#gun whump

[ghost-whump]

Roulette

CW: guns, russian roulette-type game, kidnapping (implied), (let me know if I missed anything!)

Shink.

Into the chamber.

Whirrr.

Spinning around.

…Click.

Into place.

“How many rounds do you think it’ll take?” Whumper smiles, “Till you die, that is. You’ll become concussed rather quickly.”

Whumpee kept their head down. They watched Whumper load each blank in one by one, torturously gentle with each cartridge. “I don’t— I don’t know.”

“Maybe just the first one, if I fire too close. Depending on the distance, it could be a few shots before you even pass out.” Whumper spun the chamber again, absentmindedly fiddling with the revolvers hammer. They spoke casually, as if discussing the weather.

Perched on the table with their legs crossed, Whumper picked up another box of bullets, flipping it over to read the back. “Blanks are really interesting bullets, you know? A lot of people think they’re harmless because they’re not real bullets, but no one knows how dangerous they actually are!”

Whumpee trembled, their handcuffs making a horrible rattling sound from behind their back.

“Sorry, I totally got off track! Anyway, you’ll go deaf nearly immediately,” Whumper continued, putting the box back down, “I wouldn’t expect your hearing to heal. For argument’s sake, obviously. You won’t have the chance, after all.”

They stood, casually stretching their arms above their head. The gun was tossed carelessly from hand to hand, then positioned steadily — point blank at Whumpee’s temple.

Pulling the hammer back, “So, I’m guessing three shots — how about you?”

General Tag: @morning-star-whump

[shywhumpauthor]

A gun pressed to a feverish Whumpee’s forehead, but they’re so delirious and the cold feels so good against their flushed skin, they can’t help but lean into it, much to Whumper’s shock or delight.

[charcoalsketches]

A scene from my Whumpuary Series found here

Cw: guns

[whumps-i-did-it-again]

does anyone know where to find resources on what wounds would look/feel like, and how you would hypothetically treat them at home?

I'm writing about a character who gets shot in the shoulder (unfortunately canon, would not have chosen shoulder otherwise). for ✨plot reasons✨, they cannot go to a hospital. both the injured character and the one taking care of him have had experience getting shot, and fixing up GSWs.

Every time I google how to treat a gunshot wound, google tells me to just go to the hospital (obviously). this is less than helpful. i need to know what these two morons are doing to fix things in a bathroom with a better-than-usual-because-this-isnt-their-first-rodeo first aid kit.

[whumpforthewin]

Hello Whump Community!!

I Hope You’re Doing Well! This is a little different than my usual posts!! I Just Self published my first Novella!! And I think you’ll enjoy it.

“In a world where soulmates exist, people find their soulmates through feeling their pain and celebrate their meeting and bonding by feeling everything from them. Notorious mafia don Lucien Sharp has wanted to find his soulmate, but has had other things to worry about, like growing and expanding his empire. So when his products are stolen, he confronts his biggest rival about it. And accidentally finds his soulmate, Bryce O’Connor, the third in command of his rival in the process.

But Bryce promptly rejects him, leaving him to gasp and suffer with an incomplete bond. Lucien tries to deal with it by giving him space, but when his inner circle is attacked that is no longer an option.

Now Lucien must decide how much he is willing to lose. His soulmate, his best friend, or himself?”

There is soulmates, betrayal, love, and whump! The prompt I was given was “soulmates, rejected bond, and mortal peril” which I deliver on!

Check this out! https://a.co/d/0ovCy3n

[t0rture-me]

here's a new little unnamed thing! idk if i'll continue with this, but i just had the idea for a bit of the dialogue and wanted to run with it, so here's the results of that!

TW: guns, threats, held at gunpoint, brief mention of stalkery behavior, implied abduction and captivity, multiple whumpers, nonbinary whumpee (Indigo, they/them), nonbinary whumper (Lee, he/him)

"Hey, uh, we just moved in across the street! Thought we'd come over and introduce ourselves."

He was handsome, Indigo would give him that. And charming for sure. They both were. Indigo was not the type to just invite strangers into their home, neighbors or not, but before they could stop themself to think, all three of them were sat chatting in their kitchen. The chided themself silently, one small voice scolding them, telling them that they were being overly cautious, paranoid. But there was another voice, too. This one told them that this was a huge mistake. Just opening the door had been a mistake.

The first one introduced himself as Michael. He was tall, with deep, dark eyes and sharp features. His voice floated through the air like a birdsong. Combined with his curly, honey-blond hair, he reminded Indigo of an angel.

Michael introduced the other as Lee. He was quiet, soft-spoken. His eyes were soft and gentle, a soft gleam shining behind them. Everything about him was soft. Hell, if Indigo wasn't getting over a breakup, they'd probably pounce the poor boy's bones.

They chatted for what felt like hours. Indigo, at one point, got up to make tea for all of them, but once they returned, it was back to chatting. They couldn’t figure out what it was, but something about them just broke down their walls in a way that they had no chance of anticipating.

The problem with broken walls is that they no longer keep out any danger.

"So then, this has been a great chat, but let's cut to the chase." Michael smiled, that light, charming smile. "Who would you rather belong to?"

Indigo sputtered on their tea. Certainly they had misheard.

"Sorry?" They asked, laughing nervously and setting their mug down. "Maybe my tea's gone bad."

"Oh, ha, nah your tea is fine. We checked the expiration dates of your things the last time we came over." Michael hummed, setting his own mug down in turn. "I said, who would you rather belong to?"

"It's not a hard question, is it, love?" Lee followed. Indigo stood from their seat, almost frantically grabbing all three mugs and quickly setting them in the sink.

"Last time you-? You're freaking me out. I think it's time for you to see yourselves out." Indigo turned back to face them. Then, they froze. Michael was holding a gun. Had he had that the whole time? How had Indigo not realized?

"You're going to have to choose one way or another." Lee said lightly. "We're just trying to make it easier on you." He smiled that same, soft smile at them, standing slowly.

"Get out. Right now." Indigo took a step back, still eyeing the gun. "This isn't funny. Get out."

"You know we're not gonna do that, Indigo." Michael smiled. In an instant Indigo was running. Where they had been sitting, Michael and Lee were given easy access to block any exits. Michael stayed in his seat, he just so 'happened' to block the back door. (Though maybe he'd planned it that way. Indigo couldn't tell.) And when Lee stood before, it gave him a perfect opportunity to move to block the front.

Think, think. Ok, exits are blocked, so... Up it is?

They ran towards Lee, but not at the front door. As they neared him, they swung themself around the stairway, speeding to the upper floor before Lee could grab them. Indigo could hear him following closely, Michael behind both of them.

Luckily, Indigo was fast. Fast enough to get into their bedroom and lock the door behind them and fast enough then to run into the connected bathroom, locking that door just the same.

They huffed, sliding to the floor in an attempt to catch their breath after barricading the door with whatever they could find. They jumped at the sound of the two slamming through the door into the bedroom.

"You've blocked yourself in, Indigo. Did you forget that there aren't any windows in there?" They heard Michael say through the door. Fuck. He was right. "We can wait all night, so just save us all the time and effort and come on out."

They stayed silent, though let out a quick shriek when someone slammed against the door.

"Make this easier for yourself now, sweetheart." Lee said, knocking carefully on the door. "If you come out now, we won't have to punish you."

"Punish? I- What?? You can't do this!" Indigo yelled. "We're in the suburbs, dipshit, the neighbors will hear the gunshots and call the cops. They'll hear me yelling!"

"Naughty, naughty. Such bad words, Indigo, maybe we'll cut out your tongue to teach you a lesson." Michael sighed. "Remember, whatever happens now is your fault."

Indigo shrieked again as one of them slammed against the door.

"You fucking psychopaths! Leave me the fuck alone!" They cried, now frantically searching around their bathroom for some sort of weapon. All they could find was a small pair of scissors that they use to trim their hair, holding it protectively out in front of them as the door continued to shake.

Finally the moment they feared came to fruition when the door cracked violently open. Lee panted, looming in the doorway, with Michael slightly behind him, now directly pointing the gun at Indigo.

"And what do you think you're going to accomplish with those, dear?" Michael grinned, pulling the hammer of the gun. Indigo felt their blood run cold as they sat on the tacky green tile floor of their bathroom. Were they about to die on this floor? The green taken over by red as they bleed out?

"They'll hear." Indigo repeated shakily, clutching the scissors like a shield.

That didn't matter much. Indigo heard a whoosh and a thunk from behind, distracted and turning to see what the noise was only to see a fresh bullet hole in the wall. The shock alone caused them to drop their makeshift weapon and scramble further from the two people boxing them in.

Indigo fearfully looked back at the gun in Michael's hand, only now looking long enough to see the silencer on the end of it.

"I have some money." They stammered. "It's not a lot, but- but just take it and go and I won't tell anyone alright? Just take it and go."

"We're not after money, dear. You could give us literally everything you have and it wouldn't be enough." Michael finally took a step into the bathroom. "If we were looking for money, we'd just sell you like most of the others we've picked up. No, Indigo, we want you."

"We were planning to wait until night to take you," Lee explains, "Though Michael got a little excited and let out the surprise a bit early. No worries though, that just gives us some more time to get to know each other before we make our moves."

Indigo's mind was reeling. This had to be a nightmare, right? Michael took a few more steps into the room, kicking the scissors away as he stepped closer to his target. Indigo watched their only weapon slide away across the floor. Shit, they hadn't even realized they had dropped it.

They looked up at Michael who was looming over them now, then to Lee, still standing by the door. Yeah, this was a nightmare. It had to be. All they could do now was hope they woke up soon.

tags uwu @whumpsday

[obsessedwithegos]

Whump prompt: Bluffing

Whumper presses the barrel of their gun against whumpee’s head. “Why shouldn’t I just kill you right now?” Whumpee, who’s already bruised and bloodied, looks at whumper “Because you’re bluffing.” Whumper pulls the hammer back on the gun “Want to try that again?”

[when-the-feet-hurt]

cw: drug mention, guns, murder

“It’s really amazing how far technology has advanced, isn’t it? I mean, just one hundred years ago, we were fighting with rifles and bayonets and had to reload them every second, but now all we have to do is shove a magazine inside one and pull the trigger, and bam! It fires a bullet! And the crazy thing is, this isn’t even that powerful! Especially when you compare it to things like assault rifles and machine guns. I wish I could get my hands on one of those, but it’s impossible with my record,” Whumper sighs. A smile quickly replaces the dejected look on their face as they hold up a bullet, running their finger around the tip. “At least I have these, though. They’re not too bad, and they’re a lot of fun.”

Whumpee glares at Whumper, face contorted with contempt as they inch away from Whumper and closer to the dirty wall. Their chest rises and falls with their shallow breaths. Are they even getting enough air?

Eh. That won’t matter in five minutes. “Say, Whumpee, do you know what this bad boy is?”

Still scowling, Whumpee shakes their head.

Whumper claps their hands together, bouncing around like a child. “Oh, great! I’m so happy I get to explain this to you, Whumpee!” They kneel down to eye level with Whumpee, holding the bullet just centimeters away from their eyes. “This is a hollow point bullet, Whumpee. It’s called that because of the little dip at the point—though I guess you could’ve figured that out on your own, huh? Weren’t you, like, a really good student? And didn’t you go to that snobby university up north? Oops, that’s not the point. Anyway, the purpose of this bad boy is to expand inside of the target, rather than exiting out of it like a regular bullet would. Causes a lot of damage. I’m glad I got my hands on some! The guy at the shop was kinda hesitant about selling them to me, and for a moment, I wanted to shoot him with one, but he sold them to me in the end, so he’s safe for now, I guess. Ah, I went off-topic again, didn’t I? Sorry. Anyway, the point is, these babies cause a lot of damage, and I’m so excited to try them out with you!”

“Fucking weirdo,” Whumpee spits.

“You’re so judgemental.” Whumper frowns, sticking out their lower lip and pouting. “Other people can have their silly little interests, but I can’t have mine? What a society we live in.”

Whumpee rolls their eyes. “Yeah. Society is so irrational for not letting freaks like you torture people for fun.”

“Freaks like me?” Whumper echoes, tapping their chin and looking up at the ceiling. “So politicians and celebrities can be as disgusting as they want, but whenever your average Joe does the same things, it’s suddenly wrong? Should I have gotten more money before indulging in my hobby? Maybe I should’ve become famous or a state representative or something?”

“Holy shit. Did your mom smoke crack when she was pregnant with you?”

Whumper narrows their eyes. “You know, that’s exactly why you’re locked up in here—that mouth of yours.”

Whumpee smirks. “Oh? Do you have mommy issues or—”

Whumper shoves the barrel of the gun into Whumpee’s mouth, and the safety clicks off as Whumper pulls on Whumpee’s curly brown hair. “Y’know, I was going to talk with you a bit longer before I used this, but if you’re that eager to get shot, who am I to complain?”

Tears stream out of Whumpee’s eyes. They shake their head.

“It’s kinda late for begging now, don't you think? Besides, I’m really itching to try these things out.” Whumper curls their finger around the trigger. “Maybe you should’ve thought before speaking.”

[a-muzzled-hound]

"Gun to temple"

WHUMPTOBER, DAY 3

trigger warning!: Gun/Gun violence, robbery, threats, street crime/violence, manhandling, hysterical setting

  “F- I’M SORRY!--” An strong hook strike went to miles side the moment he spoke even more than he already had, he was getting stuck up by three guys, they definitely weren't younger than him, but not exactly that older either, at most a 4 year difference. With pretty covered faces.

His jaw would bring him to the sidewalk once again, after a strong hook punch, falling right to the payment, covering his face pretty much the moment he fell taking a strong hit to his side, to the point there's a strong chance it’ll start bruising soon. 

   In miles luck, true luck, he was already beaten half to death, just doing his very best to stay awake.. He, really, didn’t want to die. And for someone who found little to no meaning in life, this is really waking him up, and that there might be some, SOME! Meaning to life, but the gift of living to tomorrow isn’t a promise, an guranteene you just get. With the thoughts of “Will I die?”, “What will happen?”, “I don’t have any fucking money on me” occuring, with every free breathe he had, which was pretty brief everytime, usually getting cut off by an kick, stomping, and getting back up forcibly, by an rough and violent yanking of his hair. 

   Not to mention, it was an storming night, rain pouring and flooding the cities streets almost from how heavy the rain was pouring down. And the reason of why miles was out there in the first place, is because he frequents the cities streets more at night, always enjoying the scenery, silence, not getting bothered, bumped into. He enjoyed being invisible and unbothered, so, so much. 

Of course he was aware of the cities crime rate, and how violent and graphic some of the crimes got at times, with reading the newspaper being a hobby of his. But, he never really took it that serious til now, never really seeing any sketchy people when he would walk the streets, always going alone. Which can really explain alot of the situation he’s in right now.

-

-

One of the three guys would get down on his knees, getting his jeans wet in oppose to the dirty puddles that’d start to appear in the threatening alleyway, grabbing ahold onto miles t shirts collar, with his hands clamming up even more, holding on to it with both of his hands, shouting right at him      “Would you JUST, STOP LYING TO US! YOU HAVE SOMETHING VALUABLE ON YOU, TRUST ME, I KNOW!” 

— 

“SH-SHIT! I REALLY DON’T MAN! PLEASE!!” Miles would shout out defending himself, verbally of course. Him against 3 slightly older guys, not a good combo, plus, he really didn’t have all that much muscle on him, having more of a lean built body type

Of course his face got an straight punch across it "I KNOW YOU'RE LYING! YOU EITHER GIVE IT TO US, OR YOU'LL END UP DEAD!" The guy would of course be yelling, 1, to interrogate and possibly scare Miles to just give it to him, 2. The rain would just cover it from how heavy and loud it was getting with some thunder even occuting. 

"PLEASE MAN!!" 

BAM!!!! 

BOM! a bloody nose, with him getting dropped to the puddle, getting an strong straight forward kick at the left side of his ribs, with his bloody nose leaking into the puddle as his arms fleed to his side hugging it, yelping loudly through his hysterical tears streaming down his face, which just blended in with the rain

The sounds of an pistol getting cocked out came rather quickly right after the kick, and what gave away with it being an gun with the guy reloading it. Miles eyes would peel back at the guy, who just RELOADED a pistol! 

   The other two guys would walk over to miles, just standing in the rain, so of course they're drenched and just would like to hurry this up. Grabbing miles up by his armpits, sort of just yanking him instead. 

    Miles would of course try elbowing them, missing them every time, with his elbows unable to reach, with his arms just getting tightened even more in response. 

His arms were suddenly turned to be tightly squeezed behind his back, with them constantly losing some of their grip to tighten it even more, from the rain. 

The gun would get aimed and with the pistols muzzle getting pressed against miles side temple with his eyes widening, with his left one being bruised badly with a cut right where his eyebrow would be at, from earlier. With tears hysterically flushing out his eyes, and some snot dripping from his nose just to give you the idea of how uncontrolled his emotions were. 

The man would of course load the chamber of the gun with one of the bullets he had put in merely 2 minutes ago. Re pressing it against miles temple, tapping it bluntly against his temple

"Where.IS.IT?"

Miles would finally give up.. He really did have something valuable, it was one of his fathers golden watches, which he had left behind, with his father walking out on his mother, leaving her a single mother as a result. So of course he'd keep that as maybe.. A Remembrance of his father everyday as his breathes were hysterical barely getting out.. He really, really, didn't want to give it.. But he really didn't want to die.. 

"FIIUN-FA-FOK-OKUgH" miles had coughed out that last part, looking down now with the man's tone turning into an much more cold one approach "Where?!" With the man looking at one of the two guys holding him 

Miles would stammer out "C-BR-BRA!" He'd deeply feel emabrass by that– wearing an sports bra, he wasn't trans or anything, he just was recommended one to wear by his mother to carry small things, wads of cash, an picture, anything small 

Of course the guys looked confused tugging miles backwards, in an aggressive manner to see if he was fucking with them, and right now?! "S-SEFI-I-UGH! OUS-! SERIOUS!" Of course the guy with the gun would pull forward with less aggressive on miles drenched shirt collar, drenched with rain and some light blood staining, with it being a white shirt accompanied by a coat, well- once was accompanied by a coat. 

  Of course, as NOT expected, there was an Nike sports bra with an outline of an watch, with the sports bra now being tugged forward and snatching the golden watch out of miles sports bra, pain just struck miles heart like 10 bricks got dropped on it, all at once when the golden watch was snatched

"It could have been SO, SO MUCH EASIER! Shit head!" The man would of course set off a gun shot in the it, just to cause an flinched reaction to miles

A Scream came from miles lungs flinching violently backwards, barely being able to see anything through the blurs, slowly opening his eyes, looking at the man, and once he did he got dropped to his knees on the cold payment of the alleyway as the men ran off. 

   Of course miles would hold his chest wailing to no body.. Not for help.. Just, to himself. 

[anabanana-romanova]

I genuinely should not be trusted with my blorbos... but hey, third chapter of whumptober! (Yes I know I'm behind, shut up)

[whumpbees]

Whumpees getting their head tilted up by a weapon! A sword, or knife, or gun.. right below the chin. Listen to their breath hitch as they make eye contact

[pastabow]

how awful a fate it is, to be the one that survives.

[whumpy-daydreams]

"You're not going to kill me. You're having too much fun for that."

Whumper pulled out a gun and pointed it straight at whumpee's forehead. "Are you sure about that?"

But whumpee didn't flinch. Instead they leaned forward, pressing their forehead into the barrel. "Go on then. Do it."

Whumper paused. And cocked the gun. But still whumpee didn't express fear. Their eyes were full of determination and challenge, lips twitching into a small smile despite their set jaw.

The seconds ticked past in slow motion, each staring at the other playing a dangerous game of chicken. Whumper caved first, dropping the gun to their side.

"Coward." Whumpee hissed

[anigst]

Detective Conan - Ep 118

[ohtobeleah]

Dream A Little, Dream Of Me // Bradley Bradshaw

Summary: How are you supposed to sleep when all you see when you close your eyes is your dead and soaking wet husband?

Warnings: Mentions of Insomnia. Insomniac!reader. Bradley Bradshaw x F!reader. Death. Mentions of loss. Platonic Jake Seresin.

Word Count: 1.7k

Author Note: Day Two of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Insomnia. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Aviators can’t be lazy, the risks are just too great. The second they stop pushing themselves, the second they stop focusing, something terrible always happens. Something that you never see coming always happens and it shakes you to your very core. 

Like losing the love of your life. 

“When’s the last time you slept?” You could hear Jake murmur at you from across your bedroom. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest assessing the mess that was your bedroom. The bedroom up until three weeks prior you shared with your husband, Rooster. “Y/n?” Jake tried to grab your attention yet again but all you did was continue to look out the window—watching as the rain fell outside in the depth of the night. Illuminated by the solar lights that you and Rooster had hung for the fall season. Halloween pumpkins were strewn across the awning, in all honesty they’d probably stay there till after Christmas. You couldn’t find it in yourselves to take them down now. 

Bradley always did enjoy the days when it rained. When he was a kid he hated rainy days. But the more he grew up, moved into adulthood, excelled in his career and fell in love with you, he enjoyed the rain a little bit more and more. All because he got the day off to spend with you. His wife. The absolute love of his life. It had been your first rainy day without him. 

“That’s it, I’m taking you to see a doctor.” Jake sighed in defeat as he made his way across the room towards where you sat with your knees pulled up to your chest and your cheek resting on your knee. “Rooster wouldn’t want you to waste away at his expense.” 

You knew why Jake was doing this, why he was being overbearing and fiercely protective of your mental stability. He’d promised Bradley, your Bradley, that he’d take care of you. Whatever he had to do. It was a locker room promise—the type of promise you make when your almost certain someone isn’t coming back. 

“If anything happens to me, take care of my girl Hangman.” Jake could still hear Rooster's voice ringing in his mind like a bell that had been dinged in silence. “Don’t leave her hanging, look after her for me.” But Jake Seresin was only one man who could only do so much for a woman who didn’t want to be helped. 

And that locker room promise was made years before Rooster ever suspected a thing. 

“Hey, come on Y/n, look at me?” Jake begged as he sat down beside you. “Please?” When you crained your neck the other way to face where Jake sat, he sent you a soft smile that you barely recognised as his own. “You’re not taking care of yourself, and unfortunately for you that’s not an option you have.” 

“My husbands dead.” Your voice was rash, like you hadn’t spoken in days. You didn’t do an awful lot these days. “Every time I close my eyes I see him—“ Jake didn’t speak, all he did was listen as he reached out to draw you closer into his chest as he let his back rest against the headboard. “He’s dead and everytime I close my eyes I see nothing but him.” 

Jake couldn’t begin to imagine what you must have been going through, Rooster was his best friend, his wingman—and his heart hurt every damn day he wasn’t around. So to even begin to understand the magnitude of your grief was something Jake knew he’d never be able to understand. 

But then you told Jake the truth—the truth about why you wouldn’t sleep. Why you wouldn’t close your eyes and allow yourself a little reprieve. To see the man you missed so much and his blood ran cold. It felt like shards of ice were coursing through his veins and in that moment Jake didn’t know how to respond. 

“He keeps telling me that he’s cold.” Exhaustion laced your words as you let yourself rest in Jake's warm embrace. “That he’s so cold and can’t get warm.” Jake was there, he remembered the accident all too well. “Everytime I see him he’s soaking wet Jake and everytime I wake up I swear the floor where he was just standing is still damp.” 

It didn’t matter what time of day it was or if it was the middle of the night—if you let your eyes close for even a second, all you saw was him. Your husband, begging you to join him. 

“It’s just your grief Y/n.” Jake tried to console you the best he could. “Your mind is playing cruel tricks on you because of how tired you are.” You knew it was the truth. “You need to rest, you can’t avoid sleep for this long without being affected.” Jake held you close, he had every intention of making sure you were okay after Bradley's death. He’d promised to take care of you. “It’s not healthy, if not for yourself you gotta sleep for Rooster—he wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.” 

“He keeps asking me to join him.” Jake's heart stopped inside his chest because as much as the fact you weren’t sleeping was a problem, that—that one sentence alone was cause for concern. “He begs me to, says that he needs me.” Your whimpers hummed against Jake's chest as he kissed the top of your head and inhaled the scent of your shampoo. 

God of all the people this had to happen to why on god's green earth did it have to be you? Why did it have to be you that lost the love of your life, and why was Jake now slowly losing his. 

“And the worst part is that I’m not strong enough to say I can’t.” 

“I think it’s time that you talk to someone, someone who can help you through this.” The first thing Jake was going to do once he’d gotten you to sleep was to call Phoenix for the name of the doctor she saw back in June. You needed to see someone. “But for now? I’m gonna stay right here, and you’re gonna close your eyes—because you need to sleep Y/n.” 

“I miss my husband.” Again you ignored the pleading tone in Jake's voice that seemed to be the only reason he spoke these days. “So much it hurts.” 

“I miss him too.” Jake cooed as he held you tight, held you close, held your head against his chest and cried with you. He let you curl into his side and tug at his shirt as you screamed and cried out your husband's name until you swore your throat was raw. “And he loved you so much—“ Jake gently stroked your hair as he felt you settling into him. “He loved everything there is to possibly love you about you.” 

There are times in everyone’s lives when love really does conquer all. Exhaustion, sleep deprivation, insomnia. Anything. And then there are those times when it seems like love brings nothing but pain.

“I don’t know how to do any of this without him.” Your words were a little less strained as you settled into Jake's warm embrace. “I don’t know how to live a life after him, Hangman.” 

“How about we try and take it day by day? Together, we’ll try to figure out a way to get through, together—because I promised Rooster that I’d take care of you and I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” Jake didn’t press when you didn’t answer, but he knew by the staggered length of your small barely noticeable whimpers that you were losing the battle against your will to stay awake. 

“You go to sleep, go see your husband and I will be right here when you wake up okay?” Jake cooed as he continued to stroke your hair behind your ear. “Tell him off for me, for getting distracted, for letting—“ Jake held his tongue, he was about to tell you, to tell Bradley, he shouldn’t have been so distracted up there. 

But then again, Rooster was the one who confronted Jake in the first place. It was Rooster who shoved him in the hallway of the carrier they were doing over water training on. Rooster was the one who accused Jake of being in love with his wife. 

And Jake was the one who’d told him that yes, yes he was. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Jake woke with a gasp when he realised he’d fallen asleep with you in Bradley’s bed. He should have known better than to get himself into this situation, but he’d promised—he’d always promise Rooster that he’d take care of you if anything happened. 

He just never thought that day would come, and that it would technically be his fault too. 

But the more Jake came to he realised he was alone. Alone in your bedroom that up until three weeks ago you shared with your husband. 

“Y/n?” Jake frowned as he looked around and sat up. Surely you hadn’t gone too far, surely he hadn’t been asleep for more than an hour. “Y/n?” Again Jake frowned as he swung his legs over the edge of the side of the bed his best friend used to sleep on. 

When Jake's feet hit the carpet his entire body turned to stone as his bare feet felt the water that had seeped into the carpet. Cold, icy water that took the breath right out of his lungs. 

“I took her with me so you couldn’t ever have her.” Bradley’s voice made Jake jump almost into the stratosphere. He was standing right there at the edge of the bed with you asleep in his sopping wet arms. “You won’t ever get her, won’t ever know what it’s like to be loved by her—“ 

It was the shouting that filled the bedroom that woke Jake up, his own shouting as he wrapped you tighter in his arms before you had a chance to jolt awake out of his embrace. He’d fallen asleep—only for what felt like a few minutes. He hadn’t been sleeping well either, but now that he’d seen what you were experiencing? What had been keeping you awake, he understood. For all the wrong reasons. 

“You saw him too.” You mumbled against Jake as your eyes remained wide and awake, watching as the water pooled in the carpet beside your bed. 

“Didn’t you?” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

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"Yes." | “Kneel.” | Best of Three | Correspondence | Appraisal | Collapse

Six guys in a row, on their knees, blindfolded and gagged. Major seethes, shifting his weight on throbbing knees. How much goddamn longer does he have to wait for something to happen? He caught a glimpse of the other sorry fucks kneeling beside him, as he was forced down to sit on his heels. He tried to buck up, and only got pistol whipped for it, so. He’ll just fucking wait.

“Are you going to behave?” Says someone vaguely in front of him, off to the left. Talking down at one of the kneeling guys. Major cocks his head to listen as a gag is pulled out of someone’s mouth.

“Fuck you.”

A small, mechanical click. Then something like thunder cracks. Major jerks, trying to throw himself to the floor, heart lodged in his throat. There was a flash of light, he thinks, as a fist cinches in his hair and forces him back upright. A gunshot. It was a gunshot. He doesn’t hear any groaning or screaming, just… that’s a body slumping to the ground. Heavy, dull, lifeless.

A shoe scuffing on the floor, and that voice again. “Are you going to behave?”

A gag is pulled free, and a breathless, nervous voice answers. “Uh - yeah. Yeah, sure.” It’s right beside Major, this voice. He can all but feel the guy shivering beside him, inches away. He smells like sweat and stale clothes. Major chews on the cloth in his mouth, listening hard. A click, metal on metal.

Another deafening crack, and the flash of light is brighter this time. Major’s whole body tries to flee from the noise against his will. It’s only when he’s yanked back again, his scalp burning, that he registers the hot, sticky spray that hit his face a second ago. He doesn’t have to hear the body falling to know that there is now a dead body crumpled beside him.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Someone is pulling the gag out of his mouth. Normally he would be cursing up a storm, demanding answers, calling these creeps every twisted insult he could string together. But for once, Major holds still, and holds his tongue. Hot metal presses to his forehead, the point of pressure small and haunting.

“Are you going to behave?”

All thoughts leave his head. There is no decision to submit. He cannot see, isn’t allowed to move, and the gun to his head makes his response come out as instinctively as a breath. “Yes,” He answers, firm in the knowledge that it is the right answer, and hushed in mortal terror. He’ll behave, whatever that means. There’s no other choice.

The cooling metal disappears. Another footstep, off to his right now. The kneeling guy on that side is barely breathing, taking in tiny gasps that probably starve him of oxygen.

Major feels dizzy himself. He wasn’t planning on caving this fucking early. Planned to be a stubborn asshole, maybe get tortured for a few weeks, or make some daring escape and kill a few fuckers on his way out. But he can tell already, from the tension in the air. From how fast those guys’ mistakes got them wiped out. He’s gotta learn fast, here, or his last thought will be that he should’ve behaved better.