#cw mention of manipulative whumper

[montammil]

Forever Be Mine, part 6

This one is pretty relaxed compared to the last few parts lol. Here's the masterlist!

CW: Stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mentions of torture/murder, implied noncon, intimate whumper

...

"Felicity? Can I ask you something?"

"Make it quick, I'm a little busy. If you need money, I can send you some later today."

"I'm not Griff. I was wondering if you had any... relationship advice?"

"And you called me out of all people?" Felicity snorted. "I'm too much of a workaholic to even consider love. As long as you haven't been stalking them, I'm sure you'll be fine." Rowan went silent. "Goddammit, Rowan. Again?"

Rowan wouldn't dare tell her he went even farther than just that. "He hates me. What do I do?"

"I don't know the guy, I don't know what he's into. Probably people not creeping on him," she huffed. "Give him something he likes--and not something you like that you want him to like. Not a hundred roses or some expensive brand of wine he's probably never heard of. Treat him like an actual human with thoughts and emotions and not some pampered pet. Just... be normal." There was talking in the background. "I gotta go. I think you'd have more luck asking Griffin about this."

As if, Rowan bitterly thought. Griffin's idea of romance was fast food and video games. "Fine. Talk to you later."

"Don't do anything stupid." And then she hung up.

Rowan sighed and leaned back in his chair, staring at his ceiling. This entire time he had been forcing Sawyer to conform to his ideas of romance, so perhaps it was time to take some advice for once. He was desperate. Hopefully after this, Sawyer would see him for the perfect boyfriend he was, and come crawling into his arms with love and devotion.

An idea popped into his head.

Sawyer flinched when the shed door creaked open. Rowan knelt down, draping his large coat over his shivering form. He cut the rope and helped Sawyer into the warm coat.

"Let's get you inside, babydoll. You're ice-cold," Rowan murmured, holding Sawyer's hand and walking him inside the cabin.

Rowan brought him to the bathroom, and to Sawyer's shock, left him alone to his own devices. Sawyer turned on the bathtub's tap, waiting until the water was steaming. He slowly sunk into it. It was heaven compared to the freezing temperature he was kept at in the shed. He sunk lower until only his eyes were peeking over the water level.

Once he was warmed up, his mind wandered to Rowan's behavior. Despite not knowing him for long, he figured the first thing his captor would do would be to ramble and insist on giving him zero personal space.

Did he grow tired of him? Did this mean he'd let him go? Or...

Sawyer shook his head. He tried not to think too hard about it and washed himself as fast as possible. When he was done, he climbed out and dried off, finding a pair of neatly folded clothes on the counter. He put them over his aching limbs, just a normal t-shirt and sweatpants. He exited the bathroom to find Rowan waiting for him, holding a bowl of what he assumed was tomato basil soup.

"How was your bath?" Rowan asked, motioning to the couch. Sawyer obeyed and sat down beside him.

"Nice. Thanks," Sawyer whispered.

"Here. You must be hungry." He took the bowl from Rowan and held it close, letting the heat warm him up. "Eat up." He picked up the spoon and dipped it into the red liquid. The spoon was trembling in his hand.

Rowan didn't miss it, because of course he didn't. "Do you want me to feed you?"

Sawyer shook his head. "No. I got it." He didn't, but there was no way he was going to be coddled even more by his kidnapper. He ignored Rowan's burning gaze on him and he ate the soup in small bites. He couldn't understand Rowan, nor did he really want to. All he could do was keep him happy enough so he didn't end up back in that awful shed. He offered his empty bowl. "Thanks."

He smiled and took it. "You're welcome. Stay right there, I got you a present!"

If he had learnt anything about Rowan these past few weeks, it was that his gifts sucked. Sawyer never wanted to look at expensive jewelry or roses ever again. He wondered what horrible gift he was going to receive now. Probably a collar, at this point.

Rowan came back holding something small in his arms. Sawyer curiously stood up to get a better look at it, just to see a small white cat curled up in his arms. Sawyer froze. Rowan approached him with a huge smile on his face.

"What..." Sawyer could barely speak, his hand reached out to the cat, who happily rubbed his face on his palm. "What did you do?"

"I knew you liked cats, and even though I'm not the most fond of animals, love is about making sacrifices. And before you say anything, I didn't buy him from a breeder." He handed the tiny fluff ball to Sawyer. "He had previous owners who got rid of him because he's deaf, or so that's what the shelter said. He's perfectly healthy."

Sawyer looked at him then at the cat. "You're giving me a cat?"

"Yes! Don't you love him?" Sawyer nodded. "See? I'm a good partner!" Rowan smiled proudly.

If Sawyer weren't so distracted by the cat in his arms, he would've scoffed. Instead, he cradled the furball to his chest. "What's his name?"

"Whatever you want it to be, my love."

He frowned and rubbed a finger between the kitten's eyes. "Casper." He still hated Rowan's guts, and he felt anxious now that a cat was in this fucked up situation, but it was hard to be mad at him right now. He was a sucker for cute things, and this fluffy creature was purring contentedly in his hold. He almost forgot that this whole scenario was forced upon him by Rowan. Almost.

Rowan placed his hands on Sawyer's waist, but didn't push things any further. He leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Do you like him?"

Sawyer didn't want to be too thankful, lest Rowan got ideas that he owed him something. Besides that, he still hated his guts. "Yeah. He's cute." He hugged Casper a little closer to him.

"I knew you'd love him!" Rowan beamed. "Now that I have your approval, I'll get some toys for him. I already got food and a litter box. Anything specific you want for him? I've never owned any animals, so I don't know much about taking care of one." He sheepishly smiled. "Maybe a collar and a bed for him? I'll let you pick them out, and I can pick them up from the store."

"Uh, yeah, a collar, and a bed would be great. Thank you," Sawyer mumbled, still hugging the cat tightly. "And maybe a scratching post."

He didn't like the happy expression on Rowan's face, the bastard didn't deserve to be pleased, but he couldn't help himself when a soft cat was purring in his arms. He always wanted a cat, but due to money being tight, he never wanted to bring another living creature into his shitty living situation.

And even now he didn't, because it was somehow worse... but it'd be nice for someone other than Rowan to keep him company. It was selfish, he knew, but he was so lonely here that he was willing to subject a cat to Rowan.

"What is your ideal date?" Rowan's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Not with you."

"Sawyer," Rowan warned. He placed his hand on Sawyer's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

He sighed. "I dunno. I haven't been on many dates. An aquarium sounds cute, but I know that'd be too public for you, right?" It was meant as a sarcastic jab, but Rowan took it genuine and nodded. Sawyer resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I like ice skating, but I guess that's also not your type of scene. Whatever, doesn't matter anyway. I'm gonna go to bed."

Rowan watched the man walk off with Casper still in his arms. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

...

"What's this?"

"A lake to skate on! I made sure it was thick enough to walk on without breaking. And after this, we can have some hot cocoa and a nice cuddle session by the fire."

"Uh... that's... cool." Sawyer scratched the back of his neck. "I guess. But uh... why?"

"Because you wanted to go ice skating. And since a public skating rink would be trouble, I decided this would do. Again, I made sure it's safe, so don't worry your pretty little head about that." Rowan booped Sawyer's nose. "I ordered us some ice skates too, of course." He grabbed two pairs of black ice skates from the car's trunk. He led him to a log, brushing off the snow, and then gestured for Sawyer to sit.

Sawyer did so, albeit reluctantly. He watched Rowan kneel to slide his shoes off and replace them with the skates. It got harder to resist the urge to kick him when Rowan pressed a kiss to his ankle as he laced up the boots for him.

As Rowan put on his own pair, Sawyer got curious. "Have you ever ice skated before?"

"Well... no, but it can't be that hard, right? How different could it be from roller-skating?" Sawyer chuckled at his ignorance. Oh, he'd have fun watching him tumble around. "I'm excited to try it with you." He pulled Sawyer up, walking awkwardly to the frozen lake. "Just... hold onto me so you don't fall," Rowan advised, intertwining their gloved fingers.

Sawyer didn't know why he didn't pull away. "Alright," he agreed, his other hand clutching onto Rowan's arm.

Rowan stepped onto the ice, wobbling slightly. "Oh, okay, that's a bit harder than I expected." He slid his feet forwards, pulling Sawyer with him. "You're doing okay, right?"

He couldn't help but grin. "Yeah." Rowan looked ridiculous with his lanky limbs sprawled everywhere and his ungraceful movements. It was the funniest thing Sawyer had witnessed in a long while. "Having fun?"

"Oh, yeah, a blast." He slipped and nearly fell, catching himself with his hand on the ground. Sawyer covered his mouth, muffling his laughter. Rowan glared up at him. "Okay, okay, laugh it up. You have a clear advantage over me here." He pushed himself back up to stand. "Help me." Sawyer obliged, extending his hand to Rowan. "How did you even get so good at this?"

Sawyer pulled him up. "Ice skating was a huge hobby of mine when I was a kid. My parents wanted me to do hockey, the more 'manly' sport, but I liked figure skating. They eventually just gave up."

"Do you still ice skate? I don't recall ever seeing you go to any skating rinks..."

Right when Sawyer was starting to relax, he was reminded this man was insane. "I don't. I had to sell my skates when I went broke." He bit his tongue. He hated telling people personal information, let alone people like this. But there wasn't much he could do about it now. He couldn't afford to upset Rowan anymore. He didn't want to be punished again, and he definitely didn't want to be thrown in that godforsaken shed.

He didn't want to see that ever again. Crazy how that was less than a day ago, and now Rowan had the gall to act like none of that happened.

"That's a shame. I bet you looked lovely on the ice." He kissed his forehead. "Well, whenever you like, we always have this area to skate together. At least until it starts melting." Rowan chuckled and moved his legs like a newborn deer attempting to stand. He had fallen again, but he managed to catch himself in time.

A sadistic part of Sawyer sparked whenever he saw Rowan stumble around like an idiot. It felt nice seeing him being the one out of his element, considering everything else he'd put him through. He couldn't help but take enjoyment from the rare opportunity of seeing the usually overly-confident and arrogant Rowan in an uncomfortable position.

Soon enough they both grew tired (aka Rowan was done embarrassing himself) and retreated to the cabin.

Rowan sat Sawyer down and prepared a cup of hot chocolate for him, adding some marshmallows and whipped cream on top. He set it on the coffee table and grabbed a blanket from the couch to drape it over Sawyer. Casper settled on Sawyer's lap and purred loudly, seeking pets.

Sawyer took the mug and blew on it. "Thank you," he mumbled before drinking some of the warm liquid.

"No problem, sweetheart." He sat on the couch next to him and placed his hand on his thigh. Sawyer looked down at it but didn't move away. "How was it?"

"How was what?"

"Our date." Rowan squeezed his leg, thumb rubbing circles on the inside of his thigh. "You didn't say much."

"Well, I was busy laughing at you," Sawyer pointed out, continuing to drink his hot cocoa. He licked away some foam that clung to his lip. Rowan stared at him intently, almost hungrily. "But it was... fine." He paused. "I guess."

"That's it? I expected a little more from you. Especially considering everything I did for you," Rowan scolded, his tone dangerously low. His hand stopped moving and tightened on his leg. Sawyer shivered. "I bought you a fucking cat. I skated with you even though it's freezing out. I cooked your favorite meal. I held back from touching you when I desperately wanted to." He leaned closer. "And I get nothing but a 'fine'?"

"I thought this was to make up for looking me in a damn freezing shed, not to guilt me into kissing your ass," Sawyer replied bluntly.

Rowan scowled. "Don't get snippy with me."

His word choice made Sawyer snort. "Well, sorry I'm feeling 'snippy' after being stalked, kidnapped, branded, and watching you kill a man. Forgive me for not being in a stellar mood." Rowan stood up, and Casper jumped off his lap at the sudden movement. Sawyer realized he made a mistake and was quick to amend it. "I didn't mean it, please don't put me back there."

When Rowan went silent, opting to stare at him, Sawyer realized he wanted him to continue.

"I'm thankful for everything you've done for me... and I loved our date. I'm sorry I'm so nonchalant about everything, I haven't been in a healthy relationship in years. This is just new to me." Sawyer's lip wobbled, only at the thought of being placed in the freezing cold again.

Rowan folded his arms. "I understand that, but I've been so patient with you. I think I deserve something in return, don't I?"

Great, now Sawyer didn't know how to further manipulate himself out of this one. Then, an idea popped in his mind. He dramatically sighed. "I just wished you'd see me for more than sex."

That was all it took for Rowan to fall for his bait. "Sawyer," he began softly, his scowl turning into a concerned frown, "is that all you think I'm after from you?" Sawyer shrugged and averted his eyes, faking embarrassment. Rowan had already fallen for similar acts in the past, but when it came to Sawyer, all logic went out the window. "Oh, honey, that's not true. I don't just want your body, I want everything of yours. Your mind, body, and soul belongs to me, and I want to cherish it all. I don't know why you would ever think so low of me."

Sawyer lowered his head, fighting back a smirk. "Sorry. I'm sorry, it's just hard to believe that sometimes. I'm used to guys being like that."

"I'm not those types of men, my love."

"I know." Rowan was worse. "It's just... that's why I have a hard time showing I'm grateful for things. Because people have done so much for me in the past, just because they wanted a quick fuck." He took joy in seeing how guilty Rowan looked. Good. "So I'm sorry I've been so dismissive. I'll try to be more grateful."

"Oh, sweetheart." Rowan placed a hand on his cheek. "I'll prove it to you. That I'm not like those men. That I truly care about you, not just your body."

Sawyer wasn't buying any of it. But he had Rowan right where he wanted him. Rowan was eating out the palm of his hand, like an eager dog wanting attention. "How?"

"We can cuddle, and watch what ever you want." Rowan grabbed Sawyer's hands, running his thumbs over his knuckles. "I know I can be impatient sometimes when it comes to more... intimate activities, but I'll slow down. Whatever you need. Cuddling you and having your full attention is more than enough for me right now."

"Okay," Sawyer replied simply, making sure not to let his fake shyness slip. He didn't want to oversell this.

Yet the 'for now' didn't go unnoticed. Sawyer had no doubt Rowan would eventually expect more from him again. He just had to hope by then he could manage to escape without incident.

"Then it's a deal!" Rowan beamed. He practically dragged him to the bedroom, tossing Sawyer onto the mattress. "Sorry," Rowan chuckled. Sawyer had to admit, Rowan was incredibly strong, especially for a guy of his build. He easily lifted him and tossed him around like he was light as a feather. Sawyer hoped that wouldn't turn into something disturbing. "Scoot over a bit, I'm going to set up the movie."

Sawyer had to admit, being around Rowan wasn't as insufferable as it was before. Sure, he still despised him, but... when he wanted to, he could be sweet.

Well, as sweet as a manic kidnapper could be.

Rowan let Sawyer choose from the list of movies, to which he settled on a nostalgic 90's film. Rowan wasn't too interested in it, but if it made Sawyer happy, he was glad. He was too busy staring at Sawyer to actually pay attention to the screen. Sawyer was aware of this and refused to give Rowan the satisfaction of him meeting his gaze.

Rowan nuzzled his face into the crook of Sawyer's neck and wrapped an arm around his waist. He peppered kisses along his shoulder and collarbone. Sawyer remained tense under the affectionate touch, not allowing himself to enjoy it even in the slightest.

He tried not to be annoyed with Rowan constantly interrupting his viewing to shower him in attention, but he had a feeling this would happen.

"I'm surprised you're not into this movie," Sawyer muttered. "Do you not like nostalgic things?"

Rowan paused in his ministrations. "Hm? No, I do. I just didn't watch much TV as a child, so I don't know these films. I'm sure it's wonderful." He pressed a kiss to his pulse point. "I'd much rather focus on you anyway."

Sawyer suppressed a sigh of frustration. "Alright then."

Halfway through the movie, Casper hopped on the bed and flopped between Sawyer and Rowan. Sawyer cracked a smile and patted the bed to coax him closer, so he could pet him. Casper purred happily and headbutted Sawyer's hand.

Rowan was less happy. "This is our moment, can't he wait?" he whined.

He huffed and rolled his eyes. "He's a cat, Rowan. He can't see what we're doing. He just wants cuddles."

"So do I!" Rowan exclaimed indignantly.

"You're such a child." Sawyer rolled his eyes, but still scooted closer to Rowan's side, just to shut him up. He leaned against Rowan's chest, keeping a hand on Casper's head to stroke him. He could feel Rowan grinning above him and he repressed the urge to shove him away in disgust. He focused on the screen in front of them, determined to ignore the arms wrapping around him possessively.

It still felt nice to relax for the first time since he had been kidnapped. Not that he was warming up to Rowan, surely not... Sawyer just appreciated having his nerves calmed after that horrible week he endured.

Before the ending credits finished rolling, Sawyer's eyelids grew heavy and he found himself dozing off, head resting against Rowan's chest. He heard Rowan's soft chuckling and a kiss being pressed against his hairline. He grumbled, too tired to care about the intimacy, and just sunk deeper against Rowan's warmth.

...

Taglist: @morning-star-whump

[bamber344]

Prologue - Birth

next

masterlist

Finally going through with my promise to actually write this superhero living weapon whump story. Updates will probably be pretty slow and sporadic as finishing draft 1 of my book is my current priority, but once that's done i'll definitely focus on this during the downtime before editing starts. Also the series itself doesn't have an actual name yet but shhhhh i'm working on it

it's in 1st person pov for the main character as i felt her perspective would be more interesting from that pov. Other character povs will likely be 3rd person when we get to those.

this is just a prologue to get you situated in so it's pretty short but i hope it gets you excited for what's to come! let me know what you think! story begins below the cut.

CWs: Medical whump (technically), female whumpee, non-sexual nudity, confused whumpee, male whumper, blood mention, manipulation of a vulnerable person, living weapon whumpee, mysterious medical procedures, language barrier

The first thing I remember feeling was warm. It was all-encompassing, surrounding and pressing in on me. I was completely weightless, floating around in some infinite black void. Nothing existed but myself and the warmth, gently cradling me, lulling me to sleep. I let it take hold, and sank into the emptiness.

—

I opened my eyes for the first time, and discovered that the universe was Green. Like the warmth, it was all around me, clinging to my skin, suspending me in itself. There were shadows, flickering about somewhere deeper in, moving back and forth, tempting me. I wanted to go to them, but movement eluded me, and all I could do was reach out, uselessly grasping at the Green. It was then, with my arm stretched out in front of me, that I saw myself for the first time.

My bones were small, and my skin was translucent. 

That didn’t seem right.

Something inside of me started thumping quickly. I heard my very first sound; a shrill, high-pitched beep, piercing through the Green in time with the thumping. The shadows began moving quickly. Something was wrong. Something was wrong! I needed to escape! Get out! Get out get out get out get out getoutgetoutgetoutgetout get out get… out…

Calmness washed over me. My eyelids grew heavy. I closed them, shutting out the Green and returning to the dark.

—

COLD.

The Green was gone, replaced by blinding White. The warmth was a distant memory, torn apart by an all-encompassing cold biting my skin, now opaque as it always should’ve been. My whole body shivered and a terrible pain lit up inside of me, my limbs flailing limply against the hard surface I was pressed up against. I convulsed, and Green spilled out of my mouth, making way in my lungs for my very first breath.

Air rushed in through my throat and filled my chest. It still wasn’t quite enough, though. Another few coughs and it seemed like most of the Green had been expelled, leaving me panting and gasping for more precious oxygen, now that room had been made. It made me feel Awake. It made me feel Alive. It gave me the strength to lift myself to a seated position, curiously interacting with the way this new Universe worked outside of the Green. I was no longer suspended; I had to use my body to move, and to do that, I needed to learn how things worked.

The blurriness in my eyes cleared, and I discovered that the Universe was not entirely White, either. Yes, the White was abundant, but there were exceptions to it, like the things standing around me, observing. They had bodies of a similar shape to mine, with two legs and two arms and a torso and a head, but where my skin was bare and visible, most of theirs was obscured by more White, soft-looking wrappings and covers. They held things in their hands, and were making noises with their mouths, but none of it meant anything to me, so I moved on.

Something unexpectedly touched my shoulder and I spun, sweeping my arm out in alarm. There was a flash of Black and a splattering of Red and suddenly all of the things around me were screaming. I scrambled backwards as best I could, pushing and kicking my limbs off of the slippery floor to move myself away. The things moved away from me as well. That was good. I decided I didn’t like them.

My back hit a wall and I curled up, ready to lash out at any more of the White things with the Black that came out of my arm. It was still there, staining my usually tan skin from my hand to my elbow, with a tendril hanging from my wrist. I focused, and the tendril disappeared into smoke along with the remaining Black. Curious.

Enraptured as I was by my own strange ability to cover my hands in Black, I failed to notice the new figure approaching until they were right in front of me. My first instinct was to fight, to get the strange thing away from me, but when I looked upon them my body was filled with a strange sense of calm. I didn’t know how I knew it, but I knew that above all else, the thing in front of me was safe.

Their pale body was hidden by a blocky, navy blue covering, and their face was covered in wrinkles and divots. They reached out, cradling my cheek with a warm, calloused hand. I leaned into it, filled with an overwhelming feeling of safety. This was where the warmth I was missing was, ever since I left the Green.

The thing was making noises at me. I couldn’t understand them, but they didn’t seem to mind. They put a hand to their chest and repeated a specific noise, over and over. They sounded it slowly, making exaggerated movements with their mouth. Their teeth on their bottom lip; an open exclamation; their tongue between their teeth; and another, slightly less open exclamation. Compelled by my curiosity, I attempted to repeat it.

“Fffff…” I tried. “Fah…” My voice was raspy and weak in its first use. My tongue was thick and unresponsive. The movements of the thing were difficult to replicate, but they were patient as I practised, getting the hang of it. “Fah…ther. Father. Father!”

The thing smiled, and it was the greatest sight of my short existence. At that point I knew that I would do absolutely anything if it meant getting to see that smile directed at me again.

Taglist: @steelandblood @sapphicwhump @urnumber1star

Hope it wasn't too confusing! Obviously the protagonist currently doesn't really know what's going on at all, so I tried to translate that feeling through the prose. It won't usually be like that, so dw if you weren't feeling it. feel free to ask for clarification tho! Happy to answer any questions that don't spoil anything

feel free to reblog ;) it helps a lot!

[whumpalicious08]

More Public Humiliation Whump (READ WARNINGS ⚠️)

---

Aka my magnum opus, in my humble opinion.

⚠️Cw⚠️ / Smoking, Drinking, Gun violence, graphic gore, minor character death, non consensual touching (over clothes), manipulation/manipulative language, religious (catholic) imagery & references, internalised shame, public humiliation, possessive behaviour

2nd person Whumpee has they/them pronouns. Brief, vague mention of area between legs, no explicit reference to any biological organs.

---

Living Weapon Whumpee / Mafia Whumper.

---

You find it difficult to breathe inside the pub. Smoke congeals with the air and stains the insides of your lungs.

The stench of blood is so strong it makes your mouth taste metallic.

Whumper is speaking and everything else feels quiet.

"...Kid comes waltzin' into your house, starts touchin' on your property. Can't hardly blame nobody for gettin' a little unkind."

There's a man on the floor in front of him. He's a couple years younger than you- twenty. He's studying geology, a topic that lit up his eyes endearingly. He's on his gap year.

You'd tried to warn him off you, gentle but insistent. Whumper likes you seen and not heard.

But the charming bastard had leaned in, eyes painfully kind, and he'd told you how pretty he thought your smile was. It'd been so long since anybody'd told you that.

The kid had brushed his knuckles over your wrist, coyly hiding his concern at your reaction. His compassion had distracted you.

You hadn't seen Whumper approach.

He'd dragged the kid away from the bar, away from you, and into a more open area. God, you'd forgotten to even ask his name.

You hadn't seen Whumper approach.

You don't see him now, either. You turn your face away and stare down at your drink. But the tourist's throat keeps flapping wet gurgling noises and you can't turn away your ears.

Another shot cracks through the air. Another terrible banshee cry. You count up from one silently to distract yourself.

It doesn't work, but you pretend that it does, and that's enough sometimes.

It was enough before, when Whumper had jovially condescended to the tourist and amicably levelled his shotgun at his knee.

(You'd missed the money shot. You always strive to when you can, innate coward that you are.)

Whumper loves that gun. He's always telling you that it's;

"a gorgeous weapon second only to one".

He'd won it from the Sheriff, during a poker game he'd hosted last month. The policemen in attendance tonight eye it with just as much desire as they do Whumper; the perfect power fantasy.

"Please."

The kid's warped voice rings too loudly in your head. You falter at 37 and can't start over.

Whumper does something to him that makes him hack up air like a cat, unable to scream any longer.

"Shut up and listen real fuckin' close. Whumpee is mine. Mine to touch, mine to use."

You feel the tips of your ears burn in violent shame. Your teeth feel wobbly with how hard you're clenching them.

Whumper's silent for a beat. You don't need to be facing him to know he's looking at you. "Sometimes, they're so damn good at bein' owned I get to thinkin' they like it." His tone turns jeeringly wistful, and indignation curls your hands into fists.

People's eyes and unspoken words become embedded in your skin like shrapnel. Pieces of you, of them, sting when you think you've found reprieve.

"All I'm doin' to you is some kindly teachin'. Got to set an example, you understand."

"Did- I didn't-"

You think he may be trying to say he didn't know, but it'd be futile anyway. Whumper wants an execution. The tourist begins to catch up and abandons his words for sobs.

Whumper hums in sympathy, the sound vulgar in its sincerity. "Whumpee. C'mere."

There's white hot needle points dancing over your body as you stand. The shrapnel sinks deeper as more attention shifts to you.

You find it harder and harder to avoid looking at Whumper's barbarity. The tourist's humanity entices your own; you grow unable to pretend either don't exist.

You reach Whumper's side and look down.

The bullet had shattered the kid's kneecap fully. There's a gorge where it should be; exposing jelly-like tissue the colour of pus and flesh and viscera. Dark shades of dried blood makes it look like somebody'd rubbed dirt into the gore - you can imagine Whumper doing that, tearing at the edges of the exit wound with gritty black fingernails.

His elbow is gone too, chips of shattered bone and viscous chunks of torn muscle the only remnants of it left.

You notice that the tourist's lips are moving once more, and gratefully take the opportunity to look away from the depravity. You can't hear what he's saying. Just the feverish, incoherent ramblings of a man from whom Death will have to beg for mercy.

Whumper's voice pounds against the inside of your skull like tinnitus, trying desperately to drown out the injustice he's caused.

"Kill him. Bastard's all used up." Whumper's cigarette wobbles as he snaps the order. His perverted sense of mercy makes you squeamish.

You've met people who mark their kills. Some do it to boast. Some do it to self-flagellate.

You've never had to carve anything into your bedpost. Every one of your victims live on, feeding, parasitic within you.

But this ... this boy, convulsing and begging in a pool of his own fluid; his death will be a tumour, destruction for destruction's sake.

You're suddenly not sure that you can handle another ghost.

"No."

Whumper's eyes cut into you. You used to believe he had the Devil in them. Now you don't believe there are any Gods or Demons here at all.

"Say that again?"

He's offering you an out he knows you won't take.

You lower your head, but peer up at him through your lashes, a veiled mockery of the submission he expects. He's pushed you just far enough tonight. The several shots of sickening, unidentifiable liquids coalescing in your stomach makes you too brave.

"No, Sir."

Whumper likes you brave. He'll fill your glass and enjoy the consequences.

His hand closes around your arm, fingernails ripping skin, and he roughly handles you into position. You try to jerk away, but the weight of his shotgun reminds you of his conviction.

The tourist is crying again. You can't remember if he'd ever stopped.

Whumper's chest is firm against your back. His leg parts yours sightly and he angles your body with intent, displaying you to the rest of the pub. He rests the long barrel of his gun on your hip, slowly guiding it lower. "I ain't askin', angel."

The pub's only sparsely populated today, and some people are only watching out the corners of their eyes.

But it may as well be packed to you.

Whumper lingers behind your knee purposefully; making you think he might actually do it, before he moves on again.

You feel your heartbeat everywhere; in your throat, under your fingertips, at your temples.

You feel terror everywhere, too. You think it's circulating the room, a plague of quiet fear. Endemic to the bar and your body.

The gun stops at your inner thigh.

Whumper brushes his lips against your ear. Radiant heat from his cigarette warms your clammy neck. "You'll do as you're fucking told."

He gyrates the barrel ever so slightly, a brutish imitation of a caress. Your breath hitches. I own you.

The muzzle's pointing down, safety on. He doesn't need a lethal weapon to remind you how to behave. I own you.

If you hesitate any further, it's only for a second.

Your defiance is brittle and impulsive. Your deference is always enduring.

The bitter pill Whumper feeds you settles on your tongue and makes you think maybe you do like being owned.

"I'm sorry."

The gun's driven sharply upwards, stabbing too hard even through clothing. Your ignoble cry seems to carry. He holds you in place and it hurts.

"Louder."

"I'm sorry-"

He slips his fingers down your back pocket and pulls out your revolver. He presses it into your hand and steps behind, painful pressure lifting off your back and from between your legs.

"Show me, then."

Eyes are boring into you. Whumper's, the patrons'. You hear somebody sniffling across the pub. You have the feeling there are more.

Under different circumstances you'd sneer at the pity, but the room's just seen Whumper what, assault you? Debauch you?

You're pretty damn pitiable right about now.

The tourist's lips are still fluttering. You lower yourself down on one knee to hear him better.

"...forgive thy... holy father ... mercy on me."

You glance at his neck in case you've missed anything. No cross.

You place your hand over his darting eyes, and your gun over his forehead. His mouth stops moving, and then he does too.

For one bleak moment you hope, much for the tourist's benefit and quite contrarily to your own, that there is a next life. You hope that Whumper will burn in infernal fire; searing with a fury rivalled only by the flames awaiting you.

There's more friction generated by the bullet than you'd like. Smoke from the barrel rises up, up.

Whumper's derisive words feel distant, but his fingertips gently carding through your hair seem to scald. "Wasn't so hard, was it?"

You breathe in and choke.

---

[3-2-whump]

Mistaken Accusation

<prev

Well, let's get into it. Beginning of the end. Special thanks to my beta readers @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz ! Do mind the tags, and enjoy

This chapter does reference The Hit, so please skim that first if you are not already familiar with it

Author's Note: This is where shit gets real (more real, that is), and where the author may make some decisions that might not vibe with the readers. To those readers, all I will say is fanfiction is a thing, canon divergence is a thing, and I will honestly be more intrigued than mad if you end up scrapping this part and writing your own version! (Just lmk, like tag me or dm me so I can see?) But, um, yeah, onto the chapter!

TW/CW: description and mention of STD, prostitution whump, mock execution, gun violence (brief, but there), collared whumpee, bound and blindfolded whumpee, shock, emotional whump, fear of death, pissing oneself out of fear, emotional angst, degrading language, toxic relationship, manipulative whumper, possessive whumper, intimate whumper

As Khaled relieved himself in the office bathrooms near the end of the day, he hissed under his breath at the burning sensation coming out of him. That can’t be good, he thought. What would make it feel like he was passing acid or fire down there? He looked down at his dick, eyes widening a little as he saw how inflamed his urethra looked. Khaled let out a mortified little squeak. What’s wrong with my penis?

Should I tell Master? Telling his master that he suspected he’d caught something would only lead to probing questions about Khaled’s sex life, even though he wasn’t the one who had visited every whorehouse within the tristate area. Probing questions about his sex life would mean admitting that he was sleeping with Julio, and admitting that he was sleeping with Julio would only fuel his master’s possessive side and make things far worse for him. Khaled could imagine no situation in which he would come out unscathed if he told Thomas about it. So, he decided not to tell him.

He didn’t have to endure his secret for long though, because as soon as he came back into his master’s office, he could sense the energy had changed. 

“Is there something wrong, Boss?” Khaled asked nervously.

“I have just received information from our foot soldiers and informants that the motorcycle that my would-be assassin rode when he got away came from Alvarez Auto and Motorcycles, a known front of Juicio Divino,” Thomas gritted out.

Khaled’s jaw dropped as his mind slowly put together the pieces that he had in his hands all along. Of course, it was Julio, how could I be so blind?! he thought. Just over a year ago, Khaled himself approached the scrapyard assassin asking him to teach him how to kill, and had been crawling back to him in various states of distress ever since. Julio was one of two people on earth who knew how badly Thomas actually treated him, and, combined with his overprotective tendencies, Khaled mentally beat himself up for not suspecting his boyfriend sooner. 

His master’s stormy gray eyes narrowed at Khaled in a piercing glare as he pushed his tablet across the desk. “Incidentally, you have been visiting Alvarez Auto pretty frequently over the past year, haven’t you?”

Khaled’s stomach twisted in dread as he leaned in closer to read it. There, opened on his slave tracking app, was a map with pins of most-frequently visited locations he had been tracked to, and there was a damning bright red pin at the address of Julio’s garage. His mouth went dry as he opened and closed it in shock, trying to collect the right words to say as the opportunity to beg for mercy slipped through his fingers like sand. “I- Master, I- it’s not what you think-”

The older man disdainfully held up a hand, a nonverbal cue that he didn’t want to hear it. Khaled shrank in on himself. “How did you even pay for a hit against me, huh?” the boss asked. “I know you haven’t made that much money since I’ve started paying you! How could you afford to put out a hit?” His voice lowered to a growl. “Did you bend over for that cholo son of a bitch? Did you let him fuck you like I fuck you? Is that why you’ve got an infection –don’t deny it, Khaled, it hurt when I pissed this morning!”

The world seemed to stop as the air quickly left Khaled’s lungs. Wait, what? He was being accused of conspiring against his master, then of being a whore within the same breath? And to make matters worse, he somehow gave his owner an STD before he realized he had one himself? His breaths came out shallow as his body began trembling in fear. What does this mean for me? What’s going to happen to me? He nearly passed out as his imagination went wild with how severe his punishment would be. “Master, please, I had no idea-”

“Shut up!”

Khaled ceased his begging instantly, a nauseous wave of dread coiling in his stomach as he waited for his master to dole out his sentence. “You will never see anybody besides me again,” his master said, glowering at him in contempt as Khaled’s eyes widened in horror. He got up from his chair and circled around Khaled, with a familiar black shock collar and a length of chain in hand. “I’ll give you a chance to say your goodbyes before we leave.”

Khaled regained enough of his senses to shake his head and back away from the man approaching him. “But, Master, I didn’t-”

The world snapped to the right in a stinging blow as Thomas backhanded him. Khaled rubbed his sore cheek and winced in pain. “You’re lucky I don’t outright kill you, though I still might, if you keep whining like that!” he yelled. Khaled turned silent and sullen, still cradling his sore cheek as the collar tightened like a noose around his throat. “Now, come on, let’s make your final goodbyes count.” His master attached the chain leash to a notch in the shock collar and pulled Khaled towards the exit.

-

Khaled was pulled through the whole office and out to the guard shack like that, stopping periodically as his master made him explain what was going on and why he was leaving to everyone they met. Khaled’s voice was shaking like a leaf the first stop they made; by the time they made it to the guard shack, he was unable to utter anything intelligible past his tears. Nico’s jaw dropped as Thomas explained what had happened and why Khaled was never going to see him again.

“But, he didn’t do it, sir!” he objected, pushing himself out of his desk chair and standing up to face him. “He had no part in it! I can prove it, just listen to me!”

As much as Khaled wanted to interrogate that ‘I can prove it’ claim just a little more, Tom ignored him. He pulled the leash taut and yanked Khaled away. Khaled frantically pulled at the collar around his neck, emitting choked gasps as he stumbled along and struggled to keep up.

They ended up back at the car, where Tom unclipped his leash and pushed the button on the key fob to unlock the trunk of the car. Khaled was shoved up roughly against the side of the car as his hands were gathered behind his back and bound tightly by a soft and silky material, most likely a necktie. “Master, please, please, hear me out –I didn’t put a hit on you, I swear!” he once again tried to explain through a mess of snot and tears. “I don’t want to kill you, why would I want to kill you? Please –listen to me! I don’t want to kill you; I swear I didn’t know!” Thomas dragged him to the back of the car, where he stared down at him in cold fury. He took out a dark cloth from his pocket and unfolded it. Khaled preemptively opened his mouth to receive it, but then the man tied the cloth around his eyes to blind him. He quietly shut his mouth as the blindfold was tied tight enough to catch his hair. He heard the trunk of the car quietly whoosh open before he was picked up and shoved inside. The door of the trunk slammed shut, sealing him in an extra layer of darkness.

The ride seemed to stretch on forever as Khaled shivered in the darkness. It was still far too cold to be riding back there without anything to keep him warm. Throughout the darkness he begged, then screamed, then cried, then sniffled, knowing damn well his master couldn’t hear him.

Time seemed to work differently in the dark, cramped confines of a car trunk. Khaled was unsure of how much time had passed since he was shoved in the trunk, but he was more than concerned that they seemed to keep driving far longer than it usually took to get back to the apartments. He’s never going to forgive me, he realized as he rested his head onto the floor of the trunk. He really thinks I planned to kill him, and now he’s going to take me out into the woods and kill me, or do something so horrific it will make me wish I had died. A fresh round of tears soaked into his blindfold as Khaled whimpered pathetically. I don’t want to die, not like this.

Goddamnit, Julio, you tried to be the hero, and now I’m gonna end up dead in a ditch somewhere, Khaled cursed in his head.

The car rolling to a stop and faint click that preceded the trunk unlocking made Khaled’s heartrate speed up. A new wave of anxiety hit him much like the blast of midwinter air when the trunk was opened and he was pulled out. He didn’t feel concrete underneath his shoes, and the fresh icy chill of the air around him told him they weren’t in the parking garage. We really are in the woods somewhere, he thought, his hopes sinking like lead as his master’s hand gripped his elbow and steered him along to an unknown destination. He’s really driven me out to the woods somewhere to kill me. Khaled stumbled as his foot hit an unseen obstruction, but his master dragged him along regardless. This is it. I’m gonna die. His breaths started picking up, heart racing as that last thought worked him up into another nervous state. His owner stopped and threw him forward onto the ground. Khaled landed face first into a cold and wet patch of snow, judging on how it felt when it absorbed his impact. “Get up and kneel.” Khaled’s breaths stopped in his throat. There was no room in his master’s frigid tone for argument. He pushed himself up the best he could with his hands bound behind his back, shivering not just from the cold as he assumed a kneeling position.

A cold, metallic object pressed against the back of the young man’s skull. “If you’ve got anything to say, say it now,” his master’s voice said behind him. A wet and warm spot began to soak his pants in the front. Khaled’s mind went blank. He was so scared he nearly forgot his owner had asked for his last words. He caught his trembling lip between his teeth before shaking his head. Whatever he could say for his last words would go unheeded anyway, lost in the winter’s chill and the indifferent New England woods. He hung his head in resignation, ready for the explosive pain followed by sudden oblivion and nothingness, or whatever it was that lie ahead.

He had at least hoped he would see his father’s face before the end. But the only image his shielded eyes could conjure up before he died was a pair of sharp, steel gray eyes.

Click.

Nothing happened.

The gun lowered, and heavy footsteps crunched in the snow as his would-be executioner walked around to the front of him.

Khaled was still alive. Somehow, he was still alive. There was a light brush of hands reaching behind his head before the blindfold fell away, revealing a familiar face staring down at him with those same steel gray eyes. Khaled’s breath shimmered in the cold moonlit night. He was alive. He wasn’t going to die. He was alive.

All the fear and tension left his body like his vaporous breath in the night as he slumped forward, crying tears of relief into his master’s shoulder as he caught him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he sobbed between each breath.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s alright, it’s alright,” Thomas soothed as he reached behind Khaled to untie his hands. “I believe you for now, it’s alright.” As soon as his hands were free, Khaled wrapped them around the older man’s neck, hugging him close as he bawled into his shoulder. “I thought about it, but there is no way I can definitively prove it was you.” A muscular pair of arms wrapped around him and held him close, drawing him into the warmth. “And besides, my favorite fuck toy, plotting to kill me?” His master laughed. “No way you’re smart enough for that! I didn’t buy you for your brains, you know!”

“Yes, yes, I’m stupid, I am so fucking stupid, thank you!” Khaled cried. He nuzzled his cold wet face into Tom’s warm neck and peppered the man’s jawline with kisses, murmuring his gratitude between every kiss. He was alive, he didn’t die, and that was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

“Let’s go home,” Thomas said, hoisting Khaled onto his feet. “The takeout I bought is getting cold, and you need a change of pants.”

He led the young man through the woods back to side of the road where he had parked his car. “I was completely serious about you never seeing anybody else again, by the way,” he reminded him as he opened the passenger side door. Khaled slid gratefully inside, happy to be in the heated part of the car. “You are relieved of your duties to the organization from now on,” Tom continued as he joined him on the driver’s side, “You are demoted to domestic service. You will stay at home and keep the penthouse spotless, welcoming me to it every evening with warm food and your warmer body. You will stay in the apartment and not leave for anything unless it is with me or a trusted associate. You will never see anybody again. That’ll keep you from conspiring to kill me, or from spreading your legs for anyone else but me, and only I will decide when it’s time to bring you back out again.” He pushed the button and started up the vehicle, setting the heaters to full blast.

Khaled nodded. What did he care about being stuck at home and never seeing anybody again? He was alive, and right now, as he held his freezing fingers close to the vents, that was all that mattered.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[jordanstrophe]

Behave, 11

CW: Whumper hospital, forced medical treatment, hurt/comfort, whumper turned caretaker, protective affirmative whumper, stitches, needles mentioned, (it’s mostly fluff) 

[Masterlist]

Whumpee stared at their hands, bruised and shaking uncontrollably. Down their arms were countless needle marks, a band aid accompanying each one. They crossed their legs on the bed as shivers crawled up their spine. They felt cold and drowsy since waking up. 

The door unlocked as whumpee’s spine snapped into posture. They winced when it pulled at the stitches along their ribs. Inhaling through their teeth, they held their breath and closed their eyes.

“No hiding behind the door, not under the bed, or cowering in the corner.” They repeated through their head. Rules the doctor gave them when they got tired of bending over and grabbing their ankles to pull them out. 

It hurt their back, they said. 

So lost in thought, they hadn’t noticed a cold shadow over them. They opened their eyes just in time for someone to grab their face from each side and wrenched their head high. 

“Whumpee are you okay!? Were you hurt?! I swear if they bent a single hair the wrong way!” Whumper shrilled. The jolt whumpee let loose almost freed them from whumper’s grip. 

Whumper turned their cheek left, then right, looking for a bruise, a scratch, anything that looked unnecessary. They were mostly looking for something to validate their anger. 

“Well!? Answer me!!” Whumper cried.

Whumpee looked up, the second their eyes made contact, they broke the silence with an almost inaudible sob. Whumper immediately let go as whumpee leaned forward until they were resting their forehead against whumper’s chest.

Whumper’s eyes went wide as they awkwardly wrapped their arms around them. “I’m sorry... I’m not trying to scare you, I just-” They whispered, stroking their hand down the back of whumpee’s hair. They stopped when they realized they could feel heat.

“Are you-... Are you burning up? How do you feel?” They ushered, crouching to their level a little more. Whumpee sniffled and rested their chin over whumper’s shoulder until they calmed. For once they weren’t resistant, defiant, scared even.

“I’m s-... I’m fine. I feel alright.” Whumpee spoke through a tired mutter. 

“You were going to say scared, weren't you?” Whumper edged.  

"No. I wasn’t.” They huffed a laugh in irony. 

“I was going to say I’m sorry.”

They could feel whumper’s head snap down at them. “Excuse me?” Whumper mimicked their laugh, but more out of disbelief. 

“The last time I saw you, I said I hated you.” Whumpee pulled their head from whumper’s chest and met their eyes. 

“I-... Didn’t mean it.” They wiped a few tears from their eyes and sniffled. 

Whumper felt their chest swelling with guilt. And the last time they saw them, they had forced a blood draw as they struggled and retaliated. It bruised worse than the rest ever had. 

“Don’t be.” They sighed, cupping their face and resting their forehead apologetically against theirs. “Don’t be at all. You’re sick.” They hummed. 

They couldn’t help but smirk a little too mischievously. 

“Does this mean you adore me?”

“-Okay that’s enough.” Whumpee broke the gesture and pulled away.

“I’m your favorite, right? Beloved? Cherished?” They heartfully teased.

“You’ve ruined it.”

Whumper laughed and sat next to them, pulling them against their shoulder and running their palm down their arm. 

“I won’t let them hurt you.” Whumper murmured. “I won’t lose you again.”

---

As of that morning, the doctor had added an addition to whumpee’s room: a camera that followed their every move. If they walked to one side, the camera would hum until it found them. 

The doctor slumped their feet on the desk and gnawed away at a sandwich, watching the scene between whumpee and whumper play on like entertainment.

They wondered if it was real, whatever bond they had. Maybe one was manipulating the other. Maybe one of them was breaking.

Maybe they both had. 

[Masterlist]

@serialobsesssor @fishtale88   @bluesoulpeace   roblingoblin285    @echo-of-umbra @whump-bunny  @pretty-little-whump @akaijisatsu  @whatiswhump @shannon-foraker   @whumpkitty @suspicious-whumping-egg @whatwhumpcomments  @whumpdreamz  

[firapolemos05]

@augusnippets Path of Hurt

Day 28: mind control/body control/betrayal

CW: minor character death, false accusations, servitude, implied abuse, whumpee turned whumper, mental manipulation, brief mention of nausea

Word count: 651

Azhaga (he/him)

Amit Chettiar (he/him)

“What have you done?!”

The rage carried in that voice shook Azhaga to his bones. He sprung away from the bed. From the body.

“M-my Lord, I-” he tried to explain, but Lord Chettiar already advanced. He shoved Azhaga aside, pushing the servant to the floor, before collapsing to his knees.

As he gathered the body into his arms, Azhaga caught sight of the man's ring and his fears were confirmed. A gold band inlaid with three glowing garnets.

Well…make that two now.

One gemstone sat dark. Cold and dead like the son it was linked to.

“My son,” the lord sobbed, his voice breaking in a way Azhaga never heard before. He didn't dare move or open his mouth again, fear, dread, and bewilderment stilling his tongue.

How could he even begin to explain? One moment young Prakash had been sleeping soundly, no sign of the terrible nightmares that have been plaguing him recently, that got Azhaga tasked with watching over him during the night. The next moment he was not breathing anymore.

Lord Chettiar spoke with venom that could rival any cobra. “What. Did. You. Do?”

The only thing Azhaga could do was sit on his knees and press his forehead to the tiles. “My lord, I swear on my life, I did not do this. I don't know what happened.”

“Swear on your life, hmm?” the man repeated with a cold consideration.

“I promise! I don't know. He was fine not five minutes ago. He just… stopped breathing? I don't know. I didn't see anything. No scorpions, no spiders, no snakes, no-”

He yelped as a strong hand grabbed a fistful of his saree and pulled him up, hoisting him off the ground.

“No snakes except you, that is.”

His mother always told him that anger and grief often made people irrational.

“Please, my lord.”

“My son is dead, and you are the only other one here. You were supposed to protect him!”

Azhaga swallowed thickly, copper eyes darting between the rage in his master’s gaze and the lifeless stillness of Prakash's form. It was so wrong. Would Lord Chettiar have him killed? Would anyone stop him? His parents? Certainly they would come to their son's defense, right? Even if it meant risking the lord's anger?

“How can I believe anything you say?” Lord Chettiar asked, not truly looking for an answer.

Azhaga could feel his body pulsing with fear, but even more, he was just tired. “I didn't kill him, my lord. I don't know what did. I swear it! Please just listen!”

Tired of this life of walking on eggshells. Tired of being a convenient scapegoat.

He waited to be struck for such insolence. For daring to demand. But the arm holding him aloft lowered. Gone was the anger from Lord Chettiar's face, replaced with something blank and devoid of emotion. In his disbelief, Azhaga peered into his eyes. The whites surrounding dark brown marbled with branches of copper.

There was a crackle in the air, across his skin and tongue. A shimmering energy.

“What shall you have me do?” the man inquired, standing at attention.

Like a guard awaiting orders.

“I did not kill young master Prakash,” Azhaga spoke carefully, unsure of what this spell, for that was certainly what it was, invoked. His mind spun like one of his sister's toy tops. He didn't have time to ask questions.

“You did not kill Prakash.” No hesitation.

“Me and Vimala will search for the true killer. Please allow us to leave.”

“You are allowed to leave.”

Azhaga would not squander this opportunity. He had no intention of returning. No time to question the magic or what he'd turned into. He needed to leave. To get as far away from this estate as he possibly could. He exited the bedroom to rush to find his sister.

He had to stop at a privy to be sick.

[shywhumpauthor]

Wait I want to remain anonymous do this one instead lol

Part 2 of the yandere one?

Maybe whumpee needs a punishment. Nothing that'll scar though ;)

Honestly anon you’ve got me hooked with this. I have no clue what I’m doing, all I know is that it is fun.

Previous

Cw: kidnapping, mentioned past murder, blood, noncon touching, manipulation, emotional abuse, manhandling, creepy whumper, past torture/abuse, captivity, idk it’s creepy and yandere and brutal. Lots of manipulation

Whumpee’s hands were shaking as they stared down at the white porcelain tiles laid in diamonds across the bathroom floor, the dark grey grout making the individual pieces appear luminous in a simple, minimalistic pattern. Their eyes drifted across the rows, unfocused and watery as they counted them over and over. Somewhere in the back of their mind, the answer was already stored, along with the deeply repressed memories of all the nights they had spent alone, cold and hurting laying on that floor, unable to pick themself up and drag them to the bath to clean up.

Their skin was warm, flushed with the heat of so many conflicting emotions, cooled only slightly as they braced their palms against the edge of the bath where they now sat. The faint rush of water buzzed in their ears, but it did nothing to block out the terrible noises that seemed to be playing on repeat through their skull. The cries and screams, gasps and pleas that were muffled by a mouthful of blood looping on an endless cycle, with each return of the dreaded sounds a new pinprick stabbed through their heart. Long since torn from their chest, they felt numb, disturbed only by light tremors as goosebumps rose along their skin. Even bundled up, Whumper’s jacket that smelled terribly like them wrapped tightly around their shoulders to protect them from the cold air outside, Whumpee felt as if they had been left bare in a snowstorm.

Their body reacted before their mind once the sink shut off and Whumper turned to them, flinching back before they could begin to see what was happening. For a fleeting moment, they tensed, anticipating the wicked sting of a slap to their face, but contrary to their fears Whumper just sighed. When Whumpee looked up, forcing their shoulders back from where they had hunched over, Whumper’s gaze was not angry like they had expected. They just looked sad, exhausted. For a second, it unnerved them, when Whumper crouched to one knee. They had cleaned themself in the sink moments before, scrubbing their hands and face clean from all residue of the night before, but it wasn’t enough to disguise the truth. Whumpee could see the speckles of dried scarlet on their shirt, decorating the exposed flesh where their shirt sagged against their collarbone and the cuffs of their sleeves. The tender affection in their eyes did not hide the ruthless murderer they had witnessed an hour before.

“You’ll be alright, my love,” Whumper sighed quietly, their voice gentle like the early morning waves against the shore, the sunrise beyond that paints the sky rosy and golden. A beautiful dawn to hide the storm clouds projected far beyond. Red sky in morning, sailor’s take warning after all.

They raised the washcloth which they held to Whumpee’s face, the pressure behind their touch light and forbearing and all too much. Soaked in warm water, the dreaded being in front of them began to work away at the since dried smears of blood across their cheek, a mark they had left earlier. To anyone else, it may have looked like a pitiful attempt to soothe them, an accidental smudge while trying to provide comfort in face of fresh trauma. Whumpee knew better than that. Whumper didn’t do accidents. They didn’t make mistakes. Everything they did was intentional, cold and calculated through the most manipulative of minds. For a while, Whumpee had fallen prey to this façade. They had so desperately clung to the affection, turning a blind eye to the warnings that came along. With a hand caressing their cheek, they were once blind to the blood staining the palm.

They weren’t blind anymore. They felt every flicker of contact, every prolonged graze as Whumper slowly cleaned their face. They hadn’t asked, offered their assistance or even allowed Whumpee a chance to do it themself. From the car they had led them straight inside, through the door with more locks than any bank’s most secure vault, to the bathroom where they had sat them down on the side of the bathtub and told them to stay there. Stay there and be good for me. I’ll get you cleaned up.

“I know you don’t see it this way, but I’m only trying to help you.”

The warm of the cloth turned to ice against their cheek, Whumpee could no longer hold their gaze. Emotion swelled in their throat, a lump against their windpipe obstructing each breath.

“I know you see me as the bad guy, but I promise you, Whumpee, all I’ve ever done was for you.”

Words built and died against Whumpee’s lips as Whumper’s fingers brushed their skin, the cloth dragging lightly across their jaw. They didn’t look up.

“Do you know how much it hurt when you left me?” Whumper’s voice dropped to a whisper, and Whumpee couldn’t help but buckle under the sudden tension in the air, their shoulders curling inwards. “I have given so much to you, my love, and yet still, it wasn’t enough.”

Their touch was delicate, dancing across Whumpee’s face, the cloth dropping to the floor discarded as Whumper hooked a finger under their chin, the pressure enough to be commanding without being willful. Teasing, toying with them. Like a cat with a mouse, pawing lightly at it’s pretty before unveiling the razor claws from the innocent tufts of fur.

“You’re confused, Whumpee. All I’ve ever wanted to do was make you happy, but you still run from me. I tried to give you space, and look at the mess you’ve gotten into. You need me, I know you don’t want to admit it, but it’s true.”

It’s true. It’s true. You need me. You’re nothing without me. You hear me? Nothing.

“No.” Whumpee whispered, twisting their head away with a spur of movement. “No, you.. caretaker told me everything. You- you hurt me.”

Whumper paused, taken aback by the sudden outburst. For a moment, they stood still, frozen in place. Then they stood, straightening to their full height to tower over Whumpee, expression unreadable as the sudden vantage cast angular shadows from the vanity’s lighting across their darkened face.

“Caretaker lied to you, Whumpee.” Their voice was no longer kind. They reached down and grabbed them by the wrist, pulling them to their feet in a rough movement. Still stunned from the earlier events, Whumpee’s body did not know how to disobey, leaving them to stumble up while their legs wobbled. “All they ever did was lie. They were trying to turn you against me. And it worked, I see. Not even a month, and they’ve filled your head with these.. these delusions.”

“Stop,” Whumpee’s voice broke, a tear leaking from the corner of their eye, spilling down their cheek. Not the first, certainly not the last that would fall. “Let me go, Whumper, please-”

They were already being pulled towards the door, the grip on their arm firm. They couldn’t pull away, not with their exhausted weakened struggles. They knew where they were going long before Whumper led them to the hall.

“You know I hate doing this to you, Whumpee, but you’re not giving me much of a choice,” Whumper’s voice was tight, their face turned away as they marched up to a door. A terrible, familiar door. “I’ll bring you some fresh clothes and supper in a while. We’ll see if you’re thinking straighter tomorrow morning, and go from there.”

The door was pushed open, the old hinges creaking in protest. The tears were streaming down their face now, but Whumpee couldn’t bring themself to beg this time. They stumbled when Whumper gave them a light push, feet nearly falling from under them as they were directed into the dark room.

“I love you, Whumpee. That’s why I’m doing this.” Whumper gave a final sigh, their face illuminated dimly. Expression solemn, the door shut, blocking out the last bits of light before the lock clicked into place.

—————————————

I’m having way too much fun with this.

Any interest in a pt 3?

[unforgivenn]

WOLLEMI DAY 5- CAUGHT

CW: Young whumpee, Themes of captivity, a lil bit of manipulation, pet whump, failed escape attempt, future punishment mention, uhm dominant, creepy asf whumper, andd a pinch of trauma, alcohol consumption

The air was thick with laughter, clinking glasses, and the pulsating beats of music. The party’s that Dominic kept were extraordinary, only the kinds that the elite of the country got to experience. Guess, Caleb should consider himself lucky then… Dominic had made it clear that he absolutely needed him to be there to introduce his sweet pet to his friends. 

Caleb had thought about it a lot, Maybe.. Maybe someone there would see and help him! No, No.. Dominic’s friends would be no different from him. Maybe even worse…  He shuddered. He had been planning an escape for so, so long since the last time he failed. But this time there would be no failing. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle the torture that Dominic would have in store for him. Caleb knew that there was no way he could actually run from Dominic. He had learnt it the first time.. But he needed something, something that could make him feel that he wasn’t going brain-dead under his captor and still have some defiance under him.

As the night wore on and the alcohol flowed freely, Caleb's attention turned increasingly towards Dominic. He wanted to show him off, to display his dominance and control to his friends. It was a sick game, one where Caleb was merely a pawn. He was there kneeling at Dominic’s side like a good little kitten that he was.

He noticed how Dominic was slowly starting to slur his words, how he squinted his eyes slightly to see properly and how his leg bounced up and down. He waited for a while before Dominic finally excused himself to go the washroom telling Caleb to be a good pet and stay though his speech was incoherent. Caleb looked at Dominic’s friends, all of them were busy talking with each other or just drinking. 

He finally saw an opening until he suddenly got up and bolted outside trying to find the front door, his heart pumping with adrenaline. He heard a familiar “Caleb!!” behind him though that just made him run faster desperate to get away. As soon as his hand opened the front door two figures entered blinking at him before grinning. He freezed momentarily as the realization sank in. He was pulled by his armpits by either one of them with a tight hold on him as they dragged him back to his tormentor. Caleb didn’t even try to fight, he just looked down not able to believe it. He had been so close. So close.. Then.. why..? He knew the plan was childish. That he would never be able to get away from his fate. But.. he had this small hope in him that maybe. Maybe it would work it somehow.. “Hope. It’s a child’s play.”  Dominic had once told him. The two men threw him on the floor infront of Dominic. 

“Take better care of your toy, Sinclair” Dominic didn’t even pay attention to what they said, simply swatting them away and walking towards his traumatized kitten and forcing his jaw up to look him in the eye. Oh how he loved when the spark in their eye goes away.

“Trying to slip away. Were we? Well we’ve got to make sure that doesn’t happen again right” He said somehow seeming completely sober now… Maybe he shouldn’t have tried running away..

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Obedience

for Angstpril, Day 11: Self-Sabotage

cw: death mention, creepy whumper, manipulation, very vague noncon reference, adult language

previous ///// masterlist ///// next

וווווווווווווווווווווו×

Alexei was back in Uriah's office. Same chair, same cinnamon candle sitting cold on the desk, same shock collar weighing heavy on his throat, reminding him that he couldn't run; he was still a prisoner.

Even before the Tower, he'd been no stranger to electrocution, but the pulse the handler had dealt him had been especially strong. Lex was exhausted. Every muscle was sore, as if he'd been slammed against a wall, or thrown down a few flights of stairs, and there was a tremor in his shoulders that wouldn't go away.

Uriah Fox took his time coming in. A quick glance at the clock told him it was 3am, and Lex wondered if the CEO had been woken up when he'd turned on the handler.

Defective tool. Faulty weapon. 

Fox had used the Tower as a threat, implying he had another chance to stay free of it, but Lex was still on edge. There was no way he'd escape punishment, even if he was still useful enough to stay out of the cell.

"Well well," Fox's voice came from behind, and Lex tensed instinctively.

Stop. It's no use here.

"I wasn't sure you'd actually come back. Color me pleasantly surprised."

(Surmise, demise, unwise.)

Lex watched him move around the desk, take a seat across from him.

"You said you wanted to re-evaluate."

"I did. I understand you're upset. Misleading you about Overkast was unkind of me, I'll admit—"

"Misleading? Lying."

"Let me finish." There was an edge to his voice that made Lex oblige, and Fox smiled at his silence. Like he knew he was holding his leash.

"I think we should start again. I'll offer you more transparency, and in return, I ask that you offer your services." Fox reached into the cabinet beside him, retrieving a crimson folder, opening it, spreading the papers inside across the top of the desk. Headshots. Codenames and personal details. Lex recognized the people in the photos; the same ones he'd encountered at the apartment a few hours prior.

"Each individual here has been Redlined," Fox began, using a term Lex was very familiar with.

It was what happened to a powered person when they committed a crime; a warrant was put out for their arrest, and worse, they lost any legal protection. Sometimes civilians would band together to hunt Redlined. On the occasion that they caught up with their quarry, there wasn't much left to bury. Lex was Redlined himself, along with plenty of his Neath acquaintances.

"What'd they do?" Lex asked.

"Broke contract with Titanium. They're unpredictable. Dangerous."

Dangerous. He thought of the round-faced woman, reading her book. The girl in pajamas. Even when Fox told him there would be a team, he hadn't mentioned the kid.

"And you want me to kill them?"

Fox sighed. "I want you to ensure that they can't run rampant through the streets. Whether that means killing them, or bringing them to me."

"What will you do with them?"

"They'll be dealt with by the company."

Dealt with. Locked up in the Tower, then. The book woman and the girl whose fire could rival his own. The skinny young man who'd stood frozen in the street. The woman with a red streak in her hair, who'd offered him her hand.

The Tower wasn't meant for people like them, it was for people like him. They wouldn't last a week.

"What happens if I say no?" Lex said.

"What makes you think you can?" Fox raised an eyebrow. "Well, you certainly can, but you know where you'll end up."

(Cup, pup.) Lex swallowed, reaching out to pull the papers closer to him. How many times had he done this, before the Tower? How many files had he been handed, to familiarize himself with a target? But never someone he'd met, never someone who'd wanted to help him, however stupid that notion was.

Sarah McCloud. Codename: Spyglass. Twenty five, able to enhance her senses.

A danger.

Akeela Harris. Codename: Firebrand. Fourteen, pyromancer.

Fourteen fucking years old.

"You want me to kill a child?" He pushed the datapage back. 

"Harsh way to put it. Apprehend."

"A kid."

"I didn't think Cinder cared about those details," Fox said, tucking the pages back into the folder. "I thought you followed orders. Indiscriminately."

"I don't hurt kids." He folded his arms, a gesture he'd honestly missed. 

"You'd rather go back to your cell?"

Lex tried not to let his fear at those words reach his expression, forcing his voice to come out calm. "Thought you wanted to make use of me. Is one rogue team enough to make it worth it?"

"What are you suggesting?" Fox leaned back in his chair.

"I know how it works. Corporate loves using prisoners to do their dirty work." He mimicked Fox, leaning back as if he were capable of relaxing. "You wanted me for that, so why limit it to this one job? Surely you have other problems you want taken care of."

"And you think that's enough leverage to make me let up about the rogues?" Fox seemed amused by the notion. "Any prisoner in the Tower would kill to be in your position."

(Addition, commission, intuition.)

"But you chose me." His heart rate was picking up with every bit pushback from Uriah. Was it really worth it? Why should he risk going back to save a bunch of strangers?

"That looked bad."

"We aren't your enemies."

"Are you okay?"

Fuck.

To his relief, Fox chuckled. "You are bold. I can't say I don't admire that. And someone with your particular skillset can be hard to come by…" He put up his hands. "Alright. Say I indulge you. Are you planning on defying me every other mission? Attacking your babysitter?"

"No." Lex clenched his jaw. "I'll follow orders." He added, "No kids."

Uriah tapped his chin. "Fortunately for you, most of my enemies aren't children. Now you say you'll be obedient. How will you prove it?"

Lex looked up. "Prove it?"

"Yes. I'm not about to agree to your terms unless I know it'll be worth my while." He grinned. "Why don't you get down on your knees for me, Alexei?"

His breath caught. "What?"

"True obedience is without question. Or are you having second thoughts?"

Lex grimaced, getting up from the chair and moving to kneel on the floor, pushing away any shreds of damaged pride. It's been worse. I've done worse.

His pulse quickened as Fox stood, walking over to him. He placed a hand on his head. 

"Good boy."

Lex said nothing, eyes glued on the ground, jaw clenched.

(Ploy, coy, annoy. Toy.) He swallowed.

Relief washed over him when Fox's hands didn't trace down his throat or fiddle with a belt buckle, instead taking a half-step back.

"Kiss my shoes," he said, "and we have a deal. I'll forget this little incident, and you can forget about the rogue team. Stay out of the Tower. Work for me."

I've done worse. It could've been so much worse.

Lex leaned forward, slowly lowering himself and planting his mouth on the leather.

"Shoes. Plural."

He fixed his glare on the floor, holding back from directing it upwards, at Uriah, then moved to repeat the motion with the other foot.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" He lifted Lex's chin with the toe of his shoe, a smug smile on his face. "I'll arrange for you to have a room here. Life will be good for you Alexei, just wait and see. All you have to do is keep that obedience."

Lex stayed on his knees while Uriah circled around him, moving towards the office door.

"And remember who you belong to."

וווווווווווווווווווווו×

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing

[montammil]

June of Doom Day 23 - "You're doing great."

| Trembling | Gaslighting | Rules |

Characters: Rowan, Sawyer

CW: Yandere/creepy whumper, familial issues, captive whumpee, restrained, noncon touching (non-sexual)

...

Ropes were tied around him tightly, digging into his wrists, ankles, and torso. It was expertly done that Sawyer would be impressed if not for the reality of the situation. He had no idea how long he'd been trapped like this, but he imagined it was a while.

Rowan was in a bad mood today, and Sawyer dug himself deeper in his own grave by making several snide comments.

The last straw was when he said something about missing his home, and Rowan dragged him in "their" bedroom and tied him up before storming back off.

Sawyer figured he didn't tie him up in the basement or shed because that was too severe of a punishment for something so little... even if Rowan had punished him for small offenses before.

In any case, this was at least slightly better than either of the other options.

He was left there for at least two hours, his legs long since going numb. Sawyer was feeling so uncomfortable, and he couldn't stand it anymore. He tried to reach to the knots with his free hands to untie them, but the angle made it impossible.

As if on cue, Rowan walked in. He didn't look much calmer than before. "I think you have something to say to me?"

Sawyer gritted his teeth. "You told me you don't like lying, so I won't. I'm not sorry."

"Really? Because you seem like you are. Look at you." Rowan circled around the bed, smirking. He tilted his head back, his purple eyes glistening in the low lighting. "Your whole body is shaking like a leaf, it's adorable." He ran his fingers through Sawyer's hair. "I thought I was being merciful letting you calm down here for a few hours, was I wrong? Would the shed help more?"

"No." Sawyer hated the shakiness of his voice, he knew Rowan would use it against him. He knew how to manipulate him and it made his blood boil.

"Then you need to learn how to apologize properly." He lifted his chin with his index finger. "How about this, I'll give you a hint. I like it when you beg."

Oh, this asshole. "Sorry."

"That's a start," he whispered. "Go on, continue."

Sawyer frowned. "I'm sorry. I know I said something to piss you off, but I didn't mean it." Rowan continued to stare down at him expectantly. Sawyer groaned. "You know what? No. I'm not doing this. I'm not playing your little mind games, so go ahead and put me in the shed! I don't give a damn!" He did, and Rowan knew very well he did.

Yet Rowan just smiled. "I think I have a different punishment in mind." He grabbed one of his many burner phones from the nightstand and sat on the end of the bed. He turned it on and the sudden brightness in the dark room burned Sawyer's eyes. "I wrote down some of the names in your contact list. I wonder who I should call?"

"What are you doing?" Sawyer leaned up. His muscles ached, but he couldn't move from his position. Rowan went through his phone a few more times. "You're not calling anyone!"

"Oh! I have an idea. How about your father? Since you've mentioned how you miss your family before," Rowan sneered.

Sawyer definitely didn't miss his family, he was just saying that to get on Rowan's nerves. And he knew Rowan knew that, considering there was no way this creep didn't go through his texts. "Why are you doing this? What are you trying to accomplish?"

Rowan didn't answer him, instead grabbing a pocket knife from the back pocket of his slacks. "If you start doing anything that implies you want or need help, I won't hesitate to add some marks to that pretty skin of yours."

Sawyer's breath caught in his throat. The threat was more than enough to keep him compliant, given the amount of times he's been sliced by Rowan for trying to defend himself.

"I don't understand--"

"You're going to tell him you've run away. You're going to tell him you're safe. Is that understood?"

Sawyer nodded.

He watched as Rowan punched in his father's number, his heart hammering in his chest. Maybe Rowan chose his father to call, because his dad would've cared the least about his safety. Maybe it was because he wouldn't report his disappearance, given how many times he was in trouble with the law.

He hadn't even spoken to his father in a year, and the last time he did, it was some petty argument over the phone.

"Who is this?" a gruff voice answered. Rowan's face was contorted in a nasty glare. It looked like he was barely holding back from crushing the device in his hands.

Sawyer forced the emotion out of his voice, despite trembling harder than ever. "Hey, Dad... it's me."

He heard a grunt from the other end. "Sawyer, where the hell have you been? You're all over the news. Are you safe?" He didn't sound very worried or relieved to hear his voice. Sawyer wasn't expecting him to sound happy or concerned, but it still hurt.

Rowan reached a hand out to rub Sawyer's shoulder. His eyes pierced Sawyer's. It was like he was reading his mind. It was a reminder to not screw this up.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I... I'm sorry about what happened, I know you probably hate me," he mumbled. "I ran away from everything. I've been living in a different city for a few months now." He swallowed the lump in his throat. He hadn't felt this tense since he was a child. "I was just calling to tell you not to worry. I'm fine. Tell Mom and Cleo not to worry either."

He squeezed his eyes shut and tears rolled down them. Rowan kissed them away, whispering in his ear, "You're doing great, darling."

"You always were one to run away from your problems," his dad accused. "What did you do this time? Steal another person's money?"

"That was seven years ago! Why won't you let that go?"

"You had cops banging on my door, Sawyer! You always have a way of getting into trouble, and it always falls on my back to pick up the pieces."

Sawyer sobbed. He had been so stressed dealing with Rowan, and now it felt like his dad was taunting him too. "I don't want to do this with you right now," he choked out. Rowan continued massaging his shoulders, trying to silently comfort him. "I'm not going to bother you guys anymore, alright? I just... wanted to let you know I'm not dead." That part was true, at least.

"Fine," his dad sighed. "Don't come running to me for cash. I won't be helping you this time."

"I don't want you to."

A moment of silence passed. "Alright, I'll let your mom and sister know. I'm sure they'll be relieved. Bye." He hung up, leaving Sawyer to shake with more sobs. Rowan instantly threw his arms around him and held him, kissing his hair and cooing in his ear.

"You did such a good job. I'm so proud of you." Rowan started undoing the ropes. He laid him down and pulled the covers over both of them, spooning Sawyer and kissing every inch of exposed skin he could reach. "My beloved. My sweetheart."

Sawyer let him babble and compliment him. He just wanted to forget he spoke to his father, to forget he was held captive and tortured for weeks now, to just forget everything.

He inhaled the scent of Rowan's old college hoodie, trying to lull himself to sleep.

"Get some rest, you deserve it." Rowan pulled Sawyer's body impossibly closer. "Tomorrow, I think we should give that bartender-friend of yours a call."

[bamber344]

Whumpee intro: Jordyn's Training - 1

prev/next

masterlist

heyo ik I said the updates for this would take a while but I wanted to get this out quickly so there was some actual whump to sink your teeth into for the story. the 'Jordyn's Training' arc was meant to just be one thing but this first section absolutely ballooned way bigger than I thought it would (just over 2k words) so it will most likely be a 4-parter

Anyway this series actually has a name now! it is Project Genesis, courtesy of my brain in the shower this morning; the birthplace of many great ideas.

Lemme know if you wanna be added to the tag list btw! chapter begins below the cut :3

CWs: broken bones, whipping, emotional manipulation, vomiting, blood, meal restrictions, mentions of recovery, female whumpee, male whumper, superpowered whumpee

(let me know if I need to CW anything else I forgot about!)

Jordyn's Training, part 1: The First Mistake

3 MONTHS AFTER WAKING

The obstacle course stretched out before me, vast and daunting. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t done before, but the fast-spinning metal poles and swinging wrecking balls never failed to make me anxious before I threw myself in for another go. I’d been hit by them more than enough to know how much they hurt. Still, this sort of training was necessary for my rehabilitation, so I steeled myself and prepared to do another run-through, aiming to beat my personal best under Father’s watchful eye.

It had been three months since I woke up in that room, cold and confused, lashing out at anything that moved. If not for Father, I would probably still be in that helpless, animalistic state. He took me in when no one else would, taught me how to speak, and read and write; how to be a functional human being again. I was in an accident, apparently, injured badly enough that when I woke my mind was completely blank, bare of even the most basic muscle memory. Father’s treatment may have fixed my body, but my mind still needed hands-on work; work that he tirelessly took upon himself. He spent countless late nights with me, speaking to me, reading to me, letting me get a feel for English again. He allowed me to lean on him while I was relearning how to walk. He spoon-fed me when I lacked the coordination to feed myself. There was still a lot that I didn’t know, and I got confused often, especially when he used bigger words, but he said that was okay. I didn’t need to know everything. So long as I did good, and he gave me that warm, tingly smile, nothing else really mattered.

Apparently, I used to be something called a ‘superhero’ before my accident. I would use this strange power I had to take down criminals and bring them to justice. If I ever wanted to be able to do that again, I needed to train. My body may have been passably functional, but it needed to be exceptional, or so Father said. He always smiled when he talked about me being a superhero again, so I knew that was where I needed to focus my efforts.

“Jordyn? What are you waiting for?” Father asked, his voice gravelly and stern.

I snapped out of my thoughts. “Sorry, Father. I was just preparing myself.”

He shook his head and something inside of me shrivelled up. “Not good enough, Jordyn. Do you think the criminals will wait for you to be ready? You need to do what I ask when I ask, not when you think you are ready.”

I clenched my fists, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. “S-sorry, Father.”

“It’s alright, Jordyn. Now, go.”

I wasted no more time, charging forward as Father started the timer. I needed to do good on this to make up for my blunder before. Father had spent so much of his time and energy on me; I couldn’t let it all be for nothing.

The beat of my feet against the floor fell into a rhythm as I jumped, dodged, and dashed my way through the course. I’d been running it for over a month now, and it was quickly becoming second-nature. I knew exactly when to duck my head to avoid the spinning beams, how to deftly move between the wooden knives shot from the walls, and just which way I should step to avoid the pitfalls in the floor. The burn in my lungs and legs was distracting, but I didn’t let it slow me down. Just like Father always said: ‘Pain isn’t real.’

Something looked a little different about the second set of spinning poles, but I ignored it. The course was always the same every time I ran it; I was probably just thrown off because of Father’s reprimand. They always stung in a way I didn’t know how to deal with. 

I leapt into the fray of rapidly spinning wooden beams, ducking the ones at head-height and hopping over the ones aiming for my legs. It took a little bit more focus to ensure I wasn’t hit this time; it seemed as though the poles were spinning faster than usual. Still, with all of my practice, I was making good time. My personal best wouldn’t know what hit it.

Crack!

Something slammed into my shin and my leg buckled from under me. That was fine, this wasn’t the first time I’d been knocked down. I made sure to roll out of the way of any on-coming beams so I had a safe spot to catch my breath in before continuing.

Then the pain hit, so hard and so strong that I immediately gagged from the shock, agony shooting up my leg like bolts of electricity. It was hard to breathe. Hot tears spilled from my eyes as overwhelmed sobs tore from my throat. I looked down at my leg to see what was hurting me so bad and almost threw up. My shin had already turned an ugly purple, and the rest of the limb below that point was twisted unnaturally. My heart lurched.

“F-FATHER! HELP!” I shrieked. The pain was too much; my entire body was locking up, too afraid to move in case I made it worse.

“What are you doing, Jordyn? Get up. Keep going.”

Disobeying his orders hurt almost more than my snapped leg, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. “I- I can’t! It hurts! Father, please!”

“That’s not good enough! Use your shadows, steel yourself! The course is not over until you complete it! Get up, girl! Your pain is not real!”

The thought of going on made me want to curl into a ball, but I did as I was told. Father’s orders came before all else, especially my own comfort. I owed him my life; a little pain meant nothing in the face of that. I reached out to the shadows around me, wrapping them around my injured leg like a splint. My skin turned black, sucking in all of the light around it, but the pain did lessen somewhat. A whimper escaped my lips as I forced myself up. Shards of agony stabbed my flesh every time I put weight on my leg, but it was manageable. I could move, albeit slowly. So much for beating my personal best.

It took an embarrassingly long time, but eventually I was able to limp my way to the end of the course, receiving more than a few extra bruises from the traps I was unable to dodge due to my injury. I collapsed at Father’s feet, dropping to my knees with my head hanging low as sweat dripped from my brow.

“That was disgraceful, Jordyn. Even your first attempt was better than that.”

I bit back a sob. “I’m s-sorry, Father. M-my leg, it-”

He grabbed a fistful of my short hair and tugged my head up, slapping me across the face. “I don’t care for your excuses. If you allow something as trivial as a broken leg to slow you down, the criminals out there will tear you to shreds. You should have learned by now how to use your power to protect yourself against this sort of thing without my instruction. I’ve already spent so much time healing you; I will be very disappointed if it turns out to all be a waste. Are you a waste of my time, Jordyn?”

“N-no Father! I’m not a waste!”

He let go of my hair, allowing me to sag back down to the floor. “Hm. I expect not. Remove your shirt.”

I blinked up at him. “F-Father?”

He struck me again, hard enough to whip my head to the side. “If you cannot even follow a simple order without talking back, how can I expect you to perform well in the field?”

I didn’t make the same mistake twice, pulling off the black, skin-tight garment as quickly as I could.

He nodded his head to the side, indicating a metal pole in the corner of the room, with two handles sticking out of it on either side. I’d yet to learn what purpose it served, but I had a feeling I was about to find out.

“Grab the handles of that pole and remain on your knees.”

I shuffled over with my head down, each drag of my injured leg across the floor causing tears to spring up in my eyes. The metal of the handles was cold under my palms, numbing my fingers. The rough floor dug into my knees uncomfortably. Father was moving around behind me, and every time it sounded like he was approaching, I inadvertently flinched and shied away. Anxious curiosity burned in the pit of my belly. What was this all about? I risked a question.

“Father, wh-what’s happening?”

“You need to learn how to ignore pain, Jordyn. The only way for you to do that is to experience it. It isn’t real; just chemical reactions in your brain. You must internalise that.”

“I- I don’t know what that means, Father.”

He ignored me. “While this is because you failed today, it doesn’t have to be a punishment, Jordyn. Consider it a lesson; a lesson on conquering pain. If you use your shadows to protect yourself from this, or let go of the handles at any point, I’ll have your other leg broken and forbid the medics from repairing it. Remember: pain isn’t real.”

“Father, I-”

SNAP

All of the air rushed out of me and a line of fire lit up across my back. It was so sudden that I couldn’t stop myself from crying out. Surely that wasn’t what he meant to-

SNAP

My stomach rolled uncomfortably as the strike shook my entire body. I couldn’t help but scream as the pain echoed through me.  

“FATHER! FATHER, P-PLEASE STOP!” 

“Be silent, girl! Who told you you could speak?!”

SNAP

His command overrode even my most basic need to express the utter agony I was in, and the following scream got caught in my throat. Shadows flickered and writhed underneath me, licking up my legs out of protective instinct before I forced them back down again, Father’s warning ringing in my mind.

SNAP

SNAP

SNAP

It felt like it would never end. My vision darkened at the edges. My abs clenched and a surge of bile spilled from my mouth. Warm blood dripped down the burning, torn skin of my back, my anguish heightening with each consecutive blow.

Pain isn’t real Pain isn’t real Pain isn’t real Pain isn’t real Pain isn’t real

SNAP

SNAP

SNAP

SNAP

SNAP

Seconds passed, and no new wave of pain came. I gasped, sucking in as much air as I could to refill my lungs before it was all inevitably expelled again by another strike. My ears were ringing so loud I could barely hear anything and my entire body felt numb aside from the battlefield that was my back, which was still sending lancing aftershocks deep into my muscles even as time continued to press forward with no hint of the next lash.

“You may release the handles, Jordyn.”

I let go and my whole body went limp as I dropped to the floor into a puddle of my own blood and vomit. The movement sent arcing memories of fire through my torn-up skin, and a sob slipped from between my clenched teeth.

“Clean yourself up and report to the medbay when you are ready. After that, head straight to your room. Do not expect dinner.”

All I wanted was a warm meal and for the pain to stop. “Wh-whyyy?” I moaned.

“I will not reward mediocrity, Jordyn. You did poorly today, and as such, you will not be receiving dinner privileges until you beat your personal best again. Be better.”

His footsteps echoed as he walked out of the training room, leaving me alone to cry. This was my own fault. If only I’d been good like he wanted, he wouldn’t have had to hurt me like that. I never wanted to disappoint him like that again.

“I’m s-sorry, Father… I’m sorry.”

Taglist: @steelandblood @sapphicwhump @urnumber1star

feel free to reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed :) I like hearing from you!

[pigeonwhumps]

Contract 2

Bug and Company masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch @whumplr-reader

Introducing Bug's primary handler.

696 words

CWs: BBU, pet whump, whumper pov, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper (sadism only mentioned), dehumanisation, institutional pet whump, mentions of breaking people, mentions of torture

Bill jerks awake when the papers slap him in the chest.

"I wasn't asleep, and they're secure anyway," he murmurs. Then he sees who's standing over him and scrambles backwards. "Shaniqua. You're 134U's primary?"

"The one and only." She smirks down at him. "You're lucky it is me. Sleeping on the job? What would people think?"

Bill shrugs. "The paperwork's finished, this sofa's comfortable, and the new pet isn't doing anything interesting."

"I didn't think you'd have finished staring at their tits yet. Apparently, I was wrong."

"You were. I mean they're cute, and their tits are gorgeous, but there's not enough fear there yet. There's only so long you can watch a pet stay in one place when you're unable to do anything to them."

"You should become a handler. We'd love to have you."

"But then I wouldn't get to watch the intake. That's the fun part, especially with defiant ones. Getting to watch their fear and resignation."

"Oh yeah, that reminds me." She whistles sharply. "726E, heel."

A young man trots into the room carrying two plates of food and a jug of water. Bill raises an eyebrow. Shaniqua doesn't usually eat while she works.

"The nachos are for you. And you'll see what I'm doing with the rest of it. 726E, place everything on the coffee table."

726E obeys, then kneels gracefully at Shaniqua's feet. She ruffles his hair.

"Good boy."

Bill remembers this one, he thinks. One of his most defiant intakes initially, but so quick to snap like a twig at the first hint of pain.

"Entertainment class, huh? What tricks can he do?"

Shaniqua grins. "Roll over. Play dead. Freeze."

The pet freezes like a statue, one arm and a leg in the air.

"Okay, back to default."

He moves back to a knelt position at Shaniqua's feet.

"You've done wonders on him," says Bill admiringly. "Final test today?" Shaniqua nods. "How do I help? Surprisingly, my shift has never actually ended up coinciding with one before."

She chucks a mostly-full notebook onto his lap. "Stay with him while he watches the new intake, and write down whenever he has any sort of reaction to it. I need to make sure they're in line with what his prospective wants."

"Gotcha. Can I play with him?"

"Later. If you promise to be extra good in bed tonight."

Bill grins, already relishing the thought of both. "Now that's a deal I can get behind."

"Excellent." She pats the carpet at Bill's feet, and 726E crawls over, kneeling there instead. Then she wanders over to the intake room (plate and jug in hand) and peers through the floor-to-ceiling window at the new pet. "Certainly cute. Good call on the hair, by the way. I'm surprised though. That's a lot of restraints, even for you. Your manipulation skills going?"

"The information their foster parents gave was sparse, and they don't have a lot that I can guess they care about. Brute force was the best way to go."

Shaniqua whistles lowly. "Okay, yeah, I get it. Not so easy to use that. Wow. I feel like I'm gonna have a lot of fun with them."

Bill chuckles. He knows she enjoys using the more advanced methods to break and rebuild pets, that's why she did extra training, but she doesn't always get much of a chance.

"Just... I don't know, be a little careful? We spent a lot of money on them. You remember how long you had to spend training on X-designated pets before you learned where to stop."

Shaniqua flips him off without looking, and he smiles. She gets irritated by him constantly bringing that up, but it's true. She probably has the highest track record of Xs entirely destroyed. It's a good thing that's why they keep them.

Shaniqua squares her shoulders, grins, and saunters into the intake room. The door locks automatically with a quiet snick, a sound all pets learn to be afraid of.

He picks up a cheese-covered nacho and pops it in his mouth, nudging the pet at his feet to make sure he's in his peripheral vision. Now to sit back and enjoy the show.

[write-kin]

The Price of Mercy

Calamine faces the consequences of disobeying.

(This was going to be a prompt fill for Augusnippets, but it got WAY out of hand, so it's its own thing now. Loosely-related follow up to @just-a-silly-little-whumper's Drown, which made me shed real actual tears.)

CWs: Forced self-harm, lack of control, betrayal, manipulation, abuse, mentioned temporary death, claustrophobia, body control (body being controlled by someone else), intentional triggering of a phobia.

--

Altair hadn’t spoken to him since that day. 

Why would he? Cal had dragged him into the water. Stared at him as he’d died. Revived him and left in silence once the choking had stopped. 

Altair didn’t see the aftermath. Didn’t see Cal staring at his own hands with distaste. Didn’t know he hadn’t spoken to Altair after that because he’d had to cough up lungfuls of water after that to even be able to make a noise. 

Didn’t hear him stifling sobs as Montresor bathed him, dried him, reassured him that it was for the best. That Altair needed to learn to be more cautious. 

The blanket he was wrapped in and the star charts he was rewarded with afterwards were reminders of the awful things he’d done. 

Montresor came to him again when evening fell. 

He told Calamine that Altair hadn’t been doing well. Of course he hadn’t. Cal had killed him. 

Montresor told Calamine that he needed to help again. It wouldn’t be too serious, of course. The drowning hadn’t been too serious. Calamine feared what Montresor considered a ‘serious’ punishment. 

Calamine was to drink from him. He made his way down to the dungeons, stomach twisting as he considered it. 

Altair was only in here because he’d been acting out and panicking. Montresor said that he would return to his room once Cal had done what he was told.

Montresor lied. 

He stood in front of the cell door. Altair met his gaze for a moment, and then looked away pointedly. 

He couldn’t do it. Cal couldn’t make himself enter, couldn’t make himself hold Altair down and drink his blood. He’d take months of starvation over doing that to him. After all he’d been through. After all Cal had done to him. Cal couldn’t live with himself if he had done that, even if it really only was just to exhaust Altair and leave him weak. He couldn’t. 

So Calamine turned around. Walked through the catacombs. Up the stairs to the main castle. And Montresor was there when he opened the door. 

“I notice a surprising lack of blood on your face.” The statement was frank. The empty space between them beckoned for an explanation. 

“I can’t do it.”

“Excuse me?” “I’m not going to hurt him like that.” “Calamine.”

Montresor’s tone was colder than usual. 

“You do not betray me. You betray for me.” 

Cal didn’t argue. That’s what this was. A betrayal. Of Montresor’s trust, of his orders, of the responsibility he’d placed in Calamine. 

“I know.” And Cal knew what came next. What that calm assertion had just earned him.

"I was afraid to hurt him again."  

What he’d been asked to do would not have killed Altair. That was his sole saving grace. He didn’t have to feel his own death again, whatever it was, and lay in bed for the days it took his body to recover from clawing its way back to the undeath he rested in. 

That didn’t mean it would be pleasant. Montresor's voice and tone made that clear.

"Hm."

Calamine stood there. Waited for directions. But none came. 

"I think you need to learn to deal with your fears."

Calamine took his gloves off. Unclasped his cloak. Let them all fall to the floor, and held his hands out to Montresor, cupped. 

The only issue was that this was not of his own will. Cal felt himself be folded up into a little box in the back of his mind, staring through his own eyes like he was watching a first-person view of a stranger. 

He held his hands up. 

Montresor’s gauntlets dropped something small into his hands. It burned. Looking down, it was a small, heavy, ornate silver key. A key which was currently burning its patterns into his skin. 

This was not the first time Montresor had done this. Cal’s body moved against his will, and it made him sick to his stomach. At least, this time, he wasn’t being used as a bargaining chip. He simply turned around, and made his way down the stairs. 

Through the catacombs, into the dungeons, Cal went. His hands burned from the key within them all the while, held in his palms with a forced reverence. 

Where the dungeons met the catacombs, across from Altair’s cell, it sat. Cal recognized the coffin. It was where he was to wake up if he were to ever die outside of Montresor’s reach. 

He turned around. Stared at Altair. Their eyes met again, and Calamine tried his best to signal for help. To apologize. To beg Altair to somehow break him out of this. 

But nothing came of that. Instead, Cal turned away before Altair could, and he wanted to cry. 

The hands holding the key transferred it to one hand. Opened the ornate lock on the edge, and pulled the coffin open, staring at the deep scarlet velvet inside. It was beautiful. Calamine hated it. 

He slipped in, internally screaming and pounding at the walls of the little box his internal self was trapped in. The silver had burned his hands until they bled, and as the coffin closed over him, Cal felt his hand push the key into the lock again. Locking it from the inside.

When he’d been in here before, the key had been dropped to the floor, so he could pick it up and free himself when allowed. 

But his hand didn’t let go. 

Instead, it only held on tighter to the key. Slowly, and deliberately, it brought the silver up to his mouth. 

Cal’s mouth opened, and his hand pushed the key down it. 

It was very likely that he was the only one who could hear the noise of his flesh burning as the silver pressed through his mouth, into his throat, and he was forced to swallow it. 

But if he had any control of his body, he would have screamed bloody murder. He would have slammed on the outside of the coffin until he could escape. 

But here? Now? He couldn’t even hyperventilate. He couldn’t even mimic that sort of breathing. He was still, and cold, and all of his panicking and screaming were hidden neatly inside that box his consciousness was folded into. He could feel the silver of the key burning his stomach walls. 

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t yell. He couldn’t even force himself into sleep, not with the way Montresor channeled his own magic back into him to control every piece of his movement. Had forced him into the constant, sharp pain of silver inside of him, and destroyed his only escape. 

How was he going to get out of here?

[tss-whumper]

concept for some christmas whump

feel free to use this prompt, just give credit!!

(cw -> manipulation, gaslighting/dog-whistling, emotional abuse, mention of cigarettes/smoking)

whumper gets whumpee a ton of presents for christmas and records them opening all of them. all of their friends and family are there too and it seems like the perfect christmas.

but as whumpee opens the presents, they realize that none of these presents are things they want. and not in an ungrateful way, either. they’re genuinely useless or harmful items. a pack of cigarettes when whumpee doesn’t smoke or has a respiratory disease. an entire closets worth of clothes that’s three sizes too small for whumpee. a blanket with a giant hole in it. a box of chocolates when whumpee is allergic to chocolate. whumpee tries to smile and be grateful. maybe whumper just didn’t know.

but whumper starts to egg whumpee on, and as the gifts get more and more derogatory and whumper accuses whumpee of not showing the pinnacle of gratitude, whumpee snaps.

“why are you giving me these things? i can’t even use them! you wasted your money just to make me feel like shit! i got you presents that you’d like, why can’t you do the same for me??”

and now, whumpee looks like a rotten, spoiled, selfish, overdramatic brat.

just like whumper wanted.

bonus points if whumpee has a reputation of being selfish or spoiled or aggressive, so nobody is really surprised when they act like this, and they're more tempted to take whumper's side. after all, whumper was just trying to do something nice. why did whumpee have to ruin christmas?

(also i'll bet you can tell by the colors which side i imagine in which position lolll)

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

Remember Me

Hello. I offer this story as proof that I still exist before retreating to my hidey hole.

Initially inspired by this post by @demondamage .

CW: mentioned multiple whumpees, whumpee turned whumper, whumpee turned caretaker [sort of] (the same whumpee but to different character), emotional manipulation, bear trap, manhandling, implied torture, whumpee unsure of reality (there's a word for this I don't remember), chained. Please let me know if I missed anything.

#####

“Remember me?”

Eddy startled as a man invited himself into the living room.  The cabin was in the center of three hundred wooded acres.  People didn’t just stop by.

Eddy crossed his arms to hide his trembling hands.  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, attempting to be stern.  “Sir – Mr. Glenn doesn’t like surprises.”

“I know.”  The man gave the barest hint of a smile.  “We’re not strangers, Ed.”

We’re not strangers.

Not strangers.

Ed, there’s a life better than this out there.  We deserve better than this.  Come with me.  Let’s go together.

“Lowell?”  Eddy blinked hard, trying to reconcile this man with the one he’d run away with.  Or tried to run with.

He didn’t hold a grudge over being left behind.  Lowell had always been the stronger of them, even when they were both skinny, feral creatures.  He’d told Lowell to go, and that’s what he did.

Eddy did miss him, though, especially the first few days when Mr. Glenn only had one body instead of two to take his anger out on.  The longing receded to a dull ache as the days wore on, until a year and a half passed, and Eddy stopped feeling anything at all.

Dead.

He’s dead, pet.  There’s no way out of these woods.  Be grateful. 

I saved you from his folly.

“How are you here?” Eddy asked.

“I’m sorry I took so long to come back for you.”  Lowell stepped further into the room.

“How?”  Eddy asked again, taking an involuntary step back.

“I shouldn’t have left.  I should have returned sooner.  I was ready.  I planned.  I was a coward.”  Lowell stalked forward with a wild glint in his eye that pressed Eddy back until he hit the wall.  Whoever this Lowell was, he was not the same Lowell who’d left.  Maybe that man really was dead.

Eddy shrank back.  Lowell braced his arms against the wall on either side of Eddy’s head and half growled, “I will never be free until you are.”

As suddenly as he appeared, Lowell pushed away and strode toward the door.  Eddy shuddered in the cool air that replaced him.

Before leaving, Lowell paused and looked back to where Eddy still leaned against the wall.  “Where is he?”

Eddy blinked, too stunned to lie.  “He was in the storehouse,” he said quietly.

Lowell was several paces out the door before Eddy unstuck himself.

“Lowell!”  Eddy ran after him.  “Lowell, wait!”

Lowell glanced over his shoulder but never stopped moving.  “Stay here, Ed.”

“Don’t leave me here again.”

That got him to stop.  Lowell turned and marched back to Eddy in front of the cabin.

“I know I told you to go,” Eddy said.  “I know.  And it was okay.  I managed because you were safe.  But you died, and now you’re here, and I can’t do this again.”  He ended in a shout, breathing hard.

Lowell held him, a hand on his shoulder, the other along his jaw, before he could back away.  “I’m sorry, Ed.  I’m so sorry.  I will come back, I promise.  I can fix this.  But I need you to stay here.  Please, please, stay here.”

Eddy searched Lowell’s face for any sign of deceit, tried to memorize his features in case all this turned out to be a dream.

“I’ll come back,” Lowell repeated.

“Okay.”  Eddy’s agreement was barely audible over the sound of his own pulse rushing in his ears.

Lowell nodded once and ran off without looking back.

Eddy watched him disappear into the trees.  Then watched some more until he could convince himself this was just an anomaly in his ongoing nightmare.

#####

The shadows didn’t terrify him like they did the first time.  Then, he was unprepared, stumbling blindly through the trees, propelled by fear.

Now, he’s the predator.

He watched from a treetop as Lester Glenn fell into his trap.

Mr. Glenn doesn’t like surprises.

No, of course not.  Lowell thought grimly.  He only likes what he can control.

Lowell let his anger simmer.  Anger at Glenn for the years he stole from him.  Unfair anger at Eddy for making him leave.  Anger at himself for listening.  He let it fuel him like the green wood fueled his smoke signals.

He didn’t have to work hard to lure Glenn out of the storehouse.  Just the idea of strangers prowling his land would disrupt Glenn���s sense of control.

Three hundred acres, and the smoke was within half a mile from the cabin.

Glenn travelled noisily.

Lowell felt his pulse accelerate with each footstep, each twig snap, each swear.  He willed himself to stay calm until the trap was sprung.

Snap.

And there it was.

Glenn howled as the rusting bear trap closed around his leg.

Lowell climbed down from his perch and strolled over to his prey like he had all the time in the world.  He stopped a foot away from where Glenn had fallen.

Glenn stared up at him, eyes glassy.

Lowell stared back and finally allowed his anger to boil over.  Crouching down, he grabbed a fistful of Glenn’s hair and smiled, all teeth.

“Hello, Mr. Glenn.  Remember me?”

#####

Screaming.  There was so much screaming.

Eddy thought of Lowell.  But it couldn’t be him.  He died a year ago.

It went on and on, echoing into the falling darkness.

Eddy finished all his required tasks upstairs, leaving no surprises for Sir’s return.  The he tucked himself away as if this were any other normal day.

The screaming cut off abruptly when Eddy closed the door to the cellar.  All sound got sucked into the thickly insulated walls.  On bad days, Eddy imagined himself being sucked in as well.

He sat in the corner of this windowless room and fastened the familiar cuff around his ankle then counted the minutes until Sir’s return.

…

Sir was late.  So late that Eddy lost count of the minutes and drifted into restless sleep.

The door slammed open, and Eddy was awake in an instant ready to beg forgiveness. 

But it wasn’t Sir. 

It was a ghost.

Please, please not again.  Eddy squeezed his eyes shut.

“Ed?”  the footsteps stopped too close, the ghost’s voice a whisper.  “Eddy, it’s me.  You’re safe now … Please look at me.”

Eddy looked.  And looked and looked.  Lowell became his whole view.  He tried to ignore the dried blood not quite hidden beneath the collar of Lowell’s clean shirt.

He flinched as Lowell reached out but melted as Lowell cupped his face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together.

Lowell whispered in the breath of space between them, “Remember me?”

Eddy nodded, still scared this new Lowell was a dream that would shatter if he spoke out loud.

“You’re safe now,” Lowell said.

Eddy leaned back.  “What did you do?”

“I … it doesn’t matter.” Lowell looked away.  “Please don’t ask.  All that matters is that you’re safe.  We’re both free now.”

Eddy bit the inside of his lip.  Who was real?  This Lowell, so much like his old self with soft touches and pleading gaze.  Or new Lowell with blood stains and cold eyes.

“Eddy?”  Lowell motioned to the chain still wrapped around Eddy’s ankle.  “Where’s the key?”

Eddy tipped his head toward the door.  He tried to sort out his feelings as he watched Lowell stride across the room and so gently remove the cuff.

Lowell ran a thumb over the red band of skin left behind over Eddy’s ankle bone.  He met Eddy’s gaze then and smiled.  “It’s official.”

That smile.  That smile subdued the conflict in Eddy’s head.  Lingering unease was shoved in a back corner to be examined later.

That smile was proof that everything was good now.

Lowell stood and offered a hand to Eddy.  “Run away with me?”

Eddy accepted.

[shywhumpauthor]

Hello!!! Could you maybe write about croissants but make it ✨️whumpy✨️??

-the 5 croissant anon

✨️🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐✨️

Heh… thirteen months and two days later, here you go croissant anon

Cw: pet whump, mentioned mild abuse, kinda starvation/not getting food for oneself, accepting of one’s position as a Whumpee, maybe manipulation

Whumpee was in the kitchen when they heard the garage door begin to open, a low rumbling that made the linoleum floor tremor beneath their feet.

They hurried to finish drying the last couple dishes, before tucking the stack neatly away into the proper cabinet, the porcelain clinking together as they stood on their toes to reach the shelf. They closed the cabinet door, letting it swing shut as they hurried back across the kitchen to the table, socks sliding to add to their momentum.

Whumpee quickly grabbed the collar, their fingers fumbling with the leather as they heard Whumper’s car door shut. Just from that, Whumpee could tell, they were in a good mood. Or at least, they weren’t in a bad mood. That was always good.

It wasn’t that Whumpee was trying to be disobedient, or act defiant. Really, they’d gotten over that phase a while ago, realizing it would get them nowhere but in trouble. It was just that, crap, the thing really got uncomfortable sometimes. Especially when they were home alone, stuck with only their chores and their thoughts. They didn’t do it everyday—not even often enough to be co side red frequent.

There were just some times though, where a strand of their hair would get caught in the buckle, or a sudden crane of their neck would send the leather digging into their throat, then they couldn’t get it out of their head. They would be painfully aware of the pressure, though it wasn’t tight enough to impede their breathing, but it would feel like they were being choked. Like their windpipe was being crushed, to the point where they felt like they were suffocating, and they had to take it off.

They were pretty sure Whumper wouldn’t care, if they knew. If Whumpee explained the reason, they could be sympathetic sometimes. Sometimes. Sometimes wasn’t the same as always, though, and Whumper’s mood could flip on a dime. On the way a chair scraped against the floor when they pulled it out from the table, or if the milk wasn’t in the same place in the fridge. They were unpredictable—scratch that, they were perfectly predictable. There were just too many things that could influence that, and out of fear for catching them at a bad time, Whumpee didn’t say anything about it.

They struggled with the buckle for a moment—they were never really good with it unless looking in a mirror, but after a few seconds they managed to fix the strap in place, just as they heard the door connecting the garage and den open.

Right on time.

Whumpee fixed their hair around the collar, pulling out the locks that had been caught between the leather and their neck. They straightened it so the buckle rested just over the dip to their sternum, and stepped out to meet Whumper in the living room.

They dipped their head, sinking to their knees on the plush beige carpet.

“Hey.” Was all Whumper said, pushing the door closed behind them with the side of their foot. Not a bad mood. Good. “You get everything done?”

“Yes sir,” Whumpee responded, keeping their voice clear but not too loud, tone even. Whumper didn’t like when they were too quiet, or if they said too much. Short and simple replies always worked best, especially when Whumper’s conversation was short. Sometimes they liked to have long chats, but this clearly wasn’t one of those times. Whumpee picked up on those patterns relatively quickly.

“Good.” Whumpee’s eyes flicked up, daring a glance at Whumper as they slid off their shoes and nudged them onto the mat. They had one hand propped against the wall to help keep their balance, the other holding a brown paper bag with some unreadable logo on the side, awkwardly moving their feet to try and get their shoes off without untying them. “Long day at work, so I stopped at the bakery on my way home. They’re closing for the weekend, so they had a sale going. There wasn’t much left by the time I got there, but here. Help yourself.”

They tossed the bag over to Whumpee, who barely caught it before it spilled to the floor. With a moment of hesitance, they unfolded the top of the bag, a strong scent of melted butter hitting them paired with a strong cramp of their stomach. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and while Whumper gave them permission to eat “whatever” while they were out, Whumpee didn’t like rummaging through the cabinets in case Whumper decided they didn’t like Whumpee being nosy.

They quickly grabbed the pastry out of the bag. It wasn’t warm anymore, clearly had been out in the open air for a few hours, but shit. Whumpee looked back up at Whumper, as of to confirm that yes, that was for them.

“Go on, eat it.” Whumper gestured with their hand, before turning their back and heading upstairs.

Whumpee sat back on the floor, shifting their legs to sit rather than kneel, before tearing off an edge of the croissant and dug in.