#whump drabbles

[echoingalaxies]

Whump drabbles, 22/100: choice

content: blood, injury

“You’ve got two options,” Whumper traced the blade with his fingertips. “Give me the codes… or watch him die.”

Caretaker’s heart throbbed in their throat. Their blood covered hands were pressed against Whumpee’s chest, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

“I… can’t…”

“Just the codes, Caretaker, and I’ll alert my medics. Your friend could still be alright.”

They couldn't. They shouldn’t. Handing over those codes would mean death, so much death, horror and misery. They looked up, facing Whumper’s cold smile.

“Please. He’s all I’ve got.”

“I’m aware.” Whumper said. “And curious. What are you willing to sacrifice for him?”

[disappearinginq]

Dragged + SG1?

Less angsty, but more in the spirit of the show with angst and humor.

Jack found it moderately hilarious how many people thought of Daniel as small. Perhaps it was the bulky uniform jackets that never seemed to fit quite right (because Daniel never paid attention to the sizing), or the fact that he stood next to Teal’c and Jack, or maybe the glasses distracted them from the fact that Daniel was six feet tall and arguably in better shape than most.

Clearly, they had never dragged a semi-conscious Daniel through a jungle planet.

“You’re lucky you’re my favorite, Daniel,” Jack grumbled, stumbling over another root. “Or I’d be coming back for you later.”

[inkwell-and-dagger]

How To Kill An Immortal

Chapter 4 — Pick Your Poison

- In which Foster can no longer rely on a friend.

Contains: Captivity, failed escape attempt, multiple whumpers (mentioned), whump aftermath, immortal whumpee, caretaker* in alliance with whumper

previous || next || masterlist

—> —> —> —> —> —>

The door rang not long after. She didn't live too far away, after all; one of their many, stupid promises they'd made over pinkies and drags of cigarettes. Foster both wished they could return to those simpler years, and that they never existed in the first place. After all, one of the many catalysts as to the way they are now came from such a bittersweet time.

Standing with a grunt, Foster moved to answer the door. They unlocked it with a steady hand, and it opened. Scrunched up in a bright smile, her eyes greeted theirs. Bright, curly blue hair tied into a loose ponytail framed a face ever so familiar.

Foster couldn't bite back a rare smile of their own, as small as it was. “Hi, Ivy.”

—> —> —>

Rayan felt something in the air change. He had initially perceived his captor as someone who'd prefer solitude over company; from what he saw previously, they lived completely alone, each room devoid of life and welcoming. In the vague silence, the sound of the door opening above seemed far too loud. Then, a muffled greeting, answered by another.

They had company. His captor was surely full of surprises.

This time, he heard a second pair of footsteps, light and smooth; a drastic difference from Foster's own thumping, quick footfalls. Rayan couldn't help but wince: both due to his wounds, but also due to the fact this poor, innocent companion of theirs was unbeknownst to what — who — was trapped under their nose. Dirt under their fingernails. So close, and yet so far away.

Rayan stared, listless, at the door. He paid acute attention to their footsteps. Guessing where they were going, wondering what they were doing when the footfalls ceased. The wound in his side was, no doubt, healing now; he no longer minded the tingling sensation that came along with it.

In the dim light, he vaguely saw what damage the bat had done: sickly bruises painted the skin on his arms, but most wounds were either under his clothes or under the blood. It'd crusted over by now. Good. He didn't want to see.

Sitting up, even as his aching limbs and the prickling pain in his side screamed in protest, Rayan crawled to the door. His legs trailed behind.

This was his only chance. Foster's visitor was the only outside contact he could have after days. They just might be the key to getting out of this hell.

His fist pounded on the door in quick succession, in rhythmic strikes that Rayan prayed they could hear. Whoever they were, he didn't care. As long as someone, anyone, heard him.

“HELP!” A shrill, raw cry ripped from his throat, hands striking the door quicker. His voice was brittle, but he continued to fruitlessly plead nonetheless. “HELP! HELP, PLEASE!”

After a while, the sickening realisation that his attempts were in vain dawned on Rayan. And yet, for some reason, he kept banging. Perhaps he still clung to the sliver of hope he had left of rescue.

Rayan felt like a ghost. An unwilling spectator, an invisible onlooker in the background, confined to a cold, empty existence with freedom right at his fingertips, yet nowhere near at the same time. He rested his head against the door, fists absently striking; the wound in his side jostled with the movement as he slumped down. Perhaps it wasn't healing in the first place. The thought alone was enough to elicit a dry and feeble chuckle.

He wanted to go home. To see Madeline. He wanted to exist without the fear of doing something wrong in his captor’s eyes and earning another gruelling beating. He wanted to feel something other than the unforgiving coldness of a blade, or aching remnants of wounds he shouldn't be able to heal from.

—> —> —>

Ivy whistled, letting herself in with a gentle bump to their shoulder. Foster let her waltz past, but not without an exasperated glare. “You're a sight for sore eyes today,” She teased.

“Piss off.”

“I'll have a tea. Two sugars, not too much milk, as usual.”

Foster's scowl hardened, shutting the door and crossing their arms. “What the hell is wrong with you today? Not even a ‘good afternoon’?”

Ivy grinned, turning to face them. “You were about to ask me, Cian—”

“It's Foster now,” They hissed.

“...Foster, sorry. You were gonna ask, like always. I know you like the back of my hand. It's called being a friend.” She patted their shoulder and her smile widened in a vain attempt to make them do the same. Suffice to say it hadn't worked, but Ivy wasn't deterred; as she walked to the kitchen, Foster sighed and trailed behind.

“What mug do you want?” As Ivy made herself comfortable at the kitchen table, Foster marched to the kettle.

“Any. I'm not fussed.”

Tea was made in quick succession, with sparse conversation in-between. Foster could feel her gaze boring into their back. It was nothing intimidating — she was simply observing — but a bothersome thought in the back of Foster's mind told them she knew why she was here.

As the kettle finally quietened its insistent shriek, Foster poured the water into a randomly chosen mug. Steam swirled up, weaving and tangling in the air, like ghostly branches. Almost absentmindedly, they turned to look over their shoulder at Ivy.

With a smile, Ivy leaned back in her chair, pushing an adjacent stool out from the table with her foot: a silent invitation for them to sit with her. It was strange, her ordering Foster around in their own house, but it was simply what they had been doing for years prior.

They sighed. Conversation seemed better than watching the tea as it brewed. “How’ve you been?” Foster walked over and sat down with a sigh, crossing their arms.

“Decent,” Resting her chin in her hand, she continued: “It’s been boring, sure, but decent. How about you?”

“...Fine.”

Silence followed. Foster seemed on edge — their eyes, always so keen and attentive, drifted constantly to the hallway, as if checking to ensure nothing was out of place. White-knuckled and clenched, their hands sat tensely in their lap.

“So,” Ivy drawled; an attempt to ease the heaviness in the air, “why am I here again?”

“I need help. There's, um—”

Before Foster could continue, a muffled cry was heard from the basement; a quick banging sound followed the noises. Their eyes flickered to the hall, jaw clenching in what seemed to be annoyance. Ivy followed their gaze, and something dawned on her at that moment…

“Foster. Who was that?”

They bit back a wince. Another shriek, another pound on the door. Bastard. “It's nothing, Ivy, I promise you—”

But already, Ivy had shot up out of her seat, taking long strides out of the kitchen. Despite the lingering realisation that their cover had been blown — all because of a stupid man’s inability to just be quiet — Foster was adamant on keeping the wool pulled over her eyes. If not only temporarily. If not only for a few extra, fleeting moments.

“Ivy—” They called, following at her heels as they descended the steps to the basement. “Ivy, listen to me—”

“No!” She turned to face them, a sudden distrust glistening in her eye. Another bang. And then silence. “What the fuck was that? No— Who the fuck was that, Foster?”

“Ivy, just listen to me. I made a mistake, that's all. I just need your help, I don't know what to do with it.”

She scowled, rattling the doorknob. It didn't budge. Somewhere inside, she heard shuffling. “Foster. Where are the damn keys?”

“I'm not—”

“Give me the fucking keys!”

Foster sucked in a breath, hasting up the stairs once more to fetch the keys to the basement. They did so begrudgingly, a knot forming in their stomach. After all, they'd just been outed as a kidnapper to their best friend.

They returned with the keys; Ivy snatched them without a second thought, unlocking the door quickly. Foster attempted to pull her back, the smell of old blood permeating the air, but she pushed their hand away.

Inside, Ivy grew stiff at the sight of a figure slowly retreating into the corner. She turned to Foster, demanding an answer. “Who is that?”

Foster remained stubbornly silent.

“Foster, who the fuck is that?”

“I… don't know,” They relented, sighing. Hands balling up into fists, they looked away. “I'm digging. Looking for what I can. It's name—”

“They aren't an it, for god’s sake.”

“...His name is Rayan.”

Ivy returned her attention to Rayan, who sat cowering like an injured puppy. She pinched the bridge of her nose in evident exasperation, turning the light on with her other hand.

Light flooded into the room, and Rayan squinted and shielded his eyes with his hand. Etched into his palm was the vague outline of an infinity symbol.

“For fuck’s sake,” She growled, “what the hell is wrong with you? An Immortal rando?”

“He isn't— I swear, I recognize him from somewhere, and I don't fucking like it.”

Ivy grunted in frustration, leaving the basement and slamming the door closed. “Look. I know how you are with.. them, but you can't keep some random guy in your basement because he's one of them! Let him go.”

“I can't,” They hissed back, shoulders tensed. “It's too fucking late. Just.. help me get rid of him.”

“He's Immortal.”

“There has to be some way!”

“No, Foster. You dug this fucking hole for yourself, I'm not helping you out this time.”

Ivy shoved past them, like how she did as she'd entered the house. Foster let her go. Biting the inside of their cheek till they swore they could taste blood, Foster's eyes drifted momentarily to the cupboard — to the knives, and whatever dreaded things resided with them — and then back to Rayan. “I'm gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

“Good luck with that.”

Foster grunted out a wry laugh, walking in and picking up their bat once more. The blood had dried by now, crusted over the wood and metal nails. The weight was a welcome sensation, as if it fit perfectly in their hands.

Rayan quietened once more as they strolled up, lifting his chin with the edge of the bat. Rayan unwillingly met their gaze.

“I'll figure out a way,” Foster guided his head up, up, before pulling the bat away as his head sagged back down. Instead, they lifted it over their head. “Now go back to sleep.”

—> —> —>

“Did you do anything to him?” Ivy was back in the kitchen, but the tea remained an afterthought. They were probably brewed now, but that didn't matter.

“No.”

“Sure,” Ivy leaned against the counter, fiddling with her earring. “Look, Foster. I know how much you've been through.”

“You don't know all of it—”

“Just let me speak,” She snapped. “I know enough. But I thought it was behind you now. You've been out of the ring for years now, I thought that was the end. But I was wrong.

“I also know how much I've been an alibi to you. And vice versa. We made a pact, if I remember correctly. So I'm not going to run off to the police, or anyone. I- I can promise you that, at least.”

Foster perked up, but she held up her other hand. They clenched their jaw and remained quiet.

“I have some.. friends of friends,” She continued, “who live not too far away. Met them in the ring. They know a bit about Immortals, unlike me.

“You're a stupid motherfucker, Foster. But I'm a good friend. So, if I can't help you, I'll lead you to others who will.”

Foster let out a breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding; a weight was lifted from their chest, and they could finally breathe again. “Thank you, Ivy.”

She nodded, sighing. “You've gotten yourself into a mess, Fos.”

“I know, but I can handle him with your help.”

“Their help,” She clarified. “I'm not getting my hands dirty again, Foster. I can't. That's why I'm getting them to help, not me. I'm sorry.”

“Ivy, come on—”

“No, Foster,” Ivy looked at them as if they were no more than a stranger. “No.”

Foster's eyebrows knitted together as Ivy walked out of the kitchen, trainers thudding against the floor. Foster trailed behind, meeting them at the door, where Ivy lightly nudged their shoulder.

“Good luck babysitting,” She said, eliciting a scoff from the other. But she looked less than pleased. “I'll call them when I get home. See if they can make it in a few days. I'll update you.”

“Thank you.”

She shrugged, opening the door, “It's just what I do best.”

Foster didn't close the door until Ivy's car sped off, to which their face fell as they locked it.

They'd bitten off more than they could chew, indeed. And, it might've just cost them their friendship, as fickle as it was.

—> —> —> —> —> —>

WE ARE SO BACK (I say once more). luckily I didn't spend half a year on this, I think I spent only 3 months??? yippee!!!!!!! anyhow I hope you lot like ivy (and, shock horror, foster does have friends. nothing is impossible!!!!) :333

HTKAI Taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @whumpy-wyrms @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox @vidawhump

(*I'm not really sure whether ivy is a caretaker or not???? she doesn't do any whumping and has some sort of care for rayan, but then again suggests some people to foster who make rayan's life MUCH worse)

[unforgivenn]

Hai a request for writing how about a whumpee that gets washed ashore by the river in a forest and someone finds them ( that someone can be either a whumper or stranger your choice :D )

CW: Isolation, betrayal, minor injuries, panic, desperation, false sense of security, abduction, drugging

Whumpee's figure lay motionless across the riverbank. The currents had carried them, like a fragile leaf in a storm, until finally depositing them gently onto the soft bed of moss and ferns.

The fresh breeze blew gently on their face as their eyes blinked open slightly, trying to figure out just what the fuck happened. They sat up coughing violently. With trembling hands, they clawed at their parched throat, desperate to expel the water that still lingered within.

But it wasn't just the water that sent shivers down their spine. It was the eerie silence that enveloped the forest, broken only by the distant whisper of the river. The usual cacophony of bird songs and rustling leaves was conspicuously absent, as if nature itself held its breath in anticipation.

Whumpee looked down to see the small cuts and bruises on them that had formed during their little swim. They hissed slightly forcing themselves to stand up their survival instinct kicking in.

"H-Help! Someone! Plea-!" They were cut off from their shouting by the spluttering from their dry and hoarse throat that hadn't gotten water for god knows how long.

Whumpee's heart raced as panic surged through their veins like wildfire. The realization of their isolation sank in like a heavy stone, pressing down upon them with suffocating weight. Each labored breath felt like a desperate plea echoing into the void of the silent forest.

Disoriented and vulnerable, they stumbled forward, limbs trembling with exhaustion and fear. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig beneath their feet, sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through their battered body. The forest seemed to close in around them, its towering trees casting sinister shadows that danced mockingly upon the forest floor.

Tears blurred Whumpee's vision as they frantically scanned the treeline, searching for any sign of salvation amidst the oppressive silence. But there was no one—no comforting voice to answer their cries, no friendly face to offer solace in the face of their terror.

And then, just when Whumpee's resolve began to falter, they heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps crunching through the undergrowth. Their head snapped behind him to see a person, an actual man.

Whumpee squinted their eyes, blinking them for a while to make sure they weren't hallucinating before they broke down in wracking sobs stumbling over to the figure.

"P-Please" Their voice sounded high-pitched as they gasped for breath between cries.

The man walked towards Whumpee looking down at the younger person. His gaze was calculating, boring into whumpee's tear-filled eyes. Whumpee could feel that they were almost judging them.

Whumpee knew they looked absolutely pathetic on the layer with torn clothes and cuts in a state of broken sobs. But as the man neared, Whumpee's hope turned to horror. The calculating gaze bore into their soul, stripping away the façade of safety. In that moment, they knew—they were not the savior they had prayed for. The injection pierced their skin like a dagger, the venom of betrayal coursing through their veins.

As consciousness slipped away, Whumpee's last sight was the mocking smirk of their assailant, their fate sealed in the darkness that closed in around them.

[whump-place]

Masterlist of all my drabbles.

I'm just making this in case I wanna write something about one of these.

I doubt it, though.

But now you can look into all my drabbles, maybe find something you like :)

These ⬇️ are all tags on my blog, if you wanna check them up.

Pet whump.

A gift for Whumpee.

Perfect Pet.

Well trained Pet.

Understanding Pet.

Trapped.

Puppy.

Smart whumpee.

Living Weapon Whumpee.

Meant to serve.

Meant to protect.

Luxury item.

How it's supposed to be.

Useless.

Wrong.

When the roles switch.

Whumper turned Whumpee.

Pay for your mistakes.

What they deserve.

Not what they expected.

Whumpee turned Whumper.

Can't understand.

What's missing.

Caretaker turned Whumper.

Caretaker is a good person.

They deserve it.

Can't help it.

Whumper turned Caretaker.

Whumper isn't a bad person.

They took it too far.

Even if it takes forever.

Whumpee escapes.

Why don't you hate me?

Accidentally Bad Caretaker.

Went too far.

Too much noise.

No matter what they do.

Can't be patient.

Cold Caretaker.

Oblivious Caretaker.

Whumper.

Nausea.

Carewhump.

Whumpee needs them.

Is not that bad.

Naive Whumpee.

Villain Whumpee.

No forgiveness.

Trophy.

Notice me.

Conditioned Whumpee.

Punching bag.

No snitching.

Something nice.

Scapegoat.

Non Human Whump.

Human Caretaker.

Shapeshifter Whumper.

Human Whumper.

Angels and Demons.

Demon Whumpee.

Why?

They don't listen.

Vampire Whumpee.

Scape attempt.

Lab Whump.

Whumper's favorite.

Others.

Everyone believes Whumper.

Don't make it worse.

They are the same.

Whumpee likes their scars.

[angstyaches]

hi flick, so good to see you! hope you're well and congrats on 1,000 :)

drabble idea if you're open to it, thinking sometime a bit later in the timeline: shayne is alone without someone to remind him to eat, but knows he should. up to you if he does, or doesn't, or plans to, or what.

no worries if this isn't one you wanna do!

keep taking care of yourself!

- 🐊

100x10

OKAY BUT THIS IS SUCH A PERFECT REQUEST THANK YOU

CW: hunger (unintentional), disordered eating habits, kinda light hearted (I think?)

___

“I fucking know,” Shayne mumbled in response to his growling stomach.

He pulled his arms over his head and groaned. He couldn’t be doing this. If he fell apart just because he was on his own, it would break Charlie’s heart.

His tummy was sore, knotted with hunger, and even though he hadn’t done it on purpose, it was still a scary feeling. The pain eased a little as it growled again, but the sound of its hopeless clenching wasn’t exactly comforting either.

Shayne lifted his face from his pillow, sighing dramatically. “Yes, I get it. Give me a second.”

[avvail-whumps]

OWNER

cw: manhandling, graphic violence, gore, minor character death, multiple whumpers, reluctant whumper

Riley almost spilled his tea as the sniper came sauntering past, taking a swift step back to avoid stepping on the whumpee he was dragging unceremoniously behind him. Those gloved hands were knotted in their hair, all while they writhed and screamed in anger, shoes scraping against the floor. 

“Let go of me!” They cried, their face contorted in pain when the sniper hurled them further along, a horrid cry of pain tearing from their lips. 

The bathroom door was swung open with shocking force, smacking against the wall as the sniper dragged them inside. The whumpee’s eyes were stinging with tears, and Riley could only assume they had done something to piss the sniper off - even with the mask covering half of his face, he looked like he was in a bad mood. Riley had been around the man long enough to read his body language. And his eyes.

Still, he knew he should leave. He knew this would get bloody. 

Yet for some reason, with the scolding tea settled in the palm of his hands, he couldn’t look away. 

The sniper hurled the whumpee up violently, hand braced against the bathroom sink tightly, a stark contrast against the vibrant white to his dark black clothes. Riley only caught a glimpse of the whumpee’s horrified expression, before Sniper smacked their head against the edge of the sink. 

Their legs spasmed and a guttural scream tore from their throat, but the sniper didn’t stop there. Riley, through wide eyes, only caught a glimpse of dripping blood before their skull was pounded into the tiles once more. 

Over and over again. 

The whumpee’s terrified screams came to an abrupt stop after only a few ruthless hits, the force making the ceramic crack and groan under the violent weight. Their body was only held up by the sniper’s hand twisted in their hair, their legs already buckled from underneath them and twitching sporadically. When the sniper unceremoniously dumped their body on the floor, Riley was met with the sight of fresh blood, mangled hair clumped in knots and a caved in skull. 

The sniper stepped over the body, and sharply signed: “Clean up.” 

Riley numbly stared at the body. He could see a finger still twitching, and suddenly the tea didn’t feel so hot in his hands. 

drabble winners tag list – @morning-star-whump

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Seven Days of Suffering: I Can't Decide

I can't decide whether you should live or die - Scissor Sisters

I've seen lots of unnamed Hero and Villain drabbles that I really enjoy but I've never written one before. This was the perfect opportunity to give it a try! Hero is some sort of beast, like a werewolf or the Hulk, with strong physical powers. Villain doesn't know about those powers yet.

TW: torture, discussion of murder, gore, unintentionally harming someone

“I just can’t decide what to do with you, Hero. It’s difficult, having so many options. We have this lovely picture window, for instance. Twenty stories is quite the fall. But do I throw you through it, or do I hang you over the edge and let you cling for dear life until your strength fails? I wonder what you would scream about. Or would you try to be brave until the very end? How noble.”

There’s no answer. Hero is focused on breathing and trying not to focus on the zip ties around their wrists. There’s something going on inside their muscles. More than tingling. Tingling happens as a result of an annoyance, like being stuck in traffic. This is more like fire. Every cell is on fire with the need to burst. To change. Beasthood is thrashing against Hero’s ribcage, the walls of their heart thickening. Their chest shudders, very subtly with each heartbeat. Don’t let it spread. Don’t lose control. Hero squeezes their eyes shut for a beat.

“The larger question, of course, is whether you live or die.” A moment of consideration and then footfalls approaching. “Hmm. I don’t feel done yet.”

There’s another blow of the belt across the face. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction – Hero learned that ages ago in science class. The cells in their face are straining forward, heat and pressure, like they’re trying to strike back. One more hit might be too much.

Through the haze of anger Hero manages to force out words.  “Do not do that again, Villain. You’re a rat bastard but you don’t…you don’t want to do this.” It would be so much easier to just explain to them…but Villain can’t know about their true form. Villain, of all people, will use it against them.

The smart thing to do would be to just transform and kill Villain right now. Hero can’t say that Villain doesn’t deserve it. But this just isn’t how things are supposed to play out. Hero was trying to have mercy. The decision to spare Villain despite their crimes is clear, solid in Hero’s mind. It was supposed to be a happy ending – using the law against Villain instead of physically tearing them apart, no matter how much Hero may want to. Villain stripped of all power and prestige but still alive, the job done and justice served, both of them just walking away. But Villain always has to keep fucking pushing.

Villain laughs. “That’s bold. To talk about what I want to do like you have any idea. You have no idea the number of ways I’ve dreamed of butchering you.”

“Just let me go. It wasn’t supposed to end up like this. I did my job, I brought justice against you. I would never have pursued you again and if you let me go, I never will. You could have a peaceful life. Not in power anymore maybe, but peaceful. Please. You’re not thinking straight.” It’s true. Villain’s blood drunk. Hero can see it. Their eyes are wild, they’re breathing too fast. The rush of having Hero in this position, after so many years at each other’s throats…it must be intoxicating. In a way, Hero can’t blame them.

There’s something bitter on Villain’s face that can’t be called a smile. “That’s right, beg. Twist the truth. Try to sell me on peace when you took all of mine. Whatever you have to do.” Villain is just enjoying this. The idiot. Hero would laugh if it weren’t so sad. Villain can’t see death right in front of their nose.

Some attempt to explain, anything… “Please listen to me. I mean it. I can’t control what my body does if you hit me again.”

“Oooooo, I’m so scared. Maybe you’ll piss on the stained fucking one bedroom sublet floor that I walk across every day because of what YOU did to me! Because you took EVERYTHING from me!” And they’re hitting Hero again, over and over, and it’s too fast, and Hero can’t cancel out the internal backlash fast enough, can’t quell the reaction. It’s becoming chemical, it’s ripping through them, it’s…damn it. It’s too late.

It isn’t clear to Hero exactly what happens. The zip ties snap, that’s for sure. But are they slamming Villian against the wall or the floor? What part of Villain’s flesh are their teeth tearing into? Where precisely did all the blood come from?

Through slitted eyes, the room looks dangerously bright. Villain is a red smear on a field of brilliant luminance.

They’re coming back down, but it’s slow. Their voice still sounds animal. “Shit. Are you breathing?”

“What the – what are you? I don’t – you can’t – this can’t be…oh my fucking god I can see my bones…” Something is sticking out of Villain’s abdomen at an odd angle. It’s a rib, but in the surreal haze, Hero thinks it’s a white sickle and hopes it’s not the blade of Death. “What did you do to me? Jesus fucking Christ… “

“I’ll get help.” There’s no wish to say I told you so. The horror is too raw. “No no no no, don’t pass out. Look at me. I made a decision to keep you alive. Keep breathing.”

[echoingalaxies]

Whump drabbles, 12/100: kick.

It wasn’t the first time Whumpee had knocked the wind out of Caretaker when he went to console them during what appeared to be a vivid nightmare.

“It’s okay,” he grunted between shallow breaths, doubled over in pain, while Whumpee sobbed, apologizing profusely.

“I thought you were him…”

“I know.” Caretaker lay next to them, still holding his stomach. “Honestly, it was on me this time. Next time I’ll try not to startle you so badly.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, shush.” Caretaker opened his arms, letting Whumpee snuggle against his chest. “It’s just good to see you finally fighting back.”

[disappearinginq]

Revenge + Tracker?

I got lazy and didn't actually work the prompt into the actual words, but I think I can get away with it. There's no actual rules to this, right? More like....guidelines.

“Imagine my surprise to find out my man Russell,” the man spat on the ground at Colter’s feet when he said his brother’s name, “had a kid brother.”

Colter debated something snide, but the man was on a roll, and honestly, Colter had no idea why he was here until now.

“A younger brother who is only slightly less difficult to find.” The man pulled Colter’s stolen phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and found Russell’s number. “Say hi.”

Colter said nothing.

Until the man fired the gun into his left thigh.

“Do I have your attention now, Shaw?”

[chaotic-orphan]

Whump Drabbles Masterpost:

Recapture [gen neutral]

Choose me (whumper x whumpee/ forced to watch Caretaker beating)

That’s enough [gen neutral/male implied]

Supervillain's brand / Part (2) [team whump]

Guardian angel (cold caretaker rescues Whumpee) [gen neutral]

Kidnapped [gen neutral whumpee]

Russian Roulette (whumpee plays whumper for Caretaker’s life)

Waterboarding (sweet, sweet team whump)

Traumatised Whumpee [fem. whumpee, male caretaker, male whumper, underage Whumpee]

Oh how the turn tables [male whumper/whumpee, whumpee's revenge]

The Assassin’s Hamartia [fem. whumpee/male whumper]

Whumpee wakes up on side of road [gen. Neutral Whumpee, male whumper, male caretaker]

Send me your favourite whump tropes/prompts and I will write them XD If you want any continuations of these one-shots lmk

[inkwell-and-dagger]

htkai chapt. 6!!!!! Very curious about what happens in that one 🩷🩷🩷

EEEEHEHEHEHE YIPPEEE!!!!! I'm so giddy about chapter six cause things are getting juicy now :3 I haven't done too much of it just yet, I think just the first two scenes and the beginning of a third but hey ho!!!!!!

the ask game says a snippet right? sneak peeks be upon ye

The waves washed over him again, clouding his mind. A starless sky — was it a sky, or merely a darkened basement ceiling? — speckled in flashes of deep blue, before returning to nothing once more.

"Is he gonna come back?" Foster had never murdered anybody before. Sure, their past was washed in blood, but they've never actually killed — at most hurt, perhaps maimed at one point. A life had never been unravelled by their own hand. In hindsight, their panic after what happened was… humiliating, to say the least. But still, their voice trembled like a child's as they sat on the edge of their bathtub. Esrana loomed over them, arms crossed. Foster repeated, "Is he gonna come back?"

two of my favourite parts of what I've written so far ♥️ they are subject to change, but I'm sosososo happy with them and I'm so EXCITEEDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

[whumpkink]

Chapters: 31/31 Fandom: Original Work Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Original Female Character(s) & Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character(s) & Original Female Character(s) Characters: Original Characters Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Platonic Relationships, Father-Daughter Relationship, Whump, Drabble Collection, Hurt No Comfort, March of Pain 2025, Prompt Fill Series: Part 10 of Pocket-sized Stories Summary:

My dabbles for March of Pain 2025.

[avvail-whumps]

Could we get a sick Roy with a care taker LIon

“Don’t make me mad,” Roy warned dangerously under his breath, and despite the weariness that he was trying to stubbornly hide, he narrowed his eyes icily.

Leo’s hands retracted back slightly, and he wrapped his arms around his curled up legs, staring at the mercenary with those big eyes. He knew that he shouldn’t care, not just because Roy was his captor, but because he was still sporting a bruise under his eye from when the man had hit him harder than intended. He shouldn’t even consider trying to help.

But Roy had clearly been sick for a couple weeks now. He had easily powered through, but now it was catching up to him, with not doing anything to combat it. He was way too dismissive, and this looked serious.

The mercenary had grabbed his coat, rather abruptly, and Leo could sense that he didn’t like the sickness getting to him like this. He considered saying something as he disappeared towards the front door, but Roy’s clear warning rang in his head.

It was better not to make him mad, right?

But after about a long, tense minute, Leo’s ears didn’t hear the sound of the front door opening. It remained terrifyingly quiet, and his eyes stared at the spot where Roy had gone. Hesitantly, he rose off the couch.

“Roy?” He whispered softly, peaking around the corner to find the man leaning against the wall, rubbing his temples with his hand. He didn’t look good at all. In fact, he looked like he might pass out.

Leo begrudgingly approached, like he was walking on thin ice - he was, in a way, since Roy seemed angrier at the fact that he was offering help over being sick in the first place. When his hand met his arm without a threatening remark, Leo managed to relax just an inch.

“I think...you should lie down,” he softly suggested, and he gently eased Roy away from the wall. His jaw was clenched in anger, but he could only manage a slurred curse, moving alongside him. Leo’s heart raced in his chest all the way up to the second floor, his mind wandering for a second.

Roy’s room was off limits. Leo wasn’t allowed in there no matter what.

He needed his own room, so that only left the guest rooms on the second floor. Leo gently guided Roy to one of the rooms next to his, shifting the door open. It was hard to manoeuvre a guy this big, who had broken a clammy sweat just walking from the door to the room, and his eyes were all glazed and lidded.

Leo carefully ushered him to the bed, and Roy let out a curt curse once again.

“Fuck sake, lion,” he grumbled, but the moment his head hit the fresh pillow, the complaint drained out of him. Leo wondered why he let his sickness get this bad. He rushed next door to his room to grab some spare blankets, and then tucked them over the sheets.

He gently pressed a hand to Roy’s forehead, who tutted and jerked his head away.

“You’re burning up,” Leo murmured softly, and the mercenary scoffed.

“Yeah, you think?”

“Did you eat something bad?”

The mercenary groaned in pain, and his narrowed eyes managed to find Leo’s face with an icey glare. “I don’t know, lion. Did I?”

He shrivelled back. He didn’t want Roy to think he’d done something bad to the food; he couldn’t have, and they both knew that. His tense body relaxed a little bit. Even when he was sick, he still wanted to torment him.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Where’s, um, the medicine again?”

Roy sucked in a breath, a wheezy cough rattling his ribs. “Bathroom. Third floor.”

Leo nodded, and vigilantly raced up. He made sure he didn’t accidentally snoop in Roy’s room, before gathering the medicine and returning back to him. He grabbed everything that he needed.

Roy had been displeased when he tried to help him drink some water, demanding he wasn’t incompetent, but Leo knew he wouldn’t even have the strength to hold the glass when he looked like that. He pushed back his hair and set a damp, cold cloth on his forehead, to which the mercenary hummed contently at.

It seemed to be a fever, and a pretty bad one. He helped him swallow down some medicine, but by then, he’d gone all uncooperative and Leo had panicked thinking something had happened. When he realised he was still breathing, and just asleep, he felt a flood of relief wash through him.

He tended to Roy for the rest of the day. Gently wiped the sweat again, gave him more blankets when he needed and even made him some soup. By then, Roy could at least feed himself, but he was still red face and his throat was stuffed.

When the night came, Leo was exhausted. Sitting beside Roy’s bed, he’d fallen asleep with his head resting in his arms, leaning against the comfortable blankets. He had been staring at Roy’s face before, wondering to himself, why was he even doing this?

He could have escaped.

He could have left Roy to rot away and found his way back home. But looking at his uncomfortable red face, Leo realised that it was impossible for him to leave the mercenary in such a bad state.

Maybe he was stupid.

But a part of him liked being in control, even for just a little bit.

When the sunlight streaked through the window, Leo was awoken by a hand gently carding through his hair. He blinked wearily, stirring awake, but the touch was so comforting and so soothing, that it coaxed him back into a slumber.

He didn’t hear Roy’s words, staring down at him with a weaker fever, shaking his head slightly.

“Idiot,” he sighed, before taking his medicine by himself and drifting back off to sleep.

[macknus]

Whump Drabbles Masterpost

Cocky Whumpee

Pathetic and Defeated

[shes-some-other-where]

The Merry Whump of May, Days 1-15

***this is a repost; Tumblr won't let me add more links to the original masterlist, so I split the prompts in half***

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

Event Order

Contains: prison, prison camp, forced labour, abuse of power

All drabbles, exactly 100 words. All (loosely) connected, but many can be read as standalone pieces. If you’d like to read in chronological order, the suggested reading order is here.

>>> Days 16-31 here

Day 1 - “Get back in there.”

Day 1 - Breathless

Day 1 - Cliff

Day 2 - Scorching

Day 2 - “Don’t you dare.”

Day 2 - Glasses

Day 3 - “See what happens.”

Day 3 - Lost

Day 4 - “Who are you?”

Day 4 - Forgettable

Day 5 - “Put that down.”

Day 6 - “You thought you could get away with this?” | Barbed Wire

Day 6 - Riverside

Day 6 - Suspicious

Day 7 - “Forget about them.”

Day 7 - Fallen

Day 8 - White-hot blade

Day 8 - “I’m fine.”

Day 9 - “You’re nothing.”

Day 10 - “I don’t have regrets.” (alt prompt)

Day 11 - “Pretty little thing.”

Day 11 - Numb

Day 12 - “Let me hear you.”

Day 12 - Known

Day 13 - “Tell me how it feels.”

Day 13 - Trail

Day 13 - Needle

Day 14 - “I just want you.”

Day 14 - Rock

Day 15 - Stone-cold

Day 15 - “Let me hold you.”

Day 15 - Cellar

Day 15 - Candle

>>> Days 16-31 here