June Of Doom Day 29

June of Doom Day 29

"It's not really that big of a deal"

| Bruises | Secret | Acceptance |

Cw: Abuse, abusive partner, the tags above.

...

Sidekick fingered the bruise on their jaw. It was coming up ugly and purple, right across the left side of their face. It was obvious they'd been punched. They huffed a sigh and let their fingers drop, grabbing the makeup bag sitting beside the sink and rooting through it for the concealer.

Their partner usually wasn't that obvious. Usually they could cover them up with a long sleeve shirt. But they'd made them angry last night, and that had been their mistake.

They were half-way through covering it up when they heard the door open. They had forgotten to lock it.

They cursed, dropping their brush, and they leant down to get it, rising and quickly covering their face with their hand.

"Sidekick?" Hero asked, standing in the open doorway. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"What are you doing here? And why are you covering your face?"

"It's nothing, I'll be out in a minute."

"Is that a bruise?" Hero rushed forward, pulling Sidekicks hand away to reveal the ugly purple, half covered along their jawline. "Who did this?"

"No-one, it's not a big deal. I just fell."

"Not a big deal? Sidekick you look like you just went one on one with Villain!" Hero prodded the bruise gently, and Sidekick hissed. "You need to get some ice on this. Then we need to talk."

"About what?"

"About Partner."

"No-"

"Sidekick, they hurt you. They shouldn't hurt you. You need to get help."

Sidekick was silent for a moment as tears sprang to their eyes, before nodding slowly. "Okay."

I have decided with 10 mins to midnight to finally post again after a year and a half and im doing whumptober. We're so back yall

Hola

Welcome to my blog, I'm well aware I should have made this post about three months ago but oh well.

I'm Eli, genderfluid, 21 and I write sfw whump but always include the content warnings cause those are important.

I'm gonna try to post regularly but we'll see how that goes. Feel free to send asks or messages, I'll do my best to respond! I love writing from prompts because inspiration can be hard to come by.

I mostly write drabbles but who knows, maybe I'll get my ocs in here one day.

Thank you for reading, have a nice day :)

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 20

"That's gonna be one hell of a scar"

| Cage | Pliers | Scrape |

Cw: The prompts above, rescue, implied abuse/ torture, self-sacrifice.

I'm actually really proud of myself for keeping at this so long. I fully expected to fail before day 15. I'm thinking I might start posting snippets from my whumpy novel once I get through this shitshow of a month. Anyway, enjoy some more hero/villain whump!

...

Villain sat in the cage, bleeding all over, but refusing to cower. They didn't huddle or hide in the corners of the cage, they sat, dead centre, and glared at the door, waiting for Supervillain to return.

But when the the click of the lock echoed through the room and the scrape of the dopr opening grated their ears, it wasn't Supervillain coming through the door. It was Sidekick. The very last person they'd ever expect to be here.

"Sidekick?"

Sidekick raised a finger to their lips. "Shush". Villain understood the message and chose to watch out the door as Sidekick pulled a pair of large pliers from their jacket and began to cut the wires on the cage. One by one. Snip snip snip. It took way longer than was comfortable for Villain, and they grew more paranoid with every snip of a wire that Supervillain would arrive.

But they never did, and soon, there was a hole large enough for Villain to crawl out.

As soon as they were out though, they couldn't stand straight. The cuts crisscrossing their legs made it impossible to rest their weight on their legs.

Sidekick hissed when they saw the wounds.

"That's gonna be one hell of a scar," they muttered. The first thing they'd said since they arrived. They didn't say another word as they looped Villain's arm over their shoulder and carried most of their weight as the pair limped out the door.

They approached the front door but Villain began to panic. Where was Supervillain? They must have heard them. Why hadn't they showed up?

"They're distracted right now," Sidekick whispered, reading their thoughts. Villain wanted to question it, but at that moment they heard the loud crash as someone fell through a window somewhere out of sight.

They heard the tell-tale voices of Supervillain and Hero arguing and suddenly they understood. Hero was distracting Supervillain, hence why Sidekick was here.

Sidekick didn't seem fazed in the slightest and continued carrying Villain out the car outside, loading them into the back seat.

"Hero-" Villain started, but Sidekick cut them off.

"They'll be fine. My orders are to get you out of here."

"But-"

They didn't get to finish their complaint as the car jerked forward, shooting out into the road, just as Supervillain came crashing out onto the road behind them, bruised and battered, followed by a furious Hero.

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.