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solar-wing · 1 month

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⚣ Paralyzed 🕷️

⚣🕷️ A/N → so the yandere/whump fic starring our very own Miguel O'Hara becomes a reality. watching his scenes back in the movie really gets you thinking. Either way definitely will be doing more content with him. WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | Yandere Miguel O'Hara | Darling Male Reader | Reader is Spiderman in their dimension | Abduction/Kidnapping | Forced Paralysis |Bondage | Emotional & Mental Manipulation |

⚣🕷️ Summary → He should've seen the signs. Should have paid attention to the warnings. If he'd been aware of what he was capable of, he could've been prepared, or at least gotten away safely. Then again, an obsession was something people didn't just give up easily, especially Miguel O'Hara.

⚣🕷️ Words → 2.6K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🕷️

The signs were clear from the beginning.

All he could think about as his body lay limp was how he missed, or rather ignored every single sign that led to this. Every red flag that was warning him of this moment as the cause of his current paralyzed state kneeled behind him, propping his body up while fastening and securing the scarlet-red web bonds around his body.

“No more running. No more hiding. No volverás a escaparte de mí, cariño.”

The words were not met without merit. From his securely tied legs to the red webs wrapped around his body keeping his arms trapped to his sides, his captor took away any possibility of an escape attempt. He'd lost him once, and he would allow even the slightest chance of losing him again to exist in this dimension or any other for that matter.

It didn't stop him from trying though as he struggled, doing his best to will his body into healing and purging the paralytic toxins from his blood so he could regain his mobility. But, it was no use.

His fate had been set in stone as he was lifted off the ground and placed on the hulking man's shoulder, carried out of the motel room he’d been hiding staying in, the last view of his freedom slipping away farther and farther. Now, it was back to a life of captivity and restrictions all around him, bound to someone he would never love, but who would never not love him.

Had Y/N known Miguel O’Hara, aka Spiderman 2099, would have turned out to be an obsessive and demented mental case, determined to live out his failed love life through him, he'd have thought twice before accepting the Spider's invitation to join his team. Heck, he never would've even showed up to that damn fight with that anomaly on his Earth all that time ago that led to all this.

*13 Months Ago*

Y/N could hear the static noise from the police scanner that was in his book bag, ears perking at the voice coming on the other side detailing an incident or attack at Madison Square Garden, where his dad and other police were working security detail for an event. From the description, it sounded like Kraven, only Y/N couldn't think of a reason why he would attack such a massive event when his usual goal was always to capture him.

However, when Y/N arrived on the scene after getting the police and his dad out of harm's way, he was surprised to see that whoever the Kraven that he knew was not the Kraven attacking the event center. In fact, he wasn't even sure this was Kraven, though he had the same attire. This guy was massive, built like a giant, and dressed like a caveman or Neanderthal.

He apparently shared similar abilities to the hunter he knew, able to track him and move fast, but unlike his usual counterpart, the one in front of him seemed to be stronger. And it would seem he knew him too or at least another version of him if the way he started screaming "Spider! Spider! Spider," over and over again, switching his focus from attacking random attendees and venue staff to now trying to catch him.

Of course, different person, with different tactics, ones Y/N was not used to as he leaped, dodged, and fought with the primate Kraven in the event center, the guy seemingly trying less to straight up kill him and more trying to capture him. Maybe not that different from his Kraven at all.

After some more time and failed attempts, the primate hunter seemed to realize he wouldn't be able to catch him or his web the way he was trying and instead changed tactics, making a break for the door. Panicking at the thought of this guy getting loose in his city, he without thinking rationally went after him only to fall right into hunter's trap when he found himself getting tackled into a wall after the guy jumped out of his hiding spot when he realized his lure worked.

His mind was fuzzy as the hunter held him against the wall by his neck, his feet not touching the ground. He was struggling to breathe and was trying to free his wrists from the tight grip they were being held in.

"Caught you, Spider," the hunter chuckled, squeezing tighter, his large fingers digging into the flesh of his neck as he lifted him off the wall and held him in the air. Y/N's eyes were wide with fear, his hands holding on the wrists of the hunter as he struggled to breathe and keep himself up.

Suddenly, he was over the hunter's shoulder, his vision blurry from the lack of oxygen and the rapid movement.

"Let me go!" He heard a raspy voice shout, and it took him a minute to register that it was his own. He was kicking and fighting, but the hunter held him tightly, not allowing him any chance of escape.

The hunter walked slowly through the empty hallways of the arena as the sound of police sirens rang outside, seemingly overwhelmed by all the noises around him but still looking for something. "Den. Home. This not home," he grumbled, his voice deep and low.

"No kidding," He mumbled, continuing his struggle as he was carried.

The hunter's hand gripped the back of his knees, squeezing slightly in warning. "Find den. Go home."

When they made it to the stadium center, Kraven stood at the top of a staircase looking around while the Spider looked for a way out. While he was looking, he found himself abruptly, on the ground and no longer being held by the hunter, who seemed to be having some uncontrollable, tweaking moment.

Weird, but convenient until the Hunter grabbed him again before he could web away to a safe distance. Suddenly, just behind where they came from, something bright and wide appeared in the middle of the path, swirling with colors, like a portal.

"What the..." He didn't get a chance to finish before the hunter turned around to also observe the phenomenon, a loud whirring coming from it before a red and blue figure suddenly shot out of the portal, tackling the primate Kraven, causing him to drop the Spider again.

Serves him right.

When Y/N made his way down to the floor, he came across his savior, standing up from the ground with a digital cape that dematerialized as he stood up to his full height. His head turned slightly to the approaching Spiderwing behind him cautiously.

"Okay, weird and spontaneous entrance aside, and thanks for the save, but who the heck are you?" Y/N asked.

"Classified," the man, Miguel said, his voice was gruff, and his demeanor overly serious and imposing.

Y/N held a hand to his chin, analyzing the man before him, "Blue Assassin?"

"No," the man replied.

"The Red Caped Crusader?"

"No, I'm–"

"Attitude Dracula?"

"No, stop–"

"Cyber Luchador?"

"No, I'm from a different dimension," Miguel interrupted, his irritation growing.

"A different dimension?" Y/N feigned shock, "Yeah, that's not as shocking as you think it is, big guy."

Miguel raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry, what? How are you not freaked out by this? I just came out of a dimensional portal in the middle of a public arena and you're not surprised?"

"Dude, I got bit by a radioactive spider, got superhuman abilities, and fight crazy idiots on a regular basis who come up with all sorts of hair-brained schemes. Plus, I watch a ridiculous amount of SCI-FI and supernatural shows and movies. Different dimensions are really not as plot-twisting as you think it is. Now, back to the important questions...Emo Daffy?"

"Not funny," The man interjected, "My name is Miguel O'Hara, also known as Spiderman in my dimension like you are in yours."

"So, not Emo Daffy then? Huh, that name would've suited better," Y/N smirked, earning a glare from Miguel as he looked him over, noticing the watch on his wrist, "Oh, nice watch. That how you dimension hop?" He asked, reaching for the watch.

"It's much cooler than a watch," Miguel replied, reaching his wrist back to keep the smaller Spider at bay.

"Yikes, sensitive much? Well, nice to meet you, Miguel. But, there's a confused and brutish caveman hunter probably stomping around, that I should get back to dealing with, so if you don't mind," He pointed toward the direction they came from.

"From what I saw before I came in, better you stay out of the way.. I'll take it from here," Miguel responded, not so subtly shading him for his earlier 'position' with the hunter, who speaking of, was slowly creeping up behind the red-and-blue masked Spider.

"No problem, knock yourself out," Y/N said leaning to the side.

"Huh, why are you saying it like that?"

Y/N stepped to the side as a very pissed-off hunter charged and tackled him from behind, chuckling a little when Miguel yelled at him for not being funny before going to help.

With the added backup now (not that he needed it), Y/N could better focus his attacks now that the hunter's full attention was on him. And since his sudden new partner seemed to know more about this than he did, he got a little more context.

This version of Kraven was from a dimension where they indeed still lived like primates or cavemen, but still had their own developed societies. That world's version of Spiderman was this Kraven's target, that part remained consistent.

However, the reasons he was trying to capture the Spider may have been a little different than what Y/N was expecting. Suddenly, he found himself a bit more grateful for Emo Daffy's appearance.

But, despite their initial introduction, the two Spiders were able to work well together, and with this Kraven having no experience against their weapons and abilities, especially Miguel's, they were able to take him down fairly quickly. Y/N had missed the part where the Spiderman from 2099 used a more special ability to incapacitate the hunter, making it easier to handle him since he couldn't move.

After Miguel had properly secured the hunter, he used the same watch Y/N was ogling earlier to open another portal. Before he left, he delivered some unexpected news to the Earth-6998 Spider.

"Well, that's that. Nice working with you, Spider. Try not to almost get captured next time," he said, in a sarcastic tone.

"Can't help it that I'm such a prize in their eyes," Y/N said.

Despite his joking tone, an air of suspense could be felt by the smaller Spider. Y/N couldn't tell due to the mask, but there was a quick, almost fleeting moment where he could feel Miguel's gaze on him, staring him down. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Yeah, you are," he finally said.

Though, it was definitely plausible that he could've said that in a completely unserious, sarcastic manner as he'd been doing the entire time they'd spent fighting the hunter who was currently hanging over his shoulder (ironic), it didn't feel like it. There was something else there, a hint of emotion that Y/N couldn't pinpoint.

"Yeah, we'll see you around, I guess. Thanks for the help," Y/N said.

"Hold on," the older Spider interjected, "I know you just met me, but have you ever wondered exactly how many others like you are out there?"

"Like me? You mean other spiders? I mean, yeah sure. Pretty sure everyone has had that thought at some point," the younger man joked, "What's your point?"

Hence, the beginning of a new journey in the young Spiderwing's life, and the first warning sign ignored.

Miguel decided to take the scenic route home, wanting to enjoy the relieving feeling of finally having his love back in his arms safe. There was nothing wrong with him wanting to relish in his victory a little.

He did have to bite him again when Y/N's healing had managed to rid enough of his venom from his blood, giving him enough control back over his body to fight against his hold. Despite the warnings Miguel tried to give him, Y/N wouldn't listen, still trying to free himself, even if it wouldn't accomplish anything due to his restrained state.

And while it did hurt him to see his love fighting so hard to get away from him, Miguel couldn't deny the pleasure he got from forcing him into defeat. When the young Spider knocked himself a little too hard into the side of Miguel's head, the Earth-982 reveled in sick joy grabbing his prize off the ground, pressing him against the brick surface, and forcing his head to the side so he could sink his venomous fangs into the delicate skin once more.

He only injected a small dose, not wanting to leave any permanent effects on him, but he enjoyed the feeling of the smaller body squirming against his own until it eventually went limp once more. The sounds of his moans and whines as he bit and kissed his skin, tasting his flesh, was a delicious symphony to his ears.

"If I were you Y/N, I would quit it with the defiant behavior and escape attempts. I may have been easy on you since I was so relieved at finding you safe, but don't think I'm above handling you with more forceful methods. Especially considering my unaddressed grief from your long disappearance. All that to say, no me presiones, cariño," Miguel whispered into his ear, a threat and a promise.

Miguel's elongated claws pressed into the helpless Spider's body, eliciting more whimpers from the paralyzed man. Even in his powerless state, the brawny Latino could feel the distress and panic from the smaller Spider, which accomplished nothing but turning him on.

He could've taken him right there in that alley. Could've forced him on his knees and fucked his mouth, or pressed his face against the wall and taken him from behind, his cries muffled against the cold bricks, the fabric of his suit torn to expose parts of his body from their earlier scuffle in his motel room.

He was already half-hard in his suit, his member twitching and aching to be released, missing the tight heat of his love's body. But, he was a patient man. He could wait until the time was right.

Miguel looked down into the orbs staring up at him in hatred and fear, feeling his gut twist unpleasantly at the sight. He do something about that in the future, vowing to earn his love's affection and respect, to make him happy, and to show him that the life he wanted to give him was worth the freedom and choices taken away.

But, for now, he was content to accept the docile and forced submission from the Spider, his expression in defeat but the defiant spirit in his eyes still there. He'd take care of that too in time.

Y/N stared up at the man towering above him, truly seeing him as the monster and villain that he hid from everyone around him. This was the real Miguel O'Hara, a sight that lived in his nightmares before and would continue to with this new memory burned into his mind for ages to come.

"Let's go, mi amor,” Miguel said, hoisting the paralyzed man onto his shoulder once more, "Nunca volverás a estar lejos de mí, mi amor."

☀️ | Miguel O'Hara/Spiderman 2099 | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

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ohtobeleah · 10 months

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Bruises // Jake Seresin

Chapter One: [Happily Ever Afters Don’t Exist]

Summary: A certain naval aviator shows up on your front doorstep right on cue. Because when the nightmares are too hard to handle on their own? You and Jake find solace in one another’s presence.

Word Count: 2.5k

Series Warnings: Heavy themes of violence, sexual assault, torture. 18+ content. Minors DNI. Mature themes. Being held in captivity. Hostage style situation. Main character death! Whump, Angst. Conversations that discuss antisocial & antisemitism views.

Author Note: THIS SERIES IS CONFRONTING, FICTIONAL, AND DEPICTS IMAGES OF TORTURE. DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT IF YOU BELIEVE THAT THIS SERIES WILL BE DETRIMENTAL TO YOUR MENTAL STABILITY. CURATE YOUR OWN TIMELINE.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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Sunday- August 13th 2023. Present Day

We all remember the bedtime stories of our childhoods. The shoe that fits Cinderella, the frog that turns into a prince, Sleeping Beauty is awakened with a kiss. Once upon a time and then they lived happily ever after.

Fairy tales—the stuff of dreams. The problem is, fairy tales don’t come true. It’s the other stories, the ones that begin with dark and stormy nights, and end in the unspeakable. It’s the nightmares that always seem to become reality.

You shot up from your spot in your bed trying to regulate your breathing from yet another nightmare, the nightmares you already lived through that your mind, body and soul couldn’t let go of, the overwhelming fear had triggered yet another panic induced asthma attack. Your inhaler sat close by on your bedside table.

You came to quickly realise after all that you’d been through that the person that invented the phrase ‘Happily Ever After’ Should have his ass kicked and kicked hard. Because ‘Happily Ever After’ Didn’t exist.

Sleep didn't come easy anymore, especially at night. Since you’d been on mandated medical leave you did your best to sleep during the day and stay awake all night, just to keep the voices in your head silent. It did little to curve the nightmares though, the sounds of tortuous screams that would send you into a dizzying fit of terrors until you realised you were safe. That you were home and that you were in your own bed, not on some dirty cell floor a million miles away with no hope of ever seeing your loved ones again.

A knock at your front door in the middle of the night would usually have your heart racing. People don't knock on peoples doors in the middle of the night, and if they do? Your mother always taught you not to answer unless you were expecting company.

As you padded over to your front door with a warm cup of peppermint tea in your hand, you had to wonder what one it was this time that brought the wounded soul to your doorstep. You opened your front door to reveal the very person you had actually been expecting for all the wrong reasons. He stood with his shoulders slumped in his grey sweats and an old longhorns T-shirt that looked worse than he did. Sad emerald green eyes met yours as he ran a nervous hand through his sandy locks, hell, this never got any easier.

Jake Seresin showing up on your doorstep at one in the morning had become a thing. On the nights he wasn't dragging his tail up your three porch steps, you were banging against his courtyard gate. Both as desperate for company as each other. Yet neither of you would admit you were struggling. But the unspoken was as loud as silence could ever be.

You’d both witnessed and experienced the unthinkable, unspeakable acts of violence that should have killed you both. But yet here you were, making him peppermint tea at one in the morning, trying to hide the fact whenever you looked at him all you saw was the way his body bled and bruised.

“What one was it this time?” You asked as you handed Jake the tea you'd made for him, having expected him any minute now. He still had bruises that littered his cheeks and eye socket. Doctors had reassured you that his broken jaw would heal in time, for someone with the gift of the gap not talking though was a difficult task. But being in an induced coma for the first week since being admitted helped the swelling a lot. He looked more like himself now.

Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin. The very embodiment of a human ken doll. He looked like the Jake you knew before the mission that nearly killed you both. Everyday that passed he looked less and less like the version of himself that would have said or done anything to keep you alive. That had done everything he could have.

“The one where they made me hurt you.” Jake mumbled as he stepped past the threshold of your humble abode and accepted the cup of warm peppermint tea you had made for him. He appreciated the warm sensation, it grounded him. “I get that one alot, whenever I close my eyes–” Jake paused as he drank in the sight of you. You looked healthier now. Brighter. Your eyes weren't so full of fear and your lip wasn't as split anymore. “All I see is you and how I couldn’t save you.”

You and Jake had shared all your darkest nightmares with one another, he was the only person who understood what you were going through, what you sounded like while your skin was cut and your bones were broken. He was the only one who understood when you told him your body didn’t feel like yours anymore. And you were the only one who understood what it was like to want to die just to feel peace. To escape hell. You’d seen the limits each other could tolerate, and you'd seen each other's breaking points. Neither of you could escape the burning guilt you held for each other. It was a bond that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.

With all the love you held for each other you’d both agreed now just wasn’t the right time. A relationship seemed like the worst thing to jump head first into after experiencing hell on earth. But with that mutual understanding came a deep hesitation to believe any of it was ever real to begin with.

“Well, you did.” You reminded Jake as his eyes wandered down to where your hand and wrist still remained in a cast. He could still remember the way you screamed out in utter agony when the hammer smashed your bones, how you looked when infection took over. “I’m here because of you.” He didn’t reply straight away as he took a sip of the warm peppermint tea you’d made for him. He watched silently as you closed your front door—making sure to lock it and switch off the patio light. It was the middle of the night after all.

Jake Seresin was a wreck, you knew that much. The people who knew him better than most would often tell you he was a shell of his former cocky, egomaniacal self. They all missed that version of Jake—the one who could give anyone a headache just by his charm alone, but was present and aware.

But the Jake you knew was just as scared and bruised as you. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, the mutual midnight visits were enough of an explanation, and you didn’t push. He didn’t push either. The two of you just existed, trying to navigate through the trauma of the situation the two of you found yourselves in. Marked confidential and sealed indefinitely. Plagued with the sounds of each other’s tortuous screams.

“You were there because of me too.” Jake finally replied, his voice was soft and barely audible. “You were my responsibility.” He bowed his head in shame, regret had followed him everywhere since the two of you had gone down. “I failed you.”

It was your turn to listen and take in the heaviness of Jake's admission. An admission you’d heard a hundred times before and would surely hear a thousand times more. It was Jake's truth, his version of reality.

“You didn’t fail me, Seresin.” You sighed softly as you walked your way around to stand before him. Jake looked at you with so much guilt, so much anguish in his eyes. Those deep green emerald eyes. “Because we’re home, we’re safe, you’re standing here drinking my peppermint tea and I’m about to reach up and kiss you—“ You placed your hand on the back of Jake's neck, slowly, tentatively. “Because you didn’t fail me, you saved me.” Jake knew that was true to some extent, you were holding on for dear life when rescue came. Without them, without Jake begging you to stay, you probably wouldn’t have.

“Please—“ Jake whispered as tears fell from his lash line. “Just one.” You did. It wasn’t hard touching Jake, or loving him or kissing him or doing anything that made you feel connected. If it were anyone else you’d struggle. But not with Hangman.

It was the softest of kisses, the most fleeting of things, but you did what you said you were going to do and reached up to kiss Jake's lips.

Jake raised his eyebrows in reaction to your softness but soon closed his eyes knowing he was safe and pulled you closer by the small of your waist with just one hand. He still held the peppermint tea in the other. Savouring every single moment, every fleeting touch you were willing to give him.

“You didn’t fail me Jake, I’m standing right here, because you kept me going—you kept me alive.” You knew exactly what Jake needed to hear as he let his forehead rest against yours. You cupped his cheeks to catch the tears that had begun to fall down his slightly bruised cheeks. You caught Jake's tears with the pads of your thumbs, just like you’d done when he was covered in his own blood.

“You gave me hope and we’re okay Jake, we’re okay.” All Jake did was nod with closed eyes. He needed your gentle touch to ground him, keep him from falling into the dark depths of the hole he was standing on the edge of.

“We’re okay.” The same hole that you had teetered on the edge of. “We’re okay.” Jake repeated a few times as he kept his eyes closed. He was afraid that when he opened his eyes you’d be gone. “We’re okay.” He whispered just one more time before he opened his eyes, you were still there, his weapon’s system office, his responsibility, his one and only guiding light. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” You pressed your lips together in a fine line before you stepped away. Heading towards the kitchen where you’d left your own cup of tea. “I’m glad you’re here actually.” You sheepishly admitted. “I was going to try and get some rest but couldn’t fall asleep alone.” Jake knew what you were asking of him—he’d asked you a fair few times himself. But again, it was all coded.

“I’m pretty tired, could use an hour or two.” He replied with half a smile that only graced half his face. Jake followed you over to the hallway he knew led down to your bedroom. Completely lit so that not an ounce of darkness could shroud your recovery process. “I’ll stay.”

“Thanks.” You looked up at Jake as he looked at you, both as broken as each other. He still saw the uncertainty in your eyes, the fear that your time had left you with. Jake could argue you had it worse than he did, but you’d say it wasn’t a competition. “I think I sleep easier with you here than when you’re not.”

“If I wasn’t so haunted by your screams Hollywood, I’d be flattered.” Jake teased as he took a sip of his tea. The tea you’d made just for him in the mug you knew he liked. It was easy to joke about small details, it’s how you and Jake got by, but the sad reality was it was all true. There was a time where Jake Seresin would have taken that compliment and turned it into something more sexually explicit. But now? Even when the two of you did embark on showing one another what it was like to touch the stars and all Jake saw was you in that cell screaming for those men to stop. In his nightmares as he’d lay beside you he felt like one of them.

Jake caught himself falling into a k-hole of thoughts as he took another sip of his tea to bring him back down to earth. “But yeah, I sleep better with you by my side too.”

It was weird going from being so sure of every word Jake spoke in the time you were held together, to all these ‘Thinks’ and ‘Pretty Sures.’ But you knew the ‘I love yous’ shared and the admiration admitted were all just tactics to keep each other alive. At least on Jake’s behalf you assumed. For you? Every word of it was real. Every plea for Jake to keep his eyes open was real. Every cry of mercy for them to stop beating him was real. Every ‘take me’ every ‘I love you’ every ‘don’t you dare die on me, not now.’ Was real. Every ‘when we make it home, I’ll never let you go.’ Was real.

“Good.” You yawned, exhausted from all the sleepless nights and half ass attempts during the day. “Because I’m exhausted.”

“Feels like we’re on a train that’s going like two hundred miles an hour without any breaks.” Jake began walking with you towards your bedroom. A bedroom he’d become so familiar in he knew where you kept your socks and what corner you favoured for dirty laundry. “And as much as you wanna stop that train we can’t get off, for some fucking reason we just can’t get off.” He continued as you pushed your door open, still lit from almost every light you owned. “Wouldn’t it though—wouldn’t it just be so nice to step off onto the platform for a minute?” Jake asked as you took his tea and placed it up on the dresser beside yours. Coaxing him forward and towards your bed by his hand.

“It would be nice.” You tried not to cry.” “It would be so nice.” You knew what Jake meant, what the platform was a metaphor for. You couldn’t say you hadn’t thought about it—the sweet release death would bring. “But I’m not quitting on you now Hangman.” You held back tears as you kissed Jake again, this time with more passion and fire in your intention and this time he kissed you back.

The back of your knees hit the side of your bed and you were down, with Jake falling with you. It was the closest to love the pair of you would get. Relearning what gentle romance was. Relearning to understand that not every touch was rough.

“So you don’t get to quit on me.” You reminded him sternly. It was just the trauma talking. You’d give anything to go back to the way things were before, when the two of you hardly spoke. When the pair of you bickered and argued and didn’t engage in pity sex out of an existential obligation to one another just to feel something besides hopelessness and pain. “Because we made it out, we got out and we survived—“ You cried into his mouth as tears of his own dripped off his cheeks down onto yours. “And we’ll survive whatever else is left to come, okay, you and me?”

Jake didn’t give you an answer, but he nodded silently before he took your lips hostage again. His hands were gentle against you—afraid that he’d hurt healing wounds. But he could never. He could never hurt you as much as they did.

“Just you and me Hollywood."

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Tags 🏷️ @americaarse @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @athenabarnes @imaginecrushes @whyareallnamesgone @mjmaximoffbarnes @amiets2 @mads-weasley @gabbyella @ephemeralninon @xoxabs88xox @pedrohoe04 @starkleila @je-suis-prest-rachel @clancycucumber230 @maisie-rebloging-blog @callsign-barbell @obiwankenobis-lap @some-lovely-day @paperbag333 @callsign-magnolia @jhiddles03 @hardballoonlove @shanimallina87 @seitmai @abaker74 @missemrose @starset21 @kmc1989

#bruises // jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x female!reader #jake seresin angst #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader #top gun hangman

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gummys-whump-acc · 25 days

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TW: Medical whump

Some medical whump prompts!

Whumper getting whumpee forcefully addicted to some drug or medicine that causes severe withdrawal symptoms when taken away. More points if that drug is some kind of hallucinogen that makes whumpee panic as reality around them distorts (at least they’re not dealing with the agony that comes with not having it, right?).

Non-consensual body modification. Whether it be giving whumpee non-human features like wings sewn on or an animal’s horns surgically attached, then whumper mocks them for being such an animal.

Forcing whumpee to undergo starving themselves to get a ‘perfect body’. Whumper praising them for looking like a skeleton, and that becomes internalised until whumpee does nothing but check their calories all day. Whumper starts getting whumpee fillers and injections but when one gets botched and whumpee turns out ‘ugly’, they’re abandoned.

Whumper playing pretend that whumpee is ill and ‘taking care of them’. Forcing a feeding tube down whumpee’s throat, attaching a catheter to them, stabbing an IV into their veins and pumping them full of fluids and sedatives to make them docile, putting them on a ventilator, etc. When they escape they have trouble with mobility, breathing on their own and holding their bladder because of this, and now the actual caretaker has to take care of a whumpee that should have been healthy all along (medical treatment now triggers whumpee’s trauma though).

#whump #whump prompt #whumpee #whumper #medical whump #tw drugs #tw medical trauma

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rookthorne · 10 months

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐅𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐁𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐫

War thrummed through the blood of a Viking warrior, it was a known phenomenon, and it wasn’t to be questioned nor tested. But what lay beneath the surface of your Viking was far more than that, and his wrath would be a testament to Tyr in his vengeance.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ⇁ Viking!Bucky Barnes x Fae!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ⇁ 1.5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ⇁ Heavy angst, whump, dark themes, graphic injuries + gore and violence, touch her and you die to the extreme, fluff, a certain someone makes an appearance

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ⇁ This is my first attempt at dark themes, and I wrote this to help funnel my pain into something. ⇁ SC, if it weren’t for your song rec, this wouldn’t have happened. Thank you for taking my pain and helping me turn it into something that I can be proud of. I love you.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ⇁ Tyr by Wadruna ⇁ Taina by Schepetkov, 2WEI

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 ⇁ @smutconnoisseur

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐤𝐨𝐠𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Dark shadows extended over the path before you, and you whimpered quietly. The pain of movement, the sheer excruciating labour of moving each limb one by one, had become far too much to bear, and by the Gods, you were knocking on the Aesir’s door.

Blood pooled and dripped in your wake from the open wound on your side, and the scrapes and slashes to your legs and arms stung viciously.

Cloudiness had seeped from the inky sky to your vision, creeping in tendrils from the edges of your consciousness, and had started to consume you from the inside out.

Bucky – where was Bucky? You scanned the trees around you, desperation welling up from the depths of your being at the lack of a proud snorting steed, or the lack of Bucky’s rasped voice after hours and hours of searching for you.

You hadn’t meant to venture so far in your determination to find a gift for your Bear, a price you would pay right there on the forest floor – succumb to the loss of life essence and be taken by the Valkyrie.

And there was nothing you could do to prevent it.

Time dragged as you pushed on, each breath more painful than the last. You had no idea who the men that attacked you were – no idea as to why they hunted you for sport. Maybe that was a lie – you knew deep down precisely the reason, but you had been claimed by one of the fiercest Hersir known to the sagas.

How could this have happened?

“Mouse!” a voice bellowed, and you shrunk back, cowering in fear – blood loss and hysteria had long taken your senses and interpretation of reality. “Mouse! Mouse, fuck–can you hear me, little one?”

You blinked and glanced up. The snow white fur of Bucky’s steed, Ragnar, filled your vision – but that was not possible. The God’s were offering you one last favour, one last chance to see him before you perished, surely.

Unbidden, your hand reached out to touch the soft, scratchy fur of Ragnar’s shoulder, only you met with resistance. The strong muscle and bone of a mount from Hel was under your touch, tough and resistant to even Death’s own hands. “Rag-”

“Mouse, darling,” the voice continued a little louder. “Can you hear me?”

Slowly, you looked up to meet the gaze of the spectre, but it was Bucky. You blinked hard, and your hand touched his chest – the solid bulk unmoving under your gentle hand. “Bear?”

“It is me,” Bucky rushed, and you felt his hands on your elbows. “What in Thor’s name happened?!”

Pain laced through your side, and you crumpled to the floor, the impact only lessened by Bucky’s grip. “Hurts…”

“Darling, please–God’s please, I need you to get up. Get up,” Bucky pleaded, the crack in his usual stoic tone siphoned alarm down your spine and through your being. “Up–Ragnar, here,” he continued, and the stallion snorted and stomped his hoof as he stepped closer. “He will keep you safe.”

A low nicker was the last thing you registered before Bucky lifted you bodily up off the moss-strewn ground of the trail and into Ragnar’s saddle. “Stay. Protect her, boy,” he ordered, pulling free his axe. It was then you heard more heavy footsteps and war cries in the distance.

“Bear,” you whimpered, reaching for him, but Ragnar turned, stepping back with his ears flat. “Please.”

“Stay.” The sharp, decorated axe gleamed in the dying light of the moon. Bucky advanced forward alone and unprotected, with no hesitance or qualm of facing the possible army.

Figures appeared on the trail ahead of Bucky, and they stopped. A scream had lodged itself in your throat at the sight of them, and Ragnar growled, his sides heaving with angry breaths.

The advancing war party hollered and called upon the sight of the lone Hersir; and you managed a glance at their battered shields – they were from an unknown clan of unknown origin, and it was plain as day that they had only hate in their hearts.

“You touched what was mine!” Bucky called, his voice filled with vitriol and fury. “And by the God’s, if you do not turn around and go back to whatever Hel you crawled from…” The axe glinted with bloodthirsty intent, and you watched Bucky square his broad shoulders – a stance of a bear preparing for battle. “You will find yourself in the pits where no hope for Valhalla will come.”

Ragnar pawed the ground and breathed heavily, the feel of his muscled back tensing and preparing to battle unmistakable.

Silence filled the trail – a tangible thing you could taste like the blood on your tongue.

“We will take what we claimed,” one of the men rallied, his sword handle banging against the worn wood of his battered shield. “And you cannot stop us!”

You watched Bucky stand stock still as the men closed in one by one until he tilted his head. “Well…” Something changed in the air – thick with poison and the stench of rotting flesh. “May the God’s cast you from Valhalla for having the gall to touch what is mine.”

War cries and shouts filled the air, and Bucky launched forward into the battlement of men, roaring his fury – blades flew and clashed in a hail of sparks as the war party surrounded him, but each blow glanced off his back as though he was made of iron.

“Bear!” you screamed as they overwhelmed him, and Ragnar bellowed, a sound that should never leave such a creature so kind.

It was like you were melded to his back as Ragnar ploughed forward, headstrong into the clashing men. Leaving you to watch in awestruck horror as Ragnar’s teeth clamped onto the back of one man’s neck and pulled him back – the once fierce warrior now slumped to the ground with his head stuck in a jaunted angle.

“Ragnar! Hlaup!” Bucky growled, and Ragnar backed away, mouth stained with blood and his sides still heaving. “Go, take her!”

Hooves stomped the forest floor as Ragnar reared and bellowed back, staying steadfast.

The sound of even more hooves on the trail caught your attention amongst the warring battle. You turned to see a black steed carrying a man – blond hair flying behind him, and you gasped as the black steed skidded to a halt beside Ragnar.

“Buck!” the man yelled, dismounting.

“Get back!” Bucky replied – still swinging his axe. “Protect her!”

The blond man looked at you and baulked. “By the Gods,” he rushed, coming closer. “You are paler than death, sweet one,” he continued, his hand on your thigh.

A roar from the battle made you both look up to find Bucky in the throes of bloodlust, his teeth grit and face painted crimson. The axe in his hand swung and swiped a man over the throat, downing him in a gurgling heap – another was hit in the flank, the iron meeting tissue and sinew with a squelch.

“You will not,” Bucky shouted, pulling the axe free and turning to meet the last four men head on. “Touch what is mine!” Each word was followed by a swing of his axe – now wet and slick with blood.

All of the war party had fallen at Bucky’s feet – a perfect circle of bloodied corpses that painted the earth with rivers and pools of blood.

Silence reigned, and you started to sob with relief at the sight of Bucky standing victorious over the hunting party. You watched Bucky’s shoulders rise and fall with a laborious effort – the bloodlust clearly starting to fade with the loss of adversaries.

“Bucky,” the blond man cautiously said, his tone still firm. “Come back, you’re not there. You protected her.”

Before you could think better of it, you slid from Ragnar’s saddle – the spell long gone, and you limped as fast as you could to the towering Viking, still sobbing heartily with relief. “Bear–Bear, please!”

“Mouse,” he breathed, falling to his knees on the soaked ground. You collided with his chest with a wet slap, and you gripped at his shoulders, his back – anywhere you could find purchase as you wept from the fear, pain, and the relief. “You are safe, I have you.”

You looked up from Bucky’s neck to see a shadow down the path – a wolf, grey in colour, with white, glowing eyes. The creature watched you for a moment before it turned and evaporated into wisps of smoke.

Footsteps on the sodden ground behind you brought you back to reality.

“Let us get her home–our home,” the blond man said softly, his hand on Bucky’s other shoulder. “Her wounds will need tending to.”

Bucky nodded, and as he stood, you were swept up from the ground in one fluid motion. Hoofbeats splashed on the blood soaked ground, and you blinked hazily as Ragnar nosed at your thigh. “Good boy,” Bucky whispered. “Thank you.”

Ragnar blinked at Bucky and turned, offering his side. “Let us go home.”

hlaupa = run

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #rookthorne's works

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unforgivenn · 22 days

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Masterlist

Noah shuddered, the tears welling in his eyes mixing with the blood and sweat on his face. He tried to pull away, but the strings only tightened, biting deeper into his flesh. Andrey laughed softly, a sound that sent shivers down Noah's spine.

"Struggle all you want, slave.," Andrey murmured, his lips brushing against Noah's ear. "You'll only hurt yourself more. Accept your fate, and perhaps, just perhaps, I'll show you a mercy."

But Noah knew there would be no mercy. Not from Andrey. The prince's touch was as cold and unyielding as the chains that bound him. Nevertheless, he was too ensnared in his thoughts to make out Andrey's words. He felt as if he was teetering on the brink of insanity. There was just pain, pain, and more pain.

Every moment in this hellish place was a relentless assault on his mind and body. The constant pain, the fear, the humiliation—it was all too much. Noah's thoughts raced, a chaotic whirl of memories and nightmares. He remembered his life before this, the freedom he had taken for granted, now a distant, cruel dream. He remembered his mother making rhubarb pie for him. His sister running around the house lighting it up with her talkative nature.

Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? The questions had been echoing in his mind ever since he came here but now he heard them ring in his ears louder than before. He felt his grip on reality slipping, the edges of his sanity fraying with each passing second.

Noah's heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum of panic. He tried to focus on something, anything to ground himself, but all he could see were the s, the blood, the darkness.

I'm finally losing it. I'm losing my mind. The thought was like a dagger to his heart. A part of him wanted to laugh at himself, at this whole shitty situation while the other wanted to just sob at his helplessness. The fear of what he was becoming was almost worse than the pain itself. He was no longer just a captive; he was a broken man, teetering on the edge of madness.

Andrey's voice broke through the fog of his thoughts, a chilling voice in his head that repeated again and again. "You're mine, Noah. Mind, body, and soul. There's no escape for you. No hope. No mercy." He wanted to help him to shut up but it felt as if he couldn't open his mouth anymore.

Wait.. What was he doing here again..?

Noah's vision blurred with tears, his body trembling. He wanted to scream, to beg for release, but he knew it would only bring more torment. He was trapped, not just physically, but mentally, emotionally. The shackles that held him were more than just physical restraints; they were the bonds of his shattered will, the chains of his despair.

I can't do this. I can't keep going. The thought was a desperate plea, a cry into the void. But there was no one to hear it, no one to save him.

The room seemed to close in around him, the walls pressing in, the air growing thin. He was suffocating, drowning in his own fear and pain.

Help me. Someone, please, help me. Please help me please help me- The plea repeated in his mind like a chant thought it went unanswered, lost in the abyss of his despair.

He was just a puppet, and Andrey was the puppeteer. And in this twisted game, there were no strings that could be cut to set him free.

(THIS WAS NOT A PART OF THE MAIN SERIES)

Taglist: @miireux134 @nuriiz134 @ash-reh @noeul-whumpppss @morning-star-whump

@parasitebunny @anutz1234 @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumped-by-glitter @someoneoninternettt(let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)

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whumpshaped · 4 months

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thinking about like.. a cursed/brainwashed whumpee trying to seek comfort from caretaker. but in reality, whumpee is hallucinating any sort of comfort and they’re actually just attacking caretaker instead of hugging them. and they don’t realise until caretaker is either severely injured or dead. （╹◡╹）

content: murder, forced to hurt, knives, stabbing, emotional whump, psychological whump, major character death, magical whump

"Caretaker?" Whumpee raised their teary eyes to meet their friend's gaze, their voice shaking as they called out. "Is— is it really you?"

Caretaker nodded, breaking out into a big grin. "Sure is. I've been looking everywhere for you."

It was too good to be true — yet here they were in the flesh, opening their arms for Whumpee to give them a hug. Whumpee didn't hesitate a second.

They rushed to Caretaker and wrapped their arms around them, holding them tight. "I've missed you so much! So much! You have no idea what they did to me, I— I don't even want to talk about it, I don't care, I'm just— I'm so happy you came!"

"Of course, Whumpee," they said gently, rubbing their back as they talked. "I told you I would come, didn't I? I told you I would always come."

"It was so hard to believe it," they sobbed. "But I— I tried, I tried my best to hold out until you came... I tried my best..."

"Whumpee?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Don't pull out the knife."

Whumpee frowned in confusion. "What? What knife...?"

"Don't, Whumpee—"

The illusion shattered just as Whumpee pulled back a little, and they suddenly saw their friend for what they were: a battered and bruised heap on the floor, clutching their stomach like their life depended on it.

And it did.

"Caretaker!" Whumpee looked down and saw the bloody knife in their hand, and they immediately threw it away. "No! No, please, I'm sorry! I don't understand! I don't understand!"

They fell to their knees and pressed their own two hands against the wound too, sobbing in anguish.

"I didn't mean to! I didn't see— I don't get it, I was hugging you!"

Caretaker tried to answer, but all that came out was a bloody gurgle. There were no comforting words left in their steadily filling lungs. All they could do was grab onto Whumpee's wrists with their stained fingers, but even their hold was becoming weaker and weaker.

They were drowning. Slowly, agonisingly, all because of Whumpee.

"Please," Whumpee choked out. "Please don't die, please, no, please..."

It was futile. All too soon, Caretaker's hands fell limply to their side, and Whumpee was left with a corpse whose face was forever twisted into the expression of a betrayed friend.

this is one of my last drabbles here, please feel free to follow me on my new blog @sowhumpshaped

#asks #whump #whump drabble #murder #forced to hurt #knives #stabbing #emotional whump #psychological whump #major character death #magical whump #silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

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cold1dead1eyes · 1 year

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my fav whump trope: when whumpee is so psychologically deconstructed and lonely that whumper becomes their entire world; their tormentor and their prison, but also the only thing tethering them to reality, their comfort, their constant.

#whump #whump prompts #mind break #manipulation #whumpee x whumper #vince rambles

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imagionationstation · 7 months

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What am I thankful for?

Comics & Fanfics & Drawings & AUs & Turtle Lectures & Random Observations & Pictures & Long Rants In Tags & Incorrect Quotes & Random Thought Sharing & Turtle Tots & Sobbing Over Stories & Dumb Hypothesis that Become Reality and Plain Fact & Everything TMNT Whump and Fluff and Satire & Everyone Who Supports a Fluffy Turtle Family & Everyone that Likes or/and Reblogs the Posts that Keep Every Single TMNT Fandom or Iteration Alive.

And most importantly:

✨Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles✨

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scoobydoodean · 6 months

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my spiciest take about the prisoner fight scene that would get me in trouble with the casgirls is that I think a big part of that fight is dean not allowing cas to walk all over his boundaries ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

like cas flat out says he's going to stop him, that he 'doesn't want to hurt him' with the implication being that he CAN and WILL hurt dean. in what world does the mark giving dean the ability to fight back against being forcibly manhandled by an angel read as DV. these people are NOT serious and I genuinely think they hate dean and don't even derive joy from shipping him with cas as a character, he's just a tool to whump their fave. u don't have to publish this if it's too mean I just get so bitter

No you’re right and you should say it.

The section in that fight where Cas grabs Dean from behind to try and restrain him and Dean breaks his grip is a direct callback to 10.03 when Cas arrived to restrain Demon Dean. Of course Cas’s motives in both scenes are well meaning. He’s doing what he should be doing in those individual scenes—trying to reach through to the real Dean and applying a restrained level of force (very different from his anger simply run amok in 5.18). But it’s also utterly undeniable to me that the whole Mark of Cain arc is about Dean trying to break free from the chains of his family—just in a manner that slowly becomes more and more divorced from the full reality of who he is (someone who Loves). The MoC arc IS about Dean’s autonomy actually, and the arrogance and hypocrisy he perceives in Sam (but also Cas too perhaps). And it isn’t lost on me that we can also parallel Dean’s essential despair in The Prisoner (and how he’ll shortly call Death to dispose of him) with 5.18 and the beating Cas delivers when Dean has despaired and given up in an effort to curb the earth’s destruction and called for Michael. I also think about “Goodbye Stranger” when Cas beat Dean over and over and over while Dean begged him to stop only to fly off and ghost Dean afterward because he decided Dean couldn’t be trusted. Cas has doled out brutal beatings toward Dean in the series up to this point, and in The Prisoner, Dean actually has the power to retaliate. He is possessed by the rage of a primordial being who was restrained and locked away by her brother, and she channels her power straight to Dean’s purpose when Cas tries to restrain him.

#mail #8.17 #5.18 #10.22

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revelisms · 3 months

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Antichrist Copia theory has overtaken me yall. I was not expecting to crank out a full thing on this, but, uh...if you're looking for one big indulgent braindump on Terzo trying to unpack his feelings on this while Copia gets possessed by a demon, look no further?

Quick context setting—I'm still working out these headcanons a bit, but what I'm generally tinkering with here:

Everyone tied to the Emeritus bloodline has some degree of magical abilities, which were formally "awakened" in an oath-taking ceremony at a point in the boys' childhood. This is the Sight mentioned here (i.e., whatever is up with the white eye), and each of the brothers have a slightly different angle for it: Primo can see into the minds of living things, Secondo can see into the past, Terzo can see into the future, and Copia can see into the realm that bridges life and death—and is somewhat a literal bridge, himself, between those planes of reality.

The Exaltation ceremony is a formal handoff from each Papa to the next heir, in which their Sight is tapped to its greatest potential in preparation for becoming head of the church. This typically involves a delivery of rites, a magical blessing, and an opening of the Gate between worlds (which, in this context, is technically Hell itself).

Basically: mayhem ensues.

here we lie

4k words | Rating: M | Terzo-Centric | Antichrist Copia | CWs: Ritual magic, dark imagery, near-death experience, blood, language, existentialism, doomed fate, whump, anger issues, dysfunctional family dynamics, hurt/comfort. Also on AO3

The exaltation ceremony goes wrong.

By all accounts, it shouldn't have.

As with any long-standing traditions of the church, the ritual had been perfected to the scrape of dust one was allowed to wear on their boots—and, as such, had been prepared with the expected flurry of pomp and circumstance.

The esteemed Monsignor Emeritus, firstborn, blessed with the Sight, had cleansed the air thrice with dishes of althea and frankincense and bistort: enhancements for protection and divination.

Sister Mariella, well-familiar with the customs, had laid down the sigils for the Gate flawlessly: shadowed by the slow-prowled growlings and page-turned rites of Secondo Emeritus, Archbishop of the Eternal Light.

The ceremony, as was custom, was set to be led by the head of the church: their Exalted, sheened in black from neck to toe, the points of his clawed gloves glinting in the lowlight—for whom the Sight of premonition had seemed both a blessing and a curse, and never more so than now.

He was distracted, perhaps. Dehydrated, maybe. Dreading the moment he would stand at the door to the realm beyond—a threshold of time and space untethered—that would soon devour the faceless flesh-form of a ghoul cast back to the shadow (his One, his All, his own); a door he himself, in time, would one day find himself crossing, with body and soul split, head and neck cleaved, heart and mind shattered.

From the moment he'd slopped a spoon through the breakfast his secretary had slid on his desk that morning, he'd known, instinctually, that this damned thing could turn so haywire, if only because he'd been the one shackled with it.

His jittery magic, his restless brain, and Copia—

Well.

Copia has been anything but normal, from the day Sister carted him up the chapel steps.

Terzo knew he had magic—the likes of which few could fathom, even from his sticky-fingered child days. The night the little rat had taken his oaths, the air had sung with it: a strange buzz of sensation that felt like the sun had tipped off-center.

And now—

Now, the Gate is laid open beneath Terzo's hands, the unseen ink of his spell-marks glowing a blood-lilac fuchsia, bright enough to glare violently through his clothes, and the void of Hell itself screaming in its glory—and Copia is not imbued with the Dark One's majesty, as he should be—is no man, is not living, has flames for eyes and claws for teeth and wings like the undead and is screaming—

"Close it," Secondo snarls at him, a blurred tower of shadow and piercing white—

—and Terzo knew this.

Knew this boy-man-beast-hellspawn of Christ-Shadow Beholden always was.

He'd looked him in the eye—kneeled there in the cat's cradle of a pentagram scraped in chalk, hands fidgeting at his cassock—and gave a crook of his head: murled, Ready? like a tease, though some part of him had meant it as, You'll be alright, eh?

But unblessed saints and demons below, Copia isn't.

What writhes before him now is a creature that terrifies him to the bone—one that may not abandon his brother completely, should he fail at this any farther than he already has.

"Terzo." Primo, now: an urgent hiss at his shoulder. "Close the gate—"

"I know." His magic burns at his fingertips, sears through his blood. "That—thing hasn't released him—"

A thing with claws cradling Copia's head like ceramic a hairline from shattering, spitting a pained growl through his teeth.

The sacrament in Mariella's hand shakes. "Papa, what's...?"

"I don't know." The flamelight flickers unnaturally against the domed walls: a great breath that lapses to darkness, sparks back again. "Shit, I—I don't know."

"Terzo—"

"Close the gate—"

"Hell Satan—will you all shut up?!"

There are horns in Copia's hair, slick-red-gold between his grappling fingers.

His stomach is in his head. His brain in his feet.

Mariella swallows. She's always been a strong soul—far more than him, now: level-headed in a storm, vibrant in a fog; a presence that guides as much as it grounds.

"How long can you hold it for?" she whispers, firm and calm.

He pulls dry air into his lungs. "As long as I need to."

He steps forward, spellwork singing in his veins, and lets his hands unfurl. The air whips at his vestments, wailing with the bone-deep unease of voices old as Creation straining to be heard.

Somewhere in there is Copia's own. He'll drag it out by hand, if he has to.

"You imbecile!" Secondo is shouting, muffled behind the blurred opalescence of the Veil: a wall that glows off the circle Terzo crosses, consumes him with the prickling unease of a limb losing its circulation. "You can't reason with it!"

The flames warp again. A shadow like death bends over the walls.

Terzo's no stranger to the taste. His dreams have been riddled with the stench of it, from the day the Sight was force-gifted upon him. And like he had, then—a child with battered elbows and bruised knees; a not-man with awkward limbs and disdain for the old orders of this world; a Cardinal with paint on his teeth and a straightjacket of woolen expectations—he repents.

"I call on the spirits of the Then and the Below." A twitch strings through his fingers: with it, a flare of violet light. "To the Beings of those Beyond, the Eternal, I speak now, and speak only—" The pitch of his voice mangles, ragged with the corded growl of a beast: the underbelly all their half-human souls peel clean, when drowned deep enough in this waste. "In my Blood, see my will. In my Sight, my path—"

"What is he saying?" Mariella asks, her voice muffled as though through glass.

Primo calls a sharp warning: "Don't cross it—"

The air whistles with a faint singing of metal—and splits. It grapples at his clothes, twisting his hair with a gravitational pull unseen.

He breathes in chalk dust, sighs out knives.

Beneath Copia's shivering limbs ripples the black expanse of the Gate: an aether so endless one couldn't capture its history in a millennia: a presence so indefinable that even Primo, with years of such history under his belt, can only stare through the blur, voiceless and rigid at the sight of it.

With twitching claws and lightless eyes and Hell beneath his feet, Terzo beckons.

"Bare yourself to me."

The room shivers. The walls shriek. The flames stagger, flutter, wheeze again—and snuff out, completely.

In the pitch, it is only the Eternal, and the glow within his veins, and the white of his eye, and Copia's beast-man-beast-man-fanged grin with a split lip—

A Being that takes the air of the room by the throat, and speaks in a voice that thunders.

"It is time."

Terzo feels its presence slithering up his legs. The weight of its All on his lungs.

He keeps his hands steady, his intent clear, even for the exertion that leaves his arms quivering.

"Not here," he grits back, a strange echo in the ringed light that encases them. "Not now."

A hand that is not Copia's, is scaled and rotted and red, slaps to the stones. "When?" The shriek hits his ears like a thunderstrike. A chill is crawling under his veins: a heaviness that isn't right, is this thing more than his own blood. "When?"

Primo's magic is wafting through the air—some swift-casted attempt at a ward around them, far too late now. The scent of it itches on Terzo's tongue: dragon's blood, rose-ash, frigid at his back. His own aura swats it off like a gnat, too distracted to let it in, to think.

Fuck, he needs to think.

A stage—

The Being wails.

His downfall—this one's own Ascension—

Ice knifes into his ankle.

A stage and heat and lights and purple-bleeding-black and blood on his throat—a syringe in his brother's own hands, a demon masqueraded—his Unnamed's voice gristling in his ear, Be still be still be still now—

Mariella squeezes a talisman in her palm, smoking sweetly with the taste of Secondo's own protection charm.

"Papa," she calls out: her voice a muddy, drowned thing.

His lashes flutter open, heavy as lead.

"Coward!" the Being retches. Hellfire blisters against its silhouette, a nebulic haze. "Tell them of your death. Of Our purpose. Where We were sewn. You know it—"

Mariella holds the stone out to him, guided through the surging current of Primo's ward. The air wrestles like a gale through her sleeve.

"You know it!"

His claws catch at her palm—not his gloves, but his own, thick and black as talons. The talisman burns a sunspot-bloom through his marrow, bright as a thousand stars.

"Thirteen months." His speech is one he doesn't recognize: child and entity and Bloodline infinite. "On a black dais, surrounded by your flock." The talisman melts like a balm into his skin: an unseen shield that ripples with half-lit iridescence. The chill biting into his skin flinches. "You will know it," Terzo grits on, "and now is not it."

He thinks he hears Copia's voice through the fray. He can't be sure.

"And then?" snarls the Being.

Not a being. Not a thing.

No—this is Lucifer-incarnate.

An orchestration.

"It won't be finished, then." The shell of magic around them snaps like embers in a flame, a jolt wrestling up his arm. So much time. So much weighed down—and he weighs it down, still, his breath shuddering. "You'll have years to go—"

"And then?"

Scraped nails, dead eyes, bloodied horns, Copia—

Secondo's gloved palm tears through the gleam, squeezes like a noose around his bicep. "I won't say it again, you fuck," he spits, the words warped and crackling. "You're going to get him killed—"

He can't shake him off quickly enough.

"Close it!"

Copia's eyes. Copia's soul, trapped in the All. Right there—

His magic flares like a supernova, spears through that gate and holds: a cosmic blast that shouts his throat raw, knocks Secondo nearly off his feet, leaves him lightheaded and with blood on his teeth—but he has him—

"Thirteen months' time," the Being roars, "and you'll be taken with it."

Terzo hisses, his claws scraping at his brother's skin.

"So is the Rule."

The Gate grapples at his silks.

Copia's gloved fingers shake, snatching desperately at his arms. His own voice breaks through the loom. "Terz—"

"I've got you," Terzo spats. Sweat sticks at his neck.

The fibers of his magic are fraying at the edges.

Red eyes glare up at him. "Do you accept it?"

The portal whines.

"To the day it is marked, you'll have it. As it is written." His claws slip on Copia's sleeve. "As it always was."

The Being grins. "And so it will be."

It spits his brother out.

His hold on the Gate snaps like a wire—and shatters the well of magic, with it. The howl torrents through the room with a cello's blare, and whips to a bee-winged nothingness.

With the loss of it, gravity lurches in his gut. He cracks to his knees, catches himself on the stones just enough—gloves still intact, not torn through, only clawed with gold—and heaves blood.

"Papa!"

And his brother. His damned demon brother: rubber-legged, staggering, Copia gasps like a man near-drowned.

Unscathed, somehow—Satan willing.

Primo is across the room, in an instant. "Copia. Unblessed beneath, are you alright?"

"Ye-Yes, yes, I—shit." Primo catches him, his gloves slipping at his sleeves. Unsteadily, he veers back on his feet. "What...what happened?"

It's too dark. Too quiet. Too loud.

Terzo swallows down bile; chokes on blood and phlegm. Mariella's habit swims in his vision.

"Papa," she hushes, clear as crystal now. "Papa, look at me."

Secondo, halfway between them: "Is it gone?"

Her fingers skim through the sweat-dripped mess of his paints: press cooly at his temple.

"Is it gone?"

"Yes," she breathes.

Hazily, lashes flicking, Terzo tips out of her touch. He chokes on his words, the first try; rasps them, the second. "Where's the rat?"

"He's here," Primo answers him. "He's fine."

There's a clumping of boots, a rustling of silks, Mariella scurrying from the floor.

"What in Hell's name were you thinking." Secondo's hand jerks at his sleeve, wrestles him half-blind back into his bones. "You could have doomed us all. We never—never—speak to the Unnamed without wards in place. You know that—"

"Brother," Copia croaks.

Secondo rips his head over his shoulder. "You shut your mouth. I haven't even gotten to you." With a firm grip, his hand slips under Terzo's arm, helps him slowly to his feet. "Get up," he huffs. "Come on. Are you alright?"

"I'm—fuck. Fine. I'm fine."

His elder brother scowls down at him. "Good. And you better stay that way, because I have half a goddamned mind to put a fist through your teeth—"

"Dino," Primo snarls, "This is helping nothing." Years of practice in such misguided events has left him rationed, calm: a quiet glance turned to the pale-faced attendant behind him, who stands shell-shocked, having seen unwantedly the darker veins of their Order—and ones their customs would soon have him forget. "Jean," Primo says, waiting for his eyes to drop. "We will need a medic. Say nothing to the All-Father."

Secondo scoffs. "Oh, yes—Nihil will have this one's ass, when he hears of this—"

"Saints—ignore him, young one. A medic, and Priestess Diana. Quick as you can."

The boy nods and takes off through the hall's doors, stumbling up the stairs in his haste.

In his absence, the room holds a collective breath, the eyes of the siblings still in attendance fixed like rabbits on the four men clustered in the center of the room.

"We're alright," Primo says to them all, in a tone that is more order than reassurance.

It couldn't be more of a reach.

Terzo wheezes a snarl, a laugh. "Alright." The stones sting beneath his feet: five paces that drive him out of Secondo's iron grip, steer him straight into the path of Copia's saucer-wide blinking: eyes blue and white and younger than they should ever seem, in a face that has grown so weathered, as all of them have.

And he knew.

He lifts a clawed finger, his breath too slow. "I knew."

Primo, sharp as steel: "Do not take this out on him—"

He couldn't give a shit.

He almost killed him.

The bastard wasn't living.

"What are you, mh?" Terzo licks his lips, tastes the bitter metal of blood. He lifts a shaky hand. "No, no—what did she make you?" He smears the leather against his mouth, the heat of his stare unwavering, a knife-edge sliced from shoes to frazzled fringe. "That—that Aether just within you, eh? Always that, under there?"

Copia shakes. "I didn't," he blunders.

"This is why she brought you, isn't it? Satan, of course—"

Secondo wrestles for his elbow, a steadying squeeze. "Terzo—"

"You saw it—!"

His brother's eyes simmer: one black in the lowlight, the other white as a moonbeam. "I saw you."

His bites his nails through his glove. Rattles in a breath.

"Calm down, the both of you," Primo says coldly, a hand still on Copia's shoulder. "It was reckless—but you managed. We are all still in one piece." He steps between them, pointedly, studying Terzo's face like a leech. "Your Sight will be strained for weeks, after that. You did not have the power to even attempt that on your own."

Terzo snuffs. "A good thing one of us sorry shits did."

Behind the sharp slope of Primo's shoulder, Copia shivers, eyes downturned. "I—"

"Don't." He drags a gloved hand through his hair. Shaking—still shaking? Outraged—always. Horrified, still. "You're good," he tells his brother, tells himself. "It is all good. You're alright. Okay."

Primo's eyes stare through him, see a bitten-lipped boy with a bandage on his cheek.

Terzo turns away. "Okay," he hushes again, and walks, past Secondo's stone-still glare, Mariella's worried frown, and walks, and walks, and walks—

"You are not running away, now—"

"Dino. Leave it. Copia, do not linger on that, alright? Don't listen to it. You know how he is. It is not your fault—"

"But what—what was that? What happened—?"

—up the gnarled stairwells, out the maze of lower halls, stumbling over the grasses, and sits like a stone on the side-entry's steps. Like a ghost.

Sits for an age.

He must—because, by then, the medics have come, and the stench of that room has been dragged open, and Mariella's whispers are drifting across the corridor's arches—after he's ripped off his gloves, dug his fingers through his hair, tried to breathe and not think—and he expects her.

He expects her fear, her pity.

Not Copia.

The fool's boots scuff on the stairs.

"Is it, eh..." His brother muddles over a breath. "Alright if I—?"

Terzo doesn't have the mind to fight it—not with sweat still cold at his back. He swats his palm, some attempt at allowance, kneading his other fingers over his brow.

Copia slumps down to the steps. Just stays there, in awkward, insufferable silence.

Finally: "Shit—it's chilly today, isn't it?"

Terzo leers through his fringe. "Going to talk about the birds, next?"

"I'm just saying."

"Just saying. Yes—and you'll be singing, after." He combs back the half-tamed waves of his hair, hangs his hand across his knee. "Old chamber smells like a cesspool."

Copia manages a smile, the thistles of his mustache wrinkling. "Bleh. Nasty place. I've always hated it, down there."

"All the more reason to, now, huh?" Terzo forces a sneer of his own, glaring away. He sniffs. Pits his tongue against his teeth.

For a beat, his brother says nothing. Then, his gloved fingers squeaking over each other: "I'm alright."

Terzo chuffs, furrowing his brows. "Barely."

He can feel the rat's eyes on him. It makes his skin crawl. "Primo...told me. What it—well." Copia frowns at his boots, at the graveled path beyond. "Did you mean it?" he hushes, lifting his eyes. "That you've...seen it, before?"

Terzo bites the inside of his lip. "Seen lots of things."

"But—that. It's—I've always thought...er...felt that, maybe, she'd..."

"Sister?"

"Mother, yes—"

"Your mother."

Copia's shoulders twitch.

"I—sorry," Terzo mumbles, shifting his fingers over his thumb. "I know it's not..."

His fault, his intention—his anything, right?

But it is. Isn't.

Should be.

He flexes his hand, pitters his fingertips together. Looks away. "Anyway."

A breeze rustles cooly through the shrubbery that flanks the stairs: a feathered hush along the pines that tower over the grounds.

"Anyway," Copia repeats, shifting his tongue around his mouth. "It's just...you, eh...you have seen it, before," he says again, watching the air ripple through the leaves, "haven't you?"

Terzo glances at him. Sister's sloped nose. A paintbrush-smattering of freckles. The white of his eye, fixed on the swaying branches. Lanky little thing, as he's always been. The mirror to his own placelessness, own purposelessness, own forced mantle he never asked to have thrown upon him—but craved, clawed for, claimed, nonetheless.

"Told you, little thing," he says, tipping his heel off the stones. "Seen lots of things."

"But I know. I've always...felt it, I just haven't—" Copia fumbles, lacing his fingers. "Had the words, I guess."

"Rare thing, for you."

"Shut up."

"Heh—even rarer for me, eh?"

"Ugh."

They breathe in unison, the air thick with it: hope, despair, magic, emptiness.

"When it...when that...thing took over me, did it...say anything to you?"

Terzo's mouth ticks.

Thirteen months. Poison in his neck. His body tossed through the gaping maws of the realm beyond.

He stares at the points of his boots, still speckled with his own spit and blood, and scuffs his thumb at it.

"Eh...not clearly. Hard to make out, in the muck of it."

"None of it came through?"

Terzo tilts his chin on his shoulder, fixing him with a narrowed look. "It wasn't you, Coppie," he says. "Just...forget what I said, before. Old temper of mine, rearing its shitting head again."

"But what if—"

"It wasn't." Terzo plants his palm on his brother's knee, chipped black on his nails, and squeezes. "It wasn't," he murmurs again.

Copia stutters. "Well, even if it wasn't—it—it felt like I was..."

"Delirious?" He perks one brow, fox-grinned in his usual reach for deflection, distraction. "Dead, even?"

"Whole."

The smile wanes.

For a breath, he tries to hunt for that beast beneath his brother's skin—the way he so often does in the steamed glass of his own mirrors, and so easily sees it in them: the spire-teeth, the winged limbs, the eyes half-living.

He finds only a quivery little boy, tucked in the cage of a man's body. The same one who spent years, against all odds—against his own stupid, spiteful jealousy—clinging like a barnacle to his side.

He slides his hand away. "The Sight does it to all of us, little rat. Strips away the Veil." He picks at his thumb, the gravel hazing to a fine blur, and swallows: white stone crisping to clarity, again. "Catch an Emeritus in the right light—even a clueless one can see the Fallen in them."

Copia frowns.

Maybe it's not a comfort. All the more proof that he isn't one of them, as he has so often feared.

The Other, above all else.

"But what if I am?" he says quietly. "Whatever that...thing was? Will, eh...will something happen, if that's true?"

Terzo lifts his eyes to the sky—grayish with cloud-cover, damp with the chilled humidity of a storm along the way, something to wash this whole mess clean—and lies through his teeth.

"Happen?" he snides. "What is this—Armageddon, itself? You worry worse than Nonna, Coppie." He wrinkles his brows at him, his smile thin, his paints half-smeared off his face. "And even if you were—would it be so bad? All of us are hardly human, eh? Perhaps you are just farther along the evolutionariness—the truest Creature of the Night, of us all." His eyes widen, teasingly. "I mean—psh! I will have my fangs, no? And the pincher, his wolf-pelt, and Primo will, eh...Hell, what would the old goat be?"

Copia rolls his eyes, leaning into the cradle of his elbows. "A zombie?"

"Feh—the Nihilist is the rotting corpse, surely."

His brother rolls into a snicker. "Sea creature?"

"Agh—not the lagoon man! We will insult the dear river's integrity, with such things—no, no." Terzo sniffs, feigns smearing away his paints instead of the heat itching at his eye, and smiles wryly again. "Let's be realistic, here—the old gardenia will be the enchanted plant that traps one's bones for the witches, yes?"

Copia wheezes on another laugh.

Saints, he hates that laugh. Godawful sound, a mimicry of his own: a snort and a tea kettle and a giggle all in one.

The brightest sunbeam of any.

"He has to be the, er—the witch, right?" Copia wonders, giving him a teasing glance.

Terzo flashes his teeth. "Now, if that is the category—I will rule above them all, no?"

And his brother laughs again.

Their little brother, little demon, little star. The highest heir of them all, doomed to a path he should have never been put on—as all of them are, in their own ways. Always have been; always will be.

Terzo ignores Primo's shadow in the corridor, flanked by Mariella's quiet eyes. Ignores the hawkish leer of Secondo's folded-armed scowling, waiting to deflect the plague that will no doubt burst into the halls, once news of it all has reached the ears of their Highest.

At least for this moment, he can pretend.

Flit away what is yet to come, like a bottle tossed to the sea—Nihil, Sister, this brother tressed in silks and jewels for a price he hadn't the slightest knowledge would be paid—and goad another laugh out of him, and another.

Relish in the denial that this is all that ever was. Ever could be.

Copia: blushing, teary-eyed but toothy, knocking his shoulder into his—unable to do anything but choke at the idiotic scenarios he conjures for the four of them, in all their monsterly glory. As distracted as he deserves to be, after that wretched thing. The memory of it all forgotten, if for a moment.

And that's enough, Terzo thinks, the cool tang of rain on the gales.

For now, maybe, that's enough.

37 notes · View notes

nahoney22 · 2 years

Note

Hi! I absolutely love your writing 😍 Everything you write is so freaking cute and you're an amazing author. If you're still accepting requests, could I have something where a fem!reader gets pretty badly injured (like maybe she was tortured by imperials for info on the bad batch or maybe she was trying to protect Omega or something) and she's kinda freaking out bc like she's in a lot of pain and she's really worried about the boys or something and so one of the boys (maybe Hunter or Tech?) has to like hold her still and comfort her or distract her? If that's not something you're comfortable with writing that's totally ok 😉 (I'm such a sucker for a good hurt/comfort/whump fic). Love you!

Holding On (Part 1/2)

Hunter X F!Reader

word count: 2.2k words

After being held captive by the Empire, the boys hold out a rescue mission for you and are horrified at the sight in front of them. In pain, distressed and weary, only Hunter seems to be the one to calm you down.

warnings: brief mentions of torture/bodily harm (not detailed at all), IT-O droid, injured reader, hurt/comfort trope, blood mention, not an established relationship. Fluff at the end. Not proofread.

A/N thank you for the request my dear friend! @arctrooper69 hope you enjoy ❤️ I decided to do Hunter as I have a WIP for Hunter in process

Part One | Part Two

Rewritten 20th June 2023

In the blink of an eye, everything changed. One moment, you were walking alongside Omega, and the next, darkness enveloped you as you were rendered unconscious.

Before losing consciousness, you had managed to ensure Omega's safety, shielding her from the Empire's clutches. The encounter with the Imperials had caught you off guard since it had been a considerable amount of time since you and your companions had crossed paths with them. The sudden abduction left everyone in shock, especially Omega, who had frantically returned to the ship, screaming and sobbing.

Among the group, Hunter was the one who bore the deepest grief. His heart raced as he discovered your whereabouts. You were held captive in a new Imperial compound, concealed within a mountain, reminiscent of the one where Gregor had once been rescued.

The connection Hunter shared with you was unlike anything he had experienced before. It surpassed the bond he had with his brothers or anyone else. He truly loved you, though he had always been hesitant to admit it to himself and to you. Now, he despised himself for allowing you to venture into the town alone with Omega. On that day, a foreboding feeling churned in his gut, urging him to stay close. Yet, you had insisted himself that you would be fine. And now? His worst fears had become reality.

All except Crosshair and Omega swiftly stormed the Imperial stronghold, incapacitating any opposition in their path. As they reached a cleared floor, Echo communicated through the comms, while the others scouted the area. Hunter, consumed by anxiety, could only pace restlessly.

His mind swirled with worry. "Echo, how much longer?" he inquired, his voice laden with anxiety.

"Not much longer... These encryptions are new and complex. Just try to stay calm. We'll rescue her," Echo responded, his words a mix of unease and reassurance. Hunter knew Echo meant well, attempting to console him, but how could he remain calm? Every fiber of his being threatened to erupt in panic at any given moment, and each passing second felt like an eternity.

"Just hurry... please," Hunter pleaded, his voice filled with desolation.

Echo and Wrecker exchanged a solemn glance, understanding the depth of their Sergeant's sorrow. Despite their usual banter and teasing about Hunter's obvious affection for you, their hearts weighed heavy.

With the location secured, Hunter's mind incessantly repeated the cell and floor numbers. Your cell was guarded by heavily armed soldiers, but that posed no threat to Hunter when it concerned you.

Descending into the depths, he stood before the imposing red energy barrier that separated you from him. There you were, alive, but as he called out your name, you remained unresponsive. Huddled in a corner, your knees pressed tightly against your chest, and your head buried within them.

Tech deactivated the energy barrier and followed Hunter into the cell, while Echo and Wrecker kept vigilant watch.

"Hey, cyar'ika," Hunter crouched in front of you, hearing your repetitive mumblings. The same phrases, muffled and continuous, resonated from your trembling form. Yet, you did not lift your head.

Tech joined Hunter, his visor flipped down as he scanned you. "I can't get a clear reading," he frowned, cautiously reaching out to touch your shoulder. Instead of looking up, you unleashed a gut-wrenching cry and forcefully kicked him away.

"Don't touch me! I told you I don't know anything!"

Tech stumbled back, utterly stunned by your reaction, while Hunter's eyes widened in horror.

"Cyare, please, it's me, Hunter. Tech is here too. We've come to rescue you," he pleaded, his voice laced with worry and urgency. However, it seemed like the message wasn't registering.

"No, no, no! I don't know anything! Leave me alone," your whimpers grew frantic, hands clutching tightly at your hair as you shook your head back and forth. "I don't know. I don't know."

Hunter fell silent, overcome with a profound sense of helplessness as he witnessed you crumbling before his eyes. He was terrified even to touch you, fearing that you might disintegrate like sand slipping through his fingertips. He whispered your name with utmost gentleness, desperate for any connection. "Please, look at us."

A hushed silence settled in as your tears subsided and your trembling limbs gradually stilled. Hunter held his breath, while Tech patiently stood beside you, awaiting any response. Slowly, you raised your head, your eyes fixed on your Sergeant yet seemingly distant.

The vibrant life that once resided in your eyes had faded, replaced by pools of darkness. It felt as if you were looking through Hunter rather than at him. Chills coursed through his body, as witnessing your vacant gaze was one of the most agonizing sights he had ever beheld.

Blood adorned your face, a distressing amount. Your lip was split, swollen on the left side, where a prominent bruise had begun to form. A cut marred the skin above your eyebrow, and your nose appeared to be dislodged.

Once again, Hunter whispered your name, his voice filled with sorrow. "I'm so sorry we didn't come quickly enough. But we're going to take you back to the ship, okay?"

Your expression remained devoid of any emotion. It was as if you didn't recognise the man standing before you. Beside you, Tech silently continued his examination. "Hunter, this goes beyond a mere capture and interrogation. They used an IT-O on her," Tech spoke sternly, giving Hunter the gravity of the situation.

"An interrogation droid?" Hunter repeated, acutely aware of the brutal nature of these machines. Designed to inflict pain and extract every ounce of information from a captive's mind, resisting their torment required immense strength and resilience. It came as no surprise to Hunter that drugs could be injected as well, given the bleakness that clouded your expression.

"Yes, they're lethal. Utilized by the ISB. I need to thoroughly examine her body and ensure that she..."

Hunter's mind wandered from that point onward, mirroring your detachment. His heart shattered at the sight of you in such a state. Although you were alive, although you were technically safe, it felt as though you were slipping away, beyond his reach. The longing to hold you close and offer solace coursed through him, yet he remained paralysed by the helplessness of the situation.

With utmost caution, Hunter extends his hand towards you, the gesture taking time to register in your slowed perception. Your gaze shifts between his hand and his face, even your blinks becoming languid. "Where...?"

"We’re going back to the ship. We'll keep you safe," Hunter speaks softly, flexing his fingers as an invitation for you to grasp them.

"But I don't know anything. I told you I didn't know anything." Wariness returns to your countenance, your eyes narrowed with a mix of fear and anger. Your mind spins, and your body tenses.

"We're not your enemy. It's me, Hunter, your friend. Family."

Family. The word reverberates within your mind, stirring your consciousness with a flicker of recognition.

Hunter, sensing all hope slipping away, battles against the urge to force your compliance. Yet, your hand envelops his, and in that moment, he knows it's now or never before your state of mind shifts once more. Swiftly, he lifts you into his arms, and the entire group dashes towards the secured exit. Wrecker leads the way, with Hunter carrying you closely behind, while Tech and Echo guard the rear.

Your eyes squint, brows furrowed, and Hunter senses panic surging through you once again. They are perilously close to the exit, and he cannot risk you breaking down now. "Close your eyes, cyare," he urges, placing his hand over your eyelids, guiding them shut. Miraculously, it works.

With Imperial forces attempting to flank them, they manage to make it out, and most importantly, they make it out with you.

The road to your recovery was arduous and filled with challenges, but Hunter remained by your side at all times. There were moments when you would regain consciousness, recognising your safety, only for a sudden switch to flip, leading you to lash out, scream, and insist on your lack of knowledge regarding any rebellious activities.

From the fragments Hunter had gathered through your limited conversations, he learned that there had been a significant shift in Rebel activity. Unluckily—and perhaps luckily for you—you had been involved in the initial uprising. That was how you crossed paths with the Bad Batch initially after they completed a mission for Rex and you were identified as an easy target. However, you hadn't seen Rex in many rotations, perhaps even months.

Today was another sluggish day in your recovery, with Hunter retreating to the cockpit to clear his mind. Echo and Omega attended to your wounds, and you appeared to be improving. Your clouded eyes had cleared, and your swollen lips had subsided significantly.

Crosshair joined Hunter, casting him a sidelong glance. His left knee bounced incessantly, and he let out a deep sigh. "Hunter, relax. She's... getting better."

"She's not getting better quickly enough," Hunter retorted swiftly, although his knee bouncing reduced as he ran a hand through his tangled locks.

Crosshair hummed, busying himself with toggling switches on the control panel, as if trying to occupy his mind and conceal his concern.

Despite his stoic nature, Crosshair couldn't offer much comfort, and his worry intensified when he heard screams coming from the back of the Marauder. He watched as Hunter raced toward the source of the commotion.

As expected, you were in his bunk, seeking solace in familiarity, but you were curled up in agony. Echo stood back, holding a stim in his hand, while Omega did her utmost to provide comfort.

"No, no more, please..."

“What’s going on? Echo?” Hunter kneels by your bedside, looking to Echo for answers.

“She agreed to have a stim, something to help with the pain and make her more relaxed but as I got closer she just, well as you can see.” He gestures with his scomp, a solemn expression on his gaunt face as he sees you cling onto your knees for dear life. He had been making progress with you for two days but now it seems as if he had just gone back to square one.

Hunter sighs and places a gentle hand on your arm, offering whatever comfort he can. "It's okay, you're safe. Echo is only trying to help you."

Your eyes remain fixed on the ship's wall, but upon hearing Hunter's voice, you roll over to face him, your lower lip quivering. "Everything hurts, Hunter."

It's the first time you've said his name since the incident, and a slight weight lifts off his shoulders. You're starting to remember who he is, who they are, and where you are. It's a small step, but it's better than nothing.

Sobs rack your body, tears streaming from your sleepy eyes down your cheeks. You reach out to him, and without hesitation, Hunter moves to lie beside you, cradling your head against his chest. His chest becomes damp from your tears as he rests a hand on the back of your head, gently rubbing circles into your hair.

"I know, I know," he whispers softly, trying to keep his emotions in check. "I'm here."

Silently, Echo escorts Omega out of the room, deciding to postpone the administration of the stim. He hopes that the two of you can find peace in each other's presence.

After some time, your cries subside, and Hunter focuses on the rhythm of your breathing, preparing himself for any signs of a looming emotional outburst.

"I didn't tell them anything," you finally break the silence, and Hunter tenses momentarily before tilting his head forward to look down at you.

"It wouldn't have been your fault even if you did," he reassures you, feeling you take a deep sigh as your eyelids close.

As the moments of peace continue to pass, the storm within you subsides, replaced by a sense of calm. "I'm sorry for scaring you," you murmur softly.

Hunter blinks, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "I'm sorry for not coming quick enough."

Your eyes flutter open just a fraction, allowing you to catch a glimpse of the frown on his face and the exhaustion evident in his eyes. You both were worn out. "I don't know what else you would've done. I don't know what I would have done if I saw you, the one I loved, like this."

A profound tension fills the room, and Hunter's heart stops. Did you just...?

He gazes down at you, only to find your eyes closed, seeking solace in his warm embrace as you drape an arm over his waist. "Thank you for saving me."

Hunter chews on the inside of his cheek, hoping that your small yet significant admission wasn't a fabrication. He decides to wait until you're in a better state before addressing it. For now, he plays with the ends of your hair and whispers tender words to ease your pain. When he hears your soft snores, he leans down and presses his lips to your cheek, yearning for a brighter future. Cupping your face with his free hand, holding onto you and never wanting to let go, he whispers ever so faintly, "I love you too."

Part Two

Masterlist 🤍

More Hunter Works

tags: @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @adriiibell @theroguesully @equalityforcats @rexandechosandwich @mustluvecho @inagalaxywickedfahaway @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @chxpsi @alexandrisonfire @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 7 @rain-on-kamino @by-the-primes @torchbearerkyle @tech-aficionado @in-the-crosshairs @therealnekomari ri @a-c-lee @autumnleaves1991-blog @tech-depression-inventory @mylifeinthetardisforever @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @lucyysthings @agenteliix @fiveshelmet @the-good-shittt @photogirl894 @cosmic-persephone @imalovernotahater

#Hunter x reader #bad batch hunter x reader #bad batch Hunter #nahoney22 writes #the bad batch #tbb hunter x you #tbb Hunter #hunter bad batch

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