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abarbaricyalp · 19 days

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Written for the @sambuckylibrary Anniversary Event! Y'all don't even know how many of these "no-power" stories I started for this prompt. Instead I hunkered down and finished one of my favorite (and oldest) WIPs (What is the life of a writer, if not creating four WIPs for every one finished?)

CW: blood and injury There is also glib discussion of limb loss by Bucky throughout.

Yeah the title is from that one poster. You know the one.

Hanging In There 🐱

Bucky Barnes was very good at free climbing. (Yes, even with the prosthetic arm, thank you very much, terrible-gym-trainer.) Mostly because he'd taken up free climbing after he was situated with the arm. It had become his ongoing PT and his proof of freedom. Once he'd gone a few months without flattening himself on the gym floor, everyone in his life (so, his sister Becca and his best friend Steve) finally left him alone when he was doing other things. So long as he could scale rock walls, he could do his own grocery shopping.

He got as much of a kick out of watching people's reactions to him climb with a prosthesis as he did from watching them finally work up the courage to tentatively ask if he lost his arm climbing. His answer changed depending on what mood he was in or the elevation he'd stopped at if he was outside. "Sure, it got caught in a rock shift. I had to cut it off with a pocket knife." "Yeah, I put my hand in a hole and got bitten by some poisonous reptile. Lost the whole thing." "Actually I fell off a cliff and ripped the whole thing off when I tried to get some purchase on the way down." He'd lost it in the line of duty overseas, but nosy people always managed to miss the dog tags around his neck.

The point was, Bucky was really good at free climbing. He'd been doing it for years now. He thought he knew his body better now than he did when he joined up with the military in the first place.

This was all his cat's fault.

No, that wasn't fair. This was all some other cat's fault. Some street cat rascal had gotten Alpine pregnant and Bucky was just trying to see who it was. Plus maybe figure out who was so irresponsible to let their cat roam. And, no. Alpine getting out to meet with this cat Casanova was not the same thing as someone being irresponsible because she slipped out the window by knocking the plastic accordion of the window AC unit out of the way. Bucky hadn't let her out. He was not an intentionally irresponsible cat dad. He was just a new cat dad. Who even knew he’d have to cat-proof window units?

He'd been watching her ever since he'd found out she was pregnant. He fully planned on following her to whatever back alley she met Tom O'Malley in. When Alpine had climbed out his window and perched on the wide railing of his balcony, he'd figured she was going to jump down the fire escape to the ground and carry on. Instead, she walked across the narrow decorative ledge of his building and he...

Well, he followed on instinct. That was the plan, right? Follow his cat to the culprit?

He could not stress how much he wasn't thinking in the moment.

The building wasn't that tall. He was on the fourth floor and the bottom floor was only a half floor. Still, Bucky wasn't imagining the wind tugging at his clothes as he crept along the narrow ledge after Alpine, who was not doing anything to wait for Bucky.

"Al," he hissed, making a small jump from the end of one apartment's ledge to the next. He knew his neighbor and hoped she wasn't home. She wasn't usually but his luck was not cooperating today. "Al, get back here. You had your fun night. I'm over this."

Bucky skirted across the neighbor's balcony and onto the next ledge. This one was a little different, wider but more broken up into pieces. More like a rock wall. The only problem was that there were no decorative pieces at hand level. And he wasn't wearing his prosthetic arm. If he missed a step or one of these bricks gave way, he was definitely falling.

Alpine gracefully jumped down a floor, using a drain pipe to launch herself sideways onto someone's balcony.

"Alpine!" Bucky called with a new wave of frustration. The balcony was close enough that Bucky could probably make the jump. It would be mostly falling anyway. He could land on the railing and stumble his way forward.

The only problem would be that he'd definitely alert whoever was in the apartment and he wasn't sure he'd be able to talk, or climb, his way out of that conversation. He crept closer to the other balcony, eyeing the drop and wishing he'd worn better shoes. He was just as liable to break an ankle as he was to miss the balcony.

Alpine pawed at the sliding door of the balcony and a black-and-white cat appeared on the other side of it, used its head to nudge the door open. Alpine and the cat rubbed heads and then disappeared into the apartment together.

"Are you kidding me?" Bucky asked the wind.

He looked down at the street below, thankful they weren't on the busy side of the building. Then again, that meant it was less likely someone would see him flatten himself and therefore less likely someone would call for help.

There were not many times in his climbing journey that he felt the need to leap from one spot to the other. Sure, the occasional shift a foot or so to a different grip hold, but not like this. He braced his feet against the ledge, testing his weight out and shifting it forward.

He leapt without thinking about it anymore than that.

When he crashed through the balcony, his brain was very confused about what happened. He'd hit something solid. He was still falling. His knee ached. His other knee was in his face. Something was soaking through his sock and shoes.

He realized his forearm was flat against the balcony and he tried to lift himself up, out of the hole he’d put in the wooden floor. But he couldn’t make his legs follow commands, couldn’t free the one stuck on the wood, being held up at an odd angle by his jeans, couldn’t swing the other one back to make momentum. Then the pain really set in, along with some panic. Bucky couldn't right himself, couldn't sit, could barely move, all of which meant he couldn't take stock of what was happening around him. His leg hurt. The pain was soaking into his brain until he couldn't think about anything else.

Then, to add insult to injury, the most beautiful man Bucky had ever seen came running out the door to the balcony and almost tripped over him. The cats followed him out. Alpine, the traitor, didn't even look concerned.

"What the hell?" his neighbor asked. Belatedly, Bucky saw the baseball bat in his hand. And, like, one that had been used in the field of play and left no comforting possibility that the man wouldn't actually use it on him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Well, right now, I'm just hanging out," Bucky answered without knowing where the sarcasm came from since most of his brain was focused on the terror that he was about to lose his leg too.

"Are you trying to break in?" the man asked and curled his fingers around the bat again.

"Me, rob you?" Bucky asked in disbelief. "That's my cat that you're clearly trying to steal," he argued with a nod to Alpine. "And your terrible Tom got her pregnant on top of it!"

"That's your cat?" the man asked. "Do you ever pay attention to her? She's here all the time. I posted ‘Found: Cat’ posters downstairs and didn't get a response."

"You did not!" Bucky snapped. "Can you just..." He gestured to the fact that he was continually slipping further through the hole he'd crashed through in the balcony. Or...no. He did this. He crashed a hole through someone's balcony. Could this day get any worse?

The man tossed the bat inside and the cats disappeared after the noise to investigate. He kneeled beside Bucky, holding onto his elbow and maneuvering Bucky around to peer through the hole.

"Your leg is pretty torn up," he warned. "I think it's best if I just call for an ambulance. I don't want to agitate any wounds. I have gauze but not extra blood."

It took Bucky too long to realize that was a joke. Hopefully. "Come on, man. Just help me up. I'll be fine."

"You are literally dripping blood onto the next balcony," the man insisted. And then he seemed to realize his hand was flat on Bucky's ribs and not on his left arm. He blanched and his wide eyes met Bucky's.

"Don't worry," Bucky assured. "It was missing before I jumped. It disappeared on me earlier."

To his credit, the neighbor's shock switched to vaguely irked in a single breath and without any follow up questions. He looked at Bucky's leg again and heaved out a long suffering sigh before disappearing into the apartment again.

Alpine and her paramour took the man's place in the doorway, watching Bucky with a pitying and disdainful look, respectively. "This is your fault," Bucky told Alpine. Or maybe the black and white cat. Really, it was that cat's fault.

The neighbor came back with an armful of supplies, including some really nice 2x4s that he laid across the balcony, balancing them on the unimpaired metal frame. He also had a medical kit that needed a duffle bag to be lugged around.

"Were you military?" Bucky asked.

The neighbor startled a little and his fingers passed over what Bucky could assume was an insignia patch on the other side of the bag. "Yeah, Air Force. Pararescue. Sam, by the way. You?"

"Army. Bucky," Bucky said. "Not in that order."

"Explains the whole--" Sam gestured to his left side.

"Well, if you figured that out on your own, how am I supposed to test out my new stories on you?"

Sam shook his head as he laid out a variety of supplies just inside the threshold of his apartment. "You and my partner would've gotten along. He had this scar on his face. Dog bite when he was a kid. But he made up stories all the livelong day about it."

"You get tired of the truth eventually," Bucky explained. "It's never good enough for anyone anyway."

Sam glanced over at him, brown eyes a little calculating for a moment. But he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he got his hands on Bucky's ribs again. "You need to help me here. I don't have a lot of leverage and we're gonna be fighting against the splintered boards."

Bucky nodded and braced his forearm against one of the boards Sam had brought out. Despite his concerns, Sam was just about strong enough to pull Bucky free on his own, which was both mortifying and also incredibly hot. Pieces of the balcony clattered to the one below as Bucky pulled his legs up behind him.

The pain started as soon as he was sure he was safely on the 2x4s. He hissed and reached for his knee like he could stave off the pain signals that way.

"Do you mind if I cut your jeans away?" Sam asked. "Just the legs. You can keep your modesty."

"I have no dignity left, so go for it," Bucky sighed. He leaned back against the railing of the balcony and watched Sam carefully cut through his favorite jeans. His leg was a gross, bloody mess but it didn't make Bucky flinch and Sam didn't flinch either. He imagined they’d both seen much worse.

"You should go to the hospital," Sam repeated as he cleared some blood away. He had nice fingers, Bucky realized, instead of listening to his admonishments. They were almost long enough to wrap around Bucky's calf and he was so sure with his movements as he wiped Bucky's leg down with a concentrate of alcohol that was definitely higher than what they sold at the bodega. His nails were maintained, but still a little dirty and rough from work. Like the rest of him: just effortlessly endearing and gorgeous.

"Why do you have random pieces of wood in your apartment?" he asked finally as Sam began to wrap bandages around his knee.

Sam looked down at his temporary floor. "I was going to redo the balcony. So, thanks for this, I guess.”

Bucky gave a lazy kind of wave and then dropped his arm over his eyes. “This isn’t exactly how I wanted to spend my day either. I can help you with repairs. Pay for whatever else you need.”

“That’s more helpful than the maintenance guys have been,” Sam said. “I told them all this wood was rotten.”

“Yeah, you shoulda seen how long it took them to come look at my sink drain. I was scooping it out and pouring it down the shower for months,” Bucky agreed.

Sam groaned in sympathy, but didn’t look up from where he was now searching for large splinters. He had eyelashes longer than Bucky’s forearm, it seemed like. And cheekbones that were made to be seen from this angle. Of all the balconies in New York that he could’ve crashed on, why did he have to embarrass himself in front of a model?

Nah, even better than a model. Real and handsome and touchable.

“Wait, did you say partner?” Bucky asked suddenly.

Sam’s long eyelashes fluttered as he looked up and graced Bucky with those eyes again. “What? I didn’t say anything”

“No, earlier. You said your partner has a scar on their face.”

“Oh. Yeah. Riley,” Sam said and closed up a little bit.

“Are they going to be mad that there’s a stranger stuck in your balcony?”

“You’re not stuck anymore,” Sam pointed out. “I just don’t want you to bleed in my apartment.” He ran another cloth soaked with alcohol across Bucky’s leg and then pulled out a huge roll of gauze. “Riley was my flight partner in the Air Force. I mean. He was my partner-partner too. But I don’t think he’s gonna have much to say about you breaking the balcony.”

“Oh. You broke up,” Bucky surmised. “I just thought… The way you talked about him so easily… Sorry,” he added.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him but just gestured for Bucky to hold the edge of the gauze against his leg and proceeded to give Bucky the tightest, most fine wrapped bandages of Bucky’s life. They hadn’t done this well with bandages after he lost his arm.

“God, you were like rescue-pararescue,” Bucky said, like an idiot. What did that even mean. “I mean, we all got triage training, but you’re actually good at it.”

Sam snorted and shook his head. “Yeah, it was part of the job,” he agreed. He tapped off the gauze and then stood, making sure to step inside his apartment before letting himself sit back on his full weight.

Bucky leaned back a little and stared up at him. This was a fantastic angle.

“Come on, give me your hand,” he said, offering his down to Bucky. “Gotta get you off the balcony before my downstairs neighbor really starts to wonder what’s going on.”

Bucky took Sam’s hand and let him pull him to his feet, hopping over off the balcony to the apartment flooring. Only, as soon as he put his weight on his unhurt leg, that leg entirely went out from him. He fell against Sam’s chest and both he and Sam reached for the couch behind them to keep from falling over. The couch scooted back another inch, but it held steady after.

Bucky stared at Sam’s mouth because he was at the exact right level for it. But Sam was staring at him too, dark eyes wide, breath warm over Bucky’s face. His hand was on Bucky’s waist.

“Uh…I think I hurt my ankle too,” Bucky offered.

Sam took half a step backwards, scooting the couch again to do so, and helped Bucky find his unstable footing. Bucky balanced on one foot and his toes. Then Sam sank down to one knee and Bucky basically lost all coherent brain function entirely. He lifted Bucky’s pant leg and then sucked in a breath so sharply, the air whistled through the gap in his front teeth.

“Yeah, man. I think you broke it,” he confirmed. “You really need to go to the hospital.”

Bucky groaned and hobbled around Sam to lean on his couch. “It really looks that bad?”

“Are you attached to these shoes?” he asked.

“Yeah, kinda. Why?” They were just Vans, but he hated spending money on shoes (unless they were good boots, or dance shoes).

“Because your shoe may need to be cut off with the way the ankle’s swelling.”

Bucky dropped his head back and groaned like that was going to solve anything. It didn’t really matter. He’d seen how messy the other one had gotten from the blood, so it’s not like he was keeping this pair anyway. When he lifted his head again, Sam was standing there, looking like he was waiting on Bucky for something.

Bucky put on his best pathetic wet cat eyes. “Any chance you drive?” he asked. “I really don’t want to call an ambulance. You know VA insurance doesn’t cover shit.”

Sam’s eyebrow rose. “A man ruins my balcony, bleeds all over my things, accuses my cat of getting his cat pregnant–in fact, accuses me of stealing his cat–and now he wants to ask a favor after I stopped him from bleeding out or falling to his further grisly demise,” he summarized.

“A man will take you out to dinner?” Bucky offered. “As many times as you like?”

Sam stared at him for a moment longer before he relented. “I have discerning tastes,” he warned. “It’s gonna take a while for you to find a place that’s good enough.”

Bucky read directly into that and he grinned, triumphant. “Well, I have very good tastes,” he said. “But I’m gonna start off shitty just to keep you coming back.”

Sam rolled his beautiful eyes, but he was smiling and if Bucky liked his face before, he really loved it when he was smiling. “I’ll take you to the hospital, but don’t expect me to sit there and wait.”

“I think you should,” Bucky tempted. As he watched Sam gather his keys–and, fuck, Bucky’s door was locked and his keys were inside, he was going to have to call Steve to bring the extra–he limped to the door. The promise of Sam coming behind him was enough to keep the pain from taking up too many of his thoughts. Sam was firmly entrenched there.

“Why’s that?” Sam asked. He opened the door for Bucky and ushered him out.

“Because when they ask me what happened and I tell them I fell for the most beautiful man in the world, I’m gonna need the proof.”

“Oh my God,” Sam groaned, rolling his eyes again and smiling even brighter. “I should’ve checked you for a concussion. Lemme make sure your pupils aren't actually heart-shaped right now.”

“This is a perfectly normal reaction to fate literally throwing you into my life,” Bucky defended.

“Fate threw you into mine,” Sam corrected. “You’re the one who fell out of the sky like an omen.”

“An omen?” Bucky asked, affronted. “An angel.”

“Definitely not.”

They waited for the elevator in silence for a few seconds, Bucky leaning on Sam’s side to take some weight off of his leg. Then, just as the elevator dinged its approach, Sam said, “By the way, you're wrong about my cat. He's been fixed for years. Some other cat got your cat pregnant."

Bucky almost missed the elevator as he stared at Sam, who had stepped into it, in shock. Sam caught the door and Bucky quickly followed him in. “This was all for nothing? Why was she in your apartment?”

“I told you, she comes all the time. I think she likes Fig’s food. Besides,” Sam nudged an elbow into Bucky’s side. “I wouldn’t say it was for nothing.”

“‘Cause we met each other?” Bucky finished for him with a pleased grin. “Givin’ me all the warm and fuzzies, Sam.”

“Nah, ‘cause now I’ve got a reason to finally start on my balcony. And some volunteer guilt labor too.” He clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and hit the button for the garage level. “We’ll see about anything else fate might have gifted us later.”

Who knew, Bucky wondered, that fate was a cat.

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #captain america #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #writing #tfatws

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adoresbutlers · 2 years

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HANDS ALL OVER.

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prompt : Elvis can’t keep his hands off of you during a celebratory party and you want to teach him a lesson back at Graceland.

warnings : (M) smut. sub!elvis. austin!elvis. dom!reader. fem!reader. tying up, power dynamics, slight bdsm, slapping, usage of mommy / momma / ma’am, orgasm denial, m!oral, you don’t let Elvis touch you like he wants, all that filthy goodness. a lil act of edging to my babies, sorry for the cliff hanger.. maybe <3

word count :

✩.

Elvis had only been able to get a few minutes into a family dinner party before his hands found themselves running along your bare skin, letting himself ravage what he had - who he had. You, however, hadn’t been having any of it. You had previously spent hours upon too many hours convincing your family that Elvis had been the one - especially your father who’s eyes took every moment to bore into your boyfriend’s skin. They knew about him - how couldn’t they when he seemed to have turned into such a superstar overnight. To which they all used to judge the poor boy, questioning how such a boy could be interested in only you. It had took actually this morning to finally break the fourth wall and they agreed to invite him to dinner - if he ‘behaved’, all the words said by your father. Elvis knew this, he just didn’t seem to care.

His spot remained next to your side at the table directly across from your parents, yet only looking at them and the risk of getting caught of course only egged his actions on. He almost let a gasp slip as his hands stopped in his tracks as it made its way up your inner thigh only to feel mesh lace underneath. It was his favorite - you knew that, he knew you knew that. You only responded by tapping onto his foot instead of kicking him right on like you ever so wanted to do. Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to make out what was even the topic at hand just to use the time where eyes weren’t on you to lean in, breath ghosting against his ear. You let out a sigh against his skin, tapping the tips of his thighs with your thumb. “Be a good boy and wait.” You whispered against his skin, pinching his thigh just before he could protest.

But, typical Elvis, only took that as a challenge. He waited, and waited with every tick of the clock for you to engage yourself back into the conversation at hand to slip his hands smugly up your thigh once more. You only cleared your throat, tapping against his foot. This time, he refused to budge, his fingers dancing along your panty line, slipping the material to the side and greedily dipped himself inside. It was now your turn to gasp, excusing yourself for butting into the conversation - side eyeing your boyfriend the whole time. The boyfriend who had the dumbest smirk on his face. You slapped his hand away, pulling his bicep away from you and scooted your chair out with your feet.

You shuffled a slow sigh, recomposing yourself before speaking only to your parents, putting on a fake smile with your hand flattened on your boyfriend’s shoulder. “Mama, I think we’re gonna go a lil early. Elvis..” Your foot reached down to kick at his ankle, prompting him to listen to the gesture and stand up, his hand slipping into yours. “Doesn’t feel well.” You gritted through your teeth, leaving no room for a response instead just dragged him out of your family home by your intertwined fingers.

The ride home was silent, you prompted Elvis to not look your direction, only the road. He knew he pushed you more than he should’ve - even if what he did was minor when you consider what he actually wanted. Your mind wasn’t the clearest, only filled with the unholiest of thoughts mixed in with pure anger. It was a dinner to celebrate your father’s recent promotion; he knew how much it meant for your close-knit family. He never seemed to care - only about his needs. Well, at least that’s how your mind could wrap around in such a moment.

As soon as you pulled the car in the long driveway, you snaked a tight grip around Elvis’ wrist not paying any mind to the small whimper that rang from his lips behind you as you dragged him all throughout the house. You finally reached your shared room and since you practically lived with him now, you felt all the more comfortable slamming the door behind your boyfriend.

“What the fuck was that, E?” You furrowed your brows, voice slightly above its normal tone only to be met with a softened face. His blue eyes sparkled in the light, almost as if he knew his fate ahead wasn’t what he had been expecting in the slightest. His bottom lip had been dragged out as far as the flesh could go, orbs finally connected to your blown out ones. He parted his lips to utter an answer but froze when you brought your hand up.

You brought a hand up to rub at your temple, shaking your head as you tried to calm yourself to the best of your abilities. “Strip, E. You want to act like a foolish slut? I’m treating you like one.”

Elvis’ eyes widened. “Y-Y.. Yes, momma. I’m sorry.” With a mutter, he started to follow your command without question, loose material falling in a neat pile on the floor - a small approving hum escaped your lips at the sight. “Look whose finally being good.” You tsked. “Fucking joke.” You finished your scoff, a smirk curling onto the corner of your lips as your eyes danced along a pile of red silk ribbons on the nightstand.

“Bed.” You snapped your fingers near his direction, watching as he frantically scruffled his way to doing so, your hands grabbing the silk ribbon before he could catch even a glimpse of what’s to come. “Hands above your head, baby.” You purred, tying a tight loop around his wrists just to pin them to the headboard above his head, doing the same for each of his ankles, forcing his legs wide open where you wanted him.

You could only hum softly again - running your finger slowly down his abdomen and neared his v-line, watching him squirm under your touch. “Y’know I’m always so eager to make my baby feel good..” Your voice trailed like honey to his ears, his orbs peering into your own as he waited impatiently for you to continue your sentence, only wishing it looked up from there. It wasn’t. “But after that stunt you just pulled?” Your finger traced his leaking tip that only stood the more you spoke, catching the liquid on your finger as you moved to outline his inner thighs. “Good boys don’t do that, do they?” You cocked a brow peering into his crystals.

He shook his head in response, needy hips bucking into your every touch to get the friction he desired and the kind he still thought he deserved. Your hand roughly squeezed his inner thigh, only letting out a scoff in disapproval as your hand gripped the base of his already swollen cock. “I said.. Do they?” Your voice rose up, peering into his eyes with a tone that he had no choice but to shy away from, his eyes adverting to any part of the room but you.

You let out a drawn sigh from your lips, tsking at his silenced actions, eyebrows furrowing in faux disappointment. “Fine.. we’ll take the plan I was originally going with, baby.” You bent down to whisper near his ear, voice laced with venom. You purred near him as he did nothing but continue to squirm under your hand, your free hand not letting him have so much free room, pinning him to the silked sheets. You moved to slowly pump his cock, swallowing his pretty whines from beneath you before dipping your knees so you were sitting in between his opened legs, nudging his thighs further for more access.

You placed a hand on either side of his thighs, eyes connecting with his as your tongue darted from your lips, licking up the slit of his tip. “Momma..” Elvis gasped from above you, wrists practically red with the amount of times he tried his hardest to break free. He needed so bad to let his fingers get lost into every strand of your hair, to push fallen ones from your face so he could catch much more of a view.

You hummed against his tip in response before wrapping your lips around the tip, eyelashes fluttering up at your beautiful baby as you widened your cheeks to take him fully as upon countless times before. Another gasp slipped from his plump lips at the way you took him all in with ease, hallowing out your cheeks to only tighten the friction around him. Your hand started to trace small calm circles into the soft flesh of his thighs as you started to move slowly up and down his length only to be met with bucked up hips as soon as you gave him the freedom to. You allowed it this time, your attention only focused on making him feel good. You knew you had been neglecting the poor boy with the amount of hours work had taken you from him, but the idea of his stunt still managed to linger in your mind. You wanted to give him what he wanted, you did. But that would’ve been too easy.

“Momma.. I’ll be good.. please..” He sighed out, pleading against his restraints. “Wan’ feel you, momma, please.” He continued, your eyes beginning to softening only for them to remain back to their state. You let his cock slip out of your mouth, spitting directly onto his tip and smeared it around his sensitive area. “You gonna be my good little slut?” You smirked from above, hands sliding up and down the sides of his body, feeling every last shivered bump against his skin. His hair sprawled out against the pillow as his head bobbed up and down, his mouth parted to speak.

“Only for you. Please-“ You stood up before he could continue, his attention darting onto your finger. The straps of your dress had fallen down due to your leaning posture, revealing extra skin that let his mind go crazy in itself with the sight. “If my baby can watch momma change without making a sound, I’ll give him what he wants.” You chuckled from your spot, waiting for a head nod of approval before unzipping your dress agonizingly slow, keeping your eyes on him as the material fell and bunched off your body, stepping out of the pile. You unclapsed your bra, letting it fall right below you. His mouth only hung open, ravishing in your form as if you had been his goddess he’s waited for his whole life - as if this had been the first time he was graced with your presence.

Your smirk only grew at the direction of your boy, impressed by his restraint, he normally would’ve been a whining mess by now, rambling about all the things he could imagine that he desired. “What a good boy..” You purred slowly, making your way over to his spot before reaching up to untie the ribbon that dawned his wrists, letting the restraints on his ankles follow. Without notice you swung your legs over his lap, straddling his figure, ghosting your entrance over his cock. Your arms reached up to slide down his toned chest, feeling every muscle under your fingertips before lowering yourself down onto him. You shifted in a moan, his newly free hands immediately flying up to grab onto your boobs, his lips wrapping around your nubs as he started to suckle as if his life depended on this moment.

“Good boy.. you feel so good, baby.” Your praises rang lowly in his ear, his hips intently bucking up to fuck into your heat. With that, you started to move your own hips up and down his length, earning hummed mewls from below as his lips stayed attached to your nipples. Your hands twisted into his raven hair, using the strands as leverage to thrust yourself faster, letting soft moans slip past your lips. He started to rut up into your body, hips meeting rushed contact with yours as you both began to fall apart around each other.

Sinful sounds of your juices meeting his after every thrust started to fill the decorated room, the matched thrusts doing nothing when it came to helping you stay your calmest form. His lips released your throbbed nipples, a chorus of whimpers spilling from his parted mouth. “Y-You’re so ti-tight, momma.. Can’t last any longer..” He whined softly, your fingers twisting tighter into his hair the moment that your walls had started to gain a squeezing grip as soon as they tightened. Your hips slowed their movements until you reached a halt, gaining the sight of wide puppy-like eyes staring up at you with a plumped lip to match. You pulled his cock out of your heat, humming lowly as your legs swung off of his lap to crawl beside him mere moments later.

“Only good boys get to cum, baby. Maybe, you’ll think about that next time, Hmm?” You cooed, lips tightening into a smirk as all the poor boy could do was whimper at your words. He huffed out a breath after a couple long minutes, nodding up in your direction as his arms wrapped around your waist, desperately pulling you in closer to feel your bare body against his once more.

“Yes momma..” He huffed, his voice soft and barely above a whisper. You hated doing this to your baby, you really did, but his reactions only managed to feed into your actions more than he would like. Anything to see how much you do to him - that effect had always been your high and forever it would remain.

Oh well, right, there was always tomorrow.

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tag list : special tag goes to @pearlparty @eliseinmemphis and @butlersxbirdy for the sub content <33 kisses to all ! hope you liked the read 🧡🖤 happy Halloween

#austin butler #austin butler elvis #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #elvis presley #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #austin!elvis x reader #elvis imagine #austin!elvis fic #austin!elvis smut

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th-ramblr · 8 months

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[Baldur's Gate 3] Squidhawk - #2

[Cross-posted on AO3]

He scrambled up the rungs of the wooden ladder like a squirrel up a tree, much more agile than the short-legged goblins at his tail. Had he ever been beset by so many enemies at one time? No, but he had experience running from trouble nonetheless, and really, if he thought about it, it wasn't much different than facing off against a smaller crowd of much taller people. Goblins were pretty short and squat, after all. They were only like a fourth of a whole person.

Its an amusing thought that helps squash some of his anxiety, even as his heart thrums in his chest.

He would have kicked the ladder to the ground the moment he cleared the top, but arrows whizzed dangerously close and forced him to retreat deeper onto the grassy cliff as the wretched little creatures hobbled towards that corner of the old temple ruins in their best impression of a sprint, waving their weapons in the air raucously.

The first up after him was a bugbear that snarled an ugly row of teeth to go along with its crude weapon, and Kytes snarled less menacing teeth back at it, wielding a dagger in each hand, poised low and ready to strike.

Crimson already stained his side where one of those stupid little goblins had slashed at him with a sword made of bone and twine, coloring his sunflower-yellow clothing with his own lifeblood. He'd have to worry about that later, his icy blues fixed on the more immediate threat.

The bugbear roared, twirling a mace overhead as it charged at him and swing down, indenting the earth and sending dirt exploding from the impact site in a small plume.

Kytes wasted no time at all slamming a shoulder into the bugbear's side, sending the hairy beast staggering and tripping backwards off the cliff. Goblins below scattered like the roaches they were, save for those that were too slow, two of them pinned underneath the reeling bugbear that rolled around the ground in pain.

[Not good enough...]

That newly-acquainted male voice echoed inside his skull, unheard by any but him. He ignored it as his focus went to a pair of goblins scrambling up the top of the ladder and charging towards him, whooping wildly with fighting spirit.

He danced back, staying just out of reach of them and skillfully twirled his own dagger in-hand, and with one quick lash of his blade, he cut across the eye of one of the goblins, satisfied to hear it snarl and howl at being partially blinded.

He placed one well-aimed kick to the creature and sent it sprawling down the cliff just like the bugbear before, and lunged for the remaining goblin, slashing their throat and watching with satisfaction as it went down choking.

Even as he secured partial victory - three goblins dead so far, two more and a bugbear injured, but still many more to go - he could sense the disapproval before he could hear it. Not disapproval at what he was doing, at the death of the goblins, but more how he was doing it.

[Try something else,] the voice urged, patient, but expecting something very specific, he was sure.

He didn't care to play by someone else's rules, no matter if they were in his head or not. He had his way of doing things, and he didn't need any sort of bozo stranger dictating what he did or how he did it.

Defiance silently flared in his mind even as he unstrung one of his pouches, fishing for a round, ceramic ball with a wick hanging from it. The quick spark of a match to light it, and he made a well-placed throw at the gathering crowd below.

Luckily, goblins aren't terribly smart, and most of them don't even notice the bomb until it goes off, screams echoing in the air as they're sent scattering involuntarily, the ladder each of them were clamoring towards bursting apart and collapsing into a pile of burnt splinters, cutting them off from pursuing him up onto the cliff. At least from that angle.

That gave him a moment to retreat, pressing his back against a stone wall as he fished out a potion and guzzled it down. He felt it already starting to work, stitching flesh closed, at a noticeable but still-slow crawl.

He smothered a cough behind his gloved palm as his heart fluttered, breathing slow and careful to try and calm it down while he actually had some room to breathe. Teeth gritted with a grimace, rolling his head to the side for a moment as his eyes squinted shut, and for a moment he thought he felt an unfamiliar stir somewhere in the back of his mind. Concern? Concern for what? Was that his own? It was hard to tell in the moment.

He swallowed down another potion, even as he felt the cold of his bleeding, the familiar trembles of survival instinct coiling its way into anxiety. Its a feeling he was all too familiar with, but that never made it any better.

Still, even as he swallowed thickly and tried to keep himself calm, the potions did their work, and it seemed like even his pulse was quieting faster than usual, even if some of the trembling remained.

Breathing out a slow breath, he finally felt ready to tackle the remaining goblins and their odds and ends, pushing off from the rock and darting just behind a tree near the cliff edge. It seemed as though the earlier explosion and his disappearance from view had scattered and confused them, maybe they'd even thought he'd run off, but his reappearance didn't go unnoticed to so many eyes.

One of them immediately pointed upwards and called out to the rest, and his reply was to plant a crossbow bolt right between their eyes, watching them slump forward into the cracked tiles.

Arrows flew in both directions, and a few spells exploded near him, breaking apart stone or tree bark. One managed to strike him in the chest and sent him staggering back, landing on his shoulders with a hiss.

[This isn't working.] He tried to ignore it as he pushed himself up, gasping in hard, winded breaths. A couple of goblins scrambled up some of the rocks below him, having found a slope just barely low enough to traverse. [You need to-]

With a snarl, he curb-stomped the goblin that just started to hoist itself over the edge, catching their look of surprise just before his boot sent them careening into the goblin behind them, bouncing back down. A bottle of alchemist's fire in hand, he lobbed it as hard as he could at them, watching flames explode with a roar and the two goblins roll and writhe and go screaming away.

"SHU-TT!" he snarled aloud at the voice, readying another vial of alchemist's fire, well-aimed at a cluster of goblins standing closer together. Goblins really weren't very smart.

Another retreat, so he could prime an arrow lined with acid, taking aim for the large, bulbous ogre that was part of the enemy's rank below, managing to wedge it into the huge behemoth's eye.

The ogre roared and took a blind swing of pain, crushing a few goblins in one direction, sending a few flying in the other, not dead but definitely struggling to move after the force of the blows they took.

His moment of victory was short-lived as an arrow managed to lodge itself in his shoulder, recoiling behind cover again to wiggle it free, a soft cry leaving his lips even though he removed it with as much care as possible given the circumstances. He swallowed down another potion, putting pressure on the wound with one hand.

How many goblins were left?

Too many. His eyes darted around for somewhere to retreat to, staggering along the edge of a river pouring out from further into the mountains. The water was swift, the stones drenched and slippery, and one arm was injured.

He was shaken, but not enough that he didn't notice a cluster of trip-mines in the grass and soil. Traps... and nasty looking ones at that.

But right now, a blessing in disguise, as he very carefully maneuvered around them towards the dead-end path along the river. A heavy chest stood shrouded in some brush at the end, and as he went to inspect it, he realized it was locked and untouched.

So... the goblins, for all their looting and raiding and claims to this area, hadn't been up here. Not properly, at least. And a quick glance over the trees and shrubbery told him he could easily curl himself up in the brush and not be noticed.

He parted the bushes and slid through them, idly kicking his feet for anything unseen he might have missed, like some small, territorial animal, but nothing stirred or darted out of hiding. He shed the cloak he had found and dawned on earlier, laying it underneath him and making something of a crude nest to hide and rest in. Another potion poured down his throat, and he tried to get as comfortable as possible while he waited out the enemy.

Sooner or later, they'd tire of searching for him and go back to their business. There was no point in continuing a direct confrontation with them. Better that he catch them unawares while they were licking their own wounds and none the wiser.

For now...

Rest.

#Squidhawk #Drabble #BG3 verse

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xtruss · 11 months

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The Secrets of Indiana Jones

“Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny” is his last adventure. It wasn’t all just fortune and glory, kid

— Culture | Back Story | 29th June, 2023

Image: Jonathan Olley/Lucasfilm Ltd.

We saw the whip—and saw him use it—before we saw his face, Harrison Ford’s rugged features perspiring beneath that battered fedora. The first blast of the triumphant music sounded early in “Raiders of the Lost Ark” (released in 1981), as, dodging poison darts, Indiana Jones Tarzan-swung to a moving seaplane. The pilot’s pet python slithered onto his lap. Snakes! He hated them.

The whip, the hat, John Williams’s theme and the phobia of snakes have punctuated all Indy’s adventures. He cracked the whip as part of his combative seduction technique in “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom”; while being whacked in the kidneys in “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade”, he used it to secure his father to a runaway tank. He grabbed the hat from beneath a deadly descending door and had it blown back to him after falling off a cliff. He was entombed with snakes and fed them.

These accoutrements have two origin stories. “Crusade” traced the whip, hat and snake issues to a teenage tussle on a circus train in Utah. They also came from the magical pairing of Steven Spielberg (director of the first four Indy films) and George Lucas (who dreamed up the idea). So many bits of old Westerns and war movies, James Bond and Bogart, went into Indy that he was almost a walking homage. Yet he was his own man: an archaeology professor but a fighter, whose punches made a special kerpow! snap; a guy who took his own whisky to face down the Nazis in a Cairo bar.

Just when Indy thought he was out, he has been pulled back in for a fifth and last caper in “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny”, directed by James Mangold (Mr Lucas and Mr Spielberg are executive producers). It is 1969 and Indy is set to retire; female students no longer swoon at him. Mr Ford is 80, but he and Indy are put through the usual stunt-a-minute frenzy, taking breaths only for wisecracks and just enough exposition for the plot to make sense, more or less. The quarry is the dial of Archimedes, an ancient calculator. Indy teams up with his louche goddaughter Helena (Phoebe Waller-Bridge), who comes with her own sidekick, a Moroccan urchin named Teddy (Ethann Isidore).

The greatest-hits motifs return for the finale, including a rickety rope-bridge, creepy-crawlies and giant eels in lieu of snakes. The dial is kicked around a mêlée like the vial of antidote in “Doom”. The red lines on the map that track Indy’s odysseys streak from Tangier to the Aegean. Where he’s going, though, he won’t need maps, for the wondrous dial can predict “fissures in time”. To reverse an old line of Indy’s: it’s not the mileage, honey, it’s the years.

So, after five films, four decades and all those booby traps, cobwebby cadavers and cryptic clues; all the chases through souks, palisaded walls, fisticuffs on the bonnets of trucks and messy encounters with propellers; all the planes, trains, automobiles, zeppelins and horses (in “Dial” Indy rides one into the New York subway): what was it all about? The main meaning of Indiana Jones lies in the joy he has given generations of viewers. But it wasn’t just fortune and glory, kid.

First, those Nazis. Bumbling American Feds got in the way, but the Nazis were Indy’s main foe. (The fourth film, “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull”, roped in both the Soviets and aliens, a classic case of more equalling less.) With its ineffable Sieg-Heiling monkey, “Raiders”, like “Crusade”, was specifically a fantasy of besting the Nazis in the 1930s, before the horrors of war. Indy is still beating them in “Dial”, in the form of a renegade physicist enlisted in the Moon-landing programme.

Next, the dreadful allure of knowledge. In Indy’s world, knowledge is noble and sexy—“the search for fact” is his calling—but too much, or the wrong sort, is hubristic and malign. The Ark of the Covenant in “Raiders”, the Holy Grail in “Crusade”, the urge to “know everything” in “Crystal”, that time-scrambling dial: pursuing these mysteries can make a baddy’s face melt amid a sandy whirlwind. Stay in school, runs the moral of Indy’s story, but stay in your lane.

Another, everyday tension courses through his quests. In each he must balance his mission against his personal feelings—for a hard-drinking ex-lover, a young apprentice, an absentee dad (it was complicated), a long-lost son and finally his godchild. The future of the world is at stake, too, but Indy’s basic dilemma—work or family?—is shared by every office schlub who yearns to head home from a desk, or vice versa. His darkest secret is that he was always one of us. As a villain says in “Raiders”, then prematurely: “Indiana Jones, adieu!” ■

#Indiana Jones #Secrets #Harrison Ford #Crusade #Cowboy #Nazis #Raiders

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suganovakawa · 3 years

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psst.

hey.

hello?

is anyone reading this right now?

oh right, you are. hi there! i see you 🤪

yeah, you! the one on the other side of the screen, reading this! who else would i be talking to?

guess who it issssssssss ⚡️⚡️⚡️

was that obvious enough?

no?

okay, how about this?

ahem.

ROOOOOLLLLLLIIIIIINGGGGGGGG THUUUUUUUNDERRRRRRRRRRR ‼️

eh? eh? get me now?

…

anyway.

it’s ya boy, nishinoya here!

i mean, i thought it was going to be obvious. i did break the fourth wall a few chapters ago, after all.

you did notice, right?

(tsukishima did too kinda, but like—i’m better, obviously.)

why am i here, you may ask?

both she and i agreed that you guys have had your fill of cliffhangers, and she asked me to set the record straight for you guys!

with minimum spoilers, obviously.

so, rumor has it. pretty wild ride, huh?

i always knew seijoh was up to something, but damn, iwaizumi was really a douche, wasn’t he? still kinda upset we weren’t allowed to fight him, ngl. 😒

but besides the point! kiro left you, in the finale, at another cliff hanger. ANOTHER ONE.

i scolded her but she likes to be dramatic, so there was no stopping her.

what a sadist.

—is what i WOULD say if this final cliff hanger didn’t have any meaning to it!

very up in the air for rhi readers! will you accept iwaizumi’s apology? will you two be destined to meet again and try again in timeskip? or have your paths finished crossing, and it’s finally time to move on?

ahhhh i love being dramatic.

i gotta say, honestly—that last part left me kinda emotional.

BUT I DIDN’T CRY! no. i would never.

but in that final part where he reached out and asked for forgiveness and a second chance when your paths cross again … SHEEEEEEEESH i felt that in bones. manly moment.

in the end, you were left with two final choices. after much debate and thought, kiro came up with two official endings:

the true ending, and the secret-but-not-really-secret ending.

secret ending sounds cool, but it’s really not a secret, since they’re quite literally being posted at the same time. but she had no other name for it, so secret ending will have to do.

let me break these endings down for you, without spoiling too much! i think kiro would throw me into a dumpster if i happened to spoil too much. 🥶

so, the true ending.

well, you forgive him.

yeah, that’s pretty much the extent to what i’m allowed to say.

she calls it the “true” ending because the smau is an iwaizumi x f!reader series, so she thought it would be a little awkward to end the series with you and him not ending up together.

and yes, this is the true ending. now don’t be calling y/n a loser or stupid for forgiving him, she was a girlboss all series long. 😠

the secret ending was made because kiro understands that for many, any kind of infidelity—physical or emotional—is something they would never forgive. she herself would probably never forgive iwaizumi either, honestly.

so, if it wasn’t obvious already, the secret ending will follow an epilogue where you, in fact, do not forgive him. you kick him to the curb, and continue on with your life. this is where your and his story ends.

but yeah, that sums it up! both epilogues will start out the same, but you’ll be able to read for yourself when they start branching off to their respective endings. it’s pretty cool, i must say.

she’ll have them both posted soon!

with the endings posted, rumor has it will finally have come to an end.

oh, and she’s gonna be posting a Q&A after all is said and done, for anything that still hasn’t been answered or just in general. now that the series will be over, there’s no reason for her to remain mysterious.

isn’t she the sweetest?

please put in a good word for me and tell her i didn’t slack off in being a fourth-wall-breaker MC. 🥲

i think i’ve said all that i’ve been instructed to say, so i’ll leave you with this final thing.

it was awesome to speak with you! on behalf of kiro, thank you for sticking through rumor has it, amidst her spontaneous and intermittent scheduling! she really hopes you enjoyed the series.

and with that, concludes my job here as an MC. i did pretty good, if i do say so myself. noya, out! 😮‍💨

oh and another thing before i wrap things up completely—expect something related to saudade soon. ;)

wait fuck i don’t think i was allowed to say that

LOL YOLO OKAY BYE 🤪

so, with that said,

what ending is right for you, y/n?

will you forgive hajime iwaizumi?

or will your future not be foreseen with him by your side?

the choice is yours.

so, choose wisely.

LOL JK, both endings will be posted so when the time comes you can just choose which ending to read whenever you want.

[ TO BE UPDATED ! ]

[ click here for the true ending ]

[ click here for the secret ending ]

✧ ｡ taglist ( closed ) — @tris-does-stuff @solko @otaku-fangirlse @arolotte @froppysgirl @awkwardspontaneity @sayakaaaaaa @youngestdelacour @dicerawr @sun-daddy-yoriichi @emiyummy @unstableye @bokuakadaily @prcttylittlcthing @tycrackculture @paintedstarres @cleopatera @momo-has-a-gun @ynjimenez @yeehawslap @moonlightaangel @sunflowerirl @kodzukrn @h0ngh0ngh0ng @creativedogs @kissungjae @danger093 @winunk @ntngann @elianetsantana @kokogxddess @xxthunderthighs @ehicarmi @yespurplevoid @pluviophilefangirl @pleasemelafook-outta-ere @bbyhaji @hawksyoongi @starsabove-me @pnkmilk @qualitygiantshoepsychic @crazysocklovingfangirl @sophiejiro @dumbbitxh-things @its-the-aerieljeane @iovchlde @dabisdominion @minnieminnie00-got7 @tazzi-baby @peepeepoopoot @bokutosdivineass

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dokifluffs · 4 years

Text

Injured | Ushijima Wakatoshi

Pariring: Ushijima X Reader (gender neutral)

Genre: fluffyyyy 🤧

Request: “Ushijima s/o taking care of him because he’s injured” - anonnie

Author’s Note: you got it, homie 🤧 Thank you for requesting and happy reading!! <3 I may have gotten a lil too carried away with this imagine 😗😗

It started when one day, you had to pick up Ushi from his practice about half an hour earlier than it was supposed to end

When you picked him up, he came out with crutches, his left foot bare but wrapped. Kageyama aided him and held the doors open for him, helping him into the passenger seat of your car

“Are you okay?” You asked as soon as he shut the door, the two of you waving Kageyama goodbye as he jogged back to practice

Fortunately, since it was the off season, practice wasn’t too long or as intense. Games were more spaced out than the games during the season, where games then were played more often

“Yeah,” he sighed dejectedly. You could see he was a little bummed out. It wasn’t the first time he had sprained his ankle- this was actually the second time but it happened again on the same ankle

“How’d it happen?” You refrained yourself from adding “this time” at the end. The first time, he rolled it and the doctor said it was a low grade one sprain but to make sure to stretch and be mindful while playing

“We were scrimmaging against each other and Romero got bumped into while blocking, so he handed on my ankle. It didn’t hurt too bad but it’s swelling a bit more than last time.” He looked at his foot as you drove through the city

Instead of going straight back home, Ushi had called his doctor before you picked him up so that’s where the two of you went to first

The day was cloudy, not too sunny but not too gloomy

Arriving there, you helped him out of the car and walked beside him as he walked with his crutches. The office was pretty empty so the wait was practically nonexistent

“You were very lucky this time, Ushijima-san. If the injury had been more severe, there could have been some permanent damage,” the doctor had said after running his physical tests and x-ray

You felt just the slightest bit of Ushi’s hand squeeze yours, his skin rough and warm from practice and years of playing. You couldn’t imagine what it felt like for him, the feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff and any further, he would’ve fallen: his volleyball career would have been over as soon as it started

Any permanent damage to his ligaments would have made his ankle weaker

But it wasn’t permanent. You heeded the doctor’s words carefully: let him rest, ice it for fifteen to twenty minutes every two to three hours, wrap it, elevate it

Again, this wasn’t your first time helping him out when he was injured but last time, it wasn’t as bad as this time. Last time, he was able to walk without applying too much weight that would cause him pain

The drive home from the doctor’s was calm. If Ushijima was feeling anything, you couldn’t read it on his face or the aura around him

“How was your day?” He asked, catching you off guard as you entered the neighborhood

“Oh, it was fine. I was doing a bit of work to get ahead and then I picked you up and here we are.” You worked from home, managing your own personal business as it steadily grew, especially overseas

Arriving home, you helped him out of the car and then held the front door for him. It was bright with a calming ambiance coming from the pale sunlight that shined through the tall windows, the light bouncing off the white walls

“I’m going to take a shower before resting,” he stated as he approached the stairs

You nodded as you dropped off your belongings on the kitchen counter but watched from behind him as he went up the stairs with his crutches, just in case anything were to happen

As soon as he was safely upstairs, you returned to the kitchen and prepared dinner. Music played all throughout the spacious room as you cooked away. You prepared a special hayashi rice for him knowing how much he liked it and maybe, this would raise his spirits a bit more

Though you didn’t even know if he was disheartened or not. Ushi was strong. He has been and always will be. You know this. He’ll rise to the world stage with his team and blow away any opponent he would face. You believed in him

When he came back down, he wore a simple, slightly baggy white shirt and black shorts, his hair just a bit damp but fresh with the shampoo he used

He came into the kitchen, the savory aroma scent of the hashed beef that you made, now dished in front of him as he sat down

The two of you peacefully ate dinner while the walls and lighting changed all around the room as the sun set over the horizon outside. It was quiet, filled with the sounds of the two of you eating, silverware to the dishes

You were actually stumped, not knowing what to talk about. The two of you had been together for years but it felt like the beginning when the two of you were first talking- but the thing was, the two of you at that phase didn’t know what to talk about

“Dinner is delicious, Y/N, thank you for making it.” He spoke, giving you a small smile

“Of course,” you said, bringing a bite of rice to your mouth. “I’ll prepare an ice bag after dinner,” you said, to which he nodded and that was basically all the two of you talked about for the rest of dinner

It felt weird

After dinner, he made his way to the living room, sitting on one of the lounge couches. Only a few slivers of light were shining as much as they could in the distance. You gathered the dishes into the sink but grabbed a bag, filling it with ice

Bringing it and a towel. When you approached him, he brought his leg up, setting it on a pillow

He tried to reach for the bag only for you to step away. “Let me,” you smiled. He sat back and relaxed as you placed the ice bag over the towel, draping both over his leg

“Talk to me, Ushi. You’ve been quiet..” you sat beside him on the edge of the couch. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well..” he took your hands into his. His fingers rubbed across the palm of your hands every now and then as he gathered his words

“I was actually scared..” he admitted, taking you aback. “The thought of knowing how fast everything could’ve ended if it was worse”

Your hands closed around his hands, your thumbs rubbing over his knuckles continuously as you listened

His hands were far bigger than yours, stronger than you could ever know but to him, you were able to make him feel small despite you being up to his neck

The two of you spent the rest of the night just talking in the living room. One conversation let to another, your touch never leaving him

In bed, you made sure to be cautious with your movements, not accidentally kicking his leg

For the first time in a while, the two of you stayed up “late” which was really just an hour later, continuously talking

There was no need for him to be up and early for the next two weeks

It felt like you were falling for him all over again, it felt nostalgic

Sleeping, he laid on his back with a pillow beneath his leg as you slept beside him, your arm resting over his chest, close to his side

For the rest week, everyday was the same for the two of you. You prepared breakfast, lunch, and dinner

You made sure he rested as much as he could but he couldn’t keep still the entire time. He lifted weights and worked with his upper body strength to make sure he would be able to come back stronger than ever

He played calm nature sounds over a speaker as he worked out, though you preferred music, but he preferred natural life

About a week passed and things were going smoothly

But tonight, the Adlers were playing a match against a team from the states and Ushi wouldn’t be there tonight

The two of you sat together on the couch in the dimmed living room after dinner, watching some tv before the game would go on live

You usually watched their games, sure to cheer him and his team on whenever you could but it felt different now that he was right beside you

The game went on and it was intense. The score was constantly neck and neck until the last bits where the Adlers were able to successfully pull ahead

Ushi’s sub wasn’t as strong as he was when he swung but he had a nasty cut, making the other team struggle with getting the ball back up to Kageyama

He made some commentary every now and then about what could’ve been done instead. Some plays even surprised him

He had seen games throughout high school and maybe a few Adlers’ games but the recordings were specific to only him to analyze his plays

But seeing the broadcasts were entirely different

Just as his eyes were settled on one angle, the camera switched

The Adlers were able to win in a 4-1 match

To you, it felt like after watching this match with him, it was like something changed. The usual times he worked out got a bit longer

He asked you to make some changes to his diet, which you complied and you even found him on the call with his doctor about things he could do to strengthen his ankle in a secure way that won’t damage it further while you were working in your office

Around the third week, he began to do some light stretches just to be safe for now and opted to use a single crutch more than two crutches

Whenever you were around Ushi after a game or even before, there were different distinct auras he would project as he drew himself to the game and his opponents

He was so passionate about the sport, you admired him for it

But the aura you felt as he stretched, worked out, the way his arm would snake around your waist a lot more often than when he would be playing everyday

To be honest, you really loved that he was home. Since you worked from home, you were pretty alone except for the days he came back from his practices, games, tournaments, and his rest days

It felt nice that you could take care of him and see him so often everyday. To wake up beside him and to still feel his touch against your skin and body when you woke up

Rolling into the fourth week, he began to stretch regularly. He was slowly able to walk but was careful about how much weight he was putting onto his leg

To return the favor, while you went out to get a couple things before you could really start dinner

He did the best that he could and in his mind, he planned to make a couple of dishes he knew how to- basic ones he’s seen you to so many times

Stepping through the door with a couple of bags in hand, a smile instantly spread across your lips as you watched Ushi standing still in front of the stove, wooden spatula in hand as he did his best to make the first dish

You set the bags on the counter, which he didn’t hear over the sound of the stove

You wrapped your arms around his back, burying your face into his toned back, how nice it felt to feel how warm his body was through the fabric of his shirt

Your hands rested on his chest as you took him in, enjoying every bit of the moment, even if he was slowly burning food

When the smell got a little too intense, you took over though there was no saving what he did but it was okay

“I just wanted to help out as a way of thanking you for taking care of me so much, Y/N,” his voice low in your ear, you could practically hear the rumble in with every word

He rested his hands around your waist with your back to his chest, holding you every so lightly in his arms but not tight enough to restrict you

He stayed beside you the entire time you made dinner, helping you out in any way he could, doing as you instructed

You didn’t know if it was just because of the moment the two of you were able to share but dinner tasted better than normal. Instead of sitting across from him, you sat beside him

He occasionally fed you bits of the dishes the two of you prepared and made together even though he was never really one to do this kind of stuff

It was a very sweet gesture though

Going into the sixth week, you drove him to his doctors once more for a check up. He didn’t need crutches to walk and it was a bearable to apply his weight onto his leg

“It seems like your sprain is almost fully recovered. To be safe, I recommend you continue your stretches but don’t jump right back into playing just yet for the best results,@ the doctor said while inspecting the new x-ray

Although he didn’t say it, you could feel just how eager he was to get back into gears, to play with his team again

He did the most he could to build strength in his legs and body but just enough to not over do it

Before you knew it, you were suddenly standing on the sidelines with a special pass at his first game back, the stadium filled and cheering loudly as the announcer announced his official return after a roughly six week rest

You wore one of his jerseys proudly and cheered him on from the sidelines

He was back stronger than ever and you knew this was going to be another win for the Adlers

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

Tags (send me an ask if you wanna be tagged for all my haikyuu posts): @yams046 @mazey-chan @sunboikyo00 @kara-grayson04 @fortheloveofbakugo

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smashy-headcanons · 4 years

Text

Reasons Subspace Emissary would’ve worked better as a comedy than a drama

The great Super Mario does two fights and then gets launched into orbit by a goddamn cannonball to the face, and Kirby’s just like “oh ok bye”

Petey Piranha appears out of pretty much nowhere and Peach is just like “ope I’m kidnapped again time to scream.”

On that note, Zelda looks just as confused as Kirby is by how she’s suddenly in a cage being held by a giant plant.

Wario Has A Gun

Mario wakes up and has to come to terms with the fact that he, the most well-known hero and video gaming icon, was just saved from death by a 12 year old.

Donkey Kong throws a goomba off a cliff and graphically murders a koopa troopa. This is fine.

Bowser Has A Gun

After Mario fails to reach the Ancient Minister, Pit uses the head of his lifelong idol as a stepping stool. Mario face plants into the ground because of this and struggles to get up afterward.

The game is generally just kind of a dick to Mario for the whole thing it’s so funny

Rayquaza comes out of the water implying Kyogre got up to some shit again.

Fox McCloud, who leads a mercenary team to help people for money, sees Diddy Kong requesting help and is just like “nah”.

Diddy Kong starts dragging Fox and Fox just sorta accepts it.

Fox sees Bowser With A Gun and decides the best course of action is to jump off of a cliff that’s god knows how high.

Pokemon Trainer (Red) is 11 and Lucas is 14 but 14yo is much shorter than the 11yo.

Luigi is scared of Waddle Dees and they don’t even mind they just look at him and continue on their way.

King Dedede sees this random guy cowering over his Waddle Dees and decides “yes this seems like the perfect man to save all worlds” and then proceeds to wack him into the sky.

Dedede sees Wario and is like “For personal reasons I will commit a robbery.”

Yoshi is woken up from a nap and is like “oh is this what we’re doing now ok”.

Peach/Zelda Has A Gun

Red’s response to any kind of emergency is just “black out and hope everything ends up fine”.

Diddy Kong starts dragging Falco and Falco just sorta accepts it while Fox explains stuff to him.

Captain Falcon be like *drives in with theme song blaring* *jump punches big robot* *lands with a cool pose* *slides into a bunch of innocent civilians immediately killing them on impact*

The last surviving Pikmin is the infamous Steve

Star Fox decided they’d shove Diddy Kong into a cramped Arwing along with Falco to drop him off.

Lucario and Meta Knight see each other and are immediately like “welp time to kick this guy’s ass”

Immediately after they get their ass kicked they decide that they’re friends.

Snake breaks the fourth wall.

The Halberd fires a bunch of shots and Peach just walks past all of them.

Peach interrupts Sheik and Fox’s fight to offer tea that she got out of nowhere. Both accept the offer.

Ganondorf Has A Gun

Ganondorf, reincarnation of evil, bearer of the Triforce of Power, decides to jump at Tabuu like frickin Superman or some shit.

After getting his ass kicked by Dedede, Bowser decides to, of all horrible things to do to King Dedede, roar at him. Dedede flicks him in the nose and laughs at him.

Wario tries to beat on Dedede but then Dedede, Luigi, and Ness give him the Shame Stare.

Sonic appears out of nowhere and no one questions how he got into the Subspace in the first place.

#holy shit I didn't expect this list to be so long #all #subspace emissary #smashy headcanons #super smash bros #headcanon #mine #long post #mention: swearing

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tossawary · 3 years

Text

Chapter 24: “Seeing is Believing” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” random favorite lines and commentary. Not a full list or full commentary, but longer commentary than usual to talk about quest construction.

AN: This was... a weird chapter to write. When I started outlining, I had... the conversation with Shen Qingqiu planned... the conversation with Shen Yuan planned... the fact that SQH, SY, LQG, and LFL was the quest party... and the fact that they get the Eye at the end of it. That was everything.

The entire rest of this chapter came together FRIDAY LAST WEEK.

Huan Hua Palace wasn’t going to be there. The Weeper didn’t exist. The Eye or its previous owner wasn’t at all connected to the Garden Master. The Shadow Cave Wolf Spiders didn’t exist. The murder plant didn’t exist. The mysterious monster showing up at the end wasn’t originally planned either.

I mean, I had a lot of pre-existing plot threads to tie in and weave with, but ohhh boy! Picture someone lying facedown on a floor like, “I forgot to plan the contents of the super important quest...”

I was originally going to have the Eye quest a lot simpler, but given the weight “Death of the Author” had when I finally reached this part of the story, that wasn’t really going to do! It had to be bigger than that! It needed oomph! This also felt like a good opportunity to really establish the new SQH-SY dynamic. To explore SY fumbling to find a place in this world without strict character role, especially in relation to settled and well-supported SQH.

“One attempts to remain dignified,” Shen Qingqiu agrees. “As there is little point in kicking and screaming about how such ignobility isn’t fair.”

“Ha! Is there ever?”

“Not in my experience.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely not cute when I do it,” Shang Qinghua jokes.

Shen Qingqiu’s lips actually twitch at that.

Success?!

AN: I wasn’t going into this fic with the intention of writing any Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu almost friendship! But it started developing and it seemed a shame not to explore Shang Qinghua developing a real relationship with Shen Qingqiu (though not a particularly close one) when the man is suppose to be the scum villain (and the readers know that the man might get replaced by Shen Yuan).

I can see myself writing more Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu content in the future. Someone dropped a particularly nice prompt for them in my inbox that I’m looking forward to exploring at some point.

(I mean, not to say that Shang Qinghua has a type, but Shang Qinghua has a type and it’s handsome, deadly, intimidating, frosty men with a villainous character design and trust/abandonment and communication issues. I could make it work.)

“Ah, well, two ‘ideal’ situations come to mind: severing the personal relationship for good… or, ah, talking about how to do better and trying that. You don’t have to forget or even forgive if you don’t want to! But, ah… there’s got to be a difference between totally swallowing your anger and cutting ties forever, right?” Shang Qinghua says awkwardly. “If there’s… ever going to be anything good afterwards…”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him for a sweat-inducing length of time.

“Ah, fuck,” Shang Qinghua thinks.

“Sorry,” he says. “Ahhh, I’m just… thinking about something someone told me… in… in regards to some of my own problems. Never mind! Never mind!”

AN: Luo Jiahui really is out here making Moshang and Qijiu get their fucking act together just by setting a better example.

“Shizun, my apologies for the interruption, but I came to ask Shizun if he would be willing to join our music lesson today? The disciples have missed his playing and are eager to present their improvements.”

“...Very well, unless anyone here would disagree…?” Shen Qingqiu looks directly at the Qian Cao Peak cultivator, as though daring her to object and die.

“It’s an excellent suggestion!” the Qian Cao Peak cultivator says quickly.

The young woman smiles. “And perhaps Shizun could sit in on the calligraphy lesson afterwards? In order to offer his opinion on my progress as a teacher?”

“Fishing for compliments is unbecoming,” Shen Qingqiu says dryly.

“Wait, what?” Shang Qinghua thinks.

AN: So, this has all been happening in the background, but Shen Qingqiu accepted this House of Rejuvenation woman onto his Peak about... 6-ish years ago now? This is kind of meant to parallel Shang Qinghua’s once-secret relationship with Luo Jiahui.

Shang Qinghua was out here trying to be a better person and Shen Qingqiu noticed; now Shen Qingqiu has his own positive (platonic) relationship with a nameless background character who was meant to die for plot reasons. What a thing, huh? If the story was saved because Shang Qinghua started a domino effect of saving random people who went on to change things?

After all, as Shang Qinghua said to the kid, besides Peerless Cucumber’s apparent talent for cultivation, he knows that his fellow transmigrator has three very important skills that will serve him well on An Ding Peak! 1) An encyclopedia knowledge for even seemingly pointless bullshit (which is kind of flattering, honestly). 2) The willingness to fight total strangers over seemingly pointless bullshit. And 3) a sharp enough tongue to win.

Peerless Cucumber didn’t find these points as funny as Shang Qinghua did.

AN: Shen Yuan was always going to end up on An Ding Peak. I thought about sending him to Qing Jing or Qian Cao or Qiong Ding... or any other Peak... but that would take him too far away from Shang Qinghua to really explore their relationship and to move him around conveniently in the story. And SY sticking to An Ding seemed to best illustrate the fact that SY is lost and doesn’t know what to do except cling to SQH.

“It’s not much, sure, but it’s yours,” Shang Qinghua says finally. “You’ll be joining the talisman classes soon, so don’t try anything from a book and then need to request some home repairs.”

Peerless Cucumber nods and puts his stack of manuals down on the table.

“How’s your tutorial mission going?”

“Fine,” the kid says shortly. “Have you found anything for the other one yet?”

“Ah, not yet.”

AN: “Are you winning, son?” meme energy here.

Ah, now Shang Qinghua recognizes his fellow transmigrator’s expression! That’s the same stunned expression one of his Huan Hua not-disciples, Yu Chaonan, made upon meeting the Bai Zhan Peak War God for the first time. Shang Qinghua assumes that Peerless Cucumber was expecting a man who looked more like a musclebound giant and less like a pop idol (if one with amazingly muscular arms), which is a super common and never-not-funny misconception people have about Liu Qingge.

“Brother of one of the most beautiful women in this world, bro,” Shang Qinghua reminds his fellow transmigrator, amused. Aha! Now Peerless Cucumber’s vehement disinterest in the harem stuff is making even more sense than before!

Shang Qinghua’s assumption gets 100% confirmed when it comes time for Peerless Cucumber to fly with Liu Qingge for the next leg of the journey. The other transmigrator is so embarrassed and awkward about it that Shang Qinghua’s super direct brother-in-law asks if the young man is alright.

AN: This was so fun to write. Shang Qinghua really can use the Liu siblings to gauge people’s sexual/romantic orientation.

The map (or rather, the copy Shang Qinghua made of the delicate original map) takes them to a green and grey landscape of leafy trees crawling over a wide network of tall cliffs and deep gorges. Gurgling rivers cut through twisting rock formations. Shang Qinghua can’t see any of these rivers on the map. Or these deathly drop ravines. From the outside, the whole thing looks like a natural maze (holy shit, there could be so many monsters and death-traps in there!), and Shang Qinghua would know those golden robes flying low over the hanging trees anywhere.

“Huan Hua,” Liu Qingge mutters.

“Do you think they’re looking for what we’re looking for?” Luo Fanli asks.

“That’s usually how it goes,” Peerless Cucumber says, before Shang Qinghua can.

AN: I came up with the skeleton idea first. Then I was like... “I should give it three eyes.” And then I was like... “But who IS this dead author? A god? A spirit? What grander implications am I spinning here?”

And THEN I remembered that I had some ambiguous powerful being force the Garden Master into exile due to a flood. This was because, in the Epic of Gilgamesh, the immortal man Gilgamesh meets in the abyss is the survivor of a great flood. So I was like, “Reduce! Re-use! Recycle! There’s my skeleton!”

So I wanted to relate the skeleton to water because of the flood angle. Water as a symbol of cleansing/reincarnation is a big thing throughout many cultures. I can’t remember exactly how the crying aspect came up, but I knew there was going to be water in the temple now, so at some point my brain like was, “Bro, this skeleton should totally be crying because mythology vibes.”

So I built the surrounding land off the idea that there was water flowing from or around this temple. At this point, I had decided that Huan Hua Palace should also be looking for this artifact, so I had to come up with a way to hide the temple, yet have a way for SQH’s party to track it down.

The damage to the doors is worse: someone once upon a time collapsed a part of the cliff face around the entrance, essentially leaving only the top fourth of the utterly smashed stone doors visible. It’s a wall now and has been for ages. It looks like it would take days to dig through the rubble. Someone has even super helpfully carved, “These doors will never open again,” just above the wreck.

“Guess we’ll have to go in as intruders rather than guests!” Luo Fanli says.

“What would be welcoming us inside a lost temple exactly?” Shang Qinghua asks vaguely, inwardly cursing the fact that explosive mining techniques will definitely attract the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators’ attention and also probably collapse the whole cliff on them.

“We only have to clear a passage for us, not the whole door,” Peerless Cucumber says optimistically. “Is there a special technique for this kind of thing?”

“Aha, not really.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t we just keep following the water?” Luo Fanli says.

“...How so?” Shang Qinghua asks.

“Some of those waterfalls could be passages inside,” Liu Qingge explains, because he and the little sister-in-law apparently share the same brain. He’s already eyeing the waterfall wearing down the giant statue on the left.

AN: Temples in quests need to have traps and obstacles and monsters! Well, not ALL of the did, but this one did. I based the obstacles they faced as much as I could around the whole “Death of the Author” theme, while using this whole quest to explore Shen Yuan, Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua, Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge and Luo Fanli, and so on.

The idea here with the door is that the “author” is not going to let them inside the temple to take the interpretation of the narrative (the Eye) for themselves. The story is over (the temple is closed for business)! The author is dead! If they want to get inside, they have to break inside or slip inside as intruders.

This also creates a convenient obstacle to hold up the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators so that our party can be nearly caught later! And shows off Shang Qinghua, Liu Qingge, and Luo Fanli’s twisty lines of thinking.

Luo Fanli is holding the light and Shang Qinghua passes the other transmigrator to her, while accepting Liu Qingge’s hand for help getting out of the water.

“Ahhh, that was fun,” Shang Qinghua mutters.

Then he notices that Liu Qingge has the Cheng Luan sword out and ready. Shang Qinghua looks through the surrounding darkness, but all he can see are columns and water. For a moment, he thinks he sees something, a prowling shadow at the other end of the cavernous room, but he wipes the water out of his eyes and it’s gone.

AN: The water in Shang Qinghua’s eyes briefly lets him see a flash of the invisible monsters who show up later! It helps up the tension.

Another low growl rips through the darkness and Peerless Cucumber shuffles a little closer to Shang Qinghua. Because that sounded really fucking close and yet Shang Qinghua still can’t see the thing that’s making that sound.

He doesn’t see Liu Qingge lunge at him either. He only feels his brother-in-law shove him into Peerless Cucumber, knocking them into the water, out of the way of something that howls when Liu Qingge slashes at it with his sword. Shang Qinghua rolls off Peerless Cucumber and looks up just in time to see dark blood splatter across the watery floor. Liu Qingge pursues the attacker with a second slash, but only seems to meet thin air this time.

“It’s invisible!” Luo Fanli cries. “Fuck!”

“Behind you!” Liu Qingge snaps, and spins to slash at the thin air beside him. Dark droplets of blood hit the water again and something hisses at him.

Luo Fanli whirls and slashes, searching for an opponent.

“They’re reflected in the water!” Liu Qingge yells at her, standing guard over Shang Qinghua as he gets to his feet again. “Listen for their footsteps and vocalizations! Feel the demonic energy and air displacement!”

AN: I got this from a list of Dungeons and Dragons puzzles. The idea is that there’s some puzzle that must be solved, but the truth of the room can only be seen in the reflection of the nearby water (or mirror or whatever).

Which felt fitting for a “Death of the Author” quest! Whatever an author’s intentions, the story is what they actually wrote, so the audience interprets a text without the context of the author’s insight. The truth (of the story) is in the reflection (audience interpretation)! It felt like a fun idea.

It also allows Shen Yuan to actually contribute to the quest via monster lore and bring up his impaired vision problem. And to confront Shen Yuan with the reality of this world. And to show off Luo Fanli’s fighting skills. And to show off LIU QINGGE’S legendary fighting skills, instincts as a warrior who fights many dangerous beasts, and the fact that he’s clever and observant!

Liu Qingge is good at what he does! And this is what he does!

Someone has… angrily… or desperately… carved a lopsided message into the wall.

“‘If I go blind, so does the world,’” Peerless Cucumber reads.

“...That’s probably not good,” Shang Qinghua says.

“Nooo…” Fanli agrees.

The messages continue as they climb, carved into the walls, the ceilings, the floors. Most of it is illegible. Some of it is just nonsense. Some of it looks like the same kind of historical records carved into the broken tablets. Some of it looks like someone attacked the walls after reading what was written there. There are deep gouges in the walls and cracked marks that would match a giant’s hands.

“‘The water cleans the lies,’” Peerless Cucumber reads. “‘I am the only one who can see.’ ‘Lies everywhere, lies everywhere, lies everywhere.’ ‘The water cleans the evil.’ ‘I do not have enough tears.’ ‘Everything is nothing now. Everything in vain.’”

“You really don’t need to read them!” Shang Qinghua tells the kid. “It’s fine. It's totally fine.”

AN: This is mostly here to up the tension, but it’s also here to try and give insight into this being and relate them more to the “Death of the Author” and the “Seeing is Believing” themes.

I also saw the phrase “If I go blind, so does the world” while I was browsing a list of riddles for D&D campaigns and I was like, “THAT’S SICK, I’M USING THAT.” Really brings the “an eye for an eye” and vengeance vibes. (The riddle was longer than that one phrase, but the answer was “the sun”.)

The top of the temple reveals one massive room that looks like someone was alternatively scratching their insanity into the walls and tearing chunks out of the interior design with their bare hands. Overtop of the rubble is that eerie overgrowth. There’s a fine layer of water over the floor. At the center of it all is an incredibly enormous desk, cracked in half, with a robed skeleton sitting behind it, slumped over the top. It’s a little too large to be an ordinary human.

Plus, its skull is a little too long, probably to accommodate the third eye socket in the forehead. There’s something gleaming softly yellow in the third eye socket.

“Is… there water dripping from its eyes?” Luo Fanli whispers.

“It looks like it…” Peerless Cucumber whispers back. “Like it's crying…?”

“Still…? Is it dead or not?”

“Holy shit,” Shang Qinghua thinks, slightly nauseated. “System, bro, the worst bro I’ve ever known, tell me that we have not been swimming in a three-eyed skeleton’s magical undead tears or something this whole time.”

The shitty, no-good System stays unsurprisingly silent.

AN: Okay, so the idea here is that this being was someone who recorded history and shared their knowledge freely. This being had the ability to discern the truth of a person - they were extremely perceptive. (The Weeper is either female or doesn’t have a gender, by the way.)

The Weeper met the Garden Master at some point. The Garden Master was an asshole, a liar, arrogant, etc.. The Weeper and the Garden Master clashed badly, until the Weeper sent the cleansing flood that nearly destroyed the sect and the Garden Master essentially had to flee to a personal abyss.

The Garden Master sent the plant as a final “fuck you” to the Weeper. The plant caused the Weeper to slowly go mad. The smashed tablets and destroyed temple are the Weeper’s work. The Weeper (not in a great state of mind) had the temple closed themselves once they realized they and their work had been corrupted. This was a “you destroy my (embellished) reputation, I destroy yours (and your entire life)” plot by the Garden Master.

The idea behind the tears is the whole “water is cleansing” thing. The Weeper tried to clean away the madness using their magical water-related abilities... and it actually worked for a long time. But eventually the madness began to overpower the effects of the magical water. The Weeper’s tears are from frustration and helplessness at losing control.

The water inside the temple combats the plant’s physical effects. Also stabbing the root killed the plant and essentially broke its mental/spiritual powers.

Unfortunately, to get the fuck out of here, they have to go back through the temple. But hey! That’s still a lot better than an extended hike through an underground, haunted desert in darkness! The battle with the now-dead plant caused its growth to writhe around the temple. The vines need to be hacked through sometimes as they travel down through the rooms of broken shelves and shattered tablets.

“So much history lost…” Peerless Cucumber murmurs.

“He still thinks of himself as a reader - an observer, a visitor, separate from the flow of fate.”

AN: This is... absolutely based on the Heart from the Dishonored franchise. But this sort of item didn’t originate with Dishonored and I need it! It’s a surprise/mystery tool that will help us later!

The Eye isn’t exactly a mind-reading object. I mean, it kind of is, but it works in a very specific way that I’m looking forward to getting into.

From there, their path back out of the natural maze is even more careful and stressful than before, now that the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators are actively looking for them rather than the temple. It’s slow-going and stressful and silent, except for when the Weeper’s Eye presses too close against his chest.

“He is afraid that if he starts screaming, he will never stop,” it tells him, when he’s looking at a pale-faced Peerless Cucumber, as they fly over a particularly deathly-looking drop.

“Oh, me too, bro!” Shang Qinghua thinks. “Seriously! Tell me something I don’t know!”

AN: Having Shang Qinghua be totally unimpressed by an object like this was very funny to me. He’s the author! He’s a transmigrator! He knows these people well! He already has insight into their situations.

Shang Qinghua groans, but supposes that Peerless Cucumber would have at least been disguising Liu Qingge from the back. “You tell them that you were tracking thieves who stole something from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” he says quickly. “Rule of embarrassment! Admitting something that makes us look bad to a rival makes it sound true. Don’t tell them what was stolen and act really offended if they try to poke into Cang Qiong business. I’ll come back as soon as I get these two out!”

Liu Qingge nods and launches forward into the fight.

“We’re just leaving him?” Peerless Cucumber says, as they do exactly that.

“I’ll get changed and come back ‘looking for him for urgent sect business’ as soon as I’ve dropped you two off in the last town,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m really good at acting stressed and confused, and at desperately needing an unstoppable wandering Liu Qingge back at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect immediately. Now let’s go! Let’s go! Mission isn’t over yet!”

AN: Shang Qinghua is, at heart, a liar. I love him.

#tossawary updates #tossawary svsss #pride is not the word #tossawary commentary

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mourntheantagonist · 3 years

Text

a little something I wrote for @smashmouth-hargrove after converting me with all their tommy content!

Breaking Character

3.3k | Explicit

warnings: tomgrove with sprinkles of harringrove and stommy, graphic depictions of violence, drinking, sexual content, homophobic language.

read on ao3

Billy didn’t really know what to do when he woke up on the hardwood floor of the empty Byers house with his car missing from the front yard, his movement off kilter from whatever was in that vial still coursing through his veins, and a death wish waiting for him at home considering the red-head he had been ordered to fetch was nowhere to be seen. With all of his energy lost in that fight he only vaguely remembered, just little flashes of a bloody Steve beneath him and sounds of breaking dishware echoicing in his brain, he’d given up on finding her, noting the time on the clock was already passed midnight and his father would have his ass either way. So instead of searching the town on foot, or parking himself in the Byers house on the off chance she’d come back, he stumbled over to the phone on the wall and dialed the only number he’d remembered from his short stay in Hawkins.

Tommy’s.

The guy was like a fucking lost puppy with the way he had followed him around from the moment he stepped foot into the high school. Coming up from behind him, firmly grabbing him by the shoulders and boldly introducing himself as “Tommy H.” making him wonder exactly how many people were named “Tommy” at such a small school. Billy had just brushed him off at first and searched for his locker, but Tommy persisted. Following him to first period which they just so happened to share, and even cornering him at lunch to sit with him and his group of other assholes, to which he declined and instead pulled the first girl he saw looking at him aside and invited her to eat lunch in his car with him, where they didn’t actually eat lunch at all.

Billy planned to just blow the guy off completely, not interested in being part of the “popular crowd” or whatever the fuck Tommy had called it, and he was kind of getting creepy, stalkerish even with the way he followed him around and practically begged for his attention, which he wasn’t interested in giving until the two words, or rather, the name had escaped passed Tommy’s lips.

“Steve Harrington and that freak Byers look to be getting a little close wouldn’t ya say? Think we should tell little ol’ Nancy?” He said it with a string of laughs and a slap on the shoulder of the nameless guy in the letterman’s jacket that stood beside him. Billy couldn’t give a shit about who Byers or Nancy were, he was far more hung up on “Steve Harrington”. The guy who stumbled into his fourth period class five minutes after the bell had rang and followed him to fifth where he watched from the corner of his eye as he stripped down into his gym clothes. He only heard his full name when they all stood in a line alphabetically by last name when he was called directly after him. Hargrove, then Harrington. Then they were all paired off into groups of two and of course, he got paired up with a Steve and his ridiculous head of hair and thighs he wanted to crush his fucking head.

Billy stuck around Tommy after learning he was the one with the most intel on the guy. Tommy told him about the Halloween party where “Keg King Steve” might just get dethroned if Billy had anything to say about it. He didn’t know the guy he was dealing with was fucking royalty.

Tommy became a second shadow after that. He was with him everywhere he went and if it hadn’t been for the service he did provide, he would have kicked him to the curb a long time ago. And now with him standing in a strangers house in the middle of nowhere without a means of transportation and the only phone number on hand belonging to fucking Tommy, he was lucky he hadn’t.

“Hello?” Tommy’s voice came over the receiver.

“Hey uh, it’s Billy. Think you could come pick me up from somewhere?” Billy’s voice was still groggy from the drugs.

“Are you drunk?”

“No, but I wish I fuckin’ was. Look I’m at the Byers and I have no car so if you could just come and rescue me that would be great.” he said it with the utmost sarcasm to his voice, despite none of it actually being sarcastic at all.

“Okay I’m on my way, I’ll bring beer.”

Tommy pulled into the front in less than five minutes from the moment he set the phone back on the hook. Apparently he didn’t live too far from the Byers place in the middle of the woods. Billy stumbled out the front door and managed to barely make it to the passenger door without toppling over, which didn’t do much to help his story that he wasn’t in fact drunk.

“Dude! What the hell is going on? What happened to your face?”

Billy just slumped into his seat and pulled a beer bottle from the six pack sitting in Tommy’s back seat and opened it with the ring on his finger. “Just drive, I’ll explain when I can’t fuckin’ feel it anymore.” he said, kicking his feet up on the dash earning a grunt out of Tommy.

“Where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

Tommy took off the parking brake with a smirk on his face and turned the car around.

“To the quarry then.”

Billy had been around there once or twice since he’d arrived in Hawkins. The first time was when they had first driven past the welcome sign and he stumbled upon it while scoping out the town for any reason to stay in the shithole. Instead he stumbled upon the two hundred foot cliff into bone crushing waters. But he’d only ever been there during the day when the sky was overcast and it looked like nothing more than doom and gloom, much like the rest of the town. This time it was late, the sky was clear and the stars and the moon were brightly visible and reflected on the water's surface. The headlights illuminated the space around them and it was oddly peaceful.

“Now you gonna tell me why you’re getting blood all over my car?”

Billy finished off the last of the beer that was in the bottle and tossed it out the open window. “I got into it with Harrington.” He said, wiping away at the blood that still was dripping from the nose that was definitely broken. Harrington was a shit fighter but he threw a mean punch.

“Why was he at the Byers? Why were you at the Byers? What the fuck is going on?!” Tommy had his seat belt off and his body fully turned towards Billy who was still sitting with his feet up on the dash reaching his arm back for a second bottle.

“I don’t fucking know Hagan. I was looking for my little sister and Harrington chose to pick a fight with me. My sister fuckin’ drugged me and when I woke up my car was gone,” Billy took a large swig out of the bottle in his hand, “that’s where you came in.”

Tommy took the bottle from Billy’s hand and took his own drink from the bottle, committing to staying with Billy at the quarry with that first swallow of bitter liquid down his throat. Billy quickly stole it back from him and chugged the rest of it, prompting Tommy to grab his own from the pack in the back seat. “So King Steve finally won a fight huh? Never thought I’d see the day.” Tommy said while he fiddled with his key trying to pop the bottle cap off. But Billy was quick to set him straight about exactly what happened.

“Harrington did not win the fight.” Billy let out a pained laugh. “Last I remember he looked dead on the floor.” Tommy was speechless, staring back at Billy with the mouth of the bottle held against his lower lip, frozen in place. “You got a smoke?”

“Is Steve okay?” Tommy’s voice was panicked, a total tone shift not only from how they were previously talking, but a tone Billy hadn’t yet heard out of the guy before. His eyes were wide and filled with concern and Billy had been trying not to think about everything that was currently swimming through Tommy’s mind since he had woken up on that wood floor.

“I don’t fucking know man, he wasn’t there when I woke up,” Billy just ignored eye contact with Tommy and began rummaging through the glove box in search of a pack and a light. “I’m sure he’s fine, they wouldn’t have just left me on the fuckin’ floor if I was wanted for murder.” he says it to Tommy, but also to himself as he finally finds a loose pack of reds and holds a cigarette in between his fingers, letting the words and the feeling of warmth as he lights up calm his nerves about whatever situation Steve was currently in. Nothing he could do about it now.

“What the fuck Hargrove? How bad did you hurt him?” Tommy was practically yelling at him, almost becoming teary eyed, punching Billy in the shoulder like he was trying to hurt him but didn’t know how.

“Why the fuck do you care so much? You got a boner for him or something?” It was meant as a joke. Billy really didn’t have anything suggesting Tommy was “of the same crowd” as he was from his observations over the past week aside from his weird infatuation with him that he’d just written off as him using him to get chicks after noticing how every girls eyes darted toward him as soon as he stepped foot out of the Camaro. But the way Tommy reacted to the accusation without immediate denial or fucking any other reaction that wasn’t his eyes growing even wider before turning his head down and away from Billy. “Did I strike a nerve there?”

“Can it Hargrove.” Tommy’s voice is low and quiet and he’s practically one with the steering wheel with how close his forehead is to it.

“What? That Little Tommy Hagan is a queer for Harring-“

“Shut Up!” Tommy yelled and surged forward from where he was sitting to being practically in Billy’s seat with both hands clutching the collar of Billy’s shirt and pinning him up against the car door. “Get the fuck out of my car Hargrove, walk home.” Tommy said in a mean voice, his teeth clenched and his knuckles digging into Billy’s collar bones.

And Billy just laughed his maniacal little laugh he gave whenever someone tried to start a fight they would inevitably lose in the end. Instead of reaching a hand back for the door handle and following Tommy’s strict little orders, he did exactly what he always did when it came to men he could win against. He fought back.

With the same swiftness that Tommy had, he flipped the script, turning everything right back around on Tommy so that he was the one pinned up against the drivers side door, his head slamming back against the glass window. Billy took it even one step further and pushed their combined weights against the door and with a free hand, opened it, causing Tommy to roll out onto his back along the gravel path they were parked on where he let out a pained groan.

Billy walked out unscathed, the only marks on his body being the result of a separate H name. Billy reached for Tommy’s bottle out of the cup holder and finished it off before chucking it out into the water below with a strong throw.

“So, Tommy H. eats dick for breakfast, I can’t say I’m totally surprised.” Billy took the keys from Tommy’s pockets and stuffed them in his own. He was just going to leave him there, begin a chain for vehicular theft and find somewhere else to be with someone else, but Tommy just had to go and open up his big and stupid mouth.

“Yeah, and what about you huh? I didn’t say shit about the way you were rubbing all up against Steve during gym!” Tommy started to get up, but Billy quickly responded by putting him right back down. He pushed him back down onto his back with the grip of his shoulders and climbed on top of him where both his knees were sitting on both of his hands leaving him completely immobile. Tommy screamed out in pain as his knees dug into his palms and the sharp rocks cut the skin on his hands.

“You calling me a fag?!” Billy yelled, his grip growing tighter and tighter on his shoulders, thumbs digging and bruising and Tommy didn’t have the breath to stop screaming to say anything in response. Billy chose to remove his knees from Tommy’s hands so that he would stop, but he stayed on top of him, sitting down so he wouldn’t be able to get out.

That’s when he noticed it.

Tommy was fucking hard.

“Oh, so Harrington ain’t the only guy who turns you on huh?”

Tommy made a bold move, and spit up at Billy, hitting him directly in the eye. “Get off of me.”

Billy just laughed and freed one of Tommy’s shoulders to wipe away at his eye. “Nice shot. This how you treat all the boys or am I just special?”

“I’m not fucking gay!”

“Well your dick tells me otherwise.”

Tommy just squeezed his eyes tightly, like he was trying to focus all of his energy on making it go down, which wasn’t made easy by having Billy Hargrove’s literal ass pressed up against it.

Billy had told himself he wouldn’t let this happen. Not here. But he also didn’t think he’d have the temptation so readily available, already hard for him and on his back ready to go. Billy Hargrove wasn’t one to pass up a treat like this. Sure, it wasn’t Steve Harrington, but Billy wasn’t anything if not good at playing pretend.

Billy leaned his body down to where they were chest to chest, both of their hearts pounding hard enough that they could feel each other’s. His mouth found Tommy’s neck where Billy found the most sensitive spot and took the skin right in between his teeth, causing Tommy to shudder and his dick to twitch against Billy’s ass.

“So Tommy likes a little pain with his pleasure too? You learn more and more every day.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Tommy said through a sigh followed by a gasp for air.

“Would you like me to stop?” Billy asked, knowing full well by the expression on Tommy’s face what his answer would be. But for good measure, Billy rocked his hips against Tommy’s dick to milk another moan out of his mouth. “You ever kissed a boy Tommy?”

Instead of answering with his words, Tommy bucks his hips upwards and utilizes his now free hands to grab Billy by the face and bring his lips down to his own, faces slamming together with bruise inducing force that leaves Tommy breathless and craving more. He kisses him like he’s starving, like just the taste of Billy’s lips was like a drug necessary for the continuation of his life and he’s not going to let go of it for even a second. Take all of it that he can get his hands on.

And Billy just kisses him back, closing his eyes and imagining dark brown hair and pale skin peppered in moles and deep brown eyes that could turn a sour kid sweet.

Tommy reaches his hands through the opening in Billy’s shirt and wraps his hands around to Billy’s back. Tommy’s cold hands against his skin cause him to shiver as they trace up and down and pull him in closer.

Billy grinds his hips into Tommy’s at a comfortable pace, his own dick matching Tommy’s level of hard as they’re both aching and throbbing and leaking with pre into their jeans, both of them agonizingly starved.

Billy trails a hand down the length of Tommy’s chest and undoes the button on his pants the moment he reaches his waist. Tommy’s rhythm was erratic and desperate and helping the guy out a little was the least he could do for being the tool he used to live out his own fantasies. Once the zipper was lowered, Billy reached his cold and bruised hand, coated in a layer of spit from his own mouth, into the space below Tommy’s boxers where he wrapped his hand around Tommy’s dick, pretending it was Steve’s, the one he managed to catch a glimpse of while they were in the showers after practice, the one he permanently ingrained in his mind and could see just as vividly now, and pumped. And Tommy did a lot of the work himself, thrusting himself into Billy’s hand, no longer able to focus on kissing Billy from all the intense pleasure that he was just breathing into Billy’s open mouth all hot and heavy. Tommy didn’t say it, but Billy could tell that he was on the brink with the way his face contorted more and more with each thrust. The sweat was spilling from his pores like multiple waterfalls and Billy just kept on closing his eyes, picturing Steve, not the freckled face below him that made all the sounds that sent him reeling.

Because it was one thing to want someone unattainable, and an entirely other thing to want someone who was.

Tommy came into his hand as Billy had that thought, moaning out the name “Steve” as he did, reminding Billy of exactly what this was, ripping the word “attainable” directly from his vocabulary and leaving him with the most disappointing orgasm of his life.

Okay, not true. It was still ten times more epic than any girl had ever given him.

The problem was that with all that buildup with Steve at the forefront of his mind, he came to the image of Tommy, who had just come to the image of Steve, another guy’s name on his tongue.

Billy just got up from where he was on top of Tommy, pressing his boot into Tommy’s thigh with an anger induced force, and walked off. He ignored the damp and sticky mess in his boxers and took a seat in the passenger seat of Tommy’s car while Tommy was still laid out on the gravel.

“Let’s go! Not a fucking word about this Hagan, you got it?”

He just nodded his head, his face flushed likely due to the answer to that initial question about ever kissing a boy being true, maybe because he was embarrassed for himself, maybe because he was embarrassed for Billy.

He didn’t want to think about that.

“Keys?” Tommy asked as he took his seat, holding his hand out for Billy to drop them. Billy tossed them over, ignoring the outstretched hand and instead reaching for his technically third beer from the back of Tommy’s car and not saying a word about it. Letting Tommy just take him wherever he so pleased.

Tommy took him to his house, surprisingly knowing where he lived, and Billy didn’t bother to question how exactly he knew the address. He didn’t say anything, not even a thank you before he closed the car door behind him and watched Tommy drive off down Cherry Lane.

He stood out there for a while by himself. Staring blankly at the yellow front door knowing that Hell awaits him on the other side.

And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about those words that Steve said to him when he first stepped out of the Camaro outside the Byers House.

“Don’t cream your pants.”

Because it was too fucking late for that.

He should have listened to him.

#tomgrove #stranger things #billy hargrove #tommy hagan #steve harrington #harringrove #stommy #mandi writes tresh #fanfic #lemons

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

A Cumbersome And Heavy Body

Chapter Three: I'm Treading For My life, Believe Me

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count: 6103

Author’s Note: I did listen, on repeat, to the Anastasia soundtrack while writing this. Which, you would think, would make this a rather happy chapter and if you thought that... how silly you will feel in a few moments. You can find the first chapter here!

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird) bonus: I’m 19 and a humanities major so obviously I don’t know anything about medicine so I’m doing my best out here

Not knowing how to think I scream aloud, begin to sink My legs and arms are broken down With envy for the solid ground

There is not a sound. Not a shiver. The floorboards do not moan lowly. No hinge gives its creaking complaint. The disturbance is a felt one. Something she feels right where her fourth rib meets her sternum. It has no name. Calling it instinct is superstitious. Claiming it as training or intuition is childish.

It has everything to do with love and fear. And love and fear alone.

“Aaron?” The comforter he seems to be forever tangled has been kicked away in his fitful sleep. In the low light of the room, the hallway light seeping in, she can see his heaving chest. As though he has run a great deal, not lying supine on his bed. “Aaron, can you hear me?” Despite the bitter scent of sweat, she can’t tell what it is that draws her deeper into the room.

Slowly, his dark eyes open, breathing rasping out as he opens his mouth to answer but no sound leaves his pale lips.

Looking over her shoulder, only after looking and listening for a sign they’ve awoken Jack, does she enter the room. Shutting the door behind her, she stifles the room to darkness. She can’t even see the hand extended in front of her. Not that she needs it. The path of his room is simple.

Two steps in there is an outfit shed by the dresser on her right side. The pant leg extends out and if she doesn’t lift her foot, she’ll trip. Three more steps in and she needs to extend her hand just a fraction to feel the cool wooden bed frame. There she can pivot herself with its aid. Step high over the sweatshirt on the floor and she’s good. Well, mostly.

She gets tangled in the comforter he kicked off.

“Em--” he coughs, letting out an achy moan. “Emily?”

She gets to his nightstand and leans heavily on the old wood, catching her breath. The damn blanket was like fighting an octopus. “Right here,” she promises, knocking all kinds of shit to the floor as she fights her way to the lamp. It comes on with a click and they both wince at its sharpness. She’s got her eyes closed, trying to allow her pupils some small reprieve, when his hand wraps around her forearm. Cold clammy fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Hotch?”

The soft hazel of his eyes is unfamiliar. “I want to go home,” he rasps softly. His chest shutters with the effort the simple request has taken. The tears in his eyes slide down his cheeks without the guilt. He strikes her. Not with his palm open and hands roughened by callouses. He does not hit her or cause her to draw back with his words. By the look in his eyes. The confusion. The pain.

“Aaron--” Once and only once does she consider trying to convince him that he is exactly where he craves to be. Mouth open, the words pushing at her tongue, she decides that will only hurt them both. Softening the look on her face, she crouches down by his side. Taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

The rash on his chest has depended its angry red, it taunts her now as the glisten of his sweat across his pale skin. Every visit to the doctor promises that it’s not as bad as it looks. It causes him mild discomfort and nothing can be done. It is a product of the radiation. To heal the wound is futile. Stepping off a cliff to avoid a hill.

“You’re feverish,” she notes, moving the back of her palm against his forehead. To her surprise, he doesn’t pull away from her touch. Not even as her fingers draw against the sharp peak of his cheek bones. He lays, compliant, eyes foggy but on her. With a fond sigh, she observes, “dehydrated. You didn’t drink the water I gave you.”

When he speaks, he sounds much more like himself. The tone costs him more than it's worth. “My throat hurts.” Which is an awful excuse but it’s the truth and she knows it’s just another part of normal life falling away from her grasp. Today it is just water but tomorrow it is the hospital. It’s the central line and the saline and the tube they’re going to place in his stomach because he’s reaching the point of inabilities.

And it is never as simple as a sore throat.

She’s tired of seeing his blood so casually wiped from his pale skin. The bags under his eyes deepened to caverns and the lakes of tears in his eyes. There is nothing she can do. The mass of cancer can be cut out of his flesh but the cells could still multiply. Quite simply, there is nothing she can do for him. Except--

“Stay.”

He mistakes her movement for the path to leave. She’s just aiming to pull the comforter back over him.

“I--” They look at each other. She sees so much burning vulnerability. “I’ll stay,” she caves and with that promise she can reach down and pull the comforter back over his body.

Already, his eyes are dropping shut. “You can--” he coughs, his whole body jarred by the movement. “You can sit, Emily. I can keep my hands to myself.”

She rolls her eyes but sits down on the corner of the bed. She takes his hand, rubbing at his knuckles when he turns his head to cough. “Shut up,” comes her hesitation reply. It feels wrong, misplaces. She wants to slip into their innocent, normal tit-for-tat banter but he’s not up for it. It’s not what he needs or is even capable of.

“Please don’t just sit there and stare at me,” he rasps.

Her face flushes. She had been doing exactly that. “If I lay down, you better not try to cuddle me.”

He huffs at that but whatever he might have said is overshadowed by his deep, nasty sounding coughs.

She reaches

“Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

She gently moves her hand across the bed sheet until she finds his. Interlacing her fingers with his she manages, thickly, “please don’t die.” His head turns on his pillow and she can feel him looking at her but she keeps her eyes on the ceiling. After a long pause, her heart beating frantically the whole way, he simply squeezes her hand. Not a promise… just comfort. Sniffling she sits up and grabs some of the blanket, pulling it over her own bare legs. “Stop hogging the covers. You’re not the only who might want some.”

As she settles down, turning her back to him, she closes her eyes. Feeling the hot stream of her tears falling over her face. The last thing she hears before she falls asleep is his hoarse voice, full of tears of his own. “I’m so sorry Emily.”

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

“How are you?”

Radiation was early this morning. He’d been lying if he didn’t admit that he gave Emily hell about it. Which he does feel fairly guilty about but she got what she wanted to he’s not that sorry. For the first time, he let her come in with him. Mostly because he didn’t have the strength to get himself out of the car but if he doesn’t dwell on that thought too much then it’s okay.

But he also knows that Emily told Garcia about this morning. Briefly, no doubt, about him being an absolute pain in the ass. Mostly how he’d let her tie his shoes. How he’d limped, leaning heavily against the wall to the bathroom and losing the meager bit of breakfast he had. Whatever she knows, she wears on her face. The worried crinkle between her brows. The downward quirk of her pink sparkling lips.

She shouldn’t be here.

Despite the ear protection Dave had spent so much time finding, his ears still ache from the rattling from the radiation machine. Every nerve in his body agitated by hot fire packers digging further and deeper into his brain. The dancers with their little tacs glued to their shoes traveling along his skin. To his legs and then up his arms. And, yet, he pushes on.

As confidently as he can manage, he forces himself to focus his eyes on Garcia. Smiling through the haggard, involuntary sway of his body. “I’m okay, Garcia. No need to worry.”

But she can see how pale his skin has gotten over the last month. How the shadow of a beard across his cheeks makes him look sicker, weaker. She knows that he won’t like her attention but she craves for Aaron Hotchner. So, she finds herself looking at him longer, trying harder to see within him. To find her boss and not the ghost he’s left behind. “We… I love you, sir. You know that, right?” She hesitantly touches his hand and as much as she thought it would hurt to feel him recoil it hurts even worse when he doesn’t.

But he’s here, isn’t he? Is it not just like her stupidly brave boss to keep trying, to keep pushing?

Hotch’s hand trembles where she’s captured it in her own and as self-conscious as that makes him feel… he can’t pull away. All these shields, blocades he’s built around himself have been his destruction. He’s pushed them away until they no longer let him near without armor of their own. Always prepared to enter the cave and find a beast. But Garcia, merciful Garcia, still just sees him. It terrifies him but he just wants someone to disregard his wishes. To throw caution to the wind and hug him. Touch him.

“I know,” he manages. He smiles, clenching his teeth to refrain from showing or saying how much better he feels with her around.

She stands, leaving his side. “Just making sure,” she confirms. She turns, her hand on his shoulder, as she takes in the state of his house. Empty. Emily has been diligent with cleaning up after them. Hotch, too, when he can manage to stand long enough to wash the dishes.

She remembers, like a blow to the heart, that Emily has fallen behind on laundry. That had been the one chore Hotch was solidly keeping up on. Emily had seemed so positive about that, only a few weeks ago. Smiling as she reassured he was very adamant to let her anywhere near the laundry (and as she suspected, his underwear) so as long as he was managing to be his usual stubborn self things would be fine. They had been. But after the nose bleeds he’s not as strong. His appetite is gone and every week when they draw his blood the odds are slowly shifting out of his favor.

He’s anemic and they gave him a blood transfusion at the hospital after the nose bleed but it hasn’t helped. Now he takes iron supplements and a pill that smells horrible and tastes even worse. He can get over the pills. It’s just two more in the sea of things he takes. It’s the fact that he can’t lift anything. Years of training and rigorous training down the drain but his knees are like jelly and his arms like boiled noodles.

On top of all that, this morning they talked about starting chemotherapy in addition to the radiation. His cells aren’t responding. So, Emily’s thoughts have been elsewhere. Not on the laundry steadily building unwashed.

“I’m going to make myself useful,” she says, getting in a quick kiss before he can put up too much of a fight. She’s not sure if his lack of response is good or not. Either way, she tucks a blanket up around him. Smiling when he just looks up at her-- there’s a flash of Hotch in his exhausted eyes. He starts to fuss with her-- she doesn’t need to clean, that’s not why she’s here (which they really don’t need to argue about unless she wants to hash out how she’s really here to babysit him).

But he just sinks into the pillow behind his head. No fight.

“Please tell me if you need help,” she says as she walks away. He hums something under his breath but she knows he won’t. She’ll just have to listen for him.

The laundry really isn’t that bad.

Emily’s room is a mess but Emily is a bit of a mess herself so it’s not that surprising. She picks up minimally. Moving anything around too much will just make Emily flustered to have been caught. So, she just picks up the towels she sees and a few pairs of shirts and pants she knows Emily likes the most and heads to the laundry room. The washing machine and dryer are down the hall, pushed aside in a closet like space.

Tossing in what she’s gathered she goes back to Emily’s room-- she’s just wasting time so she doesn’t have to go into Hotch’s room. Picking up a discarded glass of water and a few water bottles. She makes note that if Emily isn’t back in time to throw their sheets and bed sets in the washing machine. It’s always nice to have clean bedsheets.

Looking at Emily’s room she realizes she has to venture to Hotch’s room now.

She comes to linger in the living room. “You doing okay?” She doesn't get a response but she can’t really see him so she moves closer. One of his legs is drawn up, resting against the couch and the other stretched out and over the arm of the couch. When she’d left him he’d still been sitting up, fighting to stay alert through their short conversation. It’s… nice to see him comfortable.

Without thinking, she reaches down and moves her hand through his hair. Trying her best not to react to the amount of grey she sees. He moves, shifting his face further into the couch. She fears she’s woken him but his eyelashes flutter for only a moment before he sighs and stills once again.

Sighing, she leaves him once again. Blindly hoping he’ll sleep for a while if she doesn’t bother him.

His room is… exactly as she expects it to be and, yet, not.

His bedspread is a dark green color, nearly emerald and surely something Jessica or one of the other’s picked out. There are pieces of him thrown through-out the room with the finest touches of someone else left behind. For example, the books that litter every surface is him. From his nightstand, to his dresser, to a few stacked on the floor. The nightstands are old and she feels a little sore work itself into her throat at the possibility that they are a set and were probably bought for him and Haley.

And now there’s only him.

There is a stuffed elephant and blanket on the floor on the other side of the bed. She wonders how frequently Jack sleeps with him. Probably more than normal now.

His room is neat. She tucks his comforter back where it should be. Placing a piece of paper in the book he’d left face down. There’s a single sock with colorful, swirling patterns. A shirt that looks very well loved tucked inside of a sweater of equal wear and tear. Clothes and homely things. Hotch things.

From down the hall she hears his muffled coughs and something hard hitting the wall.

“Sir!” She hurries from his room, letting the clothes in her hand hit the floor. It’s not hard to find him. His house has a familiar, simple layout. “Are you okay?” He’s standing in the hall, facing her. Shoulder pulled in, left arm around his chest, and the right blindly leading him along.

He nods, muffling his bone rattling coughs into his elbow. “Just…” he shakes his head. “Going to the bathroom.”

She looks over her shoulder, his room and bathroom are only a few steps away but… He doesn’t look like he’s going to get there without a little help. “Could…” she chews her lips into her mouth. “Would it be okay I help-- If you just leaned on me, a little bit? For my sanity?”

He nods, simply going where she moves him. It’s not hard to slip under him. Without heels, his height advantage is much more apparent. She looks down at the floor as she works his arm over her shoulders, smiling at the sight of his socks. Her own don’t match-- a homage to Reid but also because she knows it, secretly, drives Hotch crazy. But he’s wearing a pair of polka dot socks. Each one an extreme loud variation of every color you can think of.

“Nice socks, sir!”

It distracts him for a moment from the humiliation of needing both her and the wall to walk down the hall. He looks down at his socks-- socks that he and Emily had fought long and hard about this morning. He didn’t want to wear them. He’d needed normalcy. Craved it. He wanted plain black socks that would go unnoticed. But she had won and everyone saw him in his boxers and stupidly bright socks. It had put smiles on their faces too. Even Emily’s, though, she had tried to hide it behind her book.

“Emily’s doing,” he reassures her.

They can’t fit shoulder-to-shoulder into the room so she lets him lean against the doorframe and manage it on his own. Following closely behind. “Oh, of course,” she says smiling now she’s behind him and he can't see. Though, as soon as she’s done it she wishes he would see. To see her smile and know it’s at his expense and give her one of those scowls that have always just made her love him a little more.

But instead she sits on the corner of his bed and closes her eyes. Wincing and flinching as he gets sick.

Emily had been so… afraid when she left. Garcia hadn’t understood why. Even when the information Emily was throwing at her-- hurling words, meaningless words. Now… Now Garcia is cursed with Emily's same burden of knowing.

It had all come so quickly-- that the nose bleed had been because he was anemic and that they can’t get his red blood cell count back up. “Not to fret”, Emily had said thickly with sarcasm, his white blood cells are through the rough and the product of much anxiety. That the awful cough he has is from Radiation Pneumonitis and “not to worry” he’s on steroids that make him incredibly nauseous and a complete ass. The best part? It can scar his lungs!

All this information had come so quickly that Garcia hadn’t processed any of it.

Dave had called Garcia early this morning and asked if she needed anything to do. Normally, when he asks that sort of thing, he’s asking her over to do the grunt work of cooking-- rolling breads or kneading dough-- but today when she’d happily agreed he’d had something else in mind.

So, today, while Emily goes with Dave for a long lunch she’s staying with Hotch.

The original plan was just to leave him by himself. Dave had assumed that would be alright. Afterall, two days ago when Dave had last seen him, Hotch was very himself. Stubborn and grouchy when they tried to help him do anything-- even the normal sorts of things you do for people: hold the door, pass them a plate, ask if they want anything when you go to get yourself something, etc.

Having to explain how she couldn’t simply leave Hotch had… broken Emily just a little more. Keeping herself calm, collected as she explained that she was going out with Dave for a while and she’d make sure to bring him something back. Coffee or soup (anything so long as he’d agree to eat). She had cried as soon as she stood to walk to her room, lower lip quivering at just how easily he’d caved. He’d protested everything she did all morning and now just… submits. She’d sobbed in the shower.

He annoys her to no end. Her closest friend, the man she’d left behind to search for something more in London, was a basket case. Do not mistake that. Aaron Hotchner has to do everything himself. Independence is very important to him and she’s being forced to watch him give in. Too tired to fight.

Garcia had arrived a little sooner than expected and Emily had opened the door in a towel, her mascara from that morning smudged under her eyes. Before she could get out an apology, Garcia had already assured her she had plenty of time and that Garcia would go back out and tell Dave to cut the car and come in for a moment.

And Hotch…

He’d been asleep on the couch. Sitting up, nestled into the corner where Emily had left him.

“Hey, Pen?”

Garcia hadn’t even realized she’d been staring.

“He’s got a heating pad tucked against his side, will you warm it up?”

And she’d learned Hotch is prone to chills. That along with nine awful scars, Foyet had damaged his body's ability to regulate temperature and that radiation is being a bitch. So to ease the ache in his side, where Foyet had nicked a rib that won’t ever really heal, Emily just keeps a heating pad around. It keeps him warm.

The beast of knowledge.

“Garcia?”

She hates him. For a moment. Anger and impatient it eats her alive and that’s such an awful thing to have to feel about someone you love. Why can’t he be stronger? It leaves her body in a choked sound. How could she even let herself feel such contempt for the very man who always prides her for her brightness? Loves her no matter how much trouble she drags up? Goes out of his way to remind her to always be her bright silly self?

She stands from his bed and opens the bathroom door.

He looks ashamed and she hates that.

“Have I ever told you about the time Reid and I broke a coffee pot and hid it from you for a month?” she asks before he can apologize.

His Adam's apple bobs as he looks up at her. He’s still curled into himself, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. He feels weak, useless. He couldn't even find the strength to stand and pee. Then, on top of it all, she’d been right there on the other side of the door as he vomited. By now, this is not the first apology he’s been beaten to. Emily has this infallible way of sensing them coming and quickly changes the subject to something else.

It’s… strange to see Garica practice it too.

“Please tell me that was far too long ago to be worth fussing with you over?” he asks, trembling as he accepts the hand she offers.

She smiles and tuckers herself back against him, wrapping her arm around his hips. “Oh it was a while ago,” she assures him. “Like… Gideon long ago. He was just a baby--” she keeps talking no matter what. When he whispers that he needs a break at the doorway, a whole two steps later. Tells him how terrified they’d all been of him at some point in time. How that’s all rather silly because Aaron Hotchner is nothing but a big softy. And, believe it or not, it has always been Derek Morgan breaking that secret to the rookies. That he’s not as big and tough as he looks. That a good, warm batch of snickerdoodles will melt his big icy heart so quickly--

“How many people did you tell that to?” he asks.

She shrugs, only the people that really needed it. “Do I have to give you a number if I make you some right now?”

He considers her offer. His stomach has settled a little and the smell alone would be divine. Plus, Emily had said he could pick dinner… what’s the possibility that she would cave to just letting him eat a cookie or two? He smiles, “I’d consider adequate reparation.”

“Wanna help?”

His smile falters just a bit. He can’t stand for that long and--

“We can make them at the table,” she adds, hastily.

And… he nods. Okay.

That’s how Dave and Emily find them an hour later.

Hotch is covered in flour and Garcia too. A good proper mess.

He’s wrapped in a blanket, the one from the couch, and leaning heavily on the arm propped up on the table. Smiling, content, as Garcia checks the cookies and reassures him that they need only a little bit longer. So that they come out right as the bottom is browning but not brown. ANd he nods his head like he understands when she says the point is to let them finish baking on the pan outside of the oven. That’s the secret to soft cookies.

Which, to him, just sounds like she’s saying she's going to feed slightly undercooked cookies but he’s eaten cookie dough raw for years. He’s never had salmonella but he did get cancer so obviously someone wasn’t warning him about the right things.

“What in the world did you two get into?”

“Cookies!” Garcia holds open the oven to show them. “If you wait just a moment they will be ready!” She places the dirty dishes into the sink. Throwing some water over them to make it easier to wash the dough off.

Emily raises an eyebrow at Hotch and he shrugs. She’s amused by the sight of him covered in flour and what more is to add but a submissive shrug. What can he say except he’s a softy who has always lacked the ability to tell them no?

“You didn’t let Hotch do the measuring did you?” Dave asks, stepping in and inspecting the damage done to the kitchen. Under his breath he continues, “you can tell he’s never been a math man. I’m convinced he doesn’t understand fractions.” Dave has cooked with him too many times. Hotch has never once successfully measured everything right in any dish. The amount of times one fourth has been mistaken as a half or an eighth of something rounded up to a third… it’s crazy.

Garcia glances at Hotch and he already knows exactly where she’d going-- “Well,” she admits, “I let him put the cinnamon in--”

Hotch groans from the table, a dramatic sigh as he closes his eyes and admits defeat.

“It wasn’t his fault!” It was. “There might just be a little bit too much cinnamon. It’s not a big deal!”

Aaron Hotchner brought to his knees by fractions.

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

When Hotch was in the second grade he got chickenpox from his next-door neighbor Michael. A very common thing given the time and the general mindset of “chickenpox parties”. It had been awful and itchy. His brain so ravished by the fever that he doesn’t remember a whole lot about the experience. Just that it had begun as a patch of dry skin under his right arm, perfectly wedged between two of his protruding ribs. That week of horrible fever and endless itching is the only time Hotch can ever recall his father being gentle.

He’d awoken once during that week, just after four and when his father typically arrived home, to the door shutting softly. His mother whispering to gather his father’s attention and diverge the man away from Hotch. Who, thanks to itching, had only just managed to fall asleep.

Halfway up the stairs, Hotch can remember waking up in his father’s arms. The man had shushed him softly, rocking him the way you might a child until Hotch had laid his head against his father’s chest and gone back to sleep. The gentleness of that action has haunted Hotch for years. Something he thinks about occasionally. Trying and failing to wrap his mind around something so out of character. So bizarre.

“Daddy,” Jack whines, he twists in his father’s lap. “You’re not watching, look!” His little finger demands Hotch’s attention, pointing to the TV. “Did you see it?” Jacks asks, sitting up to gauge Hotch’s reaction. “It was amazing, huh?”

Knowing his son, Hotch does try and get the boy out of the house as much as possible. Which means that lazy nights come far and rare in between. If he can, Hotch likes to take him to the park, museums, aquariums. Anything to keep his little mind crazed by the ideas of the world around him and actively engaged. Today… is not one of those days. There hasn’t been a lot of those days recently.

“The cancer is spreading--”

There’s a certain understandable science to the way that chickenpox works. They actually follow a pattern on the body when they spread. Hotch’s had curled from his left side to his right, working in the grooves of his ribs, and up his sternum.

A very similar pattern to the cancer spreading in his body.

Radiation is no longer enough.

He has two rounds of chemo and spends a lot of time thinking about what comes next. He’s going to get sicker. Weaker. Probably lose his hair. What will really be left of him when all is said and done?

Outside the rain comes down in buckets, thunder shaking the earth, but there’s nothing to the peace inside. Emily had gone around lighting candles, trying to soothe Jack in preparation for if the storm knocks out the electricity. Even if she’d managed to annoy him with her fluttering about, she’d been gentle and understanding. Making sure his shirt was buttoned to hide the deeply irritated skin on his chest.

She’s stronger than he is.

They are all.

“Asland,” Jack mumbles in amazement. He’s settled back down in Hotch’s lap, head on his thigh so Hotch can mindlessly play with his hair. Hotch can’t follow the plot of the simple movie but he’s seen it enough times to hum and mumble responses to Jack’s questions.

The Chronicles of Narnia. It’s Jack’s new favorite thing.

They’ve probably watched it now at least a dozen times.

Emily’s started having dreams about the movie.

No matter how many times he requests it though, she’ll still play it and Hotch will sit down and let Jack explain the plot again. Everytime, it ends with tears.

“I don’t understand why he has to leave,” Jack whimpers.

Hotch is struggling to fight with consciousness. Radiation leaves him haggard. Limbs seemingly attached by measly strings and joints that buckle with minimal weight. He’s got a rash up his chest that itches and burns a lot like that chickenpox rash. It’s normal, he’s assured, and they give him ointment to keep on it. Not to clear it up but rather to keep it from getting infected. Which… seems so practical if not normal. Mundane, really.

“Who?” Hotch rasps, forcing his eyes back open to squint at the TV.

Jack looks up at his father, tears streaming down his face. “Asland.” Over the course of the last few months, of course Jack can tell his father isn’t well. Everyone treats Jack like a thoughtless child, and he is child, but he’s not stupid. He knows why he has to sleep at Jessica’s and why, no matter how much Emily and Hotch make a point to only see him on Hotch’s “good” days, that his father is slowly withering away.

The thigh under Jack’s head used to be bigger. Tense with muscles not thin, almost to the bone. His father seemed to loom, towering over everything. Jack had thought him a king, a knight, a hero. Someone who, through the aches pains of it all rises triumphant and reigns on. Because his father has always been the best kind of person. Strong, vigilant, and forgiving. Surely… that would offer some forgiveness, no? An extra life in the bonus round or a break.

Hotch swallows thickly around the nausea knotting up in his throat. “Asland,” he repeats with a sigh. Right. Asland dies. They’re passed that point but he does die. For the greater good, a strategic move, but the sacrificial play none-the-less. “Sometimes,” Hotch lifts his head. “He was saving the other’s, Jack. He sacrificed himself.” He’s too tired to explain how the book was just a huge religious metaphor. “Sometimes people have to leave.”

Jack sniffles and wraps himself around Hotch’s stomach, burying his head closer. “Why?” he asks miserably.

Hotch doesn’t know. It’s never what you want but he doesn’t want to tell Jack about all of that. How at one point Jack and Haley had been the ones to leave Hotch reeling with that same question, despite logic dictating a clear answer. That Emily had done the same thing to him multiple times. Everyone on the team, really. He’s probably done it to them. If not already, then soon.

“I don’t know, buddy,” Hotch shakes his head. “I really don’t.” Jack nods his head, crying softly against Hotch. Hotch starts to rub Jack’s back, despite the ache in his limbs. “Listen…” Hotch clears his throat and Jack senses the turn in conversation. Jack sits up, looking, searching in Hotch’s eyes as he sniffles and wipes his face with the back of his hands. “I have to… We have to talk about something, buddy. About what’s been going on.”

Emily sits in the guest room and tries her best not to think about what’s going on in the living room. It was only a matter of time but… she couldn’t help but think maybe they could fix all this. It must be a matter of faulty testing. Surely, that must be the case. Hadn’t they already been through enough? Have they not lost enough?

Jessica sends her a text, Hotch isn’t answering his own phone.

Emily leaves her room, leaning out first just to see if they’re still talking. They’re not. The TV has been turned off, no sound.

Jack is curled into his father, clutching Hotch’s t-shirt in his little fist. Despite the dried tear tracks on his face, the boy looks at peace. His head tucked under Hotch’s chin and arms holding on tight, Hotch won’t be able to move without Jack noticing. Understandably, Jack has some apprehensions about his father leaving his sight.

“How’d he take the news,” Jessica asks. Her anger has melted, leaving her wilted in a puddle of emotions that she doesn’t even know where to begin to deal with. “I can’t--” she shakes her head. “I just can’t imagine it,” she whispers, glancing at Emily. “He’s so young,” she brushes her tears from her cheeks. “He can’t lose Aaron, too.”

She nods her head, she’s afraid to lose him as well. To be a child, though, living this as a reality that at any moment you might become an orphan… Jack’s only a child. He’s not even ten yet. What will he have to cling to? The cold nights come frequently and he’ll be alone. Surrounded by people but alone.

In London, there wasn’t a single moment she could step out and not get lost in crowds. It was the safest way to avoid detection. In those days, she’d clung to online Scrabble and read and rereading the letter Hotch had written her before she’d left. It was in the file with the other identities and money. While it had not been a technical element to the FBI’s idea of “everything” she might need it kept her alive.

On those cold night’s she’d curl into herself with her heating pad pressed against those old wounds and read his letter. Fingers ghosting over the ink and eyes taking in every detail. Where his hand wavered writing about Reid failing to cope. The stain of a tear beside Jack's name. Her favorite passage:

“I believe Ashley will try to leave the unit the next chance that she gets. You were her mentor and I’m afraid I have not offered her too much in claims to stake here. A part of me is partial to her staying. You were her mentor and she reflects that in the strangest moments. I hope she stays, I indulge myself in her rebellions against me. I think it reminds me of you.”

It never failed to make her smile. Take her back to the nights she’d drive home in a fit of rage or have arguments with her imaginations version of him in the shower. Cursing like a sailor but telling him how she really felt.

What will Jack cling to when Hotch is not here?

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cancer fic #tw cancer #tw hospital #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #jessica brooks #david rossi

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notchesandbullets · 3 years

Text

Ryokuryuu’s Lifeline

Part 9: The Part and Another Kiss

Warning: suggestive themes

You withered under Captain Gi-gan and Yoon's unwavering glare.

Rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly, you offered them a weak smile.

"YAH, Y/N!!!" Yoon thundered, jabbing an angry finger at you, "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?! YOU FIRST SNEAK ONTO AN ENEMY SHIP WITHOUT ANY WARNING, THEN YOU FOUGHT WITH YOUR HANDS TIED TOGETHER, AND THEN YOU DOVE IN AFTER JAE-HA WHEN HE WAS SHOT DOWN!!! DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?!"

You couldn't help the wild grin that spread your face as you put the boy in a headlock, rubbing his head roughly.

"LET ME GO YOU CRAZY WOMAN!!!"

He pushed you off of him with an irritated huff, and pointed furiously at the tall man behind you. "Jae-ha!! I still need to look at your shoulder!!"

The boy ignored Jae-ha's protests as he dragged him off the ship towards the medical tent set up in a nearby clearing, leaving you alone with Captain Gi-gan, who continued to glower at you.

You straightened your spine, looking her dead in the eye, turning serious. "Captain Gi-gan," She raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing you under her gaze. You bowed down at her feet, forehead pressed against the deck with your legs tucked under you. "I sincerely apologize for leaving without your permission. I was afraid of what you might say, but that does not excuse my actions. I pray that one day you can forgive me, but I understand if you will never be able to."

It was silent for several minutes.

Then, she whacked you in the back of the head.

"Ow! Captain-!" You clutched your head painfully.

"You think I wouldn't have let you, knowing how stubborn you are?" She interjected and you smiled, her response somehow reminding you of Jae-ha's. "You must tell me next time, so that I can ensure your safety and make sure you aren't doing this recklessly. This," She gestured to the air, hinting at the stunt you pulled. "Was being reckless and I won't tolerate it again."

"I understand." You replied solemnly.

Captain Gi-gan smirked, "Though, you won't be here to cause trouble anymore, if I'm right."

You looked up in surprise, gathering yourself to your feet. "I'll come back to visit." You promised after a pause.

"You better." She threw you a side glance. "Now, go celebrate with them. They're waiting for you."

You departed from her with a bounce in your step and she chuckled, watching your figure disappear over the hill.

It was sometime in the afternoon, having fought all night long, and you joined Yona and the others around the campsite. Yoon was checking Jae-ha's wound, Shin-ah was scarfing down his food, Kija was complaining about some kind of bug that fell in his soup again, and the pirates were scattered around the area, drinking and such.

Then, you noticed Yona and Hak were sitting suspiciously close to each other.

You eyed them closely. "Alright, what happened while I was out?"

Yoon opened his mouth to answer you, but Jae-ha cut in, counting on his fingers, "The girls were safely returned to their families, the captain ordered a party with enough alcohol to get everyone drunk, Yoon said something about getting everyone treated first even though that clearly didn't happen, I stripped, the White Snake and the Thunder Beast beat up the already captured mercenaries after they saw how injured the kid and Yona dear was, and I might have thrown in a few kicks myself."

He smirked slyly. "Oh, and Hak and Yona dear finally kissed."

It was silent for a beat, and then you exploded. "WHAT?!?!?!?!??!?!"

You shrieked, "I was literally out for only three hours!! HOW DID I MISS ALL OF THAT?!?!?!"

You sighed, slumping against the tree behind you, puffing out your cheeks. "If they want that scene written, I guess they'll have to ask for it." You muttered, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Yah, you crazy woman," Yoon snapped, "Don't break the fourth wall!!"

You merely winked.

You grinned, mischief gleaming in your eye as you leaned forward to peer closely at Yona, whose cheeks matched the color of her hair.

"Yona~" You sang.

She couldn't look at you, hiding her red face in Hak's chest. You laughed at the former general's shocked reaction, but as they gazed at each other softly, you couldn't help the fond smile that spread across your face. They looked so happy.

After Yoon finished rewrapping Jae-ha's bandages, the green dragon sauntered over to where you were at, and you turned to Yoon, "Did it need stitches?"

The genius pretty boy shook his head, "No, it'll heal properly without them. It wasn't as deep as I thought it was."

"Thanks again, kid." Jae-ha tossed over his shoulder and Yoon just waved him off, "Yeah, yeah, just don't overdo it, you rare beast."

"Hey, where's my thank you?" You whined childishly.

"Actually," Hak interrupted, pointing at your neck. "I think he already thanked you."

You clapped a hand over your neck, eyes wide. "Jae-ha!!"

He smirked, eyes alight with laughter. You rolled your eyes, pulling your hand away, causing them to stare at the mark.

"There are children here, Y/N!" Hak shouted, covering Yona's eyes despite her protests and gestured wildly to Yoon, the innocent Shin-ah and the very confused Kija.

"Perhaps we should give them a show," Jae-ha purred in your ear, and you grinned.

"I don't want to corrupt the children, big guy. Let's take this somewhere else." You strolled away as Jae-ha tore after you, ignoring the whoops and hollers that the pirates and Hak shouted out. You made your way up to one of the cliffs overlooking the sea, veiled by the trees from prying eyes.

Your eyes sparkled with genuine happiness and Jae-ha smiled tenderly at you, eyes hardening when you suddenly clutched your stomach.

"Oh, ow..." You grimaced in pain.

His hands immediately flew to the hem of your shirt, asking for consent. You nodded. He slowly pulled the material up, revealing black and blue skin underneath. Jae-ha's jaw clenched, teeth nearly cracking under the pressure.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I honestly forgot about it." You said sheepishly and you did. The pain had faded into the background and only resurfaced when you finally got a moment to yourself. Jae-ha sighed heavily, conflicted. "I could ask Yoon, but I know there's nothing we could do for this. We could bandage it, but it won't make it feel any better or heal any faster."

"It's okay," You smiled brightly at him. "I'll heal."

"Not the point." He murmured, thumbing over the bruised skin. "I don't want to see you in pain."

You hugged him carefully, and he instinctively returned your embrace. "Number?"

You giggled softly, tapping two fingers to the inside of his wrist and the tension eased from his shoulders. "You worry too much about me."

He bumped his nose against yours fondly. "No I don't."

You gave him a disbelieving look and he insisted, "I don't!"

"Sure thing, big guy." You winked your eyes at him playfully, sticking out your tongue, causing him to chuckle.

Violet shone with joy. "I love you..."

"I love you too." Your reply rang clearly through the still air.

He sat comfortably against a tree, and you settled in between his legs, leaning your back until it was flush against his chest. He rested his arms around you, avoiding your stomach, choosing to settle them on your hips. You frowned at the loss of contact around your middle. You could tell he was being cautious with you, not wanting to hurt you, but you knew that he wouldn't. Taking his hands in yours, you slipped them underneath your shirt and his breath hitched as they made contact with your heated skin. You tilted your head back automatically and he leaned forward to rest his chin down on your shoulder.

"Are you sure I'm not hurting you?" He asked worriedly. You nodded, closing your eyes. Clicking his tongue lightly, he smoothed the discolored skin gently and you sighed, a content smile on your face. His touch was so warm, you felt as though he was lighting you up from the inside.

You bit your lip and looked up at him with hooded eyes as he rubbed soft circles into your stomach. Jae-ha suppressed a groan, you looked so good looking up at him like that, but neither of you were in any position to go further with your injuries.

It was alright though, he was content to just have you in his arms again, and you couldn't agree more. You shifted in his lap, and he restrained from squeezing you.

"Y/N," Warning clear in his tone, and you smirked evilly. Pulling away from him, you stood up, stretching. Jae-ha gulped as your shirt rode up, revealing more of your skin. As you looked over your shoulder, you couldn't contain the laugh that bubbled up from your lips. He looked so betrayed.

As Jae-ha heard your laugh, he glared at you, but there was no malice behind it. You grinned wickedly.

Getting on your hands and knees, you crawled towards him slowly. His chest was heaving as you made your way in front of him, and you connected your lips with his. Jae-ha immediately melted in the kiss, hand coming up to cradle your face gently.

When you finally parted, the both of you were breathing heavily, and Jae-ha's pupils were blown wide. You giggled, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead.

"I'm still going to kill them." He stated murderously, your numerous injuries that he tended to while you were asleep flashed through his memory.

"Kum-ji's already dead." You shot back flatly.

Jae-ha clenched his hand into a fist. "There are plenty others that are still alive. No one would miss them if they suddenly disappeared."

You clicked your tongue, "Easy, big guy." You whispered. "No one else needs to die."

It took a couple minutes of your coaxing, but Jae-ha's mind eventually started to clear from the red haze. The sun had gone down, and it was starting to get dark again.

"Let's go join the others." You pulled him to his feet, heart skipping a beat as he towered over you, broad shoulders blocking you from view. You blushed, and Jae-ha smirked. Tilting your chin up, he dropped a soft kiss on your lips and you sighed, arms winding around his neck.

You squealed as you felt his hands skim over the back of your thighs, before hoisting you up.

"Jae-ha!" Your legs wrapped around his waist to keep from falling as he started walking back.

"Jae-ha, put me down!!" You were unable to stop laughing, tears budding at the corners of your eyes from the sheer absurdity of the situation.

He shook his head, "Nope."

You clung to him tightly as he entered the clearing, Hak immediately grinning at the sight of you. There was a fire blazing in the middle of it, and you guessed that it was probably Yoon's doing. None of the others had enough coordination to start a fire properly without lighting everything else in the forest ablaze.

Shin-ah and Kija were fast asleep on the ground, with the pretty boy not too far away from them. Only Yona and Hak were still awake.

"Well, well," Hak lifted up his cup, and upon closer inspection, you noticed it held alcohol. "What've you got there, Droopy-Eyes?"

Jae-ha sat down on the ground, plopping you in his lap. Your cheeks burned as he kissed your hair, and you looked up to notice Yona staring at you curiously.

"You told him?" She whispered to you as Jae-ha started a conversation animatedly with Hak about how he captured you with his charms while the Thunder Beast faked barfing in disgust.

Yona squealed excitedly as you nodded shyly, causing the men to look at the two of you curiously. The red-haired princess waved off their attention, "You have to tell me everything!!"

You tried to get up, only to be stopped by Jae-ha's arms snaking around you once more. "Where do you think you're going, missy?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Just with Yona, we'll be back soon." You promised, assuming he was going to let you go now. To your surprise, his grip didn't yield. "Jae-ha, I'll be alright."

"Sorry," But Jae-ha didn't sound apologetic at all. "If you think I'm going to let you out of my sight for one second, you're damn wrong."

You sent a pleading look at Hak for help, but the general raised his hands up, smirking at the display of possessiveness Jae-ha was showing towards you. You whined, wriggling in your dragon's grasp until a hand gripped your hips firmly.

"Behave, Y/N." Jae-ha murmured darkly in your ear. "Or I'll make you." You shivered at the implication, ceasing your movements.

For now.

'Later?' You mouthed to Yona and she nodded. You turned to face Jae-ha. "I'm going to go to bed."

He nodded, standing up, cutting off his conversation with Hak, but you pushed him back down. Of course, he didn't budge but he did look at you like you lost your mind when you tried to make him sit. Huffing, you pouted cutely with your nose scrunched up.

Adorable... Jae-ha thought to himself.

"Jae-ha, I'll be fine." You insisted, throwing your hands up in defeat after several moments. He wouldn't give up.

He took your hand, weaving your fingers together and started back down towards the docks. You waved goodbye to Yona and Hak for the night. The rest of the pirates had made their way down there hours ago, so you suspected most of them were already asleep, having partied for the entire day. So needless to say, you were surprised when you saw a handful of them still awake, noticeably drunk.

"Jae-ha!" One of them called, not taking notice of your intertwined hands. "Play us a song!"

A fond smile crossed his lips, but it disappeared when he glanced at you in concern. You did say you were tired. You squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I would like to hear it, too." You said softly, loving it when he played his erhu.

Jae-ha nudged his nose against your hair, closing his eyes. "For you, anything."

You nearly whimpered when he pulled away, missing his warmth automatically. He fetched his erhu from your room, and was back in a heartbeat. He started playing a beautiful lullaby, and you closed your eyes, relaxed.

It was so enchanting.

The corner of your mouth quirked up in a tiny smile as you heard drunken grumbling coming from your pirate brothers as they tried to stop him.

"That tune's putt'in me 't sleep." One of them slurred, "Play somethin' more upbeat."

Jae-ha smirked, knowing they didn't get any sleep the previous night, so they had been up for 24 hours straight. They immediately protested, "I haven't had 'nough to drink!"

"Lullaby~" Jae-ha hummed as he started up again, and you stifled your laugh with your hand as they all tipped backwards, snoring faintly.

Jae-ha was growing increasingly curious as they continued to stubbornly refuse to go to sleep.

"T'night, is our last night... as pirates..." The one wearing a bandanna explained sleepily.

"...That's silly. The pirates will be no more, but everyone will be fishermen in Awa. Nothing will change..." Jae-ha said, dumbfounded.

The bandanna pirate slammed his hand on the deck. "But you'll be leaving! With that girl and her group! You're leaving Awa... aren't you?!"

Jae-ha smiled sadly, glancing at you, but you were fast asleep, curled up under the railing.

"Lullaby~" Jae-ha began to play again, and this time, none of them could fight against the call to sleep.

"Jae-ha..." One of them weakly reached towards the green dragon. "I'll kill ya..."

Ryokuryuu set down his erhu, stepping towards you lightly to not wake the sleeping pirates.

"Everyone cried themselves to sleep. How depressing." He sighed, looking back at his comrades as he picked you up and headed to your room. "You know... I really love you guys." He smiled forlornly down at you. He still didn't know how to tell you, and they were going to be leaving tomorrow.

He wasn't going to worry about that for tonight though, and as he arranged you carefully on the bed. You stirred awake at his touch, rousing from your slumber.

"Jae-ha?" Your tired voice was laced with confusion.

"I have to speak with Captain Gi-gan for a moment, I'll be back soon." He promised you, kissing you on the forehead lightly.

You pouted, "If you think I'm going to let you out of my sight, you're wrong." Throwing his words back at him, Jae-ha chuckled.

"I think I said, 'you're damn wrong', Y/N." Smiling as your brow knitted and you frowned, thinking hard. "But, I guess it can wait until tomorrow." He hesitated by the bedside as you scooted over to make room for him. "Are you sure? You're still injured."

"Jae-ha, you have three seconds to get in bed before I try to do it myself."

He practically threw himself down next to you, and you bounced under the force. You extended your arms out to him, silently asking for cuddles. Jae-ha chuckled under his breath at your cute display of affection, situating you in his arms.

This reminded you of the night Captain Gi-gan first drew up the battle plans, it seemed like so long ago.

A lot has happened since then.

You frowned. "Jae-ha," You could feel his rapid heartbeat against your cheek where it was pressed against his chest. "Whatever you're worried about, don't be. It'll be okay."

You smiled reassuringly at him, and Jae-ha returned it as best as he could. Focusing on you in his arms, he pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind. He wrapped an arm around your waist, the other tucked under his head. He went to kiss your forehead, but you pushed yourself up at the last second, capturing his lips with yours.

Jae-ha let out a noise of surprise, but eased into it. You kissed him slowly, passionately. And when you finally pulled away with a gasp, Jae-ha had no intentions of stopping there. He traveled down your neck, placing kisses along your collarbone and you whined, a hand shooting over your mouth to muffle it.

Too late.

His eyes darkened considerably, until they were nearly obsidian. "Y/N..."

Jae-ha groaned, pulling himself away from your body with obvious reluctance. "We should wait."

"What, why?" You cried, reaching out to grasp his robes.

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Did you seriously forget that you're hurt?"

Oh, yeah.

The dull, throbbing pain came back full force as you focused on it, and you doubled over, whimpering. He immediately went to your side, stroking your hair and shushing you comfortingly. Once you finally quieted, he took his place next to you.

"Sleep," Came the gentle command as Jae-ha tenderly curled his arms around your exhausted frame. "I love you, Y/N."

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koolkatash · 3 years

Text

I’ve Got You: Part 1

Geneva, Switzerland is a beautiful city with snow capped mountains surrounding the area including the local pub Mac and Riley are set up at. This is their fourth solo mission since Murdoc exposed Riley’s feelings for Mac three months, Mac’s feelings were found out a week after Riley’s, since then they have been fighting them, denying them, Mac & Desi tried for a month and a half but both agreed the best move for them is to just be friends. Riley’s set up at a table in the middle of the bar, her tablet tightly in her grip, she sees Mac making his way over to her with a few beers, his blonde hair tucked under his hat. Their big puffy coats and pant suits are keeping them warm in this below freezing weather.

“any sign of our target?” Mac asked passing Riley her beer, her gloved hand takes it and she sits her tablet down.

“not yet, according to Boze Novak and his men should be here somewhere” she said, Mac turns to his left and scans the room, he presses his comms and calls Matty.

“Mac, Riley, what’s the word?” she asked.

“still no sign of Novak and his men, we can make our way to his office and get his financial records, contacts and arms dealing information” Riley said.

“Riley go, Mac your her lookout” Matty said.

“copy” Mac said, they leave their table and make their way to the back left wall of the bar, Mac grabs Riley by the arm and pulls her against the wall, the force and sudden movement knocks her wind out.

“what?” she asked, he holds up a finger to his lips and points to Novak’s office, Damnit, two armed guards are standing there.

“what’s the plan? we can’t leave here without those files” Riley asked, Mac looks around the area and finds supplies on a nearby shelf, he never fails to amaze Riley and she gives him a smile.

“Riles ok, as soon as I mix these chemicals there will be sets of three explosions, take this as time to copy his files, they should clear out of his office” Mac said.

“where will you be?” Riley asked, Mac is setting up three small buckets and is about to place them around the bar.

“I will be close by hiding” he said, she looks worried but gives him a small nod.

“hey, this will work, I promise” he added.

“I trust you Mac, I always have” she said, he gives her a small smile and heads off to a separate corner. He can see her and they wait, five minutes pass and three small explosions go off seconds apart. Riley watches closely and she sees Novak and his men start evacuating the bar, in the ciaos of the crowd Riley slips into his office, she pulls out a flash drive from her backpack and plugs it in, she presses her right ear and calls Matty.

“Matty, his information is on it’s way” she said.

“Riley excellent work, exvile will be there about ten miles south, you and Mac get out of there fast” she said. Riley is tapping her leg and is watching her progress bar climb, 58%, 72%, she glances up and see Mac in the doorway, he looks scared.

“Mac, what?” she asked.

“we are about to have company, how much longer?” he asked, she looks back at the computer and 100%. she pulls the drive out and drops it in a pocket.

“lets go” she said, Mac nods and Riley walks right past him and out the office door, to her left is a hallway that leads out to the bar, she sees four large men making their way to them, Mac tugs on her arm and pulls her towards an exit to their right, Riley takes off jogging after Mac and he opens the door, it’s snowing heavy and a frigid wind cuts through Riley’s body like a sword.

“Mac, go for the snowmobile” Riley said pointing to her left at three parked snowmobiles, he nods and takes off towards them, Riley kicks a stand holding skis, snowboards, boots and they fall like dominos blocking the path to the snowmobiles, Mac starts one and Riley climbs on behind him, she hugs him from behind and he takes off down the snowy mountain.

“Matty, we are mobile, how long till exvile gets here?” Mac asked.

“they are a day out now, the storm there is delaying them” Matty said.

“damn ok, we need to find a place to lay low” Riley said.

“guys we have heat signatures behind you” Bozer said.

“how many?” Mac asked.

“about six” Bozer said, Riley tightens her grip around Mac and hears an echo behind her, she looks back and sees headlights coming up to them fast, then a pop that bounces off the back of their ride, her heart skips a beat.

“Mac, we have a tail and they are shooting at us” Riley said.

“ok, hang on” he said and he takes a sharp left turn towards a tree, Riley almost slides off the side.

“Mac! what are you doing?” she cries.

“improvising” he said, she closes her eyes and buries her head in Mac’s back. About ten minutes later Mac and Riley make it the bottom of the mountain, they still have a tail that’s shooting at them.

“Mac, how are we going to lose these guys?” Riley asked.

“no damn clue” he said, all of sudden their tires get caught against a rock in the snow, the snowmobile flips upside down and Riley goes flying and rolling down a cliff.

“Riles! Hang on!” Mac yells after her, she tries to grab onto a tree branch but can’t and she starts falling off the cliff.

“Mac! help!” she cries, she closes her eyes and within seconds of falling she feels a tight grip on her left arm, it’s pulling her up the cliff.

“I’ve got you Riles” Mac said, his voice low and calm, she manages to get her bearings and helps pull herself up, Mac rolls with her on the top of the cliff, they hear voices in the distance and jump into action, Riley tries to step but her right ankle is on fire, Mac notices and wraps an arm around her stomach.

“come on, let’s get out of here and somewhere warm to hide” he said, she nods and they disappear into the dark and dense forest.

#MacGyver #MacRiley

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nonbinary-octopus · 3 years

Text

Secret Shifter

A gift for @cutetinyartist for the @secret-shifters gt gift exchange!

CuteTinyArtist gave three prompts to work with, and I tried to use bits from all of them, but this is mostly prompt three.

Prompt 1: Pretty much anything involving handheld fluff! Giants holding tinies (whether it's for the first time or the billionth time) is always a great trope.

Prompt 2: A giant finding a tiny and being really excited about it- possibly with accidental fearplay as the giant doesn't realize how scared the tiny is!

Prompt 3: Size-Shifter accidentally revealing their powers to a close friend who doesn't know about it (and the friend finding it absolutely adorable/amazing- possibly even leading to a confession of love? Fluffy romance in G/T is something that I absolutely adore)

Wordcount: 3.1 K

Summary: Sam has a secret. A big secret. Or maybe it's a really little secret...

[More of my writing]

~~~~~

It had been a perfect day. One of the odd days when Rose and Sam had had a day off in common, and they decided to spend it together. No plans, just hanging out and goofing around. They’d spent a large portion of the morning simply sitting together on Rose’s living room couch and watching cartoons, and now they were in her kitchen, doing their best to make lemonade from its base components.

Sam poured a small portion into his cup, taking a sip. He made a face.

“Still too sour?” Rose asked. Sam nodded.

“Put in like… twice as much sugar.” Sam put his cup down, picking up the sugar instead, and started pouring it into the pitcher. Rose stirred with their wooden spoon.

The falling sugar crystals were pretty. Sam got distracted watching them, and didn’t stop pouring until Rose said, “Uh, I think that’s probably plenty.”

Sam jolted, pulling the sugar away abruptly. “Oops.”

Rose laughed, still stirring. When the sugar had about dissolved, they asked, “Ready for another taste test?” Sam nodded, picking up his cup again. It still had some left in it from earlier, though, and he looked at the yellowish liquid for a few seconds. Then he shrugged a bit and tossed the whole thing into his mouth, trying to drink it all in one swallow.

It was… not a better way to get it down than just drinking it normally. When he’d finished his coughing fit, and Rose had finished laughing at him, they poured him another sample. Sam sipped it.

“Hm,” he said. He sipped it again.

“Well?”

“Well…” Sam considered, taking another sip. “It’s not too sour anymore?”

“Too sweet?” Rose guessed. Sam nodded.

“Very. You ever do that experiment as a kid where you grow sugar crystals? It’s like drinking that. A little flavor, but mostly just sugar water.”

“More lemons, then?”

“Maybe.” Sam ran his tongue across his teeth, which felt a bit grainy. “I don’t think the sugar all dissolved, actually. We should probably add more water.”

A little over an hour later, they finally had the ratios all right. They also had three pitchers full of lemonade.

“So…” Sam said. “Any idea how much of each ingredient we used?”

Rose laughed. “Not a clue.”

“Me neither.” Sam swirled what was left of his latest sample in the bottom of his cup. “Y’know… I think I’ve had enough lemonade for the day. Maybe even enough to last me for the rest of the year.”

“... same.”

“Put the rest in the fridge? Deal with it later?”

Rose nodded.

“So, what do you wanna do next?” Sam asked after they’d found lids for the pitchers and transferred them all to the fridge.

Rose shrugged. “More cartoons?”

“Yeah!”

During the theme song of their second episode, Sam felt a familiar prickle in the back of his brain. Oh no. Not now. Not here. Sam closed his eyes tightly, trying to will it away. It didn’t work. That never worked. The prickly sensation grew stronger. He had to get away, immediately.

“You okay?” Rose asked. Sam’s eyes shot open.

“Hm? Uh, yeah, I—” What excuse could he use? He didn’t want them to get worried, but at the same time, he couldn’t stay here. Sam fidgeted.

“Too much lemonade?” Rose guessed sympathetically.

“Yeah,” Sam breathed, relieved. “Yeah, too much, I gotta—”

Rose laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Go on, then. Get. You know where the bathroom is.”

“Thanks.” Sam shot to his feet, untangling himself from his blanket cocoon as quickly as he could. “Uh. Start without me. I’ve seen this one.” He ran from the room as fast as he could. This was okay. It would be okay. He could just lock himself in the bathroom until it was over, and Rose never needed to know. Yeah. Yeah, he could do this.

He made it halfway up the stairs before it hit.

Between one breath and the next, the prickles spread across his entire body, blurring his vision and disrupting his balance. Sam’s foot had been lifted for the next step, but the next step suddenly wasn’t there, and for a moment he was falling.

He landed flat on his face.

“Ow,” Sam said flatly into the carpet, and didn’t get up. The landing hadn’t actually hurt too much, but he still didn’t feel like moving yet. He lay there for several moments longer, waiting for the lingering tingles to fade and his bones to stop feeling like jello. It was always worse if he was moving when the shifts struck.

But he couldn’t lie there forever. When Sam felt like he could move without his vision spinning, he sat up, a little bit stiffly, then stood and brushed himself off. He was a little bit sore from faceplanting into the floor, but not so sore he thought it would leave a bruise.

And now there were the stairs to deal with. Normally, not a problem; they’re just stairs. Walk up, walk down. He’d been taking them three at a time just a minute ago. No biggie. But now? Yes biggie. Literally. Sam scowled up at the next step. At least these stairs were carpeted. He’d have handholds. But on the other hand, the top of each step had a lip that stuck out at least an inch or two, with an overhang underneath.

Maybe he should go down instead of up. Sam turned around, looking down the flight of stairs. It would certainly be easier; he could let gravity do most of the work. And sure, the drop was about twice his height, but he was surprisingly durable like this. He could probably jump down and it would still be more scary than painful or dangerous.

On the other hand, Rose thought he was in the bathroom, and the bathroom was upstairs, and it would be harder to pretend he’d actually been in the bathroom the whole time if he went down the stairs. Plus, if he shifted back without warning, Rose would be more likely to notice if they were on the same floor.

And staying put was definitely out of the question. There were worse places to be six inches tall, especially out in public, but just sitting on the stairs was still pretty bad. It was probably worse than out on a regular floor, actually, and not just because it was harder terrain to traverse. There was no clutter to hide behind, for one thing.

So up it was.

Sam nodded, lacing his fingers together and swinging his hands above his head to pop his knuckles and stretch his shoulders. Stepping up to the cliff face-like wall, Sam gripped one thick thread of the carpet at about shoulder height, and another over his head. He hauled himself upwards, trying to find purchase with his feet. There wasn’t really anything to stand on, but if he leaned back a bit, he could brace his feet against the wall so he wouldn’t have to rely entirely on his arm strength.

It helped that he didn’t weigh very much like this. Being small had a lot of disadvantages, but one thing it had going for it was the proportional strength. Sure, at this size Sam couldn’t open a jar or pick up even one of those pitchers of lemonade in the fridge, but he could lift his own body weight with surprising ease.

Getting over the lip of the step wasn’t as hard as he’d expected. Once he had climbed as high as he could, holding his arms in pull-up position so his hair brushed the underside of the overhang, Sam carefully shifted his weight onto one arm. With the other, he reached up and back, feeling across the ceiling until he found the forward edge. He made sure he had a good grip on a carpet strand, then let go with his first hand. As Sam swung back, he reached up and grabbed on beside his other hand.

Climbing was harder when he was dangling over open space, instead of having a solid wall in front of him to brace against. Sam hauled himself up, uselessly kicking at the air once or twice. His next reach gave him an anchor on the top of the step, and then he was squirming over the edge up onto it.

“There,” Sam said, puffing a bit. “One down…” He looked up, but from this angle, couldn’t see further than the next step, looming over him. “… several to go.”

This was going to take a while.

The step was three paces from front to back, and then Sam was climbing again. Getting over the overhang was a bit easier this time, since he’d had the practice of the first one, but he still had to stop for a breather after he’d dragged himself onto the top. After he had caught his breath, Sam started again.

As Sam was squirming over the overhang of his fourth step, things went from just tricky to downright bad.

“Oh! Hello there!”

Sam jerked in shock. He almost lost his grip and fell, but managed to grab onto another strand of carpet in time. For a few seconds, he dangled off the edge of the step, heart pounding. Then, slowly, he looked over his shoulder and up.

Yep, just as he’d feared… Rose had found him. She had an odd look on her face, a sort of frozen shock mixed with a wince.

“Sorry,” Rose said in a much softer voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you need some help?” They started leaning towards Sam, lifting their hand. Panic shot through Sam’s heart, and he started scrambling to get up and over the overhang again before they could reach him. Fear made him clumsy, and he had to grab at the carpet strands a few times before he had a good enough grip to pull himself up.

Surprisingly, he didn’t feel the grasping fingers of a human hand, even though Sam knew all too well that he stood no chance of winning any sort of race against a human at this size.

Once up on top of the step, Sam turned around, backing toward the next stair. To his surprise, Rose had pulled her hand back and was looking apologetic.

“Sorry,” she said again.

Sam shook himself. Why was he acting so scared? This was Rose. He knew Rose! They were an absolute sweetie, and they’d never hurt him, even if he was very small at the moment and his instincts were screaming at him to get away. Sheepishly, Sam lifted a hand in an awkward wave.

“Hi.”

Rose grinned a small grin. “Hi,” she echoed. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking about how that would look from your end.”

Sam chuckled. “It’s okay. You meant well.”

“Good intentions don’t erase negative results,” Rose answered with a shrug. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam said, flapping a hand dismissively. “I mean, besides that you weren’t supposed to see me, but that’s probably on me anyway.”

Rose laughed. “Yeah, not exactly the best hiding place,” she teased.

“No,” Sam agreed, shaking his head and laughing as well.

“I could pretend I never saw you?” Rose offered.

Sam considered it for a second before shaking his head. “Naw, that wouldn’t work. You know you saw me, and I know you saw me, so all we’d be doing is not talking about it, and that could get awkward fast.”

Rose looked surprised. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Just don’t tell my parents, alright? Or, like. Other humans. This—” He gestured at the all of himself— “is kind of extremely, very much a secret.”

Rose grinned. “Deal.”

Sam grinned back, leaning casually against the carpeted wall behind him.

“So,” Rose said. “What’s your name? I’m Rose.”

Sam blinked. “Wait, what? What’s my name?”

“Yeah. Is that— is that not okay?” Rose looked uncertain, rubbing the back of her head. “Is that too much?”

“No, it’s— seriously, Rose?”

Rose gave him a distressed look, and Sam realized she was absolutely serious.

“Hey, hey, Rose, it’s okay,” Sam said, lifting both hands soothingly and stepping towards her. “I just, I thought you recognized me.”

“Nooo,” Rose said. “I’ve never met, I mean, you’re the first, um. I don’t know anyone your… height.”

“So you really don’t know who I am?”

Rose shook their head.

“Sam,” Sam said.

“Oh, does he know you?” Rose asked. “Are you friends?”

Sam laughed. “No, Rose, you’re as bad as Dr. Doofenshmirtz. I don’t know Sam, I am Sam.”

Rose squinted at him. “No you’re not.”

“What? Yes I am.”

“No, Sam’s much taller than you. I may not be great with faces in unfamiliar contexts, but I do know that much.”

Sam paused for a moment, trying to figure out where they’d talked past each other. “Rose,” he said slowly, “what secret did you think I was asking you to keep?”

“Borrowers exist?” Rose said hesitantly. “… why, what was it really?”

“I’m a sizeshifter.”

Rose processed that. “You’re a sizeshifter.”

“Yep.”

“So borrowers don’t exist?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. Sorry.”

Rose was quiet for a few seconds more. “So, what, you just decided climbing my staircase like a mountain would be more fun than hanging out and watching cartoons?”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “Not even a little bit.”

“Why, then? And if you’re really a sizeshifter and not a borrower, why not sizeshift back to normal and prove it? Is that the right way to say that?”

Sam nodded. “It is. I can’t do it on command.”

“You can’t?”

“I cannot.”

“So you can’t prove that you’re a sizeshifter?”

“Also no. At least, not at the moment.” Sam shrugged. “If you’re willing to wait an unspecified amount of time, I can prove it.”

Rose still looked doubtful. Sam wasn’t sure what else to tell her. Then he had an idea.

“One moment.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly tapped out a text.

“Okay, I didn’t expect borrowers to have tiny tech” Rose admitted.

“Yeah, and I bet you wouldn’t expect a borrower to have your number, either.”

Rose’s hand went to their hip, and then they started patting their pockets and looking around. “I do not have my phone.”

Sam sighed and looked at the ceiling. “Of course not. Did you leave it in the kitchen?”

“Maybe.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay, let’s go find it. Mind giving me a lift? It’s a bit of a commute for someone with short little legs like me.”

Rose gave him a startled look. “What, you mean, like carry you?”

“Well, yeah. How else?”

“I dunno, I just. I didn’t think you’d wanna… you sure?”

Sam nodded. “ Course. I trust you. Just don’t drop me.”

“Okay, well.” Rose started to reach for him, hesitated, and pulled her hand back again. “Have you, um. Have you done this before?”

“I have not.”

Rose nodded. “Right. Me neither.” They still looked hesitant to touch him.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to,” Sam said, moving toward the edge of the step. “I can walk; you might have to wait up a bit though. Or go on ahead.” He leaned over the edge a bit, gauging the distance to the step below. Yeah, that was at least twice his height. Sam shrugged a bit, took two steps back for a running start, and jumped off the stair. Rose yelped.

Sam landed in a pair of cupped palms after far less falling than suited the drop.

“What were you thinking!?” Rose exclaimed. “You can’t just jump off of things! What if you got hurt?”

Sam looked up at her. He had to look pretty much straight up now, since she had lunged forward and her face was now directly above him. Sam shrugged. “I don’t take fall damage?”

“Don’t take— And you didn’t think to mention that first?”

Sam shrugged again, this time using his entire arms in the gesture. “Sorry?”

Rose opened her mouth to say something else, paused with it open, then shook her head and shut it again. She stood up. “Yeah, I’m giving you a ride.”

Sam grinned. “Great!”

Rose rolled her eyes at him.

The trip to the kitchen didn’t take as long as it would have if Sam had walked, but it was longer than if he’d been tall enough to walk normally, because Rose carried him like they had water cupped in their palms and didn’t want to spill it.

When they reached the kitchen, Rose stood just inside the doorway, looking around for their phone. Sam spotted it first. “There!” he said, pointing.

Rose walked over to it, then hesitated, looking down at him again. Sam chuckled, patting her thumb and looking right back up at her. “You can put me down, or you can hold me with just one hand. I’m okay with either.”

Rose nodded, biting her lip in concentration, and shifted him ever-so-delicately into her left hand. With her right, she picked up her phone, unlocked it, and read the text Sam had sent.

“‘How is a borrower trying to impersonate me more believable than me actually being a sizeshifter?’” A beat. “Yeah, okay, I believe you, you’re you.”

Sam grinned. “Great! Would you mind deleting that text, by the way?”

“But it’s my only proof I’m not dreaming or something,” Rose protested.

Sam gestured at the all of himself again, with both hands this time. “Secret,” he reminded them. “What if someone stole your phone data?”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Do you honestly think this is the weirdest text you’ve sent me? Or even the weirdest text with zero context around it?”

Sam considered that. “Okay, yeah, you’ve got me there,” he admitted.

“So I’m guessing photographic evidence is out?”

“Extremely.”

Rose nodded. “I can live with that. Though you are pretty cute like that.”

Sam laughed happily. “I like to think I’m always cute.”

“You are. But you’re particularly cute when you’re itty bitty.”

Sam grinned, scrunching his eyes up in happiness.

“Itty bitty little Sammy,” Rose continued, patting him gently on the head.

Sam laughed again. “You just like being taller than me for once.”

“I mean, that is nice. But also you are small and cute.”

Sam put the back of his hand under his chin and grinned. “Aww, thanks.”

“You’re welcome!” Rose poked him in the shoulder. “Hey, so. You were going up the stairs when I found you… did you ever make it to the bathroom?”

“No… but I didn’t actually need to go,” Sam said with a shrug. “I just needed an excuse to get out of the room before I shrank.”

“Hm. Okay. Wanna watch more cartoons?”

Sam perked up. “Yeah!”

#original #my writing #gt #cutetinyartist #secret shifter fic tag

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brandyllyn · 3 years

Text

In our own image... (01)

Chapter 1

(Poe Dameron x OFC)

Other chapters... My Masterlist

Word count: 2200. Read it on AO3.

Rating: Teen & Up (PG) language.

Poe Dameron, Commander in the Resistance Army, hands down the best pilot in the fleet, hero of D’Qar, and one sexy guy - although admittedly that one might be just in his own head - was having a shit day.

It started when he fell out of his hammock that morning. He fell out every morning, but this morning was especially bad because he had somehow missed putting his foot down correctly to catch his fall and whacked his head on his table on the way down. Despite having strung up his hammock in a private little stand of trees, canvas tarps providing a roof from the rain and some additional privacy, he still cursed loudly enough to wake up several people nearby. Which on its own wouldn’t have been that bad either except one of them was Snap which meant Poe was never going to hear the end of it.

It had been downhill from there. Breakfast was leftover rations from the night before. There were no flight maneuvers on his schedule today, just endless strategy meetings. No mission in sight to get him out of this jungle either.

And they were running low on caf - so low the pots were being brewed less than half strength, weak and watery. Barely worth drinking even though he savored what little jump he could get from the murky beverage.

By the time lunch came around Poe was ready to throw in the towel. The day was not going to get better and to top it off, BB-8 was mad at him. They’d been arguing for nearly ten minutes while Poe was trying to eat lunch. A few other people had come and tried to make conversation but Poe’s bickering with BB-8 had made most of them quickly move on to other tables.

"Come on buddy," Poe pleaded with his droid. "I’m sorry, I know you don’t like it. But I can’t fix it right now either." BB-8 beeped at him with exasperation, ending on a trilling note that Poe would have called insubordinate if it hadn’t been paired with a sad whistle. "I know, I know. The moment I can get somewhere that sells the tools I need we’ll fix it I promise."

"What’s up with Beebs?" Jessika Pava asked, sitting down at the table next to Poe and clutching a mug of tea. Poe eyed the beverage dubiously. Last he heard they were on their third or fourth use of tea leaves and her drink didn’t look much better than his caf had that morning. But if the Black Squadron pilot wanted to pretend she was holding more than the dregs of what used to be tea he wasn’t going to say anything about it.

"Someone pushed him down a cliff and now he’s got sand in his circuits," Poe replied, eyes carefully avoiding the man sitting across from him.

Finn heard him anyway. Obviously. He was sitting less than two feet away, he couldn’t help but hear Poe. "I’m not the one who got us crashed on the sand dunes."

"I’m not the one who-" Poe started but was cut off by a mournful whistle from BB-8. He sighed, "I know buddy, we’re both really sorry."

"Real sorry Beebs," Finn echoed, rocking the droid affectionately with his foot.

Pava snorted, hiding a smile behind her mug when Poe glared at her. "Why don’t you take him over to the droidsmith," Pava offered.

Poe turned to her in confusion, seeing BB-8 do the same at his feet. "The who?"

Pava tilted her head at him and then blinked, "Oh yeah, you’ve been gone a while. We’ve got a droidsmith. Set up over on the south side next to the Mu."

"When did a Mu shuttle arrive?" he asked.

Pava rolled her eyes, "With the droidsmith."

"Yeah Poe," Finn mocked, "with the droidsmith."

Poe glared at him. "What do you know about the droidsmith?"

"I know he’s over by the Mu shuttle," Finn retorted.

"She," Pava muttered under her breath and Finn gave her a glare before correcting himself.

"She’s over by the Mu shuttle, everyone knows that."

"Mmhmm," Poe grunted, looking down at BB-8 who was blinking up at him hopefully. "Right after lunch, I promise."

Without the constant interruption from BB-8 Poe managed to finish his meal in peace, Pava falling into step beside him after he pushed back from the table. She led him past the Command center and a string of X-Wings, then pointed out where the shuttle was settled next to a large canvas tarp strung between three trees. From where he was standing, it looked like it was covering nothing but crates.

He took a step forward and then frowned when he realized Pava wasn’t with him. "You’re not coming with me?" He asked

Pava shook her head, "It’s probably best if I don’t. She doesn’t like me much."

Poe glanced at the shuttle, then back at the pilot. "Why not?"

"Me? The Great Destroyer? Why do you think a droidsmith might not like me?" She asked sarcastically.

Oh yeah, Poe thought, that. It wasn’t that Pava tried to get her droids shot, exploded, imploded, or short-circuited. It just always seemed to happen to droids that were near her for more than a few minutes. BB-8 flatly refused to fly with her, even when Poe had directly ordered him to once.

BB-8 was ahead of them both, rolling across the ground and investigating the new ship. Poe looked back at Pava, "Do you at least know her name?"

Pava shrugged. "I’m told she doesn’t speak Basic. She’s got a little translator droid you can talk to though. Name’s K-0."

"Great," Poe muttered as he watched her walk away. When he turned back, it was just in time to see BB-8 disappear around a stack of crates. "Just great."

Judging from the size of the roof tarp, the droidsmith’s shop covered several hundred square feet. She had stacked crates around several sides to create the illusion of walls and there was covering on the ground to keep everything out of the inevitable mud after the rainstorms. Poe ducked under the tarp, his boots making a hollow thunking noise on the ground cover.

He waited a minute for his eyes to adjust to the shadows and then raised an eyebrow. In front of him was a table, set fairly low to the ground, with a ramp leading up to it and an R4 unit in two pieces on top of it. The droid whistled at him as he went by and he gave it a nod. From that table there was another ramp to a higher table, this one scattered with a variety of parts. It took a moment before Poe realized the benefits of the arrangement. Different droids would need to be at different heights for repairs. And the ramps made it easy for them to roll where they needed to be.

He walked past the second table and around a corner made of boxes and entered a larger, enclosed area. The ceiling was tall, at least fifteen feet, and he could see various parts hanging from the poles that held the tarp up. Light filtered through the opaque fabric but the interior was mostly lit by a variety of battery operated lanterns and lights strewn around. He idly noted a hammock in the corner, and a stack of crates leading up to it. Falling out of that one could cause serious injury. On a table near to it, at a normal height, Poe got his first look at the droidsmith.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. He’d met a few droidsmith’s over the years. One had been a burly Snivvian, another an elderly human woman. Enough to know that there was no one kind of person who was drawn to the profession. It required smarts, quick fingers, and mechanical know-how - but once you had those the possibilities were endless.

This droidsmith was… there was no other way to describe her than stunning. Skin a dark golden color, a few shades darker than his. She had large irregular shaped spots framing her face, extending along her hairline behind her ears and down the sides of her neck, underneath the wide leather choker she wore. They continued on, disappearing into her clothes and he wondered briefly how much further they went. She was Chasinian, Pava hadn’t mentioned that. One side of her dark hair was cut shorter than the rest - the rest falling over her shoulder.

Poe felt an instant jolt of attraction. It wasn’t just that she had striking looks, but the entire picture she presented seemed to be tailor-made for him. She was sitting on the table, knees spread wide and feet touching, BB-8 nestled in the gap of her legs like a small child. As he watched, she pulled off the sturdy work gloves she was wearing to reveal long fingers. She immediately began running her hands over the droid, pressing on sensors and caressing the edge of his panels with soft, graceful touches. For just a moment, Poe was irrationally jealous of his friend. He shook the thought off quickly. He heard BB trilling happily, popping open ports to show her the array of gadgets and mechanisms Poe had installed over the years.

As she stroked the droid, Poe could see her muscles moving. The white tank she wore left her arms bare, and she had a streak of grease along the outside of her forearm. She looked like someone who could not only kick his ass in hand to hand combat - but like she’d steal his X-Wing while he was still trying to catch his breath.

Poe had a type. He’d admit it. And that type was "could kick his ass and steal his ship." It had gotten him into trouble too many times to count in the past, and yet here he was. Suddenly lusting over a perfect stranger based on the way she was touching his droid and the mental fantasy he had drawn up based on no more than a twitch of muscle and streak of grease.

Then again, there was also the fact that she didn’t report to him. Or he to her. That was… on a military base that was maybe the sexiest thing of all.

He shifted his feet, his boots making the flooring creak and she looked up at him. Her eyes were deep brown, almost black, and she cocked an eyebrow and then tilted a head down at the droid. He flushed at her perusal and quickly coughed, trying to cover his face with his hand.

"Yeah, he’s a little beat up, someone rolled him down a cliff." Her expression didn’t change and he quickly added, "Not me." He gave BB-8 a hard look, silently begging the droid to not rat him out to this woman. "Is, uh, is K-0 here? To talk to?"

The droidsmith gave him a confused look and made a clicking noise with her tongue.

Poe heard a rustle and a small single-wheeled droid, barely bigger than his two fists, rolled out from under a table. "I am K-0," it intoned, tilting a sensor array back to look up at him. "What need?"

Poe looked between the droid and the droidsmith before nodding. "Okay, well K-0. That’s BB-8," he pointed to the orange droid as though there might be some confusion and then grimaced, abruptly halting the motion and running his hand through his hair instead. "He’s uh, he’s had a rough time and he’s got sand in all his gears. I also think he’s got a sensor loose. I could fix it but I…" he glanced around the workshop. "I don’t have the tools. I was thinking I could borrow-"

As he was talking the little droid beeped and whistled in binary, aiming it at the woman holding BB-8. When Poe got to his last sentence he saw her shake her head vehemently, giving him an annoyed look. Or maybe a skeptical one. Or possibly some mix between the two. Whatever it was it wasn’t a look he had hoped for. Certainly not from her.

"Okay," he continued, listening to the little droid translate, "no tool borrowing. Would you be able to…? I mean, I was told you’re a droidsmith so I was hoping maybe…"

She was nodding, smiling at BB-8 and ignoring him entirely as she pried one of the panels off with her fingernails and set it gently on the table next to her. He heard her make a soft tsking noise and BB hummed contentedly back.

K-0 tilted to look at him. "Will fix. Do good."

"Thanks?" Poe looked between the three of them again. "I’ll be back in-"

"Two day," K-0 intoned solemnly.

Poe nodded and backed out of the workshop, feeling suddenly like he was intruding in a moment he wasn’t meant to see. She looked up at him as he went, those dark eyes meeting his before she leaned back over BB-8 in apparent fascination.

Poe stumbled back out into the light, putting one hand out to catch himself on a crate and turning his head toward the sun.

"Sithspit," he muttered.

He wasn’t an expert, but he was pretty sure that hadn’t gone particularly well.

Chpt 2

#poe dameron x ofc #star wars sequels #writing

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