#adding whump for safety

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

“I remember everything.”

“Everything? I doubt that, otherwise you’d be on your knees begging for mercy.”

[chaotic-orphan]

you might have answered this already but how did you get into whump— what’s your whump origin story??

Ooooh!!! That’s a good question and I don’t think I have answered it!! I mean I have scratched it a little recently here

But I got into whump from the hero/villain community on tumblr, I LA-LA-LA-LOVED the modern typewriter’s everything she published and just so good, phenomenal, and so I started writing some hero villain stuff, and then I found hurt/comfort, or really angsty stuff that I describe more in the link above ^^^

But, I think my first like moment of what the fuck, gut-punch breathlessness I had when I realised I liked Whump without knowing what it was, was when this car safety ad came out in Ireland — and car safety ads go fucking hard in Ireland I only realised as I got older, that not many other countries are as graphic as Ireland was—

But I just looked up the video and it was released when I was 7, Seven!!!! And I was like holy fucking shit, this is such a strange feeling, and my sister cried but I was like what the fuck— and it is great!!! So that is my origin story😎😎😎 and then after I immediately youtubed other Irish road safety ads ahahahahahah… It fucked me up so good, and Now i am here x

I will link the ad below, but PLEASE BE WARNED!!! It is extremely graphic and tragic, and if you know anyone who has been in a car accident or died from one, or anything like that do not watch it, please!

Keep in mind this ad was on during like lunch time TV, so me and my 4 year old sister at the time watched it together while we were having lunch — crazy times, probably wouldn’t be allowed air today but yes— long winded answer, sorry anon🤭 link below cut

TW: CAR CRASH, GRAPHIC IMAGES, AFTERMATH OF CAR CRASH, DEATH, DEATH FROM CAR ACCIDENT, CAR ACCIDENT, CAR ACCIDENT AFTERMATH

Road Safety Ad here

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

If I Could Melt Your Heart | Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader | One shot 5k

The end of the mission goes wrong when you fall through the ice. Bucky manages to get you to the safe house, unresponsive and hypothermic. Bucky worries for your safety, trying everything to warm you and melting the competitive animosity between you.

Warnings: 18+ for suggestions of sex, language and both Reader and Bucky being idiots. Flirting, frenemies to lovers nonsense, kissing. Whump, reader falls through ice, symptoms of hypothermia. Rated I and L for Idiots in Love.

Final divider by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

The fall was easier than you thought it would be. Conditioned to have confidence in your decisions, you’d run across the ice fully expecting to reach the other side and then, just as suddenly as you’d made your decision, you were looking up at the sky between two walls of dark green water. 

The lake closed in just as fast, covering the sky, and your salvation, and panic set in, there was no air, your lungs burning from the cold and you gasped involuntarily, drinking in the crisp clean lake. It was over, the entire adventure was over, no more missions, no more tower, no more compound, no more galas and holidays and, worst of all, no more Bucky. 

No more late nights bickering over films, no more inventing reasons for him to be your partner during training, no more glances during meetings and arguments after briefing, just so he’d stay closer, just so he’d look at you a little longer. 

Despite everything you’d achieved, you’d wasted it all really, by not telling him how much you loved him. 

You closed your eyes, arms still beating in the water, heaving against the pack on your back dragging you down. 

The snow had come in fast, separating you from Sam and Steve. You'd meant to take a separate path each, converging on a safe house for extraction in the morning. Bucky had caught up with you a mile or two before. But somewhere in the storm you'd taken a wrong turn and now the darkness was closing in, your eyes fluttering closed, chest burning and Bucky still on the shore. 

Hands appeared, covered in Avengers issue gloves, one hauling you upwards, the other pushing on the clasp that held your pack and letting it fall into the water while lifting you into the biting air. A face glowed in the bright sun and you were happy to allow the angel to take you where they wanted, closing your eyes again seemed the only sensible thing to do, then at least you could dream about your regrets. 

Everything was hazy, but you knew you were being hustled into a safe house by the sound of the keypad beeping.

That's okay, maybe there's safe houses in the afterlife, maybe there's the crack of the fire and the cold won’t be so biting. 

When Bucky reached the safe house the wind had picked up, forcing him to wrestle the door open before half falling into the small porch, the wind no longer holding his weight. But he managed to keep you steady as he shuffled inside, locking the cold out behind him. 

He’d seen you go down, thinking you'd fallen, and had spotted the crack in the ice immediately after. It was clear where you’d gone wrong, leaving the track at the side of the lake, but he didn’t have time for that, he only had time to rush across the ice, sliding the last metre on his belly to stop it cracking further. 

Thankfully your pack had done its job and the two small buoyancy aids that Tony had added after the last jet crash were keeping you close to the surface. You were in shock though, eyes misty and for a heartbreaking second, as he dragged your flopping body onto the ice, Bucky wondered if he’d been too late. 

Beneath his fingers your pulse was still there, slow, but steady, and he flipped you onto your side and smacked your back as hard as he dared until you threw up the freezing water. 

He took a different way off the ice, just in case it had cracked under the soft snowfall. Carefully, he had trudged across a more dangerous ridge to reach the safe house faster, the snow storm picking up around him, aware of your solid weight on his back, his pack slung around to his front. It had still taken half an hour and all of his energy. 

By the time he’d placed you on the couch,  Bucky’s long hair was frozen at the ends where it had fallen from his black stealth issue snow hat. His lips were chapped and his shoulder ached where his prosthesis met the joint. But he could see you, and he could see you breathing and moving and you weren’t dead. 

He slumped to the floor and wiped a wet glove down his face, breathing out heavily. 

You'd argued, on the jet, about the drop site, about the evac, about the contents of your pack. There was always an argument, a bet, a challenge to be had with you, but he didn’t care as long as you were looking at him. And he’d never had the courage to tell you, to pin you to the mat when you sparred and tell you that he couldn’t go a day without seeing you. 

With another ragged breath he looked up. You were here, safe, together. 

Now what? 

Bucky called Sam and Steve’s emergency number together, hoping whoever wasn’t driving would pick up. He liked Sam and he trusted his medical judgement and while the tension in their friendship was easing, it was still easier with Steve around too. 

“That you, Buck?” Sam said, there was a distinct hum from the truck in the background that told Bucky they were on their way at least. Help is coming, Bucky told himself, you don’t have to take care of her alone, help is coming. 

“Bucky?” The side of Steve’s head appeared on the video call and Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“Thank god you picked up, things went from shit to worse out there, she fell through the fucking ice. Managed to get her out but she coughed up a helluva lot of water and now she’s all -” he looked behind him at your floppy hands and droopy eyelids, “she doesn’t look right, she isn’t talking, can’t stay awake.” Bucky rambled, his Brooklyn drawl appearing again through his worry. His words were getting mixed, he could feel them, heavy on his tongue, hypothermia? Something else? What had he been taught in basic training?

“Look, don’t get excited,” Sam said, pausing slightly, the howl of the snow storm still evident behind him. “But I need you to take off any wet layers she’s wearing, she could get hypothermia and her being unresponsive isn’t a good sign.” 

“Why would that get me excited?” Bucky said, indigent but propping the phone up so he could start unzipping your coat. 

On the video Steve rolled his eyes. He couldn’t see anything out of the truck windows, the snowstorm made everything static, but the video kept trying to focus anyway.

“Just do it, Buck, okay. There should be some spare clothes somewhere, if she needs them.” 

Bucky peeled back your sopping coat and set about removing your snow boots. Underneath you were wearing waterproof trousers, a thick thermal sweater and long sleeved standard issue t-shirt and leggings, also wet. He sat back, peeling the leggings from around your ankles. At least you had one dry shirt on but it was so small, just a strappy vest as your first layer and there were already goosebumps rising on the skin around your shoulders and collarbone. 

Bucky snapped his eyes away, cheeks flushed, and stood, searching for spares, coming up short. 

“There’s nothing here -”  he groused, standing his phone up against the empty fireplace while he searched. 

“Check the bathroom, they normally leave sweat shirts and things by the towels.” 

Bucky gave you one last look and left the room in search of something to keep you warm. 

Your eyes felt so heavy, your head full of lead and your arms and legs weighed down. Your throat burned and tasted awful, worse than the pack rations you’d eaten before you’d set off on the last leg of your walk to the cabin. 

The memory of the water washed over you and your arms flew out, grasping for the ratty sofa cushions.

You were safe. 

Everyone else must have made it too because you could hear Sam and Steve talking, saying something about Bucky. 

Blinking your eyes you were sure they were sat by the fire, maybe they’d light it soon, you were so cold. 

Bucky returned with a blanket and socks, sweat pants and towels and dropped them on the floor by the couch. It was one thing to find supplies, quite another to get you changed, he felt bad enough about taking your outer layers off. 

At some point during his search Sam and Steve must have dropped off the call, the phone now laying quiet on the hearth. 

He’d get you dressed and then worry about a fire.

The sweat pants were fine, they were loose and pulled up easily over your hips, the socks and towels warmed your feet slowly. But your shoulders and chest were still uncovered and he could see you starting to shiver. That was at least a good sign, your nerves were working and you were responding correctly to sensory input - but he couldn’t bear it.

Without thinking he pulled his henley off and sat you up, carefully placing it over your head and manoeuvring your arms until you were covered. 

You let out a deep sigh, smiling in your sleep. Bucky didn’t want to think about the way you seemed to snuggle into the collar, it was just body heat, that’s all, that’s all you needed. 

Bucky tucked you back in, being careful to tuck the soft edges of the shirt between your bare skin and the rough wool of the blanket. This was not the way he wanted to see or touch you like this for the first time. He sat with his back to the sofa, gun across his lap and trained his eyes on the door. 

Bucky’s eyes were open in half a second, body crouched, gun extended into the darkness until he noticed his phone lit up beside him, vibrating against the aching joints in his shoulders. 

“Hey, Buck, hows it going?.” Steve asked from the gloom of the truck’s cabin. Sam must have taken over the driving, Steve never used his phone behind the wheel. “We should be with you in the morning.”

“Oh, thank fuck for that.” Bucky let his head flop back against the sofa and instantly regretted it when he felt the softness of your thighs behind him. 

Sam’s voice was an echo on the line,“tell me what’s going on?”

“I took her uniform off like you said and she was awake very briefly, just eyes open then closed, but she’s been asleep awhile.”

“Awake is good, right?” Steve asked and Sam hummed in agreement. 

“Hey man, you need to get some rest too, okay. No falling asleep by accident, get in the bed or under a blanket and really sleep,” Sam scolded, it rankled Bucky sometimes, how well Sam really knew him, but he was grateful for this new team as well. 

“I shouldn’t I -” the words ‘I don’t deserve to rest’ were so close to stumbling past his lips. Instead he closed his eyes and turned his head to the wood beamed roof. 

“Look punk, whatever stupid thing you two were arguing about, it’s not your fault she got hurt, okay?” Steve’s voice was sterner now, demanding attention. 

“It was a bet,” Bucky admitted, weakly. “I bet her I could get here first and when I did I’d get the bed and the blankets. She was rushing because of me, she took a stupid fucking risk because she thought she’d have nowhere to sleep.” Bucky bit his cheek, the tang of blood staining his tongue. 

“For gods sake, Buck, that’s not your fault, she made her own choices -” 

“She’d have made better ones if I wasn’t such an asshole, what would my Ma ? Making a bet like that, you know I’d never have let her go cold.”

In your sleep your hands inched forwards, searching for something. The tips of your fingers found his earlobe and then, with a hum, you tucked your hand between his cold, bare, back and the sofa. 

“James Buchanan Barnes, your ma would’ve tanned your hide from here to Coney Island. But I know, I know you would never have let her suffer, you were playing games and makin’ stupid bets because you respect her as your equal. She’d be just as mad if she though you were goin’ easy on her.” 

He had nothing to say, no way to defend himself or make it better that didn’t involve him punishing himself somehow, so he said nothing. 

“Just hang on until the morning, okay. I’ll send over some more information on hypothermia in case we lose contact. But you just have to get through to the morning and then we can take over.” 

“Shouldn’t we get her to the compound now?” Bucky didn’t try to hide the worry in his voice, you hadn’t fought him off, complained, made a sarcastic comment or done any of your usual ridiculous arguing when he’d helped you. It wasn’t right. 

“No, no, best thing is to let her sleep and warm up. She’s fine. You need to sleep though, properly, on a soft surface.”

“Floors aren’t soft surfaces!” Sam shouted. 

“Okay, but -” Bucky paused and Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Just sleep, Buck.” If Bucky was worried, Steve was amused, unable to keep the smile from his voice as he said goodbye. 

You were still underwater, you were sure from the way all the voices in your head sounded muffled. But then you could smell Bucky’s shampoo, so maybe everything was okay after all.

“Hey, are you awake,” Bucky’s voice was so far away, like listening through a bubble, “if you’re awake you should eat something and then I can take your temperature again.” 

There was a movement, an earthquake, but the water didn’t move, there was no water anymore, just the cushion, the lap, the arm, the hand. You clung to the arm, but it didn’t yield under your fingers, it was solid and whirring and - 

“Hmmm, Bucky,” you whispered, nuzzling back into his hold. 

“No, come on, sit up, time to eat.” Why was the world moving, tilting? The voice was louder now, clearer. 

“Buh-” The words were gone again, the world was quiet again, blissful sleep with Bucky’s hand in yours. 

Sam’s face appeared on the phone screen, sleep in his eyes while Bucky gave him an update. He’d decided to stay awake, insisting he’d nap in the truck when they moved on in the morning. As soon as you’d started talking he’d called Sam and Steve to check on you. 

“She was slurring a bit. She wasn’t shivering but I think she’s warmer.”

“You think she’s warmer?,” Sam cut over Steve, looking pointedly at Bucky. “Feel her back and chest.”

“Her chest…” Bucky looked down at you, curled into his t-shirt, eyelids fluttering in your sleep. “She’s wearing clothes.” 

Bucky’s hand was still on your cheek and you turned into the touch, a small smile gracing your lips. 

“Bucky just put your hand on her collar,” Steve suggested.

“Awh, Buck, are you nervous around her, that’s so cute.” Sam teased and Steve scoffed at him. The line went quiet, but he could still make out some muffled arguing. 

He ignored them, sliding his left hand down to your collarbone, gently tucking his fingers under the collar of the t-shirt. His left hand was surprisingly sensitive and he could feel the prickle of your heat, you were definitely warmer than you had been. Your heartbeat steady beneath his palm, his thumb rubbed higher, feeling your pulse in your neck as well. 

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two,” Steve sighed and Bucky snatched his hand away as if he’d been caught, “but if you can get her to have some soup that would be great -” 

“We have to do something else.” Bucky knew he sounded panicked, but he didn’t care. Hypothermia could be deadly and there was no way he was losing you. “She’s still asleep, she should be coming round.”

“There's not much more we can do,” Sam's voice was sleepy. “Sit with her, if she wakes up, get her to eat something and try to keep her awake. Steve and will get there as soon as we can. In the meantime, there may be one more thing you could try -” Sam’s eyes lit up and Bucky just knew he was in trouble somehow. 

Body heat, that’s what Sam had said.

“You need to get under a blanket with her properly, keep her warm.” Sam suggested.

“You mean cuddle.”

“Fine, cuddle, would that be the end of the world?” He’d rolled his eyes and Bucky had felt a sort of sick feeling inside. He’d love to cuddle you, actually, would love to feel your body close to him without the threat of you pulling a training knife or trying to flip him on his back again. But he just can’t.

He stared at you, replaying Sam’s words over and over. Bodyheat, it’s the only thing for it now the fire was roaring again and the huge blanket was folded over twice. Why weren’t you waking up? Why were you still so cold to the touch? 

He lay down, rearranging the blanket over you both and let his right arm fall over your waist, pulling you closer. 

The fire crackled, the snow fell in quiet drifts by the windows and for a moment he could pretend that this was all normal. Just you taking a nap on a winter evening. Would you nap in your clothes? Or would you change into your pyjamas early on in the day and stay like that. Would you fall asleep as easily in his apartment? Would you want to stay?

The snow had stopped again, banked up against the windows in what would have been a wonderful Christmas scene, if you weren’t stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Bucky’s tactical comms were blinking with a new message but he couldn’t bring himself to move. His head was clearer from having slept, but the feel of your hand sitting low on his hip, your body perfectly aligned with his and, crucially, your face so close, lips brushing his cheek, had his thoughts reeling again. 

You stirred, nuzzling closer and placing a sleepy kiss on his cheek. Bucky’s heart sank, who did you think he was? 

“Hmm, where are we?” Your eyes were closed still, but at least your hand was hot against his skin and you were talking, cogent. 

“You fell through the ice, I'm trying to get you warm. How do your toes and fingers feel?” He whispered. 

You stretched your hands out in front of you, wiggling your fingers at him, “they did hurt, ugh, they hurt so bad,” there was a sad whine in your voice that made Bucky want to right every wrong you’d ever endured. You just sounded so small, so vulnerable for a change. “But they don't hurt anymore.” Your eyes drifted closed again and Bucky bit his lip, it really was now or never. 

“Hey, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.” He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the anger on your face. 

“You cracked the ice?” 

“No, but you wouldn’t have gone over it if we hadn’t made that stupid bet.” 

“Oh -” and then you laughed. 

“Why are you laughing, this is really serious, you could’ve died.” His breath caught in his throat, you were laughing and moving and his chest was still bare and you were in his t-shirt, pushing yourself against him with every movement. 

“It’s not your fault though you idiot.” You smacked his chest playfully and he caught your hand, holding it tight. 

“Are you feelin’ okay now?” His eyes darted over your face, taking in your pupils - slightly too dilated, your skin felt flush now which was good, but you couldn’t look at him properly. “You’re not concussed, your pupils are -” his fingers lingered on your wrist, feeling your pulse quicken. 

You pulled away, “I’m fine, I just needed to sleep it off I guess. Where are we?”

You took in the cabin, the little bed in the corner, stripped of its blankets. There was a fire still in the grate and evidence of Bucky eating, judging by the little ration packets scattered next to the sofa. Your tactical gear was drying over the back of a chair and Bucky’s was arranged neatly by the door. 

“We made it to the safe house, you were really close, you would’ve won.” Bucky kept his hands to himself, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the way your eyes had looked when he’d held you, the light hadn't changed, you hadn’t moved your body, the only thing that had changed was his touch.

“Good, I knew I would, slow old man.” You laughed and it was such a relief to hear you happy, safe, Bucky closed his eyes again. “Where are Sam and Steve?”

Still driving, there was a snowstorm so god knows when they'll get here now.” 

“Better get some rations together then, I'm starving.” 

You wriggled off the couch and stood, eyeing up the kitchenette. 

Bucky, on the other hand, was trying to keep his eyes from straying to you. The sweat pants were far too big, sliding down over your hips, as we're the socks which pooled around your ankles. You looked so…cute.

“I don’t think you should be doing that, why don’t you rest?” He pushed the blankets and towels off the worn couch and tried to steer you away from the kitchenette. 

“Bucky I’m not dead, I was fine, I can make some-” you turned the can over in your hands, it sloshed, but there was nothing on the label, “mystery soup.” 

“No, you’re not dead, but -” 

“You wish I was, blah blah blah.” You laughed making your hand talk along with your words. 

“No, No -” Through your laugh, Bucky’s voice was laced with distress. “I never wanted you to get hurt.” 

He dodged around you, trying to get you to slow down and look at him but you were turning a pan over in your hands, deciding if it was too rusty for cooking with. 

“I know, you just wanted to win. No hard feelings, Buck. We’ll pick a winner next time.” 

You were determined to carry on like this then, with your arguing and betting and banter. Even though Bucky had sat with you through the night, certain you were going to die and it was entirely his fault that you’d die without knowing you were the one who kept him going. 

“I don’t want there to be a next time.” He said, plainly. 

“Oh, right, well, I guess we can just ask to be placed on different teams. If that’s what you want.” Suddenly the laughter had stopped and it was like you'd been dipped in ice again, the atmosphere was frosty and tense. 

“No, for god's sake, that's not what I mean. Fuck, I'm messing this up!” Bucky grumbled, making a grab for you.

“Hey!” You tried to dodge again, but he took your hands and pulled you close. 

“I don't want there to be a next time because I never want you to be in danger because of me. There won't be a next time because I was so scared I was going to lose you without telling you…”

“Telling me…what?”

“That you make all of this worthwhile.” He said, the tension leaving his body. “I couldn't imagine training without you, dinners and galas and missions. It wouldn't be the same, it wouldn't be worth it if you weren't there too.”

“Bucky-”

“You don't have to say anything, I just needed to tell you.” He dropped your hands and turned, “I'm going to go and call Sam and Steve, see if they're nearly here for evac.”

But you heard the water turn on and knew he wasn’t doing any such thing. He was having one of his angry, ‘wash away the argument’ showers that infuriated you so much when you had to share a hotel room or a safe house or when you followed him to his room to continue whatever ridiculous argument you’d both cooked up.

You continued stirring the soup slowly. Soup was really all you could find that didn’t make you feel sick just from reading the label, and you bent over the stove allowing the steam to warm your fingers and cheeks. 

The door to the bathroom slammed and you turned to see the light spilling from under the door. What did he mean ‘you make all of this worthwhile’. He was messing around, right? All the bets and fights, the arguments. He liked to get under your skin because, well, he clearly didn’t like you very much. 

You dropped the wooden spoon against the side of the pan, letting the too short handle slowly drown in the now spitting hot soup. 

But you liked him. Your heart had been pounding when he touched you and now your mind was racing at the thought of him even more than tolerating you. 

Before you could stop yourself you were crossing the cabin and hammering on the bathroom door. 

Bucky’s face was flush when he opened the door, pink staining his cheeks and blending with the faint lines on his face where he’d been cut during your mission.

He said nothing. 

“Tell me what you meant.” You demanded, trying to keep your eyes up. It was difficult, Bucky had stripped off already, you’d sparred enough times to know what his chest felt like, it seeing might actually tip you over the edge. 

“Don’t do this.” He grumbled, “just leave me alone.” 

He went to close the door but you pushed your flat palm against the wood, “Bucky you can’t go saying shit like that and then walk off and make it my fault.” 

“I can’t deal with it today, okay? I pulled your lifeless fucking body from underneath a sheet of ice. I thought you were dead, okay, dead.”

His jaw ticked as he closed his eyes and you could see how dark they were underneath, as if he hadn’t slept at all.

“I carry you back here and - god - you were so cold, freezing, and I stripped all those clothes off thinking ‘Bucky she’s going to kill you’ and then you wanted to hold me while you slept. And you could’ve died, I thought you had died, and it’d be my fault because I made a fucking bet with you just so you’d talk to me and smile at me and I wanted you to win, I really did, because when you win you look at me and your eyes sparkle and I can pretend its because of me -” he took a breath, shocked that he’d allowed such a stark confession out. But he was so tired and - 

“It is you.” You whispered, “if my eyes sparkle -” your lips quirked up at the corner, “if they do it is because of you. I like when you make bets with me because then I know you’ll be thinking about me. I like when we fight because you touch me and I can pretend it's because you want to and -” 

Your thoughts were cut off by Bucky wrapping his arms around your back, his hands were wide on your shoulders when he pulled you up and into him, kissing you hard enough to bruise. 

“I’m so fucking in love with you,” his eyes were still full of emotion, his eyes piercing, it still felt warm to be under his gaze but there was something extra something more in your honesty that had you pressing your lips to his again. 

“I fucking love you too.” You confessed against his mouth and jumped into his arms.

Bucky stumbled out from the bathroom, balancing you on his hips so his hands could cradle your back, pressing you close. Between you he could feel how soft your breasts were, peaked nipples hard and your heartbeat fast.

Your chest heaved, pulling back for breath with a huge smile, a laugh in the corner of your mouth.

"We've been so stupid."

"Uh -huh," Bucky knelt, lowering you to pile of blankets that had been kicked off the sofa so recently, "stupid, yeah." He went back to kissing you, holding himself up with one hand and using the other to trace over every curve of your body.

"I've waited so long to have you like this," he murmered, lips brushing your own, "and you've been so sick, I can wait a while longer."

Bucky pulled away, but you tightened your grip around his neck and pulled him down with you.

"If you think you're leaving me now," you groaned, "you're very much mistaken."

Bucky's smile turned almost feral, his pupils wide and eyes roving your face for any sign of discomfort.

"I'll be very -"

"Bucky,"

"Hmm?" He was lost in touching you again,

"Just fuck me."

He seemed to lose all control, crushing a kiss against your lips and letting the hands that had been so gentle grip you even tighter, his finger pads digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, tipping your hips up so he could grind his hard cock against you.

"Is that an M249 in your -"

"I'm just very pleased to see you," he countered, smiling into your kisses.

You laughed, the fire of your sparing still there in the way he hiked your leg over his hip, and you remembered all the times he'd rolled you over on the mats just like this, your breath fanning over his cheek and his body so close to yours.

"Can't promise it's as big though."

You slid your hand into his tight tactical trousers and squeezed the still growing bulge beneath, "I dunno, Buck, pretty close."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

"I'm exactly where I want to be."

His kisses slowed and he pulled back, brushing a hand down your cheek, "me too."

Sam was exhausted when he pulled the truck up to the safe house, Steve was dosing in the passenger seat after his stint at driving and Sam was looking forward to his own sleep before they made their way to the evac point. 

He shoved the door open, expecting to see the familiar sight of you bickering over cards but -

“Sam!” Bucky shouted, throwing a blanket over your naked body and accidentally exposing himself in the process. “Get out!” 

You laughed, clinging to Bucky’s arm in peels of laughter. 

“Steve!” Sam shouted as he retreated, “you owe me twenty dollars! And Bucky owes me an hour with his therapist” 

“He can have whatever he wants as long as I get to keep you.” Bucky smiled, kissing you on the cheek. 

“That’s so cheesy, Bucky, gross.” Your laughter turned into giggles. 

“You love it.” He kissed you again and your lips parted in anticipation. 

“Hmm, I guess I do…” You let him push you back into the blankets, kissing down your neck before- “ I bet you I can get dressed faster!”

[the-enhanced-project]

‎‧₊˚✧ Introduction ✧˚₊‧

Welcome to THE ENHANCED, a personal writing project that is a rewrite of a very, very old story I was working on a long time ago. I will probably never officially publish this, but I still wanted to get it out to the world somehow, so this blog came to be.

(The plot is really old so expect some cliches T-T)

I will be posting chapters (probably in parts) for your enjoyment. I do not have a definite release schedule yet, as I have to actually write it out first, but I will keep you guys updated as much as possible.

My plan right now is to write all of act 1 before I start posting so I can keep a semi-consistent schedule of publication, but that's open to change.

‎‧₊˚✧ About The Author ✧˚₊‧

Hiya!!! I'm Will, a queer, disabled teen author of (mostly) queer disabled characters :) I like to write what I know/can relate to.

You can find my main blog, where I post about the projects I actually plan on publishing, at @write-with-will !

I'm a minor (high school), so be safe when interacting with this blog and my main. I have no qualms against older people following along with this story though, especially since the characters are older. Just don't interact with me in ways a child shouldn't be interacted with and all will be well :).

I’m a boy please pretty please refer to me as such <3

Now that all that is out of the way, onto the story!!!

‎‧₊˚✧ Basic Info ✧˚₊‧

Status - writing!!!

POV - 3rd person

Tense - past

Genre - superhero fiction, urban fantasy

Tropes - found family, team as family, superheroes, superpowers, whump

Other - lgbt rep, poc rep, disability rep (all main characters)

Content warnings - this story includes references to past child abuse, alcohol (the main character works as a bartender), injuries that aren't in a ton of detail, death, past trauma, discrimination, violence, action, and lots and lots of angst

Themes - death, healing, family, platonic relationships, betrayal

‎‧₊˚✧ Synopsis ✧˚₊‧

Anya really, really hates lying to people. Which is weird, considering that when she's not suffering through getting a criminology degree, she has a part time job at the Pacific Northwest chapter of ERGO--an organization that protects and monitors people who were born....different.

The enhanced, they were dubbed, the handful of kids who were born around the world with any kind of 'enhancement'--from being exceptionally strong or fast to having wings. And just like anything new... it wasn't taken very well by the general population.

Anya's newest project should be fairly simple: check out college student Charlie, who they suspect to be enhanced, and to have some unfortunate connections that could be invaluable in the fight for acceptance and safety.

‎‧₊˚✧ Links ✧˚₊‧

(to be updated)

Navigation!!!!!!!!

‎‧₊˚✧ Tags ✧˚₊‧

#project: the enhanced - for any and all posts relating to this project!

#enhanced: character name - for posts about a specific character!

#enhanced: chapters - for the actual writing and chapters for this story!

#enhanced: updates - updates on how the story is going !!!!!! Usually spoiler free—surface level writing stuff

#enhanced: character intros - self explanatory--character bios I post!

#enhanced: lore - lore posts!

‎‧₊˚✧ Tag List ✧˚₊‧

(Interact with this post or ask to be added)

@corinneglass @eon-tries-writing @lunesartsworld @ark-inkweaving @nykenima

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@seastarblue

[bilightningwhumper]

Fish Out Of Water

-A Villain Whumpee Story-

Rating:

Mature (with some Explicit scenes throughout)

Summary:

Captured by self-proclaimed "heroes", Lumina "the Vindicator" is stuck between a rock and a hard place. Either she chooses to rehabilitate, become an "upstanding member of society" again, or she can go to jail. Rehabilitation means having to work with the very people that drove her to join the Company in the first place. But jail would be a life sentence. Isolation and no contact with the general populace ever again. That was only if the Company didn't take her out first. Because being one of the youngest and highest ranking members of the Company means that they don't take her capture lightly. It's something that she knows they would see is a slight to them and their training... Jail would just make her an easier target to find. So rehabilitation is her only choice. And different heroes have different ways of thinking how that should go.

All main characters 18+ unless I specify otherwise (ie, certain flashbacks).

MCs:

Lumina- villian in rehabilitation, part mermaid, siren voice Side MC/PoV character: Darius- hero, human, telepath

Basic Premise:

-Modern-ish setting (like, there are fae and people with superpowers, so take that for what you will; like, adjacent to our world, but shares no location names) -M/F slow-burn romance

Types of whump/general warnings:

-mermaid/nonhuman whump -hero to villain whump -team whump -discrimination+ableism -infant death (spoiler warning, but needed to add it) -some childhood whump -nsfwhump (in moderation) -explicit smut/nsfw content (consensual) I do not condone Rape/Noncon irl. This is purely a way to vent and cope. Take care of yourselves!

Character Masterlist [to be added]

Note on Lumina's appearance inspo

Note on MC ages

(* for mature/18+ posts)

Main Story:

Part One: Rehabilitation or Revenge

Part Two: Rescue in Recovery

Part Three: Stages of Grief

Part Four: Healing and Family

More excerpts coming end of June! This time with more balance of whump and fluff. At least of the next batch.

Excerpts/Bits:

P1- Rehabilitation or Revenge

Forced Into Silence- Lumina Hosing them down with cold water- Lumina Shattered Trust- Lumina Held At Knife-point- Lumina Shackled- Lumina Shoved into a tight space- Lumina Crawling to safety- Lumina Drenched in something awful- Lumina Overworked and collapsing- Lumina Possessed- Lumina 5) Incapable of Disobeying + 6) Muzzled- Lumina 10) Loss of Power + 12) Aftermath of Possession- Lumina “Don’t leave me here.”- Lumina ⛈️ - Outside in a storm- Lumina Dragged back- Lumina Gasping for breath- Lumina Buried Alive- Lumina No way out- Lumina Trapped with them- Lumina “Please, just kill me.”- Lumina Bleeding out- Lumina

P2- Rescue in Recovery

Feverish and delusional- Lumina Waking up somewhere unfamiliar- Lumina Paranoia setting in- Lumina "You don’t remember me, do you?”- Lumina “I can’t feel my hands.”- Lumina “I swear it wasn’t me.”- Lumina Haunting whispers- Lumina Asleep- Darius The sound of chains- Lumina

P3- Stages of Grief

Escape… or not?- Lumina Branding iron- Lumina Stabbed in the back- Lumina Drugged and defenseless- Lumina 22) “I’ve got you.” + 23) “Please don’t leave me.”- Lumina “This isn’t real.”- Lumina 25) Character Death + 28) Grief- Lumina Cursed to suffer- Lumina 🥰 - Post-nightmare cuddles- Lumina 14) Flu/Fever + 15) Forgetting to Eat- Lumina

P4- Healing and Family

Your OC is challenged to contest of strength or skill by someone of surpassing arrogance- Lumina Nurture- Lumina (Epilogue Piece)

Deleted scenes/Character Studies (aka, things that don't quite fit into my final plans)

"We're dating? Since when?"- Lumina

[whumpercars]

IDK what to call this besides ‘idiom whump’ prompts

whumpee who was betrayed getting stabbed in the back by whoever betrayed them

whumpee who seems very strong, almost invincible, getting cut on their achilles heel.

whumpee having to give up an arm and a leg in turn for caretaker’s safety

whumper adding insult to injury!!!

theater kid whumpee breaking a leg

[space-mermaid-writing]

Of monsters and men [IronStrange]

Summary: Some kidnappers fucked up big time and now Tony is bonded to this strange demon he continues to summon by accident.

Tags: demon!Stephen Strange, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Whump, body horror, protective Stephen Strange, Stephen Strange needs a hug

Author's note: Stephen can come and go as he wants now. Beta by @harpywritesfic and @kvjjjjjj.

Read it on AO3 | Masterlist | Word count: 1.8k | Previous | Next

Chapter: 17 Heavy blood loss

“Doctor Strange has entered the penthouse,” Friday informed Tony, the unmistakable hint of urgency lacing her voice.

The engineer, deeply focused on the intricate work before him, kept his eyes - safely shielded by protective goggles - trained on the brazing he was currently engaging in. A swirl of copper and molten metal blinked in and out of his vision, hypnotizing yet demanding his full attention.

“Tell him I’m downstairs in the lab,” he replied, his voice steady and unwavering. “There’s food in the fridge if he’s hungry,” he added.

Ever since the new bond was in place, Stephen came by at least once a week. Usually even more often than that.

It was nice; they chatted while having dinner or watching a movie. Sometimes Stephen read while Tony was working. Sometimes Tony asked him for intel on some projects he planned for the medical branch of SI.

Stephen was rather busy these days. He and Wong agreed that Stephen would continue his studies on magic – which apparently got cut short. And Stephen seemed happy to return to a life as a scholar. Whenever he talked to Tony about it, it was with passion.

It was something Tony could relate to. He liked this version of Stephen. The demon appeared more human; more cheerful.

But Friday's next words had him look up in alarm.

“Doctor Strange seems to be in need of medical assistance, Boss.”

That was a first.

Tony put his tools down. “What’s his status?” he asked while he rushed to the elevator. Friday wouldn’t have alarmed him, if it wasn’t severe.

“He is experiencing heavy blood loss and his heart rate is dropping.”

Usually Friday barely got any reading at all of Stephen – same as Jarvis before her. Something about magic or him being a demon interfered with the A.I.’s sensors.

Tony had looked into it and tweaked it a bit; with mediocre success so far. Stephen had provided some input on his own – he appeared to be curious about the changes of his body as well.

Tony suspected it was the former doctor within him talking.

He just hoped the data they had collected would be sufficient to help now.

The elevator doors opened and he entered the penthouse, looking around. “Stephen?”

The demon was leaning against the sleek, polished wooden island in the expansive open kitchen. When his gaze fell upon Tony, he instinctively straightened up. However, the effort was in vain, for the tension in his body betrayed him, and he couldn't help but flinch visibly as he tried to adjust his posture.

Tony’s eyes widened in shock, his voice filled with a mix of concern and horror. “Shit, that’s a lot of blood,” he exclaimed, the realization of the gravity of the situation sinking in.

It appeared as though something had slashed right through Stephen, leaving deep and cruel gashes that painted a grotesque picture of violence. The edges of the cloak that wrapped protectively around his body, looked just as bad. Its edges were darkened and frayed, stained with blood that mirrored the wounds beneath. Some of those dreadful slashes matched Stephen’s.

Stephen took a tentative step forward to meet him halfway. Then a second, before his steps faltered with a stifled noise of pain.

Tony caught him before he hit the floor.

Stephen slumped forward, putting his weight onto Tony. Even the cloak was no help. Tony had his muscles from operating the heavy metal suit, but the demon seemed to be heavier than his usually slender figure let on.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Tony reassured Stephen, his voice steady and calm, as if trying to instill a sense of safety in both Stephen and himself. "Just breathe,” he murmured softly. “Everything is going to be alright.”

Tony gently manhandled the demon onto the couch in the living room area, and Stephen let out a weak little choking noise when he finally didn’t have to stay upright anymore.

A strained gasp escaped his lips, releasing the tension. It was a small sound, almost heartbreaking.

“What happened?” Tony asked gently, concern bleeding through his words.

“Someone tried to gain power over the Dark Dimension and use it to conquer other dimensions. I prevented that from happening.”

Tony had seen glimpses of Stephen’s powers and his abilities, of what he was able to do. He wondered what kind of being was powerful enough to do this to him. Especially when he had an Infinity Stone at his disposal.

“Let’s get you patched up. You barely look alive anymore.”

“I wouldn’t stay dead,” Stephen muttered, closing his eyes. He leaned into the warm fabric of Tony’s shirt. The familiar scent and the rumble of his voice were comforting.

“If that should reassure me, it failed.” And wow, Tony currently had no time to unpack that. His main concern was on tending Stephen’s wounds, which dyed Tony’s couch in a crimson red.

He gently tried to peel away the cloak from Stephen to have better access to the wounds – but the cloak only tightened the grip on Stephen and refused to cooperate.

“C’mon, I want to help,” Tony pleaded with it.

“The wounds will close on their own.” Stephen’s eyes stayed closed. “I just needed a safe place to heal.”

Tony’s eyes softened. “Yeah, well, you have to accept that I’ll put you in bandages. You will look like a mummy when I’m done with you.”

There was no way he would just sit around and do nothing while Stephen looked worse for wear.

Even Stephen’s sigh sounded painful. He was barely conscious anymore. “Fine.”

Finally, the cloak eased its grip around the demon and opened like a shell, giving Tony the access he needed to finally patch Stephen up.

“Do you want me to take a look at you as well?” he asked the cloak while he was dabbing antiseptic on the slashes. Somewhere in between, the demon had blacked out. It was probably better this way.

The cloak moved closer to Stephen, wiggling its corners anxiously.

“Sure, you do you.”

After Tony was done, he stayed with Stephen for a while, watching him sleep. Until a soft purple glow surrounded the sorcerer. It looked as if it would heal him, at least his breaths eased and the cuts in the cloak slowly closed.

Friday monitored his further recovery.

________

Stephen awoke slowly.

With a lingering sense of disorientation, he opened his eyes and scanned the familiar surroundings, momentarily puzzled. As he pushed himself up into a sitting position, he squinted against the light and caught sight of Tony in the kitchen.

The engineer was dressed casually in a well-worn band shirt and he stood barefoot on the cool tiled floor, a mug cradled comfortably in one hand. He was watching Stephen and it was clear that he had been awake for a while now – if he went to bed at all last night.

“Coffee?” Tony asked the demon, when he saw he got his attention.

“Tea, please.”

Tony nodded and turned away, his bare feet padding softly against the floor as he went over to the cupboard in search of another mug and tea bags.

Stephen pushed himself up from the couch, taking a moment to regain his balance. His body was cocooned in bandages that hinted at the battles he had recently fought, both physically and mentally. Yet, the pain had dulled and eased into a slight ache of sore muscles.

He did feel magically drained though; an after-effect of his healing.

Slowly, almost unsure, he moved over to the kitchen area.

“I don’t remember coming here,” Stephen admitted, his voice low.

Tony turned his head, curiosity flaring in his eyes. “Really?” he asked, his tone a mix of concern and amusement. “You almost dropped dead in my living room yesterday. And then you slept for thirty hours.”

Tony leaned against the kitchen island, his casual demeanor contrasting sharply with the gravity of the situation that had happened yesterday.

Stephen winced. “I’m sorry.” He recalled the fight in the Dark Dimension. But at some point his memory became fuzzy. He did, however, remember the pain.

He always remembered the pain.

“Don’t be. I’m glad I’m a safe space for you.”

Stephen blushed, a faint purple on his cheeks. “Did I say that?”

Tony smiled. “Friday can show you the footage if you want.”

“I’ll pass.”

Tony handed Stephen the tea. “How do you feel?”

“Rested.” The demon hesitated with his next words, as if he was unwilling to say them out loud. “I should head back and see if everything is still in order.”

“Do you need backup?”

Of course Tony offered. It was only natural.

Still…

“Your suit won’t be able to do much. You did enough by providing shelter for me.” Stephen took a sip of his tea. It was good.

“Hm ’kay.” Tony let out an unhappy hum. He wanted to do more. “Check in soon, okay? Peter asked for another movie night.”

I need to make sure you’re alright.

He didn’t say those words out loud. Stephen seemed to understand anyway. He stepped closer to the engineer, right into his personal space. Their proximity was laden with familiarity, evoking memories of shared laughs and quiet moments that had stitched their connection together over time.

Stephen gently cupped a hand against Tony's cheek, a simple gesture that spoke volumes.

They hadn’t been intimate since the new bond had taken its place, but ever since that night they drifted closer to each other. Something had changed between them. It was like an invisible pull; from both sides. They were skirting around something, and Tony looked forward to exploring that in the future.

Closing his eyes at the touch was almost an instinct for Tony. It was as if his body recognized the familiar warmth and the comfort that came from the simple connection.

He accepted that he needed this assurance that Stephen was okay, that he was safe. The sensations of skin against skin stirred something deep within him, a need for closeness. He could feel the soft, reassuring pressure of Stephen's claw-like and oh so very gentle fingers, as they brushed against his face, softening the edges of his well hidden anxiety.

He exhaled slowly, allowing the last of his worries to dissipate into the air, merging with the scent of the freshly brewed tea lingering in the room.

Stephen was fine.

Tony had been more worried than he had let on. Stephen seemed to understand that as well.

“I will,” Stephen promised, sincerity etched across his features. “As soon as everything is sorted out, I’ll come back.” The weight of that promise dissipated some of the tension that clung to Tony's heart.

With a kiss to Tony’s lips, Stephen was gone. He had taken the mug of tea with him.

[literarystarfish]

Caretaker rescuing Whumpee and they both finally make it to safety only for something to happen that takes an already terrified, hurt Whumpee by surprise.

--

It was hard fought. Whumper was not keen to let them go, sending men out to chase them both down. It was harrowing. Caretaker did their best to keep them from harm, like they had promised when they had been ripped apart. Back when Whumper had dragged Whumpee away as Caretaker fought off Whumper’s men. Caretaker had yelled after their fleeting forms that they’d find them. They’d save them. That they’d make Whumper pay if they hurt them.

Whumpee could still remember Caretaker’s yells clear in their mind. How desperately they fought for them then. How they had fought for them now.

Still, despite Caretaker’s best efforts, Whumpee is in a bad way from the prior whumping and then the added strain of the rescue.

They’re bleeding. They’re hurt. They’re tired. Everything is too overwhelming. Their body still in overdrive after the survival mode they’d been in during the time with Whumper and then the flight mode the whole time they were being rescued. Always anxious. Always panicked. Their body couldn’t relax now.

They breathed heavily, leaning against the wall, trying to make it so their heart didn’t feel like it was about to pound out of their chest. Their legs were weak with blood tripping from a cut. The whip marks on their back stung with every little movement and breath they took. Their arms shook as they pressed their hands against their temples in a futile attempt to keep their thoughts from breaking through their skull like they felt they stay trying to do. In the midst of trying not to panic despite their relative safety they’d finally found themself in.

Caretaker came over slowly, putting their hand on their shoulder in an attempt to soothe them. Caretaker seemed so exhausted. Sluggish after the fight they put up on their behalf to save them.

Whumpee’s shaking seemed to travel up Caretaker’s arm where they held them— their grip perhaps a bit too tight to feel as soothing as they probably meant it. In fact, it hurt a bit, where Caretaker accidentally pushed into a wound that was still staining their tattered shirt red. Whumpee appreciated the slight grounding the pain gave them, anyway, even if it hadn’t been in the way Caretaker meant it.

With another deep breath taken, Whumpee felt like they could lift their head without feeling dizzy.

They looked up to Caretaker, only to see that they were looking a bit pale. Their eyes were half lidded and they swayed a bit, their grip tightening past painful on Whumpee’s wounded shoulder.

It wasn’t Whumpee that was shaking. It was Caretaker.

“C-caretaker?” Whumpee reached out to them weakly, feeling a strike of fear rush through them as Caretaker swayed again. The dizziness they’d finally overcome returning with the new rush of panic. Thankfully they were leant against the wall or they would have fallen.

Caretaker blinked slowly, though when they looked up at Whumpee in a delayed response to Whumpee calling out to them, their eyes were cloudy and unfocused.

“Caretaker?” Whumpee asked more frantically, pushing down the bout of nausea as the world spun around them again.

Caretaker opened their mouth slowly as if to answer Whumpee.

Whumpee waited with bated breath. For Caretaker to tell them they were fine. That they were safe. That they were going to be okay. That they weren’t about to pass out like it looked like they were.

“Y-you’re s-safe now, W-Whum-mpee..” A weak, bloodied smile.

Then Caretaker’s eyes rolled up into their head and they collapsed.

The grip on Whumpee’s shoulder pulled them down— unable to keep both of them standing— and Whumpee cried out, landing on already bruised knees and the impact jostling the gash on their leg. They fell forward and barely caught themself with their hands that pushed into the rough gravel as they tried not to collapse onto Caretaker’s limp form beneath them.

Caretaker’s arm went slack and fell from Whumpee’s shoulder, landing haphazardly across Caretaker’s body.

Tears burst from Whumpee’s eyes as they looked down at Caretaker’s face below them. It was splattered with blood. Blood they had thought was of their enemies. Perhaps even Whumper’s, when Caretaker had battled them briefly in their escape.

Though Whumper had managed to get away, they hadn’t seen Caretaker get hit. By Whumper or their men. But a glance down at their body showed more blood covered them than Whumpee had realized.

“C-caretaker?”

No answer. Not even a twitch to show that they heard them.

Whumpee pushed themself back on wobbly arms to sit next to their friend instead of pinned over them and trying not to collapse as well. Their legs felt numb beneath them.

They looked to Caretaker’s face. They were so much paler than before. They could no longer see their chest rising or falling with their breathing.

“Caretaker, please. Come on..” They tried to shake awake their friend weakly.

Their watery eyes caught a wet patch of the metallic red liquid gleaming from Caretaker’s side. It seemed to be growing steadily. The jagged hole in the shirt ominously hinted at what likely lay beneath.

Whumpee peeled away the damp shirt, wet with blood from Caretaker’s body— not Whumper’s, and didn’t even try to stifle the gasp that escaped them.

The wound was large and deep and still spilling blood at an alarming rate.

“No no no no! No! C-caretaker! P-please! Please don’t do this!”

Ignoring their own pain, Whumpee rushed on their hands and knees to feel for Caretaker’s breath.

They did not find it.

Their heart sank.

“No no. No! Caretaker please. I-I’m still scared! I-I can’t do this alone! P-please! Don’t- don’t do this! Please! Wake up! Wake-wake up! P-please!”

They desperately tried to feel for a pulse, but with their own pounding loud in their ears and harshly thrumming through their whole body, they couldn’t tell if that weak beating was what they hoped it was.

“P-please! N-no! C-Caret-t-taker! Don’t go! W-what if… what if I’m-I’m not safe?! Please! Y-you can’t do this i-if I’m not safe yet! Y-you promised! R-right? Please!”

They pushed their hands onto the gaping wound to try to stop the bleeding. As they had learned to do with their own wounds when Whumper had left them beaten and bloodied with no necessary first aide.

“Wake up! I-I need you! I need you! Please! I-I can’t do this alone. You can’t leave me!”

Despite Whumper’s propensity for causing Whumpee pain, Caretaker’s injury was larger and deeper and bloodier than any they’d had themself.

“Please.. No…”

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Villain's Coffee Shop part 47

Warnings: near-drowning, severe hypothermia, injured animal

Then Mocha reappeared to help Villain out next, and Villain wrapped his arms around his giant furred neck, hanging on tight as Mocha effortlessly lifted him out of the frigid waters and to solid ground, where Villain let go and flopped onto his back like a dead fish next to Hero, utterly exhausted and spent and trying to catch his breath.

Both of them were breathing hard, barely having the energy to move.

Then Villain let out a crazed laugh edged with hysteria and disbelief. “We really just did that, didn't we?” He coughed out.

“Yeah… we won,” Hero panted next to him.

"We should be dead right now."

"Agreed."

"...I'm glad we're not."

"Me too."

Villain grunted as Mocha nudged him hard in the ribs with his snout, growling meaningfully.

"We should get out of here... before anyone spots us," he mused.

Hero grimaced, coughing wetly and rolling onto her side to hurl up more water. "Ugh... I don't think I have the energy to get up and walk anywhere in this state, to be honest. I'm pretty sure I inhaled half the river."

Villain snorted a weak laugh, wheezing. "Fortunately Mocha can help -- if he's feeling up for it," he added, glancing at the gaping wound in Mocha's flank.

Mocha let out a low growl, laying down right next to Villain. The meaning was clear.

"Thanks," Villain rasped, grabbing a thick handful of fur. "Whatever would I do without you, my friend?" With a grunt of effort, he weakly dragged himself up and on to Mocha's back, swinging his leg over to straddle his spine.

Mocha lurched back to his feet, hobbling over and gently grabbing the back of Hero's suit between his teeth, picking her up like scruffing a kitten.

The weight of both Hero and Villain was almost too much for the panther to carry, but he managed to loyally limp all the way back to the safety of Villain's coffee shop.

Villain slid off his back when they arrived, but had to quickly grab his cat's fur to keep from falling when his legs unexpectedly buckled.

Mocha helped him stumble over to collapse on the couch, and delicately set the sopping wet Hero next to him. Both of them were shivering violently from the cold, water streaming from their clothes. Probably had hypothermia, Villain assumed.

Mocha limped off and returned with a large fluffy blanket, offering it to the two of them.

"T-T-Thanks," Hero said, teeth chattering with the effort to speak. She pulled the blanket up to her neck, and she and Villain huddled under it to warm up.

"M-Mocha, if you g-grab my medkit I'll w-wrap your wounds," Villain managed to get out, shivering. He'd always put his precious cat first over himself. Every time.

Mocha pawed open a nearby cabinet to grab the medical kit, before dropping it in Villain's lap and shifting to his normal cat form, shrinking down and hopping up on the couch next to him with a hiss of pain as he put weight on his injured hind leg.

Villain's hands were shaking badly, but after some effort and concentration he managed to clean and dress Mocha's wounds with gauze and medical tape, his fingers stiff and aching with cold before he put them back under the warm blanket and leaned his head back with a heavy sigh.

Mocha crawled his way under the blanket to lay on Hero's lap, and together the three of them, battered and exhausted, managed to fall asleep.

It had been a terribly long day for all of them. They could worry about everything else later, like finding Superhero's body.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

@f1sh-bone @everynameistakencarrots @snaillamp

[swallowedburningcoals]

★ HELLO !

you can call me SEREN. i am an adult genderqueer lesbian who uses he/she/it pronouns. i am also a writer and an artist. this is my whump and dead dove focused sideblog! i torture my beloved characters here :)

MY FAVORITE TROPES: gore, torture, captivity, kidnapping, sadism/masochism, lab whump, medical whump, mindbreak, tough whumpee, nonhuman whump, recovery, hurt/comfort, trauma, lady whump, creepy whumper, and so, so much else. i like to dabble in almost everything! <3

MY DISLIKES: vomit, pregnancy, familial dynamics, anything involving children. the first two are triggers. i will also not write explicit nsft content here, however, i will write suggestive content.

ACCOUNT-WIDE CONTENT WARNING: gore, torture, abusive relationship dynamics, laboratory/medical settings, kidnapping. (all in the form of art/writing! nothing based in reality)

i don't have a DNI, i'm accepting of all (nice) people! however, YOU'RE gonna wanna avoid me if gore/guro or torture upsets you. that's basically all i do here.

additionally, i block ALL emeto-focused accounts for my own safety. i'm also okay with k!nk/nsft-focused accounts interacting/following, even if i don't post that sort of stuff myself.

most graphic content will be in the form of writing or illustration. i don't engage with live action material much, and i absolutely detest real gore, so if that's a concern of yours, you won't have to worry about that here.

I'M ALWAYS LOOKING FOR MUTUALS! MY ASKS/DMS ARE ALWAYS OPEN! i follow back from @lotusbloghub :)

if we are mutuals, PLEASE TAG ME IN YOUR CREATIONS!!! i don't check my timeline much, but i wanna see!!!!!!

if you'd like to be added to my tag list, CLICK HERE!

LINKS CAN BE FOUND BELOW THE CUT!

★ MY ORIGINAL CHARACTERS & STORIES !

click here to browse <3

★ MISC TAGS !

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my writing.

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masterlists tba.

★ MY OCS !

[whumped-by-glitter]

A Quick View of Tallis' Banding System

⚠️CW: Institutionalized Slavery

Just a bit of lore dump since I've gotten a few questions about it.

Here are 3 different classes of slave bands. These are differentiated by different metals. They indicate what the slave is trained for is also (usually) an indication of their master's social class. Slaves are also sometimes referred to “[type] band”.

Gold bands:

the highest “rank” of slave. They are owned by the royal family. They are split into 2 categories- Palace and Personal slaves. Both categories can be used for entertainment, though it’s more common for personal slaves.

Personal slaves are owned by a specific member of the royal family and tend to their every need. They also perform bodyguard duties if necessary. They are distinguished by a jewel embedded on the bale of the O ring on their collar. Their uniform includes a corset vest with solid boning in the back and front. This restricts their movements and provides an extra layer of safety to the royal they serve. It is essentially a cage hidden behind fancy fabric. Personal slaves, sometimes called gem slaves, do have a small amount of authority over other slaves. They are usually the most highly trained/ specifically skilled.

The palace slaves do not have a specific master and instead answer to a servant overseer. They help in the kitchens as well as laundry, housekeeping, and working the stables, among many other important jobs, such as repairs and groundskeeping. They keep the palace functional and running smoothly.

Silver bands:

They are slaves owned by nobles. Silver bands are used for housekeeping, childcare, food service, and protection. However, usually they are just used for entertainment. They are often the least educated of the 3 classes and the most mistreated. The nobles usually see them as disposable and easily replaced.

Brass bands:

The final class of slaves are the brass bands, sometimes called drudge slaves. Owned by commoners, they are the heartbeat of Tallis. Without them the kingdom’s economy would collapse. Ironically, they are generally treated the best out of the three classes. They are usually given days off, and often have their own living quarters. Sometimes entire villages must pool their resources to buy them, so they are rarely mistreated since they can’t be easily replaced. Their masters often get to know them and care about them. They are usually educated in the most basic reading, writing, and math, if at all.

Potential jobs include (but not limited to)-

Miller

Farm hand

Running the shop when their master is away.

Childcare

Laundry

Stable keep

Construction

And many other jobs requiring heavy lifting or are tedious or time consuming.

@whumpsandbumps, @whumperofworlds, @skittles-the-whumpee, @3-2-whump, @wounds-seen-and-unseen

@generic-whumperz, @emptycalories-splitlip, @pigeonwhumps, @i-eat-worlds, @starfields08000

@onlywhump, @snakebites-and-ink, @aloafofbreadwithanxiety, @turvuren, @whumps-and-bumps

@paingoes, @spectral-whumpy-writer, @vampiresprite, @whumping-in-the-dark

I am also creating an 18+ blog to include spicier scenes and content. It'll be the same story, just with add parts. please let me know if you want to be added to that taglist instead or as well.

[pigeonwhumps]

BBU masterlist

General contents: pet whump, dehumanisation, amnesia, PTSD

(I've also put disabled whumpee under some of the links – this is a disability that isn't PTSD or I'd have it for all of them!)

Series

Bug and Company

Bug's 18 when they're handed over to BetterPets by their foster parents, going through various owners and sets of training before being freed for good. This is their life, and that of those they've touched.

Contains: lady whump, multiple whumpees, disabled characters, recovery whump, caretaker new whumper, mutual caretaking

Finding Safety

After being kidnapped, dumped at WRU, and shipped to the USA, Cass isn't having a good time. And then Tyrone takes him to be his ring-fighting Guard Dog, alongside Aaliyah, a Romantic he already owns. Now he's definitely not having a good time, and nor is Aaliyah. After losing everything, they need to build their lives again, but with Aaliyah not remembering her past and Cass unable to reach his, it's a challenge, even with assistance.

Contains: lady whump, multiple whumpees, disabled characters, recovery whump, caretaker new whumper, different caretaker *actually* new whumper, mutual caretaking

Pets of the Silver Screen

In the silent film era and the early days of the WRU, young pet number 95, real name Eloise, is bought by film producer Hayes Fletcher to star in his productions. A few years later, he hires Agatha from Foster Montgomery to be her stunt double (read: to scar in scenes where it's necessary, because Eloise is too valuable), and the two young woman strike up a somewhat unwilling friendship.

Over a decade of working on- and off-screen later, it's the roaring twenties, pet liberation is starting to grow, and they're more than ready to leave. Enter Ira Waterhouse – a woman who's had just about enough of the pet industry and is willing to take in two runaways. But WRU is expanding, and running a newly-acquired safehouse in London's docklands isn't a piece of cake. Especially when the two former pets Ira's running it with are a) famous, b) wanted for burning down a film studio, and c) even more traumatised than she originally assumed...

Contains: lady whump, multiple whumpees, disabled character, historical whump, recovery whump, mutual caretaking

Sanctuary

Anita and her grandmother Indira are thrown into the world of pet ownership when Theo, a profoundly deaf unwanted box boy, is mistakenly delivered to the animal shelter Anita works at.

Meanwhile, 785, Theo's bonded, is now struggling to survive Eleanor alone.

As long as she's useful, anyway.

When 785 is refurbished and sold, meeting a defiant illegal pet named Cass along the way, she ends up living alongside a Pet who seems to know her far too well. Meanwhile, Theo discovers that the person he cares about most in the world barely remembers his existence, and Anita is in way over her head.

Contains: lady whump, multiple whumpees, disabled characters, recovery whump, caretaker new whumper, whumpee turned caretaker, mutual caretaking

One-shots

Outside

Ceci talks to Bless about going outside.

Contains: recovery whump, caretaker new whumper

Do you think Guard Dog designated pets should be legally required to wear an auditory identifier in public?

Opinion piece on a proposed law feat. Ade Olayinke vs David Cooper: "Guard Dog class pets will have to wear an auditory device such as a bell collar or proximity alarm at all times whilst in public spaces."

Cry for help

Melanie finds an abandoned pet on a street corner.

Contains: disabled characters, whumpee turned caretaker

Artwork and graphics

Pet Paper and Liberation magazine covers

WRU recruitment brochures

WRU pet wrapping service

Promotional cereal box

WRU x Happy Meal McDonald's advert

Bring Your Pets to Work Day

Petblr dashboard

Fanwork for @octopus-reactivated's Pet Paper – layout for @cowboy-anon's article 9 Essentials for a Hassle-Free Vacation with your Pet

Rent-A-Pet advert

Other

BBU Community Days 2023

BBU Community Days 2024

[hurt-and-hopeful]

For the Dead and the Dying chapter 3

I wanted to go ahead and get this one out

TW: emotional whump, gore, guns, slight body horror, violence, death (let me know if I missed any ^^)

Reeling with the realization that everyone who could have helped me was dead, I stumbled back into the house. The smell of rotting flesh seemed to be less suffocating inside, despite the broken windows and door. Or maybe that’s what I wanted to believe.

I desperately wanted to go back to the false safety of the basement. But my stomach was still empty, even more so now. 

I made my way to the kitchen, or what remained of it. It was hard to tell what the room had been with all the appliances, counters, and cabinets torn out and tossed to pieces. 

Long jagged gashes ran across the walls. 

It hurt to see the place I’d grown up in destroyed without a thought. The table I had sat at with Mom on so many occasions telling her about school, the new english teacher I liked, sharing with her a short story I had written, listening to her tell me all about work gossip. It was hard for me to accept that that life had been thrown to the ground and shattered to a million pieces, like the glass crunching beneath my feet.

Fresh tears welled up in my eyes, and I choked back a sob. Quickly wiping them away, I took in several deep breaths. They came out very shaky. 

Focus. I have to focus on the task at hand.

Still sniffling, I began digging through the wreckage, pulling out things I can use, being as careful as I could not to cut myself on broken glass or get a splinter. A few were inevitable.

Unfortunately, after sifting through everything for what seemed like hours, I came up with only some packaged snacks, a few batteries, and a half finished bottle of water.

Everything else had either been shredded, or crushed.

I’d gone to my bedroom, which was similarly destroyed like the rest of the house, and salvaged a few shirts, a couple pairs of pants, and a green jacket I never wore. I was grateful for the jacket. The days were chilly and the basement was devoid of heat. Sadly, the only shoes I had were the ones that I had come home in, a simple pair of black converse, and were far from the most durable. 

I turned over a board that I think belonged to my bed frame, and found my journal, a simple notebook with a star sticker on the front. I excitedly picked it up and brushed off the dust and debris that clung to it. It wasn’t that damaged and I was glad I could save it. I had been working on it for a little under a year, consistently adding thoughts and ideas to it. I found I really enjoyed writing. 

It would give me something to do while I wait for Mom, I thought as I slid it carefully into my backpack.

The sun was lower in the sky, if I had to guess I’d say it was probably around four, maybe a little earlier. 

It started quietly, I didn’t register it as anything more than the wind. But a quiet shuffling was beginning to grow to gentle scrape. 

I came down the stairs with a backpack of stuff slung over my shoulder, and turned the corner to go down to the basement, when I was hit in the side and sent flying.

I’ve heard people who have been in sudden situations such as this describe it as time slowing down, suddenly becoming hyper aware of their surroundings and senses. I had the opposite effect. One second I was heading towards the basement door, the next I was rolling to a stop in the living room, broken glass tearing into my clothes and skin. Both the backpack and the gun fell from my hands from the impact.

I scrambled to my feet as quickly as possible, but a long, skeletal hand wrapped around my shoulder and slammed my back into the wall, knocking all the air from my lungs.

I stood there gasping for air as I stared into a blank face. The black void cracked, splintering in the middle to reveal the deathly grin, fangs glinting a bloody red. Its cold breath smelled of the rotting corpse’s outside.

I shrank in the face of something so terrible. Who could blame me? I was a kid.

It opened its horrible maw, leaning down to end my life. 

It’s clawed fingers piercing my flesh is what shocked me out of the instinctual freeze that all prey seem to have. 

I threw myself sideways, out of the way as the demon snapped the air where my head had been a second earlier. It still had a hold on me and its grip only tightened, wrenching a cry from me. I reached around blindly for a weapon, anything, as it put a hand on my head to keep me still.

The gun lay uselessly out of reach.

I struggled helplessly as it leaned in again, its deathly breath ghosting over my skin.

My hand wrapped around something thin and sharp. I held tight and I swung it up and into its neck. A sickening spurt told me I hit home and something spattered over my face.

The demon reeled back, releasing me as it grabbed at its throat, making me tear the weapon out in the process. I reared my legs back and kicked it in the chest as hard as I could. Even weak as I was, the adrenaline rush gave me the strength to send it flying back.

It was making a gurgling noise, trying to scream around blood.

I scrambled to my feet, brandishing what I now found was a large piece of broken glass, likely from a window.

Despite its weakened state, it lunged for me, claws outstretched.

I ducked in an attempt to dodge it, but it was still coming. I turned the glass point up and its own momentum plunged the glass deep into its chest. 

Its body slammed into me and I fell to my back, crushed by its weight. But it didn’t move any more.

Panting heavily, I rolled its body off mine. Leaving the shard of glass embedded in its chest, I kicked it away as I got to my feet, still afraid it would come for me again.

It stayed down.

Thanks for reading, stay hydrated ^^

Masterlist

[rangersoup]

Ooooh I'm curious about Tarlos Stranded 👀

I already answered this one once, but I gonna answer it differently with some added details!

Carlos and TK are on their way back from a little day trip maybe they went up to the stock yards in Dallas/Fort Worth so TK could experience some proper radio stuff, and on their way back they get attacked by some bad guys, and Carlos’s truck ends up getting pushed off a bridge and they get swept down river. Carlos gets hurt pretty badly because it’s me and I can’t not whump him. And TK has to figure out how to get them to safety and also stop them from getting murdered by the bad guys. And also maybe Soup sets out looking for them. Him and Ashlyn were maybe babysitting Jonah so TK and Carlos could have a date day. Idk I haven’t decided. But there it is!

[d8tl55c]

/// posted works ///

✨flare-up (done - comic - tco glitchiness executable!au)

✨ he trembles just like you (done - story - reaction time cont.(?))

reaction time (done - short story - diedn't lol) (✨ art)

no extra memory (done - short story - musings about CG executable!au)

tco_safety+feathers.pdf (done - png and short story - EXECUTABLE AU BREACHES CONTAINMENT ) (related: third safety doc page)

they are ready to spar (done - short story - c!alan & TCO executable!au)

if you were Orpheus... (done - short story - ??? mythological chodark)

error load (done - short story - TDL and yellow? how did we get- dw about it. executable!au)

tco_physeng_breakdown.png (done - png and short story - Universe AA2B+ executable!au TCO)

orange has a question (done - story - Universe B executable!au chodark)

fly away (done - story - TCO post-Showdown executable!au)

orange with a diamond sword (done - story - green influencer arc)

some things are extremophiles (done - comic - TCO executable!au)

this is not a prophetic vision (done - theory - TCO in AvA 7)

Minecraft bed (done - comic - TDL and some TCO)

programmer021 (done - short story - AU copy of TCO, early executable!au)

in the right (done - theory/story - victim in upcoming AvA 11)

Character Limit (done - Ao3 LINK - TCO whump pre-AvA III executable!au)

Box Lunch (done - Ao3 LINK - TCO in the Box executable!au)

Call Your Last Witness (done - Ao3 LINK - tmbd prologue)

missed a spot (done - story extension - yellow and TSC)

(^ latest at the top (✨ sparkles == newly added))

[heimeldat]

As much as I love tormenting Eight, I've recently been really enjoying doing nasty things to Seven. Eight's rarely in control and rarely cares about his own safety, so its just sort of inevitable for him to get whumped. Seven, though, there's the added satisfaction of infuriating him with his inability to stay in control. Or the equal satisfaction of watching him somehow stay in control despite all the nasty things happening to him.