Whumptober 2025, No. 2

Alt prompt - Ziptie

i did actually have a draft of some writing for the proper prompts but it wasn't really going so a quick sketch it is

an F1 RPF Landoscar Omegaverse whump collection by papayabrain

For Whumptober 2025

No.13: ALT 4 Concussion

Summary: Lando crashes at the start of the inaugural Las Vegas Grand Prix and insists on heading back to the paddock to see his team.

Well, Oscar.

Who isn’t his Alpha.

Rating: T

Word count: 1,681

Warnings: Head injury following Lando’s Vegas Crash (crash itself is not described) and mentions of vomiting.

Read on AO3 | or read below 👇🏼

~

Whumpril masterlist

This one is pretty short but I do intend to continue it!

When the call went to Hero’s voicemail for the third time, Villain had decided to lean into his worry and go to check on her.

He was almost to Hero’s street when strong arms grabbed him from behind, with one hand over his mouth and nose and the other arm snaking around his waist.

Villain glared, his eyes glowing red. Who was stupid enough to attack him, Villain, when he was out, again, not as a civilian, and clearly not in the mood for games?

He threw the offending assailant off of him with a burst of red energy. He didn’t notice the patch on his neck until it was too late.

He ripped the topical drug off, the adhesive pulling at his skin and leaving behind a small abrasion. Already his head was starting to spin. His attacker righted himself and rushed over, along with three other masked figures. Villain knew their costumes all too well.

“Out past curfew, Villain?” Right Hand sneered.

Villain followed Right Hand’s every move, his eyes and hands flickering with power that was fading fast. A sleek vehicle pulled up next to the group just as Villain lost the ability to stand. Two henchmen grabbed him by either arm and hauled him into the back of the car. Right Hand climbed in next to him and gave the word to drive.

The energy in Villain’s eyes completely snuffed out. He felt the rumble of the engine as the car took off into the night.

“Where’re you taking me?” he slurred.

Right Hand ruffled his hair.

“Home, of course.”

A jolt of fear sliced through the lethargy, but it was only for a moment before the fog settled in his mind once more. He could only make out one more sentence before going under.

“Supervillain wants to have a talk.”

(to be continued)

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Whumptober no.2 — alternate prompt: “I hate this job”

tw: captivity, threat of torture, burns

Walking down the corridor of the lowest level of the compound, Villian seriously contemplated bashing their head against the wall.

Not only were they called to work on one of their very rare days off, but also they were stuck with the most tedious task imaginable. Interrogations usually went smoothly for them. They were by no means pleasant, but at least they were relatively easy, given their expertise. And interrogating Sidekick would have been easy, if they were literally anyone but themself. Head-strong, resilient Sidekick, whose level of stubbornness surpassed that of Hero (which was quite an achievement, if you asked Villain), and whose loyalty would not let them betray their affiliation, was not going to make Villain's job any bit easier or quicker. They let out an exasperated sigh, grieving the loss of their free afternoon.

As they reached the end of the corridor, standing in front of the door to Sidekick's cell, Villain took three deep breaths to compose their anger and go back to their usual cold efficiency. Free day or not, the job had to be done. They unlocked the door and walked through, eyes immediately catching on the battered form bound to a chair in the middle of the room. Sidekick already looked worse for the wear, undeniably having been putting up quite a fight. Their body was adorned with cuts and fresh bruises, as well as broken nose and split lip on their face. Their eyes flicked up at the sound of Villain entering.

"Oh my god," they groaned, seemingly just as annoyed as Villain, "go away and die in a ditch."

"Nice to see you too," Villain deadpanned. Sparing no other attention to sidekick, they moved to the cabinet in the far right corner of the room and started to shuffle through the drawers in search of the fastest way to break the stubborn crime-fighter.

"Can't we skip all the intimidation and torture tactic?We both now it will get you nowhere."

So much confidence in this one, thought Villian, rolling their eyes. They turned around and sent Sidekick a long look before busing themselves with the supplies again. The defiance should have filled Villain with a sense of motivation, ambition even, to try to be the one to finally undone the unbreakable Sidekick. They were supposed be a ruthless criminal after all, people had expectations of them, their boss had expectations of them. Instead, the image of Sidekick, sobbing and writhing in the chair, filled Villain with uneasiness they could not quite place.

After all the needed supplies were ready on the counter, Villain fumbled through their pockets and brought out a cigarette, lightened it and took a big drag. Slowly, they let the smoke escape through their mouth, giving time for the nicotine to calm their jagged nerves. They turned to Sidekick and studied them. They didn't seem to be nervous by the imminent torture, at least not at the first glance. Other people might've said they looked pretty relaxed in their chair, but Villain's intricate knowledge of human body allowed them to pick up on the slightest tensions in their shoulders and near their eyes. They were not afraid per say, but rather... bothered.

"What's the matter?"

"You're about to torture me and you're asking me what's the matter?"

Fair point, Villain thought. It would be, for anyone else. However, Sidekick had gone through such ordeal plenty of times before. Lots of villains had had a go at them in the past and they had never broken, from what Villain heard. The torture was not the thing trapping their mind.

"No," Villain shook their head and took another drag from their cigarette, "you're not worried about that. If you're worried about what l'm going to do to you, you give me a lot of credit. I'm flattered, really," one more drag, one more curious glance at Sidekick, "But I can see it's something else that's bothering you more."

Sidekick went quiet for a moment, contemplating their answer. They studied Villain with the same level of scrutiny and the criminal wondered what, if anything, they picked up from behind their cold facade.

"I don't know," Sidekick mused, their tone light, but with a hint of apprehension, "I just never imagined you as my torturer."

Villain raised an eyebrow at that, "Are you doubting my abilities?"

"It's not that either," Sidekick shook their head and then tilted it slightly, "it's just that..." they stopped for a moment, wondering how to word their thoughts.

"I know you can be violent, hell I felt it first hand, but never like this. I never thought you could be cruel."

Villain's breath hitched at that. Sidekick's words sent a sharp sting of guilt through their heart they rarely felt when they interrogated Supervillain's captives. Indeed, they could be cruel, they could become a person's worst nightmare if needed. It was better to make someone else suffer than suffer themself. They never enjoyed the torture, they weren't filled with this sick glee that Supervillain got when they graciously took care of their own captives. They had always presumed that lack of thrill, that inability to revel in violence and pain, made them better than other villains in some way. Sidekick's words rattled this frail conviction.

If they were still willing to cause all this suffering, was there really a difference? Did it really make them morally superior? The result was the same, with or without enjoyment. In the end someone always ended up irrevocably broken, regardless of Villain's deluded moral high ground.

"I think you will find out how cruel I can be soon enough," Villain said, masking their emotions under their cold, confident tone they learnt to use with their victims. Sidekick only stared, their eyes holding a semblance of pity, as if they could see through all of Villain's defences. Staring at their half finished cigarette, Villain contemplated all the ways they could bail out of this situation, and came up blank, except for this one question they already knew the answer to.

"I don't suppose you will let me have my day off and just spill Agency's secrets?"

Sidekick grinned, falling back into their confident demeanour, "And make your job easier? No way."

"It was worth a shot," muttered Villain before swiftly walking up to them. Sidekick stared at Villain with all their signature defiance, bracing themself for Villain's first strike. But it didn't come. Instead, the criminal put their almost done cigarette between their lips. Sidekick stared at them in question.

"Go ahead," Villain said casually, "you're going to need it."

Tentatively, Sidekick took a few drags from the cigarette, burning it to the filter. They stared at each other, silent conversation passing between them.

I don't want to do this.

And yet, it doesn't change anything.

And then, Villain brought the butt of the cigarette to Sidekick's collarbone, eliciting a pained yell from them.

They really hated their job.

(posting this again because it didn’t show up in any of the tags I put, idk why)