#Whumptober2022

[insertsomthinawesome]

WHUMPTOBER 2022 - DAY 7 - Shaking hands & Silent Panic Attack

Leona has probably had panic attacks before but its entirely possible he has no idea what’s going on, I don’t think anybody necessarily took the time to explain it to him. Epel might have some experience with panic attacks since he lives in such a big family.

-NO ROMANCE INCLUDED-

[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.

[biggest-whump-fan]

3 will be free EP 9

the soft collapse after feeling safe is just EVERYTHING !!

[painsandconfusion]

Famous Last Words

Whumptober 21st

[coughing up blood | "You're safe now." | "Take Me Instead."] (tw: character death, murder, gun, kidnapping, torture, creepy/intimate whumper)

“Really? You’re going to trade yourself for this-“ Whumper paused to boot Whumpee in the side “-pathetic little thing?”

Caretaker’s jaw set. Fingers flexed and re-curled at their sides. “..Yes.”

Whumper scoffed half an amused laugh, eyes raking slowly down Caretaker’s body. “…I suppose that would be a good deal.” They took a step to the side, prowling in a slow circle around Caretaker. Drinking them in. Scrutinizing. Pondering. “You’re much less…well...….broken.”

Caretaker almost twitched, but managed to stay still. Their eyes stayed glued on Whumpee, ignoring the circling threat. Trying to relay to Whumpee that it will be okay.

But Whumpee wasn’t even looking at them - they were just curled in a ball on the ground, trembling. Silent but for the hiccuping sobs or the sputters of coughing that left their hand flecked with red.

“Do we have a deal or not?” The words were spat. Half forced.

Caretaker tried not to about how long it would take before they were the ones mindlessly sobbing on the ground.

That was a question for another time.

So long as Whumpee was safe, it would be okay.

Whumper hummed, considering as they stepped behind Caretaker.

Arms slipped around Caretaker’s waist, tucking their chin onto Caretaker’s shoulder. “..well it is an intriguing offer…..”

Caretaker’s skin crawled under the touch, muscles squirming in a desperate attempt to wriggle away.

Caretaker didn’t let them.

They forced themself still, tight breaths straining against their ribs. Desperately trying not to let their their breath betray their fear.

They did anyway, breath hitching as Whumper’s fingers bit into their ribs.

Evidently they were supposed to respond.

Twitching, Caretaker hissed, “Is that a yes?”

Whumper chuckled softly, turning to nuzzle softly behind Caretaker’s ear, pulling a shiver from them.

“You really wanna be mine?”

Their hands balled to fists, itching and begging Caretaker to shove this creature off of them.

Their eyes screwed shut in the focus it took to not do that. “I just want Whu-“

Pain flared up their side as Whumper’s nails bit in, brushing hard between their ribs and pulling a hiss from their throat. “I didn’t ask about them. I asked what you want.” Their lips pressed to Caretaker’s ear, warm breath ticking across it. “Do you want to be mine?”

Caretaker took a few shaky breaths despite how they ground Whumpers grip deeper. They couldn’t say no. Frustration and shame and rage built up inside them, burning through their lungs and up their neck.

But they couldn’t say no.

“..y-es.”

They felt Whumper’s lips spread into a smile against them.

“Good.”

Whumper shifted, grip relenting. Caretaker accepted the reward, taking a deep, though admittedly shuddering, breath. They grit out a simple “..what now?”

Whumper shrugged against them, one arm retreating completely. “Just what you wanted. Letting poor, sweet, Whumpee go.”

Caretaker twitched as a pistol entered their field of vision, gesturing lazily toward Whumpee. “Come on, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed, “You’re being let go.”

Caretaker…almost relaxed.

Almost.

Hard to relax when there’s a gun pointed at your friend, even if it’s just insurance they find their way to the door without issue.

Whumpee lifted their head, arms unwrapping enough that they could peek up at the pair. Tears were dripping down their face, smeared fully so all of them shining and shimmering with each hicupling breath. “R-rrr-really-?”

Caretaker gave them a small, encouraging nod. You can get up - you're safe now.

“Mhm,” Whumper hummed, gripping the handle a little firmer as Whumpee started move.

Whumpee's head lifted further. They stared up at Whumper - eyes incredulous and wary, but sparked with a tiny flare of hope.

The gunshot rang against Caretaker’s ears, screaming even as the echo in the room faded to Whumpee’s writhing chokes of air.

Only for a moment.

Then the breaths stopped.

Just the occasional twitch of muscle in the carnage.

Caretaker was frozen in Whumper’s grip. Staring.

Unable to move.

Breath stopped.

Slowly, their mind caught up, beginning to comprehend what they’d just seen. Red splattered the ground behind Whumpee - all the way to the wall. Bits of pink and grey were..-

“..no-“

They twitched forward, trying to help, to-

“Ah ah- You made your choice.” The barrel of the gun pressed hard up under their jaw, locking their muscles into place again.

“You’re mine, now.”

[Masterpost]

Shoutout to @whumptober for putting on this event! (don't mind me being LATE AS HECK)

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @happy-little-sadist @villainsvictim @thecitythatdoesntsleep @heathenwhump @michaeltalks @rainbows-and-whumperflies @cursedscribbles @whumpy-catfish @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @whumpsday @wingedwhump @ha-ha-one @morning-star-whump @pickywhumpreader @shywhumpauthor @pinkieglitterheart @wild-selenite-caffine @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpberry-cookie @astralrunic @heavenly-whumper)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

[whumperer-86]

Restart: The Grave in the Abyss 2022

Exhausted and injured ,,, best friend concern for him and checking him out

[whumptober]

Completionists of 2022 - 1/3

Hey y'all,

we're very sorry this took us so long. So many of you became Completionists this year 🤯. It's amazing! Congratulations to you all! 🥳🥳 We're very proud of you. You did a great job ❤️

Here are a few stats from our Completionist survey:

4286 creations from completionists

139 writers

20 artists

12 gif makers

3 editors

1 cosplay photographer

1 songwriter

1 poet

Of the 81 participants who filled out the general survey 12% filled the prompt hypothermia and 30% filled the prompt hyperthermia 🤣

So now, without further ado and in no particular order give the following Completionists of 2022 a big cheer:

@xnicowritesx on ao3

@stormxpadme on ao3

@femsanzo291 on ao3

M on ao3 | @averydistinctivewhump

talefeathers on ao3 | @graysongraysoff

FoofsterRoonie on ao3 | @foofsterroonie

@scribeoffate

@side-shuffling-hyperfixations on ao3 | tumblr masterpost

@asamandra 's Tumblr masterpost | second Tumblr amount: clintbartonruinedmylife

Dee's Tumblr post

Kitty on ao3 | @mrmustachious

Lunar_Spice on ao3 | @yourlunarspice

zeldurz on ao3

AuroraKant on ao3 | @sassydefendorflower

Tay on tumblr @drabbles-mc

Shiv and Ev on tumblr @faofinn

Charlotte-Lancer on ao3

LeahTortilla on tumblr @whumpdoyoumean

@veryrealimagination on ao3

@rookthorne on ao3 | wattpad

@batgrldes

Worm on tumblr @echoing--stars

Arlothia on @viva-la-whump | ao3 | Whumptober posts on Tumblr

Flammenkobold on ao3

@quietlyimplode

Cora on ao3

Corvidium on ao3 | Tumblr

Stephanie on Tumblr @Ichoosechaosandbeingqueer

Wanna-Whump-Cookie on Tumblr

Plot on ao3 | Twitter | Tumblr post

@kalira 's Tumblr Whumptober Tag

Brievel on ao3

@redring91 on ao3

OnlyForward on ao3

@flaim-ita on ao3 | Tumblr post

Megan on ao3 | @asyouleft

@actress4him

ImmortalxSnow on ao3 | @fullmetalmaple

Savebats on ao3 | @savebatsfromscratch | https://scratch.mit.edu/users/savebats/

Wish Draws on @omgiamwish | Twitter

@aceofwhump

A on ao3 | @the-great-lightwood-bane

Dee on ao3

@aini-nufire on ao3

TetrodotoxinB on ao3 | @the-itzy-bitzy-spider

River on @rivran

shadow-warren-whump on ao3

Evan on ao3 | @sugarrushedpunkyboi

@shetheyshenanigans on ao3

Mask on @lemissingmask

House on @not-your-housekeeper98

Quill on @onlywhump

LadyM17 on ao3 | @ladym-17

@sasuga-whump

Gale on ao3 | @galewritesfanfiction

Macadamia Monarch on ao3

genderfluid_bitch on ao3

Kira's Tumblr Post

@lemonlillybee 's Tumblr Masterpost

Watts's tumblr @worldofwhumpcraft

OldGodLover on ao3

Elizabeth's Tumblr post

Morrigan on ao3

blazingstar29 on ao3

@vivispec on ao3 | Tumblr Tag

MnM_ov_doom on ao3

Wolviecat on ao3

aLittleBirdToldMe on ao3 | @0nelittlebirdtoldme

@oliswamp on ao3

@ailendolin

pendulum_north on ao3 | ao3 work collection | @brutaliakhoa

@jaelijn

[Completionists Post 2]

[Completionists Post 3]

[quietlyimplode]

Black Widow Fest 2023 - Day Three

in the book of being, life promised to be a moving thing

Warnings: dissociation, grief of life

Word count: 1065

Pairing: Clint/Nat

leave everything but your bones behind was a fic of last whumptober, to be clear this can be read as a stand alone, or it can be read together with Clint’s pov here (or you can read all 50000 words of the fic to see how this fits in too). Thanks @adorationamy for the prompt on this one, it was nice to revisit the fic for a little bit. <3

She tries to hide the worst of the fallout from Clint. And for the most part, she can.

He knows her so well, that there’s obvious tells that she’s not okay, and sometimes she hates that he knows her that well.

Natasha has dreams, he wakes her when they get bad.

She forgets to eat, he makes her dinner.

She doesn’t go outside and he shows her a rainbow.

She forgets that living isn’t all grand missions and doing things.

Sometimes it’s a quiet life of noticing the world around her.

It’s making sure that she recognises in herself that her life has not always been ruled by others, that she has some power in how it goes forward; even if that was not true of the past.

It’s having the insight to ask when she needs some outside help.

But it’s hard.

It doesn’t come naturally.

It requires forethought; insight.

Trust.

And she forgets, often.

She can count the people on one hand who she trusts with this, and only one is living with her.

It means that the onus for her living and moving forward, falls to him, and it’s a horrible feeling of debt.

She doesn’t want to make his living life harder.

Though she knows she does.

Natasha sighs.

The sunrise breaks through the window, and she revels in the warmth.

Small things. Small joys.

Clint keeps saying it, and now the small voice in her head agrees, and holds her accountable.

Small joys.

She focuses on the sounds of the coffee machine, hoping it wafts to wake Clint. Opening the door, the sounds of the waves brings the smallest of smiles to her face.

Good things.

She remembers having a conversation with Tony that when he doesn’t feel good, Dummy puts all the good things of the world on his screen.

Every time he unlocks or looks at a screen, there’s something else that makes him think that the world isn’t so bad.

She’d taken it on as a core memory, and tried to factor it in. When the world seemed bleak, when she couldn’t find reasons to get out of bed, when there seemed to be so much bad happening, it was something she always thought about.

She sips the ready made coffee, and swallows the fire heat down. Still trying to find pleasures in eating and drinking, she knows coffee is one way in.

The warm drink hits her stomach, and she realises that she hasn’t really had much in her the last day. It brings a nauseousness. The feeling, disorienting as she sits.

The day had started well but she feels the deterioration, the growth of despair clouding her mind as the feeling gives her a flash to the start of her sickness.

The emotions gives way to a sense memory, ugly in its feeling.

The moment she’d entered her apartment and seen Liho, feeling generally unwell, nauseous, dizzy and headachy.

She sits, waiting for the feeling to pass, breathing deeply, heavily.

‘I’m okay.’

The words whispered as she tries to ground herself. The sea. The warmth of the mug.

The pain in her head.

The bile in her throat.

The ocean waves.

The salt of the air.

Vomit.

The grip of her hands on the fabric of the couch.

She needs to find Clint.

Embarrassment at the sick on the bench, she’s furthered into fear that she’s not okay.

Tony, the red room, Jace, it was all for nothing.

There’s an existential dread that pulls at her.

And now Dreykov is dead, no one can save her.

Furiously, she cleans the small pile of vomit, and tries not to throw up again.

What if, her days are numbered? What can she do with her days?

The thought makes her numb.

She has too much red in her ledger.

Clint.

Stumbling, she moves back to their bedroom, crawls into bed and tightens her eyes closed, silent tears on her face as Clint, oblivious to the pain in her stomach and thoughts in her head, hugs her back and pulls her close.

He asks her questions when he wakes.

Tears dried on her face, she can’t shake the fear of being sick still. Her answers are short, the look on his face, worrying.

She needs a day or so; she’d already grieved this life the first time round, so it’s admittedly self indulgent, but it’s something she can’t shake.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers to the room he’s not in.

There’s a loss of time.

Fingers dig into her palm.

She’s not ready to die.

She doesn’t want to die.

The television plays and she watches it without discrimination.

She can hear Clint on the phone.

What if?

She’s dying.

It doesn’t matter that she’s feeling better, doesn’t feel the same as she did hours ago.

Her mind has convinced her that it didn’t work.

Clint returns, and announces he has Tony on the phone.

If she tells them together, maybe the confession won’t be as hard. Two of the people she loves and trusts. Maybe the only two who might understand.

They fought so hard to save her.

Clint speaks.

Slowly, softly, turns the television down so there’s just pictures moving on the screen.

Good things.

He tells her good things.

The oryx.

Germany.

Immunotherapy advances.

Jace.

Widows.

Licking her lips, she starts to come back to equilibrium.

Clint and Tony are right.

Small joys, good things.

If she’s dying she wants to know what they are.

“I think I’m dying,” she whispers to Clint.

He touches her face gently.

“No,” he says softly, “my solnyshko, it’s done, it’s finished.”

He makes her look at him.

“All the tests say you’re doing well. Trust me, trust them.”

Sad eyes look to him.

“Solnyshko?”

He smiles.

“I’ve been practicing. It means..”

“Little sun, I know.”

He nods, “of course.”

She rests her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He kisses the top of her head.

“It’ll get better, Nat, I promise. It always does.”

She hopes so, she doesn’t want to have to rely on him for everything. It makes her feel less than, and a burden.

The television continues and he hugs her close.

“It’s okay,” he repeats.

Natasha nods.

“Thank you, golubka.”

She looks up to him and smiles shallowly.

“Little pigeon?”

She kisses him and presses her forehead against his head.

“Little pigeon.”

.

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober 2022 Masterlist

I realized I never made a masterlist for these, so here we go! Hopefully all these links work... You can also read all of these (plus some bonus scenes) on ao3.

Day 1 - (Adverse Effects) feat. Twilight & Hyrule, along with Time and Four

Day 2 - (Caged) feat. Fable & Legend

Day 3 - (Ambushed) feat. Warriors & Legend

Day 4 - (Waking up disoriented, can’t pass out) feat. Time & Wind

Day 5 - (Blood loss) feat. Wild & Hyrule

Day 6 - (Screams from across the hall) feat. Wind, Warriors, Four, Sky and everyone

Day 7 - (Shaking hands) feat. Legend and Hyrule

Day 8 - (Back from the dead, stomach pain) feat. Shadow

Day 9 - (tossing and turning) feat. Sky, Twilight, Warriors and Wild

Day 10 - (whipping) feat. Sky & Time

Day 11 - (self done first-aid, makeshift splint) feat. the colors/Four, and Twilight

Day 12 - (cave-in) feat. Twilight, Legend, and everyone

Day 13 - (dislocation, “are you here to break me out?”, fracture) Continuation to Day 6, feat. Wind, Sky and Warriors

Day 14 - (failed escape) feat. Four

Day 15 - (new scars) feat. Malon & Time

Day 16 - ("no one is coming) feat. Hyrule

Day 17 - (breaking point) feat. Wild

Day 18 - ("just get it over with", "take my coat") feat. Sky & Twilight

Day 19 - (knees buckling, repeatedly passing out) feat. Legend & Wind

Day 20 - (prisoner exchange) Continuation to day 14, feat. Twilight, Four, Warriors and Time

Day 21 - ("you're safe now") Continuation to day 10, feat. Time, Fierce Deity and Sky

Day 22 - (allergic reaction, toxic) feat. Warriors & everyone

Day 23 - ("hold them down") feat. Hyrule, Wind, & Legend

Day 24 - (“I don’t want to do this anymore”) feat. Ravio & Sky

Day 25 - ("you better start talking") feat. Twilight

Day 26 - ("why did you save me?") feat. Warriors & Hyrule

Day 27 - (muffled screams, magical exhaustion) Continuation to day 25, feat. Four & Wild

Day 28 - (headache) incredibles au, feat. Time, Wind, and everyone

Day 29 - (sleep depravation) feat Sky & everyone

Day 30 - (manhandled, hair grabbing) continuation to days 25 and 27, feat Twilight, Wild, Four & everyone

Day 31 - (comfort, bedside vigil) feat. Wind, Four, Dot & everyone

[pingo1387]

Belated Whumptober 2022 Day 8: Back from the Dead

"I should be dead... right?"

[ID: Fanart of Zoro, set during the Wano aftermath, shown from the waist up and lit from behind. He is wearing a green kimono with lighter green circle decorations, and the chest is open, showing the bandages on his torso. His arms are folded and he is staring off into space with a serious expression. Behind him, the stars in the evening sky form a scythe aimed at his neck. End ID.]

[spycedapples]

just a pinch of salt in the wound you'll be fine

Whumptober Prompt 9. The Very Noisy Night

He loved his friends, he really did but he always had the sinking feeling that they didn’t take him seriously. He could hear it in their voices, light tones tinged with annoyance, barely concealed eye rolls, the way Green would tip his head to talk to him. They didn’t take him seriously, his concerns were always ridiculous, easy to ignore, something that he shouldn’t even be worried about because it was so stupid-

He tried to swallow the lump growing in his throat. They didn’t say that- they never said that- but he could feel it through the looks they gave him, the way their eyes flashed, how their words always seemed to be coated with a sickeningly sweet ‘little brother.’

--

Reuben is lost during a storm, Red doesn't think twice before racing out to get him.

Too bad it dark, he doesn't have a weapon, can't see more than a foot in front of himself- oh and also, there's monsters out.

[insertsomthinawesome]

WHUMPTOBER 2022 - DAY 17 - Reluctant Caretaker

Gestures at them both, “Emotional Constipation”

-NO ROMANCE INCLUDED-  

[missathlete31]

DEAD ON YOUR FEET

An AU in which Hangman is team leader and takes the missile to save Rooster. As he struggles to get himself and his teammate home, Jake is pushed to his limits in more ways than even he anticipated.

Chapter 1

It's surprisingly easy to undo 30 years of self-preservation. 30 years of pushing people away, keeping them at arm's length. 'The only person you can count on in life is yourself', a lesson Jake learned from his parents as they hurled insults and belts and anything else they could at him growing up. The nasty words bit as sharp as the bruises. The loneliness and despair were the most painful of all and yet they become his closest companions in life.

Jake spent the past 10 years pretending to be a one dimensional cocky asshole instead of any semblance of a decent human being. He always thought it was only to spare the others from himself. From the broken, feeble, good for nothing piece of shit that his parents liked to call him on their more generous days.

It's still true but now he starting to think it was also to spare himself the heartbreak of losing people close to him. Of having someone else in the world that is supposed to care for him choosing to hurt him instead. The pain from trusting someone else and having them leave him hanging.

Maybe his call-sign is fitting after all. Irony is funny like that.

He's called back to Top Gun for a mission that he'd be lucky to be chosen for and even luckier to survive. He sees faces he's burned in the past and he fights the urge to apologize to them. Instead he makes them hate him more. It's not hard to do, they all embrace the next battle willingly.

"Hangman, the only place you'll lead anyone is an early grave"

It's true isn't it? Rooster's words might have stung but they weren't unfounded. His father told him best, he's too weak to be anything of importance. Too broken to do anything but sink and pull others down with him. An early grave was always what he thought he would get, be it by his father's hands, an enemy's missile or just his own stupid recklessness. But it's only supposed to be an early grave for him, not anyone else. He couldn't bear anyone else dying for him.

The training for this mission tests him more than he's ever been tested in his life. He battles with Captain Mitchell, with Rooster, with the rest of the team and most importantly with himself. He's forced to listen as the only person he lets over his walls almost dies in G-Loc. He sees the aftermath of Phoenix and Bob ejecting from a bird strike. He stands at attention as Maverick calls his name, calls him team leader, and watches as the others can't stop the disdain from showing on their faces from Maverick's decision.

They think he'll leave them. He can't blame them. Doesn't stop it from hurting worse than his father's fist in his gut or his mother's sharp words.

"I swear to God Hangman", Phoenix begins as they both find each other in the early morning hours before the mission, sleep an impossibility from the thoughts circling in their heads, "if you even think about leaving us behind like you did in training..."

He only nodded at her out there, the wind whipping them both as they listened to the waves in the darkness. He knew then, like he knows now, that his words hold no merit on the tarmac or the deck of a carrier, they only hold purchase in the air.

So he shows it there.

Jake flies the mission at the speed he knows how but he makes sure Natasha stays on his tail instead of eating his dust. He gives her vectors and observations, warns her of the low bridge coming up and when to start to go inverted. He takes lead like he is supposed to, not pushing too hard but not letting off the gas either. Their team swoops down into the valley and Bob's laser gets a lock. Jake lets loose a missile and it's a perfect hit. One miracle down.

"You're the one choice I had the hardest time making" Maverick tells him the morning of the mission, after Jake gives up his feeble attempt at trying to put anything into his stomach. "It's not about your skill level, that was never the issue." His captain refuses to turn away, gives him the respect that he's not quite sure he's earned of looking him in the eye. "I know you're not the guy you portray yourself to be" Maverick tells him. “Well not entirely that guy", his captain concedes, the tiniest smile edging on his lips. Maverick takes a step closer and then a paternal hand finds Jake’s shoulder and he doesn't know if he should shake it off or start to cry. He chooses neither as Maverick keeps speaking, "you need to trust them if they are ever going to trust you. The only way everyone gets home is if you work together as a team. I know deep down in here," he hits Jake's chest, right over his heart, "that's what you want as well. Show them, show me, make me proud son.

Jake spent his entire life wishing for even a fraction of that encouragement from his own parents. To get it from Maverick so willingly, so easily, tells Jake that he cannot let his Captain down. He will make him proud if it's the last thing he does.

So he supports Rooster over the radio when the other pilot starts to freeze up instead of yelling at him. He keeps the team in some kind of formation instead of panic when the surface to arm missiles start flying and it's chaos in the sky. It would be so easy for Jake to use the speed he is accustomed to, to get himself back to the carrier first and leave the others to follow him if they have the skill to keep up. He doesn't even entertain the thought though. Jake stays in the fight, he stays with his team and he listens, he calls out positions and he watches. Until he forced to act.

"Don't leave us hanging out there"

It's Bradshaw's only response when he tells him to give 'em hell on the tarmac.

Those are the last words Jake hears before they launch. They are the words stuck on repeat in his mind as he flies the course and they are the only words Jake remembers when he hears Rooster yell that he is out of flares. Jake thinks of nothing else as he swoops his jet in quickly, turning vertical to shield Rooster as much as he can, letting his own flares go. His plan works, Rooster is able to get out of there and the first round of missiles explode in the air.

Unfortunately his plan didn't go beyond that. It didn't take into account that he would be exposed, basically belly up in enemy airspace and it certainly didn't account for the second round of missiles finding him so quickly. Those missiles hit his unprotected jet easily, sending him into a mammoth of a fireball and screeching towards the ground.

The others are yelling all at once. He can't make out much of it beyond his name and the pleas to eject. By the time he gets his bearings enough to try to pull the cord, nothing is working and he's too low to the ground anyway. He can try to take the plane down himself, muscle to a some kind of controlled landing but he's basically holding a dead stick. Jake hears a few more pleas on the radio, can make out Captain Mitchell screaming at command to let him launch in support but he slowly tunes it out as he watches his plane fall from the sky.

He hopes the others head back to the carrier, head back home.

He hopes Coyote forgives him for this, for leaving him when he promised he wouldn't. Jake never deserved a friend like Javy, who took all his pushing and just held on tighter. He hopes leaving Coyote everything he has in his name shows the other man how much he meant to him. How he was the only person he had.

He hopes the Navy doesn't call his parents, or if they do, that his parent's don't weirdly insist that he be buried in Texas. He always hoped he would be by an ocean, somewhere calm and peaceful. He doesn't expect visitors but he hopes he will be surrounded by people who do get them, if only to siphon off some of their love.

He hopes he made Captain Mitchell proud.

The last thing he sees before his plane crashes into the snow is a bird low in the sky. It makes him think of Rooster oddly enough and if it's strange that his last moments on earth are spent thinking of that porn-stached, hideous Hawaiian shirt wearing pilot, Jake doesn't dwell on it. All he hopes is that Rooster forgives Maverick for whatever history they have between them. Jake knows it goes beyond what he un-tactfully brought up in class that day. He hopes he gives the two of them the time to fix it.

If he did then he could never regret it.

[biggest-whump-fan]

Death Is The Only Ending For The Villainess - Ch 76

This manhwa (+its novel ) gives me butterflies 😭❤️ If anyone didn't read this masterpiece, should start rn 🏃🔥

[whumperer-86]

New korean whump drama (Revenge of others)

The male lead has a brain tumor and has six months to live ,, he's a high school student and he took it upon himself to defend the bullied and became a vigilante

first two episodes have many whump scenes of him in pain and fainting

[lgbtqlegends]

hey y'all!! i'm back with day 18 of whumptober!! (day 16 + 17 were written for NCIS: LA). I know it's been a while since I've written/posted any fics (a long few months), but hopefully I'll be back to writing and posting more regularly now! oh how I've missed it. anyways, I hope y'all enjoy!!

Summary:

No. 18: Let's Break The Ice

Prompts: Treading Water / "Take my coat" / Emergency Blanket (alt prompt)

In which Sara is thrown into freezing, icy cold waters in the dead of winter. Ava jumps in after her to pull her out and keep her warm at all costs.

[whumptober]

Completionists of 2022 - 3/3

And last but not least, give a big cheer to the following completionists. You did an amazing job and we hope you had great fun this year!

@whumpteam 's team members:

[honmyoeagull on ao3 &

@modocanis on ao3 &

@meenoosart &

@manicr on ao3 &

@sailorotter on ao3 &

@teal-bandit in ao3 &

@clearliquidhandsoap &

@imperiuswrecked on ao3 &

@gealach-in-a-misty-world on ao3 &

flojiro on ao3 ]

Cheyla on ao3 | @cheyla-v

Nyariewen on ao3 | ao3 Whumptober series |@elentary

@velvet-inferno 's Tumblr Post

Tizzie Lizzie's Tumblr @tizzie-lizzie | Tumblr Masterpost

Lokichan on ao3 | @garbria

@sylvanfreckles 's Tumblr Masterpost

The_Walking_Pie (Prea's Tumblr @the-walking-pie

@echele-78 's Tumblr Masterpost

DigitalPen on ao3 | @the-digital-pen

Ladybird on ao3 | @blogger360ncislarules

@ghostbies on ao3

QED's Tumblr @ace-trainguys

@sadinasaphrite

@bloodsweatandpotato on ao3

Wren on ao3 | ao3 Whumptober Series | @maybewren | @weedsmokingboyfriends

Flying_Raven on ao3 | @flyingraven

@just-a-glittery-fan

Moose's Tumblr @riflewounds

Adam29 on ao3

Gat on ao3

Serena_Darrin on ao3

Musewrangler on ao3

@geminihurt

SpellCleaver's Tumblr @spell-cleaver

@soryualeksi on ao3

MusicSoul1982's Tumblr @ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing

LadyWallace's Tumblr @lady-wallace

@much-obliged-timothy

LemurGirl on ao3

Phoenixthemenace on ao3

BlossomingRosebud on ao3 | @therosefrontier

Vee's Tumblr @a-reader-and-a-writer

@whumpshots

theRavenMuse on ao3

TojundForUs on ao3

Penny's Tumblr @pengumi12

LBibliophile on ao3 | @lbibliophile-mcu | @lbibliophile-sw

Kai on ao3 | @tiredqueerfeminist | Tumblr Post

@howtowhumpyourhiccup on ao3

@vulpeskorsak on ao3

And with that we have a wrap on Whumptober 2022! Well done everyone. Congratulations to everyone who participated, Completionists and not! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ We're very proud of you all! Thank you for all your contributions. You helped shape whumptober into the event it is today! Take care of yourself!

- your mods

[Completionists Post 1]

[Completionists Post 2]