#summerofwhump19
Link
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Jessica Knight/Jimmy Palmer
Characters: Jessica Knight, Jimmy Palmer, Nick Torres, Timothy McGee
Additional Tags: summer of whump 2022, Kidnapping, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot
Summary:
'How could you let Jimmy be taken?!' Nick shouted
@summer-of-whump
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Summer of Whump Day 19: Fear
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: G
Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka
WC: ~1010
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Notes: I may be making up how the sharingan works for my own narrative benefit. Whatever.
A/N: A day late again I’m sorry! I did have this written yesterday, but I was at a LARP (our first live game in 16 months I missed my friends so much) and couldn’t post.
A/N 2: Inspo for this piece comes from this prompt from @whumpster-dumpster. Combo with my Bad Things Happen Bingo Board square: Supernatural Fear Inducer
~
Kakashi steps onto the windowsill of the Hokage’s office, looking at the room’s only occupant and giving a confused head tilt. “Yo, Iruka-sensei,” he says, getting the man’s attention.
Selecting reports to be filed off of Tsunade’s desk, Iruka looks up and smiles at him. “Welcome back, Kakashi-sensei! Tsunade-sama stepped out for just a minute, if you’d like to wait?”
Kakashi nods and slips inside, shutting the window behind him. He sends out a ping of chakra to check for eavesdroppers and voyeurs. Finding no one nearby, he closes the space between him and Iruka and takes down his mask, dips his head, and catches Iruka’s lips in an I’m home kiss.
Iruka turns into him, putting his arms around Kakashi’s shoulders and back, pulling him close. Kakashi also puts an arm around Iruka’s waist, deepening the kiss and licking into Iruka’s mouth. He swallows Iruka’s groan, and then pulls back after leaving one last chaste kiss on his cheek.
“Nice to see you, too, Love,” Iruka says, breathless.
“I have a present for you,” Kakashi says, pulling a scroll out of his vest and waving it in front of Iruka's nose. “Tsunade’ll want you to take a look at it and work your fūinjutsu magic—”
“It’s not magic,” Iruka laughs, and snatches the scroll out of Kakashi’s hand. They walk together over to the assistant desk along the opposite wall and unroll the scroll. The script is thick and the characters blur together, but Iruka looks at it silently for a few minutes.
Kakashi pats Iruka’s shoulders and then walks around the office to look at the unfiled reports and information. He hears Iruka try a few hand seals and a, “kai,” and he turns back to his partner to see him grinning with the excitation of a good bit of fūinjutsu. What a nerd—he’s so in love with him.
“Oh!” Iruka performs a different sequence of seals and presses his hand to the scroll. A puff of smoke rises up from the scroll as the seal breaks.
“You’re amazing,” Kakashi says, truly impressed as always. “What does it say?”
“It doesn’t—it’s a cuff,” Iruka says, picking it up and turning around to face Kakashi. He turns the cuff over in his fingers, examining the gold and runes in the sunlight. Iruka looks up at Kakashi and freezes.
They’re still across the room from each other.
Kakashi is helpless but to watch as the cuff releases a menacing blue glow that wraps around Iruka’s wrist, then snakes up his arm, encircles his neck, and then back down the other arm and wrist. It happens quickly, fast enough that Kakashi can’t react beyond readying for an attack. The glow fades on his skin, and Iruka’s eyes flash the same color.
An attack doesn’t come.
At least, not... Not one he can fight.
Iruka’s eyes focus on a spot in the corner behind Kakashi, and he begins to tremble; fine tremors Kakashi wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t on high alert.
He reaches for his hitai-ate, ready to scan the room with the sharingan. “Iruka? Is everything—?”
Iruka shakes his head slowly. “I’m,” he won’t stop staring at that point just past Kakashi. He pales; Kakashi can see a fine sheen of sweat collecting at his hairline. “I think I’m hallucinating.”
Kakashi nods, relaxes a bit. “Would you like me to confirm?” he asks, gesturing to his eye.
“Please, Kakashi,” Iruka says. His voice is soft, pleading, desperate—in all the wrong ways.
He looks over his shoulder, following Iruka’s gaze and flicks up his hitai-ate. The sharingan yanks at his chakra as it spins, but he sees nothing out of the ordinary in the room. He turns back to Iruka and—the cuff looks different through the sharingan, now the source of strangling strings of chakra that follow the path the blue glow had previously made around Iruka’s arms and neck.
Kakashi needs to get that cuff away from him, but they don’t know how bad this can get or what this is, really. But still, he needs, “Is it okay if I come closer to you?” He quickly continues, “You’re okay, there’s nothing there. I just would feel better if I could hold you. Is that alright?”
Iruka swallows hard. “I don’t know. I’d really appreciate it, but—”
“Whatever was released by that cuff, it's affecting you and we need to approach this with caution. I will not let you come to harm if I can help it.”
Iruka nods, once.
Kakashi approaches, his hands held out, palms up. He only gets two steps before Iruka is stammering, almost crying out, “Stop, stop, please, it’s angry, don’t—”
“I’ll back up, I’ll back up!” Kakashi says, taking a half step backwards. The chakra strings from the cuff look like they tightened, but Kakashi can’t be certain.
Iruka is holding back tears but can’t look away from the spot in the corner. He’s still holding the cuff.
“Iruka, Love, can you put the cuff down?”
“No,” he whispers. “My hands won’t move. I’ve tried.”
Kakashi smiles briefly. Of course he had.
“Can you describe what you see?”
“I. No. I don’t, it’s constantly changing. I can’t—”
“That’s fine. Any idea when Tsunade-sama is due back?” Iruka shakes his head slowly. Kakashi then asks, “Do you trust me?”
The answer comes quickly. “Always, Kakashi.”
“Look at me.”
Iruka turns terrorized eyes to Kakashi for only a moment, and then darts back to the hallucination behind him.
“Try to look only at me, Iruka.”
“It’s…”
“I know, but it’ll be okay. We’ll fix this. You’re going to be back to being the scary one in the village in no time,” Kakashi tries to take a light tone.
It doesn’t help, but it doesn’t hurt either.
“Just keep looking at me until it fades, or until Tsunade gets back. I won’t let it hurt you, I promise.”
“But what if it attacks you?” Iruka whimpers. “You can’t see it…”
“Then I’ll need you to be my eyes, hmm? We’re a team, aren’t we?”
“Kakashi I’m… I’m scared.”
“I’m scared for you, Love,” Kakashi admits. “But it’ll be okay. Just keep trying to look at me.”
Tsunade can’t get here fast enough.
#summerofwhump#summerofwhump19#fear#bad things happen bingo#supernatural fear inducer#fanfic#hatake kakashi#umino iruka#kakairu#my writing
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Summer of Whump: Day 19-Hope
CW: whumper POV
Whumpee still had hope in them.
Hope that they would be rescued, hope that they would somehow escape.
Whumper loved seeing that hope. To them, it wasn’t a sign that they were failing. It just meant they were going to have some more fun before Whumpee broke completely.
And for Whumper, it was always fun to turn hope into despair.
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SUMMER OF WHUMP - DAY 19 - HOPE
CW: pet whump, medical, neglect, whipping, neglecting mental health, cruel whumper.
She followed Renford inside his bedroom. She couldn’t hold back the sigh as soon as she saw Red, laying on the pet bed on the floor. He had some pretty bad lacerations on his back, and seemed to be getting infected. She shot an annoyed glance.
“You need to be more careful” she touched the pet’s forehead wondering if he might have a fever, and he shivered. A lot of her patients loved the attention, being pampered and loved. Some of them… were even so badly starved for affection that they melted when she touched them. Red, however, was very touch averse. She tried to make him comfortable, keeping it to a minimum, but it was still needed to properly patch him up “Pet’s are living things, they deserve to be treated with a little respect”
“He would. If he behaved well”
“Then get a trainer that knows what they are doing" She said, perhaps a bit too impulsively. Renford was a sadist. His only reasoning to have a Pet was to torment it, and Red being well behaved wouldn’t make him any less cruel.
...Of course, he didn’t like it, stepping closer, a dangerous edge to his voice.
“You don’t get to tell me how to treat my Pets, Sophia” He spit “There are plenty of other doctors if you aren’t up for the job”
She sighed and shut up. He only had called her to be here because her mother had been close friends with Renford for some time. She had plenty of patients at her own clinic, so losing the job wasn’t too much of a problem… But she had grown to like Red. She didn’t want to leave him alone, to be tended by someone who was uncaring… Or not be tended at all.
Plenty of Master’s didn’t take their pets to see a doctor unless they were on death’s door. She had seen and treated awful, cruel wounds that could only be achieved by torture. She had treated pets on the brink of death by very treatable causes, that if the Master’s hadn’t been so neglectful, wouldn’t have gotten this bad. She had seen them having permanent damage, chronic pain, loss of their senses or limbs for those choices.
Not to mention those suffering with anxiety, panic, ptsd, depression.
...Of course, she couldn’t help much with that. She had gone to medical school - it was the same for people and pets, except that some doctors refused to treat Pets, later on. But they were the same. She took extra classes and specialized in Pet care, of course. But the base of the job… Was the same. And she could recognize that sort of issue on them.
Just not treat them.
What she could do was give Red painkillers. She knew very well Renford wasn’t going to pay for them, but she would do it from her own pocket. Stitching cuts like that would be extremely cruel without anesthesia.
“Fuck, your owner is a bastard…” She whispered, accessing the wounds. He hummed an agreement “Wish I could do more to help you, Red”
Again, he just nodded in agreement, while she cleaned the dry blood with a rag. She just… hoped she could someday do more for him. It should be a truly miserable life, being his pet.
….Maybe she could figure something out, eventually. Maybe… Maybe she could call the rescuers. They’d have some ideas… right?
She could be fired for that. But… Maybe it was worth it.
taglist: @summer-of-whump, @nicolepascaline
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Scare Tactics
By Hale13
For the Summer of Whump Day 19 Prompt - Fear
“And just to show you we mean business…” Peter flinched when his index finger was grabbed and sharply snapped in half, leaving him breathless. He didn’t scream though. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. “Tough kid,” the leader mused, petting Peter on the head. “I’m going to let my men work him over,” he said to the camera lightly. “You pay me within the next four hours and I won’t start cutting off things he’ll miss. Sure would be a shame… he’s got his whole life ahead of him you know.”
Words: 2407, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English
Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Rating: Gen
Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Character: Peter Parker, May Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan
TW: Canon Typical Violence, Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Torture
Read on AO3 or below the line break.
“One more hour! C’mon, just one more hour please,” Peter begged, hands twitching and sweating as he looked around frantically. He could do it. He just had to do it.
“Whatcha doing Pete?” Tony asked right in his ear causing Peter to let out a high pitched scream and rip the VR headset off his head, nearly tossing it into the wall and only barely catching himself at the last second.
“What the fuck!” He exclaimed, panting and placing a hand over his racing heart – it was galloping under his fingertips. Tony, standing next to him with his hand extend like he was reaching out to touch Peter, had his face pinched up like he was trying not to laugh and failing spectacularly.
“What was that?” The man questioned, pulling the headset from Peter’s twitching fingers to set it down on the bed and safely out of reach lest Peter almost throw it again. “You okay?”
“You scared the shit out of me!” Peter told his mentor dramatically as his heart rate slowed to a more manageable rhythm. Damn he was so close to winning!
Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Thought you had a tingle or something,” he said with a teasing tone and that was it, Peter was never letting Tony and May have lunch together again. Tingle… seriously? “What were you doing anyway?” Tony asked, picking the headset back up and turning it around curiously in dexterous fingers.
“Playing FNAF,” Peter said with a shrug. “I had nearly won too!”
“Beg pardon?” Tony asked with a head tilt. “Did you just have a stroke? I don’t speak teenager.”
“It’s a game Mr. Stark,” Peter grumbled, grabbing the headset back to turn it off. “A horror game. You’re a security guard and you have to live through the night without a bunch of animatronic animals killing you.”
“Sounds exhausting,” Tony commented, passing Peter his untouched book bag – he was supposed to be doing homework while Mr. Stark was in a meeting but oh well. He could always do it later, it was the weekend after all. “Happy’s pulling the car around. You sure you don’t want to stay? It’s getting a bit late.”
“I’m good,” Peter insisted, throwing the bag over his back and tightening the straps a little to sit more comfortably. “Besides, May and I are supposed to marathon the new season of Lucifer tonight.”
“Ah yes,” Tony said with a smile. “Do tell aunt hottie I said hello would you? I’m looking forward to our monthly co-parenting coffee date next week – can’t wait to tell her about this!”
Peter groaned and blushed. “Please don’t,” he muttered, skirting around his mentor to get to the door. “See you next week?” He asked as he paused in the doorway, turning back to look at the man and smiling.
“Yeah I’ll see you next week kiddo. Don’t have too much fun this weekend!”
“Bye Mr. Stark!” Peter called as he raced to the elevator, bouncing impatiently on his toes as it descended to the garage where Happy was waiting in one of the many black town cars Stark Industries owned.
“Took you long enough,” he groused good naturedly as Peter hopped into the back, dropping his book bag into the foot well and buckling his seatbelt with a bright ‘hey Happy!’ before pulling out his battered copy of The Collected Works of Shakespeare. He was supposed to finish MacBeth before class on Monday morning and he had been putting it off for a while (re: the last two weeks). Thank god for SparkNotes!
He read in the peaceful silence of the car as Happy navigated the busy Manhattan roads into the more quiet streets of Queens, finally pulling to a stop in front of Peter’s building and unlocking the doors. “See you Monday kid,” he called as Peter jumped out of the car.
“Thanks for the ride Happy!” Peter answered as he shut the door and waved the car off before letting out a sigh. It had been a long week and he was looking forward to just hanging out with May and decompressing. He felt like he barely saw her these days since she moved to working nights – it had been way too long since their last Netflix binge sesh. Peter took the stairs two at a time, forgoing the ancient and slow elevator, and was soon standing outside his door, fumbling for his keys.
As he went to slip the correct key into the lock, Peter felt every hair on his body stand on end as a shiver tore through him. He paused and looked up and down his hallway. Everything was quiet and peaceful, nothing out of place, so why was his Spidey sense tingling? With a gulp, Peter looked at his door and felt his heart freeze in his chest. May!
Peter swiftly unlocked the door and threw it open only to pause just over the threshold.
May was seated in one of their kitchen chairs, pulled into eye line of the door to the apartment, and looking pale but utterly pissed as the masked man behind her jammed the muzzle of his gun further into her temple. Peter, his heart nearly beating out of his chest and his adrenaline spiking to leave a metallic taste in his mouth, held his hands up immediately in surrender. As if it would ever be a question with May involved.
“Close the door,” the man said firmly, jutting his chin and Peter felt it snap closed behind him, paying no mind to the other invaders that were scattered around the room, his eyes stuck only on May.
“What do you want?” He asked, surprised that his voice was steady – he could tell that his body was still and sure but inside he felt like he was about to shake apart; like he was standing in the epicenter of an earthquake.
“Your cooperation mostly,” the man with the gun answered, passing the weapon off to one of his underlings and approaching where Peter stood motionless, hands still raised, just inside the door. His eyes were a pale blue and they scraped over Peter’s form quickly before he held out his hand. “Phone, watch, bag. Give me anything that Stark might have chipped and don’t try anything funny. I’d hate for anything… untoward to happen to your Aunt.”
“Okay,” Peter agreed, slowly pulling his bag off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor with a thump. One of the men behind him picked it up and started riffling through it as Peter unlatched his watch and passed it over along with his phone. He was grateful that he hadn’t brought his suit with him to school today or he’d have a much bigger problem – assuming they didn’t already know he was Spider-Man of course.
“Search him,” the man called out as he dropped Peter’s phone and watch to the floor before pointedly stomping on them until they broke. Peter fought to hold still as he was patted down, making eye contact with May. She gave a minute shake of her head and Peter bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. He knew she didn’t want him to compromise his identity for her but he would do whatever he could to keep her safe – Spider-Man be damned.
“He’s clean,” one of the goons called out, nudging Peter forward and forcing him to sit down opposite May.
“Peter Parker,” the leader mused, walking over until he took up all of Peter’s sight leaving May out of view and ratcheting Peter’s already frantic heart rate up more. “Tony Stark’s personal intern. How does one get that job eh?” He looked at Peter expectantly and Peter grit his teeth together.
“Right place right time,” Peter grunted, his eye contact never wavering. The leader frowned behind his mask and smacked Peter sharply, causing his head to whip to the side. It was more surprising than painful and Peter glared back in obvious loathing.
“That will be your only warning,” the leader grunted, leaning down so he was eye level with Peter. “Next time it’ll be your aunt. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” Peter confirmed, gripping the arms of his chair tightly and trying to control his strength. By his count there were five men in their apartment. If he were alone or in the suit it wouldn’t be a problem but with May involved…
“Now let’s try again,” the man continued, pacing a circle around Peter’s chair like a shark circling prey and thus giving him the briefest chance to make eye contact with May again. The skin of her forehead was red and dented where the gun mashed into her face. But he eyes were full of fear and anger for Peter – her sight was locked on the cheek he could feel burning and already swelling. “How did you get your internship?”
“September Foundation,” Peter answered. “I submitted some of my work on clean energy and Mr. Stark was impressed enough to offer me the internship.”
The man hummed, stopping his circling and placed both hands on Peter’s shoulders, squeezing them. “But it’s not just an internship anymore now is it?” He questioned, tone light. “I doubt any normal intern gets access to Stark’s personal lab or stays overnight. For a while I thought you might be his bastard but, no, it doesn’t seem you are.” Peter tensed at the words and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. “However you are important enough for him to pay handsomely for I’d wager.”
“He won’t,” Peter insisted, not breaking eye contact with May – she looked terrified now and he wasn’t sure who she was scared for most. “He doesn’t negotiate with kidnappers.”
“We’ll see,” the man said lightly, unconcerned. “Here’s the deal Parker. You’re going to come with us, quietly, and I won’t put a bullet through your aunt’s skull. I hear that you watched your uncle bleed out from something similar – wouldn’t want another death on your conscience now would you?” Peter flinched violently, unable to hold it back and felt tears prick at his eyes. He couldn’t cry now. Not in front of these assholes. “You’re going to come with us and, once we get you back to base, I’ll call in the order to let your aunt go. If they don’t hear from me within the next six hours… well I’m sure you can figure it out.”
Peter nodded slowly and tried to silently apologize to May – she was watching him with tears now cascading down her cheeks and shaking her head, begging him not to give in. “I’ll do whatever you want,” Peter agreed, sealing his fate.
His Spidey-sense screamed at him and he forced himself to hold still as the gun clocked him across the temple, knocking him out instantly.
—————————————
When Peter finally woke up some indeterminate amount of time later it was to a throbbing head and aching neck from sitting slumped over and tied to the most uncomfortable chair he had ever had the displeasure of sitting in. He opened his eyes with a groan to look around the room. It was darkened, of course because why wouldn’t it be, and empty, also not a surprise. The door in front of him was made of a dark metal the same as the chair he was sitting in which was bolted to the floor.
He tested the cuffs that were binding his wrists to each arm of the chair and found that they weren’t reinforced and should break easily with his strength. So they didn’t know he was Spider-Man then – that was a plus. Peter could work with that.
Before he could look around much more or even try to formulate a plan, the door in front of him flew open to admit multiple people, all in masks, and a camera set up that had Peter’s blood running cold.
“I have to thank you for your cooperation,” the man from earlier said gaily as he entered the room last. “You made this much easier than anticipated.”
“My aunt?” Peter asked, voice wobbling a little but his eye contact unwavering.
“Fine. As we agreed,” the man confirmed, kneeling down a little to look directly into Peter’s eyes. “Now we’re going to make Stark a little video, a one-sided video chat if you will, to ask him for a little… monetary gift. All you have to do is sit here and look pretty while we do all the work okay?” He said condescendingly, running a hand through Peter’s hair before patting his cheek mockingly.
It took all of Peter’s willpower not to head butt him directly in the nose.
The set up was done fairly quickly, the camera pointed directly at Peter and the red light blinking. His captor came to stand right behind him, hands resting on Peter’s shoulders again.
“Oh looks like he’s tuned it! Hello Stark, I think I found something that belongs to you,” the leader said, squeezing Peter’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t just leave your things lying around you know. Don’t want them to get displaced.” Peter grit his teeth in irritation and humiliation – he couldn’t believe he had let himself get kidnapped – that he had put Mr. Stark in this position! “Anyway,” he continued lightly, “I have a little request. A trade if you will. I’ll give you back your intern and you give me twenty million dollars and a clean way out of the country. Shouldn’t be too hard for you right?”
Don’t do it Peter tapped out on the arm of the chair in hasty Morse code. Don’t give them anything. I’ve got this Peter tried to say with his eyes. Trust me.
“And just to show you we mean business…” Peter flinched when his index finger was grabbed and sharply snapped in half, leaving him breathless. He didn’t scream though. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. “Tough kid,” the leader mused, petting Peter on the head. “I’m going to let my men work him over,” he said to the camera lightly. “You pay me within the next four hours and I won’t start cutting off things he’ll miss. Sure would be a shame… he’s got his whole life ahead of him you know.”
Later, his jaw hanging loose and his body aching with breaks and bruises, Peter will let a single tear fall.
The door knob turns and his adrenaline spikes.
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Summer of Whump Day 19: Fear/hope
@summer-of-whump
Read on AO3 | Masterlist
“Bucky?”
“Who the hell is Bucky?”
Is Bucky even a person? The Soldier’s never met anyone called Bucky. Why would he think Bucky is a person?
Is Bucky the flying man that kicked the Soldier in the head? The target was looking in the Soldier’s direction, and the flying man was directly behind him. He must be Bucky.
Then why does the name Bucky sound familiar? The flying man is not familiar, unlike the target. The target…the Soldier knows him.
It may have been from a previous mission. Sometimes that has happened before – the Soldier is sent to steal intel off someone, and then, after his superiors have read it, they send him back to kill the person.
This feels different, though. This feels like…before, if before even exists.
For the first time he can remember, he isn’t so sure about HYDRA anymore. Is he fighting for the right side?
When he looks at the target, he doesn’t have any negative feeling. Surely, if Pierce was right and the target was an enemy of peace and freedom, the Soldier would remember. The Soldier remembered feelings more than he remembered events.
But Pierce was always right. HYDRA was always right.
He was just a soldier, created to follow orders, to comply. It’s for the best he does not make his own decisions.
When he meets the team at the rendezvous point, he ignores the fear curling in his gut. They will find his memories, and they will burn them away. He clings to them, for these last few minutes.
HYDRA is always right.
#summerofwhump#summerofwhump19#whump#bucky barnes#buckybarnes whump#marvel#winter soldier#hydra#fear/hope#my whump ficlets#late.fic#s: bucky barnes whump
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Summer of Whump #19 — Fear
Summary: After an unpleasant phone call, a man finds his work life bleeding over into his marriage.
Content warnings: Domestic abuse, foul language
The phone call ended with Hans slamming the receiver down. He would have sworn at it, if he hadn’t already exhausted his supply of such words berating the idiots on the other side of the line. Of course the lowest ranks of the Staatspolizei couldn’t be expected to be quite so competent as the men he usually worked with, but the Staatspolizei was supposed to be an elite organization. Perhaps Gradl knew something Hans didn’t, but Hans had thought that part of being an elite organization was the implication that even the newer recruits would have the sense not to arrest the wrong person entirely. Much less proceed to torture them for eight consecutive hours!
A few seconds after Hans walked across the room and pressed his forehead against the wall, a soft voice broke the silence. “Is everything all right?”
No, everything was not all right. Sophie knew everything was not all right, or she wouldn’t have asked anyway. He glanced over and saw that she’d brought a glass of water. It was better than a list of complaints, but that didn’t mean he wanted it. Or her company just now.
“Go away.” The words came out as a snarl as Hans pressed his forehead harder against the wall. “I don’t want water.”
He didn’t need water, he needed an excuse. Something to explain how his officers had managed to arrest the wrong person. Unless he didn’t. Maybe he just needed to come up with something the person had done and pretend that was it. Been caught purchasing books of questionable ideology. Something. Anything. He didn’t have the luxury of caring what.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sophie was still there. Just one more thing to go wrong, he supposed. First his subordinates couldn’t get the right person or use the slightest bit of common damned sense, and now his wife wouldn’t listen to him. But as long as she just stood there and didn’t say anything, maybe he could tolerate it.
But she didn’t just stand there. She spoke. “Schädzchn, what’s wrong?”
His blood flashed hot and he spun to face her. “Damn it, I told you to go away!”
Then Hans reached back and—
—And what the hell was he doing?
That was his wife staring back at him. The woman who had mothered his children. The woman he loved. The woman he’d sworn to love and protect and cherish for the rest of his life. The woman who was meant to trust and love him in return.
Not a criminal. Nor a traitor.
And yet he was about to slap her across the face.
The glass slipped out of Sophie’s hand and shattered on the floor. Sophie herself wasn’t far behind, crumpling into the floor in an unceremonious heap of lilac fabric and beginning to shield her face with her hands.
Maybe Hans was still on his feet, but that was the only advantage he could claim. He wanted to crawl out of his skin, rip it off like bloodied clothes. The longer he looked at his hand, the deeper the pit in his stomach grew. This wasn’t who he was, was it? He wasn’t the sort of man who hit his wife for only being a little too inquisitive. Right?
It had to be right. His mother had raised him well. He knew better than to hit a woman. Especially Sophie. And he knew he loved her. That was why he’d married her. So why was his hand poised to strike her?
Several seconds later, Hans sunk to the floor, staring as his hand began to shake.
“Sophie...” Hans tried to put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched away.
He couldn’t bring himself to blame her. If he were faced with someone who had a third of a meter’s height advantage and was twice as strong as him, he didn’t think he’d be very interested in their affections either. Not when they had just threatened to slap him across the face.
“Sophie, listen. Please.” She seemed to agree insomuch that she lifted her head. Lifting her head, however, revealed inky trails of mascara running down her cheeks. Hans hadn’t realized she was crying yet, but knowing that she was, he found he could barely meet her eyes now. “I...”
What? He was sorry? A lot of good that would do either of them. Now she knew that he was the kind of man who would even consider that, and he knew that he couldn’t keep work at work half as well as he’d thought. Sorry wasn’t going to do much for that. Nothing he could say would.
“...I’m going for a walk.” For the sake of finishing his sentence, those were the words he decided on. “Should I bring back anything?”
Sophie shook her head. She still didn’t say anything. Maybe there was nothing for her to say either. If there was, it was nothing Hans could think of.
So instead of urging her for a goodbye or a quick peck on the cheek, he got out of the floor, put his coat and hat on, and walked out onto the sidewalk to mull over the unavoidable truth.
His wife was afraid of him, and she was right to be.
#writing#writeblr#summerofwhump#summerofwhump19#fear#tw domestic abuse#tw cursing#tw swearing#Hans#Hans Pfitzner#Sophie#Sophie Pfitzner#Theodor Gradl
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Summer of Whump 19 - Fear
@summer-of-whump
Takes place shortly after this piece.
Content Warning: BBU, questionable caretaker, vague depictions of sadistic desires and control.
The tainted sense of ascendency returns to him in variance. As gratification ghosting fingers beneath his ribcage at the averting of a rescue's eyes. As a hungry flutter in his abdomen when the raising of hand or voice elicits a flinch.
At times it sits solid in his chest, like a creature weighty and waiting, thrumming its eagerness at the vivid vulnerability too easily evoked. And oh, how easy it is. A motion, a word, a look, and they come apart at the seams like cheaply sewn suits.
And with each moment of empowerment the guilt follows, nipping at its heels and leaving it deflated and abrased. Smothering it back beneath the morals he tries to hold fast to. Sometimes, it feels, by the tips of his fingers.
Those opposing wants war within him as he goes to a knee on threadbare carpet, eyes running over the rescue huddling between the dingy green couch and the off-white wall.
Their gazes lock, and a little thrill tingles his skin as her arms tighten their grip around her legs, drawn up and folded. Her eyes blow wide with fear, and he wonders if she can recognize exactly what it is inside him.
“Come here.” He says it softly, voice pitched low with a calm reassurance that doesn’t feel entirely sincere.
She blinks, shakes her head. Shifts as though capable of cramming herself deeper into the space she’s already occupying.
The quiet defiance prods at him like a poker at a smoldering fire.
“Now.” Just as low so as not to carry, but with an unpracticed sharpness that expects obedience.
And it works. Tears fill her eyes, and there’s wary reluctance in the way that she moves, but moves she does. Unfolding her limbs and crawling - crawling! - toward him.
When he offers his hand she takes it hastily, and blood sings triumph in his ears as the victory sets his heart to pounding.
And the guilt is there. Dampening the little conquest and making restless that sense of wrongness that accompanies each desire of aberration.
Part of him begs to indulge it. Part of him believes he should quit the safehouse, and pursue an avenue of employment safer for all those involved. Something away from the easy exertion of control over people already broken.
Instead he guides the rescue to her feet, lips angling in a smile that isn’t returned, and aims to push back to the void the gentle flutter in his stomach as she follows him from the room like a dog brought to heel.
#summerofwhump#summerofwhump19#bbu#pet whump#sadistic caretaker#sadistic tw#the unsafe safehouse#Ian is questionable#a whumper in the making??
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Summer of Whump Day 19: Hope
Warning: This work alludes to illness and injury
#summerofwhump#summerofwhump19#hope#the beatles fanfiction#the beatles#george harrison#ringo starr#neil aspinall#illness tw#injury tw
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2nd part to yesterday’s 1st chapter.
For @summer-of-whump
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SUMMER OF WHUMP - DAY 19 - FEAR
CW: SUICIDE ATTEMPT; self harm; blood; hospital/medical; implied abuse; pet whump; sex work; alcohol, intoxication
Farlan stared at his phone, going through social media. He was really fucking bored, and it seemed like eveyone one else was, too. Nothing too interesting to look at.
...He glanced at his pet, napping on the floor, the long white hair all around him. He had given it a couple of pillows this time. He wanted to play with it, but he was… a bit too damaged, right now. He had gone too far last time, in a fit of rage, and hurt the Pet too much. He would have to let it rest for a couple of days before doing anything.
...With a sigh, he threw a blanket over it, and watched as the pet curled up and stopped shivering so much.
Sighing, he scrolled through his contacts. Nobody seemed interested in hanging out today, and that just sucked. He did stop over the number of… His father’s hooker. Orfeu, the fucking freak.
He sent a message. And didn’t get an answer. And that would be fine normally, but something just… felt off. So, he decided to call. The worst that could happen is he would be interrupting some fun.
...Or so he thought.
“...Hey, whore, what are you up to-”
...He heard a sniff, and muffled noises.
“N-nothing. W-what is it?”
...His voice sounded… Weird. He was drunk, sure, but that wasn’t it. It was also trembling and weak, as if he had been crying. No sharp edge to it.
“I was wondering if you’d like to hang out”
...A long silence. Farlan frowned.
“Ma-maybe later”
A sob.
“...Are you okay?”
“Y-yyeah”
“You don’t sound okay. Are you at home?”
“Yeah. I need to go”
“...I’l coming over”
“Don’t”
...And he ended the call.
He felt stupid for this. Really. But… He just felt like he had to. Of course, the hooker told him not to, but… He still got up, and drove to Orfeu’s house, because he had a bad feeling.
Fuck it was a creepy little place just like he was a creepy little man. Tall trees surrounded the place, and the city lights were only distant. The sounds of the forest around them made his skin crawl, as the wind swung the trees and cast gloomy shadows on the road.
Well...Point to his gut, because something was, indeed, off.
The house wasn’t locked. He crept into it, all awfully dark. It was messed, and thrashed around.
There were empty alcohol bottles littered around the floor. The only light came from upstairs, from the bathroom, and that’s where he found Orfeu, curled up naked on the shower, blood dripping from his arms, probably intoxicated beyond his mind.
“...Fuck- W-w-why did you…”
….He mumbled something incoherent, blinking as if not truly seeing Farlan there.
“Fuck Orfeu, FUCK, WHAT DID YOU DO?”
...And the man flinched, trying to crawl away but only managing to fall, head lolling to the side. He looked… Small and fragile, for once in his life. Between his raspy breaths, Farlan started to move, looking through the cabinets, as more red water went down the drain.
“Where are your fucking bandages? Goddamit, why would you do this shit why -”
And he kept mumbling, throwing things on the floor till he found what he wanted. He rolled Orfeu’s arms on the bandages, seeing it get stained red, Orfeu’s dazed eyes blinking, each time more slowly…
“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck… Screw this” He struggled, but managed to get Orfeu up, an arm around his shoulder, dragging him to the car and driving him to a hospital “No, no, no, fuck Orfeu don’t sleep, don’t go to sleep”
“Mm….” He rolled his head, resting on Farlan’s shoulder, as he was put on the passenger’s sit “T-tired”
“Yeah but don’t sleep on me now”
“W-w-w--hy you’d care…” He laughed, barely keeping on the seat “...You think I’m, I’m a leech…”
“You are but I still fucking care about you”
...And farlan wasn’t even sure why he cared. But he did. It didn’t even occur to him at that point that… He really didn’t have to do this. It wasn’t exactly his problem. It didn’t occur to him until much later, when Orfeu was taken into the hospital, and he was sitting next to his bed, as he was on a drip.
He only woke up once, during the night, Orfeu staring at him, with a creepy smile on his face, not entirely himself.
“Pretty colors” He whispered softly, and passed out again.
The next day was… Weird. They quietly drove back to the house. Farlan hired someone to clean the place before, so it just… wouldn’t be thrashed, and bloodied, and a tragedy. Now, in daylight… It wasn’t as creepy anymore. It was somewhat comfy, even, as he walked Orfeu upstairs. A bit too barren, he would say, as there wasn’t much furniture or decor at all. That house lacked a soul.
“...Thank you”
He spoke for the first time, as Farlan put him into bed.
“It’s fine”
“No… If you hadn’t been there, I…” He looked away “Thank you”
“Yeah. Next time… Call me, okay?”
“Call you?”
“Yeah. If you are feeling sad or whatever, we can go and drink together or find something to do. Anything but… But this shit, Orfeu” and he sighed heavily, laying on Orfeu’s bed. He was really tired, too. A hospital couch wasn’t exactly a good place to spend the night.
“...Hm? Orfeu asked, blinking heavily “...You are not going…?”
“Like hell. I’ll stay until you feel better or whatever. Or you come with me. I’m not leaving you alone now, not after what I saw yesterday. That was fucking scary”
“...Why… Why do you care?” Distant, almost blank eyes staring at him.
“I don’t fucking know, but I do. So shut up and sleep, okay?”
“So there is a heart under your sarcasm after all” Orfeu smiled. He smiled back, this was… good. Seeing him joke and smile.
“Maybe I do. Now sleep, I’m tired too”
...The man nodded, and pulled Farlan’s arm around him. Farlan probably had somewhere else to be right now but frankly… he didn’t even care.
tagging: @summer-of-whump @cupcakes-and-pain , @whumpzone , @twistedcaretaker , @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight , @lightdrinker , @pinkraindropsfell, @oofthatsgottahurt @whump-me-all-night-long
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