#summerofwhump26

[set-phasers-to-whump]

something like family

prompt: drugging (from day 26)

whumpee: neal caffrey

fandom: white collar

hi! i’m gonna be honest the last few fics i’ve written have felt super hard to write and i haven’t loved them but this fic was so enjoyable and easy to write and i am very happy with it! these characters are just my absolute faves and i love writing them so much :) i hope you like this! (also this fic is set well into the show, probably some point in s5).

Before Neal even has time to process what’s happening, let alone fight back, he’s being dragged off of the sidewalk and into an alley and someone is pinning him against a brick wall and then stabbing a needle into his arm, right through his suit coat and shirt, and a few seconds pass and then they drop him and he sinks to the ground, less because he can’t hold himself up and more because he hadn’t expected this to be over so quickly. 

The person is already gone. His arm hurts, and he briefly entertains the idea that someone had grabbed him off of the street to give him some sort of forcible vaccination, because to be honest, that’s what this feels like. A quick poke in the upper arm, exactly the same as a flu shot or something similar. He doubts that this is the case, but he has no idea what in the hell he has been injected with. 

He thinks for a moment. If he’s been drugged (which seems like the most likely option), he has a very limited amount of time to do something before the drug starts to take effect. Now, the most logical thing to do is call 911 and tell them what’s happened. But then they’ll take him outside of his radius and he’ll have to explain to Peter and everybody that no, he hadn’t tried to run away, but rather had been on his way to the hospital because he’d been drugged. That seems like a lot of work, not to mention a lot of stress to put everyone through. 

So 911 is out. But there’s always Peter. It’s late evening, which means he’s at home, probably relaxing and enjoying a peaceful night with El. Neal hates the thought of interrupting them, but he’s also starting to feel...something, so he decides to just get going. 

Luckily, he knows how to get to the Burkes’ from just about anywhere in the city. A few seconds of orienting himself in his surroundings and he’s got the route completely down in his rapidly-fogging brain. 

The walk to their house takes much longer than it usually would. Neal has definitely been drugged. He’s tired and can barely remember what it is he’s supposed to be doing. He can’t focus on anything and he feels kind of detached from the world. Not to mention every other step he’s tripping over something, stumbling all over the sidewalk. 

“Hey, mister, you okay?” someone asks, and Neal makes out the blurry shape of a person in front of him. 

“‘M good,” he mutters, pushing past them. He just has to get to the Burkes’ house. That’s his goal, and he intends on fulfilling it. He can’t stop and talk to some random stranger on the street about whether or not he’s okay!

The person says something else to him, which Neal can’t understand, and then he’s past them, and the lights from cars and street lamps and houses are blurring and swirling together around him, and it’s kind of nice. Very pretty, he thinks. He feels oddly calm about all this, despite the fact that he is tired and confused and disconnected from just about everything, kind of like he’s floating. Maybe he is, he figures. But he looks down at his feet and sees that they are still on the ground. 

And then he’s walking into a newspaper box, too distracted by staring at his feet to notice himself drifting across the pavement. The metal clangs when he hits it, and the sharp edge of the box digs into his skin. He kicks the offending box, mutters that it better watch where it’s going, then continues along his route.

After an eternity of walking, Neal’s blurry eyes land on the familiar shape of the Burkes’ house. It’s almost completely dark outside now, but the house is illuminated by street lamps, and there are lights on inside. It looks warm and inviting, and for the first time that night, Neal hurries up. 

Going up the first few stairs feels like it takes no time at all, and then he reaches the top step and catches his foot on the bricks and then he’s falling onto the front stoop, awkwardly sticking out his arms to catch his fall. 

His palms sting and his chin hurts and feels damp and he just lies there for a moment, trying to work out what exactly had happened. He can’t remember, but he knows he’s not supposed to be lying face down outside the Burkes’ door, so he staggers to his feet, nearly stumbles backwards down the stairs, catches himself on the railing, and finally reaches out to knock on the door. 

--

Peter and El are settling down on the couch, about to watch a movie, when there’s a knock at the door. They share a glance. It’s 8:30, which isn’t an unreasonable time for someone to stop by, but they’re not expecting any visitors or deliveries. 

Peter gets up to answer the knock. The door swings open, revealing none other than Neal Caffrey, eyes unfocused, chin bleeding, clothes rumpled, and generally a mess. 

“Hi,” Neal says, with a soft smile. “C’n I come in?” The way he’s speaking is awkward, like he’s having to concentrate very hard to work out what to say and how to say it, and his words are slurring together. Taking this into account, along with his appearance, Peter’d say that his CI has probably been drugged. A thousand questions run through his mind, but Neal is looking at him expectantly, so Peter gestures for him to come inside. 

“Who is it, honey?” El asks from the living room. Neal’s face lights up at the sound of her voice, and before Peter can stop him, he’s stumbling (rather quickly, considering his current state) in her direction. 

“El! Hi,” Neal greets her, and Peter comes into the room behind him. El stands up from the couch and turns to face the two of them. The smile on her face quickly fades when she takes in Neal’s appearance, and then she’s walking up to him, placing a hand on his cheek, and asking him if he’s okay.

“Now that ‘m here,” is Neal’s reply. 

El gives Peter a look. “What happened?” she whispers, and he shrugs. 

“I think he’s been drugged,” he whispers back. 

Neal looks between the two of them, confusion evident on his face. “What’re you talkin’ about?” he asks, stumbling towards the couch and sinking heavily down onto it. 

Peter and El follow him, standing in front of him. “Do you remember what happened before you came here?” Peter asks. Neal’s face scrunches up in concentration, but eventually he shakes his head. “Dunno,” he says. “Walked.”

“Do you remember if someone gave you something? If someone might have drugged you?”

Neal shrugs. “Feel funny,” he replies, and then he doesn’t say anything more. His eyes roam around the living room like he’s taking it in for the very first time, and Peter gets the sense that he’s not going to be getting anything more out of him. 

He and El share another look. “We should take him to the hospital, right?” El whispers. “We don’t know what he’s been given, or why.”

Peter nods in agreement. “We’ll take him. Let me call a couple people and let them know where we’re going first.”

--

Peter steps to the side, phone to his ear, and El crouches down in front of Neal. His hazy-looking eyes find her face, and he smiles at her. At least he’s not scared or upset, El thinks. Whatever drug he’s been given seems to be relaxing him, which she’s grateful for. He’s already clearly confused and disoriented, and he doesn’t need to add fear to the mix. 

She gives him a good once-over as Peter explains their current situation to whoever’s on the other end of the phone. The palms of his hands are red and scraped, the toes of his shoes are scuffed, his jacket and shirt are rumpled, and blood is dripping from his chin down his neck and under his collar, staining the fabric red. His expression is unfocused and spacey, but it’s lighter than normal, like a weight has been lifted off of him. That’ll be the drugs, too, El figures, though she wishes that lightness would remain on Neal’s face forever (minus, of course, the confusion and the spaciness). 

Peter finishes his call and walks back over to the two of them, placing a hand on El’s shoulder. She looks up at him, getting to her feet. 

“We’re good to go,” Peter says quietly. To Neal, he says, “hey, buddy, we’re going to take you to the hospital, okay? We need to make sure you’re not in any kind of danger.”

El expects Neal to resist, to insist that he is staying right here, and she’s more than a little surprised when all he says is, “okay.”

Peter’s surprised, too, because he repeats himself: “we’re going to the hospital, Neal.”

“Okay,” Neal agrees again, and the briefest look of irritation crosses his face, like he can’t believe Peter thinks he hadn’t understood. He staggers to his feet, and would fall forwards onto the coffee table, but El catches him under the elbows and holds him up until he gets reasonably balanced. 

Once Neal is no longer in immediate danger of collapsing in the middle of their living room, the three of them slowly and carefully make their way out the front door and to the car. After a brief discussion, Peter takes the driver’s seat, and El and Neal sit in the back, so she can keep an eye on him and Peter can keep both eyes on the road. 

Neal sits with his head pressed against the window, watching the lights of the city flash by. His breath is fogging up the glass and one of his hands taps an uneven and uncoordinated rhythm against it. That soft smile is back on his face and the lights bounce off of his skin and he looks completely peaceful, the most relaxed El’s ever seen him while awake. It makes her heart hurt that he has to be drugged to be like this, but she can’t help smiling at him. 

They come to a stop at a red light and Peter half-turns in his seat to look into the backseat. His eyes are concerned but gentle, and they meet El’s gaze, and his expression softens - not quite a smile, but almost. “How’s he doing?” he whispers, and El looks to her right and realizes that Neal has fallen asleep, still leaning against the window. 

“He’s okay,” she whispers back, and this time Peter does smile, quickly and softly. 

The light turns green, then, and they both share another quick look at the sleeping young conman, who, at some point, has stopped being Peter’s CI and become something like family. A second smile passes between them, and doesn’t fade away this time. Someone behind them honks, and they start moving again, making their way steadily towards the hospital.

aaaa thanks so much for reading this! in case you’re curious, neal has been drugged with rohypnol, which apparently can be injected, according to the department of justice. you learn something new every day apparently. anyways i hope you liked this!!!

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump26 #drugging #drugged #white collar #neal caffrey #my writing #i say things #this was such a joy to write honestly #i love writing these characters more than just about anyone i think

[getyourwhumphere]

Summer of Whump: Day 26-Drugging

CW: brief reference to alcohol

Whumpee felt faint. Their eyelids were heavy, and their legs couldn’t support them.

“I think you drank a little too much. You should probably call a cab or something,” said their friend, Whumper. Whumpee could barely hear them. Their voice was faint background noise.

Whumpee’s eyes closed.

The last thing they heard before their consciousness slipped away was a dark chuckle.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump26 #whump #whumpee #whumper #kidnapping #drugging #tw drugging #drugging tw

[cyhyr]

Summer of Whump Day 26: Drugging

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: E

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka, established relationship

WC: ~1360

Warnings: Rape/Non-con

Notes: Dubious consent. Aphrodisiac. Collars. Chained to a wall. Voyeurism. Non-Con Exhibitionism. Anal sex, no lube. Iruka fights off dissociation.

A/N: This one hurt ME to write.

A/N 2: Combo with my Bad Things Happen Bingo Board square: Collared and Chained

~

Iruka stumbles, hands on his back and shoulders pushing him into the cell. Thankfully, he doesn’t fall, but he also doesn’t turn around fast enough to glare properly at his captors before they slam the cell door behind him. The cell is dim, enough light streaming in through the bars in the door to illuminate a section of the room.

Barrier seals activate on the other side of the door. If Iruka didn’t have chakra-suppressing cuffs around his wrists, he would be able to undo them easily; in any case, he can sense how weak the seals are. These cuffs can suppress his use of chakra all they’d like, but Iruka is here for a reason and that reason is his fūinjutsu. He’ll find a way to work around them.

A groan from deeper in the cell distracts him from the door. He turns around and instinctively pings out with his chakra to try and get a picture of the darkened corners of the cell, but the cuffs prevent that ability. Instead, Iruka steps away from the door and calls out, “Hello?”

The groan comes again, longer and with more of a growl underneath. “Fuck.”

Iruka smiles, and steps confidently into the dark of the cell. “Kakashi—!”

“You shouldn’t be here, Iruka.”

“Neither should you. Are you sealed, too? Come closer, so I can check in on it. I’ll see what I can do.”

“No, Iruka, please,” and finally Iruka recognizes the timbre of Kakashi’s voice and stops. His eyes have adjusted enough to the lack of light that he’s able to see the faint outline of the other man, knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. There’s a thick steel collar on his neck, and a short chain that leads from it to a loop on the wall. Both have seal scripts around them, tiny characters which Iruka can barely make out. The collar is fraught with more and more seals, like their captors kept adding to it as Kakashi found new ways to break through.

Kakashi trembles. Iruka falls to his knees and crawls closer. “Kakashi—”

“Don’t come any closer.”

Oh, Iruka knows that voice. That wrecked voice, the one that’s promised him such wonderful times in the past, as long as he wanted to play along. Iruka stops and sits back on his heels.

“They drugged me before they brought you in here,” Kakashi says. “I can’t be the one to hurt you, Iruka. You understand that, right?”

Iruka shakes his head. “You could never hurt me, love,” he whispers.

Kakashi groans again. “Why did you come?”

“To bring you home. There are others, I have a team waiting—a medic, a tracker, Gai. Please, I—”

“Gai let you get yourself captured?” Kakashi snarled, “If I make it out of here I’m gonna—”

“I had to convince him,” Iruka cuts him off, as he had just been cut off. “Please, love, just come closer and let me look at the seal on your collar. If I can get you out, then—”

“The chains and seals on this collar are the only things keeping me from attacking you right now. Don’t you dare get rid of them.”

Iruka is interrupted from responding by a viewing window to his left opening. There are still bars across it, and seals to keep the bars sturdy and intact. Three sets of eyes peer in through the window; one of their captors seems to grin.

“One more minute, I believe. Then, turn him loose.”

Another says, “Yes, let us all see what’s become of Konohagakure’s great Copy Nin.”

The last, the third, just giggles.

Iruka can do nothing but look on in horror as Kakashi continues to groan, begins to writhe and heave deep breaths. He finally looks up at Iruka; his mask is down, his face flushed and his eye is blown wide and black.

“I’m not—I can’t—Iruka, you smell divine.”

It’s Iruka’s turn to tremble.

He closes his eyes and takes deep, calming breaths. “I love you, Kakashi,” he murmurs.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“You’re not yourself. Please, please, fight this,” he sniffs, trying not to cry. Gods, he can’t cry right now; Kakashi is in just as much, if not worse pain than he will be.

“I can’t. I’ve tried. It’s. It’s. Ah, Fuck, Iruka you have to fight back—”

“It’ll only hurt more,” Iruka admits. “Been there, done that. Just… um.”

“Ask. Quickly. Before I lose myself.”

“Let me blow you first,” Iruka’s eyes are traitors, letting tears slip. “I won’t take it dry.”

The chain is loosened; both he and Kakashi can hear the slack as it’s given. Kakashi nods, once, and then Iruka untucks his legs, opens his hips, and smiles sadly at Kakashi. He tips his head to one side and closes his eyes.

Kakashi is suddenly there, hands everywhere and hips between his legs and mouthing at his neck. Iruka can picture the two of them at home, Kakashi laving attention on his body with kisses and touch, a soft mattress at his back instead of a stone floor. In his mind, they could just be making love in this cell instead of at home.

If only Kakashi would stop talking.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, gods you smell perfect, fuck this drug, I just. I want. I want you so much and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Iruka murmurs. And it’s not, it’s nowhere near okay, but Kakashi’s been drugged and he needs this. And this? This is something Iruka can provide; just as proficiently as he provides his fūinjutsu.

Through the haze of the drug, Kakashi does remember to let Iruka get his dick wet before he tries fucking him. It’s hard on Iruka, to lay on his back and let Kakashi fuck his throat because Kakashi never does this. He always lets Iruka set the pace when he’s sucking Kakashi’s cock. Iruka holds the back of Kakashi’s thighs and focuses on staying present. They can’t both be fucked up during this.

And when Kakashi pulls back and kisses down his body, Iruka hides his tears behind his arms because it feels good but it shouldn’t because Kakashi doesn’t want this and if Kakashi doesn’t want it then Iruka shouldn’t want it but the drug is making Kakashi so… so…

“Oh, fuck.”

Kakashi’s never done this to him before, and it’s wet and dirty and feels amazing and he wants to enjoy it but not while they’re being watched. He wants this without drugs to spur these kinds of feelings, and so he throws a hand down to Kakashi’s hair and pulls his mouth away from his ass and says, “Fuck me, Kakashi.”

He’s still careful. The drug can’t take that away and it’s terrible and wonderful—Kakashi pushes in with tiny, aborted thrusts like he’s fighting against himself and it’s not enough, Iruka’s not wet enough for this, but he kicks out and wraps his leg around Kakashi’s ass and pulls him in anyway.

Stay present, stay present, stay present

It hurts, gods it hurts, Kakashi’s cock splitting him open. But he’s slow, he’s gentle, and he keeps fucking him through the pain. Kakashi doesn’t sob, but Iruka’s neck is wet enough that he knows he’s crying at least a little. He tries to find this even the slightest bit arousing, to maybe pass the time, to try and forget about their captors, but he can’t forget that they’re both being forced here.

Kakashi comes, and it’s a relief; he stills and empties into Iruka, and then collapses onto his chest and hides his face in his neck. He can hear the three voices on the other side of the window discussing the results of their “experiment” and adjustments needed to the drug. Iruka takes the chance to check out the seal on Kakashi’s collar while making it look like he’s just soothing Kakashi by petting his hair.

The seal is disgustingly simple. Even with his chakra suppressed he can undo this one in under a minute. He groans softly and tells Kakashi, and then asks if he’s ready to leave. Kakashi taps out five beats on his leg, and Iruka readies for a prison break in five minutes.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump26 #drugging #bad things happen bingo #collared and chained #fanfic #umino iruka #hatake kakashi #kakairu #my writing

[hale-13]

Strangulated

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 26 Prompt - Asphyxiation

“That’s pretty new,” Peter muttered aloud, perched on the side of a building in Midtown and staring intently at the man in a full on metal rhino costume destroying the front of a Well’s Fargo. The police that had responded to the call had drawn their weapons and were perched behind their cars, clearly just as baffled and making no attempts to stop or prevent the crime.

Words: 1754, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Rhino

TW: Strangulation

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“That’s pretty new,” Peter muttered aloud, perched on the side of a building in Midtown and staring intently at the man in a full on metal rhino costume destroying the front of a Well’s Fargo. The police that had responded to the call had drawn their weapons and were perched behind their cars, clearly just as baffled and making no attempts to stop or prevent the crime.

“It is new Peter,” Karen’s voice chirped happily from his mask. “You have not faced this criminal before. Would you like me to activate instant kill?” She sounded far too hopeful for Peter’s liking and he sighed, dodging the small chunk of concrete that flew his way.

“Karen, darling, love of my life. We’ve talked about this,” he told her gently, swinging closer and dropping down behind the line of cop cars. “Instant kill is not the answer to all lives problems.”

“If you say so,” and she sounded so disappointed. Peter would have to have a conversation with Mr. Stark – he had no idea how he made his AI’s so lifelike but he really wanted to know.

“Ugh,” one of the cops said, rolling his eyes as he noticed Peter. “Scram Spider-Guy, this ain’t any of your business.”

Peter fought an eye roll of his own. “Real nice pal,” he said sarcastically, stepping forward anyway. The guys partner nudged him pointedly in the side.

“Just send in the freak. Might save us the effort.” Peter fought the urge to cringe at the sneer directed at him. He had a pretty thick skin but he wasn’t the biggest fan of being called a ‘freak’. Especially by the people he was trying to help.

“Happy to be of service,” Peter grunted with a two finger salute. “Just stay back and let the professional work.” He fired a web and took off in the direction of the rhino guy before either of the police had the chance to respond. He purposely used their car as a jumping off point just to really rub it in and smirked a little at their grunts of irritation. “Hey big guy!” He called as he landed in the pock-marked and cracked street. Rhino-guy turned around and charged with a roar. “Whoa there!” Peter called as he jumped over his head. “You haven’t even introduced yourself yet!”

“I will squash you like bug!” The man said in a thick Russian accent, scraping one of his feet against the ground like a bull and charging Peter head first again. Peter nimbly dodged again and dangled with one hand from a nearby streetlight.

“You know spiders are arachnids right? Not bugs?” Peter bantered, swinging around the pole and releasing at just the right moment to launch himself across the street the nail Rhino in the face, sending him stumbling back before he corrected himself with a roar. Peter somersaulted out of the way of another charge.

“Stay still so I can kill you,” he roared.

“Tempting,” Peter mused, webbing Rhino’s arms to his sides. “But I’ll pass.”

Rhino roared again in obvious frustration and ripped through Peter’s webs with great effort. “That’s not ideal,” Peter said as he fired more webs in an attempt to slow down Rhino to no avail. Freed once more, Rhino changed forward. This time, however, Peter took a step back into one of the holes in the asphalt and tripped; he was able to right himself quickly but not fast enough to dodge out of the way of Rhino’s hands.

“Oof,” Peter gasped, hands flying up to his throat where Rhino had wrapped his mechanized hands around Peter’s throat, holding him a couple feet above the ground and leaving Peter to flail his legs in an attempt to escape. “Not cool bro,” Peter breathed out with his limited air supply as the Rhino squeezed tighter and backed him up to slam Peter into a nearby brick wall.

“You talk too much,” Rhino grumbled, redoubling his hold on Peter and making him grunt with effort and scrambled to pull the hands from around his throat.

“Peter your pulse ox is dropping rapidly,” Karen said, displaying the number on his HUD and Peter squeezed his eyes shut as it ticked from ninety-three percent to ninety-two. “Calling Mr. Stark.”

“No don’t,” Peter wheezed out a little desperately, his throat feeling raw and swollen and his lungs beginning to burn.

“On my way kid,” Tony’s voice said through his comm as Karen connected his mentor to Peter’s HUD. “Any chance you can break out before you pass out.” Peter just let out a frustrated puff of air and, with intense effort, lifted his legs to press his feet against Rhino’s chest to begin pushing. His vision was tunneling and pulsing around the edges and Peter knew it was only his stubborn pig-headedness and sheer force of will that was keeping him conscious at this point. The pulse ox reading in the corner ticked down to eighty-seven and, with Herculean strength, Peter finally knocked the Rhino away from him and collapsed to the ground.

“‘M good,” Peter croaked tightly, letting his head rest back against the road as he recovered his breath. He didn’t have long through as his Spidey sense tingled violently and he threw himself to the side of the road to dodge out of Rhino’s path. His vision was still a little spotty and he stumbled like he was drunk but Peter was able to pull himself back to his feet and stand without assistance. “Not cool dude,” he said, his throat burning and his words coming out like he had been gargling gravel.

He needed to end this quick. He couldn’t afford to get caught again. With effort, Peter jumped back into the air, firing webs at rapid speed as he did so – attaching Rhino to the ground in a veritable cocoon. Rhino screamed in anger and struggled but Peter’s webs held this time much to his relief. “He’s all yours boys,” he said in the direction of the police, his voice thready and painful and he swallowed down a cough.

It took all the energy he had left to swing away, alighting on a nearby apartment roof and dropping first to his knees and then back to sit cross-legged. His neck hurt and he could feel the swelling starting to constrict his trachea and vocal chords. Tony landed in front of him a few seconds later, stepping out of his suit and squatting down in front of Peter with several cracks and pops of his knees.

“Try not to talk buddy,” Tony told him, lifting his mask up to his nose and pulling the neck down carefully, wincing at whatever he saw and making Peter hunch his shoulders and pull away, fixing his mask back to its usual position. “Helen’s waiting for us back in the MedBay. I’m going to carry you and your not going to bitch about it capiche?” Peter rolled his eyes knowing it would translate to the large white lenses on his mask but didn’t protest when Tony stepped back into the Iron Man armor and picked him up.

The flight back to the Tower was quick since Peter had ventured into Manhattan to patrol today and they were soon landing on the small balcony outside the MedBay doors. Peter still felt a little light-headed and dizzy and swayed a little in place when Tony lowered him back to the ground to stand on his own while the suited disassembled around him and flew off to the armory. “Steady there,” the man said gently, slinging Peter’s arm across his shoulders and helping him walk into the building.

“Hey Peter,” Helen Cho said as she approached them from the nurses station down the hall and ushered them into an open exam room. “Karen sent me your stats so let’s just see the damage yeah?” She said as Peter settled on the exam bed.

Peter smacked his hand into the spider emblem on his chest, letting the suit fall down to rest around his hips, pulling his mask off and tossing it next to him on the bed. Dr. Cho wrinkled her nose and softly palpated Peter’s neck making him grunt and grimace, manfully resisting the urge to pull away from her. “Well you’ve already got some pretty severe swelling,” she said, clipping a pulse oximeter onto his finger and frowning at the result. “And you’re still not oxygenating as well as I’d like.”

“So what’s the plan then,” Tony said, slapping a hand over Peter’s mouth when he opened it to speak and ignoring the glare Peter sent him and the spiteful lick Peter gave his hand in the hopes that Tony would remove his hand.

“Well I’m going to start supplemental oxygen first,” Dr. Cho said, unwinding an oxygen mask from the wall and pushing Peter back until he was reclined on the bed and slipped the mask over his mouth and nose. “I’ll have a nurse come in with something for you to change into and then I want to start IV steroids and pain relief to get the swelling down. With you’re healing,” she said addressing Peter, “you should only be here overnight. I just want to make sure that your airway doesn’t swell closed. You’ll also need to rest your voice since you probably have some damage to your vocal chords.”

Disappointed, Peter nodded. This was not in his plan for the day and he was really looking forward to playing Beast Slayers with Ned tonight but, if he was confined to a MedBay bed and doped up on his pain meds he doubted he would be worth much of anything. Well at least he’d probably catch up on some of his sleep.

A few hours later, floating due to his super strength meds and curled up under a pre-warmed blanket, Peter squeaked out a hoarse ‘thanks’ making Tony, sat beside him and tapping away at a tablet with his feet propped up on the end of Peter’s bed, fix him with a glare. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting your voice?” Peter just gave him a dopey smile and burrowed deeper into the blanket, adjusting the melting ice pack that was wrapped around his still tender throat.

He’d have to do some research of mechanized rhinos in the morning. He had already come up with some fun tweaks for his web fluid that might be beneficial going forward. With chemical equations dancing around in his brain, Peter fell into an deep, easy sleep.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump26 #Prompt: Asphyxiation #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

[bruderup]

Day 26 - Asphyxiation

Tag: @summer-of-whump

Fallout New Vegas (Benny Gecko & Male Courier)

CW: Crucifixion, Implied Torture, Injury

“You know why I chose to execute by crucifixion?”

Huh?

“Because you are a traitor, like Judas Iscariot.”

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump26 #whump prompt #fnv #fallout new vegas #benny gecko #courier six #tw crucifixion #tw torture #tw injury #whump

[caspia-writes]

Summer of Whump #26 — Drugging

Summary: A man is unsure what is meant by 'release'.

A/N: Another somewhat dialogue-heavy story. Once again, I can't shake the feeling that something's off, but it's probably just the amount of conversation that happens.

Content warnings: None

Until now, the camp infirmary had been a place of solace. Short-lived solace, usually, and only found through considerable suffering otherwise, but nonetheless better than what lay outside. The guards knew it too, or Traugott figured they did. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have seen prisoners beaten for going for a headache, or for pretending a slight cold was the beginning of influenza. Going to the infirmary meant not working, and not working was bad.

Not working was bad. That statement, the entirety of labor camp logic, was simple. Over the years, Traugott had come to understand it well. This bit of logic was also why Traugott was unable to stop fidgeting as he lay on the cot, staring up at the dripping ceiling. His life here was as a hard laborer, which meant he was meant to work. It made no sense why the guards would then order him to stop working, in the middle of the day no less, and to report to the infirmary to lay and stare at the ceiling.

Something was happening.

Something Traugott thought he might not like very much.

Before he could panic any worse, the doors swung open. It’d been long enough, but at last a doctor walked over to his cot. So far, this was normal. What followed, however, wasn’t normal.

The doctor smiled at him and said, of all things, “Congratulations!”

This word told Traugott nothing, except that now might be a good time to be afraid. Very afraid. Was he a new candidate for some medical experiment? He hoped not. Work was better than the stories of what happened to the experiments. And to think that the stories he’d heard were only from the ones who survived, and survived well enough to come back to the labor camp—that thought didn’t make him feel any better.

“Don’t understand what I mean?” the doctor asked, his smile not having wavered. Hesitant, but unable to see any alternative answer, Traugott shook his head. “Well, I’ll say it again. Congratulations—you’re being released.”

He blinked at the doctor. The man was still speaking in riddles. Traugott was being released... from what, exactly? Was this one of those euphemisms for execution? In his bones, that was what the words felt like. A polite way of saying that he was to die now. That all his grueling effort had only been to get a little use out of him before committing him to the ground.

If the doctor noticed the anxiety his statement had caused, he didn’t elect to do anything about it this time. He was too engrossed in rummaging through his bag, keeping at it for at least twenty seconds before producing a vial and syringe.

Traugott wasted no time groaning, and in the same haste the doctor rolled his eyes at the lack of enthusiasm.

“Yes, yes, I know, no one likes this. But if you want out—and I assume you do, everyone always does—I’m going to have to give you a few injections. Nothing much. Some sedatives is all.”

Before Traugott could even think of protesting, the syringe was in his arm. Though if the doctor had been right that if a few injections meant he was getting out of here, Traugott didn’t care to complain too much. It had been a long twenty years shoveling clay. He was ready to get some rest. To be free.

Freedom. That might have been one word, in a twisted sense of it, for the feeling that followed as the world around him seemed to dim and blur. A few faint twinges of nausea began to crawl up his throat, but nothing would come of it—the swirling darkness consumed him first.

#writing #writeblr #summerofwhump #summerofwhump26 #drugging

[fletcherwilbury]

Summer of Whump Day 26: Drugging

Warning: This story contains drugging and depictions of illness

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump26 #drugging tw #the beatles fanfiction #the beatles #george harrison #ringo starr #neil aspinall #john lennon #illness tw

[sideblogformindtrash]

SUMMER OF WHUMP- DAY 26 - ASPHYXIATION

Pastel has been having it too easy lately

CW: choking, breath play, no con touching (non sexual), creepy whumper, intimate whumper,, blood, pet whump, dehumanization, degradation, low self esteem

...He was taken to the edge, his vision going black, head lolling to the side as he slid into unconsciousness. He thought he would go out, left to hang on for a moment... And then IF let the golden string loose, just for a second, enough for him to get a good breath, before pulling it tight around his throat again.

He heard a disappointed sigh, but he was already drifting off again. Another small amount of air was allowed to him, Master swinging slowly on the chair, blinking red lights of the camera.

"...Come on Pastel, you have to do better than this"

Pastel tried to nod, making the string dig further into his skin, pressing at his Adam’s apple. Fuck. He was trying, he was trying hard. It was just… a stupid game in the computer, that he should be able to solve easily, but he couldn’t think at all. Not when a string was around his neck, cutting off all the air, and Master was so close Pastel could feel his breath on his ear. But he had to.

Everytime he got one right, he would get ten seconds to breathe, then go to the next level. It was easy enough at first, but naturally, the levels got harder as he completed them, and it took his longer and longer before the small break. Ten seconds weren’t enough, and he was taken to the brink of unconsciousness, vision got blurry, his lungs hurt and his head went dull, with a pounding ache just above his eyes. It was impossible to focus on the bright screen and let alone think.

“...I thought you said you weren’t ‘a dumb pet’, Pastel” Master chuckled “But it does seem like it now, doesn’t it, dear? It’s a game for children. It should be easy”

...He wished he could fight back. Children didn’t solve that puzzle with someone choking them half to death.

Of course, Master wasn’t going to kill him, he knew it. It wasn’t about murder, it was about showing the sheer power Master had over him, the power to control even his most basic life functions. It was about making sure Pastel knew he was only alive because Master allowed. And more than anything, it was about putting a show for the camera.

But knowing this didn’t help. His body was in survival mode, and there was no way to rationalize against that, even if the panic only made things worse, as he hyperventilated and his heart raced, making poor use of the already limited air.

All he could do was try to ignore it and try to solve the puzzle, even if at this point, he was just randomly clicking at the screen and praying it would make him stumble on the solution. He still had one level skip, but… He was only halfway through. He couldn’t read, but he could count, and he was at level 35 out of 60.

...Or was it? His vision started to fade again, his body falling against the string… And they went limp again, just for another second, just enough for him to take a breath, then they dug on his already rashed skin.

“Pastel, if you can’t do it anymore, we will skip to punishment, dear” Master hums in his ear. He hates how close he is, how satisfied he sounds. He can’t even whimper a response, just keeps… trying to move, blindly clicking at the screen...

He realizes is pointless, nodding to Master. He wonders what the punishment will be. He knew he would lose, anyway. He always loses the games, they are made so that he will. Or maybe he is really too stupid to win. But not playing… that is always worse.

Master makes a sound of disappointment. Pastel knows is fake. He is actually very satisfied to see the pet fail, defeated by one of his cruel traps. As if there is any glory on winning a cheated game.

Nonetheless, he lets the string fall over Pastel’s chest, and finally he breathes, blood rushing back to his head too fast. It hurts, and he closes his eyes and falls to the side, the chair rolling away, but Master catched him in time, pulling him into his lap.

...Pastel wants to scream. He doesn’t want to be touched, doesn’t want that man so close, or those fingers caressing his hair. It’s all an act, too.

“Poor pet. See? If only you didn't pretend to be as smart as a real person, I wouldn't need to teach you…" ...a tainted lesson. Pastel knew he could have solved the puzzle if he was… allowed to breathe. It was pointless to discuss. But maybe Master was right. If Pastel was smart… he would just have shut up, and never defied him, and would have spared himself this pain "...Sadly now you need punishment. We will see what the audience voted for on a bit"

Pastel tried to whimper a response, but his voice was gone. He moved his fingers slowly, every muscle tense, just waiting for the video to end so he could pull away from the man’s lap.

"Oh you poor thing. I'll make you some soothing tea later"

Pastel nodded. That was a lie, too. This was a sanitized video, not a basement one, so master had to try and appear like... like he gave a fuck. Like he was anything other than a sadist. Like there was a point to this lesson other than to hurt and humiliate Pastel.

Maybe there was. He wouldn't know. He was just a dumb pet, after all.

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#Pastel baby <3 #IF: Internet Fucker #pet whump #whump #summerofwhump #summerofwhump26