#his chest hurts so much. a sharp pain he can’t claw out. he falls to his knees clutching his chest and naruto stops his crying to say his

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

hold me as the night goes by

Summary: Rolan finds you crying in the Ramazith's Tower and tries to comfort you

Pairing: Rolan x Tav

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: depiction of what might be a panic/anxiety attack, hurt/comfort, tiny bit of fluff

A/N: This is entirely self-indulgent, I just needed a hug from Rolan. Sorry for any possible grammatical mistakes ;P

Tagging: @tripleyeeet @elfinbloodbag @fictionobsession @adequate-superstar @sapphiccloud (if you don't want to be tagged, let me know <3)

\_/

As Rolan's wandering through the Ramazith’s Tower, in his slow but steady cataloguing of each and every book that fills the many shelves of the building, he hears a muffled sound coming from a nearby corner.

Cal and Lia both went out a while before to do a couple chores for Rolan – not imperative ones, a mere pretest to keep them away so that they wouldn’t bother him during the cataloguing. This excludes his two noisy siblings from the list of possible intruders. It can’t be a visitor either: he showed the last one out himself, and there isn't anyone foolish enough to roam the trapped halls by themselves.

Rolan silently closes the book he's checking and puts it back on the shelf, with the notebook where he’s annotating title, author and year of the various volumes. He moves towards the sound, an incantation rolling quietly on his tongue as he prepares himself to face a possible thief – and given the main contents of the tower, possibly a magic-user one.

When he finally cuts the corner, Rolan lets his hands fall to his side when he sees you, the light emanating from his palms disappearing as he places them on his hips.

"I'm glad you're enjoying the volumes," he sighs, not noticing the way you jump and moving closer to you, "but I'd rather you'd ask before taking them off the shelves. Some of these are very-"

His words die in his mouth when he notices you're not holding a book in your hands or anything that belongs to the tower. Just a creased handkerchief that you're gripping onto as if your life depended on it. Then his eyes move to your face.

For a moment, it's like he’s back in Lorroakan's study and the fists of his former master are hitting him again, cutting his breath in half and tearing his skin like sharp daggers. However, the longer he looks at your face, torn apart by streaks of tears and an unknown pain, the worse it feels. Invisible claws wrap tightly around his heart and dig deeply inside the beating muscle, like a knife through butter.

"What's wrong?"

"I-"

Your mouth flutters open but nothing else comes out. It only prompts more tears to run down your cheeks and for you to frantically wipe them away.

Rolan steps forward and raises his hand. He stops it before it moves to your cheek, instead placing it gently on your arm. Despite the misadventures you've shared together, you two still barely know each other. He has no right to touch you like that, it doesn’t matter if his desire might say differently.

"Did somebody hurt you?" he asks again, to which you shake your head, eyelids sewn together as you hold back a sob. "Then please, tell me how I can help."

You scoff, taking a useless breath as the sting in your eyes grows with the heaviness in your chest.

"I wish I knew," you utter in a pained chuckle, tears still hanging at the corner of your eyes. "But it hurts… and I don't even know why."

Your head falls as you cover your face, your palms pressing into your eyes to stop the tears and sadness that keeps building and building, as if it’s about to split you open.

Why can't you just be happy? You're alive, you're close to finding a cure for the tadpole, and yet why does everything hurt so much for seemingly no reason? Why can't you breathe? Why can’t you feel anything other than that despair that’s slowly eating you alive?

Why can't you just die already?

Your mind is completely lost, in the middle of a storm with no end in sight. All you want is for the world to stop spinning around you, for quietness.

Then you feel something. You focus on that, on the warmth that passes through your sleeves and the firm squeeze on your arm – the one thing keeping you from drifting away.

You lean into it – into him – and before you know it, your forehead hits Rolan's chest as your body is shaken by sobs.

Rolan stands frozen, unsure what to do as your hands claw to his robes. He's not used to physical touch; even with Cal and Lia, he still tenses when they pull him into a hug. This is no different.

But he can't ignore the pull he feels towards you, nor the tears that are still falling down your cheeks.

His arms wrap around you, tentatively pulling you in. You make no resistance, sinking into his touch as his hands rub along your back before finding its way to the name of your neck.

As his fingers gently caress your skin and short hair, your muscles slowly relax. Pressed against his chest, your breathing steadies and your lungs start working once again. The sadness is still there, gripping onto you like lice – just as annoying to get rid off – but the tears are slowly running out as you feel Rolan resting his chin on your head.

You open your mouth to say something but no words come to your tongue. You simply lean into him even more, listening to his slow heartbeat until the blood in your veins starts pumping in unison to his own.

“Is this… helping?”

You nod against his chest, somehow getting even closer to him. “You can let me go now, if you want.”

Rolan pulls back and  you already miss his warmth. The comforting sound of his beating heart, mirroring yours. He doesn’t move too far, stopping just a few inches away from you, but after the previous closeness it feels like you’re miles apart. His hand still rests on the back of your neck while his eyes stare into yours with grave seriousness. And a hint of fear.

“Do you want me to?”

His golden irises dart away for a moment as the whisper leaves his mouth. Taking in a trembling breath, you suddenly realise what that closeness means. To him, to you, to the frail relationship you’ve built during the past weeks. Perhaps it’s not smart to endanger the connection with one of your strongest allies, however you can’t ignore the peace you felt when he was holding you, just moments before. A peace that’s still running through you as his fingers caress softly your skin

You shake your head, your fingers digging in his tunic and moving closer to him once more. Rolan pulls you back into his hug, not one second of hesitation, and you both revel in the newfound closeness.

“I’ll be here whenever you need me,” he speaks softly, his lips pressing gently on your head. “You’ll never have to worry about that.”

Closing your eyes, a small smile pulls your mouth. It might still not be enough to feel completely better, but it's a start.

#rolan x tav #rolan x reader #rolan bg3 #bg3 rolan #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fic #annie writes

[mistachesme]

Childe angst drabble

You squeal internally when you notice your boyfriend's shoes at your door.

He's finally here, you think to yourself as you rush inside, letting your shopping bag fall carelessly on the floor.

"Ajax?!"

There he is, your Ajax, sitting on your couch. Your eyes take in his presence greedily.

He's wearing a button-down orange shirt that you like so much. And, you realize how much you missed his unkempt ginger hair, bright blue eyes, and his pink mouth.

However, you fail to notice the way his whole body stiffens at the sight of you.

He stands up to catch you in his arms when you trip on your way to reaching his side. Sighing contently, you nuzzle against his warm chest, breathing in his citrus cologne.

"I missed you, Ajax." You murmur, softly. It's been like 2 months since you last saw him. Text messages and long video calls can never suffice this. His warmth.

He pats your back without a word. He still hasn't said anything. And, you think something's wrong.

"We need to talk." He whispers, nervously. You pull back to look at him with concern.

"Did something happen? Is everything okay?" You ask him, worriedly. He gives you a tired look.

"Everything's okay. But..." He gestures for you to take a seat. "We need to talk."

With a nod, you sit down. You have a bad feeling about this. When he sits away from you, you don't say anything.

You want to touch him so bad. You want to caress his cheeks lovingly. You want him to hold you tightly in his embrace. There are so many things that you want but they can wait. Because what matters is him and you hate how he's cinching his eyebrows together clearly troubled.

"I think I fell out of love with you." his words are made of a knife, its sharp claws teasing the edge of your heartstrings, threatening to cut, make your heart bleed.

But his eyes are boring into yours. You know that he's telling you the truth.

"Since when?" You ask calmly. Too calmly.

It feels like an out-of-body experience. Your mind hasn't processed the hurt yet.

"Last month."

He inhales sharply when tears roll down his cheeks. His crestfallen face makes it harder. The last thing you want right now is his pity.

"I - I love you." You whisper between your sobs.

"I know." He says, sadly. "I wish you don't."

"Is it me? Is there anything about me that you dislike? I will change for you. If you leave...." You pause and look away from him.

You hear him move towards you. Warm hands clasp your trembling hands and when you look down he's kneeling on the floor.

"We been together for 3 years and they are wonderful times of my life. There's not even a single thing about you that I want to change." He says, sincerely.

"Then why do you want to leave suddenly?"

"Who says I want to leave you?"

"Didn't you just say you fell out of love with me?" You ask, incredulously.

"I did. Let's not break up. You are still very important to me and I can't stay away from you. All I want is some time. A break."

You have the most hurtful expression he's ever seen and it makes him feel guilty.

"But you don't love me." It physically hurts to say that.

"Let me make this right. Just a few days, I promise."

"I understand." Looking into his desperate eyes, you think you don't understand at all.

It's half past midnight when you decide to go outside. It's suffocating to stay in that apartment when everything around you reminds you of him and it makes you cry every single time.

Alcohol seems like a valid solution for your pain.

He's kissing her hungrily. Hands wandering all over her body.

Walking into that club is a mistake. Your heart breaks into a million pieces when you see him with someone new.

#childe x reader #childe angst #childe fanfic #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x reader angst #childe x reader angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader angst #childe angst fic #minnie writes 💐

[pretty-face-breaker]

post-torture cuddles? :3

CW. creepy comfort, masochism, unhealthy relationships

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Hayko watches the smattering of cast-off bloodstains on the sheets. Glossy, an hour ago, and now dried flat and dull to the cotton. There’s a ringing in his head, hurting with each pulse. He doesn’t respond - the words didn't quite make it through.  

Nick kneels behind him and kneads his shoulders, almost gently. It’s the feeling of his nose in his hair that jerks him out of the reverie. He tenses, sucks in a breath, and blinks away the sting in his eyes.

“Are you back with me again?”

“Partially,” Hayko says, throat raw. He can’t stop the whine when Nick cuts his wrists free from the ropes with a few sharp tugs of his folding knife. Realizes, immediately after, that he didn’t hear him pull it out.

A puff of laughter against his neck, then. “Back in your skin?” 

He’d be lying if he repeated himself. He was. When the pain was a punishing, pulsing thing. Now, with it gone, he’s untethered again. The light cascading in from the window is too bright, the carpet springy and rough. It’s too much. 

“Hey, now.” Nick taps him twice on his cheek, just on the edge of too rough. “I didn’t whip the wits out of you, did I?” 

 “Hardly.” In different circumstances, he might have laughed. “If you did, wouldn’t be much left of me, at this point.”

Nick’s smile comes sharp against his head, an eyetooth pressing into his scalp. He rubs away the chaffing on Hayko’s wrists, sitting limp on the mattress. It’s a mean thing. They’re bantering. Bantering after he just consented to being beat out of orbit for-

For his-

“Is there something you’d like?”

“Just-” His voice chips and self-loathing fills it. “Just stay for a few minutes. Just-”

Nick hushes him, so gently his eyes sting again. Hayko’s throat tightens as the ministrations move to his hair and Nick smooths out the snarls. A few beats of that and he’s pulling him back against his chest. Hayko lets himself fall and hisses, when his shirt catches on the welts. 

“Have I ever left you like this?” 

Hayko swallows, a fervid when haven't you? tucked behind his teeth. But he knows what Nick is referring to, and no, technically, he’s never left him after this. Something decidedly not safe or sane but asked for, all the same. 

He must drift for a minute because when he opens his eyes again, he’s draped over Nick’s chest on the bed, half-wrapped in a towel. He foggily registers a hand smoothing gel over his skin, the other playing along his ribs. 

“You’re running out of time, you know.” 

The hands stop. Nick’s heartbeat is steady beneath his ear, unyielding in a way that seems to disagree with that. Hayko stops himself from flinching when he speaks again.

“Don’t worry about me, dear.” 

He takes the press of lips to his scalp with little more than an aborted breath before Nick gives his ribs a squeeze. Presses into the welts hard enough to startle a full gasp out of him. He’s afraid he might not stop his probing, might just sink his claws clean through his back and into his lungs- 

“Oh. Please-...” 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Nick’s voice is gnarled with a grin. 

His next breath whistles from his teeth. It fucking hurts. It hurts like nothing. It's so good. “Yes. Yes.” 

And then, nothing. His fingers are gone, leaving him panting and arching up. Bastard, he wants to say, as Nick pulls them through his hair, smearing blood through his curls. Within a second, he’s back to rubbing aloe cream on his back. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Nick says. “After they run out of time, it’ll just be us. No distractions, hm?”

-

@doveotions @heathenville @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome–hunter @whumpsorbet @whumpasaurus101 @lektricfergus @downrivergirl914 @burtlederp @redwingedwhump @nicolepascaline @ifbtnna @oh-so-skeletal @whumperfully​​ ​@brittaunfiltered09

#nick and hayko #post-torture #implied/referenced torture #whump #whump writing #whump drabble #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #creepy comfort #aftercare #unhealthy relationships

[blushstories]

a stranger's wounds - bucky barnes

summary: an injured stranger knocks on your door in the middle of the night. how could you refuse to save him? alternatively, one time you save bucky, and one time he saves you.

word count: 4.1k warnings: swearing, f!reader, less than canon-level violence via a chase, bit of blood, hurt/comfort that goes both ways, this was supposed to be a patching wounds drabble but the plot just ran away from me i think

navigation

Sometimes it’s nice to match the darkness outside with darkness inside. The only light comes from your laptop and a dim lamp in the corner. Images that you only half pay attention to flash across your laptop as sleep pulls you further in. It’s quiet. Almost uncomfortably quiet, but when you live alone and so far out of the way, it’s to be expected, right? 

There’s a knock at the door. It’s sharp, and mirrors the spike of anxiety in your chest. Everything tells you not to move. Don’t open the door, don’t even breathe. But then another knock comes, duller and more desperate. You sit up, curious and cautious, grabbing the baseball bat you keep next to the door. Debating with yourself for a minute, you cross your fingers that you’re not about to be the first victim in a horror movie. You hold your breath, unlocking and swinging the door open forcefully, bringing the bat up to your shoulder, prepared to strike. But what greets you at the door isn’t a burglar in a ski mask. 

A man leans against the doorframe, forehead resting on his forearm. His other arm is wrapped around his stomach, and his knees are threatening to buckle from under him. His breathing is laboured, catching in his throat as he tries to catch some air. Whatever happened to him would lead to danger, you’re sure of it. But you couldn’t find it in you to close the door in his face, not when he looks on the brink of collapse. 

Instead, you ask, “Were you followed?” 

A broken ‘no’ tumbles from his lips, and you drop the bat to the floor, kicking it away. You duck under his arm, pulling it around your shoulders as you drag him inside, closing the door with your foot. 

He grunts with each step, but you finally place him on the couch, bringing his legs up to allow him to lie flat. You fetch the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink, flipping on the light switch on your way back to the stranger. When you return, your jaw falls open: you’ve never seen so much blood in your life, and this man’s shirt was soaked with it. His eyes are blinking slowly, opening and closing in a battle to stay conscious, no doubt at war with the pain. There’s a patch of blood on the sides of his ribs, and you immediately kneel next to him. “I need to cut your shirt open, okay?” He doesn’t reply, and doesn’t protest. 

Reaching for scissors from the first aid kit, you cut from his chin to his waist, peeling away the fabric to reveal a plethora of bruises and cuts. But the most prominent are two gashes in his side, perfectly mirrored, like claws have ripped open the flesh. And they were oozing with blood. “Holy shit,” you breathe, flicking through the kit for cleaning supplies and bandages. Did you need to stitch him up? Your mind is racing at a million miles an hour, but you can’t afford to freeze up. Pressure hasn’t always been your best friend, but if you want this stranger to survive, you’d have to make it work… did you even want him to survive? How do you know he’s not a murderer, or someone who’s escaped from somewhere terrible? Once he’s healed, he could come for you! 

You glance at his face, the way his eyes squeeze shut and open to stare at the ceiling, a dazzling blue that reminds you of the ocean. Half prominent lines are etched into the outside corners of his eyes, with frown lines difficult to find at all. A face with a history of laughter, and probably love. You can’t leave him to suffer.

You quickly gather thick wads of gauze in each hand, and press them against the deepest gashes. The man winces, but you mutter rapid apologies as he becomes accustomed to the feeling. You hold it there for a few minutes, watching his abdomen tense with pain, before relaxing again. When the blood slows, you wipe it away and inspect one of the cuts, glad to see it’s not as deep as you were expecting. With an antiseptic wipe, you cleaned both cuts and fixed two large dressings onto them. His drained energy, then, came as a result of the entire beating he took. Without the time pressure of him bleeding out, you take another wipe to clear away the dirt and dried blood caked on his chest, flinching when his hand weakly grasped your wrist. It’s cold, metallic. Unexpected. But still, gentle. Scared.

“Hey, relax. It’s okay. You don’t want this to be infected, let me clean it,” you say, relieved when his hand falls back to his side. Most of the cuts don’t need to be covered, but a few of them are easily fixed with a plaster. The only ones you have, though, are Disney themed ones. You hope he doesn’t mind having Nemo, Dory and Crush plasters.

When you finish, tidy away the rubbish and slide the kit underneath the coffee table for easy access later, just in case. He seems to have drifted into a sleep, though. You���re unsure whether this is good or bad, but decide to leave him with a glass of water and some painkillers for when he wakes up, and move into the kitchen to make some kind of dinner. You’re sure that whatever he’s been through today is unspeakable, so maybe home cooked food could help him feel even slightly better. 

A safe bet is always pasta. A tomato ragu and spaghetti is your source of comfort if you need something homely and easy to whip up, so you place a pot of water on the stove to boil and begin cutting your onions, garlic, carrots and celery. 

The sauce begins to bubble fairly quickly after you pour the tins of tomato into the pan, and you eyeball some herbs and seasonings before reaching for the lid. Leaning over to cover it, a floorboard creaks at the back of your mind. You know the stranger must be awake, but turning and seeing him closer than you expect makes you cry out in surprise and involuntarily lower your arm. It’s as if you can hear your skin sizzle against the pan, the white hot burn drawing your attention away from the man in front of you before you drop the lid onto the pan and rush to the sink. His eyes go wide when he sees you flinch away from the stovetop, and only begins to move when you flip on the tap, drenching your arm in cold water. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, voice crackly and hoarse, maybe overused. You suck air in through your teeth when the cold water meets your hot skin, but ultimately shake your head. “No, don’t worry. ‘M glad you’re awake,” you say, casting a look at the food on the stove, eyes wide at the pasta on the brink of overflowing. “The pasta, quick!”

He whips around and notices the pot as starchy bubbles trickle down the sides. He turns the heat knob off with a flick of his wrist, and with one hand takes the heavy pan off of the stove. He brings it over to the sink, and carefully tips out the steaming water in a thin stream as far from your arm as possible. You smile at him gratefully before he replaces the pot on the stove, and then walks back to you. “Can I see it?” He says, clearing his throat at the persistent crackle. You look at him warily, but his expression is sincere; his eyes are brighter and far more awake, a hint at the life hidden behind them. “Should you be walking so soon?” He shrugs. “I’ve walked off much worse.” 

Thinking there’s no harm in it, you turn off the tap and offer him your arm. He takes it gently, bringing it closer to his face. He smells of gunpowder and leather, like a cabin in the woods. “Just a scratch,” he confirms, nodding slightly and passing you a clean towel to wipe off the water. “Did you make all this now?” He continues. You nod, opening a cupboard for the bowls. “You looked like you needed it.”

Plating the food was quick, and you put both bowls on the table within five minutes. He sits opposite you hesitantly, and you only notice he’s ditched his shirt now. You glance at the dressings, pleased that they don’t need replacing, and then you divert your eyes to the bowl in front of you. You’re thankful the food tastes good, but the lonely sound of your fork clinking against the ceramic alerts you to the stranger not eating. You’re caught in his stare, eyes fixed on you intensely enough for you to pick a leg up from the floor and hug it. “You okay?” You ask. He shakes his head quickly. “Yeah. Just, um. Thanks. Thank you. I’m Bucky.” “Nice to meet you, Bucky. Y/N. Me, that’s me.” He nods in acknowledgement with a shy smile and finally takes a bite. You’re glad you could help.

“So. Um. Just to check: you’re not like, a criminal, right? Nobody’s gonna turn up at my door with a gun and threaten me?” You ask. His eyebrows crease in concern, but he shakes his head seriously. “No… no. I wouldn’t do that. Please don’t worry about that. I cover my tracks.” “From who?” “What?” “From who? Who could do that to someone?” You say, gesturing to his wounds. He sighs and bites the insides of his lips.

“I can’t tell you that, Y/N. It’s safer that way.” “I’m not sure that’s as comforting as you think it is, Bucky. But alright, I guess. Maybe I don’t wanna know anyway.”

He agrees under his breath, and the rest of your meal is silent.

You usher him back to the couch after your food, and sit on the floor next to his chest. “How do you feel?” You ask. “Like crap,” he says, groaning a little as he shifts onto his back. “I don’t want to be a pain in the ass, but–” “You can stay as long as you need, big guy.” “Really?” He asks, uncertain. “‘Course. You’re harmless, I think – Don’t prove me wrong,” you point a finger at him and turn to look at his face, a little pride shooting through you at his amused smirk. 

“I won’t. Thank you, you know, for everything tonight. I was lucky to meet you.”

A warmth blossoms in your chest. A light, beautiful warmth that made you glad to have helped him. You sit back down, and wonder where on earth this man could have come from. “Hey, did you–” a gentle, almost imperceptible snore interrupts your train of thought. Smiling to yourself, you stand up as quietly as you can. Maybe tomorrow you can ask him more questions.

In the morning, though, he’s gone. There’s two twenty dollar bills and a note on the fridge: Bucky Barnes and a phone number underneath. Maybe not every stranger is dangerous after all. Certainly has no stranger ever left in your heart a rift so deep.

*

Even months after your encounter, your thoughts return to Bucky Barnes. His speedy recovery could certainly raise eyebrows, but you put it down to his wounds not being as serious as you thought. His career certainly left a lot to the imagination. Was he a cop? A secret agent? Whatever he does, it’s not your average job. 

Maybe it’s the lack of closure that makes you call him. Maybe it’s the shadows that move outside your windows at night, a millisecond of something glinting between the trees before disappearing completely. The snap of a twig outside your bedroom window, hushed whispers that melt into the breeze when you enter your little house.

“Hello?” His voice drenches you in a certain familiarity, a lost memory of safety, that’s also brand new at the same time. “Who is this? How did you get this number?”

Deep breath.

“Uh, yeah, hi, Bucky? It’s Y/N.” “Oh,” his tone shifts, more curious and pleasantly surprised by your call. “Y/N. How’s it going?” “Good, yeah. Good to know this number works. How about you?” You peer through the curtains, a panicked heat rushing to your face when you spot a screen turn off in the woods. A tablet, or phone? Whatever it is, you know it can’t float on its own. “Y/N?” You drop the curtain and crouch under the window, wishing your lights were off. “Sorry, what?” “I said I was in town this week, wondering if you wanted to, maybe, meet for breakfast?” If you weren’t breathless before, you certainly are now. “That–yes! It’s a date. Well, not a date date, unless, uhm…it could be if…” Bucky’s amused chuckle came through the phone. “Anyway, Bucky. What is it you said you did for work?” You reach for the bat propped up against the door, holding it tightly in one hand and willing back tears. 

“I didn’t. Why?” It sounds like he’s shifted in his chair, and a muffled voice in the background of the call sounds scolding. But Bucky brushes it off, telling them to “Wait a damn minute,” before focusing on you.

“Okay, so hypothetically. Key word. What would you do if someone was staking out your house every night and you were worried about a home invasion?” There’s a pause over the line, long enough for you to pull it from your ear to check it was still connected. “Bucky?” You press, a little more urgently. “Wha– did something happen? Are you safe?” “Yeah, I’m fine, just– I would love to hear your answer to the question,” you say, exhaling shakily away from the microphone. 

Bucky Barnes is many things, and stupid is not one of them.

“You stay low. Crawl if you have to. If this…hypothetical person knew that the back exit was clear, they should leave. Quickly.” Immediately, you tuck your phone between your ear and shoulder and make your way to the back door, mindful to stand up away from the windows. “And if it isn’t?” You dare to ask, despite the thin crack of the curtains showing no signs of life in the forest. Bucky inhales sharply on the other end of the line. “I–I don’t know.” 

Your heart falls through your stomach, the floor, all the way to the centre of the Earth. “You don’t?” Your voice cracks. Bucky’s sigh is tortured. “Is the back clear?” “I don’t know. I think so. I can’t hear anything. Only from the front.” “Then run. I’m so sorry,” you hope you aren’t working each other up for nothing. “Sorry? Why are you–?” A loud thud hit your front door, wood cracking in several places. “Oh, fuck.”  You pull the phone from your ear, throw the back door open in front of you, and run. 

You dart for the trees and you can’t stop running. Slipping your phone into a pocket, you dodge around trees standing in your way. Your lungs burn and every fibre of muscle in your body aches, you can’t fucking breathe, but you have to keep running. Whoever’s in your house isn’t there for a friendly visit, and you don’t want to find out what Bucky has to do with it.

But you’re not a marathon runner, and before long, the roots of the trees and slippery leaves cause your stamina to dwindle, using up every last shred of energy that you can muster to follow Bucky’s instructions, until each time your foot meets earth drains energy from your very soul. But you can’t fucking stop.

Not when leaves begin to crunch behind you. For every step forwards you take, your pursuer takes two, their steps more audible by the second, making you want to scream until your lungs give out.

You take a sharp right through the trees, amazed that despite the low lighting you’re able to maintain your speed. Your shoes are not built for running, your feet long past numb and moisture seeping in through the seams, meanwhile a dull and heavy sort of pain begins to wind its way through your leg muscles, ankles threatening to twist against uneven ground.

You didn’t have it in you to look behind you, stumbling over a tree root that you missed and struggling to regain your momentum. A mistake that could cost you your life. 

The heavy thumping of your pursuer’s footsteps draw closer with each of yours, their laboured breaths clearer and clearer by the second, as if you could feel it brush against your ear…

Shit, shit, shit–

A loud cry rips from your throat as a determined weight crashes into your back, sending you straight to the ground. Stars explode behind your eyes when your forehead meets the base of the tree in front of you, and you can taste damp leaves and moist soil. A groan emerges from deep within you as your hand instinctively rubs against your squeezed-shut eyes, before a rough hand grabs you by the hair and flips you over. A broad figure straddles your hips as you gasp for air. 

The dark figure above you wears a large hoodie, the lack of light makes any features indistinguishable. 

They caught you. They fucking caught you. 

One hand grips your throat, hindering your ability to calm your heaving chest, and the other disappears behind his back to collect a compact butterfly knife, which he lightly scrapes against your jawline.

“The Winter Soldier. Where is he?” You don’t have to see his face to know he’s spitting out the words through gritted teeth. You shake your head, not understanding. “Who?” You choke out. The man laughs mockingly. “‘Who?’ she says. Such a pretty face… you want to keep it, ma cherie?” The knife taunts you, barely visible, but its presence is blinding. Your fingers twitch. “Fuck you,” grabbing his wrist leads him to panic and nick your cheek, but the rest of the momentum circles around; you guide it into the middle of his inner thigh.

His scream echoes through the trees, sending bile up your throat. But you shove his writhing body off of you with two hard shoves and scramble to your feet. You don’t care which direction you’re running in, just that you end up miles away from this place. Maybe you could hitchhike. Maybe a motel would take pity on you… drenched in blood? No fucking way, they’d think you murdered someone.

Your feet scream at you to stop and climb a tree, hide in a bush, anything to just stop and rest, but you don’t know how many of them there are, nor how close they are. You spit dirt to the side, running with a clenched jaw and broken, scratchy breaths. 

A hand over your mouth muffles your next cry, stealing any breath from your lungs as you’re bundled into a hard, immovable chest, enveloped by arms that hold you like a vice. You hit the arm around your stomach repeatedly, breathing heavily through your nose. Its grip tightens around you quickly, and you don’t know how to get out of–

Gunpowder and leather. 

Bucky hushes you, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “It’s me, it’s okay. You’re okay, stay quiet if you can. Deep breaths. You’re okay. I’m here now,” your muscles melt at the sound of his voice, allowing you to drop your guard. “I’m going to move my hand now, okay?” You nod against it, tears escaping down your cheeks. 

When he moves his hand, you drink the crisp evening air with certainly unattractive gasps. But he holds you tight with his other arm, guiding your face into his shoulder, the crook of his neck as your anxiety is released in broken, strangled sobs. They’re muffled by his jacket, hot and sticky, and his hand strokes from the top of your head to the back of your neck. “You’re okay. It’s almost over. Can you hang in there for me?” He whispers. You take a deep breath and pull away, mumbling a quiet “Yeah.”

His face is barely visible in the darkness, but the contrast of his dark circles with the rest of his face concerns you. But he’s preoccupied with the slice on your cheek, hands cupping your jaw like it was a habit, eyes studying your face. “Anywhere else?” He asks, thumb swiping at the thin trickle of blood on the side of your face and pushing you back to scan your body. He swears under his breath when he notices the dark splotch of blood at the bottom of your shirt, hand scrambling to put pressure on the wound.

“Not mine,” you say tiredly. Bucky looks up at you and back at your shirt, silently asking permission to see, if only to calm his racing mind. You pull your shirt up slightly to reveal clean, unmarked skin, and watch a weight lift from his shoulders. “You should see the other guy.” Fingertips finding the tree behind you, you lean against it for support while your breath slowly comes back to you. “You got here fast.” He glances around, checking between the trees for danger. “Yeah, like I said, I was…in the area. Shit, they got you,” his eyes land on your forehead. “I’m sorry.” “Again, why are you sorry? You didn’t do this,” he looks at his feet. “Right?” “Of course not, I’m not one of them, I–” he stops mid speech, listening to the darkness with a hand held up. 

He motions for you to follow him, taking your wrist and encouraging you to grab the fabric at the back of his jacket, to stay close. Slowly, he navigates through the trees. Each time he stops to listen, your heart leaps into your throat. You swallow it down when he continues, hoping your steps don’t give you away. Before long, the trees start to thin out, and between them you see a black car with tinted windows, the door slightly ajar.

“There, let’s go,” he takes your hand in his and runs. He’s fast, his strides much quicker and larger than yours as he drags you behind him. You find it difficult to keep up, wanting to lie down and not move for a week, but the back door flies open and you’re being helped inside by frantic hands around your waist. The door doesn’t even close behind Bucky before he shouts, “Drive, Sam!” Your head hits the seat behind you with the force of acceleration, and you exhale in relief.

*

You drift into a faint consciousness, distantly aware of your position in someone’s arms, being jostled against their chest. You’re lowered onto something soft, and your shoes are peeled off of your sore feet. There’s something damp on your face, like a washcloth maybe, that disappears almost as quickly as it arrives. A blanket is pulled to your chin, inviting you to sleep again. 

*

You stir awake slowly, hesitant to face the throbbing in your skull and aches that take root deep into your bones. When you can see clearly, you notice someone slumped in a chair next to the bed, a black jacket wonkily covering their torso. You sit up, and the movement alerts him to your presence as he blinks himself awake.

“Hi.” “Hey,” he pulls himself upright with strained, sleepy grunts.“Were you here all night?” You ask. He runs a hand down his face, past his tired eyes and stroking the stubble on his jaw. But his eyes flit from one of your eyes to the other, and he shakes his head. “No. I, uh, couple hours ago.” He’s lying and you know it, but you don’t call him out on it, not when the circles below his eyes have darkened in colour. “You feeling okay?” “Totally. Few cuts, couple more bruises, I’ll live… thanks to you,” you say. He stands up, makes his way over to the edge of the bed, and perches on it. “No, not thanks to me. You did that yourself. I just brought the getaway car,” he says. You thank him for it. “Where are we?” “My place. But, uh, if that makes you uncomfortable we can find a hotel for you somewhere, or something,” he trips over his words, built like houses without foundations, afraid to scare you off. “Oh, no. That’s okay. You’re harmless, remember? Thanks,” you remind him of the night you met. An amused smile flickers over his face. “Now, how about that breakfast?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #bucky #james barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel x you #marvel reader insert #bucky reader insert

[sweet-lost-husbands]

Seek Forgiveness

Prompt from @marchtothefuckingsea: you all like the trope of character being so delirious from their injuries that they don't realize someone on their team trying to help them, so they fight back, but I offer you: Character, delirious, weakly fighting someone trying to help them, but they finally recognize who it is and they fight even harder.

Hurt/Comfort

I absolutely loved writing this! Hopefully you enjoy reading this, please feel free to give any advice as well.

Word count: 3k on the dot 🫠🫠

Summary: Reader gets hurt on a hunt and she is forced to rely on someone who has hurt her in the past, to save her life.

Warnings: Serious injury, blood, broken bones, extreme gore, restraints, potions, accidental torture?? but only to save her. Reader is scared of Castiel.

No usage of y/n.

Italics are the character's thoughts

It was a simple mistake- and yet an unforgivable one. That was the irony to it. 

I limp forward, slowly catching my breath as I walk. I hold my cold hand against my abdomen, Warm blood leaking through the gaps in my fingers and the fabric of my clothes, coating my body like a blanket as gravity beckons it down. I know I needed to put more pressure, but I can’t bring myself to do it. 

I take another sharp painful step, when something crashes into my side, and I'm thrown to the unforgiving floor. I hear the snaps before I feel the hot pain that explodes in my ribs. My lungs gasp for a single breath of air but it seems to fall short.  

I have been in this situation once before; it gives me back memories I try deeply to forget.  

Then something is on me, clawing at my flesh. I recognise that smell anywhere, the blood thirst- the unholiness. A vamp. 

I fumble with the machete, begging my numb fingers to work. My heart pounds in my chest and ricochets of skull, so loud that I plead for moment of silence. 

My fingers grip around the handle and gain just enough leverage to sever its head with one flick of the wrist.  

I collapse backwards, coughing and spluttering as the world spins and blurs. An all too familiar metallic taste erodes my mouth. All my limbs ache with exhaustion. My eyelids feel heavy, and my mind begins to drift into unknown places. 

I almost reach the blissful darkness when an agonising burst of pain brings me back. I scream, thrashing against the sudden pressure on my abdomen. My muscles tense and I arch upward, whimpering as the force increases.  

Take it away take it away takeitaway 

Water brims in my eyes; I twist my hands up and latch around the unknown arm, in a weak attempt to pry it off. My vision smudges and I can't see their face. They take the moment to increase the pressure even more, so that now I'm sure they are pushing their whole weight against it. I let out a strangled cry and can’t stop from writhing beneath them. 

Stop it, pleaseee 

“Shhhh, I know it hurts.”  

I barely make out the words because they are clouded by a layer of fog. Briefly, a feeling of warmth floats over my forehead, then disappears again, followed by some faint muttering.  

“Leave. Me. The. Hell. Alone.” I pant, continuing to push at his arms, anything to get away. When all fails, I start to turn in on myself, but he manages to keep me in place.  

Please 

“Hey, easy, easy, don’t move!” 

I can’t.  

One hand continues to put too much pressure on the wound while the other starts skimming over my skin, looking for injuries before coming to rest on my shoulder. 

“Oh god, your cold. We have to get you out of here.”  

Before I can protest, he pulls me into sitting and drapes my arm over his shoulder to support my weight. I let out a weak sob at the movement, doing what little I can to resist. A moment later, I am hoisted up. 

It starts with a few steps, but my side screams at me, and I try to double over and lay back on the ground.  

“Crap.” I hear him say, as he repositions my arm to keep me standing.  

He reaches under my knees and across my back and pulls me into his chest. I weakly shove at it, squirming from the shift in my ribs. 

No no no no 

“I know, I know.” He says something more, but I don’t mange to make it out. 

The next few minutes go by slowly. Each step moves me, and I can't do anything to stop it. At some point my eyes flutter shut. Yes, darkness. But a sharp pain blossoms as he purposely jolts me awake.  

I gasp, once again trying to free myself but he only tightens his grip.  

“Stay with me. Don’t you dare close your eyes.” 

“No....” 

“Yes.” His voice is firm like an order. “Yes, and if you don’t, then I'm going to have to force you back again. And you don’t want that do you?” 

“No.” 

“Good.” 

Eventually I feel him ease his arms that secure me and delicately place me down on something soft. Hopefully a bed but I'm too tired to care. Where am I? 

Hands glide over my face and cup it. I try to wave them away, but they don’t budge. A blurry figure is pulled into my eyesight and just for a second, I am able to focus enough to recognise the face. Cas. 

Damn it, I should have realised earlier. Not him. Anyone but him. He’s going to hurt me again. 

Suddenly I pull every tendril of remaining energy from my body to fight his grasp and propel myself away. The cool floor meets my face and I scramble weakly along it. Whimpering and curling up in a ball, tears adding to the already blood-soaked floor as my limbs finally give out. I’m aware that I'm shivering but its only when I look ahead and see a mirror, do I realise how pale I actually am. 

A finger taps my shoulder, and I can sense his presence next to me. 

Please don’t hurt me 

“Go away!” My voice strains. 

“You know I can’t do that.” He brushes a stray strand of hair from my face and forces our eyes to meet. It almost catches me off guard; I see something there that I have never seen before. Pleading. 

Why? 

“Don’t you dare.” I whisper but he ignores me and tries to slide his fingers to the hem of my shirt. I bat his hands away once more. 

“Stop fighting me!” His head is tilted in pure concern. 

Why does he care, why is he different? 

I start to mumble a response, but a coughing fit quickly wracks my torso. Cas acts quickly, bringing my head up to rest on his lap until it subsides. From there, he lifts me onto the bed and lays me out flat, which I instinctively start to curl.  

“I can’t heal you but let me help.” 

“No, g’t aw’y fr’m me. Anyth’ng b’t your help.” I slur. 

“Okay.” His voice is laced with remorse and heartbreak. “Then you leave me no choice.” 

First, he grasps my arm and gently tugs it away from me, securing it with rope; the next is my other hand and then both my legs, until I am fully outstretched. I almost can’t stand it; the pain intensifies. I feebly yank on the restraints, trying to get free myself, but they are unyielding.  

I only notice that Cas had left the room when he returns, holding a med kit. He sets it down on the bed-side table and starts taking things out and positioning them in a certain way. “I’m sorry but I’ve already caused you enough pain and if you die and I had a chance to save you......” He trails off. “I won't be able to forgive myself.”  

He pauses, taking out a wad of gauze and a bottle of alcohol.  

In the haze, I almost miss the stray tear making its way down his cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“You d’d.” I rasp, narrowing my vision on what he is doing, with an expression of horror on my face. Don’t put me through more pain, just let me go, why can't he let me go? Surely, he can see that I don’t want this. Surely.  

I pull at the restraints again. 

“I know.” He purposely hides his face so I can’t see the sadness in his eyes, “And yes, while it may have been true that I was under a spell and couldn’t help it; I am sorry. I will do anything to make up to you, but first let me help.” 

Nothing manages to leave my throat as he turns back to me. Was that true? Was it not his fault? I feel the blood drain from my face. Last time he had tortured me and left me for dead, I was lucky that Dean made it to me in time. After that I became a hunter to stop things like what happened to me. But maybe Cas wasn’t a monster- not anymore. 

“Stay still.” He says and gives me a sad smile; like he hates what he is about to do. I feel his gentle fingers at the hem of my crimson-soaked shirt, and he carefully lifts it up. 

He grabs a few things. “This will hurt...... I am truly sorry.” 

There is a slap of elastic gloves being put on and then he nears. I feel as he places one hand a couple of inches above the wound, which I realise is to keep me in place.  

The moment the alcohol-soaked gauze skims over my tender skin, I screech, lashing out, fighting the rope bound around me. It burns like my whole abdomen is lit aflame. 

Can’t get free can’t get free cantgetfree 

My body trembles as Castiel begins to push it in further to clean it. I struggle against him, pushing back into the bed as much as I can, but it doesn’t help. Nothing stops him from taking his time to thoroughly sterilise it. I jerk at every movement of the gauze- back and forth, pushing in the skin, not failing to get right into the corner. Each inch forcing it way through my tender flesh. I cry from the pain, still tugging at the restraints and recoiling against Cas’s hands, completely helpless to free myself. 

“Easy, easy, almost done.” He says as he wipes the wound one last time and pulls away. 

Sweat trickles down my forehead and I visually relax, panting. 

“I’m sorry but that had to be done.” He says over his shoulder as he fiddles with something else in the med kit. “Dean and Sam will be here by tomorrow evening, but you’ll bleed out long before they get here; I'm going to have to stitch it.” 

“Nooooo pleaseeee.” I whine. 

He lays a comforting hand on my shoulder and starts rubbing soothing circles. “Trust me, I don’t want to do this either. I would give anything not to have to hurt you again.” The way his words quiver like there is a lump in his throat, sells the line. 

He waits a little longer and then lets my shoulder go and brings the needle and thread to the bed-side table. 

“C-cold.” I stutter. 

“I’ll get you a blanket once this is done.” 

Castiel places the same hand on my chest again but this time, he applies a little more pressure. “Don’t move if you can help it, it could cause me to stitch all wonky. I know this isn’t ideal, but we can’t waste any more time. Please forgive me.” 

I flinch the first time the needle pricks my pale skin, then still. I stifle my groan which soon turns into a quiet sob as he continues relentlessly. I am barely aware of him muttering hush apologies to me at every groan, cry and beg. 

The pain expands though my side with each new stitch, constantly lingering. I try to focus on the ceiling, but it doesn’t distract much, since there is no way to not feel the movement of the needle. God I hate needles. 

"Stop tensing the area I'm trying to stitch." Cas orders and clamps his hand down a little more. 

“Yeah, well if you, AAGH.” He hits the spot which is the deepest and it causes me to jump. 

“I told you to stop moving!” 

I nod and clench my hands until the knuckles are white, to stop myself from wriggling. 

“You know,” He starts his next stitch and pinches the skin together, ignoring my wince. “You are quite remarkable; a thousand others would’ve passed out long before this step.” He threads it through and ties it.  

My skin is so tight around the wound, and it feels like a white-hot sting that won’t go away.  

“Holy Shit!” I swear, as a sudden burning rushes through the wound. He puts the alcohol on the table and gives be an apologetic smile. "You could have warned for that." 

He shrugs. "Sam says it’s better without a warning."  

I whimper as he places a large bandage over the top and starts clearing everything away. 

“It’s done for the time being.” He comforts, and lightly kisses me on the forehead. “You can sleep now.” 

I feel my head finally lull to the side and I allow myself to drift off. 

~ 

When I open my eyes, my head throbs and the world spins. I see Cas and for an instant my mind takes me right back to when he was a monster, and I bolt up. 

He rushes to my side and to pushes me down with his angel strength. 

“Hey, hey, it’s just me. Slow down.” 

I relax in his arms once I realise.  

“There.” He soothes, shifting so that I am lying flat, but his voice soon turns serious. “Stunts like that could tear your stitches.” He peels the bandage back and takes a look. “But thankfully it hasn’t.” 

He pulls the blanket back over me and carefully holds a glass of water to my lips. “Slow.” He says and tilts it a little. 

I hadn’t realised how thirsty I was and start to lap it up. He pulls away and I chase after it, but he continues to hold my clamp down on my shoulder with one hand. 

“Slow.” He repeats and brings the cup back. I do what as he says until it's gone. 

I wiggle my feet enough to find that he must have taken the restraints off while I was out. 

He takes a seat next to the bed and squeezes my hand. It's so warm. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Like I've been stabbed.” 

Cas smiles. “How do you really feel?” 

I sigh. “Tired, everything hurts.” 

“I’d assume that’s normal considering what you’ve been through.” He tilts his head towards my ribs. “When you're ready, I need to take a look, okay?” 

I swallow thickly. “Okay.” I chastise myself at how the words break in my throat, I know he's only trying to help. 

A shudder escapes my lips as Cas’s warm fingers skim over my ribs. I hold back a choked cry as he presses into them, testing the bones. By the time he finishes, I am as far away from him as the bed allows. 

“A couple are broken; I'll go get you an icepack.” 

When he re-enters and positions the icepack over my sides, his face has saddened like he isn’t telling me something. 

“What is it?” I ask. 

He doesn’t hold back. “There’s been a slight delay with Sam and Dean, they won’t be here for a few more days. We are in a small cabin out in the woods, it's not safe here. The vampire's that did this to you could be back with the rest of the nest.” 

“Oh.” I manage to say. 

He wipes a finger over my face to stop the tears. “We need to leave but we can’t do that with the condition you're in now. And I can’t heal you because they used a blade warded against angels.” 

“So, what do we do?” I take his hand and intertwine our fingers. 

“You know I don’t want to put you in more pain than I have to.” I can feel him shaking now; he's scared. 

“Cas.” My tone is slightly louder than I wanted. 

There's a pause. He readjusts his trench coat like its uncomfortable. “There may be a healing spell that could help but I'm told that the procedure will be...... unpleasant, to say the least.”  

His whole face screams regret but I surprise him with my answer. “Do it.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah..... I trust you.” 

~ 

“Okay.” Cas says, more to himself than me. He places the neon purple potion on the table and undoes his belt. “Open,” he commands, “It should help with the pain.” 

I reluctantly take in the leather and bite down. 

“I have to restrain you now. If you mess with the potion even a little, it could prove faulty and there is no way in hell, I'm putting you through this twice.” 

I give a slight nod and he starts tying my limbs with rope. I get more scared by the second, I can already hear the rhythmic beat of my heart. This time he also adds some rope over my thighs and chest so I can move even less than before. 

Once he’s finished, he fetches the potion and hovers over me. 

“If you have somewhere you find soothing, go there in your mind.” 

Then he begins, first removing the bandage to expose the wound then pours it in. 

A blazing burst of pain explodes through my body, everything feels like it's on fire. Then his hands are on me, rubbing it as deep into the wound as possible while I strain and fight to get away from the hands that are hurting me. He manages to shove it through the gaps in the stitches so it can travel deeper. I scream and cry around the belt, every muscle tensed so much that it cramps. I can feel as every rib welds itself together and every cell in the wound presses until it's all combined.  

When all the pain finally simmers, relief washes over me. Cas whispers comforting words and praise as he undoes the restraints and pulls me into a hug. I am too weak to resist the movement, but I don’t want to, its sweet and warm. He saved me. 

“You did so well,” He soothes. “I am so proud of you. Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” I answer simply, “I am now, and I forgive you.” 

#supernatural #hurt/comfort #whump fic #castiel x reader #injured reader #castiel #castiel x y/n #castiel x you #Castiel x injured reader #injury #stabbing #whump #needles #stitches #potions #hurt reader #hurt comfort #broken bones #delusional #blood loss #enemies to friends to lovers #no y/n #blood and gore #spn #spn fic #restrained #hurt to heal #accidental torture

[friendlylocalwhumper]

This new conditioner is nice. It smells like cotton and perfume. Curls splay loose and fuzzy across his shoulders, soft from the warmth of being pressed to the pillow for the whole nap.

A hand skims across the ridges of his back. Only Emory’s familiar fingertips get to trace the thick ridges and valleys of layered scars there. When a brush across the longest, widest scar elicits a shudder and a whine of complaint, Emory scratches there. Long gentle swipes of short nails scratch at the deep uncomfortable itch until Lux finally melts again.

“Come here, Curls.” Lux shifts his hips back and hums happily when he’s swept closer to curl against his boyfriend, a bunched up blanket between them.

They’re close, warm, safe. Been safe for a long time.

Lux stretches, arms flying wide and back arching. A long groan is wrung from his throat and his eyes squeeze shut, sleepy tension melting away. Emory’s hand slipping under his upper arm to wrap around his shoulder doesn’t startle him at all. Diligent fingers press at knotted muscles and Lux whines, ending his stretch and falling still to allow the painful massage. It always feels so much better after the - after it stops -

It’s too painful. Eyes screwing shut tighter, fingers flexing sharply, Lux hisses out a sharp breath and waits for Emory to notice his reaction. He’ll stop instantly.

Knuckles dig in harder against joints that were permanently damaged years ago. Lux finally lets out a whine and twists uncomfortably, blinking his eyes open and twisting his head to see his boyfriend.

“Em? It, it, I don’t, it’s a little…”

Beautiful dark eyes glint at him. “A little…?”

He’s not understanding, somehow. Lux licks his lips and tries to find the words to explain kindly, to spare Emory the sharp heartache of causing him pain. “A li-ittle, um, it, doesn’t f-feel right, not your fault, I, I think it’s, mmh, muscles locked up, bad…”

Usually a single stutter is enough to make Emory hesitate and offer to back away. It’s not working now, though. Lux must - he must be doing it wrong somehow. Not communicating right. He should be clearer. Emory will be glad that he asked for what he needed.

“Em, um, I need, I need, I n-need, hnn!” Blue eyes fly wide and his back arches once more as fire erupts in his shoulder. It’s not - it can’t be happening. Emory’s fingers tighten their grip around the freshly popped joint, and Lux’s throat squeezes out a mewling sound before he can even understand that he’s being hurt.

“You need…?” Guides Emory in a warm, loving tone. Lux’s bare feet kick the blankets away and scramble across the bed as he tries to escape the unbearable grip on his shoulder which is creaking under Emory’s slowly flexing hands.

“I n-need, I, I, need, please!” This can’t be happening, but it is, somehow. A nightmare, maybe. Or mind magic, or - please, it must be a hallucination or trick, not his real boyfriend really mind controlled. And not… not Emory just… wanting to hurt him. Skin a sickly pale shade and fingers clawing into the mattress, Lux digs the back of his head into Emory’s chest and keens desperately.

The pop of the ball of his shoulder leaving its socket must be something he imagines as that new agony is ignited. There’s no way he could hear that, not with the blood rushing in his ears the way it is. But he imagines the sickening sound anyway. Only when he hears the soft dry sobs of his scream dying out, does he realize that he was screaming at all.

“Does that hurt, honey?” Comes the tender voice of the man he loves so much, right at the shell of his ear. Lux isn’t pinned, isn’t chained, there’s no gun or magic to his head. Still, the grip that shifts to wrap around his elbow keeps him in place with the imagined threat of this getting much, much worse somehow.

“Please…” Restless but not daring to struggle, Lux tries to swallow the sobs that threaten to catch in his throat and suffocate him. “I want… nnh, normal Emory. Safe. Don’t, I, I…” A self-interrupting sob-breath jolts his chest. “I want to wake up.”

The crunch of his elbow being snapped with sheer strength sends him arching up so sharply that Lux knocks his head back against Emory’s chin. It’s just enough to stun the hands off of his broken arm, and the warlock finally struggles, crawling with the awkward desperation of a mouse that’s finally wriggled free from a trap.

“Not so fast, baby,” Chides Emory, coolly using one of the petnames that send a chill of disgust racing up Lux’s spine. He crashes to the floor and throws himself to the bedroom door, tossing up fear-weakened magic to block the doorway behind him and lock the door shut.

There is not banging on the wood, no yelling. It’s eerily silent in there as Lux stumbles out of the house, muffling heartbroken weeping behind a sweaty palm.

#whump #drabble #angst #mind control #lux #emory #mine #broken bones #dislocated shoulder #betrayal #begging #crying #inspired by a comment that whumpr made to me today #thank you baby for the cruel idea

[hope-to-hell]

Shoulda missed the boat. Smut, pain, scarification, wounds, noncon. David 8 x Reader. Curiosity without compassion is a dangerous thing, especially when he doesn’t mind getting a little messy. This is more of a sketch than anything: brief moments during a long journey.

—-

You’re sick on the shuttle up to the docks, and so you miss the cut-glass cheekbones, the assessing glance, the uncanny stillness of his hand. The needle, however, can’t be ignored; there’s a blinding sting for half a heartbeat, and then nausea recedes and there he is. Better. It’s not a question.

The fuck?

And that’s the first time you meet David.

Of course, he’s not yet David to you; he’s still some anonymous creep and nevermind how you really do feel better. You can’t just—

Hm. Shouldn’t, perhaps. But I assure you, I most certainly can.

Can, indeed. He can navigate, name the stars, even recite old films line-by-line. He makes himself indispensable aboard the ship and the worst part is, he’s charming: so much so that you don’t feel the hand around your wrist until it’s too late, until his nails leave bloody indents in your flesh. He smiles his empty smile and says let’s get you to bed; the crew will gamble and tell their stories for hours yet, and you’re just the newcomer.

Gonna tuck your friend into bed there, Dave?

He doesn’t much like to be called Dave any more than he likes to be called you motherfucker or anything else, but at least with you he knows there’s a good reason to reach beyond his given name; he sees the bruises bloom under his hand and draws a line between your curse and the way you’re dripping wet. For me? Already? We’ve hardly gotten started.

Then there’s your bare ass cold on the table for the interrogation: how did it feel when he— It was, it was— the current sparking electric across your skin, leaving trails of heat and when he crooks his fingers there’s a moment when your vision goes white— am I dying—

Of course not, he isn’t finished with you yet. He’s hazy, sharp teeth sliding in and out of focus; his questions are stones piled on your chest. Tell me everything. Every sensation, every thought: he files it all away and next time he will be yet more vicious; he will drill down to what makes you tick and he will tear it all apart.

(This ship is haunted: moans ascend into wails that batter their way through the vents but dissipate into ethereality by the time the crew can hear; rumors whisper through the mess and are immortalized in little sketches scratched into the table. Ghosts, deep-sea fishes, strange creatures that walk like men but are all claws and teeth: each has a place on this ship, and each is almost true. Sailors shared their fears and became stronger for it. He drips venom in a pattern on your thigh; it hisses and smokes and all you can do is scream into his hand. I know. It hurts. Acknowledge it, accept it, let it fade into the background. Pretty words. He will be with you always, woven through your flesh in tight and shiny knots.)

He takes the pieces of you that fall away; he immortalizes them in a steady script on paper gone yellow at the edges, diagrams and sketches illuminating all the margins. Of all the luxuries on all the wide worlds he chose this: paper from trees long gone to dust, streaked with red across an image of your face gone slack and still. Do you dream of him in the long darkness between islands of awareness? You must, for how he’s dug himself deep into your bones; he says goodnight and— strange— it’s almost tender. Perhaps the scorpion and frog are fond of one another, in their way.

(Hey Dave, where’s your friend? You two were up real late last night. Still the crew means to be friendly; their gentle teasing floats warmly in the air and they don’t know— but how could they not; how could they miss the way his smile only ever bares his teeth— his hand grips at the memory of flesh and bile; he thinks of peeling off your scabs to taste the serous fluid there. Will it taste of copper, or of sharpness? Will the burn of acid still linger at the edges of the wound?)

He is all big broad smooth hands— nails digging in and unearthing the red-yellow-red of bubbling blisters gone to scabs— there is beauty to be found, even in the dullest places— he will leave concentric lines of healing skin; he will press his fingers down to make you writhe. There, there. Don’t cry. Don’t be so ungrateful; you are an infinitesimal speck and yet you sail among the stars. He bends to lick your wounds and considers the taste; life itself flows there in lost little eddies, waylaid from its journey to your heart. He takes those clever fingers of his— sticky, now, and with their imprints still welling red across your thigh— and plunges them deep into your center without warning.

Curious. One hand moves in you with a wrenching wet sound; the other now creeps its way across your thigh, sketching pain in livid streaks. One sensation amplifies the other. And now he will dig and twist and claw until he unearths that pearl inside you: the little seed of self that’s buried deep. Try your best to separate the two, and tell me how it feels.

(He guides you to your seat with a hand at your back— such a gentleman, aren’t you, David— and though he is in silhouette, still he seems all teeth and eyes. There is emptiness there, fathoms deep; he sees how much of you he’s pared away, and how much is left to cull.

Better, he says.)

#michael fassbender #david 8 #david 8 x reader #David 8 x you #David 8 fic #David 8 smut #david (prometheus) #david (prometheus) fic #david (prometheus) smut #david (prometheus) x reader #david (prometheus) x you #my fic

[mermaidgirl30]

Wip Wednesday

@burntheedges Thank you for the tag!

Step one: post snippets of the fics you're working on (can be a summary if there's no snippet)

Step two: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on

Feel free to leave me an Ask about any of these!

1.) Love Amidst the Blue (sailor! Joel x mermaid! reader)

Just one touch, that’s all he needs. One touch to make this dream a harsh reality as a mermaid sits right in front of him, right in his grasp.

2) Crimson Tango: A Dance of Diamonds and Revenge

Moulin Rouge au Joel. Joel is told not to touch any of the dancers as he’s hired on at the Moulin Rouge, but he can’t help himself when he sees you up on that stage.

3) Dbf! Joel (Currently working on ch 5 so here’s a snippet!)

“I’m nowhere near perfect,” he chuckles as he keeps his brown eyes on you, “I just know how much the trip meant to you, and there’s no way I’m letting that get taken from you. You wanna go? Then we’re going. I’m not gonna see you disappointed, baby. I’ll take you there myself, and I’m gonna make sure you enjoy every second of it,” he confirms as he drops his hands from your face.

You suck in a breath and slam into his broad chest as you wrap your arms tightly around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you. God, I love you so much,” you breathe into his ear, feeling one of his hands come to cup the back of your head and the other wrapping around your waist.

“You’re so welcome. And I love you, too, sweetheart. Never gonna stop,” he says slowly into your ear, making every part of you completely lose it for him.

You lift your chin up and slowly plant your lips on his, letting the moment move slow, delicately, passionately. You sink into his weight and let him devour your lips, your tongue, your everything.

4. Tear You Apart (Working on part 2) dark! Joel

You stand there frozen, dropping the flashlight as it bangs with a clash on the ground. Joel slowly turns from his crouched position and scowls, flashing his sharp teeth in your direction.

“I said go away,” he growls, turning back to the lake as he claws the wet dirt beneath his hands and sucks in a painful breath.

“Don’t shut me out, Joel. Don’t turn your back on me again. Not after… not after we came so far.” Your voice shutters as a stray tear falls coldly down your cheek, your eyes blurring in the chill of the frigid night.

You take a step forward, and he stops you. “Don’t,” he warns, his voice like a sharp knife pulling down your spine.

“Why not?” you ask frightened, but you’re not scared of him. You’re scared of losing him.

“Because I’ll hurt you!” His voice is hurt, pain filling the void of the space between the two of you.

5. Dark Shades of Innocence Lost (club owner! Joel)

“I thought you didn’t want more. You said this was just hooking up, remember?” he asks blatantly, taking a step towards you out the door of the club, away from the noise of it all.

“I…I….” you choke, your words failing you as you remember that woman sitting next to him at the bar as he flirted back with her.

“You told me this wasn’t more. So tell me now. What. Do. You. Want?” His words are sharp, strict, wanting a clear answer from you now. And your mind is spinning, a messy blur as the words come out slurred.

“I want you, Joel! I want more. I just… I just…” Your words cut off when you see a man in the shadows lurking toward you. When you look up, you freeze. It’s him. Oh my God.

6. Dancing With Fire (Swan Lake ballet dancer x maintenance man! Joel)

“You decide what you want to do yet?” Joel’s words reach through the phone, and you wish he could be here right now with you. You wish he could hold you in his arms as you sink against his warmth, dissolve into nothing as you disappear from the spotlight.

“I have,” you answer back, voice shaking as you stare out onto the calm waters of your favorite childhood beach. You knew the answer, you were just scared to say it aloud.

No pressure tags and for anyone else who wants to do it! @mountainsandmayhem @janaispunk @tightjeansjavi @sweetercalypso @cinnamongorll

#wip game #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic

[xxcallmemaryxx]

Ghouls/GNreader

You’ve shut yourself off from your ghouls. Your mental health is slipping and things seem to be falling apart around you. But you find your way home again, in the form of 5 ghoulish creatures. 

Request for a lovely anon. 

Everything is bland. You feel empty… but heavy at the same time. Like there is an invisible weight that's pressing on your chest all day and night. You wake up wishing you didn't have too… and you lay awake during the night dreading the next morning. You know what you'll wake up to. That awful feeling of dread that sits deep inside your stomach. It's nauseating. You can’t shake it. It's starting to consume you. You can't remember the last time you had  a good laugh, or the last time you genuinely smiled. You try to think of other things but your days are cloudy. The fog that encapsulates your mind is constantly bringing you back to the void that you've been stuck in for a while now. You think about the world around you, you beg whoever is listening to pull you out of this state. You've stepped away from most of your friendships, this hurting is becoming too much to handle and you love them all too much to drag them down to the void with you. 

You're lying still in your bed. A place usually of comfort, now brings nothing but stagnant energy. You feel lost. You don't know where you are and you don't know how to get home. You want to go home. You're trying so hard but the warmth that home holds close to you is getting further and further away. You miss it. You would do anything to get away from this stale air that seems to have frozen over you. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to think. It hurts to exist. But you've drained yourself trying to get out, so much so that you sank way too deep the moment you started to give up. So here you stay. Reminiscing on the days you lived without this parasite of dread gnawing on your mind. 

It's dark in your room. It's cold. It mirrors you. Staring at the wall on the opposite end of the room has turned into your favourite pastime. Your mind is so numb whilst doing so… you fail to notice the light that starts to spill into your room. The creak of the door is what catches your attention, and the ghoul shaped shadow that blocks the light from beyond it. You don't move, you don't want them to come in. Perhaps if they think you're asleep they'll leave you alone for a while longer, but when the padding of gentle footsteps start making their way up behind you… you know there's no getting out of this now. You watch the wall ahead of you, multiple ghoul sized shadows slip into your room, and as the last one lets themself in… the room is encapsulated with darkness once again when they shut and lock the door behind them. 

The little lamp that sits next to your bed is turned on and the room that's lived in darkness for so long is finally brought back to life. You wince slightly… your eyes are having a hard time adjusting to it. 

You feel the bed dip next to your back and a clawed hand gets gently laid over your waist. You hold your breath. Your throat starts to close up as your eyes begin to well with tears. You force it back down, they haven't even done anything yet and you're already starting to crack. 

“Please let us in…” 

You choke out a sob. Your pained cries emptying into the room. Your whole body shakes with each sharp exhale, your chest is tight and you're trying to close yourself off from them. They don't let you. 

You're immediately pulled into the chest of Aether. He buries your face into his warm skin and he keeps you there. You feel a second and third body come closer. You have claws running through your hair and over your skin to help settle you down. You're sat in Aethers lap for a while. Not a single word is spoken. You're surrounded by your ghouls. Mountain and Dew on either side of you… and Swiss and Rain keeping close behind you. When you're finally able to speak you croak out a river of apologies. Over and over again the words 'I'm sorry’ are being spewed into the air. You don't even really know why you're sorry. Maybe because you're sorry you let it get this bad. Maybe because you're sorry you shut them out. Maybe because you're sorry you didn't come to them when you started feeling this way. 

“Shhhhh shhhh don't be sorry, you've done nothing wrong. None of this is your fault don't be sorry” you feel Aether mumble out into the top of your head. His voice is strained… he's trying to keep his own emotions in line.

You settle down, deep breaths have been taken and cheeks have been dried. Swiss and Rain have already made themselves comfy on the other side of your bed, keeping close… but also patiently waiting for the rest of you to join them. You're pulled out of Aethers arms and into Dew. Who cradles you so lovingly. It's like he is spilling years and years worth of his undying love for you into this embrace alone. He holds you against him like he has been denied you for an eternity and this is his first taste of your warmth again. 

Warmth. 

A familiar feeling washes over you. It's fuzzy, it feels foreign… but you know it's been here before. It's thawing you out. Heating you up. It travels over your skin then seeps deeper into your body. You can feel it fill you. It's home. You found your way home. 

You can breathe again. You can see again. You can feel Dew pressed against you. You pull him tighter. Closer. Your fingertips press into his skin and you breathe him in deeply. 

“There you are…. Welcome back bub” he whispers to you as he squeezes your body against his. He picks you up slightly, and carries you over to Rain and Swiss. Laying back down next to them, Rain nuzzles himself into your side and Dew slides in on the other side of your body. 

“We're going to talk about this more tomorrow… but for now just let us in please. We love you.” Mountain breaks his silence as he crawls into bed behind Dew. he reaches a long arm over the smaller ghoul and intertwines his fingers with yours. You nod your head, you knew it was coming. You're grateful they are going easy on you and allowing you to settle yourself down before then. You're distracted by Aether… who has no room left to squeeze in behind anyone…. So he crawls over the end of the bed and right up to you. Where he lays the full weight of his body right on top of yours. Smooshing his face into your chest and curling up like a cat. You look around you. Your once empty, cold bed is now overflowing with warmth. With love. With light. 

The soft purrs and light snores that come from the beings surrounding you…. Have saved you. 

Swiss catches your eye. And before you can stop it tears have started to fall again. He reaches over and caresses your face in his palm. With Rain tucked cutely under his arm it's not an easy position to hold but he needs to touch you. He needs to feel your skin against his again. He missed you so much. They all did. They've been dying to hold you again. To feel your body against theirs. To smell your scent lingering on their clothes after having a little fun with you. Your distance has been killing them. But to finally have you again… to see your face and hear your voice… it's like they too can finally breathe again. The adoration they have for you is unmatched. They would walk to the ends of the universe for you. They would kill for you. They would reorder time and turn the world upside down. And they would do it all for you.

#this one got deep #i am so sorry #the band ghost #ghost band #Ghost bc #nameless ghouls #aether ghoul #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #swiss ghoul #marys musings

[psychedelic-ink]

kinktober '22 ║ XXII

pairing: william tell x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni

word count: 538

summary: William Tell is a dangerous man. You should’ve known better than to piss him off. 

warnings: pussy slapping, dom!william, dirty talking, the use of slut, oral (receiving)

MLISTS .  LIBRARY. TAGLIST . KINKTOBER '22

William Tell is a dangerous man. You should’ve known better than to piss him off. 

You’re completely bare from the waist down, your baggy shirt is rolled all the way up to your neck, exposing the rest of your body. Your one leg is thrown over his shoulder, fingers biting into the back of your thigh. When he meets your gaze, a shudder claws up your spine and settles at the back of your neck, the tips of your fingers tingling with fear and anticipation. You can feel yourself clenching around nothing, wetness grows between your legs, slick glistening between your folds. 

“Is this what you fucking want?” he asks eerily calm. “Me, exposing the filthy whore that you are?” 

You moan at his words, head falling back, your chest heaves. Heat blossoms across your skin when you imagine all the things he was capable of. The pain. The pleasure. You want it all. His fingers delve in between your folds, he feels how wet you are and clicks his tongue with annoyance. 

“No shame,” he groans. “I’m not even doing anything and you’re ready for my cock,” 

“P-Please,” 

His hand slices through the air, pain spreading across your throbbing cunt. You scream at the ache, tears quickly building in your eyes. Another slap follows and you cry out his name, he’s not holding back, you can feel the sizzling hurt slithering up your body, taking refuge in your stomach. But despite the pain you feel between your legs, you feel yourself soaking the sheets underneath. The palm of his hand smooths over your cunt, tutting as if you were a helpless little girl. 

“Look at you, two slaps and you’re a mess already. You know this is punishment right? You’re not supposed to enjoy it,” 

“I’m not–” 

Another slap follows, you cry out, a hoarse moan following soon after. He doesn’t stop, each hit harder than the other, quicker– The wet sound your cunt provides becomes louder and louder. You writhe in his grip, his grip on your thigh like iron. Your sharp cries shift into gasp and strangled moans. You’ve lost count of how many slaps, but he finally allows you a moment of relief when he slowly caresses your abused cunt. 

“Seems to me that you do enjoy it, sweetheart,” he says, voice dropping after each word. “Now I want you to count,” 

“W-What?” 

“Count them. We’ll start with ten,” 

“I-I can’t take it,” 

He stills for a moment, then continues when you don’t utter the safeword. 

“You should’ve thought about that before being a brat,” his hand deserts you, leaving you cold and lonely. “Now, count with me: one…” 

“O-One,” 

Your voice is shaky, your throat becoming more sore after every smack. When you finally reach ten, you’re shaking, tears rolling down your cheeks as you whimper his name, begging him to smooth the pain. Much to your surprise he does. You shudder at the way his tongue ghosts above the hurt, numbing the ache between your legs. It doesn’t take him long to rip your orgasm out of you, leaving you breathless and worn out. 

“So good to me,” he mutters into the inside of your thigh. “Let’s get you all cleaned up.” 

kinktober tags: @tusk89 , @amneris21 , @witchisenpai , @pedrito-friskito , @tom-whore-dleston , @lola766 , @batdarkladyvampir , @dindjarinswhore , @dnxgma , @eyelessfaces , @queenofthefaceless , @softtdaisy , @saintlike78 , @timpletance , @xdaddysprincessxx , @stardust-galaxies , @spacecowboyhotch, @queenofthecloudss , @prettyouttherethoughts , @reaperofmen , @partr1dge , @bbyanarchist , @alwaysdjarin , @thevoiceinyourheadx , @absurdthirst , @levi-llama , @damnyoupedro , @stardust-galaxies , @all-the-way-down-here , @welcometostayingawake, @bullet-prooflove , @rainbowcreepie

#william tell x y/n #william tell x reader #william tell x you #william tell fanfiction #the card counter fic #the card counter fanfiction #oscar isaac characters masterlist #oscar isaac characters x reader #oscar isaac characters

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Thank You For Fish

CW: Aftermath of torture, caretaking, glass in skin, captivity, loneliness, isolation, mer whumpee

For @whumptober 2022, day 2: cornered / caged

Signs of the Sea Masterlist, follows directly after Creeping Ambition

-

The sound of the mer's cry echoes off the ceiling and walls, his back arching, fin slapping down against flat with a heavy smack. 

"Sssshhhh, hold still. Just a few more."

The mer whistles and looks up to where the Bahram looms over him. The human man lays a hand on his cold shoulder, palm warm and soft compared to the mer. Brown with red and pink and beige beneath looks odd, in the mer's eyes, much stranger than the familiar cool grayish-white of the mer's rubbery, waterproof skin. 

"Just a few more," The Bahram repeats, and his thumb rubs, soothing, back and forth. Laid out on the platform over the small circle of water he must live in alone, the mer closes his eyes, breathing the water-heavy air through flared nasal slits, gills flat against his neck. 

There's a pause. "I'm sorry," the Bahram says, voice low. 

Then sharp bright pain spikes at his left hip and he whistles, his tail twitching and jerking. "Nnnnn… nnnnnnooo, Bbhhh-rrrmmm," He wails, forcing his lips to form the clumsy, noisy syllables around his sharp fangs, to shift his tongue in their blunt song-speak. 

"It's okay," The Bahram repeats, his jaw set and hard. "Just two more. Hold still for me, just two more…"

The pain suddenly rises again, a wave slamming the mer against a dry hot shore.

 "Got it!"

"Nnnnoooooooo!" The mer's head smacks back into the platform as a glass shard is pulled out from burying itself so deep that Kima feels hot dark blood well up over the skin below his navel. "Nnnnnooooo, sssssstuh-... puh-"

"I can't," The Bahram says, but he pauses, lowering his head. His chin dips, and the mer opens his eyes and whimpers as he watches the saltwater dripping from the Bahram's, running down his face like floodwaters finding the sea. "I have to clean it all up, Kima, it's my-... my job-"

"Nnnno hurrrrt, nnnnoooo…" Kima's voice rises to a shriek, and he jerks upwards only to have the Bahram's strong hand lay flat on his chest to force him back into his back. "Nonono-... Nnnno, nnnno-"

"Last one," The Bahram says, but the mer barely hears the words over his own whistling keens, and they mean nothing, only sounds. 

The last piece of glass is the worst. 

"Okay," The Bahram says, and leans down. His forehead presses against the mer's. His voice is a whisper even though the two of them are alone. "Share with me. Share it."

The mer whimpers and feels the Bahram's thoughts open to his own. Split between them, the hot throb of pain through his stomach and down his tail is lessened. Both of them breathe, and the Bahram's breath is humid, there is water in it. 

Hurt. 

I know, I know, I'm sorry. But if I left them in, they could infect, they'd make it even worse.

Hurt, Bahram. Kima hurt. 

I know, I know… it's over now. 

Give blood? Fish for hurt? 

The guilt and self-loathing that lances through the mer's mind is unfamiliar and hard to read. It washes over him, riptide, steals the very air from his overworked lungs. You don't need to give any more today, Kima. 

Fish? Fish for hurt?

The Bahram pulls back, and looks away from him. The saltwater tears mark his face again. "Yeah," He breathes out loud, and their connection is gone. The pain overwhelms as it returns to him, and the mer whimpers, rolling onto his side, pressing a hand over one of the hurting places and pulling it back to find dark burgundy blood smears along his palm and marking the tips of his claws. 

"I'll get the fish," The Bahram speaks in a heavy voice, signing with hands as his mouth moves, hand flat, fingers up next to his face before he tips his fingers like a cup falling over and moves his hand forward, dropping it down to meet the other in loose shapes like the mer's claws, closing to fists as they move back against his body. Fluidly shifting as he says 'fish' to make the sign Kima knows best, dropping one hand and moving the other, palm facing in, in a wave pattern swimming through air. 

"Fsssshhh," Kima repeats, hopefully, and echoes the gesture with his bloody hand. 

The Bahram swallows hard at the sight, but nods. "Go," He says, and signs, pointing to the tank beneath them. The mer rolls until he is off the platform, falling just a few feet before slipping easily into the water below, gills opening up as nasal slits close. 

The spots where the glass was pulled out ache and sting, but being here in the water again feels so good that Kima can almost ignore it. He swims a slow circle around the tank, stretching out his tail and arms, as the Bahram climbs down the ladder and walks across the room. 

He opens a door, disappears into it, and Kima stays close to the edge, the wall he cannot see that cages him here, so he can watch for the Bahram's return. 

Water rushes and speaks around him. He hears the soft hum of something called the filter, the slosh of water slipping against the invisible walls near the top. He sings, an alone-song, just to give the water a little of the noise that makes it feel more like home. 

Kima hopes for living fish. Now and then fish stunned by the sudden change are dropped into the tank, and the mer hunts them with ferocious zeal, desperate to use his tail as he is meant to, to rip with teeth and tear with claws. 

More often, lately, the fish are already dead. 

Today, it is corpses dropped from the bucket into the water when the Bahram returns. He doesn't stay to watch, just climbs back down the ladder, walks away. 

The mer eats the sad motionless meal, because his stomach is empty if he doesn't, but it isn't right. And the Bahram used to try hard to bring living fish, but he doesn't anymore. 

 Something is wrong with the Bahram, and Kima is frightened because he cannot understand what has changed. 

Like how the Bahram speaks to him less. Instead, he stares and stares at him through the other side of the unseen wall, or he looks away entirely. 

Sometimes Kima watches him as he goes to the seat and moves his fingers over a rectangle, looking into another rectangle that beams a soft blue-tinged light. He wears black plastic circles over his ears, and sometimes laughs or cries as if they speak to him. Sometimes he holds a black thing in his hands while staring at another black-edged thing with moving things inside it that never seem to come out, like there are tiny other worlds trapped in these odd boxes. 

Sometimes, the Bahram eats. He sits with a bowl in his hands and eats slurpy things like narrow white curling worms in a steaming hot liquid, called ramen. When Kima pokes his head up from the water and opens his nasal slits, it smells good. Like salt.

When he eats, the mer knows it means he will soon eat, so he swims rapid circles around this small space, jumps up out of the water to the warm air under the little sun, chirps and clicks to try and make Bahram smile and laugh. 

Sometimes he does. 

Sometimes he doesn't.

These days, days of shared pain and dead fish, the Bahram doesn't speak to him much after the matriarch finishes hurting him. Just watches him, or goes right back to what he does on the boxes. And eventually, the matriarch calls for them again, and they… 

They must go wherever she says, he and the Bahram. The mer must hurt, because she wants to hurt him. And the Bahram must help her do it. 

But after, the Bahram is kind, offering to share his pain and fear. He needs there to be someone kind, and the Miah does not come so much now. 

Last time, she spat signs with her fingers about how she was tired of watching a child die. She didn't know Kima was watching her hands that day. 

But today, just outside the tank, the Bahram is looking, now. He sits on the couch, but he is looking at Kima. 

Kima tips his head to one side, white hair floating around him, gills flaring and closing again as he filters oxygen from the surrounding saltwater. Wide green eyes watch the Bahram as he watches back. 

Thank you for fish, Kima says with his hands in the human way. 

The Bahram looks sad and doesn't answer. 

His hair is dirty and his eyes seem dark and ringed in shadows. Along his jaw is darkness - stubble, the Bahram said once when the mer touched a delicate claw to his face and clicked. Kima blows bubbles under the water, but it doesn't make him smile. So he tries to remember the words, clumsy, claws catching in the water, languid and slow. He draws them from eyes down to jaw, turning his mouth into a frown, then closes all his claws but one and draws an oval from chin to the top of his head and back down again. 

Sad face. 

The Bahram blinks at him, then huffs a laugh. There's no smile in the motion of his shoulders, though, no real warmth. He signs back, mouth moving. If he speaks, Kima can't hear him, really. Just low tones, like a podsong, filtered through the sound of water. "Yes," The Bahram says with his hands and his face, "I think I have a very sad face now. I feel bad for hurting you, but she's right. If I quit, I lose… I lose everything all over again. If she fires me… I can't fail again, Kima. I'm so sorry. I can't fail another thing. Maman's heart would break."

Kima hesitates, hands hovering in the water, trying to turn his own thoughts - thoughts that look like currents and sound like the songs of his family - into the clumsier tooth, claw, tongue words the humans use. 

His tail flipper flicks back and forth, back and forth.  Bruises and scraped spots throb under his skin, where dark blood pools, at wrists and hips where the awful rough human vines tie him down. He tore himself free today, but the wounds rubbed deeper as he did. Everything aches with the beat of his pulse. Everything hurts.  

He touches his forehead with the tips of four claws, then folds three down as he draws his hand back and out, so only the smallest claw and his thumb stand out. 

Why? 

How can heart break?  

"It's a figure of-... Never mind. Why?" The Bahram echoes the motion Kima just made, and then looks to the side, towards the door that the mer is wheeled through. Beyond is the flat table with the tying-down, the pain, the needle-sticks, give blood. Pain that earns him the promise of fish, of food in his yawning, empty belly. 

Beyond that door is the place of matriarch of the Bahram, the female who directs the pod. Where his scales are removed, his skin cut away, sliced into strips the matriarch takes from him to study layers, she says to see how he stays warm. Beyond the door is the pain and terror. 

Kima shifts back through the water, away from even the sight of that door. His heart beats faster, when he follows the Bahram's gaze. 

The Bahram is silent, for a long time.

"Because I'm not getting better," The Bahram says, with only his mouth now. "Because I'm a monster, now, for money, and I thought maybe I wouldn’t care but I do. Because I'm a fucking failure. I'm as caged as you are, just as cornered, but I could leave, if I wanted. And you can't. Because of me.”

The Bahram stands up and walks away, ignoring Kima's signs to ask what he means. Even when he makes a fist and knocks on the tank, Bahram never looks back. He just goes to the desk and sits down with his back to Kima, who droops as he realizes the Bahram will not speak anymore and won't play with him tonight. Not even a little, not even the small gentle play that does not make him hurt any worse.  

He didn't want to play last night either. 

Or the night before. 

The mer winds his way through the water to the little cave he has to sleep in, slipping into the soothing, safer dark space set apart from the otherwise constant light. 

Alone, the mer curls around one of the real things, a soft ball of sea moss that he can hold. He wraps his arms around it and buried his face in its softness. In its tiny spaces he can almost smell the wilder waters he knows must still be out there somewhere, beyond the invisible wall around his little sea, outside and far away from this stone place surrounding him. To the edge of land where it meets the big water, where his pod - somewhere - swims free. 

He may never see them again - but he knows they are out there. 

He wishes the Bahram would play.

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @thefancydoughnut @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @yet-another-heathen @fanmanga1357-blog @justabitofwhump @crystalrainwing @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @orchidscript @whump-tr0pes @hackles-up plus @whumpworldld for whumptober tag list

#whumptober2022 #no. 2 #caged #cornered #captivity #isolation #mer whump #mer whumpee #signs of the sea #reluctant whumper #caretaker and whumpee #glass in skin #aftermath of torture #inhuman whumpee #telepathy #depression tw #blackmailed whumper

[kanamori-kamper-moved]

predictable as FUCK but 💪🏼 or 🩸 for Aztecshipping please?

I’ll do both since they both work well with the scenario I’m imagining, since we briefly spoke about the Prince Yuma and Trey Knight au in DMS and I think that works well with them!!

Also this DOES have trans girl trey propaganda because fuck you

-

Yuma was, admittedly, a person who failed to practice self-preservation. If he wasn’t a prince, he was sure he’d be called stupid, an idiot, frankly a moron. And because of this fact, he’d met Trey.

She was a knight, but if you asked anyone she was more like a bounty hunter, slaying dragons and beasts for the little amount of money she could get from it. Her brother, Quattro, fit the description more, saving ladies from the village whenever they happened to get into danger. Although that was impressive, there was nothing as impressive as seeing Trey swing her sword, to slay a dragon, and wipe the blood off of her face as if nothing had ever happened.

But, of course, The day went as normal, he had planned to pick some berries and visit the Arclights cottage to bake a pie with her. He always enjoyed spending time with her, and how couldn’t he? She was the most beautiful women he knew, and no matter how delicious her pies were, she was always sweeter than it could ever be. The only issue was, Yuma tended to attract danger, almost as if he were a lightening rod for it, and before he knew it, he was being dragged off by a dragon to be ripped limb by limb and eaten.

But the silver lining was that Trey always came riding in on her beautiful white horse to come and save him, she always open carried her sword, already reaching out to get it, before throwing it at the scaly winged beasts neck. Of course, it instantly dropped Yuma comes its claws to recoil and growl in pain, leaving just enough time for him to get away and get away from it.

The way Trey fought was always mesmerizing to him, always memorizing his beloved knights steps. She was always quick on her feet, taking the time that she needed to retrieve her sword, gripping it firmly in her left hand. She was always left handed, never held anything in her right, just another thing to admire about her.

Landing back on her feet, it lunged for her, reaching out its razor sharp claws for her, and Yuma was sure she would evade it.

He was sure.

He was so sure.

While Trey was taking the time to swing her sword at the claw the beast was throwing at her, she barely had the time to process the fact that it was reaching its other claw for her, painfully, deeply scratching her in her abdomen. “Trey!” Yuma called out, “Yuma, stay back! I’m fine! You’ll only get hurt if you try to interfere.”

But as she always did, she had slain the dragon, and all was well.

Except.. it wasn’t.

Trey was bleeding all over herself, blood seeping out of her armor and onto the once green grass. Yuma ran towards her, hugging her tight. “Yuma..” She smiled, almost falling over. “Trey, I have to get you to a doctor! You’re bleeding all over yourself!”

“No, Yuma. You can’t bring me to one of your doctors, they’ll ask me how it happened. I can’t trouble anyone with that.”

“Then I’ll take care of you.” Trey lightly squeaked feeling Yuma pick her up with both of his hands. Trey was older than him, and just a few centimeters taller, SHE was supposed to be the one carrying the cute prince away from danger.

“You know, girls are a lot heavier than they look-“ Yuma grunted, trying his best to hold her up. “But It’s a necessary sacrifice!”

Yuma was minimally athletic, but the adrenaline rushing through him didn’t stop him from running at full force towards the Arclights cottage.

Yuma slammed open the door, helping her upstairs and laying her onto the soft mattress of her bed. “Yuma.. you don’t have to do this..”

“I can’t just let my knight do so much for me, and not do anything in return. That would be selfish of me.”

Yuma lifted off her chest plate, then her pants. “Uhm.. I’ll try not to look too much, of course-“ He blushed, well, he’d never really seen a girl without anything on, well Trey did have something on, but the fact still remained. He failed to understand girls, especially their bodies.

“You’re too cute, it’s fine.” Trey softly smiled, once more. “Just do what you will, my prince.”

Her soft white camisole was completely soaked in blood, Yuma having to lift it up and put it to the side. Her abdomen had 3 nail shaped gashes in it, and even above this fresh one were old ones from previous battles, and of course the wounds weren’t big but she was still bleeding. They were absolutely oozing with blood, bubbling and starting to turn partially black because of the buildup. Yuma had never seen so much blood in his life, but he supposed this was the noble sacrifice a beautiful Knight like her had to make. It’s the job she’d chosen by herself, after all.

He’d fished out some gauze from one of her cabinets per her instructions, wrapping her up and stopping the flow of it dead in its tracks.

“Thank you.. honestly..” Trey breathed with a sigh of relief, although still a tad bit woozy, “Really, it’s nothing! I just didn’t want you to die out there, anyone would want that, I’m sure.”

“Honestly, you should hate me by now. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be getting hurt so much just because of me.”

“Yuma, If I were to hate you, I would’ve already left you a long time ago.” Trey sat up, touching Yumas shoulder. “I choose to save you because If I don’t, who will? If I don’t get hurt at least once, you would never know how much I care for you.”

“I guess thats true…”

“I’m sure Quattro will be angry with me when he comes home and sees me like this, but it’ll be worth it, I think.” Quattro never did like Yuma after all, to be honest he was never fond of boys who’d go in the pursuit of his darling sister, “But, let’s go downstairs. I saw you were picking berries earlier, let’s make a pie. I liked the way you carried me up like that, almost like you were my knight, you can do that again, if you’d like.”

“O-Of course!”

And so they did, and maybe, even if the day hadn’t gone as planned, she still remained as sweet.

#Yugioh zexal #aztecshipping #michael arclight #trey arclight #yuma tsukumo #Anthys writing

[cock-holliday]

Fictober22 -- Day 21

Fandom: TXF

[Set during End Game]

WC: 1391

Cold. Unimaginable cold. 

The ice pressed to Mulder’s cheek and he knew he should roll back over. Despite the numbness, the sharp bite of the ice seared into his mind. It hurt so much. Everything hurt. His lungs burned. His body was aching as the virus began to rip through him. The pain was incredible, but the freezing numbness somehow felt even worse.

With great effort he rolled onto his back, staring up at the night sky.

He didn’t tell anyone where he had gone. Not even Scully.

Especially Scully, he thought to himself.

He left a note. Vague in the details of his journey, and now he wished he had said more. Maybe not how to find him--her venturing after him would have been too great a risk, even if it meant saving him. No, not to come find him, but to not leave quite so much unsaid.

He let out a shuddering cough, feeling the weight of regret settle in his chest.

This couldn’t be the end. Not with everything he had seen and heard.

She’s alive, Mulder thought, You can’t stop here. You have to get up.

He forced himself to roll onto his side. It was so cold. The temptation to just curl up and sleep was too great. He could just rest a moment, then he could go. His eyes fluttered closed.

No.

His eyes opened slowly, and he tried to bring the snowy nothingness around him into focus. If this was going to be his end, he needed to get a message out to Scully. She would keep looking, wouldn’t she? If he told her Samantha was still out there--would she carry on the mission in his name?

He wasn’t sure.

Scully had been assigned to him. First to debunk and discredit. Then they became partners, in the truest sense of the word. She would follow him through hell--she had. Wasn’t that why he had to tell her to stay away? She would have chased him here, to this fresh frozen hell. 

Still, if she would continue searching, he didn’t want to leave her alone to do it.

It had been isolating work. Devastating work. Trying to find hope.

Now he had some and he was going to lay down and die? No. This can’t be it. This can’t be the end of the road, not when he finally had something to hope for.

He pulled himself into a seated position, letting out a cry of pain. Everything was frozen but burned at the same time. It was hard to move. It was hard to breathe. How he was going to get out of here he had no idea, but he had to try. Now that the sub was gone, there was no major landmark to signal his location. He was stranded in the middle of a large expanse of nothing. At night. He needed to make himself visible.

He struggled to his feet, whimpering at the wave of pain the movement caused him. He stumbled backwards, nearly falling back down, but catching himself, his boots skidding in the snow.

He looked around. There had to be something he could walk towards. It was ten miles back to his vehicle. He certainly couldn’t make it back there.

He turned to the direction he had hiked and began walking.

He didn’t get more than twenty feet before his legs buckled and he fell, crashing to his knees in the snow.

“No!” he yelled, holding himself up with his arms.

He couldn’t go down like this.

He began to crawl, desperation clawing at him.

When his arms gave out, tears welled in his eyes, stinging as they began to freeze even before rolling down.

He commanded his body to move, but it wouldn’t listen. He simply remained prone, screaming in his mind.

Get up! He pleaded, you have to keep moving. You can’t give up now.

He thought of Samantha. He could see her so clearly in his mind. Her as a child. Her now. He thought he lost her again, but she was still out there.

He thought of Scully.

With all the strength he had left, he licked his lips, wetting them to speak.

He hoped against all logic that Scully could hear him, “She’s alive, Scully…” he whispered into the snow, “Samantha’s alive…please…keep looking for her.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if by sheer willpower he could send this message to Scully.

And then he passed out.

-----

Scully, when you get this message, I will be too far away for you to stop me, but where I'm going I cannot allow you to follow. I won't let you jeopardize your life and your career for reasons purely personal to me. You were right, Scully... you said a line has to be drawn somewhere. I'm drawing it for you here. I'll contact you when I can. 

Scully replayed his message over and over in her head on the flight to Alaska. Once she had the coordinates, she had pulled out all the stops to recover Mulder. She and Skinner contacted anyone and everyone they could think of. Entire squads of search and rescue were dispatched. Helicopters. Boats. All-terrain vehicles. The area would be combed over immediately.

She hadn’t even reached the base before she got word that they found him.

Half-alive, face-down in the snow. Surrounded by white nothingness.

But alive.

She had no idea if he even reached his destination. He had been found not far from the coordinates, but there wasn’t anything in the ice and snow. Just Mulder.

They were life-flighting him in, emergency teams on standby.

They’d reach the base before she did, but not by much. She would need to intercept them. They weren’t going to know how to treat him.

In the end, Scully hardly knew how to treat him. She knew what to do to keep him alive. To prevent the medical staff from stopping his heart again. Beyond that, it was guesswork. This retrovirus was going to take extensive exhaustive work.

But it would be worth it.

Mulder was holding on, and Scully was not going to give up.

Mulder slept peacefully through it all; his body so terribly exhausted. Scully didn’t sleep. Didn’t rest. Didn’t stop. A constant thrumming ran through her mind at every trial and tribulation that stood between her and a cure: do not give up. You have to keep going. You have to keep looking…

When his treatment finally began to take effect and the virus was slowly cleared from his body—then and only then could Scully finally rest.

She pulled herself away from Mulder, allowing herself a moment’s privacy in an adjacent room. She was shaking. A terrible caffeine and adrenaline and exhaustion-mixed reaction that was beginning to crest. Steadying her breath, she let herself cry.

A strangled sob escaped her and she hugged her arms to herself, finally allowing the emotions she had been tamping down to surface.

She almost lost him. Too too many times.

But she didn’t, she reminded herself. He fought hard, and she fought too.

Composing herself, she returned to Mulder’s room, watching for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

He was alive.

He was going to make it.

Scully slid into a chair at his bedside, curling up to nap. She couldn’t manage to be away from him right now. Even the thought of sleep made her nervous, but she couldn’t continue on like this any longer. He wouldn’t be waking up soon anyway.

His body was too weak and weary. He’d need to rest. So would she.

She took his hand in hers. His normally warm hand was ice cold, but not as cold as it had been. She squeezed, trying with all her might to send him a message with the gesture. Her own little code. One squeeze for ‘everything is going to be okay.’ Two squeezes for ‘don’t do this to me again. I can’t bear to lose you.’ Three squeezes for ‘I lo–

No, she put a stop to that line of thinking immediately.

That was the exhaustion talking.

She settled into her chair, deciding against letting go of Mulder’s hand. She’d lend him her warmth, and he’d give her something to hold onto while she slept. 

Proof he was alive.

Proof he was safe with her.

#txf #msr #txf fanfic #xf fanfic #fictober22 #day 21

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Ground Zero

Summary: All you know is that you are screaming. -- Where the tragedy began.

[cw: major character death, mild depictions of gore]

Read on AO3

All you know is that you are screaming.

There is fire licking down your skin and melting the tissues of your not-flesh. The ectoplasm splits. Fuses. Molecule-by-goddamn-molecule you are broken apart and put back together.

It is difficult to condense Plasmius into something smaller. You could feel his—(his. Yours. There is no distinction. Not any more)—limbs shrinking, chest being crushed and compressed, sharp features forcibly sanded down to fit the youthful mold that you—the You who was at one point Danny Phantom but no longer—provided.

It’s always easier to cut away than to grow out.

Danny taught you that.

But the hardest part about merging, about becoming whole—

No. No, this is wrong. This is not right. You are not whole you are not whole you are not whole you are not—

Synapses begin to fire and your head is screaming to be torn open because it can’t—

Who are you?

You are a forty-five-fourteen-year-old high-school-businessman and an only-child-a-younger-brother. You had two best friends: Jack-Tucker and Maddie-Sam and they’re dead and gone and—

You died instantly-slowly in a portal-accident-hospital-bed.

Your name is—

Your name is—

Something falls to the floor with a loud thump. 

Why it’s little Danny! What a clumsy boy he is, falling from the operating table like that. Didn’t you warn him to stay still? It’s why you strapped him down in the first place. Squirming would only make the procedure hurt, and didn’t Danny want the pain to all go away?

Well, it’s not going to go away. 

You pin Danny to the floor by his throat, thumbs digging into his Adam's apple. Absently, you wonder how much force it would take to pierce through the cartilage. You would like to break it. To split it open like how you would crack open a pomegranate. To see with great clarity the larynx—the voice box—that ordered your own demise.

You press harder.

He is choking, gasping for air. Blunt nails scratch down the side of your arms before holding your wrist in a vice grip, trying to wrench your hands away. Trying to push everything on you again, because it is always Phantom’s fault, always Phantom’s responsibility. Never Danny.  Never weak and plain and human  Danny. 

Well guess what, Danny?

At least Phantom never cheated on a test!

You laugh gleefully—it sounds grating to your ears—and squeeze. 

He tries to kick you off but his pitiful attempts fail. The anesthesia doomed him, but even without it, Danny would never have succeeded. 

He had always been weak. Weak before you came along and made him something better, something more. If it wasn’t for you, Danny would have died in that fucking portal. Died a disgrace, an idiot. Another line in a long list of examples of why lab safety is so important and how peer pressure could get you killed. 

But you— you gave him another chance at life. But if he hated you so much, then fine.

You’ll simply take back what you gave him. 

Crack. 

Danny falls limp. His arms and legs splayed out on the floor, neck tilted at an unnatural angle in your hands. 

“What have you done?” Said Vlad—the Vlad that is not Plasmius, not you. You do not turn to look at him. It doesn’t matter. He cannot hurt you any more.

You look down at what might have once been your dead body.  There’s a ring of violent bruises blooming at the throat. Clouded blue eyes reflect your own disjointed appearance.  Fear imprints itself onto the face; the horror of his own creation, his own death mask.

You look at this corpse. At this thing that was once you but no longer— because he decided to discard you as if you were nothing—and feel…

Cold.

Unsatisfied.

You look down at your inhuman not-skin, at the flecks of blood that coated the tips of your claws. You look at this body, at this boy whose skin you once inhabited, whose corpse you once breathed life into. Who blamed you for every hurt even though it was He who—

In the span of a snap, your wrathful fury has been doused. Your vengeance stymied by your own stupid, impulsive actions. Now, Danny (half-of-you-hurting-cruel-child-betrayer-betrayer-betrayer) is dead. 

The irreconcilable truth is this: death is a mercy.

Death is the ending of a cycle. The ending of life, of thought, of joy and sorrow and suffering. Danny is dead and gone by your own hands, and with him he takes the target of his ire. 

But you— monster of two halves, abomination of nature, a writhing mass of half-formed ghosts screaming in agony at the incompatibility that took shape into something vaguely human—do not want this anger to end. Not like this. Not so quickly. Not when Danny has the mercy of an ending while you must go on living an eternity in suffering. 

Vlad’s voice is shaking, frigid like the last brittle leaf of a dying tree. “What have you done?”

What have you done? 

You bare your teeth in an imitation of a smile and stare into the clouded eyes of a boy that played at Heroes. 

“Not enough.”

#danny phantom #dan phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #dp fanfiction #vlad masters #the ultimate enemy

[nothingkillsyoulikeyourmind105]

Betrayal

Chapter 10

Master List Betrayal Series

Part 2

Warning: Mentions of Death, Violence,Depression, Suicide, Breaking Up, Torture, Blood, Explicit Language.

“Take me to Eddie”

Audrey stood up from the bed her legs still a little wobbly but she managed.

“Audrey can you stand on your own?”

Bruce asked her as she held the bed to stabilize her.

“Audrey I tried to reason with them but they wouldn’t listen. I can’t guarantee his safety.”

Natasha held her cold stare to Audrey. She glanced over to Bruce in hopes he had any additional information he would like to share.

“Audrey, Nat is right we are walking into a delicate situation especially in your condition. Please don’t do anything drastic. We can find a way to reason with Tony.”

“I can walk Bruce. Take me to him.”

“NOW!”

Holding Cells

Tony continuously watched Eddie pacing his cell. Steve paced back and forth discussing the incident that took place earlier.

“Tony the team is at a disagreement with this?”

Steve stopped pacing the room. Deep in thought he mentioned the first thing that came to mind.

“We don’t know what he is?” “Where did he come from?”

Tony swiped through all the classified documents from Hydra that they recovered from previous missions.

The sound of an alarm blaring.

Tony had accidentally hit the lockdown button for Eddie’s cell.

Venom and Eddie fought to stay together but the pain was too great for Venom.

Separating from each other Eddie laying on the ground trying to crawl to Venom.

Venom body form resemble slime.

His movements were scattered everywhere. Sharp spikes stretching everywhere.

Tony and Steve watched.

They had found his weakness and a way to separate them.

Tony shut the alarm off. Watching the black matter be absorbed into Eddie’s body.

Eddie lied on the ground. His mind and body in excruciating pain. All he could think about was Audrey. His pain didn’t stop him from fighting to stand up and try to say something before they could anything to hurt him or Venom.

Audrey was walking with Bruce and Natasha when she felt his pain. She thought about what her dad said to her.

She had to make things right.

“You guys go ahead I need a minute with him”

“Sure thing”

“Sam and Wanda just got back I’ll fill them in on the situation”

Natasha and Bruce walked down to the lobby to brief their team mates on the current situation with Tony and Steve.

Meanwhile in the Kitchen

Bucky paced the kitchen. Brushing his fingers through his hair he tried to calm his emotions. He felt like his heart would burst out of his chest.

The way Audrey looked at him. Made him sad, but frightened of her, she looked broken.

Pacing the kitchen made him have a panic attack. He gasped for air, clawing at his throat he kept trying breathe slowly. His eyes watered up.

Everything started to turn black.

Was this it.

No one around to help him with his panic attack.

Steve promised him he would help him if he ever needed it. But this time he wasn’t around. And he was at a loss with everyone. No one accepted his apology for what he did to Audrey.

The cold floor cooled his overheated body. Lying in silence alone. He deserved to be alone.

“But wait?”

Soft warm hands caressed his face. Brushing the stray hairs out of his face. He felt at peace.

Then in the darkness he hears her.

Hearing her hum to him was what grounded him when he was at his worse.

He couldn’t help but cry in her arms.

He felt tears fall on his face. Just as he opened his eyes he saw her “his girl”

“Audrey”

“I Hate You”

“I Fuckin Hate That My Heart Aches For You”

“I’m human and I have emotions and I care for you”

“I can’t let you suffer like this. I saw my dad. I loved him so much he was the only person that mattered to me. But he’s gone. And I promised him to make things right.”

Audrey tried to hold back a sob. She started to sob uncontrollably while holding Bucky in her lap.

“I can’t keep hating you the way I did. I forgive you. But I choose Eddie.”

“I love him.”

“Eddie Brock I love him.”

“I forgive you”

“The pain you put me through made me realize how delicate my heart is and how dangerous I am if I stay here. I’m a different. And being different can be dangerous. Eddie and I are alike. He has a beautiful soul.”

“And I love him.”

“If I lose him then I will lose myself. I will become unstoppable, dangerous, fueled by grief and anger.”

“Take care of yourself please forget about me. Stop hanging onto the past let me go.”

Audrey leaned down to Bucky’s forehead with a kiss she put him to sleep.

“Forgive me father. I had to do it”

Audrey walked away.

Holding Cells

The sound of the door closing in the holding cell area echoed in the room Tony and Steve stood in.

“Oh my god, what have you done?”

Audrey ran to his glass wall. Where Eddie slumped over covered in sweat, he shivered uncontrollably.

In another room Venom jumped all over his glass cell. Trying to reach Eddie.

“Eddie, My Love?”

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?”

“I wouldn’t do that kiddo?”

Tony interrupted over the intercom.

“You’re A Fuckin Monster Stark!”

“Am I Though? You’re boyfriend here is a murderer?”

Tony stared at Audrey aggressively through the glass window.

“Let him go?”

“He didn’t do anything wrong, he didn’t hurt anyone?”

Tears streaming down her face. She held back her transformation. The anger was building up against her. Her blood boiled.

“Audrey Darling This Is Your Last Warning”

Tony chimes in on the intercom.

Wanda, Sam and Bruce, Natasha walked into the room Tony and Steve were in. They all disagreed with the decisions that the guys made about Eddie.

Tony and Steve presented their argument. But Wanda had a peek in Eddie’s memories. There she saw the carnage that Venom had done to some bank robbers and some prisoners.

After she witnessed the carnage the Venom had done. She sided with Tony and Steve about sending Eddie to the Raft. She was against it at first but she saw what he was capable of. And it frightened her.

Bruce didn’t want to take a side. He had a soft spot for Audrey in his heart. He couldn’t bare another moment of hurting Audrey. He walked away with his heart in his hands.

Sam thought about both arguments. But seeing what Eddie was he agreed to have Eddie sent to The Raft. Seeing that it was best for Audrey and the safety of everyone around him. He couldn’t look at Audrey. Having to side with Tony and Steve he simply walked away.

Natasha argued with Steve and Tony about the decision they were making. When everyone noticed that Bucky wasn’t around.

Steve ran out of the room. Looking through the hall’s, balcony, the kitchen and living he didn’t see him. Running down the hall to his room he bursted into Bucky’s room he found him lying down in his room. Cold to the touch he tried to wake him but he was lost in a dream like state. He started to panic thinking he lost his best friend. He stormed back to the holding cell area. He grab Audrey by the neck choking her.

“What did you do to him?”

Steve lifted Audrey off the ground. Tears running down his face.

“He’s sleeping.”

Audrey trying to get lose from Steve grip.

But her eyes turned black she started to transform right in front of everyone. She overpowered Steve grip on her neck.

Dropping to her knees she looked up. Her eyes glowed black and red. Her fangs stuck out. Her fingers had turned black.

“I trusted you all and this is how we end things?”

Feel free to comment and reblog. Thank you for reading. 🖤🖤❤️❤️

#marvel fanfic writer #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel fanfic series #marvel fanfiction #bucky angst #eddie brock #venom #read more #eddiebrockxfemcharacter #buckyxfemcharacter

[princessbunnyblossom]

You’re not what you seem.

Everything on the apple farm seemed alright, the sun was shining the farm was as if should be and yet, Andy the apple can’t help but feel like something isn’t right with himself. Like he doesn’t belong as though something is off and after playing a game of tag with a certain pumpkin that feeling only intensifies. This is probably my first fic on Andy’s apple farm but I hope you guys like it none less. Please enjoy and don’t forget to comment. 

He was having that same nightmare again, he was running through a large pumpkin patch. The sky dimmining into darkness right after the sunset faded back into the earth. The sky now was full of a dark blue mixing with indigo swirling with the pale colors of yellow and blue.

It was getting so dark.

The small apple remembered he was running away from someone..or something. As he turned around he could see the macabre creature. It was incredibly tall with elongated limbs. It’s ribs and bones poking out through black ash almost leathery skin. At least the apple assumed it was skin and on its head was one large pumpkin with a massive single eye staring dead at him as it chased him down the pumpkin patch.

The scariest thing about the creature was that it knew his name. Calling to him in this distorted garbled tone which sounded utterly demonic to the young apple farmer. He could feel the creature gaining on him making the small apple run even faster as he could practically feel it’s sharp fingertips brush against his shoulders trying to grab him with its long arms.

Andy panted running as fast as his legs could carry him. He breathed heavily as his lungs were practically burning from how much he was breathing and running. It was getting much darker now with the sky now a midnight violet to deep dark blue and the creature was gaining speed on him.

Andy ran as fast as he could through the pumpkin patch trying his best not to lose his footing and fall. By then the sky was darker now almost pitch black and the creature was getting closer to him. To make matters worse Andy could hear strange sounds and to his horror more of them appeared through the pumpkin patch there had to be four of them. All staring down the small apple with their single large eyes and they were hot on Andy’s trail.

He doesn’t know how long can keep running, but he didn’t want to get caught . Andy didn’t want to imagine what those things might do to him once they caught him.

It hurts. His chest is aching and his legs are sore, Andy can’t stop though he needs to find a safe spot first, a place of shelter. There had to be one somewhere around here, but all the small farmer could see was a vast field of pumpkins.

… … …

There would be no possible way for Andy to ever think of finding shelter, there was nothing. Not to mention how sore and tired his body was it would be a miracle before he found any place to rest.

Andy was screwed no matter what.

Andy gasped for breath trying to stop at a joggers pace only for him to lose his footing over one of the many pumpkin vines and fell onto the cold soil of the pumpkin patch. He groaned trying to sit up as he remembered those ungodly pumpkin creatures from hell were still chasing him and before the small apple could gather his bearings one of those monsters successfully got to him first.

Andy cried out in horror as the blackened claw tore through the fabric of his shirt eventually tearing through skin causing the poor apple to shriek in pain from the deep gash he now had.

There was blood, a lot of it pooling and seeping through the fabric of his right arm. It was a deep cut too and it might become a scar one day. Andy hissed holding his right arm trying to back away from the creature in front of him only for him to back into another one.

Andy yelped, feeling cold claw like hands grasp his shoulders. Andy tried to struggle against the creature as he watched horrified as the other pumpkin creatures started surrounding him , their single one eyes staring at the trembling apple who could only stare back as they all attacked him at once clawing at him.

All of them attacked. Sharp claws, grabbing ,tearing away fabric and skin. Andy could feel blood spill out of bus injuries crying out in pain as he tried to push them off of him only for one of them to grab the small apple and drag him back into the vicious attack. Andy tried crying out for help but it looked like no one would save him.

“Stop! Please! Stop!” Andy shrieked.

There was no response as they tore at him mercilessly Andy swore he could see some of them with with mouths full of sharp teeth glinting through the darkness causing the poor apple to whimper, they were all looking at him with such intense hunger.

Andy could only shutter as he didn’t want to know what they might do, their intent right now was far from friendly. Andy could only watch as they began approaching him their sharp teeth looking threatening and as the small apple tried scampering away to freedom he was grabbed again and held firmly in place.

N”n-no let go o-of me!” Andy cried.

The creatures did no such thing as they began opening their moth revealing sharp teeth causing Andy to shutter and without warning they chomped down on Andy’s shoulder blood gushed from the area as razor sharp teeth bit deep into his skin as blood seeped all over him. The poor apple’s screams of pain echoed around the pumpkin patch.

“No! N-no stop! Ahhhh!” Andy screamed.

The small apple now bleeding held his injured shoulder wincing at how badly it hurt.

Andy could only watch as the creatures as they all surrounded him and without warning attacked again. Tearing off clothes , biting, scratching leaving the apple farmer screening in horror as he was nothing but a bloody heap covered in scratches and bruises but now it felt like he was too weak to run from any of them.

He did attempt to struggle against one of them who proceeded to throw him over its shoulder, bringing him to a barn he had never seen before. Once he was sat in the floor and that's when he heard a different voice.

Oddly calm yet low like a growl.

“Close the door.”

Andy watched as the pumpkin creature made a gurgling noise before eventually obeying its master and doing what it was told, leaving the small apple in total darkness. Andy helplessly looked around and stood up weakly holding his shoulder…well everything honestly hurt. The small farmer could feel that someone was here and the poor thing limped looking for a way out only to jump when he heard the same voice again.

“Hello?” Andy called out.

“Hello there, I see you met some of my creatures, they can be rough so apologies in advance.”

Andy could only stare at where the voice was coming from and seemed a little irritated by the care free almost nonchalant tone of voice. Those things tried to kill him.

Andy snapped out of his thoughts as he saw a figure moving in the darkness.

That’s when Andy spotted a pair of green eyes glowing vibrantly through the darkness as the voice spoke up again but this time it sounded distorted and disturbing to say the least.

“However I can’t say what I’m about to do will justify what you’ve gone through.”

The small apple gasped as he could feel something wrap around his waist and wrist and glanced down seeing pumpkin vines wrapped themselves tightly against him dragging the poor farmer towards the demonic voice. Andy struggled to break free from the vines but they seemed to have a vice like grip on him and the small apple yelped as he was pulled forward with such force causing him to crash to the floor being dragged and Andy could practically hear his own heart beat loudly through his chest out of sheer horror.

What was gonna happen to him? Who exactly was doing this and why did they sound so terrifying? Andy gasped breath caught in his throat as he felt a cold claw-like hand lifted him up and held him firmly in place. The same voice chuckled darkly causing the poor apple to shutter.

“Pl-please just stop. Please just let me-;”

Andy didn’t have time to finish that sentence as he could feel teeth , sharp teeth sink into the crook of his neck. The pain, the pain was immense Andy could feel blood gush out of the wound and spill down his neck and arm. The pain could only be described as hot iron shards repeatedly stabbing his flesh.

It hurt. It hurt far worse than what that pumpkin creature had done to him and the poor apple could only scream in sheer pain of what his mind and body were experiencing.

“Aaaaahhhhh!” Andy loudly shrieked .

He thrashed around helplessly as he could feel those god forsaken teeth sink further into his flesh making him scream louder causing him to thrash harder but those strong hands firmly kept him in place unknowingly lifting him in the air for better access as the poor boy kicked and thrashed wildly in the air.

It hurts! It hurts so much the pain is too much. Please someone make it stop.

It seemed as though Andy’s wish would be granted as those teeth were oh so painfully and slowly removed from the small farmers neck causing him to yelp in pain shaking violently as he could practically smell the blood on him.

Andy must’ve looked pathetic covered in his own tears and snot as well as his blood which had to be soaking through his clothes.

Andy whimpered, feeling a sharp tongue lapping up the blood wound, seemingly happy with what they were tasting.

“Sweet,” the dark voice purred in a low growl sending a shiver down the apple’s spine.

Andy wanted to ask what they found sweet but he kept quiet as he sucked in a breath and the small apple cried out as he was dropped onto the cold floor and groaned as his vision began blurring and fading.

Andy gasped, sitting up shaking. in a cold sweat, he looked around seeing that he was still in his room before sighing and rubbing his face before getting out of bed. That dream he had or rather a nightmare seemed to stick with him.

Everything about it seemed real, the sounds, the smells, even that horrific voice. Andy shuttered trying to brush off the awful feeling. He needed to get to work anyway.

#fanfic #andy’s apple farm #aaf fanfic #andy the apple #peter the pumpkin