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whumpasaurus101 · 1 year

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Crystal Clear

OKAY SO THIS BASICALLY GNERATED FROM A THOUGHT I HAD AT 3AM (thank you @whump-queen for supporting my insomnia thoughts HUIJDHIDUJKHDK)

tw: alicia is hot xox / hand injury / possible fractured bone??? its not in detail at all- hell, idek how injurred it is tbh/ cursing

-ENJOYYY :D-

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Jack knew from the start that he shouldn't have done it. The very first day Alicia took him in, she made it crystal clear that he was never allowed to go into her office. But it was eating away at him. What did she not want him to see????

One of the nights, Alicia was passed out asleep. Jack turned to face her in the bed, studying her face for a moment. A slight smile was on her lips. Not like the sinister smirk that usually painted her lips. Nono, this one was… Kind. Jack couldn't stop himself from smiling gently, admiring how pretty she looked… So Peaceful.

He coughed into his hand twice… She didn't wake. Next he ever so slowly scooched his way out of the bed, tiptoeing out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Once he was out he pressed his back against the door and tilted his head up as he let out a sigh of relief.

His eyes fell closed for a moment before he smirked and opened them again, pushing himself away from the door and tiptoeing off to the office door. His hand fished into his back pocket as he retrieved the key he had snatched from Alicia's coat pocket. Luckily her mind was on some guy called Romeo's poker night tomorrow that she didn't even notice her key missing.

He had watched Alicia open this door a few times before. His tongue stuck out slightly as he concentrated. He put the key into the lock and twisted it right, the lock clicked and Jack's face lit up.

As the door creaked open, his glistening eyes scanned the room around him, shelves neatly organized with binded books and folders. His eyebrows furrowed as he saw names among the spine of each folder.

He felt his heartbeat picking up, an uneasy feeling creeping over his shoulders and rippling down his spine. He gulped, clearing his throat before strolling to Alicia’s desk. Her laptop sat open but the screen blank. His eyes scanned the keyboard for a momen, one of his hands hovering over it before he slowly pressed down on one of the buttons. He jumped as the screen brightened, eyes sparkling as he studied the sight in front of him.

There was a folder labeled ‘Jack’. His eyebrows furrowed and he moved the cursor over to it,tapping twice. Just as the loading sign appeared, Jack’s head shot up as footsteps sounded from the other room. He cursed under his breath before looking around the office, seeing where he could hide… was there even a point of him hiding?

The minute the footsteps grew louder, Jack decided that there was a point. He rushed under the desk, sitting on the wooden floor with his back pressed hard against the side of the desk, he held his breath as the door opened, rushing to place one hand over his mouth.

“Baby?”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, nonononono.

“Jack, you know you're not allowed in here.” Her high heels roam against to floor, click clack clack clack

“Wherever could he be!!!” Jack whimpered at her false tone, squeezing his eyes shut. He wished the ground could just swallow him whole. Why did he do this!?! Why was he so stupid to even think he could get away with this?

Clack clack clack. Nonono too close for comfort, too close for comf-

“It seems that I have found my little trouble maker!!!” Alicia’s eyes practically sparkled as they landed on Jack’s hand, just peeking out from under her desk. She took a few strides forward. Is someone testing the rules, hm? Maybe with your old owner it would’ve been okay, but with me?”

In a matter of seconds, Alicia raised her foot before stomping down hard onto the back of Jack’s hand, making the boy scream out in pain. White filled Jack's vision for a split second as his body seized up in pain.

“With me, rules are made to be obeyed,” Alicia continued, grinding the pointy heel against Jack’s bone with a growl, causing Jack’s scream to grow even louder, a pathetic sob cutting it off. “PL-PLEASE I'M SORRYY!!!” Jack sobbed, “PLEASE- Ple-please… I’m so s-sorry…”

Alicia tilted her head with a hum, increasing the pressure against her boy’s hand. Her hand trailed up his neck, fingers curling under Jack’s chin, tilting his head up. Jack’s petrified, tear-filled eyes met with Alicia’s cold glare. “I really don't think you are sorry, baby…”

A whine tore from his throat and his bottom lip wobbled, “Pl-plea-” The backhand echoed through the room.

“Silence!!!” Jack sobbed out, a hand flying to his cheek. “I don't have the energy for this defiance,” Alicia growled, digging her nails into Jack’s soft skin. “You have disappointed me, Jack.”

Jack flinched hard, Alicia only really called him by his name when she felt like he didn't deserve being called any pet names. He whimpered as tears streamed down his face. His hand was in so much pain he swore he could pass out. But he wouldn’t. He needed to be good for Alicia.

The silence was deafening. The only sound that could be heard was Jack’s wheezing and whimpering. Alicia’s cold eyes studied her boy. His whole body hunched over as his hand grabs his wrist, trying to stop himself from pulling it away from Alicia. His chest rose and fell quickly in an unsteady rhythm. She hummed in thought before eventually lifting her boot off.

Jack gasped, his hand shooting up to his chest as held it protectively, “Tha-thank you ma-ma’am!!! Thank you so-so much- thank you ‘m so sorry- I’m so so sorry-” Jack sobbed, clutching onto Alicia’s leg. He was so grateful. Alicia had forgiven him. She had been so kind and forgave him for such a terrible thing!!!

Alicia tried to conceal the smirk that played on her lips, but it was practically pointless. She carded her hand through Jack’s hair, feeling him instantly lean into the touch. But the soft, kind, gentle touch suddenly tightened, making Jack yelp out.

“Oh baby…. You're not fully forgiven. I expect you to write out an apology letter until your hand feels like it's going to fucking fall off. I expect you to be on your best fucking behaviour that you have ever been. I expect you to take a daily punishment without any complaints, and lastly, Romeo is hosting a party in a week's time, you will be wearing your shock collar so everyone can see how you have lost my trust. Oh, and how could I forget…”

Alicia grabbed Jack roughly by the chin, her nails digging in as she yanked Jack’s face up to look up at her, “I will make sure that every single guest in that fucking house will have their turn with you, beating the shit out of you. And then, maybe then, I’ll forgive you. Am I clear?”

Fear filled Jack’s face, all the colour draining from it suddenly as he gulped, “Cr-crystal…”

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THANKEN YU FOR READINGGG 💜

Taglist: @likeit-or-whumpit @milk-carton-whump @yesthisiswhump @appy-polly-loggies @happy-whumper @hold-back-on-the-comfort @tears-and-lilies @heathenwhump @whumpkinpie @shywhumpauthor @cursedscribbles @whump-queen

(LMK IF YA WANNA BE ADDED OR REMOVED <3)

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befuddled-calico-whump · 10 months

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Human!Jabba would absolutely be a sexyman. He’s a crime boss of a drug empire, probably going gray in a sexy way - something like Silco from Arcane but in space. People would be obnoxiously shipping him with Han Solo and there would be so much misogynistic fanficiton killing off Leia to get them together. Search your feelings, you know this in your heart to be true.

you're right and I hate it

#i spent way too long on this #hope jabbas sexyman enough i don't really know how to do that besides adding blood #my team leader saw me drawing this and i had to explain the concept of a sexyman to him welp #star wars #crack ship #han solo #human!jabba #if these were just random characters id be of great cheer because of the poses #but i know too much #whump art #sorta #i actually like silco a lot tbh #i feel like jabbas whole unwilling harem thing would make him too squicky for me to actually like even were he not a slug #anon

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cakeinthevoid · 4 months

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🪃 A favorite weapon/item to whump with?

ooo!

🪃 first thing that came to mind was wand—second thing was LASSO!!! Yes this can 100% be attributed to my current cowboy craze. Just watched an old western where a guy was getting beat and strung up with lassos and I was like oh man. I can actually get behind this. I think it’s because it fits the scene so well?? Like it’s a tool, genuinely used practically in cowboy life. And then it’s turned into a weapon…

… yea I think that’s the theme with my favourite whump tools bwahaha

#didn’t go in depth for wand since I thought it didn’t count bc TECHNICALLY it’s the ~magic~ doing the whump #but like. Same thing sorta applies. Magic is a tool #often for good #and now to use it as whump??#OMG THIS JUST REMINDED ME OF WHEN I TRAPPED SOMEONE IN A MIRROR #I want to reread that now lol #anyway yea #if u follow my main you would see mass cowboy spam lmao #ask game

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platonic-prompts · 2 years

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I'm back! And I know I'm like, way late, but happy whumptober everyone! Whump Prompt:

Starvation: "You told me you ate": Low Blood Sugar

#whump prompt #prompt #prompts #sorta #wanted to try that like three option thing cause its 11 at night #and i spent 2 hours responding to that last post

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artificialcaretaker · 2 years

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Whenever I think of Vaas and Citra I get a lil nervous bro I’m just tryna conceptualize an edgy ahh edit and I’m very nervous veryyyyyy nervous my stummy hurt y’all the darkfic phase really effected me eh

#ion feel like tagging the characters #my stummy hurt #I’m getting nervous #jegus FUCK #ITS JUST SO #AGGHHHHH #ITS SO GOGDAMNIT HORRIBLE #I THINK ITS A SORTA WHUMP SITUATION??????#WHERE ITS LIKE #I HAVE A THING WHERE I GET REALLY INVESTED #IN HOW HORRIBLE THINGS ARE FOR FICTIONAL CHARACTERS #AND BOY OH BOY ITS COMING BACK HARD RN #I HATE THEM SM

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redd956 · 6 months

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(@urlocalwhumper)

hey dawg thanks for feeding us living weapon whumpee enjoyers

i know that generally the vibe for living weapon whumpees is like the stoic "unfeeling" supersoldier type, but how are we feelin about living weapon whumpees that are like. off the shits feral.

more of an attack dog than a super soldier, weapons of mass destruction built into them cybernetically, because their masters aren't looking for efficiency, they're looking to send a message. for everyone around to know that if you don't bow to their rule, they'll send their monster to destroy you and everything you hold dear.

(and ofc the "monster" themself is kept in a constant state of suffering so they're always agitated and the pain clouds their mind too much to question what they're doing and why)

I love the way you think!

I never really thought of that character trope as a living weapon, but you aren't lying, it would count. (My brother and I's ocs would count then Ig) Also ties into monster whumpees :D

Here's some ideas I bounced off of this

Guard Dog Whumpee

CW: Pet Whump Sorta, Classic, the whump community should bring these up more

Whumper having more than one, forcing them to compete with one another. The most brutal earns their medical treatment.

Dangerous whumpees who have to be muzzled and mitted because whumper doesn't have them under control fully. Gentle carewhumpers being able to coerce whumpee into muzzles.

Non-guard dog whumpees equally trapped under whumper's boot being terrified of the guard dog. Sharing space with one is like sleeping on the shore of alligator infested rivers.

Scarred whumpees with dangerous animalistic features bared, backed into a corner with a tail in between their legs. Caretaker is trying their best to appear nonthreatening.

A guard dog whumpee failing its job. It showed no fear to its enemies, but the same cannot be said as they returned home.

Monster Living Weapon Whumpee

Say that three times fast

While rampaging after whumper's enemies whumpee broke the device keeping them confined to whumper. Quickly a symbol of destruction becomes a confused, hurt, and whimpering creature.

Whumpee always thought they were uniquely a monster. Whumper told them so everyday, rewarding them for their monstrousness, telling them they're alone as a creature of evil. Whumpee always thought this until they met caretaker.

Monster whumpees that despite being living weapons show rage in their failures, and pride in their kills. They don't see that whumper's treatment of them is subpar, because they're "partners in crime" of course. Caretaker would never treat whumpee that way if they were their weapon.

Killing Machine

They know what they're capable of, and they don't want to be that

Maybe they wanna do things their way, maybe they're ashamed of being a killing machine. Whumper could care less.

Killing machine in disguise has been living the everyday life, perhaps even an extravagant one. Whumper found them out, and no one has seen whumpee since, until the destruction started.

Killer Machine Villain -> Supervillain meets Villain with the promise to make them more powerful -> Extra Murderous Killer Machine Villain (Unstable)

Robotic whumpee that is just doing what they're told. Whumper was great, whumper was life. Robotic whumpee who sees whumper returning home with the newest model. Whumper who won't stop boasting about how much more efficient and deadly the new one is.

#whump #whump drabble #living weapon whump #living weapon whumpee #living weapon trope #guard dog whumpee #guard dog whump #villain whumpee #carewhumper #whump prompts #whump ideas #whumper

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makeste · 5 months

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do you perhap have bakugou whump fic recs?

I have many such recs! not all of them are "whump" in the purest sense of the word, but they've got angst and hurt/comfort in abundance, so yeah.

I also have an older rec post from like five years ago which has quite a few Bakugou whump fics as well, so I'll link that here.

and here are like 16 new ones lol.

some quick notes:

I'm just including links and summaries here, so please make sure to check the tags for each fic if you have certain squicks or triggers you're trying to avoid!

please be aware that I am not very nitpicky about grammar and style and spelling and the like, so long as I'm feeling the characterization and general vibes. so while I can't promise that all of these fics will read like Nobel Prize-winning lit, I can say that I personally enjoyed each one enough to go back and reread more than once.

although it tends to be one of the most common tropes in Bakugou angst fics, I do not vibe with the "abusive Mitsuki" angle, so you won't find any of that in the works below. same goes for Midnight-bashing (which is also surprisingly common).

I also did not include any fics with sad endings just because I didn't feel like depressing myself today lol.

I don't think there are manga spoilers in any of these fics except one (which I noted and marked with an asterisk), but definitely check the tags just to be safe.

lastly, though I'm by no means a prude when it comes to fanfic, all of these particular fics are SFW, just FYI.

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gen Bakuwhump:

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It's Already Tomorrow on the Other Side of the World by Nicole_Silverwolf

In the absolute immediate aftermath of his rescue at Kamino, Bakugou just wants to sleep. If he sleeps then this nightmare will be over. Except he's freezing in the mid August heat. And he can't stop shaking. A glimpse of two imperfect humans trying their best told in 3.5 parts.

post-Kamino Dadzawa and Katsuki. easily one of my all-time favorite BnHA fics. it's so sad and cozy.

Coming Up for Air by achievingelysium

Katsuki has nightmares. He doesn't think he deserves the comfort, but Aizawa-sensei sits with him anyway.

more Dadzawa dealing with nighttime Kacchan angst, since that's like my #1 BnHA fic aesthetic. this is so well-written. like, there are a couple of lines in here that just... guh. just hit right to the core of me.

Bakugou's "Super Fun" Three Day Vacation by Marvelless

Bakugou and his parents arrive home after the Kamino Ward incident for some much-needed recovery time.

post-Kamino Bakufam angst. lots of paranoia and dissociation. this is one of those fics that's sort of a guilty pleasure for me, because Katsuki definitely feels a lot more... fragile?... in this than I think he would have been in canon. but he's still enough of a grump during all of his spiralling that it still feels like him. and I do love me some Bakufam wholesomeness, and this fic has got that in spades.

the art of poor judgement by emelinelou

It's a Tuesday when Bakugou admits to himself that maybe, maybe he is sorta, kinda under the weather. Things go quickly downhill from there. . Alternatively: Bakugou's too stubborn to be "sick," Midoriya and Kirishima are in over their heads, Todoroki is the Most Useful in a pinch, and Aizawa is not paid nearly enough for this.

probably my favorite sickfic. chapter two especially. Bakugou's narration in this is fucking fantastic. he's so fucking done with life. meanwhile everyone around him is freaking out, and he himself is a complete mess even though he won't acknowledge it, and it's just great. it's equal parts funny, sad, and absolutely adorable.

(incidentally, even though this fic is marked as incomplete, it really doesn't feel that way and ends at a perfectly reasonable stopping point, so don't let that put you off.)

Solar Flare by TheQueen

Three weeks after Katsuki Bakugou receives his quirk, he takes a short tumble off a bridge and watches, dumbfounded, as stupid Deku extend a hand. Don’t take it, the universe commands. Don’t tell me what to do! Katsuki snaps.

this is a really cool AU in which Baby Katsuki accidentally starts defying the universe and ignoring his predestined path, which has a profound ripple effect on his life. sort of like a time-travel fix-it, minus the time travel. also just a heads up that Bakugou is like five years old in this so I guess it's technically a kidfic. and there is plenty of angst, a little bit of whump, more Bakufam, and plenty of baby Kacchan and Deku being cute like it's their job.

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BKDK/DKBK whump:

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lose it all (with eyes wide open) by ghostwriterofthemachine

Katsuki is blinded. Izuku is muted. Both of them are kidnapped. Things get worse.

this is one of those fics that just kind of leaves you stunned at how freaking good it is. featuring: psychological mindgames, hopelessly bleak situations, and codependency so utterly raw and desperate that it broke my heart roughly 17 times.

When Ice Doesn't Float by Ma_skee

A simple rescue exercise goes south when Izuku falls through the ice and it goes from a class assinment to an actual rescue and a race against time to keep him from freezing to death.

technically this is more Dekuwhump than Kacchanwhump (though we do get a bit of the latter toward the end), but I'd argue that few things could possibly stress Katsuki out more than being in a tense survival situation in which Deku is hurt and needs help. anyway so yeah. this is classic hurt/comfort and very good.

spinning out of control by mollE

Katsuki joins the 'I've Been Mind Controlled' Club. He wishes he hadn't.

please see above re: how all Dekuwhump scenarios are secretly Kacchanwhump scenarios in disguise. anyway so basically a mind-controlled Bakugou beats the shit out of Deku while being fully aware of it the entire time, and has a complete (and understandable) emotional breakdown afterwards.

all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing by maxisnotokay

Izuku has had this thing about him that Katsuki has never been able to name, but he's been chasing it since he learned how to run. It takes a catastrophic building collapse during their third year and a severe concussion for him to realize what it is. Aizawa loses ten years off his life. When does he not.

gotta love a good building collapse fic. this one has a concussed Katsuki, a very worried Izuku, and the usual "thanks to this intimate life-or-death situation, I have belatedly realized some fundamental truths about the nature of our relationship" tropes. but it's good. a lot of really good banter and back-and-forth dialogue in this one too.

takes one to know one by Sour_Idealist

Deku has left UA. Ochako still looks for him in unguarded moments. Bakugo is, unsurprisingly, being a jerk.

some good emotional hurt/comfort post-Jakku. Ochako has a chat with Bakugou about Deku. specifically, Bakugou's feelings toward Deku. it's good shit.

*fear is the heart of love by nikkiRA

*please be advised this fic contains major manga spoilers!!

Bakugou gets hit by a quirk that amplifies his greatest fear for 24 hours.

losing Deku. the thing that scares him the most is losing Deku. this is a good fic. emotional hurt/comfort for days. though once again do keep in mind that there are a couple of major spoilers in this.

silence is what i do best by notreally

the one where both Izuku and Katsuki were hit with a truth serum sort of quirk, and things aren't going all too well.

not just a truth-telling quirk, but a truth-compulsion quirk, to the extent that (spoiler alert) the quirk causes them physical pain and distress if they don't speak the truth. which, as you can imagine, leads to all sorts of extremely vulnerable conversations and a lot of good h/c.

close by not quite by blossomshed

When Bakugou goes after a beacon during a class-wide rescue op, he doesn't expect to find Deku - or to find himself dealing with the fallout of a gift he doesn't want, and a side of himself he'd never bothered to examine. He deals with it nonetheless.

this fic is so dear to me. it's yet another "Deku transfers OFA to Bakugou fic", but it's just so fucking good. and it also features a (very much confused) ace Bakugou, which is such a rare find. there are lines from this fic which I still think about constantly. it's funny and profound and adorable and so wonderfully IC, please go read it.

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BONUS NON-ANGSTY FICS because I just felt like ending this list with some happy stories where Kacchan gets a lot of love:

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give me compliments (i said give me compliments) by wonhaebunny

“It’s just cute,” Ashido is telling them as she walks into the classroom. “Like, when you compliment someone and they get flustered so easily, don’t you think it’s endearing?” Kaminari blinks. “Like Bakugou?” he asks slowly. - 1-a realises that katsuki is really, really bad at receiving compliments. exposure therapy ensues.

he is bad at accepting compliments. this is a very, very cute fic.

The Friendship Ladder by nikkiRA

Bakugou and Kirishima tell their classmates they're dating, but everyone seems more interested in who gets to claim the newly vacated spot of Bakugou’s best friend.

as the summary implies this is technically KRBK, but the focus here is very much class 1-A as a whole. there's just something about seeing the entirety of the class squabbling over their Kacchan love that tickles me to no end. Deku is also fantastic in this lmao.

The Yoshida Trail by WinterSwallow

Mitsuki Bakugo returns with her gift to the mountain.

last but not least we have this gorgeous character study with a criminally low view count. Mitsuki climbs Mt. Fuji with an eight-year-old Katsuki in tow, as the fic explores his childhood and young adulthood through a series of vignettes. the insights in this really have no business being as profound as they are, given that they're voiced from the perspective of one of the most graceless characters in the series as she observes her equally graceless son through all the ups and downs and tumbles of his life. but somehow that just makes the whole thing even better. idk I just really love this a lot.

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anyway that's it for now. hope at least a few of these are enjoyable. thanks for the ask!

#bakugou katsuki #bakudeku #bkdk #fic recs #bnha fic recs #bnha #boku no hero academia #makeste reads bnha

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liz-allyn · 1 year

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sugar and vice, pt 5 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: what is the appropriate amount of time to forgive your kidnapper?

words: 3.9 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. allusions to violence. coersion. kidnapping. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. 'only ten one bed oops' trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. nudity. extremely toxic relationships.

a/n - as many of you pointed out in the last chapter, this version of Peter is darker and messier than TASM canon. expect him to make a lot of mistakes before he becomes a changed man. if he changes.

18+. you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you don't remember watching an episode of pop up [music] video on a television network, then keep it movin'.

Back to Part 4

Part 5

She awoke to darkness. Her whole body felt sore. Head throbbing from the onslaught of tears. She felt like a ceramic pot that had been roasting in a kiln for hours.

Stirring from her dreamless sleep, she glanced left and right. Her hands were free of the bindings. Brow curled, she looked over at the closed door, pondering if her captor had snuck into the room while she was out.

Honey sat up with a start, blinking the remnants of sleep from her eyes. She reached for her wrists, finding nothing but an oily residue left behind. Still puffy from the duct tape rash, her skin was sensitive to her touch, but otherwise unharmed.

She glanced up at the closed door. Her stomach churned. She fought the instinct to curl up and hide beneath the bed. The memory of Peter’s fierce gaze lingered, a raw burn in her mind.

Despite her logic telling her that she was the victim, she still felt conflicted.

She had been kidnapped, sure— and she needed to do whatever was necessary to survive. Strangely, she still felt guilty for taking a swing at him like she did. As soon as her fingers touched the rock, she slammed it into the side of his head, without much thought.

“What are you, stupid? It’s a wonder you even make it home alive each night!”

She couldn’t quite name what came over her. She dealt a blow to his temple that could’ve killed him. Surprised that it didn’t. And then what would that be like? Could she really find it in herself to kill another human being? Not to mention, she’d be alone in the woods with a dead body, with no clue where she was.

The thought made her queasy, twisting her stomach into a pretzel. She could’ve just run away, but when it came time to do so, she froze. Typical.

While she was hiding, she watched and listened quietly to his rampage below. Rage was one thing she expected, but not the misery she witnessed. The look she found in his eyes was something else entirely. Heartbreak and relief, like he would burst into tears at any moment.

It made her heart ache to witness it.

And then she hit him with a rock. Like some kind of cavewoman.

Brilliant idea, she thought disdainfully.

“You need to slow down!” More bitter thoughts flooded her, this time with the voice of her mother. “Always talking too fast! Always moving too fast! You do without thinking. No wonder you mess everything up.”

Her eyes grew heavy with melancholy and exhaustion. Despite the darkness wrapped around her, she felt like sleep was out of the question.

A strange melody crept up through the closed door to her room. Voices. Percussion. Music. Upbeat and entrancing.

There wasn’t a clock in her room but she had figured it was the middle of the night. Why would Peter be jamming out in the middle of the night?

Her stomach twisted again. The thought of coming face-to-face with him gave her chills. She rubbed her wrists idly. She could feel bruises there. She was afraid to leave the room. But she was also starving, and lamented not having at least one sandwich before her daring and ill-conceived escape. She was also miserably dehydrated, as every bit of moisture had leaked through her swollen eyelids.

And she had to pee. And that was now all she could think about. Her room thankfully had its own bathroom. Swinging her still-booted feet over the edge of the bed onto the floor, she tiptoed to the bathroom and relieved herself.

She thought she heard singing. Bad, out-of-tune singing. Creeping to the door, she placed her ear against the cool surface, trying to identify thes source. Out of curiosity or courage, she twisted the handle and peeked her head around the frame.

By the time she reached the bottom step of the staircase into the living room, she had a full view of the area and Peter was nowhere in sight. The one person who was in the room (and the source of music) was Miles, as he sat at the kitchen bar and dangled a pizza slice larger than his head above his mouth.

The music was echoing across the room from a tiny portable speaker on top of the kitchen bar. In his own world, the teenager’s head bobbed as he blew steam from his pizza, then took a giant bite.

She watched curiously as she approached from behind. The giant decorative clock built into the great room wall confirmed that it was incredibly late. Or early. One wouldn’t know it from Miles’ energy, or the volume of his jam session. She looked left and right, expecting to find more people, but saw no one else.

The flow of the music was broken when she accidentally walked into a low-height side table, her knee knocking to the corner. The lamp on top of the table jolted and Miles spun around in the barstool, letting out a piercing screech that could best be described as falsetto.

Honey responded in kind, letting out a shrieking Ahhhhhh of her own. Miles curled himself up on the stool, pulling his palms and one leg up defensively. “Sorry!” she blurted, as he clutched his own chest. “Sorry! So sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“You scared the crap outta me!” Miles said, his panic ebbing.

“I didn’t mean to—wait, is that how you really scream?”

“What about it?!” Miles exclaimed indignantly. “Not the point! You’re the one who’s creepin’ up on people like we’re in a horror movie... Crazy... La Llorona stuff!” The pitch of his voice normalized as he took a deep breath, frustration subsiding. “I dead-ass almost punched you in the face—I don’t mess around!”

“Sorry, sorry...�� Honey babbled, her face twisted in a grimace. “I, uh, didn’t mean... to, uh... Llorona...”

“It’s fine!” Miles sighed, his heart rate slowing. It didn’t sound fine. “It’s over—maybe let’s just not ever mention this again, okay? To anyone? Especially not to people I know.”

Honey nodded her head in agreement, motioning that her lips were zipped and she was ‘throwing away the key.’

A few awkward moments of silence passed between them as he reached over and turned down the music on the speaker. He straightened out his zip-up hoodie uncomfortably. A small smile crept up on her face. She found his reaction endearing, and not at all what she expected from—whatever it was they were involved with.

“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Hi.”

Miles gave her a sheepish look. “Hi.”

There was a mountain of awkwardness between them. She looked around, then pointed at the massive box of pizza. “So... post-midnight snack?”

“Oh,” the teenager responded, looking back at the pizza. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re probably hungry.” He reached for the box, opening the lid. “Here, have some. It’s Lucia’s. There’s plenty.”

“Lucia’s?” she exclaimed, pondering the distance between wherever they were to downtown Flushing. She moved to the box, peering inside. “I like Dani’s.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect. This pie heats up better,” Miles remarked, taking another bite of his slice.

“Yeah?” Her eyes slid over to Miles. “How fresh is it?”

“Boss said to bring Lucia’s. So I did.” He shrugged his shoulders idly, placing his attention back on his slice of pizza. She slumped with a huff, having been dismissed.

“Boss,” she repeated, a chill going down her spine. “You mean Ben. Or...Peter, I guess,” She glanced around the mostly empty kitchen and living area, almost as if saying his name would summon him like Bloody Mary. “Is he here?”

Miles smacked his lips, wiping his mouth. “Nope, just me.”

There was a pleasant calmness in his demeanor. It seemed to her that he was the only normal person that she’d met since being pulled off the train. The only person that treated her like a real person. Not that Peter hadn’t tried to show her kindness... or at least, what his mind perceived as kindness.

She rocked forward on her toes, suddenly interested in the fibers of the cardboard box. “Is he... Is he okay?”

Miles avoided looking at her, and she wondered how much Peter had told him about her escape attempt. She wondered why she felt suddenly embarrassed by her actions. Ashamed even. What did that say about her?

“Didn’t say much,” he replied. “Said he needed to take care of some stuff. Told me to hang out in case you needed anything.”

Something burned in her chest, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. “That was nice,” she stated in earnest. “I guess.”

“He’s pretty cool,” Miles nodded, matter-of-factly. “Nice guy.”

She bitterly scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He didn’t respond. He was skilled at avoiding her provocation despite how badly she wanted to start a fight. Passively, he devoured his pizza in record time, then reached over the box to grab a paper plate. It looked sorely out of place compared to the grandeur of the kitchen.

“Wan’some?” he asked. “I also brought soda and stuff. Boss said no TV, but we can watch a movie on Netflix or something. Or we got a Switch. You ever play Smash Bros?”

It took her a moment for the implications to sink in. “‘No TV?’” she repeated with a growl, letting out a frustrated sigh. “What are we, children?”

She snatched the paper plate from his hand and reached into the box, grabbing herself a slice of pizza. Without further protest, she bit into the pie, savoring the taste. Lucia’s was superior, she recognized.

“He said to get you whatever you needed,” he answered, paying her complaints no mind. “The whole house is free range except for the office. But everything else is cool. You can use the gym. There’s a library. The sauna. A pool, if you wanna check that out, too.”

She blinked at him, nearly choking on her pizza. “This place has a pool?”

“Heated,” he wiggled his eyebrows enticingly.

She glanced down, conniving. “What about a computer?”

Miles shook his head. “Don’t know about that.”

“Could I borrow your phone?”

“No can.”

“C’mon,” she pleaded, her voice gentle. “I’m not gonna call the cops. Just wanna check in with my mom.”

“Can’t bring phones out here,” he shrugged apologetically. “It’s a rule. Phones can be hacked and traced. All you need is a sus text like ‘Hey, I’m here,’ or ‘We issued you a refund for $600,’ and you click on the link and boom. They got you.”

Honey peered at him suspiciously, “Who’s they?”

“No clue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your ‘boss’ sounds pretty paranoid if you ask me.”

“That actually wasn’t his rule,” Miles explained conversationally. He leaned back in the barstool in a way that made her anxious. “That was Peni. She’s our tech nerd.”

“Peni?” she repeated.

“Yeah, she’s like—a genius.”

Her pizza suddenly became too chewy. “So I’m just a prisoner?” she huffed.

Miles looked over at her for a few moments, considering her. He let out a quiet sigh. “I know it’s a lot,” he said kindly, then added with consolation. “Pete’s a lot. Sometimes.” Stone-faced, she stared back skeptically. “But he’s a really good dude. Just... he worries. He wouldn’t do all this if he didn’t care.”

She glared at him through lidded eyes. “Do you hear yourself right now?” she spat. “You sound like a Lifetime movie. Do I need to call Child Protective Services?”

“Hey, not cool. M’not a child,” he bristled, offended. “I’m sixteen.” She stared at him with a raised brow, watching as he stuffed another slice of pie into his mouth. “Wan’some Mountain Dew?”

She blinked. Several times. Then resigned herself. “Sure.”

The eerie indigo and orange glow of civil dawn peeked through the bay windows of the great room. It was silent except for soft snores. With weary eyes and a suit jacket which had been wrinkled by physical exertion, Peter wandered into his house even more of an alien than when he’d left it.

The sort of activities in which he’d participated in earlier that night did that to him. It made him a stranger in his own home. Even more in his own skin.

He paused briefly and took a moment to gaze upon the lanky teenager sprawled out on one of the leather couches. Jordans crossed. sticking up over the sofa arm. A Nintendo controller rested on his chest as he dozed deeply, film forming in the corner of his open mouth. The sight made Peter crack a bittersweet smile. Nostalgia accompanied by an ache of longing. Somewhere beneath Miles’ oversized clothes, there was a good kid who wasn’t all that different from Peter.

Who he used to be.

His eyes roved across the room to the opposite sofa. Honey was curled up like a cat, still in the blouse and jeans that she arrived in. Her hiking boots were placed neatly next to the couch. The snuggly sight of her made his heart leap into his throat. Her upper body expanded and deflated in a steady rhythm like ocean waves, and the action both entranced and haunted him. The bittersweet feeling in his chest soured and blackened, until it became a guilt-ridden tumor wrapping tendrils around his heart.

He had been so cruel earlier. He erupted into a fit of blind rage. A brute. The kind of anger that made people want to turn their heads. Anger that if Gwen were still alive, she wouldn’t be able to look at without being sickened. He was the sort of person that Aunt May and Uncle Ben would cross the street to avoid.

He thought he’d lost her too. And he was terrified.

No wonder she was scared. It was his fault, to think that she could somehow see him as something other than a monster. Now, there wasn’t much hope in changing her mind.

Peter felt his eyes burn as he peeled them from her lithe form. He glanced down at his hands, observing the deep crimson stains in his skin. Rusty-brown spots soiled the wrinkled cuffs of his dress shirt.

He’d have to throw it out, he mused. There’d be no getting those stains out. No matter how much time he put into scrubbing. No matter if he flayed his own skin off his bones, the blood would always be there.

His heart rate quickened. He felt bile rising in his throat. With alarm, he disappeared down a hallway, tucking himself swiftly in a washroom.

When he returned, he was shirtless. His forearms were bright red, stinging with how hard he’d scrubbed. Head down, he crept quietly towards the staircase leading up to the bedrooms on the upper level.

He paused at the sofa, glancing down longingly at the woman he would never deserve.

The woman that would never forgive him for how he acted.

Never forgive him for what he was. The thought made his lower lip tremble.

He didn’t deserve her. This was an undeniable fact.

But regardless, she was still his responsibility. His to protect. His to keep safe.

His to keep.

His shadow fell over her as he reached down and gently lifted her from the sofa. Effortlessly, he carried her weight like a towel over his arm, or a down-pillow in his hands. Ascending the staircase with her tucked against his chest, he didn’t miss the way she huddled closer to his warmth. She sighed against the skin over his heart in a way that made gooseflesh rise.

Gently, he ferried her, like a small boat on a glass lake. He strode past the door to the room that she had occupied and continued down the hallway, headed to the southern-facing end of the house. He approached the heavy oak door to his bedroom and used his toe to push it open. The action barely disturbed her at all. Like floating on a cloud.

Moving through the bedroom darkened by blackout curtains, he drifted across his room and rested her body on the silk surface of the California-king bedspread. Delicately, he placed her head on a 1000-thread count pillow void of any scents other than his own. He hoped that it would smell like her shampoo by the time she woke up.

He stepped back from the bed, listening the pulsation of her heart. Studied the pace of her breathing. Fixated on her soft features as she floated in her slumber. A familiar pang reached his chest as he watched her, hesitating for only a moment more before he padded to the other side of the bed.

She sighed in her sleep, nuzzling the softest pillow she’d ever laid on, and shuddered comfortably as two arms wrapped around her waist. She felt herself pulled back and was cradled by a firm form shaping her own. It was warm. She was warm. The breath on the back of her neck was warm.

Her eyes shot open, a small gasp catching in her throat. Rapidly, she blinked through the murky twilight of the foreign bedroom, her heart spiking.

“Don’t,” she heard a deep, raspy voice whisper in her ear. She went rigid, recognizing the owner of the voice and the body pressed up against hers. Alarm flooded her.

“Please don’t,” he said softly, with a tone that sounded shockingly broken. She was frozen. Stunned. By fear or surprise, or both.

Another murmur, “Stay with me.”

It was a whimper shaped like a demand. With it, she swore she could feel a tremble in his grip. He buried his face in her hair, his bearded chin tucking into her shoulder. His arms locked her into an impenetrable grip.

Instinct was screaming at her to break the hold. Told her she needed to fight. Or run, as far and fast as she could manage.

It wouldn’t be very far. The previous afternoon he proved that he was more than capable of bringing her back.

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The way the air from his lungs ghosted over her nape made her eyes flutter shut.

His arms were heavy. Firm, but not painful. Solid, not tight. She imagined the hearty limbs of the oak in the backyard of her childhood home. Three seasons out of the year, she’d scale into its arbor, hiding from her troubles. She once wanted to build a home there.

She should fight. She should run.

There was a monster in her bed. She was in a monster’s bed.

And yet, sleep took her soon after. The most peaceful rest she’d had in ages.

When she emerged from her rest, she was alone again. Harsh daylight flooded into the bedroom she hadn’t had the chance to see. After a moment of confusion, she turned around to see the other side of the bed unoccupied. The blankets undisturbed. She glanced down at her own clothes. Though wrinkled and dirtied from her tree climbing adventure and attempted escape, they were intact.

She was surprised, but even more surprised at the strange mix of... anxiety?

When is the appropriate amount of time when you’re forced into your kidnapper’s bed for him to... you know... make a move? Was it her? Was she awful, or even worse—did she smell bad?

The line of self-conscious questioning and odd disappointment frustrated her further. She sighed, silenting cursing her own stupidity, shaking the thought from her mind.

Someone once told her that if life was a horror film, she’d be the first to die. It would’ve offended her more if she wasn’t wrapped up in the notion that if life could be a horror film, how would any of us know we were in one?

Her mother answered— ”Stupid, stupid girl.”

Attention now turned to the surroundings, she came face-to-face with another real-life magazine spread. A dream bedroom. The coziest jewel of this particular dream home.

Although it was a modest size, it didn’t feel that way. The primary bedroom was decorated with a soothing blend of alabaster stone, exposed beams of reclaimed wood, and snuggly linen tones. Vaulted ceilings lined with ash. A winding, black iron chandelier dangled over the four-post bed she laid in. A stone fireplace stood opposite from the bed, accompanied by an overstuffed linen chair. Just as in the other rooms, a double-height window accented with floor-to-ceiling drapes towered over the room and revealed the breathtaking mountain landscape.

She sat up and gathered her jaw up off of the bedspread. Wiped drool from her lip. The room was charming and warm, like fuzzy socks and sherpa blankets. Marshmallows melting on hot cocoa. It wrapped around her, like a hug.

Like her visitor last night.

She yanked her eyes off of the rustic-contemporary decor, searching for Peter, as if he would’ve somehow camouflaged himself into the space. Placing her socked feet down on the blessedly toasty hardwood, she peered around curiously. The gentle roar of water running caught her attention as she wandered to the other side of ithe room. An open doorway led into another massive space, one side lined with wardrobe cabinetry and the other half of the room obscured by a wall.

Idly, she followed the path through what she recognized as a closet larger than her apartment, rounding the corner of the freestanding wall. Clouds billowed around her, as she gazed open-mouthed at the primary bathroom. Sunlight poured in, lighting up the space, bouncing off of white marble and black obsidian glass tile—

And Peter Parker.

Steam wafting off of his nude form, hot water pouring down his backside. She paused midstep, eyes like saucers. Felt the blood rush to her face. Panic swallowed her. She imagined this is exactly what deers must feel right before getting plowed by an F-150, blinded by headlights.

Except that she was blinded by his wet pale skin, the way the steam rose from it, like he was the source of heat. The smattering of freckles spread faintly across his shoulders. His palms were flat against the backsplash as he bowed his head into the stream of water. His dark locks slicked back by a cleansing cascade.

She followed the current down the curve of his shoulders and the peaks of his spine, down to the dimpled valleys of his lower back, and that breathtaking canyon ridge that dips down in a V at his hips— whatever that’s called— and never in her life would she see herself as an ‘ass enthusiast,’ but her mouth was watering now, maybe from the lack of hair on his body (his skin was so buttery smooth, what was his skincare secret?) or the subtle curvature of his shapely cheeks—

Aimlessly, she collided with a freestanding towel drying rack, sending it clamoring to the tile floor. To her ears it sounded like the whole Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade falling down a staircase into a pile of cookware. She didn’t bother to see if Peter could hear the racket.

Like Icarus into the Sun, she hurled her own body back into the closet before she could be seen. Landed hard on the carpeted floor with a thud. She scattered, scrambling like a crab, on her hands and knees until she could get to her feet and bolt from the room.

In a frenzy, she rushed to ‘her’ bedroom, the one nearest to the stairs. She didn’t breathe again until the door was slammed shut and she rested her weight against it. A fire raged beneath her skin, her face aflame with embarrassment. She dragged her palms down her cheeks, groaning with mortification, sinking to the floor.

At what point is it acceptable to creep on your kidnapper in the shower?

Continue to Part 6

a/n - I've gotten such overwhelmingly amazing feedback on this. thank you so much to each of you that commented, sent me an ask, and big thank you to those of you that reblogged!

don't forget, to be tagged you must reblog so I can keep track of you!

thank you so much, angels!

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whumpsoda · 3 months

Text

Amara - Nevan & Darius

WOHEO Masterlist

Listened to No One Lives Forever by Oingo Boingo while writing this… idk why but a great song for me to write whump to??

Also I think I like this! Sorta proud of it atm <3

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud

cw: vampire whumper, human whumpee, pet whump, memory loss, amnesia, brainwashing

———————————————————————

Lights.

Bright, encompassing, and fluorescent. They stung. They buzzed and beat upon the vibrant white tile flooring, of which numerous pairs of polished shoes clicked atop.

There was talking. Several voices that spouted unintelligible words. He gently stroked someone’s hand, thumb rubbing over wispy hairs. He couldn’t tell who it was, the details of their face blurred and muddled in his brain.

There was crying. Shrill and squeaky, little hiccups scattered in between cries. The ringing of the noise only became louder as it neared, right into his cradled arms. As unlikeable as the sound was, it bloomed warmth in his chest.

Slick tears quickly fell to fabric, dribbling down his chill face. The tiny, unimaginably small thing in his arms mewled and whimpered, its pudgy little face smushing its minute features. He held it tighter, hoping he never had to let go.

And then he spoke. His beaming lips parted, and his throat cracked with the taint of unbridled joy.

“Amara.”

…

He gripped the doorway urgently, fingers determined and grasp harsh. Nevan whimpered, with his other hand clawing at his head. Fingernails sharply burrowed into his skin, in the desperate attempt to rid his mind of unwanted thoughts.

He needed Master. Whatever was spinning his head in circles, Nevan knew it was bad. Master would be mad, so very mad, but Master could help him. Master would care, he would have to. Nevan wasn’t broken, not yet enough to discard.

His trembling, weak knees buckled as he attempted to make use of them, his muscles wavering and weakening. Nevan’s knuckles made their way into his neatly done hair, pulling thick strands out of their meticulous place in distress.

He forced his hesitating legs forward, in the direction of the vampire’s library. His joints were tight and heavy, cracking and buckling with every slight movement.

The dim, yellow light grew across his body as he neared his master’s tight study, the door having been left wide open. Darius’ hazy figure was mere feet away, seated comfortably in his favorite plush leather seat.

The vampire’s frame inched higher as Nevan tumbled to the floor, a pathetic sight. Darius’ gaze didn’t make the slightest shift from the page he was focused on, but even in such a dizzy state Nevan could sense his irritation.

The human whimpered and whined, stuck in an inescapable frenzy of painful confusion and hurt. The fuss seemed to annoy the vampire just enough to take the slightest of interest. “What do you want?” Darius sneered, flipping carelessly to another crisp page.

Nevan gazed up at his master’s beautiful face, kneeling before the vampire. His head swayed, contorting his vision with disorientation and muddling the sight.

“Mm, um, Ma- Master, n- need help,” Nevan clasped his slender hands together, dizzily begging to his owner. “Fix, fix please, fix, bad, bad…” Nevan shook his head frantically, as if to signify that was the cause of his anguish.

Darius finally looked down to him, just to get a glimpse and scoff at the sore sight. He quickly turned back to his reading. “What have you done now?”

Nevan shivered in disgust with himself, distraught over his own disappointing behavior. “Please, um, head, um, re- um, remember, I think, fix please, Master,” he stammered, goosebump covered skin trembling. “Hurgg, hur- hhurghts!”

Darius glared, sighing with discontent as his thrall clutched his throbbing head. Interrupting Nevan’s pleas, he pressed a hand to his forehead. “Shush.” Nevan’s lips quickly snapped together. “What an nuisance you continue to be.”

He disapprovingly watched the man writhing on the floor, who dug his own fingers into his scalp. “How could you have possibly managed to remember yet again?.” Nevan whined between his cries, guttural and pained.

Again? This wasn’t the first, but one of many?

He didn’t mean to be so bad, he never did. He wanted so very badly to please, to hear Darius’ voice wash over him with sugary praises when he managed to do something right for once. More than anything he strived for the pleasure of his master’s voice in the few times he was satisfied, and yet Nevan rarely earned the privilege of hearing it.

He needed help to be better, and Darius was the only one who could do such a thing.

“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry, please, Master, please,” he insistently begged, flimsily clawing at Darius’ beige pant leg.

His head throbbed and pulsed with sickly affliction, and the blurred out glimpses of a hard to reach memory refused to let go of his head. His face was wet, slick tears collecting at his shaven chin, and a disgusting drip of snot fell from his nostril.

Darius looked as if he may throw up. Nevan sure felt like it. “How do you keep doing this? How can your tiny little brain continue to thwart me?” He leisurely hooked a finger below Nevan’s chin, dirtying his skin with the thrall’s salt tears. Nevan submitted eagerly to the gesture. “How repulsive.”

Nevan snapped his eyes and mouth shut, struggling a thick gulp, praying for the cease of his ugliness. As soon as his eyelids were shut though, the bright room was back, plaguing his mind. The lights, the voices, the child swaddled in his arms.

Maybe he wanted to hold onto it. Just a little. For just a fleeting second, he wished to relish in the foreign, unfamiliar moment of another life. For just a chance, he could ignore the fact he knew he couldn’t.

But it hurt. Burning, seering pain that ripped his brain in two, a frenzied wail racing from his throat. “Please, please, Master- Master-!” He shoved his way between Darius’ legs, clawing and pulling desperately at the seated man’s shirt.

Darius, amidst the frantic and hysteric behavior of his thrall, used one hand to grip Nevan’s wrist, and the other to nest in the human’s hair.

Nevan welcomed the touch, no matter how harshly Darius’ fingers clenched his skin or tugged his hair. Any semblance of contact was gladly welcome, especially if it was from his master.

“Hush, pet.” Darius purred, leaning down close. “Quiet your little mind for me. Calm and relaxed, and oh so quiet. Quiet as a little mouse.” He hummed, warm breath beating from his nose.

Darius let Nevan’s numbing limb fall to the floor, slipping his thumb instead to the thrall’s quivering lip. He brushed against the moist skin, causing Nevan’s heart to shiver with pleasure.

Master could be gentle. When he cast one of his sweet, easily addictable spells over his thrall, his voice softened and soothed, pleasant words easily subduing Nevan by the ear. When he took pity over his stupid thrall, he could choose to be gentle.

“So nice and quiet. Just like your feeble brain. So very, very quiet. Docile, obedient and empty.” Nevan could already feel his brain dissipating, including the specific thought that had haunted his brain just a moment ago. It continued to linger, but was being drowned out in favor of his master’s mollifying voice.

“Let the quiet take hold, getting rid of the bad thoughts. The terrible thoughts. The unnecessary memories that hurt.” Nevan nodded along with the hypnotic suggestions.

He would gladly take any chance to rid himself of such things. His cheek smushed up against the vampire’s thigh, head becoming drowsily light with eyelids threatening to drop.

“You like the silence, right?” He did. When he could sit, blank and empty, and let Master make all of the decisions for him.

“Mm, um… like…quiet…” Nevan whispered, vocals lowering with his mind. “Make, please… make brain… quiet…”

Darius huffed a stifled chuckle, finding humor in the pitiful wants of the man. “Let me tear those pesky memories away, and you’re brain will be so very nice and quiet. So quiet, now. Calm and relaxed and quiet, giving the bad thoughts away to Master so they can never return. A good boy doesn’t remember, he keeps his mind nice and silent.”

Nevan craved to be good, and yet he hesitated, just for a moment. Did he really want to let go of the dreamlike, hazy memory he had uncovered? The one that filled his heart with a pleasant beat? The one that at the same time twisted with an unexplainable agony in his stomach, and a searing ache in his head?

A dull, wide smile spread across Nevan’s lips, as he allowed the pleasurable, heavenly quiet cotton to fill his mind with open arms. It’s what Master wanted. It’s what he wanted.

He released the memory from his mind’s weak grip, letting if slip easily from his brain, disappearing by Darius’ whims where it would never come back. Nevan didn’t mind that. Whatever he had remembered, to distant to reach now, it hurt too much to keep around.

The sensation of letting go of the insignificant was almost like paradise, fluttering his heart and clouding his body with pleasant vibrations of gratification.

Nevan melted into Darius’ leg, jaw falling slack and mind falling deeper into an empty silence. Darius plopped his back against the chair with a scoff, irritatedly picking back up his book.

After however long of mindless staring, Nevan looked back up to his owner, delighted eyes draped by the tired lids, his cheeks gumming with his smile.

He couldn’t remember why he was there, kneeling contently at Master’s feet. Why his face was coated with drying wet, or why his hair and dress had been agitatedly tussled with.

He couldn’t remember much at all. He didn’t need to, and he usually didn’t. He knew all he needed to.

He was at the floor below his Master, where he always had been and always would be.

#My writing #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #pet whump #memory whump #Memory loss #amnesia #Nevan oc #Darius oc #brainwashing whump #brainwashing #hypnosis whump #hypnotized whumpee #vampire whumper #vampire whump #vampire #thrall whumpee #we only have each other

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