This is another Whumpay fic that I’m turning into a series. Reposting with the banner and character name inserted in anticipation of continuing this month during Summer of Whump!
He was thrown roughly to the ground, his rope-bound hands doing nothing to stop the fall. An instant later, the hands were on him again, yanking him up onto his knees, and the stifling, dusty bag was finally ripped off of his head.
Blinking at the sudden influx of light, he found himself staring at the legs of someone in an expensive, tailored suit. Jacob jerked his head back and scowled up at the middle-aged man they belonged to.
“Who are you? What do you think you’re doing, dragging me out here like this?” He had no idea where here was, but it smelled like horse.
Fancy Suit man had the gall to smile at him.
“Oh, a feisty one. How quaint. There’s always at least one or two looking for something like you.”
Jacob narrowed his eyes, trying to look as menacing as possible while kneeling and tied up. “I have no idea what the crap you’re talking about, but you’re going to regret this. You won’t get away with kidnapping me!”
“Oh, but darling...” Fancy Suit reached out and tried to grab his chin. Without even thinking, Jacob snapped at the hand, narrowly missing it. He received a backhand in return that cracked his head to the side, the man’s ring leaving an imprint in his cheek. Another hand fisted in his hair, jerking it back until he was staring the man in the face again.
“I have, I am, and I will.” Without ever losing that condescending smile, he waved a lazy but commanding hand at whoever had dragged him in there to start with. “Put him away.”
Immediately Jacob was pulled back to his feet by his arms and marched away. “Get your hands off me!” he snarled, fighting against the hold and digging his heels into the dirt.
For the first time, he noticed that he seemed to be inside a barn, with wooden walls divided into stalls lined up in front of him. It was to one of these doors that he was taken, one of the men reaching out to unlatch the rusty lock before they shoved him inside. He stumbled, but refused to fall into the dirty hay that covered the ground.
“What do you think I am, some kind of animal? There’s no way you’re keeping me in here like a - hey!”
His tirade was cut off by one of the goons shoving him up against the back wall while the other slid something around his neck. “Stop that! Get off me!”
He knew better than to think they’d actually listen, but he was still grateful when they both stepped back, despite feeling something tight around his throat now. He brought his hands up to grope at the foreign object. “What d-”
That was all he got out. Buzzing pain shot through his neck and into his face and chest, knocking him back into the wall. He squawked in surprise, and it happened again. By the time it stopped, he was on the ground, and one man was making quick work of tying his ankles together with the same rope that bound his wrists.
“Bark collar,” the other said simply, adjusting his trucker hat. “Ya might wanna shut up.”
A bark collar. Like for a dog. They really were treating him like an animal, and he wanted to scream and protest and fight it, but now he couldn’t.
Another length of rope was threaded through the one around his wrists, and despite him trying to pull away, it was tugged down to tie to the one around his ankles. He felt like a calf at a rodeo, trussed up and helpless.
Before they left, Trucker Hat shoved him over into the musty-smelling hay, leaving him to struggle to even sit back up and have the tiniest bit of dignity. Then he was alone, able to see open air right over the stall door but incapable of reaching the latch. And he couldn’t even scream against the absurdity of it all.
Warnings: restraints, captivity, dehumanisation, shock collar, asphyxiation, human auction
.
.
It was another day and a half before Jacob started to find out why he was there. During that whole time, he stayed hogtied in the stall, only being acknowledged when one of the goons came in to pour some water down his throat. The first time that happened he made the mistake of choking on it, and the sound set the stupid bark collar off again. The goon had just laughed at him.
On day two, when he was thoroughly bruised all over and aching from the cramped position, something started happening out in the barn. More and more voices filled the airy space, male mostly, but with a feminine laugh breaking through here and there. Jacob had no idea what was happening, but his heart rate sped up, regardless.
Then faces began appearing through the bars that lined the top of his stall. New faces, not any of the goons from before. Some glanced in briefly and moved on. Some stared openly, making notes on their phones. Others peered in curiously, smiling at him, leaning their heads in towards each other and exchanging secretive words.
He felt strangely like an animal in a zoo.
Part of him wanted to cower back into the corner, try his best to hide from the stares. But his pride wouldn’t let him. So instead he bared his teeth like the animal they seemed to think he was, trying to look as menacing as a mute, tied-up, sleep- and food-deprived, skinny blond guy possibly could.
He wondered if that was part of the reason some of them laughed.
The staring didn’t last long, thankfully. The faces stopped appearing, and the voices faded, though not completely. They sounded like they were standing outside of the barn, rather than in it. Somewhere close to him, a latch grated open, and there was a shuffling sound in the hay as a semi-familiar voice - Fancy Suit Man - rose above the rest, as if addressing the crowd.
For a long time nothing else really happened. Another voice spoke for periods of time, and every once in a while footsteps would enter the barn, and another latch would open. From the sound of it, they were opening each stall, drawing closer and closer to his each time.
Were there others trapped in here, like him? More importantly, what were they doing with them now? What were they about to do to him?
Eventually it was time to find out. Footsteps approached again, and this time the same man who’d laughed at him getting shocked the day before appeared at the stall door. Jacob glared at him as if that would change his situation at all.
The door swung open, and the goon quickly got to work untying the rope that connected Jacob’s wrists to his ankles. His heart was pounding for sure now. Maybe if he kicked out at the man’s face...maybe if he could get the stupid collar off…
He didn’t actually have any sort of plan by the time the rope came off. He tried kicking anyway, regardless of the fact that his ankles were still bound and he wouldn’t have been able to run anywhere, but the goon seemed to anticipate this, ducking calmly and catching Jacob’s leg in one, beefy hand.
“I’d break your ankle for that if it wouldn’t get me in trouble for damaging the merchandise.”
Merchandise?
There was no time to figure the statement out. Fingers were sliding down the back of his neck, in between the collar and his skin, and it was too much, too tight, the metal prongs dug holes into his throat while the black box they were attached to pressed up against his Adam's apple. He tried to gasp, but nothing came through. Instinctively he brought his bound hands up to the collar, groping at it, trying to pry it forward and give himself some air, but it was no use. There was no more give.
Through the fog of panic, he distantly registered that he was being dragged. Backwards, out of the stall, by the collar.
Black spots started dancing in his vision.
Just when he thought he’d surely pass out, he was thrown sideways onto gravel. He immediately sucked in a lungful of both air and dust, and began hacking until he thought a lung might spill out onto the ground any second.
He was still gasping and choking when a pair of hands grabbed onto the rope tying his wrists and yanked them up over his head, hooking something to it that pulled at the rope, scraping it across his already chafed skin. A second later, and he was jerked backwards.
And up. And up.
When the dizzying motion stopped and he was breathing somewhat normally again, he found himself looking out on the entirety of the crowd that had come by his stall earlier. They were all gathered around, watching, staring at him once again. And it was no wonder, because he was on full display now. It seemed they had hooked him up to the pulley on the front of the barn, the one normally used for hauling hay bales up to the loft. Now it was being used to keep him upright, toes just barely brushing the ground.
“Alright, folks, this is our last lot. Last chance to own one of these fine specimens for yourself, because I’m sad to say that after today I must move on to greener pastures.” Fancy Suit Man was standing somewhere to Jacob’s left, though he couldn’t crane his neck quite far enough to see.
“Now, I know a lot of you like to come to these events to find you a good laborer, but this particular lot I’d have to recommend for any of you who might be looking for...other purposes.” He finally appeared in Jacob’s periphery, gesturing to his body. “That’s not to say that he couldn’t be a good worker, eventually. He’s just gonna need a little...training. The shock collar you see him modeling might give you a good idea of what I mean.” He chuckled. “That’s not included, by the way. You’ll need to find your own creative method of shutting him up.”
Labor...other purposes…training? He didn’t know what any of it meant, and he didn’t want to. He just wanted to go home. He wanted his apartment, his bed, his leftover pizza, his cat Molly. He wanted to call his mom and tell her what had happened to him and let her lecture him one more time about the dangers of living alone.
He didn’t want to be here anymore.
“Alright, let’s start the bidding at $2,000.” The second voice he had heard before started up, quickly dropping into a drone of words and numbers that Jacob couldn’t keep up with. A white sign was raised, and the number changed. For a moment he couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t let himself wrap his brain around what was happening.
But there was no denying it, not really. He was being auctioned off.
A man in a trucker hat - not the goon, but another of several audience members wearing the style - was bidding rather fervently, egged on by the short, frumpy woman who hugged his arm. A few others joined in here and there, but after a while it came down to just that couple and one other man. He wore a hat, also, a Stetson that was pulled down far enough it left his eyes in shadow. There was never a twitch or flicker of emotion on his face, just a steady raising and lowering of the number twenty-eight sign in his hand.
Eventually, the man in the trucker hat gave up, much to his wife’s disappointment.
“And...sold! to Number Twenty-eight.”
Fancy Suit Man started blabbing on about his appreciation for the turnout, but Jacob was too busy being dropped to the ground and wrested off the hook to pay attention. The man in the Stetson approached, looming in the background while a couple of goons held him down. One started attempting to pull his wrists and ankles back together, despite the fight Jacob was putting up, while the other unhooked the blasted collar.
As soon as it was gone he shouted as loudly as he could, which wasn’t nearly as loud as he’d have liked, seeing as how his throat was practically mutilated. “Get off me! Get your stupid, filthy hands off me! I don’t belong to anybody, you can’t just sell me! I’m a human being, and you are all just sick, demented -”
The one who had taken off the collar joined the second and they were able to get him hogtied once more. They stepped back then, leaving him writhing in the dirt while Stetson looked on.
“Well, the boss did warn you. He’s a feisty one.”
Stetson’s stoic facade still didn’t crack. “I’ll take it from here.”
The goons stepped back. In one, fluid motion, Stetson reached down, grabbed hold of the shorter piece of rope, lifted Jacob off the ground, and slung him around his shoulder so that he hung against the man’s back like a sack of potatoes. He cried out in surprise and at the smarting pain in his wrists, glad he could do so now without getting the tar shocked out of him.
He continued to fight as he was carried away from the barn, bouncing, hoping he could make the man drop him despite knowing the fall would hurt. Nothing seemed to faze Stetson, though. They stopped after a minute, and the jangle of keys and creak of a tailgate being opened was heard. Then he was being tossed down onto a grooved truck bed and shoved deeper inside. Before he could get his bearings and try to scoot anywhere, the tailgate slammed shut, and a cover came down over the bed.
He was left in complete darkness, wondering where on earth he was being taken next.
Warnings: captivity, restraints, referenced human trafficking, beating, blood
.
.
It was a long, bumpy ride before the truck finally came to a stop and the tailgate dropped open, letting sunlight flood in. Jacob squinted against the influx, muscles tense, waiting for the hands to grab him and sling him around like an object rather than a person once again. Sure enough, Stetson’s silhouette appeared, and he was dragged forward and out by the same loop of rope. He hit the ground with a bruising thud.
Coughing, Jacob wiggled himself around until he could look up at his captor. Not owner, he refused to acknowledge the fact that he had been purchased. “Okay, seriously. What do you want with me? I’m just...I’m just a boring guy, I was just trying to get home from work, I don’t…” Stetson bent down, seemingly ignoring his rambling, and fiddled with the ropes. “I’m just a computer programmer. That’s pretty much all I’m good at. So, I mean, if you want me to work on your computer, I can do that, but -”
The ropes fell away from his hands and feet. It took a second of shock for the reality of that to set in and send him scrambling to stand up. He swayed slightly, body not used to being fully upright after two days and no food.
Stetson was just standing there, staring at him, maybe waiting to see what he would do. Keeping his hands raised in front of him, as if that would somehow ward off any more bad things happening to him, Jacob darted his eyes left and right, taking in his surroundings and looking for an escape route.
He was on a farm. That much was pretty obvious. There was another barn to his left, and never-ending green pastures beyond that. To his right, a dirt road that disappeared into the woods and around a curve.
The truck behind him was tempting, but he had to assume that Stetson had the keys. The woods were probably his best bet. If he could lose Stetson in the woods, disappear for long enough that he gave up looking, then maybe he could make his way back to the road eventually and find civilization.
Jacob locked eyes with Stetson for the space of two heartbeats, then bolted.
He’d only made it four or five steps when a hand snatched him by the collar of his shirt and threw him back onto the ground. Tiny rocks ripped little holes in his shirt and skin as he skidded through the red dirt. Before he could recover, Stetson stepped forward and slammed the toe of his boot into his ribs. Once, twice. Jacob cried out, rolling away from the assault and stumbling back to his feet, aching all over.
The man was still just staring at him. Getting more and more scared by the second, Jacob tried backing away, but he quickly ran into what he gathered, upon glancing back, was a wooden fence. His heart was trying to pound straight out of his chest. Stetson’s expression never changed.
He didn’t want to run to the left, toward the barn and farther into this guy’s property, but it was the clearest path at that point. Not that it mattered, anyway. Again he was grabbed, this time by the arm, calloused fingers digging bruises into his skin and propelling him backwards until his spine and head smashed into the side of the truck. The world spun for a moment, and before it could right itself a fist was buried in his gut.
Every bit of oxygen ceased to exist in his lungs. Doubling over, Jacob retched, eyes wide, brain completely stuttering to a halt as he desperately tried to draw anything into his starving lungs.
Stetson didn’t give him a break, though. He drove his knee into Jacob’s ribs, sending him to the ground again. Air was just beginning to trickle back in, and he tried to crawl away, fingernails digging down into the dirt. He was stopped by Stetson grabbing a fistful of his hair. Jacob whined involuntarily as his head was jerked up, eyes widening when he saw the clenched fist poised in front of his face.
“N-no, no, don’t -!”
The next couple of minutes were a blur of pain and dizziness. Stetson’s fist pounded his face over and over, until it was a complete mess of blood mixing with tears and snot and drool.
When Jacob could think and see somewhat straight again, he was on his back, watching clouds go by. It took far longer than it should have to realize it was actually him moving, not the clouds. Stetson was dragging him by the ankle, grinding rocks and dirt further into his skin, though that pain was nothing compared to the throbbing of his face.
He didn’t want to know where he was being taken now. All he wanted was to be done with this nightmare, but the iron coating his tongue told him that his wish probably wasn’t coming true anytime soon.
To all the new people who started following me this week for “The Barn” -
First off, thank you and welcome! You’re all lovely and appreciated.
Second, just an FYI that The Barn is…kind of an anomaly on my blog? The majority of what I write is lady whump and Voltron stuff. So, if you don’t want to see either or both of those, you may want to blacklist the tags “lady whump” and “voltron whump”. Or, if for whatever reason you decide you don’t really want to follow me but still want to read The Barn, feel free to ask to be added to the tag list!
alright since i have no idea what Voltron is (no offense lmao) can I request a five sentence fic for the Barn?
“Stop squirming or I’ll make you regret it.”
(if it doesn’t fit in with the story that’s okay!!)
None taken lol! Also for those of you who aren’t Voltron fans and are being flooded by this stuff - a. I only have like 2 left unless I get more sent in, b. You can always filter out the tag “voltron: legendary defender” and/or “voltron whump”.
And, uhh...story? Wait, The Barn is supposed to have a story? lol I have no idea where this thing is going I literally just went to pick up my sister from a horse show one time and went, “I wanna whump somebody in a barn”. So here we are.
——————
“Stop squirming or I’ll make you regret it.”
Jacob really wasn’t sure how much more worse the situation could be. He’d been kidnapped, sold at auction, beaten up, tied up, tortured...and now he was hanging from his wrists from the barn rafters, waiting for who knows what other kind of pain. And he couldn’t help the squirming. Everything on his body hurt. He just wanted to find a position that wasn’t complete agony.
He shifted again, ever so slightly, and Stetson threw down the tool in his hands and stormed off. Suddenly Jacob wasn’t quite as confident in the whole ‘how much worse can it get’ thing. His heart in his throat, he watched for the man to come back with some heinous punishment.
He was not disappointed. Terrified, but not disappointed.
With one swift movement, Stetson cut through the rope holding him upright, and he dropped gracelessly to the ground, groaning in pain. An instant later, both his wrists were gripped in one of Stetson’s gloves hands, while the other started to wrap a coil of barbed wire around his arms. Jacob hissed as the sharp ends poked and scraped his already sensitive skin.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do better, okay? I promise, no more squirming, just please, don’t do this...”
A backhanded strike across the mouth shut him up.
Stetson finished up only a minute later, leaving a hideous tangle of barbed wire winding between and around his arms all the way from wrist to elbow. Pulling Jacob easily to his feet, he hoisted him back onto the hook he had started out hanging from.
The wire dug in, blood ran down his arms, and Jacob screamed.
——————
Still accepting drabble prompts for The Barn, Overexposure, Querencia, In Irons, and Voltron!
