#When being a cold-blooded torturer lets you keep your cool around seeing your friend's extracted eyeball

[masquenoire]

Another box is left among the chaos, this one small enough to hold in two hands. Chimera kept to their warning. Nestled on a bed of bloodied medical gauze is an eye, the gleaming onyx and gold plucked neatly from someone's socket with great surgical care.

He stares down at the eye peering back up at him solemnly, the once glossy colours having dulled slightly since being extracted from it’s host. Chimera had kept their word, sending him one of Croc’s body parts and it’s not the first time that Roman is thankful for years of grim experience in this field, his expression one of aloof passiveness as he puts on a pair of latex gloves. He’s pissed but is able to keep his cool, picking up the eye with tender care and inspecting it just as thoroughly. It had been removed very carefully. Eyes were delicate organs, by far one of the most vulnerable parts of the body and it being intact suggests Croc was sedated while it was being removed, or at least he hoped so. The bloodied gauze the eye once sat upon is still red in colour, and the relatively fresh condition of the organ suggests it was removed mere hours ago. Two, perhaps three? Close enough, but where had it come from? The notion that Croc was so close and yet so far was almost enough to tip him over the edge into apoplectic rage but Roman knew that losing his temper wouldn’t help in this situation. He needed to stay focused and think. Croc needed him to stay focused and think, to use his brains instead of his brawn. Setting the eye down into a spare container he’d used in the past for similar purposes, Roman seals the lid, placing the thing eye and all into a beer chiller in case he needed it later as evidence or to provide a lead he might have missed in his initial examination. The cold would keep the organ from decaying too quickly, serving as a grim reminder as to how much Croc hated the cold. What was that phrase again? An eye for an eye? Maybe it would make the world go blind, but Roman would sooner blind every motherfucker out there before giving up on Croc. Sending him one of Croc’s only pissed him off more, making him all the more determined to pay Chimera back, with interest.

"An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. I ain’t a religious man but kids, you just brought divine retribution down upon yourselves.” Time to track down where that fucking box came from. Hacking was more of the Riddler’s speciality but maybe Horsehead had uncovered something, having increased surveillance all around the city on his orders.

[alloftheimaginesblog]

You’re Safe Now (Bellamy Blake x Reader)

Plot: Bellamy ventures into Mount Weather to save his friends and the girl he loves.

Character: Bellamy Blake x Female!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood, torture, violence. Takes place Season 2 episode 11 and onwards though changes events to suit (I’m re-watching The 100 bc I stopped at Season 4 the first time I watched it so I’m in a Bellamy mood!)

When Bellamy goes into Mount Weather, nothing could’ve prepared him for the horrors that lay ahead. Lincoln could only prepare him for the start of the journey but not the cages, not the blood transfusions, not the bone marrow torture; not any of it.

Thank god that Maya was on their side. He wouldn’t have escaped his cage without her help. He searches the cages before he leaves, it’s just Grounders in them. Bellamy demands Maya to list the names of those who are here that are his friends. He cuts her short when she says your name fifth.

“I don’t know where they keep your friends,” Maya says quietly, “I’ve checked all of these cages, over and over. They’re keeping them somewhere else.”

“Why?” Bellamy’s tone is angrier than he intended, “Where is (y/n)?”

“We haven’t seen her in four days,” Maya tells him, “Monty and Harper are missing too.” Anger surges through him burning red hot in his veins. He clenches his fists and breathes hard as he glares at the cages surrounding him. He just needs you to be okay. He needs to save you. He cannot lose you.

“Why have they separated us from the Grounders?” He asks through clenched teeth.

“There was a breach and I got caught in it, they did it on purpose because they knew that Jasper would volunteer his blood to save me. The blood of your people, the Sky People, works ten times better than that of the Grounders. They figured out that bone marrow from you allows us to walk on the ground.”

It’s a harsh realisation that hits him in the stomach causing him to take a sharp intake of breath, “They’re experimenting on us,” Bellamy realises, voice nothing more than a whisper, “They’re killing us to save themselves.” He turns to Maya who looks terrified, “We have to hurry.”

His footsteps are heavy as they go through the corridors. Maya’s a nervous wreck beside him and he knows it but he doesn’t care. He needs to find his friends, he needs to find you. Maya tells him in a hushed whisper all that she knows about the transfusions and about his friends and tells him that they need Grounder blood but more importantly Sky People blood in order to live on the ground. Bellamy was going to kill them. He was going to kill every single one of them who hurt you. He almost can’t think straight, the anger is almost too much for him to cope with.

Maya grabs his arm, she notices that he’s almost tipping himself over the edge, “We’ll get your friends out of here.” She looks sad, he notices as he allows himself to breathe deeply and calm down. She’s worried about her fate, he realises. She’s helping them escape but she can’t come with them... what will happen to her? He pushes that out of his mind, not wanting to think about it before nodding and carrying on. She glances at him out of the corner of his eye hoping that he knows what he’s doing to pull this off.

The light burns your eyes as they flash the torch on your face, “This one will have to do,” the doctor, Doctor Tsing, says.

“Looks weak,” Cage Wallace, the new President of Mount Weather, comments.

 “She’ll have to do for now, your father released the others but soon we’ll have the rest of the 47 to choose from.”

“She’ll die?” Cage studies your face as you glare at him, Tsing nods and Cage shrugs, “So be it.”

Rough hands of the guards drag you out of the cage, pulling you legs first. You’re almost too weak to fight back but you try. It’s a weak attempt, one that fails very easily, as you try and kick at the guards. Your foot collides with the chin of one but the other grabs your ankles and shoves you to the ground. Your body hits the cold floor as the guards grab you and force you upwards.

Cage’s lips twist into a cruel smile as you’re brought to your feet, “I’m surprised you’ve got any fight left in you.” Your weakness didn’t stop you from being angry. They were hurting your friends, they were going to kill them after they killed you.

“Go to hell.” Your voice is a hoarse croak.

Cage grins, “Oh no, we’re going someplace better... We’re going to the ground.” He nods to the guards and they shove you forwards, towards the patient bed in the centre of the room.

You struggle feebly but the guards are too strong. They force you to lie on the bed and they strap you in, strapping you in so tightly that it even hurts to breathe. Cage and Tsing talk in the corner, you can hear them but you don’t listen. You try to control your breathing as you stare up at the concrete ceiling. Death looms over you and you know it as you clench your jaw and your fists. There’s nothing to be done now, you’re trapped and you’ll be dead in a few minutes. They knew it too, they’d taken too much from you in such a short space of time, you’d die within minutes of the procedure. They were taking your bone marrow, apparently it allowed them to walk on the ground without taking damage for the radiation. You’d tried to tell them before how the ground wasn’t that special but that was a lie. How you yearned to touch the grass, feel cool water on your skin, feel the breeze through your hair one last time... how you yearned to feel his touch one last time.

You hear the drill as they test it out and squeeze your eyes shut. Forcing yourself to drone it all out, you begin to think of your friends. You were hoping that by now they’d managed to come up with a plan to escape, even if it meant leaving you. You think of Jasper and Monty and Miller and Harper... and it isn’t long before Bellamy Blake comes into your head.

Oh, Bellamy.

Tears want to desperately fall from your eyes, burning and nipping, but you keep them shut and force yourself to stop. You wish that you could see him one last time, tell him how you truly feel. You’ve imagined that moment over and over again in your head over the last few weeks. He already knows, you know that, but he needs to hear it. You need him to hear it. The last two months, you’d spent the majority of them curled up with him, making love under the stars, talking quietly in the dark, sharing secrets you’d never told anyone... You’d spent the last two months falling in love with him so hard.

The sound of the drill began to get closer to you. This was it. You open your eyes, letting the tears fall, as you stare at the ceiling imagining space. You try so hard to picture the view from the windows, the glow of the stars, the colours...

“May we meet again,” you whisper before the drill makes contact with your skin and you begin to scream.

It’s a bloodcurdling, horrid scream that he hears and he immediately knows that it’s you. The vents are tight but he can make it but he has to move fast. Bellamy’s heart is racing, hearing your screams and the voices grow louder. He feels sick as he hears them torture you, he wants to kill them for harming you; he wants to kill them all.

“Her pulse is getting weaker, she’s dying.”

Bellamy Blake is scared as he wills himself to move faster. He sees the grate of the vent up ahead, he’s so close. Your screams fade to nothing and he clenches his jaw. Only a few more feet. He sees you through the grate and bile rises in his throat. He can’t. He can’t look at you. He refuses to look at you because he’d really lose it then.

“We’re losing her.”

“Like hell you are,” Bellamy grunts as he blasts the grate open and throws himself out into the room. The element of surprise allows him to shoot the two guards with quick ease but his gun jams when he goes to blast Cage’s head off.

They begin to fight as Tsing keeps working to extract the last of your bone marrow. Your head lulls to the side, eyes struggling to stay open as you sway on the edge of unconsciousness. You can’t figure out what’s happening as all you can focus on is trying to fight to stay awake. There’s no pain anymore, in fact, you feel numb all over. It’s cold... it’s death, you realise. 

Bellamy manages to slam the butt of his gun into the side of Cage’s head, knocking him to the floor. He wasn’t dead but for now, unconscious was good enough. He had to be fast. He moves to Tsing next, unable to look at you, as she takes the syringe out of your hip.

“Let her go,” Bellamy warns her, secretly reaching his arm behind his back to find the knife in the waistband of his pants.

“I take it this one’s special to you,” she smiles sadistically, “It had to be done.”

She turns away from Bellamy, reaching for the gun on the table but Bellamy’s faster. He’s already plunged the knife into her shoulder before she can grab it. Your vision’s clouding over, unable to do anything or see anything. Bellamy needs to get you out now.

Tsing yells out, grabbing the gun and aiming for him but Bellamy has the upper hand. She’s wounded which makes her sloppy so he easily overpowers her and takes the gun before shooting. The gunshot makes your ears ring, making you gasp a deep breath of air. It pulls you back to consciousness for a couple of seconds as Bellamy pockets the gun and the knife once more before rushing to you.

You barely feel his hands as he presses down on your hip to stop the bleeding, covering it with something and he checks you over. His face comes into your line of vision as he pulls you up, drapes something around you to hide your body from others, and lifts you up. He looks down at you, talking but you’re slipping away from him. It’s almost like you’re underwater, you know he’s talking but you can’t tell what the words are.

As darkness seeps into you vision, you manage to catch a glimpse of his eyes and whisper a tiny, “Bellamy...” before falling deep into the darkness.

The sounds of muffled voices talking, no wait, shouting is what woke you up. Your eyes fluttered open groggily as you tried to move but the pain was too much. Every part of your body ached, it felt like you’d been trampled on by one hundred horses.

“It’s been thirty eight hours!” You knew that voice. Who was that?

“She’ll come round when she’s ready.” You knew that voice too.

“I just need to know she’s okay.”

“Bellamy-”

Bellamy. 

You groan softly, stopping whoever it was from talking, “She’s waking up!”

Someone rushed to you, you knew it was Bellamy from his scent - gunpowder and pine, “Bellamy,” you whisper, opening your eyes. It took a moment before they adjusted and you could see his face clearly, “Bellamy.” You want to so desperately cry and he knows that.

“You’re okay, you’re safe now.” His hands caress your cheeks, “Here,” he whispers, grabbing a cup from the table and helping you drink it, “It’s water, drink.” You drink it all quickly, water had never felt so good. He fills another and you finish it, too.

“Let me check her over,” it’s Abby, you realise. She walks to you, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

Bellamy chuckles from beside you. He holds your hand as Abby checks you over. She checks your pulse, your heart, your pupils and your pain levels. She explains that you’d lost a lot of blood and a lot of fluids and that it’ll take a few days for you to feel better again, “It was touch and go for a day,” she says, “but we managed to get you stable last night.”

“What- What happened?” You look to Bellamy who glances at Abby, “How long have I been out?”

“Thirty eight hours, your body had a lot of trauma, it needed time to heal and recover... I’ll give you a while to talk,” she says before leaving the tent.

“I’ve been out for over two days?” Bellamy smiles before you look around, realising you’re back at camp, and ask, “We’re safe? I was... They were...” You look down, “They were killing me.”

Bellamy takes your hands, forcing you to look at him, “I got you out, you remember?” You nod slowly, trying to piece together the hazy details, “I got you out. You were so close to dying.” His voice was tight, like he was just barely holding it together, “I managed to get you out of the mountain in time. Abby treated you in camp while I dealt with the mountain.”

“Dealt with?”

Bellamy looks down, “There was no other way. They were going to kill us all.” He tells you what he and Clarke did, how they had to irradiate the mountain, killing every single person who wasn’t Grounder or Sky Person, “It was the only way. We had to kill hundreds of innocent people.”

You swallow, digesting the information, he looks up at you and you give him a small smile, “You’re forgiven.” It’s what he needs. He needs that forgiveness, he needs your forgiveness. He helped slaughter a bunch of innocent people and he’ll carry that guilt forever but you make it a little easier.

Abby comes back a minute later, requesting that Bellamy go help with a situation at the gate. He looks to you and you nod, “I’ll be okay.” He leaves reluctantly.

Abby gets you something to eat and replenishes your water as she helps you sit up, “You’ll start to feel better soon.”

After devouring the soup and crackers, you ask, “Where’s Clarke?” It’s a touchy subject and as soon as you ask it, you want to take it back. Abby clears her throat and looks to her hands.

It’s a minute before she talks again, “She’s- She left. She’s gone.” You want to ask why but it’s a fresh wound so you stop yourself from saying anything else about it. She helps you to lay back down, “I’ll be back in a while to check on you. Do you need anything else?”

“Bellamy,” you say quietly, “I just need Bellamy.”

You didn’t mean to fall asleep and you didn’t realise you’d fallen asleep until you woke up. Bellamy is in the chair next to your bed, reading something. You roll over and he looks at you as a smile grows on his face, “Hey, sleepy head.” Octavia had known weeks before he did, she would constantly tease him about you... how right she was when she said he loved you. He did love you, he does  love you. 

“How long?”

“Three hours.” He leans forwards, “You must’ve been exhausted.”

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Three hours.”

You feel your cheeks burning, “You waited that whole time?”

Bellamy smiles at you, “I waited here thirty eight hours for you to wake up, what’s three more?” He helps you to sit up, “I needed to know that you were okay.” He scoots his chair closer to the edge of the bed, you’re only inches apart from.

You reached for him, he caught your hands easily and let you tug him to sit on the bed beside you, “I was so scared,” you tell him quietly, “I thought I was going to die.”

Bellamy could tell that you were close to crying so he gently cradled you to his chest, shushing you and telling you that you were okay. He wasn’t sure of the full extent of your torture there but he knew it was horrible. It angered him that you and so many of his friends went through that and some even died but they’d gotten you out safe. He had saved you.

“Clarke’s gone,” he murmurs, “She couldn’t deal with having to face everyone when they know that we killed all those innocent people. She did it to save us all, I did it save us all. I don’t know where she is; she doesn’t want to be found.”

“How are you?” You ask him, pulling away so that you can look at him but still holding onto him, “How are you coping?” It wasn’t just Clarke’s hand on that lever, Bellamy helped kill them too.

He could never lie to you. He shrugs, “Not slept, I’ve been staying at your side so I’ve not really faced anyone. I’ve been too worried about you to care about what the others think, honestly but... Jasper’s a mess, Monty says that he’s just been drinking non-stop.”

“Maya,” you realise. Bellamy’s head falls, “Jasper will be okay. We all will be.” You hope that’s true.

Silence falls for a minute before you say his name, “Thank you... for saving me.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, the slightest smile on his face, “Haven’t you realised that I will always look out for you? I will always protect you.” He’s serious, he would do anything to protect you and keep you safe even if it meant getting himself killed, “You don’t realise how badly I need you to be okay.” It’s a confession that shocks you but he keeps going, needing you to hear it; needing you to believe him, “I heard you screaming when they were torturing you and it broke my heart. The whole time I was in there, my priority was you and that’s selfish that I wanted to save you first than all of our friends as well but I need you to always be safe.”

“Bell...”

“I know,” he pulls away, thinking that you’re rejecting him, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You grab his wrist, “When I was lying there, waiting to die, do you know what I thought of? I thought of you, Bellamy. I thought of all the things I wanted to say to you if I survived, I thought of all those nights we had together, I thought of your smile, your messy hair in the mornings, the way you moan my name... I thought of what I need to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” His voice shakes. He knows, he knows exactly what you needed to tell him but he he wants to hear you say it; he needs to hear you say it.

“I love you,” you whisper as he edges closer to you, “I am in love with you, Bellamy.”

It’s rare for Bellamy to be so open but with you, it’s always been different. He can’t stop the smile that spreads on his face. He can’t help his racing heart and the butterflies in his stomach. He feels stupid but he’s happy. For the first time in a long time, he’s happy, “I love you.”

He kisses you. It’s not like all those other times when you were rushing to take the others clothes off. It’s soft and delicate and he’s savouring every single second of this new type of intimacy. His hands cup your face as you grab onto his shirt to pull him closer. Bellamy is the one person who sends you into a flurry of emotions; your weakness.

Far too soon, he pulls away. Smiling, you press your forehead against his, closing your eyes and enjoying the happy moment together; it wasn’t often a happy moment came along. You stay like that for a long time, breathing and just enjoying the love before he clears his throat, “You should rest.” He goes to move away, unsure now of what to do.

Once more, you grab him but this time you scoot to the left and open the blanket up for him, “You should rest.”

“I need to be on watch-”

“Bellamy,” you say, “You’ve not slept in days, you’re exhausted. Come to bed.” He relents, kicking off his boots and throwing his jacket into the chair at the side of the bed. He crawls in beside you, the warmth of your body soothing his aching muscles.

He lies on his side, arm draped over your body as he presses his lips to your temple, “Thank you,” he whispers, already feeling sleep take over, “for loving me.” You’re taken aback by it but you slide closer to him, pulling his arm over you tighter.

The light snores signalled that he was already asleep. You smile, closing your eyes, “I love you, Bellamy Blake. You’re safe now.” It’s only minutes later when you fall asleep in his warm embrace.

[sleeplessincairo]

[ three ]

pairings: james buchanan barnes x reader

warnings: undescriptive smut, ptsd, anxiety, sobbing.

summary: 3AM encounters with bucky barnes and the presence of the number 3 in your growing relationship

a/n: this was inspired by my love for cristina & owen. considering making a part 2.

tell me what you think. would be greatly appreciated.

///

James Buchanan Barnes was a ghost.

He was only seen when he wanted to be seen. One minute he was there and the next, he was gone. Vanished. It made you question science and your sanity, it was as if he was able to dissolve into the very air itself and move with the wind-Or maybe he was never there in the first place.

Bucky was alert and vigilant like he was waiting for an attack or a sign of danger, never showing weakness and ease. He was precise in his movements; never faltering, swift and quick as if he was 10 steps ahead of you and had you beat in every possible outcome. He was self-sufficient; he could infiltrate bases and extract information without the help of his fellow teammates nor any arising problems-You could see why HYDRA wanted to create more of him. 

Even in the safety and comfort of the compound, Bucky’s distant and guarded demeanor never wavered.

‘Hellos’, ‘Good mornings’, and well, talking were as foreign to Bucky as the first air that slipped into his lungs when he came out of cryo sleep. It was a luxury he had grown to live without many years ago in a place where the only sound he could ever release was one so agonizingly loud it pierced the air even through the cloth the HYDRA doctors stuffed in his mouth. And now, he was left in the hollow shell of the man he used to be. All he could bring himself to do was observe, never participate.

Bucky refused to train, spar, eat, and hell, even talk to the rest of team-Other than Steve and Sam-during the previous weeks since he had joined, he never attended meetings or briefings, and he rarely left his room-And when he did, you never saw him despite being in the room across of him. You never heard the squeak of his door as he slipped out of his room at 3 AM to train alone, you never heard the sound of his footsteps as he walked down the corridor to sneak food out of the fridge, you never heard the muffled screams he let out at night as he felt familiar spirits of leather-bound around his wrists and ankles and white-hot electricity surging through his body, which is why you were startled when you heard the sound of glass breaking coming from your ghost of a neighbor’s room.

You took your gun with you. Just in case.

You knocked on his door three times, each knock harder than the other while the sound of your voice, uttering his name in a persistent and questioning manner, slipped through the crack of his bedroom door. Your mind started to run with worst-case scenarios that included kidnappings, intruders, murder, HYDRA agents, and many other things that should not be thought of at 3 AM.

Nonetheless, those thoughts pushed you into taking a deep breath and wrapping your hand around the cold metal door handle, and opening the door. 

You don’t know what you expected to see, but it sure as hell wasn’t the former HYDRA agent in a fetal position, head dug deep into his knees and surrounded by shards of mirror and a small pool of his own blood. 

You cussed lowly under your breath and rushed to him, careful not to step on any of the shards and press your knees to the ground to get a closer look at him.

“James, I need you to look at me.” You examine your surroundings. There are no signs of a break-in or assault-Other than what was done to the mirror, which you deduced was probably done by James himself judging by the force it must have taken to completely break the mirror and the blood leaking from his flesh hand.

“James,” The repetition of his name made no effect or change in his position, and you contemplated touching him and shaking him out of this trance, before mentally waving it off.

“You need to come with me to the medbay, that’s a pretty nasty cut on your hand,” You pursed your lip at the lack of movement or response and came to terms that he was not leaving this room.

God, Steve chose the worst day to go on an undercover mission in another goddamn continent. 

You let out an exasperated sigh, weighing your options before deciding to walk towards the bathroom and take out a first aid kit. 

Looks like you had to do this yourself.

“James, I need to clean your wound. I’m going to touch your hand, okay?” You searched his body for any signs of consent, “Look, I’m just going clean and bandage it, then I’ll be out of your hair. I promise.” You sucked in a deep breath and closed your eyes for a few seconds.

“Please.” Maybe it’s the way your voice was laced with exhaustion and impatience, maybe it was the realization that dawned on him where you’d probably end up bringing the team to his room or calling Steve, or maybe it was because he knew you’d never give up even if it took all night. Because that’s who you are. You were always known for caring too much. 

Bucky looks up at you, glacier cold eyes red and puffy as salty drops cascaded down his cheekbones and off his chin. Despite the tears on his face glistening in the light, sadness bouncing into the atmosphere, his facial expression was still hard and cold, his eyes were the palest blue glass, too soft to be turquoise, too bright to be baby blue. An innocent shade.

But oh, innocence was nothing but a stranger to him.

You cleared your throat, “I’m going to touch your hand, is that okay?” He licked his lip, tasting the saltiness of a stray tear before reluctantly placing his flesh hand on your knee. The bleeding had already stopped so you picked up the rubbing alcohol, the smell tickling your nostrils uncomfortably, and poured a decent amount of it on the wound.

He didn’t even wince.

You cleaned and bandaged his wound, even cleaned up the broken shards of glass and blood surrounding him while Bucky remained still throughout it all, keeping his eyes fixated on the marble floor tiles and leaning his back against the wall. 

“Hey,” You said softly, sliding your back against the wall and sitting next to him, staring at the spot he’s looking at, “It’s okay. When I say, ‘One, two, three.’ forget it. Erase all the sad memories. Just hold my hand and smile. Even if it’s temporary, okay?” You give him a weak smile that he probably doesn't even see.

But he does. From the corner of his eye.

You inhale, “One.”

You exhale, “Two.” He slips his hand into yours.

“Three.”

____________

It was a particularly bad mission. You had lost 2 SHIELD agents that accompanied you and the team, barely making it out with your lives and almost all of you coming back with injuries that your body would throb with for the next weeks. It was supposed to be a simple extraction mission, in-and-out, but there were more enemy agents than you had originally expected and it ended up being a trap set by HYDRA, and before you knew it, you were ambushed. 

The whole thing was a blow.

The Avengers were fatigued and lethargic, they wanted nothing more than to crash on their soft beds, but the mission left more than a few physical injuries, and sleep seemed to be the furthest thing from all of your minds. You all ended up in the kitchen, drowning your sorrows in alcohol and shwarma in silence-Except for Wanda, who had the stomach flu, and Bucky, who hadn’t joined the mission per Steve’s request due to still-fresh wounds that hadn’t quite healed yet.

“Hand me a shot of tequila.” You groaned to Tony, leaning your head on the cool marble exterior of the counter and sitting on the stool that accompanied three other empty ones.

“I’ll take one, too.” Sam trudged his body onto the stool beside you, wincing once he sat down-Poor guy was captured and tortured during the mission before Steve and Nat managed to get to him. 

Steve followed him and sat on the stool next to him, rubbing his temples before mumbling a ‘Me too’ eventhough alcohol did not affect him.

Tony was about to retort with something about financing the team and being the bartender, before Bucky came inside the kitchen, stopping slightly at the sight of The Avengers all wide awake in the kitchen instead of in your beds at 3 AM.

Bucky usually tried his best to avoid spending time with more than 2 members of the team, even so, that he made sure to leave his room after midnight so there'd be a less likely chance of running into too many people. He had been avoiding group training sessions, parties, and eating out of his room for the past month, and so he couldn’t stop the feeling of anxiety creeping up his throat and regret coming into the kitchen.

This is why Bucky never ate outside of his room. 

“Hey Buck, thought you’d be training room right now. Join us, will ya’?” The blond super soldier said, smiling fondly at the ex-assassin before motioning for him to sit on the last remaining stool next to you.

The previous encounter between you and Bucky remained unspoken of and neglected, but not forgotten, it was a wordless agreement made between the both of you that you both wouldn't dare mention.

He didn't even tell Steve.

“Lucky for you, we’re all sulky and grouchy tonight so you'll fit right in.” Tony chirped, taking a swig of vodka and turning towards Natasha and Clint for a change of scenery that did not include the man that murdered his parents.

Bucky cleared his throat and contemplated turning around, and walking out of the room but the sad and tired look on Steve’s face expelled the need for the company of an old friend-Even if he wouldn't talk-and dragged himself over to the stool next to you.

It didn't take long for the three of you to get lost in a meaningless conversation while Bucky observed, often pausing to laugh at something that wasn't really funny, then stopping himself short, bobbing his head down, eyes moving quickly from one side of the corridor to the other. He would smile swiftly in a way that was sadder than tears, his true age starting to show in the way he slouched and the lack of light in his blue eyes.

The hum of conversation in the room did nothing to block the sound of Bucky’s heart beating, accelerating at a faster rate each second, and buzzing in his mind as they started to race, his thoughts scattering like there’s an electrical storm, too many short-circuits to make any sense. 

You take notice of the frozen panic that settles in his chest in the way his breathing turns ragged as he restlessly continues to glance at the door, thinking about making a run for it. 

“James,” You say in a low voice, careful for the others not to hear you, “You need to busy your mind, you need something to ground you.” You start looking around the room for anything he can focus on, anything he can hold on to mentally, anything to keep him from the panic creeping up his throat.

“Alright, look, count the inner pads in your hands,” You slowly hold his hand, placing it on your thigh and start moving his thumb to touch the inner pads separated by the wrinkled lines of each finger, and start counting. You smile to yourself when you feel his hand relax on your thigh and his breathing slowly settling into an almost steady rate.

The night continues in a blur of lowly uttered ‘threes’, soft breathing, and grazed fingers transforming into fingers entwined together in a gentle holding of hands.

Bucky decides to stop eating in his room.

__________

“Hey,” You smile, leaning against  the wall of the training room admiring the view of Bucky as he hit the punching bag, each punch falling rival to the previous one. The dim lights in the training room made him look like a shadow, each muscle on his body flowing from the light into the dark and each time he moved, a bead of sweat trickled and glistened in the light.

Bucky turned to look at you, narrowing his eyes at you but letting the smallest tug of a smile play on his lips. You took notice of his bleary eyes, slightly bloodshot, resulting from days of not being to sleep, eyes that grow with the stars in the night sky, accompanied by dark crescents under his eyes, and stay until the light of day. The stubble on his face had grown longer and rougher, the hairs scattering from his jawline to the middle of his neck. His stance was loose, less alert, more rash, like he was trying to tire himself out rather than actually train. It was obvious he hadn't had a good night’s sleep in a long time.

“Let me guess, nightmares?” You inquired, smiling sympathetically when you saw his head move in a slow vertical manner.

On good days Bucky'd get three hours, on bad days two. He'd wake up as soon as sleep came, always as fast as if a gunshot had sounded, heart beating fast and breathing as if he'd just surfaced from deep water. 

Today was a bad one-The past few days really. His mind was plagued with thoughts that he had tried so hard to push down, only for them to sink into him completely.

“C’mere,” You motioned to the cushioned bench on the other side of the room, “So,” There was a slight hesitance to which you wondered if it would sound silly to an ex-assassin before waving the thought away, “There was this thing my mother used to do when I was a kid.”

He follows you to the bench, his focus on your words unfaltering, “It was to keep the nightmares away,” You let out a light chuckle, leaning your back against the wall as your mind filled with bright memories of your childhood.

“It was like this...I don't know this hymn or chant that she’d repeat three times.” You turned to look at him, searching for any sign of mockery and grinned when you found none, “Maybe it was because I was a child, but it seemed to do the trick and what have ya’ got to lose?” You shrugged.

“She’d be so disappointed if I at least didn't try, so,” You paused, pursing your lips into a thin line,  “Do you mind?”

Bucky wiped his hands in the material of his shorts and nodded before looking down and taking a deep breath. You put your hand on the sides of his head, making him look at you and giving him a reassuring smile before dragging his head onto your lap and putting your hands a few inches in the air above it.

You took a deep breath and moved your hands in a motion that resembled digging a hole in the air before he grabbed your wrist tightly, his eyes burning. He’d seen that move multiple times, he'd seen Wanda do it when manipulating opponents, he'd heard of how she manipulated Tony into creating Ultron, how she managed to bring Natasha Romanoff, one of the Red Room’s best assassins, to her knees, how Wanda triggered the Hulk into destroying a city and killing hundreds. Bucky’s mind immediately wandered to a futile tussle of conflicting thoughts, to the manipulation and brainwashing he experienced, the feeling of his mind-

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Your pained voice snapped him out of it, making him dart his eyes to your wrist and how it had turned red in the steel grip of his metal arm, “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” Your eyes pleaded with him and he reluctantly let go of your arm, silently cursing himself when he saw your rub it in pain.

You cleared your throat, going back to your original position and started the tune, “Bad dreams, bad dreams go away,” The digging movement started momentarily before replacing it with throwing the air over your right shoulder, “Good dreams, good dreams,” The movement of your hands switched from digging to smooth pushes that resembled a wave hitting the shore, “Here to stay.” You sighed, flattening the air with your hands and repeating the tune and movements another 2 times.

And maybe its the fact that all the memories he had of you so far were all so bright in the darkness of his mind, maybe it was the fact that your voice was so damn soothing and reassuring the kind that was made for lullabies and soft laughs, or maybe it was the fact that it was 3 AM and he’d been living on 7 hours of sleep in the past 4 days and his body just couldn’t take it anymore but he can’t fight the way his eyes lids get heavy. Bucky feels the shuttering of my synapses, the quite lure into sleepiness. His head lolls and the muscles of his face relax as each limb becomes heavy and his heart slows to a more peaceful beat, releasing the tension of the past 4 days.

___________________

Bucky doesn't remember how it happened or how he let it happen, but one minute he was fighting HYDRA agents, and the next he felt thousands of bolts of electricity flowing through him and the feeling of him being dragged into a vehicle before everything went black.

Luckily, Natasha had intercepted one of their walkie talkies and the familiar Russian language talking about Prisoner #56898 being moved for transport and commed the rest of the team. Sam flew to the sky with Steve in his arms before spotting the truck and intercepting it.

Bucky was safe, but he was not okay.

The trip back was quiet and troublesome. It had been 2 hours since Sam and Steve had brought Bucky back to the helicarrier, and he still had not woken up. You all considered the possibility of him being drugged or poisoned, but you wouldn't be able to tell until you reached the compound-You couldn't even touch him, in case he was infected with something so he was kept in the cell Loki was kept in when the Avengers first assembled.

“Still not awake?” You walked up to the blond super-soldier who monitoring him from the other side of the glass.

He gave you a small nod, slightly wincing which made you notice the blood seeping from his forehead, “Woah there Rogers, you're bleeding.” As always, Y/N, stating the obvious,

You reached up to touch the garish red staining his sun-soaked hair, “You’ve gotta get that checked out. You might have a concussion.” He looked at you, his eyes conflicted but still settled for a quiet, “I can’t just leave him.”

He runs his hands through his blood-stained hair, “Sam and I almost didn't make it in time, he could've been taken and-”

“But you did, and he’s still here.” You put your hand on Steve’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture, before he winces once more and raises his hand to hold his shoulder in an attempt to soothe it.

“Steve, you have multiple injuries. It’s 3 AM, we won't land for another 3 hours. You’re exhausted and injured. Standing here won't make him wake up any sooner. Just go get checked out, maybe take a nap or eat something. You look like shit,” You joked-In all seriousness though, he did look like shit-earning a chuckle out of him, “I’ll keep watch him until you get back, alright?” You give him a reassuring smile, and a silent ‘I promise’ with your eyes.

He hesitates, weighing his options and whether or not he should just push through the pounding in his head but realized he had to go check on Clint anyway, who had also suffered from a few injuries. Steve mumbles a low ‘okay’ and trudges out of the room.

You lean against the wall facing the glass separating you from Bucky and take out your phone to type in the mission report. You didn't have to turn it in until tomorrow, but you thought you might as well start it now.

You had just about made it to to the part, that people at SHIELD always loved to see, where you type ‘Despite complications that the team eventually surpassed, the mission was successful’ and suddenly, you heard a scream pierce the air in an uproar of pain from behind the glass, jolting you up from your sitting position and towards the source.

Bucky’s eyes split open. At first all that surrounded him was silence, a misty haze upon the horizons of his mind until memories of what happened came rushing in from falling off the freight car to the white-hot electricity that shot through his body more times than he could count. And before he knew it, he was plunged into scattered thoughts, replays of horrors once forgotten, and suddenly his breathing goes shallow and wheezy, lungs unable to move against suddenly concrete-heavy ribs. The panic starts like a constriction in the chest, as if the muscles are trying not to let another breath in, but instead to die. 

The scream tore through Bucky like the shard of glass that pierced his hand not so long ago. He felt my eyes widen and pulse quicken, his heart thudding like a rock rattling in a box. The blood drained from his face before he was even aware of making a conscious decision his legs were pounding furiously against the cool pale floor and towards the monster he saw looking straight at him in the glass wall in front of him.

Himself.

You yelled his name like your life depended on it, pounding on the glass as you watched him scream, punch, scratch, and claw at the wall with his head, hands, nails in a massacre of blood, shouting, skin, and metal.

Bucky heard the sound of a pair of feet against the floor, the sound of a passcode being entered, the sound of shouting-The throat-scratching yelling of a familiar voice, or maybe that was just him. He couldn't tell. Not when the world turned into a blur of color that melted into red, like a sunset. All the taste, the smell, the feeling, the sounds melted into nothing but a fiery, sizzling hot, flaming, scorching hot, bold, garish scarlet red.

He felt his heart play push-and-shove in the deepness of his heart. It pulled back in like a yo-yo. Over and over. In and out. Until he was hollow, his life crumbling in his fingertips and rumbling into an earthquake with every punch against the glass-Now stained with his blood. 

And then, suddenly, Y/N was there, wrapping her arms around him, restraining him and reaching into his hollowness in a series of mumbled ‘You are okay’s, ‘Everything is fine’s, ‘You are safe’s, ‘Breathe, James, breathe’s, ‘I got you’s, ‘Hold my hand’s, ‘Look at me’s, ‘I am here’s, and other three worded sentences as you squeeze him tighter, ignoring his thrashing body and waiting for his oxytocin levels to increase.

Bucky's last remaining thread of strength unraveled before completely tearing, sending him plummeting over the edge and into the darkness. Hysterical sobs shook his once-so-rigid frame, threatening to rip him apart from the inside. The sobs punched through, ripping through her muscles, bones, and guts as he fought to reclaim control over his body, shocked by the howls of misery that escaped from deep within his chest. 

You held him in silence, rocking him slowly as he sobbed into your chest unceasingly, hands gripping at your arms like you were the only thing gravitating him from flying away, whispering a prayer-like mantra of ‘three, three, three’ over and over again.

It’s the first time you ever heard his voice.

__________________

It’s 3 AM when you knock on his door the next day three times as you did oh, so long ago, but instead of letting yourself in, you’re welcomed by the familiar face of James Buchanan Barnes.

It’s 3 AM when you inquire about whether he’s feeling better and he gives you a warm smile and small nod, before inquiring if you’d like to come inside. He had a box of pizza that he hadn’t yet finished.

It’s 3 AM when the pizza’s all finished, and there’s a thrum and purr of friendly conversation-Mostly you talking and him releasing a few words and comments here and there, still getting used to the sound of his voice-but beneath the talk was the gentle, admiring gaze of their eyes and the relaxed nature of their faces.

And then its still 3 AM and he’s kissing you, parting your lips when he brushes his tongue against your bottom lip, wordlessly asking for an entrance. It’s a slow, sybaritic dance of lips and tongue, your lips are 2 dancers, moving against each other like they’re sashaying through the melody. It’s a slow and soft kiss, comforting in ways that could never be verbally shown.

Bucky’s hand rests below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as your breaths mingled. You ran your fingers down his spine, tugging him closer until the space between the both of you was eradicated and you could feel the beating of his heart against your chest. Your bodies molded perfectly against each other like you were made for each other, made to sink into one another, made to drown in the thick air filling his room with pure longing, expelling from the both of you-So lost in the moment, you don't even notice when you knock the clock off the table, shattering it, 

And before the both of you can realize what’s happening, you're naked and you’re exhaling a gasp when you feel the cool exterior of his Vibranium arm venturing your body, his hands working their way, feeling each crevasse, taking their time to map every curve and dip your body as it moves, slow and sweet like honey, against his body. You feel his hand enter from below, skin and metal colliding in an earth-shattering sensation, moans and sighs exhaled into each others’ mouths, your hands tangled in his hair playing a game of push-and-shove, and suddenly, he can't get enough of you. 

You were intoxicating.

Bucky drinks you in, he drinks in your scent, he drinks in the sounds you make, he drinks in the softness of your lips on his skin, he drinks in the warmth that radiates off the soft-kissed spots that slowly spread throughout the rest of your body, he drinks in your body’s response as picks you apart with his tongue, fingers, and the stretching of your walls as he enters you, changing your breathing with every thrust, hearing your moans timed to his body until he feels you tremble underneath you and in a breathless howl, his brain lighting up in places he thought were abandoned years ago and his body is shaking with sheer bliss.

____________

You awake to hands, that held you so tenderly and savoringly mere hours before, wrapped around your neck tightly, robbing the oxygen from your lungs-No doubt leaving scars more permanent than the ones that would stain your skin in the coming days and remind you of the way your body thrashed and writhed in his hands, the way you gasped out his name continuously no longer done in euphoria, the way your hands pulled and pushed and scratched at his hands, hair, face, and back no longer done in pleasure, the way his body fell limp beside you no longer done in the result of the comedown of a groundbreaking high, but instead because of a nearby lamp being pulled from its socket and smashing it against his skull three seconds before you pass out.

The shattered clock on the floor stuck on 3:53 AM.

[lover-of-midnight]

Long live the King

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Merlin (TV)

Relationships:

Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Kilgharrah & Merlin (Merlin)

Aredian & Uther Pendragon (Merlin)

Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Characters:

Merlin (Merlin)

Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Kilgharrah (Merlin)

Aredian (Merlin)

Uther (Merlin)

Additional Tags:

Hurt/Comfort

Angst

Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin)

Uther Finds Out About Merlin's Magic (Merlin)

Magical Arthur Pendragon

Protective Merlin (Merlin)

toture

Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin)

Boys In Love

r/darkfic prompts

Thank you for agreeing to help. My son is in a difficult position

Language:English

Collections: r/Darkfics Monthly Prompt Challenge

Summary: Arthur never realised he had magic. Until a faithful day when he needed to protect Merlin and couldn't do it the normal way.

Extraction: Arthur groaned when he woke up. His head was pounding and it took him a few seconds to realise he was in the dungeons.

R/darkfic prompts: "Thank you for agreeing to help. My son is in a difficult position."

Arthur groaned when he woke up. His head was pounding and it took him a few seconds to realise he was in the dungeons.

A shiver ran down his back when he felt cold penetration, his skin from every side. Arthur forced himself to take a deep breath.

He swallowed and focus, trying to remember what had happened. His eyes flutter close.

Flashes of light. Merlin pushed him to the ground. A gutted scream, a man running to them. Merlin shielding him.

The panic of losing Merlin. The shield.

Arthur’s eyes open with a start. He had performed magic. He pressed himself closer to the wall, knowing what was to come.

Uther had seen him use magic to protect a servant. Something he had no control over and did without conscious thought.

Arthur bit the inside of his lip. One of two things was going to happen and he hopes it would be one. Death would be preferred to the inhuman experiments his father had done on sorcerers.

There was a slight scratching sound to his left. When Arthur looked up was he surprised to see Merlin looking at him.

“Are you alright?” Merlin kept his voice low. The guards were distracted by the fact that Arthur was tossed in the dungeon where the sorcerers where normally kept and they were busy to discuss it.

Arthur nodded, all things considered, he wasn’t dead yet and he only had a headache, this could be worse and he knows it.

Merlin quickly looked around before he crouched down again. “Uther had sent for a witchfinder. From what Gaius had said, it sounds like they want to forcibly remove your magic.” Merlin’s voice trailed off.

He had seen the damaged the torture can do to people. He would need to find a way out before Arthur was seriously hurt.

Arthur paled when he heard it. He sagged against the wall.

“Arthur, you need to not give in, no matter what. We are working on getting you out. I promise you. Just don’t give up.” Merlin cast a last looked at Arthur.

He could hear footsteps coming closer, he would need to be away before whoever is coming can see him.

“I will be back. I promise.” Merlin gave Arthur a worried look before he hurried off.

Arthur froze up slightly when the door to his cell was opened. Aredian walked into the cramped space just looking at the prince.

There was a coldness to his eyes that filled Arthur’s heart with dread. If he walked out of this cell alive he had a strong feeling that he would be nothing more than a shell of who he was.

Aredian’s reputation preseeded him. He had no problem with torture and killing someone who had magic. Hell, he had no problem to do that to someone who he thought had magic.

Uther was standing slightly behind the witchfinder, his eyes were filled with disgusted as he looked at his son, but at the same time, a small part of him felt guilt for what he was going to put his son through.

“Do you think you would be able to get the magic out of him?” Uther’s voice was neutral.

Aredian was silent for a few seconds before he answered. “Of course Sire, I know how important it is that the crown prince has no magic left in his body.” He bowed to the king.

Hiding his wicked smile.

“Thank you for agreeing to help. As you can see my son is in a difficult position.” Uther turned around before the man could say anything else.

Leaving them alone.

Arthur could feel his heart racing but he forced himself to put on a mask of indifference. He wouldn’t allow the man to see how scared he truly felt.

Aredian was slow as he took out vials of potions and some other equipment. Arthur grew paler and paler with each weapon that was taken out.

He strained against the shackles holding him in place and pressed himself closer to the wall. For a moment he thought about praying but he never was a religious man.

Merlin almost slid as he ran down to the dragon’s cave. He slid into the cave.

“Kilgharrar, I need that sword now.” Merlin’s voice was firm as he waited for the dragon to get down from the cave ceiling.

There was a rush of wind as the dragon settled down. His golden eyes almost look like it was glowering at Merlin.

“And why do you need a sword forge in dragon’s fire?” The dragon almost sounded lazy.

“Arthur has magic, Uther had seen him cast a shield. He is planning on trying to forcibly remove the magic.” Merlin looked at the dragon, there was something in his eyes that moved Kilgharrar.

With a swoop, he dove back up where the ordinary blade was lying in wait in a small clearing in the wall. With ease, he took it into his mouth.

He dropped the sword onto the floor by Merlin’s feet. “Today your destiny would change for good, make sure your friend is saved.” The last word was barely spoken when Merlin ran to the dungeon. He gathered his magic.

Today he almost wanted to say fuck you destiny. Let the whole world know he had magic. He would use it to protect his king no matter what.

Arthur bit on his lip to keep himself from screaming in pain. It felt like he was being boiled alive. He writ against the stone wall.

When Aredian walked closer with another vial, Arthur almost begged him to leave him just alone. Instead, he closed his lips as tightly as he could.

Turning his face away when he was grabbed. The fingers dug into his jaw, prying them open. Pain shot up into Arthur’s head like a red rot was pressed against his skin.

The last push and his mouth were open enough for him to force him to drink. Arthur tried to force as much as he could out of his mouth, but some still went down his throat.

A slapped echo suddenly through the room when Arthur managed to spit the rest onto Aredian’s face.

Arthur forced himself to take a deep breath even when it felt like he was being stabbed in his lungs with each breath.

When Aredian grabbed his knife, Arthur closed his eyes waiting for death and hoping it would come soon. He wasn’t sure how much of this he would be able to take.

The blade was cool against his overheated skin and when it started to draw blood, Arthur just slumped down. Knowing no matter how much of a struggle he put up, there isn’t really a way out of this.

“We will remove this tainted blood of yours, make sure you will have fresh blood,” Aredian whispered into Arthur’s ear.

When it felt like it was never going to end, was Arthur cover from his shoulders to his pelvis in small cuts.

Somewhere deep and others were swallow. A whimper left his throat when Aredian started to put salt against the wounds.

A scream left Arthur’s lips when the first salt touched a rather deep cut.

Merlin felt his heart beating in his ears when he heard the scream. His magic flared up. The guards looked at him wearily.

“Either open up or get out.” Merlin’s voice was deadly. Someone was going to pay for what Arthur is being put through.

One guard could feel some respect forming for the servant. He had to see how loyal he was to Arthur, and here he was again. He would do anything to make sure that the prince was saved.

The other soldier rather ran to tell the king what was going on.

A deep-dived lay between the people. Some believed that Arthur would be a wonderful king and others said he would be just like his father if not worse.

Arthur pressed himself closer to the wall when the door burst open. It was a struggle to keep his eyes open and for a moment he feared that he had died when he saw Merlin in the doorway, sword in hand and golden eyes.

Aredian turned to the warlock. A nasty smile on his face. “So there is more of you.” He grabbed a pair of cold steel cuffs but with a burst of gold were they gone.

Merlin didn’t utter a word as he lifted the witchfinder tilting him upside down.

The man screamed in the background demanding to be put down. Merlin crouched down in front of Arthur.

His eyes scanned the cell for the keys and with a quick poke outside the guard handed him the keys to the cold steel shackles.

Arthur slumped forward when Merlin removed it. He was cold and boiling hot at the same time, with burning skin.

For a moment he closed his eyes wishing he was anyplace else. Merlin’s hands were warm and sting slightly his skin but at the same time was it comforting to know that this was over.

The thought barely made it’s way through his mind when he could hear footsteps. Arthur clumsily grabbed the sword that was with Merlin.

It took help from Merlin before he was able to stand again. The sword was heavy in his hand and Arthur knew that if he was in the normal shape that the sword would have been perfect.

Uther stopped dead when he saw his son, Merin was standing protectively in front of Arthur. For a moment coldness swept through Uther.

He had seen enough men with that look on there face. They would do anything to get revenge no matter what the cost.

“What have you done to Arthur?” Uther’s normal cold cascaded was nowhere to be seen, now it was just pure fury.

“Nothing. I wasn’t the one who locked him in a cell for having magic. I wasn’t the one who had him torture because it is something he had no control over.” Merlin could feel his magic swirling seeking a way out, wanting to punish.

“And it is the last time you will hurt someone with magic.” There was a flash of gold and Uther fell unconscious.

Arthur sagged forward slightly. His mind was reeling.

Warm hands around his shoulder’s kept him upright. Blue eyes met blue eyes. And Arthur could see the devotion in Merlin’s eyes.

The sword fell from his limp hand as he crashed against Merlin. The younger man easily kept Arthur upright, before he helped Arthur to sit down.

Still keeping him close to him. The smell of blood was thick in the air and there was a hint of saltiness.

Merlin could feel his tunic slowly turning wet as Arthur cried into his shoulder. He didn’t shush him or told him everything would be alright. He just held him.

Giving him time to work through his emotions and pain. For the next day that will come Arthur would need to decide the fate of his father.

When the tremors stop and Arthur pulled back slightly, Merlin gave him an encouraging smile.

“What are you going to do about your father and the witchfinder?” Merlin kept his voice low.

Arthur was silent for a few seconds. “It is time for a new reign. For now, they can keep each other company in the dungeon.”

Arthur forced himself upright almost falling when his knees bucked under his weight. He turned to the guards.

“Lock them up, I will deal with them tomorrow. They are not to be realised no matter what they scream or threaten you with.” Arthur's voice was firm even when it broke slightly at the end.

“Yes, Sire.” A core of voice.

With Merlin’s help, Arthur managed to get to the physician’s chambers.

It was almost night when Arthur opened his eyes again. The room was dimly lit with candles. He could feel a warm hand around his.

A groan left his lips when he pushed himself upright.

“Rest Arthur, tomorrow is going to be a long day. You are going to need all your strength.” Merlin’s voice was soft as he gently ran his free hand through Arthur’s blond hair.

Feeling him going limp again. “I love you, my king.” A mere whisper into the night. Unknowing that the prince had heard.

[red-5]

Luck’s Got Nothing To Do With It (Pt. 3)

Summary: The cavalry arrives to save the day.

Pairings: Poe x OC/reader

Part 1

Part 2

Stealth, it turns out, can only get you so far when you’re stranded and outnumbered on a floating death trap suspended thousands of feet in the air. Her instinct to avoid Poe’s Y-wing had served her well, if the radio chatter she had managed to overhear during the cat and mouse game portion of her stay at Cloud City was to be believed. Chances are it had already been thoroughly searched, and promptly destroyed, along with any hope of flying herself out of this mess.

They were coming for her. Something she had taken to reminding herself, repeating it like a mantra in her mind as she sat in the receiving chambers that was currently acting like an interrogation room. The once, pleasantly dim lights had been cranked up to high volume, causing a dull throb to grow behind her eyes and at the base of her skull.

The stiff, high-backed chair dug uncomfortably into her shoulders as she wiggled to find a position that didn’t cause her toes to go numb. A layer of sticky sweat had built up all over her body, creating a harsh friction between the crumpled fabric of her clothing and her skin. She fought a wince as a sharp sting above her right eye reminded her of their response to the cheap shots she had managed to get in as they dragged her from the common area. The only weapon she had was probably lying in a trash heap somewhere deep in the city’s refuse, she had sent it tumbling down the garbage chute on the realization she had run out of places to hide and it would only serve as a liability in the inevitable moment when they caught up with her. Salty remnants of crocodile tears crusted on her cheeks, along with streaks of the trace amounts of make-up Jess had smeared on her face to make her disguise ‘more believable.’ Unfortunately, she hadn’t sold her damsel in distress act quite as well as she’d hoped, or in an unlikely turn of events, the stormtroopers had simply gotten smarter.

They had left her to sit with her own anxiety for what felt like hours in a room that had become unbearably cold and unnecessarily bright, but each time she let her eye lids slip shut in attempt to block out the painful sensation, a familiar pair of warm, brown eyes swam across her sight.

He was fine. He was Commander Poe Dameron for Force sake. The best pilot in the Resistance, bane of the First Order, golden boy of the Republic. They could have left him with a decommissioned, out of date speeder and he would have found his way in to orbit.

Poe. Was. Fine.

By extension she was sure the asset was alive as well, but despite being the reason she was in this mess in the first place she hadn’t spared him a second thought since his departure. Her thoughts stubbornly continued to drift to the handsome pilot that had quite literally dragged him to the landing platform.

Hold up.

Since when was that obnoxious, arrogant, infuriatingly perfect man handsome? Sure, she had noticed the way his eyes twinkled when he laughed, the way his curls bounced when he threw his head back in mirth, the way all eyes on base, male and female alike, searched out the infectious sound before throwing jealous looks her way. But the thought that she would never see those eyes again was not what caused her stomach to churn and her chest to tighten. No sir.

How long had it been since she’d slept?

She was delirious. That had to be it. Falling for the best friend she had made since leaving home, for the pilot that had pushed her to be everything she had become, for her comrade, was something she would have noticed.

Right?

Her eyes darted to the door as it slid open with a hiss, a tall, lithe figure clad in the ominous grey uniform of First Order command slithering in through the threshold. The smile that tugged at the tight flesh of the man’s face made her stomach flip flop, and she willed her face not to betray the cold chill that ran up her spine.

“Good afternoon, my name is Lieutenant Cresson and I will be conducting this session today.”

The sterile kindness in his voice coupled with the feral twinge in his eyes was enough to cause a lump to rise in her throat. One she quickly swallowed down with a spark of defiance. She couldn’t afford to show a single sign of weakness, that he was getting under her skin, no matter how much she wanted to squirm under his scrutiny. He was young, but not quite young enough to be a freshly minted Lieutenant and was undoubtedly looking to make his career with her confession. She would take a battle-hardened Admiral any day. Revealing her identity would mean an even bigger blow to the Resistance. They knew about a Resistance presence in the city, but any knowledge on the phantom X-wing squadron that had been making their lives a living hell would set him up for life.

He sat at the small table across from her, folding his hands neatly on the cool surface.

“I won’t insult you and continue the facade that we believe you are who you say you are. I will simply ask that you make this easy on yourself.”

She stared back at him, face a long trained and well-practiced mask of stone. Her own hands were still in her lap, gripping the fabric of her pants to keep her hands from shaking, wrists rubbed raw from the restraints they had removed before dumping her off and leaving her to the unrelenting torture of her own thoughts. Apparently, they didn’t see a single agent of the Resistance as much of a threat.

His small smile spread into a sickening grin as the seconds dragged on, his cold gaze never leaving hers.

“We know the Resistance had a spy here in Cloud City, one you helped escape. We will have proof of this once the Baron-Administrator grants us access to the security feed.”

A small victory, but a victory all the same. She wasn’t sure what story the silver-tongued king of Cloud City had conjured to delay access to the incriminating feed, but she was confident in his ability to handle himself. He would buy them all the time he could while protecting their alliance to the best of his ability. The General had told her he had learned his lesson in loyalty, and wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice.

“You may be under the impression that your silence will serve you well, but allow me the unpleasant task of correcting that misconception.”

She quirked an eyebrow, tilting her head in question as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Whatever information you are protecting will be ours in time. How much time, however, is up to you. I have been given full authorization to use any means I deem necessary.” He leaned forward across the table, eyes boring into hers, face twisted into a sinister smile. “I plan to exercise this authority.”

He paused, allowing his words to register.

“Do you have any questions before we begin?”

The sudden, violent flicker of the lights accompanied with a far-off explosion sent vibrations of anticipation throughout her body.

Poe had returned, and he brought the cavalry.

She allowed a smile to bloom on her face as she watched confusion creep through the cracks in his calm expression.

“Just one.” She leaned forward as his eyes found her face again, dropping her voice and crossing her arms across her chest. “Do you believe in ghosts, Lieutenant?”

His sputtering response was cut short as the room was plunged into darkness, and she didn’t hesitate. Her hand flew forward across the small gap that separated them, fisting into the material of his shirt as she brought the bridge of his nose to meet her hairline with a sharp crack. The yowl the unsuspecting man released was bound to attract attention, and she denied herself the urge to linger in the satisfaction his pain brought her.

She was at the door in an instant, hovering to the side as thundering footsteps approached. Adrenaline buzzed through her limbs, waking up the muscles that had turned to putty and sharpening her senses. Her leg swept out automatically as a flash of white darted through the doorway, sending the sentry crashing to the ground as she blindly groped to wrestle his weapon away from him. Blood pounded in her ringing ears, loud enough to mask the thwap of her confiscated rifle as she leapt to her feet with her bounty.

The struggling suit of armor stilled in a flash of red, and she wasted no time sprinting from the room firing at anything that moved. If the Ghosts were here, it wouldn’t be long before they breeched the walls. Her body moved of its own accord, her training taking control as extraction protocol looped in her mind.

Get to a landing pad.

The heels of her boots slipped and skidded on the smooth floors as she ran harder than she had ever ran before, red bolts whizzing past her head as she rounded the corner to crash into a solid form. Gloved hands struggled to contain the frenzied flurry of her fists and butt of her blaster as she slipped into full survival mode.

“Green Leader!”

A familiar voice broke through her trance long enough to allow her to take in the violent red hair and freckled face of the man that currently tried to keep her knuckles from pummeling any part of him she could reach.

“Yaro,” she breathed, dropping her arms to the side as relief washed through her. She was right. They had worked a lot faster than she was anticipating.

“This way!” He shouted, half leading, half dragging her back down the way he came. “Gold and Red squadrons should be engaging now, that should buy us the time we need to get to orbit and join up with Black Leader.”

As many times as she had assured herself that he was alive and well, hearing the words spoken aloud gave her troubled mind a miniscule amount of much needed peace. It had worked, her suicidal plan had given him the time he needed to escape, only to turn around and march right back into the fire. She could picture him in the cockpit of Black One, white-knuckling the controls as he watched the fray from what she was sure was a strongly enforced and carefully calculated distance. The thought that there wasn’t a force in the universe that could keep him away, even a strong-willed, disciplined General with a knack for strategy and dealing with pig-headed pilots, sent a warmth blossoming in her chest despite the burning in her lungs.

She surged forward as a second wind took hold, blaster raised and poised to fire, forcing her eyes to focus on airlock that was rapidly approaching as they closed the distance to Landing Pad 3 and not on the mass of white armor that was in pursuit. To where, not hours earlier, she had prepared herself to sacrifice her own life for what she firmly told herself was a greater cause and definitely not a certain brunette Commander with a charming smile and curls a girl could get used to running her fingers through.

Focus.

A very dangerous emotion brewed in the corners of her fatigued mind as she stumbled out into the open air.

Hope.

The troopers were hot on their heels, pouring through the open doorway as they scrambled into the perceived safety of the Y-wing’s cockpit. Precious seconds ticked by, the whirring of the engines as they sluggishly spun to life doing nothing to calm her frayed nerves as blaster fire peppered the frame of the ship.

“Green-3 to all hands, assistance needed at extraction point. Repeat, assistance needed at- “

Her counterpart didn’t get the chance to finish his frantic call to arms, the rapidly expanding grouping of Stormtroopers disappearing in a cloud of smoke and shrapnel as an unmarked X-wing streaked by overhead.

“All clear, Green-3. Black Squadron is in position and waiting to escort you and our lovely Green Leader back home.”

She met the red-head’s toothy grin with one of her own as the voice of her trusty second in command sounded through the speakers. One fact she couldn’t deny, her boys were good.

Poe’s eyes never left the ship in front of him, focusing on the spot it had disappeared during the jump to lightspeed, still able to make out the outline burned into the back of his mind. It had been smoking and sputtering as it broke out of atmosphere, having narrowly escaped the escalating dogfight that had broken out across the skies of Cloud City, but it was flying. He didn’t fight the overwhelming relief he felt as he dropped out at D’Qar’s coordinates and it materialized back in its rightful place, as if he had expected to wake up in his bed in a cold sweat to discover the entire operation had been a dream and she were still trapped in the clutches of the First Order.

He hadn’t given himself a chance to celebrate the rare occasion of a flawlessly executed plan, he would allow himself to relax when she was back on solid ground. If he had it his way, she would never leave his sight again. The effort it had taken to maintain his position was substantial, his last thread of self-control nearly snapping when he heard Green-3’s voice come over the channel confirming a successful extraction. He had heard his voice bark out the order to rendezvous with the incoming craft, but hardly recognized the harsh rasp that sounded in his helmet.

The same rasp that droned a reply to the tower as they rattled off directions for his approach into base. It was one he could do in his sleep, so while the fact that he suddenly found himself stationary in his usual spot on the tarmac should have been alarming, it didn’t surprise him. The whine of the dying engines still echoed through the evening air as he flung the canopy open, forgoing the ladder as he dropped to his feet and hit the ground running. He was half-way across the flight-line before the door to the Y-wing’s flight station swung open.

His mouth dropped open as she stepped out to greet the crowd of medics, pilots, and mechanics that had gathered, her name leaving his mouth a prayer that managed to cut through the commotion and sent her eyes wildly searching for his. Even before finding his gaze, her body seemed to acknowledge his presence, moving forward as they simultaneously lost all concept of time.

He heard her shout his name, it rang in his ears as she pushed and shoved her way out of the throng of medics that swarmed her the instant she stepped foot out onto the blacktop, stumbling over her feet as they struggled to keep up with her urgent strides. He lunged for her, her arms flying around his neck as he wrapped his around her torso to crush her to his chest, eyes screwing shut against the stinging in his eyes.

All the tension that had twisted his muscles into painful knots finally released as he melted against her, gulping down deep breaths laced with her scent, allowing it to fill his nose and make his brain go fuzzy. The tinkling soprano of her voice danced in his ear, muffled against the skin of his neck and orange fabric of his flight suit. He couldn’t make out a word of it, but he was convinced it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

Small hands slid down his shoulders to push gently against his chest, increasing in strength at his reluctance to release her from his arms. He loosened his death grip just enough to allow her to pull away and face him, but again, he found himself incapable of comprehending her words. He was hypnotized the moment her lips started moving, and before he knew what he was doing his hands had framed her face, palms sliding against the skin of her cheeks as he pulled her back to him, crashing his lips to hers.

She stiffened against him, eyes blown wide in shock, paralyzed as a fantasy she had barely come to terms with played out before her. Thankfully, Poe didn’t give up easily, and soon the movement of his mouth against hers had her eyelids fluttering shut, arms winding themselves back around the broad width of his shoulders as her fingers threaded through his hair. He tightened his hold on her, encouraged as she responded to his touch and certain he would never be able to hold her close enough to quiet the raging storm she had awakened inside him.

A choked whimper escaped his throat as she pulled away from him far too soon for his liking, chasing after her lips and conceding in pressing his forehead into her hair as she turned her face to the horribly rude person that had the audacity to interrupt them.

“Green Leader, I really must insist…”

She blinked owlishly at the young medic that glanced nervously between the pair with a data-pad clutched in her hand. He felt her nod in response, clearing her throat after a failed attempt to find her voice.

“Just…give me a second?”

He didn’t listen for the nurse’s response, not caring much what it would be as the woman in his arms turned back to face him. Their eyes met, and the edges of his vision faded away. She was alive and safe, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to hide away in bed with her for the rest of their lives or never sleep again.

“I’ll come w- “

His offer died in his throat as her fingertips touched his lips.

“I’ll come find you.” The exhilaration he felt at the simple promise was overwhelming, and his knees suddenly struggled to hold his weight. “Your quarters?”

He felt some of his signature charm return as he brushed rogue strands of hair from her face, smiling when she leaned into the warmth of his palm.

“You’re not getting away that easily. Last time I left you somewhere, I had to bring half the damn Resistance with me to get you back.”

A thrill ran up his spine as she chuckled, raising her hand to caress the back of his.

“Alright then, Commander, unless you want the General’s wrath to descend upon us both, we should probably listen to the overly enthusiastic medical staff.”

Swooping to capture her lips in one last, lingering kiss he nodded, mumbling his consent against her mouth.

“Lead the way, Commander.”

In one swift motion, he turned her around and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, laughing at the dramatic eye roll she shot in his direction. She allowed him to lead her to the hangar, playfully swatting his free hand away as he fussed over the discoloration above her eye and allowing him to pull her against him, leaning her weight against his solid form and winding an arm around his waist as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

Neither of them noticed the pair of gentle eyes watching from a vantage point just outside the bustling crowd, glittering with happiness and swimming in unshed tears. The General had promised herself long ago to never underestimate the importance of a win, however big or small, even if she celebrated in her own, silent way. Watching her best pilots give into the feelings neither of them acknowledged after dancing around the obvious for years definitely counted as a win.

Pilots. They’d make her hair go grey.

@umbrellabrass

@saberrey

@irebelcaptain