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smuggsy · 3 years

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i would love to see #11 for the prompt thing (just want to say i adore ur current ed/oswald/omc series btw im excited for more! <3)

owww, thank you so much <3 it's nice to hear ppl are actually enjoying it bc i've got almost no feedback. another chapter is coming soon (;

but now onto the whump below the cut. #11 “Please, let me help you.”

Getting used to his impaired vision is no easy task, he'll admit. Now that the doctor's made a thorough job of cleaning the wound and administering antibiotics to prevent infection and prescribed him two different kinds of painkillers and now that the initial shock of it all has passed. Now it downs on Oswald that this is who he's going to be from now on, that watching his step carefully when he goes down the stairs and bumping into walls that are closer than they seem is something he's going to have to get used to.

As if walking around with a limp and a cane wasn't demeaning enough already. He lets out a grunt as he finally makes it to the kitchen, everything is sunk in darkness and he fails to turn on the lights two times before he finally finds the switch.

He sees the switch. He knows where it is. It's always been there, in that exact same spot, and he's walked into the kitchen in the middle of the night to fix himself some tea countless times before.

Now the switch has moved.

"Urrgh," he grunts one more time as he turns around and collides against the kitchen aisle. He nearly grabs one of the chairs and tosses it across the room, a sudden rush of adrenaline and fury coursing through his sleep-deprived mind.

There's a pang behind his eyepatch as if mocking his helplessness but he calms down soon enough, closing his good eye and taking a deep breath to brace himself against the counter. He manages to put the kettle on without any further incidents, but when he stands on his toes to reach the cabinet —how many times has he told Olga to keep that stupid tea-set at hand?!— he topples over and ends up sending two very nice cups to their deaths.

They crash on the floor with a piercing sound and Oswald startles and grits his teeth at the commotion.

Deep breaths, deeeeeep breaths.

Choosing to ignore the incident he turns around to switch off the gas with trembling hands and pour the water into the one cup he did manage to obtain.

Except, of course, his mind is still foggy from restless sleep and drugs so he misjudges the angle entirely and ends up pouring it all over his hand holding the teabag in place instead.

He lets out a yelp and drops the kettle instantly.

"Ow! Shit! Stupid little—!"

The water drips onto the floor unceremoniously as he tumbles over to reach the water tap and put his hand under it.

Ed barges into the place only half a minute later wielding a handgun, with hair sticking out and with his glasses askew. Oswald barely spares him a glance, blood boiling under his skin and dangerously close to the edge already.

"Oswald, what—"

"Nothing!" he blurts out almost immediately. Edward bearing witness to this mess is the last thing he needs right now, "just go away."

But, of course, he's Edward.

"What happened?" his friend asks, pistol forgotten on some nearby shelf and rushing over, words the slightest bit slurred by slumber and Oswald thinks lucky you, being able to get a wink of sleep, and takes another of those deep breaths that are doing a poor job of slowing down his heart rate.

"What does it look like it happened, Ed?!"

Edward stares at him numbly and then his eyes dart around the place like he's only now taking it all in, seeing the shattered china on the floor and the pool of water by their feet. Immediately he brings both hands to Oswald's under the cold water from the tap and tugs at it.

"Let me see."

Oswald jerks him away.

"No— I'm fine!" he bites out, "go back to sleep."

Despite his ill-mannered humour, Edward doesn't move. Oswald doesn't look at him while he stands next to him in silence, letting the waters cool, clearly giving him a moment to backtrack on his request. And then, ever so softly, Ed's hands return, to his elbow this time. A touch too gentle it almost makes Oswald let out a whine — because he's tired, and aching, and sleepy and nothing turns out for him as of late.

"Please, let me help you."

His words are a caress in Oswald's ear. Barely there. Ed keeps his warm fingers on his arm and slowly brings the hand to his chest for inspection. Oswald lets him, this time. All energy seems to leave him with that puff of breath and he lets Ed guide him to one of those chairs he was contemplating taking all of his frustrations out on just a minute ago.

There's a slight hiss of sympathy.

"Should be alright with a little cream and a bandage," is Edward's assessment.

Oswald rolls his eyes and fights down a sappy retort much like: yes, I know that, I'm not so incompetent that I need you here to issue an official diagnosis, just leave me to rage in peace. He nods tiredly instead, shoulders slumped and yawn unavoidable.

"I'll be right back," Ed says with a hoarse voice, moving around quickly despite his dishevelled appearance, looking perfectly awake now but sounding nothing like it.

Oswald doesn't try to stop him. Because he knows it'll be a lost cause and because he's afraid if he starts poking too much at the situation he'll end up embarrassing himself and crying out his frustrations on Ed's shoulder.

Not ideal.

So he keeps silent instead, watching Ed's expert hands apply that cold salve on his knuckles and wrap his aching red-looking skin in a white bandage, giving up on not looking miserable because what's the point.

He is miserable.

"There, all done."

Ed pats him twice on the thigh as if comforting a hurting animal and Oswald can only offer a small scoff in return. He can smell Ed's shampoo from where he's standing so close and he keeps his eyes fixed on that loose crumpled white shirt he wears to sleep, afraid to look up into the gentle eyes he knows he'll find behind those glasses.

Because he might start blurting out stuff that shouldn't be blurt out if he does, as helpless and exhausted as he's beginning to feel.

"Now let's get you that cup of tea."

Ed turns around to make himself busy and Oswald takes the opportunity to scatter away.

"Where—"

"Sofa," he crooks out deadpan.

That's where Ed finds him ten minutes later, staring at the unlit fireplace as if willing it to come to life on its own. Sitting on his usual spot with the lights off and a glassy look of resignation.

"Chamomile," Ed says as he offers the steaming cup. Oswald doesn't have the heart to tell him he's changed his mind and would rather down a glass or two of that aged Scotch instead. He takes a sip without muttering out a word. Ed sits down just beside, clearly not taking the hint, "you're uncharacteristically quiet."

Oswald shrugs.

"Just tired," he offers, and then, only to put Ed's mind at ease, gives him a practised look of reassurance and a smile, "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Edward turns the attention back to him, ignoring the clear dismissal implicit in the words.

"Did you go to sleep at all?"

"Yes."

"Is your eye bothering you?"

And then the Oswald from the kitchen returns without a warning and he lashes out.

"Goodnight, Ed."

Edward goes to speak again but stops himself when Oswald sends him a sharp menacing look. He looks nothing short of a kicked puppy as he gets on his feet and turns around to leave.

And then he doesn't leave.

"I could start a fir—"

"Goddamn it, Ed! Just leave me alone!"

And just like that the fourth and last cup of that lovely set ceases to exist, turned into another pile of shattered porcelain on the floor. Because Edward Nygma is a pain in his fucking ass, and he doesn't know how to read an indirect and back down and just disappear. He pokes and pokes and pokes—

—and when Oswald turns to look at him with that murderous glare, he sees no reaction from him. Clearly, this was his intention all along, from the very first moment he walked into that kitchen, to see just how much he could take, to push until he broke, to make him talk about it.

Oswald should have learnt to read Edward Nygma by now. Should’ve seen it coming.

As Ed strides back to him with purpose and swiftly sits back down on the sofa and leans in to wrap him into an embrace, Oswald understands he definitely still hasn't learnt to read Edward Nygma.

"What are you doing?" he pushes him away half-heartedly with his good hand. Edward doesn't let go, an unmovable brick wall that cannot be swayed.

"I'm hugging you."

"Let go—"

"No."

Oswald blinks. Then lets out a breathless laugh. He can't seem to fathom any other reaction to this — provided this is actually happening. Provided it isn't a secondary effect of being drugged up to his eyeballs for a whole week, now.

He stops trying to tug Edward away and instead slumps against him, head resting on a slim shoulder and cold and runny nose poking Ed's neck as he keeps giggling at the unprecedented gesture.

Edward's hug is implacable but awkward. He doesn't move, his broad hands against Oswald's back just pin him in place almost in a possessive fashion. He's clearly unskilled in the ways of physical reassurance.

Oswald realises those nervous giggles he's letting out are actually sobs.

#ta-da!#thank you really. i needed to get this out #whump nygmobblepot is the best nygmobblepot #nygmobblepot #edward nygma #ed nygma #the riddler #the penguin #oswald cobblepot #nygmobblepot fanfic #riddlebird #gotham tv #gotham fox #gotham #my writing #answered #i wrote this instead of studying

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fanfarescribe · 3 years

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For whump kiss prompt: could you do either "semiconscious kiss" or "kiss with frost bitten lips" for nygmobblepot, please? I couldn't decide which one XD

Aaah this has been in my inbox for months. I'm so sorry @gottaread2 I really hope I do this justice XD

Whump Kiss Prompt: Semiconscious Kiss or Kiss with Frost Bitten Lips.

Nygmobblepot, good lord it's been a while since I wrote for these two.

Oswald paces back and forth, eyes darting back and forth but always landing on his centerpiece, the frozen Edward Nygma. The pacing hurts his leg, but he cannot sit still, his heart is racing. It's been months since he's had Victor Fries frozen him, as a reminder to all who dare go against him. He should be feeling proud of himself everytime he looks at him, but instead, he feels his stomach turn.

Oswald feels an irrational hatred. But not towards Eddie. Eddie was his best...and only... friend he's ever had. He loved him. But he didn't love him back. He killed his girlfriend so he only gets Eddie's attention but Eddie attempted to kill him.

Oswald hates how if he never even looked at his girlfriend, they'd probably would still be friends. He hates how despite everything they have done to each other, he still loves Eddie.

He hates how he's in the wrong.

He grabs a flamethrower from behind the bar counter, as all bar counters should have one.

He's going to regret this.

He walks towards the Edsicle.

Soooo going to regret this.

He raises the flamethrower and puts it on the lowest setting he could. He begins thawing out Eddie. Ice morphs into liquid as it falls to the ground pooling around Oswald's four grand shoes. He finds himself caring less and less. Evnetually Eddie gains freedom in his upper torso and then soon after, his legs are free, the gangly green clad man collapsing on the ground.

"Eddie!" Oswald carelessly tosses the flamethrower aside and runs to him. "You better be alive, you moron!" He puts his hands on his cheeks. Even wearing gloves, they're so cold. Oswald pumps his chest a couple of times and Edward coughs up water, and begins to breath much to the Penguin's relief.

"Eddie! Thank god!" He kisses the man who is barely conscious, lips feeling cold to the touch, and white to the sight. Oswald nuzzles his pointed nose on his. "Eddie I'm so sorry..."

The moment gets ruined when Edward's eyes shoot up and he reaches up and strangles Oswald around the neck.

#Nygmobblepot #Oswald Cobblepot #The Penguin #Edward Nygma #The Riddler #Writing Prompts #FanFareWrites #Writers on Tumblr #Fanfiction #Whump Kisses

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