#ailesswhumptober day 1

[inhurtandincomfort]

AIlesswhumptober2024, day one: Stress Position

How long had he been here? Every muscle in his body shook, pulled taut in positions they should not be in for so long. His knees dug into the hard floor, back arched painfully with his neck strapped to a small pillar and his arms pulled back and around it, hands bound together at the wrist with a tight rope that rubbed into the skin. It had to have been hours. Exactly how many hours he didn't know, but it was far too many and his body screamed for mercy unable to withstand this much longer. He was blindfolded too, which he thinks is really unnecessary. It's not like anything in this room would keep him entertained under these conditions. 

The worst thing about this particular punishment was not the pain nor the way it made him weak and trembly, when he couldn't walk afterwards and his limbs felt like they shouldn't return to their natural position and all he could do was lay there, breathing heavily until enough strength returned that he could pry himself of the ground, no.

It was the way it made him think.

Being left alone with ones thoughts; could there be anything worse? It's all well and good when he can reflect on his mistakes, think about what he did to earn this, think about wiping that cocky smirk off the Handlers stupid face-

That would only keep him busy for so long. Sooner or later his mind always turns back to the past, to a time before the Black Syndicate, before Vor'gol. Even further back to when he still had everything, before he'd ever picked up that stupid book and gained an interest in the arcane arts, piecing together knowledge from history books and fictional stories alike until he cobbled together enough information to perform it himself, the most basic of the basics, but impressive without a teacher. He'd finally found something he was interested in, something he was good at.

It was the biggest mistake of his life. 

He wondered idly where he'd be if he'd never taken it up. Stuck on one of the farms, probably. Maybe he'd have made it into the city and had the fortune of becoming a merchant or something. A dull life, but a peaceful one.  He would never have run into those slavers. He probably wouldn't have ever met The Handler, or Clyde, or whoever sat above him pulling the strings. He'd still have his family, and they'd get together every year for the winter festivals just like a normal, happy family. Like they used to be, a long, long time ago.

He has a new family now. That's what Clyde had said, when he'd walked with Eldwin through the city that fateful day, cold and wet, the scar on his neck still burned fresh under coarse bandages, firm fingers possessively digging into his shoulder. He was told to forget his old life, he should rebrand himself to become someone new, someone stronger.

He thought he'd done that, but every time he was left alone with naught but his own mind for company, he went crawling back to the way things used to be. How pathetic. 

He heard the creak of the door open and heavy footsteps march towards him. He felt the strap on his neck release and the rope tying his wrist cut loose. "You're lucky, brat. Boss has a job for you," A rough male voice said, an all too familiar voice. "See him in his office in two hours. Pull yourself together and clean up, you don't want to look like a disgrace in front of him now, do you?" The Handler stalked from the room, leaving Eldwin to pick himself up in more ways than one. 

Shit, that's the last thing he needed right now. Slowly he leaned forward to sit straight with a groan, his body protesting at being put back into a normal position. He flexed his hands and twisted his wrists trying to encourage the blood to circulate before tearing off his blindfold, blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room. Tentatively he used the small pillar to attempt to stand, his legs immediately giving way under him, uncomfortably tingly as the blood rushed back. Instead he let himself lie on the floor, flat on his back with his legs straightened and arms sprawled either side, taking in deep breaths. That job better not be a hit one because he feared he'd make quite the fool trying to intimidate anyone right now. Not that he needed to stand straight to do that, but still, it wouldn't right. 

Bracing himself, he pushed himself to sit up again, wincing as he did so. He grit his teeth and, using the little pillar for support pulled himself up to his feet, feeling like his legs might collapse again. He stumbled over to the wall making it just before he fell, breathing heavily, every movement taking far more effort then it ought. He just had to make it to his room, then he could run a hot bath and relax a bit, soothe his twitchy muscles and hopefully he would at least be able to stand up straight without teetering. Whatever the job is, he'd get it done. He doesn't want to think about what would happen if he didn't. 

[shywhumpauthor]

Unsteady

Cw: injuries, concussion, brief moments of nausea/vomiting, blood

The room swayed as Villain stumbled past the doorway, lurching with each uneven stagger. They shook off their bag, barely hanging from one elbow, landing heavily on the floor with a thud.

They kicked the door shut clumsily with the back of their heel, a yelp almost slipping from their lips as the movement nearly sent them toppling. A pulse hammered in their head, behind their temples and by the base of their skull. Their jaw ached terribly, lips parted and a small trickle of pink tinted saliva dribbling from the corner. They didn’t have to look in the mirror just to the side of the small entryway to know a bruise was swelling from their chin, creeping up their cheek, blood pooling in a deep maroon beneath the skin.

Hero hadn’t been there to fool around.

Villain’s coordination was off, their hand slipping against the doorframe as they reached for the lock. It took them another try to get the doorknob lock done, and three more before they could slide the deadbolt properly in place.

The first step they took down the hall sent them sprawling sideways, their shoulder knocking against the mirror, dislodging it from the wall. They fell with the glass, a ragged cough tearing from their lips as the mirror shattered against the floor, pieces of their reflection scattering across the wood like shards of fallen stars. A sharp sting had them fumbling again, their vision blurring before focusing on their outstretched palm. A piece of glass had embedded itself in the heel of their palm, speckling the night sky with small eclipses of red.

As soon as their sight focused, a wave of nausea sent them lurching forwards, heaving in their effort to suppress a gag. The world tilted again, spinning around them like a solar system. Their broken reflection, unclear eyes staring at them twisted like planets, stars. Villain threw a hand against the ground, swaying with the motion that knocked them over. They barely felt the sting as glass cut into their hand, curling over to let their head fall to their knees.

Impending clouds twisted across the sky, clouding the stars until all they were left with was a churning sea of darkness.

[whumpyfungus]

E is for Exhaustion

Elle makes a choice. content: reluctant whumper, lady whump, stress position, suffocation

Elle isn’t sure how long it’s been since Ambrose turned the lights off. 

A long time. Long enough for her legs to cramp and shake under her. Long enough for her arms, forced straight and pulled up behind her, to have turned to twitching agony. Long enough for the rope around her neck to have rubbed livid marks into her skin. 

It’s sloppy work, as amateurish as everything Elle has seen from Ambrose so far, but that’s doesn’t mean it isn’t effective. Her breath has been reduced to shallow gasps and sips of air and every gasp hurts.  

Yesterday Elle would have sworn that anything, ‘anything’ would be better than the maddening jolt of her collar shocking wakefulness into her on a strict quarter hourly schedule. When Ambrose had finally turned it off she’d been able to sleep for a whole hour before being forced awake as her arms were pulled up and behind her. 

 After an hour of being tied like that Elle would just have sworn. She had done so, loudly and at length, and spat in Ambrose’s face when he had offered to cut her down. 

“Just beg me!” He’d said with that imploring note in his voice that made her almost tremble with rage, “Call me Sir and ask nicely and I won’t even make you kneel. Just… give me something Elle, for gods sake this is ridiculous.” 

Elle had thought about it. Had thought about how good it would feel to curl up on the concrete of the floor and sleep.

Then she’d spat in his face and searched the depths of her vocabulary for fresh invective to use when suggesting where he could shove his offer. 

Even the painful rasp of breath through her throat couldn’t blunt the pride Elle felt at how many times she’d managed to bite Ambrose before he was able to wrestle the rope around her neck. She had tasted blood and smiled. 

That had been some time ago. 

Now Elle can’t taste his blood anymore and she isn’t smiling. The rope around her neck is fastened with a slip knot. When she gives in to exhaustion and lets her head drop forward it tightens, when she is forced into alertness by suffocation and pulls her head up it loosens. At least, it’s supposed to. 

Elles legs are spasming like Ambrose has the cattle prod held to her calves and his finger pushing the button over and over. Her shoulders barely feel like joints. She can still move her fingers but it doesn’t feel like it’s her doing it. Each movement drives a fresh lance of hot iron into her arms. 

Elle keeps moving anyway. She twitches her fingers and shifts her weight as much as the restraints allow. She can hear herself, harsh raspy breaths and broken whimpers, but she can’t hear any sound of footsteps approaching the basement, any hint that Ambrose is going to let her down soon. 

The rope around her neck is, like everything Ambrose has done so far, amateurish and half assed. Elle’s sweat is starting to soak into the hemp. The rope is swelling and the slipknot, already tied too tight for the roughness of the rope, isn’t loosening any more.

‘Mom would have kicked my ass if I fucked up my knots this bad.

Elle’s thoughts feel muddy, like she’s looking up from the bottom of a swamp. It’s getting harder to breathe at all.

‘I could die like this’

If she dies like this it won’t even be because Ambrose decided she was too much trouble to break. It will be because Ambrose is a bitch-ass loser who doesn’t know rope and it will be stupid. Ambrose isn’t going to quit trying to break her until he thinks he’s succeeded, or until she dies, a victim to someone else’s incompetence. 

…I don’t want to die like this. 

When Ambrose cuts her down Elle slumps on the floor sucking in air and coughing it out in broken spasms. Her voice is barely a voice, but she manages to rasp out “Please Sir. Please no more.”

She doesn’t look Ambrose in the eyes. 

[lookforanewangle]

bled in the hall, watched it all | 9-1-1 whump 2024 // the cost of grief OCTOBER 4 - FRIGHT/FREAKY FRIDAY Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.” ALT 9 - “You always make everything worse!” warnings: none

“You always make everything worse!”

Eddie knows this, knows this down to his bones, in the depths of his soul. He abandoned Chris right out of the womb, left Shannon to handle everything on her own more than once. He wasn’t around for the longest time. He was trying to do right by them, trying to provide, but that kept him away from Chris, and then he thought he was doing the right thing by getting Chris away from his grandparents and to L.A., to let Chris grow and be independent, away from the restrictive natures of Helena and Ramon.

But Eddie kept failing, and kept almost dying, and kept hurting Chris in more ways than he cared to recall. He was so wrapped up in his own hurt and grief that Chris had been sucked into his downfall.

Don’t drag him down with you.

or: Chris opens up to Eddie instead of giving him the cold shoulder.

read on ao3

[desired-misery]

Fandom: Resident Evil (Post-Resident Evil 4 Remake) Character: Leon S. Kennedy Rating: 13+ Summary: 537 is not leaving its crate. It turns out it was explicitly taught not to. Tags: BOW!Leon, Alternative Universe, Luis Serra Lives, Piers Nivans Lives, Angst

AI-Less Whumptober: Deconditioning [24]

@ailesswhumptober

[zarvasace]

Here we go!! Work 1 in the new whumptober 2024 series called Seeking Salvation. This one is 2.7k and about a 2.5/5 whump with a focus in Hyrule. I'm using ai-less whumptober prompts and gonna go for it every day!! :)

[firapolemos05]

@ailesswhumptober 2024

Day 1 "Stress position" + Day 12 "Isolation"

Long hair should be used in restraints more often.

[victory-musings]

Whumptober 2024: Day 1 - Public Torture

We are BACK gang, yet another year of @ailesswhumptober with yours truly! This blog is just the Whumptober blog now to be honest.

Warnings for: Blood. Torture. Pigeon having the Worst Time of their Life

-

They were divine, once. A god. A King. A leader. They owned the city, their beloved arcadia, and so, they owned the world.

But now, they are a far cry from such things. They are on their knees, their hands tied behind their back, head held up so that they can see the once-adoring crowds that now bark and cheer for their blood.

It starts simple. A single feather, ripped from their pristine white wings. And then another. And another. Little pinpricks of pain as each feather is plucked.

From single feathers to handfuls at a time. As much as they struggle and squirm, they can not stop the torment. Fistful after fistful, their proudest feature litters the ground.

They are shaking, unable to see the carnage behind them but being able to feel the blood oozing from the holes in their wings. Another fistful of feathers, and they bite their tongue.

They will not give these usurpers, these mavericks, the satisfaction of hearing them scream or seeing them cry. They will remain stoic through the pain, as is expected of a leader.

One of their wings, featherless and raw, is spread out for the crowd to see. They hiss through their teeth as their muscles groan in pain.

Of course. All pretense of being stoic goes out the window, the moment a blade touches their wing. A biting pain that causes them to yelp, struggling enough to flip themselves over.

On their back, hands tied, trying to kick at their attacker while the crowd behind them roars.

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Day 1 - Drugged

Hehehe let's do some Whumptober!! Going with @ailesswhumptober's prompt list bc like...listen, the prompts are really tasty. Also Miguel belongs to my beloved @whumpr!! Thank you for letting me borrow him!!

TWs: Drugging (but it was requested), panic attacks

Mariano was at the war mage's place, curled up on the couch with Miguel, when he'd offered to get him some water to go with their popcorn. He'd finished his glass immediately, since the extra salt that Miguel liked to add made him thirsty. Mariano hadn't thought anything of it until they'd gone back to watching their movie.

Dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion twenty minutes later. It felt like the couch had swayed underneath him. He hummed, frowning, reaching to press his hand to his own forehead. "Miguel..." He started, realizing that his tongue felt too heavy.

"Hm?" Miguel had an arm around him. He shifted to look Mariano in the eye. "Something the matter?"

"I..." Mariano fought to find the words he wanted. "I feel...weird." He settled on. "I don't think I feel well."

Miguel reached up to push Mariano's hand away from his forehead, pressing the backs of his fingers to Mariano's skin. It made Mariano whimper, leaning into the steadying touch. "You don't have a fever."

The couch swayed again and Mariano leaned closer to Miguel, dropping his face against his shoulder with a whine. His hand shifted to clutch Miguel's shirt. His heart started to race. "What's...?"

"Ah." Miguel said, laughing gently. "Ah, I see. It's just kicking in."

Ice flooded Mariano's chest as his shoulders went tense. He looked up at Miguel, sounding stricken. "Yyyyou...you gave me something."

"Shhh." Miguel said, reaching to cup Mariano's face. "Shhh, breathe." His thumbs started sliding back and forth along Mariano's skin, even as tears started to gather in Mariano's eyes. "Remember you asked me to do this? A few weeks ago?"

"I want to be less panicky when I'm drugged." Mariano had admitted. "I feel like I lose my mind when I realize it's happened, it makes it hard to fight, or run."

"Do you want me to help you work through the panic?" Miguel had asked. "We can use the normal safe word, in case it starts to feel like too much."

"Yes, yes please. Don't warn me, either. I wouldn't get that luxury normally."

Mariano did remember, then, through the haze starting to cloud his mind. Adrenaline started to race through him, drawing his grip on Miguel into something tighter. He nodded, though, groaning at how it made the living room spin.

"Answer me, Mariano, do you remember asking for this?" Miguel spoke low against his ear. A shudder raced down Mariano's spine.

"I do, I...I remember." Mariano slurred. "Remember we were...there's gonna be the...the safe word. In case."

Miguel's hand slid through his hair and Mariano huddled into him. "Perfect." Miguel said, sounding fond. "Exactly. And I'm gonna keep you like this for a while tonight."

Mariano pressed his body closer to Miguel's, as though he were trying to curl up and hide against the shorter man. "How...howww long? I don't...I don't like this."

"You don't get to know." Miguel answered, and Mariano could've sworn he heard him smiling. "Come on, breathe. Relax. We're just watching a movie." The hand in his hair kept up its repetitive strokes, fingertips sliding along Mariano's scalp just how he always liked.

It didn't work. Mariano just got tense all over again. "Miguel, I don't..." He felt his breath hitch. "Please tell mmmme...tell me how long."

Miguel shook his head. "I can't do that." His other hand took Mariano's, winding their fingers together. "You're safe. Take a deep breath."

"Miguel." Mariano's voice broke. Miguel's hand slid from his hair and down to his shoulder, hugging him close as he started to tremble. "I can't--" His heart was racing, his grip tightened on Miguel's hand. The room had started to spin as the edges of his vision started to darken.

He wasn't sure if it was the drugs or the panic attack he might've been having.

"Mariano, you need to calm down." Miguel spoke firmly. "Nothing is going to happen to you. I won't let anything happen to you."

Mariano couldn't breathe. He tried to listen, tried to calm down. He couldn't hear what Miguel said next, though. He only dimly heard himself starting to cry.

Miguel's hands cupped his face, making Mariano meet his eyes. Mariano saw his pact rings reflected in them. "Mariano." Miguel's brows were furrowed in concern. "Mariano, hey. Look at me. Is there someone you want to talk to?"

Mariano swallowed hard. "Llllluis." He breathed. "Luis." He repeated as tears started to roll down his face.

"Okay, I hear you. I hear you, we're done." Miguel said, helping Mariano lie down. "It'll wear off in an hour or two. You're just going to feel sleepy. That's it. It's a sedative. They give it to pets for vet visits, it just makes your body relax." Miguel's voice washed over him as the tears kept falling.

Mariano nodded, looping his arms around Miguel's waist. "Oka-ay." He whimpered, muffled by Miguel's shirt. "Okay. I...okay. Thhhhank you." Miguel's fingers started sliding through Mariano's hair again, and this time it started to help. Tension began to melt out of Mariano's shoulders as the drugs started to pull him further under. "Thank yyyyou."

"Shhh." Miguel's voice was softer now, and Mariano wasn't sure if it was because Miguel was doing it on purpose or if he was just starting to doze. "Take a nap if you need to. I won't go anywhere."

Mariano nodded, feeling heavier than ever. His eyes slid closed. Panic still buzzed at the back of his head, but with Miguel's cologne in his nose and his hand in his hair, he could breathe.

[spirit-whump]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Power Rangers Jungle Fury Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Dai Shi (Power Rangers) Additional Tags: Abuse, Pre-Canon, male oc is a bad teacher, to the point that a literal spirit of evil is preferable, Hurt No Comfort, Original Character-centric, Self-Harm, Sort Of, rose's teacher is making her hurt herself for training Series: Part 1 of ai-less whumptober 2024 Summary:

“I’m sorry, master,” Rose said a third time, willing her voice not to shake. “I am grateful, master. I will do better - I will be better. Please, forgive me.”

It was silent for a long time. Rose held her breath - he always forgave her. Would he forgive her this time, too? Or would he finally throw her out like he sometimes threatened?

Finally he gave a third sigh, heavier and more frustrated than the previous two. He was always sighing when he had to deal with her. She was exhausting.

“Forgiveness is earned, Rose,” he said. “You know this. Stand up.”

 Rose makes another mistake and pays for it.

Day 1. public torture, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

[combeferres-mothematics]

Day one of @ailesswhumptober, alt prompt, Pulling Teeth.

Edited to add the fic 😭😭ME WHEN I FORGET TO CLICK INSERT ON THE LINK

[fantastic-rambles]

Title: Persistence

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: Gen

Fandom: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!

Characters: Hibari Kyouya, Rokudou Mukuro

Additional Tags: First Meetings, Sakura (Cherry Blossoms), Violence, Fights, Verbal Humiliation, Sick Character, Injury, Serious Injuries, Head Injury, Broken Bones, Unconsciousness

Word Count: 795

Summary: A brief, deeper dive into what happened during Mukuro and Hibari's first meeting.

Read it on AO3 here!

[shion-yu]

Day 1 - Sick

A snippet from when Cliff first got sick and some backstory for his parents. Whumptober 2023! I’m using the @ailesswhumptober's prompt list. This story is about my OC Cliff - here’s his profile if you’re so inclined: https://toyhou.se/23741453.cliff.

TWs: Medical talk

Claude Barrows was thirty-two when he met Hana Fujioka. He was eight years the girl's senior and that's how Claude thought of her: a young girl, full of fire and miraculously being published in multiple journals as the primary author despite her young age. She was all work and Claude appreciated that. He also liked how she blushed when he asked her to dinner, simultaneously scoffing at his request. She had walked away without answering his question, only to call him later that night to say yes. From then on, Claude spent what little spare time he had courting her. She blew him off sometimes. She'd take work phone calls during dinner and didn't know how to cook or clean. But Claude didn't mind those things. He proposed to Hana anyways. He suspected Hana's own father's desire for his daughter to marry a doctor had something to do with the yes he received, but he was still happy nonetheless. After all, all of his colleagues at work were married and after being let down before, Claude was willing to take good enough. 

When Hana got pregnant, Claude was excited. But Hana didn't want the child. She said she was too busy to raise a kid. So Claude promised her that he would never let the child get in the way of her career, and finally she accepted. They had a little girl, Moira, and Claude loved her so much that he couldn't wait to come home and see her every night, even if she was usually asleep by the time he finished at the hospital. Hana kept publishing papers and staying up late doing research. Claude made sure Moira always had a nanny and tried to go to her school events when he could. Money wasn't a problem, but time was: there was never enough of it. That was why they didn't intend on having a second child. Besides, now in his mid-forties, Claude was too old, he thought. But sometimes, even for the most orderly people in the world, things just happen and this time, they had a boy. 

By now, Claude had been promoted to chief attending and was barely ever home. He kept his promise to Hana - he made sure the kids were always taken care of, of course by someone else that he paid. But Hana was older this time - no matter what Claude did, the child took a lot out of her and Claude could tell she resented both him and their son. It made their relationship, which was already only a thing of habit, become even more strained. Cliff was the representation of their failing marriage and therefore Claude found him hard to be around. It didn't help that unlike Moira, who used to fly into his arms and bother him until he was forced to pay attention to her, Cliff was shy and nervous. They never bonded and Claude knew it was his fault. He regretted it, certainly. But he wasn't so willing as to change it on his own. 

That was, until he got a call from Moira who seemed on the brink of tears. "Dad, something's wrong with Cliff," she'd told him. "I just have a bad feeling. Please, see him." He couldn't say no to that. 

So there he was now, sitting across from his youngest child in his office. Claude was stunned at how sickly Cliff looked. The boy was thin with little trace of the athletic body he'd had in high school. Claude could see he was stifling a constant cough and there were dark shadows under his eyes. "Are you eating?" Claude asked him. 

"Plenty," Cliff replied, his voice rough. Claude was unsure if his son was being sarcastic or not. 

"You had another stomach ulcer. This time, it ruptured," Claude stated, having read through all of Cliff's medical records beforehand. He couldn't believe that Cliff hadn't told anyone about either hospital visit he'd had. Sure, the two of them weren't close, but this was something so serious that he thought Cliff would have at least told Hana about it. "The first time you had one, you saw a therapist for a while and it helped. Perhaps it'd help again." 

"It didn't help back then," Cliff said blankly. "I just said the right things so I could stop going." 

"Really?" 

"Yes." Cliff was very different from the last time Claude had seen him, though he wasn't sure if it only seemed so sudden because it'd been such a long time since they were last face to face. His son's hair was long and he spoke directly, rather than politely like he'd been taught. 

"You've lost twenty pounds since last year," Claude said. At one point it had been even more than that, but it seemed Cliff had gained some of the weight back after his stomach had been repaired. "If you're really eating, that does worry me." No answer. Was Cliff using drugs? Surely not, Claude thought. Although he felt uncomfortable, he began to examine Cliff. They slowly went through everything - eyes, ears, throat. Claude had Cliff lie down so that he could feel his abdomen and noted how Cliff seemed to struggle to sit back up. "Your lymph nodes are swollen," Claude said, frowning. "And your lungs sound awful. Are you using your inhaler?" 

"Yes," Cliff said. “Doesn’t help.”

"You’re still studying to be a lawyer, aren’t you? You must be busy.” 

"Yes," Cliff said. He was so wary. It made the guilt that was tugging at the back of his mind worse.

"Well, you were always smart," Claude said distractedly, focused on going through potential diagnoses in his head. The symptoms Cliff was having were not normal - neither was the amount of times he'd written down he'd been ill this year on his intake form. It could be nothing - but it could imply something very serious. Certain words popped into his head that usually never phased Claude when he was just working - but felt very different when applied to his own son. "I'd like to take some blood. Actually, a lot of blood," Claude said. He expected Cliff to ask questions, but instead the boy just nodded in agreement. "And we should get a chest x-ray. In the meantime, rest. You really don't seem well." Cliff seemed to laugh a little at that, which worried Claude. But he kept silent like he always did. 

"Why are you and mom getting divorced?" 

The question startled Claude and he cleared his throat before he answered. "We haven't... Connected for a long time." 

“Okay. I might pass out when they draw my blood." 

Later that evening, Claude couldn't stop thinking about their meeting. He realized that he didn't really know Cliff at all and it was very likely his fault. It was obvious even to Claude that he'd never been the best father, but he hadn't processed the stark difference between how he'd raised his two children so clearly until now. Moira was unmistakably his daughter, but Cliff... Claude didn't understand their relationship. Truthfully, they didn't have one at all, and that was the problem. He felt anxious and tried to distract himself with other work until he went to bed that night. However, Claude's stress only intensified the next day when some of Cliff's labs came back. The boy was anemic, his immune system was shot and the chest x-ray was suspicious of things Claude hadn’t wanted to consider, but couldn’t ignore now. Moira was right to push Cliff to meet with him, Claude thought, because if she hadn't, he wasn't sure how long Cliff would have waited. He remembered that Cliff never wanted anyone to know when he was sick or hurt, even as a kid. Maybe something else that was his fault. 

He called Cliff that afternoon. "Come back tomorrow." It wasn't phrased as a suggestion. 

"Uh, okay. Am I dying or something?" 

Even though Claude knew the question wasn't completely serious, he couldn't feel much else but panic at that moment.

"Don't eat after midnight."

[ailesswhumptober]

Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024

As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!

We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.

What are these themes about?

Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list can be found here, perhaps there is a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There is an AO3 collection to add your fics to here.

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1 - Torture Tuesday

public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday

Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

October 3 - Trauma Thursday

Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

October 5 - Sensory Saturday

Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

October 6 - Surprise Sunday

Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

October 7 - Medical Monday

Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

October 8 - Torture Tuesday

Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday

Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

October 10 - Trauma Thursday

Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

October 12 - Sensory Saturday

Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

October 13 - Surprise Sunday

Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

October 14 - Medical Monday

Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

October 15 - Torture Tuesday

Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday

Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

October 17 - Trauma Thursday

Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

October 19 - Sensory Saturday

Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

October 20 - Surprise Sunday

Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

October 21 - Medical Monday

Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

October 22 - Torture Tuesday

Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday

Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

October 24 - Trauma Thursday

Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

October 26 - Sensory Saturday

Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

October 27 - Surprise Sunday

Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

October 28 - Medical Monday

Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

October 29 - Torture Tuesday

Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday

Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

October 31 - Trauma Thursday

Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Alt prompts:

1) Pistol whipped

2) Co-dependency

3) Animal bite

4) Zombies

5) White room torture

6) Shock collar

7) Pulling teeth

8) Kidnapping

9) “You always make everything worse!”

10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Left Behind

ai-less whumptober day 19- left behind/why wasn't I enough fandom- dp x dc TW- abandonment Summary- The Fenton parents leave their kids at the Gotham Public Library

ao3 ailesswhumptober masterlist part 1 of TFR

Barbara was working the closing shift at the library. She was putting some books away when she overheard a conversation.

“Do you know when mom and dad are going to pick us up?” said what sounded like a teenage boy.

“No, I– Oh, wait they just messaged me.” said what Barbara thought was a slightly older teen girl.

Silence.

“Jazz?

“They left.”

“What?”

“Someone posted about a possible sighting in Metropolis. They said they’ll be there for a few days.”

There was more silence. Barbara stayed quiet.

“So, they left us behind.”

“Yeah.”

“Again.”

“...Yeah.”

Barbara closed her eyes, thinking of Tim and how he had been left home alone so much. And these kids… their parents had abandoned them too.

“Well at least we’re not helpless.”

“I hate them.”

“Jazz–”

“No, Danny. I hate them. They’re supposed to be our parents. They’re supposed to take care of us.”

“I know. They always chose something else over us. Why aren’t we enough, Jazz?”

“I don’t know.” she sniffled.

“Jazz, hey, look at me. We’ll be okay.”

“I'm sorry, Danny. I'm just so tired.”

“I am too.”

Barbara was about to speak up when they continued.

“At least i have a credit card this time so it won’t be like the time they forgot is in Bridgton.”

“Yeah, that sucked. We were lucky we were able to sneak onto that semi.”

“Well, tonight we can get a hotel room and then get bus tickets tomorrow.

“I could just... you know. Do my thing.”

“I guess, but we should at least get a hotel for tonight. I don’t want to try traveling while you’re exhausted.”

“That’s fair. But–”

Barbara finally decided she should make her presence known. She cleared her throat as she made her way around the bookshelf.

The two teens startle. They looked like siblings. The girl was a redhead with teal eyes, and the boy had black hair and blue eyes.

“Hello, I’m Barbara. I work here at the library. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.” she paused as the siblings glanced at each other, the boy reaching over to grab his sister’s arm. 

“What do you mean?” asked the girl, Jazz, if Barbara was correct.

“You need a place to stay tonight? It’ll be hard to find a good hotel at this hour. I’ve got an extra bedroom at my apartment, and you’re welcome to stay the night. You won’t owe me anything.”

“Why?” asked the boy, Danny.”

Barbara considered for a moment. “I have a friend who went through a similar situation as you guys, so I’m familiar with what it's like to have your parents be too busy. And you wouldn’t be the first kids I've let stay the night. I can help you find bus tickets in the morning. I’m familiar with most of the routes and can let you know which ones are the safest and quickest.”

The girl glanced at her brother, who stared at Barbara. There was a moment where his eyes seemed to glow and Barabar felt as if he were really looking at her. She suppressed a shudder at the intense feeling. 

Then he turned to his sister and nodded.

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’m Jazz and this is Danny.”

“It’s nice to meet you both. I have to finish locking up so I’ll meet you by the door.”

They nodded and started gathering their stuff.

Barbara went to finish the rest of the closing shift duties. 

She also had a call to make.

[topguncortez]

Truth Hurts || Whumptober Day 1 - J. Seresin

whumtpober masterlist || whumptober taglist form

synopsis: You never imagined sharing your deepest darkest secrets in front of two monsters and your best friend. Loosely based on the book “Still Beating” by Jennifer Hartmann.

@ailesswhumptober whump prompt: drugging @ailesswhumptober

word count: 4.5k

warnings: kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse, physical abuse, mentions of miscarriage, murder, character death, truth serum, drugging, forced proximity.

You liked to think that when you were to die, it would happen quickly. 

A car accident, a gunshot wound, a failed ejection, ingesting too many sleeping pills. 

You wanted it fast. You didn’t want to suffer. You didn’t want your death to be one that would be talked about twenty years from now and people’s eyes would automatically fill with tears when it was spoken about. You didn’t want to meet the same fate as your husband, Bradley, had met nearly a year ago. 

It’s funny how things don’t seem to work in your favor. 

Six days. Six long, excruciating days of pain, starvation, and abuse. That’s how long you had been locked in this dungeon of horrors, alongside your best friend, Jake. You always thought that these sorts of things only happen in the movies. You didn’t think that you would be dumb enough to fall for a woman on the side of the road who claimed her baby was choking. You didn’t think that you would be dumb enough to make Jake stop the car so you could run out and go help her. You also didn’t think Jake was dumb enough to get out of the car and try to rescue you from the man dressed head to toe in black who held your passive body. 

But, here you were. Chained like animals in some psycho couple’s basement, waiting for them to come down and do whatever horrible things they had on the dockette for the day. 

“They’re probably sending out a search party,” Jake said, from across the room in his own cage. Whoever had taken you had done this before. They had a whole set-up down here with chains and cages that resembled jail cells. You looked over at Jake, giving him the same glare you had been giving him every day since day one. He, somehow, was hanging onto his optimism, while yours had left almost instantly. 

That’s how Jake has always been. He’s always been this bright light in your life, and you should appreciate it. You really wish that you could appreciate it, but something had died inside you a year ago when you had buried Bradley. You weren’t the same happy-go-lucky girl who grew up with an amazing family and got to do the coolest job in the world alongside her husband and her childhood best friend. Instead, you were just the shell of the person you once were. 

“I-I know they are. I know they would have the best-” 

“Jake,” You sighed, closing your eyes. He knew better than to continue on. He had never been on the receiving end of your anger before being trapped down here. You could be volatile, and spit venom when you needed to. You had already apologized profusely for the words that you had said to Jake after what was now probably the worst day of your life, but Jake forgave you. 

The silence between you stretched on for a moment, the only sound being the steady tapping of dripping water from the leaky faucet in the corner of the basement. You had never been so envious of concrete before. 

“Do you miss him?” Jake asked quietly. You turned your head over to him, raising your eyebrows in a silent way to tell him to elaborate, “Bradley.” 

Your eyes went from Jake’s forrest green ones, down to your dirty feet. 

Of course, you missed Bradley. 

You missed everything about him. 

You missed his laugh. His horrible dad jokes. His honey-brown eyes. His loud, off-key singing. His sunkissed, warm skin. His awful dancing. His soft and sweet kisses. Hell, you even missed yelling at him about leaving the toilet seat up. 

But most of all, you missed his strong, comforting hugs that could make a grown man cry. Bradley Bradshaw had always felt like home to you, and you missed your home. 

“Every single day,” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke. 

Every single day, you wished that you could turn back the clock. That you could’ve been the one who was at home that night. The detective told you that it was a “home invasion gone wrong”. A horrible case of wrong place, wrong time. But you always believed that there was more to it. That the detective with the large belly and graying hair just wanted to move on to a bigger, worse case than this. You had pushed and pushed them to look at the case just a little bit more. 

“Sweetheart, no one would want to kill one of America’s finest. The case is closed. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

But he wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time. You found his body in the kitchen of your shared home. Those words bounced around in your head on the darkest nights, as you sat on the ground in the room that was supposed to be a nursery. Bradley had been so excited about starting a family with you. The way his eyes lit up every single time he’d see a baby on the street or would look at baby clothes at Target. All you had wanted was to be able to give him the child he longed for. 

“I was going to tell him,” You said, leaning your head back against the cold cement wall. Jake looked up at you. Your face was dirty, and the grime of being without a shower for nearly a week starting to show. Your eyes, the ones Jake used to think resembled the earth, were dark. Your hair was limp and greasy around your shoulders, “I was going to tell him that I. . . That I was pregnant, that night.” 

Jake sucked in a breath and looked down at the ground. He had been with you, cramped in a small bathroom at the post exchange on base as you took the pregnancy test. You had been so happy, he swore he had never seen a brighter smile on your face before. Jake held you tightly as you cried tears of joy, and immediately called your mom to tell her. 

Jake had also been by your side, picking you up off the ground as blood ran down your thighs, just a mere days after Bradley’s death. He never wanted to hear the sounds of pure anguish again. The sound of your wails as you stood in the kitchen, haunted Jake at night. The sight of all the blood made him sick, and the scent of copper was forever engrained into his mind. 

“He would’ve been so excited,” Jake said, looking up at you. 

“I imagine it was a girl. He was always meant to be a girl dad.” 

Bradley had a small pocketbook that he would keep with him, jotting down names that would come to him throughout the day that he liked. They ranged from names of famous rockstars to biblical names. 

‘What do you mean Jebbidiah isn’t a good name?’ 

‘Jeb Bush. . .’ 

‘You got a point.” 

You chuckled at the memory, shaking your head lightly. You and Bradley had narrowed his list of nearly a hundred names down to at least two, one for a boy and one for a girl. 

“Lennon,” You smiled, “Lennon Dhani Bradshaw. Dhani, spelled like how George named his son. You know how much I love-” 

“The Beatles, I know,” Jake nodded. 

You gave him a quick glance and then went back to your little glimpse of happiness, “My favorite song was-” 

“Here Comes the Sun and In My Life, I know,” Jake said again. 

The silence stretched back over the two of you. You used to mind the silence between you and Jake. Before, it was that comforting silence that signified the strong bond between the two of you. You used to be able to sit in the same room, on opposite ends of the couch, reading books or scrolling through your phones, neither one feeling the need to fill the air with conversation. 

Now, you feared the silence. 

You let out a sigh, before going to speak, “Jake, I-”

The sound of the large door at the top of the stairs cut you off. The sick feeling of dread filled your body, as thudding footsteps made their way down the crikey wooden stairs. Your body started to tremble as your kidnappers came down for their daily routine. 

Bonnie and Earl, are two odd, sick ducks that somehow, some way met each other and fell in love. Bonnie had gone on and on the first night, while Earl acted out his vile assaults on you, about their “love” story. Apparently, it was love at first sight, and the two got married within a month of knowing each other. They also kidnapped their first couple within that same month. 

“Rise and shine!” Bonnie’s chipper voice sounded out like nails on a chalkboard. Your throat felt tight as Earl’s eyes locked directly on you. Bonnie walked over to you, grabbing your chin with her cold, dainty hand, “Are you ready, Bunny?” 

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked in her cold blue irises. After the first night, you had hoped to maybe reach out to Bonnie, to break through to her and get her to let you go. What sane woman would be okay with the monstrosities her husband acted out on women? Apparently, Bonnie. 

“Too bad,” Bonnie chuckled, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you up to stand. Earl replaced Bonnie by standing in front of you, his hand already down his pants, jerking himself off. At this point in time, the routine was basically burned into the back of your eyelids. 

Earl takes Bonnie’s spot. Bonnie undoes Jake’s cuffs. Bonnie sits Jake down in a chair across from you and Earl. Jake hurls insults and threats at the two of them. Earl commits his heinous crimes. Earl and Bonnie leave the two of you alone in complete silence. 

You were starting to wonder if it would ever end. 

— — — 

“You know hanging is the worst way to go?” Jake said, cutting through the silence. 

It was day twenty-one, and you had officially lost hope of ever making it out alive. Bonnie and Earl had been feeding you less and less, only a sandwich every two days instead of every day. You made sure that when you brushed your teeth, you took extra gulps of water, savoring the taste of it down your throat. 

“You don’t die instantly,” Jake continued, “You struggle, your lungs aching for air, you know what’s going on until the moment your neck snaps.” 

You looked over at him, seeing the dull look in his eyes as he stared off into space. You knew Jake started to come to terms with your current state. It made your heart ache to hear and see the optimism slip from his body. You weren’t sure when it happened, probably after day fourteen. 

Day Fourteen. 

The second worst day of your life. 

First, was losing Bradley.

Second, was watching as your friend stood defenseless and was forced to commit an act he’d rather take a bullet for. 

You had hardly ever seen Jake cry, but as he stood in front of you, emptying himself in you, he had broken down, whispering apologies into your dirty skin. His light green eyes had grown dark and dull as he was dragged away from you, leaving you cold and broken. Jake had refused to even look at you, turning his body to face away. You had told him several times throughout the night that you weren’t upset or mad, that you understood what he had to do. 

“I’m not mad at you. I understand it, I do. You did it to survive, Jake. I forgive you.”

You thought for sure that you were going to lose Jake after that. He didn’t speak for a whole day. After twenty-four hours in silence, the only sound was the occasional creak of the floorboards and the drips from the leaky pipe. You thought for sure that you would wake up and see Jake’s lifeless body on the floor. But instead, you woke up to his gentle, soft voice, singing. 

‘In My Life… I Love You More…’ 

“I’d say being stabbed to death is worse,” You said softly, “Yes, hanging is awful, but it only lasts a matter of seconds. Being stabbed? Can last for hours. Painful, agonizing hours, where you lie alone in your own blood, and can’t do anything but wait for someone to either find you or for the reaper to take you.” 

Jake felt a sudden rush of nausea run through his body at your words. His body felt hot as he looked over at you, sitting on the ground, absent-mindedly moving your foot back and forth over a crack in the cement. You always used to be the one who got sick at even the thought of blood. Now, to hear you talk so frankly about death, made goosebumps arise on Jake’s skin. 

“You think he struggled?” Jake whispered. 

“He fought back,” You sniffled, “The detective said he defense wounds on his arms. He always said he’d find a way to come home to me.” 

Jake could remember sitting in the stale, white-walled room with you as the detective handed you the manila folder that held the official autopsy report. Why you wanted to read it and see the photos of Bradley’s mutilated body, was beyond Jake. It was bad enough that he had to see the blood trail and stained red hands. But you stared at the pictures for hours. The pictures of the man you loved and the house that was now an active crime scene. 

The morning faded into day, as the shadows of the sun coming through the basement windows began to move. On day three, Jake taught you how to estimate the time by the position of the shadows on the cement wall. He guessed that the house faced towards the west, and every night as the sun began to set, your hair would have a certain warm glow to it. The two of you were playing your usual game of twenty-one questions, trying to pass the time until the inevitable happened. 

You were trying not to think of whatever horror could unfold today. It seemed that on every seventh day, something worse seemed to happen. Day Seven was the first day you were assaulted. Day fourteen was the day Jake was forced to hurt you. And now, you were waiting to see what day twenty-one had in store. 

Every time the sound of the basement door would open, a cold shiver would go down your spine, and you pulled your knees up to protect yourself. It was a futile chance at hopefully keeping Earl and Bonnie away from you, but it never worked. There seemed to be some charged energy between the two of them as Bonnie happily skipped down the stairs and stood outside of your cell as if you were an animal at the zoo. 

“Today is gonna be great!” She cheered, a sick smile on her face, “I want the girl first, baby. I know she’s got secrets to confess.” 

“Anything for you, honey bunny,” Earl cooed at his wife and placed a kiss on her lips. He then turned, digging the keys to your cell out of his pocket, “You must be waiting for today, bunny,” Earl said to you, a sickening smirk on his face. He undid your cuffs like he always did, and led you over to the open space between yours and Jake’s cages. Instead of chaining you up to the post in the middle like he usually would, he sat you down in a chair. He chained your cuffs behind the back of your chair and chained down your ankles. 

Earl took a step back, admiring you like you were some type of animal he had just hunted down. You felt bile rising in your throat as he stepped towards you, his disgusting scent invading your senses. He smelled of sweat and blood, and his hands were dirty as he grabbed your chin in his hand, “You’re so beautiful, you know that, bunny?” 

You clenched your jaw tightly, keeping your eyes down at the floor, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of looking at him, “I bet that’s why that boy of yours loved you so much.” 

You snapped your head up, “What?” 

Earl roared with laughter as he let go of your face and took a step back, “That’s what got your attention! Whew, and I was here thinking you were an idiot.” He wiped a tear from his face, stepping back to you and running a finger down your face, “That boy, what was his name? Bradley, was it? Handsome young man, so sad what you did to him.” 

“You know nothing,” You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. 

“Everyone will know all, very, very soon, bunny. . . hold still.” 

“Wha-Fuck!” You cursed as you felt the pinch of a needle being injected into your neck. Your heart began to race as you looked in terror at Earl and now Bonnie who stood in front of you, “What did you do? What was that!?” 

Bonnie giggled and held up a vial in her hand, “Truth Serum. Made it myself!” Earl put his arm proudly around Bonnie, her face resembling a kid who just had sugar for the first time. 

“Is that going to kill her?” Jake yelled at Bonnie, who simply shrugged, “Hey! Y/N, look at me!” Jake rattled the chainlink that had been keeping you apart, “What the fuck did you do?!” 

It felt like you were being suffocated as you looked over at Jake. Your head began to swim, and your limbs felt like you could hardly hold yourself up anymore. Your body began to feel warm and tingly as a thin layer of sweat started to cover your body. The only thoughts in your head were that this was it. This was the moment in which you were going to die. In this dirty, dingy basement with your kidnappers watching and your best friend trying to fight his way towards you. 

Then, everything seemed to change. Every muscle started to contract, making you shiver violently. Every fiber of your being felt like it had been lit on fire, and a small scream left your body at the pain. You were scared your heart was going to explode from the sheer force of it beating in your chest. 

“It hurts!” You cried, pulling on your cuffs, “Help! It hurts!” 

“It’s working,” Bonnie clapped her hands in excitement, “Ask the question!” 

Earl chuckled, holding his wife against his front, “Not yet, sweets. We gotta start off slow. First question, bunny, have you fucked anyone else since your husband?” 

The words felt like hot lava trying to escape you, but you fought against them, pushing them down in your body, “No.” 

Earl’s eyes narrowed at you, “It’ll feel better if you let the serum do its thing. Keep fighting, and it’ll kill you.” 

“I’d rather die,” You grit your teeth, your nails digging into your palms. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I can make that happen,” Earl said, “Now answer the question, have you fucked anyone else since your husband?” 

You shook your head, scared that if you were to open your mouth, the truth would come spilling out. You never knew that the words “truth hurts” could be real until you found yourself in utter agony trying to hide the truth. Bonnie had her jaw clenched tightly as she watched you fight off her experiment. You wondered how many other people had been in your position. How many other people tried to fight and ended up dead? Or worse, ended up dead before they even got the chance to fight. 

“I love him,” You choked out, “I would never hurt him.” 

Jake shook his head, a scoff falling from his lips. Earl looked over his shoulder at him, a smirk forming on his lips, “You know something.” Jake instantly went quiet, not daring to look at you, but his body language was enough of a giveaway. You looked up at Jake, tears in your eyes as you begged him not to say anything. But Bonnie always prided herself on being a problem-solver, and a gasp fell from her lips. She waltzed her way over to Earl and whispered in his ear.

Earl stood up tall as he looked at you with a menacing smile on his face, “You cheated on him, didn’t you,”  You groaned in agony, tears streaming down your face as you tried to fight off the effects of the serum. Earl huffed as he pulled the gun out of the waistband of his pants, and pointed it at Jake’s head, “Answer the question you fucking bitch! Or, I’ll blow his brains all over the wall!” 

“Y/N. . .” Jake called out softly as you let out a scream. 

“I cheated on him!” You admitted. The feeling of sweet relief filled your body, as the words came tumbling out, “It was a mistake! A total and complete, stupid mistake!” You cried, tears and snot running down your face as you looked at Jake, “I-I. . . it was stupid! And I told him, I know we promised no one would know, but I couldn’t lie to him. I felt awful. It was killing me!”

“And he forgave you?” Bonnie asked, letting out a guffaw, “What an idiot!” 

“He loved me!” You snapped, pulling on your chains, “He forgave me, and it made us stronger.” 

“So you don’t love, puppy over there?” Earl asked, turning to glance at Jake like he was fresh meat. 

You clenched your jaw, feeling the painful truth rising up in your chest, but you fought it. Your nails dug into your palms as you shook your head, and you willed your voice to stay calm as you spoke. 

“I don’t love him.” 

Earl chuckled, walking up to you, and undoing your chains. You fell into a heap in his arms as he helped walk you back to your cell. You felt utter disgust as he ran his hand over your filthy hair, whispering how good you did in your ear, but your eyes never left Jake. His jaw was clenched tightly as Bonnie grabbed him and pulled him over to the same chair you were just chained up to. His green eyes bore into yours as Bonnie injected the same truth serum into his neck. 

The serum felt hot as it made its way through Jake’s body, making his nerves tingle. It was a dull ache that he felt and did his best to remain upright on his own two feet. He wondered to himself if you wouldn’t have fought so hard to hide the truth it wouldn’t have caused you so much pain. He could feel his heartbeat start to rise in his chest, and sweat pool on his brow. Taking a deep breath, Jake looked over to Earl and Bonnie; 

“Do your worst,” He sneered. 

Bonnie shrieked in excitement, “Finally!” 

Earl shushed her with a grin on his face, “Since the bitch won’t tell the truth, I guess the puppy will. . . You fucked her, didn’t you?” 

“Several times,” Jake’s face was stoic as he answered truthfully. The guilt in your body seemed to weigh you down like cement stones. You hated what you did to Bradley, and the lies that you kept from him, but you couldn’t help your attraction to Jake, “And she loved every moment of it. Even begged me for more.” 

“Whew! So she is a slut after all!” Earl looked over at you with that disgusting hunger in his eyes you’ve seen before, “I knew it. So tell me puppy. . . did you feel bad about it? What was it that she said? Oh, did you think it was a mistake?” 

Jake clenched his jaw and looked over at you, “Never.” 

“And why’s that?” Bonnie asked. 

“Cause he was screwing someone else,” Jake admitted. 

You gasped, holding your hand to your mouth, “That’s not true.” Bradley would never hurt you the way that you hurt him. He loved you too much to do that and it killed you to know how much you had hurt him. 

“It is! I saw him, Y/N!” Jake yelled, “I saw him with that girl at the bar. Do you remember the one he told you was some annoying junior pilot with a crush? He was screwing her,” Jake spat. You shook your head, eyes wide, refusing to believe the words that Jake had just spoken. 

“That’s a lie. He would nev-” 

“It’s the truth, Y/N. They were doing it everywhere. At work, at the Hard Deck. . . at the house. Remember when he went to Virginia for a week? He went home with her to meet her family.” 

“No!” You screamed, “He wouldn’t do that to me!” 

“So what did you do?” Bonnie asked. Jake’s eyes bore into yours as he took deep breaths. Bonnie looked between the two of you, before yelling, “Say it!” 

“I killed him,” Jake whispered. 

“What? What was that?” She instigated, leaning into Jake and holding her hand to her ear. 

“I killed him.” 

“Louder! I can’t hear-” 

“I killed him!” Jake yelled, his eyes never leaving yours, “I. . . I just wanted to scare him, to let him know that I knew what he was doing, and to get him to either come clean to you or stop. I-I don’t know what happened. But he. . . he started fighting back and I just. . . I lost control.” 

“It felt great didn’t it?” Bonnie asked, walking over to Jake, putting her hands on his shoulders, and running them down his chest, “You felt that release. That sweet, sweet release,” You wanted to kill her as she placed kisses up and down Jake’s neck. He couldn’t help but flutter his eyes closed at the gentle feel on his skin, “You let out all that pent-up need that someone was depriving you of. It felt like the best orgasm ever, didn’t it?” 

Jake looked away from you, guilt swimming in his eyes. You let out an anguishing cry as you collapsed to the ground, sobs racking your body as you dry-heaved. All Jake could do was sit in the chair and watch you. Earl walked over to you and picked up your body as if you weighed nothing. You thrashed in his arms as he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at Jake. 

“You’d do it again, wouldn’t you?” Earl asked. Jake was silent as he looked down at the ground. “Answer me!” Jake looked at him, still keeping his mouth quiet. But you knew. By the look on his face, you knew what he was fighting. 

“Answer him, Jake,” You said quietly, “You’d kill Bradley again, wouldn’t you?” 

Jake couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face as he looked at you, “I would kill anyone who hurt you, sweetheart.”

taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @seitmai @cassiemitchell @topgun-imagines @xoxabs88xox @sarahsmi13s @els-marvelvsp @ohtobeleah