#defiant hero

[villain-enthusiast]

"I know what you are."

The hero froze, eyes widening ever so slightly—there and gone in a fraction of a second, but just enough to give everything away, to hand the villain the victory on a silver platter.

“No,” the hero finally breathed, fumbling for the right words. How? How did you figure it out?

The villain grinned, teeth bared triumphantly. “That’s right. I know your dirty little secret. I know what would happen if you took that bracelet off.” They nodded towards the engraved metal band circling the hero’s wrist, which the hero quickly jerked behind their back.

“You—,” the hero bit out, “you had no fucking right—,”

“I can do whatever I want, actually" the villain interrupted lazily, unbothered. “But it seems like you can’t.”

The hero tensed as the villain’s dark gaze raked over them, somehow degrading and reverent all at the same time, as if they were a piece of artwork to be studied, a finely polished marble statue, a honed weapon waiting to be used—

Everything suddenly clicked into place. “No.” The hero stumbled back, knees buckling.

The enclosed environment of the back alley. The dead end behind them. The lack of usual physicality from the villain other than to disarm them. They were a predator playing with their prey, waiting to pounce, to keep the hero all to themselves.

The villain stepped forward. The hero flinched back. “Stay away,” they spat. “Don’t touch me.”

“Or what?” the villain teased, continuing their casual approach. “What will you do, hero?"

Nothing, I can't do anything. The hero hit the wall behind them. God, how could they have been so stupid? To believe the villain's letter, the threat that they were about to blow up a museum without even looking up the location of the meeting spot. The villain had anticipated that the hero's ego would get to them, that they wouldn't call for reinforcements or bring anything more than a gun, because even with the cuff on their skin—

"You thought you were safe," the villain said, as if they could read the hero's thoughts. They stopped a short arm's length away from them, just far enough to give the hero the false illusion that they had some semblance of control in this matter.

It was cruel. Wicked. The hero squeezed their eyes shut as undiluted power hurled through them, roaring in protest, stifled only by the carved mage runes around their wrist.

"Look at you," the villain murmured. The hero felt fingers curl around their throat, cold and possessive. Their hands clenched into fists at their sides.

They could fight back. They could shove the villain and run and get out of here—

"You're scared, aren't you?"

The hero's eyes snapped open as their breathing stuttered in answer, meeting the villain's assessing stare.

"So scared, of all that power." The villain's finger shifted under the hero's jaw, to their racing pulse. "Power that people would die for. Kill for. And you," the villain's hand tightened just slightly, "you suppress it and refuse to use it, because how could you? How could you be the very thing that you seek to destroy?"

The hero snarled, the sound not entirely human. "I said don't touch me!" They wrenched out of the villain's grasp, bolting down the alleyway in a desperate, mad dash for some kind of exit, anything—

The villain grabbed their wrist and pulled them back, pining their arm behind them and shoving them up against the wall.

The hero hissed between their teeth as their shoulder twisted at an uncomfortable angle. "I'm...I'm not yours," they gasped in between ragged pants. They strained against the villain. "I will never be yours. Will you just fuck off—,"

The villain yanked on their arm in warning and they shut up, grimacing.

"I don't want you, little hero." The villain words were a lethal caress in their ear. "I want what you have." Their hand trailed over the metal clamp on their wrist, and the hero felt howling magic shudder through them. "But most unfortunately for you, I can't just take it from you. So instead," the villain smiled again, stamping a seal on the hero's fate, "you're going to come with me."

The hero was only granted the courtesy of a shudder before the villain knocked them out cold.

[chaotic-orphan]

Hey!! I'm a die hard fan of your intoxicating fear series! Will you be continuing it? (Also great work on the febwhump series :))

Intoxicating Fear (Xii)

Part one here || masterpost || continued from here

Hello!! Yes!! Thank you for the ask! Intoxicating fear is always being worked on in the background, it is one of my on-going series!!

*~*~*~*~*

Kit sat at his kitchen table. His apartment was quiet. Distantly he checked his phone to see two hours had passed, and he was still sitting at his table, staring at his door.

This had to be a joke.

A dream.

Kit clicked his fingers and felt electricity running through his index finger and thumb. He stared at the lightning, so familiar, so achingly his.

No compulsion muting it in his brain. No Ambrose, just Kit. Something wet hit his cheek and Kit flinched, eyes darting back to the door, around the room. Searching for Him.

Kit didn’t— he never cried before him. Never. He wasn’t weak, he was… he was…

He was…

Kit stood so suddenly the chair fell backwards, his chest tightening around his ribs. He whirled at the crash, stumbling back against the table and flinching again. He couldn’t breathe. His entire arm cackled into a glove of electricity sparking off of it, spitting tiny bolts at him but he still couldn’t— breathe!

Breathe! Just breathe!

Kit stuttered out laboured breaths, gasping and gasping and not getting any oxygen and he clutched his chest, just above his heart, his ears rushing as if he were beside a waterfall but he wasn’t.

The air was getting thinner. It seemed like every exhale had diminished returns on inhales and his lungs couldn’t function properly enough for him to catch up and bring them to balance.

He felt something bubbling under the surface and he gasped, curling in on himself as it built and built and gathered and grew and Kit couldn’t breathe he needed to— Kit felt a rush of pain arch from his brain to his chest and a bolt of electricity erupted from Kit’s chest and sent him flying backwards. His back thumped against the wood, stealing the air from his lungs and then he was sliding down the door until his arse hit the floor.

He stayed there for a minute, blinking, finally able to take a breath. Then he dragged his knees up to his chest, resting his crossed arms on them and dipped his head and he started to cry. The sobs wracked through his entire body, from his toes to his head. His muscles seemed to tighten and release with every wheeze of breath stuttered out through trembling lips. Streams of snot and tears pooled on the floor beneath him but he couldn’t find it in him to notice or care.

After a while he raised his head and bit his arm to stop himself from screaming out every little injustice Ambrose had inflicted upon him. To him. At him.

Even now, even this… pathetic wallowing was only happening because Ambrose allowed it. He needed to stop crying and get up and do something!

He could run away. As soon as the thought entered his brain it started to melt away until the urge was gone and he was back on the floor fighting with himself.

He had to tell Superhero, warn the Heroes about Ambrose, about what he could do and they could— the thought dissolved in his mind, like sugar in water, and Kit was left sitting on the floor.

He could alter the rhythms of his nervous system and—

Kit stood suddenly, furious. His mind recalling the last conversation he had with Ambrose vividly.

Kit stared as Ambrose retracted his hand and walked towards the table. He tilted his head at the Villain. “What brought all this about?”

“Hmm?” He asked, even though Kit knew he heard him just fine.

“Why the change of heart?”

Ambrose let out a soft sigh as he plucked Kit’s phone from the table and turned back to face him. “I believe I already made my intentions clear, Kit.”

“Clearly you didn’t if I’m asking for clarification.”

Ambrose’s left eye twitched. Imperceptible, and yet Kit noticed. He’s noticed a lot of hidden things about the Villain despite his best efforts of ignoring him.

“Do you want a long winded explanation followed by a beating or can I just leave you here with a couple of commands and be on my way?” Ambrose asked with a polite smile. Kit’s eyes widened. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward unconsciously at the thought that Ambrose was going to give him his freedom — today?!

Ambrose chuckled, nodding his head at the chair that Ambrose previously sat in. Kit was walking forwards before he even thought anything more about it, eager. Too eager, but Ambrose knew he was eager so what would he really be hiding?

“Good lad,” said Ambrose with a happy hum undercutting his words. Kit stared up at Ambrose, waiting for him to turn and face him even though Kit knew that Ambrose didn’t have to look at Kit to use his powers (or did he?) but he waited patiently anyways. Then his patience abandoned him and Kit found himself reaching out to tug at Ambrose’s shirt like a child who was lost and trying to find their parents.

Kit retracted his hand and sat back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest with a soft tch. “Do you wanna get out of here, or what?”

Ambrose finally turned to face Kit with an amused smile on his face. “I do, so be good for me.”

Ambrose stared down into Kit’s eyes, his lips that unnatural shade of red as he spoke his commands without stuttering or second-guessing once. Kit kind of hated him for it.

You can’t run away. You can’t disappear. You can’t kill yourself. You can’t move apartment. You can’t warn your Hero friends about me.”

Kit’s eyes narrowed at the last one, but Ambrose just smiled knowingly. “Oh come on. We both know you would try and worm your way out of this if you had other Heroes support. Besides, you don’t want anyone else to get hurt do you?”

Kit didn’t answer him.

“Good. Now,” Ambrose hummed, grabbing the side of Kit’s head resting his thumb just under Kit’s cheek and angling his head up. Kit’s hand shot to Ambrose’s wrist on instinct, not knowing what Ambrose was about to do. “Relax, Mallory. This is just to ensure you comply with the terms of our deal.”

Kit wanted to properly fight against him now. Kit was hoping he would be able to find a loophole in the agreement given time. That he would somehow be able to leverage it against Ambrose and turn it on its head but he can’t do that if Ambrose forces him to obey.

“Isn’t the whole arrangement supposed to be about obedience?” Kit tried. Ambrose’s dark eyes stared down at him impassively.

“What?”

“Our deal,” said Kit again, licking his lips trying to get some moisture back into them. “We shook on it. Don’t you trust that I’ll obey because I don’t want someone else to get hurt?”

Oh Kit, Kit flinched when he heard Ambrose’s voice in his head. It felt unnatural. Wrong. The fucker’s eyes practically sparkling down at him. That really is a valiant effort on your part, but we both know why you’re really hesitant.

Kit didn’t even have time to pull away before Ambrose was speaking.

“You will obey the terms of our—” Kit only managed to register the words before he was turning his head away and pushing Ambrose’s hand off him. Ambrose just tightened his grip and tilted Kit’s head back to look into Ambrose’s black hole like eyes. “Agreement. Our deal. No take backs, no work arounds, no loopholes.”

Kit froze as he felt the commands pierce his brain like ice shards, sending a shiver down his spine and working through every muscle in his body, binding Kit to their deal.

Ambrose let go of Kit then and smiled down at him. Kit sat in the chair, not wanting to even look at the villain beside him. It all felt too real. Too final. He felt disgusted with himself for even allowing this to be his only recourse to a semi-normal life.

Ambrose set Kit’s phone down on the table. Kit stared at it numbly. “Well, that’s that then, Mallory. I’ll be off. I put my number in your phone, so I can contact you if I need to but otherwise enjoy your freedom.”

Kit stared at the table and didn’t glance up or react in anyway. Ambrose grabbed his overcoat and put it on, then walked to Kit’s front door and opened it.

Kit’s heart ached as he remembered the time he had tried to escape. How perfect it would have been if he had just been fast enough.

Ambrose stepped outside the door and Kit jumped to his feet. “Wait!”

Ambrose glanced over his shoulder at Kit, a smile on his too red lips. “Don’t tell me you miss me already,” he said, voice coy because he knew, didn’t he? He fucking knew the compulsion was still there for Kit and didn’t think of lifting it.

Kit didn’t dignify his teasing with a response and instead walked towards the door, towards Ambrose who stepped back out of his way and leaned against the railing opposite the door.

Kit had two feet out the door before a searing pain brought him to his knees gasping out in a silent scream. Above him he could barely make out Ambrose’s too bright eyes and knowing smile. Then the pain vanished as suddenly as it had begun. Kit threw himself forward onto his hands and knees and sucked in lungfuls of air.

“You fucking… dick,” Kit wheezed.

Ambrose shrugged above him. “I couldn’t help myself, how funny would it have been if for the first time I give you your freedom you can’t leave the house.”

Kit glared up at him, pressing a hand against the door frame to support him as he got to his feet. “That’s not our deal,” Kit hissed.

Ambrose rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, Kit. It wasn’t like I was going to leave it on you. I just thought if you forgot maybe I did too.”

“I don’t want this compulsion in my head to obey a deal that you yourself won’t stand by!” Kit spat, before he could think he had his hands curled into Ambrose’s overcoat pressing him against the railing further. “I want a failsafe.”

Ambrose tilted his head, smile gone from his face as he thought it over.

“A fail safe?”

“Yeah,” Kit pressed. “If you break the deal, then the compulsion fades.”

Ambrose didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he pursed his lips and nodded putting his hands up. “Okay. Fair is fair. Kit, if I break our deal then you can too.”

Kit felt the command run through his body only this time he didn’t shiver. Kit stepped back and let Ambrose go.

“Satisfied?”

Kit didn’t reply. Instead he walked back into his apartment and slammed the door in the telepath’s face.

“Dick.”

Kit's mind reeled as the memory hit him harder than an anvil dropping on his head. To be fair that was most of his experiences with Ambrose anyways, but he had to do something! There had to be a way to somehow tiptoe 'round the terms of their agreement.

No, Kit thought mutinously. He couldn’t do anything about it until Ambrose broke the deal first. He could however leave his house and enjoy some fresh air for the first time in— weeks?! Months?! He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember the last time he was free of Ambrose. He needed to put runners on and get out and just go out. Just run.

He could sort everything out after he was finished. Everything else could wait. He had to talk to Superhero, and catch up on all the life that he missed while Ambrose was puppeting him in his head.

He just wanted a few hours that were Ambrose free and just— just Kit’s.

He grabbed his keys after yanking on his runners and for the first time, in a long time, Kit left his apartment. He took in a breath of fresh air, feeling the slight static in the air and the rumbling of power lines below the surface.

He felt good.

He didn’t realise his eyes were their electric blue, but even if you told him he wouldn’t have cared.

Ambrose stood across the way, watching as Kit took off running down the street, sparks kicking off his heels every time they connected with the path. They weren’t all Kit’s blue either, some, a very little amount were the same untamed red that Ambrose had only witnessed once before.

Kit turned the corner out of sight and Ambrose left him to it. He had work to do.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper r @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland

[thecuriousquest]

Learning Opportunity

Yandere!Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader x Yandere!Hitoshi Shinso

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, non con touching, non con references, non con sex, brief non con fingering, pseudoincest/stepcest, abusive behavior, sexually abusive behavior, creepy step dad, creepy step brother, non consensual spanking, punishment spanking

Master List

—————————————————————————

It’s been at least three months since your mother passed away, leaving you with your deranged step father and somewhat creepy step brother. You do your best to avoid them, only coming out of your room when necessary, but it’s so difficult living with the two of them.

Your step dad usually comes into your room at night, sitting on your bed. You stiffen under the covers as he slides his hand along your back, smoothing calloused fingers over your soft flesh. He guides his hand along your lower back, dipping further and further until his fingers ghost the doughy hill of your ass.

You cry, a soft whimper escaping wet and parted lips.

He usually leaves once you start sobbing uncontrollably. Usually. Sometimes, he likes listening to you cry, likes listening to the hitched whine in your voice as his hand travels deeper and deeper between your legs.

These are the days where he wakes up next to you, naked, but you didn’t sleep the entire night. Not after what your step dad did to you.

More often than not after school, Hitoshi will make snacks for the two of you, and he tries to feed them to you. He will…intimidate you into opening your mouth. He stands over you, tall and unmoving like a mountain, holding that fucking dumpling in his hand. He whispers into your ear for you to be a good girl and obey Toshi-nii.

You take a shaky breath, closing your eyes to block out the sting prickling in your orbs and the burn in your nose as you open your mouth for him. He sticks his meaty fingers in your mouth, brushing your tongue as he feeds you your afternoon snack. Hitoshi leaves his fingers lingering on your lips as he smiles while watching you chew your food.

You can’t help but sniffle as he places you on his lap, turning the tv on so you two can watch a movie or a show together. Of course there’s an entire plate of snacks for the two of you to munch on. The only rule is you can’t feed yourself. No. Toshi-nii swats your hand away with a light smack whenever you try it. If you want more to eat, you’d better ask him, and don’t even think about complaining when he feeds you.

——

You thought you could get some peace showering, but you were wrong. Aizawa placed a new rule where you have to tell him when you’re about to shower. He’s never left in the dark with your nude secrets. He checks over your goosebump flesh, making sure nobody scratched or bruised his little girl. He undresses you slowly, letting you quiver and tremble slightly harder with every passing item of clothing that he drops on the floor. Soon, he’s pressing you up against the wall of the shower, your bare tits against the tile as he fucks into you, his scratchy pubes and balls smacking against your skin in such a rough manner it makes you scream into your palm.

Due to being unable to lock your door or even shut it, you feel eyes on you through the small crack, and you know it’s your brother watching you. You stand there frozen, unable to dress in your room. Now, you have to hide inside of your closet to get dressed.

You try your best to shower at school from now on.

——

Recently, you’ve become a defiant little thing. You don’t abide by your curfew, not wanting to come home and have dinner with the two of them. So, you stay out as late as you can, ignoring both of their texts.

Your step dad’s messages convey his anger towards you while your step brother shows concern.

Aizawa: Where the hell are you? You better get your ass home right now if you know what’s good for you.

Hitoshi: Hey, sis, you okay? It’s getting kind of late. You should probably come home. I’m worried about you.

You roll your eyes and stay in the library, doing your homework until it closes. You grab dinner next from a convenience store, and then you decide to make your way home. Walking in with your backpack slung on one shoulder, you shut the door behind you.

Your step dad appears in only seconds, rounding the hallway from the kitchen.

“And where the hell have you been, young lady?”

Sighing, you shrug your backpack onto the floor, taking your shoes off as well. “None of your business. I’m going to bed.” You just want to get away from him.

Hitoshi walks down the steps. He stops when he sees you. “Hey, sis, where have you been? It’s kind of late. You missed dinner.”

“Can the both of you get off of my fucking back?” You don’t like this, don’t like how they have trapped you. One is in front of you, the other blocking your path to your room.

No, you really don’t like this at all.

A quick hand reaches out for your hair, the other popping your mouth. Aizawa drags you close to him, chest to chest.

“You don’t really have the room to be talking like that, you know?”

He drags you into the living room, plopping down on the couch, forcing you to stand between his parted knees. His hand is still tight in your locks, forcing you to bend at an odd angle.

You press your hands against his chest to steady yourself, to fight the inevitable

“You’ve been a really bad girl lately. I’m not going to let you continue with this behavior. As your father-”

“You’re not my fucking father, you asshole! Fathers don’t rape their daughters! You’re just a fucking pervert, a monster!” you shout in his face, flecks of spit landing on his cheeks and nose.

Shouta wipes the saliva off with the sleeve of his shirt with a grunt before draping you over his sturdy thigh. He looks at his son who is standing idly by in the doorway of the living room.

“Shinso, come here.”

His son strides over lazily with hands in his pockets. “Yeah, Dad?”

“Have you ever given anyone a spanking before?”

You wriggle with mortification, not wanting to endure this any longer. “Please, don’t-”

“Hush,” Aizawa scolds as he delivers a swat to your upturned bottom.

You yip and hang your head in absolute shame.

“So, have you, Shinso?”

“No, Dad, I haven’t.” A grin appears on the teenager’s face, knowing what direction this is going in.

“Well then, I think this will be a great learning opportunity for you.”

With that, he raises his hand for a flurry of skin blazing smacks. You rear your head again, writhing across the older man’s lap as your legs scissor.

“I’m starting over her skirt because I want to build up the sting in layers. It doesn’t hurt as much now, but it will once we take away some of her protection.”

Doesn’t hurt as much now? Is he fucking shitting you? It hurts like fucking hell!

“You really want to focus on the lower half of her bottom and the upper half of her thighs. You don’t want to end up hitting her tailbone or anything on the lower back. That can cause unnecessary damage,” he explains to his son.

“Oh, I see. That makes sense,” Hitoshi responds. “She sure is kicking a lot.”

“Yeah, if it gets annoying, you can always just pin them down like this-” Aizawa puts a leg over both of yours, effectively trapping them.

“This isn’t fair! You’re humiliating me!” you scream into the couch cushions.

“If she starts being a little too mouthy, you can always take away a layer of clothing,” your step dad informs Hitoshi as he hikes up your skirt around your waist. “See, she’s already a nice shade of pink.” He pats the swell of your bottom, and it causes you to wince.

“Can I touch it?” Shinso asks tentatively.

“Sure, kid.” Amusement laces your step father’s tone, and you groan out of mortification as you feel Hitoshi’s fingers graze over your spanked flesh.

You hiss sharply as he pokes it.

“Fucking get off of me!” You try to kick your pinned legs as you push on Shouta’s thigh.

“That’s enough out of you, young lady.”

The spanking resumes as he pushes down on your back. A sob climbs up your throat, past a knot that you wish you could swallow. Shaking your head, you shoot an arm back to try and protect your backside from his onslaught.

“No, I hate you! I hate you both so much! Stop it!”

You feel his hand come down even harder but at a slower pace. It’s agonizing, leaving you breathy with tears all over your face.

“Now, Hitoshi, this is usually when I like to take down her underwear. You want to do the honors, kid?”

You look up at your step brother. He has the same expression akin to whenever he wants to feed you something. He slowly, ever so painfully slowly, drags your cotton panties down to your knees.

Lacking any protection, your punishment starts again. You catch a glimpse of Hitoshi’s hard cock as he palms himself through his pants.

It makes you want to vomit.

How could someone who is supposed to be your dad do this to you? How could someone who’s supposed to be your big brother treat you like this? How could your fucking mother die and leave you with these two creeps?

You hold onto a pillow on the couch, crying into it as you’re forced to lie over your step father’s knee and take whatever he plans to give you.

“And when she’s all sweet and compliant, that’s when you know she doesn’t have any fight left in her. You’re free to do whatever you want with her after that.”

Shouta makes an example out of you by hefting you up onto his lap, holding you closely.

He whispers in your ear, “There’s my good girl. You be good for Daddy now, okay? Be a good girl for me.” You feel his fingers slide beneath your skirt and into the folds of your slit.

Your chest heaves as you sob even harder against his shoulder. He’s right, though. You’re too tired to fight back. All the energy has left your body from fighting him during your spanking, and you simply sit there on your step dad’s lap and sob.

You don’t want to be spanked again after all.

Hitoshi lowers the zipper on his pants, pulling his cock free as he strokes himself.

“So, we can do anything with her now?” your step brother inquires.

“Anything you want. It’s not like she has room to disagree.”

[ccieatchildren]

TW: Implied Noncon

Whumpee was awoken by a sharp shift in the bed. Over their captivity, they had become hyper aware of the body sleeping next to them, stirring whenever he tossed and turned under the covers. Steadying their breathing, Whumpee focused on each move and sound he made, trying to determine what he was doing.

The sheets ruffled and then there was no more drastic movement. Air brushed against their back, the spot next to them cold with the open covers. Whumpee covertly looked to their left to see where he had gone, only to be surprised to find him still on the bed.

Whumper sat on the edge of the mattress, breathing heavily. His body shook slightly and his fingers twitched in a rhythmic motion.

One, two, three.

Four, five, six.

Seven, eight, nine.

As if he was counting the seconds.

They continued to analyze his body language, trying to ascertain whether he was a threat in this state. His shoulders were hunched, they could hear him mumble under his breath, and he seemed distracted. All things to be wary of, but no immediate action. They watched until Whumper’s hand stilled.

“I can feel you staring.”

Whumpee quickly turned back around and resumed pretending to be asleep, hoping he would think it was his imagination and not pester them.

However, his tired, gruff voice spoke up once more. “Prašau Whumpee, you have worked in the field; if you can’t tell that someone is watching you, you are dead.” He sighed. “Miegok. Go back to sleep.” Whumper stood up, legs faintly shaking, turning to walk around the bed to the door, “I’m going out,” there was a waver in his voice, “I’ll be back later.”

Whumpee’s mind raced. They could not let him leave. Despite the ease it brought it, Whumpee could not ignore the blood dripping off him. The rips in his clothes and the scratches on his skin. They knew intimately what it was like to be the object of his ire and would not wish it on another soul.

Before they could even process what their brain decided to do, Whumpee lashed out and grabbed his hand.

Whumper startled, ripping his arm out of their grasp, a flash of fear in his eyes, before he managed to smooth it out.

“W-wait!” Instinct tells them to drop it. Let him leave and vent his anger out on someone else. Save themself the trouble and pain. But they do not, a doomed mouse asking the snake for mercy, reaching out again instead.

“Why don’t you… stay here, with m- me, instead?”

A blank stare is all they are met with. He says nothing, searching them for something they don’t know. Whumpee’s lips quiver as they strain to stretch them out into a pleasant smile. They’re not quite sure they make it.

“Are you stupid?”

It is not a response they expected, but it does make them start to regret their decision. Whumpee curls back into themself in response.

Seriously! What was the goal with that? What was I planning to do?

A voice in their head— their survival instinct— berates them for their stupidity. But another speaks over it.

What if he kills someone? I know I can take it. Maybe I could even calm him down peacefully.

‘Calm him down peacefully.’ Like that’s my job?! Let him suffer. Let me get some sleep while I can.

Diverting their gaze, Whumpee listens to their arguments, the angel and devil on their shoulders. One looking out for themself, honestly the smarter option, while the other parroting ingrained selflessness, perhaps the moral option.

They should have let him be. Whumper would do what he wanted no matter their opinion. Why trouble themself with the pain of interference.

But what if he actually listened for once? He had proven time and time again to be weak to them— when it came to other people— why not test the theory again.

The incessant arguing in Whumpee’s head ceases when he talks once more.

“What? Is the hero finally having second thoughts; not able to play the bystander anymore?”

An unbidden memory of looking at absurd trolley problems with Bestie pushes to the forefront of Whumpee’s mind. Choosing ludicrous option after ludicrous option, giggling at the scenarios the poor stick figures found themselves in. If only things could be that simple now.

He grabbed their cheeks, forcing them to face him. “I asked you a question.” Their situation slaps back into focus, and Whumpee stutters to give a response.

His voice seemed more curious and surprised than angry, so Whumpee tried to give him a more natural answer. “… No…” Honesty always went far with him. “I just…” They tentatively place a hand on his face and Whumpee instantly softens. A good sign. “You have me now. You don’t need to leave anymore.”

He doesn’t respond, only nuzzling into their hand further, but they can feel him ponder her words. They needed to fully entice Whumper into staying.

“Lie down with me. Let me make you feel better.” He looks at them confused, but not disinterested. No going back now.

Whumpee coaxes his head into their lap, repressing the urge to tremble at his proximity. He complies, curling into them like a cat. Taking a deep breath, Whumpee lets out their fears and misgivings about the situation before continuing. Their quivering fingers part his hair, threading through the dark locks.

They’ve rarely touched them before, only having yanked the tresses to inflict a margin of the same pain he’s given them, panic driving them on despite any potential consequences. Yet, this stress is different. As they run their hand through the soft strands, resentment starts to build in the place of their anxiety.

The intimacy is a spark to the meager kindling of their frustration.

However, Whumper is content, practically purring at their ministrations. Their actions have had the desired effect, calming the man from whatever torment ailed him.

They remain there, one serene with their touch, the other restless at his affection, for a while, until Whumper hesitantly breaks the tranquility.

“I love you…”

It was one of the few times he said it without any underlying malice or lust, and each time it makes their stomach clench. The emotion, the context, the… everything behind those three little words made them hate him more each time.

They just didn’t want to be here anymore.

“I love you so much.” The words tumble out of him in a rush, like he’s worried that they don’t believe him. “I promise I love you. I’m sorry… for not- I- I can’t- You’re-” he stumbles over his words, a rare look of guilt on his face, “I’m sorry for not letting you go.” Whumpee’s hand stilled.

“But, I- I just can’t. You have to understand. It’s just too late.” Now he feels ashamed? “I should have never kept you for so long, I should have never let you leave the basement, I should have never taken you in the first place.” Now he regrets it? “But now, I’ve condemned us both.” They nearly miss his next sentence.

“You made me think I could make something sweet.”

He quiets down once again, face scrunched in thought, and the time passes like honey dripping between their fingers. The silence stretches for what could have been hours, minutes, or seconds. They resume petting him; the repetitive action agitates them. Finally, his face smooths and he pipes up again.

“But, it’ll be okay. We’ll be a real family… You’ll get used to this… I’ll get used to this.”

It’s quiet once more, and Whumpee refuses to speak or even acknowledge what he has said. Their hand pauses once more in disbelief. Closing their eyes and desperately struggling not to scream, rage burns its way up their throat.

“I hope you can forgive me.”

Forgiveness? How could they even forgive someone like him, after all he’s done to them?

It wasn’t fair. They were supposed to be in their apartment, snuggled up in blankets and watching snow through the window. Or sipping hot cocoa with Bestie as they watched corny romcoms. They were supposed to be refusing Caretaker’s invitation to join them on a too early morning run. And staying way too late on overtime combing through paperwork.

Not this.

Right as their fury was to peak, as their indignation was to boil over, it all abandoned Whumpee in a moment, hand restarting its rhythmic motions in his hair.

They were stuck here now, and there was no changing that.

“Does it even matter if I do?”

Whumper never responded.

[negativespace06]

as metal breaks and bends

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

31st Story

Part 2

TW: Captivity, implied past torture, blood mention, restraints, mistrust, starvation mention, defiant whumpee, corrupt system, knife

Heyyy! Long-time no see. I blame college 100% because it takes up all my time, seriously. Happy New Year tho 💙

Villain could tell himself he was already used to the cold, hard embrace of the dull rock of his cell, to the claustrophobia-inducing lack of windows, to the fact that the only times he ever got to see the light was when someone walked in to beat him senseless, a feat made incredibly easy with the help of the chains that shackled his wrists and ankles, not allowing for much movement.

He could pretend that being covered in blood and filth, dazed and starving, was nothing to him, that the maddening urge to find out what time it was wasn't gnawing at him torturously.

"In here, wishful thinking is all you are capable of," a sunken-faced, old prisoner had told him before he was thrown into his personal hellhole. He hadn't said anything, but he'd believed the old hag to be weak and hopeless, and thus so was her sentiment.

Right now, all he wondered was if he'd break even faster than that woman might have. The villain screwed his eyes shut, hoping it would stop the chain of thoughts poisoning his mind, but all that did was make him think clearer, every disturbing image he tried so desperately to expel growing clearer and more vivid by the moment.

It was bad enough handling the physical pain, where every time he so much as shifted his form slightly, the tormented muscles in his back would scream in protest. But the physical side was tolerable, compared to being left at the mercy of his mind; a cruel, sinister thing.

So consumed he was in his own reverie, he hadn't even noticed as the door to his cell was unlocked, at least not until the light skirting around the corner had him snapping his eyes open and sitting up.

"This doesn't look good on you," a silky, almost serpentine voice called out.

"Superhero?" he asked, despising the note of trepidation in his voice.

"No. Just her lacklustre twin," she scoffed.

"Vigilante," he deduced with a slight fall of his shoulders in relief. It's not that he believed Vigilante would treat him well, it's just that no one could rival Superhero in cruelty.

"Still ever the genius," she responded dryly.

"What do you want?" he asked, almost desperate. If she was here to torment him, he wanted her to get over with it. It was becoming progressively more difficult to bear the state in which he was in, the one chock-full of waiting and thinning patience, of hoping the pain would start so it could end, that this time would pass faster.

Except it never did.

"It's strange seeing someone normally so high and mighty like this," she attested, dodging his question.

The older version of him would have let out a frustrated snarl and cussed her out for annoying him, but now all he could do was bite his tongue and stare at her with his new resting face, broken and defeated.

"Well, I'm not here to hurt you," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

That was a response, albeit an indirect one. And of course, she wasn't here to hurt him. She was here to make sure he was comfortable, that he was enjoying his five-star stay in this resort in hell.

Sucks to have an army of enemies and not a single semblance of a friend.

He and Vigilante hadn't really had any direct bad blood, but he was a villain locked up in here, so by default, he was supposed to be her enemy, right? It didn't matter who walked in here or whether they knew him or not. They just loved to see him break, to see him, once so relentlessly powerful, reduced to less than nothing. Perhaps it brought them a sort of sick satisfaction, but he didn't know much about satisfaction anymore to judge.

"I'm going to get you out of here," she said casually, like promising him the impossible was some sort of small punishment, nothing to tear himself up about. Maybe she could rival her sister in cruelty.

Without warning, a hysterical laugh escaped his throat, only for him to bite his lip and stop abruptly, trying to clamp a hand over his mouth only for him to remember he was chained up.

Vigilante's face fell, and his own had silent tears streaming down it. He felt as though he couldn't breathe, as though bricks were raining down on his shoulders and crushing his bones into nothing. His whole being seemed to itch with dread.

"Villain?" Vigilante called out, looking a mixture of confused and horrified.

"Just get over with it! Torture me until the floor runs red with my blood, tell me how death is a mercy above vermin like myself, and tell me to take it with a smile. Hit me harder when I can't bring myself to do it. Hit me until I feel all the pain of death but never attain it. Remember my current words as defiance, as another crime I've committed. I think watching me be humbled to the nothing I truly am will entertain you as any show would," he spat, only for regret to colour his features just as fast.

"Damn it. Villain, I don't want to do. . .any of this to you," Vigilante started, careful, trying for a semblance of gentle, something she was never particularly good at. "Like I said, I'm going to get you out of here," she continued again, hoping the stern tone indicated she was serious and not somehow going to torture him.

She'd never particularly liked him, mainly because he'd always been ice-cold, calculated to a point he seemed inhuman at times, no emotion whatsoever showing up on his face, besides a cool smugness. And by virtue of all the terrible things he'd done, all the blood on his hands. And yet, he was far from the worst thing out there, and most definitely not the villain in her story.

"And let's pretend you're telling the truth, which is completely fine by me because any mercy I've ever had here has always been a pretence, a figment of my imagination, you know. What could you possibly gain from this?" He raised an eyebrow, bearing a small resemblance to his usual self. Well, at least there was a slight amount of fight left in him, even if he was clearly holding back tears now.

But the villain's question wasn't completely outlandish. Vigilante did want something from him, but it wasn't a favour he would ever come to hate. "I need your help. My sister may seem like the goddamn tooth fairy to those who don't know better, but we know what her regime is really doing. This isn't about fighting crime, it's about her insatiable addiction to power."

"And where do I belong here?" The villain's voice still held the same disbelieving tone, his shoulders managing to tense even further.

"You're one of the few people who challenged her, Villain. And as much as it pains me to say it, you're a good strategist," she explained, even though she knew she'd barely convinced him in the slightest.

"I can't be the only one fitting that description, but I can be the only one owing you a favour too," he answered. Even if he didn't look half as confident, half as untouchable as before, the criminal was still just as clever. But it also meant he wasn't believing her anytime soon. Still, he wasn't wrong. The villain may not have smelled like roses all the time, but he'd be loyal to make sure they were even; a man of his word.

"What's it gonna be, Villain? Come with me or stay here?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest, growing impatient.

Well, it didn't make sense for her to give him a choice if she was going to torture him, but sense no longer governed things in his mind, letting a fearful apprehension replace it, no matter how humiliating. The choice could easily be an illusion, another cruel joke in this comedy skit from the filthiest parts of hell.

But it could be a chance, and he was desperate. So desperate he'd risk feeling even further degraded when she laughed in his face and put him through whatever torment she'd have planned.

"Fine," he answered, looking up at her with trepidation in his eyes. He could already feel the regret tasting like salt on his tongue and the burn of acid at the back of his throat he recognised as shame.

So when the sound of his chains being unlocked rang in his ears, and the vigilante helped him up, the feeling of surprise was palpable.

"I just need to handcuff you while they can see us," she explained, noticing how slowly the villain nodded, mistrust still burning in his eyes.

She didn't like how weightless he seemed against her, barely able to walk. She hadn't fought him much, but she clearly remembered that while his frame was somewhat slender, the villain's build still used to be athletic. It was no surprise he'd deteriorated, but that didn't make his fate any less cruel.

"I'm moving him to the other facility," she announced, practically dragging the half-starved villain with her, the only response being curt nods from the guards.

They were lucky that no one here would dare question Superhero and by default, her sister, if they could even tell the difference between both.

And sure enough, there was an entry documented into the other facility, done with the help of a few handsomely paid workers. And while Superhero wouldn't buy into the lie for long, it would at least make sure she didn’t notice immediately that something was up.

✨️Break✨️

The drive to Vigilante's house was almost torturously long and reeking of the tension of two people who weren't used to each other. The villain ran his fingers over his wrists, now free of handcuffs, but they still hurt. All of him hurt, a constant, dull pain that he was almost used to, but that didn't mean he didn't miss the times where he could remember moments without aches all over his body.

That was only the least of it anyway.

"I think you'd want to clean up," the vigilante had suggested when they'd got to her house.

Instead of an off-hand "yeah" like he'd meant to, the first words that foolishly came tumbling out of his mouth were: "I can?"

This wasn't an option they gave him back there, and soon enough he'd stopped caring entirely.

"Oh," Vigilante had responded, giving him a solemn look. "I mean, yes, of course you can," she corrected hastily.

He nodded, quite literally shoving himself into the bathroom and swallowing down the awkward shame in his throat.

He'd grown so accustomed to pain that he'd barely even noticed the sting of the hot water on his open, practically fresh wounds, or how the shower water underneath him turned a dull pink. He was a lot more focused on how his sore muscles relaxed with the heat, how he seemed to get lighter with all the dirt off him, good sensations having become foreign to him in the time of his captivity.

He walked out to find a change of clothes (his clothes) on the bed in the room outside, catching his reflection in the mirror, bruises lining his cheekbones and jaw and heavy, dark circles underneath his eyes. The villain simply ignored the old memories of himself taking the time to style his hair and care for his skin, his mind hardwired for survival, looking around the room for anything he could use in case he had to defend himself.

Not that Vigilante was stupid enough for that.

Still, if she wished to hurt him, she could've done it faster, could've done it earlier. Maybe the villain wouldn't trust her blindly, but so far, he hated her less bitterly than he hated everyone else.

"How'd you get these?" he asked, walking out, looking down at the black zip-up hoodie and black sweats.

Vigilante shrugged. "From your place."

"You broke into my- whatever." It wasn't the strangest part about the situation now. "What are we supposed to do?"

"I think you need to rest," she suggested.

And she was entirely correct, given his exhaustion and how the shower had made him somewhat sleepy, so he nodded his head, walking into "his" room and waiting until she walked up to her room, waiting until he could walk out and check if she'd slept, and once he was sure, he walked into the kitchen, picking up a knife and bringing it to his room.

The villain knew it was scummy, but he wasn't about to risk being hurt again, and if the vigilante truly had good intentions, the knife would never be put to use. Still, the villain had managed to fall into a fitful sleep, still better than any night he spent curled up on a cold, hard floor.

Trust is never easy, especially for those who have been hurt one too many times. But people were not made to live forever encased in solitude, a safe option to the blind and foolish, but never a permanent solution. And while taking a risk in times of suffering might seem like a wretched fate, sometimes it is the lifeline you need to breathe again.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @genuinelythioehat-is-whump @ghostofnorth

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Forced Surrender.

I’m sorry but the superior whump trope is Forced Surrender where villain or defiant whumpee — who was emotionally and physically tortured — eventually gives in and breaks down before they’re rescued by caretaker who, mind you, was also one of whumpee’s enemies (but not whumper; whumpee certainty has a lot of enemies) who genuinely feels bad and takes pity on whumpee. but by the time whumpee’s rescue, they may already be too broken to heal (not physically but mentally). still for some reason, caretaker refuses to ever give up on them.

[msexcelfractal]

Decay

This cellular automaton ran on Excel 2010 using the same code as my glider gun demonstration. I'm using a modified Conway's rule - now cells are born when 3 neighbors and survive when number of neighbors is odd. The result? Little bugs that eat pictures!

The Sierpinski gasket they ate is JP4=MOD(JO4+JP3,2). Technically I can make them eat any image, as long as that image is supplied as a 1-bit color 270px csv file.

[whump-in-the-closet]

based on this prompt by @whump-kia. i haven't been able to stop thinking about it and the brain rot is killing me so voila

***

Villain wiped the blood off his hands, letting it splatter the concrete. "How does it feel? To have our positions reversed?" He grabbed Hero's collar, hauling his nemesis close-- close enough to see the blurred eyes and to hear the choked breathing. "I know that I'm enjoying it."

Hero wheezed. "I'd give the experience five out of ten. You're getting sloppy." Blood dripped down his chin with his words.

A sharp inhale. Villain's grip tightened.

Hero didn't see the blow coming, but he felt it. Iron-tasting blood filled his mouth, something ripping loose when he prodded his teeth with his tongue. Fuck. He swirled the broken tooth around, trying not to gag on the ocean of crimson. Disgusting.

When Villain leaned close, Hero spat the blood out. He laughed, the sound raw in his throat. "Like I said, sloppy."

Villain let go of Hero's collar, letting Hero slump to the concrete roof. He dragged a hand down his face, flinging the blood off with a flick of his wrist. Villain snarled. "You think you're so clever? Do you know where that's going to get you?"

"--I'm still alive, aren't I--"

Crack. A kick to the mouth this time. Hero's lip split and he doubled over, choking on the blood that stained the concrete.

"A broken jaw." Villain smiled wolfishly. He made no idle promises.

Hero pushed himself up on his hands and knees, staring at the puddle of blood and the ghastly-white tooth in the centre. He peered up at Villain and matched his smile.

Hero, with shaking limbs, stood. His vision instantly flashed dark at the sudden movement. With crimson staining his chin and dripping down his throat, he forced another laugh.

He lifted his hand and slowly, pausing for dramatic effect, flipped Villain off. "Go ahead. Hit me again. Maybe it'll raise your rating."

A flicker of rage. And then Villain grabbed Hero's wrist and yanked him forward, twisting his arm behind his back. Hero cried out. Fuck again.

Villain hissed in his ear, "Don't threaten me with a good time." He twisted Hero's arm a hair tighter and laughed when Hero gave a strangled half-cry.

"A solid 5.5," said Hero, voice sharp.

Snap.

Hero screamed this time.

Villain dropped him on his broken arm and white sparks burned paths behind Hero's eyes. The pain exploded to devour his entire body.

Villain kicked him. Hard, in the ribs. "That should keep you quiet for at least five minutes." He walked away, then returned, swinging a crowbar. Back and forth, back and forth.

Hero's eyes followed it.

Back and forth.

"Now we can have a good time."

[villain-enthusiast]

“Just this one time, please,” the hero pressed, wide eyes staring at them with need. “Please, help me.”

Villain shot them a cold smile. “Get down on your knees, and I might just consider.”

couldn’t resist this prompt by @avvail!

-

tw: humiliation, implied + mentioned murder/violence

The hero froze, blood going cold.

“What?”

The villain leaned forward in their gilded throne, oozing arrogance and pride. “You heard me.”

The hero’s hands clenched at their sides. “Villain, I just—,”

“You will receive no assistance from me unless you do as I say,” the villain interrupted. “I am your superior. You will obey me as I see fit.”

Throat tight, the hero tried again. “Superhero is on a rampage. They…they killed Sidekick.” Their eyes burned with the threat of tears. “Villain please.”

“Spare me your sob story,” the villain scoffed, ignoring the hero’s flinch. “Darling, it would be my pleasure to cut out Superhero’s heart for you, and you’ve already showed me just how prettily you can beg.” They stood up, placing their hands behind their back. “But you still haven’t followed my simple instructions.”

They began to descend the stairs leading up to their throne, each step deliberately slow, languid.

The room was dead silent, save for the intermittent click of the villain’s boots against the marble tile. The hero watched them apprehensively, their heart pounding out of their chest.

The villain stopped right in front of them.

The hero’s eyes hesitantly flitted up to meet their enemy’s.

“Not so heroic up close, are you?” A smug smirk decorated the villain’s lips.

Before they could stop themselves, the hero glared sourly. “You know nothing of heroics.”

The villain flashed their teeth in a wolfish grin, a predator taunting their prey. “There’s that fire.”

A muscle ticked in the hero’s jaw and their gaze dropped to the ground.

A few heartbeats passed. “You need my help,” the villain murmured.

The hero nodded sparsely, their breathing uneven.

The villain reached up with a gloved hand, fitting two fingers under the hero’s chin and tilting their head up. Wide, anxious eyes met wicked, cunning ones.

“You need me to kill Superhero.”

The hero nodded again.

The villain then leaned in close, lips brushing the outer shell of the hero’s ear to whisper cruelly.

“Then kneel.”

And the hero, trembling and humiliated, dropped down onto the cold floor, one knee at a time.

The villain’s pleased stare raked over every little inch of them, studying them, admiring them as if they were a piece of artwork. A painting framed and put on display. Heat flooded the hero’s cheeks as the shame of it all burned under their skin.

“Look at me, hero,” the villain ordered. When the hero did not, a rough hand grabbed their hair and yanked their head up. The hero winced as pins and needles raced through their scalp.

“I knew you’d look stunning like this,” the villain said, obviously pleased with themselves. “The obedience will certainly be something we have to work on, and maybe the stance…” the villain’s shoe prodded at the hero’s thigh, “but this will do very nicely for now.”

“You’ll help me now, right?” the hero interjected, trying to redirect the villain’s degrading musings. “I-I did as you asked.”

“Oh yes, right, your request.” The villain released their grip on the hero and gestured at something behind them. “I suppose it is only fair that I follow through. Superhero will be taken care of.”

The hero relaxed a smidge. “Thank you, villain—,”

Without warning, hands suddenly grabbed the hero from behind, wrenching their arms behind their back.

“What the fuck?!” The hero thrashed in the henchmen’s grip, cold metal sealing around their wrists with a sharp click. “Villain!! Villain, you bastard!!” they shouted, twisting and yanking at the rough grips all over their body. “Let me go! Let me go, I never—,”

“Oh sweetheart, you can’t possibly believe that I was going to just let you walk out of here.” The villain’s grin was razor sharp. “Killing superhero is one thing, but having you right here on your knees…now that’s just a surrender I can’t resist.”

“Fuck you!” the hero spat. “I’m not some little plaything that you can just order around—,”

The villain yawned. “Gag them and throw them in one of my upstairs rooms. I’m tired of hearing them yell.” They glanced at the hero one more time, who now had a thick cloth tied tightly around their mouth but was still struggling, seething with malice and venom.

The villain winked at them. “See you soon, hero.”

“I have a superhero to murder.”

[chaotic-orphan]

Defiant Leader x Confident Villain: Part 4

Read Part one here

Continued from this part here

Honestly I have found so many good series parts in my drafts that just needs cleaning up with a light edit and boom, more content- it's great!

I am just ignoring my Christmas assignments and exams because who needs a degree, am I right? Enjoy!

TW: intimate whumper (ish), torture(light) and broken bones

*~*~*~*~*

Leader woke up to a finger in their cheek. They batted it away lazily, in theory.

In reality, their arms felt too stiff to move, groaning for Second to give them just five more minutes. They’d had a long fucking day, and their body was exhausted, not even accounting for the mental exertion it took to balance Villain as an enemy and not a member of their team anymore after they took them and strung them up—

Leader’s eyes shot open, but they didn’t meet Villain’s smiling face. Instead, they were met with two owlish eyes the colour of the Dead Sea, as if Leader could see through them.

Leader knew those eyes. Knew them too fucking well.

Leader evened their expression as much as they could, while Supervillain’s lips broke into an amused smile.

“So, you’re Villain’s old mentor,” Supervillain hummed, going to poke Leader in the cheek again. They were too close. Far too close to Leader’s face for comfort. Leader was tucked up against the wall, hands in the same heavy manacles Villain left them with as they drifted to a deep sleep. Their legs had moved, one bent slightly while the other was straight, and in the small bend of Leader’s leg was Supervillain’s foot.

Too close.

Leader tilted their head to the side, voice deadpan as they replied: “so you’re Villain’s new babysitter.”

“Villain said you were funny.”

“That’s funny, Villain never mentioned you,” Leader replied coolly, eyes never leaving Supervillain’s too-clear blue ones. “Mustn’t take it personally, maybe you just don’t make much of an impression.”

“Woke you all the same.”

“Yes, you did,” Leader said, then made a shooing motion with their fingers. “Now that you mention it, it was a very nice sleep, and I would like to get back to it now.”

Supervillain searched Leader’s eyes for something, then let out a soft hmph. “I have a better idea, Leader.”

Before Leader could protest a hand was in their shirt and in one fluid motion, Supervillain dragged Leader to their feet with such force Leader’s eyes blew wide, they weren’t touching the ground for a minute before their bare feet mercifully touched the floor again. Leader had a panicked grip on Supervillain’s arm holding them to the wall and only then did they notice the slight size difference.

Supervillain was tall, a good head taller than Leader, who wasn’t considered short by any means. That’s not where the differences stopped; where Leader was all lean muscle and agility, Supervillain filled their broad shoulders with strong, defined muscles that lay under his casual shirt and pungent leather jacket. Leader could make them out even when he wasn’t tensed and that annoyed more than scared them.

Leader had met Supervillain before, obviously, but this close? With this height difference? This disadvantage Villain had left them with, with no gear, no boots, no weapons. Leader didn’t like their odds. It was too new. Jarringly new and it sent a cold shiver down Leader’s spine, their mind racing on ways they could adapt to their sudden enforced weakness around their wrists and in their bare feet.

When they met on the field they were somewhat even. Supervillain was strong, stronger than Leader, but Leader made up for it with their speed. They danced in and out of one-punch-knockouts Supervillain had thrown at them before, they could do it again…

But that was in their combat gear, with their blades by their sides. That was with their boots on and their team at their back, and that was without heavy iron manacles locking their hands together.

Like this? Leader was too exposed, too weak, and they were just staring at Supervillain who could kill them without breaking a sweat right now, hiding all this panic behind an impassive expression, but they couldn’t hide that wide eyed surprise.

Supervillain had seen.

Supervillain saw Leader’s eyelids fly open in shock, so different from the half-lidded indifference Leader was trying to show off. Supervillain noticed the smallest thing, and maybe that was what was scaring Leader more than their disadvantage.

“What?” Leader asked, voice thankfully, mercifully even, “was your better idea making out or? This is very intimate Supervillain, honestly? I’m flattered. Kind of enemies to lovers scenario—”

All Supervillain had to do was curl their fingers into Leader’s shirt, knuckles resting painfully on Leader’s ribs and push Leader against the wall more. Pinned between a solid surface and Supervillain’s unforgiving grip, Leader didn’t know which would crack first, the wall or Leader’s ribs. Leader bent a knee and pressed the sole of their bare foot against the wall for leverage.

“Mmm,” Leader ground out, trying and failing to alleviate the pressure. “Kinky, don’t worry, kinda into it.”

Supervillain laughed. “You don’t shut up, do you?”

“Not unless you gag me, Da—” Supervillain let go of Leader then and Leader smiled. All doubt melting away as they pressed the sole of the foot into the solid surface, muscles tensed and at the ready.

Idiot.

Leader pushed off the wall with their foot, springing towards Supervillain, swinging their iron manacle clad hands up at Supervillain’s jaw. They missed the jaw and hit Supervillain’s nose instead and Supervillain fell back a step, letting out a startled cry, hands going to their nose in shock. Leader watched with a grin as blood trailed through the cracks in their hands and dribbled down their chin, staining their stupid shirt.

Their eyes would be blurry now, an advantage Leader needed. Leader shot their foot out, kicking Supervillain’s knee, then thigh, then ankle until they were wobbling, almost down.

One more hit.

Leader threw their hands up again as Supervillain’s eyes locked on Leader’s and Leader knew they made a mistake.

Clear blue eyes were the last thing Leader saw before the wind was knocked out of them and they were gasping for breath, Supervillain’s hand wrapped around Leader’s throat pinning them back against the wall. Leader thought they broke a rib with the impact, but they couldn’t think now, they were too busy panicking. They needed to break free.

They kicked out at Supervillain, trying to hit them anywhere until Supervillain stepped closer, making Leader’s legs useless, pinning Leader’s legs with their own and the wall, and the panic seized Leader’s chest. They were like a fish out of water, gasping on nothing. That’s when Leader brought their manacled hands down on Supervillain.

Loosen the hold for a second.

Or that’s what they intended to do.

At the last second Supervillain caught Leader’s wrist just below the cuff.

Fuck.

Supervillain slammed Leader’s arms back above their head and held them there no matter how much they writhed and struggled and fuck— black dots were encroaching on the edges of Leader’s vision like a vignette.

They couldn’t speak.

They couldn’t breathe.

They couldn’t fight.

They were going to die here. Supervillain was going to kill them and not break a sweat. Their struggles were weakening, and Leader knew they were gone, that Supervillain had won.

Would Villain be sad Supervillain killed them? Or is this what they wanted all along?

Leader was so fucking stupid and it got them killed.

At least Leader got a good few blows in before they died, at least they made Supervillain bleed, at least they went out fighting…

Those crystal-clear blue eyes stared down at Leader’s as they slowly lost consciousness and darkness engulfed them.

*~*~*~*~*

Villain was leaning against the wall beside the door to Leader’s cell, arms folded, head resting against the wall. When the door opened, Villain pushed off quickly, turning to see Supervillain with dried blood caked on their upper lip and nose, staining their shirt. Villain’s face dropped.

“What happened?”

Supervillain smiled, showing bloody teeth. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. They got rowdy, so I put them down.”

“You said you’d be gentle.”

“You said they were weak and exhausted.”

“They are!” Village protested.

Supervillain raised an eyebrow at Villain’s voice rising in pitch, a smile tugging at the corners of their mouth as Villain looked away, and said, “they were. I left them hanging for three days, I was worried their shoulders would pop out of their sockets!”

“Did you have mercy on Other Villain’s Henchman when you left them hanging? Did you worry about their shoulder joints?”

“It’s different,” Villain said, eyebrows knitting together. “We were torturing Other Villain’s Henchman for information. Leader is just a prisoner, and you have to be humane. It’s not personal, it’s—”

“Humane?” Supervillain asked and Villain sighed, running a hand down their face. “Maybe if you were a bit less humane, Vil, it would have prevented the broken nose,” said Supervillain not unkindly, voice gentle and soothing, which just made Villain feel worse. They were going easy on Leader, and Supervillain noticed.

Supervillain placed a warm hand on Villain’s shoulder, and smiled when Villain looked up at them, eyes steeled. “It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I know, Villain… I trust you,” Supervillain said, squeezing Villain’s shoulder lightly, and Villain tried hard not to blush at the words. It didn’t work.

“I mean obviously Leader has to be punished. Not just for this,” Supervillain said gesturing to their nose, “but for doing the Commission’s dirty work for them.”

“What? But you forgave me,” said Villain, setting their jaw, lips stretched into a thin line.

“I did,” said Supervillain. “The difference is you saw the corruption they wrought. Leader is still under their influence. They need to be persuaded.”

“Why does persuasion sound a lot like punishment in this case?” Villain snapped, jutting their chin out at Supervillain who just kept that same level smile on their face. Their crystal-clear blue eyes beaming with pride down at Villain.

Supervillain stood up straighter, took their hand from Villain’s shoulder and touched their bloodied nose gently.

“You’ve done beautifully, Villain. Leader is our biggest threat to enacting meaningful change. You got them out of the way! You should be celebrating; you should be proud—”

“What about the commission?” Villain demanded hotly. “You said they were the enemy!”

“They are, Villain. Leader is but a pawn and taking them off the board will rattle the commission into making a mistake, one we can use to press our advantage.”

At Villain’s silence Supervillain sighed. “You know firsthand how corrupt they are. If capturing Leader has rattled you—”

“I’m not rattled,” Villain said, voice a bit too defensive. Villain sighed, then gestured to Supervillain’s face. “Go… go get that cleaned up, you’re bleeding all over the place.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Villain lied easily, “yes I’m fine, I’m just tired.”

“Okay. Maybe get some rest, Villain.”

“Yeah, I will.”

Supervillain nodded, then walked to the end of the hall, towards the stairs out of the basement. Villain waited until they heard the sound of the heavy door shutting before they leaned against the wall and let out a long-laboured breath.

This was all they needed.

Then they opened the door to Leader’s cell and walked in, letting it close behind them.

Supervillain watched from the shadows of the stairs, a frown finding its way onto their face. Then they turned and actually left to fix their nose.

*~*~*~*~*

When Leader woke up again, they gasped awake, desperate to get some air into their lungs as the hand on their throat— Leader blinked, and it was the biggest mistake they ever made. A thundering headache followed, and they nearly whimpered at the pain but kept silent as they took in the new room around them.

At least they were sitting down this time and didn’t have any less articles of clothes on than they did before which was a plus, although their feet were starting to feel the cold. This time Leader woke in a chair, a comfortable enough chair, their arms resting on the arms rest were tied down with reinforced leather straps that brokered no movement when Leader tried to yank their hands free. All it did was tighten the leather around Leader’s fists, crinkling like rubber, but they couldn’t complain. The leather was far more comfortable than the manacles, Leader was getting first class treatment as far as the last few days were concerned.

They longed to stretch their limbs, but as feeling slowly came back to their body they realised they couldn’t move their legs either, strapped to the legs of the chair in what felt like the same strong leather as their wrists. They let out a soft sigh and pulled at their restraints just because.

They were tired.

Exhausted.

Their head was fucking pounding because of Supervillain and his stupid need to be tall and strong and authoritative. He could have at least been kind about the strangle hold, like, oh I’m sorry Leader, here’s some paracetamol for that headache you’ll wake up with.

Leader just wanted to go home, be with their team. They should have never pursued Villain; in hindsight they should have stayed with their team and then none of this would happen.

They would have stayed on mission and not abandoned their target to pursue an obvious trap, Villain knew they would follow though, Villain wanted them to, counted on it. They wanted to show off their new reinforcements and show Leader, they didn’t need them and their team anymore. They wanted to show Leader who was stronger, and Leader’s ego made them follow.

Stupid.

There wasn’t much room for any other thoughts after that.

From behind them Leader heard movement and then they saw the hammer coming down hard, a merciless swing, straight on the back of Leader’s right hand. Leader screamed as they felt, no heard, every bone in their hand shatter. They struggled in the comfortable chair, trying to alleviate some of the pain, to get away from the aftershocks of pain as Leader tried to move their fingers.

“Do I have your attention, Leader?”

Leader howled when Supervillain drive the hammer down harder on the back of Leader’s hand, rubbing against broken and bruised bones. “Yes! YES! Just stop!”

The hammer lifted after Leader found their words and their sigh of relief ricocheted through their entire body, adrenaline pumping in their blood. They sucked in a sharp breath when Supervillain came to stand in front of them, glaring angrily up through pain blinded eyes. Their chest rising and falling like a rabbit’s that was suddenly cornered by a dog.

“Good,” Supervillain said with a smile and dropped the hammer unceremoniously on the floor. Leader flinched when it clanged against the concrete floor. Their breath still struggling to fill the hole in their lungs from the shock.

“Villain asked me to go easy on you,” said Supervillain. Leader’s heartbeat skipped at that. Villain still cared. Just not enough to get you out of here, a nasty voice in the back of Leader’s head hissed. “They think you’re just blindly following the commission’s orders, that you need to be persuaded to see the light like they did.”

“Yeah?” Leader laughed, the laugh manic, off and wrong. “And follow you, is it? I’m devoted to one dogma, Supervillain, I can’t stomach two, I’ll have to pass.”

“Why do you follow the Hero Commission’s orders, Leader? Hmm?”

“Why don’t you ask Villain?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Villain only followed you,” Supervillain said, delighting at the pain that must have showed on Leader’s face. “They never believed the commission’s bullshit, or so they say.”

“But they believe your bullshit, is that it?”

“I am just one man,” Supervillain said with a smile, spreading their hands wide. “Ineffectual. What could I do that’s so bad?”

“Oh, I don’t know, using a hammer as a wakeup call comes to mind,” Leader grouched, relaxing back against the chair. “Aside from that do you want the list categorically from worst to least bad, or chronologically, either way it’s a long time we’re going to be chatting.”

“Oh Leader, don’t worry. We have time,” Supervillain purred, walking over to Leader’s chair. Leader couldn’t even back away, couldn’t flinch, couldn’t do anything with how fucking tightly they were tied down and it scared them.

Scared them how easy it would be for Supervillain to kill them then and there.

Tied up, defenceless, immobile.

The fear must have shown in their eyes because Supervillain let out a soft laugh when their legs touched Leader’s knees.

“You’re not so brave like this, are you? Did I scare you earlier Leader? Did you think I was going to strangle you to death? Are you afraid I’ll do it again?” Supervillain reached a hand over and Leader recoiled, trying to avoid it getting anywhere near their neck, but Supervillain’s hand pressed against Leader’s throat all the same and the fear gripped them like a vulture’s talons.

The courage bubbled up Leader’s throat and they bit out, “yeah? Let’s see how brave you are stripped of your gear and tied up in enemy territory.”

“I could you know. It would be so easy,” Supervillain said with a soft hum, squeezing slightly.

Leader’s eyes turned to stone, a grave challenge in them, the kind Leader would wager their life against. Leader leaned forward slightly, staring directly into Supervillain’s stupid smiling face, and said: “then do it and get it over with. Kill me and spare me the torture of having to listen to you talk.”

Supervillain smiled a handsome smile.

Their smile didn’t waver as they drew their fist up and slammed it down hard on Leader’s broken hand. Leader howled, throwing their body forward on instinct, trying to protect themselves but all they did was drive themselves straight into Supervillain’s strangling hold and Leader gasped in pain, tears streaming down their face as Supervillain shoved them by their neck to the back of the chair.

Leader choked on nothing, sucking in startled air which got caught on their strangled cries of pain in their throat. Their body fighting against the restraints and Supervillain’s hold trying to fight, trying to escape. Their body hadn’t gotten the message that struggling was futile yet.

“Hmm,” Supervillain hummed. “I think you’re right Leader. I much prefer the sounds of your screams over my voice.”

“You fuc—” Leader screamed again as Supervillain drove the palm of their hand into the back of Leader’s, kneading the shattered bones, choking on their screams, clamping their teeth down on their cheek to soften them to more of a pained hum.

“I can make good on that gag Leader,” Supervillain promised, moving their fingers up to pinch Leader’s cheeks and force their mouth into an O shape. Leader swallowed, feeling Supervillain’s hand bobbing with their throat. “That way I still get your delightful screams and cries of help.”

Leader huffed out a breath, the pain finally receding in their brain enough for them to think.

 “Grapefruit.”

Supervillain blinked, then frowned, then raised their eyebrows and tightened their hold ever so slightly.

“What?”

“Grapefruit,” Leader said again, voice raw, almost breathless and Supervillain let their grip loosen a little.

“Have you lost it already, Leader?” Supervillain asked and Leader shook their head as best as they could.

“Then what’s Grapefruit?”

Leader swallowed hard and rasped: “It’s a citrus fruit—”

“I know what grapefruit is,” Supervillain huffed, “I don’t know why you keep repeating it.”

Leader looked up through their tear-soaked lashes, all innocence and doe eyed charm, and said with a straight face: “my safe word is grapefruit.”

Supervillain stood up straighter and let go of Leader’s throat and Leader could breathe easy for the second of relief that came with it. Then Supervillain slammed down their hand on Leader’s hand and Leader struggled and howled and screamed and cried, “oW! JEES— motherFUCKER! GRAPEFRUIT! GRAPEFR— FUCK!”

“Maybe I hurt the wrong part of you, Leader. Maybe I should have broken your jaw, then maybe you would shut up!” Supervillain hissed.

“Maybe….” Leader ground out, a shit eating grin on their face despite the pain, despite their situation, despite everything that was thrown at them in the last week. “Maybe you’re going to have to kill me to stop me, Supervillain. Do it right now, say it was an accident and maybe, maybe Villain— argh! Maybe Villain forgives you. I’m irritating, an honest mistake, I pushed you too far…”

Supervillain glared down at Leader now, hands completely off Leader, balling into meaty fists at their sides, nostrils flaring in anger. Leader took that as their cue to continue with their exhausted throat.

“But the longer you keep me alive, the longer I have with Villain? The less sleep you’re gonna get because I found Villain, I made them who they are today, and you’re scared. You are terrified of me, that’s why you tied me down so tight. That’s why Villain isn’t here right now. You’re in deep, and you don’t know how to get out. Kill me, you risk alienating Villain forever, keep me alive? Me and Villain have more chats about the good old days, and you still lose them. Either way you’re fucked, but I know which one I’d choose, Supervillain. Take your hammer to my temple and be done with it.”

Supervillain stilled, eyes widening slightly in a dim realisation, and then, to Leader’s chagrin, Supervillain smiled. Smug and superior and oh so knowing, and Leader frowned because they didn’t know what they had to be so happy about.

“Oh Leader,” Supervillain sighed. They patted Leader’s head and let out a small, startled laugh. “Leader, Leader, Leader,” they said and as quick as they arrived, they left, and Leader tried to turn in their seat to see what they were doing but they couldn’t. All they could do was stare forward and hear Supervillain’s footsteps getting further and further away.

“What?!” Leader yelled, twisting and turning and getting nowhere except aggravating their hand and they cursed and sat staring at the wall. They flinched when they heard a door open and close, and Leader was left alone.

That thought scared them more than anything Supervillain did.

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll call (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @nameless-beanie @aarika-merrill @criohfreeze @bandnbookbag @gala1981 @theonewithallthefixations

[whumble-beeee]

The Man in the Sweater Vest

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 7

Content: attempted noncon, threatened mouth whump, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, scissors, tied up/handcuffs, noncon unshirtening, noncon touch, past captivity references, graphic threats, blood, crapton of whump. As a treat :)

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[Inevitably, there will be disagreements on how you should treat your captured hero. One villain might want to just hold the hero hostage long enough to finish their dastardly plans. Another will want to break the hero’s will entirely! Or anything else in between! 

But when working together with other villains, bounty hunters, henchmen, etc, it is crucial that everyone is on the same page about how your captured hero is to be treated, lest your hero end up with a few less limbs than you meant them too, or your months of breaking down the hero's fragile mind is undone by a single nice gesture.

Always communicate effectively, your hero will thank you for it (or curse the day you were born)!]

* * * * * * * *

Sweater-vest stumbled back, reeling from the punch and clutching his face before pulling his hands down and gawking at the blood staining his hands.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!!” Stan screamed. 

An intense elation washed through his chest despite the surprisingly sharp exploding pain that crackled up the very bones of his arm when he punched the man, and the now freshly ripped open scabs and bruises from where he’d forgotten to account for the handcuffs and yanked on them violently, streaming new ruby red over dried light brown that already carved down his arms; 

Because he'd got him. He'd got him! Punched him, made him back off! Stan did that! He'd finally managed to actually do something about the atrocities being committed against him and it was so, so sweet. 

Relatively short-lived, though. 

Vaughn, the sweater vest man, started to giggle to himself as he wiped the blood streaming from his nose onto his sleeve. Elation gave way to tentative confusion. Then a sinister seed started to take root in Stan's gut, the roots already reaching out and tightening around his body.

“You-...” Vaughn giggled some more. “You– you think–?...”

He started fully laughing, speech overtaken by an apparent hilarity that Stan must’ve just been too shocked by the sudden mood change to understand. He was cackling. Then practically shrieking, crazy, loud, heaving laughs.

He must be crazy. 

Insane. 

Well and truly insane, the way he was shriek laughing into his shining red-stained hands.

His gaze snapped up to Stan, and Stan could practically hear the horror movie crackling effect with how fast it snapped up, crazy maniacal shudders still overtaking his body, piercing gaze turned wide, animalistic.

“You think you can HURT ME?! HURT ME?! AHAHAHAHA!!”

Suddenly Stan slammed into the wall, cuffed wrists pinned above his head, chest to chest with the crazy man and staring up into his crazy bloodshot eyes.

“You can't hurt me,” he growled into Stan’s ear through gritted teeth. ”I don't feel pain. I carved that weakness out a long time ago, my brain doesn’t register it anymore! And I did it so I could deal with horrible little brats like you–” he slammed Stan's wrists into the wall, “--however I see fit! So I could do whatever I wanted to them. So that even if they fight back, they always, always, always lose.”

He pulled back and leaned into Stan's face, staring the captive directly in his glaringly defiant, wide and shining eyes. Hot shaking breaths misted surprisingly minty breath onto Stan’s cheeks, nearly overpowered by the metallic tang of blood that still poured down his face.

“Always submit. Just like you're going to.”

Stan pulled down hard against Vaughn's grasp, struggling and wiggling and tugging and screaming and kicking and doing every single little thing he could to, if not escape, at least make this as difficult as possible.

“Get away from me!" He cried. "GET AWAY FROM ME, get OFF of me, I’m not gonna let you do this you sadist, you can’t do this to me!! LET GO–!”

A punch to the gut. Stan tried to double over and wheezed as much as he could with his arms pinned up, which delivered him right into another punch to the face.

 Then something cool and sharp stabbed into the soft underside of his chin, straining his neck with how far his head pushed back into the wall.

“This is why I like to keep my victims gagged,” Vaughn gritted. “That bounty hunter of yours never does it, no matter how I tell him to. Always has to do stuff his own way, never listens. All he does is talk talk talk, always has a retort for everything. So defiant, and so is every single subject he brings in.”

A dull aching throb emanated from where Stan’s head pressed into the wall. Black spots dotted his vision. 

“You–... y-you can't–”

The scissors pulled back and dove toward Stan's mouth, eliciting a loud cut-off scream of revolt as he cowered and squeezed his eyes shut from some vain, animalistic instinct to protect himself. 

Then he pried open his eyes again, confused when no cutting metallic pain ripped through the fragile flesh of his face.

The handle of the scissors were fuzzy, too close for his eyes to focus.

They weren’t that far into his mouth.

Just enough that if Stan tried to close it, his teeth would clip on the tip of the metal blades instead. 

The scissors lifted slowly, tapping on his top teeth, tilting his head up until he stared into Vaughn’s metallic blue eyes once more.

“I could always prep your throat with these if you like,” he drawled softly, letting go of Stan’s cuff chain and instead lightly grasping his thumb and forefinger under Stan’s chin, forcing his mouth open further. A small sob crackled out from Stan’s throat. 

“It would be so easy… I could just–” 

The scissors lurched further into Stan’s mouth, and Stan let out another involuntary squeak and an open-mouthed, unintelligible pleading of “no, no, no, no…” as tears started to sting at his eyes.

But he let him do it. 

He even still held his arms up, because surely if he tried to fight back now, with the scissors in his mouth quite literally pinning him to the wall… He didn’t even want to think of the consequences.

“Careful, dropje. Wouldn’t want to cut yourself. Be quiet, be still, be good for me, right? You can be good for me? You can finally shut the hell up. No more fighting.”

He let go of Stan's chin and let his hands wander lower, caressing Stan’s sides, the curve of his waist, making his entire body tense and shudder. His breathing turning loud and shallow as he cringed away. 

Vaughn just giggled.

“See? Isn’t this better? You’re not getting hurt, you’re doing what I say…” His fingers slipped under the waistband of Stan’s pants again. Slower this time. More deliberate. 

It took all of Stan's willpower to not start hyperventilating at what he knew was about to happen. He knew. It was always this, wasn’t it?

Vaughn’s voice lowered as he leaned closer, pressing his body into Stan’s. He could feel the fibers of the stupid damn sweater vest against his stomach, deceptively soft, almost pleasant. The hard blade of the scissors tapped on the tip of his nose. “Because you physically have no other–”

BANG!!

Stan screamed. 

Vaughn screamed. 

The ghost of the gunshot echoed off the cinderblock walls. 

Vaughn also nearly fell backward, pushing off of Stan just in time for Stan to fall to the floor in a duck-and-cover position and pray to whatever gods would listen that his last day on earth wouldn't have been spent dealing with two of the worst people he'd ever had the displeasure of being kidnapped by.

Wait, scratch that, his knee reminded him. He'd had worse.

His heart threatened to jump out of his chest completely, but he finally realized that in fact, he was still alive. So he opened his eyes to what he never thought to be one of the most beautiful sights in the world;

Deeby. 

Gun pointed to the sky and streaming a light grey smoke into a small puff of explosion that hadn't had time yet to dissipate. 

“What in the ever-loving SHIT are you doing?!” he shouted.

He was completely maskless, face now on full display, fiery eyes matching his equally fiery sneer. The sudden absence of the mask almost scared Stan more than the gunshot, the sight making his heart beat in his throat.

Then, for just a split second, Deeby's enraged eyes met Stan's stare. His eyes scanned down his body, looking him up and down, his face changing ever so slightly when his gaze caught in Stan’s chest. A slight crinkle of the eyebrows, a small tilt of the head. Then his eyes widened in some sort of realization, and Stan felt his heart turn to ice. 

Recognition.

No. 

He couldn't have realized who he was. 

Just because of the binder?!

Stan choked on his own throat as the collar suddenly constricted once more and he was dragged violently forward to his knees.

“Your fucking dog punched me in the face!” Vaughn shouted, jangling Stan around enough that he had to grab the collar just to gain back his breath.

“Just because–!” 

Vaughn jolted Stan's collar back hard and cut him off with a violent gag.

“I was disciplining him.” Vaughn narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. “Like we're supposed to.” 

Deeby’s jaw set. And still, he managed to find a slight smug smile within his fury. “That why your face is gushing blood, then? Disciplined him too hard?”

Stan didn't even realize when they started, but tears were practically streaming down his cheeks now, chest heaving in panic. “Deeby, Deeby, he was gonna–”

“Shut up!”

A kick this time, straight to the back of his spine, and Stan's throat strained hard into the collar before breaking free of Vaughn's grasp and nearly face-planting into cold concrete. He scrambled to get up, but the same foot planted on his back and slammed his chest right back to the floor, grinding the heel of its shoe into the captive’s spine. Stan clutched at the ground, screams barely bit back by force of sheer willpower.

“Christ, man! Stop it, get off!” Deeby yelled with uncharacteristic urgency.

The force pinning him down suddenly released, followed by the scattered footfalls of someone catching themself from nearly falling over. 

Stan just lay there limp. Heaving and shivering. He couldn't move. His limbs felt like heavyweights, the world tilted on it’s axis, and he was sure that if he lifted his head up, he would lose every last morsel of that protein bar he'd shoved down earlier.

But at least now no one was methodically turning him into a fine red mist anymore. 

Deeby stood between the two of them like an impenetrable stone wall, hand resting on the unlatched holster of his gun and pointedly ignoring Vaughn’s stuttering disbelief as he patted at the pockets of his jacket, pulling various probably very sharp things out and shoving them into his pants pockets.

Protecting him.

“You– You just–...” Vaughn finally composed himself. “You pushed me off! You're saving him? He needs to be taught a lesson!”

Stan tried to push up despite the dizziness. “Only–... D-Deeby, he was trying–”

“Shut up, Stan, I know, let me handle it! Here.” Deeby slid his jacket off and dropped it practically on top of his captive’s head, never once letting his gaze slip from Vaughn. Stan shakily pulled the brown leather of the jacket over his shoulders before he had time to think better of it, doing his best to just enjoy the show and not think about the implications of what was currently happening.

 “Because he wouldn't let you put your dick in him without a fight, right?” The bounty hunter said sarcastically. “Or– or– or because he wasn’t gonna let you mouth-gore him without complaint? Let you ‘teach him a lesson?’ Yeah, I am stopping you. Piece of shit.” The bounty hunter grabbed the scissors off the floor where they landed when Vaughn dropped them after the gunshot. Then he used them to point sharply at the door. 

“Get out.”

Vaughn scoffed and melodramatically rolled his eyes.

“You got the message from Lana then? Is that why you're acting like such a belligerent wittle babeee?” Vaughn posited in his most obnoxious baby voice.

Deeby bristled. Stan could've sworn for a moment he could see the man shaking. 

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “I talked to Lana. Your useless job is done. You can go back to being an even more useless sidepiece now.”

Vaughn’s shoulders tensed, and he laughed.

“Good! And I’ll make sure to tell Lana all about you taking the side of the disobedient dog of a test subject–”

“Yeah, go cry to your girlfriend about it, he's under my jurisdiction and I'm not gonna let you fuck that up because you feel the need to live out your perverse power fantasy with the helpless people you kidnap and torture. As if it isn’t torture enough to have to be in the same room with you at all.”

Vaughn clenched his fists at his side and forced on the worst imitation of a smile Stan had ever borne witness to.

“You better watch your tone, Deathberry,” he said, sickly sweet voice doing nothing to mask the hissing rage. “I could have you in the same spot as him in ten seconds. Don't ever–” he jabbed Deeby in the chest. “–forget that. You're only allowed to be out here roaming around with your fancy gun and your fancy cowboy boots because you're useful, otherwise you'd be locked up with the rest–”

Vaughn had just started to reach for the holster on Deeby's belt when, faster than Stan could perceive, a flurry of movement between the two men, a cry of surprised fear, the shuffling of feet and spinning of bodies and suddenly Vaughn was pinned back first to Deeby's chest, a wire that Deeby pulled from somewhere stretched taut between his fists and pressing a hard line directly under into the skin of Vaughn's throat.

Vaughn's hands quickly flew up to the wire to try and pull it off his throat, then just as quickly let go when he realized the wire would sooner cut through his hands before it would be pried off.

Stan couldn't help but stare.

“You're just about at the end of my rope, Verhulst,” Deeby growled, accent fully presiding now as he stepped backward and pulled Vaughn toward the door. “Don't you ever put your filthy hands on my gun.”

A slight rasp to Vaughn's voice was the only thing that denoted anything was amiss. “You sure this is about the gun, Deebs? Sure you're not taking your frustrations at Lana out on me?” 

“Trust me, if I was takin’ my frustrations at Lana out on you, bud, you'd be dead.”

Vaughn's eyes shot to Stan, and his smile broadened. 

“Ohhhh, I see. So what then, you are falling for the captive? I'm sure Lana would love to hear about how you're going soft, how you miss her, and how spectacularly you're failing at finding someone better so you have to–”

A small gurk finding its way from Vaughn's throat as he was pulled to a sudden stop.

“You know what, maybe I am. And maybe you should use your mouth to do something not completely useless for once.” He spun the both of them around to face Stan again. 

“Apologize to ‘im.”

What?

Vaughn stared at Stan, apparently more stunned by the notion of apologizing than the motion of having a garot wire to his throat. Stan… honestly had to agree.

“Come again?”

“Apologize to Stan. For tryin’ to rape him. It's the least you could do.”

“You want me to… apologize?? To the test subject? You really are losing it, Deathberry, let me go.”

The wire dug into his throat more. “Say sorry, doctor.”

Vaughn glared at Stan. Stan glared back as well as he could.

“I can't feel the pain of this, you know,” Vaughn's voice came, even raspier. “You're not doing anything.”

“You can still bleed out from a slit throat. Still drown to death in your own blood as it slowly fills your lungs,” Deeby dismissed lightly. “Still bleed out. Very quickly. I wonder what would happen if I hit your carotid–

“And I wonder how Lana would feel about you slitting her head scientist and boyfriend’s throat.”

“Probably call you a little bitch boy for invoking her name every time you need to defend yourself like a spoiled toddler ‘steada bein’ a man about it and defending yourself. Or maybe not. You’d never know, you’d be dead.”

“You wouldn't–”

Deeby twitched the wire across Vaughn's throat and a line of red bloomed across the light tan of his neck. Vaughn's face grew just a little bit paler. He brought his hands up to graze across the wire and felt the warm wetness smear across his fingertips.

“Apologize.” Deeby growled. “Now.”

Vaughn's eyes flitted back to Stan, fully appraising the wonderfully wide-eyed mess he'd had pinned against the wall only moments before. 

He narrowed his eyes. 

Took a deep breath. 

Stared daggers directly into Stan's soul.

“Sorry.”

Oh you bastard.

“Go jump off a cliff!” Stan yelled, erratically reaching into the jacket pocket he'd seen Deeby pull the protein bar out of earlier and luckily finding many more, one of which was immediately thrown directly at Vaughn. He couldn't even attempt to dodge it, and it hit him directly in the chest. 

The mercenary let out a singular loud laugh and spun Vaughn back around, letting the wire retract into what Stan now realized was a little housing box on his weird arm sleeve thing and shoving Vaughn at the door as hard as he could.

“Guess he doesn't forgive you. Better luck next time!” he laughed. Stan genuinely thought (and hoped) Sweater-vest would fall flat on his face, but he managed to grab the door and right himself before that happened. Shame.

“Now get out.” Deeby said.

Vaughn glared with a literal snarl, jaw half a second away from cracking in two. Right before he took a slow, deep breath and reset his features to a forced neutral. Then an easy smile. “As you wish, my liege.” 

He bowed exaggeratedly low in a show of mock respect, retrieving his scissors from the ground in a surprisingly graceful sweeping motion as he went. Deeby just rolled his eyes.

“Oh, and Stanny?” He drawled, peeking back from the door as he left and pointing his scissors directly at Stan's face with a flourish. “I look forward to seeing you soon~.” 

“Get outta here!” Deeby yelled with a threatening stomp toward the door, at the same time Stan stuttered out a very surprised and agitated “In hell!”

The door slammed shut. 

Stan could swear he could still hear Vaughn's deranged laugh echoing through the room even as an eerie silence fell over them.

He was finally gone. Finally.

See you soon.

He didn't completely understand why his breath continued to quicken. He'd won that encounter, right? Or… well, Deeby had. But still.

I look forward to seeing you soon.

He felt dizzy. More than the concussion could have caused. This was different, made him feel like he was suffocating, even though Vaughn was no longer here to strain the collar against his throat. Yet he could still feel the knuckles digging into the back of his neck.

I look forward to seeing you soon. In hell.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything | @paperprinxe

[ccieatchildren]

A Dance, Darling?

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

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

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

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

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

They sobbed, while Whumper watched in fascination.

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

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

They frowned. Another chain.

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

Whumpee hated it.

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

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

Easier access.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like it?” 

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

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

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

“I prefer blue.”

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

It was torture. 

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

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

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

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

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

As always, he had the upper hand. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s like an embarrassed teen. 

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

“Yes.”

He perked up. “Really?”

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

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

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

Fuck.

Whumpee gulped. They had screwed themself over.

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

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

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

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

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

Step, slide, step, turn. 

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

“Something funny?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t do that.” He ground out. 

Ah.

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

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

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

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

Step, slide, step, turn.

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

Step, slide, step, turn.

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

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

Step, slide, step, turn.

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

Step, slide, step, turn.

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

Step, slide, step, turn.

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

Step, slide, step, turn.

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

Step, slide, step, turn.

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

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

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

The again didn’t need to be said. 

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

They wanted to tap out now. 

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

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

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

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

They can’t keep up.

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

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

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

“Breathe, it’s over.”

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

The song had finished. Whumper had dipped them. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In… Out… 

In… Out…

In… Out… 

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

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

They could do this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-”

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

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

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

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

But they would not leave Caretaker with nothing either. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just sell it.

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

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

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

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

This wouldn’t end well.

[bltzgore]

Tw: blood mention, powers, multiple whumpers, character death (not whumpee or caretaker), broken leg, young whumpee

I want a young hero whumpee. They're fighting a group of villian whumpers, getting tossed around like a toy, completely out numbered, out gunned, and bleeding...

Whumpee is tossed in front of a new villian, one that the others have been giving a healthy amount of space and respect. While they haven't been leading the group, but there is no doubt this is the one they're all scared of.

Whumpee trembles as they approach, just barely managing to pull themselves to their knees. Tears in their eyes from the pain and the fear. Their breath hitches as villian reaches down, getting a grip on their shirt and pulling them up to their eye line.

Villian is ready to finish this, that's what they were recruited to do after all. But as villian finally gets their first good look at Whumpee's face their eyes soften. Whumpee is young. Villian doubts they are even old enough to drink.

Whumpee whimpers, trying to get a grip on villian's wrist, rasping as blood runs down from their nose, "Just- G-get it over with."

God. They're a child. They're patched in blooming bruises, oozing blood from at least five places, and trying to break free and stand on their broken leg. How the hell did they get mixed up in this?

Whumpee can't take this. They're squirming under Villian gaze. They can't read it, but they stare back because it's the only part of villian they can see. Everything else is covered by mask, or cloth, or armor. Whumpee feels like they're eye to eye with death. They're terrified, they don't want to die! Will it hurt? How is Villian going to kill them?

Whumpee has a moment of self awareness, they must look so pathetic. They don't want to die a pathetic sniveling mess. Whumpee growls weakly and snarls, "Get it over with!" They scream, tears running down their face. "IF YOU'RE GONNA KILL ME, THEN KILL ME!" They seem to fall weak after that, spent, and shut their eyes tight.

Whumpee trembles in silence until...

"No."

They feel the ground against their legs. Is villian putting them down?

Whumpee opens their eyes the second they no longer feel Villan's grip on their clothes. They try to stand but their broken leg screams, and so do they. They stumble back against an alley wall, and managed to steady themselves. When they dare to look up villian has their back to them, facing the other members of their group.

One of them approaches villian, "What's up Villian. You gonna kill 'em or not?"

"No."

"Well if you're not gonna do it, I've always want to make that miserable runt scream until it can't-"

"I. Said. No."

Whumper 1 started to argue, but whumpee noticed that up and down villians arms ancient markings started to glow and twist through painfully bright neon oranges, yellows, pinks, and greens.

Whumper 1 didn't seem to notice, but the others sure did, beginning to back away, one or two even running.

Whumpee feels their skin prickle, and leans into the wall, guarding their head with the less mangled of their two arms.

"You won't lay a hand them ever again."

Even behind whumpee's eyelids, the light is impossibly bright.

Whumpee isn't sure how long they waited braced against the wall. Their protective stance is only broken by the arrival of a strangely gentle hand on their back.

"Easy now, you need to give that leg a rest."

Whumpee half collapses, half scrambles to the ground, trying to guard against any attacks. "Get the hell away from me!" They snap, taking a blind swipe as their eyes readjust, "T-touch me, and I'll break your goddamn arms!"

Villian withdraws, giving whumpee some space. "I'm sure you will. But before you do, please. Let me help you."

Whumpee shakes their head, showing their teeth in an attempt to hide a wince, "You were about t-t- to kill me."

Villian seems to curl inwards, looking away, "I was."

After a few moments of waiting for something else, and not getting it, whumpee asks, "Why didn't you?"

Villian takes their time on this one, trying to figure out how best to answer, ultimately sighing and shrugging, "Because I couldn't."

The silence returns, and again whumpee gets frustrated with it first.

"R-real talkative- aren't 'cha?"

Villian huffs a quite laugh that reflects in their eyes. "I suppose not. Now, will you let me patch you up?"

"Long as you don't incinerate me, yeah. I guess."

[whumpy-daydreams]

Youngest but not the weakest

This was heavily inspired by @shywhumpauthor 's drabble Lessons

Continued here

CW: kidnapping, torture, multiple whumpees, blood, knives, gore, references to past abuse, nonsexual stripping, character called Youngest but not a minor

"Well well, fancy seeing you here." Whumper's voice was casual as they strode into the cell, smiling at Leader. "Don't bother talking, I know you too well for that."

They crouched in front of Leader and pushed a strand of hair behind their ear. The scent of aftershave was overpowering, a clear reminder of the pain inflicted the last time Leader was here. They knew Whumper wore it specifically for them.

"Sometimes I think you break in just to get caught." They ran a finger down the scar on Leader's face and Leader flinched back. Whumper laughed.

Stepping back into the centre of the room they took in Teammate and Youngest. One hero shackled on each wall. Perfect.

"Hello, Teammate, you've been working out I see. I hope that's not steroids. They turned back to Leader and pointed to Youngest. "I don't recognise this one though. New to the team I presume. Why don't you introduce me?"

Whumper walked over to Youngest and yanked their head back, hand in their hair. Leader's stomach twisted but Youngest stayed quiet, not even a wince despite Whumper's strength. Youngest met Whumper's gaze, eyes full of fire and defiance, and Whumper raised an eyebrow.

"I know Leader won't talk, and Teammate... well I've personally never tried but they have a reputation for a reason. But you..."

"They don't know anything." Leader interrupted. "Leave them out of this." Whumper looked at Leader with a grin, hand still tangled in Youngest's hair.

"Thank you for your input, but I think I'll start with them. Afterall, if they don't know anything they can't tell me anything so where's the harm for you?" They let go of Youngest, reaching into a pocket to pull out a knife.

Squatting down they began to cut away Youngest's shirt, but stopped. Scattered across their arms and torso were scars. Large and small, from cuts and burns and god knows what else.

"How frustrating to be second. Does Leader know about this?" Whumper glanced at Leader and from their confused expression they knew nothing. "Interesting."

They ripped the rest of Youngest's shirt off and they shivered in the coldness of the dungeon but kept their eyes on Whumper as the knife traced along old scars. Whumper dug the knife in deeper and blood dripped down their chest but Youngest only gritted their teeth.

"Please," Leader's voice broke. "Please, hurt me instead."

"Where's the fun in that?" Whumper chuckled. "I know your breaking points already." They moved the knife to Youngest's collarbone and they cried out as the skin split apart deep enough to reveal bone.

"This is much more fun."

[rizzoto-whump]

When Whumper disappeared from their sight, Whumpee finally broke down.

They sobbed, crying hysterically. Their vision was blurred and filled with tears. They hugged themself tightly, trying to stop crying. Trying to prevent themself from hurting any further. They couldn't bear to see themself laying on the mattress in their bloody clothes, surrounded by bruises and broken bones.