#recaptured whumpee | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ashintheairlikesnow · 11 months

Note

so... how about that jameson au though

(Anon is referencing an AU where Nanda turns up alive, I wrote a short piece on the concept here)

CW: Whumpee returned to whumper, captor bonding, dubcon (mostly implied? mostly), grief

Nanda's thumb and finger rub along the back of Jameson's neck, and he closes his eyes, tipping his chin forward to bare the skin more fully to the familiar touch. The leather seat beneath him feels impossibly soft. The car is new, but the scent of it isn't.

"What do they call you now?" Nanda asks, carefully casual, steering into a turn without signaling. His car, sleek and silver and looking somehow incredibly futuristic and oddly sexual, glides along the road. "In this house I found you in?"

Jameson doesn't look up. He can feel his skin prickling, the hair on his arms standing up. At the same time, he's shivery, feels a warmth pulsing through him. "Jameson," He says. His voice is hoarse. It's always hoarse now. For so long...

"Jameson?" Nanda's voice sounds curious, only curious. His fingernail scrapes lightly along Jameson's nape, edging the softest baby hairs there. Jameson's breath catches. "Like the whiskey?"

He swallows. Custard and blood, a voice he thought he'd never taste again. Vanilla and copper, somehow swimming together. It's not a good taste, but it's one his life revolved around once. A taste he loved, sometimes hated, sometimes both in equal measure. "Yeah." He drops to a whisper. "I was kept in a... a house for a while. I could see these bottles... he'd empty the bottles, and line them up. Jamison Whiskey, always. I thought it-... it sounded like a good name."

Nanda pauses. "... you read the bottles?"

Oh, right. Nanda never knew.

Jameson hitches in a breath. They're still slipping through the city like an eel through ocean, winding around neighborhoods as if avoiding beds of green plants waving in the water. The lights are purple in some spots and bright in others. Jameson wonders if Nanda's taking him-

... what used to be home.

"I read the bottles," He whispers. "I could-... I could always read."

Another long pause. Nanda glances behind him, then pulls over - still without using his turn signal, and that sure hasn't changed. The car's tires crunch along the gravel beside the road, then settle into a rumbling smoothness as they move into grass. Nanda cuts the lights, and leaves he and Jameson sitting in total darkness, without even a streetlight to see by. Only the dim hint of moonlight and stars.

"You weren't supposed to be able to read."

"I... I know. But I can."

"You never told me you could." Nanda's palm is heavy and hot on his neck, now. Jameson twists his fingers into his sweatpants to keep his hands from shaking as Nanda's voice drops low, too. "You lied to me."

"I was-... scared to tell you."

"You should have told me anything. Everything. There shouldn't have been anything I didn't know."

"No, I know, but... fuck. What if you had them take it away?" He looks, now. He finds the courage to raise his head, to turn and look Nanda right in his eyes. They're just a gleam in the night. "I needed it. I, I'm alive because I can read. If I couldn't, and you died, I wouldn't have... been able to read, to, to know-"

"You lied." No anger. Just calm certainty. "To me."

"... yes. I lied." He jerks away from Nanda's hand finally, raking a hand back through his hair, hating it again. It used to be thick, and kind of pretty actually. Used to look good. Even this long after escaping Robert, it still grows in unevenly, different lengths. And some places never grew back at all, so he has to grow it out to cover the bald spots up, but then the uneven bits are obvious, and... "I fucking lied, okay?! I had to protect myself. I had to, to keep safe."

"From me?" Nanda's voice is empty of emotion. It's worse than anger could ever be. "You had to protect yourself from me?"

"More than anyone, you fucking asshole!"

He's going to cry again. He forces the heat of the tears back, lets them turn into a twist of acid anger in his chest alongside his racing heart. He doesn't lower his gaze. He looks Nanda right in the face.

He thought he'd never see this face again.

"You-" His voice cracks, and he fights to get it back. Not to go silent now, when he has to say this, the thing he's always held inside. There's never been a grave he could cry at, there's never been a body to bare his heart to. Not since-

"You could have killed me yourself, and I'd have let you do it." The words come out too quickly, they run together and he's breathless at the end of the sentence. He grabs at Nanda's hand with both of his, holding so tightly he can feel Nanda's bones move, can hear the slightest hiss of breath as he winces. "And you might have. Even if all you did was send me back, they'd wipe it all away again. I'd lose too much, I'd lose you, you shit, and I didn't want to lose you. When you died, I thought-"

"I wasn't dead-"

"I didn't fucking know that!" He can't scream anymore, not like he used to. His voice only turns to wind, the rasp of an oncoming storm. Nanda is a rumble of thunder, and Jameson the leaves shivering on branches about to blow down and die. "If they found me, they'd blame me, and they'd send me back, for being defective, for being a fucking reject, for-... they'd take you away. They'd take you away from me, from my head."

He pulls Nanda's hand to him, leans forward, his forehead resting against the warmth of Nanda's palm, those fingers curved slightly over the top of his head. Like a god giving benediction, maybe. Like he could be lifted up or shoved off a cliff with just one motion.

"I couldn't lose you, not because I wasn't right. I couldn't fucking lose you. If you knew I could read, if you sent me back-... if they sent me back after you died-... they'd take you. I couldn't, I couldn't lose you. I couldn't. You're mine, god damn it, you were mine!"

"Pet-"

"I had to keep you mine." He drops his grip on Nanda's hand, but it doesn't move away, and neither does he. "I had to keep you in my head, because-... because if you were gone, and I didn't know you, then why was I ever here?"

He's talking about Nanda, and he isn't. There's some other face beneath it, another voice, another taste. A smile he'd known from his first memories, a loss he couldn't recall because it had been a loss too great to bear losing.

He doesn't let that other face surface. Some part of him knows the name but he holds it deep, deep down. "I'm what I am because I thought it was okay to lose, to forget, but when you were gone, I, I couldn't, I couldn't lose again. I couldn't forget you again. Don't you fucking understand that?"

Nanda stares at him, slightly wide-eyed, an expression Jameson has never seen before in his handsome, angular face. There's so much more silver in his beard now than there used to be. But they both look so much older, so much different, now.

The silence draws out, between them, and Jameson twists. Lightning threatens. There's no rumble of thunder, only the weight of something about to break overhead and if it does, he'll drown.

"Well?" His voice shakes, but he covers it up with rage. He always covers up his fear with anger. It's the only way he's lived this long. It's safe and easy. "Lost your fucking voice now, all of a sudden? Huh? You gonna fucking say something to me, you piece of shit, you were dead and how goddamn dare you come back and take me like nothing ever happened, like I didn't-... like I didn't have to live without you, for so long without, like I-"

He never finishes the sentence.

"Shut up," Nanda snaps. It's a growl, a snarl, and Jameson thrills to the sound of his voice. His hands are there, they shove Jameson to the side and then back. Nanda hits something along the side of his seat and the back drops flat. Jameson gasps as his head bounces back against the headrest, and then Nanda is on top of him again, yanking his shirt up with a ferocity that feels like the cloth burns along his scarred skin as it goes. His wrists are tangled in the cotton and Nanda grunts, irritated, and leaves it there as he works at Jameson's sweatpants, yanking them down off his hips until he's nearly naked, on his back in the passenger seat of a car, on the side of the road.

"Nanda-"

"I said shut the fuck up-"

Nanda's hand claps over his mouth, and his protests are muffled at first. Then they aren't protests at all, as Nanda's lips are hot against his neck, and then his teeth dig and his tongue works against the reddening skin he's just bitten.

Nanda's hand closes around him, between his legs, and Jameson cries out, all but levitating off the seat into scorching touch. He's dizzy, with the way all his blood suddenly shifts to meet that hand. He can barely think. Nanda's strokes are rough and fast, and Jameson rolls into them, again and again. All his thoughts are washed away by the lust that floods him.

Somewhere under that, though...

He's still afraid.

It could end any second.

It could all have been a dream.

This might have been the wrong choice.

Or it wasn't a choice at all.

Nanda yanks his hand back and Jameson whimpers at the loss, whines like an animal in heat, only to have Nanda grab him and roughly turn him over, throwing him back down. They're closed in this car, the space too small for it. His elbow bangs on something, his feet are pressing up against the rough carpet under the dashboard. But that hand is off his mouth, then. He can breathe, and he can make a sound that isn't entirely human as Nanda's mouth is back on his neck, the heat of his chest against Jameson's shoulder blades, the hardness of him pressed just where Jameson wants it, always wanted it

Didn't always want it-

"Nanda... please-... just wait-"

"I don't wait for you," Nanda whispers against his ear, nips at the shell. He can't stop himself from moaning at the feeling, as broken as that sound is now from his ruined throat. "You wait for me, when I say. You don't tell me when."

Jameson's eyes open, then. He's staring into an expanse of stars through the back windshield, and the sky is so goddamn empty between them, isn't it? Between the tiniest points of light, dead suns, and maybe their planets still revolve around them in the darkness.

"... I was learning," He whispers.

Nanda pauses. His breath is deafening against Jameson's ear. "What?"

"... I was learning how to say when."

He's a planet orbiting a dead star.

"Pet-"

"... I loved you."

"Loved?"

He's crying again. Goddamnit, he's crying again, and his shoulders shake with the sobs he can't hold back any longer. Nanda exhales and drops, weight against him, reassuring and real, alive. "I still love you, but I love-... I love-... I loved that I learned to be-... to b-be Jameson, fuck, stop it stop it stop crying, you shit, you fucking, just stop fucking crying!"

"Sssshhhhh. It's okay." Nanda's voice is a rumble, and the world shakes a little, gentle as a shower of rain. But he can't taste the rain here, not so far away from Allyn.

He can't taste the rain, only copper and sweet.

The stars blur into nothing, they're lost to the darkness when he tries to look through the tears. Even if his vision clears, it isn't even the stars he'd be seeing.

"Nanda... there's someone else."

He only sees the memory of what's already been lost.

#nanda #jameson au #jameson bb #whump #recaptured whumpee #sorta #captor bonding #grief #box boy #box boy universe #bbu #intimate whumper #recovering whumpee

96 notes · View notes

seetheothersideofparadise · 1 year

Text

Give me a Whumpee who escaped from their Whumper and got them arrested. Over two years pass and they heal, they feel more like themselves again, until one day Whumpee is just leaving work when they see a news headline that makes their blood run cold.

Whumper escaped from prison.

Whumpee rushes home, ready to go on lockdown and hope that Whumper gets caught again soon or they may never leave their home. They get home, they start locking up the doors, but then there’s someone behind them, wrapping their arms around Whumpee as if greeting an old friend, and asking, “Did you miss me?”

Bonus points if Caretaker hears the news and rushes to Whumpee’s house, only to find the place ransacked, Whumpee missing, and a message written on the walls reading, “Too slow :)”

#Atlas Writes #whump prompt #creepy whumper #kidnapping #recapture #worried caretaker #scared whumpee #touchy whumper #escaped whumpee #recaptured whumpee

92 notes · View notes

flowersarefreetherapy · 1 year

Text

Hold On: I’ll Be Home

CW: Vaguely implied past noncon, escape, dehumanization

The apartment heater bangs and rattles in the corner. The warmth it provides does nothing to break the frigid cold settling in Daniel’s bones.

He curls tighter on the bed, knees to his chest, blanket pulled around his shoulders. When he exhales, a cloud forms in front of his face. The tips of his fingers are purple and numb, have been for hours. His teeth knock against each other hard enough to worry him. The wound throbs deep in his jaw.

As long as he continues to feel cold, he is fine.

Where did that fact come from?

Daniel tries to trace the thought back, but he hits a wall: a wall that pushes back. He pulls away seconds before the push can become a splitting headache.

Some past of him misses Samuel. He had to leave today, go and meet with some agent. There’s hope with this book, some horrible, trashy romance novel with the photoshopped cover and no plot. Samuel has explained to him that people read these books and that with Daniel’s help, he is going to make millions.

Daniel will not think about how he assisted.

The TV drones on and on and on. Talking about some dead white man. Daniel is sick and tired of hearing of dead white men. What about the people in this apartment? The woman down the hall, yelling into her phone at doctors who don’t listen, desperate to get a second opinion even as everyone ignores her? What about the man on the floor above them, who was found dead in his apartment only because everyone was complaining about the smell? No one cared about him before then. No one cares about any of them.

Star doesn’t care about him either. He hasn’t come looking. He hasn’t done anything. Of course he can’t. Why would he? What is he going to do, put up wanted posters? Daniel doesn’t exist, there would be nothing to bring to the police.

He shouldn’t be thinking about the police. That is a bad thought. He can’t be bad. It means he’ll be hurt when Samuel returns and he can’t take that again. If he behaves, then Samuel will be happy and it won’t hurt as badly. He can handle it as long as it doesn’t hurt.

I wasn’t trained for pain. My body is not my own. I am not my own. I don’t belong to anyone. No, no, no, no, I belong to my master.

But Samuel isn’t his master. His master is six feet under in some graveyard, put there by his own hand. Because he was protecting his bonded, his love, the only person in life or death he belongs to.

He needs to return to his bonded. He must go home, must protect him, keep him safe. It’s his job and what he’s supposed to do as Star’s bonded. He has to protect him. What if he’s been hurt? What if the people he left Star with hurt him, take advantage of him? What if he is sold again, turned back to the company and destroyed? Another Drip session will break his mind. He nearly didn’t survive the first one.

I can’t! I can’t go and save him. I don’t even know where he is!

But if he’s hurt, and Daniel wasn’t there, and that makes it his fault . . . he would never be able to live with himself after something like that.

Daniel buries his face in the blanket. It smells like soap. Plain, boring soap. Like how Star used to smell. Does he smell the same? Or has he changed soaps? Does he now smell like the floral scents the advertisements list?

Stop! You need to focus! Pay attention, you have to make it back to him!

Another slow exhale and Daniel pushes himself from the bed. He stumbles to the kitchen, staring at the knives in the block. His hands don’t move. So much blood on his hands and he doesn’t want to add any more.

The flame of rage that has brought him this far ebbs and splutters. He blinks. The knives loom large in his vision. It would be so easy to grab one, wait, plunge it deep into Samuel’s chest. Daniel reaches for a knife. His hand falls back to his side.

No, he can’t. He cannot kill again. Star doesn’t want him to kill. Star would want him to return in a way that keeps his humanity intact, in a way that keeps him from adding to the blood already spilling down his hands.

Just run. You don’t need to kill again. Just go out that door and never look back.

Daniel presses a hand to the gash across his cheek, numb feet carrying him forwards. He hesitates at the door long enough to grab a coat. It smells like Samuel, like the cologne he wears, wrapping around Daniel’s face, choking him until he can’t breathe, can’t scream even as his world burns away around him. It’s determination enough for Daniel. He steps up to the door, numb fingers forcing the lock to turn. The lock sticks, then pops free with a grating sound. He holds his breath as he forces the door open.

No one is in the hallway. The lights flicker as he steps out. The carpet is rough against his bare feet, barely better than the cement. A radio plays in the distance. Some female singer, crooning about being with her love.

It’s a good sign.

He steps out, closes the door behind him. The sound echoes down the hallway.

Final. Determined. Irreversible.

Daniel wraps the coat around him, and starts walking.

Tagging: @blood-is-compulsory @darkthingshappen @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whumpinggrounds (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

#recaptured whumpee #vaguely implied past noncon #escaped whumpee #dehumanization #past character death #bbu #pet whump #hold on: I still need you #Daniel the protector

18 notes · View notes

sparrowsage · 2 years

Text

Never Truly Free

Here's my entry for @the-whumpers-soiree event! This is part of a story I plan on continuing/starting, so keep an eye out for more! Just wanted to give a huge thanks to @whumpcereal and @darkthingshappen for being my beta readers, couldn't have made this without their help!

CW: adult language, creepy/intimate whumper, mention to previous and future noncon, noncon drugging, kidnapping, industrialized slavery

Sparrow knew this wasn’t the best of ideas, coming to something like this, but he needed out of the house. It had been at least three months since he had escaped from that wretched place, but even with the help of the hospital staff, he still felt out of place. After he made it out, he had been taken to the hospital where he had gotten care for both his physical and mental injuries. After the first month, he finally opened up a little, allowing the help from his case worker. After two months, they set him up in a small apartment to see if he could handle living on his own. After three, Sparrow finally began to think he was doing better, that he was getting the hang of things without him. He was surprised when he had received the invite in the first place since he didn’t know anyone who would attend an event like this, but in the end, he chalked it up to his case worker setting him up to get out of his shell and be more social.

Sparrow sighed as he stepped out of the elevator, brushing off the front of his t-shirt as he glanced around. The penthouse was amazing, something he had never seen before. Blue and orange lights lit the penthouse while music played softly in the background underneath the voices of all the guests. It took him a moment to realize his jaw was hanging open in surprise, and he shut it quickly before he made his way to the table just a little ways away from the elevator. There, he was handed a blue glow stick bracelet before being ushered out to enjoy the party. Sparrow didn’t understand why he had been given the bracelet, but he didn’t think too much about it. It was strange, being in a place this fancy. Sparrow had only shown up in a simple grey t-shirt and sweatpants, not thinking much of it, but now that he saw others wearing fancier clothes, he was beginning to regret his decision.

Still, he made his way over to the bar after another moment of looking around, deciding it would be a good idea to get some sort of drink into his system. Sparrow had never tried alcohol before, and there was such an assortment of drinks on the menu, he didn’t know which one to try. That’s what people did at parties, right? Have drinks? At one point when he was still at the Warehouse, there had been a gala of some sort thrown and the Keepers and guests all drank alcoholic drinks, so it must be a party thing. After taking a moment to look over the menu that was taped to the bar’s counter, he decided on a simple rum and coke. Should be something easy, right? It was the most simplest thing he could read off the menu, so it shouldn’t be all that bad if the name of the drink was easy to pronounce.

After he got his drink from the bartender, Sparrow went to go and sit down at a table more off to the side, content to just people-watch. He was still unsettled by the thought of talking to people for more than just a few minutes, by talking to strangers he didn’t know, so he’d rather just keep to himself–at least to start. Sparrow smiled slightly when he sat down, enjoying how comfy the chair was, taking a small sip of his drink. His face twisted slightly at the taste; he hadn’t expected it to taste like that at all. It wasn’t bad, just something he had to get used to.

Maybe this was a good thing, getting out and being around other people, even though he was keeping to himself. Small steps, just like his case worker had said. Old habits from his time with that monster still coursed through his being, but, slowly, they were starting to crumble. He still felt like he had to justify every little thing he did when someone questioned him, still tried to hide himself should he notice someone looking, still stayed on high alert all the time, and so much more. But with each passing day, Sparrow was slowly becoming more and more like the person he’d tried so hard to fight for. That was all that really mattered to him.

Sparrow took another sip of his drink, his face contorting slightly at the taste again before he looked up to glance around again. Right as he lifted his head, he regretted the action. As he scanned the room, his eyes landed on someone he never thought he’d see again, someone he thought he had left behind. Not here, not now. But it was him, standing across the room from him, staring directly back at him. As Sparrow’s eyes locked with theirs, every muscle in his body tensed and his blood ran cold and drained from his face.

*---*

Damon’s reputation at the Warehouse had gone down considerably after Sparrow managed to escape the facility. Never once had any of their products manage to leave the facility without their new master escorting them out. Despite the many training methods he’d used that had worked on so many in the past, Sparrow was still able to rebel and escape.

He had been tracking Sparrow ever since his hospital records were loaded into the system. In addition to his position as a Keeper at the Warehouse, Damon was quite the hacker; he knew that at some point, his little Songbird was going to get help for his physical injuries, all the marks that Damon had worked so hard to create, and Damon was waiting when the records came in. While it had been tedious to sit back and wait, Damon had managed to restrain himself from taking Sparrow back. He didn’t want to risk the entire operation getting shut down if Sparrow talked. Truth be told, Sparrow didn’t have many details about the Warehouse or its location; he only knew of the facility and the faces of those inside, so it would be rather impressive if it did get shut down. But still. Damon knew it was better to be cautious.

Damon had been the one to send Sparrow the invite to the event, of course. He’d caught wind of it through the grapevine while working with the other Keepers. It was a perfect opportunity to get his Songbird back into his custody where he belonged, as well as a wonderful excuse to get dressed up. Damon knew Sparrow wouldn’t see through the invitation; he had done his best to condition the boy not to read into things too much after all. Sparrow had had the tendency to overthink to the point where it got annoying when he was first introduced to him.

The Keeper had watched Sparrow come in and hidden himself amongst the other guests so he wouldn’t spook his Songbird too soon. He had to admit to himself that Sparrow did look rather decent in his simple clothes with his hair messy like it was, but the Keeper still preferred the boy’s bare skin over cloth. No matter. He’d take care of that soon enough. Compared to how Sparrow was dressed, the Keeper was wearing a fancy dark grey waistcoat and dress pants, his hair brushed and pulled back into a ponytail to keep it out of his face.

Damon watched Sparrow for a bit from where he was, until the boy sat down away from the other guests. Then, as the other settled, Damon moved to a spot where his Songbird would surely spot him. And when he did, when those beautiful green eyes settled on him, Damon could only smile darkly as he watched the blood drain from Sparrow’s face.

*---*

Sparrow couldn’t will himself to move as he locked eyes with Damon, his body stuck between fighting or fleeing. What the hell is he doing here of all places? He should be back at the Warehouse!

Thoughts and horrible ideas started swarming his mind the longer he looked into Damon’s eyes. What if Damon had found him only to take him back to that horrible place? What if his freedom had all been a lie, or he had been dreaming? Sparrow clenched his fists, nearly shattering the glass he held in his hand. Finally, he gathered the strength to look away from his former captor’s eyes. He needed to leave, right now.

Slowly, Sparrow started to rise from his seat. He set his glass on the table in front of him with shaking hands and glanced up to see if Damon had moved–but instead of seeing Damon retreat, Sparrow saw that he was coming closer.

Shit!

Sparrow was unsure of what to do, conflicting thoughts plaguing his mind. He knew what this man was capable of, and good god, did he not want to end up on the receiving end of any of that ever again. But what if he couldn’t escape? If he didn’t fight back, he’d most likely get off easy, right?

While in the midst of trying to form some sort of plan, Damon had just about made his way over to him; Sparrow snapped out of his thoughts when he realized how close Damon had gotten to him. On shaky legs, he started to take a few steps away from his former captor, to try and get a headstart, but as soon as Damon saw Sparrow start to move away, Damon lengthened his strides, putting himself between Sparrow and his path towards the exit.

Damon cocked his head to the side slightly as Sparrow froze in place, smiling down at the boy. Sparrow tried to turn his head away, glancing back at Damon before quickly looking away, and while there was a glare on his face meant for the Keeper, he made no move to try and put some distance between them. He was frozen in place by fear, even as he felt his defiance well up inside.

“My my, it has been a long time, hasn’t it?” Damon said casually, as if they were old friends. Sparrow grimaced, his body tensing further as the other man very slowly closed the distance between them.

Damon lifted his hand slowly towards Sparrow’s face, brushing a stray piece of the boy's dark hair behind his ear. He let out a soft sigh, “I’m so glad to see you again, Songbird.” Sparrow let out a soft growl when Damon brushed his hair back, pulling his head away slightly. “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual,” he mumbled bitterly.

There had to be a way out of here, without Damon following him or catching up to him, but how? As Sparrow’s eyes frantically wandered while he tried to think, he noticed Damon had a red bracelet on his left wrist. Why was he wearing a red one? Sparrow hadn’t seen any at the front table by the elevator entrance. He was about to look around the penthouse, to try and see if there were others with red bracelets as well, when Damon’s face obstructed his line of sight. Sparrow took a startled step backwards, but was stopped when the Keeper grabbed his wrist in a tight hold.

“You never really were good with eye contact,” Damon noted, letting out a low chuckle as Sparrow attempted to try and get his wrist free. At the tugging, Damon only tightened his grip, causing Sparrow to hiss ever so slightly.

“Come on now,” he started, his voice calm but firm, “you don’t want to cause a scene, do you? It would be rather rude to interrupt the mood of the party.” Sparrow gritted his teeth as he looked up at Damon, his glare stronger than ever, but he stayed put and kept his mouth shut.

After a moment of the two staring at each other, Damon released Sparrow’s wrist as he slowly started to circle his prey. He followed Damon with his eyes, keeping his feet planted on the ground as he did his best to try and relax his breathing.

“It didn’t take me all that long to find you, you know,” Damon said calmly, that stupid grin on his face, his hand running across Sparrow’s shoulders and the tops of his arms, feeling how tense the muscles were. “Once your medical records ended up in the hospital’s system, it was quite easy to track you down. You should have been smarter than that, Songbird. If only you hadn’t gone to get help, then maybe you would still be hidden away.”

Sparrow’s glare faltered slightly as he listened to the words coming from his former captor. He was right: he shouldn’t have allowed himself to be taken to the hospital, he should have fought back more! Then he wouldn’t be here, he wouldn’t be right beside the person whom he hated most.

Damon caught the slight change in his expression and chuckled slightly, “Everything worked out in the end, though. This time I won’t be making any mistakes with your training.”

Damon was almost back in front of him, just off to his right, his hand still lingering on Sparrow’s left shoulder when Sparrow felt the hand lift. Sparrow was about to speak, to turn and face him as he told him off despite his stomach twisting into knots, when he felt the pinch of a needle enter his neck.

Fuck, no!

Sparrow’s hand shot up to his neck just as Damon pocketed the empty syringe. Damon watched the fear spread across Sparrow’s face as he took a step back.

“You know,” Damon said as Sparrow turned to face him, anger and fear mixed together in his expression, “you always looked so beautiful when you were full of sedatives. So compliant.”

Sparrow’s eyes fluttered a few times as he struggled to keep them open and to keep himself upright. He couldn’t go back with him, he couldn’t go back there! Not after he finally had started living the life he wanted away from that hell hole!

Damon got close again as he saw Sparrow start to sway on his feet. He wrapped his arm around Sparrow to keep him from collapsing. The touch was too close, but Sparrow couldn’t fight.

“You know you can’t fight it, Songbird,” Damon whispered, his smirk turning into a dark smile. “Just let go, everything will be fine.” Sparrow shook his head, “Fuck no!” he slurred, and, despite the dizziness that followed after the sudden movement, he somehow managed to muster the strength to push Damon away. The Keeper wasn’t expecting such force and Sparrow slipped out of his arms, only to stumble and fall to the ground, gasping when his body collided with the floor.

Damon sucked on his teeth in slight disapproval, crouching down after a moment of admiring how lovely Sparrow looked sprawled out on the floor. Sparrow could barely keep his eyes open as Damon’s face got closer to his, the feeling in his limbs turning numb as the drug took over his body.

“Sweet dreams, little birdy,” the Keeper hummed just as Sparrow’s eyes shut, that stupid, sickening grin the last thing he saw as the world went dark.

(Let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for future posts!)

#the whumpers' soirée #the-whumpers-soiree #kidnapped whumpee #Sparrow Cresky #Damon Graves #creepy/intimate whumper #noncon drugging #kidnapping #defiant whumpee #The Warehouse #mention to previous and future noncon #first post oh boi #whump #whump writing #recaptured whumpee

54 notes · View notes

quietly-by-myself · 2 years

Text

Three Days - Chapter 7

This is a collab with @darkthingshappen for @the-whumpers-soiree. It features Faolan from my Mercury and Time series (link here) and her original whumper, Finlay Iver.

This story will contain elements of explicit noncon, references to past violent events, including noncon, torture, among other adult/dark themes. Reader discretion is advised. It's much darker than what I normally post. Minors DNI.

Tags: @oddsconvert

CW: past noncon, PTSD, coping mechanisms, captivity, kidnapping, aftermath of noncon, noncon touch, discussion of noncon

Faolan was absolutely relieved that he was going to get a break from the intense conversation. With that small, but noticeable tremor, he took the face cloth Finlay had given him with soap. He started with his neck covered in sweat, then began to disinfect his wounds with the soap. It was methodical, the way he rubbed down the wounds to get rid of any grime without flinching. Soon enough, he moved down his legs, then to in between his legs.

What laid there made Faolan cringe. He was gay, yes, but he’d always have a certain hatred for semen after all the times he’d been taken against his will. It was like a stain on his body that never got removed, no matter how many times he washed himself.

The tremor didn’t seem to affect his movements so badly that he couldn’t move, but it did take a little focus to make sure at certain points that he didn’t miss a spot by missing the area entirely.

Once he was done, he turned to Finlay, looking at him patiently. The soapy water wasn’t doing much anymore to rinse him down. “Can- Can I have some water to rinse down?”

Finlay pulled the plug out of the drain. “Why don’t we drain this. Then you can rinse and I can put the conditioner in your hair. That way all the grime from the day can just slide down the drain.” He stroked Faolan’s bare shoulder, gliding his fingers through the soap that lingered there. “I like this soap. It always smells so… clean.”

Faolan nodded. “It does smell very clean.” The idea of allowing those stains to rinse down the drain was comforting. Maybe he could forget them for a little while and sleep more than a few hours. He waited quietly for Finlay to turn on the tap, not wanting to potentially upset him by acting too much on his own.

Finlay watched the water drain completely. “Why don’t you kneel. I’ll rinse you off. You just relax.” He adjusted the water temperature on the spray while he waited for Faolan to get to his knees.

Faolan immediately complied. He wanted the tender moment to last, not to end out with more pain and be dumped, alone, in a lit cell. His sides shook a bit as he hunched over in his kneeling. He knew it wasn’t proper posture but couldn’t bring himself to care. He was tired. Surely, Finlay would understand.

“Why don’t you put your hands on the end of the tub, that way you won’t fall over and I can rinse all of you off.” He directed the warm, but not too hot, spray onto Faolan’s back. Faolan did as he was told and Finlay was thorough. He let the spray wash over every bit of him, he may have taken a few extra seconds when he rinsed between Faolan’s legs, but he didn’t linger too long. Just enough to make sure he had a good look.

“Lean your head back. I don’t want to get water in your eyes.” Finlay took his time massaging the conditioner into Faolan’s scalp, just like he’d done with the shampoo. Tomorrow he’d be drenched in sweat and fear again, but for now, he’d be clean and comfortable. That seemed to be the key for him. He could do whatever he wanted to him, so long as he took care of him afterwards. He’d have him eating out of the palm of his hand soon enough.

Faolan felt warmth go through his chest as that unfamiliar, gentle touch came back. He wasn’t at all used to the hand that hurt him being so kind. Something in him was conflicted. Another part of himself was revolted at the idea that he might even enjoy parts of his captivity. These were basic human decencies, not gifts, right?

Still, as the pain and tension in his scalp was massaged out by Finlay’s gentle fingers, he found himself genuinely relaxing, if only for a moment. It was clear from the way that sleep was dancing in his eyes that he was reaching the end of his stamina for the night.

He told me he wouldn’t sell me. Maybe this won’t be so bad. This is better than William. This is better than I deserve, right?

Atticus’ words came back easily, but Faolan had not the energy to linger on them any longer than to hear that simple truth - everyone deserves kindness. Faolan wasn’t sure he believed that.

Finlay shut off the water. “Come on. Sit on the edge of the tub and I’ll get you all dried off. Then I’ve got some soft flannel pajamas that I think you’ll like. It gets cold up here in the north at night.”

Faolan complied and Finlay grabbed one of his soft fluffy towels. He took his time drying Faolan’s hair. Working the towel through the blond strands, behind his ears and down his neck, focusing on removing as much tension from the boy as possible. It would all be back tomorrow, but he sensed that there was something about night time and captivity with this one that he would need to be careful with if he were to keep him from becoming catatonic.

He worked the towel lower, over his shoulders, down his chest, and now the test. He dried between Faolan’s legs. He moved the towel, keeping his touch light, but somewhat exploratory.

The toweling was relaxing until Finlay made his way between his legs. As he touched in that way he knew was exploratory - a test - he whimpered and gripped the edge of the tub until his hands turned white from the strain. Something in him felt a little betrayed, even if he knew he should’ve expected such a violation.

“Easy little dove. I’m just trying to make sure that you’re dry and that I didn’t hurt you too badly earlier tonight. We’re almost done.” He moved the towel again and dried his back side. “Raise up just a bit, Faolan.”

Faolan obeyed, but with a small whimper. Finlay ran the towel over his back side and then into the crevice, again, gaging Faolan’s reaction.

The movement into him earned a small yelp of pain, then muffled whimpers from Faolan as Finlay worked him. He just wants to know if I’m hurt. Trying to think of a reassuring thought did nothing as he felt those whimpers turn into little sobs in his chest. He didn’t want to upset Finlay, but he couldn’t help himself.

“It’s okay, little dove. It’s alright. You can cry. It won’t bother me. I know it’s a lot to get used to.” Finlay moved the towel from his backside. “Hard part over, little one. Promise. Swing your legs over and I’ll dry them too. Then we’ll get those PJs.”

Faolan did as he was told and swung his legs over the edge of the tub and Finlay knelt between his knees and dried his legs and feet.

“Okay, my boy. Can you stand or would you prefer to stay seated and let me help you dress?”

“Stay seated, please.” He couldn’t stand. The pain from Finlay agitating the damaged flesh was so severe that he was having trouble standing. Whether that was from the memory that was on the tip of his brain - the one of when he’d needed stitches - or it was from what Finlay had done to him, he didn’t know. He didn’t have the energy to figure it out, either.

“Alright, sweet boy. Hang on. There was no blood on the towel, so I think you’re okay. Just a bit sore.” He stepped away and reached for the pjs he had set aside for Faolan. “Here we are. Nice soft cotton.”

He helped Faolan step into the bottoms and then pulled him up and close to him as he raised them up over Faolan’s backside. He then eased him back down before he could pull the shirt on. Faolan was exhausted and now he seemed to be calm and sleepy. At least he wasn’t far away and zoned out. He dressed Faolan like he was a toddler, pulling his arms gently through the arm holes, fixing his collar and then buttoning the shirt up for him.

“Okay. All done. Let’s get you to your bed.” Finlay lifted Faolan into his arms, cradling the smaller man against his chest.

Some part of Faolan despised being treated as a child. Ever since he was little, he’d always been ‘grown up.’ However, Faolan had a certain sense of fear that if he disobeyed Finlay, if he didn’t let Finlay have his independence in the way he was taking it right now, that Finlay would stop treating him kindly.

He seemed to like Faolan being dependent and having control over his life like that. Faolan would let him have it - the kind cleaning, the gentle dressing, and the tender wound care weren’t that bad anyway. Finlay had been right - Faolan had endured worlds worse. If he was going to live out the rest of his days like this… well, it didn’t seem too bad to him.

Maybe that thought only lended itself because of his detachment from what had just happened. Events like that never hit him right away. The weight always came crashing down later, away from the predator that caused it.

Faolan decided to feign being too tired to give much of an answer. It was a test - he wanted to see if Finlay would let it slip.

Finlay nudged open the door to Faolan’s cell. He’d call it his room, but it was bare. No windows, no adornments. A light in the ceiling that Faolan didn’t control, a cot and a chain. That was really it. Oh, Finlay thought with a smirk, and the bucket.

He laid Faolan on the cot and smoothed his hair. “Would you prefer the chain on your ankle or your wrist?”

Faolan’s heart dropped a bit when he saw the naked cell with all those dehumanizing elements. The bucket stunk of his vomit from earlier. “My wrist, please.” His ankles had been rubbed a little raw from the way that Finlay had tied him while he bedded Faolan.

“Okay, my dear.” He grabbed the chain from the wall and took Faolan’s right wrist, the closest to the wall, and locked the cuff around his slender wrist. “Apologies for the bucket. I’ll have one of the guys clean it out tomorrow.” He turned Faolan’s chin towards him. “Do you remember what you must do when I come into the room tomorrow morning?”

Faolan shook his head. The thought of having to smell his vomit all night made him feel a little sick. Would he get a bathroom or would that become the bucket for however long he was kept in the cell? Would he always sleep with a chain? It wasn’t like he could escape easily. “I don’t.” Looking Finlay in the eyes constantly made him a little uncomfortable.

Finlay took a deep breath. “You have had a very long day from where we started this morning. So it is understandable that you have forgotten. But it is imperative that you remember. When I leave, I will turn off the lights. That means that it’s time for you to rest. That is your cue that nothing else is going to happen to you and no one will bother you. In the morning, the lights will turn on. You’ll have a few minutes to right yourself and relieve yourself if you would like to do it privately. After these few minutes, you need to be on your knees, head bowed, ready and waiting for me to collect you so that we can start our day. Do you have any questions or need any clarification?”

Faolan swallowed a little anxiously. The ordeal from the morning came back to him in a rush. If he didn’t kneel exactly how Finlay wanted, would he be shocked again? Fear filled his blood as he thought about having to face Finlay’s sadistic side again in the morning.

He would definitely shock me again. What am I thinking? He’s a cruel man who gets off on others' suffering.

Something about the cell brought back that defiance and reminded him of exactly where he was and who was being kept captive by.

You can’t let yourself be lulled by his kindness, Faolan. Just because he’s nice and gentle sometimes doesn’t make him even remotely safe. You need to keep looking for escapes.

“I-If I don’t do it perfectly,” Faolan swallowed again, trying to make that panicked lump in his throat go away. “Will you shock me, even if I tried?”

Finlay cupped his cheek. “Little dove, are you telling me that someone who has been through all the things you’ve been through, never learned how to kneel with your head bowed? That’s all I’m expecting first thing in the morning. I know you’ll be sleepy and disoriented. That’s why I am giving you some time to yourself once the lights come on. You can find your center and decide how you want to approach the day, be that cooperation or… disappointment.”

“Y-You’re very different from him. I don’t always know what you want of me.”

He looked down a little despite Finlay’s cupping of his cheek. Anxiety was sprawled across his face, marked in lines of thick black ink. He clearly had more he wanted to say, but was holding back. Faolan was afraid of talking too much about William. He didn’t want Finlay to be offended by his comparison of the two, even if that was what he was thinking of constantly. He could think of a million things he was worried about with the morning routine and the stun gun, but kept silent.

“You didn’t answer my question though, Faolan. Are you not capable of kneeling with your head bowed? That is all I want from you when I open this door.” He closed the distance between them, so that Faolan couldn’t look away. “You’re not stupid. Do I need to open the door with the shock remote in my hand, or can I expect compliance? It’s really not that hard.”

Faolan bit his lip as his chest tightened up with panic. He didn’t even know the answer to Finlay’s last question himself. If he didn’t answer, he knew Finlay would assume the worst and be disappointed in him. If he answered either way, he knew he would eventually disappoint Finlay. No matter what, all the answers were bad. He’d been asked questions like that before and he knew what the consequences were, answer or not.

“I-It’s not that I’m not capable. It’s just…” Faolan seemed horribly panicked. He was hurrying to put his words together. Something in him feared bringing up how it was with William. He didn’t want to make him angry by answering the wrong way. “I’ll do my best.” It’s all I can do.

“Why is this so hard for you, little Faolan? Why can’t you seem to be able to give me a straight answer?”

Faolan whimpered a little under the intensity of Finlay’s gaze. He just wanted the day to be over. He wished he’d never spoken up and just accepted the punishment in the morning.“I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you.”

“You won’t upset me, Faolan. I have faith in you, little dove. Just remember, kneeling and head bowed.” He leaned over and kissed Faolan’s forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He grabbed the one thin blanket that was folded up at the foot of the cot and draped it over him, tucking it round his chin. “I promise the lights will be turned off. You can sleep, Faolan.”

A moment of clarity struck Faolan as he looked out and realized that he shouldn’t feel the need to have permission to sleep. The thought filled him with that all-too-familiar sadness of realizing that maybe, there was a version of him that might not panic at every word or need permission to sleep. Maybe, before Finlay, with Atticus, he might’ve been able to reach that. He knew that once the night was over and he saw Finlay again, Atticus would never find him. It was that night or it was never.

The thought worried Faolan, but he did his best not to let it show. Instead, he tried to look happy that Finlay had faith in him. It was a farce of an attempt, but he hoped Finlay would leave it alone.

Finlay stood and gave him one last smile as he left the room. As soon as the door was shut he flipped off the light, leaving Faolan in complete darkness. Usually this terrified his toys, but for some reason, he thought that Faolan might like it. So, if he ever really misbehaved, he could just leave the light on. Finlay shrugged. That was easy enough. He had so much information he needed to file away on this new pet. So much to consider.

As the lights flicked off and Finlay wasn’t there to watch him, Faolan’s eyes filled with tears. That night, just as he had the first night with William, Faolan sobbed and cried until his eyes couldn’t stay open anymore. His pillow was wet as he drifted off to sleep. Somehow, it reminded Faolan that he was, in fact, still human through all the suffering.

#three days #faolan dufort #finlay iver #the whumpers soiree #whump #whump fic #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #elements of noncon #noncon touching #intimate whumper #defiant whumpee #kidnapping #captivity #recaptured whumpee

31 notes · View notes

letitbehurt · 2 months

Text

Dog-catcher poles being used to manhandle Whumpee.

Wire choking off air when Whumpee fights or fails to move fast enough, easily cutting through the skin. Hands bound behind their back so that they can’t grab the pole being used to drag them along. Whumper(s) keeping their distance because watch it, this one bites—

#Thank you @whumps-and-bumps for the brain food <33 #Whumpee’s head being forced against the bars of their cage for an injection or a taunt #Whumpees who still fight the whole way DESPITE being choked and yanked and shoved every step of the way #Whumpees who promise that the only thing saving Whumper is the length of that fucking pole #Whumpees who are gagged in some way and so their sounds of struggle and pain sound animalistic #Whumper(s) degrading them for it #RECAPTURE #Whumpee’s cheek pressed to the ground as one Whumper holds the pole and another ties Whumpee’s hands behind their back #Whumpers treating Whumpee like a dangerous or disgusting animal #that’s the good stuff #whump

287 notes · View notes

whumblr · 2 months

Text

Ball and chain

Whumpee meekly walked along, resigned, hands cuffed in front of them, two henchmen clinging to both arms as they were marched into the large room. Like they were both walking them down the aisle.

Except the man who they were tied to was all but bliss. And did not accept any form of seperation.

And he now stood waiting for them in the middle of the room. He turned and his eyes immediately fixed on Whumpee. Myeah... they were in trouble.

The man barely contained himself, his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, and his rage plain to see in his eyes, swirling about like thunderclouds.

You'd think that, with all the trouble they caused, he would be glad to see the back of them... instead of sending out a search team and dragging them back to their cell.

They stopped right in front of him and Whumpee swore they saw something twitch in his jaw. His eyes bored into theirs, but they didn't look away.

"Leave," Whumper growled.

The two men gladly let go of their arms and turned to leave the room.

Whumpee however followed suit: they spun on their heels and made to follow them out. But before they could even take one step, a hand clamped around their shoulder.

"Not you, you goddamned little gargoyle, what makes you think I was talking to you."

Willfully ignoring the fingers digging into their shoulder, Whumpee simply watched, a little rueful, as the henchmen succesfully made their way out, leaving them alone here. Then they turned around again, shrugging the hand off with the softest huff.

"Well, you were looking at me, so..."

General whump tag: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @auroragehenna

#whump #whump drabble #whump prompt #recapture #malicious compliance whumpee #failed escape #bastard whumpee #defiant whumpee #implied so much trouble #implied beating from hell #shouldve just let them escape man...#my writing #my prompts

175 notes · View notes

kabie-whump · 3 months

Text

♡ Febuwhump Day 6: "You lied to me." ♡

@febuwhump

Content: betrayal, suggestion of attempted recapture

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“You lied to me!”

Whumpee’s voice was hoarse and broken. They weren’t supposed to be using it this much yet. It wasn’t finished healing.

Caretaker held out their hands, moving slowly towards where Whumpee was curled into the corner of the storage closet, their knees tucked to their chest.

“Whumpee, please. Calm down.”

“No! You lied to me! You told me I would never have to see them again!” They were sobbing now, chest heaving.

“You don’t, Whumpee, I promise. You’re safe from Whumper.”

“Shut up!” Whumpee’s voice cracked, forcing them to resort to a frenzied whisper. “You’re lying. I saw them. I saw them. You’re letting them live here!”

“You- oh. Oh shit. The person in the lobby? Gray sweatshirt?”

Whumpee nodded miserably.

Caretaker’s heart dropped. The new member of their little team had seemed so nice during the interview. Their eyes had lingered on Whumpee as they walked by, but Caretaker had taken it to be innocent curiosity at their many scars.

“Shit. I am so sorry. I’m going to get rid of them, I promise. Just stay here. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me.”

Whumpee didn’t respond, sobbing into their knees.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Part 2

#whump #whump tropes #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #febuwhump #febuwhumpday6 #febuwhump day 6 #whump scenario #whump ideas #whumpee #whump prompt #recovery whump #whumper #caretaker #recapture #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump2024

265 notes · View notes

whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot · 4 months

Text

Words cannot describe how much Whumpee hated that place. Yet they were again dragged here, and the first few days of opening their eyes to that familiar view made them mutter over and over again, this is just a nightmare.

But the days after that, whumpee could feel their heart crawl inwards as the hardwired rules, the accustomed words, the trained behavior

jumped right back and fit them neatly.

It was almost as if this was how everything was meant to be.

#and what if whumpee wasn't dragged #walked back in for whatever reason #whump #whumpee #whump prompt #whump ideas #conditioned whumpee #servant whumpee #my posts #recapture #recaptured whumpee

26 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 11 months

Note

okay Ash but older nanda and Jameson comf? If he'd lived? Pleeease? Just a snippet. A headcanon. A crömb. -theo-

@boxboysandotherwhump I totally forgot you had asked for me to do this AU so so long ago. Found this old ask abandoned in my inbox and you were PROPHETIC.

Continuing the AU, the last chapter (plus a link to the first) is right here.

CW: Intimate whump, some derogatory language, dubcon, some, uh, choking

For a long time, there is only the sound of each of them breathing. Jameson is ragged, rasping at the edge of a sob as he pulls himself back into control, his fingernails digging into the soft leather of the reclined passenger seat. His heart pounds, blood rushing past his ears.

Nanda's breath is nearly silent, far more even. His chest is warm against Jameson's bare back. Even through his expensive fucking shirt, though, Jameson can feel his heart pounding, too.

"What..." Nanda trails off. Jameson has never heard him sound so stunned. Nanda always plans for every angle.

But he didn't plan for this one.

"... what do you mean, someone else?" His mouth moves against Jameson's hair, sending a shiver down his spine. "Are you fucking the woman you live with, pet?"

My name is Jameson. I just told you that.

He bites the words back before they can make it out.

"N-no, not her. Fuck no. No. Absolutely... Absolutely not." He shifts, managing to get his shirt off the rest of the way, stop it from keeping his wrists tangled. It gives him an excuse for how his voice shakes - just from the effort. Only that. "Someone else. Different house. Someone... Someone else."

Nanda is quiet again. He's quiet for far too long. Then, he shifts back inside the tiny space. "Roll over. I want to see your eyes."

Jameson swallows, obeying the easy command with a little curl of warmth. He tips his head back against the headrest, looking up at Nanda, his beard and the line of his jaw beneath the silver and gray. The way the muscles in his arms seem written even more in stone. Nanda eases himself back down, and his weight feels reassuring and terribly final at once.

"Who is it?" His voice is mild. Spoonful of sugar tinted pink, sweetness and salt on Jameson's tongue. He could drown in the taste of Nanda's voice. Used to feel like he did drown, under voice and hands, tied up in ropes and brought to the good kind of screaming.

"... They're called A-Allyn. They, they ran away like I did. Well, not the-... Their owner died, too. They... They understood that I missed you..."

He reaches a hand up, hesitantly, trying to touch Nanda's face. The older man's big hand snaps up to close painfully tight around his wrist, forcing it back down.

"I wasn't dead," Nanda says mildly.

"I already told you, I didn't exactly goddamn know that-"

"No, you were dumb as rocks the one time I could have used the brains we both knew you had." Nanda's voice stays mild, but the insult stings regardless.

"I'm-... not-"

"Oh, you're not? You didn't know how to check a fucking pulse, but you're not dumb, huh? You ran off instead of waiting or calling for help but you still love me, right? Hell, you fuck someone else, but you're not a slut anymore. Isn't that what you're saying?"

Jameson's wrist feels like it creaks as Nanda tightens his grip further and further. The man's other hand drops down to unbutton and unzip his own pants in quick jerky motions. They're down low off his hips in seconds.

Jameson grits his teeth against the pain, refuses to be seduced by it. Or by the way Nanda punctuates the accusations by rolling his hips, the low warmth remaining stoked back into a flame.

God, he feels so hot.

They're both burning.

"If you were d-dead-... Ah! I would have lost you when they took you out of my head, I already s-said that-Jesus that's fucking good-"

His other wrist is grabbed now. He tries to pull it away, but they both know he isn't trying very hard. Nanda's mouth drops to graze against his. To catch him in a kiss, brutal and firm, until he's whimpering and rocking his hips like some mindless fucking idiot, like he used to do.

Nanda chuckles bitterly, pulls back and listens to Jameson's angry hiss at the sudden loss of connection. "If there's someone else, why did you get in my car when I came for you?"

He swallows, closing his eyes. Nanda's burn too much for him to take. Those hips roll against his again and he meets them with his own, arches his back, lets legs shift apart to welcome Nanda between his thighs. He could come from this, if it goes on long enough. "I don't-... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No! Fuck you, no I don't know! You were dead and now you're here and I, I forgot who I am for a second, but I'm-... I'm not that anymore, and I want-... I want to-..." God, he feels it so much, his skin is all raw nerves and sensation. "... I want-"

"You want me."

Nanda had let go of his wrist at some point. He only realizes it when that heavy hot hand closes around his neck.

His breath stutters, gets lost trying to find his lungs. His head spins as the hand tightens, he feels his Adam's apple move against Nanda's palm. "Wait-"

" I spent all these years trying to find you, pet-"

"Jameson," He rasps, barely able to force the word out in a whisper. "Use... Use m'fucking name-"

"Fine. Jameson." God, it sounds so good in Nanda's voice, his own name tastes perfect in his tongue when Nanda is the one to say it. His eyes nearly flutter shut at the simple pleasure. "I have been searching for you-"

"Doing a shit j-job of it, could've used your help a couple y-years ago when I was in some asshole's dog cage-"

"Let. Me. Finish." The grip on his throat tightens even more. There is so little room for him to breathe, chest heaving. He never moves his hands to try and push or fight, though. He knows this tone, the look on Nanda's face. "However you feel about someone else... I looked for you. And I found you. I searched every goddamn corner of California trying to figure out where you fucked off to, and I find you all fucked up for someone else, another pet, huh?"

"I... I loved you... I still-" His voice catches, his throat clicks when he swallows. His eyes are wide, and he sees the anger in Nanda's and wonders why it used to thrill so much more to see it than it does now. "But I-... grieved-... Rebuilt, built n-new... life... I, I fucking deserve to l-live-"

Nanda's lip curls. But he doesn't say anything while Jameson fights for enough air to speak again. They're both still hard, still moving together, and the pleasure mixes with the pain in his throat and the dizzy lack of air, crossing all his wires and leaving him squirming in helpless unwanted arousal beneath Nanda's familiar perfect weight.

"I... deserve s-someone... who l-loves me... back-"

He expects mockery, black spots flashing bright like camera lights around Nanda's face as his vision starts to go, tunneling in on those eyes.

He sees, in the center of the closing tunnel, the whites of Nanda's eyes.

"Please-... If you e-ever... loved m-me-... Please, fuck, please s-say-... it..."

Nanda's thumb pushes against his windpipe as he kisses Jameson. Their mouths open to each other, and Jameson's arms move, finally, only to grip onto Nanda's shoulders. An anchor as he drowns on land, fighting for air.

Then the grip loosens.

Jameson's head pounds as he groans, his throat aches as he gulps air desperately. He'll be marked, bruised. He's been bruised there before. "N, Nanda-"

Nanda's head drops to Jameson's shoulder.

"... Nanda?"

A pause.

"You stupid thing. Why would I have looked so long for you if I didn't?"

#jameson au #nanda #whump #bbu #pet whump #box boy universe #box boy #intimate whumper #recaptured whumpee #dubcon tw #choking tw #dubcon #choking #captor bonding

91 notes · View notes

auroragehenna · 3 months

Text

[Post/late in recovery]

It knocks on the door. Whumpee is suprised, they weren‘t expecting anyone but they think nothing on it. Putting down whatever they were doing and going to the door.

The open it and.

Stare right into a grinning Whumper‘s face.

„Whumpee…How nice to see you again…“

#Inspired by a totally innocent scene at work rn #whump #whumpee #whump community #whump scenarios #whump scenario #whump scene #whump prompt #recapture #recapture whump #<— my beloved!!#whump drabble #whump idea #whump ideas #creepy/intimate whumper #cheerful whumper #threats #threat #threat whump

186 notes · View notes

darkthingshappen · 2 years

Text

Three Days: Chapter 2

This is a collab with @quietly-by-myself for @the-whumpers-soiree. It features Faolan from her Mercury and Time series (link here) and my original whumper, Finlay Iver.

That being said, it's about 36k words total, so we're starting a tag list.

Content for Chapter 2: PTSD, kidnapping, noncon touch, panic attack, intimate whumper, torture, begging, electric shock

The plane ride from the soiree to the private New York airport was less than an hour. From there his chauffeur drove his heavily tinted SUV out to his estate outside of Middletown, NY. He liked it here because it was quiet. Open. No prying eyes or ears. And since Faolan would be staying underground for a while… he’d be able to scream as loud as he wanted and no one would disturb them. Of course, that didn’t mean he’d be talking. Finlay liked the way his toys sounded when they were gagged. But that would come later.

He ran a delicate finger down Faolan’s cheek as they pulled into the driveway. His two henchmen, Parker and Lucian, came out of the house and helped to carry Finlay to his new room. It was a cell adjacent to Finlay’s playroom. Well, an outsider might call it a torture chamber, but Finlay thought of it in more positive terms than that.

They laid him down on his cot and chained his ankle to the wall. He liked for them to be conscious and not on the verge of vomiting when he started working with them. Finlay smiled down at him and kissed his forehead.

“You’re going to be so beautiful while you break I just know it. See you soon.” He ran his fingers over Faolan’s lips and then turned and left. The heavy door swung shut behind him before it was bolted shut.

As Finlay left, Faolan made small whimpering sounds. It was apparent that the whimpers from a nightmare. Little did he know the nightmare he’d be waking up to.

Sometimes, those nightmares of William, Master, whatever Faolan found the strength to call him that day, were vivid.

However, when he woke up a few hours later with the worst hangover of his life and a chain clasped around his ankle, Faolan soon realized that the nightmare wasn’t just vivid. It was absolutely real.

Immediately, Faolan began to panic. Had one of William’s friends found him? Was he being held by one of them?

I can’t go through that again. I need to sleep! I need to see people. I-I don’t have anything to give. I can’t betray someone again.

As Faolan tried to sit up, a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. Another wave of panic hit him. What if he was sick?

His foot hit a bucket, which he gladly took to vomit in. He felt awful as everything that was in his stomach came up in waves. Part of the vomiting brought on more panic before he tried to orientate himself in the cell. There wasn’t really much to it - the cot, the bucket, and the chain on the wall. No windows and a light. A light. Faolan could only pray that it would turn off.

Faolan whipped his head around so hard he almost knocked himself completely over when he heard the door open behind him.

It was the man from the bar - Finlay.

Faolan stood up immediately, too quickly, as he tried to steady himself on his feet. His combat training came back easily as he prepared to confront Finlay.

“Do you want to explain what’s going on?” He practically growled his response at Finlay. His instincts from that time in the great “before” always came back when he was reminded of the time he spent as a prisoner of war. He was ready to fight if he needed to.

Finlay smirked at him for half a second. Time to play. His hand was lightning fast as he backhanded Faolan across the face. “On your knees when I come into this room. Here, you will do as you're told. You will not question me. If I want you to know something, I will tell you. Is that clear?”

Faolan grabbed his cheek where Finlay had slapped him. At first, it made him angry. Yet, at the same time, it seemed all too familiar.

Faolan swallowed his fear and put on that tough front again. “You could be as clear as the world’s most expensive diamond and it wouldn’t make a difference to me.”

Finlay punched him in the gut, again, with no warning, causing Faolan to double over. He grabbed a fist full of Faolan’s lovely blond hair and held his head back at a painful angle.

“I’m going to have so much fun watching you eat those words. Now get on your knees. You really don’t want to make me angry. Right now I’m simply amused. Cross me and that will change.”

Faolan doubled over in a gagging fit. The punch to his gut had irritated an already upset stomach and burnt esophagus. He felt more bile rising in his throat, but did his best to keep it down.

“Maybe you should’ve learned more about me before you decided to pick me. You seem to know Atticus. You know he will come for me, right?” Faolan put on more of his faux moxie. He couldn’t look weak. Not after everything he’d done. Not after all the progress he’d made.

“Mmmmm. A fighter. I knew it. You’re still going to regret not obeying me. You’ll learn your place here soon enough.” Finlay held his hair as he drew something from his back pocket. He could feel Faolan struggling, but it wasn’t going to matter. He pressed the stun gun against Faolan’s ribs and engaged the button, sending blue lightning through his torso.

Every muscle, bone, and cell lit up with pain as Faolan let out a horrible scream at the force of the stun gun. Seconds became minutes and minutes could’ve easily become hours. It felt like he couldn’t breathe. His hair was being ripped out of his skull as he thrashed and screamed, unable to claw at the arm holding him up.

Finlay smiled as he watched his prey thrashing and dangling by his hair. He pulled the stun gun away. “Would you like to kneel now or shall I keep going?” He smirked as he watched the lingering tremors running through Faolan.

Faolan struggled for air, hardly catching a word of what Finlay was saying. Tears formed in his eyes, but he convinced himself that they were from the uncontrollable movements. As he tried to breathe, he realized he was too winded to give much of an answer. If Finlay wasn’t holding him up, he would’ve collapsed.

“Can’t…” He swallowed his breath to speak. “You won’t win… this fight. I’ve taken down guys much bigger than you.”

Finlay patted his cheeks. “Sure you have, honey. You keep telling yourself that. In the meantime…” He shoved the stun gun against him again and pressed the button, sending waves of torment though the smaller man.

The tears were genuine this time. More screams ripped through his throat as the jitters ran through his system, ripping his muscles apart. Eventually, he screamed his burnt throat raw and he couldn’t even manage a squeak.

He’d been in this position before. Suddenly, he felt every bone in his body freeze as his blood ran cold. If he wasn’t convulsing from the shocks, he would’ve been completely still. He felt those familiar hands as he managed a scream.

“Stop! Stop! Stop, please!”

Finlay stopped. “Change of heart, darling?”

Faolan looked at him with the eyes of a scared rabbit. He was clearly stuck in some sort of intense memory as he nodded a little - subtly - just like he had that night with William.

“Good.” Finlay released his hair. “Then kneel.”

Without a second thought, like that night, he kneeled, having to use his hands to hold himself up. He was in too much pain, too weak, to keep himself propped up with just his knees. He could only hope it would be enough.

Finlay stroked his hair. “Much better. I hope we won’t have to do that again. This is how you will present yourself every time I come here. Failure to do so will result in more pain than is necessary.” He moved his hand under Faolan’s chin, tilting it up to look at him. “Am. I. Clear?”

Faolan cringed back from the hand stroking his hair, but tried not to let it show. Seeing the malice in the man’s eyes was perhaps more terrifying than the prospects he was proposing. “You’re very clear.” His voice was raspy from all the screaming.

Finlay tilted his head and wiped the boy’s tears from his face. “Tsk. Tsk. So unnecessary. But also so lovely. I knew you would be. You’re quite pretty. Do you know that? Has anyone ever told you that before? Maybe Atticus? Maybe someone else? Mmm?” He raised an eyebrow at Faolan.

Even against his best instinct, Faolan couldn’t help but melt a bit into the wiping of his tears. “Atticus never says such things, but I’ve heard it…” he swallowed a lump he was sure was choking him. “I’ve heard it many times before from a different person.”

Now that was interesting. Finley wasn’t expecting the young man to lean into his touch like that. Not this fast. Very interesting indeed. “Really. Tell me about this person.”

“He’s dead.” It was the first thing Faolan thought to say. After that, Faolan couldn’t really put together words to describe William.

He didn’t see the trial a couple years ago? The thought almost surprised that part of his brain that constantly worried that people would recognize him.

“Oh yes, I read about this. Your William. And that’s how you became Atticus’ little pet.”

Faolan froze. His heart might’ve stopped dead in its tracks for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to respond. Hearing William’s name, hearing it said as his brought some primal part of his brain out.

“I’m going to be ill.” He felt his unsettled stomach doing flips. Whether it was anxiety, medication, alcohol, or his reflux, Faolan couldn’t be sure. “There’s medicine in my wallet. I keep one pill on me.”

“There’s a bucket if you need it. I’ll have my men look for your medicine. What is it?” Faolan was full of surprises.

Faolan crawled his way to the bucket, grabbing the edges. The smell of it made him feel more sick. “Zofran. Zofran oral dissolving. 4-” he felt himself heave a little bit. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. 4 milligrams if I remember correctly. It’s in a silver blister. Pepcid if you have any, too.”

Curiouser and curiouser. “I’ll see what I can do.” Finlay was thoughtful for a moment. Faolan was already apologizing. This may be easier than he thought. “If you’d like to avoid these unpleasantries, I would suggest that you obey from the outset. What do you think?”

The last of his statements earned Finlay a glare from Faolan. However, he quickly became sick and dry heaved a bit.

“Don’t you dare hold my medicine back for that. It’s going to be a bigger problem for you than for me. I’ll lose weight and lose that beauty. Loose skin, less muscle.”

It was an assumption from his time with William that came bubbling to the surface.

Finlay grabbed his hair and wrenched it back. “Don’t you dare fucking tell me what to do. You can be force fed. Injected with meds. There’s lots of ways to get you to do what I want that are far less pleasant.” He motioned with his hand to their surroundings. “You think I have a set up like this because you’re my first plaything? You think I’m new to this?”

At the mention of force feeding, Faolan’s eyes seemed to glaze over. His mind went back to a different time and a different place. He didn’t even really register Finlay’s questions. He only felt the pain of his hair being pulled back.

“Hey! Hey, I asked you a question!” Finlay yelled. When Faolan still didn’t respond he slapped him hard. Not as hard as that first back hand, but hard enough to jam his teeth together. “Answer me. Do you think I’m new to this?”

Faolan gasped, genuine tears in his eyes. He seemed dazed as he moved his hand quietly to his face, grasping where he’d been struck twice now.

“I-I don’t think you are.” He still seemed a bit dazed. It was clear his mind was retreating a bit as he looked at Finlay a bit blankly.

“Good. I think it’s time we move to the other room. I want to have a proper look at you and maybe see about testing your limits. I’ll have one of my men get your meds.”

He stood and opened the door. There were two men standing outside the door. One of them handed Finlay something. When Finlay turned around, he had a collar and a leash in his hand. “I wouldn’t want you trying to run off. Now be a good boy and we won’t have to hurt you.”

Faolan looked at the collar, then at the chain around his ankle. He only had one thought in his mind: get away from the collar. He knew what that meant. He knew what would happen next.

He ducked and darted to the cot, sliding himself under it. He was small enough that he could fit snugly without Finlay being able to easily reach him.

Finlay sighed with exasperation. But this is also what he wanted. Too easily obtained submission and he got bored. Still, he had a lot planned for today and this was already taking longer than he wanted. He snapped his fingers and the two men from the door entered the tiny space.

“Parker! Lucian! Get him out and get him back on his knees.” He rolled his eyes at the childish protest. Like this would actually work. The collaring was inevitable.

Faolan saw the two men and his eyes went big. He only pressed himself further against the wall. Something inside him wanted to beg for them to not hurt him, even if he knew begging was futile. The anxiety was overwhelming - paralyzing even - as he hid, like the situation would disappear if he buried himself for long enough.

One of the henchmen simply reached down and grabbed the end of the chain and pulled. They were stronger and bigger and Faolan was not heavy, at least not in comparison to them. The second man helped as they dragged him by his ankle out from under the cot.

They seized him by his hair and arms, each of them holding one arm and pulling his hair back.

Finlay advanced on his cornered prey. “Do you really think that was the best idea? Now, not only do you still get collared,” he slid the collar around Faolan’s slender neck and buckled it behind him. He pulled the padlock out of his pocket and locked it into place, “but now you’re also going to be punished. He looked straight into Faolan’s eyes. “That means more pain, in case you weren’t sure.”

The sheer helplessness of the situation began to send Faolan over the edge. He felt his chest tighten as he remembered the last time he was collared perhaps a little too well. He thought he’d put that memory out of his head, but apparently, it was still there.

“I-I’m sorry.” His ankle hurt. His scalp hurt, His face hurt. His leg was covered in scrapes now and the one man was practically wrenching his shoulders out of place. He needed a break, but he knew he wouldn’t be getting one any time soon.

“Oh… you will be, baby. The sorriest little pet I’ve ever had down here.” Finlay looked up to his guards. “String him up.”

#three days #faolan dufort #finlay iver #the whumpers soiree #whump #whump fic #whump writing #whump community #elements of noncon #noncon toughing #intimate whumper #kidnapping #captivity #recaptured whumpee

37 notes · View notes