#no.3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jasmines-library · 7 months

Text

Up and Down

WHUMPTOBER 2023: Day three, prompt ‘solitary confinement/make it stop’

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: After returning from being tortured by the devil himself, your brain can’t help conjure up its own images which refuse to leave you alone.

Warnings: Hallucinations, manipulation, glass shattering, negative comments about reader.

Word count: 1.3K

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

He was there again.

That tall, looming figure that seemed to always wear a shit eating grin on his face. He was lounging across a chair, drumming his fingers against the wooden table and singing obnoxiously loudly to some song you had never heard before but had promptly decided that it was already getting on your nerves. With elbows resting on the table opposite him, you clenched the hair on your head into fists and let out a frustrated sigh, rising to your feet and storming away from the library.

“Aw, come on.” Lucifer pouted. “I thought you liked my singing Y/N?”

Rolling your eyes, you made your way into the kitchen to where Dean was thickly spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread, trying to drown out the jests from the archangel he was still hurling at you. At the sound of your footsteps Dean raised his head greeting you with a grin.

“Hey Kiddo. How’s it going?”

You were hesitant in your answer. Dean knew the toll that coming back since being tortured by Lucifer was taking on you. You were much more jumpy than usual and opted to spend much more time locked up alone in your room than spending time with your beloved hunter friends. Dean couldn’t help but feel guilty everytime he heard you cry out in your sleep from across the hall. He couldn’t help but feel deep down that all of this was his fault. After all, it was he and Sam who decided to reopen the cage - it was he and Sam who Lucifer wanted revenge on. Instead of responding verbally, you opted to nod, knowing that an unwanted tremble would snake its way out between your words, like it had your hands.

You couldn’t help but stiffen at the voice behind you. It didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, who moved away from his PB&J to place his hand on top of yours. “It’s okay sweetheart. It’s only Sammy.”

Turning, you watched as the lumbering man struggled in through the door. His arms hugged a selection of paper bags awkwardly. He smiled; a gentle gesture before placing the bags on the counter, and wrapped you up in one of his bear-hugs. Returning the gesture, you smiled into his blue flannel, letting out a breath you didn’t even know you had been holding. Detaching yourself from Sam, you began unloading the groceries he had brought back with him, listening to the eldest Winchester talk animatedly about the latest show he had decided to binge watch on netflix. It brought a grin to your face.

Here, with Sam and Dean around you, you felt much safer. That was until that irritating voice drifted into your ears. You dug your nails firmly into your palm, leaving little grooves on the soft skin, hoping that the dull pain would distract you from the image of the Archangel. When that didn’t work, and his remarks still rang through your head, you turned to flee the room.

“Y/N?” Sam tilted his head.

“I’m fine, Sam. Promise.” You nodded.

Sam was about to say something, but shut his mouth as he watched you flee the kitchen, your bare feet pattering on the wooden floors as you retreated back down the corridors and into your room, locking the door, and the hollering of Lucifer behind you. Albeit, you could feel him lingering over your shoulder. Taking a deep breath and screwing your eyes shut, you pinched yourself harshly.

Lucifer chucked deeply. “Real cute, Y/N.”

You turned and pushed past him.

“You know you can’t ignore me forever.” You stopped abruptly. “I miss our little heart-to-hearts.”

You rolled your eyes, moving towards your desk and beginning to shuffle the contents around. That was when he started singing. It was an old song. A sad song that you and the Winchesters used to listen to on particularly difficult nights. One that you associated with comfort.

“Stop.” You told him firmly.

He didn’t. Only sung louder, edging closer to you.

“Stop it.” You said once again.

Lucifer continued to sing mockingly.

“I said stop it!” You yelled, throwing the glass that you were moving at him. It sailed straight through the illusion and shattered on the ground. He grinned manically.

“There we go, Y/N!” He howled, clapping his hands together joyously. “That’s what I’m talking about. This is the you I miss. Where did all that fire go, huh kiddo?”

“Leave me alone.” You spat out through gritted teeth.

“Mm” Lucifer pinched his chin between his thumb and his index, tilting his head towards the ceiling. “I don’t think I want to…You see, now you’ve acknowledged me, you’ve let me in.”

You shook your head, backing away from him as you approached. “No.”

“Oh yeah. I can see everything Y/N.” The devil proceeded forwards until your back hit the wall. “I’m inside your pretty little head. “ He sang.

“You’re lying.” You shook your head, trying to convince yourself more than him. There were voices outside your door, but they were drowned out by Lucifer. “Sammy said that nothing you say is true. He- knows. He’s been here before.”

Tutting, the blond rolled his eyes. “Sammy, is a lying, untrustworthy piece of shit.”

“Don’t say that.”

“He doesn’t care about you Y/N. None of them do. They’re just using you Y/N.”

“You’re lying.” Rouge tears began to snake down your face.

“They just feel bad for you. You’re a liability, Y/N. You’re gone as soon as they get the chance to get rid of some dead weight. They don't need someone like you on their team, dragging them down. I mean, think of how easy it was for me to get to you. Poor, helpless, useless-”

“STOP IT!” You cried, sinking to your knees.

Your heart pounded in your head, beating like a drum to the rhythm of an army march.

“You are nothing Y/N. You’re nothing without those Winchesters. You are nothing without me!”

“Get out!” You sobbed “clutching your knees to your chest.

“You are worthless.”

The pounding grew louder as you buried your head between your knees. Fat tears fell down your cheeks, pooling on your jeans as Lucifer continued his onslaught of words. That was when you realised that the drumming was not your heartbeat, but the sound of Sam and Dean trying to break down the door to your room having heard the commotion. When they managed to barrel themselves in, Sam’s heart dropped when he saw you rocking back and forth in the corner of the room, lip trembling with hands plastered over your ears. He took one cautiously in his hand. You drew back sharply, eyes moving frantically across his features.

“Please…” You whispered. “Make it stop.”

Wrapping you up gently he allowed you to bury his face in his chest, ignoring the dampness that followed as you continued to weep silently. Dean pulled you in close from the otherside, encasing you in between them. He never would fully understand what you were going through, no matter how hard he tried. He could sympathise, sure. He had been through decades for torture himself. But he would never be able grasp onto exactly what you were experiencing. Sam would be able to understand more; he too saw Lucifer for a while. But they both knew that no two experiences were the same. They knew that people cope differently and that was okay. All they could do was stick by you and help you work this out. And was exactly what they chose to do.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY TWO ⛤ DAY FOUR ->

🏷️ whumptober taglist:

@senjoritanana

#whumptober2023 #whumptober #no.3 #make it stop #solitary confinement #hallucinations #hallucinate #ptsd #supernatural #spn #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #supernatural x injured reader #fanficion

178 notes · View notes

celtic-crossbow · 7 months

Text

Whumptober 2023

No. 3 “Make It Stop.” | No. 30 Bridal Carry

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (Pre-relationship)

Setting: Prison Era

Warnings: Gunshot wound, mentions of blood

“It… hurts.”

“I gotcha, Y/N. Ya jus’ hang on fer me, girl, y’hear?” Daryl was running as fast as he humanly could with you cradled against his chest in a bridal carry, desperate to get back to the prison. You needed Hershel and you needed him now.

He should have never taken you out with him. You were inexperienced, clumsy. He had really just wanted to spend some time with you away from the prying eyes of your home. Those knowing smiles and giddy whispers were enough to set his nerves on edge.

He couldn’t have known someone else would be hunting the same area. He couldn’t have known they would be tracking the same buck. He couldn’t have known that they would lay claim even though it was his bolt that took down the animal. And he definitely couldn’t have known the man would aim his gun at an innocent woman and pull the trigger before Daryl could even blink. The man went down fast with a bolt to the brain but the damage was done.

“Make it stop. Please, Daryl.”

His heart felt as if it were being crushed in a vice, your strained pleas tearing away at him like a walker on flesh. “Almos’ there. Doc’ll fix ya righ’ up.” He could feel the warm, sticky blood spreading onto his own shirt and knew he was running out of time. His legs were burning, threatening to give out. He could barely manage a full breath. But he couldn’t stop.

When the gates of the prison came into view, he nearly sobbed with relief. It was short lived. “Y’see? We made it.” You didn’t respond. “Y/N?” Your eyes were closed, face pale. “Fuck!” He was stumbling with exhaustion as he rushed past the few walkers shuffling around in the grass. “Open the gate!” He didn’t have to say it twice.

Daryl made sure to stay close enough to the make-shift infirmary to be called if needed but far enough away so he couldn’t hear the urgent demands of the veterinarian as he tried to save your life. The archer sat on the floor, face in his hands, kicking himself for ever putting you in this position. He had been selfish and you were paying the price.

“Daryl.”

The bowman quickly met Carol’s exhausted gaze. The weariness made it hard to read whether she was bringing good news or coming to tell him you were gone.

“She… is she…?”

“She’s alive.”

Daryl let himself fall back against the wall. He felt a familiar sting behind his eyes and did his best to push it back, but the shine of tears was already evident.

“Hershel says any longer and…. Anyway, she’s going to be fine.”

The archer nodded, not trusting his voice. Carol, ever vigilant, noticed his plight and slid down the wall next to him. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Pfft.” He responded too quickly. There was one of those knowing smiles he couldn’t stand. “She ain’t the wors’ person ta be ‘round.” The silver haired woman hummed and nodded.

“She was thrilled you asked her to go with you.” She offered, twisting the bloody cloth in her hands. Daryl looked over at her but quickly looked away when she tried to meet his eyes. “She’s sweet on you. Has been for a while.”

“Stop.”

“She really is, and what’s so terrible about that?”

Daryl’s face burned hot. “She can do a lot better than me.”

Carol reached out to brush his longer hair away from his face. He never flinched from her touch anymore. Hers or yours. “I don’t think so.” And with that, she stood and padded across the concrete to disappear back into the cell where you currently lay resting.

Daryl let his friend’s words tumble around in his head, equal parts hope and fear spreading throughout. There was no way a classy little thing like you could ever be interested in a grumpy old redneck. But…maybe you had said something. Carol seemed so sure of it.

With a shaky breath and trembling hands, the archer climbed to his feet and forced himself forward. He would sit with you until you awoke. And when you were stable enough, he would talk to you. Maybe. No, he would. He would.

175 notes · View notes

losthavenmine · 7 months

Text

Whumptober 2023 Day 3 || Solitary Confinement

Gladiator (2000)

#whumptober2023 #no.3 #solitary confinement #gladiator #gifs #bruises tw #russell crowe #filmedit #moviegifs #fyeahmovies #userfilm #cinemapix #cinematv #whumpedit

207 notes · View notes

cyberwhumper · 7 months

Text

When he finally came to, the first thing that hit him was the smell. Suffocating, pungent, so strong it made him scrunch up his face in disgust.

He sits up groggily, wondering what kind of dump he ended up into this time and why this hangover didn't feel particularly like any other he's had. The pain doesn't seem to hit him until he hears the chain links clinking softly against each other, piercing the fog inside his brain and suddenly jolting him wide awake.

The metal bolt stares back at him, firmly lodged through the bones on his ankle, still drenched in blood. At least they had the decency to attempt to wrap it up in gauze as if that would do something to contain the damage. The searing pain rises up from the foreign object and seems to explode on his chest making it impossible to breathe. He doesn't even have enough air to scream, gawking at the wound dumbfoundedly as if his brain could not possibly process what is currently happening.

Oh fuck. Oh no. No no no no no. This isn't happening, I'm just imagining things. Fuck. Fuck!

Immediate panic. Even touching the bolt makes him feel queasy despite not being the particularly squeamish type. There's no way he can pull that out on his own, no way to undo the nut holding it in place, no way to pull it off the bone. He's trapped, totally and completely at the mercy of his captors, with no one even knowing he was gone at all.

And his time is running out fast.

#whumptober2023 #no.3 #Make it stop #OC #art #chained to a wall #blood #bruises #panic attack #captive #whump #whumpblr #whumpee #whump art #tokimeki art #original character #original story #Whiskey #some days you just oopsie your way into captivity huh

155 notes · View notes

whumpsday · 7 months

Text

K&J: Kane's Whumptober Bites #3

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, torture, gore, burns, captivity, begging, death wish

@whumptober Day 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.” / Solitary Confinement / “Make it stop.”

takes place during section four of chapter 15, Hunger, when the hunters leave Kane outside for a week.

The sun finally, finally set. Kane was used to having little idea of how much time was passing, but he was excruciatingly aware of it now. Day two of his punishment done.

See you in a week.

Five more to go.

For now, he had the night. It didn’t help much, not anywhere close to enough time for his broken body to heal the deep burns traversing his whole body, but at least he wasn’t actively burning under the sun anymore. The silver of his restraints barely registered against the giant mass of charred flesh his body had become.

His face melted together, his eyelids and lips each sealed shut. He could not stare wistfully at the night sky offering him a moment of refuge, nor could he cry out for mercy. There was no one he could call out to, anyway.

He’d never hurt more than he hurt right now. They’d never left him out for two days before. Kane had no idea how he was going to survive a whole week. He wished he wouldn’t. He wished he would die, could die.

But he couldn’t. He had to keep going, taking all the pain the hunters decided to hoist onto him, no other option available.

The night felt as short as the day felt long. Kane needed more time than it gave him, but despite his desperation, the sun rose come morning. He tried to scream as it licked his mangled skin once more, the sound caught in his sealed-shut mouth.

Make it stop! Please, please, I’m sorry! I’ll do anything, please let me back inside!

No one came.

#whumptober2023 #no.3 #like crying out in empty rooms with no one there except the moon #solitary confinement #make it stop #oc #fic #gore #death wish #torture #burns #captivity #kane and jim drabbles #kanes whump bites #whump #my writing #vampire whumpee #vampire whump #begging

124 notes · View notes

whumpypepsigal · 7 months

Text

Whumptober 2023 | No. 3

“Make it stop.”

Keep Breathing s01e01: “Hold on. Let me see.”

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

#whumptober2023 #no.3 #make it stop #keep breathing #gifs #whumpedit #whump #waking up #injured #screaming #pain #internal bleeding #bruises #hands #worry #my gifs #austen stowell #melissa barrera #yeah… still one of my favs

128 notes · View notes

fromsupernaturaltof1 · 3 months

Text

max racing under the no 3. on his stream

#daniel ricciardo #mac verstappen #maxiel #no.3

74 notes · View notes

aceofwhump · 7 months

Text

Day 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

128 notes · View notes

adrift-in-thyme · 7 months

Text

Whumptober Day 3: "Make it stop"

Read it on Ao3

- Wild & the Chain

- Summary: When Wild is captured by the Yiga Clan, Master Kohga decides to get his revenge

CW for graphic depictions of violence, torture, blood and injury, vomiting, and a character briefly wishing for death

----------------------

“Get up!”

Wild pries open his eyes just as a boot connects with his side. He jerks away with a hiss of pain.

Of all the horrible ways to wake up…

The face of a Yiga assassin comes into view as his vision clears and he groans.

Even better.

“I said, get up!”

Another kick that takes Wild’s breath away.

“Yeah that’s not the best way to get me off the floor,” he remarks, dragging himself into a seated position.

That earns him a sharp smack across the face. Wincing, he watches as the assassin bends down, unlocking his chains. They fall to the floor with a clatter. But Wild hardly has time to breathe a sigh of relief, or rub his wrists, or even to plan a quick escape. Almost immediately, the Yiga yanks his hands behind his back, then ties them tightly with a thick rope.

The coarse material rubs at his already raw wrists. It only adds to the cacophony of aches that have begun to arise now that he’s conscious. Wild blows out an annoyed sigh. As if he could forget how sorely he had lost his last fight.

Rough hands haul him to his feet and he stumbles. His surroundings go fuzzy and dim and for a moment he is certain he’s going to faint. But then it passes. And not a moment too soon. The Yiga shoves him forward and wrenches open the cell door.

The same one they’d thrown Barta into, Wild realizes dazedly. The thought doesn’t make him feel any more comfortable.

“Walk,” comes the sharp order, accompanied by another, hearty push. Stumbling on achingly numb legs, Wild starts forward.

He falls more than walks down the stairs. Between the Yiga’s forceful movements and the haze he has yet to pull himself out of, he can hardly keep himself upright. Even the journey across the main room is difficult.

Especially once he realizes where they’re headed.

“Master Kohga will be so pleased to see you,” his captor hisses, no doubt noticing the sudden increased tension in Wild’s shoulders.

“Didn’t I kill him?” Wild asks, with a forced chuckle. Maybe if he feigns nonchalance it will mask the thundering of his heart. He sends a furtive glance around the space, looking for anything that could possibly allow for a quick escape. But there is nothing.

…and no one. Save for the few assassins who leer at him from beneath their masks.

He swallows, hard. “I think I remember dropping his own weapon onto his head.”

That garners him a swift kick to the shins. He trips, only saved from face planting by the Yiga’s tight grip.

“You are a fool to think our master is so easily defeated. You on the other hand…”

The hallway narrows, then widens into a familiar room. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

“…you will meet your end today.”

Wild lifts his head as he walks through the doorway, heart situated painfully in his throat. Master Kohga sits before him, looking very much alive.

“You,” he snarls as soon as he lays eyes on the champion. “You cocky, undying little punk! You thought you had seen the end of the Great Master Kohga, didn’t you?”

Wild shrugs, a slight smirk on his lips. “I did drop a boulder on your head.”

The Yiga restraining him kicks his legs out from under him. He hits the ground with an “oof.”

“That-that is inconsequential!” Kohga replies, huffily. “I am more powerful than death! But for the pain you caused my beloved, loyal followers” – He rises now, stomping his foot along with every word– “You. Are. Going. To. Die!”

His captor’s grip tightens and he yanks on Wild’s hands. Wild falls back, head bumping against the assassin's hip.

“Shall I take him outside, Master Kohga?” A sadistic sort of excitement colors his voice. It makes Wild’s blood run cold.

Kohga nods. “Yes, take him. I do not wish to ruin my furniture with his blood.”

Again, Wild is hauled upward, though this time a vicious sickle finds its way into his back. It bites into his flesh and he fights not to let out a hiss of pain.

“Move,” the Yiga snaps and Wild stumbles out into the sun.

Kohga sits cross-legged over the crater Wild had been so certain he had plummeted into, hovering serenely just above it.

“Come forward, hero,” he sneers as Wild is shoved toward the gaping hole. “You will be pleased to find that I have perfected my art more than ever!”

With a snap of his fingers, a massive boulder appears above his head. Dozens of tiny spikes protrude from its smooth surface. Wild’s blood runs cold. Abandoning his more measured, methodical tugs of before, he begins yanking ferociously at his bonds.

But then, the Yiga drives his sickle into the back of his leg and all thoughts of an escape vanish. He chokes on a cry. His vision bleeds white. It’s all he can do not to pass out.

One, swift movement and the weapon is out of him, tearing through his flesh as easily as fingers through tissue paper. This time he screams.

He hardly registers it when the Yiga backs away, barely realizes that a large, stone door is sliding over the opening behind him, blocking any exit.

But Kohga’s shrill laughter pierces his ears like knives and he drags his head up to look at him.

“If I were you I would run,” he says, voice nearly brimming with excitement. “Because the time for vengeance has come!”

He begins to swing the boulder over his head. With each trip around it gains momentum, growing closer and closer to the moment when it will break free and careen straight at Wild.

Come on, get up. You’ve got to move.

Gritting his teeth, Wild forces himself to his feet. Pain shoots through his leg anew, like a thousand tiny shards of glass have entered his wound. A scream breaks through his parched lips. His lungs burn, breath coming too fast, heart beating erratically. Stars explode before his eyes.

And still the boulder spins. The motion makes him dizzy.

On trembling limbs he stumbles forward, bile rising in his throat. But each step is sheer agony and he’s slow.

…much too slow.

When the boulder flies free, he can’t evade it. It collides with his body and he goes flying. Pain erupts within him. It steals his breath, propels forth a shout of shock and agony, makes his extremities go numb. He can hear his bones cracking even over the rushing in his ears. His vision goes blindingly white, then spotty, then dangerously dark.

He hits the ground, crying out at the agony of the impact. And the boulder comes down with him, crushing his prone body.

Somewhere, Kohga is laughing. The boulder disappears, retreating back to its owner to prepare for another round. Wild knows he should get up, knows he should at least attempt to run. But all he can do is lie there, trying to breathe. Trying to stay awake.

Blood gurgles in his throat and he pitches sideways, gagging on it. Against the blurred sand, the liquid looks far darker than usual. Almost black.

Like the blood of the Shadow, he thinks dazedly.

He doesn’t get much farther than that thought. Because once more the boulder shoots forward. This time it rolls into him more than flies, shoving him against the far wall and pinning him there.

He doesn’t have the strength to scream, even as the spikes tear out chunks of his flesh and his shattered bones protest this newest assault. He yearns for oblivion that refuses to come.

“So, hero, how do you like it?”

It hits him again, smashing him against the cool stone. He gags on blood once more. It drips into his eyes, runs in rivulets down his face, pools in the gashes that run along his body.

“Painful, isn’t it? Well, that is what you did to me!”

Wild teeters on the edge. Of death or unconsciousness, though, he isn’t sure. Death, he hopes.

(Though at the same time, he doesn’t, because that means he has lost the battle again, failed everyone again, but sweet Hylia he just wants this to stop. Please make this stop.)

And it’s clear now that there will be no other escape.

Your brothers aren’t coming for you. Even if they are, they’ll be too late.

It’s already too late.

“But the mighty Master Kogha prevails over pain and death! You, however, are weak! Weak, weak, weak!”

The boulder retracts and Wild watches it dimly. One more hit is all it will take. He is certain.

So much for coming back to life.

He can see bone, he realizes, shining gorily from his left arm. It is at a strange angle too.

Must be broken.

It certainly isn’t the only thing. But somehow, that hardly seems important at the moment.

His eyes slip closed. Everything hurts. The only other time he felt like this was when he collapsed on Blatchery Plain.

I’m sorry, Zelda, for putting you through this again.

I’m sorry…

“Champion!”

A shout rings out across the space, protectively furious and wonderfully familiar. There’s a scream and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. But the blow he expects doesn’t fall on him.

Instead, gentle hands lift his head, cradling it. He blinks open swollen eyes to see the blurred face of Twilight hovering just above him. Legend and Sky appear over his shoulder, seconds later.

“Twi.”

Clumsily, he tries to reach out with his less injured arm, eager to touch him, to prove that he is real. But his body refuses to follow his commands. He doesn’t have to worry, though. The rancher’s hand easily finds its way into his.

“I’ve got you, Wild,” he says, and there is pure fire in his tone. “You’re safe now.”

A head of familiar pink hair leans over him. Gentle, trembling hands nudge his chin upward.

“Here, you’ve gotta drink this.”

Potion is poured down his throat, lukewarm and burning. But the magic of it begins its work immediately, zipping purposefully toward the worst of his wounds.

Wild swallows it with an effort. Then, he drags his eyes back up to meet Twilight’s. “Kohga?”

It is hardly a whisper, yet they hear it anyway.

“Dead.” He thinks it’s Sky who answers, though his voice doesn’t quite have its usual tone. It is a brittle thing. Dangerous. “For good this time.”

Wild tries to grin, but finds he isn’t quite up to it. “Good,” he mumbles instead. “Tired of his dumb belly.”

Twilight’s lips quirk the slightest bit. Gently, he brushes aside Wild’s bangs, wet with blood and sweat.

“Well, he’s never gonna touch you again.”

“Now, rest up,” Legend says, shakily. “We’ve got this handled. You focus on not dying.”

Any other time Wild would laugh and tease the vet about his blatant caring. But all he can focus on is the pleasantly numb feeling that has begun to spread throughout his body, and how warm Twilight’s embrace is as he scoops him carefully off of the ground. His eyes slip closed of their own accord. Before he even realizes what is happening, the darkness swallows him and he is gone.

104 notes · View notes

whumpneto · 7 months

Text

Whumptober 2023 - No. 3: Alt Prompt #10 - Shaking

Milo Ventimiglia as Ethan Tell in Tell (2014)

#whumptober2023 #no.3 #shaking #altprompt #milo ventimiglia #tell #tell 2014 #gifs #gun tw #held at gunpoint #blood #punched #beaten

80 notes · View notes

strawberrylabs · 7 months

Text

Whumptober day 3 with Xiao!

Prompt: "Make it stop"

Whumptober masterlist

Summary: Sometimes even you can't help soothe Xiao's karmic debt.

Warnings!!: pain, hallucinations, mental and physical anguish, somewhat gory descriptions and metaphors

note: this is one is quite a bit shorter than the others, sorry</3

It was not uncommon for you to find Xiao in pain.

His karmic debt was usually bearable, but some days he couldn’t help holding his head as the world spun like a pinwheel.

On these days, very few things managed to take his mind off the hammers in his skulls and the nails in flesh.

The sweet taste of almond-tofu is usually enough to carry him through the headaches.

The idle chatter of patrons of the Wangsu inn usually disperse the visions of comrades long passed.

Your gentle touch and whispered encouragment usually allows him to drift into a state of vulnerability for a rare moment.

But this was one of those grisly nights where nothing could make the pain falter.

It felt like someone was raking a grater across his skin, and boiling the fluids in his brain as the screams of the fallen yaksha reverberate around his mind.

He could barely even register your hands on him as you hold him and call out his name.

"Make it stop!"

His pained cries make you heart feel as though its been filled with sand.

You want to help.

You want to do something to save your beloved from this torment.

But all you can do is hold him tight and catch his tears as the long night streches for hours.

As the morbid seconds of torture tick by, Xiao is slowly consumed by the darkness of his karma.

As the shadows outside grow deeper, you fear this may be the final night with your yaksha before the toll of 2000 years under contract catch up with him...

But just as the shadows lick at his heels and your hands grow numb from the chill of the night, the warm colours of dawn peak over the horizon.

The voices subside, and the pain falls away, allowing Xiao to feel your touch for the first time in hours.

As he collpases in your arms, exhausted, but alive, you think to yourself,

'The shadows will not take him yet.'

This was also really fun to write even if its short<3 hope you like it!

#xiao x reader #xiao x reader angst #whumptober2023 #no.3 #pain tw #gore tw #death tw #genshin x reader #genshin impact

93 notes · View notes

babytarttdoodoo · 7 months

Text

fresh concrete in my mouth

((Winner of Whumptober Poll #1 | Day 3 | “Make it stop.”))

The door opened and Roy ignored it. Either it was Beard, who knew better than to say something, or Nate, who wouldn’t know how to say something, or it was someone who wouldn’t think to look for him on the floor behind his desk.

“Coach?”

Roy groaned, louder than intended. Because of course it was Jamie Fucking Tartt.

Sure enough, a mop of blonde hair invaded Roy’s view of the ceiling tiles as Jamie bounded around the desk, still full of energy after a full day of training.

Prick.

Jamie’s brow scrunched up in confusion as he took in the sight of Roy sat against his own desk drawers, legs stretched out in front of him. “What you doing down there?”

“None of your fucking business,” Roy grit out, annoyed enough already without stupid questions making it worse. “What do you want?”

Jamie’s nose wrinkled, adding to the overall scrunchyness of his face. “I were just wondering what your dinner plans are. You alright?”

“Do I look alright?” Roy snapped, frustration hot in his chest, and immediately regretted it when Jamie’s expression blanked and he held up his hands.

“Okay, okay, don’t got to bite my head off,” he chided, edging around Roy like he was keeping his distance from a wild animal. It was almost funny, that he thought Roy had a hope in hell of being able to reach him if he lashed out right now.

Except for all the ways it wasn’t funny at all.

Roy sighed, guilt cloying his throat as much as the pain. “Right. I don’t have dinner plans but I’m going to be here a while.”

“Okay…” Jamie drew the word out, head bobbing from side to side. “Why?”

“Because my knee fucking hurts!” It burst out of him without permission: too loud, too angry. But once it was out, Roy didn’t want to take it back, the words flowing through a wrecked dam of pride. “It fucking hurts, and it always fucking hurts, but apparently I can’t even stand still at the side of a bloody pitch in shitty weather without it fucking..."

He snarled wordlessly, gesturing at the offending limb in an attempt to encapsulate the throbbing, sickening, familiar sensation of pain that had sent him to the floor in desperation.

“And if it isn’t fucked because of the shitty fucking rain, it’s swollen from the heat because it’s shitting summer and everything’s awful and I can’t do this.”

His voice had risen to a shout and the silence became another entity in the room as he panted from the effort and Jamie stared.

Roy dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars burst into the darkness behind his lids. He tried to breathe through the inarticulate rage and helplessness that threatened to drag him under.

"I just want it to fucking stop hurting," he admitted quietly, as much to himself as to Jamie. “It never bloody stops.”

He gentled the pressure of his hands but didn’t drop them, still hiding his face behind his fingers so he didn’t have to see whatever stupid expression Jamie had conjured up in the name of empathy.

Though, it was quiet for longer than he expected. Instead of speaking, Jamie moved around quietly and there was a nearby rustle of clothes before Roy felt him settle in against his side, pressed up next to him on the floor.

“I don’t think saying ‘sorry’ is going to help much,” Jamie finally voiced, subdued and so careful that Roy was obligated to give him proper attention. He turned to look at him, blinking the haze from his vision.

Jamie’s eyes were fixed across the room, his mouth downturned and brow furrowed. He was so expressive, all the time, and Roy still found him so incredibly difficult to read.

“Not sure anything I say can help much. I don’t know what you’re going through.” He shrugged a little, as though that simple admission didn’t strike through Roy with all the precision of a scalpel. “But we’re here for you, mate. You’ve got good people around you.” He nudged him with his elbow and slid his eyes across to meet Roy’s. “You’ve got me, coach. Whatever you need.”

Roy didn’t know what to do with his soft smile. With being gently given permission to feel the way he did.

And worse, whatever Jamie saw in his face prompted him to continue.

“You’re allowed to be human, Roy.”

“Fuck.” Roy choked on a sob that punched out of him, unbidden, and slammed a hand across his mouth.

His knee still ached. But the sensation of a warm arm around his shoulders was familiar too.

#whumptober2023 #no.3 #make it stop #ted lasso #fic #chronic pain #whump vote result #roy kent #jamie tartt #my fic #fic: fresh concrete

90 notes · View notes