#how about we numb all your limbs at once and blindfold you and then tell you not to freak out about it

[pumpkin-padparadscha]

my TEETH are BREAKING ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ

[delimeful]

Healer

warnings: feeling trapped, vague experimentation, pain

fifth part of my minecraft au! for this chapter, we jump back to the past! to a first meeting :)

-

Patton had been walking for a long, long time.

He wasn’t sure where, or why. When he tried to recall, his thoughts would slip out of reach like sand through his fingers. The world was blurry and indistinct, and no matter how long he wandered in the dark, nothing grew any clearer.

The light burned, and the water drowned, and he walked.

Occasionally, a creature that was different would appear, and he would amble along after it with a single minded focus. He’d never caught whatever it was, despite the frantic urging in the back of his mind. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he did catch one, and that scared him as much as he could be scared, these days.

Perhaps he was right to be scared, because the next time he found one, it threw something at him!

The glass-shatter impact didn’t exactly hurt, but then there was a wetness left behind, and his limbs abruptly felt heavy and slow. The creature easily stayed out of range, but oddly enough, it didn’t leave.

No, it made sound after sound at him, staying close enough to draw him after it for much longer than any other he’d encountered.

And then, quite suddenly, he didn’t have space to walk anymore.

It took him a few moments to understand what had happened. There were cold metal walls around him, trapping him in a cell barely big enough to pace in.

He didn’t like it, the smallness. He didn’t like the way the strange creature came back again and again, close enough to make his mind turn to that strange violent urge. He especially didn’t like the creature’s glass-and-wet creations, and all the feelings that came with them.

… It was new, remembering things long enough to dislike them.

Over time, the creature’s voice became familiar, too. It would often chirp in excitement or groan in frustration. Sometimes, after a glass-and-wet test went wrong, it would come closer than usual and mumble in a way that made Patton’s chest twinge oddly.

The creature was particularly excited today, making those noises nonstop as it flitted about on the other side of the bars. It hummed the little tune that meant it was going to use a glass-and-wet, and Patton was surprised to find that he remembered this one, the way it made his balance go wobbly.

Unlike before, something cold and unfamiliar was pressed against his mouth. At the creature’s insistence, he consumed it, and immediately regretted as a sudden burning spread through him from the inside-out, as though he'd swallowed the sun itself.

Hours or days passed in a slow, roasting agony, and then, finally, it was over.

When Patton came back to consciousness, he was laying down, and everything was dark and numb. Not quite the dark of night, though.

There was a shuffle nearby, and he turned his head to the sound. He couldn't move very much.

“Ah. It seems you’re awake.” A presence settled at his side as he slowly processed the words. “Can you tap your pointer finger twice for me? It is alright if it takes some time.”

It took longer than expected to remember where his hand was, and longer still to force the space where his fingers should be into feeling. The taps ended up being more like small flickers, but there was a sense of accomplishment nonetheless.

“You—!” The presence cut off sharply, a sudden tension in their words. “Please, could you repeat that action? Two taps, no more or less.”

Patton’s brow wrinkled slightly in focus, the motions coming easier.

Tap. Tap.

There was a ragged inhale, their voice suddenly wavering. “How about three taps?”

Exhaustion was pulling at him, but he thought the voice was familiar, and desperate, and so he managed three taps, almost on an even rhythm.

“It worked.” A warm hand gently settled over his. “It worked! I did it, you can— you can hear me. You can understand me.”

There was something distressing about the hitch in their voice, but Patton was settling back into heavy sleep, and he only managed to twitch his hand under theirs before going under once more.

-

There were more tests, every time he woke.

Some of them were easy! He would shuffle his feet, count out taps, figure out which limb gentle pressure was being applied to. Over time, feeling came back to his numb flesh, and movement became more and more frequent.

Some of them were more difficult. He’d lose time trying to form complex sentences, feel consumed by sudden fits of claustrophobia, shy away from the sensation of the sun’s heat. He couldn’t respond to even a single question about his past, and day by day, his memories of his time as… not-so-human faded away as well.

Through it all, the stranger who had introduced himself as Logan was at his side, giving him clear instructions and careful support on every task.

He’d learned a lot about the type of person Logan was, day by day. He talked to himself a lot, sometimes clear and sometimes dipping into a thoughtful mutter. It seemed like he’d been alone for a long time. He’d often make a noise of startlement when Patton responded to his rambling, be it through a tap or a simple hum. He always told Patton what he was doing before he touched him, and explained what he was trying to learn when he ran the tests. He kept odd hours but never let himself sound tired.

Patton knew a lot about Logan, but he still didn’t know what Logan looked like. He’d been wearing the blindfold since he’d first woken up out of the cage, and it was the only restraint-- if a strip of cloth over his eyes could be called that--  to remain after all these days. It was the one thing Logan hadn’t explained.

Physically, Patton felt stronger by the day. Emotionally, he wasn’t sure where he would go or what he would do when the tests stopped being necessary. He trusted Logan, though, and more than that, he wanted to help him, after all that he’d gone through for Patton.

He wasn’t quite sure if that trust went both ways, though. Not yet.

“Logan?” he asked, shuffling his shoulders up the headboard of his bed so that he was closer to sitting upright. He reached up to touch the blindfold. “This... off?”

Across the room, the familiar sound of Logan flipping through a book cut off sharply. There was a long moment of silence.

“At your current level of motor skills, yes, you could,” Logan finally settled on, words carefully measured and even. “However, while you are staying with me, I would prefer it if… if you didn’t.”

“Why?” Patton pressed.

Another pause. “I believe that if you see me, you might become… alarmed. And I have no wish to upset or frighten you, particularly while you’re still recovering.”

“Logan,” Patton said, both concerned and a little exasperated. “Not scary. Want this... off. Help?”

“... Very well.” Logan’s voice went stiff as he moved to sit next to Patton, and when his hands carefully unknotted the blindfold, they were rigid like he was tensing for a blow. His cold demeanor was somewhat undercut by the way he automatically moved his arm to keep the day’s light from blinding Patton.

After a few blinks to adjust, the first thing that came into focus was Logan’s hand, carefully loose at his side, and the white, jagged scar lines that marked it. A witch mark, clear as anything.

The next thing he saw was Logan’s face, jaw set harshly and eyes focused on him as though waiting for the inevitable reaction. He could have hidden the mark away, but he was baring it for the world to see, even though he was sure it would be rejected. His loneliness made a lot more sense, suddenly. Patton felt a fond smile pull at his lips as he reached a shaky hand out in greeting.

“Hi, Logan.” The familiar warmth and gentleness of that hand washed away any lingering doubts about his new, not-entirely-human friend. “Still not... scary.”

Logan’s face flickered through a few strange expressions, and wasn’t that going to be interesting, learning a whole new set of tells for him? When he spoke, there was a strange, distantly familiar tremble to his words. “You may be the only one who thinks so.”

Patton frowned at him, squeezing his friend’s hand a little tighter before a flicker of motion on the windowsill caught his eye. A high pitched noise erupted from him completely involuntarily. “Cat!”

The cat in question, a little creature with sleek black fur, eyed him curiously. Logan cleared his throat, reaching out his free hand. The kitty leapt down and ambled over to butt her head into the hand like they were two magnets. “Ah, yes. This is my familiar. Her name is Glowstone.”

The excitement was too much. Patton had to take a moment to compose himself, words tripping over each other and becoming garbled nonsense. He watched with a grin as Glowstone settled gently in her witch’s lap. “Two!”

“Sorry?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Two friends,” Patton told him, gesturing quite seriously between him and the golden-eyed cat. “A good start.”

Logan shook his head, unable to hide the little amused upturn to his lips. “If you say so.”

He did say so. And if Patton had his way, there’d be many more friends to come.

[wtfevenismypage]

Safe and Sound

Pairing: Spencer reid x reader

Summary: Reader goes into a coma after being tortured on a case and Reid spends all of his time with her.

Warnings: Abuse/torture, coma, probably a swear word or two

Category: Angst/fluff

A/n:I wrote this really late last night while half asleep, so it isn’t the best quality but oh well, I hope you enjoy!

Pain was the only feeling you had. It wasn't just a feeling, it was also your current emotion. You were ashamed in yourself for being so stupid.

You were moving in on the unsub, thinking it was only one person, you should have been able to take him out, but it was two grown men. Two grown men that took you out instantly.

And now you’re tied up to a chair, a blindfold tight over your eyes.

“Your friends are watching. If you try to send messages you’re dead.”

You smile sadly and look up, revealing your battered face to the men who beat you.

“I’m alright guys. Just look for the victims. I’ll be fine-”

A fist to your face cuts you off, and you let out a yelp as they yank your hair backwards.

“You all have four hours to find her. Every ten minutes we’ll carve two letters into her. If you can’t find her in time, she’s dead.”

A blade is pressed against your neck and you whimper.

The blindfold is torn off of your face and you look around with bleary eyes, observing all you can about the area around you.

An abandoned production warehouse. There’s colorful powder streaked across the walls and floor, so beautiful, yet you knew it would only fuel your nightmares for the next few months.

“You better hurry.”

The tall man behind me presses the blade into my neck, marking a shallow sting of blood on your throat.

“P-please... Please stop.”

-

-

-

-

The team could only watch in horror as you get beaten, Penelope trying desperately to track the live footage.

A firm hand is resting on Spencer’s shoulder, trying to calm him down as he glares at the screen, tears dripping down his neck.

Thirty minutes pass with no succession of finding Y/n. six letters are carved into you.

D-E-A-T-H-I.

One of the men, the taller one, walks in front of you and pinches your cheeks together.

“We’re going out, but we’re watching you. If you try and send any messages to them, We have deadly gas in the vents waiting to be released. Behave.”

They walk out, but not before punching you in the stomach, the rough leather of their gloves rubbing against your carved skin.

“Please... Guys they’re going to kill again... I... I don’t think I’m gonna make it. If... If anyone is watching this, please, Tell the rest of the team I love you all. Penelope, please keep being yourself, never lose the light that you have, it’s a beacon for others.”

Penelope’s eyes overflowed with tears as the team watches you bleed out more and more with every breath.

“Rossi, you gotta get out more man, get yourself a woman to love. There’s someone out there for you, you’ll find her soon.”

Rossi turns his head, not wanting to cry at your words.

“Emily, You are the strongest woman I know, please don’t lose your persistence. JJ, Tell Henrey I said Hi okay? You’re so brave, don’t let anyone push you around. Morgan, You keep fighting for what’s right and don’t you dare give up, the world needs you bud.”

“Hotch, it’s alright to take breaks, this team is strong, they’ll survive if you take a cheat day. You have to give yourself a chance to breath okay?”

Even Hotch himself had a tear dripping down his cheeks as you let out broken sobs, almost screaming as the pain in your stomach starts to make you dizzy.

“Spencer... Oh god Spencer... I’m so sorry... I should have waited for you to come up... I’m so sorry...”

““But if I’m... If I’m gonna die then I have to tell you... I have to tell you that I love you. I’m in love with you...”

You look around, looking at the corner where a pile of spilt boxes on the floor, Makeup palettes shattered across with broken eyeshadow on the floor.

“It was a few months ago in December, it was a cold night.” You desperately send them hints. “You had given me an eyeshadow palette. I was upset that day, and slowly, I forgot about it. But I came across it recently. I’m so sorry that I never told you. I love you Spencer... I love you so much.”

-

-

-

-

-

The team watches Spencer, waiting nervously as his eyebrows are furrowed together.

“I never bought her an eyeshadow palette...”

Everyone’s eyes widen.

“Garcia look for abandoned eyeshadow palette factories within a fifty mile radius.”

Hotch demands as Morgan sits Spencer down.

“Take a breath, we’ll save her.”

“Morgan, I love her too, if she dies, it’s my fault, I didn’t make it to her in time...”

“Hey kid, don’t do that to yourself, she’ll make it.”

Spencer continues to think about all the times you two had together. You were the only person who listened to his rambling, you actually listened and you liked it. You and him told each other everything, your deepest darkest secrets.

He couldn’t survive without you, there was no way. You helped him when he had nightmares, you made him coffee, you truly held his heart in your hands.

“There’s a match! 68738 Raney Street! Go get my baby!”

Reid is off in a bolt with Emily and Hotch following right behind him.

-

-

-

-

-

The men return to the ware house, flipping knives in their hands.

“Looks like it’s time for some letters.”

“Can’t we just finish the message? Please baby?”

The tall man sighs before crouching in front of you, pulling your shirt up and place the knife right under your boob before pressing it in, making you scream out.

“Please! Please stop!”

Your breathing is labored, the blood draining from your body quickly as he continues to slice into you like a stick of butter.

The last thing you hear before passing out  is the sound of bells ringing in your ears.

“Please...”

-

-

-

-

-

You wake up with a pounding headache, you can’t open your eyes or move any limbs, but you can hear voices talking.

“The nurse said she had a few complications before they could get her to surgery, her heart stopped twice, but they managed to stabilize her.”

It was Penelope, you could tell by the sigh that followed she was talking with Morgan.

“What did they... What did they cut into her?”

His voice was shaky, it made your eyes tear up even when closed, and you could feel the itch slip out of your eye as Penelope speaks.

“They said death is the beginning.”

“And he’s been there since she got out of surgery?”

“He refuses to leave. The nurses told him he had to leave but he wouldn’t budge. It’s been three days. I don’t think he’s eaten...”

Another sigh from Morgan.

Your body is numb, gentle pins and needles spread all throughout your senses. More tears slip through the tiny slits of your closed eyes, dripping down to your ears.

“She’s crying... Probably a nightmare...”

Silence. You can feel yourself drifting back to sleep slowly, the gentle beep of your heart rate putting you to ease as your breathing slows down.

“I can’t believe she went through that torture for four days...”

Had it really been four days? It felt like a life time had passed from being taken from your team.

As you drift into a deep sleep, you can only relive the horrors as you remain unable to wake up.

The next time you awaken, you still can’t move or even blink, your throat dryer than before, pools of sweat at your thighs. You’re able to feel a hand clutching yours though, it’s slender and bony, long fingers squeezing yours tightly.

“You might be able to hear me, and if you can, we uh... We saved you Y/n. You’re safe now.”

Spencer.

You wanted to smile and throw your arms around his neck, but your limbs feel like lead, the heaviest lead in the world and you just can’t lift them up.

“I love you too Y/n. I love you so much. But it’s been eight days since you got to the hospital... Please wake up so I can tell you how much I love you.”

A pair of lips presses against your forehead. It tickles, warm breath from his nose gliding over your skin as he finally pulls away.

“Wake up soon Y/n...”

You slip in and out of consciousness like that for the next few weeks, listening to Spencer’s stories of the team’s current case, and relaxing to classical music as he reads books aloud to you.

They were books you loved too, fictional books about space pirates and cheesy rom-coms. You were so grateful  too him, hoping you could move sometime soon so you can kiss him.

One day the nurse came in to talk with Spencer.

“Her state isn’t improving, she hit her head pretty hard when you found her,  we don’t know how long it’ll be until she wakes up.”

You wanted to fight for him. You wanted to open your eyes and look at his beautiful face, you wanted to be able to hold him in your arms. So when his hand returns to your’s, you try your hardest to squeeze his hand, to let him know you’ll survive.

It takes all of your energy, but briefly, very briefly, your hand clenches softly, and you can feel his hand tense up.

“She squeezed my hand!”

With those words you swiftly passed out.

-

-

-

-

-

Spencer squeezed your hands days after that, it had been almost three months now, and a few days since you held his hand.

Your disheveled state was slowly improving, your sunken cheeks and deep eyebags now gone, but you still weren't waking up. 

“So I brought a children’s book today, I thought you would like it.”

He begin’s reading to you, squeezing your hand every few seconds to hopefully gain some sort of reaction from you.

But once again, nothing.

“Please wake up soon princess...”

-

-

-

-

-

You strain your muscles harder than you ever had to before, trying so hard to tap your fingers on his hand in the tune of the distant piano playing in the background.

One finger twitches on his skin, bouncing up and down to the beat of the piano, the rest of your fingers following suit.

A gasp escapes his lips.

“Princess? Are you awake?”

How the hell do you think I’m gonna answer that Spencer you dumb-

“Oh wow princess, You’re awake! Um, Uh, Okay, I need to go get a doctor, keep your fingers tapping okay? Doctor!”

You keep tapping your sore fingers, listening to Spencer and the doctor panicking about what to do.

But then, You’re eyes slowly flutter open, the blinding light impaling your irises as the sound of Spencer’s crying fills your ears.

 “Good morning Agent Y/l/n, you’ve been sleeping for a while now, I’m gonna help you sit up okay?”

You do your best to nod as the female doctor moves the hospital bed upwards, allowing you to lock eyes with Spencer.

“Sp... Spence...”

Your voice comes out broken and shattered, only a semblance of a croak, but he leans in and wraps his arms around you, making you feel safe and secure.

“Hey princess, I missed you so much.”

He presses a kiss to your head again, letting his tears fall onto your hands, which he’s held against his cheeks.

“I... I love...”

“Shhhh, I know princess, I know, just relax now alright? You’re safe and sound.”

“I love you...”

“I love you too.”

[jinmukangwrites]

Flinch (2/4)

A continuation of Day 24 of Whumptober

Chapter One, You are Here,

Ao3

Summary: Slade blackmails Dick into joining him. Things go downhill for Dick when Damian tries to get involved and Slade decides the interference is a perfect opportunity for a lesson in torture.

Warnings: Same warnings for chapter one, torture of a minor, blackmail, implied threats of rape/non-con. However, rape/non-con will not be in this fic. Just vague treats.

Notes: Do not be asked to be put on a tag list.

-o-o-o-o-

It's been about five minutes since anyone's touched Damian. This is the only evidence that he has that the torture is over. His entire body stings, and he feels similar to what a turkey must feel like on Thanksgiving day. 

All carved up. 

His shoulders ache, as do his hands, both of which have been tasked with carrying his entire body weight for the past few hours. However, all of his limbs felt weak and sensitive even before Deathstroke grabbed him from the corner of the cell he's been sitting in for the past… probably three or four days… and strung him up.

Every single cut along his body is like poisoned tipped needles, and he can feel blood dripping from almost every part of his person down to his pants, legs, feet, making a very uncomfortable puddle to stand in at the tips of his toes. 

A brush of air across his cheek is the only warning he gets before the blindfold and headphones are ripped off. Damian resists grasping, blinking his teary eyes to try and focus, his ears feeling numb. 

In front of him is none other than Deathstroke, an array of weapons on a table behind him, however the only one that's bloody is a simple knife. 

He quickly looks around the rest of the room, searching, but then thick fingers grab his cheeks and force Damian to look Deathstroke straight in the face. Damian glares and clenches his fists. 

"Grayson isn't here, brat," Deathstroke says smoothly. "So your little act can end. I know your pain tolerance is higher than that."

Damian narrows his eyes as Deathstroke uses his free hand to loosen the buckle of the cursed gag. The second it's out of his mouth, he spits at Deathstroke's face. There's specks of red in his saliva, but Damian assumes it's from the cut corners of his cheek thanks to that gag. He's been tasting copper for quite some time now.

The thing about Deathstroke's mask is that you can never tell what he's thinking, which is why Damian braced himself for a slap the second the assassin raised his hand. However, Deathstroke simply wipes the spit off his mask and then proceeds to brush it off in Damian's hair. 

"Where's Richard?" Damian hisses, tugging on the chains holding him up. "I know he was here."

"How, pray tell?" Deathstroke says, his voice teetering between a scoff and amusement.

Damian strengthens his glare and ignores the stream of blood that passes over his eyebrow and trails down the corner of his eyes. "I know the difference between the hand of a sadist, and the hand of a reluctant third party. You forced him to hurt me."

Deathstroke's entire posture shifts. His head tilts and he's shoulders follow suit. A knee bends ever so slowly. It grates on Damian's tolerance to see the man so full of himself, so confident in Damian's presence. To think just a few months before, this guy was stubbornly trying to convince Damian that he was his actual birth father.

Pathetic. 

"And what difference is that?" He asks. Curiosity lacing his tone. 

Damian bites the inside of his cheek. 

The reason his pain tolerance is so high is because it was trained into him. Ra's Al Ghul forced his mother to convict the deed while he was still a small child. Richard's hand against his skin, dragging a knife in painful ways felt exactly the same as his own mother's. 

But neither of them have felt like the rouge's of Gotham. The random crooks. Deathstroke himself. 

Damian decides to not answer that question out loud. Instead, he twists his bleeding lips into a snarl. "Whatever you're trying to do, it isn't going to work. Richard isn't yours."

"No," Deathstroke agrees, finally beginning to back off. He turns to the table filled with torture devised and Damian feels himself tense. Richard at the instruction of Deathstroke hurt. But the psychopath himself? However, Deathstroke turns and grabs a small box from the corner, one that when he opens it is filled with bandages and other various medical instruments.

Damian watches wearily as Deathstroke approaches, pulling out thread and a curved needle. 

As he threads the needle, Deathstroke continues to speak. "He's not mine. Not yet. But he will be. He has it in him, I've just got to remind him of it."

"By having him torture his brother?"

"By having him torture his son."

Damian's not sure why he flinches there. He tells himself it's because Deathstroke jabbed the needle through a deep cut in his shoulder. Damian quickly forces himself to become composed. "You're a foolish old man. Richard isn't my-"

"Biological father, no." The tugging of thread forcing itself though his already irritated skin without any numbing is agonizing. Damian doesn't voice his pain, just continues to glare while Deathstroke's finishes up that stitch, then moves on to the next one. "But we both know that blood has nothing to do with the bond between a parent and a child. Do not try to lie to me boy, I know how Grayson ticks. I know how you tick."

"You know nothing about us," Damian snarls. "I'm no more important to him than any of the others."

Deathstroke chuckles at that, like he's already won, and then he doesn't say anything more, just continues to stitch Damian up from the cuts he forced Richard to inflict. Damian doesn't try to converse. There's no point to. It's almost impossible to get anything from Deathstroke, especially if he feels like he's already won.

Soon enough, Deathstroke is taping the worst of the cuts. Once he's done with that, he reaches up to the shackles that have long since cut off most of the circulation to Damian's fingers. "Fight me, and I'll string you up by your ankles," Deathstroke mutters before taking off the shackles. 

Damian can't help it, he falls into Deathstroke's waiting arms. He tenses, but doesn't fight, as Deathstroke practically drags him out of the torture room and into the original cell Damian has awoken in. A manacle connected to the center of the floor is attached to his ankle, then Deathstroke steps back, leaving Damian to stand there with wobbly balance and glare. 

"What are you holding against him?" Damian demands before Deathstroke can leave. "Why would he join you?"

When Deathstroke speaks, there's a smirk in his voice. "Absolutely nothing, baby bird. I recommend you quit worrying about him and think about your own survival. The quicker you let yourself break, the quicker we can be done with this."

Damian growls, about to step forward and… he doesn't know, throw a fist or something, but then Deathstroke laughs and walks out, making the cell grow dark with the clanking sound of a bolt locking. 

It's thankfully not as dark as it was in the other cell. This one is meant for long term captivity, a bed shoved in a corner and a bucket in another. There's a slot at the bottom of the door where food and water will be shoved through three times a day if Deathstroke keeps up his patterns.

He wants to keep Damian alive and healthy. There's no fun in torturing a barely alive captive. The food even tasted good.  

Damian hobbles to the bucket and smirks. It's been emptied. A small revenge. The image of Deathstroke cleaning out a human waste filled bucket, even if it's his own human waste, has him keeping a smile on his face until he settles down onto the thin mattress with springs that stick up like a bed of nails. 

He stares at the ceiling for five minutes, getting out of his body and every stitch that insistently pulses to remind him it's still there. He stays that way until his breathing is even and his eyes are drooping. 

He rubs the nail of his ring finger on his left hand, and then brushes his right hand across his temple. 

"Any day now, Timothy..."

Nothing changes and Damian sighs, preparing himself for the long run. 

-o-o-o-o-

Slade doesn't say anything about what he made Dick do for the next three days. He would have continued to say nothing if Dick hadn't looked so out of it during their morning sparring session. 

But Dick did look out of it. He knows he did. Still does. He had a nightmare again last night, and he's come to the realization that Slade hasn't left the mansion at all since he made… since that. 

So he looks out of it. Sue him. 

"What's on your mind?" Slade asks in a way that almost sounds like a demand. Dick dodges under a swinging kick aiming for his head and then shoots forward to grab Slade around the ribs. 

"Nothing, sir," Dick grunts as Slade grabs his shoulders and practically throws Dick to the side. Curse Slade's superhuman strength. All the years Dick's known him and he still doesn't know exactly how strong Slade really is. 

He blinks shadowed memories of Grant out of his mind. 

"Don't lie to me." Slade punches Dick in the stomach while he was trying to get back to his feet. 

All the air leaves Dick's lungs as he collapses to the floor. A heavy boot lands in the center of his back, which makes it all the more impossible to catch his breath. 

"You'd be able to dodge that if you weren't distracted."

Dick grinds his teeth. He hates this. Hates it to his core. 

"I'm just…" he licks his lips, hoping Slade doesn't best him up for this. "I'm just worried about Damian…"

The foot on his back doesn't bring more pressure like he almost expected, but it doesn't let up either. 

A second passes. Then Slade's ever smooth voice. "I told you the boy was no longer your concern."

"I know, sir, I just… he was really hurt and-"

Slade interrupts before Dick can say and I'm not sure you let him go like you said you would.

"I made sure he wouldn't bleed to death, if that's what you're worried about."

The pressure on Dick's finally becomes greater, he can practically feel it bending his spine. He grimaces as Slade leans down and frowns at Dick. 

"Anything beyond that is none of your concern."

His face is deathly still. Serious. Dick can't argue, because if he does then something bad will happen. "Yes… master."

Slade gives a stiff nod then steps off of Dick. "Now get up. Focus on training, unless you want a beating."

-o-o-o-o-

Somehow, after that, Dick manages to convince himself that Damian is fine. Slade has never lied to Dick before. Everything he says is honest. He has no reason to lie. 

If he said he'd let Damian go after Damian was taught a lesson, then he'd let Damian go. 

It's as simple as that. 

He doesn't think about it for two more days. He doesn't think about it for two more days filled with the same old routine. Hours of training, of roaming, of sitting in the gym and dreading Slade's footsteps. Of missing his family. Of wanting to go home. 

Two more days almost becomes three when suddenly, right as he's preparing himself for bed, Slade walks in without even knocking. Dick grinds his teeth, feeling vulnerable with his shirt off and his pants just barely riding on his hips. Slade hasn't shown any… intentions… towards Dick since he's been here, but Dick wouldn't put it past the guy. 

He turns and tries to not glare. He probably does anyway. Slade doesn't seem to care, he just leans against the doorway and folds his arms across his chest. 

"Get dressed."

Dick knows better than to ask why. Instead he asks what, and Slade replies something he doesn't mind getting dirty. 

Dick doesn't mind any of his clothes getting dirty. They're all gifts from Slade. Not a single pair of clothes here down to his underwear was something he originally owned. But… he supposes he doesn't want to get his only pair of pajamas dirty. 

So, with Slade watching, he undresses and slips into a baggy pair of jeans and a crew-neck tee-shirt.

It's what he's been working out in since…

He stuffed his original gym clothes under his bed, let's leave it at that.

"Come," Slade says the second Dick is dressed. Dick glances longingly at his bed, then follows along without any argument. 

And then? Slade stops in front of the basement door, and Dick can't help but flinch back like he's been electrocuted. Somehow? Right then and there?

He knows. 

"You lied," he gasps before he can stop himself. Slade turns and raises an unamused eyebrow. Anger swirls in Dick's stomach like a whirlpool. "Damian's still down there."

Slade grins, and Dick feels his breath catch in his throat. "I said he can go after he's taught a lesson."

"But he was-" Dick stumbles over his words, struggles to keep himself from letting loose and charging at Slade with a flinging fist. 

"His lesson isn't a simple torture session," Slade chides, almost like he's pitying Dick. 

Dick can hardly breathe. Damian's down there, and Dick's been up here happily delusioned into thinking he's safe and sound back home? Dick gulps down air like it's made of molasses. "Then- then- when-?"

"When he's broken," Slade practically purrs. Dick feels liquid nitrogen replace every single blood cell. "When he's begging. We will continue this pattern, over and over again, until you no longer hesitate in your actions, until he's choking on his own sobs and telling you, not me, you to stop."

Dick recalls immediately every single cut he gave Damian close to a week ago. He thinks about having to reopen those wounds, cause more, keep going until everything he has and is becomes stained with un-washable blood.

He still takes hot showers. He can still smell it in the quiet hours of midnight. 

Slade sneers. "Don't worry so much, apprentice, there are more ways to torture someone than drawing blood."

Dick's heart feels like it hasn't only skipped a heartbeat as Slade steps closer... but that it's completely stopped all together. 

"There are some things worse than making wounds and causing pain."

Dick understands what he means. He understands what he means and he can feel it settle in that whirlpool of rage like a heavy boulder. He turns towards Slade, and tries to keep his voice even. "Master... Please, you have to be joking."

"I'm not," Slade says, "and you know you'll do it too if I tell you to. You'll do it because if you don't, I'll kill him and all of your other siblings." Slade pauses, his smirk widens. "How would that feel, boy? To take your own child's innocence?"

Bastard. Psychopath. A sadistic and perverted piece of shit. His stomach twists and before he can even think it through, he launches forward with a yell. Slade's one eye widens right before Dick socks him across the jaw. However, before Dick can attempt to do anything else, a heavy fist slams into his gut, right below his ribs. Every single molecule of air leaves his lungs and he's left gasping, choking, and holding back the urge to vomit; helpless to do anything but wheeze as he's grabbed by the color of his shirt and slammed against the basement door.

The knob jams mercilessly against his hip, and he might have cried out if he had any air left to spare. 

Instead, he can only attempt to catch his breath; his hands weakly grasping onto Slade's.

"Is this really what you want to be doing right now, Grayson?!" Slade hisses, a purple bruise on his jaw fading into clear complexion as he speaks. "Do you really want to fight me now? Like this?"

Dick chokes as Slade presses harder against his shirt, each hand feeling like stakes driven though his collarbones. 

"Let me tell you now boy," Slade sneers. Dick's heart stutters like an old BMW. "I don't intend for it to be taken that far. You don't want it to be taken that far. That's why, when you go down there, you're going to do your damndest to make. It. Count. The sooner you quit letting your annoying feelings on your family affect you, the sooner the brat can go home. Hurt. Traumatized. But alive."

"Fuck you," Dick spits. For a second, pure annoyance flashes through Slade's face, but all he does is let go of Dick like he's touched something worse than trash. 

Slade brushes his hands together, and gives Dick a steady look as Dick's finally allowed to suck in a lungful of air. He coughs, then glares. 

Slade simply stares back at him with sharp eyes. "Stop fighting me, apprentice. Accept this is new life and move on from your family. You're not leaving this one, kid. You're going to succeed me one day, you'll be ruthless." He pauses. Then his lips begin to twitch back into that infuriating smirk. "And you'll love it."

"I won't become you," Dick risks arguing back. "You can control me, use me for the rest of my life. You can force me to kill, but I'll never be you."

"Yeah," Slade says, grabbing Dick's shoulder and squeezing. It takes every ounce of strength he has to not flinch as Slade prods him to step out of the way of that blasted basement door. "Keep telling yourself that kid, it will be all the more enjoyable for me to watch yourself realize how wrong you are."

And with that, the door opens, revealing the dark and condoning depths down below. Dick's legs feel frozen until Slade impatiently tugs on his shoulders. Dick feels similar to the depressing atmosphere of the staircase as he slowly begins to walk down, having nothing to feel but the cold dread of the future. 

[whittakerjodie]

Doppelganger (Whittaker!Master X Reader)

Prompt: You wake up, finding yourself in an alternate TARDIS in an alternate universe. Oh, and with a quite alternate Doctor. Or is she even the Doctor at all? 

Words: 2.6k

Authors note: whew this is dark haha. anyway whittaker!master could stomp me and I’d say thank you queen. 

Warnings: Violence, torture, blood, angst. It’s the master, y’all. Its dark. REAL dark. 

   Your head was pounding, your sleepless night doing nothing to soothe it. For some reason, the TARDIS had been quite excited, shaking and beeping and screaming, at one point. You weren’t even waking up necessarily; you’d done that hours ago, when a book flew off the shelf and hit you upside the head. 

   You grumpily stomped out of bed, not bothering to pull your robe on. You were sure the Doctor wouldn’t mind; her species didn’t seem to be bothered about things like that. The kitchen was already brewing fresh coffee and you  thanked the machine, before realizing there was no sugar anywhere in sight. What the hell? There was always plenty. The Doctor was practically an addict. 

   Shrugging it off, you forewent the coffee and made your way into the console room. The Doctors familiar blonde hair was the first thing you noticed, along with… a new outfit? Your eyes moved over her, glad she was turned around and couldn’t notice you checking her out. She looked good. A warmth spread over your cheeks as you took your time with the task. 

   The dark red shirt she was wearing contrasted quiet wonderfully with her usual bright closet. So did her waist coat, which hugged her quite snug. You couldn’t distinguish the pattern, but it looked like the same circular symbols you saw throughout the TARDIS. The gold wound around the entire waistcoat, your fingers itching to trail across the fabric. 

   The rest of her outfit was dark, something that had your throat running dry. 

“You’re staring” Your eyes shot wide open, stepping back slightly. Her voice was low- menacing almost. She suddenly whipped around and you nearly passed out from the unusual darkness you saw in her eyes. They were narrowed, digging into the very depths of your soul. “Who are you and what are you doing on my TARDIS?”

   You laughed uneasily, raising a brow. “Hit your head in all the ruckus last night?” Your stomach twinged with nervousness as she continued to watch you silently. Slowly, you made your way up to the console, standing next to her.

 You felt her eyes rake over your form, and suddenly you were wondering if your attire did matter to her. It wasn’t like you were naked, but all you were wearing as a tank top and light shorts. You tugged at the bottom of them nervously, trying to make conversation. 

“What happened last night? Kept me up.”

   Instead of answering she reached into her waistcoat and pulled out a sonic screwdriver. Only, when she activated it, a small laser shot towards you and a harsh yellow glow encompassed your whole body. You tried to leap away from it, only to find that your limbs wouldn’t respond. Your heart rate shot through the ceiling as your mouth struggled to move as well. 

“D-doctor?” You managed to whimper. She chuckled darkly, hand shooting forward to wrap around your throat. Your breath was cut off abruptly and your eyes filled with tears, mind trying to come to terms with what was happening. 

   Since when could her screwdriver do that? Why was she staring at you like that, like she’d eat you in a minute? She seemed to be relishing in your confusion, lips curling upwards. 

“This should be interesting.” She murmured. She used her painful grip to force your head from side to side, analyzing you. Then, her hand let go and just as you drew in a small, shaky breath it made sharp contact with your face, sending you into darkness. 

__________

     When you woke up, you had only a small moment of relaxation before fatigue, confusion, and tension settled into your bones. You tried to relieve the tension, but your limbs were once again unable to cooperate. It wasn’t the weird laser this time, though. As you tugged against your restraints, the rope tugged back and burned against your skin. 

   You hissed, opening your eyes. Darkness was the only thing that greeted you. A blindfold was tied around your head. What was going on? You felt fear (all too familiar, considering your travels with the Doctor) crawl across your skin, heightening every sense. You could hear quiet breathing from across the room. 

“Awake, are we?” 

It was the Doctor. Why did she sound like that? 

“Doctor?” You croaked. “W-What’s going on? Why am I tied up” 

   You heard a rustling and then rapid footsteps, trying to lean back as she made her way towards you. Nothing could prepare you for the sharp sting of leather against your thigh, sending a devastating wave of pain up your leg and through your body. You cried out, gritting your teeth as the aftershocks stung you. 

“Doctor, why-” Another rough smack greeted you, this time across the side of your arm. You yelled again, tugging desperately against the rope holding you in place. Why? Your mind asked Why why why? 

“Don’t call me that” She growled. The leather- a riding crop, you determined, rested against your cheek and you nodded furiously. Anything to avoid being hit again. But why was she saying that? Had something taken her over? 

“I have questions for you,” She said. The riding crop slid under your blindfold and you shut your eyes as brightness flashed before them. She threw the blindfold across the room, riding crop trailing over your lips. 

“I want to know how you got here, who you are, and why you keep calling me Doctor.” 

“I don’t understand,” You panted. She looked angry, scary. Even though it was the Doctors face she wore, you could tell it wasn’t her. You repeated what you’d said and she struck the side of your cheek with the crop, irritated. 

“Likewise. Stop wasting my time” A fresh tear fell off your cheek and you nodded. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Y-y/n” 

“How did you get on board my TARDIS?” 

“I’ve been on the TARDIS for months. I went to bed and woke up-” She raised the riding crop again and you jumped. “No, no no no!” 

You shut your eyes and turned your head away, but the sharp contact never came. Instead, a gloved finger trailed across your skin, far too gentle compared to the treatment you’d received in the past few minutes. 

“Did I pick you up somewhere? I’m not so sure I'd forget such a pretty thing like you” 

You stared at her, blushing despite the fear coursing through your veins. She continued to hold your face, humming lowly. 

“Who are you?” You whispered. 

“You can call me Master” 

_____

   The interrogation seemed to last for hours. After the initial shock subsided, you focused your attention on not giving anything about the real doctor away. Your evasions seemed to only irritate her further. Your skin was smarting all over from the numerous cracks of the riding crop, so much so that you eventually became numb to it. She’d left ten minutes ago, fuming at your disobedience.

When she returned, she was twirling a knife between her fingers. It gleamed in the dim light of the room, taunting you. 

She twirled it over your cheek, snarling. 

“I’ll give you one last chance. Where do I find the Doctor?” 

   You shook your head as slightly as you could so as not to cut yourself on the blade. She gave a small tsk, pouting her lip dramatically. 

“Fine then. We’ll play a different game.” 

Your eyes widened as she slipped the knife into her pocket, unbuttoning her waistcoat. Air logged itself in your throat and you let out an odd, strangled noise, much to her satisfaction. She shrugged the waistcoat off and let it slip to the floor, turning her attention to the red button up. Oh no. This was… this was wrong. What was she doing. She chuckled at your blushing, making a show out of each button to tease you. 

“I see now. You’re all the same, aren’t you? So hopelessly in love. So pretty when you’re terrified.” She murmured. “Looks like my next game will be quite the stunner” 

   You shut your eyes in protest, trying to block out whatever she was planning. A sharp slap against your cheek sent tears pushing against your eyelids, a weight settling into your lap. She chuckled, pulling the knife out of her pocket. 

   Thumbs dragged under your eyelids to force them open, and you nearly passed out from the sight that met you. The Master was straddling your lap, unbuttoned shirt exposing the length of her chest and stomach. In her hands, she twirled the knife. 

“H-hurting me isn’t going to break me” You spit between gritted teeth. You tried to square your shoulders, harden your eyes. Anything to convince her- and yourself- of what you’d said. She didn’t chuckle this time; she laughed. It was ridiculous, dramatic, and loud; yet somehow still beautiful. Then her face fell into a dead serious expression.

“Oh, love, what makes you think I’m going to hurt you?” You gasped, watching her quickly slice the tip of the knife across the side of her neck, just light enough to draw blood. At the sight of it you recoiled, shrieking. 

“Stop!” You yelled. “Stop- how?” Didn’t it hurt her??

Another stark laugh. “I’ve stolen more bodies than I can count. Died too many times to care. Do you really think a small knife is painful. DO YOU?” 

You jumped again, whimpering at the loud outburst. 

“I wonder how many marks I can make before you stop me...” You heard another cut open, shaking your head. 

“Stop, please. Please don’t do this.” 

“Does it hurt, hm? Seeing her like this? I could stop, dear. Just say the word.“ You shut your eyes tighter, squeezing your lips together. No matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t put the Doctor in danger. But she is in danger, technically. No, it’s someone else. Oh god, but it’s her. It’s her, it’s her it’s her. 

Her hand wrapped itself around your throat once more, gripping it tight enough to make you see color behind your eyelids. “No you don’t” She growled. “EYES ON ME!” 

   You met her eyes, stomach churning at the darkness and anger in storming behind them.

 “If you weren’t so annoying… I could respect your perseverance. Maybe. Maybe not.” 

She placed the knife against her collarbones, digging into the flesh. Blood trickled downward slowly, and you tugged at your restraints as if you could try and stop her. “Where is the Doctor?” She asked again.

“I can’t tell you!” 

“I’m starting to lose patience, love. I suggest not testing me any further.Lots of legroom with this strategy.” For a moment, you almost considered telling her, just to get the knife away from the Doctors skin.

 Then, everything started to shake and groan around you. Your chair nearly toppled over, taking you and the Master with it. Loud beeps and cloister bells could be heard from down the hallway, and the Master turned towards the sound. Red lights danced across the walls. Something was wrong. 

“Running out of time, are we?”

 You heard yelling and tried to shake in your seat in an attempt to get her off of you. Unfortunately, all the movement did was remind her of your existence and she let out a guttural growl, smashing her fingers into your temple. 

   You cried out as your vision gave out, mind screaming along with you. Everything was on fire; claws digging  through your mind leaving confusion and static in their wake. No feeling, thought, or memory was distinguishable from the other leaving you defenseless as she continued to invade your mind, taking what she needed. Somewhere, miles away you could hear: Good to see she’s no different than the one in my universe. Makes fighting her much easier. 

   Before you could try and push her out the connection was severed, your body landing on the ground with a smack. You let out another cry of pain, black flashing at the corner of your vision. 

“Who are you?!?” The Doctor’s voice. Or was it the Master? You couldn’t tell. 

“Oh, you know, dear Doctor. I know who you are, too, thanks to your little pet there.” That was the Master. You could hear the Doctor gasp. 

“What have you done to them?” She pointed her sonic at you, trying to determine how severe your wounds were. You tried to tell her you were okay, but the Master took control of the scene once more. 

“We’ve had our fun. Now it’s our turn.” You turned your head to see her charge at the Doctor, knife in hand, grinning like a child on Christmas. The Doctor ducked just in time, and your panicked eyes met.

    The Master swung again, toppling them both onto the ground. It would’ve been quite the sight to see- two people, identical yet so very different at the same time, crawling and struggling against one another. 

“You know what the best part about this is, Doctor?” She was on top, knife raised but directed towards the point between the Doctor's hearts. You could feel warmth around your wrists where blood started to seep from your cut skin, every inch of you trying to help her. “You’re not even from this universe. I could kill you. Right here, right now. And then? Well, then I can do it all over again with my Doctor. Oh, but maybe I’ll start with my new pet first” 

   The Doctor let out a scream, using a surprising amount of force to throw the doppelganger off and send a punch straight to her jaw. You certainly weren’t expecting that. The knife clattered to the floor and the Doctor scooped it up, gripping the handle tightly. 

“Look away, Y/n” She whispered. She wouldn’t- would she? The Master laughed, wiping blood from the corner of her lip. 

“Oh, I don’t think she should. Shouldn’t love be honest, Doctor? Show her who you really are” 

“Doctor” You whimpered. She couldn’t do this; it would destroy her. “I know who you are. Don’t listen to her.” 

She threw you a pitiful glance as the master leapt up, snatching the knife back from her. 

“My god, you are a coward” She spat. The knife arced upwards, towards the Doctors stomach and she jumped back. More footsteps were coming down the hallway and she stepped between the door and the Master.

“Any day. Any universe”  

Ryan and Yaz ran in, holding a pair of handcuffs and an odd looking gun you’d never seen before. Something from this other universe, perhaps? 

   The Master groaned, and your three friends jumped forward to tackle her to the ground, forcing the cuffs around her wrists. The Doctor told Yaz to check on you and she did, running over. 

“Oh my god, Y/N, are you alright?” 

You laughed, unsure of how else to respond. Not really. 

   The Doctor came over to you next, dropping to her knees and cutting the rope from around your wrists. Her and Yaz hissed at the sight of the torn skin, the Doctor glaring daggers at the identical enemy behind her. 

“I’m okay” You whispered. You really weren’t, but saying it somehow made you feel like it might be true. 

“No, you’re not. I’m so, so sorry Y/N. I’m going to get us back home.” The Doctor leaned down and scooped you into a hug. Your muscles screamed at the sudden stretch and a pained groan left your mouth. She immediately let go, cupping your face and staring into your eyes with concern. That was more like it. Your Doctor. 

   She brought you into her arms in a less stressful bridal style hold, standing up. You leaned into her warmth- real warmth, not terrifying fire- sighing. 

“Are we really going to leave her here?” Yaz asked as you all prepared to leave. 

“She’ll find a way out.” The Doctor promised. “Always does.” 

   She didn’t say anything more, and your ears blocked out the sound of Ryan explaining everything to you. Fatigue was taking over. The only thing you could focus on was the way the Master's piercing gaze fixated on you until you could see her no more.

[squidbatts]

all that you have left to lose

Just on a medical note, folks, Peter does regrow his parts, so you Runners don’t need to return any bits you find lying around

Or: an incomplete list of things that runners have returned to Peter Lynne, local disaster

((keeping with my “at least one fic about peter a month” streak for 2020, have a silly little thing about peter being able to regenerate and runners returning his body parts to him anyway. spoilers to... lazarus (s5m30) i think? the fic exists Technically sometime in early s6 but it doesn’t include any of late s5/s6′s plot points so! you should be good. please enjoy!))

{ao3}

1. Ear (Right, torn)

Nadia drops the ear in front of Peter at the mess hall, which is less than ideal for a variety of reasons. A bit because it makes Peter want to eat his mystery soup a little less, but mostly because it causes Reggie from the kitchen to glare over at them. 

"What did I say about dismembered limbs in my mess hall?"

"Not allowed unless they're going in your food," Peter dutifully recites. "Though, can I just say, that's majorly creepy. Am I supposed to take that as 'If Abel had a food shortage, you'd become our very own renewable meat source'? Because that's how I've taken it."

Reggie doesn't respond except to narrow their eyes further, which isn't exactly inspiring. 

Peter turns back to Nadia. "Good afternoon, Nadia! To what do I owe the honor?"

"Someone gave this to Veronica but she said that it wasn't a 'good enough sample,'" Nadia says, with the look of an indulgent older sibling who's been given a mudpie. "I figured you might want it back."

Peter is never sure where he stands with Nadia; she didn't know him, before, and hasn't really shown any interest in getting to know him now, beyond awkward small talk when he goes to Veronica's labs. Still, as her hand's twitch against the wheels of her chair, he recognizes her bravado, as well as the devotion to someone who's just a bit crazy. He smiles at her, puts his spoon down, and picks up the ear. He doesn't want it, not really, but it was nice of her to bring it.

--

2. Finger (Left pinky, cut just above the palm)

Peter supposes that it’s his fault, walking up to another runner without loudly announcing his presence beforehand. Still, it's not like he knew Jody was sharpening her knife. 

"Peter, oh my god, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" Jody gasps, dropping out of her defensive stance as easily as she'd moved into it. Between them on the soft grass of the quad, Peter's finger lays forlornly.

"Since when do you use knives anyway?" Peter hisses, voice muffled by how he's shoved his hand into his mouth in a reflexive attempt to stop the pain. He knows that his body is working to fix it, that in a few hours he'll have a full hand again, but still.

"Tom gave it to me," Jody replies, more starry-eyed than the statement would've called for half a decade ago. Really, Peter should've expected the answer; De Lucas like it best when everyone is nice and well-armed.

"Why are you sharpening it, then? I'd say it's sharp enough already, obviously." Peter wiggles his pinky-less hand pointedly, though there's a significant part of him that's thankful that he only caught her after the knife was sharp enough to make a clean cut: a half-dull blade would've hurt more. Jody scowls, though her eyes still have an apologetic sheen to them. 

"Well, what are you doing skulking around like that? You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"I was going to ask if you wanted to join me on a book exchange run because I heard a rumor that Fort Canton had the fifth Percy Jackson book," Peter huffs, "But now I think I should just go alone."

"Oh, don't be like that," Jody says. She picks up Peter's still bleeding finger from the ground and tosses it to him as she bends to tie her sneakers tighter. 

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Peter asks, making a face. The wound on his hand has closed up, overactive cells already starting to grow him a new pinky, but he puts the old one up to the spot for a moment anyway, pulling it away like a macabre mimicry of a fake finger magic trick.

"I dunno, that's none of my business, is it?" Jody snarks, "Now, let's go, before someone else gets that novel."

--

3. Kidney (Look, it’s been a hard week)

"Damn it, Peter," Louise Bailey hisses, and something hits Peter's back, fast enough that he knows she threw it, "I slipped on your intestines!"

"Sorry! Next time someone's slicing through me with a machete, I'll be sure to keep all my organs inside so I don't hurt you," Peter snarks back as she catches up with him. She didn't actually slip on his intestines, Peter knows, because his intestines are definitely still inside of his body, despite the large torso-spanning slash that he's weakly pressing his hands against -- it used to be hard for him to tell what he'd lost or what hurts, but he's become something of an expert at it since he's rejoined Abel. He's still not sure if that's a good thing. Still, Louise probably did trip on something of his, since whatever she threw at his back was too fleshy and soft to be anything but organic, and he's certain that a few of his less than vital organs spilled out. "You know, this is why I hate missions where I have to deal with people."

"Because you lose your organs?" Louise asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

"Yes, because I lose my organs! Zombies bite and scratch, but they don't throw knives or slice me up. I may be immortal but I can still feel pain," Peter says. Louise is quiet for a moment before she turns around. Peter slows down, nervously looking back towards her and, unfortunately, the direction that their pursuers are coming from. "Oi! What are you doing?"

Louise bends to pick something up and doubles back, cradling a fist-sized, burgundy thing in her hands. She tosses it and Peter catches it on reflex. "Here, it's yours anyway."

The kidney is a bit misshapen and smushed, probably from where Louise stepped on it, but it's still warm in his hands. Louise looks at him out the side of her eye like she's expecting him to just pull open his cut and pop it back in. He slides it into his backpack instead, already anticipating a lecture from Maxine about getting bio-goo on Township supplies. "Thanks, appreciate it."

--

4. Three toes, as well as one and a half loose phalanges (Big and index of right, big of left, god knows where those phalanges came from)

Paula frowns at Peter's feet. Peter frowns at the roof of the building that he still calls the Med Tent in his head. 

"Well, doctor?" He asks, "What's the verdict?" 

Paula moves her scrutiny to Peter's face. "I don't know how you managed to crush your feet like this-"

"I was carrying a supply crate and I tripped, alright, it's not like I did it on purpose," Peter defends. Paula continues as though he hadn't spoken.

"But, usually, I'd do an X-ray and maybe some surgery to re-set, then wrap the toes up for a few weeks. For you, I can tell that at least two of these have set wrong already, so I'll have to re-break them. Though I guess, I could always just amputate."

Peter considers this. "Which one will be faster?"

"The amputation, but you'd be off-balance while things grew back."

"I'd be off-balance with the wrap too," Peter waves her concern off like he's swatting a bug, "No, no, better the quick solution. Can I get anesthetic?"

"Can you get- Of course you can Peter, what kind of doctor do you think I am?" Paula shakes her head at him. "Sometimes, I wonder what's going on in that head of yours."

Peter grins at her, unrepentant and a little self-deprecating. "You and me both, Doc."

Later, after Peter's enjoyed some of the best pain-numbing that Abel can spare and has been given a blindfold because "If you don't stop looking down here and flinching, I'm going to have to cut even more and neither of us wants that," Paula hands Peter a biohazard bag. 

Peter shakes it experimentally and scrunches his nose at the sound of flesh bouncing around inside. "Are these my toes?"

"Yes. Bring them over to Veronica for me, would you? She's been trying to convince Maxine that it would be ethical to cut off one of your limbs for nearly a month now, anyway, might as well give her some actually ethically-sourced Peter parts."

"What am I, a mailman?" Peter asks, peeking into the bag and wincing with phantom pain. Paula frowns at him.

"Do you need a blindfold to wear on the way over to Veronica's as well?"

"Why, Doctor Cohen, I didn't think you were into that sort of thing," Peter leers, breaking into laughter when Paula throws a roll of bandages at him. "Alright, alright, I'm going!"

"And be careful of that foot!"

--

5. A rather large bone (???)

"That is not mine." 

Tom stares at Peter, unblinking. Peter likes Tom, he did even when Tom was more liability than friend, but god if he isn't creepy sometimes. 

"Are you sure?" Tom asks, looking from the bone, a massive thing that's clearly longer than Peter's forearm, to Peter. 

"I'm quite sure. I don't know who's out there missing a bone, but I like to think that I would've noticed losing a leg bone."

Tom hums, consideringly. He picks up the bone and swings it once, as though he's testing the heft and balance. Peter suddenly has a horrible vision of Tom, just as dangerous and De Luca-ish as he is right now, but also armed with a bone sword. He doesn't think that Janine would ever forgive him if he let that happen. 

"Actually, you know what?" Peter says, reaching forward and taking the bone from Tom, "I think this might be mine. Thank you for returning it, I'll just, uh, add it to the collection, as it were."

"You collect your own bones?" Tom asks. Peter, who is already too far in, just smiles back at him. 

"We all have our little hobbies," He offers. Tom raises his eyebrows but nods. Still, Peter makes a mental note to tell Jody to be on the lookout for any weird new quirks; Tom had seemed much too interested in the concept of a bone collection.

--

+ 1. Nothing

Five clears their throat as they enter Peter's curtained-off corner of the Med Tent. "Rare that you're trapped in here," They sign. 

"Unfortunately, even I need some time and doctor assistance to fix spinal trauma," Peter says, putting down the knitting that Jody gave him; he appreciates the gesture but knitting when one of your hands is pins-and-needles numb and you can only use the other if you hold your arm in a very particular position while your nerves knit themselves back together is more effort than it's worth. "Nice of you to come visit, though." 

Five makes a face, their classic I'm not sorry but manners tell me that I should be face, and signs, "Sam told me that I should come visit you. He says I shouldn't keep your things without asking."

"My things?" Peter asks, brow furrowed. "What do you have of mine? I didn't you'd be much for theft, Five. Well, theft among friends, that is."

"I'm not, it's just-" They cut themselves off and reach into their pocket with a heavy sigh. What they pull out is small, white, and clean. Peter's confused for a moment, wondering why in the world Sam thinks it's his, and then Five moves it in their hand and he gets a better idea of the shape and- huh. 

"That's one of my vertebrae." He says, though it sounds more accusing than he'd wanted. Five scowls. 

"I found it, fair and square. You just left it on the ground, obviously you didn't care about it."

"Five, my dearest, darling head of runners," Peter starts, desperately wishing that his hands were working enough that he could steeple them for emphasis. "I passed out from blood loss."

"That's not any of my business!" Five signs emphatically. 

Sometimes, Peter forgets that Five is like this; sometimes, in his head, Five is a big soft puppy that loves sports bras and Sam. The real Five, unfortunately, is a gremlin who does things like drink shampoo to win a bet and picks up garbage off the ground during runs just because they can. "Whatever, it's fine. I don't want it anyway."

Five looks at him suspiciously but puts the bone away. "Are you sure?"

"Very. I've already regrown most of the damaged pathways, I'm sure the bones are nearly back as well." 

"I wasn't really worried about you taking this one back," They say, finally coming closer to settle into the chair next to Peter's bed. "But it would've been okay if you did; I have three more."

"Three more?" Peter asks, "Are they all vertebrae or- Actually, nevermind, I don't want to know and I don't want them back."

"Good," Five grins, sharp as a wolf, "I wouldn't have given them to you anyway."

[trash-and-recyle-fics]

Desperate For Freedom part3

Summary: In a universe where females are not allowed to remain innocent after their 18th birthday Y/N must hide. But when her cover is blown how will the unforgiving government punish her? None other than gifting her to a God from three worlds away. The god of mischief. He is told to keep and do what he wishes with the lying girl. So that is what he will do. Chained to the inside of an air craft she is brought to him on Asgard. Were her fate will be in a liars hands.

I’ve been having a rough couple months that is why this is so late but I promise to start the next chapter ASAP. Please put in my ask box if you want any sort of specific kink or prompt in the next story.

Warnings: I don’t there is swearing lol? Non-con, violence, multiple partners? Grammar spelling and punctuation mistakes.

⚠️This is 18+⚠️

—————————————

It’s been months. This room is all you know now. After about a month and a half of not trying to run Loki would now let you go out onto the terrace. A small reward for your suffering. You would sit in a chair out there all day if you could. Just imagining home. The rules and most the people there were not good but your family was there. Loki had tried asking about them once and you told him not to talk about them. The more he pressed a little piece of your act fell reasulting in you breaking your hand on his face. The healers were able to fix it but your punishment that night made you sore for weeks. Loki had been gone for awhile now on a mission to help Thor in otherworldly missions. The break had been nice, the fear almost completely gone from the pit of your stomach. You always remained cautious though. You had to. A couple weeks ago right after Loki left a guard had been sneaking into the room to watch you while you slept. You had asked him if Loki had told him to do so, he lied of course. Just a couple days ago he had laid next to you in the bed. In your home realm if two people who are not married lay two together it is punishable by death. You didn’t know why but the handmaid would not talk to you about why the guard lay with you. He never touched you he just lay looking up at the ceiling.

So here you sat watching the asguardian sun go down for the night. The air felt to good and the breeze was just perfect. You had hauled out the top blanket on the bed and a pillow. You layed on the ground with the pillow under your head looking up at the stars. Thinking and dreaming of a way out. You did this frequently, but it seemed the idea of leaving seemed more and more dangerous the longer you stayed. The longer you stayed the more comfortable you got.

Time skip (the next morning)

“My dear pet, what on Odins name are you doing?” Opening your eyes was a struggle. You mourned for more sleep.

“Tired are we? Sleeping on the ground can do that.” A shawdow moved over you blocking the rising sun. Remembering your promise to yourself you jumped up and hugged Loki. Burying your head in his chest and hung onto him.

“Little Y/N did you miss me that much?” You let go of him and backed away. Just so you could look at him.

“Sorry sir I was-I was just waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me outside?” You looked over your shoulder remembering the weather, the sunset , and shamefully your dreams of home. 

“Yes.” He nods and walk over your blankets to the edge of the balcony. 

“Now why don’t you tell me what you were really doing.”

“I did sir that's what I was doing.”

“Do not lie to me pet. After all I am the god of lies.” You stayed behind him trying to sound brave.

“I was dreaming of home.” 

“What about home?”

“The weather we would always have beautiful down seasons. The leaves would change dramatically. My parents would let me climb the trees shake down the leaves then we would put them into piles and I would get to jump into the pile.” Without realizing it he was looking at you. You whoever were looking to the side watching the sky with a smile on your face.

“Your home wanted asgaurd to kill you in front of residents to prevent resistance. I was granted to take you instead.” You met his eyes the smile wiped clean of your face. 

“I-I didn't realize.” 

“It’s nothing new that is how my father met my mother and how Thor will marry. We change the names of the person we will marry.”

“Wait...does that mean I am...”

“Yes pet,” Loki walks towards you he grabs your chin and runs his thumb over your lip. 

“You are mine forever.” You could feel your stomach drop and your heartbeat was in your throat. His thumb pulling back at your lip. 

“Mm these lips. You truly are a good find.” You go numb, knowing what’s coming. 

* Three weeks later*

Since Loki has been back you haven’t been eating. He never has ate with you he is usually out and training new recruits or somewhere in the castle. On time the hand maid enters.

“I have your food miss you would like me to leave it today?” You shake your head no, not even bothering to glance at her. Your eyes trained on the bookcase. The thought of food made you want to hurl. Your stomach disagreed though and growled. As the handmaid leaves the door clicks shut with it shutting you close your eyes. Drifting off to sleep.

“So you haven’t been eating” It wasn’t a question. “Trying to slowly kill yourself hmm?” Warm breath coasted over your neck.

You open your eyes thinking the voice was in your head. When you open them you are still in the chair but unable to move. Your hands and feet bound with an invisible force. With Loki not in your line of vision you struggle. 

“You think I wouldn't notice? Or the vary least have someone tell me?” He walks around the chair and sits on the foot stool. “What should I do about that?” 

“I’m sorry sir I will be good I promise.” 

“Think you can get out of punishment? Now what kind of master would I be if I let you off the hook?” 

“I will be good.” He slowly nods letting his eyes travel your body. 

“I know you will be.” He peels your knees apart and his magic makes them stay. Letting his fingers trail down the seam of your panties. 

“I knew you would be soaked. Always so good to me.” You close your eyes not wanting to look. You weren’t prepared to feel the cold metal enter you. One after the other three small metal balls slipped into your core. 

“So needy, you could have just asked for some attention pet.” Then something slipped onto your clit. When the vibrations hit you couldn’t control your hips. 

“You will cum, four times do you understand?” 

“Yes.” the vibrations got more intense.

“Yes-s sir.” 

“That’s more like it.”

Your hips rode the vibrations as your mouth moaned. Your walls tightened quickly around the balls inside of your heat. You already came once and it was a powerful one. Then another and another. With each orgasm you slipped farther and farther into oblivion. Then it stopped. Your hips still trying to find a rhythm.

“Stop pet it’s time to move on for tonight, you will take my cock like the whore you are.” The invisible ties around your limbs is undone and Loki wraps one hand in your hair and one around your torso. Easily he brings you up off the chair and so you dangle in his arms. The cold metal of his armor is unsettling but, exciting. Wait were you actually enjoying this?

“Oh pet i love how easily you fall apart.” Loki whispered this into your ear as he tossed your naked body on the silken sheets. His bed truly was made for a king. Just like the first night he blindfolded you but as he did this you felt another set of hands on your wrist. Pulling away sharply and tucking them under your chin to hide them for the mistery man. Loki lays his hand on the back of your head and whispered softly and so delicately into your ear it made goose bumps rise on your legs.

“Shh darling let him tie your wrists. You don’t want us to use force now do you?” Unconsciously you move more towards his body and away from where you think the strange man was.

“I- i don’t want the guard to touch me Loki.” You let his name slip.

“I’m sorry I-I mean sir.”

“What guard?” His voice losing patience.

“The guard you told to watch me sleep while you were away.” You could feel his body go hard.

“I will handle that later just trust for right now that you will be safe.” Still with your hands under your chin and blind fold on, Loki moved his hand from your hair and down to your elbow.

“Give me your hand pet.” His voice commanding but soft.

“Is it going to hurt?”

“Yes.” His voice never wavering. Slowly you moved one hand out from under your chin so Loki could grab it. His cold fingers wrapped gently around your hand and moved it father so your arm was strait. Then you felt another hand grab your wrist. You tried to pull away again but Loki’s grip was far to tight.

“Shh pet behave or it will be far worse.” The blindfold became wet with tears and you were breathing heavy Loki now basically laying on top of you keeping you still while the other man tied your legs. You felt someone crawl up in between your legs and even more sobs racked your body. As Loki pulled out the small metal balls you started to panick.

“No Sir please I don’t want him. Not him.” You tried to crawl away but the ropes wouldn’t allow it. A sharp smack across your ass made you whine.

“Let me watch in peice pet.” Then you felt the foreign man spread you wide and lick up your crease. Along your hole.

You tired to reach out for Loki but as the man did it again you tired not to moan. The tounge felt familiar and the cold hands even more so.

“You May make noises pet.” With permission to enjoy this you never shut your mouth. The man ate you until you were screaming.

“Mmm so good pet now I am going to untie your feet and take a turn in the back while our friend fucks your mouth, but before that I want you to open as wide as you can for me.” You lift you head off the mattress and open your mouth wide just like your master said.

“That’s a good girl.” Loki placed a speacial device in your mouth made to keep it open. Strapping in place on the back of your head. Once again you felt a strong slap to your ass.

“I love it how you turn to most beautiful shades of reds, and all from my hand.”

With your mouth held open and ass in the air you were left completely defenseless. All at once the double intrusion surprised you. You moaned and bucked. The feeling of pleasing Loki and another man at the same time made you wet to no extent.

“That’s it. Good girl.” From behind Loki thrusted into you at a steady pace. The man at your mouth doing the same. Your walls clenched around his member as he drove deeper and deeper into you.

“Cum.” And so you did. Your body reacting however he wanted. All he had to do was say the words.

“Again.” Your legs shook and you tired to escape the bruising pace. Your mouth was so full you could hardly moan. The man pulled up on your hair and finished in your mouth. Not far behind him was Loki.

“Mmm.. good little slut.” The bed shifted and you left your hips fall so they rested on the silken sheets. Juices leaking out of you like none other. Loki’s hand travels up your sling to the back of your head to undo the mouth contraption. You shut your mouth and opened it a couple times to get used to the feeling again. As you did this Loki undid the wrist straps. You pulled your hands close to your chest. Finally the blindfold was untied and the dim lighting seemed bright.

“Look at me. Y/N.” You slowly opened your eyes again and found Loki kneeling by the bed brushing your hair back.

“Sit up. We need to clean up.” Groaning you sat up every muscle protesting. He helped you stand from the bed practically dragging you to the luxurious bathroom. He ran the bath water as it warmed he sat you on the soft animal hide carpet. Soon enough you both were in the steaming bath.

“What did you mean you didn’t want the guard?” Choosing to keep quiet you let the The sounds of water running down your body answer.

“Y/N. I will not be ignored. Therefore I will ask one last time.”

“While you where away a guard would come in at night and watch me sleep. Occasionally lay with me. He said you commanded him to do so.”

“I will have him as an example. Asgard will realize that only I can look at you!”

“Loki -.”

“Hush. You will be quiet now.” You let Loki wash your hair and body. Once done he didn’t bother to put robes back on the either of you. He simply carried you to bed and kisses and left love marks on your neck and breasts before drifting to sleep.

Time skip the next morning

When you awoke you weren’t expecting to be wrapped in Loki’s arms. You found yourself not pretending anymore but truly enjoying him. The way he felt. Whether it was when he was inside of you or when he was just talking to you.

“Wake up love. I have many things to discuss with you today.” The hand maid must have brought in breakfast at one point because on the silver cart sat the feast.

“Today I must talk to you about our engagement.”

———————————

Taglist for Desperate For Freedoom

Some of these did not work I apologize

⚠️If you would like to be added to my forever taglist I can cag you but the taglist for Desperate For Freedom is closed as of now. ⚠️

@unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt

@teamfreewill79

@Bakugouwinchester

@books-baritones-bucky

@kittycatkrissa

@lovelyxserpent-br

@e-wolf-98

@lokislilslut

@Thelostandweeping

@screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms

@marvelrose01

@middymaye5512

@captainjacksparkles

@matczvkv

@1-800-back-off

@txxgxnwxrd

@therewasnousernamecomeon

@probably-not-star-lord

@tryingmybestlmao

[eltanin-malfoy]

Too Late (Kill Or Be Killed V)

pairing : draco/fem-collegestudent!y/n 

word count : 3.9k

Chapter 1 2 3 4

warnings : swearing, sexual themes, mentions of rape/murder/drugging, angst (duh!), slight fluff

a/n : last part! i will most likely write up an epilogue in the future but.. not any time soon, sadly. (sorry for using the ugliest trope ever) thank you @unpeustupide for beta-ing!!!!!

Jesus Fucking Christ. 

Y/N had run her fingers down Draco’s arm slightly as they’d talked on her couch,and he’d thought that was the end of any sort of physical contact between them. 

But, oh boy, had he been wrong. 

He certainly hadn’t anticipated the night ending with a hand up under her shirt, rubbing at her bare back underneath it, as she squirmed on his lap, giggling at the rare moments their mouths didn’t attempt to devour one another, barely looking for a breath. 

He opened his eyes and looked into hers, the skin under her eyes crinkling the slightest bit as she smiled. He returned it but was quick to push their faces together again, bringing his other hand up and pressing it to her cheek. She let out the slightest sound, probably of surprise, and he took it as encouragement, sliding the tip of his tongue over the curve of her lower lip.

He could barely even recall the events that’d led them up to this point. It seemed as if she’d really just jumped into his arms (but had she? What had even gone down..?). Thoughts weren’t exactly coming to him clearly, what with all his blood rushing to..well. She couldn’t possibly be drugged again, could she? 

No, of course not. I’ve been with her ever since.

But I suppose.. it wouldn’t hurt to check. 

He pulled away from her and brought his hand to her jaw, holding her face in place. He gazed into her eyes intently, they seemed to hold the furthest stars on the sky and the deepest depths of the ocean in them.. No. Focus, Draco. He checked to see if they were unusually red or dilated or.. something else entirely.

 Well, they were dilated. But then again, probably so were his.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could… everything faded to black.

His eyes were open but it really was dark. Wherever he was. He attempted to bring his hands to his eyes, to rub at them sleepily and try to clear up whatever sort of darkness there was in front of him. No it was a blindfold, given his face felt rather numb, but nothing could ever be that dark.  He found his arms restrained, tied up. A bit more fidgeting informed him that practically all of his limbs were secured and that he was only really capable of wiggling his torso and his neck the slightest bit. He was sprawled over wooden chair and the back of his neck was aching, probably after having been there for a while. 

The slightest inkling of what might be happening suddenly popped up in Draco’s mind.

I certainly didn’t.. couldn’t have! I suppose for the right.. no! I don’t remember talking about anything to do with something like.. this. Didn’t think she’d be into S & M like this, frankly. Did she drug me this time and then..tie me up..? Could she have done that to me? No! NO!

He started to struggle and then, to his relief, he felt his jeans rub against his thighs, he was still fully clothed and nothing really felt too.. sore, well, not unless you counted what was certainly beginning to stir between his legs. Goddammit. Fucking… wait.

Did that even happen? The kissing? The feeling up? The.. everything?

Draco attempted to run through the evening’s events. He’d gone to work, droned through a shift, encountered his worst nightmare, agreed to spend some time with her after his shift, been caught off guard by her actually being.. nice, for once, had some drinks and then… he’d..

He’d obviously gotten too hammered, made out with her and then agreed to something he definitely wouldn’t have otherwise, had he been sober.  

Or.. perhaps not. It just seemed too odd. He really did dream up everything like that with her. And this was some sort of nasty old prank.

“Y/N? Are you.. there?” He finally worked up the courage to call out to her. His voice sounded raspier than normal, and it was only then that he realised that his throat was parched. And that his stomach felt worryingly too empty. 

She couldn’t have.. tied me up and gone off to do something else, right? 

SHE HASN’T LEFT ME SOMEWHERE NO ONE ELSE COULD EVER FIND ME, RIGHT?

“Y/N!?” He almost yelled out, trying his absolute hardest to tug his wrists away from the arms of the chair, but to no avail. 

“Yes!” He finally heard her reply. “Coming.” She sounded weirdly relaxed. Was this something she got up to often? Tying partners up in her house?

Is this why her and Cormac broke up..? Now was he her partner?

What am I doing?

The sound of her footsteps grew louder and he could hear that she’d drawn closer. It was so quiet but he could feel her breath quiver on his lips. He was burning up. . He was about to open his mouth and ask her to please, please help him out of whatever this was and tell him what happened last night.. But Y/N suddenly chose to laugh, quite loudly too.

“Wha-” Of course. She’d seen it. The very painful thing making its presence known only now. His legs were obviously bound such that it was… agonizingly obvious through his jeans. His legs secured to either leg of the chair presented ample view that too. FUCK.

His face heated up almost instantly and he oh, so desperately wanted to cross his legs. He suddenly ran through the thoughts that tended to force any heat out of his mind. Soccer plays from the last decade.. cute pugs..  maybe if he thought of recent disasters..

But it was no good. She kept fighting her way back in. She was the fucking plague. Her piercing gaze. Her soft lips, her figure that slipped perfectly into his arms when she sat on him. A jigsaw piece to fit perfectly into him.

Of course, he had a jigsaw piece he so wanted to fit into her.

So badly.

He should be ashamed. He is completely off-task. Some Malfoy he is. But he just doesn’t fucking care. She’s what he wants to do, his new mission. Maybe, perhaps, just possibly : he was in love with her. Perhaps the stalking and the loathing had been some sort of cover for his actual feelings. And now, he felt dizzy, hot - 

“Hush.” She finally said, presumably inching closer to him. “Let me.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself (hopefully, very, very hopefully) for the sound of the girl in front of him getting on her knees in front of him, or perhaps the feeling of her body heat against him. Hey, maybe she’d even take some mercy on him and move into his lap, writhe against what longed to be touched, kiss him while he still had the blindfold on, bite his lip and tug at his hair in the animalistic manner he so desired. 

Or at least, he expected to hear the clatter of his stupid belt buckle as she undid it.

But that isn’t what happened at all.

Instead, he felt her hands delicately reach around his head and untie the blindfold which was tight round his face. He kept his eyes shut, bracing himself for the sunlight probably flashing into the room, as well as what the girl in front him was likely wearing.

I wonder.. 

He normally would have gone ahead and been more snarky. Would have asked her what she was wearing before he even came close to taking a glimpse. But no. 

Today, he was too desperate.

He opened his eyes and was greeted with the sight of Y/N grinning down at him, hair slightly messy while she wore a very appealing.. little, black dress.

Oh, how his dreams were all coming true.

He let his eyes trail down her figure… she hadn’t left a lot for him to imagine for himself, oh thank you, Jesus. God knew what she had on underneath it. Maybe, just maybe, she had a matching pair of lingerie. Maybe he would tease her, just a little bit. Give her a little smug ‘All for me?’ or something along those lines.

The ties on his limbs were far too restrictive for him to peel it off of her himself.. but it would be quite fun to watch her stri- 

“So you were thinking about me, Draco? In your dreams, I mean?” She started again and his eyes darted to her face. She lifted her hand slightly and Draco almost drew back in fear at what he saw.

A knife gleamed in her fist. 

He stared up at her, incredibly afraid. Was this the sort of thing she was really into? If so.. even Draco had his limits.

She began to laugh again, wrinkling her nose adorably. “Settle down.. I’m not going to use this on you. Not unless you force me to, darling.” 

Draco could only really ponder over what the hell she meant by that. He could soon feel the aching between his legs basically shrinking as he kept his eyes on the knife.

“So.. I didn’t know you were into BDSM.” “I’m not! And.. what do you mean by that..? You must be into this.. Right?” 

“I’d think you should’ve been a little bit more scared about this if you aren’t into it. Pretty out of context otherwise, you know.” She squinted down at him.

“But um.. last night? Didn’t we-?” “No, Draco. You passed out while we were talking..and, so I took it upon myself to.. you know.”

Draco found himself dumbfounded. So.. it really was a dream. It was frankly, far too vivid-

“So, I was right. You actually are into me and everything.”

“If you want to put it so bluntly, yes, I suppose I am.”

“So.. that’s why you were stalking me and everything? Wanted a piece of me all along, did you?” “What? No!” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb with me. Did you want revenge or something?”

“What the- No! What are you even talking about?”

“I’m not that stupid, Draco. Tell me why you were after me.”

“What the fuck? How do y- I don’t know!”

“Oh come on, so you.. wanted to rape me or something? As revenge?”

“No! No! Of course not! What are you even talking about? Do you think it was me who drugged you? Because it wasn’t!” 

“I know.. but.. stop that!” She crossed her arms, taking care to hold the knife out a little more.

“Stop what..?” His voice grew shaky with anxiety.

“Stop lying to me, Malfoy! I know you know everything.”

“I don’t! How do you.. How do you even know my last name? I know for a fact I never told you what it was.”

“The little bit of research I did was enough for me to find out about your parents. ’Draco’ is not a common name, like, at all. It’s quite funny, actually. Why would anyone name their child ‘dragon’?”

“It’s a reference to the constellation! In my mum’s famil-”

“Do you really think I care?” She huffed, glaring at him even more. “Even at the hospital, I saw.. those syringes in your jacket. Tell me what those were about. Are you some sort of addict?”

“Just.. let me out of this so I can explain myself.” “I would never. You’ll do it now or I’ll take a leaf out my.. my father’s book and make sure you never see the light of day again.”

“A-alright..” He looked nervously at the knife and then back at her face, gulping audibly. “So what do you want from me?”

“The truth”, She knelt, looking him in the eye.

“So-so.. I.. I might have just.. kindofplannedonmurderingyou.” He looked to the side, focusing on a very interesting patch of the wall.

“What?”

“I might have planned on.. murdering you. But.. I swear.. after that night at the hospital, I knew I could never.”

She exhaled loudly. “I knew it! I knew you had some sort of ulterior motive.. so it is because you wanted revenge? Or because you needed to get those drugs of yours?”

“No! You have it all wr-” He exclaimed but fell silent as that devilish look in her eyes grew again.

She stepped closer to him and held the knife dangerously close to his face. Her eyes were scarily wide and she grit her teeth. Draco felt goosebumps rising all over his skin and sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He definitely didn’t look as put together as he did when he set out for work the night before.

“I swear to god. Do not make me use this on you already.”. She took a deep breath. “All this time you’ve confused the hell out of me. I was trying to figure out how to get you to my place at first. You aren’t exactly easy to carry.. so I flirted with you a little, then made you come over to mine, which you did way too happily, by the way. So, I decided to slip you a date rape drug and see how you’d like it!”

“Why would you do that? Didn’t you-” “Again, because I knew you wanted revenge! And now that I know you know about me.. I can’t possibly let you out of here alive, now can I?”

Draco fell silent again, knowing his time was very much over. He was going to have to confess and then .. face the consequences. Was there anything he could do at this point? She was absolutely going to end all of this. Suddenly, everything flashed before his eyes.

His parents, still in prison, learning about him going missing. Wouldn’t they be devastated? All his old friends, wouldn’t they feel awful about leaving him all by himself once he lost fortune?  Even fucking Weasley! He bet that tosser would cry about it. Or maybe not. Hard to tell. 

“I d-didn’t want revenge. I don’t know why I would. It’s true that I tried to learn more about you..and I might have attempted to stalk you. But it didn’t work out very well. Obviously. I was genuinely just cu-curious about murder. I swear. I did-”

“How can you be curious about murder?”

“I know.. I seriously wasn’t thinking. I was basically quite interested with this one serial killer. You might have heard of him.. um.. Richard Hoyt.” 

She rolled her eyes and looked at him sternly. “Now you’re seriously just mocking me.”

“No.. I… what do you even mean?”

“You know.” “I don’t! I’ve told you so many times, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“He is.. well, was my father. I have no control over it, so I really don’t appreciate your teasing.”

What..? Now, she had to be joking. 

He forced out a nervous laugh but Y/N merely squinted back at him, and so he stopped. 

“That can’t be true, can it?”

“And why not?”

“Your surname isn’t.. Hoyt. And you look nothing like him.” He certainly wasn’t as beguiling. “Well, obviously I wouldn’t keep my serial killer father’s name, would I? It’s my mum’s. She had to change it after he was convicted. And, that’s just pure genetic luck, really.”

“So your mum and.. him. Seriously.”

Draco had no idea what to say and just stared up at her in silence. This was way too much information for him to process at once. How was he supposed to devise a plot for himself to escape? It certainly was game over for him.. but maybe.. just maybe.. If he could buy himself some time.

“So.. you’re going to kill me?”

“As far as I can see, yes, I am.” “But you can’t.”

“And why is that?” “I-I have a family. And… friends. And a job. They’ll all know I went missing.”

“You aren��t close to any loved ones, I know that. As for your job.. I doubt they care much about cashiers who stop showing up.”

Shit.

“I… I can’t die like this, Y/N, please.”

“What do you mean?”

“I.. can’t die like this. I.. wanted more from life. I wanted to finish my Chemistry degree. Get married. Have a family.” “Oh please.. Don’t give me that mushy stuff. You came very close to killing me. Or at least to attempting to kill me. None of that came back to you then?”

Fuck. 

“You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you did.”

She actually looked nervous at that. Maybe.. he did have a chance.

“If.. you let me go now, I won’t tell anybody anything. I swear. We can just pretend this never happened.” “Oh, please. I.. I’m not that simple.” “Come on, Y/N, please. Have you actually ever done this before?”

“No.”

“Then.. then.. just.. don’t.. not tied up like this. At least give me that.”

“How.. can I?”

“Just.. just.. untie my arms. Please.”

He coaxed himself to grow a bit teary. The images of his own mother growing sad at his demise helped a lot. To his surprise (which he did his best to conceal), Y/N’s expression softened. Considerably. Maybe, to some very slight extent, Y/N returned his feelings. But of course, that didn’t matter at the moment. Not when she was ready to kill him. 

“O-okay. But you can’t try anything.” 

She leaned over slightly and set her hands on right wrist, slowly untying the material around it. Draco’s eyes lay on her and he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Was she really going to kill him? Or at least, would she try to? For now, maybe he should treasure these last few moments. He’d never felt this intensely about anything, it seemed. Even if he did make it out alive, would he be able to just.. accept everything? How.. she had tried to kill him?

Her fingertips brushed against his skin as she went along, and Draco relished every little touch. She removed the ties around both his wrists and Draco lifted his forearms up slightly, then smiled at her. Somehow, she smiled back at him. He set his palms on her cheeks and she didn’t shift away. If only he could just.. 

“My.. my elbows too, please?”

“I..okay.” Her voice was uncharacteristically soft.

She undid those ties as well and Draco lifted his arms up for the first time in many hours. He still sort of wanted to gather her up in them and pull her onto his lap.. But no. He needed to get out. 

“T-tell me.. “ “What?” “Tell me everything. I.. at least deserve that. If I don’t have much more to live for..” Draco crosses his arms, but only in a ruse to scope out how much more material he had to get rid of before he could wriggle free and run.

“Fine.. I guess I should. I didn’t think anything of you at first. By the Tesco and everything. I just thought you were some prick. But.. I saw you that night. At Cormac’s building. I genuinely couldn’t understand why you were even watching me at all. At first, I chalked it up to mere coincidence.. but.. then.. The next day. With the dog. 

“Was it even yours? I was so confused. Did you really think you could outsmart me with.. some cap and sunglasses? You truly are infuriating. I thought it was perhaps.. a relative or something at first. But you still looked too much like you and a bit of your hair poked out the back, so I knew it was definitely you. I can’t believe you acted like that. I still have no idea why you would have done that. That’s why I decided to look up your stupid name and left that stupid envelope in your mailbox.

“Then.. I saw that you were viewing my Instagram stories. That was when it started driving me up the wall. Did you think I couldn’t see or something? Your username isn’t exactly subtle, you know. I figured you were tracking my movements.. So I laid out a little trap. And you fell right into it. Came right to the pub and everything, all by yourself. You really are one hell of an amateur..

“Then, I had to go ahead and make that dumb mistake. I put the pill in your drink and took a sip from it myself. I can’t believe I was that daft.. “

“That was you?! You.. you did that to yourself? You meant that for me?”

“Shut up. Don’t you dare interrupt me.” Her voice was oddly shaky, and it had been growing shakier every second she had spoken.

But she didn’t even continue. She put the knife down, covered her face with her hands and began to shake slightly. Although he felt so very bad, like he just wanted to hold her, console her, never let her go.. This was the perfect time for an exit.

And so, he undid all the ties, anywhere he could find them, around his neck, around his chest, up and down his legs, everywhere. He kicked them all off and stood up, as softly as possible. And then … he froze. She was crying. He could hear it. Sniffles and everything.

He couldn’t leave. Not like this.

He took a deep breath and walked over to her, then turned her around. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes slightly pink near the rims. She looked up at him with her eyes wide. “Draco..? How did you-”

He couldn’t possibly let her continue, so he shut her up. With a kiss. He cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers, just like he had in that stupid dream. 

Fuck. Her lips felt better than he ever imagined them to be. Soft and everything he could ever wish for. Actually returning his kiss. He tilted his head and brought their faces even closer, letting his tongue swipe at her bottom lip before she opened her mouth slightly and let him in. 

Oh, how badly he wanted to lose himself in the kiss. To just forget everything. To keep tasting the spearmint toothpaste the girl had used. To stay this close. To let his hands roam over her body. To finally see what was under that gorgeous dress. 

But no. Of course not. The universe wasn’t going to let him do that.

And so, he brought a hand to her neck and felt around until he found her jugular. And he did what he had to do. He pressed down on it. 

It was the perfect way to knock someone out. To be careful and just.. find their pulse point. And it worked just the way he wanted it to. She almost fell onto him, but he caught her. And he looked her over. Her adorable sleeping face. Just like in the hospital. 

For the last time. 

He set her down on the floor carefully, crossing her legs so no one could chance a peek. (Not even him! He was ready to wait. Perhaps this wasn’t the right time to think of something like that..) He even ran his hand through her hair so it looked a little more tame. He allowed himself one final glance at her lips.. 

But then, he knew what he had to do and he forced himself out of the room.

It wasn’t long before he found his way out and ran as fast as he could do to the nearest bus stop. But… he didn’t know what he was running from. Her, or whatever he could have had with her. 

Too late. 

[lutelyre]

Fic Drabble: Merlin

Prompt: After years of requests, H-bee has finally dragged a Merthur fic from me, and tbh I’m not mad about it. This also could have worked for Whumptober’s “Ransom” or “Numb” potentially! Fandom: Merlin -- AU “Rival Gangs” scenario (This was my first time ever writing this fandom and I haven’t seen a SINGLE episode, so what a wild ride...)

Everybody Knows That The Dice Are Loaded

Merlin feels himself break out in a cold sweat when he sees them drag Arthur inside, hogtied and blindfolded, his nose already broken and blood drooling from a torn lip onto his dumb rock band t-shirt, bruises blooming on his face like dark roses.

He’s spitting curses, struggling like the diehard hero he always tried to be, and Merlin feels his heart crack a little bit, a panic growing fizzily in his chest. Goddamn it—he’d told Arthur that Mordred would be patrolling tonight, he’d told him a hundred times. Why the fuck wouldn’t the man ever listen to him?

“We didn’t expect to pick up this fuckboy, when we went cruising, huh?” laughs Mordred, his eyes alight with triumph and maybe also a fresh line of coke. Mordred had never been good at keeping himself out of the goods. Behind him, Morgause gets tired of Arthur’s impressive litany of expletives and punches him in the stomach, hard. Author shuts up mid-swear, and instead groans in pain, long and low. They must have already broken a few ribs. Morgause reaches down to shove a rough wad of cloth into his mouth to gag him, clearly already over this shit.

Merlin’s fingers twitch involuntarily. “Great, you got us useful asset, but the Knights won’t pay for a beat-up piece of pulp, will they?”

Arthur’s head snaps up at his voice, a noise of recognition half-dying in his throat. Merlin’s stomach flips over. Mordred laughs, high-pitched and not really sane. He always was more aggressive when he was doped up.

“Who says we’re ransoming this little piece of shit?” He kicks Arthur’s back with his heavy black combat boot,  hard, and Arthur twists awkwardly on the ground and grunts, gritting his teeth.  

“I’m going to have a little fun with him, and then we’ll put his head on a spike for the Knights to cry over.” A switchblade catches the light, and then too quickly Mordred is kneeling down, gripping Arthur’s chin and already drawing a deep, red-seeping line with the blade down his forehead, smiling when Arthur tries to jerk from his hold.

Merlin’s own teeth feel tight in his mouth, buzzing. He tries to think fast. “You don’t want to ransom Pendragon’s kid? They’ll pay good money for him.”

Arthur makes another half-bit off noise, surprise but also an undercurrent of anger in the muffled sound.

Fuck, what was he doing? He had promised never to tell that secret—knew it would make Arthur a target more than anything else. But what the fuck else was he supposed to do? Mordred’s head had snapped up at his words.

“What d’you mean, his kid?” He looks slowly from Arthur lying on the ground to Merlin, whose fists are clenched. “Just how did you know that, man?”

Shit, shit, shit—

“Not all of us just spend our time testing the goods, Mordred.” He says, as casually as he can muster. “I’ve been doing research, I thought that was my job in this hellhole.”

Mordred chuckles under his breath. “Oh yeah? I wonder about that.”  He brings his knife up to his mouth and licks the blood there, slowly.

“This little Knight ass-wipe seemed to know where he was going when we grabbed him, didn’t ya?” Mordred brings the blade back up to Arthur’s face, draws another line on his forehead agonizingly slowly, diagonal to the first. “Even seemed to know exactly what we were doin’. I wonder how he knew that, don’t you?”

Arthur hisses, face creasing in pain as the knife presses to his flesh, droplets of blood beading and dripping down to disappear under the blindfold. Merlin tries to look away but can’t tear his eyes from Arthur, his hands twitching spastically, the way his jaw tightens around the gag stuffed in his mouth.

Mordred brings his knife up again, and Merlin suddenly realizes he’s carving a letter into Arthur’s forehead, a bloody “M”.  He feels sick, struggles not to choke, not to rip the knife from Mordred’s fist, not to scream bloody murder himself—why had Arthur been out, that blasted, brave-hearted—

“Look—does why he was there even matter?” Merlin licks his lips, tries to put enthusiasm in his voice instead of the dread he feels filling the his chest like water, fear churning in his lungs. “We should use this as an opportunity—we could make an example of him, that we’re willing to ransom, and make a fucking sweet load of cash.”

Mordred sighs, hums to himself softly.  “Maybe you should use this as an opportunity, Merlin.“

Merlin opens his mouth to retaliate, to make some kind of fuss—anything to stop that knife from touching Arthur’s skin again—But in one quick movement Mordred reaches and pulls the now blood-soaked blindfold from Arthur’s face to pool loosely at his chin.

Arthur blinks hard against the sudden light, and one eyelid is swollen and puffy, his eyelashes dripping blood from the brand Mordred carved into his skin, but those eyes are still the bright blue Merlin knows so well; clear like a summer day, like a sky so hot you could burn just reaching up to touch it. Arthur’s gaze searches frantically and locks onto his own almost immediately, yearning and furious all at once, a muffled groan breaking his lips.

Suddenly Merlin can’t quite breathe.

“What d-do you mean?” Merlin manages to get the words out even though his mouth is cold, his tongue thick around the words, strangling. He doesn’t look away from Arthur for a moment, even though at this point he knows it’s a risk. Mordred is watching them both closely, watching everything like the scene in the dusty storeroom is a play put on just for him, but Merlin can’t fucking help it, he needs to let Arthur know he’s trying— needs to find some outlet for all the rage and fear and heartbreak that seems to be suddenly happening in his chest, water still steadily rising.

Mordred laughs again, sharp and incredulous. “C’mon man, I don’t need to be hyped on Morgana’s freshest powder to think that something is up with you. You’re acting funny, and it started right about when I dragged this bastard in.” Mordred draws his tongue slowly up his knife again.

Damn it all—of all the people in this sordid operation, other than Morgana herself, Mordred has always been the most perceptive, the most sly. Getting out of prison early last month had only made him worse. And doesn’t Merlin know that? He should have planned better for this—he should have made another plan, had a fucking back-up.

They’d always just written off the possibility that this could ever happen—believed themselves too good to be caught, too quick, too cunning. It was just laughably stupid.

Mordred’s other hand fists in Arthur’s hair, wrenches  his head back to peer at his face, considering. “Pendragon’s son sure is pretty.”

Arthur makes another noise around his gag, like he wants to eat Mordred alive, murderous. Merlin struggles to pull it together, trying not to drown.

“I—I didn’t think he was really your type, Mordred.”

“What, you mean to tell me he’s more your kinda guy?” Mordred laughs again, elated. “I’m beginning to think you do. I’m even beginning to think maybe—“ He brings the switchblade up again to press the tip of the knife into the underside of Arthur’s chin, force his head back further. “—Maybe you’ve already established this pretty-boy is just exactly what you like to fuck.”

Merlin yanks his eyes away from Arthur, and he knows his face is too fearful, too honest. The dangerously hair-fine tension of the room has reached a breaking point. “You’ve been sampling too much snuff Mordred, and it’s finally gotten to your head—stop acting so crazy.”

Mordred’s laughter wipes off his face, and then he abruptly lets go of Arthur to let him hit the floor with a dull thud and a moan.

He knew that had been a bad move as soon as he’d said it. The last time someone had called Mordred crazy, that poor fucker had ended trussed up in the bathroom of a fast food restaurant way out on the turnpike, missing most his fingers.

There’s a pause, where Merlin wonders wildly if he has enough hand-eye coordination to kick the knife from Mordred’s hand and snap the ties between Arthur’s wrists and legs, like this was some kind of an action hero movie. It’s a frantic thought—He knows he doesn’t have that level of skill. He’s not exactly in this gang because of his brawn, and this knowledge sits heavy in his limbs, frustratingly resigned. It’s a shame he always thought riding off into the sunset was for sissies, anyway. His pulse thunders wildly in his ears, a hundred staccato beats a second.

Mordred considers Merlin, the obvious panic spiraling over his face, and then a beatific smile slowly crosses his lips, chillingly angel-like.

“Alright then, how about you prove me wrong?”

“Mordred, look, can we just slow down—“

Mordred extends the knife out to Merlin— gleaming wet with saliva, still tinged red at the edges. “I think you should put your money where your mouth is, man.”

“What?!—Fuck no!” The words fall from Merlin’s lips before he can stop them and he hurriedly backtracks. “You—you know I hate getting everything so—messy. You’re the one who gets his fucking rocks off lopping off bits of people, I— I do the tech and, I do the planning—“

“—and I’m the muscle. Yep, I know.” Mordred smiles wider, his faintly bloody teeth look horrifying in the dim light of their storeroom, tightly wrapped packets of Morgana’s best product around them wrapped up in paper and taped with red duct tape, ready to be shipped tomorrow. Merlin dimly notices that at some point Morgause must have left the room, to stand guard or to call for reinforcements, he’s not sure. The world has narrowed to himself, and Arthur on the ground, and Mordred suddenly knowing too much, seeing too much, everything being too much.

“But still, I think you should indulge me, just this once, don’t you?”

Mordred steps forward, leans in very close and Merlin feels a shiver slide through him. “You carve up that pretty face a bit more for me, Merlin, and maybe I’ll decide we should ransom him.”

In the dirt, Arthur jerks, twisting and fighting for leverage from his bindings, a low growl in his throat. His eyes have a desperate, pleading look to them as he meets Merlin’s gaze again, his hands fisting the air like he’s imagining them around Mordred’s throat.

“I think he’d look good with a little more of our color on him, huh?” Mordred murmurs the words softy, like it’s just a suggestion, but Merlin knows what he’s asking—he wants to carve another letter into Arthur’s cheeks, his forehead, maybe his neck. Mordred always did have a penchant for making sure their gang left a calling card. He’d do it to suppliers who turned traitor, new initiates who lost their steam and wanted to run home to mama. Hell, Mordred even slashed some random teens outside their local deli the other week, because they’d been ‘getting on his nerves.’

Merlin struggles not to choke on the bile rushing up his throat.

He wishes Arthur had fucking stayed indoors tonight, like he was supposed to. Merlin almost even wishes he could kill him and let that be the end of things, could cut him up him without feeling like this, without feeling anything. He wishes he’d never met him that sunny July day on the highway, wishes he was just some other piece of trash the crew was always pulling in to make their dicks feel better. He wishes he wasn’t drowning right now, his fingers numb and his ribs heaving, wishes—

“If you do this for me, Merlin, I promise we’ll just ask for a big ole’ wad of cash from the Knights, like you suggested. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Mordred holds out the knife in an open palm, barely an inch away. Merlin realizes he’s loving this. Mordred always hated him, all the way from day one when Morgana brought him on to help organize the gang’s gigs and pay off his credit card debt, never liked being only the muscle. This realization pumps sluggishly through his head as though from another time, another century.

“Something tells me you’d like this guy to see another day quite a lot.” 

When Merlin doesn’t move, Mordred sighs dramatically, as if this was all just wasting his time and starts to pull the knife back. “But if you’d rather, I’m happy to go ahead and slit his throat, man. It’s your call.”

Merlin swallows hard, closes his eyes.

For a second all he can see is Arthur’s laughing face the last time they’d stolen a breath of a moment together, far on the other side of the city where the feuding gangs usually don’t dare show their signs, and they’d stood in the glowing pool of light from a corner streetlamp and Arthur’s lips were soft and his breath was so warm—

He takes the knife.