Carrot Top 51- Restriction

Well, this was originally going to be a lot longer, but I decided to split it up into two separate chapters. Anyways, here’s chapter 51! Chapter 50.Masterlist.

CW: medical whump, experimenting on a whumpee, restraints, power-restricting/shock collars, some lady whump (nothing graphic, very brief), manhandling, possessive whumper, unconscious whumpee.

- - -

“Is this the right place?” Micah whispered.

They had been traveling for nearly four hours, following the directions of the coordinates on the small device. They were all on the edge of their seats- exhausted, and incredibly worried. Mickie finished rebraiding her hair for the hundredth time and wiped the sweat from her palms onto her pants. 

“Well it looks pretty similar to the last time we had to rescue him, so I’d say we’re here.” Justin stated. He finished chugging the water bottle he had in his hand, crumpled it up and tossed it off to the side. 

“The last time?” Micah glanced around- staring at the concrete building, towering walls- a few stories high, glowing faintly in the dark light. “What should- what should I expect?”

“Considering he was practically drowning in a pool of his own blood- whatever that man has done, it’s- it’s going to be bad.” Mickie snarked- her voice trailing off as she stared out towards the building. 

Micah bit back his tongue, trying to swallow the fear. He had to stay level-headed for as much of this as he could. He glanced at Mickie as she zipped up her jacket. She looked so much like her brother- acted a lot like him too.

He wished the first time meeting his boyfriend’s sister would’ve been in better circumstances than a rescue mission.

His boyfriend…

Could he even call him that? 

He obviously knew the boy liked him, that was clear. But if he was ready for a whole other level to their relationship was another question.

As soon as Andrew was better- once he was safe, he’d ask him. He’d make sure of it.

Micah climbed out of the helicopter, following everybody else as he adjusted the pistol tucked in the waistband of his pants. 

They didn’t know he had brought a gun- after all, from their explanations they never needed them because of their powers. But he was just normal. Micah didn’t know how to fight like they did. But he did know how to defend himself.

And this man- whoever this ‘Splice’ was, had obviously done unexplainable horrors to his friend. 

There was no way he was walking in there empty-handed.

“So, Justin and I will walk in there first- hopefully we can minimize any fighting necessary with my controlling powers- and then Mickie, you can disguise you two and follow close behind? Kind of as backup if necessary, but I want you to stay out of sight if possible.” Ali explained.

Everyone nodded, they knew this had to go as smoothly as possible. For Andrew’s sake.

- - -

It had been a little more than eight hours, and he was getting ready for the ninth transfusion. Double checking and triple checking everything- it seemed like it was going well. The cuts had closed up by now, which was good. He needed to retain the new blood- not continue to lose it. Splice admitted he looked beautiful though- the red lines covering the back of his body- the way his hair fell towards the ground- his eyes perfectly closed as he succumbed to the machine. 

He checked the blood in the eighth bag from where it was hung- it was nearly empty- when the door to the room burst open, and two small figures stepped inside.

“You’re early!” Splice cried.

“W-what?” The girl said.

“This is not how I had planned it to go!” He cried, throwing his hands down onto the cart of supplies with a crash. The two kids just stared at him in shock, the boy with a weapon of ice poised to attack, the girl standing just behind his shoulder. Her eyes were so focused on Andrew that she didn’t even glance towards the man as he spoke.

“I needed three more hours. Just three!” Splice groaned in frustration, shoving the cart to the wall with a crash. The girl flinched back as tools and supplies rained to the ground as it toppled.

Splice dug his fingers through his hair. What was he going to do now? The process was going to be interrupted if they tried to rescue him. True he could always restrain the other two while he finished, that was an option, but before he could come up with a plan, the boy jolted towards him.

“Let him go!” He cried as he lunged an attack.

Splice groaned in frustration, knocking Justin back towards the ground with a well-aimed kick. He quickly sprung back to his feet and began throwing punches and attacks as the man tried to defend. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the girl rushing towards his prisoner where he lay.

“Oh no you don’t-” He stepped away from Justin, causing him to fall off balance. Splice grabbed Ali by the arm as she reached for Andrew and threw her across the room in a swift move. He darted to the control panel- grabbing a lever towards the side.

“Stop!” He shouted. “Don’t move. This lever controls everything he’s hooked up to- I pull it, and all the machines keeping him alive and breathing, will shut off, splat, kapoot- that’s it.”

“No- don’t-” The girl whispered. 

“Oh I won’t hesitate.” He threatened. “It’s very noble that you want to help, and rescue him, but I need you to back away from the boy.” Splice demanded. The two kids did as they were told- holding their hands in the air. “Good. Now it’s very vital that I finish what I was doing, or this whole thing I’ve been working on will be useless.”

At the sound of his words, Splice’s own form seemed to melt off of his body. It pooled to the ground before rising up and splitting in two, creating two other replicas of the man. 

Ali shuddered as one of them approached her- they always looked so dead inside- nothing behind their eyes, no thoughts- no feelings, just whatever command they were given. 

“Grab her.” He commanded.

Ali couldn’t mind control something that didn’t have a mind of it’s own.

Her powers were useless against it as the figure pulled her arms tight behind her back, holding her in a tight grip. Justin darted towards her to help but the second clone grabbed his arm and pulled him back. 

He cried out, trying to swing a punch with his other arm but it was blocked just as quickly as he swung it. 

“Hey now-” Splice called out- motioning towards the lever- “I suggest you cooperate. For your friend’s sake here.”

Justin glared towards the man and let his arms be pulled behind his back with a grumble- glancing towards Ali to make sure she was alright. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of Andrew the entire time. 

“There we are, that’s better.” The man stated. He disconnected the drip bag that was now empty, and set it off to the side.

“What are you doing to him?” Ali asked. Her voice wavered with worry as she watched her friend lie there- unmoving, suspended in the air.

“Oh you don’t need to worry about that. Let’s get you two out of the way for the moment, shall we?”

Splice moved to the cart where he had collected a few extra collars. They were scattered about with the other supplies, but he managed to pick them out of the mess. The goal was to make more as time went on, for all future prisoners, but these other three he had rounded up would have to do, even if they may have been a little imperfect. 

He slipped one over his arm, grabbing the second in his hand. He pressed his thumb against a button and moved towards the girl.

“Hold still now- this will only pinch a little.”

“What are you- hey-” She cried out as the collar was locked around her throat, a sharp pinch in the back of her neck from the prongs. Almost instantly waves of pain shot up the back of her neck, exploding into her head. She groaned out- this was far worse than any migraine- and soon her vision began going spotty.

Her limbs felt heavy, and her knees began to buckle. 

Justin lashed out towards her as she started to fall. The clone struggled to hold him back, but as the other one laid Ali down by the wall it quickly came to restrain Justin as well.

“What did you do!” He cried. “What did you do to her!” He was seething with anger- thrashing about as a clone struck the back of his knees, tearing his arms behind him as he crashed to the ground. 

Justin watched with terror as she groaned and writhed on the floor- her hands clutching the sides of her head. His attention was quickly pulled away Splice approached him next with the second collar. 

“No- get that away from me!” 

Splice wrenched his head back with a fistful of his hair, exposing his neck and soon the collar was locked around his throat as well. He winced at the pain and nearly instantly began to feel slightly dizzy. 

“What is-” his fingers reached towards his throat. “What is this-” his breathing began to quicken.

“They’re power restricting, isn’t wonderful? Much easier than a surgical procedure, like we had to use last time” Splice explained. His clones came back and melded back into his form, as Justin collapsed on the ground- panting for breath.

“It’s different for each person. They’re beautifully made, but of course I’m a little biased, considering they are my creation.” He gestured towards the boy- his white hair drooping to the ground- his pale skin. “Andrew here simply became more easier to work with. For her, she’s probably having the worse migraine of her life, and you,” Splice knelt down in front of Justin- his face beginning to feel clammy as he tilted his chin up “-you will probably start feeling the affects of dehydration pretty soon. Your powers being water-based and all.”

Justin looked towards Ali once more. Herbody was shaking as her arms wrapped around her head. His limbs felt heavy as he dragged himself over to where she lay on the ground. His fingers fumbled uselessly over the edges of her collar- trying to find a clasp, an opening, or something.

“I wouldn’t recommend that if I were you.” Splice taunted.

“Take it off-” he pleaded- “it’s hurting her-”

“That won’t work- they’re encoded with my fingerprint. It’s the only way to remove them.”

Ali grumbled as he fussed with it some more- ignoring all the man’s direction.

“Take it off-” he demanded.

Splice shook his head, reaching for a small remote he kept in his pocket.

“Alright, well if you won’t listen to me-”

And then there was fire coursing through his veins. Justin flew back from Ali, his back crashing against the ground.

“Did I mention they have incapacitating abilities as well?”

The shocks coursed through his veins- spasming every muscle, tightening his lungs- and Justin screamed. Splice knelt near the boy as he thrashed against the ground, and waved the remote towards the girl.

“Next time- it’ll be her collar that goes off, understand?” 

Through his groans of pain Justin nodded, sweat pouring down his forehead as he spasmed. 

“Good. I suggest you listen from now on, yes?” 

Splice rose to his feet as he turned up the dial for the strength of the shocks, and Justin screamed once more.

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Superhero Interrogated

my hero academia oc whump commissioned by @everythingbaku

content warnings: torture, drugging, captivity, blood, very brief emeto mention

—

Waking is slow. Ren—bouncy, energetic, excitable Ren—is normally the first one up, rising with the sun while his husband grumbles about needing more sleep. Now, though, he feels sluggish and discombobulated, his eyelids impossibly heavy. Either he’s hungover from partying hard at a rager (unlikely, getting blackout drunk isn’t really his scene), or… something’s wrong with him.

Groaning, he cracks his eyes open. His vision is blurry, and the world is cast in black and white. Wincing, he turns his cheek away from the too-bright light, squinting at his surroundings. His tongue is dry, and he feels… off. It takes a moment for him to process the sensation, but when he does, his heart spikes.

He’s been drugged.

His awareness is quickly returning, and he realizes he’s not lying in his bed. No, he’s sitting in a chair, his wrists bound to the wooden arms, his ankles tied to the legs. His neck aches from his head being tipped back for however long he was out. When he lifts his head, the room spins and makes him woozy. He slams his eyes shut and takes several deep breaths until the feeling passes. When he no longer feels faint, he opens his eyes again to assess his situation.

Ren has been kidnapped. That much is obvious. He’s wearing his civilian clothes, so maybe whoever captured him doesn’t know he’s a hero. He’s a shapeshifter, so stealth is his trademark, but his inability to alter the color of his eyes (violet) and his hair (steel blue) sometimes makes him easy to detect. He’s been wearing colored contacts and a baseball cap to compensate, but… hopefully his cover hasn’t been blown.

He looks around the small concrete room, empty except for the chair he’s tied to and the led-lights shining overhead. He’s facing the door. It’s made out of heavy metal and doesn’t have a handle. The room he’s trapped in is more of a cell, really, and definitely not some amatuer goon’s basement.

“Shit,” Ren whispers to himself. He’s really gotten himself into trouble this time. 

He perks up at the sound of footsteps, much more alert now. Someone’s just outside the door—multiple people, if his hearing is right. There’s the sound of multiple bolts being unlatched, and then the door swings open.

Three large, burly men shuffle into the cell, all of them wearing masks, effectively concealing their identities. They’re decked out in protective gear, and Ren notes the weapons strapped to their belts. They must be professionals. Ren swallows. 

“Oh, good, you’re up,” one of them says, “Thought you might’ve overdosed. Hard to figure out how much to give you since you’re so tiny.”

Ren doesn’t validate the remark with a reply. Yeah, they’re not wrong. He’s not even five feet tall, and it sucks, but he can’t exactly help it, can he?

The cell is quiet for a minute or so. They seem to be waiting for him to speak, but he isn’t going to risk revealing anything incriminating. Finally, the goon who entered the room first, the tallest of them all, crosses his arms, taking a step toward him. 

“Nekozawa,” he says slowly, and Ren stiffens. So they do know who he is. He changed his surname to Bakugou after he got married, but he and Katsuki have kept their relationship under wraps to avoid public outcry. Nekozawa is his father’s name and the name everyone knows him by.

He blows a strand of long blue hair out of his eyes. So much for undercover.

“And who are you supposed to be?” he replies snippily, tugging on his wrists to test his restraints. No give. It doesn’t look like he’s gonna be escaping anytime soon.

“You know who we are.” The man moves closer, lifting one booted foot and planting it on the space between his legs—not on his crotch but on the seat of the chair. Close enough to be intimidating (and probably a shitty political statement), but Ren isn’t easily cowed.

Sure, he can be gentle, caring, and loving. He has a soft spot for sweets and pastel t-shirts. His husband sometimes likens him to a kitten, simultaneously teasing and flirting with him. All of these things are true, but he’s still a superhero. He’s a badass, and he’s going to make sure these guys know it.

“Can’t say I do.” He shrugs in disinterest. “I don’t think I’d want to know you, anyway. You guys apparently don’t know a thing about hospitality.”

The man’s lip curls in distaste. “You have infiltrated our organization and have been collecting intel for months. You know more than we can allow.”

“When you say ‘we,’ you mean your bosses, right? If they’re so concerned, why don’t they come talk to me themselves?” Ren suggests. He doubts he’ll get the chance to land his eyes on the higher-ups of the criminal organization he’s currently trying to take down, but he might as well give it a shot, right?

Before Ren can blink, the man’s fist collides with his face. His head is whipped to the side, and he sucks in a breath as his punched cheek throbs in pain.

“Our superiors don’t have time to deal with the likes of you,” the man hisses, kicking the chair back. Ren falls hard, knocking the base of his skull on the floor. Stars dance across his eyes, and he groans, his head pounding. Fuck.

He must lose track of time for a moment because the next time he can see properly, his chair has been picked back up and he’s facing the goons once more.

“What do you want?” Ren asks gruffly. He’s not going to give them anything, not in a million years, but it might do him some good to figure out their agenda. They’re all so… composed, despite their violence. They’re clearly used to dealing with prisoners. No tricking them into letting him go, then. 

“You’re going to tell us what you know,” the man who punched him demands, “and who you work for.”

Ren rolls his eyes, and the goon steps forward, fist clenched.

“I work for myself, thank you very much,” Ren quips, “Oh, and I’m not telling you shit.”

The hit comes, but he’s expecting it this time. Still, the blow to his already bruised cheek hurts twice as much as the first punch did. Stifling a noise of pain, he drops his chin to his chest. The coppery taste of blood quickly fills his mouth, and his tongue aches. He must’ve bit it.

A hand grabs a fistful of his long hair and yanks, forcing him to look up. The goon’s expression is unreadable, hidden behind his mask. “Will you cooperate or not?”

Ren grins, flashing his blood-stained teeth. “What do you think?”

The man lets go of his hair and steps away. Ren tips his head back, breathing heavily through his nose. He’s not as tough as he likes to pretend to be. Those closest to him know he’s a brave fighter who’s willing to die to protect his loved ones, and he has a public reputation as an advocate for civil rights. Still, he isn’t exactly eager to sacrifice himself or get hurt in any way. Living is pretty sweet—so is not being tortured, but it looks like it’s a little late for that now.

There’s an audible shuffle of heavy footsteps as the goons exit his cell, and the coor creaks as it swings shut. With a sigh of relief, Ren looks up—and he’s greeted by the sight of one lone man. Not everyone left the room, it seems. It’s the guy who didn’t speak earlier. He’s standing too close to Ren, his hands clasped behind his back.

Without a second of hesitation, Ren spits at him. The bloody projectile only makes it far enough to land on his shirt, unfortunately. Ren was aiming for his face. 

The man doesn’t flinch.

“Cute,” he drawls, not even glancing down to examine the stain. “But you don’t have to pretend anymore, Ren Nekozawa. It’s just you and me now.”

Ren arches an eyebrow. “What, are you supposed to be good cop or something?”

The man chuckles, a hint of smile curling his lips. “I’m not good cop.”

Unease washes over Ren like an uncomfortable sprinkle of rain, damp and chilling. He tries not to let it show. “Bad cop, then? You gonna hit me some more?”

The man looks up at the ceiling as if talking to himself. “My associate was simply the prelude. Most people break from just the threat of violence. We figured you’d be a little less forthcoming, so I tagged along. I guess you could say I’m the main course.”

Ren pulls on his bound arms reflexively, just a little, and laughs humorlessly. “You gonna tear off my fingernails?”

“Maybe,” the man muses, “but probably not. I doubt you’ll need that much coaxing. You’re not as defiant as you pretend to be.”

Insulted, Ren scowls. “You don’t know me.”

The man nods in concession and begins to circle him like a shark. Ren doesn’t follow his path of travel, simply continuing to glare straight ahead.

“It’s true we’ve never met, but I know people, and you’re easy to read.” He cards a hand through Ren’s hair and twirls a blue strand with his finger. “You’re compensating for your size and apparent vulnerability. It must be difficult, being such a weak hero.”

Ren twists his neck around, dislodging the man’s grip, and tries to bite at his fingers. His teeth clamp around empty air, but his attempt does get the man to back off. Much to his dismay, the guy doesn’t appear threatened in the slightest.

“You’re not even good at using your powers. You stick out like a sore thumb with your height, your hair, and those eyes,” he continues, standing directly in front of Ren now. He plucks a small, thin knife from his belt. “So vibrant. I could help you, y’know. Cut them out, and you’ll be much less identifiable.” He positions the point of the blade just above his pupil, so close that Ren doesn’t even dare to breathe.

“Then again, a boy with two missing eyes might be hard to miss.” With a flick of his wrist, the man cuts a shallow line right underneath his eye. Ren gasps, gritting his teeth. Blood streams down his cheek like a river of tears. 

“Fuck you,” he hisses, trying to maintain his bravado. His heart is jackrabbiting in his chest, and he’s gripping the arms of the chair with white knuckles. He won’t admit it, but he’s scared. He wishes Katsuki was here to protect him. So much for being a badass superhero.

The man hums, wiping the blood off the blade using the collar of Ren’s shirt. 

“There are two ways this can go,” he begins, retracting the knife and replacing it with a much larger one. Ren eyes the jagged blade warily. “You can drop the tough-guy façade and answer every question I ask you—”

“Fat fucking chance!” Ren interjects, snarling. The man raises one unimpressed brow. His mask only covers his eyes, leaving the rest of his face on display. Ren briefly wonders if his lack of concern for his identity is supposed to be an intimidation tactic. 

“Or,” the man continues, splaying one palm over Ren’s collarbones and pressing him flat against the chair’s back. With his other hand gripping the knife, he slashes down the front of Ren’s shirt, cutting open the fabric and the skin of his chest. Ren yelps. “I can make you talk.”

Panting, Ren looks down at the gash. Blood oozes from the wound, dripping down his sternum to his stomach. His insides churn at the sight. 

“So, Nekozawa,” he says amicably, as if he isn’t threatening to torture him, “What will it be?”

Ren squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. The work he’s been doing for the past couple months is important. The criminal organization he’s been spying on is guilty of abhorrent crimes and needs to be brought to justice. He thinks of the victims, past, present, and future. He thinks of his fellow heroes, all of whom are undoubtedly braver than him. He thinks of Katsuki, the love of his life. Katsuki would never surrender.

Ren opens his eyes and shoots his interrogator a defiant grin. “I’m not talking. You can try and make me, but it won’t work.”

The man smiles, as if that’s the answer he wanted to hear. “We’ll see, Nekozawa. We’ll see.”

—

Four hours later, Ren cracks.

It’s the knife in his shoulder that finally does it. The man digs the blade past muscle, all the way to bone, and twists. Ren screams, tears flowing freely.

“Who do you work for, Ren?” the interrogator asks for the upteenth time, calm as ever.

“I, I told you, I work a—” Ren begins, but then the knife twists again, and he shrieks: “Ah, Deku! Deku!”

The blade stills. 

“I work, I don’t, I don’t report to anybody,” Ren continues, unbearably ashamed of himself for the name drop. He held out for hours only to break now. “We sometimes work together. He’s not my boss or anything.”

“Not good enough, Nekozawa,” the man sighs, ripping the knife out of his shoulder. Ren yells, his expression contorted in anguish. Yanking the blade out hurt almost as much as the initial stab.

Groaning, he slumps in his chair. His entire body is covered in cuts, some shallow and some deep. His pale skin is coated in sticky blood, and he emptied his stomach a while ago. Drenched in sweat, exhausted and dehydrated, Ren is pushed past his limits. He never thought he would surrender even the tiniest bit of information, but here he is, giving in like a coward. Fresh tears leak from his eyes.

The man sheaths his blade and takes Ren’s chin in hand. “Does Deku know of your current operation?”

Ren exhales shakily and lies: “No.”

Deku is an incredibly powerful superhero. He went to school with Ren’s husband, Katsuki, and they were rivals for some time. Deku is too well known for undercover work and is much more suited for direct attacks. He’s taken out several outposts after Ren gave him names and locations. They’re not working together directly, but they both know of the danger said criminal organization poses. 

The man’s nails dig into his cheeks. “I don’t believe you.” He digs the thumb of his free hand into a deep gash in his side, and Ren’s mouth falls open in a wordless scream, his eyes rolling back. “Who else is involved?”

Blood dribbles out of the corner of his mouth from his bit tongue. “M’not… telling.”

The interrogator releases his chin and wraps his broad hand around his throat, squeezing tightly. Ren’s eyes fly open, and he struggles to breathe.

“I’ve been very patient,” the man begins, “And I appreciate what you’ve told me so far, but, frankly, it’s nothing I didn’t already know. Maybe I need to be more persuasive.”

Ren shakes his head a fraction of an inch, gaping like a fish out of water. He isn’t sure how much he can endure. He needs a break before he says something stupid. Black spots dance across his vision, and his lungs burn. Time passes impossibly long, and wet, sputtering gasps escape his lips. Eventually, just when he thinks he’s gonna pass out, the man releases his neck. Ren coughs, gulping down air, his vision blinded by tears. He feels so weak and pathetic. What kind of hero allows themselves to be caught and tortured? He doesn’t know how he’ll live with himself after this. If there even is an after. He doesn’t see any chance of escape, and what if no one rescues him?

Ren clenches his fists and steadies his breathing. He can’t lose hope. Katsuki will come for him. If not Katsuki, someone else. He won’t be left here to die. He just needs to hold out and keep his mouth shut.

The man returns to his side with a syringe in hand. He cocks his head and looks down at him with a faux-sympathetic smile. “Hurts, doesn’t it? Here, I’ve got something that’ll help you take your mind off it—and hopefully loosen your tongue.”

“No, no,” Ren protests, squirming in his bonds. He tries to crane his neck away from the needle, but the man grabs his hair and holds him still. Ren whimpers as the drugs are injected into his system, falling limp almost instantly. Whatever the interrogator has given him works fast, and the room begins to swirl. 

“Better, right?”The man pats his cheek, patronizing. “Now, about the data you collected. Mind sharing some names with me?”

Nausea washes over him in waves, and he squints against the lights. The cell is suddenly way too bright, and he moans. A fog settles over him, and he has a hard time remaining focused on his goal.

“What… what?” he mumbles.

The interrogator hums, frowning. “Might’ve given you too much there. It’s hard to determine the correct dose. I’m not used to administering to persons of such short stature.”

Ren isn’t listening, his attention shifting. He’s in so much pain. He just wants to be home with his husband, safe in bed, wrapped in his arms. What he wouldn’t give to see Katsuki’s face right now. 

The room rocks, and the interrogator stumbles. At first, Ren thinks it’s the drugs screwing with his vision and playing tricks on him, but then it happens again.

“Explosions…?” the man whispers, brows furrowed in confusion. 

Ren barks a laugh. Explosions! He’d recognize the sound anywhere. Katsuki is here!

He smiles at the interrogator, eyes bright. “You’re so fucked.”

whump aesthetics • bailey / poppet

(a commission by @wolfeyedwitch ~ her tormented villain whumpee from with bloody outstretched hands)