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victimeyez · 3 years

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Buck and Fletcher 2: Electric Boogaloo

Fanfic for @knivestothroats In The Woods Somewhere - click for masterlist

This one is actually so long I had to break it into parts, tags will be listed at the beginning of each chapter for the chapter, and links to the other parts here:

Part 1: X Part 2: X Part 3: Here Part 4: X Part 5: X

Buck becomes the unwilling guinea pig for the trainees while Fletcher is away.

Tags: Captive whumpee, multiple whumpers, intimate whumper, suggestive behavior/jokes, electricity torture, graphic depictions of torture, the trainees are super fun to write, bondage, being dragged/manhandled, gags, not medically accurate don’t @ me

Buck did his best, but he was easily captured by Petrova and the others. He screamed into his pillow while they bound his arms behind him, tape wrapped in a thick layer from his wrists to his elbows, wrenching his shoulders back painfully and holding them there.

Scared, angry tears wet the pillow beneath him as he sobbed. As ridiculous as it was, all he could think about was how incredibly betrayed he felt. He had asked Fletcher nicely, Fletcher had agreed, locked him in, and then...what, gave them the key anyways? Fletcher could do whatever they wanted to to him with absolutely no repercussions, why even bother lying to him? Whenever he thought he might have a clue about Fletcher, they turned around and confused him all over again. Buck seemed to always be wrong about them - and it always got him hurt.

Dayal finished binding him, straddling his ass in the bed and enjoying the humiliating position a little too much. He ground his hips against Buck’s ass, making the prone man whimper into his bed.

“Come on Buck, don’t you wanna play?”

Buck felt hands sink into the mattress on both sides as Dayal leaned in, nuzzling into his hair, before Petrova swatted him.

“No time for that, we have experiment to do.”

Dayal chuckled but pulled away, hopping off Buck.

“Another time then, if you’re lucky.”

“Gross,” De Luca commented helpfully.

“Shut up and help me.”

In their greatest display of teamwork yet, they dragged a squirming Buck out of the room and all the way into the kitchen.

Buck was already getting tired from fighting, but his vigor renewed when he saw the car battery on the table.

He almost got away for a moment, trying to scramble to his feet to run, but a hard kick to the crotch brought him back to the ground.

“Nice,” said Petrova.

“Thanks,” O’Connor replied, a little proud.

They cuffed him to one of the sturdier wooden chairs, sat beside the car battery on the table. A pair of metal clamps were already attached to the battery, the other end resting on a ceramic heat pad, the kind you put a hot pot onto so it doesn’t damage the table. Buck almost laughed at the absurdity, but was quickly distracted by De Luca putting on a pair of thick gloves.

“Okay Buck, we are going to shock you now, and you tell us how you feel, okay?”

“Start low, if we start too high he won’t be any good for us,” O’Connor instructed, flipping open a small notebook and producing a pen.

De Luca picked up the clamps, opening and closing them absently for a moment in thought.

“Should we put a wallet in his mouth or something? Can’t he bite his tongue?”

“Eh, I think that’s for seizures,” Dayal replied.

“What’s the difference?” Perova interjected, her eyebrows quirked.

“You know, you’re not actually supposed to put a wallet in someone’s mouth if they’re having a seizure? You’re just supposed to hold them still on the ground and like, cradle their head, kinda.” O’Connor mused, nibbling the tip of her pen.

“Well, if he bites off his tongue, Fletcher might get mad.” De Luca looked at Buck seemingly deep in thought.

“I think we should do it just in case, just when I’m shocking him.”

“Well I’m not putting my wallet in his mouth, he’ll drool all over it.”

“Dayal could volunteer his dick,” De Luca mused, and Dayal flipped him off from across the table.

“Just use a dishcloth or something, let’s do this.” Perova sounded exasperated.

Dayal hopped up and grabbed the dish towel from the handle of the oven, holding it taught between his fists like a garroting wire as he walked towards Buck, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

“Open up, Buckaroo.”

Buck, who had largely been in shock, finally started to process what was about to happen and moaned in fear as Dayal approached.

“No, please, come on - did Fletcher put you up to this? You can - can’t you look this stuff up online?!”

He resisted opening his mouth for Dayal, who shrugged to their little audience before freeing a hand, pinching the soft spots of Buck’s jaw in one hand to force it open. Buck hissed in pain but couldn’t resist, and as soon as his mouth cracked open Dayal stuffed it full of dish towel until he gagged.

“You’ll keep that there if you know what’s good for you.”

Buck just moaned, tears trickling down the sides of his face. His mouth was stuffed too full, his teeth forced apart, and it hurt his jaw. He tried to move it a little with his tongue to a more comfortable position, but it only made him choke.

“Start low, only like, 9 Volts.”

O’Connor scribbled it down, and looked up expectantly at De Luca, who adjusted the voltmeter.

Buck screamed into his gag when De Luca held up a knife, but he just rolled his eyes and split Buck’s shirt down the middle, exposing him. With his shoulders forced back, Buck was arched forward, and he felt unbearably vulnerable.

Dayal picked up the clamps, touching them together to produce a small spark that made Buck flinch.

“Uhh...take one, I guess.” He touched the clamps to Buck’s chest and he jerked, forcing out a cry into his makeshift gag, and after a moment the clamps were pulled away. Dayal pulled the gag back out, letting him take in a shaky breath.

“How did that feel? Also, on a scale of one to ten, how much did that hurt?”

Buck flexed his sore jaw, trying to will his frantic heartbeat to slow.

“Come on Buck, don’t be a bitch about it.” De Luca rolled his eyes.

Buck stayed silent. He didn’t want to participate in their little experiment any more than he already had to.

Petrova tapped her fingers on the table impatiently.

“You know Buck, if you not tell us, then we can skip to higher voltages.”

Buck swallowed, his mouth impossibly dry.

“It was...uncomfortable, not so much very painful but very...unpleasant,” Buck closed his eyes, fighting back a sob.

O’Connor scribbled down a note and then looked up, nodding to De Luca.

“Let’s try 12 next.”

Buck opened his mouth to protest, but Dayal took the opportunity and stuffed the towel back in. De Luca adjusted the voltage again and pressed the clamps to Buck’s chest with little flourish.

Buck jolted hard, squeezing his eyes shut hard. Every muscle in his body tightened painfully and buzzed, and there was a hot pain where the clamps touched him. When they pulled away and the towel was removed, he opened his eyes again, blinking painful tears from them

“How did that feel?”

Buck’s body felt weak and twitchy. It was deeply uncomfortable, and he pressed his feet hard against the floor just to try to get some feeling in them.

“Buck.”

“Tingles...tingly? It hurts….my muscles are going...weak.” Trying to talk made his teeth feel like they were buzzing.

He could hear O’Connor’s pen scratching across the paper.

“And on a scale of one to ten?”

“Could I get some water?” His mouth was so dry.

“One to ten, then you can have some water.”

“Ten like….worst pain ever?”

O’Connor tapped the end of her pen against her lips.

“Hmm...ten like, I would tell you anything you wanted to know to get you to stop.”

“Ten.”

De Luca snorted and Petrova rolled her eyes.

“Ten like, I’d rather get stabbed than do that again. And that is real choice,” Petrova offered.

Buck shut his eyes tight until he thought he could see little flashes of light behind them.

“F...five, maybe?”

Petrova nodded and a cup of water was tipped to his lips, making him splutter at first before he drank deeply. He emptied it and whined when Dayal took the cup away.

“You’ll get another once you take 120.”

De Luca prodded at Buck’s chest with a gloved finger, making him gasp in pain.

“He’s pretty pinked here, a decent burn. Might blister.”

O’Connor nodded and wrote some more on her pad, before flipping to a new page.

“Let’s jump to 30, I don’t want this to take all day.”

Buck fought the gag again, but didn’t have much strength and Dayal got his way even easier than before.

“Take three.”

#knivestothroats #in the woods somewhere #fanfic #captive whumpee #shock torture #electric torture #whump

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laurasinele · 5 years

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When Harry met Hamish (a Fictober19 Galahad/Merlin drabble)

Prompt 18: “Secrets? I love secrets!”

Fandom: Kingsman

Tags: Merlin’s real name is Hamish Blackwood, Harry Hart saves him from his abusers, they both love Pride and Prejudice

Warnings: bullying, beating

Ao3

Hamish hated them all the very moment they stepped into Kingsman’s facilities. Cocky, self-absorbed bastards them all, sons of noblemen proud to be somewhere down, deep, deep, down the line of succession to their queen —careful, Hamish, your Scott is showing.

He wasn’t even supposed to be here yet. Merlin was just being a dick. Though it was probably because he was being a smartass. Computer science advanced fast and Merlin was really old, after all. Nevertheless, putting Hamish to train with this particular batch of candidates was a ruthless punishment, certainly disproportionate given that his only crime was pointing out syntax errors in a line of code, or twenty-five.

“Hey, Blackwood! Come join us by the lake!”

They were camping in the forest around the mansion. It was supposed to be a leisure activity, though Hamish knew, as Merlin’s apprentice, that something was supposed to attack them in the next 24 hours, and this brats were thinking about swimming and bullying him instead of keeping alert.

“Nah, thanks. I’m perfectly fine here”.

“Come on”, said little Lord Wilkinson, swim trunks dripping on the book Hamish was reading, yanking him up by the arm. “You are ruining the fun for us”.

Oh, Hamish knew so well where this was going. He resigned to his destiny and calmly took off his glasses and store them in the zipped pocket of his chest. The blurry figures by the lake were encouraging them, and the sun was beginning to set. Four against one with visual disadvantage wasn’t a good prospect. And at least two of them wanted revenge on him for their shameful defeats on the judo matt —young Lord Willoughby— and the fencing court —Sir Harold Louis Everett's son. Now, despite his good training in close combat, Merlin was unarmed and clearly overpowered. The best strategy was observe and wait for his chance to flee. Except it never came.

The three little Lords and pompous young Mr Everett, grabbed him each by one limb and threw him into the lake like a dead body, at about ten feet from the shore. Hamish tried to reign his body in and fall as painlessly as possible. He planned on holding his breath to his own 2 minutes, 57 seconds record and swim to the opposite shore, but halas, they had other plans for him. Willoughby lifted him out of the water and over his head like a prize, one hand in the small of his back and the other grabbing the back of the collar of his jumper.

“I’ve got a fish! I’ve got a fish with my own bare hands!”

“It’s the ugliest and skinniest fish I’ve ever seen, Willoughby!”, yelled young Lord Bartholomew from the shore. Everett and Wilkinson laughed out loud and Willoughby started to walk them out of the lake. Then Hamish saw his chance. Willoughby’s arms started to tremble with the effort and his walk through the greenish lake water affected negatively his balance. Hamish kicked Willoughby’s shoulder, making his captor drop him on top of his own head, thus losing grip of his other subjection point and sending them both underwater as his knees yielded to the sudden change of weight distribution. Hamish set off towards the opposite shore but the noblemen teamed up to grab his legs and drag him to the camp, his head hitting all the rocks they could find on the way.

“Look at this fucking peasant”, said Bartholomew as he kicked Hamish’s ribbs. Except with all the excitement of a hunt, his childhood speech problems came back momentarily, making him pronounce instead “pucking pheasant”, to which Hamish laughed feebly.

“A packing pheasant? Why would it be packing? They’re not a migratory species”, he said falteringly.

At the insult of their self-appointed leader by virtue of his net worth, the others started kicking his sides too.

“What a terrible accident, Blackwood! You decided to climb a tree and fell down into the lake, didn’t you? That’s a great explanation for your wounds”, provided Everett, eager to be accepted by the lords

“Nobody has to know the truth”, added Wilkinson. “It would be disgraceful if they knew a senior trainee was beaten up by his juniors. It will be our secret”.

“A secret? I love secrets”

Hamish did not recognise the man’s voice, but he did not have much time to wonder if he was friend or foe because he unleashed hell in the blink of an eye. Not surrounded anymore, Hamish rose and limped to sit on the log he’d been occupying before his abduction. He reached for his glasses, but the lenses were wet and his clothes were of no use to wipe them off. Across him there was obviously a fight going on, but he could only make out a swirl the color of the candidate’s jumpsuit, and three pale forms being thoroughly beaten, shaken and dragged across the floor by it.

“Now, gentlemen”, said the swirl after a second or two of none of the noblemen trying to go for him. “I believe it was the founder of the famous Eton School in which you lot undoubtedly met and birthed this beautiful camaraderie, who said ‘Manners maketh man’. As proud Eton alumni, I am sure you want to honor that saying. But I also know that human nature is fickle and pride might be a hindrance more than an aide in this instance. That is why I give you two options: either apologise to Mister Blackwood here, or fuck off this grounds before I get sick of your disgusting entitled faces”.

The water on the glasses was clearing off, giving Hamish the chance to watch four wet and humiliated candidates to enter the service scramble up and run away to the mansion, thus extinguishing their chances to become a Kingsman agent.

His savior —come on, Hamish, you are no damsel in distress—, his benefactor, turned to face him. He looked much younger than his prowess had suggested. He offered Hamish his hand, although Hamish’s was wet and muddy.

“Sergeant Harold Hart”

“Pleasure”, said Hamish, shaking his hand. “I am Hamish Blackwood, Merlin’s trainee”.

“I know. Merlin sent me, I’m his candidate. He suspected you’d be in trouble”.

Hamish huffed, not sure if he wanted to laugh or curse, and shook his head. He looked at Hart, who was looking at him with an amiable, non-comitant smile.

“Thank you for your service, Sergeant Hart”, Hart nodded, and turned his head to look at the three miserable figures half running in the distance, probably starting to feel the cold of the dusk. His smile widened. Hamish shook himself out of watching his rescuer — again? Control yourself, Hamish, for fuck’s sake—, adjusted his glasses and picked up his book. The cover sleeve read “Basic guide to programming”.

“It wasn’t the founder of Eton”.

“Pardon?”, said Hart looking back at him.

“Manners maketh man. It was one of Eton Headmaster’s who wrote it in a book of proverbs and sayings. He took it from Winchester’s School motto”, explained Hamish, making a point to not look at Hart for the whole evening, least his chest would explode.

Hart’s expression was completely neutral, and Hamish had already failed in his resolution. He tried not to skirm under Hart’s scrutiny, and then Hart smiled widely, this time, somehow, more sincerely, and said:

“Well, thank you for that bit of trivia, Blackwood. Let me repay you with an advise. I fou are going to hide what you are reading, choose a plausible cover. Nobody would believe someone with your level in computer science would be reading a basic programming guide. What is it, actually?”

“Pride and Prejudice”, mumbled Hamish.

“Lovely book. I always identified with Darcy when I was younger, now I guess it was pretentious of me”

“Not at all”, said Hamish before he could catch himself.

They both shared a look. It was the kind of look that films used to tell you those two characters were sharing a moment of mutual understanding and admiration, which could later evolve in a much more closer connection and intimate feeling. They both independently realised it was that kind of look, and they both self-indulged in it a few more seconds. Then Hamish huffed a small laugh again.

“I lost count on how many times I read it. It’s my comfort book for when I’m sick or feeling down”

Hamish smiled and nodded.

“I lost my third copy some months ago, in the burning of my barracks. I wanted to get a new one before coming here, but Merlin didn’t give me the time”. Hamish’s heart swelled.

“I could lend you mine”.

“No, then you wouldn’t be able to read it”.

“We could read it together. I was just starting when they pulled me to the lake”, that was a big fat lie, and he knew it, and he was pretty sure Hart knew it. But Hart’s face lit up, He got up and brought a blanket. He wrapped it around Hamish wordlessly, and then set a fire. He sat back next to him and, after a while, he said.

“Well, go on. There’s not much light left, and they’re coming to pick us up anytime soon, after the boys get to the mansion complaining”.

Hamish smiled, showing his crooked teeth and began to read.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man…”

#fictober19 #kingsman #galahad #merlin #harry hart #galahad/merlin #merlin/galahad #metareferences #to Mark Strong's and Colin Firth's previous roles #mark strong #colin firth #mr darcy #pride and prejudice

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