febuwhump · 3 months
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the prompts this year were chosen through a suggestion poll and subsequent vote, where over 350 people voted for their favourites. the top 28 make up the core prompts, and a mixture of the next most popular and this blog’s personal favourites have become the alternatives!
i’m so excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and hope they’re inspiring enough to trigger a whole month’s worth of creativity for you! if you have any questions, make sure to check out the blog’s FAQ, or check out the previously asked questions on the blog before sending one of your own!
please note: this year, notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form that will be released closer to the end of febuwhump.
full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:
DAY 1: touchstarved
DAY 2: flinching
DAY 3: muzzled
DAY 4: knife to the throat
DAY 5: "that's gonna scar"
DAY 6: secrets revealed
DAY 7: made to watch
DAY 8: panic
DAY 9: voice loss
DAY 10: difficulty breathing
DAY 11: fever
DAY 12: "can you hear me?"
DAY 13: forced to hurt a loved one
DAY 14: captivity
DAY 15: self-sacrifice
DAY 16: semi-conscious
DAY 17: silent tears
DAY 18: can't stay awake
DAY 19: "you deserve this"
DAY 20: knife wound
DAY 21: shackled
DAY 22: can't scream
DAY 23: "you'll have to go through me"
DAY 24: bloody clothes
DAY 25: assumed dead
DAY 26: forced to choose
DAY 27: survivor's guilt
DAY 28: "you're safe now"
is there a specific day’s prompt you don’t want to fill? here are ten alternatives you can switch them out for!
ALT 1: rope burns
ALT 2: caged
ALT 3: soft words
ALT 4: experimentation
ALT 5: time loop
ALT 6: limp
ALT 7: immortality
ALT 8: found footage
ALT 9: natural disaster
ALT 10: inferno
prompts should be answered in the form of whump
creators can produce whatever kind of media they want
you don’t have to complete all the prompts! you can create however much you want to
you can use the prompts after the event ends
you can post on any platform you want, however this blog will only be sharing those posted on tumblr
if you want to be featured on the hall of fame then you have until the 3rd of March to inform this blog that you completed all the days
HARD RULES: (specifically for being featured on the blog)
when uploading febuwhump content to tumblr, please use the tags:
febuwhump (i’ll also be checking febuwhump2023)
the relevant day’s tag e.g. febuwhumpday1, febuwhumpday2…
nsfw (if relevant)
and any trigger warnings that may be important!
you can also tag the blog, @febuwhump
i cannot guarantee your work will be archived on the blog because I have no idea how many participants there will be. a random selection of works tagged in accordance to the rules above will be reblogged every day of february.
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spacebarrette · 2 months
It takes her a while to realize what it is. At first, it's just another weird thing about Steve Harrington, former high school heart throb. But unlike his terrible flirting or his poorly hidden dorky side, this weird thing is subtle. Hell, Robin isn't entirely sure Steve even knows about it.
She first notices it on a slow day. It's gray out—not raining yet, but just humid enough to promise a storm come nightfall. Not quite muggy enough to have people flocking to the mall for quality air conditioning, but just blah enough to be a kind of crap day. Behind the counter at Scoops, she and Steve are having a contest to see who can twirl the scoop continuously for the longest time. Steve's currently in the lead, but Robin's not doing too horribly. Still, her innate clumsiness can only be avoided for so long, and after a good run of spinning, the scoop starts tilting out of her grasp. She follows it with her body, desperately trying to get a better grip on it, and plows right into Steve's side.
His elbow hits the counter-top hard, but he doesn't seem to notice, what with how hard he's laughing. Makes it hard to feel sorry for him.
Robin huffs, dropping the scoop into its water bucket home with one hand and slapping Steve's shoulder with the other. "Shut up, dingus," she mumbles.
"Ow, fuck, my abs. I haven't laughed this hard in ages," Steve says, swaying after her.
He stays almost exactly an inch behind her hand until he ends up right against the socially acceptable limit of being in someone's space. And that's where he stays until a customer comes in thirty seconds later. As close as he can get without it being weird, body bent toward her like he's a side-of-the-road wildflower and she's the sun.
At first, Robin just brushes it off as a one-off weird thing. But it keeps happening. And not just with her. When his kids come close enough to him, he hovers around them the same way. The instant anyone reaches out to touch him, part of him will follow after without him really realizing it. At first glance, it almost looks like he's pushing away the contact, but Robin watches closely enough to notice the truth. It's the complete opposite of that. It's like his body is screaming out how much he wants people to touch him without his brain having any input.
It's not until after the Fourth of July—after Russians, and torture, and fireworks, and flesh monsters—that Robin does anything about it. The start is unintentional, too. She clutches Steve's arm in the aftermath of everything, unwilling to let go of him as she comes down from the adrenaline rush. Not even as the paramedics and, later, doctors at the hospital look over them. Not even when it's time to head home for the night.
Her parents are on a weekend trip, so there's no one but the two of them in the house in the wee hours of the morning on the fifth. They curl up in Robin's bed, borrowed cotton scrubs feeling a little stiff, but the way they hold each other as they shake and process incredibly warm. They keep crashing at each other's places more often than not after that. Even as the terror fades and real life starts to settle back in. And Robin keeps reaching out to Steve.
She's always there with a casual hand on his forearm, or standing close enough that she can rest her shoulder against his. When they start having movie nights together, (because she's going to share some of her favorites with him no matter how much he whines about it at first) she manages to wrangle him into a position where she can run her fingers through his hair and watch him melt into her sofa cushions.
It gives some people the wrong idea, she knows. Dustin in particular watches them like he knows all the secrets of the universe and theirs in particular aren't very secret. For once, Robin doesn't actually care. Not when it makes her roadside wildflower best friend bloom the way it does. Not when it's so easy to fix this one small piece of neglect that she can.
(And if Steve's frustrated face when Dustin starts bringing it up makes her laugh? Well. That's just a side benefit.)
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breezy-cheezy · 20 days
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Febuwhump day 9: Voice Loss (un)Natural Disaster
So these are gonna be kinda late (and out of order) from here on out since it’s MARCH but hey some of these were solidly set up!! School just was A lot. Anyway.
@forwantofacalling wrote a Drabble and shared it in our discord about Cater Overblotting and Trey tracking him down after the fact. 12/10, painful concept, here’s a drawin.
Please do not tag this with shipping tags, this is meant to be portrayed as platonic, thanks!
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lady-wallace · 22 days
A little Buddy Daddies fanart for today’s @febuwhump​ prompt “You’re Safe Now” 
I originally wanted to do a little drabble to go along with this, but didn’t get around to it. I am however really loving this show so far, and I highly suggest checking it out if you haven’t already. So much lovely found family goodness :’)
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ghoulfriendfangs · 2 months
Febuwhump 23 - “Restless”
Day One: Touch Starved with Lucifer
{WC: ~578} {Lucifer x reder, anxious thoughts, trouble sleeping, and of course a very touch starved demon, this takes place shortly after they start sleeping together}
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  Lucifer did not think of himself as “touch starved.”
  He preferred terms such as private, reserved, or even aloof and detached. As cold as the latter were, as much as they painted him in an unfeeling light, Lucifer still vastly preferred them to touch starved. That term implied he was like an animal; some poor wretched thing that could not function without being held, or petted like some dog.
  But now, Lucifer was kept up at night. Eyes wide open, body frozen under the bedsheets. Because sleeping with you had become a habit. Not a habit like checking himself in the reflection of a window, or scribbling with his pen when he needs a microbreak from doing paperwork. A habit like his bitter coffee in the morning to wake up and strong demonus in the evening to knock him out. A habit like taking a walk around the bedrooms, making sure all his brothers were safe before he could sleep. The kind of habit he had started doing only once or twice to ease his nerves, but he now could not function without.
  The very thought of it was like driving a dagger into his heart. How would he sleep without being able to wrap his arms around you. Without seeing the way your eyes lit up when he unfurled his wings- the same wings he foolishly hid away because he could only see them as imperfect, eternally missing a set. He doesn’t admit it before he’s had several drinks, but when he sees the way you look at his wings he feels silly for hiding them at all.
  But even more private is what he hasn’t admitted at all. He isn’t sure you’re even aware of it, and he is afraid that if he told you you’d stop. But sometimes when you’re asleep, you roll over and wrap your arms around him, and suddenly he’s the one being held, he’s the one being soothed to sleep and he likes it. He loves it. Some nights, he skips the wine and only pretends to fall asleep because he’s waiting for you to roll over, to give him the kind of hug he doesn’t know how to ask for.
  And while he waits, he’s haunted by his own mind, which torments him by asking what he’d do if you stopped, and he had to sleep alone in his large and empty bed in his room which is colder than death even with a roaring fire. He knows you cannot control all of the ways you could stop. You are a human, and he still sees you as fragile, even if the thought now brings forth feelings of protectiveness rather than superiority.
  But what tortures him most is the thought of you voluntarily stopping. His pride and stubbornness finally trying the last of your patience. Because deep down…
  He knows that his pride is the reason he is touch starved to begin with.
  Lucifer is rescued from his own thoughts when you begin to stir, tossing and turning in the bedsheets. Finally, you’re turning over, your hands sleepily curling around his chest and his stomach, pulling him into your own. You mumble some sleep talk, as he feels his heartbeat slowing. He thinks he catches “it’s ok,” and “go to sleep already,” and suddenly he’s wondering if you’re more awake than you look.
  “…promise not to leave me,” he whispers, allowing himself to ask for what he needs.
  “…I promise.”
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scratchandplaster · 1 month
FEBUWHUMP 2023 DAY 16 - Semi-conscious
CW: recapture, drugging, intimate Whumper, non-con kiss
Hero tried to escape again.
Naturally, they didn't get very far; Henchman caught them shortly after they sneaked out the main building. They were so careful and planned every step in advance, but in all their eager forgot to calculate Villain's increased security personnel. Whatever had been in the vial Henchman forced down their gullet just moments prior, made their vision swim.
The treetops radiated with the light bursting through them, Hero basked in the golden rays of the August sun, the worries about Villain's reaction fading far away. Of course, they would be upset with them, but that little detail didn't matter right now. The leaves-
The next time their eyes opened, they were inside the manor walls. Unsure about how many minutes had passed, Hero tried to focus again on the lights above. The sun had been replaced by the dim chandelier overhead the dinner table, seeming to cast light with a halo-like sheen across the room.
Somewhere deep inside their mind, they recognized their prison, the building they were trapped in for the last few weeks. But that thought was now buried, washed away by the dust particles floating through the air gracefully, like a gentle fall of snow during the winter months...
"-you listening?" a faint voice called out to them. Maybe Hero should snap back, stand up to fight their way out again. But not now, they loved to just stare for a little while longer. The worries of tomorrow could wait.
Villain waited for a response, even shaking their captive didn't seem to change the blank stare towards the ceiling. They looked peaceful, a certain calm was radiating from their limp form, slumped in their designated chair. As if looking right through them, Hero let their droopy eyes roll from side to side, untroubled by the world around them.
There was something Villain didn't expect: a light smile danced around Hero's lips, even though dry and ripping, but content nonetheless.
"How much did you give them?", they asked Henchmen, all the while petting Hero's hair gently, a gesture of affection they were normally punished for with vicious resistance.
"The - the whole thing," they answered uncertain, not wanting to risk any consequences for possibly damaging the precious good, "I wanted to ensure a safe transport and-"
"You can leave now," their boss interrupted them calmly, an unusual luster to their eyes. Henchman would keep all their fingers for today. "You may all go, enjoy your day off."
With that, the two enemies were left alone. Villain sat down next to their guest, filled with artificial bliss the potion still pumped through their system, Hero didn't even bat an eye at their gentle touches anymore.
From time to time, they could see quick shadows interrupting the surrounding snow, brushing hair from their face or taking their pulse. Rationally, Hero should have known it would come to something like this, after rejecting the invitations of their nemesis countless times. They were slowly gaining back some control about their mind and body, exhausted but still prepared to start the fight anew.
Suddenly, a kind but firm hand took hold of their head to tilt it back. Thin liquid started to coat the inside of their mouth, like cherry wine but way too bitter, making Hero quickly gulp it down with a confused moan. The aftertaste was horrifyingly familiar.
"That's it," Villain purred against their ear, so close, the distance between them was barely more than a hair's breadth. They continued to keep Hero's head between their hands, stopping the vertigo for just a moment, before the candles in front of them started to lose shape again. Their flicker smeared across their view like an oil painting and smothered them into a forced ease.
"I think I will keep you like this, at least for a bit longer..." 
Hero's inner screams deafened in an instant, the only feeling left were the soft lips of Villain against their own.
Thanks for reading <3 [Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]
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giotanner · 1 month
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Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi for @febuwhump 2023 - day 15 "Self Sacrifice"
Flowers? Yes. Hanahaki is the disease of flowers, when you know or think you are not reciprocated in romantic feelings.
As the Jedi are inspired by Japanese culture (samurai) Hanahaki is also a Japanese myth. IF we tie it to the world of users of the light side of the Force we can consider Hanahaki as a "getting sick in the Force, that's why attachments are also avoided." In the year Obi-Wan was on the run with Satine Hanahaki hit him hard. He was ready to leave the Jedi, to sacrifice his ideals and his beliefs, she however knowing how important the Jedi were to Obi-Wan refused to tell him that she loved him.
print avalaible
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whumpinthepot · 1 month
@febuwhump 2023
Day seventeen: Silent Tears
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starwalker42 · 28 days
febuwhump day 20: knife wound
season 8 | no warnings apply | general audiences
It’s strange, having Mulder back. She’d always known once he returned that it wouldn’t go back to how they were before; she knew, now, what he’d been hiding from her all of last year, and they had a baby (they had a baby) on the way, and he was still processing how much time he’d lost. The first few weeks were rough, but they’re through those now and… well, even if it’s not back to normal, it’s good. Strange, but good.
They’re still unsure around each other, still treading on eggshells a little, but things are getting easier. They’ve been having meals together, after she’s finished with work, and he’s been spending more time at her apartment, sprawled on her couch with her feet in his lap. Throughout their partnership, he’d always been the tactile one, but right now, he’s still hesitant to touch her, to kiss her, without permission, so she’s been helping him feel more comfortable with it. He spent last night in her bed, and she woke up this morning curled into his side realising that, for the first time in months, she hadn’t had a single nightmare.
One hand cupping the swell of her belly, she brews the two of them tea; she doesn’t drink coffee anymore, thanks to the baby, and Mulder mentioned last night that he associates it with her, now. With home. So, tea it is.
She feels him behind her.
“Hey,” he steps into her space, a little uncertain, and presses the lightest of kisses to the back of her head.
Before, he would have wrapped his arms around her waist and captured her lips with his, forced her back against the counter and made her forget all about the tea. Now, he touches her like she’s fragile, like she’ll break if he puts one finger wrong. Or, maybe, it’s a fear that he’ll break; she still isn’t sure what’s going on his head.
He kisses her again, on her neck this time, brushing her hair to the side… and hesitates.
“Scully?” His voice catches – she spins around to face him and sees a classic Mulder panic face.
He grabs her shoulder – the most confident contact he’s made with her since he returned – and turns her again, reaching for the back of her neck.
“What’s this?”
He runs a finger across the raised scar there – the new one, the one made not to access her chip but by a frantic John Doggett to dig a parasite out of her spinal cord – and she takes a deep breath. Mulder hasn’t asked much about what the X-Files looked like while he was gone. She’d planned to break it to him slowly, but with him looking at her like that, with that fear in his eyes, she realises that’s no longer an option.
“It was on a case. I… Agent Doggett saved my life.”
She watches him fight with this knowledge, with what she knows must be going on in his mind. He still doesn’t trust Doggett, and she can hardly blame him, but she knows Mulder values her safety above all else. If Doggett was responsible for looking after her while he was gone, Mulder doesn’t really have a choice in whether he appreciates his replacement.
Finally, Mulder looks her in the eye. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there instead.”
She remembers it briefly, that awful, awful night in the middle of the desert in Utah, that thing crawling inside her, being tied down on a bed, all of it happening despite begging for her child’s life. She remembers the night afterwards, sobbing in Mulder’s bed as she apologised to him for ever endangering the last part of him she had left, for ever putting herself in harm’s way.
She doesn’t tell Mulder about any of it. She just steps forward, cups his cheek, and draw him down for a kiss.
“You’re here now.”  
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pencilofawesomeness · 27 days
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Day 23: “You’ll have to go through me”
for @febuwhump
AKA that moment when somebody’s gonna get got
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If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!
Febuwhump Day 1 Part 2
Touch-Starved – Hunter
Warnings: Tension headache, no real warnings - just another much needed massage
WC: 2,208
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The detail in their medical records was… excessive. I found myself trying not to imagine how certain details from stress tests were acquired, stomach weighing heavily in my gut for days after reading about Wrecker’s above average bone density, how quickly Crosshair’s eyes can adjust between glaring light and near perfect blackness, how long Hunter could hold his breath… Maker, there was little wonder in the reason behind their malcontent at having a medic onboard.
Still, I couldn’t let their distrust impede the very reason I was here – not as some heartless scientist, but as a healer. Unfortunately, the one who seemed most in need of my help presently was arguably the most intimidating of them. While Crosshair was constantly posturing as a dangerous, short-tempered snake, it was Hunter that I still found myself tensing around whenever he entered the room. That deep quiet he fell into, eye narrowed as his mind worked through endless strategies and scenarios before answering a question or making a decision… It was unsettling be the subject of that intensity of focus, and if I ever gave him reason to see me as a threat…
Today, however, whatever trepidation I felt toward him would have to wait. In the past few hours, I’d watched his shoulders gradually creep up towards his ears, muscles steadily growing taut as his neck began to crane forward; watched his hand repeatedly come up toward the side of his head, pause, clawed fingers just shy of trembling, before intentionally dropping back to his side; watched his brows furrow above hard eyes as his jaw ground together.
Just as notable, I watched the others quickly fall into a heavy quiet, moving almost gingerly as they went about their work; no ceaseless teasing from the sniper nor loud retorts from their demolitions expert, and any discussions shared between Tech and Echo were kept brief, voices barely whispered. This was a regular occurrence; one I, thankfully, was familiar with.
Without a word, I tread towards the towering mass of tense muscles and too-heavy breaths. He was in the rec-room, standing over a cup of now cold caf he’d made earlier and forgotten about, eyes pinched closed. If he noticed me dim the lights to near total darkness, he made no show of it, but, when my hand settled gently over his shoulder, the ferocity in his pain-hardened glare should have been enough to make me flinch away, but I held still.
“Hunter,” I barely breathed his name before his lips twisted into a scowl.
“Not now – go play doctor with someone else.” He snapped, and I knew he felt bad about the harshness of his tone as soon as the remark leapt from his tongue. I let my expression fall pointedly blank, just raising one eyebrow as his words lingered heavily between us. Teeth still ground, he let out a nearly growled sigh, eyes slipping closed once more. “Look, I’m fine – just need t”
“Doc, it’s not a trust thing – this just isn’t something your meds work for.” The exhaustion was evident in the way his voice dragged passed lips reluctant to move even the tiny amount needed for speech, and my heart ached for him. How many times had he suffered through this?
“Five minutes.” I didn’t care to let him struggle over the relentless tension vying to lock his jaw shut around some useless excuse. He glanced toward me, confusion briefly overruling the hurt etching deep lines into his normally stoic face. I drew a slow, controlled breath, willing some whisper of calm into him as continued. “I want you to sit down and trust me for just five minutes.”
“No meds.” I promised gently, “Just five minutes.” For a long moment, he merely looked at me, and I could see the dismissal lingering in the subtle downturn of pinched lips, but the reluctant sigh that escaped flared nostrils caught me by surprised.
“Fine.” He huffed, turning his gaze pointedly back toward the cold caf. “What do you want?” How much pain was he in for his resolve to crumble so quickly? How hopeless must he have felt when the beginnings of that ache first started up? The gratitude in my sympathetic smile only made him grind his teeth harder, and I nodded to one of the chairs.
“Just sit down.” I instructed quietly. He hesitated just a moment longer before dragging himself the few steps forward and let his body nearly collapse onto the scantly padded seat. “All I want you to do is focus on your own breathing.” In the darkness of the room, my whispered words faded quickly into a gentle silence, softly returning my hand to just rest on his shoulder, anticipating the way he tensed beneath even that innocent touch.
“Slow, deep breath in for 5… 4…” It took him a second to understand what I was asking, and I felt him shuffle uncertainly, but, brows furrowing, he followed my instructions, albeit with a notable flare of impatience. “Good. Out for 1… 2… 3…” With that same exasperation, he let the air flow quickly through his nose, but was caught off-guard slightly as I continued past five. “6… 7… 8… In for 5…” Halfway through that second breath, I felt his focus finally shift to the simplicity of that movement, watched his brows just begin to relax, and I carefully set my other hand on his shoulder as well.
As he began slowly breathing in during the third cycle, I slowly swept a hand up the back of neck. He hesitated, but, as I continued that steady count, let himself fall back into the gentle, guided rhythm. Following the motion of his breath, I dragged the heel of my palm down the painfully taut muscle stretching from the base of his skull down toward his shoulder blade with just enough pressure to slowly begin working some pliability into the rigid tissue.
His entire body tensed, back twitching slightly before he wrestled himself back to stillness.
“That’s alright,” I promised softly, “In for 5…” Teeth locked into the side of his cheek, he forced himself to follow my words once more, and I wondered if he was silently timing every passing second until my five minutes ended. I repeated that simple movement once more before doing the same on the other side of his spine. That’s all it took for him to begin to relax.
Gradually, I began altering the motion slightly, starting higher on his head, shifting to use the padding of my thumb for a firmer pressure, sweeping along the top ridge of powerful muscle sloping toward his shoulder, and, slowly, his head began to tilt forward, subconsciously granting me easier access as his eyes slid shut. The meditative rhythm of my words continued ceaselessly, guiding that leisurely ebb and flow of breath that lulled him into a blessed stillness.
Movements carefully maintaining that same cadence, I tentatively let my fingers creep into his hair, just slipping over the knot of his bandana for a beat before easing it from his head as my other hand dragged once more down the length of his neck. His head shifted just enough to indicate some incentive to help rid himself of the garment, but was void of the strength for anything more, and I could hear my smile in the final count of that exhale.
The vibrant relief lighting his next inhale as my fingers slid along the sides of his head was just short of a moan, and I found myself speaking even more quietly as I slowly drew long ovals against his scalp, just firm enough to avoid pulling on the sensitive roots of his thick hair.
Listlessly, he let his head roll into me, the back of his skull absently resting against my chest. I lingered there for several cycles of breath, touch roaming absently along his temples, around his ears to the very base of his jaw, back up his neck before sending both hands firmly down that now pliant cord of muscle bordering his spine. He let his head tilt fully back beneath the movement, expression void of even the memory of tension.
“In for 5… 4…” With a blissful thoughtlessness, he continued following my slow count, and I draw my hands up the side of his neck, fingers cradling the curve of his jaw as my thumbs pressed lightly into the tender divot just behind his ears. With that next release of breath, I slowly dragged my thumbs under that delicate bone, tracing the line toward his chin. “In for 5…” My fingers traced the outer edge of his jaw back up in a circular dance. “Out for 1… 2…” His lips fell open ever so slightly.
The weight of his head gradually grew heavier against me, breaths bordering on sleep as my touch began to shift up his face, thumbs sweeping from those prominent cheekbones down to the top of his ears, along the line of now relaxed brows, and, finally working gently over his forehead, drawing meaningly circles toward his hairline.
“Keep your eyes closed.” I whispered in that same cadence, fingers slipping through his hair now for the simple glee of that tender contact. His breath hitched only slightly, but his eyes remained loosely shut, neck tensing for barely a heartbeat before melting against me once more beneath the gentle flutter of my fingertips along his scalp. “I want you to let me help you to your bed, okay?” Despite no longer having that count, Hunter continued those slow breaths in tune to the steady rhythm of my touch, head just dipping in a nod.
One hand dragged down his neck to steady him as I stepped to his side and gently eased an arm under his to wrap around his back. I knew how effortlessly pain robbed the body of energy, knew the hopelessness of being so utterly exhausted even as that hurt left you miserably incapable of sleep, and I knew how violently that exhaustion struck in that first breath of relief. In that slow shift of motion to push himself up, Hunter eager folded against me, feet nearly dragging beneath him as we slowly started toward the bunkroom.
The shock in each pair of eyes that turned toward us as the door hissed open threatened to send a blush up my neck, but I quickly pursed my lips in a silent ‘shush’ before nodding behind me, mouthing the word ‘out’ in a clear order, and I found myself nearly sighing with relief as they moved quietly passed me. I didn’t need to look to know it was Echo who dimmed the lights, easily catching the little smirk on his pale lips the instant he’d seen us.
“Alright, you can sit down.” I murmured once his cot was behind us and had to tense to keep him from collapsing entirely. Without a word, I carefully leaned him against me as I began slipping the heavy plates of armor from him.
“Hmm.” A weary hum caught sleepily in his throat, chest swelling with a deep breath.
“Shh,” I let the soft sound just whisper from my lips, hand gently sweeping up his neck. “I’d like you to stay here for a bit. Is that okay?” Even as I asked, touch just slipping into his hair, my other hand continued freeing him of his armor.
“Mmhmm.” I had to catch my lips between my teeth to silence myself, laughter bubbling atop my tongue. Resting his forehead against my neck, I carefully focused on one arm, setting the black and red plates at the foot of his bed before starting on the other. He barely noticed the moment I began easing him back, my muscles straining to support the bulk of his weight in a slow descent.
Finally, I started on his lower body, movements growing even softer in a desperate hope not to wake him at a decidedly unfortunate moment, but he remained unfazed beneath my ministrations. Setting the pile of heavy armor onto the floor, I eased the blanket over his limp form, and quietly started toward the door.
“Hmm… Doc.” That mumbled, sleep-draggled voice rumbled listlessly from his throat, quickly, drawing me to a halt. His eyes parted only briefly to glance toward me before slipping closed once more, but his hand shifted from beneath the blanket to slip gently around my wrist. “Thank you.” My shoulders sank, air fleeing me through a wide smile. I rested my hand over his for a moment before letting that touch slip down his forearm, absently mimicking that earlier rhythm.
“You’re welcome, Hunter. Try to sleep, okay?” I whispered. He gave a lazy nod, slowly dragging his hand back under the blanket.
“The kriff did you do to him?” I’d barely made it back to the rec room before Crosshair took full advantage of the opening. Still, I was pleased at how he kept his voice quiet, though the implication of his tone was far less considerate. I shot him an unimpressed glance before putting away the abandoned cup of caf.
“Ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll show you.” I muttered over my shoulder, stifling my giggle at the sharp snort that caught in his throat.
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febuwhump · 3 months
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the time has come! 
you suggested 842 prompts for febuwhump 2023 (aka 4buwhump) and i shortlisted the best 100. so now is the time to vote! choose your top 28 and the highest voted will make up the febuwhump prompt list for 2023! the next 10 will make up the alternates list!
the voting will be open from december 16 - 23, and the prompts will be announced the week after. 
this is your last chance to get involved with the creation of the 2023 febuwhump! 
vote now
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Prompt: "You'll have to go through me."
Nemocnica S03E23
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darkkitty1208 · 1 month
*shuffles to the middle of the stage and taps on the mic a couple of times* uh, *taps again* does this thing work? Right, okay. Um, so *claps hands together* I have come here today for a very very, very very special announcement. It is with great honour I announce that, err... probably a thousand years ago today, our dear, dear, lovely @lilbitofmac has been given birth. And so today we shall celebrate their birthday, as they are getting older than they already are. Anyway. *clears throat* *takes out a bunch of cards* No... done that bit. *flips it over* done that bit... *flips* that bit as well... *flip flip flip* *gives up and throws it into the air* Alright just-- gift! Right. Here -- *gestures vaguely around fic* for you, my love. Happy birthday. xoxo 
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Doctor Strange (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Characters: Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, Tiberius Stone Additional Tags: Kidnapping, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Hurt Tony Stark, Protective Stephen Strange, Torture, Waterboarding, Ambiguous/Open Ending Series: Part 6 of Febuwhump 2023 Summary:
Tony gets kidnapped by Tiberius Stone.
Febuwhump Day 6: Shackled 
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calamity-aims · 2 months
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & CC-3636 | Wolffe Characters: CC-1010 | Fox, CC-3636 | Wolffe, CT-4860 | Boost, Clone Trooper Sinker (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Febuwhump 2023, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Platonic Cuddling, Self-Hatred, Unreliable Narrator, CC-1010 | Fox Needs A Hug, and he gets one Series: Part 1 of Febuwhump 2023 Summary:
day 1: touch starved
Fox comes out of solitary to a distinct lack of commanders.
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ghoulfriendfangs · 1 month
Febuwhump ‘23 - “Blood on your Hands”
Day Eight: “Panic” with the Brothers (Obey Me)
The brothers comfort you after you’ve made a mess
{WC: ~600} {Brothers x reader, but could be read as platonic or romantic, a short but sweet one today, may make a sequel if this blows up}
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  When the door swung open- you jumped, and it was the most you had moved since the attack. You looked up, and the brothers were pouring in. The demon brothers- your family, the ones you looked up to most in this world. 
  And you wished it was anyone else.
  “I’m sorry- I’m sorry, dont come closer…”
  “Where is he- are you alright?” Satan asked.
  “Ah- are you hurt? Poor thing!” Asmo asked, getting closer.
  “Let me see what that bastard did to-“ Mammon stopped, face dropping.
  You wrang your blood soaked hands together.
  Beelzebub covered his mouth. Leviathan stood behind Lucifer.
  But it was Belphie to approach you first.
  “We came because we heard someone was attacking you, there were sounds of a magical struggle.”
  “I-I don’t, I’m sorry, please, please-“
  He holds onto your hands tightly, stopping your nails from digging into your palms.
  “Whatever happened here was not your fault. We love you, and we would never be upset with you. You can tell us, we… we understand, ok?”
  “I-I… he said he needed my help. He needed my help and he sounded so afraid- he wanted to meet me here but when I went he- he attacked me, and I didn’t have a choice, I didn’t have a choice…”
  Satan scowled at the mangled form on the floor- burned and sliced and scarred by a litany of spells.
  “…I didn’t know ya had it in ya,” Mammon said weakly. He was… afraid. His voice quiet.
  “I’m so sorry, please- please it was an accident…”
  “H-hey, hey- I’m not upset at that, are you kidding!? I… I almost lost ya!”
  Beel sat with you and Belphie. “…can I hug you?” He asked, and when you nodded he pulled you into one of those bone crushing hugs.
  “…y-you dont hate me…”
  “…why would we ever have reason to hate you? Especially over this?” Lucifer asked.
  “I-I killed him. I didn’t mean to- but he’s dead and I-“
  “Oooh poor mc, it’s always hard the first time.” Asmo patted your head.
  “First… time?”
  “You know- killing!”
  “Assmo,” hissed Leviathan, “are you dumb? Humans don’t… do that.”
  “…is that why you’re afraid?” Satan asked. “You expect us to be angry you killed one of your kind?”
  “…I’m afraid of ruining the exchange program,” you lie.
  You’re afraid they’ll hate you.
  Lucifer seemed… almost too calm. He tilted his head, looking at the body. You wonder if he’s been in a situation like this before.
  “…you have no need to worry,” he says. “You were only acting in defense, and we had made it clear that members of rad were not to harm you.”
  He steps over the remains, and takes your hand, helping you stand.
  “We’re just glad you’re alright. And we will be sure to make this… little nuisance disappear.”
  He nods to the brothers, who nod back. You feel… wrong. You’d almost rather they were disgusted- you did something unforgivable, didn’t you?
  “They’ll be in a fragile state,” Satan warns, “some of us should take them home. The rest can take care of this mess.”
  Mammon, Belphie, and Asmo are the ones to go with you first. The rest stay behind to do… you, you almost dont want to think of it.
  You feel… sick. The red coats to your hands like filth- a stain. And although Mammon is gushing about how thankful he is you’re safe, and Asmo is assuring you that to them- you did nothing wrong, you feel… you feel like a monster. You scrunch your eyes shut, hoping it will all go away.
Belphie takes your hand.
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