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cricket-reader · 1 year

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Sick Day

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox

Summary: Matt isn’t very happy when he comes home and discovers that his girlfriend had kept her sickness from him. He makes sure she is well taken care of before they go to bed.

Warnings: language, sickness, pet names, Matt being an overprotective simp, fluffy

Word Count: 960

Prompt: Sickfic, headache, cold/fever, blankets, hot drink (except I changed it to hot soup)

A/N: day 5 of March Trope-A-Thon by @amonthofwhump

Today had been horrible. She awoke to see that Matt had left early to go to work. On top of that, she felt like shit. Her head was pounding and she was burning up. Her nose felt stuffy, and her muscles ached.

She got up and took her temperature to see that she had a fever of 100.7 degrees Fahrenheit. She called into work and made her way over to the couch, not wanting to get the bed all disgusting from her sickness. Matt would still sleep there, after all. He didn’t need to come home to a bed that smelled like sweat and sickness. Whatever the hell “sickness” smelled like.

Matt frowned as he entered his apartment. He could hear the coughing as soon as he entered the complex. He could hear shifting on the couch, telling him his girlfriend was camped out in the living room with some blankets.

“Sweetheart?” Matt questioned, setting down his cane. He heard a groan as he walked over to the couch. “Why didn’t you call me to tell you that you were sick?”

“Didn’t wanna bother you,” she mumbled, sniffling a bit. “I know you’ve been busy lately.”

“I’m never too busy for you, love. I would have come home earlier if you called.”

She sighed. “I know, and that’s why I didn’t.”

“Well you should have,” he admonished her. She always did this. Her needs were never one of her priorities. She put everyone before her, and it bothered the ever-loving shit out of him. Because Matt knew she deserved the world. No, she deserved more than that. The universe, maybe.

She just huffed in irritation, knowing that there was absolutely no way she was going to win this argument.

“Have you eaten today?” Matt questioned as he leaned against the armrest of the couch. She cursed how well he knew her.

“No, I didn’t wanna get up.”

Matt just shook his head as he got up to make some soup. He glared in her direction when he heard her shift, knowing that she was trying to get up to help him. “Don’t you even try, young lady.” He put a pot on the stove.

“I just wanna help. You’ve been at work all day while I’ve just been sitting on my ass!”

Matt turned his head in her direction and gave her an incredulous look. “You’ve been sick!”

“That’s no excuse!”

“What if I was the one that was sick?”

“That’s different,” she pouted, crossing her arms as she watched him pour a pre-made homemade soup into the warm pot. She blew her nose with a tissue, her nose already red and raw from blowing it so much.

“And how, pray tell, is that different?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because it’s you!”

“Your logic is lacking, hun.”

She just groaned and flopped back onto the couch dramatically. A cold spell made her shiver. She grabbed one of the blankets and furrowed into it. She had been having hot and cold flashes off and on all day. She couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Turning off the stove when the soup was finished, he put it in a bowl before moving over to the couch. Setting it on the coffee table, he noted that her breathing had slowed; she must have been asleep.

“Sweetheart?” Matt gently shook her awake. He felt horrible for disrupting her, but she needed to get food in her system if she wanted to get better. She groaned, turning to bury herself further into the couch. “Baby, you need to get some food in your body. Then we can cuddle and get some sleep, okay?”

She blinked awake, groggily lifting her hands to rub at her eyes. “Cuddles?”

Matt’s heart melted hearing her soft little voice. It’s moments like that when he falls impossibly deeper in love with his precious girlfriend. He never thinks it’s possible to love her even more, but somehow he does manage. “Anything you want, baby.”

She smiled and took the soup from him. Matt scooted closer to her body and she snuggled against him as she began to blow on the soup.

The soup was hot in her mouth, but it felt good, warming her insides. “Thanks, Matty. You’re the best boyfriend.”

“It helps to have such a great girlfriend,” he flirted with her, loving the skip of her heart whenever he would. She blushed as she lifted another spoonful of soup to her mouth.

When she finished the soup, Matt made her drink some more water. She just huffed in exasperation. “I thought you said after soup I’d get cuddles.”

“Sorry, hun, can’t I just take care of you?”

She shrugged, taking a sip from the glass. “I’m just not really used to it.”

“Which is exactly why I’m making sure you get the best treatment now,” he stated.

“You’re too good for me, Matthew,” she sighed, leaning her head against his torso.

He just chuckled, “I’m pretty sure you got that sentence twisted.”

“Let me win for once, please,” she pouted. Matt sighed and agreed to let her have that one. It was the least he could do after she had asked him so sweetly, after all.

When she finished the tall glass, she set it on the table, making sure to exaggerate the sound of it being empty. “Snuggle time!”

He laughed as he was ambushed by her. Wrapping his arms around her, he picked her up to bring her to bed. She protested, hating being picked up, but Matt just shushed her as he lied her down. He undressed and crawls in next to her. She burrowed closer to her boyfriend, and he could hear her sigh contentedly, smiling against his warm skin.

She really couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend.

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whumpsday · 1 year

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Kane & Jim #49: Sunny Days

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker, recovery, comfort, captivity, starvation

takes place early in the present arc, in-between For the Wash and Papercut. i usually just go forwards in the present arc as opposed to jumping around, but i figure let’s take a look back at the early days for this one!

@amonthofwhump March Trope-A-Thon Day 2: Captivity / Creepy Captor / Conditioning / Pet Whump / Sunny Days

Somehow, everything was okay.

Kane had been Jim’s prisoner for two weeks, and Jim still hadn’t taken any kind of revenge yet, not once. He’d just been allowed to... exist, in peace. It was like a breath of fresh air after so long with every day full of pain and terror.

He wore the bomber jacket every day, usually with the hood up. The blanket found itself wrapped around him half the time- more if he included his sleeping hours, but his waking ones as well. He seemed to have found himself in ample possession of soft things to cover himself with.

Which was good, because he was terrified of the windows.

Jim was a lenient jailer, allowing most things. Kane was allowed to wear the blanket upstairs, he was allowed to sleep as much as he wanted, he was allowed to sit on the couch and watch TV and play cards. He was allowed possessions, multiple changes of clothes and a toothbrush among his favorites. He was allowed to heal, his injuries from the hunters fading a little more day by day, the hunger becoming more prominent than the pain of his wrists.

One thing Kane wasn’t allowed was to be upstairs during the nighttime. It was a practical rule, one that might have made sense if he stood any chance of escape- which he didn’t, given his starved state.

But that meant that if he chose to go upstairs, he would be in the presence of windows. Those with blinds were shuttered and those with curtains were pulled, because Jim was nice like that, but they were still terrifying. All it would take would be for those curtains to be brushed aside or those blinds to be lifted, and the sun would shine brightly through, burning him all over again.

It took a lot to recover from a burning, in his state. Were he fed and healthy, it would be perhaps two days of agony, but his body needed a lot longer to heal, the way it was now. It would be a week before the worst of it healed, and a month before he was entirely healed. He was loathe to return to that state, now that he’d finally been allowed a much less painful existence. He wrapped his blanket tighter around himself at the thought, laying comfortably in his bed.

Kane knew all too well that Jim had every reason to burn him, far more reasons than even the hunters. He knew he deserved it. But, perhaps selfishly, he just wanted it to be over.

The basement door opened once again, Jim having awoken. “Hey, man. How you feeling? You wanna come upstairs today?”

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from accepting Jim’s invitations. Kane was terrified of him, but against all logic, Jim had been kind so far. And he was desperate for any scrap of kindness. He’d been denied any for so, so long.

Just like how he’d denied Jim kindness. His heart sank at the thought.

“Better, thank you. My wrists don’t need the bandages anymore.” He sat up, blanket still wrapped around him, and peeked a hand out from under to show Jim. His wrist was still ringed with the healing injury, but it was far less severe than that night when Jim had first bandaged him. “I’d like to, yes.”

“That’s great! Alrighty, c’mon up.” Jim held the door open for him and led him to the bathroom. Kane had a bathroom downstairs, but his was just a sink and toilet, no bath.

He still couldn’t believe he got to take a bath every single day here. When Kane came out fresh and clean, Jim shackled the kind restraints onto his ankles. The padded ones with the silver on the insides instead of the outside.

“My wrists don’t hurt too badly anymore,” Kane pointed out. “You could put the wrist cuffs on too, if you’d like.”

“You planning on needing ‘em?” Jim asked, standing back up.

Kane practically choked, panic slamming into him like a truck. If Jim thought he needed them, then Jim thought he was going to be bad. And if Jim thought that too much, he might decide to send him back. “No, sir! I- I would never, I mean, I would never now, please believe me! I’ll be good, I just thought-”

“Hey hey hey, shh. You’re alright. Shit,” Jim said, voice gentle. “I wasn’t being serious. That was, uh, a bad call on my part. I know you’re trying. I’m trying too. This is just gonna take us both some getting used to, yeah?”

Kane put his face in his hands, starting to cry. “I’m s-sorry.”

“You’re okay,” Jim repeated. “Not gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna hurt you. No hurting in this house.”

“Thank you,” Kane whimpered, starting to calm down a little.

Jim reached forward and pulled Kane’s hood up. “There. You’re safe. And I don’t think you need the wrist cuffs either.”

Safe. He did feel safer like this. He nodded gratefully, wiping his eyes.

“I get it,” Jim told him as they walked back to the living room. “Sometimes something just sets you off. I get that too. Used to a lot more, but still get it sometimes. You’ve only been out for two weeks. Your brain’s still in nightmare mode. You’ll get there. You wanna go grab your blanket?”

“Yes, please.” Kane shuffled back down to the basement, minding his ankle chains and making sure not to trip. He wrapped it around himself again, all nice and covered like he hadn’t been since the hunters took away the last of his clothes. By the time he got back upstairs, he was out of breath, legs shaking a bit from the exertion. He didn’t usually have to go up and down the stairs this much back-to-back, even if Jim’s staircases weren’t that long.

Jim patted the couch. “Hey, come sit down, you look like you’re about to keel over. Fuck, I should’ve gotten it for you. You okay?”

“I’m okay,” Kane confirmed, obediently sitting where Jim indicated.

His eyes drifted to the nearest window, curtain pulled closed. Kane could see the glow of the sun just on the other side of it, waiting with malice, ready to burn him. He shivered under his blanket.

It would be preferable to going back, at least. He would rather be punished with the sun than go back to the hunters, if Jim were to finally decide to take his well-deserved revenge.

Jim noticed his obvious staring. “It’s staying closed. No sun while you’re up here. Hey, if you’re not feeling up to it right now, you can go back down. It’s up to you. Maybe take a breather first before you tackle the stairs again.”

The earlier panic combined with the sunny window was too much for him. “I think, um, I think that’s a good idea. Thank you for letting me.”

“Yeah, ‘course. Whatever you need.” Jim patted him on the shoulder, the rare kind touch from another person muffled by the blanket shielding his shoulders.

taglist to be added in reblog!

#amow tropeathon 2023 #captivity #kane and jim #whump #my writing #vampire whumpee #vampire whump #whumper turned whumpee #whumpee turned caretaker #recovery whump #comfort #aftermath of torture #starvation #whump writing

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baubeautyandthegeek · 1 year

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A Place To Collapse - Zelda Spellman/Lilith | Madam Satan

A/N: Here we go, part 1/4 for section 4 of @amonthofwhump ‘s March Challenge.

“Lilith?” “Zelda?” Lilith rises, moves closer and curses when Zelda’s body folds into itself, moving quickly to scoop the girl up, carrying her back to bed, settling her down gently and stroking her hair. Zelda is trembling despite being passed out and she moves to tuck her under a blanket gently. “Magical exhaustion is real Zelda… you have to be far more careful.” “Sorry.” “Just rest.” Lilith murmurs, stroking her hair gently again. Zelda is trembling, curled into herself and she hates the sparkle of fear in Zelda’s eyes. She had only seen it once before. “Is he back?” “No…” Zelda murmurs. “Sa… Sabrina died.”

#lilith #madam satan #zelda spellman #zelda/lilith #lilith/zelda #madam spellman #caos #chilling adventures of sabrina #amow tropeathon 2023 #fantasy

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crash-bump-bring-the-whump · 1 year

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AMoW March Trope-A-Thon Day 3 - Spy/Military (Training)

Remember the torture training Mariano said that he should've accepted as punishment instead of listening to his leader's orders? Here's a peek at the first time he went through that!

TWs: Torture, electrocution, abuse, conditioning

A cracking scream ripped through the room, cut off by the force of electricity that surged through him. Mariano's head hung back, eyes squeezed shut as he desperately tried to take a breath in. He strained against the ropes that held tight, binding his wrists behind the chair back and his ankles to the legs.

His back arched, limbs trying their hardest to twist as Luis held down the button. Cramps flew through his legs, the muscles forced to contract without a break. Mariano's chest burned, his heart starting to race.

Finally, Luis released the button. He strode over as Mariano went limp in his chair, roughly grabbing his face and leaning in. Nose-to-nose, he waited for Mariano's dazed, dark eyes to focus on him. "Are you going to tell me what I want to know?"

Mariano blinked hard, before spitting on the man in front of him. "Fuck you--" He barely got the words out before a backhand hard enough to almost topple the chair sent him reeling.

"We're gonna do this all day. You'll get breaks, but we're not done until I say so." Luis said, stepping back to lean his hip against a table. There were knives, and hammers, and a blowtorch, shining and lined up perfectly. "You did a good job getting us set up for today, by the way. You know, I think I like the knives organized by length like this."

Luis grinned, hearing the other guys on their squad laugh. "Yeah," Dimitri said. "He even got you extra fuel for the torch. You didn't even have to ask him for that."

"Gotta put you through your paces anyway though, good behavior or not." Luis pressed the button again, watching his new teenage subordinate begin to choke and writhe again. "If you get caught, you gotta be able to survive until you get yourself out. We won't ever come for you. Too risky."

#amow tropeathon 2023 #Whump event #military whump #Training whump #Mage of violence #The leader #I like that for Luis' tag #The squad #Torture #Abuse /#Electrocution /#Conditioning /

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alpaca-clouds · 1 year

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Whump-A-Thon: Reassurances

Alright, here is my last entry for @amonthofwhump Whump-A-Thon. and I though to myself after Whumping Trevor that hard the entire time, I end the story with a hurt/comfort story, that focuses heavily on the COMFORT part of it all.

So, I went with Reassurances as a prompt and made it a nice story about him and his two partners and cuddles.

#amow tropeathon 2023 #hurt/comfort #reassurances #castlevania #castlevania netflix #castlevania fanfiction #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #alucard castlevania #adrian tepes #trevor x sypha x alucard #trephacard

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quietly-by-myself · 1 year

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March Trope-A-Thon Day 2 - Conditioning + Pet Whump + Creepy Captor

March Trope-A-Thon Masterlist | Story Masterlist

This one is for Fearless. This drabble is non-canon, just a writing exercise. I hope it's still good whump though.

@amonthofwhump

CW: nonhuman whumpee, human whumpee, nonhuman whumper, intimate whumper, vampire/dhampir whumpee, pet whump, training, dehumanization, conditioning, collars, leashes

===

Dimitar stroked Kaloyan’s collar gently, humming to himself. Ever since that day, when he forced Kaloyan to drain a mortal, Kaloyan had been perfect. Too perfect. In fact, Dimitar reckoned he could get Kaloyan to do just about anything.

Unlike Nikolay, who still disobeyed recklessly. No matter how many times Dimitar hurt him, no matter how many times Nikolay sustained dangerous injuries, he still disobeyed.

Dimitar had a feeling that Nikolay was one to break by seeing his fae creature injured.

Thus, Dimitar, petting Kaloyan’s hair, enjoying every moment of Kaloyan’s tense shaking, his fear, created a plan.

“Kaloyan, my dear,” Dimitar hummed, “You’ve been such a good boy. I think I should make you my pet.”

Kaloyan’s shaking stopped. His eyes grew wide.

“Yes, my dear. You won’t be hurt, unless you disobey me. You’ll get to leave this dungeon. It’ll be better, I promise.”

Kaloyan stayed quiet. Dimitar felt a muscle in his eye twitch. This wasn’t the response he wanted.

“Now, you’ll need to prove yourself.”

“M-Master, what about Nikolay?”

Dimitar’s eyes narrowed. “Do not speak of him. He isn’t anything to you anymore.”

That shut Kaloyan right up. Kaloyan whimpered a bit, just like a dog. Perfect.

“Now I want you to kneel.”

Kaloyan did exactly as he was told. He kneeled urgently, sinking lower than he already was.

“Now, I want you to bow your head.”

Kaloyan bowed his head. Dimitar petted his hair gently.

“Roll over.”

“What?”

Kaloyan’s voice shook, horrified. He looked up, disobeying Dimitar’s previous order.

Dimitar grabbed Kaloyan’s hair. “Do you want to be punished again?”

Kaloyan whimpered, closing his crimson eyes. “No, Master.”

“Then, roll over. Kneel with your head bowed once you’re done.” Dimitar threw Kaloyan’s head back and waited patiently.

After a couple minutes, Kaloyan did as he was told. He tucked his limbs in and rolled, going belly-up before he kneeled again, head bowed.

Dimitar smirked. “Good boy,” he cooed, petting Kaloyan’s hair.

Kaloyan flinched away at first but Dimitar decided to let it slide. “Now, let’s show Nikolay.”

That got a reaction out of his new-found pet. Kaloyan looked up at Dimitar, before he quickly bowed his head again. He threw no fight as Dimitar put a leash on Kaloyan’s collar and led him to Nikolay’s cell.

“Now, Kaloyan, do you want to show your old friend your new trick?”

Kaloyan stayed still. Nikolay glared from his place on the floor, restrained. “What the fuck did you do to him, you bastard!?”

“You’ll see.” Dimitar leaned into Kaloyan, trying not to be upset with Nikolay. “Roll over.”

Kaloyan kneeled, bowed his head, then tucked his limbs to roll over on his back, before kneeling again. Dimitar could’ve laughed. The dhampir was tall. It was hilarious to watch him obey so perfectly and do what his body wasn’t meant to.

The look on Nikolay’s face, the horror, the ire, the flaming hot hatred was glorious. Most of all, Dimitar caught something he hadn’t seen in Nikolay’s eyes before - hopelessness.

Dimitar smirked wickedly. He didn’t need his words as he led Kaloyan back out of the cell, unrestrained, and gave him cooked blood as a treat.

===

Tags: @whumpsday, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @whumpworld, @darkthingshappen, @pigeonwhumps, @rabass, @whither-wander-whump, @whumpshaped

Not otherwise tagged but on everything bagel: @oddsconvert

#fearless story #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #multiple whumpees #nonhuman whumpee #nonhuman whumper #all hurt no comfort #collars #leashes #pet whump #training #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #amow tropeathon 2023 #captivity

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alidravana · 1 year

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Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

Length/Rating: 1K, Teen

Tags: Developing Relationship, Touch-Starved, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Lack of Communication, Angst, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Drunken Confessions

Summary:

Gentle touches, soft kisses, warm hugs...Soap longed for them all, desperately. But when Ghost doesn't seem keen on these intimate gestures, it had Soap wondering more about their relationship that he really wanted to.

Written for @amonthofwhump's March Trope-a-thon: Day 7 - Angst!

Thanks to the wonderful @samithemunchkin for the last minute edit!

Check it out here on A03!

#call of duty #amow tropeathon 2023 #angst #modern warfare #ghostsoap #developing relationship #touch starved #misunderstandings #emotional hurt/comfort

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evilwriter37 · 1 year

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@amonthofwhump

March Trope-A-Thon Day 5

Trope: Sickfic

Prompts: Fevers, Headache, Comfort: Blankets & a Hot Drink

Rated: general

Warnings: none

Pairings: none

Word Count: 805

Summary: Hiccup wakes up feeling sick, but refuses to rest until he is practically manhandled back into bed.

#amow tropeathon 2023 #sickfic #fevers #headache #comfort: blankets & a hot drink #whump #fluff #humor #httyd #how to train your dragon #httyd rtte #rtte #race to the edge #fanfiction #writing

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rizzoto-whump · 1 year

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@amonthofwhump - Military, barracks/training

@badthingshappenbingo - Dragged by the Ankle

CW: Hazing, power imbalance, beaten, kicked, torture, and military whump. Part of Asrar series

As James stumbled back from the blow, his hand instinctively went to his stomach where he could feel the beginnings of a deep purple bruise forming. His friends weren't faring much better, some even being kicked while they were down.

"Cadet Zhang! Get over here!" barked Corporal Alizade, his voice echoing through the barracks.

James gritted his teeth and made his way over, trying to steel himself against the pain that he knew was coming. Even though he was standing tall now, he still felt small and out of place in the military. But his mother had begged him not to join, and he couldn't bear the thought of her having to sell their small garden just to keep him out of the military. He had to tough this out.

"Is it painful?" Corporal Alizade asked, his eyes boring into James'.

"It's... p-painful, C-Corporal." James stammered, trying not to show any weakness.

"You're a man, James," Alizade growled, delivering another punch to James' already tender stomach. "Speak up louder!"

The blow was harder this time, causing James to stumble backwards and fall to the ground. Alizade sneered and kicked James in the side before grabbing him by the ankle and dragging him to another room. The pain was excruciating, and James could barely move as he was separated from his friends.

"Get up, you idiot!" Alizade dumped a bucket of icy water on James' face, causing him to sputter and cough. "This isn't your mother's house!"

#whump #whump prompt #military whump #beaten whump #hazing #amow tropeathon 2023 #barracks #training #bad things happen bingo #dragged by the ankle #sadistic whumper #whumpee #torture #whump OC #bruises

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pigeonwhumps · 1 year

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New toy

Finding Safety masterlist

AMOW March Trope-a-Thon day 2: creepy captor + conditioning + pet whump

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch

Tyrone has a new toy he wants to try out on Aaliyah.

1.2k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, intimate whumper, dehumanisation, self-dehumanisation, non-con, hand-feeding, sensory deprivation, conditioned whumpee, muzzled, treated like an animal

"Open up, pet."

Aaliyah, knelt at her place by Master's feet, opens her mouth obediently. Master picks up a fry and holds it out, letting her eat it from his fingers. She licks the grease off them afterwards, the way he likes, and flutters her eyelashes at him.

"Good girl, Aaliyah," Master purrs, "Very good girl." Aaliyah flushes at the praise, and he chuckles lightly. "Would you like some dessert too?"

Aaliyah bows her head, placing her hands together as if in prayer, supplicating herself for the chance for a little more food (at least, she hopes dessert is food today). Master seems to be in an exceptionally good mood, because he simply smiles, holding out a fork towards her.

"Go on then. Eat it."

Aaliyah leans up and licks the crumbs of chocolate cake and cream off the fork, bowing daintily after she's finished. It's sweet and cloying, and full of flavour. Well. He did say he put a lot of chocolate in.

"That's it for today, pretty thing. We don't want to spoil your figure." He pats her on the head, before getting up and pouring some dry pellets into a metal bowl, water going in another. "Now, I don't fancy going out in this weather, so I want you to feed the mutt. I have some things to do, but when I'm finished I want you ready and waiting in the bedroom. I have a new toy I want to try out."

So that's why he's in such a good mood. She pushes herself to her feet and takes the bowls, heading outside. It's not raining anymore, but the ground is covered in cold, muddy puddles as she splashes towards the kennel. It doesn't have a door and she sees Cass look up miserably as she approaches. He's stretched out fully on his front, his back covered with shiny pink scars, and the new wire muzzle covers the lower half of his face. Aaliyah doesn't think Master ever intends to take the mitts off.

She places the bowls of food and water in front of Cass and unclips the muzzle, stroking his cheek apologetically. He flushes with what she thinks is humiliation, before bending over and taking a slurp of water.

She thinks it's humiliation, anyway. She ponders it as he crunches on the food. If this is the life he's meant for, why does he get humiliated? Why are there things that make her throat catch, and not in a good way?

She shakes her head. She's a pet, it's not her place to wonder. That won't do. She's just here to do Master's bidding.

Once Cass has finished his food, he laps up some more water, then sticks out his chin, allowing Aaliyah to buckle the muzzle back on. She slides a straw through, helping him insert it into his mouth, allowing him to drink while she's not here.

Then she lets him lean his cheek against her hand for a moment. She has to go, but she still has a moment of comfort for Cass.

Back in Master's house she washes her feet carefully, knowing he'll be angry if they're dirty, and heads upstairs to his bedroom, kneeling by the foot of the bed, in her usual sleeping spot. It's only a few minutes before she hears Master's footsteps, and she keeps her head bowed and body steady as he strokes her hair. His hand quickly turns into a strong grip, pulling her head back and up, bending over to give her a bruising kiss. She parts her mouth slightly, allowing his tongue access. When he pulls away he sighs happily.

"You really are perfect, pet. Now get onto the bed and into position two. I want to see you."

Aaliyah obeys, climbing on the bed and onto her knees, butt resting on her ankles. Master smiles.

"Good girl. Now, I have a new toy for you." He reaches behind him into a large bag and pulls out– no.

No.

Her eyes widen at the sight of the leather deprivation hood and it's all she can do not to panic.

"Hey, it's okay, pet. Your handlers aren't here. I know you had it used on you before, but I just want to see how you react, that's all. Nothing like then. And besides, you're my pet. You can handle this, can't you?"

Aaliyah nods at the stern question-stroke-threat at the end. Master really is in a good mood today, to reassure her so much, but he won't stay like this if she doesn't get it together. She sticks her head out, allowing him to attach the leather over her head. Once he's done up the last strap all she has is a small hole to breathe, the smell of leather filling her nose. She leans into Master's touch, desperate for it, as he removes her clothes carefully, then lays her down.

She's grateful that it's only her head, that she can still feel (feel so much more than normal, in fact, without the useless distractions), that Master's being so affectionate with her. She responds eagerly to his touches, feeling a rush of pleasure at each one. Master's so good to her, to let her feel this even without her doing anything for him.

The hood's terrifying. She has no idea where she is when Master's not touching her, and no idea what he's doing at all. She's a pet, she doesn't need to know, but it's still scary. At least Master's being good to her.

After he's prepared her, a luxury she isn't always permitted, he inserts his penis. She hasn't been ordered to stay still like a statue so she doesn't, doing just as Master likes until he comes inside her. He keeps fucking her well past the point of her own pleasure, well past overstimulation, until he's come several more times.

But her own pleasure doesn't matter. She's a pet, for Master's use and pleasure only. Just another hole to fuck, Cass said.

But that's not quite true. No, Master wouldn't be so affectionate if it was. He wouldn't have punished Cass so harshly for saying it. He cares about her, and she's a bad pet for even entertaining another possibility.

Once Master's finished, he removes the hood carefully, brushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes and kissing each eyelid.

"You're so pretty like this. I should make you cry more often. And that was beautiful, pet. You're so responsive like that. Let me clean you up and you can have a few hours sleep before it's time to serve me again."

Aaliyah goes limp in Master's arms as he brings her into the bathroom and starts washing her down with cold water. She's a bit overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds and smells, but she'll be good anyway.

She always tries to be good. She doesn't always manage it, sometimes she has to be punished, but she always, always tries.

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cricket-reader · 1 year

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You Matter to Me

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox

Summary: as a healer for the Avengers, she get to heal a lot. What happens when she doesn’t tell them that each time she heals someone, their injuries transfer to her? Eventually someone is going to find out.

Warnings: language, injuries, self-sacrificing behaviour, brief mentions of past abuse/child abuse

Word Count: 2,209

Prompt: Fantasy, magical exhaustion

A/N: day 4 of March Trope-A-Thon by @amonthofwhump

Lying in her bed, she curls up on herself. The past few missions have been horrible. She wouldn’t tell anyone, but the amount of injuries she had to heal was really taking a toll on her.

Pain. Everywhere on her body there’s pain. She feels like a walking bruise.

She cringes when the door to her room bursts open. “Help! I’m sorry to wake you, but I need your help!” Tony cries out.

Tears well up in her eyes. She just wants to rest. She can’t take it anymore.

“It’s the kid, he got beat up real bad. We think he fractured his ribs.”

She slowly raises from her spot on the bed, leaving the comfort of snuggling into her warm blankets. “Where is he?” She weakly mutters, not having the energy to put her usual sunny disposition into her words.

“He passed out on the couch,” he informs her, already striding back to the common room. She limps her way to the common room. Normally she tries to hide her pain, but after this week’s missions, she can’t find it in her.

Luckily, no one else is in the common room. It’s just a barely cognisant kid, and a person that’s too preoccupied with the kid’s health to care about anything else. She falls ungracefully to her knees, cringing as her knees meet the floor. Her hands hover over Peter’s body before she takes a breath and makes contact with him. Immediately a sharp pain grows in her ribs. Tears gather in her eyes as she continues to take away his pain.

Her head is pounding and her ribs ache. It hurts so bad. This is even worse than when her father and his friends would use her after getting into bar fights. She knew what she was signing up for, but this… this is a little too much.

When Peter gasps awake, she plops down and rests her head against the couch cushion. Tears roll down her face before she turns to cover her face with the couch. Breaths becoming laboured, she can’t hold in the whimper that escapes her mouth.

How is she going to get back to her room? How’s she going to get out of this without getting caught? The Avengers aren’t stupid. They’re going to notice that something is off. Then they’re going to make her stop healing them because they are all too good to take advantage of her. And since she’ll be of no use to them, they’ll kick her out. She doesn’t want to leave. She can’t leave her family. The only family that has genuinely seemed to care for her.

“Hey, you alright?” Peter’s soft voice breaks her out of her racing thoughts. She nearly cries at the kindness in his voice. No one else cared to ask her that question when they noticed she was in pain. In fact, her father and her friends seemed to enjoy watching her in pain. It wasn’t fair, but she knew how life worked.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, straining against the stabbing pain in her ribs with every breath. Peter takes her head in his hands and gently lifts it from the couch so his kind eyes meet hers. Her head pounds and she wishes that he couldn’t see her like this. So weak. A superhero like him would probably laugh at her for being so weak. It’s not like she’s the one taking those punches. She wasn’t the one taking the beatings and saving the world. She just took the pain away.

“No you’re not. What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?” Peter sounds so concerned, his eyes raking over her body looking for any signs of abuse.

“No, everything is fine, Peter.”

He squints his eyes at her, his sensitive hearing picking up her laborious breaths and small whimpers. “Who hurt you?” He jumps off of the couch ready to beat anyone that dared touch his precious …friend. Nothing else. Just a really good friend.

“No one, Pete, just… just forget about it okay? I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that! You’re in pain!” Peter frowns, visibly upset at the fact that she keeps lying to him. He thought they were close. He thought she trusted him. It hurts to know that she doesn’t.

“I’m used to it, it’s fine,” she mumbles, head plopping back into the couch. Peter’s brow furrows, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut.

“What do you mean you’re used to it?”

He watches her huff out a big breath before winching and clutching her ribs. The puzzle pieces finally click into place. It’s as if everything suddenly became clear with just one miniscule movement. Eyes widening, he strides over to her. Peter squats down to be level with her, his face dead serious.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone? It hurts you to use your powers, doesn’t it?”

Tears fall down her flushed cheeks, and she curses under her breath. They were bound to find out sooner than later, she had just hoped for the latter. “I was helping,” she whines, trying to prove her worthiness. She was doing something good, he can’t possibly get mad at her for that, can he?

“At the expense of yourself!” Peter yells, frustrated that he allowed her to take his pain and make it her own.

“Well, the pain has to go somewhere!” She fires back, angry that he isn’t grateful. After all she’s done she didn’t think he’d be yelling at her. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She helped them so much.

“You shouldn’t have to be in pain because of us,” he argues, standing to pace. All of this information changes things. How many times has she saved someone this week alone? How much pain must she be in? What has she had to silently suffer through?

“Give me my pain back,” Peter orders, not wanting her to have his pain anymore. Guilt weighs on his consciousness now that he knows she is feeling his fractured rib and concussion.

“That’s not how that works Peter.”

“God dammit! Why didn’t you tell us!”

Her eyes pop out of her head. She’s never heard him this upset before. He’s never been this angry. The fact that she caused it only makes her feel worse.

“Because I knew this would happen!” She cries. “I knew you guys would be mad and kick me out! I deserve a place here after everything I’ve done. I don’t want to leave!”

“You can’t keep taking other people’s pain,” he frowns, dead set on conveying this to her.

“Yes I can. I’m helping! I’m doing something good! Why don’t you understand that? Why can’t you appreciate the fact that I am willing to help you guys?”

“Because, you’re not supposed to get hurt doing it!”

“What is going on out here?” Steve, Bucky, Sam, Clint, and Natasha walk in having just finished training. She sends Peter a death glare, daring him to say anything.

Although he sees her intimidating stare, Peter doesn’t care. This has to end now.

“The pain doesn’t just go away,” he explains, “every time she heals us, the pain is transferred to her. She takes all the pain for us.”

Steve furrows his brows, his serious concerned mama bear face on. Crossing his arms and stepping forward, he asks, “is this true?”

“N-no! Of course not!” She lies. Her eyes flit around the people in the room, heart beating faster.

“She’s lying, she probably can’t even stand up right now because she is in so much pain,” Peter confidently states.

Narrowing her eyes at Peter, she swears to kill him in his sleep. How dare he tattle on her? “That’s not true! He’s making this all up,” she protests, trying to make her voice sound strong.

“Then stand up,” Natasha challenges, one of her perfect brows raising.

Cursing under her breath, she places a hand on the couch to try and push off the ground. Grimacing, she grits her teeth and tries to lift her body off the ground. Breathing heavily, she uses her other hand to try and get into a standing position. Whimpers, so quiet that only the enhanced are able to hear, escape from her as she struggles to stand.

Peter is by her side in an instant, not willing to watch her put herself through more pain. “That’s enough,” he mutters, fed up with her disregard for her own well-being. Why is she being so careless?

Steve frowns as he quietly talks to the people around him. She can feel his disappointed countenance chipping at her soul. He has that effect on people. She never wanted to disappoint her heroes. She can take it, she just needs some rest, and she’ll be fine.

“We can’t continue to let you heal us.” Is the verdict that Steve murmurs, upset by how long this has been going on. How could no one have noticed? How could they have been so careless as to think that the pain just magically went away?

He’s disappointed. Disappointed in himself for not noticing sooner, disappointed in himself for letting a mere kid take all of his pain and suffering that he should have just endured. Why did she never say anything?

“You’re released from duty,” Steve concludes, standing up to leave the room. He can’t stand looking at her, now knowing all of the pain he has caused her.

“Captain, please. Don’t do this! I was helping!” She protests with everything left in her. She doesn’t want to leave her family. She doesn’t want them to get hurt or die. Not when she has the ability to save them.

“Enough!” Steve bellows, stopping in his tracks. “You’re out of here, got it?”

Tears well up in her eyes and her lip starts to wobble. Steve had never used a tone like that with her before. It hurts. “So what? You’re just letting me go now that you have no use for me?”

Steve falters. That’s most certainly not what he meant.

“You’re just like my dad!”

A sentence that cuts deeper than any stab wounds he’s ever received. She’s told him about her home life, about her piece of shit father. And to be compared to him makes his soul break.

Calling out her name as she pushes past him, he desperately tries to right this wrong. She doesn’t stop, though. She keeps running, tears cascading down her face.

Running a hand through his hair, he curses. This is not how it should have panned out. All he wanted was to make sure that she’s safe and out of harm's way. He didn’t want to be the one to harm her. In fact, that’s the last thing he wanted to do. What, after all she’s been through, she deserves better.

“Let me,” Peter says, stopping Steve from running after her. Steve aquieses, figuring it would be better if he could calm down before talking to her. He’s just so upset that he’s been passing off his pain to a literal child. Okay, maybe she’s not a child, but she might as well be one for fucks sake.

“What do you want?” Peter cringes at her angered tone, a twinge of hurt underlying it. She still has tears in her eyes as she rushes to pack her clothes in a duffle she had sitting unused in her closet.

“Steve didn’t mean what he said. He’s upset that you lied to him—to all of us.”

She scoffs, harshly shoving the clothes in the bag. She whimpers, realising that probably wasn’t the best decision with all of the injuries she is dealing with right now. Peter rushes to have her in his arms. He sits down on the ground, gently pulling her with him. “You gotta stop hurting yourself, sweetheart.”

She grumbles in his arms, trying to get out of his grasp. Peter just shakes his head at how stubborn she is. She’ll be the death of him, he’s sure about that.

“Why do you care?” She mutters out, anger and resentment lacing her tone. She doesn’t want to believe that anyone can care about her. Whenever she thinks that, she always gets hurt. No one cares about her. The only reason people act nice to her is because they want to use her powers to heal themselves.

“Because… you’ve been hurting yourself for far too long,” he murmurs, relaxing his hold now that she isn’t trying to squirm away.

“I just want to be wanted,” her voice is muffled with the sound of her small cries. Tears stream down her face, and she curls up into Peter’s warm embrace. He sighs and runs his hand gently through her hair, careful not to make her headache worse.

“You are,” he speaks under his breath. “Everyone here genuinely cares for you in their own way. You are so important to me… to all of us.”

She muffles a sob against his shirt. “You… you don’t mean that…”

“I do. I mean every word of it. You matter to me. You matter so much.”

Peter keeps on mumbling little words of praise and encouragement as she falls asleep in his arms. He will let her know what she is worth. No matter how long it takes. She deserves the world.

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whumpsday · 1 year

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Our Hell on Earth #1: Warm Welcome

Masterlist

content: demon whumper, demon caretaker/carewhumper, interrogation, torture, burns, defiant whumpee, caretaking, captivity

welcome to my next bigger series! it’s not gonna be nearly as long as K&J, but still way longer than my little miniseries. been having these guys in my head for years and MTAT finally gave me the push to put ‘em out there. hope you enjoy my new guys :)

@amonthofwhump March Trope-A-Thon Day 3: Spy/Military / Interrogation / Undercover Mission / Barracks/Training / Patching Up A Wound

Cedric flexed his fingers nervously, his wrists shackled directly to the arms of the chair. It was wooden, but a hard, sturdy wood: both uncomfortable to sit in for as long as he had been, and impossible to break, especially when he couldn’t gain any leverage. His head still pounded from where he’d gotten hit.

His ankles were similarly bolted to the chair’s legs, preventing him from anxiously bouncing his leg like he so wanted to, unable to see even an inch in front of his face in the pitch-dark of the windowless room he’d woken up in. He could hardly even tell if his eyes were open or closed.

He was so fucked this time.

It wasn’t like Cedric hadn’t gotten into some bad situations before, in his line of work. You didn’t exactly get into demon hunting if you held your life close to your chest, unwilling to risk it. But he’d imagined he might go out in the heat of combat, one and done. Not this.

There wasn’t much he could do but sit there. Infuriatingly, he could feel that his phone was still in his pocket, he just couldn’t fucking reach it.

He couldn’t be sure how long it had been when Cedric heard heavy footsteps in the distance somewhere behind him. Was the chair facing away from the door?

His suspicions were confirmed when the door opened with a click, finally letting light into the room. Cedric tried to turn his head and see, but the chair’s back was too high, and all he could see was dark wood. He looked forward instead, squinting in the dim light from the doorway.

It looked like an unfinished basement from what he could see, which wasn’t much, mainly just the wall. Anything of note in here was probably also behind the chair.

“Wakey, wakey,” came a deep, gravelly voice.

“I was already awake, asshole,” Cedric shot back immediately.

The low voice chuckled. “Oh, we’re going to have some fun together, aren’t we.”

His suspicions of being in a basement were confirmed when he heard the sound of the guy walking down stairs, slow and deliberate. The light flicked on, and Cedric had to squeeze his eyes shut, too bright after the total darkness.

As he slowly opened his eyes and eased them into the light, the guy came into view. It was apparent that he was a demon, which came as no shock. But he wasn’t the one Cedric had been fighting when he went down.

He was huge, for one. Seven feet easy, maybe more, which Cedric resented all the more at his cool five-three. The demon he’d been fighting had been maybe six-five tops, short for a demon, but quick. That was what did Cedric in: he was too damn slow.

Cedric glared up as his eyes adjusted. “Yeah, real fun. What do you want? Why am I still alive?”

The demon gave him an amused, condescending look, like Cedric was being silly. “Oh, not much. Just answer some questions for me and you’ll be on your merry way.”

“Uh, why would I wanna answer your questions if you’re just gonna kill me after?” Cedric scoffed.

The demon grinned, row of razor-sharp teeth gleaming. “We’ll get there.”

His eyes travelled lower, down to Cedric’s pocket. “Looks like Lack’s been slacking in his duties again, I should have already had this in my hand. Tsk-tsk. Going to have to give him a reminder to be diligent.” The demon reached down into Cedric’s pocket with a clawed hand.

“Hey! Don’t touch!” Cedric shouted, but the demon paid no mind, taking the phone out and carefully tapping the relatively-tiny screen.

He turned it around. “That makes for a good first question. What’s the password?”

Cedric took a moment to be thankful that he never used any of that stupid biometric crap on his phone.

Then he spit in the demon’s face. Well, he tried, but trajectory landed it on his chest. Close enough.

The demon gave that condescending smile again as he wiped it away. Cedric was beginning to hate that smile.

“Forgot to introduce myself. I am Drive,” the demon said, leaning forward. “And I have a lot of it. Here is how this is going to work. You give me the information I’m looking for- base location, names and locations of fellow hunters, the key to your phone- and the pain stops.” Drive reached forward and patted him on the cheek. “Understand, little one?”

“Gah!” Cedric pulled away as much as he could given his restraints, which wasn’t much. “Might as well give up. I’m not telling you shit.”

The words coming out of his mouth scared him more than Drive’s threat. If the demon gave up... he would kill him. Cedric knew that.

But he would rather die than rat everyone out. He couldn’t. He’d rather be tortured to death than know they were hurt because of him.

He knew that was no longer a hypothetical.

Drive grinned. “You’ll find I don’t do that easily.”

He snapped his fingers, a small flame coming to life at his fingertip.

Cedric’s breath caught in his throat. But he had to be strong, he had to. The other option was just unthinkable.

“Hmmm...” Drive contemplated, looking him up and down. “How about we start with that pretty face?” he sneered.

“Don’t fucking call me pretty,” Cedric growled.

Drive rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. No one will after I’m done with you.”

He grabbed Cedric by the hair with his free hand, holding his head in place and bringing the flame close with the other. “Last chance before we get started.”

Cedric could feel the heat from the flame, just barely kept from licking at his face. “Go fuck yourself.”

Drive laughed, wordlessly bringing his finger to Cedric’s cheek. He gasped as his face came alive with pain, increasing exponentially as the fire was held there. He tried to pull away, but it was a hopeless endeavor: the demon’s grip was iron-tight.

He couldn’t help but cry, the tears rolling down his cheeks doing nothing to quell the flame. His breaths came quick with panic, and he bit his tongue hard to hold back a scream, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth. It felt like the flame was boring a hole straight through his face, the nerves there screaming at him to get away.

Drive held him there for a few minutes before sliding his finger down just slightly, moving the flame onto fresh skin to start all over again. Cedric let out a strangled cry of pain despite himself, chest heaving.

The demon tugged on his hair to tilt his head even further into the fire. “We can start slow. One piece of information and we’ll call it enough for the first day.”

“No,” Cedric squeaked, hating the way his voice pitched up like that when he was afraid.

“Then we’re going to be here a while. You’d better get comfortable.”

It was hours later when Drive finally decided to call it quits, extinguishing the flame. Cedric’s breathing was ragged by this point, half his face a mess of meticulously burnt flesh from just below his eye all the way down to his jawline, the other half a mess of sweat and tears. When the demon let go of his hair, he slumped forward, shaking.

“You know most humans don’t make it past the first day?” Drive commented casually.

Cedric didn’t have a biting remark to that.

“I’ll leave you to calm down. My assistant will be down in a bit to clean you up.” Drive smirked. “See you tomorrow.”

And with that, the demon sauntered back up the stairs, flicking the lights off and the door closed to leave Cedric in total darkness.

He let himself cry unabashedly now, pathetic little sobs that sent his shoulders bobbing up and down instead of strong, mostly-silent tears.

What was he going to do? He wasn’t alone when he got taken, so at least they knew he wasn’t just killed outright. They’d be looking for him. But would they actually be able to find him? He had no idea where he was. He might not even be on Earth anymore, they could have taken him through a portal. There’d be no chance of rescue if he was in Hell.

But the air was clean. It smelled disgustingly of his own burnt flesh, but it didn’t stink of sulfur. He’d never been to Hell, but he’d heard that about it. So he was probably still on Earth.

Someone would come for him. He had to believe that. Maybe they could track his phone, though Drive had taken it with him. He hoped that wherever he was, there was cell signal here.

The door opened again, and Cedric’s head snapped up with panic at the sound before he remembered what Drive had said. His assistant.

The lights flickered back on, the footsteps coming down this time lighter, confident. The demon who came into view was maybe the first Cedric had seen who probably wasn’t over a foot taller than him. He looked maybe six-one, if he had to guess. He sported a black eye and held a bucket full of various supplies, the handle resting on the inside of his elbow, his expression sour.

“Ouch,” he commented, giving Cedric a once-over.

“Yeah.” His voice came out more broken than he would like. “Ouch.”

“Here’s the deal,” the demon stated, putting his bucket down. “I’m not here to get information out of you. That’s Drive’s job, not mine. If you decide you want to talk, wait for him. I’m just here to make sure you don’t die while he does what he does.”

He took a plastic cup out of the bucket and left Cedric’s line of sight, the sound of a tap running soon following. When he came back, he shoved it in front of Cedric’s face. “Drink.”

He was more than glad to, the water amazing on his parched throat. The demon tipped the cup further as he drank, until it was all gone.

The demon pulled a tube of burn cream out of the bucket, squirting some on his fingers. “Hold still.” He reached for Cedric’s face.

Cedric jerked his head away, on instinct more than anything else. He knew it would probably be good to get treatment, but the thought of anyone touching his face right now, even the demons’ medic, was unthinkable.

The demon sighed, obviously annoyed. “It’s not going to hurt any more than it already does. Like I said, not my job. Hold still.”

“F-fine.” Cedric held still this time as the demon smeared the gel over his burn, the sensation cool on his abused skin. “Are you Lack?” he asked, remembering what Drive had said earlier.

“Yep.” The demon dabbed carefully under Cedric’s eye.

“Is it ‘cause you’re the lackey?” he asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his situation.

Lack gave him an exasperated, deadpan look. “No.”

He replaced the burn cream in the bucket, pulling out some gauze and cling wrap and applying that over the wound. “Any other injuries I should know about?”

“Nah, that’s it.” Cedric flexed his fingers again, the height of motion he was really allowed.

Lack nodded, pulling a sandwich out of the bucket. It was wrapped in plastic and still had the barcode sticker on it. “I’m betting you want me to hand-feed you about as little as I want to do it. If I let your hands free, are you going to try and pull anything?”

Cedric would kill to be able to actually move for a moment. “No.”

Lack produced a key, inserting it into the shackles bolting his wrists to the chair and opening them one by one. Cedric stretched his arms up, relieved to be able to do at least that, even if his face still felt like it was on fire. He grabbed the sandwich from Lack, unwrapped it, and took a bite.

“Can I get more water?” he asked.

Lack eyed his still-shackled ankles for a moment, then conceded. “Sure, that’s fine.” He left to go refill the cup, taking the key with him.

Cedric leaned forward as much as he could, trying to reach for the bucket and see if there was anything useful in there, but it was a good foot and a half out of his reach. He quickly abandoned his effort before Lack could see.

Lack came back with a full cup of water, setting it on the chair’s armrest. “Do you take any critical medications?”

He doubted the demon would consider it critical, and he had bigger things to worry about right now. “Nope.”

“Good. That shit’s apparently annoying to get, and then they get mad at me for requesting it. Like they wouldn’t be even more pissed off if you died in the chair because I didn’t. Idiots.” Lack kicked the ground with irritation.

So Lack didn’t like his boss. Maybe Cedric could use that, somehow, but he wasn’t sure how yet. After he finished his sandwich and the rest of the water, Lack took the key back out. “I’m going to let you out of the chair so you can use the bathroom. Don’t try anything, because if you do, I’m going to have to watch you, and neither of us wants that. Drive’s right upstairs, you’re not escaping.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t. Sheesh.” The concept of running into Drive again made him feel almost ill.

Lack unlocked the last of his restraints, and Cedric did a full-body stretch when he stood up. Being locked into that chair for hours wasn’t nearly as bad as his burns, but it still took a toll. He turned around, finally able to see the rest of the basement.

His eyes immediately fell on a table pushed against the wall, terrifying instruments sat neatly-organized across it. Knives of all shapes and sizes and serrations, pliers, saws, a drill, a hammer and nails, and more. His stomach turned at the sight, knowing that it was likely meant for him.

He turned away, following Lack to the small bathroom on the opposite side of the basement. “Five minutes.”

Cedric nodded, throat choked up with nerves, and closed himself in the bathroom. There was no lock on the door. Even if there was, Lack could probably break the door down easily, and Drive definitely could. There was no window. Nowhere to run.

He stayed in the bathroom well after he’d finished washing his hands, letting the tap run until Lack knocked on the door. “Time’s up. Come on out.”

Knowing he didn’t really have any other choice, Cedric turned the tap off and opened the door. “You gonna put me back in the chair?”

“I’ll be back in six hours with more food and water,” Lack said by way of answer.

Cedric hesitated, staring reluctantly at the chair.

“Sit in the chair,” Lack insisted. “If it’s going to be a fight every time I let you up, I’ll have to figure out something that doesn’t involve letting you up. This is easier for both of us, so let’s just stick with this.”

“I gotta sleep in that thing? I don’t even get to lie on the floor?” Cedric whined.

Lack looked from his miserable face to the chair and back. “...I’ll see about getting you a pillow.”

He figured that was about as good as he was gonna get it. Cedric stalked back over to the chair and slumped down in it, too exhausted from his ordeal to try and fight.

“Thank you.” Lack locked his wrists and ankles back in.

taglist:

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#amow tropeathon 2023 #spy/military #interrogation #demon whumper #demon caretaker #caretaking #torture #burns #captivity #defiant whumpee #carewhumper #our hell on earth #whump #my writing #whump writing

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letthewhumpbegin · 1 year

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Heal Me - The Mandalorian

Fandom: The Mandalorian Characters: Din Djarin, Grogu Prompt: This was written for the prompt 'Magical Healing' for @amonthofwhump's March Trope-a-Thon. Requested by: anonymous Notes with request: i know it's not really magical healing but maybe Grogu using his force healing to safe Mando? possible set in season 1 where Mando didnt know about all of grogu's abilities yet? Word count: 828 Warnings: contains mentions of blood, stabbing and near-death experience

The moment the blade pierced his skin, Din knew he was in trouble. It dug deep into his side, right in between two parts of his armor, and wounded him badly. The mission he was on was fairly simple: retrieving a stolen item and returning it to its rightful owner, but this seemingly serious injury complicated things hugely.

Din stumbled back on board the Crest. Even though seriously wounded, he had managed to kill his attacker, but it had cost him plenty of strength. He already couldn't walk a straight line anymore without stumbling or losing his balance and having the sensation of nearly passing out.

Before he had set out on his mission, Din had taken good care to hide the Crest from view of passersby. It was unlikely for unwanted guests to accidentally stumble upon it, so for at least a little while Din should be safe here aboard his ship.

The entrance hatch fell audibly shut behind him, and that was cue for Din's strength to give out on him completely. He sank to the floor with a whimper in pain. The hand he had pressed against the wound to his side as he had struggled back to the Crest, came back worryingly bloody.

Din knew he was in a lot of trouble, because this was a big amount of blood. Too big.... And he was still losing more...

Where he first was still able to sit somewhat upright, he now slowly sagged sideways until he lay on his side. Din felt his strength quickly drain from him as more and more blood spilled from his wound. He made a feeble attempt to keep pressure on it, but his shaking hands wouldn't oblige much anymore.

Din suddenly felt so cold, like he had stepped into an ice bath. With every erratic beat of his heart, more blood was pumped through his trembling fingers pressed into the wound. He had trouble keeping his mind focused, and each breath he took seemed to provide less oxygen.

Through his blurry and darkening vision, Din just registered Grogu waddling in his direction. Oh, how he had failed the child! Because Din was sure now he was going to bleed out right here on the floor of his ship, and what would then become of Grogu?

"I'm sorry, kid..." His words were a breath leaving his lips, and with it his consciousness. Din was just aware of his hands falling involuntarily away from his wound, before his eyes fell shut and he expected never to wake up again.

---

Was this the paradise you were promised after death? Because, if it was, it was nothing as expected. You weren't supposed to feel bad there, and right now Din felt like had been trampled by a Mudhorn. His entire body hurt, but there also was a strange warmth coursing through him. He wasn't sure whether it was pleasant or not, but somehow it put him at ease and calmed a fear he wasn't consciously aware of.

Din slowly opened his eyes. He recognized the interior of his trusted Crest, and slowly came to the realization that he wasn't dead after all. But how was that possible? With the injury he had sustained, he should have bled out by now.

A soft coo caught his attention, and Din only now realized Grogu was sitting by his side. The little creature had his hands held gently against Din's side and looked fully concentrated on something. It took Din a few seconds to realize the source of the warmth spreading through his body, was Grogu's hands.

"What..." Din slowly moved his aching body to be able to see what Grogu was doing. To his astonishment, where just shortly before a gaping wound to his side had been, now was unbroken skin again. The blood stains on his clothes and the pool of Din's blood Grogu now sat in, were the only evidence there had ever even been an injury.

"Did you... did you heal me?" Din stammered. Grogu replied with another coo and a small flap of his ears, which Din took as confirmation. "How?" Din was dumbstruck and still struggled to fully comprehend what had just happened.

But an answer to that he didn't get. A sound like a deep sigh escaped Grogu as he slumped forward into Din's side, all energy spent from the effort of healing Din's wound. "Whoa, easy, kid." Din took Grogu in his arms and held him close to his chest, letting the little creature rest against the breastplate of his armor.

Din didn't understand a thing of this. He had always known there was something special about Grogu, but healing people? That was something else entirely.

Din remained where he lay, with Grogu in his arms, on the floor of the Crest. He slowly felt the strength return to him, but he wasn't sure whether his legs would already carry him again.

He didn't understand a thing of all this yet, but he knew damn sure that Grogu's inexplicable ability had healed him and that it had saved his life. And for that, Din was utterly grateful.

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#the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin imagine #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #whump writing #whump imagine #whump fanfic #whump fanfiction #grogu #the mandalorian blurb #din djarin blurb #amow tropeathon 2023 #fantasy #magical healing

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crash-bump-bring-the-whump · 1 year

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AMoW March Trope-A-Thon Day 4 - Fantasy (Magical Healing)

Hehehehe I love some good magical healing! I can't promise a whole ton of comfort here though c:

TWs: Gore, overstimulation

"Here--! They're--yes--Mar--Bast--"

Voices swam around Mariano, melding together in the too-bright darkness. He couldn't pick any one out from the others, even though one voice tugged at something deep in his chest and urged him to stay. Shadows shifted and warped in front of him, deeper darkness cutting through the red glow of his eyelids. He was outside, and it was daytime.

Hands were on him, heavy, too tight, painful, unyielding. They pulled and pressed and held and prodded, sending rushes of agony through limbs too heavy to move anymore. "This way--" Someone was shouting. "Hurry--he's--!"

Did he need to move? He couldn't. He wanted to, he tried, but even more hands were holding his wrists down. Something else, prickly and familiar tickled the back of his neck and the undersides of his arms, and he couldn't move to make it stop. He didn't think his stomach or chest had ever hurt so badly in his life.

"Claws--beast--"

There was another attack? Another monster? Mariano tried to talk, to ask questions. If there was another, then he needed to get up. He couldn't be lying down, not if the little town they'd been staying in was still in danger. He couldn't form syllables, though, barely managing a small noise that wavered and rose at the end.

"Shh." Someone said, and one of those many hands pressed to his forehead. There was hardly any force behind it, but Mariano couldn't move. He couldn't sit up. "Shh, don't talk. Stay still."

When Mariano finally managed to open his eyelids, he caught a glimpse of the village leader he'd met with that morning hovering over him. He'd told Mariano and Bastian something. There was something coming, a monster. They needed help. It was too big for them to handle. Why was he there now? Had they failed?

He looked scared.

The man placed one hand on Mariano's open, unrecognizable chest and slid the one on his forehead over his eyes. All at once, something rushed into him. Mariano gasped, deep and long and strangled, and all the hands holding him pressed down harder.

It felt like magic made of pure, terrible ice scraped through his body, raking away the aches and yanking bones and joints back into their places. It burned, rushing into his stomach and chest, easing the dizziness he hadn't realized had gotten so powerful. It pulled his skin, closing the too-deep gashes he'd gotten when the monster had swiped at him. Mariano choked, voice catching and breaking on a wordless, inhuman noise.

Bastian was roaring and snarling, somewhere nearby. "Stop! Stop, what're you doing to him?" His voice was thick.

"He's healing him. You need to lie back down, you're not looking so great either." Mariano knew that voice. Where had he spoken to them before?

Mariano twisted under the unfailing mass of hands, his vision filled with stars and colors as his own newly-surging heartbeat filled his ears. The grass below him felt impossibly itchy and soft all at once. His clothes were too rough and too warm and too sticky. His hair, messy and freed from the ponytail he'd tied it in, clung to his face in the worst way. Tears rolled down Mariano's cheeks, hot and wet as they cut through the blood that had started to dry.

"That doesn't look like healing!" Bastian sounded as afraid as the village leader had looked.

"It takes a lot to bring someone back from being torn open." There was just a rasp to it. It was so close, Mariano could almost put a face to it. "Look, see, watch his chest. He couldn't breathe like that before. Those ribs are fixed."

Bastian muttered something else. He didn't raise his voice again. Was Bastian okay? Mariano vaguely remembered blood, the thick metallic smell surrounding him, and Bastian screaming something. He remembered how hard it was to hold his sword towards the end, palms slick and dark, dark red. He remembered scaled hands, holding his face and stopping the world from spinning out of control.

As the horrid, cleansing winter finished sweeping through Mariano's body, leaving him tingling and curling in on himself, the hands stopped pressing him into the ground. They helped him, gently now, onto his side. Something soft was laid over his eyes, blocking the sunlight. The grass was still too much beneath his hands and face.

Was that pathetic, gasping whimper coming from him?

The hands that still tingled like ice pressed to his neck and hovered in front of his lips for just a few shaky breaths, before shifting to squeeze his arm and pat his side. "Stay down, Kingslayer. No trying to get up yet. I'm going to take care of Bastian." He raised his voice, sounding like he was looking away. "Someone, come get him inside."

"There, see?" That almost-familiar voice came back, soothing. "See, it was healing, you can't see his insides anymore. You both saved us. You stopped it. We wouldn't just kill him after that."

"You'd...be surprised at how many ungrateful people there are. Is it gonna suck that bad for me?" Bastian was quiet before he groaned. "Fine, fine. Count me down, but lie about it."

Two more hands slid under Mariano's shoulders and knees, lifting him up from the ground. As he was carried away, through a gap in the fabric Mariano saw Bastian's glittering arms writhing on the ground, clawed hands clutching the dirt. One of the village leader's hands glowed like the winter sun against his bleeding side, harsh and clean and unrelenting.

Ghosts of pains that no longer existed haunted Mariano, pulling a groan from his throat.

"I know, Ortiz, I've been there before. He saved me with his magic when a bear got into town once, and I got brave." The butcher? "He'll get your dragon all fixed up." It had to be the butcher. She had that rasp, and the muscle to carry him like this. She'd called him doll the other day, and it hadn't felt bad.

Dim light filled the gap that Mariano could see and he sighed as the outside cacophony of voices and sun and wind and noise faded. He hadn't realized he'd been so tense until his jaw relaxed. She laughed gently, lowering him down onto something soft and smooth and cool.

"Right?" The butcher said, her voice feeling like a balm against his ears. "Feels like your whole head is on fire afterwards, makes everything feel horrible." Carefully, she pulled his shoes from his feet and pulled his hair away from where his face was still covered. "We'll get you cleaned up in a bit. Just relax right now. Let your brain stop buzzing."

Slowly, with one thumb tracing a circuit over his other palm and the steady thrum of his pact in his chest, Mariano began to relax again.

#amow tropeathon 2023 #Fantasy whump #Magical healing #Gore #Overstimulation /#Mage of violence #Dragon of diamond #This one was SUPER FUN #I love healing magic that's warm and gentle but like what if #What if the further it has to drag you back from death the more it sucks #You know?#Or just what if it's super overwhelming in general?#Anyway Mariano hates healing magic and he'll deal with it but he'd almost rather just wait if it's all the same

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greatandquestionablecontent · 1 year

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more magical healing which is decidedly not comforting (edited)

sequel to this.

In which magic healing continues to SUCK, and we get some creepy implications about how this whole process works...

@amonthofwhump @for-the-love-of-angst “One of his meridians must have gotten damaged,” said a cool voice. “He went down almost immediately, and wouldn’t get back up. We had to drag him off the field.”

They always remembered how to come back, whether they wanted to or not, without understanding, without Andromeda to carefully guide their internal energy through the healing process and explain each part. It was just their own body, their magic carrying them along at an awful gallop.

Rather like mounting a horse for the first time in their memory, and discovering their body already knew how to sway and bounce along, even to dig their heels in to make the beast go faster.

If they could have stopped the process at this point, they would have happily adjusted to life without an arm.

Or teeth.

Or all the other missing and damaged flesh and bones and vessels. At some point before they’d even woken up on the battlefield, their heart had begun to repair itself, stitching itself back together so it could pump out more endless blood into the earth until the rest of their body caught up and sealed up all the surface wounds. And to replace each glass of blood, their bones cultivated another and another, just one more deep ache to add to the other agonies.

They were lucky that this same magic held them paralyzed, silent, stoic in their helplessness, or they would have given themself away screaming and weeping.

“Can’t you help him along?”

“I’ve done what I can.” It was the woman from before, her voice irritable. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“It’s my job to understand,” replied the other voice, an exasperated man. “We need him alive.”

“There’s only so much I can do without crossing his barriers, which are all up in full force. I could break them down, but that would only shock his system. He’ll recover on his own. When he’s back, he’ll be able to explain what happened.”

“Does he need to be supplied with more people, or…?”

“He’s burned through several already. Keep the prisoners nearby, and leave him be. If he isn’t talking again in… two days, I’ll see about intervening. I’ll be back to check on him again this evening.”

With that, the woman left. Even with their eyes closed and no audible sound of her walking away or closing a door, Delta felt her leave. This brought to their awareness that they could feel multiple presences still in the room.

She had been the one who found them, out in the woods, likely through this same sense. They’d mutely listened to her lecture about their disappearance, then followed her obediently into battle. Archel Constance, the soldiers called her, the only N’Vitri Delta had encountered so far.

“I feel for you,” said the man, with a dark chuckle. “She’s got a great bedside manner, doesn’t she?”

Delta still couldn’t open their eyes. Each breath rattled their body. They sounded like a plague corpse.

“Can… can he hear you, sir?” asked a new voice, timid and breathless, tight with pain. This must be one of the prisoners. Though the man and the woman came from audibly different parts of the coastline, this new speaker had an accent from somewhere else entirely.

Delta’s blood and teeth hurt too much to ponder accents.

“I’m not sure,” said the first man.

“Sir, may I ask… what if he doesn’t recover?”

And Delta could feel their fear. It was almost like a scent, something vague in the air that they couldn’t pinpoint as precisely as sound.

It excited something inside them, woke them up a little bit more. Their eyes opened, and they stared up at what appeared to be a red yurt ceiling, held up by bamboo rods bound in a circle. They didn’t dare turn their head.

“He will. They all do. I’ve seen one of the others come back after being blown to smithereens by a landmine. This is nothing. It’s just odd that he’s taking so long over something so small,” the man added, more to himself.

And here Delta had been starting to think they were doing quite well. Two days wasn’t bad — their best record thus far was twenty one hours.

“And if he doesn’t need us…?”

“I’m sure he’ll be hungry. If he doesn’t want you, one of the others will.” A rustling of fabric and clinking of metal as the man stood. “It might be in your best interest to beg him to kill you once he’s awake. Not all of them would grant you the mercy of a quick death.”

All this was said with such nonchalance, like offering advice to an amateur bargainer at the market.

The man left Delta alone with the prisoners, and an increasing sense of their tantalizing fear, their weak shuddering bodies, the internal energy that thrummed through them in beautiful, vibrant paths, swirling and throbbing in dozens of crossroads.

They thought they could feel all that force begging to be cut loose.

#pain vampires #in the mirror i saw who you could have been #trystan #fic #my writing #magical healing #amow tropeathon 2023 #whump

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