It’s a month long challenge in November that focuses on whump and like themes.
Rules.
1. Tag appropriately. If your content contains mature/heavy themes, violence, etc, tag it to warn people.
2. AI-created content isn’t allowed. Put actual thought and effort into your content.
3. Incest content isn’t allowed.
4. Don’t be a jerk. If you see topics and/or themes or ships you don’t like, keep scrolling/ignore it. Don’t like, don’t read.
5. Original works aren’t allowed. This is just for fandom-related content.
6. Don’t combine prompts. Period.
7. Don’t use old content. Only new content for this event.
8. Tag me @sammccallfan, with your content if you decide to participate, and I’ll reblog.
9. You don’t have to do all the prompts.
10. A03 Collection: Whumpvember
Whumpvember: Back From The Dead (Will Halstead x Reader)
Will’s head felt like it was going to explode, agony tore through his right side as he pressed a hand to his temple and came away with crimson fingertips. His wild curls were matted, flattened against his scalp. The world spun, the stench of gasoline hung in the air, flooding his nostrils. His lap was showered in glass. He didn’t understand, he tried to remember what had happened.
You had been driving because he had just come off a double in the Emergency Room. The two of you on your way to his father’s cabin in Wisconsin. You’d told him to get some sleep on the way up because you were planned on wearing him out all over again. You’d pulled out of the parking lot of the grocery store, asking him to grab you some gum from the glove box and then…
Impact and the grinding of metal.
He tilted his head towards you. Your head lolled into your shoulder; your eyes closed. Blood was trickling down your face from a gash across your hair line. Your skin was pale, the colour leeching from your face. The steering column was crushed around your body, wedged into your chest and abdomen.
“Darling.” He drawled, his voice cracking as he unclipped his seat belt with trembling hands. “Darling?”
He shifted in his seat, managing to twist his hips so that he could reach out. He pressed his fingertips to the hollow space just beside your windpipe.
Nothing.
“Hey darling don’t do this to me alright?”
His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb ghosting over your cheek bone. He thought of the ring in his rucksack. A simple silver band, one diamond in the middle framed with two emeralds, the colour of clovers. He’d been planning on proposing tonight, out by the lake under a moonlit sky. He knew how much you loved seeing the stars outside of the city.
You moaned, a choked breathless sound that rolled from your lips as your eyes began to flicker open.
“Will…” you murmured.
His name had never sounded so sweet.
“I’m here darling.” He whispered, hearing sirens in the distance. “I’m right here.”
realized I never put anything here about it, but I’m doing Whumptober this year in November because I was very busy last month. I did a twitter poll and the demons over there voted for all 31 prompts in one fic, so I’m writing one stupid fic where newly-christened Wonder Duo bkdk get hurt a whole lot (sound familiar? kind of my brand) and I’m posting preview snippets every day as I write it in this thread. Standard whump/injury/villainous content warnings apply. The whole thing will go up at the end of the month, or early December if I need to take some time to edit it.
A sonic burst loud enough to bring Peter to his knees, to make Tony in his armour stagger back against a wall. It lasted for only a second before War Machine broke through the ceiling and quickly dispatched the bad guys.
Peter had the fight in play-by-plays in his head. The entrance (kicking down the door), the fight (long and bloody) and the moment before the sonic burst, where the bad guys argued, one of them yelled that they didn’t know what the device did yet, and another said screw it, do it anyway.
Then it went off.
And Peter’s ears were still ringing after the police had surrounded the warehouse and Tony was helping Spiderman walk out of the building. The Channel 6 news was just pulling up to call for a statement when Peter groaned, shaking his head.
“You alright there, kid?” Tony asked, the helmet having receded into the rest of the armour.
“No,” Peter muttered, then frowned. Had he meant to say that? “My ears still hurt.”
“I’ll call the doc to meet us at the tower,” Tony replied, glancing back to see Rhodey in the War Machine get up talking to the head police officer on site. Then he looked back to the news crew approaching. “Oh crap.”
“What?”
“Katherine Everhart.”
“What about her?” Peter asked.
“We fucked once.” Peter looked up at him suddenly, a confused expression on Tony’s face. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Katherine Everhart appeared in Peter’s peripheral, the camera rushing along behind her. “Mr Stark,” she announced, “Spiderman. Christine Everhart, can you give us a statement about what happened here today?”
Peter looked to Tony, still in his mentor’s grip. “You got her name wrong.”
“I know I got her name wrong,” Tony replied, quiet, despite Christine’s raised eyebrow. “There were bad guys, we took them down.”
“Lots of bad guys,” Peter agreed.
“Do you know what organisation they worked for?” Christine asked, following along as Tony and Peter limped to the edge of the property.
“Yes,” Tony said. “It’s-”
“Classified,” Rhodey interrupted suddenly, appearing by Tony’s side. “Nice to see you again, Miss Everhart. We’ve gotta go. You okay to fly, Spidey?”
“Oh?” Peter asked, looking to Rhodey. “I’m okay to fly though I might throw up over Brooklyn if I do.” There was a beat, then Peter added: “But I’m wearing my mask so I’ll probably just throw up in my own face.”
Rhodey and Tony both blinked at him and Christine seemed lost for words.
“We should get going,” Rhodey announced, and as soon as Tony agreed, Peter was gripped tightly by the Iron Man armour and they shot off across New York.
Peter didn’t vomit during the trip, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying.
-
“Still in pain?” Tony asked when they reached the medbay.
Peter yanked off his mask to sit on the bed as Tony pulled an MIT sweatshirt on. Peter shook his head. “My ears don’t hurt anymore.”
“That’s good,” the doctor said with a nod, before starting the check up.
Peter squinted at Tony’s sweatshirt. “I like it,” he said when Tony raised an eyebrow.
“I stole it from Rhodey,” Tony replied. “I don’t know where my one is.”
The doctor checked Peter’s ears and gave him a full body scan, before frowning at an area of his brain lighting up on FRIDAY’s systems.
“Have you taken any drugs recently?” the doctor asked without looking at him.
Peter shrugged. “Not recently.”
Tony raised a pointed eyebrow. “Does that mean you’ve taken drugs not recently?”
Peter blinked. He knew the right answer was to say no, but- “How recently is not recently?”
“Peter.”
“Mr Stark.”
The doctor clicked at the keyboard in the background as the two of them stared off.
“Peter, have you taken recreational drugs before?”
No. Of course not. Never in my life. “Yes.” Jesus Christ, Peter. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
Tony stared at him and Peter wasn’t sure if he could work out the rage from the confusion. When he spoke, he did so incredibly slowly. “Peter Benjamin Parker. What recreational drugs have you taken?”
Peter’s mouth didn’t want to move. He didn’t want it to. He would do anything to just not open it and say: “I smoked weed a few times and then I went to a party and I think I tried E-”
“PETER-”
“-But my metabolism meant I couldn’t really feel the effect of it so it was like I didn’t take it at all.”
The room was entirely silent. Even the doctor was staring at Peter.
“I didn’t mean to say that, either.”
Just as Tony opened his mouth to no doubt ban Peter from drugs, drinking, Spiderman and possibly TV for the rest of his life, the doctor interrupted. “What do you mean, you didn’t mean to say that? What did you mean to say?”
“I meant to lie,” Peter replied with zero hesitation.
“Has this been going on for long?”
“Just since I got here, really.”
“Did anything happen on the mission to affect you in this way?”
There was a pause before Peter looked over to Tony. “That sound,” he said. “There was a noise – it took me down. Mr Stark got hit with it, too.”
The doctor nodded slowly. “And now you keep speaking without meaning to. You keep telling the truth when you don’t want to.”
“Yeah.”
The doctor turned to Tony and tilted his head. “Mr Stark, I’ve been told you’re fourteen months sober. Is that true?”
“No,” Tony replied, his eyes growing wide at how his mouth moved so fast. “I’m like three and a half weeks sober.”
“Mr Stark!”
Tony looked at Peter with his jaw clenched. Still, he said, “Being sober is really difficult. I went about four months without a drink and that’s my record.”
The room was silent, the three looking between each other as it dawned on them what was going on.
“Well,” the doctor said, moving back to his keyboard. “It seems you two can only tell the truth. I’ll call the team in to start working on a fix, but I do recommend you don’t leave the tower in case you say something you usually wouldn’t.”
“I’ll be fine,” Peter said.
The doctor raised an eyebrow but didn’t look away from the screen. “Peter, are you Spiderman?”
“Yes.” Peter blinked. “I see your point.”
-
Tony and Peter sat across from each other at the kitchen table. A few floors down, the doctors were working on the fix, while Rhodey had been sent away and Vision – well, Vision was never there anyway. Tony had given his phone to the doctor and gotten him to text May that Peter was staying the night – he really didn’t need Peter blabbing to May when she was the one person who had higher authority than Tony about whether Spiderman was allowed to come and play or not.
So they stared at each other, neither wanting to speak in case they said something they shouldn’t – but Peter should’ve recognised the look on Tony’s face, that he had a plan brewing.
“So, kid,” Tony started.
“I don’t want to do this,” Peter interrupted. “This is a bad idea.”
“You got a girlfriend?”
Peter glared. “No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“You got a crush on anyone?”
Peter tried to hum to keep his voice at bay, but he still said, “There’s this guy in my Lit class.”
Tony raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Is he cute?”
“Yes and I’m not doing this, Mr Stark. We should spend the rest of the day apart until the doctors can fix this.”
“What if they can’t?” Tony asked, though his voice was toying. “What if we’re stuck telling the truth forever?”
“Then you and Pepper are going to have to start going to marriage counselling,” Peter replied.
“We already go to marriage counselling and we’re not even married yet.”
There was a pause. “Really?”
Tony shrugged to look as if he was indifferent about it, but he averted his gaze all the same. “Yeah.”
“How come?”
“I fly around all day in a tin can. I worry her a lot. It’s healthy, apparently, to go to therapy for that.”
Peter hesitated, then, “You’re really not fourteen months sober?”
“No.”
“You never told me.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. Pepper and Rhodey don’t know, either, though I should probably tell them.” There was a long silence, in which the clock in the kitchen ticked every second and Peter wished they were closer to the ground so he could at least focus on the street noises. Peter understood when Tony changed the subject. “You never told me you were interested in boys.”
Peter shrugged, but he found himself staring at the table. “You never asked.”
“That’s true.”
“That’s how this works,” Peter replied. “I was planning to tell you eventually, but it’s not a big thing, you know? It’s just… part of me.”
“That’s cool. It’s part of me, too.”
Peter raised his eyes to see Tony’s face, but he didn’t need to really. Tony could only tell the truth.
“The press likes to forget that time I dated like four male models at once.”
Peter cracked a smile. So did Tony.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the drugs?” Tony asked, immediately making Peter frown.
“Because I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me. Why did you ask me that? I thought we were having a moment.”
Tony sighed, then tipped his head back with a huff. “You wanna watch a movie?”
“Sure.”
“Anything to stop talking.”
They watched the first movie that came up on Netflix – which happened to be some sappy rom com. Neither of them paid much attention, hyper aware of the other and this curse they’d been afflicted with.
At some point during the film, Peter had started leaning against Tony’s side, and Tony had swung an arm around his shoulders.
“Tired?” Tony asked.
“I’m always tired.”
“Did you sleep much last night?”
“For like an hour,” Peter replied.
On screen, the main couple were arguing. In about twenty minutes they’d get back together again, so this really meant nothing to Peter.
“The drugs really didn’t affect you?” Tony asked, making Peter roll his eyes.
“Really,” Peter said. “I got a little happy for like a minute and then it was gone.”
“Why’d you take them?”
“I wanted to have fun. Would you mind waiting to ask these questions until I’m capable of lying?”
Tony snorted. “I’d mind.” Still he quietened until the main couple were finally kissing and making up and ready to walk off into the sunset together. Then he said, “I’m not gonna be disappointed in you for that sort of stuff.”
“You’re not?”
“It’s hypocritical, I guess, considering everything I’ve done and the lying about sobriety. But, Peter – I’ll be disappointed if you think you can’t come to me about it. If you think you have to lie to me.” On screen, the main couple started singing. Up to this point, the movie hadn’t been a musical. “I want you to be able to talk to me. To trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
“You do?”
“You’re like my dad, of course I do.”
Peter’s eyes widened and he stared steadfastly at the screen and pointedly not at Tony. You’re like my dad? Peter, stop talking.
“Would you, uh, would you mind repeating yourself there, buddy?”
“I’d mind.”
“Peter. Do you consider me a father-figure in your life?”
Peter turned to glare at Tony, who seemed particularly amused with the situation. “Yes,” he ground out.
Tony smiled and Peter shuffled until he was facing the screen again. There was a pre-choreographed music number with a large ensemble. Peter wasn’t sure they were watching the same movie as five minutes ago. He felt Tony pull him in close, his chin resting in Peter’s hair.
“Good.”
Peter’s voice was quiet. “Good?”
“Yeah, Pete. Good.”
He knew he’d regret asking if he didn’t like the response, but Peter Parker had never had a filter even before he could only tell the truth. “Mr Stark, do you consider me a son-figure?”
Tony didn’t hesitate, and all the warmth he could muster went into the words. “Yeah, Peter. I do.”
-
When Peter got up the next day, the first thing Tony asked when he walked into the kitchen was, “Hey, kiddo. What’s your crush’s name?”
“Uh… That’s confidential,” Peter replied.
Tony grinned at him. “I’m gonna find it out anyway, but it’s nice to know the truth thing wore off.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh, no way! I’ve never taken drugs before in my life! May’s cooking is great! The US military budget is not big enough! Mr Stark! I can lie again!”
Tony laughed. “Sure can, kid. You want pancakes or waffles?”
“Waffles,” Peter said, then when Tony moved, “That was a lie! I want pancakes! Mr Stark!”
“Yeah, like that’s not gonna get old real quick,” Tony muttered, moving to make the pancakes. Peter landed on the stool at the kitchen island.
“This is great,” Peter said. “I’m gonna lie so much. I’m gonna evade every question. I never realised how much I took it for granted.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Peter.”
“Mr Stark.”
“The truth thing lasted less than 24 hours, it’s not like we spent a year with it.”
“Sure, but I’m not gonna let my lying ability go to waste.”
“You’re terrible at lying, though.”
“Which is why I’m so happy to finally be able to practice again!”
Overhead, music filtered into the kitchen, Tony cooking at the stove and morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Peter rambled off every lie he could think of, while Tony rolled his eyes, smiling.
“I like Flash as a person. I’ve killed a man in cold blood. I’ve gone to the moon. I didn’t totally have a crush on Black Widow at age eleven. I’ve never been arrested-”
Whumpvember: Prisoner Exchange (Will Halstead x Reader)
The road where the exchange was due to take place was situated on a deserted wasteland in the middle of the industrial district. You were parked in the centre, leaning against the black SUV with your arms crossed as you stared into the distance.
Jay perched alongside of you, gum snapping in his mouth. There was a tension in his body, his muscles coiled as he watched the concrete dust kick up from the approaching vehicle.
“You ready?” he murmured under his breath.
“Exchanging ten kilos of heroin for Will’s life...” You said quietly. “I’d raid the whole evidence locker if I thought it would get him back safe.”
“You know this isn’t your fault.”
“I’m the one that put a target on his back.” You reminded him, straightening up before heading to the back of the vehicle and yanking out the black holdall. “I shouldn’t have goaded Shapiro.”
“Yea well, I probably shouldn’t have either.” Jay said, closing the door to the SUV behind you. “Let’s get Will back and then we can argue about whose more to blame.”
The car pulled to a halt over ten metres away from your SUV, all four doors opening.
Shapiro, two of his lackeys and then Will.
You felt Jay stiffen beside of you at the sight of his brother. A white rag was thrust between his teeth, his hands tied behind his back. The left side of his face was bruised, shades of black, yellow, and green marring his cheek and jaw line. He was wearing the same sky-blue shirt that you’d seen him in before you’d left the apartment that morning, you remembered the tenderness in his kiss as he’d told you to stay safe.
His dark eyes met yours, torrid and furious. He struggled, trying to wrestle his shoulders from his assailant’s grip earning him a cuff up the side of the head. Your jaw clenched, your teeth grinding together as rage lanced through you.
“Bring the heroin over.” Shapiro said, gesturing for you to step forward.
“Bring Will over at the same time.” You countered.
Shapiro jerked his head towards you. Will was forced forward, one hand clasped on his shoulder and a gun pressed into his spine. You kept your eyes on him as you moved forward. You opened the bag, tilting it for Shapiro to see the heroin. The tension in the air changed. It was charged with apprehension and violence; you knew what was going to happen even before it did. You had prepared for it. You grasped Will’s shoulder, squeezing tightly as you dropped the bag.
The smoke grenade went off as Shapiro pulled the gun. The air plumed with white smoke, curling into the atmosphere as you grabbed Will by the shirt and hauled him back towards the SUV. The retort of gun fire exploded through area, bullet pinging off the chassis of the SUV. Jay was already behind the steering wheel, engine roaring to life as you shoved Will into the back and slammed the door shut behind you.
The rest of the Intelligence Squad were rolling in, tires screeching cross the concrete as you tucked your fingers underneath the fabric of the gag and withdrew it from Will’s mouth. He straightened up in the seat, you caught sight of the ruby blotches staining the front of his shirt. Your hands were on him, seeking out the wound.
“Will, are you ok?” You asked. “Did you get hit?”
His dark eyes were wild until they came to focus on you, his gaze lowered to your abdomen.
Whumpvember: “Are You Here To Break Me Out?” (Antonio Dawson x Reader)
It had started with an auction, not the normal one for art or trinkets but one for murder and violence. Antonio knew they existed, but they weren’t on his radar, not really. He didn’t trouble himself with what happened on the darknet unless it affected the case he was working on. There were rumours of course, always rumours. He’d heard the stories of people being tortured for kicks, websites where people paid to see others hurt, sadists that made requests. When it happened to a cop in L.A, he thought it was a one off, a cautionary tale. That was until you were taken.
A Intelligence Officer in the hands of people like that…
The auctioneers would make a fortune livestreaming their acolytes breaking you down, destroying you. It was the only thing he thought about as that timer counted down. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being brutalised.
It was only when the auction went live that Mouse got a lead on where you were being held. When they had found you, you were hanging by your wrists, feet an inch or two off the ground, clad only in your black sports bra and jeans. The t-shirt you were wearing, one of his, had been cut off of your body and tossed aside. Your torso was patch work of bruises, pink flushed into reds and purples, smearing across your ribs.
They had started with a knife, a shallow slice from underneath your ear lobe, winding along the curve of your jaw. The blood was sticky, clinging to your skin as it trailed down your throat and over the valley of your collar bone. They had meant to disfigure you, take away your beauty, but your beauty was your strength and Antonio had always known that. That didn’t stop him from wanting to kill the bastard that hurt you, it didn’t stop the white-hot rage erupting in his veins as he drove his gun into the forehead of the man who’d been wielding the knife, the one who had laughed when he’d circled your left eye with the blade digging the point in just under the socket.
It was your voice that snapped him back to his senses.
“I thought you came to break me out.” You murmured; your voice raw. “Not repaint the wall with his brains.”
He wavered, a moment of indecision that cost him the chance because Al was already stepping forward into the fray. His palm pushing his gun down as Atwater grasped the perpetrator and forced him face first into the wall.
Antonio turned to you holstering his gun. He had trusted Jay to be the one to release you from your bonds, he had basic medical training from his time in the military, he’d know the safest way to get you down without causing any further damage. You were standing before him barefoot and shivering, from shock or the temperature of the room he wasn’t sure. He slipped out of his jacket, draping it around your vulnerable form, before he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You leaned into his warmth, there was a security that always came with Antonio, a sense of safety. His lips brushed your hairline as he supported your weight, leading you towards the open door your team had rushed through.
“Come on mi vida.” He murmured soothingly. “Let’s get you out of here.”
The air was thick with dust, it seeped in through your nostrils suffocating you as you tried to suck in breath after breath. It was ashy on your tongue, your mouth felt like you’d swallowed a box of chalk. You coughed, your chest searing as you tried to inhale.
You could hear Brian’s voice underneath the ringing in your ears. Your head hurt and something wet trickled from your left ear. You put your hand up to it, seeing blood smearing your trembling fingerprints.
You tried to remember how you’d ended up bloody, what had led to this moment. You remembered coming down the escalator, Christmas music playing in the background. Your fingers had gripped Brian’s scarf, tugging his lips down to meet yours as you passed under the mistletoe. His hand had come to rest on your waist, steadying you…
The world seemed to fall apart, a rush of air before it crumbled.
“Brian.” You whimpered, twisting your head.
He was there, lying only a few feet away. His hips were pinned by the same concrete slab that pressed down upon your chest, there was barely room to breathe. His wavy dark hair fell over his forehead, covering the ragged cut just above his eyebrow that trailed blood down his cheek. His dark eyes were fixated on you, agonised as his hand stretched out.
“I’m here baby.” He whispered to you, his voice raw as you stretched out your own hand, fingertips barely brushing his. “I’m right here.”
