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chaotic-orphan · 5 months

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Defiant Leader x Confident Villain: Part 4

Read Part one here

Continued from this part here

Honestly I have found so many good series parts in my drafts that just needs cleaning up with a light edit and boom, more content- it's great!

I am just ignoring my Christmas assignments and exams because who needs a degree, am I right? Enjoy!

TW: intimate whumper (ish), torture(light) and broken bones

*~*~*~*~*

Leader woke up to a finger in their cheek. They batted it away lazily, in theory.

In reality, their arms felt too stiff to move, groaning for Second to give them just five more minutes. They’d had a long fucking day, and their body was exhausted, not even accounting for the mental exertion it took to balance Villain as an enemy and not a member of their team anymore after they took them and strung them up—

Leader’s eyes shot open, but they didn’t meet Villain’s smiling face. Instead, they were met with two owlish eyes the colour of the Dead Sea, as if Leader could see through them.

Leader knew those eyes. Knew them too fucking well.

Leader evened their expression as much as they could, while Supervillain’s lips broke into an amused smile.

“So, you’re Villain’s old mentor,” Supervillain hummed, going to poke Leader in the cheek again. They were too close. Far too close to Leader’s face for comfort. Leader was tucked up against the wall, hands in the same heavy manacles Villain left them with as they drifted to a deep sleep. Their legs had moved, one bent slightly while the other was straight, and in the small bend of Leader’s leg was Supervillain’s foot.

Too close.

Leader tilted their head to the side, voice deadpan as they replied: “so you’re Villain’s new babysitter.”

“Villain said you were funny.”

“That’s funny, Villain never mentioned you,” Leader replied coolly, eyes never leaving Supervillain’s too-clear blue ones. “Mustn’t take it personally, maybe you just don’t make much of an impression.”

“Woke you all the same.”

“Yes, you did,” Leader said, then made a shooing motion with their fingers. “Now that you mention it, it was a very nice sleep, and I would like to get back to it now.”

Supervillain searched Leader’s eyes for something, then let out a soft hmph. “I have a better idea, Leader.”

Before Leader could protest a hand was in their shirt and in one fluid motion, Supervillain dragged Leader to their feet with such force Leader’s eyes blew wide, they weren’t touching the ground for a minute before their bare feet mercifully touched the floor again. Leader had a panicked grip on Supervillain’s arm holding them to the wall and only then did they notice the slight size difference.

Supervillain was tall, a good head taller than Leader, who wasn’t considered short by any means. That’s not where the differences stopped; where Leader was all lean muscle and agility, Supervillain filled their broad shoulders with strong, defined muscles that lay under his casual shirt and pungent leather jacket. Leader could make them out even when he wasn’t tensed and that annoyed more than scared them.

Leader had met Supervillain before, obviously, but this close? With this height difference? This disadvantage Villain had left them with, with no gear, no boots, no weapons. Leader didn’t like their odds. It was too new. Jarringly new and it sent a cold shiver down Leader’s spine, their mind racing on ways they could adapt to their sudden enforced weakness around their wrists and in their bare feet.

When they met on the field they were somewhat even. Supervillain was strong, stronger than Leader, but Leader made up for it with their speed. They danced in and out of one-punch-knockouts Supervillain had thrown at them before, they could do it again…

But that was in their combat gear, with their blades by their sides. That was with their boots on and their team at their back, and that was without heavy iron manacles locking their hands together.

Like this? Leader was too exposed, too weak, and they were just staring at Supervillain who could kill them without breaking a sweat right now, hiding all this panic behind an impassive expression, but they couldn’t hide that wide eyed surprise.

Supervillain had seen.

Supervillain saw Leader’s eyelids fly open in shock, so different from the half-lidded indifference Leader was trying to show off. Supervillain noticed the smallest thing, and maybe that was what was scaring Leader more than their disadvantage.

“What?” Leader asked, voice thankfully, mercifully even, “was your better idea making out or? This is very intimate Supervillain, honestly? I’m flattered. Kind of enemies to lovers scenario—”

All Supervillain had to do was curl their fingers into Leader’s shirt, knuckles resting painfully on Leader’s ribs and push Leader against the wall more. Pinned between a solid surface and Supervillain’s unforgiving grip, Leader didn’t know which would crack first, the wall or Leader’s ribs. Leader bent a knee and pressed the sole of their bare foot against the wall for leverage.

“Mmm,” Leader ground out, trying and failing to alleviate the pressure. “Kinky, don’t worry, kinda into it.”

Supervillain laughed. “You don’t shut up, do you?”

“Not unless you gag me, Da—” Supervillain let go of Leader then and Leader smiled. All doubt melting away as they pressed the sole of the foot into the solid surface, muscles tensed and at the ready.

Idiot.

Leader pushed off the wall with their foot, springing towards Supervillain, swinging their iron manacle clad hands up at Supervillain’s jaw. They missed the jaw and hit Supervillain’s nose instead and Supervillain fell back a step, letting out a startled cry, hands going to their nose in shock. Leader watched with a grin as blood trailed through the cracks in their hands and dribbled down their chin, staining their stupid shirt.

Their eyes would be blurry now, an advantage Leader needed. Leader shot their foot out, kicking Supervillain’s knee, then thigh, then ankle until they were wobbling, almost down.

One more hit.

Leader threw their hands up again as Supervillain’s eyes locked on Leader’s and Leader knew they made a mistake.

Clear blue eyes were the last thing Leader saw before the wind was knocked out of them and they were gasping for breath, Supervillain’s hand wrapped around Leader’s throat pinning them back against the wall. Leader thought they broke a rib with the impact, but they couldn’t think now, they were too busy panicking. They needed to break free.

They kicked out at Supervillain, trying to hit them anywhere until Supervillain stepped closer, making Leader’s legs useless, pinning Leader’s legs with their own and the wall, and the panic seized Leader’s chest. They were like a fish out of water, gasping on nothing. That’s when Leader brought their manacled hands down on Supervillain.

Loosen the hold for a second.

Or that’s what they intended to do.

At the last second Supervillain caught Leader’s wrist just below the cuff.

Fuck.

Supervillain slammed Leader’s arms back above their head and held them there no matter how much they writhed and struggled and fuck— black dots were encroaching on the edges of Leader’s vision like a vignette.

They couldn’t speak.

They couldn’t breathe.

They couldn’t fight.

They were going to die here. Supervillain was going to kill them and not break a sweat. Their struggles were weakening, and Leader knew they were gone, that Supervillain had won.

Would Villain be sad Supervillain killed them? Or is this what they wanted all along?

Leader was so fucking stupid and it got them killed.

At least Leader got a good few blows in before they died, at least they made Supervillain bleed, at least they went out fighting…

Those crystal-clear blue eyes stared down at Leader’s as they slowly lost consciousness and darkness engulfed them.

*~*~*~*~*

Villain was leaning against the wall beside the door to Leader’s cell, arms folded, head resting against the wall. When the door opened, Villain pushed off quickly, turning to see Supervillain with dried blood caked on their upper lip and nose, staining their shirt. Villain’s face dropped.

“What happened?”

Supervillain smiled, showing bloody teeth. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. They got rowdy, so I put them down.”

“You said you’d be gentle.”

“You said they were weak and exhausted.”

“They are!” Village protested.

Supervillain raised an eyebrow at Villain’s voice rising in pitch, a smile tugging at the corners of their mouth as Villain looked away, and said, “they were. I left them hanging for three days, I was worried their shoulders would pop out of their sockets!”

“Did you have mercy on Other Villain’s Henchman when you left them hanging? Did you worry about their shoulder joints?”

“It’s different,” Villain said, eyebrows knitting together. “We were torturing Other Villain’s Henchman for information. Leader is just a prisoner, and you have to be humane. It’s not personal, it’s—”

“Humane?” Supervillain asked and Villain sighed, running a hand down their face. “Maybe if you were a bit less humane, Vil, it would have prevented the broken nose,” said Supervillain not unkindly, voice gentle and soothing, which just made Villain feel worse. They were going easy on Leader, and Supervillain noticed.

Supervillain placed a warm hand on Villain’s shoulder, and smiled when Villain looked up at them, eyes steeled. “It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I know, Villain… I trust you,” Supervillain said, squeezing Villain’s shoulder lightly, and Villain tried hard not to blush at the words. It didn’t work.

“I mean obviously Leader has to be punished. Not just for this,” Supervillain said gesturing to their nose, “but for doing the Commission’s dirty work for them.”

“What? But you forgave me,” said Villain, setting their jaw, lips stretched into a thin line.

“I did,” said Supervillain. “The difference is you saw the corruption they wrought. Leader is still under their influence. They need to be persuaded.”

“Why does persuasion sound a lot like punishment in this case?” Villain snapped, jutting their chin out at Supervillain who just kept that same level smile on their face. Their crystal-clear blue eyes beaming with pride down at Villain.

Supervillain stood up straighter, took their hand from Villain’s shoulder and touched their bloodied nose gently.

“You’ve done beautifully, Villain. Leader is our biggest threat to enacting meaningful change. You got them out of the way! You should be celebrating; you should be proud—”

“What about the commission?” Villain demanded hotly. “You said they were the enemy!”

“They are, Villain. Leader is but a pawn and taking them off the board will rattle the commission into making a mistake, one we can use to press our advantage.”

At Villain’s silence Supervillain sighed. “You know firsthand how corrupt they are. If capturing Leader has rattled you—”

“I’m not rattled,” Villain said, voice a bit too defensive. Villain sighed, then gestured to Supervillain’s face. “Go… go get that cleaned up, you’re bleeding all over the place.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Villain lied easily, “yes I’m fine, I’m just tired.”

“Okay. Maybe get some rest, Villain.”

“Yeah, I will.”

Supervillain nodded, then walked to the end of the hall, towards the stairs out of the basement. Villain waited until they heard the sound of the heavy door shutting before they leaned against the wall and let out a long-laboured breath.

This was all they needed.

Then they opened the door to Leader’s cell and walked in, letting it close behind them.

Supervillain watched from the shadows of the stairs, a frown finding its way onto their face. Then they turned and actually left to fix their nose.

*~*~*~*~*

When Leader woke up again, they gasped awake, desperate to get some air into their lungs as the hand on their throat— Leader blinked, and it was the biggest mistake they ever made. A thundering headache followed, and they nearly whimpered at the pain but kept silent as they took in the new room around them.

At least they were sitting down this time and didn’t have any less articles of clothes on than they did before which was a plus, although their feet were starting to feel the cold. This time Leader woke in a chair, a comfortable enough chair, their arms resting on the arms rest were tied down with reinforced leather straps that brokered no movement when Leader tried to yank their hands free. All it did was tighten the leather around Leader’s fists, crinkling like rubber, but they couldn’t complain. The leather was far more comfortable than the manacles, Leader was getting first class treatment as far as the last few days were concerned.

They longed to stretch their limbs, but as feeling slowly came back to their body they realised they couldn’t move their legs either, strapped to the legs of the chair in what felt like the same strong leather as their wrists. They let out a soft sigh and pulled at their restraints just because.

They were tired.

Exhausted.

Their head was fucking pounding because of Supervillain and his stupid need to be tall and strong and authoritative. He could have at least been kind about the strangle hold, like, oh I’m sorry Leader, here’s some paracetamol for that headache you’ll wake up with.

Leader just wanted to go home, be with their team. They should have never pursued Villain; in hindsight they should have stayed with their team and then none of this would happen.

They would have stayed on mission and not abandoned their target to pursue an obvious trap, Villain knew they would follow though, Villain wanted them to, counted on it. They wanted to show off their new reinforcements and show Leader, they didn’t need them and their team anymore. They wanted to show Leader who was stronger, and Leader’s ego made them follow.

Stupid.

There wasn’t much room for any other thoughts after that.

From behind them Leader heard movement and then they saw the hammer coming down hard, a merciless swing, straight on the back of Leader’s right hand. Leader screamed as they felt, no heard, every bone in their hand shatter. They struggled in the comfortable chair, trying to alleviate some of the pain, to get away from the aftershocks of pain as Leader tried to move their fingers.

“Do I have your attention, Leader?”

Leader howled when Supervillain drive the hammer down harder on the back of Leader’s hand, rubbing against broken and bruised bones. “Yes! YES! Just stop!”

The hammer lifted after Leader found their words and their sigh of relief ricocheted through their entire body, adrenaline pumping in their blood. They sucked in a sharp breath when Supervillain came to stand in front of them, glaring angrily up through pain blinded eyes. Their chest rising and falling like a rabbit’s that was suddenly cornered by a dog.

“Good,” Supervillain said with a smile and dropped the hammer unceremoniously on the floor. Leader flinched when it clanged against the concrete floor. Their breath still struggling to fill the hole in their lungs from the shock.

“Villain asked me to go easy on you,” said Supervillain. Leader’s heartbeat skipped at that. Villain still cared. Just not enough to get you out of here, a nasty voice in the back of Leader’s head hissed. “They think you’re just blindly following the commission’s orders, that you need to be persuaded to see the light like they did.”

“Yeah?” Leader laughed, the laugh manic, off and wrong. “And follow you, is it? I’m devoted to one dogma, Supervillain, I can’t stomach two, I’ll have to pass.”

“Why do you follow the Hero Commission’s orders, Leader? Hmm?”

“Why don’t you ask Villain?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Villain only followed you,” Supervillain said, delighting at the pain that must have showed on Leader’s face. “They never believed the commission’s bullshit, or so they say.”

“But they believe your bullshit, is that it?”

“I am just one man,” Supervillain said with a smile, spreading their hands wide. “Ineffectual. What could I do that’s so bad?”

“Oh, I don’t know, using a hammer as a wakeup call comes to mind,” Leader grouched, relaxing back against the chair. “Aside from that do you want the list categorically from worst to least bad, or chronologically, either way it’s a long time we’re going to be chatting.”

“Oh Leader, don’t worry. We have time,” Supervillain purred, walking over to Leader’s chair. Leader couldn’t even back away, couldn’t flinch, couldn’t do anything with how fucking tightly they were tied down and it scared them.

Scared them how easy it would be for Supervillain to kill them then and there.

Tied up, defenceless, immobile.

The fear must have shown in their eyes because Supervillain let out a soft laugh when their legs touched Leader’s knees.

“You’re not so brave like this, are you? Did I scare you earlier Leader? Did you think I was going to strangle you to death? Are you afraid I’ll do it again?” Supervillain reached a hand over and Leader recoiled, trying to avoid it getting anywhere near their neck, but Supervillain’s hand pressed against Leader’s throat all the same and the fear gripped them like a vulture’s talons.

The courage bubbled up Leader’s throat and they bit out, “yeah? Let’s see how brave you are stripped of your gear and tied up in enemy territory.”

“I could you know. It would be so easy,” Supervillain said with a soft hum, squeezing slightly.

Leader’s eyes turned to stone, a grave challenge in them, the kind Leader would wager their life against. Leader leaned forward slightly, staring directly into Supervillain’s stupid smiling face, and said: “then do it and get it over with. Kill me and spare me the torture of having to listen to you talk.”

Supervillain smiled a handsome smile.

Their smile didn’t waver as they drew their fist up and slammed it down hard on Leader’s broken hand. Leader howled, throwing their body forward on instinct, trying to protect themselves but all they did was drive themselves straight into Supervillain’s strangling hold and Leader gasped in pain, tears streaming down their face as Supervillain shoved them by their neck to the back of the chair.

Leader choked on nothing, sucking in startled air which got caught on their strangled cries of pain in their throat. Their body fighting against the restraints and Supervillain’s hold trying to fight, trying to escape. Their body hadn’t gotten the message that struggling was futile yet.

“Hmm,” Supervillain hummed. “I think you’re right Leader. I much prefer the sounds of your screams over my voice.”

“You fuc—” Leader screamed again as Supervillain drove the palm of their hand into the back of Leader’s, kneading the shattered bones, choking on their screams, clamping their teeth down on their cheek to soften them to more of a pained hum.

“I can make good on that gag Leader,” Supervillain promised, moving their fingers up to pinch Leader’s cheeks and force their mouth into an O shape. Leader swallowed, feeling Supervillain’s hand bobbing with their throat. “That way I still get your delightful screams and cries of help.”

Leader huffed out a breath, the pain finally receding in their brain enough for them to think.

“Grapefruit.”

Supervillain blinked, then frowned, then raised their eyebrows and tightened their hold ever so slightly.

“What?”

“Grapefruit,” Leader said again, voice raw, almost breathless and Supervillain let their grip loosen a little.

“Have you lost it already, Leader?” Supervillain asked and Leader shook their head as best as they could.

“Then what’s Grapefruit?”

Leader swallowed hard and rasped: “It’s a citrus fruit—”

“I know what grapefruit is,” Supervillain huffed, “I don’t know why you keep repeating it.”

Leader looked up through their tear-soaked lashes, all innocence and doe eyed charm, and said with a straight face: “my safe word is grapefruit.”

Supervillain stood up straighter and let go of Leader’s throat and Leader could breathe easy for the second of relief that came with it. Then Supervillain slammed down their hand on Leader’s hand and Leader struggled and howled and screamed and cried, “oW! JEES— motherFUCKER! GRAPEFRUIT! GRAPEFR— FUCK!”

“Maybe I hurt the wrong part of you, Leader. Maybe I should have broken your jaw, then maybe you would shut up!” Supervillain hissed.

“Maybe….” Leader ground out, a shit eating grin on their face despite the pain, despite their situation, despite everything that was thrown at them in the last week. “Maybe you’re going to have to kill me to stop me, Supervillain. Do it right now, say it was an accident and maybe, maybe Villain— argh! Maybe Villain forgives you. I’m irritating, an honest mistake, I pushed you too far…”

Supervillain glared down at Leader now, hands completely off Leader, balling into meaty fists at their sides, nostrils flaring in anger. Leader took that as their cue to continue with their exhausted throat.

“But the longer you keep me alive, the longer I have with Villain? The less sleep you’re gonna get because I found Villain, I made them who they are today, and you’re scared. You are terrified of me, that’s why you tied me down so tight. That’s why Villain isn’t here right now. You’re in deep, and you don’t know how to get out. Kill me, you risk alienating Villain forever, keep me alive? Me and Villain have more chats about the good old days, and you still lose them. Either way you’re fucked, but I know which one I’d choose, Supervillain. Take your hammer to my temple and be done with it.”

Supervillain stilled, eyes widening slightly in a dim realisation, and then, to Leader’s chagrin, Supervillain smiled. Smug and superior and oh so knowing, and Leader frowned because they didn’t know what they had to be so happy about.

“Oh Leader,” Supervillain sighed. They patted Leader’s head and let out a small, startled laugh. “Leader, Leader, Leader,” they said and as quick as they arrived, they left, and Leader tried to turn in their seat to see what they were doing but they couldn’t. All they could do was stare forward and hear Supervillain’s footsteps getting further and further away.

“What?!” Leader yelled, twisting and turning and getting nowhere except aggravating their hand and they cursed and sat staring at the wall. They flinched when they heard a door open and close, and Leader was left alone.

That thought scared them more than anything Supervillain did.

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll call (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @nameless-beanie @aarika-merrill @criohfreeze @bandnbookbag @gala1981 @theonewithallthefixations

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abhainnwhump · 11 months

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Whumpers who Control Dreams

(Content warnings: Mental torture, victim blaming, yandere-ish whumper, paranoia, sleep deprivation, Stockholm Syndrome)

They don't lay a hand on Whumpee during their entire captivity; they don't need to. Not a single scar on that pretty body of theirs, physically that is. - "Now I'm only scarred emotionally!"

Whumper can control how graphic and surreal the dream gets. It can feel lighthearted with a bit of dread or feel exactly like real life. A living hell.

Using nightmares as threats. "If you don't start following orders, I will mangle both of your legs beyond repair. Oh, don't believe me? Then let me show you."

Whumpee gets too paranoid to sleep. They stay up for hours, days, weeks. Their body begs for sleep, but they can't risk the pain.

Whumper keeps Whumpee in a coma where they can never escape from the nightmares.

The diversity of pain. Let's say Whumper is broke and can't afford proper whumping tools. In dreams, they can torture Whumpee with anything.

Intimate/obsessed Whumper giving Whumpee the sweetest dreams where they are the hero rescuing Whumpee from Caretaker evil. Whumpee grows more attached to them over time.

Giving Whumpee nightmares of their friends beating them, calling them worthless, and locking them away. Make them grateful for Whumper's protection.

Nightmares of previous trauma from other Whumpers.

Whumpee doesn't want anyone to pity them, so they pretend nothing happened with Whumper. It's not like they have marks for anyone to be suspicious of. - Vice versa, Whumpee is horribly traumatized and wants someone to comfort them, but Caretaker doesn't believe a word they say. They're just dreams, no big deal. Toughen up!

Whumpee gets a white noise machine to help them sleep. It's the only thing that works.

#someone please get the quote reference #fantasy whump #intimate whumper #yandere whumper #broken whumpee #traumatized whumpee #whump #creepy whumper #whump prompt #whumpblr #whump writing #whump tropes #Stockholm syndrome #bad caretaker #psychological whump

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avvail-whumps · 2 years

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contagious thoughts

content warnings: fantasy whump, vampire whump, non-human whumper, human whumpee, non-human (ish) caretaker, blood, vampire bites, blood drinking, forced turning, intimate whumper, non-con touching (not sexual), mind control, kidnapping, implied future pet whump, implied future conditioning

–

Whumpee almost let out a horrifying screech.

“Caretaker!”

They darted towards the door just as the caretaker crumbled to their knees, their body covered in fresh blood and their eyes woozy. Whumpee frantically mumbled pleas under their breath as they tried to lower them onto the ground, feeling the blood stick to their own skin.

“Oh, god. Caretaker, what’s going on?” They cried, their wide eyes flickering across the various injuries on their body. The one that worried them the most, was the one inflicted on their neck. Two large gashes were deep in their flesh, no doubt an attack from a vampire that was meant to kill.

Whumpee’s heart pounds at the thought. Had the vampires breached the walls?

They scrambled to yank a white cloth from the table, pressing it securely against their wound. Caretaker groaned brokenly in pain, their face scrunching up. The whumpee flinches, a horrible chill running down their spine.

“Please, j-just...hang in there, okay? Let me find something to help.”

Whumpee’s breathing was frantic as they went to stand up, but a hand on their arm quickly stopped their attempts. Caretaker was fighting the urge to slip into unconsciousness, blood bubbling past their lips.

“No,” they choked, voice exhausted. “G-Get...out of here, please.”

Whumpee whipped around when they heard screams and loud crashes from outside. The streets filled with blood with each passing second. They turned back with a firm shake of their head, keeping the cloth against their wound.

“I’m not leaving you,” they whispered softly. “Not for a second. We...have to get out together.”

Caretaker looked dangerously pale. Their eyes were getting heavier by the second. “They’re...coming. Whumpee, please. Please, l-leave before they find you.”

Whumpee sniffled. Tears were burning their eyes, threatening to spill down their cheeks. They wanted to run. They wanted to find a way out of here safely before the entire town was infested with vampires, but they couldn’t.

Not without Caretaker. They couldn’t do this without them.

“We’ll both leave,” Whumpee stated, trying to keep their voice firm. It was difficult to keep their composure when the windows were rattling and it felt like monsters were trying to break in. “Whoever’s coming, and whatever vampires they bring, we can leave before they find us. Caretaker, please...”

Caretaker’s eyes flickered past their shoulder, but the panic couldn’t reach their eyes. Their body was too weak to warn them.

“W-Whumpee...” They begged, but it came out as nothing but a breathless groan. The whumpee swallowed nervously.

“Y-Yes?”

Caretaker wanted to scream. They wanted to grab them by the shoulders and hurl them through the door to safety. But the venom infecting their body was too potent. They felt trapped.

“B...” Their breath caught. “Be...hi...”

The whumpee tried to hold back their tears. They shifted on their knees, adjusting the position of the cloth to make sure they wouldn’t lose anymore blood, their hands trembling with uncertainty. They didn’t know what they were trying to say, but no doubt they were trying to get them to leave before vampires flooded in.

Whumpee cursed quietly under their breath as Caretaker gripped their arm as tightly as they could. “We’ll leave. I-I’ll get you to a hospital on the outskirts, Caretaker, you’re going to be...”

That’s when they felt it.

It was like a cold presence had entered the room, a bitter air brushing against their limbs and seizing their muscles. Their heart jumped as a terrible, unknowing dread pooled into them. It was like a thousand eyes had pinned against them all at once, surrounding their body, keeping them shuddering and overwhelmed. Something soft brushed across their shoulders, a silky material draping around their body, as well as a large, cold hand weighing against their neck, making them freeze.

“Why don’t you stay a bit?”

Whumpee’s muscles locked. Something was prodding against their mind, seizing control of their body. They wanted to rip away, and escape from the intrusive, icey presence that had wrapped around them, but it was constricting them from every direction, making it impossible to move.

They could see Caretaker trying to sit up, but they were far too weak. Whumpee’s hand slipped from the cloth as they were drawn back into a chest by the hand on their neck, the silk almost engulfing them. The voice in their ear lingered, like a parasitic whisper in their mind.

Whumpee felt their head drop against their shoulder in their moment of weakness, pressing into the crook of their neck. The figure wasn’t warm, but the hand dragging across the collumn of their throat felt like it was burning.

Caretaker sputtered a mouthful of blood, but they couldn’t do anything. “Don’t...touch them...”

The vampire grinned, those terrifyingly dangerous fangs on display.

“Don’t?” They echoed, pressing Whumpee closer to them. They wanted to rip away from them, the terror racing through their veins, but they couldn’t do anything. They couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. They felt horribly trapped and useless.

“I’ll...” Caretaker winced, their hand weakly coming up to cover the painful bitemarks on their neck. “...k-kill you.”

Whumper chuckled lowly under their breath, dragging their sharp nails across Whumpee’s skin. Their body involuntarily shivered as goosebumps littered their flesh. “Kill me? I’m immortal, darling. A half bred scum like you wouldn’t even be able to lay a scratch on me.”

Whumpee’s thoughts clouded with confusion, and the fear that flashed in Caretaker’s eyes made the vampire smirk.

“Did you not tell them?” They purred, stroking the underside of their jaw. “Did you think they wouldn’t trust you? That’s cute.”

Whumpee’s heart pounded in their chest. Terror was consuming their brain, but they couldn’t break free no matter how hard they tried. Caretaker clenched their jaw, anger flashing in their eyes. They felt fangs grazing along their neck. The pressure was ghost-like, knowing it wouldn’t take much for teeth like that to pierce through their human skin.

“I wonder what you’d do if I turned them, right here,” Whumper murmured, a soft, but sadistic edge creeping along the edges of their tone. “Made them my thrall. Keep them by my side until they’re a good little pet that would do anything for me.”

The caretaker seethed, chest rising and falling jaggedly as they attempted to drag themselves onto their arms, fighting through the burning pain. “Keep...your hands off them.”

“I came all this way to find them,” Whumper sighed, tugging down the fabric of their shirt from their shoulder. They gently tilted the whumpee’s head to the side, a cold breeze tickling their exposed skin. “It would be a shame not to put on a show, hm?”

Whumpee managed a small, choked whine. It made their heart run faster and their blood rush to their ears, begging with their thoughts to let them go. Whumper shushed them, cupping their jaw as if they were as fragile as glass. Caretaker cursed under their breath, the blood gushing from their neck as they weakly collapsed back onto their side.

“Relax, and enjoy it,” Whumper murmured, and the whumpee felt their body obeying despite so unwilling to. They felt those fangs press into their neck, and pierce through the flesh, but it didn’t seem to hurt like they had expected. Caretaker had told them it was agony. But it was the complete opposite.

Whumpee relaxed into their hold as that hand stroked affectionately at their jaw, keeping their head still, and another wrapped snugly around their waist, pulling them closer into their embrace. Whumpee’s breath shuddered and their face flushed a shade of deep red, each drag of blood being drained from their body only making them feel lighter and lighter with bliss.

Caretaker grit their teeth and looked away, unable to watch anymore. A horrible feeling stirred in their belly, almost overpowering the nauseating pain wracking through their joints. Blood trickled down their neck, matching Whumpee’s own.

“Fuck...you,” they groaned, the smell of the whumpee’s blood making them wince. “Please, don’t...”

Whumper smirked against their skin, slowly stopping their feed and licking the ruby red blood from their lips. “You should have thought about begging a long time ago...”

Their eyes fell back onto the whumpee, who seemed to be pressing themselves closer as a small whine escaped their lips, thoroughly under their influence. They gripped onto the arm around their waist with trembling hands, nails digging into their skin. Whumper smiled, pressing a kiss to their cheek.

“Oh, darling,” they purred softly, slicing their nail into the skin of their neck, and feeling the blood begin to pool on the surface of their skin. “Come on.”

They didn’t have to tug on their mind to get them to do as they were told. Whumpee was delirious and the bite had made them yearn for any kind of way to reciprocate those feelings. They clumsily wrapped their arms around their neck, pressing their lips to their throat and gently feeding from the small wound. Whumper wrapped their arms around their small body, and lifted them off the ground. The whumpee melted into their embrace, lapping at the blood eagerly.

Caretaker shakily shook their head, feeling completely and utterly powerless. “I’ll hunt...y-you down. And I’ll take them back.”

Those words made Whumper laugh as they pulled their cloak around Whumpee’s body, cacooning them in a fabric of warmth as they drowsily continued to feed.

“You are mistaken if you think I’ll let such a precious treasure go,” they smirked. “You must have known you wouldn’t have been able to hide them from me forever.”

Caretaker grunted as a the venom shocked their system. They knew they wouldn’t be able to stay conscious for much longer. The world was starting to go fuzzy around the edges.

“Besides,” Whumper cooed, turning smoothly towards the door once the caretaker had begrudgingly dragged themselves too close. “I’ll make a loyal thrall out of them yet. Who knows...”

Caretaker caught a glimpse of their red eyes and sharp grin, before their final words lingered as an echoe in their mind.

“...maybe they won’t want to leave.”

#whump #whump scenario #whump drabble #whump writing #whumpblr #whump fic #vampire whump #vampire whumper #vampire caretaker #human whumpee #vampires #fantasy whump #writing #my writing #whumper #whumpee #caretaker

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kabie-whump · 2 months

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✧･ﾟRipe, About to Fall - Part 7 ✧･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: Onthyes and Ventis try to escape. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t go well.

Chapter Content: Branding!, flashbacks, character death (a character thinks another character is dead when they aren’t), intimate whumper, failed escape attempt, conditioned whumpee, it may get a little stockholm syndrome-ish at the end, passive bystanders, a few sexual references, domestic abuse vibes

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

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“I’d hoped it would never come to this,” Athos growled as he threw Ventis to the floor.

Ventis struggled to his hands and knees, fingers digging into cool stone as he tried to crawl away from the raging man, but Athos quickly stopped him with a firm boot to his shoulder, pinning him face first to the ground.

They were in the kitchen in the servant’s quarters - a place Ventis had only seen a few times before tonight. He could hear the sound of doors opening and closing down the hall as their noise woke the sleeping servants; the sound of approaching footsteps and confused murmurs.

“Master Landleigh?” A woman’s voice came from somewhere behind them. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, perfectly. Just teaching my pet what happens when it tries to run away. Hand me that.”

Ventis managed to turn his head, his cheek pressed hard into the floor as he tried to get a glimpse of what Athos was asking for. A small crowd of servants had gathered, drawn to the drama that rarely visited them in their home turf. The girl Athos had been talking to moved to the still smoldering fireplace. “This, sir?” she asked, holding something up- oh gods.

Please say no.

“Yes, perfect. Give it to me.”

No no no no no.

Ventis struggled with newfound energy, grunting as he tried to extract himself from under Athos’s foot. He would have succeeded if Athos hadn’t called out to a footman, “You there, hold him down please.”

“No!” Ventis cried, still struggling unsuccessfully as Athos moved off of him and the footman quickly took his place, sitting on the back of his thighs and taking both of his wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head while the other hand shoved his face into the ground when Ventis tried to look up at Athos.

“The thought of doing this has crossed my mind a few times,” Athos mused, examining the object in his hand. “It would be pretty, sure, but I was afraid it would be too traumatic for you. Such a delicate thing… I wasn’t sure if you could handle it and I loved you too much to find out. But you have never wronged me like this before.”

Athos had hurt Ventis before, but this was an entirely different monster. An iron rod, capped on one end by a thick handle and on the other by Athos’s personal crest. The baker used it to sear the symbol into fresh loaves of bread - a personal touch that Athos’s guests always commented on during meals. It was glowing red, the air around it taking on a slight haze.

“Please,” Ventis whimpered, shuddering as Athos pushed his shirt up to expose his back. “Please don’t.”

“Hush, pet. I’m trying to decide where to put it.”

“I’m sorry! I promise I won’t try to run again! Please!” Ventis had started to sob, tears pooling under his face and seeping into the thin layer of dirt and dust and flour on the floor.

“If you don’t shut up it’s going in your mouth.”

Ventis closed his mouth but he couldn’t make himself stop crying, his whole body shaking with the force of his sobs. Some of the servants had left, heading back towards their sleeping quarters with pale faces, while others stayed with looks of sick fascination.

When Athos finally made his choice and pressed the hot iron into Ventis’s skin the pain blinded him.

And then he was sitting with his knees to his chest, curled up in a little nook under a staircase where not many others could fit. It was where he went when he wanted to escape. If anyone knew where he was they didn’t come to find him, even though he knew it was time for his lessons and his absence would definitely be noticed since it was only him and his brother and sometimes the Princess when she wasn’t too busy to practice elvish with them.

Ventis knew no one would look for him. He knew the tutor would be glad to not have to deal with the problem child.

There was a mouse hole in the wall - tiny footprints left in the dust that had gathered since even the maids didn’t come here often. Father didn’t know about the mice but Ventis did, and he wasn’t planning on ever exposing their hiding place.

He used to have to squint at the pages of his book in that dark corner, but he’d learned a spell to summon a little blue light that perched on his fingertip as he traced it over the smooth paper, paragraph by paragraph.

He was supposed to be too young to read something so advanced but he didn’t care. If his brother had to be the best at everything else, Ventis could at least be the best at reading.

But it wasn’t reading that he loved so much. It was running away.

Ventis coughed harshly as voice broke on a scream. A horrible ache radiated out from the hot point on the back of his ribs on his left side. The pain came in waves, each one making his vision darken and a roaring sound build in his ears.

Athos must have pulled the hot iron away but he didn’t take the pain with it, and all Ventis could do was sob into the floor and wish he would just pass out already. The footman got off of him but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. And somehow even in this unbearable misery all he could think about was Onthyes.

“Get rid of him,” Athos had said. That could mean a lot of things. Or one thing.

Dead. Gone. No more pretty green eyes.

Ventis didn’t even care about him. Or, he had tried so hard not to care about him. But he'd been so charmingly naive that Ventis had had no choice but to buy into his delusional belief that he could ever be free from Athos.

It was never going to happen.

But Onthyes had seemed so sure.

--- Earlier that day, Onthyes’s POV ---

Onthyes had done nothing but plan ever since Ventis had admitted to him that he wanted to escape. He’d kept the idea in the back of his mind for so long, memorizing the patterns of the other guards and taking note of the more secluded escape routes.

Getting caught sneaking around with Ventis had complicated things a bit. Onthyes had been moved from the night shift to the day so Athos could keep a better eye on him, but Onthyes wasn’t going to let that stop him.

He rarely had any time to talk with Ventis anymore. Athos refused to leave the two alone together, so they had to wait until the night of one of his big parties to really talk. They’d made the plan behind a column, pressed close together to avoid being seen while Athos laughed drunkenly with his friends not far away.

Onthyes had asked Ventis why he suddenly changed his mind about wanting to escape.

“He can hurt me all he wants. I don’t mind it. I did this to myself. He doesn't get to hurt you though. That’s just not fair.”

Ontheys’s heart still hadn’t stopped fluttering.

They waited until the next party to enact their plan. Ventis played the part of the good little servant, ensuring that Athos’s glass was never empty and whispering things in the man’s ear that made him flush bright red and excuse himself, dragging Ventis along with him.

Onthyes tried not to think about what happened next, standing and watching over the party as Ventis did his best to tire his master out. When the genasi reappeared he was disheveled and bruised but looking pleased with himself as he announced to the party guests that Athos had overindulged and would not be rejoining them.

It was then that Onthyes mumbled something about using the bathroom and slipped out of the ballroom through a side door. A bag sat tucked behind a nearby statue, left by Ventis sometime between him going to the bedroom with Athos and coming back. Onthyes checked its contents: a few spare clothing items, a coin purse, and a locked wooden box that Onthyes knew contained a vial of nightspill. They’d gone back and forth over whether or not they should bring any, and Onthyes had eventually given in and agreed that it would be easier to get far away from here if Ventis wasn’t withdrawing. It was enough for a few days if they rationed it - enough time for them to make it to Onthyes’s friend’s house and then find transport out of the city.

Ventis’s hand landed on Onthyes’s elbow, making him jump. “Are you sure you want to become a fugitive for me?” he whispered.

“If it means you can get away from Athos and become your own person again? Absolutely.”

Ventis took Onthyes’s hand and they shared a silent, anxious smile before making their way down a hall and out into the night.

Their walk across the gardens was illuminated only by moonlight. Ventis trembled as they slipped out of a rusted, neglected gate, officially leaving Athos’s property, and Onthyes offered nothing but a simple squeeze of his hand, not wanting to risk speaking just yet.

Onthyes and Ventis were the only souls on the streets as they tried to put as much distance between them and the sounds of music and laughter from the manor as possible. Their hands were still clasped together, and Onthyes marveled at how comfortably they fit. It was just so natural.

“I can’t believe it,” Ventis whispered giddily into the night. “We’re out.”

Onthyes glanced down at him, their pace slowing to a stop in a little side street. They couldn’t hear the party anymore, and they had made it to a more secluded part of town.

Ventis’s eyes were shiny and full of life as he looked up at Onthyes. “Where do we go now?”

“A friend of mine lives not too far from here. We’ll stay with her for the night and then join a merchant’s caravan on their way out of the city at first light.”

“And then?” Ventis’s anxiety was audible this time, indicitave of a fear that can only come from spending years unable to make a single choice for himself. His life with Athos was awful, but at least it lacked uncertainty.

“Then? It’s up to you. We’ll go wherever you want, as long as it's far away from here. And I’ll be with you for as long as you want me.”

Onthyes lived for every rare genuine smile from Ventis. This one in particular could fuel him for eternity.

Then, Ventis threw his arms around Onthyes’s neck, pulling him into a tight hug. Onthyes had to bend over to accommodate it but he didn’t mind at all because the feeling was blissful. After a moment Ventis pulled away but he didn’t let go and their eyes met. Ontheys heard his breath stutter, watched his eyes search his face questioningly, and then felt him lean in.

Their lips had just barely brushed when there was a shout from down the street. “There they are!”

They jumped apart, suddenly on high alert, but it was too late. Guards, at least ten of them and all wearing Athos’s crest on their armor, closed in from each side, backing them against the wall of a brick building. Onthyes put himself between them and Ventis, drawing his sword.

“Stay back,” he growled. “No one touches him.”

The guards drew their weapons and advanced.

“Ventis, run,” Onthyes said firmly. “I’ll find you.”

The fight was quick but fierce. Onthyes managed to knock out some of the guards but he was out of practice and they had him surrounded. Someone managed to land a hit to his stomach that had him gasping and falling to his knees.

Then there was a sword to his throat and Ventis was pushed down next to him with a gasp.

“A valiant effort, boys.”

Athos emerged from the shadows, looking far more sober than he should’ve been considering how many drinks Ventis had given him.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t realize what you were doing, pet? You’ve always been obedient but I’ve never seen you so enthusiastic to serve me.” Athos stalked forward, grabbing Ventis by his hair to make him look up at him. “It's a shame, too. You’ve never performed that well in bed before. Maybe I should let you think you can get away from me more often.”

Onthys glanced at Ventis out of the corner of his eye, too afraid to turn his head with the blade at his throat. The genasi’s face had gone unnaturally blank, his eyes unseeing as he stared straight ahead.

“Leave him alone,” Onthyes barked.

Athos’s glare turned to Onthyes. “And you. I gave you so many chances to get your fucking act together, and you wasted them. All because you couldn’t help but pine after a stupid pet.”

“He’s not a pet!”

“Look at him.” Athos turned Ventis’s head so he faced Onthyes. “Not a thought behind those eyes. He only followed you here because you told him to. Isn’t that right, treasure?”

Ventis didn’t hesitate “Yes,” he whispered. “That’s right. I’m sorry, master. I got confused.”

Onthyes’s heart clenched. That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. But Athos was right; there was some horrible vacancy behind Ventis’s eyes at that moment that suggested that he was nothing more than an object to be commanded. It hadn’t been there minutes before, when they were holding each other like nothing could ever get to them. Onthyes would give anything to go back to that moment.

“That's not true.” Onthyes shifted as he glared up at the man, causing the blade at his throat to press dangerously into his skin.

“Enough of your delusions, boy.” Athos pulled Ventis to his feet, holding him tightly by his wrist as he started to walk away. “No one steals from me and gets away with it.”

The sudden movement seemed to break something in Ventis. Onthyes saw him blink hard, shaking his head with a furrowed brow. “No,” he muttered, suddenly making an effort to pull out of Athos’s grip.

Athos struck him across the face without any preamble. He stumbled but stayed upright thanks to Athos’s firm grip on his arm.

Then the man turned to the guards who were still standing, his voice cold and detached as he said, “Get rid of him,” and gestured to Onthyes.

“Yes sir.”

“No!” Ventis shoved at Athos as the man started to drag him away, a couple of guards trailing after them. “Onthyes!”

“Ventis!” Onthyes watched helplessly as Athos took Ventis, disappearing into the night.

Multiple helmets turned to him, weapons still drawn. Onthyes closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

But it didn’t come.

When he opened his eyes there was no longer a sword at his throat. The guards who were still standing were picking up the others from the ground, checking them over for serious injuries. One turned and gave Onthyes a tight smile as she walked over to where he was still kneeling.

“You’ve been a good friend. Don’t come back,” she whispered.

Then she slammed the hilt of her sword into the back of Onthyes’s head, and everything went dark.

--- Later, Ventis’s POV ---

Ventis was left curled up on his side under the covers in his own bed, still shivering and hiccupping quietly as pain continued to radiate out from the brand on his back. He tried to think of some joke about how he spent twice as much time in Athos’s bed as he did in his own. There had to be something funny about it, right?

Athos entered not long after. He was carrying something, but Ventis didn’t bother to look at what it was. He didn’t care anymore. Athos was just going to do whatever he wanted to him anyways, so why should he bother?

The mattress sunk as Athos sat down behind Ventis. He drew the blankets down and lifted Ventis’s shirt, exposing the burn to cold air. Ventis whimpered.

“I’m sorry, treasure,” Athos sighed. “You know I hate having to hurt you. I just… I was so scared of the thought of losing you. Of you forgetting how much I love you.”

Ventis didn’t respond.

“My reaction may have been a little extreme. I see that now. Just… let me help you.”

A damp cloth landed on the burn, making Ventis jump and let out a pained squeak.

“Don’t be dramatic, darling. You’re going to be fine.”

Ventis forced himself to remain quiet as Athos finished cleaning and crudely bandaging the burn. When the man was finished he stood and made to leave.

“Stay.” Ventis said it before he even knew what he was saying.

Athos stopped, clearly just as surprised as Ventis was. “What was that?”

Ventis blinked back tears, finally looking at his master. “Please. Stay.”

“I’d be glad to.”

Athos blew out the candles before returning to Ventis’s bed, slipping under the covers. Ventis turned over, taking the familiar position under Athos’s arm, his head on his chest.

They laid there in silence for a while before Athos finally whispered into Ventis’s hair, “Tell me he didn’t mean anything to you, that he was just so big and strong and charming and your sweet little mind couldn’t resist him. Tell me that you still love me and not him.”

“No,” Ventis whispered back. “I can’t.”

Athos’s hand tightened on Ventis’s waist.

“I understand.”

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

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

#whump #whump tropes #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #whump scenario #oc #original character #whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #branding #intimate whumper #conditioned whumpee #pet whumpee #pet whump #mind conditioning #oc whump #ventisposting #ventis

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generic-whumperz · 7 months

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The Aid Masterlist

Cover pics sourced from Pinterest

(18+, MINORS DNI!)

Bad summary (I suck at these): Set in the near future, an ability wielding telepathic-empathic 18-year-old sells himself into high-class slavery to support his family and to escape the wrath of an impeding Regime that has overthrown the US government, as well as avoid the growing numbers of the ravenous blood-thirsty hoards of afflicted. Stripped of his name, The Aid serves under a Southern Californian socialite, Madame Eleanor, the prestigious Sullivan family matriarch, for five years before being given to her Sadistic Son, Wyatt, after her untimely death. He now must fight for survival in a war-torn world and rediscover who he is, and hopefully, he’ll make a friend or two along the way.

What you can expect: A long, slow-burn type story with undertones of family war-time drama, multiple POVs (in the works), multiple parts, and Whumping of all kinds. Too many themes and lots of insane shit. This story is the first of many in my chaotically crafted BBU-inspired original AU (although it is very different). It’s a bit of a mess rn, I’m figuring it out as I go along and it’ll all tie in and make sense eventually. And oops this may turn into a “multiple book” situation. Oh I’m sorry, you wanted a simple whump story? Too bad, take a never-ending series instead!

General vibes: post-apocalypse desert horror meets torture den meets psychedelic 60s and mid-centruy modern aesthetics (plus a lot more other shit that will come in wayyyyy down the road).

General content warnings:

This is a heavier story with little to no comfort and constant levels of hurt (physical and emotional), including NSFW themes, heed any TWs & CWs listed at the beginning of each part! This is not a happy story (at least right now and in the near future, but he will have a happy-ish ending I promise), if you want something nice n’ fluffy, this isn't it!

*Not all of these themes are explored yet, but they will be. I’m trying not to give away spoilers while also being upfront by what to expect here.

20+ year age gap between Whumpee & Whumper

Former (elderly) lady Whumper (dies at 73)

Institutionalized slavery in a post-war/ post-apocalyptic AU

Culty & conspiratorial religious extremism (not the main focus of this story, but it’s there in the background and connected to above bullet point)

Cannibalism (the “afflicted” are basically stand-ins for zombies)

Non-con & dub-con (varying degrees of each, anything explicit will be marked as such!)

Red room whumping (working up to it, this feels like a spoiler)

Addiction & substance abuse + general use & mentions (prescription & illicit drugs, alcohol, gambling, porn), + noncon drugging

Caretaker turned Whumpee (“Caretaker” as in literal caregiver)

Sadistic/creepy/intimate/verbally and mentally abusive Whumper

Death threats, attempted murder, and murder

Discussions of mental health including suicidal ideation

Multiple Whumpers (& eventually multiple Whumpees— wow this also feels like a spoiler)

Long-term captivity, and conditioning— I’m talking 5 + 4ish more years (but this does not mean the MC is completely helpless and always compliant and doesn’t snap back!)

Medical & lab whump (this is probably more medical malpractice and just bad healthcare, but there’s some experimental drugging!)

Starvation & subsequent issues with food

Manipulation/ emotional whump

Defiant & angsty Whumpee(s)

Paranormal encounters

Family trauma & drama

Idk what to call this, but MC has some special abilities but it’s not necessarily magic. I wouldn’t consider this magic or fantasy whump by any means and the story does not revolve exclusively around this, although it plays a personal part for MC.

The lists below will be continuously updated when I have new stuff to add! I know it ain't much yet, but I'm workin' on it! :)

Part 1: Out from Under

Prologue (Meet The Whumper)

Chapter 1: Pump It (Louder!)

Chapter 2: Belligerance

Chapter 3: Say My Name

Chapter 4: One Step Closer

Chapter 5: Part 1, Part 2

Chapter 6: Stranger to Myself

(NSFW)Chapter 7: Sicko Fantasies & Haunting Memories

Chapter 8: Reflections

Chapter 9: Special Sauce Part 1, Part 2

Chapter 10: Family Heirloom

Part 2: Over Yonder

Chapter 11:[ TBD]

Polls:

Pick a sleep paralysis entity/being to haunt The Aid!

Art:

Bad Procreate Portrait! +Backstory

Lashings

Basement Dayz

Other:

"Life Before" Backstory ask

OC in 3 (Aid vibe pics, visual references)

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whumpcereal · 1 year

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the kennel, part thirteen

part of the kennel (masterlist here); picks up immediately after this piece.

content warnings for: EXPLICIT NONCON (for real, okay), noncon use of gags, restraints, and toys, extreme dehumanization, pet whump, filmed whump, creepy/intimate whumper, cages, references to food deprivation, shock collars, adult language

part thirteen, surprise

Will hasn’t spoken in almost three weeks.

Well, mostly. Doc likes to command him to “Speak!” every now and again, just for shits and giggles, and Will does what he’s told. A few shocks are easier to take than the whip. And Tommy must be doing what Doc tells him, because Will hasn’t been whipped again. Not yet, anyway.

Doc does other things, of course. To remind Will—no, not Will; the mutt—of his place, he says. The food, for instance–or lack thereof. If Will wants to eat, he has to eat from Doc’s hand, and he never gets much. A liver treat a day, if he’s lucky. Every so often, he’ll get a teaspoon of wet food; he hates how grateful he is when that happens. He doesn’t know how much weight he’s lost, but he does know it’s easier to fit inside his cage than it was. His body folds up like a motherfucking accordion now.

It’s not a distinction Will would have ever thought he’d be able to make, but there we are. He wouldn’t have thought that a person—if that’s even what he is anymore—could find comfort in a cage either, but he does. If he’s caged, he’s safe. Safe-ish. Out of Doc’s sight, at least for a little while.

It never lasts, though. Apparently, Will’s the only mutt in the bunch, and that means he’s got a target on his back. The other “rescues” avoid him whenever he’s allowed in the yard, as if they know proximity to Will is going to bring them their own trouble. The others talk to each other, clustered on their hands and knees in little groups, but no one talks to him. Which is fine. It’s not like he can answer.

Maybe that’s why they stay away. Maybe they’re trying to help him.

But no one can help anyone here. Well, almost no one.

He hears the others starting to stir around him, hears Annie’s soft greetings as she unlocks cages and starts to herd her father’s human stock into the yard. They don’t hate her, he thinks, even though they could. She stands on two legs, clothed and warm and beautiful, and the rest of them are stripped of their humanity. They crawl naked into the snow, where they piss and shit on the ground like animals, but they all know it isn’t Annie’s fault.

Shit, she’s practically an angel. At least Will thinks so. It seems impossible someone could grow up in a place like this and still be so kind.

Her feet stop in front of Will’s cage, and Will can’t help the way his heart speeds up when he sees her face through the wire grate. Her hair is so long that it almost sweeps the concrete floor. Will would give anything to touch it.

“Good morning, Will,” she murmurs, the way she always does. She’s not supposed to call him by name, but it’s their little secret. Probably because she feels bad about what her dad did that first day, or maybe she does it for everyone, but Will doesn’t really care why. He likes to hear her say his name. He likes to remember he has a name at all. That he’s more than a stray mutt.

He stares up at her with eager eyes. Good morning, Annie, he mouths.

Normally, she smiles. This morning, she doesn’t. She opens the lock on his cage, but she doesn’t immediately open the door.

Annie sighs. “He wants to take you out himself,” she whispers.

Will’s eyebrows shoot up. That doesn’t seem like good news. Doc normally doesn’t bother with him at all. Will’s half-convinced that’s why Doc starves him; he wants to render Will invisible. Which is whatever. It’s what Will’s always been anyway.

But still. Will knocks his forehead against the door, pushing it slightly ajar, and Annie looks back down at him.

Why? he asks.

“I don’t know,” she answers, more than a little distantly. “But I’m sure it’s okay.”

Yeah, no way in hell is that true. Will shrinks back a little.

Annie opens the door the rest of the way and runs her hand through his dirty hair. Will closes his eyes and leans into her touch. She does this for everyone, he reminds himself. It has nothing to do with him.

“Is he up?”

Will cringes when he hears Doc’s voice, and Annie immediately pulls her hand away. She shoots Will an apologetic glance.

“He is,” she says softly.

“Good. Excellent.”

Annie is gone just as quickly as she came, and Doc is squatting in her place. He smiles at Will, and Will slides a little further back in the cage.

“Hello there, mutt,” Doc says.

He reaches into the cage, and he pets Will’s hair, just like Annie does. Well, not exactly. His broad, flat hand feels heavy against Will’s head, and when his fingers curl into Will’s hair and tug him forward, Will knows that whatever’s coming, it isn’t good.

“Come on out, boy,” Doc orders. He stands and moves back to give Will room. “I have a little surprise for you.”

Will doesn’t move for a second. If he stays in the cage, he’s safe, right? Cold, hungry, sure, yeah, whatever, but safe. Still, he knows he doesn’t have any choice but to follow orders. If he disobeys, it’ll be worse. He pads out of the cage on his mitts, wincing a little when his bare knees hit the cold concrete.

“Well, you’re not much to look at, are you?” Doc says.

Will can’t look up–he isn’t allowed–but he prays that Annie’s gone outside with the others. The white briefs Doc gave him to wear–his own boxers are long gone–have holes at the waistband and sag at the seat, but it’s not like it matters if he’s the best dressed pet. He’s sure that his unwashed hair and patchy beard really add to the effect. They certainly make him itch bad enough.

“What’s say we get you cleaned up, little mutt?” Doc asks. He reaches down to clip a lead to Will’s collar and starts to pull him toward the back room. Will follows, because what the fuck else is he going to do?

Annie is nowhere to be seen, thank God.

It’s a perfunctory grooming. Doc attaches Will’s lead to the bar above the tub, and Will climbs in without argument; it’s better than strangling at the end of his leash, and the still-tender flesh on his back is reminder enough of why fighting isn’t his best move. He winces when Doc passes the scratchy sponge over his scars, but he knows he needs the bath.

He’s less comfortable when Doc shaves his face, but Will’s sure there’s probably more efficient ways of killing someone than letting them bleed out in a grooming tub. Besides, if Doc wanted to kill him, he’d be dead.

Doc doesn’t speak to him while he works, but by the time he’s finished, Will feels like he could curl up in the tub and go back to sleep. He feels blissfully clean and light. But, ever the fucking charmer, Doc blasts Will with cold spray just before he hauls him out of the tub.

Will is shivering when he hits the floor, but he goes to pick up his briefs with his teeth, the way Doc’s showed him on the rare occasions Will’s actually been granted a bath. It’s not like he can put them on himself. Not with the mitts.

Doc shakes his head. “Not today, mutt.”

Will opens his mouth and lets the underwear fall to the floor. He knows better than to try and cover himself, so he waits, teeth chattering, for further instructions.

“I told you,” Doc says, kneeling behind him, “I have a surprise for you.”

Will’s stomach feels tight, and he hunches a little; he already knows he doesn’t want this surprise. He feels Doc move behind him, and suddenly, Will’s eyes are covered with thick black cotton. Doc ties it off in a knot behind his head. Will can’t see a fucking thing. His head swivels back and forth, but all it does is make him feel dizzy.

Doc laughs, and the heavy toe of his boot nudges at Will’s backside. “Hup hup, little mutt. We’re going to go for a walk.”

Will struggles behind Doc on the lead, flinching away from imagined obstacles with every shuffle of his mitts and knees. He’s still so fucking cold; he doesn’t want to go outside, but somehow, he knows that’s where Doc is leading him. So he can parade Will, totally fucking naked, in front of the other pets. And Annie. Fucking awesome.

The cold hits him hard when Doc opens the main door, and he barely stops himself from screaming when his bare skin makes contact with the crunchy snow of the recreation yard.

“Do you remember your special job, mutt?” Doc asks, tugging Will blindly through the snow. There’s a layer of ice on top of it, sharp against Will’s knees and feet. Every movement burns his skin.

Will doesn’t take Doc’s bait. Even though he knows he can shake his head without making a sound, he is too afraid to try. He’s made it through this morning without making a mistake; he doesn’t want to fuck it up now. Doc tugs on the lead, and Will’s collar shifts against raw skin, but it doesn’t activate.

“Aw, come on now. I’m sure you remember.”

Of course Will remembers. One does not survive an honest-to-God whipping and then forget why they received it. He’d just thought he’d been spared lately because Tommy was doing okay. Following the rules or whatever.

Will isn’t stupid enough to believe that Tommy is actually doing well. No one here does well. The other pets are just as broken as Will is–as Tommy must be. But he knows that Tommy’s got a different set-up. Annie’s told him a little bit. Even if Will doesn’t know what Tommy’s being made to do–Annie won’t tell him that–he understands that being in the fucking doghouse means being watched.

For the first time in his life, Will thinks of being invisible as a luxury–and it’s a luxury Tommy doesn’t have.

“Well,” Doc goes on, chuckling as Will belly flops into a high drift, “Champ had a little lapse this morning. And I think you’re going to help him learn his lesson. That was our deal, wasn’t it? That you’d take on what he couldn’t?”

Will swallows the whine pushing its way up his throat. He has a feeling he’s in for enough pain.

There’s the sound of another door, and Doc yanks Will inside. The floor is concrete here too, but there’s a soft layer of grass or something on the ground; it almost smells sweet. Hay, maybe. Whatever it is, the floor isn’t as cold and hard as in the kennel. Not that it matters much. Will’s entire body is trembling from the cold, and as the warmer air starts to wrap around him, his skin breaks out in a horrible itch. Will wriggles a little against the floor, and this time, he does whine.

The collar activates, but the shock isn’t too bad. Just a quick snap. Will flinches, but he manages to keep himself from making another noise.

“Oh, mutt. Are you cold?”

Will doesn’t bother nodding, because of course the motherfucker knows he’s cold.

“I’ll bet you’re hungry too,” Doc says, and even though Will can’t see his face, he hears the smirk in Doc’s voice. Will starts when he feels Doc’s hand on his cheek, his thumb brushing over the bottom of Will’s blindfold. “You know, I think I’ve got a solution to both those problems. We’ll get you something to snack on, and then we’ll get you warmed up.”

Will’s stomach rumbles like the fucking traitor it is, and Doc pinches his cheek.

“That’s right. Be a good boy, and you’ll forget all about how you’re feeling right now.”

There is nothing about that statement that is even remotely comforting.

But the lead is pulled taut again, and Will fumbles forward on his mitts. The hay slips and slides beneath him, and as they move further into the building, he can hear the gentle whir of some kind of machine; it’s not as loud as the generator in the kennel, but without his eyes, Will suddenly feels like he can hear everything. There are soft chimes that remind him of a chat alert, and then he realizes: a computer.

“Oooh, looks like Champ’s public is chomping at the bit for this one,” Doc says with a chuckle.

Why? What the fuck is going on?

“Now, you just stay for a minute, little mutt,” Doc murmurs.

He presses his palm flat on the crown of Will’s head, like it’s a fucking on/off switch. It might as well be. Will freezes, sitting back on his ankles the way he’s supposed to. He’s still shivering, but he’s not exactly sure that he wants to know how Doc is planning to warm him up.

“That’s a good boy,” Doc says, and Will feels his heat draw away.

There’s another sound, like air rushing out of something, and then the whir of the computer is drowned out by another louder vibration–and the sound of strangled pleas.

Tommy.

Will starts from his knees, but he’s felled when Doc yanks at his leash. Will doesn’t let it stop him. He fights forward again, sliding on his naked belly, pushing off his toes, using his elbows to ease him forward.

The pained cries are louder then. Tommy sounds like a fucking animal. Will can hear him alternately gasp for breath and try to swallow and–oh, Jesus Christ. Tommy shrieks as Will comes closer, but Will can’t understand what he’s trying to say; Tommy’s throat must be slashed to fucking ribbons inside.

“Tommy!”

Only Will doesn’t think it: he screams it. The collar activates, and Will falls to the concrete floor, cracking his chin on some kind of metal barrier. He bites his tongue, and he can taste iron, but he doesn’t care. Tommy can’t be making those sounds. Tommy can’t hurt like that. Will’s supposed to take it for him.

“Tom–” Will tries again, but the second shock is too much. He curls onto his side, panting.

Stars blister the black behind his eyelids. He isn’t cold anymore.

Tommy is still screaming.

“What an entrance,” Doc says with a laugh.

Will’s lead is yanked again, but he can’t get to his knees. His neck and shoulders still twitch with leftover electricity.

“Get up, mutt,” Doc snaps. A hard toe bites into Will’s naked hip. “You wouldn’t want to miss out on your surprise. Champ has been waiting for you.”

Tommy moans, and the sound is so broken, so fucking foreign, that it makes Will nauseous. When he doesn’t move, Doc slips his fingers inside of Will’s collar and pulls back until Will strangles.

“You’d better get used to that,” Doc growls. And then his voice changes. Will is still fucking choking, but Doc sounds like he’s on a motherfucking informercial. “See, the little mutt here is on a very special training regimen. If he speaks out of turn, he gets a nice little shock. He’s done quite well so far, but it seems being so close to Champ has him all riled up.”

Tommy’s scream is suddenly louder, and Will knows what he means to say this time.

No.

Tommy’s still fighting for him. Will’s head moves to look for him, but he can’t see. He can’t see a fucking thing.

Doc heaves Will’s body over the metal barrier and throws him to the ground; there’s no hay on the floor here. Whatever wind Will had gained back is knocked out of him again, and he gasps, letting the blood from his wounded tongue trickle down his throat. He coughs. Doc laughs. Tommy bleats out words that aren’t words at all.

Will hears a hinge click, the hurried jingle of keys in a lock. Wherever he is now, it smells like sweat and–and–something else that he knows, but cannot place. It’s sour and earthy, and he knows he knows what it is–but what is it–what–

Doc rips Will to his knees by the hair, and even if Will manages to keep quiet, Tommy does not. His protest is so loud that Will can feel it vibrating in his chest.

And then Will realizes. The sound he heard, the one that was louder than the computer, is even louder now, and it’s coming from the same place as Tommy’s screams.

This is not good. This is so not good.

The lead shifts again, and Will can hear the carbinner click below him. He can’t move–Doc’s fingers are still knuckled tight in his hair–but he understands that he’s been tethered to the floor. Doc lets Will’s hair go and kneels behind him, the button of his fly hot-cold against the small of Will’s back. He presses Will’s back to his front, and Tommy’s wailing grows somehow louder.

But Will almost doesn’t hear. One of Doc’s hands slides over Will’s bare chest; the other sinks to his belly, almost concave after the weeks of calculated starvation. Still, Will twitches. He doesn’t want to be touched there. He doesn’t want Doc to touch him anywhere.

“Now, little mutt, you want to help Champ, don’t you?”

Will doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even breathe. He just wants Doc to let go.

This isn’t the kind of punishment he thought it would be.

- - -

Tommy wishes he were blindfolded.

He doesn’t want to watch this, but he can’t look away either. He can see Will shrinking beneath Doc’s touch, and he knows Will’s figured it out. Maybe not all of it, but he at least has some idea of where this is all going.

But he doesn’t know what Tommy does. Not yet.

“See, Champ is in training to be a Romantic,” Doc says, using the voice he always does for Tommy’s viewing public, “and I think he has potential.”

Tommy’s body quivers in the restraints. The bastards who tune in have already gotten a show. There’s a pearly white puddle beneath Tommy’s body; he‘s come once already, just after Doc left. The toy kept going, of course, even when Tommy’s nerves had fired themselves into white hot oblivion. He’d screamed and moaned beneath the gag, letting it rock back in his throat until he hoped it might choke him. But he didn’t choke, and the feeling didn’t stop. Doc must have known that it wouldn’t, that there’d be no escape.

Champ has to be ready, always.

Tommy isn’t ready at all.

Tommy looks at Will, thinner and paler than Tommy’s ever seen him, fucking blindfolded and terrified, and Tommy knows he will never be able to forgive himself for what’s about to happen. He doesn’t know how to believe that there might be a way back from this.

“But Champers seems to be having a little performance anxiety,” Doc continues. He slips his hand between Will’s legs and begins to stroke him, slowly, thoughtfully. Will wriggles and whines, but the fucking collar zaps him, and he collapses back against Doc. “Which is silly, since Champ has so many admirers.”

Doc’s hand keeps moving, and Tommy, even in his overstimulated haze, can see the tears seeping from beneath Will’s blindfold. Tommy screeches beneath the gag.

Don’t! Don’t fucking touch him!

But the words are not words. They are an animal’s keening. Doc doesn’t listen, anyway.

“But then I thought of you, little mutt,” Doc says, and he presses a soft kiss to Will’s hair. It’s almost—paternal, and that makes it worse somehow. “And how you’re here to take on anything Champ can’t handle.”

Another wave of painful pleasure rolls through Tommy’s body, and he tenses against the feeling. He can’t do this. He won’t.

But he has to.

“So, you’re going to show him how it’s done. So he won’t be so scared the next time.”

“No!“ Will howls. He bucks in Doc’s hold, his mitts flailing at the collar around his throat, but even the pain doesn’t keep him from screaming. “Please—ngh—I-I-fuck—I—ahhh—Tah—ahh—Tommy!”

Tommy can hear the snap of the shocks even over the vibration in his own head, and he throws himself against the restraints, like he has a fucking prayer of saving Will any pain. But the sensation rises again inside of him, and suddenly, his screams are mingling with Will’s.

“What a pair of noisy boys,” Doc laughs. He hugs Will to his chest like a stuffed toy. “Oh, little mutt, it’ll be alright. We’ll make sure everything goes nice and easy.”

Will doesn’t seem to be able to scream anymore; he twitches listlessly against Doc, eyes almost rolled back in his head. Doc rocks him gently back and forth.

“You just be brave, mutt. Champ chose this for you; he must know how brave you are.”

No! Tommy tries to scream. No! He was gonna kill you—

—but he doesn’t know what Will hears. He can only watch as Will shakes his head, moaning incoherently against Doc’s chest. Tommy can’t tell if Doc’s deactivated the collar or if Will is just too far gone to save himself the pain.

Doc takes the opportunity to reach into his shirt pocket.

“I’ve got something that’ll make it easier on you,” Doc coos. “But if you’re a bad boy, I’ll make sure nothing is easy at all. Understand?”

But Will is shaking with silent sobs, and Tommy groans as the weight between his legs swells. He doesn’t want this, but the relentless vibration is pushing him toward the edge again. He doesn’t know what Doc will do if he comes again before Will–before Will–

“Understand?” Doc says again.

Tommy’s vision is actually starting to blur. He can’t see if Will nods or if Will is even moving at all. For a moment, Tommy is completely overwhelmed by the sheer helplessness of clinging to an edge he doesn’t know how to anticipate. It’s like he’s in a goddamned cartoon, sweaty fingers losing their grip one by one–

“There we are, little mutt,” Doc’s voice sounds distorted and far away as the vibration rises higher. “You look so handsome. This will help you adjust.”

Tommy fights to open his eyes, and he immediately wishes he hadn’t.

Will’s mouth is stretched open by a black silicone ring. It’s wedged cruelly behind his teeth, the leather strap cutting into his red cheeks. He doesn’t fight as Doc tethers his mitts behind his back. It doesn’t seem like Will is there at all.

Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better if Will disappears. If he isn’t here for any of what’s about to happen to them.

And it’s about to happen. Doc leaves Will stranded in the center of the box, and he moves to Tommy. Already, Doc’s tapping at his phone; the whirring inside of Tommy stops, and Tommy’s restraints begin to slacken. Tommy can’t hold himself up, not with the echo of the vibrations still buzzing in every one of his peripheral nerves, but Doc catches him before he falls.

“You’re going to stand, Champ,” Doc whispers in Tommy’s ear. “You’re going to stand, and you are going to use that mutt’s mouth for target practice.”

“Nnnnn,” Tommy protests weakly, but he already knows that he cannot refuse.

Doc unclips the mitts at Tommy’s hands and throws them on the floor. “You’re going to have to hold him,” Doc says so that only Tommy can hear.

Tommy shakes his head–he doesn’t want to touch Will, doesn’t want to be complicit in any of this pain–but Doc ignores him. He manhandles Tommy toward Will’s hunched body, and the touch is almost too much; Tommy almost can’t make it, his nerves are so shot. But he manages to hold on, because he knows if he doesn’t, this will only last longer. Doc has no plans to spare either of them. That much is fucking obvious.

Will is completely still as they draw close, and Doc laughs, gently pushing Tommy in front of him.

“Head up now, mutt,” Doc coos to WIll. “Let the people see what a good boy you are!”

Will’s chin jerks a little, and the forced-open ‘O’ of his mouth turns up. Doc reaches around Tommy’s trembling body to grab Will’s chin and bring it forward.

“That’s it, boy. Just like that. I told you; your mouth is better when it’s silent.”

Doc’s body is pressed against Tommy’s backside, and Tommy can barely stifle his groan. He needs to be touched, needs release–but he can’t–he can’t–

Doc pulls Will’s face closer with his hand and nudges Tommy forward with his pelvis.

Will’s bare chest beats frantically; he knows what’s coming. He must.

But he doesn’t know that it’s Tommy. Not yet. It’s Doc’s hands on Will’s face, Doc’s voice in Will’s ears. Doc. Motherfucking Doc.

Tommy presses himself back against Doc, but it’s no use. Doc urges him forward, and it’s over. Tommy’s tip slides neatly through the ring inside of his best friend’s mouth.

Tommy’s head falls backward, and he holds his unbound hands in the air, like he’s being robbed. He supposes he is. He will never be who he was ever again. Not after this. He’s a traitor. A disgusting piece of shit. But his nerves are so raw, and it feels–it feels so–no, it doesn’t feel good. It can’t. He wills himself to go numb, but every nerve in his body is screaming.

But Tommy doesn’t scream. He doesn’t want Will to know.

Will is silent too. He’s crying, but he isn’t making any sound, just wheezing around the ring in his mouth and letting his tears slip down his red cheeks.

Doc shoves Tommy’s hips hard, and Will’s mouth is stuffed full.

Will’s mouth is stuffed full of Tommy, and there’s nothing either of them can do about it.

“Hold him,” Doc snarls, and Tommy does, sobbing. He rests his shaking hands in Will’s hair as gently as he can–and he feels it the moment Will realizes. Will freezes, tears still squeezing from beneath his blindfold, and there’s the slightest shake of his head.

Doc’s hips buck Tommy even closer to Will, and Tommy can’t stifle his groan. Doc’s chest is flat against Tommy’s back, and he reaches under Tommy’s arms, around Will’s head, until his fingers reach the knot of Will’s blindfold.

“Surprise!” Doc says.

Will blinks up at Tommy with red, resigned eyes, and Tommy–fucking pathetic whore that he is–stiffens and spills into Will’s mouth.

...we're not done yet. but look, i needed a break, and i bet you do too...

taglist: @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @sparrowsage, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @highwaywhump, @squishablesunbeam, @hold-him-down, @whumpsday, @sowhumpful, @termsnconditions-apply, @honey-is-mesi, @irishwhiskeygrl, @deltaxxk, @d-cs, @whumpinggrounds, @canislycaon24, @considerablecolors, @starlit-darkness, @scp-1296, @flowersarefreetherapy, @morning-star-whump, @whumpwhittler, @susiequaz12, @whumptakesthecake, @whump-world

#the kennel #will cartwright oc #annie barker oc #doc barker oc #tommy mahoney oc #tw noncon #like really a lot #i am not playing with you #please be careful #and heed all other content warnings

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serickswrites · 3 months

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Whump One Shots II

Caretaking drabble request--TW: referenced torture, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, recover/aftermath

Whumper is a Whumpee request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, idk how to tag this because idk?, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort

Nail Gun request--TW: captivity, botched escape attempt, torture, blood

Bad Caretaker request--TW: aftermath of torture, hurt/recovery, betrayal

Sadistic Caretaker request--TW: torture, implied torture, kidnapping, implied kidnapping, physical violence, whumper turned whumpee, revenge, caretaker and whumper

Gruff Caretaker request--TW: hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, referenced kidnapping, referenced torture

Whumple Request--TW: touch-starved, noncon/dubious con, implied captivity, sensory deprivation, torture, creepy/intimate whumper

Whumpee can't swallow pills request--TW: referenced torture, referenced captivity, referenced/implied noncon, medical whump?, pills, referenced suicidal ideation, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Yandere friend request--TW: kidnapping, yandere whumper, drugging

Whumpee gets nonconned in front of Caretaker request--TW: captivity, restraint, emotional whump, gags, noncon, sexual assault, two whumpers, creepy/intimate whumpers

Whumpee thinks Caretaker is like Whumper--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, implied noncon, blood

Forced Marriage request--TW: captivity, forced submission, forced marriage? (is that a thing i need to warn about), coercion, restraints

Memory stealing whumper request--TW: captivity, concealed identity?, noncon/dubcon,

Domestic Yandere Request--TW: yandere whumper, implied/future kidnapping

Bridal Carry request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, broken bones, hospital, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort

Whumper wants whumpee back request--TW: referenced kidnapping, referenced torture

Intimate Whumpee request--TW: captivity, torture, restraint, defiant whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper

Car drabble request--TW: kidnapping, restraints, torture (ish)

Force Fed request--TW: captivity, restraint, force feeding, eating issues, physical violence, blood, defiant whumpee

Whumper whumping to caretake request--TW: captivity, referenced torture, broken bones, wounds, blood

Sensory Deprivation request--TW: sensory deprivation, not quite white torture, captivity, torture, electrocution

Domestic Whump request--TW: burns, physical violence, kidnapping

Trunk--TW: captivity, torture, threat of torture, cruel and sadistic whumper, enclosed space

Sunshine whumpee request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee

Reverse comfort request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, restraints, wounds, blood, temporary character death, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, caretaker and whumpee

Voice request--TW: emotional whump, manipulation, threats, self-sacrifice

Jealousy request--TW: captivity, implied noncon, physical violence, restraints

Broken hand request--TW: captivity, torture, restraints, failed escape, botched escape, broken bones

Panicked whumper request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, referenced restraint

Self sacrifice request--TW: captivity, torture, blood, knives, restraints, self sacrifice, caretaker and whumpee

Second touch-starved whumpee request--TW: captivity, restraints, touch-starved, creepy/intimate whumper

Rebreak request--TW: rescue, broken bones, breaking bones, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort

Caretaking by creepy/intimate whumper request--TW: captivity, torture, emotional whump, creepy/intimate whumper

Bodyguard!caretaker request--TW: guns, gunshot wound, blood, bleeding, gore, caretaker and whumpee

Isolated whumpee request--TW: captivity, torture, isolation

Self defense whumpee request--TW: captivity, physical violence, torture, restraints, blood, botched escape attempt

Multiple caretakers request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath

Sexual trauma aftermath request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced/implied sexual assault, referenced/implied noncon/dubcon, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Recovering whumpee with yandere second whumper request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, referenced hurt/aftermath, referenced hurt/recovery, referenced hurt/comfort, yandere whumper, restraints

Sometimes I scare myself request--TW: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, knife

Most Likely Kill You in the Morning--TW: captivity, restraints, torture, blood, threat of death

Real versus fake caretaker request--TW: referenced torture, referenced captivity, referenced emotional whump, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, caretaker and whumpee

Good Night--TW: referenced torture, referenced captivity, broken bones, healing, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, caretaker and whumpee

Dire--TW: referenced gunshot, wounds, blood, hospital

Fan Out--TW: kidnapping, blood

Ever loving fuck--TW: captivity, restraints, noncon, defiant whumpee

Second yandere caretaker request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced noncon, referenced torture, rescue, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, two whumpers

Language barrier request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced restraints, referenced dehumanization, referenced noncon, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Whumpee becomes caretaker request--TW: captivity, torture, sort of caretaker and whumpee

Harmonica request--TW: captivity, torture, gags, restraints, blood

Gentle giant caretaker request--TW: referenced pet whump, referenced captivity, referenced physical violence, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort

Something Wrong--TW: hidden injury, collapse, blood

Pirate whump request--TW: restraints, swords, death threats, possible drowning (repeatedly)

What is your secret?--TW: restraints, torture, captivity

We've had a good run--TW: captivity, restraints, torture, drowning, unclear character status

Whumpee endangers themself request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, knife, stabbing, blood, wounds (minor), caretaker and whumpee

Emotionally abusive whumper request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced conditioning, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, not caretaker

Public space request--TW: referenced noncon, referenced kidnapping, caretaker and whumpee

Manipulative whumper request--TW: emotional whump, manipulation, implied noncon/dubcon

Learn--TW: captivity, torture, restraints, physical violence

Tea--TW: wounds, referenced torture, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, caretaker and whumpee

Whumpee is a husk request--TW: captivity, restraints, referenced torture, rescue

Whumper destroys something precious to whumpee request--TW: captivity, restraints, referenced torture, emotional whump, cruel whumper

I'd Rather--TW: torture, captivity, restraints, self sacrifice, referenced whipping, suffocation, electrocution, defiant whumpee

Waste--TW: kidnapping (referenced), torture (implied)

Touchy gentle whumper request--TW: captivity, restraint, noncon, creepy/intimate whumper, gag

Whumper stalks whumpee request--TW: stalking, referenced captivity, referenced noncon, yandere whumper

Crazy--TW: guns, gun shot, hostage situation

Like Tea request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Today--TW: captivity, torture, restraints

Alright for Now--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, broken bones, wounds, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Whumper's perspective request--TW: captivity, torture, blood, whipping, sadistic whumper

Passed out whumpee request--TW: unconsciousness, referenced injury, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, caretaker and whumpee

Eventually--TW: suffocation, captivity, torture

Leave--TW: captivity, torture, botched escape, restraints

Save You--TW: captivity, torture, restraints, wounds, rescue

Different Caretaker request--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, referenced pet whump, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretakers and whumpees

Sensory impairments request--TW: referenced torture, illness, unconsciousness, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Unhinged whumper request--TW: captivity, restraint, electrocution

Sometimes--TW: captivity, torture (referenced), restraints

Second Unhinged whumper request--TW: captivity, restraint, blood, wounds, cuts, cruel whumper

Drowning and electrocution request--TW: captivity, torture, restraints, electrocution

Chance--TW: botched escape attempt, captivity, torture, blood, wounds

Carrie request--TW: humiliation, degradation, verbal abuse, "religious abuse" (i say this in quotes because this is a made up religion in this story)

North--TW: referenced kidnapping

Caretaker needs to be prepared--TW: referenced kidnapping, implied torture, rescue attempt

Wrong Thing--TW: kidnapping, self sacrifice, implied future torture

Whumpee's epic failure--TW: captivity, torture, botched escape attempt, sadistic whumper, restraints

Vampire and werewolf request--TW: captivity, torture, magic

Wildflowers--TW: captivity, restraints, torture, blood, wounds, infection, unclear character status, caretaker and whumpee

Get Going--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, implied rescue

I'll Be Your Rescue--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, referenced noncon, hospital, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery

Whumper turned whumpee request--TW: captivity, torture, restraints, physical violence, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, caretaker and whumpee

Just Breathe--TW: stabbing, blood, wounds

Safe--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

#serickswrites #not writing #whump #whump community #writing organization #whumpblr

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chaotic-orphan · 4 months

Text

Master post of series:

All the links bring you to part one and the next parts are linked at the bottom of the post!

I will add the once off Whump drabbles overtime :)

They are ranked most to least popular~

Intoxicating fear

(Scared hero x telepath Villain)

Delirious villain x hero caretaker

Vendetta

(heroes vs villain war)

Defiant Leader x confident villain

Supermax prison

(Supervillain and rookie guard)

[There is only one part to supermax prison but it will be updated soon :) ]

Heroic betrayal

(hero betrayed by other hero)

The stranger

(vigilante Whumpee)

The immortal Hunter

(vampire whump)

Villain’s gift

[Supervillain gives Villain a present for their birthday]

The hero and the infant

(grumpy hero x superhero sidekick)

A Benignant Mischief

(Fantasy found family, young elf outlaw captured by enemy kingsmen whose orders are to capture any elf for trial before the King/ hurt/comfort— ish, it’s giving fuzzy vibes)

Twisted Love

(Hero lady Whumpee x villain male Whumper; creepy, intimate Whumper, absolutely zero consent, villain is a freak, be warned)

Febuwhump Masterpost

Hero/Villain Drabbles:

Cocky Hero to the rescue

Whump drabbles:

June of doom (JoD):

JoD Day nine: part one / part two / part three

( I intend to make this into a series I just forgot about it until today)

#master post #masterpost series #Masterpost of series #orphan writing #orphan Masterpost

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thecitythatdoesntsleep · 2 years

Note

Could you do some more NSFW prompts please? 👀🔞

Oh lawd, here we go again. Thank you for the ask!

(Tags/TW: noncon, intimate whumper, heavily implied abuse, 18+ dialogue, nsfwhump, threatening, implied force, gagging, begging, conditioning, reprogramming, injury, mind-breaking (ish), profanity and vulgar slang for body parts.)

"You’d better shut your fucking mouth if you wanna walk in the next few days."

"P-Please- Too d-deep! I-It hurts!” “Oh but you’re taking it so well, Whumpee.”

“I-It feels good W-Whumper..” “I told you it would, kitten, I’ll make you feel even better soon.”

“P-Please W-Whumper! I was s-so close..! P-Please just let me c-cum!” “It’s only been three hours... You haven’t been punished enough yet.”

“Ask me nicely, pet. And I might give you want you want.” “C-Can Pet make Master f-feel good..? Pet wants to feel good too.”

“Pretty hard to say ‘no’ like this, huh? Eyes rolled back, mindlessly grinding your hips for more.”

“Since it’s your first time, I’ll be gentle. The moment you start fighting me, I’ll fuck you how I please.”

“Only half-way and you’re already gagging, you’ll never talk me out of your punishment at this rate.”

“Every time I whip you, you get a little tighter around me, does it turn you on that much?”

“You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore, do you? Should I thrust a little faster to help you choose?”

“Open your mouth and kneel, Whumpee. I’m about to use you for what you were really made for.”

“Just the sound of my belt buckle and you’re hard.. You’re a perfect slut for me now, aren’t you?”

“You can either swallow your pride and spread your legs for me or I’ll fill you so full of cum you’ll taste me.”

“Hmm... Which hole should I use tonight, Whumpee? You already know what my favorite is, so choose.”

“M-Master I’ve been good, c-can I c-cum tonight?”

“Repeat after me: My body is for Master’s pleasure. I do not deserve pleasure unless Master gives it to me.”

“Will you keep your legs open this time? Or should I get the spreader bar?”

“If I take the gag off, you’re getting something else in your mouth, pet.”

“Master’s friend here is going to teach Whumpee the difference between how I touch you and how you deserve to be treated. Maybe you’ll be grateful when they split you in two.”

“Are you crying? When you’re already covered in your own cum? Something is amiss, Whumpee. You must not be as afraid as you lead on.”

“Pretty tight for someone else’s toy. They must not fuck you properly but- ngh.. I-I’ll change that, I’ll pound you stupid every night and break that little ass of yours.”

“See? Your body found a way to lube up after all, Whumpee. But you’d better start riding, blood dries out pretty fast with friction.”

#whump #whump community #whumpblr #whump writing #whump prompts #intimate whumper #tw noncon #tw intimate whumper #tw whump #tw language #tw dialogue #tw abuse #tw dehumanization #tw threatening #tw gagging #tw injury #tw mindbreak

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generic-whumperz · 2 months

Text

The Aid: Chapter 7- Sicko Fantasies and Haunting Memories (NSFW)

(Buckle the fuck up, you are now aboard the Hot Mess Express🚂)

CWs & TWs (not in order): graphic & violent non-con flashback (end of chapter and between the red *****—not to be confused with the black *****—you can read around it without missing any vital details!) including use of a knife and gun and gross details of bodily fluids (it’s a bad time, skip over it if your sensitive to nastiness, don’t say I didn’t warn you—like for real it’s gross), explicit language, insults & name calling*, Whumpee called “boy” even though he’s 24, talk of bodily functions (pee habits and general grooming after months of being deprived of toiletries and self care), suicidal ideation and past suicide attempts/details of past self harm practices (asphyxiation), recollection of being forcibly restrained to bed to prevent further self harm, illicit drug use (❄️&🧊) mixed with alcohol (Whumper), Whumpee wishing gruesome death upon Whumper (but like, good for him, Whumper deserves it), aftermath of starvation and prolonged isolation, undressing and inspecting wounds, prescription drug dependency (Whumpee), depressing self reflections, literal Caretaker turned Whumpee, asshole/bully/sadistic/taunting/creepy/intimate/alcoholic/mentally and physically abusive Whumper (Wyatt Sullivan is his own TW, he’s literally the worst), long-term captivity, slavefic/ institutionalized slavery AU, within the post-apocalyptic(ish) setting AU—mentions of: ongoing war & mass death, evacuations, terrorism and treason, cannibalism, infectious diseases (specifically cannibals with infectious diseases), war factions, extremist Regime, forced labor camps, food scarcity, class division, looting, and hostile takeovers

*We are starting strong with insults here, if this is a sensitive topic or squick for you, you’ll have a horrible time & this ain’t for you dawg, respectfully.

You’ve been adequately warned, proceed with caution :)

Word count: 5,669

<-Previous | Masterlist | Next->

Hey you, yeah YOU!

If you’re still here after that novel of CWs, hi hello :) Holy shit this chapter took on a mind of its own and is a little all over the place! Besides the lengthy list of warnings, there’s also some more world building in here—like a lot more. You probably didn’t have questions, but don’t worry, I gave you the answers you didn’t know you needed anyway! I hope it fits and makes sense, idk what I’m doing, I think my brain is actively rotting out of my skull at this point. If you like insane bullshit, this is for you, and if you don’t, sorry buddy! I'm still sitting on a fatass chapter that comes after this one, but I need to give myself a break after this steamy mess right here. Expect the usual processing time of a month and a half.

Xoxo, Gen

Fuck ass. Shithead. Cock warmer—of all the overused insults his Master chucked at him, The Aid kept a particular fondness for pampered pet.

An offense it was intended to be, yes, but instead of bitter resentment, the gibe strangely restored a sense of lost dignity and sounded comparatively childish against the others. Although, truth be told, most of the snarky nicknames fell flat and lost their zest at this point, and he would’ve appreciated some effort from Sullivan to come up with more creative insults to hurl at him.

His Master made a special sport of provoking him; ergo, he figured the man would at least flaunt some star players now and again.

Nothing got older quicker than a joke worn thin.

But wait, what did the brute call him earlier—lopsie lip? He usually threw up his mental defenses and rolled his eyes when someone made cheap one-liners about his mouth (what could be said that he hadn’t heard a hundred times over?) Still, somehow, Wyatt Sullivan had a real knack for mocking his appearances (his height was another frequently abused topic) and a crafty way of singling out his assumed insecurity. The mockeries weren’t knee-slappers by any stretch of the imagination and came across as equally lame and insensitive Boomer jokes; even so, he’d gladly take these low-hanging digs with open arms over the other vile, squirm-worthy remarks Sullivan berated him with any day—or worse.

Better a poor shit taking the brunt of crude taunts than a poor shit taking the brunt of a boot to the ribs.

Pampered pet—it’s fitting, goes well with his staple stand-in name, Mutt, and even has a certain ring to it, and certainly nicer than cum bucket —yuck (he hated that one).

Pampered was right; he couldn’t stand being dirty and unkempt; indeed, his Madame never condoned sloppy looks and anything less than perfect. She’d be rolling in her grave right now if she saw the sunken state of affairs and how piss poor of a job her son was doing as appointed keeper of her precious house boy.

But oh, how far the mighty have fallen.

Long were the days of his dedication to hours a week of meticulous primping and preening and how he missed those sacred moments.

Since he awoke above ground, he didn’t have the energy or sheer willpower to accomplish anything more than a couple of weak passes with a toothbrush and a few splashes of lukewarm water on his face and called it a day. But now—poor hygiene be damned—a garden of Earthly man-made delights beckoned him.

He studied his previously revoked collection of personal care products next to the first aid caddy on the bathroom counter before him. Here sat everything his Master denied him for months; he bereaved their absences like a lost loved one—no, scratch that, he never missed a person more than a good hand cream and microdermabrasion exfoliant.

In another life, he was always a star patient when it came to oral hygiene—he sported the Colgate smile—so being deprived of his one true love, his toothbrush, during his solitary confinement was arguably worse than having to shit in a litter box next to his bed.

He didn’t know what disturbed him more, the fact that he looked like a freshly dead Jack Skellington or that he now had plaque buildup, a few missing teeth (curtsey of Sullivan’s fists), and probably a couple of cavities.

A new toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, and floss picks were no dentist or oral surgeon, but they were a good start toward redemption.

This is as good as he’d get; best make do with what he got and ignore the rest. Maybe he can’t fill a cavity but can scrub off filth. He commonly recited, ‘It’s better to focus on easily fixable things. There’s an irreplaceable level of satisfaction in having attainable goals.’

He scanned the other objects in front of him, taking special note of the lip scrub and lip balm he hoped would mend his cracked and chapped lips, the tub of extra-extra hydrating hyaluronic acid body lotion tasked with soothing his bone-dry, itchy skin, comb and tweezers to tame invasive hairs, cotton swabs to clean out all the gunk in his ears (he was sure he had more than enough ear wax to fill a tea light candle); blemish control face wash, acne cream, toner, and light-weight moisturizer to get his breakout under control; and nail clippers and file to declaw himself.

He glanced at his fingers and toes.

They weren’t as bad as expected—well, despite his calluses, hang nails, and overgrown cuticles that is. At least he didn't have Althetes' foot or start sprouting weird basement mold between the toes.

Sweet Christ Almighty, the filthy and ungodly things he’d do for a good mani-pedi and facial right now.

If Sullivan weren’t such a fucking sadist with a raging hard-on for making him bleed and scream, he’d consider proposing an exchange of sex acts for a full-package spa day. The sex—he told himself—he could grit his teeth through and forcibly tolerate with minimal tears; it was the rest that canceled out any ounce of enjoyment or relaxation he’d potentially get.

No facial was that good.

His former (glorious) self was never a nail-biter or finger-picker, but his time in isolation lent a hand towards picking up some bad habits to occupy his mind in hopes of preventing him from going mad with boredom (spoiler: it didn’t work).

He picked and picked, and sometimes even nibbled, around his hang nails until he drew blood. He didn’t delight in chewing bits of dead skin peeled off in strings around his fingers, but the motion of eating something—even if deduced to bits of himself—helped drown out the hunger pains and sounds of his empty belly gurgling. He secretly wished Sullivan would catch him in the act of self-cannibalizing himself, realize just how far pushed to insanity he was, and take enough pity on him to release him of his sentence.

It was all nothing more than a stupid fool’s hope; the evil sonovabitch never even felt a glint of remorse.

His eyes scanned the razor and shaving cream, almost suspicious of their presence. Shaving himself was daunting and ostensibly impossible with one shaky hand.

But hey, at least Wyatt trusted with a sharp object; this was a step up.

How long had it been since he properly cleaned himself up and given himself a good shave? Months?

The razor looked new. Sullivan must have given him a fresh one. And if his Master went through the backbreaking effort of changing a razor head, that meant he wanted—no, was practically ordering—him to revive what parts he could that resembled his ci-devant good looks…good looks—was he ever even good looking before all this? He couldn’t tell; he was horrible with those types of things. He knew he wasn’t ugly but also wasn’t a looker, probably landed smack-dab in the middle. Perhaps his attraction level wasn’t for him to decide. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder or some shit. Or was that just some junk passed around by those unfortunate souls not blessed with Holly Wood looks?

But now he knew he looked like hell, and the amount of work he needed to do on himself was overwhelming.

It was too much.

How well he’d be able to groom himself with one hand would no doubt leave much to be desired and undoubtedly felt like a set-up for sure failure, but the thought of Sullivan having to pick up where he left off and lather him up in lotion and clip his toenails made his blood run cold and more nervous than a puffer fish in a room full of balloons.

He couldn’t let those big, rough, creepy-ass hands that caused nothing but pain touch him any more than they already had. It felt like he and Sullivan would be breaking an unspoken rule if they made any skin-to-skin contact outside of anything besides the ogre inflicting harm on him. His Master’s hands were torture devices of their own; feeling them on him in any other capacity felt wrong, like a breach of contract.

As much as he refused to believe it, he knew deep down he was touch-starved, and part of him was screaming for any ounce of physical affection. He already leaned a little too far into Dr. Paul’s touch and was damn near smitten from the warm spark of soothing comfort that came from a gentle cup of his cheek; if he did the same with Sullivan, he’d never forgive himself, and his Master definitely wouldn’t let it happen without comment.

He already heard him now—“Yeah, ya like that, don’t ya, boy? Look at ya melting into me like the little needy slut ya are. I got somethin’ else real special for ya that’ll get ya howlin’ an’ really tickle up ya’r insides.”

Even an innocent touch would lead to something more; of course, it would; this was Wyatt fucking Sullivan he was thinking about.

He shivered.

Suddenly, he was all too aware of his very full bladder.

He sighed, then hobbled over to the toilet.

These days he had to piss sitting down; circumstance didn’t grant much flexibility there. The stand-up method was unsuitable for those with one functioning leg and one usable arm; if he dared test his limits, it would likely result in him missing the bowl entirely or ungracefully falling over midstream. He told himself that he didn’t mind popping a squat; it erased the worry of not shaking his pee-pole enough and leaking drops on the rim, or worse—in his underwear. (‘Pay no mind to the very real fear of your peen accidentally sliding against the cold inside of the toilet bowl; no, we don’t have room for such worries.’) Wringing his dick out like a washcloth was far more undignifying than just shoving it between his legs and taking his time anyway—that’s what he told himself, what he made himself believe.

But he deserved that, didn’t he—small comforting lies in whatever form he found them?

Thankfully, the post-catheter sting Dr. Paul warned him of went away after the first day, but his urine persisted in being a dark brownish orange (‘light umber, I think that’s called’) that reeked a pungent odor, evoking him to scrunch his nose in sour disgust every time. He drank more than enough liquids now, so it couldn’t be from dehydration—could it? That left him to conclude it must be yet another unpleasant side-effect from his cocktail of pharmaceuticals.

Pharmaceuticals—thank the marvels of modern science for those. However, what he really craved was a fat joint of Blueberry Kush.

How long ago did he pop that palmful of pills? He contemplated with a sense of impatience, ‘couldn’t be more than 30 minutes ago…’

The Klonopin typically took about an hour and a half to two to kick in. And once it did, he was down for the count, blissfully obliterated until evening, when he would pop an Ambien to sail him through the night.

Rinse and repeat day after day, after day until—well, he didn’t know yet.

And he preferred to remain deliriously unaware.

It was better this way.

Hell, it was the only thing that made his life at all bearable—to be drugged out of his mind, not to be awake, not to think, not to feel his body, to play dead until one fateful day, his Master would finally strike a killing blow.

The matter of if Sullivan could wasn’t in question—they both knew the older man could kill him as effortlessly as a house fly stuck buzzing against a windowsill—it was more of a matter of when.

The Aid tried to carry out the deed of snuffing himself out a few times—okay, more than a few times. He lost count of his botched suicide attempts, but that’s all they were, half-assed “attempts”—a courteous word his actions didn’t quite live up to. What he carried out fell more in line with ideation.

In the basement torture den, he’d wrap the chain around his neck with minimal pressure, just enough to feel a light constriction—nothing more, nothing less—and let the fantasy of floating away into nihility mollify him as he mewled and cried himself to sleep like a squalling infant. Sullivan caught him in this self-soothing ritualistic act once before and had the audacity to act scandalized by what he witnessed as if he didn’t knowingly single-handedly push The Aid to the brink of suicide. After the initial surprise of what he walked in on wore off, Sullivan proceeded to laugh at the miserable little thing at his feet and hurl some colorful beratement at him (finally a personalized insult with a bit more spice, although the timing couldn’t be worse) as the boy bawled his eyes out and crumpled into a shaky ball.

The Aid received an extra beating for his lack of self-respect and composure; Sullivan took offense to The Aid’s actions and informed him that he wasn’t allowed to off himself.

After his Master scolded him, he made him swear he wouldn’t “pull any more weakling shit ever again” and ordered him to abstain from any method of self-harm—Wyatt liked being the only one permitted to hurt him.

The ogre’s cruelties were boundless, but at least the monster finally pitied him enough to find it in his cold, dead heart to allow him the privilege of washing himself up and gave him a change of clothes and a hot meal afterward—sometimes being a mess and pushed to your edge bought rewards.

After all was said and done, he was restrained, his limbs tied to the four corners of the blood-stained mattress so he couldn’t move—for a week—until Sullivan deemed him no longer a threat to himself (the irony of it all did not escape him).

That was the last time he meddled with ending it all. He couldn’t do it, not really—not entirely, no matter how much he wished he could. The only thing that scared him more than Wyatt Sullivan was the great unknown of the other side and being devoured by eternal darkness.

A healthy fear of death was the only thing keeping him alive at this point.

*****

He absently gazed out the window, taking in his perfect view from the side of the house that butted against rolling tan desert foothills.

They were the last house down a long winding street lined with multi-million dollar estate homes, each with a moneyshot view overlooking the Palm Springs valley. He knew better than to indulge in the crackpot fantasy of climbing over that brick retaining wall separating him and the rest of the world to scamper his way through the open desert that went on and on for miles.

He already tried that once.

He didn’t get far—‘Stupid stunt to pull when you have trackers embedded in your neck and spinal column.’

But what was out there?

His mind went wild.

Were there clans of Renegados, the lost people, those who didn’t belong to either cause or fell under contested jurisdictions, hiding deep in the rocky valleys or camping in the Little San Bernardino Mountains? There couldn’t be much of a food source besides snakes and scorpions with the occasional desert hare—not to mention the scarcity of a water source. He surmised Renegados were unlikely in this geography, but what about gangs of marauders? No, that was equally unlikely, as scavenger types preferred abandoned dense urban areas or heavily traveled routes, and they wouldn’t pay much mind to small desert towns or off-grid compounds. There wasn’t much left to plunder in visible sight, especially after the first couple of waves of looting from the mass exodus of some odd four million Los Angelenos alone fleeing the initial outbreaks.

The only people batshit crazy enough to tough it out in such a ragged landscape and unforgiving climate were bands of rebel freedom fighters, the Frondeurs, who opposed what was left of the U.S. Government and fought the rivaling extremist Regime which now controlled nearly half of the 50 states, all the meanwhile also culling the growing numbers of afflicted. It would either be the Frondeurs themselves or hordes of aforementioned afflicted—ravenous cannibals, anthrophages*, devouring their way through the rural areas in search of larger populations to gorge on. “People-eater Pox,” or PEP, was the name quickly given to the incurable disease because “idiopathic anthropophagite contagion” was too clinical and hard to pronounce.

Of course, edge lord teens, horror fanatics, and the everyday 4chan user clung to the pipe dream of a zombie invasion, but these fuckers were far from dead, which somehow made it all that much worse. Sure, they looked dead, but that’s where the physical similarities started and ended.

The afflicted broke out in rotten-smelling, oozing open sore rashes that turned into hardened tree bark-like patches, their skin dulled to a cadaverous blue-gray while the whites of their eyes turned red, and many lost their hair. The cherry on top was their maddening appetite for human flesh and heightened sense of smell and hearing. They were fast, hard to kill, and more animal than human—so he heard.

The Aid never saw an afflicted, not in real life, and he hoped he never would. If you saw one up close, you were two steps closer to being eaten alive or, worse—turning into one of them.

Or maybe instead of bands of rebel forces or diseased cannibals hiding in the desert, there were platoons of those rumored so-called “Envoys” deployed by the Regime—the Republic of Arcadia—to hunt down runaways, defectors, and Frondeurs since they needed every last body they could get. Envoys—he didn’t even know if they were real; he’d never seen one of those either. They were about as real as Santa Claus to him, but luckily, these didn’t look like something out of a Rob Zombie movie and want to eat his face off.

Would Envoys even be out this far west?

Not likely, not unless they now joined the hordes of afflicted. The Republic of Arcadia wouldn’t—couldn’t—needlessly sacrifice any Envoys coming this deep into U.S. territory, not after 11 years in a now stalemated war, not unless they were planning a final invasion.

If that were the case, they were fucked.

If the Envoys were close, that likely indicated the remainder of the U.S. was losing even more territory. Or maybe the government agreed to give up a parcel of idyllic Southern California and a couple of Pacific coast port cities in exchange for a plot of fertile land, unsoiled crop seeds, and healthy bodies to work the fields in a pedantic trade agreement. Lord knows there wasn’t much opportunity for farmland out here in the desert, and good, fertile land these days was worth more than gold, especially after the blights wiped out most of the agriculture industry, which subsequently led to PEP. He didn’t know much about the state of things anymore, and he knew fuck all when it came to the intricacies of a diseased-ravaged and war-torn world hanging on by an unraveling thread. The tidings of war constantly changed, and how anyone could keep up with the insanity of it all was beyond him.

Were they still safe here?

If they had to relocate, what would his Master do with him?

What if they ran out of food?

Would Wyatt eat him if it came down to it?

There was no way he’d let that happen (as if he had a say or any control if it came down to it); not like there was much left of him to eat. You’d get better “meat” off a wild prickly pear cactus than his bony ass. Cannibalism wasn’t just for the afflicted anymore; it wasn’t as uncommon as it used to be. Hard times called for drastic measures in certain parts of the world; not everyone still had access to unsullied food.

But a Sullivan couldn’t stoop so low, not even the worst one out of the bunch, not when the Sullivans were one of the only families left who still owned healthy livestock farms on the West Coast and supplied most of the edible meat and quickly rose to prominence and fortune because of it. Still, being left with the tender mercies of Wyatt didn’t feel promising in any capacity.

He knew he was “lucky” to be owned by the Sullivans and he should be thankful to live in a pocket of the country that remained relatively untouched from the chaos, that he was tucked away from the “real harm” and lived amongst members of high society who remained undeterred by the current state of things. He was a victim of conformity, forcibly resigned to a life he couldn’t get free from. Yet it became increasingly difficult to pretend life was a-okay when the reality of everything sunk in. Eleanor Sullivan was dead. He had five wonderful years with her, but now he suffered under the brutal hand of Wyatt. His life would have been much different if he wasn’t born with abilities. Rather than blossoming into the resident house pet and making his debut by playing mind games with the family matriarch, he’d likely be a plebeian surviving off rations and forced to work in labor camps in a resource sector. He didn’t know which life was worse—people’s minds weren’t made to deal with problems and what-if scenarios this large.

All he could do was accept it and keep trudging along.

This was the world he lived in now—a fucked up, disease-ridden world with only one-third of the population left. A world with a falling, corrupt government that re-institutionalized slavery in an attempt to fill in the labor gaps and keep the corporate overlords happy while the afflicted, marauders, Renegados, Frondeurs, and Envoys wreaked havoc below.

Despite it all and how real and terrible it was, he could only bring himself to worry about the immediate danger in front of him—Wyatt Sullivan.

Out of all his imagined scenarios of who or what was lurking deep in the desert, he hoped Envoys were staking out in these hills and eagerly waiting for the green light to launch an attack. He hoped they would rain down hell and raze this fucking house—tanks, missiles, gunfire and all. He hoped the afflicted would hear the emergency evacuation sirens go off, and every goddamn one of them in a 20+ mile radius would come running like someone rang the dinner bell. He hoped he got to witness them taking one look at Wyatt Sullivan, see the towering beast of a man he was, and look at him like an all-you-can-eat buffet and devour every last bloody fucking inch of him.

Escape.

He could do it then.

For real this time.

That would be the perfect chance to do it, during an emergency evacuation, get lost in the frenzy of it all as his devil incarnate Master got ripped to shreds by anthrophages—

He was getting ahead of himself.

A pipe dream, that’s all it was—a sicko fantasy of diseased cannibals and those terrorist-soldier Envoys and escaping Wyatt Sullivan once and for all. Who knew if he would even be able to ride the tide of freedom instead of being pulled under and drowned by it?

He didn’t finish his breakfast; he blamed the runaway people-eating scenarios on that.

He blinked a few times to shake himself out of his trance, then turned his attention back to himself.

*****

He cautiously unwrapped his shoulder and inspected the stab wound for the first time—appropriately disposing of the soiled bandages in a waste bin, of course (he wasn’t a slob-kabob).

The wound looked better than he expected, not that he doubted Dr. Paul’s work; it’d just been so long since he saw a non-infected wound and received proper medical care.

Five stitches held his skin together. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the skin fusing with a nice crusty scab filled between the gaps of flesh. To his surprise, the swelling mostly subsided and was hardly more than a bump.

He continued undressing his wounds, inspecting each one, surprised by the level of visible healing each time—he usually healed slowly and lacked the gift of quick recovery. Even his splinted wrist with screws tacking the bones together looked better than he imagined it would. The stitch line was smaller than expected, hardly longer than the one on his shoulder.

His eyes blurred over the revealed three-inch scar on his palm and the back of his right hand as he let his gaze maunder to the shower across from him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at this old scar. Unlike the other marks, the memory of this one haunted him with agonizing detail. He went to great lengths to conceal this one, mostly from himself, typically covering it up with a strip of old ace bandage to seal away the constant remainder of Wyatt Sullivan’s unending barbarity.

It was a strange and horrible memory, one he constantly pushed back into a lockbox buried deep in the recesses of his mind, a memory that came in heightened, broken fragments like cutout frames of sun burnt film. It didn't feel real; it seemed like a planted evocation from someone else, more similar to a blurb he would see in a premonition than an echo of his past. Instead of his mind, his body predominantly cataloged this event and all similar events thereafter; he disassociated through most of them in an act of atavistic self-preservation.

Most of his life became staticky blurs alongside indistinct garbles and muddied out-of-body experiences since.

*****

It was the first time.

The monster was hopped up on grade-A Bolivian coke cut with street crystal, riding extraordinarily high, and very drunk, on a weekend bender.

After chasing him around the property with a knife and gun in hand for what felt like hours, the monster cornered him in the home office located in the back of the house.

With that knife, the monster stabbed his hand into the wooden desk, pinning him bent over.

He scremed, hot tears flowed from his eyes, the pain shot through him like a lighting bolt.

The pain stunned him, he stood watching, unable to process what the monster did.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him.

Blood, so much of it.

It spurted out in matching pulses to his quickening heartbeat, the red liquid pooled on the desk and painted his arm in crimson.

The monster grabbed at his waist.

He yelled, thrashed, and fought with everything he had, buying as much time as possible and refusing the inevitable, but he didn’t have much steam after hours of running from and fighting off the lumbering beast.

The monster took his other hand and wrenched it behind his back so he couldn't move.

It felt like the monster was seconds away from snapping his arm. He shrieked.

The monster’s fingers hooked around his waistband and pulled down. Still, he fought—he threatened, he begged, he screamed—he screamed so fucking loud.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him.

The monster groped his bare ass, pinned his legs open, spread him apart, and forced something inside him.

He couldn't see, but by the feel, he knew it must be one of the monster’s fingers.

It didn’t hurt, but it felt wrong, out of place, intrusive.

He screamed more and pleaded for the beast to stop.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

The monster spoke, but he couldn’t hear the words.

The monster wasn't stopping.

The monster added another finger and wriggled it around, stretching him out.

He wailed and told the beast he’d do anything to make it stop.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

He pounded his head on the desk; that hurt, too, but he didn’t care.

He wanted it to stop; it had to stop.

He couldn’t take it.

He’d never done this before.

He never wanted to do this, not with the monster, not with anyone.

He kept headbutting the table until his vision was covered in red like his hand.

The monster grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, yelling more words he couldn’t hear.

The monster’s fingers crammed deeper inside him, his body froze.

He begged with everything he had for the beast to stop.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

Everything got fuzzy.

His mind went blank.

Something else was pushing inside him now.

Something bigger.

This wasn’t the monster’s fingers.

He wanted to scream, but his body seized, and he held his breath.

This time, it hurt; this time, it hurt really bad, more than any other kind of hurt he ever felt before.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

His mind went blank again.

He came back around.

The monster violently pushed into him, slamming his hips into the corner of the desk.

The monster sunk deep into him, deeper than he thought any monster part could possibly go.

He made noises he had never heard himself make before, noises he didn't recognize as his own.

The squealing and yawping coming from him sounded like a faraway dying animal.

He thought he knew what this was, but at the same time, he didn’t.

He couldn’t accept it.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

The monster moved around inside him, still pushing into him, still hurting him.

He weakly squirmed, still trying to plead with the monster.

The monster pushed down on his back to hold him still and plowed into him, making gross monster noises.

He knew what this was called.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

No, not him.

It couldn't be. But it was.

The beast liked hurting him, and the beast was good at it.

He screamed and cried, begging so loud his vocal cords gave out until his voice pruned to a dusty croak.

No. No. No. This wasn't supposed to happen to him.

Why was this happening to him?

What did he do to deserve this?

He breathed so fast, but it wasn't enough; he couldn't get enough air.

He thought he was dying.

Everything went dark.

He didn��t exist anymore, and the monster was gone.

But he came back.

He still felt the splitting intrusion inside him—the monster still jackhammering away without the faintest concern for the internal damage dealt.

He felt his insides ripping, it hurt so fucking bad, it felt like he was on fire.

He tried to scream, but his throat stung. So he wailed out broken sobs even though that still hurt, too.

The monster laughed, then spoke more words he couldn’t hear, and he knew it was good that he couldn’t make them out. He wasn’t a monster, so he didn’t speak monster. That made sense.

He wept.

The monster stuck something in his mouth. An object. The gun.

No. Please not him. Not him. Not him.

The beast spoke more monster words and sounded mad and happy at the same time. He couldn’t feel the monster's feelings because he turned off his monster-reading senses.

Why was the monster doing this to him?

He drooled around the gun and tried to bite down on it to quiet his screams, but it hurt his teeth.

He was terrified.

All he could hear was his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

He felt sick.

He thought he was going to die.

He felt wetness.

He realized he pissed himself.

The monster didn't notice.

The air smelt like a gross gas station bathroom mixed with copper.

He felt more wetness, a different wetness spilling from where the monster was.

Blood and monster cum leaked out of him.

He felt the mix of wetness slicking between his thighs and drip down his legs, only stopping when his socks soaked up all the fluids. After some unknown amount of time, it settled in his shoes. It felt like he had stepped in a puddle, a smelly, rotten puddle.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

He felt nauseous and dizzy.

The monster grunted and huffed on top of him; he could smell the alcohol, the beer, and chewing tobacco on the monster’s breath.

He smelt his blood and some other gut-churning smell he assumed was sweaty, unprepared, raw sex.

He hated sex. He never wanted to do it. But the monster didn't care what he wanted.

He cried until his eyes swelled, and he couldn’t see anymore.

His whole body ached.

He was tired, so tired. He wanted to go to sleep. He wanted this to be nothing but a bad dream.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

But it did happen. It happened. To him.

*****

He surmised whatever deal Sullivan made with the Doctor’s experimental drugs was paying off, at least for now.

As relieved as he was with the healing of his noticeable injuries, his main concern sided with the non-visible wounds, what lay beneath his skin—the injuries Sullivan deliberately exploited because he knew better than to dig his trigger-happy fingers into freshly fused flesh and meat and consequently be stuck with the Doctor’s wrathful hospital bill.

His sprained ankle and cracked rib still pulsed with a dull ache.

He hoped by the next check-up, whatever damage his Master dealt would remit, and the memory of this incident would evanesce like the rest of his forgotten scars.

<-Previous | Masterlist | Next->

Footnotes:

*Anthrophage: a person with PEP (People-eater Pox), medical diagnosis “idiopathic anthropophagite contagion.” This is just a fancy name for a diseased cannibal who has PEP that exists within this AU. Anthrophage is not a “real word,” but it’s a play off of the word—anthropophagite.

Taglist: @sacredwrath @potterhead5ever @the-name-is-reaper @little-rat-dragon @pirefyrelight @whumpyourdamnpears

If ya wanna be added to or removed from the tag list, just let me know! Leave a comment or message me :)

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fanatichistory · 2 years

Text

Scene Prompt 13 pt 3

Part 1 and Part 2

Again let me know if I missed any tags or warnings please :) Enjoy the last part!

CW: possessive whumper, intimate whumper, confused whumpee, brainwashed whumpee (they think whumper is looking out for them and everyone else is the enemy which Whumper reinforces), bad caretaker (previously just called “caretaker” in the other two parts but in this one I am calling them “bad caretaker” since they are another implied whumper), kidnapping-ish (Whumpee does go pretty willingly due to the brainwash thing)

Whumpee yawned wide and rubbed their eyes as they stirred the sauce simmering on the stovetop. There was still plenty of time before Bad Caretaker came home but the clock was still ticking so to speak.

Spinning around Whumpee began to scrub the countertops with the cleaning wipes, oblivious to the shadow creeping up behind them until it was a second to late.

Before Whumpee could blink their head was down on the counter, both arms held behind them at their back and the cold press of a blade against the side of their throat as they stared up into the face of their attacker.

"W-Whumper?"

"Sorry if I hurt you my dear but I know you're about as confused as sin right now and I couldn't take the chance of you hurting me or yourself...understand?" Whumper's voice was calm and sweet as they smiled down the now trembling Whumpee.

"I-I-I-"

"Shhhh my dear I know." Whumper put the knife away then and began to pet Whumpee's hair. They still kept Whumpee restrained over the counter but the more they petted their hair the more Whumpee trembled and cried.

"It's alright Whumpee, I'm here now my pet." Whumper continued to console and pet them, their chest tightened as they watched the emotional breakdown their precious Whumpee was having just over having seen them return. "Shhh baby."

After they had seemingly calmed themselves down some Whumper kept a hold of Whumpee's wrists to keep them restrained at their back and slowly stood them upright, turning them partway so they could wipe the tears and stray hair from Whumpee's face.

"There now, much better my dear. I got to say I did not expect that. I anticipated more of a fight. I thought, given you're state of confusion and level of brainwash, that you would try to hurt me." Whumper's voice was still calm but they made sure to dramatically inflect the necessary words.

"No! I didn't know how to find you or where you were...I didn't know where to go and they put me with this person and set me up with this job and everything happened so fast. Whumper, please, please you have to believe me please-"

Whumper's hold on their wrists tightened silencing Whumpee's pleading.

"You know I don't like rambling." Whumpee stilled at the change in Whumper's tone of voice. It was no longer calm and sweet but tense now. Whumper's eyes had also narrowed down at them and Whumper turned their face away leaving Whumpee to think that they had offended them greatly.

"I'm so-sorry I f-forgot myself..." Whumpee practically tripped over themselves verbally to try and make it right with them and the corner of Whumper's lips twitched a little as they fought to conceal a smile.

Whumper released them to cup their face stroke their cheeks as they did smile then, gently down on them. "Oh my dear. I completely understand! Now, let's get out of here before they come home." Whumper's hold on their face tightened and pulled Whumpee's face until they were almost nose to nose with Whumper.

"You do wish to come home with me don't you?"

"Y-Yes please..." And Whumpee did truly want to go home with them. They just didn't know how and knowing that Whumper had come to collect them gave them a huge sense of relief and released the tension stored in their body.

Sure Whumper was scary from time to time but they didn't mean to hurt Whumpee.

They said so themselves and as Whumper led the way out of the house through the back door, leading Whumpee by the hand and not letting go of said hand, Whumpee brought their free hand up to the side of their face just above their right eye.

It was tender and definitely going to bruise, given how hard they had hit the countertop, but there was no way they could blame Whumper. After all it was just as they said, they were just as confused and lost as Whumpee was and it wasn't their fault they happened to be so much stronger.

It also occurred to them that the stove was still on and simmering the sauce but Whumper never slowed down. If anything they quickened their pace as they headed for the end of the street and turned the corner before Whumpee spotted Whumper's car.

"Quick, get in." Whumper was no longer comforting in their tone of voice but Whumpee was moved that they held the door to the car open for them as they quickly did as they were told.

Whumper took quick strides to the driver's side and started the engine before peeling out and making for the highway when Whumpee noted the time on the clock. There was still plenty of time, an hour really, before bad Caretaker got off work.

"We need to get you into hiding." Whumper said suddenly, driving one handed while biting the nails on the other hand. Whumpee knew then that they were distressed about something when they finally registered what it was Whumper said.

"W-what? I'm okay Whumper, I'm back with you honey-"

"You don't get it do you?! They know who you are!" Whumper's eyes were blown wide with what Whumpee took to be fear for them as they continued.

"They know you're name, they know mine, they know where we normally hang...Whumpee we have to start all over do you understand? We got to get out of dodge and go someplace where they can't find us, find you...I know this is happening fast dear, I know, but I need you to trust me."

Whumpee took a deep, cleansing breath and placed a calm hand on Whumper's arm and drew their hand away from their face to get them to stop biting their nails as they held it, stroking their fingers across the top of the hand as soothingly as they could.

"I understand that much my love. I trust you so much Whumper, so much." Whumper glanced at Whumpee out of the corner of their eye suspiciously to see if they meant that and was pleased to find that they did.

Whumpee saw that they were pleased and continued, gently kissing Whumper's hand. A hand that was both hard and gentle. Whumpee may not know when that hand would be used to strike them, but they loved that hand nonetheless.

As cruel as Whumper sometimes was, they were also just as caring and gentle. Sometimes more than anyone else could be.

"Where do you want to go?" Whumper asked finally. The calm tone was back in their voice, the sweetness twinkling in the eye again as they smiled down at Whumpee as Whumpee continued to hold their hand and kiss it. There was quite the goose-egg forming on their right temple and it was bright and slightly swollen from earlier.

Whumper couldn't wait until they could find a quiet place alone. There were plenty of reasons of the recent situation to punish Whumpee for and they were looking forward to it.

But really it the comfort that comes after that Whumper looked forward to the most.

Whumpee always saw to Whumper's needs no matter the state they were in and Whumper loved rewarding and gifting them. Seeing the shine in Whumpee's eyes, the spark of life return before Whumper found fault in something and gleefully took it away.

"I trust you my love, wherever you think is best." Whumpee replied smiling up at Whumper, foolishly trusting them implicitly.

While bad Caretaker was indeed a rival contender and someone to watch out for, part of the precaution as to why Whumper decided to leave town with Whumpee was rest of the town will be on high alert once it is known that Whumpee is discovered missing in an hour or so and that would only work to bad Caretaker's favor had they stayed in town.

And Whumper was not about to lose their treasure. ever. again.

#bad caretaker #possessive whumper #intimate whumper #brainwashed whumpee #confused whumpee #whump community #scene prompt #part 3

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