#juneofdoom

[juneofdoom]

June of Doom 2025 💣

By popular vote, here be the 2025 June of Doom prompt list for your doomsday planning!

Please feel free to participate with original or fan works of any kind (writing, photos, gifs, mood boards, videos, songs, whatever creative medium your heart desires!). You can do one or all of the prompts on any given day, and if none are to your liking, check out the alternate prompts!

Angst, hurt/comfort, and lighter/ funnier forms of whump are also welcome! Torture takes many forms. :)

Rules/ FAQ!

Tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

You can combine this challenge with other challenges!

You can start/ finish this challenge whenever the heck you want!

You can mix and match prompts from different days!

I'll post reminders and such the closer we get!

[Text List]

[AO3 Collection] - "JUNEOFDOOM2025"

And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog your awesome here! Have fun!

Previous Dooms: 2023 || 2024

[madmarsii]

Wolf and Little Goat

June of Doom 2025 | 9. Hammer

---

“You heard the story, right?” Whumper circled around Whumpee, swinging the hammer playfully. “About the baby goats?”

Whumpee sank deeper into the corner. He didn’t dare to breathe. Didn’t dare to look up.”

“Mother told them not to open the door to strangers. But they didn’t listen. Do you know who was waiting outside?”

Whumpee whimpered, curling in on himself, shoulders hunched like he could somehow disappear into his own body. Every beat of his heart slammed against his ribs, frantic, deafening—a terrified drumroll building toward a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. His breath caught in his throat as Whumper strode closer, his heart hammered faster and faster, so much so Whumpee hoped it might stop and spare him of what was about to come

“A wolf.”

Whumper smiled, his mouth full of sharp teeth. He moved closer to Whumpee, grabbed his wrist and yanked him to the middle of the shed.

Then came the blow, sudden and brutal. Whumpee didn’t even register the swing before agony exploded in his ankle. A white-hot burst of anguish shot through him, short-circuiting his senses. His vision blacked out, then flashed blindingly white as he screamed.

Pain.

This much pain will surely kill him.

“I told you not to run.”

Whumper’s words were in haze.

“I told you there would be consequences—but you had to be just like another baby goat, right?”

Whumpee couldn’t breathe. The pain was overwhelming. Monstrous.

“But we can play this game. Look,” Whumper grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head to the side. “Do you see that box? There’s wolf waiting inside.”

“Please,” Whumpee choked. “No.”

Whumper smiled again, his beastly teeth catching what little light there was . “You should run, little goat.”

---

I only took a little part of the prompt, but the story wanted it that way. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless <3

@juneofdoom

[sufrimientilia]

"It’s not as bad as it looks."

Bite | Swelling | Disfiguration @juneofdoom Day 5

cw: broken ankle, hypnosis, vampire whumper, hypnotized whumpee, see above

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Thrall sat hunched over at the base of the stairs, big round tears leaking from those big round eyes. “But I think- I think it’s broken.”

“Don’t be silly.” Vampire descended towards him, regal with every motion. So unlike their precious thrall, always clumsy and uncoordinated. One pale hand slid down the banister. “You aren’t that fragile, are you?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Master,” Thrall gasped out. His ankle definitely looked broken— it was so disfigured his foot twisted the wrong fucking way, and it hurt. It hurt so bad. It was the type of white-hot agony that caught at his breath and made everything spin, fire and needles all over his foot, so desperate to not even move out of fear of making it worse. “I didn’t mean to- I- I didn’t mean…”

“I know, I know. You got yourself all worked up, and now look at you.” Vampire loomed over him, a tall dark presence so imposing it was dizzying. His master always had the same effect— the kind that made everything distort around the edges with the catch of his gravitational pull, like Vampire’s proximity alone made it harder to focus and harder to breathe. Everything blurred as a cold hand came to rest on his head. “Poor thing, tripping down the stairs like that. You really should be more careful.”

It was as easy as that, rewriting impatient shoves into clumsy missteps, soothing away barely contained fear into helplessness. Vampire never hurt him; Vampire was here to help him, take care of him. Tears leaked off Thrall’s chin as a faraway look swept across his face. “I… I fell…”

“Such a klutz.” Vampire stroked a finger down Thrall’s temple. The dizzy feeling intensified. “Maybe you shouldn’t be going up and down the stairs without me, hmm? So dangerous for a human. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Thrall, glassy-eyed and numbed, gave a curt nod. When he looked at the stairs again, they stretched out before him— impossible and endless, going up and up and up. So very, very scary. He clung close to Vampire as they scooped him up into their impossibly slender arms, gasping as his disfigured foot left the ground. “Ahh-! It- it hurts.”

“Poor thing,” Vampire cooed. Thrall was practically weightless in their grasp, and they carried him down the corridor to a dimly lit room with plush furniture. Thrall gasped again when he was laid across the cushions. “There you are. You should rest now. I’ll help you feel better.”

It wasn’t like Thrall was given much of a choice about it. The dull thrum along the bowl of his skull intensified, everything churning until there was just warmth and syrup melting through his veins. It was easy to forget about the agony of his ankle as it gave way to a numb sort of throbbing, still disfigured and swollen and screaming somewhere far, far away, but conveniently tucked just out of his sight. He melted like putty. “Mmn…”

Thrall’s breath caught at the sharp pain suddenly piercing his neck. Vampire fed gently, indulgent but not greedy, gentle and cautious despite the damage already done. Sometimes a little bit of hurt just added some flavor. But now Thrall didn’t hurt at all, heat and warmth blossoming all over, eyes glazing and rolling until they couldn’t stay open at all. Paralyzed into the depths of bliss as a cold slender tongue lapped and lapped and lapped.

His ankle didn’t get set until hours later, when it was so swollen the task was nearly impossible. He blacked out for most of it and screamed for the rest. At least he had Vampire around to help him, to rub his shoulders and nuzzle his neck, to make it all feel better. His master always took such good care of him.

[autobot2001]

Training Accident

Author: Autobot2001 Genre: Fanfiction Fandom: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare Rating: G Warning: None Pairing: None Description: Jamie hits her head on the cement floor rather than the mat during sparring

Day 8; @juneofdoom; "How many fingers am I holding up?" Concussion

Ao3 or under the cut

Jamie didn’t hold back during training. She made everyone work hard to beat her, whether during sparring or running an obstacle course. Everyone loves the challenge. Today, Jamie is sparing with Soap. The Scotsman does his best to take Jamie down. They struggle to overcome each other. The others watch the sparing match. It takes Soap ten minutes to gain the upper hand. He causes Jamie to go down. Soap smoke fades as he watches Jamie’s head hit the cement flooring rather than the mat. The others worry as she lies on the floor, unconscious. Price gets on the floor and moves Jamie’s head to his lap. Time felt like it froze as everyone waits for Jamie to wake up.

It doesn’t take Jamie long to wake up. “How many fingers am I holding up?” Price asks. Jamie struggles with the bright light. Everyone knows that’s not a good sign. “I’ll take her to the medbay,” Ghost says. Ghost scoops Jamie up and carries her out of the training room. Jamie struggles with the blinding light.

In the medbay, Ghost lays Jamie on a bed. He takes off his hoodie and covers her head with it. Ghost then takes Jamie’s hand. A medic walks into the room. Seeing Jamie’s head covered has them thinking she has a concussion. They regret disturbing her but needs to do the proper test to confirm the concussion diagnosis. In under five minutes, a medic gives Jamie an official concussion diagnosis. The medic gave Jamie pain relief and allowed her to go to her quarters. The medic fills out the form to relieve her of duty for two weeks. Ghost takes Jamie back to her quarters.

Once the two enter the room, Ghost lays Jamie on the bed. There’s a knock on the door. Ghost opens the door to see Soap. “Can I come in to apologize?” Soap asks. “You don’t have to. It was an accident.” Ghost still lets Soap in. Soap sits on the bed and takes Jamie’s hand. “I’m sorry.” “It’s not your fault,” Jamie says. “I told him that, but he insisted on apologizing.” “It’s ok, Soap,” Jamie assures him. “I’ll kick your ass when I’m cleared for duty.” Soap smiles. He sits on the bed until Jamie falls asleep. “Do you want to stay with her?” Ghost asks. “No, you stay withher,” Soap smiles. “I’ll come back to check on her soon.” Soap leaves the room. Ghost sits on the bed, his back against the wall. He knows Jamie will be asleep for a bit, but he’d rather stay with her.

[bleeding-handprints]

Day 25 - Ransom

Filling all @juneofdoom prompts with exactly 100 word drabbles!

Two of the bandits grabbed him and threw him forward, making him topple over stiff legs and land hard on his stomach. He groaned as one of them pulled his left arm out from under him while the other knelt on his back and pinned down his right hand.

“We’re about to send our ransom note.”

His cheek scraped over the ground as he turned his head to see their leader approach.

“And we should start off the negotiations on the right foot, don’t you think?” They smiled, sending a chill down his spine. “Make the stakes clear, you know?”

[writinggremln]

June of doom 12 - "It's no use."

Locked Door | Carry | Lost

"God fucking damn it!" Hero slammed their foot against the door of their cell, the metal clanging loudly in their ears. "I swear to fuck, if you don't open this door right now-!"

They slammed their foot again. And again. And again. "Superhero, if you don't let me out right now-!"

They refused to cry, even out of frustration. Even if they were angry tears, Hero would not shed them. This wasn't fair... This wasn't fair, goddammit! Superhero did not get to teach Hero all the things they knew, only to lock them up using those same techniques. Superhero had no right to betray them, after they showed so much care for them. And Superhero certainly had no right to tell them that humanity was good and that heroes served to protect, only to back out of their promise when it mattered the most. They had no right.

When their feet were tired, Hero decided to pound their fists, not caring how much it hurt. After a while, they decided to take a short break and slammed their head against the door gently and exhaled loudly.

Are there even any guards outside? Or has Superhero abandoned me completely?

"It's no use, young one."

Hero jumped and swished their head behind them. Their eyes focused on the dark corner of the cell, their heart nearly jumping out of their throat when they realized someone was there, sitting in the corner, watching.

"Who are you and how long have you been there?" Hero demanded, getting goosebumps at the thought of not noticing someone watching her try repeatedly and fail to gather someone's attention. Especially in a small cell like this.

The figure let out a small chuckle. "Oh dear. I did not realize the heroes would've forgotten me so quickly."

Hero's eyes widened and they took a small step back. "Supervillain."

The figure grinned and stood up slowly, taking their time as Hero followed their movements with wide eyes. "That's right." The long figure of the villain stretched with a satisfied groan, their eyes meeting the hero's.

"But, but you disappeared." Hero's voice was meek to their own ears. Supervillain grinned.

"Is that what your beloved mentor told you?"

At the mention of Superhero Hero felt another wave of rage washed over them. "Yeah." They growled. "...Of course they did." They huffed and turned away, tears threatening to spill at this other act of betrayal. To lock them up was one thing. But to lock them up with Supervillain, of all people. That was a new level of low.

"There's no need to be afraid." Hero flinched at the sudden hand on their shoulder. "I believe we're on the same side now."

"Hah." The hero sniffed and wiped their eyes quickly. "Apparently."

The most feared villain Hero knew mercifully ignored their tears. Their hand stayed on their shoulder, squeezing slightly.

"Not to worry," they could feel the other's smile and shivered, "I have a plan."

[starry-night-author]

June of Doom Day #3

"Well, well, well..." | Hiding | Stalking | @juneofdoom

June Of Doom Prompt List

Hero had a hand clamped over their mouth as they hid beneath the desk, trying to quiet any sounds they could. Their knees were drawn up to their chest as tightly as possible as they listened intently to the room around them.

They could hear footsteps on the creaky wooden floorboards as Villain searched, looking under the couch and around the corners of the bookshelves.

It wouldn't be long until Hero was found.

"I know you're in here," Villain taunted, crossing directly behind the desk. Hero squished themself into a tighter ball. "I'll find you soon, Hero. And when I do..."

They let the threat suspend in the air, allowing Hero to only imagine what might happen.

Seconds later something slammed down on the desk, and Hero jumped with a squeak. Glancing up, they looked right into Villain's dark eyes.

"Well, well, well..." Villain smirked, leaning close. "What have we here?"

Hero swallowed.

Quick as a darting fish Villain's hand flew out, tapping Hero on the knee. "Tag!"

Hero lunged forward, catching Villain's ankle before they retreated. "Tag!"

"You can't tag me back that fast!" Villain protested, tagging Hero's knee again. "At least three seconds!" They called over their shoulder, already halfway out of the room.

Hero grinned, shaking their head as they retrieved themself from the desk and moved off to find Villain's hiding spot.

[otaku-girl-ao3-fics]

Merchandise | Sergei x Reader | 3.6k | M

Kraven | 3.6k complete | Sergei x Reader| Mature 30 days, 30 fics | Aaron Taylor Johnson character masterlist | AO3: Otaku_girl

Author's notes: June of Doom day 15: Please, touch starved

Summary: What if Sergei chose to return to the fold and joins the family business? As the heir of the Kravinoff empire, it’s time for him to start taking on more duties, and to learn about just how many different sources of income their family has. When a routine visit to check out a new shipment at the docks takes an unexpected turn, Sergei is forced to decide what matters to him more: His morals, or his family.

Merchandise

Footsteps echo across wet concrete as they make their way through the warehouse. “Any complications?” Nikolai asks, voice clipped, barely sending their escort a second glance. 

The man in the high viz outfit — clearly a dockworker on his payroll, Sergei thinks — looks down to his clipboard, flicking through the pages, pen darting between neatly printed lines. Sergei sees the moment his confidence flickers, uncertainty entering his gaze. No, not uncertainty; trepidation. 

“One container was seized before the crossing from Calais.”

The rhythmic click-click-click of dress shoes across concrete comes to an abrupt halt. Cold blue eyes turn towards the worker slowly, Nikolai’s gaze unblinking. “How many?”

The dockworker shuffles through the pages on his clipboard, pen running along the neat little lines of text before he reaches what he is looking for. “It was one of the forty footers, that puts us at… around a hundred and ten down?”

Something flickers across Dmitri’s face and Sergei’s eyes turn towards him. Nikolai catches the movement and Dmitri carefully straightens out his face. “I thought we were keeping the numbers below eighty after what happened in Cartagena?” Dmitri says, voice steady and measured. 

Nikolai’s face remains unchanged. “Why would I decrease profit margin after one little accident?”

Dmitri takes a steadying breath. “Those containers can comfortably fit somewhere between fifty and—” 

“You have much to learn still, Dmitri.” Nikolai turns his back towards his youngest son, pace resuming. Soon enough, the four reached a container separated from the rest. A chair — comfortable, plush, expensive, completely out of place — sits towards one side of a little clearing between the containers, a simple metal folding table beside it. Nikolai sits without prompting, head turning towards Sergei as he does.

“As you shall soon be in charge of this part of the family business, it is only right that you take the lead. Check the merchandise. Anything too damaged, put to one side. Anything that seems out of place? To one side. We do not need the hassle of such stock. Have one of the men dispose of it. As this is your first taste of this side of our business… you may select one for yourself. Test it out as long as you like before returning it with the rest.” Nikolai sits back in his chair, elbow resting on the table casually, chin propped up neatly. There is a sharpness in his eyes, something that sets Sergei on edge. There is something he is missing. Something that he needs to get to the bottom of and fast.

“Isn’t that bad business, tasting the merchandise for ourselves?” Sergei said, eyes flicking between Nikolai and the container, wondering what on earth it could be with such figures as Dmitri had mentioned. Surely his father wouldn’t be foolish enough to try trafficking exotic animals? Surely going on actual hunts was enough to satiate his desire for such things, wasn’t it? 

Nikolai waves a hand dismissively. “You are young man. No reasonable man expects you to hold back. Go, go. Choose one. Look everything over closely; if any are too damaged and you fail to spot? I shall insist on more thorough vetting next time. Do you understand?”

Sergei’s brow furrows. Before he can say a word Dmitri steps forward, neatly taking hold of Sergei’s elbow. “He understands, Papa. Let me help show him with the first few what he should be looking for.” 

Dmitri leads him forward before either man could speak, tightly taking hold of Sergei’s elbow and leading the way. As they approached the container Dmitri waved for the man at the doors to open it up, pulling Sergei to a halt beside him. “I cannot believe they didn’t open the doors yet. It’s been here for hours. The temperature…” he shakes his head, cutting himself off. 

“What the hell is going on here, Dima? What the hell has Papa gotten us into?” Sergei’s hissed question falls on deaf ears. Dmitri’s eyes remain locked on the end of the shipping container as metal screeches, the door opening. Sergei moves as if to go forward and Dmitri’s hold on his arm tightens. He shakes his head. 

“They’ll come to us.”

Read the full fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66592474

[fairyniceyeah]

💎🍚Eyes on you, eyes on me

Title from Eyes on you (SEVENTEEN)

Summary: While playing a game Jeonghan gets hurt. Jihoon blames himself. - A rewriting of Day 21: "Let's play a game" from Woozi’s perspective.

CW: injury, guilt

Whumpee: Woozi/Jihoon (+ Jeonghan) Caretakers: Hoshi/Soonyoung + Wonwoo

Let’s play a game, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

Jihoon was most definitely not having fun. Not even in the slightest. 

He had long overcome any insecurities surrounding his height, knowing it would be his downfall if he let it get to him. Most of the time it didn’t bother him that he was shorter than most male idols, even some female ones. He’d been able to brush it off with grace, enduring the bit of teasing that wasn’t worse than what Mingyu received for his clumsiness, Seungcheol got hit with just for being the (albeit very pouty) leader and Dino because he was the maknae.

So normally he didn’t mind and he wasn’t about to start getting insecure now.

If anything though, he was angry. Angry at the staff that had hung the signs for the Chaos game this Going Episode just out of his reach. They should have taken his height into consideration, just like people considered that Jun, Minghao and Joshua sometimes couldn’t follow very fast conversation and game explanations or considered the injuries any member had at times.

And he was angry at Hoshi who kept teasing him. He knew deep down that his best friend didn’t mean it at all, in fact he was probably trying to make the episode fun and simultaneously trying to lighten the mood seeing how Jihoon was getting more and more worked up. But right now, it didn’t help Jihoon in the slightest. In fact, it made it worse.

“Should I get you a box to stand upon?”, Soonyoung asked cheekily, winking at Jihoon.

Yeah. Funny.

“Leave it, Soonyoung”, Jihoon mumbled, feeling his nerves fraying.

It was going to be a humiliating episode for him for sure. And he hated getting humiliated unlike Mingyu and DK who he was sure had some form of humiliation kink. Okay, damn, his thoughts were really falling apart.

Even worse, his whole team was probably going to be the butt of Carat’s jokes soon. Vernon, oblivious as fuck, barely was any help and Jeonghan, their only hope, had gotten caught by their general leader when he had tried to cheat.

“Come on, you normally don’t care about being vertically challenged”, Hoshi teased further.

Something in Jihoon snapped at his words. Why couldn’t Soonyoung read the room and leave him alone?

“Go screw yourself”, he snarled, not caring at all that the whole part would need to be edited out due to his use of curse words. He was rather glad.

He wasn’t proud of his actions, of shoving his shoulder into Soonyoung’s chest as he stomped past, but at the moment he couldn’t care less about the hurt look he saw on the dancer’s face.

💎

He stood by the stairs leading down to the ground floor, taking deep calming breaths so he wouldn’t snap at another member or staff, when he saw the sign with the number 17 high up by the stairs. Wait, that was the number their team was looking for!

There was no way Jihoon was going to be able to reach that. He didn’t even need to test if he could reach it by standing on his tip-toes. It was much too high. He’d have to bite the bullet of asking for help.

Ashamed with how he had treated Hoshi, he knew that he couldn’t keep holding onto the anger boiling inside him. It was a team game and he was a team player. After taking another deep breath he called out for his Jeonghan-hyung. 

If anything Jihoon knew he needed Jeonghan to keep him in line should he get snappish again and he wouldn’t take it to heart like Vernon might. Since both of them were the same height it didn’t matter anyways.

When his hyung approached, Jihoon helplessly gestured up at the sign out of reach. 

Jeonghan actually groaned and mumbled: “I hate this game.”

That was just plain unfair. He didn’t get to be pouty too. Right now, Jihoon felt like he deserved to be the only one complaining. He crossed his arms over his chest aching with guilt and annoyance.

“You’re telling me that?”

Jihoon was stunned when he felt Jeonghan patting his head, cooing at him. It was plain rude and he was starting to feel angry again. He understood it was for fan service, yes, and that this section might need to be on camera since they were about to actually do something. Besides, he had already ruined one shot. So to keep himself from cursing at the older, he hit him - maybe a bit harder than strictly necessary - to satisfy his need for violence.

Even then all Jeonghan said was: “Cute.”

Okay. Two could play this game.

“You’re just pissed that you were caught cheating”, Jihoon said.

“I am not”, Jeonghan lied. Jihoon was sure of it. “Only that Seungcheol betrayed me like this.”

Yeah, that had been very unfair of the general leader, Jihoon had to admit to it. Jeonghan may have broken the rules, but again their team consisted of lazy Jeonghan, short Jihoon and confused Vernon while tall Seungcheol had annoying Hoshi and fucking tower Mingyu. It was deserved extra help.

As always Seungcheol started to pout when he heard his full name, yelling: “Hey. Stop pouting. You deserved that!” all across the house.

“Shut up”, Jihoon and Jeonghan called back.

Jihoon crossed his arms again, seeing that Jeonghan followed his example. Now that Jihoon saw Jeonghan stand next to him he felt a bit better. There also was no way that Jeonghan could reach that paper. It made Jihoon feel a bit better about himself, though he would never admit it. 

After staring at it for a few moments, Jihoon’s patience ran out. “What are we gonna do about that?”

“I suppose, I could try balancing?”, Jeonghan suggested. 

Did his hyung have a death wish? Jihoon whirled around to stare him down, disbelief cursing through his veins. How did Jeonghan think that would go?

“Are you crazy? You’ll fall.”

“I won’t.”

💎

Jihoon was about to reply something along the lines of “mighty last words” when Jeonghan just stepped forwards and stood on his tip-toes to reach the paper. His fingertips were nearly comically far away.

“Hold me”, he ordered and grasped onto Jihoon’s hand before he had even the slightest chance to tell his hyung how big of an idiot he was. All he could do was beg him to stop.

“Hyung, don’t!”, he called out, unashamed of his voice slightly trembling. Jeonghan was crazy. They were on the top of a long flight of stairs. If there was one thing the active toddler in him remembered was his parents telling him to never mess around with stairs. You could break your neck, sweetie, or worse. Be careful, please!

Jeonghan, apparently, never had had that particular lecture. He probably had been too lazy to be running around stairs as a child already. But at least common sense from the smarter than average man should tell him it was a terrible horrible idea. Yet, he just held onto Jihoon and edged further and further over the abyss below. 

“Hyung!”

Jihoon held tighter onto him, not willing to let his friend fall. His palms were sweaty and he could practically feel Jeonghan slip further away from him. He may have started working out a few weeks ago but that didn’t mean he could already hold onto a grown-ass man, a grown-ass man much bigger than him no less. Especially not on top of stairs.

“Hyung!”

Jeonghan grabbed onto the paper and for a moment it seemed like maybe Jihoon had been a bit too overly cautious and that they would succeed after all. But then, as Jeonghan tore off the paper, it wasn't enough. No matter how hard Jihoon tried to pull them back up, he wasn’t strong enough. Not to save both of them.

“HYUNG!”, he screamed, their hands torn apart. For a moment Jeonghan’s face seemed frozen in front of him, various emotions painted on his face. Surprise. Shock. Fear. Desperation. Then he fell.

💎

Jihoon’s knees exploded in pain as he fell forward, only his body’s instinct to lean backward stopping him from falling down the stairs as well. 

When he managed to recover from the shock of pain all he could see was his hyung - his loving, doting, smart, amazing, kind, gentle, sweet, helpful, mischievous hyung - laying broken at the bottom of the stairs, managers, staff, members crowding him and then hiding him from Jihoon’s sight. 

He couldn’t control the scream that was torn from his throat.

All Jihoon wanted to do was rush down the stairs to Jeonghan, check on him, see if he was … alive. He surely was alive, wasn’t he? 

You could break your neck, sweetie, or worse.

Jihoon couldn’t move, no matter how much he wanted. It was like he was rooted to the spot, frozen to the ground, set in stone. Everything was blurry.

💎

Suddenly strong arms wrapped around his chest and pulled him back, causing him to fall backwards and collapse into the person. He gasped, throat raw, and then he blinked up at the person. 

His blurred sight - it was only then when he tasted the salty tears on his tongue that he realised he was crying - showed he was cradled in Wonwoo’s lap, the older man holding him tightly. Next to him sat Soonyoung who looked about as scared as Jihoon felt, but much more determined. 

“Jihoon-ah?”, Soonyoung asked gently and held onto Jihoon’s hand. 

For a moment Jihoon swore he could feel Jeonghan’s hand slipping from his again.

“Jihoon-ah? Are you injured? Does something hurt?”, Soonyoung asked and when Jihoon could only stare at him, chest heaving, he cupped Jihoon’s cheek in his hand, his thumb wiping away the tears.

Normally Jihoon would have killed Soonyoung for even thinking about doing anything like this but right now it was the most comforting thing in the world. 

Slowly he shook his head. The pain in his knees had lessened mostly and he knew there was nothing they could do against the bruises there. 

“Jeonghannie-hyung?”, he asked instead, before he was even aware he would ask the question, “is he okay?”

Wonwoo and Soonyoung exchanged a glance that made the blood freeze in Jihoon’s veins. “Please, is he okay?”

“Jihoonie”, Wonwoo finally said and held him tighter, “we don’t know yet. But paramedics are on the way and the others are taking care of hyung right now. We should focus on you.”

Take care of him? Jihoon didn’t understand. He was fine.

“You’re not fine, baby”, Soonyoung said with a sad smile, “you’re pretty scared, huh? I think you may be experiencing a bit of shock right now.”

All Jihoon could do was nod. He didn’t have the strength to lie and he did feel pretty shocked. 

Suddenly Soonyoung let go of him. Jihoon gasped, not wanting to lose the contact. He didn’t want to lose Soonyoung too.

“Hey, hey”, Soonyoung said, sounding a bit further away, “I’m not leaving you. I’m just gonna elevate your legs for a bit, okay? Just until you feel a bit better. Just breathe, okay?”

Jihoon nodded and closed his eyes. Soonyoung’s hands were warm against his calves and he was not only elevating his legs, he was soothingly patting Jihoon’s ankle, giving him something to focus on. His head was still resting in Wonwoo’s lap and only now did he notice that Wonwoo was gently stroking his hair and softly humming a song. 

Ulgo sipji ana

💎

Jihoon let the older members take care of him for once. His heart still hadn’t stopped pounding in his chest and he noticed he was shivering. He was terrified, shocked like Soonyoung had said. He couldn’t bring himself to move, to look, to go to Jeonghan for now. He was too scared of what he would see. He didn’t want to lose Jeonghan. He didn’t think he could ever stop the self-blame if something bad had happened. Why hadn’t he been stronger?

It took a while for Jihoon to stop crying and trembling. It passed like the blink of an eye, an eternity at the same time. Slowly Wonwoo helped him sit up, Jihoon’s back against his chest. 

“Breathe, Jihoon-ah.” The producer could hear the older’s chest rumble as he spoke in his gentle, kind voice. “You’re okay. Hannie-hyung will be okay too.”

You don’t know that, Jihoon wanted to shoot back. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words.

You could break your neck, sweetie, or worse.

“I want to see hyung”, Jihoon said, his voice more determined than he felt. “I need to see hyung.”

“Okay”, Soonyoung replied gently and let go of Jihoon’s legs, “let’s go.”

He stood up and reached his hands down to help Jihoon up. With Wonwoo’s hand on his back and Soonyoung holding his hands, Jihoon shakily got to his feet. His knees buckled a bit under him but he managed to stay standing. 

Soonyoung never let go of Jihoon as they slowly walked down the stairs together, Jihoon’s gaze fixed on the steps. He didn’t know how he would react when he saw Jeonghan and he didn’t want to cause Soonyoung to fall down the stairs too if he freaked out.

💎

Once they were at the bottom of the stairs, Jihoon noticed that the bubble of people surrounding Jeonghan was gone. Instead only Minghao was kneeling by their hyung’s side. The younger member was stroking away the tears on Jeonghan’s face. Jihoon didn’t know if they came from pain or shock. Some strands of hair stuck to Jeonghan’s cheeks that Minghao carefully peeled away, gentle as always. For a moment Jihoon could only watch. Jeonghan looked much more peaceful than he had imagined but it was still scary to see him so still.

“Please be more careful, hyung”, Minghao whispered, “it was terrifying. I was taking a break and was watching you and Woozi-hyung. Seeing you fall so suddenly … I … you really scared us today.”

Jihoon swallowed. He hadn’t even had thought about what the situation would do to the other members - he had only thought of Jeonghan and himself. He imagined it must have been so scary, maybe the suddenness of it all even more so than to Jihoon who was involved in the situation.

“I’m sorry, Eissa. I didn’t think”, Jeonghan mumbled. But Jihoon couldn’t believe the next words his self-sacrificing idiot of a hyung said “Are the others okay?”

He didn’t hesitate to interject, stepping forward, away from Soonyoung. His voice came out less angry than he had imagined, weaker than intended. 

“So much is clear. That you didn’t think, I mean. Do you know how terrifying it was to feel your hand slip out of my grip and see you fall?”

Jihoon sat down and wrapped an arm around Minghao who had startled at his sudden appearance, letting the scared younger member rest against him. Even if Minghao was acting strong, Jihoon could see how he was scared and he wasn’t as heartless as some people thought him to be. 

Only then did he finally look at Jeonghan, barely able to meet his eyes. I wish I could have saved you, hyung. I wish I had been stronger.

“I’m sorry, Jihoon-ah”, Jeonghan apologized quietly. “I never wanted to make you go through that.”

Jihoon didn’t really want to hear the apology. He didn’t think he could accept it yet. He knew he should have been stronger. But he also knew Jeonghan never should have played with his health, his safety like this. As loath as Jihoon was to admit it - this was Jeonghan’s fault in a way. He had decided to play. He had trusted Jihoon to hold him - and Jihoon had failed him - but still it had been his decision in the beginning to even try the stunt.

“I know, hyung. Please don’t be so reckless in the future”, Jihoon just said. I’m sorry.

But he couldn’t say those last words, because suddenly the door was flung open and paramedics rushed into the room. Jihoon squeezed Jeonghan’s hand tightly, hoping it conveyed the apology, and stepped back. Immediately Soonyoung was there, wrapping him in his arms again.

💎

Now all they could do was wait and hope that their Jeonghan would be fine.

Masterlist links: Fairy's Masterlist 2024 Fairy's Masterlist 2025 Fairy's Masterlist - SEVENTEEN

[theraichu]

Summary:

When Beca hurts herself while practicing choreography during a Barden Bella's training session and Chloe helps tend to her injuries, Beca falls even more in love with her secret crush.

Tags, Warnings, and Rating are under the 'Keep Reading'.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell Characters: Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale, Aubrey Posen Additional Tags: Pitch Perfect 1, Pining, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Beca Mitchell has a crush on Chloe Beale, Oblivious Chloe Beale, Minor Injuries, Carrying, Touch-Starved, Beca is Touch-Starved But Does Not Realise, Swearing, One Shot, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

@juneofdoom  

[juneofdoom]

What up, whump fam?!

June of Doom 2024 Prompts!

We've brought back some old favorites/ popular prompts from last year with a healthy dash of new!

Please feel free to participate with original or fan works of any kind (writing, photos, gifs, mood boards, videos, songs, whatever creative medium your heart desires!). You can do one or all of the prompts on any given day, and if none are to your liking, check out the alternate prompts!

Two rules this year!

As with last year, tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

[AO3 Collection] - "JUNEOFDOOM2024"

Text list below the cut for easier crossings-off. And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog your awesome here! Have fun!

“Help me.”                                        | Failed Escape | On the Run | Fetal Position |

“It didn’t have to be this way.”             | Scream | Double Cross | Made to Watch |

“Well, well, well…”                            | Hiding | Ambushed | Stalking |

“Does that hurt?”                               | Impalement | Fracture | Punishment |

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”                 | Bite | Swelling | Disfiguration |

“They don’t care about you.”               | Flinch | Broken Promise | Abandoned |

“What happened?”                            | Nightmare | Isolation | Stumbling |

“This is your last chance.”                    | Drowning | Chair | Prisoner Trade |

“I made a mistake.”                            | Accident | Acceptance | Blame |

“Can you hear me?”                           | Fear | Smoke | Phone Call |

“We’re out of time.”                           | Bleeding Out | Collapse | Flatline |

“I can’t stand seeing you like this.”        | Dehydration | Grief | Coma |

“Wait!”                                             | Sacrifice | Adrenaline | Cornered |

“What were you thinking?”                  | Surrender | Human Shield | Outmatched |

“Get me out of here!”                         | Rescue | Chainsaw | Presumed Dead |

“At least it can’t get any worse.”           | Secret | Stranded | Setback |

“You don’t want to do that.”                | Struggle | Blackmail | Desperate Measures |

“I’m fine.”                                         | Self-defense | Allergies | Headache |

“This can’t be happening!”                  | Sobbing | Straitjacket | Dissociation |

“I can handle it.”                                | Scrape | Panic Attack | Neglect |

“Let’s play a game. “                           | Stairs | Pressure Points | Trap Door |

“What’s the bad news?”                      | Poison | Bedridden | Cauterization |

“You’re doing great.”                         | Trembling | Gaslighting | Rules |

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”                  | Blankets | Stitches | Bandages |

“I should have listened to you.”           | Guilt | Backseat | Failure |

“Don’t lie to me.”                               | Rage | Choke | Paranoia |

“Or what?”                                       | Defiance | Display | Last Resort |

“Say something.”                               | Numb | Cold Shoulder | Gag |

“I’m so cold.”                                    | Delirium | Fever | Exposure |

“Breathe, damn you!”                         | Shock | Asphyxiation | Emergency Room |

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

“Who did this to you?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not okay.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“You poor thing.”

Attending Your Own Funeral

Broken Glass

Mask

Whip

Obedience

[madmarsii]

Hold me tight

Omg, guys, I forgot to post this!

June of Doom 2025 | 15. "Please" (blindfold—fall—touch starved)

---

Part 1

Hero didn’t realize they were falling until it was already too late. The world tilted, crooked and bent, and suddenly up was down and down was up—

Then, gentle hands caught them, steadying them with surprising ease.

“Hello, there,” said the Villain, voice smooth like silk and far too familiar.

Hero was too exhausted to muster annoyance. All they wanted was to postpone their inevitable collapse until they were back home, ideally face-down on the thin mattress in the corner of their room. But encounters with villains never ended with rest. Usually, they meant losing the little sleep Hero was allowed to have.

“Please,” they mumbled, blinking heavily. “I need to get home.”

“I’m here to help, love,” Villain patted them on the head. “You almost sound that you forgot my little promise.”

Oh. That.

Even though seeing Villain’s place was a tempting offer, Hero didn’t have time for that.

“I can’t,” they said, rubbing their eyes. “I have to be back at work in four hours.”

They checked their watch again, as if it would change anything. They really needed to go. Any second wasted here was another blow to their already sleep-deprived body.

“I called to your job and said you’re sick.”

“No you didn’t!”

“Yes I did. Told them you’ve come down with something nasty and shouldn't be out in this weather. They were quite sympathetic, actually.”

Hero fumbled for their phone, panic prickling up their spine. "You didn’t. You can’t just—this is bad, Villain. I need to fix this—"

Villain caught their wrists gently, pulling their hands away.

“People are dying, Villain.” Hero failed to keep their voice steady.

“Yes. And they’ll keep dying. With or without you running around. You can’t stop that.”

“But—“

“No buts. You don’t have to die with them today. Now, come.”

Hero didn’t know what urged them to comply, but they did. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the softness in Villain’s voice. Either way, they didn’t resist as Villain guided them to their car, almost savouring the gentle touch on their wrist.

Villain opened the driver’s side door and picked up two black cotton bands from the seat.

“The blindfold?” asked the Hero.

“So you do remember.”

“What is the second one for?”

“Your hands.”

“We didn’t agree on this.”

“I don’t want your picky fingers anywhere near the blindfold.”

This was stupid idea. Letting the Villain blindfold them, tie them up… they were stupid. Yet they turned and clasped their hands behind their back. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“I can’t promise that.”

The knot wasn’t anywhere near tight. Hero could probably wriggle out with little effort, if they wanted. They stayed put.

The ride was quite long, but the Hero suspected Villain took some unnecessary turns to further confuse them—not that it would be needed. Exhaustion fogged Hero’s thoughts until they couldn’t focus on anything except the quiet hum of the engine and the soft rhythm of bumps in the road.

At some point, they dozed off, the black blindfold grounding them in comfortable darkness—and soon after, they were rudely waken up again, when the car stopped and the humming sound of the engine died.

Hero felt Villains touch on their arms, as they guided them to lean forward, their fast fingers working on the binds to release their hands.

“And my eyes?”

“Not yet.”

They were helped out of the car, steady hands keeping them from stumbling as they were led forward.

 “Careful. Stairs.”

Inside, once the door shut behind them, it finally weighted down on Hero what they have done: this was very, very stupid idea. They stood motionless, blindfolded, heart hammering. I’m so dead.

But the Villain quickly undid the knot on the blindfold. The soft piece of fabric slipped from their face and fell to their shoulders.

Hero blinked.

The space was... beautiful. All the windows were covered with blinds or heavy curtains, but the interior was spacious, clean, and warm. So unlike the chaos Hero usually associated with Villain’s name.

Villain gently took their hand and led them further in, to the bedroom. “On the bed.”

“Do you like bossing me around like that?”

“Very much.”

Hero laughed, startled by the sound of it. This was getting ridiculous. They shouldn’t be here. The villain shouldn’t be doing this.

But that was the thing about villains. They never cared about what they should or shouldn’t do.

Villain climbed onto the bed behind them and, with a quiet sigh, wrapped their arms around Hero’s torso.

Hero didn’t mean to lean into it… yet they did. They were so tired. Every muscle in their body ached, each bone felt brittle… and the Villain was so warm. They felt tickling breath on their neck, beautifully slow, even and calm.

“When you wake up,” Villain murmured, barely above a whisper. “I will make you watch a cheesy rom-com while I prepare you a breakfast.”

Hero laughed softly. It sounded perfect.

“You want to poison me?” they teased.

“Come on, again?” Villain’s hand moved, slowly rubbing circles into their shoulder blade.

“It is fair for me to assume-”

“Don’t be stupid.”

They shifted behind Hero, not pulling away. Just adjusting, pressing closer, like they could warm Hero from the outside in. Their hand settled at Hero’s chest now, over their heart. Hero’s never been held like this—ever. And they knew, by now, they would always let Villain tie their hands and cover their eyes, if it meant to be touched like this.

---

And I managed to fill the entire prompt!

@juneofdoom

[aceship-sconesterprise]

June of Doom 2025 Day 7; @juneofdoom

7. “Watch out!”                                    

| Explosion | Crush Injury | Trap |

~

When all hell broke loose in engineering, Scotty didn't know where to help first. So many crew members were calling for him as they tried to solve the problems the attack was causing everywhere.

Engines were exploding, systems were crashing and there was so much to do that the chief engineer had to do his best not to lose track.

He ran from one corner to the next, shouting orders across the room and taking care of the most important tasks himself. Keenser stood by his side as best he could and the Scotsman knew that he could rely on his Roylan friend. That was the only reason he allowed himself to run to the nearest intercom to inform the captain about the current status of the ship. And, of course, to get information about the current situation in the battle.

"Engine room to bridge! Bridge, come in!"

"Bridge is listening, Mr. Scott."

Scotty frowned. It wasn't Kirk's voice that answered him, but Spock's.

"Mr. Spock? Where's the captain?" Scott asked, confused, and the Vulcan explained what had happened. Jim had said that he couldn't just sit idly in his chair and had therefore made his way to the engine room to help.

The words brought back bad memories for Scotty. Memories of how the captain had died once before to save the ship. Memories of a pale, dead body that the chief engineer had to drag out of the decontamination chamber. He shuddered at the thoughts before shaking his head and refocusing. He didn't have time to pause!

"All hell is breaking loose down here and ... we can use all the help we can get, I suppose. What's the situation up there? Is this bloody battle about to end?"

"Negative, Mr. Scott. The battle will continue for another forty minutes, I estimate."

Scotty groaned and let out a Gaelic curse. Another forty minutes in which he and his people had to keep everything going. Forty more minutes in which who knows what could happen.

"Scotty!"

A familiar voice sounded from nearby and Scott jerked his head around. He saw Jim running towards him. And he saw something about Jim that he didn't like at all.

"Captain! Watch out!"

Without really thinking about it, Scotty rushed as fast as he could to his captain and pushed him roughly out of the way.

Only to be buried under a falling piece of debris himself. The Scotsman screamed in pain as the piece of metal crushed his entire lower body beneath it. He lay prone, unable to move.

Jim knelt down in front of him, his arms raised as if he thought he could lift the huge piece of metal with his bare hands alone. He shook his head desperately.

"Scotty! Oh, shit! No, no, no. I didn't mean to–"

"Get help, ye bloody eejit!"

Scotty didn't want to yell at his captain – much less insult him – but the pain and adrenaline were making his blood boil.

Immediately Kirk was on his feet, nodding wildly. He looked around and then took off running.

"O-of course! I will. Hey! We need help here!"

Scotty closed his eyes and tried to breathe away the pain. He just had to concentrate on breathing, just like his mom had taught him when he was a wee lad.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

But no matter how often he told himself everything would be okay, the pain remained unbearable.

Nearby, he heard the intercom. Spock asked for him several times, demanding information about what was going on.

Scott smiled bitterly. He really would have loved to answer, but he wouldn't be able to move a single inch.

"Here he is! We've got to get this thing off him somehow." Jim's voice still had a slight tremor in it, but the words sounded very much like orders again.

"T-that's not so easy, sir."

"We have to cut it to size first and–"

"Then stop talking and do that! Mr. Scott needs to get to sickbay as fast as possible!" Kirk raised his voice and the crew members reacted immediately. They took all the necessary steps while the captain knelt down next to his chief engineer again.

"I'm so damn sorry, Scotty. I should have been more careful."

Scott laughed weakly. He could feel the pain threatening to overwhelm him. Not much longer and he would lose consciousness.

"That's why the captain belongs on the bridge and not in the engine room," he slurred.

The memories of Jim's death surfaced before his eyes once more and Scotty sighed.

At least this time he had protected his captain. The engine room was his world. Down here he was responsible for the ship and the crew. It was his area of responsibility. And for that very reason, it had been his duty to save Kirk.

"I was just trying to help," Jim mumbled, almost like a scolded little child.

Scotty chuckled softly and he reached out and patted the captain's arm.

"Then help from yer captain's seat."

He heard Spock's voice once more, emphatically calm wanting to know what was going on, and groaned.

"And tell yer first officer to shut up, please."

Jim laughed weakly and nodded.

"I will. I'll tell him what's going on and then I'll call Bones."

With that, the captain stood up and walked over to the intercom. Scotty could still hear him talking to Spock, then the roar of blood in his ears grew louder and it wasn't long before he lost consciousness. But he knew he could rely on his crew.

They would get him free and then McCoy would patch him up. Everything would be all right.

[autobot2001]

A Worried Captain

Author: Autobot2001 Genre: Fanfiction Fandom: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare Rating: T Warning: None Pairing: None Description: Price worries about Jamie's infected wound.

Combining @medwhumpmay day 9; infection/ sepsis @whumpay; alt 3; Gosspip/ bullying @juneofdoom day 2; "I'm worried about you." infection

Under the cut

Recently, Jamie faced bullying from new recruits. Unknown to them, Jamie is used to being bullied. Though it’s been years, she can ignore it. This action angers the two recruits. As Jamie walks down the hall, the two recruits tackle her to the ground. “We don’t like that you’re ignoring our bullying,” one recruit says. The two attack her. “Break it up!” Price yells, but before the two men can be pulled off Jamie, one of them stabs Jamie. “Shit, Jamie!” Ghost and Soap pull the two men away from Jamie. Price examines the stab wound on her abdomen. It’s not deep. After telling Ghost and Soap to take the two recruits off Jamie, Price takes her to the medbay.

Once the medic tends to the stab wound, Price goes to deal with the recruits.

“Why are you defending the weak woman?” One recruit asks. “You realize I can take that as sexual harassment and sexism?” Price asks. “Two things we don’t tolerate. I am warning you two. Do I make myself clear?” “Yes, sir,” they both reply. “Now get out of my sight.”

Two days pass. Jamie feels unwell. She lays in bed, sleeping. Price walks into her quarters, concerned that she’s not sick with a cold. Jamie feels warm to the touch. Price checks her healing wound. “Shit,” he mutters. “Jamie, wake up.” Jamie wakes up. “We’re going to the medbay.” Price lifts Jamie and carries her out of her quarters.

An hour later, Price learns that Jamie’s stab wound is infected. She’s gbeen iven an injection of antibiotics and a bottle of antibiotics tablets for two weeks. Jamie isn’t happy about her two-week absence from duty. Price takes Jamie back to her quarters.

“Do I need to stay here to ensure you’re resting?” Price jokes. He sees how tired Jamie is. For now, she’ll rest, but Price suspects that in a few days, she’ll feel well and refuse to rest.

Price sits on the chair by Jamie’s bed. He knows she’ll be asleep for a few hours, but he’s worried about her. Jamie’s faced worse, yet this infected stab wound, inflicted by a recruit, troubles him. Price lifts Jamie’s shirt enough to see the infected wound on her abdomen. He sees how red the skin is around the wound. The area feels warm to the touch. Price feels he didn’t do enough to keep the wound from getting infected. Despite the medic clearing Jamie to rest in her quarters instead of admitting her, Price remains concerned about the infection.

As Price expected, Jamie didn’t want to stay in bed once she woke up, so he had difficulty keeping her from training.

The next morning, Price goes to Jamie’s quarters and sees how unwell she is. She feels warm to the touch. He observes the contained infection and then sits, awaiting Jamie’s awakening. “I’m worried about you.” Jamie feels unwell when she wakes up. She sees Price sitting by the bed. “Did you even sleep?” “Yes.” “You’re worrying too much.” “You know how serious this could turn out,” Price scolds. “I’ll worry until the infection clears.” Price sighs. “I’ll go get some breakfast. You need to eat.” Price leaves the room.

After a detour talking to a medic in the medbay, Price goes to the mess hall. He goes into the kitchen to make eggs and toast for himself and Jamie. “It’s odd seeing you worry,” Soap comments from behind Price. “I worry whenever someone gets hurt, you know.” “True, but not like this.” Price sighs, “You’re right. I feel responsible for her injury. Those recruits were fucking bullying her. I don’t know why she didn’t tell me. If she felt she couldn’t tell me, that’s on me.” “I doubt Jamie blames you.” Price finishes making breakfast. He puts two plates and cups on a tray and carries it to Jamie’s quarters.

Price puts the tray on the desk and hands Jamie a plate containing scrambled eggs and toast. He also puts two cups of tea on the nightstand. Price sits on the chair by the bed, holding his plate. He watches Jamie eat before eating his own food. “I guess you’ll be resting now,” Price jokes, watching Jamie put the plate on the floor and lay down. “Shut up,” Jamie says, but Price can hear how unwell she is. After arranging the dishes on a tray, Price picks it up and departs.

Soap waits for Price to enter the kitchen. The sergeant tells the worried captain he’ll stay in Jamie’s room if he’s worried about her and would rather have someone with her. Price knows Jamie will be asleep, but he’d rather Soap be with her. At least until he knows the infection is clearing up.

Soap walks into Jamie’s Quarters and sits on the chair by the bed. He lifts Jamie’s shirt to see her infected wound. “No wonder he’s worried,” Soap comments. “Plus, how a recruit stabbed her. I know you’ll be ok, Jamie.”

[bleeding-handprints]

Day 17 - Begging

Filling all @juneofdoom prompts with exactly 100 word drabbles!

A nasty grin settled on the bandit’s face as he stepped closer.

“Let’s see if that little bitch learned her lesson.”

He thought he was going to be sick. As if she hadn’t suffered enough. As if she wasn’t hurt enough.

“Please, don’t.”

“Please, don’t,” the bandit imitated his slurred words.

“You’ll kill her,” he said, focused on the movements of his mouth and fighting back tears in an attempt not to look even more pathetic. “Please. You can’t—”

Be that cold-hearted. The words got stuck in his throat as the bandit’s cold expression sent a shiver down his spine.

[sufrimientilia]

"Help me."

Failed Escape | On the Run | alt prompt: “Who did this to you?” @juneofdoom Day 1

cw: referenced captivity, noncon drugging, violent death, mind control, see above

His breath came harsh and fast, pulse beating high in his throat. He didn’t have enough blood in his body for this type of exertion, but it didn’t matter. He pushed and pushed, kept running even if he could barely see straight, fueled by nothing but spite and desperation and the sheer panic buried deep in his bones.

The hypnosis was usually enough to keep him from even considering it. The chronic blood loss prevented the rest. There hadn’t been a day in weeks where he had been lucid enough, and able to walk, and completely alone all at the same time. This had been his only chance. He wasn’t about to fuck it up.

The village wasn’t far. He had counted the seconds from the car rides down winding roads, every turn made past the sounds of civilization, every step he needed to make to get back. He thought about the way to freedom every time he could think, and right now it was the only thing rushing through his mind. Freedom, freedom, freedom.

Glass doors burst open. The chime of hanging bells gave a cheery announcement of his entrance despite just how erratic he looked—whipped by branches, disheveled by wind. Pale and sweaty and trembling all over. “Help-“ he gasped out, barely able to catch his own breath. “Help me. Please. I… Do you-… do you have a phone?”

It was a little after sunrise, probably just minutes after the quaint diner opened, and there were only two, three people there: a waitress, a cook, and some man at the counter with freshly poured mug of coffee. For a split second, they all stared at him like he was batshit insane.

The waitress was the first to react in earnest. “Oh my, dear— are you alright?” She set aside the pot she was carrying and moved around the counter with a cautious sort of haste. Like approaching a skittish animal. “What’s goin’ on?”

He knew what they all saw. Wild eyes, pale sunken skin, those garish bite marks and bruises and friction burns all up and down his arms and neck. He didn’t think about grabbing something at least long-sleeved before taking off. “I just… I need to make a call. Please.”

“Why don’t you take a seat, son?” The man sitting at the counter suggested, concern written into his weathered gaze.

It was refreshing to be around genuine empathy— so refreshing it caught him off balance, had him staggering forward until the waitress reached her hands out to stop him, his breaths so ragged and weary he could barely catch up. He didn’t fight as kind hands directed him into the nearest booth and dark spots scattered all over, noises going muffled in one giant roar. His elbow caught the edge of the table and he ducked his head. “Sorry… m’sorry.”

Maybe he wasn’t as ready for this as he thought. Still, he’d made it this far, and this seemed like far enough. For now.

“…how…for help…him some water…” Voices floated down from somewhere overhead, a broken frequency of noise fading in and out.

He needed to get himself together. Slow long breaths, his pulse slowing down. In and out, in and out. He wasn’t sure how much time passed until a glass of water was placed in front of him, but he took it with shaking fingers and guzzled it down in one go. More fluids in his body was a good thing right now.

“Who are you runnin’ from? Hmm?” The man was somewhere next to him now, offering that overbearingly concerned took and prodding for information like he had asked a few times over. “Talk to me, boy. Who did this to you?”

“Someone bad,” he breathed out, and then he shook his head. He couldn’t say more than that. “A phone… please. I jus’ gotta make one call.”

“We’re gettin’ you some help now, don’t worry.” The man was trying to be reassuring, but he was too close, too close too close too close too close—

He looked up and saw the waitress standing somewhere further back with the cook. She was talking on the phone. Maybe they were doing the reasonable thing and calling 9-1-1, which really wouldn’t be the worst idea… except it was immediately clear they weren’t.

Call him paranoid. But he’d been in captivity long enough to distrust faster than he could catch his own senses.

he’s here he’s here he’s here

He pushed to a stand. “Fuck—”

“Woah, hold on now—“

He shoved past the man and stumbled out of the booth. “No, no! I can’t stay here… I can’t…” Everything tilted one way, and then the another. He staggered in tandem and just barely caught the nearest table for support, clashing into some chairs. “What the—“

The lights brightened into slim glittery bursts. Everything slowed to a blurry haze.

Oh. The water.

The man caught his shoulders when he swayed all the way sideways. “Careful now. Jeez, you really ain’t well. Just take a seat, alright?”

“Jus’ lemme go,” he protested, words coming out heavy and uncoordinated. Like swimming through syrup thick in the air and thick in his veins.

“Of course. I understand.” The waitress’s voice floated closer, so calm and pleasant. She was still on the phone. “Yes, we’ve got the situation under control.”

“Under control? I think he needs an ambulance!” The man demanded. “Who are you talkin’ to?”

It took one horrifying realization and the next to piece together that the man really did have good intentions here.

The man was the only one with good intentions.

The waitress moved in one smooth motion and stabbed the man in the throat with a kitchen knife. Her chirpy attitude didn’t skip a beat, smiling wide as he went toppling over and crashing into the tables, one ugly gurgle following him on the way down. She had that same dumbass head-in-the-clouds look that usually came with a vampire’s compulsion. “Of course, Mistress. I’ll keep him safe in the meantime.”

“Ffu- fuck,” he sputtered out, lurching back so suddenly that the only direction was down, down, down. Hard cold tile against his face.

The waitress wrapped up her phone call, and then her voice floated from somewhere overhead. "Careful now. Let's get him somewhere comfortable."

He tried to drag himself away from the reach of grabbing hands. Like paddling through the deep end. "No..."

Of course. Of course of course of course she’d have the entire town hypnotized. The locals, not the poor randoms passing through— not that writhing heap of limbs down here on the ground with him, blood going slick and sticky over tile.

He should’ve known. He should’ve kept going.

The thought floated away from him. Everything floated away, became distorted and indistinct, so heavy and muddled it no longer made sense. Hands pulling him somewhere, streams of color dragging into tails, warmth drifting sideways slipping sinking buried into darkness.

Darkness that lingered, festered, and receded right back into her arms.

Like he could ever get away.