#whumpee thinks caretaker is their new master

[justbreakonme]

I love super strong/jacked caretakers with weak or tiny whumpees, especially with the Whumpee-thinks-caretaker-is-their-new-master trope.

The whole “I just have to pray that they mean it when they say they’re not going to hurt me because it would be so easy for them”

“They could kill me without even trying.”

“They’re only being so merciful because they know I’m too weak to fight back so they don’t need to waste their time…”

And of course the caretaker-uses-their-strength-for-good and beats whumpers ass, and suddenly whumpee realizing that, yes, caretaker was a formidable master, but…a protective one too.

[whump-place]

A prompt for you!!

Whumpee after being rescued is scared to death of Caretaker, they just sit on their bed all day, believing they're locked like Whumper always left them locked in their room (though they're not). Caretaker sits with them and caresses their hair saying they care about Whumpee and are never gonna hurt them, but Whumpee is still scared because that's exactly what Whumper used to say after their torture sessions!

Poor Whumpee doesn't know how to act, they're so afraid </3

First of all, thank you so much! You are the first one to actually send me a prompt I hope you like it 😭

ontent: Whumpee thinks Caretaker is their new Whumper, self isolation, fear of punishment, past torture.

"Whumpee?" Someone was knocking at the door, Caretaker spoke, she sounded worried. "Are you there?"

What kind of question was that? Of course they were there, where else would they be? They wouldn't ever dream of escaping, they swear, they were good! They had to let Caretaker know that!

"Yes, ma'am. I'm here, this is where you left me, i didn't move, I promise." That was half true, Caretaker had left them on the bed, blankets covering their body, she had told them to rest and sleep and so they did. But in the morning they made the bed and sat on the edge, they didn't want to be punished for slacking.

"Oh, um. That's good? I guess." A small pause and then Caretaker spoke again. "Can I come in?"

Whumpee shoke their head. They don't want Caretaker near them, they just want to be left alone. But of course they didn't say that out loud, that would be suicidal.

"You can do as you please, ma'am." They answered instead. Their eyes were already tearing up, Whumper never visited them unless it was punishment day, and that hurts so much, please, they'll be good! They can be good, please!

The door slowly opened, Caretaker was right in front of them, holding a glass and an apple.

"Oh." That was all Caretaker said, her eyes wandering around the room, Whumpee made sure that it was spotless, was something wrong? "You...? Nevermind."

Caretaker set the glass and the apple on the nightstand, carefully taking a step back.

"Whumpee... can I speak to you for a second?"

"You can do as you please, ma'am" but please, don't hurt me. Not yet, please.

Caretaker frowned a bit, and Whumpee was sure that they already messed up, but instead of a beating, Caretaker said:

"Thank you"

Whumpee hadn't expected her to actually sit next to them, usually Whumper would 'talk' throwing things at Whumpee, yelling, sometimes they even kicked them, Whumper doesn't sit next to them, never.

"You see, Whumpee. I... Ahg. What am I doing?"

Caretaker didn't say another word, Whumpee realized that she wasn't good at showing her feelings through words, but through actions.

Her hand slowly caresses their hair, not saying a word.

"I know you are scared, but I promise that I will never hurt you. I... I don't really know what could I say to make you feel better, I'm sorry"

Those were really kind words, Whumpee must admit. But there was still something that made him shiver; Whumper used to do the same. Exactly the same.

Kind words, kind touch. Whumper liked to see their pet at his feet or with their head on their lap, begging for a gentle touch just before being...

Whumpee shut their eyes, leaning on the touch, they were so damn afraid.

[pigeonwhumps]

Touch-starved

MD-264N masterlist

Febuwhump day 1: touchstarved

@febuwhump

MD-264N wakes up.

1.1k

CWs: self-dehumanisation, fear of death, electric shock mention, conditioned whumpee, caretaker new master

MD-264N blinks itself awake. Its systems are not functioning at optimum efficiency but they're close to it, except for its ankle. There's uncomfortable sensation coming from that. But other than that it's much better than before.

Now. Where is it being stored? It has no restraints for… for some reason, and there's a window, so it isn't back at base. How did it get here?

Can it see the sky now?

One thing at a time. What is it wearing? It's far too light. The control harness and mitts are gone, and its clothes are… unusual. They're thick, soft, bright. The weapon looks at its arm, covered in baggy light blue soft fabric. So much brighter than it's allowed.

But it's not at base, so maybe it's what the people here want. That would make sense, right?

Next. This storage room. It's brighter than any at base, walls coloured light blue and pink. There's a wooden cabinet in the corner, a prosthetic forearm lying on it, and a window above the soft cot that MD-264N's on. That's unusual too. The weapon peers out of it as much as it can without moving, just about able to see a grey sky above.

That's its surroundings taken care of then. They don't make sense, but that's what's there. In that case, who brought it here? The last thing it remembers, it was on the street. Why did someone take it and put it in here? What do they want from it? Its hands are free, the only thing that makes sense is they want to use it, but there's no handlers here. This space is too big for the safe storage of weapons anyway.

MD-264N's throat goes tight. What happens if someone finds it out here? It's not safe. It doesn't know if this is what the people who put it here want but surely they want it to be secured safely.

MD-264N's eyes light on the cabinet, and it climbs off the soft cot it's been placed on and starts making its way towards it.

One foot goes on the floor, but when it tries to put its weight on the other foot, its ankle malfunctions and it collapses to the floor.

It attempts to push itself up as it hears footsteps, arms shaking, but it can't move. Aberrant moisture leaks out of the corners of its eyes. These people won't want a faulty weapon. They'll decommission it and then it'll never see the sky again.

The footsteps are very close now. MD-264N tries to kneel instead, desperate to be good enough to see the sky again.

"Hey, sweetheart, what are you doing on the floor? You're supposed to be resting." The voice is soft beside it, and the weapon's not sure who they're talking to. It sounds like they're talking to it but… you don't talk like that to weapons. Gentle, like it's a person. But there's no-one here. "Sit back on the bed, come on. Can you do that for me?"

MD-264N tries, it really does, but it can't move its leg. "This weapon is malfunctioning, sir, it– please." Please, please don't have it decommissioned, not yet.

"Okay. It's okay, sweetheart, I'll help you. I'm going to have to touch you, is that alright?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you." The speaker wraps an arm around it and helps it sit down on the cot. The arm is warm and the hand ungloved, and the weapon finds itself leaning into their touch. It stiffens. No, no that's bad, weapons don't need touch. "Hey, you don't need to move away. I bet you're touch-starved, huh?" MD-264N doesn't answer. It doesn't know how. "You don't need to… y'know, act all subservient. You can look at me. And you don't have to address me as sir, Rhian will do. Since it's my name. Do you have one?"

"This weapon has been designated MD-264N," answers the weapon automatically, "designed and programmed for urban use by the Ministry of Defence. Its capabilities are–"

"That's your designation, sweetheart, not your name. I guess that means you don't have one then. Would it be alright if I give you one?"

Why are they asking all these questions? Surely they know it can't refuse anyway.

"Yes, s– Rhian."

"Great! So I was thinking of Morgan, if you like it?"

"Yes, Rhian."

"That's good. You can look at me, sweetheart, you don't have to look at the floor. Why won't you look up?"

MD-264N (no, Morgan, it'd better start using the name its new commander wants) shivers. "This weapon is malfunctioning."

"What do you mean?"

Morgan swallows, preparing to give the information that might get it decommissioned. "Its left ankle is not functioning, and there is aberrant moisture leaking from its eyes. And it keeps having aberrant thoughts."

There's a short pause. "So… you're in pain, you're crying and you're probably scared? You're in a strange place with people you've never met, after being shot in the ankle, I'd be surprised if something wasn't wrong, frankly. I'll get Asha to bring you some more painkillers. It's okay to feel like this, sweetheart, it doesn't mean you can't look at me, or that I don't want to see you. Please, Morgan?"

Morgan can't refuse that, and it raises its head, not making eye contact but looking all the same. Rhian's hair is white dipped in red, and they smile at the weapon, mouth dimpling at the corners.

"There you are. Nice to meet you."

They're so soft, their hand warm on its arm, saying things that don't make sense, not for a weapon, but they're so nice. More moisture leaks from the weapon's eyes at the gentleness. Nobody's ever been this gentle with it.

"Hey, it's okay. Do you want a hug?"

A hug? But it– it's never, no-one's ever– it's just a weapon, why would anyone offer? Morgan nods anyway, and Rhian wraps their arm around it, holding it tight and warm. They don't seem bothered about touching it, like its handlers are, and their fingers almost burn through the fabric of the hoodie. It doesn't remember the last time anyone touched it without gloves.

Its eyes leak even more and it finds itself making sounds along with that, sounds that it would surely be shocked for with anyone else. But Rhian just shushes it gently, and it can't help leaning into their touch.

Of all the people it's met, Rhian is by far the most patient, and it can't help the aberrant and likely futile hope that the gentleness lasts.

[cepheusgalaxy]

We all love the "whumpee thinks caretaker is their new master" trope, right? Let's go a little further

Whumpee is whumper's pet. We know this

Whumper also has this friend, Whumper 2

Whumper really wants to impress their friend, or whatever, so they give whumpee to whumper 2

Whumpee is prepared beforehand. Whumper dress them up; They tell them to obey whumper 2. Tell them that they'll be their new master.

While that, Caretaker and Team find this out. Whumpee will be transported from Whumper's to Whumper 2's house

It's the perfect chance for rescuing them.

Ok, now, for the aesthetic, maybe whumpee is in a truck. No windows. No sounds. Whumpee is locked inside during the way, they're only allowed to move or get out once they reach their destiny

The team works fast

They capture the truck and manage to drive it to their base

While that, whumpee is bracing themselves for the terror they know whumper 2 will be.

Imagine the scene when the team unlock whumpee on the truck, and they are obedient, terrifird, they think Caretaker is whumper 2

They do not manage to think they're finally free

[honeycollectswhump]

Whumper's title

[masterlist]

It was the end of a lazy evening. Caretaker stretched as the credits of the last movie rolled. Whumpee was draped across her lap and had apparently fallen asleep somewhere during the movie. She wasn’t sure if he even witnessed the climax. Even asleep Whumpee had a soft smile on his lips; he seemed truly at peace. 

It hadn’t always been like that.

A year ago, serenity like this would have been unthinkable. Maybe he would have crawled into her lap if she ordered him to, but he wouldn’t have allowed himself to relax. He wouldn’t have been able to.

A year ago, he still called himself Pet or Mutt. He would beg for punishment, beg to be allowed necessities like sleep or food. But never for mercy because he’d thought he didn’t deserve it. 

A year ago, Whumpee didn’t even remember they lived together for years prior. 

But he did now, and that was all that mattered. God, how she had missed him and the time they spent together. Caretaker wanted to savor it all, savor every little moment she could spend with him.

With a smile playing on her lips, she brushed a stray piece of hair from his scarred face. She didn’t want to wake Whumpee up but she would have to. No matter how much she wanted it, they couldn’t spend the night like this. In the morning, his already aching back would trouble him even more. He was frankly too big for her couch, his feet already dangling over the side. With one hand she was playing with his soft curls, scratching the nape of his neck, and trying to grab the remote with the other – without success.

It had to be done. Caretaker softly whispered his name, tracing his jawline in an attempt to wake him up. He wouldn't budge.

“Whumpee”, the name came out as a soft chuckle. “Whumpee, you need to wake up.”

Again, nothing. 

This time she held him by his shoulders and started shaking him gently. Two bleary brown eyes stared up at her, blinking a couple of times. A sleepy groan escaped his lips as he struggled to sit upright. Somehow Caretaker doubted that Whumpee was truly awake.

She stood up and held her hand out to him. “Let’s get you to bed, big guy.”

Loosely, he took her hands and let himself be pulled up, almost immediately resting his head on top of hers. 

“Yes, Master”, he breathed into her hair. 

Caretaker could feel her blood running cold. She froze, waiting for any indication of what happened, any sign that Whumpee wasn’t feeling well. 

But he didn’t. He didn’t tense up or start shaking. He didn’t fall on his knees or stare at her in adoration and obedience or wait for her order. In fact, he didn’t seem to even realize what he’d said. Instead, he just nuzzled further into her locks, almost falling asleep on his feet. 

Slowly, she took a step backward, his hands still in hers, waiting to see if he’d follow. Whumpee shuffled along, although at a snail’s pace. Caretaker didn’t know whether to bring up what had happened but one look in his half-lidded eyes told her that any attempt at communication would just pass by him. Chances were he wouldn’t even remember how he got to bed in the morning. 

She took him upstairs where –at the sight of his own bed– he staggered forward and flopped down on his messy sheets. Caretaker followed him inside to tuck him in. While she was securing the blanket under his shoulders, Whumpee loosely grabbed one of her hands in his much bigger one and pressed it to his cheek. 

“G’night…”, he murmured into her hand. 

She couldn’t understand what he said after that and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

This is very much inspired by this post by @whumpadventureprompts (i couldn't find how you want to be tagged when people use your prompts so i hope this is alright)

[befuddled-calico-whump]

"please... Mercy."

(a follow up to this) ///// (continued here)

[starfields08000]

Hi so.. I've finished all the whump stories im reading right now and I'm looking for stories where whumpee thinks caretaker is Thier new master/ whumper

Send me ur favourites pls (they don't have 2 b ur ocs)!

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Unintentional 26

Previous—Masterlist— Next

CW: BBU-adjacent, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization. Explicit language. Past surgical/medical whump alluded to, hospital setting. OCD, panic attack, Caretaker struggling. Impending raid/threat of Whumpee's (re)capture. As always, beta-read by @alittlewhump <3

Leo’s head ached, exhaustion weighing him down and diluting his expressions so that every time he tried to give Aiden a reassuring smile, the kid just looked more worried. Leo was bone tired. They both were. Delia had only told them one result of the MRI scan: there was no tracker, not even one that had been fried by the machine. So, in that respect, they were in the clear. She’d go over the rest later. Aiden was already shaking without an onslaught of information, tremors radiating through him, his gaze weary and unfocused. 

For the better part of the last hour, Leo had been sitting in one of the unforgiving chairs beside the bed, trying to coax Aiden to relax. Reassuring him everything was alright, asking if he needed anything else, blundering around just shy of making the outright suggestion. Hell, at this point, Leo was ready to admit it was just so that he could rest himself without feeling guilty. Fifteen minutes and he’d feel better. They both would. 

The day before, he’d torn up a whole first floor of scratched laminate and demoed a fireplace. His partner had noticed the push and asked him if everything was alright. He’d said he wasn’t sure, which now felt laughable. And like it had happened a full week ago. 

Leo had finally given in and let his eyes fall closed for a moment when the announcement came over the PA. Code Indigo. All floors. Code Indigo. Aiden clapped his free hand over his ear. 

“Code Indigo?” Leo repeated, fresh adrenaline pulling him to his feet. He tightened his grip on Aiden’s hand. “But you said—”

“It’s rare but it does happen,” Delia said, typing furiously into her phone without looking up. 

Leo wanted to knock it out of her hands. They needed her right now. Aiden's shoulders had crept up to his ears and his grip on Leo’s fingers was shaky. 

“But how did they find out? You don’t think—”

Delia finally put her phone back into her pocket and met his eyes. “They don’t know anything about him. It’s just a random raid.” 

A strangled sound came from Aiden and he pulled his hand out of Leo’s. He would have slipped out of the bed too but Delia was faster. 

“Easy, it’s going to be alright. We’re going to make a plan.” 

Aiden turned to Leo, eyes wide and shining with tears. His bottom lip trembled along with the rest of him. 

This poor kid had trusted him and now, in bringing him here to save his life, Leo might have just done the opposite. What if it would have been better to just let Aiden die on his own terms? Leo would never forgive himself.

He tried to swallow some of the panic and guilt climbing hand over fist up his throat. “Can’t we just make a run for the car?” 

His sister shook her head. “They cover the exits and parking lots before they even make the announcement. That’s the fastest way to get caught.”

Aiden covered his face with his hands, shaking his head. “Nnn-no…no…no…nnno.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Nnn—please—” He caught Leo’s sleeves in his shaking fists. “Please…mmm’I….can’t….mmm…I….can’t….mmm…” He pinched his eyes closed, freeing some tears, and swallowed in a way that made Leo want to ask if his throat was hurting. When he opened his eyes again, they shone with tears. “Please.”

Fuck, as if Leo didn’t feel guilty enough already. “I’m right here. I won’t leave your side, I promise. We’re going to get through this. Delia’s going to help us and—”

Aiden turned to her instead, releasing Leo. Apparently, reassurance was not what he was after.  “Mmm…please…mmm…I…can’t…mmm…can’t…mmm…” He gave up trying to find the word and held up his arm, hooking his index finger under the bandage to show her the rectangular scar on his wrist.

“Yes, I saw.” She lowered his hand for him, smoothing back the edge of the bandage. “Aiden, running away from your previous master means they’ll have your picture on the list of Defectors.” 

Previous master. Meaning he was the current one. Leo’s stomach churned. “Delia, if they have his picture—”

“Nnno,” Aiden interrupted. He raised his arm again. “Nnn-not…mmm’me.”

Delia narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t do this to yourself…when you ran away?” 

He shook his head vehemently, eyes darting to search Leo’s face for a moment. 

“You’re not saying—I didn’t think—” Delia tented her fingers around her eyes, like blinders, as though suddenly everything was too much. She started shaking her head. “You’ve already—they did this to you?” 

Aiden exhaled a sob, nodding. 

Delia swore under her breath. 

“What?” Leo wrung his hands, leaning to try to see Aiden’s face angled away from him. “What does that mean?” 

Delia blinked at him, clearly distracted by whatever revelation had just passed between them. That he was still not privy to. 

“Hello? We’re definitely running out of time.” It was impossible to see what was going on in the hallway with the curtains drawn around this half of the room. In his mind, it was already teeming with police or WRU agents or both. Any minute, they’d burst into the room and take Aiden away. 

“Right. It’s good news…I think.” She kneaded her forehead with her fingertips. “Aiden, I’m hoping this wasn't some sanctioned WRU program…?” 

He shook his head. 

“How many people knew where you were, what was happening to you?” 

He held up one finger. 

“Okay.” She nodded. “And you didn’t escape on your own?” 

Another no. 

Leo leaned his weight from one foot to the other without taking his eyes off the vague location of the door behind the curtains.

“This is good. Sorry but…how much do you remember?” She was keeping her face carefully neutral. 

Aiden didn’t say anything but Leo could see the muscles in his jaw working as he held Delia’s gaze. 

“And from before?”

Tight nod. 

Delia reached for Aiden's hand and he let her take it. “I’m so sorry, Aiden.” 

His face wasn’t quite visible but Leo could tell he was holding his breath.

“We’re going to get you through this and then we can help.” This wasn’t just textbook bedside sympathy, she had that fire behind her eyes and determination in her voice he’d known his whole life. “It’s really good you told me.”

Leo looked down at his hands, pushing the tip of his thumb into the meat of the other palm. There was a speck of dried blood along the cuticle of his right index finger. Maybe from when Aiden had started bleeding through the bandages earlier, maybe from even earlier and he’d just not washed his hands thoroughly enough. He glanced toward the door again, anxiety twisting in his gut. Maybe he had time to—

“Hey, Leo?” 

Aiden dropped his gaze as soon as Leo looked up. Delia was waiting expectantly.

“Sorry.” He lifted his hand to run through his hair but stopped just shy of making contact and let it fall. 

“You remember the plan we talked about before?”

Aiden was watching him from under his eyelashes. 

He tried to inject a little more confidence into his voice. “Right, yes.”

“Great. Just do everything I told you and you’ll be fine.” Delia patted Aiden on the shoulder before backing away.

“Wait, what?” Leo held up his hands like he could call time out on this whole thing. Seconds ticking away until they were found out. “You’re not staying?”

“I thought that was already clear.” 

Leo shook his head. She couldn’t possibly leave.

“I have other—” Her gaze flicked to Aiden and back. “Other patients who need me.” 

“What?” 

Aiden shrank back, almost imperceptibly, because he’d raised his voice. Shit. 

“We don’t have time for this.” 

He clenched his shaking fingers into fists but then unclenched his right fist when he remembered the blood on his finger. “Wait, but what do we do if someone comes in? What are we supposed to say?” Leo couldn’t even look at Aiden. Did not want to see just how much this was definitely making everything even worse for him. He rubbed at the speck of blood with his other fingertip but it wouldn’t come off. 

“Leo.”

He met her gaze, switched to trying to scrape the blood off with his fingernail. “What about you? What happens if they catch you? I thought this was a once-in-a-blue-moon thing—wait, Delia, is this a fucking felony?” 

At some point, she must have stopped backing toward the door because now she held out her hand, reaching for him. “Leo, just take a breath—”

He dodged her. “I just—I need a minute.” Aiden looked confused at best and rejected at worst. Leo turned away and made a beeline for the bathroom. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

He blinked and was already scrubbing at his fingers, rubbing the soap into his cuticles and under his nails. He wasn’t even counting, just mindlessly washing. 

No, he really needed to not lose his shit right now. 

He couldn’t get stuck in this loop. 

Not. 

Right. 

Now. 

Leo forced his lungs to fill with air, rinsed the soap off. Toweled his hands dry. 

Just one proper hand washing and then he had to go. 

One, two, three, four pumps of soap. 

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three—

“Leo…”

He hadn’t even heard the door open.

Delia stilled both of his hands with one of hers. “How long?”

“What?” Leo let her rinse each of his hands under the water.

“How long have you not been taking your meds?” She turned off the tap and handed him paper towels. 

He couldn’t meet her gaze, focused on absorbing each errant drop of water. “A couple weeks? I’m fine, I managing it.” 

“I’m sure you were but now it’s caught up with you.” The careful tone his sister used revealed just how overly defensive his had been. She took the soggy paper towels out of his hands and dropped them into the bin. “This is a lot and it will continue to be a lot. You need to take care of yourself if you’re going to help him.” 

Leo flexed his fingers, trying not to inspect them too closely. “Yeah, okay. I know.”

“Come on, I really need to go and you’re going to be fine together. This is going to work.” She led him out and handed him the backpack she’d been forward-thinking enough to pack at his condo. “You know what to do. I’ll let you know when it’s all clear.”

As soon as she left, Leo wondered if he should have said a longer goodbye. Just in case. He had no idea what repercussions she’d face if caught, not that he had any better idea about himself. Aiden was the only one that really mattered and they needed to get going on this plan. 

Aiden was watching him, not quite warily but carefully, as he set the backpack beside him on the bed and started pulling out what they’d need. He ignored the compulsion to keep reflexively checking the door, tried to make his movements efficient but not visibly rushed.

“I’m sorry,” he said at the same time Aiden said, “Sorry.” Aiden huffed and dropped his chin. He was still shaking but had his mouth set in a determined line. Delia must have instilled a little more confidence in him about their plan to hide in plain sight. 

It would work. 

It had to work.  

Leo zipped up the half-empty backpack and dropped it beside the chairs. “Hon, you don’t have anything to apologize for. None of that—my reaction—was your fault.” He ran a hand over his hair, sighing. “When we get home, I can exp—”

“Leo?” 

There was so much care in the way Aiden shaped the air, as though the syllables might crack under too much strain. He kept his timbre soft, hesitant about borrowing sounds he didn’t feel he had any right to but in voicing them finding his own version of ‘Leo’.  

No way he could chalk this utterance up to his own imagination. A part of him still couldn’t believe Aiden had actually said it. He resisted the self-indulgent urge to ask the kid to repeat himself just to hear it again, to underline the significance of the moment. Instead, he cleared the lump in his throat and tried to sound casual. “What is it?”

Aiden didn’t react to the fact that Leo hadn’t managed to hide much of the emotion in his voice. He had pulled the sleeve of Leo’s old hoodie into his lap and was running his thumb over the frayed edge of the sleeve. When he raised his eyes, they were brighter than Leo had ever seen them. “Home?” 

“Yeah, home,” he whispered back, not sure how he was able to even find his voice this time.  

Aiden pulled the hoodie on, settling into it like it was a hug. 

Leo couldn’t believe the old thing was so meaningful but he wasn’t about to argue against anything that made Aiden feel safer. Especially considering the threat they were about to face. He held one of his beanies out, almost dropping it when Aiden bowed his head instead of taking it to let Leo put it on for him. 

He couldn’t quite blink all of the tears out of his eyes in time but Aiden kept his head down anyway, busy gathering the extra length of the sleeves into his fists. 

How could this kid not see how much of a hold he had on Leo already? 

When the door opened just a few minutes later, as they pretended to sleep across the room from each other, Leo was glad Aiden had a piece of home—a piece of him—to hold onto. 

No matter what happened next.

Previous—Masterlist— Next

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeish @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings @peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump @aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps @batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree

[octopus-reactivated]

Title me Miss: Bath time!

Took me really long to write it, but it's done. What can i cay, i'm a slow worker

Also, thank you to @whump-blog for proofreading 💜🦀💜

Tw/cw: Pet whump, Whumpee thinks Caretaker is new Master, multiple(2) Caretakers, mention of starvation, fear of hurt (knife), touch starvation. Let me know if i missed anything

__________

Miss took the last sip of her tea and put the cup down. Juli took this as a sign that the breakfast was over. 

It was one of the best meals he ever had. Food wasn’t like in the facility: completely tasteless or spicy to hurt his freshly cutted mouth. It wasn’t spiked with drugs that made his legs wobble and his head spin. And now, when Juli was sure it wasn’t human food too and when he had a clear task, he felt safe and so … not guilty. Well, maybe a little bit guilty. 

At least, he managed to stop himself from devouring food as soon as it was given to him. It was difficult, but not impossible. He shouldn't complain anyway, not when he was shown so much mercy. 

__________

“I… um…” he stuttered.  Miss looked at him confused. His heart thumped, as he realized he would have to explain why he dared to speak up unprompted.

“I currently don't have any wounds” he admitted “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I was supposed to look presentable and… I'm sorry, so sorry…”

There he was babbling and muttering again. Pathetic. 

“If you wish so Miss…” he took a few shaky breaths to calm himself down, “you could open some yourself?”

As soon as the sentence left his mouth, he realized how stupid idea it was. Who was he to dictate Miss what to do?

But she said she wanted to get his wounds treated. 

“Miss?” He asked in a shaky voice, trying to imagine her grabbing a knife and dragging it on his skin.  Would it be a few cuts on his back? Shallow cut near a vital area, so she could feel him shake in fear, but still try to hold still to show obedience? One long cut going from his back to chest and back to back in a spiral?

He dared to look up. 

Miss looked at him disgusted… no, more than that. Horrified. 

He remembered how she told him earlier that she liked him. This must have changed by now. 

If only he learned to keep his mouth shut and keep his stupid suggestions to himself.

“Juli” Miss said in a sweet voice, the one that people in the movies often used when they were so angry, that they became completely calm.

She crouched to his level and placed a hand on his check. He was so, so terrified, and yet, some of his old training kicked in, and he involuntarily leaned into this comfort, even if it was just an illusion “No one's going to hurt you.” She said, gently tilting his head up, forcing him to look into her face “Not me, not Justin or anyone else”

“No hurt?” he repeated, wide-eyed.

“That’s correct. You’re safe here”

Juli sighted from relief. 

As long as he behaves, he won’t be hurt. 

That meant so much. He will be -somewhat- free of constant pain.

Have you forgotten how frequently you mess up your tasks?- mocked him the voice inside his head -How long will you go without punishment? That is, if you even get to have punishment instead of being abandoned.

He bowed down to show his gratitude. 

“I have to get going now” she took her hand away “I should be back for late dinner”

He didn’t understand why she was saying this to him, why did she feel the need to explain her plans to him, as he could understand or influence human ways. 

__________

“Water should be warm enough. You can get yourself ready,” Sir Justin said. “There is soap and stuff. I’m going to check up on you in a few minutes, but if you have any trouble you can call me”

Like he would dare to call sir, like he had any power to decide when sir came and went.

But he didn’t want to argue. That was a bad idea. A very bad idea. A recipe for getting returned.

Sir looked at him like he waited for an answer, so Juli confirmed that he understood, and then sir left.

There wasn’t much time. The Boy got out of clothes and folded them as nicely as possible, then grinding his teeth, he jumped into a full bathtub.

To his surprise, the water wasn’t ice-cold or even boiling hot. It was warm, yes, but not hot. Why was it warm? Maybe it was supposed to be hotter, but tap water couldn’t get any warmer? Why not boil it on the stove, then? But this could take a lot of time and effort, and he wasn’t worth it. 

Or was it to taunt him? ‘Look at him, he gets to clean himself  in warm water, almost like a human!’ Or was it to show off Miss’s wealth? ‘Actually, I can afford to give a nice bath even to my pets!’ Or maybe it was to give him something nice, so it could be ripped out of him later on, to hurt him and leave miserable.

It wasn’t his place to try to understand human reasons anyway.

 ________

The boy waited for him in the water. Sitting still, head down, back hunched. Justin expected him to start clearing himself, but no point In pointing this out, it would only stress him out more.

‘I thought we could wash your hair first’ he suggested, but the boy must have to consider this more of an order than a suggestion. 

Juli obediently leaned back, as Justin wetted his hair and when he put shampoo on them. He gently rubbed it in, when he noticed that Juli was closing his eyes. At first, he thought it was to not let the soap in, but then realized that the boy leaned into his hand, seemingly unbothered by the fact that it was still covered in bubbles. His breath hitched a little. Justin let him lay like that for a while, rubbing his cheek. Poor thing was visibly touch-starved. And regular-starved too. Justin had no heart to pull his hand away. He felt a sense of responsibility for the boy. 

When Decima first arrived, she had little to no understanding of how upperland culture and society worked. So if someone would tell her that Pets were on every level different from humans – she would probably believe that. It just happened that Justin was first. And now she decided to help one of those poor souls. 

“I’m going to wash the shampoo off,” he said, grabbing the shower’s head. He’ll do everything he can to help Juli heal from his wounds

__________

Taglist:  @kim-poce @whatgoeswhumpinthenight @kween-pinescales @wolfeyedwitch @myst-in-the-mirror @dont-touch-my-soup @obsessedwithegos @cicatrix-energy

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Whumpee thinks Caretaker is their new master. Good trope, right? But check this out;

Caretaker doesn't notice.

Because the morning after the day they were rescued, all Whumpee did was get Caretaker a cup of coffee. It was only after then that Whumpee realized new master new rules, and Caretaker might not like coffee at all. So after an hour or so of a panic attack, Whumpee decides to stay put and not do anything.

But Caretaker didn't say anything about that coffee, so Whumpee should probably keep doing that?

And so, every morning, Caretaker gets a cup of coffee, says thank you, that's a nice gesture, and gets done with the day, while Whumpee tries to stay as quiet and unnoticed as possible. Not angering Caretaker is their top priority. Caretaker notices Whumpee is really, really quiet, but hey, they might just like it quiet. They do seem a little scared, but they've been putting off well, so Caretaker is positive that they'll get better with time.

Then Caretaker hears Whumper liked a cup of coffee every morning.

That's.. a strange coincidence.

I hope that's a coincidence.

And they finally try to talk to Whumpee about it, and Whumpee breaks into tears and Caretaker realizes what a mess this is,

[justbreakonme]

Whumpee liked many things about Caretaker.

They had a soft, kind voice, with soft kind hands, and even softer, kinder eyes.

They laughed a lot, and made him laugh too, and didn’t seem to notice when he laughed too long or too loudly or too gracelessly.

They gave him food, nice things, and clothes that fit, and a bed (a real bed, just for them!), but… There was one thing in particular that Whumpee liked the most.

See, Whumpee had never needed to be broken. They’d never dare intentionally step out of line, not even in their wildest dreams or most terrifying nightmares. But, they were flawed. Deeply. And made many mistakes.

But, where Whumper had attributed those mistakes to malice, Caretaker merely corrected him, forgave him, helped him.

He remembered fondly (oh how strange to remember anything fondly) the day Caretaker first brought him home. He had tripped over the edge of the welcome mat, and fell hard, knocking the coat rack down with him.

He had been braced for blows, or at best the yelling and screaming that always reduced him to tears, but, instead, Caretaker had crouched down and asked if he was okay. He had stared, blankly (stupidly), at them, covered in coats and scarves, until Caretaker had moved to help him. He’d flinched, and Caretaker still hadn’t struck him. Instead, they offered a hand, and helped him up.

Caretaker smiled, awkward and toothy and more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen, and apologized, (apologized, to him, of all things!) making a little joke about how welcome mat wasn’t very welcoming.

Whumpee had stared for a moment more, still braced for this all to be a trick. Then, it was like something inside him broke, like a rubber band snapping, and he laughed. He’d laughed, hysterical and ugly, till tears came to his eyes, and then couldn’t stop them.

He’d begged through tears that he was sorry, that he was trying to be good (an old habit that had still never died, despite having every reason to), but Caretaker still didn’t raise a hand against him.

He didn’t remember all the details, after that, only that Caretaker had brought him into the kitchen, and given him a mug of something warm and sweet, and sat down across from him. And had let him cry, only interrupting to assure him that he was not in trouble and to hand him a tissue.

Yes, Whumpee liked many things about Caretaker. Their heart most of all.

[whump-place]

Whumpees that are just sooo scared of their Caretaker!!

That flinches and cringes whenever Caretaker walks near them. And even though Caretaker swears that they aren't planning hurt Whumpee, Whumpee is still aware of Caretaker's every movement.

[pigeonwhumps]

Kara and Edith #1

Sam and Lucan masterlist

Whumptober masterlist

Day 7: THE WAY YOU SHAKE AND SHIVER | shaking hands | seizures | silent panic attack

Alt 14: emergency blanket

Taglist: @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @onlybadendings @whumpofdory @haro-whumps @captain-bo-bob-bobby

Kara rescues Edith from torture by a man from her own past, and they both struggle to cope.

Set 10 years after Kara gets Edith, and between 1/2-2 years after Sam rescues Lucan.

5k words

CWs: lady whump, eye whump, mouth whump, muzzled, pet whump flashback, slavery setting, non-human whumpee, past whipping mention, past abuse mentions, past torture mentions, vampire whumpee, werewolf caretaker, werewolf whumpee

The human sets down the pliers and takes hold of Edith’s open mouth, peering inside. “Perfect. You can’t bite anyone now.” Edith whimpers as he pushes it shut, picking up a needle. The thread glints in the light. “Now, hold still.” The vampire closes her eyes for a moment, and then opens them, deciding she’d rather not be surprised by the silver thread. The needle pierces her lip and she swallows a cry as the human tugs the thread through. It burns. Even when the human ties off the thread and moves away, it hurts. The silver goes through her lips, sealing them together, burning. Then the human buckles her muzzle back on. The bare silver burns too, hurting far more than the holes in her gums.

Four holes, one for each fang. One for each fang that she no longer has, because this human has removed them. Mistress Kara promised that she wouldn’t hurt her and then this human took her and removed her fangs and he says it’s for her mistress. Because Edith isn’t good enough, isn’t harmless enough. And Edith knew she wasn’t, she knew it, but Mistress Kara promised.

She should know better, by now, than to believe promises.

“You’re not quite harmless yet though. You can still use your persuasion, after all.” Edith attempts to shake her head but the strap across her forehead stops her from moving. She won’t use persuasion, she won’t. She knows better than to ever use that again. The human tuts, tightening the cuffs on both wrists so the silver digs into her skin and she whimpers. “Now now, don’t disagree. You know what happens if you disagree with your betters.” She does. She does, why is she still fighting? She blinks long and slow, the traditional way of signifying that she doesn’t mean any harm. “Better.”

Her cuffs are left as they are, digging in, searing into her skin, and they burn. They’ll pull off the skin when they’re removed.

If they’re removed anytime soon. Because bad vampires always have to wear silver, the centuries have taught her that. And bad slaves need to be taught to behave.

People used to use silver-tipped whips and crucifixes and chains to teach her. Then it was shock collars and holy water and more silver and sunlight. Now...

Now, the human’s snapping on a fresh pair of latex gloves.

“As I was saying. We need to remove your ability to use persuasion if you’re to be perfect for your mistress. And you want to be, don’t you?” Edith blinks hastily, agreeing. She really does. Mistress Kara is kind, far kinder than any previous owner. Far kinder than she ought to be to a monster like Edith. If this means she can stay with her, she’ll take anything. “Good. Then stay still while I do this. And don’t even think about shutting your eyes or I’ll rip your eyelids off.”

Edith gulps. He really will do that, so she opens her eyes as wide as she can, forcing them to stay open through sheer fear of the alternative. The human reaches out his arm and Edith’s vision goes partially dark as there’s a squelching sound. Through the pain Edith can feel the man’s fingers in her eye socket, pushing against her eyeball.

Then the man tugs and she screams, muffled and distorted by the silver and stitches. The pain is mind-numbing, and she struggles to hear the human through the buzzing in her ears, struggles to keep her eyes open because she doesn’t want her eyelids torn off. Her vision is fuzzy, broken, but still she sees the man hold an eyeball with a bright red iris up somewhere in front of her remaining eye.

“One down, one to go.”

Then... Edith isn’t sure what happens. One moment he’s setting down her eye, and the next he’s out of sight and someone’s touching her and removing the straps binding her to the chair and what is the human doing to her now?

She’s covered with something soft (soft?) and arms slide under her. The world tilts, but all she can see is fabric. This is all very confusing but she lets it wash over her. Whatever’s going to happen will happen, and there’s no use her trying to understand it first.

_

Kara picks up her blanketed friend and strides out of the basement without a backward glance at the man groaning on the floor. He hurt Edith, he doesn’t deserve her consideration.

Besides, she can’t even look at him without the memories flooding back.

She checks that Edith is fully covered before dashing out into the daylight, feet pounding as she runs for home. It’s about a mile but she doesn’t drive, doesn’t want to risk exposing herself by using fake ID too often, so she runs all the way, wolf stamina from the full moon two nights ago giving her the strength to continue despite her shortened toes.

And the need to get Edie safe, of course. That’s the most important thing. She’s light. She always is, but... when was the last time she ate? Before Kara last transformed? Fuck.

Kara berates herself. Just because Edie has full access to the fridge doesn’t mean she’ll use it without clear directions. Kara knows that after so long living together.

She fumbles the electronic keyfob out of her pocket and presses it to the lock, the door admitting her with a beep. She’ll have to get the locks changed, after Edith was kidnapped out of their own home, and not for the first time she wishes they could use physical locks, with actual keys that couldn’t be hacked. But she couldn’t use them.

Molly, her golden retriever assistance dog, is waiting to greet them, wagging her tail excitedly. Kara smiles weakly at her before entering the front room, and once the blinds are drawn and Edith’s lying on the sofa, still fully covered by the blanket, she takes off her gloves and buries the aching stubs of her fingers in Molly’s thick fur.

“That’s better. Molly, fetch the thick gloves.” Molly bounds off, and Kara’s fingers are left hanging in the air, still aching. She’s grateful for her werewolf affinity with dogs, or this would take far longer. She approaches Edith and crouches down beside her, pulling the blanket down.

Edith blinks up at her. Winks? Kara’s not sure what it is if there’s only one eye. The other has stopped bleeding, thank everything, but it’s still an empty eye-socket.

“Seven ’ells,” she mutters, “what did that bastard do to ya?” Edith flinches and Kara lays a hand on her hair. “Hey, it’s okay, shh. Easy, baby. I’m gonna take the silver off ya, and then I’ll fetch you some blood to drink so you can start to ’eal. That okay?” Edith nods. “Good. Good. Once Molly’s back with the gloves we can start.”

Just then, Molly enters the room, a pair of thick leather gloves in her mouth. She holds them by the tips of the fingers as Kara pushes her hands inside.

“Cheers, girl.”

The gloves are better-fitting than the ones she wears outside, no extra padding to pretend that her fingers and thumbs are whole. They’re also thick enough that she can’t get silver burns through them, which is perfect for this. Kara reaches up for the muzzle with shaky hands and unhooks it from Edith’s silver collar, managing it after a couple of tries. It makes a squelchy ripping sound as it pulls away, and Kara retches at the exposed flesh. She pulls the collar off quickly.

“Oh, baby. Oh your mouth, fuckin’ ’ell. Molly, scissors.” The dog bounds off and Kara strokes Edith’s hair. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” Edith looks up at her imploringly.

During the ten years since Kara bought Edith, she’s learned to read the vampire’s expressions with relative ease, but right now she half wishes she couldn’t.

“I would never. Edie, I would never ’urt ya. I din’t want this, I would never want this. I like ya just the way you are, with both eyes and able to talk. And even if I din’t, which, to be clear, would never be true, I would never, ever hurt ya like this. Is that clear?” Edith nods. Kara doesn’t expect her to believe it, she never would have at that stage in her own recovery (even now, the number of people she’d believe is severely limited), but listening is a start.

Kara takes the scissors from Molly and braces herself, finding Edith’s hand with her free one and placing it over her forearm.

“My hands are shaky, so sorry if I cut you. If it gets too much, tap twice on my wrist, like ya used to. Okay?” The vampire nods, and Kara leans in, cutting carefully through the silver threads. She nicks Edith slightly but Edith never asks her to stop.

“Okay. The threads are cut but I can’t pull ’em out, you’ll have to do it yourself. If I give you some gloves, can ya manage it?” Edith nods and Kara fetches her gloves, which she tugs on, before looking at Kara for permission, blood dribbling down her chin. Kara nods. “Go on baby. Then we can remove yer cuffs and... anythin’ else. What else did ’e do to ya? Any more silver?”

Edith stops pulling at the threads and opens her mouth. Kara winces at the gaping holes.

“Oh, Edie. I’m so sorry. They’ll grow back, right?” Edith nods. “Good. That’s good. I wish I could give ya summat for the pain but... I’ll make sure to bring you a straw with yer blood, at least. Is that everythin’ ’e did?” The vampire nods again. “Okay. You can carry on takin’ the thread out now.”

As Edith continues, Kara blinks back tears, thinking about the scene she found in that disgusting man’s basement. Edith tied to an old dentist’s chair, that horrible man holding her eye, the whole place reeking of blood and venom and fear. So much venom that even though Edie hasn’t said as much, Kara’s sure the man extracted it.

Bastard. Kara should’ve killed him while she had the chance.

Kara’s sense of smell is mostly back to normal now the initial surge of adrenaline has passed and the last full moon’s getting further away, thank everything, but she can still remember the stench. She worries that the man might’ve done more that Edith hasn’t shown her.

“Let’s see yer wrists, baby.” Edith holds out her arm and Kara takes it, turning it over. The release is a button, easy enough for even her to work, although the cuff doesn’t fall off when she presses it. Kara has to peel it off, skin peeling with it as Edith whines. Kara strokes her hair. “Nearly there now.” She takes Edith’s other arm and does the same thing. She wishes she could remove the vampire’s slave ID bracelet so easily.

“There we go. Now, d’ya want blood or a warm bath first?” Edith just looks up at her apprehensively. “Tap once for blood and twice for a bath.” Edith taps once on the sofa. “Okay, baby. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.”

Edith scrunches up small on the sofa, Molly curling up beside her, and Kara goes to the kitchen, opening the fridge. The top shelf contains bags of blood for Edith, and she takes one out, grabbing a vegan sausage roll and some melon chunks for herself from the bottom shelf at the same time. She won’t eat today if she doesn’t do it at the same time as Edith, she already knows that.

She pulls a mug out of the cupboard and sets it down on the scratched counter, snipping into the corner of the blood bag.

She’s not sure what she does wrong. Maybe she cuts it wrong. Maybe her hands are shaking too hard. Maybe it’s just a dodgy bag. But whatever happens, it explodes. There’s blood, blood everywhere.

Blood on the ceiling, blood on the floor, blood on the counters and cupboards and fridge and appliances. Bloody sausage roll and bloody chunks of melon.

Kara’s owner sets a bowl of disgusting-smelling bloodied chunks of meat down in front of Kara. Kara bows through gritted teeth.

“Thank you, Master.”

Her owner caresses her hair and she forces back a shudder. “Only the best for you, sweet. Eat up. This is your last meal for a while, if we want to keep your figure for the next party.” He sits down at the table above her and she tries not to breathe as she bends over her bowl and eats. She’s not allowed to eat with her hands, after all. It’s two days until the next full moon, she has to eat this, no matter how disgusting it is. “Once you’re finished eating, I’ll show you your new collar for the party. You’ll love it. And then it’s movie night. Won’t that be fun?”

Movie night. Where she gets to act as a footrest and drinks table for her owner and his girlfriend. Fun... isn’t exactly what she’d call it. She forces a smile into her voice nonetheless.

“Yes, Master.”

Kara shudders as she comes back to herself, sinking to the floor. She stretches out her legs, touches her back. It’s okay, she can move, she’s not burnt or belted, she’s free.

She tries to make herself get up, she needs to get Edith’s blood, but she can’t. She buries her head in her shaking arms, heart racing, and breaks down.

It’s been fifteen years since she escaped, why does it still keep coming back to her like this? Pulling her out of the life she’s made with Edith and Molly and back... back there.

It’s that bastard. That fucking bastard, who cut up her fingers and toes and filed her teeth under government orders and now he’s hurt Edith too. He came into their house and took Edith and he must know Kara’s a werewolf, to take Edith on the full moon, does he know who she is? Kara’s never felt so powerless. Without her sharp teeth and claws, she can’t protect Edith, can’t protect either of them.

They’re not safe here.

Not in this house, not in this city, maybe not even in the damn country.

And Kara knows she should fetch Edith’s blood, she promised, but she can’t make herself move as memories fill her and she shakes and falls apart.

_

Edith smells blood.

Mistress Kara said she was fetching it, but Edith still can’t believe her luck. Blood, regularly. She’s not worth that, but who is she to argue with her mistress? It makes her mouth water. The silver burns hurt and her eye socket’s still agony and her mouth aches, not to mention the venom gland in her neck that pinches, like a bruise. It probably is a bruise, come to think of it. Even the feeling of all that though, even the curdling fear and dread still inside her, it doesn’t come close to surpassing the longing for the blood she can smell.

But time passes, more time than normal, and Mistress Kara doesn’t come.

Edith hears sobbing. Maybe... maybe she should help? Would that be good? Is that what a good slave does? Or would that be against the rules?

You're not a slave, Edie, she hears in Mistress Kara’s voice, you’re a person.

Edith doesn’t believe that. But maybe, if Mistress Kara really does, she should help. Mistress Kara might be in trouble.

She stands tremulously and Molly bounds off the sofa too. Leaning on the dog she makes her way to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. The smell of blood is almost overwhelming here.

Because there’s blood everywhere. Mistress Kara doesn’t usually decorate her house with blood, so Edith doesn’t think it’s deliberate. And Mistress Kara is crying in the centre of it, face hidden, shaking.

Oh.

Edith thinks she knows what’s happening. She’s seen it before.

“Mistress... Mistress Kara?” she whispers, forcing the words out, with each one reminding herself that she’s allowed to talk, that Mistress Kara lets her do so. Likes her how she is (probably). The words are only slightly mangled by the silver burn on her tongue.

Mistress Kara looks up blearily, eyes red and streaming. “You can still talk, M–”

‘Master’ is what would come next if Mistress Kara hadn’t stopped herself, Edith knows. Now she definitely knows what’s happening.

“Yes, Mistress Kara. Edith... Edith will return shortly.”

Mistress Kara nods and Edith exits, heading for Mistress Kara’s room. She keeps her eye shut as she walks – she practiced this years ago, just in case Mistress Kara would prefer her blind. And Mistress Kara wouldn’t, Edith knows that now, but it’s still easier to walk around like this than to try and judge the distance with one eye. Besides, she has Molly to help. There’s a heavy red blanket on Mistress Kara’s bed that Edith knows is helpful when she’s like this, and Edith drags it down, slowly making her way back to the kitchen. Edith’s not feeling very strong right now but she manages it, opening her eyes when she gets back to the kitchen doorway.

“Edith? Is that me blanket?”

She sounds surprised and Edith bows shallowly. “Yes, Mistress Kara. But Edith does not know... the– the blood?”

Kara’s gaze flickers to the ground and back to Edith. “You can bring it anyway, we’ll wash it.”

Edith nods and crosses the room, draping the blanket over Mistress Kara’s legs. Mistress Kara curls her hands over it.

“Thank you, Master.”

Edith crouches down in front of Mistress Kara. She doesn’t like correcting an owner but she has to. Miss Amanda has taught her how. “Edith is here, Mistress Kara. Not– not Master.”

Mistress Kara blinks. “Right. Right. I should fetch you a new blood bag.” She looks torn though, unmoving, hands shaking. Edith would offer to drink the blood off the furniture but she doesn’t think Mistress Kara would approve.

“Edith– Edith can do it, Mistress Kara.”

“If you’re sure then, go ahead.”

Edith nods and takes a packet of blood out of the fridge, pouring it carefully into her favourite pale blue mug, the handle carved like a fire-breathing dragon. She finds a straw and kneels down on the floor to drink it, automatically staying out of Mistress Kara’s reach. It’s cold with just her torn t-shirt and trousers on, and she suppresses a shiver, touching her bare throat absent-mindedly.

“We’ll buy you another collar, baby. Did he cut it off?” Edith nods. He sliced it off and replaced it with silver, said she wasn’t good enough to have a proper one. “Come and join me under ’ere. And ’ave another blood bag if you like.” Edith hesitates. She’s hungry, and blood would help her heal, but what if Miss Amanda stops delivering it? Or Mistress Kara refuses to buy more?

They probably won’t. But they might.

“’ave some more blood, go on. You ain’t eaten for days, we ’ave plenty.”

There’s some sort of reprimand in there, Edith thinks as she bows shallowly and tops up her mug, sitting tightly under the very edge of the blanket, but she’s not sure what for. It’s not like Mistress Kara gave her permission to eat.

“You can come closer, I won’t bite.”

No. No, Edith’s the one in danger of biting, that’s why she now has no fangs. She inches closer regardless, careful not to bash into anything, and Mistress Kara spreads the blanket better over both of them, placing her hand palm up on top. Hopefully, Edith thinks. She takes it gingerly, wrapping her fingers carefully around it. Just the way Mistress Kara likes it.

It feels... nice. Calming. These warm hands have never hurt her deliberately.

Mistress Kara gives her a small, puffy-eyed smile.

“How do you do it, Edie?”

“Mistress Kara?”

“Carry on like this. I mean, I stopped functioning from just seeing that”–she nods at the bloody food on the side–“but you... you were tortured and you’re still goin’.”

“Edith is used to it, Mistress Kara. It is what Edith has always had to do.” Edith remembers serving drinks wearing a bare silver muzzle, silver sigil around her neck burning down to the bone, the guests’ cigar smoke choking her, while they admired her owners for managing to tame a vampire, expressing their approval at the ingenuity of both using a silver-tipped whip (the scars of which were visible through her backless dress) and choosing a slave that costs practically nothing to keep for generations.

So much silver in that house, and never any blood for her.

“Edith has worked through worse pain, Mistress Kara,” assures Edith, “Edith will be... all right.”

Mistress Kara squeezes her hand. “You don’t ’ave to work through it anymore, Edie. You just focus on recoverin’.”

“Yes, Mistress Kara.”

Edith doesn’t think being allowed to recover is something she could ever get used to.

_

Kara watches Edith sip at her blood, almost entirely huddled under the blanket. Her shivers have almost stopped, thankfully, but she really needs a wash and some warm clothes. Kara’s not sure she can remember how to walk herself right now though. She thinks she might crawl if she tries to move, and that’s not something she’s willing to ever do again.

Edith is doing better than she feared. It took years for Edith to speak more than single words and Kara was worried that that man might have forced her back into silence, but he didn’t, not entirely. It’s a struggle, every word, Kara can see, but she’s still talking.

“I’m so proud of you, Edie.”

The vampire’s eye lights up. “Thank you, Mistress Kara.”

Kara feels a pang of long-repressed sorrow. She’s not sure what she would’ve given for someone to have told her they were proud of her when she’d escaped, to have helped her.

She has Edith now though. Edith, who will bring her a blanket when she’s stuck in the past and who won’t judge her. And though Kara may not have had anyone then, she won’t let Edie have no-one now. Edie won’t ever recover alone like she did.

Kara takes a deep, shuddering breath. She has Amanda now too. She’s not alone and Edith isn’t alone and she squeezes the vampire’s hand.

Oh, crap. Amanda.

“I promised Amanda I’d call ’er when I found ya. Are you okay if I do that ’ere?” Edith nods, and Kara pulls her phone out of her pocket, trying not to move too much. But she can, she’s allowed to move, she doesn’t have to stay still and furniture-like anymore. Edith reaches over tentatively and unlocks it.

“Cheers.” Kara turns to the phone and speaks clearly into it. “Call Amanda.”

“Calling Amanda.” Kara puts the phone on speaker, and Amanda answers almost immediately.

“Did you find her?”

Amanda’s voice is loud in the stillness of the room, and Edith pulls away and claps her hands over her ears, whimpering. Her mug lands on her lap, miraculously upright. Molly gets up from the doorway and lollops away.

“Yeah, just– give us a minute?”

It’s not long before Molly returns, presenting a pair of pale blue, heavily-stickered ear defenders to Kara. She slips them over her friend’s ears carefully, avoiding the slobber.

“Cheers, girl. Better, baby?” Edith nods, and Kara turns back to the phone. “Okay. We’re back.”

“You found Edith?”

“Yes. Or rather, you did. I couldn’t ’ave done it without you.”

“We’ll be arguing about that until we’re both blue in the face. Can I speak to her?”

“Of course.” She looks at Edith, who’s watching the phone apprehensively. She might know how to use it now but that doesn’t mean she’s overly fond of the device. “Go on, Edie.”

“Hello, Miss– Miss Amanda,” says Edith nervously.

“Edith! You’re back! I’m glad. I was so worried about you.”

“You do not need to worry about Edith, Miss Amanda. Vampires do not die easily.”

“You can be hurt a lot without dying though. How are you, anyway?”

“Edith is... Edith is doing better, Miss Amanda.”

“I’m very glad to hear it. Have you been back long?”

“Not long, Miss Amanda.”

“Okay. Well, look after yourself, yeah? And Kara too. I imagine she’s a bit shaken after seeing that man again.”

Edith quickly stifles her small noise of confusion, and Kara sighs. “I ain’t actually told Edith that part yet.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“It’s okay, I was gonna tell ’er anyway. Edie, you know the man who ’urt you?” Edith nods. “Well, he’s the same person who... um... who cut up me fingers and toes.” Edith’s eye widens and she points to her mouth. “Yes, and me teeth.”

“Edith is sorry,” whispers Edith, squeezing Kara’s hand.

“It wasn’t yer fault, but thank you.”

There’s a long pause, before Amanda says, “Is there anything you need? More blood?”

“No, it’s okay, we ’ave plenty. Not sure ’ow you’d deliver any from Sweden anyway.”

“I could find a way. You’re getting blood deliveries while I’m away.”

“True. So ’ow are Sam and Lucan?”

There’s a pause, then Amanda chuckles. “Playing Scrabble. Except Sam’s bored, and Lucan still struggles with trying to win. I predict five minutes until they give up.” Kara laughs weakly, and Edith gives a tiny smile. “Slavery’s illegal here, you know. I think Lucan likes it. He hasn’t been mistaken for a slave once.”

“You could move there,” suggests Kara, and Amanda sighs.

“No, we couldn’t. The immigration system here’s too fiddly, Lucan wouldn’t get in. Besides. It’s still... hard, here, for him.”

“Oh.” She feels a pang. Not Sweden, then. “I was thinking... I mean, I ain’t discussed it with Edith yet or anythin’, but we need to move. I don’t... we’re not safe ’ere. In this country. Either of us. The man who took Edith, ’e took ’er on a full moon, ’e knows I’m a werewolf, what if ’e knows what I was? What if ’e reports me, reports us, takes us back into slavery? I can’t... I can’t take that risk.”

“Easy. You don’t need to justify yourself to me.”

“Edith thinks... Edith thinks it is a good idea,” says Edith timidly. “Edith does not want to be taken again.”

“There you go. It’s still your choice of course, but if you do decide to leave, tell me what it’s like? Especially getting in. We need a more concrete escape plan for Lucan, because we’re not going to be able to hide him forever, no matter what Sam likes to believe.”

“I will. It’s another country, not another planet, Amanda. I won’t drop out of contact again, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“Just... please don’t tell Sam and Lucan what ’appened. They’ll only worry. I know I don’t ’ave the right to make requests but... please.”

“Hey. You’re not a slave anymore, remember, Kara? You can request what you like. I won’t tell Sam and Lucan if you don’t want me to. I promised that when you first called me for help, and I’m promising again.”

Kara runs a hand over her face. Fuck. She knows she’s not a slave anymore, she’s not in a place where voicing the simplest request would get her heavily belted or worse, why does her mind keep throwing her back there? Why does the phrase slip out so easily?

“Thank you, M– Amanda.”

“It’s no problem. I should go now, Sam and Lucan have finished their game and Sam’s going to prove to Lucan that moose exist.”

Kara blinks. “Lucan... doesn’t believe moose exist?”

“Not in the slightest. And I don’t want to miss him finding out he’s wrong.”

Kara stifles a grin. She wishes she could see that.

“We’ll see you when you get ’ome?”

“Definitely. I’ll visit as soon as I can. And look after yourselves.”

“We will.”

“Good. Bye Kara, Edith.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye, Miss Amanda.”

Amanda hangs up and Kara turns to Edith. “I’m sorry. I did mean to ask you about movin’ before talkin’ to Amanda.”

“It is okay, Mistress Kara. Edith–” Edith stops, mug trembling in her grip.

Kara squeezes her hand. “What is it, baby?”

“You and Miss Amanda searched for Edith? Since Edith was taken?”

“As soon as we could, yes. After I changed back to human form.”

Edith frowns. “But Miss Amanda is on holiday. Holiday is a... a break.”

“You’re far more important than an ’oliday, Edie.”

“Edith would have survived, Mistress Kara. You did not need to try so hard to rescue her. But Edith... Edith is grateful that you did.”

“I would do anythin’ to keep ya safe. Ya hear me, Edith? Anythin’. I would never abandon you.” She peers at Edith’s shining eyes and quivering lip. “Would ya like a hug?”

Edith nods hesitantly and sets down her mug, then sinks into Kara’s outstretched arms. She keeps her face carefully away from Kara’s neck, which Kara is sure is a product of her centuries-long torment, and instead sets her back to Kara’s chest. Kara tightens one arm around her chest, the other sitting atop the vampire’s hair.

“You’re safe, baby. I know it don’t feel like it, but you’re safe, and you’ve been rescued, and you deserve to be safe and rescued and cared for.” Edith shudders and pushes in closer, holding onto Kara’s arm, Molly flopped out on both of their legs, and Kara tightens her grip. “You’re free. We’re both free.”

Accompanying art here

[whumpshaped]

I know it's cliche, but hear me out. The Whumpee thinks Caretaker is their new master trope, just that Caretaker is trying to give Whumpee a bath, and Whumpee used to be punished being drowned or something like that, so they beg Caretaker that they'll be good, that they'll behave, etc.

tw past trauma, caretaker new master, conditioned whumpee

“No! No, please, Master, I’m sorry!”

“What’s gotten into you?” Caretaker stared down at the poor thing in front of them hugging their legs like there was no tomorrow. “Whumpee–”

“I’ll be good! I’ll behave! I don’t know what I did, Master, I’m sorry! I’m sorry for being so stupid that I didn’t even realise I was being bad! I’m so sorry!”

“Whumpee, I’m just trying to give you an opportunity to wash up–”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

Caretaker sighed. Alright, they just had to pet their hair and wait it out.

“Hey, Whumpee…” they tried again once the pet had quieted down a little. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yes, Master,” they sniffled. They didn’t sound very okay, but it was a start. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Why do you think you did something wrong, honey?”

“I– I must’ve, I must’ve! I know I did something, if you want t-to– to ‘give me a bath’, I– please, please d-don’t, I’m so sorry…”

Caretaker frowned. “What do you think a bath means?”

Whumpee looked up at them with those wide, tear-filled eyes, so terrified that Caretaker could barely stand it. “D-drowning, Master. Please, I, I know I must deserve it, but please, punish me any other way! I can’t do it again, I can’t, please…”

Oh, that sick bastard.

“Shh, sweetie… It’s okay…” They tried to unwrap Whumpee’s arms from around their legs so they could help them stand up, but eventually they just settled for getting on the floor with them. They pulled Whumpee into a tight hug, rubbing their back as they continued to cry. “I didn’t mean it like that… I’m never gonna hurt you like that, yeah? Ever.”

“Y-you’re… not?”

“No, of course not. Of course not. I promised you’d be safe here, and I meant it. Let’s just calm down.”

[honeycollectswhump]

The Pet 2

[masterlist] [part one]

From his view of the ever-distorting ground, he couldn’t see his Master’s reaction, couldn’t anticipate the blow or kick that would surely come. The pleading had felt wrong on the Pet’s tongue, for a reason he couldn't figure out. 

For a few agonizing seconds nothing happened. The only sound that reached the Pet’s ears was his own labored breathing and even that sounded warped.

“What?”

Finally, a voice, though he couldn't recognize it. It must have been his Master’s, right? It simply must.

The Pet knew how to behave. He shouldn't have run away in the first place –he couldn’t even remember why he had tried anymore– but he would be better. He needed to be better. So he stayed perfectly still, waiting for any clue of how to act so he could be prepared for his Master’s rage. 

Would his Master discipline his disobedient Pet now or later? Would it be his Master’s thick belt, that he used to taunt him with, and then punished him with even more harshly for getting his disgusting blood all over it? Maybe he’d be used as entertainment for the party –the party?– and or he’d be strung up like a punching bag. The thought alone made the Pet shake twice as hard. 

Too late, far too late the Pet perceived murmuring, draping over him like a blanket, drowning out all other sounds. His Master must have been talking and like a stupid mutt he hadn’t paid attention. Instead, he had gotten lost in his own head, he had let himself get carried away by the current of his own thoughts.

Mercifully, his Master repeated himself. Still, only scraps reached his mind, the rest being devoured by the cotton that filled the Pet’s senses. 

“Hey…”

“It’s just me…”

“... don't understand…”

“Please, sit up.”

Yes! At last, something the Pet could act upon, something to prove he was eager to obey, despite his shortcomings, despite everything. He carefully pushed his upper body up, still on his knees and eyes on the floor like a proper Pet. Just this small movement alone made his stomach lurch and his arms shake like leaves in the wind.

He stared at his tingling fingers and hoped he was kneeling right, hoped that he wasn’t slouching with the way his spine felt curved, the way his legs were slowly sinking into the floor like it was quicksand. 

Cautiously, gentle fingers touched his jawline and tipped his head upwards. The Pet let his eyes be guided to catch the form of his Master and hoped he wouldn’t be punished for this offense too. 

“You will be alright,” the voice said slowly, deliberately. A spark of familiarity washed over the Pet, even though he couldn’t place it. He could barely see more than blurred shapes but if the Pet concentrated hard enough, he could make out some of their features. A name fought itself through the swamp of his own thoughts: Caretaker.

“I’m–I’m sorry. Are you my…my Master?” he whispered, then flinched back, expecting a hit for his boldness. His tongue felt swollen and limp in his mouth and he could do nothing but hope he was saying the words he meant. 

He was met with confusion. “I’m not–I mean, you don’t have a Master.”

That couldn’t be! The thought alone sent cold spikes of fear down his spine.

“Please Ma’am, I do have a Master. I’m sorry, but I must have, I’m positive. I–I don’t mean to disagree, Ma’am, please. B–but I’m lost, I don’t know where I am. My Master must be around here somewhere. I don’t– I don’t know what to do!” The words tumbled out of his mouth and onto the floor like marbles. In the end, the last bit of resolve left him and the Pet dissolved into sobs

“Whumpee–” The hands that had rested on his jawline now moved to cup his cheeks. “What happened? I don't… whatever. You are safe, I promise. If you are lost, I’ll help you get home, alright?”

He looked at her hopefully. Alone, he wouldn’t get anywhere, at least not in this state. But with her help…maybe he wouldn’t be thrown out today.  

The Pet threw himself down once more, inching closer till his bowed head almost touched her knees. 

“Please, Ma’am! If you would be so kind, so generous as to help this worthless excuse of a Pet. I’m so sorry, I don’t–I don’t know how to repay you but I’d do anything. Anything! I promise, Ma’am!”

“Always. I’ll always help you.” the Pet felt a soft hand on his head, carding gently through his hair. In his despair, he couldn’t help but push into the touch. The Pet couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him this way. Any kindness was a rarity. Even like this, with his brain a thick swamp, unable to produce fully formed thoughts, the Pet knew this fact. It was deeply ingrained in his heart.

“But you need to listen to me. My car is parked nearby but we have to get there first. And we can’t have the others see you like this. So you need to do exactly as I tell you, alright?” 

Even though he had to strain himself to comprehend the words, the Pet nodded with such vigor his head might have fallen off. It made him even more dizzy. 

“Whumpee, look at me. This is important.”

Although the Pet didn’t know who that was, he would listen regardless.

“When we go out that door, I need you to walk upright. I’ll hold you up, that won’t be a problem. But no crawling! Also, no talk of your Master or whoever the fuck that is. If you have questions ask them now or when we are in my car.”

The Pet didn’t understand. But it wasn’t his job to ask questions –it wasn’t his job to think– so he kept quiet. His only purpose was obeying. 

He pushed upwards, trying to get his legs under him and balanced on the skewed ground, already veering to the side. Before he could tumble down, Caretaker caught his arm. His stomach churned dangerously and his ears rang. A cold sheen of sweat was sticking to his skin, making him shiver and he swallowed thickly. The tears had barely stopped but the Pet felt like crying again. It was no use.

“Come on, big guy.” Caretaker said as she pulled him towards a wall. “Lean against that, then try again.”

He did try again, desperately ignoring the way the wall seemed to bend around him, the texture swirling and swirling and swirling. Despite everything, the Pet couldn’t stop a hysterical giggle from breaking free. It just made Caretaker sigh. 

Finally though, he was able to stand, albeit listing heavily against the wall. Caretaker had slipped against his side, bracing his bigger frame against hers, holding up most of his weight. God, it felt like his worst sin was open for the world to see. No amount of slouching could make him smaller than her. A Pet couldn’t look down on a human. 

His first disobedience was his own body. 

She approached the door with the Pet in tow. He vowed to keep his stupid mouth shut since Caretaker didn’t like it when he talked. The walk was a blur, his surroundings distorting and tilting. His feet never landed where he wanted them to, making him stumble against her more than once. 

Time seemed to move weirdly around him, both too fast and too slow. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, whether he spent hours in that dark room or just seconds. 

People came up to them, shouting over a thundering the Pet couldn’t identify, but Caretaker pushed through them. 

The Pet blinked and suddenly found himself outside, the cool night air lifting the fog that had settled over his senses. Only now he realized that he had rested his heavy head on Caretaker’s shoulder.

It felt comfortable. It felt safe.

It felt familiar.

again, thanks to @distinctlywhumpthing for beta-reading this and putting up with my lack of knowledge on where to put commas in english <3

[abhainnwhump]

So we all know the "Whumpee thinks Caretaker is their new master" trope, right? (my favorite version of this is when Caretaker is incredibly insecure and socially awkward and is just like "guys help") Anyways, instead of Caretaker coaxing these behaviors out of Whumpee, they take advantage of it. Caretaker never liked Whumpee before their kidnapping. Too loud, too annoying, too . . . everything. So once they get them back and they've been conditioned to be a perfect silent servant, they thought 'Well, it wouldn't hurt if I gave in for a while'.

Caretaker turned Whumpee into their personal servant and prevents them from healing. They have them do all the house chores, cooking, and cleaning. In exchange, they tell Whumpee 'good job', but most of the time they ignore them. That doesn't matter to Whumpee, it's more kindness then what Whumper gave them.

Whumpee is so used to be treated like a slave they don't question it. It isn't until Caretaker 2 or Whumper comes in does Whumpee realize something is off.

Bonus points if Caretaker was an abusive partner or friend before the whumpening.