#malice makes whump

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫

After an eternity of being held against your will, and just as long having been forced to watch your alpha suffer at the hands of the wicked, an opportunity arose. An opportunity so rare, so unique, that it would never be offered again. It was time to escape, and it was time to bathe the halls in their blood — never again would you be held by the bars of a cell, not if he could stop it.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Alpha!Winter Soldier x Pet!Omega!F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 2.0k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — Angst, whump, gore, background character death (graphic), DARK THEMES, fluff, omegaverse, Protective!Winter Soldier is an understatement

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — I am on a new kick, sue me.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 — Where Is Your God Now by Rok Nardin — Ambush by Trevor Morris — Darkness of Light by Secession Studios

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 — @allcapsbingo 𝗜𝟱 — Hydra Base — Masterlist

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Ragged clothes rubbed against your sensitive, raw skin, and you whimpered in your throat – the sound barely making it past your lips as they hauled you to the cells deep within the base.

For years you had been kept as a pet, as a thing for the Soldat to expend his anger and fury, for him to toy and play with, some meek prey. Merely an omega for an alpha to claim; one of the deadliest. 

That’s what they imagined you to be, at least.

When that bank vault of a cell door slammed behind you and the guards disappeared, gleeful at the idea of you being beaten or attacked to within an inch of your life, you blinked rapidly in the darkness to find the occupant, who, ordinally, would have made your blood run cold. 

Not now. 

Not when he was still in his black tactical suit, beaten and bloodied, head lolling on the wall as he looked up at you. There was a ghost of an expression in his eyes – blank with malice and a predatory glint. The mask that covered the lower half of his face was splattered with a manner of fluids that made your stomach turn. 

He didn’t recognise you, and your blood ran cold at the implication. You slowly showed your hands; steel grey eyes watched every inch of movement. “Soldat,” you whispered, and he blinked twice. 

The stench of exhaustion was bitter on your senses, burning your sinuses, and an overwhelming urge to calm, to comfort, overcame you. You ventured closer, feet silent over the damp cement of his cell. 

“Soldat,” you repeated. “Alpha, come home.” 

He looked closer at you, expression drawn and tight, until a glimpse of recognition softened his features and he launched to his feet. “Malyutka–you are hurt,” he rasped, and his hands – one metal, one bloodied flesh – immediately brushed against your sides and over your sore ribs. “Oh, my little one, where else? Tell me.”

You pointed at your knee and your head. “H-Hit me, there. And I dun’ wan’ do as they said-” A loud hiccuped sob interrupted your explanation. Soldat’s cold thumb brushed your cheek and a growl made his chest rumble, a sound that soothed you. “They–” His hands guided yours to his chest holster. 

“Breathe,” he reminded gently, encouraging you wordlessly to take from him – take what you needed. You gripped the straps and leant into his warmth, leeching the comfort. 

“They- They hurt me,” you whimpered. 

“Come,” he murmured, and he slowly guided you towards his cot. It was a glorified stretch of canvas between affixed metal poles, and the singular blanket was threadbare, but you went willingly. 

The metal groaned in protest as he sat down, back against the wall, and he pulled you close, gesturing at his lap. “Come here. Sit.” 

Without protest, you straddled his lap, your bare thighs rubbing against the rough canvas of his pants and leather straps of his weapon holsters. “Alpha,” you murmured, tucking your nose into his neck. 

Soldat’s hand cupped the back of your neck in a firm hold, a low growl still in his throat. “They will pay,” he snarled, and for the first time, a thrill of fear coiled around your already rapidly beating heart. “Do not worry, little one–I will make them pay.”

You blinked through tears and murmured into his neck, “How–? We are stuck.”

He shook his head and he held your waist. You pulled back from his neck to stare into his eyes, only there was a crinkle in the corner of one; a deadly smirk hidden by the muzzle. “Not any longer, malyutka. They think with how I have completed my missions that I do not need to be wiped as often–I have not seen that chair in three days.” 

Gasping sharply, you gripped the holsters in your filthy hands. “What–?”

“I have been taken all through the base. They think I am nothing but a mere shell–I can get us out.” The words made a torrent of ice cascade into your stomach, and he sensed it. “I need to get you out. I need to take care of you, little one. You are my omega, my dragotsennyy.”

“Where will we go?” you quietly asked, staring into those steely eyes. “Where will we be safe, alpha?”

“I will find you a safe haven,” he promised, and he brought your forehead to his. You could feel his breath through the slits of his mask and you matched his rhythm. “You will be safe–never set foot in a cell again, be hurt again.” His hand pushed your face back into his neck and you nuzzled there, breathing deep and taking in the scent of protective alpha. 

“Trust you, alpha,” you mumbled, and he hummed in response. 

It could have been hours later, or days, when he suddenly moved; hair tickled your cheek with his whip-like focus. “We need to move. Now,” he rushed, placing you on your feet. 

“But–”

He shook his head and pulled you to the wall next to the door, shielding you with his bulk. “You must stay behind me at all times.” Resting a hand on his belt, you nodded just as the cell door opened with a loud creak. 

“Well, I can’t see a body-” Gurgling and sputtering cut the guard’s words short, and you realised, horrorstruck, that your alpha’s metal hand was covered in blood, clutching what was the guard’s windpipe. 

Blood sprayed the walls and the guard slumped to the floor with wide eyes, choking on his own blood with a rattling gargle. The radio on his belt went wild with chatter and screams of containment breach. 

“Move,” Soldat commanded, and you followed behind him, hand still on his lower back. “I will take you to the-” More guards crowded the corridors – all of them carried guns and other weapons, all of them looked ready to kill. 

“Malyutka, hide.” Hands shoved you to the side and into a metal locker before slamming the door. There was a commotion and shouts for weapons to be lowered before chaos broke loose. 

Bullets sprayed the wall next to you and you screamed, instinctively ducking and covering your head as they peppered the cement and metal by your legs – they weren’t shooting to kill, you thought. 

Grunts and yells of pain filled your ears but you didn’t hear a single thing from your alpha, not even a shout, when all of the gunfire ceased. The door suddenly opened and you were bathed in light. “Are you hit?” Soldat asked gruffly, his face covered in blood. “Did they get you?”

You shook your head timidly. “No–I am fine.”

His hand grabbed your arm and he pulled you out of the locker. The floor was a river of blood and the walls were covered with trails of crimson – a stark contrast to the clinical white you were used to. 

“There is a window of time between the next wave,” Soldat explained, leading you down a service corridor by some boilers. “Here.” He shoved you in front of him as he plied the drywall away with his bare hands, revealing a dumbwaiter. “Get in. This leads to the surface, straight to the truck bay. Hide in the closest locker, I will find you.”

“What about you–”

“Do not argue, little one, I need you safe. Go,” he rushed, pushing you into the dumbwaiter. “I will find you, do not worry.”

Before you could argue, the dumbwaiter began to move and the last you saw of your Soldat was the back of his head as he turned and ran back down the corridor. The contraption shuddered and groaned as it moved, and you guessed it was ancient. 

Moments later it came to a shaky stop and revealed the expansive truck bay. Heavy footfalls and more shouts were echoing off the walls and through to the outside world – a pack of guards ran close by the dumbwaiter as you squeaked in fear. 

In the chaos, they did not see you and you breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, you eased your sore body out of the cramped space and looked around, desperately searching for the locker your alpha had commanded you to hide in, when you spotted it – hidden in a nook of the wall and next to some kind of electrical equipment. 

It was a tight fit, but you pushed yourself into the space and you waited, breath shaky and stomach curdling in fear. “Please be safe,” you whispered to the stale air. “I need you.”

You could hear guards yelling and screaming; heavy footsteps of armoured men ran by you and crashed into the many doors that led off the bay. Gunfire echoed even through the thick walls and whenever one of the doors swung open, you caught a whiff of iron laced with pure, unbridled terror, and underneath it all, the gunpowder, leather scent of your alpha. 

He was close.

The seconds, minutes, hours ticked by, but you remained, still as stone in your hiding place, when you heard the thump of boots and squelch of wet leather by the dumbwaiter. Whoever it was reeked of iron and it smothered their natural scent. “Malyutka, ty tam?”

Before you thought better of it, you burst through the door of the locker and came face to face with your alpha, who was covered in blood and ash – the black mask that covered the lower half of his face was gone, too. You gasped and covered your mouth in shock. “I- I didn’t know it was you!”

“Spokoynyy, little one,” he soothed, “I know you are scared, it is alright.” You took a deep breath as he looked around the bay. There was an emergency shower in the corner. “Come, we will get rid of their scent and we will run, we need to get out of here.” He stalked towards the cubicle and glanced over his shoulder at the door he must have come out of. “I did not leave a single one alive, but that does not mean they did not call for more.”

“I don’t want to stay here,” you whispered, looking over your own shoulder at the trail of blood behind you both. 

The water of the shower was freezing and your teeth chattered through the worst of it, but your alpha stayed close, manifesting an outfit from nowhere to dry and clothe you with. 

As you rubbed your arms for warmth, he stood in the shower cubicle and scrubbed at his body until the water circling the drain turned from red, to pink, to clear. Once he dried himself, he dressed in similar clothes to his tactical suit, but more discreet – covering his arm and hiding his bulk with the loose fit. 

You couldn’t help but smile as he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards a black car, windows as dark as the paint, and he pulled open the passenger door. The interior was clean and sleek, and he slid into the driver’s seat. 

The seat belt was a foreign sensation across your chest as you buckled in at his insistence. “Where are you taking us?”

“I know of a man that owes them,” he gestured to the base. “Well, he owed them something. It is not known of my defection, so, he will be of use.”

Nodding slowly, you glanced around the car, happy to feel the bonds of your captors fade by the moment.  

Soldat paused suddenly, his fingers that were playing with colourful wires freezing as he looked at you, his eyes bright. “You are happy.” With his mask gone, you could see his nostrils flaring as he greedily scented the air for your sweet, content scent; one that truly never saw the light of day in that cell. “Takoy krasivyy aromat, i mne nravitsya videt' tebya schastlivym, malyutka.”

You reached for his forearm and squeezed. “We are free,” you said quietly, careful to watch his eyes to see the fondness there, of what he only held for you. “And I have you, alpha.”

malyutka = little one dragotsennyy = precious ty tam = are you there takoy krasivyy aromat, i mne nravitsya videt' tebya schastlivym = such a beautiful scent, and I love seeing you happy

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #allcapsbingo2023 #rookthorne's works

[afewproblems]

Season Two Halloween AU Part Eight

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six Part Seven

Synopsis: What if Eddie had been at Tina's Halloween Party in Season Two? Featuring Steve!Whump, Stancy Breakup, and Eddie just trying to keep up with all these new revelations about who King-Steve actually is...

As always, thank you thank you to the lovely Jess @strangersteddierthings for letting me brainstorm and send spoilers!

***

Eddie pulls gently on the strap of Dustin's safety goggles, trying as much as he can not to snag his curls in the process.

Almost everyone is decked out in their make-shift protective gear, with bandanas over their mouths, swim goggles --hell, even an old diving mask that Lucas found in the Byers basement. Mike won the painters mask, even though it's slightly too big on his little face.

When Eddie asks if all of this is really necessary, Dustin, Lucas, and Mike all glare ferociously at him before shouting over top of one another about how the Upside Down is toxic and that Will had been lucky last year, and to stop being an idiot. 

Eddie looks to Max who shrugs and pulls down her own swimming goggles over her eyes.

"Don't look at me, I'm new here remember?" She mutters, walking towards the pile of various items the kids brought with them. She grabs a pair of rubber gloves and tosses them at Eddie who manages to catch one while the other falls limply into the dirt.

"They went in full body suits last year, on oxygen, to save Will," Dustin adds, his voice slightly muffled by the floral scarf wrapped around his face, "as little exposed skin as you can, it isn't safe".

Eddie can't help but picture the last Sci-Fi pulp story he read in a zine with government conspiracies and men in yellow suits investigating supposed 'crash sites' in the desert. 

He shivers and pulls his own black bandana from his back pocket to put on.

Steve hasn't moved since they parked and hauled everything out of the van for their descent.

He sits in the sliding side door of the van with his head between his knees and the bat between his hands. Steve had insisted on coming with them, despite the fact that he'd only just managed to stop vomiting about five minutes ago and the nausea is still kicking his ass.

Stubborn idiot.

Eddie shakes his head as he turns back to Dustin to find the kid has wandered closer, standing right beside him now.

"He's dating Nancy," Dustin says quietly, tipping his head towards Steve as surreptitiously as he can.

Eddie freezes at the words and tries to keep his face blank in the way he's seen Steve do, he's not sure he's managed it but the way Dustin rolls his eyes. 

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, with what he isn't sure of given the chorus of shitshitshitshitshit playing on a loop in his head. 

Dustin beats him to it.

"But Mike told me they've been fighting lately, if it helps?" 

Eddie just stares, his mind running a mile a minute, his eyes search Dustin's face for any hint of malice or disgust. But there's nothing.

"You don't…care?" Eddie says slowly, softly, he looks around to the other kids to see if anyone else is listening.

They all continue to argue and bicker over the equipment  except for Max who has walked over to Steve to hand him a pair of rubber gloves. She leans down and tilts her head to look at Steve who still hasn't moved from his position in the van door. 

Dustin shrugs, "why should I? I know what people say about it, but you protected us, you stayed," he looks at Eddie with fierce blue eyes, "bullies talk a lot of shit about other people for what they like".

"And you're not bad Eddie, you're good, just like everyone here". 

Eddie blinks trying to ignore the tightness in his chest at the words and the sting behind his eyes. 

'You're a good kid Ed, that's all that matters,' Wayne had told him the day he came out. 'And I'll love you no matter what'.

So that was at least two people who didn't think he was the town 'freak' -- but a stubborn image of Steve's expression that night by the pool comes to mind as he vehemently argued against being scared of Eddie during the now infamous Halloween party.

Three people then.

"If it helps, he wouldn't shut up about Dallas after he and Nance watched the Outsiders last year so," Dustin shrugs again, this time with the slightest teasing grin. 

Eddie is overcome with such a strong feeling of fondness for the kid that he reaches out and pulls Dustin into a one armed hug that's really more of a headlock than anything else. Eddie takes off Dustin's hat to ruffle his hair before putting it back on and tugging it down over the kids eyes, he snorts at the squawk that Dustin makes in response.

"Dallas huh?" he says with a grin before clearing his throat, "I've always been more partial to a pretty boy myself". 

He laughs as Dustin pushes him off muttering under his breath, "everyone's obsessed with relationships," which only makes Eddie laugh harder. 

Maybe it's the hysteria of the situation, maybe it's the exhaustion loosely wrapping itself around his hands, but in this moment Eddie lets himself push away why they are standing in the middle of this field in the pitch dark, and lets himself reach out for what was previously impossible.

He claps Dustin on the back and tips his head towards the rest of the party getting ready. 

"How distracting can you be?" Eddie asks in a low conspiratorial voice.

Dustin frowns, his eyes dart from where Max is struggling to pull on a second blue rubber glove after getting the first one on to where Steve is finally managing to sit up in the van, pulling on the gloves Max left him with, and rolls his eyes again.

"Yeah, yeah, you get five minutes," Dustin drops his voice slightly, and if it's an imitation of Eddie barking orders at the kids earlier, it's pretty good actually. 

Eddie huffs and sends Dustin a wink before turning on his heel and making his way to the van.

Steve has managed to finally sit up properly and in the moonlight it appears that the green caste to his face is also gone. He looks up as Eddie approaches, and sends him a wane smile. 

"How you feeling?" Eddie says softly. He crouches down on the balls of his feet so he and Steve are at eye level and reaches out for his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. It's as though a dam has burst ever since he was able to gather Steve in his arms in the van, he can't stop reaching out for him. 

"Like my head has a pulse," Steve answers after a moment, "kinda how it felt after Jon cleaned my clock last year, but worse". 

He shrugs and gives Eddie a small smile that stretches his split lip until a small bead of red appears, Steve winces and swipes his hand over the cut, "I'm kinda hoping it doesn't become a yearly thing, you only get so many concussions ya know?" 

No Eddie doesn’t know, but he was also never a jock, dodging elbows, or balls, or apparently monsters in the woods on the regular.

He looks back at the kids, only to see Dustin pointing at the watch on his wrist; even in the dark Eddie can read Dustin's expression.

Hurry up.

Eddie swallows roughly and turns back to Steve, who doesn't move his gaze quickly enough to hide his own stare.

The wistful pinch of Steve's brow is still there, plain as day, and it cements Eddie's decision.

He leans closer, close enough that his nose is nearly touching Steve's own.

"I need to tell you something, and I need you to let me get through it because we don't have a lot of time, okay?" 

Steve blinks once, his wide hazel eyes search Eddie's face as he slowly nods, his mouth opens but Eddie reaches up and presses his palm to gently cover it.

"You caught me off guard before," he whispers quickly, before Steve can move the hand on his mouth, "when you told me about your Nonna". 

He sees Steve's eyes go even wider and feels him freeze under his hand, but he has to keep going. 

"And I thought, you couldn't possibly be saying what I thought you'd were saying, I couldn't--"

Eddie forces himself to meet Steve's gaze this time, as though he could simply transfer his thoughts directly, save himself the embarrassment of trying to make the words come.

He takes a deep breath in, releasing it slowly through his nose.

"I couldn't let myself hope, not then".

"But when I thought you were dead on the floor, that Billy had broken you into a million pieces and we would never be able to put you back together again and I realized," Eddie moves his hand now, letting it travel along Steve's jaw, to the back of his head. He swipes his thumb along the crest of Steve's cheekbone and tries not to let the way the other man holds his breath deter him.

"That I might not get another chance to be that person your Nonna told you about, if I didn't tell you how I felt". 

Steve blinks again and Eddie halts, letting go of Steve completely as he watches the wide hazel eyes grow shiny in the moonlight. 

Oh fuck.

Steve's nose flares slightly with how rapidly he's breathing and his mouth opens and closes in quick succession as he seems to struggle to find the words to respond.

"I--"

"Steve! Eddie!" Mike calls out from behind them, "we are running out of time! Let's go!" 

Eddie curses under his breath and whirls around; Mike stands at the edge of the cavern, his hands on his hips in a similar position to one Steve held earlier, the painter's mask pulled up to reveal the irritated frown on his face.

Dustin has his own face in his hand but looks up soon enough to offer Eddie a resigned shrug.

He catches Max watching the exchange with curious eyes, her face tilting between Eddie, Dustin, Mike, and Steve, but he can't think about that now. 

Not with Steve pushing himself up from the van on unsteady legs, he brushes past Eddie, reaching up with a shaking hand to pinch his nose. 

Eddie darts a hand out to catch Steve's elbow, halting his path.

Steve lets him.

Eddie takes a step closer, wracking his brain, trying to figure out what he could have said to make Steve so upset, had he read him wrong after all, had he overstepped somehow?

"Steve," he says softly, his grip on Steve's elbow is loose but steady as he pulls him closer.

Steve doesn't turn to look at Eddie but he doesn't move away either.

"What the hell is the hold up assholes!" Mike barks out again and Eddie lets himself throw a dirty glare at the kid, which Mike merely rolls his eyes at. 

The attitude on these kids.

Mike does eventually turn, pulled by Dustin, back to the rope that Lucas is securing to the nearby fencepost, hopefully distracted for long enough to let Eddie figure this out. 

But before he can say anything, Steve is pulling himself away from the grip on his elbow, “Eddie--”

"Please,” the word falls out of his mouth, desperate, louder than he wants, “please Steve, just, promise me we'll talk”.

Steve turns his face slightly, just enough that Eddie knows he sees him. 

His eyes are no longer wet, but still red rimmed, his nose slightly pink, the same way he looked that night at the halloween party sitting on that rock in the dark. 

“Okay,” Steve whispers into the night air, quickly and quietly before he presses forward. 

Eddie lets him go, his empty hand drops limply at his side as he watches Steve make his way back to the kids. He snatches an unused pair of goggles from the nearly empty pile on the ground and checks the post where Lucas had secured the rope. 

Eddie watches from the sidelines as Steve seamlessly moves back into Babysitter mode, and while some part of Eddie is relieved at this, he can’t help but miss the way it felt to hold Steve, to put him back together again. 

Even if it was just for a moment.

Part Nine Now Up!

Tag List:

@eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @corrodedbisexual @starman-jpg @ilovecupcakesandtea @yoriposts @clumsiluni @pelinelin @phantomcat94 @lololol-1234 @anaibis @steveshairspray @hellfireone @eddielives1986 @sunswathe  @tentativeghost @robin-not-batman @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @tinyplanet95 @perseus-notjackson @queenie-ofthe-void @rainbowsaw @sp0o0kylights @littlebluejane @hi-im-eff  @phantypurple @just-ladyme @thoroughlycollected @justrandomfandomstm @swimmingbirdrunningrock @finntheehumaneater @dynamic-powerm@nightmareglitter @genderless-spoon @zaddipax @thebiblesays @pyrohonk @emly03 @geekymagicalpotato @sidebarre @lemon-astra @cipounette @discreetapple @starlitlakes @saphhicwitchbitch @marvel-ous-m @lingeringmirth @honorarybrit81 @bookbinderbitch @finntheehumaneater  @lololol-1234 @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @monsterloverforhire @gaydrieeen @starlight-archer @homosexual-having-tea @devondespresso @rennnnon @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog

And a few people I think may be intersted!

@steddierthings @steddie-there @stevesbipanic @henderdads

#season two halloween au #stranger things #stranger things season 2 au #steve harrington #eddie munson #the party #steve and nancy breakup #eddie is having all sorts of complicated feelings about steve here #i will never get tired of halloween party aus #you can pry them from my cold dead fingers #dustin meets eddie early #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #afewproblems writes #concussions are no joke #eddie is a tired single dad in this outnumbered by these ridiculous children #dustin is as observant as nancy is #pining Eddie #uh oh more problems #poor eddie #poor steve #where is robin when you need her #but seriously I find myself wishing I wrote a later season just so she could be there for steve #please let me know if the tags worked this time I hate that the list is only working for some people :(

[sprout-fics]

Ruin

König x 'Maus' F!Reader

(Part 7 of Little Mouse)

Word Count: 4.8k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Hints of yandere König, Stand-offs, Hostage Scenarios, Ambushes, Price Whump, Injury mention, Kidnapping, Capture, Angst, Violence Warnings: Violence

You don't like this.

The truck rumbles over the back country roads as you, Soap and Price pick your way through the rolling hills of the Serbian countryside. The wheels grind over the dirt road, and with every bump you feel your joints creaking, groaning with a barely contained, taut energy. Price and Soap are quiet in the front of the car, seeming to mirror your unsteady, fidgeting silence. You can barely see their faces in the twilight darkness, strange shadows cast only by the headlights against their stiff expressions. There's an air of taut apprehension none of you seem to address, a mysticism that leaves the two men ahead of you quiet, hesitant to speak. In the silence you find yourself untethered, shifting listlessly, trying your best to contain your tumbling thoughts and focus on the mission at hand.

Your destination was a warehouse at the edge of a remote town in the southeastern part of the country. No helicopters this time, no armored vehicles. Laswell was specific that some of the Serbian military had a hand in the weapons trade she sent you to investigate. Stealth, subtlety was the emphasis of this mission. No backup, no overwatch. If any of you were injured, you were walking out with the same wounds, one way or the other. Price's brief had been quick, relayed as you three gathered your gear and immediately started making preparations to leave.

"It could be scuttled at any moment." He barked at you both as you piled into the car, gear and supplies packed neatly and efficiently into the back. "It's our only lead after the death of our contact in Mozambique."

Mozambique.

Maybe that's why you were so unsettled, by the memory of a huge, hulking shadow with a red, dripping knife in one hand, and Gaz's throat in the other. Gaz's scream, choked as he was hoisted further up the wall, seems to ring ceaselessly in your thoughts, urging you to run, flee-

Yet when König's eyes had turned to you it wasn't malice that painted his gaze, it was surprise, a pleased interest that briefly had him forgetting about the man in his hold. Compulsive, keen, fixated on you, like a cat with a small, tiny bird fluttering in the trees. Just out of reach, tantalizing, mouth-watering. You can still remember his eyes, glinting like waxing crescent moons under the dark of his mask, a forbidden penumbra that has you falling into the eclipse of your thoughts.

"If I run, will you chase me?"

"If you run, I will catch you."

It shudders a sinister prophecy in you, feeling for all the world like this is the game you're destined to play with him, of running and fleeing from your thoughts, from the truth of your attraction, to the ends of the earth- only for him to find you, corner you, engulf you in his fastened hold.

Why then, did you want to run? For him to chase you?

"Everything ok?" Soap asks from the front, having noticed the shiver of your shoulders as you sink further into the depths of your rumination.

"Fine, why?" You ask, and your deflection is anything but convincing, throat a little tight, eyes not meeting his.

You cast a glance at him from where you sit, see the taut line of Soap's mouth as he purses his lips, doesn't answer. It seems...vaguely displeased, which is odd coming from the Scot, usually cheery and teasing. Now he doesn't bother to fill the car with any type of conversation, leaving you reeling in his absence.

It's the mission, you tell yourself. He's just nervous. Price too, is quiet, and you think it's because he's just focusing on the road ahead, navigating the pits and bumps of the remote hillside.

It's not because of you, you try to reason. It's not because you came back from Mozambique different, quieter. The team was used to your cheery smile and teasing, friendly banter. Yet instead, you had hidden yourself away at base, secluded yourself to your room, refused to talk except for briefings. Lost in your thoughts just as you are now, trying to find excuses within yourself, trying to find the person you were before all of this began.

You continue to lie to yourself, like you have been doing for some time now. Creating a false raft of hypocrisies on which to save yourself, to keep yourself from drowning in the truth.

They're concerned for you, that much is clear. No doubt they heard from Gaz about your most recent encounter with the man who is supposed to be your enemy. From what Gaz has said before, your actions are all the more reason for them to be convinced there's things you didn't say about when you disappeared, when König captured you. Your refusal to tell them what really happened that night seems to only be further, damning proof of their suspicions. You can't correct them, can't confess to them the truth. How are you supposed to say you might have feelings for the enemy?

Caught, in a web of falsehoods of your own design, the silvery threads ensnare you further as you continue to struggle, to free yourself.

"Do you want me to take you, Maus?"

You rub a hand over your face, trying to smear away the lingering sound of his voice, like dark oily clouds that blot out the moon in the night sky.

"Rookie."

You snap up instantly at the sound of Price's voice, at attention, back straight. His eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror- stern, steely.

"Don't get distracted, soldier. We have a job to do."

"Yes, Sir." You answer immediately, voice clipped in your reply.

"Good, because we're here."

You blink, looking out the window. If by 'here' Price means a dark, pitch-black set of woods with what could hardly constitute a road, then...yes. You suppose you were. Before you can ask, however, Price is shutting off the car, the headlights blinking dim and plunging the three of you into the dark.

"Warehouse is two kilometers east. We're walking there. Get your gear." He issues, voice measured, rough from years of tobacco that grows thick against the back of his throat. "Stay close, stay quiet, understood?"

He pauses then, and even in the dark you can sense his eyes have turned to you.

"There may be enemy operators inbound to our position." He goes on, voice dipping now. Stern, a warning. There's a murmur of something there that's unfamiliar to you. It's quiet, restrained, but paces at the corner of his thoughts like a caged animal, eyes glinting with a feral, untamed anger.

"Rookie."

"Captain." You reply, voice quieter now, easing into the resolve of a soldier, one who's mission stands before them.

"If you see König, I want you to exfil, do you understand?" He states, and that animal inside him growls with a distant, ominous thunder.

"But Sir-" You try, for once trying to argue against him, brow furrowing. It doesn't make sense. There's only three of you. You need every person you can get. To bench you doesn't suit the needs of the-

"Understood, corporal?" He asks again, voice harsher now.

A pause. Anxiety roils in your stomach. That same trepidation from earlier, the unease that clogs your throat like black smoke rises once more. It's as if you can see the murky, shadowy shapes of something imminent, gliding smooth underneath the surface of the reality before you before vanishing into obscurity. Something isn't right. Yet there's nothing you can do except walk forward willingly, into the night, waiting for fate to inexorably descend upon you all.

"Understood."

---

It takes less than an hour for the three of you to get fully geared and make your way up the hill towards the warehouse. The forest around you is cloaked in darkness, misty at the edges, entirely silent except for the distant, troglodytic calls of owls within the canopy. It feels much too like your dreams, the ones where König rises from the darkness like he did once upon a memory. When you had gotten separated from the team in the hills and he had risen from the darkness like a primordial phantom, looking down at you from the cliffs, his eyes reflecting the scant moonlight in the trees.

You shake the thought, once more earning a stern look from the captain ahead of you.

Keep it together, Rookie. You remind yourself. No room for error on this job.

The three of you pick your way through the trees like hunters of old- silent, still, fatalistic with every breath, every step and sweep of your scopes. It does nothing to assuage the asphyxiating paranoia in your chest, winding it tight and tighter until you hear your heart flutter against your ribs like a frantic, trapped bird. You’ve always been able to discern smoke on the wind, a shift in the breeze before anyone else. Now, however, you push it down deep into your chest, certain it’s only the remnants of your thoughts that pull your mind taut like a bowstring, ready to snap and send shockwaves cataclysmic through your form.

Price clears the path ahead, his form lit green by night vision goggles. Soap stays tight to your flank, more so than usual, and seems to match your every step, to watch your six more than his own. He doesn't speak. None of you do, radio silent as you approach the dim lights of the warehouse. It's only once you're there that Price holds his hand up in a silent gesture for you and Soap to pause.

He withdraws his scopes, and the air feels too cold, thick around you as he catalogs the exterior of the building, noting the scant few sentries that pace the perimeter.

Three guards. He signals to you both. Armed.

You hold your breath, looking through your own scope to confirm the captain’s observations, noting as well the freight truck in the asphalt lot of the warehouse. Several more figures walk between the vehicle and the loading dock doors. It’s at the entrance of the truck that you see a figure vanish behind the edge of the doors, and you blink, feeling a pull of recognition at the woman before Price taps your shoulder.

There's a pause before he puts away his goggles. You prepare to set up your rifle from this vantage point, provide sniper fire so the captain and Soap can infiltrate, but instead Price signals for you to follow him.

You and Soap exchange a silent look.

Soap is a sniper too, of course. You two have had more than one go at it to see who's the better shot and come up close every time. Still, it's Soap who's the demolitions and arms expert, not you. If anyone should be in there to examine the weapon's cache, it should be him. Still, you've learned your lesson from earlier, to not question the captain. So, silently, you nod in confirmation, offer Soap a fist-bump, and begin descending the hill down to the warehouse.

The three sentries are dead by the time you cut through the wire gate, slumped on the ground in an ooze of red you don't pause to look at, courtesy of the Scotsman hidden on the rise. You pass them, following as Price takes point, moves interior to the back hallways of the warehouse.

You take out two more guards as you go, pausing over each with a confirmed kill before you both make your way towards the main storage area of the warehouse.

Yet you signal Price's attention as you pass one of the offices, noting the ledger of goods and its origins that lays in plain view, not yet tucked away. You stuff it into your pack as Price hovers by the door, reminding yourself to offer it later to Laswell for intel.

It's only once you're inside the dim, musty storage floor that Price dares to speak.

"Bravo seven one, this is Bravo six. We're interior. Searching for payload, stand by."

"Copy Bravo Six." Soap's voice comes across the comms- hushed, focused.

Price motions for you to fan out, so you do, the world shades of black and green through your goggles as you navigate the shelves of crates and boxes. You step over one aisle from Price, eyes roaming over the vast collection of possible items in the warehouse. Your first few attempts yield little, nothing more than repair parts or work tools. Most of the boxes are conspicuously empty, and the more of them you discover the more you begin to feel that knot of stifling anxiety coil further within you.

There should be more boxes, clues, leads, something that may yield answers. In fact, for a place that is supposed to offer intel like Laswell promised, it's noticeably unguarded. You’re supposed to find indications of ties to enemy organizations, foreign suppliers with which to track down KorTac. However, this feels for all the world like a standard warehouse filled with various bits and bobbles used only for farming in the surrounding area. It’s almost like someone is trying to hide the evidence here.

You stop where you stand, hands tightening on your weapon in realization. Like scenting blood in the air, you feel your shoulders tighten, your heart thrum louder.

We need to leave.

You find Price at the end of the next aisle, his face hidden behind his goggles. Yet you can tell from the way his shoulders scrunch, his mouth set taut, that he feels the same. There are no answers here, and the scent of iron seems to only thicken at the back of your throat as realization slowly, horrifyingly begins to wash over you.

It's a trap.

No sooner do the words enter your mind does the world suddenly grow bright, blinding you. The clunk of a switch greets both your ears, and your goggles flood with piercing light that makes your head throb sharply. You grunt, tearing them from your face and rubbing your eyes, instinctively hunching down to hide from whichever enemy decided to ambush you.

"Soap!" You whisper urgently into the comms, trying to find your vision. "We've been made, I repeat, it's an ambush, we-"

A hand settles over yours, and you flinch hard, blinking up at Price. The captain settles a finger to his lips, gesturing for you to be silent.

"We need to move." He tells you, voice grave, hushed. "Now."

You nod, eyes wide, startled, clutching your weapon like it's your life support. Your lips purse into a tight line, following as Price turns back in the direction you both entered from.

You freeze when you hear it then, the heavy footsteps that echo through the aisles, predators in search of prey. Distantly, you feel the heavy weight of recognition press down on your shoulders, muted by the consuming dread and panic of your situation.

He could be here. He could be only feet away from us and we won't even know until it's too late.

Your heart thumps loud, loud enough you're afraid that he might hear it, trace it to the source, hunt you down like a shark scenting blood. Yet your next thought feels like a flash of lightning that cracks the sky open, cleaves apart the heavens and leaves you with the earth-shattering remnants.

Price could kill him.

Your brain blinks in radiant, fluorescent light, trying to find the balance between two diametrically opposed rationales. The asymmetry of it makes the world around you haze over, tightens the breath in your chest until you begin panting, overwhelmed by it all as you try to discern the truth lost in a haze of lies.

You need to get out of here.

You need to kill him.

You can't watch Price murder him.

You don’t want him to die.

Panic rises swiftly within you, untamed by the paradox of your uncertainty, and even as Price hauls you to your feet with a hiss you can barely hear him, blinking, eyes unfocused-

"Rookie!" Price snaps at you, voice grating, teeth cracking, and that manages to ground you, and you look at him with wide, glassy eyes.

Only to see the shadow looming behind him.

Price notices a moment too late, raising his weapon, trying to aim. Yet the shadow raises one massive, brawny arm, and swats Price straight in the face with a sound louder than thunder.

The impact sends him flying.

The crack against Price's jaw is harsh enough to rattle your bones, shaking at the creaking, unsteady foundation of you. There's a moment where Price sails through the air, his feet barely skimming the ground and then there's silence, dreaded and suspended on all sides until the moment where the arch of his momentum apexes, races back towards earth.

Your scream is muffled by the sound of your captain's body crashing into the dismantled, empty crates.

"PRICE!!

Yet your captain's body shifts, then falls still, the dust around him lifting, settling around his twisted, fallen form.

He doesn't move.

You can't breathe.

The shadow falls over you, blotting out the light from above.

It's...it's not him.

No, it's someone else. Tall, but not as tall as König, maskless. A beard grazes his jaw, massive, brawny arms hanging at his sides, eyes dark as he advances on you. The distant, still functioning part of your brain reaches for the information Price gave you, tries to recall the face on the folder.

Aksel.

Aksel, the one to hit Price so hard he could have snapped his neck, Aksel, the one who towers over your smaller figure as you panic and try to back up, forgetting the weapon in your hands as your previous panic multiplies, climbs up your throat in a heaving, shuddering gasp. Aksel only continues to move forward, footsteps like the impact of a war drum as he closes the distance, reaching a huge, gloved hand for you.

Your heart threatens to burst from your chest, terrified, paralyzed, the air in your throat frozen as you shake, trying to will yourself to move.

Then, movement from behind him. You watch as a pair of hands reach around, looping a chord over Aksel's neck and then pulling, pulling until the soldier's face contorts and he grunts for air, falling backwards. His hands fly up, trying to dislodge the rope from his neck, writhing violently. Yet all he gets in return is a pair of legs wrapping around his arms, pinning them to his sides.

It's only once he's on the floor that you see him. That you see Price.

There's blood gushing from a cut in his forehead, leaking down into one of his eyes. Yet the other remains open, and you nearly gasp at the violence there, the pure atrocities he threatens with his rage alone. The anger you heard constrained in Price's voice earlier seems to bleed into his stare, promising complete, and utter violence. The fury in his eyes seems to speak of divine retribution, a vengeance so unholy you briefly think he may be the incarnation of the fallen angel Lucifer, sworn to an eternal damnation.

"Keep your. Bloody. Fucking. Hands. OFF my sniper!" Price snarls, feral, untamed, each breath a cracked inhale as he struggles to contain the man in his hold. His hands rub and chafe at the rope, twisting brutally into his skin as he yanks it tighter, tighter.

"KILL HIM!" He roars at you, voice hoarse, bellowing the order like it's his final, ultimate act of defiance. He doesn't bother to look in your direction, intensity entirely focused on the enemy in his grip who thrashes violently, feet scrambling as he tries to buck off the captain to no avail.

It startles you from your reverie, jolts you back into the presence as you lift your weapon, take aim-

A blade at your neck.

"I wouldn't, Maus."

You freeze, heart stopping, breath halting, your entire body rigid as warmth crowds into your back, an arm wraps around your front and drags you back, backwards until you meet the uneven, uncomfortable surface of a tac vest.

König.

"Let go of the gun, kleine Maus." He purrs in your ear, and you can't- not when you can squeeze off a shot, could kill Aksel right here. Yet the blade presses further into the bare flesh of your neck and you blink, trying to understand how he of all people could threaten you like this, could force you to abandon your captain.

Nothing prepares you for his next words, as he leans down, and the fabric of the mask traces the edge of your face even as you lean away, eyes wide, horrified, confused, panicked at all that seems to be happening around you.

"You were supposed to be outside."

You blink, lips parting as you try to speak, try to ask him how he knows-

In your shock your hands loosen on your weapon, and it takes little effort for König to divest you of it, clicking on the safety and placing it to the ground, kicking it somewhere far behind him.

One huge arm wraps around your front, and it isn't until it does that your brain kicks on and you begin to struggle, arching away from the blade and thrashing. It does you little good, for within seconds König has you restrained against his front, arms pinned to your sides.

"Captain." He states, and you look frantically to Price, who's stopped actively trying to strangulate his opponent and instead now focuses on both of you. There's fear that flashes across his eyes, bright and quick as lightning, and it pierces into you. Your captain was never afraid. Resolute, concerned, angry, yes. Fear, however, was not something he displayed, and never in front of an enemy.

"I have your sniper." König goes on, and you again try to thrash, but the man has the advantage of not only size but also strength, keeps you immobile with one, bulging arm. "If you don't wish to see her bleed to death, I suggest you release my comrade."

He wouldn't

Would he?

No, this is all just a mistake. He...he said he'd never hurt you. He's bluffing.

"Let me go." You whisper, voice hoarse, starved of air.

König shifts then, and you feel him stiffen at your voice until he finally replies with his voice almost too soft to be heard:

"I can’t, Maus."

You look at Price, thoughts reeling, hands shaking, trying to find which way is up, to untangle yourself from the cobwebs inside your thoughts that prevent you from thinking clearly. The world tilts around you, the ground shifting under your feet and you realize this was a mistake from the beginning, to come out here. You weren't ready, too ill-prepared after what happened in Mozambique, when König had crowded to you just as he does now, had offered you a single request that even now echoes in your thoughts ceaselessly, tormenting you.

"If I ask, you'll come with me?"

"Let her go." Price rasps, and you stare at him, as his arms bulge with the effort it takes to contain Aksel.

"After you, Captain Price." König practically purrs, keeping you glued to his front, the sharp end of the blade pressed barely into your skin.

Price pauses, and you can see him thinking, processing, trying to find a way out of this where you both survive unscathed.

"Price. No." You manage, again trying to free yourself. Yet König's other hand snaked upwards, covering the lower half of your face in one huge, gloved hand.

"Quiet, Maus."

It doesn't stop you. If Price frees Aksel, Aksel will kill him, and you can't allow that to happen, can't witness the death of your captain in front of your eyes while you're able to do nothing. Not when it's all your fault.

"Our commander has been very eager to meet you, captain." König goes on. "If you release Eriksen, I may be inclined to let your sergeant here meet him as well."

You still, König's words sink into you as you do into terror, realizing exactly what the enemy soldier's threat entails.

Capture.

You thrash in earnest now, heedless of the blade at your throat. Your voice echoes into König's palm, a cry of fear, of outrage at the prospect of being taken again, of Price, your captain being taken alongside you. Somehow, you wiggle your arms free and try to claw at König's forearm, your gloved fingers scraping uselessly against the metal of his bracers. The blade in König's hand nicks against your throat, and you're certain you feel a red ooze from the source, but you pay it no attention.

You could endure capture, shameful though it was. You were trained to withstand interrogations, to not crack under pressure, but the idea of Price, of Price being captured, of them possibly using your own captain against you, or worse, trying to use you to crack him-

You reach for your vest, one hand fumbling for your blade there, trying to withdraw it in a desperate attempt to free yourself, to save Price, anything-

Yet König's hand releases your mouth and twists your wrist as soon as you find the blade, and you grunt as it is twisted free of your grasp, clattering uselessly to the floor.

"Let me GO!!" You scream, panic now forcing up your throat and through your limbs in an uncontrolled, untampered frenzy.

König shifts with you in his arms, tries to lean down to you, and you hear his voice dip in an almost soothing murmur, tight and barely audible. You don't hear him, focused entirely on your captain.

"Price!" You scream, voice shrill. "Kill him! Run! Get out of here!"

Price seems taken aback by your outburst, his single open eye glinting as he takes in your wildly thrashing form, eyes feral, untamed, afraid.

Slowly, Price unwinds the rope.

You have just enough time to scream, to shout "NO!!" Before Aksel twists, seizing one of Price's arms and bending it down in a harsh motion so abruptly and severely you hear a 'Crack!' at the motion. Price shouts, a harsh grinding sound, yanking the arm back automatically and trying to grapple himself away from the Norwegian on pure instinct. Yet when his eyes land on you, he pauses, just long enough for Aksel to stand and launch a heavy, booted foot right into the man's ribs.

Price crumples back with a shout that's dwarfed by your own. You scream, your entire body surging forward, only for König to wordlessly catch you, his entire form rigid, stiff at the sight before him.

"Leave her." Aksel barks at König, his voice cracked, hoarse from Price's murderous attempt. You barely pay any attention to the Norwegian, your eyes focused on the form of your captain. He’s curled on his side, blood oozing from the laceration in his hairline, his hat crumpled and tossed to the side. He writhes slowly on the floor, choking on a ragged inhale, and you call for him, voice thick with despair.

"Price, John, please- look at me."

He does. He turns his head and there's anger there, hard enough to make you flinch. Pure ire seeps from his gaze, one eye mottled with blood that continues to seep from his head. His shoulders heave as he tries to gather his breath. No doubt Aksel's kick, harsh enough to dent metal, was enough to fracture a rib. The pain only feeds the fury, your captain's teeth bared in a feral, gnashing snarl. Yet it isn't directed at you, it's focused instead on the man who holds a knife to your throat, the one who you feel shift with you pinned against his front.

"No." König's voice startles you, makes you flinch against him. Yet the hand clasped across you eases just a touch, his thumb grazing reassuring circles into your skin you barely seem to feel. "O'Conor wanted him alive. We can use her as leverage."

Aksel shoots König an annoyed look, but there must be something in the Austrian's stare that makes him pause, consider.

"Fine." He bites at last, clearly displeased. "You take her. Roze is expecting us outside."

With that he reaches for Price and you snarl, thrash in König's grip like a wild, rabid animal.

"Don't you fucking touch him." You grind out, but Aksel has the audacity to shoot you a look akin to amusement, as if he doesn't really believe the unspoken threat in your words. So, you turn to the captain, who stretches on the floor, seeking your weapon that was kicked uselessly to the side. When Aksel's foot lands on his hand with a sickening crunch, John grits his teeth and only offers a grunt. His enraged stare fixates on the Norwegian standing above him, reaching down to grasp him by his tac vest, and haul him upright.

Then, in a brutal, dizzying move, Aksel cranes his head back and then forwards, connecting it with Price's hard enough to severely stun the man. John’s eyes roll hard enough to make your stomach turn with a putrid, sour taste.

"John-" You try again, voice terribly small, broken at the sight of your limp captain's body now hauled over Aksel's broad shoulders. "John, please."

"Let's move." Aksel barks to König, and soon your world shifts as well. You're too startled to offer a reaction, not until you're slung across König's shoulders in a similar manner to Price, both hands caught in a single, strangulating grasp.

"König." You try once you're sure Aksel can't hear you. Your voice is tight, caught in your throat. "Please- please don't do this."

König doesn't reply, not at first. You can tell he's thinking, considering, his shoulders tense under you as he absorbs your plea.

"I won't let them hurt you, Maus." He murmurs back, voice hushes, raspy. "I'll...keep you safe."

Yet he doesn't sound convinced by his own words, and you only struggle in response, trying vainly to free yourself.

"Let me go." You plead a little louder, voice cracking. "Please, don't...don't let them use me against him. König."

König flinches. Yet he doesn't respond, not as his mind continues to churn and yield only fruitless solutions. You feel panic rise within you again, and as you struggle König only offers small, hushed assurances that do little to deter the building terror inside you.

They're going to capture you. Yet this time it won't just be König. As much as he says so he can't guarantee your safety, can't ensure you won't be tortured, used as fodder to break your captain.

The cool night air billows across your face as you exit the warehouse. There's cars now that you didn't see before, and among them is an armored truck that Aksel makes for with long, unbroken strides. Horror wells in your stomach, the back of the truck yawning open like a black maw, threatening to take you down, down until you choke only on ichor and darkness.

You struggle then, air rising hot and suffocating in your throat, made worse when König's distant murmur of "Maus, Maus, it's going to be okay-" filters through the smoggy haze of fear. You can hardly breathe, mind conjuring images of being tied to a chair in a dark room, of Price, bloodied and beaten across from you-

BOOM-!!

A deafening, catastrophic explosion shakes the ground under you, and the darkness of the warehouse lot is suddenly illuminated by a fiery, orange glow that casts König's gigantic shadow in a looming, phantasmic stretch before your eyes. You twist your head just in time to feel the heat of flames cast brightly against your face.

"ROZE!" Aksel bellows furiously over the roar of the conflagration, and you hear a female voice in the distance yell something back, voice rising sharply in alarm, words indiscernible.

König spins, entire form radiating tension under you. When you twist you catch a glimpse of his eyes- wide, frantic, searching for answers.

You already know. If it wasn't them, there's only one person it could possibly be. Your mouth forms the name, calls out to him amidst the fire and flames, seeking purchase on the only lifeline you have left.

"SOAP!!"

No sooner had you cried out did you feel König's body lurch under you, so abrupt and severe his balance falters. The sound of something sinking into his tac vest is enough to make your heart stop, and he grunts, something akin to pain. Too top heavy with your body slung across his shoulders he teeters, and then goes down like a mammoth tree falling in a forest. You spill from his grip, on your feet in an instant.

König grunts with pain when he reaches for you, manages to secure one foot around your ankle.

Yet then, mysteriously, he pauses.

The Austrian catches sight of your eyes, sees your stricken, terrified gaze looking down at him. A rabbit in a snare, staring into the jaws of a predator, the glint of fangs reflecting in your irises.

He lets go.

You pause long enough only to blink at him, wanting to say something, anything, to speak to him in this moment not as enemies or allies, but something between. Something that feels strangely like trust.

Instead, you fling yourself in the direction of the gunshot, hearing a bellow of anger behind you as you sprint for the fence line in search of freedom.

Only to skid to a halt once you get to the edge of the burning building, against the not yet consumed office spaces, sparing a horrified look behind you.

Price.

No sooner did you turn back in the direction of the truck where you captain was being held did you trace the glint of a scope, reflecting the burning haze of the building.

You duck just in time, absent of a weapon to return fire, getting behind the exterior wall of the building. Heart racing, you barely hear your own thoughts above the sound of the inferno, growing closer to your position at every moment.

You need to get Price, need to find a weapon, to return fire, to-

Hands seize you around your middle.

You scream on instinct, reaching for your knife no longer in your vest, searching for one of your other weapons, for something-

"Rookie, it's me!"

You twist in your attacker's arms, seeing the wide, blue gaze of Soap peer down at you. In his eyes you see the orange of the flames, see your own horrified stare, see the ashes of catastrophe falling around you like omens from a cursed, skyward pantheon.

"Soap-" You breathe, voice clogged with smoke. Your relief is short lived, because soon another bullet pings against the wall and Soap is ducking you both down, his face grim, brow drawn in frustration.

"Th-they have Price." You supply, voice cracking. "In the truck, they said they needed him alive. We need-"

Another bullet, and you flinch. You look to Johnny, who peers over your head with growing dismay, face falling open at whatever he sees.

"Soap." You try again, voice tight. "You need to return fire, to get Price-"

"Can't." Soap tells you, and he looks at you then, his eyes wide, afraid. "I can't risk hitting the captain."

The next bullet pierces the wall above both your heads, but you feel rather than hear it, blood rushing in your ears, the fire roaring so loud you feel the vibrations of it in your feet.

"We need to leave." Soap yells over the chaos, voice stern, issuing an order and still somehow failing to contain his utter anger and grief at the situation. He doesn't wait for your approval, doesn't wait to hear you respond. Instead, he seizes your arm, begins dragging your stunned, paralyzed form with him in the direction of the fence.

"S-Soap." You try, but your voice is hoarse, barely able to be heard. Soap doesn't look back, doesn't try and release you, hauling you along as you stumble behind him.

"GO!" He tells you, shoving you at the hole in the fence and turning to spray his weapon wide, long enough to cover you ducking through the wire. In the time it takes to force himself through, whoever's scope has you in its sights fires in your direction once more, shots barely missing you.

"MOVE!!" Soap yells at you, hands shoving, and you've never heard his voice like that before. Terrified, shaking, trying to somehow maintain a grasp on a situation that's spiraled far beyond his control.

"PRICE!!" You scream, voice shrill, cracking in your throat. You reach for him, try and shove Soap off of you, but the Scotsman has an arm secured around your middle, dragging you backwards from the line of fire even as you shriek. "Soap- Johnny, let go!! Price- we need to-!"

"We can't." Soap interjects, and you can hear in his voice the devastation, the complete and utter despair. "We need t' get out of here, right fuckin now-"

Yet it only makes you thrash harder in Soap's grip, watching as the injured form of your captain is tossed, thrown, into the back of the truck. You watch the wheels bounce with the impact, a cry of utter anguish tearing raw from your throat, enough to be heard over the fire of bullets that rain down on your and Soap's position.

"Leave him." Soap hoarses into your shoulders, even as your fingers try and pry his arm from you. "They need him alive- we...we can get him back." Johnny's throat cracks on the promise, as if he doesn't believe his own words. "We will die if we stay here, corporal. We need to leave. That's an order."

You sob then, at the reminder of your rank, at Soap using every method he has to get you to retreat away from your captain. It doesn't make sense. He's right there, so close you can almost see his eyes as the back of the truck closes, and he vanishes from sight.

"C'mon, lass, move." Soap grunts then, none too gently hauling you further into the shadows of the woods, away from the line of fire. "Yer no use to him dead."

You don't reply, allowing Soap to haul you further into the forest even as your wails leave a trail of anguish behind you.

----

You leave him.

You leave Price.

Both of you, you and Soap, flee into the Serbian forest. The blaze of the warehouse burns brightly behind you, casting a red glow upon the horizon in the absence of dawn. The smoke clings to the back of your throat as you pick your way through the forest, jumping at every twig snapping underfoot, every rustle of the canopy. It's unclear if you're being pursued, or if your attackers are too preoccupied with their own exfiltration to even bother.

You and Soap make it back to the van with record speed, and it's only once you're there that you seize him, use all your force to corner him against the side of the truck.

"Why!?" You gasp, hot tears blooming in your eyes. "You could have gotten him, not me!"

You bend your head forward, voice choking on a wail, knowing still there may be enemies in the trees just beyond sight. Fists clench on Johnny's chest and you shudder with a sob, uncontrollable guilt bubbling searing and viscous up your throat.

This. This was your fault.

You should have told Price something was wrong, should have reacted sooner to the ambush, shouldn't have gotten panicked in your own head because of him-

Soap's hands land on yours. Firm, comforting. He doesn't snap at you to get back in line, doesn't scold you for your tears in the face of defeat. Instead, he murmurs two words, his voice broken, choked with emotion that mirrors your own.

"I'm sorry."

You look up at him through a watery gaze, ashes smeared across your face, hair coming loose from under your helmet. Soap's eyes are miserable, face contorted as he tries to contain the guilt, the grief that sinks deep into his chest like the carve of a dull, serrated knife. It's enough to make you pause, blink your eyes free of tears.

"I-I had to." He goes on, voice thick with emotion, laced with despair that fractures at the brittle inside of you, threatens to send the foundation of you crashing down. "It couldn’t be you. Not...not again."

Again.

After the first time. After König had marched away with you into the night, had begun this winding, ensnaring tale of irrevocable magnetism, two planets in asynchronous orbit destined for a ruinous collision of destruction. After you had come back different, shaken, trying so hard to hide the truth that your teammates, your brothers had no choice but to assume the worst.

You understand now, how they must have felt when you were taken. The grief, the despair, the all-consuming outrage that now festers inside of you like molten glass, dripping and scorching over your form.

Your face crumples at that, and like a child you weep against Soap's front, feel the warm wetness of grief trace paths through the ashes on your cheeks. You bang a fist weakly against him, and it only summons another cracked apology, arms closing around you as he gathers you to him in your combined grief.

"We'll get him." He murmurs. Over and over again, a litany of promises that you try to find solace in, try to hide from the guilt of your own ruinous emotions.

Slowly, as the sun rises, you try to bury him in your heart.

(Reblog this post to be included on the taglist for future updates!)

Taglist:

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#konig x you #König x reader #konig x reader #König #könig mw2 #konig x y/n #reader insert #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #fic: little mouse #my writing #my fic

[whumpshaped]

tw royal whump, abuse of power, past torture, implied future torture, bullying for zero reason, drowning

Whumpee had been working for hours. The Hall was enormous; the floor seemed to stretch into infinity whenever they looked up. So they just stopped looking, working square inch by square inch, never daring to check how much more work they had left.

Their knees were aching, bones pressed against an unforgivingly hard surface, skin catching on every little bump. Their arms and back were burning with the exertion, but they continued scrubbing, rewetting and wringing out the cloth again and again.

Just a little more, surely. They had to be close to done by now.

They didn’t stop working when they heard footsteps. People inside the palace would come and go all the time, it wasn’t any of their business — except this set of footsteps seemed to grow nearer still, way beyond the threshold of the Hall.

Whumpee didn’t look up. They scrubbed even more diligently, keeping their head low and their movements as silent as possible. It didn’t matter. By the time those expensive boots entered their field of vision, they already knew who it was. There was only one person who never left them alone even while working.

Her Majesty’s second son was as much of a brat as one could get, even within the royal family; with all the power and none of the responsibility, plenty of free time, and an unexplainable sadistic streak, he was the subject of many of Whumpee’s recurring nightmares. They didn’t understand what they’d done to warrant being the prince’s favourite chewtoy, and they were starting to suspect there wasn’t a reason, aside from simple misfortune.

“Busy?”

Whumpee put down the cloth, still keeping their eyes fixed on the floor. What were they supposed to say? Yes, they were, but that could come off rude. If they said no, however… well, that was a clear lie. “I’m happy to assist in whatever Your Highness may need,” they said in the end, hoping it was good enough.

“Look at me.” Whumpee swallowed and looked up, meeting the prince’s icy cold eyes. If there ever was a picture of pure malice, it must’ve been based off of him. “Do you think you’re doing a good job here, servant?”

“I’m doing the best job I can possibly–”

“Look at the water.” The prince suddenly grabbed them by the hair, making them yelp as they were dragged over to the bucket. “It’s filthy. You should’ve brought fresh water long ago, that’s not going to clean anything.”

“Y-yes, Your Highness. I apologise. I’ll bring–” They were cut off when the prince let go, shoving them down towards the admittedly quite dirty water. They caught themself before they could’ve fallen, their face just inches away from being submerged. “I’ll bring–”

He stepped on the back of their head, pushing them down as far as their body would allow. They didn’t have a chance to take a deep breath beforehand, and they certainly wouldn’t get one now. Their terrified whines and whimpers escaped them in large bubbles of precious oxygen, but the prince showed no sign of wanting to let them up.

They couldn’t breathe. They couldn’t breathe. They couldn’t–

The pressure suddenly disappeared and Whumpee yanked their head out of the bucket, getting water everywhere as they coughed and sputtered. Their lungs were burning with all the inhaled musky water, their throat scratchy and in pain from the abuse.

“Oh, by the way,” the prince began casually while they were still wheezing, “Mother sent me to check on the state of the Hall, since the event is about to start soon. I’m sure she will be very disappointed when I tell her–”

“I’ll be quicker,” Whumpee choked out, every word bringing more agony. “Please, Your Highness, I–”

The prince didn’t hesitate to kick them in the ribs with those expensive boots, and through the pain, Whumpee wondered how severely they’d be punished if their useless body were to make a scratch in the leather. “Do not interrupt me,” he hissed. “You can’t do your damn job or show respect? Have you already forgotten the last lashing?”

They couldn’t answer. It all hurt so much, they were too scared, they hated it all–

“That’s quite alright, I suppose. When I tell Mother about the servant who caused the delay, I’ll simply offer to handle the punishment arrangements myself. It’ll be a nice refresher — since the water doesn’t seem to have been enough.”

#mmm whumpee scrubbing the floor on their hands and knees.. #whump #whump drabble #royal whump #abuse of power #past torture #implied future torture #bullying for zero reason #drowning

[whumpwillow]

Hazeshift 14 | villain whump

This is a series! masterlist    

ummmm yeah here ya go

{ Chapter summary: Haze, delirious, shows him images with his powers of what happened to him at Lisle’s hands }

warnings: past torture, unreality, hospital setting, low self worth, imposter syndrome

//

Two Davians. Two Davians.

Haze’s mind spun trying to work out why this was important. He knew somehow that it was, but couldn’t figure out why.

He felt lightheaded. Every part of his body buzzed with pain. That wasn’t unusual. He felt hot and sticky, and it took him a bit to remember that it was blood. He was being beaten. By Davian. Or Davians. Was that why there were two now? Because the first one was tired so the second came to take his place?

His fears seemed to prove true for an instant as he saw one of the Davian’s move closer to him with alarming speed, running toward him. That Davian punched the other one, sending him flying backwards and crashing into the far wall. Haze watched, stunned, as the man who’d been beating him just moments prior became nothing more than a ragdoll on the floor.

This new Davian crouched down at Haze’s side and threaded his fingers through his bloody hair. He didn’t tear or rip or pull, but held him gently, resting Haze’s head in his lap.

Ah, so this was another one of those peaceful visions.

He must have had his fill of pain and his mind had conjured up this image to comfort him, just like Davian giving him the apples. The blankets. Holding him like he was now, stroking his bloody cheeks with his thumbs, caressing him like he was something precious and breakable.

Haze tried to smile, split lips pulling back to reveal bloodied teeth. His eyes became glazed and unfocused and he saw Davian’s own lips moving, saying something but making no sound. Haze couldn’t tell what the words meant, even if the world seemed to play out in slow-motion. Davian’s mouth moved and made words, but all Haze could hear was ringing in his ears. He tried to focus on the shape of Davian’s lips, what they were trying to say, but all he got from that was how he’d never really taken a chance to look at them and realize how beautiful they were.

…

Davian looked down at the villain in his lap, heart thumping so hard against his ribcage he thought it might break. The sting of his fist from punching Lisle was negligible, incomparable to the hot blood that slicked over his fingers as he touched Haze. He reached out slowly at first, disbelieving of the battered figure that lay on the floor in front of him was the man who had lain in his bed with him just yesterday.

The Haze now was practically unrecognizable from that man. He lay near-motionless on the ground, covered in blood, his arms out at his sides and one of them bent at an unnatural angle. His hair was mussed and matted, wet and sticky, and his eyes had glazed over and now stared right through him. What scared him the most was the smile—sharp and bitter, like nothing he’d ever seen before, it was plastered over Haze’s face with blood-stained teeth and malice. So much malice.

Davian would’ve thought the man dead if it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the unstable rhythm of his hitching breaths.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream.

Why did this have to happen? He’d told Haze that he was safe. That he’d be safe here. He was supposed to be safe.

He gathered Haze into his lap, running a hand through his hair. Was horrified when it came away red. He shivered along with the villain he held, who’s expression hadn’t changed.

“Hey, Haze, Haze, wake up. It’s me. It’s me, Davian.”

Not Lisle.

He’d seen Lisle on the ground, straddling his former torturer’s hips, beating him to a pulp. More accurately, he’d seen himself doing it, the shape-shifted form of himself Haze's tormentor wore. He knew who it was without having to think—he knew all of Lisle’s tricks with shapeshifting from the academy.

Or at least, he thought he did.

Lisle had shifted into Davian himself to beat up Haze…he’d taken on the guise of the one person Haze found safe and desecrated it. A pressure built up in Davian’s chest that he couldn’t seem to get rid of.

Why did this have to happen?

He brushed the back of his hand over Haze’s cheek. “Hey, Haze. It’s okay. You’re alright. You’re safe—sa-fe—”

Davian couldn’t even get the words out. He inhaled sharply in the middle of it, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes burned and soon he felt hot tears escape them, only to land on the unchanging face of the villain he held in his lap.

He wasn’t safe. He was hurt. Davian had failed him, he failed to protect him, he lied lied lied—

Fucking useless, you are! There you go, screwing it all up again, a nasty voice in the back of his mind told him.

Davian was used to it by now, always whispering to him during missions what a failure he was. How he didn’t deserve to be known as the city’s greatest hero. That he was a fraud.

But this wasn’t about him.

So why couldn’t he stop crying?

Through the bleary haze of tears, Davian didn’t notice the smoke building up in the room until it was too late. He tried to cover his mouth, but he knew that would do no good, for this was not real smoke, not the kind from fires or those blasted cigarettes Lisle wouldn’t stop buying. This was the kind that didn’t rise or fall and didn’t blow away in the wind. The kind that brought with it not coughing fits but visions of disaster and torment.

This was Haze’s power.

Davian only had a moment to glance down at Haze’s wrist and the broken armband that had been restraining his powers thus far—evidently damaged in the scene Lisle had caused. After that, the smoke wrapped around him, obscuring his vision until it warped into something else entirely.

Haze sat in his cell, his body curled in on itself. Unhealed wounds wept with fresh blood, though he made no move to fix them. A voice came from behind. Haze turned around.

Lisle.

Then came the salt crystals. Rough, gritty, and coarse, Lisle rubbed it into the lashes on Haze’s back, tearing into them with his hands with a bitter callousness Davian never expected to see from his friend. An awful chill had settled over the man as he tortured the villain, a smile cresting on his face.

You broke faster than I did.

Lisle’s words. Teasing, mocking, vindicated.

He wondered for how long this had been happening, how long Davian had let this happen. Davian sucked in a breath, only filling himself up with more of the vision-smoke. Distantly, he figured it didn’t matter. All that really mattered was what the smoke showed him—how clueless he’d been. How blind.

Haze wasn’t the villain here.

Lisle was.

The smoke shifted again. The air grew thicker and Davian struggled to breathe. He pitched forward, trying desperately to get air into his lungs, but it was only visions. Memories.

The smoke settled and Davian could breathe again.

He was in the hospital room. The visions overlayed itself with where Davian presently sat in reality, though the unconscious body of Lisle that Davian had punched was not lying on the floor in the corner as he realistically should be. No, the vision-Lisle stood by Haze’s bedside, while Haze himself looked up with fearful eyes. Cali was there as well, standing on the other side of the bed. She held out her hands and asked Lisle for confirmation, to which he replied with words that sounded so wrong to Davian’s own ears, but seemed to convince Cali of his goals and her assumed purpose.

No.

Davian realized what they were going to do. He knew what Haze had suffered at the hands of the vigilante Sorrowborn, he knew what this would do to him. Lisle knew it all and intended to use Haze’s greatest fear, his greatest pain, against him. For revenge.

Davian tried to move. He made to leap up and stop the scene from happening, but his body wouldn’t obey. He was trapped, motionless, helpless as he could only watch as Haze thrashed under Cali's power as she sent jolts of electricity into his body. Worse than being tazed, worse even than if he were to stick a fork in an electric socket, the shock tore through the man’s body without mercy.

Davian screamed for them to stop, but the vision never wavered. Haze begged in the same voice as Davian was now, and neither of them could do a thing.

The smoke dissipated and Davian sucked in a breath. He was back in the hospital room, the real one this time, with everything where it had been moments prior. Lisle still lay unconscious to the side, but Davian couldn’t even look at him right now. He didn’t even know what to think about his former friend, the same man he’d gone to the academy with, studied together, laughed together, saved innocent lives together with.

And Haze.

The villain. The monster. The lackey for a group of people so evil that it couldn’t be put into words.

The injured boy. The fragile thing. the one who had been wronged so thoroughly and by so many people. Including himself.

next

#whump #whump writing #my writing #willow writes #original work: hazeshift #oc haze #oc davian #oc lisle #unreality tw #villain whump #villain whumpee #heroes and villains

[whumpsoda]

Once Nauseating Smile

Soooo just love potion whump. Heroes and villains.

———————————————————————

Deep down, Hero knew it was wrong.

Pushed deep into the depths of his brain he disliked it. 

Even so, he couldn’t help but feel overcome with delight at the simple sight of Villain. A simple fleeting meet of the eyes. Hero knew he had never felt this way before, but in the moment it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Only Villain did.

“Oh pumpkin, how I’ve missed you!” Villain exclaimed excitedly. 

Despite being a usual situation, everything felt so unusual. Hero and his team were called out for another of Villain’s usual schemes, and they had just shown up to the normal setting. The usual villainous machine, Villain’s usual malicious grin, the screaming civilians. 

But Hero felt unusual.

And Hero didn’t mind it.

His cheeks flushed red as his eyes gazed over Villain in his entirety. Villain was so handsome, his slicked back hair, his slender jaw, his mesmerizing smirk. 

Villain’s smooth voice.

It overwhelmed Hero’s being, every part of his self enraptured in Villain’s undeniable beauty. As much as he wanted to, Hero couldn’t help it. 

Villain strode toward Hero, no hesitation in getting so close to the man sent to capture him. To the team’s surprise, Hero didn’t so much as flinch away. Hero instead eagerly leaned toward the approaching villain. Villain’s slender arms enveloped Hero’s large frame in a tight embrace.

Hero liked it. 

He made no attempt to push away, appreciating the touch. 

“I’ve been so excited for this moment, pumpkin. I know you’re confused, that’s okay, I still love you.” Hero was confused. Very. But at the same time it meant nothing to him. As long as Villain was there, the marvelous Villain, Hero would be okay.

Hero’s throat squeezed tight, no sound escaping. He was nervous, flustered. His body was soft, comfortable in the touch of his enemy. His beautiful enemy.

“I-Villain-I don’t-”

“Shhh, Pumpkin. Call me darling. That’d make me so happy.” Villain nuzzled his face into Hero’s chest, serene and delicate. Almost as if he couldn’t control himself, Hero began petting his hands through Villain’s hair.

The hair was so soft, so silky, so cute.

The rest of Hero’s team hadn’t moved an inch, all of them frozen and slack jawed.

Hero was slipping. He forgot where he was, forgot what he had been sent to do. He was so focused on Villain, on his love. Hero’s face held a relaxed and pleased expression.

“You look so beautiful, darling.” His voice was no louder than a whisper, his words only intended for Villain. Villain’s smile, delighted and charming, was painted across his face. He looked ecstatic.

“I’ve waited so long for those words to come from you, Hero. I’m so thrilled, you have no idea.” Every word that slipped from Villain’s mouth was digested so tenderly by Hero’s brain. “You Look outstandingly handsome, as always.” Hero chuckled nervously, as if conversing with a high school crush.

Hero was beyond jubilant. Every inch of his body craved for Villain, a love so intense, so sudden, that he had never before felt. Villain swiftly pulled away from his tight grip to Hero’s body, stepping back to observe. “I can’t believe it worked. I’d been so doubtful, so worried. But I hadn’t given up on you Hero, and here we are.” Villain met Hero’s gaze, none of his usual malice displayed in the slightest. Only pure adoration.

Hero had no idea what Villain meant, but he was okay with that. Hero didn’t mind it, didn’t mind any of it. Villain, elegant and sly, had changed him. Was doing something to him, even if he had no idea what.

A feeling of pure gratitude traveled up his spine.

Hero’s mind and body was conquered now, overpowered by the mass affection and devotion he felt for the man in front of him.

“Do you love me Hero?” The five words sent Hero’s mind hurling over the edge.

“I love you, Villain. I love every inch of you, every word that comes from your lips. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.” The words did not feel like his, but they were. They stumbled from his mouth on instinct, unable to stop himself, caused from the overwhelming urge to tell Villain about his undying affection.

Villain, hands curled to his own face in excitement, hungrily snagged a thin vile from his pocket. Hero paid it no mind, his thoughts still stumbling from his mouth. 

Hero paid no mind to the familiar gleam of the shining liquid.

“Hero.” Hero’s rambling ceased immediately. 

“Would you like some more?”

#hero whumpee #whump #whumpblr #brainwashing #hero x villain #villain whumper #love potion #my writing #writing drabble

[unforgivenn]

WORD COUNT :424

CW: Failed escape attempt, pet whump?, beating, captivity, abuse, power dynamics, creepy and intimidating whumper

In the dimly lit basement of an old, dilapidated house, a figure huddled in the corner, trembling with fear. Whumpee trembled. They should've never tried running away. Everything was going so good and they-.. they just had to ruin it.. Please oh god I cant take this.. Whumpee curled up in a ball, their heart pounding with dread, they knew there punishment would be sever.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the basement, signaling Whumper's approach. Whumpee's breath caught in their throat as the door swung open, revealing the towering figure of their tormentor. Whumper's eyes glinted with malice as he advanced towards whumpee, a sadistic smile curling his lips.

"You thought you could escape from me, didn't you, boy?" Whumper's voice was low and menacing, sending shivers down Whumpee's spine.

"I-I'm sorry," Whumpee stammered, their voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to disobey you."

"Sorry isn't good enough," Whumper growled, grabbing whumpee by the collar and hauling them to their feet. "You need to learn your place, and I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

Without warning, Whumper lashed out, his fist connecting with Whumpee's jaw with a sickening thud. They cried out in pain, feeling the metallic tang of blood fill their mouth as their head spun from the impact.

Blows rained down upon whumpee, each one more punishing than the last. They cried out in agony, their body convulsing with pain as Whumper's rage consumed them. Bruises bloomed on whumpee's skin like dark flowers, and tears streamed down their face, mingling with the blood that trickled from their wounds.

Again and again, Whumper struck out with brutal precision, each blow landing with the force of a sledgehammer. Whumpee cried out in pain, their body wracked with agony as they tried in vain to shield themselves from the onslaught.

The whumpee's cries of agony echoed off the cold stone walls, each hit leaving behind a searing trail of pain. With each strike, they felt their spirit breaking, the weight of their disobedience bearing down upon them like a crushing weight.

Eventually, the onslaught ceased, and Whumpee was left lying on the cold concrete floor, bruised and bloodied, their breath coming in ragged gasps. Through tear-blurred eyes, they saw Whumper looming over them, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"Remember this moment, boy," Whumper sneered. "Remember who owns you, and never dare to defy me again."

With that ominous warning, Whumper turned and left Whumpee alone in the darkness, his words ringing in the air like a death knell.

#whump #whumpblr #whump scenario #my whump prompts #my writing #failed escape attempt #escape attempt #beating #punishment #pet whumpee #pet whump #dominating whumper #whumpee #intimate whumper #whump tropes #whump idea #intimdating whumper #captivity #whumblr #whump drabble

[chaotic-orphan]

Febuwhump: Day Twenty

Truth serum— @febuwhump prompts

Is it Whump? If you squint, your honour.

TW: needles, fear of needles, needle phobia, being injected against will, restraints, kidnapping, grogginess, fainting, consent issues,

*~*~*~*~*

Journalist didn’t wake to their alarm or their phone ringing, both of which were the only things to rouse them from sleep. They groaned as they woke which, to be fair, was a usual thing because it meant they had to get up and work or meet a deadline or something equally groan worthy.

What was not usual was waking up strapped to a metal table. That was a new one, even for journalist.

I bet i am restrained, they thought, then tugged their arms for good measure. Oh, yep. Definitely restrained.

Cliché.

Which meant—

“You’re awake,” said Villain, a smile in their voice. Journalist craned their neck awkwardly trying to see Villain but groaned with the effort and the weight of their head like it was filled with lead. “Oh, yeah, no. Don’t move.”

“Got it,” Journalist groaned as their brain rattled in their head, making the room spin. “Uh, why am I here?”

“We need to have a little chat.”

“We had a little chat like — two days ago,” said Journalist with a groan. “It was far more civil and less dizzying.”

Villain finally came within view of Journalist and they had three heads. That was very different than last time they saw Villain, but alas, who was Journalist to judge.

“It’s actually about something we talked about,” said the Villains. Then they smiled coyly. “And Darling, get your facts right, we spoke three days ago.”

“Fuck,” Journalist whined and pulled at their restraints that clicked taut. “My boss is gonna be pissed—“”

“It’s fine,” said Villains with a shrug, now there was only two of them, the third having left the conversation. “Just tell them you were kidnapped.”

“Oh no, I mean pissed with you,” said Journalist. “You can so goodbye to any more favourable articles.”

Villain snorted then disappeared from view again.

“They will!” Journalist told them earnestly. Villain then reappeared beside Journalist’s left arm. Only one of them now thankfully, and a giant fucking needle.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Journalist shrieked, kicking their feet against the table trying to get away from whatever the fuck Villain was about to do. The sound of the restraints clacking against the table didn’t do anything to ease their panic. “Wait! Wait! Wait! Villain please, I’m— oh god, I’m terrified of— I can’t—”

Villain’s eyebrows furrowed as Journalist descended into a panic attack. They quickly lowered the needle out of sight but Journalist’s eyes were already rolling to the back of their head and their body went limp.

Villain stared, stunned. Then brought the needle up again and while Journalist was passed out injected them with the contents, thumbing down the plunger. Villain set the needle down on a table faraway from Journalist and sighed.

They should have known Journalist had a phobia of needles. Idiot, but… it had to be done. Villain had to know once and for all.

They walked back over to Journalist and lightly tapped their cheeks to wake them. Journalist moaned in protest, but then blinked up with bleary eyes at Villain.

“Relax,” said Villain softly when Journalist’s eyes widened again. “It’s gone. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Shit, I’m sorry for fainting on you,” said Journalist with a breath, relaxing back against the table. Villain chuckled lightly at Journalist.

“You’re such a polite hostage,” said Villain and basked as a red blush climbed its way up Journalist’s neck and spread to their cheeks. “You’re blushing!”

“Shut up,” Journalist said with a huff, with no real malice behind the words. Villain hummed and stepped closer, brushing the stray hairs from Journalist’s forehead. They loved the way Journalist’s eyes shuttered at the movement. When Supervillain said the truth serum made people putty in your hands, Villain wasn’t expecting this.

Villain ran their hand lightly through Journalist’s hair as they began their gentle interrogation.

“Journalist?” Villain asked. Journalist hummed in response. Villain smiled. “I need to ask you a question, and I need you to be 100% honest with me.”

Journalist hummed again. “Okay Villain.”

Villain licked their lips, suddenly nervous. Here it was. This was it. Journalist was right here in front of them, injected with truth serum ready to spill their secrets and Villain was hesitating?!

“Are you…” Villain began then cleared their throat. “Are you Hero?”

Journalist smiled dreamily. “No.”

Villain paled. “No?”

“No,” Journalist said again. Villain’s hands froze in Journalist’s hair. Journalist let out a small keen in the back of their throat, whining at Villain’s pause. Villain resumed more out of shock than anything.

“You’re not Hero?” Villain asked again. They were almost certain…

“No, I’m Journalist.”

Villain blinked. Okay, they weren’t expecting this. Hero wasn’t Journalist? Then—

“But our conversation, you said your source was 100% about Hero?”

“Yes,” said Journalist with a smile. “It was.”

“Your most trusted source?”

“Yes.”

Villain frowned, something like jealousy settling in their throat. “Is Hero… your lover?”

Journalist giggled, actually giggled at Villain’s question. “No.”

“Then who is your most trusted source?” Villain demanded.

“Me,” said Journalist. “The best person to validate facts is yourself, Villain. So I had it on good authority that my information was correct.”

Villain frowned. “But how did you—”

“I’m the Hero/Villain liaison for the city news, Villain, I don’t just have late night rendezvous with you.”

Villain deflated. They really didn’t expect this conversation to go like this, but this— they thought, they were a fool. They should have never done this, curiosity killed—

“But you are my favourite.”

Villain’s heart leapt in their chest. “I am?” Villain asked, their voice coming out in a whisper.

“Yes,” said Journalist. “You’re always kind with me. Hero’s too serious and annoying.”

Villain snorted again. “They are. So… you’re really not Hero?”

Journalist giggled. “Villain, don’t be so cliché. I’m not Clark Kent.”

Villain smiled softly at Journalist. “Though, I don’t like the way you kidnapped me. My boss is gonna be so mad at you.”

“I know, Journalist.”

“And stabbing me with a needle? Not a great look for you, you can’t just do that without consent.”

Villain laughed. “I didn’t even need to give you truth serum did I? You say whatever is on your mind anyways.”

“No time to think up lies, Villain. I’m a busy person.”

“You are,” said Villain.

#febuwhump #febuwhump20 #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump day 20 #febuwhump day twenty #needles #tw needles #tw fear of needles #fainting #truth serum #cw needles #Cw kidnapping #tw kidnapping #tw: needles #kidnapping #villain whumper #civilian whumpee #villain x civillian #villain x civilian #Whump writing #Whump #whumpblr

[whumptober]

I couldn't give less of a shit about the other things going down but deleting replies of disabled people speaking out against blatant ableism going on in your comments is such a shitty fucking thing to do. The whump community already has a bad rep for ableism, you're making it worse for all of us.

Hi Anon,

First off, a general apology for our radio silence — all of our mods are busy (I personally work seven days a week and am on-call most evenings currently) so all of us getting a chance to have a solid discussion isn’t happening immediately, as much as you, and we would like it to.

As a group, we’ve discussed the deleted replies. For all of us, Tumblr was showing their default message of “Some Replies may have been hidden, blocked or removed.” We figured it was just Tumblr being a hellsite and moved on.

With replies still showing as deleted, and it being pointed out that they were showing as deleted for others, we took a closer look at blog settings and the way Tumblr works. We realised that it was due to blocks from personal Tumblr accounts that replies were disappearing.

Due to backlash and hostility regarding our decision of our stance on AI, some mods blocked commenters from personal accounts. Giving everyone (including us mods) time and space to cool off was important to us. A big part of Tumblr is the ability to curate your own online experiences, and we thought that a temporary block would allow us this.

We didn’t realise that it would impact the visibility on the official Whumptober blog. We don’t want anyone to feel singled out due to personal conflict, although now it looks like we have done so without intention, so we apologise for that.

So as far as we’re aware, all blocks have been removed and all comments should be visible now. If your comments still aren’t showing, please know that they were not removed through malice.

As for our AI stance, we plan to release another official statement soon. However, this is still in discussion among ourselves.

#mod vanne #asks

[letstalkwhump]

Let's Talk Whump

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community. I’m Malice and I’ll be your host. 

Joining us today is the fabulous @ashintheairlikesnow!

It’s great to have you here, Ash! Let’s kick this interview off with a fact or two about yourself!

Hi! I go by Ash, I am an ageless elder crone, and my life is built around the whims of an old dog and a very young cat. My primary hobby is reading, and I especially get lost in books on cults and new religious movements, World War I, and vampires.

What does whump mean to you? 

To me, whump is physical, mental, and emotional suffering. What causes that suffering can be any one of a number of things, and any of them might be what fascinates about the story. 

But it's whump when someone hurts.

And how did you find the whump community? What made you want to join?

I had gone through a tumultuous few months in 2019, including being laid off. I was reading and writing in-between frantically applying and interviewing for new jobs, and somewhere in there I stumbled back onto Tumblr after a long… long… hiatus. 

In August of 2019 I did a fanfiction writing challenge and the prompt for day 11 was 'whump'. A friend of mine had to explain to me what the word even meant, which is when I realized there was a whole subgenre dedicated to my favorite thing to write! After that, I started following some blogs with whump in their name and shortly after, took a chance on posting some writing, too. 

2019 you say, and yet I would affectionately swear you’ve been around the whump community forever! Do you think  your view on whump changed since you joined? 

Definitely! I was more timid when it came to what I would or wouldn't write out in detail early on. Eventually I gained confidence and started including things that delved into full horror, where before I wasn't sure how it would be received. 

I think I have come to appreciate a ton of tropes that didn't really speak to me or that I struggled with at first! Finding certain writers that really did a great job with them helped me get over that.

ANd now for the best bit; Let’s talk whump tropes! Do you have a few particular faves?

Noncon and recovery from it - one of my favorite things about whump isn't even the harm but the way a character recovers from it, and noncon can be a violation of physical self, identity, everything. So I enjoy the noncon but also watching someone rebuild themself afterward. 

Trauma recovery - on a related note. Most of my stories really focus heavily not on the worst of times, but in what comes after. How do you find yourself again when everything about you was erased? Or beaten, or broken? Resilience is essential in my work. 

BBU - I started writing at the beginning of the BBU taking off in early 2020 - I think my first Kauri piece was written in January 2020 actually. I love world building and dystopian fiction, so I never stop finding new awful details about the BBU to bring to the light. 

Creepy/intimate whumpers - Whumpers that get under your skin without necessarily treading into noncon territory. Think like @comfy-whumpee's Alistair, a master of overwhelming, awful affection and the power of control. Or @for-the-love-of-angst's Zever, a father-figure to OC Taron turned captor. 

Shades of gray - whumpees who weren't the good guys, but who have been forced to struggle and suffer. I like writing, and reading, imperfect people who are trying to make themselves better than they've been, or bad people who have their reasons who run into someone they can't get away from. 

Hype time! Do you have a few pieces of your favourite work that you’d like to share?

This is so hard! Oh my gosh. I need to think about this. 

Haunted - a Kauri piece. The way this one delves into the emptiness of Kauri from someone else's perspective… there are some metaphors in here I am really proud of. 

Blood, Freely Given - a vampire walks into a hospital. God, I love when I get the chance to work in a more horror-centered space. This one is lyrical and I love it.

I’m Here - a boy remembers everything he was made to forget. This was maybe the most intense thing I've written. It is disjointed and chaotic and I adore it.

Oh my god! I am obsessed with Blood, Given Freely’s vibes! Creepy but somehow tugging at my emotions- damn! Do you have a particular writing routine?

My best writing happens in a coffeeshop with a pastry and a latte on hand! I almost always sit down and put on a playlist based on whichever story, then write out a whole piece on two or three hours. Then I spend a day or two editing and cleaning up, then post. 

I used to try to write once or twice a week. Lately that's fallen off to every other week or even less. Life gets busy! But I still write when the mood strikes me. 

And do you find somethings are easier for you to write than others?

I am so so so bad at writing fight scenes or action. It's like pulling teeth! On the other hand, I am pretty good at dialogue, I think. The different voices of different characters come to me fairly easily. 

Can we get a peek behind the curtains and see what your currently working on?

I am half-heartedly trying to get started on a novel that I keep going back and forth on, involving a man looking for a vampire in 1926 upstate New York. But not for the reasons you think.

Actually, maybe exactly for those reasons.

I am definitely enjoying writing horror more often. My OC Finn Schneider's story is pure nightmare fuel, and I find myself thinking about him a lot. 

Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today?

When I was in high school, I decided to start telling bad jokes on purpose, as my "thing". To my credit, I kept it up for years. I had jokes I would tell at every party. They were all terrible.

I was surprised that people kept asking me to tell more.

Now I can't remember any of them. 

I mostly run screaming from puns. They are the real monsters here. 

Haha, puns seem to be very popular in the whump community, particularly in our urls! Would you care to share some writing advice with our readers?

My best advice has always been and will always be just to write often. Like any muscle, it gets stronger with exercise, like any skill you get better primarily through practice. Even if you doubt yourself, keep writing. You will look back and be shocked at how you improved even without realizing it over time. 

Try to set aside time to write. It doesn't have to be anything in particular, any one story. Write anything at all. 

Shout-out time for some of the wonderful people on here!

Oooooh it would be such a wildly long list. I will try! Okay, here are just a few:

@albino-whumpee who we recently lost created some incredible whump art from a very personal place. I miss them. 

@wildfaewhump @comfy-whumpee @whump-tr0pes @hackles-up @card-games-and-pain @whumpiary @sableflynn @redwingedwhump @whump-it @for-the-love-of-angst @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @winedark-whump @justplainwhump @just-horrible-things … gosh there are so many!

Finally, is there anything you'd like to add?

The whump community has been an incredible place to make my writing "home". I've met some pretty amazing people on this hellsite! May we all continue to enjoy the suffering of our silly little guys here together! 

Thank you for joining us, Ash. It was an absolute pleasure to have you on the show! 

And to all you fabulous folk at home, have a whump-derful day!

[shywhumpauthor]

To the Victor the Spoils—Part Two

Kneel

Previous || Masterlist

Cw: abuse, manhandling, mentioned torture, vague threats

You remain still. You will not humiliate yourself.

You keep your eyes locked against his, not quite glaring but there’s a certain malice behind your gaze. You press your lips together, mouth uncomfortably dry, but there isn’t much you can do about that.

Despite being bruised, beaten bloody, you straighten your back, squaring your shoulders even with the iron manacles locked heavily around your wrists.

For a moment, it’s a standoff, a piercing stare pinned against cold, dark eyes.

Then the king smirks.

The shaft of a spear slams against the back of your knees, causing your legs to buckle as you fall forwards. With no way to catch yourself, you can only try to twist your body, letting your shoulder take the brunt of the impact. A sharp pain crackles down your arm, your jaw clenching to keep from making a sound.

A moment later, a hand twists in your hair, wrenching you up to your knees. This time, you can’t help the hiss of pain from slipping between your grit teeth, sparks exploding across your scalp.

“I can assure you, my dear prince, the strong and stoic act will not do you any good.” The king sat forwards, hands bracing against his knees as if were about to stand, but instead he simply stayed there, leaning forwards.

“You can make this much easier for yourself, all I ask is that you comply.”

Tag list: @tauntedoctopuses @sorrowful-hyacinth @kaz-of-crows @andromeda-liske @sonder35 @bloodsweatandpotato @merlilica @whump-me @gala1981 @lakelyasleep @icepick-hoe @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpedydump @thelilbutifulthings @amazingmagda

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #its me coal #coal wrote something #whump cyoa #cyoa whump #whumpee #whumper #whump prompt #whump prompts #royal whump #royal whumper #royal whumper/whumpee #creepy whumper #captured whumpee #captivity whump #writing prompt #intimate whumper #whump drabble #kidnapped whumpee #abused whumpee #medieval whump #whump series #interactive whump #pet whump #whump idea #whump stuff #whump poll

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

20

inspo by @whumpshaped

[tw unhealthy bottled up romantic feelings and masochism, honestly whumpee just wants to get wrecked by their friend ok, mild self-harm thoughts, emotional whump]

"Oh, you like this?" Caretaker asked with a mischievous grin, pressing just a fraction more against Whumpee's back. They were helping them with dicing, showing off the correct and safest way to hold a knife and how to avoid unfortunate accidents — which included basically hugging Whumpee from the back and holding their hand. "Who knew?"

"I don't– come on," Whumpee almost whined, face as red as the bell pepper on the cutting board. "Just, just go on. I just wanna learn this shit properly."

"Mhm. You should be paying a little more attention, then."

"I am! I'm trying to! Stop derailing this!"

Caretaker laughed softly, without any malice. It was so clearly just a harmless joke to them. And it wasn't... an unwelcome one, it was just... a touch too real. It was too hard to ignore. It was impossible for Whumpee not to imagine what it would've been like if Caretaker had been serious about these things, and it made their cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Caretaker would never see them in that way, they knew that. They should've spoken up about this; they should've told Caretaker that it made them feel a little like they were being led on, and it wasn't good for anybody. At the same time, the idea of never getting teased in this silly way again made them unreasonably upset.

It was too enticing to be able to delude themself.

Caretaker walked them through the process, only making one joke about how Whumpee seemed a little zoned out. And they were, truly, they wouldn't have been able to recall a single part of the explanation with a gun to their head.

"Got it?" Caretaker asked at the end, and Whumpee nodded mutely. They didn't trust their voice. "Go ahead, then. Show me what you learned." Caretaker let go of the knife and snaked both arms around Whumpee's waist, resting their chin on their shoulder.

"I can't if you keep clinging to me like a leech," they exclaimed suddenly.

"I wanna see."

"You can– you can see it from, from the other end of the kitchen as well."

"You're just stalling, love." Their voice was but a low murmur right next to Whumpee's ear, and they couldn't handle it. It was so ridiculous to feel so helplessly attracted to someone's voice, but Whumpee felt like they would've done anything for Caretaker just on account of how they sounded whenever they'd asked. "Don't get all self-conscious on me now. Would I ever judge you?"

Not seriously, never. But Whumpee remembered all the good-natured teasing they'd been subjected to over the course of the past months, and Caretaker's playful tone was definitely an indication that they were planning on making fun of them for not listening.

Whumpee was just about to tell them to knock it off when Caretaker stepped back, leaning against the counter to their left. "I don't want to distract you to the point where you injure yourself," they said with faux-overconfidence. "I know I'm a painfully seductive presence, and with great power comes great responsibility."

"You're ridiculous."

"But in a hot way, right?"

"In the least hot way possible."

Caretaker burst out laughing, and Whumpee's heart fluttered. Fuck, they loved making them laugh way too much. It made them feel like they had a chance, like Caretaker actually liked them.

"You wound me. But really, don't be nervous. I just wanna see."

If only their stupid, deep-seated sincerity could bleed over to their flirting. If only they saw Whumpee as anything other than a burdensome roommate to take care of. If only they kept going, just once, no matter how much Whumpee insisted they wanted none of it.

Whumpee started dicing the remaining bell pepper, their hand still tingling where Caretaker had held it. Maybe they should cut themself on purpose, so their friend could make fun of them some more.

#whump #whump drabble #mild self-harm thoughts #emotional whump #comfort #recovery fic #res writes

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Recollection

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Elze'ith confronts Lord Denholm about his mental manipulations.

For @whumpril Day 15: Mind Games.

Contains: Intimate whump, captivity/gilded cage, temporary amnesia, mind control, begging, manipulation

~~~

“Milord?”

Elze’ith’s pulse pounded in his ears, but he held firm, knocking lightly at the door to Lord Denholm’s study. As nervous as he was, he couldn’t continue on without addressing the uncertainty and fear lingering in the back of his mind. Best to confront Lord Denholm now, when they were both calm, when Elze’ith could afford to take whatever consequences his boldness might bring.

“Come in.”

The fire in the hearth bathed the room in warm light, but did little to ease the chill in Elze’ith’s bones as he stepped into the study. Lord Denholm was sitting on the large, plush couch, a tome in his lap, a curious expression on his face. “Ah, my light. What brings you here at this hour?”

He gestured at the spot next to him; after hesitating for a moment, Elze’ith sat. It took an effort of will not to wring his hands. He wasn’t used to direct confrontation, but he knew it was unwise to let his apprehension show. “I… was hoping to talk to you, Milord.”

“Of course.” Snapping the tome shut, Lord Denholm offered a beneficent smile that did nothing to assuage Elze’ith’s anxiety. “What is on your mind, my light?”

He took a deep breath. Steadied himself. “I… have been noticing some… oddities.” Even after all of his time thinking and preparing, now that he was trying to bring things forward, he couldn’t quite find the words. “In recent… weeks,” he paused, struck not for the first time that he didn’t know how long he had been in the castle. Shoving the thought aside he pressed on, “I… have felt at odds with my own mind. Threads of thought and reasoning that I lose and cannot reclaim, emotions that are not fully my own…” He averted his gaze, trying to suppress the shudder that wanted to rip through him. “It has been… disconcerting. And it started when I came to stay with you here.”

There was no direct accusation that Lord Denholm was causing any of this. He didn’t dare. But the implication remained; something strange was going on in Elze’ith’s mind, and he knew that Lord Denholm had to have something to do with it, one way or another.

“I see.” Lord Denholm placed his hand on Elze’ith’s thigh, the gesture making him tense ever-so slightly. It didn’t matter than he didn’t want to be touched right now. It never seemed to. “I can see why this would be distressing, my light. I am glad that you came to me about this.”

Something like hope flickered in Elze’ith’s chest. He didn’t dare kindle it. “Of course, Milord. I… do not know who else I would turn to.” As painful it was to admit, it was true. And maybe admitting it would help get him the relief he sought.

“What must it feel like, to not be able to trust your own mind.” Lord Denholm’s voice was calm, as though he were idly musing, even as his aura thickened with animus. The small flicker of hope in Elze’ith’s chest immediately extinguished, replaced by dread. “To know you are forgetting things, to not know where your thoughts and emotions originate…”

Elze’ith swallowed. “Milord?”

The weight of malice in the air thickened. In the back of his mind, Elze’ith felt the lingering presence of Lord Denholm grow stronger as something seemed to slither inside, as though it were rooting around for something. A gasp tore itself from his lungs, his eyes wide with confusion and uncertainty and fear.

“I wonder just how frightening it could be.”

The slimy, slippery thing in his mind sunk into something and twisted. Pain lanced through his skull, making Elze’ith double over. Though the pain faded quickly, it was replaced by a wave of dizziness, a sense of overwhelming wrongness that settled over him and didn’t go away. It took him several long moments to collect himself, and even then the profound sense of unease didn’t fade, nor did the knowledge that he was far less alone in his own mind than even he was accustomed to.

Gasping and trembling, he looked up. He was in Lord Denholm’s study. There was a fire in the hearth. Lord Denholm was next to him, hand on his thigh in a way that made his skin crawl. There was a tome resting innocently on the table in front of them.

He didn’t recognize the book on the table, had no idea if he had read it. He didn’t recall coming into the study; it could have been minutes or hours ago. He didn’t remember anything beyond waking up this morning, and his eyes widened as he realized his entire day was one strange, hazy blur.

What had happened? Why couldn’t he remember?

(The presence in his mind burrowed deeper.)

“Light?” Lord Denholm’s voice snapped him out of his terrified thoughts. Elze’ith turned, eyes locking onto Lord Denholm’s curious expression. “Is everything alright?

No, it wasn’t. But he couldn’t say that, all of his instincts screaming that he wasn’t safe, that something was wrong. There was too much dark delight radiating off of Lord Denholm for him to feel otherwise. “I— I am alright. My apologies, Milord.”

“Oh?” Lord Denholm’s eyes seemed to sharpen. “Are you sure? Tell me what’s going on in your head, my light.”

Elze’ith knew it wasn’t a request even before he felt the pressure on his mind, almost painful alongside the dizziness that still clouded his thoughts. “I do not remember anything from today. I do not remember coming into the study, or anything we were doing prior to this moment.” His voice shook. His entire body shook. But he kept speaking. “I— I am very afraid. I do not know what has happened. I do not know if you took something, Milord, or if I just forgot, and both of those possibilities are terrifying. Especially because it could happen again, and I could lose even more,and I know I could not stop it. And I do not want to admit how frightening it is, and I do not want to lay the blame at your feet, because I am even more afraid of what you might do now.”

A hollow sense of dread gripped his bones the more he spoke, the more he was forced to confess. Sharing his fears, especially with the man at the center of them, was somewhere between mortifying and horrfying. More importantly, though, despite the fact that he had suspected for a while now that Lord Denholm had been tampering with his mind, this was not at all how he wanted to broach the subject. Such matters had to be handled delicately, not like this.But he could not hold back the traitorous words. All he could do was watch as a faint smile tugged at Lord Denholm’s lips.

“I see.” His slow, deliberate words made Elze’ith’s blood run cold. “You are afraid that I will take more, then?”

Elze’ith swallowed. “Yes, Milord.”

“Good.”

The tension in the air shifted, like a grip being released, and all of a sudden Elze’ith’s memories of the day fell back into place. Dizziness was replaced by pain was replaced by relief, but he was barely given a chance to collect his thoughts, to realize what had happened, to grapple with the implications of a day’s worth of memories being smeared and erased on a whim. Because the pain returned, sharper and deeper and more intense than before, as the strange foreign force in his mind surged and expanded and grew, roots branching out and implanting in every corner of his psyche. Letting out a strangled yell, he clutched at his head and folded in on himself, desperate for it to stop.

There were flashes, images, as Lord Denholm’s influence embedded itself within him and did its work. A face, one he knew better than his own, radiant and lovely and looking like home. A love, one he couldn’t bear to leave behind, despite everything that had happened. A person that he would do anything for, even this, because they (he) was worth every ounce of suffering. And Elze’ith screamed as those memories were pried from his grasp, pulled out of his reach, shrouded by a fog too thick to pierce.

It wasn’t like before. Even as the process ended, even as the dizziness and wrongness settled over him, the pain didn’t fade.He still ached. The pain was soul-deep, felt in every heartbeat, in every scrambled thought, in every lonely breath he took. As he sat there, shaking like a leaf, he distantly realized that he was sobbing, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto his lap. He was missing something, someone, someone so fundamental that he couldn’t fathom ever losing them, but here he was, with such a hole in his soul that part of him was surprised he was still alive.

Though he tried to find something to hold onto, some shard of memory to remind him of who had been so important, all he could grasp onto was too insubstantial to make sense of. It all faded fast, like a song heard in a dream, like dew in the morning sun.

(Like he will, one day.)

“Please.” He didn’t wait until Lord Denholm addressed him. This was too painful, too devastating, too miserable. He couldn’t do this. “Please, give them back. I— I can’t—“

Mustering all of his strength, he straightened as much as he could to meet Lord Denholm’s gaze. There was no mercy in those eyes, only cold regard, and satisfaction, and focus. “Oh? Are you sure? What if I told you that this was for your own benefit? This person has caused you so much pain, after all.”

Elze’ith might have remembered something like that, might have remembered something like betrayal and heartbreak. But he didn’t care about that now. Because he knew he had loved them at one point, loved them more than he loved the sun and the stars (other things he missed so, so dearly), and that love was more than worth the heartbreak of losing them.

Besides, the memory, however painful it was, had to be easier than this. Right now he was in utter agony, overwhelmed by a torrent of grief more potent than he had ever felt. He couldn’t imagine it ever getting any better, not without regaining what had been lost. At least if he remembered he would know what he was missing. At least if he remembered then he would have shards of happier times to cling to. This hollow nothingness was too much to bear. He wanted more than echoes and shadows of a past that had been his everything. He wanted—

(He wanted his partner—)

Please. I’m sorry, he called out in his mind, though he knew that this cherished, irreplaceable person would not, could not respond. I don’t want to lose you. I never wanted to lose you. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back. Just please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me behind. I can’t bear to be without you.

“Please. I do not care how painful it is. I do not care what I have to do. Just— just please, give him back—!”

Desperation colored every word bright and sharp and potent. Lord Denholm studied him for a long moment, and Elze’ith found his fear surging. If Lord Denholm didn’t agree, if Elze’ith couldn’t find the right things to promise to get him to relinquish his memories, then—

But the swirling power and malice around Lord Denholm withdrew. The burrowing, writhing force in his mind went with it, causing Elze’ith to go rigid as everything cascaded back into its rightful place.“Very well. You may have your wish.”

Elze’ith cried for a long, long time after. In pain, in fear, but mostly in sheer relief. He had Altair again. No matter what else happened, he had Altair again.

He would never bring up Lord Denholm’s ability to directly influence his mind again. His point had been made more than clearly enough.

#flicker in the dark #silly writes #whump #whump writing #elze'ith sylrel oc #lord soren denholm oc #altair buchannan oc #captivity #mind control #amnesia #manipulation #begging #whumpril2024 #WhumprilDay15 #Mind Games

[seetheothersideofparadise]

Hero Whumpers are so GOOD. There’s so many different flavors.

Hero Whumper who sees beating up Villains as their job and doesn’t see any reason to hold back. They’re the scum of the earth to them— maybe not even people.

Hero Whumper who uses their status as an excuse for the things they do. They’re a Hero, who is anyone to question what they do? They save the city day in and day out, they should be above the law. Hell, maybe they even see themselves as god-like.

Hero Whumper who is just doing as they are told. Capture the Villain, get information out of them at any cost— They’re not cruel out of malice, only necessity. Maybe they feel bad. Maybe they make sure to patch them up afterwards. But if their superiors tell them to do one thing, they do it, no questions asked. It’s how they were trained, after all.

Hero Whumper who genuinely believes they’re doing the right thing even if they’re not. The road to hell is paved with good intentions— it’s just for the city. Anything for the public. This is necessary.

Hero Whumper who doesn’t hold back even with other Heroes. Maybe they take out those who rank higher than them. Maybe they push around the newbies so they know their place. Maybe they just see themselves as superior— or maybe alternatively they feel inferior and they need to take it out on someone who’s ‘Better’ than them in some way to get rid of the feeling. Maybe they’re just making sure everyone follows their rule, or trains them to be better and to their standards. Maybe they target ‘Villain Sympathizers’ specifically.

Just. So many things you could do, and that's not even bringing into account using their powers as tools for whump.

#hero whumper #whump prompt #corrupt superhero #sadistic whumper #reluctant whumper #villain whumpee #hero whumpee #whump ideas #just. so many different things you can do

[whumpshaped]

whumpee (female) with a caretaker (male) but they are friends and just take care of each other. Whumpee can't sleep alone and caretaker offers to stay. Whumpee and caretaker fall asleep cuddling. just pure comfort and support but it's familial/platonic

niche whump tropes

tw lady whumpee, past trauma

Whumpee reached out without thinking, grabbing onto Caretaker's shirt. She didn't want to be alone. Not after everything. She didn't feel safe, she never did, it felt like she would never ever feel safe again; not unless Caretaker was there with her. Protecting her.

"Whumpee?"

She didn't want to say it out loud and sound pathetic. She kept her gaze fixed on her hand, avoiding looking at him, hoping he'd understand and just go along with it. He wasn't going to make her "use her words", was he? No. No. That was Whumper. Caretaker would never humiliate her on purpose.

Sure enough, he placed a gentle hand on top of hers. He didn't pry it off, instead tracing soothing circles into her skin. "It's okay. Do you want me to stay?"

Whumpee nodded jerkily, so quick and so embarrassed that she was afraid Caretaker would pretend not to have seen it out of common courtesy.

"Okay. Just let me know if you change your mind at any point." He sat back down on the bed, but Whumpee kept tugging on his shirt anyway. She glanced up at his face to see a confused expression, and she wished he would just get it. "You, uh... do you want me to..." He trailed off, just as awkward about the situation as her. "I mean, it's not an issue, I just... thought that'd be... I thought you didn't like... cuddles and the sort."

There it was. Caretaker was judging her, wasn't he? Because she had foolishly crafted this image of herself, one of a tough, unapproachable, emotionless leader, one that never had problems, never even liked any of this sentimentality. At one point, maybe she had actually been like that. But she had changed a lot since her time with Whumper, hadn't she?

Either way, she wanted nothing more than to be held by someone she trusted. Caretaker was on the very top of the list, having been her biggest help, best friend, and rescuer all in one. And now he was going to realise just how pitiful she'd become and leave. Whoever needed a weak leader? He must've been so uncomfortable already, god, he must've felt pressured, disgusted-

"I just want to make sure I understand," Caretaker said softly, interrupting the spiral. "So please, can you just nod if you want me to, um... hold you?"

Whumpee hesitated. She could still say no, and preserve some of her dignity. Pretend it was a misunderstanding. But Caretaker was looking at her with eyes devoid of any malice or judgement, and she was inclined to believe that he wouldn't make fun of her. Maybe that was a ridiculous amount of false hope. But she nodded, finally letting go of his shirt to allow him to properly climb into bed with her.

His embrace was cautious and unsure, with small stops, just in case she wanted to tell him off. She didn't. Instead, she nestled into his arms, enjoying the warmth of another human body pressed against her own.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Whumpee was baffled. She should've been the one thanking him. She wanted to ask, 'For what?' but all that made out was a small, questioning sound. It proved to be enough to prompt an explanation.

"For, um... putting so much trust in me. I just... always had this, this horrible feeling, that you bottled everything up... that you pulled away from everyone because... I don't know. Maybe you thought asking for a hug would make us see you differently." His hold tightened for a moment, gently squeezing her now fragile body. "All any of us ever wanted was to protect you, you know. Just as much as you wanted to protect us. As a team, it was... hard to see you so guarded all the time. We always comforted each other, and you always comforted us, but... I don't know. We were all worried."

Silence fell upon the bedroom, only broken by their soft breaths. Neither of them moved. Both of their thoughts were racing. Did he say too much? Had she been a recluse of a leader? Did he offend her? Did she offend them all?

"All I- all I want to say is... thank you for giving me permission to help. Or at least try to. You're not alone, you know. We're all here for you. Whatever you need."

She squeezed back after a small pause, in silent acknowledgement. Caretaker let out a relieved sigh.

"Try to sleep now. It's been a long day."

#asks #rosewriteswhump #niche requests #comfort #recovery #past trauma #lady whumpee

[gotta-whump-them-all]

June Whump Prompt (1/30)

Prompt #1 "Are you okay?"

"Are you okay?" They asked the question as they peered past the bars. The question had not a single ounce of malice attached to it. In all actuality, it sounded like they were truly concerned for the other.

"Fuck! Sh-shit! I-i'm not fine whumpee!" Whumpee eyes were wide with fear and dilated towards whumper. The situation was strange to say the most.

Usually whumpee was on the receiving end of the pain, but this time, today whumper was the one who was being harmed and in pain.

It wasn't even on purpose. Whumper was carrying a tray of needles and sedatives, most definitely to use on whumpee. They only took a handful steps on the stairwell before they managed to trip over their own two feet and land ribs and wrists first on the floor.

They tried to brace themself for the fall, but doing that might have only made everything worse for them.

Everything ached and the whole world was spinning. Had they hit their head on the way down, or maybe when they had made contact with the floor.

Whumpee looked at the ring of keys that had rolled out of whumper's pants pocket. They knew it was to the front door and to the cellar door. This was their chance to leave, to escape!

Whumpee reached for the key ring. They stumbled with the keys before finding a key that was labeled "Cellar", it was incredibly old and rusted away.

Whumper's head rolled over with anger as the door squealed open. Whumpee rushed out of the cellar. Whumper tried to stand, or at least sit upright, but the world was still fuzzy while the world was spinning.

Angry shouts could be heard from whumper as whumpee walked past them.

Whumpee had finally escaped, didn't they?

After a couple of minutes there was a sound of squeaky shoes hitting the floorboards. "Hey whumper? You still with me? Are you okay?"

They had been extremely surprised to hear whumpee's voice. Why hadn't they left? The key was obviously on the ring, so why hadn't they gone? They could have escaped, but they didn't.

"Why d-didn't you leave?" Whumpee's hands grazed whumper's ribs and wrists as they examined them for any damage done to them. They were bruised, bloody, and cut up. Nothing that whumpee couldn't fix up.

Whumpee smiled at whumper as they pulled out a roll of gauze and some rubbing alcohol. "It's because you were hurt. I couldn't leave you like this,"

Whumper looked up at whumpee in a daze as they fought with their own body to not pass out, they didn't want to leave themself vulnerable towards whumpee. It was so incredibly hard not to fall asleep though since whumpee's hands gently trailed all over their body.

"You're gonna be okay, trust me? I'll make sure you're okay," That was the last thing whumper remembers before their body went lax in the others hold.

#whump #whump stuff #whump scenario #whump drabble #whump tropes #whump prompt #whump writing #whump community #emotional whump #whumpblr #whump things #whumpee #whumper #whumpee turned caretaker??