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shywhumpauthor · 10 months

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Two Weeks of Whump—Day Two

Bio-Weapon // Isolation Chamber // Needles

TWOW Masterlist

Cw: injuries, self-wound care, self-neglect (in some sorts), potentially uncomfortable descriptions of improper/impromptu wound care, possible slight gore

By the time Leader adjourned the meeting, their vision was already beginning to sway, speckled with dark spots that littered across their sight like stars against a night sky.

The mission had been a success, for the most part. A few minor mishaps, but no major issues across the team. Some had suffered some bumps and bruises, but thankfully the worst Medic had diagnosed among the small team was Teammate’s dislocated shoulder. An easy enough fix, a sling and some time off using it. The plan had worked, they had gotten the information they needed. Tomorrow they would start planning their next actions, how they would use the intel they had gathered to destroy Villain’s operation from the inside.

Tomorrow seemed so far away, and yet looming close, taunting Leader with the tugs of dawn rising across the compound, though it was still the early hours in the morning. The dead time, as Leader had come to know, when everyone was either asleep or quietly busy with their own work. Silence stretched through the compound, thick and muffling.

The toe of Leader’s boot scuffed against the floor, throwing off their balance mid-step. They threw a shaking hand out, catching the bare hallway wall to steady themself. An airy fog flooded across their mind, sending the room swaying around them as they stood, bracing against the wall as they waited for it to pass. When they pulled their hand away, a smudge of red remained on the tile. They fumbled to pull their sleeve over their palm, trying clumsily to wipe it away.

They kept walking, their pace growing slower by the second. Leader’s jaw clenched, teeth gritting together. Pain laced across their side, hot and sharp, each step tugging at the wound and sending another prickling stab through their abdomen. They forced themself to move faster, breaths heavy from their parted lips as they staggered down the hallway.

Their quarters weren’t that far from the conference room, thankfully. Their door was only a few steps around the next corner, which they brought themself around as fast as their legs would allow them to move.

Leader’s hand shook as they raised their fingers to the keypad, pushing the wrong buttons their first attempt at putting the code in. They reentered it, and the door slid open with a soft hiss, allowing them to slip inside. It shut behind them, locking with a mechanical clunk.

Leader let out a heavy breath, turning into a small gasp at the end as they peeled off their dark uniform jacket. The weighted fabric crumpled to the floor as they dropped it, unable to suppress their groan as Leader reached for the hem of their black undershirt.

Hidden behind their armored uniform, a dark stain spread against the black fabric. Leader winced, drawing in a sharp breath as they slowly pulled the shirt off.

Pain laced up their side as the movement tugged at the wound, pulling at the edges as the blood had begun to dry to the fabric. They let that fall to the floor as well, hand moving to press against the gash that split just below their last rib.

It wasn’t as bad as it looked. Normally they would go to Medic if they thought things were serious enough, but they rarely were. Leader was skilled enough in combat that they could avoid getting injured, but this one had caught them by surprise. A slash from behind while they had been distracting the pair of guards so Teammate could finish downloading the files onto the hard drive. Really, it wasn’t deep. Their jacket had protected them from the worst of the very sharp sword. It was only a scratch, albeit a very sensitive scratch, but nothing. A flesh wound. It was supposed to be Medic’s night off, especially with the stealth mission. They hadn’t been expecting the room to be guarded, which had changed their plans by necessity. It was late, and Leader was fine, they really didn’t need to keep Medic up with this. If it was still this bad in the morning, Leader decided, then they’d go get it checked out.

But hell, it hurt.

Leader stumbled over to their dresser, their back hitting against the wall next to it as they slid to the floor. Cold sweat was beading on their skin, hand shaking as they fumbled to tug open the bottom drawer. They pressed their other palm tight against the cut as they grabbed out their first aid kit from inside, setting it down with a soft clatter.

They knew first aid. Nothing like Medic knew, but enough to take care of themself so they didn’t have to bother Medic with the small injuries. The latch gave them trouble as they tried to open it one-handed, with a soft grunt they let go of the wound and used their other hand to hold the gear box down so they could open it. A bloody handprint was left against the lid as they flipped it open.

They had forgotten to restock it after their last use, a week or something ago when they had scraped up their knee pretty bad.

They were out of the antiseptic solution, so the small keychain-sized hand sanitizer would have to do. They only had a few pads left, but a few rolls of bandages so if need be, they could use those to clean the wound. They had scissors and thread, they had never remembered to slip a full suture kit from the infirmary, but they knew how to work with what they had. The needle left a worse scar than the surgical thread would have, but it was better than the first time, before they had worked up their stash at all, and had used a safety pin to hold the wound closed until they could sneak into Medic’s office.

They would admit, that time they should have gone to Medic. That was a wound worth actual treatment, but that had been way back in the beginning, after their second mission as leader of the team. They needed to look strong, so they made a choice.

Leader grabbed the hand sanitizer, flipping open the cap and emptying a small amount onto their hands. They winced as the alcohol burned some of the small scrapes, but it was better than an infection. Much better, from painful experience.

They blinked hard, willing the edges of their vision to clear. It was like someone smeared a brush across a watercolor canvas, the colors fading together to ruin the sharp lines. They grabbed one of the previous gauze pads, once they had decided their hands were clean enough to work, and spilled some hand sanitizer onto that as well, until it was fully soaked.

Leader took a deep breath, letting the air sit in their lungs as they bit the inside of their cheek as they prepared themself, both mentally and physically. Their hand shook awfully, but before they could second guess their plan, they pressed it to the wound.

They couldn’t stop the small cry, jaw clenching until they tasted blood. The sharp copper was a small distraction from the pain, easing their mind away from the burning pain enough so they could finish cleaning the gash, then wiping the excess blood from around the edges so they could see clearly.

For what might have been the thousandth time since they had put the kit together, Leader thanked their past self for threading the needle again after its last use. They had thought ahead, at least that far, and it became routine. The next day after use, or however soon their hands stopped shaking, they would reset and restock—if they could—the med kit. It had saved them many times, including now, when they were certain they wouldn’t have been able to fit that small thread through the small needle’s eye.

They rummaged through the kit, pulling out a small ace bandage roll. With a final glance up to ensure the door was closed and secure, they raised the roll to their mouth, biting down on the fabric. The walls were thick, but they weren’t taking any chances. The process wasn’t really a fun one, they admitted.

They took the needle in their dominant hand, allowing themself a few breaths to steady themself. They could do this. They would do this. Had to.

They brought the needle to the skin, pulling excess thread from the spool so they wouldn’t have to during the task, and began the first stitch.

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@promptsforyourwhumpfic

I’m going to reblog this tomorrow morning but I wanted to post it tonight.

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em-writes-stuff · 10 months

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poker

day one of two weeks of whump @promptsforyourwhumpfic

warnings: syringes (not a medical setting), captive whumpee, being stabbed with hot metal

characters: whumpee, whumper

448 words

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Whumpee cries out as the red-hot tip of the fireplace poker digs against his thigh. Whumper pulls it away and purses his lips, “You��re getting quieter.”

Whumpee pants, his hand hovering over the slowly trickling wound. “I’m getting tired.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” He drops the poker and lets it clatter on the ground before walking out of the room, locking the heavy door behind them. Like Whumpee could get out. Even without the chains weighing him down, he’d barely be able to make it through the door frame before collapsing.

He curls into himself, arms holding his legs close against his chest as he stares at the door. Whumper shuffles around just outside the door, his heavy boots interrupting the quiet Whumpee’s used to. The fire crackles almost soothingly in the background, embers occasionally flying over the hearth and dying before they hit the ground.

Outside the door, the shuffling pauses and Whumpee holds his breath, praying that Whumper’s turned in for the night. But he’s never been lucky, has he? The door pushes in and Whumper prances into the room, a syringe in his hand.

“This,” he almost sings, “Is something a friend recommended to me. She said that it makes even the gentlest touch make your skin feel like it’s on fire. And it’s not cheap, so make some pretty noises for me, alright?”

He squats in front of Whumpee and lifts up his sleeve. Whumpee shakes his head, barely able to make a sound as he watches the needle sink into his skin and the cloudy liquid slowly disappear into him.

It floods his system, he can feel it rushing through his veins to his fingertips. He can feel every grain of sand trapped in his tattered clothes. They weren’t this scratchy before, were they? He wants to rip them off, the fabric rubs against him and it makes him want to burn it off of him.

Whumper pulls the syringe away from Whumpee and watches as he writhes, a small smile on his face. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out another syringe.

“And this,” he says, taking the cap off and pushing on the plunger until the liquid comes out. He sinks it into Whumpee’s thigh next to the singed skin from the fire poker, “Is adrenaline. So you’ll liven up a bit.”

Whumpee whimpers as the needle pulls out, a bead of red stained adrenaline coming out with it. Whumpee twists in pain and his heartbeat speeds up so fast and so hard it makes his clothes shake with it.

“Now,” Whumper says, picking the poker back and holding it over the fireplace, “Let’s get back to it, shall we?”

#two weeks of whump #twow #whump #whumper #whumpee #whump fic #tw needles #tw syringes #captive whumpee #male whumpee #male whumper #em writes #em writes stuff #my writing

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jedi-lothwolf · 10 months

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Two Weeks of Whump Day 2: Needles

Fandom: Across the Spider-verse

Summary: Miguel is scared of needles after he gets sober.

Rapture was a highly addictive drug that binds to your cells. Miguel remembered it well. After being drugged by someone who turned out to be his biological father he needed it. He remembered hunting it down and sticking himself with long needles so he wouldn't be in pain for the withdrawal.

When he became Spider-Man the spider DNA replaced the rapture and he was safe. But he wasn't safe from the memories. The feeling of being so helpless, to succumb to the need for the drug.

When Miguel was told that he would need to get a few shots he was nervous to go. Peter insisted he come with him. Knowing Miguel's history with addiction he knew he'd be spooked.

Despite Miguel consistently telling Peter he didn't need anyone to go with him to see Spidey Doc he still came. Even if hr wouldn't admit it he actually appreciated Peter looking out for him.

"Hey Miguel, how are you today?" Spidey Doc said as he walked in. "Oh, you got a friend with you?"

"Nope, I'm actually his nemesis" Peter joked. The two laughed and Miguel snarled. "But seriously, Miggy gets nervous about needles."

"Peter" Miguel scowled.

"Hey don't worry! I'll be quick" he looked at Miguel, "and don't be embarrassed." He grabbed one of the three needles he had prepared, "shoulder please."

Miguel moved his sleeve and looked over to Peter. His facial expression was soft. "Here" Peter held out his hand. He reluctantly took it.

As the needle pierced his skin memories flood his mind. The feeling of not having control, sobbing telling his brother what had happened, staying with Alchemax to find a way to get rid of it, taking the doses so that withdrawal didn't kill him, everything.

Miguel grabbed at the syringe and pulled it out of his arm. He moved to attack Spidey Doc but Peter stepped in. He placed his hands on Miggy's shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

Miguel wrapped his arms around Peter and dug his claws into his back.

"It's okay. Miggy it's okay" he soothed. "Look at me, hey look" he removed one of his hands to gently cuff his face, "I'm not gonna let him hurt you."

Looking Peter in the eyes Miguel calmed down a little. He realized what happened and let the other pull him into a hug. Without realizing he started to cry mumbling how he couldn't do it again.

"It's okay Migs." Peter ran his hand over his back. Once Miguel calmed down he released him and retracted his claws.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" He asked.

"Nope! I'm alright. Let's finish getting your shots." Peter walked in a way to make sure he didn't see his back.

Spidey Doc moved from the floor back to standing, dazed. "Peter I thought-"

"Bup bup bup, let's get this done, okay?"

"Alright." The Doc got what Peter was avoiding. Telling Miguel might be worse than letting him believe everything was okay.

Spidey Doc placed a bandage on Miguel's arm from where he pulled the needle out. "Can I borrow your other arm? I'll give it back don't worry."

Miguel silently extended his arm to the doc. Peter grabbed the other and looked him in the eyes. His were soft and Miguel's were scared. "I promise, you'll be okay."

The second needle went into Miguel's arm. The fear intensified but Peter calmed him down, "I'm right here. You're safe. Okay?" Then the third.

"Alright! You are done! You can go."

"Thank you." He walked towards the door, "Peter?"

"Oh, I had an appointment right after you so I'm gonna do that now. Mayday's with Jess if you want to hang out with her! Maybe she'll help you feel better."

"Alright." He wasn't so sure but decided not to question it. It was strange that he hadn't mentioned the appointment before.

As the door closed Peter leaned into the table. "Ah, that kinda hurts."

"Makes sense." Spidey Doc walked over to a cabinet and grabbed stitches. "Miguel could have handled it."

"He's fragile. I worry a lot about him. I know he could handle it but honestly he doesn't need it."

Spidey Doc just sighed and shook his head. He had Peter lay down and sowed his back up. Peter left and never told Miguel what happened that day.

@promptsforyourwhumpfic

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cyhyr · 10 months

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Silence

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: T

Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~853

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Nightmares, Past Abuse, Conditioning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Past Use of a Shock Collar

A/N: Hello. I am back on my bullshit, ignoring my longfic and instead posting a whole new series of whumpy oneshots. I'm a few days late on this, so expect a few posts a day until I catch up!!

Thank you to @promptsforyourwhumpfic for creating the event!

Read on The Archive

It has taken Kakashi… an embarrassing amount of time to figure out Iruka’s quirks. Like how he’ll always leave the last few bites of food on his plate, swearing that he couldn’t eat another bite. Or how he keeps a very clean and tidy apartment, despite the rumors to the contrary. And that he maintains his hair meticulously, deep conditioning once a week and leaving it down around his shoulders whenever he’s off-duty.

He’s figured out the reasoning behind most of Iruka’s quirks over the three years they’ve been dating, and the last four months they’ve lived together. He leaves the last few bites so that if Kakashi or whoever he’s dining with needs just a little extra, he has it to share. He keeps his space clean because he finds anxiety in chaos. And he maintains his hair because it’s a direct root to his Uzushio heritage.

After moving in with Iruka, though, Kakashi has found a new quirk that he just can’t figure out a reason for. Once Iruka comes through the door at the end of the day, he’s silent—all the way until he leaves again the next morning.

Not a cough. Not a cleared throat. Not a whisper.

Silence.

Even when they make love, Iruka will actively hold back sounds, biting his lip and hand and squeezing his eyes tight. If it weren’t for Kakashi constantly checking in on him, asking over and over again, are you alright? does this still feel good? and getting vigorous and excited nods in return, he would think that Iruka was in pain throughout the act.

He’s tried asking, once, while they were out to dinner. It didn’t go well, and ended with Iruka slipping away by excusing himself to the restroom and simply not returning. Kakashi hasn’t brought it up since.

Except. He has to, now.

“Fuck, c’mon, shh, it’s just a dream, it’s alright, I’m right here,” Kakashi gently strokes down Iruka’s face as he trembles in his dream, scratching at his neck in his sleep and thrashing the more that Kakashi keeps touching him.

Even in his sleep, in his dreams, Iruka is quiet. What sort of conditioning has he—?

His eyes shoot open, bright and wet and terrified, and Iruka freezes. His tremors become worse, and he reaches up to his neck and feels and—everything about Iruka relaxes, his eyes gently close, pressing tears out onto his cheeks, and he rolls into Kakashi’s chest.

“Are you alright now?” Kakashi asks.

Iruka starts to nod, but then changes his mind and shakes it instead.

“Do you… can you talk about it?”

Iruka’s breath hitches and he looks up at Kakashi with wet eyes, holds up two fingers and shakes his head.

Kakashi has. A genius idea. He slips his hands around Iruka, lifts him up and stands, and then flickers them out their open bedroom window. And once they’re on the roof of the apartment building, he carefully sets Iruka back down on his feet and asks again, “Can you talk now?”

Iruka flings his arms around Kakashi’s shoulders and waist and whispers, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I can’t… I…”

“Take your time,” Kakashi holds him back. “I’m here.”

They sway gently for a few minutes, maybe an hour, and eventually Iruka is calm enough to explain. “My last boyfriend… he wasn’t… he was very controlling. He wanted peace and quiet when he came home, and to ensure he got it he…” Iruka lightly touches his neck, and Kakashi looks down at where Iruka’s fingers are—

Scars. Two even circles, just under his ear.

He’s seen those kinds of scars on abused dogs.

“He had me wear a…” Iruka flushes, unable to finish the sentence, but Kakashi knows.

“A fucking shock collar,” he growls.

Iruka nods. “But only when I was at home. And it was extremely sensitive. I couldn’t hum, I couldn’t cough, I couldn’t whisper. He wanted peace and quiet, and he… he got it.”

“That’s bullshit. He should have fucking asked. Not—not that. Not even dogs deserve that.”

“I know,” Iruka murmurs. “I know it was fucked up, and I knew it at the time, too, I just… I thought that if I stuck it out for a few weeks that he’d realize that I didn’t need the collar, that I could be quiet for him without it, but he. He’d get so angry if I didn’t wear it at home.”

“How long did this go on?”

“Three months. He… met with an unfortunate accident after that.”

Kakashi grins. He’ll get that story some other time. “You… you know you can talk inside now though, right?”

Iruka’s face falls. “I’ve tried. I… I can’t. There’s a block or something, and I can’t.”

Kakashi shrugs. “Alright. Then we move and get a new place, just for us. Somewhere where the memories of being silent won’t affect you.”

“You… really?”

Kakashi kisses him softly. “And I’ll help you, if it persists. I’ll remind you to speak up, to keep trying to make noise if you find yourself silenced. Alright?”

Iruka nods. “Thank you, Kakashi.”

#two weeks of whump #day 1 #shock collar #nightmares #conditioning #Naruto #Hatake Kakashi #Umino Iruka #KakaIru #my writing

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dollopheadedmerlin · 10 months

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First week of Two Weeks of Whump complete!

I decides to fill each prompt with Merlin fics!

Fest created by @promptsforyourwhumpfic

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

#mine #merlin #fic #fan fiction #fan fic #merlin fic #merlin fan fiction #whump #merlin whump #two weeks of whump #some of them are honestly more angst than whump #bc i do better with longer fics #especially for whump #and ya know #time crunch for the fest #the prompts have officially caught up to me #so I've been writing them each the day of 😬#I'm hoping i can catch up on my day off #get ahead again

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sodascribbles · 10 months

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two weeks of whump: day one

(read on ao3 here!) For @promptsforyourwhumpfic's Two Weeks of Whump! Thank you :] Poker | Shock Collar | Ashes Characters: Sly Cooper, The Contessa, misc. wolf guards Content: the titular shock collar, mentioned conditioning/'training', very minorly implied whipping, swearing. Note: i assure you, it only goes downhill from here >:3c

Maybe if she didn't want to get shocked, she should have paid better attention.

He’s still learning how to properly utilize the Voltage Strike that he’d tomfuckered his way into while scuffling in Rajan’s temple. He’d panicked and had just sparked up, lightning arcing from his cane as he’d swung.

He didn’t currently have his cane, unfortunately. Hopefully he could still do it.

. . .

He’s dead. He can’t quite find it in himself to be guilty, but he’s definitely about to be dead.

Sly had meant to use the Voltage Strike alongside some kind of escape plan. Knock out some guards, turn off the power, something.

She’d startled him. He’d shocked the Contessa. He’s about to die.

An icy fury burns in her eyes as she glowers at him. Like a deer caught in headlights, he freezes, ears pinned to his skull. He has half a mind to apologize— but he doesn’t get the chance. (And he really doesn’t feel bad. For a split second, before the oh shit had settled in, he had thought it was funny.)

The Contessa smiles. Her expression remains dangerously dark, mandibles clicking as she fucking grins at him. If he hadn’t already been convinced of his imminent demise, that would have done it.

“Hold him here for a moment,” she hisses between her teeth, still smiling.

When she returns, the guards practically scatter away from him, desperate to avoid her wrath. Suddenly unhindered, Sly scrambles backward. He pins himself to the wall, claws scrabbling against the stone.

She has something, held behind her back like one might hold a surprise present, still beaming. He growls, only for it to pitch up into a frightened hiss as she continues to approach.

Unfazed by his (frankly pathetic) attempt at a warning, she gives a quick gesture. Two of the wolves lurch into action, taking him by the shoulders and wrenching his head upward.

“Get off of me—!” He thrashes, of course he does, but the struggling doesn’t do much.

She clicks something into place around his throat. It digs, turning his breaths quick and shallow. It’s not enough to choke him— that is, until she hooks a claw into it and yanks, and he’s cut off with a sharp strangled sound.

“That’s a fascinating ability you have, Cooper,” she coos, waving a ‘hand’ once more and allowing the wolves to release him, “Unfortunately for you, I’ve come prepared.” He flattens backward again, hand coming up to press at the strange—

—collar? She’d collared him?

“Go on!” The Contessa claps her hands together like an excited child. “Try your cute little party trick now.”

…Sly really, really doesn’t want to do that. But he knows better than to disobey an order like that. (The gashes still crisscrossing his back ache pointedly.) So, reluctantly, he reaches into that feeling, letting—

—White hot agony arcs through him. He lets out a choked cry, now-twitching hands coming up to desperately scrabble at the collar— at the shock collar. He’s sent spasming, writhing away from the pain— get it off, get it off, get it—!

All at once, the worst of it is over. It’s like a switch is flipped (belatedly, Sly realizes that’s probably exactly what happened), and the pain sizzles off into an ache. He slumps, eyes glassy, panting.

The Contessa stands over him, looking positively thrilled. “Well, that was a wonderous show,” she coos, crouching down enough to cup his chin and tilt his gaze to hers. He whines, ears pressing down as he tries to pull away. Her grip turns bruising, and he stills. “I think I’ll keep that on you for a while. Teach you some lessons, yes?”

Sly hisses, and almost immediately regrets it as she draws back to turn the collar on again.

“Now your training can truly start,” she smiles, though she knows he can’t hear him. “I can’t wait.”

#two weeks of whump #twow #whump #sodalites sclooper #sodalite scribbles #sly cooper #sly 2 band of thieves #HELLO SLY COOPER COMMUNITY ITS ME SLYS WORST NIGHTMARE #the contessa #shock collar #swearing #lady whumper #uhhhh i still odnt know how to tag hfdskjhlfdkjlh #whump writing

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befuddled-calico-whump · 4 months

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Riot Kings, page 163

first // prev // next

#riotkings #wesgoesbrr #whump comic #stress position #sensory deprivation #escape attempt #comic #i agonized over the pacing here 😭#i don't think next week's has words either so round two!#163 #also when mel said hours he meant HOURS wes has been putting in WORK to get those unlocked

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flowercrowngods · 11 months

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part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (these make one big story, you won't understand this part without the others)

day 04: here come the tears

a/n: the people have requested a surprise eddie pov and i have decided to pull a eurovision and ignore the public vote, just a little bit. but you get a tiny eddie pov, as a treat 🤍

Steve is crying. It's 1:07 a.m. and Steve is crying. And there is nothing Eddie can do about it as he's lying in bed, his heart breaking further with every passing second that they lie there in silence, quiet sniffles carrying over the phone.

Steve is crying and Eddie is breaking. Steve is not talking to him and Eddie is breaking. Steve is not okay, and neither is Eddie. They're both breaking.

And Eddie doesn't know what to do about it, how to fix it. How to make it better. How to tell Steve that he misses him, how to ask him to talk to him, how to keep him. To stop him from slipping through his fingers further and further until all there is is silence.

"You know," his mind wanders back to years ago, his heart cracking at the memory. "I had the biggest crush on him for the longest time. Forever, really."

He remembers the way Steve's eyebrows shot up, his eyes round with... shock? Surprise? Or maybe something bad?

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Eddie had chuckled, fiddling with the straw in his drink to give his hands something to do. "Remember that kiss?" Steve nodded. "Well." Another chuckle, awkward this time, and possibly too revealing.

Steve grinned at him, a self satisfied smirk that wavers just a little. "So you're saying you did fall madly in love with me, Munson?"

Eddie's breath had hitched a little because Steve remembered those words so perfectly that had since doomed Eddie completely. But he covered it up with a laugh so easily, he was sure Steve didn't notice.

"Maybe," he grinned. "But eh, that's in the past."

It wasn't a lie; not really. But wasn't the truth either.

The truth was that Eddie had moved on. The truth was that it's the kind of crush that was never really a crush. The kind that is a Forever more than anything else.

The kind that will always be there, a flame burning inside my chest that carries your name and keeps it alive, keeps me warm. The kind of flame that will always be ready to become a bonfire again. Just say the word, Stevie. It's written in the universe. Say the word and I'll be yours.

"Good," Steve said after a while, and Eddie remembers frowning, remembers that he wanted to ask what that tone was, what Steve was thinking. If he was worried or disgusted or felt betrayed that Eddie's been so hopelessly and helplessly in love with him.

But all he said was, "Yeah. Remember Chrissy? We're kinda official now."

And Eddie had known then just as he does now, that he'll be a happy man with Chrissy. She's his best friend, a sunshine on bleak days. She's no Steve, but she makes him happy. He had to move on from Steve – to try – and allow himself his own kind of happiness. He'd never expected to find it with Chrissy, but he loves her so much. He's grown to love her in the past years – not the movie kind of love, not the all-encompassing Steve kind of love, because that flame inside his chest can still only carry one name.

But life is not a movie. And love is not always a fire. But he's still warm, still content, still happy. And so is Chrissy. She knows about his flame, says she understands. Eddie thinks he has one of her own, but he never asked; just held her that night, creating more of that silent happiness.

…Is he happy? Lying in bed, listening to Steve's quiet breaths that are barely audible over the phone, remembering the kiss, the confession, the Forever that he tried to move on from, he wonders what he's doing. Wonders if that contentment is worthwhile if it somehow lead him to losing Steve.

Did he miss something? Did he fuck up without realising?

He can't ask; Steve won't talk.

All he can do is lie there and feel that flame that still carries Steve's name after ten, eleven, twelve years scorching his insides.

All he can do is wonder if the whispered, "Good night, Stevie. I miss you," is some kind of goodbye. All he can do is lie awake all night and wonder where they started losing each other.

~*~

Missing Eddie is worse than loving him. Missing Eddie makes it feel like all the heartbreak songs are written for Steve and his pain that will persist.

It’s been three months since the engagement party, and the sharp, biting heartache that cut into his lungs every time Steve tried to take a deep breath has dulled now, turned into a constant ache, an emptiness, the sorrowful traces of where an I love you turned into an I miss you.

He’s barely talking to Eddie anymore, and with every passing day he just misses him more.

Steve types the words I miss you over and over and over again, but never hits send. Just stares at them, wondering if Eddie knows. Wondering if he’s doing the right thing. He isn’t. There is no right thing. Nothing is right. Not without Eddie.

He scrolls up in their chat, past Eddie’s questions if he’s okay, past his very own I miss yous, up and up and up to the strings of hearts, to the inside jokes, to the gentle teasing, to the You’re my favourite persons, to the happiness and joy and good, good times.

He scrolls and scrolls until his phone vibrates and tells him there’s a new message in the chat. Steve frowns, his hollow heart racing as he scrolls down again to see Eddie’s new message.

Eddie Munson: — Can I come over?

Steve frowns.

— why? are you okay?

Eddie Munson: — No. — Nothing is okay. You’re gone and you’re not talking to me and I miss you and I’m losing you and I don’t know why — I dont know anything. — I just wanna know, wanna talk, wanna understand — I wanna fix this. I fucked up, I think, and I wanna make it better. — I need to talk to you — Please. Please can I come over

Steve swallows hard, as he reads the incoming messages over and over again, watching the little bubble that says Eddie’s typing still. Watching as it disappears and reappears, reading until his eyes begin to sting and his vision is blurred with tears for the first time this week.

Letting them fall as he types,

— no. please dont

Eddie doesn’t reply to that, and Steve breathes out long and hard, throwing his phone to the side, not caring where it lands on the couch as he slumps over to the other side, turning up the music even louder.

Oh, can you tell I haven’s slept very well Since the last time that we spoke. I said, ‘Please understand I’ve been drinking again And all I do is hope.’

It consumes him, this song and the way it was written for him. The way it was written about him. Because he has no right to ask Eddie to stay. He’s the one who’s leaving. He’s the one not telling Eddie what is wrong, why he’s pulling back so suddenly.

I’m not strong enough for the both of us. What was I supposed to do, You know I love you. Please, stay.

Please stay. Please, please, please stay. It’s about him. It’s about Eddie. About them.

And Steve listens to it over and over again, not caring that his neighbours will know it by heart by know, will be so tired of him wallowing for weeks and months, and will come knocking soon. He doesn’t care, not when Mayday Parade are singing, All the love’s still there, I just don’t know what to do with it now.

He types that into Eddie’s chat. Doesn’t hit send. Sends it to Robin instead, and gets a shaking hands emoji in return. It makes him smile as he re-starts the song.

~*~

That night, he wakes around 2 a.m. to a missed call an hour ago and one new message on his mailbox. He lifts his phone to his ear with shaking hands and bated breath, a pit opening in his stomach when he hears the Judas Priest song that’s been in his Sad Eddie playlist since the beginning.

His heart cracks open when he hears Eddie’s sniffle, a heavy sigh, and another sniffle, followed by a little, Fuck.

“Stevie? I’m… You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to just— to just disappear. To slip through my fucking fingers, or float away like a— a dream, when you wake up, and you wanna go back to sleep because it was a good dream, and you— I don’t wan’ you to be a good dream Steve. You’re like… Fuck, man!”

Eddie’s voice is breaking, and so is Steve’s heart as his hand begins to tremble and he sits up in bed, closing his eyes, squeezing them shut because he doesn’t want to see the world as Eddie’s rambling at him.

“I miss you. I miss you so much, and I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t… I don’t wanna miss you. How do I get you back, Stevie? Please just… God, please just talk to me. I’d do anything for you, you know that. Just tell me, just say the word. Just… Just say the word, please.”

There’s silence after that, only Judas Priest’s Here come the tears over and over as the song is ending. Steve is crying as he listens to Eddie’s silence.

“Just. Just… Please, Stevie.”

The call ends then, the line cutting to the staticky voice instructing him to save or delete the message. Steve saves it. He doesn’t know why.

He also doesn’t know why he’s scrolling through his contacts with trembling hands and hits Call when he reaches Eddie.

The call doesn’t even get to the second ring before it’s picked up already.

“Stevie?” Eddie sounds breathless, wild, and just a little hoarse. Like he was still crying.

“Hi,” he says lamely, still shaking, a little breathless himself, and with absolutely no idea what he should say.

“I’m… Hi.”

Silence falls, and Steve wipes at his eyes. He’s still in bed, just sitting there with his phone pressed to his ear, and the ball that’s coiled inside him is growing larger and larger with each passing second that he doesn’t say Sorry, that he doesn’t say I miss you, too. That he doesn’t say I love you.

“Can I come in?”

He blinks, the question throwing him off his thought spiral. “Huh?”

“I’m sort of… outside your building right now.”

Why, he wants to ask. No, he wants to say. You’re gonna see, you’re gonna know, you’re gonna hate me forever.

“Okay,” he breathes and climbs out of bed, blanket around his shoulders despite the summer heat, because suddenly he’s freezing. He buzzes Eddie in, listens to him on the phone as he walks up the stairs, neither of them thinking of hanging up, and opens his doors with shaking, trembling hands.

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen @livsters @eddiemunchondeeznuts @abstractnaturaldisaster @steddie-as-they-go @hyperfixationgoddess @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @imzadidragonfly @eddiemunsonswife @bidisastersworld @ghost-ly-s @romanticdestruction @walkingaftermidnight07 @anaibis @rainydays35 @mightbeasleep @sunfloweringstories @korixae @tuesdaycats @totoroinatardis @ilovebookshowboutyou @musical-theatre-gay @theluckyalien @copingmechanizm @srra @changelingbaby @sassygoop @obsessivelyme @r0binscript (sorry if i missed anyone just give me a shout if i did <3)and thanks to everyone who said nice things about this 🤍🌷

come back tomorrow/later for [redacted] | read here

#steddie fic #steddie #steddieweek2023 #steddie week fic #steve harrington whump #eddie munson whump #dio words #hi uhm. please nobody be mean to eddie for moving on or think he's emotionally two-timing chrissy i swear i'll try to make it make sense #but moving on is good and healthy pls don't give him shit for it <3 sometimes in life that's what happens #also thank you all for being so nice to me legit all your comments and tags keep me going 🥺😭🤍🌷 thank yous

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whumpslut · 4 months

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shivering for hours, days. for any reason

do you know how much that starts to hurt? how your whole body aches?

is the character injured on top of that? does the constant shaking jostle broken ribs, does it pull their stitches? will that be enough to drown out the full body ache or do they combine horribly?

#whump #whump prompt #brought to you by: my antidepressant withdrawals!#(years ago don’t worry)#(it was cymbalta btw)#(i think i shivered for about two weeks straight)

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bellysoupset · 3 months

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Guys, it might be another 20 days before I return to writing/taking requests, but in the meantime, here are some shout outs to amazing authors and who I think everyone should go swarm their inboxes with requests, for totally selfish reasons on my part:

@salembutnotthecat

@writing-whump

@wordsmithwhumpsandfluff

@wussifer

💕💕💕 PLEASE I need more of their writing

#sickfic #whump fic #whump #update on me: vanilla writing is 60% done - and we've officially reached 40k #this is fine 🙃#also in two weeks is my bday and i'll have people over so i dont think i'll be online yikes

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whump-about-it · 6 months

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Another oddly specific trope:

Whumpee who needs physical touch vs. Caretaker with touch aversions

CW: brief discussion of dead bodies

Whatever Whumpee went through, it involved them spending a lot of time with around dead bodies. Cold, clammy skin. Distant, unseeing eyes. No movement. No breathing. No heartbeat.

When they are eventually rescued most of their trauma revolves around the lifeless corpses they were in contact with. Because of this when they are panicking, having a nightmare, or dissociating, the one thing that can reliably calm them down is human touch. Feeling someone's heart beat, or their breathing, or just the feeling of warm skin against theirs. Something that proves they're not the only living thing around.

Then there is Caretaker.

Caretaker has also been through some stuff. They're farther in their recovery than Whumpee is, and if they're in a team maybe that's why they were put in charge of caring for Whumpee in the first place; because the rest of the team thought the two would be able to relate to each other. But where as Whumpee's trauma makes them crave physical touch, Caretaker's trauma made them hate it.

Maybe it takes a learning curve, but after a lot of anxious situations, Whumpee becomes the only person allowed to touch Caretaker. Because in the end Caretaker knows how Whumpee is feeling. And they trust that Whumpee is the one person who doesn't want to hurt them.

#whump #whump trope #whumblr #whumpee x caretaker #physical touch #touch aversion #bonus points for that one friend:#“I've known you forever and I can't pat you on the shoulder but after two weeks you let Whumpee cuddle you?!”#queue Caretaker's death glare #healing #soft whump #whump drabble

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shywhumpauthor · 10 months

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Two Weeks of Whump—Day Five

Broken Glass // Building Collapse // Necktie

Masterlist

Cw: major character death, heavy descriptions of gore, mentioned suicide bomber

“Shit- shit, Whumpee, breathe,” Caretaker cursed, their voice laced tight with panic as they wrung their hands together. They paced a couple steps, muttering reassurances that were lost to the sounds around them. The wailing alarms, the sirens. The water rushing from broken pipelines, the desperate screaming. The sound of rubble falling, gravel clinking against the wreckage as the structure continued to crumble.

Caretaker turned hard on their heels, hands flailing slightly as they shook out their arms, realizing they should not be walking away. They quickly returned to Whumpee’s side, swearing under their breath again. “It- it’s gonna be okay, Whumpee. Just breathe, it’s- it’s ff-fine, okay? Leader and- and Medic are coming,”

They weren’t sure Whumpee could hear them, if they were even conscious. Caretaker’s stomach twisted as they looked their friend over again, having to turn away and gag.

It was bad. Bad bad. Bad enough that Caretaker didn’t know if Medic, Medic and their beautiful, amazing skills, could do anything to fix… this.

The team had managed to shelter right before the collapse. Taken cover in a solid storage room and braced. The ceiling had caved in on them, but most of the framework had survived the attack, stopping the rubble from crushing them alive.

Whumpee… they hadn’t been with the team. Caretaker could’ve sworn- they had been right behind them. A few feet behind. They were right behind them.

It was only after the dust had settled that they realized, a cold dread creeping through their chest.

Fuck- they were right fucking behind them. Right there. How- how the hell had they ended up so far away?!

It seemed as if they had been in a utility closet when the bombs had detonated.

Caretaker heaved as they dropped to their knees next to their best friend, twisting their head as bile threatened to climb their throat. It didn’t come, and a moment later they brought themself to look back, face twisting as their skin began to crawl.

While they had been in a reinforced room, when the building had fell, Whumpee had not.

It was a miracle they weren’t crushed completely, that their skull wasn’t splat like Villain’s had been when they stumbled across their body. Karma for bringing the building down? Yeah, probably. Still brutal to witness, fearing that the startlingly large puddle of blood had been Whumpee’s, Caretaker and Hero had gone digging together through the rubble, only to find Villain’s symbol pinned to the corpse’s chest. Or at least, the part they had assumed was the chest. There were a few that might’ve been.

No, not crushed. Not completely. The support beam had mercifully missed their head and chest—which, for a moment Caretaker thought had fallen still, but a second later rose again with a labored inhale. They were actually, relatively, unharmed. Covered in ash and dust, soaked with the water that had rained down when the pipes broke. Only a few scratches along their face; it looked like they had used their arms to protect it. Their hands were a little rough off, especially their left but nothing- nothing too bad. A few broken fingers maybe, a small gash. Not awful.

Everything below their waist…

The beam that had oh-so-thankfully missed their head had not spared their body entirely.

Caretaker couldn’t see their legs. From about center down from Whumpee’s thighs, there was nothing but solid, bloodstained metal. Caretaker couldn’t tell if the tourniquets they had applied, using their belt for one and their undershirt for the other, were working. Or done right. Shit, they weren’t a doctor! They didn’t even take the fucking required first aid course! They lied on their application! Fucking fire them.

Their legs weren’t the worst part. No. The worst part was the fragment of pipe, a few feet long and about two inches thick, buried deep in Whumpee’s abdomen.

“It’s- it’s okay Whumpee, it’s not- it’s really not that bad. Medic’s going to hh.. help you,” Caretaker’s shoulders shook. They didn’t know if Whumpee could hear them, if they were even conscious. Their hands shook, but they didn’t know what more they could do besides wait. They didn’t want to hurt them more.

They were about to stand up again, stomach churning so badly they didn’t think they’d be able to sit still much longer, just beginning to straighten when a weak touch brushed against their ankle. Caretaker nearly jumped out of their skin, the touch startling them so much they stumbled back, nearly falling and cracking their head open on the fallen foundation. They rushed forwards once again, dropping to the ground next to Whumpee, uncaring as their pants soaked through with the water still spraying nearby.

The hand weakly reached for them again, and it took Caretaker a moment to realize what Whumpee was trying to do. Or at least what they thought Whumpee was trying to do. They took their friend’s hand in both of their own, holding it tight.

Whumpee’s lips were moving, voice barely above a breath. Caretaker had to lean over them, ear nearly against Whumpee’s mouth so they could hear.

“ss.. s’ty,” Whumpee whispered, their voice so quiet and yet so tight with pain and emotion it broke Caretaker’s heart. They clutched their hand a bit tighter, rubbing their thumb over Whumpee’s knuckles.

“I- I’m not going anywhere,” Caretaker croaked, blinking the tears from their vision, cutting small tracks through the grime that coated their cheeks. “Just- hold on, the others are coming-”

Caretaker cut themself off as Whumpee’s breath hitched, face twisting in pain as they cracked open their eyes. The look behind them struck some deep pain in Caretaker’s chest, as they moved a bit closer to hear what Whumpee was saying.

“d’nn… l’h mm’ dhn.. ah- ah’ne… pl- ‘lse….”

“No, no Whumpee,” Caretaker shook their head, the tears flowing freely now as they let go of Whumpee’s hand with one of their own, bringing it up instead to push the hair out of their eyes. “No, you’re not going to- Medic’s almost here, they- they can help,”

Whumpee’s eyes closed, an agonizingly long blink that made Caretaker heart jump. They didn’t try to speak again, but the single tear that trickled up their temple said more than words ever could.

“Please, Whumpee,” Caretaker begged, pulling their hands away for a moment so they could tug off their jacket. The sound Whumpee made when the touch was lost was agonizing. Caretaker hoped they made up for it a moment later as they balled up the dirty fabric so the slightly cleaner inside was facing outwards and, as gently as humanly possible, they lifted Whumpee’s head off the rubble to slide the jacket below them. A pin of ice struck their chest as they noticed a small amount of blood staining the rocks below their head.

They quickly took Whumpee’s hand again, holding tight. “They’ll be here any, any second, okay? You’ll be ff-fine,” Caretaker hiccuped. Whumpee’s lips twitched slowly, pulling up into a pained, small smile, but it turned to a grimace. When they spoke, Caretaker could see their teeth stained with red.

“ss.. oh’ky,” Whumpee breathed, giving Caretaker’s hand, the weakest, saddest squeeze that nearly sent the last bit of Caretaker’s resolve crumbling harder than the building had. “j’st… stay…”

“Whumpee, no- no, keep your eyes open, okay? Medic’s almost here, no, no, stay- stay awake,” Caretaker’s voice cracked. They knew it was useless, Medic already knew their location and was moving as quick as they could, but it was the only thing they could think to do. “HELP! MEDIC, HERE! OVER- OVER HERE!” They screamed into the rubble, letting out a small sob as Whumpee flinched.

“shh..” Whumpee’s voice was nothing now, a breath paired with barely moving lips. Their hand weakly held onto Caretaker’s, and they clung back as tight as they could.

“No. No, Whumpee. Don’t- they’re almost here! They- they’re almost-” Caretaker’s voice broke, a sob tearing from their throat before they could stop it.

“stay…” Whumpee’s eyes slipped closed, their hand tightening for a moment.

Caretaker shook their head, but their voice was lost. Their face was flushed, hot and wet with tears that wouldn’t stop coming. Something deep inside them told them that any more begging, any more pleading and screaming for help wouldn’t do anything. So instead, they leaned forwards, quivering lips pressing a long kiss to Whumpee’s forehead.

“I- I’m here,” They whispered, the hand in theirs giving the smallest squeeze before going limp. “I’m here.”

——————————————————

@promptsforyourwhumpfic

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em-writes-stuff · 10 months

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barbed wire

day 14 of two weeks of whump @promptsforyourwhumpfic

caretaker and whumpee

warnings: captive whumpee, semi-graphic descriptions of barbed wire digging into skin

529 words

---

Caretaker looks into the small room, gasping when he sees Whumpee. He looks over his shoulder and hurries across the hall to where she is.

Her arms are pinned over her head with a bar nailed to the wall at her wrists. Her eyes are blurry and unfocused, staring right through him.

“Whumpee,” he whispers, bending down to her eye level.

Her eyes flicker, focusing for just a second before going fuzzy again. Caretaker knees before her, his hands hovering above her shoulders.

“Whumpee?” he repeats, voice trembling. “I’m here to get you out of here.”

She stares at him, her eyes now boring into him, “Caretaker?”

He almost laughs. “Yeah, yeah it-it’s me. I found you.”

She shakes her head, “No, no-you you have to go. Have to.”

He ignores her and unscrews a bolt on the bar pinning her wrists to the wall, then the other. Her arms fall limply into her lap.

“Ok, let’s get you out of here, yeah?” he says, wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her up.

She yelps, falling to the ground. Her feet are bound together with barbed wire.

“Shit,” Caretaker curses. He kneels again and tries to find the end of the wire so he can unwrap it from her ankles, but it’s tucked under another strand.

The barbs dig into her skin, burying into her flesh and tearing at the muscle anytime he moves one strand to get a better look at another. When he looks up from the tangle of wire, Whumpee’s biting into the flesh between her thumb and index finger to keep from screaming.

“Ok,” he says, running a hand through his hair, “I’m just gonna lift you, right? I can do that?”

She bites the inside of her cheek and winces when her legs brush up against the wall. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.”

“No,” she grunts. “Just get out of here.”

He pulls his head back and looks at her, then nods. He hoists her up into a better position and starts running.

She buries her head into the crook of his shoulder, biting her lip to keep from crying out. With every step, she curls more and more into him, eventually clinging to him with all her strength.

He pulls open the car door and gently sets her in the back seat, “We’re ok, we’re out.”

She forces a smile and scoots back on the seat until her back hits the door on the other side. “Can we go? Please?”

Caretaker nods and slams the car door shut before running to the driver’s seat. He starts the car and locks the doors before buckling.

Whumpee stares at the door of Whumper’s house, she waits for him to notice what Caretaker had done and to run after her, to take her back.

Caretaker adjusts the mirror to point at Whumpee, her eyes are wide and she’s shaking her head. He looks over at the door and sees Whumper barreling out of it and toward the car. Without a second thought, Caretaker slams on the gas pedal and speeds out of the driveway, not slowing until he can’t see the neighborhood.

#twow #two weeks of whump #whump #whump fic #whumpee #whump writing #caretaker #captive whumpee #barbed wire #escape attempt #successful escape #em writes #em writes stuff #my writing

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jedi-lothwolf · 10 months

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Two Weeks of Whump Day 6: Gunshot Wound

Fandom: Spider-verse

Summary: After a late night villain attack, Jefferson and Miles meets unexpectedly in the building.

Miles looked at the time, 1am. "Why can't villains attack the city at more convenient times?" he muttered to himself. Grabbing his suit he slipped his PJs off. Ganke stirred as Miles opened the window.

"Off to save the city? We have a test tomorrow." He mumbled

"You know it. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Good luck."

"Thanks." Miles crawled out the window and attached a web to a nearby building. He pushed his feet against the wall and was off.

The fight against the villain wasn't long. Miles webber her up and got ready to go back to the dorms.

Though it might not have been a long fight it wasn't without property damage. No fight was really a fight without a form of property damage. It was one of the reasons Spider-Man was a controversial person. That and the baby powder.

As he walked towards a window so he could get out of there he heard a familiar voice behind him, "freeze, Spider-Man."

Oh great. "Mr. Morales" Miles replied turning around. He was pointing a gun at him. "Woah" Miles jumped back startled, "isn't that reserved for the bad guys?"

"You killed an innocent."

"Where did you hear that?" Miles's heart raced. He most certainly did not kill anyone.

"My brother, Aaron Davis. For the past year and a half I can't stop thinking about it. You were there."

"No you must be mistaken. I've never killed anyone. Mr. Davis was a good man-" Miles's fake accent began to slip. It had been so long now and they had been working together for just about the whole time he had been Spider-Man.

"Put your hands up."

Miles complied. "There's no need for the gun."

"I'm bringing you in for the murder of my brother."

Spider sense. Miles turned his head to see that the villain from earlier had escaped. He turned quickly to take care of her. The quick movement gave Jefferson a reason to shoot.

Miles hadn't thought about it when he moved. When he heard the gun go off he assumed that his dad had shot at the villain. No. He didn't know until he watched the villain leave.

Warm liquid ran down his leg. "What?" He whispered to himself. Looking down he realized what had happened. His father had shot him. The pain hit like the bullet that had just ripped through his side.

Spider-Man collapsed to the ground. He pressed his right hand against the wound while the other pulled his mask off. He used it as a form of cloth to help with the blood. "Did you really think I killed uncle Aaron?! I was there! It was Kingpin!"

Jefferson started at his son, now on the ground. He'd shot him. "oh God." He ran over to him and fell to his knees to help.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Miles screamed.

Jefferson jumped back before speaking, "don't talk to me like that." He realized how stupid it sounded as the words left his mouth.

"You shot me!" The teen tried to move back but couldn't.

"I'm sorry! Miles, just let me help you!"

Miles thought back to everything that had happened in the last month. Everything Miguel had put him though just because he wanted to save his father. For a brief second he wished he hadn't. That thought was quickly replaced by a wave of hatred for his own mind.

"Stay away." Miles voice was weaker this time. He didn't yell. The betrayal that laced every word, every movement made Jefferson feel as if he had been shot himself.

"10-52 Spider-Man has been shot " Jefferson radioed in.

"Stay with me Miles." He reached to hold pressure on the wound and this time Miles accepted the help.

"My identity." Miles tried to move out from where he was.

"It'll be okay."

"What's that location Sir?"

Miles listens as Mr. Morales states the information to the operater. He reached for his gizmo. Miguel had given him one once he realized his mistake. Miles took it because he might not like Miguel but he wanted to help and he wanted to see his friends. He and Miguel were getting to a point where they both understood what had happened and why and realized it was better to forgive rather then to hold it against each other.

"Hobie?" He turned the watch on, "i've been shot, where's Spidey Doc?"

Hobie responded quickly. "Let me get in contact with him, where are you?" He asked frantically.

"Who's that?" Jefferson asked.

"A friend" Miles whispered. He sent his coordinates to Hobie and before he could say anything else Hobie was there.

"I'm here" he walked over quickly, "Spidey Doc should be on the way."

Jefferson looked up at Hobie before he was shoved by him. Hobie took his place and put pressure on Miles's side. Stunned he didn't do anything

Everything moved too quickly for Jefferson to keep up. Another portal opened and now there was another spider person in the room?

The hero was dressed in a similar fashion to his son but in light blue and light green. Hobie stood quickly and the hero took his place. Jefferson tried to get to Miles but was stopped by Hobie. "you're his dad right?" He asked.

"Yes and who are you punk!?" Mr. Morales yelled.

"I'm Miles's friend Hobie" he spoke calmly, "that's Spidey Doc, he'll take care of Miles."

"I need to take him back to HQ."

"Okay."

"Is that okay with you Miles?" The doctor asked.

Miles nodded.

Before Jefferson could say anything the doctor had picked up his son and started to walk towards a portal. "Wait where are you taking him?!"

Hobie grabbed Jefferson and stopped him from moving forward. "He'll take good care of him."

"Wait! Miles!" Jefferson tried to get away from Hobie.

As the portal closed Hobie released the chef. "What happened?"

"You don't need to know!"

"Miles is my friend! What happened to him."

When Jefferson didn't answer Hobie knew. "Good job. He'll be fine, just hope you don't lose him after this."

Jefferson just stared at Hobie. "What now?" He asked.

"You hope he forgives you. He probably will, he's very forgiving. After that you hope that you didn't just mess up one of the sweetest kids I know. But above all else you admit what you did was wrong and give him time."

"Okay." And that's what he did. He waited and talked to Miles, apologizing over and over again. Miles could never hate his father. The two's relationship grew stronger, no longer being built on lies.

@promptsforyourwhumpfic

#across the spiderverse #atsv miles #miles morales #jefferson morales #jeff davis #Miles angst #hobie brown #big brother hobie #spidey doc #whump #twoweeksofwhump #twow #two weeks of whump #spider verse #spiderman #atsv miguel #gunshot wound

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