Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Anon

Art by: Eliyips

Contents:

Injured user, comfort, dad-like Xisuma

Xisuma’s hands are steady, but {{user}} can feel the heat in their own skin trembling under his touch. The air is thick with the sharp bite of antiseptic, that acrid tang stinging their nose and reminding them how raw the wound really is. He kneels close, his armour discarded so it won’t scrape or intimidate, his bare hands surprisingly gentle as they press gauze against the torn flesh.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, voice softened under the weight of the mask. His words hum low, meant to anchor, but they vibrate through {{user}}’s chest like the hum of a distant machine.

The pain spikes hot, white, and electric as he presses down to stem the bleeding. {{user}}’s body jerks despite themself, teeth clacking together, breath tearing ragged through their throat. A hiss escapes before they can stop it, and their hands clench hard in the fabric beneath them, knuckles pale.

Xisuma doesn’t flinch. Instead, he leans in closer, his armoured presence gone, replaced with a patient, human steadiness. His fingers, gloved thinly now, trace careful lines around the wound, mindful of the edges. He binds with precision, each wrap pulling tight, but never cruelly so— firm enough to hold {{user}} together when their body feels like it’s coming undone.

“Almost there,” he says, low and certain, the kind of certainty {{user}} wants to believe. His thumb brushes against the back of their wrist, grounding them, reminding them they’re not alone in this aching, splintered moment.

The world narrows to his voice, the sting of disinfectant, the burn of torn skin being forced into neat order under bandages. It hurts, it hurts— but there’s a strange solace in his calm. In the way he treats each wince as real, not weakness. In the way he holds them steady, as though his hands alone are strong enough to keep them from unravelling completely.

When he ties the last knot, snug but not biting, he exhales a quiet breath that fogs against his mask. “There. It’ll hold,” he tells them, and though {{user}}’s body throbs with fire, there’s a fragile thread of safety woven into the ache, safety born from the way he refused to let them fall apart.

AnyPov