my favorite whump posts go here

Warnings: This is a bit more gorey than my usual. Vivisection and organ handling. References to death. Implied blood. Dark, hurt/no comfort (yet??).

A year ago, Supervillain waged war on the city. Many died, and countless were hurt, but in the end, he was stopped. Supervillain was taken— alive, of course—and sent to rot in a dark, isolated pit the rest of his days.

Six months later, Mercy Hospital began seeing miracles. A revolutionary breakthrough enabled life-changing care for hundreds of patients. Skin grafts became seamless, blood transfusions brought half-dead patients to their feet, and there were even a couple cases of paralysis being cured. Organ transplant success rates skyrocketed, and even more baffling, post-operation complications were eradicated.

No one connected the two dots. Those dots sat like needles quivering naked on a corkboard, far apart, no red string attached. No one knew, except the very hands that had shoved in that sharp point.

The hands that drove scalpels through Supervillain’s chest and opened him up like a present on Christmas. The fingers that squeezed scissors—snip, snip, snip—cutting away fascia like a tangled web of ribbons. The palms that lifted and cradled hot, drooping organs and sent them away on carts that wove upwards, upwards and sideways until finally finding their new destination. Usually a room that stank of near-death.

Those hands knew.

And they didn’t care that Supervillain was awake the entire time. Watching. Shrieking until his vocal cords snapped. He was the gift that kept on giving. This time tomorrow, he’d be good as new.

One mouth, cold and cruel, explained it simply. For every life lost to his war, Supervillain would save a thousand more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Like, the Bucky Obsession came to me at precisely the right time in my life. At any earlier time I couldn't read medical whump because it was too triggering and couldn't read hydra trash party because of evangelical-raised contamination anxiety about dark topics

Leaning on cabinets and against walls in people's houses. Propping their head up with their hands at the dining table. Steadying themself against a banister on the stairs. Holding on to the post of the traffic light for dear life while they wait to cross the road because if they stand still unsupported they will fall to the ground.

Request what if there was a villain who was normal and like with hero to redeem themselves then they get a taste of anything like anything from the taste of blood to just the feeling of being above someone again and hero falls victim to it or just happens to be there when it happens

Am I cooking or am I cooking!! (I’m hungry..)

Serving up a little something!

Pain Eater

CW: Violence, including self-stabbing with a knife and stomach stabbing/gore (not graphic). Reference to drugs (pain killers)

“How was work today?” Hero asked.

It was 5:35 p.m., and Hero had been waiting in their usual chair in the hospital lobby when Villain finally exited through the elevator doors. Strange. The sullen man didn’t even glance at Hero, only strode past them with a single, tight-lipped word.

“Fine.”

Hero restrained a grimace.

Villain was by no means a cheery guy, but even that answer spoke volumes as to how Villain was doing. They followed Villain through the glass entrance doors and out into the city street.

“What’s going on?” They asked. Nearly jogging to keep up with Villain’s long, purposeful stride.

“Nothing.”

“Come on, it has to be something. You’ve been a little…down these past couple days.”

Villain’s jaw tensed. “Don’t worry about it.”

I don't know if you wrote anything like this before, but is it possible to have a hurt villain x caretaker hero?

Btw i read a lot of your posts and I love everything you write.

"Look what the rats dragged in," the villain said. "Do you have a medical license to go with that cape?"

The hero's brow furrowed, taking in the sight of the villain, imobiilised against the bed. The prison medical bay had been emptied except for them. And the villain...

"Bloody hell."

"You should see the other guys."

"I did," the hero said. "They took me by the morgue first before they'd let me in. Something, something, you're still dangerous even when you're incapacitated. You know. Because I have such a poor understanding of what you're capable of."

The villain smiled, cracking their lip open again, fresh blood welling up. Their teeth were already stained with gore they hadn't had the chance to clean away.

The hero moved over to them to get a closer look, gaze roaming over the splatterings of blood and the visible signs of injury. Bruises. Swelling. A nasty gash along their cheek.

"You want to tell me what happened?" the hero asked.

"There's video footage. They record everything in here."

"I'm not interested in the video footage, I'm interested in talking to you. I'm going to sit you up, is that okay?"

The villain's gaze moved over to them in turn. Beneath the carnage, the fearsome threat of violence, the villain looked tired. Thinner than when the hero had last seen them. Like some vital essence of them was being slowly leeched away.

"If I say no?"

"I'll do my best to treat you laying down. Wait. How are your ribs? Can you even sit?"

"You could just let me die."

The hero's stomach squirmed, revulsion rising in their chest at the thought.

The villain's mouth twitched in another mirthless smile. Their fingers flickered, an indication that the hero could adjust the mechanical bed. The hero pressed the button, taking a moment to steady themselves as the villain's upper body carefully rose. Their eyes squeezed shut in pain.

The hero's eyes narrowed, hand going tentatively to the villain's torso, inching their shirt up. The bruises beneath the material were even more livid than the ones on their face.

"These are broken," the hero said.

"They're just ribs."

"Not if they puncture-" The hero caught themselves. They exhaled a breath through their teeth. When they glanced up, the villain's gaze was on them, with no pretense.

The hero's heartbeat quickened. They had to resist the stupid urge to reach out, less professionally, to cup the villain's face.

"Alright," the hero said, softly, instead. "I'm going to do what I can and clean you off. I'll get you some water for your mouth. Rinse and spit so I can check your teeth. Does that sound good?"

"You're a living saint." The villain's voice was just as soft, and infinitely more bitter.

"...And I'll get some pain meds."

The hero felt the villain watching them as they moved around the room, gathering the necessary supplies. When they looked back, though, the villain's attention was always idly elsewhere. The ceiling. The wall. The restraints keeping them strapped down like an apex predator inclined to rampage.

When the hero returned, the villain sipped the water, rinsed and spat the blood away without sending it at the hero's face. They let the hero dab at their body with a warm damp cloth, apply disinfectant, bandages and the like as needed.

That was something.

"Do you want to die?" the hero asked, quietly.

The villain laughed.

"Is that funny?" the hero asked, next.

"If you were going to kill me, conqueror, I wouldn't be in this hell hole."

"And if you wanted to die, I suppose," the hero said, "you could have let them kill you instead of fighting back."

"I wasn't going to be finished off by rats. That's just embarrassing."

"How's the pain now?"

"Fighting you was worse."

"I'm sorry I haven't visited," the hero said, tone as gentle as their hands.

The villain scowled, laughter dying. They looked like they wanted to say something, then didn't.

"They want to put you in solitary for this. I'll talk to the warden," the hero said. "You didn't start the fight. You shouldn't be punished for it."

"I shouldn't be punished for murder, hero mine? What are you punishing me for then?"

"I'm not - I -" The hero floundered, then closed their mouth.

They focused on the things they could treat. The wounds they could keep from festering.

"It wasn't meant as punishment," the hero said. "I just had to stop you."

"And they just had to keep me alive," the villain said. "Prod me and poke me and take my blood and my hair and whatever else that so fascinates them about their most valuable asset. Two wrongs do, as ever, make a right."

The hero tensed, gaze cutting up to the villain's face.

The villain smiled at them, blissfully, as the pain medication finally seemed to begin to take effect. Their usually sharp eyes turned cloudier, if no less deadly for being a poisonous fog instead of a blade.

"...you wanted them to call me," the hero said. "You knew they'd be too scared to get close enough to give you even basic first aid."

And knew, too, that the warden would never simply let them die in a fight, or by the hand of a guard, no matter how many other inmates they took out.

The villain blew a kiss their way, and closed their eyes.

"You always care so damn much," they said, voice turning a little slurred. "Care enough to keep me yourself, won't you?"

When the villain drifted off in front of them, pain medication aside, the hero knew they hadn't slept properly for months. Likely not since their capture.

The hero swallowed.

They reached out, brushing their fingers carefully along the less bruised half of the villain's face.

Unconscious, they didn't seem so terrifying a thing. They didn't seem unstoppable at all.

"I'll talk to the warden," the hero murmured, though the villain couldn't hear them. "None of them will ever hurt you again."

But, unstoppable, the villain was.

One squirming uncomfortably, face averted, wishing to be anywhere else but not daring to draw too much attention to themselves.

One straining to break free, eyes narrowed, maybe even teeth bared and ready to snap at whoever comes close.

One thrashing desperately, caught in mindless panic.

One limp with exhaustion, held upright only by the restraints but nonetheless glaring when their head is lifted.

One stiff and still, anxiousness still in the process of being carefully concealed.

One trying for relaxed, dismissive, complaining of discomfort with forced lightness.

One actually relaxed, waiting patiently for nothing in particular, knowing only that everything is out of their hands and thus no longer their concern.

One who seems barely present at all, unfocused gaze somewhere on the ground, body limp as their mind seeks sanctuary far away.

"What the hell was that?"

"What- I fainted. You do know what fainting is right?"

"Okay, smartass, you know what I meant."

I don't wanna hurt you."

It's a trap!"

Please don't hurt me."

You're not real."

Please... Please, stay back."

I don't wanna have to do this."

I need you to get out of here."