#wound tending

[pursuitseternal]

“All Vim and Vigor, dearest…” a soft, nsfw Vampire Rogue Astarion update for “Bites in the Night:”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4K wound tending sex

Summary: the aftermath of a battle, and one companion is missing. Astarion. You race to find him, pulling him the the grip of death.. true death. Your tender, loving care can restore him. After all, you have to make sure all his vim and vigor is returned to him. Entirely.

CW: Blood, near death experience, healing, wound cleaning, flirtation, awkward Karlach interrupting growing intimacy, blow jobs and mutual hand jobs and fingering, just too be sure everything is… healed.

For @genesis-6666 💌

Read here if you prefer on AO3

Find him, save him…

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The dead lay around you. Goblins. An ambush. You bend over, hands on your knees, panting to catch your breath. Your wounds are minimal, and already Shadowheart has run to find the rest of your party, healing… or reviving… when needed. She looks up from over Gale’s body, his chest finally breathing again. But her eyes look worried. You scan the area, seeing everyone staggering between the trees. Almost all, you realize as your thumping heart stills. There is one of you missing. And your stomach twirls in knots as you realize just who.

You spin your head, looking. “Where is he?” you call to her. “Where’s Astarion?”

She shakes her head. “I thought he was with you, on the high ground,” she pants. “He was up there last I saw.” Her lithe hand points into the crags of rock and mountain that line the canyon.

It had been quick, sudden, and brutal. The ambush of Goblins swallowing you up. Last you remember, he had stared at you. Excitement, surprise, the thrill of bloodlust and eagerness in his eyes, as the goblin ranks kept coming and coming down from those ridges. One last fang-flashing smirk before he ran into the shadows, skirting up to their source. Your fearless, reckless, stupid rogue.

You hurry, scrambling up the trail, swerving past the thicker pools of goblin blood, leaping over their bodies. You see them scattered all over, dagger stab wounds and slashes.

Signs that he was here.

It’s carnage that you push past. Climbing higher until you reach a plateau, empty, the end of the trail, where you expect to see your vampire, your rogue, your… your love. But there is… nothing. Not a body. No enemies. No Astarion.

Panic fills you, heart rapping in your chest, breath growing short. But you force yourself forward. You make your eyes scan the ground for any clues. His blood. Or signs of his capture. You make your lungs fill, you shout his name…

Then, you hold your breath.

A faint groan comes from the distance, somewhere near the sheer rock face that pierces the sky, from the dense shrubs that line it. You race after it, feet almost skittering as you stumble in that direction. Your hands pushing into the brambles, catching sight of pale skin. Covered in blood.

You reach for his body. His skin is cold, waxy, and tight. You find one arm and pull. He groans as you tug, you grab his second arm, freeing him from the brambles, even as your lungs ease to see his face again.

But your hope fades to agony, his face is bruised and beaten, black and blue and shadowed more than his undead charisma. His breathing is quick and shallow, his eyes nearly swollen shut from whatever beating he took up here. You finally slide him free, his clothing is torn, almost every inch of the skin you see is darkened with bruises.

His voice shakes as he tries to catch a breath, eyes forcing themselves open to look at you. “You’re here,” he manages to rasp out. “I knew you would find me. You always find me.”

“Shhh,” you run your hand through his hair, his brow damp with sweat, his eyes losing focus as his head begins to loll. “It’s going to be alright.”

“At least I got to see you once more…” his voice grates against his throat, breath growing ragged.

You hand digs into your pocket, pulling out your last vial of healing potion. You pull the cork and press it instantly to his lips. The liquid flows into those pale lips, and you can only kneel and pray it’s enough. His breath begins to ease instead of rattle, his face beginning to heal, his pallor returning, the traces of blue-black death fading.

His mouth twitches trying to talk. But you shush him softly, “I’m here, Astarion, it’s alright.”

“F-far from,” he ekes out as his eyes flutter open slightly, the swelling abating just enough for you to see both crimson eyes again.

“I’ll get you back to the others,” you look around, sizing up his lean body, running a hand through his hair before you brace behind his shoulders to get him to sit upright. He groans, limp in your arm. He can be so strong and swift, but it’s only now you also notice how lithe he is. How lean. But still, he’s too great a weight for you to bear alone.

That’s when the running of heavier feet makes your lungs fill fully and your heart leap in hope. “You found him, good for you, soldier!” Karlach trods right up next to you, barely out of breath. “Shadowheart said you would hopefully have found him, I’m to help you back where we are making camp.” Her thick tiefling arms pick him up, none too gently, and you hiss in worry to see him pulled to his feet so quickly.

“I swear, if you throw me around like that, I would puke on you if I had anything left in me…” he snipes as Karlach takes him by one arm, shaking her fiery head at his sass with a smile and waiting for you to take the other.

You snigger. He must be on the mend if he is throwing those barbs out again. But he falls silent again, head hanging low. You shoulder his body as best you can, bracing one hand on his bare chest, wishing for once he had a living heart that beat so you knew he was alive. “Stay with me,” you grunt, shoving your mouth into his long, pointed ear. “I’ll kill you if you die, you know.”

“I know… my sweet,” he manages to rasp, a slight turn of his head to throw you a feeble smirk. Karlach is definitely bearing most of him, but she doesn’t complain, not as you finally make it down the ridges and back to the main road.

“Not too much further,” Karlach heaves more of him on her shoulder, “Gale should have the tents up by now so he can rest.”

You three round a bend, the flickering of a fire and the spattered sight of tents warms your heart. You made it. Even the rose and burgundy canvas of Astarion’s tent is set to perfection. You’ll have to remember to thank Gale later, once your rogue is through the worst of it.

Into the warm dark you go, setting Astarion out on his bedroll, propping him cautiously on a stack of pillows.

“Water, clothes, and another potion,” Karlach points to the supplies placed tidily within reach. “I’ll be back, just shout if you need anything.”

And then she steps away, taking her warmth and her glowing presence back through the flaps of his tent.

You look after her, another friend you’ll have to thank.

Something hard and cold grips around your hand from where it rests on the ground. He’s clutching you, making sure he’s not alone.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before you rest it on his own stomach. “Let me get you cleaned up,” you look into his face, his eyes still shut, face still and unmoving. “Is that alright?”

“More than alright,” he speaks quietly, “the sooner you get rid of this stinking goblin blood off me, the sooner I can just savor that delicious fragrance of yours…” he hisses in pain before the last word is completely off his tongue. Your hand ghosts over the still-sprawling bruisers that run along his side. He tries so hard to be the usually suave, charismatic charmer, but something still troubles him.

Your hand hovers between the cloth and the potion, unsure what to do first. Then you hear it, a wracking cough, one that shakes his frame, bringing blood to his lips.

His blood.

You quickly uncork the second bottle, fairly shoving it in his mouth. “What did they do to you?” You barely get the question out your mouth as he sighs from swallowing the healing mix down.

“Thrashed me an inch from life… or an inch from undeath I suppose…” He forces a blithe smile, his giggle is slick with his own blood, but at least you can hear his lungs filling. More fully than before. The potion working to heal whatever internal damage he must have had.

You eye the red around his lips, pausing for a second. It was a common sight, his bloodied lips, but… never his own blood.

You wonder, for a moment, how does he taste?

You know the salt of his sweat, the bitter tang of his cum, why not? Why not see what his blood tastes of, for once…

“Gods below,” he throws you a mischievous smirk. “You’re wanting to taste my blood now, aren’t you?” You feel your surprise lifting your face, and he only sucks his teeth, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. “Tch, I don’t need a spell to read your dirty thoughts, darling…”

Your eyes dart to his conceited, smirking mouth. You hold your breath… until you close your hand around the towel and soak it in the soapy water. “Don’t be ridiculous, Astarion…” you huff, starting to bring the cloth to his face.

His hand grips the back of your neck, clutching you against his mouth for a wet and bloodied kiss. It tastes… ancient, refined and heady. Rich in a way that coats your tongue, even as his own delves in to tangle with yours. You swallow, sucking on his lips for more. He laughs, lightly, hiding a groan, “If you’re planning on more rigorous pursuits, I’d say I need bathing and tending first, darling.”

You pull away, shocked at yourself, so aroused with him only moments ago near-death. Your cheeks flush, white hot as you begin to clean him. He closes his eyes, propped up as he is on pillows. Lounging, relishing your full attention.

You wash and rinse, wash and rinse. It’s hard not to stare at his beauty, at the hard edges of his cheeks and jaw, the little lines about his eyes that crinkle when he smirks or laughs. He locks those piercing eyes on you as you dip the rag back and wring it out. He stalks every movement you make, washing his body lower and lower, inspecting his bruises as they slowly fade with the healing magic.

You finish his chest, forcing your breath to steady as you wash that rising and falling belly of his.

“Are you sure I don’t need tending any lower…?” he purrs.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Perhaps you rest first before you insist on everything checked for being in good working order, hmm?”

He rolls his eyes back in his head, a sigh of total emphatic drama. “Doctor’s orders…” he grumbles, lounging back against the throws, but not before he gives a little thrust of his hips, a clench of his belly under your hand where it rests on him still.

“Sleep, you scoundrel,” you chide, reaching to dry off his now clean skin, savoring the fresh scent in the air from the soap. You feel his body, still tense under your touch, wound tight and stiff that isn’t the result of his charming flirtation or dirty, lustful thoughts. You look at him, staring at his face, worry furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flicker over you, bright with mischief, half-lidded with flirtation. “Vampires don’t require… sleep. Not much. Not as much as… well… other things…”

You look into that beautiful face. He’s gaunt. Pale, well more than usual. Rings line his eyes, cradling that crimson glare in shadow. His lips twitch, fighting the urge to bare those glistening and pointed fangs.

“Oh, gods, now?” you breathe, heart racing.

He waves a hand dismissively, a sharp edge to his voice. Hungry. Annoyed. “Well, if you don’t want your strong, well-fed vampire to heal completely, then by all means…”

“No,” you almost leap next to his face, those smirking eyes scan over you, dilating in his hunger, fixating on the rapid pulse you know must be just throbbing under your skin for him to salivate over. But his hand grips yours, raising it to his lips. Kissing your fingers so softly, your stomach drops and your throat tightens. Slowly, he turns your hand over in his, raising your tingling inner wrist to his nose. You feel his breath, cold and quick, as he inhales your scent. Probably already savoring the scent of your blood rushing just beneath your skin.

“So then, I may?” his voice almost fails to reach your ears, you hear it more from the little tickles his breath makes across your skin, the gentle flutters of his lips over the nerves of your wrist. Like lighting in the air, his breath ripples in pinpricks on your skin.

“Yes,” you sigh, lungs burning as you hold your breath until he bites thos razor-sharp fangs into your tender flesh. Gasping, you hold your wrist to his mouth, every drop of your blood that leaves you, you can almost feel, almost sense, how it makes him stronger again. Empowered again. Hungry again for more.

It just feels so good, even as he feasts on you, as you savor that strange sensation that follows every time he feeds, that union of your bodies, your blood sating his hunger, beginning to course in his veins. A small, strangled moan escapes your lips, your eyes fixated on the way his mouth sucks on your wrist. You’ve never seen it before, never been able to watch his consuming of you, as he drinks from your neck. The little ways his tongue laps at your skin, the small bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows you down. A different sort of pleasure denied you when he drinks in the middle of the night. Your stomach churns, your thighs burning hot as you can’t look away.

A slight, definitely insufferable smile tugs at the corner of his lip as he sets your wrist back in your lap. “Liked what you saw?” he preens, so proud as he dabs a single finger at the bloodied corner of his mouth. “Or just thankful I’m still here to have my fill of you?”

“Both,” you reply before even a second thought crosses you mind. Your sight lowers to his mouth, you can almost feel those lips on yours, the way the twitch ever so slightly, the little tweaks that lift them to show those pointed fangs you love to have catch your flesh and nip at you when he kisses….

So close, you feel him closing that distance, his breath rushing into you, filling your lungs, your soul, ice cold and tangible.

“Hope you like rabbit, Gale’s got stew nearly done for…” Karlach sticks her flaming, sparking scarlet head into your tent then she strides all the way in. Those glowing eyes go wide. You’re so close, even as you turn your head, you can hear Astarion’s laugh tickle the creases of your ear.

You go flush, and not just because he insists on still giving your cheek a lingering kiss.

“Feeling better, is he?” Karlach laughs, a bit forced. A bit uncomfortable.

“Clearly,” you huff, sliding slightly from his side. But he only leans all the closer.

His eyes rake over you. You can feel it. You can almost see it in the way Karlach sifts from foot to foot. He chuckles, low and slow, “Yes, all vim and vigor, dearest. We were just about to discuss how I was going to make it up to her for all that attentive care and healing I required to pull me back from the brink of death…”

Your eyes flicker to Karlach, who would be blushing beet red now if she weren’t already so scarlet. “Ahem,” she clears her voice and stands quickly, “that’ll be my cue. I’ll leave you two to it..:”

“No it’s okay… the stew...” you begin but she’s already gone and yelling on the other side of the tent.

“Oi, Gale, keep it warm…” a long pause follows, a deep voice muted in the distance. Then Karlach guffaws with gusto. “Yeah, they’ll be fucking for hours most likely… she might not even be hungry once he stuffs her again…” the tiefling’s boisterous laugh fades as she trods away.

Your face goes hotter than an inferno, but that only makes his cold fingers sear all the more as he caresses your cheek. A single finger lifts your chin, turning your face towards that rakish, sultry smirk. “I thought she’d never leave. Now,” he hovers his mouth right over yours, “where were we?”

“We…” you clear your throat, “we were just making sure you were healed…”

“Mmmm, I’m pretty sure you’ve inspected me thoroughly everywhere but one place, darling,” he rasps, catching your lips in a commanding, languorous kiss.

“You almost died, Astarion,” you hiss between his teeth, fighting the way your folds are burning up, the way his other hand begins to slink over the buckskin of your breeches. “Should you really risk so much exertion?” Your body is tensing, your mind remembering the way he rattled as he struggled for air on the mountain, the way his flesh was blackened and sickly. Dead, almost truely dead.

His chuckle, that low-throated giggle, pulls you out of those macabre imaginings. “Well, I'd be more than happy to simply lay back and let you do all the hard work, if that’s what your concern is…”

You give him a mocking smile, “Oh yes, I’m very certain you are only doing this for my sake, love. Making sure I feel good after pulling you back from near death to life… well to undeath…” You give a sheepish grin, relieved that your humor only adds to the mischievous glint in his crimson eyes.

“You know me, the image of selflessness. I’m doing you a favor. If you left now…” his smirk widened, deliciously, wickedly, “…you’d be thinking about it all night.” His hand weaves into the little hairs at the nape of your neck, twirling them in the way he knows drives you crazy.

“Well, I suppose I can be persuaded… just to make sure you’re all vim and vigor.” You laugh as his hand is already loosening the laces of his breeches. “But,” you place one of yours to stay him a moment. Gods, you can already feel his cock, hard and pushing his way out for pleasure. You swallow, making yourself look in his eyes. At how they swirl with his lust, glassy with his need. “But you tell me the moment it’s too much, you promise?”

“If you wanted me to just be more vocal during our couplings, you had only to ask, darling…” he purrs, forcing his fingers loose under your palm to continue unlacing.

You grab them in yours. “I mean it,” you insist, hard in tone, commanding in just three words.

“I promise, I’ll say when, my dear,” he laughs, finally freeing himself from the confines of his breeches. You look down at him, his devious pleasure of just watching you crawling between his thighs.

You give his cock a good, long lick from base to tip, his groan of approval sending shivers between your own thighs. But you force a dispassionate hum as you wrap your lips around his twitching head. “Seems in good working order,” you whisper.

“I think it needs a little more.. attentive care, darling…” he groans, very loudly as you wrap your mouth all the way around him, taking him in deeply over your tongue. You roll your eyes, unsurprised at how he gives a moan with each suck you make, each lap of your tongue running up his length.

More vocal indeed.

You bob up and down, your lover relaxing back against his pillows, fingers toying languorously through your hair. Your own hand pumps over the rest of him that just can’t fit inside your lips. He feels so good, so hard and strong and full of life. And he seems to be getting louder… his moans increasing. “So good for me, darling…” he starts to praise. “Always so attentive and eager… and…”

You pop off him, meeting that insufferable smirk and quirked brows. “You want them to know, don’t you?”

“Me? Wanting to draw some attention to our lustful pursuits?” He casts that look at you that makes every nerve in your body flame with unbridled desire for him. “I just want them to make sure you care of me is certainly thorough,” he grins, “I’m just so… thankful… it’s hard to keep it in. After all you do… so much for me, darling…”

“Be a dear and shut up,” you purr, giving one more swirl around that ridge of his tip.

“Make me,” he growls, flashing that roguish smirk down at you, licking his lips.

You pounce, flooded with relief that he is alive... that he’s filled with all that vim and vigor and irascible, irritating sass. You’re brimming with the need to feel him, for all his taunting and flirtation, all his lust and passion, you’re just… happy he is here. To kiss, to fuck, to banter with. And you do make him shut up, your lips on his, your teeth sinking playfully into his lower lip, sucking it with a tug. You keep one hand on his cock, riding it, pumping it, keeping time with the way his tongue darts in and out of your mouth. Something cold slips under your shirt, his fingers skating into the band of your breeches.

You keep your mouth fixed on his, making certain he’s far too busy for any noises you can’t muffle. But as his fingers slip between your thighs, an unbidden cry rips from your throat.

“Who’s the loud mouth now?” He chides, sucking his teeth at you, even with your lips coupled as they are. He laughs again, his fingers catching on your clit just right as he rides up and down your seam. “Don’t cease your own task at hand on my account,” he sniggers, his cold fingers lacing around his shaft, interweaving with yours.

His breath sucks in yours. His fingers playing in you, teasing so much wetness from your folds, you wish you had just taken your pants off when you had the chance. Now it was too late. Now, you’d be sticky from your own arousal, probably covered in his cum too as you leave his tent.

The thought makes your cheeks burn but not in shame. In a searing wave of desire. Your hand works up and down, catching that thick, blunt tip with your thumb in the way that makes him groan. His kisses deepen, hungry and feral, the same he’s stoked in you with the little ways his fangs catch on the inside of your lips. He’s losing that refined control he keeps. Pushed past the calculating movements as you stroke him in your fist and lick his tongue with your own.

“Gods,” he growls, his cock so hard, his fingers inside you working at a fevered pace. “You’ll come for me too, darling. My recompense for your care.”

“Yes,” you moan, his fingers diving deep into your cunt, crooking on that sweet spot he knows well.

You clench, shaking as he pummels inside you, your own hand struggling to work on his cock with how hard he is. How thick he is. But the instant you drench his fingers and fill his palm as you climax, he follows you into that messy, groaning bliss. Hot cum drips down your arm, spattered on your sleeve, on the belly of your shirt.

He’s gasping into your mouth, his lips pulled back wide in a genuine smile. His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, stealing your own from your lips. “Well,” he pants, “am I fully recovered?”

“All vim… and vigor…” you heave, moaning as he slips his fingers from your thighs.

“Hmm,” he hums against your lips, trapping them in his own with a slight nip. “Are you sure you’re satisfied with my performance?”

You laugh, giving a little shove against his chest. “For now,” you tease, “but it seems another round of cleaning is in order.” Your hand reaches for the rag, wiping his juices from your hand, your arm. Only to hear him sucking on his own fingers.

His brow arched wryly as you turn to watch. Those two long fingers that still drip with your cum are shoved far back in his mouth, his tongue swirling over every inch. “What?” he smirks, “why waste something so delicious…”

You shake your head, lovingly irritated at his cheekiness, but already your body is already aching for more. “Perhaps,” you clear your throat, heart pounding as you watch him sliding those already drenched fingers over his tongue. “Perhaps you do need a little more inspection, just to be sure…”

“Thought so,” he sniffs, that insufferable smirk widening to show his teeth. “Best be sure… just in case…”

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Read more “Bites in the Night:”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Ascended Astarion in “The Rogue You Were:”

🩸Part 1 🩸 Part 2 🩸Part 3 🩸 Part 4🩸

Read my Drabbles

“Just a Drop…” Astarion as Tav turns

“Beg me…” A highly NSFW Ascended Astarion x reader

“Your Reward:” Ascended Astarion Dark!Fic

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Break-Ins and Bandages

Here is my 1500 Followers Celebratory Snippet! Thank you for helping me brainstorm, @surplus-of-sarcasm and @lilywolfgray!

The sound of the window opening had Hero whipping their head around so fast it gave them a bout of dizziness. They had been perched on the end of their mattress, holding a pack of ice to their throbbing head and trying not to aggravate the rest of the wounds littered across their battered body. As the window opened the rest of the way, Hero’s heart leapt into their throat. Villain climbed over the sill into the bedroom. Hero jumped to their feet… and promptly keeled over. Villain sped over and caught them before they could hit the floor.

“Easy, easy,” Villain said, depositing them back on their bed, “not here to hurt you. I think I did enough of that this afternoon.”

“Why- how-?”

“I banged you up pretty bad, I felt like I should try to fix it.”

Villain had a bag slung over their shoulder, and as Hero got a proper look at it, they could see it was stuffed to the brim with medical supplies.

“After I gave the cops the slip, I may have followed you home… heh, sorry.”

Villain gave them a lopsided, apologetic smile. Hero’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Don’t give me that look! I’m a villain, not a monster! Now, let’s have a look at you.”

Despite their protests, Villain helped Hero out of their shirt and started to examine them.

“Hm,” Villain said, “I really pack a punch, huh?”

“Ya think?” Hero winced as Villain touched a particularly tender spot.

“Okay.” Villain started to rummage in their bag, “let me start with the antiseptic.”

Villain pulled out a bottle and a cotton pad. Hero scuttled back on the bed.

“Villain, I appreciate this, but please don’t-”

“Hush.”

Villain lunged with the antiseptic. Hero cried out when Villain started to clean their cuts.

“You big baby,” Villain teased, “you can survive buildings falling on you, but a little wound tending is gonna be your undoing?”

“YES!” Hero hissed, their knuckle-white fists gripping the blanket under them.

Villain shook their head with a chuckle. Once every wound was cleaned, they started to medicate them and bandage them up.

“…Thanks,” Hero said uncertainly.

“Yep,” Villain said with a satisfied smile.

Villain started to put everything away. They were about to climb back out the window when Hero found themselves grabbing their arm.

“Uh…yes?” Villain asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Hero blushed in embarrassment.

“Um… I have some old movies on DVD… if you weren’t doing anything after this…”

Villain smiled knowingly.

“Because,” Hero added quickly, “I’m still injured, someone should probably keep an eye on me so I don’t aggravate the wounds, and-”

A peck on the cheek shut Hero up straight away.

“Took you long enough, gumshoe,” Villain said.

Villain set the bag down, closed the window, and swept Hero up into a bridal carry. Hero yelped.

“Villain! Put me down!”

“You’re still injured, you said so yourself,” Villain said, “where’s your living room?”

A huff from Hero and some directions later, and the crime-fighter was nodding off on Villain’s shoulder to some fantasy movie. Villain kissed Hero on the crown of their head. Mission accomplished.

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Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

[stonenumberone]

SUPERNATURAL REC FEST (@spnficrecfest)

DAY 2 - KINKS OR WHUMP (BOTH)

Baton Rouge | @prince-of-elsinore (2021) (Rated E, 7.5k, Sam/Dean, wound tending, first time, s15) Sam and Dean drive into the heart of a storm.

Put Your Arms Around Me Like A Ring Around The Sun | t_fic (topaz) (2011) (Rated E, 15.7k, Sam/Dean, Sam/Dean/OFC, first time, sex magic) "I dunno, man," Dean says, after Sam literally shakes him to get him to focus. "I don't feel bad, just... not there all the time. Like there's a hole or something and it's sucking me down into it." They're a day-and-a-half drive from Bobby's; Sam make it in a little over eight hours.

All That I'm Good For | witling (2013) (Rated M, 3.5k, Sam/Dean, underage mention, morphine, alcohol) “You're kidding me,” he called, and then he had to get up, heave himself painfully out of the bed and find his balance—he was drunker than he'd thought—and go lean in the bathroom door. “Did you just…do we have a suicide pact, now?”

What Lasts | @zmediaoutlet/deadlybride (2021) (Rated M, 17.3k, Sam&Dean, gen, wound tending, s8) Not long after they move into the bunker, Dean loses a leg. Most of a leg. After the hospital, Sam brings him home, and they figure out how to live with what remains.

The Gold Room | @hathfrozen (2022) (Rated E, 31.5k, Sam/Dean, UST, wound tending, first time, ps-s2) Sam grew into wanting Dean the same way he grew into his bones. It isn’t something they can will or trick or ignore away. It isn’t something that can be undone.

These Things I Know Are True | killabeez (2011) (Rated E, 4.6k, Sam/Dean, first time, s6) Cas is off the rails, Sam's barely keeping it together, and Dean's trying to figure out where they go from here.

Just Like Heaven | @redmyeyes (2023) (Rated M, 6.8k, Sam/Dean, forced proximity, soulmates but it hurts, s5) They both went to heaven. Dean came back wrong.

Stay The Distance | lazy_daze (2011) (Rated E, 24k, Sam/Dean, nightmares, forced proximity, s6-7) "You know why. I'm not leaving my brother alone out there." Sam is dependent on Dean's touch and closeness after the wall falls - Dean's presence reminds him of why he chose to wake up, and keeps the memories at bay, allowing Sam to function.

Desiderata (WIP) | @dyed-red (2021) (Rated E, 45k, Sam/Dean, caretaking, first time) Dean is hit with a curse. It shouldn’t take that much to resolve, could be a gift under other circumstances, but life’s not that simple for the Winchesters.

You'll Never See Us Again | @according2thelore (2023) (Rated T, 5k, Sam&Dean, Sam/Dean, nightmares, touch-starved, s7) Sam suffers from nightmares and touch starvation post-Cage. They do their best to deal.

[whumpygifs]

[mlobsters]

bonus lucifer

supernatural s7e2 hello, cruel world / hannibal s2e10 naka-choko

This is real. Not a year ago, not in Hell, now. I was with you when you cut it, I sewed it up!

[fandom-hoarder]

Tumblr keeps fucking up this video lmao.

Tell me this ain't a Supernatural AU and I'm plugging my ears and pointing at the screen lol

[thedarktoyourlighght]

Akechi needs to kill Ren, and Ren knows he doesn’t want to. But when Ren offers him warmth, Akechi doesn’t know what to do with it. He can’t have it. He won’t.

Tags: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Wound Tending, Whump, Kissing, bathhouse, takes place during sae's palace, Canon Compliant, Not Beta Read

TRIGGER WARNING: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

[lonesome-witching]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler Characters: Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler Additional Tags: Blood, Trauma, Nancy Wheeler Needs a Hug, Nancy Wheeler Has a Crush on Robin Buckley, First Kiss, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, wound, Robin patches up Nancy, Robin Buckley Has a Crush on Nancy Wheeler, there is a sleepover in this, and there is a dream thing in this, well a nightmare thing, but it's mostly Robin taking care of Nancy Series: Part 5 of Ronancetober 2023 Summary:

Nancy watched the blood trickle down her hand. Her eyes seemed attached to the crimson red splotches in her bathroom sink. It was better than looking at the wound. She was meant to be washing it out. She was meant to be taking care of herself.

On the other side of the bathroom door Robin Buckley was waiting. Nancy knew that. She could imagine Robin pacing the floor. She had been worried. Worried enough to warm Nancy’s cold, frozen heart.

OR

Robin helps Nancy clean out her wound.

[gh0ul1sh-gr1m]

I actually wrote something

An Unexpected Reunion - For Serennedy Week 2023

[lady-wallace]

Life Lessons and Knife Wounds (JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Another @febuwhump fic for today! Thanks again to @xxcntrs for helping me choose prompts! Hope you enjoy :)

This one is for the prompts: Day 20: “Knife Wound” | Day 11: “Fever” | and Alt prompt 6. “Limp”

~~~~~~~

Giorno neglects a wound and fails to see how bad it's gotten until he's on a mission with Abbacchio and everything comes to a head.

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

~~~~~~~

Giorno bit back a wince as he pulled his pants on, careful over the bandage wrapped around his thigh.

He'd gotten on the wrong end of an enemy's knife a few days before while their team was on a drug ring bust and it still hurt more than it probably should.

But Giorno didn't have time to worry about it right now—there were too many other things he had to think about. The only reason it still hurt so much anyway was because of the way his trousers rubbed against the bandage whenever he walked.

He chose to ignore the fact that it still burned even when he wasn't walking.

Giorno sighed, finished dressing, and headed down to the kitchen where everyone was already having breakfast. Fighting the limp took quite a bit of effort, especially since his whole body seemed to decide it wanted to ache that morning but he was fine. He would endure.

"Morning! Narancia called to him as he caught sight of Giorno, then frowned. "Did you even sleep?"

Giorno frowned back. "I slept fine." Like a rock, actually. He had been so tired the night before he'd almost slept through his alarm.

Bucciarati looked up from where he was making eggs at the stove, a vague look of concern in his eyes as he too caught sight of Giorno. "You do have some dark circles under your eyes. It might be wise to get a little more rest."

Giorno refrained from sighing as he sank down at the table, barely hiding the wince that crinkled his brow as a fold of his trousers dug into his injury, the pain sharp and burning.

He gratefully accepted the cup of coffee Fugo passed him. Despite his deep sleep the night before, he felt more exhausted than usual.

"What's on the agenda today?" Abbacchio asked, taking a drink of his own coffee.

Bucciarati plated eggs and came over to the table. "The business with Carlotti needs to be taken care of. If he won't pay up, he needs to be made aware of the consequences."

Giorno had nearly forgotten about the club owner who had failed to pay protection for the past two months, begging expense issues and that he 'would have the full amount next time—with interest!' Giorno and Bucciarati suspected he had probably gambled the money away and still wouldn't have any to pay when the next collection period came around.

"I'll go," Giorno said even before his brain could catch up to what he was saying.

"Are you sure?" Bucciarati asked. "Collections aren't really something you are required to do in your position."

"Besides, we could use you to sign papers today," Fugo added.

"It won't take all day," Giorno said, and, honestly, the thought of sitting in the office all day made the nagging headache that had been hiding behind his eyes since he woke up even worse. He was afraid that if he were to spend the whole day sitting at his desk he'd simply pass out from this annoying exhaustion again. "Besides," he added, turning to Bruno. "Carlotti needs a reminder that he won't get away with failing to pay me another month. If I show up there myself he might get the picture."

"Are you sure you're recovered from that last fight?" Bucciarati asked, and the sudden scrutiny directed at him nearly made Giorno squirm in his seat.

"I'm fine—only a little sore," Giorno said—not exactly lying. "If it comes to a fight, my Stand does all the heavy lifting anyway."

Bucciarati pressed his lips into a thin line but nodded. "Alright then. Abbacchio, I want you to go with him."

Giorno and the goth both glanced at each other over the table. Abbacchio rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Fine. I could have just done it myself, though."

"No, Giorno's right," Bucciarati said. "It doesn't hurt to be more involved in business on the ground. And it's better there's two of you if there's trouble."

Abbacchio grunted, but Giorno actually didn't really mind being paired with the taciturn older gangster that day. At least Abbacchio tended to ignore him if at all possible, and Giorno didn't want anyone noticing too much about him that day.

Maybe he was stubborn, but it wasn't like he hadn't hidden injuries before—most of his life, actually. He knew what they felt like rubbing painfully against his clothes, poorly tended to. He would survive this too.

Never mind that his headache started to get worse the minute they began to drive to their destination and on top of that he was also feeling light-headed. The morning sun didn't help, making him a little too warm. He could already feel a sheen of sweat sticking his suit to his skin and stray strands of hair to his face.

He cleared his throat before he spoke up quietly. "Could you turn the air conditioning on?"

Abbacchio glanced over at him, lip curled in what was sure to be a snide remark before he frowned instead. The look passed in another instant, however and he huffed, reaching for the dial. "You can do it yourself, you know," he grumbled.

Giorno closed his eyes briefly as the cool air hit his face. It felt, honestly, a little too cold, but he wasn't about to complain and risk annoying Abbacchio even more.

It was a bit of a drive to their destination and with the morning rush hour traffic, even worse.

By the time they got there, Giorno's head was splitting, making him woozy as he climbed out of the car. He had to grab the roof to stave off a sudden wave of vertigo. It was so distracting that he forgot to watch his limp as he went to head toward the club with Abbacchio.

"Are you limping?"

Giorno froze, schooled his expression and glanced up at the older man. "No."

Abbacchio narrowed his eyes and jabbed a finger at Giorno. "You better not have lied to Bucciarati earlier. I don't need an injured kid, Boss or not, getting himself in trouble during a fight."

"It might not even come to a fight," Giorno responded, not answering Abbacchio's question.

Abbacchio clicked his tongue in annoyance and headed toward the club entrance, Giorno behind him, trying to hurry and keep up with Abbacchio's long stride without limping again. It hurt.

However, after several tries of Abbacchio pounding on the door and Giorno even opening the club up using Gold Experience to manipulate the locks, they found that the place was completely empty.

"Bastard must have known it was collection day and split," Abbacchio growled. "Either that or he's just not here yet."

"Should we wait for him?" Giorno asked half-heartedly. Earlier, the idea of getting away from the house instead of sitting around the office sounded good, but now it wasn't nearly as appealing. In fact, he kind of just wished he could lay down and close his eyes to see if that would help his aching skull.

Abbacchio looked around, seeming annoyed. "That would be pointless. He probably has eyes on the place and wouldn't show up if he knew we were here. I'm going to call Bucciarati and see if he knows of anywhere Carlotti might be."

"Alright," Giorno said tiredly as they headed back outside. The sun pierced his eyes and he felt dizzy again. It was too hot—all of him was too hot. Especially his leg which felt like it was on fire even after only being on it for a few minutes.

He tried to put as little pressure on it as possible as he attempted to concentrate on Abbacchio's one-sided conversation with Bucciarati, but everything just seemed to be getting fuzzier. Exhaustion pulled at his body, threatening to drag him down.

"Hey, I asked if you were ready to go?"

Giorno jerked, looking upward dizzily to see Abbacchio swimming before him. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

"Bucciarati gave me his apartment address. Kid? Hey, Giorno!"

Everything tilted and Giorno suddenly flailed, realizing he was going to fall. Agony tore through his leg as the heat and pain crashed over him, blinding him until he was forced to fall into the darkness.

***

The next thing Giorno was aware of was nauseating movement, and the sound of swearing and keys rattling. He tried to make sense of any of it, but blinking his eyes open for even a second brought sharp pain with a stab of light and he swiftly shut them again.

The key jangling and swearing stopped, but the movement started up again, something hard digging into Giorno's hip and lower stomach and…

He was upside down—that's why he was so dizzy. He blinked his eyes open briefly again, and saw the swish of a black coat-tail and the heels of someone who was carrying him over their shoulder.

What the hell had happened?

Another dizzying movement had him falling backwards onto something soft. A bed? What was going on? He didn't even know where he was. Everything was blurry when he blinked, trying to make sense of any of this—of who the blurry figure looming over him was. Why was he so delirious right now? Had he been drugged, kidnapped?

New panic settled in when he felt someone's hands searching him until they found the tender spot on his thigh.

Giorno couldn't stop the strangled sound of pain that escaped him, trying to roll away.

More muffled cursing and then the hands moved to his waistband and started to tug his pants off.

Giorno finally had the wherewithal to pull himself into full consciousness, weakly pushing at the invasive hands.

"Don't," he growled in warning, reaching for Gold Experience.

"Don't flatter yourself. Need to see your leg," a familiar voice grunted and Giorno finally managed to focus on his purported captor. It was just Abbacchio.

Not that that was much better, because he was about to uncover the injury Giorno had been trying to hide all day.

He continued to struggle, until the movement crushed Abbacchio's hand against his wound and the pain that ripped down his leg because of it stole his breath away.

He lay limply against the bed as Abbacchio swore again.

"Dammit, kid, just stay still and let me look at this."

Giorno couldn't do much else at this point, resigned and mortified as Abbacchio peeled his trousers the rest of the way off and turned to the bandage that was sloppily wrapped around Giorno's thigh, halfway between his knee and the leg of his boxers. The rusty stain of blood was seeping through it and Abbaccio unceremoniously started unwrapping the bandage, the gauze sticking a bit which made the process even more uncomfortable.

"Shit," he swore again as he finally uncovered the wound, the air stinging it now that it was exposed. "Had a feeling it was infected."

Giorno blinked and finally looked down at the wound.

It…didn't look good. The area around it was inflamed and red, and on top of that, there was discolored discharge. He swallowed hard.

"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" Abbacchio demanded. "You've even got a damn fever!"

Fever? That would explain the delirium. Giorno didn't know what to say, just lay there in what he now figured must be some hotel bed. He felt awful, and honestly didn't have the energy to defend himself right now.

Abbacchio sighed, straightening up and pushing his hair back. "Listen, just stay here, don't try to move around. I'm gonna go get some stuff and when I get back I'm gonna clean that out properly. You better still be in that bed when I walk in the door."

Giorno nodded silently and watched as Abbacchio left the hotel room.

How embarrassing. He honestly hadn't thought the injury was that bad. Hadn't even bothered to fix it with Gold. But maybe he had neglected it a little too much. It wasn't like he could do anything about it now.

He folded an arm over his eyes tiredly. Of course it had been Abbacchio of all people to have found him out. Well, honestly, that was better than Bucciarati. Though he wasn't stupid enough to think that the capo wouldn't be getting the full failed mission report from Abbacchio.

He drifted, still pretty out of it, until Abbacchio came back, drugstore shopping bags rustling in his hand.

He seemed mildly pleased at least that Giorno hadn't moved and headed toward the adjoining bathroom. "I'm gonna clean the tub out and I'll be right back."

Giorno resigned himself to what he knew was coming, swallowing hard as Abbacchio returned.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

Giorno stiffly swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, gritting his teeth against the pain that shot up his leg. Abbacchio quickly stepped in and gave him an arm, helping him to the bathroom.

"Why don't you sit in the tub?" Abbacchio pointed to the small bathtub on one side of the bathroom. Giorno briefly slipped his suitcoat off, not wanting it to get wet and Abbacchio helped lower him into the tub, bad leg extended as far as it could go.

Abbacchio turned to wash his hands, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. "Alright, I'm gonna have to clean that thing out first."

Giorno nodded, leaning back against the side of the tub.

He watched as Abbacchio grabbed several things he had left out on the counter and came to kneel beside the tub.

"Gonna flush this first," he said, holding up some saline wash. "It's not gonna be pleasant."

"Yeah," Giorno acknowledged quietly, setting his jaw as Abbacchio wrapped a hand around his knee, tilting his leg at a better angle while keeping a firm grip on him and then unceremoniously pointed the squeeze bottle toward the wound.

The pain that resulted was so bad that Giorno felt the coppery taste of impending sickness in the back of his throat. He let out a strangled sound and tried to breathe through his nose so that he wouldn't throw up on top of everything.

Abbacchio swore quietly before redirecting the wash and going at it again. Giorno instinctively tried to pull away, but Abbacchio's grip was firm.

"Easy," he murmured. "This wound's a lot deeper than I thought. How the hell did you walk around on this for the last two days?"

Giorno didn't answer, simply bit back another groan and gripped the sides of the tub with white-knuckled hands. He glanced down, watching as the blood and yellowed discharge got flushed from the wound and washed down the drain, then finally squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stand looking at it anymore.

Abbacchio sighed as he finally pulled back, but only to grab an antiseptic wash. "This will probably feel worse, but I want to make sure it's actually clean this time."

Giorno braced himself, but was unable to keep from crying out when Abbacchio poured the antiseptic over his leg.

"Easy," he said again, tightening his grip as Giorno threatened to pull away, or kick him—he wasn't sure what his intention had been—it just hurt.

"I know it sucks, but that's what happens when you ignore your injuries. I swear you're as bad as Bruno."

Giorno furrowed his brow. "Doesn't he just use Sticky Fingers?" he asked to distract himself.

Abbacchio snorted. "Yeah, exactly. He tries to pass zippers off as valid first aid. All they do is close in all the bacteria. Believe it or not, I've had to do this for him too on more than one occasion and one was already too many. You can't just ignore injuries and expect them to get better. And you definitely don't agree to go on a job that could potentially be dangerous when you have a fever and a festering wound."

Giorno ducked his head, cringing again as Abbacchio made one more pass with the antiseptic before setting it aside.

"I don't care if you think it's showing weakness or whatever shit, if I have to find another one of my teammates collapsing from fever, because they were too damn stubborn to get proper medical help, then I'm going to be the one enforcing some rules around here."

"I'm sorry," Giorno said quietly, biting his lip as Abbacchio dabbed the wound dry with some gauze.

"Don't say you're sorry and then go and do it again," Abbacchio growled. "I know you and Bruno think you have some duty to the rest of us or some shit, but all I want is a little honesty. It's okay to admit you're hurting. Injuries happen—it doesn't make you weak."

Giorno looked aside. Maybe it was the fever, but Abbacchio's words affected him more than he wanted to admit. "I'll try to remember that. I just…that concept isn't really something I'm used to. I've only ever hidden injuries because if I didn't…" He trailed off, knowing he shouldn't even have said that much, but his head hurt, and he was exhausted and woozy, and honestly, he felt safe with Abbacchio.

The goth paused briefly at his words, seeming to contemplate something before he reached for more gauze and spread antibacterial cream over it. "Look, kid," he finally said. "I don't know what shit you went through before you joined the team, but you don't have to worry about stuff like that anymore. You have a support group. And we don't care if you get injured—not like that anyway. All I ask is that you admit it, especially when the wounds get infected."

Giorno ducked his head. "Okay. I'll…work on remembering that next time."

Abbacchio grunted, carefully placing the swatch of gauze across the wound and then wrapping it a lot better than Giorno had. When he finally taped it off, he sat back on his heels and pressed the back of his hand to Giorno's forehead.

"I got some meds for the pain and fever, but you might want to take some antibiotics once we get back home—think we have some lying around for this kind of thing."

Giorno nodded and wearily allowed Abbacchio to pull him out of the tub. His leg still hurt, obviously, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Probably because it wasn't sticking to the bandage again.

"Let's head home," Abbacchio told him after Giorno had carefully dressed and took the promised medicine.

Giorno nodded, exhausted. He really just wanted to lay down and sleep.

Abbacchio cleaned up a little and helped him back out to the car. Giorno sank gratefully into the seat, though still squinted against the sun. It must have been the fever making his head hurt so badly, he realized.

Abbacchio dug around in the car before coming up with a pair of sunglasses that he handed over. Giorno gratefully took them and closed his eyes.

"You can rest if you want to. It will be a little bit of a drive," Abbacchio said.

Giorno was already ahead of him though. Curling up against the window, he pretty much passed out by the time Abbacchio had pulled out onto the street.

***

Abbacchio pulled up in front of the house, glancing over at the sleeping teen in the passenger seat. He didn't have the heart to wake him and instead decided he was going to have to take a blow to his pride to carry the kid into the house.

He got out to do that but before he could, Bruno appeared, anger and worry clashing on his face.

"Where is he?" he demanded as Abbacchio opened the passenger door, careful to make sure Giorno didn't fall out. "Giorno, what the hell—?"

Abbacchio pressed a finger to his lips and Bucciarati stopped and thankfully quieted.

"Kid's exhausted, let him sleep off the fever," Abbacchio said quietly. "Don't worry, I already gave him a talking to. Not like you're in any position to accuse anyone of that sort of thing."

Bruno gave him an indignant look, but it quickly softened as he glanced into the car and saw Giorno fast asleep. "Thank you for looking after him."

"Isn't that my job?" Abbacchio asked blandly as he bent and carefully scooped Giorno up into his arms, pulling him out of the car.

He carried Giorno inside and settled him on the couch in the living room. As an afterthought, he grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair and spread it over him.

"Hopefully next time he'll have learned his lesson," Abbacchio said, and felt pretty confident that Giorno would. Or, at least, he would be ready to keep an eye out for the signs.

Bucciarati gave him a look, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Shut up," Abbacchio snapped.

"I didn't say anything," the other man protested.

Abbacchio sneered. He wasn't going soft—at least not too much.

Though he did adjust Giorno's blankets to make sure he was warm and covered. Just in case.

[hansoeii]

look at you, you're gorgeous!

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Okay so I remember a convo we had in call about loving writing wings but you dont usually write them cuz whump wings are usually amputation which you don't mess with, and I dont want whump in general soooooo what about:

Villain has wings, was tortured by supervillain, rescued by hero, still has their wings but they are in bad shape. So hero is helping a shy/withdrawn villain straighten them out, treat their wounds, etc, and then when they are done villain just quietly asks them not to stop touching them cuz it's really calming and they fall asleep ♡

Bonus points for:

-villain being touch starved

-villain blushing, hero calling them cute

Hi Crewe! I would be more than happy to write this for you! Thanks for requesting this, here you go! P.S. I’m sorry it’s so short, I’m not experienced in writing winged characters so I hope it’s okay!

Villain sat perched on an ottoman, while Hero entered the living room with a fresh roll of bandages. They sat behind Villain and examined their wings. Hero cleaned the blood off of Villain’s wing with a damp cloth, applying medicine to the wound then wrapping it in bandages. Villain’s breath suddenly hitched, and Hero quickly pulled away.

“Sorry, I’m trying to be gentle,” Hero said with a sympathetic wince.

“N-no, it isn’t that,” Villain admitted.

Hero tilted their head, puzzled. They started to preen Villain’s feathers for them, and the criminal practically melted into the touch.

“Villain?” Hero asked.

When they received no response, it clicked. Hero began to stroke Villain’s feathers softly, their touch light and gentle. After several minutes, Hero pulled their hand away.

“Don’t stop,” Villain pleaded quietly.

Hero smiled softly. They returned to stroking Villain’s feathers. Villain turned, revealing a blush decorating their features.

“You’re so cute when you’re blushing,” Hero remarked.

Villain’s blush deepened, hiding their face in their good wing. It was only when Villain’s eyes started to droop, and they began to sway on the ottoman did Hero stop petting their wings and circle around to face them.

“Getting sleepy?” Hero asked.

“Hm,” Villain hummed in response.

“Here, come with me.”

Hero took Villain by the hand and led them up to their bedroom. They arranged the pillows and blankets on the bed to accommodate Villain’s wings. They helped Villain climb into the nest.

“Well, uh, if you need anything… you know… just call for me…”

Hero went to leave, but Villain reached out for them weakly.

“Please stay,” they whispered.

Hero blinked, a light blush creeping into their features. Hero nodded mutely, climbing into bed with Villain. Villain covered them with their good wing and snuggled closer to them. Hero carded a hand through their hair until Villain drifted off. Hero made a mental note to destroy Supervillain the minute they got the chance.

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Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm

[ryham007]

[Oct 9, 2022] Arnett (Remiquise’s OC) tending to Valten's wounds. From our Knights setting.

[moncuries]

ouch!

[whumpygifs]

[comfortingcatharsis]

A character so distressed at having had to physically restrain and hold down their thrashing, sobbing companion through the agonising ordeal of tending their wounds they can scarcely look at them, let alone dare lay hands on them again, so carries on their caretaking duties with a minimum of brusque contact.

While meanwhile their injured companion, who was out of it enough to have only the haziest recollection of the ordeal, is distraught over having somehow caused such offense that their friend is angry enough at them to scarce be able to bring themself to touch them, while yearning for even a small comforting caress.

Cue the eventual teary revelation when the injured character lets slip the plaintive 'what did I do' in a moment of vulnerability and the other character is horrified to realise how their reticence has been read and hastens to reassure them with kisses and caresses and clasping their hands and stroking their hair and gently embracing them with the utmost care.