#kinda heavy on the whump for my writing

[needfantasticstories]

Trigger Warnings: Torture, fear of genocide, captivity/prisoner of war

[Ghirahim unwinds from another day of war with some casual torture, as one does]

Venting 

“It’s been so many eons since my last real battle, I feel so… satisfied to have whet my blade in crimson once again. But…” Ghirahim spoke conversationally as he lay on his stomach, gripping Sky’s exposed underarm in one hand and a kunai in the other. 

Sky winced as a blade dug into his skin, carving small diamonds in the sensitive skin.

“...Cia insisted Volga be allowed to carry out his hairbrained plan on his own first. And until our Master returns we must pander to the witch’s whims. Isn’t that right, my skychild?”

Sky couldn't think about the demon’s words. Not amid the flood of pain and the effort of keeping his jaw clamped shut against the scream trapped in his chest that fought to be released.

“Hmm. At least I have you to entertain me.” He carved another diamond.  

Sky lay pinned to the floor, stretched out. His wrists bled where Ghirahim’s magic dug into his skin. Hot tears poured from the corners of his eyes, and small whimpers betrayed him at times, but he did not scream. He clung to that choice with pride, though his tongue was already bruised and bleeding and his jaw felt like it might never open again.   

Breathe breathe breathe breathe. It was one thing he was good at. Resting, meditating, calming down. Commander Eagus ensured all trainees knew the methods, and the habits had served him well on his quest. 

Ghirahim’s cold breath fluttered over his face, as close as intimate friends sharing mundane gossip. The demon relished testing Sky’s resolve. The demon laughed. “Two days, and already half of Skyloft is charred to ruins!” 

Sky shuddered as Ghirahim started a new diamond, but he swallowed his scream and breathed through the pain. No, he needed to hear this! Skyloft was charred! The fog of pain cleared as he focused on the room around him. Gold walls, gold floor, gold pillars. The demon’s temple, somewhere deep underground between Faron and Eldin. 

Memories stirred, interrupting the grip of pain and resistance in his mind. It started to come back to him, his life before this moment: The invasion began! My dream was right. Now half of Skyloft is burned! I can do nothing to stop it! His breathing grew short and fast. Nonono. If he’s telling the truth, then how many lives have been lost!? Divine Hylia! Keep them all safe! I’m such an idiot. 

“The rest of Skyloft will be ours by tomorrow night. This little war is turning into a wonderful success.” 

Sky’s mind felt numb as tried to understand what it all meant. They were all going to die…No! This could not be real. Demons lie. He must be lying! He has to be! 

Ghirahim watched him, and Sky tried to mask his horror, but something in his look made the demon grin. 

The demon snapped, and a moblin lumbered inside. It brought over a large plank of burnt wood. Ghirahim rose to a kneel and held a charred sign. Sky knew it at once. He’d cut the planks himself. Professor Owlan had painted it. Karane had placed it atop the gates and they had all cheered after Headmaster Gaepora’s speech that they would keep each other safe. 

It read “Academy Keep” in bold green paint. The keep they’d built to protect the Knight’s Academy—his home.

Sky gaped. He bucked and tried to pry his hands and legs free of Ghirahim’s power. What has Ghirahim done to them? 

Ghirahim watched him struggling with hunger. 

Sky schooled himself into holding still, and settled for a steady glare: if he dared to continue, Ghirahim would only get more physical. Still, he couldn’t stop angry tears from clouding his eyes, and he turned away. 

“The school itself will fall soon, cut off as they are, once Volga burns those doors open.” Ghirahim twirled the sign glibly and then tossed it closer to the door, waving the moblin to take it and go.

They are holding on! Sky barely kept himself from sighing in relief, and instead took a few more short breaths, slowly lengthening each. Thank you, Hylia. 

He watched Ghirahim bring the dagger he’d been using up to his lips, chewing the tip and he looked up, lost in a thought. Ghirahim’s eyes had a dreamy quality. “So much progress in only two days. They never could have done this without me. A wonder they ever tried.” The demon recovered from his reverie.

They have to stay safe. Sky glared at Ghirahim, at this monster. Sky worked his jaw and forced it to open last.

 “What a pity, it’s almost time for me to go back and play my part–” 

“If you dare to hurt…a single one of them…” Sky rasped. His voice was barely more than a whisper. 

“Oh? You’ll what, yell? You know how I enjoy that. Perhaps make sour faces, like that?” 

The skin at his jaw stung as Ghirahim sliced it, but Sky did not break off his glare. 

Ghirahim drew the knife back up to his mouth, licked it, and grinned. “They’ll all be dead soon, a condition you will envy soon enough.”

Ghirahim leaned closer again and whispered. “Now. Ready to finish?”

A bokoblin ran inside and whispered something to the demon. 

“Well, what news! The sorceress’s enemies have reached Skyloft. I’m afraid our vacation is nearly at an end.”

Thank Hylia! An army? Skyloft might not fall! Hylia had done it!

“One last task, Skychild. Tell me. Where did you hide Fi? 

A shock of pain made Sky gasp in surprise as Ghirahim plunged a dagger into his side. He arched his back in a desperate attempt to get away from the pain. He collapsed back down, finding no relief. A dagger. His vision flashed white, then slowly cleared. Sky tried to swallow away the nausea and dizziness when bile filled his throat. The wound was throbbing in sync with his heartbeat. 

Ghirahim yanked it out and plunged it  into Sky’s other side. “How do I get in?”

“Hmmm!” Sky bit his tongue as Ghirahim sliced a long line into his left arm when he did not answer. He panted hard through clenched teeth. Ghirahim frowned, and began the next cut, watching him wince.

Sky winced and moaned as Ghirahim made another long slice.

“How can I arrange for the ritual when these invaders are at least a day early! Volga can barely keep the battlefield covered as it is!” He fumed.

Ritual! So he had a plan, but without Zelda, how did he expect to revive Demise? 

Sky groaned as Ghirahim bit deeper with the blade, interrupting his thoughts.

“Tell me.” He pressed the blade to Sky’s throat. “Where. Is. Fi?” 

Sky shook his head slowly, and closed his eyes. 

“Your resolve is admirable. But it’s becoming rather dull. But…” He smiled wickedly, “I’ll break you yet. I just need to find the right fear.” 

He scraped a finger across Sky’s neck, leaving a thin cut, and then disappeared with a soft chime.

Sky shivered, looked around to ensure he was gone, then let out a deep sigh of relief.

[pygmi-says-hi]

STOP DOING THIS IN INJURY FICS!!

Bleeding:

Blood is warm. if blood is cold, you’re really fucking feverish or the person is dead. it’s only sticky after it coagulates.

It smells! like iron, obv, but very metallic. heavy blood loss has a really potent smell, someone will notice.

Unless in a state of shock or fight-flight mode, a character will know they’re bleeding. stop with the ‘i didn’t even feel it’ yeah you did. drowsiness, confusion, pale complexion, nausea, clumsiness, and memory loss are symptoms to include.

blood flow ebbs. sometimes it’s really gushin’, other times it’s a trickle. could be the same wound at different points.

it’s slow. use this to your advantage! more sad writer times hehehe.

Stab wounds:

I have been mildly impaled with rebar on an occasion, so let me explain from experience. being stabbed is bizarre af. your body is soft. you can squish it, feel it jiggle when you move. whatever just stabbed you? not jiggly. it feels stiff and numb after the pain fades. often, stab wounds lead to nerve damage. hands, arms, feet, neck, all have more motor nerve clusters than the torso. fingers may go numb or useless if a tendon is nicked.

also, bleeding takes FOREVER to stop, as mentioned above.

if the wound has an exit wound, like a bullet clean through or a spear through the whole limb, DONT REMOVE THE OBJECT. character will die. leave it, bandage around it. could be a good opportunity for some touchy touchy :)

whump writers - good opportunity for caretaker angst and fluff w/ trying to manhandle whumpee into a good position to access both sites

Concussion:

despite the amnesia and confusion, people ain’t that articulate. even if they’re mumbling about how much they love (person) - if that’s ur trope - or a secret, it’s gonna make no sense. garbled nonsense, no full sentences, just a coupla words here and there.

if the concussion is mild, they’re gonna feel fine. until….bam! out like a light. kinda funny to witness, but also a good time for some caretaking fluff.

Fever:

you die at 110F. no 'oh no his fever is 120F!! ahhh!“ no his fever is 0F because he’s fucking dead. you lose consciousness around 103, sometimes less if it’s a child. brain damage occurs at over 104.

ACTUAL SYMPTOMS:

sluggishness

seizures (severe)

inability to speak clearly

feeling chilly/shivering

nausea

pain

delirium

symptoms increase as fever rises. slow build that secret sickness! feverish people can be irritable, maybe a bit of sass followed by some hurt/comfort. never hurt anybody.

ALSO about fevers - they absolutely can cause hallucinations. Sometimes these alter memory and future memory processing. they're scary shit guys.

fevers are a big deal! bad shit can happen! milk that till its dry (chill out) and get some good hurt/comfort whumpee shit.

keep writing u sadistic nerds xox love you

ALSO I FORGOT LEMME ADD ON:

YOU DIE AT 85F

sorry I forgot. at that point for a sustained period of time you're too cold to survive.

pt 2

also please stop traumadumping in the notes/tags, that's not the point of this post. it's really upsetting to see on my feed, so i'm muting the notifs for this post. if you have a question about this post, dm me, but i don't want a constant influx of traumatic stories. xox

[pygmi-cygni]

STOP DOING THIS IN INJURY FICS!!

Bleeding:

Blood is warm. if blood is cold, you're really fucking feverish or the person is dead. it's only sticky after it coagulates.

It smells! like iron, obv, but very metallic. heavy blood loss has a really potent smell, someone will notice.

Unless in a state of shock or fight-flight mode, a character will know they're bleeding. stop with the 'i didn't even feel it' yeah you did. drowsiness, confusion, pale complexion, nausea, clumsiness, and memory loss are symptoms to include.

blood flow ebbs. sometimes it's really gushin', other times it's a trickle. could be the same wound at different points.

it's slow. use this to your advantage! more sad writer times hehehe.

Stab wounds:

I have been mildly impaled with rebar on an occasion, so let me explain from experience. being stabbed is bizarre af. your body is soft. you can squish it, feel it jiggle when you move. whatever just stabbed you? not jiggly. it feels stiff and numb after the pain fades. often, stab wounds lead to nerve damage. hands, arms, feet, neck, all have more motor nerve clusters than the torso. fingers may go numb or useless if a tendon is nicked.

also, bleeding takes FOREVER to stop, as mentioned above.

if the wound has an exit wound, like a bullet clean through or a spear through the whole limb, DONT REMOVE THE OBJECT. character will die. leave it, bandage around it. could be a good opportunity for some touchy touchy :)

whump writers - good opportunity for caretaker angst and fluff w/ trying to manhandle whumpee into a good position to access both sites

Concussion:

despite the amnesia and confusion, people ain't that articulate. even if they're mumbling about how much they love (person) - if that's ur trope - or a secret, it's gonna make no sense. garbled nonsense, no full sentences, just a coupla words here and there.

if the concussion is mild, they're gonna feel fine. until....bam! out like a light. kinda funny to witness, but also a good time for some caretaking fluff.

Fever:

you die at 106F (40.5C). no 'oh no his fever is 107F!! ahhh!" no his fever is 0F because he's fucking dead. you lose consciousness around 103, sometimes less if it's a child. brain damage occurs at over 104.

ACTUAL SYMPTOMS:

sluggishness

inability to speak clearly

feeling chilly/shivering

nausea

pain

delirium

symptoms increase as fever rises. slow build that secret sickness! feverish people can be irritable, maybe a bit of sass followed by some hurt/comfort. never hurt anybody.

fevers are a big deal! bad shit can happen! milk that till its dry (chill out) and get some good hurt/comfort whumpee shit.

keep writing u sadistic nerds xox love you

also - this post was not an invitation to share a bunch of enormously traumatic stories. stop messaging me things like 'related to ur last post' and then it's a really upsetting recount of an assault you experienced. this is a writing blog, not a medical newsletter. I'm muting the notifs because I don't like seeing it pop up in my feed - if you have a genuine writing question, please dm me, i'd love to hear it. thank you.

[saffusthings]

You Know You're My Saving Grace

oscar piastri x personal assistant!reader

summary: the one where he comes when she calls. word count: 17.6k (i'm so sorry) warnings: descriptions and talks of abuse, trauma, disassociation, shock, other abuse aftermath, please don't read if any of this stuff is not the vibe, whump, poorly editing writing a/n: this is my first time doing something like this, so comments/feedback would be much appreciated! and let me if anyone wants a part two, bc i'm kinda getting the vibes for a multi-part fic lol

The sound of his ringtone feels louder and louder until finally, Oscar realizes it’s not just in his dream. Blearily, he blinks awake, before reaching across the bed to pick up his phone to check who the hell decided it was a good idea to call him in the middle of the night.

“…Hello?” he asks, voice heavy with sleep. Oscar is a man who knows the value of good sleep - he can’t imagine who’d be calling him at this hour.

He squints, vision bleary from his state of half-wakefulness. Huh? If the car had an issue or if he had a meeting, couldn’t she just wait until morning to brief him?

“Hello? A- Are you there?” she asks, voice hushed.

“Yeah, I’m here. What is it?” Oscar says with a yawn, now more awake, and propped up on his elbow in the bed. He reaches around, turning the bedside lamp on.

“I’m really sorry to disturb you but-”

Her hushed voice is interrupted by the sound of shouting in the background. When the booming voice finally stops, it’s punctuated with the sound of something shattering.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Oscar says quickly, his tone no longer groggy as his mind begins to put the pieces together. 

“Are you alright? Where are you right now?” Oscar asks firmly.

“Shit- I’m sorry, but-” And something else shatters. Suddenly her voice becomes a lot more hushed and a lot more hurried.

“Are you safe right now?” He sits up fully in bed now. He gets out of the bed and heads over to the window, looking down at the sidewalk below to check to see if her car’s here by any chance. No such luck.

“Can you come pick me up? It’s kind of an emergency.”

“Okay, take deep breaths. In and out,” he says, trying to keep her as calm as possible. “Now, where are you?” He haphazardly shoves his head into the first shirt he finds, before slipping into his shoes and swiping up his keys. Once he has the address, he’s quick to run from his apartment to his parked car.

“I’m on my way, so don’t hang up on me, okay?”

“Y- Yes, yeah.”

“Good,” Oscar replies, making sure to keep his voice steady, acting as the levelheaded one. “I’ll keep you talking until I get there, okay?”

“I- I’m not sure I understand, Sir.”

“I need you to stay on the line for me so that I can hear you and keep you safe,” Oscar instructs her, peeling out of the parking lot and speeding through the empty streets.

“I- I’m okay,” she tries in a delayed attempt to reassure him. She’s his assistant, after all - she’s the one meant to be helping him. Though she’s only a year younger than him, she always strives to fulfill her role well, and tries to give her 110%.

Oscar lets out a sigh as he keeps driving. “…Just, stay with me, okay? I should be there in a few minutes.”

There’s some more yelling going on in the background, and it seems marginally closer now. Her throat feels so tight that she doesn’t even register her boss’s voice through the phone.

Oscar immediately calls out her name, his tone sounding a bit more sharp as he raises his voice a bit. He needs her to focus on his voice. 

“Hey, talk to me, are you there?”

“Y- Yes.” Her voice shakes when she speaks.

“Now I need you to do something for me, can you do that?”

“I need you to get yourself into a room, any room, and lock the door, okay?” Oscar says, searching for her address amongst the row of houses lining the block. Different homes line the quiet suburban street, darkened windows and porch lights indicative of their sleeping residents.

“I’m in the corner of my bedroom,” she informs him. “I can’t lock the door or-”

“Okay, that’s fine. Now I want you to just stay there, don’t move and stay on the line, I’m almost there, okay?” he reassures. Why won’t this car go any fucking faster? 

Finally, he slides into the parking right outside the house. He gets out of his car, and heads up the driveway and to the front door.

“Be careful-” she warns, and that’s all he hears before he hears a shout, and then the line goes dead.

“No, no, no, no,” Oscar mutters to himself, his heart rate increasing and his pace quickens as he runs up to the front door. He tries the door handle, before realizing it’s locked. Without thinking, he steps back, before ramming his body against the door in an attempt to force it open. It budges, but only slightly. It does however seem to attract attention, as the yelling emanating from inside seems to come to a halt.

Oscar steps back again, taking in a deep breath. Years of physical conditioning and resistance training means he’s strong enough to break the door down, but he’d probably wake the whole neighborhood up if he does. So, not efficient.

He quickly scans the windows on the first floor, before he spots a small window on the side of the house. Though it's hard to tell in the dark, its position raises his hopes that maybe luck will be on his side. Without wasting another second, he walks over to the window and tries to push it open. It slides open silently, and Oscar quickly pulls himself up and into the house. 

He keeps his movements quiet and careful, eyes scanning the house that’s engulfed in darkness.

It’s then that he’s met with the realization that there’s not one, but two shouting voices - but none of them seem to be the familiar voice of his assistant.

Where the hell is she?

Oscar’s heart begins beating even louder. They don’t know he’s here, but he can still hear shouting from upstairs. Keeping his footsteps light, Oscar slowly heads up the stairs, stopping to listen for anything before proceeding further.

He hears the sound of something thump against the wall with force. 

Oscar winces as he hears it again, feeling his adrenaline spike. Exhales leave his lips in the form of carefully controlled puffs as he forces his heartbeat under control. Worst-case scenarios flash in his mind, and then he’s quickly taking the stairs two steps at a time as he makes his way to the upstairs hallway.

Halfway up the stairs, she pauses to listen, he finally hears the sound of twin pairs of footsteps retreating. As he cautiously walks through the hallway, the shouting gradually gets louder as he begins to approach its source. He finally comes to a stop in front of a door, which has faint light spilling from underneath it. Risking being discovered by an unfamiliar face, he whispers, “Hey, you in there?” He reaches for the door handle and tries to push it open.

He sighs in relief as the door opens, as his eyes quickly adjust to the dark. Scanning the room, his gaze finally falls on her, still sitting in the corner. The shadows only reveal her silhouette, but he knows it’s her. Oscar quickly walks into the room, over to her, and crouches down to her level.

There’s a shattered lamp nearby, pieces scattered on the floor. She’s sitting in the corner, curled into herself, her head tucked in.

He sits down right in front of her, placing a hand on her knee. “Hey,” he says, his voice gentle and soft. “It’s me. I’m here now.”

She’s trembling when he approaches. Barely concealed cuts and bruises litter her body - deep purple blooms and angry white scratches peeking out from beneath sleeves and her collar and the rest of her exposed skin. He looks closer to see whether the mark around her wrist is really the print of a hand, but the sleeve of her shirt conceals the rest of it, leaving him uncertain.

His eyes roam over her now visible injuries. The sight alone is almost enough to make him forget where they are, but reality persists. He squeezes her knee gently.

Startled at the touch, she jerks her head up with wide, wild eyes. 

He came.

“Hey, it’s me,” he says, trying to get her to focus on him. “Look at me. I’m here now,” he says, his tone gentle. He carefully moves his hand to cradle her face, tilting it up as his eyes search hers.

“Hey.” Her voice comes out shakier than Oscar is used to.

The sight of her is jarring - the shivering woman crouched before him looks nothing like the coworker he saw mere hours ago. His eyes move over her face again, taking in every little detail, his eyes lingering on the cut near the corner of her lip for a millisecond longer than usual. 

“Can you stand?” She nods rapidly, even as her legs shake. 

“Alright, come on,” he says, now standing up and holding a hand out for her to take. As soon as her fingers touch his, he feels like all sorts of red alerts go off in his head - she’s cold.

He can easily pull her to her feet with just a light tug, as he helps her up from the corner she was huddling in. He keeps a gentle grip on her as he looks her over again. Now that she’s in a standing position, he notices how her shoulders slump forward, as if she’s instinctively doing whatever she can to make herself smaller. He can only assume it’s because she’s trying to make herself less visible, as if she’s scared of being seen. Or worse.

“Can you walk?” he asks again, gently.

Seeing her boss, seeing Oscar here - feels surreal. 

He notices how she’s still refusing to look him in the eye, as if on instinct. Instead, her eyes are focused anywhere but on his face.

“Hey, eyes on me,” he says, lifting a hand to gently grip her chin and turn her face to his. Suddenly brought back to some semblance of focus, she quickly nods. It feels easier than words at the moment.

Now that her eyes are on him, he takes advantage, as he attempts to assess her state. Her eyes are wide, and he can see the slightest shaking in her hands. 

“You’re freezing,” is the first thing he says, noticing how cold her skin feels against his palms.

“They’ll come back,” she rambles hurriedly. “They’ll come back and they’ll-“

He can hear the rising panic in her voice, as he tries to think of a way to calm her down. 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers firmly, his hand moving to her arm, giving it a slight squeeze to get her to listen to him. “They’re not gonna come back. I’m here, okay?”

The sound of distantly approaching footsteps interrupts him, accompanied by hushed voices. Oscar’s eyes widen in alarm, as every part of him goes rigid. Those must be the people she was referring to earlier, and he’ll be damned if they come back here. His hands instinctively move to her back now, as he pushes her behind him. He shakes his head as he moves so that he’s blocking her completely from their view. His mind works quickly, as he tries to think of a way out of here.

“Be quiet,” he tells her, his voice hushed. “I’m gonna get us out of here, okay?”

She nods silently.

Oscar then starts going over all the potential exits in his head - the windows, stairway, the front door. He knows that the window is too small, and the front door would have them walking right into them. 

That only left the stairs. Shit.

He turns around partially so that he’s facing her again, his eyes flickering over her quickly to check for any new injuries.

“You’re able to run?” he confirms, his voice hushed to keep it from being overheard. She nods rapidly in agreement, desperate to do anything to make the dream of getting out of here come true.

That’s good enough for him, as he gently grabs her wrist and pulls her behind him. Frankly, the man has no idea what he’ll do if she’s not able to keep up, but he sneaks over to the bedroom door, quietly opening it so that he can peek out.

She listens for a moment. “They’re downstairs. In the room right under this one.”

A small plan starts coming up in his mind, as his expression morphs into something more serious. 

“Okay,” he starts, as he takes a glance back at the stairs. “When I say ‘go’, I want you to run down the stairs. Go, and don’t stop. I’ll be behind you, okay?”

When she shoots him a wary look, he’s quick to project that collected, self-assured image that he’s well known for.

“Just trust me.”

He can hear the footsteps in the room down below moving around, as the voices get slightly clearer, meaning they’re getting closer to the stairs.

She swallows hard. It does nothing to quiet the loud hammering of her heart in her chest. He sees the look in her eyes, and he can clearly tell how terrified she is. It’s up to him to gently push her in the direction of the door. 

“It’ll be okay - trust me,” he says softly, hoping it's enough to reassure her for this moment as he readies himself at the bedroom door.

He can hear the voices more distinctly now, and his pulse spikes up anxiously. He’s got to do this right, otherwise they’ll never have another chance. For a moment, everything falls silent, and the only thing either of them can hear is their own heartbeats as it threatens to beat out of their very chests. They wait there, poised to leave, their breaths held.

“Okay, go,” he says firmly, as he practically throws her out of the bedroom door and into the hallway.

He’s out right behind her, running down the hallway. He can already hear the voices in the room below turning to confusion as they hear footsteps. It’s in that moment that he realizes that he’s still gripping her wrist, and he mentally berates himself that that’s the only thing he can do. 

It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as they bolt down the rest of the stairs. She can feel her legs and her heart is hammering in her chest and she’s not sure she’s ever been so afraid in her life. But Oscar Piastri is here, and he acts like he knows what he’s doing, and so she does the scary thing and follows his lead.

Despite how hard they’re running, it still feels like they’re not moving fast enough, as he can hear the sound of the door down below swinging open. His grip on her wrist tightens as he practically yanks her to the front door, throwing it open with his free hand. Desperation fueling his every move, he pushes her out and follows right behind her, fighting every urge to look back. 

He’s never been more thankful to see the sleek metal of his car as he practically pulls her over to it. Throwing the passenger door open, he gently shoves her into the passenger seat and shuts the door behind her. Instincts override all else as hops into the driver’s side of the car, starting his engine.

Everything’s in flashes - Oscar’s grip yanking her along, the hard pavement beneath her feet, the night wind whipping in her hair, the rapid thumping of her frenzied heart.

He can barely focus on anything besides getting the hell away from that house, as he pulls the car out, driving as carefully as he can without drawing attention to them. Now that they’re seated, she finally takes a few shaky breaths, trying to allow her brain a moment of reprieve so that it can catch up.

He glances over at her. In the artificial lighting of the car. There’s a beat of silence throughout the car, no noise other than the sound of the engine, until he speaks up,

“You okay?”

She nods dazedly. His eyes move back to the road as he grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his eyes not leaving the road. He takes another left turn. 

“Yeah,” she breathes. Her voice still doesn’t sound like her usual self when she speaks, but Oscar is glad that she’s at least saying something. 

Having a moment to breath turns out to be both a blessing and a curse as her thoughts begin to run haywire. God, why did she bring him into this whole mess? She had tried calling the McLaren front desk but no one answered, and so Oscar’s was really the only other option whose number she knew by heart.

He takes another glance at her, noting her fidgety hands, and his tone softens again as finally catches his breath. 

“Can I see your hands?”

“M- My hands?” She looks up at him with wide eyes.

His eyes linger on her face for another second, taking in the wide-eyed, somewhat startled expression. 

“Yeah, your hands,” he clarifies, his tone a bit more gentle. “Lemme see ‘em, yeah?”

She nods once in quick agreement, but is so out of it that she forgets to actually give him her hands. He reaches over, gently taking one of her hands in his much larger ones. He runs his thumb over her fingers and knuckles, taking a closer look at her hands now.  They’re shaking violently in his grip, though that’s probably from the adrenaline and panic rushing through her body right now. His face falls the moment his eyes land on several of her knuckles. Some are badly bruised, and some more have small scrapes and cuts on them. He’s actually surprised that there’s no blood. 

He gently runs his thumb over the scraped knuckles, his fingers slightly curling around her hand.

“Ouch,” she says, voice sounding more faraway than it should. “I think that hurts.”

“Yeah, I’d say it hurts,” he responds gently, still continuing to gently run his thumb over the scraped knuckles on her hands. It then that he spots a nasty bruise on the back of her hand, which is in stark contrast to the surrounding skin. 

His eyes narrow when he sees the obvious shape of a handprint.

Coming to the same realization, she steals her hand away, tucking it back into its sleeve. Since when is the car so cold? He glances over at her, but her eyes are averted from him, looking out the window. 

There’s an unsettling feeling in his chest when she tucks her hand into her sleeve, as if she’s trying to hide it, and he knows why.

She holds her hands tightly together, as if desperately trying to warm them. Or to stop them from shaking. It’s unclear which of those it is.

Perhaps it’s both.

Oscar lets out a quiet sigh of relief when they arrive at his street, but he’s still focused on her. 

He takes one hand off the wheel. 

“Hey - listen to me, alright? We’re here now, and it’s gonna be okay,” he says as he tries to park the car. “That’s all you need to focus on, okay?”

“My heart…” she trails off. “It’s beating really fast.”

Instead, he responds with a soft, “Yeah, I know. I know. You’ll be okay, though, alright?” 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, alright?” he says, his other hand still on her shoulder. 

“We’re gonna get out of the car, and I’m gonna take you upstairs, and we’ll get you all settled, yeah? And we’ll get some ice and stuff on those hands of yours, and we’ll just take it easy, yeah?”

Directions help thought. The way he talks her through it… it gives her things to focus on, details to center her attention toward. She nods, looking up at him.

“Let’s go,” he offers gently. 

She nods, allowing him to guide her. It feels a little bit like a lighthouse in a storm - your sole light, sole direction in the midst of the chaos and turmoil of everything else. She looks up dazedly at her lighthouse as he pulls her gently out of the car. 

Her lighthouse happens to have kind brown eyes.

He manages to unlock the door and push it open, and he holds it open for her to enter in before him. “Don’t go anywhere yet, alright? We gotta get some ice and antiseptic on those hands of yours first.”

“It’s nice,” she comments softly, looking around. She's been here before, of course - bringing him files he forgot late at night, waking him up when he overslept for a meeting, delivering his trainer-approved meals for the week so he can stock up his fridge. 

But never like this. She’s only ever been here as his personal assistant, not like… this.

Surveying the room, she notices things she hadn’t had the time to notice before. His apartment is more just plain simple then it is minimalist, but there’s still the odd touches here and there to make the place more personable. Throw blankets folded haphazardly on couches, potted plants stacked into a bookshelf by the window, a stereotypical wall of photos - there’s bits of Oscar’s touch scattered across the space. The air itself smells like dishwasher steam and some warm candle she can’t discern the name of.

He smiles, gently squeezing her wrist, tugging her to make her follow him to the bathroom. The light flicks on as they walk into the bathroom together, and he immediately steers her over to the small sink. 

Shades of charcoal contrast with white porcelain, making up the picture of the bathroom. There’s a hand towel hanging embroidered with a little whale on it, and a ‘rustic’ looking soap dispenser that turns out to be plastic upon closer inspection. As she notices the cool overhead lights, she feels warm hands guide her to stand in front of the sink, before gently letting go of her wrist so he can reach over to pull out the first-aid kit that’s likely been sitting there since his mother snuck it into his things. 

“Keep your hands up underneath the faucet,” he instructs, opening the box and quickly finding the antiseptic before turning his attention back to her. She audibly grimaces at the feeling of the freezing water seeping into her skin. The water pressure falls against her bruises and washes into the small cuts littered about her hands as well.

“Shit-” she winces.

He gently wraps a hand around her wrist again, tilting her hand from side to side to get the water flowing over all the scraped and cut parts of her hand. 

She immediately goes to pull her hands away from the stream of water, but his grip around her wrist doesn’t let her pull back by much.

“It’s too much, please, s’too much-“

The movement that she makes to pull away has his grip on her hand tightening slightly to keep her still, not letting her jerk her hand away like her instincts want her to. 

“Hey, hey, no,” he says, his tone still soft and gentle. “I know it hurts, but I gotta do this, alright?” 

His hand continues to hold hers in place, the water continuing to run over her cuts and scrapes. She whimpers in pain, still fighting him to pull her hand away. The unwanted tightening of his grip also reminds her of the events of tonight - a person’s hold on her that won’t go away even when she tries.

Immediately, her body responds by trying to pull back even more.

His eyes widen when she suddenly jerks back to pull her wrist back hard, as if she’s trying to fight him away. Instinctively, his other hand goes to gently grip the underside of her forearm, in an attempt to get her to stay still. 

“Hey - hey, we’ve gotta stay still, alright?”

“Let go of me,” she thrashes, trying to peel his hand off her. “Get your hands off me!”

Her struggle has his concerned expression growing more and more worried. He’s trying to calm her down, he really is, but the cuts need to be cleaned, so he has no choice but to tighten his grip on her. 

“You need to stay still,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady as she continues to struggle. “I need to get your hands cleaned and antiseptic on them, alright? You’re making this more difficult-”

“Stop!” she practically shrieks, voice hoarse. She scrambles away from him, prying his fingers off her in her panic and backing against the wall of the bathroom like a frightened animal. “Don’t touch me!“

When she finally manages to jerk her hands out of his grasp and back up against the wall, he can practically feel a pit form in his stomach. He immediately holds his hands up, as if in surrender, but still takes a step towards her.

“Stop! Stop!” she cries. “P- Please, please don’t do this.”

Caught off guard, his eyes widen and he holds his hands up again, simultaneously taking small, careful steps towards her. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he tells her, keeping his voice soft and gentle, but firm enough that it’d incline her to believe him.

She can feel her heart pounding in her chest, her lungs gasping in quick bursts of air. Her chest is heaving wildly as she struggles to just breathe and her eyes are wild as they dart around the room, refusing to focus on anything. 

When Oscar looks at her - wild eyes, flushed skin, and frantic breathing - it’s difficult for him to not go over to her to hug her, to comfort her in some way, but he’s afraid of spooking her even further than she already is.

“Hey,” he says again, trying to get her attention again. “Hey, look at me, okay?”

He waits for her eyes to shift towards him, which takes longer than he’d like it to, but he can’t push her. Her panic is high and he has to take this carefully and gently. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. Alright? I swear. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe, alright? You’re safe.”

Her eyes flicker towards him again, and he takes another step towards her, only for her to jerk away again and press more firmly against the wall. Her irises reflect an even greater degree of panic now, and the pit in his stomach deepens. 

“Hey,” he says again, a bit more firm this time. “Hey, look at me. I need you to trust me, okay? I’m not going to hurt you.”

He takes another step towards her again, trying to keep his stature as non threatening as possible, while keeping his tone firm, but gentle. 

He wants to reach out and pull her into a hug. He wants to wrap his arms around her and soothe her, and promise her that he’ll keep her safe. But she’s pressed so hard against the wall like she’s trying to fuse with it, that he doesn’t want to risk sending her into a panic attack by touching her.

“Alright,” he murmurs, as he takes another step closer, closing the distance further. “I’m gonna try something, alright?”

He waits for her to respond, but all she does is look at him, wide eyed. He takes that as permission enough to continue, and slowly reaches out, gently gripping her wrists.

She clenches her eyes shut, trying to fight her breathing into control. He tries not to use his full grip on her as he gently takes hold of her wrists, but the way she turns her head away, as if she’s bracing herself for something, as if she’s scared he’s going to hurt her, makes that tightness in his stomach worsen.

She nods, a tad slower this time. Her heart is still thudding against her rib cage, but warm, honey-brown eyes meet hers.

He takes a deep breath, the kind that’s meant to release some of that live wire feeling from his muscles, his thumbs still soothingly stroking the inside of her hands as he speaks. “I’m not going to hurt you, alright?” he says again, his tone quiet, but firm. “I need to get your hands cleaned. D’you trust me?”

A beat of silence.

“I’m gonna bring you to the sink, alright?” he asks quietly, continuing to state his actions aloud in advance. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I just need to clean your hands because there’s blood all over them. You trust me?”

After a moment of her eyes flitting across his face, she gives him an almost imperceptible nod. Despite the firm grip around her wrists, she focuses on remembering that this is Oscar.

Oscar Piastri.

The same Oscar that ran late to meetings because he kept stopping to pet street cats while they were in Jeddah.

That Oscar.

Careful not to let go of her or make any sudden movements, he slowly starts to tug her towards the row of sinks, taking baby steps so as to not startle her again.

He takes careful note of how she responds when he phrases it as a question - like she’s somewhat included in the decision-making process, that it’s not just being done to her. He can see that maybe some of the tension in her body has left her and she’s not as taut as she had been against the wall, but something in his gut tells him they’re far from being out of the woods yet, and he needs to proceed carefully.

“We’re here,” he says quietly, as they reach the sink. He turns on the water, making sure it’s warm, but not too hot, before he looks towards her again. 

She’s still breathing pretty heavily, but her panicked eyes have cleared somewhat, as if she’s not quite as panicked as she was before. 

“We gotta get your hands cleaned up, alright?” he says again, as he turns to look back at her. “Will you let me clean your hands?”

Slowly, her face turns towards him, her eyes still a bit out of focus. He swallows hard. “Hey,” he says, his tone gentle and quiet. “I’m gonna touch your hand now, alright?”

She moves her head in a single nod, and it’s all he needs, and he slowly eases one of her wrists from his grip. He gently, slowly, carefully turns one of her hands so that her palm is facing up, so he can start cleaning the blood off of it.

“W- Will…?” she tries to ask, but her voice comes out shaky and hoarse.

“Will it hurt?” he asks, finishing her question for her. At her slow nod, he gently shakes his head no, as he continues to hold her wrist with one hand, and starts softly wiping the blood away from her injured hand using a clean bit of tissue with the other. 

“No, I’m being very careful,” he assures her, his tone soothing. “I’m very gentle, I won’t hurt you, yeah?”

She watches carefully as he works. He’s surprisingly careful and gentle, taking care to pay attention to each and every part. The lighting of the bathroom paints him as a portrait, his eyebrows scrunched, his lips pressed together in concentration. Smooth fingers delicately dance across the skin of her hands, wiping them with feather light touches.

He can feel her gaze on him as he works at gently wiping the blood off her hands, keeping his pace slow and steady. Each movement is careful and precise, and he does his best not to hurt her more than she probably already is as he cleans the blood and dirt off her skin. He doesn’t say anything, not wanting to distract her, but every so often, his gaze sneaks up to glance at her face anyway.

“Thank you,” she murmurs into the late hours of the night, sat atop the surface of his bathroom sink. “For coming tonight.” Oscar had never even considered a universe where he didn’t. Of course he’d be there. “Of course, anytime," he tells her. “But you know you don’t have to thank me.”

She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand, she doesn’t know that she’s so much more than just his assistant, and that he cares more about her than just as the person who brings him his coffee and files his paperwork.

He mutters under his breath, his hand holding her chin. “You’re not just my assistant, alright? You’re so much more than that, you’ve always been more than that to me.”

Her brows furrow, trying to understand. “I mean, I’d like to think we’ve become friendly over the past two years-“

Friendly. Friendly. It’s so much more than that. 

“Friendly,” he laughs, practically mocking the word. “That’s not even close to what I mean, and I don’t think you’re stupid enough to not know that.”

“Unless you’re trying to call me stupid, I’m not sure I’m understanding what you’re saying.”

“You’re not stupid,” he sighs. “I’m trying to tell you that I care about you much more than just my assistant. How do you not get that?”

There’s a beat of silence where she tries to process the words, turning them over in her mind as she analyzes them. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, her tone polite. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Kind to say? Kind? 

It feels dismissive, like she doesn’t quite believe him. But the truth is - he’s not being kind, he’s trying to tell her the goddamn truth, and she doesn’t believe him.

Her eyes scan his face, looking for any indication that he isn’t being truthful. She knows his tells by now - almost two years of paying attention to him when he lies to get out of an interview or when he fibs about how late he’ll be to the meeting. She knows these habits of his, his little quirks. 

She knows him. 

He nods, his eyes holding her gaze. 

The fog of night settles around them like a haze, silent and ever present. Looking at his face, pale skin reflecting moonlight and irises dark with exhaustion, he appears like a dream. When he’s stood before her like this, after everything that unfolded tonight, time seems to transcend reality. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, throwing her arms around him. She almost doesn’t care that her dislocated shoulder is screaming in pain - she adjusts it marginally to make it a bit more comfortable. She hugs him in gratitude, eyes closed so the tears of relief don’t slip out.

He freezes as soon as her arms go around him, stunned, but his body quickly catches up to his mind. His arms wrap around her immediately, like it’s an instinct. One of his hands slides gently up her back to rest against the back of her head, holding her to him. “You don’t have to thank me,” he manages to gasp out, his words choked, as he tightens his grip on her.

When she goes to pull away, it’s almost like he’s acting on autopilot, like his body is just moving on its own, without regard for reason. He gently grasps her arm again, his fingers wrapping lightly around her wrist, and he gently pulls her back towards him, his other hand resting gently but firmly against her hip.

Oh.

He has her against his chest again, her smaller frame held against his, and his brain registers just how good this feels, how right it feels - having her in his arms like this.

If she could just get her heart, that has randomly decided to beat out of her chest, to calm down, then maybe she’d be able to speak. She’s breathing fast, her heart beating a mile a minute against his chest.

Then, he does the stupidest thing in the whole world when she starts to speak, something he’s been silently wanting to do for months now. He bends down, ignoring her starting words, ignoring absolutely everything but the fact that he wants to do this, and finally closes the rest of the gap between them. His lips press against hers, silencing the rest of the words she’d been saying.

She’s stunned. Her brain is somehow working both too fast and not at all at the same time. What the fuck just happened?

She freezes in place, completely still.

He freezes as soon as he breaks the kiss, realizing in a flash that he just kissed her. His assistant. 

He kissed her. He had kissed the woman who basically helped run his entire life for the last two years, the woman who probably had no idea how he feels about her, and still thinks they’re just boss and assistant. Perhaps not his best work. 

His brain scrambles, trying to come up with some sort of an explanation, anything to justify what he just did.

Immediately, he’s desperate to hear her voice, to prove to him somehow that he hasn’t just ruined everything. He needs her to say something that will indicate that things won’t be horribly, terribly awkward between them after this.

She tries her hardest to come up with something to say – she really does. But she keeps coming up empty. So instead, she follows the next impulse her brain comes up with: she pulls him closer by the shirt and kisses him.

Oh. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting that. 

For a single beat, he’s frozen, stunned, like his mind can’t really comprehend what’s happening. Then, all at once, his whole body reacts. He responds in record time, calloused hands cradling both sides of her face as he kisses her back. He kisses her with fervor, with a passion that he’d been holding back for months, ever since he realized that he had feelings for her. The kiss is desperate, as if he’s afraid he’s going to never be able to kiss her again, as if this is his one and only chance at having her like this, in his arms, against his body.

She pulls away out of her body’s need for oxygen. Stupid oxygen.

When she does pull away, she looks up at him, tentative, hesitant – she both needs to and is scared to see how he will react.

He groans as she pulls away from him, and his lips automatically try to follow hers as she moves, as if he’s unwilling to let her move away from him, as if he needs her to always be this close to him. When she finally does move away from him, his arms automatically loosen their grip around her, though his hands stay on her. He looks down at her, his breathing coming in short pants, and he can’t help the look of awe that appears on his face.

She ends up being the first to speak. “That was-“

His brain automatically tries to finish her sentence for her - he’s spent so long with her, working with her, that it’s almost second nature to him now, to try and finish her sentences when she can’t find the words. 

“A mistake?” he supplies, his tone suddenly hesitant as he watches her. Part of him knows that it’s true, that this shouldn’t have happened, that he shouldn’t have kissed her. 

Another part of him doesn’t give a damn.

“Oh.” Truthfully, that wasn’t what she was going to say. In fact, if it were up to her, there was a high likelihood that she would have said it was nice. Really nice.

She had never kissed anyone before, but if every kiss was just as spectacular for everyone as this one was for her, then she could certainly see the appeal. That certainly doesn’t seem to be the case for Oscar, however.

Subconsciously, she pulls back, away from him.

“No,” he says, his hands immediately moving to grab her again, to stop her from pulling away. He gently tightens his grip on her, wrapping his arms around her, and pulls her back against his body. 

“It’s just that-“ he starts again, trying to find the right words, “You’re, well, you’re my assistant. You work for me.”

“Yeah,” she breathes half-heartedly. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

Oscar can hear the resignation in her voice, the disappointment. He hates that he put it there, but he can’t help the feeling of relief that washes through him as he realizes just how okay she is with the fact that he’s her boss. 

“I’m just saying that it’s-“

His brain scrambles for the words again, his mind trying to think of some sort of excuse, some sort of reason why she, his assistant, is here in his arms, why he’s holding her against him.

“It’s alright,” she says, trying to steady her voice as she slinks out of his arms. “I understand, it was a mistake for you.“

“No, it wasn’t a mistake!” he protests, his tone sounding more insistent than he’d intended it to. He mentally smacks himself - he’s the one who started telling her that it was a mistake, why in hell is he sounding so mad now that she’s agreeing with him?

He reaches out, wrapping a large, strong hand around her wrist.

“I’m trying to explain myself and I’m doing a shit job at it, aren’t I?” he says, his voice half amused and half frustrated.

“Yeah,” she laughs lightly, breaking some of the awkward tension. “Yeah, you kinda are.”

Some of the tension between them does ease - her laughter is a good sign, he thinks. She’s relaxed enough to laugh with him, and so he can breathe a little easier.

“It’s just-“ he starts, trying to think of the best way to try and explain. He can’t say I’ve had feelings for you for months because he’s not sure she feels the same way.

She watches him fumble over his words for a minute, first trying this sentence then that. After a moment, some deity has mercy on him, and she decides to help him out a little.

Her hand, gentle, barely there - goes to rest on his shoulder. She’d squeeze his shoulder reassuringly if everything wasn’t broken or bruised right now. Instead, she settles for rubbing it gently up and down against his arm.

“Breathe. Tell me what’s going on in your head,” she offers gently, her kind eyes looking up at his. 

She’s the only one who knows him like this, he thinks. The only person in the world who would know when and how to give him a moment to collect his thoughts, knows how he prefers green tea or energy drinks instead of coffee, knows what his tells are.

He looks at her and finds the same kind face that become an integral part of his life and function over the last two years. Sure, it looks a bit different, with the cut on her lip and the bruise peeking out of her hairline - but the face is the same one that’s been unbearably patient with him on hard days but also kept his ego in check on the good days.

God, the timing may be awful, but… it’s her.

Her hand, small and gentle, rests gently on his shoulder, rubbing it up and down to help soothe him and calm his mind, and it works. 

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he gathers his thoughts - he has to tell her something, something that’ll let her know that what just happened was more than just some sort of a “mistake”, that there was something behind it.

“Talk to me,” she prompts him quietly.

He takes another deep breath, opening his eyes to look down at her. Her hand is still on his shoulder and he lets the feel of it ground him. He hesitates for a beat - he isn’t sure how she’ll react to what he has to say - but he has to say something, and so he decides to just speak and not think. 

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he says, making sure to keep his tone firm, like what he’s saying is absolute fact.

“Okay,” she acknowledges, tone carefully neutral. There’s a pause there, a moment for him to think. A small, kind smile appears on her face, trying to reassure him. She can clearly see there’s something else he’s trying to say - he’s just having trouble finding the words.

“C’mon, you know the drill. Talk to me, even if it’s messy. And then…” she takes a deep breath, as if to steady herself. “And then we can figure it out from there.”

It’s what they always do - whenever he’s excited about an idea or rambling about a theory or trying to figure something out, this is what they do. She lets him ramble to her about it, no matter how disorganized or chaotic or downright crazy he feels he sounds. And then, they parse through the craziness together. It’s gotten to the point where people around the paddock joke that she’s the one who can understand what he’s saying when he’s like this - Lando will often drag Oscar over to her office before a meeting to have his ideas “translated from yapanese” for the team to understand.

He looks down at her, at that kind, familiar smile of hers, and he feels something in his chest relax and loosen. He knows how this works, how they work, and he lets himself fall into the familiar rhythm of it all, even if this is different than every other time they’ve discussed ideas or ranted about something - this is foreign territory, and that makes this all the more scary. 

He takes another deep breath, looking down at her, and he just… speaks.

“That thing that just happened,” he starts, his voice still firm and insistent, even though his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. He looks down at her, and he makes sure that she’s not just hearing his words, but also listening to them.

“It wasn’t a mistake. It was…“

He hesitates again, struggling to find the best words to explain why he did what he did.

“It was…?” she tries to prompt. However, she’d be lying if she said her heart wasn’t also frozen in anticipation.

“…A confession.”

He says the word with such finality, as if now that the word has been spoken, it’s the absolute truth - as if it can’t be denied. 

“A… confession?”

Her question makes him falter - he can’t quite read her tone, can’t figure out what that question means. 

She can’t be that stupid, he thinks - she’s smart, one of the smartest people he knows - there’s no way she’d be that confused by the concept of someone confessing to someone else, so he can only assume that she’s asking him why he’s confessing.

Instead, what she does say comes completely out of left field for him. 

“Look, it’s been a long night, and…” she trails off. It seems it’s her turn to search for the right words now. “And I get it. People do weird things when emotions or adrenaline is running high. I get it, I do.”

There’s a pause before she continues, finally settling on what it is she’s trying to say. “So I’d understand if that’s what this is. Was. Is. Whatever.”

His brain stalls when she speaks. 

No, he thinks, no. That’s not what this is, this isn’t just some sort of “adrenaline rush”, this has been building up between them for at least a few months now, if not longer. 

He stares at her, frozen as he tries to figure out what to say - how does he convince her that this is more than just a stupid thing caused by adrenaline?

“I- I’m giving you that out, I guess,” she finally says. “If that’s what you’re looking for.”

God, why the hell does it feel like her heart has suddenly forgotten how to do its job, beating irregularly instead?

She’s giving him an out - she’s saying that if he wants to just sweep this whole thing under some rug, she’ll believe him. She’ll believe him if he says it was just a moment of “weakness” or “high emotions”. That maybe that’s all it really was.

God above, that’s the last thing he wants - he’s spent the last month trying to keep his hands to himself, trying to keep his feelings in check…

“Hey,” she calls softly. Her voice sounds a lot less scared, a lot less uncertain than she feels. “I need you to talk to me, yeah?”

He looks down at her - her tone is still gentle and reassuring, telling him that she’s open to listen to him, that she wants to listen to what he has to say. It takes a lot for her to speak this clearly and calmly, especially given everything that’s happened, he imagines. 

He reaches up and gently wraps his fingers around her wrist again - he needs to touch her, needs to feel her, needs to know that this is actually happening, that this isn’t some weird fever dream. She winces as his fingers wrap perfectly around the hand shaped bruise that’s already developing around her wrist. She tries to bite back the grimace before it slips out, but it’s still there. He instantly notices her wince, her grimace barely suppressed, and his hold loosens on her wrist almost instantly. 

“Sorry,” he says quickly, his eyes scanning over the bruise that’s already forming around her wrist, anger flaring through him as he looks at the angry, dark mark. He gently prods at the bruise, testing to see just how bad it is.

“It- Shit- It’s okay, I should’ve been more careful.”

His jaw clenches when she winces again when he pushes against the bruise, and all he wants to do is go find her parents and beat the ever-loving crap out of them for having the audacity to put their hands on her like this. 

He’s careful when his fingers brush over the bruise, his touch light as his fingers ghost over the injury.

“…You were saying something?”

Damn. 

She’s so damn calm at the moment, and it’s making this all the more difficult for him. It would be easier if she was crying or yelling, because he knows how to handle those outbursts, but damn, she’s so put together right now. 

His gaze softens as he looks down at her, his hand moving from her wrist to cup her face. 

“You have to know,” he says softly, his voice steady, “that wasn’t a mistake.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her eyes look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

He knows that he should probably take a step back, give her some space as he tries to find the right words to help her understand, but he just can’t make himself do it. He keeps his hand on her face, thumb gently stroking over her cheek. 

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he repeats again, his voice still soft and firm. “It wasn’t an adrenaline rush. It wasn’t a-“

He almost says he didn’t mean to do it, but the words feel like a lie. And he’s tired of lying.

“I- I’ve wanted to do it longer than I can remember,” he admits, his voice quiet. “And I don’t know if that makes me a horrible person or not, but that’s the truth.”

He watches her face, searching for a reaction, trying to figure out how she’s processing all of this. He hates the fact that she’s so stoic, so neutral - it’s not her. She’s expressive and animated and she’s always letting him know what she’s thinking. 

She leans a little bit closer to him. Her eyes flit upwards, meeting his, before looking back down again, to where they’re both standing just inches apart from each other. They’re now standing so close to each other that she can feel his warm breath mingle with her own.

Then, she kisses him.

He’s frozen when he feels her breath ghost over his lips. 

He’s not expecting her to kiss him, not after everything he’s just said. He’s expecting, if anything, for her to step back, to tell him to give her a minute to cool down. But, when her lips brush against his, it takes him a few seconds to register what’s happening. Once his brain does catch up, his reaction is immediate. His hand gently grabs her face, pulling her back in as he kisses her back.

The initial kiss this time is awkward, hesitant, clumsy. It has all the trademarks of someone who hasn’t really done this before. But it works nonetheless.

Her soft lips brush against his – once, twice. Right after is when she finally puts her poor heart out of its misery, and tilts her face ever so slightly so she can press her lips against his, her eyes falling closed.

The feeling of her lips against his is like electricity - he feels goosebumps erupt on his skin, and he lets out a low sound from the back of his throat as he responds to the kiss. He gently cups her face, tilting her face up more, wanting more - needing more contact, needing to feel her and taste her.

She can taste him. He tastes like saliva and jaffa cakes and that little bit of toothpaste from when he probably brushed before bed. It’s so uniquely him that she fears she could get high on it.

The sound she makes when he deepens the kiss a little, his tongue slipping into her mouth, is a muffled thing, almost a whine. His brain is struggling to process everything that’s happening - it almost feels like he’s drowning in her, slowly drowning in everything that’s her. When they finally pull apart for air, their gazes are immediately drawn to one another.

His hand lingers on her face, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip - he can’t help the way his eyes are glued to her face. He tries to sort through the thoughts in his head, but most of his brain is just completely shut down right now, trying to process the fact that she kissed him. 

She was the one that kissed him - she initiated, she made the first move.

“That was…” she trails off, breathless. Something akin to molecules of light dance in chest thrumming in her veins and tickling her fingertips.

He nods slowly, his lips curving into a small smile before he lets out a soft huff. “I didn’t expect you to make the first move," he admits, his voice quiet. “I actually thought you’d be mad as hell.”

“I kissed you back before too,” she reminds him.

He lets out a soft huff of laughter, his smile widening. 

His gaze is still focused on her face, and his thumb brushes over her jawline in a soft, soothing gesture. 

“That you did,” he agrees softly. “Why?”

“Honestly?” she asks.

“Honestly,” he affirms, his smile still on his face, his gaze still on her. He gently grabs her chin to ensure that she’s looking at him as he waits for her response - and so he can look at her.

“Because when you kissed me I was caught off guard, and so I just froze like an idiot,” she rambles. She takes a deep breath, trying to be a bit more calm and collected. “Because it felt like the right thing to do. And honestly?” she pauses. “Because it felt really, really nice.”

The confession makes his smile widen into a grin. 

“Oh did it now?” he asks, his voice quiet. His tone is teasing, almost sly as his hand moves from her chin to her neck, his hand wrapping gently around it. 

“It felt nice?” he repeats, his thumb gently stroking over her pulse point.

She hums thoughtfully. “Enough that I did it again.”

“You did,” he says, his grin never leaving his face. 

He takes a step closer, his hand on her neck gently pulling her closer, his body now pressed against hers. “I think you need more experience though,” he murmurs, his voice quiet. “You should probably… practice. Frequently, if possible.”

“Yeah? You think so?” Her smile is small and weak, but it’s there.

“Oh absolutely,” he agrees. He loves the fact that he’s the one who’s making her smile when a minute ago, she was trying so damn hard to stop crying. 

“I think it’ll help you… perfect your technique,” he says, his voice quiet as he moves his hand from her neck to her hair, playing with the strands of hair. She shuts him with another kiss - this time, her lips lock firmly against his, her hands splayed out flat against his chest.

This one takes his breath away.

His response to the kiss is immediate, nearly automatic. His hand in her hair moves to her waist, pulling her closer as her hands make contact with his chest. He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat - almost a moan - as she kisses him, as she’s pressed up against him. 

“…How’s that for technique?”

His brain takes a few seconds to turn itself back on - he’s practically stupid after that kiss - but he eventually manages to put together a response. He lets out a soft laugh, his hand moving from her waist to her hip, holding her close against him. 

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, his voice slightly rough. “That’s a good technique, yeah. But I think you might need a few more… practice rounds. To truly get a feel for it.”

“Oh? Sounds serious.”

“Very serious,” he says, his voice still hushed, his fingers now tracing soft lines up and down her hip. “It’s important to be well-practiced in this skill.”

His hand moves from her hip to wrap around her waist, grabbing her more intently, his hand spanning the entire width of her waist. 

“And I don’t mind providing the… equipment you’ll need for more practice.”

“Hmm,” she hums, pretending to consider it. “I could be talked into that. Maybe over coffee…?”

His grip on her waist tightens - just briefly, just for a moment - at her words. His brain is struggling to put words together right now, and the idea of coffee with her doesn’t help. He’s trying to get his head to stop spinning, and the last thing he wants to do is say something stupid, but all he can think about is her - the feel of her, the taste of her lips. 

“Yeah,” he manages, his voice still hushed. “Yeah, coffee. Coffee sounds nice.”

She gives him a small smile. It's faint, but at least it's there.

Standing close to him, she lets her bods lean in against him. Her head falls against his chest as the two stand there in his bathroom. Silence envelopes them, allowing her a moment to breathe. It's been a whirlwind of a night, with both highs and lows.

He lets her lean against him, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her tight against him, his other hand moving to gently cup the back of her head, his fingers gently stroking her hair. 

He’s silent as well, his chin resting on her forehead as his hand strokes her hair. He’s not thinking, not really. He’s just existing, just… feeling the comfortable weight of her against him.

“Sit down on the counter, yeah?” he says, his voice still soft. “And take your shirt off, I need to see the damage.”

"No." 

His hand that’s been gently stroking her hair stills at her response. “Why not?” he asks, his voice still soft and gentle. “I won’t hurt you, I just want to check you over.”

"I'm not taking my shirt off," her voice shakes. Oh, right. 

He realizes the issue. “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to,” he says quietly, his eyes focused on her face. “But I’ll have to patch you up, and I can’t do that with your shirt on. Just your top half, yeah? I won’t look at anything else.”

"I..." her voice quivers, as she tries to think of a way out.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed or scared,” he says quietly. “It’s just me. There’s nothing I haven’t seen,” he assures her. “I just want to fix you up a bit. That’s it. I won’t look anywhere else.”

"It- It's not that..." she eventually stammers out.

“Then what is it?” he asks, his voice still soft and gentle. “You can tell me.”

"I, uhm, can't?" she says awkwardly so it almost sounds like a question.

“You… can’t?” he asks, a frown settling on his face as he tries to work out what she means. “What do you mean, ‘you can’t’?”

"My left shou-" she grimaces in anticipation of what she's about to tell him. Fuck this.

His frown deepens at her grimace - a sense of foreboding and worry sets in. “What’s wrong with your left shoulder?” he asks quietly, dread already building inside of him.

"My left shoulder," she tries again. "I can't, uh, move it much."

It's dislocated, she should tell him, but she can't seem to bring herself to say the words.

His heart nearly stops in his chest at her words. God, what have her parents done to her?

He tries to keep his voice calm and even when he responds, but it’s a struggle. “You can’t move your left shoulder at all?” he asks quietly.

"Just this-" she says, demonstrating by moving her arm about four, maybe five inches off her side. She winces when her shoulder screams in protest.

“Your shoulder is dislocated, yeah?” he asks, trying to keep the worry and dread out of his voice. “That’s why you can’t move it?”

"Yeah," she answers..

“How do you know it’s dislocated?” he asks quietly, his voice still steady.

“Not my first rodeo,” she says, an attempt at humor to break the tension. He desperately wants to ask who did it, what happened. He doesn’t want to press her for the details now, when she’s in enough pain as it is. 

He’s silent for a moment, trying to figure out the best strategy to take her hoodie and shirt off. 

“Alright,” he says eventually, his voice soft. “I’m going to take your hoodie off, yeah?”

Hesitantly, she nods.

He hesitates for a moment himself, worried that he’ll do more damage to her shoulder - but there’s no way around it. 

He gently grabs the hem of her hoodie, and starts to carefully pull it over her head. A slight gasp escapes his throat as soon as her bare arms and collarbone are revealed.

“Ahh!” She bites her lip, trying to muffle the sound as white hot pain shoots up through her shoulder at being moved.

His hands release the hoodie and pull back the minute he hears her gasp, his jaw clenching to stop himself from swearing. His eyes roam over her collarbone and arm, taking in the deep bruises and angry red scratches. 

She’s biting her lip so hard she’s worried it’ll split open again. Fuck, moving that shoulder hurts. She’s trying her best to contain it, but hot tears prick at her eyes.

Oscar’s gone concerningly still in front of her.

The moment the hoodie finally comes off and he’s left with the full view of her body, the breath gets stuck in his lungs. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t bruises and scratches and scars. God, the sight of it feels like a damn sucker punch to the chest.

He wants to say something, anything - but he’s so incredibly angry that words just don’t come. He’s paralyzed by anger for a moment, before he’s able to pull himself together - but the fury is still there. The sight of her bruised, cut and beaten body in front of him, her arms covered in scratches, her collarbone a mess of deep purple, and her lip split… it’s a rage he’s never really experienced in his life. He has to take a deep breath to keep himself composed. 

Once it’s finally off, she lets go of the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Immediately, her gaze goes to Oscar’s face to note his reaction.

He does his best to keep his face neutral, although his expression still betrays a hint of anger and outrage. He doesn’t want her to know how much it all angers him - because, knowing her, she’d try to say it wasn’t as bad as it looks or that it’s not a big deal. 

But to him it is. It’s the biggest deal in the world.

She sits before him now in just a bra and pants, and his eyes take the opportunity to scan over the upper half of her body. He takes note of each detail - the bruise beneath her hair line, her split lip, the one around her wrist. 

Scanning lower he finds more. When he finally takes a look at her torso, he has to try and force himself not to visibly react.

It isn’t easy.

There’s a nasty bruise on one side of her collarbone, he briefly wonders how much force it actually takes to bruise a person’s collarbone. He sees the shoulder he’d reset for her - it looks sore still, but it seems to be doing marginally better. 

But what his gaze lingers on is the parts he didn’t get to see before - the deep blue mark that blooms on the left side of her rib, the deep red scratches on her side and her forearm that were previously concealed by the hoodie. 

He lets his eyes linger over each bruise or injury that he finds. Every single one of them makes him angry again - that somebody put their hands on her body, left their mark on her skin, hurt her.

She can feel her heart rate spike when he moves closer, but she does her best to stay perfectly still for him. Seeing the way she tenses up and her heart-rate increases, he knows that she’s scared. 

This is why I hate your parents so much.

“Lean back on the counter,” he instructs, his voice still soft. “Let me look at your shoulder.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She pulls in a tight breath, like both inhaling and exhaling hurt too much with the pain shooting through her arm. 

He’s completely focused on her - all he cares about right now is getting her shoulder back in the right place and getting her patched up. He watches as she struggles to breathe through the pain, and it hurts him. It hurts him that he can’t do anything to help her, that he can’t take the pain away. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says quietly, both for his benefit and hers. “Just lean back for me, yeah? Don’t worry about anything else. Just let me look.”

She leans back - gradually, as if it hurts her to move every centimeter. A shaky exhale finally escapes her once she’s leaned all the way back.

He takes a moment to survey her collarbone - it’s even more bruised up than he had originally thought. His eyes linger on one particular spot that looks an awful mix of pinks and deep purples, and he wants to rage until his vocal cords give out. But she needs him to be calm and logical right now, so he pushes down the anger as much as he can. 

His eyes next move to her shoulder, and he grimaces slightly. The joint is visibly swollen, and it’s clearly out of place. A wave of nausea overtakes him as he thinks about how much pain she’ll be in when he moves it. 

“I’m gonna have to move it into the right place,” he says quietly. “It’s going to hurt - but try and relax for me, yeah?”

Nodding, she takes a shaky breath. It’s then that she speaks up, voice strained.

“Could you… could you talk?”

He’s a little surprised by her request, but he understands why she wants it. Any sort of distraction will take her mind off the pain, so that’s exactly what he’ll do - he’ll talk. “Yeah,” he says quietly, his eyes focused on her face. “What d’you want me to talk about, exactly?”

“Anything,” she mumbles. “Just… Just talk.”

He hates that he’s about to cause her even more pain, but he knows there’s no way around it. The longer they wait, the more it’ll hurt in the end. 

One of his hands reaches out and cups her cheek, gently stroking her bruised skin. “I’m going to count from one to three, yeah?” he tells her, his voice still quiet. “And on three, I’m going to move your shoulder back into place. Ready?”

She nods.

“Okay, here we go,” he says, his voice still soothing. 

He places his other hand on her upper arm to get a good grip.

“One,” he begins slowly, his eyes fixed on her. “Two…” 

He notices the way she’s tensed up against the counter, bracing herself for the pain. “Relax,” he instructs quietly, his thumb rubbing her cheek. “Just listen to my voice. Don’t think about anything else. One more counting till three, and then it’ll be done. Deep breath. Ready?”

Once he’s satisfied that he’s given her enough time to mentally prepare, and now it’s time to finally deal with her shoulder. 

“Just listen to my voice,” he tells her again, his hand still gently stroking her cheek. “Okay, one… two-“

She nods. She’s just begun to inhale, when-

Without any further warning, the muscles in his arm tense as pushes her shoulder back into place.

“Shit!”

He’s never heard her scream like that before. His heart clenches in his chest at the pain she’s in, the way she’s screaming, the way he’s caused her even more pain. 

“I know, I know it hurts but it’s done now,” he says quickly, keeping his voice soft. “It’s over, okay? You’re okay. Just breathe.”

She chokes out a dry sob, until it finally devolves into short whimpers of pain. He hates this so much. He hates the fact that her shoulder is in so much pain, that she’s sobbing, that he had to be the cause of it. 

“You’re okay,” he repeats again, trying to reassure her. “It’s over now. I know it hurts, but it’ll get better. I promise.”

She falls limp against him from the exertion, as the whimpers meld more into soft murmurs, her breath hitching as her body adjusts to the relocation of the joint.

As her body slumps against his, he brings his other arm around her, gently guiding her into his chest. He holds her against him, hoping that the physical contact will reassure her. 

“You’re okay,” he repeats again, speaking into her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. Just breathe for me.”

She continues to whimper in pain, the soft whimpers being the only sound in the bathroom. Oscar feels as a few stray tears fall against the fabric of his shirt, wetting it.

His heart clenches in his chest at the feel of her tears. He can’t even begin to imagine how much pain she’s in. 

“I know it hurts,” he repeats quietly, bringing one of his hands up to gently pet her hair. “I know it hurts, love. But it’s almost over, I promise. You’re doing so good. Just breathe for me, yeah?”

She gives him a weak nod. Feeling a bit more settled at that, she resumes leaning against him. Eyelids droop, heavy with exhaustion - it has been a long night.

He feels the way she’s gradually going limp in his arms. He understands that she’s been through enough tonight. “Let’s at least get you seated, yeah?” He suggests quietly. “You look tired. We need to get you taken care of and then you can rest, alright?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, nodding into his chest.

Her voice is soft when she speaks, like a cool balm. “I am sorry.”

He almost laughs at the absurdity of that statement. 

“Don’t apologize,” he replies, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“For throwing this all on you, I mean. I… I should’ve thought twice before putting all this on you – I know it’s a lot. I didn’t mean to bring you into this mess when I called you tonight, and that’s on me,” she explains.

How is she even worried about him right now? How? He almost wants to laugh, she’s so ridiculous. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he mutters, gently tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Don’t- I- God, you have absolutely no reason to apologize, alright? So just... stop.”

“You’re upset,” she replies, observant. “Maybe I’d even say angry, if I didn’t know you any better.

He tries to find an argument against her claims - he tries hard. He tries to deny it, at least a little bit, to make himself seem better somehow. But he can’t, and she’s too observant to let him slip one past her anyway. “Maybe angry is a generous assessment,” he admits, his jaw clenching again.

Her eyes are drawn to his face, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I’m pissed,” he finally responds, his voice still somewhat restrained. “God, I’m pissed. I’m angry. At them - at your parents.” His eyes dart to hers to check her reaction, to see if he’s crossed a line.

“You have no idea how angry I am, actually,” he continues, his frustration rising more and more by the second. “I am… furious. They laid a fuckin’ hand on you.”

She listens to him while she reaches out to gently clasp his hand in her own, bringing it closer to her, guiding him to rest his palm in the space between her fractured collarbone and where her bra covers her chest. His hand is placed directly over where her beating heart lies. 

“Do you feel that?” she asks softly, looking up at him.

He nods wordlessly, his anger and frustration momentarily subsiding to give way to the feeling of her heart beating. Her pulse is thumping against his palm, her heart racing beneath the skin of her chest, and all he can do is watch her intently.

“I’m here,” she whispers, brushing a loose lock of hair back from his forehead. “I’m alive, I’m okay.”

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the moment she touches him. His shoulders sag as he lets out a breath, his hand gently rubbing the skin where her heart beats as if it would help soothe his temper. 

“You’re not okay,” he replies quietly. “You’re... the opposite of okay, Y/N. I don’t know why you’re trying to pretend like you are.”

“I’m alive,” she counters gently. He wants to argue - he wants to tell her that being alive doesn’t mean being okay. He wants to insist that she’s not okay, to try and convince her that she’s been hurt, that she-

But he knows that it’s a pointless exercise. She clearly refuses to admit there’s a problem. Instead, he shakes his head in frustration before gently shifting his hand to graze her injured ribs. 

“You’ve made your point, Oscar,” she concedes quietly, wincing at the contact - a very real reminder of the damage done.

He knows he’s won the argument, but he doesn’t quite feel victorious. 

“So why are you still pretending like you’re okay?” he asks, shifting to sit on the bed next to her. 

“I felt bad for making you worry. I feel relatively okay, I mean.” She pauses for a moment, and her voice gets quieter.

“When I called you tonight…” The way she suddenly drops her voice has his jaw clenching again. 

“What about it?” he asks, trying to keep his voice patient. It’s like he wants to hear what she has to say but is also dreading the answer at the same time.

“When I called you tonight…” she says, trying desperately to make sure her voice doesn’t shake. “It was because I thought I was going to die.”

There. It’s out in the open now.

“I called the front desk at MTC first, and then my friends, but it’s the middle of the night, so naturally, they didn’t pick up. Yours is the only other number I know off by heart.” She exhales, letting out a soft chuckle. “I guess I’ve had to call you so much for work that dialing your number was muscle memory.”

She takes a deep shaky breath, before continuing. “So yes, I know things are bad. God, you don’t think I know that? Of course I do. But right now I find it hard to throw myself a pity party when I’m so fucking grateful to be alive, to have gotten out, to be here.” With you. To be here with you, she was going to say.

“So, there it is,” she mumbles. It’s there, out in the open for him to hear and dissect and know. The confession is a lot to take in, especially coming from her. She’s always so collected, so composed, so good at keeping a cool head. He takes a moment to try and process everything she’s just told him, his mind struggling to grasp the reality of it all. 

“You-” he begins, still struggling to find the right words. How do you tell someone that you’re glad they’re not dead?

He eventually settles for reaching forward and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her to him gently for a careful hug. 

“I..“ he begins, stumbling over his own words as he struggles to get his mind to form a coherent sentence. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m so goddamn glad you’re here,” he finally manages to say, resting his forehead against hers.

Foreheads touching, his face so close to hers… the moment is quiet and intimate. It makes her glad she’s alive, that she didn’t die before she could experience this with him, that she’s here with him now. Her eyes are closed but a few tears of relief slip past anyways. The feeling of her tears against his skin nearly breaks him in half, and it’s everything he can do to reign in his own emotions right now. Just hold it together for her. That’s all he has to do - just hold it together long enough for her. 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers as her tears wet his skin. “You’re safe now. I’m... I’m here, and you’re safe.”

“God, I was so scared, Oscar,” she cries quietly, shaking against him. Her words and her sobs send a sharp stab of pain through his heart, his arms clenching a little more, holding her a little tighter. 

“I know, I know,” he mutters, his own voice shaking as he fights to maintain his composure. He can’t break down when he needs to be strong for her. “But it’s okay. You’re here, and you’re okay, and you’re safe.”

It takes a few minutes of reassurance before he feels like her crying is slowing. Her body is still shuddering in his arms though, and he lets her cling to him, letting her bury her face in his shoulder. His hand finds its way to the back of her head and he runs his fingers through her hair, trying to provide any comfort he can.

Finally, once she settles, her sniffles tapering off into what resembles normal breathing, Oscar tilts her head up to look at him. He notes the exhaustion in her face, in her body. It’s been a long night, for both of them.

“You need sleep,” he mutters quietly, his hand still tangled in her hair.

“Can’t,” she mumbles, giving him a small, lazy smile. “My really hot nurse won’t let me rest until he’s patched me up or something.” He rolls his eyes affectionately at her, unable to help a smile rise to his lips at her comment. 

“Very funny,” he mutters, shifting his hand around to rub her jaw gently between his fingers. “Let’s get you cleaned up, smartass.”

“Least m’your smartass,” she mumbles under her breath, before carefully sitting herself upright again so that he can finally finish patching her up.

“You think I’d let anyone else call me a hot nurse?” he retorts, pushing himself up and standing in front of her. He takes a moment to study her body – all of her body – in front of him, trying to take stock of the damage.

“Would you?” she asks curiously, her head tilted drowsily.

His eyes take in the way she looks; disheveled, he concludes. Her hair is completely ruffled, the skin of her stomach littered with scratch marks and bruises, and god, those dark blue marks on her chest and collarbones - he has to push down the anger that threatens to rise to the surface again. 

“No,” he replies after a moment, his eyes roaming over her body again. “Absolutely not.”

“Yeah?” she smiles softly, a glimmer of something sparkling in her eyes before she tilts her head back, closing them. He continues to work on her when he hears her mumbling.

“I think I like that.”

“Which part?” he asks, his voice soft as he wipes at a particularly bad-looking scratch. “Me not letting anyone else call me a hot nurse, or the fact that you’re the only one who does?” he teases a little as he continues to gently clean her.

She winces at the feeling of antiseptic against her cuts.

“Hmm, both,” she hums.

His heart leaps at her words, a little thrill of excitement rushing through his gut. He tries to hide the way his cheeks warm at that, busying his hands with  cleaning a particularly ugly scratch on her collarbone. “And what if I also said you’re the only one I’d call my smartass?”

She audibly hisses at that one, her collarbone sensitive from the fracture. Trying to relax a bit, she focuses her mind back to his question. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he hums in agreement, gently pressing another piece of gauze against the cut. 

“I’ll be your smartass if you’ll be my dumbass,” she offers.

He actually laughs at that, a bright sound in the dark room. “I’m a dumbass, huh?” he asks, looking up from his work to smirk at her.

“My dumbass,” she corrects, “if this deal of ours works out.”

 A small, happy smile rises to his lips at her words. 

“Your dumbass,” he echoes, his heart fluttering again. 

Your dumbass. 

He could probably get used to that. He continues to work over her skin gently, carefully cleaning each bruise and scratch.  “You know I don’t like sharing, right?” he says after a minute, breaking the silence with a hint of possessiveness in his tone. His face is twisted in careful concentration as he works, only pausing to smile or laugh or react to her comments.

She likes his smile, she decides. And perhaps his hair, too.

“Good,” she replies. “Me neither.”

 “Goodnight” he says quietly, before slowly taking a step back and switching off the lights. He heads towards the door, quietly switching off a bedside lamp on the way out. 

“If you need anything, just let me know,” he says, pausing by the door to throw a glance over his shoulder. 

“…Osc?” she squeaks out, voice small. At the sight of Oscar about to go, leaving her on her own in this dark and foreign room - even if it is Oscar’s -  has her heart beating a little harder in her chest. After everything that happened tonight, being left like this has something resembling fear melting her chest like hot wax.

This room is dark and foreign to her - she doesn’t have the layout memorized, or the exits, or hell, even the light switches. Which means that if she were to be in danger again–

“Yeah?” he prompts gently, his voice quiet in the dark.

“Do you…” she hesitates, before finally deciding to just do it. “…Could you stay?”

He pauses for a moment, the request taking him a little by surprise. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice quiet. “Of course I can stay.”

The anticipatory tightness in her chest loosens a bit at that.

He walks around to the other side of the bed before slowly slipping under the covers next to her. He tries not to think about the feel of her body heat next to his, as he adjusts his position slightly to try and give her as much space as possible.

She lays there for an unknown amount of time, but sleep eludes her. For some unknown reason, despite having the longest night of her life and being exhausted beyond belief, her body feels as taught as a live wire.

Still, she tries to even her breathing as a sleeping person would, making an effort not to keep shifting around. There’s a high probability Oscar’s asleep, and she doesn’t want to disturb him.

Oscar is, in fact, not asleep. 

He’s acutely aware of her body next to his, every little movement, twitch and twist of her body. She’s trying to stay as still as possible, and for a minute he wants to point out that she doesn’t have to, that she can make herself comfortable - but then she lets out a small sigh of frustration, and he decides to say something instead. “Can’t sleep?” he dares to whisper, breaking the silence.

She freezes at the sound of his voice. Shit.

“Yeah,” she admits, voice small. “You?”

He gives a small shake of his head, keeping his voice low like . 

“Nah,” he says, his voice a little groggy, “I’m awake.”

For a long moment, silence falls between them again. He can literally feel how tense she is.

After a long moment passes, she asks, “Why?”

That actually gets a small snort out of him. “Could ask you the same question,” he retorts quietly, shifting slightly in the bed. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Unh unh,” she tuts in denial. “I asked first.”

He chuckles quietly at her response. “Can’t shut my brain off,” he finally relents, keeping his voice quiet as he tries to answer her question. The comfort of night embracing them like a favorite blanket has a way of loosening people’s tongues. “Too much thinking going on up there right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before he speaks again, his voice soft and gentle. “Can I ask you something?”

She hums drowsily, granting him permission.

He hesitates for a moment, trying to find the right words to phrase his question. “Why did you ask me to stay?” he finally asks, not sure whether he’ll get an honest answer from her or not.

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“I won’t think it’s stupid,” he reassures her quietly, shifting in the bed next to hers. “Just… tell me, alright? Please?”

She’s grateful she’s still turned away from him at this point.

“It just…” she trails off awkwardly, unsure how to explain. “I dunno. Just thinking about being here, on my own, after everything that happened at home…”

She shrugs. “Even thinking about it made me feel… kinda like antsy? I don’t know how to explain.” She huffs in frustration, trying and failing to find words that sound more coherent than whatever the hell this response has been so far.

“You… you make that go quiet.” She mumbles quietly. And then, even quieter: “You feel like… like safe, I guess.”

Oh.

He’s honestly a little stunned, at both her admission and her choice of words. 

You make that go quiet.

You feel like safe. 

After silence takes the place of any audible response from him, she painstakingly makes the effort to turn over so that she can face him in the dark.

“Is that… weird?” she asks nervously.

“No,” he rushes to reassure her, his voice quiet and a little strangled with emotion. “No, it’s not - I just…”

He trails off for a moment, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I just wasn’t expecting that to be your answer,” he admits hoarsely.

“Oh,” she replies dumbly.

He’s glad he’s lying in the dark right now. 

She’s turned over to face him, and the thought that she’s laying a mere few inches away from him, with a bruised and battered body and telling him that he’s her comfort, is both the most amazing thing he’s ever heard and also so painful his chest physically aches. 

He clenches a fist around the sheets.

“You want to know what I’m thinking?” he finally asks, taking the opportunity to shift the conversation away from her question.

“Always.”

“That if I ever met your parents,” he finally admits, his voice pained and his breath hot against her neck, “I’d probably break their goddamn jaws.”

She winces at his words. She turns away from him.

He immediately grimaces at her reaction, sitting up slightly in the bed as he sees her turn away from him. “No, don’t turn away,” he says quickly, his hand reaching out reflexively to grasp at her nearest arm.

He gives her arm a little shake. “Hey. Look at me,” he instructs, his voice low.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she replies coldly.

He falters for a moment, taken aback by the coldness in her voice. “And why’s that?” he questions, still reeling from her immediate retreat.

“Because I am tired,” she deadpans.

There’s a long moment of stunned silence as he processes her response, and then she hears his bed creaking faintly before his voice rings out in the dark. 

“Come here,” he orders quietly.

“Why should I?”

“Because I said so,” he replies, his voice still quiet. 

He shifts on the bed, moving closer to her. “Come here,” he says again, a hint of gentle firmness in his voice. Disguising it as stretching, she moves marginally closer to him. The second she shifts closer to him, he takes action, moving until he’s directly behind her. He scoots closer to her, his body curled protectively around hers, and wraps an arm around her torso. 

“There,” he murmurs. “That’s better, right?”

She lets out a small huff. Just because being in his arms is surprisingly warm and comfortable and soothing doesn’t mean she’ll just forget what he said about her parents.

“It’s… fine,” she lies through her teeth. He needs to know that the matter isn’t resolved that easily.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it is,” he replies sarcastically, not falling for her half hearted attempt at indifference. 

“I know -” he lets out a quiet huff, his arm tightening around her before he even speaks. “- sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean to…”

“I- “

For once, he’s at a loss for words, his thoughts swirling around in his head. 

He did mean the words. They were true for a reason, after all. 

“Don’t -” he finally tells her. “- Don’t you dare feel sorry for them, you hear me? Just- just don’t, alright?” He shifts, moving his face away from her neck to speak. “You don’t need to feel guilty at all for the way they’ve treated you, and for the shit they’ve put you through,” he says fiercely.

She sighs exasperatedly, letting her eyes fall short for a moment. 

He knows she’s not as receptive as he’d hoped, but he can’t stop himself from spitting out the next few words like a curse. “I don’t care that they’re ‘family’, or that they’re your parents - because they’re abusing you. They’re hurting you in the name of ‘tough love’ or whatever shitty reason parents think they have for treating their kid like that,” he all but growls out in the dark.

After a beat of silence, she asks quietly, “…Would you ever like to hear me say that about your own parents?”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Once, twice, and maybe even three times, until finally, he manages to force out a response. “…That’s not the same,” he tries, and immediately wishes he had just kept his mouth shut. He sighs, swallowing hard before mumbling out a confession - “It’s just…“

He presses his face into her neck again, his breath coming in heavy, uneven puffs as he struggles to keep himself together. “They’re supposed to protect you, goddammit,” he grits out against her skin.

“Yeah,” she agrees softly.

“They’re supposed to care about you,” he all but mumbles into her skin, his fingers tracing circles mindlessly against her stomach as the angry words spill out. 

“Okay.”

“It’s not ‘okay’,” he grits out. 

He tightens his arm around her, shifting slightly until he’s got a thigh over her legs as if he’s holding her in place. 

“You’re not the one who’s wrong here,” he adds, frustrated with the fact that she’s the one who’s bruised but he’s the one who’s getting choked up.

“Let it out,” she encourages softly, gently stroking her thumb across his cheekbone.

Goddamn it. Something about the way she says it, like she’d be willing to share the burden of the sky if that’s what he needs - it gets to him. He’s trying to be the strong one here, the one who’s supposed to be protecting her - not the one on the verge of a goddamn breakdown. But she’s just too damn sweet. 

He lets out a quiet huff and buries his face in her neck again. “Okay,” she agrees. “Whatever you need.”

“Stop with the agreement thing,” he mumbles into her skin, his voice frustrated even though it’s lacking the edge from before and more filled with emotion. 

He swallows hard, his hand tightening momentarily on her stomach. He’s angry at himself for so many reasons.

He’s angry that she got hurt and he can’t take away her pain. He’s angry that he’s got a goddamn lump in his throat right now because he can’t handle seeing her hurt. He’s angry that he’s the one getting emotional when she’s the one who’s supposed to be falling apart. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” she coos softly, using her hand to gently guide his face out of the crook of her neck so she can actually look at him. “What is it? What’s going on in that head of yours, hmm?”

Those eyes are really going to be the death of him. He swallows hard, shifting slightly so he’s facing her a little better. 

“I’m not supposed to be the one falling apart right now,” he admits, his voice coming out quiet - so quiet that he almost hopes she misses it. “It’s not… it’s not going how its supposed to go.”

“Oh?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his fingers tapping uselessly against her stomach.

“It’s not going how it’s supposed to - you’re supposed to be the one falling apart, and I’m supposed to be the one picking up the pieces,” he mumbles out, his voice still quiet. 

“But now I’m the one on the verge of losing it, and you’re being annoyingly sweet and supportive and nice and I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

“Okay,” she tells him, her voice all level and sure and reassuring. “Okay, that’s okay.”

He takes a shaky breath, and it’s taking everything in his power to not bury his face back into the crook of her neck because the feel of her skin against his might actually help. 

“No-“ he shakes his head, his voice quiet again. “It’s not. It’s not okay. You’re supposed to be the one falling apart right now, but I’ve got… I’ve got this damn knot in my throat and I can’t tell if it’s anger or guilt or something else-“

“Breathe, Oscar. You gotta breathe for me, okay?” she says, gently rubbing her palm up and down his sternum in what she hopes is a soothing motion.

She doesn’t know that the gentle touch against his skin is a little too much right now, the feel of her palm across his bare skin and her voice in his ear and just the sight of her looking at him with that kind look in her eyes is making his head spin. 

But he does as she says - tries to steady his breathing, letting it out in slow, even puffs as her palm moves up and down his chest. “There we go,” she says, giving him a drowsy smile. “Just like that, yeah? You’re doing so well f’me.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, clenching his jaw for a moment because of the way her words make something in him flutter. “That’s not helping,” he grits out, his voice coming out a little rough as he takes another slow, shaky breath.

“Alright,” she says, her hand stopping its movements. “Okay, I’ll back off.”

“No, no-“ He shakes his head quickly, his fingers grabbing her wrist to bring her hand back down against his chest. 

“Just- Keep going,” he says, his voice coming out gruff and quiet. “Don’t- don’t stop that, just-“

He swallows hard, closing his eyes for a moment. She can probably tell he’s still a little shaky, but she listens to him as her palm tentatively starts moving over his chest again, and she lets out a soft exhale. He closes his eyes when he feels her hand on his chest, a slow exhale of breath leaving his lips involuntarily as her palm glides across his skin. 

He lets go of her wrist and moves closer, his head dropping against her shoulder, and mumbling into her skin. “M’sorry. I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “This is dumb. I’m freaking out over nothing.”

“Is that what you would tell me if the roles were reversed?”

“No,” he responds, almost immediately. 

He would tell her that she had every right to feel what she felt, and he would pull her close and tell her that she should let him help carry the burden, and he would do anything to keep that sweet, broken look off her face.

“Then I need you to believe me when I say – I get it. I understand why you’re freaking out – anyone in your position would. You can’t be calm and collected 100% of the time, and no one expects you to. No one.” 

Her hand traces broad strokes around his body - across his chest, over his shoulder, up to his cheekbone. She finds herself playing with the locks of hair that keep flopping onto his forehead.

He tries to steady his breathing as her hand continues to glide gently over his body, the touch of her fingers against his skin and the feel of her body so close to his is making his head spin all over again. He feels himself shiver as her fingers brush over his cheek and through his hair, leaning into the touch. “How are you always so goddamn patient with me,” he grumbles, lifting his head slightly to look at her.

She shrugs.

In the sacredness of whatever this bubble is that exists here and now, the words slip past her lips before she can even think of stopping them.

“It’s like breathing.”

She’s really going to be the death of him one day. The fact that she doesn’t even need to think about it just makes him want to pull her close even more and press messy, thankful kisses against her skin. He swallows back the urge instead, trying to regain some of his composure. He lifts his head, taking her in as she continues to gently trace her fingertips over his face.

“You’re thinking something,” she notes, fighting back a yawn.

Her words drag his attention back up to her face, and he can’t help a small, lopsided smile at the fact that she’s tired right now because of how well she knows him. 

“Is it that obvious?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe not to other people. But to me it is.” She gives him a small smile. “My whole life revolves around knowing you.”

He’s almost certain that he stops breathing for a moment, because her words are like a punch to the chest for multiple different reasons. Of course he knows how much of her work life centers around him, but it's the way she says it.

It means that she knows him better than anyone.

And, when paired with the fact that she’s half-naked - in his clothes, no less - and just inches away from him right now it just makes it even harder to control that flutter in his chest.

She brings him back to the present. “But I need you to talk to me,” she says, tentatively trying out the pet name again after he’d said no earlier. “Need you to tell me what you’re thinking so we can figure this out, yeah?

He pauses for a moment, then speaks, his voice low and coming out a little grumbly.

“If I tell you, you’re not going to like it.”

“Maybe. But keeping it in will only make it worse, won’t it?” she smiles sadly.

She waits for him to continue, her fingers slowly tracing the skin of his jaw. She can basically see the thoughts rushing through his head. He leans into the touch a little more than he means to, his eyes half-lidded as he tries to get the words out. 

“It’s just…” he repeats, his voice coming out gruff as he swallows again. “It was so hard to stay calm, alright? I was trying so fuckin’ hard to stay calm, but Christ, you just…” 

He takes a shaky breath. Before he can continue, she speaks.

“You did so well. You kept your cool, you were exactly what I needed when I called you to come get me tonight.”

“Oscar, you need to get it out of your system. I know you’re angry. Your allowed to be, as long as…” she pauses, taking a steadying breath. “Just… talk to me.”

He glances at her again, gauging how she’s reacting before he continues. He takes a shaky breath, swallowing hard. 

“It’s just…” he repeats, his voice coming out barely a whisper now. “When I saw you… and all the… the marks, and the cuts, and the… the scratches-“

He breaks off abruptly, trying to regain control of his breathing. His fingers start tapping restlessly against her stomach again, trying to soothe himself. 

“It just made me so… angry. And the fact that they left these goddamn marks on you- goddammit, you don’t understand how hard I had to resist just punching a wall right then and there.”

She nods in understanding, tucking herself a bit closer to him by leaning her forehead against his chest.

He lets out a shaky breath as she leans against his chest, his arms instantly wrapping around her, pulling her close - his grip isn’t hard enough to hurt her, but it’s tight enough that he has her completely pressed against his body. One hand comes up, reaching up to grab gently at her hair, guiding her even closer to him.

“I’m sorry I put you through that,” she mumbles, voice weary, against the fabric of his shirt.

He makes an instant noise of protest at the apology, shaking his head. 

“No,” he says, almost sternly. “No, don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? None of it is your fault. ”

The emotions that have been curling in his gut like a hot coil fuel the stem of his words. “They’re idiots,” he continues, the word spoken fiercely. “They have no idea how goddamn lucky they are to have you as a daughter, and even less of an idea about what they’ve just done to you.” 

His hand in her hair continues to brush through it, almost on autopilot, trying to soothe her and him. Oscar is surprised when instead of staying silent or outright refuting what he’s said, he finds her mumbling against his chest.

“I guess so.”

He glances down at her when he hears her speak up, a little surprised to actually hear that she agrees with him. He pauses, then continues combing through her hair - she hasn’t complained yet, so he doesn’t stop. 

“You guess so?” he says, gently pushing her. “You guess so? You’re so goddamn good, you have any idea how many people would kill for someone like you?”

“It's not that big a deal,” she murmurs.

“It is,” he shoots back immediately, a fierce bite to his tone. “It is a big deal. Don’t- don’t do that, alright? Don’t try to brush it off and pretend like you’re not the best thing that’s ever happened to me - to anyone.”

“I’m your assistant,” she says with a small smile, as she tries to stifle a yawn. With each blink she sees less and less of Oscar’s silhouette in the dark of the room, her eyelids heavy with sleep as she’s trying her best to stay awake to listen to what he has to say.

Oscar’s jaw clenches at the sound of her holding back a yawn - she’s probably exhausted and in some kind of pain, and that’s not even considering the emotional trauma she’s just been through tonight - and yet here she is, still trying to stay awake. 

He glances down, noticing her eyes keep drifting closed, and he lets out a huff. “You’re much more than my assistant,” he mutters. “More than I deserve.”

He looks down to see what she has to say in response.

Only to find her fast asleep, passed out from exhaustion.

The warm cocoon of Oscar’s arm, the steady lull of his heartbeat, and the rhythmic feeling of his fingers running through her hair was enough to help her loosen up enough to finally fall asleep, it seems.

He looks down at her with a little smile - even asleep, she still looks like a goddamn angel. 

He’s not expecting to sleep any time soon, he’s had enough caffeine on top of the adrenaline still pumping for him to be completely wired. So instead he just holds her - her face pressed in between his chest and shoulder, his arms wrapped around her, his eyes focused on the ceiling.

Part 2

a/n: if you stayed this far, thank you so much! i'd love to hear what you thought of it :) and credit to @saradika-graphics for the lovely dividers!!

[3-2-whump]

Updated Intro Now That I Kinda Get How This Works:

Hello! It's 32W. I’ve been a long time lurker who finally wants to be part of this community! I’ve been into whump pretty much forever (since my formative years in the single digits), but Iv’e been reading, writing, and drawing whump on and off for the last 15 years. I can’t imagine getting to the point of feeling confident enough to post my own work, but who knows? My partner is probably getting tired of hearing how I want to torment my OC’s, so that is another motivation to start this side blog! For now though it’s probably gonna be very reblog-heavy.

Obligatory warning: minors DNI. Please. There’s gonna be nasty stuff on this blog probably.

Likes and Interests

Slavery whump

Captivity whump

Pet whump (not exactly BBU, but BBU’s not bad)

Noncon/NSFW -will tag!

Noncon body mod -e.g., branding, tattooing, piercing

Kidnapping

Bondage

Caretaking

Communication barrier (language barrier, nonverbal whumpee, etc.)

G/t dynamics -relatively new interest but I like it

Squicks (that how you say it? Things I don’t like)

Medical/lab whump

Gore -experimenting with mild gore, but I cannot handle a lot right now

Most hero/villain tropes -no shade, I’m just not into it

Supernatural whump -by this I mean magic and stuff. Again, nothing bad about it, just not really into it

Sickfics

I have a Masterlist now

Special thanks goes out to @burnticedlatte @demondamage @whumperofworlds @poc-whump and other blogs and the people behind them who inspired/encouraged the making of this blog. You guys are awesome ❤️

[paingoes]

cute delta things i didn’t get to focus on as much as i wanted

ie my underrated facts and as of yet unused whump ideas :)

-he literally faints all the time when using his powers and needs to be carried back out. mostly by simon. sometimes by paris :)

-martino has med students!!! they pop in sometimes i never really acknowledged them directly tho. theyre older than delta but not by that much. he is basically a case study to them but some of them do try ti get close and immediately get demoted/reassigned because of “inappropriate attachment”

-i had this idea for martino taking delta to a medical conference. delta having to be on display/used for tests w really green and overexcited students. extremely awkward stay at the conference hotel. delta is probably high for a lot of it tbh.

-also. delta is on a ton of medications to keep his powers elevated. he is only vaguely aware of this. its actually kinda considered doping in universe so most people are NOT aware of this!!!!

-simon and martino fighting more. i like the idea of simon being gentle w delta and martino going out of his way to try and counteract it and dehumanize him again to preserve his conditioning

-simon and paris talks. simon is way too much of a pussy to confront paris head on and i think they generally get along fine? becuz simon is a bystander. also paris pretends not to remember either of the handlers names even though he definitely knows them.

-delta is totally starved for affection but he would not accept it from just anyone i think hes actually kinda picky about it bizarrely enough. hes v distrusting and when his internet friends tried to be nice to him his response was invariably “just fuck off”…. and he actually likes them he just gets mad anyway cause he cant handle it 😭

-delta and paris kinda just hang out sometimes LOL…. paris always (correctly!) feels like hes in an adversarial environment whenever he has to go anywhere for work and delta is usually the only person there he trusts so if theyre not doing anything else its just gossip time.

-incidentally ^ delta was really deliberately not taught anything about history or politics or ethics at the institute because they didnt want him getting ideas but paris is heavy into that stuff and complains about it so much that delta just picks up on it. he absorbs info like a sponge its why he was such a good whistleblower.

-to me this is obvious but paris’s chillness-over-time graph is a bellcurve. like he is AWFUL at the beginning and awful at the end but in the middle he got very close to actually chilling the fuck out. he barely knew delta in the beginning and i think he did v much warm to him overtime and loosen the parameters of their relationship a lot. this is peak chill time. the assassination ruined everything but paris still… liked delta afterwards he was just insane and dangerous and delta was at ground zero of that. 

         (sidenote: some of the early paris chapters are so bad in terms of what he did and how he was written i actually feel the need to retcon some of it? it took a while for me to hit my stride w him, take the early stuff w a grain of salt)

-anyway. people LIKE delta. even though he doesnt talk hes v cute and unflappable in a way that’s very endearing to people even in empire. people do definitely go out of their way to fuck w him and its dehumanizing and they shouldnt do it but its not necessarily mean-spirited a lot of the time they just think hes interesting.

-sometimes it is meanspirited though. wanted to write something w misc soldiers trying to bully him. cause delta is obviously v submissive and incapable of defending himself but he’s also not trained to obey just anyone. in fact he would have some v large objections to that! (also an excuse to write protective paris at the end lol u know theyre dead)

-more simon carewhumper status. i wrote destroyer before i knew almost anything about whump like i didnt even know what a “carewhumper” was when i wrote it so i was surprised to see someone tag it w that. i guess it’s technically true! anyway i feel bad i let simon fall so much to the wayside. i think delta deserved more comfort over the events of destroyer and his relationship w simon really was very important to him so its on my list.

-thorn era sickfic. maybe the same psychic fever that makes him loopy? might be good for a non-canon bonus i cant tell if it would be more hurt or comfort yet

-this is a lot to get into but if i had to explain the way delta’s powers “worked” i would say that his only true ability is being a conduit. he is not really producing anything he is just tapping into something that is already there. it is not a meaningful difference to an outside party but in terms of what it feels like to use them….. its very psychedelic and psychospiritual and trippy. wouldnt recommend. also i really liked the tag that called delta a mage. its cute bcuz he actually loves pulp fantasy. he would like that :)

[nahoney22]

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

[theradicalscrivener]

Hey I have an idea for a story I want to give you, inspired by NNN with Hyper dick and balls. A man who is doing the 3 day challenge decides to give up, he wants to masturbate but decides to use an HFO video, he finds it and warns that if he starts watching it he will go into a state of conscious hypnosis and will make his cock grow and swell his balls with the associated words "growth" and "swell" when the time comes to come he will say "come". The protagonist does not believe it but it is too late he is under the influence of the video he no longer has control of his body he is stuck in the chair ( I'll leave the fun part to you), at the end the video (when the protagonist is sitting on his enormous genitals and in a state between horniness and terror) will say the famous phrase but with an extra lead to the end of the NNN. P.S. I'm not good at writing and English is not my first language, so if you see spelling errors here's why.

Interesting premise. Although it leaves a lot of questions. Would he be aware of this? Because it sounds like all he has to do is say "come" to break the effects, and even if he wasn't aware, it sounds like that word is common enough in the english langage.

Maybe hearing the word "come" makes him cream, but doesn't stop the effects. He assume that's how to break the control so he lets himself get huge enough to be fun and then says "come". He cleans up, goes out about his day without realizing the effects are still in play. Sure, he has a massive hog and fat nuts, but he likes those.

"Growth" and "Swell" are not as common. He doesn't even realize he's still growing at first. Manages to get like a third of the way through the day before he runs into a coworker that's like the kinda nerdy Flander's-esque dude who uses outdated terms like "everything's swell! Hope you have a swell weekend!"

Guy feels it almost instantly. The heavy weight in his pants straining against his already over-stuffed slacks.

"Don't say swell!" *feels it grow slightly more*

"I always say swell. It never bothered you before" *feels it grow even more.

His pants are now visibly sagging from the weight of his massive nuts. The waistband is pulled down so low that several inches of fat cock base are exposed. The dude tries to pull his shirt down lower to cover it up, but it's not working.

"What's going on?" the coworker asks.

"Every time you say "swell" my nuts grow!" The guy hisses angrily.

Upon saying this his nuts AND cock grow. Shit. Apparently it's not just "growth" that triggers it but words like "grow" as well.

"that can't be possible. Your nuts can't just grow like that!" his coworker says.

"It can! And it did! Now stop saying that word!" He shouts.

"What word? I haven't said 'swell' since we started." coworker replied.

his balls visibly swell. His pants pop and fray at the seams. His massive nuts spill out and land on the floor with a heavy *whump*

"Not that word! I mean. Yes. Don't say that word, but don't say the other one either!" he whines.

"You only said the one word! All you said is that your nuts grow when I say 'swell'" his coworker replied.

His nuts and cock grow even more. He can't believe this. Is his coworker truly this clueless? His cock and balls are now openly on display! Everyone can see how huge he is! Everyone can see that his nuts sit solidly on the ground. Either massive orb the size of a beanbag chair. His comparitively smaller cock is two feet long and thicker than his neck!

"No! The other word is "grow" or "growth" or maybe even "growing"! I don't know! Any word like that makes my dick grow!" he whines.

He stares in awe as his cock surges in size. Oh no. Oh no.

"Now I know you're pulling my leg," his coworker says. "If you were really worried about words like "grow" and "swell" you would stop saying them. You just said "grow" like five times."

"Oh fuck. It's still growing!" He says in horror as his cock surges in size. His dick is now longer than he is tall. It's wider than his shoulders. His fat hog is sitting atop a pair of nuts the size of a sofa.

At this point another coworker walks by. Eyes the dude's enormous package and turns towards the first coworker, "What's up with him?" coworker 2 asks.

"I think it's a bit or something. He keeps saying everytime someone says "grow" or "swell" his cock and balls grow," Coworker A says.

"Well it's a good thing you're the only one here who says "swell" all the time," B replied.

"That's what I said! Clearly this is a joke at my expense, but I am amazed he's committed to the bit this long," A says.

The dude is just standing there and silently whining as he watches his nuts swell even more. How do they not notice how huge he is!? He wants to just ditch this convo, but he can't! He can't even move at this size.

Coworker B gives the guy a playful sock to the shoulder. "Hey there, sport. Hope you're having a swell time. I'm swell myself. In fact, we're all swell here. Just swell, swell, swell," he said jokingly.

the guy stares in horror as his nuts rapidly inflate. They're so huge he can't even see over them. Either massive orb is the size of a backyard toolshed.

"Oooh. You did it now. You said swell like five times. He's going to grow so much." Coworker A laughs.

"Grow and grow and grow," B says with a similar laugh.

"Grow! Grow! Grow!" the two buds chant.

"Stop it!" The dude whines. His cock is surging in size. His dick is the size of a BW van now and still swelling.

"Grow! And Swell! Swell! And Grow!" The two continued their chant.

The dude can't do anything but stand there and stare. His jaw hanging open as his cock and balls surge to unheard of sizes. His nuts fill most of the room. He coworkers had to have noticed, right? they literally, physically, had to move to avoid getting pinned down by his swelling sack.

At this point their boss walks in. "What's going on here!? Do none of you have work to do!?" He grumbled.

"We'll get back to it in a second." A says.

"Yeah. We're just giving our friend here some light-hearted ribbing," B replied.

"Yeah. He keeps saying that his junk grows if anyone says "grow" or "Swell"," A says.

"Grow or Swell?" the boss asks.

"Yeah. He always was a kidder," B replied.

"You're the only one here who says swell... seems a bit targeted if you ask me..." the boss grumbled.

"That's what I said!" A laughs.

"Well you've had your laughs. The only thing I want to hear growing and swelling is our sales. We've got quotas to meet," the boss said.

"Growing and swelling as always, sir!" B said with a playful salute.

"Oh come on..." The dude whines, but no sooner are the words out of his lips than he realizes the mistake of his words. He had a third trigger word... "come"

"Oh... oh shit..." He whines. His cock shudders and lurches, but it had nowhere to go. His cock and balls filled pretty much the entire room.

"I... I'm cumming!" He shouts as the dam break. Huge, thick spurts of cum erupt from his jetliner sized schlong.

[whumping-valentine]

🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 1 🦌

(Inspired by my post from last night)

Content: hunter whumper, captured whumpee in bear trap, rural setting, injuries, creepy whumper, environmental whump (kinda)

1,500 Words (so nice to write something short for once)

I plan to make this series progressively more and more creepy and paranormal as it goes on (introducing ghosts, demons, vampires, etc.) which even begin to freak whumper out. I came up with an entire plot while I was trying (and failing) to sleep last night. I told myself I was going to write something not fantasy and actually grounded in reality for once but noooo I just had to have my cryptids. And complex plots. I'm incapable of making something simple, I really tried, guys. But trust me, y'all have no idea how crazy things are gonna get.

I'll tag this series as #fawn and hunter so you can use that to search my profile for it (which will be their "names" going forward). Apologies if the writing isn't the best, I wrote this in like 2 hours. Btw they're both nonbinary because I've decided I hate gender. Fellow genderqueers rise up.

Anyways, enjoy!

       The woods were Whumpee's favorite place to be. The way the winds rustled through the leaves, and birds sang from their nests up high in the trees. They loved nature, they always had since they were a child. And today was a day just like any other.

       They were new to this area in particular, and were eager to take a walk through a brand new set of woodland. They were heavily geared and excited, taking their steps into a small, secluded nature trail early in the morning.

       They lost themself among the trees, the crunching autumnal leaves beneath their feet, the wind against their face. They hiked through the rocky paths, stomped down steep hills, and rested against the trees. They were an adventurer at heart. One who loved nature, and animals, and the outdoors. They respected it, thanked it, and appreciated it. 

       They hadn't even realized they had ventured off the path, far too amazed by the rushing river and fall scenery. They snapped so many photos on their camera, it was all so beautiful. They had been in the area for about a week now, and locals have called the woods haunted and dangerous. How ridiculous! Whumpee thought. They were really missing out.

       A few hours into their hike, they relaxed in the leaves against a tree near the river, kicking their bare feet in the cold water. It didn't bother them much. They took a drink from their cantine, feeling high and happy on these simple joys of life. This is what it was all about. This was living.

       Whumpee dried off their feet and continued their hike away from the rushing waters, where they spotted a white-tailed deer. A doe, to be exact. She was beautiful, and whumpee was careful to remain hidden and quiet as they peered from behind a tree. They took notice of a heart shape among her white spots, quietly snapping photos of the unique pattern. When she spotted the human, both looked like deer caught in headlights.

       Whumpee slowly, and carefully, pulled out a granola bar from their bag, kneeling down on the ground as they offered it to the cautious creature. The doe slowly approached them, as if she could sense something positive about the small human. She sniffed the oats and began to munch. When there was nothing left the two made eye contact before the doe galloped off into the woods, hoof steps disappearing off into the distance. Whumpee was stunned by the encounter. It felt magical.

       Whumpee continued on through the woods, where the peaceful tranquility was interrupted by a loud, metal clank, followed by a pained scream that echoed through the trees. Whumpee collapsed to their knees in the dirt in a state of shock. They looked to their legs and saw a massive, heavy bear trap clung to their right ankle. It dug straight through their thick boots, going all the way down to the bone.

       As the adrenaline and shock wore off, an unbearable agony coursed all throughout their leg, followed by an aching throb. Any slight movement they'd make with their leg would cause a spike of horrendous, sharp pain. They tried their best to fight through it and pry the contraption off of them, but it was no use, and just caused more turmoil to their vessel. Even if they could get it off, they weren't sure they'd even be able to walk.

       They pulled their phone out of their bag to call for help, but to their dismay they had no signal. How far out did they venture from the path? It couldn't have been that far… yet by the look of the sky, night was approaching. They had been walking all day. How could they have gotten so lost?

       They shut off their phone and their hand fell limp to the ground in defeat. Pure dread took a hold of them as their racing heart dropped to their stomach. All they could do was lie back in the dirt and leaves, control their breathing, and pray to god someone finds them. 

       When they calmed down enough, all that was left was that throbbing ache. They squeezed their eyes shut as tears leaked from them. They felt so stupid. How could they have gotten so lost? How could they have allowed themself to get caught in such a large trap?

       They packed plenty of snacks and water, but would it even be worth it to stay alive? Maybe they should just accept defeat and let the Earth reclaim their bones. They had made a foolish mistake, and this was how things shall end. Taken down by the very thing they love. Ironic, isn't it?

       Night approached quickly, and along with it came the autumnal chill. It was freezing, and there was nothing they could do. They tried their best to relax and rest, but it was difficult. They had been camping many times before, but never without a blanket, in the dirt, with a bear trap around their ankle.

       The cold wind blew the decaying leaves off the trees, rustling as they tumbled around the ground. At least whumpee had the comforting sound of the crickets and owls to keep them company. Even the distant howling of wolves and bats flying overhead helped put them at ease. At least they weren't alone.

       Somehow they managed to fall asleep. They were awoken by the morning sun shining down on them, greeted by the chirp of birds who still had yet to fly south. The sun didn't stay for long, quickly passing behind thick clouds, casting a grey darkness over the land. Whumpee sighed, and stared up at the sky, getting lost in their thoughts of death and decay, trying to accept their fate.

       They were snapped out of their macabre thoughts by the sound of crunching leaves. They firstly assumed it to be a deer, but quickly noticed— it was a person!

       "H— hey!" Whumpee called out, sitting up, "Help me, please, I need help!"

       The person was dressed in thick, layered clothing. They wore a trapper hat with a mask that covered everything but their eyes, gripping an old, dirty, wooden shotgun in both their hands. The hunter looked between them and the trap, surprise in their brown eyes. They walked over to them.

        "Help?" Whumper questions, pulling down their mask, and a slow smile begins to cross their face, "Oh, yes. So sorry about the trap."

       "This… is your trap?" Whumpee questioned in disgust, "I don't hate hunters, but these kinds of traps are cruel and illegal! I've been stuck here all night, and I'm in so much pain, and I'm cold, and— and— stop smiling, you sicko, you caught a person!"

       "I did." Whumper said, sounding almost proud, kneeling down in front of their capture. "But who's fault is that? What's a pretty fawn like you doing this deep into the woods? It's not like there's a trail anywhere around here. I would know. I've never run into another person out here before. Not until now."

       "Don't— don't blame me! You shouldn't even have these kinds of traps to begin with!"

       "Stop yelling, you'll ruin that pretty voice of yours." Whumper grabbed their chin and inspected their face. They had big, green eyes that were only made larger by their circular glasses. Their face was freckled and covered with dirt, "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

        Whumpee roughly pushed their hand away, "Don't touch me! I'm fine except for my ankle, all thanks to you. Help me get it off, and I'll leave, and— and won't report you for possessing illegal traps. Is that so hard to do?"

       "Mm, it's not that it's hard..."

       "Then what is it?! Just— just take it off! It hurts! And I'm hungry, and tired, and getting sick, just— help me!" They cried.

      "If you want me to help then you can stop yelling at me. You can do that, can't you?"

       "Yeah, sure, whatever, just make it stop."

       "I don't appreciate your attitude, but I'll let it slide for now." Whumper stood back up.

       "For now?! What do you—!"

       "Shut it." Whumper cut them off, pointing their gun towards them. They then stuck out their hands, looking at whumpee with a blank yet firm expression, "Come. I'll fix you up."

      Whumpee stared at them and their outstretched hands. They didn't trust this person one bit.

       But it isn't like they had a choice.

       Reluctantly, whumpee took their hands, and was helped to their feet. Well, at least their good foot. They leaned against the hunter for support, letting out a groan and scream of pain. Their ankle was still throbbing as the sharp metal teeth cut through flesh and bone.

       Whumper picked them up and threw them over their shoulder, causing a surprised and pained yelp to escape their prey.

       As whumper carried them off through the forest, it was then where whumpee noticed the woodland chatter had fallen completely silent...

( If you want more of Fawn whumpee and Hunter whumper please let me know!! I will be writing more regardless though lol )

Edit: More can be found on my profile by searching Fawn and Hunter 👍 Thanks guys

[wangxianficfinder]

Wei Wuxian keeps / gets his OG body 

~*~

inhabiting bodies by thelastdboy (E, 2k, WangXian, Porn With Plot, Minor Injuries, WWX in MXY's Body, Body Dysphoria, Kinda, WWX in WWX's Body, Curses, Night Hunts, Scars, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, Emotional Sex, Edgeplay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Ass Play, Rimming, Blindfolds, Anal Sex, Light Masochism, Body Dysmorphia)

Our Scars remind us that the past is real by KatAnni (M, 2k, wangxian, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, WWX & JC, WIP, post-canon, curse breaking, scars, pre-relationship, getting together, case fic, whump, angst w/ happy ending, hurt WWX, memories, PTSD, WWX in MXY’s body, rogue cultivator WWX, JC & WWX reconciliation, not actually unrequited love)

worm moon by serein (E, 103k, WangXianCheng, Post-Canon, Mystery, Angst, Humor, Grief/Mourning, PTSD, Identity Issues, eventual polyamory, Cults, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied past cannibalism, Switching, Doppelganger, POV Alternating, Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, Reverse Golden Core Reveal, mild horror elements)

Twin Demons of Mò by XiaoFeiFei (M, 358k, MXY & WWX, WangXian, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, Abuse, Twin Demons of Mo, MXY Lives, Major Character Injury, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Angst, Minor Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Minor Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Torture, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Canon Divergence, Self-Harm, Found Family, Sexual Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, POV Alternating)

Saw My Life in a Stranger's Face by timetoboldlygo (T, 27k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Married Life, Domestic Fluff, Light Angst, wwx's face changes post-canon to look like his original face, Slight Panic Attack, because lwj doesn't recognize his husband, the mortifying ordeal of not knowing your own body, the terrifying inevitability of change, taller!wwx theory)

Basking in the Patriarch's Beauty by sparklingsu (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, WWX in WWX's Body, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, YLLZ WWX, WWX Deserves Love, Yúnmèng Siblings Bonding, Post-JC & WWX Reconciliation, Hurt/Comfort)

Pretty Patriarch by Clever_spring (G, 2k, WangXian, Protective LWJ, YLLZ WWX, WWX in WWX's Body, Good Nephew JL, Protective LSZ, Protective JL)

Touch That Body, (It's Not Mine) by brrrrrRawr (T, 3k, WangXian, WWX in WWX's original body, Fluff, Pet Names, Blushing, No Smut, Genius WWX, yunmeng bros reconciliation, endgame lotus pier, big bro wwx rights, also dad wwx rights, BAMF WWX, Bad Writing, Body Dysphoria, So OOC)

~*~

Resurrected by someone other than MXY

~*~

❤️ Beauty and the Boot by PTchan (T, 44k, wangxian, summoned by f!oc, Canon Divergence, Romantic Comedy, Genderbending, Denial, Fem!WWX, WangXian kids, Crack-ish, WIP)

❤️ The Book’s Cover by Eudoxia (E, 50k, wangxian, canon divergence, WWX not in MXY’s body, canon retelling, humor, demisexual LWJ, genderqueer WWX, smut)

You still sound like a song by Moominmammashandbag (M, 64k, wangxian, WIP, Ghost!WWX, Mystery, LWJ plays inquiry, AU from after the Wens came to Lotus Pier, Most people lived, not everybody died, Angst with a Happy Ending, river spirit!WWX, Angst and Feels, description of murder, imminent smut, Execution, bad dog names, Poisons, Discussion of Attempted Murder, BAMF WWX, Family Feels)

the problem with authority by isabilightwood (M, 139k, wangxian, qingli, Canon Divergence, Sacrifice Summon, slightly dark!JYL, wq lives because i said so, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Pain, Mild Sexual Content, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, manipulative relationship (background xiyao))

Misunderstood by Silver_Flame_2724 (M, 250k, WIP, WangXian, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Heavy Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Canon-Typical Violence, Self-Worth Issues)

❤️ The One-Body Problem by metisket (T, 29k, LJY & WWX, LJY & LSZ, wangxian, possession, cohabitation) - briefly summoned by OC's and gets stuck in LJY's head but then gets summoned by mxy

So You Want to Start a War by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 41k, WIP, MY/QS, MY/WWX, WangXian, Reincarnation, Half-Sibling Incest Mention!, QS does the ritual instead of MXY, WWX as a woman, MY Is His Own Warning, Canon Divergence, Impersonation, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Please check the notes before reading a chapter, Timeline What Timeline, WWX Has PTSD)

Chapter 1-23 of The Tales of Despereaux by stiltonbasket (T, 36k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, (when applicable))

To Deserve So Much More by renysen (T, 19k, wangxian, getting together, one big happy family, no angst, getting engaged, family feels, female bodied WWX)

A Worse Timeline Series by donutsweeper (T, 2k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Lots of People Die, Canon-Typical Violence, Revenge, Non-Mo Xuanyu Summoning Ritual, Worse Timeline, Character Death, Dark, WWX brought back by JC.)

Everyanything by deliciousblizzardshark, lingeringdust (E, 46k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Franken-canon, Gender Identity, Gender Dysphoria, Trans WWX, Protective LWJ, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Canon-Typical Misogyny, Fluff and Angst, Vaginal Sex, Canon-Typical Major Character Death)

若有来世，你还愿意吗; if there is an afterlife, are you still willing? by luyepiaofeng (T, 5k, WangXian, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Self-Sacrifice, Rituals, Self-Indulgent, Hurt No Comfort, WWX brought back by LWJ)

for you, all for you 「 给你, 都给你 」 by headBONDmeLWJ (T, 3k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, Canon Divergence, LWJ/WWX in Love, WWX Loves LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings, Pining LWJ, Hurt LWJ, WWX-centric, Hurt WWX, Supportive LXC, Good Sibling LXC, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, WWX brought back by LWJ)

who uses the sacrificial array next? Series by ryneisaterriblefan (Not Rated/T, 6k, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Suicide, Self-Harm, Depression, Misunderstandings, Unhappy Ending, soul sacrificial array, Self-hatred)

Five People Who Never Summoned Wei Wuxian by EHyde (G, 2k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, 5+1 Things, Angst, [Podfic] Five People Who Never Summoned Wei Wuxian by sisi_rambles)

Plans fly out the window by English is my death (Lena013) (T, <1k, JGY/QS, JGY/WWX, LWJ & WWX, JC & WWX, reincarnation, canon divergence, QS does the ritual, YLLZ WWX, impersonation) inspired by So You Want to Start a War by JaenysBloodcourt

The Housewife's Guide to Causing Chaos by dvasva (M, 127k, WIP, WangXian, Canon-Typical Violence, Functionally Trans Character, Mild Sexual Content, Domestic Fluff, Love Confessions, Transphobia, Good Parents LWJ and WWX, Pining, WWX is a Tease, Grief/Mourning, Body Dysphoria, Fake Marriage, Canonical Character Death, Misunderstandings, Doting LWJ, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, WWX is not in MXY's body, Misgendering, Mild Angst, Assumptions, Comedic Elements, non-sexual nudity, Blood, Discussion of Various Bodily Functions, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, 4 years of mourning instead of 13, Méishān Yú Sect, POV Multiple, Corporal Punishment, Trans WWX, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, pregnancy mention, Timeline What Timeline, Sexual Harassment Threats)

[prodigal-explorer]

my roleplay information/application!

hey guyssss, so like i'm kinda desperate for rp partners so i'm just gonna try my luck here and see if any of y'all are interested in rping with me! feel free to read through this information and message me if you are interested!! as long as you meet my requirements, i would love to rp with you!!

basic information

i am 18 (19 in a few weeks) and i'm okay rping with any age, but i will not rp anything relating to nsfw with a minor. not even implied nsfw, it's just very uncomfortable. but if you're 18+, i'll rp anything on this list with you!

i only rp semi-lit/descriptive. this means at least five sentences, detailed responses that aren't just surface level. it's hard to respond to stuff that's lazy, so please please please just put in the effort if you want high quality responses in return!

the fandoms i roleplay are sanders sides, undertale, your turn to die, and omori. i dabble in oc rp, but it's not very common for me since i don't really have many ocs that i like enough to rp with.

my favorite types of roleplay are heavy angst and whump. i love really dark concepts, and it's rare that i won't do something that's dark and angsty. i struggle with concepts that are just fluff because i prefer rps with a lot of conflict and struggle.

my only triggers are constant discussion about body type/comparing body types and descriptive talk of medical needles. other than that i will do literally anything lol.

i am filipino-american, audhd, physically disabled, and i love to incorporate these aspects of my identity into the characters i play. if you don't like that, we probably won't make very good rp partners.

i hate hate HATE poking. please don't remind me of the rp after ten minutes of me not responding. please don't remind me of the rp after ten HOURS of me not responding. i know it exists, i just need time to reply. if you nag me about responding, i probably will wait even longer to reply because it's intimidating.

i love to chat oorp! feel free to leave a silly message, even if it has nothing to do with rp!

scroll all the way to the bottom of the post if you want to see writing examples!! below are just specific tidbits of information pertaining to each fandom i rp!

sanders sides specific information

the main side i love to play is roman. i will always want to play roman in every single tss rp, he's just me, he's my number one homie, my favorite character of all time.

i can also play any of the other sides, but my characterization for them is not as solid as roman.

i don't really like patton in roleplays unless he's a minor character or an antagonist/villain. i am very good at playing patton as a villain, but i don't really like playing him in any other context. i have so many aus where patton is a villain or antagonist, so if that's your jam, you've come to the right place!

i will do mindscape or human aus, i love both!

i am okay with ocs but i will not do canon side x female oc. it just makes me very uncomfortable to ship sides with female characters.

some of my favorite ships are roceit, prinxiety, logince, anaroceit, analogical, intrulogical, and loceit.

the only ships i WILL NOT do are moxiety, royality, moceit, logicality, intruality, and remrom. every other ship, i'm completely okay with.

i love rping as remy or emile picani!!

i have SO MANY IDEAS for this fandom. like literally hundreds of aus. so please message me if you want to rp anything with angst, or drama, or anything like that because i have SO MUCH.

undertale specific information

so fun fact i'm actually kind of bad at undertale rp.

it's not that i'm awful i just don't have a lot of experience, but i'm working on it!

the main characters i like to play are papyrus, undyne, alphys, toriel, asgore, and gaster.

i can also play asriel/flowey, sans, frisk, mettaton, grillby, and chara if necessary.

i am totally fine with ocs, bring them on!

i don't really like rps with the au sans stuff? nothing against it, i just don't really know much about it and in the nicest way possible i don't really care. i prefer to stick with canon and prequel/sequel aus instead of aus that change up the characters' personalities and stuff.

my favorite undertale au of all time is handplates i have so many thoughts about it and i would love to rp it!

i love angsty rps but undertale is actually one of the only fandoms where i love to rp fluff for it. undertale is just such a goofy game and i love emulating that style of humor in rp!

ships i enjoy are soriel, papyton, alphyne, sansby, and whatever the ship name for alphys x gaster is?

the only undertale ships i WILL NOT rp are anything involving the child characters (frisk, chara, asriel, monster kid), and anything that ships undyne with a guy. i'm also not a huge fan of asgore x toriel but i'll do it if you really want me to!

your turn to die specific information

i am so new to rping in this fandom but i really want to anyway!! trust, i know all the lore, i just need some solid experience!

my favorite characters to play are jou, reko, nao, gin, kai, shin, hiyori, and sara.

i will play q-taro, mishima, or alice if necessary!

i am very bad at keiji, i don't think i can play him well.

i love canon and au roleplays equally! i would love to do either way!

i like pretty much all the ships, it would be easier to list ships i don't like.

i don't like any ships that involve the little kids (kanna, gin, hinako), any ships with a huge age gap (especially sara x keiji), and shin x hiyori. it's just...no.

omori specific information

i am very new to the fandom, so please have mercy on me if i get something wrong lol!

my favorite characters to play are kel, hero, aubrey, and mari!

i can play sunny if necessary.

i will not play basil. i actually don't like basil being present in roleplays, he's just a character i personally dislike. i'm fine with him showing up occasionally as a minor character, but i just don't like him being a big part of roleplays.

i will roleplay canon and aus! i love both! but bear in mind i am a bit more hesitant to rp ships in canon, but in aus i have zero reservations!

my favorite ships are anything involving sunny, kel, and aubrey being together, but my number one otp is hero x mari!

the only ships i WILL NOT do are ships that have basil in them, especially basil x sunny or basil x kel. they just don't sit right with me personally.

i don't really know much about the minor characters of the game...i might need a bit of guidance if you want to use a character that isn't a part of the main six! but i am completely fine with it as long as you're okay with me being a bit clueless.

writing samples!!!

The streets were soft, the dusty sidewalks concealed by powdery snow that made Brooklyn look like a wedding. Roman stepped lightly, wondering how high he would have to hold himself to keep his foot from sinking in the snow, ruining the shiny white blanket that protected his bare feet from the cruel asphalt.

His book remained tucked under his jacket, as if it needed protection from the biting wind. Roman didn’t think it was possible for something that carried such beautiful notions and ideas to be unfeeling, so he acted as though there was a beating heart somewhere between the pages. Nobody had ever told him there wasn’t one, so what was the harm in believing if it made the sky feel brighter, and the air feel warmer, and the world feel more connected?

When he came back to the small, tucked-away alley that he and his brothers were currently living in, he was happy to see a little fire that he could warm himself beside while he opened his new book, aching to see what was inside.

--

"Protect...me?"

Roman was unfamiliar. He was always used to protecting other people. He was tall, graceful and beautiful. Couldn't really throw a punch, but he had a way with his words that could get him absolutely anything he wanted. Including peace. He was used to standing between bullies and victims, seducing with his sweet smile and long eyelashes. Making anybody feel like they've been blessed just looking at him. With his parents always gone, and nobody to hold him during nightmares, Roman had gotten used to holding himself. But now, he just wanted to be protected so badly. He wanted to be truly loved by somebody besides himself.

"Okay..." he whispered, "Okay."

--

"Oh! Do you guys want to go to that restaurant across the street?" Patton asked, "We performed so well tonight, I think we all deserve a treat! Virgil, you hit that syncopation perfectly, and Janus, that riff was amazing! The crowd went wild for us! Drinks will be on me, as long as you all promise not to drink too much. I'll be the designated driver too. What do you say??"

Of course, this invitation was not extended to Logan. Patton didn't even notice Logan in the area, assuming that he was off sweeping the stage or packing up the van. Patton was the one who decided what everybody did, and he usually gave Logan the grease-work like that. He didn't really care very much about Logan, just because Logan wasn't as close to the group. There wasn't that bond of performing show after show, having fans that requested autographs, being followed and gushed over by paparazzi.

Since Logan was never onstage, nobody knew the face or identity of the man who wrote the songs that all these fans were so crazy about. And Patton sort of preferred it that way. He didn't really like the idea of Logan being a face of their band. Unlike Janus and Virgil, Patton wasn't sure how the public eye would recieve Logan. The man wasn't remotely ugly, but he was rather plain-looking. He tended to blend into the background of the rooms he occupied. He wasn't the type of look one would expect to be in a hugely successful band.

All the others had their "niche". Patton was the sweetheart, the nice one, the innocent one. Virgil was the quiet, brooding, mysterious one. And Janus was the charmer, able to seduce anyone with a wink and a smile. What was Logan? He didn't talk very much, he wasn't particularly nice, brooding, or seductive. Patton didn't like that Logan didn't exactly have an archetype. He didn't quite fit in.

--

Roman tilted his head with a polite smile and an appropriate amount of interest as Logan disclosed his name. It was nothing familiar to him, but he did think it was a beautiful-sounding name. He always loved when people's first and last names started with the same letter. It felt like a name out of a fairy-tale when it had that feature.

Listening to what Logan was saying, Roman couldn't help but go red, very embarrassed. He was bad at English, but he certainly wasn't stupid. He could tell that Logan was euphemizing heavily in order to preserve Roman's feelings, which made Roman both embarrassed that Logan felt the need to do this, and honored that Logan cared so much about how he felt. It was a really sweet gesture, honestly.

"You write music too?" he asked, very curious. "I would love to sing a song by you wrote. You will...pay me? Money?"

Roman wondered if Logan was offering him a job, or just wanting to have a jam session as friends and colleagues. He would be happy with either option, but he wanted to manage his expectations there and then, so there would be less awkwardness from false assumptions.

--

Roman looked at it and smiled as he read through the lyrics, his eyes carefully scanning from left to right as he ingested each lyric. His smile only grew.

"It is okay," he said, "I like messy handwriting. It means...it means your brain moves fast, and your hand must hurry to follow. I like this song. I think...I want to sing it. Do you want me to sing here? In front of everyone?"

Roman would definitely be willing to give Logan's song some publicity. And he adored the thrill of singing a song for the first time in front of a whole crowd of people. Roman wasn't the type to get stage fright. The more risky a performance was, the more excited he was to try and execute it. Roman had a bit of a shame deficiency, such was obvious with him singing those lyrics he wrote out loud multiple times.

His eyes were shining with enthusiasm, but also, with gratitude. He was thankful to Logan for the opportunity he had to bring this song to life, this brand new song that no one had ever heard before. The idea that its first breath of auditory life would be coming from Roman's own voice was so romantic that it almost made Roman want to sing it right there and then so he wouldn't have to wait anymore.

[bnnuy-wabbit]

Cunospig -> bnnuywabbit

Name's Lago. I'm 22.

My art tag is #feral art tag

I'm prone to note spamming mutuals! I personally love being note spammed. It's a love language. To me.

If you happened to stumble upon this blog, you Must Know that I'm obsessed with many things like my own OCs as of writing this post!

I'm Brazilian. As in from Brazil. As in Born There and Living There till my eventual demise, possibly. If you also happen to be one of those or adjacent, feel free to hit me up. É nois 🤙

I treat my blog as an open diary sometimes. There'll be cool things about my life and things in excited abou t and things that make me upset and general life shit. I also talk a lot about my little brothers endeavors because i love him and he's my little creature. If this bothers you, i recommend not following. Also this blog contains adult stuff because im an adult, so follow at your own risk and/or pleasure! I think you should be in control of what you use your eyes to look at 👍

More info under readmore!! But only if you feel like it.

Other than the aforementioned, i have Many other interests that Can and WILL show up here, like:

My OCs and worldbuilding

Portal

Half life and hlvrai

Disco Elysium

Stranger Things

Homestuck

Whump stuff

FNAF

Literally whatever show and game im currently watching or playing.

I'm also VERY into music. My favorite genres are 00s pop, industrial metal, heavy metal, classic rock, folk and mpb. I love learning more about music and getting to know new music genres. Feel free to pop some in my inbox!

Random info: I use emojis abd smileys unironically. I just love to pepper my texts with some emotion here and there. I promise there's no sarcasm associated to my emojis and smileys. If i send i smiling smiley i Mean It. I also add !!!! To them if I'm particularly excited. Tone tags are confusing to me, I don't use them.

Regarding The Me: I'm queer and weird about it! My gender is completely not my business, it's up to you to gender me. Also I'm an Artist and creator at heart, so i draw a lot, i like sculpting things with clay and foam, i love doing collages, i like playing my guitar and sometimes i write fucked up things for fun because it's Fun, tho i wouldn't call myself a writer. I'm diagnosed audhd. I'm weird and not in a cutesy way sometimes, but at least I'm funny about it i think!

I'm uhhhh a med student with a background in AG/rural sciences (vetmed + fishing) which ig is kinda funny. The funniest thing about me is I'm an honest to god fishing technician. I have a fucking diploma in fishing. I have no idea how or why, it still baffles me!! I have plenty thoughts on the ag/fishing field as a whole and a bit of experience with Some Things. I've worked in a few labs and written and published a few papers and I've wanted to be a Real Scientist when i grew up since i was a kid :)

I think that's about it.

I'm a bit shy, reverb though nobody believes me when i day it! But please feel free to send an ask asking for my discord if you'd like to chat. My messages are off for nonmutuals because I'm tired of getting spambots. One thing i MUST state upfront if you'd like to talk to me and be friends: i likely have a personality disorder (avpd, extreme anxiety regarding Connecting to People) but I'm working on it! I'm trying to get better at talking about myself and my interests and socializing, so don't blame yourself if our conversations fall flat. Talking and initiating conversations with people is Hard, but I'm alright at keeping conversations going if you tell me about your likes and dislikes or if you wanna do small talk! My cheat sheet is: Talk to me about your favorite weather, your timezone, what you like learning more about, about your country and culture or your favorite types of music and your favorite bands! Tell me about yourself, please!!! I'm told i can be really cool to talk to if we get to know each other, I'm told I'm a very trusting, agreeable and judgementless individual. I like to believe that is true. To be fair, I'm eager to make new friends and learn more about people and we'll bond over something, I'm absolutely sure 🥰.

I have a lot of blogs. Like a LOT. I'm not going to link them all here, but they ARE linked to my main somewhere. Probably. Have fun collecting them all or something. It's way too many.

Updated: 8.nov.24

[f1-disaster-bi]

Hello there, So ya I am a new reader on AO3 and I am in love with your stories. Especially the Lando's daughter Eloise one and the Mafia AU. I just couldnt appreciate you enough for that Mafia story because trust em when I say its the best crime thrill/mafia story I have ever read. Its just too awesome. I shared it with all my friends as well. Its just amazing. Also the whump three-shot afterwards as well Similarly today I read the Eloise series and I just cant get enough of it. Sorry if I am kinda pressurising you here but its just too amazing and now my mind is spiraling with ideas Anyways I am here with a request now What if you do a heavy angst with Eloise? Like involvement of a car accident where Lando is in paddock and like he finished his race and then he gets a call about the accident. Adding some medical scenes as well like you know "ventilator and coma sequence ones" I am so sorry I am asking for this. I may sound cruel but its just I dont why my mind is just asking you for this. If you choose to ignore this I understand as well. Thank you for your lovely stories

I'm so glad you've found and liked my stories!! Especially my Single Parent Lando, and my Mafia au! Those are two I loved writing!

I do have something kind of onto what you are asking about but it's not about Eloise. I wrote these two oneshots (I'll link below) about Daniel being in a car crash and them not knowing if he'll ever recover, that's set when Eloise is a teen and while Lando and Daniel's second kid, Flynn, is still only small!

"I've got you" and the second part is, "Please Stay"

I don't have anything planned for angst involving Eloise right now. Mainly because every time I think of anything, @f1-birb yells at me 😂😂

I do have a part two in the works which I think is going to have some angst in it because I think I might bring back Eloise’s mum which I've talked about on here ages ago.....but I might bring her back and have her causing issues for them around the time that Eloise starts calling Daniel her Dad and Daniel asks her for her help so he can propose to Lando 👀

[interdimentionalinterviewco]

Heya there! Welcome to the IDIC!

Here at the Inter-Dimensional Interview Corps we do just what the name says- interview! Our goal is to learn all about the many different folks across this wonderful universe, including you! Why do we do it? I don’t know. Why am I here? What is this place? Whats happening? Why can’t I remember? Because it’s fun!

Feel free to stop by and say hi any time! We’re happy to answer any questions YOU have too! And remember folks- STAY CURIOUS!

Clio - main interviewer

Click- “the boss”, leader of the crew

Archie- the resident archivist/IT guy/librarian

More to come?

I’m Loaf, from the blog @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

I was realizing having a writing/whump blog AND a RP blog in one wasn’t working… so here we are! Kinda new so bear with me! Dw I’ll add more to this when I get a chance lol :D

The IDIC was an organization I made up for my asks, as I wanted to interact with the rp community in a more direct way(in character), and also I thought it would be fun! It wasn’t the only one I planned to rp here, but it’s definitely the main one.

THIS IS TECHNICALLY A WHUMP BLOG FYI, SO EXPECT THOSE THEMES!!!

Other characters you might see here:

Firebird in the Sea:

Salem- whumpee from my story Firebird in the Sea

Kayo- whumper from my story Firebird in the Sea

Other:

Huxley- A travel blogger cursed by monsters appearing whenever they go

Do’s: Whump, crossovers, all kinds of rp :D

Don’ts: NSFW of any kind, overly heavy gore, needles/descriptive medical whump

[broodwolf221]

If you had to pick 5 fics you’ve written to make a “crash course” and sum up your writing personality, which would they be?

oh this is such an interesting question... and a difficult thing to answer, honestly! i eventually settled on trying to show the range of my style, because i do tend to lean in different directions depending on what i'm writing and i'd say that's a core part of any writing personality i might have. bc the alternative answer was just... smutty lmao. but with that in mind:

Parody of a Destiny (atros/solas | m!city elf!inky/solas) - this one has a sharper, more succinct style than a lot of what i write, because that's how atros is.

Inquisitor's Commission (velari/solas | solavellan) - very playful and lighthearted/silly, as much about domesticity as it's about smut lmao

Dissonance & Return (velari/solas | solavellan) - this is like... the exact opposite of the above. mind the tags if ur interested in reading, it's a rough one, but it's a very different perspective and angle. painful, angsty, but healing in a very bittersweet way

Appetite (velari/solas | solavellan) - again, a rough one, and again, mind the tags. another where healing is part and parcel of the roughness, processing through it kinda thing, but it's stylistically very different

The Demon Hunt (cole & the iron bull) - okay again, mind the tags, it's rough af. heavy on the action, total whump

[shejustcalledmeafish]

I’m going to make you share Ianto audio opinions now :D Sorry I know there’s like 9 million of those

Dhhdhdhd you’re all good, everyone needs to know my hot takes on their favorite blorbo that is just A Guy

Fall to Earth: Very good! The beginning of a long saga of Ianto having audios with women who are cooler than him, also he’s a dumbass and Myfanwy has insurance now

Broken: honestly, this one is overhyped in my opinion. It’s still very good, but people scream so much about it and I’m like “…poodle goo”. That said, it is a classic, content warnings for depression and suicide attempt, but it’s really doing its best to establish the janto dynamic behind s1

The Office of Never Was: this one features a darker side of Ianto which is very interesting, but also I barely remember any of the details due to me listening ages ago, but like yeah I think it’s good

The Last Beacon: PEAK GO LISTEN IMMEDIATELY, beloved romp and Ianto-Owen character dynamics

Serenity: definitely my preferred Janto audio, dumbasses in the suburbs, violence and swinging attempts and Ianto just slowly losing his mind (affectionate)

Expectant: okay so this isn’t good. I wouldn’t even necessarily say it’s fun. There’s not even that much Ianto in it. But goddamn there’s something about it, so many things that are mentioned and not explored and there are slippers and whale songs okay (also gross birth noises so be warned)

Dinner and a Show: yes very good! just a good fun romp at the opera with aliens and cheap knock-off Welsh Prosecco

Ex Machina: genuinely such an interesting concept, unreality warning heavy, but I really enjoyed it

Rhys and Ianto’s Execllent Barbecue: oh my god this is literally a masterpiece on grief and masculinity and also there’s a cool time bubble and a guinea pig, mandatory listening

Coffee: fun and painful and just like, a lot of it is kinda basic but when it hits it HITS

The Great Sontaran War: okay genuinely a pretty solid one, goss needs to stop trying to write marginalized people, but there’s a sontaran in a trailer park with a cat named Group Marshal Cat and Ianto is just trying his best, so

The Grey Mare: okay it’s not bad, but it is a pretty basic spooky tale, I heard someone describe it once as a plot that it didn’t have to be Ianto, and that’s pretty fair

Restricted Items Archive Entries 031-049: this is my personal favorite honestly, both for the almost anthology type vibe of all the entries, and because this author Gets Ianto and it’s just so fun and also a bit ouchy as it should be

SUV and The Lincolnshire Poacher: okay, haven’t heard these, but based on vibes poached from my friends, SUV is good, and Lincolnshire Poacher is slowburn Ianto whump and I mean slowburn because he doesn’t show up for a while, so don’t expect him right away, but I’m not gonna write it off

The Torchwood Archive: very good, domestic janto in the most weirdest and in character way honestly, lmao

Outbreak: YES SO GOOD, be warned for a virus plot and scratching noises, but like worth it for all of the vibes, who doesn’t want to have your boyfriend try to murder you because he loves you and your best friend mock you for your shit tie, so good

Believe: okay so his plot is probably the most interesting/best one, but overall it’s really just not that good, not really worth it

Torchwood One: god fuck you Alyssa I forgot about these, okay okay

Before the Fall: technically individual stories, but it’s really more like one big one, Rachel be girlbossing

Machines: Blind Summit is the one for Iantotent, man sorta gets supersoldiered and everyone forgets about it, I personally really like 9 to 5, the premise Bangs. Also the law machines is here, it’s okay I guess

Latter Days: Retirement Plan lets Ianto James Bond it up, Locker 15 is solid, the Rockery isn’t a Ianto story but it is my favorite from the set so 😤

Nightmares: honestly, the best set, both My Guest Tonight (not a Ianto story), and Lola are very solid, LESS MAJESTY IS FARCE AND FUCKING HILARIOUS

TLDR: honestly he doesn’t really have a Bad one, but some are better than others :3