andithewhumper

[andithewhumper]

Pathetic little thing I’m working on. Prong collar request

[andithewhumper]

Beg

Three loud bangs on Whumper’s door pulled him from his work in the kitchen. Well, work was a generous word for it. He was scrolling through the Guardian after a long day with two fingers of rye in his hand. He turned his head, eyes narrowed at the intruder, hoping whoever it was would get the hint and leave.

“I know you’re in there you bastard!” Whumper smiled at the familiar voice, surprised. Things rarely surprised him. “Open the fucking door.”

Whumper would know that belligerent voice anywhere. He crossed the hall to his front door, unlocking it and beaming a smile at Whumpee.

“Well, well, well, what are you doing here, darling?”

Whumpee looked like a storm. His hair was sticking up all over his head, the way it did when Whumper put him a stress position for too long or threatened to use the whip or the cane on him again.

Whumpee didn’t answer. Instead he pushed his way passed Whumper into Whumper’s home and stormed through the hall to the basement door. Whumper closed the door and locked it, grinning at the blessing of his evening.

Whumper followed Whumpee down into the basement and leaned by the door, folding his arms across his chest. “What're you doing here, Whumpee?”

Whumpee tore his jacket from his body and went to throw it in the corner but caught it at the last second, hesitating, and then walked calmly over to the coat rack and hung it up before he turned to Whumper.

“I want you—” Whumpee began but swallowed and looked away. He cursed and turned and ran a hand through his hair and cursed again. “Fuck… fuck! Fucking— fuck! God! Christ!”

Whumper’s eyebrow arched as he straightened, intrigued by his former Whumpee’s frustration. His dress shoes clacked against the cement of the basement and echoed back. Whumpee glanced over his shoulder at Whumper and shook his head, his hand ran down his face.

“Fuck, what are you doing, Whumpee?” Whumpee asked himself quietly. His whisper troubled and haunting, disbelief colouring his voice as it found Whumper’s ears.

Whumper narrowed his eyes. “Oh…” he said, realisation dawned on him as sudden and as cruel as his smirk that graced his lips. “Oh… you want me to hurt you, don’t you?”

Whumpee stiffened. Whumper’s smirk widened. “Oh that’s it, isn’t it, darling?”

Whumpee turned, eyes ablaze with a glare that only confirmed his guilty admission, that yes… that was exactly what he wanted. That was the reason he was here, but he didn’t want to beg. He didn’t want to ask. Whumper grinned.

“Don’t call me that,” Whumpee snapped. Whumper stepped closer and put his hand on Whumpee’s cheek, relishing as Whumpee flinched under his touch. Oh this was like the best Christmas gift he never asked for.

“But it is what you want, isn’t it?” Whumper pressed. Whumpee didn’t answer, but his eyes turned pleading. Whumper drank in his expression, abuzz with the notion of what Whumpee was doing here. A sick kind of satisfaction passed across Whumper’s features.

Whumpee hesitated as his eyes searched Whumper’s face. He reached a hand up and batted Whumper’s away from his face with a scoff. “Forget it,” he muttered and went to step past Whumper. “This was a mistake.”

Whumper allowed Whumpee to walk to the door. He turned in place, his eyes followed Whumpee’s conflicted back as he got to the door of freedom. Whumper didn’t stop him, but it seemed like that’s exactly what Whumpee wanted him to do. He didn’t even try to go for his jacket.

Whumper’s amusement grew. He undid the button on one of his shirt cuffs and slowly, methodically started rolling it up his forearm as Whumpee pressed his forehead against the door, no doubt having another conflict of delicious emotions.

“I’ll oblige you, of course, darling,” Whumper told Whumpee, unable to keep his smile from his face. Whumpee stiffened at the door, his palms flat on the door.

A shaky breath echoed through the basement.

Whumper started on his second cuff.

“You will?” Whumpee asked. His voice oh too quiet. Oh so vulnerable. It sent a shiver down Whumper’s spine.

“Of course.”

Whumpee turned to face Whumper, his expression suspicious but his eyes held that little glimmer of light, of hope that it would be that easy. Had Whumper taught him nothing, the poor dear.

“You just need to ask.”

Whumpee’s brows drew up, pained, his mouth flattened into a thin line. His fists opened and closed at his sides, drawing Whumper’s gaze. He trailed his eyes up Whumpee’s arm to his chest that rose and fell too quickly before going back to his conflicted face. Whumpee tried to keep his bluster up, but they both knew he would submit, it was only a matter of when.

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“I have been told that.”

“And I hate you.”

Whumper shrugged. “Well I didn’t force you to come to my house, Whumps.”

Whumpee’s eyes blazed. “Don’t call me that!”

Whumper dipped his chin. Whumpee’s face fell as Whumper started slowly towards him. Whumper tsked lightly, shaking his head.

“You’ve been too long without my guidance, Whumpee,” Whumper said. Whumpee opened his mouth, but no words came out and he shut it quickly when Whumper cocked a brow at him. “Good boy. Perhaps you remember some things I taught you.”

“I— I don’t- I don’t want to be yours, I just… I need—”

Whumpee stopped a foot in front of Whumpee. He slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “Yes Whumpee?”

Whumpee stifled a would be whine in his throat, his anger bubbling to the surface again.

“We both know what I want!” He snapped, throwing his hands wide, before he loosed a harsh breath and his hands ran through his hair. “I need you to… to…” he squeezed his eyes shut and yanked at the strands of hair between his fingers and turned away. “FUCK!”

“You need me to fuck?”

“Shut up!” Whumpee snapped, whirling on his heels. He gasped at how close Whumper was to him. He didn’t hear him move, but now there was barely any distance between them. A hand went to his throat and Whumpee froze in place.

His fingers still wound in his hair, elbows stretched out to the side of his head. The only thing that moved was his eyes which widened, revealing more of the whites of them to Whumper whose face was devoid of any emotion as Whumpee looked slightly down at him.

Whumper hummed, fingers tightening. Testing, teasing, remembering and Whumpee stood frozen. He urged his limbs to move but they refused. He couldn’t do anything at Whumper’s touch.

Whumper’s eyes went to Whumpee’s hoodie. He stepped back and moved his hands to the zip. The sound echoed in Whumpee’s head, deafening, his breath locked in his chest as Whumper pulled the jumper from his limbs.

The cold basement air kissed his bare arms and left traces of goosebumps in their wake. Whumper’s hand returned to Whumpee’s throat, a thumb on Whumpee’s pulse. He smiled.

“On your knees darling.”

Whumpee barely registered the order before his knees hit the concrete. He blinked, dazed and shivered as Whumper purred, “very good.”

Whumper’s hand went to Whumpee’s hair, his fingers lacing through the strands. He delighted in Whumpee’s flinches, his barely contained trembles. Maybe his Whumpee hadn’t forgotten everything. He tightened his fingers and yanked Whumpee’s head back so he could see those beautiful, pained pale eyes stare up at him. Pleading.

“Now, ask me what you want me to do to you.”

Whumpee couldn’t contain the whine in his throat this time. “Please, please. Don’t make—”

A slap echoed off the walls. Sharp. Crisp. Warm as heat spread across Whumpee’s cheek. Whumper wrenched Whumpee’s head back further. “I think you forget who gives who orders here, Whumpee.”

Whumpee tried, he really tried to force his legs to stand, to push Whumper away from him, to leave and never look back but he couldn’t. He needed this. He needed it or he was going to go insane and do something more stupid than return to the man who tortured him, hoping to be hurt again.

“I need you to hurt me,” Whumpee whispered. His voice barely audible to his own ears, but there. He said it. He did it.

The fingers in his hair tightened. “What was that darling?”

Whumpee huffed a breath through his nose and repeated, a little louder, “I need you to hurt me.”

“Louder, darling.”

Whumpee’s cheeks burned with shame as his eyes narrowed into slits, he curled his lips back over his teeth and snapped: “I need you to hurt me!”

His chest rose and fell as anger and shame curled around each other in his blood, heating him as he glared at the man who once terrified him so completely that he would never dream of disobeying him, or shouting at him, or cursing in his presence. But things were different now. Whumpee was different now.

He was himself again, not Whumper’s toy to break and beat and bleed until he was satisfied.

Whumper’s lips spread into a cruel grin across his face, his eyes bright with sadistic glee. “Ask me nicely,” he admonished with his stupid superior tone and Whumpee scoffed.

This time, Whumpee grabbed Whumper’s wrist and pulled at it, trying to dislodge it from his hair. “No,” Whumpee spat. “Just— Just— we both know what I want!”

“And you know how to get it,” Whumper told him, pulling Whumpee’s head back until his throat was exposed to the ceiling. Whumper traced Whumpee’s adam’s apple with his finger. “I remember how sweetly you used to beg for me to stop, Whumpee. And now here you are, about to beg me to hurt you.”

“I won’t beg,” Whumpee hissed, yanking at Whumper’s hand and gasping when Whumper pulled harder at the strands of Whumpee’s hair.

“Yes you will.”

“No,” Whumpee protested, gripping Whumper’s wrist with two hands and trying to pry his fingers from his hair. “Fuck you! Get off me! I won’t beg you to hurt—”

A foot slammed into Whumpee’s chest, cutting him off mid sentence. He lost his grip as he curled in on Whumper’s knee and wheezed. Whumper released Whumpee’s hair and kicked him in the chest, sending him to his back on the concrete as Whumpee gasped. Whumper stared down dispassionately before he sent another kick to Whumpee’s jaw, hard enough that Whumpee rolled onto his side from the force of it. Whumper stepped over Whumpee’s body and grabbed the lock before sliding the deadbolt across the door and clicking the lock shut.

He turned back to Whumpee who stared up at him with those beautiful pale eyes, regret shining through them as the weight of what Whumpee asked for finally dawned on him. Whumpee was Whumper’s favourite toy, never able to hide an emotion on his face.

“I missed your begging,” Whumper told Whumpee with a nostalgic sigh. “And whether you’re going to beg me to hurt you, or beg me to stop, Whumpee, at the end of the night, I’ll have you begging either way.”

[andithewhumper]

those noble whumpees? those characters with words as silver as their crowns? the ones who can give rousing speeches to royal guards or lively encouragement to their people below? who have known nothing but the lives of social politics and playing with the fire of peace?

yeah. cut out their tongue.

[andithewhumper]

my "im not an unreliable narrator. you can definitely trust me" shirt is raising a lot of questions answered by my shirt

[andithewhumper]

Fuck I need a nice antique wooden hairbrush. For like. Brushing. Hair.

[andithewhumper]

I love when people tell me they were scared of me when they first met me. Good. I'm glad that I scared you. The amount of self confidence I get from being intimidating to people is insane.

[andithewhumper]

I just need them to writhe and squirm as they try to alleviate the pain. They know they can't escape, even as I attack the most sensitive parts of them, they just have to lay there and take it. Take it like a good little torture pet.

[andithewhumper]

I just love walking through life as a sadist. People whine about their problems so much and when I respond with a dry tone and a smirk they look at me like I've just said something so novel. It makes people look at me differently and the tiny bit of power feels nice.

[andithewhumper]

i love enemy caretakers. people who shouldnt be helping the injured person but their morals just wont let them stand by. a soldier patching up an opposing soldier even knowing it might put their own life at risk. a criminal talking down a gang leader to keep a detective from being killed or leaving them an anonymous tip to a dangerous situation. a vigilante keeping the person who wants to arrest them alive even if it increases the chance they get arrested. theres just so many great versions of enemy caretakers!!

[andithewhumper]

Whumper looking down at their Whumpee, soaked with sweat and trembling in pain, and saying with a self-satisfied smile, “Now, was that so hard?”

[andithewhumper]

Køter

[andithewhumper]

fun ways to give your captive something to do!

give them a logic puzzle with the key to the door/their chains inside it. bonus: tie one hand behind their back. make it so cold that they can hardly feel their fingers. add a timer that ticks incessantly. taunt them when they don't figure it out, or break their fingers when they do :)

give them an mp3 playlist that only plays songs that you know have emotional significance, and hurt them while they listen to it!

add a nice soft blanket in there and categorically ban them from so much as touching it

give them a little poisonous plant! tell them that if it dies, you'll feed it to them, then cut their water supply in half. they can dehydrate themselves, or poison themselves - choice is theirs!

[andithewhumper]

Freed whumpee who is overwhelmed by anxiety over making decisions and struggles to find purpose without a master.

Freed whumpee who can no longer function without the structure of captivity.

Freed whumpee who cries and begs their caretaker on their hands and knees to be punished so they can be relieved of the all-consuming guilt they feel whenever they make a mistake their whumper would have punished them for.

Caretaker who finally gives in and gives them as mild a punishment as they can that will still make whumpee feel absolved.

Whumpee shaking and crying through their punishment but tearfully thanks their whumper caretaker over and over for making them good again.

Whumpee who can only eat and sleep after brutal correction.

Caretaker who is corrupted by the power it gives them.

[andithewhumper]

what kind of whumpee is izaak once he’s properly broken by ronan? similar to henley? in what ways do they differ?

Izaak does wind up as a very similar whumpee to Henley once Ronan's broken in! I would say the main difference is that Henley's submission is very rooted in fear, whereas Izaak's resgination is very pragmatic and comes from a place of exhausation.

Izaak gets tired. Crippled by bone-deep exhaustion from fighting day in and day out, from hurting every waking hour. He learned - through his own blood, sweat, and tears - and by watching Henley - that obedience is the quickest and most efficient way to make the pain stop. So he clings to that like a lifeline.

It sickens him to play the part of a mutt, and to grovel at his 'masters' feet... but it makes it so much easier. And after what he did to Henley, part of him thinks that this is exactly what he deserves. And he accepts it, but he lives in misery for it.

[andithewhumper]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28777140

Thanks!

[andithewhumper]

Whump Dialogue

"I said I was sorry!"

"And I said put your hands on the fucking table"

[andithewhumper]

Hey if you're taking requests then perhaps Whumper and Whumpee being research partners and having a rather nice relationship with each other. THen of course Whumpee finds out the more unethical parts of Whumper's research and plans to call the partnership off and go to the authorities. Whumper finds out and can't let that happen, and at the same time can't bare to let Whumpee go so. Captivity it is.

my beloved, i've let you languish in my inbox for farrr too long. My apologies <2

cw: emetophobia, betrayal, restraints, manhandling, creepy whumper, science experiment gone wrong, more emotional pain than physical whump

Whumper had left his computer open. In the darkened office, Whumpee didn't think twice about sitting down at his desk, smiling softly at the background image of the two of them.

They had been holding hands, one breathless moment away from lips touching, the sun sparking along their hair.

Whumpee opened their joint research project. The soft blue glow of the laptop screen engulfed their face.

They had made so much progress this summer. Whumper had believed in them when no one else had. Gave them the grant, the lab, the keys. Said they were brilliant. This was worth all the sleepless nights, all the early mornings.

Idly, Whumpee spun the office chair this way and that. They clicked on internal files at random, flipping through graphs...more graphs... more transcriptions...

The office chair stilled.

Whumpee froze.

What--

Whumpee's stomach dropped, nausea rising, swallowing, burning through everything soft and helpless inside.

"My god," the words couldn't be held back in the same way they couldn't look away.

Whumper was, inexplicably, standing across from them, with only the desk and that god-forsaken laptop between them. He was calm, too calm, eyes calculating. "You good?"

Whumpee whimpered. "What-- what is this?" They spun the screen out, revealing medical-grade images of restrained subjects, injection sites, raw, raw, raw.

Whumper remained cool. "You weren't supposed to see that."

"What the fuck are you talking about? This is our project!"

"Why couldn't you trust me?" Whumper forced the laptop screen down. His voice was tight. The shadows grew, and the blue of his eyes was very, very deep.

Whumpee shoved the chair back so hard, it tumbled to the ground. Their voice cracked. "You looked me in the eye--- and-- and-- said this was to help people." They slammed their palms against the desk.

Not even a twitch of a reaction from Whumper. He sighed. "It is." He dropped his voice to something gentle, low, quieting. "Sweetheart--"

"Shut up! You don't get to call me that!" Whumpee shouted. "And I'm done eating from your hand." They took a deep breath, moving around the desk to jab Whumper in the chest. "And you can explain this to the fucking police."

Their faces were inches away, Whumper leaning over Whumpee, hands hovering over their shoulders as Whumpee continued to curse them out.

Whumper's expression shifted. Not to panic-- to grief. "Sweetheart," he tried again.

"I don't even know you anymore!" Whumpee went on, unabashed. "You-- you--" They struggled to find the right fucking word.

"Sweetheart," he whispered, hand ghosting down the back of their neck, as if he wanted to pull them in. "I'm going to stop you right there."

"YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME WHAT--"

Whumper moved quickly. Not violently, quickly. He wrapped his arms around Whumpee's arms, pinning them to their torso.

Whumpee kicked.

Screamed.

He hoisted them off the floor, dragging them backwards with heels scraping and scratching the linoleum.

"I don't want to hurt you," said Whumper. "You know that, right?"

"Fucker!"

---

Whumpee didn't recognize the underground room. Sterile. Silent. Their wrists were bandaged together, sticky with crusted blood underneath the tape.

The chair was bolted to the concrete, and no matter how much Whumpee jerked back, it refused to move.

The white light seared the backs of their eyes.

The gag left a wet film in the back of their mouth, a buildup of vomit and empty screaming, the smell of vinegar and saline solution burning their sinuses.

They recognized Whumper's footsteps echoing from behind them and wheezed into the cloth.

No

No, no no--

"You'll see," said Whumper. He rested his hand on their shoulder, moving his thumb in small circles. "You just need more time to understand."