#scared whumpee

[echoingalaxies]

We know kicked puppy and wet cat characters, but what about scared hedgehog characters? Curled up around themselves trying to protect themselves from the world with their tough appearance but really they're just sweet and vulnerable and afraid.

[whump-blog]

Whump Art 9

Whumpee is safe, but terrified of his rescuers, or maybe he's still with Whumper, who is trying to be a better person, but Whumpee can't forget all the things Whumper did to him so easily.

[whump-place]

Caretakers that are famous/important figures in the real world; a prestigious doctor, lawyer, painter, etc., when they end up taking care of a nobody whumpee.

Especially if Caretaker is well known for being cruel/mean to anything and anyone they don't consider worth their time, but that has a soft spot for Whumpee!!

Whumpee being all scared for Caretaker's reputation or looks, thinking that they might hurt them but that ends up meeting a soft and caring person that would do anything for them.

Wouldn't that be the cutest?

[whumpy-wyrms]

so scared and helpless

[delicateprincepaper]

Whump Trauma Tips

I just finished a three month long research, fieldwork, and interview project on trauma so I figured I'd put the knowledge to good use and write some tips on how to create realistic trauma whump

Trauma Denial= Your brain purposely forgetting about the trauma to protect you. Your character could be unable to heal becuase they couldn't process what happened to them, could suddenly remember the trauma all of a sudden or could recognize a abuser but block the trauma out so they don't know why they recognize them.

Trauma avoidance= Coping with trauma by avoiding all reminders of it. Your character could not do things they liked before becuase it reminds them of the trauma.

Triggers= Things that remind someone of the trauma and give them flashbacks or make them feel scared or angry. Your character could get triggered and not be sure why they felt that way, dislike someone becuase they something about them slightly triggers them or have a flashback and have a caretaker comfort them. A way to heal from triggers is by bringing them up again in a safe enviroment so you could write about that going wrong and the person having a panic attack.

Fight, flight or freeze= A common thing our body and mind do to help us get away from danger. This can extend well after the trauma is done. Freeze becomes staying in bed and dissociating, a coping mechanism where you disconnect from your enviroment. Flight becomes escaping from the negative emotions using alchol, drugs or risky behavior. Fight becomes hypervigilance, a constant state of scanning for threats and being stressed. Characters could be hypervigilant and see a caretaker as being threatening when they're just trying to help or be jumpy and punch someone who suprises them.

There's a lot more but i'm too lazy so please tell me if you find this helpful so I know to write more.

[aspergirl2022]

Tiny Pet prompt

I wanted to write a story with a giant and their tiny pet, some kind of Giant Caretaker receiving Tiny Whumpee as a present but since I can’t put in on the paper I will change my story into a prompt.

In Caretaker's society only the wealthiest can afford Tiny pets. Caretaker is one of them, their family had a Tiny pet when they were a kid but Caretaker remember that their Tiny always looked sad and cried a lot, even more after Caretaker's Mom cut their tongue.

Caretaker never wanted a Tiny pet but their parent decided it was the perfect gift for their beloved child who just became an adult and lived on their own. So one day when Caretaker come home from work they find a cage with a note from their parent on it, inside of it there is a Tiny pet named Whumpee. Whumpee is dead scared of the Giants but Caretaker is decided to show them they’re not like their fellows.

[whumblr]

"Come on, Whumpee... you didn't used to fight like this. You would launch yourself at me. Hell, you were ferocious! Never backing down, getting right back up. But now, it's almost like... something is holding you back. Warning you, cautioning you."

He took a step forward and where Whumpee would usually meet him head-on - sometimes literally - they now fell back a step.

"I know what it is. Do you?" he taunted.

"If you're gonna say it's you I will bust your head," Whumpee snarled, but in a voice that sorely lacked punch.

"Oh," Whumper barked out a laugh. "Oh, no. No, but I'm flattered. No it's not that. In a way." He lowered his voice and said in a hushed tone:

"It's fear."

[whumped4whumplover]

Whump Idea

Months ago, Whumpee was taken. Caretaker was a wreck, spending the days scouring the streets in search of Whumpee and investigating at night, hoping to find some clue, even the most insignificant, about where they might be.

Caretaker and Whumpee had a special relationship, they always had. While Caretaker was an extroverted and popular person, full of friends and party invitations, Whumpee was extremely shy and reserved. They didn't like crowds, or loud noises, or talking for a long time. In fact, if it were up to them they wouldn’t have spoken to anyone at all. To anyone but Caretaker. And Caretaker was grateful for this, for the fact that, with them, Whumpee smiled and laughed, cried and vented, a completely different person from the one with that neutral expression and empty eyes which they were the rest of the time.

One day, finally, Caretaker manages to find Whumpee, and their heart skips a beat. Whumpee is covered in bruises and dried blood, thin in the most severe meaning of the word, it is as if Caretaker can count all their body’s bones, and their complexion is pale as that of a ghost, their lips of the same purple as the dark circles under their closed eyes.

If it haven’t been for the pulse they heard when they places their trembling fingers on their neck, Caretaker would have thought Whumpee was dead. But, as soon as the two’s skin makes contact, Whumpee's eyes suddenly open, and a strange expression forms on their face. At first Caretaker thought it was confusion, but then they realized: it was just pure terror.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's me, it’s Caretaker. It's going to be okay" Caretaker tries, but their words are uttered in vain, and Whumpee pushes their weak convulsing body against the wall, screaming hysterically and crying, no, sobbing desperately, as if danger was about to envelop them. But it doesn't make sense, Caretaker thinks, because they’re here now and they’re ready to take Whumpee to safety. There is nothing to be afraid of, Whumper is no longer here, there is only Caretaker. Yet, Whumpee's heart wrenching screams don't cease.

The torch falls from Caretaker's hands and they retreat, realization evident in their eyes.

Whumpee is reacting like this because they are afraid of Caretaker.

[dont-be-gentle-please]

Whumpee being scared of loud noises. Fireworks. Honking. A pan being dropped accidentally. Gunshots.

Whumper could take advantage of it, punishing their sweet dumb pet in the most harmless and amusing way possible. Entertaining their guest with a shaking and pale whumpee covering their ears.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (VI)

Part one here…

Continued from here…

*~*~*~*~*

Kit’s body ached everywhere. It hurt to sleep if you could even call it that. Every time Kit turned over or moved his head, or adjusted the pillow he was in pain.

The dull aching everywhere nearly blinded Kit to the fact that he was in a bed. Lying down. Unrestrained. With a pillow!

Which meant that he wasn’t with Ambrose.

Had he… had he woken up when he was supposed to be doing Ambrose’s bidding, because this wasn’t a foreign bed this was Kit’s bed. He knew because he could feel the springs in his old mattress digging into his ribs.

The same mattress Superhero had told Kit to get rid of, but Kit just couldn’t part ways, and Kit’s pillow was perfect for him, not too firm but hard enough to support his creaking neck.

Kit was at home!

Ambrose fucked up, Kit could call Superhero right now, tell him exactly what’s going on and what Ambrose did, he could catch Ambrose!

Kit was halfway out of the bed as this thought crossed his mind, a giddy feeling numbing the bruises, cuts and trauma his muscles had endured with the fucking cattle prod—

His electricity.

Kit wasn’t wearing the rubber gloves. Or rubber anything for that matter!

Kit fell out of bed, his leg not quite carrying his weight, but it didn’t matter.

Kit sat on the floor, licking his lips in anticipation as he brought his hand in front of his face and with bated breath… clicked his fingers.

Blue sparks cackled around Kit’s hand like a glove, and it was like Kit was being revived. The relief it felt to see the bright electric blue, to hear the soft buzz of power, to feel the electric currents in the air.

Kit let the power wash over them. He clicked his fingers in his other hand and let the sparks fly from his fist down his arms up to his elbows and from there he just let it rip.

It got to Kit’s shoulders, to his chest, he could feel his hair stand on end from the currents but none of it fazed them. Not one bit. Kit could feel the power thrumming behind his eyes, and he knew he were same colour as his electricity and for a while Kit just sat there completely engulfed in the wash of his power.

It felt like relieving a muscle that had been stuck in one spot for too long and was cramping, or, cracking his back, or, stretching his shoulders in the morning.

Kit’s electricity reinvigorated him with the energy surging through him just because he could.

He was his own conduit.

His own person.

His own mind, not Ambrose’s puppet, he was 100% Kit right now, because Ambrose fucked up with his twisted compulsion. Kit almost cried with joy.

Kit let his electricity dim and got to his feet with a renewed fire to find Superhero and tell him everything… but first… Kit needed a shower, he needed to feel the warm water pound on his back and relax the rest of his aching muscles.

Kit looked to his bedside table and saw his phone plugged in and charging. Ambrose really did make sure Kit was living a normal life when he wasn’t conscious…

Kit didn’t want to open the phone; he didn’t want to read the text messages he didn’t send. And yet Kit’s feet padded over to his table and picked up the phone. The screen lit up. Kit’s heart dropped as his eyes stared down at the date and time.

He wanted to be sick.

It wasn’t days he was with Ambrose; it wasn’t weeks, it was a month and a half since the docks.

A month and a half of Kit’s lost time… where all he remembered was Ambrose and his cruelty. A month and a half of nobody realising that Kit wasn’t in fact Kit, but Ambrose’s vassal.

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and put in his pin. The same pin it had always been, at least Ambrose didn’t have the foresight to change that.

Instead of going to his messages and torturing himself further, Kit went to his Spotify and clicked into his shower playlist.

How long had it been since he heard music?

A month and a half, a snide voice told them in the back of his head, but Kit ignored it and just let the music wash over them.

Oh yeah, he was going to be singing this at the top of his lungs in the shower.

Kit grabbed a towel, some underwear and made sure to lock the bathroom door just in case. When the hot water hit his back, he let out a long sigh of relief. His shoulders were so tense after Ambrose had made him dangle in chains for who knows how long? The water seemed to get under Kit’s skin and unwind every knot and ache in his muscles leaving him feeling refreshed and calm.

The smell of Kit’s soap and shampoo made him relax even further. It felt as if nothing had happened to him in the last six weeks and that he was just going about his daily routine of waking up, showering, going to work tell Superhero he was tortured.

Kit’s stomach growled the second after he had turned the shower off and he smiled to himself. How normal a feeling it was to be hungry. How entirely mundane, that Kit’s body’s nerves were telling him to eat. Reminding him to do it.

God when was the last time he had tasted food for himself?

Kit got hungrier just thinking about it. He dried himself and dressed as quickly as possible. He stopped the music on his phone, towelling his hair dry, not too bothered with how he looked as he descended into the kitchen, ravenous with hunger.

The smell of bacon made his mouth all but water and it wasn’t until he saw Ambrose that he realised he shouldn’t have smelled bacon to begin with. Ambrose saw Kit too and grinned at him, smirk wicked sharp.

“Morning,” Ambrose drawled. He looked too strange in Kit’s kitchen, a towel over his shoulder and a spatula in his hand he used to turn the bacon over in the pan.

Kit’s hand shot out on instinct, but his electricity simmered from a glove of reassurance to nothing but pathetic sparks as Kit felt the icy sludge of Ambrose’s power creep into his mind.

“Come on, Kit, none of that now,” Ambrose said, clicking his tongue. “I let you sleep in and everything, made you breakfast. Tell me you’ll behave, and I won’t restrain you further.”

Kit bit the inside of his cheek, frozen where he stood. A part of him wanted to lash out and go mad and kill Ambrose where he stood, but another part, a bigger part of him was too scared of being restrained again. He was enjoying the limited freedom Ambrose was giving him, and until seeing the bastard Kit was happy.

God he was so stupid for thinking Ambrose would just let him go, or fuck up in his commands… Kit was such an idiot.

“Well?” Ambrose asked, cocking an eyebrow at Kit, interrupting Kit’s thoughts and reminding him that he hasn’t answered.

Kit’s shoulders sagged at the demoralisation of having to articulate his submission, but Kit could beat himself up about it later. Right now, he was starving, and he wanted to be able to eat unhindered.

“I’ll be good,” Kit said quietly, swallowing his pride.

Ambrose beamed at him like a proud parent and gestured for Kit to sit at his own table. “Good. Sit! Breakfast is almost ready.”

Kit sucked in a deep breath and crossed the room to his table, pulling out a chair, settling heavy into it. He was facing Ambrose as he worked in the kitchen, not daring to take his eyes off of him for a moment. His heart started beating a little faster in his chest as he felt the weight of his phone in his hand.

If he called Superhero right now… Superhero would know. He could come and find Ambrose. Catch him in the act.

“One egg or two?” Ambrose asked, smiling over his shoulder at Kit.

“Uhm, two please,” Kit replied, licking his lips.

“So polite, Kit. Of course. Two eggs coming up,” Ambrose said, turning back to the counter and grabbing two eggs. Kit glanced down at his phone and back at Ambrose quickly. Just in time too because Ambrose turned back to face Kit a fraction of a second later. “See how nice it is when we can be civil.”

Kit forced a smile, which came out more as a grimace, and nodded.

“Could this be the turning point for us, do you think?”

“Maybe,” Kit said, nodding again. “You never know.”

Ambrose smiled, satisfied, and turned back to the pan, cracking the eggs into it. Kit’s fingers moved quickly under the table as he heard the eggs hit the pan with a sizzle and a spit.

He found Superhero’s contact and hovered over it for a second, looking back at Ambrose to see him whistling by the stove and with a heavy swallow Kit pressed the call button and left it on the chair beside him, making sure the volume was down.

But it didn’t matter.

Because a couple seconds after Kit had put his phone down and looked up innocently at Ambrose, he heard the start of the song ‘bad moon rising’ playing by Creedence Clearwater Revival and his blood ran cold. Ice rushed through his veins, and he so very desperately wanted to cancel the call, but he couldn’t move. All he could do was watch as Ambrose reached into his back pocket and answer the call without so much as blinking.

“You know, Kit,” Ambrose said into the phone, his voice echoing because the phones were in the same room. “I really thought we could at least get through breakfast without you throwing a tantrum. Guess not.”

Kit was out of his chair before Ambrose finished the sentence, feet on the wood floor, sprinting, lunging for the front door. He was only two feet away when a piercing screeching sound echoed between his ears and Kit screamed, trying to force himself through it.

He was so close.

He had to power through it.

Then it got too loud. Unbearable and Kit’s leg went like jelly, his vision swimming, the world tilting until he was on the ground, curled up into a tight ball, eyes squeezed shut trying to push out the ringing in his ears. The screeching lessened, leaving a dull ache in its wake and Kit wanted to throw up as the world spun around him.

“Kit, Kit, Kit,” Ambrose chided, feigned disappointment but it sounded so far away. Kit vaguely heard his footsteps approach and knew he had to get away.

Kit turned onto his stomach and reached out to the door, swallowing the bile in his throat with his motion and pathetically half-dragged himself forward. He only got an inch before the heel of Ambrose’s boot slammed down onto the back of Kit’s hand and dug in.

Kit was a wreck. His mind both hazy and frantic, thoughts like bullets shooting through a foggy moor, his chest heaving with the effort of his screams and his pathetic attempts of escape. All Kit saw was Ambrose’s foot draw back before slamming into the side of Kit’s jaw a second later, flipping him onto his back. Ambrose didn’t release Kit’s hand, so Kit was staring at the ceiling, arm twisted above them awkwardly. He must have bit his cheek because the stench of iron overwhelmed his tastebuds as he glared weakly up at Ambrose, eyes still having trouble focusing.

“God, Kit. I will just never get bored of you. Of this. Look at you… so strong, so sure, so noble, and yet there isn’t a thing you can do to stop me.”

Kit pushed weakly at Ambrose’s boot with his free hand, just because he could and just because he didn’t want Ambrose to be right. Kit could do something, he could try and get away. Try and escape. Ambrose hadn’t taken any of the fight from Kit, he was going to defeat Ambrose, someday. Somehow.

He just needed to be patient and let Ambrose think there was nothing Kit could do to stop him…

Yeah.

Kit believed that, or he could, if he forced himself to try and completely disconnect from reality and ignored how well and truly fucked he was.

“Awh,” Ambrose cooed, lifting his leg and stomping it down on Kit’s chest instead of his hand. Kit’s eyes bulged and he wheezed, his body curling around Ambrose’s boot, trying in vain to push Ambrose off of him. It was no use. Ambrose leaned down over Kit, shifting more of his weight onto the leg on Kit’s chest, effectively pinning him to the ground like an ant under a giant’s boot.

“You’re so cute when you’re like this. Tired eyes wide with panic,” Ambrose said, digging his heel in further and grinning when Kit tightened his grip on Ambrose’s ankle and grit his teeth to prevent the scream from escaping his lungs. “The bags really do wonders to the character of your face. Truly, Kit. I must admit I’ll always be a little weak in the knees at the blood staining the inside of your lips when you gasp.”

“Why don’t you take a fucking picture?!” Kit hissed, spit flying from his mouth in anger, rage flaring ugly inside him. “And then leave me the fuck alone!”

Ambrose’s dark eyes smiled down at Kit like a cat’s alight with interest. He didn’t drop the eye contact for a second as he reached into his pocket and took his phone out, snapping a photo of Kit. Kit blinked at the flash, stunned for a moment. Bewildered Ambrose would actually take a picture.

“You’re right Kit. That was a great idea. I think I’ll make this my screensaver.”

“Motherfucker!” Kit howled. Something hideous that could only be described as vengeful wrath fuelling his body as he shot forward from the ground. For a moment Kit could revel in the shock on Ambrose’s face as he hooked his arms around Ambrose’s knee, driving his heels into the ground to push himself forward and flip Ambrose onto his back.

Kit got on top of him, taking every advantage as he saw it. He had a very short window of time where Ambrose’s brain would be trying to catch up with current events, Kit would know. Ambrose had him in a constant state of shock and fear, trying to claw at the situation and adjust but all too slowly.

Kit pinned Ambrose’s shoulders to the ground using his knees. He didn’t even reach for his power. Instead, he punched from the waist, letting out a half-shocked gasp when he felt his knuckles collide with Ambrose’s perfect cheekbone.

Was he dreaming?

No. Even if this was a dream, Kit didn’t care. He didn’t have time to dwell on things.

Act now, think later.

Ambrose struggled under Kit, but Kit laughed a little giddy as he sent his second punch straight for Ambrose’s throat. Ambrose gasped under him like a fish from water and it was a bit addicting seeing him choke on air. Seeing him being strangled for once, breath robbed of him by Kit, instead of the other way around.

Kit punched Ambrose’s temple, but he felt Ambrose’s familiar ice-cold touch slide down the muscles in his arm and slow the impact of it, so Ambrose wasn’t knocked out cold. Which was a pity, but it also meant Kit got to punch him again. This time Kit’s knuckles crunched against Ambrose’s nose.

If Ambrose was able to get a hold of his power for a moment to stop Kit’s punch that meant he needed to knock him out now.

At that thought Kit’s hand ignited like a match dropped to petrol his electricity crackling happily around his fingers, blue sparks flaring and turning almost red. Kit grinned down at Ambrose who’s struggles renewed tenfold. Kit dropped his hand to Ambrose’s face and stared mesmerised by the reflection of his power in Ambrose’s dark eyes, like fire glinting off marble. In the reflection Kit saw himself too and he recoiled in horror.

Ambrose grinned below Kit as Kit’s electricity dissipated with a weak whizzing sound. Seeing Ambrose’s grin, Kit’s arm moved before his mind did and this time his punch landed straight on Ambrose’s temple. Ambrose’s eyes rolled back, and he went limp under Kit, his head hitting the ground with a gentle thump.

Kit’s eyes blew wide, not wanting to move at first. His hand reached down and pulled Ambrose’s eyelid down and saw that he was actually unconscious. Then Kit was on his feet, running to the bathroom and slamming the light on.

He stopped in front of the mirror over the sink, and it was still there.

Kit stepped closer to the mirror, staring deep into the reflection that didn’t look like Kit. He was used to his eyes turning an electric blue when he used his power, but his eyes… the eyes reflected back at them were a violent scarlet, and not just his eyes. The veins under his eyes were the same garish, bright red mixed with a few of Kit’s familiar electric blue and a deep purple where the two colours collided.

Kit reached a shaky hand up to touch the veins and saw his hand still coated in the same mix of red and blue and purple. He clicked his fingers and electricity buzzed to life in his palm, his electric blue and Kit nearly sighed in relief.

Until the red sparks started flying again and shot out at the light in the bathroom. Kit flinched as glass shattered above him and fell like twinkling rain down onto the tiles with a clatter. When Kit looked back at the mirror those red eyes stared back hauntingly at him, and Kit swore for a moment that his eyes smiled like Ambrose’s.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

The Orphanage (plz lemme know if you want to be added or removed <;3) — @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whatwhumpcomments @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @princess-bubble-blossom @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain

[whumpshots]

Whump Snippet Saturday #35

"N-no, go away," whumpee mutters, eyes only half-open as they try to push caretaker away. Their fever has gone up since the last time they checked on them, but caretaker is still surprised to see them like this.

Eyes glassy and unfocused, huddled in the corner of the room, trying to make themselves smaller than they already are.

"I don't know where they are," they continue and shrink away even further, ignoring the pain these movements must cause. Their hands are shaking from fear, the rest of the body probably from exhaustion.

Caretaker crouches down next to them, giving them as much space as possible. "It's me, kid," they say softly and wait for a reaction, but whumpee is too out of it to notice.

Caretaker sees the tears on the other's cheeks and puts their fingers gingerly on the their hand. "It's me. I won't hurt you, kid."

[mentallyill-daydreamer]

Caretaker was getting quite inquisitive about whumpee and whumpers relationship after they started catching onto whumpees mutual fear to practically anything within five feet of them.

Caretaker went to grab something on the shelf above whumpees head as whumpee flinched and winced at the movement.

"whumpee, are you okay? Why did you jerk like that? does something hurt..?"

"no, I'm fine. I'm sorry." whumpee said in a small voice. "Just nerves."

"you say that a lot."

"..say what a lot?"

"sorry." caretaker stated in an almost questioning tone.

"I feel it a lot."

[whumpy-wyrms]

he’s gonna feel it all

[the-baby-storyteller]

Based off this prompt from @jordanstrophe

“Caretaker! Caretaker!”

Whumpee let out a breath of relief as they stumbled into the arms of Caretaker, grasping desperately at the fabric of their shirt and clinging on for dear life.

“Hey, hey Whumpee calm down,” Caretaker rumbled. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“They’re trying to- You have to stop them,” Whumpee blubbered, “Please, please don’t let them get me please-”

Caretaker drew a calming hand down their back. “Shhh calm down, no one is trying to hurt you.”

Whumpee’s sobs softened as they gripped tighter onto Caretaker.

“We just want to make sure you’re safe.”

Whumpee froze. Their eyes raised slowly to Caretaker's and saw an undefinable glint in them. Despite the warmth Caretaker tried to exude, Whumpee could see something hidden under the facade. Something dangerous.

All of a sudden the warm arms surrounding them seemed all too constricting. Whumpee’s eyes widened.

They bucked against Caretaker, suddenly terrified as Caretaker’s hold grew tighter.

“Whumpee stop-”

“Let me go!” Whumpee shouted, panting breathlessly as panic grew. The sound of the footsteps of the medics behind them grew louder and Whumpee’s struggles increased.

“No, no no stop stop please Caretaker Caretaker-”

Caretaker huffed while shifting to pin them down. Whumpee yelped.

“Whumpee we’re doing this for your own good.” Caretaker looked tired out, stressed.

Whumpee wouldn’t buy it. They pulled frantically against the hold but Caretaker wouldn’t budge.

“Caretaker, please-” Tears streamed down their face and they looked up at Caretaker only to see a stony, unwavering face meet them back.

The sound of voices drew their gaze as the medics finally arrived. Their heart dropped. Their last chance at freedom, gone.

A needle pricked them in the neck and they whimpered, slumping against the ground.

Whumpee’s eyes started to droop against their will and they used their last bit of strength to glance at Caretaker, the one they thought was on their side.

Caretaker looked back at them, a look of sadness and concern. They brushed a sweaty lock of hair out of Whumpee’s face and Whumpee would have flinched had they had control of their body.

“We’re going to help you.” Caretaker whispered softly, a sad smile on their face.

Whumpee’s eyes shut to the sound of lies.

[livingforthewhump]

Whumper let out a long sigh as he stretched back on the couch, back cracking against the cushions. Whumpee was curled in the corner, his own back aching, but the protective instinct to make himself as small as possible won over any kind of pain he felt.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Whumper from looking over at him. Nothing he did ever seemed to stop Whumper. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his long legs, and surveyed Whumpee.

Then he reached out a hand. “Come here.”

Whumpee hesitated, but the decision had already been made for him. Whenever Whumper spoke, Whumpee never had any choice but to obey, never mind his feelings on the matter. Shakily, he peeled himself up from the floor and walked over to Whumper. It felt weird to be standing over him. Whumper was so much bigger, so much taller, and Whumpee wasn’t usually on his feet a lot anyway. Still, Whumper’s gaze was as much a prison as anything else, and there was no question as to who had the power there.

Whumper looked Whumpee over, humming in thought. “You don’t have your collar on right now. But I don’t particularly want to go get it…” Whumpee’s heart jolted and he took a half step back. The collar was never a good sign. Whumper’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back in with an iron grip. “See, that’s exactly why you need it, dumb thing,” he chided.

After a moment’s pause, he reached up and slid his tie off over his head, keeping it knotted. Using the hand holding Whumpee��s wrist, he tugged Whumpee down, successfully pulling the tie over the other man’s head and securing it at his neck.

“There we go,” Whumper murmured, using the tie to tug Whumpee in closer. Whumpee's throat bobbed in a swallow. The tie was pulled too tight by Whumper’s hand, digging into his adam’s apple and all but choking him. The tension tugged him into an odd angle, leaning over Whumper on the edge of his balance, centimeters away from collapsing on top of him, leaving his shaky core to work overtime to keep him upright.

It certainly didn’t help when Whumper’s hand left his wrist and started moving up his side, ridiculously warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Stop—” Whumpee tried, but it ended in a grunting cough when Whumper jerked the tie, sending Whumpee toppling forward.

His arms flew out to catch him, landing on the back of the couch on either side of Whumper’s head, caging him in in an odd imitation of the pose Whumper was so fond of taking with Whumpee. Still so obvious to them both that an imitation was all it was. All the power lay with Whumper—not in the circumstances Whumper had forced them into or the resources Whumper had, as Whumpee had tried to convince himself at first. It lay within who Whumper was, and who Whumpee was before him. Nothing more than clay to be molded. A game to be played.

Whumper’s arm was looped around Whumpee’s waist now, stopping him from pulling away. His arms were shaking from the effort of holding himself up like this.

“You look scared, Whumpee…are you?” Whumper murmured, eyes sparkling. His voice dipped down low. “Answer me, boy.”

Whumpee swallowed thickly. “Y-yes.”

“Yes…?” The word was a warning, as was the slight tightening of the hand around his waist.

“Yes sir.” His eyes screwed shut as he spoke. A mistake. Whumper tugged him forward further, bending his elbows more and making him tremor from the strain.

“You think you don’t deserve this. Is that right? You think you deserve to be free of me?” There wasn’t any of the anger Whumpee expected in his voice, mere curiosity and amusement.

Whumpee opened and closed his mouth, entirely unsure how to respond. Whether to be honest and give the wrong answer or to face the punishment for lying.

Whumper seemed to take his hesitation as its own answer. “That’s okay, I’m not mad.” His hand left his waist—other still firmly grabbing the tie—and slid up his chest to take hold of his chin while Whumpee arched away from the touch. “I understand where you’re at. Up until now I’ve only ever hurt you, haven’t I? And you can’t understand why, so you assumed I was being unjust. Does that sound right?”

Whumpee’s heart clambered in his chest. Nothing Whumper had just said was wrong, exactly…but it also didn’t sound right.

“Whumpee?”

“Mm—yes sir,” he whispered.

“Good.” His voice was silky and gentle and it terrified Whumpee more than anything else he’d done. “Relax, now, boy, I’m just talking to you. You can let go, I’m not going to let you fall.” His arms wrapped around Whumpee’s middle, bracing around him as he obeyed and let his arms fall limp under his weight. Whumper supported him, maneuvering him to sit on the couch beside him with his knees tucked underneath him.

Then he grabbed onto the tie again, making Whumpee to lean over his lap, shoulder pressed against Whumper’s chest.

“You fought me so much in the beginning. Do you remember? It wasn’t that you were afraid of being hurt—that’s only natural. Your defiance was against me. You didn’t want me anywhere near you, no matter what I was going to do.” As he spoke, Whumper traced his hand across Whumpee’s curved back, his shoulders, slipping into his hair. Whumpee held back his very breath for fear of attracting even more attention.

He leaned forward suddenly, lips brushing up against Whumpee’s ear as he murmured, “You were very bad to me, Whumpee.” And then he relaxed again, and eyes roving over Whumpee’s half-cowering form. “But I’m sure we’ll make up for that later. In the meantime, I’ve had to give you a form of exposure therapy, if you will.”

Whumpee shuddered at the term, sucking a breath in through his teeth when Whumper’s hand found his face, cupping his cheek and turning it up to look at him. From the way he was leaning against Whumper, they were very, very close together.

“I had to hand-feed you the worst possible scenario, little thing. You were rebellious no matter what I planned to do, so I worked with you until you were okay with whatever I wanted to do by helping you not fight against the most scary things. And just look at you now.” His thumb stroked over Whumpee’s face for emphasis, then he wrapped both arms around the poor boy’s shoulders and pulled him fully into his chest. “You still don’t understand yet, all the way. But it’s helped. Hasn’t it helped you feel better, Whumpee?”

His throat burned. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. More than anything he just wanted to not be here anymore. “…yes sir.”

Whumper’s arms squeezed tight for a moment before relaxing, sinking Whumpee into his lap to lay down. “It has, I can tell. And we’re not done yet. We’ll keep working until you’re willing to let me do anything, so long as it’s me who wants it.”

Whumpee’s bottom lip wobbled. He hated the way Whumper looked down at him, like he was a sacrificial lamb on an altar, just waiting to be destroyed for the sake of his own sins. Whumper’s hand pet over him absently before grabbing ahold of the tie and wrenching it tight, cutting off Whumpee’s air completely.

“Don’t worry, boy. I’ll make sure to keep you needy in the meantime. After all, what’s the real joy of receiving something if you don’t want for it first?”

—

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[whump-or-whatever]

Imagining a whumpee who is absolutely terrified of thunderstorms. As in, the second the skies start to darken their heartbeat kicks up. The first sign of rain has them panicking. The initial clap of thunder sends them skittering into hiding, covering their ears and burying themself in anything that will block out the noise.

Of course, said whumpee would have a caretaker who starts panicking as soon as it starts to storm as well, albeit for different reasons. They take the first chance they get to leave wherever they are and head back home. The caretaker searches high and low for whumpee, all but pries them out of their corner and wraps them in a comforting hug, fitting ear protection onto their head to help block out the noise.