#referenced torture

[whumpitisthen]

Too Much

alt.: How to Break a Defiant Whumpee 101, cws in tags!

When the lock clicks and the door opens once again, the foreboding light cascades down in the form of a person's shadow onto him and he cannot hold in a moan of distress.

He jerks his hands down against the cold floor in helpless, terrified frustration. His blood trickles from under the thick cable wire tying his wrists tightly together, collecting in a puddle with the rest of his spilled life force on the floor. Those cuts barely had time to close over, now torn open again. It cannot have been more than a couple hours since the last visit; what had he done to incur this unbearable punishment today? Who did he piss off this bad?

He listens to the familiar, heavy footsteps nearing him, hoping desperately that they aren't here for him. Unfortunately, those steel-toed boots enter his vision and do not leave, slowing to a stop right in front of his cell, peeking through the bars curiously. He wishes that just once, they would walk right past him; that he would be ignored and left alone. Alas, today has not been the luckiest.

"Oh, just look at you. Always such a sight for sore eyes."

"F-Fuck off."

Leaning up against the cell door, they trail their eyes along every inch of his skin. Of all his captors, this one might just be the worst, if only for their creepy fucking mannerisms. It's hard to forget about those intense, dark eyes and that impossibly smooth, gross voice that makes his skin crawl and keeps him company even in his nightmares. Among all the other things he was hoping for just a moment ago, not having to see them today was quite high up on his list.

They click their tongue. — "You still have your tongue then. Could've fooled me. You look awful."

Their grin made the insult sound more like a twisted compliment. He forces out another weak reply. — "Wow. Thanks."

They pause, tapping their index finger against one metal bar. They are just standing there, staring at him. Their expression is infuriatingly pleasant.

He fucking hates this. Why couldn't they just leave him alone today? Why does he have to be looking up at this terrifying motherfucker from the coldest, most uncomfortable corner of his cell, already exhausted, beaten halfway to death, and be forced to go through yet another round of pain? This just isn't fair.

They take a deep, content sigh, seemingly done with their sightseeing. — "Right."

They back up to stretch, then fit the key into the cell door, promptly sliding inside once it's open. His foreseeable future has swiftly become his near future, and he is anything but ready for it to become his present.

"W-Wait, wait, don't come in, you can't be ser— "

"How could I not when you look so lonely, cuddled up to the wall all by yourself?" — they sing, watching him struggle to push himself further into the corner he was left in by the one before them. From this close, it's even more apparent how rough he had it lately.

If the numerous black-purple pools of blood under his skin weren't enough, the fresh pool by his hand and the splatter of red across the walls would make it more than obvious. Everywhere they look they find another cut, another bruise, another mark and slash and burn. The ever present rings around his wrists are deeper, and now a new one resides around his throat like a collar. His eyes are dark and crimson, looking at them like he might just burst into tears.

He pushes his back into the wall with a cry. A new desperation has morphed his voice into something truly delicious. — "Just, leave, leave me alone!"

They smile innocently. — "Oh, should I? I'll consider it."

"No, stop, please — !" — his throat rasps and breaks his words, but that is nothing new. What is new, however, is the begging. This one has to be forced to beg usually, and now here he is, already close to sobbing for them to just let him be before they could even set a hand on him.

With something between a groan and a whimper, he twists his body to be hidden, curling up to the side and squeezing his eyes shut as he cowers, shaking, shielding his face with bound hands before they could even reach him. He looks utterly pathetic, and that melts their heart — but then they notice something truly surprising, something deviously intriguing.

"Don't tell me... Baby, are you crying? Already?" — They do not even try to hide the grin in their voice as they kneel in front of him. He only curls up tighter, sniffling. — "Now you're starting to worry me. This is very unlike you. I expect insults and swearing, not weeping."

He doesn't respond with anything but a huff of air. They try to peer behind those twitching fingers — a couple of them are definitely broken — but their curiosity isn't sated. The thought of finally having broken him crosses their mind. — "What happened?"

Their question goes unanswered. This guessing game is already starting to irritate them.

They take a light hold of one of those fractured fingers, leering; only a threat for now. — "You know I prefer screams to silence."

"Don't," — he half-wheezes.

"Talk to me then. What's troubling you, sweetheart?" — they cut him off entirely, cooing like they aren't the very reason he's like this.

"I'm... I'm scared."

"I can tell."

"I just — please, I-I just —"

They say nothing. He swallows dryly.

"I just don't want to be hurt again," — he whispers miserably, — "I can't, again, I can't — "

They still don't say anything. They still hold onto that damn finger. He almost wishes they would just get on with the torture instead of whatever this is.

"What, what do you want from me? Just fucking leave! Please!" — he yells, pleads, loses his mind a little more. — "Are you blind? Do you seriously want me to explain to you why I'm, why I'm having a-, a fucking meltdown?"

"I've barely had a, a single minute to myself today where I didn't have to en-entertain any of you pricks, and when I think it's finally over, when, when I get just a second, a m-, a moment to breathe," — he takes a strained couple inhales, almost hyperventilating before harshly gulping down his anxiety again, fighting sobs, — "y-you fucking show up. Like you always do. And, and now I'm here, yet again, left on the floor tired and, and hurt and bleeding — and you're, you're — it always g—, it never gets better. It never f-fffucking stops."

Nothing more is said for a while. They just watch him cry in his little corner coated in fresh blood, breaking apart in front of them. This is an incredible, rare sight. An important moment. They see a precious opportunity and they simply cannot resist seizing it.

They let go of his hand, gently laying their palm on his head instead. The gasp and the flinch are wonderfully unexpected, yet so beautiful to see. — "How many of us came today?" — they inquire softly, almost genuine.

His fragile throat lets out the most raw, wretched sounds they have ever heard him make. — "Y-You were the only one who hasn't. Eh-everyone and their mother came to visit me. I was really fucking hoping you wouldn't."

Ah. The others all took turns today, huh. They did a fine job at whittling him down. They don't even know how all of them managed to get their round in in such a short period of time.

"All five of us?"

"Yeah," — he mumbles. He's furiously wiping at his eyes, starting to lose all hope of getting any rest now that they are this close, and clearly not leaving any time soon. He hoped this embarrassing outbreak would at least deter them somehow, but none of his hopes today came true. They aren't exactly a bleeding heart who would change their mind about torturing him just because he's a little sad. If anything, he thinks, being this pathetic might have just spurred them on. — "But it doesn't, doesn't matter, does it? You sadistic freaks don't care about anything but, but beating the shit out of me any chance you get. I don't know why I thought that you of all people would understand."

This is perfect.

They lean in close. — "Me of all people? What's that supposed to mean? Am I special?"

"Especially annoying." — Now that's more like him. Retorts and insults flying out of his mouth like bullets. They really wish they could have him confess that he finds them the most intimidating out of everyone, that the ‘annoyance’, as he put it, comes from the fact that his backtalk doesn't have any effect on them, and that they know him on a deeper level than any of the others and that scares him more than anything — but they recognise when the moment allows for a play like that. He's already building up his walls again; they can't let this moment slip through their fingers.

"Mmm. Well, I have a proposal for you." — They dig their fingers under his great mess of locks, not unkind. — "Look at me."

"That's not a proposal."

"I'll tell you once you look at me."

"No."

They sink their hand in deeper, twisting into his hair like the claws of a beast. — "Come on. Don't you want to hear it?"

He only lifts his hands higher to hide behind, now muffling his tone. — "I know that, th-that you only want to see me cry."

They smile. — "Yes. And I know you want to avoid more pain."

This thinly veiled threat does two things: it pisses him off, and it brings back that foolish hope that they will take mercy on him if he behaves as they like.

Just one more push. A soft, light order. — "Look at me, baby."

Ordinarily, this would never work. He might even laugh in their face or spit at them for asking, especially so sweetly. This time, however, he is just a lonely, sad little guy in a cell, desperate for sweetness. They wait patiently. He shudders uncomfortably, snivelling.

Silently, with a deadly glare, he finally looks at them.

His eyes are red, puffy, and so, so tired. His lips are bitten bloody, cracked, pouting. The scar over his right cheek has been reopened, enlarged to run down the side of his neck. A gorgeous purple bruise has nestled under his left eye, running like paint in water across his skin. His tears drew clean streaks along his face, sliding down the length of his neck. It's beautiful, mesmerising. They are mesmerised for a little too long, though.

"I hate you so fucking much, you're so gross," — he hisses, done watching their eyes rake over him like an object while having the most adoring, fond smile doing so. It always sends a shiver down his spine when they do this, and having them be so close just makes it even more unbearable. He can clearly see their eyes refocus and return to make eye contact at his remark and it makes him nauseous.

It's fascinating how little bite his voice holds now, with the tears still flowing freely and his throat closed up. So many thoughts of torment run through their mind, images of taking advantage of this weakened state he is in and breaking him until there is nothing left, until he is like this all the time; crying and pitiful and obedient and lovely. None of that makes it to the surface.

"My proposal is this;" — they say instead, — "we could go on with what I had planned for today. This option includes this high voltage shock collar I brought with me."

As they turn to get the collar he assumes they must be bluffing, but horrifyingly enough, they turn back with a thick, black loop of leather with a box attached to it and a remote in their other hand, grinning excitedly. He remains silent in shock.

"Or," — they say after a pause to let him simmer in anticipation, setting their toy to the side, — "we could forget about that for now, and let you rest instead. How does that sound?"

He can barely believe his ears. They actually care? This is a trick, it must be.

"You're lying." — His splotchy face must have betrayed his bewilderment, because they murmur a chuckle before they respond.

"I am not. I can tell you are in a lot of pain."

They take a gamble as they take his head into their hand gingerly, turning him towards them by one shoulder and one cheek carefully, fully expecting him to struggle. There is resistance, as always, but quieter, just a small weight put behind pulling them forward which might as well just be his tired body refusing to cooperate. He says nothing. His lip wobbles. His expression is less cutting than usual, the edge replaced by worn flesh and agony.

They make an effort to remove all malice from their eyes, looking at him with sympathy and love instead. They give him exactly what he has been craving for the weeks he has been trapped here. Someone who can tell him they know he has been trying his best.

They look right into his eyes empathically, and sadly sigh; — "You're just tired, aren't you?"

Those are the magic words to open the gates to his true anguish. Something about this awfully simple, assuring sentence whispered so knowingly — it breaks something in him, and his eyes fill with fresh tears, and he cannot help the sobs bubbling to the surface. Because it is that simple, isn't it? He is so, so damn tired. All he wants is some rest. The assurance that someone sees him struggling, and understands how badly he hurts, and how little he really asks for. Coming from his torturer, it should not feel so liberating. But he is far past rationalism, his want for a single kind gesture has long become a burning need he would do anything for in this moment.

He may regret it later, but for now he leans into their hand as he lets every sob he ever swallowed down free, letting them see how broken he truly is already. From under all that grit and animosity comes pure childlike, innocent suffering, so potent he doesn't know what to do with it besides letting it envelop him. Just the right opportunity and a couple pokes, and he has crumbled under all this weight.

They lead him closer, pulling him out of his defensive position against the wall slowly to embrace him. He is all but powerless to stop his fragile form from moulding under their touch, gasping wretchedly in their arms. He is shivering like a leaf. It's intoxicating.

There they remain until his sobs weaken, and his exhausted body slumps against them like dead weight. Somewhere along the line they had let themself slide down to the ground, inviting him to lie on something soft for the first time in forever, even if it is only their own body. The floor isn't exactly clean — it's quite disgusting in fact — but it is well worth it to have this ball of resentment tamed for even a small bit, even if they have to lie on filth for it. This one instance of kindness will have lasting effects on their relationship and him as a person, even if he doesn't realise it, or even if he does. He will find it hard to look at them the same way, and will find it difficult to keep up his defiance in front of them when he knows they have seen him truly at his wits end.

He may let them touch him more often without a word. He may find it easier to do as they say without fighting. He may grow more attached to them through this, having a closer connection to them than to any of the others. He may even ask them again, once the time comes, to have mercy on him again, and they will give it to him, letting him fall deeper and deeper. He will have to swallow his pride, and he will only swallow it for them. This small moment will be crucial in the future. Maybe they could capitalise just a little more on this by telling the others they can't see him for a day. They will visit him tomorrow and ease his mind again, let him heal, see how he acts after this humiliating exchange.

The unconscious man in their arms will learn to be theirs with time; he has already made so much progress. This one is theirs, just as soon as it becomes too much to bear again.

...

He didn't even yell at them for calling him baby.

~

Taglist: @morning-star-whump

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

#whump #creepy whumper #my writing #whump writing #intimate whumper #fear #sadistic whumper #captivity whump #defiant whumpee #multiple whumpers #referenced torture #manipulation #blood #restrained #crying #this is pretty tame #but very satisfying

[ratking-roleplays]

"-m sorry." Whumpee slurs, leaning their head against the wall. They're on the edge of consciousness, eyes fluttering, head spinning. They let out a whimper as a hand cups their face, tilting it towards the light.

"You did perfectly." Whumper smiled, caressing their bloody cheek. "So good for me... once we get past all that fighting, you're just a pretty little canvas, hm? You know this is all you're good for, dear, and I'd be stupid to deny it. Anyone would. You're only useful when you're hurt, dear heart."

Whumpee whimpered, leaning into the touch foolishly. Most of Whumper's words didn't register, but the shame burned like coals in their chest. It would take years for them to understand that they weren't just a punching bag.

#whump prompt #whump drabble #referenced beating #referenced torture #creepy whumper #intimate whumper

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Merry Whumpmas 2023 Day 31: Free Day

And... that's a wrap for Whumpmas 2023! Thanks for reading my contributions, I'll see you all in the New Year!

This is the third (and final) part of a hero x villain story that I accidentally created during Whumpmas.

Part 1 | Part 2

TW: blood, surgery, medical staples, referenced abuse, painkillers

Hero was lying on the couch in Villain’s safe house, staring at the ceiling and impatiently waiting for painkillers to kick in, when the door burst open. Villain stumbled inside, covered in blood. Hero shot to their feet from the couch, gritting their teeth against the pain caused by the movement. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Villain bolted the door and leaned heavily against it, breathing raggedly. “Yeah,” they mumbled, pulling off their mask and tossing it onto the nearest surface, “I’m fine.”

“But you’re covered in blood!” Hero protested, anxiously following them into the makeshift surgery room, the original purpose of which they hadn’t yet discovered. Hero stared in horror at the rips on the back of Villain’s suit, revealing the deep cuts underneath.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Villain muttered, rummaging through their medical supplies in search of something. “And it’s not all my blood.”

“You need stitches—”

“On my back? It’ll be fine, I just need a mirror.” Villain held up a medical staple gun. “I’ve done this before. Hurts like hell, but works just as well as stitches in a pinch.”

Hero wordlessly turned on their heel and left the surgery room. Snatching the bottle of painkillers off the small table by the couch, Hero returned and held it out to Villain.

Villain took the pill bottle and set down the staple gun to take the medication. “Thanks,” they said softly, shaking out what was probably more than the recommended dosage and swallowing it dry. They winced and made a face. “Think I might have bruised ribs, too.”

“Sit down,” Hero ordered, picking up the medical staple gun. “I can do it.”

Villain frowned. “You sure? You’re still not a hundred percent—”

Hero shook their head adamantly, ignoring how the movement jarred their own injuries. “I’ll have a better angle than you and your mirror contraption. You don’t need to do everything yourself.”

“Oh…” Villain said softly. They boosted themself onto the table and sucked a deep breath in through their teeth. “I guess… I guess you’re right.” 

Hero took a second to clean their hands and put on gloves before they moved behind them and picked up a clean alcohol wipe. “This is gonna sting, but I need to get rid of all this blood.”

They didn’t miss how Villain’s hands curled into fists as they wiped away the blood from the scratches. “How’d you encounter my team, anyway? Did they come to you?”

“Yeah…” Villain hissed through gritted teeth. “Just two of them. Not the fire one, thankfully. I hate fighting them. It was the one who can turn into different animals and the one who has the sound… gun… thing…?”

Hero positioned the head of the stapler in the center of the first of the cuts on Villain’s back. “Guess that’s where you got the scratches?”

“Cor—” Villain began just as Hero pulled the trigger. They yelped, flinching away from Hero. They glared over their shoulder. “Now that’s just mean.”

Hero shrugged. “I didn’t want you to tense up. Get back here, I gotta put one more in that cut and then another two in the other one.”

Villain closed their eyes and pressed the heels of their hands against them. They breathed slowly, purposefully, until they removed their hands and moved back towards Hero. “Alright,” they mumbled, fingers gripping the table's edge so hard, the knuckles turned white. “Fire away.”

Once the first staple was in, the rest of them went in swiftly. Villain flinched away every time, but only a few seconds later would order Hero to put the next one in. Finally, Hero had Villain pull off the top part of their suit so they could cover the cuts in bandages. Villain kept their eyes forward throughout the process, but Hero didn’t miss how their cheeks flushed when they removed their shirt.

“Okay,” Hero said, removing their gloves, “I’m done.”

Villain slowly pushed themselves off the table, wincing at the pain the movement caused. “Oh… that’s gonna bug me for a while.”

“Will your part of the city be all right?” Hero asked anxiously, wondering what would happen if their team decided to invade while Villain was recovering.

Villain waved their hand dismissively. “Yeah, they can handle themselves. I think I threw your old team off your trail by acting all annoyed that they’d showed up and really playing up the whole ‘sworn nemesis’ deal we had going.”

“Oh…” Hero said softly. “And they fought you anyway?”

“They didn’t take too kindly to my very reasonable request that they’d leave me the hell alone. Sure, I got all scratched up but I shot your shapeshifter buddy in both legs and broke the other one’s sound gun so I don’t think those one’s’ll be coming after us anytime soon.”

“Did they ask about Whumper? About how… you killed them?”

Villain smirked. “Nope! I forgot to tell you about this earlier, but I moved the body to the complete opposite side of the city from us. If anything, they probably think you killed them.”

Hero stared at them for a long few seconds. “I…” they stammered, trying to gather their thoughts, “I… why are you doing all this?”

Villain blinked. “Huh?”

“Saving me, stitching up my wounds, throwing off my other teammates, letting me stay at your safehouse…” Hero’s vision blurred as tears began to drip down their face. “I… what have I done to deserve all this? You’re risking everything for me, and I don’t have anything to give you in return….”

“Oh, Hero…” Villain murmured. They took Hero’s hand. 

Hero froze, gazing down at it in surprise. 

“I saved you,” Villain said, “because it was the right thing to do. You would’ve died in that alley from Whumper, so I took you to safety. I stitched up your injuries because you would’ve died from infection. And I’m letting you stay here because out there, those bastards would just recapture you again.”

“What…” Hero whispered, “What are you saying?”

Villain smiled. A soft, genuine smile. “I care about you, Hero. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I abandoned you.”

More tears began to well up. It was suddenly hard to breathe. “I…” Hero stammered, heart racing, “I care about you too. Please… please don’t get yourself killed trying to protect me. I don’t know… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Me neither,” Villain murmured, a dark look crossing their face. “Me neither.”

#merry whumpmas #my writing #whump #whump scenario #hero #villain #hero x villain #surgery #painkillers #tw painkillers #stitches #staple gun #medical staple gun #implied abuse #old wounds #referenced torture

[whumpacabra]

15. Road Trip

Head injury, blood loss, loss of consciousness, referenced captivity and torture

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

It was when they turned onto a paved highway that Harrison found himself laughing, whooping with joy.

“Fuck that place!” He felt lightheaded, the vehicle swerving slightly as he reached for a water bottle from the duffel wedged between their seats. “Oh god. Oh fuck - fuck - Christ.” His laughter died down, but the smile didn’t leave his face.

“Okay. Okay - okay. We - first we gotta get you to a hospital.” The Wolf whined at the suggestion, words slurred.

“Mm-nope. They’ll be looking.” His breathing was too fast and too shallow for Harrison to agree.

“Unless you want to bleed out, we need to - at least an emergency clinic, yeah. Yeah, clinics - a small one - they won’t need too much documentation.”

“Hm. If you say so.”

Harrison tempered the anxiety bubbling in his chest as they passed a mile marker. They were definitely in the western US. It made him nauseous to try and wrap his mind around what they had left behind in that desert dust. That was a problem for a well rested, well fed, and well provisioned Harrison to tackle.

That hard drive held everything.

He hoped it did, at least.

“Hey, you gotta keep talking to me Wolfie.”

“Don’t call me Wolfie.” The growl was playful in its aggression. Playful. What a word to use to describe a man who had nearly drowned him. A man who had tortured and murdered his friends.

Harrison glanced at the Wolf from the corner of his eyes, the man fixated on the passing scenery outside. As much as sand and dried prairie brush counted as scenery.

“I can’t wait to get a hot shower. How about you Wolf? What luxury do you want to indulge in?”

“Soap would be nice. You smell awful.”

“Hey - ”

“I think…I would like a new shirt.”

“You grabbed a few - they’re in the duffel. We can get changed. Maybe find a gas station to use.” The Wolf hummed in agreement, but his face was twisted in thought. “What else? A new shirt - you had those in the supply closet. What’s something you haven’t had in a while?”

“Hm…” The Wolf’s eye flicked up, watching fluffy white clouds against an aegean sea of blue. “Sleep in a bed, by myself.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” Harrison’s voice nearly caught in his throat, words tight. He wasn’t supposed to feel bad for this - this torturer and murderer - but how could he not with what he had seen? “What about food - I, it’s ridiculous, but I’ve been craving frozen yogurt for days now.”

“Frozen yogurt?”

“Yeah like ice cream or gelato.”

“Mm, gelato…I think vanilla was my favorite…”

“C’mon everyone knows chocolate is the best.”

“I don’t think so. Strawberry is better than chocolate.”

“Hey! You take that back - I can understand vanilla but strawberry? Really? That’s the hill you’re willing to die on?”

“Chocolate is simply not that good.”

“You just haven’t had the right kind - there’s this local brand my sister gets when I’m home…”

—

“Wolf. Hey, Wolfie, gotta stay awake for me, alright?” Harrison wasn’t sure how long they had been driving or how long it had been since Wolf responded. All he knew was the last few times he reached over to swat at the man, he hadn’t responded beyond a weak moan.

Harrison was starting to get worried.

(He had been worried - but now he couldn’t talk the nerves away and reassure himself by listening to Wolf’s slurred and choppy answers.)

They were going well over the speed limit, the highway completely barren. Once, he saw a tractor trailer with Arizona plates heading in the opposite direction. The Wolf had been awake then, watching it whip past with sharp eyes before shrugging and telling Harrison it wasn’t something worth worrying about.

Now the Wolf was quiet, breathing steady but so so shallow. The next exit seemed to appear miraculously: Cedar Hills, Population - 48. They might not have a hospital but - there had to be something - they had to at least know where the nearest hospital was -

Because Harrison wasn’t so sure the Wolf would make it much longer.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

#whump #successful escape #head injury #blood loss #loss of consciousness #referenced torture #referenced captivity #freelancers au #woke up late today sorry yall o7 #also decided to cut this one down a bit - had another few hundred words but this seemed like a better stopping point #yall get to meet the new characters tomorrow ig

[catsandgoodbooks]

No. 9: “Learning everything ain’t what it seems, that’s the thing about these days.”

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You’re a liar.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What are you doing here?” Sapnap hissed, pointing his sword at Dream. He was tired and stressed and he wasn’t even sure how Dream got in here and really did not want to have to deal with him right now. He didn’t want to deal with Dream’s mind games or threats. (He didn’t want to have to try to kill him, didn’t want to have to fulfill his promise)

“What, I’m not allowed to visit an old friend anymore?” Dream asked, pouting a little. Sapnap ignored the little shock of surprise at seeing him without his mask on. He didn’t understand why the villain wouldn’t be wearing it now.

(Sapnap had almost forgotten what Dream’s face looked like, pale and freckled and scarred – Sapnap didn’t think he always had so many scars, but he wasn’t going to question it right now. He had almost forgotten how large Dream’s eyes were, wide and childish and mischievous. He had almost forgotten how vibrant they were, bright bright, radioactive, unnatural green)

“No, you’re not! We’re not even friends anymore,” Sapnap protested. (Sapnap wasn’t sure if they were ever friends, because was Dream always like this? Had he just been lying the whole time? Was any of it real? And worse…what if Dream never changed, and they were all wrong?) “Not after you, like, tried to kill everyone–”

“Oh, when did I do that? Sure, my memory’s a biiiiit faulty, but I think I would remember something like that.” Dream grinned, batting his eyelashes, leaning languidly against the wall. “Well? Care to remind me?”

“You started like five wars, dude!” Sapnap ran a hand through his hair. “And you blew L’Manburg three times, and you tried to steal everyone’s stuff to control them–”

“But when did I try to kill everyone? Like, sure, I did that stuff, but half the server did too, and, hell, Technoblade blew up L’Manburg too! I was mostly just helping there, and I don’t see you going after him, do I?” Dream urged playfully.

“People did go after Technoblade, Dream,” Sapnap argued. “They tried to kill him.”

“Blah blah butcher army, blah blah Technoblade’s execution, yeah, I know.” Dream rolled his eyes. “But that was it. No one went after him after that, even though he went off and destroyed more stuff after that. Well, excluding the little part where he got locked in Pandora with me.”

What? Sapnap didn’t think he ever was told about that part. He hadn’t been keeping up a lot with the rest of the server, especially not when it concerned the Blade.

Then again, Dream could just be lying to try to mess with him.

Dream took one look at his face and laughed. “Wait, you didn’t know about that? I thought everyone did!” He chuckled. “I’d imagine that Quackity would go bragging to you about it,” he commented slyly, one finger raised to frame his face.

“What does Quackity have to do with this?” Sapnap asked. He didn’t want to talk about Quackity right now. He didn’t ever want to talk about Quackity with Dream. His ex-lover was too much of a sore spot for him.

“We were talking about Technoblade? And people going after him? Did you expect me to not bring up Quackity? I mean, that’s like, fucking impossible,” Dream remarked, one eyebrow raised. “And like, more specifically, Quackity’s the one to come up with the plan to lock Techno up, so then we gotta talk about him.”

“Whatever,” Sapnap muttered, rubbing his face. He certainly hadn’t missed this. “Let’s just stop talking about Quackity." He really didn't want to deal with this right now. "Why the hell are you here? How did you even find this place?”

“Just wanted to swing by, y’know, check how you’re doing?” Dream pushed himself up off the wall. “And it’s not hard to find. Doesn’t even make it on the top five of secret places on this server. Too many builds,” he sniffed.

“I don’t know if you know this, but people need places to live, Dream,” Sapnap snarled.

Dream sighed dramatically. “I swear, if that’s another homeless joke–”

“You think we’re joking here?!” Sapnap exclaimed. “You’re just lucky that I haven’t stabbed you yet, Dream, and I really should of. This isn’t a game!” Sapnap shut his mouth, vibrating with rage, and suddenly realized that his hair was on fire again. Fuck. He needed to calm down.

“Well, that’s great,” Dream commented, completely unbothered, casual as all hell. “Just wonderful, really. Did you know your fiance was torturing me?”

“What?” Sapnap hissed. He needed a minute, even though Dream would absolutely not give him one. He couldn’t deal with this right now, when he could feel the fire building up inside his chest and tried to push it down. He’d already burst into flame once during this conversation, and he didn’t want to repeat that.

“Yep!” Dream responded brightly, but Sapnap could see something cold and calculating deep within his eyes. “Quackity’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?”

“Quackity wouldn’t do that,” Sapnap stated. He wouldn’t. Sure, Quackity had some flaws, and they weren’t…together anymore, or even talking at all, really, but Sapnap was sure he wouldn’t do that.

“He did! He did, Sap!” Dream insisted. Sapnap tried to ignore how his entire demeanor changed, how frantic (desperate) he seemed. It was just an act, just another way to try to deceive him and get him on his side. Sapnap wasn’t going to fall for it.“You’re lying,” Sapnap told him. Dream had to be lying. Quackity wouldn’t do that. He knew that Dream was lying. Dream always lied. That was what he did. “You’re a liar, Dream. He would never do that.”

#whumptober2023 #no.9 #“you're a liar” #dsmp #fic #referenced torture #c!dream #c!sapnap #my writing

[errantnight]

Sephiroth assumes Genesis and angeal had a similar upbringing to him (experiments of Hollander instead of Hojo). He finds out otherwise when they're both horrified at some aspect of his childhood that he just casually mentions without thinking anything of it...

Sorry this took SO LONG I just am unable to make things short sometimes and this one grabbed me and wouldn't let go!

I am doing all of these that I get, I just got a LOT of them and I'm working through them chronologically as I received them!

This is the first time I've written ABO! Please let me know if I did okay?

"Bad Medicine" <-- one AO3

After Sephiroth’s customary round of injections and the tests to be certain that they were taking and absorbing correctly were finished, he’d fought to keep himself in control as something registered on the edge of his senses.

 The scent of fear and pain nearly made Sephiroth retch as the scent of an omega in distress made him want to hurry his steps, to run to his side, but he had to keep his stride to slow and measured steps. An impersonal, blank, expression was a careful mask as he passed from Hojo’s lair and into Hollander’s domain.

Hojo had waved him off earlier than usual, without the usual pain and healing tests, and ordered him to “Go get your pet omega, he’s distracting my assistants.” He’d been expecting Genesis to be causing trouble on purpose during his own Mako injections, using his often abrasive wit to hide the anxiety and pain that must have come from the treatments - Even Sephiroth, generally inured to pain and well practiced in hiding any discomfort during what a normal person might call ‘torture’, occasionally slipped up and showed his true feelings.

For the omega, it was impossible to hide his scent as he might usually do - his scent blockers had been slated to be renewed and clearly something had gone wrong… or ‘right’ as far as whatever procedure Hollander had decided to test out on the other man.

Angeal was the stoic one, the one who came back from the labs and insisted that nothing was wrong, he felt just fine, and to please not concern himself with his discomfort when they all went through the same thing. Genesis always made a fuss, refusing to keep his mouth shut while being treated - Sephiroth had heard him repeating Loveless on an endless loop from behind the closed door of Hollander’s personal lab whenever the pain became too much.

For himself, he’d learned long ago that any reaction to painful stimuli or what most people would think of as humiliation, would make everything so much worse. Angeal was more like him in that way and sometimes Sephiroth envied the other alpha’s ability to come out of the science department with a smile of encouragement for anyone else waiting for their turn. No matter what it was that Hollander did to him, it seemed to have no lasting effects. Sephiroth himself usually secluded himself in his rooms until he had complete control over himself, usually too ill to eat or accept a mission for three days or so. How did Angeal do it? How did he go back to teaching and training his new apprentice while suffering the aftereffects of Hollander’s experiments? He was so much stronger than Sephiroth, no matter what anyone said about his prowess in battle.

Sephiroth knew the tests and procedures were necessary for the progression of the SOLDIER program, to further the field of science as a whole, and to make certain various potions and curatives would be the correct dosages for the enhanced men under his command. He suffered through them, desperately trying not to show anything but calm acceptance and the expected silence as Hojo rambled about what he hoped to accomplish. If he had to have the flesh on the back his hands be flayed open to test how quickly it took to heal itself with various new potion formulations, or be forced to hold himself still through a spinal tap to check how much Mako made its way into his spinal fluid versus in his blood, he knew he could get through it as long as he had three or four days to recover.

He stepped through the door into the other scientist’s examination room and fought the urge to cover his nose with his hand as the scent of pain-fear-stress hit him full force. Genesis wasn’t usually like this, even though he was the worst of the three of them to be able to handle what they suffered in the name of science. Genesis wasn’t supposed to be lying curled on his side covered in sweat and reeking of distress and misery, totally silent with glazed eyes. His usual scent of apples and spice was both sickly sweet and somehow bitter all at once. Sephiroth didn’t bother to ask permission to pick up his friend and carry him out, ignoring the spluttering Hollander and stepping past him without a word. Genesis didn’t finch, didn’t insist that he wasn’t a child or a lapdog to be scooped up and carted around, especially by Sephiroth of all people. That was so intensely wrong.

In the elevator, Sephiroth pressed his lips into a thin line, his mask breaking completely when Genesis reached up and weakly clutched at a strand of Sephiroth’s hair. He lowered his head, a curtain of silver blocking Genesis, and incidentally his own pale face, from view as the elevator opened and admitted a handful of office workers. They were clearly curious, but it was absolutely none of their business. Let them gossip about the two of them being lovers all they wanted… Not that Sephiroth would mind it if it were true, and he ignored the pang of longing that he’d never let Genesis see - the other man had enough to deal with and had his choice of anyone he wanted.

He shook off his own spiraling thoughts as he carried Genesis into his own apartment, rushing into his bedroom once the door was closed behind them with no more chances for someone to catch him doing so. Genesis listlessly clutched at the pillow Sephiroth laid him down on, dragging it from underneath his head to cuddle it against his chest.

Sephiroth rarely swore, and never where anyone would hear him, but he muttered a soft curse and ran into the hallway to fling open the door to the linen closet. He wished he could find Genesis’ key-card to get into his apartment, surely the omega had an abundance of blankets and pillows, everything he would need to make himself a nest to curl up and recover in. Much like purring, the nest itself helped to relieve distress and mute pain, although he’d always wondered if they weren’t perhaps psychosomatic.

He’d never felt the strange sort of panic that began to well up in his chest, the knowledge that Genesis was miserable and radiating pheromones that had never affected Sephiroth in quite this way. He’d scented omegas in distress and pain many times, the infirmary tents in Wutai had often stank of it. But this had a quality he couldn’t explain… It made his hands begin to shake and his mouth was dry as Genesis shivered and curled into a ball on the bed.

“Mn,” Genesis whimpered out a soft sound of discomfort from the other room that set Sephiroth’s every nerve on edge, the need to do something becoming overwhelming, “m’cold…”

Dragging out every extra blanket, sheet, and pillow, woefully limited the selection might be, he dragged his armful back into the bedroom and began to arrange it all around Genesis to cocoon him in the warmth. He didn’t know what was driving him on, he’d never done any such thing, but it seemed to come naturally to build up small walls of comfort around Genesis’ curled up form. He tossed the softest blanket he had, something Angeal had given him he was certain, over top of everything and tucked it in around the other man.

Sephiroth hovered by the bed until Genesis reached a hand out from beneath the blanket and mumbled out, “More…”

Uncertain what else to do, Sephiroth sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his boots off, stripping out of his coat and harness before gingerly climbing into the circle he’d made around his friend. Very hesitantly he wrapped one arm around the other man.

Genesis shifted back against him, sighing as he seemed to bask in the warmth of Sephiroth’s body. One of his feet reached back and hooked his heel around Sephiroth’s knee, guiding it over his thigh to get more warmth enveloping him. The other man’s skin was hot and unpleasantly sticky from mako-fever sweat. Sephiroth knew he’d be replacing everything in here when Genesis was well again, including the mattress if the mako made its way through the sheets and blankets. He didn’t care though, not if it made his… he shook his head, as long as Genesis was comfortable while he recovered that was alright.

Sephiroth sighed, a low shivery breath, and leaned closer. He would never take this liberty in any other circumstance, hoping Genesis didn’t firaga him right in the face as soon as he was well. He nuzzled into the sweat soaked hair at the back of Genesis head, moving down just a little bit, until he could scent him. The pain and distress was still there, but the fear was gone. He rubbed his cheek against Genesis’ shoulder, pressing his own scent into his skin, then went still as he realized what he had done.

He’d never done that, not to anyone, and certainly never to one of his only friends. He thought, ruefully, that he would deserve that firaga…

He startled as he heard his own door open and close, heavy steps making their way quickly to the bedroom. Sephiroth pulled his face away, uncertain when he’d drifted down to touch his forehead to Genesis scent gland, feeling as though he had been caught doing something even more intimate and forbidden. Unexpectedly, the worry on Angeal’s face softened to some other expression he couldn’t name. Watching them for a moment, Angeal ran a hand over his hair, muttering something that sounded like ‘Finally,’ in an exasperated tone that made no sense.

Sephiroth didn’t know why it bothered him so much when Angeal sat down on the edge of the bed and touched his fingers against Genesis' pulse, so close to the place on Genesis' throat where he had just been rubbing himself against. Shame washed through him, leaving him feeling cold and hot in turns as Angeal cupped Genesis’ chin in a gesture that showed he’d done it many times, “Gen, can you wake up a little?”

Angeal looked over Genesis’ shoulder to Sephiroth, still touching Genesis, which still made Sephiroth feel upset in some unexplainable way, “It helps if you keep talking to him when he’s, um, like this.”

A pang of his own distress stiffened Sephiroth’s shoulders as he turned his attention back to his, to their, friend. How many times had this happened and he’d never known? What had Hollander done to him? He couldn’t smell blood, so either he’d healed Genesis to a point he’d stopped bleeding or whatever he’d done hadn’t been particularly invasive…

“I…” he began and then trailed off, uncertain what he was supposed to say to help Genesis, “it’s going to be alright, Gen, please wake up?” He cringed slightly as Angeal’s lips turned up at the corners, knowing he sounded more than a little awkward and pathetic.

Quietly, they both called Genesis back until he half turned in Sephiroth’s hold and blinked up at them, bleary eyed and still sweating. His body language, curling back against the warm body flush against him, and his scent were still tainted with distress.

“What happened?” Sephiroth asked quietly, pulling the blanket away from Genesis and receiving a plaintive mew of sound like nothing he’d heard from the omega before in his life. Genesis shook his head and deeper concern sped Sephiroth’s heart rate as he rose up, “I’m sorry but you know I have to do this if you don’t remember.”

He looked up at Angeal, “Will you help me? I don’t know what your usual routine is after your appointments, but I usually start checking my abdomen if I can’t remember what was done - I can’t smell blood but that doesn’t rule out any exploratory surgery and he’s been favoring around his stomach the whole time.”

He had to gently turn Genesis onto his back, pulling up the sweat soaked t-shirt he was wearing and began carefully palpating his stomach and watching the other man’s face for a reaction as he checked all the usual places, moving up to check his throat even though he’d been so close to it a moment ago.

“Does that feel alright, no tenderness or pain?” he asked, wondering why Genesis was looking up at Angeal with one of the odd expressions Sephiroth had always had trouble figuring out. The other man was looking more and more alert, and somehow more and more alarmed at the same time.

“Are you certain it doesn’t hurt, is your throat alright?” It wasn’t like Genesis to be so quiet, especially when he was injured or ill and he felt a burst of genuine panic rise as he asked, “he didn’t cut your vocal chords did he?”

“Does…” Angeal reached out a hand to him, unexpectedly, and Sephiroth pulled back before his friend could touch his face as he’d done Genesis a moment ago, “does that happen during your appointments?”

“Does what happen?” Sephiroth asked, confused, as he resumed checking Genesis for injuries, making him sit up and checking the back of his neck and touching each inch of his spine for damage, “no spinal tap either…”

“Does Hojo cut your vocal chords?” Angeal elaborated and Sephiroth realized that the strange expression on Angeal’s face was concern. He must have worried that Genesis had earned such a punishment.

He shrugged, “Not for years. I learned to be quiet through any of the tests and procedures.” He waved a hand toward Angeal, “You’re quiet enough as well to not need to be corrected, I’ve never heard you when I know you’ve had the same slot as I did, but I’ve heard Genesis enough times that… I wondered… I worried about when Hollander would get angry enough to do something about it.”

“I’m alright,” Genesis said carefully, his voice rough but otherwise seeming alright. It made more sense if he had been screaming, and Hollander had merely cast silence on him, “he did try something new, but I’m not… I’m just…” Genesis stumbled over his words, which again was unlike him, “I’m not injured.”

“Are you ill then?” Sephiroth asked, reaching up to lay his hand on Genesis’ forehead, although he could already feel the heat radiating from the man through his side, still pressed up against him, “poison resistance tests?”

“No!” Genesis rolled over, wincing, and Sephiroth went stiff as the omega wrapped his arms around his neck and twined their legs together in one sinuous movement.

Genesis rubbed his cheek along his own and Sephiroth’s breath hitched in his chest, the sensation so unfamiliar he didn’t know how to process it. The alarm and fear was back in Genesis scent, mixed with that sweetness that was no longer as cloying as it had seemed earlier. He hesitantly reciprocated. Having never done so before, he hoped he was doing it right.

“No…” Genesis said again, his voice growling in his chest. He raised his head, turning enough to look into Sephiroth’s face, “that doesn’t happen to us, that has never happened to either of us. That isn’t normal.”

“It isn’t right” Angeal’s voice was lower and deeper than usual, radiating sheer fury, and Sephiroth stared at both of them in turn. Angeal ran a hand down his face, abruptly leaning closer, one hand in the nest and the other reaching out to curl his fingers through Sephiroth’s hair and cup the back of his head. Too startled to move, Angeal pulled him closer to touch their foreheads together, Genesis trapped in between them, “it’s so fucking wrong.”

If Sephiroth never swore, Angeal had always seemed as though he never even thought of it. He felt something tight in his chest loosen, then swayed into Angeal’s grasp as Genesis broke out into a low and comforting purr. The sound radiated into his chest from Genesis wrapping their bodies together closer. He’d heard that this could happen, that an omega’s purring had healing properties, but he wasn’t injured. Why did he feel so dizzy and strange?

There was a small space of quiet and he realized he’d said the last part out loud. Genesis’s low purr hitched for a moment, then grew into something so strong Sephiroth felt he might be vibrating.

A matching rumble spread from Angeal, dragging him and Genesis closer until he tumbled into the nest and curled himself over both of them. Sephiroth should have struggled - should have wanted to, but their weight and the purring, and the… protective… it was protective, the growl thrumming through both of them was seeping somehow into Sephiroth.

“No one has ever fucking purred for you in your godsdamned life, have they?” wetness was dripping down Sephiroth’s neck, soaking into his shirt. “Goddess, fuck!” Genesis sounded as though he were choking.

Angeal’s hand gripping the back of Sephiroth’s head loosened, his fingers petting through the silver strands as his head hit the edge of the nest and he felt like he would melt right through it. Whatever was happening sucked all of the energy out of him. He went limp as both men began to speak quietly, in turn.

It was all wrong, they said, that Hojo was a monster, that none of that should ever have happened - they were both so sorry they hadn’t known, hadn’t understood that something so awful was the reason he often sequestered himself in his rooms for days after his appointments.

“I will never,” Genesis hissed viciously, arms still wrapped around him and gripping handfuls of Sephiroth’s shirt, “ever, let you go alone again. Never.”

The growl in Angeal’s throat grew even lower, somehow, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem, not if I have something to say about it.”

A laugh, a very small, strange laugh, was huffed into Sephiroth’s throat as Genesis nuzzled against him, “oh, good, I don’t think I can stand up long enough to do something about it just now.”

“You’re still ill,” Sephiroth whispered, unable to so much as raise his head beneath the two men, still confused and curious at once why the sounds they were making were both affecting him so strongly, “you’re burning up, you’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not sick,” Genesis insisted again, “I’m in heat. Hollander tried to give me some experimental drug he formulated to stop it, it just made it worse.”

“Excuse me,” Angeal said, faintly, rising from his perch on the edge of the bed, “I need to go down to science for a while, I’ll leave the two of you, ah, to it.”

“Do you want me to go?” Sephiroth asked, uncertain that he would be able to move if Genesis wanted him to leave, “aren’t heats… private or something?” He didn’t know much about it, his biology textbooks had never gone into the social aspects of such things save the bits he’d assumed were theoretical about purring and nests - but now knew had some validity.

Genesis hooked his leg over Sephiroth’s hip, turning his face into Sephiroth’s shoulder again, “Don’t you dare,” he said, “I don’t want to be alone.”

Still unable to so much as raise his head, feeling light headed and just.. somehow… light, Sephiroth held Genesis a little more tightly… “I think… I don’t… either.”

Genesis somehow began to purr even harder, “Oh good,” he said, sounding choked again, “I wasn’t going to let you anyway.”

#ffvii #ff7 #sephgen #genseph #whump #writing prompt #referenced medical torture #referenced torture #misunderstandings #abo #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #non traditional a/b/o

[oopsbirdficced]

The Winding Path Home

Art by @z-h-i-e / Zhie (AO3)

Story by @oopsbirdficced / ingenious_spark (AO3)

Fic rating: T/13+

Warnings: mild blood, referenced torture, canon typical violence, forced transformation

Relationships: Thranduil/Finrod

Characters: Thranduil, Finrod, Original Characters

Tags: werewolves, Finrod survives, domestic fluff, light humor, injury recovery, illustrated work

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: Sometimes grief is the first step on the lonely road home. For two aching souls, it’s also the first step towards each other.

Sometimes what you need to begin to heal from grief is someone to take care of.

-

A collaboration created for the 2023 Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang, @tolkienrsb !!!!!

Collection/link will go live on September 8th!

#silmarillion #finrod #thranduil #werewolves #domestic fluff #humor #referenced torture #injury recovery #grief recovery #mild blood #happy ending #trsb23 #event fic #my writing #fanfiction

[miss-grimwood]

Regret - Bellamione

Bellatrix traced the scar on Hermione’s arm, guilt washing over her like a tidal wave.

She was so far gone into the madness, she hadn’t even known she was doing it. She was used to the screams, screams meant she was doing the right thing.

Seeing Hermione again, months later, once she was deemed safe, the letters on her arm stood out, taunting her. The girl wore short sleeves on purpose. Bellatrix felt it in her gut - she knew she was the one to inflict it.

She could’ve got out. Should’ve. Should’ve saved herself, and Merlin knows how many people she didn’t even remember hurting.

She’d never understand what possessed Hermione to forgive her, never mind love her.

@sapphicmicrofics

#bellatrix lestrange #hermione granger #bellamione #angst #referenced torture #<500 words #microfic

[fallenwhumpee]

“You don’t want to do that.”

June 1: Collapse | Locked Door | Fear • Masterlist •

Warnings: Captivity, Superpower whump, Creepy whumper, syringe, referenced torture.

Leader jerked awake, still feeling the last hit at their neck. Normally, they would not do that. They knew better than doing anything in the enemy territory before picking up their surroundings, but they were feeling too tired to resist their body.

They waited until the pain faded to a tolerable degree. They were in a cell, with only a door and basic bathroom present. The door was like a metal block rather than bars.

They were probably at one of the detonation cells at the lower levels of the abandoned jail, specifically designed for people with superpowers.

They sighed, cursing the location choice, and stood up.

They collapsed back to the cot, dizziness washing over them.

They struggled to keep themselves upright even while sitting. Their head was spinning, and dark spots were dancing around their vision. They took deep breaths, or at least tried, but the air filling their lungs was never enough, and their chest was too heavy.

They stood up again, trying to push through with their willpower just like they always did when everything else failed.

"You don't want to do that." Whumper's voice filled the speakers.

They ignored Whumper and limped towards the door. Testing it with their heavy limbs, they threw themselves at the door once. It should've broken under their strength. The cell shouldn't have affected them because, unlike the other superhumans, their power was coming from sheer potential and hard work to fill their potential. But they felt so weak. The door was locked and harder than they could handle, just perfect. They tumbled with the impact, hitting their back to the floor.

They rose back to their feet, limbs trembling as they tried to stay on foot.

"Wha- what h-have you done t-to me?" They stuttered as they couldnt breathe, their body too heavy to carry.

"Always stubborn. I told you that you didn't want to do that," Whumper sounded like they were enjoying this. "I just modified the cell. Instead of preventing you from using your powers, the cell will drain them." Whumper explained, delight clear in their voice.

"But you're looking well, and I can't have you bumping yourself into the door every time. I need to find a way to increase the power." They stopped, and Leader gritted their teeth. "I didn't need that before. You never fail to amaze me, my dear Leader."

Leader trembled. Whumper never failed to creep them out. They held themselves together for some more, but something began to howl. It was probably a generator.

Leader, as if that was possible, felt worse than before. They gasped and clutched the side of the cot as they felt their knees buckle beneath them. They tried to stay awake, but thinking was too hard, keeping their eyes open too tiring. They leaned their head to the cold edges of the cot, hoping to get enough strength to straighten themselves.

They fell to the ground completely, not aware of the time or anything happenings around them.

They certainly didn't remember climbing back to the cot. They groaned, their whole body was achy and sore. They felt too heavy, their limbs not cooperating as they tried to move.

"One hour. You held longer than the others."

They flinched. Whumper was standing right beside them, holding their right wrist with one hand and a syringe with the other.

"You woke up quite later than the most, though, but you're still better if we consider you nearly got your whole life essence drained, not just weakened."

They struggled against Whumper's hold, but Whumper just kept pressuring their wrist, and they screamed with a loud crack. They trashed, pain calming down momentarily when Whumper let go of their hand and held their palm over Leader’s wrist.

Then, it burned. Leader could feel their bones melt back into one.

But before they could let out the painful cry bubbling under their skin, Whumper hit their chest, a yelp escaping with the pressure.

"Save your lovely screams for your team now, I wouldn't enjoy it if you kept defying me like the last time."

"Looking from the good side, I will get to practice my healing powers and on a perfect subject, no less!" Whumper's voice hitched with joy towards the end.

"In your dreams." Leader spat, less sure than they wanted to sound, but not felt.

Leader's breaths faltered.

"You're excited too. That's good. But I want to be a bit more... experimental this time."

Fear burned their veins before the unknown liquid in the syringe.

#juneofdoom #whump #whump writing #captivity #collapse #superpower whump #creepy whumper #tw syringe #leader whump #leader whumpee #referenced torture

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

DAY 24: Bloody Clothes

TW: blood, deconditioning, referenced torture

"We need to get you changed," Caretaker said. "Your clothing is filthy."

"I don't deserve new clothing, master," Whumpee insisted.

"I don't want you dirty and blood covered."

Whumpee hesitated. New rules, that was all.

"Yes master."

"I told you to call me Caretaker."

Whumpee froze. This had to be a trick.

"Yes, Caretaker sir."

That had to be good enough. Proving they could respectfully follow orders.

"Go get changed," Caretaker sighed. "And take a shower while you're at it."

Whumpee hurried up the stairs, and into the bath room. So, they had done a good job then.

They stripped out of their shredded, blood stained clothes and found the soft sweatpants and cotton t-shirt Caretaker had left out for them.

Their new master was different. They were kind, and generous, and good. All Whumpee had to do was follow the rules, even if their master was vague about them.

They turned the shower head on, and brought the water to a comfortably warm temperature.

They stepped into the bath tub and began washing themself for the first time in months. Or had it been years?

Their new master had already promised not to send them back to their old master, not even if they disobeyed or tried to escape. It was more than Whumpee deserved.

The shampoo felt uncomfortable in their hair, but the sensation became more pleasant than Whumpee could remember as soon as they washed it out.

The dirt, blood, and sweat caked up after a near eternity of torture finally washed off, disappearing down the drain.

But why would they try to escape? Even if they weren't to be punished. It was too risky. And their new master was an angel. The outside world could only be worse than being under their ownership.

Whumpee smiled as they stepped out of the shower and turned off the water. They were going to have a good life.

#Whump #Febuwhump #Febuwhumpday24 #Whumpee #Caretaker #Deconditioning #Referenced torture #Blood #Nonsexual nudity

[whumpitisthen]

"Shhh... Don't be scared. Be good and just let it happen — and don't hold out on me. I want nothing more than to hear you cry, so feel free to show me just how much it hurts."

#whump #creepy whumper #my writing #whump writing #intimate whumper #whump prompt #fear #sadistic whumper #whump dialogue #dialogue prompt #referenced torture

[ratking-roleplays]

"I can't do this-" Whumpee's voice breaks as they sob, clutching their own battered form. "Please- please, I can't-" Their entire body aches, all the broken fingers and bruised ribs blending together. There is blood on the ground, but they're not sure where it's from.

"Oh, honey..." Whumper smiled with mock sympathy, leaning the bloodied crowbar against the wall. "You can. And you will. You make such a pretty pet dear, and you're so resilient." They praised, kneeling on the concrete beside their beloved Whumpee. "You've done it before, and you can do it again, sweetheart." They cupped Whumpee's tear-soaked cheek and rubbed their thumb against the bruised skin, not mistaking how much their captive leaned into the soft touch.

"It hurts..." Whumpee whispered, letting their eyes falls shut under the guise of safety. "Please."

"I know," Whumpee smiled softly. "I know, dear. But you're taking it so well." They pushed down on the dark bruise, feeling Whumpee's breath hitch as they hiccuped a sob.

"I don't wanna-" The captive mumbled, whimpering as Whumper pulled them closer, cradled their bruised body. "Please, Whumper-"

"Shh..." They stroked Whumpee's hair, shushing them affectionately. "It's over, honey, for tonight. You did so well my love. I can't wait to see what pretty sounds you'll make for me tomorrow."

#whump #whump drabble #creepy caretaking #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #broken bones #finegr whump mention #hand whump mention #blood mention #praise #begging #beatings #referenced torture #hehe

[tildeathiwillwrite]

"Is that a kid!?"

WoW Birthday Whump Day 7: Bloodied knuckles / Wounded / "Is that blood?!"

Whumpril Day 7 (Hesitation)

WoW Birthday Whump Prompts List

Whumpril Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

TW: blood, referenced kidnapping, referenced poison, referenced torture, cleaning wounds

Context: Draven receives an unexpected visit from Octavian. And he's not alone. A.K.A. Draven meets a child who is definitely not traumatized.

-----

Draven was in the middle of housework when the front door lock clicked. He froze, dusting cloth in one hand, the other reaching for the pistol at his side. The door creaked as someone pushed it open, then it shut just as quickly. Was that two sets of footsteps?

The door lock clicked a second time, and Draven drew the pistol, letting the dusting cloth fall to the floor. “Hiro?” He called, scrambling off the table—where he was dusting off the lamp above—and moving towards the doorway that connected the kitchen to the main living space. What he saw when he entered the room gave him pause.

“Is that blood?!”

Octavian glanced down at his hand. The skin on his knuckles had broken, and the cloth wadded tightly around his palm was soaked in the pale red liquid. A nasty gash above his right eye dripped blood down his face like tears. “...yes.”

Draven jumped as a small head popped out from behind Octavian. “And is that a kid?”

The girl flinched at his words and ducked back out of view. She was young, couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen, with short blonde hair.

“Also yes,” Octavian said simply. “I found her in the forest while hunting.”

Draven slid the pistol back into its holster. “Did you lose a fight with a bear? I expected better from you, de Silv.”

The devar rolled his eyes. “Obviously not. I sustained these injuries while trying to escort her home.” He gave the girl a significant look. “Because she hadn’t bothered to tell me she’d been kidnapped.”

“I said I was sorry,” the girl mumbled, barely audible from across the room.

“Kidnapped? Is that why you brought her here, of all places?” Draven crossed the room and reassessed both their injuries. Other than the bloody knuckles, the cut above his eye, and probably a few bruises, Octavian looked all right. The girl, however, was another case.

Upon first inspection, she only looked to have a partially scabbed-over cut on her left cheek. But the deep red stains on the sleeves of her jacket, too big for her, told a different story. She also didn’t look like she’d had a proper night’s sleep in some time. Draven could relate.

The girl’s face reddened at Draven’s inspection. Her eyes were downcast, and she picked at the hems of her jacket.

“Yes. I assume that whoever had taken her had agents in Zariya, they tried to snatch her off the street before we got out of sight.”

The key word was ‘tried’. Draven nodded before turning on his heel and darting back to the kitchen. Snatching his bag from its place on the table, he returned and dropped it in front of one of the couches. “Sit,” he ordered.

Octavian did so without question or hesitation, and the girl meekly followed. Draven rummaged through the bag, searching through the disorganized mess for the medical supplies he kept on hand. The hunting business was notorious for many on-the-job injuries, even for the mercenaries.

The first thing Draven shoved at Octavian was the tiny bottle of augri, alcohol so pure that ingesting it might cause death. “For cleaning the wounds. Not for drinking.”

The devar regarded him with mild amusement. “My people—er—my poison tolerance is greater than you realize, Cozenson.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Draven handed him a pair of handkerchiefs. “I don’t have extra on hand and it doesn’t taste good anyway.”

“...how do you know that?” the girl asked quietly as Octavian wet one of the cloths with the augri.

Draven tossed the rest of the medical supplies onto the couch next to Octavian. It was a jumble of different bandages that he hoped would be enough to bind their wounds. All as clean as possible, of course. He had standards. “Hiro—my roommate—dared me to try some once when we were in training. I didn’t swallow it, obviously, but let’s just say I prefer whiskey.”

The girl frowned. “‘Training’?”

Octavian pressed the handkerchief to his injured knuckles and hissed out through his teeth. “He’s a lycanthrope hunter. My apologies, I didn’t introduce you. This is Draven Cozenson, my partner. Draven, this is Reese.”

Reese’s eyes widened. “Wait, you’re the werewolf hunter? The one who used to work in the northern forests?”

Draven rocked back on his heels, mystified. “Yeah, that’s me.” He knew his fame had grown since training, but for a random Zariyan girl to know who he was… had he really gotten that famous? Apparently so.

Octavian finished cleaning off his hand and started wrapping it. “You’re going to have to remove the jacket,” he said softly. 

Reese glanced down at her forearms, hidden underneath the stained sleeves, and grimaced. “Oh… yeah….” She slowly slipped off the jacket, jaw set as her wounds were revealed.

Draven cursed. “What in the depths did they do to you, kid?”

The cuts were shallow, thank the celestials, but so much of her blood was smeared over the skin that it was impossible to tell the extent.

“The cuts weren't them,” Reese said, numb. She pointed to the bruises on her inner elbows and wrists. “That's what they did. The cuts were done by… I think it was a fellow prisoner. With broken glass.”

Octavian froze in the act of scrubbing the blood from his face. “You didn't tell me that.”

Reese only shrugged, reaching for the augri and the other handkerchief. She winced when the alcohol made contact with the cuts but did not cry out.

Draven made uneasy eye contact with Octavian as the devar cleaned the gash over his eye. This changed things, and they both knew it. Not only had the people who'd taken Reese tried to get her back, they'd done so in broad daylight. Octavian defended her, and although they escaped, her abductors would be keeping watch for both of them.

“I need you both to lie low for a few days,” Draven began, rising to his feet. “Perhaps even move to my other safehouse when it gets dark. Then we get Reese home safely and figure out our next move from here.” He glanced at Reese. “Did you learn any of your captors’ names?”

She hesitated before responding. “Only Sagon. I don't know his last name. He has long black hair, it's always pulled back, but he wore a mask like a black circle to cover his face.”

Octavian folded his arms. “I can handle myself, Cozenson. They were no match for me.”

“Clearly…” Draven deadpanned, eyeing the cut on his head. “How'd you end up with a wound like that, anyway?”

The devar muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

“Hmm?”

“...I let myself get slammed into a table…” Octavian repeated, face darkening.

Draven smirked. “‘Handle yourself’, indeed.”

“Shut up.”

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds

#wow birthday whump #wow birthday whump [day 7] #bloodied knuckles #wounded #“Is that blood?!” #referenced kidnapping #blood #referenced poison #referenced torture #cleaning wounds #broken glass mention #thtmatc #tales from valaria #draven cozenson #octavian de silv #reese takari #banter #whumpee #multiple whumpees #annoyed caretaker #caretaker #whumpril2024 #whumprilday7 #hesitation

[whumpacabra]

6. Clean

Angst, anticipated violence, cold temperatures, nonsexual nudity, referenced dislocation [shoulder], referenced torture, implied starvation, implied past noncon

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

The Wolf relished in the numbing water. He could hardly feel his torn skin, even where the stream trickled over still weeping cuts. Soap would have stung a lot worse, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to scrub himself clean.

Maybe H would bring some back from the supply closet? (Now that was wistful thinking…)

Shivering, the Wolf started to rinse the floor, chasing the blood and filth from his skin into the drain. He switched off the water, hands shaking from the cold as he limped toward the door. Using the wall for leverage, he snapped his left shoulder back into place. The staticky ache faded quickly - he was well practiced enough to shake the remaining pins and needles from his hand.

He would just grab his clothes from his room - he wouldn’t look, he wouldn’t breathe that air, he just needed to be covered and protected and -

H startled him away; the Wolf tripped over his own feet as the volunteer cursed in surprise. His left hip hit the ground hard, drawing a keening whimper from his throat as bruised bone impacted the concrete.

He braced, eyes open and ready for the hands that would follow - only for his own clothes and shoes to be dropped unceremoniously in a pile next to him.

“Got your clothes.” H looked better in some ways and worse in others. His chapped lips had a flush of color, but his eyes were distant, pointedly avoiding the Wolf.

The Wolf followed orders, secretly relieved to finally have some shell to hide in - however fragile.

(He remembered stripping these clothes off - slowly, for his handler’s pleasure. Piece by piece as his handler and the overseers stood patiently in front of the door - not that he would have tried to run if the exit was open. His handler trained him better than that.)

As he zipped up his jacket, gloved hands finally gathering enough warmth to be felt again, H shrugged toward the door next to the Wolf’s own.

“Don’t supposed you know if they keep any food in there?”

The Wolf shook his head.

“I’m not allowed in the White Room.” He had only caught glimpses in passing, his handler and other project members crowded around the screens and speakers. The Wolf had no need to know what data they were collecting; it was his job to help them collect it - however they saw fit.

“And the other one?” H nodded to the door across the way. The Wolf shook his head again.

“Tools and firearms. I’m not allowed access without supervision.” He had only been inside the Black Room a few times. The firearms locked behind a cage but the tools on open display. His handler had him clean his own blood off a few before ordering him to turn them on the volunteers.

“Supervision from who?”

Right. The script.

“I work alone.”

“You just said you need supervision to access the weapons locker.”

“I work alone.”

“That’s not - ” H groaned in frustration, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus fuck I need food.” His face was contorted in disgust as he glanced between the Wolf’s door and the Red Room.

“There are rations in the supply closet.”

“I looked there already - looks like they cleared out all perishables.”

Like they weren’t planning on coming back. The Wolf let his eyes drift to his own door. His handler wasn’t coming back.

Maybe.

And if his handler was coming back…well, the Wolf would be punished for leaving the Box. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“I have food.”

He turned on his heel, vision tunneling as he forced himself to only see what he needed to see. Desk. Bottom right drawer. Behind the false back he had made - a first aid kit and a handful of rations. A bit stale, but edible.

He kept his back to the rest of the room as he exited, blindly closing the door behind himself. H was watching him with those eyes again - pity and hate and something sour.

The Wolf held out the rations, and H took them with gentle urgency before collapsing to the ground and tearing into the packaged food.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

#whump #angst #anticipated violence #nonsexual nudity #dislocated shoulder #cold temperatures #hunger #referenced torture #implied noncon #past noncon #freelancers au #the wolf: i can excuse beating the shit out of me but i draw the line at pitying me #harrison: i can excuse you repeatedly lying to my face but im not gonna be happy about it

[swift-creates]

@tbb-appreciation-week DAY 5: CROSSHAIR (09/07) — Whump | Hiding Face in Neck | "I'll keep you safe."

characters and relationships: Crosshair, Hunter, the other Bad Batchers are mentioned

warnings: mentions of Hemlock and medical stuff (syringes), references to torture (as shown in tbb s2), mentions of nausea, PTSD

Notes: aside from tomorrow's lightly angsted fluff, what do i write that isn't whump, lbr. I didn't even realise that Crosshair doesn't speak in this until the last line until rereading it. most of this happens inside his head.

read on AO3

Crosshair stared at the syringe and tried his best not to look like he was about to throw up. 

The figure looms over him like something out of a nightmare, and the table’s restraints are metal claws around his wrists. The voice, soft but weighty in its menacing authority, pins him down just as well as the cuffs. 

“Surely, you have something useful to share.” 

The tightening of the strap around his head, the screams he realises come from himself only after they’d ripped his throat raw.

“She means nothing to you.”

They’d keep it up each time he refused to say a word, until the gray panels of the ceiling start to blur above him when he opens his eyes. 

“All you have to do… And you’ll have your freedom.”

He can’t tell them, even as the pain mounts up, threatens to rip his head from his body. He can’t. He protects his brothers, even if they’re no longer his squad. 

Even if he dies to keep them hidden.

“Crosshair. Are you even listening? Cross? Hey-”

A hand touched his shoulder, and he jerked away violently, stumbling back against Echo’s chair and falling to the floor as his knees buckled.

“Crosshair!” Hemlock’s face, glaring down at him, twisted in fury. He blinked, and it was Hunter’s, fraught with shock and worry. “What- Why’d you do that?”

The words stuck in his throat, clamped behind his jaws. It was only as Hunter tentatively reached out and took Crosshair’s hands in his that he realised he was shaking all over. 

“Are you okay?” Omega’s little face peered out from behind an equally concerned Wrecker, Tech standing just off to the side of her, fingers wrapped tightly around the armrest of his the pilot’s chair. Crosshair wanted to shake his head no, to scream it into a pillow or from the Marauder’s roof for the galaxy to hear, but instead he curled in on himself and closed his eyes, ignoring her.

He felt Hunter’s presence and grip on his hand shift, and then there was a warmth suddenly near him. He opened his eyes to see his brother leaning in close, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck to steady him. That grip was Hunter’s comfort move, his love language; a silent I’m here when he didn’t need or want to say the words. 

“We’re not on Tantiss anymore. You’re okay.” Crosshair held back a choked laugh. Trust him to hit the nail on the head after no more than a few seconds. “You’re safe now, you hear?”

Crosshair pulled his hand out of Hunter’s to roughly scrub at his wet face, the tears he couldn’t remember crying. He leaned into the safe press of his older brother’s embrace, buried his face in his neck as if he was a cadet making believe nothing bad could ever get to him while he was folded in this warm haven. And Hunter hugged him back like he was pretending the same. 

“You’re safe. You’re okay. And I’m never letting you go again. I’ll keep you safe. We’ll keep you safe. Forever. Understood?” He nodded into Hunter’s shoulder, sniffled and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing as tightly as he dared. 

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Cross.”

#swift writes #swift creates #tbbaw2023 #Crosshair #tbb crosshair #Crosshair tbb #Day 5 #Star Wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #torture #referenced torture #PTSD #platonic #siblings #Star Wars #The bad batch #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch fanfic #tbb #trauma #whump #angst #Hiding face in neck #“I’ll keep you safe.”

[evilwriter37]

Commission for @jayalaw

Rated: teen

Warnings: whump, broken bones, referenced torture

Pairings: Astrid & Heather, Astrid & Hiccup

Word Count: 1,588

Summary: Astrid has an accident while cliff-diving with Heather, and it makes her flashback to the time Heather tortured her to keep her cover.

#whump #broken bones #referenced torture #astrid hofferson whump #astrid hofferson #httyd #httyd rtte #rtte #how to train your dragon #race to the edge #fanfiction #writing