#whumptober22

[jen-with-a-pen]

F O X ＨＵＮＴ

summary: Not only has HYDRA executed their infiltration on S.H.I.E.L.D., but they have also reclaimed their finest weapon. Your safety isn't the only thing that's compromised.

pairings: WS!Beefy!Bucky Barnes x F!Avenger!Reader

word count: 6.1k

warnings: chasing, being hunted down, implied n0n-con elements, canon-level violence, cursing, implied t0rture, blood, beat1ngs, forced nud1ty, language, HYDRA-level cruelty, Bucky gets Brainwashed (again), there's Steve x Reader if you squint REALLY REALLY hard

read here on ao3!

a/n: This was inspired by last year's Whumptober Day 2: NOWHERE TO RUN - CORNERED, CAGED AND CONFRONTATION. I know it's February JUNE, but shit came up and my motivation tanked lmao thanks adhd med trials Literally have never done a dark(er?) fic before and this one has been cooking for god knows how fucking long now. I hope y'all like it <3 (also the hydra victory au is something i discovered from the lovely @lunarbuck reset series and stewed obsessively over for literal months now. still obsessed with it whoops)

dividers by @firefly-graphics | gif by @lost-shoe | @hydravictrix

my ao3 | my masterlist

Translations

Lisitsa | лисица - fox/little fox

Soldat | солдат - soldier

Syuda | сюда - over here

Khitraya suka | хитрая сука - sly bitch

Moy priz | мой приз - my prize

Glupaya pizda | глупая пизда - stupid cunt

Moye | мое - mine

The infiltration was subtle at the start.

A few missions gone mysteriously wrong, agents killed in action or disappearing entirely, hacks that were, thankfully, contained within an inch of a full-blown data breach. All of it seemed so coincidental when it happened, swept under the rug each and every single time before Director Fury could have a swear-filled say as to what the hell was going on. 

But hindsight is 20/20. It always is.

The day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell was, ironically, the perfect day: brilliant sunshine, clear blue skies, a breeze weaving between the towering buildings and skyscrapers. It was almost eerie, in a way, how perfect of a day it was. 

You found yourself in the gym, Steve and Sam hashing it out on whose turn it was in sparring. You had all but knocked Sam out cold in the previous round as Steve watched from behind the ropes, cheering you on with a cocky, proud grin as he watched all of his hard work in your training pay off.

Of course, the stubborn ass he was, Sam wanted another go. 

“C’mon, Steve! I wanna rematch!” Sam protested, gesturing wildly in your direction with one hand while his other held an ice pack to his bruised temple. Steve stifled a laugh, tossing a glance over his shoulder to you. You shook your head, smiling back as you gulped down the rest of your water bottle. Cool strands spilled out from the corners of your lips and down your chest. You welcomed the relief from the sweat gluing your t-shirt to your skin. 

“How ‘bout I take Steve instead of giving you another concussion?” you retorted, giggling as Sam shot a narrow look at you. He huffed, forfeiting his argument by waving a dismissive hand. 

“Fine, ’m gonna go find some pain meds,” he grumbled, turning to point a swollen finger at Steve. “I better see you in the infirmary next, Cap.” 

He stomped off through the metal doors and left the two of you in silence.

“Whaddya say, sweetheart? You up for round two?” Steve teased, stepping under the ropes and into the ring. He wrapped his hands as he moved to the center, muscle memory carrying him while keeping his eager gaze on you. His eyes carried excitement as they journeyed up and down your figure, rolling his lip between his teeth as he drank you with his stare. 

You did little to hide your pride at the Captain checking you out, chewing the corner of your cheek to tame your own smirk at the beautiful blond. You turned away, hiding the heat from your cheeks as you tossed your bottle at your bag. You weaved under the ropes, coming face to face with your willing opponent in the center. You lifted your chin to meet his, the hidden smirk on your lips growing into a grin.

“With you? Always, old man,” you purred. You tossed him a teasing wink as you positioned your fists in front of you, feet planted firmly in the starting stance. Steve lingered on you for a second longer, tongue swiping across his lips hungrily as he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, raising his hands to mirror you.

The two of you began to circle one another, dancing in a familiar pattern you knew by heart. Steve took his first swipe at you and you ducked, managing a hit to his stomach. A grunt escaped from him– not of hurt but of thrill. He lunged for you as you dodged again, blocking his failed strike to your head. 

“Wow! You really can’t teach an old dog new tricks!” you taunted, dodging another blow, his wrapped fist only grazing your shoulder. You rolled it back, holding back a slight wince as you continued the violent waltz. 

You lunged at him, instead faltering and falling to the ground. Readying the curse on your tongue, it stopped short of your lips as you looked up at Steve. 

He stood frozen in place, panting, fists at his sides clenching tighter and tighter. As you opened your mouth to unload even more cursing questions, screeching erupted from the loudspeakers around the room. High-pitched tones screaming above, a robotic voice speaking clinically and quickly. You scrambled off the floor, unease creeping in as you latched onto Steve’s arm, his arm tensing under your touch.

CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS URGENTLY NEEDED. 40th FLOOR. THREAT IS ACTIVE AND HIGHLY DANGEROUS. REPEAT. CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS–

The message had cut out, static replacing it alongside the echoing alarms throughout the hallways outside the gym. You looked up at Steve. Anxiety surged upon finding his face devoid of all blood, his jaw slack, eyes boring into the metal doors leading to the hallway. He looked scared. 

You’d never seen Steve scared before. 

“Steve, what the fuck was that–”

“Get to the locker rooms and hide,” he ordered. He pulled his arm from you, jumping over the ropes and sprinting to his duffel bag on the floor. He pulled out his phone and dialed frantically as he ran to the doors. 

“Steve!” You stood trembling in the ring as your stomach churned. 

“Now!” he yelled. “I’ll come back for you!” 

He didn’t wait to hear your response as he slammed the gym doors shut, followed by a whir and click.

He locked you in. 

You didn’t– couldn’t– hesitate as a surge of urgency overtook you. You needed to hide. Now. Fast.

Your legs carried you as you jumped out of the ring and raced to grab your duffel bag, sprinting to the back of the gym through another set of double doors. You wove through the tiled maze of the locker room searching for some sort of hiding spot, settling on the showers. You snuck over to the stall at the very end, the closest one to the emergency exit, and ducked under the opaque plastic curtain. Your bag fell to the floor as you climbed onto the stall seat. Blood pumped in your ears, thumping as quickly as your shaky, shallow breathing. Millions of thoughts and questions and worries rushed through your mind at impossible speeds.

White and Silver. Which alert was that for?

You racked through fleeting memories, distant recollections of training and orientation from months ago, searching for anything remotely familiar. You remembered all of the other codes– red, orange, teal– but no white, no silver. 

A faint buzzing sounded from inside your duffel. You lunged, unzipping it and fishing out your phone. Natasha. Her name lit up the screen and you frantically hit the answer key before the call could even think about dropping.

“Where the fuck are you?” Her panicked voice hissed into your ear. Her edged tone was enough to make your stomach backflip faster. 

“Locker rooms, forty-fifth floor. What the fuck is going on, Nat?” Your voice shook as anger and confusion boiled in your blood.

A muffled swear. “Where’s Steve?”

“He ran out, locked me in, told me to hide.” More incoherent curses.

“Fuck, fuck, okay, look, trust me on this, you need to stay where you are, okay? I can get you out, I–” 

High-pitched ringing overtook the speaker, sending you reeling away from the receiver. Static echoed out of the speakers.

“You what? Natasha!”

“No– time– you–”

“Natasha! Hello?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You tore the phone away from your ear and choked back the bile rising in your throat. Service was out. The blinking bars at the top of the screen mocked you and your sudden plunge into isolation. 

The lights went next. 

The dull fluorescents flickered. Someone cut the electricity, sending you into almost darkness as the backup generator lights kicked on. Scattered lights from above cast an eerie yellow glow over the shower tiles. You’d only seen this kind of outage happen once before, when New York was hit with Hurricane Noah a few years back.

The fear you felt in that storm paled in comparison to what you felt now.

You sighed, shaky and surrendering, and pulled your body closer to you on the shower bench. A chill snaked its way down your spine as your skin brushed the cool ceramic, an unwelcome addition to the cold already enveloping you. Your sweat-soaked t-shirt and shorts failed to aid you and your aching muscles. Fingernails dug into your kneecaps in a struggle to stop trembling as you tried to focus on your breathing. Inhaling, exhaling, in, out. Screwing your eyes shut, praying to any deity imaginable it was all just a drill, it was all an accident or a misunderstanding or–

The ground shook as a loud bang echoed from outside the locker room. A panicked yelp escaped your throat before your hands could scramble and cover your mouth. You froze as the tremors subsided and listened. It, or they, sounded close. 

Too close. 

Another BANG! Then another. 

Rhythmic, steady blows, each quicker and more powerful than the last. Hands clamped tighter over your lips until your blood froze at the sounds of crushing steel and crumbling concrete. The lump in your throat grew as horrific realization flooded over you. 

They, or it, broke in.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it– those doors were more fortified than Tony’s lab. Four-inch-thick, steel and plexiglass doors with a three-tier secured locking system. Nothing, nobody– not even the strongest Super Soldier– was powerful enough to make the faintest of dents in them.

Racing through who, or what, could have possibly broken into the gym, your train of thought derailed as echoes of men yelling indecipherable words and mixed commands shattered the remaining air of safety you clung to. Listening intently, a mix of combat boots and tactical gear filtered in with the echoed commands.

The S.T.R.I.K.E. Team.

Your legs begged for reprieve from crouching, but your body disobeyed and froze you in place. Part of you didn’t trust who was outside. Footsteps and gruff voices became heavier, closer. The relief that greeted you was replaced again by panic as you listened closer.

Clear, Russian commands resonated at the entrance to the locker rooms. They were coming in. 

Your breath hitched, blood running cold as footsteps closed in. It was one person, but their steps didn’t sound like the heavy boots before them. They sounded more like…

Sneakers?

The rubber from the intruder’s shoes squeaked on the tiled floors. Ragged breathing echoed off the walls. A low growl, accompanied by quiet whirring. Someone big, someone mean. 

Your heart made its way to your throat as the intruder inched closer. Slow, methodical, as if trained in search and rescue. 

It didn’t feel like a rescue.

The lump almost turned into a scream as an echoed BANG carried from the bathroom stalls around the corner. Silence followed, then a growl, then another BANG. The cycle repeated for the remaining stalls, the intruder slowly creeping along. Growls became deeper upon each disappointment. 

Hostages. They were looking for hostages.

Soles squeaked as the intruder changed course, stomping around the corner to search the line of shower stalls. You hiccuped a sob, realizing tears started to trail down your cheeks. Biting your palm only proved a lame attempt to calm your racing heart, a scream threatening to leave your throat as they began tearing the plastic curtains off the stalls. Each clang of metal cracking onto the tile became closer as you ground your teeth into the meat of your hand. Eyes screwed shut, silent prayers raced in your head, pleading to wake up; to wake up from this hellscape of a sick, twisted nightmare. 

The intruder’s steps stopped. 

Your eyes opened, widening at the blurred, hulking shadow standing outside of your stall. They had to be well over six feet. Towering, bulky, monstrous. 

Slowly, the shadow’s hand reached for the curtain. One by one, its fingers closed around the plastic’s edge, preparing to rip it down and rip you open. Eyes burning, hot tears felt like molten metal as you attempted to make yourself as small as possible in your corner, huddling your knees as close as they could be. This was it. This was the end. You prayed– actually fucking prayed– hoping they couldn’t hear your pathetic whimpering, hoping they would make this quick, painless; break your neck or put a gun to your head and get it over with. Leave your body for someone else to find.

“Soldat, syuda!” 

The command made your heart stop.

The shadow froze, stopped by a call from the entrance to the locker room. Skin met your teeth as you bit harder into your hand. Lungs began panicking as you started hyperventilating, bile reaching your throat and burning the back of your tongue. 

The shadow, the monster, growled in protest. It retracted the curled hand from the curtain, wordlessly moving back towards the bathroom stalls. Footsteps faded as muffled conversation floated away from the locker room.

You needed to get the fuck out of there. 

You slid off the bench, legs aching and knees popping as you crouched silently over to the curtain, peeking out behind the plastic. It crinkled quietly and you bit your lip, leaning out ever so slightly over the threshold. 

Tiptoeing around the corner, you faced the emergency exit. The glowing sign omitted a creepy, green glow that added to the eeriness brought by the generator lights. 

This was it.

You slammed the push bar down, throwing the door open with your body and spilling out into the hallway. Sunlight flashed through the infinite glass hallway, blinding you. In your frozen state, you hear commotion from behind the door as it slammed shut. Banging from the other side, the sound of metal on metal, made your teeth grind. Indents from punches dented the door, deforming its smooth outside. You didn’t stay frozen for long as your body screamed at you to fucking move, now.

Your legs obeyed immediately, carrying you through the corridor to the closest means of escape you could find. As you rounded the corner, the crushing sounds of the door breaking off of its hinges hit your ears. You didn’t dare to look back, sprinting through the twists and turns of the infinite hallway. You followed what felt familiar, burning muscles egged on by the sound of pounding footsteps getting closer and closer.

Finally, you stumbled onto the entrance to a stairwell, pausing to gasp for air your lungs demanded. The burn in your legs and chest only aided in the physiological need to hyperventilate. Sweat dripped from your temple and your head pounded as hard as your feet hitting the ground. 

You leaned into the safety bar, inches away from further distancing yourself from whatever, whoever, was on your trail, when a yell erupted from the end of the hallway. 

It felt like slow-motion; one of those scenes in those cheesy horror movies Sam always made you and Steve watch on weekends off. The ones with cheap FX, bad sound, but somehow great editing for the budget. The scenes where realization hits the main character and suddenly everything is half the speed while they still move in real time. 

You turned your head towards the source. Then, it hit you. Blood drained from your face as the horror of realization hit you, like a speeding sixteen-wheeler head on.

Bucky Barnes stood hulking at the end of the hallway. Generator lights and setting sun illuminated his snarling teeth, gleaming from parted lips that had him panting like a rabid dog. If you hadn’t known better it would’ve looked like he was heading for the gym for his daily workout. Blown pupils, sweat-stuck hair, complimented by a shaking frame– most definitely caused by adrenaline, dopamine, and a slew of Gods-knew-what other drugs he had pumped into his system. Splotches of drying, smeared blood coated his neck and shirt while even more dripped onto the ground from his fists. The crimson contrasted with the medically white floors. 

Bile rose in your throat again. The acidic taste made you dry heave at the sight of the blood, knowing from the looks of Bucky it definitely wasn’t his.

He snarled as your eyes finally met. Fists of flesh and metal flexed. Rippling muscles shook as he readied to launch forward.

“You’re mine, lisitsa!” he barked. His voice booming louder than the speed of sound, it made your ears ring.

Your throat finally opened. You screamed as he sprinted towards you, making more ground down the hallway than an apex predator out of hibernation. You shoved the exit door open, heaving your legs forward as you ascended the stairs. No choice but to go up, you refused to look back– nay you didn’t dare to even consider it. Muscles and tendons and joints burned, yearning for you to stop, but the door slamming from flights below you only pushed you harder, flying up and passing floor after floor. 

You were fast, but he was faster. 

Dizziness overtook you as your vision began to blur. Darkened edges of your peripherals made you stop your climb at level 50, pausing for a split second to hear Bucky’s progress. He was close behind, but you still had more of an advantage. You knew the Tower better than him. You knew level 50 had another stairwell on the opposite side of the floor, through another hallway off the corner of your current one. Sneakers pounded too close for comfort as you shoved the door open and made a break for it down another corridor labyrinth.

If you made it out of this alive, you swore you’d kill Tony’s architect yourself. 

“You can’t hide forever, lisitsa!” Bucky’s voice rang out from the stairwell as you rounded the corner, sprinting through more identical-looking hallways. Another corner later and the glowing red EXIT sign appeared above the next stairwell. A beacon of hope, almost. Relieved, you head straight for it, body and mind and soul pushing against the burning and the gasping for air. You were right there, hand outstretched, fingertips grasping the metal bar–

It felt like a car crash. 

Not an accident or fender bender. No, it felt like seventy miles an hour meets a tree with no intent of moving. That split-second feeling where your stomach drops and you can all but brace for the deadly impact destined for you to meet.

Time stopped as you were yanked backwards. Cold, slick metal wrapped around your ankle, bloody hand print smearing some poor bastard’s DNA all over your calf as your body fell to the ground. Hard. Your jaw clenched as your chin slammed into the linoleum. Teeth ground into your tongue as copper flooded your tastebuds. Your lungs, with little wind left in them, gasped for oxygen. Another scream rising in your throat became stuck in your vocal cords. 

Bucky whipped you around as you struggled to free your lower half. You landed on your shoulder, head bouncing against the floor and teary eyes struggled to stay open and endure the pain. He straddled your form, the weight crashing down on your bones and organs. A sharp inhale impaled your chest as you met Bucky’s darkened eyes, then; the familiar steel blue replaced entirely with dilated, unhinged pupils. 

It was the first time you got a good look at his face. His face is speckled with blood spatter and several bruises spread across his cheek down his neck. Two black eyes, a bloody nose– one you hoped was his– and a broken lip. The bloodied collar of his shirt only aided in the mess of his hair. His soft, chocolate strands stuck in mats to his neck and temples with sweat and blood. 

Out of sheer habit, because he looked like your Bucky, you couldn’t help but reach a hand out to him. A soft plea for the man behind his eyes, one you begged everything holy was still there. He held your stare, face contorting into unrecognizable emotions. Tears brimmed your eyes as your hand stretched further, sobs escaping as your fingers inched closer and closer to his battered face.

“Bucky, it’s me–”

Your appeal transformed into a shriek, quickly snuffed out as Bucky wrapped his crimson-spattered metal hand around your throat. You choked, sputtering lost pleas as your hands flew to your neck. Fingernails flailed in futile attempts to claw off the weapons-grade titanium. 

“You’re done running, khitraya suka,” Bucky’s hot breath fanned your face as he leaned in. His mouth grazed your jaw, titanium hand on your throat flexing with each syllable. He slowly made his way down your neck, pushing harder into your chest with his forearm. A heavy growl. His grip only tightened as you tried to knee him in the groin, picking you up by your neck and slamming you down again.

Stars circled your blurred vision, eyes rolling back into your head. The corridor, the lights, everything split into two.

“You owe me for my victory, lisitsa,” Bucky’s husky whisper resonated in your ear as he licked the side of your face, his hot, wet mouth against your tear-stained cheek. As his free hand moved to the waistband of your shorts, another surge of panic washed through you. You tried to sputter a weak cry from your closed-off throat, blood turning cold, another scream building and building in your chest and aching for release. 

“You owe me what’s mine –!” 

BANG!

Something from somewhere all of a sudden. The object slammed into Bucky, throwing him off of you and spilling across the floor. 

Finally, your lungs lunged at the chance for air, leaving you a heaving, choking, coughing mess. Spitting at the ground as you made your way shakily to your hands and knees, a freed hand traveling to rub the fresh strangulation bruises forming on the column of your stiff neck. 

“Get the fuck off her, Bucky!” 

Steve.

As your vision cleared, the shield whizzed past you as it ricocheted back into Steve’s open arms. Bucky groaned, low and guttural, but only for a moment is he subdued. Slowly, he rose, like smoke from extinguished ashes, looking to his metal vice. A large dent adorned the weathered, bloodied appendage where his bicep met his shoulder. He then turned his attention to Steve, baring his teeth, anger coursing through him as he immediately disregarded you. His sights set on a new target, launching himself at Steve without a beat lost.

Steve grunted as Bucky’s metal fist met the vibranium shield with a deafening clang. Steve gritted his teeth and pushed back, managing to break Bucky’s attack and aim a kick for his stomach.

“Go! I got him!” Steve yelled to you through a gasp as Bucky countered with his own swipe at Steve’s middle. Your body stayed put, relishing in the ability to fucking breathe again, also painfully aware how screwed you’d be if you didn’t escape as you had the chance. You willed yourself to move, to run and to keep going, to no avail. As Steve landed a blow to Bucky, his eyes met yours once more. His baby blues, pained and tired, begged for you to listen to him for once in your life. 

“Now!”

The strain in Steve’s voice seemed to ignite a fire underneath you. Pushing yourself up, you willed your legs to carry you to the exit. Bloody shoe prints tracked your route as you slammed through the doorway. You cursed, knowing they’ll give away which way you’d go, knowing your life matters more than a twenty-dollar pair of sneakers. Kicking them off, throwing the pair down the exit, praying they made it far enough Bucky wouldn’t know any better. 

You threw yourself up the stars, tremors and pain afflicting every limb as the cold concrete seeped in through your socks in each step. The railing helped as you heaved yourself forward with help from the railing. Sweaty palms slipped on the bars, but your grip only grew tighter. 

You didn’t know how you, or your body, was able to do it, making it up seven more flights of stairs before your knees buckled on level 57. Heaving the door open and slamming it shut, you stumbled out into the new hallway. You hadn’t visited that level before. Something Steve and the others– especially Doctor Banner– said was “just a business floor.”

The sign on the wall directing to ‘SAFELAB’ said otherwise. Nothing in the Tower was “just business.” 

What you did know was that every SAFELAB on every floor was located in the same, far-east hallway. 

Wiping the sweat from your temple, you turned right, jogging down the darkened, emptied-out hallway. It felt like the apocalypse. No sign of anybody else. Doors left ajar, papers and bags and other employee memorabilia scattered throughout abandoned offices and cubicles. You hoped everyone was able to make it out, at least.

Part of you didn’t hope for much, though. 

The door to the lab came into view as you rounded the last corner. The door was still locked, the lab inside sterile and untouched. A sigh of relief escaped you. Holding your palm to the door’s scanner, it answered your prayers in a soft beep and whir, miraculously allowing you in. 

You maneuvered through the multiple security doors, four in total, crouching low once you managed to slip into the lab itself. The gigantic window at the front of the labspace spared no room for you to hide easily, but you had zero room to complain about it. It was your only option, after all.

Well, besides the roof. 

Crouched, you snuck your way around the counters and various equipment to one of the supply closets. The furthest corner from the entrance. You scoured through drawers and cupboards for some sort of weaponry; the most you could find was a new scalpel out of a box of extras. 

You closed in on the supply closet, reaching up and grasping the handle, turning it slowly to prevent any squeaks from the inner hinge. A tear glided down your cheek in relief. You hadn’t realized you started crying. Again. 

The door swung open. It greeted you mostly empty, deep enough for you to cram your body into. Crawling inside, bones and limbs contorted into the most comfortable position you could manage. You pinched the edges of the doors to close them as best as you can, accepting they, in fact, couldn’t close all the way from the inside. A curse under your breath, the sliver of dim light through the crack cast onto your face. Once settled, you crumpled your damp t-shirt up from the collar and shoved the fabric into your mouth. Teeth and tongue greeted sweaty cotton and hints of copper as you bit down on the collar, covering your mouth with a free hand. 

At last, after Gods knew how long it had been since you ceased moving, a silenced sob heaved out of your chest. Tremors only worsened as your nervous system rode out the fumes of its adrenaline high and flight mode instincts. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks, mixing with snot further down your face, slipping down to your neck and leaving behind streaked paths in the bloodied, hand-printed bruises adorned on your flesh. The pain from the near-strangulation you suffered broke through the shock and endorphins that were keeping you sane until then. You knew, though, you couldn’t break down. Not yet. Not until you saw Natasha or Steve or someone you trusted face-to-face. 

You started counting your breaths. Mind racing, thoughts traveling near sonic speeds through your mind carrying questions at how the hell it all happened.

You thought for sure S.H.I.E.L.D. was secure, especially after the ordeal with Bucky, Steve, and the whole ‘defeating HYDRA’ ordeal from a few years back. Hell, you thought it was safer than taking the FBI’s recon mission that was offered to you before being referred to Tony himself. Your mind raced, what-ifs and endless possibilities flashing across your eyes like a snuff film. You hoped Steve was okay. You hoped Natasha was on her way to your location any second. You hoped Sam was safe and made it out okay. You hoped Bucky –

Bucky. 

Christ, you hadn’t even stopped to think about how the hell everything happened to him. He’d been doing so well in his recovery program. Steve was even telling you about it that same morning, bragging about how well Bucky was doing, how much progress he was making, how soon they’d finally be able to move in together once Doctor Banner cleared him. Another sob overtook you. How you’d never seen him like that before, the feeling of his titanium arm slowly crushing your windpipe, the weight of his entire body crushing your internal organs as he’d held you down. The things he’d said. You tried to wrap your head around what he’d said, what he was going to do–

Crashing followed by shattering glass emitted a muffled yelp from you as your blood ran cold. Another wave of tears flooded out of your burning eyes, chest heaving unevenly. Your hand clamped even tighter over your mouth as teeth bit into the salty fabric of your shirt, drying up any more moisture your mouth was grateful to finally have.

BANG! Then another. Then more in rapid succession. Shattering, crashing, shattering, silence. The final blow to the security doors sounded from inside the lab itself. Your breath hitched and bile began bubbling in your stomach, reaching the back of your throat and across your tongue. You forced yourself to swallow the acid, listening intently to the crunch of sneakers on shattered glass.

He’d found you. 

“Lisitsaaa,” Bucky drawled, his voice dropped to a primally low octave. Lower than before. You almost couldn’t make out the words, a mixture of growled mumblings of English and Russian. Knees folded closer to your chest, you tightened your grip on the handle of the scalpel. Bucky’s footsteps were slow, methodical, predatorial. 

His heavy steps inched closer, each followed by a pause, then sudden crashing of lab equipment and smashing of drawers. More glass and metal slammed to the ground and walls after each pause. He sounded feet away. Then inches. 

Your breathing stopped as the sliver of light clouded over. The lump in your throat threatened more puke to rise as you dared to peer up through the crack, heart dropping like a dead weight to your stomach as your eyes fell on freshly bloodied sneakers. A stifled scream in your lungs choked you. You refused to think about whose blood that was.

Eyes darted back up. You could see Bucky’s blurred features clouded in shadows. The only light visible, then, was the glint from his wicked smile. Bloodied teeth shone as he licked his lips hungrily, a predator finally cornering its prey. 

Ever so slowly he crouched, shoving his face closer into the seam in the door. Tears and snot continued to stream down your face, your body hyperventilating as you forced yourself to look into his eyes. There was nothing else you could do. Nothing else to say, to cry about. There was nowhere left to run. He got you. 

“There you are, moy priz,” Bucky hissed before reaching through and throwing the doors open, heavy hands leaving imprints in the flimsy metal. Frozen, your fist was still closed around the scalpel, your muscles tensed as joints locked in place. His evil eyes scanned your body greedily, looking for which cut of meat to divulge in first. His gaze stopped at your fist and he chuckled, tisking in a disappointed tone. 

“Oh, glupaya pizda,” Bucky shook his head, amused at your meager choice of weaponry. Compared to him, you might as well have been waving a white flag. His smile only grew, tongue jutting out to lick his lips. Specks of blood coated the sides of his cheeks and edges of his mouth, smeared about from ear to ear with the back of his hand.

“Come with me and they might consider your life, lisitsa–”

You sprung into him, swinging your arm, landing the scalpel into the middle of his flesh hand, impaling straight through it. In an instant, blood spewed from the impact. Bucky screamed out in pain, a slew of mixed language curses reverberating in your skull. You scrambled out of your hiding place, bashing him with a balled fist to the face as you tumbled out and onto your feet, sprinting to the lab’s only exit. Freedom was only an arm’s length away when an overturned stool tripped you. The impact didn’t hurt near as much as the millions of shattered glass bits shredded cut into your skin, your hands and knees and arms and face littered as blood smeared under you and across the once-sterile white floors. You cried out, writhing around. Battered and bloodied, struggling to rise and run again despite the searing pain in your ankle.

Before you could form your next thought, a rough hand snatched your scalp and dragged you up by your hair. You uttered a panicked scream as Bucky hoisted you to eye level, snarling like a rabid dog as he shook you hard.

“I thought you were smarter than that, lisitsa,” he sneered, “but I was wrong.”

He hurled you back onto the floor, his bloodied, titanium fist still gripping your hair, dragging you over to one of the disheveled lab tables. More glass shredded your skin, blood and sweat and tears mixing and pouring over your face and hands and body. With ease and a free hand, he swiped the rest of the contents off another counter; beakers and burners crashed to the floor. His grip tightened as he threw you up onto the stainless steel counter, the dead weight of your body banging onto the table, landing you hard on your back. Eardrums rang into your skull and jaw, radiating down your spine and out your limbs. Your hands slip against the smooth metal from the blood, futile attempts to grab onto something, anything. You groaned and huffed excess sobs. The pain, unbearable; the fear, unimaginable. 

Bucky hoisted himself onto the table, landing on top of your broken body, his knee hitting your spine and knocking your last breath out of you. Straddling you, his thick thighs bulged through tattered sweatpants, squeezing into your rib cage. He looped another fist into your hair, raising your head and slamming it down. The side of your face smushed into the steel table, smearing around more blood as he did it again. And again. The cartilage in your nose cracked and throbbing pain radiated into your eyes, your skull. Warmth from the break and the blood poured over your face. The pain, dulling into numbness as you began to fade in and out of consciousness.

Your vision started to blur and blacken, stars and specks orbiting around Bucky like a halo of hallucination. Your body, finally surrendering to him. No fight left. Any strength you could have mustered, funneled into staying awake, proved useless. 

A new sound, then: ripping.

You didn’t have to look to witness Bucky unrelentingly tear your t-shirt away from your body, training his eyes on your open form. Bruised skin exposed to cool air, your chest still momentarily held together by your sports bra. He made quick work of it next, the nylon snapping off in one swipe, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. 

Ice-cold titanium fingers untangled from your matted hair and made their way from your nape, to the small of your back, to the waistband of your gym shorts. Muscles tensed as you felt each digit wrap almost leisurely onto the elastic. He tore them away swiftly, baring the rest of you and your skin to him. A growl, one of pleasure, vibrated into you from him, emitted he palmed the skin of your ass. His fingers journeyed languidly in a slow trail from your back to your core. You squirmed, wasting the last of your strength, a hopeless attempt to get away one last time. 

A crack came across your face. Flesh against flesh, he slapped you. A punishment. A command for obedience. Your body fell limp. Breathing raggedly and gagging on blood and spit, you shuddered as he took your wrists and tied them together with your t-shirt. 

Satisfied, his prey finally submitting, Bucky paused, panting as he leaned down to you. He wet his lips before speaking, gruff words slurred against your ringing eardrum. As he spoke, cold metal grazed your entrance, a threat of what was to come. 

“Now, I get to take what’s mine.”

Your screams echoed as the world fell dark.

#whumptober #whumptober22 #whumptober2022 #angst #whump #au #hydra au #hydra victory au #winter soldier #winter soldier bucky barnes #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x f!reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier fic #winter soldier fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers #jen writes #sam wilson #foxhunt

[dontfeeltoohot]

Whumtober Day 4 - "Dead on your Feet" (Hidden Injury) - YTAU - Steve - Steddie TW: Minor Injury Notes: Shout out to anyone who gets the little easter egg from another movie I put in this fic. Whoever gets it, you understand what a good movie is.

The good thing, Steve thinks morosely, is that falling and hurting his wrist happens right as it’s getting colder, which means he can pull his short sleeve down over his left wrist and hide the bruising and swelling. He doesn’t use his left hand for much anyway, and the pain, while definitely there, can be somewhat filled by Advil. 

Early October means leaves are everywhere in Hawkins. They’re beautiful, and Steve always enjoys it when they turn and fall. The air is crisp, and the barista loves that all of the apple and pumpkin drinks become popular at the coffee shop. He’s at the bookstore looking for a book for his boyfriend when it happens. 

(And really, Steve still can’t believe he gets to call Eddie his boyfriend. They’ve been dating for 6 days, not even a week, but it feels like a lifetime. Eddie’s the perfect mix of chaotic and peace, sweet and sour. And Steve’s learned that his boyfriend enjoys reading, which comes as somewhat of a surprise. But he wants to do something special for their one week-aversary, even if that’s cheesy, so he’s at the bookstore, when it happens.) 

Walking down the sidewalk to enter ‘The Shop Around the Corner’, the slightly damp from cool morning air leaves slip under his shoes, and he stumbles, just managing to catch himself with his wrist. The feeling is instant, a sharp shooting pain that rocks through his wrist even through his arm. It aches as he frowns and touches his right hands fingers to it. 

Ignoring a few people who are looking at him in concern, blushing, Steve rights himself and heads into the shop, going to the fantasy section near the back. When he knows no one is around, he lets out a breath and holds his wrist up to inspect. It’s already bruising, the inside of his wrist,under his thumb, is swelling. He goes to move his fingers and it hurts. Wincing and sucking in a sharp breath when he presses the swelling area, Steve groans.

Out of sight, out of mind, Steve pulls his jacket sleeve back over it, keeps it somewhat cradled to his stomach, then tries to ignore the pain, looking at the books. The throbbing doesn’t let up, but the barista manages to find a good book, one with dragons and monsters and elves, and goes to buy it. 

Forgetting his wrist is currently unusable, Steve goes to grab his wallet from his back left pocket and makes a choked off noise, shakily pulling it out, then takes it in his right hand. The guy at the register looks at him worriedly and Steve flashes him a shaky grin, handing him his card. 

“This is a good book, there’s a series by the author, if you end up liking the style,” he explains, and Steve nods. 

“Awesome. It’s for my boyfriend, but I’ll let him know. He’ll probably be back in soon for another one.” 

Walking back out, the man pointedly steps around where he’d fallen half an hour prior, glaring at the offending leaves as he does. Driving proves to be a little more difficult. He keeps his wrist placed gingerly in his lap, making sure to ease up on turns. When he gets to Eddie’s apartment, he knocks with his right hand, left hanging loosely by his side. The book is in a small white bag hanging on the crook of his right arm. 

“Hey,” Eddie grins when he opens the door. “Come on in Stevie.” Steve walks into Eddie’s apartment, smiling. 

The place is cozy and much different than he’d expected it would be. A week ago, he imagined blacks and steel frames for furniture. Pops of red and white, maybe purple. He had thought there would be rock posters everywhere, metal music playing constantly. 

Instead, the walls are white, but there’s black furniture everywhere. The couch is dark brown leather, with a cream blanket folded over the back, as well as a dark grey blanket draped over the side. While there are posters, they consist mostly of movies, framed and neatly hung, three above the couch- The Wolfman, Dracula and Frankenstien, and three on the opposite wall- The Exorcist, Alien and The Fly. 

A candle is burning, Steve realizes. His eyes clock a flame, and he notices the wax is red. The apartment smells of apples and autumn. It’s relaxing and makes Steve feel warm all over. 

“I was working on some stuffed bell peppers, if that’s good?” Eddie asks and Steve nods, licking his lips. 

“Sounds amazing. I’m kind of used to like…Mac and cheese and poorly made salads, so,” he trails off, smiling. 

“Well, I can make you mac and cheese if you want,” Eddie laughs, leaning forward to pull Steve close. “And I’ve been told my salads are well made, so maybe we can have dinner tomorrow, too. If you’re not busy” 

“I’d love that. All of it. But you don’t need to make mac and cheese, you can’t have that right?” Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, barely containing a grimace when he jostles his wrist. 

“I mean, just cause I can’t have it doesn’t mean you can’t. That’s not a very fair way of looking at things, Princess. And I can, I just kind of have to plan my day around it. I’m impressed though…have you been googling more?” 

Steve feels his face go warm, and he gives a nervous chuckle. They’ve known each other for slightly over a month, and still Eddie makes him feel nervous is a giddy, schoolboy crush way. 

“Yeah, I mean. I’m sure I’ll cook for you too, and I don’t want to make things you can’t eat,” he explains, eyes looking down the inch difference between him and his boyfriend. 

“You’re sweet, Stevie. That’s really nice of you.” Eddie presses a kiss to his lips and Steve kisses back, pulling away just enough to nuzzle their noses together. 

They pull apart and Eddie tilts his head curiously, making Steve think of a scruffy little terrier.

“What’s that?” 

“Oh! I got you a book!” 

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together, and he smiles, looking as though it’s the last thing he’s expected Steve to say. Steve isn’t sure whether he finds it endearing and adorable or slightly sad, that Eddie getting a gift is producing that face.

“Steve, you didn’t need t-“ 

“I know. But I saw your bookshelf in your room, and I thought you might like this…it’s got dragons and stuff, and the guy at the store said the author has like, a whole series or something.” 

Excitedly, Steve goes to grab the book out of the white plastic bag, then realizes his mistake when pain radiates from his wrist, going down his fingers and up his arm. He swallows down a whimper, instead clearing his throat, trying to keep a straight face. He drops the bag on the table and uses his right hand to get the book out, handing it to the curly haired man in front of him. 

“Steve…this is so thoughtful of you, holy shit,” Eddie pulls Steve close, hugging him again. 

“Thank you so much, sunshine. God, this is great. I can’t wait to start it.” 

The joy in Eddie’s eyes is enough to make Steve put the pain in his wrist on the back burner. As the night progresses, he watches Eddie finish up the peppers, then slide them into the oven. They end up on the couch as their dinner cooks, socked feet tangled together on the coffee table as they talk. 

“So you and Robin, how’d you decide on a coffee shop?” 

“Honestly we just kind of…both liked coffee? It was one of our first ideas. We went through tons during college. We settled on a coffee shop when we started trying things out in our kitchen and realizing we were actually pretty good at making stuff,” Steve explains, his right hand playing with a few of Eddie’s curls. 

“Well, I definitely am glad it was a coffee shop. You’re both wonderful at what you do. My boyfriend is so talented,” the last few words come out lazy and wispy, like he’s talking about a dreamy boy. 

Steve feels warm again, then nuzzles his cheek. 

“So is mine. He’s an amazing artist,” Steve says cheekily, winking. 

“God you’re so hot, you know that? Like. Never in my wildest wettest dreams could I have ever come up with a man as beautiful, handsome, and hot as you.” 

Steve blushes harder, and Eddie grins, kissing him again. 

“You know, I think I lost my ability to think, the day we met.” Steve admits, shaking his head. 

“Yeah? Because I was all sick and stuffy and needed someone to take care of me? But I didn’t have anyone and had to go back and be all sad and sick here?” Eddie’s smirking the whole time, eyes bright and playful.

“Well…yes,” Steve swallows, feeling a little too warm. “But also, you were gorgeous. Your curls are so hot, and you just. Fuck,” he laughs, pressing his face to his boyfriends shoulder. 

“Sucks I got a cold and then we started dating. I so rarely get them, might be a couple of years,” the artist admits, pouting a little. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Steve snorts, rolling his eyes self-depricatingly. “I get colds like 6 times a year. I’ll make sure you catch one sooner than a couple of years.” 

Eddie’s eyes darken and he shifts, pressing a kiss to Steve’s lips. Steve moans into it, gasping quietly. 

“You giving me your cold is so fucking hot Steve Harrington. Don’t say shit like that unless you mean it.” 

“I mean it,” Steve smirks. “I’ll give you all my germs, and you’ll be sick because of me.” 

Another kiss, and then Eddie’s moving his lips down over Steve’s jaw, then his neck, sucking on the smooth skin. They stay like that, making out until the timer for the food beeps. Eddie groans and pulls away, hair messy and lips red. 

“We can continue later.” 

“Definitely.” 

Steve ends up leaving a few hours later. After dinner and half watching a movie, half lazily kissing and touching, he realizes he has work and needs to head out. Eddie for his part looks a little sad but understanding. They kiss one last time and then Steve leaves, feeling lighter than he has in months. That is, until his wrist decides to remind him that it’s swollen and fucking hurts like a bitch. 

Showering; a little sad the smell of apples and cinnamon and pumpkin won’t be on him any longer, the man goes to lather his hair up with shampoo and lets out a breathy ‘fuck’ when he starts to use his left hand. God damn it. 

Inspecting his wrist, Steve frowns. It’s swollen to a point that he knows he needs to get it seen, but it’s been long enough he feels stupid having not gone earlier. The skin is bruising and as he stands there, staring at it with it throbbing, the brunette blinks back tears. He’s not sure if they’re from pain or frustration, or maybe even a little of just wanting Eddie there when he can’t be, but he lets a few fall, then tries to finish his hair the best he can. 

Sleep is restless and miserable. Even after four Advil and some ice, the pain is still awful. Steve gets about three hours of sleep all together, and as he gingerly pulls his shirt on, he wants nothing more than to go back to sleep. When Robin sees him walking out of his room, she frowns and looks him over. 

“You look like shit. Are you getting sick?” 

Before he can even answer, she’s pressing a hand to his forehead. He leans back, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m fine, Robs. Just slept like shit last night.” 

For some reason, he doesn’t want to tell her about his wrist. He knows he should, but he feels stupid. He’ll just go and get it looked at after work, no big deal. It’s fine. He’s fine. 

“It’s a Wednesday, I can run the shop if you need me to. Max is coming today to help out anyway, we’ll be fine-“ 

“I’m okay, really. If I need to, I can dip out an hour early. But I’ll be okay.” Huffing, the freckle faced girl seems to be vaguely appeased, so he laughs as genuinely as he can, then follows her out the door. 

The morning is a test of his patience. It seems like they have more grumpy customers than usual, his wrist is making it hard to prepare things at his normal fast pace, and his boyfriend doesn’t come in at his usual time. Eddie always comes in by 11:30, but it’s 11:45 and he’s still not shown up.

“Steve, I’m sure he’s fine,” Robin groans, looking like she wants to bang her head against the counter. 

“I know, I know,” Steve mumbles, but still he looks at the door again, frowning when it stays put and doesn’t open to reveal his doe-eyed boyfriend. 

Five minutes later, Eddie walks in, backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s got black jeans and a dark grey sweatshirt on, curls pulled back into a bun. 

“Hey babe, would have been here sooner but that book you got me is really good,” he grins, and god Steve is so gone on him. 

“You want your usual?” 

Nodding, Eddie puts a ten in the tip jar, knowing from every other morning that Steve’s not going to charge him. He waits as his sugar free caramel iced coffee is made, smiling when Steve writes ‘have a good day’ with a little heart on the cup. 

“You guys are gross.” Robin fake gags. 

“So what’s this I hear about you flirting with my best friend?” Eddie shoots back, raising his eyebrow. 

Robin flushes red and Steve starts laughing. He turns so he can go give Eddie a hug but in the process hits his wrist against the counter, hard. His laugh cuts off abruptly, an almost feral noise crawling its way out of his throat as he stumbles and holds his wrist to his chest. Both adults turn to look at him. 

“What the hell was that?” 

“Woah, you okay Stevie?”

“I’m fine…” he chokes out. 

Pain is everywhere, and the barista feels like crying. Again. A pale, slender hand touches his shoulder and he looks up, Eddie staring at him with worry written all over his face. 

“Baby, what-“ 

Eddie’s eyes travel to the man’s wrist and he cuts himself off, gently pulling his sleeve up. Wrist swollen and bruised, obviously tender and aching, the man swallows and Steve meets his eyes, feeling so incredibly dumb. 

“When did this happen?” 

“Yesterday…I was going to get your book and I slipped on the damn leaves,” Steve grumbled. 

“Your wrist was like this at my place and I didn’t notice?” Eddie’s eyes darken, but unlike last night, it’s not because of passion. 

Steve can practically see his boyfriend berating himself, so he speaks up. 

“I hid it purposefully. I didn’t think it was that bad…” he trails off, blushing. 

“Jesus, you slept with that? No wonder you looked like shit this morning Robin interjects. 

“Okay, new plan. Birdie, mind if I steal him?” 

“Be my guest.” 

Eddie nods and holds out his hand. Steve stares at it, feeling confused. 

“Steve, Jesus,” Eddie mumbles, putting his right hand in his own before tugging gently. 

Steve follows, lack of sleep making him slower. Or maybe it’s the pain. Eddie leads them to the tattoo shop, though they’re only inside for a minute tops. 

“Hey, Parker, I gotta take this guy to get his wrist checked out, pretty sure he broke it. I’ll be back in an hour. I don’t have anyone till 2:30 anyways,” Eddie explained to the owner, who nodded. 

“Hope you didn’t fuck it up to bad man!” 

Steve, flustered, nods at the tall man and then is dragged back outside. 

“Where’s the closest place to get your wrist looked at? I still don’t know anything around here,” Eddie admits, and Steve kind of finds it adorable. 

They end up at the urgent care instead of the hospital, waiting almost an hour before Steve’s taken back. Eddie hesitates as if he’s unsure, so Steve grabs his boyfriend's hand with his right, his left wrist still close to him, as if to keep it protected. 

An x-ray confirms Eddie’s suspicions, making Steve groan. He’d thought it was sprained, maybe a hairline fracture, but what the man shows is a pretty obvious break. Fucking leaves. 

Steve leaves with a cast on his arm; dark green, and now is aware that if he’d come in any later, the bone probably would have needed to be set. That knowledge makes his skin crawl. 

“You think you’ll be okay at work? Or do you need to go home, since they gave you some good drugs.” 

“I…I’ll go back t’work. I can just hang in the office.” Steve half slurs, feeling sleepy. 

“Okay. I’ll come over tonight, yeah?” 

“Duh.” 

“Duh, right of course Stevie. Duh. I’ll be over at 8.” 

#my fic #whumptober22 #sh #st #em #ytau #rb #steve is so dumb the end

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whumptober 2022

Another fantastic year of prompts - thank you very much to the @whumptober for your hard work that goes into the event!

A Little Out Of The Ordinary (This wasn't supposed to happen) Rogue One Fic: [X]

Nowhere To Run (Caged)

Hair's Breadth From Death (Say Goodbye)

Dead On Your Feet (Waking Up Disorientated)

Every Whumpee's Needs (Running Out Of Air)

Proof Of Life (I've Got a Pulse)

The Way You Shake And Shiver (Shaking Hands)

Everything Hurt's And I'm Dying (Head Trauma)

The Very Noisy Night (Sleeping in Shifts)

Poor Unfortunate Souls (Whipping)

911 What's Your Emergency? (Makeshift Splint)

What Could Go Wrong? (Rusty Nail)

Can't Make An Omelette Without Breaking A Few Legs (Are You Here To Break Me Out?)

Die A Hero Or Live Long Enough To Become A Villain (I'll Be Right Behind You)

Emotional Damage (New Scars)

No Way Out (Paralytic Drugs)

Hanging By A Threat (Breaking Point)

Let's Break The Ice (Just Get It Over With)

Enough Is Enough (Knees Buckling)

It's Been A Long Day (Foetal Position) Legends of Tomorrow Fic: [X]

Famous Last Words (You're Safe Now)

Pick Your Poison (Allergic Reaction)

At The End Of Their Rope (Hold Them Down)

Fight, Flight Or Freeze (Catatonic)

Free For All (All alternatives list prompts)

No One Left Behind (Why Did You Save Me?)

Pushed To The Limit (Stumbling)

It's Just The Tip Of The Iceberg (Punching The Wall)

What Doesn't Kill Me (Better Me Than You)

Note To Self: Don't Get Kidnapped (Hair Grabbing)

A Light At The End Of The Tunnel (You Can Rest Now)

#whumptober 2022 #whumptober22 #masterlist #whump #prompts

[uniasus]

No. 27 PUSHED TO THE LIMIT

This is an on-going BBC Merlin Whumptober series.

First | Prev | Next

Merlin had fought other magic users before. More than he'd like, for a variety of reasons. But right now, what he was dreading the most was the amount of effort it would take. Magic might be as easy as breathing, but even breathing got difficult if you ran for too long. And Merlin had been working out all day. Saving Leon from the collapse of his horse. Tracking down the bandits and the sorcerer earlier. Healing Leon had taken an enormous amount of power, healing always did when it worked right, and he's just done another sprint by turning the knight invisible.

The older sorcerer though had also cast several spells in the last hour, and Merlin was hoping the man was equally taxed or that Merlin's energy reserves were much deeper.

Merlin dodged another spell, trying to figure out the other's strategy. Spell battles between sorcerers hadn't been uncommon back in the day, but the more the battle went on, the more tired the spellcaster became, the more they relied on what Gaius called an affinity. Spells that came instinctually to a sorcerer's fingertips.

Merlin's own affinity, like he told Leon, tended to get messy. It was better if he could muster the concentration for a proper spell instead of reaching into his pool of magic to make something happen. It hadn't rained in weeks; if he brought down a lightning strike the forest might catch on fire, and he wasn't sure if he asked for a powerful attack that it wouldn't be a lightning strike.

He needed to practice more.

He relied on physically dodging the other sorcerer's spells. Merlin couldn't make all of them out, but they were less complicated body spells. One-word commands that would break a bone, cause a deep cut. Nothing Merlin wanted to get hit with, that's for sure.

Merlin tried to cast a sleep spell at his opponent, but he knocked it aside with a shield and followed up with a spell that slashed Merlin's cheek. The cut stung, a reminder that Merlin couldn't keep dodging forever. He had to do something.

Except the sorcerer wasn't holding a sword, so Merlin couldn't heat up the metal. And he held the center of the road, away from overhanging branches. But now, Merlin hoped, from roots.

Merlin concentrated on the trees around them and pulled up. The roots were slow to respond, large and heavy, but also reluctant to leave their water sources. The kingdom had seen no rain for weeks, leaving the topsoil parched. Only one tree answered his call, something the sorcerer was able to defend against with a cutting spell, but other root systems had responded enough to buck the ground upward.

The sorcerer lost his footing with a yelp, and Merlin called up the wind, hoping to smash the older man against a tree. The other man was faster with his spell, so even as the sorcerer was blown back, Merlin felt his shin break. He screamed and toppled to the ground, breathing heavily. Merlin watched as the sorcerer got to his feet, and knew he was in for a world of pain. His ability to dodge was severally hampered by a broken leg. He pushed him self up by his arms, preparing to roll or crawl.

From the woods streaked Leon, bloody sword ready for a swing. His mouth was open, but no yell came from the knight's mouth. It worked to his advantage, as the sorcerer didn't hear him coming.

Leon's slash caught the sorcerer in the side, blood streaming from the wound as Leon continued past him. The sorcerer choked, pressing a hand to the wound before whirling on Leon.

"I refuse to be taken down by a knight of Camelot," he shouted. He held out his hand and cast a spell.

Leon, in the process of pivoting around for another attack, wobbled as it hit him. Merlin couldn't see where, and Merlin had a brief thought it was a pity the sorcerer was about to die because learning a spell that could slash an enemy's skin while they were wearing chainmail might be useful at some point. His more important thought was now, while he's distracted.

Merlin dug into the pool of magic that lived in his chest and called out to the Earth itself, still wary of summoning lightning to a dry forest. It was quicker to come to his command than the trees were, the road under the sorcerer's feet buckling and then rising up to trap the man in hard-packed earth to his knees.

"Leon, now!" Merlin shouted.

Leon ran the sorcerer through.

Merlin could vaguely make out Leon's lips move as he stood there, sword sticking out of the sorcerer's chest, but had no idea what he was saying until Leon's voice suddenly shouted out "Thirty-six!"

Right. Good. Spell lifted. Sorcerer killed. Arthur…Arthur was safe. Wherever he was. Somewhere on the road, Merlin assumed.

Merlin let himself collapse forward. Leon shouted his name in concern, and between one blink and the next, Merlin found himself looking up at the knight's face.

"Are you alright, Merlin?" Leon asked.

Merlin blinked. "Tried."

"You were right about your magic being messy. The road's ruined. Arthur is going to have to send workmen to fix it before winter sets in. Once the ground freezes, it'll be impossible to work until spring, and then the rains might get in the way."

"Uh-huh."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Tried," Merlin said again. The adrenaline from the fight was fading, and Merlin could feel the edges of magical exhaustion creeping up on him. This was not the place for it, they still had to find Arthur somewhere on the road to Camelot. Merlin guessed it'd be a three-hour walk on foot, something he'd not be able to do with his newly broken shin.

"Can you carry me?" Merlin asked.

Leon sputtered. "Just because you're tired-"

"Oh no, my leg is broken. Can you carry me? You got hit with one of his cutting spells."

Leon pressed his lips into a thin line. "If I have to. But can't you heal it?"

Merlin patted Leon's knee, the easiest part to reach. "If I cast a spell that powerful, I'm gonna pass out. I'd rather save it for later. In case Arthur needs it."

"What if you…call our horses?"

"Your horse is dead, if you recall. Not far from here, actually."

"What about your's or Arthur's? If we ride, we can find Arthur faster, get to Camelot faster. And even if you do pass out, I can tie you to the saddle."

"Maybe."

"If you don't, the likelihood of us getting to Camelot before dark is zero and we have no camping gear."

"Why are you sensible?"

Leon smiled. "You usually are too, you know. Even if you hide it."

Merlin stared up at the man. Huh. He didn't think Leon had picked up on that. Arthur certainly hadn't yet. "Blood loss."

Leon rolled his eyes. "I've lot more blood than you today."

"Yeah? Well I-"

Leon placed a hand over Merlin's mouth. "Can you summon the horses or not? Even if they take a while to get here, it'll give me time to break the earth around the sorcerer's body."

"You can leave it. It's obvious what happened here is magic. We can say it was a sorcerer battle. That we know because of the evidence and not experience or witnessing anything."

Leon sighed. "We should still bury him."

"You sure?" Merlin asked. He held Leon's eyes the entire time, making sure Leon knew exactly what he was suggesting by the offer. Sorcerers didn't get burials in Camelot. They got burned and their ashes were left to the wind.

"He's human," Leon said softly. "Like you."

Merlin gave him a lopsided grin in thanks. "I'll see if I can summon the horses first and if I have any leftover magic help with the earth prison."

Leon nodded and Merlin closed his eyes, reaching into the land to feel life itself. It didn't take him long to find Arthur's gelding and Merlin's mare, he was familiar with their life forces, and they hadn't traveled too far in their fright. He nudged their brains to head toward him and Leon.

When Merlin opened his eyes to tell Leon the horses were on their way, the man was already using his sword to hack at the dirt mound around the sorcerer's body. Now that the danger was past, Merlin found himself feeling guilty. He knew Leon dealt the killing blow, but he'd played a part and he hated fighting other sorcerers at the end of the day. Hated how bitter many of them were. Lamented that so few of them could see the hope for a better future. Weeped at how many deaths he'd had a hand in, even if it was for Arthur's, and Albion's, sake.

Merlin's vision was blurry, he was for sure going to pass out soon, but called upon what he could to crack the hard shell of earth. He thought he heard Leon's shout of surprise before he let exhaustion take him.

#whumptober22 #no27 #magical exhaustion #bbc merlin #merlin emrys #fic rec #my fanfiction #snippet #sir leon

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #11

xxx 911, what's your emergency?

Sydney tries not to get frustrated as she stalks toward the back room that Carmy has yet to emerge from, but today is a big day and his being late is bad enough. Him getting here and then disappearing without an explanation? That’s some bullshit. 

“Chef!” she calls as she gets closer. “We could really use you out th--”

Her eyes land on the door and she stops dead in her tracks, heart pounding. There’s blood on the doorknob and the doorframe and she sees a few spots on the floor, too. Definitely too much to be from the small cuts that happen in the kitchen, and Carmy hadn’t even touched a knife…

“Oh, god.”

She reaches forward and her panic spikes when the doorknob won’t turn. It’s locked. The room is fucking locked, and Carmy is in there alone and there’s blood. She jiggles the handle, though she isn’t sure why. She knows it’s locked and trying to turn the knob won’t actually help.

“Shit.”

Her hand shakes slightly with adrenaline as she knocks on the door, then presses her ear against it. 

“Chef?” she calls. “Carmy, are you okay? Chef?”

There’s no answer, not even a sound, no movement behind the door, nothing. Her heart is hammering and she forces herself to take a few deep breaths. She can’t panic. She just needs to calm down and think…She needs help, she realizes. And she hates it but she knows just the guy for the job.

“Richie!” she yells toward the kitchen. “Someone get me Richie!”

“He’s out front, chef,” Marcus says, leaning into the hallway. “Working on the bathroom sink with Fak. Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know, but you need to get back to work and I need Richie right fucking now!” She knocks on the door again. “Carmy! Carmy, if you can hear me, you--you need to open the door. Please, please open the door!”

“What are you bitching about, Syd?” Richie’s voice is too loud, as usual, and he looks like he’s trying really hard to look annoyed as he stalks toward Sydney. “I was helping Fak out with a--a very important job! The water in that sink is--”

“Have you ever busted a door open?”

The irritated facade drops as Richie is completely taken aback by the question, expression changing as he lets out a short bark of laughter. 

“What?”

“I said, have you ever--”

“Yeah, no, I heard what you said, I’m just wondering why you dragged me over here to insult me! Course I’ve broken down a fucking door.”

“Good, cus I need you to do that right now.”

Richie stops walking, blinking a few times as his brow furrows. “You fucking what?”

“I think…” Damn it. It was one thing to know it, to know that Carmy is in there, probably hurt, but Sydney is about to say it out loud and that makes it real. “Carmy’s locked in there and I think he’s in trouble so please would you just come and get the door open?”

Richie, for once in his life, is speechless, and he opens his mouth and then closes it again before closing the rest of the distance between himself and Sydney. And then he looks at the door. 

“Oh, shit. Is that blood?”

“He won’t answer me, Richie.”

There’s a brief moment of panic, Sydney sees it flash across Richie’s face, that’s quickly replaced with an expression of sheer determination. 

“Move,” he says. 

Sydney takes a few steps back and Richie yells, “Carmy, I’m coming in!” And then he takes a deep breath, sets his jaw, and kicks, driving the bottom of his foot into the door near the handle.

“It didn’t work,” Sydney says, and immediately regrets it, expecting Richie to yell at her about stating the obvious. But he doesn’t. Instead he just takes another breath and does it again. And again, and then, on the fourth try--it happens, the door bursting inward with a loud bang, splinters of wood flying everywhere. Richie steps, panting, into the room, freezing just inside the doorway. 

“Jesus, Carmy…” Richie’s voice is quiet. 

“What is it, is he okay? Let me in, Richie, move!” She has to shove past him to get through and it becomes painfully clear what stopped Richie in his tracks. 

Carmy is slumped against the wall. There’s a first aid kit next to him, some of its contents strewn across the floor around him, but mostly there’s blood. On the floor, on his chef’s coat that she knows he got dry cleaned because a fancy food critic is supposed to be coming in today, on his hands and--

“Oh god, oh shit!” She falls to her knees, trying not to think about the fact that she’s definitely going to get Carmy’s blood all over her brand new pants. “Chef? Hey, Carmy, come on!” 

“The others are wondering what the fuck is going on,” Richie says from the doorway.

“Tell them--” She can’t have everyone back here. It’d be panic, and chaos. “Tell them we’ve got it under control and that they need to just keep working for now!”

“Heard,” Richie responds, and under any other circumstance Sydney would revel in it but right now her boss is maybe-dying so it kind of takes the magic out of the moment.

“Wake up!” She pats Carmy’s cheek, because that’s what people do in movies, and prays because that’s what people do when they’re desperate. 

Carmy’s forehead wrinkles and he moves his head slightly with a discontented sound. 

“Yes--yes!” She takes his face in her hands and tilts his head up. His eyes are moving beneath the lids, and then they open.“Hey, you with me? Where are you hurt?”

Carmy frowns, moving his head away from Sydney’s touch. “Oh god, did I faint?” He leans forward like he’s going to try and stand, but Sydney stops him with a gentle hand to the chest.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Where are you hurt?”

Carmy looks up at her and his expression is one of genuine confusion as he says, words just the slightest bit slurred, “It’s just my arm. Lemme…lemme just finish bandaging it, I’m pretty sure the bullet went straight through--”

“Did you say bullet?” Sydney cries at the same time Richie says, “Whoa whoa whoa, you were fucking shot?”

She hadn’t noticed him get back, but Richie is stepping into the room now and Sydney can see the stormy rage that’s starting to build underneath the fear.

“Who did it, Carmy?”

“What the hell does that matter right now? He’s been shot, Richie, for fuck’s sake! I’m calling an ambulance.”

Carmy’s eyes widen, and he looks worried for the first time as he shakes his head. “No. No, no, Syd--Don’t do that, Sydney.”

“Wha--Carmy, you need a hospital!”

He nods once. “You’re right. You’re right, but no ambulance.”

“It’s bad for business,” Richie says from the doorway.

Sydney wants to yell at both of them for being fucking idiots, but she knows that this isn’t an argument that Carmy has time for, so she just sighs. 

“Fine. But I’m driving.”

xxx 

#whumptober22 #no.11 #911 what’s your emergency? #self-done first aid #the bear #fic #blood #shot #carmy berzatto #whumptober #my writing #my fic #whump

[bonsai-babies]

samtory whumptober  •  5  •  running out of air

The LaRusso’s are desperate after their daughter vanishes, Tory will find her

tags : alternative universe

Tory left the LaRusso home with the sound of Daniel's heart-wrenching sobs and Amanda's desperate mumbling echoing inside her head. Seeing someone like Sensei LaRusso weeping so distressfully caused her to lose her steadiness. She never saw a man cry. She never saw a man wail. For all her life, in the culture she was raised in, men were not allowed to suffer out loud. She felt compelled to add to his tears with her own, to try to soothe those sobs with a hand touch, but she felt like an intruder in their suffering. A useless bystander who would do better if she just left.

So she did. But not back home. She was going after Sam. To wherever they took her.

Blinking awake, the tears stung against her eyes and she had to squeeze them shut for a moment before it was possible to open again. Her heart accelerated. She could hear the pump in her ears but the world around remained in complete darkness and felt awfully claustrophobic. She wasn't sure where she was, but there was something about the smell, something about the strange surface she was laying on… yet in her panic, her brain got convinced they had buried her alive.

***

The first thing Samantha felt as she heavied back into consciousness was the searing heat emanating from her skin and from the air all around her. Every spot on her body felt ablaze. Instinctively she stirred, but it only worsened the pain. She whimpered against the gag in her mouth and forced herself to stand still to avoid further agony. To even squirm was too much to bear in that place that seemed to have become an oven.

Soon her chest was heaving, each feeble gasp forced the enclosure's scorching air down her dried throat, setting off a strenuous coughing fit.

She inhaled loudly and choked.

Her ribs expanded and her skin dug into them as her lungs couldn’t force enough oxygen in.

The cloth in her mouth was a thick barrier. She tried to rub it off or spill it out, but the gag had been tied firmly around her head. Her hands were stuck behind her, pulled so harshly to her back that her shoulders were at their limit. Any attempt to twist against the rope set off such acute pain, she thought she would pass out from it.

No matter how she tried, she couldn’t breathe. No matter how she fought, her suffering worsened.

As her chest expanded again, trying to drag any air in, it was met by the same heavy, burning atmosphere of her coffin.

It would kill her.

“Sam!” Tory’s cries were barely a hoarse sound by that point. She beated the car’s trunk trying with all her might to open it up, aware that her lover’s time was running out fast. Minutes ago she found the abandoned vehicle in the middle of the desert, very close to where Kreese had taken her once. She knew her suspicions were logical, so when she found it and managed to break the rear light to peek inside, her hunch was confirmed.

The poison of dread crept in. Fed by the overwhelming physical torment, it rushed through her veins, obeying nature’s programmed panic mode that was life’s last resource to save itself. But Sam couldn’t. No matter how loud, excruciating the horror torched inside her brain, she simply couldn't fight it. She would just be burned alive from in and out.

***

The sight of her girl, convulsing as she suffocated in the dark sent a sharp pain through the Cobra's heart and she knew Sam was too far gone to even notice that she was there. That she was just a bitching hatch away from her.

Shouting in frustration, the blonde slammed the nail puller against the car. It wasn’t working!

The sun over her head was just so hot. Her distress was threatening to take over and every sob that escaped pushed her further into a panic attack.

“Focus, Tory. You’ve done harder shit before. Think. Think!”.

Looking at the already broken windows she had an epiphany.

In no time she was jumping inside the back. She forced both front seats down and began to ferociously destroy the backrest that connected the seats to the trunk. Foam and springs were ripped out, and she didn’t care about her bleeding fingers as the hole got bigger and she could see her girlfriend.

“Sam!”

A visible shiver made LaRusso suddenly aware that someone was there. A pair of blood-bathed hands came for her and she got dragged out of the darkness into a blinding light.

She recognized the touch of her woman’s arms and despite only holding by thread to consciousness, she knew Tory had come for her.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you…” Tory couldn’t hold her sobs anymore.

Sam almost smiled. Before her body gave out to exhaustion, a cold wave of relief wrapped her in its comforting blanket.

“I’m here now, baby. I’ll take you home”.

#cobra kai #cobra kai fanfic #sam larusso #samantha larusso #tory nichols #samtory #lanichols #samtory whumptober #whumptober22 #whumptober #i almost wanna write the comfort conclusion of this one

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

5 - Drowning

Who doesn’t love a good drowning?

Raccoon Ranch

“Hey Blondy!,” Dylan called, grabbing the shorter man’s shoulder to turn him around. Even before he was trying to pay the boss back, the older ranch hand had been giving Brody threatening looks. As Dylan smirked, Brody’s mind was racing to find an excuse to get back to the barn as quickly as possible.

“Dylan I-”

“Ah,” Dylan cut him off, making a fist in the front of his shirt. “I let upstanding citizens calby first name. I wouldn’t consider losing Boss’s best bull something an upstanding citizen would do, would you?”

I didn’t! Came unabided, but Brody bit his lip and kept the protest inside. They both knew it was too late for that.

“Sir,” he tried again through grit teeth, trying and failing to keep his frustration hidden. “I’ve got other chores I need to finish up.” Brody could feel blood rushing pooling along his checks and around his ears. Dylan was nothing more than a bully, and Brody hated him for it. And feared him for it.

Dylan’s eyes grew hard as well. “That doesn’t sound very respectful, Blondy. You should be more polite to those in charge.” As he spoke, the hand that gripped Brody’s shirt lifted until the heels of Brody’s boots lifted off the ground. Instinctually, Brody grabbed at the hand with a small gasp. The fact that Dylan was a lot bigger and stronger than him was suddenly in the forefront of his mind.

“I, I don’t-”

“No, I think that you need to learn a lesson. And don’t start yapping that the Boss won’t like it - I’m sure he’d be more than happy to hear you’re learning your place.”

Brody’s heart was starting to beat wildly in his chest, and he was sure Dylan could hear how frightened his breathing had gotten. Nik had warned him, said that he shouldn’t piss them off and look at what he had gone and did.

Dylan shoved him down suddenly, sending Brody tumbling into the dust. Before he could fully get back up to his feet, he was being dragged out towards the feed troughs by his bandana. He choked, feet scrambling to keep up and hands fumbling around the cloth to try and release the pressure.

He wasn’t given a chance to take a full breath before his head was pushed under the stale water.

Brody could swim, but this wasn’t swimming. There was no skill to this, no kicking or pushing he could do to get away from the larger body holding him down. The metal was digging into his stomach, one hand pinned to his chest and the other scratching the hand tangled in his hair.

He hadn’t been giving any warning, and he couldn’t keep up with the shock of the water. Before he knew it there was water going down his nose, in his throat and lungs. It burned painfully, as if it were acid eating him from the inside. Brody kept struggling but the water was in his lungs. Adrenaline was coursing through his body, stuck completely useless. Hurting, not helping. Firing up his heart beat like that of a scared horse with nowhere to go.

Just as suddenly, his head was above water and Brody was desperately coughing and gasping in air. Two things one can’t do simultaneously, which just caused a new kind of choking. A hand pounded on his back, forcing him to clear the water out of his system before taking in a breath.

After a few moments he found the rhythm of breathing again, but he was still sputtering and gasping.

“Get it now?”

Water dripped off his face back into the through, off his eyelashes and down his nose. Get what? What was he talking about?

“Alright. At least take a breath this time.”

It was more fear of the statement than obedience that caused the sudden gasp as he was shoved back down. Either way, this time he had a little more understanding of what was happening. He still found himself kicking and trying to squirm out of the grip, but this time he was able to hold his breath and close eyes to keep the stinging water out.

He put most of his focus on the air behind him, trying to kick his boots back as high as he could. There was no chance he could use strength to move Dylan, so he had to hope to dig his heels into some part of the man’s legs to let him go.

But his feet hit nothing at all, Dylan having moved clear away to the side before he even shoved the blond under the water.

Quickly Brody started to regret his effort, the strain making him desperately need to exhale, to pant, to just take a breath dammit. If the water in his lungs was like acid, the stale air was like fire, trying to burn its way through. It felt like he was on fire.

Eventually his body chose for him and gasped for breath, taking in nothing but murky water.

Only when his eyes grew heavy and he stopped struggling did Dylan pull him out of the water. He dropped him in the dust, content to stand and watch the boy sputter and cough up lungs full of water.

Brody’s whole body was shaking, fingers gripping into the dust as if that would help him. Coughing turned to gasping whimpers as he laid there, wanting to go home. Wishing he never stepped foot on this evil fucking farm.

“Ready to be respectful?”

“Yes,” Brody responded desperately, spitting up more water. “Yes sir I’m sorry sir. I w-won’t, I’m sorry… p-please just leave me here, I can’t-“

Dylan snorted. “Better. Make sure you remember it, if you can. If not I’d be more than obliged to help you-“

“No!” Brody cut him off, weakly sitting up on an elbow. “N-no sir I won’t, I promise I won’t.”

~~ Tagging! @looptheloup

#whump #whumptober22 #raccoon ranch #drowning tw

[not-quite-girl-nor-quite-boy]

So here we are at whumptober day 3, day 4 will arrive in a few hours, im trying to catch up and i will.

Whumptober day 3- hair's breadth from death:

"Yeah, but like why?" Merlin asked complaining.

"Because, merlin, I said so. And if I have to suffer through these ridiculous trade agreements then so do you." Arthur said while lowering his arms with his shirt now on. Merlin sighed dramatically.

"Alright then, let's go. Get it over with." Merlin mumbled that last part under his breath and with Arthur growing tired of merlin blatantly ignoring the fact that he was supposed to give the orders, he stayed silent besides he was too busy mentally preparing himself for the dreadfully boring day ahead of him to care. They meandered into the hall and as usual, it was dull and tiring. Merlin was phasing in and out of interest, as usual, focusing on everything and anything that wasn't what they were talking about. 'Honestly, the lords complaining about the candle going out while the rest of the country is on fire. It's ridiculous.' Merlin thought to himself, he was quickly pulled from his thoughts by a sharp feeling running through his shoulder. It was agonising, but he couldn't make a scene so he decided to try and keep his composure.

But unfortunately, the pain became too much the only comfort he felt was the sound of Arthur's voice. That's it!

"Arthur." He said shockingly calmy, a small quiver arriving at the end of the word.

"Not now merlin." He replied before returning to his conversation with the round table knights.

"Arthur!" He said again, this time allowing a fraction of the pain he was in to flood through in his voice. He turned around quickly looking angry until he saw what was behind his manservant.

"Merlin!" He said shocked, shocked at the sight of the tall man standing behind merlin, shocked at the sight of the knife he was holding to merlins throat that was already bloody to the hilt though seemingly not from his neck, shocked truly to see an all but waterfall of blood pouring from his shoulder where he seemingly had been stabbed clean through. But shocked mostly because Merlin had been so quiet in attracting his attention.

The knights all stood drawing their swords and pointing them at the perpetrator accusingly.

"What do you want?" Arthur demanded standing and trying to remain calm enough to negotiate merlin's safety.

"Well honestly I wanted the boy to scream, thought it would make a more dramatic entrance, but the boy has a high pain tolerance!" He said smugly looking down at merlins face. He refused to show any fear only allowing his face to emit disgust. "And a pretty high fear tolerance too! What do you do to him?" He laughed. The knights all looked at each other confused and upset as well as concerned before focusing again on the task at hand. Arthur looked at merlin again noticing the lack of fear, mostly pain but even that was lesser than it should be. His train of thought was interrupted by the continuation of the man.

"But currently I want the knights to drop their swords and any pointy objects and go against the wall." The dark figure said from his stance behind a now greyer-looking merlin, his visage faltering as he looked more scared and pained than before. Arthur's attention was drawn to a familiar figure in his peripheral moving slowly back and then towards the man. Arthur had to stall was all.

"Ok. Do it," Arthur commanded. The knights looked at him questioning his certainty before he nodded to them all once telling them it was the right thing and that he had a plan. They all went against the wall willingly, all of them noticing and conveniently not mentioning the lack of a certain member of the group. The tall man stepped forward dragging, really more forcing merlin into step with him. Merlin rolled his eyes to the edge of their sockets trying to crane his vision to catch a glimpse of his attacker however also fighting to stay conscious and fighting hard against his drooping eyelids and his greying complexion told the knights all they needed to know. They all went against the wall willingly to not get merlin hurt. They all had learned to care deeply for the kind dopey servant. Since he had arrived in Camelot he had been a kind friend and a nice person, always willing to lend a hand or give help never wanting for anything in return, it did little to say they all loved merlin a large amount, while to others he may be "just a servant" to them he was a brother, and they would each defends him with their lives.

Merlin could feel himself weakening. He felt his blood pouring out of him into his shirt and the warm sticky fluid dripping down his chest and arm. His eyelids were getting heavier and his limbs were becoming limper.

"We'll do what you want but he looks like he is about to pass out, let him go," Arthur said trying to buy more time.

"Not tod-" he stopped as he collapsed to the ground bleeding and unconscious. Gwaine towered over him reaching his arms out to merlin who looked as if he was about to follow his example.

"I gotcha, I gotcha merlin don't worry." He said leaning the bleeding boy into his chest.

"Thank you," Merlin mumbled into Gwaine's shoulder while the other knights came running toward them. Gwaine chuckled slightly

"S'alright merls. I've gotcha." He said lovingly. Holding him tight as he went on to pass out in Gwaine's arms.

"Good job gwaine, he needs guais," Arthur said taking in merlin's condition sadly. It was his fault he was there. He forced him to come. This wouldn't have happened if he had let him do a menial task and not been so petty.

"Come on!" He shouted running ahead to prepare guias for his oncoming patient. Gwaine followed close after slowing only to reposition merlin to aid his comfort. They arrived in guais' chamber which for some ungodly, unfathomable reason was in a tower, (which meant lots of carrying for gwaine) to see guias moving potions and Arthur standing idly biting his thumbnail nervously.

"Set him down here," Guais said gesturing to the patient's cot. Gwaine did as he was told laying merlin's limp form down on the uncomfortable-looking bed.

"Oh god, hes a hairs breadth from death! I need you all out," Guais said flatly tearing merlins shirt open to better evaluate the wound.

An assortment of "no!", and "are you crazy?" And "not a chance."'s later and guais explained that he didn't have time to ask them to move every time he needed something from a shelf across the room as in a situation like this time is of the essence meaning he really didn't have time to explain this to them later, and the knights were gathered in the hallway in front of his chamber door, all lined up leaning against the wall save arthur who was pacing back and forth in front of the door thinking to himself, more just over think about what hed do to himself if merlin didnt make it out of this ok. He stopped himself their refusing to even consider that possiblitly. It wasnt even a possibilty, he told himself, guais is an amazing physician, he has been for years. Merlin will be fine. Merlin will be fine, he ricited it to himself refusing to even consider any possibility that varies from that.

None of them knew how long it had been, it could have been minutes or weeks but eventually guais came out, his hands slightly bloodstained despite him wiping them off on an old rag he was holding.

"Hes going to be ok. Hes tired and in pain and he wont be awake ling but you can see him if youd like." Guais explained. They all nodded but none of them knew what they were planning to say. They walked in slowly.

"Hey merlin." Leon said quietly.

"How are you feeling buddy?" Elyan said in a gently quiet voice.

"Oh god. Im fine! Dont talk to me like that. Just have a normal conversation with me." The knights all smilled at each other exchanging glances that communicating that merlin would be fine.

"We know who he was or why he was here yet?" Merlin asked swallowing an entire goblet of water as he asked.

"The guards woke him, apparently a freezing cold bucket of water was involved," they all snickered and merlin smiled smugly. "Im not complaining. But anyway he said a pale lady with dark hair asked him to take revenge on the kingdom that destroyed his village."

"What?!" Arthur and merlin said at the same time.

"It was almost ten years ago sire! It was under Uther's rule. It had nothing to do with you, we all know he was a much less... delicate King?" Elyan said trying to explain the situation to his king.

"Indeed. 'Delicacy' was never his strong suit. Anyway the traitor shall he executed at dawn."

"What, no!" Merlin shouted looking tired. They all looked at him seeming shocked and confused while also worried.

"No one is killing anyone. I understand that he hurt me so you guys are going to get overprotective but he was trying to avenge his fanily and he didnt understand that the man thay did it was long dead. But while what he did was wrong and... painful He was trying to do something good for his family. No one dies! Understand me?" He commanded angrily his eyes drooping closed as he spoke, yawns breaching his words.

"Ok merlin. I dissagree because he hurt you, but if its what you want then alright." Arthur said.

"Good. Well im tired so go away." He said already lying down and eyes closed. They all smiled happily and walked out quietly. He was gonna be ok

#a hair's breadth from death #whumptober2022 #merlin #whumptober day 3 #whumptober #whumptober22 #injured merlin #hurt merlin #worried arthur #worried gwaine #brotherly knights #round table #merlinbbc #merlin bbc #whump #hurt!merlin #worried!arthur #arthur caretaker #gwaine caretaker #worried!Gwaine #whumpy #worried!knights #round table knights #guais #merlin 2012 #gwaine merlin #merthur #gwainexmerlin #merlin x arthur #merlin arthur

[outplacedwriter]

Samtory Whumptober Update

Once again, this update is mostly for myself and for my friends of the tag.

I just received my brand new project from College and this one is the biggest one yet. I didn't expect it to happen this month, so I'll be officially discontinuing the Whumptober Challenge to focus on it.

However, I have two fanfics I still want to write: one for the CK Halloween event, and another inspired by a Samtory fanart that was posted by one of our amazing artists. So I will write something, just not for every remaining day, since I have to focus on my College work.

Thank you everyone who took a moment to read my ficlets, I hope you guys had fun and enjoyed it. I am happy that I decided to try it and that I pushed myself.

My official CK tumblr (@bonsai-babies) is suffering from a bug so I'm posting this warning here in my main account.

#samtory #lanichols #whumptober #whumptober22 #sam larusso #samantha larusso #tory nichols

[pencilofawesomeness]

@whumptober Day 8

No. 8 EVERYTHING HURTS AND I’M DYING Stomach Pain | Head Trauma | Back from the Dead

-

Title: Fulfilled Dreams Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Fandom: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game) Words: 505 Relationship: Kaedehara Kazuha & Kaedehara Kazuha's Friend Character: Kaedehara Kazuha Additional Tags: Whumptober 2022, Prompt Fic, Past Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, musings, Character Study, Kaedehara Kazuha's Friend is Called Tomo

#whumptober22 #no.8 #back from the dead #genshin impact #fic #past character death #nothing graphic it's just sad #sad kazuha noises

[dontfeeltoohot]

Whumptber 3rd - A Hairs Breadth From Death (Gun to Temple) - Paramedic AU - Eddie + Joyce TW: Mention of Guns, Drugs, Medical Equipment

It’s rare Eddie gets to work with Joyce. It happens, of course, but it’s been months. Chrissy’s out with the flu and Murray got put at Base 3 for the day, so they’ve taken ambulance 13 out of rotation, leaving he and Joyce to be on 12. He loves working with the woman, and he’s pumped when he walks in and she tells him the news. 

“Hell yes! Team Myers for the win!” Eddie holds his hand up for a high five, and Joyce laughs, slapping her palm against his. 

“Don’t sound too excited or I may just ask to switch,” the brunette woman jokes, grabbing them both a cup of coffee as they settle in for the morning. 

“Chrissy could deal,” he shakes his head, but they both know he has a soft spot for the two year younger EMT he’s been partners with for years. 

“I can go start doing inventory,” she pushes herself off of the counter, ponytail swinging back and forth. 

“We can both do it, it’s almost cathartic right?”

They sit in peaceful silence, both taking one half of the inventory checklist. Eddie works on drugs while Joyce works on saline bags and braces. The long haired man thinks of how different this morning is compared to others. Normally, he and Chrissy go back and forth with fake scenarios, or he’ll quiz her on random drug dosages, wanting to help her prepare for her upcoming paramedic class. 

This morning, it’s serene. He looks over at the older woman, watching as she skillfully goes through neck brace sizes, like she’s been doing it her whole life. He wonders if that’s how he looks to his partner. Eddie grabs what they’re missing, thankful they’ve not been interrupted. 

Of course, he drives for the day and lets Joyce be the decision maker. He’s not one to overstep higher authority, and while he may be a paramedic just like her, she’s got years of experience he doesn’t. 

The pair have been napping on the large recliners in the common area when their radios crackle, the familiar base 1 tone coming through, waking them up. 

“Dispatch, Base one, ambulance 12, medical call, first response to 1327 Elmdale Street, for a 35 year old male complaining of chest pain. House is blue with a red door.” 

Both adults groan. Eddie fumbles for his radio and stands

“Ambulance 12 to dispatch, responding to medical call,” Eddie continues as they head out to the truck. 

As Eddie gets more information, he hops into the drivers side and thanks his past self for leaving an unopened energy drink in the cup holder. Joyce flips the lights and sirens on, and Eddie pulls out, giving her a smile. 

“Morning,” he drawls, laughing when she yawns and gives him a tired look. 

“You’re welcome to have my energy drink if you’d like it.” 

Joyce grabs it and pops it open, downing half in one go. He thinks she might be the coolest woman he knows. 

They arrive and Eddie grabs the stretcher and LifePak as Joyce heads up to the door. He hopes they won’t need to do any resuscitation tonight. As he slams the back door shut, he freezes, stomach plummeting. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. 

A man in his thirties is standing near the ambulance with Joyce, a gun to her head. Hands trembling, he goes to reach for his radio and the man walks closer, dragging Joyce with him. 

“Don’t think about it, pretty boy, or I put a bullet in her brain.” 

Eddie instantly takes his hand off of the radio, both hands up, palms open. It’s not uncommon for ambulances to be raided but damn he never thought it would happen to him. 

“Okay man, hey. Take the gun off of her. You wanna shoot someone? How about me, I have more clearance than her,” he lies, licking his lips. 

The man stares at Joyce, who’s looking wide eyed, then looks back at Eddie. 

“I want your drugs. Morphine, Fentanyl, Dilaudid.” 

Eddie nods. Number one objective- keep Joyce safe, which means making the guy keep his attention on him. Fucking scene safety his ass. 

“Alright, I can give it to you. But you gotta get the gun off of her. I’m the one that knows the codes.” He stares at Joyce, trying to communicate, trying to tell her not to radio in anything. Better to make it out of this shit alive and drugless. 

The man holds on to Joyce but points the gun at Eddie. Thank god. 

“Follow me.” His hands shake as he opens the back, feeling like he’s been shot up with far more adrenaline than any epi could carry. 

Walking up and into the cab, the long haired man goes to their drug drawers, typing in the four digit code. The guy is now next to him, gun pressing into his temple. Eddie can feel himself sweating. 

“No funny business. Give me the right shit.” 

“Yeah, I got it,” Eddie snaps, and the barrel digs in harder. 

Carefully, he grabs the bottles of the narcotics and hands them to the man, who shoves them all in his pockets, smiling. Eddie keeps his eyes trained on Joyce, who’s been sat on the bench.

“Syringes,” the man says as if it’s been obvious he’s waiting.

“Right,” Eddie huffs to himself, earning a hard blow to his temple, the guy grabbing his pulled up hair. 

“I didn’t ask for back talk, pretty boy.” 

“And I didn’t ask to be held at gunpoint,” Eddie spits, and fuck he needs to learn to keep his mouth shut, because the man’s eyebrows raise and he once again directs a blow with the butt of his gun to the paramedics temple. 

Eddie thinks he hears Joyce gasp. 

Clenching his jaw, Eddie grabs the package's syringes and then looks back at the guy, temple aching. He wants to ask ‘anything else your highness’ but decides against it. He remembers Joyce is still at the mercy of this prick too. 

The man grabs the syringes and takes off. Eddie swallows and looks at Joyce, before grabbing her and hugging her tight. She lets out a shaky breath and he feels her press herself close. 

“I’m sorry, he grabbed me before I c-“ 

“If you’re apologizing for being held hostage by a drug addict, I’m going to scream,” Eddie looks at her. 

The woman looks shaken, face pale and big eyes wider than usual. She’s shaking, and Eddie moves, grabbing a blanket from the shelf they keep them on, wrapping it around her. He leads her to the passenger seat, then goes and puts the gurney back, shuts the back doors, and walks to the drivers side, getting in. He can feel his adrenaline dropping fast, so he grabs the radio and holds it to his mouth. 

“Dispatch, th-this is ambulance 12, requesting police on scene. Code silver,” Eddie forces himself to talk, and Joyce grabs his hand. 

Two minutes later, they’ve got three police cars, Hopper, Callahan, and others the paramedics only briefly recognize, on scene. Eddie feels bad Hopper and Joyce have to keep their relationship under strict ruling, otherwise he’s sure the woman would be clinging to him.

Head still aching, Eddie runs a hand over his face. 

“Can we sit down for this?” 

Hopper looks at him, frowning. 

“You alright Munson?” 

“Yes, yeah, I’m ok. I just..have a headache, and my adrenaline has just been shot to hell and back.” 

“He hit you?” 

“His gun, he hit it on the side of his head twice,” Joyce interjects before Eddie can assure the Fire and Rescue chief he’s alright. 

They all sit in the back of the ambulance, cramped and tight. The warmth of everyone’s body heat feels oddly nice. Eddie plays with his pen, capping and uncapping it quietly as he talks to the police, and refuses treatment for his head. He’s a paramedic, he knows the signs of a concussion, and he doesn’t have them. 

By the time all is said and done, and they return to the base, it’s almost five am. He and Joyce are told to go home. Eddie can’t help but be grateful. After hugging Joyce tightly and telling her to call if she needs anything, the paramedic walks out to his car and sits there, letting the events soak in. He’s drained, feels like he’s been run over and then thrown into hell and spat back out. 

What if Chrissy had been there? What if Joyce had been shot? What if he had been shot? What would that do to Hopper, to Steve, to everyone? A knock jolts him out of his thoughts, and he turns to see Hopper standing there, a look of concern on his face. Eddie rolls the window down, heat blasting. 

“Do I need to call Harrington to come pick you up?” 

“He’s working, I’ll be fine. I just..needed a minute.” 

“Don’t pull away from us, this isn’t the time to try and do shit by yourself. You’ve got a whole team here for you okay kid?” 

Eddie nods, rubbing his eyes that are burning. 

“Got it Chief. Thanks.” 

He doesn’t drive home. Instead, he drives to the hospital, the only thing on his mind is Steve. Walking in, still in uniform, still looking rattled, he sees Steve, Robin, Nancy and Billy at the nurses desk. 

“Eddie?” 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“What’s going on?“ 

“Munson, if you’re not here with a patient, you need to leave.” 

Eddie walks up to Steve and presses himself into the man, breathing shakily as he hugs him. The nurse wraps his arms around him, hugging back. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? Where’s Joyce?” 

The paramedic shakes his head, so Steve leads them away and into the nurses lounge, thankfully empty. Steve stares at him and waits. 

“We had a druggie take meds from our truck,” Eddie voice is fragile and wobbly, and he feels just about the same. 

“Wait-what?! Are you okay?! Eddie, oh my god!” 

“Made sure Joyce wasn’t the target of the gun. I gave the guy his drugs and he ran. Dealt with the police for hours. Just left the station. Came here, wanted to see you.” 

Getting pulled into another hug, Eddie’s not sure how long they stay like that. He hears the door open, but he doesn’t move. 

“He okay?” 

Nancy. 

“Druggie held him and Joyce at gunpoint. I need to leave early.” 

“No problem. I’ll let Owens know.” 

They get back to their place and Eddie burrows into the bed with Steve, too tired to do anything but sleep. He’ll talk more when he wakes up, but right now, laying with his boyfriend, feeling safe, is all he needs. 

#my fic #whumptober22 #em #st #jb

[terrifyingly-bi]

Can’t Make an Omelette Without Breaking a Few Legs (Eddie & Steve)

Fracture

Summary: 

Warnings: cursing, injuries, descriptions of injuries, 

Word Count: 812

A/N: We got Ronance so we gotta have some Steddie as well :3 Also, I am trying to get a mix of really angsty and kind of angsty things out. I don’t usually write this ‘consistently’ lmao

『••✎••』

The crack that echoed through the small clearing made both Steve and Eddie stop. 

Steve turned sharply and looked at his friend that lay crumpled on the ground, still, and seemingly just as shocked as him. “What the fuck was that?” he asked.

Eddie looked up at him, mouth agape and eyes wide. “That was my fucking leg,” he said.

“Your what?” Steve hadn’t realized how tense he was, nor how his shoulders had drawn up around his ears. “Did you just say that was your leg?” He tried to relax but he found himself stuck in place.

It felt silly, but the shock had Eddie frozen. He gulped as he tried to turn over to take a look, but the pain that surged up from his shin was enough confirmation. “Yeah,” he yelped. “That’s my leg. That’s my fucking leg.”

Finally, Steve was broken out of his state of in-action and hurried over to his friend and knelt down by his side. “What did you do?” he asked, helping Eddie turn over to sit up. 

“I don’t know!” Eddie said. He let out a string og colorful words when Steve pulled him off the ground to sit up. “Something got stuck on my leg. I don’t know!”

“Calm down, and let me have a look. It can’t be that bad,” Steve said, although cracks was hardly the sound you associated with a minor injury. He held his breath as he rolled up the pant leg to have a closer look. 

Eddie had his eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t want to see what his leg looked like. If it looked anything like what it felt like he knew it would be bad. “What’s the verdict?” he asked and winced when Steve’s fingers brushed over a particularly sensitive area.

Steve stayed quiet. It looked… not good. Eddie’s shin looked bruised and swollen, but the slight curve of the leg made it more than obvious that something was severaly wrong. “Legs… are not supposed to bend that way,” Steve said.

“What?” Eddie’s eyes shot open and he leaned over to look, crying out in pain when he put more weight than he should on his injury. “Shit!”

“Alright, um… just take it easy,” Steve said. “It’s going to be okay.”

Eddie gulped, trying to push the pain to the back of his mind. He’d always hated pain - mental and physical pain. He hated it so much that part of the sensation frightened him. He bit down onto his bottom lip, and forced himself to take a deep breath. “Is there… anything you can do?”

“I’m not about to snap it back into place, if that’s what you’re asking,” Steve said. “Um… No, yeah, uh… I think a professional needs to look at this. Don’t worry, I’ll get you there.” He tried to be supportive, reaching over and patting Eddie gently on the head. “Just… stay calm.”

“I’m trying,” Eddie mumbled. 

Steve nodded. Panic began to set in. He’d seen injuries before, but they had always followed a situation which had his adrenaline already pumping and his heart racing. Starting cold like this, left him slightly paralyzed by shock and without any adrenaline to help him think on his feet.

“Just breathe. It’s going to be okay.”

“Are you telling me or yourself?” Eddie asked.

The two looked at one another. Steve didn’t realize that he was trembling until he saw the glint of tears in the corners of Eddie’s eyes. He gulped and steadied himself. “Both, probably,” he admitted. “We’ll get you some help, okay?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, sure. Just… don’t leave me for the wolves, okay?”

“I don’t think there’s any wolves in Hawkins,” Steve said, not being able to hold back a chuckle. “Do you think you can stand?”

“Not without help,” Eddie said. 

“Well, obviously. You lean on me, come on,” Steve waved for Eddie to grab him. “Up we go.”

Eddie looked skeptic, but reached out and took both of Steve’s hands and pulled himself up. He yelped when Steve yanked him back up on his good foot and frantically reached out for something to keep him steady. He clutched Steve’s sweated, grabbing hold of his shoulder to keep himself upright. “Shit, that hurts,” he said.

Steve held him by his waist. “You’re okay, tough guy. Big breaths.” He felt more comfortable sliding into his caretaker-mode. He knew how to take care of others… well… kids at least. “You okay?”

“I don’t know what’s pissing me off more right now. My leg feeling as if it’s about to fall off, or you talking to be like I’m a baby,” Eddie muttered, glaring at Steve.

“Oh, let it go,” Steve said, adjusting them and sliding an arms under Eddie’s. “Let’s get you back to civilization before your legs fall off and attracts the wolves.”

“Screw you,” Eddie mumbled.

“You wish, Munson.”

#whumptober22 #no.13 #can't make an omelette without breaking a few legs #fracture #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #fic #injuries #broken leg #a wee bit of steddie #as a treat

[uniasus]

No. 20 IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY

This is an on-going BBC Merlin Whumptober series.

First | Prev | Next

------

Merlin walked deeper into the woods, moving away from Leon and Arthur. He needed to find the sorcerer, needed to kill him, to end whatever spell he'd placed on Arthur. What it was, Merlin had no idea. But it had to be bad. They always were.  

Once he felt a safe distance from the knights, he stopped and extended his magic. Where were the other humans in the woods? 

Not that far away, actually. They’d bolted when Arthur fell, but that had been less than ten minutes ago and they’d slowed their pace. A combination of not being followed, Merlin assumed, and the touch of magic that said the sorcerer was shielding them.  

They seem to be congregating, a pre-picked meeting point Merlin assumed, and made his way toward it. 

It wasn’t a good meeting spot, Merlin thought, too close to the road, but it was in the opposite direction of Camelot and thus opposite in direction from Leon and Arthur. He marched toward it, pulling up his magic.  

He wouldn’t give them any time to fight back, dropping branches on their heads while the roots immobilized them. Then he’d find the sorcerer and run Leon’s sword through him, killing him and stopping the spell. Merlin could feel the trees waking up, feel himself in the roots ready to move.  

Could feel the sudden attention of the sorcerer, as he stepped out behind a tree in front of Merlin. 

His was thin and gaunt, a result of one-too-many harsh years, and of age with Camelot's older knights. This wasn’t some young sorcerer, brought up in a world where magic was hated. He was someone who had remembered the old times, and also remembered the Purge.  

Merlin hated those opponents the worst, as they seemed the most driven to take down the Pendragon line. Sorcerers of Merlin’s generation chaffed against society as a whole, saw Uther and Arthur as figureheads of their problems, but the older magic users held personal vendettas for murdered friends and family. There was always a desperate edge to their actions.  

“Release your spell on Arthur, or else.” 

“Or else what?” 

Merlin made his eyes glow and the sorcerer narrowed his. 

“You’re young,” the sorcerer hissed, “But surely you know all the problems the Pendragons have done to us.” 

“And its only Pendragons who can fix it! Arthur will. I know he will.” It wasn’t just prophesy and dragon-words that assured Merlin. It was the genuine good nature he’d seen in the prince over the past year. Arthur cared about the people of Camelot, and if Merlin could get him to see those with magic as part of his people, Merlin just knew Arthur would consider changing the laws.  

“Oh, he will,” the sorcerer agreed. “But perhaps not as you expect.” 

“What did you do?” Merlin clutched Leon’s sword. It wouldn’t do much against the sorcerer, Merlin had no prowess with it, but it could be a projectile.  

“I could do it to you,” the sorcerer offered. “Remove the spell from the prince, put it on his manservant instead. You’re quite powerful, aren’t you? You’d be able to do a lot more damage.” 

“Or I could just kill you.” 

A scream cut through the air. Someone in pain, and someone whose voice Merlin was familiar with.  

“We can fight if you want,” the sorcerer conceded, “but if we do you’ll lose a friend.” 

Who had screamed? Arthur? Leon?  

“My my,” the sorcerer continued, eyes far away as if he were scrying, “That’s a lot of blood.” 

He’d found the sorcerer once, he’d find them again. With a snarl, Merlin took off toward the road. Jumping over roots and giving himself a magical boost, he found himself on hard-packed dirt in no time.  

Merlin looked toward Camelot. There, at the edge of his sight, was a knight marching by himself in a stiff manner, sword out and glistening with blood. And there, in the middle of the road, lay a crumpled form wearing a Camelot cloak.  

Merlin sprinted forward, quickly realizing the form was Leon and shouted for him. Arthur was nowhere in sight, but the more immediate concern was Leon. Already injured from the skirmish with the bandits, someone had stabbed him underneath the collarbone. And not just stabbed, the size of the wound suggested that someone had twisted the sword. An unnaturally cruel thing to do, whose only purpose was to make the wound more gruesome.  

Merlin ripped off his neckerchief, pressing it to the wound, but the blood continued to pour. “Leon, Leon, wake up!” 

No movement from the knight and Merlin bit his lip. He knew what was happening. Leon’s pale skin and the encroaching blue tinge to his lips were signs of shock. If they were in Camelot, with Gaius nearby, Leon would have a good chance. But here, miles from a physician and any useful supplies it’d be a miracle if Leon survived, let alone kept use of his arm.  

Merlin closed his eyes, thinking. Gaius had been teaching him things here and there, about medicine and about magic. And right now, Leon’s only hope was the latter. 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. “Don’t wake up.” 

Summoning all he could of raw power, he shoved it at Leon’s wound.  

#whumptober2022 #whumptober22 #no20 #going into shock #bbc merlin #fic #sir leon #merlin emrys #my fanfiction #snippet

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #12

xxx what could go wrong?

Mako’s agonized screams are still echoing in Tendo’s mind as he climbs back into the remnants of the plane. He’d had to apply a makeshift tourniquet to her mangled leg once they got her safely out of the wreckage, but she’s stable now. By some miracle her phone is working and she’d been able to call HQ. Apparently the pilot’s mayday had made it through and help was already on the way when she called which is good because they could really use it.

Dread settles deep in Tendo’s chest as he makes his way back onto the wreckage. He’s not even sure if Raleigh survived the crash, and if he had, well. They’re going to have a hell of a time getting him out of here. It’s unclear whether the lower half of his body is being crushed under the mess of aluminum and steel, but even if it’s not it’s going to be tricky. It’s like he’s at the center of a deadly game of Jenga; any wrong move could bring the whole thing crashing down around him…

One step at a time, Tendo reminds himself, shaking the grisly image from his mind. 

It would be easier if the current step weren’t to see if Raleigh is alive. His fingers tremble as takes one of the man’s wrists in his hands and feels for a pulse. He almost laughs when he finds it, and one hand clutches at his rosary. The other hand reaches up to touch Raleigh’s face, mindful of the dark, sticky blood that covers half of it. 

“Hey, Raleigh, you with me?”

Raleigh’s eyes move beneath the lids, and his lips part slightly. 

“Raleigh! Raleigh, you there buddy? Hey, you with me?”

Raleigh lets out a groan, and his eyes flutter open. It doesn’t offer the reassurance Tendo had hoped for, however--his eyes are glazed, and one pupil is visibly larger than the other. 

“Tendo?” he slurs, and Tendo can see his shoulders begin to tense.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” he says quickly. “Don’t move, don’t--don’t try and move. You’re, uh…you’re stuck pretty good. Wouldn’t want anything to shift. But help is coming, okay? Help is on the way!”

The corners of Raleigh’s mouth lift in a tired smile. “You’re always so worried.” The words all run together as he speaks. “Why’re you always so…” The smile drops from his face. “Where’s Mako?”

“She’s fine! Mako is fine, Raleigh, she’s safe. She’s on the phone right now letting everyone know what happened.”

Raleigh nods slightly. “What happened…” he breathes, and Tendo isn’t sure if it’s a question or not. He doesn’t want to answer, though. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks instead. 

“Not…not feelin’ much ‘f I’m honest.”

It’s a mercy, in a lot of ways. But it also means that he’s in bad shape. And him surviving so much just to die here, that would be nothing short of cruelty. Even in bad shape, though, Raleigh is observant enough to read Tendo’s expression. 

“‘sat a bad thing?”

“No,” Tendo says, feigning a scoff. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Raleigh’s brow furrows slightly, mouth pulling down at the corners. And then he asks, "Where's Mako?" 

Tendo's stomach turns. He knew Raleigh had a concussion, but he hadn’t known it was this bad.

"She's safe, buddy," he says, quietly so his voice doesn’t crack. He reaches forward to squeeze Raleigh’s hand, hoping that the gesture is more reassuring than his voice.

"Good," Raleigh mutters, his face relaxing a little. "Good...And Yancy?" 

Tendo's breath catches in his throat. God what is he supposed to say to that? He forces his battered ribs to expand and he takes a deep breath. "Yeah. He's out there waiting for you too, so you've gotta hang on, okay? Hang on until we can get you out the hell out of here. It won’t be long, now.”

“That’s good, cus I’m…” Tears well up in his eyes and his chin wobbles. “‘m scared.” His voice cracks. “I want--I want Yance to be here, if, if I die I need him to--Yancy?”

“He went to get help,” Tendo says, hating himself for lying and knowing that telling the truth would make him hate himself more. He has to blink tears from his own eyes. “And you’re not dying. Do you hear me? You. Are not. Dying.” 

The familiar sound of chopper blades pulls his attention upward, and Mako’s voice comes a second later: “I see them!”

“You hear that, Raleigh? They’re here! They’re…” He trails off as he looks back down. “Raleigh?”

The man’s head has tipped down to his chin, his eyes closed. 

“No, no, no. Raleigh. Raleigh, come on! They’re coming, they’re right out there, you gotta…Fuck! Come on, man, you gotta hang on. I’ve lost you twice already, okay, and even though--even though you didn’t really die I remember how it felt when I thought that you had and I don’t want to feel like that forever. So you hang on, Raleigh! Hang on!”

The sound of the choppers has risen to a roar, and he can hear shouting. 

“Here!” he yells. “In here!” 

Uniformed people swarm onto the plane--an exfil team made up of soldiers and medics--and one of them takes him by the arm. 

“What--what are you doing? I’m not leaving him!”

“We gotta check you out.”

“I’m fine!” The cry that rips from him as he tries to shrug the man off severely undermines the statement, however, and he realizes for the first time just how much pain he’s in. 

“Come on.”

He lets himself be led away, looking over his shoulder as he does. “Get him out! You get him out of there!”

“We’re gonna do our very best, sir. Gonna step out of the plane now, it’s a bit of a drop but I gotcha.”

Mako is already on a gurney with an IV in one arm when Tendo gets out of the plane. 

“Where is he?” 

“They’re working on getting him out,” the soldier answers, and Tendo is glad that he didn’t have to.

This is the first time he’s really slowed down since waking up after the crash, and the exhaustion hits him all at once, slamming into him like a truck. He’s falling before he has a chance to realize what’s happening, and the soldier that brought him out of the plane is the only thing that keeps him from becoming a heap on the ground. 

“Hey, we need a medic over here!” 

He’s barely able to focus on the questions that barrage him. He’s too busy watching the wreckage, waiting and praying and praying and praying again.

xxx 

Later, when he spends a week waiting with Mako to see if Raleigh will wake up, he’ll realize that hope can feel worse than despair. He’ll wonder if all of this worrying and caring and hurting (and broken ribs and bruised organs) are worth it. And, when Raleigh opens his eyes and immediately cracks a joke, he will decide that it is.

xxx 

#whumptober22 #no.12 #what could go wrong? #mayday mayday #pacific rim #fic #plane crash #trapped #concussion #raleigh becket #tendo choi #whumptober #my writing #my fic #whump

[bonsai-babies]

samtory whumptober  •  8  •  head trauma

On their way home, there’s a car crash

tags : blood, open wound

“It’s nothing”, Tory mumbled, pulling away from LaRusso’s caring hands.

“Tory” Sam sighed, “We just crashed the car. It is not okay.”

“You should be more bothered by those black ribs of yours”.

“Not when your head is pouring blood-”

“I’ve been worse”.

Samantha rolled her eyes, “You don’t get it, do you? We’re together now. This means you get to be cared for. You’re my girlfriend. And I take great care of my things”.

Nichols growled like a stubborn cat, mostly because she knew there was no winning once LaRusso reached that point. Still, her head hurt too much for her to keep fighting.

Sam reached to pull off Tory’s shirt off of her all the while the blonde looked puzzled but followed up without resistance.

“Hold like this”, Sam showed her how, using the shirt.

“Oh, so it had to be my shirt?”.

“My ribs are busted. I couldn't do it. Plus your shirt is cheaper”.

“Fuck you”.

“I’ll buy you another”.

“Oh, yeah? What if I don’t want it cheap?”

“You thought I would buy it cheap? Not a chance. I’m a spoiled bitch, remember? I’m about to make you a spoiled bitch by association.”

Tory laughed through the pain and dizziness taking over, “What a terrible fate!”.

#cobra kai #cobra kai fanfic #sam larusso #samantha larusso #tory nichols #samtory #lanichols #samtory whumptober #whumptober22 #whumptober #i'm paying all the days i owe the challenge #hope you guys enjoy!!

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

4- don’t pass out

This story is a bit reference heavy, so just let me know if there’s things you’ve got questions on. Or read the masterlists if you wish lol.

On the days where the skies were clear and the sun was the strongest, Corwin often found he was busy back at the ranch house. Somehow those were always the days when the barn needed to be restocked and the porch needed repair. Somehow the backbreaking, painstaking work in the sun was left to those who had no choice in the matter.

At the current moment they had taken precious moments to hide beneath some shade, trying to gather their strength back before returning to the cattle. Frustratingly, that meant they had to join Dylan, who had been supervising from the shade since late morning.

“You don’t look so good, Blondy,” he teased, jutting out his chin towards Brody as if it were necessary to point out who he was talking about.

Brody didn’t correct him, dropping heavily down to the dirt at the farthest edge of the shade. He felt sick. His stomach was churning, lungs tired. Just a few minutes out of the sun would be greatly appreciated for sure.

“Yeah, I don’t really give a fuck,” muttered Dylan as he adjusted his hat over his eyes and leaned back. With a sigh, Brody followed suit. He didn’t get long, however, before a hand on his shoulder was vying for his attention.

“You need to be drinking more water,” Nik said, handing him the canteen. Brody leaned away from it. With a more determined expression, Nik pressed further. “You feel sick because it’s so hot out. Not drinking will only make it worse. So, drink.”

Unwilling to argue, Brody took the canister with a sigh and drank. It didn’t make him feel better.

Nik turned his attention to Hilton, who had gone and done something stupid yesterday, now putting himself in an even worse position.

Yesterday he’d backtalked to Mason - again - who didn’t hesitate in ordering Dylan to strap an unforgiving muzzle around his mouth. Brody had been shocked, and shocked again when Nik only looked pained and disappointed. Hilton wasn’t phased by this either, taking the last few moments to hurl insults at everyone and everything in sight.

And it had stayed on, all through the rest of the day into the night. And in the morning. By mid afternoon the next day, Nik was starting to grow worried. That was a lot of time without water in the blazing sun. Constant glances to his fellow ranch ‘guest’ considerably slowed Nik down and distracted him.

Now the other boy was nearly unmoving in the shade, damp bandana draped over his face in the hope it could cool him down. His breathing was labored, and Nik’s brow furrowed. With purpose, he made his way over to check in on him again. The motion caught Dylan’s attention.

“You know,” he stated loudly, clearly trying to get the other’s attention, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed Stupid ain’t getting his share done. You wouldn’t want me to have to report that back to the boss, now would you? Hate to see him get sent down to the mines where he deserves.”

Nik ignored the jab, but Brody sat up on his elbows. “What mine? There’s no mine on the ranch?”

Beneath the brim of his cowboy hat Brody could see the smile creep onto the man’s face. He swallowed and immediately cursed himself for asking stupid questions.

“Oh it’s just a lovely place, I’m sure you’d get along great there. You seem like the kind to like closed, dark, deep places. We could practice. Dig a hole in the ground and bury you in it.”

Fear gripped around Brody’s heart. “Please don’t,” he responded in a quiet voice. Was Dylan’s snort of amusement a good thing? Brody couldn't be sure, but he did at least believe it was too hot for Dylan to get up and actually make good on his threat.

Only a few feet away, Nik was growing more and more anxious by the second. Hilton wasn’t going well. His tanned skin was clammy and dry, moving closer and closer towards dehydrated as he watched. He was breathing heavily, unable to open his eyes.

Nik had known Hilton long enough to know what was coming next.

“Hilton you’ve got to wake up,” he whispered urgently, wringing out the bandana and adding cooler water. Hilton groaned and rolled his head, but didn’t open his eyes. Nik cursed under his breath and looked behind him quickly.

“Brody, uh, wasn’t there something you were going to ask Dylan?”

Brody stared at him bewildered, mouth slightly agape. Nik knew Brody was starting to develop a deep fear of Dylan, but Nik looked just as scared. Rapid glances between Nik and Dylan didn’t give him any ideas.

“Uh-”

“What? Go ahead, I’m curious to see what three words you can string together. Honestly, if Stupid wasn’t already taken, you would have been a shoo in for it, Blondy.”

Nik bit the side of his cheek, feeling awful he had to use Brody as a distraction but time was ticking for Hilton. He’d seen it a couple times. Hilton would get sick or hurt, and if he passed out he’d seize. Thank the stars not for long, but long enough he could hurt himself.

“Hilton, you need to look at me,” he ordered in a low voice, carefully unbuckling the muzzle around the other’s mouth. By some miracle the bright blue-green eyes opened to look up at him. They were dazed and confused, but a step in the right direction.

“There, hey, there you are. You can’t pass out on me, Hilton.” The muzzle was finally off, now to position the dark haired boy’s shoulders on Nik’s knees to keep him upright.

“They’re not gonna make fun of you.” Hilton’s words were mumbled and slurred, hardly making sense if they could be understood perfectly. “They come back and he helps and-“

“Okay, it’s okay,” Nik hushed, dabbing the cloth along the other’s brow. Even then, he tucked the words away somewhere in his memory. They might have been mumbled and half conscious, but those little muttered Hilton made were usually right. Hard to know what they were about, though.

It would only get worse if Hilton passed out.

His eyes slipped closed again and Nik shook him again.

“Come on. You got questions?” Dylan poked further, sitting up. Brody scooted away.

“Uh, n-no there’s been some misunderstandings-“ Brody looked at Nik again, finally seeing Hilton’s mouth free. Dylan followed his glance and began to turn before Brody stopped him.

“Wait! Uh, yeah. I had questions, about the Boss? Um. There’s, the two guys at the house. Rudy? Why aren’t they out here helping us?

Nik mouthed thank you towards him before returning to trying to keep Hilton awake. Dylan snorted again.

“Because Driver’s obsessed with them for some goddamn reason. Doesn’t let me near the little one, but Grumpy gets to pretend to be muscle when they go into town sometimes. I mean he couldn’t hurt a fly, but he looks like he might.”

“Do they owe the Boss money too?”

Dylan shrugged. “Don’t think so. I think Driver saved them from something but like I said, I’m not allowed near them.”

A whimper from Hilton drew his attention and Brody stood up abruptly. “I’m uh, I’m gonna get back to work-“

Too suspicious, Dylan quirked a brow and turned to look behind him. He groaned loudly and stood taking a moment to stretch his back.

“We’ll look at that. Someone got their gag off.”

Nik found himself hunch over Hilton further as if that would protect him. “It’s the heat Dylan, you can’t-“

“I don’t give a shit what you think I can and can’t do. Either he gets back to work or I take him back up to the ranch house for the Boss to deal with.”

“Fuck that,” Hilton mumbled starting to come back to himself. Dylan stomped heavily near him, startling the still recovering boy.

“You’d think you’d learn to shut your fucking mouth but no. Stupid is as stupid does.”

“Just another five minutes,” Nik bartered. “We’ll be fine then.”

Dylan rolled his eyes and grabbed Brody by the hair. “Fine. But as you seem so eager to get back to work, let’s go.”

As they started to walk away, Dylan called over his shoulder.

“If he passes out again I’m throwin’ him in the creek, Emmanuel be damned.”

#whumptober #whumptober22 #raccoon ranch