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painsandconfusion · 11 days

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Breathless

Merry Whump of May - Day 1

[“Get back in there” | Ring box | Cliff] (tw: claustrophobia, panic attack, phobia, death threat, failed escape attempt, punishment, self inflicted injury (panic), splinters under nails, manhandling)

[Merry Whump of May Masterpost] [Phobia Whumper Masterpost]

Whumpee’s eyes were burning and blurring over as they gripped at Whumper’s fingers. “N-noonononno please no-”

“Shut up already and get back in there-” Whumper shoved them further into the crate. It had started off as a large shipping crate and now felt like an apple crate, bruising in at their shoulders and knees and ankles as they tried to twist and curl to stash themself tighter into the space. As it closed in on them. Sucked their breath and whisked it away to an unknown darkness that pervaded their mind and dripped cold through their white-hot flesh.

“PLEASE- Pelas e I w-won’t d o it again pl-ease-pplease-!”

Whumper shoved the lid on the box, latching it into place. “Try to pick that lock, you little pest.”

The air in the quickly-heating space stuck at their lungs and slammed in and out of their throat in choppy, uneven bursts. They gasped and shoved and clawed, only distantly aware of the bruises pressing at their bones and the shards of wood wriggling up under their nails. The panic was too thick. Too stifling.

Forget the apple crate. This felt like a bread box now. A ring box, even. Impossibly small and crushing their bones under its infinitely shrinking horror.

Pleas and screams kept exploding from them, sucking what little air they had into worthless desperation. “PL-EASE PL LEASE WH HUMPER PLLLEASE- LE T ME OUT O-OPEN TH- SSSTOP-STOP STOP-PLEASE-”

The boards over and around them creaked slightly as Whumper settled their weight onto the crate. Whumpee froze, dreading for a moment the thought of Whumper’s weight cracking through the box and crushing them only to realize that would mean the box was broken and they would be better able to wriggle out or at least get some fresh air inside. They pushed against the spot.

Whumper mused as they sat there, “I could do anything right now, you know… Couldddddd…..toss you in a lake. Off a cliff. Bury you in the garden..”

Whumpee’s sobs started fresh, thrashing gaining new strength. Their heart twisted and stabbed. They couldn’t breathe- “Nn--onp plp-lease-ep-pleas-”

“We don’t have to do that, though, do we? Because you’re not gonna pick any more locks.”

“Y-ees-y– nn-n-omore-!” Just desperately agreeing to anything that had even the vaguest promise of getting out. Nothing else held their attention as darkness grew and their head weighed more on their aching shoulders.

“Good. I’ll leave you in here tonight to let you really think that over before we try again.”

tagging isn't sparking joy today, i am so sorry-

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shywhumpauthor · 1 year

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The Merry Whump of May—Day 20

“A taste of your own medicine”

Zip Ties || Bleeding Out || Office

Part one || Masterlist

Cw: past torture, blood loss, mentioned murders, dubcon touching(?), I guess kind of kidnapping by definition

“Stay with me, just a bit longer,” Supervillain murmured, their gloved palm pressing to the side of Hero’s head, guiding them to lean against their shoulder. The cape wrapped snug around Hero’s shoulders, covering them like a blanket, growing stains of something even darker seeping across the black fabric.

Even with the warm blood dripping across their skin, Hero shivered, prompting the arms around them to pull them a little closer.

Supervillain’s pace was fast as they moved towards the mouth of the alley, their boots nearly silent despite the gravel. No wonder Hero hadn’t heard them arrive. They weren’t even nearly silent, no, they were soundless. Everything about them was quiet. Even with their mouth inches from Hero’s ear, they couldn’t hear their breaths. The soft murmurs of reassurance nothing more than sounds carried across the breeze.

It was eerie, but strangely… reassuring. Their ear to Supervillain’s chest, they could feel the rise and fall, even though they could not hear them breathe, feel their heart though they couldn’t hear it beat. Quiet, but not the kind that drew terror—soft, gentle, the kind of quiet that promised safety.

“Close your eyes, Hero,” Supervillain whispered, tucking their chin over the Hero’s head.

Everything went quiet. The entire city, fallen to oblivion, there was nothing. Not the scurry of rats behind dumpsters, the hum of the streetlights, the sounds of cars speeding through the streets, reduced to nothing. A silence so deafening it left Hero’s ears ringing, roaring with the blood that pulsed through them. Supervillain held them tight, the palm that held to Hero’s head pressing over their ear as a rush of cold surrounded them both.

It was like falling through ice, into a pitch black ocean, the world around them bursting to darkness. The cold was worse than anything they had ever felt. It wasn’t just a surface level chill, no, this one burrowed deep into their bones, stole the air from their lungs, numbed them to the core.

Just as quickly as it had come along, the darkness cracking open, small fissures quickly shattering apart, allowing a soft light to spill in. Hero’s stomach lurched, and they would have vomited again if they hadn’t already thrown up all that was in them.

“I’m sorry, Hero, that was the quickest way,” Supervillain apologized, feeling the way Hero tensed and shuddered. They wove their fingers in the other’s hair, cradling the side of their head with a gentleness much too tender to be coming from any villain, much less the supervillain.

Hero had never even seen Supervillain before. At least, not in person. Glimpses from some mediocre cameraman had managed to film as Supervillain darted through public, faster than the camera’s shutters could open. They were the city’s most notorious villain, yet few had even seen them—even fewer left alive to recount the events. Bodies, mauled beyond recognition, burned and brutalized in any way imaginable.

What were they going to do with Hero?

Supervillain had stopped walking, stopping down slightly to set Hero on something soft. With much effort, Hero blinked, willing their vision to clear enough to make out the scene around them.

They were in a living room. At least, they thought it was. A buttercream colored couch and armchair set sat positioned around a large coffee table, the couch nearly twice the size of Hero’s back at their apartment. Facing the couch was a large fireplace, stone leading up to a mantle where a flatscreen lay fixed to the wall. The room was lit softly by warm lamplight, a few plants and personal touches, such as throw pillows and blankets spread around just perfect enough to keep the neat image, while adding just a touch of personality to make it comfortable. Still, the high slanted ceilings, the chandelier hanging down, the huge floor-to-ceiling windows framing an entire wall, made it feel more like a set to some extravagant film, not a place where actual people lived.

Supervillain set Hero down on the couch, brushing their hair back from their eyes with a quick promise to be right back, before the air shattered right in front of their eyes. When the tear had mended, Supervillain was gone.

No one knew anything about their powers, not really. No one knew their limits, their specialties. To the public, Supervillain was more a concept than a beings fear not unlike a demon or devil. Blood rushed to Hero’s head, the room spinning around them as they tried to comprehend, but it wouldn’t make sense.

Supervillain reappeared not half a moment later, a white case nearly the size of Hero’s chest in their hands, already flipped open. Hero shuddered, a sudden unease prickling up their spine as Supervillain turned and set the case on the coffee table, digging out gauze squares and a transparent bottle filled with some clear liquid. With a careful touch, Supervillain pulled the cape away from Hero, revealing the wounds decorating their chest.

There was a lot of blood. More blood than any normal person could afford to lose. Supervillain’s jaw tightened, and they twisted off the cap.

“This is going to sting a bit, darling, alright?” Supervillain tried to warn gently, but it was as if Hero’s eyes were looking clear through them.

The villain held back a sigh, setting the bottle aside for a moment as they noticed the goosebumps along Hero’s arms. They held up their hand, and gave a quick snap, and the hearth roared to life behind them, crackling flames devouring the logs.

“Close your eyes, Hero. I’ll take care of you. Go to sleep.”

————————————————

@bees-andbees (thought you’d like to be tagged :D )

@themerrywhumpofmay

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russet-writing · 12 days

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03 Lost

“See what happens” | Screwdriver | Club

Content: Profanity, Drinking (in a club/bar setting), Some violence, Threats, Whumpee kind of having a position of power, Whumper not respecting that at all lol

“They’re startin’ their shit again, Whumpee.”

The Scotch he had been drinking got caught, choking him for all of two seconds before he managed to swallow it down. Out of the corner of Whumpee’s eye, he could see his bartender. She was hovering next to him, looking a whole lot more uneasy than usual, just mindlessly twisting a rag into a martini glass– Nervous energy. His eyes flicked to hers for a brief second and he knew exactly what was wrong just by the look on her face. They came back. Of course they would come back. No measly little warning could keep the Harpoons out of his hair…

“What do you mean they’re starting their… I– Didn’t I tell you that next time they come in you were supposed to fucking–” He cuts himself off and pinches the bridge of his nose, nostrils flaring. Reel it in, Whumpee. A deep breath.

“Didn’t I tell you,” A low murmur this time, “that the next time they tried to come in, you were supposed to turn them away?” When he opens his eyes again, he allows them to drift past the bartender, over to the bar and the crowd that had accumulated there. Sure enough, in the sea of faces and emblazoned leather jackets, his gaze catches on one staring right back at him: Whumper. Whumper, with those same fiery eyes and that same shit eating grin that widened as he lifted a mocking glass to him and downed it. Last time the bastard was here, he had broken about six of those glasses, the shards of which had ended up half-lodged in some poor drunk asshole’s scalp. Whumpee’s eye twitches.

“You don’t think I tried that?” The Bartender hisses with exasperation, following his gaze to the leader of the gang who… was now waving her over for yet another drink. Pompous prick. She bristles and whips her head to look at Whumpee, all tucked up frozen in his armchair. She turns back to Whumper. Back to him. And then, finally, she makes up her mind. With what has to be the most gall he had ever seen her display, she slams the martini down hard enough to nearly crack it and steps towards him, brandishing the damp rag.

“You are the owner of this club, you hear me? Be a man, get off your ass, and go get those psychos off my bar!” The last two words had spit flying at his face. A beat passed as he stared up at her. The bartender’s eyes slowly widened, coming to the realization she had just shouted at her boss, regretting it, and hoping to God it wouldn’t get her fired… but then, Whumpee lowered his gaze and slowly rose to his feet. His jaw was clenched, determination knitted between his brows.

Wordlessly, he makes his way over to the bar.

“Hey, pal…” Whumper called out in that sing-songy voice (the kind that makes you want to beat the everloving daylights out of him.) Whumpee knew he had probably heard that whole interaction judging by the knowing look in his eyes and his lax, confident posture. Whumpee didn’t care, not anymore. He was tired of this. “Long time no see. Starting to think you’ve been holding out on m–”

“You need to leave.”

It came out a lot hoarser than he would have liked, but they seemed to hear him just fine. For a small moment, it felt like the air shifted. The idle chatter around them seemed to falter before, ever so slowly, every head turned to the two of them. Whumpee swallowed, gaze flickering briefly over the watching eyes. Whumper never looked away. Whumpee takes a deep breath and meets Whumper’s gaze head on.

“You need to leave.” It came out firmer that time. More like how the club owner should sound. But all that determination and feigned confidence simply crumbled the moment Whumper rose from his seat, movements fluid and agile like something ascending, something not human– it was nothing like the sweating and scarred men around him. No, Whumper was something entirely different. Something otherworldly. All that previous arrogance was gone, replaced now with something… terrifying. Whumpee almost misses the arrogance. When he rose to his full height, he only had about two inches on Whumpee, but God it felt like he was towering over him. Whumpee barely managed not to cringe backwards when the man leaned in and whispered,

“Or… what?”

A small part of him wanted to give in and say ‘Or nothing! Hah, what a funny prank– I definitely got you. Drinks are on the house tonight, fellas!’ but he could still feel his bartender’s eyes on him… Damn it, he had a reputation to look after. He wasn’t going to let some rag tag nobodies tell him how to run his club.

“Or I’ll have you arrested, Whumper.” He shoots back. “I’ve asked you not to come back here and I’m allowed by law to refuse you service.”

He takes a small, menacing step forward. “Go ahead, call them, Whumpee. See what happens.”

Whumpee can’t help but flinch slightly at that, but he steels his resolve and shoves a hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Fine then, fuck you, I will! Then maybe finally they’ll get you off the streets, you absolute mutt–”

There was a sudden flash of movement that Whumpee’s mind didn’t quite catch up to in time. He dropped his phone. Then, the pain hit him all at once, hot and searing like a knife all along the bridge of his nose. He cries out and cups his hands over it, feeling the warm slick of blood streaming between them and down into his sleeves. Fuck! Shit, did he just punch my fucking– He jerks backwards as he notices Whumpers vague outline reaching towards him through the water in his eyes. He stumbles dizzily against the counter, rolling over slightly until he’s practically bent over it.

Whumpee doesn’t really know why he started reaching for something. Maybe some small part of his mind knew if he didn’t defend himself there was a real good chance the man would just kill him right here, right now, in his own club. Either way, he starts grappling blindly on the other side of the counter.

Just as he feels Whumper’s hand fist into his hair, rearing his head backwards, Whumpee’s hand locks around a handle, smooth and rubbery against his sweaty palm. He somehow manages to twist his body around in time before the other man can slam his face into the countertop, ignoring the burning sensation in his scalp. Better than having his nose broken anymore; He can still feel the blood running down his face… and neck. He blinks tears from his eyes and with a final burst of energy, he thrusts whatever was in his hand out blindly. It doesn’t make contact. Instead, he feels Whumper’s other hand lock around his wrist. A screwdriver. It was just a fucking screwdriver. Before he can even try to squirm out of the grip, he’s already being thrown backwards once more until he’s arched over the countertop, feeling it bruising into the small of his back.

“Wait!” He gasps out, scrambling frantically as Whumper wrenches the handle from his grip. “Wait– I’m sorry! I–”

The other man simply slammed his head against the counter one, two, three times until he started seeing stars and couldn’t get in enough air to scream. Distantly, he wondered why nobody else was trying to help him but deep down he knew why. Nobody would be able to fight off Whumper if they tried. He manages to work his eyes open once more, trying to ignore the low throbbing in his nose and now the back of his skull but then… he sees Whumper looming over him, screwdriver in hand, poised overhead, ready to come crashing down and pierce right through his fucking eye socket. He’s suddenly breathless.

“No, no, no– Stop! Please don’t–” His voice cuts off with a frantic cry and he feels that woosh of air and a sharp sound that must’ve been his world crashing around him… but the pain never came. It wasn’t delayed like before. It wasn’t there at all. Whumpee’s eyes slowly cracked open, breaths coming much too fast, and he met Whumper’s stony visage… those dark, intense eyes. Whumpee’s eyes shift to the side to the screwdriver, now lodged into the intricately carved cedar countertops… right next to his head. He gulps and doesn’t say a word.

The club is entirely silent now. The next words are whispered even quieter, but they come out crystal clear.

“Call me a mutt again.”

Whumpee’s eyes stay locked on the screwdriver, thoughts spiraling, mental images of that lodged in his skull and blood and agony and— There’s another sharp tug of his hair and his eyes shoot to Whumper’s once more. He’s closer now. A mere breath away.

“I said… call me a mutt again, Whumpee.”

It was hard to shake his head with that hand still gripping him by the hair, but he did anyway, managing only a small whimper that sounded vaguely like ‘I’m sorry’. A few moments pass of this neverending standoff. And just when Whumpee was half convinced it would never break and that those eyes would eventually leave two burning holes in his head, Whumper tilts his head.

And he smiles.

And he murmurs, low and charismatic like it had been when he first walked in, “Well… I’m glad we got that settled then. I would hate to not be able to support my favorite club.” His fingers loosened and slid from the tangled hair, giving him a condescending pat. “And my favorite club owner… Right?” Again at a loss for words, Whumpee just nods. Finally, mercifully, Whumper recedes and lets Whumpee crumple bonelessly to the floor.

For the next two weeks, the Harpoons stopped by and visited every night. Whumpee never said a word about it. Not a single peep.

#the merry whump of may #mwm2024 #mwm #merry whump of may #whump #whumpblr #my writing #whump writing

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themerrywhumpofmay · 7 days

Note

Are there official rules for this event? If so, where are they?

Hi! When I first made this event, I wanted it to be as accessible as possible, and as such, there aren't really any rules. Any medium is allowed, and you can pretty much do whatever you want to make the event work for you. Even if you want to pick and choose prompts from different days, I have no problem with that - all I really ask, which I would hope people do anyway, is that you tag your posts with content warnings, and ideally tag the various Merry Whump of May hashtags, which can be found in this blog's pinned post for the event.

If people would like for there to be a clearer set of rules for completionism, then feel free to let us know and that might be something we can figure out.

#themerrywhumpofmay #mwm2024 #mwm asks #mod worm #whump #whump writing #mwm2023 #whump community #the merry whump of may

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darkthingshappen · 2 years

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May 19th “I’m all you need”

@themerrywhumpofmay

Broken bones | Screaming | Passenger seat

Whumpee sat in the passenger seat of their own car absolutely terrified. Whumper drove down the highway, each passing mile putting them further from the city and closer to whatever fate awaited them.

“Please. I’ll do whatever you want, just let me go. I won’t say anything. Ever. Take the car. Take what ever you want.”

“I am.”

Whumpee swallowed. They hadn’t counted on someone wanting to do something to them. They thought for sure it must be about money or something. Whumpee looked at whumper. They both had their seatbelts on. But if he were to crash his car, then maybe he could get away? Maybe he could hold him off long enough for the authorities to reach them?

He looked around, the road in front of them was long and straight. Fairly clear. This would be a safe place to flip or roll the car. He’d never been in a car that did that, but it didn’t look too bad on TV, especially if they had their seatbelt on.

It was now or never. Whumpee shot his hand out to grab the steering wheel but found his fingers grasped in whumper’s hand.

“Oh I don’t think so, whumpee.” He twisted whumpee’s fingers with a flourish and the bones in his wrists snapped. Whumpee screamed and pulled his hand to his chest, cradling it.

Whumper calmly pulled the car to the side of the road. He got out and walked around to the passenger side. Whumpee was too shocked to try and run.

Whumper opened the door and grabbed whumpee’s good hand. He held the fingers and twisted, snapping whumpee’s other wrist. Then he fastned a pair of handcuffs onto their wrists, locking the metal tight around the already swelling joints. He grabbed whumpee’s jacket from the backseat and tossed it over their arms to hide the cuffs.

Whumpee screamed even louder, pain radiating up both their arms. Whumper shut the passenger door, walked back around the car, and slid back into the driver’s seat. He put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road.

“Don’t move, keep the cuffs covered. If I see them, I’ll break your ankles as well.”

Whumpee nodded from where they were pressed against the door, trying to put as much space between themselves and whumper.

“You will learn, whumpee, that I’m all you need. I didn’t want to restrain you. I wanted to trust you. But you broke that trust, so you had to be punished. Don’t worry though, I’ll take real good care of you. I’ll help you learn your place.”

Agony throbbed through them from their fingertips up to their shoulders. They watched as the bruises in their broken wrists began to appear.

“You may have to spend some time suspended in your new room by those broken wrists, but you’ll learn. And you’ll look lovely learning every lesson.” Whumper looked over at them and smiled a wide excited grin at them.

#the merry whump of may #Broken bones #screaming #passenger seat #whump #whump writer #whump community #kidnapping #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #hand cuffs

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cryptidwritings · 1 year

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"Need a Ride?"

The Merry Whump of May - Day 2

masterlist

prompts: wrench, paranoia, club

content: wrench, paranoia, club (lol), successful escape, defiant whumpee, asshole whumpee.

"Hey, uh... Ya need a ride?"

Whumpee trudged forward with their arms crossed over their chest. Their bare feet slapped against the wet asphalt with each step. The pebbles ground into their softened soles, but they were so cold they couldn't feel much anyway.

The car rolled slowly next to them; the driver a young man with sunglasses and a haircut that told Whumpee he had never seen a moment of agony in his entire life.

"I'm heading to the country club just up the road. Did your car break down?"

Whumpee stopped a moment and glanced into the window, unable to hide their face as it twisted with scorn.

"Yeah. My car and my shoes."

"Okay, no car, then. Got it," the man muttered.

Whumpee was sure he would finally drive off. Instead, he reached over to the radio and switched it on, relaxing back as he kept his sports car to a crawl up the mountain road to a random mix of music.

Whumpee grit their teeth.

"Just go already," they snapped, wrapping their arms tighter around themselves.

The man glanced at his cell phone, "Nah," he responded.

"What if I'm a serial killer?"

Whumpee halted as the man laughed, shaking his head while again glancing at his phone.

The car kept crawling, then stopped a few feet away when the driver finally noticed Whumpee hadn’t moved.

They watched in disbelief as the guy turned off his car and hopped out of the drivers seat, rounding the trunk.

He stopped as he noticed Whumpee take a step away. He raised his hands and then casually placed them in his pockets as he leaned against his wet car.

"What are you doing?" Whumpee asked.

"Waiting."

Whumpee scoffed, "for what? I said no."

"No, you didn't," the guy smiled, "I asked if you needed a ride, and you ignored me."

"To most people, that would mean no."

"Oh, to me, too. In most cases," he took off his glasses and smiled as warm honey eyes met Whumpee's steel gray ones, and he put out his hand, "I'm Caretaker, by the way."

Whumpee snarled and rolled their eyes before walking away, leaving Caretaker with a kindly "piss off."

They hadn't taken more than a few steps before Caretaker called after them.

"I can help you, you know."

Whumpee stopped again, their fingers balling into fists as a perpetual frustrated rage bubbled over. They turned.

"Oh, can you?" they took a step forward, "how can you help me? Huh? You want to tie me up, too? You want to throw me in your trunk and drive me back to Whumper?! Who the fuck do you think you are!"

Caretaker didn't flinch as Whumpee approached, finally revealing what they were so readily clinging to their chest - a wrench so rusted it looked like it had been buried for decades. In fact... Caretaker's eyes drifted to Whumpee's clothes; tattered rags that were stained despite being soaked in the recent heavy rain.

His gut told him those stains weren't just dirt.

"I"m going to help you," Caretaker answered, "I could open the trunk, but I'd rather you sit. Your choice."

Whumpee was too startled to speak.

#the merry whump of may #escape whump #hurt and comfort #whump snippet #implied past captivity #captivity whump #mwmday2

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ex0rin · 1 year

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so.

there's no new @themerrywhumpofmay this year (that I can find) which is fine tbh because I didn't finish it last year BUT I remember being in this same spiral of (depression) not being able to write at this exact point when it was happening and although I didn't finish, I still managed nine days...

that said, I think I'm gonna try and pick it up at Day 10 and see if I can get through some more this year - fingers crossed that it kickstarts me back up!

here's the original prompt list from last year if anyone feels like playing along ❤

UPDATE: apparently I had written most of Day 9 but hadn't finished it, so I'll actually be starting there (even if I might scrap the original)

#cara writes #the merry whump of may

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leyswhumpdump · 2 years

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A Little Louder

Day 25 of @themerrywhumpofmay

Tropes and CWs: villain whumper, civilian whumpee, stress position, handcuffs.

“You understand why I had to do this, don’t you?” Villain said.

In spite of Civilian’s best efforts, they couldn’t quite suppress the sob. The height of the ring in the wall, and the kneeling position they’d been forced to assume, yanked their cuffed arms at an unnatural angle.

“I simply can’t have you running loose around my compound, tampering with my biometric scanners. It’s a security risk.”

They’d barely even had a chance to tamper, Civilian reflected bitterly. Maybe they should have focused on causing damage, instead of an escape attempt that was doomed from the beginning.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” Villain pressed.

“Go fuck yourself.” The words slipped out in a whisper, and yet Civilian longed to stuff them back down their throat. Villain paused in their tracks.

“Say that again, Civilian. A little louder this time.”

Civilian stared at the tiled floor and said nothing.

“Very well then. I’ll leave you here for now. But since you’re so set on being defiant…” Villain leaned past Civilian’s head. There came a little clicking sound from the tightening handcuffs. “Let’s see if we can’t leave a few reminders that it isn’t worth it.”

“Please,” Civilian burst out, as squeezing pain shot through their tendons. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I won’t do anything again, please—”

“I’ll be back for you later. Perhaps thirty minutes, perhaps a few hours. It depends on how many security systems I need to reset. And then I’ll ask you again what you have to say for yourself.” The door began to close. “Have your answer ready.”

Civilian sobbed again, and wondered whether Hero would even care enough to rescue them.

#whump #whump writing #the merry whump of may #a little louder #day 25 #villain whumper #civilian whumpee #stress position #original post

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whump-in-the-closet · 1 year

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Merry Whump of May 2023 Masterlist.

(updated irregularly)

May 3- "You're not looking too hot."

(whumpee/whumper, beat down)

May 5- "Do onto others as you would bla bla bla..."

(runaway, sadistic whumper, liberal use of arrows)

May 6- "It's a long story."

(whumpee/whumper, sold into a gladiator ring)

May 9- "We'll burn that bridge when we get there."

(oc Mal makes a guest appearance, on the run for murder, lady whump)

May 10- "Hit the hay."

(Villain and Supervillain break into a warehouse)

May 12- "Time flies when you're having fun."

(Caretaker/ Whumpee/ Whumper, lady whump)

May 13- "You made your bed, now bleed in it."

(elf whump, whumpee turned whumper)

May 16- "Take a break."

(Villain/ Sidekick, elemental whump)

May 20- “A taste of your own medicine.”

(interrogation and stabbing and a suit is ruined)

May 22- “You can lead a bitch to water but you can’t make them drink.”

(defiant and bitter whumpee, royal whumper who is a royal asshole)

#whump writing #whump masterlist #the merry whump of may

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oddsconvert · 2 years

Text

May 31st - "...Sir?"

Middle of nowhere | Freezing | Lighter

@themerrywhumpofmay (the last one?!)

CW: Cold Whump, Implied captivity, Destroying comfort item

Perched on a tree log, bitter chills festered in Whumpee’s bones, teeth chattering together relentlessly and hugging their thin coat closer to their body - clinging to the slight defence it offered from the vicious cold winds and falling snow. Whumper slumps down beside them, wrapping an arm around Whumpee’s shivering frame and pulling them close to flop against their shoulder. Who could tell whether the intensity of the shivering came from fear or the cold. Whumper sighed with pity, watching the little thing succumb to the elements.

“How about I start on a fire to warm you up…? Would you like that, hmm?”, Whumper offered, cupping their hand to feel Whumpee’s frozen cheeks, tucking away stiffened, frosty strands of hair then softly tracing the shell of their ear, a rush of warmth casing the skin as blood swam to the touch. Whumpee lets out a shaky breath, a cloud of fog following and shallowly nodding their head. Pushing Whumpee away, stealing back the miniscule warmth the hold provided away from, they arise and head towards the van - collecting materials to set the fire.

Only when Whumper returns back into view, they are holding onto a few stacks of wood and clutching onto what looks like numerous tiny glossy cards. A handful all shuffled together that Whumper carelessly tossed onto the ground. Whumpee is unsettled, a sickening feeling manifesting in their stomach… thinking they recognise what they are. Despite their legs screaming at them to snap back down, they tremble forward and crouch to pick them up.

“...Sir?”, Whumpee squeaks out, their face dropping with horrified realisation. Crushed.

“What’s up?”, Whumper sneered, fully aware of what they had just discarded onto the floor.

“T-These are my - my photos, sir…”, a pile of priceless family pictures, adored memories with friends - treasured moments that Whumpee kept close to heart and kept them sane through everything. Motivating them to carry on… for them. It had been surprising to Whumpee when they had been allowed to keep them, they’d become their only and prized posession. And although it was a comforting kindness to see the faces of the people they loved, it was a knife through the chest everytime knowing that they would never see them again. Only through paper.

“Your point is?”, Whumper raised an eyebrow, their tone growing dark.

“D-Don’t burn them. Please. They’re all I have”, Whumpee croaked out, trembling fingers lovingly tracing the face of their mother in the picture. Biting back threatening tears welling in their eyes, the cold wind making them sting.

“Well, Whumpee - we need kindling for the fire and that’s the only resource we’ve got.”

“I - I changed my mind… I don’t need a fire, I can cope-”

“That’s incredibly selfish of you, Whumpee. What about me? Not going to consider how I might be freezing?”, Whumper snapped, beginning to advance on them with their fists clenched. Whumpee gasped and stumbled back, the photos slammed into their chest protectively, blocked by their arms whilst they tried to create some distance.

“… Y-You can use my clothes… burn my clothes!” Whumpee shakily but quickly begins to work at unzipping their coat but Whumper growls out and snatches a fistful of thick hair and yanks harshly, Whumpee screaming out from the sudden pain and reaching their hands up to pull Whumper off - the photos still tucked in between their fingers.

“Selfish AND ungrateful? You want to burn the very clothes that I put on your back?!”, “We’ll be having a long ‘talk’ about your attitude when we’re home”, Whumper fumed, releasing their grip and shoving Whumpee’s head forward with a scared whimper. Everything they did landed them in trouble, they did not mean to be rude and ungrateful - just wanting to compromise.

A lighter is shoved into Whumpee’s palm, they shoot their head up and desperately plead with Whumper through wide, frenzied eyes.

“Start the fire, Whumpee…”, Whumper growls, the impatience and fury only growing stronger by the second. Hatred beaming behind their soulless eyes.

“Plea-”

“Now.” Whumpee’s begging was cut off and a shaky cry slipped out as they flicked the lighter on, watching the flame dance about and envying the heat it possessed. Screwing their eyes shut and holding the flame to their beloved pictures before they can stop themselves or continue begging. Immediately going up in flames and engulfing the whole pile, throwing them instinctively to the floor as the fire kisses their skin. Hot soothing tears run down their face, watching and suffering as the faces of the people he cherish disintegrate, burning to cinders. Flaky ashes whooshing into the air, thick smoke climbing high into the jet black night sky. This was it. The last connection to their life… their last bridge burned. The little hope and yearning in them snuffed out. Now they have nothing. No-one.

Whumpee dramatically crashes to their knees distraught, quietly sobbing with jagged breaths. As much as they want to enjoy the fire’s warmth, the way the heat embraces them and they feel their body thaw and spring back to life - they are repulsed by it - despise it even. It took away all they had left. NO… Whumper did.

Loathing engulfs Whumpee as they turn their head to scowl at Whumper, clenching their teeth and narrowing their watering eyes. Though Whumper seems unfazed, rather entertained by the anger radiating from them. Instead, they rustle into their bag and outstretch a marshmallow on a stick accompanied with a brazen smile, offering to toast it over the flames.

taglist: @rainbows-and-whumperflies

#the merry whump of may #merry whump of may #whump #whump community #whump blog #whump writing #whumpblr #whumpee #whumper #cold whump #captivity #whump drabble #whump writer #whump event #whump writing event #comfort item #...sir?

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lonely-harts · 2 years

Text

May 18th- “It’s getting late”

Prompts used: Dialogue, Reading

Content Warnings: Conditioning implied, sleep deprevation implied, self harm

“And so Beowolf…”

Caretaker looked over their tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses to Whumpee, his eyes open and wide, still alert but looking nowhere in particular. Caretaker shifted in their armchair, their teeth running over their lip in thought.

“It’s getting late, Whumpee,” they said, closing the book they had been reading to him.

Whumpee’s gaze remained unbroken. “Please carry on,” he said, far away.

“You need sleep,” Caretaker explained, easing themself up from the old armchair and taking off their glasses. “You’ve done so well so far, learning not to clean all the time. And now you need rest.”

Whumpee’s head snapped to look at Caretaker. “No,” he whispered, his eyes passing beyond Caretaker.

Shaking their head, Caretaker continued to the bookshelf and placed the book between a book of Arthurian legend and The Hobbit. Their hand lingered in the air, their finger hovering over the spine. Caretaker sighed, their whole body moving with their lungs.

“Another then,” said Whumpee, desperation entering his voice.

“No, Whumpee,” insisted Caretaker, looking back at Whumpee on the edge of the bed. They shook their head and let their arm slip into their trouser pocket. There, their hand played with the house key. “You need sleep.”

“I don’t!” Whumpee suddenly yelled, his arms gripping the bed, shaking with sudden anger. His face was red and pained as he shook his head.

Surprised at Whumpee’s anger, Caretaker pressed the point of the key into their palm. The door was locked, locked like Whumper’s front door always was. Caretaker kept their lips pressed together so as not to let out a whimper of pain.

“You need sleep, Whumpee,” Caretaker repeated as they felt the key dig into their hand. Their hand didn’t move though.

“No, I don’t,” Whumpee whispered softly. “That’s laziness.”

@themerrywhumpofmay @painsandconfusion

Today in I read and watched too much dark academia recently...

If anyone would like me to write more about any of the characters who are in any of the drabbles for this challenge, send me an ask and the day and I’ll be happy to!

#| the blood |#the merry whump of may #it's getting late #parental caretaker #conditioned whumpee #whump #whump fic #whump story

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painsandconfusion · 1 year

Text

No Pain, No Gain

Merry Whump of May 1st

[Compass | Haphephobia | Kitchen] (tw: intimate whumper, noncon touch, general deprivation of personal space, burning threat)

[The Merry Whump of May Masterpost] [Phobia Whumper Masterpost]

“Wh-umper n- please I c- I can do it-”

Whumper just chuckled, relentless as their gentle fingers scorched into Whumpee’s elbows.

Was it doing any damage? No. Whumpee knew that. But it felt like it. Their skin crawled and itched and seared under the soft touch that drove them up to the stove. A soft sob sputtered up from their throat as a warm hand enclosed around theirs. Trapping them. Teasing them. Controlling them. Pressing them relentlessly closer to the heat. To real pain.

It almost sounded better.

Whumper directed both of their hands around the wooden spoon, forcing Whumpee to stir.

“Whu-umper pl-”

“Shhhhh- enough of that. I’m helping. You want to get better, right?” Whumpee whined in a soft, terrified protest as Whumper stepped up closer behind them, his front flush against their back. “I’ll help you. Guide you. Map and compass in one - you just need practice, right?”

Whumpee’s head was shaking before they even heard the question. “N-nonono- plea s-stop just- stoop let mebreathe-” It was a fair enough ask; Whumpee’s lungs were already scalding with the steam and spitting oil from the pan, punching down their throat in short, stabbing bursts as their racing heart desperately tried to keep up. Tries to help them think about anything but that hands on them and the skin touching their and Whumper’s hot, close breath on the back of their scalp an-

Whumpee’s head turtled into their shoulders, a whimpering sob squeaking out as Whumper nestled a kiss to the side of their neck.

Tears spat and hissed as they splattered into the pan, melding into the eggs.

“Just trust me~ No pain, no gain, right?”

Shoutout to @themerrywhumpofmay for this event!

[The Merry Whump of May Masterpost] [Phobia Whumper Masterpost]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @a-whumped-tea @whumpsday @sonder35)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

#intimate whumper #noncon touch #general deprivation of personal space #burning threat #mwmday1 #the merry whump of may #whump challenge #phobia whump #phobia whumper #brie

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shywhumpauthor · 1 year

Text

The Merry Whump of May—Day 19

“Apples and oranges.”

Chainsaw | Surprise | Home Base

Masterlist

Cw: murder, graphic description of death, filmed torture, dehumanization, humiliation, restraints, gagging, vomiting

Hero reeled back as a fist smashed into the side of their face, sparks of white crackling across their vision. Heat radiated from their jaw, nose, cheeks, blood dripping from shallow scrapes as bruises welted deep under their skin.

A sob, raw and painful clawed from their throat, tears mingling with the blood and dirt that painted their face, but their cries were muffled by the duct tape, wound tightly over their mouth and around the back of their head. Pulled tight enough that it would undoubtedly leave an indent even after it was removed.

“Come on, Hero, smile,” the Villain taunted, shoving their phone camera close to Hero’s face, grabbing their hair when the other tried to cower away. “Show everyone how fucking pathetic you are.”

The alley was dark and deserted, lit only with the faint glow of streetlights towards the mouth, but Villain had their flashlight on, focusing its directly on them. The light sent daggers shooting back through Hero’s skull, and they squeezed their eyes shut.

Villain let out a cruel laugh, their free hand drawing back before punching Hero hard in the stomach, practically giggling as they doubled over, gagging.

Bile stung their throat, but Hero was forced to swallow it back, lest they wish to choke on their own sick. They doubted Villain would save them if they did. They’d fucking stand there and video, laughing to the livestream as Hero suffocated.

With their hands bound behind them to the rungs of a fire escape, duct tape wound dozens of times around their wrists and forearms, their legs secured at the ankles and knees, there was nothing Hero could do except tuck their chin and try to curl away to protect their face.

“And you call yourself a hero. You’re fucking pathetic, you little bitch, you hear me?” Villain stood straight, the camera swaying as they brought up their leg before stomping down hard on the hero’s bound ankle. The scream was guttural, but it was lost to the gag as Hero heaved, fighting to breathe through their nose while the air refused to enter their lungs.

They were going to suffocate. They were going to die choking on their own blood tainted saliva, while this fucking bastard streamed it for the world to see.

They were a sick, fucked up asshole, Villain. A snake. They hadn’t won shit of a victory. Hero had spent the entire day chasing and fighting OtherVillain, by the time Villain had cornered them, they were already limping and too exhausted to flee in time. It had been a fucking cheap move, lower than a villain. At least people like OtherVillain earned their own fucking success, not steal someone else’s.

“You see, guys, this is what your fucking Hero is. Nothing but a crying coward,” Villain chuckled, their hand dropping to their belt, slipping into the small sheath that laid attached to it.

They weren’t even a fucking Villain. Barely. They hadn’t done crap—Hero had ended every single poorly planned scheme of theirs before it even started. This was just a matter of luck—or the fucking opposite—how they ended up in the same alley as the injured Hero.

Villain squatted down, the blade of their knife dragging down Hero’s chest, scraping the skin. Their uniform lay in less than tatters, the shredded, torn fabric barely hanging off their shoulders, the dark bruises that mottled Hero’s abdomen standing out starkly against the camera’s light.

“I say we leave them with a reminder, how ‘bout that. So they never forget this fucking moment,”

Hero sobbed, breath coming in short gasps through their nose that didn’t seem to draw in any oxygen. They turned their face away, digging their temple against the rungs of the ladder, the cold metal doing nothing to soothe their burning skin.

Villain brought their knife to Hero’s chest, setting the camera down for a second so they could saw away the last few threads of their shirt, leaving them bare and trembling. The night was cold, even colder with their sweating, flushed skin, and Hero let out a weak cry of protest as the knife touched just below their collarbone.

“Fucking watch me, Hero,” Villain demanded, twisting the camera to focus on Hero’s face. “Watch.”

Hero had been tortured before. Whipped and starved, left to hang and bend in the worst stress positions for hours. They’d been beaten and burned, denied water for days on end. They were no stranger to pain, but this, the humiliation adding a certain acid to the edge of the blade, was worse than anything. Blood poured down their chest, a waterfall of crimson opening down their front as Villain dragged the knife down, cutting deep into their skin. Hero couldn’t even scream as they continued, slowly and crudely carving away at their chest.

Fucking letters, Hero realized, the sickening truth dawning on them. Their vision was blurred with tears, distorted enough so they couldn’t even see Villain’s face, barely a foot from theirs. Villain split two jagged curves connecting to the first line, uneven with an intentional negligence behind their movements. They quickly split a second line next to the first, dragging it down nearly to Hero’s sternum.

Everything was spinning now, sensation lost to the terrible vertigo and nausea, world clouded with agony. Villain split two lines next, one vertical and the other horizontal, crossing against each other in the center of Hero’s chest.

The next letter was curved, Hero could feel as the blade slit their skin, and they knew exactly what it was being written in blood, the recording camera carving every humiliating, dehumanizing cut.

Villain didn’t have a chance to finish the fourth letter.

Their phone clattered to the ground, smacking loudly against the asphalt as they were yanked back by the collar of their shirt, thrown against the opposite wall with enough force to crack a skull.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” A low voice seethed. Hero blinked blearily, but they couldn’t get their vision to focus enough to make out more than two clouded figures in front of them.

“Wait- wait,” Villain gasped, every bit of arrogance fled their tone. “No- no stop, I didn’t mean- no-”

A sharp thud echoed around the alley accompanied by a mangled scream, closely followed by another thud, and then another.

A body dropped to the ground, and it was all quiet, except for Hero’s choking breaths.

“Oh, Hero,” The new arrival turned towards them, but Hero could make out nothing more than an outline as they stepped forwards and quickly knelt next to them, gloved hands raising to rip the tape away from their mouth. Strands of hair were wrenched along with it, skin stinging but Hero barely noticed as they gasped, straining for the first full breath, feeling the air rush through their lungs as if for the first time.

Something churned in their stomach, and they hunched to the side, and vomited.

They felt a hand against their back, pressing softly between their shoulder blades as another grabbed Villain’s discarded knife. Hero panicked for a second as they felt the metal, hot and slick with blood pressure to their wrists, but all the stranger did was slice away their bonds in one clean, sharp flick of their wrist, not even grazing skin.

“You’re alright, it’s alright, love,” the voice soothed softly, hand moving from their back to their face, cold fingers cupping their bruised cheek. Deep and calm, it was familiar, but Hero couldn’t make out their face yet. “Breathe, Hero. Deep breaths, you’ll be alright.”

Hero wasn’t comprehending the words, but between the gentle tone and the light touch, their heaving sobs settled back into gasps, then to shaking breaths. They blinked hard, vision clearing just enough so they could recognize the stranger.

When they did, their heart nearly stopped cold in their chest.

“That’s it, that’s right, Hero, you’re alright.” Supervillain murmured, their thumb brushing over Hero’s bruised cheekbone.

They weren’t. They weren’t alright. But their voice was so soothing, so compelling.

Once they had quieted, eyes barely managing to stay open, something thick and warm was draped over them. They barely had time to register what it was—a cape, made of fine, rich material—before they were picked up, an arm hooking beneath their knees and around their back, lifting them like nothing. Before they straightened fully, Supervillain grabbed something with their hand. They turned the phone’s camera, pointing it straight at the body crumpled across the alley, zooming in and pressing the screen to focus.

Villain was dead. Clearly dead. The back of their skull smashed in and split open, blood leaking from their nose and lips, eyes bulging slightly from their sockets. Dead.

“They’re not going to hurt you again,” Supervillain whispered to Hero, before letting the phone drop from their hands, crushing the screen beneath their boot. “No one is ever going to hurt you again.”

————————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

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mybeautifulbeautifuleternal · 2 years

Text

When the Rebellion gave orders, it was always in your best interest to follow them. They didn’t tend to allow outside thinking. But the orders to fake your death in order to shock the Capital into action made something inside your shrivel.

The entirety of plan meant that you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what was going to happen — and that would leave you lying to (and potentially never seeing again) your mother, your sisters, and Finnick.

And while your relationship was fake, set up by President Snow to distract the Capital, you had fallen for the Pretty Boy of District Four. You didn’t like lying about anything and didn’t like lying to your closest people and you especially didn’t like lying to the one man almost single-handedly keeping you afloat in the cesspool you called home.

But you were a part of something bigger now, had been since you agreed to side with the Rebellion, and Finnick’s honest reaction to your death was needed to sell the ruse.

You just hoped you were both alive so you could apologize about it all.

@themerrywhumpofmay

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ashleybenlove · 2 years

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Title: “I Don't Know What You Mean”

Prompt: “I don't know what you mean” + Gambling + Paranoia + Gaslighting

Summary: They’re spending all this time together because Hiccup clearly has a gambling problem and Astrid is trying to help him conceal it.

Fandom: How To Train Your Dragon

Pairing: None

Word Count: 303

Rating: Teen

Warnings: gaslighting, addiction

Disclaimer: I don’t own the source material in this fanfic. That’s to whatever company or person owns it. I would never claim to own it.

Notes: There are probable influences from fandom and whatnot in this story, including having thought about Definitely Broken Something by AHeartForStories while writing the gaslighting aspect. Written for The Merry Whump Of May @themerrywhumpofmay May 26 prompts of “I don't know what you mean” / Gambling / Paranoia and Bad Things Happen Bingo @badthingshappenbingo for the space “Gaslighting”. This is based off of Snotlout’s explanation in Shell Shocked where he thought Hiccup had a gambling problem. Modern AU.

More notes are on AO3.

And it is below.

“I don't know what you mean,” Hiccup said, evasively.

“Hiccup, stop your crap,” Snotlout replied. He shook his head, and crossed his arms.

“Snotlout, you must be mistaken. I do not have a gambling problem! Just ask Astrid!” Hiccup exclaimed.

Snotlout frowned at Hiccup.

Fishlegs had told Snotlout that he had spotted Hiccup going into a local casino. And had seen scratch-off tickets lying around Hiccup’s house. And Fishlegs wouldn’t lie. Fishlegs wouldn’t spread rumors like that. Why would Fishlegs say something like that if it wasn’t true?

It was simply impossible for Fishlegs to be lying about something like that, especially about Hiccup.

So, it had to be true.

And Hiccup was gaslighting him.

Hiccup handed Astrid a stack of scratch-off tickets, lottery tickets, and other gambling-adjacent paraphernalia.

“I want you to take these and have Stormfly burn them until they’re ashes,” Hiccup said.

“You know, you also have a dragon,” Astrid rightfully pointed out.

“I don’t want Toothless to know about this. Snotlout’s been opening his mouth about what he thinks is going on and the last thing I want is for Toothless to bolster Snotlout’s claims,” Hiccup replied. “He might find one and give it to Snotlout or something.”

Astrid frowned. She couldn’t help but think how paranoid this was. This was overly elaborate.

And he was worried that Toothless would somehow betray him. Toothless.

Her heart ached at that thought.

That should have been unthinkable.

She took the items anyway.

Snotlout practically growled when he exclaimed, “Why are you lying to me?!” at Astrid.

Astrid had just stated that Snotlout was clearly wrong, that Hiccup did not have a gambling problem, that Snotlout was a muttonhead for even thinking that.

The gaslighting was starting to really piss him off, too. Especially since it was clear that Astrid was complicit.

#ashleybenlove fanfic #The Merry Whump of May #I don't know what you mean #Bad Things Happen Bingo #Gaslighting #how to train your dragon #Race to the Edge #season 4 #Shell Shocked Part 1 #modern au #hiccup #astrid #toothless #fishlegs #snotlout #fanfic #whump

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darkthingshappen · 2 years

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May 21st “Are you cold?”

@themerrywhumpofmay

Burning | Faked love | Winter

Masterlist

Ben whimpered, bound to the X-shaped beams outside Volkov’s mansion in the Vladivostok winter. All he’d done was ask for a blanket. A fucking blanket. He had nothing on except his boxer briefs. He’d give anything right now to be wearing his thin scrubs in the cocoon of his covered cage. And he hated that cage. But, it was definitely warm compared to this horror.

Ben let out a frustrated cry, loud and raw, in his own ears. The ice beneath him singed his feet. Every part of him ached and burned with cold.

In the back of his mind, he recalled a line form a tv show he’d seen years before, ‘Nothing burns like the cold.’ He giggled hysterically at the memory, mind threatening to shatter at the very true statement.

He pulled at the leather holding him stretched out so that he couldn’t even curl in on himself. Every bit of exposed skin stinging. Bone deep tremors ran up and down his body causing his muscles to knot and spasm.

His fingers were going numb, at least they didn’t ache with the cold anymore. His lungs burned from breathing in the cold air and having to fight for every breath in his stretched-out position.

I hate it here. I hate being here. I hate it. I hate. I want to go home! Tears began to flow down his cheeks and turn to ice.

Ben’s head lolled, if he was out here much longer, he was going to die. He was certain of it.

Tired. He was so damn tired. He closed his eyes. The collar on his neck erupted in electrical fire. Ben writhed and screamed, once again fully awake.

“Fuck! ‘m sorry. Please. Le’me down. Pl’se!” Ben slurred, energy to fight waning completely. He knew they were listening. And watching. His bare toes curled in the snow in an effort to keep the blood flowing.

Ben wasn’t sure how long he was ultimately left out in the frozen wasteland surrounding Volkov’s compound, but he knew his hands and feet had gone completely numb. His nose and lips were also numb. His teeth had stopped chattering. His body had finally stopped shaking with cold and a strange warmth seemed to be spreading over him.

He must have legitimately passed out, because then next thing he knew, Dmitri was undoing the restraints on his wrists. He sank forward into Volkov’s arms.

“There, there, Malyshka. I think you’ve learned your lesson and will be grateful for the things you have, hmm?”

“Y-yes’sir,” Ben breathed, barely above a whisper. He clung to Volkov for the man’s warmth and it was not lost on him that to anyone looking in from the outside, they would look like lover’s wrapped in love’s embrace. Ben’s mind recoiled at the thought, the implications, but his body refused to let go of the warmth. “‘m sorry,” he whispered against Volkov’s neck. “‘m sorry.”

“It’s alright, little scholar. Let’s get you to Andrei and get you warmed up.” Volkov wrapped his heavy coat around Ben as he carried him back towards the building, pleased at the contented sigh that Benjamin gave against his neck.

Ben closed his eyes and drifted in Volkov’s warm embrace.

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