#but i recently got cut pretty bad and i can /feel/ the injury healing

[lovelyhan]

.

[mncxbe]

#I WANNA FEEL YOU, I WANT IT ALL

𝒀𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡𝒄𝒘: mentions of bullying, nsfw, reader discovers masturbation, inappropriate use of tentacles, mild degrading

when he joined the PS, Yoshida was taught that all devils were cunning, vicious creatures with an appetite for blood and carnage, but his opinion changed after he met you.

not too long ago, his superiors instructed him to keep an eye on a devil that recently appeared at his highschool. the mission seemed interesting enough considering that you were quite a mistery for the PS– there were no records of your existence anywhere in their database, which meant that you were either a very old and incredibly powerful devil who had not once died in hell or you just spawned out of the blue in the heart of Tokyo. either way, his curiosity was piqued and he had great expectations.

those high hopes were shattered within hours of meeting you. with an obnoxious attitude, basically nonexistent knowledge of the human world and a tendency to get in trouble you were the epitome of stupidity. you were as bad as Denji, no. worse. at least the blond could listen to his orders. you on the other hand, seemed to go out of your way to make his life a living hell. "hiroooo why isn't this thing working?" you'd whine, kicking the vending machine in the school's cafeteria with the rounded tip of your glossy uniform shoe. he'd already explained you multiple times how the machine worked, but you just couldn't get it through your thick skull. oh, not to mention that you couldn't grasp the concept of money and went around stealing things from classrooms and the little shops close to the school campus. you were an absolute menace.

naturally, it wasn't long until you managed to piss of everyone else in your class and got into fights with the school's bullies. problem was, your body was so weak you couldn't even use an ounce of the powers you once had, so most of the times you ended up being a punching bag until Yoshida himself dragged you out of the fight and took care of your injuries.

"i fucking hate this" you mumbled under your breath, hissing sharply as the man before you patched up a shallow cut on your leg. "why can't you just give me some blood so I can heal?"

"because that way you'll never learn to behave. sorry, but you'll have to do it the hard way"

"meaning that I have to wait weeks for this damn cut to heal itself? no thanks" you huffed, trying to get off the desk you were perched up on but he quickly tightened his grip on your thigh, giving you an irked look "stay put" . surprisingly enough you complied and stuck to pouting in silence, occasionally shifting your weight to ease the tension in your body. soon after, Yoshida finished wrapping a thin layer of gauze around your thigh and motioned you to get out of his room.

"you know, you humans are so frail. your bodies are weak and basically useless. all they can feel is pain and hunger, it's so stupid" god... you just couldn't stop complaining. if you were anyone else Yoshida would've simply let it slide, but this was too good of an opportunity to mess with you.

neatly placing the bandages back in their designated place, Yoshida hummed "well, they're not really useless. there's some pretty cool stuff these bodies of ours can feel"

"oh, please enlighten me." you scoffed, crossing your arms in front of your chest and lightly tapping your feet on the floor in expectancy, a nasty habit you picked up from one of your classmates. but there it was, you took the bait. with a nonchalant motion, the man pointed at your crotch. "there"

you gave him a quizzical look, your gaze lowering to your lap. "where?" Yoshida was once again baffled by your stupidity "between your legs, you idiot" he groaned, his eyebrows shooting up as you attempted to raise the hem of your skirt with your dainty fingers. "not here for fuck's sake. just... go to your room and figure it out yourself."

unbeknownst to him, you actually spent the whole night trying to figure out what his words meant. at first you didn't really know what to do, simply standing naked in front of the full length mirror in your bathroom, your eyes musing the curves of your body. it was the first time since you got this body when you actually took your time to explore it– the fairly long arms and narrow shoulders, the hollow space where the nape of your neck met your collarbones, the soft mounds of fat on your chest, your waist melting into plushy hips and thighs and calves, narrowing at your ankles and continued by two small feet. it was... certainly a big change compared to your previous form, but it'll have to do as long as you lived in this world. you took a deep breath before tentatively slipping a hand between your legs, waiting to feel something– as your fingers ghosted over your folds an odd sensation took over you. something sudden, fuzzy, that shook your senses awake.

your fingers moved with more confidence now, almost instinctively brushing against that little bundle of nerves that made your eyes flutter shut. "shit—" you sighed, hastly seating yourself on the floor in front of the mirror and spreading your legs, taking in the sight of your slick folds for a brief moment before rubbing little circles on your clit. it was pure bliss, warmth spreading through your limbs with each slow flick of your fingers. yea, this must've been the feeling Yoshida referred to... soon enough the knot in your lower belly tightened, hips stuttering, eyes closing shut as you reached your high and bit down on your lips. never before had you experienced such sheer pleasure and you'd be damned if you were going to waste the newly discovered potential this new body had.

from that day on, Yoshida regretted messing with you like this. you irked him enough before, but after he taught you what your body could feel your incessant whining only got worse. you were so needy all the time, begging him to show you more, to make you feel even better. without intending to, Yoshida created a greater problem for himself. but at least now he had some leverage over you, a means of keeping you in check, to make sure you don't step out of line and get into stupid fights again. and that's how you started your little after hours activity.

"ngh– Hiro don't stop feels s' good" you babbled out in a weak voice, your face mushed up into his pillow. from his spot at the desk littered with notebooks and papers, Yoshida nodded absentmindedly. if he were to turn around he knew he'd be met with a pretty view– you on your knees with your back curved into a perfect arch, heaving chest flush against the mattress as two of his devil's tentacles held your hips up in the air. a third appendage slid in and out of your cunt, making you mewl and squirm. however, the assignment he was currently working on was a bit more important than that. but he could still hear the squelching sounds you made with each curl of the tentacle and smell the sweet scent of your arousal lingering in the room. "keep it down, will you. can't have everyone on the hall hearing you moan like a slut."

"'m not a ah fuck– 'm not a slut" you objected, earning a chuckle from the man. he turned halfway in his chair, just enough to catch a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye, a devious smile playing on his lips "you sure look like one to me"

his comment aggravated you even more but before you could say anything a second appendage pushed past the tight ring of your pussy, stretching you open. "oh god it's t-too much—" but he wasn't paying any attention to you anymore, his focus shifting back to his homework.

you hated how disinterested he was, how easy it was for him to just do his work while he let the Octopus Devil handle your insatiable needs. at first it was enough, but then you wanted something more. you wanted him, and the fact that he was so unresponsive to all your attempts to get him to please you himself was unnerving.

you tried all the tricks you heard the other girls in your class did with their boyfriends; looking at him with pretty doe eyes, bending over in front of him to pick something up from the ground, giving him full view of your panties, damn– you were literally naked on his bed. anything to get him riled up but he still wouldn't give in. you'd lie if this wasn't the most humbling experience in your entire life– stooping so low as to let your cunt be stuffed by another devil's tentacles in hopes of having Yoshida just lay a finger on you. a soft moan rolled past your lips as one of the appendages slithered up to your clit, making your eyes roll back in your skull. "yoshida can you u-uh look at me" you mewled, letting out a frustrated huff when the man shrugged. "i'm busy, as you can see, and if you don't behave I'll command the Octopus devil to stop... well, whatever he's doing."

"but Hiro I want you t-to watch me" you pressed and he finally put his pencil down, turning his chair to face you "happy now?"

in fact you were more than happy– despite his obvious disinterest and annoyance, your walls fluttered around the tentacles just from having him look at you. "y-yea happy. so, so happy" you squirmed, propping yourself up on your forearms to give him a better view of your tits. Yoshida only sighed, rolling his eyes "i know what you're trying to do and it won't work. i'm not fucking you."

"pretty please" you begged, wiggling your hips in a desperate attempt to tempt him. still, to no avail. Yoshida watched you with an amused smile etched onto his face. seeing you this desperate was quite entertaining, he couldn't lie, and you sure made a pretty sight for sore eyes, but he wouldn't dream of actually touching you like you wanted him to. instead, he got up from his chair and languidly moved by your side, crouching down next to the pile of your messily discarded clothes. "no, I won't do it" but why not. "because needy girls like you aren't my type"

you scoffed at his remark and he quickly gripped your jaw, tilting your head up so he could get a better look at your fucked out expression– you were a mess, fighting back tears of pleasure as the tentacles buried themselves deeper inside your soaked cunt, hitting all the right spots; you bit down on your lip. he wiped a string of drool seeping from the corner of your mouth, tracing his fingers over your bottom lip. "but i guess it's not your fault you're like this. after all, i'm the one who taught you how to please yourself" you let out a shallow moan after hearing his words, looking up at him with glossy eyes.

"poor you... i bet it sucks, being a hotshot down in hell for so many years just to end up a slut on earth." he continued and you felt a familiar warmth pooling in your core. Yoshida noticed you were getting off to this by the way you nipped at your bottom lip and the flare in your eyes, his grin melting into a soft, compassionate smile "consider this your punishment for putting me through so much shit at school these months. although I've got to give it to you, since we started this routine of ours you've been more behaved."

you nodded eagerly, shifting forward to lean closer to him "yea, I've been good. always so good".

"not always, just when it suits you" he chuckled, giving the crown of your head a light pat "but you're getting there. keep it up and i might give you what you want one day as a little reward. until then though, you'll have to do with those." Yoshida gestured at the tentacles behind you and you nodded frantically. you only head half of what he was saying, too blissed out to pay attention to his words. you were getting close to your high, slick already dripping from your hole onto the sheets.

"you're so messy... i always have to change the sheets after you leave" he sighed "but you might as well go ahead and cum for me since you need it so badly"

that did it for you. before you knew it, your body spasmed and you gushed around the appendages– your fluids leaking onto the bed, soaking the mattress. "'m sorry so sorry Hiro" you babbled out, riding out your high as you pushed your hips back, making the tentacles fully fill you up. "don't worry about it. just enjoy" he said softly, his fingers gently combing through your hair.

when you eventually came down from your nth high of the day your body slumped against the mattress, your chest heaving with each shallow breath you took. Yoshida looked down at you with an amused glint in his eyes. he could tell you've had your fair share for the day so he retracted the tentacles around your body, making them disappear into thin air. you made no move to get out of his bed, instead curling up into a ball and hugging his duvet close to your chest, your breath slowly settling. "hey, hey don't get too comfortable. you're not sleeping here." he insisted but you wouldn't budge.

it was already pretty late, curfew was about to sound and it'd be pretty hard to explain a naked girl on his bed if someone came to check up on him, but Yoshida somehow couldn't bring himself to shun you. moments like these, when you laid so peacefully in bed were among the only times you were actually tolerable so despite his better judgement he pried the blanket from your arms and wrapped it around body before returning to the desk to finish his assignment.

still, it wasn't too long until he heard the duvet rustling and he turned to see what you were doing. you were once again laying on your stomach with your bare feet bashfully kicking in the air, eyeing him with a lustful gaze. when you noticed him watching you, you melted your chest into the mattress and hid your teasing grin behind your dainty hand, lifting your hips then slowly dropping them to the other side, not once breaking the eye contact "why not just give me that reward you mentioned now, hm, Hiro? for safe measure." god, you truly were hopeless...

[mazegays]

could've followed my fears all the way down

hi everyone!! so, a quick question/vote for yall regarding the next couple of updates: would you a) prefer two chapters over two days, one saturday and one sunday b) two chapters in one day c) skip an update this is because i have realized that one of my update days is a day i will be attending a concert, so it is not very likely that i will remember to update. if you pick a or b, that will be the next update in two weeks, and c means that you'll get the chapter 28 on time and chapter 29 will be posted four weeks after that.

Chapter 27

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 28

“How are we going to tell him?” Minho hasn’t been able to figure out how, exactly, they’re going to tell Thomas about the Tree. The one they planted when they thought he was dead.

It should have been done sooner. It’s been long enough now that it’s going to seem like they’ve been keeping it from him on purpose. They should have told him before he was well enough to be able to demand to go see it immediately.

Minho knows they’ve messed up. He just doesn’t know how they’re going to fix it.

“I don’t know,” Gally says, “Just coming right out and saying it seems wrong. Should we take him down there and show him before explaining?”

“Explaining first would take the shock out of the whole thing, it might make it easier when he does see it.”

Minho’s not really sure how they’ve kept Thomas away from the Tree the whole time—he’s been able to walk around on his own for a while now, at least short distances, but they haven’t brought him to the firepits at all.

“We can’t hide it forever. I’m surprised he doesn’t know about it already.”

“I’m not saying we should. He’s only been to the greenhouse, though, he wouldn’t have been able to see it. And who wants to tell their friend about a memorial tree for them?”

He sees Gally shake his head out of the corner of his eye. “Well, there’s certainly not a handbook for that.”

Maybe they’re overthinking this. Maybe it’ll all be fine, and Thomas won’t really react aside from being upset that they planted the wrong type of tree in a very wrong spot.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay, Gally.” He tries, but he doesn’t really believe himself. He loves Thomas, really, but he’s not exactly known for having measured reactions.

“You’re back!” Thomas lights up when he sees him, which is very cute, and Minho feels Gally straighten up at his side.  “Anya’s cleared me to work in the kitchen again, and I only have to wear this shucking sling for six hours a day now!”

“What, you got bored of reading all day?” Gally teases, and it’s like he wasn’t fretting just a few moments ago.

Minho’s pretty sure Thomas is the only person who can make both of them relax that quickly.

“Frypan will be glad for your help,” He tells Thomas, earnestly. It’s nice to see him this excited about something.

They haven’t had much cause to be excited, ever. Especially not recently. For once, their luck was good enough that Thomas’s injuries hadn’t gotten too much worse when Rosa moved him, but it still set back his healing.

“She also told me not to go down to the fire pits alone, that there’s something you needed to show me there.” Thomas narrows his eyes.

They’re not getting out of this one.

Anya meant well, as she usually does, but Minho would have liked to be the first to mention it to Thomas.

“Maybe it’s something better shown than explained,” Gally says slowly, like he’s not sure what else to tell Thomas.

“Well, it’s not that bad, is it?” Thomas studies them for a moment before going back inside.

Minho doesn’t know what he saw, and he’s not sure he wants to.

Neither of them follow for a long moment.

This is not going to go well.

finish on ao3 or under the cut

Thomas has been isolated from the wider community for months, with only their friends, really, as company.  Jorge, when he had the time to spare.

Not that any of them really spend a lot of time with people outside of their fellow Maze survivors outside of their jobs; they’ve had each other, and that’s been okay.

He can’t look at the forest without panicking, which rules out moving to Gally’s cabin—at least for now.

“Minho, what do we do if he freaks out?” He hisses. Thomas really doesn’t need to hear this.

“We’ll handle it, like we always do. We’re good at calming him down now.”

“Okay, but it’s a tree. Thomas hasn’t done well with any trees, lately.”

Which really sucks, because Thomas had planned a nice setup around both this cabin— he’s not sure he can call it theirs  yet, they’ve hardly talked about anything— and his.

“He hasn’t had a panic attack in front of everyone before.”

“One, it won’t be everyone, two, the medical cabin is nearby if we need to go somewhere to help him through it, three, everyone here has had a panic attack before, they’ll understand.”

“He’ll hate everyone seeing.”

“He will, but that’s why we’ll move him if we can.” How is Minho being this calm, this rational, about all of this?

Gally doesn’t know, but he knows he knows better than to think this isn’t affecting Minho.

Just because he doesn’t show it, doesn’t mean it’s not happening.

He used to get so upset when he couldn’t get a rise out of Minho. Now, he knows it’s a well-practiced front on Minho’s part, not that Gally’s words and actions just didn’t affect him.

“I just— I don’t want him to get hurt more, Minho.”

“I know. I don’t, either, but we can’t keep him here forever, and I don’t want to. He likes being with our friends and helping out. He’s going to find out.”

“Are… is something wrong?” Thomas glances between them, brow furrowed.

He knows something’s wrong, of course, he’s too good at reading them by now not to know.

“We’re just not sure how you’ll react to what we have to show you.” Minho answers.

“Then tell me about it first.” This time they do follow him inside. He sits cross-legged on the bed, watching them.

“It’s something we did while you were missing.” Minho starts, then corrects himself. “... When we thought you were dead.”

“Like a memorial?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.” Gally’s not sure how the words make it out of his mouth.

Why is this so terrifying?

“And you couldn’t tell me why?” Thomas is defensive now, tone sharp.

Oh.

He thinks it’s an insult to him that they didn’t tell him, that they think he can’t handle it.

(Isn’t that exactly what they think, though?Isn’t that what they’ve been worried about this  whole time?)

“We weren’t sure what you would think, Thomas.” Minho says. He sits on the bed, and though Gally doesn’t think they’re doing it on purpose, they lean into each other a little bit. “It’s not really decorated—we found you before we could let ourselves think about putting your stuff on it or anything like that. But we weren’t sure how to tell you.”

“We didn’t want you to think we’d wanted you dead, or anything.” Gally takes the other side of the bed, and is gratified when Thomas turns to him. “We didn’t, we don’t, but it’d been long enough that we didn’t know what else to think.”

“Sonya told me about the big one.” Thomas murmurs. “She said it all felt fake. I thought you might have done something, it makes sense.

Gally almost wants to shake him.

This is one of the things he just doesn’t get about both Thomas and Minho; they can, at least outwardly, completely disconnect emotion from everything else. He’s only seen them do it when something bad happens to them, though.

Anyone else, and they’ll be as angry or sad or whatever else it is that they need to be. They both still react in anger, fear, whatever it is, but it’s lessened when it’s something they think they can take apart logically.

‘It makes sense’ that they thought he was dead?

Well. Yes, it does, but Gally would have been hurt by the fact that it hadn’t even been two weeks and they were already metaphorically burying him.

He can name all the times he’s seen Thomas upset because someone did something to him, and most of those he caused.

“Thomas,” He whispers, not willing to speak louder. Minho shoots him a look, probably knowing what he’s going for.

They can’t ignore this.

Some days, Gally wakes up earlier just to watch Thomas sleep, because he’s still there, breathing, alive, and his corpse isn’t rotting somewhere in the forest where they’ll never find it.

Minho does it too, he’s caught him at it before.

All three of them have nightmares, that’s a given, but they never talk about them. Not really.

Not the new ones. The older ones are easier, most of the time.

“I know, Gally.” Thomas scoots a little closer to him, rests his head on Gally’s shoulder. Minho’s holding his good hand, he realizes. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Do you want to go see it?” Minho asks. “We don’t have to. We can wait.”

“I want to. What did you even do?”

“It’s a tree.” It’s better to get that out of the way, probably.

“Do you need help putting the sling back on?” All three of them know Thomas doesn’t, he’s been doing it for long enough on his own now— and they’ve been leaving him here, alone, with nothing else to think about.

Of course he figured it out.

What else has he been thinking about, with nothing else to do?

“Yeah, please.” Thomas moves so his bad arm is out, so Minho can help him with the sling, but otherwise stays close to Gally.

When he glances down, Thomas has his eyes closed; Gally can’t read his face.

What is he thinking?

How much does he know that he hasn’t told them?

<- 26 28 ->

[lovely-angst]

Hii!! I hope you don’t mind me asking for requests >< please don’t be afraid to decline if it makes you uncomfy!! I got into a car accident recently and needed stitching on my head, I was wondering if I could request a hawks x injured reader ? (Where reader also has a bit of problem with self hate?) sorry for the sudden request!!

-🍥

a/n: sorry this was so late, babe! i hope you are healing well <3

genre: slight angst and fluff

pairing: hawks x reader

word count: 800+ words

05.15.22

-

"baby!"

your eyes glanced up in shock as you watched as hawks burst through your hospital room. his red frazzled wings and single feathers that had fallen off with his speedy movements followed him through the door before he runs over towards you, hands hovering over your cheeks. after a moment of hesitation, he gently cupped your cheeks, thumb running across them as his gold eyes scanned your face in worry.

"oh baby, i'm so sorry i didn't come sooner," he starts as his hand softly runs across the bandage over your injury. "they said that the accident was bad and that you were bleeding from the head when they got to you."

"i'm sorry if i worried you. it's just a few stitches, but i can leave the hospital today," you inform with a small smile trying to ease his thoughts, but his wings were still poofy in concern.

his face was full of sadness. brows arched upward sadly with a frown on his lips as he stroked your hair gently. "i don't like it when you get hurt." hawks' voice was small, and you couldn't help but smile at how sweet he was being.

"now you know how i feel when you come home with cuts and bruises," you say, leaning up to press a kiss onto his lips. "i'm sorry, i shouldn't be the one moping right now," hawks sighs as he shakes his head, "you are hurt, and i should be taking care of you."

pressing a kiss to your forehead, hawks takes a seat beside your hospital bed, "don't worry about a thing, i will take good care of you, baby bird."

just like he said, hawks took care of you great. he always tended to you gently to not accidentally hurt you and would fetch things with his wings, so he wouldn't have to leave your side.

but throughout this all, you couldn't help the overwhelming anxiety looming over you as hawks snuggled in beside you.

you felt so weak and worthless and, to top it all off, a burden towards him. he was a pro hero, for heaven's sake, and not just any, the number two pro hero. yet, here he was tending to his girlfriend because she had gotten herself into a wreck.

he should be helping other people instead.

"i need to go to the bathroom," you say quietly as you slip away from his warm embrace. hawks perked up slightly and offered to come with, but you assured him you'd be okay alone.

locking the bathroom door, you stand in front of the mirror and glance at yourself—you look like a mess. gently undoing the bandage, you peel away the gauze revealing your cut and stitches.

your hand hovered over it before gently running your finger across the wound. it'll be a nasty scar...

"what are you thinking about, pretty bird?"

hawks' voice snapped you out of your thoughts as you turned to look at him, startled, "how'd you open the door?" he smiled before a single feather boops your nose. "i slid it underneath the door to check on you before unlocking it."

you frown at him with a pout on your lips, "you're creepy."

a hearty chuckle leaves his lips before he walks over to stand beside you, leaning his head on yours. "worried about it scarring?"

"a little, i guess," you reply, still focused on the injury. "you got nothing to worry about. even if it scars, it won't take away from your beauty. in fact, it'll be another little quirk about you that i love."

and finally, the string snapped.

"i don't get it. why do you keep treating me like this?" your voice had turned cold, confused, and slightly irritated, which surprised hawks. "what are you talking about?"

turning to face hawks, your lips quiver, "why do you love me so much? i don't get it. how can you love me so much? you deserve so much more."

his face falls gently at your words. his large hands cup your cheeks, lifting your face to look into his eyes, "do you love me?"

"of course i do."

"then that's all that matters. i love you too," his smile warms your heart as he presses a kiss onto your forehead. "you love me with everything you are and have, and i love you with my whole heart. you are my world."

as his arms slide around your waist, your head drops down as you choke back sobs, "that scares me, keigo. i feel like i can't meet that level of love you hold me to."

"i love you how you are. you don't need to fix or change yourself to meet any expectations, okay?"

it was quiet in the bathroom, with the occasional sniffles from you, but hawks embraced it all. "it will take time for it to settle, but that's okay. i'll be here."

you nod before resting yourself against him, taking in a deep breath to soothe yourself, "okay."

once your stitches came out and your scar began to heal, whenever hawks kissed you, he would always kiss the scar of your head.

"i love you and everything that makes you, you." 

[whumptober]

Whumptober 2020 - Updated

Welcome to Whumptober 2020! We’re doing things a little differently this year so please make sure to read the Event Info carefully. We are also excited to announce the addition of an AO3 Collection, which can be found here.

We hope you’re as excited as us to watch the Whump Community come together once again for a month of bone-crunching creativity and collaboration!

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information, and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

No 1. LET'S HANG OUT SOMETIME Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY  "Pick Who Dies" | Collars | Kidnapped

No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

No 6. PLEASE.... "Get it Out" | No More | "Stop, please"

No 7. I'VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? "Don't Say Goodbye" | Abandoned | Isolation

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD "Take Me Instead" | "Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

No 11. PSYCH 101 Defiance | Struggling | Crying

No 12. I THINK I'VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor's Guilt

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

No 21. I DON'T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD... Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

No 27. OK, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTERS ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD? Earthquake | Extreme Weather | Power Outage

No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Alternate Prompt List

Alt 1. Punctured

Alt 2. Falling

Alt 3. Comfort

Alt 4. Stitches

Alt 5. Stoic Whumpees

Alt 6. Altered States

Alt 7. Found Family

Alt 8. Adverse Reactions

Alt 9. Memory Loss

Alt 10. Nightmares

Alt 11. Presumed Dead

Alt. 12. Water

Alt. 13 Accidents

Alt. 14 Shot

Alt. 15 Carry/Support

Event Info

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 Official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don't have to include the exact wording into your work). Additionally, there are 3 prompts for each theme.  These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, and photo/video/audio edits. Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2020 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruised, #stabbed,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself, because tumblr sucks)

#nsfw, #nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober2020​ blog. They must be tagged in the order above.

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month.

Questions not addressed below can be directed to this blog as well.

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gif set or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe :)

Q. Do I have to do all 31 Days? Can I post early/late?

Participate as much or little as you like, and post whenever! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.11, #psych101). Combining prompts into one piece of work is okay, and posting late is as well so as long as it’s in October.

Q. What if I don’t understand a theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help clarify. That said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation :)

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely! That’s like shooting two whumpees with one bullet :)

Q. Can I upload/repost my whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. The archive can be accessed here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle :)

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If it just conveniently checks the boxes, then please don’t. You can, however, add new chapters answering one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, whoever you like.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes,  but it only counts once

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day's prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

Yes, but please do not use a specific prompt twice. We have also created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from [here].

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s.?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.  

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you :)

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine.  The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst focus ok?

Of course!

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What's whump?

See this post

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn't whumpy at all, does that count?

No, sorry, but keep in mind that whump [see definition] is something very nuanced and different for everyone and emotional whump/angst is just as much part of it, as is physical whump and torture. So before you dismiss your idea, think about this.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we posted the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time”.

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. emeto tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.  

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the whumptober2020 tag

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, just be sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies of whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, tags are your best friend.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Epel Felmier Apple Boa Personal Story: Part 2

"Aha, I found it!"

(Part 1) Part 2 (Part 3)

[Harveston – Outside Assembly Hall]

Jade: "Woah"!

[slows to a halt]

Epel: That's really good, Jade-san! Your speed when you're sledding straight ahead has really increased!

Epel: At this rate, we'll definitely be able to shorten our overall time! Let's try one more time so you don't forget how to...

Jade: E-Epel-kun… Would it be alright if we were to take a short break here?

Epel: Ah, yeah, of course it's fine! I'm sorry for getting too focused there.

Jade: Fufu, that only shows just how eager you are for the sled race.

Jade: I thought that this would be simple, especially if all I had to do was ride the sled and feed my magical energy into the stuffed animal, but…

Jade: With all this effort in keeping my balance, as well as digging my heels into the sled to not fall off, I find myself much more exhausted than I expected to be.

Jade: Comparatively, you aren't out of breath one bit. You amaze me, Epel-kun.

Epel: Hehe… That's 'cause I've been riding sleds ever since I was little, and I've been building up my stamina in the magift club.

Jade: It sincerely does seem like daily practice goes a long way.

Jade: Hmm… I'm still feeling a little warm from all that effort. I think I shall remove my gloves at least, for now.

Jade: …ch!

Epel: Jade-san? What happened? …Ah, you got a cut on your fingertip!

Jade: It seems there were some thorns stuck into my gloves. I must have brushed up against some without noticing.

Epel: This is bad, we gotta take care of this right away!

Jade: No need to fret. This is only a small wound, it should heal quickly.

Epel: You can't know that. It'd be bad if it got infected.

Epel: I'll fix something up for you, so please wait a sec. Uhhhm, I'm pretty sure there's some around here…

Jade: What is it? Why are you suddenly searching through the bushes?

Epel: There's something I'm looking for… Aha, I found it!

Epel: Jade-san, sorry to keep you waiting.

Jade: Oh? That herb in your hand…

Epel: This is a medicinal plant that's native to this area. If you stick this on your cut, it will help with healing.

Jade: Aah, just as I thought. I vaguely remembered seeing a picture of a medicinal herb similar to the one you're holding in our potionology textbook.

Epel: You're one of the merfolk, right, Jade-san? Is it going to be alright if we patch you up with this like we would humans?

Jade: Yes, of course.

Epel: Great! Then, please give me your hand.

Jade: Understood. Please be gentle.

Epel: Okay, so I just gotta peel off its outer skin, place it on the wound, and then wrap it up… Alright, I did it.

Jade: Thank you very much. You're quite skilled at this.

Epel: I used to trip and fall over, and cut my hands on leaves and such a ton of times when I was little, so...

Epel: It's probably 'cause I used to fix myself up all those times… maybe?

Epel: Apparently this medicinal plant was already being used by our village since a long time ago… Like, before even my grandma was born.

Jade: I did hear that the people of Harveston have been diligently trying to prevent diseases for some time now.

Jade: Perhaps it has been passed down as "life's little wisdoms," much like washing your hands with soap.

Epel: Yeah, probably. But the village folks don't know why this little plant helps heal our injuries.

Epel: Me too, I mean… I'd never even thought to ask "why".

Epel: That's why I was pretty surprised when I saw my roommate using them to make cosmetics.

Jade: Cosmetics, you say…? That's quite different than the principal uses listen in the textbook.

Epel: Kids our age tend to get acne really easy, so… I guess it's perfect to use for that.

Jade: Aah, I see, they must have used it for its anti-inflammatory agent.

Epel: Yeah. I only learned recently that the reason it can help heal wounds is because it reduces inflammation.

Epel: Back when I first entered this school, I was so bored by my potionology classes, but…

Epel: After I got the chance to learn a bit more about the plants more familiar to me, I felt a bit more interested, I guess…?

Epel: If I hadn't been sent to Pomefiore, I most likely still wouldn'tve found potionology interesting.

Jade: It seems you've come to a useful realization. How wonderful you were able to be placed in Pomefiore.

Epel: No… I mean…

Jade: Oh? Are you saying that you weren't hoping to join Pomefiore from the very start?

Epel: Not at all! I'd always hoped to get into Savanaclaw.

Jade: Oh, is that right? That ardent strive of yours to constantly improve yourself and never be complacent with your current abilities…

Jade: It seemed to me like that completely embodies the Fairest Queen's "spirit of tenacity".

Epel: Ahaha, thanks. I mean, I definitely respect the Fairest Queen, but…

Epel: At first, I couldn't really get used to the dorm atmosphere.

Epel: They're very strict when it comes to speaking and etiquette, and we have to watch our nutritional intake…

Epel: It's such a pain to have to wear those fluttery dorm uniforms, or take proper care of our skin and hair.

Epel: But…

(Part 1) Part 2 (Part 3)

[maybe-this-will-help-me]

Got to 70 reasons not to s*lf h*rm recently, so I thought I’d share.

Stopping a self destructive behavior is really hard. Even for me, who is 3+ years clean. But whenever I feel the “urge” I read this list and take deep breathes. We can all get through this ❤️

Reasons not to S-H:

1. We don’t do that anymore

2. It's been (X time) and since I last engaged in self-harm.

3. I have others ways to cope with problems

4. I don't want scars.

5. That’s Sooooo 2014

6. I'll be proud of myself tomorrow.

7. I can decide to treat myself with kindness.

8. I don’t deserve any more trauma in my life

9. I can use youper

10. I want to show respect for my body.

11. I'm smart enough to help myself in other ways.

12. I am a strong and resourceful person.

13. I want to be someone who doesn't cut.

14. I can find ways to tolerate my emotional pain

15. I can tolerate being upset without self-injury.

16. I can love myself until the urge passes.

17. Emotionally healthy people find ways to cope.

18. I may feel better an hour from now.

19. I don't have to make a bad situation worse.

20. I like my skin.

21. I don't want to hide my body.

22. I don't need more trauma in my life.

23. I know life will get better without cutting.

24. I can temporarily decide to be self-compassionate

25. I can wait to see if I change my mind later.

26. I am worthy of recovery.

27. I don't want to delay my healing.

28. Life is already challenging and cutting makes my life harder.

29. You’ll be disappointed in yourself if you do it

30. I can be a strong person.

31. I believe in myself.

32. I can accept my urges but choose to do something else.

33. I hate the guilt that comes from self-injury.

34. I can choose to love myself.

35. There are too many cons and not enough pros.

36. I might need to go to the hospital if I really hurt myself. Do you really want to go to the hospital?

37. Self-harm is embarrassing to talk about.

38. Cutting and burning are messy.

39. I scar easily.

40. Self-harm makes me hate myself.

41. I can handle the ups and downs in life

42. I'll be proud of myself if I resist.

43. Self-injury is sad.

44. I’m gonna do what’s called a pro gamer move *finds healthy ways to cope that aren’t self-harm*

45. People will pity me.

46. It will hurt tomorrow.

47. It will hurt in the shower

48. I have goals.

49. I'm working towards being a healthier person.

50. I am courageous and brave today.

51. I can reduce my suffering in other ways.

52. I don't want for others to think less of me.

53. I hate being covered up while I wait for my body to heal.

54. I can accept my emotional pain.

55. Self-injury doesn't solve problems.

56. I'm not a slave to my emotions.

57. Do you really want to risk it?

58. I don't deserve self-injury.

59. I can image a life without self-harm.

60. I'm going to be okay.

61. I can journal instead of self-harming.

62. I can cook instead of self harming

63. I can knit/crochet instead of self harming

64. What if you get blood on your pretty white sheets?

65. Do you even have the right bandages?

66. Things will get better when I get better.

67. I value happiness.

68. Cutting isn't meaningful and meaning is important to me.

69. I take responsibility for my recovery.

70. I love myself

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 3:

“Okay, so that’s about it.” You smile brightly, pressing a band-aid into the  boy’s skin. “Thanks for being so brave for me!”

“Mhm. I’m the bravest!”

The child before you beams, all teeth gaps and kicking legs as he bounces in his seat. You’d just given him a few routine vaccinations, and true to your praise, he had been very brave about it. All he’d done was sit there, holding his breath until his face went red, and trying not to grimace. It reminded you of someone else you’d recently treated- someone else who was currently blazoned in all his snarling glory on the little boy’s shirt.

“Oh, I’m sure! Just like Dynamite!” You agree enthusiastically, gesturing to his clothes. You turn your head, catching his mother’s eye from where she sits next to him. “Isn’t that right, mom?”

“Oh, not if I can help it.” She smiles something a little exhausted, but ultimately fond as her son starts making explosion noises. “Not if I can help it.”

If you’re being completely honest, you sort of agree with her. Just a little bit- actually, on second thought a lot.

“If that’s everything and you have no other concerns for me, then we’re about done here.” You say gently. “Do you know where you’re going? I can point you toward reception again if you need it.”

“No, we’re alright, thank you!” 

You nod, holding the door open for them as they leave. 

When the door closes, and you’re swept back up into silence, you can’t help but think of that interaction as just more proof- more proof that no matter where you were, no matter what you were doing, you absolutely could not escape Bakugou.

When you weren’t actively thinking about him, then you were seeing his face everywhere. He was on television, and he was on the cover of newspapers, and as evidenced, he was printed in perfect grumbling, snarling accuracy on children’s t-shirts. It didn’t help either that every day brought another civilian who was saved by him, and every night brought another small-time criminal who was beat to hell by his fists. You swore he was responsible for a solid 70% of all of your hospital’s traffic- it was pure insanity when you really started paying attention. 

You quickly come to realize that Bakugou is a plague; and a horrifyingly effective one at that. You’re not sure how you never noticed it before. 

Still, you can’t help but find yourself worrying a little bit. When you think of him, all you can see is his face covered in blood, the pallid hue of his skin under the hospital’s sterile lighting, and the deep-set bags under his eyes. You remember the way he practically fell asleep, laid out and injured on a hospital table. The way he was drifting while you were digging a needle and thread through his skin. 

Thinking back on it always makes you a bit sick. No one who wasn’t absolutely exhausted would ever fall asleep in a hospital- especially not in the middle of being sewn up. When you match that to the anger and terror you’d felt, that very first night you’d ever met him, it doesn’t paint a pretty picture. You come to realize that even if Bakugou was an asshole to you, you still wouldn’t wish that kind of mental torture on anybody. 

Your rest of your week goes by quickly after that, and by the time Saturday rolls around, you’ve gathered quite a few bones to pick with him. It seemed the amount of criminals you were patching up was only increasing, and their injuries were only getting worse too. Each passing day only brings more lowly criminals and thieves flooding into your hospital, all covered in the same scorch marks, broken bones, and dark bruising. It was overkill, plain and simple, and you knew exactly who the culprit was. 

You began to think that, even if it was Bakugou’s job, he really shouldn’t have been digging graves for people who were just stealing purses. There was a massive difference between a super villain and a petty thief, but he didn’t seem to understand that. Dynamite punished everybody just the same. You saw that first hand.

Still, you try to shake off those lingering frustrations. You were on your way to take out his stitches, and you didn’t want to accidently bring them up. Bakugou only mildly tolerated you the last time around, but you were sure that generosity would cease the moment you criticized anything about him. True to his quirk, Bakugou had proven himself to be a teetering powder keg- just a little bit of friction, and he’d explode on the spot.

“On your way to help his majesty?” Your superior remarks, smiling sardonically as you pass her. “Good luck, I’ll be praying for you! Try your best to come back with your head still intact, yeah?” 

You nod, smiling uneasily, but your stomach turns a little bit. 

That had been another reoccurring theme that week- jokes about how your impending doom was imminent. Apparently, Bakugou had been making a name for himself for years now- a name that was a lot less loved by your hospital then it was the rest of the outside world. You’d been hearing horror stories for days now; tale after twisted tale of nurses and doctors getting chewed up and spit out by his bad temper. It always read as a little strange to you though; in every story you’d heard, he was either hardly injured or on his death bed- no in-between whatsoever. You figure that it didn’t really matter though, the result was always the same. Relentless, explosive anger. 

Which you sort of begun to think you were in for, when you opened the door to his scowling face.

“Hey!” You greet unsurely, trying to walk into the room with a confidence you didn’t really feel. Moving past him, you rinse your hands, drying them and then slipping on a pair of latex gloves. You then pull the medical cart over to him, taking out the blood pressure cuff. Just like his last visit. “You ready to get those stitches removed?”

“Yeah. Obviously. Why the fuck else would I waste my time here? Witch.”

Yep. There it is- just what the other nurses and staff were warning you about. His attitude.

“Oh. Okay, so I see we are still using that nickname. Great.” You mutter wrapping the cuff around his arm. You fall back, crossing your arms as you wait to jot down his vitals. There’s angry tension rolling off of him, and you smile uneasily, trying to discharge it with a subject change. “On an entirely different note, though, I did want to congratulate you.”

Bakugou just scoffs, turning up his nose. A beat passes and then he folds, minutely nodding at you to continue.

“You’re not covered in any blood this time! Congrats!” You say breezily, unwrapping the cuff from around his arm. “Guess the third time really is the charm for us, huh?”

Bakugou just looks away, hardly even acknowledging you as he rolls his eyes. You think you see his lip twitch though- just a bit, and it only lasts half a second, but you count it as a success.

“So, any worries about the stitches? You been cleaning them as instructed?” You ask, gently taking his forearm in your hands. You remove the bandages and gauze with feather-light touches. “Wow, you must’ve been. They look pretty good to me.”

When you look up at him, he’s got that same prideful smirk you’d seen before; it doesn’t distract you from his condition though. His skin somehow looks paler than before, skin purple and darkened under his eyes. You see the cut on his head, still hardly healed and scabbed over. He’s overworking himself, but you didn’t need to have any medical background to see that.

“Obviously they look good. You think I’m fuckin’ stupid?” He says.

“No, but I really did think you would’ve exacerbated them by now. Especially with all the hero work you’ve been doing. Which, believe me, I know is a lot.”

“What- you stalking me now or somethin’?”

“Not exactly. Me or somebody else here always end up treating all those people you save.” You tell him, setting his arm down on the empty surface of the medical cart. You try to keep your voice light, keep it entirely void of anything accusatory, but you can’t help your next words. “And every person you beat into the ground.”

Bakugou’s eye twitches when you look at him. He breathes deep, eyebrows creasing.

“Oi- somethin’ you wanna fuckin’ say to me?” He utters, eyes glinting like blistering wildfire. He leans forward, flipping his palm up towards you as it begins to crackle. “Better choose your next words real fuckin’ carefully.”

It’s his tone that catches you off-guard.

You knew it was a stupid move, your comment, but the pure poison in his response surprises you anyway. His voice is dark and angry, smoldering like a low heat as he stares you down. The words are vicious thing, a gripping threat that drips from his mouth, seeming to bite back around his teeth as he speaks it. It makes you shrink. You think that it would probably make even the strongest people shrink.

“No. It’s- I wasn’t. I’m sorry.” You apologize professionally, pasting on your best appeasing smile even as you fight off the anxiety. There’s nothing left to do but try to defuse the situation- so you turn away from him, busying yourself with grabbing a discard tray and your stitching kit. “It’s really wasn’t my business. Shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry.”

Bakugou just huffs at that, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He somehow looks even more annoyed than before and you don’t know what he wants from you. Doesn’t he know how intimidating he is? Why does he even bother acting surprised when people fold for him? Especially if he chooses to address them like that?

You wish you were the sort of person who could stand up to him- the sort of person who could put him in his place. After all, there was no room for arrogance in a hospital, and you’d always thought egotism to be a selfish waste of valuable time. But, even so, you just couldn’t be that person this time. There was a lot you could power though, but you’d never seen hot-and-cold anger like his before. He wasn’t like any of your other difficult patients- none of their threats ever sounded like promises. 

There’s tense silence as you start removing the stitches, only the sound of your scissors and Bakugou’s own breaths. You try to keep your hands steady, try to keep focused, but you’re finding it hard to keep still under his intense gaze. You feel he’s looking right through you again, waiting for any excuse to blow up again.

You’re almost done removing them entirely when he huffs, rolling his eyes as he shifts uncomfortably.

“You’re so fucking sensitive, you know. It’s pathetic.”

You stiffen.

There’s a lot you’re willing to put up with- being underappreciated and overworked was pretty much your entire job after all- but Bakugou was really wearing on you. He wasn’t the first patient to insult you, and his comment was far from the worst thing you’d ever been told; but it’s something in the way he spits the insult. Sly and challenging like he knows something you don’t. It makes you look up at him, and all you see are his sharp canines. His smirk and the way he looks down on you.

He’s picking a fight, but there’s no threat. He’s testing you.

It makes your blood boil.

“If you don’t like me, and the way I do my work,” You bite out, staring right back and speaking through own clenched teeth. “Then you shouldn’t have asked for me. No one made you come back.”

“I told you, witch. No cutting corners. You put the fuckers in my arm, you take them the fuck out.”

“Why are you fighting with me?” You ask, swallowing as you try not to shy away from his glare. “I told you last time, if this works better for you silent, then just say that.”

He flares his nostrils at that, setting his jaw. When he goes silent, you go back to snipping away his stitches. At this point, you just wanted to finish as quickly as possible.

“Silent is fuckin’ boring.” He grits, flexing his fingers. It makes the skin on his forearm shift, throwing off your work. When you look at him in frustration, you can see he did it on purpose. “It’s wimp shit.”

“Pardon?”

“I said-” He leans in close, voice low and venomous. It feels like he’s trying to paralyze you with his stare alone, sitting up straight until he’s glaring down at you. “Silence is boring. You’re fucking boring.”

You’d had a long day- you’d had a very long day and he was being extremely rude and your patience was wearing thin hours ago. That’s why you let him break your careful composure- at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“Oh yeah, I’m boring?” You ask in frustration, entire face warming in fury. “I’m boring? Really! At least I don’t spend my entire day blowing things up and beating people half to death!”

Bakugou blinks. He blinks, sucks a breath, and then you watch his smirk crawl slow and sure across the entirety of his face. He got you. He got you to break, and he won, and he knows it.

He knows it and he settles back on his good hand, leaning away to get a better look at your flustered face. He cocks his head to the side, studying and analytical for a moment. He nods.

“There. We’re fuckin’ even.”

“Excuse me?”

“Even. You shouldn’t have fuckin’ pried around in my head and not expected me to pry in yours.”

“That’s what this is about?” You sigh incredulously, putting your scissors down on the medical cart. “Really? You’re still on that- how- how does this even tell you what’s in my head? You’re just insulting me. It doesn’t!”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why are you so fuckin’ pissed right now? Hah?” He squints his eyes, voice smooth and dripping with arrogance. “It’s cause I’m right. You’re so fuckin’ boring when you play nice all the time.”

“Play nice? What the hell are you even on about? You don’t know me.”

“I know that you piss me the hell off bein’ fake. If I fuckin’ irritate you then say so. Don’t put on your fuckin’ kid gloves and try and be professional. It’s weak.”

“No. It’s how I keep my job. Which you know, you wouldn’t understand, because you literally pick fights for a living!” You huff, pushing the medical cart off to the side and stepping back from him. “Actually- you know what, no. I’m done with this. This conversation. Your stitches are out, and you can leave since you obviously can’t stand me and would rather be anywhere but here.”

You watch him flare his nostrils again, a snarl ripping from his mouth. He slams his closed fist down on the hospital bed, eyes like blazing conflagration. Bakugou looks pissed, but more than anything he looks vulnerable. Worn raw.

“I can’t.” He grits.

“Yes! You actually can! Just walk out! Literally just walk out an-’

“God, you’re so fucking dense! I can’t leave without figuring out how the fuck you do it!”

“Do what?” You nearly scream, your owns hands beginning to clench into fists.

“I need to know.” He repeats again, hopping off the hospital bed.

His feet hit the ground, steps like rolling thunder as he nears, broad shoulders and muscular arms casting an intimidating shadow. Bakugou looks like an angry bull storming toward you. Like he’ll obliterate you given even half the chance.

“Take your fucking gloves off.”

You’re scared now, eyes darting over to the door. You knew nobody was doing rounds in the luxury wing right now, and sound didn’t pass through walls that were made to ensure silence. Heart racing in your chest, you size him up, try to think of a way to escape but he’s so close to you and he’s built like a linebacker and-

“Jesus christ. Not like that. Fuckin’ idiot.” He growls, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He stops a few feet in front of you, sneering. “You’re not my fuckin’ type, so don’t flatter yourself. Now, grow the fuck up and take them off before I do it for you.”  

You’re not sure what makes you listen, maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s something else, but either way you listen. You pull a glove off, just barely dropping it on the counter before Bakugou speaks again.

“I’m gonna touch your hand- but do not use your quirk. Don’t even think about using it. Just fucking stand there. And don’t freak the fuck out and put up a fight about it. You’re just gonna waste time.”

You nod, hand shaking as you extend it. Bakugou seems to roll his eyes at that, but he surges forward anyways, fingers meeting yours. 

You feel it almost immediately. Your heart speeds up, but just slightly, beginning beat against your chest where it had just barely been grazing it before. You breathe deep, close you eyes, focus in on the buzzing of your skin- the way your bones sing of subtle fire. It’s barely there but it feels like warmth. Reminds you of that night, with Bakugou, when you were burning alive. Reminds you of how your bones felt too large and your skin felt too small and there somehow wasn’t enough room in the entire world to hold the weight of your rage.

“You ambient fucking bitch.” Bakugou swears under his breath. When you look at him, he’s fluttering his own eyes open, dropping your hand like it burned him.

Then he steps back and you’re gasping for air. It’s not entirely back again- but it’s reminiscent. There’s an inkling of that bone-deep exhaustion. That weariness that so often stole the air from you lungs and the ground beneath your feet. 

“Your quirk. It’s ambient. Through your skin.”

You shrink back even more, blinking owlishly up at him. 

“What? You didn’t fucking know? Jesus, how clueless are you?”

“It’s-I-” You drop your head, running a hand through your hair. “I never- I always wear gloves. Always. And long sleeves. Since I was little. Never wanted to take the chance- how did you even know.” 

Bakugou seems to turn his nose up at your question. He steps back, further and farther until his back hits the hospital bed. There’s distance but somehow he keeps the air just as charged, averting his eyes when he speaks next.

“Went to sleep. A week ago. When I saw you-”

“What? Bakugou that doesn’t- you’re not-”

“If you’d let me fuckin’ finish,” He glares down at you again, trying to beat you into submission with eye-contact alone. It works and you fall silent, holding your breath as he resumes. “You put me to sleep. Then and three months ago. I haven’t slept peacefully like that in fuckin’ years. So obviously you used your quirk on me. It’s easy. A fuckin’ moron could’ve figured it out.”

“No- but I didn’t touch you! Well, the first time, yeah, I did, but not a week ago. I was wearing gloves and I-”

“When I told you to do the splint over, the sleeve of your coat rode up.” He grits out, cheeks slightly flushing as he averts his eyes. “Then I almost fell asleep. Not like the first time, but still. Asleep. So obviously it’s your fuckin’ skin.” 

Suddenly, the ground is ripped out from under you.

Your entire life you’d always been tired. Day in and day out, constantly dragging your feet like you could never get enough sleep. Like there wasn’t enough hours in the day for you to live and be rested. 

Was it your quirk this entire time? Were you somehow ambiently draining people of their pain- even if you just accidentally brushed their skin with yours? 

You don’t know how you never realized it. How you never put two and two together. 

You’d spent your entire life purposefully using your quirk to help people-  had then sacrificed days and weeks of your life afterwards tucked away in bed and sleeping off the exhaustion. When you used your power on purpose, depending on the severity of someone’s pain, it would debilitate you. But you still did it- over and over and over again because you wanted to help people. Because you knew you could and that became the only reason you needed. 

You’d always just assumed your constant exhaustion to be aftershocks of how often you used your quirk- you never even considered the possibility that it was something you were doing unintentionally. That you were draining yourself with every hug and handshake and high-five that should’ve made you feel better.

You’d always sort of disliked being touched. Somehow always walked away with your skin prickling uncomfortably for as long as you could remember. You just never knew why until now. 

“Oi- I thought I told you not to freak the fuck out.”

“It’s- how the hell am I not supposed to freak out about this?” You gasp, hands braced behind you on the counter. “I didn’t know! My entire life! And you met me like, what, twice and you figured it out and- Are you falling asleep right now?”

In your spiral Bakugou had somehow ended back up on the hospital bed. He was still sat up, but his shoulders were completely slumped over and his eyes were half-lidded. He looked completely drained of all previous anger, swaying slightly as he blinked himself back to perfect alertness.

“Yeah. Probably.” He grumbles. “It’s your fuckin’ fault.”

“You barely touched me! How the hell is-”

“Don’t ask me, you fuckin’ leech.” He yawns, hand closed into a fist as he rubs at his eyes. “You’re the one with the stupid goddamn quirk. Not me.”

“That’s- sorry. I didn’t know. Holy shit,” You curl arms around your stomach, eyes widening. “Have I been doing this shit to everyone? My entire life?”

Bakugou groans. Audibly. Loudly.

“You’re the stupidest goddamn idiot on the face of the planet. Swear to fuck, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“You’re not helping!” You exclaim. “It was rhetorical question! Excuse me for freaking out right now- I’m sure you’d freak out too if you suddenly found out you were osmosis-ing people’s emotions your entire life!” 

“Heh.”

“God, and just what the hell are you laughing about? This isn’t funny!”

“Osmosis.” He reiterates, mouth drawn up into a shit-eating grin. “Change your quirk name. To osmosis. Alleviate is shitty and stupid and it makes you sound fucking dumb.”

You bristle again, suddenly shaking any and all tiredness, rounding on him as you seethe.

“You- you are a goddamn asshole! You know that?” You start, stopping just a few feet in front of him. “You come in here, and insult me. Call me boring! In my own fuckin’ workplace! While I’m literally taking your stitches out! And then you tell me how my quirk works- somehow have the audacity to be fucking right about it, and now you’re insulting me? Again?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just sitting there, completely fine, smiling like there’s something funny! This isn’t funny! I’m not funny! This is my life- which you literally have been bulldozing through for months now- are you falling asleep? Again? No! No! Not in my- wake the fuck up! Asshole!”

You’re snapping in his face, just inches away from his eyes, and Bakugou hardly even blinks. He just sits still, calm and sated as you seethe just inches away from him. You huff in absolute hatred and that finally shocks some life into him. He smiles. Tiny and barely-there, but he smiles.

“See, not so nice anymore. Knew you weren’t. Fuckin’ liar.”

You want to scream. You want to tear your hair out and maybe take Bakugou’s too, and scratch and claw until you’re bathing in all the rage you’d accidentally stolen from him. You can’t though- you can’t because suddenly the sun starts to set. It falls behind the horizon line, seeping the gold from his skin and drowning him in sterile, white, artificial pallid-ness. His skin goes translucent and the only color in the entirety of his image are the bags under his eyes. Well, the bags under his eyes and the stark red of the barely-healed slice on his forehead. 

You curse your own heart. Nearly collapse under the weight of your own sympathy. Bakugou was an asshole, an absolute, irredeemable dick, and you still wanted to heal him. Help him. Somehow. Miraculously.

So then you’re centering yourself, rubbing a hand down your face to soothe your wound-up features.

“God, you actually do look pretty bad.” You say, all attempts at grace and keeping it professional completely gone. “You really weren’t kidding about needing to sleep, huh?”

“No shit. Leech.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. That’s fine. Trade one mean nickname for another- I mean, hey, at least this one’s accurate right?” 

Bakugou does actually exhale a laugh at that remark, limbs a flurry of chaotic movement when he throws himself back on the bed. His head hits the pillow and it’s only seconds before he’s shutting his eyes.

“So, what, you’re just, like, sleeping now?” You ask, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t.”

“I can.”

“This is a hospital, Bakugou.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He mumbles, yawning into his hand. “‘m fuckin’ Dynamite. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“I’m sorry- do you, do you actually think you can ego your way out of rules? Seriously? You can’t sleep here! Not unless you’re critically injured and need like, round-the-clock care.” 

He stills, breath evening and you think he’s fallen asleep. Then he’s lazily bringing a hand up, pointing it loosely at his head.

“I’m critically fuckin’ injured.”

“No- you’re not. That’s a cut and it’s already healing and-”

“I need round-the-clock care.”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?”

“No.” He grunts, flopping as he turns away from you. Then he’s facing the wall, nuzzling into the pillow. “I’m tired.”

“It’s-” You start, but then you’re once again falling victim to your own empathy. One look at his translucent skin is all it takes. “Fine. You know what? I don’t give a shit. Do what you want, I guess. Nobody else is using these rooms.” 

“Okay. Leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get the fuck out.” He slurs, cheek pressed up against the pillow as his eyes flutter beneath his eyelids. “Bein’ too loud. Leave.”

“Fine. Enjoy your sleep. Jerk.”

“Leech.”

You nearly punch him in frustration- until you realize that would probably only relax him more; because apparently this really is Bakugou’s world and you were the unlucky one just living in it.

He’s out before you’re even finished packing up. You’re wiping down all the surfaces either of you had touched, just about to leave, when he starts snoring. It’s a soft, almost kitten-like sound, just barely audible over your own breathing. It pisses you off. Boils your blood in your veins because it’s so goddamn humanizing even when he acts like the anti-christ with an even worse temper. It’s stupidly endearing and ridiculously sobering and incredibly, incredibly irritating. 

That stupid sound is why you double back upon leaving the room. Why you’re suddenly choosing to reverse instead of moving forward, why you’re suddenly reaching into the cupboard instead of shutting the door behind you. 

When you carefully unfold the blanket, settling it gently over his sleeping form, there’s only one thing on your mind.

Fuck being an empath.

--/--

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness 

[ves-is-writing-bnha-again]

Three's a Crowd

A/n: Did I just spend 10 hours straight, writing this? Yes. Is it currently 7am? Also yes. Do I care? Not really.

Warning(s): angst, hurt/comfort

Pairing(s): Hitoshi Shinsou x reader, Shouto Todoroki x reader

“Shinsou! Stop it! Let him go!” The teacher shouted, distressed by the sudden turn of events. Shinsou, only 4 years old and not fully understanding what’s happening, began to get upset, “What are you doing to him?!” She cried, shaking the boy in front of him, “I don’t know.” He said quietly, tears building up and rolling down his cheeks, “Well stop it!” The teacher said sternly and he only cried harder. The teachers assistant came over to see what was happening, “Looks like the kid’s eyes are fogged over. Might be a type of mind control.” He said calmly, not even acknowledging Shinsou crying behind him, “Well make him stop!” The teacher snapped and the assistant gave him a stern look, “Kid cut it out, let him go you could be hurting him.” He scolding Shinsou which made him cry even more, “I don’t know how!” He cried.

He felt arms wrap around him, and while he couldn’t see clearly due to the tears blurring his vision, he could make out a head of h/c hair and big e/c eyes looking at him. He immediately started to feel calm and next thing he knew, the boy in front of him shook his head and made a beeline for the teacher, hiding behind her.

For weeks, other kids avoided him. He heard his teachers talking about him in passing, apparently he had developed his quirk, but nobody knew due to it being a mental one. It wasn’t until he accidentally brainwashed the boy when trying to ask him if he wanted to play that anyone had realized it. After that, he was deemed too dangerous to be left alone with any of the others, under constant supervision. Not that it mattered seeing as the others didn’t seem to want to be near him anyway.

Except for one. One he came to know as Y/n.

They were so sweet to him. Unlike everyone else, they would approach him when told to find a buddy for arts and crafts, sit with him during snack time. Would even join him during nap time. When outside for recess, they would ask if he wanted to join them on the swings, or just sit and play with toys. The two of them became inseparable.

Teachers were worried he had brainwashed them and kept interfering, trying to separate the two, but that was quickly put to a stop when Y/n’s father told them off for trying to isolate a child after hearing about how Y/n was upset about not being allowed to play with Shinsou and witnessing first hand at drop off how the staff kept them from going near him. After that, Y/n was allowed to be near him, but it came with other classmates not wanting to be near them either, not that they cared.

The two remained best friends even once they reached middle school and the villain comments started. Y/n stuck with him every time a nasty comment was thrown his way, even tried to fight a few people, but Shinsou never let it get too far. He knew Y/n’s dream of being a hero, and didn’t want them to get in trouble and jeopardize it for him. He wanted to be a hero as well, and part of that is keeping those you care about safe, which included keeping your best friend from making a dumb mistake like fighting someone for making a passing comment.

However, that never stopped him from fighting a couple people. He didn’t care much for the villain comments. They hurt a bit yeah, but he ignored them when he could. He drew the line at people calling Y/n weak though. A hard line at that. Y/n had a healing quirk, good for physical injuries, but also emotional ones as well. Could heal a bone and a broken heart with a single hug or touch of the hand. It was how they calmed him down so quickly when they were younger. Any anger or sadness Shinsou felt was gone within seconds when they were around, but he was certain at this point that it wasn’t their quirk at play, that was just how he felt around them.

Running down the street, Shinsou was cursing himself. He woke up late and missed the train, having to wait for the next one in order to get to Y/n’s house in time. It was their birthday, and he had made plans with them to go out and get lunch together. It wasn’t just a special day for that reason. Today was the day he was going to ask them out as well. If the damn train would hurry up that is. Sitting in his seat, bag with their gift in one hand, phone in the other, he sent them a text, leg bouncing with anticipation. He knows they wouldn’t be mad at him, but damn he would feel bad if they got upset thinking he forgot.

The train arrived and he made a beeline inside to the closest seat, sitting down right as his phone buzzed. Checking it, he noticed it was a text from Y/n, letting him know that it was fine if he was late. Smiling at his phone he heard someone next to him chuckle. Looking to his right, he saw an older couple looking at him, “A grin like that must mean they’re pretty special hm?” The woman asked and he nodded, a faint blush appearing, “Very special.” He responded and they gave him a knowing look.

A little while later, he reached his stop and rushed off the train, booking it down the street, nearly running into several people before finally arriving at Y/n’s house. He knocked on the door and was greeted by their father, who grinned upon seeing Shinsou, still slightly out of breath, standing there, “Hey there, they’re up in their room” He said, letting Shinsou inside.

Thanking him, Shinsou made his way upstairs to their room, not bothering to knock when he came in. Y/n was sitting at their desk, looking at their phone only to turn and see him when they heard him come in.

“About time.” They said jokingly and he smiled, “Sorry, overslept.” He said sheepishly, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. Y/n smiled back at him, “I’d rather you oversleep than not sleep at all.” They said, giving him that same look they always gave him when he didn’t sleep.

Remembering the gift, he held the bag out, “Happy birthday” He said, face turning a light pink when they grinned, “Aww, you didn’t have to get me anything, you know hanging out with you is enough for me.” They said, taking the bag, “I wanted to.” He said, “It’s not much I know, I only just recently started working at that cafe so I didn’t have much saved up but I saw it and thought of you so I-” He was cut off when they rushed towards him, hugging him tightly, “I love it.” They said, pulling away and admiring the small f/c teddy bear.

They went over to their bed, placing the bear by their pillow before grabbing their shoes and putting them on. Turning back to him, they grinned, “You ready?” They asked and he nodded, “After all that running I did, I’m starving.” He replied.

They grabbed his arm and tugged him out of their room, and downstairs, “Bye dad, we’ll be back in an hour or two!” They called before shutting the front door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did you hear about the kid on the news that got attacked by that slime looking monster?” Y/n asked as they sat in the park, eating the food they got, “The blond one?” Shinsou asked and they nodded, “Yeah I heard, can you believe that one kid just went running in like that? Even most of the pros couldn’t handle it and he just jumped right in. He’s insane.” He said and they laughed, “Dad said he didn’t know whether the kid was very brave or very stupid.” They said, “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up being in the hero course at UA. He seemed to have some potential from the looks of it with the way he just dived right in wanting to help the guy.” They added and he nodded.

“Speaking of UA, have you heard anything about which class you’d be in?” They asked and he nodded, “Got put in general studies.” He said bitterly, glaring at the ground, “Oh. Well, maybe they just put you there cause they ran out of room? Your quirk is amazing, there has to be some good reason.” They said, “You mean other than that they probably think it’s too much of a villainous quirk?” He grumbled.

They put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, don’t say that. I’m sure you’ll find a way to be a hero, and a great one at that.” They said, giving him that same cheerful smile that always managed to make him feel better and melt him at the same time.

“What about you?” He asked, ignoring his racing heart, “You know what class you’re in?” Y/n looked hesitant for a moment and he looked at them, raising an eyebrow. They mumbled something he couldn’t quite hear, “What?” He asked and they looked at him, “I got into the hero course. 1-A to be specific.” They said, loud enough for him to hear.

He was silent for a while, “Toshi? I’m sorry.” They said and he looked at them, “Sorry for what? It’s good you got in. At least one of us made it.” He told them, giving them a genuine smile. He couldn’t be mad at you, this had been your dream for years, who was he to get mad at you for following it?

Y/n leaned forward and pulled him into a hug, arms wrapped around his neck as one of his wrapped around their waist, “Hey I’m always gonna support you even if I can’t be right by your side okay?” He said, though it was slightly muffled and they nodded, holding him for a few more seconds before moving back to look at him, “I know you would, I’d do the same for you.” They said.

Shinsou wasn’t really sure what came over him. He wanted his confession to be something memorable. He had a little speech that he practiced and everything, but all the words he had just disappeared in that moment and he couldn’t help himself. With the hand that wasn’t currently on their waist, he cupped their face and leaned in slightly, testing the waters to see how they would react. When they didn’t pull away, he closed the gap. Pressing a light kiss to their lips before pulling away slightly. He felt their hands on his face as they brought him back and kissed him again.

He felt a drop of water hit his face and he pulled away and looked up at the sky. There seemed to be more clouds than before and he felt another drop hit his nose, “We need to go, grab the stuff.” He said, quickly grabbing their things and standing, before helping them up as more rain started pouring.

Grabbing their hand, the two took off back to Y/n’s house which luckily was about five or so minutes away from the park. The rain was pouring and both of them were absolutely soaked by the time they arrived and reached the front door, laughing as they caught their breath, “I promise...I didn’t know it would rain.” He said and they smiled, “Yeah I figured.” They said before cupping his face and pressing a light, quick kiss to his lips before pulling away and taking out their key to unlock the door.

Stepping inside, Y/n’s father was sitting on the couch watching tv. He looked over at them, “You two seem a bit wet.” He joked as they took off their shoes. Y/n rolled their eyes, but smiled, “Can he stay until the rain stops?” They asked and he nodded, “I’ll drive him home later.” He said and the pair went upstairs to change, Shinsou having a set of clothes he left the last time he spent the night. Y/n tossed him a towel as they sat on the bed and picked up the bear, holding it to their chest as he dried his hair, “Let’s watch a movie.” They said, sitting with their back against the wall, and he agreed.

Half an hour into the movie, Y/n fell asleep, leaning against his shoulder. Shinsou didn’t quite get to ask them out how he wanted, but he liked how things turned out nonetheless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three months later, Y/n stood with Shinsou at the entrance of UA. They lightly squeezed his hand, nervous but excited, “You ready?” He asked and they hesitated, “I don’t like the fact that you won’t be there. I don’t know anyone in my class.” They said as they began walking to the doors, “You’ll be fine, we’ll see each other in the halls and during lunch, it’s not like we’ll be completely separated.” He said reassuring them.

Eventually, they reached Y/n’s classroom. Shinsou wrapped his arm around their waist and kissed their forehead, “Good luck.” He told them and they smiled, “You too.” They said as he walked away to his own class.

Stepping into the room, there were already a handful of students talking and getting to know each other. A taller guy with dark hair and glasses appeared to be lecturing a blond guy about something, what he was talking about they weren’t sure, but the blond looked smug. Wait! They knew him! He was the guy on the news! And the kid with the green hair behind him is the one that went running in!

Before Y/n could think anymore about it, someone approached them, she had short chin length brown hair, and big brown eyes, “Hey! I’m Uraraka! Are you excited for the first day?” She asked them and they nodded, “Oh absolutely! I’ve always dreamed about being here.” They said and she smiled, “Me too! This is so exciting! I can’t wait to have fun and make new friends!” She cheered. As more people came into the room, Uraraka gestured for Y/n to follow her, “Come sit with me! I feel like we’ll be good friends!” She said, heading back to her desk as they trailed after her. Sitting at the desk next to hers, and setting their bag next to them, they looked up to see a boy walk in. He had red and white hair split perfectly down the middle and different colored eyes with the right eye being grey, and the left one being a bright turquoise. He seemed to have a red scar around his left eye, that was a stark contrast to his fair skin.

“Who is that?” Uraraka whispered while pointing to the boy that just came in, seeing as the class was starting to quiet down and settle in their seats as the teacher arrived. Y/n shrugged, not knowing the answer, “No idea.” They replied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a month since school started. Y/n was still recovering from the USJ incident. Due to having their own healing quirk, they didn’t need to visit recovery girl, having healed themselves after being carried out due to breaking their right leg in several places after being hit and thrown back by the nomu. Kirishima being the one that carried them with Todoroki applying ice to keep any swelling down, as instructed by All Might.

The downside of Y/n’s healing quirk is that while they can heal any physical injuries, they’re still left extremely sore for a while afterwards, usually about the same period of time it would have taken to heal had they not used their quirk. Unfortunately that meant having to walk around with a crutch until it went away and they could walk without searing pain shooting up their leg with every step.

They were heading back from lunch, having spent it with Shinsou, when they found themselves struggling to get down the stairs without falling, each step down hurting more than the last. One step at a time and everything will be fine, they might be a bit late to class but Aizawa said he’d understand.

“Do you need some help?” A voice said causing them to jump slightly. They looked up to see Todoroki, “Oh it’s you.” They said, shooting him a quick smile, “No thanks, I’ll be fine.” They said, cursing internally about the amount of stairs there were, “Are you sure?” He asked again and they nodded.

“Why didn’t you take the elevator?” He asked them, and they sighed, “It’s locked and Principle Nezu wouldn’t give me a key. Said that since my leg isn’t actually broken anymore, I can get down the stairs just fine.” They told him and he frowned, watching them carefully take another step, “You’ll be late to class this way.” He said and they shrugged, “Aizawa said he would understand. You should get to class though, he may be understanding of my situation but he won’t be as forgiving for you, I don’t want you getting in trouble.” They said, but he didn’t leave.

“Let me help you.” He said, they paused and looked at him, “You don’t have to do that, I’ll be fine.” They said, not wanting him to be late to class cause of them, “No, but I want to. I don’t want you being late either.” He said, coming up the steps to where they were, “Okay.” They said, giving in. Aizawa may have been understanding, but they hated being late and having the feeling of everyone staring as they walked in.

Wrapping one arm around their waist and the other behind their knees, he scooped them up and carried them down the rest of the stairs as they held their crutch in one hand while the other arm wrapped around his shoulders. He didn’t put them down once they reached the bottom, however, and instead just continued on to class, only setting them down once they were outside the classroom.

“Thank you Todoroki, but you didn’t have to carry me all the way to class.” They said as they felt their face heat up slightly, “I didn’t want you struggling if I could do something about it.” He replied before opening the door and letting them walk in first. Thanking him again, they made their way to their seat where Uraraka watched them with a grin.

“Soo what were you and Todoroki doing together?” She asked as they sat down, “He was just helping me cause I was having trouble getting down the stairs.” They said and she hummed, “He’s helping you down the stairs now, but who knows what could happen in the future.” She said, a mischievous look in her eye. She’s been spending too much time with Mina.

The bell rang before they could respond and Aizawa came in with Midnight as Y/n started drawing in their notebook. After a few minutes, chatter filled the room, “Y/n did you hear?! There’s gonna be a sports festival!” Uraraka said, excited, as Mina sat down in the empty seat in front of them, Y/n hadn’t noticed people had gotten up to work together on assignments.

“Yeah! Isn’t this amazing? This is a great chance to show off our skills!” Mina cheered as Jirou joined the conversation, “Heard from Kaminari there’s gonna be pros watching, and if we do well they might let us intern at their agencies.” She said as they all got started on their assignment, “Are you serious?” Y/n asked and she nodded, “Definitely. Can you imagine? Interning at a pro hero’s agency? Pros like Fatgum, Best Jeanist, Endeavor..” She said, and Y/n frowned upon hearing the name Endeavor.

“You don’t like Endeavor Y/n?” Mina asked, they felt eyes burning into the side of their head as they shook their head, “How come? He seems kinda cool. I mean, he is number two hero for a reason.” Uraraka said and Y/n shrugged, “I just don’t like him. He seems like he’s only a hero for the fame and power aspect of it rather than genuinely wanting to help people. I mean, have you seen the man’s eyes? He looks like he’s judging everyone he comes into contact with, not friendly at all.” They said, and the others nodded, “That’s true, he does seem pretty cold a lot of the time.” Jirou stated. The intense feeling of being watched hadn’t wavered once and Y/n looked around to try and see where it was coming from and for a brief second they made eye contact with Todoroki before he looked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on! You got this!” Y/n cheered with the crowd as they watched the sports festival from the stands. Unfortunately, their leg still wasn’t better by the time the festival came and they couldn’t participate, but they were having a blast watching. It was Shinsou and Midoriya’s time to fight, and Y/n was rooting for Shinsou, but they couldn’t deny Midoriya was doing really well.

The crowd was silent as they watched Midoriya simply turn around and start walking towards the white line. Shinsou was gonna make him walk out of bounds. They were sitting on the edge of their seat as it happened, Y/n sitting next to Todoroki as they watched in anticipation.

“Who are you rooting for in this one?” He asked them, “Shinsou, but Midoriya is doing better than I expected.” They replied as Midoriya seemed to be pausing.

Somehow, Midoriya managed to break free of Shinsou’s brainwashing, and covered his mouth to keep from speaking. He'd figured out how Shinsou’s quirk works.

Y/n watched as they started fighting before eventually Midoriya flipped him and threw him onto his back. They jumped and gasped as their hands covered their mouth as Shinsou laid there on the ground, out of bounds. The crowd cheered as he got up and Midoriya was announced the winner, “I gotta go, I’ll be back.” They told Todoroki before quickly grabbing their crutch and getting up, moving up the stairs as fast as possible.

Eventually, they managed to find Shinsou walking down the hall with his head down, “Toshi!” They called and he stopped and turned to face them. They stopped in front of him and cupped his face with their left hand, “Are you okay?” They asked while inspecting him, worried, “Hey hey, I’m alright, just a bit bruised up. You should go sit back down, I don’t want you walking around when you don’t need to be.” He said, grabbing their hand and holding it, “I’m gonna go see recovery girl, I’ll see you later alright?” He said, kissing the back of their hand, and they nodded, “Okay.” They said, and he walked away. They watched him leave, disappearing around the corner and they made their way back to their seat.

Todoroki wasn’t there when they came back and for a moment they wondered where he had gone, until Present Mic announced his name and they saw him up against Sero, “Poor Sero.” They said. He was a pretty good fighter, but he was no match against Todoroki considering how powerful he was. The match was over about as quick as it started, with Todoroki unleashing a blast of ice so powerful it overtook half the arena. The crowd was dead silent. Even midnight was half frozen which would have made Y/n laugh if they weren’t stunned.

Once most of the ice was melted, the festival continued on and eventually it was time for Todoroki and Midoriya’s fight. Y/n hoped that he didn’t freeze half the arena again, even if it was really cool.

Midoriya kept dodging his attacks as Todoroki shot blast after blast of ice. They seemed to be arguing about something, but Y/n wasn’t sure about what exactly. Finally, Midoriya managed to land a hit that left Todoroki doubled over, and they heard him shout “It’s yours! Your quirk not his!”

That seemed to have struck a chord with Todoroki as he paused, staring at Midoriya but seeming to be lost in thought. Next thing they knew, his left side erupted into flames, the fire reaching out several feet around him. The look on his face made him look insane, but there also seemed to be a hint of gratitude from what Y/n could tell.

They heard Endeavor call his name, yelling some nonsense Y/n couldn’t care enough about to pay attention to, more focused on the flames surrounding Todoroki as pillars of ice formed on his right side. Before they knew it, there was a bright flash as debris flew through the air, a large gust of wind blowing through as dust filled the arena, preventing anyone in the stands from seeing what’s happening. Y/n gripped the arm of their seat as they shielded their face from the dust and debris, before getting hit by a piece roughly the size of their hand, and after that. Nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Todoroki sat in Recovery girl’s office, next to where Y/n was laying in the bed. He felt responsible for what happened to them and wanted to apologize. The sports festival had ended an hour ago, with him coming in second place. His dad had tried to approach him after, but the moment Momo had said Y/n was in the infirmary after getting hit by a piece of debris, he ignored his dad and rushed to where they were.

He felt so guilty, knowing that the debris was technically caused by him. He heard movement coming from the bed and looked up to see Y/n looking around, squinting and blinking a few times before focusing on him.

“I’m sorry." He blurted before they could say anything, “I should have been careful and paid attention. I guess I forgot about my surroundings for a moment.” He said and they gave him a small smile, “It’s okay, I know you didn’t do it intentionally.” They reassured, “You still got hurt.” He said, but they waved it off, “I’ll be fine. Might miss a few days of class, but lucky for me, any head injuries tend to heal faster.” They said.

“Is the festival over?” They asked and he nodded, “Did you win?” They asked again, “No, I came in second. Bakugou won. You should have seen him though. They had to chain him up and everything because he was angry about how he won. They even had to put a metal mask thing over his mouth because he kept screaming and cursing.” He told them, and they laughed before flinching.

“Here.” He said, standing quickly, forming a small piece of ice in his hand and wrapping it in a washcloth placed on the table next to the bed before gently holding it against the area they got hit, “Thanks.” They said, smiling at him, and he couldn’t help but give the smallest smile back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks had passed since the sports festival. Todoroki was still rather reserved, but he seemed more open with talking to Midoriya and Y/n, and along with them came talking to Iida and Uraraka.

They were all gathered at lunch, Y/n had wanted to be with Shinsou but he was out sick so they decided to spend it with Uraraka who happened to be sitting with the others. They were talking about the internships and who they might apply for when Y/n heard Endeavor being mentioned and frowned again.

“Y/n you don’t seem to like Endeavor much do you?” Midoriya asked and they shook their head, “Not really.” They said, continuing to eat their soba, “How come?” Momo asked, “He just seems...cocky? Really mean as well. Like that robbery that took place last week that he helped stop? He acted like he did all the work and the others were just there for aesthetics. I don’t know, I just really hate Endeavor and everything he has ever done.” They said, shrugging as they kept eating and Iida gasped, “How rude! You can’t speak of Todoroki’s father like that when he’s right there!” He said, gesturing to Todoroki who was sitting right across the table from them.

They choked a bit before looking at Todoroki, “He’s your dad?” They asked and he nodded, “Yeah.” He replied, and they nodded for a second, “Okay Endeavor has done one good thing.” They said and Todoroki’s face flushed a light pink, “I have two siblings.” He added, “Are they nice?” They asked and he shrugged, “Yeah I guess.” He replied, “Three good things then.” They said and Uraraka giggled as Todoroki’s face flushed a darker red.

Eventually the bell rang and they all headed back to class. For the rest of the day, Todoroki couldn’t stop thinking about what they said. They thought of him as something good? Him? He couldn’t help but feel warm and happy when they said that. Granted he’s felt like that around them for a while, but it increased tenfold when they said that.

“It’s pretty obvious Todoroki.” Midoriya said one night a month later while they were doing dishes after dinner in the new dorms. He looked at him for a second, “What’s obvious?” He asked as he dried the dish that was handed to him, “That you like Y/n. I mean, the way you look at them when they walk into the room? You look and act like they invented the stars.” Midoriya replied.

“And why are you saying this exactly?” Todoroki asked, ”You should tell them. From the looks of it, they like you too.” He replied, as he scrubbed one of the plates, “And how would I do that?” he asked again and Midoriya shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe just tell them you like them? They don’t seem like the type to like grand gestures or anything so maybe just tell them in person before or after class?” He suggested and Todoroki nodded, “Tell them after class.” He said out loud to himself. Didn’t sound too hard, so why did he feel so nervous?

~~~~

Todoroki was making his way to class. He had slept in a bit later than he intended and now he’s only got a few minutes or so before class starts.

Rushing down the hall, he slowed down before he reached the corner so he didn’t potentially run into anyone, but as he got closer he heard talking. Was that Y/n? His heart raced just at the thought of potentially being able to tell them before class or at least just see them.

But he heard another voice as well, it sounded much deeper. Stopping at the corner and peeking around it, he felt his heart drop into his stomach.

There was Y/n, standing there and talking to a guy with wild purple hair, what was his name again? Shinsou? Yeah that was it.

Maybe they were friends? No, not with how close they were standing, and... and it looks like they’re holding hands. Maybe they were just really close friends? His mind was racing up until he witnessed a scene that left him feeling numb and his mind blank.

Shinsou leaned down and kissed them for a few seconds before pulling away and saying he had to go or he’d be late for class. Y/n went into the classroom as Shinsou walked away in the other direction. Todoroki turned and leaned against the wall.

Even though he felt numb, he could feel his heart shattering into millions of pieces as tears welled up in his eyes. Of course they were taken. How could they not be? Someone as brilliant, breathtaking, and kind as they were of course someone would snatch them up once given the chance.

Realizing class started in about a minute, Todoroki collected himself. Putting on a neutral face, he walked into class. He didn’t spare a glance at Y/n, not wanting to break down, and instead kept his head down slightly as he made his way to his desk.

‘From the looks of it, they like you too.’ Perhaps not.

~~~~~

Once classes ended, Todoroki packed his belongings and left the room immediately, not wanting to risk Y/n coming over to talk to him like they usually did. He practically ran back to the dorms in order to avoid anyone who might ask why he was acting strange.

Rushing into his room, he slammed the door shut and locked it. Dropping his bag onto the floor next to him, he leaned back against the door and slid down until he was sitting on the floor as tears streamed down his face. Choking back a sob, not wanting anyone to hear him, he buried his face in his hands. Stupid, stupid. How stupid he was to think he had a chance. He sat there for what felt like hours, but was actually about ten minutes, crying before forcing himself up off the floor and over to his bed where he sat and grabbed a pillow, burying his face in it to muffle his sobbing. How pathetic was he to be crying over someone who probably didn’t even think about him nearly as often as he thought about them?

It made sense to him now, thinking back on it. All the times they weren’t in the lunchroom, those days they couldn’t hang out with him after school because they already had plans, the way they rushed off after the fight during the sports festival. How could he not have seen it? Was he too distracted by the feeling of butterflies he got around them? That slightly dazed feeling he got whenever they smiled at him? The tingling he felt whenever they touched him? How naive he was to think they could love him when they already loved someone else, to think they could love him at all.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he found himself waking up to someone knocking on his door. His eyes felt puffy and his face felt dry as he rubbed his eyes and sat up. Not once had he forgotten what happened. Part of him didn’t want to open the door because what if it was Y/n? At the same time, however, it could have been someone else. Looking at the time it was currently 6pm, around dinner, had he really slept for three hours?

Another knock sounded at the door, and he got out of bed. Dragging himself over to the door, he unlocked it and opened it abruptly, wanting to just figure out what the person wanted so he could go back to sleep.

Of course, of all the people it could have been, it was Y/n at his door.

“Hey dinner’s done are you- hey what’s wrong?” They asked, worried. He didn’t say anything and just stared at them blankly, “Shouto?” They questioned when he didn’t respond, but so many feelings were swirling around in him. His mind racing as he stared into those eyes he loved so much.

“Shouto-” “I love you.” He blurted and both of them froze. He slapped his hand over his mouth as he realized what he said. They stared at him with wide eyes, not saying a word.

He went to shut his door again, but they stopped him, “Wait.” They said, not letting him shut the door. He stopped, but didn’t look at them.

“Shouto please look at me.” They pleaded, and he did after a few seconds, “I love you too.” They said and he froze again, “You’re dating Shinsou.” He stated bluntly, removing his hand from his mouth, and they nodded, “Yeah, I know, and I talked to him about it this morning. I love both of you. Very much, and I can’t bear losing either of you. So I talked to him, and he said as long as you’re okay with it then I could be with you too. He said if I were to be with anyone else, he’d rather it be you anyway, he trusts you as much as I do.” They explained gently, stepping into his room cautiously before shutting the door.

He took a minute to process what they said. They love him? And want to be with him? He felt those butterflies again just thinking about it.

“Well? Would you be willing?” They asked, nervous. He looked at them for a brief second before nodding causing them to grin, “Come here.” They said, holding their arms out for a hug which he gladly fell into, pulling them as close to him as possible and hugging them tightly causing them to laugh as they peppered the side of his face with kisses.

“Can I kiss you?” He mumbled, his face buried in their shoulder, “Of course you can.” They said, and he pulled back slightly, cupping their face gently before pressing his lips to theirs. He felt his left side start to heat up and had to pull away much sooner than he would have liked to so he didn’t burn them which only made them laugh a bit before kissing his cheek.

“Come on, dinner’s been done for a while and Hitoshi always refuses to eat without me, we don’t want him getting too hungry or he gets rather dramatic.” They said and he smiled as they grabbed his hand and tugged him along out of the room.

Arriving downstairs, they both grab their food from the kitchen before joining the others. Shinsou looked over at them, “It’s about time, I thought I was gonna have to go up there and drag both of you down here.” He said with a lazy smirk, “Hush.” Y/n said, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it before sitting down next to him, Todoroki sitting on their right. Shinsou eyed him for a second, “Did you tell him?” He asked and they smiled, “Perhaps.” They said, leaning into Todoroki’s side, “Finally.” Shinsou said, jokingly rolling his eyes causing Y/n to smack him with the pillow again.

“They’re so cute.” Mina said, watching the three of them, “Yeah...you owe me twenty bucks.” Jirou said, causing Mina to groan as Momo and Uraraka giggled.

[thisaccisdead]

montreal - roman hurt/comfort

pairing: this was written to all be platonic prinxiety, but can definitely be interpreted romantically !

warnings: unconventional self harm, non-graphic descriptions of wounds/injury

summary: a post-POF roman hurt/comfort fic in january 2021? yes <3

word count: 3.2k

notes: large portions of this were salvaged from one (1) night last summer at 4am when i was having a . time. the rest has been mainly recently written before i go to bed, with some extra bits added during my history classes B)) also shout out to [REDACTED]. u may not read this but if u do, i hope u know who u are & ilu

Virgil had been trying to calm himself down for the better part of an hour, as soon as they got back from the wedding fiasco; and he was doing a relatively okay job. Considering the circumstances, at least. Or so he thought, when he registered a spike in Thomas’s anxiety. This only served to make Virgil more anxious, because he had thought he had been doing well—until, he realized it wasn’t anxiety, not exactly, not fully—and it wasn’t coming from him.

Once he'd figured that out, it wasn't hard to trace the feeling to the imagination. He paused at the door. If this was where the strongest negative emotions were coming from, he already knew which side this was about. And could he really be surprised? Roman had wanted that callback for so long. Even at the court case, even when Roman gave Thomas his sentence, Virgil knew it killed him. And Virgil didn't do anything. Because he was so fucking scared of Thomas being bad, or of Janus winning, or something, and now whatever was going on was his fault, and--

And now was not the time for these thoughts. He breathed in. He opened the door.

Immediately, he was coughing out soot, heat burned his cheeks, his eyes blurred with protective tears forming against the smoke. It was hard to see, let alone process, what was happening. Then, he caught sight of the Dragon Witch. And he caught sight of—

“Roman!” Virgil choked on the yell, coughing again.

Obviously Roman couldn’t hear him from the distance, especially considering the brutal roar of the creature. Adrenaline kicked in, and as Virgil began to sprint towards the prince, he took in the entirety of the scene with alarm. Roman was...fighting, sure, except that Virgil had seen him fight before, and this... wasn’t right. Roman bested manticore-chimeras like it was a breeze, he HAD bested the Dragon Witch herself in every form she took, “just for training.” He always moved like he was in a ballet, not a battle, like it was more for show than challenge, and now...

Virgil watched Roman fall to a hard swish of the creature’s tail, and stay there. He almost expected the Dragon Witch to take mercy, or at least, to accept an early victory. But he watched her rear back, raise a taloned hand, the magma-red in her throat glowing brighter and brighter—just as Virgil got close enough to let fight win over flight.

Virgil crashed into Roman; they rolled just far enough that the swipe of claws only ripped the edge of Virgil’s jacket.

Immediate danger out of the way, Virgil clenched his eyes tight, trying to do it how Logan taught him. He found something that didn’t make sense--the grass. The grass was dry, therefore it should have been burning, but it wasn’t. He took that foothold to dispel all the fantastical elements of the scene, Dragon Witch and all her carnage blinking from existence. The new calm of the scene was jarring.

That just left a great big field, Virgil, and one absolute dumbass.

"What the fuck, Princey?!"

Virgil’s voice was distorted with stress, and Roman stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure—even terrified in a way that hurt. Virgil quickly pushed himself up so he wasn't pinning the other. Roman tried to copy this movement, only to groan, start coughing, and fall back again.

“Shit, I—“ Virgil looked at his hands and found red on them, looked at Roman and saw the color painting his chest. “I thought I dispelled all the imaginary stuff, why—?“

“Left brain sides can only dispel so much of what right brain sides feel,” Roman said, voice rough and thin and upsettingly casual, “Since they feel so real to me, you can’t get rid of them.”

“They feel…? Christ, ok, you need a medical kit, uhm—“ Virgil closed his eyes again; he was notoriously shitty at summoning things, and he had to concentrate for this—

“That’s ok; I’ve got it,” Roman said, letting out a quiet hiss as he propped himself up on one arm, and summoned the medical kit with the other, “You can go now.”

Virgil gaped at him in disbelief. When Roman attempted to stand up, and Virgil could no longer deny he wasn’t joking, he exclaimed, “Like Hell am I going, idiot!”

Roman just stared at him, and Virgil cursed under his breath. “Ok ok, let’s just... we should do this in the bathroom, uhm—“

Virgil awkwardly clambered over to Roman again, taking his hand, so he could blink them over together. He knew it would probably be more comfortable for Roman to sink in and out, but considering Virgil wasn’t practiced at that, he wasn’t going to risk screwing it up.

They apparated into the bathtub, and Virgil scrambled up, taking the med kit from Roman's hands.

Ok, ok, now Virgil just had to remember that one time Logan lectured them all on “Side Safety.” He took a shaky breath and washed his hands quickly, before turning back to Roman. He allowed himself to fully assess the prince this time and… Jesus. He was slumped against the back of the tub, having given up his attempts at composure while he thought Virgil wasn’t looking. His litany of scrapes, cuts, bruising, his shallow breathing, and--most of all--the wet, red patch slowly growing on his shirt, sparked renewed panic in Virgil.

“Ok, fuck, ok--let’s do this,” Virgil said, mostly to himself, as he knelt down by Roman to undo his already tattered shirt and take a wet towel to his chest. He had to suck in a breath at the sight of the jagged wound, a nauseous feeling catching up to him.

“You’ve already done a lot, you know,” Roman insisted. “You can--”

“If you tell me to go, Princey, I swear I’ll make these wounds worse myself,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, which he would assume Roman knew--but the way Roman flinched and shut his mouth told a different story. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Of course I didn’t mean that!”

Roman glanced away, and Virgil reached to cup his cheek, an instinct he didn’t know he had. Luckily, he caught himself in time to retract his hand. They both avoided eye contact for a second; Virgil cleared his throat; and he reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide before pausing. He vaguely recalled Logan mentioning how strong alcohols would only cause more harm, and they should just stick to mild soap instead. He gave the cut a longer look-over—it was certainly not a pretty sight, but probably not as bad as it looked. It was large, but not too deep. Plus, as sides, it would heal itself without needing anything like stitches or professional medical work. The past scars littering Roman’s body were proof of that. Actually--had he always had this many scars? Virgil squinted. How often did he do this?

Virgil finished cleansing and bandaging the wound to the best of his ability, with little talk beyond the occasional, soft “sorry” at Roman’s winces. When he had finished, he gave Roman his hoodie (an action the Prince was too tired to take much notice of), since summoning a new shirt seemed like a waste of whatever energy he had left.

“Ok, Princey, all done. Uhm, are you—how, how are you?” Virgil mentally kicked himself.

A small, bitter smile tugged at Roman’s lips for just a moment. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and finally shrugged. “Thank you for your help.”

It hurt, Virgil realized. Roman’s quiet voice, where near-shouting was his usual speech. His unkempt hair sticking to his forehead, where it was usually styled to be very lightly and intentionally ruffled. The bags beneath his eyes where there was usually concealer. All of it hurt.

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m being annoying, but I hope you know there’s absolutely no way I’m leaving yet.”

“Virgil,” Roman almost said it as a whine, which was closer to his usual style, so Virgil considered it progress.

“Roman,” Virgil deadpanned back.

Roman huffed. “Maybe I need space to really explore my feelings, and you’re actually being a terrible friend right now,” he argued.

“Uh-huh, well being a terrible friend is always my favorite, so,” Virgil leaned down, fumbling slightly as he picked Roman up bridal style, “We’re gonna get you to bed, and you can explore your feelings by sleeping.”

“Great, now you’re damsel-in-distressing me,” Roman said sarcastically, but he leaned his head into Virgil’s chest as he did so, which kind of ruined his point.

“Yeah, yeah. Act more like Megara next time, and maybe it’ll be different.”

•••

Roman groaned upon waking up. His whole body ached, but mainly it was focused around a sharper pain in his chest. He let his eyes flutter open, only to find Virgil staring at him from his desk.

“Ah,” Roman uttered, a jumble of memories from the past few hours returning. They felt foggy and mildly icky, but mainly the pain in them was the numb kind of pain, the tired kind. Really, it was indistinguishable from the dull ache of his bruises and cuts.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, as though he understood, even though he couldn’t possibly. “Uh, wanna talk about it?”

It was clear Virgil felt awkward asking the question. It was unclear whether that was due to his tendency to be embarrassed by everything he said, or—far more likely—that he wanted to stop babying a stupid prince, and just go about his business.

Roman sat up, suppressing a wince as best he could. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Of course I do.” Virgil said it without an ounce of hesitation. Roman’s breath caught.

“Oh.” Roman shifted slightly over, and Virgil took a seat by him on the bed. “Okay. Uhm. I don’t know, I just—I messed up.” What else was new?

“...What did you mess up?” Virgil asked, with an inkling of suspicion, like he knew what this was about. But it wasn’t that; it wasn’t the callback—that was over and done and dead. Roman had created so many fantasies, so many crazy scenarios where they could somehow still make it in that stupid movie, and it had always filled him with hope or crushing pain or something, but as of this afternoon? He didn’t even care. It didn’t matter.

So, Roman ignored the question, and instead commented, “Janus got accepted.”

“What the fuck.”

Roman observed Virgil’s stricken expression like an unsettling kind of mirror of himself when—

My name is Janus.

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, “I didn’t take it so well either.”

Virgil looked at him for a long moment, seeming to go through several series of emotions, before he was able to ask, “...What happened?”

Roman inhaled sharply. “I was wrong about being wrong about the wedding. Patton was also wrong; Janus was right, and then Patton was right because he wasn’t a total asshole to Janus, and I’m evil; Thomas hates me; whatever, you get it.”

He thought he would break down, saying it, but he felt oddly… fine. He sat, staring at the same spot as he was before, absentmindedly annoyed at the way his bandages itched. The normalcy of the situation almost made it worse. This sucked. This wasn’t even bad.This was the worst he had ever felt.

“Oook,” Virgil said, clearly not knowing where to start, “I—you—what do you mean: Thomas hates you?”

“Thought that one was self-explanatory.”

“He can’t hate you,” Virgil said with a laughable amount of conviction. “You’re still his… y’know.. goals. Desires. Hopes. Whatever. Just because this one didn’t go… perfectly, doesn’t mean you won’t keep—“ he struggled to find the phrasing for a moment— “...fighting, uh, valiantly for Thomas’s dreams!” he attempted at the encouragement with a weak smile.

Roman just shook his head. “No. I don’t know what he wants.”

Virgil’s smile dropped into confusion. “But… you are his wants.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”

Virgil seemed at a loss, and Roman felt like an asshole. Here he was trying to help him, and Roman couldn’t even be bothered to put on a smile to dismiss him from the duty.

“Please go,” Roman attempted weakly when he couldn’t find a more convincing argument in himself. He was meant to be an actor, but he knew he couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted him to stay, of course he did, so badly. He hoped Virgil would just quit with the chivalry and go despite that.

Virgil sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I'm going about this all wrong.”

Roman knew it probably wasn’t really him Virgil was mad at, but it was hard not to shrink away anyway.

“Look, Roman—“ Virgil turned to him, looked at him seriously, took his hands in his— “To be honest? I don’t care what happened. I don’t care who was right or wrong—I mean, we all know I’ve been in the wrong more than my fair share. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Roman didn’t miss the ambiguity of the end statement. “But… look, you don’t get it. When you mess up, you’re still you. You’re still...,” Roman gestured vaguely, which upset his bandages, and when he looked down at himself, he took note of the black/purple hoodie he was wearing. He melted slightly. This was exactly the point he was trying to make, “You’re still... y’know. Important.”

“Wh—? Of course you’re important, Ro. You’re creativity—“

“Thomas has two of those.”

Virgil looked at him like he was stupid. “Right, as if you’re anything like Remus.”

Roman’s lip quivered at that, and he had to look away, which was so stupid. And suddenly he felt all of the embarrassment at once—of this situation, of everything that had happened before, of the way he was about to cry, in front of Virgil, after he said that, which must look so—

“Roman?”

A hand was on his cheek, softly turning his face towards Virgil’s, though Roman still refused to meet his eyes.

Virgil cursed to himself under his breath. “Shit, this is exactly what I was trying not to say.” He sighed, and Roman hesitantly looked up at him. “Look. Even if you weren’t creativity, if you weren’t hopes or dreams or any of it—if you were a completely pointless side, which you aren’t, but if you were—I wouldn’t care. What I care about is that you’re... Roman. That you bother me until I sing Disney with you, that when you put your heart into something, you do it to a stupid amount, that you make Thomas take trashy buzzfeed soulmate quizzes when he’s stressed, and that you fucking try so hard for everything, even when I’m being a little bitch about it,” he paused. With the hand on Roman’s cheek, he traced the line of a scar down his jaw. It was one of the ones Roman usually made sure to put an illusion over, he noted offhandedly. “I care, because you’re my best friend.”

“Don’t say that,” Roman choked out. He couldn’t handle it if it was a lie, and part of him couldn’t manage hearing it as anything but exactly that. “Just—just—“

“Oh, Princey..”

Virgil held him as he broke. Roman didn’t know how long they sat like that as he let everything wash over him for a final time, let it all truly sink in at long last. He took heaving, messy sobs, no doubt ruining Virgil’s shirt in the process—he was quiet, though. He shook silently, save a couple choked breaths, in the other’s arms--that was a habit he had taught himself long ago.

When Roman had tired himself out, when all that was left was the pain in chest, (which was also suddenly duller—he was healing fast, even for a side—) he pulled back from the embrace. Virgil didn’t move by much, kept them so their fingers were laced together, as they sat staring at each other.

“Uhm. Thanks,” Roman gave a shaky smile, “You really—uh... I... I said some stupid stuff, huh?”

Virgil hesitated before he spoke, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask this right now, but needed to anyway. “...Roman, why’d you go to the Imagination?”

Roman felt ice stab at his chest upon the question. He didn’t want to do this. They had already talked about so much that he shouldn’t have gotten into; this was meant to be the part where they either parted or watched a stupid movie. And this, out of everything, was the conversation he most needed to avoid.

“Uh—I mean, to let off steam?” Roman gave a laugh as best he could. “Obviously, it didn’t go to plan—“

“Didn’t it?”

Roman’s face fell immediately. He struggled to come up with an answer, and even if he had had one, he didn’t think the sound would come out. This was enough of an answer in itself

“Shit,” Virgil breathed. Roman couldn’t help but be mildly annoyed by his surprise—clearly he had already known, he didn’t have to make it a big deal now.

“I… Princey—Roman…” Virgil looked him up and down, and Roman wanted to curl up and hide. “...how many times?”

“Not many,” Roman mumbled. Virgil must have known he was pushing the subject too far, because he just frowned and said,

“OK. I mean...it’s not OK, obviously, but you already know that, I just—“ he sighed. “Just… can you talk to me? Instead? Please? When you feel like… that.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Roman responded hastily, wanting an out from this topic.

Virgil gave him a look. “I’m serious. I mean—look, you don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want. Just, come to me first, yeah?”

Roman’s face burned; he was embarrassed; he wanted to shrug this whole thing off, or roll his eyes, or maybe scream in annoyance. But the rational part of him knew Virgil was right. “OK,” he agreed softly, “...Thanks. For everything.”

Virgil looked surprised, and then flustered, and then waved off the earnest reply. “I mean, it wasn’t--I didn’t--it’s not like I did anything really--”

“You did.”

Virgil’s face softened. “Yeah, well... you’d’ve done the same for me. You... have done the same for me.”

Roman smiled gently at him. “By the way, Virge--” He hesitated. He was about to sound like a real dumbass if Virgil had only been saying this stuff for comfort’s sake. But making a fool of himself was becoming a theme for him anyway, so he continued, “You’re my best friend too.”

I love you.

In the same beats Roman thought it, Virgil squeezed his hand lightly 3 times. A breath passed between them. An understanding. That Roman couldn’t say it out loud, and Virgil wouldn’t.

Instead, Virgil fell back across the bed, bringing Roman with him in the motion. Roman let out a startled gasp and elbowed him lightly. “Hey! I’m injured, that could have been a fatal impact for me!” he whined.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah, OK. So, do you wanna watch a stupid movie, or what?”

[iwillbeinmynest]

Safer Behind It - Newt x Reader(f)

Authors Notes: Well here it is my first Maze Runner fic! Hopefully y'all like it, or at least don’t hate it. This is based on moments from The Scorch Trials (book). Bold words are direct quotes from the book. I do not take any credit for Dashner’s work.

Word Count: 1.7k

Notes/Warnings: mentions of injuries, mentions of violence, mentions of trauma (from the maze), some fluff and angst if you look hard enough.

Masterlist

 Jorge found them after the lightning storm. Eleven new faces in the building on the outskirts of town. You listened as Jorge gave them the rundown of how things were going to go. When he called for the rest of you, you followed Brenda close.

You and Brenda hadn’t known each other too long but she was good and you trusted Jorge more than anything.

One of the new kids- a boy with dark hair- asked for a few minutes with Jorge.

“Me and you,” The kid begged. He stood over another boy who looked like he had been fried by lightning. Maybe he had, that storm was brutal.

“Ten minutes. Alone. That’s all I ask.” He went on.

You were surprised when Jorge agreed. He must have seen something in the kid you didn’t.

He told you and the others to watch this new group and to kill them if they made any moves. You knew he was being dramatic, adding the threat of death to remind the other Cranks behind you that he was in charge.

One of the boys you were supposed to be watching caught your eye. He was blonde and thin. He had a limp - you’d noticed it as he walked over and checked on the others in his group.

Brenda caught you staring at him. “Careful, Y/N.” She said quietly so the Cranks couldn’t hear her.

You rolled your eyes. “I can handle myself.”

“He’s not gonna like it if you don’t keep up the facade.”

“What’s he gonna do, have you run me through?” You tested.

You saw the twitch of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. “Just don’t be stupid.”

 You tugged up on the thin, tan, scarf that covered your nose and mouth. You didn’t like it to be down.

You walked over to the limping boy. You say boy, but really he was near your age if not a bit older. “You need to sit down,” you told him.

He looked at you carefully. “I’m just making sure these guys are alright.”

His voice sounded funny but you kinda liked it.

“I’m not going to ask again.” you drew the makeshift dagger you had from where it usually was sheathed at your lower back.

 He sighed but sat on the hard concrete next to the fried boy. He pulled a knee to his chest and mumbled, “Bloody shank girl.”

You smirked at that.

“What’s your name?” You asked him.

He looked up at you and there was no hiding the annoyance in his eyes. “Newt.”

“Newt?” You almost laughed. “Like the lizard?”

The boy next to him chuckled.

“No.” Newt huffed. “Like Issac Newton.”

 “I think I like my reason better, lizard boy.”

“Hey!” One of the Cranks behind you caught your attention. It was an older man, you didn’t know his name but you knew you didn’t like him. “What are you talkin’ so much about?”

“None of your business, old man.” You turned to him and left no room for him to think you might be afraid of him, which you weren’t.

“Back off, Murph.” Brenda said calmly as she whacked the flat side of her machete on his chest. “Let her have some fun before we rip them to shreds.”

It seemed to tide him over and he walked away but not before he stared you down again.

You rolled your eyes when his back was turned and exhaled a silent groan. You looked to Brenda.

She had her eyebrows raised and was clearly waiting for you to say,

“Thank you.” You muttered.

“Mhm.” She grinned. You knew she’d never say it out loud but she was starting you like having you around.

You turned back to Newt and crouched down, your sharpened letter opener gripped tightly in your hand. “So, tell me, Newt, What brings you out into the Scorch?”

“Don’t tell her klunk, dude.” The burnt boy said with spunk.

“I bet you’re the fun one.” You teased him, “You look like garbage. What happened to you?”

“He got struck by lightning,” Newt answered, “Or close to it anyways.”

“Yikes.” You responded. You’d been right.

“Didn’t even hurt.” He lied.

“Shuck off, Minho. You’re not fooling anyone.” Newt rolled his eyes.

“Screw you, man.” Minho all but pouted.

 “Why do you cover your face?” Newt asked, ignoring his friend. “No sun in here.”

You paused but tried to cover it and said, “So you don’t get distracted by how pretty I am.”

He smirked at that.

He had a nice smile. It lit up his eyes.

You stood up quickly and walked back to Brenda. Why did you care what his smile was like?

“You good?” She asked low again.

“Fine.” You lied. Actually you were scared by how much you were starting to like Newt. No sense in hurting yourself by getting attached.

Jorge and the dark haired boy reappeared from down the back hall.

Jorge told everyone that he, Brenda and yourself were going to take these few to get some food and that you’d all meet back up at the tower.

You didn’t know what he was planning but it had to be something, because he was putting on quite a show. He mentioned cutting off Minho’s fingers for punching him earlier and you honestly thought he might be serious about that part.

The other Cranks left and you walked behind Brenda as she led the way to the tunnels where you had hid the stash of food.

You helped pass out cans of food and watched as Brenda sat by Thomas - you’d recently learned his name.

You looked around, wondering where to settle amongst these new boys and found Newt looking at you.

“Here goes nothin’” you muttered to yourself beneath your mask.

You made your way over and sat against the wall beside him.

“Enjoying the meal?” You asked. He sure looked like he was.

He nodded, mouth full of cold beans.

“When was the last time you ate?” You realized that he, and everyone else that he’d come with, were eating like they’d been starved.

“Not but a few days ago,” He said when he’d finally swallowed. “But we were out in that bloody heat for so long.” His eyes stared into nothing for a moment and you could tell he was reliving something awful.

“How long were you actually out there?”

“Three, four, five days,” he asked himself. “I’m not sure.”

“Where did you come from?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” He returned to the present and out of the bad memories he’d been replaying. You watched him plaster on a smirk.

There was that smile again. You were glad your cheeks were covered because you were pretty sure you were blushing.

“Do I get to ask you any?”

You nodded, “Sure.”

“Why do you wear that over your face?” He repeated.

“Why do you care?”

His head ticked to the side. You’d asked another question.

You relented. “I already told you.”

“But we both know that wasn’t the truth.” He said before taking another bite.

You sombered and sighed. You were trying to find the words.

“I only partly lied.” You finally said.

 Newt stopped eating and shocked you with what he said next. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business if you don’t want to talk about it.”

It was so...considerate of him to say that. It had been a long time since anyone other that Jorge was considerate to you. Even Brenda was harsh when you’d met her and she still makes comments about it.

The look in your eyes must have revealed something to him.

“You really don’t have to tell me.”

For some reason you did, though. Maybe it was his soft voice, maybe it was the random kindness he’d displayed, but suddenly, you wanted to show him. Almost like a test to see if he was genuinely kind at heart.

You slipped your index finger under the cloth near your nose but before you pulled it down you said, “Just...brace yourself.”

You pulled the mask down below your chin, revealing the angry red scar that ran from your upper lip, just below your nose, all the way to your ear, which had a notch missing from it.

Newt barely flinched. He just looked at you.

Your scar had healed thick which made it distort your lip slightly.

“When I was first sent here, after finding out I had the Flare, a crank attacked me with a shard of glass. He got me pretty good but Jorge was there and he saved me. He couldn’t do much to make me look better, though.” You pulled your mask back up. “Most people just stare at it, instead of me. So, I cover it up.”

“You shouldn’t.” He offered a hint of a smile as he switched to his second can of food. “Nothing wrong with the way you look.”

You sat stunned.

“I broke my leg in three places. That’s why I have a limp. Do you only see the limp when you look at me?” He asked.

You shook your head, unable to think of anything to say.

He shrugged his shoulders. “See?”

 You bit down a smile that threatened to spread across your mouth. Good thing your mask was on.

“I’m sorry I called you lizard boy.” You felt bad for teasing him, now.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been called worse.”

The two of you sat in silence for a short while. Then, you wondered something.

“What’s a shank?”

He chuckled, “Just something we say. Why?”

“Back in the building you called me a ‘bloody shank girl’.”

His cheeks flushed and he stared down at the can he was eating from. “Sorry.”

“So, shank isn’t nice then?”

“Depends…” He smirked, almost embarrassed he’d said that about you.

“And here I thought you were soft.”

He looked at you. “Nope, just wrong on occasion.”

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” You suddenly realized you’d never told him your name and now you wanted him to know it. To say it.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He paused a moment before adding, “ I have a feeling I won’t regret it.” He glanced over at you again.

“You won’t.” You promised.

 *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

TMR Tags: 

@mo320 

[actress4him]

Bonus Whumptober Content

I had no plans originally of continuing the story from Whumptober Day 28. As far as I was concerned, it ended badly and that was that.

But you can all thank @outtacommission , because I was bribed into continuing it!

If you need a refresher on the original chapter, click the link above or read it on AO3.

This is the start of the new content, which ended up being super long, so I broke it up into three short chapters. I’m really excited and nervous to share this. Writing sequels for oneshots that weren’t originally supposed to be continued is...tough. This is the second time I’ve done it, and I always feel like the continuation isn’t as good as the original. But I’m pretty happy with how this turned out, so I hope that you guys enjoy it, too!

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Warnings: (big spoilers!) needles, implied CPR, broken bones, blood, brain damage, paralysis, amputation, panic attacks

.

“Quiznak. Oh, holy quiznak, Keith?”

.

“He’s not breathing. I’ve got no pulse.”

.

“Hold him steady, I’m cutting the back of this chair off so we can get to the shrapnel.”

.

“Come on, Keith. Breathe. Breathe!”

.

“Look, I found this in Red’s first aid kit. I’m a universal donor.”

“Get it hooked up, he needs everything we can give him.”

.

“Please, Keith. Please.”

.

“Shiro, his ribs…”

“I know. They’ll heal.”

.

“Wait! Look!”

“Oh my g-...okay. Okay. Hurry, let’s get him to the Black Lion. I’ll need you to ride with him so you can keep up the transfusion.”

“Right behind you.”

.

.

Consciousness came in spurts. The first time, he surfaced from the never-ending blackness to nothing but cold and pain, and the feeling that his insides were twisted into a big knot and trying their best to exit his body. As he retched, body automatically jerking to try to sit up or roll over and sending even more pain shooting through him, frantic voices surrounded him.

“...reaction...blood…!”

“But...O neg...shouldn’t…”

Somebody scooped him up like a baby and ran, jarring his screaming abdomen with every step, before depositing him onto a semi-soft surface.

“...Galra…”

“...sample...synthesize more…”

The words meant nothing to him. All he knew was pain and nausea, and a blur of lights and movement above him.

Just before he passed out again, there was a sharp prick in his forearm that momentarily drew his attention away from the rest of the pain. He couldn’t find the energy to protest it.

.

.

The second time, voices were the first to filter in, hushed tones that sounded as if they were speaking a foreign language. His eyes fluttered open, but the bright lights overhead made him wince and squeeze them back shut. 

“You’re okay,” someone soothed, the only words he could actually pick out from among the rest. “You’ll be just fine. Go back to sleep, now.”

There was a prick on the back of his hand, and he whimpered involuntarily. But a moment later the nothingness was taking back over, and he gladly slipped underneath.

.

.

The next time he woke, he had no recollection of the first two times, or of anything that happened before, but for some reason he was surprised to be waking up. Somehow, he didn’t think he was going to do so. But here he was, awake. Only, he had no idea where here was.

“Keith? Bud? You with us?”

He knew that voice. Turning his head toward it, he willed his eyes to open, and after a moment, they obeyed. A blur of yellow and brown met him. 

“Hey, bud! It’s good to see those eyes open. Can you hear me?”

Keith blinked, trying to bring the person into focus. Once their features had solidified enough that he could make out dark brown eyes and a smile, he licked his chapped lips and attempted to speak. 

“Hunk.” For some reason the N dragged on for much longer than he had intended, but it was a word, regardless.

“Yeah! That’s me! Oh my gosh, you have no idea how happy I am that you’re awake and okay.”

How long had he been asleep? It must have been a while for Hunk to be worried. And he was pretty sure he felt okay, though maybe a bit numb overall. Maybe he really had been asleep for a long time. It kinda felt like he was waking up after one of those naps you take while you’re sick and your fever breaks in the middle of it.

He licked his lips again, to no avail. “‘hirsty.”

“Yep, yep, I’m sure you are.” Hunk turned and snatched something up off a nearby table, bringing it toward Keith’s face. “Here ya go. Small sips.”

The water was the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted in his life. He wanted to gulp it all down, ignoring what he had been told, but Hunk pulled it away after only a couple of seconds. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go get Shiro and Fallenta and let them know you’re awake, alright? I’ll be right back.”

Keith struggled to process that sentence. He didn’t think he recognized one of those names, and he still couldn’t figure out why him being awake was such a big deal. Unless...he had gotten hurt in one of their fights. But then why wouldn’t he be waking up from the pod, not in whatever bed this was?

“Wha...happened?” His words continued to come out strangely, despite his best efforts. Maybe he had been sleeping on his face, because it was one of those numb parts of him that didn’t seem to want to move properly.

Hunk froze at the doorway, turning slowly to face him. “Um...what do you remember?”

It was a good question. Wrinkling his brow, he searched his still half-dazed mind, trying and failing to grasp at the snippets of memories that danced by. It didn’t take long for his head to start hurting, and he shut his eyes, giving up for the moment. “Don’t know. A fight?” He had a vague recollection of being in Red recently. “In the Lions?”

“Um, yeah, well, that’s...one thing that happened.” Hunk seemed nervous, fidgeting with his hands. “I’m gonna go, um, get the others, and they can tell you everything, ‘kay?” Without giving Keith a chance to protest, he disappeared through the door.

Keith sighed, and tested out various parts of his body. Other than most of his right side being curiously numb, and an almost unnoticeable ache in a couple more places, everything seemed to be working properly. He had been in Red right before waking up there...right? Maybe she could tell him what was going on.

Only when he closed his eyes and reached for their connection, he came up empty. There was nothing there. No hum, no purr, nothing. His heart leapt into his throat. Red! Red, where are you? What if something had happened to her? What if she was gone? What if he had done something to make her reject him, and he wasn’t even a paladin anymore, what if that’s what Hunk didn’t want to tell him? If he wasn’t a paladin anymore, then he’d...he’d be nothing. Useless. There would be absolutely no reason for him to be in the Castle anymore, in space at all. The other paladins would take him back to Earth and dump him off, and he’d have no one and nothing yet again.

The door opened, and Keith shot upright, ignoring the way it made his head swim and that ache in his ribs twinge. “I can’t feel Red! I can’t...what happened? Where’s Red?”

“Hey! Hey, shh, Keith, it’s okay!” Shiro was across the room in an instant, sitting down on the side of the bed and grasping Keith’s shoulders in both his hands. “I need you to calm down for me, okay? I’ll explain, but I need you to take deep breaths.”

Drawing in one such breath to appease the man, Keith glanced around the room, taking in Hunk’s worried expression and the alien stranger that stood on the other side of his bed. “Somebody please just tell me what's going on.” The words were still slurred, which was getting more frustrating by the second. “Why’m I here?”

He hated the look that Shiro shot up at the alien before catching his eyes again. They were treating him like a fragile child. Even when he was a child, he had gotten more bad news in his few years than most adults did in their whole lives, so it wasn’t like he didn’t always expect more. 

“You were in an accident,” Shiro finally explained, still speaking far too slowly and softly. “You and Red got hit with a zaiforge cannon and crashed into a nearby planet. Do you remember?”

Keith already knew he didn’t, so he wasn’t going to waste time searching his memory when he still wanted answers. “Where’s Red? Is she okay?”

Offering a sympathetic smile, Shiro squeezed his shoulder with his flesh hand. “She’s in rough shape. All her systems are shut down right now. But Pidge and Coran and Hunk have been working on her, and they’re optimistic that everything can be fixed. With time.”

Letting all his breath out with a whoosh, Keith slumped over forward. It was simultaneous good news and bad news. Red hadn’t rejected him, or at least he didn’t think so. But he hated that she was so badly hurt. “I wanna see her.”

Shiro’s smile twitched up a little higher. “I know. But first, we need to check on you. You’ve been unconscious for quite a while. Everything seems to have healed up alright, but there were some things that couldn’t be tested while you were out.”

As if this was their cue, the alien - an objectively pretty, willowy creature with mauve fur, four long, thin arms, and a myriad of long, thin fingers on each hand - stepped forward. Their voice was light and feminine, and had a lilting accent that reminded him of Lance when he fell into his native tongue.

“I am going to give you some simple instructions to follow, okay?”

Keith frowned. “Who ‘re you?”

“Oh, yes, right.” Shiro indicated the newcomer with one hand. “This is Fallenta. She’s a Tellimite. They’re one of the most medically advanced species in the universe. We wanted to make sure you had the best care possible, so Allura brought us to Tellima as soon as we had you in the pod. Fallenta has been...indispensable.”

His explanation only caused Keith more confusion. If he had been in a pod, then why did he need a doctor? And again, why was he in some bed now? 

Seeming to sense his questions, Fallenta smiled and settled down opposite Shiro. “There were some...complications from your injuries. Coran and Shiro made the right call by placing you into a healing pod right away, knowing that it was the only way to save your life, but that meant that your bones that were broken could not be reset before healing. One of my jobs was to correct this once your abdomen wound was no longer life threatening.”

“Yes, you actually had two different stints in the pod,” Shiro nodded. His brow furrowed. “Well, three, if you count the time that your body rejected the blood Pidge had given you and started trying to shut down. Thankfully, Coran had those samples he took from all of us at the beginning, and was able to synthesize some more of yours.”

Keith couldn’t stand the troubled expression on Shiro’s face, especially since he had been the one to put it there. Lifting his left arm, he gently squeezed his brother’s elbow. “I’m okay now.”

Shiro smiled, but there was a sheen to his eyes. “You have no idea how relieved I am about that.”

“Your cognition seems to be just fine,” Fallenta said, “and losing memory of the traumatic event is not uncommon. There are a few other things I need to check, though.”

She spent the next few minutes shining a flashlight into his eyes, asking him some questions about things that happened prior to the accident, getting him to remember a short list of objects, and observing his reactions to various movements and sounds. All of it led Keith to believe that it was his brain being tested, and it made him nervous. No one would tell him anything else, though, simply repeating that they would explain everything shortly.

It seemed to be going well, though, and everyone was smiling and calm, so he tried not to let it get to him. Until Fallenta moved on to testing sensations. She started on his left arm, lightly touching it with her finger, then poking her claw into his skin, then digging in her knuckle. Everything felt like it should.

“Alright, the right arm, now.” She smiled at him and held his gaze, but after a moment of nothing further happening, her smile faded into a neutral expression. Another moment, and he was wondering why she hadn’t done the test yet. 

“Do you feel any of this, Keith?”

“What?” He looked down, and her finger was on his forearm. As he watched, she moved it up and down his arm, tapping lightly. He swallowed hard. “It's...it's been really numb e’er since I woke up. My face an’ leg, too.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shiro stiffen. “What does that mean?”

Fallenta smiled again, and as nice of a smile as it was, he was beginning to hate it. “Let’s complete the tests, and I will be able to tell you more. Can you feel this?” 

This time he watched as she pricked him with her claw, and to his relief, there was a faint jolt of pain. “A little. It's muted, though.”

“That’s good. And this?” She used her knuckle that time, and again, the pressure was faint.

“Same. What's wrong with my arm?” he demanded, glaring first at her, then Shiro. “Why can’t I talk right?”

“Have patience -”

“No!” Keith yanked his arm away from her with far more effort than should have been required. “I'm out of patience! Tell me what's wrong!”

Shiro put a hand on Fallenta’s shoulder, nodded at her, then reached forward and took Keith’s hand. “When we found you…” He paused, his jaw clenching and eyes flicking away for a split second before he seemed to steel himself to continue. “Your heart had stopped. It’s impossible to say how long you had been like that. I was able to get it started again, but it took a few minutes. So your brain…” Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out in a sigh. “It was without oxygen for several minutes, at the least. Brain damage has been a concern from the very start. When I said you have no idea how relieved I am that you’re okay...it was possible that you wouldn’t ever wake up. Or if you did, that you wouldn’t be able to function at all.” An errant tear slipped out, and he dashed it away with his metal hand. “But you’re here. You’re awake, and you can speak and think and...and it’s gonna be okay. I promise, it’s gonna be okay.”

Brain damage? The words hit him like a blow to the chest. That meant his arm...his face...they weren’t just numb, they were...they were…

He ripped his hand from Shiro’s grip. “How can you say it's gonna be okay? Do you hear me? I soun’ stupid! An’ my arm...how’m I supposed to fight an’ fly if I can barely move my arm?”

“But you still have some movement and sensation,” Fallenta broke in. “That is very good news. It means that, with physical therapy, you can regain even more use. You can even have speech therapy to help you build up your facial muscles.”

“Speech therapy?” He almost laughed at that. “We’re in the middle of a war, we don’ have time for speech therapy!”

Shiro’s hand landed on his leg. “We’ll make it work, Keith.”

“No. No.” He shook his head harshly. “Get off. Get off me, I need...” Flailing his one good hand toward Shiro and Fallenta, he gritted his teeth against the tears that wanted to fall. The weight on either side of the bed moved as the two of them stood. “I need some air. I need...” Red, that’s what he needed. He reached for the corner of the blanket that covered his legs. “I’m gonna -”

“Keith, wait!”

Shiro and Hunk both lunged, but it was too late. He had already flipped the blanket to the side, revealing what lay underneath.

Or rather, what didn’t lay underneath.

He was gonna be sick.

His leg. It was…it was missing from the knee down.

Keith screamed.

The next minutes or hours were a blur of tears and pain in his chest and breaths that wouldn’t come. He vaguely recalled Shiro being in front of him, his lips moving but no sound coming out. He vaguely recalled thrashing and slamming his head into the wall behind him. 

After that, though, the nothingness took back over.

Next

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Healer

A/N: OKAY. SO. It has been a while since I posted, I know that and I apologise for it. I’ll not lie, I’ve just been struggling with writer’s block and my mental wellbeing and then j*k*r really did ruin things. However, I am here to say that I do not agree with one damn thing that woman has said recently - trans lives matters, black lives matter. She had some nerve doing that through Pride month. ALSO, the requests in my inbox - I see them, I know they are there, I have started writing some of them but please see the second sentence as to why they haven't been completed. Love you all, feel free to talk to me any time about anything - I am here for you all. 

Summary: An injury takes you to St Mungo’s where you run into a familiar face. (post Hogwarts).

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Request: nope

Warnings: mentions of injuries, blood, hospitals 

Word count: 1.3k

The absolute last thing you expected today was to be sat in the waiting area of the Emergency Department of St. Mungo’s.

You glare at the wound in your hand, placing the blame of this situation on the toolkit back at your flat. You had assured your father that of course you could put up a bookshelf, you were an independent woman with your own flat, flat pack was no issue.

Your father laughed down the phone when you told him where you were. He did ask if you wanted him to meet you there once you were patched up – after his laughter had subsided. You turned him down; you got there on your own, you would leave on your own.

After being triaged, you were sent back to the waiting area. The bleeding had subsided, and the healers were not yet worried about signs of infection. If the wound was smaller, you could have healed it yourself, but the minute you could stomach to look at your hand, you knew that a trip to St Mungo’s was needed.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)? The Healer will see you now, please head to curtain area three.” The nurse at triage calls. You smile thankfully at her as you pass her heading towards the curtain area.

You take a seat on the stretcher in the room, feeling somewhat relieved that your hand was finally being looked at. The painkillers given to you at triage were starting to wear off and your hand was beginning to burn again. Tears prick at your eyes at the feeling, you willed them away, you did not need the Healer to see you cry.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)? Why is that a name I recognise?” A familiar voice sounds as the curtain is pulled back to reveal your healer.

Draco Malfoy.

He smiles as he finally places a face to the name on his chart. “(Y/N), how can I help you today?”

You throat is a little dry as you reply, “I cut my hand building a bookshelf. The cut is pretty deep, I didn’t want to heal it myself.”

Draco nods as looks at the tea towel wrapped around your hand. He grabs a wheeled stool from the corner and sits in front of you.

He points at your hand, that you’ve cradled to your chest, “May I?”

“Of course.” You hold your hand out to him, watching as he carefully unwraps the tea towel. You look away though as he starts to assess your wound, asking questions occasionally about whether you could feel this or that.

It’s a few minutes before he pulls away.

“Is it bad?” You ask, focusing your attention on the wall behind Draco.

“Well. You’ve done a number on your hand, it’s probably going to scar, but the good news is I can heal it.”

You sigh in relief, “That is good news.”

Draco stands, “Did you have any help building the bookshelf?”

“Nope, my dad offered but I turned him down. Told him I could do it all on my own.”

“I’d suggest asking someone for help next time. I seem to remember you were clumsy when we were at school.”

You can feel yourself flush, “I wasn’t that clumsy. I didn’t even realise that you took notice of me.”

Draco rubs a hand over the back of his neck, “Yeah, it was pretty hard not to. You were always caught up in a book, so much so that I am sure half of your accidents were book related.”

You laugh, “You’re probably right, but reading that much has served me well.”

“Oh?”

You nod, “Yeah, I’m now a published author both in the wizarding world and the muggle world.”

Draco smiles at you, “I knew you would do well.”

You smile back at him, “Look at you though! Healer Malfoy.”

Draco has the audacity to blush, “I really love it. Decided on it after my final year of Hogwarts, became a fully qualified Healer two years ago.”

“That is really great, I am so happy for you, Draco. Truly, I am.”

He ducks his head, “Thank you, that means a lot. Shall we get on with healing your hand now?”

You gasp, looking down at your hand, biting your lip, “I didn’t realise, I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’m enjoying myself,” He grabs his wand,  “Okay, this may hurt but I’m only numbing it before I start to heal it.”

You nod. Draco takes that as confirmation to start.

He was right, it did hurt somewhat in the beginning, but the pain soon faded as the numbing spell started to work.

“Is that better?” Draco asks.

“Lots.”

“Perfect. I’m now going to heal your hand – you can watch if you want but it’ll be over in a moment.”

“Okay.”

You decide to not watch him heal your hand, but rather stare at the wall behind his shoulder and focus on his touch. It was so gentle. Draco at Hogwarts had seemed so rough; there really wasn’t anyone he was truly close to, that he could confide to. It created an aura around him that seemed impenetrable. His profession as a Healer shocked you, but as you talked you could see how much it suited him. He was a natural born healer, and it was obvious how much he loved his job.

“All done,” He murmurs, not even five minutes later, “You can look at your hand now.”

And you do. There in the centre of your palm is a light pink scar; the only memory of the dreaded accident with the bookshelf. You close your hand into a fist, marvelling at the fact that there was no pain. Though, that could also be linked to the remainders of the numbing spell.

You hop off the stretcher, “Thank you, Draco.”

He holds the curtain open for you, “It’s not a problem.”

Draco walks you back to triage where he places your chart in the discharge box. “Are you going to try again with the bookshelf?”

You huff at the glimmer of humour in his eye, “That’s my plan.”

He leans against the counter, “I finish here in a couple of hours. Would you like some help?”

The nurse sitting at the triage desk pauses in her work, her attention now wholly on the conversation taking place between you and Draco. For the nurse, this was news. She had set him up on date after date after date, and nothing worked – nothing had lasted long. This was something.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to, you’ll have just finished work, you’ll probably want to crash and sleep.”

“No, I want to. I can sweeten the deal if you like?”

You raise your eyebrow in question. The nurse has now moved so she is completely enthralled in this conversation.

“How about this,” Draco starts, “I finish work here. I grab takeout, I come over and help build your bookshelf as we catch up.”

You bite your lip, nodding. “Let’s do that. It’s a win-win situation for me.”

“Oh? How is that? He asks, a smirk forming on his face.

“I get free food and a handsome man builds my bookcase. What more could a girl want?”

Draco laughs, “It’s a date. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

You nod, starting to turn away, “You have my address right? And my number?”

“It’s on your chart, love.”

“Bit creepy but okay.”

He laughs again, and you decide then and there that you really like that sound and you wouldn’t mind hearing it again and again.

“Write it down for me if it’ll make you feel better.”

The nurse at the desk already has a pen and paper waiting for you; you give her an odd look but thank her nonetheless as you hand Draco your address and phone number.

“Thanks, love. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes, you will.”

Leaving St. Mungo’s, the last thing you expected was a date with Draco Malfoy.

[yuziyuanapologist]

i got this as an ask several weeks ago, from the angst prompt list that i cant be bothered finding again, wangxian + “shit, are you bleeding?” unfortunately sometimes tumblr decides that i must pay for my crimes and deleted the ask instead of saving it as a draft. so. but i had the fic saved! so once more with feeling:

it’s here on ao3, 2.9k words, canon divergence from ep33, no big warnings but mostly-non-graphic injury description and also my personal vendetta against the lan clan’s rules.

big thank u to @goldencorecrunches for reading this over and generally being the best

It’s been a strange few days. 

As Wei Wuxian wakes up from what feels like a dream, he finds himself somewhere he’s never been - yet somewhere familiar, all the same. The sound of soft notes - the song of clarity - floats through to his consciousness, he turns his head to the side, smiling gently at Lan Zhan, deep in concentration with his fingers on the strings.

It’s not the way he would have chosen, to come here to Gusu, but he could get used to it. He’s certainly grateful for it, brought here safe instead of dragged back to Lotus Pier - or, indeed, slaughtered where he stood. 

Zidian gets no more pleasant, in a new body. Sixteen years away clearly has not mellowed his sh- his ex-shidi. 

He has questions, though, as to why the sixteen years have worked in what seems like the opposite way on Lan Zhan. Wasn’t he desperate to scold Wei Wuxian before, wasn’t he desperate to - drag him back here to Gusu?

Well, he managed. But it - well, either it was never as bad as he thought it would be in his last life, or Lan Zhan’s intentions are more gentle now. Sweeter. He’s simply playing for Wei Wuxian, dressed all in white save for -

“Shit, are you bleeding?”

The notes come to a discordant halt as Wei Wuxian forces himself to sit. Lan Zhan straightens his shoulders - the shoulders that, down one side, are tainted with a stain of dark red.

His only answer - typical Lan Zhan - is “Mn.”

“Lan Zhan - wh-”

“Do not panic,” Lan Zhan says, even as Wei Wuxian hauls himself to standing, his legs buckling beneath him in protest. Lan Zhan stands in one fluid motion, and crosses the room to take Wei Wuxian’s arm, and lift him back to the bed. 

Wei Wuxian protests half-heartedly, but only from sitting - he really is weak in this new body.

“It is nothing unexpected,” Lan Zhan says, quiet resignation filling his voice. “Stay.”

“Lan Zhan-“

But Lan Zhan has already crossed the room, moved behind the screen in the corner, and Wei Wuxian’s vision is fuzzy already from standing so quickly - he can’t protest, or follow - he can only wait.

It’s not long, a few minutes at most, that Wei Wuxian passes with his head in his hands, trying to fit this information in somewhere that makes sense - although, of course, he’s been gone sixteen years. It could be anything.

Lan Zhan emerges, and his robes are once again pure white, as if nothing had ever happened.

He settles back behind his guqin, and his fingers meet the strings once again, soft notes melting into the evening. 

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian speaks up, even though, despite the sixteen years since he's known him - he knows he will give no answer

As predicted, he gets only silence. 

"Was it Zidian? Did Jiang Cheng-" he cuts himself off with a shake of his head. That's not how Zidian works, and he knows it. The only likely part of that story is Jiang Cheng, and perhaps - but Lan Zhan was so unconcerned, it can't be a recent injury. And it is nothing unexpected - 

"Is it a curse?" 

"You ought to have paid more attention in your lectures here." 

Wei Wuxian scoffs. “I’ve been dead for sixteen years,” he reminds Lan Zhan. “Even if i had paid attention, would you really expect me to remember?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t respond beyond a slow blink, one that could disguise the edges of a smile - but it’s been sixteen years. It could just as easily be anything else.

After too long in silence, Wei Wuxian lets out a sigh. This isn’t how he wanted to begin to make amends, this isn’t who he would choose to be, on his second chance. Overbearing, insistent, prying. That was for Lan Zhan, that was for sixteen years ago. “Lan Zhan -”

“It does not matter,” Lan Zhan interrupts, and his voice falls to soft tones, evocative of tears that no one has shed. “You are here.”

*

Blood runs slowly into the water of the Cold Springs. Wei Wuxian watches, his mouth slack with worry. For all that Lan Zhan had acted as though it was nothing to concern himself with - and for all that he had then refused to speak more about it - this wound is deep. It cuts from the top of his shoulder blade, all the way down below the water, and the blood flows thick and steady.

There are other scars, too - long healed, but that might once have been just as deep.

“Lan Zhan -“

As soon as the words sound in the quiet air, Lan Zhan's tranquility is stopped  - he flees the water and dresses before Wei Wuxian can even finish the sentence. But - on his way out of the water - he exposes a second wound across his lower back - shallower, than the first, the blood thin and only trickling from the wound - but still it bleeds.

Lan Zhan moves to face him on the bank of the stream, tying his robes closed. He blinks slow, and opens his mouth at the same time as Wei Wuxian. “Wei Y-”

“You said it wasn't anything to worry about,” Wei Wuxian says, barely even trying to keep the accusation out of his voice. “This is - this is -" he lets it rush out in a breath - there aren't words for what he means to say. 

"It is nothing to worry about," Lan Zhan repeats, without meeting Wei Wuxian eyes. But there's a pallor to his skin, a weakness to his breath - he takes a step, and stumbles. 

"Lan Zhan!" 

"I am fine," says Lan Zhan. "My body will adjust." 

"What do you mean? Can you not give me a straight answer?" 

Lan Zhan's eyes drift shut. "I need to rest." He moves past Wei Wuxian and starts down the path. 

Wei Wuxian is not so easily distracted. "You need a doctor, Lan Zhan," he tries to insist, reaching for Lan Zhan's arm, but he's shrugged off in an instant - and though it's weak, Wei Wuxian has almost no choice but to let go. He follows along, though, hand inches from Lan Zhan's arm in case he needs to hold him up.

A minute later, Lan Zhan replies in a low voice. "No doctor of the Cloud Recesses can help." 

"What? What do you mean?" 

But try as he might, he gets no further answer from Lan Zhan, until they're back in his jingshi and Lan Zhan settles cross legged on the floor, eyes falling shut and yet doing nothing to slow the red bloom on the back of his white robes. 

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian tries again, but he is ignored. "Lan Zhan, at least -" a solution comes to him. "Do you have a needle and thread, then? Preferably silver, but I mean, I get that we can't all be Wen Qing," he laughs a little to himself, and feels the pull of guilt down at the bottom of his stomach. She's gone, says his chest. Sixteen years gone. And - that's enough time to be fine, says his head. 

Lan Zhan doesn't reply. 

"I will tear this room apart, Lan Zh-" 

"It is against the rules." 

"What, to have needle and thread?" 

"To stitch the wound." 

None of this adds up in the slightest. Wei Wuxian falls into sitting beside Lan Zhan so that he's facing him, leaning his weight on his hands. 

And, not that he expected otherwise, but Lan Zhan does not look at him. 

"Why -" 

Lan Zhan lets out a breath, as close to a frustrated sigh as he has likely ever been. 

"You have to know I'll keep asking, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian grins, shifting so that he can knock his shoulder into Lan Zhan's. "Just tell me." 

"It is a punishment," says Lan Zhan. "The lesson has not been learnt, so the wound will not heal." 

Wei Wuxian feels all traces of mirth vanish from his face. 

"You mean," he swallows. "The section of the rules that I once asked about - the one that Zewu Jun assured me was about an outdated practice that hadn't been used for seventy years?" 

A moment's silence. Then - 

"Mn." 

"What could you have possibly done - what could you still be -" he's incredulous, disbelieving, but the answer dawns on him before he finishes the sentence. "Oh." He exhales all of the energy, lets his anger become cold and sharp, a means to an end - a flavour of fury that feels, perhaps thankfully, a little less easy than it had been in the last life - but he still knows it well. "It's me, isn't it?" 

Lan Zhan's eyes open, falling on Wei Wuxian, softened with worry, creased with pain, and yet truthful in silence. 

"Lan Zhan, I can't -" 

"Stay," Lan Zhan says - pleads. "My body will adjust." 

Already, Wei Wuxian is shaking his head. "How can I -" 

"I lost you, before," Lan Zhan says, voice shaking, strangled, almost inaudible. "It would hurt more - to lose you again." 

It softens Wei Wuxian's anger, and yet fuels it. "Lan Zhan." 

And yet, he knows where his talents lie. In mischief and craft, in deviance and trick. 

"I'll make you a deal," he says, and though Lan Zhan's eyes have fallen shut again, there's a shift to his brow, a worry and a resignation. "I'll stay. If - you let me stitch you up." 

Lan Zhan swallows. "It is against the rules," he says weakly. 

One side of Wei Wuxian's mouth pulls up in disgust. "If you think I ever cared about that, you have the wrong measure of me." 

He's awarded with the barest hint of a smile,but still no agreement. Coming to a decision, Wei Wuxian reaches into his robes for a blank talisman, and without casting anything onto it, he places it down on Lan Zhan's lap. 

"Hostage situation," he smiles. "Freeze talisman. Lan Zhan, whatever will you do?" 

Lan Zhan opens his eyes to glance down. "Wei Ying," he says. "This is blank." 

"Mm, pretty sure you can't move, actually, so," Wei Wuxian tails off with a mischievous shrug. "Needle and thread? Or should I go?" 

“Don’t go,” is the response, so quiet and desolate that Wei Wuxian almost caves - but this is for Lan Zhan’s own good. “The drawer behind the screen.”

Wei Wuxian smiles, hand to Lan Zhan’s forearm in thanks as he stands. 

True to the request, Lan Zhan stays exactly as he is while Wei Wuxian digs around for everything he needs; needle and thread; a basin of water and cloth; bandages, too. He returns to kneel carefully behind Lan Zhan, and hesitates with his hand a finger’s breadth above his shoulder.

“Lan Zhan - can I -” He finds the edge of the robe with his fingers, brushing the skin of his neck.

There’s an almost imperceptible nod - and - a shudder? -as Lan Zhan reaches for the tie of his robes, and loosens it, enough to shrug the robe off his shoulder down to pool at his waist. Half-dried blood sticks the fabric of his undershirt to the wound, and Wei Wuxian tries not to wince along with Lan Zhan as he pulls just a little too roughly, murmuring an apology. 

It’s not that he’s ever seen blood before, of course not - but it’s been a long time since he’s seen Lan Zhan in any pain, and it does not get any easier.

“Lan Zhan,” he keeps his voice low as if the volume will also cause pain, and lifts a damp cloth to the site of the wound, to ease the pull. “I know you said - you want me to stay - but -” He finally manages to tug the shirt away, exposing the wound for how deep it truly goes. “I’m not worth this.”

“You are.” It’s a tone that allows no arguments, a certainty that allows no doubt. All Wei Wuxian can do is believe it. Or - well - leave his rebuttal unsaid.

He shakes his head, for himself, since Lan Zhan won’t see it, and sets about cleaning the wound. The flow of blood is steady - not lethal, of course it couldn’t be, if a lesson is supposed to be learnt by the end, but it is enough that, no sooner than Wei Wuxian has wiped it away, more has taken its place, and soon enough he’s left with a blood-soaked cloth and a wound that still pours.

His hands have never been steady, but when sewing up his own wounds back in the Burial Mounds (“Just give me the needle, Wen Qing, I can do it myself”) it hadn’t mattered - because the only pain he was dealing with was his own, and he deserved it - he could barely feel it anyway. Here, now, with Lan Zhan soft before him, hands resting on his knees and shaking every time the wound is disturbed, he needs to be strong, stable, careful.

He lifts the needle. “Lan Zhan - it’ll hurt.” 

He thinks, anyway. He thinks it used to hurt.

The only response he gets is a determined hum, the muscles below his fingers tensing. 

“Okay,” he says, and sets to work. As he does, he desperately searches for something to distract Lan Zhan with - every time the needle goes in he tenses - slight enough to be unnoticeable, but clear enough that even Lan Zhan can’t hide it. 

He could joke about it - well, if you won’t let me leave, this is the only option - or he could talk of something else -  but all other subjects have evaded him since he’s been faced with this wound and the second, with the countless other scars, with the bare skin of Lan Zhan’s body, before him, slashed and destroyed for protecting - 

“You didn’t only protect me,” he says quietly, distracting himself enough to run his finger over one of the other scars. “These other scars -” he reaches one unlike the others, threaded through with familiar black filaments. “There was one for each of us?”

Lan Zhan lowers his head, but does not respond. It’s close enough to a nod, and Wei Wuxian mimics the gesture, before returning to the task at hand - his eyes falling on the second wound, barely even bleeding, but unmistakably still open. He tries to fit it in, between everything else he knows - but finds no space for it. “And this one? Was there -”

He cuts himself off before he dares to hope. It will only lead to disappointment.

“It -” Lan Zhan exhales shakily. “It’s - different.”

Wei Wuxian can say nothing to the dismissal, knowing that Lan Zan will say no more, but narrows his eyes.

He’s close to finished, now, and the stitches seem to be holding so far. But - it’s not a permanent solution.

He lifts Lan Zhan's undershirt from the floor, and shakes his head at the bloodstain. 

"Lan Zhan, where do you keep spare clothes?" he asks. "I'm done here, but you can't exactly put this back on." 

"I will -" he starts to stand, but Wei Wuxian catches him by the waist, pulling him back down. 

"Stay still," he instructs. "You're injured." 

He - for some reason, he can't bring himself to let go of Lan Zhan, now, though he shows no signs of moving again. Instead, he keeps his hands where they are, not holding tight - not even holding, just - touching. His Lan Zhan. 

He strokes his hands up and down Lan Zhan's bare skin, testing his limits, his eyes trained carefully on the wound - both to make sure he doesn't disturb, and simultaneously deep in thought about it. Lan Zhan's breath comes unsteady with hands on his skin, but not - if Wei Wuxian is correct - upset. 

"It's been sixteen years," Wei Wuxian says absentmindedly. "And you still think I'm worth this." 

"Yes," Lan Zhan says, with no trace of doubt. "You are." 

Wei Wuxian can't help but let out a huff of laughter, letting his head fall forward to Lan Zhan's uninjured shoulder. "You're so -" he sighs out whatever it was that he was going to say - his mind can't summon the right words anyway. 

With his eyes on his - admittedly imperfect - needlework, he conjures other questions.

“This discipline whip that they used,” he says, letting calculating anger control his thoughts but trying his hardest to keep his voice soft. “Where is it kept?”

He’s almost patient, waiting for Lan Zhan to respond, but when more seconds pass, he prompts “Lan Zhan?”

“Why do you ask?”

As if he doesn’t know. “Any talisman, however complex, can be reversed. Even on a spiritual tool.”

“It is against -”

“If you want me to stay,” replies Wei Wuxian. “Then I have to try.”

For a moment, he wonders if Lan Zhan will refuse him. If he will say, after all, that perhaps he has come to his senses, perhaps the rules are more important - but at long last, he sighs. 

"The storeroom behind the library pavilion. It is guarded during the day, and warded in the night." 

"Good thing I've broken your wards before, then," Wei Wuxian smiles, glancing out at the still bright sky. Later, then. He smiles to himself, and slides his hands forward, pulling Lan Zhan into an embrace - one that he could easily shake off, but doesn’t. In fact, his shoulders, tense as they had been, settle into relaxation, a breath of calm. “I suppose I should get you a shirt.”

Lan Zhan moves his hands to cover Wei Wuxian's, leaning his head back against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and turning to bury his face into his neck. His eyes are shut - he’s almost smiling.

“Stay,” he murmurs.

Wei Wuxian can't help the quiet laugh that escapes him. "I already said I will, Lan Zhan."

[iboughtaplant]

I tried to write angst! Here is a short Geraskier fic I wrote based on the Regina Spektor song Samson. 

A Pair of Dull Scissors in the Yellow Light 

Rating: T

Warnings: no archive warnings 

Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier 

Tags: Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Blood, Head Injury, Haircuts, Sort Of, Songfic, Song: Samson (Regina Spektor), a lot about Geralt's hair, I love Geralt's long hair so idk why I wrote a fic about his hair being chopped off

Read it on AO3

Geralt’s hair had always been long the whole time Jaskier knew him. Granted, Jaskier hadn’t known Geralt for very long compared to how old the witcher was.

When he first saw him, Jaskier was drawn to the quiet witcher seated in the corner. His long silver-white hair framing his handsome face. He was then of course drawn to the medallion and swords that marked him as a witcher. Not just excited to talk to a pretty face, but to hear the stories he could tell.

They might not have got off to the best start, but Jaskier...he loved Geralt. It might have been a bit of hero worship at first, this brave, strong witcher with a heart of gold. Branded as a mutant, a butcher, the stuff of nightmares in stories told to small children. But Jaskier loved him first. He loved Geralt above all else. His lute might be a close second, but that didn’t detract from the fact that he loved Geralt first.

It also meant he was already head over heels in love with Geralt when Geralt finally confessed that the love was mutual a few years into their friendship.

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

Soon after Geralt confessed his feelings, Jaskier also learned about how Geralt’s long hair was linked to his witcher abilities. He already knew that its silver-white color was due to Geralt’s mutagens, but he hadn’t known there was more to it.

They were in Oxenfurt and Jaskier’s hair was getting too long for his liking, so it was the perfect excuse to spend some of the coin he earned playing in a tavern the night before on a proper haircut from a barber.

“Geralt, you should come with me. I am sure I have enough coin to pay for you to get your hair trimmed.”

“It’s fine, Jaskier. It doesn’t need to be cut.”

“Well maybe it doesn’t need it, but a haircut can be nice and relaxing. I know you love when I wash your hair for you, and they will do that at the barber’s as well.”

“No, Jaskier, it doesn’t need to be cut because it is always the same length.”

“But doesn’t your hair grow? Is it magic that keeps it from growing out of control?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt answered with a “hmm.” He took a long pause before saying more. “It must be tied to the spells the mages used, however they might have changed the mutagens. I don’t know. I don’t cut my hair. And it doesn’t grow past a certain length.”

Geralt then told Jaskier that due to some odd reaction between his body, the extra mutagens, and the magic of the mages his hair was cursed to be tied to the abilities and heightened senses the mutagens afforded him.

Jaskier had thought that Geralt’s long hair had been his one vanity. But of course it was yet another thing out of his control. But it made him curious if Geralt was the only witcher whose hair was tied to his powers.

“I’ve never heard of another witcher with white hair like yours,” Jaskier said. He didn’t want to ask a more pointed question.

“Because I’m the only,” Geralt said, voice thick with emotion. “The only one to receive a second dose of mutagens. Well the only one to survive it at least. The mages experimented on others before me, but I was the only one to survive the ordeal.”

“That’s awful, my love. I’m sorry you had to endure that.” He paused. “And I know it won’t make you feel better about it, but it is quite dashing, if I do say so.” Jaskier said, edging closer to Geralt and running his nimble fingers through the soft strands.

“How about I forgo the haircut and we can spend our coin on that nice soap you pretend you don’t like. I’ll wash your hair for you. And then we can braid it. A bit of a change even if you can’t cut it.”

“I’d like that,” Geralt said in a soft voice.

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

The yellow-orange light of the campfire made everything glow. The atmosphere felt far more comfortable than the current situation. But Jaskier was thankful for the light it granted. Jaskier scrambled to dig his scissors out of his pack and make his way back to Geralt, unconscious on the ground, only his thin bedroll under him.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Jaskier whispered through his tears to Geralt’s unconscious form as he took the scissors—considerably duller than he would have liked, he had forgotten to ask Geralt to sharpen them for him recently—and began to cut away Geralt’s silver locks that were stained red by blood and gore matted in them.

Unfortunately, most, if not all, of the blood belonged to Geralt, the gore belonging to the beast he killed, but not before it almost killed him.

Jaskier’s hands were shaking, he had to grip the scissors with both hands, one hand supporting the other. He had to cut Geralt’s hair. He had to. They were in the middle of a forest, in the middle of nowhere. No towns were close enough to travel to with an injured witcher. Not to mention the fact that Geralt had already been running low on potions. They were going to restock on potion ingredients in the next town they visited. But again said town was too far to travel when Geralt was severely injured and Jaskier was only human, and would not make it there and back with help in time.

The gash on the back of his skull was nasty. Jaskier knew that head wounds bled profusely regardless of their severity, but this one was quite bad and even a witcher could die from bleeding out.

He kept whispering apologies to an unconscious Geralt as he cut away, piece by piece, the tangled, matted hair and clumps of monster gore to better see the wound. The bleeding had hardly slowed, and Geralt had also lost blood from a thin slice down his side. At least the bleeding of that wound had slowed and Jaskier had been able to crumple up one of their shirts to put pressure on it and wrap a bandage around it.

The head wound was much more worrying. Once Geralt’s hair was mostly cut away, Jaskier was able to clean the wound with the water from his water skin, some alcohol from a flask as an antiseptic.

It was a rough job, but at least the wound was cleaned and the bleeding finally slowed. From his kneeling position, Jaskier finally sank down onto his heels. He could feel the sticky tear tracks down his cheeks. He ran his hands through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He felt the tackiness of the blood still on his hands.

Geralt’s hair had been covered in blood, only fitting that his was now. Geralt’s blood. It was Geralt’s blood on his hands and he hated it.

Once the adrenaline started to wear off, Jaskier realized his hands were shaking again. Or maybe they had been shaking the whole time. It was still an odd sensation as his hands were always steady. Geralt pointed it out many a time when he had to guide Jaskier through stitching him up over the years.

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

Once Jaskier was done stitching and bandaging, all he could do was wait. Sit and wait for Geralt to wake up. He felt anxious and tired at the same time. Excess energy thrummed through him while his limbs felt heavy like lead.

He looked at his lute, but felt no compulsion to play it. He should probably eat, but any food would probably taste like ash in his mouth.

He laid back on his bedroll and tried to relax. He would be no use to Geralt when he woke up, if he was keyed up and anxious. He sighed and stretched out, his arms pillowed beneath his head as he stared up at the sky.

The stars were bright, twinkling spots of light speckling the inky sky. It made the world feel big, and made him feel small. He was but a small speck in the grand scheme of things. He glanced over at Geralt and felt a smile cross his face. Geralt was more beautiful than all the stars in the sky and twice as bright. The stars were just old light.

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

Jaskier was woken up by Geralt sitting down on the edge of his bedroll. He didn't even remember falling asleep. Geralt was slow to sit down as he leaned against Jaskier’s legs, his injuries taking a toll. Jaskier wasn’t sure if he wanted to know if it was more than usual. Was Geralt human now? Did his witcher healing at least do its part before Jaskier cut his hair?

He was pulled out of his spiral when Geralt spoke. “Your hair’s red.” Geralt said in a slur.

“What?” Jaskier asked, scandalized and afraid. Of course of all things Geralt was focusing on his hair, oh the irony. Jaskier also had the thought that somehow Geralt was seeing the blood in his hair from when he ran his hands through it earlier.

“In the light, looks red,” Geralt mumbled. “You’re beautiful.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier sobbed. In the light of the fire—that he somehow managed to keep burning—his hair looked red. He buried his head in his hands, still curled up on his bedroll. He felt his tears plastering his hands to his face. He couldn’t look at Geralt. He couldn’t face his honey-golden eyes, full of softness that betrayed his hard edges.

He essentially killed the man he loved. Maybe that was a bit dramatic. But Geralt is, well was a witcher. Jaskier just took that away from him when he chopped all of his hair off. His beautiful silver hair. Jaskier knew that Geralt was more than his hair, he almost cried when Geralt admitted that he loved when Jaskier told him all the things he loved about him and his hair wasn’t near the top of the list.

Geralt leaned more heavily into Jaskier and sighed. Jaskier removed his hands from his face and looked up at the love of his life, his greatest downfall. He stifled another sob that threatened to come out and looked at Geralt.

“My head hurts.” Geralt said in a small voice that was out of character for him. He sounded so vulnerable.

“You had, well have, a head wound. It was bad. Oh Geralt it was so bad. There was so much blood. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You saved me.”

“But at what cost, my love?”

Geralt didn’t answer his question. He just said, “My hair’s gone isn’t it.”

Jaskier sat up and wrapped his arms around Geralt, situating himself behind him so Geralt was in the vee of his legs, still on Jaskier’s bedroll, Geralt’s abandoned a few feet away.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered wetly into Geralt’s shoulder, lightly trailing his fingers down Geralt’s arm.

“You did good, Jask.”

“Don’t tell me that. How can you say that? I took it. I took your strength. I took it all. I-I, I hurt you.”

“No, the monster hurt me, you saved me.”

“Are you even a witcher anymore? Can you tell? If I took that away from you, I-”

“I never wanted to be a witcher, Jask,” Geralt said as he leaned his head back against Jaskier. He let out a slight hiss of pain and Jaskier felt a hand was squeezing his heart at the sound.

“I’m sorry. I am. But I had to save you. I couldn’t watch you bleed out. It was the only way.”

“You did alright, Jaskier.” He paused. “Wanna see you, help me turn around.”

Jaskier sucked in a breath. He knew he would have to meet Geralt’s eyes eventually. He helped Geralt turn around in his arms and supported most of his weight as he leaned into Jaskier. He looked into Jaskier’s eyes and Jaskier looked back. He looked into those honey-gold eyes and he felt settled. Geralt wasn’t mad. Jaskier took in Geralt’s face. It was clean, Jaskier had made sure of that. And his hair, of course, was short. Silver strands cropped close to his scalp, uneven in a few—well many—places. The bandages wrapped around the crown of his head. He was beautiful.

Geralt kissed Jaskier then. And Jaskier kissed back. Geralt kept kissing him. Soft, gentle kisses. Comforting kisses. They laid down on Jaskier’s bedroll, Jaskier pulling Geralt’s body on top of his own so he could support him, so his head wouldn’t touch the ground. Geralt insisted on kissing him more. He kissed him until the morning light broke through the trees of the forest surrounding them in golden light.

[whumptober]

Whumtober 2020 - OBSOLETE PLEASE SEE NEW PINNED POST

**This prompt list is incorrect.  Please see the updated event info here.**

Welcome to Whumptober 2020! We’re doing things a little differently this year so please make sure to read the Event Info carefully. We are also excited to announce the addition of an AO3 Collection, which can be found here. 

We hope you’re as excited as us to watch the Whump Community come together once again for a month of bone-crunching creativity and collaboration!

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information, and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

No 1. LET'S HANG OUT SOMETIME

Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY "Pick Who Dies" | Collars | Kidnapped

No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

No 6. PLEASE.... "Get it Out" | No More | "Stop, please"

No 7. I'VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? "Don't Say Goodbye" | Abandoned | Isolation

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD "Take Me Instead" | "Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

No 11. PSYCH 101 Defiance | Struggling | Crying

No 12. I THINK I'VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor's Guilt

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

No 21. I DON'T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD... Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

No 27. OK, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTERS ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD? Earthquake | Extreme Weather | Power Outage

No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Event Info

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 Official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don't have to include the exact wording into your work). Additionally, there are 3 prompts for each theme.  These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, and photo/video/audio edits. Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2020 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruised, #stabbed,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom/OC

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#tw:, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags)

#nsfw, #nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober2020 blog. They must be tagged in the order above.

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month.

Questions not addressed below can be directed to this blog as well.

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gif set or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe :)

Q. Do I have to do all 31 Days? Can I post early/late?

Participate as much or little as you like, and post whenever! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.11, #psych101). Combining prompts into one piece of work is okay, and posting late is as well so as long as it’s in October.

Q. What if I don’t understand a theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help clarify. That said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation :)

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely! That’s like shooting two whumpees with one bullet :)

Q. Can I upload/repost my whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. The archive can be accessed here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle :)

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).