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katyawriteswhump · 4 months ago

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omega found, omega lost 5.1

Title: Omega found, Omega lost; Chapter: 5.1/6; WC: 2356; Rating: E; Tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, angst, hurt/comfort.

Chapter 1 on tumblr Chapter 2 on tumblr Chapter 3 on tumblr Chapter 4 on tumblr On AO3

For whumptober prompts day 23, I'm doing this for you; day 21, let the bedsheets soak up my tears, no. 25, it's for your own good; no. 29, fatigue, no. 30, hospital bed/holding back tear, no. 31 asking for help, and alt prompt, motion sickness.

Chapter 5.1: I'm doing this for you

A few hours earlier

“Don’t tell mom, okay?”

Steve’s dad pulsed his hand, and Steve was too weak to return it. His brain was fogged, and the weight of his bones pinned him to the mattress. After his father scuttled off, his news gradually seeped beneath Steve’s clammy skin and into his aching head.

It was all right.

For starters, he’d learned that Eddie hadn’t ditched him. He’d allowed Hopper to take Steve to ER, because he’d had no choice. Now his dad was going to find Eddie, which was pretty much the first time his dad had gone behind the back of his Alpha wife. As far as Steve knew, that is. Hopper was in on it, too.

Somewhere, deep beneath layers of grinding misery, hope kindled.

In less than an hour, he was sitting up in bed IV-drip free—chewing on a granola bar, then bouncing the wrapper off the ceiling. Dustin dropped by in visiting hour, apologising profusely for going off grid. Apparently, it was because Wheeler had kept on yelling hoax ‘code reds’ whenever he got fangs deep into a coding marathon with Suzie. And yeah, they made a half-joking pact to kick Wheelers’ butt, ASAP.

When Dustin left, Steve considered the epic task of getting out of bed. He wanted to call around to see if his dad had any news, or if any of their friends had heard from Eddie. Dustin had promised to get the whole gang on the case. Annoyingly, though, the pup’s visit had drained Steve, and his eyelids grew heavy as his bones.

He sensed his mom draw close a few minutes later. He had already hunkered down beneath the blankets and now he pretended to sleep.

He listened to her latest conversation with the doctors, hardly daring to breathe. Maybe she knew he was awake and didn’t care? It’s not like his opinion had ever been worth shit to her, even before he presented as Omega.

As they left, he swore he heard her softly growl: “Steven. I’m doing this for you.”

He remained motionless save breaths reduced to shallow quivers in the back of his dry throat. When her stinky perfume had retreated far enough, he sat up, leaning heavily on his palms, and tried to quell his trembling. Then he pushed the side bars down, swung his legs over and slid out of the bed.

The room swayed and swerved like he was on a ship, and his knees felt like water. He grabbed the bars to steady himself, while the pain in his heavily bandaged ankle gathered pace. Hot tears pressed in the back of his eyes, his throat. Shit, he wouldn’t cry now.

He fucking refused it.

He had to get better. He had to tough this out like… like a goddamn Omega. If he didn’t haul ass out of here today, his mother was going to send him back to that clinic. Oh yeah, she’d be all, “It’s for your own good, darling,” like last time.

He’d be treated as a piece of meat.

If her path crossed with Eddie, then Eddie would be dead meat.

Okay, his dad said he’d be back soon, but waiting was now unbearable. Besides, Eddie had smelled him from over a mile off. Steve was sure he’d pick up his Alpha’s scent trail, no sweat. He should be leading the search, not languishing here. On top of everything else, he was desperate to pee, and equally desperate to find a mirror and sort out his hair, so…

Okay, baby steps.

Or, rather, heavily limping steps. If he could make it to the washrooms and back, maybe there was hope of getting out of this dump.

He plucked a comb from his bedstand. Slowly, he made for the door, dragging his bad foot, then hopping unsteadily. The smallest pressure on his injury set his ankle screeching, as if his stitches had split. He struggled on, little keening noises escaping him. A nurse intercepted him at the door and offered his assistance—which Steve refused—and then a crutch.

Steve begrudgingly accepted that, and it helped. He made it to the washroom, cringed at himself in the mirror, then sorted himself out best he could.

On exiting, he allowed himself a small fist-pump. As he stared down the corridor, though, his shoulders collapsed, and his chin drooped. The few yards back to his room stretched out like miles. He took a moment, wedged between the crutch and the wall, his panted breaths so thick they drowned out the ceaseless buzz of the lights.

You can do this. Do it for Eddie. Do it for the Alpha you’ve been brushing off for months, who you couldn’t stop thinking about… and now who you literally can’t live without.

After all, according to his Dad, one of the doctors literally prescribed Eddie.

“Hello, Omega.”

Steve yelped. His crutch toppled sideways, even as a pair of arms slithered around him from behind.

“Oh yeah, you’re ripe and juicy!” drawled a familiar voice. “My pups will eat his pups outta you from the inside, and then…”

Snap!

Steve whirled around on reflex and nipped Tommy Hagen, who staggered back, rubbing the flesh between his shoulder and neck.

“I was kidding, okay? God, since when did you bite, dude…Hey, you look like shit.”

“Back at ya!” Also, rude! He’d managed to salvage his hair quite well, in the circumstances. Steve slithered down the wall toward his haunches. Tommy grabbed Steve’s elbow, then grabbed his crutch, slid it back under Steve’s arm and helped him stand. Tommy had paled beneath his freckles, and actually looked mildly guilty. “What are you even doing here?” demanded Steve.

“Came to visit you. Retard move, clearly.”

“Yeah, right. I know what you came for. Gloat away then.” Tommy shrugged, still faintly cowed. Steve rode his tide of fury and went in for the kill: “Listen, Tommy. You are gonna go grab me some clothes from somewhere, and I’m gonna get discharged. Then we are gonna drive all night, if that’s what it takes, till I pick up Eddie’s scent.”

“Munson? Jesus, Harrington—you really are out of your pretty little head. Word is, he kidnapped you and filled you up with his trailer-park pups. It’s just so you to fall for a criminal.”

“Don’t be dumb. Eddie’s a hero—he saved my life.” Plus, this Beta had no idea about an Alpha-Omega bond, let alone a soulmate one. “Listen. I’m absolutely not pregnant, but my mom’s gonna drag me off to some specialist Omega clinic where they’ll lock me away and run tests, and…” Steve paused, fretting his lip ragged.

He didn’t have the time or the mental strength to handle the juggernaut of emotions barrelling through him. But he knew that threat wasn’t why he’d dragged himself from his bed, to Hell with the pain and the stupidity of it all.

It was Eddie. Eddie was in danger, and Steve needed to protect his Alpha. How screwball was that?

“Look, I can’t wait around while my dad messes this up. I need to find Eddie myself. Now.”

“You really do suck at being a good little Omega. Shouldn’t you be all—” Tommy flung the back of one hand to his brow “—woe is me! Let the bedsheet’s soak up my tears!”

“Screw you, Hagen. My secondary gender doesn’t define me, okay?”

“Says the pampered Omega pining for the dime-store Alpha who fucked his tiny peabrain out his ears.” Tommy looked smug again. So, default Tommy. Then his eyes slitted and he turned all sly: “What if I want to claim your mom’s reward for the freakshow’s head?”

“I’d rip your throat out myself.” Steve’s upper lip twitched, displaying his little canine teeth—a weary token gesture. His latest shot of adrenaline was basically spent.

Tommy ‘pfffd,’ though deep in those rolling eyes, something softened. Or maybe it was Steve’s wishful thinking. His exhaustion getting the better of him, Steve’s knees sagged. Tommy whacked out a hand to steady him, and Steve glared with everything he’d got left:

“Look, if you’ve ever actually been my friend, now is the time to make good on it.” Okay, he wasn’t sure that would wash. “I’ll pay you. Fuck, you can have my damn car.”

Jesus, did he mean that?

Whatever.

Steve would scratch Tommy’s eyes out later, once he’d gotten what he needed.

Half an hour later, Steve huddled in the passenger seat of Tommy’s car, ratcheting his stiff, cold limbs into a foetal position. His stomach lurched at the smallest bumps in the roadway, sending bile burning up his windpipe and into his throat. When Tommy breaked or sped up, the g-force drag through his guts set him whimpering.

He’d not felt this crappy on a journey since he was a kid.

On top of all that shit, Tommy’s endless whining drilled right into his aching head: “I’m running out of empty houses here. Christ, I don’t get how you know he’s in a basement. Let alone the point of pulling up outside and not even searching the joint.”

“If he was in there, I’d know it,” husked Steve, his throat wrecked by the acid. “Keep going.”

“Jesus, all right. I’ll try the old Hess farmhouse. But if you puke, I am dumping you out in the nearest ditch.”

Everything after that had been a fevered blur. By the time they reached the farmhouse, Steve was flopped on his back in the seat, arms and legs splayed, breathing so hard of Eddie’s scent he was pretty much hyperventilating.

Tommy wrinkled his nose at him. “Are you seriously leaking slick all over my car? Man, I know I’m getting yours but—”

“Your car can eat shit,” moaned Steve, his insides an unbearably empty ache. “You can eat shit! He isn’t here, Tommy. He isn’t here.”

“How do you know, shit for brains? I mean, this place is pretty much sending you into heat, and I’d bet on Carol’s Alpha dick that it’s got a creepy-ass basement. Just like you saw in your seriously fucked up wet dream.”

“He was here. I’m sure of it… but he’s gone. He’s gone.” Steve sobbed openly, too far gone to even care. “God, what if my mom…. What if she found him? Oh God, Tommy… it hurts. I can’t… I… it hurts so much. I can’t face the future… Any future without him.”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Tommy slammed his palms up: “I didn’t sign up for this shit. I’m taking you back the hospital.”

A flash of wild grief ripped through Steve, igniting a fresh round of cramps in his guts. He eked tight words from his clenched teeth: “I swear to God, I’ll d-die on you before you reach the hospital, then m-my mom will hunt you down and swing you from a tree by your intestines.” He’d heard of it done, long ago in Viking packs or something.

“Where the fuck else can I get rid of you?”

“D-drive to Wayne Munson’s trailer. Do it. Now.”

It was the last coherent idea Steve had. He’d cranked himself back into a ball, wishing for anything, even death, to bring this horror show to an end. At length, he’d gleaned a fresh whiff of Eddie’s scent.

The car door opened. A kind face emerged out of the gloom. Tommy and Wayne helped him out of the car and hauled him up the steps into the trailer.

“I’d sling him straight in Eddie’s bed,” Tommy grumbled. “Unless you wanna be scrubbing slick off your couch for the rest of the year.”

To be fair, Steve felt too wretched to be as slick as Tommy made out. On sinking into Eddie’s shallow mattress, though, he no longer felt so sick, though butterflies rustled in his stomach. Wayne brought in extra blankets and cushions to form a little nest around him, muttering, “There ya go, son. You’re gonna be okay now.”

Wayne got him to sip some water from a plastic bottle and gave off slightly stressy vibes that defied his soothing words. Still, Steve’s butterflies settled, and after he’d drank enough to satisfy Wayne, he settled too. Wayne tucked Steve in with a comforter so infused with Eddie’s scent that a faint chirrup escaped him.

The little room around him, floor and walls, was cluttered with stuff. Cassette-tapes, LPs, clothes, stickers, guitars and bones, and skulls—pictures of those, at any rate. Eddie’s stuff. Steve loved it.

Even without him, this nest proved more healing than any hospital bed. Steve cuddled a pillow to him, pressing it to his aching loins, and drifted away.

...

Chapter 5.2 on tumblr

(it's gonna be fine, okay!?!) Second half of this chapter will be up soon!

Please like and reblog if you’re feeling kind 🥰 it’s so very much appreciated ❤️

tags: @wheneverfeasible @mugloversonly @ellietheasexylibrarian

@strawberryyyenthusiast @stripey82

If anybody else fancies reading more, I would be happy to tag :) Or follow #katya's omega whump

My endless outpourings of Steve whump can be found on AO3 here :)

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whump-tr0pes · 4 months ago

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Luctus et Mors

So begins Dee's second recovery arc. This begins about a week after Comes Animae.

Masterlist

AO3

Contents: nightmare, comfort, sharing a bed, PTSD, blood, past attempted murder, past magical healing, past death and resurrection, survivor's guilt, grief, post-reunion, past burns, past torture, past religious abuse, recovery

Dee woke up choking on smoke. Blackness shrouded his eyes - blindfolded. Soft cloth restraints tightened around his limbs, and he cried out, terrified, gasping, lungs spasming around the smoke.

His own flesh sizzles and peels away under the angels’ hands. His skin bubbles and burns under the eternal, blazing sun of hell.

His eyes streamed. His throat closed around a helpless scream.

“Dee,” a voice murmured in the darkness. “Dee… shhh, I have you.”

Hands, gentle hands, loosening the sheets around his legs and chest.

The sheets.

The hands left him, only for long enough to snap on the lamp beside the bed.

The bed. The lamp. The room he shared with Ilya.

Ilya.

His eyes found theirs immediately and he reached out, fingers grasping theirs. His hands were shaking. He could still feel blood - his and theirs - flowing between his fingers, hot and vital. He stared at his hands.

Clean.

He could taste smoke in the back of his throat.

“A nightmare?” Ilya said gently.

He nodded and gripped their hands tight. The pain and smoke and blood felt as real as Ilya’s hands in his.

“Yes,” he croaked.

Ilya chewed their lip. “Was it… um…?”

Dee’s eyes dipped and settled on Ilya’s throat. There should have been a scar there, from where the angel had pressed his blade in to end Ilya’s life.

Dee screams in rage, in anticipated grief that cannot have a chance to strike. He lunges forward and pries the knife away from Ilya’s throat. He tears Ilya from the angel’s grip and shoves them to the floor behind him. He growls his rage, his pain, as his shattered body burns.

Dee raised his hand and trailed his fingers along the unblemished skin. “Did Dara heal you?” he murmured. “After I…?”

After I died?

Ilya’s mouth tightened. “She did,” they said softly. They reached out and trailed their fingers along Dee’s jaw.

Dee nodded. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s… that’s good.”

Pain flickered across Ilya’s face. Dee swallowed hard. “Dee,” Ilya said, fingers linking with his again. “Please talk to me.”

He wet his lips. His mouth was so dry. He should not stop his hands from shaking as he returned their gaze.

Finally, he said, “I… dreamt of hell.”

Ilya nodded. Their head relaxed into the pillow and they said nothing.

Dee continued uneasily. “I dreamt that the angels… followed me. Found me.”

Ilya’s brow furrowed and they squeezed his hands. “Oh,” they murmured.

“I dreamt that they punished me again. For… for you.” Dee looked away. He couldn’t meet their eyes. After a long silence, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

“I’m… not the one who died, you know,” Ilya whispered.

Dee stared at them, shocked, ashamed. “Venia?” he breathed.

They wet their lips. “I’m not blaming you, no,” they said quickly. “I’m not saying… anything like that. I’m saying…” They reached out and ghosted their fingertips along his cheek. “You’re the one who suffered. You’re the one who… who died for this, Dee.”

“You suffered, too,” he whimpered. “You were… were hurt.”

“Not like you,” Ilya said. “Not like that.” Their fingers slid down his cheek, down his neck, brushed his throat with the gentlest of touches.

Even that. Even that was too much. He stiffened. Ilya’s mouth hardened, as if something they had suspected had just been confirmed.

“There were burn marks on your throat when we found you,” Ilya whispered. “Handprints.”

“I know,” Dee said brokenly. Tears burned his eyes.

“I held your body for hours after,” Ilya rasped through their own tears. “I t-tried to hold you for… days. Dara had to take you from me so she could bury you.”

Dee squeezed his eyes shut. Tears rolled down his temples and into his hair, soaking into the sheets beneath him.

Ilya hitched a sob beside him. “Dara healed me. I didn’t… I didn’t hurt. I didn’t have any scars. Once she took you away, I didn’t have you. I had… nothing left of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Dee whimpered. “Ilya, I’m sorry.” He rolled to his side and gathered close. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against their neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Dee,” Ilya sobbed into his hair. “When will you see that it wasn’t your fault?”

Grief clogged Dee’s throat. He shook his head and buried his face deeper in Ilya’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I never… Ilya, I never meant for you to… I would have…”

“I know,” Ilya said roughly. They squeezed him tight. “I know.”

“I would take it back,” he whispered, barely loud enough to hear. “I would…”

I would take it all again. For you.

“Don’t say that,” Ilya said. “The Powers are dead. No one will… no one will… take you from me again. No one will take you from yourself.”

Smoke burns the back of his throat. Smoke from his own burning flesh. He gags on the smell, the pain, the terror.

He shuddered and pressed a kiss to their throat, over the place where the scar would have been. Over the place where the Power’s blade had tried to claim Ilya’s life.

“I love you,” he breathed. “Forever.”

“And I love you,” they whispered back. “You. Forever.” Their thumb slid along his eyebrow, brushed his cheek, trailed back up to his ear. They kissed the top of his head.

He did his best to relax into their embrace. With his face pressed to their neck, all he could smell was them; the smoke was merely a memory. If he tried hard enough, he could almost believe he would never burn again.

Translation of the Latin lines here:

Dee stared at them, shocked, ashamed. “Pardon?” he breathed.

@womping-grounds , @free-2bmee , @quirkykayleetam , @walkingchemicalfire , @inpainandsuffering , @redwingedwhump , @burtlederp , @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @whatwhumpcomments , @whumpywhumper , @stxck-fxck , @whumps-the-word , @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @inky-whump , @orchidscript , @inkyinsanity , @this-mightaswell-happen , @newandfiguringitout , @whumpkitty , @pebbledriscoll , @im-just-here-for-the-whump , @endless-whump , @grizzlie70 , @oops-its-whump , @kixngiggles, @1phoenixfeather , @butwhatifyouwrite , @carnagecardinal , @laves-here, @mylifeisonthebookshelf , @wolfeyedwitch , @batfacedliar , @also-finder-of-rings , @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @extrabitterbrain, @i-eat-worlds

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bucknerdycore · 4 months ago

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Let Me Be Your Anchor

Ratings: Teen and Up

Warnings: Not Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Eddie/Buck

“You’ve been crying,” Eddie whispered, and there was no judgment in his voice, only concern. Buck’s breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes tighter, trying to stem the wave of tears threatening to spill over. He hated this. He hated feeling like that. He didn’t know how to explain it, or how to make sense. “I’m fine,” Buck also whispered. Whumptober 2024 Day 21: Let the bedsheet soak up my tears

Link

#whumptober2024 #no.21 #Let the bedsheet soak up my tears #911 abc #fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #writing #buddie

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donovankinard · 4 months ago

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i'm a falling star, a glimmer lighting up these cotton streets a fic by @thefootnotes for @whumptober and @jeddieweek

“We knew he wouldn’t be all-in, straight away, though. Like, we knew that, we were prepared for that.” Eddie insists, waving at the space around him. And they did – when Christopher announced he was returning from Texas, Josh sat him down and opened the conversation of what this would mean for them. The answer was… Eddie didn’t know; but it would take Christopher at least a couple weeks to warm up to the idea, he’d guessed. “I mean, when Buck first started going out with Tommy, it took two months for Christopher to be okay with even speaking to him.”

Or the one where Josh endures an awkward dinner, the jury’s still out on the Diaz-Russo family, and Eddie’s love is the best reassurance.

T | eddie diaz/josh russo | 1.5k whumptober day 21 - body horror: tattoo gun, spirit possession, "let the bedsheet soak up the tears" & jeddie week day one - love makes a family

read on ao3.

#whumptober2024 #day 21 #let the bedsheet soak up my tears #eddie diaz #josh russo #jeddie #911 #911verse #my fics #jeddie week 2024 #jeddieweek2024

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moonlight0934 · 4 months ago

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Thunder And Lightning

Kaminari twists around, unsure of why he’s so uncomfortable. It takes him a minute to realize that the rain is pounding against his window, and he’s uncomfortable because of the electricity buzzing under his skin.

“Ugh, again?” Kaminari mutters, rubbing his eyes.

He sits up, twisting around to look at his clock. It’s only two thirty, so he flops back down.

I probably shouldn’t go back to sleep. It’s not like something normally happens when it storms, but just to be safe.

Kaminari drags himself out of bed, and heads to the common room. It’s quiet in there since everyone else is asleep, and it’s dark due to the storm, so Kaminari turns on one of the lamps. He drops onto the couch, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He scrolls for a while before starting to drift off again. His hands still feel like they’re buzzing, and that feeling is enough to keep him up until four, but then he drifts off again.

He wakes up to someone screaming. His mind is running slow enough that it takes him a second to realize that the room is on fire. His body isn’t responding to his commands, and he can’t seem to figure out what’s going on. He tips off of the couch, and blacks out before he can even hit the floor.

Bakugo wakes up to the muffled sound of people, and a smoldering smell. He steps into the hallway, and people are heading to the back exit.

“What happened?” he asks, stopping Iida on his way out.

“Apparently there’s a fire of some sort in the common room. The fire fighters have been called, and we’re following fire protocols. You can follow the rest of the line to the lawn where we’re going to do a head count.”

Bakugo narrows his eyes.

“Do you know what caused the fire?”

“No, but the whole common room is on fire.”

“Is it still raining outside?”

“We don’t have time for all of these questions. We should be walking outside in a single file line.”

“Just answer the question.”

“It is, but you shouldn’t be worried about getting wet. I’m not sure how you didn’t hear it though.”

“Ok, I’m right behind you,” Bakugo says, trying to keep the sneer out of his voice.

He waits until Iida speed walks away to head towards the common room. It is on fire, but not enough that he can’t make it into the room without injury with his fire durability. There’s a hole in the ceiling, and that confirms what Bakugo already knew. He races over as Kaminari drops off of the couch. He’s crackling, and he almost immediately starts seizing.

Bakugo’s eyes widen, taking everything in. He kneels down nearby, and looks around for anything that would be safe to use as a device to touch Kaminari with. There isn’t anything nearby that isn’t on fire, and the smoke is starting to fill up the room.

Shit, I don’t know what to do.

Kaminari starts choking, and Bakugo makes a choice. He forces his hands as steady as possible, then pushes Kaminari onto his side. His brain immediately fuzzes out, but he makes sure to keep his hands on Kaminari for at least thirty seconds. His hands feel like they’re on fire, and his entire body is tingling when he comes back into his own body.

There’s a pile of vomit, but Kaminari isn’t actively choking, so Bakugo lets himself drop back. His fingers are bleeding, but he can’t really see the damage. He leans to the side, and throws up too. He coughs hard, still shaking. Kaminari whimpers, and Bakugo turns back to him.

“You’re going to be ok,” Bakugo whispers, setting his bleeding hands in his lap.

Smoke is continuing to fill the room, but Kaminari is still sparking so there’s no way that Bakugo can move him. Bakugo distantly thinks that he should have been counting how long the seizure lasts, but he can’t seem to think well enough to do that. Bakugo looks back down at his hands, trying to force his fingers to move, trying to force his hands to do anything productive. However, they won’t move.

They won’t even budge a little bit. He knocks his knee into one of them, and pain shoots up his arm. He still can’t feel anything other than pain in his hands or wrists. Kaminari finally goes still, and the electricity subsides. Bakugo coughs harshly.

I have to get him out of here while I still have time. If he slips back into another seizure before we get outside, then we’re not going to get out of here before we both suffocate. We can’t expect any help from Mr. Aizawa, because he was going to help with a raid tonight. I can’t bank on the fact that he’s back, but my hands won’t work.

Bakugo thinks for a few more seconds before hoisting Kaminari into his arms as best he can. He also slips back to the floor immediately, but Bakugo manages to tighten his arms around Kaminari before he can. He makes his way to the closest exit. He barely makes it out of the door before Kaminari starts to spark again. Bakugo blacks out again before he even starts legitimately seizing.

Kaminari wakes up feeling groggy and tense. There’s something beeping to his right, and he wants to swat at it so badly, but he can’t seem to move his limbs at all. Peeling his eyes open is one of the hardest things he’s done in a long time, but once he does, he can see Aizawa. He’s talking to someone, but that someone isn’t close enough for Kaminari to see them without moving his head. That seems like way too much effort. So, he just tries to say Aizawa’s name, but nothing comes out. He decides that all of this is too much work, so he lets himself drift away again.

He’s better rested, and more in control when he wakes up again. Aizawa is sitting in the corner of the room, his chin resting in his hand while he dozes. Kaminari coughs, realizing how sore his throat is. Aizawa’s eyes are open as soon as he refocuses from coughing.

“Kaminari, how are you feeling?”

“Not great, what happened?” Kaminari rasps as Aizawa grabs a water bottle from nearby.

Aizawa holds it for him while he drinks some, which is embarrassing, but not enough for Kaminari to reject the help.

“You were struck by lightning during the storm the other night. It started a fire, and you had a pretty major seizure.”

“Oh. Is everyone else ok? How did…”

“Bakugo went back to get you after deducing what had happened. Everyone other than you two got out of the building almost immediately. Apparently Bakugo has some pretty bad burns on his hands. Other than that, he’s fine.”

“What do you mean by pretty bad burns on his hands?”

“His fingers are almost black, and all of the nerves were damaged.”

Kaminari stares at him, blinking in surprise.

“Is he going to be ok?”

“We’re not sure. We know that it’s not going to heal completely, but that’s all we really know right now.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes, but it’s not your fault.”

“I guess not.”

Aizawa narrows his eyes.

“Look, Kaminari, he did what he thought was right at that moment. It saved your life, and that’s what is most important. You’ll both survive.”

Kaminari nods, but he already feels kind of numb. Despite that, he can feel the tears starting to fall down his cheeks onto the pillowcase below his head.

#whumptober2024 #whumptober #no.21 #body horro tw #let the bedsheet soak up my tears #my hero academia #denki kaminari #bakugou katsuki #heavy angst #permanent injury #ambiguous ending #whump writing #writing challenge

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whumpshots · 4 months ago

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Whumptober #21

Trope of the day: ‘Let the bedsheets soak up my tears’

When Whumpee wakes up, the lights are dimmed. Their head still hurts, eyes squint at the light above them. Mind and body are still not ready for reality, but they have to get up, have to keep going.

A grunt escapes them as they finally sit up, legs feeling heavy as they move them out of bed, bare feet touching the cold floor. Whumpee wiggles their toes to wake them up a bit better, slowly getting up to move into the bathroom.

They drag their feet.

The shower water hurts them, no matter how cold or warm they turn it.

Everything feels heavy, everything feels dark. Whumpee knows that they have had it worse, especially mentally, but they still feel unstable. Like the smallest thing will pull the rug from under their feet and they fall.

Keep falling and falling, rock bottom coming closer and closer.

Their soul doesn’t feel aligned with their body. An empty pit in their chest, making it hard to breathe. Hard to think and feel.

They stare at the wall before them, water running down their aching body.

They do know what hopelessness feels like, at least today is different from that. Maybe, just maybe, the pit will become smaller. Although they feel like this hope is washed away under the shower.

#whumptober 2024 #whumptober2024 #whumptober #trope of the day #let the bedsheet soak up my tears #day 21 #whump writing #whumpee #whump drabble #emotional whump #depression #cw depression #depressed whumpee #emotional hurt #whump #whumpshots

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fantasyismyonlyrealescape · 4 months ago

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Whumptober 2024: No. 21 - Let the Bedsheet Soak up the Tears

Title: Reaching Out for Help (but Nobody is There)

Fandom: WWE (Professional Wrestling)

Characters: Sami Zayn & Kevin Owens (Zowens)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 753

A/N: Welcome to another addition to Whumptober, Day 21. Okay, so I marked this one as Zowens, but it's definitely angsty Zowens. It's not happy, by any means. Sami is put through the ringer. So, take that as you will.

Summary: Sami Zayn is low, questioning his decisions after joining the Bloodline. Kevin Owens, somebody who was always there for him in the past, is not willing to listen. Sami deals with the aftermath of the interactions like he's done so many times before.

Cross posted on AO3 under user wrestlinginjeans.

It had been five months. Five months of hard work, five months of working to prove that he was good enough to stand amongst them. Five months of taking bullet after bullet for them, especially Roman. Five months of giving all that he had and more to the men that he would call his family. It hadn’t been enough. ‘It hasn’t been enough yet.’ Sami corrected his internal thoughts, trying to remind himself that they were warming up to him more and more each day. Or that’s what he told himself. Jey still looked at him like the enemy, Paul looked at him with pity, Jimmy tolerated him. What Roman and Solo thought of him, Sami could not be sure. This wasn’t what he wanted.

At the show that day, he passed Kevin Owens in the hallway, both wrestlers walking alone. They made brief eye contact, Kevin being the first to look away. Sami was low in that moment, so low that he needed something, anything to remind him that he was human. So, as Kevin made a move to pass by Sami, the redhead brushed shoulders with the darkhaired man. Kevin stopped on a dime at the contact, his body rigged and wound. Whirling around, he brings his forearm up and slams it against Sami’s chest, forcing him backwards and up against the cinderblock wall behind him.

“Don’t ever touch me again, do you understand me?” Kevin growls through clenched teeth, shifting his weight and leaning into Sami so that there was more pressure being exerted by the forearm still pressed to Sami’s upper chest. “You lost your right to do that when you betrayed me for them.”

Sami swallows and licks his lips nervously, having not expected this reaction from the other man. “Got it, pal. But I will note that you are the one touching me right now.” Sami says, trying to come off as cocky and unimpressed by this display of bravado.

Kevin growls in response, pressing into Sami once more to the point of discomfort, before pushing off of him and turning on his heel and stomping off, leaving Sami behind as he leans against the wall to catch his breath.

Sami brings a tentative hand up to where he could still feel the burning heat from Kevin’s forearm pressed against his upper body, bunching up the fabric of his t-shirt in one of his fists. A moment later, he brings the fabric up to his nose and shuts his eyes as he breathes in the faint but familiar scent of cedarwood, amber and home.

A shout from down the hall startles Sami out of his reverie, uncurling his fingers as his eyes snap open. No, he wouldn’t do this. He couldn’t, there was too much on the line to falter now. Rolling his shoulders and taking a moment to straighten out his shirt, Sami pushes off and away from the wall to continue on his way. He would be haunted by the scent for the rest of the night.

Sami Zayn refused to address the swirling thoughts inside his head until he laid down to sleep that night in his hotel suite, Solo already asleep in the next room over. As he climbed into bed, staring up at the white ceiling above him and with nothing else to occupy his mind, he drifted back to the exchange earlier in the day.

That night as he lay awake in the crisply made luxury sheets of his king-sized bed, tears rolling down his cheeks and onto the bedsheets below, he thought about all he had left behind. He missed Kevin, he missed what they had had. What had happened to him, what had he become? He reflected on what he had loved and lost, who he still loved. In that moment, he knew sleep would not find him that night. In the morning, he would awaken early and take a cold shower, splashing the water onto his face in an effort to remove any trace that he had been crying. He didn’t need to try hard, none of the other Bloodline members had ever asked why his eyes were red and he looked so exhausted. He would trudge through another day, he had to.

But that was then, and this was now. Taking in a shuddering breath, he turned onto his side to stare at the wall beyond and continued to cry silently as he did so many nights before as he let the bedsheets soak up the tears.

#whumptober2024 #no.21 #let the bedsheet soak up the tears #professional wrestling #wwe #fic #betrayal #emotional trauma #my fic #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #wwe fanfic #kevin owens #sami zayn #zowens #this one is not wholesome #this one is very painful

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