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whimp-whamp-whump · 6 months

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need whumpers to start force-feeding their whumpees more !! whumpee doesn't want to eat? they're not appreciative of all that whumper has done for them - shelter, water, food - and would rather reject whumpers efforts? fuck that! they'll take whatever whumper gives them.

whumper is (or what they believe to be) a distinguished cook and whumpee is rejecting their special meals? let's just hope whumpee can dodge a fork and spoon as whumper feeds them.

whumpee has been refusing water? they need to stay hydrated! time to break out the funnel - maybe if they reject it too much too frequently, whumper can adjust the temperature. maybe whumpee will be more grateful for tap water after having boiling water poured down their throat: that is, if they survive. perhaps next time, whumper will give them frying oil to drink.

maybe whumper only offers more food once whumpee has cleaned their plate! but if whumpee's food is slimy and cold and moldy, it's going to be awfully bitter. a sensory hell, too. such a shame - whumper doesn't believe in wasting food. this will teach whumpee to be more appreciative of food the moment it's delivered.

whumpee thinks whumper is spiking all their drinks? well . . . they're right about that. still, whumper went through so much work getting everything they needed. and whumpee needs to. just. take it.

medically trained whumper feeding whumpee through intravenous means. is it just to sustain their life? or are whumpees veins lit aflame each time that needle sinks into their skin?

got a whumpee too injured or out of it to chew their own food? it's a good thing whumper's got hands! they can place the food into whumpee's mouth and manually operate their lower jaw. all whumpee has to do is keep their eyes open and make sure their tongue doesn't get chomped.

whumpee's always been particular about what they ingest: be it calories, ingredients, textures, allergies - you name it. it's unfortunate they're taken by a whumper who just doesn't understand.

in the same vein as allergies, whumper who continuously feeds whumpee foods they KNOW will induce a heavy reaction, just so they can nurse whumpee back to health in an excruciating process.

whumpee just lost their tongue and needs a little help eating. maybe their lips are numb or they're missing some teeth and they keep spilling. is a bib too humiliating?

feel free to reblog with more ideas or expansions or drabbles or interps!

feeling sick and twisted lately (thinking about my whumpee <333)

#whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #whump prompt #whump prompts #food mention #food whump #mouth whump #medical whump #captive whumpee #creepy whumper #drugging mention

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whumperofworlds · 13 days

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Whumper: I'M THE ANGRIEST PERSON WHO EVER LIVED!

*ding dong!*

Whumper, smiling: Oooh! That must be the pizza!

Whumpee, strapped to a table: ???????

#whumper has a life too whumpee #that's the best (worst) part #whump #whump humor #crack whump #captivity #strapped to a table #food mention #source: sonic boom comic #?

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sowhumpful · 3 months

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#whump #drugged #drugged food #collapse #chained #chained by the ankle #ankle chained #kept in the basement #chained in the basement #captivity #kicked #kicked while unconscious #unconscious #Found tv series #Season 1 episode 08 #mark paul gosselaar #found nbc

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highwaywhump · 3 months

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Febuwhump day 2

soo... probably (definitely) not going to finish this event on time (if at all). my workload suddenly doubled this semester but here's something at least. for febuwhump day 2 i have tried to get to know my nameless guard dog. here's his origin story, starting about 20 years prior to joey's story

CW/TW: captivity, collars/chains, forced drugging, controlled food intake, pet whump/bbu in general

“He’s not breaking.”

“He will.”

“60 says he won’t.”

“90 says he will.”

“Shut up, both of you.”

The two junior handlers snap their mouths shut, turning away from the monitor and towards senior handler Kerry. He’s leaning back in his office chair, unbothered, flipping through a quarterly report on customer success rates. His numbers are good, as usual. In fact, there’s an upwards trend. If it continues like this over the summer, there will undoubtedly be another raise beginning to rear its head from the deep, deep waters of this facility.

Kerry glances at the monitor. Nothing’s changed since he glanced at it last, 20 minutes ago. Nearly nothing’s changed since the feed started rolling, six days ago. He returns to his paperwork again, after sparing a pointed look at his two supposed protegees. They both hurriedly look down at their own paperwork, studying training manuals, only sneaking glances at the monitor when they don’t think Kerry’s looking. But he sees them every time. He absentmindedly clicks his pen and longingly recalls the days when corporal punishment in the workplace - in this workplace, at least - was still allowed.

They sit for another hour or so before Kerry announces that they’ll break for lunch with a grunt, and the junior handlers scurry off to the cafeteria while he unpacks his own meticulously made sandwich. The little domestic taking up space in his laundry room sure knows her stuff, he thinks as he angles the monitor a little, finally allowing himself a closer look now that the twin idiots are gone.

The idea of pets taking on the role as personal security isn’t new, at least not in practice. Rich assholes who think the world revolves around them have always wanted dedicated security. The Guard Dog type, however, is quite new. The specimen on the monitor is only the third generation, and a young generation at that. He was brought in only two weeks ago, a mean fucker just dishonorably discharged, with a glint in his eye and blood on his knuckles.

Well. A tether slightly too high up on the wall and a high-powered cold water hose took care of at least one of those problems. As for his unpleasant disposition … Kerry was doing something about that right now. Had been, for the last six days. And the project was just beginning to bear the flowers which eventually would become fruits.

The previous two generations had been too volatile, too easy to make lash out, and not only at potential threats. WRU could only pay out so much hush money before the media had started to notice. The third generation had to be perfect, and Kerry was one of a small group of handlers who had been served the task. A delicate mission to snuff out every little spark and flame inside the beasts and then create new, tailor-made gas flames in their wake, perfectly controllable and able to be extinguished by the flick of a verbal switch. A killer robot of flesh and blood.

The monitor showed 603-014 sitting against the wall, arms around his bowed head, very slightly shifting his weight back and forth. Kerry almost thought he could see a crescent shape in the floor surrounding him, as if his pacing (of which there was less and less, these days) had created a track in the floor. The nine feet of chain extending from his collar to a ring in the wall contained him like a mean junkyard dog at the end of a rope.

He hadn’t been outside the crescent in a week, much less outside his cell.

In the same period, he hadn’t seen a single other human. Nothing but the same four white walls and his own tethered body. After two days of screaming and crying and cursing and begging he’d lost his voice, and it was still only a hoarse and gravelly whimpering that would come through the speakers if Kerry decided to turn on the sound.

He glanced at his watch. It was soon time for 014’s daily prescribed five hour nap and his allotted 1300 calories - served in a dog bowl, of course. The two goons could do it, he figured, as he considered his own reuben sandwich, which seemed too good to leave right now. As if summoned by his thoughts, the two of them shuffled into his office, each holding a steaming hot styrofoam container.

“Great timing,” Kerry announced, not even allowing them time to set their food down. “Time for some practical training. 014 needs his daily rest and nourishment.”

“Handler Kerry-!”

“I trust you remember where the respiratory gear is,” he broke them off merrily as he reached for the control board mounted on his desk, which controlled every environmental condition in every cell he was responsible for. As they begrudgingly set their food down and removed themselves from his office, he found the right switch and pushed it down. The big lug would be sleeping blissfully in a few minutes, and Kerry would get to watch his mentees undoubtedly fuck up even the simple task of correctly fitting a gas mask on themselves before entering a room filled with anesthetic gas.

It would be lunch and a show.

@simplygrimly @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @briars7 @hackles-up @doveotions @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kixngiggles @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpthisway @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumping-snail @pumpkin-spice-whump @pigeonwhumps @whumplr-reader @considerablecolors @dustypinetree @snakebites-and-ink

#again with the verb tenses........#cw captivity #cw collar #cw forced drugging #cw controlled food intake #pet whump #bbu #boxboy universe #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday2 #my nameless guard dog

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dranka · 4 months

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When you finish reading The Summer Palace and you're left with all the feels

What do I do with my life now

#captive prince #the summer palace #damen x laurent #this has been a Full Reread #so glorious #such an adventure #so what now #I could try some fanfics?#for all my years loving Captive Prince I never dared to read any #I'm too scared to go alone.... there surely is a ton of delicious food #I need recs maybe lol anyone?#Ps. Laurent is such a Horse Girl

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reyesstrand · 8 months

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wip wednesday

thank you for the tag @inflarescent @birdclowns @strandnreyes <333

Carlos loves the way his name sounds on TK’s tongue. Carlos loves the way TK looks, here, comfortable on his kitchen counter, more and more life glinting in his eyes as he heals, as he allows Carlos to see more of his sharp edges. He’s about to say as much, when TK’s stomach grumbles perfectly on time. He laughs, and rests his forehead against Carlos’ shoulder when he moves back into his space. Quieter now, TK says, “told you I was hungry.”

“Let’s fix that,” Carlos says, grabbing the two plates he’d set out on the island and reaching for the rice. He watches as TK sets the table, lighting one of the candles that’s become a permanent fixture because TK told him last month he thought it smelt nice, setting down cutlery and filling water glasses. Carlos watches him, his cheeks burning, his chest aching with something setting into place.

Carlos portions out the food as his grandmother would—not caring so much for a looks when all that matters is the ingredients and the hard work and the love, but he still second-guesses himself even as he puts TK’s down in front of him. There’s a moment of silence, and then the air is knocked out of his lungs when TK pulls him down for a different kind of kiss; one that’s barely more than a press of their lips, one that allows them to linger in each other’s space, breathing each other in.

“Thank you, for this,” TK tells him, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re sweet.”

He’s pretty sure he’d walk through fire to cook for TK if he asked him to. He’d walk through fire to do anything for him, really. He gestures to the plates and takes his own seat, stomach flipping when TK brushes his ankle against Carlos’ under the table. He means it when he picks up his fork and says, “anytime.”

After he’s groaned obscenely around a heaping mouthful, TK smiles at him and garbles: “I’m taking you up on that.”

no pressure tagging @paperstorm @alrightbuckaroo @carlos-in-glasses @beautifulhigh @rosedavid @freneticfloetry @chaotictarlos @theghostofashton @safeashousespdf and anyone else who has something they’d like to share!! i’d love to see it <3

#tag games #my fic #tarlos #ngl the temptation to rework most of the food fic has captivated me body and soul. but she will be done. i swear it into existence

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whumpndump · 2 years

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Whumpee kept in a small, dark, empty room, in complete isolation. The door is soundproof, and nobody ever visits them. There is one thing in the room, however. When they were first brought there, the chloroform soaked rag that was used to sedate them has been uncaringly dumped in the cell as well, and as nobody ever enters, it was never noticed.

At first whumpee thinks nothing of the rag, thinking only that it still smells vaguely funny.

A few days in, whumpee finds themself occasionally picking up the rag, looking at it, counting the fibers, anything for entertainment.

A week in its become somewhat of a comfort item, something they hold close on cold nights when everything is just too much.

A month in, whumpee finds themself talking to it. Venting their frustrations, bemoaning their despairs, reminiscing the good times, all to this scrap of cloth (that is technically the reason they are in there in the first place). They see it as somewhat of a friend now, and are too far gone to care how strange that is.

Several months in the rag is a comrade in arms, a fellow prisoner in this cell, the only person whumpee has left in this world to rely on. They swear that sometimes, when they talk to it, it talks back. Its the closest thing theyve had to genuine conversation in so long, this piece of cloth is their best friend.

Now I have two ideas for an ending, both taking place about a year or two into isolation, so here they both are:

1. People come to rescue whumpee, maybe their friends from before they were captured. Its a high speed situation, the team rushing in, trying to grab everyone in the facility who was being held prisoner, then rushing out again. Whumpee is screaming and crying in caretaker's arms as they run away.

"NO! PLEASE! YOU FORGOT THEM!! NO, PLEASE, GO BACK!!!"

Whumpee pleads this all the way back to safety, continuing to cry and beg for hours, and the rescue team are confused. They had taken down whumper, and confirmed that everyone held captive was freed. They chalked it up to whumpee being in shock, and tried to calm them down, explaining over and over that everyone was safe now.

Whumpee just kept on crying, knowing that their best and only friend was going to rot in that cell, and nobody but them cared.

2. Whumpee had managed to fall asleep finally. The cold concrete floors made it hard, and they only seemed to sleep 3-ish times a week, but when they slept, they slept deep.

So deep, in fact, that they didnt hear the door opening, or footsteps quickly tiptoeing in, only to leave just as fast.

When they next awoke, they sat up and looked around their cell for their companion.

Who was gone.

Whumpee wanted to scream. Wanted to beat the walls with their fists until blood dripped down. They thought they were already at their lowest point, but the rug had just been pulled out from under them, revealing they had so much further to fall.

Shellshocked and apathetic, whumpee curled up in the corner of the room with tears silently streaming down their face.

"Oh well," they said out-loud to nobody, voice tinged with delirium, eyes hollow and smile strained, "It...it was just a rag..."

#also either whumpee gets food wordlessly shoved through a hatch in the door occasionally to keep them alive #or whumpee is supernatural somehow and doesnt require food or water. maybe theyre immortal even... scary #anyway this is stupid as hell but i was thinking about how humans will bond with just about anything given the chance #whump #whumpblr #whumpdumps #whump scenario #whump prompt #captive whump #isolation whump #if u see any spelling mistakes no you dont ok #sensory deprivation whump

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jaeyleo · 1 year

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tws: delirium, hypnosis, captivity, hand feeding

summary: in the puppet!pink au. chase (pink) disrespects pseudo and is hypnotized to a state of extreme delirium and confusion.

i'm still a little rusty comin back but i'm building myself up to continue our cyoa :)! anyway please enjoy!

. . .

The table is set, and Chase sits in the chair assigned to him. Nervous feet dance about under the surface, shaking the glass of water placed before him. He is not allowed to drink until he asks permission.

"Um..." the man starts, looking up at the monster. It cooks at the stove, French toast and hash browns today, with a side of blueberries and strawberries to put on top.

"Um..." mimics Pseudo, after a period of silence.

"Um, I- I was..... I was wondering if I could call someone today."

"Who would you call?"

Who would he call?

Chase perks up at the question.

"C- can I call Stacy?"

Pseudo flips a piece of french toast in the pan. With the way his kitchen is built, whoever cooks at the stove has their back turned to the table. Chase cannot read or attempt to read his captor's expressions.

"I don't think so."

"You d-" Chase bites his tongue, holding back his outburst. "Okay, how about Henrik?"

The monster thinks on it. Or maybe he doesn't. Chase wouldn't know. But it's silent in the room, and the water is still shaking, and the pan is still sizzling, and Pseudo's back is still turned.

"I don't think so," Pseudo finally says.

".... Why not?"

Pseudo only shrugs.

The man's brows furrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Pseudo shrugs again.

Biting his tongue once more, Chase has to take a deep breath. Instead of bickering, he takes a sip of water, giving his sharp tongue something else to do.

Pseudo stops cooking.

"Put the glass down," he says, back still turned.

Chase realizes what he's done, and his heart falls to his stomach. In an act of his own fear, he goes to set the glass back on the table.

But then.. he doesn't.

The room is frozen. Chase isn't sure why he's doing this. But he's angry, and what else does he have to lose?

He takes another drink, staring at Pseudo's back.

"Pink."

"No, I don't.... I- I don't think so."

Pseudo puts the french toast on the plate, decorating with powdered sugar, syrup, and the fruit.

"What don't you think?"

He turns to face the puppet now, plate in hand.

"I don't think I wanna listen to you anymore. I- I think..."

Pseudo steps forward, and the toy falters a moment.

"...... I think I deserve to go home."

The plate is set before Chase, at the table in the chair he is assigned to sit. Nervous feet dance under the surface, shaking the water he wasn't supposed to drink from.

"I think," Pseudo sits down with him, "you aren't feeling like yourself this morning. And you're very sorry for acting like this. Aren't you?"

Chase frowns. He loses eye contact with his captor.

"I don't think so.."

Pseudo shrugs once more, chuckling.

"Then you shouldn't think at all."

Before he can even think to protest, Chase's head is swimming with hypnosis. His entire body goes weak, and the glass ends up crashing to the table. Groaning, the puppet tries to fight, but it feels like the syrup that was used for his breakfast is pouring itself down his throat, his eye sockets, his bloodstream. There is not a single thing he can do to stop it, and every coherent thought he had is replaced with a confused babbling string of nonsense. He can't understand what he's feeling, can't understand what he's saying, can't understand any of it.

He hears cooing, baby talk, somewhere far away. He didn't realize he fell into the table until he's being guided back up, a firm hand on his neck and jaw to keep his attention.

"Pink, Pink? Can you hear me?"

"Hkk-"

"No no, don't try to speak. Just nod or shake your head."

Pink nods, desperate for stability. What's happened? When did? What does powdered sugar sees to the table one hand on the on the theres? Does the stove on counter down wear the?

"Ah- h--!" Chase whiiiiines, fearful of his own messy train of thought.

"Shhh, shhh, don't think. Look at me, Pink. You're alright. Here...."

A blueberry is plucked from the plate and presented to Pink's mouth.

"Open up."

He obeys without thinking. Pseudo is the only thing he can focus on, even with vision blurred. For once everything else is scarier than he is.

"Good job, Pink. Now I have a very important question for you, are you ready?"

Chase nods his head. Is he ready? What's going on?

"What do you think?"

Pink chokes on his own words, shaking his head.

What does he think? What does he think? What does he think? The nonsensical words jumbled in his brain begin to die, and he is left with nothing but empty. Nothing but Pseudo. Pseudo, Pseudo, Pseudo, Pseudo, Pseudo is what he thinks. He thinks, he thinks? No, he isn't thinking. He's confused, wait, what does he think?

"Help," Pink finally whispers, terrified in his confusion.

"Poor thing," Pseudo frowns. He is sure to speak slow, steady. "You need to answer my question first, and then I can help you, okay?"

What was the question? What did he say??

"Wh--- H?"

"What do you think?"

Pink begins to cry, not understanding what's being asked of him.

#tw delerium #tw hypnosis #tw food #tw captivity #writers of jack #chase brody #chase barrens #puppet pink #my writing #my egos #whump writing #whump drabble #its a fic

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xnoel · 2 years

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obsessed with the way Vegas kept staring at Pete when he was going to make noodles for Pete after he complained about the food asdfghgfdsd

#it had no business being that funny #vegas was really like ''i'm getting complaints by MY captive in my OWN home. and now i can't believe i'm gonna make him food''#kinnporsche #vegaspete

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kabie-whump · 3 months

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✧･ﾟRipe, About to Fall - Part 5 ✧･ﾟ

This is an 18+ slowish burn pet-whump story with added romance.

Title from ‘Liquid Smooth’ by Mitski

Series Description and Warnings Masterlist, First, Previous Chapter Summary: Ventis gets better, and Onthyes takes risks. Chapter Content: Pretty light chapter. Suggestiveness towards the end and general mentions of abuse, exploitation, and objectification. Fingers in mouth, mentions of choking/lack of gag reflex. Mention of wanting to die.

Onthyes does not belong to me. He was created by my wonderful gf @sapphicccici and I have kidnapped him.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“I won’t do it.”

That was the conclusion that Athos reached after an hour of pacing Ventis’s bedroom, deep in thought.

“Releasing him may preserve his spirit, but he simply would not survive without me. He needs me. There must be other ways to heal his spirit, and I will find them.”

Onthyes just listened silently, pouring all of his energy into hiding his disappointment with Athos’s decision.

“Keep watching him, Onthyes. Alert me if anything changes.”

With that Athos swept out of the room, leaving Onthyes alone with Ventis.

Onthyes sat at the edge of Ventis’s bed, staring down at the genasi. He wondered how much of all this he had heard. Did he know what was killing him? Did he know that Athos was making the deliberate choice to not fix it?

“Ventis,” Onthyes whispered, watching the genasi stir at the sound of his voice. “I’d like to take you outside again.”

Ventis’s eyes cracked open, fixing Onthyes with a half-hearted glare.

“I know you didn’t like it, but… you were dying. I took you outside because I didn’t want you to spend your last moments in here. And then you got better, right before my eyes. Something about being outside fixed you.”

“It hurt,” Ventis rasped.

“I know. But it helped. You could die otherwise.”

“Then let me die.”

Onthyes’s breath hitched. He could see why someone in Ventis’s position might want to die, but he hadn’t expected him to say it so easily. “No. I can’t do that.”

Groaning, Ventis made a weak effort to sit up. Onthyes rushed to help him, placing a pillow behind his back.

“All you do is talk about how badly you want to save me,” Ventis hissed. Talking was taking a lot out of him, leaving his chest heaving for air, but he pressed on. “But you refuse to let me go. What I want doesn’t matter if it doesn’t match what you want for me.”

“Ventis.” Onthyes took his hand slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted. “I want you to live because I have hope for you. I believe that you can make it out of this; that you still have a chance of having your own life away from Athos.”

Ventis wouldn’t look at him. “You’re too late. It would be no different from freeing a statue.”

Onthyes could tell that he really believed that. Three years of constant drugging and conditioning had made him see himself as nothing more than an object.

“Would you let me try to prove you wrong?”

A long, painful silence.

“Alright. Do what you wish. I do not care.”

That wasn’t what Onthyes wanted to hear, but he would take it if it gave him a chance to save Ventis.

Athos returned later with a pile of books, declaring that all Ventis needed was some good old fashioned escapism. He took on the task of reading to Ventis, giving the characters voices and everything. Onthyes almost could’ve found it sweet if he wasn’t aware of every other detail of their relationship.

That night, Ventis got bad again and Onthyes picked him up as he gasped and shuddered and snuck him out to the beach again. It went similarly to the first time. First, Ventis got better, the wind and stars filling him with new energy. Then, he got bad in a different way. Every caress of the breeze against his bare skin made his breaths hitch on sobs and soon he bagan to beg quietly for Onthyes to take him inside.

Onthyes didn’t understand. It was so peaceful out here. Why was it causing so much pain?

He tried to hold out. Ventis got progressively more upset, but he also got stronger by the minute. Onthyes did his best to hold him and whisper words of comfort for as long as possible, but the constant crying got to him eventually and he carried Ventis back to his bedroom.

The next morning, Athos was overjoyed to see Ventis able to sit up and eat on his own.He had glowed with pride, going on and on to Onthyes about how his plan had worked and he might as well call himself a scholar on the ways of genasi. Onthyes and Ventis shared a knowing look, but they said nothing.

And just like that, Ventis started to get better.

Onthyes came to look forward to their little nightly escapes, especially as Ventis seemed to adapt to the pain of being outside until it seemed to be only mildly uncomfortable.

“It’s bearable now,” Ventis admits one night.

They’re sitting side by side on the sand, staring out at the waves as they kiss the shore in silver lines of foam. Ventis’s hair and scales glow brighter in the moonlight, healthier.

“It's just a reminder, I think. Of the things I’ve lost. I’d forgotten what the wind feels like. I didn’t know I missed it until it was on my skin. It’s like a physical ache. Here.” He gestures at his chest. “But it's bearable now.”

“You speak so informally when it’s just me around.”

Ventis tensed, his breath catching.

“Sorry,” Onthyes said quickly. “I didn’t mean… sorry.” He hadn’t meant to make that observation out loud. It was true though. Ventis’s speech - when he was allowed to speak - was always so formal around Athos or anyone else. But when it was just him and Onthyes he seemed to relax somewhat.

“It’s alright. I hadn’t noticed. You bring my guard down. No clue why.”

Onthyes couldn’t help but smile. “Sorry,” he said again. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Ventis returned his smile - toothy with a peek of fang, not anything like the sweet, demure smile he used on Athos. “Well cut it out anyway, Ventura. It’s dangerous.”

Onthyes’s heart did a strange little flip in his chest. Oh no. “I won’t hurt you. You can let your guard down with me.”

The wind carried Ventis’s laugh on it, not muting it but making it echo unnaturally. The signs of his elemental blood were nothing but visual inside the manor. But out here, underneath the vast expanse of sky, he seemed to meld with the breeze before Onthyes’s eyes.

“I know. It’s you I worry about. Athos can be… protective. And he’s already suspicious that you might be interested in me. If your father wasn’t captain of the city guard you would be out of here already I’m sure.”

“I’m not… interested in you. Not like that.” Sure, images of Ventis’s beauty kept him up at night, but he would never pursue anything. It would just feel wrong, knowing what he knows.

“Uh huh,” Ventis hums disbelievingly. “Everyone’s interested in me. It’s what I’m for.”

“No it’s not.”

Ventis’s eyes widened at the conviction behind Onthyes’s voice. “That’s very sweet of you to say, blondie. But it is my purpose. It’s undeniable. There’s a very long contract somewhere with my name at the bottom that lays it out quite clearly.”

“A contract?”

“It’s a piece of paper. A legally binding written agreement between two parties.”

Onthyes laughed, elbowing Ventis lightly. “I know what a contract is. I just didn’t realize there’s one between you and Athos.”

“What did you expect? Were you imagining some sort of violent kidnapping? I signed my own life away in exchange for drugs. This is all I am now.”

“He said he found you on the streets. You were high. You were vulnerable. He took advantage of you.”

“Please, Onthyes.” Ventis seemed to shrink into himself, pulling his knees to his chest. “Just don’t. I brought this on myself. It’s… easier to let myself believe that. It hurts less.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll drop it.”

Ventis’s fingers found the space between their bodies, pressing indents into the sand. He was quiet for a long moment before he broke the silence again. “Can we go inside now? I’ve had enough.”

“Of course. Let’s go.”

⋄✧⋄

A week later, Ventis was officially healthy again and Athos was considering publishing a book on genasi physiology. Onthyes was glad to see him feeling better, but at the same time he knew he would miss their nightly escapes. He felt like he had become privy to so many of Ventis’s secrets.

Ventis loved poetry. He’d always been naturally gifted at music and writing, but he couldn’t produce a sketch or painting to save his own life. Onthyes had made him prove it, asking him to draw a horse in the sand, and the product had left them both rolling on the ground, tearful with laughter. He used to ride, apparently. Dressage. His father hadn’t approved of such an impractical equestrian style, which was exactly why Ventis had practiced it. His horse’s name was Willow, but he had been forced to leave her back at his home kingdom and he didn’t even know if she was still alive.

Onthyes had asked him about his family. About if they knew anything of his whereabouts. Ventis’s expression had gone stormy, and he had quickly ended that line of conversation.

His eyes weren’t purple. They were a blue sky with pale pink constellations, and they blended to a plesent lilac from far away. His horns hadn’t always been so smooth and porcelain-like. Athos had had the texture filed away years ago.

Flashes of fangs accompanied by echoing laughter. Wrinkles that formed around his scales when he frowned. A scar on his arm from when he’d cut himself falling from a ladder in his family’s library as a child.

Onthyes was in trouble.

He stood at the edge of Athos’s lush courtyard, sweating in his armor on the hot day. Athos and Ventis sat nearby; Ventis at Athos’s feet like always while the man fed him fresh fruit by hand. Ventis’s lips lingered on Athos’s fingers, but Onthyes has learned to recognize the emptiness behind the look of mindless admiration he always fixed his master with.

“Come sit with us, Onthyes,” Athos called over his shoulder.

Onthyes did as he was told, taking a seat next to Athos on the couch.

“Would you like to feed him?”

Onthyes felt himself flushing under his helmet. “I’m alright, sir.”

“Oh please, I insist.” Athos held out the bowl of fruit expantly.

When Athos insists on something, there is no denying it.

Onthyes removed his glove and used a nearby pitcher of water to clean his hand off before he selected a piece of mango from the bowl. Ventis stared up at him expectantly, opening his mouth. His pupils were heavily dilated. Onthyes doubted he even knew what was going on, but that familiar emptiness was nowhere to be found as their eyes met.

Juice dribbled down his chin as Ventis took the mango and chewed with a satisfied hum. Onthyes wiped the sticky trail away with his thumb tenderly before he could stop himself.

Athos hummed, and Onthyes was unable to miss the disapproving tone. That had been a test. He hadn’t performed well.

“An interesting tidbit about air genasi for you,” Athos said as if nothing had happened. “They don’t need to breathe. It’s completely optional. And since they do not need to breathe, they also do not have an evolutionary reason to have a gag reflex. Observe.”

Athos took Ventis’s chin in one hand. Ventis opened his mouth obediently as Athos pushed two fingers between his lips until his third knuckles disappeared completely. Drool dripped from the corners of Ventis’s mouth, but otherwise he didn’t react aside from a flick of his tired eyes towards Onthyes.

Onthyes swallowed hard, pushing away a wave of discomfort from the display. “Fascinating, sir,” he said blankly.

Athos laughed, withdrawing his fingers and wiping spit on a cloth napkin. “Is that all you think? We’re friends, Onthyes. You may be honest.”

Another test. He could see that even without Ventis shaking his head ever so slightly outside of Athos’s line of sight.

Onthyes knew what he really thought. Despite his disgust with the way Ventis was treated, that information definitely invited some… images. He was only a man, after all. He hoped the redness of his face could be excused by the heat.

“I can imagine the uses of such a skill,” Onthyes admitted. “I’m sure you’re very proud to have him at your disposal.”

Athos laughed again, his teeth shining unnaturally white in the sun. “I will catch you lacking someday. Back to your post.”

Onthyes returned to his place against the wall quickly.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Part 6

Ventisposting taglist (aka a list of people who i want to bake cookies for):

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump

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