#but then it will go back to the...I think it's called a blind hem stitch?

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! Does anyone know anything about replacing light bulbs on sewing machines? I have a Viking Selectronic 6570 and the light bulb just burned out It was my grandma's machine, and I did not even know it had a light for like a solid year of using it. Then it had to get a fairly major repair, and the shop replaced the light bulb, which was a surprise when I turned on the machine for the first time! That shop is unfortunately on the other side of the country from me, and the light is extremely useful when I'm doing super precise sewing

[lailannajacobs]

Heart of the Night

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky finds you after a mission that didn’t quite go as planned. 

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: lil bit angsty 

A/N: This is my submission for @wkemeup​​ 9k challenge, it’s not quite as edited as I would have liked but the end of the school year is always super busy so here it is! Congrats Kas, you are such an incredible writer, your talent absolutely blows my mind, it’s just unbelievable and I hope one day to have a tenth of your skill! You deserve everything great and more! <3

The needle trembled, metal glinting off the fluorescent light in your bathroom as it hovered just above the skin of your abdomen. The air reeked of copper. The pristine sink was marred with the dark red streaks of failure. You tried to swallow, but it felt like you were choking on your own throat. 

The needle approached the bloody canyon made by a knife you’d been too careless to avoid, and hovered there, trying to find its mark. The world swayed. You’d lost too much blood already. The needle clattered into the sink, black thread trialing behind it like a broken tether. You were somehow conscious — delirious? — enough to think you were lucky it hadn’t gone down the drain because you didn’t have time to call a plumber. Wait no. You’d just have to get a new one from the cabinet. You tried to reach for the needle. Your body didn’t react. Instead, it swayed dangerously, only your fighting instincts keeping you from tumbling to the floor by gripping onto the edge of the sink. At least there were some things blood could wash off from.

“YN!” that familiar voice burst into your apartment, “pool table. Five minutes. I swore to Sam that this was the day we finically beat Vision and his perfect calculations.”

You swore at the joyful ness in his voice. You couldn’t match that tone right now if you tried. But you had to. The mission had gone well. You’d done what you’d set out to do. Only you, the ever-present failure, had gotten yourself stabbed along the way. The only mercy was that no one else had noticed and you’d disappeared to your apartment without drawing suspicion. That was, until now if you couldn’t pull yourself together. You willed your body to close the bathroom door, but it wouldn’t move. If anything, everything only spun even more.

“Where the hell are...”

You felt his presence in your doorway. Felt his gaze like a physical thing. You were always aware of him. Even now was no exception. Maybe if you pretended he wasn’t there, he’d go away. Right. And the three-inch gash in your stomach would stitch itself up. You turned your head, not realizing how many abdominal muscles it took to look over your shoulder. Your pride and the death grip your slick fingers held on the porcelain were the only reasons the spinning didn't send you tumbling to the ground.

When your bathroom came into focus again, the only thing you really saw was Bucky taking up most of the doorway. And he was seething. His normally cool eyes were raging hurricanes, framed between hard lines of frustration on his face. They scanned you from top to bottom with deathly calm, from the sports bar you had on that exposed all your skin and the bruises you garnered during the mission to the sweatpants you’d changed into. An X-ray would have been less intrusive. You shivered. It was probably the blood loss.

You wanted to make up some excuse for your failure, but his anger was justified. You were a liability on the field. They were bound to have figured it out eventually.

He said nothing as he stalked over in a few brisk strides, fury emanating from him in waves. He stopped beside you, the pleasant smell of his freshly showered body chasing away the tang in the air. You closed your eyes. It was a coward’s move, but you’d take any peace you could get before everything you’d worked so hard to keep got taken away from you.

“Sit,” he ordered in a low, almost growly voice, “now.”

You went to sit on the toilet but tipped backward before you could make it. His arms gathered around you, easing you onto the closed seat. Your head lolled back and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“No.” He decided, “I need an explanation. Talk to me.”

It seemed like too much work. All you wanted to do was go to sleep.

“No,” he ordered as if you’d spoken the words aloud. Maybe you had.

You opened your eyes, caught in the crossfire of his icy stare, “Hydra agent during the extraction.”

“Shit,” he muttered.

The extraction of the French Prime Minister had been more than an hour ago. You should have been stitched up a long time ago. You should not have been dripping on the pale bathroom tiles.

“Surface wound,” you continued as professionally as your body would allow, knowing that even though you’d live, your failure was the reason for his fury, “came here. Was in the process of fixing it.”

“We have medics,” he growled, “what were you thinking?”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t about to tell him how your presence was a poison that would likely get them all killed eventually. Or that your constant mistakes were your own consequences to deal with — to fix. He probably knew that all ready. His question had to be rhetorical.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he were trying to steady his anger. You stared at him, the winter soldier kneeling before you, his calloused hands still resting on your hips. He let out a sigh, his breath warm on your stomach.

“I should call for a medic,” he still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“Please don’t,” you whispered, “I can take care of my own mistakes.”

His lids snapped open, piercing blue eyes pinning you to the spot with their ice cold intensity. He was obviously still pissed. But he didn’t call for a medic. Instead, he got up, warm hands leaving behind nothing more than goosebumps and shivers — from the blood loss, of course— and picked up the needle.

“This is going to hurt,” he murmured once he was kneeling in front of you again.

You tried to nod, but the motion sent your vision spinning again and you gripped onto his shoulder for support, the metal sturdy beneath your grip.

He looked up into your eyes, “are you sure you want me to do this? It’ll leave a scar and it won’t be pretty.”

“It’s only fitting,” you coughed a laugh, “at least the outside will start looking like the inside.”

His brows furrowed but he didn’t say anything. He knew what you were. You were a mutant who somehow got the ‘gift’ of being able to make anything stop functioning. You could make plans fall apart. Kill a software program. Stop a body’s functioning. Even ruin a functioning team like the Avengers. With skill, you should have been one of their greatest assets, ruining everything that threatened the world. But your ‘gift’ extended to yourself as well. You ruined everything you touched. Even the good. Especially, it always seemed, the good.

He pierced your skin without warning, but you were glad for the pain. It gave you something else to focus on than the echoing thoughts of your failure. But Bucky was gentle. Despite the anger you knew must still be there, his movements were delicate and focused, hesitating whenever you winced or sucked in a breath.

By the time he tied the knot, you were surprised you were still upright. He might have been efficient, but you couldn’t tell if it had taken seconds, minutes or even hours. His hands cupped your face and eyes you hadn’t realized you’d closed fluttered open. He was so close now, his expression pinched with worry. You couldn’t help but wonder how it could be for you.

“I’m almost done,” he said softly, “but you’ll probably need a transfusion.”

Adrenaline kicked in. You couldn’t. He couldn’t. Not when you could barely keep your eyes open.

“Please don’t take me there,” you begged, “I can’t hurt anyone else.”

Your abilities rarely activated while you were asleep, but you wouldn’t risk the lives of the other patients or the doctors by going down to the medical wing. Years ago, when you’d realized what your abilities were, you’d stopped sleeping anywhere near anyone else. Now, hurt, there was an even greater chance you might lose control.

If you hadn’t been working so hard for consciousness, you would have also told Bucky to leave. But it wouldn’t have mattered. For some reason, he always stayed. Even when he was within the radius of your power. Even when you told him to go. Especially then. He always stayed.

“I won’t hurt anyone else,” you choked out, “I always hurt someone else.”

His thumb brushed across your cheek, “and yet you saved me today.”

You looked away from his burning gaze, your tears threatening to spill.

He continued, mercifully ignoring your watery eyes, “even though you were hurt you dropped that Hydra agent before he could shoot me in the back. We didn’t lose a single agent today, YN. That’s because you were there.”

“No,” you tried to shake your head, but his hands held on tightly, “they — you — saved yourselves. I got stabbed.”

“You got stabbed because you were busy watching everyone else’s back,” he growled, that earlier anger returning.

“I ruin things,” you repeated for what felt like the millionth time.

But it didn’t matter. He never seemed to believe you. But he needed to. You desperately needed him to before you ruined him too.

“Please leave,” you whimpered.

His answer was simple, “No.”

He took his hands back, but it was only to find some gauze to place over your cut. Once he was done, he scooped you up so gently the movement only hurt a lot instead of blinding pain and brought you to bed.

You gripped his shirt, fist balling up at the hem with all the strength you had left, “you need to leave, Bucky. Now.”

For some reason, the bastard smirked, “Someone has to make sure you don’t die in your sleep.”

“I’ll be fine,” you snapped, though it lacked any kind of force.

He didn’t look impressed, “If you were fine you wouldn’t be begging me to leave. You’d be downstairs with me and we’d be getting our asses handed to us by Vision and Sam like every other Thursday night.”

You wanted to protest. You wanted to protect him, but you had no fight left in you. And with the plush mattress calling you to sleep, the world went dark before you could figure out a way to get him to leave.

“All right Destructo, show me what you’ve got.”

You weren’t a fan of the nickname, but you weren’t about to tell the Tony Stark to shut up and use your real name. And anyways, as much as you hated using your abilities, and how you were always overcome by the tidal wave of fear that sent fear rolling like waves throughout your body, you always felt better — healthier even — after using them. And he was giving you free range now.

Eight suits surrounded you in a perfect octagon, hands out like they were ready to strike. Tony had somehow altered his suits so that they’d shoot bubbles — of all things — instead of small blasts and said you’d only be alive if you managed to take them all down before a single bubble came out.

A small grin unwittingly made its way onto your face.

“Glad to see you’re having fun,” Tony remarked, “it’ll come in handy for future testing. Ready?”

You nodded and ignored the bit about future testing. They might have thought they wanted you now but after they saw how much of a curse you really were, they weren’t going to keep you around long enough for future testing. You prayed that day wasn’t any time soon.

But you were ready now. That was until Tony’s voice crackled through the intercoms once more, “just make sure you don’t kill anyone of us in the process. I’d hate to miss Taco Tuesday.

You lifted your chin, “Give me thirty seconds with the enemies and you’ll have your taco.”

“Such confidence,” he remarked with a chuckle.

It was false bravado but you wanted this. You wanted out of your hell hole. So you weren’t about to let him see any of the very real fear that you actually might kill him. in the process.

You let out your power in a giant blast.

You bolted upright, gasping for breath. Black spots clouded your vision but you forced through the waves of dizziness, looking for the one person you couldn’t bear to hurt. He was supposed to have left. Your next breath never came. Bucky’s long limbs spilled over the edges of the chair in the opposite corner of the room, his phone resting on his chest. His eyes were closed, a peaceful look on his face but that didn’t mean anything. The dead often looked at peace.

Then his phone rose and fell with his chest. You held back a sob. Your relief would have sent you tumbling if you hadn’t been sitting. He was alive.

Without your blinding panic, the rest of your room came into focus. He’d left all the clothes you’d strewn over the chair in a neat, folded pile on your dresser. You glanced over at your alarm clock for the time, which was…off. Your dread clenched it’s fist around your stomach. It had been on. So had your air conditioning unit. And where was the constant hum of your ancient refrigerator?

“They’re all fried,” Bucky’s gruff voice came through the silence as if he’d actually been sleeping, “the phone gave a nice little shock when it died. Snapped me out of my sleep that’s for sure.”

Your heart was still trying to hammer its way out of your chest when you said, “You could have gotten hurt. I don’t know how you’re not.”

“I do,” he replied simply, eyes finding yours.

“No, you don’t,.” you shook your head more than you had to, “No, you can’t.”

“I can because I’ve trained with you almost every day since you got here. I know that your gift,” you scoffed at the word but he kept going, “your gift works differently depending on who and what you’re targeting. And I know you don’t target people. Not unless you have to and even then I see that it kills you to do it.”

You looked down at your sheets, hating the way his words resonated through your body, refusing to go away. But you could still ignore it.

“That might be true, but Tony has been making his suits to withstand me. In case I can’t control my powers and they hurt anyone on our side. He might say it’s in case we meet another mutant with powers like mine, but we all know that’s not true.”

“Why can’t it be both?” he huffed then took in a slow breath. It did nothing to hide the growl in his voice when he asked, “None of us are perfect, why do you have to be?”

Because, even as a full grown adult, you were afraid you’d somehow end up back in that orphanage, unloved and unwanted because all you did was ruin things. And you didn’t know what you’d do if you ruined the closest thing you’d ever had to family. Perfect kept you here. Perfect kept you safe.

He stood from the chair, and came to kneel beside your bed. He brushed aside the hair that had stuck to your forehead with sweat, calloused fingers resting gently on your cheek when he was done.

“You’re one of us now” he whispered as if he could read your mind, “and I — we — won’t let you go that easily not matter what you think of your abilities. Even if that means I have to inspect you for cuts and bruises myself after every mission. You are good, YN.”

You could only nod, taken aback by the ferocity in his voice. Still, it didn’t stop you from looking him over head to toe once more just to make sure he was okay. Then you noticed something off with him.

“Where’s your arm?”

He ran his hand through his hair, a sheepish look on his face, “it might have fallen off a few seconds before you woke up.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, “I hurt you.”

He shook his head fiercely, “you didn’t. I’m fine.”

“But I could have,” you protested.

“But you didn’t,” he said, “you never do. Because despite what you might think, you control this thing inside you and we all trust you with it.”

You were about to object but he stopped you by pressing a light kiss to your forehead, and when he pulled back there was that lopsided little grin on his face that made you realize how light headed you were feeling, “one day we’ll get to a place where you’ll find this funny. I promise.”

And somehow, you believed him.

[the-fiction-witch]

Baby Bat

REAL LIFE COUPLE TBS X READER RATING SWEET AF

I woke, swaddled in the dark purple cotton covers softly snuggled around my naked body. The smell of lavender flowing from the covers. I groaned a little turning over in attempt to snuggle gently opening my eyes to see her beautiful face "good morning my - AHH!" I yelped in shock after waking up to three eyes staring at me.

But I relaxed a little taking a breath seeing it was the three stitched eyes of her spooky bunny plush that she likes to sit on our bed. Her half of the bed was already made. 

"Damn it. You scared the life out of me" I sighed "just gonna…" I muttered turning the plush so it faced the pillow.

I climbed out of bed grabbing some shorts from the floor and my robe from the back of the door trudging slowly down the stairs, holding the banister to swing my body down the last two steps and around the corner and I leant on the kitchen doorway.

I couldn't help my wide smile growing across my lips. 

The blind still closed, leaving the room to darkness, the little twinkle lights under the cabinets all that lit the room. On the tiled floor sat two little black slippers, her long smooth legs exposed where her nightie only hit her thighs, the nightie a sweet red silk hugging ever ever curve and crevices with only lace on the bottom and top hems, tiny little black straps no wider than an inch, over her whole body a sheer robe that hovered above the floor inches from it, of black fabric with spiderwebs across the fabric the only thing to break up its sheerness, her hair in tight pigtails where she had washed it last night and wanted to keep it right and dry till morning, not a dot of makeup on her face yet, two mugs on the counter as she used my little percolator to make us each a coffee.

I smiled going over and wrapping my arms around her squishy cosy body nuzzling into her neck smelling her sweet lavender and rose scent.

"Ummmm good morning Thomas" she smiled stroking my hair 

"Good morning my little baby bat" I cooed giving her cheek a kiss 

"Why do you call me that?" She giggled

"Because you're dark. Spooky. Nocturnal. And I have seen you sleep upside down more than once" I told her "plus I think it suits you" I smiled

"Whatever Thomas is it makes you happy" she Laughed

"It does." I smiled "What are we going to do today, my little baby bat?"

"Got some housework to do. Then we need to do the groceries. And I thought we come snuggle up to a movie tonight"

"Ummmm sounds heavenly" I smiled"can we have a little breakfast first"

"Of course, what would you like?"

"Bacon sandwich?" I suggested

"Sounds good. As soon as coffees done"

"Okay. Ohhh but maybe use the uhhhh… the nice grave yard cutting board"

"Why?" She giggled

"I don't like the Ouqa cutting board. I'm constantly afraid you'll summon a demon every time you make me a sandwich"

"So? We have three ghosts in the house Thomas there all lovely"

"Because he may wanna share my sandwich. And I'm not sharing! With a demon or otherwise"

"Alright" she laughed handing me my coffee

"Also. What do you mean we have three ghosts in our house?"

"I think there's three." She says 

"Well if there living here they should be contributing to the mortgage"

"There not bothering anybody all three are positive" she says 

"Who are they then?"

"We have Louisa she isn't our ghost completely because she's mostly in the garden so she also does the neighbors gardens too I assume it was one big place at one point. Then Charlie he's a sweetie he likes our stairs. And then Lukes up in the attic I think he's a kid thought" she explained

"So that's why stuff keeps moving up there. All my old toys and stuff"

"I assume so"

"I'm not so sure Charlie's positive I always get weird feelings on our stairs"

"He's lovely he just doesn't like you" 

"Why not? It's my house"

"You always leave your socks on the stairs"

"Can't you just…. Sage walk again and clear them out?"

"No I like them" she smiled going to make my sandwich 

"Fine." I sighed "goth girl"

"I know Tommy" she giggled "you still love me?"

"Nawww of course I do." I smiled giving her a cuddle "my cute little baby bat" I smiled giving her a kiss.

I stood in the bathroom looking at the mirror having had my bath for the day and finishing off with my teeth while y/n had her own bath. I couldn't stop looking at her in the reflection her hair tied up in a tight bun, the bath water as black as ebony, this strange body wash that made it look like she was rubbing blood into her skin, a coffin shaped towel on the rack beside her.

"What?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all" I laughed 

"Does it bother you?"

"Does what bother me?"

"My…. Gothic aesthetic?" 

"Y/n." I laughed turning to lean on the sink "this isn't new. You were like this when I met you. Admittedly not to this degree but you had get to find Gothic personal hygiene companies, and quite the amount of gothic homeware we have now. But you were a cute little goth girl when I met you. It doesn't bother me at all. I still love you. My cute gothic little pessimistic baby bat" I explained "admittedly some stuff you do freaks me out. The spell bottles freak me out. And I'm still mad at your tarot cards"

"Just because they said you where being a bitch"

"I was not!" I argued 

"If your going to get dressed can you lay me out my Dress" she smiled

"Sure" I nodded heading into our bedroom and in that moment I realized what an idiot I was for agreeing without more instructions. As I opened her wardrobe seeing only the infinite wave of black. "Uuuuuuuuuuughh… which dress?" 

"The black one!' she calls 

And I sighed for a moment "yeah. Which black one my love"

"The black one. With the lace" she says

And I looked through maybe she means this one. Or this one. Or that one. Or this one here. This kinda has lace on it. "Are you okay Thomas?"

".... How do you fin anything in here!" 

"The black dress with lace." She smiled immediately picking out the one she wanted and going to get the rest of her clothes 

"Out of all the things I've seen you do. That is the one that convinces me of witchcraft" 

I finished up getting dressed myself and it was only then she emerged from her old changing screen I have to admit she looked beautiful, tall lace up black boots. Fishnets. Her long black dress with lace sleeves, her hair done in a sweet half up half down style, her make up done to perfect. 

"How do I look?" She smiled doing ike twirl for me 

"You look beautiful my little baby bat" I smiled giving her a kiss "but. We are only going shopping for groceries"

"So." She shrugs 

"Aren't you worried the people at Tesco might….. you know"

"Nope" she giggled "dress everyday no matter the occasion. Because if you die. That's the outfit your ghost will be in forever" she says before hurrying down the stairs admittedly I looked at my own clothes and how underdressed I was in comparison to her 

"She has a point" I sighed to myself slipping off my Tshirt and getting a button down on and quickly hurrying downstairs after her as she got her little black lace umbrella or well I suppose parasol technically 

"Shall we go?"

"Yeah let's get going" I smiled heading out letting her check the garden a little putting her parasol up to hide her from the sun, as I locked the house up "do you ever worry you frighten People?"

"Why? Do I frighten you Thomas?" 

".... Somewhat. But seriously. Don't you ever worry people might think your a vampire"

"Maybe I am" she smiled 

"We've been to the beach I know your not a vampire. Don't you ever think about people giving you weird looks?"

"Why should I. People are dull. Boring and stupid. Why should I care what they think" 

"You care what I think though don't you?" I asked her

"Ohh of course I do Thomas" she smiled giving my cheek a kiss as she went to stand by the car so I went over and opened the door for her "thank you" she smiled putting down her parasol and climbing in so I got in to and started the car up "why? Does it bother you?"

"No. I think you have a very unique style. And that's interesting. Fascinating even. And you don't care what people think about you, you dress and do whatever you want and I think that's beautiful. That and confidence is incredibly attractive. I really mean it when I say it doesn't bother me. If your happy and you like being a gothy, witchy, slightly vampire like lady then I'm fine with that. Because I love my baby bat very much"

"Awww I love you too" she's smiled leaning on my shoulder

"Besides. I'm fairly used to everyone staring at us everywhere we go." I shrug "and it's hilarious how much the press actually think your a vampire" 

"They think we both are"

"True" I laughed "and I don't always like how sometimes I feel underdressed when I'm next to you"

"Well no one's stopping you from dressing up Thomas"

"You're right. You know what Tomorrow. We are going on a nice walk and we are dressing up like fully dressing up"

"Ooooh fully dressed up?"

"Yes. Give them something to look at"

"Where will we go?"

"No idea. Maybe to that witchy shop you like with the crystals"

"That sounds nice"

"And maybe for ice cream"

"Alright, love you" she smiled nuzzling into my neck

"Awwww I love you too baby bat" I smiled giving her head a kiss.

[mel-the-fangirl]

Toss A Coin to Your Witcher

Henry Cavill x Reader

Words: 2,362

I am so so so nervous to post this because this is my first time writing a Henry fic and I know that the Henry Cavill fandom is such a tightknit family, I hope you guys have room for one more hopeless Henry stan. I know this isn’t even half as good as the other Henry fics out there but I had this idea stuck in my head for a very long time.

Please like and reblog or leave me some replies if I should do a second part! Thank you!

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The makeup brush swept precisely along your cheekbone, covering it in a subtle shimmer. Production staff milled around behind you, testing sound, testing lights. Being an actor, these things were nothing new. 

"Now remember, say it with me," 

"Don't say or do anything stupid." you recited with your long time agent and friend, Marge.

You thanked the makeup artist and made your way to the set. 

"When have I ever said or done anything stupid though?" you asked

Marge looked at you appraisingly before replying, 

"There's always a time for everything. Now go on." 

The vibe on set dialled to a hundred when you stepped on. It was really flattering how they cheered as you plonked your butt down on the wooden chair, a red tarp was set up behind you and the studio lights surrounded the area.

"Ready when you are Y/N!" the producer aka the ring leader of this whole operation flashed you a thumbs up

You nodded, feeling the nervousness bubble up your throat. 

Surprise, surprise. You still got nervous in front of the camera. It wasn't hard to handle though, you took a couple of deep breaths and you were good to go. 

"Hey guys, gals, and non-binary pals! I'm Y/N Y/L/N. I'm here with Buzzfeed and we're gonna be playing Twenty Questions." you winked at the camera with your arms wrapped around the little jar that had your questions in it

 "Let's get started, shall we?" 

Eager to begin, you stuck your hand into the jar without a second thought. 

"I freaking love Buzzfeed, really. Especially Tasty, I mean, I don't cook. But," you shrugged, wiggling your fingers, hearing the tiny bits of folded paper move around in the jar. "I love watching people cook. Then I love eating."

Scattered chuckles broke out through the crew. 

After a few minutes of rustling around, you figured you’d just come clean, "Okay. Small problem." 

You lifted your hand, the jar coming along with it. The pieces of folded paper crowding around your encased wrist as you waved your arm. 

Another round of shocked giggles started up as a couple of assistants rushed to you and tried to yank the jar off. 

"This is too good," the producer chortled, "Mind if we keep this in?"

"Fine by me!" you watched intently as Marge rolled up your sleeve so one assistant could pour oil all over it. Eagle eyed, she watched as a drop of oil landed on the bottom hem of your sweater.

"Great job, Y/N. This sweater was a gift from that designer you met last week, he said he made it just for you." she scolded, taking charge by grabbing the jar with two hands

"It was an accident, Marge. It's not like I planned on getting my hand stuck in a jar today!"

With a tug and a pop, your hand was free and slick with olive oil. Marge landed on her butt on the floor.

"Marge!" you howled with laughter, helping her up

She straightened her blouse, all business but her cheeks were stained red with embarrassment. 

"Can someone help Y/N wash the oil off her hands? Let's get this show on the road, people!" she barked marching orders at the staff, clapping her hands as she went. She wasn't in charge here but no one dared to question her. 

You chuckled, knowing that this was a cute little anecdote you’d be sharing with anyone who was willing to listen.

A few minutes later, you were back in your chair, having a laugh with everyone. The jar incident already stripped away the majority of your anxiety so you were ready to go.

"Okay! First question!" you squinted at the strip of paper, "What is the most expensive thing you’ve stolen from any set you’ve been on?" 

“Well!” you widened your eyes at the camera, “Bold of you all to assume that I’ve ever stolen anything!”

Marge scoffed rather audibly, making everyone raise their eyebrows at you.

“Okay, fine!” you held up your hand. The stunning ring you had on sparkled underneath the lights, nearly blinding anyone who looked.

“I did a period movie a while back and they had these drop dead gorgeous, and I mean gorgeous pieces of jewelry. I wore this piece,” you gazed down at the ring fondly, “for the whole of the film and I just pinched it after we wrapped, I couldn’t part with it, okay? I’m like a fricking magpie, I love shiny things.”

The crew burst into fits of laughter, making you laugh along with them.

“To clarify! This is the replica the props department had made, a very expensive replica. I can see you freaking out, Marge. And no, you don’t have to call the insurance company.”

You were a big hit, to say the least. You had them in stitches every time you opened your mouth but all good things had to come to an end, right?

It didn’t matter how carefully you dipped your hand into the question jar, this next one was going to make things very messy for you. 

"What do you like to do in your free time?" you read out loud, tapping a finger against your chin

"There hasn't been much free time lately,” you chuckled, “Let’s see… I play video games, yeah. I am so obsessed with the Witcher, it's borderline unhealthy. I’ve read all the books and played the games so many times." 

"What do you think of Henry Cavill as Geralt?" the producer asked you

Henry Cavill.

Just hearing that man's name was enough to make the blood rush to your cheeks. You brushed an imaginary hair out of your face. From behind the camera, Marge raised a knowing brow.

"Well," you cleared your throat and sat up straighter

"To be honest, at first I was really skeptical about his casting. I mean, he is way too good looking. Like way. Way. Too good looking. But…"

"But?"

Your mind drifted to the first time you saw a picture of Henry Cavill in full costume. The white hair, the golden cat eyes, the intense gaze and all that leather? It definitely made you feel… Certain things.

You cleared your throat, propping yourself on the table with your arms. To be honest, your head was still in a Henry Cavill haze so you had zero control of what came out of your mouth next.

"I'd definitely toss all my coins to that Witcher. Toss a few other things as well."

Everyone in the room ooh'ed and whistled, delighted by your saucy reply. The ruckus snapped you out of it and your hand immediately flew to your mouth.

“Please tell me I didn’t just say that out loud.”

“You did.” Marge mouthed at you, trying but failing to contain her laughter

"So you enjoyed his performance as Geralt?" the producer pressed on, hoping to get more audience-raking answers

How many times were you going to blush during this interview?

"Oh, well, about that, I haven't really gotten around to actually watching it.” you admitted sheepishly, “But I've seen photos and some clips. Very impressed by what I've seen so far."

"You will watch it though, right?" 

"Oh, absolutely. No way I’d miss out on that! Henry Cavill is an incredibly wonderful, talented actor. I think he’s also a fan of the franchise so I have no doubt that he played Geralt to perfection as with all his other roles." you nodded solemnly, putting a hand to your heart

Everyone in the room with you caught on that you were gushing over the actor, the sly looks they all exchanged with one another were a dead giveaway. Too bad you didn’t notice before you could try and play it cool.

“Alright! I think it’s time for the next question!” you declared, swiftly plucking another question out of the jar

By the time it was all over, you had convinced yourself that your little crush-related blunder wasn’t even a big deal, it would probably just be a little footnote in that video. No biggie.

But, Jesus Christ were you wrong.

The video took a couple of weeks to edit and in that time, you were busier than ever. A movie you had just done was getting a lot of attention, your performance in particular had critics singing your praises. At that point, you were definitely getting noticed a lot more when you stepped out for coffee.

So, the timing was just perfect.

The second the video went live, your phone was going off non stop. Twitter mentions, Instagram tags, and articles. A few notable entries being:

“WATCH: RISING STAR Y/N Y/L/N GUSHES ABOUT HENRY CAVILL IN CHARMING BUZZFEED VIDEO”

“@geraskier-rights: Y/N Y/L/N REALLY SAID SHE’D TOSS ALL HER COINS TO HENRY CAVILL’S GERALT AND WE ALL KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS”

“@geralt-of-vengerberg: Y/N The Fond™ is showing👀👀👀”

Marge sat on your sofa with your phone in hand, absolutely thrilled while reading tweets out loud. You scheduled a panic session with her over lunch once everything blew up.

“Oh my God.” you groaned, massaging your temples. “Marge, what do I do?”

“About what?” she didn’t even bother to look up at you

You plopped yourself down next to her, laying your head in her lap, “All that. It’s everywhere.”

“And? There’s nothing wrong with it, they all think you’re charming and funny. A true Relatable Queen.”

Was it your sanity slipping through your fingers? Or the overpowering embarrassment? You had no idea but whatever it was, it had you laughing until your stomach hurt.

Marge tugged at your hair, “Get it together, bitch. Jeez.”

“What are you so worried about anyway?” she asked, placing your phone on your stomach

You swiped through your emails absentmindedly, “I’m not worried about anything, it’s just that what if…”

You left the words hanging in the air, you might as well have been dangling from a cliff from how much colour drained from your face.

“What if what?” 

Marge shoveled some pasta into her mouth before noticing that you essentially turned into a statue right next to her.

“Y/N!” she shook your arm with a grip you were sure would leave some bruises. “What’s the matter?”

Wordlessly, you passed your phone to her, the comment from a certain verified account displayed prominently on Buzzfeed’s Instagram post of a little snippet from your video, the “I’d toss all my coins to that Witcher” part, naturally.

“@henrycavill: Dear Y/N, how many coins are we talking about here? Let’s talk about my reward.”

It was all Marge could do to not throw your phone across the room. Her eyes went wide, following your every move as you paced back and forth, a thumbnail in your mouth.

“That did not just happen, I did not just see that right now. I didn’t.” you babbled, your heart beating thunderously in your chest

There it went. Your very own ticking time bomb finally went off. Number of casualties? Just one. You.

“Okay. Just calm down, Y/N.” Marge caught you mid-pace, squeezing your arms

“Maybe it was a fan account. Tell me it was a fan account, Marge. Henry Cavill did not just hear me imply what I implied.” you grasped at her hand with your clammy one

“Well if he has a fan account that’s verified and has fourteen point five million followers?”

“Oh god.” you groaned, sinking to the floor and hugging your knees

“Oh, Christ.”

Marge hauled you to your feet and thrust your phone in your hand. She looked you hard in the eye, “Stop your whining and answer him. You’re Y/N fucking Y/L/N, one of the hottest people on the planet, start acting like it.”

You stared at her, eyes wide. Your chest rose and fell rapidly. Marge’s words started to make sense in your mind and adrenaline started surging through your veins. You nodded fervently, psyching yourself up.

“Fuck yeah.” you breathed, clicking ‘Reply’

“@yourinstagram: @henrycavill I know you take orens, crowns, and florens but maybe we should discuss further?”

Before you could even stop yourself (did you even want to?), your fingers already landed on the blue paper plane.

“I did it.” you exhaled, staring as the likes and overly enthusiastic replies started pouring in

“Fuck yeah, you did. Now, come on. Leave your phone. We’re getting drunk.”

More weeks passed and you actually ended up forgetting about that little reply you left Henry Cavill. You were busier than ever. Guestings, endorsement deals, and awards shows left and right. So, when you finally had a couple of days free, you decided you would set up camp on your sofa and finally watch Henry Cavill as Geralt of Rivia.

You even threw on your Superman pyjamas, “What the hell.” you shrugged

If you were going down this road, you might as well do it right. Maybe you would even watch the Man from U.N.C.L.E after or would it be Night Hunter? The decision would have to wait.

You watched, absolutely riveted as the White Wolf battled against the kikimora, his silver sword hacked at the creature with unmatched expertise. You were only a few minutes in but you already knew you’d be stuck on that sofa for hours.

When the kikimora had Geralt pinned underwater with his trusty sword just beyond arm’s reach, you found yourself on the edge of your seat, one of your cushions in a chokehold.

“Come on, come on, come on.” you muttered as Geralt reached for his sword

You wouldn’t find out if he got it or not. A knock on your door literally made you fall off the sofa.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, your hip was already smarting from the impact

Whoever that asshole was, you swore you were going to give him a piece of your mind. You stomped to your front door just as that idiot started knocking again.

You huffed and threw the door open then your mind immediately went blank.

“I am so sorry. Are you alright? I think I heard you fall?”

Oh yeah. You were definitely falling.

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

You can find the second part here!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 3

chapter 1 chapter 2

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia, blood, gore, and other warnings to be added

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A close call has you on the move.

Note: Alright, things are ramping up. As always, mind the warnings and take care of yourselves.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

A third glass of wine helped you sleep better than you had in the last week. You didn’t remember much past the bottom of the glass; only the fear and the way it burned your throat. You didn’t remember falling asleep or even going to your bed. 

Slowly, as if drowning in oil, you woke. One eye opened, then the other. Your head pounded as the grey winter light peeked in. You groaned and a sudden crash made you shoot up in your bed. The duvet fell away from your chest as you listened to the grunting and the footsteps barreling across the floor. You were dizzy as your heart raced.

You kicked out from under the covers and stumbled frantically to the bedroom door. You peered out into the living room, the dark figure at the open door. Bucky braced himself against the frame and swore. He looked as if he would bolt out until his eyes settled on you.

He gritted his teeth and pushed himself straight. He closed the door and locked it firmly. He shook his head and crossed to you.

“I didn’t mean to wake you--”

“What’s going on?” You looked around. The coffee table was overturned, the lamp too, and pillow leaked its innards onto the floor. “What was that? What happened?”

“It’s okay, I think I got him much worse,” Bucky assured you. 

You noticed for the first time the knife in his hand. The same black handle that he holstered on his belt. You blanched as your eyes scaled his torso and the dark blood spread across his grey tee shirt.

“Did you?” You asked as you backed away. “Oh my, that’s a lot of blood.” You touched your stomach, still sensitive from the night before and roused by the sight of red. “Are you okay?”

He looked down and touched along his ribs. He hissed and carefully set down his knife on the arm of the couch. “Shit.” He pulled open the slice in the cotton and chuckled. “Fucker got me good.”

“How can you laugh?” You gasped. “What do you mean-- Was it him? Was he in here?”

“Yeah and so was I,” Bucky raised the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. “I took care of him.”

“He got away,” you looked at the door. “He got in! How could he--”

“Well, I assumed it was easier in a carrier’s uniform,” Bucky bunched up his shirt and stemmed the blood with it. His thick arms tensed and his broad chest puffed out. “But… I think I got a decent peek at his face.”

He went to the lamp and pulled it up. You watched him stunned. How could he be so casual? Your eyes fell to a trail of blood that led to the door and was smeared across the side of the coffee table.

“I told you, I got him worse,” Bucky said as he looked at you. “You got some bandages, or something?”

He sat heavily and leaned back as he looked under the tee shirt. You blinked and nodded dumbly. You recalled the video call the night before; the woman’s blood pouring from her throat, bubbling along her lips. You went to the bathroom and searched beneath the sink for the first aid kit you’d never even opened.

You came back out and unclasped the metal box. You set it on the corner of the couch and bent to flip the coffee table. Bucky stopped you. “Leave it. It’s got evidence on it.”

You stood and stared at him as he took the first aid kit and balanced it on his thigh. He stirred around with one hand and pulled out the bottle of alcohol. He pressed down on the tee before removing it and sprayed the gash. You slumped onto the couch and tried not to look. You had never done well with the sight of blood. There was so much, you could smell it even.

“Shit,” he uttered, “I think I’m gonna need some help.”

You looked up again and he pulled out a spool and a packaged needle. You’d never thought you’d need those.

“I can’t-- Blood, it makes me… sick,” you murmured. “I don’t know--”

“Well, I can’t exactly see well enough to do it myself,” he grunted. “Honey, it’s fine. It’s nothing serious but it needs stitching.”

You squinted at the pet name. The more he said it, the more odd it seemed. You weren’t his honey, you were a job. 

You sniffed and neared him. Your hand shook as he ripped open the packet and threaded the needle. You took it from him as he held it out. You stared at the metal point then glanced at him.

“I’ve never…”

“Have you ever sewn? A cross-stitch maybe?” He asked.

“I took home econ in high school but that was… a long time ago,” you swallowed. “What if I make it worse?”

“It’s just like a tear in a pair of pants. That’s all. Don’t think about it. Just--” He gripped the tee shirt tightly, “Do it.”

He lowered the cotton and bared the cut again. Your lashes fluttered and you let out a long breath. You got closer and bent over him. You hesitantly touched the flesh along the cut and pointed the needle along it. You bit down as you poked his skin.

“Come on,” he rasped, “We got a lot more to do.”

You pushed the needle’s nose through his flesh and your stomach flipped. You held your breath as you pulled the threaded through and repeated the action, again and again. His blood stained your fingertips and when you reached the end, he stilled your hand and took the needle from you. He looked down as he knotted the tail and you barely kept from tripping over the coffee table as you retreated.

“Go. Pack a bag,” He pushed himself to his feet as he tossed the thread in the kit and slid the needle back into the plastic. “I’ve gotta make a call. I doubt they’ll let you stay here any longer.”

“Where will I go?” You asked as you rubbed your fingertips, still wet with his blood.

“Somewhere safe. I promise.” He said as he wiped his hands on his tee shirt. He looked around and bent to retrieve his phone from beside the tv stand. “But right now, we don’t have time for all the questions.”

You just nodded as he dialed and retreated to wash your hands. 

As your adrenaline slaked away, your hangover became more apparent. Not only your head, but your entire body ached. Had it been worth fleeting moments of oblivion?

You went to your bedroom and dug around the closet for the wrinkled old duffel bag. It felt hopeless; futile. Even with Bucky there, that monster had almost gotten to you. Was there anywhere he could keep you safe?

You shoved some clothes in the bag and went to the bathroom to grab your toothbrush and other toiletries. You heard Bucky talking and the distant voice buzzing from the speaker.

“We need somewhere more secure. I understand, I didn’t expect it so soon but… well, he knows now. He’s going to be even more desperate…”

You zipped up the duffel and marched out to the living room. You plopped it on the floor and crossed your arms. Bucky hung up as he turned to you, dropping his fingers from the blinds he’d been peeking through.

“You said he would hide for a bit,” you said. “But… why is he doing all this?”

“We’re just going of the BSU assessment. They can be wrong. They can draw up a whole profile but it’s almost impossible to predict what these types do next. We went off similar cases, similar circumstances. But like I said, this isn’t our typical suspect.”

“Uh huh, and yet you won’t tell me how. And he’s dangerous enough to almost get past you--”

“Not even close,” Bucky insisted. “Honey, come on. I do this all the time. You have no idea what the fuck we’re dealing with so stop it with the questions and go get changed. Back up’s on the way.”

You flinched at his tone. You huffed and shook your head. You went back to the bedroom and pulled out some jeans and a long-sleeve sweatshirt. You really didn’t care what you looked like.

When you entered the living room again, Bucky dropped your bag closer to the door. You crossed your arms as he took his hoodie from over the back of the couch and zipped it up over his bare torso. You grabbed your phone from the shelf where it was charging and he was on you in an instant. His hand covered yours, the metal cold and hard.

“You have to leave it,” he said. “We can’t compromise our new position.”

“What? But--”

“What do you think is going on right now? Life as you know it is over. No more phone,” he yanked the cell from your grasp, “No more apartment, no more work.” You grimaced and held up your phone. He squeezed until you heard it crack and it bent in his metal grip. “You got to trust me.”

“What the fuck? You didn’t have to do that.” You stared at your broken phone as he dropped it back on the shelf.

“Honey, you gotta start listening to me. Fuck around and I can’t protect you.”

Your lip twitched. Honey, honey, honey. That wasn’t your name. You shrugged and spun away from him.

“When are we going?” You asked.

“Soon,” Bucky said, “Get your coat, your shoes. I’m just waiting for the call.”

You brushed by him and pulled on your boots, ignoring your heels. You grabbed your jacket and you heard a soft vibe. Bucky reached over your shoulder as he took his own coat and stepped into his own boots. He exhaled as he checked his phone.

“Alright, let’s go. Back door.” He directed as he turned the lock, “Come on.”

He opened the door and grabbed your duffel. He waved you into the hall and locked the door behind him with one hand. He tucked away his key and nudged you onward. Only the stomp of your boots sounded as you hurried down the stairwell and he pushed by you to open the heavy door.

He ushered you out into the early morning chill and caught your elbow as he followed you. He urged you across the parking lot to a black car with tinted windows just at the edge of the tarmac. He opened the back door and tossed our bag inside.

“Get in,” he said as he looked around. “Now.”

You ducked through the door and Bucky climbed in the passenger seat. You blinked as you caught a glimpse of the driver in the rearview. Then he turned to nod at Bucky and you recognized him. Steve Rogers greeted his old friend with a quiet ‘hey’.

“Go,” Bucky demanded. 

“No introductions?” Steve put the car in gear and pulled past the rows of cars.

“This is Steve,” Bucky said sharply as he looked back at you, “I know you’ve read the case file. You already know her.”

“Where are we going?” You asked softly as you leaned on the duffel.

“Safe house. About two hours out,” Steve answered before Bucky could. “You’ll be safe there.”

You chewed your lip. Well, surely two was better than one and yet Captain America’s presence was hardly reassuring. That just confirmed to you how fucked this whole situation was.

“Fury didn’t like the last minute notice but he understood,” Steve said to Bucky.

“Mmm, we can talk about it later.” Bucky grumbled. “Honey, why don’t you get some more sleep. It’s gonna be a long ride.”

Steve peeked at you in the mirror as he turned out of the parking lot. He glanced at Bucky next but stayed quiet as his eyes returned to the road.

“Take your own advice, Buck,” Steve snickered. “You both look like you need it.”

👁️

You didn’t sleep. You couldn’t. A mixture of anxiety and the shadow of alcohol kept you awake. Even so, you closed your eyes and kept quiet in the backseat. The motion of the road lulled you and helped ease your headache. Few words passed between the men up front.

When you did open your eyes, tall trees passed you by and lined the winding road ahead. You were well out of the city but couldn't guess where. Maybe you should have paid attention. Or not. It was better to be far away, to lose yourself in hopes your stalker would as well.

The cabin was nothing special. It looked like any other retreat away from the world. Deep in the heart of the forest, it felt an entirely different world. As Steve killed the engine, you sat up and unbuckled your seat belt. You slid out of the backseat with your bag in hand as Bucky went to the trunk and pulled out a bag of his own. Steve did the same and checked the time on his watch.

You followed Steve as Bucky stayed to your rear. You didn't miss his hand on his knife or the way he looked around. Up the steps, you wait as Steve pressed his hand over the sign that said “home sweet home" and the door clicked. He nudged the door open with his foot and let you in. Bucky closed the door and the latch whirred loudly back into place.

Steve turned and opened a panel beside the door. He pressed a finger against the screen and quickly typed in several codes. A sudden lurch and the shudders rose on their own; metal slats folding and rolling up in unison. The lights all flicked on at once and the growl of a generator rose from below.

"Windows are bulletproof. There's no way in or out without one of us," Steve pointed between himself and Bucky, "And most assuredly, you have two super soldiers watching your back." 

"Mmhmm," you muttered as you looked around. "Well, I think it's bad enough I even need two."

"Well better than none," Bucky said. "Steve, you can show her around. I need to call HQ, give a description of this guy before it's too far gone."

"Sure," Steve said and waved Bucky off. He turned to you as he unzipped his coat. "Not sure why he's asking me. I've never been to this one before."

"How long will I be here?" You asked as you took of your jacket and he took it from you to hang it over his own. 

"Well," he leaned on the wall as he removed his boots, "I hope not too long. If Bucky got a good look at this guy, no more than a week or two. "

"So… you know… everything?"

"I've caught up," he said, "Not gonna lie, it's… intense but you shouldn't worry. Me and Bucky, we've never had a mission we couldn't handle."

"Guess it's better than being on my own," you said. "I just… why me?"

He tucked his hands in his pocket and looked at you. "Well, from what I know, these types rarely have logical reasoning. You can't blame yourself." He shifted his weight on his feet, "Hey," he pointed behind you to the next room, "A woodstove. How about that?"

👁️

When Steve finished the tour, or rather aimless wandering, of the safe house, he let you pick a room. There were several and you didn’t give much thought to your choice. You just wanted somewhere to relax. It was barely after noon and already it felt like the day had dragged on. After such a terrifying night, you had been thoroughly unprepared for the startling reality of the day.

He left you to seemingly ordinary room. A double bed, plaid duvet, chestnut night tables and a matching dresser. A carpet woven in the Navajo fashion was sprawled across the floor and a small desk looked out the window. A portrait of pine and maple seemed to mirror the view on the opposite wall and added to the cabin’s cozy allure.

You placed your duffel atop the dresser and slid open one drawer at a time as you unpacked your hastily collected attire. Two pairs of jeans, a pair of pajamas, a pair of loose shorts, socks, several shirts with vary styles and sleeve lengths, a second bra, and your scramble of toiletries. The only thing that was missing were your underwear. You swore you had grabbed those first as they lined your top drawer but they were no where to be found in your mess.

You could’ve overlooked them. Easily. You were so rattled, so hollow, so suffocated by terror that you couldn’t think of much but the smell of blood and the voice that grew clearer and clear in your mind.

Your head continued to pulse with the dregs of your previous night’s excess and the bile boiled in your stomach. You sat on the bed and held your head. You took a breath, restless despite your fatigue, and sighed. You hadn’t done anything and yet it felt as if you had dug yourself into the hole. As if no matter what you did, the pit got deeper and deeper and soon the dirt would start to pile in on you.

You shook off your despair and stood so quickly you stumbled. You needed to just stop. You needed to breathe; calm down. As blunt as Bucky could be, he was often right. You had him and Steve looking out for you.

You peeked out into the hallway and listened. You heard the two men talking but they were not close enough to decipher their words. You stepped out and crossed to the washroom just opposite your room. You locked yourself in and searched the cupboard for a towel. There were at least a dozen to your surprise and you hung one over the bar before you twisted the faucet on.

Anything to wash away your hangover. To cleanse you of the constant dread of your existence. A couple minutes under a hot shower to forget. A few moment for yourself. To just be.

You undressed and winced as the peculiar pain between your legs. You’d felt tender for much of the day and assumed maybe the stress was bringing on an early period. No blood, however. You felt grimy as you peeled off your layers and stared at yourself in the mirror. You looked as worn out as you felt.

You slipped past the curtain and welcomed the sheer heat of the downpour. You let it wash over you, let the steam smother you, let the rivulets slake over you and swirl down the drain. It was second, minutes, hours, eons… you could not tell.

You were sleepy as you turned off the tap. You wrapped yourself in the fluffy white towel and gather your clothes. There wasn’t much for you to do here; Steve had said as much. You stepped out into the hall and were startled by the figure in your bedroom door. Bucky turned to face you. His eyes flicked down for just a moment as you clutched your towel.

“I knocked,” he said. “I didn’t realise--”

“It’s fine. What do you need?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“As good as I can be,” the warmth seeped from you as the air nipped at your bare skin, “Thanks.”

“Good, good,” he nodded and smiled awkwardly. “I have a favour to ask you.”

“A favour?” You hugged your clothes in one arm as you kept your distance.

“Well, we only have rations really in the cupboards. Not very good. Vacuum sealed and bland. So thought maybe you could make a list and me and Steve could take care of that tomorrow.” He explained. “And anything else you need. Shampoo, toothpaste, whatever…”

“Oh, uh, sure,” you pressed your lips together. “You mind if I, uh, get dressed then get back to you?”

“Y-yeah,” he seemed to realise he was blocking your door, “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be downstairs. We’re just going over some evidence.”

“Alright,” you sidled past him. “I’ll be down soon.”

You quickly closed your door and leaned against it. You listened through the thick wood. You heard a soft tap and the drag of something against the other side. A whisper you could not discern before his footsteps finally retreated. Odd but perhaps you were only hearing things. Paranoia could make the tallest tales seem true.

You dressed, mournful of your forgotten underwear, and made your way downstairs. Bucky sat with his back to you as you entered the dining room, a chandelier with fake candles hung from the ceiling and cast hazy shadows along the walls. Steve sat to his left and slid over a piece of paper. 

Both heard you enter and looked over at you; Steve smiled, Bucky stared pensively.

“I can make that list now,” you neared as you hugged yourself. “It’s chilly in here.”

“Oh…” Steve looked down then scoffed, “Yeah, afraid we’re not so sensitive to it. We tend to forget.” He stood and stretched his arms. “I’ll go figure out the furnace.”

“So, have you--” Your voice caught in your throat as you neared. You caught sight of the frantic scribbles, the smeared led across the paper. Bucky tried to sweep the sheet into a folder but you stopped him as Steve froze behind his chair. “What is that?”

He didn’t need to tell you. It was a drawing of you, crude but discernible. You were bound and naked, legs wide and there was blood smeared down your chest. You gaped at the sketch and shook your head. Bucky stood slowly.

“He did this?” You rasped. “How many-- how many of these has he done?”

“It’s confidential,” Bucky snatched the paper and placed it in the folder. “You shouldn’t be looking at all this.”

“After last night? After he broke into my apartment this morning?! What am I supposed to do? How can I do anything if I know nothing?”

“We are taking care of it,” Bucky grabbed your shoulders. “So you just be a good girl and let us.”

“I can’t do nothing! Please, do you have any idea what it’s like? All I can think of is this-- this monster and everything he’s done. What he’s gonna do to me.” You latched onto his wrists and tried to pull him away. “I almost just wish he’d have it done with.”

Bucky growled and Steve warned him with a hum. He dropped his hands and backed away from you. He stacked up the folders and looked at Steve.

“Take her back to her room before you deal with the heat,” Bucky said. “Lock her in if you have to.”

“What? You can’t--”

“Honey, I can do whatever I want to keep you safe,” he pointed a finger in your face. “I have the clearance.”

You snorted and glanced at Steve. He gave a pitiful look in return. He motioned to the doorway as he raised his brows in exasperation. You didn’t look at Bucky again as you turned and stormed out ahead of Steve. As he caught up to you at the bottom of the stairs, he kept his voice low.

“I won’t lock you in,” he said, “Just don’t push him. He just needs time.”

“He needs time?” You scoffed.

“Look, he told me what happened this morning. He’s not the type to be left bleeding like that.” Steve explained, “And he really does want to keep you safe.”

[morganaspendragonss]

if something’s wrong you can count on me

special thanks to @trkstrnd for very kindly allowing me to take inspiration from and adapt one of their ideas!

@911lonestarangstweek day 2:  Physical whump + “Does it hurt badly?”

five times carlos takes care of tk when he’s injured, and one time tk takes care of carlos

ao3 | 3.5k | 5+1 things

i.

Getting TK to rest after bursting his stitches is an uphill battle, one Carlos only wins half the time. He’s currently losing, watching TK attempt to scrape some lunch together whilst he himself has practically been exiled to the couch.

Carlos isn’t blind; he sees the intermittent winces, hears the occasional pained mutter, and he wants nothing more than to go over and help, to kiss away the lines of TK’s face. But they’re still so new, and TK is still so skittish, so he doesn’t want to do anything that will push him away even more. 

Still, he can’t help but worry, and a particularly sharp gasp has him half-rising from his seat. “TK?”

“I’m fine.”

It’s clearly a lie. TK’s paler than he was a second ago and he has a white-knuckled grip around the knife in his hand, which only starts to relax when he realises that Carlos is staring.

“You should be resting,” Carlos says, making his way over. “I can finish that.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“TK, it’s okay, please just sit down.” He reaches out to grab TK’s good shoulder, intending to force him to the couch if necessary, but TK jerks away the moment he makes contact. His hand - thankfully not the one holding the knife - flails in a wide arc, knocking the half-made sandwich to the floor.

Carlos is already bending to clear it up when TK makes a noise like a wounded animal and drops to the floor. In any other circumstance, Carlos might be tempted to leave him to it, but TK’s hands are visibly trembling and his breath is coming in sharp pants as he mutters quiet curses to himself. He takes TK’s hands in his own, holding on tighter when he tries to pull away.

“TK!” he calls, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “TK, you need to calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself. Come on, just follow my breathing, that’s it.”

It takes a long time, but eventually TK’s body loses some of its tension and he slumps back against the cabinets, closing his eyes. Carlos is surprised to see a tear slipping down his cheek, but TK wipes it away as quickly as it appears. His breathing is still carefully measured and he raises a hand to his chest, gently rubbing just over his wound.

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks, fear spiking. “It is your stitches, did they burst again? Do you need anything? Can I -”

“I’m fine,” TK interrupts, and Carlos would be more inclined to believe him if his expression wasn’t still tight with pain. “I just get a bit out of breath sometimes. Punctured lung, remember?”

Carlos grimaces. He does remember, all too well. “Which is exactly why you should be resting, especially after the solar storm.”

“I know,” TK sighs. “I hate being so useless all the time.”

“You’re not useless.”

TK cracks his eyes open, levelling Carlos with an unimpressed stare. “I couldn’t even make a fucking sandwich, Carlos. I’m useless.”

“You’re healing,” Carlos corrects. He leans over and places his hand over the one TK has on his chest, gripping it gently. “You know as well as I do that these things take time. You just have to remember that you have plenty of people who want to help you, including me, if you’ll let us.”

It takes a long moment, but eventually TK allows Carlos to help him stand up, rolling his eyes when he insists on helping him to the couch. “You’re so annoying,” he complains, though there’s no heat behind the words.

“Better get used to it,” Carlos replies, easing TK down and dropping a kiss on his nose. “I’m not going anywhere.”

ii.

When Carlos gets into bed and wraps his arms around TK like he always does, the last thing he expects to hear is a pained yelp from the other side of the bed. He immediately sits up, any tiredness he may have had completely gone, and flicks on the lamp, eyes widening at the sight that greets him. 

TK is still fully dressed, but Carlos can still spy the mottled bruising creeping under his shirt. He gently pushes the hem up, gasping at the discolouration covering TK’s entire right side, and looks up at his boyfriend in horror.

“Don’t be mad,” TK says quickly, eyes pleading as they meet Carlos’s.

“I’m not - Why would I be mad?” Carlos asks, shaking his head. He waves his hands over TK’s side, not wanting to touch it and risk causing him any more hurt. “What the hell happened?”

“Floor collapsed under me,” TK explains, shrugging with his left shoulder. “And, before you say anything, no, I don’t need to go to the hospital. Tommy checked me out, it’s just a few bruises, I’m fine.”

“This isn’t just a few bruises, TK!” Carlos pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Did you at least ice it?”

TK shrugs again. “At the station,” he says. “When I got back here, I was too tired, and it hurt too much to take my clothes off, so I just got into bed.”

“Por Dios,” Carlos mutters to himself. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, then pulls himself out of bed, frowning down at his accident-prone boyfriend. “Stay there.”

TK, naturally, doesn’t listen, attempting to push himself upright. “Where are you going?”

“Lie down. You’ll see.”

Carlos is only gone for two minutes; still, by the time he walks back in, ice packs and ointment in hand, TK is sitting up against the headboard, eyes closed in obvious pain. He rolls his eyes, but can’t suppress the exasperated smile that crosses his face as he rounds to TK’s side of the bed. He deposits the items on the bedside table then shakes TK’s good shoulder.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Come on. Let’s get you sorted.”

TK peels his eyes open, pursing his lips when he catches sight of the ice packs. “Carlos, I’m -”

“If you say you’re fine, so help me, TK.”

TK glares, but doesn’t finish his sentence, which is something at least. Carlos helps him shift until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, then eases him upright, wincing at the pained grunt TK lets out. When he doesn’t seem about to fall over, Carlos lets go, his hands moving to the hem of TK’s shirt, carefully sliding it off his body. He does the same with his sweats, only then allowing TK to collapse back down on the bed.

“Thank you,” TK says quietly.

“Of course.” Carlos leans over and grabs a pillow, positioning it to support TK as he encourages him to lie down again. He goes without complaint this time, smiling tiredly up at Carlos. 

“Can we go back to sleep now?”

“No,” Carlos says, grinning at TK’s pout. He picks up the ice pack and ointment, moving to the other side of the bed and sliding in next to TK, sitting cross-legged at his back. He squeezes some of the ointment onto the worst of the bruises, then takes a deep breath before reaching to rub it in.

Carlos keeps his touch light, but TK still tenses as soon as he makes contact, eyes squeezing shut, breathing turning heavy. “Sorry.”

TK shakes his head. “It’s okay. You can keep going.”

Carlos goes as quickly as he can, grimacing every time he hits a particularly sore spot, sending another wave of pain through TK’s body. By the time he’s finished, TK’s teeth look liable to crack from the force with which he’s gritting them, but he hasn’t uttered a word of complaint.

“Almost there,” Carlos murmurs, cracking the ice packs. He lays them down across the bruising, and TK immediately relaxes, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” TK says, sleep obviously pulling at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Carlos kisses him, then slides down in the bed and flicks off the light. “Get some rest.” 

iii.

TK is asleep on the couch and Carlos is trying to catch up on the cleaning he’s neglected over the last couple of days when there’s a sudden cry from across the room. He looks up in time to see TK jerk upright, just barely managing to keep himself from falling to the floor.

“TK!” He rushes to his boyfriend’s side, hands hovering uncertainly as TK groans, head falling into his hands. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” TK grits out, though the tightness in his voice and expression says otherwise.

“I don’t think -”

“Carlos, please.” TK squints up at him, eyes watering and pleading with him. “Just, give me a minute.”

Carlos hesitates, but one more desperate look from TK has him nodding, straightening up and backing away. He goes back to his cleaning, but keeps one eye on his boyfriend the whole time, wishing there was something he could do to help. It’s been like this ever since he brought TK home after the kidnapping, the crippling headaches apparently not enough; he’s also been having nightmares that ruin what little sleep he manages to get.

(carlos has nightmares, too, but tk doesn’t need to know about those)

The last thing Carlos wants to do is crowd TK - he knows from past experience that he doesn’t appreciate the hovering - but every time he catches sight of the stitches, another bolt of fear flashes through him and the desire to keep TK close strengthens. He’d do anything if it meant his boyfriend didn’t have to go through any more pain.

When TK has begun to lie back against the pillows, still breathing carefully through his nose, Carlos fills a glass with water and takes it over. He places the glass on the coffee table and settles himself by TK’s legs, rubbing his side gently.

“Bad dream?” he asks quietly. At TK’s reluctant nod, he winces in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” TK mumbles. His eyes flutter closed, but Carlos knows by the way his face is scrunched up that he probably won’t be getting any more sleep. He wants to ask if TK wants to talk about the dream, but the answer will be no. It always is, TK usually just saying that Carlos already knows what happened and there’s no point talking about it. Which is obviously untrue, but Carlos doesn’t want to force the issue, not while TK’s still physically healing.

“How’s the head?” he tries instead. “Does it hurt badly?”

TK hums. “It’s not great,” he admits, which is TK-speak for I’m in agony. “I don’t think moving so quickly did it any favours.”

“I can get you some Tylenol, if you want?”

TK hesitates, but eventually nods, which is testament to how shitty he must be feeling. Carlos immediately goes to grab the medicine, shaking a couple of pills into his hand before heading back into the front room.

“Here.” He squats down in front of TK and helps him into a seated position, ignoring his boyfriend’s protests. 

“You’re starting to act like my dad,” TK jokes, swallowing down the pills.

Carlos laughs. “We’ve been swapping tips. Why else do you think he gave me his number?”

TK groans. “Great. My dad and my boyfriend ganging up on me - just what I need.” He glares as best as he’s able, though there’s no real heat behind it. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

“We love you really.”

TK sniffs and allows Carlos to help him to lie down, his eyes closing as soon as he’s settled. Carlos stands to get back to his chores, but he doesn’t miss TK’s mumbled “Love you too,” that follows him as he goes.

iv.

He only leaves the kitchen for two minutes to grab something from upstairs, but two minutes is all it takes for him to hear a sharp yell of pain, followed by a loud clatter and muffled cursing. Carlos rushes down the stairs, instantly zeroing in on his boyfriend, who appears to be frozen, staring in shock at his hands.

Carlos frowns. Nothing appears to be amiss; the tray of cookies is maybe slightly to the left of where he left it, but other than that, everything seems fine.

Except for TK.

“Babe?” he calls. “Something wrong?”

TK startles, an almost guilty look on his face as he turns to Carlos. His hands drop, hiding behind his back in a way that has Carlos’s eyes narrowing in suspicion. He crosses the room quickly, gently pulling at TK’s wrists until he succeeds in revealing his hands, which have clear burns on them.

“Shit!” He practically drags TK to the sink, forcing his hands under the cold tap. “You should have done this straight away,” he scolds. “You of all people ought to know that, Mr Firefighter-Turned-Paramedic.”

“I know,” TK grumbles. He gives Carlos a sideways look, raising his eyebrows. “You can let go of me, you know.”

Carlos does, flushing slightly, then leans back against the counter, shaking his head at his boyfriend. “How did that even happen?”

The guilty look comes back on TK’s face and he studiously avoids Carlos’s gaze. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“I won’t,” Carlos says, though he’s already struggling to fulfil that promise. Now he knows that TK isn’t too injured, he can start to relax a little, and TK’s expression is doing little to quell his amusement at the situation.

TK sighs heavily, hanging his head. “I was just going to move the tray to make room for the second batch,” he explains quietly - almost too quiet for Carlos to hear. “Except I may have, ah, forgotten that it would still be hot. So.”

Carlos manages to keep a straight face for all of two seconds before he bursts out laughing, which is only fuelled by the indignant look on TK’s face.

“You promised!” he accuses, glaring.

“Sorry, love,” Carlos says, grinning. “At least you didn’t burn the food this time.”

The answering face full of water he receives is worth it.

v.

Carlos should have known the call had gone too well to be true.

They’re just wrapping everything up when there’s a sudden commotion over by the ambulance, and he looks over to see Nancy shielding a patient while TK and Tommy attempt to hold another man back. He catches Mitchell’s attention and they sprint over, but they don’t get there before the guy breaks free, lashing out with his fist.

TK’s head snaps back and he staggers, blood instantly flowing from his nose. Carlos wants to go to him, but he knows he has to focus on his job; besides which, he’d probably just get in the way. He and Mitchell manage to subdue the guy before he can do any more harm, and Carlos hands him off to his partner, subtly inclining his head towards TK. She nods and leads the guy to their cruiser.

Carlos turns to Tommy, who is crouching down next to where TK’s sitting on the sidewalk. “What was that?” he asks, trying to divert his worry for now - not that he succeeds.

She scowls in the direction Mitchell took the attacker. “He blamed our patient for the accident,” she says. “Decided he would try and give him a couple more bruises, not that he needs them.”

Carlos looks over at the patient being tended to by Nancy. All things considered, he doesn’t look too bad, but he’s already started to bruise, and he’s sporting more than a few cuts. Carlos sighs, shaking his head.

“And TK?”

TK opens his mouth to respond, but Tommy answers before he can. “Your boy’s got himself a broken nose, by the looks of it. I don’t think it’s too bad, but I’m taking him to the hospital as a precaution anyway, plus it might need surgery. But he’ll be fine.”

He can’t help the relieved sigh that escapes him at the news. “Good. Thanks, Tommy. My shift is almost done; I’ll be at the hospital as soon as I can.”

“You guys realise I’m right here, don’t you?” TK complains, his voice coming out thick and nasally. “I might have a broken nose, but my ears work just fine.”

Carlos chuckles, sharing a fond smile with Tommy. “Glad to hear it, babe,” he comments drily. He leans down to kiss the top of TK’s head. “I’ll see you soon, keep me updated.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

+1

He doesn’t know how it happens.

Just that, one second he’s facing down a suspect; the next, he’s flat on his back, a searing pain tearing through his side. Carlos sucks in a ragged breath, a harsh cough ripping from his throat. Mitchell is above him, her eyes wide and panicked as she speaks into her radio, but Carlos can’t hear what she’s saying, which would probably be more concerning if he could put thoughts together right now.

His eyes feel heavy and they start to close when the pain suddenly intensifies and they fly open again, Carlos gasping for air.

“Don’t you dare go to sleep on me, Reyes,” Mitchell growls, her voice sounding very far away. “Paramedics are here, they’re going to fix you up, you’re - Oh, shit.”

Carlos doesn’t need to wonder for long what caused her to break off; TK’s face soon replaces Mitchell’s, attempting to smile even as his eyes fill with tears. There’s a hand running through his hair, and Carlos leans into the touch, letting it soothe him. He starts to drift again, but he tries to force himself to stay awake.

“Hey, babe,” TK says wetly. “We’ve got you now, you’ve just gotta keep those pretty eyes open for me, can you do that?”

“Think...so…” Carlos manages, another round of coughing overwhelming him. TK holds him through it, his hand on the back of his head to prevent it from hitting the tarmac.

“That’s good.” TK turns to the side, then he’s back, securing an oxygen mask over Carlos’s face. He’s obviously trying to put on a brave face, but, even as out of it as he is, Carlos doesn’t miss the way his hands are shaking. He clumsily reaches up, almost slapping TK’s face in his drowsiness, but it’s worth it to see TK smile as he grips onto his hand. “You’re doing so good, baby, you’re going to be just fine.”

Carlos almost believes it, too.

Almost, because at that moment, the pain returns tenfold and he involuntarily arches off the ground, the air suddenly feeling very thin. Distantly, he can hear yelling, but the darkness is creeping in on him and, this time, he can’t do anything to fight it.

*

The next time Carlos wakes, it’s to harsh lights that threaten a headache and the feeling of another hand in his own. He groans, trying to shift away from the glare of the fluorescents, which is a decision he immediately regrets as pain flares in his side.

There’s movement next to the bed, and then gentle hands are on his face, stroking softly as Carlos breathes through the hurt.

“That’s it,” a quiet voice - TK’s, he realises - says. “You’re okay, I’m here, it’s okay.”

Carlos manages to squint his eyes open again and TK comes into view. He smiles tremulously. “Hi baby.”

“Hey,” Carlos rasps. “What happened?”

TK bites his lip, pulling back slightly. It’s then that Carlos notices his boyfriend is still in his uniform, and he frowns. “TK?”

“You were shot,” TK explains after a long moment, gingerly sinking down onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t know if you remember, but we were the responding crew and we - we almost lost you, Carlos.” He blinks, Carlos’s heart aching as tears slip down TK’s cheeks. He takes a shaky breath, then smiles down at him, a weak and forced thing. “But, you’re okay. We got you back, and according to the doctors, the surgery went well. You’ll be back on your feet in no time, I promise.”

Carlos swallows, a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

TK shakes his head. “You didn’t ask to get shot, Carlos.”

“I’m sorry you were the ones to respond. That can’t have been easy for you.”

“It wasn’t. But…” TK sighs. “I think I prefer it than having to find out later. At least, this way, I got to be by your side the whole time, and I got to see you would be okay with my own eyes.” He grabs Carlos’s hand and lifts it to his lips, closing his eyes. A few more tears escape, and Carlos longs to wipe them away. “Just, please try and refrain from getting hurt again,” TK continues, eyes opening. “I’m not sure if I can take it.”

Carlos sends him an unimpressed look. “Bold words coming from you.”

TK stares at him, affronted, but it only lasts for a brief moment before he’s laughing. It’s a wet sound, filled with emotion, but Carlos thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. He has no doubt there’ll be plenty more injuries in their future, on both of their parts, but as long as they have each other, Carlos knows that they’ll get through it.

[spitpr1ncess]

BRUISED BODIES CHAPTER 3 LEVI ACKERMAN X READER

                                                   (not my image)

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

Gentle rays of sun push through the curtains that protect you from the outside world, they fall like precious feathers across your sleepy face, you rouse from your restful slumber and bring yourself to open the curtains fully, letting mother nature embrace you as you appreciate another day alive. You have an alarm clock but you find the natural light is much more kind to you. You take a deep inhale and breathe life into your lungs, you close your eyes and scrunch them as tight as they will go as you exhale, letting any tension and anxieties about the day evaporate.

You set about making your bed, the beautiful ivory sheets are pulled taught and your duck down pillows plumped, you fold your nightdress and set it down on the chair next to your window. A few years ago, Boss had bought you a record player for your 18th birthday, and it was crisp mornings like this that called for some soft, classical music. You place a record down gently and lift the stylus, as it makes contact your room is filled with ethereal sounds, you hum and dance around slowly, opening your heavy wooden wardrobe to pick something out that will adequately satiate Boss’s hunger.

You hold up a few lingerie sets in front of your nimble body and stare into the mirror, you’ve lost a significant amount of weight the last few months, you notice your chest has all but ceased to exist at this point, Boss will not be happy about that. You decide on a soft cream set, a corset that pinches your waist in and pushes your chest up to its maximum capacity, with beautiful satin panties that you’ve altered yourself. With your weight loss, a lot of the clothes you wear leave you swimming in them, you stitched darts into the front, pulling them in and creating a feminine silhouette that accentuates your barely-there curves.  You pull a pastel pink silk gown over your arms and set about applying a little make up. Pinching your cheeks and lips to draw the blood to them, you give yourself a natural blush. You pull a dark brown pencil through your brows, add white to the waterline of your eye and brush a few strokes of mascara over your lashes, finishing with a little clear gloss on your lips. Last night you’d painted your finger and toenails a soft cream, you add some pearl earrings and the necklace that Boss had given you when he first took you on.

You give yourself the once over in the mirror, making sure to not look too close, you figure that you don’t look as exhausted as you usually do, and for all intents and purposes, are ready. You wait. Its ten minutes to ten, when Boss is due, you sit patiently on the edge of your bed, your heart hammering in your chest, you’d stopped the music a few minutes prior, you know Boss likes silence, and you want to appease him. You roll your pearl earring between your index finger and your thumb anxiously, you hear the gate buzz and Jools answer. It’s a few moments before you hear his heavy footing stalks toward your door, you glare at the golden door knob, it turns, painstakingly slow. He knows you’re apprehensive and he likes to remind you of that. The door finally pushes open, assaulting the empty space between it.

You stare at him, he looks you over. He looks as grimy as ever, he is a short and stout man, with snow white hair and a beard to match, the golden tooth cap that covers one of his front teeth blinds you as he smiles from ear to ear, if you weren’t under so much pressure to please him, you might’ve thrown up at the sight of him.

“There’s my girl, as innocent as ever,” he looks straight through you before turning, closing and ensuring to lock the door. “don’t keep me waiting, stand up.” The instructions are clear as day, you stand on your weak legs, focusing everything you have on not letting Boss see how anxious you are. He steps toward you and reaches out; he draws a line from your bottom lip to your right nipple with his thumb. Your corset protects you from feeling his perverted touch, suddenly you are over the moon with your choice of undergarment. He picks at the hem of your pretty pink gown, he lifts it and you raise your arms instinctively, it’s soon removed and discarded on the floor behind him like a rag.

“I thought you might like this one, Sir.” Your breathing hitches as you await his verdict.

“You are right, little girl.” You feign a smile and give him your best doe-eyed look. He sighs, tired, turned on or frustrated you cannot tell, you wait anxiously before taking your next breath.

“I’m going to inspect you now, I have to make sure you are worth keeping, little Olive.” He moves to stand behind you and begins to unlace your corset. He easily removes it and places it carelessly on the bed. He steps so close you can feel him breathing down your neck, he looks down and observes you, with his hands reaching out he cups a breast in each hand. He places his thumbs and index fingers over your nipples and rolls them roughly, his cold, hard fingers fighting to get a physical reaction, you are not attracted to Boss in the slightest so it is hard to pretend you want him to continue, but if you close your eyes and think hard enough, you can just about picture somebody else, it’s what makes this whole ordeal that little bit more manageable.

“You’ve lost weight.” He observes, you panic.

“I have been working such long days, Sir, it was not on purpose, I promise.” You are apprehensive for what he will say next, to your surprise, he isn’t angered, in fact, he apologises.

“I have obviously not been supplying enough food, I will do better, and you shall have less work.” he continues his silent abuse on your tiny body, pulling your soft, brown hair over your left shoulder and continuing to roll your right nipple. He leans in and inhales your scent, you feel him let out a low growl, you can’t help the physical shudder that courses through you, you worry that you will start convulsing at any second, but Boss must have taken your shuddering as a sign to continue, something in him changes as he kicks your legs apart with his foot. Standing there in just those soft, silk panties, you are vulnerable, alone, completely at his mercy. You suck back a sob and picture all the times you have been at a mans mercy, you pray to a God that you do not even believe in that this will end soon, you are exhausted, completely shattered, absolutely broken. You just want peace.

He reaches his left hand into the front of your panties and feels your softness, “You are a good girl, keeping all tidy for me. I bet you even oiled yourself up this morning in anticipation. You did, didn’t you?” You can sense the dirty excitement in his voice, you nod, meekly in response, you have learnt very quickly that you need to sell whatever sick fantasy Boss is having to keep living comfortably, how you must remain his little bitch, to get your own way, eventually. You close your eyes and let go of any shred of dignity you were still grasping onto, you begin to grind into his hand, silently begging for him to give you something, to make him feel like you need him, he lets out low, perverted, guttural moan.

“You’re desperate for me, aren’t you?” It’s working.

“Please Sir. Touch me, please.” A silent tear breaks loose and wets your cheek, his erection tents and you feel it pressing against the arch of your back, you dare to reach a hand behind to palm him, he moans, without warning, you feel a finger roughly enter you, Boss layers his fingers with expensive and unneeded gold signet rings and although you hate to admit it, the cool of the jewellery feels fucking good. His alien finger curls upwards as your breathing hitches, feeling the golden rings rub against your hole.

“You are as tight as the day I took you as a young girl.”, you cringe at him bringing up your broken childhood as another silent tear falls, you try to ignore his perverted comment as you continue to palm his erection from behind you, he abruptly pulls his finger out as you are violently bent over your bed, he tears your pretty panties down to your knees.

“Put your hands above your head, and don’t move them, I’m going to inspect your holes now.” You feel him as he gapes you wide open, running a finger from your sensitive clit, to your pussy, he circles it, slipping a finger in to the first knuckle, you sense the second about to plunge into you when there is a strong knock at the door.

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO INTERRUPT ME.” You are frightened by how angered the man looming above you sounds. Afamiliar cold voice answers back. “Sir, it really cannot wait. Its E.S.” silence befalls your little room as the tension rises, you’re face down with your hands above your head, a finger in your cunt and your ass spread wide. You’re thankful there is a door separating you from the voice outside.

“Do not move, little girl.” You are frightened by the anger behind his words, you remain where you are, Boss stands up straight and strides to the door opening it wide.

“I will go, you are to take over here, make sure she is worth keeping, I’ll expect extensive feedback on my desk by eight tomorrow.” And with that, you hear his footsteps fade as he paces toward to exit.

-

You suddenly realise that someone is standing at your door and heat flushes to your ears, you jump up snatching what little dignity you could salvage as you speedily pull your panties back up, you protect your chest with your arms. Glaring at you, you meet the same pair of eyes you did yesterday afternoon, you are mortified, you try to say anything but nothing comes out and you stand there with your mouth wide open.

“You’ll catch flies like that, whore.” Levi retorts, this is the last thing you wanted to happen right now, or ever really. You barely have time to think before you instinctively bite back; “You’ll catch a slap if you keep staring at me like that,” you immediately regret saying anything, “what I mea…” you are interrupted as he strides toward you at a sickening pace, roughly grabbing your delicate throat, you whimper in response and a small smirk forms at the corners of your mouth.

“You’re disgusting.” Levi practically spits, this piques your interest.

“Are you going to inspect me, Mr Ackerman?” You should’ve closed your stupid mouth, but something inside of you wants to antagonise him, needs to antagonise him.

“If I had a choice, I’d not step within fifty metres of you.” He doesn’t hesitate for a second and you almost feel bad, but your mouth works faster than your brain.

“But you don’t have a choice, so are you going to?” He releases his tight grip of your neck and spins you so effortlessly you may as well have weighed the same as a stuffed toy, the next thing you know, you are face down in your mattress. With his palm forcing you down, he spits in your face, “you deserve nothing more than a beating followed by a rough fucking, I’ll teach you a few things about respect.” He’s angry, and you’re finally excited, you asked for something new, something different, and here it was, pinning you down and spitting in your face. Your heart swells.

You bait him, your next mistake.

“You think you’ll be able to teach me about respect? I apologise Mr Ackerman, but you are the man who just spat in my face. At least aim for my mouth next tim…” you are cut off as grabs a pillow and forces it over your face.

“I’m sick of the noise coming from you and I can’t stand the sight of you.” Levi stands up straight, letting the pillow go so it sits over your face as he removes his jacket, you hear him fold it and place it tidily on your chair, this humours you and you let out a muffled giggle. Levi pauses to look at you before he chooses to ignore you, giggling and with a pillow over your face, ass up in the air, he almost grabs it before continuing with his before task. He pulls a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and kneels, leaning over you and removes the pillow.

“Open.” His command is simple and you immediately follow, like a little puppy, his jaw tenses as he stuffs the handkerchief in your mouth.

“I do not like you, or even respect you, but I am not a monster, so, as I inspect you, if anything makes you uncomfortable, you are to raise your hand and I will stop. Understand?” You nod meekly and hide the blush rushing to your cheeks, never in your life has someone shown you such kindness, much less someone who so say hated you.

“You’ll use your hands now and spread yourself so I can inspect you now.” He sure wasn’t being unbearable, but he sure wasn’t living up to the beating and rough fucking he had promised you, his energy had changed, he was almost soft, or maybe you’d imagined that. Levi pulls a tight-fitting leather glove out of his pocket and slips his hand into it. He steps up behind you and grasps your little legs, and like you are nothing more than a doll, lifts you up onto the mattress with the rest of your top half.

“Keep your head down but stay on your knees,” he runs his hand over your soft rump and presses the arch of your back down, “well trained pets arch their back; it gives a better view to their owners.” The way he calls you pet makes you quiver with anticipation and you feel the slick building between your thighs. Levi must have sensed it because he pulls them down over your ass, painstakingly slow, you’re sure he’s doing it do you’ll feel them pull away from the slick forming at your embarrassingly eager cunt. Letting them fall to where your knees are planted he moves his face dangerously close to your slick covered hole, you feel his warmth in places you have never had touched before. You feel his finger circle your clit, being gently with his touch, sending shivers up your spine as a result. You dare to lean back into his touch. Men never touch you this way, really its only ever you who has circled your swollen bud with your nimble fingers, chasing your own orgasm, a real orgasm, not like the ones you orchestrate for the male gaze.

You wait for Levi to say something but he doesn’t, instead, he increases the pressure to the circles he is tracing, causing your breath to catch in your throat, you let out the tiniest mewl praying that he doesn’t hear it, he pulls his hand away.

“You are not supposed to be enjoying this, whore.” You let out a defeated sigh. Levi doesn’t move for a few minutes; you blush as you feel his eyes boring into your slick covered holes, you cannot see, but he is contemplative, he is thinking, wondering. You pray that he will say something else. Once again, he does not, he simply circles your swollen lips and probes his leather clad middle finger in. You swear you hear him let out a strained breath, but you’re not sure, your head is spinning and men don’t really take pleasure in stuff like this, do they?

He pushes in again, the furthest knuckle meeting your lips, he curls his finger upwards and rubs it against your walls, you know better than to make a sound, slowly, he pulls his finger out and you cringe at your wetness, your body must cringe physically as well because Levi picks up on it.

“Do you not like the sounds? To me, it is one of the best parts. I like to hear myself playing with the holes I fuck. It is a reminder of how depraved you are, how wet you get being manhandled.” With that he forces both his middle and ring finger into you, he curls up and rubs against your walls again, pulling his fingers back out, thrusting them back inside and repeating it over. You mewl again, but this time he does not stop.

“Listen to yourself, pet.” He continues his internal assault, though usually where you hate the assault left by men, you were enjoying his, you were hungry for it.

“Can you feel it building? Inside of your tiny body? Chase the end for me, I want you to.” Levi leans in and spits on where his fingers continue to scoop out of you like he was deseeding a melon, you squeeze your eyes shut and let the fire build in the pit of your stomach, you cry louder, your breathing speeding up, this pleasing him, Levi spanks you hard, his hands are heavy, and it hurts like hell, you feel your body about to reach its peak, you’re not sure how long you can hold off.

“I’m so… I’m so close… Please.” you try to cry out, but it comes as pathetic muffles through the handkerchief Levi had shoved inside your mouth, with that, he stops dead. In what feels like a nano second, you are flipped onto your back, held to the bed with Levi grasping your neck again. He straddles you, you cannot breathe he fists your throat so tightly you fear you may pass out, but you do not signal for him to stop, not once

His eyes stare into yours, they are full of lust; causing you to wonder if he secretly was enjoying this, that he may even like you, he shakes his head as if he heard your thought, you try your luck and dare to lift your hand and palm through his jet-black hair.

“Do not touch me.” He warns as he pins your hand above your head, his eyes turn back to the cold glare you’ve become quite acquainted with, he stands up and pulls you with the hand that was pinned against the bed.

You are thrown onto the cold wooden floor and your knees echo a cracking sound as they make contact, it stings, like an injured animal you try to crawl away but Levi is hot on your trail, he steps on your leg, just above your ankle, you are pinned, you try hard to wriggle out, but he is not weak. His shoe is freezing cold on your skin, the pain is manageable as he is holding back a little but you can feel a bruise forming already.

He violently pulls his belt undone and yanks his trousers down releasing his sizeable cock from the restraints of his boxers, “You’re making this harder for yourself, just stop wriggling.” You comply, feeling tired now, your little body starting to feel the abuse given to you over the last half hour, Levi’s eyes show a little pity as he flips you back onto your front, you knowingly kneel and push your holes on display for him as he removes his leather glove, with his trousers crumpled around his knees, he lines up behind you, he smacks your bare ass a few more times before collecting your slick on his fingers then coating his straining hardness with it before he palms it himself a few times. He presses the very tip against your hot lips before sheathing himself inside you completely.

Levi is much bigger than the men you usually take and you cry out and cover your own mouth with your hand, he reaches and pulls both of your arms tight behind you, grasping them both with one of his stern hands and the other continues to assault your ass cheeks with hard smacks.

“Don’t silence yourself, I want you to serve me as you would serve any other man, I want to hear you cry out, I want to hear you beg for me, I want to hear you come for me. Do you understand, pet?” You choose to stay silent, instead spitting out the handkerchief.

“I understand that you want me to do my job, I’m not stupid y’know.” A stupid, snide remark from you as he chokes you again, his fingers pressing into your windpipe. You’re sure he will kill you if he presses any harder. Levi slaps you hard, once, twice, thrice, you feel blood pool in your mouth as you realise he has cut your lip, you don’t hesitate as you spit in his face, the blood painting an ugly picture.

He licks his lips and contemplates his next move, he bucks his hips into you hard, you cry out, in pain or in pleasure, you are not sure but he continues to thrust in and out of you, reaching so deep inside you that you feel like breaking, yet you do not raise your hand. He releases the grasp on your arms, and they fall forward to support you as you are fucked, rough.

Levi reaches a hand around your legs and feels for your clit. He begins to rub slow circles again, and you feel it radiate deep inside your little body, he is unrelenting on his mission to make you come.

“Don’t hold back. I can feel you’re getting close.”, he reaches his other hand and pinches your left nipple between his fingers, he twists it hard and you mewl.

“Please don’t stop. Please. Please I want to come.” You’re barely audible as you practically whisper through your moans, the pleasure from Levi is unbearable, as t reaches its peak you see stars, you’ve never come like this before, like he truly cares about your pleasure, your body trembles and you come under his control, you can’t help but hold your breath as he releases his fingers from their current roles, and they grab your hips and fuck you back into him.

Continuing to come undone as Levi chases his own finish he grunts as he unloads ropes of come deep inside you, it’s warm and you welcome the feeling of being filled, suddenly, you are empty and his cock is gone, you feel his seed dripping out of you, your eyes grow heavy and you feel your chest heaving, the last thing you see is Levi scooping you up into his arms, you swear you saw a look of softness across his face, a look of hurt.

-

When you awaken, you are tucked into bed, a large t-shirt swallowing your sore body, you sit up and your head spins, it’s is dark outside and there is a glass of water and a small note on your bedside table, you sip from the glass and apprehensively thumb the note.

“I’m sorry” it reads. Levi. You cringe as you remember begging him for your orgasm. You’re pulled from your thoughts as your door quietly opens and Jools enters.

“Are you okay Olive?” he sounds genuinely concerned, “you’re covered in bruises… did he hurt you?” He looks away, clearly uncomfortable, again, you cringe as you recall the experience.

“I am okay Jools, I promise. How did I get to bed?” You expect Jools to say that he came and rescued you, but he doesn’t, instead he hesitates before beginning, “Levi… He, well, he bathed you, he applied creams, washed your hair, and he put you into bed. He hung around for a few hours, y’know. In case you awoke. Then he asked for some paper, wrote you a note and left.” You smile at that knowledge, regardless of what the note says, you feel that he wants to see you again.

“What did the note say?” Jools questions.

“Nothing important, just an apology, its weird”.

“Oh. Okay. If he really hurt you, you are to tell me. It is not usual for Levi to… Engage with women like he did with you. His behaviour was strange I don’t trust him”.

You look at Jools, he reaches out to touch your face, it aches, you remember the blows to your face, you are probably bruised there, too. “I am fine Jools, I was just doing my job, I am better for it, considering I didn’t have to engage with Boss!” You feign a smile, though Jools can see its fake, he trusts you enough to talk to him when you are ready.

“You had better go to bed then, Levi paid off your afternoon caller, by the way, I’m not sure about him, so be careful, please.” He turns and leaves, the door closes and you lay your heavy head back on your pillows, a curious shadow lurks by your window, but you miss it, falling into a deep slumber.

Just some peeping Tom, probably.

[moldisgoodforyou]

the one with the motorcycle

warnings: cursing, motorbike accident

gif by @anakin-skywalker​

“do you hear that?” charlie asked grace from her spot on the couch where she’d be all day, nose practically buried in her textbook. the roar of an engine was getting closer and closer, which was a bit concerning considering they lived in a culdesac in a residential neighborhood. 

grace leaned behind her, peeking through the blinds. “oh, shit.” she mumbled, giving a small wave out the window. charlie scrambled up from her seat and did the same, then groaned when she saw the sight before her. “good god.” 

both girls headed out to greet the source of the noise, charlie shaking her head. jj was shaking his hair out as he pulled off his helmet, perched on a beat-up motorcycle. “check it out!” he beamed, gesturing to the bike. 

“this is gonna be a disaster.” charlie muttered to grace and grace cocked her head, looking over jj’s appearance. “I don’t know. throw a leather jacket on him and he could have a cool james dean thing going on. he’s got the hair.” charlie wrinkled her nose. “didn’t james dean die in a car accident?” grace made a small hm noise of agreement and shrugged. 

jj turned off the motorcycle and bounded up the steps, greeting charlie with a kiss on the cheek. “what do you think? charlotte runs well, huh?” 

charlie took a measured breath, still eyeing over the bike with distaste. “jj maybank, please tell me you did not name your motorcycle after me. and secondly, please tell me that is not your motorcycle.” 

he paused, running his hand through his hair as his smile faltered. “well. we can work on the name, I guess. I liked it, anyways.” 

grace snorted and rolled her eyes as she headed inside. “good luck with that, maybank.” 

jj scowled at grace’s back and placed both hands on charlie’s shoulders, forcing her to make eye contact. “come on, pretty girl, you don’t like it?” 

charlie cursed herself for the way the nickname alone could make her melt inside, but tried to keep a strong resolve. “it’s not my favorite thing ever.” 

“c’mere, look.” he dragged her closer and she let him ramble on, pointing out his favorite features, and tried to look as interested as possible. “- and I’ll just have to give it a new paint job, but that’s an easy fix and then she’ll shine -” 

“why is it a she, jj?” charlie interrupted, arms still folded across her chest in apprehension. 

“well it’s -” he hesitated, pondering her question. “I dunno, I guess, just is. it can be gender neutral if that makes you happier? non-binary? no pronouns?” 

she laughed, shaking her head. “I’m more concerned about you getting hurt on this thing, j. it seems risky.” 

“it’s not! I have a helmet and everything. plus I had one in high school, only got scraped up once or twice.” jj mumbled the last part, then extended the helmet to her. “here, let’s go.” 

“let’s - what?! no. I am not getting anywhere near that thing when it’s on.” 

he tried his best to hold back a smile, it coming out as a teasing smirk instead. “why, you scared?” 

charlie rolled her eyes. “yes. very.” 

“c’mon, I’ll drive. you’ll love it, I promise.” 

“well where’s your helmet?” she insisted, eyeing over the bike once again. the leather seat was cracked from wear and the grip on the handlebars was practically falling off. 

“I’ll buy you another one.” he swung his leg over the bike and pulled her close by the hand, reaching up and kissing her forehead before securing the helmet on her head. “okay, you gotta wrap your arms around my waist. and hold on tight.” 

she stayed stiff by the side of the bike. “I don’t know, j...” 

sensing her hesitation, jj pushed up her visor and pressed his forehead to the helmet, taking her hands in his. “would I put you on something if I knew you wouldn’t be safe?”

she huffed, squeezing his hands. “no.” 

“exactly.” he brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed the back of it. “I got you, sweetheart.” 

charlie sighed but got behind him on the bike, arms loosely wrapped around his waist. “you know, if this is just a ploy to be little spoon, we can do that without your death machine.” 

_ 

the next two weeks, jj spent every free opportunity working on the motorcycle. he had bought it used, extremely cheap, and put a lot of love and care into it. charlie didn’t mind that part, watching him work in a dirty cutoff with oil smeared across his cheek. (she called it ‘supervising.’ jj knew better.)

it (no, she did not let jj name the bike charlotte, and instead referred to it as his death trap instead) stayed in the backyard at charlie’s house, with no room for it at the frat house. she still wasn’t a huge fan of it, but after a couple rides and seeing jj’s grin every time he showed it off to someone else, she decided it was worth it for his happiness. 

every time he left the house, showing off as he revved the engine, she tried pushing away thoughts of him getting hit by a car or flung off the bike or something equally terrible. one evening, he had taken the bike out for a ride outside of columbia with a buddy who also owned a motorcycle. he hadn’t rode it past sunset and she was apprehensive, giving him an extra-long kiss before he left. “I’ll be fine, pretty girl,” jj had promised like always. 

the dreaded call came from jj’s number as charlie had been pacing in her room, worried it was later than usual for him to be riding. “j, finally, I was getting -” 

“hey, no, it’s leo. jj’s hurt.” jj’s friend leo interrupted her from the other end of the line. 

“he’s...what?” charlie repeated, slowly. she was frozen in her spot. 

“charlie, listen, we gotta get him to a hospital and we can’t with all of us on bikes. can you drive?” leo asked patiently. 

“fuck, yeah, um, drop me your location. I’ll be there soon. I think. fuck. how close are you? is he conscious? he’s not going to -” she cut herself off, trying to snap out of it. 

“he’s alright, just a little scraped up. but you should probably drive fast.” leo hung up and sent a pin to her phone. 

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” charlie cursed to herself as she ran to the car, hands shaking as she went. she tried her best not to work herself up as she drove but found a few tears running down her cheeks anyways, against her will. 

when she finally arrived in what seemed like ages (but was only twenty minutes out), she pulled up to see jj lying on his side in the grass off the side of the road, leo crouched by him. his helmet was scratched up and laying in the grass. “oh my god.” she breathed out, hurriedly parking the car and running over to him. “what the fuck happened?” she questioned, taking jj’s hand. 

jj groaned as he tried to sit up, pressing his hand to his soaked side. “hi baby.” 

“he took the corner too sharp and fell. I didn’t want to - I think he’s pretty scraped up.” leo pointed at jj’s side. charlie frowned and peeled up jj’s shirt carefully, ignoring his hiss of pain. “holy shit.” she mumbled, seeing his scratched up side and a gash over his hip bone. “is it bad?” jj asked, leaning up to try and see. 

charlie pressed him back down and glanced at leo. “can you help me get him in the car? I don’t think I can manage on my own.” 

“no, I got it, I’m fine -” jj tried, leaning up again. she fixed him with a stare. “don’t you dare.” leo held back a smirk as he easily picked jj up, lifting him into the backseat of charlie’s car. “what about my -” 

“we’ll worry about your bike later. thank you, leo, seriously.” charlie gave him a grateful, albeit watery, smile and started the car, trying her best to ignore her shaky hands. jj lifted his head from his position in the backseat. “where are we going?” 

“hospital, love, you might need stitches. god, I hate that fucking bike.” she took an unsteady breath, trying her best not to cry and freak him out as she drove. he stayed quiet in the backseat, only letting out the occasional groan when they hit a bump in the road. 

after maneuvering him out of the backseat and filling out his information in the waiting room at the hospital, jj was called back pretty quickly. the nurse decided he needed stitches and he pretended it didn’t hurt when she swiped an alcohol pad over his injury, though his grip on charlie’s hand said otherwise. 

a few hours, a slight concussion and some painkillers later, charlie managed to get jj back home and in her bed, carefully tucked in. he was dopey from the painkillers as charlie threaded her fingers through his hair, his head rested in her lap. “m’ sorry, baby.” jj mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as her touch. for the first time since the phone call from leo, she let herself cry, resting her head back against the wall as tears ran down her cheeks. 

“charlie, don’t cry.” he frowned, reaching his hand up and curling it in the hem of her shirt. “I’m not.” she insisted, but her shaky voice betrayed her. “you scared the shit out of me.” 

“I didn’t mean to.” he told her and tugged on her shirt. she took the cue, laying down to his level. charlie rested her hand on his chest, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I know.” 

“you’re gonna make me sell it, aren’t you?” he didn’t sound all that disappointed, more resigned to a fact than anything. 

she laughed quietly for the first time since that afternoon. “first order of business in the morning.” 

[bauslut]

as you are | v.

word count: 4.390k

warnings: cursing, sexual innuendos, angst, some arguing, references to murder, discussion of serial killers, references to violences, nc-17

a/n: hello! this is the fifth chapter of my hotch fic ! i’ve been putting a lot of work into this, so all feedback is appreciated !!! <33 let me know if you owuld like to be tagged :)) chapters three and four are linked below ! i hope you guys enjoy !!! 

| iii. | iv. |

(i don’t own this gif)

ding. 

the quiet chime of the elevator echoed through the compact space as the doors slid open. a brunette stood, her thumbs gliding across a dimly lit screen, her brow furrowed in concentration, teeth gnawing on the inside of her cheek, 

aaron hotchner stepped forward, nudging the brunette as he swiveled on his heel, “good morning.”

today, she was clad in a pair of black skinny jeans, the denim hugging the fullness of her thighs. on her top half, she bore a simple black sweater, the texture a cable-knit stitch. the neckline was a v-neck, cutting down only inches above her breasts. she wore her hair down, the locks falling lazily, sweeping along her shoulders. 

“morning,” aaron’s lips parted as his gaze wandered, admiring her for just a moment, “i like your sweater.” 

“i bet you like the hickeys too.”

aaron’s gaze traveled to her collarbone, the deep burgundy marks painting her pale complexion, scattered in a line, starting from her collarbone and flowing well into the hem of her sweater. a thin layer of powder concealed the severity of the plum and crimson tones, but they weren’t concealed. a blush spread, cheeks a slight tinge pink. yet, his lips curved into a smug smirk, satisfaction coursing through his veins.

he left those marks on her. 

and he more than pleased that it was his doing. 

“i sure do,” his voice was light, laced with a tease, “you look beautiful today, rowan.”

her head tilted up, a broad grin enveloping her features, “thank you. you look quite--”

the elevator whirred to a halt, the doors opening once more. aaron cleared his throat, dipping his head, “after you.”

dozens of eyes fixated on the pair as they strode from the elevator. morgan and garcia were gathered around the printer, their conversation ceasing as rowan and hotch strolled over to their respective desks, the door of hotch’s office nearly slamming shut. jj was perched at her own desk, springing to her feet the moment hotch’s blind’s were drawn. reid, nose deep in a novel, set the book down, spinning around in his chair to face rowan. prentiss and rossi sauntered over to the young agent’s desk, eyes blazing with curiosity, eager to bombard with a flurry of questions.

“so,” rossi took a sip of his coffee, “how was babysitting little hotch?”

“it was fine,” rowan shrugged, “i mean, hotch’s apartment is pretty cold and bare, a little like him. but jack was so sweet. maybe he takes after his mother. by the way, was hotch a little distressed yesterday? he seemed really tense when i spoke with him on the phone.”

“hotch was thinking about you all day!” garcia chirped, her head bobbing with every word, “god, he was so fucking distraught because you weren’t there. and the amount of times he called you just to check in? ugh he was so--”

“he was really worked up,” prentiss exhaled, “and part of that was our fault. we were tormenting him and we’re sorry.”

“why were you guys teasing--”

“he even lied about you babysitting jack,” morgan remarked, butting in, “when we met in the conference room to discuss the case, he kept saying your name while he was on the phone. we all heard but he was playing it off like you were some ‘shannon’ or something.”

“oh?” rowan arched a brow, “why would he lie--”

“wait,” jj stuck out a hand, her eyes flickering towards rowan’s neck, “is that what i think that is?”

as the pairs of eyes followed jj’s line of sight, rowan shifted uncomfortably, swallowing a lump in her throat, “it’s not what--”

“is that a hickey?” rossi licked his lips, “how in the world did you receive a hickey whilst babysitting? does jack have a biting problem or something?” 

“maybe it was big hotch,” garcia stated, prodding morgan, “not the little one, of course. that would’ve been weird if jack bit her.”

morgan glanced over to hotch’s office, folding his arms across his chest, then returned his focus to rowan, “don’t tell me that he paid you by--”

“i-it was nothing like that,” rowan stammered, tripping over her words, “i stayed at the hotchner residence until aa-hotch returned home from the case. then i promptly went home.”

“so why was your car parked at an open area?” garcia pressed, “when you didn’t come in yesterday morning, i pulled up your location on the gps of your car. it said you were at the park off north and second.”

“that was a halfway point for hotch and i to meet,” rowan bit her tongue, cheeks flushed, “i live forty minutes from here. he didn’t want me to drive.”

“that’s pretty generous for a man like hotch,” morgan mused, “i don’t believe a single word coming from your mouth rivers, i hope you know that.”

“if you guys want the truth,” rowan huffed, “i blacked out the other night, was so hungover i could barely move, and hotch told me he needed a babysitter. i took up the offer because i felt horrible that i couldn’t come in. now, are you guys satisfied or are you going to keep pestering me about a hickey like some stupid high schoolers?”

prentiss inhaled a sharp breath, poised for a retort when a door swinging open startled the mass huddled around the desk, “what is going on here?”

“we were just asking rivers if she was okay sir,” prentiss responded, her tone cool, voice smooth. 

“i’m afraid that we don’t have the time or resources for gossip,” hotch snorted, hands grasping the railing, “everyone, back to your desks this instant. rivers, i need to speak with you in my office.”

“now sir?” 

“now,” his voice rang through the office, eyes hardened into a fiery glare. 

a shudder coursed through rowan as she rose to her feet, shuffling towards his office. the team giggled as they retreated to their desks, unfazed by hotch’s statement. every step was agonizing under his intense stare, the agent nearly cowering in her boots.

yet, the second she was in the office with the door shut, his hands were on hers, intertwining their fingers together. his touch tender, voice lowered to a quiet whisper, “are you okay?”

“besides the relentless teasing i’m fine,” rowan muttered, careful to avoid eye contact.

“welcome to my world for the past twenty four hours,” fingertips brushed her forehead, “i was more concerned if you had a headache or not. i’ve noticed they flare up when you’re anxious or under stress.”

“if this is what’s going to happen every time i watch jack then i’m not doing it anymore.” she mumbled, breaking away from his touch. 

muttering a strand of words, hotch crossed over to his desk, “i mean, you’re not his designated babysitter anyway. you were drunk and i came and got you the night before. nothing more to it. it’s not happening again, anyway.”

rowan flinched, shocked at the venomous barb laced in his words, “but i would miss my new friend, he’s a really good kid, aaron. he’s so sweet. he reminds me of you.”

aaron hotchner nearly cracked, demeanor nearly crumbling down in that moment. 

but he couldn’t. not here. not now. 

clearing his throat, his voice hardened, edged with authority, “it would be best for the both of us if it never happened again.”

“but--” she pleaded, desperate to break him down. to reason with him. 

yet, the damage was already done. 

the unit chief slumped in his chair, not budging one bit, “no. we can’t do that again, okay? it wouldn’t end well.”

tears sprang into rowan’s eyes, her lower lip trembling, “i-i was thinking that i would stay behind with garcia today. after all, i don’t deserve to travel anyways. i lied about a sick day.”

hotch’s head snapped up, pure shock plastered across his features, “rowan it was okay that you--”

“i’m staying behind.”

david rossi sat on the edge of spencer reid’s desk, toying with a pencil, focused on the scene unfolding in aaron hotchner’s office. emily prentiss lurked nearby, pacing back and forth. 

“what could they possibly be talking about?”

“from the look of it, it’s not pretty,” rossi remarked, letting out a sigh, “i think they’re arguing. she’s standing a few feet away from his desk. he seems agitated. his jaw is clenched and he has that little glare when he’s upset.”

morgan took a swig of coffee, “maybe he didn’t use a condom,” 

“oh stop,” penelope swatted him with a stack of papers. 

“no,” rossi shook his head, “trust me, if aaron hotchner got laid, he would look a lot happier than he is right now.”

“do you really think that they hate another?” garcia whined, lips curving into a pout as she nuzzled her head against morgan’s shoulder, earning a peck on the forehead. 

“no. there’s this fondness in his eyes when he looks at her. it tells me everything that i need to know.”

“but rowan is far too intelligent for him,” reid butt in, his book thudding against the wood.

“i don’t think so,” rossi countered, “because i’m pretty sure if she was as smart as you say she is, she wouldn’t fall for a man twice her age. a man who’s going through a messy divorce, at th--”

the door of the office opened, rowan’s lower lip trembling, eyes tinged red with tears. garcia perked up, rossi remaining on the edge of desk, folding a piece of paper. the team was silent as rowan approached them, the brunette sniffling.

“garcia,” the technical anaylst’s name was a broken whimper, “uh, hotch wants me to stay behind with you today.”

“don’t tell me he’s punishing you--” rossi began, swiftly interrupted by garcia.

“okay honey bunny,” garcia chirped, shooting rossi a glare, “i’ll even let you borrow my chair. it’s a little bit more comfy than the others.”

“hey guys,” jj greeted, arms loaded with a stack of manila folders, “i just received the call minutes ago. a department in washington invited us onto a case. we’re about to meet in the conference room.”

garcia wrapped a comforting arm around rowan’s shoulder, “come on love, let’s go meet with the others.”

letting out a shaky breath, rowan followed the rest of the team, mustering every last bit of strength to not crack. to not shed another tear. yet, as she entered the conference room, she could practically feel the heat embedded within his burning stare.

“god,” his breath was hot against her neck, teeth grazing the flesh, “you’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

“a-aaron,” his name dripped from her lips as her fingers laced into his hair, tugging at the roots, “aaron, please, god. don’t stop.”

her back was to the couch, his body hovering over hers, one hand underneath her shirt, resting on her hip, the pad of his thumb brushing the hem of her jeans. every single part of her was hot to the touch, cheeks flushed, lashes fluttering, jaw slack as his mouth roamed, savoring every inch of her with his tongue. 

“you like this, don’t you?” he smirked against her skin, “you like when i leave my mark, don’t you baby?”

“god yes,” her nod was meek as he sucked harshly, “p-please don’t stop, aaron.”

“i won’t,” he was panting now, riled up from the heat of the moment, adrenaline pumping through his veins, “i won’t fucking stop.”

“rivers,” her name was spat out, cruel and unforgiving, “do i need to send you home? pay attention.”

blinking, rowan swallowed thickly, cheeks flushing as she noticed the pairs of orbs trained on her, “sorry.”

“jerk,” garcia rolled her eyes, the mutter barely audible. 

aaron continued speaking, discussing the parameters of travel, along with some brief victimology of the murderers. propping her head up with her hand, rowan doodled a few scribbles on the file, completely oblivious to any word flooding her ears, her mind wandering to the memory. 

“wheels up in thirty,” hotch announced, flicking his wrist to check the time, “and rivers, i would like to speak with you.”

“i’m all ears,” the agent exhaled, not breaking away from the doodles as the team filed out from the space, a vicious banter rising among them. 

the unit chief slid into the seat beside her, his hand inching closer and closer to her forearm, “are you okay?”

the brunette recoiled away from his touch, her tone icy cold, “i’m fine.”

“you’re more than welcome to join us,” his voice was gentle, “you don’t have to punish yourself for what happened yesterday. really, it’s fine that you babysat jack. i was more than happy you accepted the offer, actually.”

the brunette didn’t utter a single word, only leaping to her feet. pushing the chair in, she avoided any eye contact, gaze focused on the floor, boots thudding against the surface with every step. 

“well, i already promised garcia that i would be front and center for today. sorry, but i’m going to decline the offer, hotch. thanks though.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“so what’s up with you?” 

aaron hotchner drew in a deep breath, throwing his head against the leather, “morgan, i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“all right mr. dark and brooding over there,” prentiss’ voice was light with a mocking tone as she flipped through a page in a magazine, “you look like you saw someone step on a puppy.” 

hotch’s left eye twitched, “i’m upset because we’re missing a member of the team.”

“i don’t think you normally act this way when i’m sick.” a smug smirk painted morgan’s lips as he wrapped headphone cords around his phone, “but perhaps i’m not as important as rivers.”

“yeah, what about the time spencer was shot?” rossi interjected, drumming his fingers along the armrest, “you didn’t seem nearly as distraught then. the poor kid was shot in the damn leg.”

“i was distraught--” 

morgan snickered, taking a bite of a granola bar, “it’s okay to admit you miss rowan, loverboy. we can all tell.”

“we know you like her, hotch,” jj cut in, her voice smooth with satisfaction. 

“she’s annoying.”

aaron almost couldn’t believe the scene that was unfolding before him. 

his team, people he’s worked with for years, people he’s grown to love and care for, were teasing him over a coworker. people who loved to dish out snide and crude remarks constantly to one another but rarely to him, were beginning to catch on. they were nagging him over a coworker. 

a cute coworker, at that. 

a cute coworker who he was beginning to fall for, at that. 

“annoyingly cute,” rossi clasped his hands together, eyes alight with laughter.

“david rossi, so help me god, i will land this jet myself,” he growled, clutching the armrest with an iron grip, “and when i land this jet, i’ll write all of you up for insubordination.” 

“oh? he’s getting defensive now guys, so i must be pushing all the right buttons,” rossi called to the others, earning an eruption of laughter. 

the agent clambered out of his seat, crossing the aisle to hotch. mocha-colored orbs bore into his suit, rossi plucking a strand of hair off the shoulder, inspecting it in the light, “i didn’t know you were a brunette.”

aaron flinched, his heart lurching in his chest, “t-that belongs to jack.”

“the kid is fucking blonde!” prentiss retorted, setting the magazine down on her lap. 

“why don’t you just admit to us that you like her?” morgan pressed, eagerly anticipating hotch’s response.

“i don’t know what you guys are talking about. i can’t stand her,” hotch stumbled over the words, a crimson hue tainting his cheeks. 

“i’m sure that’s why you bring her coffee in the morning,” reid remarked, toying with a game of chess. 

“i’m sure that’s why you always assign her with you,” prentiss chimed in. 

“i’m sure that’s why you started bringing ibuprofen to work,” jj retaliated. 

morgan lifted a leg, crossing them together, “and i’m sure that’s why we have a photo of her sleeping on your lap.”

“w-wait, there’s a photo of that?”

“so he admits it happened,” morgan winked to prentiss, who stifled a giggle. 

“okay that’s it,” hotch tsked, thrusting an index finger at every single member of his team, “none of you are working on the case. you’re all going to wait in the hotel while i handle it all myself.”

“oh, come on hotch!” prentiss gasped, her magazine falling to the floor. 

“i hate to remind you all,” hotch cleared his throat, his tone firm as he spoke, “but we are on a case here. we’re not here to mess around and tease one another. i would appreciate it if you guys weren’t so nosy about my personal life. if i was involved with agent rivers in any way, i would let you guys know. but for now, let’s focus on the case.”

the team fell silent, returning to whatever it is that they were all doing. yet, rossi remained unfazed by hotch’s stern words, mouth curved into a mischievous smile, before dealing out one final blow. 

“i am well aware of the case we’re on. it’s the investigation of whether or not aaron hotchner harbors romantic feelings for rowan rivers.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

rain pattered against the roof of the police station, a huddle of individuals gathered around a singular white board, aaron hotchner watching intently as dr. reid spoke with the cops, providing a clear and concise profile of the unsub, pointing and referring to crime scene photos and the police sketch of the unsub. hotch was vigilant, composed and cool-headed, ready to speak when necessary. 

forks, washington was a quaint town, located off the olympic peninsula. it was a quiet, friendly, place, most commonly known for its deep roots with the logging industry. nothing but endless woods sprawled around the community, making it a perfect location for a serial killer.

there was plenty of space to dump bodies, lots of shrubbery for cover, and little to no interaction with locals. many of them were reserved, not willing to comply with the local police. however, hotch didn’t blame them. 

the bau was on hunt to apprehend a serial killer who happened to post his grisly murders online, for thousands upon thousands of viewers to watch. there were even points in time where there was a live feed, the killer masked, clothed in dark fabric. his motive was unclear, as he had no specific type of victim, and his reasoning for posting the killings online was a mystery. 

which, made it nearly impossible to even make any progress in the case. 

that was until rossi suggested that they fly penelope garcia out to forks. after all, the killer managed to flee his residence after leaking the address. computers was garcia’s niche, where she was most comfortable and knowledgeable. 

and that’s why they needed her. 

yet, hotch’s mind drifted, wandering to another matter. 

it seemed no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he resisted, rowan rivers was on his mind, filling his thoughts. 

the memory of their interaction merely hours ago left an awful taste in the unit chief’s mouth. aaron needed rowan in washington, more than she knew. her cool-head, along with quick-wit was a valuable asset to the flow of the team.

god, did he absolutely loathe the image that was permanently burned in his lids. rowan standing in his office, trembling as the tears streamed down her cheeks, pleading for him to reason with her, begging for him to stop while he was ahead. the aspect that haunted him the most was the hurt in her eyes, her voice cracking with every word.  

god, did he feel so fucking stupid. 

“do you think that they’re on their way yet?” rossi leaned over, the question flooding hotch’s left ear. 

“i’m not sure when they’ll arrive,” the unit chief’s attention traveled to the watch on his wrist, “we only called them a couple of hours ago. it’s a long flight from virginia.” 

“you’re not wrong about that. i miss the kid, really. do you miss her?” 

“is now really the time?” hotch choked back an exasperated sigh, careful not to raise his voice, not to disturb the briefing. 

“you miss her,” rossi affirmed, careful not to crack too broad of a smile, “i know you do.”

“you’re just gloating because we needed garcia,” hotch muttered, “and that meant rowan was going to tag along too.”

“you’re just lucky that we happen to have such an amazing technical analyst,” rossi elbowed hotch playfully, “they should be here any minute now. maybe you should greet her first, hmm? do a little bit of kiss and make up?” 

“rossi--”

“oh look,” rossi nodded his head towards the entrance of the station, “there they are now.”

the second his eyes fell on her, his heart skipped a beat, breath hitching in his throat. 

“excuse me,” hotch stuck out a hand, signaling to the officers and bau members that he was going to step away, “our technical analyst and another agent just arrived. please, continue dr. reid.”

“this place is so dreary,” garcia wrinkled her nose to rowan, whispering. 

the comment earned a quiet chuckle from the agent, “it’s washington penelope, what did you expect?”

“well even the inside of the station is just so--”

“good evening,” the unit chief couldn’t help but crack a smile, placing a tender hand on garcia’s shoulder, “how was the flight?”

“boring,” garcia huffed, whirling around, “and this place? absolutely horrid, hotch. there’s not a single splash of color anywhere! it’s just all depressing and dreadful!”

“well you’ll be happy to know that a lot of your work won’t be at the station. already, we have the unsub’s personal laptop. it’s currently at his residence, but we’ll get it to you in the morning.” 

“oh thank god,” garcia clutched her chest, “how are things going?”

“babygirl!” a gush sounded from a few feet away. 

“excuse me,” garcia beamed, brightening as morgan whistled, ���there is a very handsome man waiting for me over there and i feel oh so compelled to greet him.”

rowan’s hands were behind her back, the toe of her right boot drawing lazy circles into the carpet, “hey.”

“hey,” aaron murmured, his hand gravitating towards her shoulder. his thumb flicked back and forth, tracing soothing circles into her shoulder, “are you all right?”

“i wasn’t expecting a trip to washington,” she shrugged slightly, “but i’m here now.”

“we’re finished for the night. reid just delivered the profile to the local p.d.”

“so what now?” rowan inquired, readjusting the strap of her bag. 

“dinner and then some sleep,” he replied, noticing the team trickling away from the conference room, heading towards the exit, “we should catch up. they’re about to leave us.”

“oh shit.”

aaron’s brow furrowed as he noticed the strands of hair clinging to her forehead, soaked and dampened, clothes darkened a shade, “did you forget a coat?”

“we were in a rush,” rowan protested, bringing her arms close to her body as a shudder ran through her body, “is it cold to you in here?”

aaron extended an arm, offering her a beige trenchcoat, “here.”

“what?” rowan’s lips parted with shock, “aaron, please. i-i don’t need a--”

“you’re going to catch a cold,” he took a step behind her, draping the coat around her shoulders, “you’re soaking wet and need to warm up.”

“no i won’t,” her mouth fell into a pout, the lower lip jutting out, “aaron please--”

“take it,” his hands grasped her shoulders, his head hovering just beside her ear, “you need it.”

“thank you.”

“you’re welcome,” his mouth drifted upwards, lips merely inches away from her temple, “let’s meet up with the rest of the team.”

the pair made their way out of the station, the hem of aaron’s coat sweeping against the ground as rowan walked, the arms draping against her sides. his hand lingered on her lower back, guiding her towards the chatter of the team as they loaded up the suburbans, discussing god knows what. 

“the turtle doves have reunited,” morgan taunted, throwing his bag in the trunk, “a lot of us were talking about the plans for dinner, hotch. we’re thinking about just ordering room service or ordering some pizza.”

“have you seen this place?” rowan piped up, “i don’t think the inn has room service dumbass.”

“my favorite agent has arrived,” rossi strutted up to rowan, holding out his fist, “how was the flight kiddo?” 

“i slept the entire time so i feel pretty good,” rowan answered, initiating an intricate handshake with the agent, “really though, what is there to eat around here?”

“i bet hotch has some ideas for dess--” morgan’s voice crescendoed into a grunt as garcia elbowed his side.

“there’s a local diner not too far from here,” reid chimed in, invested in his phone, “i don’t know about you guys, but i’m really craving some key lime pie.”

“i’m with you there!” rowan gushed, “come on guys, let’s go get something to eat.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“so what are we doing for rooms?” rowan turned to rossi, hotch’s coat still draped across her shoulders, “i was hoping that they could squeeze us in for an extra room but it appears that it was too late.” 

“well the plan was for reid and i to share a room, then morgan and hotch. the ladies were just going to be with one another. but it seems now that since you and garcia have arrived, there may be a change of plans.”

“are you serious?” the brunette rolled her eyes as garcia slipped into morgan’s room, “don’t fraternization rules exist in the bureau?”

“sometimes,” rossi’s eyes twinkled with amusement, “but not always in the bau.”

“so what now?” 

“well,” rossi gestured down the hall, “you have a couple of choices. you can room with the ladies, but you’d have to either sleep on the floor or cram into a bed with one of them. or, you have one other option.”

rowan’s focus shifted as she noticed hotch huddled with morgan and reid, his voice a low murmur, “rossi, please don’t tell me--”

“there is one person you could room with.”

“and who would that be?” the brunette deadpanned, her foot tapping against the carpet, arms folded across her chest.  

“the owner of that coat.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

tagged: @sapphicstars​​ @littlevodika​ @colorlessfl0wers​

[tayerroos]

Patchwork Tales: Book 1

A “9" roleplay compendium.  Read on AO3 Chapter: 13 [First] [Back] [You Are Here] [Next] Warnings for this chapter: Torture, Body Horror

[janekfan]

Through and Through

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26109502

Treating injury prompt for TMAHCweek!

“No, I,” Jon inhaled, shaky, “I think it’s here. I, I. I can feel it, like a. Hole in my mind.” Basira looked skeptical and Jon couldn’t blame her. Who would just leave something like the Dark Star unattended and alone? What were they missing?

“They just left it here.”

“I. Maybe.” He chuffed, running a hand through his prematurely greying hair. “Kinda wish Daisy was here.” The silence was heavy, oppressive, but the steps ceased. “Basira?” He could picture her eyes, shrewd in the dim. Watching.

“Yeah?” She began again.

“Sorry.” He breathed in again, deep and unsteady. “I know this isn’t--behind you!”

“Down!” She spun around, firing at the shadowy figure now standing between them, and numerous things happened at once. The muzzle flash momentarily blinded him and an incandescent burst of white hot agony lit up his side like a Christmas tree. There was a grunt of pain, his, Jon thought, a second, echoed by someone else and the glass bulb in one torch shattered, throwing them into even more darkness. He gripped his side reflexively where it hurt most and his hand came away bloody.

He’d been hit.

Likely by Basira which meant she was going to be very cross with him for failing to heed her instructions quick enough.

“Don’t move!” For a confused second, he thought she was shouting at him and he very gladly wished to follow that advice considering it hurt to even breathe, but he then realized it was for whoever was writhing on the floor, spitting at them.

“Oh, charming.” He murmured, still feeling around in the dark at his waist. The bullet seemed to have passed through him completely, hitting only the fleshiest part of him, but the blood was hot and thick and copious on his skin, soaking down his pant leg and spreading the burning sensation further, as if it was following its path. He pressed harder, balling up the hem of his jumper in an attempt to stem the hemorrhaging just enough to get through the compelling of another human being by force, the subsequent statement, the destruction of the Sun and really it was beautiful, such that he almost didn’t want to destroy it, and afterwards he felt entirely drained, like the power had been siphoned right out of him and into that deep and infinite void.

Without the adrenaline of the last few minutes, the bullet wound in his side was screaming for attention, the material clenched in his hand now sodden and heavy. Shouldn’t it be slowing by now? He was so focused on tamping down the miserable agony that Helen’s sudden appearance made him yelp. It was terrifying to say the least, that she was now offering them a way home when she’d trapped Manuela in her tunnels mere moments ago.

“Go find your Basira. Then let’s get you both home.” Home. That would be a relief. Trust Basira to key in on the glistening sheet painting nigh half of him, illuminating the frankly alarming amount of red.

“What happened?” To her credit, she sounded horrified, and Jon’s legs, with his impeccably perfect timing, chose that moment to fold like a house of cards. “Jon!”

“‘M. M’okay.”

“You’re bleeding, Archivist.”

“Thank you, Helen.” Through grit teeth, and the warmth was seeping out of his body and pooling at the back of him, underneath, exchanging places with the freezing cold stone beneath him. “I don’t. Uh. Think I, I.”

“You can still hurt, idiot.” And oh, it hurt. It did, it really did. “Hold still.” She lifted the layers and somehow the pain crescendoed to a new height and he writhed under her clinical touch, biting his tongue so he didn’t scream. “Hold still!”

“You don’t have to, to hit me, Basira.”

“You’re holding still now, Archivist.” Her face, there and not, shifting and still, appeared above him and made him so dizzy, he had to close his eyes against it.

“Thank you. H’Helen.” The sound of cloth tearing rang in his ears and he spasmed when Basira’s fingers packed the matching set of holes with it before heaving him forward and tying off a bandage around his waist. The dark swirled around him, making him nauseous, while a yellow door appeared in the corner of his see sawing vision.

“You’re going to need stitches.”

“C’can. Can you…” He bit off a pained groan, unable to finish the sentence he was attempting, when Basira lifted him back to his feet.

“Are you asking me to sew you up back at the Institute?” Kindly, Helen held the door open for them as they staggered through, amusement gleaming in her spiraling stare. At least one of them was having a good time.

“Y’yes?” He was pretty sure he couldn’t die from this. Maybe. But he did feel incredibly terrible.

“Ridiculous.” Basira muttered, absently thanking the Distortion for granting them safe passage through her numerous twisting corridors. They didn’t have to turn back to know her door was gone, nor did they have time to because Jon was already collapsing into a chair, all feeling gone from his legs, bitterly cold and trembling like the snow of Norway followed him all the way here.

“Basira? Jon?” Daisy limped around the corner, supporting herself on the wall, “I smelled blood--what happened?” She was checking his vitals, hands almost burning against his skin, the distance having been crossed in the span of one slow blink.

“Through and through.”

“D’Daisy.”

“Jon?” With him and Basira still on rocky terms, her concern, her careful touch, was a welcome thing. “I’m calling 999.”

“No, no, I. I’m.” His tongue sluggish, a beat or more behind what he was thinking.

“If you say you’re fine--Yes. We need an ambulance.” She rattled off the address and let the call drop. “I will make personally sure you aren’t.” Throwing his arm over her shoulder, she motioned to Basira to do the same, levering him up slowly out of the chair. He felt the blood drain from his face, clinging to consciousness with his fingernails. Maybe. Maybe Daisy was right?

He came awake in the back of the ambulance, not remembering when he’d closed his eyes, and felt someone squeeze his cold, cold fingers. Everything was closed off, the doors in his mind slammed shut and barred closed, numb, his connection to the Eye muddy and sluggish and his inability to Know so suddenly was frightening despite hating all it meant.

“Relax.” There was something on his face but his limbs were weighted down with rocks and he couldn’t move for the straps over his chest and legs. “Jon, look here.” Another hand, this time on his cheek and though his vision kept slipping in and out, he could recognize Daisy’s face, made sharp and angular from six months in the Choke. “You’re confused because you’ve lost a lot of blood, but I’m here.” A noise made him jump but she held him fast. “Just look at me. You’re alright.” He was tired. Daisy was here. He was safe.

“Whaz…” he didn’t know what was happening and words weren’t cooperating, even though he was sure Daisy had just explained it. Would she be angry that he couldn’t remember? It was so cold why was he so cold?

“Hush. Gonna get you fixed right up, Jon.” When their hands were separated he made a noise between a moan and a sob, the bit of warmth and connection torn away from him and he couldn’t remember, couldn’t remember what was happening. What was happening? He couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t see.

Hear.

Think.

Could just ache.

“Said it was almost like a coma.” Voices. Quiet and familiar.

“So he wouldn’t have died, died then.” Who wouldn’t have?

“Shh. He’s coming ‘round.” His eyes were open but the room was dimly lit and he couldn’t make out who was there with him. “Jon?”

“D’Daisy?” Terrible. He sounded terrible and was so grateful for the ice chips she offered him to soothe his dry throat. The Eye cheerfully informed him that he’d had something of a “close one” and he believed it. He felt weak and slow, mind sluggish to parce new information and it kept getting snagged on Martin.

Where was Martin?

He missed Martin.

Was Martin safe?

“Jon?” Shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear it, he glanced at the wires and lines with their dripping bags of fluids and drugs before lifting his eyes to Daisy’s face. “You alright? Faded out for a minute there.” He wished he could fade out again because now that he was becoming more aware, the throbbing in his side was demanding his attention loudly and painfully. “Does it hurt?”

“Mmf.” Exasperation he might also classify as fond, crossed her features. She pressed a button into his hand, depressing his thumb for him, flooding his arm with a strange sensation and he pushed the chemical formula for morphine out of the way.

“Better?” Nodding, he began to feel disconnected and somewhat distant, as though the drugs were numbing everything and he was okay with that. It would be nice to rest for just a moment. Maybe he would even stay out of their dreams. That would be nice too.

“Never…” Jon could barely control his mouth. “Been shot before…” A lot of other things, but never anything so mundane as a bullet. It took a lot to hold back the sudden and powerful urge to start giggling.

“Let’s not make it a habit.” Basira’s blurry shape appeared over Daisy’s shoulder, arms folded and expression tight. “You need to listen to me on these excursions.” Jon could hear the guilt threading its way through each word. She hadn’t meant to shoot him, of course she hadn’t. He should have been quicker, he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. “This is all hard enough as it is without you getting in the way of my bullets.”

“Mhm.” There was a glow to everything now, as though haloed in bright white light and his lashes were painted with lead, each blink revealing a brand new still slide, like the hospital room was some bizarre mockery of a home movie. The pain was there in an abstract sort of way but the exhaustion was winning out, the Beholding drawing on what he had left in an attempt to speed up the healing of his injuries.

He’d have to ask Basira for a statement when he got back.

[lilwritingraven]

Searching for Hope

Part Four

Masterlink

John Seed x Female Deputy/OC

Summary: After her encounter with John, Audry seeks refuge amongst some fellow friends.

Trigger Warnings: Verbal Abuse

Notes: I want to thank @proudspires for beta reading this and making sure it doesn’t sound crazy! And thank you to everyone who has been reading this series and leaving comments. It really makes my day!

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

She was back in the water, each wave lapping across her thighs. Still dressed in her old black tank and green cargo pants, a favorite of hers these days. Her shoes were gone, toes curling in the sand.

What held her attention, however, was the figure shadowed by the blinding headlights of the van. She could tell who it was, even before he spoke.

“Worthless.” Worthless. Worth less. W o r t h l e s s. The words echoed as a whisper, floating in the air around her. “Stupid.” Stupid. Stu pid. S t u p i d. She cried out, each word a punch to her gut.

“Please, stop,” she wailed, taking a step back into the water, hand flying to her chest.

“Look at yourself. Getting knocked up by some cultist? I knew you were a low life nothing.” Nothing, noth ing, n o t h i n g.

“No-“ She was gasping, unable to catch her breath.

“You’ll never be a good mother.” Audry clenched her eyes shut, hands covering her ears.

“Shut up!” Tears fell, dripping into waves. “You don’t know anything!”

She was alone when she opened her eyes, cloaked in darkness. The van had disappeared along with him. Her father.

She sensed John before he spoke, his hand brushing lightly over her shoulder. “Audry.” His voice was light, humming her name in the way she liked. She leaned against his chest, head resting against his cheek. His hand curled around, resting lightly against the base of her throat. Slowly, agonizingly, getting tighter. “You’ll never be free.”

Alarm rang through her, any thoughts of escape flying out the window as his other arm came around her waist. He pushed the hem of her shirt up, fingers splaying against the skin of her stomach. “John, please…” She was always begging him these days, it seemed.

“You’re mine now.” His lips came to rest on her temple, speaking the words to her mind. “This child, our child, will need somebody to protect it.” Her heart sank, his laugh vicious. “World knows you can’t do it.”

She struggled again, but John held tight. “Leave me alone!” Desperate. She was desperate to get away. She couldn’t handle being held down, brought back too many memories of-

She was yanked awake, opening her eyes to bright lights and a face- someone standing over her, holding her down. “Audry, you need to sit still!” She knew him, had last seen him when…

Falling.

Falling.

“Amazing Grace-“

“Sheriff?” The shock of it was enough to send her falling back against the bed, chest heaving. Stood above her, hands on her shoulders, was Whitehorse. He was looking down at something. Someone, she realized. Someone who was pulling a string through her side.

“There we go.” His voice was rough, as familiar as her own. It brought tears to her eyes.

Audry reached up, fingers wrapping around his. “I thought- I was so worried you had-“ He looked back to her, features softening.

“Listen child, there will be time for catch up later. Right now, there’s more pressing issues. How far along are you?” It made no sense; how did he know? Audry gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“But, when, how did you?”

“Pastor Jeffries informed us. Good thing too, the adrenaline alone would have killed that poor thing in there.” The look he gave was so tender Audry found herself squirming away, remnants of her dream still floating in her peripherals.

“I was 7 weeks when John-“ the words choked her, for reasons other than what Whitehorse had guessed.

He squeezed her shoulder, trying to be comforting. “He doesn’t know where you are. He won’t be a problem anymore.” Not true.

“Where am I?”

“The Henbane. We’ve taken up refuge at the prison, but don’t worry yourself with that.” He grunted as he stood, nodding at the woman stitching her side. “For now, you rest. You’ve got some healing to do.”

She could have told him that the last thing she wanted was to go back to her dreams, but it somehow didn’t seem important. Before he could leave, she grasped at his sleeve. “Please, can you call Adelaide?”

He paused, grimacing just a moment before allowing a small nod. “I’ll do what I can.”

_______________

Adelaide Drubman was more of a mother to Audry growing up than her own had been. So, when she came storming through the prison into the makeshift hospital, Audry could have cried with relief. She ignored the pain the pull of her stitches caused to give the older woman the hug she herself wanted.

And Adelaide never disappointed.

“Audry, I swear you’re trying to give me a heart attack. What’s this I hear about you getting captured and nearly killed by John Seed?” Her hands were all over Audry, pulling her shirt up, inspecting every square inch she could get her hands on.

“Addie, please,” Audry didn’t think her face could burn any brighter, looking at the other infirmary patients. Grabbing Addie’s hands, she brought her attention back. “Please. I need to talk to you. Somewhere,” her eyes glanced around the room again. “More private.”

Addie was not sensitive about privacy. “Audry, you don’t need to be modest with them. I’m sure they’ve all seen their fair share of boobs, penis’ and vaginas. Now come on, let me see the damage.”

Audry had been wrong; her face did get hotter. “Addie! That’s not what I meant, please.” She pulled them both towards the back room, where the makeshift doctor was residing.

“Alright darlin’, anything you need. You, out.” Addie pointed at the doctor/veterinarian. He scrambled away, smart enough not to make an argument. She sat Audry down and waited patiently, giving her full attention.

Audry swallowed, looking around the room to try and find her nerve. “I need- What I mean is- It’s like…” She let out a grunt, frustrated with herself. “I’m… I’m pregnant-“

“You’re what-“

“And John is the father.” Audry finished, cutting Addie off. The other woman leapt from her chair, sending it tumbling behind her. Audry looked down at her hands, despair pulsing through her veins. “I thought I could just continue fighting, just be, I don’t know, careful? But…” She released her breath, the strands of her hair flying into the air.

Addie was rooted to the spot, gaping at Audry. “Now, darlin’ I know you know how to use protection. Hell, I was the one who gave you your first condom!”

“Addie-“ Audry’s face grew horrified, but the older girl continued on.

“So, please, explain to me how this happened.” She folded her arms over her chest, looking down her nose at Audry; a look Audry had gotten many times growing up. She may not have been her mother by blood, but that never stopped Adelaide Drubman.

Audry bit her lip, playing with her fingernails. “I, um, might have been just a little, teensy, tiny bit… drunk…” She flinched at her own words, feeling the stupidity welling to the surface. “It didn’t pass my mind.”

“Audry,” And Addie laughed. “Was he really that good in the sack? That you couldn’t even stop to put on a condom?”

Audry did not want to be having this conversation. “Adelaide, please. There are more pressing matters than- than how good he was in bed.” Yes, her face was on fire. No, she would never live this conversation down. “How am I supposed to help, to save Burke, and Joey, and… and-“ She hadn’t thought about him since this all started, and shame ripped her open. “Oh my gosh, Staci!”

Addie grabbed her shoulders, pulling her up and into a hug as the sobs racked her body. “Shh, honey. It’s not your fault. I can help you. I’ll call my nephew, and have my bastard ex-husband send Hurk Jr. out here to help. You’re not alone in this.” Addie pushed the hair behind her ear, wiping a stray tear from her honeyed eyes.

“I- I don’t know if it will help. What if John finds out? Joseph seems to have a pretty good idea. They’re probably looking for me right now!” Panic rose like bile in her throat, threatening to overwhelm her. She gripped onto the older woman’s shirt like a lifeline. “I can’t be trapped with them. I can’t be owned by them.”

“That will never happen.” It was rare to hear Addie snarl, which is probably what made it that much more frightening. “Nothing will happen to you. I won’t let you leave my side.”

Audry looked up at the woman, eyes searching hers, nerves calming slightly. Slowly, her fingers began to relax. “Okay. Okay, I trust you.”

At that, Adelaide grinned. “What’s not to trust, darlin’?”

[heli0s-writes]

Problem

Summary: Problem: a matter or situation regarded as unwelcome or harmful and needing to be dealt with and overcome. Pairings: Bucky x Reader A/N: Someone asked if I would consider doing a part 2 to DEADCRUSH ... so here it is! 1k word count because I can be brief! Also update: Part 3

Bag of Tricks One-Shots Masterlist

There is a routine now that Bucky is with you. There is a routine that introduces order to your life and comfort to his. There is also fun, so much fun—movie nights full of cuddling and inside jokes, lap races in the pool punctuated with wet and sloppy chlorine kisses, missions filled with impatient energy and heated bodies snuck away inside supply closets.

He can’t get enough of how you squeal and whine under his hands. Even though he’s re-discovering how to kiss and touch, you tell him it’s all wonderful, that you love it, that you can’t get enough, either. Then, your smile flashes like headlights and blinds him completely.

So, there is tension. He’s nervous and wound up and even though you are the balm that can soothe him, you are also the flame that ignites him.

And then for once—for the first time in seven months since he’s met you, on a Saturday evening, there is a problem.

Bucky feels like he is being ripped in half. Split open like a paper doll when he sees you leaned up against a table next to a stranger.

The Latin Pop you are such a fan of bumps through the compound speakers, vies for the attention of his ears. People dance in the middle of the floor, drinks in hand. Adults letting go of their inhibitions at a Stark party, all liquored up and loose tongued.

“What’s up, Buck?”

Steve notices Bucky’s rigid shoulders, the downward curve of his mouth and the way his eyes blaze a clear path over to the bar.

“You uh—hey…” Steve’s voice is low and firm when he realizes what has Bucky so mesmerized. “Don’t, pal.”

“Don’t what?” Bucky hisses, eyes fixed ahead. Don’t get upset? Too fucking late, he thinks.

“She’s just talking to someone. People do that.”

Yes, he sees you talking. But he also sees that you have a beer bottle in each hand- one empty, the other you are pouring down your throat like its water and you are lost in the desert, and then he sees you twirl them both around like drumsticks.

He sees the way that guy hovering over you grins and laughs and puts his hand on your bare shoulder.

He sees the outfit you are wearing tonight, something he felt a little stitch about when you first emerged from your room. A top with little frilled ruffles, hem sitting high on your torso, neatly pinched into a triangle point at the middle of your sternum. A strip of your chest shows before the matching skirt with two slit up the sides flows down, down, all the way to your toes. You’re dusted head to toe in pale pink, lips glossed, lashes flared.

And he just can’t fucking help it because you are so pretty. Glowing and smiling-- that wide stretch of your mouth he daydreams about when you’re not around.

And now some fucking guy is completely spellbound and will daydream about those lips too.

At your door, he had said, “Honey—you uh, you wearin’ that tonight?”

“Yeah! You like it?” You chirped, flouncing around him like a woodland nymph, bursting forth with energy, anticipating the moment when he’d compliment you. Of course he liked it. Of course. You could be wearing a damn potato sack and he would like it.

Now Steve is shaking his head at him, pained to see once again how utterly smitten his friend is. He knows Bucky has always had a protective streak, all those years ago, so defensive of any girl on his arm. Its blanket under the ice has been chipped away, waking up the dormant turmoil until it rose up to flare out of Bucky’s eyes.

Steve also knows you are utterly oblivious and entirely unaware of this situation. Not that you should feel one way or the other because he knows Bucky is also being unfair.

“Buck,” Steve warns, “You can’t get mad at some guy for trying.”

Bucky says nothing.

“Bucky,” Steve calls again, more firmly. “The girl you like is beautiful. It happens. Look at her.”

Across the room, you wave, biting your lip with your teeth in a smile and shrugging your shoulders coyly at him. Then your attention is caught by Peter strutting up, engaging you in a conversation and pulling you away to marvel at the fish tank Tony had brought in last week. You snatch the beer from Peter’s hand and scold him for underage drinking.

The fucking guy at the bar stands baffled.

Bucky can’t help but shake his head at the way you lean on Parker, elbow on his shoulder, a whole head taller than him with your heels on, foot tapping to the beat of the music. You tilt your ear onto the top of his combed brown hair and point to a glowing streaked fin on a lustrous rainbow fish.

“Holy shit, look at that shiny boy!” You squeal, turning to gaze at Bucky and give him another grin. His heart flutters as you completely forget Parker and nearly skip over.

“Hey,” Bucky breathes when you nuzzle his neck, getting a lungful of the flowery perfume you sprayed on earlier this evening. He had watched you affectionately as you spritzed it into the air and walked through, eyes shut, muttering something about not using too much but not knowing how else to “do the damn thing”.

Steve plucks the empty bottles from you and sets it on the table with a smirk.

“You havin’ fun?” Steve questions and you nod enthusiastically.

“Yeah. Have you guys seen the fish yet? There’s this awesome one with a silver fin. Oh, Pete!”

Peter is standing with his arms outstretched, brow scrunched, and mouth open peevishly as if to ask what the hell, man? until you careen back next to him at the tank, cackling all the while. “Sorry! I got-”

“Yeah, yeah, saw your boyfriend. I’m nothing to you!”

“You are such a baby, Peter. Oh dude, there’s a little shrimp in there. Look, Double P! It’s you!”

Steve looks pointedly at Bucky, now softened and adoring again. “Didja hear that, Buck? She thinks the one with the silver fin is awesome.”

“Shut up. Jerk.”

He looks at you with a smile, wiggling around on your feet, bouncing to the music cheerfully and teasing Parker. He looks at your shiny hair, your rosy cheeks, your nose scrunched up as you laugh. That mouth he daydreams about.

He looks at you suddenly propping your hands up against the tank, feet stepping apart as the music quiets for a split second before the beat drops. Shocked, Bucky looks at you twerking against an audience of iridescent fish and Parker, who is screeching for you to stop.

And he bursts into laughter.

And then, suddenly, the problem disappears.

Part 3

[elmidol]

Prisoner of the First Order (NSFW)

Three Blind Tooke Part One Resistance is Futile

Read on AO3

Warnings: oral, face sitting, attempted murder

Three Blind Tooke Part One: Resistance is Futile Chapter Thirteen: Prisoner of the First Order

As our bodies lie entwined, I am not yours, you are not mine; Strangers interlocked with fate, One of us the killer, the other the bait.

If someone had told you that you would be straddling Kylo Ren’s face, you would have wondered what the hell they were talking about. If they had told you that you would be grinding down against him as he moaned underneath you, his tongue buried in your cunt, you would have blushed and probably either slapped or punched them in the face. Yet that was exactly what you were doing. Your hands were still in their restraints, so you could not grab at his head, else you would. Instead you pressed yourself closer against him. You could feel his lips curl into a smile, his eyes full-blown as he stared up at you in with a lust-filled gaze.

Your breathing was heavy, and you threw your head back as you were brought to orgasm. Kylo Ren swallowed greedily, his tongue lapping until he had his fill. Only then did he turn you around so that he could lower you where your head was upon the pillow. The sound of his zipper being dragged down had your eyebrows rising. Before he did anything else, he crossed his arms in front of himself, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and pulled the cloth over his head. Your eyes wandered along his naked torso. He was well-toned; something you could have appreciated more had the two of you been on the same side of the war. You pushed aside such thoughts, allowing yourself to be wrapped up in the moment.

The sight of him seizing his bottom lip with his teeth as he pushed the head of his cock into you had you gasping as much as the pleasant pressure derived from that action. He was clearly enjoying himself, letting go more than he ever had. His mouth was open, his eyes closing as he started to fuck you. You licked your lips, watching as he moved so that his chest was to yours. Your shirt was riding up on you; he hadn’t touched it in any attempt to remove the cloth from you. A part of you was thankful for this—a rather large part. His mouth was on your throat, tongue and teeth attacking until he shifted to kiss your cheek. You nuzzled your way to his neck.

Having been so obedient up to that point, you were able to go for it. He had his defenses down, and you sunk your teeth into him. Blood splashed into your mouth, and you kept biting down. Harder and harder—until his hand flew up and he pinched the sides of your face so that you were forced to release him. Kylo Ren pulled out of you, thrusting you away from him and onto the ground. You rolled, leapt up to your feet, and headbutted him, knocking him back against the bed when he had been attempting to stand.

In your peripheral, you could see he had one hand over the injury, keeping the blood from rushing out of him. It was not necessarily a fatal wound, however you knew you had gotten him good. You whipped to the side when he successfully stood, turned, and aimed a kick in his direction. He caught it on his forearm, extended his hand, and summoned his lightsaber into it. You watched as it flew across the room. You grit your teeth, knowing that even one-handed he was a formidable foe. Even mostly naked with his cock hanging out. The man ignited the three plasma blades, and you had to literally drop to the ground to avoid losing an arm.

You rolled—towards him rather than away. At the same time, you angled your body so that you could thrust both your feet at his thigh. You were forced to instead hook your legs halfway up the length of his, using his limbs to pull yourself around him so that you were not stabbed in the shoulder. Sparks flew from where the hot blade met the floor.

I need my fucking hands! you screamed in your head. The next time he aimed an attack your way, you maneuvered yourself so that the blade cut through the chain that connected the shackles on your wrists. Though your hands were still covered by the mittens, which you could not remove due to the shackles, you found that you were able to better defend yourself. You extended one of your arms, using your uninjured hand to grab a part of the bed. You threw yourself across the piece of furniture, putting some distance between you and your captor. A weapon…a weapon…

Suddenly, however, you were paralyzed. You swore in your head, having forgotten about his ability to render you immobile in your desperation to harm or even kill him. You had been on your best behavior since he had given you the cookie; yet while you had been locked away from him for those six cycles, you had been plotting. If kindness was your weakness, you had wondered, why could it not be his as well? And you had learned from your mistake with the mirror shard. He was always on his guard…except for when you were having sex with him.

As he moved around the bed, he at last dropped his hand from his neck in order to adjust himself. You watched the blood slipping down him at a rate that suggested he would need stitches; perhaps a blood transfusion if he took too long in seeking medical attention. You felt a certain level of satisfaction in knowing you had given him that injury. Even if you were about to be killed.

Kylo Ren loomed over you, slowly raising his lightsaber until one of the crossguards was level with your throat. Being paralyzed, you could do nothing except move your eyes to watch each movement he made. Your captor turned the lightsaber to the side and brought the smaller plasma blade closer to your neck. You could feel the heat emanating from it, sweat gathering on your body. Closer and closer. The heat practically burning you—and then doing just that when for a split second it touched your flesh. He drew back the blade almost immediately. You knew then that he had no intention of killing you. No; you, apparently, still held information he wanted.

His thumb hit the switch, and the blades disappeared. “You react poorly to kindness.” Metal and his fist collided with the side of your face. You felt something snap in your jaw and a flash of red and white clouded your vision as you fell to the floor. You were once more in control of your body, not that it did you any good. Raising one of your mitten-clad hands, you touched your face and immediately shuddered. Dislocated, you knew.

He stepped away, the man stumbling a single step due to his blood loss. Though you had ultimately lost and though you were in pain, you inwardly gloated. Kylo Ren tossed his lightsaber onto the bed, covered his wound once more to stifle the flow of blood, and picked up his commlink. He called for a physician as well as stormtroopers. You were dragged out of the room almost immediately, the stormtroopers taking you to med bay so that your dislocated jaw could be remedied.

You were shackled to one of the beds and heavily drugged. The physicians gave you a liquid diet. As for clothing, following a shower you were given a gown commonly worn by patients. You objected to nothing, much too out of it with the drugs they were giving you.

On one of the occasions when you awoke, you blinked your eyes open to find General Hux standing at the end of your bed. His cold stare, those blue eyes, were taking you in with minor curiosity and more than a little disgust. He asked one of the nurses about your condition; it seemed he wanted to use you for more information. Given that you were still having pain and difficulty opening your mouth much, the redhead left without getting what he wanted from you.

When you had recovered a bit more, you were removed from medbay and taken instead to one of the cells aboard the Finalizer. You waited whenever you were awake, counting the seconds and minutes and hours that piled atop one another. It was not as though you had anything better to do.

You took to fantasizing about the past, about a number of your fallen comrades.

Ip sighed in contentment as he lay on his back. You were lying beside him. The two of you had completed a mission wherein not a single one of your comrades had lost their lives. It was not as though there were constant battles between the Resistance and the First Order. Sometimes it was hard to forget that. Yet when the two of you were on your backs and staring up at all the constellations, it was even harder to remember that there was a war going on at all.

“Meep, what’s your biggest fear?” he asked. Your eyes slid over to Ip. You had seen the creature—person, your mind corrected, yet you ignored it—known as Kylo Ren three times on the battlefield now. That was where your thoughts immediately flew to, however you nudged them aside.

Your gaze left his face to return to the stars. “I…don’t know. Being helpless?”

“Helpless against what?” Ip questioned, urging you to elaborate. Your lips tugged into a frown. Beside you, the man snorted. “Sheesh. If you have to think that hard about it…everything?”

“Well… It’s hard to think about, like, how it was before I joined the Resistance. I was only afraid of more simple things. Not being beautiful. Dying young. Not having a decent job or family. A lot of superficial things.”

“Dying young doesn’t seem superficial.”

“I was also afraid of growing old,” you admitted, wrinkling your nose. That earned a chuckle from your companion. “I guess…it’s that… It was superficial then. I’m still afraid that I will die…die young at that…in this war. But it isn’t uselessly throwing my life away. What I meant by dying young was that…something stupid would happen, and I wouldn’t have done anything worth having lived for. Joining the Resistance…I am willing to die for this, and that doesn’t seem like a waste to me.”

“I think this is why you’re my favorite right now, Meep.” Your frown disappeared, your lips pulling upwards into a small smile. “For your age…you have a mature outlook on things.” For your age. As though you were not even an adult, yet you were. It nearly made you laugh, however your smile merely grew a few inches. “You understand and appreciate the risks, but you know it’s worth it… Not everyone has that level of conviction. And a number who do, man, I think they would crumble in the face of adversity.” It was a high compliment, and you found yourself speechless upon hearing it. “Don’t change, Meep. Don’t let this war break you at all.” You nodded, still unable to find your voice.

The door to your cell opened. You snapped out of your thoughts. Icy-blue eyes set in a cold gaze. Red hair. General Hux strode into the cell with you. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he had an air of superiority about him befitting of his position. He moved forward until he was directly in front of you. You did not flinch under his scrutiny, though you felt rather unnerved by it.

“There are a number of ways to extract information from you,” he drawled, as though it were beneath him to have you even breathing in his presence. “I am aware of your stubbornness. Now, how shall we proceed?”

You blinked slowly. “You should kill me,” you said evenly. His lips quirked up into a smirk. There was something in his gaze that spoke admiration, though he gave no words of praise; not that you had expected him to, given that the two of you were enemies. “I’ve said it repeatedly.”

“Yes, I am aware,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “And yet we have managed to obtain information from you all the same. It has taken time, however you have proven to be quite useful.”

“I have nothing left to say, to give,” you stated, prompting General Hux to step closer. He kept a certain distance between your face and his. This was much different than how Kylo Ren had treated you. “What?”

The high ranking First Order officer released what sounded almost as though it was a breathy laugh. “Other Resistance members who were subjected to isolation broke within the first week.” You blinked. “It’s been three, and here you aren’t even begging to give me information. I see now what Ren spoke of; you are patient. How long were you placed in solitary confinement during your training?” Your lips pressed into a thin line. “Such a cruel method, yet they clearly conducted themselves in an effective manner. The entire second cell wasn’t eliminated, was it? There are three long-distance shooters per cell at any given time. Two of which are highly trained. One always a trainee to replace one of the other two. Only one of the veterans deployed at a time.

“That much we obtained by watching you, by tracking the movements of your cell…by killing the members of it. The second cell—we had believed that all were eliminated, however I had my doubts. The trainee and one of the veterans were killed. Yet the other, after observing you, I have come to conclusion that she or he is alive. In hiding. Patient. But the First Order is plenty patient as well. And you do have your uses. Simply speaking to you, my suspicions have been confirmed.” You narrowed your eyes at him, your face flushing hot at your unwitting betrayal of Resistance information. “Would you like a shower?”

You snarled. “If you’re going to rape me—“

He laughed, a rich sound. “Oh. No. Physically, I won’t deny that you are appealing. However, I have no interest in fucking you. You’re Resistance.” You waited for that next word, the one so many of the First Order spoke. Yet he did not utter it, not until he at last removed his hands from behind his back and set the fingertips of one to his forehead. “Scum, correct? You are fascinating. The first, and perhaps only, that I don’t quite consider to be scum. In fact, your dedication is admirable.” How many times had you been told such things? “A number of my officers are, sadly, lacking in such faith. In such determination.

“Make no mistake: you are a prisoner of the First Order. Yet I can be civil. You can choose to remain here for longer—weeks, if it need be. Or you may have a shower in exchange for something so simple.” He paused. A dramatic effect that he employed so well. You felt yourself holding your breath. “I merely need to know how long you were tutored for.”

“Wh-what?” It had not been what you were expecting. In a way, it was a relief that Kylo Ren had not been able to snatch such information from you. The walls you put up were only so thick. You had been trained using solitary confinement in order for you to learn how to put up such mental walls. To not break so easily. To entertain yourself with ponderings, memories, and fantasies. “Tutored for?”

“Yes. In general. A rough estimate.”

“Why?”

“You’re the reason we latched onto the idea that there might even be a splinter cell. Your accuracy is astounding. Twelve high-ranking officers, most of whom were heavily guarded. Yet you managed to get those shots in. How long did they train you for?”

“You’re wondering whether or not I had a history with such weapons…”

“I am,” he admitted so plainly that it took you a moment to take it in. “Judging by your expression, I would say this is so.”

“Never long-distance.”

“You did, however, have a history with guns?” There truly was no harm in him knowing this. It had no effect on their search for the other Resistance members. You dipped your chin in a nod of confirmation. General Hux was perfectly silent for a number of seconds. The pregnant pause allowed you time to appreciate why he was in the position he was, why he held his position. This man was notorious amongst the Resistance members. You understood why. He was calculating, obviously willing to take risks. “I believe I promised a shower.” You felt your heart begin to race, anticipation and dread welling up inside of you. “A stromtrooper will come to escort…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing when you tensed. “What a queer reaction. Not that I can blame you. Trusting your enemy can be a foolish thing.”

“It’s what you permit them to do.”

“Hm? Ah, the ‘troopers themselves?” Again did you nod. “I see.” General Hux lifted the restraints that you were put in whenever you were hosed down—this had happened only a handful of times during the weeks you had been kept locked up—and worked them onto your wrists and ankles.

You did nothing to protest, to make him change his mind about leading you out of your cell himself. General Hux placed a gloved hand on your back and nudged you towards the door. You stumbled forward, your legs weak from lack of use. Righting yourself, you walked through the door when it opened. Officers and stormtroopers alike looked your way. They stood at attention when they noticed the General, who hardly paid them any heed. You could feel his eyes on you. Always analytical with you, learning from you. A formidable foe, you knew. The hairs on your arms stood on end.

You did not know how to feel when clearly he was escorting you to his private quarters. He had claimed to have no interest in touching you despite his admission that you were physically appealing to him. You wanted to take him at his word, as he had been honest with you thus far. Yet to trust your enemy, as he had stated, could be a foolish thing.

When the pair of you arrived inside his quarters, General Hux seized up his blaster. His finger slid over the trigger and his eyes wandered to your wrists as he unbound them. Holding the weapon level with your head, he instructed you to undo the restraints on your ankles. You obeyed, glad to be rid of them. His eyes were glued to your hands. More specifically, to the two tattoos. His lips twitched before twisting into a cruel smile. He said nothing, however, of the matter and instead gestured towards the door to the refresher. You made your way inside, knowing he was following you and would not leave you alone. This man did not trust you; and for that, you respected him all the more.

You undressed when you were told to do so. He kept his blaster pointed at you at all times. Even while you turned on the spray, waited for the water to heat up, and then climbed inside.

You looked at the scar on your hand from where the mirror shard had dug into your flesh. You turned your hand then and stared at the tattoo. He had put his name on you. Both his names. Yet you were something he was willing to discard when it came down to it. He truly did view you as spoils of war. A mere possession. Like a toy that a mother labels for her child in case it gets lost.

As you thought such things, you had reached for the soap, lathering it into a foam that you scrubbed onto your body. You fully showered, accepting a razor when General Hux handed it to you with the hand that was not holding the blaster. You eyed his weapon, which caused him to smile sardonically and inform you that it was of no use to you. His fingerprint was needed, you ascertained from this comment. You finished showering, shut off the water, and wrung out your hair before wrapping a towel around your body. You were allowed to dry off before he led you back to the other portion of his quarters.

There was a fresh pile of clothing on a chair. Folded to perfection, waiting for you. Upon being told that it was allowed, you walked over to the chair and grabbed the clothes. It was a sort of jumpsuit. Definitely a prisoner’s suit.

You were well aware this was not like your times with Kylo Ren. As soon as you were dressed, General Hux escorted you back to your cell. You had half expected him to pry, to attempt to gain more information from you. Why else take you all the way to his personal quarters? You did not dwell on such thoughts. You were perfectly complacent as he led you back to your cell, as he once more strapped you down to the table.

“So well trained in patience,” General Hux murmured. You could hear the appreciation in his voice, the admiration. You well understood where it came from. He was a general, after all. It was natural he would wish the same skills for all his men. The fact that he could appreciate it in an enemy spoke volumes. In many ways he was as deadly as Kylo Ren. “Yet it is human nature to seek out companionship, even if only on a temporary basis. He has no desire to see you—what was it he called you? Naboo…tooke?” You flinched. His voice was so level, so passive. He was not exactly teasing you, yet his words were like punches.

Kylo Ren had no desire to see you, your mind repeated. He had used you all up, gotten his fill. Or perhaps you had simply injured him enough to make him realize he could not take you lightly.

“We know precisely which planet the other LDS is currently on. Monitoring all in-coming and out-going ships. No red flags yet. Perhaps he or she died from injuries received.”

“You’re looking for a body for confirmation of that.”

“Naturally.” He once more used a pause, although this time it was to change gears. “You are surprisingly well-mannered.” You furrowed your brow, confused as to what he was implying. “Many in your position throw out careless insults, some of which betray information without them realizing what it is they are doing. You, on the other hand, know how to hold your tongue. You seem to choose your words carefully.” You narrowed your eyes, observing him as he watched you. “I am quite fluent in body language as well. Your feelings towards Ren are rather intriguing. Such conflict. You want him dead, and yet… Who is it that he reminds you of?”

“I don’t know what—“

“You needn’t lie. I am sure you’re more than aware that he reminds you of someone… or multiple people. Your general, no doubt,” he said, his smirk fully formed. You were uncertain whether or not the entire First Order knew of Kylo Ren’s heritage, however it seemed that this man did. “However, there seems to be someone else… Perhaps someone from your childhood?” You did nothing more than blink, however he tilted his head back a fraction of an inch, satisfied. “I see. A first love?” You frowned. “No?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Simple curiosity.”

“I’ve heard it’s deadly.”

“You are, by far, the most intriguing prisoner we have had.” It was a compliment, and in a way you were able to take it as such. He was referring to your personality, your reactions. Not your rank. Not your gender. Nothing other than the way you were communicating with him. It almost unnerved you, how much respect this man had managed to gain from you. You would never agree with him, his methods, or his cause; yet you would never be able to deny that you, too, were drawn into the conversation. “Childhood is a rather influential time in our lives.”

You stared at him, allowing your head to tilt to the side. “It was a character in a book.”

“That he reminds you of?”

“Not exactly. One of my friends on Naboo liked the character. I didn’t. It wasn’t until I was older that I finally understood the appeal the character had for her. A certain complexity that you don’t comprehend when you’re younger.”

“I see. Your interactions with Ren have reminded you of such complexities.”

“Where were you raised?”

There was a moment of quiet, which you believed meant he would not answer. “Arkanis.”

“I’ve never been there.” You sighed, closing your eyes and turning your face away from him. “The senator is part of the Centrist faction, isn’t she?”

“You’re rather well-versed in politics.”

“Not really. There is a lot I don’t know.”

“Is that modesty or avoidance?”

You chuckled, shaking your head a bit. “Both. You truly are perceptive.”

“It is solely the fact that you remain respectful that I am humoring your need for a conversation,” General Hux stated.

It was your turn to smirk. “Plus the off-chance that I reveal anything useful to you.”

“There is that,” he said, crossing his arms behind his back and watching you. You had once more turned to him, your eyes meeting his. “Yet I must admit that I don’t think you would be so careless…not yet. Perhaps the two of us will speak again…following the execution of the other LDS.”

You grit your teeth, yet kept your mouth shut as the First Order General left your cell.

Alone again, with nothing but your thoughts. You waited, waited, and waited. Time passed you by once more. You knew it had been longer than a day since the redhead had spoken with you. But exactly how long?

Kylo Ren doesn’t even care if I am well… He wants me dead. You sighed. That’s how it should be.

The door to your cell opened, and you again jumped. It wasn’t mealtime yet, was it? Your confusion only grew when Urvno stepped around so that you could see him. He had a kit with him, a syringe with local anesthetics. The physician nodded in greeting before setting to work at what he had come to do. He removed the chip from you, the birth control. You watched him, having forgotten it was even in you. You had forgotten that they needed to be replaced every now and again. Yet he did not lift up another syringe.

Urvno was beginning to pack away his things when you spoke to him. “That’s it?”

“There is no…need…for a new chip.”

“…I need to speak with…with General Hux.” Urvno appeared taken aback, however he fingered his pocket before drawing out his commlink. You waited patiently as he requested the general’s presence. A confirmation that the man would come came through the commlink. You and Urvno waited. When the redhead did enter, his eyes darted immediately to you, an expectant look on his face. “I… I need…the… I need a new chip.”

“A new chip,” General Hux repeated. His lips tugged into a frown. “You’ve been fondled in the past?” You swallowed down some spit as you slowly began to nod. It ashamed you to admit as much. Here you were, asking for a sort of mercy from your enemy. General Hux looked to Urvno. “Do it.” As his order was carried out, his blue eyes lingered on you. “Another week. It’s been a month since you’ve been here. A small portion of the third cell was located. All minor players. The cell knew to go into hiding… There must be a means of communication between the three cells. It would be how the Resistance would know when to send in new LDS trainees when replacements are needed.

“There is a chance the third cell has been dissolved from its previous state. Yet the LDS… the three from the third cell, and the one from the second, will continue to be hunted; make no mistake of that. You said you have never been to Arkanis.”

“So?” You winced as the chip was pushed into you.

“A Centrist faction of the New Republic. Those in opposition to your general, or at least the most vocal about it. If one wanted to hide, it would not be there. Too much of a risk. Neutral territory, or else one of the Populists’s planets. But they cannot hide forever.”

“You…you’ve infiltrated the New Republic…those Centrists…”

“You listen well. However, I would not necessarily call it an infiltration. The two factions were quite honest with their views.”

“Perhaps not to the extreme that they held them.”

“Perhaps not. This is true for both sides.” General Hux waited until Urvno finished putting away his things and left before speaking. “You’ve resigned yourself to your fate, I am sure. You’re willing to accept death for the sake of one last ditch effort at aiding the Resistance. Be that by holding your tongue or by harming someone… You would attempt to kill me if given the chance.”

“I would.”

“We understand one another.”

“That you plan to use me in some way…that I will fight against it. That’s all I understand.”

“I see. Then I will show you the same respect you have displayed by telling you this: unlike in the past, the punches will not be held. Ren has no interest in keeping you alive any longer. You are at our complete mercy.”

“You’re a merciless man.”

“I am a strategic man,” he countered, causing you to hold your tongue. “Ren has no interest in keeping you alive. I, on the other hand, am aware of certain benefits in not yet killing you. You need only to be properly tamed. You’re patient, yet so am I. I do not expect you to agree with me, nor am I under any misconception that you will ever fully yield to the First Order. However, I am aware of what lengths you would go to in order to aid the Resistance. What straws you would grasp at. So long as I control what victories you achieve, there can be no harm.”

“In other words, you’re treating me like a muzzled dog.”

“Or perhaps a de-clawed cat.”

“I guess that would be more accurate.”

“In that you will attempt to lash out with your teeth—with whatever resources and at whatever chance you get? Precisely.”

“You truly are a ruthless man.” His smile was a little less cruel, as though he appreciated your characterization of him.

[I left one monster for another; One had claws and the other had teeth. Always there was one thing I feared— Their silver tongues would frighten me.]

[whumppsychology]

Blood and Candlelight

I was going to do this chronologically, but “order” was never my strong suit so here it is. A day after being taken in by her rescuers. This one’s a wee bit long, sorry not sorry.

Tagging: @spiffythespook @whatwasmyprevioususername

Content Warning: self harm, gore, medical gore/talk (use of needles, mention of sedatives), major hurt/comfort feels

Amarylla hadn’t realized she had drifted off, but she woke up with a sense of urgency. Her nap, however short, was full of murky dreams, a collage of her early days at the institute. A feather touch on her face, someone moving her leg to the side, being trapped with a rock always falling but never getting any lower, and a pain in her right arm that made her jolt upright. She knew what she had to do, and she had to do it now. Get it out before they could use the tracker to follow her here.

She checked to make sure her guard was still asleep, it was the smaller man, Cassian, and slipped out of the room. It was the first time she had been out by herself, aside from her trips to the bathroom. She hadn’t gotten a good look at where she was when she had woken up that first time on their couch, but it took her no time to find what she was looking for.

The kitchen wasn’t a large space, but even in the dark, she could tell it was well stocked. The cabinets were full of crackers, cereal, and every shape of pasta imaginable and the fridge was larger than any she had seen before. She rummaged through the cupboards and drawers until she found a sharp-looking paring knife and an assortment of scented candles.

She knelt in the corner and laid out the candles, close enough for light, but not enough for her to accidentally burn herself. She lit them slowly, tapping their wicks one at a time and visualizing what it was she wanted. Once they were all lit, she held the knife over a flame in an attempt to sterilize it. She had seen people do it in films, but had no idea if it actually worked or how long she had to hold it for. Once the knife had cooled, she tried to calm herself, psyching herself up for the task at hand.

She needed to get it out. She could feel it, nestled under the skin of her arm, telling them exactly where she was. If she thought about it, she could almost feel it pulsing softly, but she knew that was just her imagination. She took a deep breath, and set the knife to the soft flesh of her inner arm. Another breath, and she plunged it in, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. Blood spilled down her arm and soaked into the hem of her shirt/dress. She twisted the blade, trying to pry the tracker loose, but she couldn’t get it to come out and only succeeded in widening the cut. Panic roiled in her gut and her eyes were going blurry with tears as she threw the knife aside. With a whimper, stuck her finger into her own flesh and managed to slide the little chip free. Scrambling for the knife again, hands slick with blood, she brought the handle down on the chip again and again, smashing it to pieces. 

“What the hell is happenin’ in here? What do you think you’re doin’?!” she hadn’t noticed him come in and she glanced up in surprise when Cassian’s hands closed over her wrists. 

“Drop it.” he said, squeezing her left wrist and she let the blade slip from her fingers and clatter to the floor. 

“I...they...they were following. They know where I am. They always know. I had to get it out. Had to get it out. Please, I can’t go back there. I don’t wanna go back there” she sobbed, losing all the self control she had left. 

“Hey, hey! It’s ok. You’re alright now. No one’s gonna hurt you.,”  Cassian wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to his chest and rubbing her back gently. “We’re gonna keep you safe. No one’s gonna take you back there. You’re safe now,”

“I...had to g...get it out” she gasped between sobs, stiffening at first, but then relaxing into his embrace, allowing him to comfort her. She felt him shift as he looked over her head at the remains of the tracking chip.

“They were trackin’ you? ‘course they were. I’m so stupid. We shoulda checked,” he sighed and then pulled back to look her in the eyes, his hand cradling her cheek, “But darlin’, why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you come to me? I coulda helped you, coulda done it for you and it wouldn’a hurt you none.” 

Amarylla averted her eyes and pulled away from the touch. She was grateful that they had rescued her from that place, but that didn’t mean that she had to trust them, and certainly not with a knife to her skin. Cassian seemed to sense her reluctance and sighed, rising to his feet.

“Come on then, let’s get you cleaned up” he helped her to her feet, and then caught her when the world went spinning. She was lightheaded and dizzy, she must have lost more blood than she thought. She felt his hand go around her waist as he both supported and guided her out of the room.

She didn’t notice where they were going until she saw the open door of the first aid room, harsh white light spilling into the corridor. She stopped in her tracks and she couldn’t stop a small, pathetic noise from escaping her lips. Cassian glanced down at her and then to the doorway and back, not understanding. She felt herself starting to back away, trying to turn and run, but Cassian held her firm.

“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt ya, we just need to see to that cut of yours. You’re loosin’ a good deal of blood” he tried to comfort her, but she shook her head and kept trying to pull away. The light was so bright, blinding her eyes and calling up all of the memories she was trying so hard to forget, and she could see the glint of cold metal and the smooth steril white of the tiles, and it was all she could do to not break down and start screaming. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a whimper.

“Please don’t make me go in there” her voice was a whisper and she thought at first that he hadn’t heard it, but then she felt Cassian guiding her to the wall.

“Alright, but I need to go get some things. Can you wait right here for me? We won’t go in, but I need you to wait right here, just for a second, and then we can go somewhere else, ok?” She nodded, eyes still firmly screwed shut, and heard his footsteps retreating. Then, a thought came to her and she slid her hand along the wall as she stumbled blindly towards the sound of Cassian rummaging for supplies. 

“I...I think there might be more. You need to check…” she trailed off unable to finish the thought. Cassian paused in his search and came to the door to see Amarylla practically cowering against the wall, eyes shut and her face mostly hidden by a curtain of hair.

“You think they put more than one tracker? That seems… excessive” he regarded her for a moment, “Are you sure?”

“I need… I need you to check. Please, will you check. And…” she trailed off, unable to bring herself to ask the question, but equally unable to let the thought go. He sighed and nodded, collecting a few more things before she felt the brush of his hand on her arm. Once they had turned around and were heading the other way, she opened her eyes, trying not to see what supplies he had in his other hand. He led her back into the room she had woken up in and sat her down on the bed. He had moved to turn on the lights when she made a small sound and shook her head violently, setting the world spinning again. He looked her over critically before leaving, only to return with the candles she had left in the kitchen, as well as a few more she must have missed in her panic-driven search earlier. He arranged them on the nightstand then sat down on the bed next to her. 

“Can I look at that arm first? Irina’s gonna give me a thrashing if I get blood on the sheets.”

She smiled slightly and then nodded, letting him clean the wound as best he could while her gaze flitted around the room. 

“I think you might need a stitch or two, is that ok? Will you let me do that?” he asked, trying to catch her eye “I can give you something to numb it, or even sleep if you want.” he had barely finished his sentence though when she shook her head in protest.

“I don’t want to sleep. Please. No sleeping. I’ll be good, I promise. Won’t… won’t move. Won’t make a sound.” Her terrified eyes met his concerned ones and she relaxed slightly. He wasn’t going to hurt her, at least, not right now. Not in this way and she was immensely grateful for that fact. He looked like he was going to protest, but he just sighed again and nodded. 

“I need you to keep as steady as you can, but you don’t have to be quiet. I’ll be quick but it won’t hurt that much. Might not be pleasant, but shouldn’t hurt too much” he murmured as he assembled his supplies and got to work. Amarylla’s gaze shifted back to the room, unfocused, when she felt the all too familiar prick of the needle and the odd tugging sensation of the thread. She let out a small whimper, but then it was over, just as fast as it had started. It was never over this fast. Normally, they took forever stitching her back up, not caring if she had started to wake up in the process. Cassian layered some gauze and wrapped a clean bandage around her arm and then touched her knee gently, pulling her back to the present. Her eyes snapped back to his, surprised.

“See, super easy. All better. Now we don’t have to worry about makin’ a mess of Irina’s pretty blankets. I’m gonna scan you now, ok? This won’t hurt at all, I promise” Amarylla nodded slowly and allowed him to lift first one arm, then the other, ghosting the detector just over her skin. He slid it across her chest as well and down her legs. Everything came up clear, until she heard a beep from somewhere just behind her back. Her heart plummeted. Cassian brushed her hair over her shoulder and touched a spot on the back of her neck, just above her shoulder that made her flinch badly.

“Woah, sorry. I guess I should have given you warnin’. You’ve got somethin’ here…” He trailed off as her hand flew up to feel at the small lump just behind the crook of her neck. 

“Out.” she said simply, meeting his eyes again, somehow both demanding and pleading. 

“I can… are you sure I can’t give you something? I would feel better if I numbed the area, even topically…” but at the look in her eyes, he shook his head in submission, “Alright then. I guess… Can you turn around for me please, the light is better here.” 

Amarylla hesitated slightly, but took a deep breath and turned around as he instructed She pulling her hair over one shoulder and burying her face in it, trying to think of something else, anything else to tune out the rustling sounds behind her.

“I know this is hard darlin’ but it would be better if you could relax your shoulder a bit. As much as you can. There you go,” the hand on her shoulder made her tense again but she took another deep breath and let the tension flow out of her shoulders. 

“I want you to focus on your breathing, ok. Take a breath in, hold it, then let it out slowly, ok? I’ll do this quickly then we’ll be done and you’ll be safe, ok? Alright, now deep breath for me,” She felt the scalpel slide in just as she had started to exhale, and her breath caught in her throat for a second before she forced it out. In. Hold. Out. Focus on the breathing. Don’t focus on the blade in your neck, the tweezers hunting around beneath your flesh. 

“Breathe” she heard Cassian murmur gently, and she did. She felt a strange sense of release as he pulled the chip free and went about bandaging her up. 

“I’m gonna get this to Urs, uhh, Usbeorn for him to look at, ok? He may be large but I’ve seen his hands do crazy things with computer parts…” he trailed off uncomfortably, gathering his supplies. “You should get some rest. I’ll check on you later.” He smoothed her hair gently, just for a second. “You’re really brave, you know that? Try and rest now…” and she watched him walk away, looking back only briefly before closing the door and leaving her in candle light.

[makethanproud]

my heart is lost // e

a/n: i fucking love this song and i fucking love ethan so it only makes sense. !!! mentions of drug use !!! it’s a blackbear song what do u want from me :P

summary: ethan takes care of you while you ride out a high. kinda. idk.

-

you rested your chin in your hand and tapped your nails on the counter. you had ethan’s contact pulled up on your screen as your phone sat in front of you, daring you—taunting you, even—to call him. it had been nearly two weeks since you last saw him, since you last spoke to him, and you weren’t about to break your radio silence just because you were high. at least, that’s what you told yourself. that’s what you told yourself last time too, and the time before that. you quickly grabbed your phone in a fit of impulse and tapped his number.

“hello?” your heart was pounding out of your chest. immediate regret. you didn’t know why you were calling him. “y/n? hellooo?”

“where are you?” you smacked your hand to your forehead and squeezed your eyes shut.

“uhhh,” he forced an awkward laugh. “i’m in beverly hills right now.” you bit your thumb to stop you from speaking without thinking again. “why, where are you?”

“i’m, um, i’m in my house. do you wanna come over?”

“hold on.” you could hear him talking to someone, but you couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying.

“i’ll be over in like 15 minutes.” the tension you held in your shoulders released.

“oh. sweet. well, i’ll be here,” you said through a halfhearted laugh. it was quiet for a moment before ethan mumbled a goodbye and the line went dead. you returned your phone to its original spot in front of you and stared at the black screen.

“what the fuck,” you breathed, running your hand through your hair. you weren’t sure why you were so flustered. after all, it was you who called him. and it wasn’t like ethan didn’t care about you. he always came over when you called, even though he knew you’d ghost him when the night was over. it was practically routine at this point. god, you wondered why he stuck around.

you were removed from your thoughts when your phone chimed.

come outside, the text read. you slid off the barstool and grabbed the vial from the counter before stuffing it into the waistband of your shorts, then pulled the hem of your hoodie over the lump.

you shook out your body to relax your muscles to not seem so eager. the bright lights of ethan’s bmw blinded you when you opened the door, forcing your hands over your face to shield your eyes.

“agh, fuck,” you grumbled, stumbling down the front steps. you pulled the handle to the car open and plopped down in the passenger seat. you looked over at ethan and blinked slowly with a soft smile. “hi.”

“jesus, y/n. are you on something right now?” he huffed, resting his arm on the window. you itched the tip of your nose as a reply and he rolled his eyes. “i thought we were over that.” he shifted the car into reverse and started down the driveway.

“oh, no,” you shook a finger at him, “you are over it.” you took the cocaine out of your waistband and waved it next to his face. you started talking again before he had time to react. “where are we going, anyway?” you watched as his mouth moved and you heard that he was speaking, but you weren’t listening. you were too focused—he was just so pretty. he wasn’t even trying. he didn’t have to.

you were absolutely enchanted by him. you were fixated on his distinct features as the street lamps illuminated the high points of his face, pulling you deeper into your trance. he turned to look at you and cocked an eyebrow when he realized you were staring at him.

“can i help you?” he asked playfully. you faced forward and folded your hands in your lap. your cheeks were hot. was ethan making you nervous? you felt your eyebrows stitch together and shook your head softly, concluding it was just a side effect of the blow.

you sat up as ethan pulled into a dirt parking lot on the side of the road. he came to a quick stop and put the car in park. “we’re here.” he got out and jogged to your side, opened the door, and held out his hand. you looked at his open hand then back up at his eyes. he wiggled his eyebrows and stifled a laugh, bravely reaching for you since you wouldn’t reach for him.

he led you over to a cluster of boulders near the edge of a cliff and climbed to the top of the biggest one. he grabbed your hand and pulled you up to sit with him.

you laid your back against ethan’s chest as you both watched the city lights of los angeles flicker beyond the edge of the overlook. gingerly placing your small hand on ethan’s much larger one, you sighed contently. you felt him rest his chin on your shoulder and lean his head into yours, closing the space between the two of you. your cheeks were burning now, only this time you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t the cocaine.

your moment was cut short by the repetitive vibration of ethan’s phone. he pulled it out of his pocket carefully, trying his best to not move too suddenly. he silenced the persistent buzzing and tossed it beside you. the phone lit up once more before finally fading to black for good.

“who was that?” you questioned innocently.

“just some girl.”

“well why didn’t you answer?”

“she’s not important.” he brushed it off as if it were nothing. you knew he was lying, although you couldn’t place exactly why.

-

“throw it.” he gestured towards the cliff. your eyes nearly popped out of your skull.

“throw it?” you wailed. “ethan that’s almost two hundred fucking dollars!”

he shrugged. “throw it!” his voice echoed through the hills. he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled again. “throoooow it!” he flashed you a huge grin as you stared at the vial you held so tightly in your hand. you shifted your feet anxiously and raised your arm over your head, before releasing the vial into the night below. you froze when you realized what you just did. you turned, wide eyed, to find ethan hollering and clapping.

“i can’t believe you just did that,” he laughs, doubled over to catch his breath. when he steadied his breathing, he stood up and rested his hands on his waist. “alright let’s go.” you opened your mouth to protest, but decided to stay quiet and complied anyway. he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and you started towards the car.

-

the ride back to ethan’s house was much quieter than the ride from yours. it was a comfortable silence, though. you didn’t feel like you had to speak, you felt safe in the comfort of his presence. ethan kept his hand entwined with yours as he drove, eyes concentrated on the road in front of him. before long, you were at his house and he was dragging you inside.

he pressed a finger to his lips as the door creaked open. “my brother is probably sleeping,” he whispered. you could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, making the hair on your arms stand up. you nodded and pursued forward into the darkness, hands stretched out in front of you to guide you. ethan’s body was pressed against yours, hands delicately placed on your hips so that he wouldn’t lose you.

“it’s this door on the right,” he spoke softly. you blindly turned into the room and stretched forward for the bed. you felt the comforter on your fingertips and climbed in, waiting for ethan to situate beside you. to your surprise, he announced that he would be sleeping on the couch.

“i want you to sleep here,” you whispered. “with me.” he opened up the covers and got in, body instantly fitting into yours. you couldn’t help but feel you were meant for each other. he wrapped his arms around your torso and buried his face in your neck. your breaths became rhythmic with his, and you became sleepy within minutes. it was the first time in weeks you were able to sleep without some kind of drug in your system. ethan, you feared, was about to become your brand new addiction.

-

you rubbed your eyes and rolled off the bed. it was morning. ethan was still snoring softly on his side, reaching out when he felt that you were no longer in his arms. he swatted the empty space beside him, settling for a pillow to pull into his chest. you shuffled out of the room and down the hall towards the kitchen in search of some food.

“who are you?” you jumped at the sudden voice behind you. there stood a boy who oddly looked just like ethan, although he was a little taller and much broader. you quickly concluded that he was probably his brother, who wanted to know why a random girl was rummaging through his cabinets.

“i’m uh, y/n. ethan’s friend. hi.” you stuck your hand out to be polite. the stranger shook it seemingly unwillingly.

“you’re y/n? you’re her?” you pursed your lips and nodded.

“whatever that means. i’m ‘her,’ i guess,” you laughed lightly. he didn’t. the boy continued to study you through cold eyes before turning around and grabbing two plates from the cabinet.

“oh i’m not—”

“it’s not for you,” he said flatly. you retreated to a chair at the island and didn’t speak again. you sat in awkward silence for what seemed like forever before he left and ethan emerged in the doorway.

his hair was sticking out in every direction and his shirt was disheveled. somehow, he looked just as pretty as he did the night before. his pale pink lips parted as he gave you a lazy smile, leaning on the doorframe. you couldn’t take your eyes off him. you had sobered up in your sleep, yet your feelings for ethan remained. you finally accepted your fate:

you were fucked.

a/n: i didn’t proofread this at all so sry if it isn’t coherent lmao. this took four days to write because i couldn’t stay motivated. hope it’s not complete trash but idc if it is B)