andithewhumper

[andithewhumper]

Whumpee on their knees.

Whumper pushing whumpee down by their shoulders to their knees.

Whumper kicking whumpee's legs out from under them to get them to their knees.

Whumper pulling whumpee up from their belly to their knees.

Whumper grabbing whumpee by the collar and forcing them to their knees.

Whumpee bound up in a kneeling position.

Defiant whumpee finally, shamefully kneeling in front of whumper in defeat.

Broken whumpee eagerly falling all over themselves to kneel before whumper.

Whumper grabbing a kneeling whumpee's face and pulling it up to look at them.

Whumper standing menacingly over a kneeling whumpee.

[andithewhumper]

"No-no no please! Please- please don't-"

"Shushhh," the whumper cooed, cutting off their captive's panicked babble.

Tears dripped down the whumpee's face, clinging to their skin as they flowed over their jaw and down their neck, pooling on the silver blade pressed into the whumpee's windpipe. There was enough pressure behind the blade to hurt, there would most likely be a small cut left in its wake, but it was not there to kill, not yet.

The whumpee sat tied to a cold, unyielding metal chair, their head pressed back into the whumper standing behind them, their back arched as they attempted to stay as far as they could from the whumper's knife.

The whumper's free hand found its way into the whumpee's sweat-soaked hair, causing a yelp as they tightened their grip.

A pathetic noise escaped the whumpee, somewhere between a whimper and a sob.

Then slowly, slowly, they dragged their knife along the whumpee's neck, so gently that at first it only pulled the skin, but eventually left a thin red line in its wake. The collected tears fell off as they did, mixing with blood and dripping down pink into the whumpee's shirt.

The whumpee's eyes were blown wide, breathing fast and panicked, but they dared not make a sound as it happened, painfully aware of how close their throat was to being cut.

The whumper chuckled and grabbed the whumpee's shoulders causing them to flinch against their bonds, "so tense."

Somehow the whumpee's breathing quickened even more, too scared to move, not the least bit comforted by the fact they no longer had a knife to their throat, "p-please-"

"Please what?"

"please-please... please" the whumpee sobbed.

"Please what? I do not know how you think I can even attempt to fulfill your request if you do not tell me what you want."

The whumpee was beyond reason, a mess of tears and snot, babbling incoherent pleas.

The whumper moved around their shaking captive, grabbed their chin, and pulled their face up. The whumpee tensed, squeezing their eyes shut.

"Look at me."

The whumpee continued to sob, breaths coming hard and fast, "nononono please- plea-"

The whumper cut them off with a sharp slap.

The whumpee yelped, they couldn't catch their breath, everything hurt, everything was too much.

"...please," they whimpered.

"If you really want it to get you anywhere, you are going to have to learn to beg properly."

[andithewhumper]

Meet the warden

Prev chapter - 1st chapter

-

A bleak and barren interrogation room. Way to break out the clichés.

Lucas glanced around, even though there wasn’t much to look at, except himself, staring back from the two-way mirror. The only part of the room that showed that there was at least some form of advanced technology in this bleak place.

The figure staring back at him wasn’t much to look at either. While he could certainly feel the dried blood caking to his face, could feel the bruise under his eye every time he blinked, seeing his own reflection in black and blue completed the full picture. The bump on his forehead could barely be covered by some strands of black hair and was probably the cause of his massive pounding headache. The fatigue was plain to see on his face, in his eyes. And, unfortunately, didn’t overshadow the hint of resigned fear. All combined, bit of a sad look there, and he looked away.

His throat was parched and he could only hope that he was going to get a cup of water without having to give up anything in return.

But given his treatment when they’d dragged him in, sitting him down here for – what – at least an hour now without the slightest concern for his injuries, he didn’t really feel luck was on his side for that one.

Just when he thought he might as well catch some shuteye and crossed his arms to slide down on his chair, the door opened and rudely interrupted any plans of rest.

Lucas glared up, did a small double take as his eyes had to adjust a few inches higher than he’d anticipated to meet the eyes of the man filling the doorway, and his eyes widened as he recognised who it was.

Heavy footsteps of combat boots echoed against the concrete box as the man slowly entered the room, closed the door. His long black coat had been replaced by – or had just concealed – a simple white dress shirt, tucked into black slacks. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, accenting his toned forearms. Sharp grey eyes roamed over the bruises on Lucas’ face.

It was the man who had slammed his head into the floor and had arres— fucking dragged him to this place.

Lucas nearly snarled and looked up at the man, who stopped at the opposite side of the table. Now that he was standing directly in front of him, the man was even taller than he’d thought. Perhaps also because of how he carried himself; he stood straight as an arrow, hands behind his back, practically looming over Lucas.

Annoyance flared in Lucas’ eyes. “You didn’t have to go to the trouble to actually come all the way here to interrogate me, you know.”

The man’s lips twitched, trying to hide a smile. He pulled the chair back and sat down across. “Don’t be silly,” he said, voice deep and laced with authority, and he looked Lucas straight in the eye. “I am the warden here.”

Lucas fought the impulse to close his eyes and take a sigh, but the man took in every small twitch of body language and nothing escaped him.

“Yes,” he agreed, his eyes didn’t leave Lucas’. “You are fucked.” He folded his fingers and let his hands rest in front of him on the table.

Lucas unconsciously leaned back on his chair, as if he could gain a few inches away from the man. The warden… So he wasn’t at a police station; they’d skipped ahead a few steps and brought him straight to prison. This man’s prison. The prison he’d been looking into. What an awful coincidence. Yeah, right.

The warden slid a folder onto the table and opened it, taking his time reading through it like he had all the time in the world and all the information was new to him.

“Lucas Rafael Varga,” he read from the first page, emphasizing each word.

Lucas scoffed mentally. As if the man didn’t know his name yet. This was just a means to show what they had on him. He glanced at the little metal tag left of the man’s chest pinned to his white button-up. N Mathison was punched in it in old-fashioned block capitals. “Warden Mathison,” he responded as if in a belated greeting.

Mathison didn’t look up but his lips twitched, not enough to form a smile. He merely nodded in response.

Lucas took the time to take him in. The man was probably a bit older than him, forties maybe. Though the lines on his face could be making him look older than he actually was… He had a weathered look about him, going by his manner and posture (not to mention his physique) possibly gained from a combat role. Military? His hair only reinforced the assumption; an undercut with longer black strands of hair tinged with grey combed back, medium fading to a full grey at his temples.

Grey eyes suddenly shot up from the file and Lucas startled.

“I thought you were leading the pack of wolves?” he grumbled, trying to deflect.

“No, no. I only joined the search for you.” Mathison pushed the file an inch away and leaned forward, noticing Lucas’ discomfort. “After all, it was best to keep you out of trouble. Someone has to protect you from yourself.” The one corner of his lips turned up in a devious smirk.

“You make it a sport to hunt down civilians?”

“Depends on the catch. I do when they are looking into my business.”

So this probably was the man Lucas had been looking for. “Your business being covering up the murder of one of your inmates.”

The warden wasn’t baited and gave an almost exasperated shrug. “That’s what you are hoping to find. I think in time you’ll find yourself reassessing your theories.”

“That man was my client. At the time of his death, he shouldn’t even have been here! I got his sentence reduced to five years, and that was eight years ago.”

That did draw out a reaction. Mathison’s expression twisted, but not in shock or surprise. It was almost in disgust. A mere twitch of the one eye, a crinkle of his nose, barely visible and quickly covered again. Mathison responded calmly: “There are many factors that can add to a man’s sentence.”

Lucas reared up to argue, but thought against it and sagged in his seat. There were many factors why they’d go this far trying to stop him from looking into the matters too deeply. But he wasn’t going to get much out of this. Not now. So he switched to another argument. “You can’t keep me here. No trial, no legal base, it’s unlawful.”

It was unceremoniously slammed down. “You’ll find I don’t care.”

“So this is nothing more than a kidnapping.”

Mathison smiled wryly at that. “A kidnapping doesn’t happen in broad daylight, in public. An arrest, however…”

“An arrest,” Lucas scoffed.

“You were caught up with a client, aiding and abetting. Things escalated beyond your control. Bonus, you resisted arrest.” He nodded at the bump on Lucas’ forehead.

“What? That’s why I’m here?”

“That’s the story why you’re here.”

Lucas stared at the man in disbelief and reality fell into his stomach like a lead weight. It’s not like he had expected anything that would ensure his release that very day. He had hoped Ava could help bail him out; they’d delay things just because they could and to send a message, but ultimately they’d have to send him on his way, all this being nothing more than a warning. But it slowly dawned on him now that this was serious. That this was, literally, for the long haul. And unlike him, they had been preparing for it.

The only thing he had going for him, the tiny bright light that was currently being smothered by dark helplessness, was the fact that no one was going to believe this. Or, well, at least Ava wasn’t…

“After all, if this had been just a simple mistake,” Mathison said in a sweet voice that didn’t match his expression, “you would have simply gone along quietly. Talked your way out, threatened consequences. No. You knew we were coming. And you chose to fight because there was no other option.”

“You can’t do this,” Lucas said, but the certainty of his tone melted away by the warden’s casual confidence at breaking the law and his own voice suddenly sounded too shaky to his ears. “You can’t keep me here isolated from everything and everyone. People will ask questions, they will come for me.”

“They won’t. You’re too ashamed of your actions and refuse to meet with anyone. The trial is in a few weeks and after that everything’s done and dealt with.”

“What about my lawyer.”

“You’re a defence lawyer. You represent yourself.”

Lucas gaped at that. “I will not,” he said, too invested in this fake ass trial.

Mathison finally gave a genuine smile to that, one that wasn’t laced with a condescending cruelty. He took something from Lucas’ file and slid the paper over the table. “Your letter of representation. For your sake, I suggest you sign this now.”

Lucas glanced almost in disgust at the paper. “I will not,” he said again. “You cannot keep me locked in here forever.”

“Doesn’t need to be forever. You know very well how long proceedings can take. And then I’m saying without the delays. Just in a few months… a lot can change.”

…Like me not existing anymore.

“It’d be in your best interest to sign that paper,” the warden continued.

Lucas couldn’t hold back a humourless laugh. “What’re you gonna do? Arrest me? Put me in prison? Hm?”

Mathison just pushed his chair back and walked back to the door, signalling with a single knock that this conversation was over. “You’ll see.”

-

Still unnamed prison whump tag list: @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop

#i love this already #please put me on the taglist lmao

[andithewhumper]

@starfields08000

@cupcakes-and-pain

@whumpycries

@a-formless-entity

Kairos and Quinn being cuties

[andithewhumper]

@starfields08000

@cupcakes-and-pain

@whumpycries

@a-formless-entity

Lmk if you want to be on the taglist :)

I have been obsessing over Kairos and Quinn for the last few days so here are a few picrews I made of them. They are precious.

Quinn with their first master

Quinn with Kairos

Quinn in their signature (comfort) outfit that they arrived at the manor in. Kairos thinks it's cute so she lets them keep it.

Kairos and Quinn after several years of being with each other. Kairos has warmed up to Quinn quite a bit and Quinn would do anything for Kairos. They never want to leave her.

P.S. I will probably be writing more of their story in a week after I finish finals :))) v excited.

[andithewhumper]

I have been obsessing over Kairos and Quinn for the last few days so here are a few picrews I made of them. They are precious.

Quinn with their first master

Quinn with Kairos

Quinn in their signature (comfort) outfit that they arrived at the manor in. Kairos thinks it's cute so she lets them keep it.

Kairos and Quinn after several years of being with each other. Kairos has warmed up to Quinn quite a bit and Quinn would do anything for Kairos. They never want to leave her.

P.S. I will probably be writing more of their story in a week after I finish finals :))) v excited.

#whump #vampire whumper #lady whumper #nonbinary whumpee #human whumpee #vampire carewhumper #carewhumper #carewhumper turned caretaker #precious beans #whumper turned caretaker #whumpee thinks caretaker is new master #caretaker is new master actually #kairos loves her little bean #vampire thrall

[andithewhumper]

Kairos and Quinn being cuties

#whump #lady whumper #vampire #vampire whumper #human whumpee #vampire carewhumper

[andithewhumper]

[andithewhumper]

The freak autistic girl who rambles about her interests and has 30 billion weird kinks does exist btw, it's just that she's usually also a little fat so nobody wants to hear it.

[andithewhumper]

What are some of your favorite vampire whump stories?

Magnanimous Moonrise & Savage Sunset by @not-a-space-alien

Of Vampires and Men by @whumpy-writings (now got a book, check out Cry of Fangs!)

From Dust to Ashes (especially Esial!!) by @clickerflight

Shattered by @oddsconvert

things end | people change by @whumpcloud

Vampire Hunter AU by @seasaltandcopper

The Rare Bookseller by @oliversrarebooks

Another Path by @asidian (Baldur's Gate 3 fanfiction)

At my Beck and Call by @sowhumpshaped

Vampire!Carlo AU & Nightfall- the Bloodbag AU by @deluxewhump

The Heart and the Hunger by @wolfeyedwitch

Fearless by @quietly-by-myself

Kosta by @thecyrulik

Cat and Mouse by @t0rture-me

This untitled oneshot by @whitehairandblood

A New Beginning by @a-crumb-of-whump

Fang Factory (Whump World audio drama) by @thoughtsonhurtandcomfort and @loor-101

Vampire Col by @whumpzone

Ash & Callum by @whumping-every-day

[andithewhumper]

draining you of a little more blood than your body can handle so i can take care of you all day while youre all loopy and weak for me

[andithewhumper]

I think that vampires would do those horrific, face-stretching yawns that cats do

[andithewhumper]

TW: dehumanization, human furniture/furniture whump (well, a painting palette so we'll call it that), knives, restraints, blood, not cool wound cleaning

Inspired by @whumpsday's post about the lack of human furniture tropes! I've had this idea bouncing around in my head for forever so figured now's the time. I hope I did it some justice!

The Palette

Next.

Whumpee's eyes glazed over, their vision pulsating between sharp focus and a hazy softness that blurred out the edges. They dropped their head, mindlessly watching as two little beads of sweat raced down the planes of their stomach, over the curve of their hip before marrying into one larger bead and trailing down their leg.

Whumpee's vision sharpened into focus at the sight of the drain, a few inches beneath their toes. Stained with old paints; yellows and blues and purples. Their body shivered and allowed a small twitch of muscle at seeing the red mixed in.

Red and brown.

Whumpee's blood.

Their vision went blurry again and they let their eyelids drop closed. Instantly sticking together, begging Whumpee to just sleep.

It had been so long.

Sometimes Master was inspired. He'd finish his paintings with such a flare in mere hours and Whumpee would be wiped clean and left to rest in the supply closet until Master was ready to paint another masterpiece.

But sometimes, sometimes Master was tortured. He'd be so close to finishing and Whumpee would feel that little spark of hope that they would finally get to sleep, when suddenly, Master would let out that godawful anguished sound and grab up the big brush. Whumpee couldn't help but tense at the feel of the large bristles pressing firm and dragging across their shoulder, where they assumed globs of white paint must be placed.

Master would cover all the beautiful work he'd just completed with new layers of thick paint and start again. And Whumpee would wait. They'd wait for the new layer of paint to dry, new colors to be mixed. Hanging by their arms, feet stretched beneath them and chained to the floor, pulled as taut as the canvas that stretched across the frame.

They would wait.

Because Master still needed them.

Master's living palette.

Whumpee could never see what their back must look like; covered in all the primary colors and swirls of new creations mixed in-between. Master said it was beautiful once. The words seeped a warmth into Whumpee's empty stomach and filled them to almost satisfaction. When Master was pleased, Whumpee was fulfilling their purpose and that was enough.

It had to be.

It was all they had.

A shiver rolled over Whumpee's body before they were even consciously aware of the small, cool edge of the palette knife again dragging across different colors splayed across their back, scraping and mixing, Master's hot breath ghosting across their neck as he worked. He'd work endlessly, seeking out just the right mix of color and adding it to a clean piece of flesh, wiping the excess paint off the palette knife onto Whumpee's thigh. Whumpee didn't like that. The paint always sat heavy on their thigh and was left long enough to dry and crack against their skin. It itched and made them feel off balance. None of that mattered.

The medium brush was next, dabbing almost gently into the paint on their back and making that little scratchy sound against the canvas. Whumpee liked that one. It tickled when they weren't too tired to notice.

Their jaw clicked shut at the feel of a blade, the one unique tool in Master's collection, reopening one of Whumpee's wounds. They sucked in a shallow breath as their entire body coiled up tight. Their master scrapped away the dried browns that had attempted to seal the wounds shut in order to get to the fresh, bright red he coveted so much. He dug deep into Whumpee's flesh, coaxing forth enough red for whatever vision he was trying to bring to life. Whumpee let their head drop, breathing out slowly and swallowing down the whimpers they new were not needed in this place. Sounds from Whumpee would only distract from Master's work. They must remain useful or be discarded.

Their hands trembled in their ropes, fingers curling into fists as Master cut a few new, fresh lines of red, dragging the palette knife over and into the wounds to gather enough up to mix in with the paint. Whumpee tried to picture what colors Master was making with the blood.

Was he adding deep blues, or brilliant yellow? Was he painting a sunset maybe, with vibrant purples and oranges sprawled across a darkening sky? Or was he simply splaying their blood in bold dashes across the canvas.

They hoped it was beautiful.

It had to be beautiful.

_______

At least a day must have gone by. Maybe two. Various meals had been consumed, whiskey was thick on their master's breath, the feeling in Whumpee's hands and feet, their legs and arms, all was a riot of pain and numbness.

It must have been days.

Master's friends had come to inquire about Master's progress and shared jokes and gossip from the town. They stood near Whumpee's back and admired the Master's work, giving what seemed like genuine compliments and statements of awe.

Whumpee felt the rushing heat of pride color their neck at the praise. They knew it wasn't for them. Of course it wasn't. But it was for a piece of them. Their blood. Their sweat. They would always have that. They may just be a painter's palette, but they were the paint too. The customers never knew of course, but Whumpee knew.

They would always be a part of something beautiful.

--------

Whumpee's mind was washed awake by a wave of terror and relief at the sigh Master finally made. He only made that sound when the piece was finished, complete. Whumpee tried to flex their fingers and toes, taking stalk of the damage that will need to be healed before Master picked up his palette again. They could use at least a week of rest this time.

"Cliff!"

Whumpee shivered violently at their Master's voice calling in the servant. It was almost over and Whumpee's body knew what was coming. This happened every single time and Whumpee could never control it. It was as if their body lost all ability to be still the moment stillness was no longer required and they'd shake apart if left hanging there a second longer.

"Yes, sir?"

"Get this thing washed up. I want it prepared in two days time."

Two days. Whumpee barely contained the gasp that threated to spill out of their mouth. That wasn't enough time.

"Of course, sir."

The painting was placed somewhere off to the side and Cliff bustled around, picking up brushes and cups of dirty water, washing them out in the sink.

He turned towards Whumpee, never making eye contact, and opened the can of turpentine. The smell hit them like a lightening bolt, waking up all of their senses, adrenaline pouring itself into their veins, warning them of the danger.

There was nothing to do.

They needed to be cleaned.

Whumpee sucked in breath after shallow breath through clenched teeth as Cliff mindlessly grabbed up a rag and walked back behind the palette, thick layers of paint needing to be removed.

The turpentine was poured over their back without the slightest pause and Whumpee screamed. For the first time in who knows how long. It felt good in a way. A release. They knew it was allowed now that Master was gone and off to bed. The rough rag was dragged across Whumpee's torn flesh, making the drying, itchy layers of paint wet again, mixing thick and seeping like acid into the open wounds on their back.

They jerked in their bindings, arching their back as their body tried to escape when there was nowhere else to go as Cliff continued his work. He scrubbed and poured and scrubbed again, until the palette was wiped clean of all but their own sweat and weeping blood, all the beautiful colors dripping down Whumpee's twitching legs and circling that damn drain.

Whumpee couldn't even scream anymore as they were let down from the ceiling and their ropes and chains removed. They were dragged to the supply closet and dropped to the floor.

Food and water was placed in the corner.

As the light was lost with the closing of the door, Whumpee wished, just like every time that came before, that they could see the finished painting.

Just this once.

[andithewhumper]

Cat and Mouse p.1

(New whumper(s)! new whumpee!! new story!!! This is heavily inspired by @whumpsday 's Kane and Jim story, I have it placed within the same universe, though a good 50 years after)

CW: stalking (briefly), catcalling (kinda?), vampire whumper, multiple whumpers, captivity, general violence, lmk if i missed any!

“Has anyone ever told you how nice you smell?”

Danny knew it was a bad idea, walking all alone in the city at night. He didn’t have any other choice, his bike had been stolen and he had to save up to get a new one. That meant no taxis. How was someone even supposed to react to a creep like this? Usually it was best to just ignore them, but sometimes that would make them really mad. Danny just really didn’t want to get involved with this guy, so he did what he always did. He acted like he didn’t hear and just kept on walking.

“Oh, are you a quiet one?” The stranger kept on, his footsteps matching Danny’s just behind. “That’s a shame, I like the ones that make noise…”

This guy was worse than the others. Usually it was just your regular, gross catcalls, but the comments he was making were just awful. Danny’s pace quickened, he kept his eyes to the ground, all his focus was on getting home as soon as possible. He could still hear the footsteps from behind him, moving just as fast as his own. He was this close to breaking into a full sprint, but he didn’t get the chance, bumping headfirst into a brick wall of a man in front of him.

“You really should thank someone when they compliment you.” The stranger smiled at him, long fangs glinting in the low light. Danny took a step back, brown eyes locked on red. The stranger chuckled, almost. “Oh, will you run, my little mouse?” He matched Danny’s step, and when Danny tried to take another step, so did he. “Will you run when you already know that I’m faster than you, stronger than you?”

“Get… Get away from me.” Danny forced out, still walking backwards as the stranger matched his movements. 

“Why would I do that?” The stranger, with lightning speed and iron grip, grabbed one of Danny’s wrists. “I think you’d be a lovely little meal. Now… How best to get you home? Perhaps I go the easy route and ‘persuade’ you. Or maybe I’ll just tie you up.” Danny struggled against the stranger’s icy grip until his knees crumpled under him, pain radiating from his wrist as he squeezed it with inhuman strength. “Or I could just beat you to shit until you pass out.” He growled, less of a threat and more of a promise if Danny kept struggling. “I’ll do you the courtesy of letting you choose.”

“You could let me go instead.” Danny groaned, the pain from his wrist unrelenting.

“That wasn’t one of your choices. One more chance before I choose for you.” The stranger threatened. Danny’s lip nearly quivered, he was trapped. “Predators don’t typically give prey a choice. Count yourself lucky.”

“I–” His heart was racing, beating out of his chest. “Is- Is not tying me up an option?” The grip tightened further. “I know I can’t run! Ok? Just– I’ll just c-come with you, ok? I won’t fight, I won’t run, I– I know it would be pointless, so you don’t have to knock me out or tie me up or- or persuade me.”

“Hm.” The stranger paused, considering Danny’s cooperation. “You’re a clever little mouse, aren’t you? Truthfully, I don’t even want to persuade you, the fear you humans have is much more fun. Now, I need to make a call, I trust you’ll behave if I let go of your wrist?”

Danny nodded, grateful that the iron grip had released his wrist, but he had zero intention of ‘behaving.’ The second he turned around, Danny sprinted in the opposite direction. A car had just turned the corner in front of him. A car with a person in it, a person who could help him. “HELP ME!!” He screamed, nearly throwing himself in front of the car. As soon as he got close enough, he was banging on the window of this person’s car. “Please, please you have to help me! There’s– There’s a fucking vampire out here, plea–”

His pleas were cut off as the driver of the car rolled down his slightly tinted window, the same blood-red eyes staring at him from the driver’s seat. He took an involuntary step back, a step back directly into the arms of the vampire from before. The vampire painfully grabbed him by the shoulders while Danny stared in terror at the second vampire in front of him.

“Timely as always, Marcus, didn’t need to make that call after all.” The vampire behind him said. “Not so clever now, are we, mouse?” Danny felt a cold hand on the back of his head, hissing as that hand gripped and handful of his hair. He had no time to react as his face was slammed into the side of the car, all he could do was groan as he was shoved onto the floor of the backseat, the vampire sliding in behind him.

“Home now, Ciaran?” Marcus asked. After getting a curt nod from the other, he took off down the road, and Danny cried.

---

Danny thought he had been lucky, living so far from vampire territory, but as the vampire called Ciaran pulled him from the car, he really didn’t feel lucky. That iron grip was back, pulling him towards a large old-looking house that didn’t have any windows. He tried to pull away, but Ciaran just kept moving forward. Marcus had walked ahead and was already holding the door open for them.

“Do you see how isolated we are here, mouse?” Ciaran said, not even taking a moment to slow his pace. “There is nowhere for you to run. Any attempt will not end well for you, am I clear?” Danny didn’t answer, looking around for just a moment, truly seeing how accurate that statement was. He was pulled forward with a force that sent him to the ground. Ciaran stood above him, planting a foot on Danny’s chest to pin him. “I said, am I clear?” He snarled, digging his heel into his chest. Danny nodded, gasping as the air was being pushed from his lungs. 

Ciaran hoisted Danny back to his feet, shoving him forward into the house. Marcus shut the door behind them while Ciaran led Danny to the cellar. This whole floor was fit for a human, in a way. It was small, one room, but there was a mattress in the corner and tiny, bare-bones kitchen for him to feed himself. The toilet situation wasn’t ideal, it was just out in the open, not even a curtain or anything, but it could be worse. It could be a bucket.

“My name is Ciaran Montgomery. The man who drove us here is Marcus Keane. You are to address us as Sir. What are your questions?”

“Um. Ok…” Danny paused, trying to get his head to stop spinning. “Why were you so far in human territory? Why am I still… aware?”

“I needed a challenge. The fun of the hunt. It’s all the rage with the nobles to keep their humans aware now, training them the old fashioned way is much more fun. I wanted to give it a try myself now that my old human died.”

“Why did you, um, pick me?”

“It was the first thing I said to you. You smell good, that means you have good blood.”

“I- um. I don’t–”

“Is that all?” Ciaran cut Danny’s floundering off. He nodded. “Good, now kneel. I’m hungry.”

Danny took a step back, his breath hitching. In a blink, Ciaran was in his space. In another, Danny’s face was throbbing from his backhand. His knees hit the hard cellar floor with a thunk and a small crack. Ciaran’s hand was around his neck, his red eyes boring into him.

“You will obey my commands when I give them. I will not repeat my orders. If I say kneel, you are to kneel. If I say sing, you are to sing. If I say kill yourself, you are to kill yourself. You are not getting out of here, mouse. It’s in your best interest to accept that and to accept your role. You are nothing.”

Danny choked out a wail as the vampire sunk his teeth into his neck. Ciaran’s hand was still possessively on his neck, preventing him from trying to pull away. His trembling hands were pushing against Ciaran, but there was no strength behind it. He was trying to keep his breathing steady, but it was so hard with the pain. Tears ran down his face like they were marathon runners, a few even leaping off Danny’s cheek onto Ciaran’s as he fed.

“H– hurts- please-” Danny cried. The plead went ignored until Ciaran had his fill. Danny sobbed, feeling the fangs pull out from his skin. “I don’t wa-wanna die.” He looked up at Ciaran, now standing, towering over him. He only stared back coldly, a hint of a sneer on his face. “How long did you have your last, um, human?”

“11 years. You could live that long if you behave.” Ciaran didn’t wait for any more questions, turning on his heels and climbing the stairs.

After a moment, Marcus took Ciaran’s place in the basement. Danny tried moving back, but there was nowhere to go.

“Please don’t– I can’t, I can’t do both.” Danny begged. “It hurts.”

Without a word, Marcus bit into the opposite side of Danny’s neck. He couldn’t tell if it hurt more or less the second time, or if the pain from the first wound was masking or enhancing the pain from the new one. Danny shook where he knelt, silently praying for it to end quickly.

And it did.

Marcus did not take long to pull his mouth from Danny, seeming to have had his fill already. He stood, looking down on him with a hauntingly blank expression. “I will bring you a notebook and pen tomorrow. You will write what food and drink you need, you will give me that list, and I will get it for you. Do not misbehave and I will bring you rewards as well. Do you understand?”

Danny stared for a moment, before remembering what happened the last time he didn’t answer something. “Yes.” He flinched back, Marcus leaning down over him.

“Yes, what, human? I know Ciaran already instructed you of your place.” Marcus glared.

“Yes, s-sir.”

“Good boy.” He straightened up, patting Danny’s head. He reached over Danny’s head, grabbing something off the wall, pulling a shackle into Danny’s eyeline. “Ankle.”

“Please, I–” Danny couldn’t even finish his thought as a fist collided with his cheek.

“Ciaran may enjoy your begging but I do not. Ankle, now. That was a warning, if you do not obey me, your punishment will be much more severe.” Danny reluctantly shifted, holding a foot out to Marcus. The cold metal locked around his ankle, sending a shiver through his body. “Your chain is long enough to reach your bathroom and your kitchen. You will not be able to get to the stairs. I suggest you rest now.”

Marcus, now finished with his to-the-point ‘conversation,’ wordlessly turned and climbed the stairs, switching off the lights when he reached the top, leaving Danny in darkness. He fumbled his way towards the mattress in the corner and he cried himself to sleep.

[part 2]

[andithewhumper]

I mean, yeah i want to fuck you, slap you, degrade you, torture you, but like, i also want to fucking love you??

[andithewhumper]

[andithewhumper]

pissing each other off as foreplay