#minor whump tw

[whumpy-writings]

The Wagon

Reeve Masterlist // Of Vampires and Men Masterlist

This takes place right after Tribute

CW: Minor whumpee (OC is 16), slavery, vampires, restraints, stress position, implied future noncon

Reeve came to with a headache that pounded like a blacksmith against an anvil. He groaned. Where was he? He felt wooden boards under his cheek, a rumbling motion. . .

All at once it hit him. The wheat, the vampire torturing his father, Reeve trying to protect him. Reeve barely held back the sob that bubbled in his throat. He was in a wagon, being taken as a blood bag. He tried to sit up but immediately collapsed back to the floor. The world spun around him and he groaned.

"Looks like the blood bag is awake," someone called. Reeve's heart skipped a beat. He fought against the shackles tying his hands behind his back until warm blood oozed down his skin, but it was no use.

"Stop that," the sergeant snapped. "You're only hurting yourself." Reeve continued to struggle. The wagon rolled to a stop. The next thing Reeve knew, one of the sergeant's hands was fisted in his shirt, other other pulling his head back so he was forced to look the vampire in the eye.

"I said stop, blood bag. I expect to be obeyed." His face was stony and a spike of terror shot through Reeve. "Defiance won't help you now. The only thing that will help you is me. I know of several. . .establishments looking for humans of your age." He looked Reeve up and down in a way that made his skin crawl. "If you're good, I'll sell you to one of the nicer ones."

Reeve's breath hitched in his throat. He didn't understand what the sergeant was talking about, what those establishments were. But he did know that this man was dangerous and had no qualms about hurting humans.

"So sit there, don't pull at the restraints, and don't make a fuss. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," Reeve choked out. The sergeant nodded.

"Excellent. We have one more village to stop at, then we'll make camp for the day."

The sergeant dropped Reeve back to the floor. The wagon resumed its journey through the night. Reeve blinked back tears as he stared up at the sky. It was cloudy tonight and so dark he could only make out the shapes of the vampires on horseback around the wagon. The vampires surrounding him. He needed to get out of here. But he didn't know how.

"There it is," a soldier said.

Reeve took a steadying breath before pushing himself to a sitting position. Despite himself, Reeve was curious. He had never been to a village outside of his own.

As the wagon rolled into the square, Reeve felt a pang of homesickness. It all looked so familiar. The houses were low to the ground with thatched roofs, a handful of torches casting a flickering glow on the scene. Just like home.

The sergeant dismounted and walked towards the sacks in the middle of the square. There were a couple dozen humans standing around and Reeve wanted nothing more than to run to them.

"Well, I see that you actually made your quota," the sergeant said. "I'm impressed."

Reeve was suddenly hit by the realization that this was his chance to escape. He wormed his way to the side of the wagon. The vampires were focused on the tribute, nobody was watching him. He couldn't easily climb down over the side with his hands tied behind his back, and he had to stay low so that the soldiers wouldn't see him. Reeve awkwardly swung a leg over the side, still in a crouch.

Well, here it goes. He flung the rest of his body out of the wagon. For just a moment, he hung in the air. Then the ground rushed up towards him and he landed with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs.

"What was that?"

Reeve's heart spiked even as he struggled to get his lungs to inflate. He couldn't run if he couldn't breathe. Painfully, he attempted to squirm his way away from the wagon and into the shadows of the buildings.

"Look what we have here," a voice said. Reeve squirmed faster. "The blood bag's trying to get away."

"Hey, don't stop him. I want to see how far he gets." Reeve threw his head over his shoulder to glare at the vampires who stood right behind him, leaning on their muskets.

"Fuck you," he spat.

The guards' jovial mood vanished.

"We'll have to punish you for that. That's no way to speak to you superiors."

The guard reached him in three steps and Reeve tried to roll out of the way. He was too slow though and the leech's boot stomped down on his back, pinning him in place.

"What should be the punishment? I would muzzle him but we don't have a good metal one with us," the guard whose boot was on Reeve's back said.

"We could tie him to the cart and drag him behind it," the other suggested.

"Tempting."

"But we don't want to risk messing up such a pretty boy when he'll nab a fortune at auction. Lets bind his ankles to his wrists. He won't be trying to escape like that."

Reeve cried as the vampire stretched his arms behind his back and tied them to his ankles. He could hardly move now, and there was no way he could escape. The vampires threw him back in the wagon, along with the tribute from the village. And then the wagon was moving again.

Reeve cried. It was over. He would never be free again.

After a while, the muscles of his back and legs and shoulders began to throb.

"Please sir," Reeve begged, as the wagon rumbled on, each jostle sending a stab of pain through him. "Please, I won't try to run away again. Please just untie me."

The vampires ignored him. Reeve spent the rest of the night in that position. Tears were dried on his cheeks, and he was cold and hungry and scared but the leeches didn't care. Finally, just as dawn was painting the sky a dusty pink, they stopped.

Reeve couldn't see the vampires, but he could hear them bustling around, presumably setting up camp. The wagon rocked as the sergeant got in.

"I heard you tried to escape," he said, crouched in front of Reeve. "A disobedient human needs to be punished."

Reeve whimpered a little at that. His muscles were screaming at him. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes sir," Reeve said. "Yes sir, I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again." He hated giving in to this monster, but he couldn't stand the pain any longer. The sergeant reached out and Reeve flinched, but he only ran his hand through Reeve's hair. It reminded Reeve of the way he pet his dog back home. Bile rose in his throat.

"You're a very pretty boy," he said. "Be obedient and you'll have a good life." Reeve couldn't stop the shiver that ran through him at those words. Whatever the sergeant had planned for him, he was sure it wasn't good. The sergeant stared at him for a moment longer before he finally released Reeve's ankles from his wrists.

Reeve sobbed as blood flowed back into his hands. His arms were still bond behind his back, but the awful, awful tension in the shoulders and back and legs was lessening.

"Thank you sir," Reeve said. The sergeant picked him up and slung him over one shoulder. He propped Reeve up against a tree, and then took a coil of rope and tied him to it. The vampires got into their tents just as the sun peaked over the horizon, leaving Reeve tied up in the chilly morning air. Reeve halfheartedly pulled at the restraints before he fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

...

The vampires awoke at dusk. Reeve's neck ached from sleeping tied to the tree. He eyed the vampires as they packed up camp. They were dressed in green uniforms and moved with a precision he had never seen before. Within half an hour, their whole camp was packed up. Two vampires untied Reeve and tossed him into the wagon with the rest of the tribute. They didn't speak to him. Reeve's stomach ached, but he didn't dare ask for food.

"Come on men, it's only a couple hours to the fort," the sergeant said.

Reeve curled up on his side and buried his face against a sack of wheat. The earthy smell gave him a bit of comfort. It smelled like home. Reeve inhaled deeply, tears burning his eyes. He cried silently for what felt like hours.

Reeve didn't move when the cart rolled to a stop at the fort. He was past being angry, past being scared. Now he was just numb, exhaustion in his bones. There was no point in running or fighting. There was no point at all.

Tag list: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik @neverthelass @michelleswhumpyreblogs @whumpsy-daisy @the-monarch-whumperfly @aswallowimprisoned @secretwhumplair @whumpzone @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @nicolepascaline @susiequaz12 @princessofonwardsworld @itsleighlove @pumpkin-spice-whump @wiwinia @sunflower1000 @whump-blog @blushing-snail @melancholy-in-the-morning @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpsday @ceph-the-ghost-writer @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @quietly-by-myself @darlingwhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane's Pets Chapter 86: Discovery

TWs in the tags

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Long before Jane took her second and third pets, Puppy holds a sobbing little girl in her arms. A monster, a torturer. A scared little girl.

“All I want is to die.” The girl sobs. “I just want this to end, I want it to stop, why does it never stop?”

She hasn’t given Puppy permission to speak, but she wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.

“I can’t keep doing this! I can’t keep going! But I can’t stop, no matter how much I want to, no matter how many times I play out the same stories and learn the same things and, and-“ Jane trails off into incomprehensible babbling.

Puppy never had any younger siblings, but she imagines this must be what it would feel like, even though Jane is older than her by far. She feels protective and affectionate towards the girl in her arms, even knowing that girl has tortured Puppy endlessly for no reason other than her own entertainment.

“It’ll never stop!” Jane is squeezing Puppy’s arm hard enough to bruise, but for once she doesn’t seem to be causing pain intentionally. 

“Say something!”

Puppy sighs. “That sounds really hard.”

Her sobs border on screams. “You’re not helping!”

“What would help?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’ll never get better, it’ll never end!”

Puppy combs fingers through Jane’s hair. “Can… Can you tell me how this happened? How you became like this?”

“It wasn’t my fault! I don’t even know why they picked me!”

“...they?”

Jane sobs. “They took everything from me! I was just a normal kid! I never asked for this!”

It’s likely that this is just some kind of trick to manipulate Puppy in some way. But even knowing that, Puppy can’t help but feel sorry for Jane. “That’s awful.”

“It is!” She sobs and sobs. “And they didn’t even mean to! They meant to hurt me, but not like this! Not even they knew exactly how it would work, how in the world am I supposed to reverse it?? I tried and tried and tried for millenia and nothing works, and no one, not even the people who did it, know how it happened!”

Puppy hums softly. It’s the only thing she can think of to do. “I’ll help you figure something out.”

“Do you think you’re the first mortal to try?? Do you think you can come up with something I couldn’t in centuries!?” Jane squeezes Puppy’s wrist so hard it snaps. White hot pain runs through Puppy’s arm and she tries to pull away, but Jane holds firm. Now they’re both crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you’re right!” Puppy yelps. 

Jane keeps squeezing her wrist. “I just want to rest! I just want to sleep, I just want it to end, why won’t it end!? Puppy, I need it to end!”

Puppy just squeezes her eyes shut and tries to get through the pain. There’s nothing she can do to help Jane, nothing at all. She can’t help anyone. She’s struggling to breathe, she’s in agony and even the slightest movements make it worse.

“I hate this, I hate this, make it stop! Puppy, make it stop, please! I’m never going to enjoy being alive again so why won’t it stop??”

She cries and screams and clings to Puppy for hours before the episode ends. It’s a shorter one, all things considered. It isn’t the first and it won’t be the last, though it’s unique in how much coherent information it gave Puppy. Usually, if Jane is speaking in an episode at all instead of just sobbing and screaming, it’s in a language that Puppy doesn’t know. Jane rests on Puppy’s shoulder and plays with her hair. Puppy tries to focus on that sensation rather than the fire in her wrist

“Do you think they would’ve done it if they knew?” Jane asks softly. “If they knew that it would mean an eternity of torment for me, while they only got to experience the rewards of what they did for a lifetime?”

“I don’t know, Jane.” Puppy makes no attempt to keep the pain out of her voice. Maybe Jane forgot about the broken wrist and just needs a reminder.

“I’d like to think that they wouldn’t have done it if they knew. But I don’t know. They probably would’ve. I wish I’d gotten to kill them, but I was still all goody-two-shoes back then.” As she talks, Jane sets Puppy’s wrist and wraps it. It takes everything Puppy has not to scream. “I think if I’d killed them immediately, the spell wouldn’t have stuck. But I guess that’s a useless hypothetical now.”

“...Spell?” Puppy is desperate for any possible distraction to her pain. She’s also really curious about what made Jane like this, even though she also knows Jane could just be fucking with her.

“There’s a balance, to magic. There’s always… a cost. For whatever reason, I was picked out as the cost of this spell. They only knew that I would bear the brunt of the cost of what this spell put into the world. They probably thought it would just kill me, maybe torture me, but not to this extent.” Jane’s voice has taken on an eerie tone. Disconnected, as if she’s telling a story about someone else. But not even that, because Puppy knows how Jane tells stories about other people, and it doesn’t sound like that, either. She just sounds… numb. “I really wish I’d gotten to kill them.”

“What did the spell do?”

“They said it ‘would allow humanity to harness magic.’ Tell me, is that a cause worth sacrificing a child for? Would you have done that to me, Puppy?” Her voice is still eerily emotionless.

“Of course not.”

Jane continues playing with Puppy’s hair for a long time, mumbling about the tortures she wants to inflict on the people who did this to her and how it’s too bad they got to die without ever even feeling a fraction of what they put her through.

Jane’s hands drop to her neck and remove her collar without warning. “No one understands. No one understands what this pain is like. No mortal possibly could.” She yanks on Puppy’s hair and starts pulling her towards the basement. “But I think I’m going to try and make you understand anyway.”

~–~

“So… you tried to kill Puppy?” You ask as you draw a new card. It’s as good a time as any.

Kitty groans. “Yep.”

“...Why?”

“I-” they rub their face. “Jane gave me a knife to hurt Puppy with. Said if I didn’t… something bad would happen. I don’t remember what the threat even was, now. And I thought ‘what if I just slit my throat?’ But then Puppy would’ve been left to deal with the punishment for me doing that. So I thought… ‘what if I just slit her throat?’ So I did. I… I wasn’t thinking straight. I was so tired and in so much pain… I was trying to protect her. I assumed that she would rather be dead because I would rather be dead. It was stupid. Jane… she was really mad. She…” they rub their face again. “I’m so tired, Bunny. Do I have to tell you how she punished me?”

“You don’t have to.” You had been worried it was done in anger- Kitty has mentioned that they hated Puppy when they first met her. But of course Kitty was just trying to protect her, even if it was misguided. “Thanks for telling me what you did.”

Kitty is hiding their face in their hands. “She wanted to make me tell you… and I did…” They sound like they’re on the verge of tears. 

You set down your cards- clearly you aren’t going to get to finish the game. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I don’t think any less of you.”

It doesn’t matter. Heartwrenching sobs come from behind Kitty’s hands.

You think you can guess what’s upsetting them. “It’s okay to end up doing what she wants. You’re still you. You’re not weak.” 

The sobs get worse. “I’m not still me, I can’t think, who am I?? Who am I if I can’t think? I’m just a kitty! I’m not even human!”

“Hey.” You do your best to keep your voice firm without sounding harsh. “I struggle with the same sorts of things, after my head injury. You wouldn’t call me not human.”

“I don’t feel human.” They correct, still sobbing. “I- I’m not myself, I’m not, I can’t-”

This is a frequent theme when Kitty has these breakdowns. “You’re you. This is just… the version of you you are when you’re drugged.”

“I don’t want to be this version of me!” Kitty’s breathing is getting fast. You said the wrong thing. You hope they won’t hyperventilate until they pass out again… “I’m useless! I’m nothing! I can’t be good, she’s going to put me in sensory deprivation again, she’s going to drug me until I can’t even play simple games-”

“Just breathe. C’mon, in for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. There you go.” You need to kill Jane. Then everything will be okay, and Kitty will feel like themself again. “This will pass. You always feel like yourself again eventually.” “And then I don’t again! And then she drugs me again and again and again and it’ll never stop!”

“It’ll stop. She’ll get bored.” You don’t believe that. But you want Kitty to feel better.

“She said she was bored of me being the bad one!”

“She’ll get bored of this too. C’mon, how about you lie down and try to sleep through the worst of this.” You guide them to their bedroom and nudge them onto their bed. “Do you want me to read to you?”

“I want it to stop, why does it never stop? All I want is for it to stop!”

“Shh… just focus on your breathing. In for four, hold for four…” It’s going to be a long day.

~~

“Aw, aren’t you a good little Kitty-cat?” Master has been hand-feeding Kitty cat food for a while now, cooing about how perfect they are ‘like this.’ Kitty looks like they’re on the verge of screaming, and Bunny doesn’t seem to be faring much better.

Master stops abruptly, tilting her head. “...There’s someone poking around outside. Puppy? Do you want to play guard dog? Go get them.” 

Puppy immediately gets to her feet and makes her way to the door. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to overpower whoever’s out there, so she plans to try and use pity against them. That would be easier if she could talk, but she doesn’t expect master to make anything easy for her.

It doesn’t take long to find the person Master was talking about. Just a quick walk around the perimeter of the house and she finds them, peering into a window. Nowhere near where Master would’ve been able to see them… Puppy was under the impression that Master used her void to see things far away, but apparently she can see things outside her line of sight without using her void. But it doesn’t matter either way. Just more reason she shouldn’t be bad, even when she thinks Master can’t see her.

The stranger gasps when they see her. “Wh- are you-” they stammer.

Puppy is still wearing her muzzle. She lets her hair fall so that her missing ear is obvious. She wore some clothes that showed her scars today, luckily. It shouldn’t be hard at all to get the stranger to pity her enough to follow her.

She walks closer to the stranger and takes their hand, then starts bringing them back to the house. They don’t resist.

“I- let me take that off for you. Who did this?”

Puppy doesn’t answer and keeps moving. Eventually, the stranger stops walking. “Wait, where are we going?”

Puppy tugs on their hand again. Just a little further…

They step forward, but only to reach towards her muzzle. She flinches away. That cannot come off. Not without Master’s permission.

“Okay, okay, I won’t touch it.” The stranger raises their hands in the air. Well, they try to. Puppy doesn’t let go, so it’s pretty awkward. “Let’s just- hey. My name is Jared. Can you hear me?”

Puppy doesn’t respond. It’s a clever approach, to start with something like that, but Puppy won’t fall for it. She won’t let her guard down. She pulls on the stranger more until they start following her again.

“If you can hear me… it’ll be okay. I can help you.”

Puppy pauses outside the door, just for a moment. She is not looking forward to whatever Master has planned. But it doesn’t matter what Puppy wants. She takes Jared into the house.

Jane isn’t there. Of course not. Of course she’s going to make Puppy bring Jared all the way to the basement. 

Jared stops again when they see Bunny and Kitty. They regard the two of them suspiciously. “What’s going on here? I… I’ve heard screaming, from this place-” Jared has one hand in their pocket.

Puppy gets the door to the basement open and shoves Jared down the stairs with all of her might. They yelp as they fall, but don’t seem to be severely injured by the time they reach the bottom. Puppy secretly wishes they’d broken their neck.

Master waits at the bottom of the stairs. “You come down here too, Puppy.”

Puppy obeys. Master is looking over Jared. “What were you doing poking around my house?”

Jared seems very confused. They reach into their pocket again. “Wha- who-”

Master cuts them off with a knife in the offending arm. Jared screams.

“Puppy, darling, do you want to help me interrogate the intruder?”

Puppy does not want that at all. But she nods, because she knows that’s what Master wants her to do. 

Master grins. “Excellent. Restrain them first. You can pick what we use.” Master starts making things appear out of her void. Some rope, some chains, some… barbed wire. Puppy suppresses a shudder and picks out the chains.

“Wait- wait, what are you doing?” Jared is starting to realize that they cannot help Puppy. They look completely terrified. “I was just taking a walk- I won’t tell anyone what I saw, I swear!” They say some words Puppy doesn’t understand and throw powder in the air.

The world goes dark and Puppy can’t hear a thing.

She swings a chain in the direction of the last place she saw Jared. It makes contact, and she feels them collapse to the ground. She swings again. Again and again and again, until electricity surges through her collar and she drops to her knees, writhing in pain silently no matter how much she wants to scream- she knows that will make the shocks worse. And she wouldn’t be able to hear her own screams anyway.

The electricty stops and she gasps for air. She was bad. She doesn’t know what she did wrong yet, but she wouldn’t have gotten shocked if she was being good. She wants to look to Master, to figure out what she might’ve done wrong, but she still can’t see or hear. 

This is like what Bunny’s friend did with the force field. Like what Jane does when she teleports and watches things from her void. Puppy is really not a fan of magic. The force field wore off eventually, right? She really hopes this will too. Master might just kill her if she can’t hear or see her, and she doesn’t want Kitty or Bunny to have to deal with Jane without her to protect them.

Puppy sits nicely like a good pet while she waits for the spell to wear off. This is awful. She’s completely defenseless at the best of times, but this? It’s in its own category altogether. At least when she’s blinded and deafened as punishment she knows why and that it’ll eventually stop. This… she really hates this.

It feels like hours later when she starts to hear and see little scraps of information again. The spell won’t last forever, thankfully.

As soon as she can make out anything at all, she’s looking for her Master. 

“Coming back to me, Puppy?” A hand pets her hair. Her vision continues to gain more detail. “I bet you’re really looking forward to interrogating them now, huh?”

She isn’t, but she nods anyway.

“Well? Go and restrain them for me.”

Jared is lying on the ground, horribly battered. Puppy stumbles over to them, then wraps their wrists and ankles in chains and drags them to one of the many hooks on the wall. Master doesn’t seem upset. Why’d she shock her, then?

“Good girl. Now… you can’t really interrogate if you can’t speak, can you? Kneel.”

Puppy drops to her knees immediately and tries not to get her hopes up. Even if she’s given permission to speak, she won’t be able to use her voice to comfort Kitty or Bunny or even Jared.

Master gently starts loosening the straps keeping the muzzle on Puppy’s face, exposing the pressure sores beneath. Jared is frantically begging or something, but Puppy focuses on the relief of her face being free. She can focus on the relief, just for a moment…

Master gets her remote and adjusts something. Hopefully so that Puppy won’t be shocked if she speaks. “There we go. You have permission to speak. I need you to find out why the intruder came here. Can you do that?”

Puppy hums softly to test if she’ll be shocked. When she isn’t, she clears her throat and tries to decide what to say. Master and her both know perfectly well that torture isn’t a good interogation technique, and they also both know that torture is what Master wants to see. 

“I can definitely get an answer. It may not be the right answer, though.” Puppy settles on. She hopes that Master is in a good enough mood to be happy with that answer. Not that it matters. If she wasn’t in a good mood, pretending that she definitely could get a correct answer wouldn’t please Master either.

Master laughs. “While you interrogate our new friend, I’m going to be in my void and out and about gathering information. We can compare what I find to whatever answer you manage to get and see if they match up. Sound good?” “Yes, Master.” Talking is hard after so long of being silent, but it feels really nice. Master gets some weapons out of her void and arranges them neatly for Puppy, then disappears.

Puppy picks out the cattle prod and jams it into Jared’s neck. “Why were you snooping around?”

She doesn’t want to do this. She hates this. But Master could be watching, and she knows what Master wants to see. She needs to try to please Master, not try to get away with causing the least amount of pain while still following what Master said. There’s no point in trying to get around it, no point in mercy. She isn’t responsible for what she does under Master’s command, anyway, she’s just a tool to be used.

“Hey, hey- I told you, I was just going for a walk!”

Puppy presses the cattle prod’s button. Holds it for five seconds, making the intruder writhe and scream, then lets go. “You were looking in the window when I found you. Do you make a habit of looking in stranger’s windows when you go for walks?”

The stranger gasps for air. “...yes?”

She holds it for ten seconds this time. The intruder jerks violently in their chains. When she lets go, they look into her eyes desperately. “You don’t want to do this. I know you don’t want to do this. I can get you out of here.”

“You can’t. You’re going to die here, Jared. Your only choice now is how painful it will be. So tell me- what in the world made you decide to snoop around a place like this?”

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list! (I think I remember someone asking but I forgot who!) Thank you for your patience through the hiatus!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 11 - Royal AU

This is the second piece I've written for the Brumaria Royal AU (neither of which have actually had Bruno in them). The first one can be found here and tells the story of Kamaria becoming the Princess of Ethorcon!

Taglist: @painful-pooch

The Shadow of Death Masterlist

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.” | “No one will find you.”

Contains: lady whump, referenced past whump of a minor, claustrophobia, nyctophobia, corporal punishment, referenced beating, minor sh (scratching)

.

.

It’s so dark.

Kamaria rubs her hands up and down her satin skirt, trying to give her mind something to focus on besides the darkness. The rustle it makes is extraordinarily loud in the stillness. It’s no longer enough, though, not after this long standing in the tiny space, so she clenches her hands into fists, letting her long fingernails dig into her palms. 

She needs out. 

How long has it been, anyway? Time passes strangely in here. Minutes seem like hours, but the times that she convinces herself it hasn’t been that long, she’s just being dramatic, half a day has passed. 

Her legs and back ache from standing in the same position, so likely it’s been at least an hour. It feels like it’s been many hours. She raises up onto her toes, relishing the stretch in her calves. On the way back down, though, her shoulder bumps up against the side of the wardrobe. The reminder of how small the space is buzzes through her whole body. 

She needs out she needs out she needs out now.

She wants to scream, and kick, and generally raise a ruckus until someone comes and lets her out of here. She’s tried that before, though, back when she was young and first came to live at the castle. Either it does nothing but tire her out, because there’s no one around to hear, or Roderick does hear and she pays dearly for her insolence. 

Right now, a beating or caning seems like it would be welcome, just because it would take place out in the open and the light. But she stays quiet, anyway. Scratching furiously at her arms placates some of the need to act out.

When all this first started, she wasn’t even bothered by darkness or small spaces. Even the first few times Roderick locked her in here, it wasn’t that bad. Frustrating, yes, but it didn’t make her anxious. Of course back then, she was small enough that she could sink to the floor, curl up and even nap. 

She thinks it changed the first time he left her an entire day and night. She thought he’d forgotten her. And that’s the fear now, irrational as it may be - what if he forgets about her? What if something happens to him and no one else knows where she is? What if he decides she needs even more punishment and takes it too far, leaving her here until she starves or dehydrates or maybe simply loses all of her senses?

No one else but the two of them ever come into this room. No one will find her. 

She knows it’s stupid. He’s left her for an entire day and night more than once, but it’s never been longer than that. Still, every time he starts pushing her this direction, her stomach churns and she considers falling to her knees and begging him to punish her another way. She’ll never actually go that far, of course. It would give him too much satisfaction. But the anxiety of facing hours in the darkness crawls up her throat and threatens to choke her every time.

Has it been another hour yet? She’s starting to get a headache. Whether from lack of sleep, food, or water, she has no idea.

If she could only braid a strand of her hair, that would keep her occupied, but it’s all pinned up in a ridiculous Ethorconite hairstyle. Scratching her arms is good. The sting of it keeps her from going crazy. Roderick will fuss about how she’s marred her skin later and she’ll have to wear long sleeves until the marks disappear, but it’s worth it. 

She stops moving suddenly, straining to listen. There was something out there, something made a noise…right? She could swear she heard a footstep or maybe a door shutting. 

The seconds tick by, the only sound her shaky breathing, hitting the wooden door and bouncing back to her ears. Please please please…

No one opens the door. The darkness stretches on. 

[miammey]

Jouno trying to make it back to the other Hunting Dogs after getting de-vampirized in the middle of nowhere completely by himself and also still injured

[aceofwhump]

Avatar the Last Airbender (2024) 1x06 "Masks"

[befuddled-calico-whump]

guys they are so unbothered

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpsday , @regrets-realization-acceptance , @kixngiggles , @randomlifeunit , @darkthingshappen

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Dangerously in Love (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 28 Alt 8. Kidnapping Fandom: MCU, Frank Castle, The Punisher, f!reader Summary: After witnessing your murder on a video call, Frank's only focus is on revenge. But he's about to learn that things are not always as they seem... Word Count: 4389 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Grief, Fighting, Blood, Gun Fight, Minor Character Death, Frank Carries Reader, Happy Ending Notes: Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Part 5 of the “In Love” series

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

It had taken Frank three days and a trail of bodies in his wake, but he had finally located where Costa had streamed from. 

He had barely stopped since the moment he had left your—his—apartment and only to grab a handful of food or a few hours of sleep to keep up his strength for what was coming. Not that it would have made a difference if he tried to get a full night’s sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your terrified, tear-soaked face pleading with him before hearing the deafening bang of the gun and your blood spraying as the camera cut out. While he hadn’t actually seen the damage that the bullet had done to you, he had seen enough bullet wounds in his life for his brain to fill in the blanks. And when that happened, he would jerk awake with tears streaming down his face.

After Maria and their children were murdered, Frank had sworn never to allow himself to care for someone like that again. It was too dangerous…he was too dangerous. And yet, all of that flew out the window the moment he met you. 

He tried to keep his walls up, to keep you out, but you quickly burst through them all as if they were made of vapor. And when you found out about the Punisher and who he really was yet still accepted him, it was over. Frank’s bullet-riddled heart began to beat again and it was all because of you.

You. The girl who would make fun of herself a hundred times over before ever saying a word against anyone else. The girl who couldn’t cook to save her life but still continuously put in a valiant effort. The girl who hid under a blanket during horror movies or gagged at the slightest scene with gore, yet pulled out the first aid kit without hesitation when he came home dripping in blood. 

He knew the risks, he knew the danger, but he also knew he couldn’t live without you in his life. But now that danger had caught up to you and he had lost you anyway. At least if he had kept his distance you would be out there somewhere living your life happy with someone else—not shot to death in a warehouse while you were alone and terrified.

As Frank approached that same warehouse now, he thought back to your last kiss just before he sent you off to stay with Red. At the time, he had promised you it wasn’t goodbye, that he would come back to you. Yet even though he knew there was a very good chance it was a lie, he never expected you to be the one not coming home.

Looking around, he was surprised to find there weren’t any men standing guard by the main entrance or on the rooftop. He remained on high alert, but crossed the empty lot to the front door and kicked it in. When no one opened fire or swarmed him, he ducked inside.

It appeared the warehouse had been abandoned for a while. Even though he could faintly hear the churning hum of a generator somewhere below him, it must only be for the lights since there didn’t seem to be any sort of air conditioner or fans in the building. But that made sense. Costa must have known Frank would come for him after what he did, and it was better for Frank to locate one of his temporary bases of operation instead of his main headquarters. 

Without slowing, he rubbed his face on the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat out of his eyes as it poured down his brow. He continued through the warehouse—gun raised—as he scanned for any traces of Costa, even though so far it seemed as if he wasn’t here. But Frank wasn’t going to stop looking until he made sure. He wasn’t going to stop hunting him down until Costa lay dead at his feet.

However, when he reached the door at the end of the hall and threw it open, he stumbled to a halt as his heart froze in his chest.

It was the same room he had seen from the video call—barren concrete walls, a single light hanging down from the middle of the room, and a metal chair with your lifeless body still strapped to it. 

All of the air was instantly sucked from Frank’s lungs and his knees went weak. 

He hovered by the door, unable to make his feet take a single step closer to your limp form. He swallowed—hard—as tears stung at his eyes. It had never crossed his mind that he might find you here. He assumed Costa would have dumped your body somewhere it would never be found or incinerated it. Maybe Costa thought having Frank see you like this, to face what had happened in person, would throw him off his game. If that was the plan, it was succeeding. Seeing your violent death over video had been one thing, but finding your long cold corpse days later—

Wait. Something wasn’t right here.

You had been left in this dank, humid room for the past three days. He should have been greeted by the putrid smell of rot and decay as soon as he opened the door but instead, he only sensed the metallic bite of fresh blood. Blood that should have long since dried and lost its potency. Yet he could see the dark red pool beneath your chair was still wet—it was recent. 

Frank stumbled forward as if in a trance. It couldn’t be. He watched you die…hadn’t he? He saw the gun go off, a spray of blood, and your head snapped back—but he never saw the aftermath. Not really. The feed had gone black a second after the gun went off. Was there a chance?

The closer he got to where you were tied, the harder it was to look at you. You were still wearing his hoodie that you had been wearing in the video so it covered most of your skin. However, what was showing was littered with bruises and cuts of various sizes, layers of blood coating most of your visible skin as it had dried and been coated once more. The top layer still looked damp in some places, the color more vibrant and shiny in the dim light, and Frank silently prayed for a miracle. 

He hesitated as he reached you, knowing that the tiny flicker of hope he was allowing himself to feel could be instantly extinguished the second he touched you.  The air around him was deathly still as if the room itself was holding its breath waiting for an answer. He sank to kneel at your feet, as if you were some holy miracle he was prepared to worship. Unable to wait any longer, Frank slowly reached out and placed two fingers against the side of your throat.

For a moment, he felt nothing. Just your cool, clammy skin beneath his fingers, and his heart began to sink. But then—

Just as he felt the first weak thump of your pulse, your eyes slowly flickered open. Your gaze was glassy and unfocused but there was a small spark of recognition as you stared at the man kneeling before you. Your tongue ran briefly over your cracked, bloody lips before you weakly rasped, “-ank?”

Frank’s eyes grew wide as he clutched at your face, his fingers tangling deeply in your hair as he tried to convince himself you were real. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me. Oh god. I thought I’d lost you.” He fought back the tears that were building behind his eyes as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours.

You flinched as he shifted you and for the first time, he noticed the blood-soaked wrapping across your shoulder. Unlike the rest of your injuries, this one seemed more severe yet cared for and, if he had to guess, was probably where the bullet from the video call had struck you instead of the head as he had been led to believe. It was still a dire injury, yet he still felt a wave of relief flood over him. A shoulder wound you could heal from; a headshot was another story.

He stayed with his head pressed against yours, reveling in the fact you were alive and he had found you. Then he pulled back to gaze into your eyes. 

However, where he thought he would see joy or excitement, there was only terror. Slowly—painfully—you began moving your lips as you tried to tell him something but nothing came out except a hoarse exhale.

“Shhh. You don’t have to say anything,” Frank murmured softly as he rubbed his thumb gently across your cheekbone. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m gonna get you outta here and bring you home to get some help.”

But you shook your head, the fear only intensifying in your eyes as you struggled to get your message across. Finally, you took a deep breath and managed to rasp out your message, “–’s a trap…Run.” 

Before Frank could process what you had said, the door to the room slammed open and dozens of armed men rushed into the room. Frank sprang to his feet and tried to put himself between these newcomers and you, but they quickly surrounded the two of you. 

“Well, look what we have here. Mr. Castle, we’ve been expecting you.” Costa chuckled cruelly as he walked through the door. “Although truthfully, I thought you would have been here a lot sooner. Three days is a long time to make your girlfriend wait with no food and very little water, especially when she is losing so much blood.”

“You bastard,” Frank growled as he stepped towards Costa, but he stopped as all of the soldiers around you raised their guns.

Costa’s grin widened. “Uh, uh, uh…I would be careful, Mr. Castle. One wrong move and my men open fire.”

“I can take it,” Frank said, stalking forward.

“I’m sure you can. Which is why not a single gun in this room is aimed at you.”

Frank froze in his tracks before glancing around the room. He hadn’t noticed it before, but Costa was right. Every gun was raised and they were all pointed directly at where you were still tied to the chair behind him. 

Turning, he locked eyes with you and it was clear you had noticed this as well. And yet, the fear that he had seen in your eyes the last time he had looked at you was gone, and in its place was a sort of calm acceptance. You gave him a small smile as you nodded and mouthed, “It’s okay. Go.” 

Frank’s heart swelled. Even after everything this bastard had done to you these past three days, you were still putting his safety above your own. God, how he loved you.

Costa laughed at the tender silent exchange between the two of you. “Oh, is this not precious? You know, she never once lost faith you’d come save her. She said you promised you’d come back and you never broke a promise. Every time one of my men came to check on her or to torture her, she insisted we’d all pay when you found her. Too bad her faith in you was so misguided.” He held up a finger and the men surrounding you all cocked their guns. “Just a word of advice, Mr. Castle that you will never have a chance to learn from: When you try storming the hideout of a known crimelord, don’t try doing it alone. You will always be vastly outnumbered.”

Frank raised his head and looked Costa dead in the eye as his lips curled into a knowing grin. “Who says I’m alone?”

Costa’s smile dropped just as the room was plunged into complete darkness. Frank immediately pivoted and dove towards the spot where he remembered your chair being. His aim was off slightly, but he still managed to grab the edge of the seat as he fell and he pulled it down to the floor with him. And just in time.

“Shoot them!” Costa’s voice rang out through the darkness. He was so focused on not letting you or Frank get away that he did not consider what he had just commanded his men to do.

Following their direct orders as they had been trained to do, Costa’s men opened fire. Bullets whizzed through the air over your heads, and Frank scrambled to cover you with his body as best as he could. You hadn’t made a sound since the lights went off, but Frank felt your hand weakly wrap itself into the fabric of his shirt, giving him a sign you were still with him.   

As the bullets continued to fly above you, cries of pain and heavy thuds began to fill the room. Quickly, those sounds became more frequent while the sounds of gunfire grew less and less. When the lights flickered back on, Frank saw that only a handful of men—including Costa—were left standing. All the rest were lying motionless on the floor where they were hit by the bullets from the men across from them. 

Glancing down, Frank saw you nestled safely under him with your eyes closed and your fingers still curled in his shirt. When you started to peek one eye open, Frank placed his hand over them. “Not yet,” he muttered. “Keep ‘em closed until I tell you to.”

He moved his hand to see you had followed his instructions—and just in time.

Frank felt the barrel of a gun dig into the back of his head. Slowly, he raised his hands. 

“Get to your feet,” Costa growled from behind him.

Slowly, Frank did as he was ordered. Your eyes remained closed, but he felt your grip on his shirt tighten. Carefully, he eased himself back until you were forced to let go, then he rose to his feet. Turning, he faced Costa, the gun still pressed against his skull. 

The mob boss’s face was deep red and a prominent vein in his forehead throbbed. “You just cost me a lot of men,” he snarled, spit flying from his lips and hitting Frank in the face. “I think it’s time we finally say goodbye, Mr. Castle. Tell your family I send my regards.”

Costa stepped back, his gun pointed at the center of Frank’s head. But just before he could pull the trigger, something flew from the hallway and struck his hand, causing him to drop the gun as he cursed loudly. Costa looked down at the red billy club lying next to his gun on the floor then raised his head just in time to see a red-clad figure with a horned helmet burst into the room. 

About damn time.

Frank grinned as he watched Costa stumble backward at the sight of Red ducking and dodging as he lay blow after blow on his remaining men. Using this momentary distraction, Frank charged forward and wrenched the gun from Costa’s hand. The other man’s eyes grew wide and he started to beg for mercy, but Frank didn’t deal in mercy—he dealt in punishment.

Pointing the barrel of the gun between Costa’s eyes, Frank growled, “I’ll see you in Hell.” And he pulled the trigger.

Costa’s head exploded as his body crumpled to the floor. Wiping blood and brain matter from his face, Frank turned to see Red knocking out the last of Costa’s men. 

As the vigilante turned towards him, he sighed. “Frank, you promised if I helped, there’d be no killing.”

Frank threw the gun to the floor as he snapped, “Yeah well, tell that to my wife and kids who he had murdered or my girlfriend—your friend—he left to waste away as bait tied to that chair.”

Red pressed his lips into a tight line but didn’t say anything. Frank knew this discussion wasn’t over but he was grateful Red was willing to leave it alone for the time being. There was a much more important matter that needed to be attended to at the moment.

Hurrying over to where you lay on the floor still tied down, Frank carefully righted the chair and cupped your cheek, tilting your head to get a better look at your face. Your skin was littered with bruises and cuts in various stages of healing, and your bottom lip was split wide. Your eyes were still closed just as Frank had instructed you to do.

Glancing at Red, he asked, “Is she gonna be alright?”

Red placed his hand on the side of your neck just below your jaw. He cocked his head slightly as he listened for a moment, then sighed. “Her heartbeat’s weak and parts of her body are shutting down.” He turned his head towards Frank. “It’s really bad, but if she gets help soon, I think she’ll be okay.”

Frank felt the tightness in his chest lessen slightly. At least there was a chance. 

As Red dropped his hand, your eyes fluttered open. Surprised to see the other man with Frank, you asked, “M-Matt…?”

Red grinned sadly down at you. “Hey. Long time no see.”

You exhaled softly in a poor attempt at a laugh but then your lip began to quiver. “—’m sorry…shouldn’ta left…”

Red placed his hand on your uninjured shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. “No, it’s my fault too. I knew you wanted to be with Frank and I should’ve kept a better eye on you.” He paused and tilted his head “...That one wasn’t actually supposed to be a joke.”

“You two can pass around all the blame you want once we get outta here,” Frank grumbled before you could try to muster up another response. “Costa might have backup arriving at any minute.”

He wiped his hands on his pants to clean off as much blood as possible. Then he pulled out his knife and cut your bonds. Now unconfined, your body slumped limply in the seat until Frank gingerly lifted you up. 

You felt so delicate and frail in his arms. As if you would snap in half with the slightest pressure. Your breathing was still very labored and ragged but no matter how Frank repositioned you, nothing seemed to help. 

Moaning softly, you muttered, “Frank…?”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe. Get some rest, sweetheart.”

You nodded into his chest just before your body went limp in his arms. It seemed as if the trauma from the last few days had finally caught up to you and now that you were safe, your body and mind finally allowed you some peace.

Staring down at your broken body as you still struggled for each breath, Frank felt tears begin to silently stream down his face, and for once he was glad that Red couldn’t see him. However, by the way those red lenses were locked onto him, he had a feeling the vigilante knew exactly what was happening. As Frank passed by him as he held open the front door of the warehouse, Red’s hand shot out and grabbed Frank’s arm. 

Giving it a tight squeeze, he said, “It’s over, Frank. You saved her and she’s going to be okay.”

Yanking his arm from Red’s grasp, he growled, “We both know for her, this will never be over and I doubt she’ll ever really be okay again.”

Without another word or even a glance in his direction, Frank stalked through the warehouse and out the exit. It was time to get you home.

When Frank got you back to your shared apartment, Claire was already there waiting for you. Red must have called her on the way. Frank was used to tending to his own injuries, not someone else’s so as much as he preferred to handle things on his own, he was grateful for the help. 

He was also grateful Claire didn’t mention the destroyed living room that Frank had left after thinking you had been killed. In all honestly, once he killed Costa, Frank had never planned to return to your apartment. It was too painful imagining living here without you, surrounded by the memories of what was and the dreams of what might have been. Yet now that he knew you were alive, he was going to have to clean up his mess. But for now, he carried you into the bedroom and laid you down on your bed.

Claire tended to your gunshot and your various other injuries. Then she hooked you up to an IV to replenish your fluids and help fight off any infections you might have gotten in sitting in that sweltering warehouse for days. Then she gave Frank a bottle of extra-strength pain medication and told him to give it to you as needed. She promised to check back in after her shift at the hospital and she left. 

Several hours later, you were fast asleep but Frank could see it wasn’t a peaceful one. Your jaw was clenched tightly beneath a furrowed brow and your right hand clutched at the sheets, twisting them tightly into your fist. Every so often, you would let out a soft whimper or your breathing would momentarily become more ragged. And at one point, tears began slipping down your cheeks.

Frank watched it all from his chair next to the bed, the stabbing ache in his chest growing stronger with each passing moment. He had helped you into a fresh tank top after Claire finished patching you up. As you shifted, the blankets slipped down revealing more skin and Frank noticed more injuries he hadn’t seen when you were wearing his hoodie. You hadn’t said a word about what they did to you, but Frank had seen enough injuries like these to get a pretty good picture. And while some would heal completely, the deeper ones would never truly fade. You would have to carry these scars as a permanent reminder of how he had failed to protect you. 

“I found the perfect wedding dress.”

Startled, Frank’s head jerked up to see your eyes now opened and a soft smile on your face. “What?”

Patting the empty spot on the bed next to you, you said, “I looked online while I was at Matt’s place.”

Frank chuckled as he climbed into the bed and placed his arm behind your head. “You were there for less than a day and you found one?”

You nodded, snuggling your face into his chest. “The second I saw it I knew. It was the one I wanted to marry you in.” You paused, then added, “Just like at that moment I knew I didn’t want to be apart from you, no matter how much danger I might be in.”

So…it was time for this conversation.

Frank sighed, “Sweetheart—”

But you cut him off. “No, Frank. I know what you’re gonna say. But it was my fault, not yours. You sent me away someplace you knew I’d be safe. And I would have been—if I had stayed. But I came back—knowing the risks—because I love you and couldn’t stay away. So everything that’s happened is all because of me and my decisions. Not yours.”

“But you wouldn’t have ever needed to be sent away to keep you safe if you weren’t with me,” Frank countered.

“Maybe. But any life without you in it isn’t one I want to live.” You pressed your lips against the bare skin of his neck. “So if that means I’m put in danger from time to time, it’s a cost I’m willing to pay.” 

“What if I’m not willing to pay for my happiness with your life? Because that’s what might happen one of these days if you stay. As bad as this was, we were lucky. Next time, we might not be.”

Sighing, you sat up and stared at him, your lips pressed together in a frustrated line. “Frank, do you realize that everything you’re feeling right now—all this dread and uncertainty and heart-stopping terror that something might happen to me—that’s what I feel every single time you walk out the door as The Punisher. I never know when I kiss you goodbye if that will be the last time I ever see you alive. But I never try to stop you. I just sit here patiently and pray you’ll walk back through that door to give me another kiss. And yes, this life you’ve chosen is dangerous for the both of us. But are you telling me that you aren’t willing to deal with those same feelings you put me through on a weekly basis in order to be with me?”

“Well, fuck, sweetheart,” Frank muttered looking down at his hands. “When you put it like that, it’d be pretty selfish of me to say no, huh?”

“Exactly.” Placing your finger under his chin, you tilted his head up until he was looking at you. The adoration in your gaze made the last lingering doubts about whether or not he should stay vanish. As you stroked his cheek, you cooed, “And if I know one thing about you, Frank Castle, it’s that you are one of the most selfless men I know. And I love you with everything in me.”

Frank leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “I love you too, sweetheart. More than I ever thought possible. And if you’re sure this life of danger is what you want, then you can buy that wedding dress tomorrow.”

“Too late,” you giggled, wrapping your good arm around Frank’s neck in a half-hug. “I already ordered it while you were in the shower.”

Frank shook his head with a soft chuckle. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Marry me,” you said with complete seriousness. “Then we’ll have the rest of our lives together to figure out what comes next.”

Frank pulled you down—carefully minding all of your injuries—so you were lying on top of him. As he felt your eyelashes flutter closed against his bare chest, he murmured, “That’s exactly what we’ll do. I promise.” He pressed his lips against the top of your head. “And have I ever broken my promise?”

Taglist: @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @blue-aconite, @ohtobeleah

@foli-vora, @lucyysthings, @tavners, @merlehs,

@sunshineflowerchild789, @myguiltypleasures21, @androah,

@imreading,  @arduadastra, @infinitelydreamingx, @weallhaveadestiny, @dreamcatcher121, 

@andromacher, @assemblemotherfuckers

[3-2-whump]

Escape Attempt Last

<prev next>

As in, there were plenty in between this attempt and First Escape Attempt, but I won't enumerate them (unless you ask nicely, I guess)

Set one year after The Auction Floor

TW/CW: minor whump, slavery, pet whump, noncon body mod (tattoos, piercings), threats of permanent injury (not followed through), burning, inappropriate use of a clothes iron

The first thing he heard that morning was “Happy anniversary,” whispered softly over him as he stirred awake.

Khaled blinked. The blond man leaned over his bed, not a trace of a frown on his stern face. Khaled groggily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had no idea what his master just said, though that might’ve just been because he was never much of a morning person. “What was that?” Khaled yawned.

“It’s our anniversary,” the man explained patiently as he helped him sit up. Those broad arms and bruising hands that once (and occasionally still) struck fear into Khaled’s heart now supported him as he climbed out of bed. “I brought you home a year ago, and so I wanted to give you something special today, if you’d let me…” he trailed off with a smile.

Khaled shuffled toward his wardrobe and began picking out a pair of boxers, denim pants, and a shirt. “A year, huh?” Though he was still in the process of waking up, having never been an early riser in his life, his muddy brain was slowly piecing it together.

It was well into midday when Khaled finally let its implications sink in.

One year of his life in slavery. One whole year of his life spent in servitude. His head swam in an unsettling mix of shock, anger, and grief, emotions that traveled down to his gut and twisted it into knots. A lot had happened in a year; the sixteen-year-old shot up a few inches in height, his voice had deepened, and his body hair (everywhere) had grown in enough to prompt his owner to teach him about shaving and ‘hygienic practices.’ That was an embarrassing talk, and one that he deeply wished his father could’ve given him instead.

It had been more than a year since he had seen his family; were they thinking of him? Did they notice he was gone? He brought home one of their main sources of income; how was his mother coping, providing for his siblings all on her own? They didn’t hate him for abandoning them, did they? Khaled blinked back the mist in his eyes at the thought.

The car lulled to a stop. “We’re here,” the Boss announced, taking Khaled out of his head. He looked down at the small box resting in his hands. Twin diamonds set in white gold rested inside the velvety interior. At first, Khaled thought it was a mistake, since his ears weren’t pierced. The man only grinned as he simply replied “not yet.”

They got out at the now-familiar tattoo parlor, entering soon after they opened. This was where the boy got his second and third tattoos, the initials and the skull and snake, respectively. The bearded, bespectacled man known only as Leo spotted them immediately and approached them with a welcoming grin. He made small talk with Khaled’s master as he led them to the back.

“So, we’re doing a set of piercings today?” he asked, pulling out a pair of single-use gloves.

Master nodded. “Ears, just one pair for now, unless we want more.”

Khaled let out an unbidden scoff. His master threw him a reproachful glare. There is no we, there never was, he wanted to scream. He didn’t consent to any of his tattoos, what made the man think he’d be okay with piercings? Yet his owner initialed him like an object and drew the symbol of his crime family on his skin, and he could just do that –he bought him, after all.

“Well, let’s get to it, then!” Leo said.

“Wait. I’ve gotta use the bathroom,” Khaled murmured. Master glanced at Leo, who merely shrugged. He silently pushed past the two men and made his way to the front of the store to the bathroom, where he locked the door and slumped against it as he settled onto the floor. He allowed himself a deep, shuddering breath behind the closed door, resting his head back against it with a dull thunk.

One year… he thought morosely. A streaky bathroom mirror bordered with stickers glared back at him under artificial light. Curious, Khaled got up from the floor and leaned over the sink to look at himself, to physically see how much he had changed in only a year. How much of these changes were within his control?

None of them, he realized sadly. He turned his newly shaved head side to side to look at his ears, taking in the sight of the unpierced lobes as much as he could. These would change too, and that was also out of his control.

Or was it? Out of the corner of his eye, Khaled spotted a slit of natural light seeping in from above. He turned; there, above the toilet, was a small window, vented open to let in fresh air. He assessed the window immediately, judging that he was still skinny and flexible enough that he could climb through, and without much else besides a desire to just be in control of something, he did exactly that.

-

With exception to the mall incident (which shouldn’t even count, he genuinely got lost), this had to be the worst escape yet. He was recaptured within two hours, tied up and thrown into the back of a car yet again, and now lay on his back on a large table, hands and feet bound to each corner as two unfamiliar goons stood on each side. Beside him, Master stood solemnly ironing a dress shirt on an ironing board. His resting bitch face was back, and he was re-ironing the same sleeve for the third time. Khaled gulped, only sensing a fraction of how fucked he was.

“I really thought we had made some progress this past year,” the man growled. A puff of steam escaped the iron as he set it aside and hung up the crisp white shirt. He then moved on to ironing a pair of slacks. “I trusted you, I provided for you, I gave you everything you could ever need, and what do you do? You run away the second I loosen your leash,” he continued, straightening out a seam with a bit more force than necessary.

Khaled cleared his throat and tried to look up from his awkward position on the table. “I’m sorry, Master, I just freaked out- “

“Quiet! Let me finish.”

Khaled shut his mouth immediately. He sunk back down, fixed his eyes on the dim ceiling lamp above him, and awaited his punishment with dread.

Master continued talking. “You know, the last time this happened, a friend of mine advised me to cut your tendons.” Beneath the quickening pounding of his anxious heart, Khaled heard the faint hiss of the iron. “I don’t want to permanently cripple you though, mostly because it would be even more of a hassle to care for you, but I will cripple you temporarily, at the very least...”

Khaled tore his eyes from the ceiling and looked over his outstretched toes. His master settled in front of his feet, the steaming hot iron in hand. Moist tendrils of heat lapped at his exposed bare soles. Dense as he may be, it didn’t take a genius to realize what was about to happen. Khaled trembled, then began struggling in earnest. The mob members held him firmly by the legs and shoulders as he thrashed frantically in his restraints, fearfully begging. “No, no, no, please, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry – “

“You’re only sorry you got caught,” Boss snapped. “Now hold still.”

Searing hot pain erupted in the soles of his feet as Khaled screamed himself hoarse.

After what felt like too much time and yet not much time at all, the goons above him let him go and started working on the knots tying him to the table. That must mean he’s done, Khaled thought, but why does it feel like my feet are still burning?

“Get up.”

The now untied boy paused rubbing his chafed wrists to look up at him in shock.  His master glared down at him coldly. “I said get up!” he shouted.

He can’t be serious. With horror, he realized the man was completely serious. “I-I can’t,” Khaled whimpered, “I -you wouldn’t -I can’t!” He caught his trembling lip between his teeth before a small sob could escape.

“I’m not going to repeat myself again, brat,” the Boss gritted out. “Get. Up.”

Khaled hung his head and nodded. He stiffly swung his legs over the table and gingerly lowered his burnt feet to the floor. The freshly blistered flesh barely touched the ground before an effusion of pain shot up his legs. He gasped in agony. His owner, meanwhile, stood in front of him in silence, waiting. Khaled sniffled, grit his teeth, and, with legs quivering and tears streaming down his cheeks, he stood up straight and tall.

“Walk,” Thomas said.

No. Khaled shook his head, completely unable to get a word out through the pain.

“Walk.”

Please, no, he wanted to say. He hung his head and shakily took a step forward, not making it even two steps before he collapsed. The strong arms of the Boss’ cronies caught him just before his knees could hit the floor. They scooped him back onto the table before one ran off to find the first aid kit, and the other ran off to get a basin of cool water. Khaled thankfully slipped into unconsciousness and took refuge in the nothingness.

-

A hesitant knock at the door brought Khaled’s attention back to the present, three hours after the Iron Incident. “Khaled, it’s me.” His master entered his bedroom soon after.

Facing away from the door in a fetal position on top of the bed, Khaled curled up even tighter. His heart picked up pace as he heard the man settle to his knees in front of his bed. “Your bandages need changing.” He flinched away when he felt the man’s fingers graze his injured feet, but ultimately he relented, letting his master unwind the soiled bandages as he winced and whimpered. Not all of the gauze was peeling off neatly. He heard a faint click of a tube opening, then felt cooling salve on his burned soles. Then, with a level of tenderness he did not think the Boss capable of, the man wrapped his feet up in clean gauze and taped the bandages in place. “One more thing,” he murmured softly, reaching into the first aid bag he brought with him.

Khaled had raised his head from his pillow, his red-rimmed eyes trailing down to his feet as curiosity overcame his pain and apprehension. His owner procured a pair of socks, gingerly slipping them over each gauze-wrapped foot. “There are plenty more of these, so if this pair gets dirty, you can just ask me for more,” he told him. “Comfortable, right?”

Khaled reached over and brushed his fingers against the soft fabric. His eyes misted with tears again at the act of kindness. “…They’re nice,” he sniffled. “Thank you, sir.”

The man replied with a pleased grunt before he lifted himself from the floor and stood, ready to leave. “Now then, is there anything else you need before I go to bed, Khaled?”

A hesitant silence. “No, but I-I’m sorry. Really.”

“I know,” he answered, his tone sincere. “Goodnight, Khaled.” Khaled flopped back onto the bed, face to the wall as he heard the door close gently behind him. What was that? He wondered. In the whole year that I’ve been here, he’s never been that gentle with me. Was that even the same man?He didn’t hear the faint click of the lock this time. In any other circumstance, this would give him hope, but at this point, the hope had been burnt out of him through the soles of his feet.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter

[firapolemos05]

@augusnippets Path of Hurt

Day 10: execution/fake execution/begging for mercy

CW: minor whumpee, mock execution, government corruption, abuse of power, imprisonment, framed for a crime, future captivity

Itzal (he/him)

Word count: 756 (a bit longer but I couldn't resist)

The Champion taglist: @emmettland , @ostensiblywhump , @scoundrelwithboba

They don't listen when he says he hasn't killed anyone. When they shove the gag into his mouth and secure the strap at the back of his neck, Itzal realizes they're not going to listen to anything he has to say.

He doesn't want to die.

It didn't make sense. There wasn't a trial. No evidence given that tied him to the supposed death of whatever unnamed Lapis guard they mentioned.

Only twenty-four hours between Itzal getting brought down to this prison and learning they were going to kill him.

‘ “Rebels don't get trials,” ’ they had said, sneering laughs lapping up the tiefling's terror.

He cursed them. Would've trashed and clawed up his cell had the shackles at his wrists not held him down. Would've tormented the guards with illusions had his magic not been suppressed. All he had were his words and he used them. Such fragile pride they had that they'd waste time and resources to silence a seventeen year old vandal who dared to insult them.

Itzal's anger spat until they gagged him.

He realizes now part of that anger had been fueled by denial. Armored guards clutch his bound arms as they drag him towards the courtyard, and dread clutches his gut.

He's going to die.

He tries so hard to fight. Bucks at the grasping hands until their grip is hard enough to bruise. Lashes out with his horns until one guard grabs one to force his head still. The blindfold around his head is wet with tears he failed not to shed.

He should’ve been more careful. Should've picked a safer, less public spot for his last graffiti run. Should've went home when his mother told him to and wait for a different day. 

His mother's face flashes into Itzal's mind. His father's. His little sister's. 

What's going to happen to them?

He won't even get to say goodbye. 

The screech of a metal door opening preceeds a waft of warmth as the sunlight hits his skin. The Crescentine sun is always harsh in the summer. The guards force Itzal to his knees in the dirt, latching the chains to a bolt in the ground so he couldn't stand. Couldn't flee. He balls his hands into fists to hide how much he's shaking. 

“Itzal Azarola,” a voice booms from behind. “For the crimes of treason, accomplice to murder of a government official, defacement of government property, government slander, and resisting arrest, you have been sentenced to death under orders from the Cerulean Constellate.”

Treason?

It doesn't seem real. It can't be real. This has to be a nightmare. He'll wake up home in his bed and be safe.

There's more noises. A rifle being loaded. His heart hammering in his chest. 

He will wake up soon. He doesn't want to die.

A click of the safety being released. A muffled sob escaping his lips.

He doesn't want to die.

“Fire!”

HE DOESN'T WANT TO DIE!

A trigger being pulled. 

A deafening blast sends him reeling, all other sound drowns under the piercing ring in his ears. His head throbs. His body collapses. He hopes it'll be quick. He hopes it'll be over before he feels it. He-

He's still alive.

The pain of a bullet tearing through his organs doesn't come. No smell of blood or burning flesh. The world still dark under a blindfold he can still feel on his face. Itzal is still alive.

More hands grab him. The chain is released from the ground and he is being carried away. His legs drag uselessly. His muscles feel like gelatin. His mind in a fog.

Why?

He should feel relief but instead there's a void. Nausea burning up his throat he has no choice but to force down because he's still gagged. 

What's happening?

Was there a mistake? Is he actually dead and his thoughts now are from his ghost trying to cling to life? Where are they taking him? He still can't see. No one's saying anything. What're they going to do to him now?

They drop him on hard stone. “Is this the one you wanted, Lady Matar?”

The blindfold is removed. There's a woman standing in front of Itzal. Short red hair and red eyes. Cloaked in the luxurious vestments of the Constellate. Lady Matar. High Martinet Scarlet Matar.

The master of judicial law stares down at the young tiefling, drinking in the tears on his face.

The way she smiles at him is the most terrifying thing he's ever seen.

“Yes. I will be taking him now.”

[inhurtandincomfort]

CW: Minor whump (again, it's backstory) Child trafficking, sold into slavery, forced nonsexual nudity, mentions of alcoholism, drug use and self harm at the end along with mild references to disassociation and possible suicidal ideation if you read into how depressed he is.

Eldwin’s body does not belong to him.

That may not make sense to some people. “Ridiculous,” they say, “Whose else could it be?” But it was something made all too clear to Eldwin, as young as fourteen years old, from the moment the pact mark first appeared on his skin. 

The moment his hand met the strangers, a sharp pain ran across the back of it and when he looked the mark was there, burned red already fading to black. This was the price he must pay, he knew. That didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the beginnings of regret nagging at the back of his mind as he stared at the intricate sigil, a permanent marker of what he was. Whose he was. When he looked up at the stranger, a handsome man flashing teeth that seemed a little too white, slightly too sharp, looking very pleased with an unnerving glint in his eyes, Eldwin wondered not for the last time whether he’d made the right choice. 

It didn’t matter. What’s done is done; a contract was made, his fate is sealed. The demon walked away with a soul and a promise. Eldwin walked away with a fear and a life that would never be the same. 

Then he was kidnapped, starving, cold, and desperate in the middle of December lured in by a wealthy-looking couple with a promise of work and instead taken captive, thrown in a basement somewhere in the city with a handful of other boys most his age or older, a couple of them younger. 

“They’re gonna sell us,” One of them said, glumly resigned to his fate. He’d been there the longest and claimed to have heard them discussing their plans. “We’ll be sold off for labour and there’s nothin’ we can do about it.”  Eldwin scowled, crossing his arms. Maybe there was nothing they could do, but that didn’t mean they shouldn’t try. He voiced as much,when the auction day drew closer.

“You’re being stupid.” The first boy told him bluntly. “You think none of us ‘ave tried before?” But some of the newer faces still had some spirit and agreed to attempt an escape. They waited until late in the night. Eldwin quietly approached the basement door, lifting a gloved hand to the lock. It opened easily with a soft click letting the boys sneak out one by one, Eldwin in the lead. They managed to boost one of the boys over the fence before they were caught, a gun in their faces and several men roughly dragging them back where they were thrown forcefully into the basement where the ones who stayed jumped back in fear as the slaver appeared holding his walking cane.  

“Who’s idea was this?” He barked, “Own up before I break everyone’s limbs!” The youngest squeaked and stuffed his filthy sleeve into his mouth. Most were crying or quivering with fear and Eldwin couldn’t help but wonder who would speak first? Well, he wouldn’t wait to find out. He wouldn't put that burden on them.

“It was me,” He said more confidently than he felt. “It was my idea. They didn’t want to, but I convinced them.” He held his head high, meeting the man's eyes even as he clenched his fist to stop it from trembling. He only hoped the boy who’d escaped would make it, that he’d tell the guards and put a stop to this before auction day.

“You little brat,” The man snarled, raising his hand. Eldwin was sent stumbling back, a stinging pain where the man backhanded him across the face. “Hold him,” The man ordered two of the stronger boys and they wordlessly stood either side of Eldwin, shoving him to his knees. Eldwin closed his eyes, bracing himself for what was to come. The wooden cane slammed into his back with such force he would have fallen over had the boys not been holding him in place. He couldn’t hold back a cry slipping past his lips as his vision blurred from tears as the cane hit its mark, over and over again. The youngest boy amongst them was shielding his face in the shirt of another trying to stifle his own cries. “How did you do it? How did you get out!?” The man dropped his cane to the floor and grabbed Eldwin by the collar, hauling him up nearly off the ground. Eldwin looked to the floor, biting the inside of his cheek. He wouldn't answer. No matter how much it hurt, what they did to him, he could not answer.

“He magicked it sir!” The boy who’d been here longest piped up, conviction in his tone. “We all saw ‘im. He didn't even touch it, the door unlocked just like that!"

A new fear flooded Eldwin's chest as the man slowly turned to look from the boy to Eldwin, a strange look coming across his face. “Is that right?” He dropped him to the floor, beckoning for a boy to pass him his cane. “You been holding out on us lad?”

Eldwin glared up at the man, not saying a word. He already had his answer. No one was going to lie for him; If they were asked if he did magic, each and every one of them would say yes. 

“Show us,” The man commanded. When he didn’t comply the man slammed his cane hard to the floor with a loud bang that made them all flinch. “Show us!” 

There was no point putting it off further. Shakily Eldwin cupped his hands in front of him and after a second a little ball of light appeared. It wasn’t the brightest and it flickered like a dying flame, dimming and brightening every few seconds. But it was all the proof the man needed. 

“Well well well.” He looked up from the orb and a smile crept onto his face making Eldwin’s stomach churn, “Things are about to get much more interesting.” 

The next few days blurred into one. Eldwin’s anxiety rose to new heights with their discovery hanging over his head like a weight ready to drop. None of the captors had said anything about it and he almost wished they would, he couldn’t take this constant trepidation. None of his fellow captives said anything either. They all stayed huddled at the wall with their heads hung low. No one would meet his eyes. They couldn’t even bear to look at him anymore. It was almost a relief when the big day came. That morning they were all brought upstairs, divided amongst the several bathrooms, stripped and forced in a bathtub where they were doused with cold water by one of the underlings. When they took his gloves from him this man -who looked to be only eighteen, nineteen- saw the sigil and disappeared from the room, coming back with The Mistress in tow. Her nails dug into his wrist as she yanked it harshly, staring at the pact mark with disdain. “Do you have any more secrets you’d like to share with us?” She asked flatly.

Eldwin kept his gaze firmly on the bathroom tiles, his face radiating heat despite his shivering as he tried to cover himself as best he could. She sighed, dropping his arm. “Proceed. I’ll talk to the client before the deal goes through.”

They were given clean clothes. Eldwin noticed his were different from the others - whereas they were given plain cloths barely more than rags, he had on a proper button-up white shirt and dark grey trousers, and black shoes which the others weren’t afforded the luxury of. Some of them had their hair cut unevenly where mats were cut off, others had their heads shorn entirely. Usually he’d appreciate being treated better, but now it made him all the more nervous. Maybe they just wanted to cover the bruises? His back still hurt whenever it stretched. That didn't explain the quality, though.

Then they were brought to another room with a chair by a fire and a couple of metal instruments nearby. Stood by the chair was a feminine figure, her face hidden by a mask. Another woman stood by a table in the corner with what seemed to be medical supplies. They all watched in horror as the first boy was held down in the chair, his head tilted as an iron rod was placed on the side of his neck. The boy yelled and squirmed, strong hands holding him still. It was over within a second, and he was shuffled along to a treatment table, quietly sobbing. 

“I feel sick,” One boy said as they all stood lined up in the hallway waiting to be brought on stage, bandage wrapped around his neck, their hands tied in front of them with rope that was left long so they could be led around by it. They could hear the host welcoming the guests. Some boys muttered prayers to themselves, others seemed to be trying to forget they were there at all. 

The Mistress entered the room, beckoning Eldwin to follow. “You, boy. With me.” She clicked her fingers, and one of her henchmen grabbed the rope attached to him and tugged him along, bringing him away from the auction to another room. She stopped them outside the door, smoothing his hair back and fixing him with a hard look. “This is a good opportunity for you. Don’t blow it.” Then she opened the door, and he was led inside.

A wealthy-looking man stood in front of the fireplace, turning to face them when the door opened. He was tall, towering over Eldwin when he came to greet them, brown hair neatly combed back and an expensive looking suit. The man grabbed his chin and tilted his head to the side, looking at him from various angles. “He doesn’t look like much. You’re sure he’s the one?” “Yes, sir. The boys all claim to have seen it and my husband can testify.” She gave Eldwin a nudge. “Go on boy, prove it.” “Prove what?” He meant it but must have sounded snarkier than intended because a palm connected with his cheek making his eyes water, her long nails leaving scratch marks. 

“Don’t play dumb with me!” She snapped, rings glittering on her still raised fingers. Eldwin scowled, blinking to clear the tears.

“I don’t know what you want from me! No one told me anything! Why was I separated from the others? Why are we here in the first place, I don’t even know how long it’s been!” 

Her face twisted with rage. “Why you little-” She looked like she was going to hit him again but the man raised his hand. “You’re a sorcerer, are you not? That’s what we want from you dear. Your magic.” He smiled, the sort of smile one would give to reassure a lost child. He reached up to cup Eldwin’s face, his thumb wiping away the blood left by the Mistress. “Can you do a little for me? Just to prove you can.”

Do these people understand how hard magic is when you’re overstressed, underfed and under-slept? Fine. He’d do a little magic. 

He held out one hand palm up, feeling a gentle warmth run through him as all his aether concentrated. Sparks flew from his palm and the man watched in fascination before the sparks turned into flames, springing to life as if someone had thrown oil on to it, albeit on a very small scale. But it was enough to catch the man's sleeve aflame, making him leap back with a yelp, frantically patting himself down. The royal blue fabric was left charred black with a sizable hole. The Mistress offered profuse apologies, offering to cover the damages as Eldwin watched in veiled amusement, careful not to let it show on his face. He would pay for that no doubt, both in their punishment and with the exhaustion that came with using too much energy. 

The momentary satisfaction was worth it. 

The man dusted himself off, no longer smiling. He didn’t seem to be upset, though; deep blue eyes bore through him as he studied him intently. If anything, he looked pleased. “I’ll take him.”

Thus went his body, stolen by a crime lord who broke it down piece by piece, tore it apart only to build it back up, beat it, burned it, ripped it limb from limb just so he could put it back together leaving not even a scar, getting to live his life like it never happened. Eldwin didn’t have that luxury. Not everything left a visible mark, he couldn’t prove it, no one would ever believe him - but he knew. The Mind remembers what the Body forgets. 

But his mind was a traitor. 

It was hard to cope, trapped in a life he never asked for, made to do things he never wanted. He was violated, he was used and he was alone with only his own Mind to talk to. Oh, he hated the things his Mind says. 

His hand shakes as he brings the bottle to his lips, whisky burning his throat in a way he’d grown to crave. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. The drink, the pills, the searing of cigarettes on skin - they’re only temporary, blocking out the pain, making him human for but a moment. Then come the whispers, the mocking laughter - Failure. Monster. Not even human. Other times it goes blank, leaving him numb and empty until he does something dangerous or cruel for that rush, a chance to feel.. His mind is an enemy that exists within him, controlling his every thought, every move. It was a foe he could not defeat, so it was all he could do to let something else take the reins, just for a little while.

He'd never be himself again. He was already corrupted, tainted, every aspect of him owned by another. Mind, body, and soul.

I hope you enjoyed! If you did please consider reblogging, it really helps the reach of the post for others to find and enjoy it :)

[just-whump-and-suffering]

The Screaming Staircase Whumplist

Lockwood & Co Book 1 by Jonathon Stoud

Synopsis:

Lucy Carlyle, a talented young agent, arrives in London hoping for a notable career. Instead she finds herself joining the smallest, most ramshackle agency in the city, run by the charismatic Anthony Lockwood.

When one of their cases goes horribly wrong, Lockwood & Co. have one last chance of redemption. Unfortunately this involves spending the night in one of the most haunted houses in England, and trying to escape alive.

Warning: Spoilers

TV series

Part 1: The Ghost

Chapter 3:

Lucy Carlyle

Is ghost-locked

Part 2: Before

Chapter 5:

Lucy

Injured and weakened from having to jump out of the upper windows to escape

Part 3: The Necklace

Chapter 9:

Lucy

Injured from jumping from Hope house to escape fire

arm in sling from being sprained and limps when walking

Lockwood

Mentioned to be ghost-touched

Ghost-touched hand heavily bandaged

Wobbles and almost falls but is caught by Lucy and George

Chapter 15:

George

Is punched in the face

Part 4 : The Hall

Chapter 22:

Lucy

Overwhelmed by the screaming

Almost throws herself down a well, being drawn to it by the screaming; saved by Lockwood

Lockwood

Overwhelmed by the screaming

Bleeding from his ears

George

Overwhelmed by the screaming

Cowering in fear

Chapter 23

Lucy

Caught in a explosion

Injured; Forehead covered in blood

Held at gunpoint

Lockwood

Caught in an explosion

Hit by a piece of masonry; bleeding from the head

Held at gunpoint

George

Caught in an explosion

injured; arm bleeding

Slapped by Lucy to get him to wake up

Held at gunpoint

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Chapter 58: Research

TWs in the tags (be safe!)

Previous

Masterlist

Next

“What do you think of Ethan?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s your name. Or what you’re going to go by, at the very least.”

“Right, right. It says it means ‘firm, enduring, strong, and long lived.’ Oh, this website says it means optimistic, too. Solid and permanent.” You pause, rereading. “This website says it means safe.”

“Do you like it?”

“I’m not sure. It’s a really common name.”

“Are you wanting a more rare one?”

“I don’t know.” You type ‘names that mean safe’ into the search bar. None of them stick out to you. “A lot of these start with Sal. Maybe I can go by Sal.”

“You could.”

Diya is not being very helpful.

“I think I like Ethan.” You say.

“Awesome! I think it’s a nice name, Ethan.”

It feels weird, but not in a bad way. The name doesn’t feel like yours, but you know it will after being called it for a while.

“I want to be able to go by the name I had before, eventually. I don’t want to let her take it permanently. But for now, Ethan will work.”

“Sounds good to me. How do you plan on getting comfortable with your old name?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. I don’t want to try yet. I want to… rest, for a little.”

“I understand.”

You can tell that ey does really understand. Which is funny, because you’re not even sure you understand how you’re feeling. But Diya does. Ey squeezes your shoulder.

“Barron’s going to get clothes for you, today. You can also borrow any of ours that you think might fit you.”

“…Thank you.”

“How are you feeling? I know this is all a lot.”

“I’m… relieved, about finding a name that fits without the huge trauma reaction. I…” You trail off, unsure of how to explain everything swirling inside you. Diya waita patiently.

“Please be honest. Does Barron hurt you?” You whisper.

Diya frowns. “Why would it hurt me?”

“I don’t know. Why would it protect you?”

“Because it’s a kind person? Barron’s my friend. It’s just doing what it can to make the world a better place.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“The answer is no. Barron doesn’t hurt anyone. Neither does Greg, and neither do I.”

Your hands shake. “Please just tell me. I can’t do it again. I just don’t want it to be a surprise.”

Diya’s eyebrows furrow. “No one here is going to hurt you.”

“…Okay.” You don’t think you believe em. You don’t know. You just want to feel safe. “Can we talk about what Jane is? All four of us. I feel ready.”

Diya looks doubtful.

“I want to get it over with.” You correct. “I want to find out if there’s any way to stop her for good, and if there is I want to know it as soon as possible.”

“Fair enough.” Diya claps excitedly. “Oh! We should make it all comfy. We’ll make hot chocolate or tea and get you a bunch of blankets, and we can play some calming music, and Barron can go down its list of questions, and you can answer however you want. Like if you want to write it down instead of saying it out loud, or draw it, or… do interpretive dance? Or you can just say it. And you don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. How does that sound?”

“…That sounds nice.”

“Perfect! Do you want to go get comfortable on the couch? I’ll go get the others and make some drinks. What sounds good to you?”

“Anything is fine.”

“Right, but what sounds good to you? What will help you feel safe and stay in the moment?”

“I don’t… do you have anything minty?”

“Yeah! Do you like peppermint tea?”

You nod.

“Alright, go get comfortable. I’ll have Greg bring you some blankets and pillows. They can also help get music set up, if you want that.”

Diya doesn’t wait for you to get up, ey just heads off to the kitchen. You wish you were clever enough to figure out how to take advantage of this brief moment alone with a computer, but you’re not. You have no idea what to look up or who to contact or anything, so you head back to the living room curl up on the couch under the weighted blanket that’s still there.

Shit, you should’ve tried to use the computer to figure out where you are. It would be nice to know, if you did decide to leave. You could be on the other side of the world and you wouldn’t know.

Greg enters the living room and plops three blankets on the ground in front of the couch. “Did you decide what you want to be called?”

“I think I settled on Ethan.”

“You think?”

“Diya said it was okay if I changed my mind later.”

“It is.”

Greg stares at you. You retreat deeper into the weighted blanket.

“Thanks. For the blankets.”

Greg grimaces. “Diya said to ask you if you wanted music.”

“I think I’ll be okay.”

Greg nods and leaves the room. That was… uncomfortable.

You try to prepare for what questions Barron might ask. It’ll probably ask about what powers Jane has, which you don’t think will be difficult to talk about. You hope it’ll tell you about different kinds of creatures so that you can try to see what fits best.

It shouldn’t be too bad. Barron doesn’t have any reason to ask about punishments and stuff like that. It’ll be fine. You can talk about her abilities without talking about what she used them for.

Barron steps into the living room. It’s holding a notebook and pencil. Is it going to take notes? It sits down in a seat near the couch.

“I hope Diya isn’t freaking you out.” It says gently. “Ey really wants you to be comfortable, but I doubt this will be a super intense conversation.”

You nod. That’s what you anticipated, but it’s still a relief for Barron to say it.

Diya enters the room with a mug, and Greg trails behind. Diya wordlessly hands the mug to you. It’s warm and it smells nice.

Diya and Greg sit on a beanbag in a corner. You’re glad they’re here.

“Is it okay if I write down your answers? I have issues with memory, sometimes, and I think this is something important to be able to remember.”

“That’s fine.”

Barron opens the notebook. “You said the monster’s name is Jane?”

You nod. Barron writes something.

“What abnormal abilities have you witnessed Jane using?”

It takes you a moment to understand the question. “Um… she can teleport. You knew that. She can teleport objects, too, and keep them in her void. We know that because she can make things disappear by touching them, and make those things appear later. She moved the whole house once. She can stay in her void too, if she wants, and she can watch us. Which I already told you…”

You take a sip of the tea Diya made you. “She’s immortal. I guess that’s not something I’ve witnessed, but Kitty said they’ve seen her survive things that should’ve killed her. And she talks about it all the time, and I was there for a year and she didn’t visibly age at all, I don’t think her hair even grew. I’ve never seen her sleep, and I’ve barely ever seen her eat. She…”

You’ve spent every second of several days with her, before. In the basement. You know that when you were too exhausted to think and too hungry to move, Jane was still cheerful and wide awake, despite going as long (if not longer) without food and sleep as you.

“You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. Do you want me to ask the next question?”

You take a deep breath and stare at the mug in your hand. You don’t have to share that part. They get the idea.

“I… yeah. Well, she’s also really strong, but that’s all I’ve noticed. So you can ask the next question.”

Barron talks as it writes. “Alright. Have you ever witnessed Jane preforming mage rituals?”

“I don’t think so. What would that look like?”

“Right, you wouldn’t know! Mage rituals can have a lot of variety, it depends on what spell you’re preparing. Generally, a mage ritual involves spell words, some sort of object, and specific movements. Which is pretty vague, I know. Did you ever see her do anything like that?”

“…Saying words, using an object, and moving are things I’ve seen her doing, yes.”

“It would look strange. The large, large majority of spell words wouldn’t sound familiar to a non-mage, the object would have magical significance, and the movements would be very clearly rehearsed.” It pauses. “Any object can have magical significance, but usually it’s something closer to nature, something less… refined, or processed. It will often have runes drawn on or carved into it.”

You nod, finally understanding. “I’ve never seen her do anything like that. She would disappear for days at a time, sometimes, so it’s possible she was doing that stuff and I never saw.”

Barron writes with impressive speed. “What do you think she does when she disappears?”

“…I try not to think about it. I know that money was never an issue. I assumed she was doing stuff connected to that. And I knew there was always a chance she was just watching from her void, waiting for us to mess up.”

Barron nods and keeps writing. “Are there any abilities that you’re positive she doesn’t have?”

You wish Kitty was here. They could explain it better. “I can’t be positive, but I think she couldn’t be in multiple places at once. If we knew she was in the basement, we could break rules, and she wouldn’t punish us for it. So I feel pretty sure she can’t be in my multiple places at once. And she couldn’t read minds. Kitty said they’ve thought things they know they’d be punished for if Jane could read minds. I don’t know what that would be, but I believe them. And I don’t think Jane would keep it a secret if she could read minds. She’d taunt us with it.”

Barron writes for a minute before asking its next question. You drink more tea.

“Did Jane ever mention or associate with someone with similar powers to her?”

“She didn’t. If she knew about others with her powers, she never told us. Or, never told me. Puppy would probably know more, but she also probably wouldn’t tell you what she knows.”

“I see. Did she ever refer to herself as a different species, or something like that?”

“She would call us mortals. Say thinks about how ‘mortals will always be mortals…’” You trail off, remembering her whole monologue about immortality and living long enough to be a villain. Your jaw hurts.

“Anything else?”

You can’t talk, it would hurt your jaw. You don’t want to move your head either. Your ribs are starting to hurt, making it hard to breathe. She’s going to break every bone in your body. She said she’d break every bone in your body.

“Let’s take a break.” Diya says, getting up. “How are you doing, Ethan?”

Ethan? Oh, that’s what you decided to go by. You’re with Diya, you’re safe. You’re in the basement being beaten with a crowbar.

“Can you take a deep breath for me?”

You obey instantly, you don’t want to get hurt. You take a deep breath through your nose.

It smells like peppermint, not blood. Your ribs don’t hurt worse. You take another deep breath. Peppermint. Peppermint, because you’re drinking peppermint tea, and under a weighted blanket, and no one is hurting you.

You focus on the warmth of the mug and the smell and the softness of the blanket. The pain in your body recedes.

“Sorry.” You mumble. “What’s the next question?”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Are you sure you want to keep going? We can be done for today.” Diya says.

Barron nods. “The information you’ve already given me is very helpful. A great starting point for research.”

“…I just want to get it over with.” You’re embarrassed at how weak your voice sounds.

Diya seems thoughtful. “Why don’t we take a break for lunch, and then come back to this?”

Lunch does sound good. You nod.

Diya claps. “Perfect! Let’s make sandwiches.”

Despite it being a relatively simple lunch, it ends up taking a full hour. Diya gathers up every possible ingredient in the cabin that can be used on to make a sandwich, and directs you, Barron, and Greg to make several different kinds and cut them into quarters, which Diya piles up on a plate.

“You can just take what you want from this plate and put it on yours!” Ey says. “And then eat it.”

You didn’t need the clarification. Maybe it wasn’t for you.

The four of you chat as you eat. Well, Diya and Barron chat, and you and Greg make small comments every once in a while. You finish your tea and eat more sandwiches than you planned on, and you feel much better.

Greg volunteers to take care of dishes, and the rest of you head back to the living room.

“Are you still wanting to keep going?” Barron asks.

You nod.

“Do you want more tea?” Diya asks. You shake your head and pull one of the non-weight blankets onto your lap.

“Are there any materials that Jane avoided touching? Any type of metal? Holy water?”

“…I never noticed anything like that. Maybe.”

“Was there any time of day or night that she seemed more powerful?”

You shake your head. Barron marks something in its notebook.

“Any time of day or night that she seemed less powerful?”

You shake your head.

“Did any of her behaviors seem… compelled? Some species have things like that, like vampires needing to count things. It would be something she clearly didn’t want to do, but couldn’t stop herself from doing. I guess it could be something she enjoyed, too, but it’s harder to tell if it’s compelled that way.”

You shake your head again. “She always said she was doing this because she wanted to. I don’t think any of it was compelled.”

“You probably would’ve already mentioned this if so, but just in case: did she ever change her appearance, or does she always look like a little girl?”

“She always looks like a little girl.”

“You said you rarely saw her eat. When you did, what kind of stuff did she eat?”

“Just whatever we were eating. I figured she got bored of just watching us eat, sometimes, so she’d fix herself some.”

Barron furrows it’s eyebrows. “There’s only so many immortal creatures, and I don’t know of any who fit that description. I believe you, of course… Do you think she could’ve tricked your friend into thinking she survived fatal wounds when they weren’t actually fatal? It would open up the posibilites a lot if she was just ageless.”

“I told you before, I can’t be positive about any of this. She’s a liar, and she’s definitely capable of tricking people into thinking she has abilities she doesn’t. That’s why I told you why I think she was what powers, so you can judge for yourself if it’s strong enough evidence.”

Barron nods. “Thank you, you’ve been very helpful. This gives me a lot to look into. I’ll ask my coworkers if they know of any creatures like that, too.”

You feel strange. You were hoping Barron would know immediately, and be able to tell you exactly how to get rid of her powers or get rid of her. But you’re still hopeful. Barron knows a lot about magic. Probably. It’ll figure things out.

You don’t trust that everything is as it seems here, but since you can’t leave, you might as well enjoy this before the other shoe drops, and hope it won’t be as bad as living with Jane was.

~~

Kitty keeps forgetting where they are. They see things, in the dark of the blindfold, and they don’t like those things very much at all. Often, they wonder if Jane sends sound through the headphones. They hear screams and drills whirring and crying, and they don’t know if the sounds are coming from their head or not.

Their heart pounds and pounds. Something is crawling up their leg, something is crawling into their nose- all they smell is blood, blood, blood. Why can’t they move? They can’t feel anything, they’re feeling every possible emotion and sensation at once.

They’re nine years old and sobbing because they had the thought “what if my parents are wrong?” and they can’t get it out of their head, get it out get it out- sin wriggles on their skin like germs but you can’t get rid of sin by washing your hands-

They’ve just killed someone for the first time, at Jane’s order. They don’t remember what she threatened, anymore, but they remember the blood and the screaming and fear, fear so encompassing that they thought it was all there’d ever been, all they’d ever be. They didn’t know their heart could beat that hard, didn’t know fear could puppet your body that way, coward coward coward. They can never wash it off, never fix it-

They’re 15 years old and they’re in class, talking about a story from their scriptures where God orders a follower to kill to prove their loyalty (their scriptures have several stories like that, but in this one the victim was innocent). Kitty (that wasn’t their name-) says that they would never kill an innocent person just because someone told them to, even if that person was God. Their teacher said that everyone is at different points in their faith, and Kitty looks around the room and at their peers who look at their lack of faith with pity, and sees fully for the first time that they’re in a fucking cult.

(They would walk that observation back, later. They still went back and forth on whether or not they were in a cult for years after that, and they had for years before, but that moment sticks out in their mind as the tipping point, where they went from “a believer who struggles with doubts” to “a non-believer who’s trying to believe again”)

Jane has ordered Kitty to kill someone again, but this time she didn’t give them a weapon. Kitty looks at her in confusion, and she repeats the order, and Kitty feels the same world-turning-upside-down feeling as back then when they realize she wants them to kill this person with their bare hands.

The person begged. “No, no, no, please! I have a family, I have kids!” Kitty pressed all their weight onto the strangers throat until they stopped moving.

“Don’t worry.” Jane said. “They were lying. I don’t take people who have people who would miss them.”

Kitty is 17 years old and wondering if it would be better to kill themself or run away. Something has to change. They can’t do this for one more day, so something has to change.

They know their limits better, now. They’ve been forced to keep going when they thought they couldn’t so many times. If they’d just gone back to bed, they’d still have people who cared about them, even if it hurt, and Jane would’ve never taken them…

Kitty keeps forgetting where they are.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @fuzzybucketz

[scumashling]

(I'm very normal about Nakamura and Kasuga and very normal about violently amoral and nihilistic femcels whumping pathetic little submissive wet puppy dogs of boys who would die for them)

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Dangerously in Love (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 28 Alt 8. Kidnapping Fandom: MCU, Frank Castle, The Punisher, f!reader Summary: After witnessing your murder on a video call, Frank's only focus is on revenge. But he's about to learn that things are not always as they seem... Word Count: 4389 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Grief, Fighting, Blood, Gun Fight, Minor Character Death, Frank Carries Reader, Happy Ending Notes: Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Part 5 of the “In Love” series

It had taken Frank three days and a trail of bodies in his wake, but he had finally located where Costa had streamed from. 

He had barely stopped since the moment he had left your—his—apartment and only to grab a handful of food or a few hours of sleep to keep up his strength for what was coming. Not that it would have made a difference if he tried to get a full night’s sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your terrified, tear-soaked face pleading with him before hearing the deafening bang of the gun and your blood spraying as the camera cut out. While he hadn’t actually seen the damage that the bullet had done to you, he had seen enough bullet wounds in his life for his brain to fill in the blanks. And when that happened, he would jerk awake with tears streaming down his face.

After Maria and their children were murdered, Frank had sworn never to allow himself to care for someone like that again. It was too dangerous…he was too dangerous. And yet, all of that flew out the window the moment he met you. 

He tried to keep his walls up, to keep you out, but you quickly burst through them all as if they were made of vapor. And when you found out about the Punisher and who he really was yet still accepted him, it was over. Frank’s bullet-riddled heart began to beat again and it was all because of you.

You. The girl who would make fun of herself a hundred times over before ever saying a word against anyone else. The girl who couldn’t cook to save her life but still continuously put in a valiant effort. The girl who hid under a blanket during horror movies or gagged at the slightest scene with gore, yet pulled out the first aid kit without hesitation when he came home dripping in blood. 

He knew the risks, he knew the danger, but he also knew he couldn’t live without you in his life. But now that danger had caught up to you and he had lost you anyway. At least if he had kept his distance you would be out there somewhere living your life happy with someone else—not shot to death in a warehouse while you were alone and terrified.

As Frank approached that same warehouse now, he thought back to your last kiss just before he sent you off to stay with Red. At the time, he had promised you it wasn’t goodbye, that he would come back to you. Yet even though he knew there was a very good chance it was a lie, he never expected you to be the one not coming home.

Looking around, he was surprised to find there weren’t any men standing guard by the main entrance or on the rooftop. He remained on high alert, but crossed the empty lot to the front door and kicked it in. When no one opened fire or swarmed him, he ducked inside.

It appeared the warehouse had been abandoned for a while. Even though he could faintly hear the churning hum of a generator somewhere below him, it must only be for the lights since there didn’t seem to be any sort of air conditioner or fans in the building. But that made sense. Costa must have known Frank would come for him after what he did, and it was better for Frank to locate one of his temporary bases of operation instead of his main headquarters. 

Without slowing, he rubbed his face on the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat out of his eyes as it poured down his brow. He continued through the warehouse—gun raised—as he scanned for any traces of Costa, even though so far it seemed as if he wasn’t here. But Frank wasn’t going to stop looking until he made sure. He wasn’t going to stop hunting him down until Costa lay dead at his feet.

However, when he reached the door at the end of the hall and threw it open, he stumbled to a halt as his heart froze in his chest.

It was the same room he had seen from the video call—barren concrete walls, a single light hanging down from the middle of the room, and a metal chair with your lifeless body still strapped to it. 

All of the air was instantly sucked from Frank’s lungs and his knees went weak. 

He hovered by the door, unable to make his feet take a single step closer to your limp form. He swallowed—hard—as tears stung at his eyes. It had never crossed his mind that he might find you here. He assumed Costa would have dumped your body somewhere it would never be found or incinerated it. Maybe Costa thought having Frank see you like this, to face what had happened in person, would throw him off his game. If that was the plan, it was succeeding. Seeing your violent death over video had been one thing, but finding your long cold corpse days later—

Wait. Something wasn’t right here.

You had been left in this dank, humid room for the past three days. He should have been greeted by the putrid smell of rot and decay as soon as he opened the door but instead, he only sensed the metallic bite of fresh blood. Blood that should have long since dried and lost its potency. Yet he could see the dark red pool beneath your chair was still wet—it was recent. 

Frank stumbled forward as if in a trance. It couldn’t be. He watched you die…hadn’t he? He saw the gun go off, a spray of blood, and your head snapped back—but he never saw the aftermath. Not really. The feed had gone black a second after the gun went off. Was there a chance?

The closer he got to where you were tied, the harder it was to look at you. You were still wearing his hoodie that you had been wearing in the video so it covered most of your skin. However, what was showing was littered with bruises and cuts of various sizes, layers of blood coating most of your visible skin as it had dried and been coated once more. The top layer still looked damp in some places, the color more vibrant and shiny in the dim light, and Frank silently prayed for a miracle. 

He hesitated as he reached you, knowing that the tiny flicker of hope he was allowing himself to feel could be instantly extinguished the second he touched you.  The air around him was deathly still as if the room itself was holding its breath waiting for an answer. He sank to kneel at your feet, as if you were some holy miracle he was prepared to worship. Unable to wait any longer, Frank slowly reached out and placed two fingers against the side of your throat.

For a moment, he felt nothing. Just your cool, clammy skin beneath his fingers, and his heart began to sink. But then—

Just as he felt the first weak thump of your pulse, your eyes slowly flickered open. Your gaze was glassy and unfocused but there was a small spark of recognition as you stared at the man kneeling before you. Your tongue ran briefly over your cracked, bloody lips before you weakly rasped, “-ank?”

Frank’s eyes grew wide as he clutched at your face, his fingers tangling deeply in your hair as he tried to convince himself you were real. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me. Oh god. I thought I’d lost you.” He fought back the tears that were building behind his eyes as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours.

You flinched as he shifted you and for the first time, he noticed the blood-soaked wrapping across your shoulder. Unlike the rest of your injuries, this one seemed more severe yet cared for and, if he had to guess, was probably where the bullet from the video call had struck you instead of the head as he had been led to believe. It was still a dire injury, yet he still felt a wave of relief flood over him. A shoulder wound you could heal from; a headshot was another story.

He stayed with his head pressed against yours, reveling in the fact you were alive and he had found you. Then he pulled back to gaze into your eyes. 

However, where he thought he would see joy or excitement, there was only terror. Slowly—painfully—you began moving your lips as you tried to tell him something but nothing came out except a hoarse exhale.

“Shhh. You don’t have to say anything,” Frank murmured softly as he rubbed his thumb gently across your cheekbone. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m gonna get you outta here and bring you home to get some help.”

But you shook your head, the fear only intensifying in your eyes as you struggled to get your message across. Finally, you took a deep breath and managed to rasp out your message, “–’s a trap…Run.” 

Before Frank could process what you had said, the door to the room slammed open and dozens of armed men rushed into the room. Frank sprang to his feet and tried to put himself between these newcomers and you, but they quickly surrounded the two of you. 

“Well, look what we have here. Mr. Castle, we’ve been expecting you.” Costa chuckled cruelly as he walked through the door. “Although truthfully, I thought you would have been here a lot sooner. Three days is a long time to make your girlfriend wait with no food and very little water, especially when she is losing so much blood.”

“You bastard,” Frank growled as he stepped towards Costa, but he stopped as all of the soldiers around you raised their guns.

Costa’s grin widened. “Uh, uh, uh…I would be careful, Mr. Castle. One wrong move and my men open fire.”

“I can take it,” Frank said, stalking forward.

“I’m sure you can. Which is why not a single gun in this room is aimed at you.”

Frank froze in his tracks before glancing around the room. He hadn’t noticed it before, but Costa was right. Every gun was raised and they were all pointed directly at where you were still tied to the chair behind him. 

Turning, he locked eyes with you and it was clear you had noticed this as well. And yet, the fear that he had seen in your eyes the last time he had looked at you was gone, and in its place was a sort of calm acceptance. You gave him a small smile as you nodded and mouthed, “It’s okay. Go.” 

Frank’s heart swelled. Even after everything this bastard had done to you these past three days, you were still putting his safety above your own. God, how he loved you.

Costa laughed at the tender silent exchange between the two of you. “Oh, is this not precious? You know, she never once lost faith you’d come save her. She said you promised you’d come back and you never broke a promise. Every time one of my men came to check on her or to torture her, she insisted we’d all pay when you found her. Too bad her faith in you was so misguided.” He held up a finger and the men surrounding you all cocked their guns. “Just a word of advice, Mr. Castle that you will never have a chance to learn from: When you try storming the hideout of a known crimelord, don’t try doing it alone. You will always be vastly outnumbered.”

Frank raised his head and looked Costa dead in the eye as his lips curled into a knowing grin. “Who says I’m alone?”

Costa’s smile dropped just as the room was plunged into complete darkness. Frank immediately pivoted and dove towards the spot where he remembered your chair being. His aim was off slightly, but he still managed to grab the edge of the seat as he fell and he pulled it down to the floor with him. And just in time.

“Shoot them!” Costa’s voice rang out through the darkness. He was so focused on not letting you or Frank get away that he did not consider what he had just commanded his men to do.

Following their direct orders as they had been trained to do, Costa’s men opened fire. Bullets whizzed through the air over your heads, and Frank scrambled to cover you with his body as best as he could. You hadn’t made a sound since the lights went off, but Frank felt your hand weakly wrap itself into the fabric of his shirt, giving him a sign you were still with him.   

As the bullets continued to fly above you, cries of pain and heavy thuds began to fill the room. Quickly, those sounds became more frequent while the sounds of gunfire grew less and less. When the lights flickered back on, Frank saw that only a handful of men—including Costa—were left standing. All the rest were lying motionless on the floor where they were hit by the bullets from the men across from them. 

Glancing down, Frank saw you nestled safely under him with your eyes closed and your fingers still curled in his shirt. When you started to peek one eye open, Frank placed his hand over them. “Not yet,” he muttered. “Keep ‘em closed until I tell you to.”

He moved his hand to see you had followed his instructions—and just in time.

Frank felt the barrel of a gun dig into the back of his head. Slowly, he raised his hands. 

“Get to your feet,” Costa growled from behind him.

Slowly, Frank did as he was ordered. Your eyes remained closed, but he felt your grip on his shirt tighten. Carefully, he eased himself back until you were forced to let go, then he rose to his feet. Turning, he faced Costa, the gun still pressed against his skull. 

The mob boss’s face was deep red and a prominent vein in his forehead throbbed. “You just cost me a lot of men,” he snarled, spit flying from his lips and hitting Frank in the face. “I think it’s time we finally say goodbye, Mr. Castle. Tell your family I send my regards.”

Costa stepped back, his gun pointed at the center of Frank’s head. But just before he could pull the trigger, something flew from the hallway and struck his hand, causing him to drop the gun as he cursed loudly. Costa looked down at the red billy club lying next to his gun on the floor then raised his head just in time to see a red-clad figure with a horned helmet burst into the room. 

About damn time.

Frank grinned as he watched Costa stumble backward at the sight of Red ducking and dodging as he lay blow after blow on his remaining men. Using this momentary distraction, Frank charged forward and wrenched the gun from Costa’s hand. The other man’s eyes grew wide and he started to beg for mercy, but Frank didn’t deal in mercy—he dealt in punishment.

Pointing the barrel of the gun between Costa’s eyes, Frank growled, “I’ll see you in Hell.” And he pulled the trigger.

Costa’s head exploded as his body crumpled to the floor. Wiping blood and brain matter from his face, Frank turned to see Red knocking out the last of Costa’s men. 

As the vigilante turned towards him, he sighed. “Frank, you promised if I helped, there’d be no killing.”

Frank threw the gun to the floor as he snapped, “Yeah well, tell that to my wife and kids who he had murdered or my girlfriend—your friend—he left to waste away as bait tied to that chair.”

Red pressed his lips into a tight line but didn’t say anything. Frank knew this discussion wasn’t over but he was grateful Red was willing to leave it alone for the time being. There was a much more important matter that needed to be attended to at the moment.

Hurrying over to where you lay on the floor still tied down, Frank carefully righted the chair and cupped your cheek, tilting your head to get a better look at your face. Your skin was littered with bruises and cuts in various stages of healing, and your bottom lip was split wide. Your eyes were still closed just as Frank had instructed you to do.

Glancing at Red, he asked, “Is she gonna be alright?”

Red placed his hand on the side of your neck just below your jaw. He cocked his head slightly as he listened for a moment, then sighed. “Her heartbeat’s weak and parts of her body are shutting down.” He turned his head towards Frank. “It’s really bad, but if she gets help soon, I think she’ll be okay.”

Frank felt the tightness in his chest lessen slightly. At least there was a chance. 

As Red dropped his hand, your eyes fluttered open. Surprised to see the other man with Frank, you asked, “M-Matt…?”

Red grinned sadly down at you. “Hey. Long time no see.”

You exhaled softly in a poor attempt at a laugh but then your lip began to quiver. “—’m sorry…shouldn’ta left…”

Red placed his hand on your uninjured shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. “No, it’s my fault too. I knew you wanted to be with Frank and I should’ve kept a better eye on you.” He paused and tilted his head “...That one wasn’t actually supposed to be a joke.”

“You two can pass around all the blame you want once we get outta here,” Frank grumbled before you could try to muster up another response. “Costa might have backup arriving at any minute.”

He wiped his hands on his pants to clean off as much blood as possible. Then he pulled out his knife and cut your bonds. Now unconfined, your body slumped limply in the seat until Frank gingerly lifted you up. 

You felt so delicate and frail in his arms. As if you would snap in half with the slightest pressure. Your breathing was still very labored and ragged but no matter how Frank repositioned you, nothing seemed to help. 

Moaning softly, you muttered, “Frank…?”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe. Get some rest, sweetheart.”

You nodded into his chest just before your body went limp in his arms. It seemed as if the trauma from the last few days had finally caught up to you and now that you were safe, your body and mind finally allowed you some peace.

Staring down at your broken body as you still struggled for each breath, Frank felt tears begin to silently stream down his face, and for once he was glad that Red couldn’t see him. However, by the way those red lenses were locked onto him, he had a feeling the vigilante knew exactly what was happening. As Frank passed by him as he held open the front door of the warehouse, Red’s hand shot out and grabbed Frank’s arm. 

Giving it a tight squeeze, he said, “It’s over, Frank. You saved her and she’s going to be okay.”

Yanking his arm from Red’s grasp, he growled, “We both know for her, this will never be over and I doubt she’ll ever really be okay again.”

Without another word or even a glance in his direction, Frank stalked through the warehouse and out the exit. It was time to get you home.

When Frank got you back to your shared apartment, Claire was already there waiting for you. Red must have called her on the way. Frank was used to tending to his own injuries, not someone else’s so as much as he preferred to handle things on his own, he was grateful for the help. 

He was also grateful Claire didn’t mention the destroyed living room that Frank had left after thinking you had been killed. In all honestly, once he killed Costa, Frank had never planned to return to your apartment. It was too painful imagining living here without you, surrounded by the memories of what was and the dreams of what might have been. Yet now that he knew you were alive, he was going to have to clean up his mess. But for now, he carried you into the bedroom and laid you down on your bed.

Claire tended to your gunshot and your various other injuries. Then she hooked you up to an IV to replenish your fluids and help fight off any infections you might have gotten in sitting in that sweltering warehouse for days. Then she gave Frank a bottle of extra-strength pain medication and told him to give it to you as needed. She promised to check back in after her shift at the hospital and she left. 

Several hours later, you were fast asleep but Frank could see it wasn’t a peaceful one. Your jaw was clenched tightly beneath a furrowed brow and your right hand clutched at the sheets, twisting them tightly into your fist. Every so often, you would let out a soft whimper or your breathing would momentarily become more ragged. And at one point, tears began slipping down your cheeks.

Frank watched it all from his chair next to the bed, the stabbing ache in his chest growing stronger with each passing moment. He had helped you into a fresh tank top after Claire finished patching you up. As you shifted, the blankets slipped down revealing more skin and Frank noticed more injuries he hadn’t seen when you were wearing his hoodie. You hadn’t said a word about what they did to you, but Frank had seen enough injuries like these to get a pretty good picture. And while some would heal completely, the deeper ones would never truly fade. You would have to carry these scars as a permanent reminder of how he had failed to protect you. 

“I found the perfect wedding dress.”

Startled, Frank’s head jerked up to see your eyes now opened and a soft smile on your face. “What?”

Patting the empty spot on the bed next to you, you said, “I looked online while I was at Matt’s place.”

Frank chuckled as he climbed into the bed and placed his arm behind your head. “You were there for less than a day and you found one?”

You nodded, snuggling your face into his chest. “The second I saw it I knew. It was the one I wanted to marry you in.” You paused, then added, “Just like at that moment I knew I didn’t want to be apart from you, no matter how much danger I might be in.”

So…it was time for this conversation.

Frank sighed, “Sweetheart—”

But you cut him off. “No, Frank. I know what you’re gonna say. But it was my fault, not yours. You sent me away someplace you knew I’d be safe. And I would have been—if I had stayed. But I came back—knowing the risks—because I love you and couldn’t stay away. So everything that’s happened is all because of me and my decisions. Not yours.”

“But you wouldn’t have ever needed to be sent away to keep you safe if you weren’t with me,” Frank countered.

“Maybe. But any life without you in it isn’t one I want to live.” You pressed your lips against the bare skin of his neck. “So if that means I’m put in danger from time to time, it’s a cost I’m willing to pay.” 

“What if I’m not willing to pay for my happiness with your life? Because that’s what might happen one of these days if you stay. As bad as this was, we were lucky. Next time, we might not be.”

Sighing, you sat up and stared at him, your lips pressed together in a frustrated line. “Frank, do you realize that everything you’re feeling right now—all this dread and uncertainty and heart-stopping terror that something might happen to me—that’s what I feel every single time you walk out the door as The Punisher. I never know when I kiss you goodbye if that will be the last time I ever see you alive. But I never try to stop you. I just sit here patiently and pray you’ll walk back through that door to give me another kiss. And yes, this life you’ve chosen is dangerous for the both of us. But are you telling me that you aren’t willing to deal with those same feelings you put me through on a weekly basis in order to be with me?”

“Well, fuck, sweetheart,” Frank muttered looking down at his hands. “When you put it like that, it’d be pretty selfish of me to say no, huh?”

“Exactly.” Placing your finger under his chin, you tilted his head up until he was looking at you. The adoration in your gaze made the last lingering doubts about whether or not he should stay vanish. As you stroked his cheek, you cooed, “And if I know one thing about you, Frank Castle, it’s that you are one of the most selfless men I know. And I love you with everything in me.”

Frank leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “I love you too, sweetheart. More than I ever thought possible. And if you’re sure this life of danger is what you want, then you can buy that wedding dress tomorrow.”

“Too late,” you giggled, wrapping your good arm around Frank’s neck in a half-hug. “I already ordered it while you were in the shower.”

Frank shook his head with a soft chuckle. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Marry me,” you said with complete seriousness. “Then we’ll have the rest of our lives together to figure out what comes next.”

Frank pulled you down—carefully minding all of your injuries—so you were lying on top of him. As he felt your eyelashes flutter closed against his bare chest, he murmured, “That’s exactly what we’ll do. I promise.” He pressed his lips against the top of your head. “And have I ever broken my promise?”

[aceofwhump]

Wednesday (2022)

[the-baby-storyteller]

Tw: slave whump, minor whump

Pt 2.

For a second all they could hear was ringing. The faint echoing of wrong wrong wrong chanting in their ear strung them through a trance as the world seemed to twirl around them.

And then it all came rushing back in.

They began to hyperventilate on their knees. The Young Master stood, rubbing his forehead and groaning. Their breaths picked up.

How could I do that how could I make a mistake already I fell into the master? I've already messed up I'm going to be beat and so soon-

Whumpee bit their lip to prevent the whimper threatening to escape. They heard the young master shift above them, and they shakily moved onto their hands and knees into a full bow before him. Angling their head down, they tremulously choked out,

"P-Please forgive me, Master! I promise I didn't mean to bump into you!"

They breathed wetly, not daring to look up or move, but still, against their will, trembling. they didn't know how to convince Master that they were so so sorry may they please not be punished yet it was too soon.

But it was their fault, they should never have been foolish enough to err this easily so they deserved it and they were just the type of slut to mess up so easily. They couldn't hear anything above them so they were just left to wonder what response the master would give as he stared and stared and stared at their trembling-

"Are you..."

Their body and thoughts froze when they heard his voice above them. He was now going to ream at their, to deal out their punishment-

"...scared?"

“…”

A pause. Whumpee blinked. Their hyperventilation slowed for a minute, and then quickly picked back up.

What kind of question was that?

Their eyes darted around, as their mind sought purchase on something that made sense in this confusion.

Whumpee…had no idea how to answer that. No one had ever asked them a question like that before. Were they supposed to be scared? Should they affirm being terrified, shaking in fear at the power their master held, at the knowledge that he could and would do whatever he pleased to them and that they must sit there and take it like a good slave because they were the one who messed up in the first place? He had total control over them and their life, after all, and they knew their place. Frankly, they were terrified and were certain it could be seen.

But maybe the point was for them to deny it. To say they weren’t afraid because how dare they be afraid of their master doing something he was well within his rights to do? Something they deserved.

Their head ached with all the battling thoughts and struggles, and they felt themself growing light with dizziness. What did Master want-

“Tell me the truth.”

Whumpee’s stomach flipped.

“Y-Yes!..”

Their breathing labored and they fought with the effort to keep themself still despite their shaking. They still didn’t dare look up, the confusion of the atmosphere weighing on their mind.

“Why?”

Whumpee blinked.

“B-Because…”

Why? Why was he asking them this? No one had ever cared. Whumpee didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to let it out and be more vulnerable than they already were.

But they had to answer. Their eyes drifted to the side.

“I’m s-scared of what you m-might do to m-me.” they stuttered out, not quite daring to whisper, but quiet all the same.

They immediately closed their eyes. Was that disrespectful? They shouldn’t have insinuated him hurting them. Oh, they were a fool for talking to a master about his decisions on them. Why couldn’t they have lied? Said anything less presumptuous, less risky. But, they sniffled, they were scared, and they’d tried to do it tactfully, they just really didn’t want to dare lie to the young master now but still-

Their internal fears and ramblings passed the eerily silent time until they heard a footstep. Peeking an eye open, they realized Young Master had taken a step closer on the floor.

To them.

Panic flooded them and instantly they squeezed their eyes shut again.

A light touch brushed their shoulder. Whumpee tensed. The sensation left and the anxiety automatically flowed out from their body. But then the touch came back, somehow even lighter and more gentle than before, but also more confident.

Idiot. How could they think they were safe-

A surprisingly strong arm quickly and softly pulled them, drawing them upwards off the floor. It maneuvered their shakingly pliant limbs, and before they understood what was going on, they were stood weakly, being held in Young Master’s arms. The young master wrapped his arm around them, bracing them against him as they shook so badly they could barely stand, his other hand holding up their face so they were face to face with him, if not for their still closed eyes.

What was happening. What was happening?

“What’s your name, and how old are you?”

“M-My name is Whumpee, and I’m 17, Young Master.”

Silence.

“Look at me.”

Shoot.

Slowly, Whumpee’s eyes quivered open. For the first time, they were face to face with the Young Master.

It was terrifying.

Dark eyes met them back. The Young Master was as they thought, young, and a closer look at his face only confirmed this. He was taller than them only by a little bit and his gaze was resolutely intent as he stared at them.

Their skin flushed at the closeness they could no longer try to avoid by not seeing. They really did not want to be forced to look at him. But they had no choice…

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Whumpee nearly choked. Their heart skipped a beat.

W-What? I-I…

Their eyes grew wild, searching Master’s face. His expression was just as serious and firm as before, something underneath it that they didn’t dare try to interpret. Fear seeped into them. They didn’t understand and not understanding was the worst thing that could happen when dealing with a master.

“You don’t have to be afraid.” His voice rang out.

Whumpee twitched. They hurriedly avoided eye contact with the young master, turning to the side and trying to control their breathing. It wasn’t working. They couldn’t keep their trembling under wraps because the situation was just so weird but they had to obey Master and not look like they were-

“I can tell you don’t believe me by the way you’re shaking.”

Blood drained from their face as their eyes darted back to Master, the fear making his gaze appear stone cold. He knew they were faking. They squeezed their eyes shut. Please no punishment.

“Have you…”

Their eyes peeked open.

“Been hurt before?”

Hesitantly, whumpee looked askance. “Yes, Master.” they muttered, quivering. As if they weren’t a slave.

They could feel him staring at them in silence.

Why is he asking me these questions? I-Is he really not going to…hurt me?

“Whumpee.”

Their shaky gaze traveled back to their terrifying master. Who was still holding them.

“Don’t be scared of me.” He spoke, vaguely, strangely, softly. For the second time they caught something odd in his eye. Something they couldn’t make out. They didn’t dare to. “I’ll never hurt you.”

Again, Whumpee found themselves not knowing what to do, how to respond. Could they trust him? He was their owner, after all.

He can still do whatever he wants with me.

Whumpee’s face clouded over.

After a pause, Master spoke. “I’ll let you go now.” But it was distant.

They were too caught up in their thoughts, brought back too much to the knowledge of all the things he could do to them and they would have no power to do anything about it because they belonged to him. Whumpee held their arm, drawing in on themself.

They waited. And waited longer. Master just stood in the silence.

“Don’t you want to leave?”

“I was waiting for your order,” they replied quietly, “or command, Master.”

“You…” they heard him sigh, “You can be excused. I’ll eat.”

“Yes, Master.” they whispered, bowing, and hurriedly turning to walk as quickly as they dared out of the room.

It was only after they left that they noticed Master hadn’t hurt them.