Fourth Day of Whumptober! I had some trouble this this prompt (caged), but I love the way it turned out. It's probably the whumpiest thing I've ever written.
Warnings: Knives, stabbing, blood (lots of it), kidnapping, creepy whumper, a bit of non-con (nothing sexual)
Sometimes, when Peter leaned up against the bars of the cage, he thought about Em's finger curls. Her dark eyes. Her favorite red dress which ended in jewels mid-calf. The pearl earrings he gifted her. Only a day before he ended up here.
The Avengers Clan, like most other gangs, had their enemies. Cops, Ross, and most especially rival gangs. Especially the Colbert Death Brotherhood. Their name was extensive and misleading. The team had several women in it. But the 'Death' part was the truest part. The gang alone had killed nearly seven thousand New Yorkers.
Next was Peter.
Speaking of the devil, Harris was back.
"Hello, hello, hello Peter Parker," he began, the same way he had every time they saw each other, "I'd love to kill you, you know."
"The feeling's mutual," Peter mumbled.
Harris only grinned back. "You could never kill anyone and you know it." He paused, taking out the keys and swinging them around. "I, however, could kill you right now. If I wanted to."
"Oh, good, so you're keeping me alive for how much longer?" Peter replied, sarcastic.
He ignored that comment, unlocking the cage door and grabbed Peter by the collar. Harris escorted him down the hall. The whole building was dim. Peter memorized his surroundings. He was led down a flight of stairs. To what he can only assume is the basement. It's cold and even darker.
Harris threw him down on the table. Rubbing his arm, Peter tried to jump up. Only to be yanked down by restraints. He fought against then. As if that would do anything. Harris grabbed something from another table. A knife.
Mr. Stark warned him about this. Torture. Worse the death. Most of the people who were tortured by Harris never came out alive.
"What do you want?" Peter barked out. The knife was an inch above his cheek.
"Just some picture-worthy moments to send to that mentor of yours," he replied.
The weapon made contact. Tearing into his flesh, burning. Tears sprang to his eyes. Peter could gear blood. He was going to throw up.
Harris's traces the knife down his throat. Light enough not to kill him. He unbuttons Peter's shirt. Digging deeper. Still not enough to kill him. Each breath got shorter and shorter. Harris kept his face serious. As if he were filling out paperwork. Not torturing someone.
"Just a bit more," Harris whispered, dragging the dagger, "And done." He stepped back. "That'll make some great pictures."
He ran a hand through Peter's hair, making him shiver. Harris turned his back to collect the camera. He smiled softly at the sound of Peter's grunting.
Heavy footsteps pounded down the wooden stairs. "Hey, uh, boss? There's a Miss Jones here to see you?"
Miss Jones? Like MJ? No. She can't be here. Harris . . . he would hurt her. Not MJ. Please. Peter whimpered.
Harris studied his worried expression, putting a hand to his chin. "This Miss Jones must be very . . . special to you, Parker. It would shame if something happened to her."
"No! No! Please-not her. Torture me more. Just don't . . ."
"I'll be right there. Have some men ready."
"Please, sir. Please!"
His cries, though heard, were gladly ignored. He heard her screams. The terror in her voice. MJ fought them, hard. She was a fighter. But they won. Peter crammed his neck to see her tight expression.
"Peter! Oh, thank goodness! What happened-?" she breathed out.
Harris threw his hand over her mouth, keeping her from talking. MJ kicked him, but he didn't move. Not a bit.
"Chain her to the wall. She's feisty. And no one likes a feisty woman, do they, Miss Jones?"
MJ only stared back with a look that could kill.
Harris's men handcuffed her to the wall. One tied a handkerchief around her lips to keep her silent. MJ wasn't much of a talker, but when she spoke, she talked.
She was wearing her favorite red dress.
"Please. Leave her out of this," Peter begged again.
"Where should we start?" Harris observed his prey. "These earrings are awful pretty. Pearls, are they? It would be such a shame if someone were to rip them out."
He tugged at the pearls. MJ squeezed her eyes close. Her teeth biting into her bottom lip, keeping it from trembling. Her eyes flamed with fear.
Harris moves his hands to her hair. Perfect finger-curls which had been done fresh that morning. He tugged on them. Taking in the scent. He whispered something in her ear, which Peter didn't catch. But the way MJ's hand moved trying to hit him, with the handcuffs held her back, made his stomach turn. He could only imagine what she would be saying to him.
"Sir, I'll do anything, just-"
"This photoshoot is gonna look even better with the girlfriend involved." He took another whiff of her hair. "One second, baby girl."
Harris reached the table of weapons.
"I am so sorry, Em. I shouldn't have gotten you involved in all this. I-"
He made her gaze. MJ's eyes only expressed forgiveness. She nodded slowly at him.
"Love you, Tiger," he could've sworn he heard her say.
"Ah, here it is," Harris said. He turned back around. With a dagger. Sharper than the one he used to torture Peter.
His wounds stung a little, thinking about it.
"No! Sir! Sir!"
Harris plunges it into her stomach. Twisting it.
The cloth tied around her face couldn't muffle the sound of her cries.
Her red dress-her favorite was now sprayed with blood.
Knees bent, she towered over. MJ grimaced. She looked back at Peter. The blood covering him.
Harris removed the handkerchief. "Come on now, baby girl, give me a scream. A real good one. For me."
She glared up at him. Then spat on his shoes.
He tilted her chin up, using a finger. "I'm disappointed in you. Aren't you hurting? Feel that burn? It hurts, don't it? Just let it out. Scream. For me."
MJ whimpered, but refused to scream.
"Well, I guess I'll just have to get that scream out of ya."
Harris removed the knife from her torso. Slowly. Twisting it as he pleased. Still, she didn't scream.
"Harris, if you hurt her-no, if you even touch her again, I swear I'll-"
"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves, Parker."
He ran the knife down her leg. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Smearing her make-up. Her curls-now messy. Rage boiled in Peter's stomach.
"Just quit it, Harris," he said through gritted teeth.
"Well, I suppose it can be picture time now," Harris said, "You, Parker, might need some more work done. If we really want to frighten good ole' Mr. Stark."
He dug the dagger into Peter's arm. His good white shirt was officially covered in blood. Aunt May would have to buy him a new one. Was what Harris told him, grabbing the camera. One of the latest models, Peter couldn't help but note.
"Alright, let's get you two situated."
Harris called in more of his men. With strong arms and an aggressive demeanor. He orders them to sit Peter down on the ground. He bends his legs slightly. MJ is placed almost on top of him. Blood on her stomach was exposed. With how pale she is, it'll show on camera. Her knees are hovering over his leg, bent. Peter cups her face with a hand.
As if they were posing for a normal photograph.
Harris shot a few pictures.
It feels like forever, but everything must have been done quickly. They're not dead. Yet.
"Get the doc," Harris ordered, "I need them in pain, but not dead. At least, not yet."
"I'll get us out of this, Em. Promise," Peter whispered into her hair.
"Bushwa," MJ mumbled back, "I'll be doing the saving around here, dew dropper."
Her voice was weak. Almost making Peter cringe. He held her closer. One hand covering the hand she was using to put pressure on it.
The medic arrived, taking MJ away from him.
When Peter looked down at his hand, it was covered in blood. Both of theirs.
Wasn't able to fit this in, but the reason MJ was there to see Harris was to deliver him a message from Tony.
Thank you so much for reading!