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cricket-reader · 1 year

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You Got It Easy

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Summary: Whilst in an argument, Bucky says something that he will always regret.

Warnings: language, injuries, canon level violence, death, Bucky’s kind of a jerk, female reader, past/child abuse/torture, past sexual assault (implied)

Word Count: 3,396

A/N: Idea brought to me by @whumppromptoftheday

Bucky and you weren’t close by any means. He was just another member of the newly formed Avengers, and you didn’t mind keeping it that way. Sure, you had a lot in common, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would trauma bond.

It was your first time going on a mission with him. He was as broody as Sam said he was. Also the staring thing, that was also pretty accurate. You could practically feel the distaste rolling off of his body. You never did anything, yet he looked at you as if you caused all his problems.

Before both of you got ready to leave, he grabbed your bicep and muttered, “I wanted to do this alone. Don’t get in my way.”

Without another word he dropped down without a parachute. Rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you followed his lead—with a parachute because you weren’t an idiot with a death wish.

He had already begun to abandon you when you were getting rid of your parachute. Huffing in frustration, you had to run to keep up with his long strides.

Once you got into the base, things would get better. Or at least you hoped so. Just a simple get in, get out and head to the safe house not far from there.

It was cold and damp. There were spots of blood on the floor, some big splotches and others were just little drops.

Since it was labelled as inactive, you both had figured that it would be a low pressure mission. How wrong you both were.

The first shot nearly gave you a heart attack. Never in your life had you ducked so quickly. Good thing for that too, or it would be your blood on the floor.

You could hear your partner curse ahead of you as he pulled out his gun. Another shot rang out, this time from Bucky. It hit the target square in the chest. Probably enough to kill him.

“Don’t get killed,” he ever so helpfully grumbled your way. You just rolled your eyes and brushed off your trousers. Thus far, you weren’t liking that attitude of his.

You did notice, however, that he stayed closer to you now that you both knew about the threat there was. You wished you could chalk it up to him actually caring about you, but you figured he just didn’t want to deal with a sad Sam and all the paperwork he’d have to fill out.

Pausing in your steps, you heard the familiar sound of boots against concrete. They were coming down the stairs and fast. Bucky must have noticed that too, given his tense stance. As soon as the door opened, hellfire reigned loose. Both you and Bucky shot the ones you could, leaving the rest to sneak up from behind.

You saw a man coming for Bucky and shot him clean in the forehead. “Don’t get killed,” you huffed out. Was that petty? Sure. Was it worth it? Hell yeah.

“Fuck!” You cursed, feeling a sharp pain in your side. Someone nicked you with a bullet, that much was obvious.

Shrugging it off, you resumed fighting until all the men were down. Holstering your gun, you made sure that your grumpy partner was still alive and scowling. He was, not to your surprise.

You both made your way into the room where they kept the information and decided to split up. You had communication devices if you needed each other. What was the worst that could happen?

Inserting the USB into the machines, you made sure to transfer all the files to it. The door burst open, and you caught sight of some more goons. Sighing, you left your position to kick some ass.

The men were clearly strong and well-trained. That much you could tell from their stance. They weren’t, however, the most wise, which didn’t come as a surprise.

The first man to throw a punch was obviously eager. You dodged it easily and threw a punch back at him. It didn’t do much, considering that he was practically towering over you and packing with muscles. Unfortunately you weren’t quick enough to dodge the second hit. Pain erupted in your jaw and you could taste the copper from the blood that was pooling in your mouth.

Not wasting any time, you hit him back hard. The satisfying crunch of bones reverberated through your mind as your fist met his nose. Blood began seeping out of his nostrils as he cursed.

You spit the blood from your mouth and geared up for more, when someone grabbed you from behind. Grunting and squirming, you tried to get out of his grasp, but he had a tight hold on you.

“Let’s get this bitch to boss, I’m sure he’ll enjoy this little spitfire.”

You yelled in anger at his comment as you flung your head back to hit his face. His arms instantly loosened and you quickly used that to your advantage. You kicked the man and punched him in the jaw, ready to be done with this mission as soon as possible.

You froze when you heard your name.

A sickening feeling grew in your gut as your mind reeled. He was dead. He was supposed to be dead. You saw him die yourself.

Turning, you saw the man that haunted your days standing in front of you. He wore his typical suit, looking put together and handsome as ever—not to you though. His looks were lost on you ever since that fateful day.

“I can’t believe you’re back, darling. God, how I’ve missed you!” He smiled joyously. As if he were happy to see the person that tried to kill him. He must have noticed the confusion on your face, for he began to speak again.

“I know it must be confusing for you, but did you really think that you could get rid of me that easily? I own you.”

You shivered at his words, tears gathering in your eyes. You felt like you were a kid again. A kid that was at the mercy of a cruel man. His little puppet to do what he pleased.

“No… no… you… you’re,” you couldn’t form words. All of the strength you felt whilst beating that man up, vanished. You were suddenly back in that room. Back in that abhorrent white room. A frightened child.

He moved closer to you while you were distracted. He brushed some hair that had fallen loose behind your ear. You didn’t even flinch. Just as you were trained. “It’s time to come home, my little butterfly.”

A rush of white hot rage flooded your body. How could he stand there knowing what he did to you? How dare he touch you as if you were his to touch? You grabbed his hand and twisted it. His wrist practically broke with the pressure you were applying. Within seconds, he called his goons to help him. He was always dependent on others to do his dirty work for him. And he didn’t want to directly harm his little butterfly.

Fists collided with your body as you tried to fight them off. Somewhere in the fight there was a knife that ended up tearing through your skin. A scream resounded through the air, chilling the boss.

“Don’t damage her, you fools!” He yelled. His precious butterfly may have been naughty, but he could fix you. He had many times before. He just had to break you again, remind you who’s in charge.

The men didn’t listen and continued to attack you. The knife met your flesh again and sent a searing pain to your torso.

You didn’t register the resonating sound of bullets until all the men around you were lying dead. A hard-faced Bucky at the door, gun in hand. He looked at your trembling body and cursed under his breath. He knew he should have done this mission alone.

You looked over to see the man that haunted you bleeding out. If Bucky weren’t there, you’d probably cry. Bucky, however, was very much in the same room as you, and you didn’t need any more of a reason for him to think you were weak.

Getting off the ground, you grunted in pain. You could feel his eyes on you as you took out the USB that now had all the files stored on it. “Let’s go,” you muttered, embarrassed that he had to save you.

The trek to the safe house was uneventful to say the least. Neither of you spoke a word, leaving only the sound of your footsteps and nature surrounding you. It was nice. Or it might have been if you weren’t bleeding out.

When you got into the two bedroom safe house, you expected Barnes to hide himself away. What you weren’t expecting was him to boss you around. “Sit down and take off your shirt.”

“Damn, at least buy me a drink first,” you chuckled, before wincing as you realised how much it hurt to laugh. He wasn’t amused. You sighed and reluctantly took off your top that was now blood stained.

“Jesus Christ, doll,” he murmured after seeing how badly beaten up you got. He didn’t think it was going to be that bad.

“You should see the other guys,” you smirked.

“Yeah because of me,” he grumpily pointed out as he began to clean out your wounds.

You huffed, “hey, I had them on the ropes for your information.”

His hands paused, remembering that line from long long ago. It made him swallow to remember his friend. The friend that left him. Not that he ever blamed Steve for wanting a better life. Not like he blamed Steve for leaving him behind to pick up all those broken pieces.

“You good, tin man?” You prodded, noticing the far off look in his eyes. Instantly his eyes returned to your wounds and his face returned to his typical scowl. “You know, maybe you should smile more.”

“Excuse me?” Barnes raised a brow. No one dared talk to him this way. Well, maybe Sam. But Sam was different.

“You’re excused.” You looked him over. “Maybe you’d have more friends if you smiled more.”

He rolled his eyes as he prepared the needle to begin stitching you up. “Believe it or not, I don’t think that’s the problem.”

“Oh yeah? Then what is?”

“Oh, I don’t know, doll. Maybe the fact that I was a brainwashed murderer.”

“So?” You questioned, not understanding his point. Sure he was a murderer, but now he was a good guy.

“So… no one would want to be friends with me. Plus, it’s not like anyone else could relate to what I’ve been through.”

Looking back, you chalked it up to the pain. That was why you were still talking. That was why you hadn’t shut your big mouth. “I understand what you’ve been through,” you said.

He scoffed, “oh really, doll? Were you subjugated to an electroshock chair that fried your brain? Were you given a hack job to your arm after you lost it after falling off of a train? Were you beaten and whipped and tortured?”

You didn’t say a word. That was probably the most you had ever heard him speak. And he spoke with such anger. It almost scared you.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” he darkly chuckled, lowering his head to focus on the stitches.

“I was tortured.” Bucky lifted his head to look at you. “Not like you, but tortured nonetheless.”

“It’s not the same,” he dismissed. He couldn’t allow himself to get attached. His resolve had been fading ever since he saw you getting beat to a pulp in that room. He couldn’t allow himself to let you into his life. That was why he never spoke to you. Because he knew that you were too good. You were too good for the world and certainly too good for him. He finished off the stitches, hoping that he could go away now that you’d been taken care of. He began to repack the first aid kit.

“No,” you frowned, thinking. “But I understand your pain.”

“How?” Looking back on it, raising his voice probably wasn’t the best way to go about it. But he was angry. Angry at himself for letting you get this far into his stone-cold heart, angry at you for tearing down his walls like you were the Hulk, angry at the world for being so goddamn unfair.

“You’re not the only one that has been a prisoner!”

“Well, clearly you got it easy,” he yelled back at you, gesturing to your body that had no scars or blemishes besides the ones you had earned today.

You stepped back as if physically hit. You might as well have been with the way it made your heart wrench and your gut twist. Tears formed in your eyes as you recalled all of those horrible treacherous sessions. All of those days you thought you’d never escape.

“You don’t know anything,” you had muttered so low that he probably wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for his enhanced hearing.

“Oh yeah? Then what was so terrible you think you could compare it to me? I’m fucked up and you are the image of perfection. How the hell do you think you can compare to me?”

It didn’t register; the fact that he literally just called you perfect. You were far from perfect. You just kept everything inside too well.

You couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Sure, he wasn’t the best at interacting with people, but—at least to your knowledge—he had never treated anyone with such hatred and disrespect. It hurt. Maybe you were but a metaphorical punching bag for the world to use.

“You don’t know what happened to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Barnes challenged. “Enlighten me.”

He hated seeing you like this. He just wanted to wipe those tears away and apologise. Why was he being such a dick? Realistically, he knew why. He was a master of destruction. Everything he touched fell to ruin. That was the only thing he was good at: messing stuff up.

“I don’t remember having a normal life,” you sniffed. Were you really just going to lay it all out for him? No. You couldn’t. No one on the team knew. Not even Nat or Wanda had known. And you’d be damned if James Barnes would be the first person you told. “Long story short, I grew up in captivity and was tortured.”

He huffed, clearly not impressed. Whatever. You didn’t need to impress him.

You retired to your room, done with his bullshit and done with the shitty day you had. You just wanted to curl up in a ball and go to sleep.

Meanwhile, Bucky had grabbed the USB and plugged it into his laptop. It took a while for all the files to load up, but he noticed right away there were some files about you.

Now normally Bucky wouldn’t pry, but he wouldn’t get the answers anywhere else. No harm no foul, right?

Besides, what could be so horrible that you couldn’t even mention it? He didn’t see any scars on your body, so it couldn’t have been anything like what he went through. And there you were trying to convince him that you knew his pain. Lord only knows how many times someone told him that. Trying to make him feel better or whatever bullshit they came up with. You were the same as everyone else. Just pitying him. He hated pity. Especially from you.

What he didn’t expect to see were detailed reports of missions you had gone on before the Avengers hired you. He never knew about this. It was bad. Definitely not anywhere near the same as him, but still pretty bad.

Senators, governors, influential leaders and businessmen, civilians, you name it. You had quite the red-stained ledger.

Another file led him to a completely different route. It reminded him of the files Hydra kept on him. The ones that recorded his daily moods, behaviours, and whatever they did to him. Except these files were more personal. Almost like a diary. He shouldn’t be doing this, but it’s not your diary, so technically he’s not in the wrong… right?

He spends the whole night hunched over his laptop screen. The further he goes the more horrified he feels. Nothing can explain the way he feels when he gets to the end.

You were eight years old.

Eight fucking years old when that bastard… when he…

It hurt to think about. The detailed descriptions of his twisted sense of love for you. The way he thought that his love could be reciprocated by a child. That man’s mind was twisted. Bucky had half of a mind to go out and torture him himself. The only problem is, he didn’t know where to start. It’s not like he could ask you. To your knowledge, you didn’t even know he knew. He wanted to keep it that way.

Guilt began creeping its way into the crevices of his heart. He had no right to read that. He knew it from the very beginning, but he ignored it. That warning bell, ringing in his head. He ignored every red flag. Too focused on figuring you out to care about how you might feel if he did it.

The next morning, you noticed the USB had been plugged into the laptop that Barnes brought along. You wondered what could be on it, so you opened the laptop without any second thought. After all, these were about to become Avenger’s property. You’re an Avenger. You have the right to look at the files you had stolen.

Your heart came to a stop when you saw the files pulled up. They were about you. They were about a frightened eight-year-old girl that didn’t know any better. A girl that had been through too much to be considered a child anymore.

You slammed the laptop shut, wanting to burn it. Now the secret was out. What you had tried so hard to keep under wraps was now out in the open. He had probably told someone about it already. Your reputation was doomed. Not only that, but you felt violated. A feeling you were all too familiar with. But never from one of your Avenger teammates. You thought you were safe. Maybe he was right. You’ll never escape him. He owns you. You are his. Even dead, his iron grip holds steady.

Bucky walked into the room to see you on the couch. Your eyes were red, brimming with tears. They had a far off look in them that told him you weren’t all there. His heart dropped to his stomach when he saw the laptop sitting on your lap. He was quick to come over to you. He took the laptop and tossed it aside. “Doll? Hey, c’mon it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t know why, but you let him hold you as the sobs you’ve been holding in were released. You just wanted to feel safe, to feel cared for. Damn all the consequences. You were screwed anyway.

His hand soothingly ran over your back as you buried your face into his chest.

Bucky wasn’t a touchy person. You knew that. Hell, everyone knew that. So why was he allowing this? Surely he must be disgusted with you. Everything you have done. At least he had the excuse of being brain fried. You had no excuse other than manipulation because you were weak. You still were weak if the state of you sobbing into a man’s chest was any indication.

“We can delete those files if you want,” Bucky mumbled once your sobs had quieted. You furrowed your brows, pulling away from his hold.

“You… you’d let me do that?”

“Of course, doll,” he assured you, gently rubbing his thumb against your arm. Anything to soothe you. Anything to make you feel safe. He’d walk through hell and back to make sure you never had to see anything that had to do with your past ever again.

“Why?”

“Because you deserved better.”

Your lip trembled as you saw the sincerity on his face. “You won’t tell the others?”

“It’s not my story to tell.”

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feverdreamsanddelusions · 4 months

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inspo by @whumppromptoftheday

[tw past trauma, scars, implied past torture]

"I know what I'm doing," Whumpee said firmly, leaving no room for argument. Caretaker sighed and nodded.

"Alright. Well... Take your shirt off, I guess. I'll grab the tech stuff in a moment."

Caretaker had no idea why Whumpee was so insistent on this. They could've found other volunteers, people who had documented experience with this sort of thing. There was no reason for Whumpee to want to step in and do it themself. No sane person would've, in their place.

When they turned back around with the wire in hand, their jaw dropped in the most disrespectful way possible. Whumpee's entire upper body was covered in scars. Whip marks, burns, cuts... There wasn't a square inch left unmarred.

Whumpee gave them an annoyed look, but they couldn't stop gawking. They'd never seen anything like this.

"We really don't have all day," they snapped eventually, and Caretaker dragged their gaze up to meet Whumpee's eyes.

"What– what happened–"

"Whumper happened."

The pieces finally fell into place in Caretaker's head. Of course Whumpee had been insistent. Of course Whumpee 'knew what they were doing'.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Whumpee marched over and grabbed the box from Caretaker's hand, attempting to secure it to their body by themself. It helped snap Caretaker out of it; and now that they were paying a little more attention, it was clear that Whumpee was incredibly flustered, no matter how much they tried to act like the scars meant nothing to them.

"I'll do it," they said hastily, and Whumpee let go of the little device as they stepped closer. They stared past Caretaker at the wall, trying their best to hide their shame. Caretaker felt like the least they could do was play along, after having made a scene like that.

As soon as the wire was in place, Whumpee pulled their shirt back on. Caretaker didn't think they'd ever forget the sight.

#whump #whump drabble #past trauma #scars #implied past torture #res writes

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syncopein3d · 2 months

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@whumppromptoftheday This is from your prompt!

CW: badly injured whumpee, implied past violence, robbery, begging.

Broken World

1. Rescue

The Ripper stepped out of a violent tear in reality and into a dark hall. The rift in this universe annealed itself almost immediately, the maddening uncolors of the Other Place quickly vanishing. Then Ripper had to bend almost double for a moment, swallowing the taste of blood as they waited for the pain to stop. They didn’t make a noise. They’d learned not to do that a long time ago.

It was hard to get carnite. A lot of it had been mined out, and it was the source of one of only a few ways to permanently alter the function of metapowers without removing them. It was therefore tremendously valuable. The cache supposedly being kept here in Registered Metahuman Team 99B’s base was said to weigh five kilos and be worth about a billion dollars.

Ripper snorted back more blood inside the medical mask. Real costumes were for people who wanted to be on the news. Ripper was wearing gray sweats and a dingy white tank top with a black hoodie. Their mask was just a black N-95. They weren’t even wearing real shoes. They had tabi socks with lightly textured soles, almost noiseless on the institutional tile floor as they walked down the hall. Their gray backpack was the most expensive thing on them, metal-less, high-density ceramic zippers only.

All the lights were out because nobody was here. The Ninety-Nines were at a parade doing security for the mayor or someone. Ripper didn’t know who and didn’t have a reason to care. The important thing was that Silverant and Teledyne weren’t here, no annoyingly perky speedster, no super strong asshole who could break Ripper’s spine with a tiny finger-flick. None of the others were that dangerous to someone quiet and careful, Ripper told itself.

The ventilation hummed constantly, but the heat felt like it wasn’t doing much. The air was cold. The Ripper knew they were four stories below ground; they needed really precise imaging to get into somewhere they’d never been. It hadn’t been cheap, either. Not many people had been down here on the Vault level. The rooms on either side had little windows in their heavy steel doors. Ripper peeked in all of them until it found the one that looked like a biology lab more than a place to keep rocks: microscopes, fridges, centrifuges. A good look from the door was enough.

Ripper stepped back and reached into the world inside itself and tore it open, clawing at their chest. Their hands went from brown to light blue to flat black as they exhaled into a silent scream. Inside became outside, and now they were in the Other Place, grasping in front of them to tear at the membrane of something made of colors that weren’t real and didn’t make sense. They had to get out before they could focus on the idea that they weren’t real here, either, or it might stop existing before it could get through.

The membrane tore, burning and wet under their fingers, and they slid out into the glittering dark of the lab. They stifled a cough. There was no recording equipment this far down, but it felt so loud in the quiet.

They turned on the overhead lights and rifled all the cupboards. Nothing was locked, not a good sign. And while they were reading the labels on all the little shelves above the counter, someone made a noise.

Ripper froze.

It happened again. Someone had made a sort of whimpering moan that ended in a gasp, like maybe they’d breathed too deep and it hurt. It came from behind one of three doors in the back of the lab. These had bigger windows in them, laced with a diamond pattern of metal reinforcement, so it could see that two were empty. All of them were bolted shut.

In the third one, there was a man tied to a steel chair.

Ripper stood there staring, still swallowing blood inside the mask. That was normal. This wasn’t.

He was middle sized, dark haired, not as brown as the Ripper. He’d been in decent shape before someone beat him with… Ripper measured the size of their own fist with the bruises on his naked belly. The knuckle marks were bigger. Was that Teledyne, Ripper wondered, just pulling his punches? The man’s eyes were swollen, and there was a cut above one eye that had matted his eyebrow and blinded him with blood.

The blood looked sticky and half-crusted. Around his nose it was still red, in horrid congealed bits atop the black. It had taken longer to dry up. His eyes couldn’t be seen at all between the swelling and the dim overhead light. His cheeks were deeply hollow. Bands of muscle pulled tight and stringy across his ribs. A blow had left a mark there, black and blue and swollen. Ripper realized that some of the marks were yellow around it, and tried not to gag as they realized why, that someone had waited for the bruises to fade a little and then hit him there again. Cuts around his jaw showed someone had shaved him carelessly, and a deep shadow said it hadn’t been today. His light gray sweats were spotted with blood drips. His feet looked almost black. They had no toenails.

Hairs stood all the way up along Ripper’s spine. It almost cut and ran right then, but a billion was a lot, and maybe this man knew where it was kept. So instead they unbolted both bolts and opened the door. A thin slice of bright light seemed to hit him like a blow; he jerked back, turning his face away as he wheezed. Ripper heard him swear under his breath.

“I won’t hurt you,” Ripper said. “I’m not one of them.” Their voice sounded rough. It usually did. But it didn’t sound like anyone else’s voice. The man looked around, squinting at the bright light.

“For God’s sake, turn that off,” he said. The Ripper went to turn off the lab lights and came back.

“Tell me where the carnite is and I’ll take you with me,” Ripper said.

“Untie me and I’ll show you,” he said. It took him a couple of tries to get that all out.

The Ripper considered that, looking him over from under their hood. He wasn’t too big. Ripper was taller. And he was in bad, bad shape. Maybe he wouldn’t try anything dumb.

“Yeah, all right.” It walked around to look at the back of the chair. The man’s wrists were zip-tied to each other and the middle bar of the tall chair-back. He had pulled hard enough to make them bleed, but not too recently. The blood had dried all the way. The Ripper pulled at them slightly, getting them off his skin a tiny bit.

“Hold still.” The smallest tear between its fingertips, the smallest gate to the Other Place, separated the plastic like it had been cut. They did it again at the ankles, one by one. THAT didn’t hurt enough to matter. There was only a faint looming shadow for warning before the man crumpled forward. Ripper grabbed at his waist as his cheek smacked into Ripper’s shoulder.

“Hey, careful!”

“Stronger than you look,” the man mumbled, groping weakly at Ripper’s upper arms as he knelt there. He stank of old blood and sweat. “Tha’s good, cause you’re gon’ have to help me walk.”

“Yeah, fine. Come on.” Between the two of them, they managed to get him mostly upright, leaning on Ripper with his arm drawn across its shoulder. “Okay, where’s the carnite?”

“Can you really gemme out of here?” he asked.

“Sure. Organic bodies are easy enough. The Other Place doesn’t like metal, though. You have a pacemaker or anything? Fillings?” He didn’t seem to have any jewelry.

“Nah,” the man said. He wheezed every time he breathed.

“Then no problem. Where’s the carnite?”

“There’s’s secret panel,” the man said. “Kick th’ wall by the blood fridge. That one.” He pointed weakly at a chest-high fridge with a clear front and rows and rows of vials. The Ripper hauled him over there and kicked at the wall with a heel in the spot where there was a smudge. Something hissed, and the panel popped forward and to the side in one abrupt movement.

Inside was a niche with a couple of shelves. There was a green gemstone as big as the Ripper’s fist, a pair of vials of red and blue liquid, and a steel case with a couple of wire fasteners like an ammo box.

The Ripper lowered the man to sit on the floor and reached in to get the case.

“It doesn’t feel like five kilos,” the Ripper said.

“More like four and a half. They. They’b. Been powdering it,” the man said, leaning against the blood fridge with his swollen eyes mostly shut. “So they c’n inject me.”

“What’s your meta?” the Ripper asked, popping the case open. Crushed stone lay in a fat cottony lining. It was the color and sheen of gore. When they poked it, it felt like shards of rock all right, but it was disturbingly warm to the touch. Their stomach turned over. This was it.

“I heal fast. Blood makes other people heal fast, too,” he said. “They said, they.” He stopped to breathe as Ripper closed the case. It turned to look at him.

“They said what?” it asked, a little more gently. They didn’t stop the process of shoving the baggy lining full of carnite into their backpack and zipping it up. They put the empty metal case back.

“Said one more treatment and it won’t. Wear off. Please,” he said. His head swayed as he tried to find Ripper’s face in the shade under their hood. “Don’ leave me here. I can help you. You’re sick, right? Y’sound sick.”

Ripper wasn’t sure he was even telling the truth.

He’d told the truth about the carnite, though. Who cared if he could heal or not? They had what they’d come for. And it would probably piss the Ninety-Nines off not knowing where he’d gone AND losing their cache of the most valuable mineral on the planet.

“You know what, fuck the 99B’s,” Ripper said. “I need both my hands, so you have to hold onto me, all right? Hang on tight.” It grabbed the man’s hands and pulled them around its waist as it turned around, kneeling on the floor. They could feel him resting his face against the backpack, each breath still wheezy and labored.

“Are you a man or a woman?” he asked.

“No,” the Ripper said, and tore the world open.

Part 2 here

#whump #whump prompt #villain #hero #agender villain #superheroes #superpowers #syncopein3d future reference #whumpblr #beaten whumpee #injured whumpee #reluctant caretaker #rescue #begging #cometverse

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whump-is-love-whump-is-life · 2 months

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11 and 20 for the ask game

Ask game thank you very much!

11: Oh crap there’s so many @whumperofworlds @the-three-whumpeteers @letitbehurt @hey-that-hurt @avvail @jordanstrophe @whumppromptoftheday @whump-in-the-closet @whumpwillow @whump-queen @painsandconfusion @den-of-whump @befuddled-calico-whump and ofc more cause there’s so many of you that are freaking awesome but I don’t have all day to type <3

20: …it’s pain or nothing for me :) , but if the ‘comfort’ is actually filled with soul crushing recovery angst (or perhaps more whump)— I’ll absolutely be interested (reading a fic with that rn, it’s fantastic)

#asks #whump #my posts #whump ask game #whump asks #ask game answers

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whumperfully · 2 years

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Destiny

CW: captured whumper, heavily conditioned whumpee, manipulation, intimate/creepy whumper

Inspired by this prompt by @whumppromptoftheday

Whumpee smiled. After all these years of planning, plotting and waiting... whumper was finally in their clutches, chained up exactly how they used to be. They couldn't expect their meeting to have gone any better.

"Have you forgotten your place, whumpee?" Whumper snarled, pulling at the chains hanging them by the wrists.

Whumpee ignored the comment, circling around whumper to take in every bit of the beautiful sight in front of them.

"Say, what should I do first?" They asked gleefully. "I could electrocute you, whip you, cut you up or..." Laughter echoed throughout the room. "I know! I'll brand you! Like- like how you did to me!"

Whumper narrowed their eyes, careful not to let fear seep into their voice. "I'm your Master, pet. You have to let me go. It's an order. And you know only too well what happens when you fail to obey a direct order."

Whumpee's eyes widened as they staggered backwards, the confident facade instantly shattering. "No." They pulled at the hem of their shirt. "You're not- you can't- you can't hurt me anymore."

Whumper gave them a lazy grin. "Of course, I can, pet. I'm your Master after all."

"But the collar!" They fell to their knees. "I- I took it off..."

"I don't need a collar to hurt you. If you don't let me go right now, you can see how I can punish you even without it."

"Shut up!" They screwed their eyes shut, hands covering their ears. "I- I'm brave! I'm brave! I'm brave! I'm brave! You- you can't scare me! Not anymore!"

"It's destiny, whumpee. You're destined to be my pet and I'm destined to be your Master. That's all. You can't refuse destiny." Their voice was honey sweet. "Now, let me go, sweetheart. If you look sorry enough I might even cancel your punishment."

Tears clouded whumpee's vision as they looked up. Their eyes were enough to tell whumper of their success.

Whumpee slowly stood up, lips in a thin line. "I'll- I'll do it."

"Good."

Whumpee's heart fluttered. Master had just... given them a compliment! Smiling, they increased their pace.

The moment whumper was set free, they grabbed whumpee in a tight embrace.

The butterflies in whumpee's stomach knew no bounds as whumper's lips pressed a soft kiss to their ear.

"Listen, pet. Never do that again, hm? Never. You know how much I hate punishing you. And I'll have to do that now, won't I?"

A tear slipped down whumpee's cheek as they nodded. "I'm sorry for making you do that, Master."

Whumper smiled, stroking whumpee's hair. They were lucky whumpee's conditioning had lasted even after their escape.

#cw heavily conditioned whumpee #cw manipulation #cw intimate/creepy whumper #please excuse the lack of a better title

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windfighter · 9 months

Text

Playing the blame game

Prompt

”I don’t blame you” ”Why not?”

from @whumppromptoftheday

----

Kouichi was sitting a bit away from the others. It happened. He’d retreat with a book for around half an hour before returning as if nothing had happened. Kouji could understand, he felt the same need to retreat more often than not. But this time Kouichi had a far away-look on his face, his head tilted backwards ever so slightly, staring unseeingly at the clouds. Kouji sighed. Stood up and walked away from the rest of the group. Kouichi looked at him when he stepped closer, the far away-looked turned sad. Kouji shook his head.

”I don’t blame you”, he said. ”For trying to kill me. I don’t blame you for it.”

He didn’t need to. Kouichi was blaming himself more than enough for the two of them. Kouichi looked away.

”Why not?”

Kouji sat down next to Kouichi. Looked at the sky while considering his answer. How could he explain?

”It was Cherubimon”, he said. ”Not you.”

”It was still my hands, my hatred. My blade.”

Kouichi clasped his hands together.

”It was still me.”

Kouji couldn’t claim he understood the whole deal. What had droven Kouichi to that point. What had made him so suspectible to the dark powers of Cherubimon. But if he was honest? It didn’t matter.

”Maybe”, he said, ”but I don’t blame you. So it was you? Who cares. You were still influenced by Cherubimon. You didn’t even remember me at that point.”

”I tried to murder you.”

”And I lived to tell the tale.”

Kouichi pressed his lips together, stared at Kouji. He was not happy.

”You don’t need to blame yourself either”, Kouji continued. ”It’s water under the bridge.”

”I tried. To kill you”, Kouichi said.

Slowly, as if Kouji couldn’t understand what the big deal was. To be fair, Kouji didn’t.

”You tried to kill me. And I ran after you”, he said. ”I never blamed you, I always just wanted to understand. And I, well… I mean I don’t, but it doesn’t matter.”

He smiled towards Kouichi.

”Because I have you now. You wanted to find me so badly you let darkness corrupt you and yet. And yet you found me. Not the other way around. You found me.”

Kouichi looked away. Kouji did as well.

”Point is, I don’t blame you for what you did. Even if you came after me right now to try and kill me I wouldn’t blame you. Blame leads to suffering and suffering leads to anger and… uh… no wait I got that wrong I think.”

Kouichi snorted. Good enough.

”I get that you feel bad about it”, Kouji continued. ”I would too. But you don’t need to.”

He thought for a few seconds, glanced at the sky and scratched his cheek.

”As long as you don’t feel happy about trying to kill me it’s all good.”

Kouichi laughed. Gave Kouji a light shove.

”I didn’t even feel good about it as Duskmon.”

”Well then.”

Kouji stood up, stretched. Offered Kouichi a hand.

”If you didn’t even feel good then, it’s all fine. Come on, everyone gets worried when you go away like this.”

Kouichi looked sad again. Kouji shook his head.

”We don’t blame you”, he said with a laugh.

Kouichi also laughed. Accepted Kouji’s hand and got to his feet.

”Alright, fine. I accept your non-blame.”

He smiled, nodded towards the rest of the group.

”Let’s go defeat Takuya in football.”

Kouji laughed, pushed Kouichi towards the others. It would be fine. He didn’t care how many times he’d had to repeat himself. Eventually Kouichi would forgive himself.

#windy writes #digimon frontier #kouji minamoto #kouichi kimura #hurt/comfort #the twins can have little a conversation as a treat :3 #also endings are still the bane of my existence #hope you enjoyed!

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whumpitlikeyoumeanit · 7 months

Text

Cassandra

((Content warning: --))

((Promptspiration: @week-of-whump 2023: October 10: Muzzle / "You're a liar." @whumppromptoftheday : "Whumpee going for help and being turned away" ))

Whumpee: Draco

Whumper: McGonagall but actually Voldemort

Caretaker: --

Whump type: Psychological

Fic type: Alternate history

((words: ~600))

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

Draco hung back while everyone else filed out of Transfiguration, loitering over his books and his uneasiness. His decision was terrifying, but also... sort of a relief? If he could just follow through with it, he could be free... The idea sent a frantic swarm of butterflies through his gut.

"Are you dawdling for a reason, Malfoy?" McGonagall tapped the edge of his desk.

He glanced up at her quickly, then darted his eyes around the room to make sure they were alone. He gripped the edge of his final book tightly. "I need to speak with you, Professor."

"Is this about the deplorable state of your homework this year? Granted you have at least deigned to go back to turning it in, which is an improvement."

He flexed the book tightly in his hands, hesitating. She was hardly his favourite teacher; she was about the only one he'd never been able to charm to some degree, and she lacked patience for his attempts and general personality. She was the most Gryffindor thing in the castle: direct, opinionated, forceful, stubborn. He didn't have a lot of respect for that.

But it did mean he trusted her. The idea of McGonagall not doing the right thing when presented with the option was as unthinkable as the sun opting not to rise. Even if she didn't like that right thing, or who she had to work with to do it. There was a lot of strength in being so horribly noble.

"I've... been ordered to kill Dumbledore," he said quietly. His heart was in his throat, but there, it was out. It was in the world. The rest of the words just fell out in the wake of it, like the gates were opened now. "The Dark Lord, he's been in my house, with all the other Death Eaters. Bellatrix. I've got to, he'll kill me, but I don't... I can't--"

"Are you quite finished?"

He hissed to a stop and gaped at her, struck dumb as if he'd been Silenced.

Her expression was hard and humourless. "That is as outrageous an excuse for missing homework as I have ever heard. At your age, you should have grown out of telling these ridiculous lies for attention."

"...I'm not..." The butterflies in his gut were being picked off one by one and their corpses were settling into a leaden weight at his core. How was this possible? To actually try and be met with just sheer rejection...

"You should be ashamed of yourself," she said severely. "Now go to lunch, and try to remember your essay this week."

"You've got to listen to me!" he tried desperately. "This is real. I'm a Death Eater -- I've got this!" He yanked up his sleeve to reveal the lurid black blemish of the Dark Mark covering the inside of his arm. "You've got to help me!"

"Fifty points from Slytherin for that obscenity!" she snapped, a tightly controlled fury and revulsion making her face hard. "And if I hear one more word of this, it will be detention as well. Now get out."

He pulled his sleeve down and fled the room, mind and heart racing, sick to his stomach. How? How could she not believe him...?

He'd been cursed, he realised sickly. He closed himself in a dusty, disused classroom nearby and sank against the wall, holding his head. The Cassandra Curse, powerful Dark magic that meant the cursed person would speak the truth but never be believed. That was the only thing that made sense.

So no matter what he said, no matter how earnest or convincing or honest he was, no matter what evidence he had... no one would believe him. Ever.

There wasn't any help. There wasn't any way out...

#whump week #whump writing #draco whumpee #alternate history #not a prompt whumpitlikeyoumeanit #whumpitlikeyoumeanit wrote it

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whumppromptoftheday · 3 days

Text

"i won't change for you," villain says.

hero scoffs, "you don't have a choice"

#whumppromptoftheday #whump #whump prompt #whumpee #whump dialogue #whump idea #whumper #hero whumper #villain whumpee

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splendidissimus · 7 months

Text

September 2000 - Flu

((Content warning: illness / fever))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 13: Infection / "I don't feel so good." @whumppromptoftheday "caretaker coming to check up on whumpee and finding them sick in bed" ))

Genre: sickfic

Romance level: moderate

Angst level: 2/5

Draco's headspace: sick (slightly needy, slightly whiny, slightly serious...)

((words: ~1300))

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

Theo hurried up the steps above the bookshop two at a time without even stopping to wave to Camille. "Draco?" He hadn't heard anything on their Owlless all day, after Draco'd written that he was going to sleep early last night, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

In the small apartment above the shop, there was a fire smouldering and otherwise it was dark; it didn't seem like Draco had been up at all. The bed was heaped with blankets and quilts, and Theo poked the fire to get it going and lit a lamp to go see him. "Draco?"

The pile of blankets coughed. Theo could only just see the top of his head when he got to the bed, and he pulled down a blanket to expose his face to the air. He was sweating badly, and he opened his eyes to prove he wasn't really asleep, but they looked distant and he closed them again, burying his face down toward the blankets with another deep cough that sounded like it was tearing at his chest, and then a groan.

He was sick — really sick. He suddenly felt like crap for calling him dramatic over a cold. But still, this must have come on quick, he'd seen him yesterday morning. "Why didn't you say anything?" Theo dug around in the blankets to get to Draco's arm, and pulled his hand up until he could check his heart on the monitoring cuff. It was too quick. "Can you hear me? I need you to get up."

Draco vaguely shook his head into the blankets.

"Okay, that's a good start, you're alive…" He started peeling back blankets. There must have been half a dozen of them.

"Stop," Draco said weakly, limply flopping his hand onto his shoulder to pull the blankets back without looking. "It's too cold…"

"It's really not." He caught the ineffectually flailing hand and held it out of the way — even his fingers were hot — and squirmed his hand under Draco's forehead to feel it. "You're just burning up. Come on, you need to take your potions, you'll feel better."

Draco still didn't help, and he ended up manhandling him with all the gentleness possible when one lanky twenty year old was trying to move another's dead weight into a sitting position. Draco hunched over with another groan, clutching the last blanket around his shoulders and shivering uncontrollably.

Theo left him for a moment to find Draco's potion bag, and by the time he returned with it, Draco had lain down again, curled up in a ball. Theo sat beside him and levered him back up, and Draco coughed as he did, a deep, thick cough that just kept going and left Draco leaning weakly against him, fighting to breathe at all. Theo hugged him and rubbed his back until he was breathing halfway normally.

"You've got a Pepperup Potion in here somewhere, right?" He unshrunk the bag and then dumped out the potions on the bed. "Let's try that one first, it should help. Then you really have to take your heart one." Draco didn't answer, and he continued to hold him until his sorting hand found one pink potion buried in the pile, stuck in this bag probably a year or more ago and never used. He hadn't really fallen ill in that time, not in a way it would help. Maybe they'd been lucky.

He helped Draco drink it, and turned his face away from the slightly peppery waft of steam that drifted out of his ears. Even that potion didn't give him any colour, though, which was always incredible to watch. "Is that any better?" he asked, rubbing his back again.

"A little," Draco allowed. His breathing was immediately better and he'd stopped shivering, and he seemed more alert. "Everything hurts a little less." Not one hundred percent better, though; he still wanted the blanket around him and had his eyes closed with a small furrow Theo thought reflected a headache.

"That's good." He handed him his normal morning potion that was meant for moderating his heart. "Take the whole thing, don't try to stretch it."

Draco didn't even have the energy for a sarcastic 'yes, mother', which meant he really wasn't feeling well. He swallowed that potion as well and then leaned his forehead on Theo's shoulder. Theo watched the blinking light of his heart rate gradually slow.

"Have you been sick like that since last night?"

"Don't know."

So probably yes and he had no concept of the passed time. "I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his back again. "I should have paid attention. The healers said you were going to get sick more easily now and you should avoid people, we just kind of ignored it. Of course you were going to get sick. Whose brilliant idea was it to have you work a bookshop during the school rush?"

"My parents'," Draco said petulantly, and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

"Well, I'm actually pretty sure your parents would spontaneously explode if they knew you were working a shop counter at all."

"They shouldn't've thrown me out, then."

"Okay." He decided not to rehash how that had actually played out. Not least because he didn't want to run the risk of reminding Draco he could go home anytime he wanted right at the time when he might actually have a reason to. If his mother saw him like this she'd probably even forget about the apology she was due. "Are you up to walking?"

"I don't want to… everything hurts. My head hurts. I just want to sleep…"

"I don't think you can yet. Not here. You're going to be sick for a couple more days at least and I want you to come back to my house so I can—" …take care of you… "— take you to the healers if it gets worse."

"I hate your house," Draco muttered.

"I know. It's old and falling apart."

"No, it's the stairs, I can't…" Theo rubbed his back again, and Draco coughed into his shoulder. "Stay here."

"It's not exactly made for two people, is it?" He looked around at Draco's entire living space, basically the size of his own bedroom a street over. Overstuffed old couch, unused kitchen nook, a single bed probably smaller than their school ones, all of Camille's overbearing grandmotherly decor…

Draco's fingers lightly wound in the front of his robes, and he couldn't say no. He kissed Draco's sweaty hair and helped him lie down again, sweeping all his potions back into the bag. "That was the only Pepperup Potion we had; I'll go get a couple more."

"Can't afford it." Draco hunkered down under the pile of blankets as Theo pulled them back up, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles.

"Let me worry about that." He kissed his forehead and smoothed the blanket, then stood up. "I'll be right back. And I'll bring supper."

Draco made a vague noise that wasn't really an answer.

—

Theo started that night on the couch, but listening to Draco coughing, moaning, and tossing hurt him. Eventually, when he had to lie there and listen to Draco coughing himself breathless, he made a decision and went to the bed. He sat and spent a moment running his fingers through Draco's limp hair, then lay down on the edge of the narrow bed, facing him.

"You shouldn't," Draco said quietly. Their faces were a foot apart in the darkness; he looked so tired. "You'll get sick."

He brushed his hair back lightly. "I'll be okay." He didn't want the thousand blankets himself, but he was able to worm his arm inside them to put around Draco. "Go to sleep if you can. I won't let you dream."

"I don't even care if I do…" His eyes sank closed again, and Theo shifted closer.

They ended up with Draco's face nestled in Theo's shoulder, and he managed to sleep that way, at least a little.

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