#summerofwhump17

[sadistgalore]

Summer of Whump: Day 17- Collared (Killian and Luther)

@summer-of-whump

Taglist: @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist.

CW: heavy dehumanization, implied torture, referenced waterboarding/burning, humiliation, Luther is horrible in this

He was in the bastard’s office today. Slowly, Luther had been letting Killian out of his cell more and more. Sometimes they go for walks around the warehouse, other times the man lets Killian “play” in the training room.

Killian hates the training room.

But today, he was curled up in the dog bed in the corner of Luther’s office. The first time he refused when the man told him to “lay down” -like a fucking dog- he was branded with cigarette buds until he complied.

“Doggy.”

The boy tried his best to swallow down his fear at hearing his captors voice, and looked up to where he was sitting.

Luther snapped at his side, raising an expectant eyebrow.

Killian crawled over and kneeled at his side, giving him a half-hearted death glare.

Luther just smiled at the small little act of defiance, and ruffled his head.

“Good boy. Do you know what day it is?”

Killian paled, remembering the events of the day before.

“Do you seriously think you have the right to speak?! You’re a fucking dog, dogs bark. They don’t fucking say words!”

The boy was writhing under his grip, and swallowed gulps of air once he was brought back up.

“I’m sorry!” he wailed, desperate to not go back under the water.

“What the fuck did I just say?!”

Killian silently cursed at himself as he cowered under the gaze of his captor. Luther was so angry…

“You need to be taught a lesson, mutt. You’re just begging to be put under, aren’t you?”

Killian's face filled with dread. He can't go back into the water, anything but that. What's the harm in playing this psychopath's game?

“Bark!”

Luther leaned back a little back in surprise. “What did you just say, doggy?”

Killian wanted to scream out of embarrassment. “Ruff, a-a-rf...w-woof.”

Luther laughed like a maniac. “Very good boy! Let’s get some more sounds out of you, shall we?”

He put the dog’s head back underwater.

Luther’s expression was unreadable. Was he still pushing the dog noises routine? Does he want him to remain quiet? Killian doesn’t know, but he doesn’t wanna be hurt again either.

“...Ruff?”

Luther belly-laughed, hand clutching his stomach. “Oh, you stupid doggy. I was implying for you to speak words, dumbass.”

As if the boy’s face couldn’t get any redder, it did and kept his insults to himself.

How the fuck am I supposed to know the difference? Didn’t train that into me, asshole.

“What,” he paused and looked up, fearing this was all just a trick and Luther wanted him to fuck up. The said man just nodded in assurance. “What day is it?”

“It’s your birthday!”

Killian’s mouth opened and he stared at Luther.

It’s...already July 12th? We...I met him in November. It...can’t be.

“You’re lying.”

Luther raised an eyebrow. “Why would I have any reason to?”

“I...I can’t have been here for-”

“Seven months and eight days? It’s true, actually. Time flies doesn’t it?”

“Se-sev-”

“Anyways, because I’m such a wonderful person, I got you a gift.”

It makes no sense, I shouldn’t have been here this long. Why hasn’t anyone rescued me yet?

“Killian.”

The boy looked up, stomach dropping after recognizing the harsh tone of the man. He saw Luther holding out a small box, wrapped in paper decorated with dog bones.

“Can you open it, or do you need me to since you’re so incompetent?”

“N-no, I can.”

Can’t give him another reason to think I'm as dumb as an animal.

Killian carefully ripped the wrapping paper and opened the box, revealing a…

Collar.

Trying to fight a wave of tears, Killian picked it up to inspect it. On the tag connected to it, he saw something inscribed.

“Property of Luther Concord.” The man himself said, smiling at his pet’s face.

“Pr-prop-perty?”

“Property?” Luther mocked. “Of course you are, dummy. Did you seriously think after all of my considerate lessons that you were anything but a pet?”

A tear slipped down Killian’s cheek.

“You are not human. Not anymore. Humans don’t get fed dog food. Humans don’t cry themselves to sleep every night like a pathetic puppy. Humans don’t shit in a bucket for other people to clean up.”

Luther grabbed the black collar from the box and clutched it around the boy’s neck

“You are a dog, and as long as you’re mine, you will never be human ever again.”

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump17 #whump #whump community #whump blog #whump fic #whump writing #original work #my writing #Devil's Playground #Killian #Luther #whumpee #whumper #heavy dehumanization #tw dehumanization #tw implied torture #tw referenced waterboarding #tw referenced burning #tw humiliation #Luther go fuck yourself #leave my son alone #Killian ignore the fact that I am the one writing these terrible things happening to you #but that's not the point

[actress4him]

Overexposure - New Ideas

(Prompt #17 for Summer of Whump)

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Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, captivity, referenced beating, noncon touching (non-sexual), forced stripping (non-sexual), restraints, stress position

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It’s only a few days after the exhibit, a few days after the brutal beating Ellery received for trying to ask for help, when the door to her room flies open and he’s standing there with that smile on his face. The smile she hates more than anything. The smile that says she’s about to suffer even more.

“Good morning, Princess.” Lucas strolls into the room - the cell, really, just a tiny corner of the basement built expressly for the purpose of keeping her inside. “In the midst of the fallout from your misguided attempt the other night, I failed to mention how much of a success the exhibit was. Everyone adored you.”

Her skin crawls at the thought, but she knows better than to respond by now. Instead she pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them to herself as if she can keep him away.

“I’m getting plenty of sales, too. So many people who want to have our beautiful artwork all for themselves.”

She knows better than to respond, but she can’t help it. The image of those photos hanging on someone’s walls, or being hidden away to look at secretly… “Guess they’re just as sick as you are.”

All of her muscles tense up as soon as she says it, expecting him to lash out. But he must be in an awfully good mood, because he simply ignores the outburst, pacing toward the tiny table with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’ve been getting requests, too. Some from patrons at the last exhibit, others from people who have seen my previous work.” He turns, leaning up against the table, eyes roving over her body in the way he does when she knows he’s imagining ways to torture it. “Seems like there’s a whole collection of people out there who love...well, I keep hearing the word ‘whump’, but...basically, they draw all kinds of inspiration from what we’re doing. And now they’d like to see something...a little less refined, a little more...hm, how do I say it? A little more...raw. Primitive.”

The smile creeps back onto his face. “It’s something I’ve never done before, but I’m certainly up to the challenge. I’ve got ideas already. And I have a feeling once I get started I’ll be quite inspired to keep going.”

No wonder he’s in a good mood. He’s in his creative zone, which means a nightmare of a day for her. And it’s so soon, she’s still healing, her body isn’t ready.

He won’t care about any of that, though.

“Alright, come on, chop chop! Up to makeup we go.”

It’s one of the few instances when she’s allowed out of the basement, so she tries to enjoy it. If she cranes her neck as they come to the top of the stairs, she can catch a glimpse of green and sunlight through a sliver of window, and overall the rooms upstairs are much brighter. It’s a refreshing change.

Lucas’ assistant, whose name she’s never bothered to learn, is ready and waiting in the usual spot with her makeup and hair tools. It’s the one thing that he doesn’t do himself. Ellery expects the same treatment for the bruise around her eye - now turned a sickly yellow - as it got for the exhibit, but it’s ignored. Instead the assistant focuses on eyeliner, mascara, and a little bit of lip color. The basics, meant to make her features pop in the photos, nothing fancy. Maybe that’s what he meant by ‘raw and primitive’. She can certainly hope that it’s nothing worse, though hope has done her a fat lot of good so far.

“You want her hair pulled back at all?” the assistant asks.

Lucas, who has been lurking the whole time, watching the process, steps forward and runs thick fingers through her long black hair. She doesn’t bother to suppress a shudder and a look of disgust, but doesn’t try to pull away, either.

“Yeah. Go ahead and put it up, something simple, though. Simple and messy. I might take it down partway through, we’ll see.”

It’s brushed back into a ponytail with lots of strands hanging down around her face, and the top is fussed over until it’s perfectly, believably messy. The assistant looks up to Lucas for approval.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. I like it. Okay, moving on.”

This is the point where her starting wardrobe is usually chosen. She stands, waiting while he scrutinizes her current outfit of a baggy white t-shirt and black cotton shorts.

“Take that off, remind me what you have on under it.”

Ellery’s face flushes scarlet. She hates this, hates obeying and hates demeaning herself for him, but last time she refused to take off the clothes herself he just did it for her, and that was so much worse. And it’s not like he’s actually interested in her, not in that way. She was so incredibly afraid of that for a long time. But no, to him she’s not a person for him to want. She’s a piece of art, a canvas, a sculpture. A thing. All he’s thinking of is how he can best use her to create the ‘masterpiece’ he has in mind.

So she slips the t-shirt off over her head. Stands in just her sports bra and shorts with her cheeks burning and wishes that she could melt into the floor and cease to exist.

The expression that comes over his face is nothing short of delight. “Ooh, this is so much better than I was expecting.” He practically trots over to her, eyes on her bare stomach, and reaches out to brush his fingers along the tender, aching skin. She flinches, instinctively pulls back, but he only latches onto her waist, digging his fingers into a myriad of bruises. “This is fantastic. Just what we need for today. So glad I gave you these already.”

Gave her. Like the beating was a gift. She doesn’t need to look down to know that her torso is pretty much one giant bruise, she can feel it just fine.

“Yep. That’ll be perfect. Leave it just like that. No sense in covering up any of this beauty.” He strokes his fingers across her stomach one more time before stepping back to admire the whole thing. “Alright, thank you, Jordan. Let’s get back to the studio.”

The studio - aka the basement. Back down to the cold concrete walls and the artificial lights. She can’t help but slow, just a little, as they pass the room with the window, trying to get one more little peek of the outdoors. She pays for it with his hand coming to land on the back of her neck, squeezing tightly, promising much more pain if she doesn’t keep walking.

The area of the basement that Lucas uses to take her photos isn’t much to speak of, especially today when the white backdrop is rolled up at the ceiling. It’s just an expanse of grey, but it haunts her nightmares.

“Alright.” Lucas is practically giddy with excitement. “I’ve got so many ideas I don’t know where to start. No, scratch that. I do know where I want to start.” He turns to his shelf of props and rummages through a box, pulling out several pieces of metal with chains draping in between.

The dread that had been swirling in Ellery’s stomach all morning suddenly solidifies into something heavy, a stone that simultaneously pulls her down into the floor and threatens to make her sick. She can’t do this again. She can’t. The pain of being stretched into positions her body was never meant to be in, the humiliation of being photographed in the most vulnerable state possible...and now it’s even worse, because she’s already in pain from being beaten.

Lucas is at the far wall, tinkering with his contraption, using existing bolts and screws from previous sessions to attach things to both the wall and floor. “Come here,” he says after a few minutes, and it’s the last straw.

Something inside of her crumples.

“Please…” It comes out as no more than a trembling whisper, but it catches his attention anyway. “Please don’t, I can’t, I can’t, please…”

Sighing heavily, he walks toward her, boots clomping out her doom on the concrete floor. “I thought we were past this, Princess. You’d been doing so well.”

She opens her mouth, to say what, she doesn’t know, it’s all pointless anyway, but before a sound makes it past her lips his fist is connecting with her temple. Her world is reduced to black and pain and falling. When her vision returns, the room whirls around her, Lucas’ face up above hers dipping and bobbing in a way that makes her stomach churn, and her head throbs. She can tell she’s being dragged, though, by the ankle over to where he wanted her.

Rough hands grab her by the arms and heft her to her feet, and the room goes spinning again. Her back is pressed up against the wall, concrete blocks cold on her bare skin, and Lucas wraps an arm around her waist to lift her slightly. She gasps as he puts pressure on the ribs she’s pretty sure are broken.

A second later, something thin and cool falls across her throat, and after he fiddles with something just under her ear for a moment, Lucas steps back and leaves her to settle down onto her bare toes. They just barely touch the floor enough for her to rest her weight on, the metal across her neck digging slightly into her skin and threatening to cut off her air. She tries not to notice him watching her as she struggles to adjust her feet to push herself a little higher.

“Nice. I love it already. Actually, hang on, I’m also loving the disoriented look you’ve got going on right now. I need a shot of that.”

He grabs his camera and gets right up in her face. Ellery automatically squeezes her eyes shut, hating that lens, hating the thought of anyone else seeing her like this, but all she gets for it is his finger poking her in the ribs. Her eyes fly open as she cries out, and the camera clicks. Once, twice, three times.

“Ooh, I don’t know which one of these I like best.” He studies the screen with a grin, flipping back and forth through the shots. “The hazy, disoriented look I was going for, or the gasping in pain. And the restraint around the neck really sets it off. Fantastic. Okay, moving on.”

Bending down, he picks up the rest of the metal pieces, the ones with the chains attached. While she wasn’t paying attention it seems he had hooked one end of the chains to the floor, several feet out in front of her, and now he brings the other end to her. She only finds out what it is for sure when he yanks her hands away from the wall where she had been attempting to help support herself and clamps it around her wrists. The shackles pull her arms out in front of her, naturally making her body want to lean forward, too. But if she gives into the pull, or if her feet get tired and try to lower, she’ll choke.

Lucas stands back to admire his work. “Yes. Just as good as I had hoped. And you’re already starting to get that wild look in your eyes, too. I think if I leave you here for, oh -” he checks his phone -“around thirty or forty-five minutes, I’ll really get the desperation I’m looking for. Maybe an hour. We’ll see.”

With that, he turns and heads for the stairs. As the echo of his footsteps dies out, Ellery finally lets the tears start to pour down her cheeks. She can’t spare the focus to stop them anymore, anyway. All of her concentration until he decides she’s done is going to have to be on staying balanced so she doesn’t die.

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Disclaimer: I don’t think people who like whump are “sick”. Obviously, I am one of them. Now, if there were actually people like Lucas out there who hurt real people for whump’s sake, then yeah. They would be considered “sick”. But of course, Lucas’ patrons don’t know what he’s really doing...or do they...?

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump17 #collared and shackled #overexposure #ellery the model #whump #whump writing #lady whump #lady whumpee #creepy/intimate whumper #captivity whump #nonconsensual touching tw #forced stripping tw #restraints tw #stress position tw #whump photography #original fiction

[hale-13]

Shackled

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 7 Prompt - Collared

Peter Parker had been missing for one full week and Ned was losing his mind.

Words: 2502, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Ned Leeds

Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds

TW: Angst

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Ned honey?” His mom said, knocking on the frame of his cracked open door and poking her head in. Her expression was as careful and neutral as it had been for the last week – ever since Peter had gone missing on his walk to school.

Ned had spent most of the morning between classes trying to text Peter (seriously – it was just super rude to not be in school and not tell your friends. Who did that?) before both he and MJ had been called to the office. Principal Morita was both gentle and firm as he questioned them about Peter’s possible whereabouts and ‘were they covering for him? No one was in trouble they just needed to know’. May hadn’t called Peter in sick and had no idea where he might be so, naturally, they assumed his best friends might have some clue. Ever since he had gotten his powers Peter had been pretty flaky but, so far, he had always at least sent some sort of message to someone if he had Spider Business.

May, more frantic now, had tried to alert the police but had been shot down since Peter had been missing less than twenty-four hours and was what they would classify as ‘troubled’ with his absence record and disciplinary record at school. Tony Stark, who had been May’s next call, had gone into full panic-helicopter-mentor mode and had hacked into cameras all over the city to try and find out what he could. Unfortunately, the footage seemed to have been wiped leaving them with no leads other than Peter’s discarded book bag and cellphone left in an alley not far from the school.

Finding this had finally spurred the police into motion and had prompted an Amber Alert and search parties made up of May’s co-workers and Peter’s friends. Tony was surveying things via the Iron Legion while he spent most of his time in his workshop in the Tower; using FRIDAY and probably lots of illegal methods to try and track Peter down.

Ned had been helping May and MJ just about everyday after school since to hang up flyers and ask around to see if anyone had seen Peter but, so far, no luck. His parents had been doing what they could to help as well but Ned knew they could see him cracking under the pressure and worry.

They had, in fact, pulled him into a conversation the night before to tell him they wanted him to talk to a therapist, that finding someone missing after the first fourth-eight hours was really hard and they wanted to do what they could to prepare him for all eventualities and that they would always be there for him no matter what.

Ned liked to think he was a pretty chill and easy-going guy for the most part so he won’t say that he’s proud of how he handled that conversation. At least his parents didn’t get too upset when he skipped school with MJ to keep looking that day.

“Hmm?” Ned asked, not bothering to look up from his computer where he was pretending to write his English essay but seeing his mom’s cautious expression in his peripheral vision anyway. He didn’t like that she looked at him like he was made of glass that might shatter at any given moment.

“Your father and I are going to go grab some dinner and maybe see a movie. Want to come with us?” She sounded so hopeful and a small, angry part of Ned hated how normal they were trying to make things. Didn’t they understand that his best friend since kindergarten, his only friend other than MJ, was missing and could be… could be…

“No thanks,” he said instead, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible and pretending not to see the hurt look on his mom’s face when he turned down her offer.

“Okay,” she said, her tone soft with just the barest edge of disapproval. He was just glad that she didn’t try to force him into going but he had a feeling that he was due for another ‘family chat’ soon. “Text me if you want us to bring you something back.”

“Thanks,” Ned mumbled, still not looking up even when his mom let out a sad sigh and left, pulling his door back closed. Ned sniffed and wiped his tired eyes, he had a headache that was brewing and he wanted nothing more than to sleep but he couldn’t. If it was him missing he knew that Peter wouldn’t take any breaks looking for him so Ned couldn’t either. They had to find him.

Hearing the front door shut, Ned closed out of his essay and pulled back up Karen’s systems, still on his computer from the last time he and Peter had hacked into the Spider Suit, and went over the data she had managed to extract from Mr. Stark’s AI, FRIDAY without him knowing or, more likely, without him trying to stop them from taking the info for themselves. It was Tony Stark after all. The data itself was a disappointingly small amount and nothing that really helped point him in any kind of definitive direction. His phone buzzed against the desk, pulling Ned back.

From: MJ

Anything?

Ned rubbed his eyes again, little lights dancing over his vision at the pressure and typed out a quick ‘No’ in response before tossing his phone to the side. Something had to turn up eventually. He just knew it would.

As if summoned, taps sounded on his window and Ned froze, not daring to hope. He waited and the taps sounded again, more incessantly this time, and Ned jumped up from his desk – banging his knee in the process and nearly falling – but making it to the window to unlock it and throw it open. It couldn’t be…

After a week of being missing, Peter fell through to land roughly on the hard wood flooring of Ned’s room.

“Peter,” Ned said, breathless and voice full of emotion as tears pricked his eyes, reaching out a hand to help Peter up and then backing away when his friend flinched violently away from him.

“Sorry,” Peter said, his voice rough as he forced himself to his feet with a disingenuous smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry.”

Ned narrowed his eyes in concern. Peter was pale, his face thinner than it had been the last time Ned had seen him. He was wearing dirty sweat pants and a shirt that may have been white in a previous lifetime but was now yellowed and dirty. His clothing was covered in rips and tears, bloody skin in various stages of healing peaking through and staining his clothes. His fingers were twitching in time with the tic in his left eyebrow and his eyes were shifting all over the place like he was looking for something.

Worst of all had to be the half broken metal collar with wires poking out around his neck and the clear electrical burns surrounding it.

“We need to call May,” Ned said, rushing to his phone. “We need to call Mr. Stark.”

“No!” Peter said, limping quickly across the room to block Ned from his phone. The hand that touched his was cold and clammy with sweat and Peter was quick to remove it once he realized he was touching Ned. “They can’t see me like this, especially May. You have to help me,” he pleaded.

“Peter,” Ned said sadly as he took in how broken and tired his friend looked. “You need to go to the hospital – I’m not a doctor! I can’t fix all of… this!” He exclaimed, gesturing to all of Peter with an exaggerated movement.

Peter flinched again and crossed his arms across his abdomen, hunching in on himself. “I know,” he said, voice rough and broken. “I know but I don’t want them to see… I don’t…” he made an abortive movement to gesture at the collar. “I almost got it off but I couldn’t… please help.”

“You promise to let me call May and Tony right after?” Ned asked, slowly reaching out to rest his hand on Peter’s shoulder. He wanted to pull him into a hug but he figured that wouldn’t go over too well just yet. Peter nodded hurriedly, some of the tension leaking out of him with Ned’s agreement, and he let himself sink ungracefully to the floor. “Why didn’t you just break it?”

“It uh,” Peter said, squeezing his eyes closed and wetting his lips. “It suppresses my powers.”

“Whoa,” Ned muttered, sitting next to Peter and surveying the collar more closely. Peter twitched his chin down and hunched his shoulders again and Ned just waited for him to relax enough for Ned to get a closer look. The collar was a thick and heavy dull metal and was seated tight enough around Peter’s throat to dig into his skin and chafe; Ned winced sympathetically. The red light on the front was blinking dimly, poking out from a thick black box that Peter had clearly torn into at some point. Peter was uncharacteristically quiet while Ned stared but every muscle in his body was tensed like he was ready to run if necessary. “Can I hug you?” Ned blurted out earnestly making Peter jump a little in surprise.

“I… um you… what?” He asked leaning back so he could look at Ned more fully.

“You look like you need a hug,” Ned told him, reaching his arms up but taking care not to touch Peter. “So can I hug you?”

The nod Peter gave him was wobbly and wooden but, the second Ned wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in, Peter went limp, mashing his face into Ned’s shoulder before letting out a quiet and broken little sob. Peter’s own arms were shaking as they wrapped back around Ned, crying harder and wetting the front of Ned’s shirt with tears.

Ned could feel his heart breaking in his chest but that was overshadowed by a feeling of anger so strong that it nearly turned his vision red. Peter had been his best friend since they were kids. Peter had always been there for him no matter what. Whoever had dared to do this… well Ned didn’t pity what was going to happen to them. In lieu of letting out his frustrations, Ned just pulled Peter in tighter, shushing him and carefully patting his back.

“Sorry,” Peter whispered a few minutes later when he pulled back, using trembling hands to wipe his reddened eyes and chapped cheeks free of tears. “I didn’t mean to break down like that on you,” he said with a humorless laugh.

“Peter…” Ned wanted to tell Peter that he could always break down around Ned if he needed to. Peter was his brother in all but blood – Ned would always be there for him – but Peter shook his head violently to stop him, reaching up to let blood stained fingers brush the collar – his nails ragged and torn down to the quick.

“Please,” he begged, looking like he was barely keeping it together and Ned nodded.

“Okay Pete. I’ll look at it,” Ned reassured, moving his hands slowly up to touch the skin-warmed metal around his friend’s throat. “Does this have a tracker in it? A stun feature?” He tried to keep it professional but Peter still grimaced at the questions.

“I disabled the tracker and the electricity I think,” Peter said. “I just can’t see the mechanism to release it and I just… I need it off. I can’t…” his breathing sped up and Ned gripped his shoulder tightly in solidarity.

“It’ll be okay,” Ned said again, cautiously sorting through the loose wires to look into the black box just under Peter’s chin. “When you said this suppressed your powers did you mean all of them?”

Peter gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing painfully against the metal as he gave a tiny nod. “All of them,” he confirmed.

“What about your hearing?” Ned pressed, pulling his hands back from the locking mechanism of the collar. Peter frowned at him before paling further at the realization.

“Oh,” he said, reaching both hands up to grip the collar. “My hearing…”

“If I take it off,” Ned cautioned, “and all your senses come back at once…”

“That would be bad,” Peter confirmed. “It would be very bad.”

“I know you don’t want me to,” Ned started, ignoring the way that Peter was shaking his head. “But I really think we should call May and Mr. Stark. They’re worried about you and Mr. Stark has that sensory deprivation room for your overloads.”

“I can’t do that to May,” Peter said firmly. “I already went and got myself kidnapped I can’t put her through this.” His voice was more steady than it had been since he had arrived and Ned felt like rolling his eyes at Peter’s typical self-flagellation.

“Happy then,” Ned suggested, desperate. Peter bit his lip, considering for a second, before nodding his consent prompting Ned to leap for his phone, dialing Happy before Peter could stop him.

“Look Leeds,” Happy grumbled into the phone, the background noise muffling his voice slightly. “I already told you – we’ll call when we know something so just-,”

“Peter’s here,” Ned blurted out, sitting back down next to his friend and pulling him into a half hug that Peter fell into willingly, curling up into Ned’s side. “He’s here. “Whoever had him put this… they… look he doesn’t want May to see him until he’s fixed up some so can you just come get us?” Ned asked following it up with a ‘Please’ as an afterthought.

“The kid’s with you?” Happy asked, sounding like he was running. “Put him on the phone.”

“He wants to talk to you,” Ned said, offering Peter the phone which he, reluctantly, took.

“Hey Happy,” Peter tried for chipper but fell spectacularly short and Ned winced a little. “I’m okay they just put… look I don’t want May to see me like… to see… can you just come get me please?” Peter sounded teary again and Ned plucked the phone from his hand to put back to his own ear.

“You’re coming right?”

“On my way,” Happy confirmed. “Give me eight minutes.” And with that he hung up the phone leaving Ned to drop it into his lap.

“I should probably text MJ,” he told Peter, not making any effort to move. “She’ll be pissed if she’s the last to know,” he joked and Peter snorted.

“Probably,” he agreed, letting his eyes slip closed and his breathing even out.

He needed to text MJ, call his mom and let her know Peter was back and that he was going to visit, pull Peter out into the living room to wait for Happy. But, Ned decided as Peter gripped Ned’s hoodie a little tighter, it could wait for just a few more minutes.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump17 #Prompt: Collared #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

[caspia-writes]

Summer of Whump #17 — Shackled

Summary: A starving prisoner is offered a bowl of soup.

Content warnings: Foul language, torture

Nico had been happy that the police were leaving him alone at first. Being left to his own devices in a cell, even if he was shackled to the wall, was much better than what happened when they took him out and into one of the other rooms. No one pulled teeth or nails out of him, no one sliced his skin and scrubbed the wounds with salt brine, no one drowned him in a bucket. In comparison to any of that, being allowed to drag this chain around the cell unmolested was heaven.

But now it seemed they’d forgotten about him. Nico didn’t know exactly how long it had been since he’d last eaten—it was hard to keep track of time in a room with no clocks and no windows—but he knew it’d been a long time. The fact that walking to the pot in the corner now felt like a considerable effort and that he no longer felt hunger pangs had told him that much. Being forgotten had been nice, but Nico wondering if it wasn’t worse than being remembered.

Then, as if summoned by his suspicions, a guard stepped into the room. Nico’s stomach cramped in hunger; whatever the guard was carrying smelled wonderful. It smelled like food. Real food, not rotten or molded but truly edible.

And then he set it down on the floor, next to the wall opposite of where Nico’s chains shackled him. He looked over at Nico, a smile on his lips, and gestured to the steaming bowl. “You have five minutes to eat.”

As soon as the door slammed shut again, Nico ran towards the food. To hell with civility and table manners—he was starving!

His yelp echoed through the cell as he crashed to the ground, his jaw slamming into the floor with enough force that a tooth flew out of his mouth and landed next to the bowl. Even with his arm fully outstretched, his spine extended as far as he could pull his vertebrae, he just couldn’t quite seem to reach it.

Tears welled up in Nico’s eyes. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. The chain couldn’t be that perfectly too short—surely it couldn’t be! Nico strained against the shackles, trying to will his body to lengthen just a single precious centimeter further. That was all he needed—one centimeter. Then the soup would be his. If he could just stretch a little further....

With a some wriggling, the bowl was closer. His ankles were bleeding from the shackles biting into them, but that wasn’t important. Only the soup was important. Nico pulled himself further, groaning as more skin peeled away under the force. It didn’t matter that the muscles in his shoulder were screaming in protest either. He was going to get the soup. He was.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

A cold shock flashed through his body as the door swung open. Time was up. The soup, that wonderful soup, was about to be taken away from him. And he hadn’t managed to get the smallest taste of it.

One last time, with every ounce of strength he could manage, Nico threw himself towards the bowl with his arms almost ready to pop out of their sockets. Even if he only got a mouthful, a single piece of meat, it would be worth the agony of metal slicing deeper into his ankles and his skinny body slamming against the floor.

Unfortunately, his pain was both very much real and entirely meaningless.

For all his effort, Nico only just managed to scratch the rim of the bowl with the edge of his fingernail.

“Not hungry?” The guard knew damn well Nico was. The sickening tone of the question had no other explanation. “I would think you’d be ready to eat almost anything after a week—especially something this delicious. But not to worry, I won’t insist. In fact, I’ll eat it for you.”

And the guard did. He stood right there, with Nico lying at his feet and staring up at him, and gulped down the entire bowl. With such greed that he couldn’t possibly be pretending to like it. That had been real soup. Real, good soup, fit for a man and not a plague-infested rat.

“You really should have tried some,” the guard sang on his way out. “It was almost as good as my Oma’s!”

Defeated, Nico sulked back to the wall and curled himself into a ball. How could he ever thought they would let him have that soup? Much less let himself get so enthusiastic as to knock a tooth out of his jaw. Of course they weren’t going to let him have it. The Staatspolizei weren’t so generous to give good soup to a dead man.

A dead man. That was precisely what Nico was, even if he had just now realized. He wasn’t getting out of here. Not alive. All that had changed since his arrest was that someone had decided there was no use in wasting hours beating him into puree. After all, why should they?

It would be so much easier to let him torture himself.

#writing #writeblr #summerofwhump #summerofwhump17 #shackled #tw cursing #tw swearing #tw torture

[fletcherwilbury]

Summer of Whump Day 17: Shackled

Warning: This story contains a nightmare/fever dream

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump17 #shackled #the beatles fanfiction #the beatles #george harrison #mal evans #paul mccartney #nightmares tw #fever dream tw