.

After that, he tried to make an effort to not actively avoid human interaction, at the very least. Hanzo was a lone wolf. But, he realized that he was now a part of a team and if it would redeem himself even slightly, he’d try and be better at working as a team. Not that he had to try that hard. After that little interaction, Baptiste seemed to make more of an effort to include Hanzo in group activities. They never seemed to be that big or loud - as if he knew Hanzo would refuse to show up if that was the case. Which he did for a few, and he was glad that no one hunted him down to force him to join.

Not being forced to join seemed to help. He found himself gradually coming out more without the added stress or expectations. No one said anything about it. But, he did notice how his brother would light up a little and a thumbs up Baptiste threw his way once or twice. Hanzo found that for the most part he didn’t dislike it. Unless Reinhardt was around, the man was too loud for his liking and took less social cues then Hanzo himself.

Getting used to company didn’t mean he’d gotten used to touch, however. Which made itself evident when Baptiste put an arm on his shoulder and Hanzo shoved him away. Which causes Baptiste to fall into a table. Which caused the others to stare at them. Which causes Hanzo to flee in mortification.

Foolish. What man acts so irrationally because someone touched their shoulder? ‘He shouldn’t have touched me in the first place,’ another part of him whispered. Hanzo dismissed it. Even if he shouldn’t have, Hanzo should have been able to take such a simple touch. What was wrong with him?

“Hanzo?” A knock on the door, Baptiste’s voice.

“Go away.”

“I will, I will.” Hanzo could practically imagine Baptiste holding up his hands through the door. “I just wanted to apologize for touching you.”

Apologize? For touching him? When Hanzo had proceeded to shove him into a table? Hanzo stared at the door in confusion which transferred into irritation. Here he was the one at fault and Baptiste insists on apologizing like it’s his own. He’s unsure if his irritation is at himself or the man in question.

Hanzo opened the door - much to Baptiste’s surprise, judging by his face. “You are an idiot.”

“...Thanks?”

“I should be the one apologizing for shoving you.” Hanzo said. He huffed then bowed, “I should not have reacted in such a manner.”

“No - really it’s fine - I shouldn’t have touched you. I know you hate being touched and all.”

“I…do not hate being touched.”

“Really?” Baptiste raised a brow. “You always seem keenly aware of how close or far away from others you are though.”

“....I am unused to it,” he muttered. “It does not mean I hate it.”

“I see.” They both stood there for a moment. He watched Baptiste frown and glance away, something Hanzo had come to realize he was debating something. “...Can I touch you right now?”

Hanzo hesitated. “How so?”

“Just holding your hand,” Baptiste said. When Hanzo nodded his head, Baptiste slowly reached out and grabbed Hanzo’s hand. He held it loosely, in case Hanzo wanted to break away.

The touch was warm. And, despite his initial reaction to immediately pull away, Hanzo forced himself to remain still. He breathed in through his nose and stared. He doesn’t know why he’d expected it to hurt, but he did, and it didn’t. Hanzo’s hand trembled a little before he grasped Baptiste’s hand back.

“This alright?”

“...Its fine,” Hanzo muttered. Despite his words he made no move to pull his hand away.

“I’ll be your guinea pig when it comes to getting used to touch, if you want.” Baptiste said. Hanzo looked back up and saw the man grinning. “We can hold hands just like this.”

Hanzo didn’t want to flinch at little casual touches forever, he supposed. It was embarrassing, in his eyes, even if the others didn’t seem to mind it. He cleared his throat and looked away while squeezing Baptiste’s hand again.

“...I’d like that.”

#jean baptiste augustin #overwatch #overwatch 2 #hanzo shimada #whumptober 2023 #fanfic #touch aversion #no. 17 #hand holding #fluff #angst

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one-piece-aus · 2 years

Text

Whumptober Day 17

Corazon x Reader

"Come on Corazon, we're just getting some ice cream," you told the mute member.

He stared at you unamused and lifted a note that said 『No』.

"Please, Cora-san, please!" Baby 5 clung to the blond's feathered coat. "Doffy-sama said we can't go without you."

Corazon looked down at her, regretting it instantly as she gave him puppy eyes. Sighing, he went to get up from his chair only for it to fall back and roll him over. Buffalo and Baby 5 cheered, taking the sign as a yes. You smiled at Corazon as you helped him rise to his feet.

"I want mint chip and rocky road," Buffalo said as he bounced up and down by the door with Baby 5.

"I want bubble gum!" Baby 5 exclaimed when you reached down and pick her up.

Corazon frowned at the children and gave them a note to read. Curiously, Buffalo took it, and you crouched down so Baby 5 could read the message as well. Both children made pouty faces after reading the note.

"What, only vanilla?"

『Either that or no ice cream.』 Read the second message.

Baby 5 looked at you, using her big eyes to get you to help out. Adjusting your hold, you responded to her, "Well Corazon is being nice enough to let you guys have ice cream, I think it's a reasonable deal."

"But [N/n]-san," Baby 5 whined as she clung to your arm.

"Well I don't mind as long I get some ice cream," Buffalo told you.

"See, Buffalo likes it."

"Okay." Baby 5 gave in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey thanks for coming out with us." You smile at Corazon while the kids happily lick their ice cream.

Corazon rolled his eyes and held up a few notes for you to read. 『I didn't do it because I wanted to. Your job is to keep these children satisfied and taken care of when Doflamingo is busy, don't expect me to save your ass every time.』

"Right..." You look away as you were reminded of your duty. While the Donquixote family was generous to give you the position, Doflamingo's words haunted you.

'Remember I will dispose of you if at any point you fail your duty.'

"Thanks anyway," you mumble to Corazon and walked ahead.

Corazon only stared as you did. Once you were a good distance away, he allowed himself to sigh as he reached into his pocket and pull out a cigarette. Lighting it, he made sure to put out the fire that munched on his shoulder.

'If we were in different circumstances, we could've gone on a normal date.'

#whumptober2022 #no. 17 #hanging by a threat #reluctant caretaker #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #donquixote rosinante #one piece x you #whump fanfiction #one piece rosinante #corazon x reader #donquixote family #donquixote pirates #no 17 #baby 5

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i-am-still-bb · 6 months

Text

No. 17

“You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.” | Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”

Pairing: Ross/Jim AU: no name, but part of this world (Ao3) Rating: T Words: 1410

—

Warnings: adult language, past GSW

—

Jim flinched the first time that Ross touched him.

“Sorry,” he blurted out. The hurt that had flashed over Ross’ face stung.

Ross shook his head. “No.”

“What?” Jim clenched his hands into fists.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“But… You…” Jim struggled to get words out. He closed his mouth with a snap and fixed his gaze on his lap. He had made it less than two hours before fucking things up. He chewed the inside of his cheek out of habit.

“I—” Ross was interrupted by shouting that erupted from the bar. Someone or other had scored a goal. “Let’s get out of here. We can talk more without interruptions.”

Jim met his gaze.

“If you want.”

The town had put a sidewalk and railing all along the seafront. It was lit, but not brightly. Lamps were spaced far apart. Under each light was a bench, but most of these were unoccupied during the off season. There were a few other people walking along in the dark along with water.

Jim stuffed his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. This far south he never really needed a winter coat, something that still surprised him after all those years living in the far north and its long, dark, winters. Ross walked at his side, keeping pace.

“What made you pick here?” Ross asked, looking over the harbor and the moored boats in the intercoastal waters. Lights on the far island flickered.

“I didn’t really pick here as simply landing here,” Jim admitted. “I couldn’t really go any further without somehow getting a job on a freighter.” He stopped and leaned against the painted black railing.

Ross leaned back against the railing at Jim’s side. “Where would you have gone if you had kept going?’

Jim shrugged. “Probably wherever the first ship out was headed. I didn’t really have a plan when I left New England. Away was really my only goal.

“What about you? Did you think you’d ever land on the edge of the Caribbean?” Jim asked, shifting the subject away from himself.

“Not really,” Ross replied. “I always figured I’d end up somewhere near the sea, but that’s not that abnormal in Britain. I like mountains and all, but I think I would miss the ocean if I was too far away.”

“You might get too much of it here,” Jim offered with a chuckle. “I doubt you get many hurricanes in Cornwall.”

“You’d be right about that.”

They shared the silence for a long beat.

“Why’d you leave New England?”

Jim started walking again. Not seeing Ross’ face made Jim feel easier about answering the question.

“Remember when I said I didn’t have any family?”

“I do.”

“That’s not, strictly, true,” Jim said slowly. “I was removed from their custody when I was little,” he took a deep breath before answering the unanswered question, “physical abuse and neglect.”

“Shit, Jim… I’m sorry.”

Jim shrugged. “I don’t really remember much about them or any of that. I remember a lot more of my time in foster homes when I was really little, and then the group homes that I was in until I aged out of the program.

“I left because I didn’t have any good memories to keep me there. There’s nothing really that I miss. I didn’t get on with the other kids, or the ‘house parents’,” he scoffed. “My last memories of the place are what caused this,” Jim stopped walking and lifted his loose cotton sweater to reveal the small textured red scar and the much larger one from the surgery done to correct the damage.

Ross had to lean close to see what Jim was showing him even with the light of the streetlight directly overhead. Jim moved closer to the railing so that he wasn’t blocking the light. “Jim…” Ross reached out to touch Jim’s abdomen, but stopped before his fingers made contact. “What happened?”

Jim looked out over the ocean. “Wrong place, wrong time.” He dropped his sweater and exhaled heavily before looking at Ross. “I think I flinched—”

“We don’t have to—”

“I want to. I… don’t really have any memories of any body touching me in a way that ends well. There were the paramedics,” he gestured to his stomach, “But that still led to pain. My parents… the other kids…” he shrugged.

Ross’ voice was quiet. “I understand. I can wait until you want to. I might screw up sometimes though,” he finished with a small smile.”

“That’s the thing,” Jim said. “I want to.”

“Oh.”

“But I’m probably going to fuck it up sometimes.”

“I’ll forgive your mistakes if you’ll forgive mine.”

“Deal,” Jim grinned.

Ross smiled in response.

Jim checked to make sure that they were mostly alone, barring the people in the distance. “I’d like to try now.”

Ross smirked. “That could be arranged.”

Jim shuffled looking down at his feet and back up. “I’ve never… It seems so easy when other people do it or in movies… I don’t—”

Ross crowded into Jim’s space. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh,” Jim exhaled.

They were standing close enough that his breath was trapped between their bodies. Over the pounding of his heart he could hear the swell slapping against the concrete and stone wall. The air was a little salty and cool when the breeze came through ruffling their hair.

“That’s good then. I suppose.” They were close enough now that Jim could not focus on Ross’ whole face. Instead he jumped from one feature to another—eyes, a handful of light freckles across one cheek, scar, lips that were parted ever so slightly— unsure where to look, just like he was unsure what to do with his hands, or, really, the rest of his body. Jim swallowed hard. He stuffed his hands in his pockets for lack of any other idea of what to do with them. But his eyes had settled on Ross’ lips. The lower one glistened from when Ross had licked it a moment before.

Ross hummed in agreement.

Then there was no more time for Jim to think.

He stiffened when Ross’ lips met his. Warm and soft. A touch of movement that had Jim parting his own lips when they parted.

“Okay?” Ross asked from a hair’s breadth away.

Jim nodded.

This time he leaned in to the kiss, Ross’ hand on his hip steadying him. Jim felt like he was stiff and unnatural and he tried to relax. But the sensation of physical contact with someone else was making him edgy. But despite his apprehension he chased Ross when he pulled away this time.

“You can touch me, you know. I don’t bite, unless asked.”

Jim’s breath caught. A flash of images and sensations flashing in his mind and sending a shot of warmth through his body. His cheeks flushed and he wished he had left the jacket at home.

“Let me know if you don’t like something.”

Jim hesitantly placed his hands on Ross’ hips. Then moved them to his waist, then chest. He was so focused on his hands that he was not able to fully focus on the kiss. Ross guided Jim’s hands up to his shoulders, to wrap around his neck. This brought their bodies into full contact. His grip on Ross tightened and his body relaxed; his mouth opening under Ross’. Ross slid his hands up from Jim’s hips to his waist, pulling him closer, fingers tightening. Jim groaned low in his chest when Ross’ tongue slipped into his mouth.

Jim felt dizzy when they broke apart. The world came back to him slowly—the waves, the salt breeze, the distant laughter of people leaving restaurants.

“That was…” Jim did not have a word to describe it. “

“Perfect? 10 out of 10?” Ross prompted, teasing.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Better than I thought it would be.”

Ross made a mock hurt sound.

“Not because of you. Because of me.”

“I don’t know if you were in the same kiss I was in, but you…” Ross searched for a word but made an appreciative noise instead. “

“Flatterer,” Jim shot back self-consciously. “I don’t need fairy tales to boost my ego. I’m sure I will get better, with practice.”

“Practice sounds like a great idea.”

Jim reached for Ross’ hand. It was still strange, and Jim tried to accept that it would probably feel weird for a while, but he was willing to try.

Taglist

Everything@silvermoon-scrolls@metztliluaa-blog @I-am-pinkie

#whumptober2023 #no. 17 #touch aversion #poldark #return to treasure island #fic #past gsw #bb writes #darkhawk

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