#no.13

[omgiamwish]

Whumptober 2025 Day 13 - Insignia

@antimattercontainment Thank you for the prompt (summarized): removing Optimus’s Decepticon insignia post-Orion Pax arc

(p.s. optimus is sitting down, not absurdly short lol)

[sabeedraws]

whumptober #13 never enough

it’s impossible to cuddle a lifetime of lies, shame and fear away, but damn if Zoey and Mira aren’t going to try!

[lostwhump]

@whumptober | Day #13: "How dull is it to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished." Countdown - The Muzzle Pile (1.10)

[papayabrain]

caught in a bad dream

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 👇🏼

~

“Right, Doc’s cleared you. Let’s get you back to the hotel. Your dad’ll stay with you for observation.”

Lando snaps his head up to look at his trainer, immediately regretting it as the sterile room spins, and he can feel the stiffness in his neck and shoulders.

“Noooo, wha’?”

“That’s the condition of not staying here overnight. We take you back to the hotel with someone there to monitor you ourselves.”

“Well yeah, m’not staying ‘ere,” Lando presses, rubbing his forehead. The lights in the room are slightly dimmed for him, but it’s still uncomfortable. “Wanna go back with’team.”

The three men in the room all look at him with incredulous looks. Lando folds his arms as he sits against the pillows of the hospital bed. He’s sat on it, rather than in it, as they’ve finished all the necessary tests and scans, and everyone is happy with the results. He should be fine within the next few days.

Oli scoffs. “Bro, you cannot be serious. You have a head injury. You can barely talk!”

“Leave m’alone,” he snaps back. Yes, his head hurts and his mouth hasn’t quite connected back with his brain yet, but he’s an adult and he can do what he likes, thank you. Oli has his own family, including pups to go and be with.

“Boys,” Dad sighs.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, Lando. We need to keep you away from lights and noise. The team are absolutely not expecting you at debrief. You don’t need to be there.”

“Coz I’ve got nothing t’say? Cheers, m’aware,” he huffs.

“Come on, mate, it wasn’t even your fault.”

“Well, nobody else crashed there, di’they? Jus’ me.”

Dad rubs his back. “Why do you want to go back to the paddock so bad? We can set you up in your nest with all the lights off and make sure you won’t be disturbed other than for concussion checks.”

Lando whines. Of course he wants to be back in his nest, buried beneath the blankets in the darkness and sleep. But there is one big, obvious thing missing!

“Let me guess: he’s Australian, also drives a McLaren F1 car, and just happens to be an Alpha?”

Lando flips his brother off. And if he blushes, so fucking what. He sticks out his tongue for good measure. “Shuddup. M’hurt.”

“Which is exactly why we should be getting you back to the hotel,” Jon tries again.

Lando stands up and sways dangerously, saved from toppling over by his dad’s arm around his waist. He buries his head against his shoulder, sighing at the relief from the lights.

“Careful!” Dad scolds, gently kissing his head.

“Wanna see Osc n’ say sorry to th’team.”

He hears Jon sigh.

“It’ll make me feel better,” he adds. “Promise.”

There are a few seconds of silence, and Lando knows they’re silently communicating over his head. He wants to be safe in his nest. His omega instincts, even through his injuries, are screaming that he needs to be protected and cared for. Not that his family can’t do that, but Osc is his Alpha.

Except he’s not, but his omega chirps at the easy acceptance anyway.

He needs to see Osc as soon as possible.

“Don’t make us regret this,” Dad says, and Lando’s smile isn’t forced. He’s relieved and content that comfort is coming his way.

“You’re wearing sunglasses and a cap for the lights, and your hood up for the cold. I can’t promise the media won’t leave you alone, but we’ll do our best to stop them.”

“Kay. Cheers,” he manages.

“If you change your mind, you tell us.”

Lando waves them off and makes for the door. There’s a persistent itch that needs soothing, and he chirps, except it comes out as more of a grunt amidst the nausea.

~

He decides not to knock and just barges right in. Even with his eyes covered, the blazing fluorescent lights make him hiss.

There’s a beat of silence before a wall of noise.

“Lando?”

“What on earth are you doing here?”

“Who the fuck made him come back here?”

“Lando, please. Go and sleep.”

He puts his hands over his ears and screws up his eyes. It makes him lose his balance, and he panics, but then there’s a warm, steadying arm around his waist, and his breath catches because he knows it’s Osc.

His omega recognises the alpha on instinct, immediately relaxing and gripping his jacket, burying his face against his neck. Well, he tries at least, but it’s awkward with his cap and sunglasses on his face. He whines, and he feels the alpha rumble in comfort.

“I’ve got you, Lan,” comes Oscar’s voice, smooth and soft and gentle in his ear. He rests his head against his chest instead, Osc’s arms around him. Safe. Protected.

“Sorry for the surprise interruption. He didn’t want to leave without apologising, and we didn’t wanna cause him any more stress,” Jon says from the doorway.

“M’sorry, everyone,” he says, and he can feel Osc shake his head. “Fucked the car. Wanted a cuddle.”

“There’s nothing for you to apologise for, Lando. We’re just glad you’re okay, and we wish you a fast recovery. Oscar, go and take care of him. We’ll see you both in Abu Dhabi.”

Lando peeks back over at Zak, who is smiling brightly at them.

“No punishment?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Go and take care of yourselves, kiddos.”

There’s a general chorus of well-wishes and waves, and Osc grabs his stuff and leads him out of the room. Keeping an arm around him, he shakes hands with his dad and clasps hands with Jon before they make their way out.

Once out into the freezing November air, Osc drops his hold, but his dad is right there offering his arm. He stands and pouts as his brain can’t process what’s happening and why Osc is suddenly avoiding him when he’s standing there shivering.

“Paddock. Photographers,” Dad says as he offers his arm again. Osc gives him an encouraging nod, and he obeys.

He stays close, though, and Lando appreciates it. They’re all wearing scent blockers, which Lando’s omega despises with a passion when he’s distressed, but as soon as they’re in the car back to the hotel, the patches come off and the crisp, cold leather is quickly replaced with apples, chocolate, and lavender.

Jon drives, and Lando sits between Osc and his dad. Oli had already gone back to his wife and pups. He carefully lays his head against the alpha’s shoulder, and Osc pokes his leg periodically to keep him awake.

It’s not really needed, given that the jostling from the moving vehicle upsets his stomach, and he grabs hold of Oscar’s hand as he breathes.

~

He barely survives the trip up to his room. The lift throws his sense of balance completely off, and they barely make it inside the suite before Osc is barrelling them into the bathroom and he’s emptying his stomach into the toilet.

He moans, throat and eyes stinging. Osc rubs his back, placing the fallen sunglasses on the sink.

“You gonna be alright with him, Oscar?” Jon asks from the doorway.

“You’re under no obligations to stay,” Dad adds. “I’m more than happy to be here with him.”

Lando shakes his head, but the nausea returns and he’s quickly got his head over the bowl again, coughing and spluttering, only upright because of Osc’s firm hold. There’s a bitter note to his chocolate scent, and his omega whines at making his alpha anxious.

“I think he wants me.” Lando grips his arms like a lifeline, unable to provide a verbal answer. “I’m here, Lan, I’m not going anywhere.”

“If he throws up again while you sleep, complains of pain, or becomes confused, you call us, and we’re going back to the hospital. Anything worse, call 911.”

“Yep,” Osc replies, wiping Lando’s mouth with a towel before helping him stand up.

Dad and Jon both hug him gently before leaving them alone. Osc guides him out of the bathroom and over to his nest.

“Do you wanna get changed?”

Lando doesn’t shake his head, mindful of what happens every time he does. “No, should be fine in my underwear.”

“Okay, sit down, I’ll help you undress.”

“Take me out on a date first, Osc,” he quips, before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Osc quirks an eyebrow with a soft smile, but he’s also blushing as he helps Lando out of his layers, albeit slower than he’d have preferred, as he’s still sore. It makes Lando’s omega want to purr, and of course, it happens before he can stop it. Osc’s alpha rumbles back immediately, though, and he finds himself relaxing again. He really hopes neither of them regrets this in the morning. Lando essentially kidnapped him.

It's Osc giving him a water bottle to wash away the taste of bile that makes him tear up.

“Lan?” he asks, kneeling in front of him.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and sniffles. “M’sorry for dragging you here. Fucking horrible teammate I am, making you take care of me. My dad’s literally here, yet my instincts are calling for you.”

Oh, he’s fully blaming his head injury for the lack of filter. He will regret this after he’s slept, and Osc no doubt regrets everything right now.

The alpha rests a hand on his knee, thumb stroking his bare skin and leaving goosebumps. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be. I wanna look after you, darling.”

“Alpha,” Lando whispers through his tears, and Osc’s hand cups his jaw. It’s so gentle and respectful, like he’s a newly fired piece of pottery.

“I’m here, Omega.”

Osc stands up, moving between his legs, and Lando hugs him around the middle, resting his head against his warm chest. Soft fingers card through his curls, and he relaxes as he feels Oscar’s alpha rumble. He’s purring back, and for just a minute as they breathe together, he feels at peace.

He smiles as the vibrations harmonise with their heartbeats.

~

<< No.12: Withholding Medical Treatment | No.14: Ignoring an Illness >>

[amethystfairy1]

*inhuman shrieking* - Scott, like, a lot.

Todays Whumptober is up! Another one off today, I'm far to into the Vampires SMP to stop at just one...hope you enjoy!

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2025 No. 13- Insignia

Whumptober 2025 Masterlist

“Are you okay?”

Hero looked up through their rain-soaked fringe at the person in front of them. They sheltered under an umbrella and held a hand out to them.

Hero winced as they staggered to their feet. The stranger’s outstretched hand was in fact much-needed, as Hero lost their balance twice.

“Are you alright, Mx…?”

“Er, [Hero’s Name],” Hero said.

They pulled their trench coat tighter over their bloodied suit, concealed underneath.

“[Hero’s Name], you don’t look too well,” the stranger said, “can I call someone for you?”

“I, um…”

Hero got hit with a dizzy spell. The stranger was now supporting all of their weight, umbrella discarded to the wind.

“I’m so sorry!” Hero said as they tried to right themselves, “your umbrella-”

“It’s all right,” the stranger said, “here, come with me.”

They led Hero to a sleek, luxury vehicle. They nodded to the chauffer, who got out and opened the back door for them.

The stranger helped Hero inside and slid in next to them. The closing of the car door muffled the downpour outside.

The chauffer began to drive off. Hero watched the raindrops race each other down the window.

“So, hospital?” the stranger asked.

Hero took far too long to register the question. They jerked out of their trance and looked at them blankly.

“Hospital it is then,” the stranger smiled apologetically.

Hero nearly dozed off a few times. They woke up properly when the car sped right past the hospital and down the street. Hero’s brows furrowed. They stole a glance at their rescuer and saw the glint of a signet ring. It bore the insignia of the most infamous leader of the criminal underworld.

“Um,” Hero started, their voice going up an octave, “actually, my friend’s house is right down this street so…”

The stranger looked at them, still with that strange smile.

“Oh, Hero, I was hoping we could do this the easy way,” Supervillain sighed, “Henchman?”

Black, opaque screens covered the car windows. The outside world would not see them.

“Hero? I’m not Hero,” Hero lied, “I’m-”

“Shh, don’t lie to me, I don’t appreciate it,” Supervillain said, bringing something from inside their jacket, “and you’re hurt. I wouldn’t trust just any doctor with you.”

Hero’s movements were too sluggish to avoid the syringe. A drug went into their system before they could blink.

“P-please-”

“Shh, it’s going to be all right,” Supervillain said.

They pulled Hero close so that they were leaning against their shoulder.

“Go to sleep now, we’ll fix you right up.”

Hero could only let out an unintelligible whine before their body betrayed them and they fell asleep.

Patreon

Ko-Fi

Redbubble

AO3

Tags:@mythixmagic@infinityshadows@fishtale88@thelazywitchphotographer@the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm@memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog@electrons2006@just-a-space-rabbit @telltaletoad @bacillusinfection@noseyowes@whump-till-ya-jump@writinglittlepains@m4iloblu3@annablogsposts @alwaysstrangeanddelusional @theultimatespicysandwich @doctorsawyer

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #13

A/N: Whoops, missed it by, like, half an hour. It's fine! Here is some pre-series Winchester angst because I can't help gravitating back to those characters (specifically Dean, he is very whumpee-shaped to me). John Winchester is the worst. <3

xxx never enough

Sam and Dad are fighting again. Dean has gotten pretty used to it at this point—the tension that builds and builds for a few days until it explodes, resulting in a shouting match that usually ends with Sam slamming whatever door he can put between himself and John and John drinking himself nearly to oblivion. He's gotten used to being invisible, until one of them needs someone to bitch to about the other.

He has this dream, sometimes, that he leaves. Snags the keys to the Impala and just drives. Sometimes it's to the ocean, or the Redwoods, or a city like New Orleans or Boston or Seattle. Sometimes he doesn't have a destination at all, and it's just endless fields of wheat turned golden by a perpetually setting sun. Always, it's quiet. Peaceful.

Waking up from that one always hurts, and then leaves him feeling guilty for hours after.

"That is such bullshit!" Sam's voice cracks on the last word. He's old enough that it shouldn't be doing that anymore, and normally Dean would laugh except that he's exhausted and has been trying to get to sleep for the last forty minutes.

"Do not use that kind of language with me!"

Dean groans, pulling a pillow over his face. He briefly considers screaming into it, or maybe trying so smother himself with it, before throwing it to the side. He can't deal with this anymore tonight.

"I save people, Sam! That's what I do!" John is shouting as Dean enters the kitchen of the tiny apartment they've been in for the last few weeks. He grabs his leather jacket from the back of the chair it's draped over and his wallet from the counter. He grabs his silver knife, too, just in case.

"No, what you do is take out your anger on whatever monster you can get your hands on as some sort of twisted revenge fantasy!" Sam yells back.

"I'm going out," Dean calls over the noise, opening the door. Neither of them notice him slip out of the apartment.

The night air is chilly, little puffs of air appearing with every breath, and Dean shoves his hands in his pockets. There's a small twenty-four hour convenience store a little over a mile away, and the time it takes to walk there and back should be long enough for Sam and Dad to cool off.

There aren't any other customers when Dean gets there, just the guy behind the counter who looks up when Dean enters and waves.

"Hi, there!"

"Hey," Dean says, a little awkwardly, before meandering over to the candy aisle. He has a few bucks in his wallet from the cash Pastor Jim had given him the last time they saw him. Dean had tried to turn it down—at twenty, he thinks maybe he's a little old for birthday money—but Jim had insisted. There's still enough left that he can get a couple candy bars.

He ends up with a king-sized Baby Ruth for himself and a Butterfinger for Sam, then realizes there's a buy 1 get 1 sale and grabs another of each. He takes them up to the counter. The cashier doesn't even look at them. He's staring at Dean with an expression he doesn't like.

"Dude, you good?" Dean says. "I'd like to get out of here sometime tonight."

"You're the Winchester kid. John's boy."

The hair on the back of Dean's neck stands and he's instantly on high alert. His eyes land on a few spots of bright red on the young man's work vest, and his stomach does a back flip. He does his best not to show it.

"You've got a little something," he says, gesturing at his own shirt to indicate where he'd spotted said 'little something'. The guy looks down, tugging at the vest, his bottom lip sticking out at the sight of what Dean can only assume is blood.

"Oh. Whoops! I did my best to keep things clean but..." He shrugs. "You humans can be so fragile."

Dean's hand darts to the knife at his back, but before he can draw it, the cashier, whatever he/it is, is launching over the counter at Dean. He hits the ground hard, the air rushing from his lungs and stars dancing across his vision when his head cracks against the floor. He recovers quickly, though, shoving the man off of himself and scrambling to his feet. His back is to the counter now and he glances over his shoulder.

Shit.

There's a body on the floor—Dean isn't sure if he's dead or not—that looks exactly like the guy Dean is fighting, just without the vest. Dean looks back at his attacker.

"You're a shifter."

"And you're a hunter."

The shifter lunges forward, grabbing the front of Dean's jacket and pulling him away from the counter. He uses the momentum to lift Dean clean off his feet, hurling him against the nearest shelves. The shelves crash to the ground, and so does Dean. This time he bites through his tongue as he falls, blood instantly filling his mouth. His vision is a little blurred now, too, and it won't go back into focus. Concussion, he thinks grimly as he moves his left arm under him to get to his feet. Or, he tries to move his left arm, but is met instead with a bright, intense pain through his shoulder and arm that means something is dislocated or broken. He grits his teeth, biting back a groan as he levers himself up with the other arm instead, grabbing the edge of one of the still-standing shelves for support. His whole body aches as he makes his way, staggering, to his feet. His head hurts, too. He thinks it might be bleeding.

This is not going well.

He just wanted to go for a walk.

"Your dad's been looking for me," the shifter is saying, voice casual, though his coiled stance makes it obvious that he's getting ready to strike again. "He doesn't know it's me. I've been running for a long time. Gone through a lot of faces. I finally decided it was time to stop running away. A prey becoming the predator kind of situation, y'know?" A smile creeps across his face, slow and unsettling. "Looks like I made the right call."

"Y'know," Dean says. Blood pours down his chin from his mouth. His head is swimming. "I'm not sure you did."

He grabs the knife from the sheath at his back and, moving with all the speed he can muster, rushes at the shifter with a roar. The shifter is faster, though, and he grabs Dean's wrist lightning-fast in an iron grip.

"Nice try, Winchester," he says with another one of those hideous smiles, and shoves Dean's hand back toward Dean's body.

The knife point slices through the thin skin over Dean's left clavicle and then, deflected by the bone, moves downward before embedding itself in the meat of Dean's upper chest, just under his collarbone. He screams, a mixture of pain and rage, and stumbles back away from the shifter. The knife is still in him. It's still in his hand. Without thinking, he rips the blade from his chest and plunges it into the shifter's chest. The shifter looks startled. Dean gives the knife a vicious twist.

The shifter falls.

So does Dean.

He's gasping for breath, waves of agony rippling through his left shoulder. His head is pounding. He stays on the ground for a few seconds before forcing himself to his feet. He clutches his wounded shoulder with his right hand and lurches toward the door of the convenience store, pushing his way through it and out into the parking lot. He's dizzy though, and his vision keeps going in and out, and he only makes it a few steps toward the street before he collapses. The pavement beneath him is frigid, and he can feel the cold leeching the heat from his body. A shiver runs through him. He blinks heavily. Then again, only his eyes stay shut a little longer this time.

He's still lying there when a pair of headlights appears very close to him, and he hears the sound of a car door opening and a voice saying, "Oh my god. Call 911!"

And then the world fades.

-

He has a laundry list of injuries: several cracked ribs, mild concussion, stitches on the back of his head and more in his shoulder, which was badly dislocated but thankfully not broken. It's the middle of the night by the time he gets all patched up and settled into a room, and visiting hours are long since over. So, aided by heavy pain meds and the distinct exhaustion that comes with having your ass kicked, Dean sleeps.

-

He wakes up the next morning with a deep ache in his whole body that even the pain meds they've given him don't erase completely. Sam is sitting in a chair near him with a newspaper folded in half, working on the crossword puzzle. It's later than Dean thought, then, if visiting hours have started. Or else Sammy conned his way in here early, which wouldn't be surprising.

"Where's Dad?"

Sam doesn't look up, his leg bouncing as he stares at the newspaper in his hand, chewing on his thumbnail.

"Sammy," Dean says, and Sam stills and looks up with that mildly irritated look that's been his default expression for the last few years.

"He's not here, Dean. He left."

"Left," Dean repeats. "What do you mean 'left'?"

"I mean he got a call about some monster a few counties over and he went to go take care of it."

"When?" Dean asks. He's pretty sure he knows the answer, and he doesn't really want confirmation, but he can't help himself.

Sam's mouth pulls over to one side. His leg is bouncing again. "This morning."

This morning. Which means John already knew about Dean being in the hospital, and he left anyway. He's not surprised. But part of him had hoped that maybe just this once John would put him first. That killing the shifter would have made him proud, maybe proud enough to stay. He should've known better. He does know better. Thinking Dad should be here instead of on an important hunt, saving people...that was stupid. Childish.

"You're allowed to be pissed, you know," Sam says suddenly.

"Sam..."

"No, Dean, I mean it!" Sam's voice has an edge to it, the way it does when he's starting to get angry at John. "You're in the hospital and he's not here."

"Because he's on a hunt," Dean says firmly, and Sam throws his hands up.

"See? And then you go and defend him! It's like-it's like you think that if you kill enough monsters, or if you...bleed enough, that suddenly he'll become a dad that actually deserves that kind of devotion."

Dean feels his jaw tense. "Stop it."

Sam ignores him. "But it doesn't matter how much blood you lose, Dean. It won't be enough, not for Dad. It's never enough. You know, I bet you could be dying, like actually dying, and he would still put hunting first."

"Shut up!" Dean snarls with a ferocity that surprises even him. Sam's angry expression has been replaced by a borderline-pout of guilt, and he slumps down a little in the chair.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "Dean, really, I'm...Now isn't the time. I'm sorry. And I'm...I'm sorry Dad isn't here."

Dean blinks back angry tears, looking away from his brother.

"It's fine."

"It isn't."

"Will you just leave it," Dean says, and it comes out as a whisper.

Deep down he knows Sam is right, about all of it. But he can't afford to think about that, because if he does then it'll make him resent John and if he resents John then he'll be tempted to leave and he really can't afford to leave. He doesn't know what life would even look like outside of hunting with his dad and brother. So he just has to grit his teeth and bear it. The world will be better off for it, even if he isn't, and that makes it worth it.

...Right?

xxx