#posting from the archives

Series originally started under the URL @shsl-whump from 2018 to 2020, continued under the URL @agentangst in 2021, and now being continued here

Thisfantastic art piece was commissioned from @piamio​ on July of 2021 and I still cannot get over how good it looks

Team SA37 is an investigation team under the employ of Double Eye, an independent organization that hires out teams of highly trained private investigators for a hefty fee. These investigators are called “Agents” and are each given a code designation to protect their private lives.

Team SA37 consists of Agents SA37, Tigress, 707, and Jam, making up an investigation team that has a pretty good track record as far as completed cases go. They also get hurt. A lot.

So here is a masterlist of all the sh*t they have gone through thus far. Note: most of the pieces focus on Agent Jam, cause he’s kinda my favourite.

—

Chronology

Third Time’s the Harm Pt. 1

Third Time’s the Harm Pt. 2

Third Time’s the Harm Pt. 3

“Do It”

Character Art

Original Team SA37 character sketches by myrmyr21

Agent Jam: Speak No Evil by theeternalcynic

Agent 707: Do No Evil by theeternalcynic

Agent Tigress: Hear No Evil by theeternalcynic

Agent SA37: See No Evil by theeternalcynic

Inspired by this postby@thatsgonnaleaveamark and originally posted under the URL @agentangst on September 19th, 2021

(image source)

“Naw, it’s fine–”

“I think your arm is broken,” B says sharply, stepping up to their injured friend, who immediately recoils.

“I can handle it,” A chokes out.

“You’recrying.”

A shakes their head, moving their free grip from their injured arm to over their mouth. It does nothing to suppress the tears and sobs.

“No, it’s fine…!” A smiles, a terribly shaky and not at all convincing show of bravado. “It’s just my pain tolerance, ’m just being a bitch right now…”

Originally written for an anonymous requester and posted under the URL @agentangst on August 12th, 2021

WARNING: funerals, implied/referenced emotional neglect/ab*se, a bit of swearing

(image source)

There was a brief moment when the two of them saw each other, when their eyes met, and for just a moment they could each see a spark of joy and excitement in the other’s eyes. For just a moment, they were both kids again, finding solace in each other’s company. And then the moment was gone. Guilt, confusion, and resentment replaced the spark, and they both looked away.

The funeral was short and not at all sweet. It was cold and formal. Rather appropriate, honestly. The Brother was the only family member who spoke for the deceased, and the only family member to actually attend. Well, save for his Sister, but he tried to avoid looking at her again…

But besides the Sister, the Brother saw no one he recognized among the funeral attendees. And there were so few of them as well…

The Brother’s speech was stiff and awkward. He talked about how hard the deceased had worked. How dedicated the two of them had been to their work. How much greater good the two of them had done through their work. The speech was devoid of any personal anecdotes or any talk of who the deceased were as parents, or siblings, or friends.

Had they even had friends? the Brother wondered.

No, he decided, looking at the sparse and bored looking attendees. They almost certainly had never made any actual friends.

One or two other people gave speeches after the Brother. He barely paid any attention, but what little he happened to hear just sounded like carbon copies of his own speech.

Oh, they were good workers. Oh, they were so dedicated. Oh, they had done so much in advancing their career field.

Very touching stuff.

No one stayed behind after the funeral was over. A few people offered the brother condolences, and he just nodded politely. Soon, the Brother was all alone, standing in front of a pair of gravestones.

Until a familiar person walked up beside him.

“‘Son, brother, and father,’” the Sister read blandly. “‘Daughter, sister, and mother.’”

She scoffed and nudged one of the gravestones with her shoe. “Left out the ‘loved’ and ‘loving’ prefixes. How appropriate.”

The Brother hummed in response.

The two of them just stood there for what seemed like an hour, in tense and palpable silence.

“It’s been awhile,” the Brother finally said.

“That’s an understatement,” the Sister replied drily. “You finally got that acne under control.”

“Uh, yeah.” The Brother scratched his cheek, a habit he thought he’d dropped after high school, but apparently not. “Your hair looks nice.”

“Damn right. Curls suit me, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

More awkward silence.

“So, um–“ The Brother coughed. “Why didn’t you visit?”

“Studies,” came the short and blasé reply.

“Oh…” The Brother frowned. “But the holidays, and between high school and uni–“

“Oh my god,” the Sister grumbled. “I started studying overseas to get away from this, why the hell would I have wanted to visit?”

The Brother fought the urge to press a hand over his suddenly aching chest. “I mean… for me…”

“I…” The Sister began rubbing her arm, discomfort radiating off of her, before she suddenly turned on her Brother with a sharp stare. “Well, what about you? Why didn’t you ever visit?”

“I– Studying,” the Brother responded lamely, looking away from his Sister. “And Mom and Dad wanted me to focus on my career–“

“And you always did do what Mom and Dad wanted,” the Sister said with a barely concealed sneer.

“Better than always being snippy and trying to aggravate them,” the Brother sniped back.

“As if anything you did actually made them love you.”

The Brother clenched his hands. “That’s not–“

“Look at their fucking graves.” The Sister all but kicked one of the gravestones again. “Even in death, you weren’t good enough for them to acknowledge as being loved.”

“Yeah, well, you’re in the same fucking boat then, Sister,” the Brother growled.

“At least I’d already figured that out years ago,” the Sister retorted. “Unlike you.”

The Brother tensed and stuttered, but he couldn’t think of any way to respond. The two of them lapsed back into a tense silence. As they both stared at the two graves in front of them, the tension ebbed away and was replaced by an air of unrelenting melancholy.

The Brother could feel his chest continue to ache and his eyes begin to sting. A soft sniff drew his gaze over to his Sister, who, to his great surprise, he saw attempting to discreetly wipe away tears.

“H-Hey,” the Brother said hoarsely. “It’s… Don’t cry. You’re right, you’ve always been right, and they’re not worth it…”

The Sister let out a slightly bitter laugh, turning her teary gaze up towards the grey sky. “Oh my god, this isn’t for them, or because of them. If you want the truth, I honestly feel nothing. I felt nothing when I heard about them dying, I felt nothing throughout that stupid funeral, and I feel nothing now, looking at these stupid gravestones–“

A small sob cut the Sister off, and she quickly covered her mouth. After a moment in which she composed herself, the Sister dropped her hand down to her side and looked back down at the gravestones.

“This is for you, you dumbass. For us. I’m sorry I didn’t visit, I’m sorry I left you behind, and I… I’m just sorry…” The Sister buried her face in her hands and her shoulders began to shake softly.

“Hey, no, no, no, no, it’s…” The Brother’s voice cracked as he slowly and hesitantly wrapped an arm around his Sister’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, nothing was ever your fault, and–“

The Brother choked, and the Sister leaned into his one armed embrace.

“I’m sorry too,” the Brother said tightly. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t brave enough to go with you, I’m sorry that I was too afraid to visit you, I’m sorry that I got angry with you for wanting to leave, oh god, I’m sorry about so many things…”

He trailed off, and once again the two of them just stood there, leaning against each other, no silence in between their soft cries as they mourned not for the graves in front of them, but for the relationship that had wasted away long before.

When at last the two of them began to quiet down, the Brother murmured, “You wanna know something…? I don’t feel anything either.”

The Brother let out a humourless huff of laughter. “Ironic, huh? I spent so many years trying to earn their love and in the end I can’t even make myself feel anything at their funeral. The only time I felt anything was when I saw you… I…”

The Brother paused and thought about it. “I think… Even though I was also mad… I was– I am… very happy to see you…”

The Sister hummed. “…Same. Alongside the being mad part.”

The Brother laughed again, this time with an actual tone of levity, and the Sister joined in.

When they both quieted down again, the Sister said, “I really missed you, y’know…”

“Same…”

And for one final time, the two of them stood there in silence, ignoring the gravestones in front of them as they both simply enjoyed each other’s presence and company.

Inspired by this postby@sorbetwritings​ and originally posted under the URL @agentangst on August 8th and 9th, 2021

(image source)

• Scenario 1: Ally
  

“And if we could do that,” A concludes, turning towards their goal, “then yeah, everything will work out. It’ll be great…!”

B stares at A. Their eyes go from their friend’s back, down to their hands. “You’re shaking.”

A tenses slightly, then clenches his hands. He turns back towards B and smiles. “That’s probably the adrenaline, right? Can’t jump into danger without some of that.”

Even with his hands clenched, the tremors can be seen trailing their way up from his fists, to his arms, to his shoulders. B steps forward and places a hand on A’s arm.

“N-No really,” A says. The shaking becomes more obvious and makes its way into his smile. “I’m doing fine…”

• Scenario 2: Antagonist
  

“So I guess we’re supposed to be working together now.”

“Yeah,” A mumbles, gaze locked determinedly on his work.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“It’s… whatever.”

B allows a smirk to creep onto their face. They walk up to A until they are standing a mere three inches from him. A doesn’t look up from his work, but he isn’t actually doing any work either, not anymore.

“Back off,” A says through grit teeth.

B trails their eyes up A’s body. “You’re shaking,” they coo.

A slams his hands against his work station and turns on B with a glare that does not quite match his stance. Like a rabbit attempting to snarl.

“Back off,” A snaps again.

B crosses their arms, meeting A’s glare with a widening smirk.

“…Please,” A adds quietly.

B lunges forward, and A recoils, arms rising instinctively to shield himself. B steps back, laughing.

“Awwww, you’re still just as much fun as you used to be!”

A’s face reddens and he opens his mouth, likely to give some yip of a retort. B lunges forward again, and A’s retort dies as a choked gasp as he again flinches back.

Allowing another short laugh, B leans back and sighs contentedly. “Well for the record, I am very much looking forward to working with you.”

A doesn’t reply or look at B. There’s a tremor in his still raised arms.

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

Part of the “Team SA37″ series

Agent Jam finally manages to escape the hotel room he’s been held captive in for the past three days, but the guilt and insecurity over having failed his new team still sits heavy in his mind.

or

Jam escapes for a little bit, but Team SA37 f**king sucks at communication, so Jam offers himself up as bait almost immediately. (originally posted under the URL @agentangst​ on August 4th, 2021)

(image source)

WARNING: brief/non-graphic vomiting, slight interpersonal conflict, lack of communication, swearing, less than optimal sense of self-worth, brief mention of needles, kidnapping, manhandling, suffocation

—

“Come on… Come on…” Finally, with one last awkward rub of his head against his shoulder, Jam managed to dislodge the blindfold and shake it off.

“Oh, ow…”

His head hurt like hell, and it had nothing to do with the two hits he had received that day. He was just so damn thirsty. Not to mention hungry. And tired. But Jam could not afford to focus on that, not yet, not while he had only one more night to escape this damned hotel. It was either that or risk being taken to a second location.

Jam took a deep breath, waited for the throbbing in his head to die down at least a little, and took a look around the hotel room that had become his own little corner of hell. The lights were turned out, as usual, but the city lights shining through the balcony door still provided ample enough illumination for Jam’s eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“All right, all right, all right,” Jam murmured to himself, “let’s figure this out.”

An unpleasant and cynical thought wormed its way into Jam’s head as he looked about the dark shadows for some form of salvation. Asking him just what the hell he expected to be different about this night compared to the last two nights. Reminding him that he’d already gone through this song and dance twice and was still stuck in the exact same position.

Jam determinedly ignored that thought.

What the hell else was he supposed to do, anyway? Just sit and wait to be tortured some more? Screw that.

Jam craned his neck around, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was behind him. All he could see was the table, still bearing the remains of Cyrus’s recent and wholly unnecessary dinner. The man had been getting ready for a damned gala. Why the hell did he feel the need to have a meal before then? Jam knew the answer to that of course, but it still pissed him off and made his empty stomach cry out in anguish. Cyrus hadn’t even finished the meal - half the lamb meat still sat drying out on the little glass plate, the silverware set carelessly on top of it.

Wait–

“Holy crap…” Jam felt his heartbeat pick up, and with it, his breathing. “Holy crap…!”

Cyrus’s followers had actually forgotten to remove the remnants of Cyrus’s meal! The silverware was still left on the table, including the knife!

Why? Had they just gotten lazy? Or were they caught off guard by Cyrus’s impromptu decision to continue torturing Jam this night?

Hell, Jam didn’t know, and he didn’t care either because that was salvation right there! Adrenaline fueled Jam’s muscles as he gripped the chair he was tied to and began the slow and precarious process of inching himself towards the table.

The chair was heavy. The soft carpet caught at the legs easily. Jam nearly tipped over backwards once or twice, sending his heart shooting up into his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Jam whispered breathlessly. “It’s okay. Almost there.”

Finally, after what had to have been at least a half hour of grunting and struggling and nearly falling over, the chair bumped against the side of the table, the dinnerware clattering lightly upon contact. With a little bit more maneuvering, Jam managed to turn the chair just enough for him to be able to bend forward and grab the knife in his teeth.

‘Yes!’

Within ten minutes, the ropes that had been keeping Jam in place for the past three days were in severed pieces on the carpet floor. Jam quickly joined them as he stood up and immediately collapsed, his legs failing him and his headache flaring in protest.

“Owwwwww…”

Eyes tearing, hands clutching his head, Jam slowly and carefully got to his feet and stumbled over to the minibar. Three and a half empty water bottles later, Jam stumbled back over to the table and inhaled what remained of Cyrus’s dinner. It was a bit chewy, a little over seasoned, and Jam felt like he wanted to throw up immediately afterward, but at least his hands weren’t shaking as much anymore.

“Okay,” Jam muttered, wiping his mouth. “First thing’s first…”

He had to get himself cleaned up a bit before finally leaving this room. Jam didn’t know exactly what he looked like, but he could safely assume he did not look like someone who should be walking through a luxury hotel. And the bathroom mirror confirmed that, yep, he looked as shitty as he felt. The soap and washbasin couldn’t fix his greasy hair, nor the welts around his wrists, nor the bags under his eyes, but Jam still did his best to wash away the sweat and make his hair at least look like it belonged to someone who wasn’t on drugs or something.

As Jam dried off his face, he gave himself another glance in the mirror. “Guess that’ll have to do…”

And finally, finally, he was stepping outside that damned hotel room.

Jam tried his best not to look dodgy as he walked briskly towards the elevators. He couldn’t see anyone else on the floor, but he was acutely aware of the cameras. Still, it was really hard to not just go sprinting down the hallway. Jam jabbed at the elevator button repeatedly as soon as he reached it.

The nightmarish thought of Cyrus or one of Cyrus’s followers cornering him in a glass box ended up having Jam turning towards the stairs before an elevator had even arrived. The trek downward was literally dizzying, and Jam had to pause a few times to take a breath and allow his still wobbly legs a moment to rest.

“Doing better than I expected…” Jam chuckled drily as he leant against the handrail. “All things considered…”

The hustle and bustle of the gala was far louder than Jam expected when he eventually reached the first floor of the hotel. But then again, he had been stuck in a largely quiet except for the sound of his own screams hotel room for the past few days. Wincing, Jam turned to walk away from the source of the sound, only to bump into someone heading in the opposite direction and get knocked back onto his ass.

“Oh geez, I’m so sorry…!” Jam exclaimed instinctively as he awkwardly attempted to get back to his feet.

“Jam?!”

Heart skipping a beat, Jam looked up and got a good look at the person he had bumped into. “Agent- Agent SA37…!”

Before Jam could even think to wonder what on earth his boss was doing here, SA37 grabbed Jam by the bicep and pulled him to his feet.

“Where the hell have you been, rookie?” SA37 hissed.

Jam shook his head dumbly. “Hotel room. Cyrus, he– My cover got blown.”

“Your cover got–?” SA37 suddenly cut off, putting a hand to his ear.

“Boss,” Jam spoke up, his mind finally catching up fully to the present, “what are you doinghere…?”

It wasn’t like Jam wasn’t very, very, very grateful to see the team leader, but his mind was still reeling. What did their investigation have to gain from infiltrating Cyrus’s charity gala?

Wait… That was supposed to have been hisjob.

“We’ll talk in the van,” SA37 replied roughly. “Come on.”

Jam’s bicep was released, and SA37 turned and strode back the way he had been walking from. Jam shook himself and quickly trotted after him.

Five minutes later, Jam was climbing into the back of the team’s rental van parked just across the street from the side of the hotel. Inside the van, Agent 707 looked up sharply from the computer.

“Where the fuck have you been…!?” he snapped.

SA37 climbed in after Jam, slamming the door behind him. “That’s what I want to know,” the team leader said stonily.

Jam looked between the two senior agents before sinking down to the floor of the van with a sigh, head in his hands. “Cyrus found out. That I was Double Eye.”

“37.” Tigress’s voice spoke from the computer, sounding tight, but steady. “Do you need me to return to the van?”

SA37 placed a hand to his ear again, saying, “Just keep mingling for a bit, Tigress. Tell us if anything changes with Cyrus.” Then, he turned his sights back on Jam. “What do you mean he ‘found out’? How did he ‘find out,’ Jam?”

“I don’t know…!” Jam replied agitatedly. “There was no indication that he suspected a thing! It still seemed like he was totally buying my cover! And then he asked to meet at the hotel early, and I could tell something was off, but he’d been a bit stressed the past few days so I didn’t think about it until we were all in that freakin’ hotel room, and he told me that he knew, that- that he could… see through my lies or something…!”

Jam took a deep breath and scrubbed at one of his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Looks like you got your ass handed to you,” 707 said bluntly, looking pointedly at Jam’s wrists.

Jam winced and nodded. “I mean… Yeah… Cyrus has been trying to indoctrinate me for the last few days, keepin’ me tied up in the hotel room, electrocuting me, trying to convince me to follow him–”

His voice cracked. Jam coughed, scrubbed at his eyes again, before looking up at his teammates tentatively.

“So what’re you guys doing here…?”

“We were looking for you, dumbass!” 707 snapped.

“Oh…”

SA37 hissed through his teeth, running a hand back through his hair. “Shit. I knew this wasn’t a good idea.

Jam felt his stomach churn, and he cringed. “I’m sorry, boss…”

“Dammit, Jam, that’s not–”

“I fucking told you,” 707 exclaimed.

“Seven, now is really not the time for that,” Tigress’s voice spoke lightly from the computer.

“The newbie got caught by a cult leader, Tigress…! Just let me be pissed off!”

“Iknow…!” SA37 shouted, causing Jam to sink further against the side of the van. “Jam got caught. Clearly, giving him that job was a lapse in judgement on my part.”

Jam clutched at the front of his t-shirt.

707 sat back slightly, some of the aggression leaving his body language. “Damn right…”

“What’s our next move, 37?” Tigress asked.

“So we’ve been compromised,” SA37 stated. “Pain in the ass, but fine. At the very least we’ve confirmed Cyrus is using aggressive indoctrination tactics, so we aren’t just investigating some harmless cultist.”

“Oh, so something good came out of Jam getting kidnapped by a damned cult,” 707 intoned.

Jam’s stomach jolted.

SA37 groaned. “Seven–”

Jam bolted for the back of the van, throwing open the door and throwing up the sad contents of his stomach onto the street.

“What the hell?!”

“Jam, what’s–?!”

It was over as quickly as it had started. Jam retreated back into the van, closing the door behind him.

“Cyrus wants me for something,” he mumbled hoarsely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” SA37 stared at him, bewildered.

“What the hell is happening right now?” Tigress demanded.

“Kid just threw up out the back of the van,” 707 reported, looking just as bewildered as SA37.

“Oh god, is he all right?”

“Cyrus doesn’t have any grand plans,” Jam said loudly. His voice was a little shaky, but he was at least confident he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. “At least not that I can tell. He just surrounds himself with a bunch of young people who hang onto his every word because he’s convinced them that he values them. But apparently he’s… chosen me for something. I don’t know what, but he very much wants me alive.”

707 frowned. “Okay…”

“Do you know why?” SA37 asked.

“I don’t– He… He just said that he thought I was ‘worthy,’ even though I’d tried to deceive him.” Jam tugged at his hair awkwardly.

“Well,” Tigress murmured, “that’s something at least.”

SA37 narrowed his eyes at Jam, as though searching for something. “Jam?”

There was an order underlying that one word, and Jam complied. “I could be bait.”

“What?” Tigress hissed.

“No.” SA37 shook his head. “No. Not happening. Especially not after what just happened.”

“No, no, no, boss, please…!” Jam sat up straight, looking at the senior agent with desperation. “Look, you could just stick a tracker in me, see where Cyrus usually keeps the dissenting members, and that’ll be like– like– It would do a lot for the investigation…!”

“Yeah, and it would also do a lot for your eventual hospital bill,” 707 retorted snidely. “Didn’t you just say this guy’s been fucking electrocutingyou?”

“It- It’ll be fine…!” Jam mentally cursed himself for stuttering. “Look, like I said, Cyrus doesn’t want to kill me! I’ve already confirmed that!”

“Maybe he’s planning to turn you into his fucking boy toy or something, ever think about that?” 707 all but snarled.

Jam recoiled. “What?”

“Hemeans,” Tigress butt in tightly, “there are worse things than getting killed, Jam. What you’ve been going through for the past three days? It could be nothing compared to whatever else Cyrus has planned.”

“I know, I know, but…!” Jam groaned, fear and guilt and frustration making him want to curl in on himself, before once again turning desperately to the team leader. “Boss, please…! I know I messed up, and I just want to fix this!”

“It’s a pretty damn stupid way to fix it,” SA37 retorted sharply. “This is your third mission, Jam…! This shouldn’t have even happened to begin with!”

“I know!” Jam’s voice came out slightly thick, and he clutched at his shirt agitatedly. “I’m sorry!”

SA37 shook his head with a growl of frustration. “I don’t want you to apologise–!”

The team leader cut himself off and there was a subsequent moment of suffocating silence. 707 was frowning at the metal floor of the van, Jam was trying to swallow back the tightness in his throat, and SA37 was staring off in some arbitrary direction with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Okay.” SA37 finally spoke again, sounding calm, but stern. “Pitch me your plan, rookie.”

Jam coughed. “Um, huh…?”

“Convince me. Convince me that your bait plan won’t make the two of us regret the rest of our lives.”

A second chance. Agent SA37 was willing to hear him out. Jam could not mess this up.

Straightening up with another cough, Jam said, “Cyrus wants me alive. I don’t know what for exactly, but I’m pretty sure it’s not for…” He glanced at 707. “Um… That.”

“‘Pretty sure’?”

“Certain,” Jam amended with a nod. “The guy shows very little interest in that kind of thing. He just wants these kids to hang onto his every word and live the lives he says is best. But he’s not…”

Jam frowned, gesturing vaguely as he tried to figure out how to best continue his case. “…His indoctrination tactics are… not exactly aggressive?”

A skeptical hum emanated from the computer.

707 scoffed. “God, newbie, if you don’t consider getting electrocuted aggressive–”

“That’s not what I mean,” Jam cut in, sounding just a bit more frustrated than he would have liked. “I mean the… electrocution is the most aggressive tactic he used. Otherwise, Cyrus prefers not to use physical violence. He’s more focused on, like, the mind games and the psychological, on making you feel uncomfortable and miserable–”

Jam stopped, shook himself, and continued., “The point is… I can take it. Even if I pretend to fall under Cyrus’s influence, I won’t be there long enough for him to really start, y’know, getting to me… ‘Cause you guys will know where I am, and you can get me whenever you need to…!”

707 grumbled something under his breath, looking away. SA37 fixed Jam with a hard stare.

“…And you’re sure you want to do this,” he stated.

Jam swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I can do it.”

“37,” Tigress said dubiously.

SA37 leant forward, pointing at Jam with a grimness that matched his expression. “I’m trusting you on this, rookie.”

707 groaned, tilting his head back.

“Dammit,” Tigress muttered.

“But.” SA37 kept his eyes and finger fixed on Jam. “If this goes too far, then that’s it. We can’t keep you in the team.”

Jam felt his heart drop. “Ah, well…” He chuckled nervously for lack of a better reaction. “No pressure, I guess.”

“I’m serious, Jam. I don’t want you taking any more risks than necessary. Understand?”

“…I understand, boss.”

SA37 seemed to relax just a little. “Good. Seven, do we have any trackers?”

With a sigh, 707 sat up and grabbed for a case sitting towards the front of the van.

“I swear to god, you’d better be careful, Jam,” Tigress said.

“I’ll try my– I mean, I will.” Jam nodded for emphasis, briefly forgetting that Tigress couldn’t actually see him.

707 approached Jam with a small cylinder in his hand. Jam couldn’t stop the “oh, god” from tumbling out of his mouth upon seeing the needle protruding from one end of the cylinder.

707 raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to not tell you this is gonna hurt, newbie?”

“Sonuva…” Jam pulled up the sleeve of his t-shirt and grit his teeth. “Just get it over with.”

—

“Jam is heading back through the emergency exit now.”

“Roger that.”

Tigress snagged a hors d’oeuvre from a passing waiter and began to casually make her way through the crowd of lavishly dressed people. “…I do hope you know what you’re doing, 37.”

“He wants to prove himself,” the team leader muttered. “If we handle him with kid gloves, he’ll just think that we think he’s not good enough.”

“He does seem to care a lot about that,” Tigress conceded.

“Seems to care about a lot of things,” 707’s ostensibly irreverent voice mumbled in Tigress’s ear. “That’s part of his problem.”

No one responded to that. Tigress knew that they all thought the same thing. Perhaps it was just all of them being jaded by this job and the losses they had suffered through it.

“He may be annoying,” 707 finally added. “But I’d rather he not, y’know, die.”

“…Like I said, if this turns south, I’ll recommend him for another team,” 37 intoned.

That was if Jam survived should the plan turn south, but Tigress kept that thought to herself. It was very much unnecessary, and once again, she knew they all shared the thought anyway.

Tigress stopped at one of the side entrances to the ballroom and stood there, looking appropriately bored but polite. Soon, out of the corner of her eye, she could see a figure approaching from down the hall. When the figure was about one third away from the ballroom, Tigress turned to look at them. Briefly, very briefly, she and Jam made eye contact, but Jam otherwise looked for all the world like a young man too caught up in his own surroundings to see what was right in front of him.

Perfect.

After a second or two of staring, Tigress quickly approached the closest member of Cyrus’s entourage, a tall man in a plain black suit.

“Excuse me.” Tigress grabbed the man’s arm, and with it, his attention. “Are you security?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “I saw a strange man in that hallway, a shabby looking man, he looked very suspicious, like he didn’t want to be seen–”

“Wait…” Cyrus’s follower had looked close to telling her off at first, but now, he stiffened. “A dark haired man?”

Tigress nodded rapidly, pointing towards the appropriate hallway. “Yes, yes, I saw him in that hallway, and I got worried because he was acting very strangely–”

“I’ll take care of it, ma’am.” The man quickly moved past Tigress, hand already on his earpiece.

“Should I call the police?” Tigress asked worriedly.

“No…! No, don’t worry, me and the rest of security will take care of it.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

The man was gone before Tigress had even finished sighing in relief. Out of the corner of her eye, Tigress could see a few other people moving agitatedly amongst the crowd. Tigress dropped her hands, which she’d had clutched to her chest, down to her sides.

“You play an annoying bitch pretty well, Tigress.”

“Almost as well as you play a vapid moron, Seven,” Tigress retorted.

707 chuckled.

“Go ahead and mingle for a bit more, Tigress,” their team leader said. “Then come back to the van.”

“Roger that, 37.” Tigress grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and sighed. “I hope this works out…”

—

After Tigress left his field of view, Jam halted and turned to walk in the opposite direction. No sense in making himself look suspicious (or like a complete idiot) by deliberately entering a room full of people. His heart pounded in his chest and he stumbled over his feet slightly.

“Okay, okay, okay, I can do this…”

Jam rubbed at his arm. It was still sore from the tracker that had just been stuck into him, but the pain was oddly reassuring.

The bustle of the ballroom began to get fainter as Jam walked farther and farther away from it. His footsteps were almost nonexistent against the hallway carpet, so all he could really hear was the crowd behind him and his own pulse. Still, when the back of his neck prickled, Jam couldn’t help but take a glance behind.

“Oh,shit…!” Jam bolted. He didn’t even need to consider slowing down a bit before the Cyrus follower who had been stalking him from behind snagged the back of Jam’s shirt and yanked him backwards.

“Let g– Mmphm!” A hand slapped over Jam’s mouth cut off his frantic snarl while an arm around his waist lifted him off his feet.

“You caught him?” someone exclaimed in a sotto voice.

“Quick, we gotta get him out of the way…!”

Close quarters fighting and combat had never been Jam’s forte. At best, he was below average. With that in mind, Jam thrashed and squirmed and screamed with everything that he had as he was carried off into some side room. He kicked and clawed and felt his shoe connect with something.

“Ow! Goddammit!”

“Are you okay?”

The follower Jam had just kicked in the face waved off the third follower’s concern, feeling gingerly around their nose. The third follower gave Jam a very ugly glare, which Jam returned, accompanied by an attempt to get another kick in.

“How did he get out?” the third follower hissed.

“I don’t know,” the follower restraining Jam said through grit teeth. “But we can’t get him back upstairs like this.”

The second follower stood up straight, hand falling away from their face. “Just choke him out and we can claim he passed out.”

Oh, shit.

The hand clamped over Jam’s mouth moved to cover his nose as well. Panic, real and unacted, had Jam pulling and clawing at the hand as his ability to breathe was forcibly halted.

A part of Jam reminded him that it would be all right, that he wasn’t going to die and that the team knew exactly where he was. That part was not nearly as loud as the part screeching at him to fight! scream! breathe!

“Relax,” a voice rumbled through Jam’s heartbeat bruised chest. “Mr. Cyrus just wants to help you.”

Jam jerked his head frantically. He kicked and flailed and pulled, his chest spasming in desperation.

His lungs began to burn and his vision began to tunnel. Frantic, muffled cries turned into wretched, muffled whimpers.

Weak and twitching fingers slowly lost their grip and fell to his side. He felt his eyes close and his body go limp.

“Good…”

His last thought was that of hoping for no regret, mixed with aimless pleas.

Inspired by this promptby@whumpers-inc​ and originally posted under the URL @agentangst on August 4th, 2021

(image source)

A grit his teeth. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Blunged at him. A recoiled, slamming back against the chair he was tied to, before B stopped just inches from his face.

“…Do you really want to test that theory?” B whispered lightly.

A could barely hear the question over his own rapid breaths.

Originally posted under the URL @agentangst on July 31st, 2021

WARNING: mentioned stabbing, a bit of swearing

(image source)

“Hey, are you all right?”

“Y- Yeah, I’m fine. I’m doing fine.”

“Is that blood?”

“…No? Don’t worry about it– Hey! OW!”

“Holyshit!”

“It-It’s nothing…! I’ll take care of it–!”

“’Nothing’ my ass, that’s a stabwound!”

“I told you, I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me…!”

Originally posted under the URL @agentangst on July of 2021

WARNING: death of a friend, grief

(image source)

“I’m…” A weak cough. “I’m not gonna make it, am I…?”

No reply. Just slow embrace and the soft bump of one forehead against the other as tears fall from a face that can no longer hide them.

“Hey… Hey, it’s okay… We both knew this would happen eventually…”

B simply held onto A’s hand tightly, tears continuing to run down their face.

“Granted, in my case I was hoping it would be a bit more ceremonious but, y’know…” A let out a weak but genuine laugh, which devolved quickly into coughing and grimacing. “You’ll be fine… You’ll do great, I know you will.”

B sniffed and nodded. “…I’ll– I’ll try to believe you.”

“Hell yeah, go get ‘em–” A bit back another groan of pain as they curled in on themselves.

“…H- Hey, B…?” A said hoarsely, breathing beginning to pick up a bit more.

“What’s up?”

“I kn-know this sucks, but could you–” Another flinch. “Could you… stay with me…? Until, y’know…”

B tightened their grip on A’s hand, their other hand cupping A’s face gently. “I wasn’t planning on anything else.”

A smiled, just a little. “That’s… That’s good. Y- You really are gonna do awesome, B, I jus’ know it…”

And so the two stayed where they were, heedless of any approaching dangers as B remained by their friend’s side one last time.

Originally posted under the URL @shsl-whump on July 12th, 2020 for this promptby@whumpmasinjuly

Feat. Agent Tigress and Agent Jam from my Team SA37 series

WARNING: threats of torture, being stabbed through the f**king hand, slight gore, a bit of swearing

(image source)

A familiar scream resounded through the woods outside, and Tigress felt her blood run cold.

The man keeping her pinned to the floor grinned. “Sounds like I caught ‘im anyways.”

Tigress wrenched her right hand out from his bruising hold and swung at him, slamming a fist into his jaw. She swung back, intending to catch him in the neck, but the man just managed to catch her wrist, slamming it back down onto the ground. The familiar sting of the knife-blade bit into Tigress’s neck as the man glared down at her, a bit of blood trickling down his now split lip and all traces of that mocking arrogance finally gone from his face.

Beneath the frustration and fear, Tigress allowed herself a stab of satisfaction.

“No, no, no, no, no, I still got plans for you,” the man snarled. “Even if you won’t tell me where that boy is, you can still scream for me…!”

Before Tigress could even think to anticipate it, the man stabbed the knife into her upturned palm. A scream tore itself from Tigress’s throat.

“Just like that!” the man shouted gleefully.

Choking back her pain and harsh breathing, Tigress controlled herself long enough to be able to spit a gob of blood and saliva at the man’s face. “Go to hell,” she hissed.

The man gnashed his teeth and backhanded the agent across the face. “You bitch!”

Tigress felt the man get up as his weight left her stomach and his knee was finally removed from on top of her left hand.

“Just you wait…!” he ranted. “I’ll bring that boy back here and you can both watch each other scream! I’ll be especially sure to give himarealshow…!”

His words faded as he left the room, and Tigress heard the front door to the house slam shut. Immediately, she turned on her side and attempted to pull the knife out of her hand.

“Augh…! Bloody– Shit…!”

Either she was weak and didn’t have enough strength, or the knife was too well embedded in the floorboards. Whatever the case, Tigress received nothing but pain at her attempt.

“Damn!” She smacked her free hand against the ground with a swear.

Leg in no shape to run, hand pinned to the ground like some kind of morbid butterfly, Agent Jam likely caught in one of those damned beartraps - the possibilities of escape were dwindling at an alarming rate. Tigress grit her teeth and tried to pull the knife out of her hand again.

“Agent Tigress…!”

The agent looked up at the sound of her designation. “Jam…?!”

The rookie agent slipped into the room, looking disheveled but otherwise unharmed, and immediately took note of the knife stabbed through her hand.

“Oh my god…!” Jam fell to his knees at Tigress’s side, eyes wide and hands hovering uncertainly.

“I heard you scream,” Tigress hissed.

“I just needed to draw him out,” Jam explained quickly. “Oh my god…”

“Well, that’s fine.” Tigress bit back a cry of pain as she shifted. “Quick…! Pull this damned knife out of me and help me get back to the car!”

“Just– Just pull it out?”

“Yes…!”

Jam looked from her to the knife. “But–”

Tigress laughed, a sharp and humourless sound fueled purely by adrenaline and an edge of hysteria. “Blood loss will be the absolute least of our worries when that man comes back…! Just pull it out, Jam, quick…!”

“I don’t know if I–”

“Do it!” Tigress snapped, slamming her free palm against the floorboards. She was sweating, struggling to hold back the urge to just cry out in pain.

“Okay, okay…!” Jam exclaimed, flinching at her outburst and making Tigress regret her pain-fueled harshness. “Just… I’m sorry.” He took the knife handle in both hands and took a deep breath. “Ready?”

Tigress nodded, clenching her teeth. “Do it,” she said again, with a forced calm.

Shebarely managed to fight the scream down into a grit-teethed groan as the knife was pulled out from her hand with a nasty squelch.

“Oh,god…” Jam cried shakily.

Through pain-blurred eyes, Tigress saw the younger agent shake himself, clearly trying to overcome his nausea.

“Come on.” Jam grabbed her wrist and slowly helped her to her feet.

Tigress groaned and grimaced, concentration of agony fluctuating between her hand and her leg, but she managed to work out a tight, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” Jam said again, maneuvering her arm - the one with the fresh new hole stabbed through the hand - over his shoulders.

Tigress hissed and shook her head. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Let’s just–”

The front door to the house slammed open.

Originally posted under the URL @shsl-whump on July 9th, 2020 for this promptby@whumpmasinjuly

WARNING: captivity, being publicly broadcast, threats of torture, a non-con kiss

(image source)

The Hero’s eyes flicked between the various camera drones hovering about the big, empty conference room. “You know, if you just wanted an interview, you could have gone through my agency…”

Despite the quipping words, the Hero could feel his heart rate pick up as his gaze couldn’t help but fall on the table of various painful looking items that he had been trying his best to ignore.

The Villain laughed. “Fair, but then I would have had to deal with the waiting list. Besides…” She looked the Hero up and down, smirking. “…I like this set-up.”

The Hero frowned and tried not to squirm against the ropes keeping him tied to the chair.

“Young, unknown, inexperienced…” The Villain approached the Hero with a spread of her arms. “Is the new Team leader up to snuff, that’s what this city wants to know…!”

She stopped just in front of the Hero and began to trace a slow finger down and under his jawline, meeting his faltering glare with a condescending smile. “And that is what I’m here to answer for everyone.”

“I wasn’t aware you cared so much,” the Hero retorted tightly.

The Villain pouted. “Hey, this is my city too, and I can’t be going up against anybody.”

She gave the Hero a light smack on the cheek and turned away, sauntering over to that foreboding table. “That’s why you’re here…” She ran a slow hand over the assortment of tools - the blades, the whips, the electric prods, the screwdrivers - and began to push the table towards the Hero. “To see if you can pass probably the most basic test of a hero.”

The Hero fidgeted, eyeing the table as the Villain wheeled it right alongside him. He couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t betray his rapidly beating heart.

“I have a building in this city set to blow,” the Villain said casually, picking up a saw blade and examining it. “And you’re the only one who can stop it.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” the Hero said through grit teeth.

“By making a simple choice.” The Villain pressed the saw blade against the Hero’s neck. “Ask me to let you go, and I will. But that building will suffer the consequences for it.”

The Villain dropped the saw blade and glided over to the Hero’s side. She seized his jaw in a deceptively gentle hold and forced his head up. “Or… you could take the building’s place, so to speak. Ask me to do anything I want to you.”

Ice filled the Hero’s veins. The Villain’s hand, tracing down the side of his face, felt unbearably hot.

“Take it all like a good little hero,” the Villain said, “and I will let everyone else know where that building is.”

…He wasn’t hesitating. Of course he wasn’t hesitating. He knew what he had to do, and he had to do it, but–

The Hero’s eyes flicked from the Villain, to the table, to the many camera drones pulling down to get a good close up of his face. Now the whole city could see how scared he was.

But that didn’t matter. His emotions didn’t matter. All that mattered was what he did next.

The Hero swallowed. “…Fine.”

The Villain raised an eyebrow. “Hm? What’s that?”

“Do whatever you want to me.”

“Ah, ah, what’s the magic word?”

God, she couldn’t be serious. The Hero met her gaze again, glaring with all the anger and frustration he still had in him.

“Please,” he said, voice shaking with he did not know what. “Do whatever you want to me.”

The Villain smiled. “Well, if you insist.”

She leant down and kissedhim.

Originally posted under the URL @shsl-whump on July 3rd, 2020 for this promptby@whumpmasinjuly

WARNING: nightmares, past torture via waterboarding+beating+electrocution, past suggestive threats

(image source)

Lungs burning. He couldn’t breathe. Water and soaked fabric filled his vision, filled his mouth, filled his nose, and he couldn’t breathe! Then he could, and he was coughing and shivering, oxygen making his head spin, light making his eyes swim, and they were all SHOUTING at him, questions he could barely hear over his own heaving breaths.

“N-No…” He couldn’t answer. He musn’t–

They hit him. It hurt. Slaps mixed in with closed fists, leaving his face burning with every harsh SMACK that forced his reality sharply into focus long enough for him to catch the threats, the awful, awful threats mixed in with the questions.

“…too pretty for your own good…”

“…could make a nice playmate…”

“…a different kind of hungry…”

“No…” He couldn’t–

Electricity burned through his body, nerves set ablaze by the relentless current, body jerking and spasming against the bonds keeping him tied to this nightmare. He couldn’t breathe again, but he could scream, and he did.

“Stoppit!” He couldn’t do this! He wasn’t strong enough, he just wanted to rest, he just needed this all to stop, please–!

Something wrapped around his chest. An arm, accompanied by a hand in his water soaked hair. He wailed and thrashed, memories of threats and deceptively gentle touches forcing whimpers from his unwilling throat. Despite his struggles, the arm only tightened around him, enveloping him in a warmth that cut through the cold of his wet clothes.

“Shhh, it’s okay…”

That voice… It was just as warm as the hold he was currently trapped in, and held no malice or question or threat in it. It was familiar. A good kind of familiar. He began to slow his thrashing.

“That’s it, shhh, it’s okay.”

The hand began to brush through his hair in a slow and rhythmic pattern, every brush carrying him a little further up out of his nightmare. There was no water, there were no questions, there was no electricity, there were no threats… It was just him in his bedroom, being held in a secure embrace by his caretaker.

He let out a shaking breath. “Did I wake you up…?”

His caretaker scoffed. There was a hint of heartbreak in it. “Damn kid… Is that really what you’re worried about?”

“Sorry,” he said with a small smile.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize. We’ve both done more than enough of that. We’re a family, remember? We look out for each other.”

His caretaker’s voice rumbled through his chest, and with its words came a warm sensation. Something that, he realized with a mild start, he hadn’t felt in some time. It filled in a neglected and lonely little space within his heart, and for the first time in he didn’t know how long, he felt truly… secure.

“Yeah…” He smiled and allowed himself to relax in his caretaker’s embrace.

Originally posted under the URL @shsl-whump early in 2020

WARNING: captivity, mentions of torture, manipulation, unwanted suggestive gestures

(image source)

She’d finally stopped actively torturing him. Gone were the cruel threats, the slaps, the harsh pulls at his hair, the stings of knife blades slicing into his skin. Here were the crooning words, the caresses, the gentle fingers through his hair, the barely chaste touch of lips on his skin.

He hated it. He hated it, he hated it, he hated it, he hated it.

She‘d promised him, at the start of it all, that she would make him beg for her to hurt him.

He could scream. He could cry. He could rage. But he could not deny that she was a woman of her word.

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

Part of the “Team SA37″ series

Agent Jam’s captor takes increasingly drastic measures in an attempt to indoctrinate him. (originally posted under the URL @shsl-whump on June of 2018)

(image source)

WARNING: captivity, torture via fear/threats

–

The darkness fell away. Cyrus’s face filled his vision, looking down at him, blurry and frowning. As his eyes focused, however, he could see Cyrus replace the frown with a friendly smile.

“Ah, good, you’re still with me.“

Jam just stared at him uncomprehendingly.

It was nighttime. Cyrus was wearing that same expensive looking tuxedo he had worn the past… two nights? Jam had been looking forward to nighttime - it was the one extended period of time he was left alone. But, to Jam’s despair, Cyrus apparently had a bit of free time this night, despite the approaching gala.

By that point, Jam just couldn’t think. He was tired and hungry and thirsty and hurting. “No” was his only response when he could even respond at all.

Then, Cyrus had hit him. A hard box around the ear, leaving Jam disoriented but mostly stunned.

First that backhand earlier this morning, now this? Sure, Cyrus seemed to be getting frustrated… Actually, that was kind of odd too. What was going on?

“Youare still with me, right, agent?“ Cyrus asked, pulling Jam from his thoughts.

Jam met his eyes with a small frown. “Something’s wrong…”

Cyrus chuckled and tapped his knuckle on the underside of Jam’s chin, as though encouraging a downcast child. “Well, I believe we call that the first step to fixing a problem.”

Jam was only half-listening. He turned away, mind stumbling over thoughts of food and rest and surrender as it tried to place what exactly was wrong with this situation…

“And I believe…” Cyrus firmly turned Jam’s face back towards him. “…you are well aware of the second step by now, Agent Jam.”

Oh, no.

Jam wilted with an unidentifiable sound of distress. “Sonuva… Don’t you have a gala to go to– hey! No, stop…!”

Cyrus replaced the blindfold, pulling it viciously tight. “Your insistent denial may well spell your doom, agent.”

Jam felt the cult leader pull back and heard him address his followers. “Lucas, Daniel, if you would be so kind as to bring Agent Jam to the balcony.”

“Wh- What!?” The word, high and breathless, barely left Jam’s mouth before he felt Cyrus’s followers seize his chair and drag it in some unidentifiable direction.

“Ah-! Wait!” Jam writhed in his bonds, a familiar panic building up in every muscle. “What are you–!?”

He heard the hiss of a sliding door. A cool wind struck his face, the kind of wind that could only be felt on the thirty-eighth floor of a luxury hotel, carrying with it the smell of the city. Jam’s chair was pulled towards the wind, and the quiet ambience of the hotel room was immediately replaced by the steady hum of a night-thriving city.

What the hell Cyrus could possibly want out here? A breath of fresh air? The idea was almost worth laughing at, but Jam had to settle for gasping as he took in many breaths of fresh air, trying to calm–

Oh, hell, they were picking up his chair. And now they were–

“No no no no no wait stop…!” Jam screamed as he felt the chair begin to tip backwards.

He imagined himself toppling over the edge of the balcony, down into the crowded streets below. “Oh, no…! No, no, no, no, please!”

“This isn’t up to me, Agent Jam!” Cyrus‘s voice cut in, shouting above the wind, the city ambiance, and Jam’s cries.

“The hell it isn’t!” Jam screamed, gripping the chair with all his terrified might.

“I can only help you if you accept my help!” Cyrus continued, ignoring Jam’s hysterical retort. “Acknowledge me as your teacher!”

“I can’t! Please!”

“You can only try my patience for so long, agent!”

The chair dropped, just slightly, but it was enough to get a shriek out of Jam. His heart thumped a bruise against the inside of his chest, his throat stung, and Jam was just about ready to snap, when something clicked in his mind.

“Why?!”

Everything stopped.

“…Why what, agent?” Cyrus asked blankly.

Jam swallowed. Don’t think about this terrible position, he told himself, just focus on the abnormality. He had noticed something, and that could mean the difference between life and meeting the asphalt at terminal velocity.

“Why… are you in such a hurry?” Jam‘s voice shook, but he decided not to focus on that either. “I’m… I’m pretty sure I’m only here because you didn’t want to leave me unsupervised while you were at the three-night gala, after finding out I was Double Eye, right?”

No reply.

“And- and your principles prevent you from killing me. So you’re trying to indoctrinate me, just like you did with the others who tried to leave. Clearly, you know what you’re doing. Even with the gala ending tonight, you can still bring me to wherever you brought the others and beat me up there. But for some reason, you’re impatient. You‘ve started to resort to physical violence and you’re…”

Jam gulped, fighting the urging to tip his head back. “You’re threatening to kill me even though that goes against your principles. You’re getting impatient. Why?”

The only sound Jam could hear now was the wind, the city, and his own heartbeat. Then, he heard a chuckle.

“You are a truly remarkable young man, Agent Jam.”

The chair was tilted forward and set on the ground.

“Oh lord…” Jam sagged in his bonds, the rush of adrenaline leaving him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…”

As Jam whispered thanks to someone even he wasn’t sure of, he felt Cyrus’s followers drag his chair back into the hotel room and heard the balcony door slide shut behind him. The dead silence of the hotel room was back, but after everything that had happened, Jam found some comfort in it.

Cyrus sighed somewhere behind Jam. “I’m sorry, agent. Of course, the life of any young person is too precious to do away with, regardless of their past. You should know I had, and have, no intention of doing away with your life.”

A hand snaked through Jam’s hair, combing it back gently, as though trying to comfort him. Jam shuddered, but was otherwise too exhausted to pull away.

“But you’re right… I have let my impatience get the better of me. Reform takes time. It cannot be rushed, no matter how badly I want you to join my family.”

Laughing softly, Cyrus moved to the front of the chair and grasped Jam’s shoulders. “Thank you for recognizing my impatience, agent. Even I was not aware of it. You really are the most worthy young man I have met in all my years. Despite your faults and deceptions, I do believe I have chosen well.”

Jam’s idling mind froze, and he looked up in Cyrus’s general direction. “Chosen? What are you…?”

“Ah, that‘s a surprise. I did want you to be ready sooner rather than later, but again, reform cannot be rushed.” Cyrus removed his hands from Jam’s shoulders. “Now, I do have a gala to attend. Try to get some rest, Agent Jam. We’ll leave tomorrow morning and your reform can continue in a more appropriate setting.”

The air shifted, and Jam heard Cyrus and his followers make their way towards the exit. The lights faded, and a door clicked shut, leaving Jam alone with his thoughts and suffering.

Originally posted under the URL @shsl-whump in early 2020

WARNING: implied captivity, implied manipulation, implied abandonment

(image source)

“They already gave up on you, you know.”

“No. Shut up.”

“Denial? You’re smarter than that, boyo.”

“No. You’re a liar. Shut up.”

“I heard tell that they already replaced you. You are officially a discarded item. Good thing I was around to scoop you up, eh?”

“Shut up! You’re a liar!”

“Ooh, now is that any way to be talking to the one person who’s bothering to keep you around?”

“No. Stop. They–“

“Aren’t coming. Come on, boyo, you’re gonna have to let it go eventually. I know it hurts, but holding on to the past just isn’t healthy.”

“I said shut up! I… I…!”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here, remember?”

“I… Stop. This isn’t… Oh god…”

“Don’t cry, now. They aren’t worth the tears.“

“Shut up… Just…”

“Look on the bright side - now we have all the time in the world! I can’t wait to see how many more games we can play together.”

“No…”

“It’s okay, take your time. I’m here for you.”

Originally posted under the URL @shsl-whump in late 2019

WARNING: threats of torture, general creepiness, implied captivity

(image source)

“I’ll tell you what… If you can take what I’m about to inflict on you like a good boy, I will let your friends go. But, if you squirm, if you scream, if you do anything I don’t like… I’ll turn it all on them.”

A blade traced the outline of his cheekbone, ever so gently. It was almost ticklish.

“Do we have a deal?”

Part 1|Part 2 |Part 3

Part of the “Team SA37″ series

Agent Jam’s third ever mission as a Double Eye agent takes a turn when he’s captured by the target. (originally posted under the URL @shsl-whump on May of 2018)

Artwork commissioned from @theeternalcynic/@go-whump-in-the-night​ on December 26th, 2021. Massive thank you to them for taking my request during the holidays :3

WARNING: captivity, torture via electrocution, attempted manipulation, less than optimal sense of self-worth

–

Jam hated this room. It was so clean and fancy and shiny. The wallpaper was gold and white, the king-sized bed was adorned with silk sheets, the minibar was stocked with some of the finest liquor, and the tables were made out of hell damned mahogany. Even the chair he was tied to was solid and intricately hand carved.

Then there was him, tired, hungry, thirsty, sweaty, and filthy. He wasn’t even dressed to at least look elegantly bedraggled - he still wore the same jeans and tee he’d put on… what, two days ago? Three days ago? He couldn’t remember. Time tended to blur when he was in pain.

“Good morning, Agent Jam.”

Speaking of pain…

Cyrus appeared in front of him, all washed and groomed and refreshed and smiling and damn Jam just wanted to punch him! Then Cyrus leaned down to eye level and Jam just wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. Anything to escape this madman.

“How are you feeling?”

Jam didn’t even give him a look.

“You know very well now that your discomfort is only temporary, agent,” Cyrus said, as though he had read Jam’s un-emoted thought. “You only need to submit yourself to my flock.

“But…” He stood up straight, giving Jam’s hair a ruffle. “…that’s a conversation for after breakfast.”

His two most devoted followers then entered the room, each carrying a covered tray.

They set the trays on the table in front of Jam, and Cyrus sat down at the other end of the table. His followers removed the tray covers, revealing a perfectly fancy breakfast.

Jam hated everything.

It took forever for Cyrus to finish his damn breakfast. As usual, he seemed to have this obnoxious need to savour every bite of food, every sip of drink. He hummed in satisfaction, shaking his head every so often, as though constantly stunned by the deliciousness of what he was eating. It took every remaining scrap of dignity Jam still had to keep from staring.

He was hungry.

Unheavenly hungry.

And thirsty too.

But he was determined not to start behaving like a begging dog. Not yet, anyway.

Cyrus finally finished eating the expensive looking breakfast. Jam couldn’t help but notice that there was plenty still leftover. As his followers removed the breakfast trays, Cyrus turned his attention, as he always did, to the agent tied to the chair in front of him. Jam avoided his gaze, some deep seated instinct telling him that if he just didn’t make eye contact…

“So, here we are again, agent.” Cyrus sighed. “Another day, another chance for reform.”

Jam laughed. It was short and harsh and not at all genuine, but he just couldn’t help it. ‘Reform.’ It sounded so nice and gentle, the same way this room looked so comfortable and inviting.

“Laugh now, Agent Jam,” Cyrus warned, sounding uncannily like an admonishing caretaker. “Remember, you attempted to enter my flock through deceptive means. It is only fair I make you see the truth, so you may then join me without deception.”

Something was draped over his eyes, and Jam gasped, sudden fear kickstarting his fight-or-flight response.

“Wait…!”

Despite Jam’s frantic cry, the silk blindfold - even the damn torture methods had to be luxurious! - was tied tightly around his eyes. As Jam attempted to shake it off, a pair of hands grabbed the back of his chair and dragged it back, away from the table.

It really was true that all other senses appeared to be heightened when one was deprived of sight. Jam was acutely aware of his own heartbeat and his own rapid breaths. He was acutely aware of where the ropes chafed his skin and where his body still ached from the last… whatever the hell this was. He could hear Cyrus moving towards him, practically smell the lingering scent of his breakfast. He could hear the click-clack of something metal and plastic being handled, sense it being passed to Cyrus’s waiting presence.

Had Jam’s body always been this tense?

“Wait,” he gasped, pushing himself back against the chair. “Don’t.”

“You are blind to the truth.” Cyrus’s voice came less than two feet away from Jam’s face. “It is a long road, but I can help you.”

“No…” Jam shook his head, voice breaking a little.

“You first must acknowledge me as teacher,” Cyrus continued, his voice this time coming from behind Jam. “That is all I ask.”

“Ple–“

Had he been about to beg? Jam wasn’t sure - his mind was largely on auto-pilot. Regardless, he never got to finish what he wanted to say. Instead, the word was replaced with a piercing cry as a harsh pain erupted in his side. It was gone almost as soon as it had come, and Jam hung against his bonds, gasping.

“You’re in pain.” Cyrus was beside him now. “That can easily be remedied. Just acknowledge me as your teacher.”

“No–” He didn’t have enough breath to scream this time.

The cattle prod - Jam was about 98% sure it was a cattle prod after having come into contact with it so many times now - dug into Jam’s chest, eliciting a strangled whine.

And so it went, on and on, over and over again - Cyrus would make his demands, just as calm and benign as ever, and Jam would receive a jolt of electricity as punishment for not giving the right answer. Jam could barely get a word out at this point, not without the damn prod digging into his back or his leg or his shoulder or his neck or his stomach, and couldn’t even see where it was coming from, couldn’t even see where his tormentor was…! He could only hear his own screams, the pop of electricity, and Cyrus’s stupidly calm voice demanding the same thing over and over and over and over–

The latest bout of pain left his body, and Jam screamed. “Stop! Stoppit! Just stop!”

“Hm? Are you ready to recognise your teacher, agent?”

“Just–“

The prod met the nape of his neck, and Jam…

…

…

…The next thing he knew, Jam felt a hand patting his cheek.

“Come on, agent. Fainting like that…” The owner of the hand tutted. “Even I have to say that’s a little pathetic.”

Fainting? Had he actually fainted? If so, then… Yeah, that was a little pathetic. It definitely wasn’t the prod that had knocked him out, so his composure must have suffered a crippling blow. What kind of Double Eye agent was he if he had actually fainted from stress?

“That’s it.” The owner of the hand sounded like he was smiling.

Jam shifted slightly, only to feel every abused muscle contract in protest. “Ah…” He groaned, falling limp. “It…”

“What, agent?”

“It hurts…” His words were barely more than a whisper, spoken out of confused delirium, but…

Had he just admitted defeat?

It certainly felt like it.

“I know it hurts, agent.” The owner of the hands - Cyrus, right? - tucked some of Jam’s hair behind the blindfold. “But you can stop anytime you want. You simply need to acknowledge me as teacher.”

Was that really it, though?”

“It is the first step of many,” Cyrus said, as though having read Jam’s mind. “But it is all I require to remove this pain from you, to help you see once again.”

Everything Jam knew about brainwashing tactics told him no. He was practically an expert on this sort of thing for crying out loud! He knew well enough that if Cyrus could make him do something so simple, Cyrus could go on to make him do something much more devastating. What was the saying? ‘Give a man an inch’ or something like that?

But… it was just a simple title, right? It wasn’t like Jam would actually listen to the guy or anything. It was just a title, and Jam did so desperately want this to stop…

“What do you even have, anymore, agent?” Cyrus continued, cutting through Jam’s thoughts. “You would have nothing to lose, everything to gain, from joining me.”

“My… my team…” Jam whispered.

Ah, yes! His team! He had worked so hard to become worthy of joining a proper Double Eye investigation team. He had only just started his career! That would be a lot to lose.

“Team?” Cyrus scoffed, sounding distinctly annoyed for the first time. “What team? I see no team here, saving you from this pain, agent.”

That… was true, but Double Eye had always emphasised never leaving a man behind! And from what Jam knew second-hand about his team leader, Agent SA37 was basically the aficionado of that principle. So, there had to be a good reason for why the team wasn’t busting down the door right now. After all, they had been hired to investigate and implicate Cyrus, not to break into his hotel rooms.

“Yourteam,” Cyrus sneered, “only cared about your skill in the art of deception. That is why you were sent to me, to use your skill in order to enter my flock dishonestly. But I saw through your lies, and now you’re here, accepting your due punishment. After failing to use that skill your team prized so much, do you really think they would consider you worth retrieving?”

Jam stiffened, as though the prod had hit him again. “No! I mean- I mean, yes! I… I think…”

His voice trailed off. It was clear that the team had not been fond of receiving a new member. Agent SA37 was short with him, Agent 707 always acted as though he was in the way, and even Agent Tigress, despite her attempts at welcoming him, treated him like he was some summer intern who would be out of their hair soon enough. But… but things had been getting better, right? They seemed to be warming up to him, at least treating him as an actual asset rather than an unwanted part. After all, this was only Jam’s third mission, and they had actually assigned him the ever important undercover work! Clearly they now trusted his skill set!

And he had betrayed that trust.

The realization almost had Jam breaking down. Instead, he clenched his fists tightly, his fingernails cutting into his palm. He still had some dignity left, and he wasn’t about to shed tears in front of a crazy cult leader who could somehow afford luxury level goods and services.

“Well, agent?” Said cult leader spoke, once again sounding calm and benign. “Again, you need only accept me as teacher.”

Yes. It was so simple. Just something to make this all stop, if only for a bit. He was so tired…

“Agent Jam?”

The one spoken to swallowed. Giving in was such a nice thought, but… he had entertained the idea long enough. Double Eye agents never gave in, right? At least not to something as mundane as repeated blows from a cattle prod. And even if his team didn’t really seem to like him, they had to find him sometime, right? Double Eye agents never left a man behind, regardless of their personal feelings.

Besides, Agent SA37 himself had said he owed Jam for saving his life. And if Agent SA37 was known to be anything, he was known to be a man of his word.

Jam lifted his head, turning in the general direction of Cyrus’s voice. “Agent Jam…” He paused and steadied his voice. “Agent Jam, Team SA37. My team will come for you–”

WHACK.

His cheek stung. He tasted copper. The blow had easily split open his dry lips. Had Cyrus actually backhanded him? That was new. Jam felt the hand on his face again, and he instinctively cringed. But it only cupped his chin in a caring gesture and tilted his face upward ever so gently.

“You insist on staying blind to the truth, agent.” Cyrus sounded pitying. “I consider it my duty to help you see it.”

Any reply Jam might have given was lost in a scream as the prod met his stomach. Outside, one of Cyrus’s followers stood guard, hearing absolutely nothing of what was going on inside the room. Luxury hotels came with premium insulation, after all.

Inspired by this ask/answerby@justwhumpythings and originally posted under the URL @shsl-whump on June 17th, 2018

…….Fun fact, that anonymous asker in the original post was actually me before I got the courage to implement myself into the whump community. I am not joking.

WARNING: captivity, torture via cigarette burns+threats against loved ones

(image source)

“Look, I just wanna know who hired you to investigate me. Whoever they are, they’re literally the only one I got a beef with. Once they’re outta the way, you and your little team can go riding off into the sunset with your bodies intact.”

“Go to hell.”

The mobster sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Guess my mysterious hater got what they paid for, eh?”

He put out his cigarette on the team leader’s bare knuckle, drawing a pained scream from the otherwise stoic man. Managing to fight down the scream, the team leader breathed harshly through clenched teeth as the chair he was tied to was turned around. There, mounted to the wall in front of him, were three flatscreen TVs.

“Nice screens,” the team leader growled. “Where’d you steal them?”

The mobster chuckled, standing alongside the TVs. “You’re a funny man, agent. Maybe that’s partly why I don’t intend to hurt you much.”

All three screens blinked on.

“Can’t say the same for your little team.”

The team leader’s breathing hitched. Each screen depicted one of his three team members, each in their own separate room, strung up by their wrists, displaying varying levels of anger and fear as they fought to get free. And it was all in glorious high definition.

“Yeah, I thought that’d get your attention.”

The mobster’s triumphant laugh yanked the team leader’s attention from the screens. Breathing accelerating, the team leader turned to the mobster with a murderous glare, though it’s intent was dulled by an underlying panic.

“What the hell do you want?” the team leader snapped.

“You already know, agent. I just want the identity of whoever hired you to investigate me. You tell me that, and your team doesn’t experience the worst my reputation has to offer.”

The mobster met the team leader’s glare with a chilling grin. “You don’t tell me, and I’ll just go ask one of your team members for an hour or so.” He stepped forward and grabbed the team leader’s face in a tight grip. “And believe you me, agent - I’m not gonna ask them nearly as nicely as I ask you.”

The team leader’s knuckles turned white around the armrests of the chair, and he pulled his face out of the mobster’s grasp.

“So, who do you think I should try first?” The mobster spread his arm towards the screens. “The dame seems like she’d be fun, and you never know what to expect from women when they’re put under pressure. Or I could go for the angry guy - he looks like he’d be a challenge, though I’m sure he screams with the best of ‘em. Ah! Or I could take your rookie for a spin, let you see just how well he takes it, see if he’s actually ready for the big leagues.”

The mobster turned towards the team leader. “Well? Any advice, agent?”

The team leader glared at mobster once again, this time without the panic marring his intent. “Don’t. Touch. Them.”

“Okay.” The mobster raises his hands in surrender. “Okay. That’s fine. You just need to tell me, who hired you to investigate me?”

The teams leader’s body tensed. His eyes darted from the mobster, to the screens, and back again.

“All right, guess I’ll just ask one of your teamies.” The mobster pulled out another cigarette and made for the exit.

“No! No!” The team leader jerked against his bonds, shouting at the mobster. “Leave them alone!”

The mobster tutted. “You had your chance, agent. Don’t worry, you’ll have another one soon enough. Until then, I’ll just draw straws to see which of your team members you get to watch scream.”

Frantically, the team leader struggled to free himself from the chair, but to no avail. The door slammed shut behind the mobster, leaving the team leader to look helplessly at the screens displaying his captured team members and wonder which one would suffer for his silence.