#prompt: “how many fingers am I holding up”

[serickswrites]

"But Now This Room Is Spinning"

Warnings: falling from a great height, head injury, blood, nausea, vomitting

Caretaker's stomach dropped as they watched Whumpee slide through the mud closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. They couldn't breathe as they watched Whumpee grapple with Whumper at the edge. And their heart stopped as they watched both Whumper and Whumpee tumble over the edge.

"NO!" They shouted as they darted forward, praying their worst fear hadn't been realized. Caretaker's mouth went dry as they peered over the cliff's edge. Whumper had very clearly taken the brunt of the fall, their broken body visible beneath Whumpee, though Whumpee lay still and unmoving as well.

"Hang on, hang on, I'm coming. I'm coming." Caretaker scrambled up through the mud, racing down the side of the hill, away from the cliff face. They had to get to Whumpee. Had to be sure.

Caretaker breathed a sigh of relief as they reached the bottom of the cliff and could see Whumpee's chest rise and fall. Whumpee was alive. "Whumpee!" Caretaker called as they carefully picked their way over through the rocks to where Whumpee lay across Whumper.

Whumpee groaned in response.

"Whumpee, say something. Anything!" Caretaker urged as they knelt down next to Whumpee.

"Any-any-anythingggg," Whumpee said through gritted teeth. Their brow was furrowed with pain and Caretaker could see blood dripping down their temple.

"If you're making jokes, I know you're fine enough to walk out of here," Caretaker said as they took Whumpee's arm. "Let's get you up so I can have a better look at you."

Whumpee grimaced as the opened their eyes. "B-B-Bright here-ere-ere."

Caretaker leaned over Whumpee more, blocking the weak autumn sunlight. "Better?"

Whumpee nodded and swallowed. Their face was ashen and they looked like they were turning green.

"Let's get you up and get your head between your knees, you look a little faint."

Whumpee cracked open their eyes once more. "Mkay."

Caretaker pulled Whumpee to sitting, bracing their arm across Whumpee's back. "Better?"

Whumpee's face paled further as they rested their head against Caretaker. "N-N-N-No," their voice barely above a whisper. They screwed their eyes shut once more.

"Are you dizzy?"

"Mhmmmmm," Whumpee hummed.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" The sinking sensation returned to Caretaker's gut as they tried to get Whumpee to engage.

"G-G-Gonnnnnnna hu-hu-hurllll," Whumpee suddenly jolted forward as they vomitted across the rocks. Caretaker rubbed soothing circles across Whumpee's back as Whumpee emptied the content of their stomach and then some.

"It's ok. It's ok," Caretaker murmured as Whumpee sputtered and coughed.

Whumpee weakly tried to wipe their mouth, their hand shaking too much to do much. Caretaker fished around in their pocket for a tissue, dabbing Whumpee's mouth carefully.

"Hurtsssss," Whumpee moaned.

"I know. Let's get you out of here." Caretaker didn't wait for Whumpee's response. Between the dizziness, bleeding, and vomitting, Caretaker knew that Whumpee's head injury had to be bad. Really bad. And that Whumpee needed help. Now.

Whumpee groaned again as Caretaker scooped them up. "Ssssssstopppppp," they whispered.

"Just hold on a little longer. Let's get to the car and then I'll put you down," Caretaker replied as they began to walk quickly in the direction of their car. "How does that sound?"

Whumpee didn't reply.

"Whumpee?" Caretaker couldn't keep the edge of panic out of their voice as Whumpee became a dead weight in their arms. "Hold on, Whumpee. Hold on." And Caretaker began to run.

#serickswrites #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #whumptober 2023 #whumptober day 1 #prompt: “how many fingers am I holding up” #tw falling from a great height #tw head injury #queue #tw blood #tw nausea #tw vomit

[slytherinlesbians]

Whumptober 2023, Day 1: "How many fingers am I holding up?"

fandom: criminal minds | characters: spencer reid (centric), derek morgan, emily prentiss, david rossi | ship: none | trigger warnings: none | content: case fic, concussion, team as a family | word count: 1.1k.

“It’s starting to get dark,” Spencer says, trying not to let the anxiety bubbling in his stomach leak into his words.

“No way,” Morgan says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You really are a genius.” 

“Hey,” Spencer snaps, looking over at his friend. He’s leaning against a tree in a clearing in the woods they currently occupy, looking wrecked with tiredness. “I know you’re worn out, but don’t project your exhaustion onto me.” 

“Spence is right,” Emily says from where she sits on the filthy ground next to him, elbows propped against her knees. “Let’s just figure this out so that we can get out of here.” 

“Sorry kid,” Morgan sighs, and Spencer nods at him. 

“It’s fine. Just give me a few more minutes.” 

They’ve been hunting their unsub, John McClintock, for days now. The serial killer has been taking men that hike on their own in the woods the BAU has split up to comb, castrating them and dumping their bodies all over. It hasn’t been an easy or pleasant case by any stretch, but Emily, Derek and Spencer have made marginally more progress than the others tracking the unsub over the last few hours. 

Spencer inspects his surroundings carefully, squinting as it grows darker quicker than he would like. After another moment of tired silence, he gestures to the left of his colleagues. 

“I think we should go this way. The trees get thicker the further left we go, and we profiled he’d need cover.” 

It’s a stretch, but it’s something, and after hours out in the humid Arizona air, something is better than nothing. The trio starts along the left, getting deeper and deeper into thicker trees. Spencer lets the other two lead the way. He follows, nervousness spiking as the darkness begins to take over and the three agents pull out their flashlights. He jumps when Emily’s two-way radio buzzes suddenly. 

“Prentiss,” Hotch’s voice comes through crackly and broken, but they gather the next few words. “We’re at a dead end. It’s going to be too dark to search soon. Give it five more minutes then turn around.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Emily agrees. “We’ll-,” She stops dead, and Spencer bumps into her. 

“Sor-,” he’s about to apologize when he realizes why she and Morgan stopped so abruptly in the first place. 

Even through the darkness, Spencer can make out the run down cabin that stands in front of them. His hand automatically tightens around his gun, which he’s holding beneath his flashlight. 

“Good work kid,” Morgan breathes appreciatively. “You reckon this is it?” 

“Hotch,” Emily says. “We’ll hit you back. We might have something here.” 

“Send us your coordinates,” Hotch says, but his voice starts to fade and become harder to understand. “We’ll send backup and…” 

“Hotch?” Emily says after the voice fades completely, and then a red light shines for a second. 

The radio is dead. 

“Great,” she snaps, holstering the radio back on her belt. “Fucking fabulous.” 

“Look,” Morgan says, in the voice that means he’s about to defy orders. “There’s three of us, and one of him. He might not even be there. This might not even be his cabin. Who wants to take the odds?” 

“Well, the odds-,” 

“Spence,” Emily smiles at him wanly. “Let’s just do it.” 

Spencer sighs. “Fine,” he says. “But when Hotch asks, you better tell him that I didn’t agree to this.” 

Morgan chuckles. “Hotch is used to you making reckless decisions, pretty boy. I wouldn’t worry.” 

“I’ll take the back,” Emily says, and the other two agree silently. 

“Be careful,” Spencer says, and she nods before disappearing quietly behind the cabin. 

Spencer and Morgan advance carefully, guns at the ready with Morgan in the lead. They make their way silently up the wooden stairs, avoiding the holes in the weathered wood. Morgan raps sharply on the door. 

“FBI, open up!” 

When there’s no answer, he throws a grin over his shoulder at Spencer, who rolls his eyes. “Go on then,” Spencer says, and Morgan kicks in the door with glee. Morgan steps over the threshold first, and at first glance Spencer can see over his friend’s shoulder the house is dark and desolate. Morgan moves forward and Spencer steps forward too. 

He’s not taken no more than three steps further than the doorway when something collides with his skull with a sickening, dull, crack. 

Pain explodes in his head and stars dance across his vision. He drops to his knees with a groan as he hears a gunshot, and the next second, Morgan is by his side. 

“Reid!” 

“Mmm,” Spencer says, falling back onto his heels, brain foggy with pain. The thudding in his head spreads through his entire body in mere seconds, and the side of his face feels like it’s on fire. “Mmm,” Spencer tries again, but he can’t summon the strength to look anywhere other than the floor in front of him, which is spinning and multiplying before his very eyes, let alone answer his friend. 

“-is dead, I turned as soon as I heard Reid fall and shot him-,” 

“-tell the others we need medical-,” 

“-radio’s dead-,”

Emily’s voice joins Morgans, and they collide in a loud symphony that ricochets around his brain painfully. He shuts his eyes, trying to block out some of the pain. 

“No, Spencer,” Emily says, prodding his side gently, sounding worried. “Keep your eyes open.” 

He puts all his energy into opening his eyes to glare at her. Somehow, he’s lying down now, and there’s something soft under his head. When did he lie down? 

“Kid, how many fingers am I holding up?” Morgan asks, and his hand hovers in front of Spencer’s face. 

Spencer squints. “Three hands,” he mumbles. “You have three hands.” 

“Shit,” Morgan hisses, and Spencer gathers that was not the answer his friends were looking for. He makes to shut his eyes again. He’d really quite like a nap right about now.

“Reid!” Emily says again, and Spencer grimaces at how loud she’s being. Doesn’t she know it’s time to sleep? 

“Emily,” he groans, eyes still shut, trying to ignore the thudding in his head. “It’s bedtime. Shhh.” 

There’s a loud noise nearby, and Spencer brings his hands up to his face. Why’s everyone being so goddamn loud?! 

“Oh thank God,” Morgan says suddenly.

“It’s not bedtime yet, kiddo,” a new voice joins the group. Rossi. When did Rossi get here? 

Voices start to drop in and out of the conversation, and Spencer tries to inject his opinion, but everything hurts and his eyes are heavy and his face is starting to numb and honestly, he just wants to sleep. 

“Reid,” Morgan growls from somewhere to his right. “Open your eyes.” 

“Nnngshshf,” Spencer mutters something unintelligible and opens his eyes with a lot of effort. 

“That’s our genius,” Rossi says dryly, looking down at Spencer. “Don’t worry kid, only a few more minutes. Hotch and JJ are on the way with medical.” 

“Then sleep?” Spencer asks, his tongue feeling like it weighs a ton in his mouth. 

“Then sleep,” Emily confirms from his side, and he gives her a weak thumbs up.

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #prompt: how many fingers am i holding up? #criminal minds #fanfiction #oneshot #concussion #whump #spencer reid #derek morgan #emily prentiss #I HAVE RETURNED FROM MY TUMBLR HIATUS

[gunebuggieswriting]

Whumptober Day One: Safety Net | Swooning | "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Bring Me Back Before I Collapse

[AO3]

Bungo Stray Dogs, Chuuya-Centric, Dehumanizing Thoughts, Mild Self-Deprecating Thoughts, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Words: 1576

Chuuya slowly slid off his gloves, the thin layer of fabric holding back a power not meant for a human body. It was a good thing he wasn't human, or at least, wasn't created to be human. The tingling of the powers he has grown to both loath and appreciate spread through his arms and throughout his body. The dark red marks swirling as they grew, his humanity fading.

The eyes that warily watched the transformation hazed over, no longer focused on something as trivial as what he truly was. As he wasn't human, no man would ever be capable of holding something as dangerous as he did. Their bodies would break, the inhuman traits of a god not supposed to belong to some mortal.

That's why Chuuya couldn't be human. He wasn't born one. He was a barely conscious formation of chaos, poorly imitating what a human was. It was pitiful how well he tricked people, how many truly believed he was just like them.

If only.

Finally, after what was only seconds which felt like minutes to Chuuya as he desperately clinged onto his last strings of control, he was a god again. Somewhat anyways, he was more of a fragile container holding a god, one ready to burst at any moment. Arahabaki would cause him to crack, but the little of what was left of Chuuya held onto himself.

Every time his muscles threatened to snap, Arahabaki not knowing the limitation of them, Chuuya would hold them together by pure will alone. Every time a bone would break, Arahabaki would ignore it, having never felt pain. Chuuya would scream out in agony, only to be relieved whenever the god finally took some energy to heal it back in seconds, not wanting it to get in it's way anymore. Every time his chest would constrict, the blood welling inside him, Arahabaki not caring how much a simple human body could handle, Chuuya would force it down.

He wouldn't let the body break beyond any kind of repair, even if it wasn't him. No matter how far back Arahabaki pushed him, he'd push back, if only to stretch out the time his humanity could last. Until Dazai could touch him, bringing him back to the real world, where he was Chuuya again.

Right then, with no control of his own, he wasn't Chuuya. It was almost like being a puppet on strings, or having an out of body experience. He could feel how damaging Arahabaki was, how uncaring the literal incarnation of destruction was. Everything he saw was a blur at best, glimpses of what his eyes would be receiving, were they his own at the moment. The other senses, that were normally his, were all dulled to him. The best way he could think of to describe the feeling was what he felt while dreaming. Nothing seemed real at moments, his true consciousness floating in a dark void while a different being pretended to be him in a fabrication of own flesh.

He hated it. It reminded him of everything wrong with him.

This would go on for who knows how long. In this state he couldn't keep track of time, seconds prolonging to hours while hours could become seconds. It may be from how Arahabaki itself didn't have a concept of time, having always simply existed, not needing to care for time. It was another trait of those inhuman, as humans constructed time, something so important to them in every moment of their life. It started when they were born, counting the time till they died. Arahabaki was immortal, he found nothing valuable in keeping tabs on some fable such as "time".

Chuuya always tried to know what day it was, what month it was, what year it was, and so on. Sometimes he would sit back and watch a clock, not growing bored of how the seconds seemed to pass slower as he carefully observed them. It made him feel human, though others would look at him with concern or confusion, further digging into his consciousness of how no matter what he did, he wasn't human.

He suddenly felt his fist hit something hard, snapping him away from his drifting consciousness, keeping him from truly slipping. He should be trying harder, to fight back Arahabaki, but it was hard whenever he knew it was impossible.

Before he could delve back into that void, allowing time to pass unknowingly as he felt his body slowly fall apart, he was brought back.

Dazai. Dazai was there.

He knew he would be of course, after all, Dazai had planned everything, Chuuya knew he had to. If he believed he didn’t, he wouldn't have ever used corruption, though there was no way the egotistical self acclaimed genius wouldn't have. Especially if he was going all in on it.

He could breathe again, using his own lungs to take a greedy gulp of air, instead of the inconsistent drag that Arahabaki did in order to keep causing mayhem. The first thing he heard was Dazai's teasing voice, and the sight of him holding up a few of his fingers, asking for Chuuya to tell him how many he was holding up. He barked out an insult or two, Dazai's amused voice grating further on his nerves. Then he was brought into their situation, all of his senses overwhelmingly swamping him at once. Everything hurt and every fiber of his being was exhausted, so he didn't fight too much whenever Dazai kept him held down. It was embarrassing, but the excuse of the fog kept him from spouting every curse he knew to the one above him.

He also didn't want to fight Arahabaki, or his ability as most called it. He already dealt with the thing enough that night, so he allowed the hand on his head to stay there.

Moments later he and Dazai had moved to the wall, and although Chuuya didn't have to lay down in order for Dazai to keep a hold of him, he didn't have the strength to sit up. He would need at least a few more minutes in order to properly move his body to lean on the concrete behind him instead of Dazai, so he gave up on it until then.

Chuuya also didn't mind how Dazai's hand began to run through his hair, the small tugs from whenever the other ran into a tangle grounding him to reality. If his mind wasn't so foggy he may have tried to shuffle away, not wanting his head to be resting on the lap of his enemy. At that moment they felt like partners again, something he hasn't called Dazai in a long time.

Not that he'd want to, Dazai was usually insufferable. The Dazai right then was a rare sight, a look of calmness and melancholy he wasn't used to. He knew that it was actually Dazai deep in his own thoughts, as looking into his eyes showed a film of the other being distracted. He knew it was from the man thinking of every possibility, coming up with contingencies for all of them. Chuuya didn't know how Dazai's head didn't explode, or how he could act like an idiot most of the time despite his intelligence.

It made Dazai seem inhuman, something Chuuya took comfort in. If somebody who was born human could be so distanced and detached to everything thought of about humans, surely he could be a bit different as well and be seen as human. It may not change what he knows, how he feels, but he could continue to fool others. That was enough. To be treated as a human was enough.

That's why whenever Dazai left, leaving Chuuya with some dumb remark on the situation, he didn't bite back with a snide comment of his own. He rolled his eyes and slowly sat himself up against the wall. He'd feel sore for a while, but he had enough strength to no longer need Dazai, not that the man would stay after the fog cleared, as he thought himself as no longer needed there. It didn't matter to Chuuya, far too tired to do anything but stare up at the cleared sky.

It was only when he heard footsteps that he slipped his gloves back on, pulling a leg up to be ready to fight. He may be at a severe disadvantage but that didn't mean he'd give up without a fight. A second later he recognized the footsteps and relaxed by a small margin, glad that they belonged to a member of his own. Akutagawa had arrived, and Dazai must have told him where Chuuya was. It was a good thing, because as much as Chuuya hated to admit it, he would not be making it back to his place on his own.

Using the help of the younger man, he eventually made it to his living quarters. He was barely able to make it to his bed before he collapsed, the soft blankets and foam mattress a pleasant contrast to his stiff muscles. He more so passed out than fell asleep, the fading sensation of a hand going through his hair and reminding him that he was still there, that he was human and not some god playing as one, putting him to ease as he let his consciousness slip once more.

He was grateful for the lack of dreams that night.

#no.1 #how many fingers am i holding up? #safety net #swooning #whump prompt #whump #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #fanfiction #fic #bsd fanfic #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd spoilers #bungo stray dogs spoilers #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs dazai #bsd dazai #bsd fandom #bsd fanfiction #mild hurt/comfort #dehumanisation tw #dehumanizing language #self deprecating thoughts #self deprecation #mine #had go fix tagging because i didnt realize there was regulations on it 😭

[macey-kasey-nope]

His hair was soposed to be waaaaaay darker ;-;

Also my camera quality is ass.

Zei gets his ass beat 👍🏽 babys first concussion

#whumptober #blood #major injury #injury #oc #drawing prompt #whumptober 2023 #whumptober2023 #art #drawing #painting #“But now the room is spinning while I'm just trying to fill in all the gaps” #“How many fingers am I holding up?”

[lynlee494]

Whumptober 2023 Day No: 1 Lyrics: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Prompts: Safety Net / Panic Swooning / “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Medium: Fic

Trigger Warning: Nothing outside typical canon or character norms. It wouldn’t have been so bad, Bucky could have shrugged this off easily once he caught his breath, but he found the more he pulled to free himself the worse it seemed to be. Barnes thinks he hears shouting, but it is distorted and drowned out by the pounding in his ears. Ripping further at the trap that was furthering ensnaring him he found himself snarling and just ripping at it with brute strength and panicked rage that echoed of the Asset’s frustrated rampages through Hydra personnel.

#Whumptober 2023 #no.1 #Safety net #Panic #How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up? #Hurt Bucky Barnes #Whumptober #Bucky Fanfic #Bucky Barnes Whump #Clint Barton #WinterHawk #Alternative Prompt #“But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” #Circus Perfomer Clint Barton

[daughterofthehighlands]

WHUMPTOBER DAY 1

I own nothing. This is for entertainment purposes and belongs to the rightful owner.

¥¥¥¥¥

Nick Burkhardt felt the wind rush by him as he was thrown through the air by a very big and angry weson. The room was spinning as the edges of his vision started to blacken, after he hid the wall and fell. Big mistake to have come here alone. He had told Hank he had one errand to run before going home. He never mentioned that it was involving their latest case, or that the prime suspect was a weson.

¥¥¥¥

A sharp slap brings him around, and he finally brings his vision into focus, and he sees his partner staring at him, with concern, “Hey, man, how many fingers am I holding him up?”

Forcing himself into a sitting position, Nick squinted, “Four?”

Hank shook his head, “Let’s go, Nick. Straight to the hospital for you.”

“No, Hank, can’t,-“ his objection was cut off as everything seemed to spin, again.

“Sounds good, buddy.”

Hank only grinned and tightened his grip on his partner.

PROMPTS: The room is spinning, How many fingers?

#whumptober 2023 #whump prompt #grimm nbc #nick burkhardt #the room is spinning #how many fingers am i holding up?

[batgrldes]

Here is a little snippet of my first work for Whumptober. Enjoy!

Nightwing had a funny feeling about entering the dark and narrow alleyway alone but his frightened informant ran wildly into the abyss when a sound off in the distance spooked him. He was on the verge of telling Nightwing about some kind of activity about to go down in Gotham, and anything going down in Gotham was usually best to be stopped before it could go off.

So now Nightwing rolled his shoulders back before slowly walking into the unlit street. He sighed, "Come on, Petey. This is no time for one of your paranoid marathons through the worst streets in Bludhaven."

Nightwing tapped the side of his mask to initiate his night vision mode while scanning the few broken windows and boarded up doors as he crept by. "Come back to me and I'll buy you the best burger in town. I'll even throw in a Bat meal with a toy. Sound good?"

He thought for a moment he heard his gangly, sweaty companion's shaky voice off in the distance followed by a dull thud. Nightwing did not take chances and pulled his eskrima sticks out and prepared for danger ahead.

What he wasn't quite prepared for was danger from above and behind.

#whumptober 2023 #no. 1 #safety net #swooning #“how many fingers am i holding up?” #nightwing #batman #fic #first prompt of the month

[elliot-needs-sleep]

An Eye for An Eye

Fandom: DSMP

Fic Type: Short Form

Prompt: "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Word count: 423

TW FOR TALKING ABOUT TUBBO'S SCAR AND THE EXTENT OF HIS INJURY

----

The fireworks went off with a bang, and all Tubbo could feel was a burning in the side of his face, a searing pain that didn't seem to go away even after he woke up in his bed.

He knew his breathing was fast and unsteady, and that logically he should try and calm down before even thinking of going back into the fray, but he couldn't seem to slow it down.

His shaking hands moved up to touch the scar that was definitely there, and he tried to ignore the problems with his depth perception, and the dull ringing that was the only thing he could hear out of his left ear, choosing to believe that his sight and hearing would return, it HAD to return. And so did he. Tommy needed him. And HE needed to pay back Techno.

----

"Tubbo!" Tommy screamed, running for his best friend as he reappeared in L'manburg, but something was wrong, something was very very wrong.

"Tubbo?" He slowed down, stopping a couple feet from his friend, who had half of his face angled away from him, but he could still the scar across the bridge of his nose, and the way his eye flickered around the area, as if trying to track something. Or guage something.

"Please don't look at my face..." His best friend whispered, before turning slowly, and against his better judgement, to properly face Tommy. He gasped at the scar, dark red scar tissue tracing sharp lines all across the left side of Tubbo's face, branching out in mysterious patterns across the bridge of his nose and his jaw, his left eye blank and unmoving. The scars traced down his neck, disappearing under the collar of his uniform, but Tommy assumed his shoulder was covered as well.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Tubbo narrowed his eyes at Tommy, and then stared hard at his fingers before returning to glaring.

"Three. You always do three, and also, I'm blind in one eye and have funky depth perception, I CAN STILL SEE HOW MANY FINGERS YOU'RE HOLDING UP."

Tommy laughed nervously, stepping away, and grabbing Tubbo's hand and pulling him back to the main square, and Tubbo ignored the box on the stage to their side. He could almost hear the fireworks going off still.

But he couldn't focus on that right now. They had to take down Schlatt, get their home back. And he needed to give Techno the same treatment he'd given him. An eye for an eye, right?

#whumptober 2023 #prompt no. 1 #how many fingers am i holding up? #dsmp fandom #short ficlet #in depth description of scars and trauma inducing injuries tw #elliotiswriting #dsmp #dsmp tommy #dsmp tubbo #dream smp #dream smp tubbo #dream smp tommy

[serickswrites]

How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?

Warnings: rescue, captivity, torture, unconsciousness, restraints, poison, caretaker and whumpee

“Whumpee! Whumpee! I’m here. I’m here!” Caretaker shouted as they ran to the basement where they knew Whumper had to be keeping Whumpee. They had checked the rest of the house and Whumpee was nowhere to be found. 

Caretaker kicked open the door and hesitated on the stairs. Whumpee was slumped over, arms pulled at an awkward angle by the chains that kept them attached to the wall. “Whumpee?”

They could see Whumpee’s body move with each breath, but Whumpee didn’t respond to their words. Caretaker hurried forward. “Whumpee?” They rolled Whumpee onto their side. “I’m here Whumpee. Whumpee! Say something.”

Caretaker gave Whumpee a little shake. Whumpee blinked open bleary eyes. They blinked, their gaze unfocused. “C-C-Caretaker?” 

“I’m here, Whumpee. I’m here.” Caretaker said softly as they looked for a way to get the cuffs off Whumpee’s wrists. 

Whumpee’s lips twitched as their eyelids drooped closed once more. “Hmmmm,” they hummed once before going quiet. 

“Stay awake, Whumpee. Talk to me.” Caretaker worked quickly. 

“Mmmmm. ‘m ‘ere,” they whispered as they struggled to open their eyes once more. 

Caretaker tapped Whumpee’s cheek as Whumpee’s eyelids fluttered. “Whumpee. Keep your eyes on me.” What had Whumper done?

“C-C-Can’t. T-TTooooo ‘ny. ‘zzy.”

“Whumpee, how many fingers am I holding up?” Caretaker had a sinking feeling in their stomach. “Whumpee, how hard did you hit your head?”

Whumpee blinked up at Caretaker with fever bright eyes. “No. P-P-Poi--” their words cut off as they began to cough. Loud, wet coughs wracked their body as they tried to speak once more. Caretaker rubbed Whumpee’s back as Whumpee kept trying to speak.

But Caretaker knew what Whumpee was going to say and didn’t need Whumpee to finish. Whumpee had been poisoned. Rage boiled in their stomach as they realized Whumper had set this trap for Caretaker. Made it easy for Caretaker to find Whumpee. But didn’t make it easy to save Whumpee. Caretaker made a silent promise that they would pay Whumper back in kind once they got Whumpee to safety. 

“It’s ok, Whumpee. I’ve got you. I’m going to save you,” Caretaker said as they lifted Whumpee into their arms. 

Whumpee had gone silent after the last bout of coughing. Terribly silent and still. “Whumpee?” Caretaker tapped Whumpee’s cheek as they started towards the basement stairs. “Come on, Whumpee. Wake up.”

Whumpee’s only response was the quiet, irregular wheeze that let Caretaker know they were still alive. “Hang in there, Whumpee. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Hold on.”

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw captivity #tw torture #tw unconsciousness #tw restraints #tw poison #tw rescue #caretaker and whumpee #juneofdoom #june of doom 2023 #day 22 #day 23 #how many fingers am I holding up? #prompt: rage #prompt: poison #queue

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “sweet and intimate actions which make me go feral and have me folding like a folding chair” prompts 

Character B carding their fingers through Character A’s hair and playing with the strands.

Character B peeling back the neck of Character A’s turtle neck sweater to trail gentle kisses down their neck. (This!! It is so hot, and it's everything I didn't know I needed until now, and I cannot stop thinking about it wlkfnlkwe)

Character B placing their arm around Character A’s waist while in public, resting their chin on Character A’s shoulder. “Hello,” they say in a teasing tone as Character A tries to grab ahold of their hand to keep it there but fails a few times before successfully doing so. 

Leaning against each other while in public.

Spooning and back hugs.

Character B letting Character A rest their head on their chest; lets them listen to their heart beat. 

Character B whispering sweet nothings into Character A’s ear.

Character B checking in on Character A to make sure they’re comfortable and okay with the way things are going; to make sure they’re not being too much. “You’re not,” Character A would reassure, repositioning themselves to get closer to Character B.

Just cuddles and snuggles in general.

Neck kisses.

Kisses littered all over the face. (!!! It's one thing to read about it and one thing to experience it wlejbfewljn)

Character B tucking Character A’s head under their chin while they’re cuddling.

Character B nuzzling their neck and breathing in Character A’s scent/fragrance, and commenting on how nice they smell.

Character B making sure Character A gets home safe by driving them home.

Character A telling Character B to message them when they get back home safe, and once Character B gets home, they follow through by sending a message to let Character A know they’ve gotten back home safe.

Taking naps together, from day till night, waking up every now and then to get more snuggles in. 

That soft exhalation of adoring laughter leaving Character B’s mouth after kissing Character A (this shit had me folding so fucking hard it’s not even funny. I Am Weak). 

That soft exhalation of laughter once again just because Character B is so content with having Character A in their presence, and Character A just basking in how cute that sound is and how happy it makes them. 

Character B entangling their legs with Character A’s, pressing their bodies flush against each other’s, leaving little to no space between them. (It’s almost like they can’t get enough of Character A.) 

Kissing so many times, to the point where they lose track of how many times they’ve kissed already. 

Holding hands and lacing their fingers together while they’re cuddling.

Comparing hand sizes and giggling about it together.

Character B stroking Character A’s hair while they’re asleep. (Or uh, pretends to be asleep DJSKKSKDSK but it’s so FUCKING CUTE WHEN HE DID THAT IM GONNA SCREAM, me thinking moments like these only happen in Korean dramas or some shit anfkakfksk-)

The sweet little banters in between; Character B being all cheesy and Character A playfully deflecting their comments only for Character B to playfully push back with an “Is something wrong with that?” or “But I’m not lying.”

Falling asleep in each other’s arms, both not wanting to leave the bed for the entire day and wanting to stay comfortably snuggled up against each other instead.

Character B placing their hands on Character A’s shoulders, and Character A, with a grin on their face, gently grabs Character B’s hands and wraps their arms around their neck while leaning back into them. Character B reciprocates by hugging them closer to them.

The soft noises of content Character A makes when they snuggle closer to Character B, or when they want Character B to hold them closer to them, with Character B happily obliging. 

Character B rubbing their cheek against Character A’s.

Character B trying to not wake Character A up because they look so comfortable when sleeping. (His words, not mine.) 

Soft, repeated pecks on the lips, causing Character A to laugh/smile against Character B’s lips. 

#long post #again these are things i’ve experienced w/ cat guy that day #personal once again #me as character A and him as character B #not me exposing myself like this on a public platform wlkjfnefn #but then again i've got no shame left in me after all the rambles and vents i've been doing sOOO... #writing prompts #otp prompts #prompts #writing scenarios #cat guy chronicles

[promptsbytaurie]

dialogue prompts for ~injury~

!!please credit/tag me!!

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, c’mere.”

“Someone get the medic. Get the medic!”

“Hey, hey, shhhh. Shhhh. You’re okay.”

“You did so good. Don’t worry, you-you did so good.”

“Here, lean on me. I can carry you.”

“We’re gonna fix you up, brand new. I promise.”

“No. No, stop. Stop talking like that. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Okay. Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do—fuck.”

“I know, I know it hurts.”

"I don't care. I'm not leaving you."

“I’m going to lift you up, okay? Tell me if it hurts.”

“Where are they? Where are they?!”

"I would believe that you're fine, but you have a goddamn knife sticking out of your leg, so."

"You just watched them die."

"This is going to hurt, okay?"

"God, I'm so sorry, it'll be over soon, I promise."

"How many fingers am I holding up? ... I don't have six fingers."

"Stop. No. Wake up. Wake up! I said wake up!"

"I came as soon as I heard."

“Get away! You’re hurting them!”

“Please be okay. Please be okay, please be okay—”

“Shit. Shit, that’s a lot of blood.”

“You dumbass. Don’t do that. Ever again.”

"Help them! Please!"

"You scared us all back there. I... Including me."

"[name]? [name], this isn't funny. Stop... please..."

"Breathe... breathe. Look at the stars, kid."

"It was supposed to be me... please, no, [name], please..."

"Tell me where it hurts, and be specific."

“You’ll be fine.” *silence* “You’ll be fine. Hey! Wake up! Please. Please wake up…”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

#writing prompts #prompt list #angst #dialogue prompts #whump #injured #injured prompts #injury prompts #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #31 prompts #31

[whumptober]

Whumptober 2023

Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!

COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE

To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

And this years playlist can be found here.

There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!

We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

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

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”

No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”

No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”

No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”

Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”

No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”

Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”

Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”

Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”

No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”

Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”

Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”

Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”

No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”

No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”

Matches | Scars | “Let me see”

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”

Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”

Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

Alternatives List:

Betrayal

Aftermath of Failure

Brass Knuckles

Decoy

Body Modification

Playing Cards

Examination

Hunting

Drugging

Shaking

Panic

Broken

Miscommunication

Lab Rat

Reluctant Whumper

Event Info & Rules

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.

The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

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

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

#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)

#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)

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

#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

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

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.

Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?

You can create something based on:

The overall theme/lyric of the day

Prompt 1, 2 or 3

One or several of the alternative prompts

A combination of the above

Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?

When in doubt: JUST DO IT!

Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?

Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.

Q. Can I post early/late?

Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.

Q. Will you reblog my post?

Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:

tag your post properly

post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.

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

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.

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

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

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

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

Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.

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

Yes.

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

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.

Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?

No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.

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

No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.

Q. Where can I post my work?

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

Q. Can I start posting early?

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

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

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

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

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

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

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

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

There is no limit.

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

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

Q. Is a hc/angst/emotional whump focus ok?

Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What is whump?

Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.

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

If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.

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

Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

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

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2023 tag.

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

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

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord or come into our ask box.

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

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

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

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

#whumptober2023 #whumptober 2023 prompts list #whumptober #prompts list #long post

[cassiopeiasdaughter]

Hiiii pretty star,

Me again.

📝Can I get a little something with Theo and the prompt cuddles after being touch starved? I feel that with his mother gone and his father being who he is, Theodore deserves all the love and snuggles in this world. Thank you 🤍

"My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I'm covered in you"

Theodore Nott, despite popular belief -mostly his-, was easy to love. Your relationship was still fresh, you two were slowly getting to know eachother; favorite hobbies, habits. And most importantly, each-others love language. 

Your favorite way to love someone is by touching them. Kisses, holding hands, looping your arm around them, playing with their hair; that is how you show love, and it is how you show Theo you love him.

He however is not used to that. You had suspected so one day, when you two were walking, casually talking to eachother about your day; out of habit you grabbed Theos hand, lacing your fingers together. His hand tensed at first, as if he was entirely unfamiliar with this feeling, and lost his train of thought, mumbling words and excuses until he grew used to your touch and picked up the conversation from where he left it.

Your suspicion was confirmed one night. You were tired and stressed; homework was piling up, quidditch practice was more constant and you had taken up way too many extracurricular activities. You ran straight to Theos dorm, needing the comfort of his presence to ground you, calm you, help you recharge your energy and get ready for the days to come. 

You found him in his bed, with a book you had recommended to him, in his hands. You quickly walked towards him and he greeted you, lifting his eyes from the pages, “Hello.”, he said with smile “Hi.”, you mumbled back, way too tired to pretend you weren’t. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked as you changed out of your clothes and into an old sweatshirt of his. 

“Exhausting day. Exhausting week.”, you replied with a deep sigh and then settled next to him in his bed.

You rested your head in the crook of his neck and looped your arm around his shoulder, breathing him in “I want to stay here forever.” , you mumbled with your eyes closed.

But, instead of a kiss on your forehead or his arm hugging your back you felt him grow tense and his heart beating really fast against his ribcage. You raised your head worried, and looked at his face “I- am I crashing you?”

“Ah- no…no, this is new to me, that's all.”, he quickly said nervously

“Oh, I am sorry, I didn’t think-“, you exclaimed and moved your body off to give him space.

He stopped you, quickly and guided you back in his arms, “No, don’t go, I like it.” he whispered in your hair. His body was more comfortable now, moulding into yours, his muscles weren’t tense anymore and his limbs shifted to keep you close to him.

“Stay.”, he whispered in your hair and you let yourself close your eyes, and drift off, finally able to relax, in the arms of the person you craved all week.

After that night he simply couldn’t let you go. His hand is always clasped in yours, or settled in the small of your back or around your shoulders. He kisses your forehead goodnight and greets you with a peck on the lips every morning. And his favorite; whenever life feels heavy, he will lay on your chest and let you play with his hair, causing him to forget all his troubles.

He is learning how to love and be loved and his favorite thing is that he is learning with you.

fin 🤎

celebrate my academic hardships & Theodore Nott masterlist

#theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott imagine #theo nott imagine #theo nott x reader #fluff #touch starved Theo

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Mafia!Price

No Content Warnings

There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.

He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.

You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.

Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.

“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”

You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.

“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”

He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.

Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.

Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.

“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”

Will need to call later today — as if!

“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.

He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.

“Are you wearing green tomorrow?” He repeats.

You blink. Are you what?

“Tomorrow, sir?”

He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”

When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.

“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”

You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.

“I do now.”

Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.

“Of course you’re coming along.”

“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”

“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”

“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”

“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”

You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.

“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”

“‘Fancy man party’?”

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.

“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”

You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.

“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”

You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.

“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o’clock. Yes?”

“Sounds great, luv.”

You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”

He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”

—

Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.

“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”

He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.

He snorts. “My job happened.”

You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”

You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.

He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”

He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.

The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.

“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”

You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”

But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.

It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.

You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.

“Sir?” you call.

“In here, luv.”

You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.

“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.

You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.

It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.

“E-evening, sir.”

He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”

You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.

“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.

“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.

“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”

They told you it was a “disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.

“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”

They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.

“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.

“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.

Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.

“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.

“The silver and diamond.”

You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”

A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”

You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.

“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”

You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”

“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.

You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”

He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.

“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.

You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.

“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”

You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.

“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.

Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”

He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.

“Gift from an ex,” he explains.

You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.

“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.

He snorts. “Maybe.”

You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.

“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.

“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.

You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.

You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.

Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.

“Pass inspection?” He asks.

“Barely,” you tease.

His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.

“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”

“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.

You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.

“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.

“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”

You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”

Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.

Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.

“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”

You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #oddly wholesome for a mafia au #mafia!au #mafia boss price #assistant reader

[ssahotchnerr]

Aaron and reader on their daughter’s first day of preschool 🥺 aaron is super protective and is like “why can’t we homeschool her??”

baby steps

THAT'S ADORABLE cw; fem!reader, girl!dad aaron, brief mentions of food, reader and aaron are married

when it came to baby girl hotchner starting school - a feat that once felt like was forever away - you assumed aaron would be the pillar of strength, especially after going through the same with jack a few years ago. you would have bet money he would've been the one persuading you out of the house, tossing reassurances left and right, getting you to smile through the tears; the voice of reason.

but, you were wrong.

from the moment your daughter was laid in aaron's arms, she wholeheartedly and completely had him wrapped around her little finger. and so the morning of her first day, aaron, the ever prompt riser, seemed to get out of bed much slower than usual. he was going to the office a bit late so he could see her off to school, but even on his days off would he be up before his alarm.

shockingly, and perhaps for the very first time since you have known him, aaron had hit snooze. just once, though, for five minutes.

likewise he sluggishly had gotten ready for the day, and now he was merely a shadow - following you around until it was time to wake the kiddos up.

"sweetheart?"

"hm?" you hummed in question, sealing the ziploc containing jack's sandwich.

"look at this."

after securing the bag into jack's lunch box, you glanced in aaron's direction, only to find him holding up her tiny, purple backpack. on his face, the most broken hearted expression there ever was.

"can't we homeschool her?" aaron asked, his voice the equivalent to a whine.

"yeah." you snorted out a laugh, grabbing another baggie for baby girl's snack. "with all the free time we have."

he continued to silently poke around as you finished preparing jack's lunch. it was only a matter of time until he found something else to mournfully point out.

"honey." next in hand, her brand new pair of sneakers (a small pair of pink converse, courtesy of uncle spencer) which looked absolutely minuscule in those hands of his.

"they're just shoes. she has how many pairs?" you teased gently, fighting the urge to succumb to tears yourself, courtesy of your husband.

"they're school shoes."

"you better quit it, or you're going to make me cry." with your index finger, you indicated for aaron to come. once he was in reach, you pulled him to you, wrapping your arms around his middle.

aaron instinctively placed a kiss on the top of your head, mumbling into your hair afterwards. "our little girl is growing up, isn't she?"

"she'll only be gone for three hours. three times a week at that." you toyed with his tie soothingly, and he released a deep sigh. "she'll still be your little girl when she gets back, i promise."

the look on his face was still utterly unconvinced - head cocked a bit to the side, eyebrows pulled, his lips almost begging to retake shape of his previous pout.

"now c'mon, let's go get our bugs up for their first day." you gave aaron an enthusiastic smile, to which he couldn't help but smile back - your smile was his weakness - releasing your hold on him.

but at the loss of contact, and at the next action at hand, a small groan escaped him. as you trekked up the stairs, you peered behind, making sure he was following you.

he was, and mumbling under his breath.

"god how am i going to survive when she's off to kindergarten?"

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you

[babymetaldoll]

Pillow talk (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Word count: 763 Summary: rambling with Spencer after sex  Warnings: mention of sex, and that's it.  Prompt: Coffee is illegal and you have to single-handedly smuggle it into the country A/N: I'm trying to write random blurbs to fight this awful writer's block. Wish me luck!  Masterlist

If there was a moment Spencer enjoyed with his girlfriend, was their random conversation after sex. Their pillow talks were so aimless, yet so incredibly personal and intimate, he could never get enough of them. There was something special about that time together. It wasn’t that they were naked, it wasn’t about what they had just done. It was about how they seemed to be so carefree, so happy, and so connected, that they could talk about anything or everything.

Most of his team would never believe it, but Spencer Walter Reid was one chatty fellow right after sex.

- “Ok, explain to me this: how on earth are you so freaking smart, but you still haven’t figured out cooking yet.”- (Y/N) asked her boyfriend giggling, as he walked back to bed naked with a bag of chips and two bottles of Gatorade.

- “Why are you attacking me after I made you come four times?!”- Spencer replied, chuckling, and pretending to be deeply hurt.- “This is outrageous!”

- “What is scandalous is that you feed me Gatorade and chips after all the effort I just made on my knees!”- (Y/N) argued making Spencer gasp, acting shocked and insulted.

- “What about my effort? I just made you cum four times in a little less than an hour! I deserve a treat myself, why don’t you bake me some cookies?”

He was teasing her, and she knew it. It was fun and sweet watching Spencer so relaxed and comfortable. He lay on the bed completely naked, drinking from his Gatorade bottle as his girlfriend sat next to him, playing with his hair sweetly.

- “Which is the one thing you can’t live without?”

- “Other than you?”

- “I am not a thing, Spencer Reid.”- (Y/N) stated and looked at him raising an eyebrow.

- “I know that. And I’m sure you also know the answer to that.”

- “It’s confusing actually. I wanna say coffee, but also books. So… which one is it? Which is your true love.”

- “You, always you. Forever and ever, you.”- Spencer wrapped his arms around her and moved her closer to him, kissing her cheeks several times. (Y/N) hummed happily as she let the warmth from his body wrap around her. And for a moment, the two of them stayed in silence, enjoying their moment together.

- “And coffee, of course.”- Spencer added, making (Y/N) laugh immediately.

- “Why coffee?”

- “What can I say? It keeps me going.”- Spencer explained, almost apologizing. - “I can’t read 14 books a day without my coffee. I don’t think I could make you come so many times without my daily doses of caffeine.”

- “And what would you do if coffee were illegal?”- (Y/N)’s question kept Spencer quiet for a moment. He was giving serious thought to the question.

- “Well, that would be challenging.”- he answered after a few minutes. - “I would have to get it in the black market and keep everybody in the FBI in the dark about it. I mean, I don’t wanna lose my job over a cup of coffee.”

- “Of course not.”- his girlfriend tried to hold the chuckles as she continued talking.- “And what if you can’t find coffee in the black market?”

- “Then I guess I would have to smuggle it myself.”

- “You? Spencer Reid? transferring illegal goods? I’d pay to see that!”- (Y/N) sounded impressed, amused, and shocked, at the same time. Spencer smiled and ran his fingers down her chest, teasing her as he continued talking.

- “I’d be good, trust me. These hands can do magic.”

- “Oh, believe me, I know!”- she answered chuckling.- “How would you smuggle coffee?”

- “Good questions, love. Good question.”- Spencer smiled as his fingers trailed a path from the soft space between her breast to her belly button, giving (Y/N) goosebumps.- “I guess if I have to make up a simple plan, I would go to Colombia and get the best beans in the back market. I’d hide it like a magician where no one could find them…”

- “In your luggage?”- (Y/N) raised an eyebrow as she questioned Spencer’s idea.

- “Yeah, but inside other things, like books. No one suspects books. And I usually carry a lot with me. So all my books would be filled with sweetly roasted coffee beans.”

- “You are a threat, Spencer.”- (Y/N) replied, giggling. Her boyfriend simply smiled, nodding as he leaned closer to crash her lips with his.

- “I can be. And you love me like this.”

- “Yes, sir. That I do.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #mgg #babymetaldoll writes #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff