#No. 1 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quietlyimplode · 7 months

Text

the language of flowers and silent things.

Whumptober 2023: Day 1 - How many fingers am I holding up

Warnings: perceived death (no death I promise), panic

Word Count: 2.3k (gif not mine)

Summary: The marriage of Clint and Natasha.

A/N: there are people that stand with you in darkness, brave the shadows and not shy away, if you have friends like that hold them tight. This is for you @broken--bow .

Friend, without you there would be no whumptober, there are no words for the consistency of friendship you have supported over the last month, and thank you doesn’t seem enough. I wish it were more, but thank you all the same.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

KASHMIR

2011

“It’s cold,” Natasha grumbles.

“Yep,” Clint replies, popping the p, and trudging on through the snow.

“How far?”

The snow is white and endless, and Natasha is sure they aren’t going the right way. Her rifle, slung across her shoulder, rubs and feels heavy, as it hits the back of her thighs; even though likely it’s her backpack that has the weight.

Clint glances at the gps, a small look of surprise on his face.

Natasha stops.

“What?”

“It’s less that two hundred metres,” he says, pointing to the left.

He adjusts his pack and trudges forward, giving Natasha places to put her feet as she grumbled again.

“You’re Russian!” he says, exasperated as the safe house comes into sight.

She throws him a look a rolls her eyes.

“I don’t like the cold,” she deadpans.

Approaching the house, they both split up, covering the front and back and simultaneously breach the door way.

Covering the rooms in a pattern, Natasha is first to call all clear, followed by Clint, as she beelines for the generator and sets up the heater.

The white noise of the generator infuriates Clint as he keeps the first watch; more snow falling. He

wonders if it will ever stop.

The cold that penetrates is icy, even though they’ve used spare blankets under the doorways and old newspapers on the window.

Natasha was finally asleep.

He knows by the soft breaths, slow and even.

She doesn’t like sleeping in the cold, and he knows why, it reminds her too much of the barracks of the Red Room.

She berates herself about becoming too soft, even as she makes their apartment and their rooms a constant temperature.

Less nightmares.

He tells her it’s not a bad thing to protect yourself from bad dreams, but it never seems to stick.

She sighs audibly and he wonders what she’s dreaming.

If the snow continues to fall at this rate, they’ll be snowed in. The trek here all uphill, and he hates Maria a little for directing them to this one.

“Hydra,” she’d said, “they’ve taken advantage of the political climate, and infiltrated the region.”

It’s a shame; he think idly, Kashmir is beautiful, but the evil that has infiltrated made it unsightly.

The man that they had killed was wanted by Interpol, crimes against humanity and all that.

Natasha’s kill shot hitting him between the eyes, as Clint had done the calculations quickly around wind speed and elevation.

One shot, one kill.

They made it look easy; isn’t that why Fury sent them?

Now, stuck in the snow, in a quaint house, Clint has too much time to reflect and worry about the repercussions of not being extracted until the snow stops.

His grip tightens on the gun, and he adjusts his position.

Natasha focuses on the landscape, the parts she can see anyway. Snow covers the door, just reaching the window and she feels vulnerable at not being able to see all the ways around them.

She knows if she looks at Clint, she won’t be able to hide her disappointment.

He won’t be able to hide his fear.

The satcom phone lays inert, as they await the next call.

Any way out.

Any opportunities for exfil.

Not likely for the next twenty four hours anyway.

The tension in the room is palpable. The generator has enough petrol for the next five hours, and the temperature is far below zero.

Clint focuses on the bowl of cereal, the snow still around them.

This was supposed to be easy.

He suppresses a shiver and pulls his coat around him trying to gain any heat he can.

The one room they’d kept heated, now growing colder.

He knows they both feel it.

Natasha pushes away her bowl, half eaten.

“You gotta eat, Nat,” he murmurs.

“We need to leave,” she argues, “the generator is done, the food almost gone, and the pipes are frozen. We have no water apart from what we have in that bucket.”

He shakes his head.

“It’s cold outside, no one is coming here in that weather; plus where are we gonna go? We have to wait for them to come.”

She’s knows he’s right. Standing and staring out the window, she shivers.

It’s not a good sign.

“Clint.”

The seriousness in her tone has him on edge as he joins her.

“It’s stopped snowing.”

They both know, when the temperature drops the snow stops, the sun, or what was left of it, hides behind the dark as the black starts to descend, night approaching; though the hour not late.

“What are we going to do?” she whispers.

They move to the smallest room, a tiny broom closet, big enough for the both of them. No windows, blankets piled in.

“I hate the cold,” she gristles, her teeth gnashing.

Clint pulls her closer, trying to stay warm, even though he’s sure it’s not helping.

“Talk,” he asks, “take my mind off this.”

The request isn’t lost on Natasha, the beginning of the third day had begun and they still had no way out, the sat phone silent, stood next to the door.

“Mmmm,” she says; trying to stop her teeth chattering.

“If you changed around this house, what would you do to make it better?”

It’s an old game, one they used to play when nightmares would keep either of them awake and neither wanted sleep.

Clint bites, he wants nothing more than the deep dread that fills his body to go away.

“Thicker windows,” he starts, “and for there to be a better security system.”

Natasha grunts in agreement.

“Insulation,” she continues, “the bedroom, I’d move to the back of the house, maybe another bathroom.”

Clint snorts.

“Like our house?”

She laughs, shivers hard and suppresses another.

“What’s that like again?”

He sits up a little straighter, and starts talking about the blueprints he’s sketched out when they’d first started dating.

“You know, you’ll have a library, and I’ll have a target room, the kitchen will be big, and the bathroom always warm.”

“The house is always warm,” she corrects.

“Heated floors?”

He nods, “definitely heated floors.”

She rests her head on his shoulder.

“”It sounds nice.”

The night passes slowly.

Both in and of consciousness, eating where they can and bodies shivering hard against the cold.

“My lungs hurt,” she grunts, forcing herself to take a breath.

Clint can’t answer, he agrees, but can’t do anything but nod his head.

She’s terrified; not because she’s going to die, but because he is.

“Talk to me,” she says, her teeth chattering.

She remembers Russia, the coldness of the room and the lack of heat in their dormitory rooms. The blankets thread bare.

She felt it then, but had no context about how warm the world could be.

“You think the world is warm?”

Natasha hadn’t realised she was talking out loud.

“It’s different, here, don’t you think?”

He swallows, trying to readjust his position but finds his limbs uncooperative.

She’s not making sense and he’s worried. He can’t think straight though and maybe she can’t either.

They won’t die here.

Someone will come.

“When we get married,” she starts.

They both laugh.

But it’s the silence that hangs.

“What are we going to do, Clint?”

She can see their breath, and movement is getting harder. Natasha knows this cold, Russian winters this biting, freezing kind of bitter. If they die….

If they die it’s not a bad way to go, here, safe with someone she loves and a life she curated for herself.

If she dies…

“What kind of wedding will it be?”

Clint stops her train of thought.

Desperate to change the subject to anything apart from their imminent death, he hugs her closer, trying to not be unnerved by how cold her skin is.

“Small,” she considers, indulging him.

“I’ll wear white, you’ll wear a tux, but it’ll only be our closest friends.”

He nods.

“Who are we inviting?”

“Maria.”

“Coulson.”

They take turns naming their friends.

“Pepper.”

Clint frowns, “really?”

“Yeah, why?”

The shiver stops him from answering, and she tries to pull the blankets more around him.

“If you invite Pepper, we’d have to invite Tony,” he says grumpily, disliking the fact that someone who heavily objectified Natasha would be invited.

Natasha’s head rolls over to him, a smile on her cracked lips.

“We’d make him sign a NDA,” she almost laughs.

“He wouldn’t be able to talk about it, and it would destroy him.”

Clint laughs, a cough bubbling as he sucks in too much cold air.

“He’d probably get a good present anyway.”

“Fury?” Natasha asks, and Clint nods.

“Yeah I think so.”

He sighs.

“Is it sad it’s such a short list?”

She shrugs.

“Who else would you invite?”

Clint knows.

Family. Isn’t that who you’re supposed to invite for your wedding? For you brother to be your best man? Or for your mother and father to sit in the front row and cry?

“Who’d walk you down the aisle?”

She ignores the question.

“I’d invite Yelena,” she decides, looking wistful.

Clint rubs her leg.

“Yeah. I’d invite Barney,” he agrees. Even though it’s likely his brother and her sister as long since dead, it’s a nice thought to have.

“Your mom,” she opens the thought.

Natasha stops but continues after a moment.

“I think I would have liked our mothers to come, even if mine abandoned me.”

Clint doesn’t know what to say.

“I would have liked that too,” he breathes.

“I think you’d walk me down the aisle,” she whispers, coughing into her gloves.

“Where?”

He knows where, he just wants her to say it.

“Okinawa,” she smiles, knowing he loves the shores of the tiny island as much as she does.

“Of course,” he smiles back.

They sit in silence

“We can find them, I think.”

Clint says it with conviction.

Natasha looks at him intensely, breath white, nose red.

They’re going to die here, he thinks idly. Why not give them another mission, even if it only gives them hope.

“Our parents?”

He shakes his head.

“Our siblings.”

Natasha sees Yelena standing at the door, sad eyes, hands waving goodbye.

Her eyes open and close languidly.

“Okay.”

She knows what he’s doing.

Offering hope when there isn’t any.

Gloved hand reaches out under the blankets and takes his.

“If we survive this, and if we find Barney and Yelena, we will get married. You just have to ask,” she proposes.

Clint nods, his movement slow, his voice quiet and somber.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Natasha? Will you marry me?”

Head against his, she kisses him slowly, purposefully; like it’s the last draw of breath she’ll ever take.

“Yeah, Clint, of course I’ll marry you.”

Maria panics at the empty house, wondering where her friends are.

If they thought she wasn’t coming, maybe they left to find safety; it would have been a death sentence.

Temperatures outside so cold it had taken far too long to trek anywhere for safety, the snow too deep.

As it was, it had taken too long for the helicopter to land anywhere safely.

Maria looks around.

Two people that already have so much trust issues, she’s not sure what they would have done.

She’s sure they would have thought no one was coming.

In the instant, Maria feels panic.

She clears the first room and the medic clears two more rooms; then — Maria finds them.

Huddled together, Natasha’s head on Clint’s shoulders their faces pale and they look half dead.

She calls the medic over, unwrapping them from the blankets.

“Thready,” the man tells her, assessing Clint, then Natasha.

They drag them out, laying them down on stretchers as they both call it in on the sat phone.

Maria places the warmers over their chests, as the medic works on placing an IV for both of them.

They work quickly and efficiently; slowly working to warm their friends, hoping against all hopes that the hypothermia has no permanent effects.

Natasha hears before she sees, the whir of the plane, the pain in all her muscles as life starts flowing back into her.

“Clint,” she tries.

Voice cracking, not loud enough, she can’t see him or hear him, her heart hurts and her thoughts race.

They’re going to get married.

They’re going to find Yelena and Barney.

They’re going to…

Breath comes fast, alarms blare and she panics; sitting up, eyes now open she finds herself connected to machines and monitors.

Clint lays next to her.

Laying back, doctors surround her.

“Clint,” she says again.

Maria appears in her field of vision, a stoic face.

“He’s okay too,” she clarifies.

Panicked eyes greet her.

“Natasha,” Maria says, “look at me.”

Wild eyes look her.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

She sticks two fingers in Natasha’s face, and predictably, her friend rolls her eyes.

“Two.”

Maria puts three more.

“Three.”

She nods.

“He’s okay,” she assures.

Closing her eyes, Natasha grunts and sinks back into a deep sleep.

“God you’re both so predictable,” Maria grunts, half holding him down.

“She’s fine, look, okay?”

Clint gives her a goofy smile, clearly still delirious.

He sees Natasha, oxygen mask on, eyes closed.

“She’sgonnamarryme,” he tells her, words mumbled.

“What?”

Maria thinks she misheard, because neither Clint or Natasha feel like the marrying type.

He nods, “jus’ gotta find Yelena and Barney.”

Clint’s eyes slip closed.

“She’sgonnamarryme,” he says again, falling back into a drugged sleep.

#whumptober2023 #no. 1 #how many fingers am i holding up?#marvel fic #natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #clint barton #my fic #hawkeye #natasha romanoff fic #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #clint barton fic #clint barton x natasha romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x Clint barton #the language of flowers

92 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 7 months

Text

Fire Down Below

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below |

CW: Dehumanizing language, prolonged repeated choking, nonhuman whumpee, angry whumper, restrained, hanged (no death), captivity

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Gilly leaned forward, the wooden chair he sat on creaking alarmingly under the shift in weight, rocking slightly forward onto the one leg that was shorter than the other three for no discernable or understandable reason.

It’d been a free chair, though, so… there was that.

He held up one hand, thumb curled over a bent forefinger, middle, ring, and pinkie fingers straight up in the air.

The siren stared back at him, only its eyes, nose, and wet curls above the washtub’s water line. He could just barely see the strap of the gag curving around the back of its head, the barest hint of the wood visible through the increasingly dirtied water. It made no movement, no sound.

Honestly, if he hadn’t known what it was, he might have felt some sense of guilt or a prickling at his conscience. It looked so human. As if he’d found a beautiful youth and abducted him for nefarious purposes, like in the scandalous penny awfuls he sometimes bought during times in port and read on lonely nights on the ship. He might imagine himself the villain of such a tale, if the creature had been a person.

“How many?” He repeated.

The thing did not respond. It only blinked, once.

Gilly sighed. “Must you make this as difficult as possible, thing?”

No answer. But he could see the curve of its plush top lip over the bit between its teeth, the way it wanted to sneer and snarl at him, and he would not bear that disrespect.

“Fine. Have it your way.” Gilly wrapped the rope around his hand again and again that led up to the ceiling where his rough-hewn pulley-system had been rigged, leading back down to the rough, coarse rope knotted tight around the stupid creature’s throat.

This it understood, and only this. It did not learn without violence. Not that Gilly had tried too many other options.

As soon as he pulled hard enough to tighten the loop a fraction around its neck, the creature shot further up to give itself slack, but Gilly only followed its movements with his own, pulling with one hand and then another to ensure that once it stood it could not hide itself again.

It was dripping, well-formed body naked as a newborn babe, and Gilly once again mourned that he had had the piss-poor luck to catch a male one and not a female. The monster croaked around its gag, in a cracking voice, “Th-eeee.”

“Good,” Gilly said, voice short and sharp.

He let the rope go slack again.

The creature dropped right back down as far as he would let it go, until it was only bared to him from the ribcage up. It hid itself, always, whenever it could. As if it felt his eyes, as if it cared a single bit about modesty. Sirens were simply animals mimicking a human shape, everyone knew that. The intelligence he saw in those dark eyes was a false one, a trick. Only madmen thought sirens were thinking beings, madmen who sailed off to the islands the sirens were known to stay on, wanting to communicate or connect with their so-called ‘communities’.

Those madmen never returned, or the ones who did claimed to have found nothing at all, simply bare rock and empty bushes.

“Again,” Gilly said, and held up all the fingers on one hand this time. He kept his other hand tight around the rope, in a subtle, wordless threat.

The creature swallowed - with difficulty, the noose was still too tight for comfort even as the rope slackened - and managed, “F-eye-fff.”

“Close enough,” Gilly muttered, but he was secretly pleased. The longer it was trapped in the washtub, a mere speck of water compared to the vast oceans it had known before, the more it cooperated, the more it gave in to Gilly’s demands.

Eventually, it would need to understand him well enough to do his bidding, but until then… until then, they had to move slowly. He couldn’t do anything anyway until the magic had been laid to make the creature more fully his to command.

Outside, there was a creaky, high-pitched voice, the old woman calling in baby-speak to her infernal little dog with its yapping ankle-bites and ridiculous smushed-in face. The siren’s eyes flickered to the window, its head turning with a simple, open curiosity and wonder.

It was a deeply human expression, and Gilly felt a thrill of fury and something he refused to feel as guilt for what he’d done in bringing it here. So he yanked so hard on the rope the siren choked.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at its aborted, hoarse cry of pain. Its attention certainly left the window and the sounds outside, didn’t it? And the cries of pain it made were nearly as beautiful as its wicked, tempting songs at sea.

His smile widened as he pulled, stalwart and resolute, with one hand and then another. First its navel was bared to the air, then the mimickry of a man between its legs, those long muscled thighs, water running in rivers down shapely calves and finally to its feet. Gilly’s arms shook despite the years of work on ships he’d done to build his strength, but he kept pulling, and the creature kept rising.

Its cries became shorter, whistling and airless, and then turned to nothing more than gasps. The rope was tight just under its jaw, one strong jerk from broken, like a convict hung on the gallows before a crowd.

But Gilly was the only audience to the show.

The siren’s arms jerked, hands twisting its wrists still bound behind its back. They were already rubbed raw to bleeding and yet still it kept struggling, legs moving uselessly, fighting to breathe when its throat was nearly closed entirely.

“Don’t worry about her,” Gilly said, in a tone of utmost genial friendliness. “She can’t hear you, and she doesn’t care about you anyway. None of them do, they just don’t care. Even if she did know what I’ve got here, what could she really do, hm? Make me leave my home here, to be sure, but what else? What would happen to you?”

The siren’s face was going dark, blood rushing into its cheeks as Gilly stood and braced his feet shoulder width apart for a better, stronger grip. He didn’t need to do this - he should stop, he would never have treated any dog, cat, or horse with such cruelty - but somehow he couldn’t.

He couldn’t stop watching its eyes go wide and frightened, then hazy as the world began to darken for it. As it stared into the death that he could give it, so easily, just by staying put like this, just by letting it dangle until there was nothing left in it but its pretty, pointless skin.

Gilly felt nearly as breathless himself, although with excitement, not with fear. He had never had power of any creature, not this sort of power. Not the power to simply take a life with no rhyme or reason, only his own desires.

He let go, abruptly, and the rope slid hot through his hands as the creature crashed back into the washing-tub, dirty water splashing up over the sides from the violence of its landing.

Its legs crumpled and it disappeared entirely at first, before it pushed itself back up, sucking in gulps of air and coughing, over and over in a vicious cycle. His ribcage swelled and pulled so tight the bones were visible, again and again. Its face was still red, its neck was dark as sin itself with blood running down where the rope had rubbed right through its skin.

When Gilly moved closer, the creature flinched backwards until it smacked into the other side of the washing-tub, hunched over itself protectively, looking up at him with its dark curls over its eyes.

It was finally truly terrified of him, after days of this.

Exactly how it should be.

He pointed to the washing-tub, the dirtied water inside it. “The water is dirty,” He said, over-emphasizing each word as if he spoke to an idiot child or a very dumb puppy. “It needs to be cleaned.”

It swallowed, wincing at the pain even such a simple involuntary motion caused. There was no sign it understood, beyond the way its eyes flickered to one side, where he had forced it to stand in the past in the corner while he emptied the tub out and refilled it clean.

“Yes,” Gilly said, pointing now into the same corner. “Go there.” When it didn’t immediately move, he snapped, “Now!”

The siren hurriedly half-fell over the side of the tub, landing without dignity with a thump on its side, making Gilly laugh at the sight of it wiggling to get back on its feet with its hands still tied behind its back. It skittered away from him, more bug than humanoid thing, until it was in the shadowy corner where he had pointed it to.

“Good. Now stay there.”

He took the rope, changing it so it hung from a different hook, pulling it tight enough that the siren was forced to dance on its tiptoes to keep breathing, and tied it off. Now it couldn’t move. Stupid monster couldn’t even think well enough around its fight for air to try anything.

Which was good, because changing the water was a chore he did not enjoy, and his mood was already dark today. He didn’t need it to get any worse. He’d put way too much time and effort into training the creature to accidentally kill it or something if it upset him too much.

“I know you don’t like that,” He said, almost conversationally, as he moved to open the window. “And if you want to make it stop…”

Its voice was barely a hiss as it echoed, “May-... t-ah-p,” unable to pronounce the sss or k sound around the bit gag.

“Right. Well, you’ll have to start learning faster and start listening to me, won’t you? I wouldn’t have to do any of this if you would just understand me and obey the first time, instead of making it a fight.”

It blinked again.

Gilly had to fight the resurgence of his fury at its simple refusal to listen and learn, reminding himself that he had work to do, and he couldn’t have a nap until he had finished cleaning out its water.

There was a slight downhill slope outside, and so he simply took a bucket and began to bail the washing-tub out, tossing each bucket of dirty water outside to let it run down into the widow’s garden below. The bits of fish parts would help the plants to grow, he supposed. Although in this hot climate, it didn’t help the place smell any better. Not that you couldn’t smell the manure from the animals that lived in the barn, anyway…

He lost himself in the work, as always, simply drifted into a place of contentment even as sweat beaded up on his skin and trickled down his neck and his back. Sometimes, he paused just to watch the siren where it stood, making hoarse little guttural noises, moving from one set of toes to the other, tears trickling from the corners of its eyes down over its beautifully wrought cheekbones, its jawline, and to the floor below.

“I suppose you need a name,” He said, thoughtfully, once he had emptied the tub, scrubbed it out, and then worked to dry it with a towel. In a moment he’d have to head down to the water pump to start the refilling process, but he allowed himself a break to wipe away his sweat and push up his glasses, watching the suffering siren. It watched him back, even though the rope kept its chin tipped up trying to escape the constriction. It whined, like a whipped dog, and Gilly shook his head.

It was even trying to mimic other animals, now, to get him to be kinder.

“I was thinking… the people here before the colony was founded, they had a dance called areyto. I think that’s what I’ll call you… Areyto, because once you’re strung up like this, you dance.”

He laughed.

“We’ll work on teaching you your name tomorrow, I think.”

He headed out to start working on bringing in fresh water. It took nearly as long as cleaning the damn thing out had taken, and each time he left and came back the siren’s movements were slower, more exhausted, the fight to breathe taking more and more out of it. Blood began to dry where the ropes had rubbed, and so did its tears.

By the time the water was clean, it had to move on its knees, hunched over, inch by tired inch until it made it to the metal sides of the tub. Gilly kept the rope in hand, ready to punish, but it had no fight left, not now. He watched those powerful leg muscles shake as it pushed itself clumsily to its feet, and then simply allowed itself to fall over the side and into the water.

It did not resurface.

Gilly tied the rope back off in its usual place, cleaned the splashed-out water with the still-damp towel, and walked out whistling cheerfully, closing the door and locking it behind him.

They were definitely making progress.

Once Atabei came from the northern colonies, her magic would make sure he didn’t have to worry about the monster trying to hurt him, and he could finally start laying his plans out for a gilded, influential future.

Taglist: @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam

Note: Although I am not planning any specific @whumptober this year, this piece ended up covering the first three prompts!

61 notes · View notes

sun-warmth · 3 months

Text

Oh boy, they surely love to show off in a similar way~

#manga #black and white #anime #jibaku shounen hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #jshk #tbhk #akane aoi #no. 1 #clock keepers #mirai

33 notes · View notes

ysljoon · 7 months

Text

Whumptober Day 1-John 'Soap' MacTavish

✲Prompt: Swooning

✲Coffee Shop AU

✲Warnings: none just really fluffy

The seasons started to change from from the warm and dewy spring weather, to the blistering heat of summer, and now the leaves are starting to develop their warm-toned hues. As a barista the autumn season was your favorite as the drinks and treats your store provided made you feel cozy. You loved your job and the various people you get to meet and the regulars you build a cordial relationship with. As of recently, there has been one customer that has piqued your interest.

Johnny. That was his name and hearing him say it for the first time when you needed a name provided for the order made your heart stutter in your chest. He had you hooked with his winsome smile, thick accent, and his unique haircut. Despite what anyone says about a mohawk haircut he pulls it off way better than anyone should. The man was enigmatic, to say the least. He would come to the shop twice a week: Wednesdays and Fridays. He would always order a hot blonde roast coffee with two sugars and the slightest amount of half and half. He wasn’t a man of frills you noticed.

The first encounter you had with him at the register you were a mess. Your words were rushed and jumbled together and you couldn't bring yourself to make eye contact with him. As the weeks started to pass by you were able to build up some confidence and hold conversations with him. It could be something as small as you greeting him first with a ‘good morning’ when he walks through the door or even questions getting to know him such as asking what his favorite color is so you know what color straw to give him for his coffee. Just the simple things.

He never stays around after he receives his coffee order you have also come to notice. He would thank you with a bright smile and beeline straight to the door. Today you have come to notice that after you had taken his order he found a table in the corner of the store and started to make himself comfortable by taking out a laptop and charger and setting up whatever paperwork he needed to get done. This had surprised you, but you tried to pay no mind to it. Once his coffee was done you called his name and he coolly strode over with a smirk on his face. He thanks you and in one fluid movement, he takes the coffee but slides a small slip of paper into your palm. “Here’s my number. Wanted to try to get to know a Bonnie gal like you a little more. Send me a text later.” And with that, he sent himself off with a wink and once you saw he was in his seat and you were out of his line of sight you held the paper close to your chest while trying to calm the grin plastered onto your face. You were starting to get giddy just thinking of all the possibilities that could come out of seeing Johnny outside of work.

#whumptober 2023 #no. 1 #swooning #cod mw2 #fic #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap fluff #cod fluff #cod x reader #cod fanfic

53 notes · View notes

one-piece-aus · 7 months

Text

Whumptober Day 1

Uta

Lmao so we're starting off with Uta this year because I noticed October 1st is her birthday, and what better way to celebrate than to give her the first Whumpday hororororororo TW: Mention of destruction, abandonment, guilt of unconscious criminal actions, and Uta considering herself a monster

For as long as she could remember Shanks and his crew had been there for her.

Until that fateful day, the music island had been destroyed.

With the pirates being the only survivors, they fled the scene with her before the Marines arrived. Uta slept in Shanks' arms, unaware of what they were discussing.

"What do we do?" Roux asked pushing the plate of food away from him. "If the Marines found out she was the one behind this..."

The members worriedly glanced at Uta who clung onto Shanks' arm. Heavy silence only fueled the anxiety clawing in their minds.

"She might have a higher bounty than the Devil of Ohara." Hongo set the stack of bounties he had been looking through on the table.

"It's not right for kids to have bounties," Yasopp said, his arms folded and staring at the ground.

"She would've gotten a bounty eventually," Limejuice reminded the group. "We're pirates, and marines don't discriminate who to make an outlaw."

"Well, we didn't expect it this soon."

"It'll be dangerous if she stays with us."

"We can't just drop her off and leave her behind."

The last statement ceased the others from conversing further. Shanks, who had been quietly looking at his daughter, at last spoke up, "Let's head to Dawn Island."

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

Luffy waved goodbye to the pirates, shouting he'll meet them again someday with his own crew, when a thought wormed it's way into his mind. He dropped his arms and scratched his head in search of his memory. Did he say bye to Uta? She didn't talk to him as the crew was packing up to leave, which was weird. Uta would've been right by Shanks, teasing him before Red Hair gave the strawhat to the boy. Maybe she was already on the ship sleeping, her devil fruit did take up a lot of her energy. Luffy shrugged it off and walked back to Makino's bar.

"Makino, can I have some juice?" Luffy requested as he climbed onto a stool in front of the bar.

"Of course, Luffy." She smiled and got out a glass.

Luffy happily waited, kicking his legs back and forth, when he heard a girlish yawn behind him. He spun around, eyes going wide. "Uta?! What are you doing here!?"

"Hmm?" Uta shot him a confused look as she rubbed her eyes. "Why wouldn't I come here? I'm hungry, I want breakfast."

"Luffy-" Makino tried to explain the situation but Luffy opened his mouth first.

"BUT SHANKS LEFT! I THOUGHT YOU WERE WITH THEM!"

"He wHAT?!" Uta snapped awake not processing what he just said.

"Shanks and his crew left earlier this morning, why aren't you with them?"

Uta's face contorted to one of horror and she dashed out of the bar, unable to hear Makino calling out to her. Her little legs carried her to the docks, she glanced around in devastation at the empty port.

They left her.

They actually left her.

She thought the conversation she overheard was a bad dream. They wouldn't abandon her, right? They loved her, she loved them. So why? Why did they leave her here?

Just as the question appeared in her mind, a brief memory from Elegia's destruction popped up and for now her questions stopped. She bawled her fist as rain fell onto the ground in front of her. Luffy ran up to the docks, Uta wiped away the rain before turning to the boy wearing her dad's strawhat.

"Did-" she paused to get a hold of her emotions. "Did he say if he was coming back?"

"No, he said they won't be returning," Luffy bluntly said but quickly scrambled to fix it. "But- uh- I'm sure they'll come back for you. I mean- we can get Makino to call them and have them pick you up-"

"Don't bother." Uta brushed past him. "He's not going to come back."

Just like her world shattered. Her family, that she could fall back on, disappeared. All that remained were gaps that needed to be filled with answers explaining why they would leave her, and she had a vague idea of what they were.

As the gaps filled with her thoughts of the music island's destruction, a seed planted itself in the back of her mind.

'Monster.'

Tags: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

35 notes · View notes

pandora15 · 1 year

Text

Angstpril 2023 Day 1 Prompt: Liar

tw: character having trouble breathing, open ending

Obi-Wan knew, from the moment that he agreed to take on this mission, that it would be difficult.

Faking his death, having to pretend to be someone he wasn't for the sake of his own survival, having to interact with the likes of Cad Bane and Count Dooku himself without getting his cover blown…

Well, he knew from the beginning that it would not be easy.

But none of that was as difficult as it was to return.

The transformation from Rako Hardeen back to his own body was uncomfortable — painful, leaving him shaky and somewhat feverish. The vocal emulator wreaked damage to his vocal chords, and Master Che had confirmed that there was likely some infection in his throat that she'd like to monitor over the coming days.

Which obviously meant that he was stuck in the Halls for now. It wasn't ideal, but considering the fact that he couldn't keep down most foods because of his throat and his entire body ached any time he tried to move at all, he supposed it made sense.

Obi-Wan didn't exactly like it, but even that wasn't the worst part.

Anakin wouldn't speak to him. On the ship when they were returning from Naboo, he'd maintained his distance, and once Obi-Wan had gotten his commlink back, he'd sent Anakin messages frequently, only to receive nothing.

Obi-Wan knew that the deception had upset Anakin. He understood why — more than most, he understood.

But he had hoped that Anakin would also understand why he did it.

"You lied to us," Anakin had said, when Obi-Wan had approached him on the ship. "What else have you lied to me about? Do you even care about any of us?"

Obi-Wan had no response to that — how could he, when he knew that Anakin was right? He did lie to them, after all.

And now he was here, alone, because he did what he knew to be right. Anakin wouldn't speak to him, Ahsoka wouldn't speak to him, Cody wouldn't speak to him, the Council wouldn't speak to him.

He'd succeeded on his mission, and yet —

He'd failed them all.

Letting out a sigh, Obi-Wan placed his commlink back on the table next to the bed. He winced as his throat spasmed at the rush of air, and then he coughed, bending forward slightly to gasp for air.

That seemed to trigger a chain reaction of sorts. The more he gasped for air, the more it irritated his throat, causing him to gasp even more. And the air wasn't even traveling down his throat properly, which meant that —

He couldn't breathe.

The room seemed to tilt on its axis around him as he shuddered and gasped and placed his forehead on his knees. There was a ringing noise, muffled by the blood rushing in his ears, followed by the sound of footsteps. Voices surrounded him, but he couldn't make them out, not until —

"Obi-Wan?" A hand on his shoulder, pushing him back until he was lying back again, head arching backward in a desperate reach for air. He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't —

"Okay, okay, just hold on." The voice was gentle, soothing. "Your throat has swollen up too much. You're not getting enough air."

There were hands holding him down, the hiss of a hypospray, followed by the feeling of everything getting floaty and blurry, until…

His eyes snapped shut, and the memory of his lies that constantly plagued him faded away.

#angstpril2023 #no. 1 #liar #obi wan kenobi #pandora writes #does this fulfill the prompt? kinda? but it's angst and that's all that matters #anyways! i'm definitely not going to be able to do all the prompts but i'll do a few maybe?#i have some free time today but that won't be the case in the coming days #also i spent way too long trying to read about the medical stuff that comes with laryngitis + difficulty breathing complications #and i went too far down that rabbit hole so i just. decided to end this here instead asldkjfjalksdlkfja #especially since it wouldn't fill the prompt anyways #i thought about writing a followup where anakin finds out what happened to obi-wan here. maybe for a future angstpril prompt?#i shall ponder this further

86 notes · View notes

iriel3000 · 6 months

Text

Whumptober day 20: Blanket

Waiting For Her

Summary: Natasha visits Clint after a hard mission. He learns he can't keep secrets from her.

Approximately 45 minutes into a movie he wasn't actually watching, the door to Clint's apartment quietly opened. A petite figure dressed in satin pajama shorts and one of his sweatshirts slipped into the shadows.

He remained relaxed on the couch, tracking her with his eyes.

Barton had expected his partner a couple of hours ago. She’d returned from a brief mission with Maria and Jemma earlier in the day but never showed. Assuming all hell broke loose, he hacked into the system to read the debrief.

Nothing of consequence. Their mission had been successful, but something must have triggered her to come to him so late.

Natasha padded though the kitchen, peeking around the doorway.

Clint scanned her for injuries; nothing visible, so far. He muted the television and held out his arms.

Three dancer steps and she gracefully fell down on him, hiding her face against his throat, breathing in his scent and letting out a shuddering breath. Clint winced when she shifted to his other side. She didn’t seem to notice.

“I got you.” He said.

He bracketed her with his legs, threading one hand in her hair, cinching the other around her waist.

Natasha nestled down further. She was wound tight. Clint yanked the fluffy blanket Kate bought him off the back of the couch and covered her neck to toes.

“What happened that wasn’t in the report?”

She shook her head, her hair tickling his neck.

“Sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

“Do you?” She shot back.

Barton spoke before thinking.

“About?”

She raised her head and pierced him with a death glare.

Shit. This was about him.

TBC, please click link above

#whumptober2023 #no. 1 #blanket #marvel #clintasha #fic #no warnings #hawkeye #clint barton #black widow #natasha romanov #strike team delta #clint x natasha #whumptober 2023

25 notes · View notes

bearsinpotatosacks · 7 months

Text

I'll Haunt This Ship (To My Last Breath) - Whumptober2023

But now the room is spinning while I'm trying to fill in all the gaps - I paced for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds

Scotty gets electrocuted on the job. It's lucky Bones is good at his job.

For day 1 & 7 of @whumptober . Also on AO3.

Words: 710

Bones tapped his foot as the turbolift landed in the engineering decks. As soon as the doors open, med kit in hand, he bolted off toward where the crowd of people had formed around Scotty. He pushed them out of the way, there were way too many people here, and saw where he lay, not breathing, on the floor.

“Move back, all of you,” he said, kneeling to the floor and feeling for a pulse.

There was none.

“Has anyone done anything?”

The crowd shook their heads. Amateurs. You’d think a group working in one of the most dangerous parts of the ship would know at least some first aid. Even the security officers knew how to see to a phaser wound.

He moved his head over his face to feel him breathing and felt nothing again. “How long has he been down?”

“Two minutes,” said an Ensign.

He rolled up his sleeves. Despite all their medical advancements, CPR was still the only way to revive someone who’s heart had stopped. Apart from concoctions made from a mad mans blood, but resurrecting Jim was a one time thing, at least he hoped.

“Right, Scotty, I’m sorry about the ribs.”

He placed his hands on the breastbone, the heels over where his heart was and began to press down hard. The crowd flinched when the ribs began to crack and splinter. He didn’t flinch. The only way CPR properly worked was if you broke a few ribs, it meant you were getting through to the heart properly.

“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.”

He focused on his head. Tilting it back, he pinched his nose and gave one deep breath, waiting to see if his chest moved, and it did. He did one more breath but didn’t see any signs of life.

“Can you hear me?” He said as he carried on with compressions. “Scotty, can you hear me?”

No answer. He carried on with the compressions, starting to appreciate all the times Jim made him go to the gym, because without those horrible arm workouts, he probably wouldn’t have the strength to do CPR for too long.

With Scotty still not responding, he lent his head back and did two more breaths. His chest rose but didn’t carry on. He didn’t open his eyes.

“Don’t give up on me Scotty,” he said between compressions. “I think the Enterprise would stop working if you died, or you’d start haunting it, one of the two, and I don’t like the thought of either.”

As if the thought of anything happening to the Enterprise had pulled him from the brink, he jolted upright, eyes wide open and heaving in deep breaths. He lay a hand on Bones’ shoulder as he guided him on breathing easier.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Bones asked him, waving his hand in front of his face.

“Three?”

Bones nodded. Scotty moved his hand to his chest as he tried to get up.

“Why do my ribs hurt?”

Bones looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll explain later.” He said. “Now to sickbay, come one.”

He put his arm around him as they headed back to sickbay. Scotty limped, still holding his ribs as he did. The doors opened with a swoosh, some of the ensigns shouted good luck and gave him thumbs up, it was nice to know Scotty was more well liked with his staff than he was.

“Do I have to go to sickbay?” Scotty asked as the turbolift shifted upwards.

Bones rolled his eyes, “You literally died.”

“I’ll be fine!”

“No, you’re at least getting a check up, if not a full night in sickbay, and tomorrow off.”

“But-”

“No buts, now come on.”

The turbolift dinged as they reached sickbay. Scotty sighed as he walked him in and placed him on the bed. A nurse came over and began doing some tests as Bones took some readings.

“At least I can get caught up on my engineering journals.”

Bones just nodded and added a tourniquet to his arm. Tapping the IV bag, he made sure there were no bubbles in the bag or the tube, before pushing the needle into the vein and shutting him up.

“Anything to get you sitting still, Scotty.”

Can you tell I've started watching ER? One of my main gripes with that show is how light their CPR is? In one episode they feel bad for breaking ribs when I swear that's the point. Also don't take any of this as medical advice, I have no first aid training apart from ER. I have learnt how they put IV's in, also from Wikihow. But between getting into Top Gun and 2023 whumptober, I've kind of forgotten what equipment is canon in Star Trek and what's made up in my mind, lol. Thanks for reading! @whumptober-archive

23 notes · View notes

sun-lit-roses · 7 months

Text

It's October - AKA Prompt Season!

In my hubris and overconfidence, I am once again attempting to write one multi-chaptered fic containing all the prompts for four different challenges.

Did I get it all written in September? No.

Do I have a plot line? No.

Do I have anything other than four lists of prompts and general vibes? I have an Introduction and Chapter One! (but otherwise, no.)

This may be fun or it may end in utter defeat on Day 3, but here is the start of Recovery! (Details below the cut.)

Prompt Day: 1

Fandom: Star Trek Strange New Worlds

Rating: G (subject to change since even I don't know what's coming next)

Warnings/Tags: N/A

Summary:

It wasn’t Chris' fault at all that his mouth had opened the moment they had a second of relative privacy, and an invitation to recuperate at his cabin in Montana came tumbling out.

The fact that Una accepted?

That was definitely a surprise.

#whumptober 2023 #flufftober 2023 #fictober 2023 #trektober 2023 #no. 1 #strange new worlds #fic

22 notes · View notes

amm-amethyst · 7 months

Text

A Curse Fulfilled

Characters - Jimmy Solidarity, Grian, Joel Smallishbeans

Relationships - Jimmy Solidarity & Grian & Joel Smallishbeans

Description -

Jimmy's final death in Limited Life, but he survived a little longer than in canon, and the other Bad Boys reacted a little less comedically.

Whumptober Day 1

Prompt: "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50458771

#whumptober 2023 #no. 1 #how many fingers am i holding up?#limited life #life series #fanfic #major character death #smallishbeans #grian #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #limited life fic #trafficblr #my fanfic

17 notes · View notes

ssa-atlas-alvez · 2 years

Text

Whumptober Day 1 (Aaron Hotchner and male reader)

No. 1 A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY

Adverse Effects | Unconventional Restraints | "This wasn't supposed to happen"

Word Count: 2443

WARNINGS: Bear traps as restraints, barbed wire as restraints, blood, description of injury, gore (not too bad but just in case), injured reader, injured hotch, creepy unsub, creepy whumper, a lot of hurt

I’m lowkey amazed I managed to write this all in one day?

@whumptober-archive

You groaned as you woke, head pounding painfully. What on Earth happened? You remember walking with Hotch back to the hotel - it was only a block away - talking over details of the case and then a yell and then nothing. Hotch, where was Hotch? Despite the sharp pain behind your eyes, you forced them open, you couldn't see much. It was dark, annoyingly dark. You weren’t quite sure where you were, there was nothing that you could see that you immediately recognised.

Your eyes drifted to a figure laid on the floor. Hotch! You moved to stand up, to help him, pain flooded through your foot. Curiosity getting the best of you, you looked down. Your heart dropped to your stomach. A bear trap, your foot was trapped in a bear trap.

“Oh god,” You whimpered, “Oh god, Hotch? Hotch! You need to wake up! Hotch?! God, Hotch, wake up! Please!” You gave a loud sob, not caring that you were supposed to be a hard-ass FBI agent. No, right now you were twenty three year old (Y/N) who was scared out of his mind because he was trapped in a fucking bear trap.

“God, will you just shut up?” You froze at the voice. Someone else was there too? “Thank you, about time too. Now, make another sound and I’ll give you something to cry about, okay?” You nodded quickly. “Good. And, stop worrying about Mr Boss over there, he’s fine - well, all things considered.”

“Is- Is he-” You paused, not sure how to continue.

“Stuck in a bear trap?” When you nodded the unsub laughed, shaking his head, “No, that’s just for you. I was only expecting one of you, so I had to improvise with him,”

"What did you do to him? When's he going to wake up?"

"You know, I'd be more worried about myself, if I were you. Hotch isn't the one stuck in a bear trap," You gulped at the reminder before mentally shaking yourself out of it. You needed to focus on something else (Hotch) to take your mind off it.

"When is he going to wake up?"

The unsub scoffed, "Do I look like a doctor to you?"

"I can't actually see you," You snapped back, causing him to chuckle.

"You're funny," He replied dryly. "We'll see how long that lasts,"

A moment of silence passed, you focusing on a way to get you and Hotch out of this situation as quickly as humanly possible.

“I’ll be back later, when he’s awake and the fun can really begin,” You strained your eyes, trying to track the Unsub’s movements despite the darkness. You heard footsteps and the door open (which annoyingly didn’t let any light in), more footsteps, the door close, and then nothing. You breathed a sigh of release. He was gone. Good, now you could figure out how the fuck to get out of this situation. Okay, bear trap first, then wake Hotch up, Hotch could take over from there.

Your hands hovered over the trap, trying to gain the courage to pull your foot out. You drew in a deep breath, settling your hands on the cold metal of the frame. Drawing in another deep breath, you shut your eyes, preparing to pull when your hands were yanked away from you.

You gave an expected cry as your hands were forced behind your back, you pulled against the hands as hard as you could, not knowing what was going to happen. The unsub growled, backhanding you across the face, taking the time it took you to recover as an opportunity to grip both of your wrists in his hand, you didn’t have much time to ponder why the unsub was wearing gloves before you heard fumbling behind you.

You wiggled feebly in his grip, which simply tightened as a warning and you stopped. Even if you did get out of his grasp, then what? Hotch was still unconscious and your leg was injured, you wouldn’t be able to leave him and you couldn’t carry him in your condition.

You shut your eyes, hoping to pretend that instead you were simply having a nightmare and would wake up any moment. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. You shivered, feeling cold metal being wrapped around your wrists. Metal? The confusion was short lived, when the unsub wrapped the wire around your wrist a second time, you felt multiple spikes prick into your skin and you gave a yelp. Barbed wire? This prick was using barbed wire!

“Make another sound,” The voice growled into your ears, you shut your eyes tightly, “And I’ll shove it down your throat,”

Before you knew it, your wrists were tightly tied together with a long piece of barbed wire. You felt sick. Apparently the bear trap on your foot wasn't enough. Oh god, what if that's what he used with Hotch? You flicked your eyes over the body, trying to see if you could make anything out, huffing when you couldn't. How the fuck were you going to get out of this?

“Perfect!” The unsub chimed, crouching down in front of you, he gently wiped away a tear from your cheek, “Don’t cry, (Y/N), we’re going to have so much fun,” He gently kissed your forehead before standing. “Now, no trying to run away while I’m gone,” He chuckled, “I’ll see you soon,”

You shut your eyes until you knew for sure he had left, breathing deeply, trying your best to think of anything else but the pain. Hotch, think about Hotch. You strained your ears, managing to pick up on the older man’s breathing, your eyes snapped open when you heard a quiet groan. “Hotch?” You whispered, scared that the unsub was still in the room.

There was another groan, this one louder than the last, “(Y/N)?”

Relief flooded your veins, “Hotch?” You asked timidly, “You awake?”

You heard him huff a small laugh, “Yes, I’m awake,”

“Okay, good, that’s good,” You said with a nod. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Hotch said, “He used barbed wire to restrain me though. What about you?”

Hotch had become a surrogate father to you since you joined the team six months ago. You were the youngest member of the team, Reid included (who was twenty eight), and so everyone had quickly become protective of you - which you secretly loved (not that you’d tell them that). Pretty much all of them had all become like your siblings. But Hotch, Hotch had mentored you, checked up on you, protected you, he had become everything a father is.

“(Y/N)?” He asked, “Are you injured?”

“Um…” Your voice was higher than you cared to admit - a telltale sign you were lying. You heard Hotch shift, probably turning towards you.

“(Y/N)? Are you hurt?”

“Er, sort of,”

“‘Sort of’? What do you mean ‘sort of’?” Just as he had asked the question, the lights flickered on, causing the pair of you to squint your eyes shut. You forced your eyes open, trying your best to fight against them trying to flutter closed. No. You needed to see where you were.

Hotch pried his eyes open, stomach sinking when he saw the small puddle of blood that had been collecting under foot. Then his eyes focused on the bear trap and he felt nausea flood through him. Oh God. This was not good. He flicked his eyes to yours, trying his best to seem unworried. You were staring at your leg, face pale, chin quivering from the adrenaline, “(Y/N)?” When you turned to him, your eyes watered further, something about seeing the man who had become your source of comfort (not that you were going to say that out loud either), a few spilling down your cheek. “Hey, listen to me, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to get out of this and we are going to be okay,”

“Now, now, Aaron,” A voice from the corner of the room made you jump, it was the man from before. You couldn’t see his face, just a white mask, he was leaning against the wall, looking bored. “Don’t lie to the kid,” He turned to you, “You’re both going to die here,”

You shook your head. No, no you weren’t. You weren’t going to believe some idiot over Hotch. Not after the month you had known each other - he had never lied to you and you trusted him completely, and that wasn’t going to stop now. “No, Hotch doesn’t lie,” You insisted, Hotch found the corner of his mouth turning upwards, glad that you still trusted him after he led you into this situation.

The man in the mask laughed, “It’s sweet that you think that, really it is,” He snorted, “But you’ll see the truth soon enough,”

You didn’t answer, focusing all your rage into a glare aimed at that stupid mask. He kicked himself off the wall as he walked closer, “It’s alright, soon you’ll realise that I’m the only one you can trust,”

You huffed a laugh, despite your pain. “You’re funny, really, you’re funny,” The eyes behind the mask flashed with fury, storming up to you, he grabbed you by the collar, lifting you up, and slamming you against the wall, causing you to cry out in pain - both from the barbed wire, and the jolt on your foot it caused. Aaron gave an enraged yell as he struggled against his restraints, not caring as they dug further into his skin, as his blood slowly cascaded down his hands.

“Well? What do you say after you hurt someone’s feelings?” When you don’t answer, the unsub rolls his eyes, slamming you into the wall again. “Well?!”

“S-sorry!”

“Good, just don’t let it happen again,” He said, letting you drop to the floor in a heap, “I wouldn’t want to hurt you. Understood?” You nod. He bent down, leaning close to you, “Just to make sure you do…” He stood, walking over to Hotch, he kicked him to the ground, you watched with wide eyes as the steel toe of the unsub’s shoe repeatedly landed itself into Hotch’s side.

“Stop!” The word was so rushed it felt like you weren’t the one saying it, “Stop! Get off him! Stop! Leave him alone!” You fought against the wire sat on your wrists, ignore the warm blood that dripped down your wrists to your hands, you pulled against the trap on instinct, not caring for the pain it caused. You needed to stop him. You needed to help Hotch.

The unsub turned on his heels and left, shutting the door behind him. He took most of the light with him too, dialling down the setting to it’s lowest possible whilst still producing light.

"Well," You mumbled, face pale and clammy, "I think it’s safe to say that this wasn't supposed to happen," Hotch huffed a laugh, wincing at the pain it caused in his chest. You frowned, eyes focused on the floor in front of you, "I'm sorry,"

"This isn't your fault, (Y/N)." His voice was stern, you looked down at the floor. "I promise you, this isn't your fault."

“I should have been more aware of my surroundings,” You slurred, “‘ll be more aware n’xt time sir,”

“(Y/N),” Aaron responded sternly, “This isn’t your fault, neither of us knew this was going to happen. The team will find us, and we will both be okay,”

Unsure of what to say, you gave a short nod. It must have been hours. Your leg throbbed dully to the rhythm of your heartbeat and it was slowly driving you crazy. You just wanted to sleep, but Hotch wouldn’t let you. Everytime he noticed your eyes beginning to droop, he’d ask you a question about a previous case, or your opinion on a technique, or your favourite thing. Just anything to keep you awake.

“(Y/N)?” Hotch said, “What’s the best interview technique to use?”

“Depends,” You hummed.

“Yeah? What’s it depend on?”

“Factors based on the witness,”

“What’s Morgan’s favourite type of interview?”

“Cognitive,” You said with a small chuckle.

The door swung open, your head snapped towards it. The blood loss might be getting to you, you blinked slowly, hoping that your double vision would go (although, it was more like triple vision).

One of the figures went to Hotch, you followed the figure, you had to make sure Hotch was okay. Two of the figures approached you. God, you hoped this was just a bad dream. One crouched by your leg and you instinctively tried to pull it closer to you, whimpering when it caused a wave of pain to ripple through your body. The other figure crouched in front of you.

“Hey, kid, you’re okay,” His voice was soft. You knew that voice from somewhere. Where did you know that voice? You blinked sluggishly before it clicked.

“Morgan?” You asked, blinking up at the figure in front of you, trying your best to stop it from blurring. You had to see who it was. You had to make sure Hotch was okay. He was the team leader, he was needed. You blinked again, the face of Derek Morgan coming into view. “You here?”

“Yeah, I’m here kid,” He answered, “We got the bastard, we’re just going to get you and Hotch to the hospital, okay?” You hummed, fighting back sleep. “Hey, hey, I need you to stay awake, okay?”

You nodded. Stay awake. You could do that. “Okay,” You replied.

“Good, that’s good, kid,” He answered, “I’m just getting this wire off you’re wrists, okay? Then we’re getting your leg out of that trap okay?”

“‘T’s still there?”

“Yeah, kid, it’s still there,”

“Huh,” Morgan’s eyes flicked up, sharing a concerned look with Rossi, who was currently cutting the wire that bound Hotch. Hotch was oddly quiet, eyes trained on (Y/N) with worry, watching his every move. “This whole day’s been wild man,”

Clipping the wires, he managed to pry them from your wrists as gently as possible before he sat behind you to ensure you wouldn’t fall back. He nodded at Spencer, who inched closer to the contraption on your leg. You gave another whimper, trying to edge away. “I know, kid, I know, it’s going to be okay, you’re gonna be fine,”

“We’re here now, (Y/N), you’re going to be okay,” You turned your head, meeting eyes with Hotch, who gave a soft nod and a small, comforting smile. You relaxed in Morgan’s arms, finally allowing your body to rest. You were safe, your team was here. You were going to be okay.

116 notes · View notes