June Of Doom Day 24

June of Doom Day 24

"I think I'm going to be sick"

| Bleeding out | Illness | Cold Sweat |

Cw: The tags above

...

Civilian had no idea what they were doing as they packed bandages into Supervillain's wound.

They had stayed home, in bed, all day because of their cold. They were drugged up on cough medicine and enough pain killers to down a horse, which was the only reason Civilian could justify what they were doing, kneeling on their kitchen floor, as Supervillain bled out in front of them.

They had stumbled in at the door, bleeding all over the carpet as Civilian was trying to make themself some soup, and Civilian had, for some reason, decided to help.

So there they were, on the floor, packing the wound with as much finesse as a twelve year old as Supervillain broke out into a cold sweat.

Civilian cursed, shaking Supervillain to try and wake them, but they only succeeded in causing a few bubbles of blood to foam out of the wound.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Civilian muttered, reapplying pressure to the wound.

"You're going to be fine," a voice said from behind them, and Civilian whipped around to be face to face with Villain. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come with us, Boss with want to talk with you when they wake up."

Civillian panicked, their breathing turning erratic before they promptly fainted, ending up on the floor beside Supervillain, equally unconscious, as Villain and Henchman bent down to retrieve them.

A solution

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favourite nemesis.” Villain smirks, turning on the balls of their feet. “To what do I owe the honour?”

Hero shakes their head, leaning against the door frame. “To yourself, obviously. What’s up with the hypnotized mayor?”

“Hm? How would I know?” Villain shrugs nonchalantly, struggling to keep their hands straight at their sides. “You always assume it’s me that’s wreaking havoc. Why is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” They take a step towards Villain, their smile making the hair on the back of Villain’s neck stand. “Maybe ‘cause it always is. Not to mention you’re the master of mind control here.”

“I can’t believe our Hero turned out to be so biased!” Villain exclaims, bringing their hands to their heart, ever so dramatic. “What about the presumption of innocence?”

Hero huffs, shaking their head yet again. “I stopped presuming you innocent after our fifteenth encounter in one week.”

“Huh. That was my best week.” Villain smiles fondly at the memories. “I was challenging myself, you see? To avoid the mundane.”

“Of course.” Hero shakes their head but can’t help a smirk that finds its way onto their face. “Who would think criminal life could be so boring.”

“It’s not boring!” Their voice is too high to be comfortable. Villain coughs, turning away. “And I’m not a criminal.”

Hero nods, watching the back of Villain’s head for a moment as their nemesis drinks water, swallowing a whole ice cube in the process. They gulp, watching it go down their throat when Villain turns to face them again.

“Come to think of it, I haven’t done anything with the mayor yet… how did you figure it out?” That would be a valid question if only Hero didn’t know both Villain and the mayor so well.

“That’s exactly how. The asshole can’t live a day without causing major problems.” They say matter-of-factly. Villain presses their fingers to their temples. Hero suspects it’s an attempt to hide the blush creeping up their neck. “Figures it’s you.”

Villain hums in agitated agreement. They aren’t quite sure if they are annoyed or excited. Most likely both. “What is your mission then?”  

“You.” Villain’s eyebrows rise, challenging every last boundary of their enemy’s restraint. “You are my mission.” With that, Hero pulls them forward, planting a starved kiss on their mouth once they open it in a gasp. Villain all but melts in their arms, not even registering how they end up sitting on a table.

“Told ya I’d deal with him,” is all they manage to squeeze out when Hero lets go of their mouth, dragging their lips to the side. Villain moves to meet them again.  

“Mhm.” Hero keeps kissing along their jaw, prompting Villain to tilt their head for better access. They break away to take in the starstruck expression on Villain’s face with the most smug grin ever. “How long can you keep him that way?”

“You name it.” Villain can feel Hero’s smile against their throat. They shift, leaning back and searching for some support in the back but the wall is too far.  

“Forever?” Hero thinks out loud, the word escaping against their better judgement. Their brain is preoccupied with Villain’s sensitive skin under their tongue. That is, until Villain stiffens and they regret bringing up the subject. They could have discussed this the next morning. At this point, Hero couldn’t care less about the mayor. They knew the city was safe as long as the man was under control.

“You want me to keep the mayor under my control forever?” Villain shuffles away from them and Hero wants to disintegrate into thin air. They opt to avoid eye contact, but Villain grabs the sides of their face, ever so gentle as they guide their eyes to meet. “Do you?”

“Does it exhaust you?” They ask in a small voice. Villain shakes their head no. They know for a fact that wasn’t their first concern. Is that too much to ask? or Would you do that for me? was what Hero dared not ask. Villain smiles softly, caressing Hero’s cheeks with their thumbs as they watch their shoulders relax. Hero lets out a relieved sigh, pulling Villain back into their embrace with a quiet growl. “Then yes. You could make him think he’s a potato for all I care, as long as he’s no longer running rampant in the city.”

“Anything for you, love.” Villain’s voice is barely a whisper against Hero’s lips. They feel a hand wrapping around their waist and the other running fingers through their hair to tilt their head to the side. Hero leaves a rough kiss on their throat, where they watched the ice cube going down. Villain gasps, their gaze dazed as they stare into Hero’s eyes. “Anything.”

Good shit

Employee of the Month

Not sure what this is or what the point of it is. Just take the whump. No editing because no

Cw: torture, murder, graphic depictions of death/killing, interrogation, restraints, a lot of violence, mentioned non-con nudity (non-sexual), implied mass murder/killing, reluctant Whumper

Henchman reeled back as a fist slammed into the side of their jaw, snapping their head to the side and causing them to sway in their restraints.

By now, they had lost any hope of standing, left to hang by the thick metal shackles around their wrists that held their arms up, the cuffs biting into their skin hard enough to leave ugly bruised indents that wept droplets of crimson down their forearms.

They could barely keep their legs beneath them, much less try to bare weight on them. From the awkwardness of the height they were restrained at, they would only be able to stand really if they stood on the tips of their toes, which left them scuffling around, the muscles up their calves cramping as they tried to keep from rocking back and forth.

Blood dripped from a wound on their temple, leaking into their sight and tinting their vision with a stinging red that they quickly tried to blink away. Tears clung thick to their eyelashes and their cheeks, mingling with the blood smeared across their face from their broken nose and turning it to a watery pink that ran down to their neck and chest.

Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult as they let their head fall forwards, hoping that the motion would deter some of the blood from trickling down the back of their throat and suffocating them. Their lips were parted, each breath coming in as a wheeze. It felt like their lungs were full of something, thicker than water and warmer than it should feel. Each inhale was work, the breath scraping against their windpipe all the way to their lungs.

Breathing out was a bit easier, with each exhale a bit of red tinted saliva dribbled from their lips, the bottom which was split so badly by the right corner that they couldn’t close their mouth fully. It had been ripped open by their own teeth, a result of one of the first punches thrown against them, whatever plating beneath the Hero’s gloves turning what would be a bruise into a mauling of blood and fractured bones.

“Tell me,” Hero growled out, grabbing Henchman’s jaw with the same hand that had just struck them, wrenching their head towards them. Henchman could feel their heavy breath against their face, they hadn’t been pulling any punches. Somewhere distant in Henchman’s mind, they envied how Hero could draw in so much air with such ease, so little effort, while they were left to gasp and try to get the oxygen they so desperately needed around what felt like their collapsing windpipe.

Henchman had broken ribs before—it was almost guaranteed in their field, after all. It sucked, which was an understatement. It was miserable, but bearable.

This, this was beginning to border on unbearable. The pain was worse than anything they had ever felt, sharp piercings of pain drilling through their chest and spreading out through their torso. The pressure was awful, building and building against their lungs until everything lapsed into a blur of pain.

“Tell me what villain is planning.” Hero repeated, their voice sharper as their nails dug into Henchman’s face, scraping the skin when they ripped their hand away in frustration when they received no answer, letting Henchman’s head fall again before quickly slamming a knee into their gut.

“I don’t care how long it takes, this will go on until you fucking talk.”

And it went. On and on, but Henchman had already lost all track of time—consciousness was only a muddled depth of agony and exhaustion. It was a miracle, or a curse, that they hadn’t passed out, but through the haze Henchman was able to piece together enough thought to maybe come up with some sort of explanation. They hadn’t really noticed it, lost between the burn of the stun gun Hero had used and the sting of the fresh lashes across their back, but at some point they were sure they had been drugged. A small prick along the side of their neck, followed by a rush of awareness that hadn’t lasted long.

It was hours. Felt like days. There wasn’t a patch of skin anywhere on their body that wasn’t marred by some bruise or cut. At some point, Hero had tapped out, but they had been quickly replaced by some lower grade Agency member.

That was some sort of relief. While Hero’s aggression had been fueled by genuine hatred towards Villain and anyone associated with them such as Henchman was, Associate had no connection with them. Really, they seemed almost reluctant to take part. There was no emotion behind their actions, and every so often they would even pause for a moment to take a break, but some part of Henchman wished to think they were doing it to allow Henchman a moment to rest.

At one point, even, someone had lifted their head up, though Henchman wasn’t sure who. Their eyes had been so swollen with bruises, vision impaired with tears and blood, they couldn’t see much of anything. The touch hadn’t been rough, dare they say gentle even, carefully parting their lips to trickle a bit of water from a bottle down their throat.

“…Hero, we need to stop, they can’t-”

“I don’t care. You are not stopping until they talk.”

“But- Hero, I don’t think they’d be able to speak now anymore-”

“Keep. Going. That is an order, Associate.”

And so it kept. A bucket of cold water dumped over their body, exposed as all their clothes had been cut to shreds on the floor, showing where there was still space to inflict more pain. They weren’t cold for long, as Associate began to hold a lighter to the existing gashes.

…

“Hero, I don’t know what to do anymore. They’re not going to talk. They can’t. You need to cut them down, let them rest a bit-”

“You are in no position to be telling me what to do,” Hero snapped. “Get the hell back in there before you tor their fucking pl-”

The door flew inwards with a sharp kick, bouncing off the wall of the little conference room outside the interrogation chamber. A loud bang split the air, quickly followed by another, and both Hero and Associate were dead before their bodies fell, brain matter splattering across the one-way glass behind them that viewed in on the interrogation chamber.

Villain stepped forwards, a flicker of rage cutting across their indifferent composure as they saw past the gore.

They had a limited number of bullets, but to hell with that, they pulled back the hammer and shot at Hero again, the bullet splitting open their skull and ripping their jaw from them as it passed through the crown of their head.

And damn, if Villain didn’t have Henchman as a priority, they would have shot the bastard again. They would have used all their damn bullets, and then they’d rip Hero’s gun from its holster and shoot until they weren’t even recognizable as human.

They did not deserve the mercy of a quick death that Villain had given them, but it was too late to change that. Villain would come back, they settled, after Henchman was home and healing, and kill every damned person who had ever touched Henchman.

Villain shoved their gun into its holster, quickly stepping over the carnage to the door.

The closer they got to Henchman, the hotter their blood boiled.

They’d kill everyone in the whole fucking agency.

—————————————————

I still only want to hurt Noah. Like seriously, that’s the only thing I want to write rn. Ugh

June of Doom Day 28

"You'll get used to it"

| Knife | Hostage | Surrender |

Cw: the tags above, kidnapping, self-sacrifice

...

Hero kept Henchman pinned to the ground with a foot on their throat.

"I surrender! Just let them go," Villain cried, their weapons on the ground, their hands raised in surrender.

Hero pressed down harder. "Sidekick, cuff them, I'm not letting Henchman up until I know this isn't a trap."

Villain was thrown against the hood of a car and they didn't struggle as their arms were wrenched back and shackled together.

Only when they were immobilized, kneeling before Hero, did they release Henchman, who staggered away.

"Boss," they said, reaching forward.

"No," Villain snapped. "Go. Don't come after me."

Henchman looked conflicted but ultimately nodded, limping away holding their brusied throat.

Hero smiled down at their new hostage before swinging their foot down onto Villain's head so hard they blacked out.

When they woke, they were chained to the ceiling, hanging by their wrists, their toes only barely able to touch the ground. There was a collar around their neck, chained to the ground, so they couldn't lift their head.

They didn't move, didn't make a sound, until they saw the knife in Hero's hand.

They rattled their chains. "What are you doing?"

Hero cocked their head. "Interrogating you," they said, as though it were obvious.

The blade slashed across their chest first, and Villain screamed. Their arm next, then their stomach.

Hero chuckled. "Dont worry, you'll get used to it. The pain. You're going to be in a lot of it from now on."

Villain could only sob as the knife came down again, cutting across their skin.

June of Doom Day 30

"Are you scared yet?"

| Buried Alive | Failed Escape | Denial |

Cw: the tags above

...

Hero banged on the wood above them, but it didn't budge. This wasn't happening. Hero was hyperventilating already. This was not happening.

They heard a chuckle from above as Villain dumped another shovelful of dirt onto Hero.

"Are you scared yet?"

When they recieved no response, another wad of dirt fell onto the coffin Hero was trapped in.

"You shouldn't have tried to run away Hero. You know I can't let this go unpunished. I'm going to bury you here until I think you've learned you lesson. And who knows? Maybe it will be too late when I finally dig you up."

Another shovelful. Some dirt cane through the gaos in the wood and fell into Hero's mouth. They spat it out, shutting their eyes tight.

"It's not real, it's not real, it's not real," they muttered to themself, but to no avail, they didn't magically wake up and find it was all a dream, they just began to hyperventilate even worse as another shovelful of dirt landed above them.

Whumptober Day 2

A/N: Ayo so I was a bit manic last night lol you can tell my posts were not written by a sane person, but I am no quitter, so if my mental breakdown decided to do Whumptober, then I'm doing Whumptober. Here's day 2! Hope yall like it and I'd love any feedback!

Hours and Hours

Overworked / Insomnia / Exhaustion

Whumpee knelt on the marble floors, scrubbing the skirting boards with the rough brush. Their calloused hands were already bruised blistered and bleeding from how much he'd been scrubbing, but he couldn't stop, Whumper said he couldn't stop until the alarm went off. Whumpee didn't know when that would be, he didn't even know how long he had been cleaning for, he had no way to tell time. But he was exhausted. Bone-numbingly tired. He kept shutting his eyes and disassociating for mere seconds before the collar around his neck would shock him back awake and he'd resume scrubbing. He was so tired, and all his muscles ached so bad, but he knew that he wouldn't even be able to sleep when the time came.

Every night he lay in bed awake for hours, maybe getting one or two hours of sleep at most. Whumper had insisted he start working harder, doing more, so he would be tired enough to sleep at night. But it didn't seem to be working. Every night he collapsed into bed, so wrecked it hurt to even roll over, and he stared at the crack in the ceiling for hours until Whumper came back to put him to work again. Yesterday he'd shovelled gravel all day, today he was scrubbing the skirting boards. He didn't know how long Whumper was making him work, he had no sense of time, but he would swear it was longer than Whumper stated.

Whumper would tell him only two or three hours had passed when to Whumpee it had felt more like twelve. They'd promise to come back and get him soon, and then be gone for so long that Whumpee wanted to break down, only to be called dramatic by Whumper, because Whumper said they hadn't even been gone an hour.

At the start, Whumpee was convinced Whumper was lying to him, that they were just gaslighting him, but as time went on, the lies seemed to good to be lies, and he started to believe them. Why would Whumper lie anyway?

He moved on to the final board in the room, his knees so sore they were numb, and started scrubbing, just praying that the alarm would go off soon, but just as he shuffled down, dipping his brush into the manky water again, Whumper came in, their work backpack slung over one shoulder, and their hands carrying a tray of food for Whumpee.

"How are you getting on Whumpee?" they asked cheerily, setting the tray down on the floor, "I brought you lunch!"

"L-Lunch?"

"Yeah, a BLT, your favourite."

"But-but I thought I was nearly done-" Whumpee was ready to cry.

"Don't be silly, it's not even halfway through the day! Lots of work to be done yet."

Whumpee couldn't stop the sob that ripped itself from his throat as Whumper patted his shoulder in mock kindness.