#post prison whump

[hold-him-down]

🧽 Receiving a sponge bath - Derek

tw: post-prison whump, spongebath, light med whump

notes: read chapter one of derek's back first for context, if context is important to ya :)

from this ask game

✥ ✥ ✥

Derek Lewis, or what's left of him, anyway, sits on the center of the exam table. His legs dangle over the side, his hands limp in his lap. Looking at him, one might think he was completely absent of thought, absent of the ability to process any of the events of the last few hours. Something in the way he hunches his body, though, just a little bit, or in the way his black eyes, every so often, wander from the floor to the mahogany desk in the corner, to the large canvas paintings, to the American flag hung by the door, and then back to the floor, give Agent Brody Grant hope that, at least on some level, he’s aware that his circumstances have shifted.

He’s been stripped of his clothing, or, if not clothing, of the torn, ratted fabric that was constituting as clothing, which has been placed in a bin to be tested for parasites. So far, he hasn’t spoken.

When they arrived to the makeshift medical unit, pieced together on one hour’s notice in the middle of the night in the Consulate, he didn't speak. He also didn’t speak when he was led down the empty, dark hallway, or when his clothes were removed, or when every inch of his battered skin was photographed.

Now, with a nurse at his side, running a wet cloth over his body again and again, seven, eight, sometimes ten times before satisfied with each patch of skin, he still doesn’t speak.

“Mr. Lewis?” the physician asks, approaching Derek cautiously. Derek’s head lifts in acknowledgement, but his eyes do not.

“You need to drink,” she urges. She lifts his free hand and places a mug of water inside of it, then guides him to take a sip. He does not fight it, but immediately coughs the water back up. The doctor's lips are tight, but she sets the mug to the side.

The boy that Agent Grant collected from within the prison gates was unrecognizable from the pictures in his file. The ghost of the smiling, vibrant boy he had not expected, but hoped for, was deposited at his feet without a moment of hesitation. The guard inclined his head sharply toward the gate, handed the agent a well-loved backpack, and turned on his heels back toward the prison. They hightailed it down the gravel road and into the night, with a singular objective of getting Derek Lewis onto U.S. territory while they worked to understand the implications of everything that had gone down.

The nurse lifts his hand now, turning it over, and works to wipe away months of caked-on filth. 

“When did you last access a shower?” he asks, his thumb brushing over Derek’s wrist, presumably to get a handle on what is bruising and what isn’t. 

“I don’t know,” Derek whispers. Agent Grant writes it down. It’s not of particular interest, but he’s been tasked with writing down everything, and so far that has been nothing, so he takes what he can get.

“That’s okay,” the nurse tells him, dipping the washcloth in the clean water, wringing it out, and wiping away what can be wiped away. “What about food?” he asks next. No one is under any illusion that Derek wants to talk, but getting him comfortable answering questions may be in his best interest. “When was the last time you ate?” 

This time, Derek does not look up. “I don’t know,” he whispers again.

“Are you hungry?” the nurse asks, as the doctor tilts Derek’s head down. Gloved fingers press into dark, matted waves, and Derek’s body curls in on itself, just for a second, before he realizes what’s happened and forcibly adjusts his posture.

“It’s okay,” the nurse whispers, moving to his other hand.

Derek nods, and they finish cleaning him up in silence. His hair is shaved, because it’s the only reasonable way to deal with both the matting and the lice. He’s photographed again, now clean, which he flinches his way through but does not protest. This time, the focus is solely on the injuries. On the scars that run the length of his back, on his wrists and ankles, on his neck. There won't be an investigation, nor will there be restitution, but it may help someone in the future to have these, so they take them. Derek is silent through it, but his suffering, well hidden just an hour ago, is clearer now.

He’s given an IV, because every time he drinks, he vomits. He’s given pain medication, he’s given anxiety medication, and finally, to everyone’s relief, he is given clothing. 

He dresses quietly, but he trembles he does, and when he’s led to a cot in the adjacent room, he whispers a hoarse, “Thank you,” before collapsing into it. He’s asleep before he can be offered a blanket, so one is draped over him, and the doctor explains to Agent Grant that between the shock, the medication, and the clear sleep deprivation, it’s neither surprising nor alarming that he sleeps now.

By the time Derek Lewis’s family is called, it’s mid-morning. The Ambassador has arrived, and there’s an air of both celebration and frenzy within the Consulate. This has been something of a win for many of them, and a long-overdue one at that.

And, while it feels like a major piece of Agent Grant's time with the embassy is coming to a close, he can’t help but wonder what the next chapter looks like for Derek. There's no doubt in his mind that Jack will be on the first plane to Turkey, visa be damned, and the thought of their reunion, however tense, however painful it may be, gives him some hope that maybe, against all odds, Derek will find peace.

[aceofwhump]

Around the World in 80 Days 1x05

[whumblr]

Crossed out - Masterlist

When Lucas heard a former client of his died in prison he starts to look into what happened.

Involuntarily, he gets the opportunity to witness the state of affairs in the prison first-hand, and finds out things are even worse than he could have imagined.

Main characters

Lucas Varga

Wanting to make a difference in the world and help fight against injustice, Lucas became a defense attorney hoping to help the people who couldn't fight on their own. Continues to fight injustice in prison, but soon learns that fighting and helping others only has an adverse effect.

FC: A younger Esai Morales where he isn't the smug, silver fox he is today yet.

Nero Mathison

Former military and now warden of his own prison. I say 'his own' and mean it; he practically runs it and there is no outside interference. Cold, stoic, and ruthless, he has his own views on justice and doesn't believe criminals deserve mercy.

FC: Nero is still a collection of vibes and I vibe mostly with some fanart of Daud (Dishonored, which I never played... Art by Nashama). FC: this or this without the scar. On another note, when I say he's wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, it is vital to me that he gives King Bradley vibes.

Chapters

AO3 (not up yet)

Prologue - Nighttime

1 - They are here for me 2 - Meet the warden 3 - Those who care 4 - Headcount

[befuddled-calico-whump]

After his incident with Melchior, Logan is transferred to a backwater ground detachment. Just when he's getting used to his new life, a rumor starts going around that there's a double agent at his post; a spy for the Riot Kings who's feeding the rebels Fleet secrets. Wanting to avoid a long, agonizing investigation, the rest of the det pin it on Logan, who's not all that popular anyway.

The statements of his co-workers, paired with the cause for his transferral (trying to kill Melchior, an ex-Riot King who's now trying to help the Fleet and who might have recognized "double-agent" Logan, prompting the murder attempt to try and protect his cover), is enough evidence for the Fleet to detain and interrogate him.

whump art tag:

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpsday , @regrets-realization-acceptance , @kixngiggles , @randomlifeunit

[ayushsan]

Prison Break - 4×01

[whump-queen]

captive whumpee kept intermittently drugged out of their mind, fading in and out of consciousness randomly,

with no idea what whumper did to them while they were knocked out.

[whumpinthepot]

@figuwhump 14!

Its been a while since ive drawn Zyan

[kaiwewi]

Hey!

Can I please get a little prisoner x guard with a little abuse warning for the action? 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

A Deal With the Devil

Synopsis: Villain's agreement with the warden of the local prison grants them any number of get-out-of-jail cards. But those don't come free, and the price continues to rise.

tw: nsfw, sex, abuse, non-con, implied self-harm

It had been a good arrangement, in the beginning.

Villain had been impressed when the warden had been thoughtful enough to bring lube and protection. The warden had been so very gentle with them too, that first time. Safer sex. Good sex even. Much better than they’d expected when they’d offered their body to the warden in return for assistance with a prison break.

Fucking for freedom.

A mutually beneficial arrangement.

Not much of a sacrifice, then.

Little had Villain known prison breaks were going to become a regular occurrence in their life.

“41 days on the run this time, that’s a new record,” the warden mused, grabbing a fistful of Villain’s hair. “You sure took your sweet time out there. A bit rude if you ask me.

“I missed you, Villain, and we both know I’m not the patient sort.”

That was an understatement.

Even though they had gathered enough experience in reading the warden’s tone by now to know what was coming, they still gasped audibly when the warden yanked their head back.

“Now listen, you little whore. If you want my help again, you’d better satisfy me.”

To think Villain used to like the touch of those hands, the sound of that voice. But not anymore. The gentle look that used to be in those eyes had long since been replaced by a leer that made their throat close up as if they’d swallowed something sticky and awful.

Bile burned the back of their mouth with every kiss the warden forced on them.

It was their own fault, really. They’d asked for it. They’d wanted this deal. The warden was probably justified in asking for more than just a simple fuck in return. After all, the warden was taking a risk breaking them out, a bigger one each time. Demanding a higher payment only made sense under such circumstances, didn’t it?

Villain winced, grimacing at the dark splotches and teeth marks the warden had left on their upper arm and shoulder, the scratches running across their chest in angry red lines. The abused skin stung and throbbed with every careless movement.

The warden tsked. “Displeased, are you? I have every right to mark you. As long as you need me more than I need you, I practically own you.”

Villain was grabbed by the throat and slammed down into the mattress. They opened their mouth to protest, then closed it again without uttering a word.

No, it wasn’t that big a deal. It was fine. They were only doing this as payment. A service for a service. Whatever it took to get them out of here, they’d endure it somehow. Freedom was invaluable after all. What were a few bruises anyway? It would be worth it.

Besides, this wasn’t the worst the warden had done.

As Villain had discovered over the last few months, the warden had a lot of dark dirty fantasies. But when the warden had brought up the first ideas, those hadn’t sounded so bad. Handcuffs and a blindfold to enhance the experience? Sure, why not. Some variety was good, right? Novelty was exciting, wasn’t it?

Merely a bit of harmless fun.

If only it had stopped there.

Ropes, gags, whips, chains, toys, role-play…

Somewhere along the line, Villain had stopped being comfortable with the suggestions. And yet, a deal was a deal. They needed the warden’s compliance or they’d be stuck in this shithole forever. What were a few hours of discomfort?

For a lack of better alternatives, they'd simply kept their head down and their mouth shut. Even as suggestions had turned into demands, they couldn’t really afford to fight back; the prize for disobedience was too high.

One of the warden’s hands slipped down to Villain’s crotch, fingers drawing patterns on sensitive skin.

The suddenly affectionate touch – a stark contrast to the rough ferocity with which they’d been handled just a moment ago – made Villain’s insides twist and revolt. The overwhelming sense of wrongness weighed on their stomach like a burning junk of lead.

“Wait,” they tried, “you don’t have to do this. It’s unnecessary.”

“Oh, I know.” The warden’s smile was all teeth. “But I want to see your face when I make you come.”

Villain glared, even as their body twitched and jerked under this mockery of pleasure.

The warden chuckled. “Don’t think I haven’t realised how much you hate me. I bet you’d love to tear me apart right now, wouldn’t you? If only you didn’t so desperately need me, huh?”

When Villain tried to turn their head, the warden grabbed their chin and forced eye contact. The warden’s other hand kept stroking them rhythmically. Infuriating. Disgusting.

Hungry eyes burned into theirs, a predator watching its prey.

Their heart pounded in their chest like it wanted them to flee or fight, to do something. Anything but this! But there was no point in fighting back, nothing to be gained by complaining, and they had too much to lose.

All of this was their own damn fault.

Their throat constricted painfully. Memories flashed before their eyes, of that one time when the warden had strangled them until they’d passed out.

There was no room and not enough air. Just touch. Too warm. Too much. Pain. Pleasure. Panic. Stop. Just stop. Please.

A moan slipped past Villain’s lips. Gross. So gross.

Their eyes stung and the image of the warden’s nasty smirk mere inches from their face began to blur. The air that barely reached their lungs was ripe with the warden’s foul breath. Nauseating. It seared their insides, burned their throat.

No. No, no, no. Stop. Please. Don’t.

Their hands clawed at the fabric of the bedsheet, until their nails felt close to being torn off. And even that wasn’t enough to drown out that hated sensation. Their body writhed under the unbidden touches. Moans. Whimpers. Tears.

But it would be worth it. It would be worth it. It would. It had to be.

All their muscles tensed, then quivered as they climaxed to the sound of the warden cackling above them.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” the warden growled into their ear. “You hating it this much makes it a million times hotter.”

The warden let go of their chin then, grabbed their hips instead, and started moving again. They went harder and faster this time, grunting and groaning with the effort. Like some disgusting beast.

While the warden fucked them, Villain lay there unmoving, limp and unresponsive beside the occasional sob or shudder shaking their body. Their eyes searched for that spot on the wall that vaguely resembled a cat, but their vision was too blurry to distinguish it from all the other holes and dents in the surface of the cold grey concrete.

As the warden finally finished and pulled back, Villain heaved a small sigh of relief.

Maybe it would all be over now. Come tomorrow, they’d be free again. They’d just have to stay out of trouble this time – be even more careful, smarter about their schemes, avoid confrontations with that hero who’d caught them the other ten times.

They’d escape. They could do it. This time would be different.

Eleven did sound like a lucky number, didn’t it?

And then all of this would have been worth it. They’d never have to see the warden again, nor that disgusting smirk that crept onto the warden’s face as they turned around in the door frame and winked at Villain.

“Pleasure doing business with you, love. I hope you’ll enjoy your little excursion. But don’t forget that I’m expecting you back by the end of next month. You’d better not keep me waiting this time.”

The door slammed shut between them, leaving Villain alone with their racing thoughts and another one of the warden’s loosely-veiled threats.

The end of next month... barely five weeks from now.

They barely managed to get up and stumble the few metres to the bathroom before they threw up.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

No. This was unbearable after all. Whatever else happened – whatever they’d have to do – they just couldn’t end up in this cell again!

Each time it only got worse.

Last time, they’d spent hours sitting curled-up and sobbing in the corner of the running shower and all the water in the world couldn’t have cleansed them of the warden’s presence.

What good was freedom when the warden’s touch lingered in each and every centimetre of their skin like a tattoo done with toxic ink, imbedded too deep to let itself be removed no matter how much one scraped and scratched and scrubbed at the surface?

At the end of the day, it wasn’t worth it.

———

For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥

[nasa1hats]

Hard to Turn Away || Yancy

Pairing: Yancy x Reader

Rating/Warning: none, slight fluff??? Angst??? (Maybe)

Word count: 321

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

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

~picture it~

You're at the gate of the prison

...so close to escape

...the thought of you warm bed waiting for you

~~~~~

You feel a hand from behind you fall onto your shoulder and you turn with a look of confusion obvious in your face.

It was dark outside under the stars but you could've sworn you saw a hint of reluctancy when you looked into his eyes. It hadnt even been a day but he had already done so much to help, it really was a shame to have to leave so soon. Prison just wasn't the place for you...

His hand slid down your arm and loosely wrapped his fingers around your wrist. His hold was softer than you would have expected.

His previously bubbly nature seemed to fade as he moved his eyes away from yours and down to where he was holding onto you. He mumbled something that you probably wouldn't have heard if it was not the dead of night.

"Youse could stay"

It's strange, how just a few words can hold so much hope. And how only a couple words can instantly shatter that same hope.

"I... can't"

Seconds passed by like hours and the breeze suddenly seemed colder. It was as though you could see him shake away the disappointment as his hand dropped back to his side. He lifted his gaze to meet yours one last time with a smile plastered on his face his bubbly attitude seemingly back.

"Visitation's every third Sunday, perhaps youse could drop by"

His smile never faultered as you nodded your head. All the previous thoughts of the comforts of home had been replaced by the image of his face when you rejected his offer. Remorse flooded over you as you forced yourself to take a step back.

Of course, this wouldn't be the last time you saw him... so why was it so hard to turn away.

[whumpy-bi]

Sci-Fi Prison Whump--Five Days

Note: this is based on several scenes from a Star Wars fic I’ve been working on for years with a friend. However, no previous knowledge is really needed to understand this snippet. I just felt really inspired to hurt Jake.

Tropes: science fiction whump, prisoner whump, isolation, solitary confinement, space prison, implied torture, mentions of claustrophobia, shock collar

5:00. The harsh, piercing alarm echoed throughout the sprawling, metallic halls of the prison ship.

A young man rolled onto his side, cringing at the sound as he pressed his nose against the cold, dark wall. That’s the fifth time. Five days. 

Soon, he pulled himself up and listened to the monotone announcer over the speakers. A cold woman ordering certain numbers to go to certain places, for droids to report to certain rooms. He imagined them all moving—troopers and prisoners running through the winding halls to go where instructed. He nearly felt jealous of them, the people who were able to walk around the ship. He’d never considered how much he’d miss eating with other people.

Hell, he missed looking at other people.

Five days.

He finally stood up, stretching his arms and cracking his neck. The lights were still bright in his cell—they always were, reflecting off the metal walls—but he’d managed to sleep despite them. His eyes closed for a moment, and he finally spoke in a low, rumbled whisper. 

“I’m Jake. Still Jake. I’m not gonna go crazy. It’s been five days. I’m gonna get out of here. I’m not gonna go crazy. I’ll find a way.”

This had become part of his morning routine, reminding himself of the basics. He could feel panic constantly gnawing at the edge of his brain, like a nasty headache beginning to form. It jostled a memory of his teen years, when he’d gotten trapped in a narrow part of a cave for the better part of an hour.

He’d panicked, then. He’d begun flailing, wheezing, pushing in every direction with his entire body. He’d screamed, in both languages he knew, hoping anyone would hear him. He’d sobbed, heaved, he’d felt sick. He couldn’t quite remember anymore, but he might have even called out for his mother. Ultimately—a nearby fisherman had found him, and managed to shift the stones enough to pull Jake out. He’d given him half of what he’d found in the cave—some old coins and rocks, all he had to bargain with. The man had sent him on his way, seemingly satisfied with the interaction.

He was no less trapped here. Some part of him even felt more trapped than he had in that cave.

It had been five days. Five days with four walls and a door. A box, easily half the size of his bedroom back home. Lights he could never turn off. No music, no village noise to lull him back to sleep every morning before work. He was alone in the box, floating through space, with a shock collar around his neck. Whenever he thought about it for more than a few moments, he could swear the collar was tightening. That the cell was getting smaller. Threatening to strangle him, to leave him without any air or any way out—just like the cave. 

Except, here, in his box, Jake knew nobody would come to help him if they heard him screaming.

Five days, and he had to remind himself not to go insane. He already felt like he was lying to himself. Nobody had told him how long he was supposed to be here—when he attempted to ask, they had activated the collar and sent him to his knees. The thought kept coming back to him, making his stomach churn every time.

He wants me here forever. Of course he does.

Jake began to pace, humming loudly to himself as he moved. He needed the noise, he needed to move. Just as his legs began to hurt, the door to his cell slid open. For the past four days, he’d encountered a droid every morning—a blank, sleek face, emotionlessly handing him his food and water. Today, though, he actually made eye contact with a person. A human person, one of their officers. They all looked the same to Jake, skinny pale men dressed in black. His suit was pressed and tailored, a contrast to Jake’s ill fitting gray jumpsuit.

The officer didn’t bother introducing himself, instead he opted to hold out a pair of handcuffs. When Jake stared at him in confusion, he let out a huff of air.

“The commander wants to test you in the common area. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

Jake felt something rising in the back of his throat. Five days. Five days of this, and he didn’t expect it to get any worse. And yet, it had.

[aceofwhump]

The A-Team 5x05 "Theory of Revolution"

[whumblr]

Ahaha, first eve of vacation and I've finally settled on names for my prison whump stuff AND given Jay his worst trauma nightmare yet.

Hope this productivity holds up :3

[lokiitama]

Prison of the Mind - Chapter 22

It took me a few years, but my very first fanfic on Ao3 is finally completed 🥰

I can’t believe I’m posting the last chapter for this fic! It feels so strange, after having worked on it regularly since 2021, and having the idea plague my mind since 2018!

Warnings: none!

Excerpt:

“It’s not that hard, Lance,” Allura huffed from the lavish pillows on the floor in the simulated juniberry field they were training in. She looked three seconds away from pinching the bridge of her nose. “You just have to focus.”

“Easy for you to say!” Lance scoffed after dramatically falling back on his equally lavish pillows. ”I don’t do meditation.”

At least not without feeling like a thousand ants were crawling up his legs at every given time.

Read the rest of the chapter on Ao3

[ayushsan]

Prison Break - 1×18

[whumpinthepot]

@whumpmasinjuly 2023

23. What is your fave whump setting?

I really love it when characters are chained up, either in cells or basements or just to someone’s bed or bathroom.

I like modern day with some fantasy elements as well as some sci-fi elements. I like non humans! I also read a lot of historical fantasy esque stuff.

Lab whump of course, is always a favourite. The white room kind where everything is sterile and professional, and the scientists all wear white coats.

Forests are under rated, theres a lot of potential for either environmental whump, or hunting a whumpee down.

[ailesswhumptober]

Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2023

It’s finally time! These are your official prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2023! We have 31 days of wonderful whump prompts. Each day has a set of 3 different prompts to choose from! Alternative prompts will be posted under the cut.

Happy whumping!

Here are the alternative prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2023! There is one alternative prompt for every day in October.

AI-less Whumptober 2023

Drugging / sick / poisoned 

Overworked / insomnia / Exhaustion

Sensory deprivation / overstimulation / isolation 

Hiding an injury / betrayal / lying

Hostage / kidnapping / Held at gunpoint

Conditioning / mind control / forced to hurt someone else

Flatline / Restrained / CPR

Panic attacks / Dissociation / Seizure

Scar reveal / Interrogation / Presumed dead

Branding / Scarring / collar

Fainting / Paralyzed / Adrenaline 

Self harm / Sacrifice / Character death

Earthquake / Flood / Crushed

Bleeding through the bandage / Field medicine / no anesthesia

Experimentation / Muzzle / transformation

Amputation/ chronic pain / Hospital

Hypothermia / heat stroke / “You look a little pale”

Fever / vomiting / Warm soup

Taken for granted/ Left behind/ “Why wasn’t I enough?”

Dehumanization/ Stockholm Syndrome/ Master and servant

Blood loss / shock / Near death experience

Whipping / Punishment / Stress position

Begging / “Take me instead” / Forced to watch

Failed escape / hunted down / Too exhausted to keep running

 Nightmares / Flashback / “Why didn’t you save me?”

 Magical exhaustion or injury / Curse / Came back wrong

 Forgotten/ Locked away/ Immortal Whumpee

 Hair pulling / Oxygen Deprivation / Sweating

 “The easy way or the hard way?” / Bargaining / Forced to choose

 Possession / Mind Games / Coma

PTSD / Headaches / Crying  Here are the alternative prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2023! There is one alternative prompt for every day in October.

Bloody knuckles

Gunshot wound

Separated from loved ones

Drowning

Blackmail

Crying to sleep

Disowned by family

Electrocution

Forced feeding

Bullied

Suffocation

Abandoned

Grief 

Human Shield 

Self-defense

Lab rat

Memory loss

Misunderstanding

Hypnosis

Mutilation 

Mouth stitched shut

Nerve damage

Nervous breakdown

Words carved into skin

Stalked

Non-Consensual touching

Paranoia

Peer pressure

Prison

Silent treatment

Truth serum