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ccieatchildren · 4 days

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A Dance, Darling?

TW: Noncon Kissing, Implied Kidnapping, Almost Panic Attack, Intimate Whumper, Forced Relationship

Whumpee brought their fingers up to rest on the rubies encircling their neck. It was not as extravagant as they had expected from him, but it was still hefty enough to feel each individual jewel press into their flesh, a constant reminder on their skin.

Leaving the necklace alone, disturbed by what it represented, their eyes travelled up to their face in the mirror. Their makeup was all red. Lipstick, eyeliner, eyeshadow, each a dark shade that could only be accomplished by Whumper mixing some of their own blood into the cosmetics. They shuddered at the memory of the experience.

Whumpee groaned as he made another cut on their back, pressing the clear vial under the opening. The blood prickled their skin as it made its path down into the small jar.

Whumper brushed his lips against their neck, “we have to make sure you look your best.” He pressed on each side of the wound, drawing out more of the scarlet substance. The flow of red now rushed into the container.

They sobbed, while Whumper watched in fascination.

Underneath the bandages, their spine pulsated at the memory, and they could feel the beginning barbs of phantom pain. Whumpee shook their head, freeing themself from the thought.

Moving along, their gaze moved further up to their hair. Whumper had asked– told– them to put the small red jewel feathers he gave them in between the locks. In any other situation, Whumpee quite enjoyed the look of them in their hair, it was as if their hair was a flower sporting red leaves, but here, their image was immediately soured by who gave them to them.

They frowned. Another chain.

Their hands moved down to follow the curve of their dress. It was a deep crimson, matching their makeup and jewellery, and flowed down to their ankles. A hole was cut out at their chest, causing Whumpee to scrunch up their nose in distaste. It was shoulderless with a high slit on their right side, showing off their leg and the scars that adorned it.

Whumpee hated it.

They were not very used to wearing dresses in the first place. They would thought it beautiful on someone else, but it felt foreign on their own skin. It complemented their figure too well, emphasizing their chest, hips, and waist in a way that made them feel like a piece of meat on display. The slit showed much more skin than they were comfortable with and Whumpee was paranoid that they would accidentally flash someone. They kept tugging the fabric down, but there was nothing more for it to do. Whumper’s intent with the dress was clear. Flaunt the prized lamb he bought in the auction.

However, they would prefer the objectification over the reason he actually chose this dress for them.

Easier access.

It made them nauseous. Their fingers itched to rip and tear the dress off themself. Strip themself of the shame and fear.

Whumpee slammed their hands onto the sink, pulling their attention away from their apprehension and resentment. In, out. In, out. In… Out… Drawing in each breath worked to ease their misgivings. A technique Whumpee relied heavily on throughout their time here. Inhaling fresh air, exhaling all theirworries.

A few seconds and Whumpee was back to their original state.

Not normal, not calm. But manageable. Never fully calm again.

Their eyes drooped down to the final piece tying their ensemble together, the gold band that encircled their left ring finger. Part of them enjoyed covering up the scar from his teeth, hiding how they were now permanently tied to him. The other part of them knew this was just a fancier shackle. A more obvious cuff for the public eye.

They fiddled with the ring, twisting it back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. God, they just wanted to throw it out the window and watch as it got lost to the city forever.

They slowly pulled the bond up their finger, only thoughts of release and escape bouncing around their head.

“Do you like it?”

Whumpee whipped their head around to see Whumper standing in the doorway. They shoved the ring back down.

He had pushed his hair back for once, the fluffy black locks smothered under a layer of gel. His suit was black, as was his tie, which were accompanied by a red vest and button up, matching their dress perfectly. He still wore the same three earrings, now pairing with their own red drops. Whumper had taken off his glasses, presumably switching them for contacts, emphasizing his dark lashes and ruby eyes.

He looked them up and down, unabashedly ogling, before finally settling on their face. “You look absolutely gorgeous, dear. Red looks nice on you.”

“I prefer blue.”

Whumper’s lips twitched. “Are you ready? Best not to be late.” He swiftly turned around, ignoring the obvious last ditch attempt to rile him up, grabbing his keys and heading to the door. Whumpee trailed behind, already dreading the party.

—��——

The bright lights of the venue were the first thing to assault Whumpee’s eyes. They stepped out of the vehicle, admiring the show of excessive wealth, jumping at the slam behind them. Whumper tittered at their reaction; he had closed the car door behind them, chivalrous, as always.

Whumpee turned to glare at him, unamused. He initially looked surprised at their outward frustration toward him, before smiling once again.

Whumper offered them his elbow, red eyes boring into them, and Whumpee was quick to accept the proposal. “Off we go, my love.” Handing the keys off to the valet, he walked into the large building, practically dragging Whumpee with him.

It was an open ballroom, filled with people mingling, the low hum of talking almost overpowering the small orchestra playing music in the corner. It was decorated with an abundance of gold and white, adding to the affluent and lavish vibe. The middle of the room was open for couples who wanted to dance, the sides filled with tables holding various hors d'oeuvres and desserts. At the very end was a stage covered in balloons and banners, where the host would most likely give their toast.

Whumpee cringed at the overwhelming amount of people in the room. They had never been that much of a fan of parties, but now, their usual anxiety seemed to have increased tenfold. Their skin itched as if everyone was staring at them, checking them out, assessing their worth, finding their weaknesses. It reminded them of the tense stillness before a fight, not a party. The wounds across their back and stomach throbbed, their ever present pain intensifying, and making Whumpee even more self conscious.

What if they could see them? What would they do then? Would they help them or find it amusing? What would Whumper do?

This was too much. They couldn’t do this. Couldn’t pretend everything was fine. They needed to get out of here.

Panic crawled up their spine, and Whumpee slightly pulled away from Whumper, hoping to escape. But his grip was firm, and they were stuck pressed into him. Whumper’s body shook with light laughter at their alarm, peering down at them. Upon seeing their expression, however, he twitched.

Whumper pulled them even closer to him, “want to go back home, darling?” His eyes were softer than usual and his face contorted into a small frown, “do all the people frighten you?”

Whumpee nodded vigorously, pressing themself closer to him, trying to appeal to his affection for them.

Whumper placed his free hand on their cheek, and Whumpee nuzzled further into him. “Don’t worry, I’m here.” He seemed to think for a few seconds, watching them carefully, before his lips widened into a sharp smile. “As much as I would love to go back home with you,” he mockingly placed a hand over his chest, “and it truly does make me elated that you consider me your home now,” Whumpee flinched, recognizing their mistake, trying to draw back away from him, “but,” he wouldn’t let them go, “we prettied you for this. We can’t go before you meet everyone and indulge in the festivities. Can’t have it all go to waste, now can we?” He tutted at them.

Whumper continued to stare at them before they realized he wanted an answer. Whumpee slowly shook their head, accepting defeat, slumping down into themself.

Whumper patted their cheek before pulling back. “Kaip geras. Now let’s go, I already see someone I want to introduce you to.”

He pulled them along further into the room, and Whumpee took a deep breath, hoping, but failing, to prepare themself for the night to come.

————

The next hour or so was filled with Whumpee standing docilely next to Whumper, a smile plastered on their face while he spoke to everyone who came to greet him.

It was the same thing over and over again. A name they wouldn’t remember, faces that blurred together, shallow compliments about their outfit, and, the worst of all, congratulations to the happy couple.

Whumper keened at all the flattery, especially those of their dress and jewelry, making sure to pipe in that he was the one that purchased them for them, and, as they were expected to follow along, Whumpee thanked him for the “generous” gift from a loving fiancé. He always managed to squeeze in a kiss for the presents, tilting their head up and drawing Whumpee in whenever they expressed their gratitude. This only delighted the other guests, amused at the young couple’s public show of affection.

It was torture.

Now Whumpee, thankfully, had finally gotten a small break from Whumper flaunting them off, standing on the sidelines and trying to drown their worries into a small flute of champagne.

Never too far, Whumper was in the corner conversing with what they could only assume to be potential buyers, and, though he wasn’t facing them, Whumpee could still feel the ever present weight of his eyes watching them, making sure they didn’t run. As unnerving as it was, Whumpee preferred it over his stifling presence bearing down next to them.

The hero scanned the room as their mind drifted. They could try to get help from the other people here, but Whumpee didn’t foresee much success through those routes. They recognized half the guests from files back in their old office, and those who weren’t publicly villains were most likely not much better either.

However, even if they weren’t in the same circles as Whumper, what could Whumpee say that would convince them of their situation. Their last stunt as a hero left them humiliated and discredited; they looked crazy to the public eye. Someone who had lost their way and needed the guidance of some pristine charitable schmuck who graciously sacrificed themselves to help them. In the end, it would be their words against his, and no one would believe them.

And on the small, small chance they did… Whumpee shivered at what Whumper would do to keep them with him, how he would take revenge for their defiance. They knew it wouldn’t just stop at them, and, as much as they despised it, the hero in them couldn’t let that happen.

As always, he had the upper hand.

They were taken out of their musings by a gloved hand appearing in their line of sight, too deep in thought to notice Whumper had finished his conversation.

“Join me for a dance, mylimasis?” An award winning smile was plastered on his face, amusement obvious as he played the part of a perfect gentleman. Whumpee grimaced at the irony.

Seeing no way out of it, Whumpee cautiously placed their hand in his, their trepidation bringing a small chuckle out of the man. Whumper gently brought them to the dance floor, joined by other couples who wished to sway with their partners. Whumpee brought their arms around his neck as he encircled their waist, skin crawling where he touched them.

Whumper rocked them side to side at a slow pace, calming just by watching them. Whumpee scrutinized him, trying to understand his game; it wasn’t like him to do something so simple without an ulterior motive.

His fingers started to tap along their waist, following the beat of the music in the background, while he continued to watch them. Whumpee stared back with the same intensity, struggling to smooth their face so they weren’t outright glaring at him. He seemed rather startled at their ‘sudden’ annoyance, eyes widening, before he sheepishly smiled at them. Their face must have slackened in confusion as he relaxed as well, returning to watching them. They continued like that, swaying in the crowd and looking at each other, for a small while.

Finally, a blush spread across his cheeks, and Whumper quickly turned away.

He’s like an embarrassed teen.

They huffed slightly in disbelief, causing Whumper to turn back around at the sound. Realizing the awkwardness, he cleared his throat before asking. “Are you enjoying yourself so far?”

“Yes.”

He perked up. “Really?”

Whumpee sent him a dry look. Whumper visibly wilted and they scoffed, looking away. Seriously, again?

Letting their anger and frustration get the best of them wasn’t the smartest move, they knew that, but their proximity was putting Whumpee on edge, making them more irritable than usual.

“You are going to have to get used to this,” Whumper said, breaking the silence. Whumpee turned back, shocked by his now blank face. “I’m tolerating your disrespect because we’re in public, and I recognize this is your first time being away from home in a long time. It makes you nervous, I understand that. But,” his fingers dug into their waist and Whumpee had to suppress a gasp, “when we’re officially wed, you’ll have to join me to these outings frequently as my wife.” He leaned down so their eyes were level, “I will not indulge this pitiful defiance of yours, then.” Whumper straightened back out, looking down at them, always able to make them feel small with just a glance. “So, I recommend you start familiarizing yourself with the appropriate behavior now.”

Fuck.

Whumpee gulped. They had screwed themself over.

Head bowed, Whumpee accepted defeat. It always ended like this, with Whumpee on their knees before Whumper, metaphorically or literally. They had no response other than to let themself be pulled every which way by Whumper.

Now pressed up against his chest, Whumper and Whumpee swayed as more and more partners made their way to the dance floor.

Leaning down once more, Whumper supplied their companion with more information. “Get ready, brangusis, it’s about to get fun.”

Noticing the crowd of couples, the small orchestra shifted into waltz, and everyone moved in sync.

Whumper brought their clasped hands up and moved his other to their hip, brushing over an old wound. Whumpee harshly sucked in a breath before placing their hand on his shoulder. He commenced the dance, and Whumpee tried their best to keep up.

Step, slide, step, turn.

Whumpee hyper focussed on their feet, trying to match his movements. They didn’t have much experience with ballroom dancing, having only taken a few classes as a joke with Bestie, and the one time Caretaker tried to teach them, though it hadn’t ended very well. Whumpee smiled at the memory: them and Caretaker a mess of limbs on the floor as Whumpee had slipped and doomed them both to a few more bruises across their body. They had been so out of breath from laughing when they couldn’t untangle themselves from each other. It had been a spur of the moment idea, some stupid thing meant to bring them closer together. It worked.

“Something funny?”

Whumpee broke out of their reverie, not even realizing they had zoned out. Whumper’s mouth was a hard line, displeasure at not being the center of their attention apparent.

It irked them how needy he always was. Kidnapping, experimenting, torturing, and assaulting them wasn’t enough?

They mumbled a quiet apology, peeking up at him through their lashes. It worked and Whumper eased with a blush.

The musicians kept a steady adagio tempo, giving any more couples who wanted to join an extra moment. Whumpee slowly acclimated to the rhythm, matching Whumper’s moments not long after.

“You were always a quick learner,” he laughed. Whumpee grimaced.

As they danced, he squeezed and kneaded along their side, curious of their reactions. His fingers pressed into an old bruise and Whumpee staggered. He kept them balanced, yet began a game of finding where else he could push to get a pained response.

They tried to pull away from the pokes and prods, tottering with each failed attempt. They whined when he reached a fresh stitched gash. Whumpee could feel the meager string split under his pressure, spilling blood that wouldn’t be noticed under the crimson of their dress.

Whumpee startled when their dance faltered for a moment, for once not because of them. They peered up at Whumper, surprised to find dilated eyes trained on their throat.

“Don’t do that.” He ground out.

Ah.

Whumpee was more than happy to obey. That train of thought would lead nowhere good for them.

Screaming in pain would also most likely not bode well with the other guests. Whumpee sighed, nodding and gritting their teeth through his subtle exploration. Their head throbbed.

The music picked up, pushing them to move even faster. Whumpee already felt dizzy from the quick paced movement, and Whumper’s tight hold over their still healing cuts was not helping. “Smile, love. People are watching.” He purred.

Heeding his warning, Whumpee stretched their mouth into some semblance of a smile, lips twitching from the strain, and kept dancing. Whumper relaxed his grip slightly, pleased with their obedience.

Step, slide, step, turn.

Just as they were getting used to pushing the pain down to the rhythm, Whumper let go of their waist, spinning them. Whumpee stumbled, but he kept them moving, pulling them back in after they completed a turn. He seamlessly continued their dance, not giving Whumpee a break to get their bearings, delighting in their increasing disorientation.

Step, slide, step, turn.

He continued to spin Whumpee every few steps, quietly laughing at their mounting nausea. However, each time their expression began to display their discomfort, Whumper would lean down to mutter a reminder of what would happen if they didn’t keep up the facade. His own twisted form of encouragement.

“I don’t like to share, sweetheart. Those expressions are only for me.”

Step, slide, step, turn.

“Many guests are watching us love, don’t disappoint them with your sour countenance. I don’t want them gossiping about how I have an unruly wife.”

Step, slide, step, turn.

“You look marvellous when you spin. My pretty little thing. Keep going.”

Step, slide, step, turn.

“Your dress makes me want to add more red. How about the blood of everyone here, ęh? Do we want to see?”

Step, slide, step, turn.

“Don’t fall. I’ll get jealous. And we will have to fix that by adding bruises of my own.”

Step, slide, step, turn.

Vomit slithered up their throat. Their eyes burned with the effort to keep it down, despite the writhing of their stomach and the taste of maggots in their mouth.

A particularly fast whirl caused Whumpee to lose their footing, almost bringing them both to the floor. Whumper was quick enough to avoid disaster, but it put them out of sync with the music for several beats.

“Watch it, Whumpee. You will not ruin this for me.” He said harshly. “Keep slipping and I’ll snip your legs.”

The again didn’t need to be said.

But, Whumpee was trying their best, except every movement only exacerbated their aches and exhaustion. Their breathing became laboured and their limbs felt heavy, their beaten body unable to keep up with the overexertion.

They wanted to tap out now.

Whumpee tried to pull away, releasing his shoulder and stepping out of his grasp, only for his grip on their other hand to constrict. Whumper drew them back in, gracefully spinning them as he did so, and pulling them up against his chest in a flourish. They gasped as he once again agitated their wounds.

“Where are you going zuikutis? We’re not done yet.” He pinned them even closer to him, leaning down to whisper in their ear. “I can hear your heart hammering. Does our dancing make you that excited?” Whumpee tried to pull away, but their efforts were fruitless. Their body was drained and Whumper was holding them too tight.

They were about to slump against him, give in and let Whumper sway them on the floor, accept whatever punishment he saw fit, but before they could fully relax, he pulled back, placing their arms once again in the position for a waltz. His expression was harsh, “I said we weren’t done yet, mielasis.” Whumpee flinched, eyes shifting to the people outside the dance floor, but he started to move them once more.

Whirling and pulling. Twisting and pulling. Spinning and pulling. Pulling. Pulling. Pulling.

They can’t keep up.

The music seemed to intensify with their panic. Whumpee could hear their pulse pounding in their ears. The sound of their harsh breathing contrasted with Whumper’s controlled ones. The voices at the edge of the room grew. Tapping of shoes on the pristine floor echoed in their head.

Each sound pushed against their skull, battling one another for space in their mind. Whumpee began to wobble more, unsteady feet tripping their partner. Hands clawing at whatever they held. Chest tightening. Vision blurring. Throat closing. Tired. Hot. Dizzy.

Let go. Let go. Let go. Let go. Let go. LET GO-

“Breathe, it’s over.”

A hand rubbed soothing circles along their back. Whumpee blinked rapidly, vision and mind slightly clearing. They found themself leaned down, hovering over the floor.

The song had finished. Whumper had dipped them.

The crowd around them released small whoops and cheers for all the dancers, surrounding the couple with the sharp clap of applause. Whumpee tensed. Whumper hurried to calm them.

“Ramiai, ramiai vargšas.” He slowly pulled them back to their feet. “I see I got carried away. This was too much for you.” Whumper told them softly. “We’ll work on it.”

Whumpee couldn’t process what he was saying, too busy trying to return to the world around them. They were pliant as he led them off the dance floor.

They spent the next few minutes leaning into Whumper as they calmed themself down. If they could think clearly, Whumpee would have pulled away from him long ago, but they simply did not have the mental capacity for hatred or fear right now.

After they reached a more coherent state, he spoke. “I’m going out for a smoke.” Whumpee was still breathless from their dancing, barely able to catch up to what he was telling them. “You don’t have to join me, I know how much you hate it. But,” Whumpee suddenly grabbed their arm, throwing them off balance once more.

“Stay here.” They didn’t think they could anywhere if they wanted to, they were too light headed from dancing. That was probably the point. “I’ll be back in 10 minutes.”

Whumper examined them a final time, before nodding to himself. He steered Whumpee to a corner, despite their, almost drunken, stumbling. Then, they were on their own.

They felt the need to cry, the tears pressing against the back of their eyes, but they- they just- it wasn’t working. They couldn’t. Not here. They just needed to focus on their breathing.

They leaned against the wall, thankful for its cool surface, hoping to steady themself.

In… Out…

Rhythmic breathing slowed their racing heart. Air stopping its fight in their lungs. Muscles no longer protesting as loudly. Whumpee’s body finally calmed from the stress of his waltz.

They took a few more moments to themself, forehead pressed firmly against the plaster. Just breathing. Mind emptying. Preparing for a few more hours of struggle.

They could do this.

“Whumpee.” A hand landed on their shoulder, warm and familiar. They jolted, spinning around. They froze once their gaze landed on Caretaker.

Her dress, a fitted corset around her middle that flowed out into a long skirt, was a striking cerulean color that complimented her eyes. There was a large collar that covered from her neck to her shoulder, decorated with sapphires, holding a sheer cape that flowed down to trail behind her. Her makeup used only various shades of blue, highlighting her dark skin.

They felt their eyes water faintly at the sight of such a familiar face. It had been too long.

“C-Caretaker!” Whumpee cringed at their own voice, simultaneously too rough and too bright. “Wh-what a surprise. It’s been a while.” Whumpee tried to keep their cool. They couldn’t drag her into this, they wouldn’t, no matter how much they might want to.

A whirlwind of emotions flashed through Caretaker’s eyes, too quick for Whumpee to tell what she was feeling, before hardening, anger and determination shining through. “Where were you! I- We kept looking for weeks.” Her gaze saddened slightly, “I- I thought something had happened to you. When you didn’t answer after you went in… I was worried, and then the incident-”

“Well!” Whumpee clapped their hands together, effectively cutting off the woman. “As you can see I’m fine. Didn’t they tell you where I was? My comm broke, nothin’ serious.” They told her carefully. “And, you know I had that vacation lined up,” their lips stretched into a shaky smile. “That’s all. Nothing to get so worked up about!” They laughed. Whumpee hoped their expression was convincing enough.

“But-”

Whumpee sighed. “Look, I know I never reached out-”

“What- Never reached out! I sent you so many messages, you missed all my calls.” That was because Whumper had taken their phone. “You never miss my calls.” Whumpee stiffened. That was very true. They made sure to never miss a call from her again. “Then one day you just told me to stop contacting you completely!” They hadn’t known about that, though Whumpee wasn’t very surprised.

Caretaker averted her gaze. “D-did I do something wrong? I would’ve left you alone if you had just told me what really happened.” She grabbed Whumpee’s hands. “I just- I-…” The woman paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “You’re someone I care deeply about, I thought we were close. I-I needed to make sure you were okay… I’m sorry.” Her body slumped, the rage and conviction seeping out, dropping Whumpee’s hands. All that was left was a tired, worried friend.

As they watched their partner deflate, Whumpee realized something. Here she was, one of the few people willing to look for them, and all Whumpee could do was brush them off. As much as they hated it, however, they were firm in their belief; they would not rope Caretaker into this. It was not safe. They had faith in her ability as a hero, but Whumpee had seen, had experienced, what Whumper could do first hand, and they would not take the risk. They would never forgive themself if something happened to her.

But they would not leave Caretaker with nothing either.

Whumpee bent down, hoping to console their companion. “No, Caretaker, I-”

“You never introduced me to your lovely acquaintance here, dear.” Whumpee bolted back up, putting as much distance between the two of them as they could. The man now next to them, leaned down, extending a hand to Caretaker while the other wrapped around their waist. “Whumper. Whumpee’s fiance .”

Caretaker’s eyes widened in shock, recognition flashing, before she smoothed her expression out into a smile. “I see! It’s nice to meet you. I’m Caretaker, Whumpee’s friend, their partner.” She took his hand, squeezing tightly. They silently stared off at each other, before Whumper drew his hand back and straightened. “Y’know, Whumpee never mentioned they were dating anyone.” The accusation was clear in her tone.

Whumper’s fingers twitched. “Well, we wanted to keep our relationship a secret. Taking the time to tell everyone would be a hassle if we weren’t sure. And you know how annoying those pesky reporters can be.” The arm around their hips tightened slightly, a warning. “Right, Whumpee?”

Whumpee straightened, trying to school their face into that of a happily engaged person. “Y-Yes- yes, of course. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. A-as you can see,” they waved in his direction, “this was also part of why I took that time off.”

Don’t ask more. Do not ask more. Please.

“Huh… Then, when you set the wedding date do tell me Whumpee. I would love to come.”

Whumper twitched again, his eyes darkening. “When we do, I’ll be sure you are the first one to know.” He shifted, turning slightly, planning to drag Whumpee off with him. “Now, there are-”

“Oh!” She grabbed Whumpee’s arm to stop them. Whumper glared at the offending limb, and Whumpee could practically see the violence run through his brain. “One more thing,” Caretaker’s smile became strained and her eyes narrowed. “Whumpee, when do you plan on getting back to work? I know you said you were taking a vacation, a very important one at that, but all vacations end, right? You’re very important to the agency, and the boss is starting to get worried. You’ll have to come back soon, you know how they get-”

Whumper cut in, pulling them out of her grasp, not giving Whumpee a chance to speak, composure slipping. “No.” He glared down at Caretaker, who stiffened and glared back in response, fists at her sides. Whumper cleared his throat. “Now if you’ll excuse us, there are more introductions Whumpee and I must make. Come along, darling.”

Whumper bent down, cupping Whumpee’s face and smashing their lips together. Instinctively, their hands went up to rest on his chest, neither pushing away nor pulling closer. The acrid tang of smoke invaded their nostrils and the sour taste of tobacco stuck to their tongue. Their eyes scrunched close, they didn’t want to do this in front of Caretaker. Whumper felt their resistance, tightening his arm painfully until they finally kissed back, instead wrapping their arms around his neck.

Just sell it.

Whumpee felt Whumper instantly soften at their touch, as always, relaxing into the kiss. He kept them there together for another few seconds before they broke for air.

When they turned to look at Caretaker, her face was filled with horror. Her arms were limp at her sides and she gawked at them with dread. Whumper smirked, a cat who got his cream, before turning and taking Whumpee along with him, the arm around their middle again a vice.

While they walked away, Whumpee turned their head one last time to look at Caretaker, silently pleading that she didn’t pry even further. Caretaker nodded, hands once again fists, with determination in her eyes.

Whumpee didn’t think that Caretaker understood what they were asking her to do.

This wouldn’t end well.

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whump-kitty · 8 months

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Another whump prompt/idea: A rescued whumpee, who, despite the scars they have, seems to have little to no visible change to their personality... however they start behaving strangely, somewhat erratically, the longer they're away from Whumper. Caretaker shrugs it off, but eventually Whumpee breaks down completely, begging for them to let Whumpee go back because he doesn't understand anymore, saying that they tried to get used to it, they did, but friendships are so complicated and they are nothing but a mere posession, and suddenly, with one horrifying realization, everything makes sense to Caretaker about Whumpee's confusing behavior.

#whump prompt #conditioned whumpee #whump ideas #should i label these as prompts or ideas?? does it matter??#anyways-#pet whump #whumper forcing whumpee to “act normal”#and making them associate friendships with work while doing so #probably ruining whumpee's chances at friendships for a very long time #and making them harder to decondition #probably at least #whumpee who acts so well nobody can tell unless they reveal it themselves or feel too unstable to be able to act properly #thanks for coming to my ted talk XDDD

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pixelatedraindrops · 1 month

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"You've been through a lot... But it's alright now.

You fought long and hard Makoto...

Everyone in Kanai Ward is grateful to you."

A lil' MakoYuma comfort edit I attempted just because...

...someone needs to give this poor thing a hug fr... ;w;

show your emotions lil' CEO, you've held them in too long.

ty again for the vulnerable sadboi makoto sprite edits @shiut💕

#rain code spoilers #rain code #master detective archives: rain code #whumpcode #its angst/comfort so it counts idc #yuma kokohead #makoto kagutsuchi #makoyuma #my edits #pixeledits #yeah for my first edit in a while #I went with something soft #I want Yuma to hug Makoto so badly... ;-;#weird hug but its the best I could do lol #I love these two so much #did something similar to that one YumaYakou edit I did #lil foggy effect because its supposed to be a serene moment #much as I love whumping these two w illness...#I do want them to be happy no more sad times ;-;#AND NO MORE CONCEALING YOUR EMOTIONS #YOU WILL CRY AND YOU WILL FEEL GOOD DOING IT #also yes this is post game yuma #ROLE REVERSAL TIME #not the best edit but its hard to edit makoto #WHEN HIS HAIR IS CUT OFF FROM HIS SPRITE X-X #yuma's probably the only one who can comfort him tbh #given he trusts nobody else #I think Makoto would be a very silent crier #not long after he'd wipe his tears away going back to normal #but let him have his small moment for now <3

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echo-goes-mmm · 2 months

Text

Moonflower #12

Masterpost

Warnings: none

It wasn’t like a revel. Kit knew it wouldn’t be, especially after Iris’s brief etiquette lesson, but he didn’t really have anything else to compare it to.

He should really stop comparing human customs to his own.

The music was slow and soft, stringed instruments in the background as people milled about.

Servants in smart black suits carried trays of tall narrow glasses, all full of fizzy wine.

Iris delicately plucked a glass off a tray, but she didn’t take a sip.

“The trick is not to drink,” she whispered with a smile, “but to look like you are.”

She handed him the glass and took another.

“Good evening, your majesty,” greeted a woman in a blue-green dress. Her makeup was garish, in Kit’s opinion.

“Hello, Lady Selina. How is your cousin, Mark? Recovering well?”

Lady Selina tossed her blonde hair a bit, and the twitch of Iris’s mouth told him this was both an annoyance and an amusement.

“Our cousin is doing just fine.”

“Wonderful. Have you met Kit yet?” Iris gestured to him, and Selina’s haughty gaze looked him up and down.

“I haven’t. I’ve just heard rumors. Does it speak?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” said Kit, and Iris covered her laugh with a delicate cough.

“How novel,” said Selina to Iris, completely dismissing him. “Speaking of novel, your dress is… interesting. It took me a moment to realize it was meant to be the colors of a sunset. Did your seamstress’s apprentice make it?”

Kit internally bristled. He liked Mira; who was straightforward but not rude with how she ordered him to move and stand. She was kind under her gruffness, and her work was excellent.

Selina was just being difficult.

“Mm, isn’t it lovely? Mira’s work is truly beautiful,” airily replied Iris, deliberately maneuvering around the insults.

“Your dress is so pretty too, ma’am,” said Kit, his voice innocent and his eyes big and dumb. He cocked his head, looking Selina’s outfit up and down. “I didn’t know humans could make faux silk. It surely looks almost like the real thing!”

Selina blinked, bewildered and offended, and Iris smiled with condescension.

Kit was very pleased with himself. He did not say anything untrue (he was unaware if fake silk did exist, but surely it would look real if it did). His words were carefully chosen to clearly appear as an unintentional insult, and Selina fell for it.

“Isn’t he adorable?” Iris playfully ruffled his hair, like he was a particularly cute animal that didn’t know what it was saying. “So sweet.”

“Uh- yes-,” stammered Selina. “So cute. If you’ll excuse me, your grace.”

Selina fled, in as much as slowly walking away could be fleeing, to a group of other nobles. She was flushed, and Kit could hear her whispering to her new companions about the conversation.

“How upset is she?” murmured Iris to him as she waved to a Lord.

“Very,” he whispered back.

Iris smiled, and Kit decided to boldly make fun of Selina.

“Does this look like fake silk to you?” he whined, in a copy of her voice.

Iris glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, Selina was clutching the fabric of her dress, desperately showing it to another Lady. Her lips moved just out of sync with Kit’s mimicry.

Iris couldn’t help but laugh. “You sound just like her,” she giggled.

Kit smiled. “I can do more, if you like.” As a fae, mimicry came easy to him, and if it made Iris laugh he was happy fool around with it.

“Not here,” she said, still grinning. “But maybe later.”

___________________

Kit was getting used to the rhythm of the party when Mistress sent him over to the dessert table to get her some of the miniature tarts.

Unfortunately for him, a gaggle of young women were interested in chatting.

“Hello,” said one, who looked like she was putting on a brave face. “Are you really a faerie?”

It was an unnecessary question. Anyone who looked at him could see he was not human.

“Yes,” he said, a bit confused.

The girls giggled with each other.

“Can you do magic?” another piped up.

“Uh, yes.” Kit knew what question was coming next, and his mind whirled to list what he could do in his condition that would please them.

The last legs of sunlight still streamed through the nearby windows, amber and glowing.

“Would you like to see?” he offered.

The girls nodded eagerly, and Kit put down the plate he was carrying.

“Just a moment,” he said, watching the beams of light fall.

He shot out a hand to catch a sunbeam, and the girls gasped as the light filled his cupped hands.

Catching a sunbeam was child’s play, but it looked impressive enough to the young women.

They ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the light winding around his hand as he turned the beam over and over in his palm.

“Can I touch it?” asked the brave one, her face in awe.

“It will shatter,” he explained. “They’re delicate. But you can feel how warm it is if you hold your hand above it.”

He held it out to the group, and they took turns feeling the heat and cooing.

“Are you girls having fun?” asked Iris from behind, and the young women turned and curtsied.

“Oh yes,” said one of them, “Kit was showing us magic.”

“Was he?” Iris’s gaze turned on him.

“Um, yes.” Kit let the sunbeam drop and it made a tiny sound like broken glass on the floor as it dispersed.

The girls giggled again, and Kit felt more like the butt of a joke he didn’t understand. An innocent one, probably, but still.

The women walked off together, whispering to each other and laughing, and Iris fondly watched them go.

“I think they were trying to flirt with you,” she said.

“You think so?” He didn’t get that impression, but Kit wasn’t exactly around younger humans often.

Iris shrugged.

Kit handed her the plate of treats he’d picked out for her. “I thought they might be making fun, at the end,” he muttered.

“I doubt it, but maybe.” She took a small bite of a strawberry tart. “I didn’t have many friends when I was a teenager, so I can’t say for sure.” Iris hummed, enjoying the tart. “I'm pretty sure they think you’re cute, though.”

Kit felt weird about a bunch of adolescents finding him attractive. “I’m an adult,” he said. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Of course it is. It’s just a teenager thing, I suppose. Having crushes on grownups. I wouldn’t think anything of it.”

“As you say, Mistress,” he agreed. He picked up a chocolate tart from the table, tasting it. A faint burn of salt lingered on his tongue, but it felt more like a hint of spice than pain. It paired well with the sweetness and faint bitterness of the dessert.

“At least your magic is coming back, Right?”

Kit hesitated. “Catching sunbeams is barely magic,” he mumbled.

“Oh.”

He didn’t feel tired, which was a good sign.

Maybe… maybe after the party he could practice. Try and push his limit.

Kit ate the rest of the tart, joining Iris back into the crowd.

His magic could surely only get better from here. At least, until winter came again.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @virtualbreadtale

#Iris: teenagers am i right? Kit: whats a teenager #this one took forever to figure out #also i probably need to make a list of all the very minor characters so i can keep them all straight #my writing #whump #slavery whump #moonflower series #fae whumpee #royal caretaker

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rainbowsandwhumperflies · 2 months

Text

The Winged Servant - 6

cws: nonhuman whumpee, shock collar mentions, multiple whumpers

masterlist

note: this chapter is kinda rough and very short. my apologies, writing it felt like wrestling and wrangling an annoying concept into words. and it won against me. it's because this one is supposed to be set up for some fun chapters that are coming up soon!! so stay tuned!!

I didn’t realize that Prince Ryan had never put the collar back on until I was being handed platters of food in the kitchen. Maybe it was just a small mercy, like the twelve minutes I’d had to myself before dinner—he gave me those, sometimes, if he didn’t have to go out of his way for them—but it seemed different tonight.

Everything was different tonight and no one would fucking tell me why.

It was unreasonable to demand knowledge of these types of things, of course, I reminded myself.. The royal family always had my best interests in mind. Always. Every weird thing that happened today did not change that.

Serving dinner, at least, was the same. Carry three platters of food out of the kitchen and into the dining room, place them on the table, don’t make too much noise, don’t interrupt any conversation going on already. It was easy, as long as I didn’t drop anything, until-

“Onyx.”

Prince Ryan didn't talk to me during dinner. I was supposed to work like a well-oiled machine, serving food without making my presence obvious. I wasn’t supposed to be talked to and I wasn’t supposed to bow and my existence wasn’t supposed to be acknowledged.

I bowed at Prince Ryan's feet as soon as he spoke, trying not to let my surprise show. “May I assist you with something, Your Highness?” Talking wasn't so hard. It was just repeating the script I had been trained to say. Even if I didn’t usually talk here, it was the same script.

“We're going somewhere tonight. You need a pair of shoes. You can borrow some of mine. I want you ready to leave by the time we're done eating. Don't worry about dishes or anything—we have more important things to be doing right now.”

Repeating the script wasn't bad, except that Price Ryan had been abandoning the script all day and I didn't know where to go from there. “Yes, Your Highness,” I said, because what else was there to say?

“Any questions?”

I swallowed, trying to get used to the feeling of doing it without the collar. It’d had prongs with which to distribute the electricity, and my neck felt bare without them digging in. I could ask about it, but Prince Cardan had started glaring at me, and maybe it would be in everyone’s best interests to excuse myself from the table. “No, Your Highness. Thank you.”

He waved a hand at me, turning away, and I did my best to stay steady and graceful as I practically ran back to the kitchen. This was probably fine, right? It wasn’t going to be that big of a deal, right? I was just- just wearing shoes and leaving the house, like I was a human. And the prince had said it so nonchalantly.

“Onyx,” Jayden said firmly, squeezing one of my hands, and I blinked. From the look on his face, it was not the first time he’d said my name.

“My apologies, sir.”

“That’s alright. Let’s get some food in you before we leave, okay?”

“Okay,” I echoed. It had been awhile since I’d eaten, I realized. This morning, maybe. A meal would get my head back on straight, at the least.

“It’ll be alright,” Jayden told me as he set a plate in front of me, and I nodded. I would be alright. The royal family always had my best interests in mind. As long as I did what I was told, I would be alright, no matter how odd anything seemed to me.

taglist: @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @toyybox @rainydaywhump

#i don't like this chapter very much but i will put my favorite detail anyway #hm probably the way onyx doesn't think anything of not having a pair of shoes? he has to borrow ryan's because he has none of his own #also i'm being so serious the next chapter will be SOO good and also have more content #too tired for word counts but this one in google docs was ~1.5 pages and the next is ~3.5 #rainbow's whump #whump writing #whump #rainbow's ocs #the winged servant #onyx tag #ryan tag #cardan tag #jayden tag #first person pov #next chapter also might contain a wee bit of convoluted lore

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defectivehero · 2 years

Text

background: The healer heals people through taking their pain and enduring it themselves. When they meet the villain, they’re expecting everything to go perfectly. Little do they know, the villain is somewhat of a special case...

“Holy shit,” the healer bites out, falling forward and bracing their arms on the table in front of them. There’s a wide look in their eyes and their limbs shake. The villain can’t help but feel immensely guilty that they’re the one causing that pain. Selfishly speaking, though, they haven’t felt this good in years. “Oh my gods. How are you still standing?!”

The villain wants to respond, but they're too overwhelmed by the comfortable fuzziness feeling wrapping around them. Their fatigue is slowly beginning to drain. For the first time in a long time, their eyelids don’t sting with exhaustion. They're floating in the feeling for a few moments, when they realize that something’s off. Sure enough, when they chance a glance at the other person in the room, the healer is wavering on their feet.

“Whoa, stop,” the villain hisses, getting up and shoving the healer to break them out of their trance. “That’s more than enough.” The healer blinks at them dazedly for a moment, before shaking their head in disbelief.

“Holy fuck,” the healer whispers, looking at them with wide eyes. The villain grits their teeth, dreading the upcoming conversation. “I’m surprised you’re still alive. That pain- I’ve never felt that before. I’ve been doing this for years.”

The villain doesn't know what to say to that, so they don’t say anything. The healer isn’t deterred by their silence, and instead stares at them for a moment longer before evidently coming to a decision.

“I’m coming back tomorrow,” the healer asserts, turning on their heel and walking out the door before they can argue. The villain stares at the door and the subsequent empty space for a long time after that.

#defectivehero #writing #writeblr #short fic #snippet #hero x villain #heroes and villains #healer x villain #healer #whump #I've been rly active the past few days???#and I hate to say it but #it probably won't last very long #but ah well #I have a life outside of Tumblr unfortunately lol

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befuddled-calico-whump · 4 months

Text

cw: aftermath of whump, implied abuse, fantasy slavery, violence, manhandling.

based on this prompt by @howls-ghost

"Trite details bore me. I'll leave it to you to complete, and complete quickly," said Prince Acacius.

"I've had enough of your dimwitted blathering. See yourself to the door," said Prince Acacius.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

Laith was sick of it. Sick of the arrogant little brat prancing around the palace like he was already king. They hated Acacius and his cold, dismissive attitude. The spoiled twat didn't know a thing about running a kingdom, and wouldn't know humility if it bit him on the nose.

The only reason the country wasn't already in ruins was due to the competence of Laith and the rest of the high council. Even the regent, as good a man he was, was taken out of commission by Acacius, forced to keep the aloof young man at his side at all hours for supposed education. Not that Laith believed Acacius absorbed any of it. He was a horrid prince, and he'd make a horrid king.

And Laith intended to do something about it.

It started as something small and reasonable; a daydream about teaching the prince a lesson, of having him whipped for insolence, or beaten in the streets, or simply pushed off the balcony.

But none of those were realistic dreams, and none of those were enough. Acacius needed a punishment that would stick, something scarring, something humiliating.

The thoughts danced across Laith's mind through all their waking hours, turning sharper and more creative with every insult from the rotten prince.

But then, they thought, why bother with a mere punishment? Why not be rid of the arrogant heir for good? Death was too quick for his poisoned heart, but there were alternatives. Slavers in the West and enemies in the North, and either faction would jump at the chance to own the pretty prince. Should Laith's goal be realized, it would do more than sate their need for justice; it would spare the kingdom from a heartless ruler.

They'd lock him in a cell with no sunlight for a year. They'd remove his acrid tongue, put out his disdainful eyes, somehow they'd hurt him in a way that mattered.

They took their time making the arrangements; letters delivered in secret, coded messages, quiet plans and plots to cover the prince's upcoming disappearance. At last, the hour was drawing near. At last, Acacius would get all that he deserved.

But of course, Laith would have their fun with him first.

They came upon the royal in the dead of night. Laith had been making note of Acacius's movements, and by now they knew to expect the young man's midnight journey to the library. Too good to be seen there in daylight hours, when servants were dusting and lesser lords were reading. Too good to even peruse the shelves alongside those he deemed as unworthy.

Laith fell upon the prince as soon as he reached the library doors, wrapping their arm tight around a torso clad in a loose silk shirt, their other hand clamped over Acacius's mouth to dampen his startled cry. The prince made fearful noises beneath their hand, but there was no time to savor the sound. Laith knew they must move swiftly or risk alerting the night watch.

They slammed the prince's head into the heavy oak door behind him. Once, twice, and then their royal prisoner's struggling lessened. Laith forced him to the ground, stuffing a wad of cloth into his mouth and tying it in place with a cord. That same cord trailed down from the prince's head to wind around his wrists, then back up again to circle his throat, forming a makeshift collar and leash to better Laith's control of him. He tugged harshly at the rope, and the dazed prince stumbled to his feet, whimpering softly from behind the gag.

There was no haughtiness in his eyes, only something meek and fearful. It was nearly enough to make Laith second-guess their plans, but their memories of the man they knew Acacius to be strengthened their resolve.

They would not fall for this docile ruse. They knew the truth.

Laith delved deeper into the castle, making for one of the secret passages in the stone that would lead them outside the keep. There was a cottage at the edge of the woods, overlooking the river that ran alongside the castle's walls. A peasant girl had sighted it after Laith offered her a penny to find a covert location. It was perfect; well away from anyone who could hear them, and the river would make an easy path for the slavers' skiff.

They hauled Acacius into the cottage, unable to resist giving the prince a sharp kick in the back that sent him tumbling to the ground. The slavers weren't set to arrive until just before sunrise. Laith had nearly an hour to get revenge for every petty insult that had ever been flung their way.

Laith dropped a knee into the prince's chest, holding his head in place while he removed the gag.

Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith refused to let the act sway them. If anything, it only fueled their fire. How dare this impudent brat act like this was unearned? Now safe behind a closed door, Laith let their fury burn, raining fists and kicks down on the prince's helpless form, relishing every muffled cry. No, they shouldn't be muffled. They wanted to hear Acacius plead for mercy.

"N-nnh please... Please don't," the shaky words left Acacius's throat with the balled-up cloth. Laith answered him with another blow, and the prince squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened again, there was a distant look to them, tears trickling from the corners.

No matter. Soon they'd be rid of him for good.

Small whimpers and gasps left Acacius's throat as Laith continued the beating, but aside from a few weak pleas, the prince didn't speak, or even look their way. Like he was only waiting for it to end. Their blows slowed, the enjoyment fading as the royal seemed to detach himself from the moment. Laith huffed. Even bound and beaten, Acacius was still ruining their day.

Ignoring the blank look on the prince's face, Laith drew their knife, cutting away Acacius's clothing. Even if that didn't get a reaction, it served the practical purpose of making things a shade easier on the slavers.

The prince lay very still, his breaths small and shaky as Laith removed the ruined clothing. And underneath the silk... Laith was unprepared for what was underneath the silk.

Old bruises covered Acacius's torso, scars layered beneath, some fresher than others. The wounds didn't stop there; more scars scattered the prince's legs, some framed in a sickly yellow-green.

"What is this?" Laith whispered, the question half-directed at themselves. Acacius didn't answer, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that looked glazed over.

Seeing another wound on their prisoner's shoulder, this one oddly shaped, Laith grabbed Acacius's upper arm and rolled him onto his stomach. The prince answered the action with a startled cry.

"N-no, please, please don't---"

"Shut up," Laith hissed, taking in the prince's back. It seemed the brat had been whipped before, and on more than one occasion by the looks of it. They couldn't say whether the dark feeling welling up in them was more akin to pity, or bitterness that they hadn't been able to witness the lashings themselves.

Starker than the whip scars was the image burned into Acacius's back. An intricate pattern, asymmetrical and varied in color, like its artist had begun months or even years ago and was still perfecting it. The newest mark was still a bright, skinless red, as if it had been smouldering mere hours ago.

Laith let out a disgusted sigh, turning their back on the sniveling prince. It seemed Acacius had been getting what he'd deserved for some time now, but it had done little to improve his attitude. Who had done this to him? Could it have been the regent? Why was pity seeping into them, like poison from a soured wound?

Acacius didn't deserve their pity. Wounded or not, he still paraded the palace ground like a bejeweled goose, hissing and biting at anyone he seemed lesser.

But why? came a small voice inside them. Why put on such an arrogant mask?

It didn't matter. Wounded or not, the prince should have better respected Laith and their peers.

There was a sharp rap on the door, and Laith pushed it open an inch to peer out into the darkness. A pale woman with a shaved head stood on the other side, wearing clothing that was clearly foreign, despite its simplicity.

"Here to collect your gift?" they said, and the woman smiled.

"Aye. The North'll pay a pretty penny for your little heir."

"Wonderful," Laith said, but the word felt insincere. They couldn't let themselves doubt their plans now, the deed was nearly done. They opened the door further. "Take him then. Let's have this over with."

Acacius lay still on the ground, though his hands were trembling. He'd ceased his begging and was now crying softly and hells, Laith couldn't stand to hear it.

They bent over the prince, grabbing a fistful of his hair and roughly stuffing the gag back into his mouth to muffle that damned pathetic noise.

"Take him," they said again, more insistently. "Take him and be gone."

"S'wrong with his back?"

"I don't know." Laith shook their head. "Take him."

"Not a word of me," they said. "You'll make a fortune off him, all I ask is my name and face remain unknown."

"Alright, alright." The woman seized the rope, the leash Laith had formed, and tugged on it, forcing the prince to his feet. Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith turned their back on him.

"Your wish is my command," the woman chuckled, leading the prince towards the rocky shore, where her boat lay waiting. A sob escaped Acacius as he passed the threshold.

"Wait." Hells, what were they saying? They wanted nothing more to do with the royal. They needed him gone, but when the prince turned back to look at them, the flash of hope in his eyes wrenched in their gut.

Those damned eyes. Those haughty, arrogant, judging eyes.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

"Nevermind," Laith said quickly. "Go. Get him out of here."

The woman tugged on the leash, nearly causing the bound royal to stumble. Fresh tears wet Acacius's cheeks, but Laith looked away, pretended not to see.

They could pretend a lot of things. Surprise at the prince's sudden disappearance, sorrow and outrage at his captivity in the enemy North. For themselves, they'd pretend they were satisfied, that they'd never seen Acacius's scars.

And as they watched the skiff disappear on the dark waters of the river, they pretended they had no regrets.

#:) we love some arrogant royal suffering #royal whump #anyways i can no way afford to make this a series lol so it'll probably sit at a one-off for a very long time (if i even write more at all)#ooh honestly if we wanna play a game of 'whump telephone' or pass the page or whatever someone else can write the next part #and then another person can write the next part #and so on #those are fun i do them with my sister sometimes #anyways GREAT prompt thank you howls-ghost #royal whumpee #captivity #past torture #whump fic #fantasy whump #beating #begging

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