#tw: hyperthermia

[whump-mania]

yo i love your whipped whimper caretaking prompts? could you do some more caretaking prompts for other random types of whump? whatever you’re feeling like, but esp wounds or hyper/hypothermia

Assorted Caretaker Lines

For sure! I’ll make some little sections for as many as I can think of:

Wounds

1. “Hold this down. It’ll stop the bleeding…for now.”

2. “Shit, I…I’ve never treated a would like this before, I-I don’t really know what I’m doing…”

3. “It’s infected. Someone get me a bottle of alcohol before this spreads to their immune system.”

4. “Don’t worry. We’re gonna close this thing right back up. You’re gonna be okay.”

5. “What do you mean, it already bled through? …Oh…shit.”

Hypothermia

1. “Jesus—is their skin supposed to feel like ice?”

2. “Whumpee…how long did they leave you outside…?”

3. “I don’t care if you’re cold, Whumpee’s gonna fucking die if they’re not warmed up! Give me your blanket!”

4. “They’re shaking like a leaf…I-I don’t know if they’re gonna be okay.”

5. “I told you not to go out in this weather, Whumpee. Don’t go risking your life for me.”

Hyperthermia

1. “I told you we needed to stop for water! Look at them now!”

2. “Whumper, please, just let them take a break. They’re gonna overheat like this. Let me go out there, I can handle it.”

3. “I know, I know. We’re gonna get you somewhere cool. Just hang in there.”

4. “Absolutely not. Your skin is hot to the touch right now, there’s no way you’re taking that punishment for me.”

5. “There’s no ice left, I’m sorry…it all melted. You’re just gonna have to sweat it out.”

Psychological

1. “Don’t listen to them. None of that was true, they’re just trying to get in your head.”

2. “Hey…Whumpee, you still with me? Hello?”

3. “Look at me. Breathe. You feel my hand? You’re here. You’re with me now, you’re okay.”

4. “They don’t have any physical scars. Whumper’s more inclined to leave…um…mental ones.”

5. “It scares me when you do that. When you…go somewhere else. In your head.”

[blueberry-gills]

Aw man I love bandwagons/j

[3mutantsinatrenchcoat]

It takes a village to raise a family part 4

Part 3 , part 5

Rural au, once again, by the amazing @angelpuns

Tw: this short contains descriptions of late stage hyperthermia and brief hints at death during a talk

My husband has 3 rules during the winter. "Wear warm clothes, don't drink or eat anything cold, and do not walk outside unless you can see light".

Well, one fine winter my husband fell sickly ill, along with my youngest. Not only where they on my mind so where the young turtles, little Leo would wander from the rest, Mikey as excited as ever to be in town, so much so his eyes where a guide that never stayed on path...little Donnie whose own body couldn't stand on its own and little raph as head strong as a bull.

The last thing I remembered before stepping into the snow storm was shoving my feet in my boots, I had no time for socks. Throwing on my coat, I had no time for layers. The slam of the door as the wind argued it's point against me, but I would not listen. I was out of medicine and time.

Then there was cold, and wind, and white everywhere. I couldn't see more than two feet ahead, we didn't have many storms in the winter.

I could barely make out lights of lanterns inside houses, stumbling as my feet sunk into the snow. At some point I remember tripping a lot, feeling like hands were grabbing at my ankles, wrapping around my boots.

I don't remember much, but I do remember hearing shouting not far from me. I remember when the cold started to warm. And then it got hotter...and hotter. My cloak was too warm, I was wearing too much. I would roast in this weather.

I remember just barely pulling off my cloak before it got snatched right back over my head, a gruff and angered voice shouting at me to keep it on. Burning hot hands touching both sides of my face. "let go-!"

I don't even think I could hear my voice clearly, but I heard his just fine. "no! You are coming inside with me!" It was a demand, no room for argument, stomping of feet and creaking of wood I knew to be a porch, a specific porch with specific creaky spots.

I remember how i barely felt being lifted, I could barely feel the shoulder I was on if it wasn't for how warm it was. I barely remember the chatter of the turtle boys.

Then, time went past with every blink.

The bright of fire, the crackling, the burning feeling.

The way the kids looked as I kicked and fought their father over a blanket, shaking and biting. The way metallic tasted on my tongue as I snagged his hand.

I would blink again and I had a cup in one hand, Mikey's in the other, Splinter pulling away snow from my fur with gloves, tossing it into a bucket that Raph watched from behind. "I know it's hot, it's okay, let it burn. I know it's burning let it burn" I could barely feel the tears that froze to my face pulling off my fur.

I would blink again and now Donnie and Leo where at another side, rambling about some book from the market, Splinter's warm hands cupped around my ears. "Pay attention to those words Flint!" A snappy voice laced with anger and fear. A demand, a protest.

And then it was as if time got slower, the boys all curled up asleep and Splinter staring at me, sitting on the floor. "...your eyes. You paying attention?"

"mm.." i barely moved my head and the room was blurring again, tears building up.

"alright...keep...keep talking to me...keep on talking.." he got up and then I felt warm on the side of my face. I couldn't help the noise that came out, or the burning hot tears that flooded out afterwards.

"I know..I know it burns.."

"augh!" It felt like I was boiling from the inside and burning from the outside, the heat from the fire, the boys and Splinter was uncomfortable..even more uncomfortable once I saw my fingers move but I couldn't feel it.

"s-splin-..splin-ta-..I- I can't-" it felt like my throat was tightening, but Splinter sat beside me and pulled me into his side. He didn't say another word, not until my crying had stopped and all I could let out was Shakey breaths.

"...you really are an idiot..." Splinter spoke, not with anger but something I've never heard in his voice before.

"wh...what?" When I turned to look at him, his eyes were lost from reality...really...glossy and sad looking.

"why did you go out...? It's storming and you are little- not only that you-..you nearly froze-"

"...my family is sick..your boys c-could have gotten sick...I-i was out of medicine.." the shame flickered inside my chest, only to be drowned out but a laugh. One of both mockery and disbelief. Eyes wide and filled with shock in this human's eyes.

"Flint, you sound like a buddy of mine..." His voice was filled with anger and mournfulness. "you know, I was a soldier..." He starts, glancing to see if I was paying attention, of course I was. I could listen to him forever.

"...we had a mission, one day. It was snowing that day, we had to rescue our medics.." He went silent, then he shook his head slightly, blinking away at some thoughts that I would never get to hear. "...they got too warm, just like you. We didn't bring back our medics"

"...I don't...i-.." it clicked and the cold that washed over was worse than anything I had felt before. The more I think about it the more I realize I barely know Splinter. He's my neighbor, I help with his kids and he built me a pump for water. We learned to cook for our family, yet we never shared stories...well. I did, Splinter didn't.

There was more to him than I would ever understand, but...for now....

I felt him jump as I put my head against his side, moving my tail to cover his hand, situated in his own lap...now that I saw it, it was soaked, and trembling..or well I was trembling...but it was nothing compared to the slump that Splinter gave. One that meant he understood the gesture.

That no matter what I would always, be here to listen.

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

If You Can't Stand the Heat....

Whumptober 2022: 5. Hyperthermia, 31. Comfort

Fandom: Outer Range, Rhett Abbott

Word Count: 1730

TW: Heat Stroke, Unconscious, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Note: Thank you to @mayhem24-7forever for looking this over for me and reassuring me I was on a good path!

Nervously, you glanced out the window for the third time in the last fifteen minutes. Something was wrong, you just knew it. 

Rhett had called you up that morning sounding really frustrated. He had to cancel your trip to the city because his parents were still on their anniversary vacation and Perry never came home last night. So, he was stuck watching Amy all day. And to make matters worse, last night’s storm had knocked down part of a fence that he needed to fix but he didn’t want Amy having to sit out in the hot sun while he worked on it but he also didn’t want her alone in the house for hours either.

While you had been disappointed there was a change of plans, you offered to come watch Amy while he worked. After all, the fence shouldn’t take too long, then the three of you could do something together. You liked Amy and the two of you had formed a special bond in the year and a half you had been dating Rhett. A bond that had only gotten stronger once her mom disappeared. 

So, you came over and started setting out the cards to continue teaching Amy how to play poker as Rhett got ready to go out to the pasture to work. You offered to make him lunch and grab him a water bottle to take with him, but he just kissed the top of your head and said he wouldn’t need it. The job should only take two, maybe three hours tops and then he’d be back.

However, that was five hours ago and you hadn’t seen or heard anything from him. Cell reception wasn’t great out in the west pasture but he should have at least come back to the house and let you know it was taking longer than expected or asked for some help. No, something was definitely wrong. 

You told Amy to go watch some tv and you’d be right back, then you hurried out to your truck. At least he had told you which section of the ranch he would be working in, but the fenceline through the west pasture still didn’t narrow things down any. It stretched for hundreds of acres. Yet, you had to make sure. There was no way you could go back to just sitting in the house playing cards or watching cartoons until you knew Rhett was alright.

After driving about fifteen minutes, you spotted Rhett’s truck in the distance next to the half-repaired fence…. but no Rhett. You pressed your foot down on the gas, eyes scanning the area for any signs of your boyfriend yet there wasn't any. 

As soon as you pulled up next to the front of his truck, you jumped out and ran over to the fence. All of Rhett’s tools and equipment were still there and it looked like he had been in the middle of restringing one of the wires when he disappeared. 

You ran the back of your hand across your forehead, wiping away the sweat that was already forming there, before glancing around once more. Where the hell was he?

Just as you were about to give up, you noticed his baseball cap laying on the ground just beside his back tire. And as you looked closer, you saw something in the shadows under Rhett’s truck. His tailgate was down making it harder to see, but it almost looked like…. a boot.

“Rhett!” Charging over to the side of the truck, you dropped to your knees and peered under it, gasping as you finally saw Rhett. He was laying on his back, his hand on his chest as he panted heavily. His eyes were closed, and his face looked oddly pale after being in the sun all day. You called out to him but he didn’t respond. 

You clambered to your feet and ran to the back of the truck, slamming the tailgate shut. Without it in the way, you could see more of his boots sticking out and you grabbed one in each hand. Bracing yourself, you pulled as hard as you could, but he only moved a few inches so you pulled again. Over and over you did this until his face emerged from under the truck. Letting his feet go, you returned to his side once more. 

Brushing some of the hair off his face, you were terrified at what you felt. After being out here for so long in his jeans, long-sleeved shirt, glove, hat, and boots, you would have expected him to be drenched in sweat, yet he wasn’t. And his skin was scorching to the touch, yet he was shivering slightly. You were in no way an expert when it came to this sort of thing, but if you had to guess, you would say he was suffering from a heat stroke.

“Rhett… hey, come on, baby, please wake up,” you shook his shoulder softly but he made no indication that he felt it. 

He needed to get cooled off as soon as possible. You were still practically sitting beneath his truck, but you knew he still hadn't gotten his air conditioner fixed from when it broke at the start of summer. So, you leaned over and gently kissed his cheek before whispering, “I’ll be right back. Just hang on.”

Getting to your feet, you hurried to your truck and turned on the air conditioner. Then, as carefully as possible, you edged it over until your driver’s side door was practically brushing the side of his truck. You scrambled out the other side and ran back to Rhett. Then you wrapped his arm around your shoulder and, with great difficulty, managed to half-drag, half-carry him to your truck. The most difficult part was lifting him up into it, but somehow you found a way to do so. 

You climbed in after him and shut the door. Knowing he needed to cool off as quickly as possible, you yanked off his gloves and then wrestled his shirt over his head. You considered trying to take his jeans off too, but there was just not enough room in the cab to manage that and you were physically exhausted at that point. So, you settled into your seat and laid Rhett’s head down in your lap, and rested your hand over his pounding heart as you waited to see if he would wake up. 

It was probably a smarter idea to drive him straight back to the house, but you knew you were too exhausted to carry him inside yourself and you also didn’t want Amy to see her uncle like that. After losing her mom, you didn’t want to traumatize her any more than she already had been. 

After about five minutes, Rhett’s heartbeat had slowed significantly. It was still faster than usual, but it was no longer at a pace that worried you. And as you shifted in your seat, he stirred slightly. Running your fingers lightly against his cheek, you asked, “Rhett? Baby, can you hear me?”

Ever so slowly, his eyes flickered open, causing you to sigh in relief. He glanced around, trying to get his bearings, but then he looked up and his eyes met yours. He licked his lips, and in a low rumble, muttered, “Sweetheart, wha-what happened? Whe-where are we?”

You smiled down at him. “We’re in my truck. You didn’t come back and I got worried so I came to check on you. Good thing I did because I found you laying under your truck.”

Rhett squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to remember. “I just got dizzy all of a sudden and fell over. I was so hot and I couldn’t get back up. The only shade around was under the truck so I drugged myself under it. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“I think you just overdid it in the sun with all those layers on. I told you to bring some water.” You playfully slapped his arm and he ducked his head slightly.

“That’s what I get for not listening to you, I guess. Thank you for checking on me.” He placed his hand over yours where it still rested on his bare chest and he gave it a small squeeze.

You leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “Always, baby.” The two of you sat in silence for a moment before you said, “If you think you can sit up, I’ll drive you back to the house and get you some water and you can take a cold shower. Then when you feel up to it, I’ll drive you back out here and you can get your truck.”

He nodded, and you helped ease him up into a sitting position. Then you climbed behind the wheel and started heading to the house. You glanced over to see Rhett leaning his head against the window with his eyes closed. Reaching for his hand, you squeezed it and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just a little dizzy and tired, but I’ll be okay.” He opened his eyes and looked at you. “I’m just glad Dad or Perry weren’t here. I would have never heard the end of this.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly as you snapped, “No, if they were here, this wouldn’t have happened because you wouldn’t have had to do all of that by yourself. They both just expect you to do everything and then never give you the slightest bit of credit or recognize what an amazing, generous person you are. And do you ever complain? No.” You continued muttering under your breath. “Makes you cancel your plans to fix their shit and watch their daughter. Then they can’t even be bothered to come to your last rodeo event.”

Rhett squeezed your thigh lovingly. “I know, but they’re family. But I do appreciate how much you do for them as well. You didn’t have to come today.”

“I did that for you, not them,” you scoffed. But then, in a softer tone, said, “Besides, I’m still hoping you’ll make me part of their family someday too.”

As you pulled up in front of the house and put the truck in park, Rhett drew your face towards his as he whispered, “Just say the word, sweetheart, and all of this is yours.”

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @mayhem24-7forever, @hederasgarden, @wildbornsiren, @merlehs, @sunshineflowerchild789, @11thstreetvigilante, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

If You Can't Stand the Heat....

Whumptober 2022: 5. Hyperthermia, 31. Comfort

Fandom: Outer Range, Rhett Abbott

Word Count: 1730

TW: Heat Stroke, Unconscious, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Note: Thank you to @mayhem24-7forever for looking this over for me and reassuring me I was on a good path!

Nervously, you glanced out the window for the third time in the last fifteen minutes. Something was wrong, you just knew it. 

Rhett had called you up that morning sounding really frustrated. He had to cancel your trip to the city because his parents were still on their anniversary vacation and Perry never came home last night. So, he was stuck watching Amy all day. And to make matters worse, last night’s storm had knocked down part of a fence that he needed to fix but he didn’t want Amy having to sit out in the hot sun while he worked on it but he also didn’t want her alone in the house for hours either.

While you had been disappointed there was a change of plans, you offered to come watch Amy while he worked. After all, the fence shouldn’t take too long, then the three of you could do something together. You liked Amy and the two of you had formed a special bond in the year and a half you had been dating Rhett. A bond that had only gotten stronger once her mom disappeared. 

So, you came over and started setting out the cards to continue teaching Amy how to play poker as Rhett got ready to go out to the pasture to work. You offered to make him lunch and grab him a water bottle to take with him, but he just kissed the top of your head and said he wouldn’t need it. The job should only take two, maybe three hours tops and then he’d be back.

However, that was five hours ago and you hadn’t seen or heard anything from him. Cell reception wasn’t great out in the west pasture but he should have at least come back to the house and let you know it was taking longer than expected or asked for some help. No, something was definitely wrong. 

You told Amy to go watch some tv and you’d be right back, then you hurried out to your truck. At least he had told you which section of the ranch he would be working in, but the fenceline through the west pasture still didn’t narrow things down any. It stretched for hundreds of acres. Yet, you had to make sure. There was no way you could go back to just sitting in the house playing cards or watching cartoons until you knew Rhett was alright.

After driving about fifteen minutes, you spotted Rhett’s truck in the distance next to the half-repaired fence…. but no Rhett. You pressed your foot down on the gas, eyes scanning the area for any signs of your boyfriend yet there wasn't any. 

As soon as you pulled up next to the front of his truck, you jumped out and ran over to the fence. All of Rhett’s tools and equipment were still there and it looked like he had been in the middle of restringing one of the wires when he disappeared. 

You ran the back of your hand across your forehead, wiping away the sweat that was already forming there, before glancing around once more. Where the hell was he?

Just as you were about to give up, you noticed his baseball cap laying on the ground just beside his back tire. And as you looked closer, you saw something in the shadows under Rhett’s truck. His tailgate was down making it harder to see, but it almost looked like…. a boot.

“Rhett!” Charging over to the side of the truck, you dropped to your knees and peered under it, gasping as you finally saw Rhett. He was laying on his back, his hand on his chest as he panted heavily. His eyes were closed, and his face looked oddly pale after being in the sun all day. You called out to him but he didn’t respond. 

You clambered to your feet and ran to the back of the truck, slamming the tailgate shut. Without it in the way, you could see more of his boots sticking out and you grabbed one in each hand. Bracing yourself, you pulled as hard as you could, but he only moved a few inches so you pulled again. Over and over you did this until his face emerged from under the truck. Letting his feet go, you returned to his side once more. 

Brushing some of the hair off his face, you were terrified at what you felt. After being out here for so long in his jeans, long-sleeved shirt, glove, hat, and boots, you would have expected him to be drenched in sweat, yet he wasn’t. And his skin was scorching to the touch, yet he was shivering slightly. You were in no way an expert when it came to this sort of thing, but if you had to guess, you would say he was suffering from a heat stroke.

“Rhett… hey, come on, baby, please wake up,” you shook his shoulder softly but he made no indication that he felt it. 

He needed to get cooled off as soon as possible. You were still practically sitting beneath his truck, but you knew he still hadn't gotten his air conditioner fixed from when it broke at the start of summer. So, you leaned over and gently kissed his cheek before whispering, “I’ll be right back. Just hang on.”

Getting to your feet, you hurried to your truck and turned on the air conditioner. Then, as carefully as possible, you edged it over until your driver’s side door was practically brushing the side of his truck. You scrambled out the other side and ran back to Rhett. Then you wrapped his arm around your shoulder and, with great difficulty, managed to half-drag, half-carry him to your truck. The most difficult part was lifting him up into it, but somehow you found a way to do so. 

You climbed in after him and shut the door. Knowing he needed to cool off as quickly as possible, you yanked off his gloves and then wrestled his shirt over his head. You considered trying to take his jeans off too, but there was just not enough room in the cab to manage that and you were physically exhausted at that point. So, you settled into your seat and laid Rhett’s head down in your lap, and rested your hand over his pounding heart as you waited to see if he would wake up. 

It was probably a smarter idea to drive him straight back to the house, but you knew you were too exhausted to carry him inside yourself and you also didn’t want Amy to see her uncle like that. After losing her mom, you didn’t want to traumatize her any more than she already had been. 

After about five minutes, Rhett’s heartbeat had slowed significantly. It was still faster than usual, but it was no longer at a pace that worried you. And as you shifted in your seat, he stirred slightly. Running your fingers lightly against his cheek, you asked, “Rhett? Baby, can you hear me?”

Ever so slowly, his eyes flickered open, causing you to sigh in relief. He glanced around, trying to get his bearings, but then he looked up and his eyes met yours. He licked his lips, and in a low rumble, muttered, “Sweetheart, wha-what happened? Whe-where are we?”

You smiled down at him. “We’re in my truck. You didn’t come back and I got worried so I came to check on you. Good thing I did because I found you laying under your truck.”

Rhett squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to remember. “I just got dizzy all of a sudden and fell over. I was so hot and I couldn’t get back up. The only shade around was under the truck so I drugged myself under it. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“I think you just overdid it in the sun with all those layers on. I told you to bring some water.” You playfully slapped his arm and he ducked his head slightly.

“That’s what I get for not listening to you, I guess. Thank you for checking on me.” He placed his hand over yours where it still rested on his bare chest and he gave it a small squeeze.

You leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “Always, baby.” The two of you sat in silence for a moment before you said, “If you think you can sit up, I’ll drive you back to the house and get you some water and you can take a cold shower. Then when you feel up to it, I’ll drive you back out here and you can get your truck.”

He nodded, and you helped ease him up into a sitting position. Then you climbed behind the wheel and started heading to the house. You glanced over to see Rhett leaning his head against the window with his eyes closed. Reaching for his hand, you squeezed it and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just a little dizzy and tired, but I’ll be okay.” He opened his eyes and looked at you. “I’m just glad Dad or Perry weren’t here. I would have never heard the end of this.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly as you snapped, “No, if they were here, this wouldn’t have happened because you wouldn’t have had to do all of that by yourself. They both just expect you to do everything and then never give you the slightest bit of credit or recognize what an amazing, generous person you are. And do you ever complain? No.” You continued muttering under your breath. “Makes you cancel your plans to fix their shit and watch their daughter. Then they can’t even be bothered to come to your last rodeo event.”

Rhett squeezed your thigh lovingly. “I know, but they’re family. But I do appreciate how much you do for them as well. You didn’t have to come today.”

“I did that for you, not them,” you scoffed. But then, in a softer tone, said, “Besides, I’m still hoping you’ll make me part of their family someday too.”

As you pulled up in front of the house and put the truck in park, Rhett drew your face towards his as he whispered, “Just say the word, sweetheart, and all of this is yours.”

Taglist: @luckyladycreator2, @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996

[bloodsweatandpotato]

Day 5

Hyperthermia

Fandom: Original work

Characters: Generic whumpee

Tw: some blood

Summary: Whumpee’s car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. They can’t remember how long they’ve been walking…

One foot in front of the other.

One foot in front of the other.

One foot… in front…

Whumpee’s knees buckled, and they wavered for a moment, before their legs gave out entirely. They crumpled to their knees, just managing to catch themself with their hands before falling flat on their face.

They blinked, inhaling shakily as they licked their cracked lips.

Copper tainted their tongue, and whumpee was almost relieved to have that wetness on their sand-dry tongue.

If they ever made it out of there, they were never going back to… wherever they were. Wyoming? Kansas? They had driven for so long, eyes glazed over and mind numbed by panic and aimlessness. They didn’t know where they had ended up, besides the fact that it was flat and dry and covered in yellow-brown grass.

Whumpee raised their head, trying to swallow against the overwhelming nausea. The walls of their throat stuck together, and they coughed, tongue thick in their mouth.

They closed their eyes, not yet even thinking of getting up. They were too hot, too tired. The seemingly-never ending stream of sweat that they had so despised had dried, leaving their skin red and exposed.

Whumpee fuzzily mused that maybe the fact they had stopped sweating was bad.

They blinked, a sudden, fleeting wave of lucidity washing over them.

They moved one shaking hand, pinching the index finger of their other. They held their finger, waiting until the nail bed turned white from the pressure, before releasing. One, two, three… they counted five seconds before color fully returned.

Oh… Whumpee begun shaking for an entirely different reason than the heat and exhaustion.

If they didn’t stand up then, they didn’t think they would ever get up again.

They blinked, and just like that, the thought was gone.

They would get up in a moment.

A drop of blood landed on the gravel of the road shoulder in front of them, and Whumpee belatedly realized their nose had begun bleeding again.

They closed their eyes, crumpling until their head rested on the pavement. Just a moment. Just a moment and they would get up. It wasn’t that bad, they weren’t even that hot anymore. Just tired and dizzy and in need of a rest.

Just a short rest.

The last thing Whumpee heard before they blacked out was the sound of a car barreling towards them.

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Pt. 21: Every Whumpee’s Needs

TWs in the tags

Previous

Masterlist

Next

Blood loss | Running out of air | Hyperthermia

It’s been too long since Jane last hurt you. Something’s coming. You wish you were brave enough to run again, but you can’t even think about it without thinking of overwhelming pain.

Your wounds are finally healed. You can finally move without restriction or pain. Everyone’s relatively okay. Kit is mostly healed. It’s absolutely terrifying.

Your nightmares are getting worse. You are constantly full of dread and fear.

You keep practicing holding your breath. You alternate between freezing cold and boiling hot showers. You sit in uncomfortable positions for hours, trying to learn to handle stress positions. You eat less, hoping to get used to hunger.

You wake up crying often and beg Kit and Dollie to not let her hurt you, to protect you, please please please.

You know it’s not fair. You can’t protect them, to expect them to protect you is unfair. Still, you want so badly to feel safe.

It’s almost a relief when Jane calls you down to the basement. Almost.

You’ve been doing this thing lately, where you compare the fear of living here to your old greatest fears. Would you rather spend an hour in the basement or a day in an airplane? Get beaten with a crowbar or bitten by spiders?

Over and over, you come to the same answer. You would rather be anywhere than here. You’d be less afraid if you were walking down a staircase to be executed.

“Hi, Bunny. Give me your collar.”

You slowly undo your collar and hand it to Jane. It’s a lot easier to breathe without it, but you know that won’t last long.

“That’s a good Bunny. What’s your name?”

“Bunny, Master.”

Jane laughs. “No, not yet. But we’ll fix that, won’t we?”

“Master, please.” There’s nothing else to say.

Jane just smiles. “Kneel.”

You kneel.

Jane produces duct tape and tapes your mouth shut. And then she plugs your nose.

Your lungs start burning almost immediately. You didn’t get a chance to take a breath.

“Liam.” Jane’s voice drips with an emotion you don’t recognize. “Liam.”

If you could breathe, you would laugh. It’s so stupid. Just saying your name over and over again while she tortures you. And even more stupid is that it will work, because it worked on Dollie and Kit and they’re stronger than you. You’re going to be too scared to even think of your name because of something so stupid.

Tears leak from your eyes and your vision blacks out. You think, for a moment, that she’s going to let you pass out, but she lets go. You breathe as deeply as you can through your nose.

“You’re so cute. I know you’ve been practicing holding your breath for me. Sweet little Bunny. Show me how good you’ve gotten.”

Jane plugs your nose again. The fact that you practiced does make it less scary, makes the feeling of suffocation more familiar. But you don’t have any control. You’re not the one choosing to hold your breath, and it won’t end until Jane wants it to.

Your practice and preparation don’t matter. It never will. You’ve been spending all this time hurting yourself when you should’ve just been enjoying the time you had where you weren’t being hurt. Kit was right. Of course they were right.

You can’t beg. You know it wouldn’t help anyway, but somehow that makes it worse. You’re completely powerless against someone simply plugging your nose.

You force your hands to stay down at your sides and try not to squirm. Fighting her will do nothing at best and get you punished at worse. You squirm anyway. God, you’re so fucking weak.

It’s amazing how long a minute can be. Jane once again releases you right before you pass out. You inhale, and she cuts off your air supply once again.

“Does it help? Do you feel powerful? In control? Strong? Was it worth it?”

You can’t answer.

“I doubt it. There’s only so much air your lungs can hold. You’ll always run out of air pretty quickly, no matter how much you work on it. Liam. My Bunny. You’re not the brightest, are you?”

Your vision swims. Can she do permanent damage, like this? You don’t know. Isn’t it three minutes of oxygen deprivation before your brain gets damaged? No, wait, that’s before you die. You can go three weeks without food, three days without water, and three minutes without oxygen. But you remember something about people surviving being stuck under ice for hours without air… Where did you even hear that three rule, anyway? Was that even true?

Jane is still talking, saying your name over and over. Your insides burn, but you feel nice. Ha, she’s trying to torture you but instead you feel nice. Wait, why’s she trying to torture you? You didn’t do anything. What’s happening? Why can’t you open your mouth?

The world spins and your vision is tinged with dark blue. Jane lets go. You still can’t get enough air. She plugs your nose.

You smile beneath the tape and close your eyes. The ground is rippling, up and down, up and down. You think this wouldn’t be the worst way to die. Are you dying? Where are you?

You feel like you’re floating. You feel like you’re a flame, flickering, flickering, flickering. You feel like…

You feel like…

You wake up sweating.

You lie on the floor of a room you haven’t seen before. It’s so fucking hot. Your clothes are soaked with sweat. It’s so hot.

Your head hurts. Your mouth is still covered with duct tape, but your hands are unbound. You could take it off. She never told you to keep it on, you wouldn’t be breaking any rules.

Or maybe she did tell you to keep it on. You stopped listening to her, while you were being suffocated. You should’ve been listening.

Best not to risk it. You don’t want to give her any reason to hurt you worse.

You slowly get to your feet. It feels a bit better, to not be making as much contact with the hot concrete. But it’s not enough.

This is the hot room. You try to remember what Kit told you about it. They didn’t say much, except that usually Jane leaves people in here for longer than an hour.

You’re not sure how this is supposed to help with the goal of forgetting your name. Maybe it’s not. Maybe Jane just wants you to suffer.

You’re starting to feel lightheaded, after only a few minutes of standing. You feel nauseous.

The door doesn’t have a handle on your side, and it won’t push open. Like always, there’s no escape. You will be left in here until Jane wants to let you out.

Your heart pounds. You shouldn’t be panicking, that will heat you up even more. Still, your thoughts race. How long will she leave you in here? You don’t want to be in here, you want it to stop.

You double over at another wave of nausea. The room spins. The duct tape is loosening from the sweat on your face.

What would Kit do? What would Dollie do?

You wish Kit had given you advice. That’s what you wanted, when you asked what things might happen. Is it better to take your clothes off, or are your damp clothes keeping you cool? Should you be standing, or should you be finding a position that takes less energy while still lessening contact with the ground?

You don’t know. You wish Kit was here, which makes you feel bad. You shouldn’t wish they were being tortured with you. But you know it would be easier if they were here.

Tears fall from your eyes. No, you can’t lose any more water! You have to stop!

But your panic just makes the tears fall faster. You want to curl into a ball, but that will just make things worse.

The duct tape over your mouth falls off. You would put it back on, to avoid upsetting Jane, but being able to breathe through your mouth makes you feel one hundred times better.

And, well, now it’s already fallen off. So if Jane told you to keep it on, you’ve already failed. No point in going back.

Your hand spasms and you gasp. It reminds you of being electrocuted and it /hurts/. Is that normal?

When your feet start spasming, you have to sit down. You try to focus on your breathing, but your mind keeps going back to how hot you are.

And how sweaty you are.

And how badly your head hurts.

And how your throat hurts.

And how you’re dizzy.

And how you’re thirsty, so so thirsty.

And how you’re nauseas.

And how your muscles keep spasming.

You’re going to have to get better at distracting yourself if you ever want to handle situations like this. You know you’ve experienced it before, that feeling of separation from your body and the pain, but right now you are stubbornly locked inside your body.

Your nose starts bleeding, because of course you need to add blood loss to the long list of things going wrong with your body.

She won’t let you die. She said that that was a long way away. She won’t leave you in here long enough to die.

You don’t know if that’s a relief or not.

You recite songs in your head (not out loud, you’re too thirsty for that). You count the minutes. You focus very hard on not crying. Blood and sweat and maybe some tears drip onto the ground.

Your chest hurts. Is this it? Did she go to far? You throw up and it hurts, it hurts your stomach and your chest and your throat and your head, and you can’t breathe. You hands spasm at your sides.

There’s only so long this can go on. Either she’ll let you out or you’ll die. This will end.

You repeat it to yourself like a mantra. This will end, this will end. It can’t go on forever. This will end.

You start to feel like you’re not so much breathing as moving air around. Hot air comes in and out of your lungs, and it doesn’t help. You’re suffocating, you’re dying, oh god you don’t want to die, you don’t you don’t you don’t. You need to get out!

You are overwhelmed by dizziness. You know, suddenly, that you’re going to survive. You’re starting to realize that what you need to survive and what you need are two very different things.

Your body falls forward, and you’re unconscious before your head hits the concrete.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @ghostsinthecloset

[robinrites]

Day Five: Best-Worst Bad Guy

Happy Whumptober Day 5!

Prompts: Every Whumpee's Needs, Blood Loss, Running out of Air, Hyperthermia

TW: Suffocation, gunshot wound, heat stroke, hallucinations, water deprivation.

Villain knew it was only a matter of time before this happened. They held their right hand against their left shoulder as they darted down the hallway, occasionally stealing glances at their pursuers. They pulled their hand away for a moment, only to see it was covered in their blood. 

“Fuck.” They whispered before pressing their hand back over where they had been shot.  

“You can run but you can’t hide Villain,” Supervillain called as she followed them down the hallway. 

Villain ducked into one of the empty labs along the hallway and hid out of sight as best as they could. They held their breath as they heard Supervillain’s heels click on the floor, then paused at the door to the room they were currently hiding in. Seconds passed, Villain held in their breath, afraid even the tiniest noise would alert their pursuer of their location. As Supervillain’s heels clicked away, Villain let out a sigh of relief. They went to inhale, but suddenly found all the air had been sucked from their lungs. As they gasped for air, they couldn’t help but want to cry. 

“Tt, foolish Villain.” Supervillain’s shoes clacked as she came back towards where Villain was hiding. “Have you forgotten what I’m capable of?” Even if Villain wanted to respond, they weren’t sure they had the air to do so. “Show yourself if you want to breathe again.” Villain felt their face turn blue, their lungs burned for air. Somehow they stumbled back out into the hallway, and the air rushed back to their lungs. Villain took gasping, shuddering breaths as they tried to regulate their breathing again. 

“Fuck you.” They panted, mentally promising themselves they would flip Supervillain off once they could focus on anything but being suffocated. 

Supervillain squatted down to where Villain was kneeling and tilted their chin upward, “To think I took you under my wing.” Supervillain spat in their face, then sneered, “I think it’s high time you relearned some manners.” 

Two guards, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, each grab one of Villain’s arms, quickly dragging them away from Supervillain. Villain wants to fight so desperately, but one look in Supervillain’s eyes reminds them of what will happen if they try to escape again. If only suffocation got easier each time it happened. 

Villain feels a pinprick in their neck as Supervillain begins to walk away. The guards are smart like that. Without the threat of suffocation, what else would keep them in line? They numbly register being dragged down several flights of stairs. Villain knows this will hurt later, they’ll probably be bruised from it, but what else can they do? Their limbs feel heavy, almost as if they were lined with lead. The lights get dimmer and dimmer as they descend levels until finally they have reached sub-basement 3. 

Villain barely registers being tossed in a cell, or the fact that they are now chained to the wall with barely any wiggle room. They want to call after the guards, maybe bribe them, but their mouth refuses to open. Words die in their throat before they can hit their lips. 

When they wake up the next morning, the first thing they notice is the intense heat. All the moisture is gone from Villain’s mouth, and there isn’t a single drop of water in sight. Villain goes to rub their eyes, which are itching from how dry they are, only to be reminded that they are chained to a wall. They let their head roll backwards for a second, hoping it’ll help them collect their thoughts. It doesn’t. 

“Hello?” They call, as loud as they can. “Hey I think you guys left the heater on!” Villain tugs experimentally against their chains to no avail. “What’s a person gotta do to get some water around here?” They try to joke, but the lack of moisture makes Villain cough over the sound of any response. “Hello?” They drop their head, sweat rolling down their forehead in droves. “Fuck! Okay I’ve learned my lesson, I’ll be a good little villain now just please! Can I at least get some water?” 

They are about to give up on yelling, when they hear the sound of a lock turning in the door. A guard storms in, face red with rage, and he’s carrying what looks like a water bowl for a dog. He sets it in front of them, then crosses his arms. 

“Will this get ya to shut up?” 

“Yes! Oh gods yes please thank you!” They wait expectantly for the guard to uncuff them so they can drink, but he doesn’t make any moves to do so. “Can I be uncuffed so I can drink please?” 

“Ha!” The guard rolls his eyes, then kicks the bowl a little closer with his foot, spilling precious water. “Boss lady said she wants you trained, so we’re startin’ with the basics. Eatin’ from a bowl.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I could jus’ take the water away if that’ll make you happy.” 

“No!” Villain shouts, “I’m sorry, please don’t.” They awkwardly bend forward until their head is inches from the bowl of water, wincing at the strain this position puts on their arms. They take a sip of the water and almost spit it out when they realize it’s warm. They force themself to swallow, then steal a glance up at the guard. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” 

“The water it’s-” 

“Warm? I’m aware.” He laughs cruelly, “We’re sweatin’ the goody-two-shoes out of ya. Now drink up before I take it away.” 

Villain bites back a cry before returning to the warm water. They drink the whole bowl, feeling slightly less parched than before, but still craving crisp cool water. The man picks up the bowl, then glares at Villain one more time. 

“Aren’t ya forgetting something?” 

“Thank you for the water.” They drop their head, both as a sign of respect and a sign of exhaustion. Satisfied, the man exits the cell, quickly locking it behind him. 

Villain wants to bang their head against the wall behind them. They want to cry so badly. Their throat begins to choke up from holding in the tears, but they know crying would waste precious water. Eventually, the urge to cry disappears, replaced by a new feeling: fear. They aren’t sure how long they’ve been sitting in the cell, possibly a couple hours. 

All they are sure about is how hot it is. Villain’s heart feels like it’s been moving a thousand miles per hour, and they feel absolutely drenched in sweat. Villain pities whoever will walk into the room next, even though they are numb to the stench of their sweat, they are positive this room reeks. Villain spots a figure in the room, when did the door open? 

A warm glow surrounds the other person in the room. Villain can’t help but smile as they take in the glittering nest of curls resting atop this new person’s head, as if it was a halo. They watch this woman step closer to them, then they feel her hand cup their cheek. So faint it’s almost as if she wasn’t really there. She laughs, was it something I said? Villain doesn’t remember saying anything, but why would this person laugh if nothing was said? 

“Help me.” Villain manages to sputter out, but the person just smiles, then turns to go. Villain tugs as hard as they can on their bindings. “Wait! Please don’t leave me! I’ll be good-er bad! I’ll be the best-worst bad villain there ever was….” Villain shakes their head, “I’m getting all mixed up now aren’t I?” The woman grabs the door handle and pulls it open, then walks into a white light. What happened to the corridor outside? The guard? 

The sound of the door creaking open snaps them back into reality. Was it really all fake? A caped figure sneaks into the cell, quickly scanning it for any threats or weaknesses before focusing on Villain. They move the hood so it no longer obscures their face, only to reveal the woman from Villain’s hallucination. 

“Villain?!”

[savebatsfromscratch]

Day 5 - I’m Sorry, I Can’t Really Focus Right Now?!?!

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42168798

-

Summary: Hiccup has fallen into the ocean, his boat is wrecked by fear. (And the current lol.)

-

Note: Idk. Hiccup in the ocean what will he do. I haven’t read these books in a while, not sure if you could tell lol.   The italics is either dragonese or Hiccup thinking, depending on where it is.

Cws and Tws: Almost drowning, numbness, getting knocked out, previous injury, bleeding

Words: 686 (oh wow that is pathetically short, sorry small fandom you deserve more than this)

Prompt: EVERY WHUMPEE’S NEEDS | Blood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hyperthermia

-

Chapter text (under the cut):

Hiccup flailed in the water, gulping for any flash of air as the stormy waves of the open ocean crashed over him. The vampire spydragon bite on his arm made it near impossible to swim, but at least to was numb, because the pain of an open wound in the salty waters of the ocean wasn’t exactly something that Hiccup wanted. 

Even so, the water was cold, and the splintered pieces of his boat kept smacking into him with each change in the current. And as both things shocked any small bit of breath out of him (in a rather irregular schedule), Hiccup already had a few too many problems to deal with.

”You have to get up!” a crackly yet high pitched voice squeaked above him. It was the Wodensfang, and based on his frantic sounding wingbeats, he was struggling in the wind and rain just as much as Hiccup was in the water. 

“Thanks,” Hiccup choked, spitting out water as a momentary lack of waves filled his little area, “I hadn’t quite realized that yet.”

The Wodensfang continued to speak, but Hiccup was plunged under the waves before he could hear the conclusion of the little dragon’s words. He squeezed his eyes shut, so he couldn’t quite see what was happening under there, but he could’ve sworn he felt the obvious roughness of a dragon slide by his leg… 

He was back into the air as four tiny paws gripped onto his shoulder, dragging him up with all of their might as the Wodensfang flapped his wings like a hurricane. Hiccup opened his mouth to thank him, but another cold wave of seawater smacked into him before he could form the words, filling his mouth with salt and splinters from his shattered boat.

“You mustn't do that!” The Wodensfang chidded, breaths heavy and wings slowing as he let go of Hiccup’s shoulders, “You have to get to Tomorrow!”

The thought of the island made Hiccup so worried that he almost didn’t notice the odd numbness in the side of his body that wasn’t numb from the Vampire Spydragon bite. “But I haven’t-” he started, pausing to choke on seawater for a moment, “-haven’t got any of the things!” 

The Wodensfang scoffed, flying a bit closer to him as he spoke, “That’s never stopped you before.”

“I HAD all the things before!” Hiccup yelled back, his arms slowing even as he dipped further before the water. (He was just so cold.)

The Wodensfang spun in a little circle, clearly trying to think, “But you’re the future king of-” he dodged a falling piece of the mast, “-the Wilderwest! You’ll figure something out.”

Hiccup was really feeling the effects of the cold now, and when he looked down at the water, he was horrified to find a red stain filling it. When had he started bleeding…? “Wodensfang!” He said, speaking in Norse out of desperation for a second, “My boat crashed in the middle of the ocean!” He paused less for effect and more to spit out water, “I CAN’T get the things from the bottom of the ocean, let alone in a short enough time!” 

The Wodensfang paused, and Hiccup tried to feel for whatever part of him was bleeding. But it was either numbed from the cold of the water (which was taking away much of his mobility), shock (which he had forgotten could do such a thing until that very moment), the Vampire Spydragon bite, or some unholy combination of the two.

‘Oh Thor,’ he thought as another wave crashed over him, ‘I need to get out of the water…’

The moment he resurfaced the Wodensfang was talking again, but before the water could finish spilling out of his ears (and therefore before he could hear what he was saying), he felt something hit the back of his head. It was like the pain happened in slow motion, first an unexpected shock of splitting pain, followed quickly by an overwhelming sense of dizziness as his arms gave out on him, and then…

Nothing.

And the pain of the world drifted away from him.

End of Chapter notes: Yay. :) I finally wrote for this fandom again.

[fletcherwilbury]

@whumptober Day 5: Hyperthermia

Warning for overworking, exhaustion, fainting, heat rash, and dizziness.

[waytoocrispybread]

'will that be all?' asks two months pregnant man, 1 degree weather change away from running off into the woods only to be found post sockeye salmon migration floating amidst the dead bodies of the fish

[artyandink]

hyperthermia

Summary: Based on a request by @yinorathedragontamer. You needed a break from hunting, so you didn’t go on the latest one, but found you needed something to occupy your time. Just your luck that the Winchesters happened to return home when you were washing Baby, and you caught the eye of a certain someone.

A/N - Banners in use by @cafekitsune, first entry for Jensen-A-Thon!

TW: Set in S9 (so hot, scruffy Dean guys), and blatant checking out/fantasising

Want to request something? Drop a message in my ask box!

Want to join my Dean Winchester (or any other Jensen character) taglist? Go to my main master list and find the Forms link!

Dean and Sam ambled back into the bunker, duffel bags carried by their taut arms like they’d done a million times before, so what should be a bag of bricks was a feather. Dean swept his hand over his mouth while Sam’s went through his hair, both ready to crash from the wear and tear of the hunt.

“I swear, m’ready to goddamn pass out.” Dean chuckled, nails scratching over the scruff that had grown on his cheek. He’d been hit a few times - not enough to cause bruises and whatnot - hard enough to cause fatigue once the adrenaline of the fight was used and faded.

Sam could only grunt in agreement, trying to rub the effects of a long drive from Oregon out of his eyes, paired it’s the disgruntlement of having to listen to rock tracks in the car. “You and me both. But hey, we should at least visit-”

“Roger that.” Dean cut Sam off before he could finish, in search of you. You were always a sight for sore eyes after a hunt, no matter what you were dressed in or if you were covered in blood; he enjoyed the vision that you were. More than he cared to admit.

He checked your bedroom, but he only found an unusually neat bed and a clean room, which was a rare occurrence for you and had him thinking that you were kidnapped, which prompted him to take out his gun.

You never did up your bed.

He crept through the hall, hoping to the good God that his boots didn’t squeak, but then familiar humming of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ caught the attention of his ears, originating from the garage. Followed by his arrival there, where he spotted you. And it wasn’t only just the sight of you that had him standing up straight.

You, in nothing but a soaked through plaid shirt tucked into some tight denim shorts, the sleeves of the plaid rolled up to your elbows and drawing his attention to your pretty hands. Hair damp and falling just right and had him biting his lip and fighting off the urge to ruin your friendship entirely. Droplets of water running down your neck, that damn sexy curve of your slightly bent legs and trailing beneath the v-shaped neckline that the collar of your shirt made that he was starting to think was made on purpose to make him go insane.

The image was too damn sinful. And he was suddenly not so tired and ‘ready to goddamn pass out’, more like licking his lips and biting the bottom one as he folded his arms over his chest. Eyes trained on you. Yeah, not so tuckered out anymore and ready to catch the full nine.

His bed can go to hell, he wanted you pinned against the bonnet of his Baby, legs spread wide so he could fit in between and show you how much he appreciated the job well-goddamn-done. Did he mention you were washing Baby? Probably not, he was too distracted with the way your hips were swaying as you stepped to cover another part of his beloved Impala with soap suds that then trickled down your own body and made your attire that much more see through and you that much more delicious.

Holy Jesus of Nazareth, you were giving his self control a run for its money. And his self control was likely to lose the money and go bankrupt if he wasn’t distracted pronto.

Wait- but why was he objectifying you? You were doing him a solid by cleaning the other girl of his dreams, why the hell would he think about your legs like that? And your body clearly outlined by the wet, clingy material of your shirt that he was starting to feel jealous of because he wanted to be that close to you.

No. Bad Dean.

He licked his lips again, his hips shifting slightly as he fought a clearing of his throat in case it’d alert you of his presence. His mossy eyes trained so precisely on you, it’d probably let you know he was there anyway, heat radiating from his gaze.

He didn’t want to think about the curve of that pretty neck. Or the way it’d feel under his lips.

Neither did he want to think about those delicate hands - that he knew were tough as hell - holding the sponge that was lathering up his Baby. Or the way they’d feel working his - nope, too far.

Definitely not the way the shirt looked like it now had to be peeled off your skin to reveal the treasure underneath, because god-holy-damn he had managed to catch a glimpse of black lace underneath that plaid. He’d happily unwrap you like a frickin’ present and it wasn’t even Christmas for about six months.

“Damn, pretty girl.” He muttered, running a hand through his hair that was begging to let his feet walk over, grab your hip and pull you into him so he could lick up your neck to collect all the water droplets running down them. What he wouldn’t give to just pop the button on those shorts, get to his knees and work you until his tongue ached.

Right there. Right-frickin’-there. Against his Baby-

“Pretty girl? That’s what we’re calling her now?” Sam muttered into his ear with a snort, not loud enough for you to hear as you bent over Baby’s bonnet in just the right way to have Dean’s eyes sliding down to that gorgeous ass framed in those shorts that should damn well be illegal.

Dean was snapped partially out of his thoughts, left embarrassed and disgruntled and somewhat still ogling that God-blessed ass before he followed Sam through the halls, the latter of which was sporting a smug smirk. “H-Hey, I was just-”

Sam raised his hands in surrender with a small laugh, looking back to Dean knowingly. “Hey, if you wanna check out her ass, do it at your own risk.”

“I wasn’t checking out her…” Dean got an image of it again and smirked slightly, jerking his head to the side, “yeah, maybe I was, so what? Can you blame me? That thing’s-”

Sam held up a finger, shivering in borderline discomfort as his mind filled the blank. “I’m gonna TMI you before you say it.”

“I’m just sayin’, I’m a man. I have needs, where a female who’s a badass hunter and also happens to be gorgeous and also happens to live with us is concerned. And it’s worse when she’s handlin’ my Baby.” He gave Sam a sheepish grin, but the younger Winchester only shook his head in mock disapproval, grabbing the duffel with his pyjamas.

“I’m going to bed.”

“You do that.” Dean grabbed his own duffel, heading to his room which, to his luck, passed the garage and you working on the car. You managed to lock eyes with him, and you gave him a cheery wave. He returned it, and as you turned, his eyes slid down to the curve of your ass again, eyebrows pumping once as a smirk stretched his pouty lips.

“I’ll see you in my dreams, sweetheart.” He muttered before he disappeared off to his bedroom to live his fantasy.

Meanwhile, you dried your face and neck off with a chuckle, going back to your room to change into some get into some drier and more comfortable clothing with a smug smirk on your face.

You’d noticed Dean through Baby’s newly cleaned mirror that you could probably sing ‘Reflection’ from Mulan in. His eyes taking you in and licking his lips like you were the latest snack he wanted to devour. His hands itching to touch you, his mind going blank when you pushed out your ass on purpose in order to catch his attention.

That was just phase one of your multi-step plan to strip Dean Winchester of his self control where you were concerned.

“Mission accomplished.” You muttered under your breath with a giggle.

I’d really appreciate feedback, loves! Have a great day!

TAGLIST: @k-slla @hobby27

[artandwritingwithscorpion]

Better late than never I suppose

[bumblesimagines]

Ride or Die, Remember?

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

Summary: When his life takes a swift and abrupt turn, Lip Gallagher is left feeling a storm of emotions such as heartbreak and anger. In the midst of the hurricane, he doesn't realize what's standing right in front of him.

CW/TW: Typical Shameless warnings, Karen's assault on Frank mentioned, angst(?), the best friend trope

~~~

He had to find Lip before the Gallagher took a nosedive into manslaughter territory. 

The cold nipped annoyingly at his exposed face, the viciousness of the freezing temperatures having luckily gone down with the slow arrival of spring and summer but still cold enough to give someone hyperthermia if they weren't careful. He fiddled with his fingerless gloves, clouds forming from his lips each time he huffed out some air. His legs maneuvered him down alleyways and sidewalks; be it by luck or a divine deity being merciful, he hardly had a rough time with the slippery, iced-over ground. 

(Y/N)'s eyes locked on the familiar figure crossing the street who slammed his hand into the back of a car that drove by him without slowing down or stopping, relief feeling his veins at the sight of him. Lip looked too relaxed to have heard the news of what Karen had done. Good, but it only meant (Y/N) had the horrible job of breaking it to him. He crossed the street and weaved around those bustling around the sidewalk, almost wincing when he heard Joey and his brother giggling at the bottom of the stairs when Lip stepped by them.

"Be a pal, Lip. When you and Frank get done passing around, uh, 'Daddyz Girl', why don't you send her over to our place?" Joey snickered again, his cheeks a rosy red from his laughter and the cold. (Y/N) groaned internally and slammed his shoulder against Joey's as he stepped past him, shooting the boy a withering glare. 

"Get lost." He snapped at him and watched Joey snatch the back of his little brother's hoodie with a grumble before he walked away scowling. (Y/N) licked his dry lips and turned his head upward toward Lip, a grimace forming at the dumbfounded, near puppy-eyed look on Lip's face. His best friend stared down at him from his spot on one of the steps, head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

"You have any idea what the hell he's talking about?" Lip questioned, the metal clanging beneath his boots as he slowly stepped down the stairs toward him, bits of snow flying from his shoes. (Y/N)'s eyes flickered desperately between Lip's vibrant blue ones, words heavy in his throat but his mouth refusing to form any of them for the sake of Lip's heart. The Gallaghers were a tough family but each of them had their weak points.

Besides, how the hell could you break the news about a video floating around showing their best friend's dad and crush fucking? (Y/N) certainly had no idea.

"(Y/N)..." Lip lifted his brows at him, a frown beginning to tug at his lips when the teen in front of him remained deathly silent. The suspicion seeping into his eyes only made (Y/N) wince and avert his gaze. "Who the fuck is 'Daddyz Girl'? Is it about Fiona? Is it- is it Debs? V?"

"I..." (Y/N) clamped his mouth shut and rolled his head back, releasing a low groan into the cold morning air. He stared at the gloomy gray clouds floating overhead and dropped his head back to gaze at his friend again, his hand reaching out to pluck the cigarette from between his fingers and take a deep inhale. Lip watched him closely, his brows only furrowing further. Releasing the smoke in a sigh, he pursed his lips. "It's honestly better if I... if I showed you, Lip."

It certainly hadn't been any better showing him, perhaps it'd been worse.

The agonizingly long wait for the site and video to load with Lip's face right up on the laptop's screen definitely hadn't soothed his jittering nerves. It'd nearly given him a headache when the video finally loaded and Lip's eyes almost bulged out of his head at the sight of Karen naked as the day she'd been born on his father's equally bare lap. The silence from Lip - horribly filled in with pants, moans, skin slapping on skin, and Frank's drunken mutterings - only forced (Y/N) to tear himself away from his windowsill and close the laptop before it drove him crazy. 

"That fucker." Lip snarled, and the typically calm boy (Y/N) knew was replaced with a rage-filled Gallagher. Lip shot up from the desk chair and snatched his coat, slipping it on hurriedly as he stumbled out of (Y/N)'s bedroom and practiced raced down the hallway toward the front door. He tossed it open and stomped down the porch, a gust of cold wind slipping into the house. 

"Fuck," (Y/N) hissed, almost tripping over his untied laces trying to follow his friend out the door, the cool metal of the doorknob making him flinch when he shut the door behind him. His eyes tracked Lip storming down the sidewalk and toward the Jackson house just down the street by the elevated train tracks. Shit, shit, shit. (Y/N) called out to him as he attempted to catch up. "Lip! Jesus, Lip, just- let's think about this, huh? What- What are you even going to do, Lip?"

"He fucked my girlfriend, (Y/N)! What the hell do you think I'm going to do?!" Lip snapped over his shoulder, his trembling hands curling and uncurling. (Y/N) knew Lip well enough to think of just a few things Lip was capable of, with murder as a very slim option for the otherwise Harvard-smart teenager. 

(Y/N) bit his lip "Lip, you know Karen has been fucking half the guys at school! Is she really worth being this?" He still vaguely recalled the day Karen had approached him with batted lashes and a coy smile, as well as the sullen look that fell on her face when he dismissed her with a scoff. "She's not even your girlfriend!"

Spinning around on his heel to face him, Lip snatched the collar of his hoodie and tugged him close enough for their noses to bump. "I love her." He whispered lowly, his bottom lip threatening to quiver before he released him and resumed his warpath toward the slim two-story house. Karen coincidentally stepped outside and pointedly ignored Lip's questions until she disappeared down the road with the dirty blonde staring after her hopelessly. 

His jaw clenched and his eyes scanned the area around them until they locked on one of the cars parked in an alleyway. Lip made a beeline for it and fumbled with the pockets of his coat until he pulled out a makeshift picklock to mess with the door. (Y/N) rolled his lips into his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, groaning again when he heard the soft click of the door unlocking. Fucking Steve. 

"Fuck," (Y/N) sighed heavily and dug into his pockets until he found his phone, flipping it open and dialing in the number he had memorized since he was a child. He pressed it against his ear and watched Lip get inside the car to hotwire it. His older cousin's cheery voice greeted him sweetly. "Hey, Kev? I, uh... I need you to drive down to Sheila's place. I think Lip might actually try to kill Frank. 'Kay, thanks." 

Once he hung up, he crossed the street toward the car and grabbed the door before Lip could shut it. "What are you doing, Lip? Are you going to run your pops over the second you see him? Stealing a car is one thing, using it to commit manslaughter is a whole other ballpark. Don't act stupid when you're the smartest asshole in this shitstain of a place." 

"He can't keep getting away with this bullshit, (Y/N), he can't. That good-for-nothing piece of shit..." Lip's teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, his leg bouncing furiously and hands gripping onto the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned a new shade of white. "I love her. I fucking love her and he- he-" 

"I get it, alright? I know it sucks to get your heart broken, trust me, I know." (Y/N) released a shaky sigh and rubbed his cold fingers against his forehead. "Listen, I... I just ask that you don't kill him, okay? Get in a punch or two and leave it be. I don't want to have to visit you in the same prison my old man is locked up in, alright?"

Lip let out a deep sigh. "Yeah... yeah, fine. I... I'll try not to." He muttered quietly, his rage finally simmering down and out of manslaughter territory. (Y/N)'s lips pulled back into a tight-lipped smile and he stepped away from the car to let Lip slam the door shut and pull out into the neighborhood's main road. 

Roughly fifteen minutes passed before Frank turned a corner further down the sidewalk and made his way over to the Jackson house. Once he was close enough, the car sputtered to life and sped toward him, barreling down trash cans and swerving around to catch the panicked running man until Frank slid over the hood of another car, forcing Lip to ram into the side of it. (Y/N) exhaled a sigh of relief when Kevin finally pulled up and the two quickly rushed over to the Gallaghers as Lip began to pummel his fist and feet into Frank's body.

"Come on, come on! Calm down, alright?!" Kevin shouted and leaned down to grab Lip's arms, managing to pull him off his father for a brief moment until Lip shoved him away and went in for seconds. (Y/N) quickly dove in between the two and roughly took Lip by the shoulders, digging his fingers into his jacket and pushing him back. 

"You're bleeding, Lip, come the fuck on. You fucked him up enough, okay?" Lip's chest heaved, his lips curled into a sneer and a trickle of blood slipped down the side of his head from an injury on his temple. His feet dug into the ground, hands grasping onto the sides of (Y/N)'s hoodie to push him away. "Lip."

Kevin pointed a finger at him and planted himself firmly in front of Frank. "That's enough, Lip. Listen to (Y/N) and get the fuck out of here!" 

With one final, forceful push from (Y/N), Lip relented and swung his arm around his friend's waist, allowing the teenager to guide him away from his bloody and bruised father. He remained silent on the walk back to (Y/N)'s place, only heavy panting filling the air between them. The tension in his muscles and limbs began to disappear and the storm of fury in his eyes gave way to a look of pure heartache and betrayal. (Y/N) could only pat his side and led him to his bedroom.

Lip collapsed on the bed and tiredly shrugged off his coat and gloves, blindly tossing them aside somewhere in the room. (Y/N) searched his room and bathroom, collecting some cotton balls, a bandaid, and rubbing alcohol. Hardly a proper med kit but it was all they really had in the house. He tossed the supplies on the bed and stood in front of Lip, forcing his blank stare away from the wall and onto him.

"Ready?" (Y/N) dipped his fingers into Lip's curls and gently tugged his head back. He used his free hand to unscrew the cap of the rubbing alcohol and press one cotton ball against it, giving the bottle a quick tilt to soak up the cotton before he began dabbing at the injury with a slightly crinkled nose. Lip's hands moved to rest against (Y/N)'s thighs, his fingers digging into him with each painful prick of pain that shot through his head. 

Once finished, (Y/N) wiped away at the liquid with his thumb and released Lip so he could fiddle with the bandaid. Lip dropped his forehead onto (Y/N)'s stomach, his hands beginning to inch upward ever so slowly. His fingers dipped under the hoodie, the rest of his hands pushing up the hoodie and shirt underneath to expose (Y/N)'s stomach. Lip tilted his head and pressed his lips against the bare skin, the bridge of his nose pushing up the clothes further. 

"What are you doing?" (Y/N) asked softly, freeing one of the bandaid wings and working on the other. 

"Destressing." Lip muttered against his skin, continuing to nuzzle and kiss whatever skin he could reach. His lips felt dry and cracked against him, and (Y/N) nearly squirmed when Lip swiped his tongue over his happy trail. His hand flew down to grab hold of Lip's hair again, forcing his head back and slapping the bandaid over the cut.

"We haven't done that together since seventh grade, Lip." (Y/N) reminded him with raised brows, scooping up the bloodied cotton and bandaid papers into his hand and tossing them in the small trash can by his desk. Lip's hands dropped over his lap and his lips slightly jutted out, his sharp gaze following (Y/N) around the room. 

"So? Friends get each other off all the time." Lip pointed out, his hands shooting out to grab the bottom of (Y/N)'s hoodie and drag him closer toward him, face pressing into his side again.

"And look where getting off with Karen got you, Phillip." (Y/N) wriggled around in Lip's hold and tumbled onto the bed, his back meeting the mattress and only prompting Lip to crawl over him. Despite himself, he released a breathy laugh when Lip's mouth pressed into his neck and his cool hands slipped under his hoodie. 

"This is different." Lip's voice came out muffled, his words wiping the smile off his face and making his heart twist uncomfortably. God, how he hated it. 

"'Cause you don't love me." (Y/N) breathed and moved his hands to press against Lip's shoulder blades, effectively pushing him up and off him. Lip flopped beside him onto the mattress and blinked at him, his brows twitching down into a furrow. 

"No shit I love you, (Y/N). You've been my ride-or-die since first grade. You're basically a Gallagher now." Ah, fuck, that one stung more than it needed to. (Y/N) forced out a hum of acknowledgment and inhaled sharply through his nose, his body rolling over so he could reach out and grab his cigarette pack from the nightstand. 

"Yeah, well, last I checked-" He messed with the lighter until it flickered on, taking a deep inhale once the cigarette lit. He pushed himself up against the headboard and breathed out a cloud of smoke. "-brothers don't sleep together, Lip. Besides, you said it yourself: you don't swing that way. You only like fucked up chicks who'll never like you back." 

"I don't want to fight today, (Y/N). I'm fucking serious." Lip leaned back into the pillows with a hint of a scowl on his face. "I've had a shit enough day as is."

"Whatever," (Y/N) shook his head lightly. "We can play video games until you forget about Karen and your dad and all that other bullshit, alright? But if you want to mess around with someone, it won't be with me."

"Fine."

[cultofdixon]

Huddling for warmth

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • A blizzard occurred during the harsh winter after the farm and before the prison. You and Daryl got trapped in it and things didn’t go perfectly…• ANGST/SFW/NSFW - Nudity • TW: Hyperthermia / Minor Injury / Anxiety / Scars / Illness

Requested by: Anon

When the fire happened, everything changed. It came naturally that Rick became the leader of this group but everything was icy.

Now they were starting all over in finding a place to call home…or at least a temporary shelter for the upcoming winter

“Here” Y/N shrugged off her jacket giving it to Carl for an extra layer of warmth as the weather was getting colder for winter.

“She’s going to freeze to death if she keeps giving her coats to Carl and Lori” Glenn makes the comment to Maggie after she finishes getting a fire going in a house they were holding up in for the night. Little did he know the archer was listening to such.

About an hour passed and Rick returns with a deer that Daryl obviously got. But they also went through a few homes and Daryl approached Y/N who was leaning on Carol near the fire, dropping a jacket over her shoulders and didn’t stay for her to get a word in.

But he saw the smile on her face and that caused an old familiar feeling to burn in his chest.

“The winter will get worse and we should scavenge a few places before holding up for a good month” Hershel tells Rick while looking out at the snow that started to fall.

“I’ll get Glenn, Maggie, and Carol to come check a few houses with me. You and Lori can keep an eye on the rest” Rick stated adjusting his jacket and giving Daryl a look. “Think you can hunt some more game before the weather gets thicker?”

“I’ll try but the second the tracks ain’t clear, I’m coming—-“

“You ain’t going alone. Take Y/N. She has huntin’ experience. She’s hunted with you before” True. Before Rick returned from presumed dead, Daryl went hunting with his brother and the previous hunter before the Dixons came…also known as Y/N. But she didn’t join him on the trip before he heard his brother was left on a roof.

Y/N was ahead of Daryl following tracks they’ve caught on at the edge of the tree line by the neighborhood they’re held up in. He half expected her to be a chatterbox like how she was before the barn fire. But something always had to be off.

Before he could say anything to her, she readied her hunting bow and landed the shot on the unlucky rabbit.

Opportunity “Yea ever heard of a lucky rabbit’s foot?”

“Yeah, but doesn’t it usually have like…an amethyst with it?”

“Thought it was an amulet” Daryl questioned only to get a short lived laugh out of Y/N causing a hint of a smirk on his face.

She rises to her feet with the rabbit in hand brushing the hair out of her face to look at the archer. “You want the foot?”

“Sayin’ I need some good luck?”

“Dunno. You’re the one that said it” Y/N kept a smile on her face that soon faded when the cold breeze was a bit more intense than she expected. “Hershel said winters will be bad. Just. Didn’t expect that”

What was just a breeze seemed to pick up the more they trekked along in the forest…

“Have the winters always gone from mild to extreme?”

“You aren’t originally from Georgia?” Daryl brushed his hair back when the wind blew harder than before.

“That a deal breaker?” Y/N jokes only to suddenly trip and fall into the snow that’s collected since the morning. “Jeez. Maybe I need that lucky rabbit’s foot”

The crimson in the white became clear to Daryl as he knelt down to make sure she didn’t hurt herself to a certain degree. Thankfully just a scratch from the tree root they couldn’t see in the snow, which started to concern Daryl with how the weather started to pick up the more they were out there.

“We should head back. Or try to find our way back”

“Before it gets worse?” She added while cleaning up the blood with her bandana as it’s going to have to do until they can get a better look at it. “It’s already there”

“Our foot prints got swept” Daryl frowns knowing that would likely happen. He rose to his feet helping Y/N up as he tried to take a moment to listen to the surrounding but even the wind was picking up as much as the snow fall.

It got to blizzard level pretty quick.

“This is getting bad” Y/N had to shout for Daryl to register anything, but as they continued on through the blind scenery…the sound of something moving through the snow caught both their attention until the archer turned around.

No Y/N.

Daryl’s panic started to set in because on top of not seeing his surroundings. He had zero clue on where Y/N could’ve fallen or been dragged to.

The hiss of the wind continued to throw the archer off when he followed the trail before it disappeared right away. He quickly realized when he slipped falling on his ass that she had fallen…but fallen into the river they passed before the blizzard became more prominent.

“We have to be careful, Y/N” Daryl states gesturing to the river they were currently passing when the snow started to pick up in inches.

Y/N laughs at the man. “Okay captain obvious. We aren’t going to be able to see it later if this blizzard picks up”

“Hopefully not. We’ll be fine”

But we aren’t fucking fine! Daryl thought as he carefully made his descend toward the river and while the rushing water picked up in his ears…he couldn’t hear anyone.

“Y/N!” He screams and was about to step in the water when something grabbed at his ankle.

The new instinct was to take his knife out and plunge it into the water skull, but when he knelt down it came clear.

“Holy fuck. Thought I’d have to go swimming”

“I-I-It’s a b-b-bit c-cold” Y/N coughed out a bit letting go of his person to lay in the snow like before. The moment she felt into the water, she was wide awake and knew she had to get out. But the second her soaked body met the cold harsh weather, it brought her to this semi frozen weak state. Crazy how quick the body reacts.

“Can yea move?” Daryl shouts only to ensure that she can hear him but with no response only shaking breathing he could barely hear, he brought his arms under her armpits starting to drag her to the main path out of the ditch by the riverbank. “Think warm thoughts” he kept repeating even if every fiber of her being wanted to curl up and scream.

Y/N wanted to scream when the cold only got worse for her as Daryl brought one of her arms around his shoulders.

“We need to hide out somewhere”

“F-Fast” She gripped onto him trying not to succumb to the cold making her falter in her steps.

Daryl tried his best not to stumble because of how she was. His anxiety eventually got the best of him and he didn’t care if she’d protest getting him wet given her soaked person when he picked her up bridal style to get a faster pace going.

The two ended up in a small house nowhere near the neighborhood they were originally in. There was no time to question how they even got far from where the rest of the group is. Daryl had to barricade the doors to the room they were in and try to get a fire going to help warm up Y/N as she was placed on the couch in the living room shivering.

“R-Remind me, n-n-never t-t….s-shit” Y/N groans pulling at the soaked clothes on her person wanting to take them off as she hated the uncomfortable sticky feeling. But there was more going on and it started to concern her.

And the man that was currently trying to start a fire in the fireplace knowing he might have to move Y/N closer to the fire. The second it started, Daryl rose to his feet rounding the couch and pushing it closer enough for her to feel it. But even then it didn’t work in its entirety.

“Gotta strip yea”

“W-Woah. B-Bu…Buy m-m-me dinner f-first” Y/N scoffs in a playful manner listening to the man groan before he went further into the house scavenging for anything and found a blanket he had to shake out before even thinking of wrapping Y/N in it.

Daryl set the blanket on the arm rest. “Strip. I won’t—-“

“N-Need h-he—help” She coughed slightly after and Daryl instinctively pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. She was starting to get warm and not in a good way.

“Fine but I need your—-“

“F-Fuck Daryl! I-I-It’s fine!” Y/N snapped gripping the back of the couch to get her to sit up as Daryl brought himself beside her helping her get out of the wet clothes.

Her clothes laid in a pile beside the couch as Daryl was about to straighten them out close to the fire to try and dry, Y/N pulled the blanket over her shoulders more but manage to trap Daryl by bringing herself into his lap. She couldn’t speak given once the clothes were off she was even colder. The blanket wasn’t going to instantly help and the archer had been inside for some time that the snow melted off of his person so that she could do what she was currently doing.

The archer froze when she climbed into his lap curling up against him taking in his warmth and tugging the blanket to cover every exposed bit on her person. He didn’t look at her, for a sense of privacy. Not that she cared. There was something else but now wasn’t the time. Daryl carefully wrapped his arms around her bringing her close and eventually shifting his body to lay down with her trapped between him and the couch.

“…please pull through” Daryl whispers hoping she would respond even if it’s intentions were for her not to hear. But given she hasn’t said anything in a minute, got him worrying again. “Y/N?” He shifted slightly going to check her pulse but just the smallest movement jostled her eyes to open with a glare before closing once more and hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

Y/N went in and out most of the night but her shivering stopped after a couple hours. She clung onto Daryl with a bruising grip taking in all the warmth he gave…he didn’t dare letting go for whatever reason afraid she freeze all over again.

But after being in that state for two days and her clothes dried eventually with the help of the fire…Daryl let go to help her redress keeping his focus on her actions as she fumbled trying to work the buttons of her flannel that he eventually helped her.

The archer wore his crossbow on his chest, the rabbits on his belt, and carried Y/N on his back still wrapped in the blanket on their way back to where the others were.

About halfway there, Rick and Glenn met them as they had come to a decision recently to go out and search for them once the blizzard passed…

“Is she okay?”

“She’s sick” You don’t survive freezing temperatures without a cold or flu to follow.

“Is she bit?” Glenn gestures to her ankle wrapped in bandages Daryl had.

“No, she fell. Fell once before falling into the river” Daryl states walking passed to make it to the house as the two who joined them kept an eye on their surroundings.

“You’re lucky we found some Tylenol on the run we went on when y’all went hunting” Rick states. “Should help with the fever”

“Hershel is gonna want to isolate her when we get back. Just in case—-“

“Don’t yea dare finish that, kid” Daryl snapped while pushing the door open with his foot as Rick took care of keeping it open for him to come through.

Out of instinct, Hershel rose to his feet gesturing to the other room to keep Y/N in even if it was the kitchen and Maggie laid a blanket on the floor before Daryl laid her down.

“Wish I had a thermometer to get an actual reading, but she definitely feels warm. I’m guessing you held up somewhere to try and warm her up to avoid hyperthermia” Hershel gave Daryl a look listening to him hum in response. “Well yea did good, son. Kept her from getting worse”

When she woke, Hershel got her to take some of the medicine they collected along with some water before leaving her to sleep once more. Daryl waited til the old man left the room before pushing the table in the doorway in case of emergencies. He sets his crossbow down against the wall kneeling beside her adjusting the blanket to cover her more watching her roll over to face him.

“Hey…”

“You can speak clearly now” Daryl jokes about the shivering stuttering mess she was before and that got a small laugh from her.

“Thanks for keeping me alive…” Y/N whispered shifting a bit to get comfortable on the floor as Daryl gently brushes away the hair in her face.

“Had to…I wanted to…I needed to” He whispered to her as he brought himself to sit on the floor keeping close to her watching her extend her hand from under the blanket to hold his.

Daryl stayed with her the entire time…the entire time.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓞𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓜𝓮 ⚜

A/B/O One-Shot | Omega Vincent x Alpha John | Image Source

Summary: John is at a party in France on assignment and meets Vincent by chance. He realizes Vincent is hiding his omega status...and he's on the verge of death from an uncontrollable heat.

Mechanics of Heat in this AU: An omega can ride out a heat without doing anything as long as they’re taking blockers. This is normally a safe (if uncomfortable) option. BUT, if the blockers don’t work and it becomes too severe, it can be fatal. If it’s getting dangerous, the omega will experience hyperthermia followed by stroke. This can only be handled by either going to a hospital or…you know.

CW: omegaverse smut, unprotected sex, fever symptoms, crying during sex (from joy), and idk how to TW this exactly but Vincent has a very poor understanding of consent and doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants directly. John is careful with him anyway.

It wasn’t the worst kind of job. The worst kind of job was a job where you loved the target, and John didn’t even know the target. It was just some French woman who had double crossed Viggo. No, this was the second worst kind of job: the kind where John had to see High Table emissaries directly.

Of course, if all went well, they’d never see him. And so far, it was going well. The target was attending a victory celebration hosted in some historical estate. John had slipped in through a back entrance unseen, made his way upstairs like the shadow of death, and silently strangled her while she was refreshing her makeup. He dragged the body into a disused guest bedroom where it wouldn’t be found for hours. Not a word fell from his lips in all that time.

But still, it made him uneasy, to look down from the shadows over the banister and see the guests milling around below him, to the faint sounds of a live quartet and the scents of rich foods. That they could look so human after ordering the sort of acts that he himself had just committed…it was confusing.

Having had quite enough of that glance, he slipped out the doors to an upper balcony, prepared to scale the wall down to the gardens and make a tidy exit. It was normally locked, and sure to be deserted. One of Viggo’s associates had obtained a key for him in advance.

But it was not deserted. Someone was there.

He was clearly one of the guests and probably an important, well-to-do one at that. He wore a long, ruffled tailcoat that glittered under the waxing moon and the dim, golden lamplights flanking the door. And he was very, very sick. John knew immediately. Even if he hadn’t been leaning against the railing with his head in his hands, his scent would have given it away immediately. Something powerfully sweet, definitely the sweetest he had ever smelled. Sweeter than the gourmet pastries wafting up from downstairs, mixed with something tart. It was dulled, yes, but the fact that it was dulled and yet still coming through told him that it was strong enough to break through blockers. A severe heat.

He held his breath, trying not to inhale, but he could already feel it clawing its way inside him, going straight to the brain. This was the last thing he needed to encounter. A distraction, at the final, critical moment. He should excuse himself, before the alarm could be raised. Try to exit a different way – maybe one of the windows. But the man’s head had already turned to him sharply, revealing brilliant, honeyed green pools that shone glassy above soaring cheekbones. John met them and felt his own pupils swell. Shit.

“Que peux-tu vouloir? [What can you possibly want?]” the stranger demanded, with enough venom in his voice to break John out of the reverie for half a second.

I was just trying to get some air. I apologize. I’ll go back inside. Anything, say anything… But John seemed incapable of any response except an inappropriate level of compassion. Sweat had plastered the man’s carefully slicked hair against his forehead and set his flushed cheeks shining. It was all he could do not to step towards him. Instead, he found himself asking stupidly, “Êtes-vous d'accord? [Are you okay?]”

The man blinked at him. “Avez-vous une idée de à qui vous parlez? [Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?]”

“Non,” he said simply. His eyes fell on the man’s ring…shimmering gold on white. The insignia of the High Table. Cold dread flooded over him, but the heat washed it away just as quickly.

“Je suis le Marquis Vincent de Gramont. [I am the Marquis Vincent de Gramont.]” John could tell that this was supposed to have an effect on him, so he inclined his head deeply. It must not have been convincing, because the Marquis looked even more annoyed and changed the subject. “Je pourrais vous demander ce que vous faites en vous promenant à l’extérieur de la salle de bal. Qui es-tu? [I might ask what you’re doing wandering outside the ballroom. Who are you?]”

I’m no one. Just getting some air. Just getting some air. Just getting – “John.” Damn it.

Those honeyed eyes narrowed in understanding. And wariness. “Vous n’êtes pas censé être ici, n’est-ce pas ? Bien. Sont-ils déjà morts? Ou est-ce… moi? [You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Well. Are they dead already? Or is it…me?]” The man’s hand moved very slightly, no doubt twitching towards a concealed weapon. But John wasn’t worried. This person’s reflexes were obviously too deadened to pose a threat.

“Mort. [Dead.]”

“Hmmm.” Casual, feigning disinterest. Why isn’t he calling the guards, John wondered from somewhere deep in the haze of pheromones. After a moment, he noticed that the nobleman’s hand was still gripping the railing, knuckles white. John realized that he couldn’t stand unsupported.

“Tu ne vas pas bien. Vous êtes en chaleur. Et c'est mauvais. [You’re not okay. You’re in heat. And it’s bad.]”

Those honeyed eyes flashed narrow. With grave dignity, “Comment oses-tu. Je suis un alpha. [How dare you. I am an alpha.]”

John nearly laughed. He stifled it but the man caught it anyway and glared.

“Je suis désolé. C'est juste que… tu ne peux pas prétendre ça. Sois prudent. Si vous retournez à l’intérieur… ils le sauront. [I’m sorry. It’s just…you’re beyond pretending that. Be careful. If you go back inside…they’ll know.]”

Fear passed over his features before hardening into anger. “Vas-y et menace-moi encore. Je pourrais utiliser le soulagement du stress aujourd'hui. [Go ahead and threaten me again. I could use the stress relief today.]”

“Ce n’est pas une menace. Je ne le dirai pas. [It’s not a threat. I won’t tell.]”

“Comme c'est généreux. Non, vous ne le ferez pas, je peux vous l'assurer. J'espère que vous avez apprécié votre petite intrusion car personne ne vit pour raconter ce que vous avez vu. [How generous. No, you won’t, I can assure you. I hope you enjoyed your little intrusion because no one lives to tell about what you’ve seen.]” With that, he whipped a knife out of a concealed pocket and lunged forward. It was an energetic movement, but uncoordinated and easy to sidestep. In this weakened state, Vincent’s muscles were practically nonfunctional. John caught his wrist on the way down and plucked the knife out of it easily with the other hand, leaving the Marquis twisted up beneath him and emitting a heart wrenching, inadvertent whine. Every touch must be painful with a mixture of desire and soreness right now.

And it was painful for John too. That skin, even softer than expected and dangerously hot, the closeness of that fragrant neck pouring something like strawberry from under the collar… John released his arm, allowing him to roll over onto his back, too weak to get back up. The urge to cradle him was so overwhelming that John stumbled back against the railing, their positions reversed. He faced the gardens and inhaled deeply, trying to clean Vincent out of his lungs and failing.

When he had collected himself, he pocketed the knife and surveyed the human puddle on the floor that had just tried to stab him. He’d opened his arms and closed his eyes, laying in a dramatic, spread eagle pose with the lamplight washing over him. Center stage and breathtaking. No, not breathtaking. Breathe, I can breathe. “D'accord. Essayons autre chose. Où est ton alpha? [Okay. Let’s try something else. Where’s your alpha?]”

Vincent’s eyes snapped open. “Je n'ai pas d'alpha. Pensez-vous, dans mon travail, qu'il est logique de dépendre de quelqu'un pour de telles… questions? Je gère. [I don’t HAVE an alpha. Do you think, in my line of work, that it makes sense to depend on someone for such…matters? I manage.]”

The opportunity screamed at him from the back of his mind until he had to actively talk himself down. Don’t say it. He doesn’t want an alpha. He doesn’t want you. Protect. Protect by staying away. John found himself backing even further away, now flattened into the dark corner where the railing met the wall. That was better anyway – if anyone passed the window, they couldn’t see him there. And they probably couldn’t see Vincent, lying down, unless they leaned right up to the windowsill. “...D'accord. Qu’utilisez-vous pour « gérer » ? Des bloqueurs? Avez-vous besoin de plus? [...Okay. What do you use to ‘manage’? Blockers? Do you need more?]”

A long moment passed. “Est-ce que tu… essaies-tu de m'aider? [Are you…are you trying to help me?]”

What was he trying to do, exactly? “Je ne peux pas te laisser ici. J'ai senti ta main. Vous êtes massivement en surchauffe. [I can’t just leave you here. I felt your hand. You’re massively overheated.]”

Vincent let out a small sound, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. Whether it was relief or disbelief, John couldn’t tell. Finally, he started speaking, sounding utterly defeated. “Bloqueurs. Oui. Et ils ne fonctionnent pas. J'ai passé toute cette foutue chaleur en public, entouré d'alphas. Des jours maintenant… C’est hors de contrôle. [Blockers. Yes. And they’re not working. I’ve spent this entire damn heat in public, surrounded by alphas. Days now… It’s out of control.]”

“Vous devez aller à l'hôpital. [You need to go to a hospital.]”

“Ce n'est pas... ce n'est pas si grave... [It’s not…it’s not that bad…]” But with the way he immediately started shaking, John knew it was.

“Il le faut. [You have to.]”

“Je ne peux pas. Je ne peux pas sortir là-bas. Je vais mourir. Haha! Oh mon Dieu. Je vais mourir. [I can’t. I can’t walk out there. I’m going to die. Haha! Oh my god. I’m going to die.]” He didn’t seem to be talking to anyone, just sliding rapidly into hysteria.

“Hey. Non.” John’s voice had gone unnaturally gruff, even for him. It did its job and Vincent’s eyes snapped to him in obedience.

He looked away again, defying his own body, but the omega still won out in words. “Que dois-je faire? [What do I do?]”

Don’t say it. Don’t suggest ANYTHING. Be SENSIBLE. “Je pourrais… le réparer. [I could…fix it.]”

Vincent physically writhed at that thought, chest arching skyward. “NON. Va te faire foutre, non. Vous ne me tenterez PAS comme ça. [NO. Fuck you, no. You will NOT tempt me like that.]”

“D'accord, d'accord. Nous ne faisons pas ça. Je suis désolé. [Okay, okay. We’re not doing that. I’m sorry.]”

“ALORS QUE FAISONS-NOUS ? Tout ce que vous faites, c'est empirer les choses ! Tu sens le bordel fait de cuir, d'huile d'arme à feu et de viande et ARRRGGGH !! Tu es sale. Je déteste les alphas, je déteste les alphas, je déteste les alphas… [THEN WHAT ARE WE DOING? All you’re doing is making it worse! You smell like a brothel made of leather and gun oil and meat and ARRRGGGH!! You’re filthy. I hate alphas, I hate alphas, I hate alphas…]” It was an absolutely debauched display, to see this stunning nobleman in heat, writhing around on the ground, moved almost to tears of stifled lust.

No sight had ever made John want to DO something so badly in his life. “Allons juste vous rafraîchir. Enlève le manteau. [Let’s just get you cool. Take off the coat.]”

It must have been a very tempting proposition, because without arguing, he struggled to sit up and started working the coat free. But he only got onto his elbows before collapsing again in frustration. Now that pretty tailcoat was pulled down over one shoulder the way a bra strap might slip down, and to John, it was just as obscene an image as that, even though there was a soaked white dress shirt underneath, and a vest that hugged his waist...

Before he knew what he was doing, John had dropped to his knees above Vincent and was manhandling the coat off of him.

The Marquis laughed. “Alphas. Des créatures brutales et insensées. Je ne peux pas voir la détresse un seul instant sans me déchaîner. [Alphas. Brutish, mindless creatures. Can’t see distress for one instant without unleashing themselves.]” John lost composure and ripped off his vest, sending buttons clattering across the ground. “Vous voyez, aucun respect pour les belles choses de la vie. C'est un costume de qualité mais je suppose que vous ne distingueriez pas un lavalier d'un – [See, no respect for the finer things in life. This a quality suit but I suppose you wouldn’t know an ascot from a - ]”

“Arrêtez de parler. Je ne devrais même pas être ici. [Stop mouthing off. I shouldn’t even be here.]” He was working the ascot free now, and yes he did know exactly what it was. What was this guy’s problem? He was too defensive even for this embarrassing predicament. And it made him come off…vulnerable. A deep pang went through him from the pit of the neck to the stomach, longing for Vincent, and he didn’t know if it was his alpha or his soul. But he knew he liked it, in a vicious kind of way. Vincent was bringing something out of him…

“Pourquoi es-tu ici, hmm ? Tu veux tellement avoir le contrôle de quelque chose dans ta vie, petit tueur ?  « John », n'est-ce pas? [Why are you here, hmm? You want this badly to have control over something in your life, little killer?  “John,” was it?]” There was more behind that question. Confusion, at the presence of kindness.

This time he didn’t get a rise, or even an answer. John was unbuttoning his dress shirt carefully (because apparently that mattered even on the verge of death) and it took all of his attention. At the touch of the cool wind, Vincent exhaled in a mixture of gratitude and pain at the icy sting. And there he was, bare. Vincent’s skin was screaming at John by sheer sight and scent. He could see veins, collarbones…Breathe. In. Out.

“Je t'ai posé une question. Réponds-moi, alpha. Pourquoi? [I asked you a question. Answer me, alpha. Why?]”

No more buttons. Nothing to think about. Only the desperate urge to touch. John folded his hands behind his back and let his body ache deliciously, from the weight between his thighs outward. “Je voulais aider. Tu as regardé… [I wanted to help. You looked…]”

“J'ai regardé quoi? [Looked what?]”

“Précieux. Doux. Adorable. [Precious. Soft. Adorable.]” It was the wrong answer and he knew it, but he was too brain fogged looking at Vincent. It felt like being in a trance.

He blushed even more brilliantly beneath the wracking fever, and all tenderness faded from his voice. “Faible, tu veux dire. Vous avez ressenti l'appel à me contrôler. J'avais donc raison à propos de toi. [Weak, you mean. You felt the call to control me. So I was right about you.]”

“Non... ce n'est pas le cas... [No…that’s not…]” Desperate to prove his respect, he forced his legs to unbend, to start rising. Get away from him. He doesn’t want you.

Vincent’s hand caught his on the way up. “Où vas-tu? [Where are you going?]” There was terror just below the surface.

“Donner de l'espace. Je serai toujours là. [Giving space. I’ll still be here.]” Vincent’s hand slipped away and let him fade back into the shadows, where he watched in silence.

It must have been an agonizing parting for both of them. He knew it hurt, physically, to feel an alpha slip away while in heat. The omegas he’d been with had talked about a terrible, clingy loneliness, a need to be held that left every muscle aching. God, he wanted to hold Vincent. What a confusing situation.

Quietly, “Merci.”

“Bien sûr. [Of course.]” Minutes began to pass. He watched chills run through Vincent, watched him struggle to get comfortable on the hard ground and eventually hug his discarded coat against his chest, willing to take anything resembling the softness of a nest.

“Mettez-le sous vous. Pas à cause de toi. Ou vous surchaufferez davantage. [Put it under you. Not over you. Or you’ll overheat more.]”

Another irritable whine. Finally, he did. But he still couldn’t get comfortable. “Quand est-ce que cela va s’arrêter? [When will this stop?]”

“…Je ne sais pas. N'y a-t-il personne que vous puissiez appeler? Quelqu'un en qui vous avez confiance? […I don’t know. Isn’t there anyone you can call? Anyone you trust?]”

“Seuls les imbéciles font confiance à quiconque en qualité d’alpha. Et de toute façon, je ne suis pas sur le point de traverser cette fête en sentant… comme ça. [Only fools trust anyone in the capacity of an alpha. And anyway I am not about to walk through that party smelling…like this.]” His teeth were chattering with chills. He seemed to be getting worse. John wished he knew how much time they had.

“Je ne veux pas que tu meures. [I don’t want you to die.]” A flat, matter-of-fact statement.

“Comment tu sais ça ? Vous ne m'avez jamais rencontré. [How do you know that? You’ve never met me.]”

“C'est ce que je ressens. Je ne veux pas que tu meures. [It’s how I feel. I don’t want you to die.]”

Their conversation seemed to be over. A minute passed, and another. Then, “Pourquoi m'as-tu mis dans cette position ? Vous faites ça exprès. Tu es le seul alpha que j'ai jamais rencontré qui fait semblant d'être respectueux juste pour me faire supplier. C’est déroutant. [Why have you put me in this position? You’re doing this on purpose. You’re the only alpha I’ve ever met who pretends to be respectful just to make me beg. It’s confusing.]”

“Pas de mendicité. Je veux juste faire ce que tu veux. C'est tout. [No begging. I just want to do what you want. That’s all.]”

“Quelle mentalité pathétique. Il semble que vous soyez par nature servile. [What a pathetic mindset. It you're inherently servile.]” He went on muttering under his breath but John couldn’t hear it. Probably French swearing.

Not begging… John cleared his throat. “Je ne pense pas que ce soit pathétique de demander ce que l’on veut. Pour exiger ce que vous voulez. Je te veux. Que veux-tu? [I don’t think it’s pathetic to ask for what you want. To demand what you want. I want you. What do you want?]”

Vincent lifted his head enough to stare into the shadows, searching for a joke, a trick. John stepped forward enough to let the light fall on a face set with grave concern and tenderness.

“… Réparez ça. Montez-moi jusqu'à ce que ça s'arrête. […Fix this. Ride me until it stops.]”

And with that, everything John had been holding back burst forth at once. He pounced on Vincent. Belts: gone. He stripped Vincent the rest of the way down and let their contact be the only source of warmth against him.

What a warmth it was. Vincent was almost fatally overheated, but the aura of heat breathing off of his skin felt so good… All John wanted was to be buried in him. So wet too… There was slick pouring from between his legs, and his whole pelvis was red and swollen. Vincent moaned so hard when John pressed into him that he had to bite the back of his hand to avoid being heard.

“Est-ce que tu aimes ça? [Do you like that?]”

“Allez en enfer. Je – [Go to hell. I - ]” John stopped and the surrender came immediately. “Oui, oui, d'accord, j'aime ça. [Yes, yes okay I like it.]”

“Bien. Bon garçon. [Good. Good boy.]” John kissed his burning cheeks and forehead, cupped the back of his head in one hand to protect it from the hard ground. “Bon oméga [Good omega.]” Vincent’s walls contracted around him in response, a parallel of the thrill passing over the Marquis’ exultant expression. He was gasping with pleasure.

The burn in his face deepened and he buried it in John’s shoulder. “Je ne suis pas… ah… je ne suis pas un bon garçon [I’m not…ah…I’m not a good boy.]”

“Tu es. Vous êtes doué. Tu es adorable. Vous en êtes digne. Et je veux que tu vives. [You are. You’re good. You’re adorable. You’re worthy. And I want you to live.]” John rutted into him with every word, swelling rapidly. They’d knot soon, he could feel it building.

It took a second for him to realize how much he’d overwhelmed Vincent. He wasn’t just gasping against John’s shoulder anymore, he was sobbing.

John went still. “Hé. Ça va? [Hey. You okay?]”

“Ne demandez pas tout ! Je suis juste… je suis heureux. [Don’t ASK about everything! I’m just…I’m happy],” he muttered. “Alors continuez. [So keep going.]”

Happy. He’s happy because of me. He cuddled Vincent closer, locking his legs behind his hips to keep them from slipping apart for even an instant. Within moments, he was close to the knot again, waiting only for Vincent to push him over the edge.

Vincent was making soft, desperate noises into his neck, and just pulsing, throbbing rhythmically against him on all sides, milking him. He seemed to find a new wave of energy and started rolling his hips, becoming frantic. “Putain, John, j'en ai tellement besoin, j'ai besoin de plus, j'ai besoin de toi, j'ai besoin de toi ou je mourrai. [Fuck, John, I need it so badly, I need more, I need you, I need you or I’ll die.]”

“Tu m'as. Je ne laisserai rien t’arriver. C'est un lien. [You have me. I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s a bond.]” And it was. With a sense of both dread and satisfaction, he realized what was forming. “Je t'ai, Vincent. Vous êtes en sécurité. Je t'ai. J'ai… putain. [I have you, Vincent. You’re safe. I have you. I have…fuck.]” A rush of slick overwhelmed his words as Vincent came with what must have been dizzying force.

In answer, the knot hardened between them, semen flooding against Vincent’s walls, too much to fit inside him and enough to drip down their shaking legs onto the ground.

At last, they were quiet and still. Vincent’s head laid back and John kissed the tears off of his cheeks, feeling their pulses in sync deep inside the knot. This was who he wanted to be. Not the killer. Someone capable of saving a life. It occurred to John that in a few moments, this stranger would slip away. John would board a plane in the morning, and they might never see each other again.

And what was Vincent thinking about?

His eyes were closed, as long exhales left him. He looked drained by the fever and…tired. Completely tired in ways that even John didn’t understand. It was a kind of inverse of the way he didn’t understand civilians – instead of seeing a happiness that he couldn’t enter into, there was depth of misery here that demanded a companion. John stroked his hair fondly. Where did the physicality of this feeling begin and end? It felt so intimate, so intense. It couldn’t just be about the body. He wanted to be good to Vincent, to protect him. To find out what exactly he was protecting him from.

When they finally pulled apart, the heat had already started to dissipate. Vincent was shivering even more now, if that was possible. John gathered his clothes and began dressing Vincent gently, piece by piece of clothing. Vincent, meanwhile, sat on the ground, looking up at him with unreadable, soulful eyes. When they were both fully clothed again, John wrapped an arm around him and they leaned back against the wall, still concealed under the windowsill. “Que devons-nous faire maintenant ? Il y a probablement des gens qui vous recherchent. [What should we do now? There are probably people looking for you.]”

“Probablement. Mais maintenant je sens comme toi et j'ai l'air... [Probably. But now I smell like you and I look…]” He glanced down at his ruined vest and tsked.

“Viens avec moi. Je me faufilais par ici, on peut descendre le mur ensemble. [Come with me. I was sneaking out this way, we can both go down the wall together.]” John pulled out a length of climbing rope and tied it to the banister.

Vincent looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Grimper? En bas du bâtiment ? [Climb? Down the building?]”

“Je vais vous montrer. Grimpe sur mon dos et accroche-toi à moi. [I’ll show you. Climb on my back and hold onto me.]” I don’t know what the future will bring. But hold onto me, for as long as you can.

And he did.